11770/Bedside Manner

From Heroes Assemble MUSH
Jump to navigation Jump to search
Bedside Manner
Date of Scene: 07 July 2022
Location: The Velvet Room - Gardens
Synopsis: Jon and Chas talk in the Garden of the Velvet Room. Ruminations of Chas' life, Jon's troubles, and how pain is important are the topics of the day.
Cast of Characters: Chas Chandler, Jonathan Sims




Chas Chandler has posed:
    Much has changed for Chas since he and Jon last spoke. He'd seen a vision of his greatest fear. He'd mulled and agonized over where he fit in society. He spent that night walking the streets of New York before going back to his and Asa's place. During that walked he'd done something he didn't even think he was capable of, he'd prayed. Prayed for guidance. Prayed for direction. Prayed for some semblance of what he is meant to do.

    He received it when his steps stopped him in front of a dilapidated and burnt out husk of a Church in Hell's Kitchen. He knew who--or possible what was a better answer--lived there. Maybe lived wasn't the right word either. Resided. He knew who called the place home.

    He'd visisted that entity the next day, offered his thanks, and then tried to draw it--no, her, the creature was definitely a she--in closer with the rest of the JLD. He'd been sent to Hell for his troubles. Weeks later for him, a few days at best for others and he's returned, with more questions than answers and more confusion than before.

    So when Jon sends him a text to meet in the Garden of the Velvet Room, he hestitates before offering his agreement and going there. But that is how Jon finds him. Standing at the edge of the Garden, looking over the cloudy expanse. He doesn't look tired, but there is a sense of hauntedness to his features. As if he's seen something he can't quite shake and it's effects are lingering and pervasive in his mind.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon comes to the Velvet Room wearing something Chas has literally never seen on him before--an ankle-length bronze skirt, made of linen light enough to keep him cool in the New York summer heat. He's also wearing a green t-shirt, a few shades lighter than the arm he's summoned up. He's brought the Hermit bottle out from the sitting room and takes a swig from it as he comes to stand next to Chas.

    He offers the bottle over. "Chartruese. The original recipe that hasn't been used for nearly 300 years. It's damned expensive, and I figure--I've got scotch at home. Why drink it here, when there's so much /else/ here?"

    The sense from the last few times Chas has seen his friend and mentor, of dulled emotions, of numbness, of somehow being /less/ than he's been, persists. He's clearly not well.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas has to do a double take at Jon's appearance. He knew his friend was non-binary. But knowing it and seeing it are two very different things. He takes a moment to consider the look. It's not a terrible look, all in all. The modification to Jon's form allows them to fill the skirt rather well in the hip area. After the moment of scrutiny Chas directs his attention to the offered bottle.

    He takes it and looks at it. "Never had the stuff myself. Had a couple of old timers come asking for it back at the pub but we barely had enough money to pay the liscence fee for the place... dropping a grand on a rarely used bottle just wasn't in the cards." He gives the open top a sniff and blinks. "I can... I can -smell- it, so that's new" he says before giving it an experimental swig.

    "It tastes..." he smacks his lips, "sweet, herbal, like... almost like sugared grass." He chuckles and takes a fuller swig, the enthusaism showing on his face as he pulls the bottle away. "I can -taste- it!" he exclaims. "And it's not... it's not magical? This is a real thing?" he asks, looking to Jon for the answer.

    He can tell Jon's not well, anyone with eyes and a knowledge of the man could tell that. But, he wants to get past this anamoly first before he addresses any heavy thoughts of Jon's inner turmoils.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks at Chas in the act of pulling a box of cigarettes out of his pocket (yes, the skirt has pockets.) "Umm... yes? I mean, I don't know how they got the recipe, and I presume it was made here in the castle, but... the stuff is /quite/ real." He lights up the cigarette, using a little burst of magic, too distracted to think to fish out his lighter.

    "That's... interesting that you can taste it. Have you tried anything else that you haven't had before? Or is everything... well, I mean, pizza, whiskey, everything's stuff you've /had/ before. So I wonder if that's got something to do with it? Are you somehow... I don't know... is it that you expect something you're not getting, with flavors you've tried before?"

