logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: BURY A FRIEND

EVENT LOG: BURY A FRIEND

characters: everyone.
location: around town.
date/time: october 9-17.
content: the hallucinations begin...
warnings: psychological horror. please cw tags appropriately.

it's probably something that shouldn't be said out loud

October 9 feels like a normal day at first, save for the red lighthouse beam cutting through the darkness overhead. You know by now—or you've heard—that the lighthouse is only active during ferry arrivals and events... And there's definitely no ferry docked at the, er. Beach. The town is quiet, the forest spirits behave business-as-usual, Rastus doesn't know what's up. Whatever's going on, you'll have to figure it out for yourself.

And you will, though the hallucinations are subtle at first: objects moving when they shouldn't, people's proportions looking just a bit off, voices in an empty room, and so on. Is it just your mind playing tricks in the darkness? Might be! Will did warn you all about the effects of living without a sun and a proper day/night cycle.

As the days go on, the hallucinations are harder to ignore, no matter how much you may wish to wave them off as flukes. What's wrong with everyone's faces? When did all the howling start? Who do you hold onto when the world drops out from under you? And those hands...

While you might know it can't be real, it certainly feels real. But at least it can't last forever!

...Right?

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( once everything started to spiral out of control, Matt made sure to check in with Elektra. they've been making a pattern of looking after each other, and he doesn't even feel particularly reluctant in showing that he's worried about her. she'd been shaken and a little unsteady, yes, but not out of control. not as far as he could tell. beyond looking in on her when he could, there wasn't much he could do. wasn't much he could do for anyone, really.

he's been biding his time, keeping to himself. he doesn't have as many hallucinations to worry about, just whispers here and there, and he can ignore them logically without much thought. Matt goes out on occasion to see what he can do to help those suffering more than he is, though in the end he always ends up retreating back to solace once he's sorted out someone's panic. partly to reset himself, and partly because it just seems safer, all told.

he's not expecting anyone to come to him, lost in their own little worlds. he can hear Elektra's heartbeat before she even knocks, and it's at a pace he's not accustomed to hearing from her. she's not one that fears easily, even with danger looming she has an easy and almost careless confidence. that she's frightened is enough for him to be a little frightened, too. he's quick to open the door, and he's quicker to drop to pull her into his arms, not even thinking about the lines that blur when he does. )

I'm here. Tell me what it is, sweetie, tell me what's wrong. ( it's whispered into her hair as he tries to make sense of the overload in his senses. he can smell fear, sweat, hear her heartbeat thundering out of control and even the desperate wheezes for breath, but all of it is so convincing he assumes she's hurt. it's not even a possibility he could be hallucinating, and if he was — well, he'd still rather run with the hallucination than end up wrong and ignoring her when she needs him. )

[ he won't have ever known her showing this much fear, but she still recalls being poisoned by the hand's would-be assassins when they'd invaded their hideout. he'd behaved then like he's behaving now, dropping to her level and taking her into his arms and it makes tears flood her eyes. she turns into his neck before she lets them fall. ]

They opened my wounds. [ her voice is rasping and desperate, trembling as she whispers them into his neck. he can't see the blood, she knows, but she's sure he can smell it, can hear it seeping out through her old wounds. ] The ones that killed me, I woke up and they were bleeding.

Bleeding? ( the confusion is obvious in his voice, because she's right, he can't see the blood she's so terrified of. but he'd be able to smell it for certain. he doesn't smell anything — well, that's not true. he can smell the clammy sweat on her skin, the dry forest air just outside his door, and with her this close he can certainly smell the familiar notes that are so uniquely her. what he can't smell is blood, not in the slightest.

despite his sudden onset of panic at the idea of her being hurt, it's easy enough to realize she's hallucinating. that reality lessens the vice around his lungs, at least a little. the tears pressed against his throat keeps it from lessening entirely. it's not real, but it's real for her. and he's determined to help her past the pain, even if he didn't get the chance when the wounds happened. )

I'm going to pick you up. Just — hold on, I've got you. One, two, three — ( he picks her up easily, but when she's in the vivid hallucination of an injury, he can guess that she'll react with pain. he doesn't have much of a choice, he can't leave her crying and collapsed on his porch. ) It's not real, Elektra. You're not bleeding. I promise you.

