[ steve, upon asking, immediately regrets asking at all. he is so hungry for the concept that maybe this isn't happening, that maybe nero isn't gone, and his chest tightens around the very idea of it. any mention of nero saying anything, of nero doing anything, feels like it could be a clue that would turn this all around. what did he say he asks, because he does want to know, wants to hear if there's some kind of hidden message, something nero would tell geralt about where he's hiding, what backup plan he's made, where-
but also, he knows. he knows how wrong he is. does he want to know nero's last words to geralt? because he'd gotten some of them himself, nero's last speech, his last words, his-
fuck. fuck. steve starts trembling slightly, unable to stop it, unable to keep his cool. geralt speaks after a moment, and steve doesn't know if there had been a pause or if the answer had come immediately after the question or-
he said you did good. and not to blame yourself.
the snort that rips free of steve is harsh, angry, short but definitive. it also brings out a burning behind steve's eyes, one that has him shutting them, holding them shut in an attempt not to embarrass himself further. he shouldn't have asked, really, because he knows it's not true. whatever nero wants to say, wanted to say, it's- it's not true.
if steve had done good, none of this would be happening, now, would it?
he clenches his hands into fists, holds himself so tight it hurts. then holds it for a second or two longer as he focuses on the silence in the air around him. if this were actually hawkins, a car would have driven by by now. someone probably would have stopped, seeing two people sitting in the grass beside the road, wondering if they're okay. but this isn't hawkins, there isn't anyone who is going to stop, and steve- steve hates it, in a way. misses home more than he has in over a year. misses it like a hole, driven solidly through his chest.
( but what does he have waiting for him there? )
there are a few seconds here where geralt doesn't say anything else, and where steve's entire focus is on keeping himself from crying. just- holding it back as much as he can. he breathes quickly at first, holding his eyes closed, refusing- refusing to be this pathetic. it takes a few more seconds before it evens back out, before he takes a breath and doesn't feel it rattle in his chest.
he doesn't see geralt look over to him, but he feels it, just as he feels the cool dampness of the grass under him.
you should try to forgive yourself.
steve is quiet for another moment, and then another more. when he finally relaxes, when he finally opens his eyes, they're red. his head hurts. he watches as his fists unclench, slowly. ] Sure. [ he shakes his head. ] Sorry, yeah. I'll. Try.
[ he won't - or at the very least, won't yet. but part of him thinks geralt knows that too. ]
Has- [ steve stops, swallows, then looks over to geralt through his hair. ] Has this happened before? One of us... summoned or whatever. [ steve doesn't really think much about the question before asking it, the words slipping out of him before he has time to think. ] Has anyone actually died?
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but also, he knows. he knows how wrong he is. does he want to know nero's last words to geralt? because he'd gotten some of them himself, nero's last speech, his last words, his-
fuck. fuck. steve starts trembling slightly, unable to stop it, unable to keep his cool. geralt speaks after a moment, and steve doesn't know if there had been a pause or if the answer had come immediately after the question or-
he said you did good. and not to blame yourself.
the snort that rips free of steve is harsh, angry, short but definitive. it also brings out a burning behind steve's eyes, one that has him shutting them, holding them shut in an attempt not to embarrass himself further. he shouldn't have asked, really, because he knows it's not true. whatever nero wants to say, wanted to say, it's- it's not true.
if steve had done good, none of this would be happening, now, would it?
he clenches his hands into fists, holds himself so tight it hurts. then holds it for a second or two longer as he focuses on the silence in the air around him. if this were actually hawkins, a car would have driven by by now. someone probably would have stopped, seeing two people sitting in the grass beside the road, wondering if they're okay. but this isn't hawkins, there isn't anyone who is going to stop, and steve- steve hates it, in a way. misses home more than he has in over a year. misses it like a hole, driven solidly through his chest.
( but what does he have waiting for him there? )
there are a few seconds here where geralt doesn't say anything else, and where steve's entire focus is on keeping himself from crying. just- holding it back as much as he can. he breathes quickly at first, holding his eyes closed, refusing- refusing to be this pathetic. it takes a few more seconds before it evens back out, before he takes a breath and doesn't feel it rattle in his chest.
he doesn't see geralt look over to him, but he feels it, just as he feels the cool dampness of the grass under him.
you should try to forgive yourself.
steve is quiet for another moment, and then another more. when he finally relaxes, when he finally opens his eyes, they're red. his head hurts. he watches as his fists unclench, slowly. ] Sure. [ he shakes his head. ] Sorry, yeah. I'll. Try.
[ he won't - or at the very least, won't yet. but part of him thinks geralt knows that too. ]
Has- [ steve stops, swallows, then looks over to geralt through his hair. ] Has this happened before? One of us... summoned or whatever. [ steve doesn't really think much about the question before asking it, the words slipping out of him before he has time to think. ] Has anyone actually died?