    He takes a long drag on his cigarette. "I mean, the way Uriel talks about coffee and donuts, it's seemed rather odd that you couldn't taste /anything/. He acts like the stuff is the literal manna from heaven."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas ponders the hypothesis. "Maybe that's it... I dunno. Maybe it's not that things are tasteless as my senses of smell is so overpowered and so... I'm expecting more than I'm getting?" he shrugs. "It's something to test for sure." He eyes Jon for a moment. "I don't think you called me to talk about what and why I can't taste much these days."

    "I know I'm not your barman anymore but... old habits," he says turning to regard a storm off in the distance. Thunder cracking along from one cloud to the other. "Let's toss one out for old time's sake, what's on your mind?" he asks with a small but companionable grin to his mentor.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Didn't call you here to talk about me. Or at least, not right off." Jon shrugs, and peers at the fence at the edge of the island, then waves the hand holding the cigarette. A large chunk of fence just... disappears, and he goes to sit on the lip, dangling his legs over the edge.

    "Before you protest," they note, "we both have wings. This is perfectly safe."

    Then they peer around and up at Chas. "Called you here to talk about you. Everyone I've talked to lately's been having problems with what they saw in the High Priestess' room. Cael saw herself eating me, Lydia got rid of her capacity for empathy, Gabby was clearly upset, something's bloody well /eating/ Rien's aura... me and Robbie seem to be the only ones that came through without it haunting us." A beat. "Although Robbie could just be hiding it."

    He glances to Chas. "You disappeared for a few days, and came back all stoic and serious. So. What happened? What'd you see?"

Chas Chandler has posed:
    "The war..." Chas replies walking out to the lip and settling down besides Jon. "Angels fighting people... hurt them... hurting my friends. And me at the head of one of the brigades that attack Grand Central. Ordering the Virtues under me to commit murder against humans. Obliterating agents left and right. Obliterating people I care about with a flick of a writst."

    He sighs. "I went in with a question... 'what am I?' And came out with an answer I didn't like. I'm like them, Jon. Only thing keeping me on this side of the fence is free will. Take that away and..." He makes a gesture like something going up in a puff of smoke. "I'm just like the things you guys fought a war against."

    He swallows. "So I went for a walk. Clear my head. Get some better perspective. Walked a while. Prayed a while. Needed a direction. A guidance to tell me where and how to not end up like them. And well... my steps lead me to a church. But one that wasn't used anymore. You know the one. Just a ways down the island from the old bar. You know who resides there." His blue eyed gaze shifts to Jon with a knowing look on his face.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon snorts, taking a swig right from the bottle. "Chas," he says in an amused tone, "the Virtues were taken right the hell out of the fight at Grand Central by Project Gozer. We'd evacuated all the civilians, and... well..." A pause. "Granted, ten people died that day, but it could've been a lot worse. Michael came in convinced we'd just let him waltz in without any ward and slammed right into the ones I'd made."

    He glances aside to his friend. "We won /every/ engagement except the first one, remember? You saw every battle, you know this. Dunno why you're afraid of hurting humans. When it came right down to it, the forces of Heaven, /billions/ of angels, took on a tiny group of SHIELD agents and civilian militia... and got their asses handed to them."

    There's a long pause. Then, "Do you know why?" He's not addressing the last statement, just yet.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas says, "Free will, I know." He sighs. "I -did- watch it. But it doesn't change the fact that I'm... one soldier in an army of billions. And one soldier that -has- to follow orders if given. I don't have the will of the Archangels. I'm a Dominion. A leader but a drone of a leader, a repository for commands and directions." He frowns.

    "I don't want to be a drone. I don't want to lose who I am just because they decide to call me back for some Hell war or something else that requires all the Hosts..." he looks up. "I don't even know if they would, but... I don't want a part in that sort of life."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon rolls his eyes. "No, not 'free will.' Gods, Chas, I have /less/ 'free will' than you do. And the concept isn't all it's cracked up to be, anyway. Humans make decisions and then come up with the justifications later. They're slaves to the microbiomes in their guts. They're filled with internal biases and precognitions. People have a lot less 'free will' than they think." A pause. "More than angels, to be certain. People do have /choices/. But take it from a therapist--most people stumble through life, never bothering to /use/ that ability. They let their childhoods and their upbringings and their physical needs and what they call 'society' make their choices for them."

