[He doesn't cry. Even bid to, he doesn't cry. Perhaps he's forgotten how to cry, remembering only how to hurt, but the little arms holding onto him are kind, gentle, loving, and remind him of when he was small. Of when someone else would hold him when he still remembered how to cry, who'd comfort him. Who still, to this day, thinks he's as innocent as he was back then... It's stupid, and he hates it - because ignoring what he is now, and fixating on what he was undermines how he got here, maybe even ignores it entirely, but...but--
He can't get mad. Not past frustration, anyway. It's a lot like Ren, actually. He can't really be totally mad at her, ever, or or longer than a few hours. Perhaps that's why he's holding onto her so tight, and opened himself up like this. Because she deserves to know...why he is the way he is. Why he gets upset, and violent. She deserves a warning.
His voice is hoarse, and while he didn't shed any tears, Guzma looks...exhausted. His eyes are red, ringed by dark bags and a pale complexion. Whoever said letting all your bottled up emotions out made you feel better is a dumbass liar and needs to be slapped across the face. He feels like he's about to throw up, but at the same time, he also feels totally hollow inside. Like everything, every little bit of him, spilled out with...everything else. It takes him a moment to find his broken voice, exhale slowly, then inhale a dry breath.]
[And her thoughts twist to that, almost in tandem with his, had she any clue what he was thinking-he deserves a warning.
But that sudden you didn't makes her choke on whatever words she had been ready to blurt out-to get it over with, to see if it changed anything, to see if that made this conversation end. To see if it made it pointless, because he wouldn't want to be around her anymore. She should've made it clear prior to this-before he showed her parts of his heart that were difficult to vocalize and share. Whatever relief came from those confessions could turn to regret in just a few minutes, a few seconds and-
She mumbles something. Words not loud enough to make out, even with how close they are, and she knows that.
But that you didn't rings through her mind again and again.
And again and again.
And that trust for her brother is what makes those words finally force their way past the sudden dryness in her throat and-]
I'm very sick. Something in me is bad and-
[One second, two seconds, she probably doesn't even need to say it. He's a smart guy. She knew that from the moment they met.]
I'm supposed to die. I think-if I leave this place, that's going to happen very soon.
[It makes this relationship with her worthless, when the end result won't change. All the care he gave her, all the gifts, all the words they shared and memories they made-it won't matter, when someone like her just took and took without warning him of the inevitable outcome.]
For a second, time seems to lapse, and all sound drowns out in a haze of static and ringing bells. It feels like it lasts hours, a constant scream or sirens blaring in his head, but it's just a second...maybe two.
I'm very sick... I'm supposed to die...
Words he never expected to hear - never, ever wanted to hear. It hurts, and his chest tightens. He eyes burn and sting and he can feel it. He can feel himself getting angry. But it's so...so small a flame. A tiny, insignificant ember amidst a storm of determination and disbelief. There's no way. She's come this far. She never looked or acted sick around him in all the time she's been here, with him. And yet...it's not as shocking as he expected it to be, after the first few seconds. It makes sense, actually. Ren was sheltered, dumb to the world around her because she probably spent her entire life in a hospital room.
He doesn't know the full story, but sicknesses can still be cured. Somehow. There's always a way. And they don't really know if her sickness is completely fatal, or untreatable. If it wasn't, then she'd have died long ago, he wagers. There must be a way to make it so Ren can live. I she goes home, back where she came from, it may very well be the end of her. But why does she have to go back there? Characters in a story can always appear in others...stories can be rewritten, interwoven. Isn't that right? They can be edited.
It takes a moment to find his voice, and Guzma exhales slowly, gripping Ren a bit tighter.]
...Y'know, I can't help but think that's Mudsdale crap. You're a lot tougher'n you think you are, sweetheart - I know it - and if you wanna live longer, I think you damn well can.
[That's not how it works and it hurts to explain that it doesn't matter-it won't change anything. No amount of hope or pleading or trying to be tough is going to stop this 'disease' from killing her. It took out the entire world-she's no exception.
