America (Gilded Age) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
monopolies) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entranceway2014-03-01 04:54 pm
monopolies) wrote in entranceway2014-03-01 04:54 pm
( video )
[ He wakes up and he's back in Wonderland, and all those foggy memories snap into place. They still stick together like pages of a book that's had soda spilled on it, so it's impossible to separate them chronologically after so long away. But the things he remembers are sharp and clear.
Except he notices that Wonderland is sorta fragmented into pieces. He thinks something catastrophic has happened and, now more than ever, he desperately wishes that his friends are somewhere, happy, that they've escaped what's happened here. They can't still be around after so long. Then again, who knows how long it's been with this place?
The last time he was here, he probably would've sat down and spent an hour freaking out somewhere behind a bush. This time he does the exact same thing, except he doesn't feel ashamed or embarrassed about it. Fuck it he is a global economic power he'll do what he wants.
After a while of rocking and shaking behind a tree, he gets up, dusts himself off, and decides to reintroduce himself.
Somehow he's found his phone again, with everything on it and the chipped in the corner. Just the way he'd left it. Maybe he should take this as a sign that he hasn't been away so long, at least in Wonderland time, but he doesn't. Too busy preparing his reintroduction.
Normal people would probably just turn their device on, say their hellos and see who is around and who is new. If you are expecting normal behavior from America I don't know what to tell you. Except "lower your expectations because this asshole is still a crazy motherfucker."
He'd found himself on a lone piece of forest, which is not the ideal location for his reentry. In the distance looms the lone, floating entrance hall. After a few seconds of debating the value of his life, he realizes he's immortal and abandons the last fuck he could possibly give before making a running start to leap to the next floating island. A manic grin and one thought propel him to his destiny:
Do it for the vine. ]
[ Finally everything is set up just the way he wants it. Camera placed just behind the closed doors of the entrance wall, it's propped up to frame the hall in such a way that it looks like just any normal day in Wonderland. The real trick is turning it on at just the right moment. He decides to turn it on from behind so the video doesn't capture his initial appearance. Slipping away as quietly as possible, the video just captures a few silent seconds of the doors.
Which then BURST OPEN IN AN EXPLOSION OF SHRAPNEL AND FIRE. USA USA USA.
The smoke clears and, surprise surprise, guess who's standing at the center with arms cross and cocky grin in place? No Crowley, that's for fucking sure, like he'd be capable of anything this epic. For those who knew him the changes are small and subtle, probably nothing to catch amidst the chaos. A taller stature, unhindered by painful wounds, a face that's still young but no longer burdened by self-consciousness and undercurrents of fear.
In the split-second he opens his mouth, just before he speaks you might be expecting something like YOUR HERO HAS RETURNED. But no. ]
WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY RAPTORS?
[ Good news: he's even more of a selfish shithead than before. Bad news: that was the good news.
God help you all.
and now a million years later do I add an obligatory nsfw warning?? don't read my threads if you value your time and integrity ]
Except he notices that Wonderland is sorta fragmented into pieces. He thinks something catastrophic has happened and, now more than ever, he desperately wishes that his friends are somewhere, happy, that they've escaped what's happened here. They can't still be around after so long. Then again, who knows how long it's been with this place?
The last time he was here, he probably would've sat down and spent an hour freaking out somewhere behind a bush. This time he does the exact same thing, except he doesn't feel ashamed or embarrassed about it. Fuck it he is a global economic power he'll do what he wants.
After a while of rocking and shaking behind a tree, he gets up, dusts himself off, and decides to reintroduce himself.
Somehow he's found his phone again, with everything on it and the chipped in the corner. Just the way he'd left it. Maybe he should take this as a sign that he hasn't been away so long, at least in Wonderland time, but he doesn't. Too busy preparing his reintroduction.
Normal people would probably just turn their device on, say their hellos and see who is around and who is new. If you are expecting normal behavior from America I don't know what to tell you. Except "lower your expectations because this asshole is still a crazy motherfucker."
He'd found himself on a lone piece of forest, which is not the ideal location for his reentry. In the distance looms the lone, floating entrance hall. After a few seconds of debating the value of his life, he realizes he's immortal and abandons the last fuck he could possibly give before making a running start to leap to the next floating island. A manic grin and one thought propel him to his destiny:
Do it for the vine. ]
[ Finally everything is set up just the way he wants it. Camera placed just behind the closed doors of the entrance wall, it's propped up to frame the hall in such a way that it looks like just any normal day in Wonderland. The real trick is turning it on at just the right moment. He decides to turn it on from behind so the video doesn't capture his initial appearance. Slipping away as quietly as possible, the video just captures a few silent seconds of the doors.
Which then BURST OPEN IN AN EXPLOSION OF SHRAPNEL AND FIRE. USA USA USA.
The smoke clears and, surprise surprise, guess who's standing at the center with arms cross and cocky grin in place? No Crowley, that's for fucking sure, like he'd be capable of anything this epic. For those who knew him the changes are small and subtle, probably nothing to catch amidst the chaos. A taller stature, unhindered by painful wounds, a face that's still young but no longer burdened by self-consciousness and undercurrents of fear.
In the split-second he opens his mouth, just before he speaks you might be expecting something like YOUR HERO HAS RETURNED. But no. ]
WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY RAPTORS?
[ Good news: he's even more of a selfish shithead than before. Bad news: that was the good news.
