nightlogs | talking to ghosts

"...Yeah." The point seems to hit him well enough.

Miguel says nothing for a while, the connection point feeling alien after so much time isolated. Half of the distance he kept from others was his own doing, of course, but the other half was in feeling the weight of his own mistake. A thing he thought he'd always carry alone. For a moment, it seems like they can share the burden for a little while. He sits there, deeply listless in the void of the silence. It was the most inert he's been in months.

It didn't help that Jess and Peter were going through similar stages in their lives. It's not that he wasn't happy for them - in truth, being a sort of odd uncle in the middle was the closest thing he felt to that - but it still made the wound all the more raw. All he'd wanted was one of his own to see grow up, in a better way than he did.

"There was nothing else like it." he says. "Nothing."

Not his work, nor his creations or his travels, nothing could compare to loving and being loved like that.

Edited 2023-12-14 18:20 (UTC)

"No, there ain't. Ain't nothing that can replace it."

And that's the horror of the matter. Dan's life is objectively better now. He's healthy as he can be, well-fed and nourished, in a loving relationship, surrounded by those who care about him, with a roof over his head - and he thinks he'd give it all up for one more day with Ellie. There's that black hole again, and he can keep feeding all the happiness into his life into it and it will still consume and destroy and devour and tarnish.

"I had a family curse placed on me when I was young. I always told myself she'd be safe from it because we didn't share a surname and we weren't blood relatives. Spent so much time worrying about that that it didn't never occur to me that I could might lose her any other way."

He selects his screws and hinges. "Reckon don't neither of us talk about this much with no one."

"No, not really." He mulls for a moment. "Not like this."

Some explanation was required for his job. But it was the sort of cold, emotionally distant recitation of events related to the dimensional collapse that didn't hurt quite so bad.

"My mutation was different from the other Spiders. The change was more obvious and unstable. It made planning for a family out of the question. At the time, I thought I found a perfect loophole."

With a changed genome came a lot of questions on humanity and species and the nature of all that. These days, it doesn't quite haunt him except when the stabilizer stopped working and the side effects flared and he was reminded that tumbling into monstrosity was merely a few more doses away. And it scared him. And then he adjusted the dose to fix it, because he had to.

He supposes he could call it a curse, but that would feel a little insulting given what Dan just implied. Still, sometimes he wonders if he would trade it all away if he had the opportunity to.

"So where does that leave us? Doomed by fate?"

It wasn't the most depressing thought after a glimpsing a thousand timelines, including those with his own death.

Edited 2023-12-15 15:18 (UTC)

"Or everyone around us doomed by fate."

That's what gets under Dan's skin, the ever-present hum of paranoia that anyone he gets close to is about to get ripped away, that maybe it's because he gets close to them. Realistically, he knows that the curse was broken decades ago, but it's so hard to shake the feeling. It's hard to not be braced for the next loss, hard to not commit to the pareidolia. He feels like he let his guard down when he had Ellie in his life, and then it ripped out his innards harder than possibly anything ever has, and so this paranoia feels protective.

Asking himself to not be afraid that the people he loves are going to die horribly soon feels like being asked to jump from a plane without knowing how to deploy a parachute. It feels like speeding down the highway with his eyes closed.

"Sounds like we both got our own curses," he says, naming what Miguel's been too polite to say. He remembers the feeling Miguel's hinted at, the almost exhilaration at thinking he found some way to have what he wanted when he had convinced himself wanting a family at all was worse than foolish. "Do you reckon any of that changes, now that we're myths?"

Dan doesn't think it does.

"Nothing's changed." he agrees with steadfast conviction.

Neither his condition, nor his mission. For Miguel, this was a detour into one dimension that he'd have to find his way out of. That's all. The rules of the game had changed - and the powers at work in this world were different from what he was used to - but rules can be adapted.

"Feels a bit cheap to blame my mistakes on fate."

