readytosee | CLOSED RP POST

Everything should be fine, now. Shouldn't it? They're both alive. Tom's health is back. Things are just as they were.

Except for...the fact that they aren't. They had come back to their joint rooms. Tom had curled up oh so carefully in Darling's arms, ignoring the state of anything else, saving the scene in his own bedroom for the morning.

But they both now know things they didn't before. About each other. About themselves.

The artist tries to be back to normal anyway, slipping out of bed come morning and opening the door to his bedroom once more, latching it open. The shadows that still pool on the ground flee under a single step, but the damage is done.

It doesn't really even feel like his room anymore. The jagged mouth of the broken television set threatens at any moment to devour him whole if it no longer likes what he's doing.

He pulls the tape from the VCR, still marked 'To Kulta' in careful handwriting that looks too much like someone else's, and he rips the tape out of the cassette, haphazardly gathering it around his hand.

Calm as anything, he tosses it into a nearby ice bucket, lights a cigarette, and flings the match into the film.

He stands over it, eyes lit only by the flames as he watches his own tiny image die ad nauseum.

It's what he/it deserves.

Darling had held Tom until the other man had drifted off, but was too rattled to try and rest, himself. At some point, he slipped away to start clearing papers from his walls, embarrassed that Tom had seen his panicked ramblings like that. He doesn't throw them away, yet, instead smoothing them out and stacking them on his desk to be sorted later. Maybe there's something of use still there.

Eventually he falls back into bed, tucking up against Tom's chest, burrowing into his arms and falling into an exhausted sleep.

He stirs only a little when Tom leaves, making a soft noise of protest but allowing it. The scientist dozes a little longer before dragging himself awake, scrubbing his hands over his face and noting a twinge in his shoulder. Right -- he was shot. He'll ask Tom to stitch it, if he's up to it.

Throwing a loose tee over his head, he pads over to where Tom's last the door open, watching him watch the flames die out. "Am I allowed to know?" he asks quietly, finally realizing how many secrets there were between them.

"Hey, you," Tom tries to call - but it isn't as bright as he would like, and his smile is strained. The truth here is painful, but now so is the lie.

He sidles up to Darling's uninjured side, leaning against him in an affectionate manner. Trying to make the whole thing feel less...cold.

"...I don't know. But it's not...it didn't come out right. It got twisted. Turned into something I wasn't trying to make."

He's still talking about the tape, right?

"You just...I couldn't risk you seeing that. For your sake. Y'know."

"Hey me." The comment even comes with a bit of a laugh, relieved at hearing Tom sound more like his own self. The physical contact help, knowing that he's not freezing anymore.

Maybe they're starting to heal.

"I understand." He almost does. Knowing the sentiment, at least, behind not wanting someone to see unfinished work. Or corrupted work. "It's the same reason why I'm sorry you had to see my room like that."

Maybe.

He clings just a little tighter, even as he takes a long drag from his cigarette.

"You were trying to help me," he murmurs, soft and accented. "And you saw what my room was like when you first got here. It's okay. It's - we're out of that danger."

But he pauses. Breathes deep, as though making sure he still can.

"And I think there are at least a couple of secrets...that I can safely tell you, now. Ones I don't want to keep from you anymore. Because I - I trust you. I want to tell you what I can while it's my choice."

He starts to reach for the cigarette and then pauses in the gesture to clarify -- "Is this tobacco or your mix?" He's not making that mistake again.

"I have some for you, too. Not secrets, maybe, but things I was holding back. Details I made vague on purpose because they cast me in a very harsh light. But it's deserved, and you deserve to know the whole story. Especially after having lived part of it, last night."

"Tobacco. Not launching into orbit until after the broken glass is gone." But he's smiling a little as he passes is over. It's something like normalcy.

Which makes what he has to say... difficult. But he owes it to Darling. He really does.

"I think...we should get comfortable. I'll make coffee. And then you should...let me start. In case it...in case it changes what you have to tell me. Okay?"

"I'll help you clean it," he offers, taking a long drag of the cigarette and hoping it's clear to Tom that he means more than just the glass.

He wants to ask for a drink, but after the pile of empty bottles in the corner of his room, he knows he shouldn't, so he lets the thought go. "Coffee sounds good. And... of course."

A beat, and he turns to nose at Tom's jaw. "I trust you."

"I know. I know you will." Tom knows it's about more than glass. He knows now that Darling will put himself in harm's way, even, if he thinks he can help.

God. Fuck.

