#observingly

[quantumleapt]

@observingly dreams: who did this to you?

“  who  did  this  to  you  ?  ”   always accepting.

"Al."

It's barely a breath, but the soft murmur relaxes too tight shoulders, whole body sagging into the floor. A smile, somewhere between dazed and beatific, appears on too pale features, and hazel eyes fall shut with a sigh. He can almost feel a hand running through his hair, matted with blood, fingers so familiar skimming over the head wound before moving to... what, hold him in his lap, just like they used to on so many summer's days, so many lifetimes ago? Anything's possible now that his eyes are closed. He's here. That's all that matters.

"Berto..." Sam ventures, curling up tighter as if he's half-awake and dreaming. "...You found me." It's a reverent, awe-filled phrase, a notion that, even after all this time, he still isn't quite able to grasp. No matter what, Al will be there, Al will find him, Al will bring him home.

It's one of the few fundamental truths he still has.

But there's panic, anger in his tone-- from the sounds of it, Al's about halfway to the admiral voice-- and the reality of the situation starts to slither over his skin, seeping into his subconscious and the pit of his stomach.

"...I don't know," he answers honestly. "Can't... remember. I..." With effort, he opens his eyes to half-mast. Blinking a few times, he sees only darkness. "...where are we, Al?..."

[guttersniper]

@observingly said: that’s an old person’s word. 

the interestings.

there’s a solid beat of silence. he blinks, showing eyelids purpled by spiderwebbed veins left by sleep deprivation, stress. finally: “ well. i’m talking to an old man, aren't i? “ unruly brush of singular brow rises, dryly questioning. “ know your audience, and all that. “

[choicescreen]

@observingly​

“ alberto, you’re coming to my apartment to slow your roll, and that’s final. “ talk about pulling out the uncle voice.

[quantumleapt]

@observingly dreams: how did you come, by way of australia?

SINGIN' IN THE RAIN (1952) SENTENCE STARTERS. always accepting.

This isn't exactly what he'd imagined.

He'd imagined, if, no, when it finally happened, it would be something more... triumphant. He'd leave the tilting at windmills far behind him, charging into the sunset as the curtain fell.

Then again, he always was an impossible dreamer.

And, as Sam opens his eyes-- his eyes-- and looks up at Al's face, feeling the warm hands holding his own, he can't help but be grateful for it, because nothing he could ever imagine could possibly be any better than this.

"...It's good to see you too, Al," he murmurs, tear-filled eyes crinkling as he smiles.

[quantumleapt]

@guttersniper​​ dreams: 🏠 (domestic) cuz i love throwing mutt in situations he’s not equipped with. but also because he deserves it.

STARTER CALL. always accepting.

The radio’s playing something peppy and upbeat that brightens up the yellow kitchen. The sweet scent of sugar and maple permeates the whole house, mixed with the fresh, spring air that lazily rustles the curtains through the open window.

Sam’s moving around the kitchen as if they’ve lived there for years instead of just a few days, swaying lightly to the music as they hum and sing snatches of the song under their breath. Al, clad in one of his several bathrobes, is perched on the counter and doing something similar. The only clue that he’s not actually physically present there is that, when he swings his legs in time with the rhythm, they swing clear through a set of cabinets. 

The dress Sam’s wearing, blue and white checkered, brushes the floor, as they kneel down and rummage through one of the cabinets Al is not currently phasing through. They sing to themself in time with the bridge.

“Friends ask me, am I in love, I always answer yes--” They pull out a pan, only for their attention to be drawn by Mutt’s appearance in the room. Their face immediately lights up. 

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” they greet, moving over to Mutt and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You’re right on time,” they continue, “because, it also happens to be morning, uh... back... back home. So, I sent along my mom’s pancake recipe, and Gooshie and Tina and Verbena and everyone’re cookin’ ‘em up right now. We’re havin’ a--” Family meal, is the unspoken but plainly obvious meaning, one that they feel and mean with everything they have, but one they’re still wary about expressing, “--we’re gonna get to eat together. Y’know, I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before!” 

They smile, soft and warm, as fingertips tuck a lock of hair behind the boy’s ear, smoothing it down with an easy stroke.

“Your stomach okay? You feel up to pancakes?” they ask. “And do you wanna have sausage or bacon with ‘em? Al likes bacon better and I like sausage better,” because I’m right, is similarly unspoken, a certain something in their tone conveying a long-standing, but no less playful, feud, “but you’re the deciding vote.”

[guttersniper]

@observingly said: oh, c’mon, honey.

cheers.

mutt shies away from the hand settled between his shoulder blades. he’s sure it’s meant to be comforting, but he's not sure if it does as intended. he glances over the scrim of his shoulder, kicked-dog like, then back.

" no. no, i need to -- " he breathes in, throat and nose acrid with more bile than anything.

his stomach still feels like it's ready to revolt on him, but he presses his knuckles against his mouth and, through sheer force of will, tries to convince it that it shouldn't.

he flushes after he spits, even though there's nothing there, then fully turns to al, crouched down with him, and stands, rendering himself the taller one, for the moment. " i'm okay. "

[guttersniper]

@observingly said: you squealed on me?

cheers.

he exhales, exasperated sarcasm leaking into his voice. " 'hey, cucciolo, sam'll split my head open like a watermelon if he finds out' sounds an awful lot like you were begging to be caught. " maybe he’s splitting hairs, and maybe his mimicry of al is uncannily close.

" you, " emphasis is punched into the word, " squealed on yourself. "

[guttersniper]

@observingly​ said: if you can’t say anything nice, say it about gooshie.

cheers. 

he tears his eyes from the skyline, tossing al a sidelong glance, the pinching of his lips together making his not-quite-smile look more quizzical than amused. " seems like you've beat me to that. "