He rotates the dove in his hand, the guilt perhaps animating him from statue-like stillness. The canon did, on some level, absolve them of blame. But in his case, it didn't really apply, and it didn't feel that way either. It felt like his foolish wish for something better had crescendoed into one horrific universal lightshow, hollowing out his life of the one thing that really mattered. And he'd been desperately clawing at any way to amend it ever since.

"I'll take responsibility for that."

"I feel too old for blame."

Dan finds anger, even anger directed at himself, exhausting. He's never found it motivating the way some people do. He just finds it a toxic waste of energy, a destructive and useless emotion, and guilt and blame are so adjacent to it as to be included in that judgment. Dan feels regret and responsibility at taking Ellie on missions. He feels regret and responsibility at plenty of things in his life, but he doesn't blame himself, and that seems like a fine and important distinction.

So frequently, Dan thinks of people's mistakes not as emblematic of them as a person, but as the result of their circumstances. Maybe Miguel made mistakes. Maybe they were mistakes from pride or selfishness or greed or fear or any of the other reasons people have to indulge their worst impulses. But more often than not, Dan finds that what defines a mistake is the circumstances surrounding those mistakes, and that the difference between someone's mistake being a foible and being a catastrophe is luck. Just luck.

Miguel just seems like the sort of person whose mistake took place in a context where it went from an error to a tragedy.

Dan starts to set up the balsam with a clamp and vice, preparing to start actually carving. "I already took what I could from my mistakes, which was the lessons and the instructions not to do it again. Anything past that ain't productive."

"You're not that old."

One of the many similarities between them was age, he's pretty sure. His flavor of healing factor has a notable lagging effect, but it didn't delete its external traces. He found a little comforting humanity in that.

He could say more here: that he had unfinished business, that he wasn't satisfied with just himself knowing better, when there were others that could repeat his mistake. That it simply felt inadequate to just continue to live his life when so many countless others had lost theirs because of him. That exerting that control to make things right is the only thing that felt close to atoning. It was messy and complicated.

He mulls it over with his eyes closed.

"I took my lessons, Dan. But that doesn't erase holding myself accountable. It won't undo the past, but the least I can do is put in the effort to prevent it in the future."

Great power, and all that. The anger and guilt was a fuel tank - or he was trying to convince himself it was. Take all the hurtful feelings and turn it into something for a greater purpose. At least it wouldn't all be meaningless, then.

"I just turned forty, but honestly, I been too old to hold onto anger since I was seventeen."

He sets his tools down for a second. It's important that he be clear about this. Sometimes Dan's permissiveness gets confused for irresponsibility or being undisciplined when, in fact, it's hard-earned and considered, just unorthodox.

"I ain't talking about a lack of accountability or about not doing better in the future. I'm talking about how I don't get no benefit from blame and shame and remorse. It's paralyzing. It's selfish, even, spending all that capacity beating myself up."

He doesn't say 'beating yourself up' because it's not his job to judge or diagnose or even proselytize to Miguel.

"We all make shitty decisions every day, even when we try not to. We got flaws and imperfect knowledge and temptation and weakness. Even saints do. But some of us make mistakes and blow up our lives and the lives of folks around us, and some of us make mistakes and get away with it, so to me, in the absence of malice, I want to work on making a world that's forgiving enough that mistakes don't turn into tragedies. Better circumstances. Better options. Less fallout."

He sighs and gets back to lining up his balsam. "I'm just too old to spend my life trying to get folks to act perfect when they can't never will. Myself included."

“I can’t fault you for having noble goals.” He says it morosely. Miguel has had similar discussions a dozen times over with other Spiders with delusions of going against the flow of fate, and it never ends well.

“There are some things that just worsen the more you fight against the current. Sometimes the best option is damage control, and having the will to come to terms with that. How I personally feel about it really doesn’t matter, either way.”

