Listen, the House stuff was more my fault than it was yours, and I can be a big boy about rejection. That's the whole conversation, right? I forgive you, let's move on.
[ That's— there's so much wrong and missing about it that it stuns him stupid and silent for a second. He doesn't even know where to start. ]
Yeah, no, I can't do this over just words. Would you prefer to listen to me and message back, or to meet?
[ There's only firm determination in his tone, the incredulity of watching the mess of their weeks together condensed into I forgive you, let's move on enough to flush out all the feeling that's kept him from finding a way to bridge the gap and leaving behind a different space, room enough for a shining moment of straightforward pragmatism.
[ He gets frustrated by his own limitations a lot, even if sometimes it feels safer to have his body language and facial expressions, those fucking traitors, hidden away. ] I'm out by the water.
[ By the pond, not far from Jim's. Just considering the space, what he might build there, infrastructure thoughts that had prompted him to message Strange in the first place. ]
[ It's now or never. He doesn't need to think it to know it, just like he didn't need telling where John was for the portal to open just six feet away from where he stands. Stephen steps out, clean and groomed as he ever is, the exhaustion all in the eyes, the slightly gaunt pallor of his face.
He's sleeping sporadically at best. Warm under arms and safe against bodies and waking in cold sweats from dreams where it never ended, where it hasn't happened yet, where new facets of it breach out like light from a prism and he can't help but remember that where he comes from dreams are windows into other lives.
Dread floods in immediately. But he closes the portal at his back so he can't run away, and he turns to find John, gaze sharp and unflinching, expression bordering on disbelief. ]
[ A deep and steadying breath. Thoughts clicking into place, lining up his argument. He has to do it like this. Itemized, clear, an outpouring. They can make a conversation of it afterward. ]
It is not more your fault than mine that I murdered House and invaded your home. You made a mistake. That doesn't absolve you of responsibility, but pursuing your curiosity without anticipating that the consequences might manifest on this scale doesn't make you the villain of the story, nor does it make the specific actions I chose to take while in that state any more your fault than Murphy's or mine. You were a catalyst, that's all. Turns out it was a colossal fuck-up rather than a small, private experiment, but you didn't mean for any of it to happen any more than any of us did. If it wasn't you, there's no saying it wouldn't have been something else. Murphy could have gone anywhere else, missed you entirely. If I hadn't gone into the woods that day, it could've been Jim or House or anyone who ended up in my shoes, and things might've been different.
You can't forgive me for it by putting it onto your own plate like I wasn't even there. I was. I was conscious, I made decisions. I used your trust and your need and your grief intentionally to my own benefit. I wouldn't have done that in my right mind, like you wouldn't have tested your mark if you'd known what might have happened. But we didn't have the benefit of those circumstances.
[ He can't stop here, doesn't pause, eyes daring John to interrupt him. ]
And I had just finished murdering and torturing you. I wasn't going to stay there to let you comfort me, or find comfort in me.
[ John waits a beat more after that, a silent passive-aggressive you done? of a pause. ]
You seem to think my forgiveness is predicated on my culpability, Strange; it's not.
[ He's decided to skip over that last part because despite being blasé about the whole thing he still has so many deeply complicated feelings there. It still feels raw. John shoves his hands in his pockets, wandering a little closer. Daring a glance to see if Stephen will flinch from him, to take measure of how much has actually changed. ]
Listen, it's important to me, politically, that it falls on me rather than being another story of the Void-Touched ignoring cultural norms. And I'd prefer the assumption that I did it with intention rather than incompetence. So don't go spreading that around, thanks.
[ Maybe he should be more relieved, but he's not. Stubborn-shouldered and certain: this is just what being god is, taking responsibility for everything that's ever happened and ever will happen. Close up it's clear he's been sleeping great; he can't hold a tan but some time in the tropics has him energized. ]
[ He doesn't flinch. Watches John approach, ground held and jaw tight, meeting his gaze with the outline of a frown as he tries to work out what any of that means.
