The octopus becomes less of an octopus as Jefao strokes him and instead... well, instead he ends up looking like the little winged fox thing he was in the red blobby, complete with looking slightly more like a stuffed animal than the real thing. His colors are different though, vibrant and varied, the wings white and tipped in gold and black, his fur a mottled orangey-red.
He sits up to fold the paper and stares at it instead, feeling like half his insides have been replaced by lead.
"Does it matter if I'm kind if--"
Ah, there go words again.
"Sometimes it feels like it doesn't matter if I'm kind."
He remembers the constant low-level fear and hatred of his Kel, the way it ate at him. Not that he had all that many opportunities to be kind to them. He thinks of sitting with Dhanneth in Medical, needing to make sure he was okay. And Dhanneth killed himself just the same, in unbearable revulsion at having touched Jedao, having been forced to love him.
"It does matter, though. It doesn't always make the changes we wish it would. But it matters, every time. It's easy to check, if you think about how it would be different if we were cruel, instead."
He writes on the next slip, in very precise, small letters, I try to pay attention to the little things, with people I care about. Even when it's scary, even when I don't know what they mean.
His ears flick backwards at that note, somewhere between guilty and ashamed.
"I was-- I was cruel with John. He tried to hug me and I didn't let him. I should have let him. It would have helped. It would have helped both of us. But I w... I wanted him to try again and he didn't, but that's-- I should have just let him hold me when he wanted to."
"...No? I- I don't think so. I was just so... angry, and scared, and-- it's like I said to Malcolm. That I'm... scared of people leaving me. Giving up on me. Finding other people they like better. I wanted-- I wanted..."
His voice quiets, ashamed again. "I wanted proof he-- proof, I don't know."
That's not right, the words aren't right but he's not sure how else to frame it.
"That-- That-- That he knows I always want to be there, even if I'm being stupid and hurt, that he can hug me even when I'm mad if he needs it. That he can get mad at me, too, that he can yell and break things and be that kind of angry too and that won't scare me. Breaking things doesn't scare me. Things people say scare me."
"Uh. Maybe because you've spent a few months sitting in the acid bath of trying to do right by someone who keeps throwing your worst fear in your face, and you feel trapped because if you do anything to push back, or even seek comfort, you're afraid it'll prove him right?" Jedao suggests, dourly. "Could it maybe be partly that?"
He's not going to hurt Charlie. But also, fuck Charlie. A little bit.
I want him to get mad at me, really mad at me, like he wants to, so it can be over and we can both know that-- that-- even if we get that kind of angry it...
No, that's not it either, quite, because if it was then when John said fuck you it wouldn't have felt the way it did.
"I don't know," he says, softly panicked. "I don't know what I wanted and I don't know how to stop being mad when-- when-- when it's like you said. I don't want to be mad. I hate being mad at John, because most of the time he's right and it's not even mad it's something else."
He's starting to ramble now, but he stops abruptly and all he can think of is that poem, that poem from forever ago.
Isn't that love? Not being able to see the explosion even though you are the one holding the bomb, and the bomb is also you?
You aren't the bomb. I think love can be a lot of different things. And sometimes love is leaning together in the broken stones and picking shrapnel out of each other.
Why do you think he wants to really get mad at you?
Well, you're hurt and angry now. And you stormed off and turned an empty room into splinters and didn't do any of the sorts of things the King would do.
He drops another little kiss on the top of Edwin's head.
Generally it is not a great idea to try to blow things up to prove things one way or the other. Or to...try to get into a fight when you aren't really sure what you want from it. It's unfair to the other person, and it's a great way to - well, get a lot of things you don't want, after all. But having fights - even really painful ones - that's something lots of people do, and still love each other. Hell, Arthur and I had three or four serious blow-outs before we managed to be any kind of friends at all.
The last time you got furiously angry and fucked something up, you tortured a man. This time you had kind of a normal fight where you yelled at your brother and maybe neither of you did a great job listening to each other very well. Try to...think about that. Those two things are very not the same. You've learned and grown and come a really long way, actually. I'm proud of you.
And...I don't think he thinks you're like the King, he admits, honestly. But whatever is going on with him, when he looks at you like that, it hurts you. So I'm going to figure out what it is, and how to fix it.
Jedao wraps his arms around the sudden much-expanded figure of his son, and squeezes tight.
"There there, baby. That's alright. That's my good boy," he murmurs into Edwin's hair, nonsensically except that maybe Edwin can finally here it. The edge of the table is probably digging into Edwin's back and eventually Jedao's thighs are going to go numb, but he doesn't care.
He isn't sure how long he cries. Eventually it starts to fade, peters out into that hiccuped sort of breathing where a person isn't calm but isn't broken either.
"I wanted-- I wanted it to matter that I was upset. I wanted it to matter that I was upset, I just wanted him to tell me that it mattered that I was upset."
"Oh, Sunshine," Jedao says softly, still holding him tight. "That's a very - fair thing to want. And sometimes a hard request to hear, when someone you love is angry with you. I'm sorry it worked out that he couldn't hear it, over everything else."
He already does, Edwin thinks, but quietly enough that it's not really a thought to be shared. He already does, he just doesn't know that he does, and when he realizes it--
Yeah he's going to shift enough that he won't crush his dad--shift in Jedao's lap, shift himself to be lighter and a little shorter--and then just keep crying on his shoulder for a little bit.
Jedao lets him sob and sniffle for a while, letting himself get comfortable with the warm, precious weight of his boy.
