Whoooo Are You? (w/Jag & Curnen)
Aug. 1st, 2018 06:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
st_rummerCoby had been stable way longer than he expected before finally showing signs of fraying over the past few months, and sometimes the only way out was through. But when he hit rock bottom and lost himself completely, he wasn't the one hurt most. Luckily he had Jag and Curnen to come back to.
Warning: dissociative fugue
"You've probably got a million questions about this place, haven't you?"
Questions. Yes. There were questions. Maybe a million.
But words were coming out, he could hear them, could feel the shape of tongue, teeth, and lips, the buzz of voice in the throat, and the head shaking left, right. "Not really. But a drink before heading out again sounds like a plan. Other than that, it's all good."
It's all good. Like this really was some weird alternate version of Coby, who went by another name, and didn't realise what had happened to him. Who, for some reason, was too chilled out to wonder. Jag eyed his pupils as discreetly as he could, trying to figure out what he might be on.
"Yeah, that's the thing," Jag said, frowning still, but gesturing towards the bar. "You can head out, but you'll keep winding back here somehow. Where were you before you showed up here?"
Something was... weird.
Curnen couldn't put her finger on it, but something about their body language and the space between them gone strangely cool and tentative made her wonder very much what the hell was up with Jag and Coby. If they were fighting or something--she had no idea what any fight would be about, but it wasn't impossible, it was easy to get on people's nerves when you lived on top of each other like they did here--she didn't want to interrupt.
But it was more than that. Jag wasn't angry. He was trying not to freak out. That was what brought her over. And then overhearing the question made her doubt herself all over. "... Did I interrupt like a roleplay thing?"
Someone new. A woman. Or a girl. Young looking. No more recognition on the face that turned to look at her than there had been on seeing Jag. Brow furrowed, mouth turned down in a frown. Confusion. "What?" Then more words, still coming from somewhere else but out this mouth. "We're just talking. Jag was telling me about this place."
"This is Chris," Jag said, uncertainly. "I think he just - looks like Coby? Or..." Nope, no or. This had to just be... someone else. In Coby's clothes. Saying it was all good.
Curnen on the other hand wasn't uncertain in the slightest. This was Coby. She could feel it in her gut. But he was somewhere down that hole, and she didn't know how you went about getting him back out of it.
There was one thing that would make her truly sure, though, and that was to touch him. She held out a hand. "Curnen. Good to know you," she said.
Right. Names. Introductions. Handshakes. The Jag guy had called him Chris. The thought running sluggish, a hand was already reaching out to shake hers, hearing the same voice as before offering "Chris," before the thought was finished, so it must be right. Right? "He said that already. Sorry."
"Don't apologize," Curnen assured him, focused on the feeling of his calluses under her fingers, her palm. She knew these calluses so well, both from her own experience in playing, and from knowing full well the feeling of them on her skin. And the feeling in her belly only grew more insistent. This was Coby. He didn't know he was, but he was. "You a musician?"
A musician. A musician? The head shook side to side, slow, uncertain. "Nah. Nothing like that." But the words sounded as unsure as the nod, and the confusion inside.
Now that, that made her blood run cold. Curnen had to keep herself from shivering. She had forgotten many things in her time in the woods, but music had remained somewhere deep inside even when she could not make any. "Just a thought. You got the hands for it." She glanced to Jag and back to Coby. He was certainly Coby. She had to hold fast to that idea, or she'd crumble.
"You must have questions."
Jag absolutely did, but he wasn't the one being addressed. What did she mean, he had the hands for it? Now he was resisting the urge to grab one of "Chris's" hands to check them for calluses. And what if there were some? What if they were the calluses Jag knew so well? What did that mean - this couldn't be happening again. First Emma who didn't know him, and now Coby who didn't know... anything? Jag took a single step back, instinctively, as if trying to put more distance between himself and the possibility.
"I mean, I might play a little," he heard himself say, thoughts niggling in the back of his brain, "but I wouldn't call myself a musician or anything. Just some guy." Right? Or was he? Jag moved back, and Chris-not-Coby's gaze moved from the woman to the man and back.
"Do most people have questions or something? It's just a motel, right? A really weird looking, too pink, color explosion of a motel."
"Usually," Curnen said with a shrug, trying to find a way to communicate to Jag that it wasn't that this wasn't Coby, it was that Coby, for whatever reason, didn't remember who he was. "Most people don't understand how they got here. D'you remember where you were before here?"
No. Not a clue. But there was an answer for her, just there, and not like the thought at all, "Just out for a walk," like a magician's trick, nothing to see here, nothing up either sleeve. Distraction, diversion, don't ask questions. And he couldn't say whether he meant any of the questions in his head or ones they might ask. Both? Was both good? Both. Both is good.
"Yeah, but where?" Curnen asked again. "I was in Tennessee before I just wound up here. Jag was in London."
Fuck. Shit. Jag drifted closer to Curnen, unable and unwilling to take his eyes off of... Chris, Coby, as he told her, quietly, "Wouldn't Daryl know?" Whatever or whoever the employees were, Daryl always knew who the hotel guests were, if only to send them to the right room.
Blinking in confusion. Tennessee wasn't near London. Wasn't near... where were they again? Where was he, and where had he been? Finally settling on the easiest of the questions, he asked. "Daryl?" If there was someone who knew something, that would be a good place to start.
"He should," Curnen agreed. Sure as she was, some confirmation would be helpful all the same. If she and Jag were on the same page, at least they'd know to freak out together about the same thing. The Innkeeper would definitely know if anybody had gone and who had come.
She looked at Coby. For now she leaned on the side of talking to him like a stranger. If he didn't know her right now, acting on intimacy that wasn't there would only freak him out. "You get your room yet? We gotta go talk to Daryl if you ain't."
"He'll get you sorted," Jag agreed with a nod, still unable to completely hide his anxiety from his eyes.
They were really pushing the whole getting a room, staying here thing. Was that weird? He couldn't tell. Everything was weird anyway. "I just came in for a drink, take a load off for a little while. You really think I need to get a room? Or this Daryl can tell me what's going on?"
"We think he can help us out with some things," Curnen answered, trying to be reassuring. "And yeah. You do. There's nowhere else to go 'round here."
"Come on," Jag invited Chris-Coby, stepping back towards the reception area. "Please?"
Still not convinced, growing more confused by the moment, but if this Daryl had answers, it was a start. Back to the lobby it was, and up to the desk. He ran a hand through longish blond hair, a practiced twitch of his wrist to keep the multiple bracelets from snagging. "Uh, yeah. They," a wave of his hand to the man and woman who'd come with him, maybe more interested in what the desk clerk would say than he was even, "said you'd have a room for me?"
The clerk looked oddly muted, not quite real, almost like how Chris...? – He'd stick with Chris for now, although it didn't feel right – Almost like how Chris felt. A shadow or an echo, lacking substance and identity. But professional. He gave a small nod. "Our records indicate you are still in Room 182, the Tall and Short, Mr. Ward. Is there some problem with the room? Do you perhaps need some fresh towels?"
