[Julian backs off a bit. It's not enough. What a fucking asshole.
Quentin ignores the instruction to look at Keller and instead squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to take four deep (if uneven) breaths and move his hands off of Julian's arm to press his fingers to both sides of his head.]
It's not you, asshole. I'm not—this isn't happening because of you, it's... It's—shit, I'll just show you.
[What he dumps into Julian's head isn't so much complete memories, but rather snapshots, sharp pangs of feelings connected to images and brief moments. Waking up from eggs over and over and over. Someone nonchalantly telling him the grisly way he died this time. Weeks and weeks worth of memories, thoughts, experiences gone forever because they happened between his last backup and his latest death. The spike of anxiety every time he's in danger, because dying would mean that everything he's done and felt in the past however many days would never matter, and a new Quentin Quire will come out of his egg none the wiser. And then the death he remembers: teeth and claws tearing his body to pieces after a Wolverine imposter stabs him in the throat.]
Learned, uh—learned fear response. Conditioned. I know you're not out to kill me, it's my brain that doesn't.
[His pulse is still pounding in his ears, and his voice and breathing aren't nearly as solid as he'd like, but Quentin does manage to center himself enough to open his eyes and look at Julian wearily. One hand goes to Julian's upper arm just above his elbow, and Quentin lightly pushes his arm away, not enough to be a serious attempt, just a suggestion.]
Give me space, let me get my head on straight, okay? I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not gonna be, you know. Me. The usual me. The me you're used to.
no subject
Quentin ignores the instruction to look at Keller and instead squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to take four deep (if uneven) breaths and move his hands off of Julian's arm to press his fingers to both sides of his head.]
It's not you, asshole. I'm not—this isn't happening because of you, it's... It's—shit, I'll just show you.
[What he dumps into Julian's head isn't so much complete memories, but rather snapshots, sharp pangs of feelings connected to images and brief moments. Waking up from eggs over and over and over. Someone nonchalantly telling him the grisly way he died this time. Weeks and weeks worth of memories, thoughts, experiences gone forever because they happened between his last backup and his latest death. The spike of anxiety every time he's in danger, because dying would mean that everything he's done and felt in the past however many days would never matter, and a new Quentin Quire will come out of his egg none the wiser. And then the death he remembers: teeth and claws tearing his body to pieces after a Wolverine imposter stabs him in the throat.]
Learned, uh—learned fear response. Conditioned. I know you're not out to kill me, it's my brain that doesn't.
[His pulse is still pounding in his ears, and his voice and breathing aren't nearly as solid as he'd like, but Quentin does manage to center himself enough to open his eyes and look at Julian wearily. One hand goes to Julian's upper arm just above his elbow, and Quentin lightly pushes his arm away, not enough to be a serious attempt, just a suggestion.]
Give me space, let me get my head on straight, okay? I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not gonna be, you know. Me. The usual me. The me you're used to.