When Edwin is starting to peter out again, Jedao asks softly, "Do you remember what you told me, about getting so mad when John asked if you were disgusted? Hurt, that he could even think that?"
"Because..." He's not sure. He just knows it felt like claws raking across his heart, that it just made him more angry, that it made him want to make things hurt, because if John thought he was disgusted then maybe--
Maybe what?
"I thought-- I thought he knew I would never be... disgusted by him. That I would never... That maybe I'd be hurt by something he did but I would never... be disgusted by him. I would never."
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He sits up to fold the paper and stares at it instead, feeling like half his insides have been replaced by lead.
"Does it matter if I'm kind if--"
Ah, there go words again.
"Sometimes it feels like it doesn't matter if I'm kind."
He starts folding almost robotically.
TW, suicide mention
He remembers the constant low-level fear and hatred of his Kel, the way it ate at him. Not that he had all that many opportunities to be kind to them. He thinks of sitting with Dhanneth in Medical, needing to make sure he was okay. And Dhanneth killed himself just the same, in unbearable revulsion at having touched Jedao, having been forced to love him.
"It does matter, though. It doesn't always make the changes we wish it would. But it matters, every time. It's easy to check, if you think about how it would be different if we were cruel, instead."
He writes on the next slip, in very precise, small letters, I try to pay attention to the little things, with people I care about. Even when it's scary, even when I don't know what they mean.
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"I was-- I was cruel with John. He tried to hug me and I didn't let him. I should have let him. It would have helped. It would have helped both of us. But I w... I wanted him to try again and he didn't, but that's-- I should have just let him hold me when he wanted to."
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"...No? I- I don't think so. I was just so... angry, and scared, and-- it's like I said to Malcolm. That I'm... scared of people leaving me. Giving up on me. Finding other people they like better. I wanted-- I wanted..."
His voice quiets, ashamed again. "I wanted proof he-- proof, I don't know."
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That's not right, the words aren't right but he's not sure how else to frame it.
"That-- That-- That he knows I always want to be there, even if I'm being stupid and hurt, that he can hug me even when I'm mad if he needs it. That he can get mad at me, too, that he can yell and break things and be that kind of angry too and that won't scare me. Breaking things doesn't scare me. Things people say scare me."
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"I don't know. I don't know what I wanted. I don't know why I'm always angry now."
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He's not going to hurt Charlie. But also, fuck Charlie. A little bit.
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Wait. Wait, there it is, he has the words.
I want him to get mad at me, really mad at me, like he wants to, so it can be over and we can both know that-- that-- even if we get that kind of angry it...
No, that's not it either, quite, because if it was then when John said fuck you it wouldn't have felt the way it did.
"I don't know," he says, softly panicked. "I don't know what I wanted and I don't know how to stop being mad when-- when-- when it's like you said. I don't want to be mad. I hate being mad at John, because most of the time he's right and it's not even mad it's something else."
He's starting to ramble now, but he stops abruptly and all he can think of is that poem, that poem from forever ago.
Isn't that love? Not being able to see the explosion even though you are the one holding the bomb, and the bomb is also you?
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Why do you think he wants to really get mad at you?
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I just want him to tell me-- that I'm like the King so I can be hurt and angry and maybe--
Maybe he'll stop looking at me like he knows I'm the bomb.
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He drops another little kiss on the top of Edwin's head.
Generally it is not a great idea to try to blow things up to prove things one way or the other. Or to...try to get into a fight when you aren't really sure what you want from it. It's unfair to the other person, and it's a great way to - well, get a lot of things you don't want, after all. But having fights - even really painful ones - that's something lots of people do, and still love each other. Hell, Arthur and I had three or four serious blow-outs before we managed to be any kind of friends at all.
The last time you got furiously angry and fucked something up, you tortured a man. This time you had kind of a normal fight where you yelled at your brother and maybe neither of you did a great job listening to each other very well. Try to...think about that. Those two things are very not the same. You've learned and grown and come a really long way, actually. I'm proud of you.
And...I don't think he thinks you're like the King, he admits, honestly. But whatever is going on with him, when he looks at you like that, it hurts you. So I'm going to figure out what it is, and how to fix it.
That's all.
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He didn't even think about hurting anyone, not even Charlie.
Something in that sends a shockwave ripple through him, a feeling that takes a little while to translate. Relief.
Quite suddenly, Jedao will have a wholeass humanshaped boy on his lap, clinging to him and sobbing onto his shoulder.
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"There there, baby. That's alright. That's my good boy," he murmurs into Edwin's hair, nonsensically except that maybe Edwin can finally here it. The edge of the table is probably digging into Edwin's back and eventually Jedao's thighs are going to go numb, but he doesn't care.
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"I wanted-- I wanted it to matter that I was upset. I wanted it to matter that I was upset, I just wanted him to tell me that it mattered that I was upset."
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"Well," he muses. "I guess three out of four isn't that bad."
Yes, he fucked up. But no, John won't hate him.
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Yeah he's going to shift enough that he won't crush his dad--shift in Jedao's lap, shift himself to be lighter and a little shorter--and then just keep crying on his shoulder for a little bit.
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When Edwin is starting to peter out again, Jedao asks softly, "Do you remember what you told me, about getting so mad when John asked if you were disgusted? Hurt, that he could even think that?"
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Jedao knows it. But he wants to see if Edwin understands it himself.
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Maybe what?
"I thought-- I thought he knew I would never be... disgusted by him. That I would never... That maybe I'd be hurt by something he did but I would never... be disgusted by him. I would never."
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