And that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Erasing imperfections. Maintaining the web, preserving the flow of the canon as best as he could. In the end, it was just patching up what was already there, and the hope for actually improving things had all but extinguished. How could he even think to toy with that when the stakes were so high?

Along with the guilt, the blame, and the anger, the sense of resignation had all concocted a noxious cocktail of misery that floated him from day to day.

He sits there, expression blank, feeling it all wash over him unpleasantly. Where was he going with this, anyway?

“It’s not how I wish things worked, but it’s how they are.”

Edited 2023-12-20 05:30 (UTC)

"I ain't talking about method."

He thinks that's where he and Miguel are talking past one another. Dan's not making any sort of statement about whether Miguel's right or wrong about however he's managing all this technology and dimension-hopping or any of that. He doesn't understand it enough to say anything meaningful about it.

He's speaking of just how to process and interpret what is, and how he does it.

"I'm just talking about how I let go of anger, now that I know it don't help me none. Once I get the hang of letting go of sadness and fear, I'll be set for life."

His attention flicks from the ambivalent empty space ahead back to Dan. The eyeshine adds extra force to the motion - it could either be like a sunset or the harsh glare of a laser scope with a waiting trigger. He might have found something caustic to respond with at the indirect advice floating there in between them, if he had more energy.

His empathy and ground-down tiredness win in the moment. He takes time to digest the words, at least, rather than having them bounce off. Dan was incredibly thoughtful and patient. Miguel didn't resent him for it, but he was unused to it.

"You've figured that out, at least." he says. "I think we might just be wired differently."

He can't imagine a future for himself where he just lets it go. Ever. And maybe that just makes him a worse person in that regard.

Dan appreciates that Miguel takes the time to listen instead of immediately shooting him down. He can't speculate as to what it was that compelled Miguel to give him that open-mindedness, but he appreciates it, as he pretends not to notice Miguel's gaze by getting his detail glasses out of his workstation to protect his eyes.

He hears the opportunity to gracefully exit the hard part of the conversation and takes that off-ramp.

"I been told I'm wired different than a lot of people, so that wouldn't might surprise me." He slips his glasses on, then tries to slowly nudge the mood towards a bit of tired humor. "I'm one in a trillion."

Perhaps his most frustrating quality were those glimpses of being reachable before he shuts himself off. For now, at least, Miguel was receptive. He could blame the emotional vulnerability on the season, how much he and Dan turned out to share in common, or all the work that was done to crack that door open at all in this entire conversation. But it was a lot of consideration he'd put off.

"You're certainly something." he says, lighter and a little less gloomy. "Even if I don't agree with all of it."

There is a little room for unexpected things from unexpected sources. That was also part of the dimension-hopping.

"Do you want help with the boxes?"

He figures he may as well offer. Engineering was closer to what he usually did, compared to the more free-flowing carvings.

"You don't got to. That's the beauty of it." Dan wishes more people were on the same page as him. He gets lonely sometimes, thinking of himself as someone on the far end of an extreme with so few people in sight. Without the family that raised him up with these values, he's alone. But he does appreciate a diversity of viewpoints, and he's made his peace with his pacifism being an outlier.

He isn't surprised Miguel finds some of it objectionable. He's just pleasantly surprised that Miguel finds the grace to agree to disagree with Dan in such a gentle way.

"I might could use some assistance, yeah. You got as good a mind for engineering with mechanics as you do technology? I might could benefit from someone double-checking my design for the lock mechanism to make sure I ain't about to make a labor-intensive paperweight."

Miguel is quiet, unsure if he agreed with that on its own. He had his lines that he could not tolerate, but the stubborn side is tempered by common goals. If they can work together, then the other minor stuff can be hashed out later. For now, it seems like the common goal was making sure Dan had a nice puzzlebox to give someone. That was inoffensive enough.

"I made my own gadgets- " he explains. "- for the most part. Lyla needs credit for her half of that."