    They shake their head and take a long swig of the chartruese. "No. What won that war was the ability to /change/. I fucked up the first battle. I fucked up /badly/. I was so desperate not to accept what was really going on, that this was a /war/, that I didn't think about it properly, and people died. But I changed tactics, immediately. Moved us to a different footing. And SHIELD and the militia and the Justice League Dark changed, too. Michael? Michael didn't change. Michael got beat, got his ass handed to him again and again, and he /would not/ change until I asked the Presence to give him the ability."

    He glances over at Chas. "She changed, too. Hope, I mean. She got beat, and she came at the problem differently. Again and again. I've never met anyone so... bloody tenacious." He shrugs. "My point is just... that's why you're not like them. Not /going/ to be like them. That's why you're not a drone. Because you can change."

    A brief smirk. "So, did she throw you out? Or did she take you to Hell and leave you there? She threatened to do that to me, once."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas chuckles. "The latter... er well... she opened a portal and said I could go in, if I survived after a few weeks... she would agree to train me..." He holds out his hands. "I'm still alive so... I guess that means she's going to teach me. I don't know -what- she's going to teach me, but she's going to teach me."

    He makes a face and frowns. "Is that... is that alright with you?" he asks. "I mean, you're still my main mentor I'm just... outsourcing to get a better handle of what my angelic powers can do." He gives Jon a questioning look, full of concern and worry.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon shrugs. "She was one of the people I was thinking of directing you toward anyway. I'm not jealous about the mentorship thing. I know a lot of magical types insist on binding oaths and 'you will only listen to me and noe one else, and do what I say without question' but... having been there? Even the kindest version of that relationship is ripe for abuse." He shakes his head. "I'm trying to help you, guide you. I expect you to listen to me, sure, but you can disagree with me, you can get information from others."

    They take a long swig from the bottle of Chartruese, then hold it out to Chas again. "So. How was Hell?" They raise a brow, smirking in curiosity.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    "Hot..." Chas replies with a wry grin. "Though... not as bad as I imagined it would've been. Maybe being what I am gave be a greater perspective than I would've had when human..." He shrugs. "Most everything there wanted to kill me or take my essence or fight in some way." He reaches up to rub at his neck.

    "I survived and managed to pass her test... so that has to count for something" he replies before his mouth draws into a tight line. "I felt bad, Many of the things there were so... tormented. Insane. Dark." He shakes his head. "I wanted to save them but... they didn't want to be saved." He sighs.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I have learned the hard way that you really can't save anyone or anything that doesn't /want/ to be saved," Jon says with a sigh. "That's what I meant, before, about free will. Change and growth has to start inside a person. They can reach out for help, they can do it on their own, but it /has/ to start with them, or it goes nowhere."

    They frown thoughtfully. "So here's the thing, Chas: they can't just... call you back. Or, well, they can, but you /do/ have choices. You /can/ refuse the call. You can say 'no, fuck you, you people owe me as it is' and just... not go." A pause. "Or you can argue you're kind of on special deployment. They defend the Silver City. You defend Earth--and Earth is evidently /quite/ important, in the grand scheme of things. Even if it's just that 'people live here.' So..." He shrugs, and smirks. "So if Michael ever comes knocking? Tell him where to shove it."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas laughs heartily from his belly. "I'll... ry to remember that one" he says. "I'm sure if one of the most powerful beings in existence tells me to fall in line, I will have all the courage and presence of mind to tell him to 'fuck off.'" He chuckles and then sobers.

    "But you're right. I have will, I have a choice. A decision and I can at least attempt to tell them to shove it... that's more than can be said for others of my kind." He nods and looks out over the clouds again. "I will be alright. In time. I think diversifying what I know will help some. Having a better handle on all of..." he gestures to himself, "this."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon gives Chas a stern look. "Why not? I told him to, more than once. /Cael/ told him to. Why not you?"

    They stare out at the clouds, swinging their legs a bit. "'Fuck off' is my current general attitude, though. I'm tired of being pushed around by things, used for purposes I didn't agree to. I'd probably tell Gaea Herself to fuck off if she came calling." A pause. "Well. Maybe not Gaea. She... She really did want the best for me. But the rest..." A sigh.