Maybe he'll spike their coffees, he thinks, even as he smiles at the nuzzle against his chin.

"I trust you, too," he purrs - before he's suddenly across the room making the coffee.

"And that's why I wanna tell you everything that I CAN tell you. No more secrets, when I can help it." His movements are still stressed, terse, paranoid - but his tone is sincere, accent dragging at his diction.

Casper sighs when Tom is no longer against him, body sagging a little when it's no longer supported by the weight of Tom's. He rotates his bad shoulder with a wince, watching Tom move in such a familiar way. The routine of it is what makes it feel strange, in all this uncertainty.

The sound of Tom's voice, at least, soothes a few ragged edges of Casper's nerves. "I want to, as well. Fill in some blanks. I'm sure you have questions, after what you saw in there."

Right, that shoulder. While the water boils, Tom also pulls together his first aid kit, setting it out on the coffee table. It all feels weird, and this conversation is going to be... difficult, but.

Well, either he's resolute one way or the other...or he probably will be erased in favor of a more willing patsy.

May as well clear the air.

"Probably...not as many questions as you'd like me to have. That's kind of where I wanted to start."

Another flash, and he's pouring hot water into a waiting French press. He looks nervous, the shadows rippling over his form appearing restless (but at least vital).

"I'm -- not sure what that means." There's a weird tension in the room, but that makes sense, really. Yesterday was strange, and there's so much left unsaid.

While Tom fusses with the coffee, Darling mulls over his statement. "Does this have to do with Ahti being in your movie?"

"Yeah, I...I know. It'll make sense."

The coffee is made - and he brings it all over on a little tray, with sugar cubes, cream, and yes, a shot of whiskey each. This conversation is going to need it.

"Sort of. Not quite. Ahti has...history where I'm from. This first thing is...uh... something else."

He sinks onto the couch, indicating for Darling to join him.

"But first I want to say that...that I never - fuck, this is hard-"

Tom's eyes drop to his lap. He's afraid. Of course he's afraid of what Darling will think of this. But if he reacts badly....

Wouldn't that kind of save his life?

"I promise, this has - things are different now. And you know - you know I would never hurt you on purpose, right? Now that we're - working together?"

"He's always been... odd." He thinks back to the tape. Wonders why, then, no one froze when Ahti was on screen in Tom's film. Maybe they did. Maybe he had no idea. Or maybe it was like they suspected, and it was Ahti himself doing it.

Thoughts for later.

"I know you wouldn't," he says, sitting next to Tom and taking his hand. "I don't think you ever would have, even at the start. You could have left me to the Fade Outs. You didn't. And here we are."

"Yeah, man, he's...out there." But he's really not thinking about Ahti. He grasps back as his hand is held. He's shaking, faintly. But it's all nerves this time, because this is something he's been guilty about for some time now.

But... it's in his power to tell Darling this one.

He deserves that much.

"Okay. Okay." He takes a deep breath, raises his eyes to Darling's, tries his best not to shrink back. He has to be very careful how he says this.

"...I... haven't been able to do this in a long time, but... I've actually gotten out before. Back when it wasn't...so difficult, and only for a few days at a time before I had to come back. And I...uh...."

His brows knit.

"...Casper, I know more than your videos, and that wasn't just from what happened yesterday. Because...well, because I - I'm - perkele-"

This is going to be a very difficult conversation.

Edited 2026-01-20 05:24 (UTC)

"You've been to the Oldest House?" he guesses. Not sounding angry at all, just a little confused. Curious, mostly. Maybe even relieved, if Tom knows more about him than he let on; less for Darling to struggle through explaining.

"Tom listen -- " And he touches his partner's chin lightly. "I can tell how hard this is for you. How nervous you are. But I would be the world's biggest hypocrite if I judged you for keeping back information out of concern. It was one of my biggest mistakes, at the Bureau.

I understand."

"...Kinda-"

But then there's a hand at his chin, and that always makes him come up short. His face reddens just a little, and he manages a flimsy smile.

"Thank you. Thank you for understanding, because I, uh...I haven't been sure how to tell you. If I could tell you. But so far so good."

He takes another deep breath, and then, sheepishly:

"...I think you guys still have my surfboard."

His face falls at that, and he exhales slowly. Still not angry, more... resigned. "A few of your items, I think." Thankfully, they haven't gotten into any sort of fondue making here, or that would have left a sour taste in his mouth.

"They stopped looking for you, after the trail went cold. They were more after the surfboard, anyway. But they wouldn't have found you, would they? You were back here."

