[ Ian's voice falters, tapers off, surprised into silence by Mace, singing. It's the absurdity of it, maybe. The fact that it comes from nowhere, that he's never heard Mace sing before, that he's doing it now over the sound of something at his back threatening to rip his spine out and drag him into the dark. It's the fact that he knows the word, that it's summer of '69 and he doesn't... understand...
It's silent. It's still. There's only the sound of Ian's shaky breathing, too loud even to his own ears let alone Mace's probably, considering his mouth his close to ear. Three or four or five absolutely silent seconds pass.
The tight grip on Mace's eyes loosens a little. His breathing gets quieter. He starts to tentatively shift, and--
--abruptly, the blue glow from his wrists and his hands starts up, probably bright enough to make it through Mace's closed eyelids, a little. He's not summoning anything, not tangibly, nothing except fucking knowledge but that's not how his gift works. That's not how it's ever worked before.
But it does something now, and he knows with sudden certainty: ]
It's a trick. It's still there.
[ The tightening of his hand, the defiant setting of his shoulders, the words more accusatory and decisive than afraid.
It earns a new sound. It's as profound and as all-encompassing as the silence. It's as expansive, as big. It's a scream that distorts from organic to inorganic. It turns itself into a low tone like a singing bowl, but a thousand times too loud. The kind of loud you can feel in your chest, the kind of loud ringing you get when you're too close to an explosion or a firing gun.
Temporarily deafening, legitimately, so that for a second when it stops Ian isn't... sure, because he couldn't hear anything over it and now he can't hear anything in general. Not his own breathing, not the rustling, not Mace below him.
But the blue's faded out, and the atmosphere changes. Less heavy. Less occupied. Less charged.
Slowly, he peels himself back. Lifts himself off of Mace's body and onto his knees instead. Flicking his eyes to the treeline on instinct, even though it- even though the idea was not to look. Has to remind himself of that, and turn his attention to the guy below him.
He says, you're bleeding. He can't hear it, only knows he said it because he feels it in his throat. ]
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It's silent. It's still. There's only the sound of Ian's shaky breathing, too loud even to his own ears let alone Mace's probably, considering his mouth his close to ear. Three or four or five absolutely silent seconds pass.
The tight grip on Mace's eyes loosens a little. His breathing gets quieter. He starts to tentatively shift, and--
--abruptly, the blue glow from his wrists and his hands starts up, probably bright enough to make it through Mace's closed eyelids, a little. He's not summoning anything, not tangibly, nothing except fucking knowledge but that's not how his gift works. That's not how it's ever worked before.
But it does something now, and he knows with sudden certainty: ]
It's a trick. It's still there.
[ The tightening of his hand, the defiant setting of his shoulders, the words more accusatory and decisive than afraid.
It earns a new sound. It's as profound and as all-encompassing as the silence. It's as expansive, as big. It's a scream that distorts from organic to inorganic. It turns itself into a low tone like a singing bowl, but a thousand times too loud. The kind of loud you can feel in your chest, the kind of loud ringing you get when you're too close to an explosion or a firing gun.
Temporarily deafening, legitimately, so that for a second when it stops Ian isn't... sure, because he couldn't hear anything over it and now he can't hear anything in general. Not his own breathing, not the rustling, not Mace below him.
But the blue's faded out, and the atmosphere changes. Less heavy. Less occupied. Less charged.
Slowly, he peels himself back. Lifts himself off of Mace's body and onto his knees instead. Flicking his eyes to the treeline on instinct, even though it- even though the idea was not to look. Has to remind himself of that, and turn his attention to the guy below him.
He says, you're bleeding. He can't hear it, only knows he said it because he feels it in his throat. ]