Well, there was the confirmation they needed, and even sure as she'd been, Curnen felt better hearing it. It narrowed down their problem... even if it didn't fix it. "We're good on towels, thank you," she said, like Daryl was a real person. Like he was Ms. Peggy or Marshall at the Catamount Corner. "We might be in need of another key, though, if you'd be so kind."
Hey, from what she could tell, it might be true. If Coby had his key, he hadn't found it on himself yet.
Fuck. Bloody, fucking hell. Jag tried to breathe through it. Curnen wasn't panicking, and neither should he. "Check - check your pockets?" he told Coby-not-Chris, trying to keep his voice even.
Ward. He was Mr. Ward. Or was he? Shouldn't he know his own name? Shouldn't it feel like his name when he heard it? It didn't. But it didn't feel like not his name either. He just didn't know.
He hadn't thought about checking his pockets either, until Jag said something about it. He patted his pockets, and feeling something in each of the front ones, he reached in. From the right, he pulled a couple of guitar picks and a... a clippy thing. Capo a voice in the back of his head offered. From the other, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and finally, his hand shaking as he pulled it out, a keycard. "But how...?"
Curnen did not know what to do. She did not know if Coby would allow her to touch him or not, she didn't know if explaining things to him would make the whole mess better or worse. So she fell back on instinct.
"Thanks anyway, Daryl," she said. Then she began to hum, low and soft, a Tufa tune for calm and protection. Whatever else was going on, she did understand fear and being so lost in your own head that you didn't know what reality was anymore. Whatever else, she couldn't let him be afraid.
And hell, Jag could probably use it, too.
As could she.
Jag wasn't sure what Curnen was doing, but fuck if he didn't feel better for that song. Better enough that he reached out for Coby's shaking hand, around the keycard, and curled his fingers over his, gentle but steady. Steadier than he felt. "It's all good," he told Coby, falling back on the words Coby used so often. They ought to work, oughtn't they? "Your name is Coby. I'm Jag, and this is Curnen." They had said it before, but it couldn't hurt to say it again. "We both love you. It's all going to be okay."
He looked at the hand over his, up to Jag, over to Curnen, and back to Jag. The low humming threaded its way into the back of his mind and combined with Jag's words it's all good, and while he was lost and confused, it didn't feel quite as bad. "I don't remember," he admitted. "Any of this."
Curnen took Coby's other hand, carefully, hoping the feeling of her extra finger didn't freak him out at all. "We know," she said. "It'll come back." She wouldn't make any promises of when or how, but she had faith that it would.
"You want to come to your room, see if that looks familiar?" Jag offered, after swallowing past the ache in his throat. What if he didn't? And what was this? Was it the Inn fucking with them again? Or some magic gone wrong somehow?
A beat. Two. Then a slow, uncertain but willing to go along nod. "Yeah. Okay." Something should be familiar, right? If he'd been here for awhile. If he knew these people. If he really was this Coby what was it? Oh yeah, Ward. Coby Ward.
Coby Ward. Coby Ward. Coby Ward. Try to remember.
The only thing that felt familiar, though, was the confusion.
"You know the way, right?" Because he didn't.
"That we do," Curnen assured him, stroking her thumb over the back of Coby's hand before giving it a gentle tug and turning toward the door. "C'mon."
She didn't want to do it in Coby's hearing since talking about people like they weren't there was deeply rude, but she would have to find an opening to tell Jag what she understood of what had happened.
Keeping his hand over Coby's, when it held his keycard, would have been very awkward, so Jag just let it go, and trailed after them, a couple of steps behind. Panic was steadily seeping back into him, but he was doing his best to ignore it. Coby didn't need his panic. Although Jag had no idea what he did need.
Chris-Coby-whoever might not have known who he was supposed to be, or who they were, but there was something about Jag hanging back like that that didn't feel right to him, and he looked back over his shoulder, brow drawing into the start of a frown. "Dude."
Curnen only resumed her low humming, the tempo of the song taking on the pace of their steps. Or perhaps it was the other way around, and their bodies were falling into step with the song. Who could say? Music was weird like that.
Dude. Jag didn't have the heart to go through the motions, and tell Coby not to dude him. He took the pain of that and caught up with the other two, falling in stride to the tempo of Curnen's song. "What?" he asked, glad that they were walking. Great reason not to meet Coby's gaze, when it made sense to look at where he was going.
Another shrug. The shoulders were going to get tired, all the shrugging they needed to do, all the things he didn't know, and if it kind of felt like there should be something more to the movement, if the weight felt wrong, that was just one more unknown. "Don't know. It's just weird, you trailing along behind. Isn't it?"
"Sure," Jag answered, because there was no point arguing. He didn't want to argue with Coby in this state. Now he was walking beside them, hands in his pockets, and that was that. All he had to do was keep a hold of himself.
Jag and Curnen knew where they were going, and it was simple enough to walk along with them, until they were outside a door with a sign saying Tall and Short, and him with no real idea how they'd got there. He glanced down at the key in his hand, then to Curnen, then Jag. Something should feel familiar, right? If he'd been here with them like they said. Maybe the room would be better.
Just do it. He stuck the card in the lock, and when the light turned green, opened the door on... pink. Lots and lots of pink. All the pink. Like a Pepto-Bismol explosion. Or a Barbie Dream House. It left him stunned, there at the threshold.
Coby was thrown off so rarely that Curnen had to laugh at the look on his face. "Yeah, that's about right. Most of 'em are worse, though. Sorry." Being familiar and comfortable with the room, though, she didn't hesitate and walked on in.
Jag rested a comforting hand on his back as he stepped up to his side, his focus on Coby and his expression. "It's all good," he said, again, softly, the words a lifeline, hopefully for them both. "You get used to it. You'll see."
"And we've got you," Curnen added in agreement. "Mind, we don't know how to fix this, but fuck if we're not gonna try."
With as strange as everything felt right then, a too pink room was nothing. He entered, moving through the space trying to find anything that seemed familiar or that shook loose a memory. "Why? What is - am I to you that you'd try so hard to help?" he asked, fingers absently trailing over the keyboard set up on one side of the room and turning it on without thinking.
That question would have been a lot easier to answer if they'd ever put a label on what they were. Jag glanced at Curnen, wondering whether Coby and she had, but he focused back on Coby, watching him turn the keyboard on as naturally as he normally did. "We're friends," he answered, quietly. "And... more?" He didn't want to lie, but he didn't want to freak out an amnesic Coby.
Fuck, what if he never remembered? The swell of anxiety stuck in his throat, and it was an effort to swallow back threatening tears.
Coby went to the keyboard, Curnen went to Jag. His words had said enough for the both of them.
Her voice very low, she murmured, "He's there, but it's... like he fell in a hole in his mind. He's pulled me out of mine before, we'll find a way to pull him out of his."
