daybreakacademy | Lost through time and that's all I need, so much love, then one day buried

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Lost through time and that's all I need, so much love, then one day buried

WHO: Héctor, semi-open
WHERE: Around the Academy
WHEN: Post Hollow plot.
WHAT: Sad trauma skeleton. Not a single happy prompt in sight.
WARNINGS: Standard spoilers, possible mentions of death, murder, body horror, etc

A - [Closed to Peter]

He wakes with a gasp. His body stings with cold, weighed down with it, but he pushes immediately upward, against the lid of the freezer, scrambling for the light the breaks through on shivering limbs. The climb out is almost never graceful.

But the climb out doesn't usually feature somebody else, right there and ready for him. First his mind's got to register what he's seeing. Then, all the last few weeks come crashing back. It's enough to make him forget the ice stuck to his bones and his hair. He tries to focus on the boy.

"M-Mi-jo? Wh-what are you doing here?"

B - [Closed to Imelda]

It's not the moment he wakes, like he promised. He feels a little guilty about that, but it couldn't be helped. Still, he does show up as soon as he's able. Wearing a grey blanket like a veil. Looking around him, seeing the hall's empty for now, he reaches out with bare-boned knuckles and lets them sound upon her door.

There's a fear in him he can't push down. Maybe he dreamed it all up, tricked himself. Maybe she really did just say it to keep him calm. Maybe he'll have ruined things to the point it doesn't matter if she meant it then.

He dares to speak. "...Imelda? Are you awake?"

C - Open

He'll give it right back. He will. Not like those other times he thought he'd give something back like those backpacks or that van or Chich's femur. Definitely not like those times.

The hoodie he takes from the lost and found would probably be too small for his frame on a normal day, but it's perfect right now, when he can't bear being flesh a minute more than he's got to. He'll be alright. He always pushes through. He just needs a little more time.

The hoodie keeps him hidden, his hands can hide in (borrowed) gloves and the hood can mostly hide his head. Ducking it and wearing a scarf on the lower half of his face does the rest of the job. It's still quiet at night and he's still got the ability to go part way on his power last minute if he needs to. If he's going to keep seeing Imelda, speaking to her, he can't just hide in his dorm. He's got no choice but creep his way across the grounds through the night, only the cane revealing who it could be, but he grips it like a lifeline. Or a weapon. Sneaking up now wouldn't be the best idea.

On the other hand, any person lingering outside of the Lumiere dorm might catch him going still and abruptly turning back at the sight of them.

D- Open

He sets up on a path close to the school. It's as far as he can will himself to go. He's got no picture for the man, no piece saved he can leave. But he's got a small candle lit and he's got a bottle of cheap brandy with two glasses. He knows the man isn't coming back to drink it. Not even his ghost. But Garcie deserved more than to be killed in an alley. The dead in general deserved to be remembered.

So he sits there, in a hood and blanket on the path, facing the candle, the fencing, and the filled glass he won't touch.

"You never did tell me who Valentin was, amigo..."

E - Open

There were more than a few people he needed to see. At least a few he needed to talk to. Orihime. Ekkehardt. Maya, Minako, Tyzias. All the kids he was tutoring or generally making promises to that he couldn't keep. Gamma. He doesn't know when it became such a list but it seemed that it was now.

In at least some cases, he might have messaged those people, or even found the nerve to knock on their door. Others he might have run into by now. But for a good portion of time, he's in his room and that's where he stays, running out of things to mark and work to do and things to write. Sitting in his bones because if something, anything, touches him right now he might scream. He certainly startles to hear a knock at his door.

He gets up, walks to it, presses close, but doesn't open it. There's a pause before he calls, "Who is it? What do you want?"

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"You'd be surprised what you could get away with here." For a moment, it feels almost normal, joking like this. There's a fondness that builds in her heart, and she feels an apprehension follow after it, waiting for that affection to bring pain in it's wake. But it doesn't. She doesn't have to wonder where Héctor is anymore. She doesn't have to wonder why he left or why he never came home.