( he feels like he has to remind her of that, of the hallucinations plaguing half the town. maybe it will still the fear, at least a little, as he carries her to the bed. )

[ it does hurt, just as much now as it had when it had first happened. she swears she can still feel the twist of the blade in her gut. the pain flares when he lifts her and she cries out, clinging tight around his neck and shoulders.

he sounds confused, tells her she's not bleeding even as he lifts her and carries her inside. she lifts her head from his throat, looks into what she can see of his face, eyes still wide and frightened as tears leak from their corners, shaking her head furiously.

it has to be real. how can it hurt this much if it's not real? ]

It has to be, I can feel it. I can feel it.

( Matt has been a calm center in the storm, with hallucinations running rampant. he is honestly used to a voice or two in his head, figments of the past sneaking up on him and putting in their two cents on what he's doing. that he's used to casually imagining his dead loved ones talking to him is a little ridiculous, though it does make all this a bit easier. when you already ignore the voices in your head, it's easy practice to keep on ignoring. he's even relatively centered through the hallucinations of everyone else, able to stay calm and do what he can to talk them through.

he's not particularly calm, or centered, right about now. even if Elektra would likely benefit from it. he's trying, granted, it just turns out it's difficult not to get emotional and invested when someone he cares about so deeply is in pain. if there was any part of him left that could pretend he'd moved on from how he'd felt about Elektra before she left him, it's died a sudden and vicious death in witnessing her in genuine pain and terror.

he gets her to the bed, even if it means an uncomfortable truck up stairs — he puts her down as gently as he can, and lingers close next to her. )

I know, I know you can. ( every sign her body is giving is that she's extreme pain, enough that even for a moment Matt had believed it too. he's reluctant to pull the sheets away, as if that might mask the blood and he'll find out she's right and she's really bleeding out in front of him, but that's his own demons whispering, isn't it? ) I'll check. Close your eyes, and just focus on me.

[ he carries her upstairs and settles her onto his bed with extreme reverence and care, hesitant to remove the sheet she's used as a makeshift bandage, wrapped up underneath the coat she'd pulled hastily on to cover it. her hands wind into his sheets in lieu of his hand, the thing she really wants to reach for, because he hasn't offered it in spite of carrying her up the stairs.

but he's there. even if he doesn't seem to believe her, he's still there. still showing concern over her condition. maybe it's something he needs to feel to believe.

her eyes focus on his face once more and she nods before closing them. they shut tighter as a fresh wave of pain his and she curls in on herself as she cries out again, fists curling tighter into the fabric. ]

( it isn't for lack of wanting to hold onto her, it's more that he needs to use his hands. it's always a conflict, faced with someone hurting he wants to comfort. find and do something about what hurts, or hold onto them for dear life. usually he doesn't get the chance to hold onto what he's afraid of losing, who knows, maybe it'd change things! (spoiler alert, it doesn't.)

it's not rational and he has to more or less ignore the instinct, though he won't (maybe can't) ignore it forever. for now, he will — because if she actually is bleeding out in his bed, he'll be damned if he just sits there and holds her over doing something about it.

he can't even seem to move the fabric away from her without causing her pain. he's as ginger as he can, hyperfocused for any hint of blood. the clammy sticky sign of it in the fabric, the coppery metal in the air and on his tongue. even when he's pulled the sheets back, there's no sign of blood. when he gingerly places his hand against skin, all he feels is the strain of her muscles and the sweat, no sign of blood. it's half a relief, and half not, because whether it's there or not, she still feels it. he leans closer, his forehead pressed at her temple and his hand lingering on her skin. )

You're okay, ( he promises, voice a low whisper, verging on hypnotic. intentionally so — he's trying to paint a picture, with every sense he has. for her to see it too, she has to be willing to look through his eyes instead of hers. ) There's no blood. You know how blood smells, Elektra. If you were bleeding, you'd smell it all over both of us. You'd feel it when I touched you. ( it's a bit of a risk to slide his hand over her stomach, if she's still in the wake of the hallucination it will only hurt... but his hand skids over skin, there's no slick of blood between them. he can feel the ugly knot of a scar, and his hand stays there, even as his gut twists in a mix of horror and guilt to actually feel it. ) You're not bleeding. Trust me, sweetheart, if you were bleeding I'd do anything to stop it. You're not bleeding, the scar's there but it's closed.