God help you all.
and now a million years later do I add an obligatory nsfw warning?? don't read my threads if you value your time and integrity ]
action
It’s frightening. He doesn’t know what a kiss in that place means, or what America’s asking from him. Is it a farewell, or a polite request to jump his bones? America's body language isn't helping, going from blushing embarrassment to smooth confidence. His self-presentation has changed just enough to throw Luke off. The little tics and postures he had grown used to are twisted by time and experience, and Luke didn’t even realise that could happen if you got older.]
I want… Let’s.
[America’s weight is an uncomfortable pressure and he shifts, one hand squeezing America’s thigh but making no concerted effort to push him away or pull him closer. Just resting there, like he needs it for balance and peace of mind.
This awkward talk is too awkward for complete sentences. Instead, he stares at America in mute apprehension, skimming over his handsome face and alarming eyes, to the set of his shoulders and the strong arc of his spine. America talks and Luke half-listens, reaching out to touch and explore. If America’s changed, he wants to know how and see it for himself, but his fingers curl into a fist before they can press against his chest.
He draws back an inch, glancing up at America for permission. Just because America is stronger, it doesn’t necessarily mean he’s free from pain. Luke had ample opportunity to see how even a little jostling could hurt him last time he was here. He never treated America’s injuries with kid gloves, not when he was so comfortable trading easy touches, but after so long he feels like he might be a stranger to America. Strangers don’t have leeway to put their grubby hands on your sore spots.]
Can I..?
[He leaves it up to America to finish the question. If, for example, he happens to interpret it as a request to pin him down and kiss his rugged abs, Luke will smile a resigned smile and go along with it to spare America the embarrassment of miscommunication.
If he just thumps his chest before moving on to stir-fry and sodas, Luke will consider that a rain-check.]
action
Or a baby America, who fished with the bears like he was one of their own. Same thing really.
Luke's response is perfectly useless. America nods like they're speaking in Danish. If they pretend hard enough, maybe it will actually become a meaningful conversation. Good plan.
Watching the hand move and then recede timidly is a gesture he does understand. Possibly. He fills in the blanks to Luke's question, deciding that he's asking to see his new and improved form. America refuses to think there's any other way he could've finished that sentence. ]
Yeah, 'course! You haven't seen me in peak shape, have ya? Oh man, it's embarrassing to think you saw me naked back then! All those ugly burns and ripped flesh, what a sight for sore eyes I was. Amazing ya ever managed to get it up, ha ha!
[ Happily chattering, he starts tugging at the bottom of his shirt, lifting it up to show off the flat stomach and smooth skin. Nothing remains of the raw wounds with the exception of a ragged scar where his body had been stitched from shoulder to hip. He should consider that this isn't appropriate behavior is Luke doesn't want anything more than friendship, but he doesn't. To no one's surprise America is blissfully unaware of any implications in his actions. This is a totally normal, completely innocent interaction between two guy pals. Totally. ]
Always was self-conscious about... well, everything, and how I looked factored into that, but that was a good thing about this place! Y'all helped me through it. Best ya could, anyway, but it was enough for my spirit.
And look! Aside from this [ he prods part of the strip of discolored skin ] I'm actually cute! Oh, you can touch it, I don't mind. Don't hurt no more!
[ As if sensing Luke's reluctance (or blatantly disregarding normal rules of conduct), he tugs his wrist forward until the other boy's hand is splayed over the scar. All the while he grins excitedly like a little kid showing off a macaroni picture. Proud that he made it through, even if the road hasn't been an easy one, even though he earned other scars on his body and heart. He wants to show everyone that he's changed for the better.
Under Luke's fingertips, America's stomach rumbles threateningly. It's is the growl of yearning for a burger that trails off into the deafening nothingness of a black hole that captures all sound and light on the event horizon.
I don't remember how black holes work but I'll pretend I do because it's daylight savings. ]
action
When America brings up shame he felt, Luke shakes his head furiously and treats him to an expression of exaggerated sympathy. Even if he likes this new America, the old one is the one he fell for. Even if they uncommunicate their way to celibacy, nothing will change that.]
You’re special. None of that stuff mattered to me.
[Something which should be fucking weird to say out loud. Because it is. Weird. But it’s also true and, while Luke thinks of America as distant, something he can admit. Strange that it’s so hard to tell someone intimate thoughts when you’re close to their heart. When he thinks time has softened America’s feelings, it’s not so hard to open up to him.
With that feeling welling in his chest, it’s also easy to run his thumb over the ridge of scar tissue. He can't be horrified, not after he’s seen what else America’s been through. It’s triumphant. Something to be admired. Something he could kiss his way down, but has to settle for running the pads of his fingers over these new parts of America, sliding up to his chest and thumbing his nipple with a slightly hysteric giggle.
Luke told him over and over how things would turn out, and he’s so happy America can finally believe him.
And now that he can finally touch America without worrying about either of them winding up in hospital, he uses this perfect moment to dig his finger into his ribs. Revenge. And it only took thirty years to get.]
We should go eat. And then… then I want to see you again. Tonight.
[His grin widens, and then immediately dissolves into a puddle of anxiety.]
If you don’t have anything else to do.
action
And without the fear of judgement, he worries less about showing off the heart he wears on his sleeve. Rarely is his blunt honesty reciprocated though. America cocks his head and doesn't try to hide the surprise on his face. Years alone with his thoughts warped his memories a bit, especially during those depressive episodes in the war. Like the one he'd had in Wonderland, except there was no one who wanted to help him. It was very easy to believe that he was alone, that he always has been and always will be.
