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I had another nightmare, you had twice the teeth
Said it's not that simple, saw something underneath
My cloak's an angry red, my bones are bleeding fear
Screaming out a name but no one's ever here
His hair trailed almost to his neck now, soiled with blood that made him permanently dizzy and sick. Hands, his hands, trailed through it, stroking the back of Varian's neck. He didn't understand. Andrew was the only person who would comfort him, so why did he feel so afraid?
Andrew, barking orders again. Andrew, who owned the hands that traced his thighs a little too often, who cleaned his wounds when the guards flogged him and hit him super duper fucking hard when he inevitably screwed up whatever the saporians needed him to make.
Andrew, who had thrown him over the side of the airship without him even noticing. Those hands again, pulling him against gravity's will– if gravity was the weakest of the four fundamental forces, then what strength did he have if he couldn't even resist it?–by his bandana, cutting off the air to his lungs.
A cruel, familiar smile, and he's falling, falling down, towards the amber that creeps up to meet him. The world is tinted red, like the rocks, as his body is bled of the fear they brought. He tries screaming for Rapunzel, fuelled by a vague memory involving the rocks and a tunnel, and the false hope that she will save him. She isn't there, of course. Just like every other time.
No one's ever been there, he doesn't think. He remembers vividly, building little inventions to help out people in the village, wanting so desperately to be kind and helpful and good just like his father, only for the village teachers to tell the village children and their parents to not help him ever when he was upset, lest he, ever unstable, hurt them for it. Helping Cassie with the chores that day, only to be shunned by her for a job defending a jerk (butshe'd–). Analysing her hair for fucking free, without a fucking second thought, and what did she leave him with?
Varian jolts awake, screaming her name.
My heart is in my throat, the weapons in my hand
Thought that I could stop you, make you understand
Bodies in the back, I swear it's not my fault
Don't blame me for defense if you started the assault
Terror throbs in Varian's heart, wrapping around his throat. He shudders at the memories of when it ran in his veins. Of what he did, what he is capable of still. Why did he believe he was ever in control? He should have known better than to think that he had any power. Any agency, any right to be heard of believed or to defend himself.
Varian stares down at the wrecked carcass of the palace's throne room wall, shaking, unable to believe what has just happened. He'd begged, screamed, why did he hurt them he wasn't going to hurt them he didn't mean to he's sorry he fucked up again–
He didn't know why he thought Andrew might understand his frenetic explanations or the reasoning behind them, but all in all he'd say he was lucky. Andrew didn't seem mad, but he couldn't make him understand that Varian didn't want to walk a trail of bodies anymore. Not that Andrew would stop if he did understand.
No power against Andrew, no power against Rapunzel. It really couldn't have been his fault then, something inside him rips apart as his body powers on the automation, operated by a mind filled with enraged red fog and screams with no room left for Varian inside.
After all, who could blame him for defending his father, the only person who ever cared that he was safe, who hadn't secretly wanted him dead. Varian likes to think he doesn't want him dead anyways.
I'm walking on thin ice, you're nice
The price of pain is going down
Your vice is venom I'm liking how it sounds
The crisis hotline is paying for my crown
The weight is worthless, hoping it might drown me
What I'm trying say is sorry
His whole life, he'd been walking on thin ice. Children who'd stop playing with him if he got too strange. Parents who'd pull them away from the unstable, dangerous wizard. His father's love, so easily turned into anger, and in his early days a beating or a spell in the dark cellar all alone; later on a shouting match and a listing of all his faults. Not that Varian can blame him, he's pretty sure any other father would have had him put down by now for the good of the village and for the sanity lost in trying to defend the indefensible. Maybe he should have been put in the madhouse, like the village teachers always suggested.
All this to say, Varian was no stranger to walking on thin ice. And if Andrew was going to hold him close for it, well, there wasn't a bruise he wouldn't hide to be held.
He deserves the pain, anyways.
Grimacing as he came around, floating above a broken body sprawled on bloodied coronan cobblestones, Varian found he couldn't remember a single fucking thing. Of course, not knowing anything also meant he doesn't know that for so long, this was all he wanted. He doesn't know that he'd worked on every solution he could think of to dissolve his hippocampus and stop being him. He doesn't remember the ghost of the boy left behind in the prison cell, leaning his cheek against the wall, trying desperately to say sorry.