The public line is all well and good. If John wants to be the villain of the piece instead of the human being who made an error of judgement, that's his prerogative - Stephen's surrendered his own right to steal it from him. But it doesn't answer to John's feelings on the matter. ]
I got that message when you announced as much to the town at large. [ He hadn't known what to do with it then, and he doesn't know how to navigate it now. There's a thank you in there somewhere, maybe a hint of it in a hesitance in his tone, but he's too focused on John's silence on the bulk of his point to find it. ] I don't expect you to be angry with me. But you can't claim my culpability as yours in the process. Tell me you know that and I'll let it go.
[ Suddenly aggressive, just as much a parry as anything they did with real swords. He pokes a finger emphatically into Stephen's chest. ]
You didn't — you had something in your head fucking with your values. Don't get me wrong, very weak to the whole Stick with me, John stuff, but it wasn't you. They weren't choices you would have made because you didn't have choices. It wasn't even — a fuck up, you just got got, by something bigger and scarier than either of us.
[ Big, scary things come for him all the time. There's always a way out. He should've stayed back and accepted support instead of running off into the woods like a frightened child the moment he started to feel something. Should've left once he knew something was wrong instead of walking into the trap that'd been set for him on the assumption that he, the great sorcerer Stephen Strange, would be fine. It took him three days to lose the fight for his mind - he should've reached out for some help instead of deciding he could handle it, was somehow the only one who could handle it, refusing to put anyone other than himself at risk.
Absolution isn't an option. He was too busy protecting himself and his pride to do his fucking job. ]
I shouldn't have let that happen to me. I had so many opportunities for that to not happen to me, and I took none of them. Too smug, too scared, too stupid. I as good as handed myself over. And what happened? Horror happened. Worse could have if it hadn't ended, if Wanda hadn't found me. I was ready to tear that town apart piece by piece to find them, I'd have done it, I'd have killed anyone in my way -
[ His jaw clamps shut, head turning abruptly to the side, nostrils flaring and muscles leaping with a grimace as he drags it back in, holds it back down.
His wake up call cost people their lives. Their trust in him. His trust in himself. ]
[ John's hand is still touching his chest slightly, more fingers now. At this sudden halt, it slides up to Stephen's shoulder and squeezes there, comforting in counterpoint to the flatness of his next words. ]
Nah. That's just ego talking. Like you're so special, you could have slipped the noose if you were — what. Humble, like Alicent? Smart like Eddie? Fearless like Xue Yang?
[ His tone turns gentle. ]
I know it's scary to be fallible. Easier to hate yourself for not being enough than admit that sometimes nothing is enough.
[ John finishes talking and Stephen shrugs his held shoulder. Not with enough ferocity to really dislodge him, but enough to make the point that his words aren't welcome. Aren't comfort. Aren't wholly true, for all that they also are. ]
I'll hear you when you do.
[ It's more or less what he'd told John to start with, wrapped up in a different package. John hadn't wanted to hear it then. Stephen doesn't want to hear it now. ]
[ John takes his hand back. Tucks it away in his pockets again, looks down at the dirt. ]
Ha.
[ No laughter in it. He shakes his head. ]
I know when I'm beat, you got to see that first hand.
It's different. It is. I first met Murphy in the castle, in her castle, last August, And I asked him which one of them was in the pilot seat, him or the alien that's spored throughout his brain. He never forgave me for knowing about it. Saw in me an arrogance that prioritized my curiosity over his comfort. And hey, my impulse control got lowered and I pretty much immediately proved him right. Should I write that off as something I couldn't help? A tragic mistake? What about the next time it happens?
[ He scrubs a hand over his face, aware he's talking too much but his heart hurts and it feels safer to keep passing this argument back and forth. ]
But sure. If it was all your fault, if you're to blame for everything you wrought, are you sorry?
[ John relents. Relents halfway, anyway, relents into trying to make his own case for blame, and Stephen won't rob him of it. He wants it just as badly as Stephen does - they need it, if they're ever going to keep themselves in check. He knows that. If there isn't guilt, isn't blame, isn't regret and acknowledgement of mistake and fundamental flaw, how the fuck else are they supposed to be held accountable?