    "Elias Bouchard is dead," he says after a moment. "Cael killed him. But not before he..." A pause. "He pushed through every mental shield I had. /Violated/ me. Tried to use me like a... a puppet. I cut the strings. But it's left me... not well. Not at all well. It might be a good thing you went to Hope when you did. I'm not certain how much help I'll be, while I'm recovering."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas winces as he hears the reason for Jon's current demeanor. "That's... that's terrible, Jon. I'm... I'm sorry that you had to go through that..." He doesn't offer any platitudes because obviously getting away from the man and free of the control didn't -fix- anything. "Is there... is there anything I can do? To help?" he asks, his tone compassionate, caring.

    "I am not a therapist... anymore than most bartenders are. I just... I know what it means to be used by someone else to do things you don't agree with." He shudders, remembering the murders done while he was trapped behind his own eyes. "And... that's fine. Take all the time you need, mate. I'm not going to push you to do anything you can't handle while..." he shakes his head. "Fucker was really that bad, wasn't he?" he mutters.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "He had some kind of code phrase embedded in my head," Jon says. "And... and I found out my memory's been altered. I'm going to track it down--the altered memories, I mean--but I... I remember /everything/, Chas. That's part of who and what I am. And now that I can see it, I see there's a... a /hole/ in my life. Something missing, something /important/. And I don't know what it means. What if... what if I'm not the person I think I am? What if what I've forgotten is something... awful?"

    They sigh. "Actually... there is something you can do. Or at least consider. Rien's having some trouble too--something's eating at her aura, and she's been attacked in her dreams. If you could at least temporarily provide leadership for the JLD, in case we're both out of commission? It'd... it'd be a load off of us, you know? If the others have guidance."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    If Jon had asked Chas a week ago the answer might've been different. He hadn't done some serious soul searching and realized what was missing from his life by then. He hadn't walked the paths of Hell and fought literal and figurative demons by then. He hadn't realized what he needed was to -lead- by then. He has by now.

    He gives Jon a moment of thought and then nods. "Alright. I'll do it. On one condition" he replies. "When you are both better... we talk about me staying on. I become the third. I can't take this as a temporary thing. If I lead, I want to stay on full time."

    He extends a hand to Jon. "I think I've been running from a part of me that needed to be what the Dominion's -are-. Leaders. Commanders. FIghting that hasn't been doing me any favors. I know you can't make the decision alone but... we can talk about me being number three with Rien." He nods at the hand. "Shake on it?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "We can talk about it before we're better," Jon says, smiling. "I hadn't thought you'd be willing, but Rien and I both think you'd be good at it. So... we'll have a talk, soon, the three of us. See if we're all comfortable with the idea, finalize it. Before I go to England, if we can." He relaxes, /just/ a bit. Having a third will help with a lot of his worries.

    "And that means you don't just go on walkabout without talking to anyone, alright? Shit just... happens around here, you know? If I weren't so damn invested in 'stiff upper lip' I'd probably be lying in bed most days. I just..." Jon frowns. "I can't just lie down and give up. Much as... much as I might want to." He swallows, conjures up an ashtray to stub out the cigarette in, and goes and lights another. They're Silk Cuts, Chas might notice. He's gone back to them, evidently.

    "There's a deep temptation to just... jump off and not summon my wings," Jon says softly, staring out over the edge. "But I genuinely don't know if I /can/ die anymore. If they'll /let/ me, before they're... done with me. And I don't know how I feel about that."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas somberly nods in agreement. He knows that's probably the truth for him too. He'll probably outlive them all given that the heat death of the universe is he final point of time. "You're... you might be right..." he says morosely. "I know I'm not happy about it, but it is... our lot. Take or leave it."

    He looks to Jon. "What do you want to do about it?" he asks. "If you -could- do something about it? If you could give it up, would you?" He arches a brow and fixes his friend with a steady gaze. "Give up immortality and magic and just be a normal therapist to the super heroes again?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs. "It's not about the... not dying. It's... I want /out/, Chas. I don't want to be Ma'at's avatar anymore. I don't..." A pause. "I want to be Archivist. I... I think I /like/ being Archivist, with all the... danger and horror. It feels right. But I... I just... I don't have /choices/ anymore."

