[ There's a harshness to that statement and Nate feels guilty again for functioning the way that he always does: pretending things are fine for his own safety, and the sanity of others. No one needs to know. He can't even say it, and what is he supposed to put to words, anyway? Yeah, I was tortured multiple times and it was fucking terrifying and it hurt and I don't want to do it again, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat if it meant someone else didn't have to.
That'll go over really well, Nathan Drake is so adjusted.
Wade is only a room away and Nate wishes it were so easy to walk over, knock on the jamb, and ask to sit for a little while as though things were perfectly normal and not one crisis after the other. It would be nice, to be in company. It would be nicer still if he wasn't convinced that doing so would taint this otherwise pleasant thing they have going. ]
I'm not good at this. [ He admits, expression open and candid. ] Sharing, I mean. It's not you. I promise it's not you.
[There's that urge again-- the urge to just shut down; to emotionally distance himself from the conversation with a poorly-timed joke or sarcastic remark. Shallow humor has been his shield for so long that he has no idea how to deal with someone being real with him, and that in itself has something strangely funny about it. Hypocrite, a cynical, familiar voice tells him from the dark recesses of his mind, offering support when you're standing in quicksand yourself.
Wade huffs out another laugh, tearing his eyes away from Nate's. It's suddenly become too much too look at his face.]
Well, I mean... I'm not really good at this whole empathy thing either, y'know? A-And I ain't just talking about the weird bond thing we've all got now, apparently. So I guess in a way we're... y'know. Even.
[He almost ends it there, but something in him compels him to share more; to give Nate something in exchange for his own candor.]
I meant what I said before, you know. About this not being my first time. Those guys who get off on suffering that I was talking about earlier? I, uh... kinda have firsthand experience. Though you probably already figured that out by now.
[He takes another gulp of beer, feeling the familiar warm dullness spreading over his brain, more quickly than it would have if his healing factor was still in working order. Good. He's gonna need to be a little dull for this conversation.]
[ Even. He hates how that sounds, like it's supposed to be some kind of shitty exchange where they trade information because it's proper, not because it's warranted or earned. Nate doesn't need even. He doesn't know what he needs, but it's not that. He doesn't need Wade to share his own trauma if it comes at the cost of reliving it.
He's not a sociopath, for Chrissakes. ]
You don't have to tell me.
[ Nate assures him, expression openly, unabashedly vulnerable. It isn't a simple matter to divulge anything of this nature and to that end he sure as Hell doesn't want somebody else to go through the mental wringer in an attempt to make him feel better. That serves no one. ]
Seriously. You don't have to dredge stuff up just 'cause I'm a piece of shit.
[He's being so careful about it, engaging in self-deprecation to spare Wade's feelings, but Wade knows a dismissal when he hears one. He's heard this same song and dance before, in the rare moments when he mistakenly let the mask slip just a little bit; when he read too much into things and got just a little too real.
You don't have to tell me.
Let's not make this into something more than it is.
We're fine where we're at.
Wade laughs again, more as a way to fill the silence than any feeling of mirth, feeling his neck muscles ache with the strain of not looking at Nate; of showing him the emotion that he knows is plastered quite starkly on his face.]
I mean... pretty sure Mr. Roboto's Surgical Funhouse got there first, but whatever.
[He puts the half-full bottle to his lips again. It comes away completely drained, and he sets it down beside him with a clink and a gusty, breathless sigh.]
It's a nice night though, huh?
[Someone please just close the curtain. He's forgotten his lines.]
[ It's the sudden bitterness that really feels like a slap in the face. Like he's made a mistake in offering clemency, in suggesting that Wade shouldn't feel obligated to talk about anything that makes him uncomfortable just because he thinks it might help Nate in some way. A sharp, ragged laugh and Wade turns away, back to the precipice that Nate suddenly feels is more inviting than the company that was trying so hard to be a balm on his evening.
He fucked up. ]
Yeah. [ Nate's voice is scratchy, and he watches the neon signs across the way flicker to life. ] It is.
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no subject
That'll go over really well, Nathan Drake is so adjusted.
Wade is only a room away and Nate wishes it were so easy to walk over, knock on the jamb, and ask to sit for a little while as though things were perfectly normal and not one crisis after the other. It would be nice, to be in company. It would be nicer still if he wasn't convinced that doing so would taint this otherwise pleasant thing they have going. ]
I'm not good at this. [ He admits, expression open and candid. ] Sharing, I mean. It's not you. I promise it's not you.
no subject
Wade huffs out another laugh, tearing his eyes away from Nate's. It's suddenly become too much too look at his face.]
Well, I mean... I'm not really good at this whole empathy thing either, y'know? A-And I ain't just talking about the weird bond thing we've all got now, apparently. So I guess in a way we're... y'know. Even.
[He almost ends it there, but something in him compels him to share more; to give Nate something in exchange for his own candor.]
I meant what I said before, you know. About this not being my first time. Those guys who get off on suffering that I was talking about earlier? I, uh... kinda have firsthand experience. Though you probably already figured that out by now.
[He takes another gulp of beer, feeling the familiar warm dullness spreading over his brain, more quickly than it would have if his healing factor was still in working order. Good. He's gonna need to be a little dull for this conversation.]
no subject
He's not a sociopath, for Chrissakes. ]
You don't have to tell me.
[ Nate assures him, expression openly, unabashedly vulnerable. It isn't a simple matter to divulge anything of this nature and to that end he sure as Hell doesn't want somebody else to go through the mental wringer in an attempt to make him feel better. That serves no one. ]
Seriously. You don't have to dredge stuff up just 'cause I'm a piece of shit.
no subject
You don't have to tell me.
Let's not make this into something more than it is.
We're fine where we're at.
Wade laughs again, more as a way to fill the silence than any feeling of mirth, feeling his neck muscles ache with the strain of not looking at Nate; of showing him the emotion that he knows is plastered quite starkly on his face.]
I mean... pretty sure Mr. Roboto's Surgical Funhouse got there first, but whatever.
[He puts the half-full bottle to his lips again. It comes away completely drained, and he sets it down beside him with a clink and a gusty, breathless sigh.]
It's a nice night though, huh?
[Someone please just close the curtain. He's forgotten his lines.]
no subject
He fucked up. ]
Yeah. [ Nate's voice is scratchy, and he watches the neon signs across the way flicker to life. ] It is.