Friends. And more. He wanted to ask... He didn't know what he wanted to ask. And how could he anyway, when it had to suck being on their side of things, where he shouldn't have to ask any of this stuff. His fingers found a chord. G major, his brain supplied, as out of nowhere as the other things he'd come out with. Like the name that wasn't actually his name, if Daryl and these two knew what they were talking about, and they seemed to know more than he did, so he was trusting them. And another, D major this time, and a tickle at the back of his mind and in the muscles of his hands, like there should be more, songs wanting to come out.
"You said I was a musician of some kind."
Jag kept his gaze on Curnen, his eyes full of his doubts, as much as his desire to believe her. Before he could find anything to answer, a chord from the keyboard distracted him. And then another. "Yeah," he confirmed, now looking at Coby, and he found Curnen's hand blindly, holding on to it. "Yeah, music is your life."
Curnen squeezed back. She was really no more sure than Jag was, but one of them had to keep calm and somehow that had turned out to be her. She turned her attention to Coby. "You and I play together all the time," she added.
"I don't remember. Any of that." He should remember, shouldn't he? It felt like he should. Like there were memories right there, that slipped from his grasp whenever he reached for them, leaving an abyss of... nothing. Was that redundant, or just stupid? "I'm sorry."
It was so horrible, watching the emotions play on Coby's face, being unable to reach out. Coby, but not, and Jag didn't want a repeat of Emma being scared of him. He released Curnen's hand when he realized how tight he'd been gripping it, and resisted the urge to bring out some fire, when it might freak Coby out. He wanted to say, It'll come back to you. He wanted to reassure Coby. But he couldn't believe it himself; all he could feel was rising fear at the thought that this was happening again.
"That's all right," Curnen said. She hadn't minded Jag squeezing her hand, but when he let go, it gave her an idea. "Don't apologize."
She found Coby's guitar and pulled it out, tuning it with the expertise of long experience and the ease of someone who had handled this particular instrument many times. When she had been in the forest, even unable to make music of her own, she had remembered the music when other things like speech and even her name had gone from her.
His hands remembered chords. They might remember more with a little coaxing. She began to noodle, the sounds not resolving into any song yet.
He paused, closing his eyes to just listen as she began to play, and for a moment, he felt like he understood what it would've been like, being drawn out by the pied piper, the sounds tugging at something in him. Tugged, snagged, slipped, like smoke in your hand, and it did nothing for the tightness in his chest. He rubbed at his sternum, opening his eyes again and moving at random around the room. He was still focused on the notes Curnen played, though, and barely noticed as he picked up Coby's stash and began to pack a bowl, his hands guided by muscle memory.
Jag watched him with a lump in his throat, unsure whether this was good or bad. The way he moved just like himself, and packed that bowl with his regular familiarity. Jag wanted to go over to him and hold him (as if that would help), and he only ended up hooking his hand on his own opposite shoulder, and wrapping his other arm over his own stomach, listening to Curnen playing, watching Coby packing.
When Curnen found her hands resolving into a song, she almost laughed at the choice. Hendrix was one of the last things she remembered before she'd been cursed, and it made all the sense in the world between the memories and the anxiety and the weed.
There must be some kind of way outta here
Said the joker to the thief
There's too much confusion
I can't get no relief
'All Along the Watchtower' flowed out of her as she idly wondered which of them was the joker and which one was the thief.
Hendrix. Nice. Wait, that meant... he remembered something. Just a song, sure, and who sung it. And that was definitely the opinion that Hendrix' version was the definitive one. Not Dylan's. Which was good, yeah, and both a lot different from the way Curnen's clear soprano shaped the song.
All that ran through a head that felt both way too empty and too full all at once, while his hands continued in their task. When he was done, he held the bong out to Jag. "Seriously, man. You look like you could use this." Maybe it was just being distracted, but he didn't think to hand over a lighter along with it.
That song was way too on point for Jag, who swallowed against the lump in his throat, and wanted to make up an excuse and leave, as much as he couldn't stand the thought of it. When Coby held the bong out to him, Jag stared at it for a beat, then wiped a hand over his face. "Ta. But..." He shook his head, eyes finding Coby's. He didn't trust his brain not to stay stuck going round in circles, right now, and pot would make that worse.
Curnen felt it, both the flash of recognition and the waves of distress rolling off Jag, and she sighed. She had to get him to calm the fuck down as well as try to give Coby's memory a nudge, or this was going to get even worse.
Her magic was the lightest caress, a suggestion. She could have a deeper effect, but she rarely chose to. It smacked too much of her father. Or her cousins. And she just fucking couldn't.
For a long moment she played aimlessly until she hit on a traditional Irish tune, light and sweet, a flirtatious exchange where the people involved were bargaining for a name.
Another shrug, not bothered by Jag's response, and the repetition of Curnen's song letting it creep bit by bit into him. "Up to you, Ch... Charlie? That's not... You said your name was... Jag, right?"
Jag was terrible at hiding most things from his expression, and the shock of the fierce hope that suffused his lungs was no different. "Yeah, that's - you call me that. A joke. Because..." In for a penny, in for a pound. He held a hand up and called up a flame, winding it around his fingers but ready to put the fire away if Coby freaked out. But if he was beginning to remember things, he wouldn't, right? This was meant to be encouragement. Please come back to us, Jag thought, begged, not daring to look away from Coby.
Whoa. His eyes went wide when fire just fucking appeared and started dancing around Jag's fingers, but he wasn't freaking out. He just watched for a moment, glanced at Jag, then over at Curnen, who was still singing and didn't seemed surprised at all that Jag could apparently make fire out of nothing and get it to do what he wanted. "That is seriously cool. And kinda hot," just slipped out. I might could upgrade the kinda, passed through his head, but at least he kept that part to himself because... just because. "But what does that have to do with Charlie?"
"It's from that book by Stephen King?" Jag offered, and killed the flame with a thought, dropping his hand. He'd even read that one. "Firestarter. About this kid, Charlie. She's got fire, too."
Curnen's eyebrows waggled briefly in agreement at 'kinda hot.'
"And there's a nickname for everybody," she added, as she slipped into an instrumental piece to allow herself a little space to speak.
Stephen King sounded vaguely familiar, but all he could picture was a seriously creepyass clown, even by clown standards, nothing about some kid named Charlie, or starting fires. "But dude, how are you doing that?" Was it magic? Was magic even a thing except in books or movies? He was watching a guy control fire that floated in midair, not burning anything. Something had to be a thing, magic or not.
Jag shrugged. "Apparently I'm a mutant. Complicated science shite, I don't know. I always thought it was magic." He glanced at Curnen, but kept most of his focus on Coby. He'd started to remember, and Jag just wanted to help him remember more, but he had no idea how. Please remember me. Remember us.
"Ain't so much different," Curnen murmured, picking out the flitting notes of 'The Butterfly.' "Cut us, we bleed. whack us in the head we get dizzy. Everything else is... cosmetic."
From there she flowed into another song and started singing softly again, excusing herself from the conversation.
"A mutant. Magic," Coby echoed, full of uncertainty, trying to wrap his swiss cheese mind around the idea, but not doubting them at all. Then a growl, frustrated at a memory that felt so close to there, like reaching for something on a high shelf and your fingertips just barely grazing the surface.