But she doesn't care about explaining it. About disproving his claims or trying to get him to understand, because he didn't let go. Just like he promised, he's still here, holding her tight and it makes her wish-
Makes her think she had been wrong this entire time. That hiding this was foolish, when it's not changing the way her family holds her and the weight of this secret rises off her like a burden she never had to carry.
If you wanna live longer, I think you damn well can.
For a second, a minute, she wishes-
That cures worked like that.]
It's okay.
[Is all she can manage to say. She's lived with this for a long time, has known and gone through the pain of realizing she will die alone, has found a way to plead her case to a grim reaper who promised to find her, because she's not looking to escape a fate that's impossible to rise above.
There's no point in really thinking about it.]
Is it okay-if we're still family? Is that kind of thing alright?
[It's not that. It's not that he's so naive to think just wanting it to stop will make a disease stop, but strength of will is a powerful thing. It may not stop an outcome from happening, but it can, sometimes, prolong it enough to discover a better one. He saw Ren's past, once...it was a world that stopped living. That gave up. She must have gave up, too, because of that, and it's one thing he wants to try and teach her. To fight back - to not give up. Things can change, if you have the gall to work for it, and people to support you.
Why wouldn't it be? [He pulls away, just to give her a stern look. He's not upset, not really, but there's evident displeasure in Guzma's expression.] I don't give up on my little brothers and sisters just like that. Not no more...
And you-- [He jabs her in the forehead with one finger, a bit rough, to prove his point here.] --don't give on me, either. There are sicknesses back in my world that don't got no real cure, neither, but there are preventatives that lessen the symptoms. Tell me 'bout your sickness, or what y'all is doing to combat it right now.
Because I don't believe you're coward enough to just drop dead like that, yeah. Not ithout a fight.
If there was a point when Guzma gave up on others. If he did look at all the 'siblings' under his care and said 'I can't do it.' If he might look at her one day and say I can't, but then-
The jab on her forehead makes her squint, her fingers tightening against his arms now that he's pulled back from her, to look her in eyes, the show her, maybe, the kind of fire that can burn if you're filled with the courage, the bravery, the ability to stand up-all the things she lacks. He might have given up once, but it's proof a person can bounce back. He's not giving up now. He won't-Not no more and she believes him. The words pressing against her chest like a blanket.
All the things Guzma has.
All the things he's trying to convey, with these simple words that make her feel like a fire in her soul is coming to life. To have someone believe in her like that, who thinks she can make a difference, who thinks any part of her can withstand this unnamed disease she has no hope of winning against, but-
She's his little sis.
He believes in her and even if-
Even if it doesn't make a difference, even if she can't do anything more than wrap her fingers tight, tight, tight around his arms and stare into his eyes to get some of that feeling in her-
She doesn't-]
I don't want to die.
[It's quiet, soft, as if she's never said it before. As if the thought wasn't even her own and she rapidly blinks, unsure if that was even her that said it. It feels wrong on her tongue, but-
It's the truth.
She doesn't want to die. She doesn't want to give up. She wants to live and-]
I don't know how to stay alive-how to do that kind of thing, but-I'll keep taking my medicine. That's what I have to do. I take it every day, so my heart doesn't beat really fast and I can stay awake for a long time.
[Her eyes fall back to her bag, where she knows that little bottle is, as if check it's still there.]
If I don't take it, it's very hard for me to leave my dreams. That's what happens.
[That's exactly it. He had given up on them. Not by his own accord, of course, because those numskulls proved that thinly veiled lies and sweet, whispering words just don't overpower a bond you create with people who share a part o their lie with you. People who would do anything, anything, to get you back. He gave up on his little brothers and sisters, on Plumeria too, the moment he raced after that horrible woman into a world no one should exist in. He gave up on them all the moment his guilt and shame drove him to disband Team Skull.
And yet...
And yet, those idiots still did that ridiculous pose before they raced out the door. Still proved that, despite kicking them out on the street, they were still - would always be - a part o Team Skull. Part of their disgruntled, chaotic family. Idiots.