There's nobody who can but themselves, not really. ]
It's not different, John.
[ Mild, but no longer blunt. No longer an accusation. Just a tired statement of fact at both of their expense. ]
Yes. Of course. Sorry enough that the word doesn't feel like it means anything. [ What good can sorry do? Then his gaze sharpens as he realises that he somehow, still, hasn't actually said it to the man who stands in front of him now. And in spite of what he's literally just said, the words that pass his lips come out earnest, almost light with his shock at his own oversight. ] —I'm sorry.
Meeting his eyes, staring back into them, Stephen feels the trap clicked closed at the same moment the back wall falls open, lets him out into somewhere new.
There's nothing there to fight. He doesn't doubt him for a second. His nod is a tiny surrender to immutable and direct truth, expression folding, gone soft at its edges. ]
[ The tone is flat enough that it very much disputes the claim that everything is absolutely settled and they definitely have no further topics left to discuss. But, they've also just waded through some particularly sticky territory. And it's not as though another significant topic of the day didn't emerge under some equally significant duress. ]
Well, not strictly just portals. I've been thinking a lot about how we're building a little community out here, and how important it is to be able to support ourselves.
[ John immediately launches into his huge ambitious dreams: he longs to have an equivalent of the boarding house out here, and he's also been thinking about the advantage in having a portal directly to the peaks, something that would allow the out-of-towners quick access to valuable resources so they can trade with the Rubeans, maintain a sense of community, make it clear both groups have need of each other. He has obviously thought a lot about both how much infrastructure to set up before building rooms to encourage more people here, and spent quite a bit of time in the jungle over the past month, looking for opportunities. He's clearly interested in collaborating, and just as clearly very good at compartmentalising any feelings he may or may not have to focus on "work". ]
[ Stephen listens, nods along, smiles bemused smiles at the depth of John's consideration and smothers others that are less teasing than fond. There are dual sentiments at play in him as his plans unfold: respect for that tenacity, the practicality, the readiness to take reins and create something lasting for people who would rather not rely on a town that doesn't trust them or keep them safe - and discomfort at the need for them. At the inevitability they imply of a prolonged stay. Of a growing community.
But it is what's happening. For all that he stands by something he said when he wasn't quite himself, there's time between now and finding their way out.
So by the time the conversation's rounded out, Stephen's penned himself into the plan as a glad contractor, traced out the promise of the portals and the usefulness of a fixed doorway, the possibility of multiple locations reached through one frame. It also, finally, leads him to ask this: ]
Have you come across my new home away from home, yet?
[ The community's barely started and you already have holidaymakers, John. It's all downhill from here. ]
Edited (once again did not read before hitting go) 2024-02-10 08:01 (UTC)
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Listen, the House stuff was more my fault than it was yours, and I can be a big boy about rejection. That's the whole conversation, right? I forgive you, let's move on.
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Yeah, no, I can't do this over just words. Would you prefer to listen to me and message back, or to meet?
[ There's only firm determination in his tone, the incredulity of watching the mess of their weeks together condensed into I forgive you, let's move on enough to flush out all the feeling that's kept him from finding a way to bridge the gap and leaving behind a different space, room enough for a shining moment of straightforward pragmatism.
Best use it. ]
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[ He gets frustrated by his own limitations a lot, even if sometimes it feels safer to have his body language and facial expressions, those fucking traitors, hidden away. ]
I'm out by the water.
[ By the pond, not far from Jim's. Just considering the space, what he might build there, infrastructure thoughts that had prompted him to message Strange in the first place. ]
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He's sleeping sporadically at best. Warm under arms and safe against bodies and waking in cold sweats from dreams where it never ended, where it hasn't happened yet, where new facets of it breach out like light from a prism and he can't help but remember that where he comes from dreams are windows into other lives.
Dread floods in immediately. But he closes the portal at his back so he can't run away, and he turns to find John, gaze sharp and unflinching, expression bordering on disbelief. ]
Is that really the summary of your thoughts?