Varian feels overwhelming jealousy for that boy as he comes around, hoping to finally drown in the swirling mess of emotion and memory in his skull, in the arms of his family.
You can break our promise
I'll stay even though you're dishonest
Said we could fix it in a while and solo's not my style
Bruising is
Sometimes, Varian wonders if they all rushed into kissing and making up. Maybe then, if they'd taken the time to work through their feelings, Rapunzel wouldn't feel so guilty all the time. Maybe Eugene and Cassandra wouldn't move to shield Rapunzel from Varian when he had an outburst. Maybe Varian wouldn't feel like he was obliged to always agree with the others, to push down all of his residual anger and discontent at the kingdom's system, to be theirs to use as they please.
Maybe, but as it is Varian will push down a 1000 years of injustice for the people who gave him another chance after everything, who rock his sinful, tainted and sobbing corps back and forth in a giant hug.
Purity is power, Heaven doesn't wait
My soul is made of snow so frostbite is my fate
Running like a dog, got nothing in my head
Can't recall your face, I remember what you said
Dimly, Varian can remember long rambles of garbled hyper religious nonsense, first from the guards, then different religious nonsense from the saporians. He'd tuned out most of it, thinking to himself that his parents would surely laugh if they could hear this garbage, but one of the things they'd said stuck with him after all.
One could be born with two types of souls. Most people were born with souls made of sunlight and warmth, and they were supposedly adored children of God who were capable of doing bad, yes, but could always be guided by their natures back to goodness. They were always able to connect with others by nature, and would find joy through the connections. Varian supposed that all his friends had sunshine souls. Especially Raps, obviously, with the whole sundrop thing.
Some, however, were cursed with frozen souls. It wasn't certain what caused souls to form like that, maybe defects in creation, but the people that were built from them were pitiful without exception. No matter how hard they tried, they would always hurt everyone, and if anyone tried to befriend them, they would suck the energy of that person away, so kids in Corona were taught at school to avoid them. Even God couldn't help them. Heat is the vibration of particles; anything too cold wouldn't vibrate for itself, so Varian supposed that it made sense that people with souls like this aren't able to form the connections that normal, good people are supposed to. No wonder he's been lonely all his life!
Well, Varian certainly isn't saying he believes in the religious doctrine of the Coronan worship collective, but he's got to admit, he almost certainly was built on a soul made of snow. It shouldn't come as a surprise, then, that he still couldn't fucking connect. People have avoided him all his life, what did he expect! Of course, of course ofcourseofcourse of course he wouldn't even be able to connect with the sweetest people he's met!
Of course it's snow, of course. It just wouldn't leave him alone, would it? Varian thinks he died in that blizzard, frozen to death, even if his body was still working.
Nuru and Yong, for some inexplicable reason, seem to want to join him in gallomphing across the seven kingdoms. For some reason they are intent on laughing with him, playing with him, sharing their worlds with him and being willing to discover his. Varian finds, for the first time in his life surrounded by people who want to listen to him, that his world isn't quite ready to be shared. He bangs on the inside of his lungs, begging to be let out, please, this is all he wanted, but to no avail. The others see him less like a friend and equal to bully in jest but more like a leader and superior, untouchable in a way that makes him want to claw his own throat out, because he's not good like that, he's awful, useless and why would anyone look up to him. can't anyone see him, the monster that walked in his shoes and made it's dwelling in his skull?
can't anyone see him?
Hugo, oh Hugo, he's not like that. He wastes his effort and energy on Varian, talking to him, trying to pull Varian out of the shell he so carefully constructed for himself. When he talks about things they both are interested in, runs his fingers along Varian's hand as they trek between kingdoms, tells him an alchemy joke he spent all morning thinking of, doing stupid shit just to make him laugh and feel better, following him around like a stupid infuriating puppy, Varian almost wants to break the glass between him and the world himself. Oh, but it's like Hugo can see right through him sometimes, and that? That scares him.