"Is that what...?" He shook his head. "I remember... wings. Kinda grey... white."
"They might be Anael's?" Jag offered, although he couldn't be certain. He'd never thought to ask what colour his wings were. "He's an angel, in our world. He's - you're - you're in love. The two of you." He looked towards Curnen, hoping that she could supply Coby with more information. He sounds corny as fuck was probably not the most helpful thing to say.
Curnen considered that, holding on to responding until she got to a break between verses where she could insert a little more instrumental music. "Can't think of who else's they'd be," she agreed. Coby's wings were black, so he wasn't remembering his own. "He's an angel of love." And she wasn't much of a fan of angels, but this one sounded all right.
He shook his head again, wishing it would rattle something loose. If they were right, he was in love with some kind of angel. That wasn't the kind of thing you forgot, was it? Why couldn't he remember... anything that made sense? A nickname. Wings. Without really thinking about it, he took a hit off the bong Jag had turned down.
"That's a different key," he said, the thought train jumping tracks completely. "That song you're playing." He knew it somehow, on a stool, on a stage, the weight of the guitar in his hands as he played.
Curnen grinned as she sang, nodding her agreement at the observation. She considered pushing harder... but no. Minds were delicate things. She wouldn't--couldn't--risk breaking something.
Jag watched Coby closely now, as if he could will him to remember more. To remember him. But there was hope, now, at least. Seeing Coby take a hit (helping him with a flame) just tempted him to go back on his answer and follow suit, but he hardly needed any help for his mind to go round and round in obsessive circles just then, and he stayed put, pushing his hands into his pockets. "Do you - remember anything about him?"
He was fucking trying, but all he remembered were the wings. Until suddenly there was more. His head spun, and he couldn't tell if it was the pot, the flood of memories of Anael, or the rush of blood it opposing directions, to his face as he blushed fiercely, and further south. "I... um... I didn't know angels were... um... like that. Most of them are raging assholes."
More than never seeing him blush, Curnen hadn't ever thought to see Coby blush. He was so easygoing, so lacking in shame, it hadn't seemed possible. The rarity of the sight made it beautiful, kindled a spark low in her belly, but she only continued to play. After all, he didn't know her.
"Trust you to find the one who isn't one," Jag answered quietly, just watching the colour rise to Coby's cheeks.
That first rush of memories and emotions was so sudden, it was hard for him to notice that what made Coby Coby followed along in its wake. That one moment he was trying to remember who Coby was, and the next he simply was Coby. "Seriously, man, breathe." He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture finally feeling familiar instead of just happening. "You know how wound tight you get, sometimes it feels like I'm going to burst a blood vessel just watching you."
Hope had all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, the way it rammed into Jag's chest. He blinked a couple of times, holding Coby's gaze, then asked, still quiet, but full of so much hope breathing hurt, "Coby?"
It never got easy, seeing that mix of hurt and hope in the eyes of people he cared about as he came back to himself, with no idea what he'd missed and how he'd hurt them. "Yeah. It's me," he answered, his voice rough with the emotion, as he held out his arms and stepped toward them both. "C'mere. You too, butterfly."
Curnen never thought she'd be so happy to here that pet name in her life. She cut off her playing at once, not bothering to make it to the end of the bar. Taking only enough care to make sure the guitar got set aside gently, she practically flew across the room and hugged Coby tight.
Now that she didn't have to be the steady one anymore, that went right out the window.
Now Jag's heart was thudding with relief and joy. Both of his arms had gone around Coby, his head buried against Coby's neck, and when Curnen joined the hug, it took him a couple of seconds before he managed to work one arm out from around Coby, and slide it around her instead, welcoming her into the embrace. Fuck, Coby was back.
Coby didn't need to be told it had been Not Good while he was checked out, but if he had, the almost desperate way they clung to him would have made it crystal clear. But it was easier too, holding them close, instead of seeing it in their eyes. So he hugged them just as tight, letting the familiar feel of them, their scents, settle him more into his body. "I'm sorry," murmured low after awhile, and then after a little longer, "how bad was it?"
"Not so bad, I think," Curnen whispered. "Nothing happened." No one had been hurt, at the least, which was better than she could do when she was really gone.
Jag didn't add anything, glad not to speak past the lump in his throat. Curnen was right, after all. It hadn't been so bad. But it had still been terrible, and he didn't want to have to say that. So he kept on hugging them in silence, thankful that Curnen had answered Coby's question.
"Uh-huh. You forget, I've been here before. So I know. It's bad enough even when nothing much happens." He kissed her hair, then Jag's, and tried to tease out memories of the past however long. He wasn't surprised, though, when he couldn't remember through the fog. Coby hadn't been himself, so there wasn't anything there for Coby to remember. "And telling you that sometimes I'm not myself and don't remember, it's not the same as you seeing it yourself. But I'm back now." Mostly, at least. "I had you to come back to."
It felt right, the three of them like this. Curnen started to calm some, her muscles relaxing as she sighed. "You didn't know us. Or who you were. Not so bad... but it was bad."
Jag swallowed around the lump in his throat a couple of times, then trusted his voice enough to add, "You walked in from outside, I think. I don't know how long you'd... been there."
"On the plus side," with his arms around them, Coby could rub their backs as he thought about what they'd been through, not knowing or being able to help, "at least here I couldn't hop in the car and not know anything until I found myself several states away." Been there, done that. It sucked.
"Come on. We'll curl up in bed, all three of us." Where the here and now, simple touch, and love would help Coby settle into himself, and ease the worry he knew they had to feel when he hadn't remembered them.
Curnen nodded and reluctantly pulled away from the embrace so she could move to the bed. Along with her ability to be the one holding her shit together, anything she had in the way of excess energy seemed to have drained right out of her.
Certainly the playing hadn't done it, but trying to use a delicate touch with her magic that long hadn't helped.
Jag nodded along to Coby's offer, and very reluctantly moved away to pull off his shoes, waiting until Coby had gone onto the bed to join them on the other side of him. Keeping Coby in the middle wasn't a conscious decision; he hadn't even considered the alternative.
This was better. Coby put an arm around each of them, pulling them close as soon as they joined him on the bed. He didn't want to let them go any more than they seemed to. "It doesn't get that bad very often, and it had been a seriously long time. Usually things get better after I hit bottom," he told them softly, wishing it could be a promise, but knowing better than to hope.
It couldn't be a promise, and damn if Curnen didn't know that. In the time since she'd been freed from her curse, she'd had good days and bad ones and some time where she'd backslid entirely. She curled close against Coby's side. "You stuck with me," she said. "I'm not gonna give up on you, either. Even if it's hard."
Jag had heard that usually loud and clear, so Curnen's last words felt definitely relevant. He curled closer too, and let his hand curl over Curnen's forearm. "Same."
"That's a lot." Coby's arms tightened around them both and breathed them in. "I've got my songbird and my firebug, and you've got me. Right here, right now. It's all good."
Curnen answered by tucking back a lock of Jag's long hair. "It's all good," she murmured.