That look is going to stay with him a while. He itches to grab the shot of whiskey, but doesn't want to break away.

"Yeah. Yeah, exactly." He pauses a moment, searching himself for what on earth to say after that bombshell drops.

"...Kulta, I'm sorry. You gotta know, that hasn't been me for...a long time. I was doing what the Dark Presence wanted. Not what I wanted. You've seen it yourself now, I'm not a king here, not really. I'm a puppet with a mushroom habit.

And it was on one of those outings when, uh...when Alan... happened."

"No I -- Tom -- " One hand reaches up to rest his fingertips against Tom's cheek, the other grabbing both of Tom's hands to grip them. "Please believe me when I say I've seen firsthand what can happen when a person is forced into action by something more powerful than themselves.

Hell, you might even know what I'm talking about. The Invasion? Zachariah wasn't himself after we got back from that Slidescape. I know so many of the decisions he made, the things he did, weren't really him but whatever he brought back with him. So --

I know." His voice drops off at the end. Quietly sad, mouth trembling a little. A thousand memories and regrets floating behind his eyes.

"I do know." Softly - but more sure now that Darling has a hand on his cheek, is reassuring him instead of shunning him.

"I had eyes in that place, back then. That's why I...wanted to lead with this, though. I want you to understand just how much I know, before you rip yourself up more than you have to telling me."

One of his hands finds its way up into Darling's hair, gently cradling his head against his palm.

"We've both got regrets here, y'know? But...I'm glad you know now. And...and when we get out," he tries to add, almost too bright, trembling a little. Still not really okay.

"When we get out, we'll figure out how best for me to try to fix some of what I broke. Make some amends.

Help."

He wants that so badly to be true.

Casper exhales slowly and leans into it, leans into Tom. Sways a little further into his space as though drawn by magnets. "Do you know about him, then? The boy, P6."

He swallows hard like it pains him, blunt nails biting a little into the back of Tom's hand while he works up the courage to say his damned name, like he deserves.

"Dylan."

It's said with a shaking voice, with the deepest kind of regret. "When I said I didn't have a son, but I knew what betraying one felt like... I meant him. I meant Dylan."

"Yeah. I know all about that."

The hand against Darling's head starts stroking a thumb back and forth, a tiny petting motion. Reassurance.

"Or I know what I could know from my perspective. I'd rather get yours. Let you...let you get it out to someone without all the redacted tape over your mouth."

He lets out a choked noise at that, nodding slowly. He moves closer on the sofa to Tom, so their shoulders and hips are touching. Needing to reassure himself that Tom is there and not frozen any longer. Further, he leans his head against Tom's like he's trying to soak in his presence.

"I'll tell you everything, now. The whole... awful story. All my mistakes. I don't want to hide anything from you anymore.

What else can you tell me?"

It's no time at all before his arm is around Darling - not only letting him pull close, but embracing it. Even now, the man feels warm and bright against Tom's chilly shadow.

But the question comes, and the artist has to take a steadying breath. The tape didn't work. So now he has to try to say it to Darling's face.

Maybe it will be fine.

"...The tape. The one I was burning when you came in. It was... I was trying to tell you something, but the image was corrupted. The message was gone.

But I need to tell you, if I can. So here goes. Gonna try."

Another deep breath.

"I think you've figured this out already, but...I am not Thomas Seine, Kulta. I never have been."

Oh, thank god. The embrace is welcomed, and Darling tucks himself firmly against Tom's side.

"Well, no." His brow furrows a little further, and he blinks in confusion at the statement. You're not. It's... a different part of you. Isn't it?"

Goddamn - no.

"Yeah."

Tom's heart feels like it's been plunged into ice water. He wasn't trying to say that. His brows furrow in confusion, his jaw working a little before he tries again.

"I mean - he and I are completely different people. Barbara was never even my wife."

Okay. That's true. Maybe he can come at it from this direction.

Edited 2026-01-23 08:51 (UTC)

It's a little unusual, but not impossible, according to his reading and research. For one alter to live a life completely separate from the other.

"Right, because you and Thomas are your own people. Tom -- what else would it be? He looked exactly like you. His cadence and phrasing were a little different, but --

And when I asked how he knew you, he was vague about it. That you were, he said, a nom de plume. But that he knew you very well.

He helped. In the Cinema, that part of you was present enough to give me the clues, the knife. Is that -- " he breaks off his rambling, feeling frustrated. Feeling like there's a section of the equation that is Tom Zane that isn't fitting quite so neatly as he'd previously thought.