He studies Luke's face for a moment, thinking that he should be weirded out that it hasn't changed in the slightest. Instead he studies all the little details that hadn't been carved into his memory. They're not strangers and neither has forgotten the other. That's the weird part.
Finally a grin spreads across his face. He tries to sound charming but his voice snags on an awed whisper. ]
You're truly one of a kind, ain'tcha Luke Smith.
[ He doesn't stop the hand trailing to his nipple, only joins in with a sharp inhale that falls into a giddy chuckle that's almost hysteric too because he can't believe this is happening.
He'd be an absolute fucking dumbass to believe that things will pick up as they were, that everything will work out just fine for both of them, that he can disregard the walls (more like a white picket fences) he'd carefully built around his heart that never actually protect him from getting hurt but make it easier to accept his losses so he can keep going forward. Loving people doesn't stop them from leaving. He should have that on his family crest.
America decides he's an absolute fucking dumbass and he will embrace this side of himself with all the unwarranted optimism and delusions he can muster.
It makes it easier to relax around Luke anyway, pretend that they're both good friends again who might be on the track to something more. What also helps is that his mind is suddenly thrown into disarray as Luke exacts a decades-old revenge scheme. America yowls like a cat that's been doused with water, spasming violently at the ticklish sensation until he falls off Luke's lap. He squirms away while clutching his side in defense. ]
Augh, you asshole!
[ There's absolutely no malice in his tone. He even laughs as he struggles to right himself. Well played, good sir. ]
You'd better not do that at supper or I swear I'll puke all over your fancy pants!
[ He offers a hand to pull Luke upright. Once they're on they're feet together, America immediately wraps his hands around Luke's shoulders and shakes him lightly. Rougher than he ways before, but infused with playful sort of roughness in the universal code of brohood. It's the universal signal of deep friendship and promises of more immature vengeance.
When the moment is right, America will strike... ]
Like I'd have anything else to do but catch up with ya. It's a date!
action
But America looks almost the same and Luke is too young to really get it.
And this is enjoyable. America is saying nice things, smiling and squirming under his hands again, and c’mon, that overreaction is funny. Luke knew he would be a total drama queen about a few prods.]
Yeah, it’s not so fun, is it?
[He rolls his eyes at the threat and shoves his arm into America's chest as soon as he’s steady on his feet. Just because he can, and because America won’t flinch afterwards. He never thought he'd be able to do normal friend stuff with America, and it does nothing to lessen his desire to keep touching him.
Neither does a date. A date. It's a bit tame, but it's enough to flood him with joy. He does a quick sweep to make sure they’re alone, even though it’s impossible to check on peeping Toms when there are no corners, only endless open space everywhere. And those jerks with wings who like to show off. Luke thinks they all look ridiculous and is embarrassed for them.
Acting far braver than he feels, he kisses America’s jaw. Almost a platonic peck on the cheek, only it edges too far back to the sensitive skin of his neck. At least it’s not between his eyebrows. He’s not a freak.
And before America’s allowed to relax, he takes off down the corridor at a jaunty pace, calling over his shoulder.]
You’ll have to put up with whatever the cupboard decides to give us. Can’t get to the kitchen from here.
action
Then again, not everyone wants a normal life. But America wants them to have that choice. As lonely as it is to be an immortal personification, it must also be lonely to be the only one to grow old in a relationship where one partner is ageless. America wouldn't know, he can only speculate.
It's a lot to think about, too much for him to deal with all at once. A dull throb begins in his head. He decides to shove his worries aside. Things will work out one way or the other. Worst case scenario, he'll be on the fringes of Luke's life or forgotten altogether. Nothing he can't handle. Okay-case scenario, they'll stay close friends even if never move beyond anything platonic. That's a fate America's perfectly fine with.
He'll just enjoy himself and see where that leads. His fingers reach up unconsciously to touch the place where Luke's lips had been. It was chaste and brief but his skin still tingles and head feels all floaty. Oh how he missed this. And Luke. That fuckin' dork and his squishy cheeks.
Thirty years has put him in well enough shape that he catches up to Luke easily, following eagerly with no rattle in his breathing or limp in his step. ]
As long as it's edible, it'll suit me just fine!
[ America has a very broad definition of the word "edible." ]
That's another thing I missed about Wonderland: the food. Easy to get and in a whole variety and it's all free! [ He's so excited about things that are free. ] It's such a little thing, the sort of stuff that don't make it into detailed memories, but it's so amazing. Like somethin' straight outta my fantasies!
action
Without any of America’s obligations, he’s chosen the opposite path. Force himself to become as normal as he can be. It’s only here, in Wonderland, with America, that he can let go. There are entire moments with America where he feels okay with who he is. Which isn’t a good thing, and shouldn’t be encouraged, but it’s too nice to give up. If he was a moral person, he’d give it up.
But he's not. Not really.]
So? I thought you had scads of money, you said. Why do you care about free stuff?
[Even his infectious enthusiasm can’t stir Luke’s spirits at the prospect of the slightly crap closet food.
He walks so close to America he bumps into him several times. Their shoulders knock together a little higher than Luke’s used to. Reminds him of his sister. She gained two inches in a week, too.
He shakes off that thought before it drags his mood to a black place. This isn’t the time to mope, not when America’s so at ease in his own skin. He’d never realised those injuries ran deep enough to mess him around this much. He should have been more attentive. Less selfish.]