    He swallows, eyes not really looking /at/ anything. "I'm not sure I ever /had/ choices. I shouldn't have been Archivist until after Sasha died. Someone... or some/thing/... put me there instead. And now that I can see the hole in my life it just becomes so obvious..." He reaches up to rub at his face. "Even discounting the paranoia, though... I was shoved into a position where I had to die to save the universe, and the only way back was to become an avatar. And it just... I don't know. It just feels so /unfair/."

    They glance over at Chas. "Even without Ma'at, though? Even without the Archive? I'd have magic. It's in my blood. So... would I?" A beat. "Right now? Yes. But that means I die. But that's what I want. Sometimes... sometimes more actively than others. Sometimes I just want out. Sometimes I want to be dead."

    They look away, almost in shame. "Being dead is the only time I ever felt... appreciated. And it wasn't even for myself." A snort. "I liked being worshipped. Who wouldn't? But I just... after everything I've done, I wish I had a little more... I don't know. Respect? Gratitude?"

    He shrugs, and takes a drag on his cigarette. "I just need to... get over it, I suppose."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas listens and his hands ache. His fingers twich. It would be easier to have this conversation while wiping down a bar, or doing general matienance on a cab or even just -driving- a cab. Those are his elements. Those are his comfort zones. This sitting and talking thing feels... awkward for him. But he needs to be here for his friend.

    "You have respect. And gratitude. People listen to you in the JLD and they come to you for help, even when you aren't the best choice for it." He glances at Jon briefly and says, "What you want is -acknowledgement-." He turns to the clouds again. "Which is... harder to quantify. And even harder to notice if it's given."

    "I don't know if you should -get over it-" he says, shaking his head. "That won't do much beyond breed resentment because the desire for it will still be there, constantly poking at you. And in time it might lead to direct hatred which... you're a bit too powerful to allow for true hatred." The indirect threat implied there is probably not lost on Jon. "While I can't give you a cheat code for acknowledgement... I can give you one for it's younger and often underappreciated little brother, Verification."

    He turns back and offers a small smile. "If you want it that is... I'm not going to foist advice on you like some wayward bartender or cabbie. That'd be rude, esepecially since we have neither a bar or a car here."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs. "I... don't /know/ that I have those things. Perhaps I'm not looking hard enough, or in the right way. I know on some level I have to feel..." They put a hand to their chest. "I have to love myself, I have to value myself, before I'll notice that anyone else loves and values me. But I don't even /know/ myself, just yet. So... hopefully that will help."

    He smirks at Chas, then. "Really? I'm not supposed to just 'get over' the fact that I miss being the Great God Ra, and that it was nice to be worshipped, and important, and desperately needed? Come on, Chas, that's just hubris and you know it. But, alright, what's your advice then?"

    A pause, and then, "...You're my best mate. I welcome your advice. Always."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    "Okay, maybe that you -do- need to get over... the need for worship is overated outside of BDSM clubs" he says with a grin. "Just sayin'" He chuckles. "But for verification... you're probably going to laugh when I tell you, but well... there's a reason that everything from freelance drivers to restaurants to hotels to call centers ask for those survey's. It's a standardize measure of worth."

    He lets that tidbit sink it before continuing. "It's understood that, if people are honest, they will give proper feedback and verifiy that the actions taken by the service provided was actually helpful. I'm not saying offer every member a survey card... you can do that if you want... but just ask them. 'Hey, did I help you?'" He shrugs. "You might be surprised with the way they respond. Some might just go. 'Yes'" he quirks his mouth slightly. "But others might give you more than you bargained for, on either side of the spectrum."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon coughs. "/Chas/," he mutters, flushing darkly at the 'BDSM club' comment. "That's... that's not what I meant and you bloody well know it. Cut that out." A pause. "S'pose I was asking for it, a little. But I don't... I don't even /quite/ mean it like that? It's more..."