"Yeah," Jag echoed, his voice still barely more than a mutter, as he soaked in both of their touches. Coby was back. Everything would be all right; Coby was back. And if he said the words, too, maybe they would start to feel real. "It's all good."
Warning: dissociative fugue
"You've probably got a million questions about this place, haven't you?"
Questions. Yes. There were questions. Maybe a million.
But words were coming out, he could hear them, could feel the shape of tongue, teeth, and lips, the buzz of voice in the throat, and the head shaking left, right. "Not really. But a drink before heading out again sounds like a plan. Other than that, it's all good."
It's all good. Like this really was some weird alternate version of Coby, who went by another name, and didn't realise what had happened to him. Who, for some reason, was too chilled out to wonder. Jag eyed his pupils as discreetly as he could, trying to figure out what he might be on.
"Yeah, that's the thing," Jag said, frowning still, but gesturing towards the bar. "You can head out, but you'll keep winding back here somehow. Where were you before you showed up here?"
Something was... weird.
Curnen couldn't put her finger on it, but something about their body language and the space between them gone strangely cool and tentative made her wonder very much what the hell was up with Jag and Coby. If they were fighting or something--she had no idea what any fight would be about, but it wasn't impossible, it was easy to get on people's nerves when you lived on top of each other like they did here--she didn't want to interrupt.
But it was more than that. Jag wasn't angry. He was trying not to freak out. That was what brought her over. And then overhearing the question made her doubt herself all over. "... Did I interrupt like a roleplay thing?"
Someone new. A woman. Or a girl. Young looking. No more recognition on the face that turned to look at her than there had been on seeing Jag. Brow furrowed, mouth turned down in a frown. Confusion. "What?" Then more words, still coming from somewhere else but out this mouth. "We're just talking. Jag was telling me about this place."
"This is Chris," Jag said, uncertainly. "I think he just - looks like Coby? Or..." Nope, no or. This had to just be... someone else. In Coby's clothes. Saying it was all good.
Curnen on the other hand wasn't uncertain in the slightest. This was Coby. She could feel it in her gut. But he was somewhere down that hole, and she didn't know how you went about getting him back out of it.
There was one thing that would make her truly sure, though, and that was to touch him. She held out a hand. "Curnen. Good to know you," she said.
Right. Names. Introductions. Handshakes. The Jag guy had called him Chris. The thought running sluggish, a hand was already reaching out to shake hers, hearing the same voice as before offering "Chris," before the thought was finished, so it must be right. Right? "He said that already. Sorry."
"Don't apologize," Curnen assured him, focused on the feeling of his calluses under her fingers, her palm. She knew these calluses so well, both from her own experience in playing, and from knowing full well the feeling of them on her skin. And the feeling in her belly only grew more insistent. This was Coby. He didn't know he was, but he was. "You a musician?"
A musician. A musician? The head shook side to side, slow, uncertain. "Nah. Nothing like that." But the words sounded as unsure as the nod, and the confusion inside.
Now that, that made her blood run cold. Curnen had to keep herself from shivering. She had forgotten many things in her time in the woods, but music had remained somewhere deep inside even when she could not make any. "Just a thought. You got the hands for it." She glanced to Jag and back to Coby. He was certainly Coby. She had to hold fast to that idea, or she'd crumble.
"You must have questions."
Jag absolutely did, but he wasn't the one being addressed. What did she mean, he had the hands for it? Now he was resisting the urge to grab one of "Chris's" hands to check them for calluses. And what if there were some? What if they were the calluses Jag knew so well? What did that mean - this couldn't be happening again. First Emma who didn't know him, and now Coby who didn't know... anything? Jag took a single step back, instinctively, as if trying to put more distance between himself and the possibility.
"I mean, I might play a little," he heard himself say, thoughts niggling in the back of his brain, "but I wouldn't call myself a musician or anything. Just some guy." Right? Or was he? Jag moved back, and Chris-not-Coby's gaze moved from the woman to the man and back.
"Do most people have questions or something? It's just a motel, right? A really weird looking, too pink, color explosion of a motel."
"Usually," Curnen said with a shrug, trying to find a way to communicate to Jag that it wasn't that this wasn't Coby, it was that Coby, for whatever reason, didn't remember who he was. "Most people don't understand how they got here. D'you remember where you were before here?"
No. Not a clue. But there was an answer for her, just there, and not like the thought at all, "Just out for a walk," like a magician's trick, nothing to see here, nothing up either sleeve. Distraction, diversion, don't ask questions. And he couldn't say whether he meant any of the questions in his head or ones they might ask. Both? Was both good? Both. Both is good.
"Yeah, but where?" Curnen asked again. "I was in Tennessee before I just wound up here. Jag was in London."
Fuck. Shit. Jag drifted closer to Curnen, unable and unwilling to take his eyes off of... Chris, Coby, as he told her, quietly, "Wouldn't Daryl know?" Whatever or whoever the employees were, Daryl always knew who the hotel guests were, if only to send them to the right room.
Blinking in confusion. Tennessee wasn't near London. Wasn't near... where were they again? Where was he, and where had he been? Finally settling on the easiest of the questions, he asked. "Daryl?" If there was someone who knew something, that would be a good place to start.
"He should," Curnen agreed. Sure as she was, some confirmation would be helpful all the same. If she and Jag were on the same page, at least they'd know to freak out together about the same thing. The Innkeeper would definitely know if anybody had gone and who had come.
She looked at Coby. For now she leaned on the side of talking to him like a stranger. If he didn't know her right now, acting on intimacy that wasn't there would only freak him out. "You get your room yet? We gotta go talk to Daryl if you ain't."
"He'll get you sorted," Jag agreed with a nod, still unable to completely hide his anxiety from his eyes.
They were really pushing the whole getting a room, staying here thing. Was that weird? He couldn't tell. Everything was weird anyway. "I just came in for a drink, take a load off for a little while. You really think I need to get a room? Or this Daryl can tell me what's going on?"
"We think he can help us out with some things," Curnen answered, trying to be reassuring. "And yeah. You do. There's nowhere else to go 'round here."
"Come on," Jag invited Chris-Coby, stepping back towards the reception area. "Please?"
Still not convinced, growing more confused by the moment, but if this Daryl had answers, it was a start. Back to the lobby it was, and up to the desk. He ran a hand through longish blond hair, a practiced twitch of his wrist to keep the multiple bracelets from snagging. "Uh, yeah. They," a wave of his hand to the man and woman who'd come with him, maybe more interested in what the desk clerk would say than he was even, "said you'd have a room for me?"
The clerk looked oddly muted, not quite real, almost like how Chris...? – He'd stick with Chris for now, although it didn't feel right – Almost like how Chris felt. A shadow or an echo, lacking substance and identity. But professional. He gave a small nod. "Our records indicate you are still in Room 182, the Tall and Short, Mr. Ward. Is there some problem with the room? Do you perhaps need some fresh towels?"
Well, there was the confirmation they needed, and even sure as she'd been, Curnen felt better hearing it. It narrowed down their problem... even if it didn't fix it. "We're good on towels, thank you," she said, like Daryl was a real person. Like he was Ms. Peggy or Marshall at the Catamount Corner. "We might be in need of another key, though, if you'd be so kind."