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Do you think I should have more to say?
[ He carefully doesn't fold his arms, stays open and easy. ]
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You believe it. Everything you just said. That's what you think.
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[ Sometimes Stephen really is too much like House. John waits patiently to be told he's an idiot. ]
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It is not more your fault than mine that I murdered House and invaded your home. You made a mistake. That doesn't absolve you of responsibility, but pursuing your curiosity without anticipating that the consequences might manifest on this scale doesn't make you the villain of the story, nor does it make the specific actions I chose to take while in that state any more your fault than Murphy's or mine. You were a catalyst, that's all. Turns out it was a colossal fuck-up rather than a small, private experiment, but you didn't mean for any of it to happen any more than any of us did. If it wasn't you, there's no saying it wouldn't have been something else. Murphy could have gone anywhere else, missed you entirely. If I hadn't gone into the woods that day, it could've been Jim or House or anyone who ended up in my shoes, and things might've been different.
You can't forgive me for it by putting it onto your own plate like I wasn't even there. I was. I was conscious, I made decisions. I used your trust and your need and your grief intentionally to my own benefit. I wouldn't have done that in my right mind, like you wouldn't have tested your mark if you'd known what might have happened. But we didn't have the benefit of those circumstances.
[ He can't stop here, doesn't pause, eyes daring John to interrupt him. ]
And I had just finished murdering and torturing you. I wasn't going to stay there to let you comfort me, or find comfort in me.
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You seem to think my forgiveness is predicated on my culpability, Strange; it's not.
[ He's decided to skip over that last part because despite being blasé about the whole thing he still has so many deeply complicated feelings there. It still feels raw. John shoves his hands in his pockets, wandering a little closer. Daring a glance to see if Stephen will flinch from him, to take measure of how much has actually changed. ]
Listen, it's important to me, politically, that it falls on me rather than being another story of the Void-Touched ignoring cultural norms. And I'd prefer the assumption that I did it with intention rather than incompetence. So don't go spreading that around, thanks.
[ Maybe he should be more relieved, but he's not. Stubborn-shouldered and certain: this is just what being god is, taking responsibility for everything that's ever happened and ever will happen. Close up it's clear he's been sleeping great; he can't hold a tan but some time in the tropics has him energized. ]
I'm still not pissed off at you. End of.
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The public line is all well and good. If John wants to be the villain of the piece instead of the human being who made an error of judgement, that's his prerogative - Stephen's surrendered his own right to steal it from him. But it doesn't answer to John's feelings on the matter. ]
I got that message when you announced as much to the town at large. [ He hadn't known what to do with it then, and he doesn't know how to navigate it now. There's a thank you in there somewhere, maybe a hint of it in a hesitance in his tone, but he's too focused on John's silence on the bulk of his point to find it. ] I don't expect you to be angry with me. But you can't claim my culpability as yours in the process. Tell me you know that and I'll let it go.
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[ Suddenly aggressive, just as much a parry as anything they did with real swords. He pokes a finger emphatically into Stephen's chest. ]
You didn't — you had something in your head fucking with your values. Don't get me wrong, very weak to the whole Stick with me, John stuff, but it wasn't you. They weren't choices you would have made because you didn't have choices. It wasn't even — a fuck up, you just got got, by something bigger and scarier than either of us.
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[ Big, scary things come for him all the time. There's always a way out. He should've stayed back and accepted support instead of running off into the woods like a frightened child the moment he started to feel something. Should've left once he knew something was wrong instead of walking into the trap that'd been set for him on the assumption that he, the great sorcerer Stephen Strange, would be fine. It took him three days to lose the fight for his mind - he should've reached out for some help instead of deciding he could handle it, was somehow the only one who could handle it, refusing to put anyone other than himself at risk.
Absolution isn't an option. He was too busy protecting himself and his pride to do his fucking job. ]
I shouldn't have let that happen to me. I had so many opportunities for that to not happen to me, and I took none of them. Too smug, too scared, too stupid. I as good as handed myself over. And what happened? Horror happened. Worse could have if it hadn't ended, if Wanda hadn't found me. I was ready to tear that town apart piece by piece to find them, I'd have done it, I'd have killed anyone in my way -
[ His jaw clamps shut, head turning abruptly to the side, nostrils flaring and muscles leaping with a grimace as he drags it back in, holds it back down.