Instead, her smile fades, as she wonders if she should be feeling like this at all. Is she giving in too easily? Caving to his charm or the tragedy of his circumstances? She wishes she could turn that suspicious part of her mind off, but would that just be setting her up to get hurt again? It's exhausting, second guessing her emotions like this.

The conversation wraps back around to what they can do to make this easier on the both of them, and her attention turns out towards the rest of the room. Her brow furrows in thought for a few seconds before she sets down her cup on one of the tables. These chairs are meant to be moved around, so what if she just...

She grabs the side of one, pulling it over to the one that Héctor is seated in, and sliding them back to back against each other. She steps back after, catching her breath and surveying her work.

"This... might work." She picks up her cup and settles into the chair, tucking her legs up to the side and resting against the back cushion. "... What do you think?"

Here, yes. Here he could get away with nearly anything. But not home, where he needs to be. The less people who know the less hunters.

But he hasn't seen her looking happy like that in so long. He doesn't dare ruin it. Especially when it's so fleeting even without his help.

He starts a little as she starts to rearrange the furniture, lifting that blanket so as to lift a brow. He doesn't quite understand until she settles down behind him.

"Oh." She's so close. Not touching but right there. He can't see her face but, if he closes his eyes, he can imagine they're back in their bed in Santa Cecilia, laying together side by side, talking into the dark. He leans his head back. His voice is a little rough with emotion. "Yes. This is good. We can do this."

Dios, he missed her so much.

He lets a quiet settle before admitting, "I'm not sure how to start."

It's not the reaction she expects from him, to be so choked up over sitting back to back like this. But it is easier than face to face, and more personal than talking over their phones. He feels... Very close to her. Physically less than a few feet away. She lets herself take that in for a moment as the silence goes on.

His admission breaks that silence, and she can't help but answer in kind: "I'm not sure either." There's so many places to start and so many things they should talk about. More than she expects then to cover in one evening.

"... Where do you want to start?"

Honestly, there isn't anywhere he wants to start. It's all a jagged edge and touching any of it is painful. He wants to pretend it didn't happen. He wants to go to that fantasy that she'd talk to him without it all.

But there are a few things he knows he needs to say. Things he wants her to understand no matter how difficult they are to talk about.

"...I'm sorry," He starts. "I'm sorry I... said all those things to you. I didn't mean them. I'm sorry I scared you. I'm sorry I made you see any of that. I know I've already caused you so much pain. I didn't want to give you more."

When she asks him what he wants to start with, she's not prepared for the barrage of apologies. All for things that she already doesn't hold against him... And some for things that she maybe rightly deserves.

"Héctor, stop. Please." She exhales a sigh, bringing up a hand to run through her hair. "I don't need apologies for those things. I know you didn't mean them. And even if you did... They weren't entirely wrong." Her gaze fixes on a point somewhere along the opposite wall. Her tone dips a little quieter. "Maybe some of them, I needed to hear."

He stops immediately, wincing. He thinks maybe he said something wrong. She's already tired of his apologies.

And she is, but not the way he expects. Her words cut him anyway.

"No," He protests, somewhere between firm and desperate. "No, no, you can't believe that stuff, Imelda, I was crazy. I would've said anything. I was hurting and I- I wanted you to hurt too."

"I was already hurting. Nothing you said made that worse." At least nothing that she carried with her. The threats of wanting to kill her and eat her heart were hard to bear, but she knows that wasn't him. His pleas about wanting to go home... That was on her, wasn't it?

"I'm sorry for thinking that you walked out. I spent so long worried that something had happened to you, but... There were no calls from the police--none from the hospitals, either. No body, no response from Ernesto. I didn't know what to think. I hired a detective to look for you, but nothing turned up there, either. After a while, I couldn't help but think... No one disappears so thoroughly unless they don't want to be found."

