advanced | PSL for Renart

[He hums sympathetically. He can't lie and say she won't ever lose anyone again, and he doesn't know how best to comfort her because he has a feeling that he'd likely destroy his own Story if that was how it worked for him. If that was the only way out and everyone left to fight for had gone.

So he stays silent for a moment or two to think about what best to say, simply holding her in the meantime.]

Then he won't be destroyed either, will he? Him or any of the others you've lost, they're all in the pages. Everything you ever did or said or thought together, right?

[He isn't wrong. Her Story contains innumerable accounts of other people, Monty included. She nods solemnly, rubbing at her eyes.]

All my memories of him are in there.

[On the other hand, that's all she has left of him. Memories. But that's how it always is.]

I can't bring him back, so I need to be okay with only having those memories.

In the end, that's all most of us have left of the people we've lost.

[She loses more than most, but the grief of being left with only memories is a universal thing.]

It's okay to not be okay with it for now, but one day you'll be able to read his stuff in your Story and smile even though he's not with you any more.

[She knows she isn't unique, but it still hurts. It's too raw right now, and she can't deal with this pain the way she usually does, by running away, so she's left feeling scared and adrift.]

I don't think I'll ever smile at my memories of him.

[The pain of losing him won't ever fully go away.

Renart draws in a deep breath, taking a step back from him. She looks terrible after that bout of crying but she doesn't want to think about that.]

I shouldn't have bothered you with any of this. I'm sorry, it's my problem, not yours.

No.

[He holds up a hand to cut her off right away, expression shifting into a stern frown. He needs to nip this in the bud right away, because he's had more than enough experience of her disappearing into her own self destructive pattern to not recognise it now.]

I want to be bothered by stuff like this. We're friends, Renart, that makes your problems mine, so stop that right now.

[He doesn't step in close again, he lets her keep her space, but he gestures further in.]

You shouldn't be alone right now, anyway. You can stay here a few days.

[It's not like he uses his own bed that often anyway.]

[Since she can't exactly disappear off across the world her next choice would be to go home and curl up in bed for weeks or months, and wallow in her misery away from other people. Maybe with booze and cigarettes. Far from healthy, she knows that, but she doesn't care about being healthy at the moment.

His offer has her shocked and uncomfortable, remembering last time she spiraled. She doesn't want him to see her like that again, but dealing with this in a remotely healthy way feels like too big of a mountain to climb.]

It's okay. I've got the tribbles, I can't leave them alone.

[He has a good idea of what she wants to do. He lived through her misery after Monty killed him, and he has a feeling this will be worse. She can't die from alcohol poisoning, but it doesn't mean it's good for her.]

I can fetch them.

[He's not going to let her have excuses to go and sink into the mire. The best thing he can do for her is to keep her head above water, even if she hates him for it.]

[Oh god why is he so intent on being the best friend ever?]

You really don't need those little monsters running around. It's okay.

[He gently touches her on the shoulder.]

You're not gonna win this one, Renart.

[Best just give in now.]

[She really should be a lot more stubborn about this... but she just sighs.]

Can you bring my Story, too? There's a piece of the floor that can be removed, under the tribbles' bed.

[She'd rather not leave it alone, either.]

Sure, I'll bring you some stuff. Why don't you go into the kitchen and see if there's anything you can make to eat?

[More for her than him. She's had a really bad shock, and then she's been running around all day to try and find a man that can't be found, she needs to eat something. Besides which, giving her something to do will be helpful, even if it's something mundane like cooking.

At least one of the benefits of having lived through true hopelessness himself, is that he knows what can work to help.]

Alright.

[She'll look, at least, since he's bringing it up.]

... Thank you.

[It feels strange relying on someone else like this, but it's better than being alone.]

[He hesitates just another moment before slipping out of the door to go to her house and fetch her things. Although it feels like he's prying where he doesn't belong, he still opens up her drawers and cupboards until he finds her a few changes of clothes, something to wear to bed, and some toiletries.

Then comes the Story in its box, and finally the tribbles. It's a challenge to carry all of this, and herd the tribbles, when he just has one arm, which is why he's gone for nearly two hours by the time he ushers a small pack of tribbles into his house with a mildly harassed expression on his face.

By this time his clothes have dried on him again, and he smells a little like mildew.]

Renart?

[When he leaves she makes her way over to the kitchen to dig around for some food, only managing to retrieve a box of saltines before she finds her appetite has died and is being replaced by a painful, gut-wrenching misery.

By the time Bucky returns Renart has unzipped his sleeping bag all the way and crawled under it on the mattress. Nearby is the box of crackers, and some tissues scattered around. She's been crying again, and she doesn't bother moving out from under the sleeping bag, not even when the tribbles tumble in and start exploring.]

[That's not good, but not unexpected either.

He shuts the door to make sure the tribbles can't escape and then ignores them, it's not like there's a whole lot in here for them to wreck, and moves to sit on the floor a small distance from where there's a Renart shaped mound on his mattress.]

You planning on staying in there for good?

[The tribbles immediately spread out to Sniff All The Things, two of them zeroing in on the box of saltines to try and stuff their faces.

Renart only shifts a little, mumbling from underneath the sleeping bag.]

Yes.

Okay.

[He leans back against the wall. He might not be the best at comfort, but at least patience is something he knows very well.]

Pretty sure it might smell in there after a few days.

I'm a fox. I'm used to musky odors.

[What she'd really like to do is dig a hole and hide in it, but this will have to do for now.]

... I might start crying again, I'm sorry.

It's okay to cry, think I'd be more surprised if you didn't.

[Not everyone is as emotionally repressed as him.]

You just lost someone important to you.

I feel stupid when I do it.

[But she sniffs anyways.]

I'm almost a thousand years old, I'm used to losing people.

[He carefully puts a hand on top of the mound under his sleeping bag.]

I don't think you are, I don't think it's something that anyone really can get used to.

[She shifts, so that his hand is on her head.]

Maybe for mortals.

For anyone. Maybe even more so for someone like you.

[His voice is a gentle rasp against the background noises of tribbles exploring his home.]

Each loss compounds the one before, like a hundred papercuts on top of each other.

[She huffs quietly, but eventually pokes her head out from under the sleeping bag.]

Feels a lot worse than papercuts right now.

Yeah, I imagine it does.

[He's not going to downplay how much it hurts, grief is something that just has to be ridden like a wave until it settles into a duller ache.]

But hey, people have come back here before, maybe you'll see him again.

cw: suicidal tendencies

cw: suicidal tendencies

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