“ It was a long time ago, ” before he was even born. And vocalising that stretch of time is her way of telling him that it’s okay, that it didn’t affect her in the way he probably worried about. Agnes had had a lot of life to face the things that scared her and deal with it ( and the ones she refused to were neatly tucked away behind a façade of indifference, helplessness led to something uglier, bigger than anger that she couldn’t control ).
And the thing about that first brush with real fear was that it had lasted only moments even at the tender age of twelve. Because he was right in that it wasn’t an equal playground and that she had started a few moves ahead. One look at Raymond Fielding and she had seen that foreboding she’d had looking at those kids on his face. He had been frightened of her. She’d had the power.
He had the Institute protecting him to an extent and a… girlfriend avatar that would back him in anything, but it wasn’t the same as having your own power.
She shifts on the lounge, ever careful not to brush against him as she adjust her body to sit facing him more head on, her arm perched up against the back of it. Her eyes run over him, cataloguing, drinking him in, committing everything to memory like she had hundreds of times already ( by this point she could map every mole and scar and she hadn’t even touched him ).
“ They need you. Without fear to feed on they have nothing. Remember that, ” it’s not much, but it’s something. With the exception of avatars, the cruel entities that feasted on this world were an intangible beast that couldn’t break through and as long as they stopped any rituals from completing it would stay that way.
“ You know I won’t let anything happen to you, don’t you? ” she’d burn, roast, melt anything that tried.
"Nᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇ same." It's easy to say. It's easy to say 'I'll protect you', if it weren't for the fact that there's always the threat of something surprising, something sudden and unforeseen. And besides, it doesn't make him feel all that much better, having to constantly rely on someone else. He doesn't doubt her. He doesn't doubt in the slightest that she means it, but that isn't always enough. He had meant it, too, when he promised his little brother to keep him safe from anything, and —
(And he didn't. End of story. It doesn't matter how well he meant, or how much he had wanted to stand by his word, all that mattered was that he had been unable to keep his promise, and it hadn't been his price to pay. If he had been more supportive, if he went with Danny, if he had been more brave, if he had been anyone else — )
It sits in his throat and threatens to choke him whole. There's hardly a day where he doesn't blame himself for not being good enough, or strong enough, and it doesn't sooth him at all to be told that he's a feeding ground as well. That that's all he is to these things, no matter what.
Some of them, anyway. Most, even. But she's proof it's not all there is, isn't she.
"I trust you. I don't mean that I don't. But there's — you know it's not the same. And I don't even know where I'm going with this." Exhale. The air in his lungs seems to almost hurt, trying to express his conflicting, complicated feelings. "I'm not saying I want to be like this. It's just that I'll never have the means to do much about it, no matter what other help there is." That he won't be able to protect, either, and is instead a burden at best.