He's not sure he believes that. He was cruel. He tried to make her feel at fault and all her concession does is making him believe he succeeded. He can't have that. He can't just let that slide, especially not cause of him.

But all that thought is lost in a moment. His breath pulls. He turns around in his seat.

"Wait," He says. "You believe me? You really looked for me?" There's no heart in his ribcage but he feels it ache all the same. It hurts so bad. He slumps back down to his side, leaning his head on the back of the chair. "You wouldn't have found me. We came across the outlands by accident while looking for a hospital. He buried me there. I hoped sometimes you'd find me but I always knew that was crazy. Even if you could find me in the outlands, you had Coco. You had to look after Coco. Because I wasn't there. I left on that stupid tour and I never should have in the first place. You were right to be angry. It doesn't matter what happened. To me or... when I figured it out. I still left. I'm sorry, Imelda."

She hears him shift to turn in his seat, feels the jostling from the other chair. Her cup is pulled closer to her chest, her shoulders tensing. She doesn't know what he plans to do.

"...Again, of course I did." She doesn't understand why he sounds so amazed by that, or why he keeps asking. Wouldn't anyone look for someone they care about if they went missing? She can't tell where the disconnect is... Is it that he expects less from her? Or that he thinks less of himself?

It's not until he slumps back down again that she relaxes, exhaling the breath she was holding. He continues talking, and she listens as he lists off all the reasons why she wouldn't have found him in the first place. She wants to say that if she knew he was in the Outlands, things might have gone differently, but her thoughts are cut short by his confession.

I left on that stupid tour and I never should have in the first place. How long has she waited to hear those words? It strikes so close to her own thoughts, that the realization of being on the same page as him stuns her for a moment. For one of the first times, she really listens to what he's saying, and when he reaches his apology... Tears prick at her eyes, and she's quiet for another few moments as she rubs them away.

"I never should have let you go. I was planning to tell you, when you came back home, that I didn't want you leaving again... But I never got the chance." That was when he had died, and the letter stopped coming. Her tone drifts to that quiet level, barely audible but for the two of them.

"...I want to forgive you, but I don't think I can yet."

It takes a moment before he can speak.

"You don't have to forgive me. None of this is to try and make that happen. I did this. There's no getting around it, I did this to us." He shakes his head. "I want you to be happy. I've always wanted that. So if you can find it without me, that's okay." Though his voice cracks like it isn't. "You don't need my blessing to live your life, to move on in whatever way you need to, but if you were waiting for it, it's yours."

It's the one thing he can give her, isn't it? As a dead man and as her former husband.

"But I want you to know, I did love you. With all I am, mi amor. And for the past ten years, before I died, before I got sick, I've wished for nothing but to be home again. You wouldn't have had to ask. I would've told you myself that I never wanted to leave. It's too late but I want you to know, no matter what, you were never less in my heart. So please don't think you were."

She never will be. Even hollow, he's sure, she was what made the lack hurt so much. Her and another. Those thoughts together are the only things that let him push through his next sentence.

"And I'm... willing to... reconsider things with Coco."

But not without the world tearing at him. Not without bringing his breath to shudder and catch.

It's one thing to apologize for the heartache that he caused her. That much, she would expect from any man. But as always, he takes it a step further, reading into her heart the way that so few have ever been able to.

I want you to know, no matter what, you were never less in my heart. It's disarming, the way she feels like an open book to him, when he speaks to doubts and fears that she didn't know she'd given voice to. Somewhere in the past ten years, in her search for an answer to why he had disappeared, she'd started to believe that maybe there was something lacking in her. Maybe he simply didn't feel the same anymore.

To hear him say otherwise brings more tears to her eyes, and this time she's forced to take a shaky inhale and a slow exhale to keep them at bay. She rests her head back against the cushions, just that little bit of distance closer to him... as he says he's willing to reconsider the one thing he's been adamant about since she first saw him at the start of the year.