Hey, from what she could tell, it might be true. If Coby had his key, he hadn't found it on himself yet.
Fuck. Bloody, fucking hell. Jag tried to breathe through it. Curnen wasn't panicking, and neither should he. "Check - check your pockets?" he told Coby-not-Chris, trying to keep his voice even.
Ward. He was Mr. Ward. Or was he? Shouldn't he know his own name? Shouldn't it feel like his name when he heard it? It didn't. But it didn't feel like not his name either. He just didn't know.
He hadn't thought about checking his pockets either, until Jag said something about it. He patted his pockets, and feeling something in each of the front ones, he reached in. From the right, he pulled a couple of guitar picks and a... a clippy thing. Capo a voice in the back of his head offered. From the other, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and finally, his hand shaking as he pulled it out, a keycard. "But how...?"
Curnen did not know what to do. She did not know if Coby would allow her to touch him or not, she didn't know if explaining things to him would make the whole mess better or worse. So she fell back on instinct.
"Thanks anyway, Daryl," she said. Then she began to hum, low and soft, a Tufa tune for calm and protection. Whatever else was going on, she did understand fear and being so lost in your own head that you didn't know what reality was anymore. Whatever else, she couldn't let him be afraid.
And hell, Jag could probably use it, too.
As could she.
Jag wasn't sure what Curnen was doing, but fuck if he didn't feel better for that song. Better enough that he reached out for Coby's shaking hand, around the keycard, and curled his fingers over his, gentle but steady. Steadier than he felt. "It's all good," he told Coby, falling back on the words Coby used so often. They ought to work, oughtn't they? "Your name is Coby. I'm Jag, and this is Curnen." They had said it before, but it couldn't hurt to say it again. "We both love you. It's all going to be okay."
He looked at the hand over his, up to Jag, over to Curnen, and back to Jag. The low humming threaded its way into the back of his mind and combined with Jag's words it's all good, and while he was lost and confused, it didn't feel quite as bad. "I don't remember," he admitted. "Any of this."
Curnen took Coby's other hand, carefully, hoping the feeling of her extra finger didn't freak him out at all. "We know," she said. "It'll come back." She wouldn't make any promises of when or how, but she had faith that it would.
"You want to come to your room, see if that looks familiar?" Jag offered, after swallowing past the ache in his throat. What if he didn't? And what was this? Was it the Inn fucking with them again? Or some magic gone wrong somehow?
A beat. Two. Then a slow, uncertain but willing to go along nod. "Yeah. Okay." Something should be familiar, right? If he'd been here for awhile. If he knew these people. If he really was this Coby what was it? Oh yeah, Ward. Coby Ward.
Coby Ward. Coby Ward. Coby Ward. Try to remember.
The only thing that felt familiar, though, was the confusion.
"You know the way, right?" Because he didn't.
"That we do," Curnen assured him, stroking her thumb over the back of Coby's hand before giving it a gentle tug and turning toward the door. "C'mon."
She didn't want to do it in Coby's hearing since talking about people like they weren't there was deeply rude, but she would have to find an opening to tell Jag what she understood of what had happened.
Keeping his hand over Coby's, when it held his keycard, would have been very awkward, so Jag just let it go, and trailed after them, a couple of steps behind. Panic was steadily seeping back into him, but he was doing his best to ignore it. Coby didn't need his panic. Although Jag had no idea what he did need.
Chris-Coby-whoever might not have known who he was supposed to be, or who they were, but there was something about Jag hanging back like that that didn't feel right to him, and he looked back over his shoulder, brow drawing into the start of a frown. "Dude."
Curnen only resumed her low humming, the tempo of the song taking on the pace of their steps. Or perhaps it was the other way around, and their bodies were falling into step with the song. Who could say? Music was weird like that.
Dude. Jag didn't have the heart to go through the motions, and tell Coby not to dude him. He took the pain of that and caught up with the other two, falling in stride to the tempo of Curnen's song. "What?" he asked, glad that they were walking. Great reason not to meet Coby's gaze, when it made sense to look at where he was going.
Another shrug. The shoulders were going to get tired, all the shrugging they needed to do, all the things he didn't know, and if it kind of felt like there should be something more to the movement, if the weight felt wrong, that was just one more unknown. "Don't know. It's just weird, you trailing along behind. Isn't it?"
"Sure," Jag answered, because there was no point arguing. He didn't want to argue with Coby in this state. Now he was walking beside them, hands in his pockets, and that was that. All he had to do was keep a hold of himself.
Jag and Curnen knew where they were going, and it was simple enough to walk along with them, until they were outside a door with a sign saying Tall and Short, and him with no real idea how they'd got there. He glanced down at the key in his hand, then to Curnen, then Jag. Something should feel familiar, right? If he'd been here with them like they said. Maybe the room would be better.
Just do it. He stuck the card in the lock, and when the light turned green, opened the door on... pink. Lots and lots of pink. All the pink. Like a Pepto-Bismol explosion. Or a Barbie Dream House. It left him stunned, there at the threshold.
Coby was thrown off so rarely that Curnen had to laugh at the look on his face. "Yeah, that's about right. Most of 'em are worse, though. Sorry." Being familiar and comfortable with the room, though, she didn't hesitate and walked on in.
Jag rested a comforting hand on his back as he stepped up to his side, his focus on Coby and his expression. "It's all good," he said, again, softly, the words a lifeline, hopefully for them both. "You get used to it. You'll see."
"And we've got you," Curnen added in agreement. "Mind, we don't know how to fix this, but fuck if we're not gonna try."
With as strange as everything felt right then, a too pink room was nothing. He entered, moving through the space trying to find anything that seemed familiar or that shook loose a memory. "Why? What is - am I to you that you'd try so hard to help?" he asked, fingers absently trailing over the keyboard set up on one side of the room and turning it on without thinking.
That question would have been a lot easier to answer if they'd ever put a label on what they were. Jag glanced at Curnen, wondering whether Coby and she had, but he focused back on Coby, watching him turn the keyboard on as naturally as he normally did. "We're friends," he answered, quietly. "And... more?" He didn't want to lie, but he didn't want to freak out an amnesic Coby.
Fuck, what if he never remembered? The swell of anxiety stuck in his throat, and it was an effort to swallow back threatening tears.
Coby went to the keyboard, Curnen went to Jag. His words had said enough for the both of them.
Her voice very low, she murmured, "He's there, but it's... like he fell in a hole in his mind. He's pulled me out of mine before, we'll find a way to pull him out of his."
Friends. And more. He wanted to ask... He didn't know what he wanted to ask. And how could he anyway, when it had to suck being on their side of things, where he shouldn't have to ask any of this stuff. His fingers found a chord. G major, his brain supplied, as out of nowhere as the other things he'd come out with. Like the name that wasn't actually his name, if Daryl and these two knew what they were talking about, and they seemed to know more than he did, so he was trusting them. And another, D major this time, and a tickle at the back of his mind and in the muscles of his hands, like there should be more, songs wanting to come out.
