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When Blade wakes back up, there's but one thought at the forefront of his mind.
He lost.
He lost.
All this time, all this hurt and pain and planning—, and he lost.
It bubbles up something ugly and overwhelming—everything is too loud, and he is too upset like this, freshly dead and alive and awake, and he can feel the uptick in his heartrate, can feel his lungs stuttering against his ribcage, and he doesn't know what to do because he lost. Kafka is too far right now and he will not be able to get out of here before he can't contain himself any longer, but he can't be here when it happens, and he knows it will, because Kafka is the one who calms him down when he gets like this, and Kafka isn't here, and he doesn't know what to do because he lost.
He feels his body lift up and off the ground, but he can't track the action taken to do so. He feels distant, and present, and everyone is talking, and dear Aeons it's so loud.
A call to him, of his name, or maybe of his not-name, he can't really tell, everything is muddling together into too loud—and something is repeated in his direction but he can't grasp it, and he finds himself clawingscratchingtugging at the skin on his arms, directly below the bandages on his wrists. It hurts, stings, but he feels himself untensing at the action and cannot bring himself to stop. He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to force his breathing to slow, and it almost works, but something hits his ear much too sharp and much too loud and something—a person—a hand—nonono— enters his field of vision, near his face, too close too close—and he bites hard, frightened, digs his teeth in like something animal and he can't breathe and—
It's awful. Red and bloody and too human too wrong nonono—. A jerky movement backwards, away from whatever—whoever—it is he's bitten, bitten, and Blade is blinking the feeling of tears out of his eyes. Doesn't want to be touched, doesn't want, can't do it, too much, too loud, he's made it worse, made it louder, too many voices overlapping, crashing over eachother, raising, raising, too loud.
Someone is speaking to him, voice grating and indecipherable and they're touching him and he's so angry stopstopstop don't—
They must've noticed his rising distress, or maybe he was thinking aloud, because they take their hands off of him, voice lowering. They're clearly trying to get him to do something, but he can't make it out and he can't breathe and—
Quickly, and before he can really process the burn of hands on his shoulders, he is being forced down into a sit, chest heaving and tightening and he can't breathe, can taste blood in his mouth, is going to puke, gags, lurches forward, nothing, nothing, a noise, rising and bubbling and spilling out of his mouth, loud and choking and tearful and he's crying, oh Aeons, he can't—can't—feels his whole body shudder as he tries to suck in a breath, hands digging and clumsy and desperate as he clamps them over his ears, and its too much, and he can't calm himself down, can't breathe, can't think, can't calm the hell down—cantcantcant—
A sudden pressure, much too firm to be anything but a person, places itself onto his back, and he is lurching forward again, limbs too heavy and head too light and he has to get away, has to breathe, needs to breathe, and he can't he cantcantcant—
"Blade."
He feels himself shudder, muscles aching to snap into attention, but his mind won't listen, and its too loud, and too much, and something—some sound he can't identify—is piercing the air and his ears and his head and its too much and—
He fists his hair, some low keen breaking the air as he tugs hard, harder—it's not working, and he doesn't know what to do, and everything's too much, and he's ramming his fists into the sides of his head, and that noise is getting worse oh Aeons please—
And the pressure on his back has been replaced by hands circlingrestrainingcircling his wrists, and he could cry in relief because the horrible feelingtouchpressuretoomuch is gone, but there are still hands on him, and they dig into the poorly healed cuts on his hands and his wrists and it'll bleed, its going to bleed, too red too much he needs his hands, needs to move, please, please needs something—
Something sharp jarrs his head into motion, and then—
Silence.
Blade heaves a breath, shaking and trembling and unable to properly right himself. There is a dull ache underneath the skin of his cheek, and he realizes he's been slapped.
The remaining hand on his wrist retreats, and his companion sits down in front of him. Dully, he notes in his head that it is Jingliu, though he shouldn't be surprised. If it were Kafka, she would've used her Whisper on him. If it were anyone else, well—, they certainly wouldn't have slapped him.
He realizes, after another moment, that the noise he'd been hearing this whole time was him. He'd been crying—whining. How embarrassing. He swallows, throat dry, and ceases the noise.
After a long moment of nothing, Blade brings himself to look around, mostly to ensure no one else witnessed his tantrum in full, when—
"I had the others leave. No need to worry."