Don’t you have anything better to fantasise about?
[Because Luke’s fantasies are starting to revolve around what else might be easier for America now. He keeps watching the other boy's body in a way that's starting to move from appreciative to creepy. It's like the first time they kissed, only maybe this time he doesn't have to spell out all the implications behind his objectively mild statements.]
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How d'ya think I keep my scads of money? Like one of my Founders said, "a penny saved is a penny earned!" Or something like that. I dunno, I was pretty poor at the time and didn't have any pennies so I didn't pay much attention, and when I asked Franklin for one he took me to a party in Paris where he and France ended up stealing all my dancing partners and I ended up sitting awkwardly in the corner. But now I'm rich so I get it!
[ Like his tale of the Statue of Liberty, America fails to realize that his reality is a giant clusterfuck of absurdity as he speaks. Partying with Ben Franklin (while Adams undoubtedly threw a fit somewhere) is as normal to his growing up experience as getting chased by rhino-faced aliens is to Luke. He just smiles like he's recalling the wise words of some eccentric uncle.
More importantly, the cycle of being a pretentious, classist shithead is complete. ]
You think I'm different now, you should've seen me during the revolution. Younger and scrawnier and so damn serious. No wonder all the girls were swarming all over Ben and Francis instead of me. Good thing I loosened up, eh?
[ He lightly nudges Luke in the ribs with a wink. America didn't miss the implications in the other question and he has absolutely no intention of shying away from it. ]
You know well as I do I got plenty to fantasize about. You've seen inside my head! I don't limit myself to food when I can think up all sorts of wonderful things all together.
[ In truth, he'd felt kinda dirty back home if any Luke-related fantasies delved beyond innocent adventures that they never got to have together. It felt like some disrespect to his memory; he didn't know if Luke was already dead or married or something, and such thoughts usually ruined any mood he was trying to work up. The only times he could manage anything further were when he woke up in the middle of the night with his hand down his pants, half asleep and clinging to dreams about Luke.
He wisely decides not to share any of this because things are already awkward and bringing up guilt-laden wet dreams is not how you rekindle a friendship. HE'S NOT AN EXPERT ON RELATIONSHIPS BUT HE KNOWS THAT MUCH. ]
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The most important thing to take away from this is that France is called Francis and that’s the most blatant cop-out Luke’s ever heard in his life. Get some fucking originality, France.]
Nothing wrong with serious! Or scrawny.
[A touch too defensive on that last note. At least when America had a jacked up body Luke felt, not on equal footing, but good enough. He could understand why America would settle for him. Now he’s starting to wonder if he would prefer someone who can match his new physique. Or go with some girl he could dance with. This is a whole new area of things Luke didn’t realise he could be agonising over.
But this is still a celebratory phase, so he lowers his voice to confide] But this is better. Guess I’ve got plenty to fantasise about, too.
[Luke tangles his limbs around America’s arm until one is clasping his elbow and the other holds his hand, and practically drapes himself over his side. He can’t keep the slight anxious tremble away. It’s so embarrassing how it suffuses everything and pitches his sentences up unpleasantly high.]
What girl are you planning on stealing away?
[He mumbles the joke into his chest, and is generally appalled at his own behaviour.]
action
His grin widens at Luke's admission, more elated than mischievous. Familiarity with the touch and tone only breathe life into his excitement. It's like picking up a beloved story to reread, filling in the gaps with forgotten details and picking out the bits of writing that help you remember why it became a favorite. Just like that, but is a million times better. ]
Who said I was lookin' for a girl? My outlaw experience didn't prepare me to steal nothin' but horses and fellas!
[ Waggling his brows, he squeezes Luke's hand. He tries to use the clinging as leverage to lift him slightly with the easy strength he's always had, even at his most damaged. The message is blatant enough, but America's sick of beating around the bush. Victorian subtlety is for shady business practices and people who are ashamed of liking guys, and America's not anywhere in the realm of a business right now. ]
Comin' up here, my plan was to say the farewell I didn't get to give ya thirty years ago. Or last week, as it turns out for you. But then I figured we could start a new chapter! Not start over, 'cause I don't wanna abandon the memories from before, but start anew. Work our way backwards from that good-bye onward to somethin' else! Like a second chapter! Go as fast or slow, casual or heavy as the mood strikes.
[ He's had several decades and lots of alone time during travels to think about what he'd say in this situation. The beginning feels pretty solid to him, but then he starts to trip over his thoughts. ]
If I'm readin' the atmosphere right--which everyone says I'm bad at, so could be way off--but this is pretty friendly. We were good friends before. I still consider you a close friend! And I'm glad with that to start. Start, by that I mean... we don't gotta jump into anything, but I really liked, last time, if you wanted to begin anew with that... sex, and maybe more? Again! We can just go with whatever we feel!
[ And what does he conclude that beautiful articulation with? ]
For starters, I feel hungry.
[ Truly an Oscar-worthy performance. ]
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He doesn't know about fellas, but he'll let America steal a horse. If he's good.]
Me too.
[Is all he has to say after that speech, but his smile has grown wider with every word uttered.
He doesn't know what’s more than sex (they can't exactly buy a house or start a family) but he definitely wants to find out.]
It’s only been a few days since you were writing letters saying you loved me.
[Arriving at his room gives him an excuse to pull away and disguise the tension he feels.
