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[groupiedrifter]

"This is Newt — still alive... still hanging in there."

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cw: emotional manipulation??? aka a precursor dream

[groupiedrifter]

[I don't wanna go, he thinks. He thinks he thinks? Why am I leaving? I wanna stay with Hermann.

A little snowball, rolling down a white hill. That's what this is. Newton just doesn't realize it.

Nonono, he needs to go get some sleep, is what he needs. His head's hurting a little, anyway, and that usually means a nosebleed is imminent, and he doesn't want to get into an argument about these kinds of things while Hermann's in such a nice mood. That was a good break, they had a nice talk, it's enough. Besides, he thinks he thinks, Hermann'll get sick of you sooner than later. Better to burn out than fade away. Immortal words of Def Leppard, second only to Gunter gleiben glauchen globen, which always tickled him as a German kid, because he means literally fucking nothing.]

When we get back home, we'll kick up our feet and watch another movie.

Maybe pilfer some of this pinot noir, if we get a chance.

[He smiles a bit more softly despite the buzzing in his head, walks backwards down the hall as he talks.

Hey, you're pretty cute, he knows he thinks (drunkenly, but he'd think it sober, too).]

Just don't go getting into trouble while I'm out, dude. Save that kind of thing for me. There's a status quo to keep!

[With that put out there proper, Newt turns and starts away, shucking off his jacket to drape over his arm as he goes. He feels a little stiff, maybe a little tired, and it occurs to him maybe it was just all of the dancing and festivities they'd been wrapped up in tonight. Duh. Why wouldn't he want to sleep? It's one of the few things that could even get him to bed at a time like this...! He retreats to his room, narrowly manages to kick his way-too-fancy shoes off onto the floor, and passes out hard.

And then he wakes up.

Or, well. He wakes up in a dream. Again. He's sitting on the floor of a white, never-ending space, the blue veins pulsing under the ground alerting a weary Newton to where he is again. It feels like skin, the soft floor beneath him. Warm. It makes his stomach twist, and he folds his arms and bunches up defensively where he's settled.]

Really? That's the human you're so infatuated with?

[The prescursors lean over him, beady eyes and unnatural voices full of judgement. Newton presses the balls of his palms against his temples and pushes hard, trying to ease the ache. Right, right. He's here again. Back in his dreams — dreams he won't remember. He tries so hard to remember, repeats over and over to wake up wake up wake up don't forget don't forget this time-]

Shut up. What do you know about anything? You just destroy stuff. You don't get it.

You destroy plenty yourself. Humanity as a whole, and you as a singular.

Spare me the dramatic 'humans are soooo evil' lecture. [He snaps his gaze up, waving his hands at the air in offense.] There's more good in humanity's pinky than there is in your whole boring body. You guys are just a bunch of soulless, awful killing machines! Oh, wait, you don't even do that right; you just send a bunch of indoctrinated monster clones to do that for you!

... He won't reciprocate your feelings, you know. [Newt's mouth snaps shut. They say:] We've seen your memories. We've seen your disputes. How he looks at you with such contempt, the moment you start spewing talk of projects... It's a miracle you were able to 'drift' together for even a short time. You're incongruent. Incompatible. Does he even know how many people you've loved before? How many of those relationships have crumbled because of your lack of control? What a horrible mistake it would have been, to allow your intoxicated brain to convey those nauseating thoughts you'd had.

[Newton sits with his arms around his knees, looking down at the floor. His voice is smaller than usual. Subdued.]

... Is that what this is for you? Control? Is that why you made me leave him there?

We don't have time for you to complicate things by ruining your tumultuous relationship with your feelings, Newton. We want the orb, not petty human dramas. [They lean in until their large face is inches from his; together as one, they make up a wall of hundreds of black, shark-like eyes.] You're already a volatile little thing. You're emotional and illogical. It would not work out.

[He tries to look at them, but it's too much. It does something primitive in him. Makes him look down and away.]

You don't-

He would be indifferent to your feelings at best. Disgusted at worst. Look at you. Look at what the world saw — an insignificant little joke of a man. Do you really think any of them truly like you? They like your body when they give in to those animal urges. They like your brain when it can be used to solve a problem that they need solved. What else do you think they want? Your ramblings? Your loud, awful music? Your obnoxious voice? None of them ever took you seriously, and none of them ever will. They're all just stuck with you and are making the most of it.

[Newt's red and shamefaced, but he looks up finally, brows furrowed and eyes glowering.]

... You're wrong. You're wrong. We're friends! We're a team! And not just some hivemind who hides off on some planet — we don't force each other to be one person, and we don't hide when we need each other. We're all different, and that makes it work; that makes us better than you!

... You would be wise to listen to us. Sooner or later, you'll be abandoned to die. They won't risk themselves for you. That's just in their nature.

Then you wouldn't get your stupid orbs, huh? What a shame. [He looks down, gaze shifting nervously across the veins that pulse in the floor. His mind races, and he whispers, sure of himself:] Hermann won't abandon me.

Mmm. Hermann is a very hard worker. Loyal to rational thought and his causes. It's a shame it wasn't him that drifted with us first. A mind like that, so neat and orderly... so much more invested in logic and caution. We remember his processes enough; all cleaner than yours, so much more regulated, without all your reckless abandon.

But then again... perhaps it was for the best. A mind in as much disarray as yours is easier to manipulate.

[His hands feel funny again. Like they had when he'd left Hermann alone at that couch, after they'd drank that wine. He unhooks them from his legs and looks down at his pale palms, horrified when he realizes that blue, glowing arteries begin to unfurl under his skin like vines. A panicked yell escapes him before his eyes snap back open —

And he's in his bed, in the Lionetta's headquarters.

A red, rose-shaped stain has formed on the pillow where his nose drips, and he swallows down the taste of blood.

... Just another restless night, he supposes.

Maybe he was dreaming that kind of dream everyone has.

The kind where you're just — freefalling.]