It's funny how a month ago, she would have heard him out. She likely would have agreed to whatever he's about to say--so long as it meant he would stay out of Coco's life. But now she meets those words with an uncertain silence, and then in the moments after that silence: "You don't have to. I meant what I said."

It's not so much that he's reading her. It's just that he knows his own fears. All time and circumstance has peeled everything back and at the root and core of it, he wants to be remembered for more than the walkaway she thought him as. He doesn't want all he is to be a cause of pain.

And he was. All those fears, he has them because they became truth. And he knows, even if he makes a dent in that wall now, it's not ever going to go away. The damage is done. So, while he appreciates she's keeping her bargain, he doesn't imagine it will be hard to have her place it down.

"And I mean what I'm saying," He says in turn. He just needs to actually say it. Even just thinking of it, it's already going to sound like he's in tears, voice wavering. But he can't help it.

"I'd never thought myself one of the dangerous undead. I thought I was safe. Even if you were angry, I was sure we could arrange something. Parents do it all the time, they have split custody, they have visits..." Something. Even just a haunting of Santa Cecelia, watching his girl grow up from the edge of a graveyard.

"But I was wrong."

His head goes back. He struggles for breath. But this... this is the right thing. They fixed him now, but what if that thing came back? What if there were more? What if they came to Mexico or something else got there? And then, with her there...

"She's my little girl. I'm not ready to say goodbye. But if I can't figure something out then... I'll leave you both be, like you wanted... I promise."

And then with those words, it feels like something breaks. Like a few things break. He pushes forward, leaning to put his face in hands, muffling the sobs now as he tries to stop them. She doesn't need his fear. She doesn't need his grief. This is about Coco.

He says he'll leave them both be, like she wanted, and there's a dread that grips her all over again. After everything they've gone through to come this far, now he concedes that to her?

"Héctor, do not promise me that. I don't want you to leave. You don't want it. Coco doesn't want it. No one wants you to walk away from this." What this is, she doesn't know... But she wants to give it a try. It's worth that much, to see if they can still make something out of this mess. But it won't be worth anything if he leaves now.

"We can find other ways to keep you safe. You are not the dangerous one. And this wouldn't have happened at all if--" Her voice catches a little, her tone drips quieter. "If I hadn't left you to fend for yourself."

Edited 2019-03-10 06:38 (UTC)

He bites back a noise, hearing all she says then. Is he weak, to want to cave to that now? She doesn't even doubt that the idea is killing him. It's a struggle to get a hold on himself right now, especially hearing that, but he's got to. He has no choice because he can't simply let her take the blame like that.

"You- You're not my babysitter, Imelda," He says it as gently as he can manage, breath still uneven but he manages to nearly steady his voice. "You were my wife. Even if you weren't angry, it's not on you to mind all I do." They'd been married. He could've asked her any time about magic and learning it-- even if, at the time, such things were forbidden to outsiders Imelda would've allowed him it he's sure. He'd gotten that canon for the undead but see how good that had turned out. Half the stuff designed to kill these things could've killed him too.

"Do you think you could've just set it all aside? Run a watch on me my every functioning hour and not resent it? That's not reasonable." He hadn't even considered it an option. He wouldn't have expected it for a moment. "I was looking for things myself but I just don't have that kind of power. Not yet at least."

Could she have set up a watch without resenting him for it? ...No, probably not. But whether she resented it or not didn't matter in the long run. That watch could have kept him safe. If she had to endure something that she didn't like... it wouldn't have been the first time. She's not even sure that it would be the last.

But he might have been safe.

His words don't seem to move her the way that he likely wants them to--but she's not in a position to let him see her expression. Another benefit of talking this way.

The 'not yet' does manage to jar her thoughts enough to at least set the matter aside. "...What are you planning?"

He didn't expect that of all things to catch her attention. Especially considering it seems obvious to him.