Jingliu has an expression on her face that Blade is all too familiar with, and it makes him squirm. His heart has yet to calm enough to be considered regular, jackrabbiting away, and her questioning stare does little to help.
"Are you alright now? Why did you not say you were feeling this way?" Why fight me if you knew this would happen?
Blade opens his mouth to retort, but finds himself, like usual, without words. Snaps his mouth shut. Whines, against his better judgment, and shrugs lamely. She seems to understand, one way or another.
"Hush, its all right, Blade. I don't mean to force you. Do what you need to do."
He hums, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his body sway, back and forth, back and forth, again and again. He knows Jingliu won't judge this. She's seen it more than enough.
Something is placed into his hands, and he winces and twitches and shudders—Shudders? It's cold, unmistakably Jingliu's, and Blade rolls it around in his hand before peering down at it curiously. One of her rings. He breathes in, out, wrings his hands, careful not to drop the ring, twists and twists and twists it in his palm, feels something heavy and uncomfortable settling in his stomach, has a headache, hums humming humming gags once, twice, heart pauses and quickens and rises and he's going to puke, going to spiral all over again, gags, is going to—
"Here."
Jingliu offers a hand this time, head tilted forward encouragingly. Blade doesn't want to, doesn't want to touch, but he's dizzy and desperate and trying to be normal so he swallows down nothing and swallows down blood that is no longer there and chokes and—places his hand in hers. She places something cool onto his palm with her other hand and it's so cold—Ice. He blinks. She opens her mouth pointedly, and he realizes she wants him to...eat it? He takes another shuddering breath, placing it in his mouth and wincing at the cold, and—
There's no red. An exhale through his nose, and Blade deflates. Jingliu looks satisfied at this, humming low and gentle.
"You have rather sharp teeth for something so human—or, previously human, anyways. You always had a rather harsh bite, though. Not surprised you drew blood so quickly. Jing Yuan is fine, though he was rather hesitant to leave you."
Blade must make a face, gut churning with nausea and guilt, because Jingliu smiles something apologetic, or sympathetic, or pitying, or maybe all three, and changes the subject.
"I haven't seen you get like this in awhile. Though, to be fair, I haven't seen you at all in a while."
Blade shifts uncomfortably at the reminder, teeth pressing down, down, down on the ice in his mouth as it shifts under the pressure, creaking dully, splintering, splintering—shatters. His teeth grind together at the lack of a barrier between them, and it makes him want to cry again, just for a moment.
"Lost," he offers after a moment, and it feels like pulling teeth, pressure piling back onto his chest and in his throat and it's so stupid, but Jingliu simply shakes her head and presses a finger to her lips, shushing him. It doesn't bother him as much as it should.
"Yes, you did... I suppose your distress should've been expected. I know this meant a great deal to you, and I know waking up makes you all the more sensitive to, well—everything."
Blade nods, though his expression sours into something displeased. Jingliu's smile doesn't falter. "You push yourself too much, in every sense of the word."
He hums noncommittally, fingers twitching around the ring still in his hand, humming again and again and he lets it hang in the air, catching on his teeth and sending an almost calming sensation down his spine, rocks back and forth and back and forth again and again and again and doesn't stop.
He hums noncommittally, fingers twitching around the ring still in his hand, humming again and again and he lets it hang in the air, catching on his teeth and sending an almost calming sensation down his spine, rocks back and forth and back and forth again and again and again and doesn't stop.
They stay like that for awhile. Blade isn't really sure how much time passes, or why Jingliu stays with him, but he is grateful nonetheless.
"I suppose your friend will be here to collect you?"
Blade startles, gaze snapping up to Jingliu. He nods in assent, pausing a moment before handing Jingliu her ring back. She smiles at him as she takes it, something much too kind for either of them. "Well, I won't leave her waiting, then. Do take care of yourself, Blade, as hard as it may be."
He sniffs, as if smelling something particularly bad, but does not protest. Stands up a moment after she does, shaking his hands out at his sides. Feels something distinctly unpleasant, but not bad. He will miss her, most likely, but it will pass. Everything always passes with time.
"Bye, Jingliu."
Her expression softens, lightens, as if something has been lifted off of her shoulders. It leaves him feeling distinctly warm. "Bye, Blade."
He watches her walk off, wringing his hands for a moment. He lost. He will have to move things around, make new plans, talk to Elio, talk to Kafka—he lost.
He swallows, and tastes too-cold ice as it goes down. He lost. But it will pass, as all things do.