"You said I was a musician of some kind."
Jag kept his gaze on Curnen, his eyes full of his doubts, as much as his desire to believe her. Before he could find anything to answer, a chord from the keyboard distracted him. And then another. "Yeah," he confirmed, now looking at Coby, and he found Curnen's hand blindly, holding on to it. "Yeah, music is your life."
Curnen squeezed back. She was really no more sure than Jag was, but one of them had to keep calm and somehow that had turned out to be her. She turned her attention to Coby. "You and I play together all the time," she added.
"I don't remember. Any of that." He should remember, shouldn't he? It felt like he should. Like there were memories right there, that slipped from his grasp whenever he reached for them, leaving an abyss of... nothing. Was that redundant, or just stupid? "I'm sorry."
It was so horrible, watching the emotions play on Coby's face, being unable to reach out. Coby, but not, and Jag didn't want a repeat of Emma being scared of him. He released Curnen's hand when he realized how tight he'd been gripping it, and resisted the urge to bring out some fire, when it might freak Coby out. He wanted to say, It'll come back to you. He wanted to reassure Coby. But he couldn't believe it himself; all he could feel was rising fear at the thought that this was happening again.
"That's all right," Curnen said. She hadn't minded Jag squeezing her hand, but when he let go, it gave her an idea. "Don't apologize."
She found Coby's guitar and pulled it out, tuning it with the expertise of long experience and the ease of someone who had handled this particular instrument many times. When she had been in the forest, even unable to make music of her own, she had remembered the music when other things like speech and even her name had gone from her.
His hands remembered chords. They might remember more with a little coaxing. She began to noodle, the sounds not resolving into any song yet.
He paused, closing his eyes to just listen as she began to play, and for a moment, he felt like he understood what it would've been like, being drawn out by the pied piper, the sounds tugging at something in him. Tugged, snagged, slipped, like smoke in your hand, and it did nothing for the tightness in his chest. He rubbed at his sternum, opening his eyes again and moving at random around the room. He was still focused on the notes Curnen played, though, and barely noticed as he picked up Coby's stash and began to pack a bowl, his hands guided by muscle memory.
Jag watched him with a lump in his throat, unsure whether this was good or bad. The way he moved just like himself, and packed that bowl with his regular familiarity. Jag wanted to go over to him and hold him (as if that would help), and he only ended up hooking his hand on his own opposite shoulder, and wrapping his other arm over his own stomach, listening to Curnen playing, watching Coby packing.
When Curnen found her hands resolving into a song, she almost laughed at the choice. Hendrix was one of the last things she remembered before she'd been cursed, and it made all the sense in the world between the memories and the anxiety and the weed.
There must be some kind of way outta here
Said the joker to the thief
There's too much confusion
I can't get no relief
'All Along the Watchtower' flowed out of her as she idly wondered which of them was the joker and which one was the thief.
Hendrix. Nice. Wait, that meant... he remembered something. Just a song, sure, and who sung it. And that was definitely the opinion that Hendrix' version was the definitive one. Not Dylan's. Which was good, yeah, and both a lot different from the way Curnen's clear soprano shaped the song.
All that ran through a head that felt both way too empty and too full all at once, while his hands continued in their task. When he was done, he held the bong out to Jag. "Seriously, man. You look like you could use this." Maybe it was just being distracted, but he didn't think to hand over a lighter along with it.
That song was way too on point for Jag, who swallowed against the lump in his throat, and wanted to make up an excuse and leave, as much as he couldn't stand the thought of it. When Coby held the bong out to him, Jag stared at it for a beat, then wiped a hand over his face. "Ta. But..." He shook his head, eyes finding Coby's. He didn't trust his brain not to stay stuck going round in circles, right now, and pot would make that worse.
Curnen felt it, both the flash of recognition and the waves of distress rolling off Jag, and she sighed. She had to get him to calm the fuck down as well as try to give Coby's memory a nudge, or this was going to get even worse.
Her magic was the lightest caress, a suggestion. She could have a deeper effect, but she rarely chose to. It smacked too much of her father. Or her cousins. And she just fucking couldn't.
For a long moment she played aimlessly until she hit on a traditional Irish tune, light and sweet, a flirtatious exchange where the people involved were bargaining for a name.
Another shrug, not bothered by Jag's response, and the repetition of Curnen's song letting it creep bit by bit into him. "Up to you, Ch... Charlie? That's not... You said your name was... Jag, right?"
Jag was terrible at hiding most things from his expression, and the shock of the fierce hope that suffused his lungs was no different. "Yeah, that's - you call me that. A joke. Because..." In for a penny, in for a pound. He held a hand up and called up a flame, winding it around his fingers but ready to put the fire away if Coby freaked out. But if he was beginning to remember things, he wouldn't, right? This was meant to be encouragement. Please come back to us, Jag thought, begged, not daring to look away from Coby.
Whoa. His eyes went wide when fire just fucking appeared and started dancing around Jag's fingers, but he wasn't freaking out. He just watched for a moment, glanced at Jag, then over at Curnen, who was still singing and didn't seemed surprised at all that Jag could apparently make fire out of nothing and get it to do what he wanted. "That is seriously cool. And kinda hot," just slipped out. I might could upgrade the kinda, passed through his head, but at least he kept that part to himself because... just because. "But what does that have to do with Charlie?"
"It's from that book by Stephen King?" Jag offered, and killed the flame with a thought, dropping his hand. He'd even read that one. "Firestarter. About this kid, Charlie. She's got fire, too."
Curnen's eyebrows waggled briefly in agreement at 'kinda hot.'
"And there's a nickname for everybody," she added, as she slipped into an instrumental piece to allow herself a little space to speak.
Stephen King sounded vaguely familiar, but all he could picture was a seriously creepyass clown, even by clown standards, nothing about some kid named Charlie, or starting fires. "But dude, how are you doing that?" Was it magic? Was magic even a thing except in books or movies? He was watching a guy control fire that floated in midair, not burning anything. Something had to be a thing, magic or not.
Jag shrugged. "Apparently I'm a mutant. Complicated science shite, I don't know. I always thought it was magic." He glanced at Curnen, but kept most of his focus on Coby. He'd started to remember, and Jag just wanted to help him remember more, but he had no idea how. Please remember me. Remember us.
"Ain't so much different," Curnen murmured, picking out the flitting notes of 'The Butterfly.' "Cut us, we bleed. whack us in the head we get dizzy. Everything else is... cosmetic."
From there she flowed into another song and started singing softly again, excusing herself from the conversation.
"A mutant. Magic," Coby echoed, full of uncertainty, trying to wrap his swiss cheese mind around the idea, but not doubting them at all. Then a growl, frustrated at a memory that felt so close to there, like reaching for something on a high shelf and your fingertips just barely grazing the surface.
"Is that what...?" He shook his head. "I remember... wings. Kinda grey... white."