"...Anything? Everything." But that doesn't seem to really illuminate. He sighs, saying so softly, "I just wanted to go home." And if he couldn't see his bones he'd think those words were carved in there, somewhere on the inside of his ribs, where his absent heart should be. It's still there. It's going to be there even as he tries to do what's right for Coco.

"I'm not here for Nightfall. I'm here because... they offered me a way out of a- a bad spot. They hadn't seen my blight before. You know how most undead kill their way along. But I was here without that. I guess that seemed promising. It's appealing to them, you know? This cure blight idea." Even as worn as he is, it's still obvious in his voice how much he doesn't think that's going to work. "They wanted to study me. I said yes, figured I could learn something here that I could use to get me home since the normal ways weren't working." But now... now he doesn't know. "I don't have a plan now."

There was no plan without his family. He'd try to stay alive for Peter, he supposed. At least make sure the boy could handle things after he was gone.

That isn't what she thought he meant. It seems silly in hindsight, but hearing those words, and his talk of not having power... She had worried for just half a moment over what he might get himself into.

But no, it's still the same thing that he's always claimed to want: A way home. Except now his hopes have been dashed, and it's... painful to hear him like that.

There's a silence that comes after his words, and she lets it linger in the air. Nightfall is... everything right now. It's all that she can think about at times--that and how much she wants to protect her family. It's all rolled into one giant knot that she would do anything to unravel... but even with all of that hanging over her, she can't help but agree with him in part.

He doesn't belong here. He belongs at home, where he should have been all along. Keeping him in a place like this seems cruel, but if it's for the sake of curing blight, then... maybe that's what she should be working on, too. That would help tackle Nightfall. That would get him home faster.

"You could let me help you," she offers, in lieu of a plan. The words are spoken softly, but once they're out, it feels easier to keep pushing forward.

"I don't know how to cure blight, but I do know something about spirits and the dead. If we could undo what happened to you, and bring you into the living world fully, rather than keeping one foot in each... The Academy would have their cure. And you would be able to go home--no strings attached."

He wonders what she's thinking in the silence. What must her face look like now? He can't even guess anymore and that hurts. So much time, so many things thrown out of place. Is she angry? Sad? Relieved? He doesn't know.

He couldn't have imagined what she gives. He blinks, sorrow abating just a moment to make room for surprise and confusion. Help? Help how?

She details it. He turns in his seat. His eyes go wider and his breath pulls in, simply stopping that way.

You would be able to go home--no strings attached.

"Wait." His hand goes up to this head. He has to process this. "Wait, wait, hang on, wait." It sounds... beautiful. But--

"Imelda, how would we do that? Bringing back the dead isn't that easy, you and I both know that. I've met other kinds of dead people and there's always some sort of catch. Even when they don't kill. Fully alive is just... that's not something I think about anymore? Let alone ask for. Maybe years ago, but... I'm just not sure. Especially since, well, I'm not dead because I'm blighted, I'm blighted because I'm dead. I'm not sure that curing this wouldn't just make me properly dead forever." If he wanted to ship back his ashes home he could've done that.

"Plus, you're not that kind of Necromancer. I'm pretty sure I've fought with your family's dumb friends about this. Or it was some other mage? I don't know I just remember him saying I was some stupid... god, I don't even know the word he used for saying I had no magic, it kind of just sounded like he sneezed."

Edited 2019-03-29 07:16 (UTC)

She doesn't know why, but out of everything else that he mentioned, the reminder of how he used to defend her... It makes her smile a little. "I may not be that kinda of necromancer, but I know my way around the dead." Enough that she at least feels like she knows where to start, if nothing else.

"It's not as simple as knowing what this blight does and doesn't do for you. Someone... something? Brought you back from simply being dead. Souls don't find their own way back into their bodies, nor do they have the power to affix themselves there. If nothing else, we should find out the limits to what they did. How long it'll last. And if it can be pushed further." If they can make it so whatever brought him back mimicked true life, instead of just the illusion of it... That would be ideal. He could be alive again in all the ways that mattered.