Can Hugo see the rage, bubbling beneath his surface, simmering at the slightest inconvenience? Can Hugo hear his mind screaming, over and over again, get out? Can Hugo tell that the teeth that he frames with a grin are the same ones that rip out his flesh when his nails and fists and alchemy are out of reach? That the hands he holds in quiet moments bang against his skull on sleepless nights that never end for fear of finding himself back in living hell again?
No, Hugo cannot be allowed to see him, even though it's all he wants, really. So Varian does what he does best.
He runs.
In my core's a temple beating like a drum
In my mouth is metal, my body's getting numb
My fervour is a fever, you're not a believer
I thought that I'd be fine, I'm your highest achiever
I'm feeling dumb
For as long as he could remember, he couldn't care less about his body. Sleepless nights working on projects, an insomniac long before the haven of sleep was invaded with horrors, refusing to eat the food that made his intestines crawl, the food that didn't even register as food at all. Varian's mind, and more importantly what it can do, has always been the main priority. It's why he sobs into Rapunzel's chest, pushing his head under her chin as it pulses with pain that he's never been great at handling.
His mouth tastes of metal. His limbs feel cold and numb. He'd felt like this for weeks after the storm, prison and the saporians, feverish and thoughtless. He still refuses to act on the logic that his mistreatment of his body is what's affecting his mind.
Andrew had told him, on the verge of collapsing from malnutrition in the dungeons, that all he had to do was believe that he wasn't weak, and he wouldn't be. Throwing away all his knowledge of biology and psychology, he'd foolishly clung on to that belief, neglecting his body and mind to keep producing results for the saporians. He'd done it, he'd done it, he thought if he worked hard enough then he would finally be enough for them. They'd have to keep him, they'd have to. He had to be useful, so they'd keep him around, and if they'd keep him he'd be just fine, wouldn't he?
When he couldn't hold up any longer, to the pressure of being a child forced to maintain standards that were unrealistic for an adult, Andrew would get mad. He'd beg, scream, push himself further out of himself to prove to Andrew that he might be worthless, but he wasn't useless.
Funny. Everyone who'd ever kept him only kept him because of what he could do for them. And here he was, utterly useless.
His lungs spasmed as they tried to suck in oxygen that his blood just wouldn't absorb.
How fucking stupid he was.
Varian must have tried to say that bit out loud, because he feels Hugo (hugo? when did he get here?) pull him out of Rapunzel's arms and into a lying down position on his lap.
"Easy, Goggles"
He says, rubbing circles on his back. Eugene is running a hand through his hair, and he can see Cass, Lance and Angry and Catalina hovering outside the open door. A deep breath rattles through his lungs. They're here. They came.
I'm walking on my tippy toes
I know it was never gonna last
You're way too slow and I like it kinda fast
I gotta go, all the pain I had has passed
You loved your words, but they always spell disaster
Your present was a plaster
Varian thinks he'd always known that any relationship he had with Andrew wasn't really real. His plan had originally been to pander to him long enough to get outta the slammer and then ditch the saporians. But manipulation was manipulation, and sure was Andrew's poison tongue good at it. He'd loved his words, talking for hours about how great saporia was, how cruel corona, and just how much Varian owed him.
Speaking of Andrew's tongue...he was malicious in more ways than Varian realised at the time, he saw that now. He hadn't just been slow when he'd call Varian a little girl "on accident"...he knew exactly what he was doing. The hands that ghosted his breasts behind closed doors weren't normal. Neither was Andrew's insistence on claiming ownership over his body, barging in even if Varian was changing because everything was property of saporia, including apparently the bodies, souls and minds of it's citizens, or more appropriately, it's slaves.
Andrew's hands in his hair. Saporia's claws in his mind. The leash embedded in his spine, tugging him off his feet.
Getitoutgetitoutgetitout
Varian rolls over in Hugo's lap, clinging to his waist and screaming, clawing at the fabric covering his back.
Every single time he'd tried to leave in those long months after they'd escaped prison. Every time he'd woken up to the cruelty of the goals he'd been helping them reach, every time he'd thought that he'd got what he needed off them, that their paths were incompatible past this point, every time he'd tried to leave and come crawling right back. Like a dog. Heeled and pale and fucking stupid.
