'cause the bad's been slowly getting worse
and this fast lane living, it's a curse
It will be his greatest shame, for a long time, that the first trip he makes after Longnight is not through the portal. Is not into the Hollowed Grounds. Is not to take care of Clemente. There had been so much to deal with, so much that happened through Longnight, and this was the most distant, the most painful, the one Nate had to block out the most. Things had stabilized, in the strangest way, but it meant he had no other traumas to distract himself with, no choice but to face this.
Finding where Clem had been taken was the first, hardest task. Maybe, if he wasn’t alone, he would have lost less time hovering in the temple, a wordless ghost. If he’d been here, could he have done something? Maybe... maybe. The Safehouse is his next thought, his next thought that matters. A single, barely finished thought of, oh, Rex runs through his mind, but no, no. The safehouse is most likely.
There’s no one else around, which is a small mercy. It gives Nate a moment alone, to try and hold himself together, while he gathers the young ascendeds body. Too light, in his arms. Too small, too still.
The pain in his chest shouldn't feel so familiar. Shouldn't be so heavy, when the body in his arms isn’t. He's carried it before, though never so literally, that was with the crutch of substances to abuse, at the price of an entire year lost to a swirling, dizzying nothing. It might not do anything for him, but there's still a flask, hidden away in his jacket pocket, as much an anchor as it is a representation of his failure.
He takes some time finding a spot, hidden, quiet, and he spends a few breaths saying things he would otherwise never get to. Things he would never get to say again. Things he should have had time to say. Nate falls quiet sooner than he thinks, but he can’t bring himself to light the body before him, and keeps still, sat before it, flask now in his hand and his eye unfocused, brimming with tears.
Finding where Clem had been taken was the first, hardest task. Maybe, if he wasn’t alone, he would have lost less time hovering in the temple, a wordless ghost. If he’d been here, could he have done something? Maybe... maybe. The Safehouse is his next thought, his next thought that matters. A single, barely finished thought of, oh, Rex runs through his mind, but no, no. The safehouse is most likely.
There’s no one else around, which is a small mercy. It gives Nate a moment alone, to try and hold himself together, while he gathers the young ascendeds body. Too light, in his arms. Too small, too still.
The pain in his chest shouldn't feel so familiar. Shouldn't be so heavy, when the body in his arms isn’t. He's carried it before, though never so literally, that was with the crutch of substances to abuse, at the price of an entire year lost to a swirling, dizzying nothing. It might not do anything for him, but there's still a flask, hidden away in his jacket pocket, as much an anchor as it is a representation of his failure.
He takes some time finding a spot, hidden, quiet, and he spends a few breaths saying things he would otherwise never get to. Things he would never get to say again. Things he should have had time to say. Nate falls quiet sooner than he thinks, but he can’t bring himself to light the body before him, and keeps still, sat before it, flask now in his hand and his eye unfocused, brimming with tears.
better tell me what's your life worth
i think it's time for a change, 'cause the drugs don't work