He doesn't want to give up on them again. Or anyone else. Especially not someone who so clearly needs the push--no...the shove forward. Because who was there when he needed that? No one was. He had to figure it out himself, with only his Pokemon beside him. Ren doesn't have the latter, just herself. And, sadly, she's just not as strong on her own as he was.]
Don't no one else want that, neither. [He closes his eyes, taking a deep and steadying breath. His body still feels tight, coiled, and his heart pounds in his ears like it's trying to remind him of how anxious he is really.] N' I'll be honest, sweetheart, I dunno how to keep y'all alive, neither, but taking y'all's medicine is one step in the right direction, yeah?
[He listens, quietly, memorizing the signs she points out - the symptoms. Increased heart rate, fatigue... It almost sounds like she'd go into cardiac arrest if she didn't take it - like her heart would work harder and harder, beat faster and faster, until it just stopped. He grinds his teeth together, cursing the fact there isn't a decent hospital or doctor here to check her over. If only...if only he could take her back to Alola. Back to a place where it'd be so, so easy to treat her better.]
Do you got enough meds? Are ya running out? Can y'get more from the rabbit?
[Don't no one else want that neither-it's the first time someone's said that to her out of genuine affection and, maybe, something like love. It feels like love. She can't get a good read on his heart, but it's warm and caring and makes her feel safe like love would feel. There are those who have accepted her words as truth-she adores them. Those that fight back against what she says-she hates that and then there's-
Guzma, living as the outlier he's always been. Accepting and honest, saying he wants her to live in a roundabout way that almost makes tears spring into her eyes because Seto needed companionship, the doctors needed her alive for experiments, but Guzma-
Just wants her to live.
She just wants to live.
She really wishes she could live.]
Yes, it's-it's okay. The Storyteller finds them every month for me and-
[She raises an arm, showing off a bracelet he might've seen on her arm since the early months of Enso. She learned quick that the sun may not always be available to tell the time and for her the caves, the endless night, ai'tuoh-it was all a death sentence without this.]
They gave me this, so I always know when it's time to take it. Even if it's very dark or I sleep for a long time-when I feel this thing, I know. So I'm okay.
[It is most definitely love. The same sort of love he has for his Pokemon. The same sort of love he has for his Team. The same sort of love he has for his family. The sort of love that makes one change everything, stop everything, to make sure that everything can go smoothly for even one person therein. Good families take care of each other, they protect and support each other...and look out for one another. That's what he learned not from his mother, and especially not his father.
It's something he learned from people like him. Lost, miserable, unwanted people like him. People who were never loved, but never forgot how to love.
Guzma offers her his hand, slowly and calmly, to inspect the bracelet. He turns her hand over in his, memorizing the little details. He's seen things like this on others, back home. It was a different make and material, and maybe didn't do the same things, but it meant the wearer was sick. Very sick, and who to contact if they were located and in a bad state.
[If this heart to heart has proven anything, it's that he doesn't need to ask.
Any favor he wants-she'd do it without a hint a doubt or need for a special request. This is her family and the gentle way he moves her hand to get a look at the bracelet makes him wonder if he wants one too. It's very pretty-so she can understand why. Maybe that's going to be his request.
But he says Can I ask you a favor? and she's already nodding her head because the answer is always going to be yes for her brother.]
Can y'all lend me some'a your medicine? Just a few pills, so I can always have some on me if you need it in a pinch, yeah?
[It'd be a good idea to carry it on him always, with his Pokeballs, because heaven knows if she ever lost her supply, or it got destroyed somehow...she'd have to wait until the next Storytelling to get more, unless someone else pitched in a favor for her. But that would mean revealing her illness.
...No. He should have some on him for when she really, really needs it. When it's dire. They're family, it makes sense, doesn't it? To entrust family as your emergency contact?]
I also wanna know where you keep it normally - where exactly. Every little detail. And I want you to call me, or have someone else call me, when you're not feeling so great, okay? Can you do that? [He moves his hand to cover hers and links their fingers together, giving the young girl's hand a rough squeeze.]