His wake up call cost people their lives. Their trust in him. His trust in himself. ]
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Nah. That's just ego talking. Like you're so special, you could have slipped the noose if you were — what. Humble, like Alicent? Smart like Eddie? Fearless like Xue Yang?
[ His tone turns gentle. ]
I know it's scary to be fallible. Easier to hate yourself for not being enough than admit that sometimes nothing is enough.
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I'll hear you when you do.
[ It's more or less what he'd told John to start with, wrapped up in a different package. John hadn't wanted to hear it then. Stephen doesn't want to hear it now. ]
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Ha.
[ No laughter in it. He shakes his head. ]
I know when I'm beat, you got to see that first hand.
It's different. It is. I first met Murphy in the castle, in her castle, last August, And I asked him which one of them was in the pilot seat, him or the alien that's spored throughout his brain. He never forgave me for knowing about it. Saw in me an arrogance that prioritized my curiosity over his comfort. And hey, my impulse control got lowered and I pretty much immediately proved him right. Should I write that off as something I couldn't help? A tragic mistake? What about the next time it happens?
[ He scrubs a hand over his face, aware he's talking too much but his heart hurts and it feels safer to keep passing this argument back and forth. ]
But sure. If it was all your fault, if you're to blame for everything you wrought, are you sorry?
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There's nobody who can but themselves, not really. ]
It's not different, John.
[ Mild, but no longer blunt. No longer an accusation. Just a tired statement of fact at both of their expense. ]
Yes. Of course. Sorry enough that the word doesn't feel like it means anything. [ What good can sorry do? Then his gaze sharpens as he realises that he somehow, still, hasn't actually said it to the man who stands in front of him now. And in spite of what he's literally just said, the words that pass his lips come out earnest, almost light with his shock at his own oversight. ] —I'm sorry.
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I forgive you.
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Meeting his eyes, staring back into them, Stephen feels the trap clicked closed at the same moment the back wall falls open, lets him out into somewhere new.
There's nothing there to fight. He doesn't doubt him for a second. His nod is a tiny surrender to immutable and direct truth, expression folding, gone soft at its edges. ]
Thank you.
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Great. Does that mean we can talk about portals now?
[ Since everything is absolutely settled and they definitely have no further topics left to discuss. ]
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If you want to.
[ The tone is flat enough that it very much disputes the claim that everything is absolutely settled and they definitely have no further topics left to discuss. But, they've also just waded through some particularly sticky territory. And it's not as though another significant topic of the day didn't emerge under some equally significant duress. ]
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[ John immediately launches into his huge ambitious dreams: he longs to have an equivalent of the boarding house out here, and he's also been thinking about the advantage in having a portal directly to the peaks, something that would allow the out-of-towners quick access to valuable resources so they can trade with the Rubeans, maintain a sense of community, make it clear both groups have need of each other. He has obviously thought a lot about both how much infrastructure to set up before building rooms to encourage more people here, and spent quite a bit of time in the jungle over the past month, looking for opportunities. He's clearly interested in collaborating, and just as clearly very good at compartmentalising any feelings he may or may not have to focus on "work". ]
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But it is what's happening. For all that he stands by something he said when he wasn't quite himself, there's time between now and finding their way out.
So by the time the conversation's rounded out, Stephen's penned himself into the plan as a glad contractor, traced out the promise of the portals and the usefulness of a fixed doorway, the possibility of multiple locations reached through one frame. It also, finally, leads him to ask this: ]
Have you come across my new home away from home, yet?
[ The community's barely started and you already have holidaymakers, John. It's all downhill from here. ]
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[ Surprised out of his musings to eye Stephen. That's a no: Stephen would probably know if John had stumbled on the treehouse. ]
I sort of thought that sabbatical was just bullshit.
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