    He hesitates. "You know one reason I like kids? Because they take everyone and everything seriously, without being full of themselves. A young child will ask you the most ridiculous-seeming questions about life, and they'll mean it in earnest. They don't care if it seems stupid, or silly. They really /do/ want to know precisely why the sky is blue, and why time only goes one way, and that sort of thing." A pause. "And if you take them seriously? They will take /you/ seriously. Children can be cruel to each other, I'll grant you, but they're bloody well /honest/. They don't hide their feelings behind banter, they don't..."

    He sighs. "Maybe I just liked knowing where I stood. And, yes, it was nice that I stood high, but it wasn't even that, or not just that. There was no pretense. No posturing. Everything I was doing was being done for a /reason/." He looks down at his hands, waggles the fingers that now bear black and red polish. "S'pose I'm trying to drop the pretense and posturing here, too, you know?"

    Then he's quiet for a long moment, fiddling with his skirt with one hand and smoking with the other. He considers Chas' suggestion as he finishes off the cigarette, puts it out in the ash tray, and takes a swig of the Chartruese."

    "Chas," he says finally, quietly, "has it occurred to you that I don't ask because I'm afraid of the answer?"

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas nods. "Possibly. Yeah, I thought of that being one of the reasons you don't really look for it" he replies. "Maybe that blue checkmark isn't -super- important to you... but I think it might help you understand yourself better to get some of them." He shrugs. "Just a thought." He looks at Jon for a moment. "I'll give you mine right now. Yeah. You have helped me. More times than I can count. Hell, I wouldn't be around if not for you... you can call that bias, but I call it friendhsip."

    He smiles softly. "You're a good leader and a better mentor than I think you know. Maybe you're not the most practiced magus out there but you managed to get an angel from throwing beach balls to major league fastballs in a few days and that's got to count for something." He smiles a bit more in earnest. "And I've learned more about philosophy from you than I ever did from -anyone- else. And I mean -anyone-."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon frowns down at his lap, swinging his legs and kicking at the skirt. That's a fun thing to do, really.

    "It's more important than you know, Chas," he says quietly.

    "I... I keep thinking that... maybe I've fucked everything up. Wasted my life. The only patient I can be /certain/ I really helped was Cael, and I helped more as her boyfriend than her therapist. Sure, I saved the universe, but what'd I really do? Shove a leaf down Ammit's gullet. Hope and Caitlin did the hard work. People I thought were friends, people I offered myself up to be /tortured/ for, turned their backs on me, walked away. I failed Agnes, I failed Lyra... and, hell, I tried to help Wonderland and nearly got it destroyed." A snort, and he shakes his head.

    "So... so I'm /terrified/ of the answer to 'did I help.' I sort of figure... maybe I'm just... burdening people. Offering help they don't need. Making things worse."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas places a hand on Jon's shoulder and squeezes a bit. "You know that's not true..." he says plainly. "I just gave you enough examples to prove you're not burdening -me- at the very least. And..." He frowns. "People come to you... they wouldn't come to you if they didn't think you couldn't help them, Jon. And then... after you do... they come -back-." He sighs.

    "You stretch yourself thin trying to help everyone... a bit too think if you ask me... but you do help people and you're good enough at it to have repeat customers... or patients or... associates. Allies. Friends." He shrugs. "Jon... even if the answer is hurtful, it might be worth it to ask anyway. Some of the answers might be bad. Might be terrible. But I think the majority of them... will be life affirming. And validating. And give you a better understanding on just how much you mean to people."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon swallows hard enough that his Adam's apple visibly bobs.

    "You don't think... I mean, I help people because I kind of figure... why would anyone... want me around if I wasn't... helpful?"

    He draws in a shuddering breath. He's suddenly crying. "I... I'm afraid... I was afraid to on vacation because... I thought people wouldn't miss me. Nobody really... came by when I'd been hurting. I f-figure... people, they... if... if I stopped helping, they'd s-stop... being my friends." He sniffles. "I... isn't that w-why... the others left? Because I wasn't... doing enough to help them?"

    There's something raw and vulnerable in the Archivist's voice. Somewhere deep down inside he really does think that maybe people don't actually like him. That they're putting up with him, using him for their own ends. Whatever the cause, maybe it's too deep to be easily fixed, just now.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas frowns as Jon cries and he thinks for a moment. He had more practice with this since his stint in Hell. He lets go of the barriers holding back his power and a white-blue glow envelopes him. He relaxes a bit more and silver feathered wings suddenly appear behind him. They're large and majestic and yet they don't seem to be bothered by things like tangibility. He flexes a bit and one opens to wrap around Jon in a protective gesture.