His room is still the same. Neon lights are less impressive in the open sunshine filtering down on them, but the walls are mostly intact and crammed full of the usual rubbish Luke likes to pin up. Pages torn from library books, photos of friends, and America's valentine. Stiff and wrinkly and a mess of smudged ink and rusty brown splatters, but it holds pride of place over his computer.
He waves a hand, indicating America should make himself at home while Luke grabs some kebabs and chips.]
And now you’ve moved on and seen loads of other people and done all this stuff...
[The closet gives him a plethora of mystery styrofoam take-away boxes. Luke drops them on the bed, sits down, then immediately jumps up to make America some coffee. Anything to not have to look at him while he talks through his feelings.]
I know you've changed, but it feels like you never left at all.
action
Spotting the window, he's suddenly hit with the memory of their first kiss and how it ended with the most embarrassing reaction to an erection he has ever had. That's something he hasn't forgotten. The embarrassing things always manage to stick around, lurking just below the surface of consciousness waiting for the opportunity to jump back up and remind him just so he can feel embarrassed all over again. It's like mental herpes. ]
Hah! I remember that! [ He's still slowly exploring the room, touching every neon light in reach. ] Took me ages to figure out what I wanted to say. Sorting through feelings, makin' 'em tangible words, never been my strongest suit. And after all that I can't even remember what I'd said. I guess if it's a choice between remembering that or what your smile looked like, I'd choose the latter any day, but I put effort into that! After all-- oh, wait, here they are.
[ Once he spots the Frankenstein mishmash of crinkled paper and bloodied lace, his steps quicken in apparent eagerness to read it. As his eyes skim the smudged words, his excited demeanor sinks bit by bit into quiet thoughtfulness. The usual hum of energy he exhibits in his movements--all the exuberance and twitching and shuffling that's as hard to ignore as the din of cicadas in the fall--slows and trickles to a calm. He stares until a sort of wonder seeps into his expression.
Living so long, even the most intense and magnificent feelings tend to dull and gather dust once they're stored away. It just takes a fresh gaze to reignite them.
America's eyes skim over the word temporary several times before glancing to Luke. The sudden rush of emotions reminds him of the Northern Lights: so familiar that after a while it became visual white noise, but then the wonder strikes all over again and he feels the same amazement as the first time he saw them. He looks like he's gazing upon something impossible and pretty and way beyond his comprehension.
It's probably the sort of look that would freak out a long lost partner. Not surprisingly, America doesn't know this nor does he care. He keeps on gawking like a fucking weirdo.
Finally he snaps out of it with a few blinks and a sudden waft from the delicious-yet-questionable boxes. He goes right ahead and makes himself at home, flopping onto the bed and splaying himself out as he grabs for the food. Dirt and horse smell and probably some parasites are now burrowing into Luke's sheets along with the grimy cowboy. ]
Ah ha ha, dunno if that's good or not. I moved on and changed, just... hope it's in the ways that matter. Or maybe the ones that don't matter. I mean between us, the ones that wouldn't change us, I mean that's not... hmm.
[ He hums as he chews on the the end of a kebab, more contemplative than anxious. Then he reaches an acceptable conclusion and cocks a grin in Luke direction. ]
Guess if that's the case, I'd have to make ya fall in love with me all over again! Shouldn't be too hard. Same fella, same America, still Alfred, just further down that path [ gestures toward the valentine full of convoluted metaphors ] at a new intersection! Y'know what I mean? Gosh I hope, 'cause I barely know what the hell's comin' outta my mouth half the time!
[ He grins around a burnt piece of chicken. And yet he's probably not joking. ]
All I know is, this beats the fuck outta eating charred rattlesnake! [ Closet kebabs: not as gross as dinner snake. ]
action
There are no actual squealing noises, of course, because Luke is the very opposite of the roaring and bawling and rustling of dark grasses. Already withdrawn, he reacts to disasters letting them sink into him like a stone in a deep well. After the trauma of Valentines day his muteness fell on him and drained up into his kisses. It kept him from saying simple words like I Love You, until it was easier to say nothing at all and lie next to America, hoping he understood the sentiment behind tender touches and thoughtful actions and fucking taping his guts back together.
Not the grossest thing Luke’s ever done with a body, but it’s up there.]
Guess a bit of you was still here with me.
[His mouth twists at his own dark joke. It’s not like he was comforted by falling asleep and catching a glimpse of America’s painstaking thoughts, stained with blood and viscera and flecks of things Luke can’t identify. Except he was, in a gruesome way. Luke’s used to people dying and leaving nothing behind. No body, no burial. Nothing but memories. In some ways it was nice, keeping some small part of him close by, tended to like a well-kept gravestone. Except it was a keen reminder that America hadn’t faded into nothingness. Somewhere, he was alive and happy. Going along his own path.
And he did know. Luke didn’t have to spend a week hating himself because America did know Luke loved him, and he wants Luke to keep loving him and Luke thinks he might do just that.
He wishes he was younger, so the words he wants to say wouldn’t stick in his throat, clogged up behind shame and self-awareness. But if he was younger, he wouldn’t care so much about being in love. He wouldn't like America for being like him, and he wouldn't find joy in being attracted to someone, or in America's flattering and uncertain feelings.]
I never know what you mean.
[And now they’re two sappy teenagers engaged in a disturbing staring contest, looking at something beautiful that they don’t understand. America pours all his passion and joy and life into his movements, and his words are free and light when Luke obsesses over crafting perfect polished sentiments, as if he can make the world right and sensible if he finds the right thing to say. But it’s okay. If neither of them comprehend the other all that well, love isn’t lessened by it.