Edited 2019-10-16 17:56 (UTC)

[ her eyes remain closed and she remains still except to shift and alter her position as he removes her coverings and bindings, focusing on his hands and her breathing. oddly enough, it seems to help. the ache doesn't disappear but it does subside a little, and not being able to see the wounds she's distracted from the possibility of bleeding out from them, which still feels very real.

he leans in close, his mouth to her ear as he whispers that she's okay, and the temptation to open her eyes is there, but she doesn't. not being able to see what she knows is (or was) there is helping her believe it's true. and he's not lying, he wouldn't lie to her, not about this. not about anything. but it's not until his hand moves over her skin, steady and strong and not tripped up by the slick and pull of her blood that it feels real.

her breathing slows a little, hesitantly calming as her heart rate slows back down to. she loosens the grip she has in his sheets and slowly draws her shaking hand over the skin of her stomach before it covers his. she doesn't feel anything but her own skin, and then his. ]

Edited (yes i did edit this just to upload and use a more fitting icon) 2019-10-17 04:45 (UTC)

( he can feel the slight slow of her heartbeat, and it's a good hint that his words are getting through. it's a relief to him as much as it's a relief to her. he hates seeing her like this, so small and frightened — as desperate as he is to help her see through the hallucinations, he wasn't sure he'd be able to until her hand curls around his. it's like she's coming back to him, through the terror and fear. )

See? It's just you, and me. ( he doesn't even remotely care that it's a bit intimate, he runs his hand along her skin, even with her own hand curled around his. another reminder that she's still whole; an offering of touch that isn't painful. )

I won't let anything happen to you. ( if she can't trust her senses right now, then they can rely on his. it takes a lot of trust to ignore what her eyes, her ears, her body is trying to tell her. Matt knows it's asking a lot, he just hopes she'll agree. ) We should cover your eyes, it might be easier.

[ it doesn't occur to her that this is the first time that he's feeling the proof of how she'd died. she'd told him in that first deep discussion they'd had, mentioned it again in the second, but he hadn't asked her for the proof even though she still wasn't sure whether or not he believed her. she can't lie to him, but hearing facts is different than believing in someone, and she hasn't known if he does. hasn't wanted to know if he doesn't.

none of that matters now, not with his hand moving over her skin, not blocked by cloth or blood or any other sort of obstacle, calming her and soothing the worst of the pain away. her gut still aches but the wounds no longer feel fresh.

he mentions covering her eyes and she nods after a few moments of stillness, her breathing slowing along with her heartbeat. it's easier to trust his voice and reassurances than it is to trust her own mind right now, and that's as frightening as the hallucinations themselves, but this feels closer to normal than she has since they started. ]

Edited 2019-10-19 06:08 (UTC)

( it doesn't occur to her, though it most certainly resonates with him. it's not really that he disbelieved her, it is more a matter of hearing not being quite the same as living it. not the same as holding her as she died, feeling her bleed out in his arms. he believed but it wasn't quite as real until he feels the reality of the scar under his hand. it's horrific to think about her dying, even knowing the fact that she's here proves she had. doesn't seem to matter that both of them are dead, now, it still leaves a hollow ache in his chest to have the unshakeable reminder.

the only problem with his suggestion is that Matt has to pull away from her to get one. he slips his hand from underneath hers and squeezes, gingerly. ) I'm not going far. ( if she listens, he only goes a few steps away, to the cabinet she has dug into herself on occasion. the best blindfold he has available is just a pillowcase, though it should still do the trick. he's back in less than a minute, sitting next to her on the bed. )

Lift your head up for me, sweetheart. ( if she can do that much, he can slip the fabric behind her head and tie it off. )