There was a reason that Varian didn't know about what happened. until tonight, anyways. Oh, god, for the first time in his life Varian wishes he didn't know. When he used to look back on him and Andrew in the therapy Rapunzel mandated, he saw a messed up pair, feeding off each other's pain, about as stable as quirinean. Now, all that clarity in reflection is gone. He can only scream.
You can break our promise
I'll stay even though you're dishonest
Said we could fix it in a while and solo's not my style
Bruising is
Why? Why do they rub his back and hold him still? They're holding him together, he thinks. With kind words and gentle love that he has never deserved. Why was he ever angry at them? They could use him any way they wanted, he was theirs, break every promise, just as long as they loved him forever like this.
Oh, he loves them all so, so much. It's a pity he was built so unlovable and so unloving yet so desperate to feel genuine love directed at himself. He knows they can't love him, but they're way to kind to leave just yet.
Les carcasses des pylônes de transmission ont remplacé mon squelette
Mes os sont en titane, mes veines sont des câbles
Ma voix n'est rien de plus qu'une turbine à soixante mètres du sol
Je suis née tête de linotte, j'ai véçu tête de linotte
Et je mourrai tête de linotte
The corpses of all his attempts at human connection were the only thing keeping him upright at this point. His body may as well be one of the machines he designed; he should, oh he should feel, but the closest he can get to feeling is a stirring beneath his ribcage, uselessly banging against the inside of his lungs to escape the facade his body creates for him.
Shouldn't he? Shouldn't he feel something about those teenaged years, that set his life on the trajectory it's heading in now? Shouldn't he feel incomprehensible grief at all the time he lost, back then? Shouldn't he be thankful for the experience, to have made it out alive? He wonders what would have happened, had that fateful chain of events not been set into motion, longs for it, desperately. He wouldn't be in this state in none of it happened surely. Or maybe he would. But yet...he wouldn't be in this state if none of it happened.
Because that horrible chain of events led to him getting a dream job as royal alchemist. That horrible chain of events led him to a journal, hidden away in his father's secret drawer, which led him to meet them. Yong. Hugo. Nuru. And have the greatest adventure of his life, albeit culminating in betrayal and the realisation that not even his own mother, who has cherished him so dearly in his earliest memories, truly cared for him, having privately laid blame with him for being the daughter that held her back from her dreams.
If he was right, and during that storm he'd been inexplicably set on the best life he could possibly have had...well, he must be pretty shit at living good lives.
Was there a life where he was truly the boy his father said he was, a few weeks after he'd returned from the wild with more friends than he'd managed in a lifetime and news of his mother's demise? Quirin had told him, after a long, sleepless night of tears, that Ulla had been the great granddaughter of Demanitus himself. It was funny, finding out he was related to his idol. Mostly because his dad had said Varian was just like him, with his wild new ideas and optimistic notions.
Demanitus had built the kingdom of Corona up with loving, careful hands. Varian tore it down. He was much more like Demanitus' twisted partner, Zhan Tiri, who would carelessly tear the kingdom apart for the sake of testing her theories and attacked Demanitus when he fought to curb her ideas, to protect the kingdom from the threat she posed.
Zhan Tiri, who spawned inside his head with reassurances of his importance and worth. Zhan Tiri, who almost succeeded in pulling him over to her side. Zhan Tiri, who did succeed in pulling Cassie along with her plans. In the depths of his heart he couldn't call her a villain, not without admitting that there was something of her story that resonated with his own.
Varian opens his mouth, a silent scream, and there's a hand rubbing soothing circles on his back, carding through the tangled threads of his thoughts. His useless voice, that failed when he was overwhelmed and easily faded into the background noise of his house, corona, the castle, could never be enough to set free the searing lithium being bruising the inside of his lungs.
He was born with a broken mind, he has lived with a broken mind and he will die with a broken mind, the shattered glass pieces of his life bleeding dry everyone who tried to pick them up. Wow, no wonder he's lonely. He laughs hysterically, rocking back and forth, clawing at his temples, and Varian Ritter finally, finally gets to break.
If I make it
I'm sorry but you gotta break it
Water's not a crime
Meet me in the brine
I'm coming home