Not caring (or rather, not realising) that America’s going to give him ringworm, Luke waits for him to take his shitty instant coffee before settling down on the opposite end of the bed, leg tucked under him as he starts on his vinegary chips with extra vinegar.]
Barbecue snake? How d’you get into a situation where you have to seriously consider eating a snake? That doesn't sound like the high life.
[Those people he’s dating can’t have been treating him right. Luke is clearly the superior provider, even if this chicken will give them salmonella.]
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But Luke kissed over bandaged wounds America thought were hideous reminders of how fucked up he was inside and out. He stared at him with starry-eyed admiration, and even if it got a little unsettling when Luke's face froze in that expression for unnaturally long durations, America soaked it up eagerly. He forgave America for threatening his Mirror with forced surgery and reminding him of his traumatic past; he'd asked America to stay, and even more remarkably, Luke still wanted him after America had revealed his disturbing view of the universe, the system of sheep and dogs and wolves, and still wanted him after America (again) threatened Luke's torturers. He gave so many squishy smiles and small touches to an immortal being meant to personify a country that wasn't even his, someone and something that, by all accounts, Luke should have hated. Instead he'd eased America's mind and given him a constant friendship that had evolved into something beyond.
If that isn't love, America doesn't know what is. (Then again what the fuck does he know, Luke was the first person to love him back and all of his relationships, romantic or otherwise, are utter disasters. Sadly he does not take this into consideration. The sappiness continues on unchecked.)
There isn't an easy way to convey everything he thinks and feels in a comprehensible manner. A sweet smile and happily sipping the shitty instant coffee until he burns his tongue will have to do.
He feels comfortable. Almost like he's home again, connected and okay. ]
Hey, you get out in the desert, get into dire circumstances, you don't got room to be picky! Even if snakes do have such cute little faces. Don't tell Crowley I said that. [ Though learning that America's eaten snakes might make him throw a sizable fit. Tempting. ] I get my fill of the high life, don't you worry! After a while it just gets so boring. Cut throat business is only exciting when ya get to be part of it, otherwise it's just depressing hard work. Then I finally get a chance to go to parties and it's all the same stuffy uptight crap.
[ He parties with both the robber barons and their workers. It gets awkward. And, apparently, he's not all about business exploits and kissing ass. He finishes his kebab with a roll of his eyes as he says the words uptight crap around a mouthful of food. ]
Funner in the West, even if I gotta eat rattlesnake now and then!
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Can’t help it. I’m always worrying about you.
[Turns out that when you start to really care about a nation that acts like a deranged teenage boy, the list of things you have to worry about expands exponentially until you eventually just have to say fuck it, this isn’t my department. It’s someone else’s department. Possibly a federal executive department, and Luke is a maths nerd, goddammit. His moral action relies heavily on ‘do what the good people say and don’t do what the bad people say’.
He is so unequipped to deal with what the future will bring.]
'Cos you do mad stuff like walk into the desert to face dire circumstances.
[That's the bit that sounds like depressing hard work, but what does Luke know?
On impulse, he pushes onto his knees, planting one hand between the styrofoam boxes and crossing the gap between them to plant a kiss on America's cheek. It's an action that involves far more awkward wobbling than it really should.
Then, mouth pressed against America's skin, under threat of over-balancing and getting chilli sauce everywhere, he decides the most perfectly alluring thing to whisper is]
Why would Crowley care?
[A topic that's perfect for the mood he's trying to create. But anyway, the guy said he liked reptiles. Surely he can’t take so much issue with America that he’d disagree about snakes for the sake of disagreeing.
Unless he likes snakes for reasons other than cuteness, which is strange because Luke was under the impression that was why most people liked animals. Okay, maybe a snake isn’t cute, but Luke doesn’t think cats are cute either, so he’s not the best judge of what other people are likely to be thinking (see: his misapprehensions over every relationship).
To conclude, Luke is going to repeat America's exact words to Crowley, just to see how he reacts. That’s what you get for dating a scientist.]
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He keeps on smiling until Luke slinks closer to him with the grace of a newborn giraffe, at which point his heartbeat starts wobbling just as awkwardly as Luke. It's only a kiss, not even the first Luke has given him since his return and it's not even on the lips, but it feels like it's theirs again. Imperfect but wonderful. No desperation of reuniting, no trepidation wondering if one has outgrown the other. America went ahead and stared right down the deep well of Luke's heart, fished out all the leaves and dead things that had fallen in, and then gotten to work fixing up the little house he'd built beside it that had dilapidated after thirty years and is overgrown with kudzu because people in 1876 didn't understand its true power.
Also America hasn't gotten any action in several years so he can't help it if simple gestures make him shiver. Even though the follow-up question is like a bucket of ice water to his libido. How to kill any potential for a boner: change the topic to Crowley.
Then again, the demon's origins are kinda interesting, and it looks like Luke isn't privy to them. America glances to him curiously. Couples share secrets even if those secrets aren't theirs. He's completely unaware that Luke is going to spread this shit like America spreads fleas. ]
'Cause he was the snake at the Garden of Eden. You know, the famous one? Tempted Eve with the apple. Downfall of mankind, got cast outta the Garden. He told me all about them too! Weird how I remember everything about that conversation but not a bunch of other stuff 'bout Wonderland. But yeah, you've seen his eyes right? That's why they're all yellow and he wears those dark glasses like a tool. Which don't make sense 'cause they look more like fox eyes, but that's Crowley for ya.