[ she nods, squeezing his hand before he moves away, reluctant to let him leave even though she knows that blocking out the sight will help. the ache of her wounds flares as she hears him leave, so she focuses on his footsteps instead. she hears stick's voice on the outskirts of her mind, voicing his disapproval of her softness, her weakness. the hand still wound in his sheets winds tighter.

but he's back before too long, sitting beside her and asking her to raise her head. she obliges, rising to her elbows and dipping her head forward, allowing him access. he may still not trust her, but she trusts him. ]

( he doesn't think to direct her to listen for the cues that can help her track him, to focus on what she knows and trusts over the hallucinations that want to take her over. he'd be proud to know she does it on her own, following him with every sense but her eyes. Matt doesn't need long to return, and when she sits up it's enough to tie the fabric behind her head, securing the blindfold enough that she shouldn't be able to see anything, even if she opened her eyes.

from there, he could probably kneel at her bedside, or hold her hand, or even take a place a little more distant. he could. he just doesn't. he lays down next to her instead, hand running along her shoulders in a silent hint she can come closer if she wants. for all the closeness they've been toeing past in the past few weeks, even occasionally getting a little too wild in their sparing, none of it has been quite as intimate as holding her.

if she wants the comfort, though, he's happy to grant it. hell, it will be as comforting to him as it will be for her. he wants to hold her, feel the slowly steadying heartbeat and feel it through her skin. )

[ she doesn't hesitate before coming closer, curling on her side so she can fit beside him a little bit better. were these normal circumstances...well, if they were normal circumstances, she's not sure they'd allow themselves to get this close physically. they had slept in his bed after the night on the ferry, but that had been to keep warm after spending all day running in and out of the water. that and sparring together are a different kind of touching than what he's offering her; this is comfort and reassurance, this is showing that he cares.

she might have some feelings about that, if she currently had the mind to acknowledge and process them.

as it is now, she tucks in close, an arm curling around her middle as she turns, her back curving to his front. she exhales in a shuddery breath, pillowing her free hand beneath her cheek. ]

Thank you, Matthew.

( it's different. he knows it's different, there's no hiding it's different. there's no retreating from how blatantly different it is. and for Matt, there's no going back to a point of intentionally enforced distance when instinct has shown him what he's been so desperate to avoid. he can't just hold Elektra at arms length and pretend that will save him from falling in love with her all over again anymore. there's no saving him from that, because he never stopped. it was too late as soon as he met her, it's been a losing battle to pretend otherwise since the first moment she found him in the dark.

it's a risk, and it's terrifying, to accept that there's something to him here that matters. loving something opens the risk to losing it, and Matt has lost enough that he knows how easy it can happen, even in the most ideal of circumstances. he's lost enough that he tries quite desperately to never be put in the position to feel it again — though the other side of that coin means he knows full well exactly what it means when he's so instantly and completely terrified by the prospect.

he knows it's something they'll need to address. just not now, not when her mind is a breath away from spiraling away from him again. Matt doesn't want to give the hallucinations any ammunition.

she settles against his chest and his arms wind under and around her like it's second nature to hold her. in a way it is — despite the fact he hasn't held her like this in years, it feels easy and familiar. his forehead presses at her shoulder, just to track the tempo of her heartbeat as it calms and slows. ) Of course. ( it's an overly simplified answer for all the emotions involved, though it's the easiest one to provide at the moment. he means it all the same — if she needs him, of course he will be there.

even if the proof he's failed at protecting her is just under his palm, he can't help but make the promise anyway. )

Try and sleep. I'm not going anywhere.

[ she nods, the hand curved around her middle uncurling to rest on top of his again, and closes her eyes underneath the blindfold. his heart beats against her back, steadying her even through the ever present fear, in spite of the voices whispering at the back of her mind, threatening her relative peace.

he hasn't held her like this since before she'd left, and has never held her like this in this context, when she's hurt and frightened. back then he'd held her this close because he hadn't been able to keep his hands off of her, even while they slept. she doesn't know what it means that he's willing to do it now, and she's too distraught to really consider or hope for it.

before too long, her vision being blocked and her body being at ease lulls her into a fitful sleep, teetering on the edge of dreaming, even though her mind and body long for the peace of dreamlessness. ]

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EVENT LOG: BURY A FRIEND

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