    "Those people..." he knows who they are, "left because they were selfish and didn't realize it until they met you. You made them see themselves for what they were and they couldn't handle it. Some people can't handle looking into the mirror. They don't like the truth of their reflection and so they run away. They left because they're afraid of what you are... the better of them." He shakes his head. "I was there Jon. Maybe not physically, but I was watching the whole time. Others would have too. Rien, Cael, Lydia, hell even Caitlin who counted you as an enemy for months came to help bring you back from the dead. You make people better by just -existing- Jon. And that... that's power that's stronger than magic. Or therapy. Or anything..."

    The wing hugs Jon close for a moment. "And you should go on vacation. I'll miss you. But you should take it. No one is going to stop being your friend because you go on holiday. And if they did..." the blue glow flares a bit, "I'll have Words with them." Possibly words with the divine empowerment of the Presence behind them from the sound of it. "I think... I think you'll find some of what you're looking for there. Some of that... peace of mind. That sense of who you are. I wouldn't call Bournemoth the most--enlightening of places, but it has some charm. Nice beaches at the least. Good time for it too."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon closes his eyes and keeps sobbing. "I wish I understood why I hurt so much. It... it /aches/." He presses a hand to his chest. "Something's missing. Something /terribly/ important is missing, and I can't... I can't remember /what/."

    For a little while he just... cries, and maybe he really did need to cry, because it's not for at least ten minutes that he finally speaks again. "You think... you really think..." He sniffles, and pulls off his glasses, pulls out a handkerchief to wipe them clean. "'I make people better just by existing.'" He shakes his head. "I wish I believed that. I don't know why I can't."

    A pause, and then, slowly, "Well... no. I know what I'd think, if I had a patient who... presented like I do. I just... don't want to be angry at people I cared about. It's terrifying, and exhausting."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    "'The hurts that matter most are the ones that come from those we love or have loved'" Chas replies sagely. "I read that in one of the books you gave me. One of the psychology ones. Or something along those lines. I might be paraphrasing." He smiles. "The sentiment is sound though. I would worry if you -didn't- hurt, Jon."

    He lets out a slow breath. "I hurt too. But I've... I had a lot more time to get over it and I'm..." He makes a wry face. "I'm beyond that now. Not the pain. But I'm beyond the point where I let it bother me so much. I have my bad nights, but for the most part..." He shrugs. "It gets better... eventually. I promise. But you need to find that thing you've lost. To fill that hole... no matter how painful or terrifying the filler is. You need to be whole again." He pushes himself to his feet and offers a hand to his friend.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "It doesn't get better, for me," Jon whispers, looking down at his hands. "I will remember the look on their faces, when they turned away from me, forever. When I needed them, when the /universe/ needed them, and they saod 'no.'"

    He swallows. "I will remember overhearing Granny Moira tell her friends what a /burden/ I was, and them praising her f-for dealing w-with such a... difficult, /annoying/ child, for the rest of my life." He shudders. "I... I lied, when I told you I'd never wanted to kill myself before. I thought about it, that night. I thought... it'd make life easier for Granny. If I was dead, like Mum and Dad." He closes his eyes. "Gods, I wish I could just... /forget/, sometimes."

    A pause. "But, then, who would I even be, anymore?"

    They shake themself, and take Chas' hand, and stand. "S'pose I don't have to ask you to join me in Oxford, hmm? You'd come regardless. To track down Annabelle Cane. She's the thing I've misremembered."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    "That's a big ask, Jon" Chas says with a soft, but knowing smile. "Not the tracking down of a witch or whatever she is to make you forget... that's fine. It's the Oxford bit. Asking a Scouser like me to go -there-?" He chuckles at the in joke between then and nods. "I'll be there. For sure."

    Keeping the wing around him he helps usher him back from the ledge and towards the main hall of the castle. "I wouldn't miss it for the world if it helps you be more... you." He hip checks Jon softly. "Don't know if you know this, but I'm a bit fond of you, and I would like you to stay who you are."