[A bizarre sensation washes over her as he just asks for her medicine. It's a good idea. One that's never occurred to her because no one's ever asked. There's been so many situations where she hasn't had it-times when she's curled up against Guzma in that bleak, empty jail or wandered around underground ruins without her items at hand.
But it's weird to talk about it so openly and the weight that slides off her back when she lets her gross bag fall to the ground is a relief all its own.
She hesitates, when pulling the small bottle out of the front pocket though. An anxious, nervous grip clutching her heart whole at the thought of really bringing it out into the open like this.
So she scoots to his feet, sitting in front of his toes, and opens the bag up there. If he looks down, he can see everything. The folded, worn pieces of paper it's hiding underneath. The orange prescription bottle that's in her hands, shielded by bag itself.
She pops the cap open easily, letting a couple of them fall into her palm. A day without one won't kill her, hopefully. Not if she can take one the very next evening. She survived Ai'Tuoh-this won't hurt.
She wraps her fingers around them, just in case someone's looking. It's hard to shake off years of fear, of guilt, of shame, maybe and tries to drop them into Guzma's palm, quickly folding his fingers around them so they're out of sight again.]
That's where they are and that's-it's them. You can have those and-
[She taps her fingers against the back of his hand.]
I won't forget, but I'm okay. Even if it hurts really bad, I always make it home.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He can't get mad. Not past frustration, anyway. It's a lot like Ren, actually. He can't really be totally mad at her, ever, or or longer than a few hours. Perhaps that's why he's holding onto her so tight, and opened himself up like this. Because she deserves to know...why he is the way he is. Why he gets upset, and violent. She deserves a warning.
His voice is hoarse, and while he didn't shed any tears, Guzma looks...exhausted. His eyes are red, ringed by dark bags and a pale complexion. Whoever said letting all your bottled up emotions out made you feel better is a dumbass liar and needs to be slapped across the face. He feels like he's about to throw up, but at the same time, he also feels totally hollow inside. Like everything, every little bit of him, spilled out with...everything else. It takes him a moment to find his broken voice, exhale slowly, then inhale a dry breath.]
You didn't.
[So why in the world would he?]
no subject
But that sudden you didn't makes her choke on whatever words she had been ready to blurt out-to get it over with, to see if it changed anything, to see if that made this conversation end. To see if it made it pointless, because he wouldn't want to be around her anymore. She should've made it clear prior to this-before he showed her parts of his heart that were difficult to vocalize and share. Whatever relief came from those confessions could turn to regret in just a few minutes, a few seconds and-
She mumbles something. Words not loud enough to make out, even with how close they are, and she knows that.
But that you didn't rings through her mind again and again.
And again and again.
And that trust for her brother is what makes those words finally force their way past the sudden dryness in her throat and-]
I'm very sick. Something in me is bad and-
[One second, two seconds, she probably doesn't even need to say it. He's a smart guy. She knew that from the moment they met.]
I'm supposed to die. I think-if I leave this place, that's going to happen very soon.
[It makes this relationship with her worthless, when the end result won't change. All the care he gave her, all the gifts, all the words they shared and memories they made-it won't matter, when someone like her just took and took without warning him of the inevitable outcome.]
no subject
For a second, time seems to lapse, and all sound drowns out in a haze of static and ringing bells. It feels like it lasts hours, a constant scream or sirens blaring in his head, but it's just a second...maybe two.
I'm very sick... I'm supposed to die...
Words he never expected to hear - never, ever wanted to hear. It hurts, and his chest tightens. He eyes burn and sting and he can feel it. He can feel himself getting angry. But it's so...so small a flame. A tiny, insignificant ember amidst a storm of determination and disbelief. There's no way. She's come this far. She never looked or acted sick around him in all the time she's been here, with him. And yet...it's not as shocking as he expected it to be, after the first few seconds. It makes sense, actually. Ren was sheltered, dumb to the world around her because she probably spent her entire life in a hospital room.
He doesn't know the full story, but sicknesses can still be cured. Somehow. There's always a way. And they don't really know if her sickness is completely fatal, or untreatable. If it wasn't, then she'd have died long ago, he wagers. There must be a way to make it so Ren can live. I she goes home, back where she came from, it may very well be the end of her. But why does she have to go back there? Characters in a story can always appear in others...stories can be rewritten, interwoven. Isn't that right? They can be edited.