"What am I missing, Tom?"

He can't blame Darling for not quite understanding what he's trying to say. He's hid it for so long now that it's not a surprise that coming clean is difficult. Tom smiles apologetically as Casper tries to talk through it -

Until the force of what is being said hits him, and the shadows ripple over his body.

"...Sorry," he manages. It's quiet. He can't hear himself over his ears ringing.

"Sorry, uh. You said he...he helped you back there? In the Cinema? THOMAS did?"

"When we were in the copy of my office, he left me a message. It had to have been him, I'd seen his handwriting in the dream. It's -- like yours but not quite. There was paint on the wall in his handwriting that read The pen is mightier.

So I ran to the lab -- the copy of my lab and set up my equip, started filming. Thinking I'd try to give the Presence art. And there was... a shift. Almost palpable, and when I looked around there another note that said In case the pen needs help and underneath was a shoebox on the counter, with a small knife. The knife that I made my sword."

He's rushing through it as he talks, a little frantic, wanting to recount all the details perfectly as they happened. "I don't know who else it could have been," he ends, looking a little helpless.

"...The diver's knife."

Quiet again, wide-eyed. Another ripple of darkness rushes over him, and he reels a little, trying his hardest to focus up, to keep the panic at bay.

Because oh, he is panicking. This is impossible. Unless...unless he's back. But he couldn't be.

Could he?

Darling is waiting for a response. He has to say something. But what comes out, almost automatically:

"No. You're right. Definitely.

That was him. I know that knife you had. I haven't seen it in years."

There are times when Casper appreciates the quiet of the Dark Place. This odd little life he and Tom have built here together. Researching, collaborating. Caring for each other. It's unlike anything he's ever had, and he feels oddly at peace in this little space they've carved out for themselves.

But not now. Right now, he fucking hates this place built of spirals and misdirections and shadows.

"Tom, who is he?" he asks, sounding a little at the end of his rope. "If he's not your alter, then I'm out of theories. Is it like Alan, is he -- what, your father?"

Darling is frustrated, demanding answers - Tom is still feeling the wind knocked out of him because Thomas might be BACK, and what does that MEAN -

"No! No, he's not my father. I come from him, but - but not - fuck."

Tom is dimly aware that something feels wrong. A peculiar thrum in the back of his head. A sound deep in his inner ear.

A sort of...hiss.

"I am...the Shadow of Thomas Seine. He's not my alter, Casper-"

A copy of a copy of a copy

"I̸ a̸m̸ h̸i̸s̸."

The distortion is faint, but present in his tone.

There's fear in his eyes.

"Hold on, I -- " He pauses to press a firm kiss to Tom's forehead before he stands. "I'm not leaving, I just need to pace a little while I think. It helps." Which Tom knows, he's seen Casper do it a thousand times. But there's an urge to explain and reassure, nonetheless.

He does stand, then, and starts his usual path around the room, running his hand through his hair as he thinks out loud. "He's not your alter in the sense that I thought, I see that you. Is it -- chapter five, in my book. There was one of you, but there was a decision. A - a choice to be made. And in that moment, reality split two ways. In one direction went Thomas Seine, and his life and his choices. And in another went you.

But!" he adds, excited now, gesturing more enthusiastically. "We know that Cauldron Lake is a thin spot, between universes. Between dimensions, between worlds. Something -- something about that spot has caused an overlap, maybe. Where he's been able to reach through into this place, this timeline.

Is -- is any of that -- ?" Casper finally pauses to take a breath and look at Tom again, both hands in his hair now. Looking a little wild. "Am I close? Or closer than where I was before?"

Tom stares.

Darling is closer, it's true. Still wrong, but at least this one is an easier falsehood to bear. Good thing, too. He can feel his words being chosen for him.

"That's - about as close as I can explain it. Yeah."

At least he won't have to pretend to be Seine again. He can live with the hissing, too. It's okay. This is easier.

"That's why his handwriting is just a little different. That's why he said -- "

Casper freezes, pieces of conversations falling into place around him. What Thomas had said in the dream. What he had said to who he thought was Thomas. But if there wasn't a shift, if Tom never retreated, then --

Then.

He clears his throat and sits again, concern creasing his brow. How much had Tom heard? "Sorry, uh. That's why he said he knew you so well, I meant."

