[ One by one folks have picked their way from the rubble. He's been stopped, had a cloth pressed to the back of his head. Bleeds worse than it looks. The young woman looking him over says she dropped out of medical school, couldn't afford it. Came here with her girlfriend, one of the fighters. She's covered in that flame retardant stuff that rained down from the ceiling. He thanks her in a distant tone and moves on.
Something humid presses just underneath his skin, a shift in the weather, a balloon about to pop. He's been ignoring the sensation all this time, but it presses against his temples, demanding his attention. There's not enough space to hold it all in and his edges are already frayed. He pulls himself inward: his pain, his loss, his sense of self. Not a ship in the sea, but heavy rock bed underneath the waves.
The storm's easy enough to find.
The Darkling's nearby. In this state Steve can't sense what passes between the two men. He stops a few meters away, jaw tight and features blanched. He's seen dead bodies before. No mistaking them for living, even after the mortician's gone and made them up. Anakin's body's not in a coffin, his hands aren't folded over his chest. But it's not the gore that gets him, it's the empty sense of nothing, an imposing silence.
Ren's not silent. Not on the other end of the link, at least. ]
Whatever you're about to do, don't. [ He tastes rusted iron, a wary edge to his hardened tone. ] He wouldn't thank you for it.
[ He doesn't offer pity. Doubts Ren wants it. Steve didn't know Anakin well, he can only assume Ren's pain is for the loss of a broodmate, the same overheated, defensive reaction that Steve's seen lead to violence before. But he knows Anakin cared about someone else here, Ahsoka, and whatever Ren does in these next few minutes is going to affect all of them, the same way it led to Adam Parker's death.
He also knows Ren can fling him aside with barely a thought, but he stands there without a plan all the same. ]
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Something humid presses just underneath his skin, a shift in the weather, a balloon about to pop. He's been ignoring the sensation all this time, but it presses against his temples, demanding his attention. There's not enough space to hold it all in and his edges are already frayed. He pulls himself inward: his pain, his loss, his sense of self. Not a ship in the sea, but heavy rock bed underneath the waves.
The storm's easy enough to find.
The Darkling's nearby. In this state Steve can't sense what passes between the two men. He stops a few meters away, jaw tight and features blanched. He's seen dead bodies before. No mistaking them for living, even after the mortician's gone and made them up. Anakin's body's not in a coffin, his hands aren't folded over his chest. But it's not the gore that gets him, it's the empty sense of nothing, an imposing silence.
Ren's not silent. Not on the other end of the link, at least. ]
Whatever you're about to do, don't. [ He tastes rusted iron, a wary edge to his hardened tone. ] He wouldn't thank you for it.
[ He doesn't offer pity. Doubts Ren wants it. Steve didn't know Anakin well, he can only assume Ren's pain is for the loss of a broodmate, the same overheated, defensive reaction that Steve's seen lead to violence before. But he knows Anakin cared about someone else here, Ahsoka, and whatever Ren does in these next few minutes is going to affect all of them, the same way it led to Adam Parker's death.
He also knows Ren can fling him aside with barely a thought, but he stands there without a plan all the same. ]