It takes a moment to find his voice, and Guzma exhales slowly, gripping Ren a bit tighter.]
...Y'know, I can't help but think that's Mudsdale crap. You're a lot tougher'n you think you are, sweetheart - I know it - and if you wanna live longer, I think you damn well can.
no subject
But she doesn't care about explaining it. About disproving his claims or trying to get him to understand, because he didn't let go. Just like he promised, he's still here, holding her tight and it makes her wish-
Makes her think she had been wrong this entire time. That hiding this was foolish, when it's not changing the way her family holds her and the weight of this secret rises off her like a burden she never had to carry.
If you wanna live longer, I think you damn well can.
For a second, a minute, she wishes-
That cures worked like that.]
It's okay.
[Is all she can manage to say. She's lived with this for a long time, has known and gone through the pain of realizing she will die alone, has found a way to plead her case to a grim reaper who promised to find her, because she's not looking to escape a fate that's impossible to rise above.
There's no point in really thinking about it.]
Is it okay-if we're still family? Is that kind of thing alright?
no subject
She's alive now, isn't she? She's lived this long, hasn't she?]
Why wouldn't it be? [He pulls away, just to give her a stern look. He's not upset, not really, but there's evident displeasure in Guzma's expression.] I don't give up on my little brothers and sisters just like that. Not no more...
And you-- [He jabs her in the forehead with one finger, a bit rough, to prove his point here.] --don't give on me, either. There are sicknesses back in my world that don't got no real cure, neither, but there are preventatives that lessen the symptoms. Tell me 'bout your sickness, or what y'all is doing to combat it right now.
Because I don't believe you're coward enough to just drop dead like that, yeah. Not ithout a fight.
Not my little sis.
no subject
If there was a point when Guzma gave up on others. If he did look at all the 'siblings' under his care and said 'I can't do it.' If he might look at her one day and say I can't, but then-
The jab on her forehead makes her squint, her fingers tightening against his arms now that he's pulled back from her, to look her in eyes, the show her, maybe, the kind of fire that can burn if you're filled with the courage, the bravery, the ability to stand up-all the things she lacks. He might have given up once, but it's proof a person can bounce back. He's not giving up now. He won't-Not no more and she believes him. The words pressing against her chest like a blanket.
All the things Guzma has.
All the things he's trying to convey, with these simple words that make her feel like a fire in her soul is coming to life. To have someone believe in her like that, who thinks she can make a difference, who thinks any part of her can withstand this unnamed disease she has no hope of winning against, but-
She's his little sis.
He believes in her and even if-
Even if it doesn't make a difference, even if she can't do anything more than wrap her fingers tight, tight, tight around his arms and stare into his eyes to get some of that feeling in her-
She doesn't-]
I don't want to die.
[It's quiet, soft, as if she's never said it before. As if the thought wasn't even her own and she rapidly blinks, unsure if that was even her that said it. It feels wrong on her tongue, but-
It's the truth.
She doesn't want to die. She doesn't want to give up. She wants to live and-]
I don't know how to stay alive-how to do that kind of thing, but-I'll keep taking my medicine. That's what I have to do. I take it every day, so my heart doesn't beat really fast and I can stay awake for a long time.
[Her eyes fall back to her bag, where she knows that little bottle is, as if check it's still there.]
If I don't take it, it's very hard for me to leave my dreams. That's what happens.
no subject
And yet...
And yet, those idiots still did that ridiculous pose before they raced out the door. Still proved that, despite kicking them out on the street, they were still - would always be - a part o Team Skull. Part of their disgruntled, chaotic family. Idiots.
He doesn't want to give up on them again. Or anyone else. Especially not someone who so clearly needs the push--no...the shove forward. Because who was there when he needed that? No one was. He had to figure it out himself, with only his Pokemon beside him. Ren doesn't have the latter, just herself. And, sadly, she's just not as strong on her own as he was.]