It's not hard to figure out what Darling has just realized - and Tom looks sheepish for just a moment before reaching out to rest a comforting hand on Darling's leg when he sits.

"Yeah - yeah. I'm - sorry about pretending, before. I don't...I don't remember much of it," he lies, brows knitted. "I was so sick, and I just...remember how badly you needed to exhaust the idea."

He feels a little sick now, if he's honest. But it's not the same as before. Probably just guilt.

He's not sure if that's the truth or not, but it's kind of Tom to say it anyway. Better for both of them to move on from the idea.

His hand goes on top of Tom's, and the other rubs his eyes under his glasses. "I'm sorry for pushing that idea so fucking hard on you. I was grasping at straws. I was -- I was desperate to fix things. To find a solution, and I get so damned stubborn when I'm in that place."

"You were scared. I was scared too. It's okay."

And that he means, as much as he can mean anything right now. His eyes soften, slide downward. Maybe a change of topic will help him feel more himself.

"...Hey, lemme get a look at that arm, huh?"

"Hm?" There's a red stain blossoming on his shirt from where he'd agitated the already poorly bandaged wound with his pacing and gesturing, and he chokes out a slightly hysterical laugh.

"Oh fuck, I got shot. At least I know you're handy with a needle." He squeezes the hand resting against his leg and adds, with a soft but insistent sincerity: "I trust you."

"Yep - caught a stray from my reality gun," Tom laughs bemusedly, trying not to look too guilty. Casper does still trust him, in spite of it all.

That makes his heart hammer a little.

"At least there's no bullet to remove, either. Just...your arm. Hhhh." He sucks a breath through his teeth as he unwraps the wound, getting a clear look at it.

"I did a number on you, huh?"

Casper helps the best he can, raising his arms (carefully) to strip his shirt off, holding still and only flinching a little as the bandages stick to the dried and fresh blood.

"You did," he agrees, turning so Tom can see his shoulder easier. "But you didn't want to. It made you. And that's why I still forgive you."

He's a little distant as he starts to clean the wound up, hand steady and gentle as if he were splicing film.

"That was the scariest thing I think I've...ever felt. Like something else was running me. I couldn't do anything to stop it."

"I've seen it in others. Not exactly the same, but -- similar. You were able to fight it better." He does his best to keep his breathing steady, slow and deep as Tom works on his shoulder.

"How much were you aware of? It didn't -- I don't know if I saw you, in there, when I looked at you. Hints here and there where you were able to break through, but sometimes it was just... The Presence."

He should probably tell Darling about the faint hiss in the back of his head. But...not now. Hopefully it will go away.

He dabs some numbing salve around the wound, then starts to prep the needle. His face is pensive.

"Mostly I wasn't here. It was like trying to survive in a riptide. You saw the moments I got a hand out of the water, but mostly, I was just...adrift. There was...nothing."

There's a comment to be made about riptides and surfing, but now is not the time for jokes or silly remarks, so he refrains.

The salve stings just a little, but soon enough he can feel the tingling set in and he does his best to relax. Staring forward rather than watching Tom and the needle.

"There were moments when I could see one eye -- most of the time they were dark, but sometimes I caught a hint of blue and I knew you were still in there. Still fighting. I just had to keep pulling until I got you back out."

At least this he knows he can do well. His hands find an easy, gentle rhythm, pulling the wound shut. It's something he can focus on. Something that isn't the terror he feels just thinking about how yesterday had felt.

"And I'm grateful you did. I've never felt it all...turn on me, like that. I guess it wanted to put me in my place."

He tries not to think about why.

"I think we can assume now that that's what was making you sick, too. As some sick fucking -- punishment for whatever it thought you were doing wrong."

He feels angry, but only distantly. It simmers underneath the mix of relief and sadness. Helplessness. But he can't do anything other than stay still while Tom stitches him.

"I don't know what you heard, but I meant everything I said. Every single word was true."

"Yeah. Probably."

The tone is unguarded, tumbling from his lips unchecked while he tries to focus on the task at hand. He sounds...defeated, in a way he immediately regrets.

He tries to flash one of those Hollywood smiles, but abandons it halfway through. No more bullshit. Darling is being so sincere. He deserves to get some of that back.

"I heard...some of it. My memory of the whole thing is...kinda broken, I think."

But his cheeks do go a little pink, and his eyes soften a little bit from their icy, hollow stare.

"...But thank you. For what you said. For not giving up on me. I...I don't think I would still be here, if you hadn't."

CLOSED RP POST

On some level, I think I always understood....

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