[Casey opens his mouth to respond, but even as he begins, the words (whatever they might have been) die in his throat, and he just... doesn't. He stares at Rue as the words sink in, and his gaze slowly sinks towards the ground. He... must? He must...
But isn't that selfish? Isn't it wrong? They suffered during the invasion, too. Trauma doesn't care if you endure it for a day or a lifetime. Yet, he hasn't let himself think about it before: the reliving, through the retelling. He's shared his tale through awkward necessity countless times now, to explain why he is the way he is, the excess of questions he asks about everything that might otherwise be deemed "normal", to clarify why he says this or that. That was his normal. Everyone's been so kind. Everyone says they're sorry, or that he's strong, or that he has so much to discover, or. Or.
His hands curl into fists at his sides, fingers twisting around in the fabric of his shirt. He doesn't have to tell her. Not about the invasion, or the slow death of the entirety of Earth, or her murder, or the fall of every person that they cared about. Not about failing to stop it twice over in the past, of watching a familiar hole open up in the sky and the city erupting into flames around them, not about that cold feeling of despair that he couldn't do the one thing sensei asked of him, that he was going to continue growing up in a dying world, that their fate was sealed, that Master Michelangelo and sensei had died for nothing. Not how Leo... how he had...
He shudders, taking a breath, and it's like some horrible, huge weight had been dragged off his shoulders. Someone else can. Someone else can do it. He doesn't have to explain or justify himself, as if there's something wrong with him. Not to her. Not to his mom. Maybe she'll just... accept him, like Rue does. Maybe he'll be lucky enough to have two amazing moms, and he can meet her properly with a smile. Maybe the horrors of the future can reach her some other way.
He reaches up, fingers curling around Rue's talons, his voice shaken, not quite able to meet their gaze.]
A... alright... alright. Please. I don't... want to tell her.
[She needs to know. But if it's really okay, don't let it be him.]
no subject
But isn't that selfish? Isn't it wrong? They suffered during the invasion, too. Trauma doesn't care if you endure it for a day or a lifetime. Yet, he hasn't let himself think about it before: the reliving, through the retelling. He's shared his tale through awkward necessity countless times now, to explain why he is the way he is, the excess of questions he asks about everything that might otherwise be deemed "normal", to clarify why he says this or that. That was his normal. Everyone's been so kind. Everyone says they're sorry, or that he's strong, or that he has so much to discover, or. Or.
His hands curl into fists at his sides, fingers twisting around in the fabric of his shirt. He doesn't have to tell her. Not about the invasion, or the slow death of the entirety of Earth, or her murder, or the fall of every person that they cared about. Not about failing to stop it twice over in the past, of watching a familiar hole open up in the sky and the city erupting into flames around them, not about that cold feeling of despair that he couldn't do the one thing sensei asked of him, that he was going to continue growing up in a dying world, that their fate was sealed, that Master Michelangelo and sensei had died for nothing. Not how Leo... how he had...
He shudders, taking a breath, and it's like some horrible, huge weight had been dragged off his shoulders. Someone else can. Someone else can do it. He doesn't have to explain or justify himself, as if there's something wrong with him. Not to her. Not to his mom. Maybe she'll just... accept him, like Rue does. Maybe he'll be lucky enough to have two amazing moms, and he can meet her properly with a smile. Maybe the horrors of the future can reach her some other way.
He reaches up, fingers curling around Rue's talons, his voice shaken, not quite able to meet their gaze.]
A... alright... alright. Please. I don't... want to tell her.
[She needs to know. But if it's really okay, don't let it be him.]