Don't no one else want that, neither. [He closes his eyes, taking a deep and steadying breath. His body still feels tight, coiled, and his heart pounds in his ears like it's trying to remind him of how anxious he is really.] N' I'll be honest, sweetheart, I dunno how to keep y'all alive, neither, but taking y'all's medicine is one step in the right direction, yeah?
[He listens, quietly, memorizing the signs she points out - the symptoms. Increased heart rate, fatigue... It almost sounds like she'd go into cardiac arrest if she didn't take it - like her heart would work harder and harder, beat faster and faster, until it just stopped. He grinds his teeth together, cursing the fact there isn't a decent hospital or doctor here to check her over. If only...if only he could take her back to Alola. Back to a place where it'd be so, so easy to treat her better.]
Do you got enough meds? Are ya running out? Can y'get more from the rabbit?
no subject
Guzma, living as the outlier he's always been. Accepting and honest, saying he wants her to live in a roundabout way that almost makes tears spring into her eyes because Seto needed companionship, the doctors needed her alive for experiments, but Guzma-
Just wants her to live.
She just wants to live.
She really wishes she could live.]
Yes, it's-it's okay. The Storyteller finds them every month for me and-
[She raises an arm, showing off a bracelet he might've seen on her arm since the early months of Enso. She learned quick that the sun may not always be available to tell the time and for her the caves, the endless night, ai'tuoh-it was all a death sentence without this.]
They gave me this, so I always know when it's time to take it. Even if it's very dark or I sleep for a long time-when I feel this thing, I know. So I'm okay.
no subject
It's something he learned from people like him. Lost, miserable, unwanted people like him. People who were never loved, but never forgot how to love.
Guzma offers her his hand, slowly and calmly, to inspect the bracelet. He turns her hand over in his, memorizing the little details. He's seen things like this on others, back home. It was a different make and material, and maybe didn't do the same things, but it meant the wearer was sick. Very sick, and who to contact if they were located and in a bad state.
...Someone to contact...hm.]
Ren, can I ask you a favor?
no subject
Any favor he wants-she'd do it without a hint a doubt or need for a special request. This is her family and the gentle way he moves her hand to get a look at the bracelet makes him wonder if he wants one too. It's very pretty-so she can understand why. Maybe that's going to be his request.
But he says Can I ask you a favor? and she's already nodding her head because the answer is always going to be yes for her brother.]
What is it?
no subject
[It'd be a good idea to carry it on him always, with his Pokeballs, because heaven knows if she ever lost her supply, or it got destroyed somehow...she'd have to wait until the next Storytelling to get more, unless someone else pitched in a favor for her. But that would mean revealing her illness.
...No. He should have some on him for when she really, really needs it. When it's dire. They're family, it makes sense, doesn't it? To entrust family as your emergency contact?]
I also wanna know where you keep it normally - where exactly. Every little detail. And I want you to call me, or have someone else call me, when you're not feeling so great, okay? Can you do that? [He moves his hand to cover hers and links their fingers together, giving the young girl's hand a rough squeeze.]
no subject
But it's weird to talk about it so openly and the weight that slides off her back when she lets her gross bag fall to the ground is a relief all its own.
She hesitates, when pulling the small bottle out of the front pocket though. An anxious, nervous grip clutching her heart whole at the thought of really bringing it out into the open like this.
So she scoots to his feet, sitting in front of his toes, and opens the bag up there. If he looks down, he can see everything. The folded, worn pieces of paper it's hiding underneath. The orange prescription bottle that's in her hands, shielded by bag itself.
She pops the cap open easily, letting a couple of them fall into her palm. A day without one won't kill her, hopefully. Not if she can take one the very next evening. She survived Ai'Tuoh-this won't hurt.
She wraps her fingers around them, just in case someone's looking. It's hard to shake off years of fear, of guilt, of shame, maybe and tries to drop them into Guzma's palm, quickly folding his fingers around them so they're out of sight again.]
That's where they are and that's-it's them. You can have those and-
[She taps her fingers against the back of his hand.]
I won't forget, but I'm okay. Even if it hurts really bad, I always make it home.