[ Rolling his eyes as though it's all Crowley's fault that he doesn't have eyes like a python. ]
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Feigning casualness, he slides his hand over America's thigh and clicks his thumbnail over the rigid seam of his pants. While a week is pretty much Luke's equivalent to America's years of celibacy, he's not actually staring at America's crotch, but at the gun holstered on his hip. If he gets any closer to it, it might flip out and kill them all.
He's both buoyed and depressed by the detail in which America remembers Wonderland. The question of whether he recalls enough to smoothly pick up where they left off weighs heavy on him. It's on the tip of his tongue, but he decides he doesn't want to know the answer just yet.]
Is Eden in Cornwall?
[Too old to attend compulsory religious education lessons, Luke stares up at America's face like an innocent lost at sea. So dehydrated he doesn't even realise they're not speaking the same language.
The offended noise returns at the idea that humanity has fallen anywhere. Mankind is a bright, sparkling star in a universe of horrors, and Luke's not going to let anyone slander their name. Not some alien, demon whatever. Not even their own religious texts.]
There's nothing disgraceful about being human, anyway. Mister Crowley's cool, but he's not good enough to ruin an entire species.
[Frowning in incredibly earnest anger, he gives America's leg a squeeze to emphasise his point. His point might be that humans can orchestrate their own downfall just fine, and Luke is living proof of that sentiment.
Crowley being a snake, however, is something he accepts unquestionably.]
Probably needs those glasses to see, if his eyes are yellow. The people who made me had eyes like that. Really messed with their vision in the daytime. Guess they had superior shapeshifting technology, 'cos they always changed the colour.
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The Garden Eden is in Jackson County, Missouri.Ignoring the way Luke eyes his revolver when he has a much more friendly piece he could be eying, America stares at him like he'd just asked what flavor of Gatorade is the best. Everyone, even people in the 1890s, know that blue is the best. He can't comprehend how Luke couldn't know about Eden. Even if he's not a Christian how do you not know you live on Pasty White Protestant Island. The look he gives Luke is a cocktail of bewilderment and vague condescending pity peppered with terms of endearment that can double as insults below the Mason Dixon line. ]
The Garden of Eden? Hon, it's. It's in the Bible. [ Which is a place. Meaning that no idea where the fuck it is. Maybe some mystical alternate dimension like Wonderland? Where the hell is Jerusalem anyway he didn't see no Jesus when he went to visit Egypt's pyramids. ] Not that I disagree with ya. Bein' human is something to hold pride in. Just that in Genesis--you know the story, don't ya? The snake, Crowley, he tempts Eve with eating from the tree of knowledge, the one thing God told 'em not to do. Apparently she gave him a hard time of it, played a whole thing of twenty questions before makin' her mind up.
[ He smiles at that. Part of the reason why the conversation stuck with him is how utterly human Crowley made them sound. Not even his drunkenness at the time or thirty years and a dimension later can dull the excitement of imagining Adam and Eve as people, not mythical character in a fairy tale. ]
But... free will. Crowley definitely isn't cool enough to ruin something as remarkable as humans.
[ His grin widens, thinking about the strange horrible loveliness of humans. He's almost about to teeter into some wistful gushing about humanity, but this might be the first he's heard of Luke's makers. If he's said anything before other than his childhood trauma, America has forgotten it. ]
Yeah? Don't think I've heard that one before. But I'm gonna have to try that out, the day time thing, lob a bowl at the snake's head or something. [ The turtle will have his vengeance. ] So your... the people who made you, they demons too? British?
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Far too used to bafflement and pity for it to make a serious dent, he decides the pet name is the result of thirty years of maturity, and not a piece of condescending psychological warfare. Luke doesn’t hold back the smile that washes over his face. To top it off, all this talk of how humans are fantastic pacifies him like a familiar fairy tale that soothes his troubled heart.]
Never read that book. Didn’t know Crowley was a fictional character.
[He tries to respect religious beliefs. He does. Someone, somehow managed to beat that much into his head, so at least he’s not reacting with the obvious dripping disdain he reserves for magic.]
So he’s supposed to have given us knowledge of the universe? So… he’s the good guy? You make him sound like the Doctor.
[Because there’s something better than Jesus on this version of pasty Protestant island.
Before he can continue on with salient theological questions like “Do Crowley and Eve get together?” America gets an odd look.]
No. Neither of those things. They were giant one-eyed squids. The Mother was… [He looks up at the ceiling thoughtfully, as if he’s looking at memories playing out across the years] four? Five times bigger than this room? The rest were just big enough to swallow a person whole.
[He contorts in his arms in front of him, like tentacles squeezing the life out of some poor bastard before they’re devoured head first. Having performed that mime with the loving relish of a child recalling a story about the monster under his bed, he grabs one of the kebabs and tips it thoughtfully at America.]
You they’d have to rip in half.
[He grins flirtatiously, because that was indeed intended to be flirtation, and tears off a hunk of meat with his teeth. But, as it always does when you’re made to think about the circumstances of your existence, it all falls into solemn reflection and cringing please-don’t-be-mad-at-me smiles.]
They weren’t into free will. Or anything “British”. They don’t like that stuff? Y’know, like… emotion or culture or individuality.