She exhales a sigh, having to refocus on the issue at hand before she gets too far ahead of herself. "As you are right now... I can't let you go home, even if I wanted to. I can't let Coco see you like this. It would break her heart all over again to know what happened to you."

That made two of them now, didn't? She had her experience around, and he had his. But it was that big gap in the middle and he couldn't help fear that gap in knowledge might just be a pit.

But then, without doing anything, that just leaves him where he is doesn't it? That sinking feeling inside him, his daughter still so far away. Some part of him still wants to say to hell with it all, he wants to go. But he's not safe. He's not safe for her.

His hands rise up to cover his face. He takes a few steadying breaths. Just so he doesn't crack again or something. Dios, he just wants to hold his daughter...

Hands dropping, he hugs his arms to his ribs. He guesses he should tell her. At least a little.

"I'm not the only one like this. There's a bunch of us, in the outlands. We travel together, take in our own. It's safer that way. We've spent a lot of time trying to work out why us but we've never really found anything in particular that bound us together except for the fact that we all wound up in the outlands somehow at the end. Some of us... last longer than others. We don't know what makes that happen either, but we can usually tell when someone's new, when we're at the end of the line, when we're just nearing it..."

When someone's new, when we're at the end of the line, when we're just nearing it...

There is a limit, as she suspected, and something in his tone tells her that she's not going to like hearing more. But she closes her eyes, willing herself to listen... and to ask the only question that seems important right now.

"Where are you in all of that?"

He sits silent a long moment. He's got the urge to draw up his knees to his chest.

"I'm not new anymore. Like I said, we'll all different so I'm not entirely sure the timeline on all of this. It could be a while or not."

He doesn't want her to worry. He doesn't want to go into all the details of this even knowing he must, even knowing he started to for the very purpose of giving her more to work with.

"I'm a little dusty and... kind of brittle..."

He closes his eyes, letting himself just feel.

"My bones are pretty loose..."

Forcing himself to, rather.

"But my markings aren't too faded. They're still pretty bright. I can go farther. I can push this. I'm okay. There's still time."

Or he'll convince himself that much. He needs that.

"I'm thinking... I'm hoping... maybe a few more years? No less than... than two. But I'm sure I can do more."

He doesn't sound convinced.

No less than two. Put like that, it hits harder than she thought it might. That's hardly any time at all--even less when she considers that preparation will still need to be made for Nightfall. There's only so many hours in a day. But she's already determined to make the best of them.

"We'll figure something out. If two years is what we have to work with, then we'll find something before two years is up. If it's more, then that's just better for us." And if it's less... She'll have to make plans for that, too.

"In the meantime, we can work on your magical endurance. That could buy you more time... since I doubt anyone wandering in the Outlands has had a proper magical training." Otherwise, they probably would have been able to find their way back out sooner.

As far as he can tell, it doesn't throw her. He's not sure that's too surprising. She always seemed so sure, no matter the circumstances. Whether it does actually bother her, he doesn't ask.

She doesn't consider the what if. He wants to ask for some other means to see his girl at the end, in a way that won't endanger. He holds back on that too.

"Edurance?" He repeats. "Like what?" Pain endurance? He thinks he's done that. "If you mean how long I can stay awake or turn non-skeletal, I've been working on that. The longer I stay up the longer I stay down after. And the longer I try to look like that the worse it, ah, looks." But she's not wrong about the lack of training out there.

"I mean how long you can sustain your magic--so yes, how long you can sustain looking like a flesh and blood person. And perhaps, how long you can stay awake and how long you're out afterwards. If those draw from the same power, then theoretically, you could train yourself to maintain that form longer and recover faster." It's not a sure thing, but she suspects that it might be. Running himself ragged isn't quite the same as actively training those skills, just like making a mad dash isn't the same as training for a marathon.

Lost through time and that's all I need, so much love, then one day buried

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