"They might be Anael's?" Jag offered, although he couldn't be certain. He'd never thought to ask what colour his wings were. "He's an angel, in our world. He's - you're - you're in love. The two of you." He looked towards Curnen, hoping that she could supply Coby with more information. He sounds corny as fuck was probably not the most helpful thing to say.
Curnen considered that, holding on to responding until she got to a break between verses where she could insert a little more instrumental music. "Can't think of who else's they'd be," she agreed. Coby's wings were black, so he wasn't remembering his own. "He's an angel of love." And she wasn't much of a fan of angels, but this one sounded all right.
He shook his head again, wishing it would rattle something loose. If they were right, he was in love with some kind of angel. That wasn't the kind of thing you forgot, was it? Why couldn't he remember... anything that made sense? A nickname. Wings. Without really thinking about it, he took a hit off the bong Jag had turned down.
"That's a different key," he said, the thought train jumping tracks completely. "That song you're playing." He knew it somehow, on a stool, on a stage, the weight of the guitar in his hands as he played.
Curnen grinned as she sang, nodding her agreement at the observation. She considered pushing harder... but no. Minds were delicate things. She wouldn't--couldn't--risk breaking something.
Jag watched Coby closely now, as if he could will him to remember more. To remember him. But there was hope, now, at least. Seeing Coby take a hit (helping him with a flame) just tempted him to go back on his answer and follow suit, but he hardly needed any help for his mind to go round and round in obsessive circles just then, and he stayed put, pushing his hands into his pockets. "Do you - remember anything about him?"
He was fucking trying, but all he remembered were the wings. Until suddenly there was more. His head spun, and he couldn't tell if it was the pot, the flood of memories of Anael, or the rush of blood it opposing directions, to his face as he blushed fiercely, and further south. "I... um... I didn't know angels were... um... like that. Most of them are raging assholes."
More than never seeing him blush, Curnen hadn't ever thought to see Coby blush. He was so easygoing, so lacking in shame, it hadn't seemed possible. The rarity of the sight made it beautiful, kindled a spark low in her belly, but she only continued to play. After all, he didn't know her.
"Trust you to find the one who isn't one," Jag answered quietly, just watching the colour rise to Coby's cheeks.
That first rush of memories and emotions was so sudden, it was hard for him to notice that what made Coby Coby followed along in its wake. That one moment he was trying to remember who Coby was, and the next he simply was Coby. "Seriously, man, breathe." He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture finally feeling familiar instead of just happening. "You know how wound tight you get, sometimes it feels like I'm going to burst a blood vessel just watching you."
Hope had all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, the way it rammed into Jag's chest. He blinked a couple of times, holding Coby's gaze, then asked, still quiet, but full of so much hope breathing hurt, "Coby?"
It never got easy, seeing that mix of hurt and hope in the eyes of people he cared about as he came back to himself, with no idea what he'd missed and how he'd hurt them. "Yeah. It's me," he answered, his voice rough with the emotion, as he held out his arms and stepped toward them both. "C'mere. You too, butterfly."
Curnen never thought she'd be so happy to here that pet name in her life. She cut off her playing at once, not bothering to make it to the end of the bar. Taking only enough care to make sure the guitar got set aside gently, she practically flew across the room and hugged Coby tight.
Now that she didn't have to be the steady one anymore, that went right out the window.
Now Jag's heart was thudding with relief and joy. Both of his arms had gone around Coby, his head buried against Coby's neck, and when Curnen joined the hug, it took him a couple of seconds before he managed to work one arm out from around Coby, and slide it around her instead, welcoming her into the embrace. Fuck, Coby was back.
Coby didn't need to be told it had been Not Good while he was checked out, but if he had, the almost desperate way they clung to him would have made it crystal clear. But it was easier too, holding them close, instead of seeing it in their eyes. So he hugged them just as tight, letting the familiar feel of them, their scents, settle him more into his body. "I'm sorry," murmured low after awhile, and then after a little longer, "how bad was it?"
"Not so bad, I think," Curnen whispered. "Nothing happened." No one had been hurt, at the least, which was better than she could do when she was really gone.
Jag didn't add anything, glad not to speak past the lump in his throat. Curnen was right, after all. It hadn't been so bad. But it had still been terrible, and he didn't want to have to say that. So he kept on hugging them in silence, thankful that Curnen had answered Coby's question.
"Uh-huh. You forget, I've been here before. So I know. It's bad enough even when nothing much happens." He kissed her hair, then Jag's, and tried to tease out memories of the past however long. He wasn't surprised, though, when he couldn't remember through the fog. Coby hadn't been himself, so there wasn't anything there for Coby to remember. "And telling you that sometimes I'm not myself and don't remember, it's not the same as you seeing it yourself. But I'm back now." Mostly, at least. "I had you to come back to."
It felt right, the three of them like this. Curnen started to calm some, her muscles relaxing as she sighed. "You didn't know us. Or who you were. Not so bad... but it was bad."
Jag swallowed around the lump in his throat a couple of times, then trusted his voice enough to add, "You walked in from outside, I think. I don't know how long you'd... been there."
"On the plus side," with his arms around them, Coby could rub their backs as he thought about what they'd been through, not knowing or being able to help, "at least here I couldn't hop in the car and not know anything until I found myself several states away." Been there, done that. It sucked.
"Come on. We'll curl up in bed, all three of us." Where the here and now, simple touch, and love would help Coby settle into himself, and ease the worry he knew they had to feel when he hadn't remembered them.
Curnen nodded and reluctantly pulled away from the embrace so she could move to the bed. Along with her ability to be the one holding her shit together, anything she had in the way of excess energy seemed to have drained right out of her.
Certainly the playing hadn't done it, but trying to use a delicate touch with her magic that long hadn't helped.
Jag nodded along to Coby's offer, and very reluctantly moved away to pull off his shoes, waiting until Coby had gone onto the bed to join them on the other side of him. Keeping Coby in the middle wasn't a conscious decision; he hadn't even considered the alternative.
This was better. Coby put an arm around each of them, pulling them close as soon as they joined him on the bed. He didn't want to let them go any more than they seemed to. "It doesn't get that bad very often, and it had been a seriously long time. Usually things get better after I hit bottom," he told them softly, wishing it could be a promise, but knowing better than to hope.
It couldn't be a promise, and damn if Curnen didn't know that. In the time since she'd been freed from her curse, she'd had good days and bad ones and some time where she'd backslid entirely. She curled close against Coby's side. "You stuck with me," she said. "I'm not gonna give up on you, either. Even if it's hard."
Jag had heard that usually loud and clear, so Curnen's last words felt definitely relevant. He curled closer too, and let his hand curl over Curnen's forearm. "Same."
"That's a lot." Coby's arms tightened around them both and breathed them in. "I've got my songbird and my firebug, and you've got me. Right here, right now. It's all good."
Curnen answered by tucking back a lock of Jag's long hair. "It's all good," she murmured.
"Yeah," Jag echoed, his voice still barely more than a mutter, as he soaked in both of their touches. Coby was back. Everything would be all right; Coby was back. And if he said the words, too, maybe they would start to feel real. "It's all good."