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Those are the words this immense frowning is trying to convey. ]
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You were made by a fuckin' Kraken? [ snort ] Sounds to me more like giant calamari!
[ America isn't afraid of The Mother eating him. The Mother should be afraid of America eat her.
Grabbing some of his own vinegar-soaked fries, he waves away Luke's cringing like it's a wisp of smoke. ]
Well don't matter what they want. They might be your creator, but when ya make a human, you gotta realize that free will comes with the package. Don't matter now that you've got your other mom, does it?
[ A question that's only half-rhetorical, because who knows what sort of influence having space squids in the family does to a person. ]
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No, there's nothing left in him but dry, sardonic disappointment, and it's levelled at America for a good five seconds. Until he sniffs, and sets his jaw, and redirects his stare to a spot on his wall, so America can squirm under the full weight of his silent, passive-aggressive dismissal.
America's blatant annoyance at religious belligerence is nothing compared to this. How dare he question Luke's grasp of self-determination, or imply Luke has any family other than the small, fragmented one he's claimed for himself. How fucking dare he.
Nose in the air, he bites out curt words.]
Guess I'll never know if they matter. There was an explosion. They all died.
[Saying it makes him feel better. So much better. That's a memory he relishes. Not because he got off on killing a shit-load of aliens. It was the first time he felt happiness. The first moment freedom sang in his blood. The first time he knew what it was like to be safe.]
I'm free. [A brighter, more honest smile cuts across his face. He decides America must earn his forgiveness by sacrificing half his chips to Luke's grabby hands. Even though he blatantly still has a full box of his own.] You ever felt the need to stop being free? 'Cos I haven't.
[The only conclusion that can be drawn from this reaction is having space squids in the family does terrible, terrible things to you and is not recommended.]
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He doesn't balk at the explanation or the tone it's delivered in. Distantly he wonders if Luke was the cause of that explosion, but really, the way he immediately perks up says it all. Not that America really cares. Space-squids aren't in his department. He has enough massacres to give a shit about, he doesn't need to add the murder of Luke's creators to the list.
Wavering or not on whether to continue his unwarranted sulking, America decides to go ahead and roll with the better mood. Plus, freedom. Always a topic to brighten his spirits. He can't help but grin right back at Luke with shining eyes an an inner glow that could probably summon bald eagles like a beacon if he dared to smile any wider. ]
Never.
[ A single word that he tries to decorate with a core ideology, the very fabric of his existence, until that one word weighs more than a brown dwarf. A single word that sounds like a bell ringing in his voice, clear and sharp, until it falls into dark brackish waters that beat wooden crates against the sides of English ships.
FREEDOM MOTHERFUCKER. America is so obviously enthralled with Luke's appreciation for freedom that he doesn't even mind that his fry supply has been depleted. It's better for his diet, anyway. ]
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It can be easy to forget that Luke, looked at with complete neutrality, is also mad as an eel.
At least his madness is perfectly primed to respond to America’s intense sort of madness. This is what drives the buzzing obsession that underpins their cozy relationship. This is the difference between pining after a cute, funny bloke named Alfred, and being as strangely clingy as treacle on a walrus.
Yes, he’s undeniably attractive. America is blond, which is a terrible shame, but he’s still a beauty to set you aching. Clear, expressive blue eyes (not the chilling blue of photoshopped models, which makes every issue of Cosmo feel like it’s been populated by escapees from the Village of the Damned, but the same sort of blue as, say, some types of loo cleaner), and a smile that could burn three layers of skin off the faces of all onlookers.
But under all that, he brims and fizzes with the stuff humanity dreams of. So Luke dreams of it too.]
I haven't been able to sleep. Thinking of all the stuff I never got to say to you. Thought about writing you a letter, but I didn’t think you’d ever read it. Martha and Mister Crowley said you’d come back, but I didn’t believe them.
[He frowns briefly, thinking about some of the less-than-faithful things he got up to while America was away. He doesn’t know what’s going on in D’Artagnan’s head. Whether it was a one time miracle, or if he’s not expecting something more.
Swallowing thickly, his hands search out America’s.]
You know you were saying we should go as fast or slow as the mood strikes?
[He slouches lower, hands balancing in the crook of America’s knee. Although he twists their fingers together nervously, he looks up at America with a beam of delight.]
Think the mood is saying we should go really fast right now.
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Already dizzy from the sudden mood whiplash, the declarations of freedom from an oppressive empire (of alien squids) leaves America feeling drunk on excitement and a deep-set pride. It's the same feeling he gets when people and countries alike congratulate him on his birthday.
His heart melts and he doesn't know whether to smile sweetly or drop his pants. Luke says, "I'm free" but America hears "You will never be more attracted to me now than you are in this moment." Correct.
If this were a romance movie starring competent people, America would take this as a cue to dramatically sweep the leftover food off the bed and give in to passion. Instead he springs up a little too suddenly, kneeling in some soggy fries as he stares over the rim of his dirty glasses. ]
Tell me now. Tell me everything, and I'll do the same, 'til we don't need words no more.
[ He squeezes Luke's hand, gentle as he was the first time they were in his room together, but he lurches toward Luke's lips with the reckless abandon of someone who looks at a mountain and spontaneously decides "I'm gonna climb that shit." It's more like he's trying to claim territory by mashing his face into it than a purposeful kiss, raw and unapologetic of the power he puts into his movements.
Apparently he expects Luke to say everything directly into America's mouth. Flawless plan. ]
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