He sits up from his slouching position on the table to get an overhead view of the design drawings. The creases of focus around his brows and nose were a little more etched in - he'd lived a life with a lot more worrying than smiling.

"She... started as an AI assistant, same as any other in my dimension. At some point, she started to develop her own personality." he adds, figuring Dan will wonder who he is talking about. "I'm not sure where she picked up the urge to be snarky, but it did make work in the lab a little brighter."

Dan's gotten used to AI assistants, but only because his daughter set up Siri on his phone back in the day to help Dan dictate and receive text messages. Over time, it's meant that the phone's more useful to Dan but also that he's reluctant to use it, because engaging with it means a reminder of how Ellie thought to make his life easier for no reason other than that she thought his life should be.

"A little humor does wonders for workplace morale. Even sardonic humor," he says, smirking at Miguel, fairly settled now in his understanding of what kinds of humor Miguel is both receptive to and prone to engaging in himself.

He slides the blueprint over to Miguel, looking up at him with the sort of respectful but confident expression of a student who knows he's handing in an essay worth an A. The design is clever and clearly the result of a few drafts and a good mind for mechanics and how things work in space. There aren't any evident errors, although there are some under-done sections where Dan's expecting to figure out the exact measurements as he goes.

"Tell me about your gadgets. Aside from the suit. I'm curious."

"The webshooters were the most useful ones by far." He rubs his left forearm, as if out of an old habit of massaging aching muscle. "They're integrated into the suit at this point, but they started off as UMF gloves. You can imagine my relief when I figured out a reliable way to make light-webs work instead of the spinnerets that grew in."

Biological machinery was messy. The glands tended to itch or get stuck or feel sore. His appetite was insane with the calorie draw of producing webbing. And then the inevitable silk incidents when someone squeezed his arms. It made trying to live his normal life absolute hell. Yeah. He was glad to get rid of those. It was nice to feel like he was slightly less of a freak, too.

"Sorry, that was a gross example." He looks down at the plans to avert eye contact and hide the slight flush of embarrassment. "There's the Multiverse watch. I had to work in a subspace pocket to fit in all the things one could need while jumping dimensions. Recording equipment, scanners, and what have you..."

He rattles it off without thinking as he starts to focus on the paper in front of him. He tapers off as he takes a good look. The lack of numbers was a little odd, but the lines were accurate. Dan clearly had worked out much of the problem his own way.

Edited 2023-12-24 19:45 (UTC)

"If you think that's an offputting example of the requirements of your work, you got to remember that half my job is gravedigging and cleaning up after monster attacks. Real bloody work. Real fragrant, too." Dan laughs. "I don't understand the details, but it is nice to just be able to remove the tech when it's not in your service."

The idea of spinnerets growing in reminds Dan of the Rig's shock collars, and he scratches the scar on the back of his neck out of memory for how it felt, how he never felt like he was unaware of its presence.

"You patent all that? Are patents still a thing in Nueva York?"

"They are, but all of this work is under the radar."

Which begs the question of how, he imagines.

"A large enough corporation can obfuscate a lot for you, even in plain sight. Bad idea to make public your discovery of how to jump dimensions. I guess you would call them trade secrets, but making money was never the point of it."

Spider-Man Stuff was never particularly legal, especially in Nueva York, and hiding nasty things in the basement was something Alchemax was very good at. Convenient, for him. His eyes narrow as he recognizes a few of the scribbles on the paper to actually be numbers. Oh my.

"Is this a 1:1 drawing? I was going to ask how you kept track of measurements and material thicknesses."

“Trust me, I’m aware of what a big corporation can sweep under the rug. Ask folks around here about the Rig. Reckon it was a rite of passage for some of us dimension-hoppers.”

Part of him does want to demonstrate he’s not an idiot to Miguel. Tech talk, as much as he likes to hear people enthuse, does tend to make him feel like his inadequacies are at the forefront.

“This design is three times the intended size. I got the measurements all…” He taps his temple with his fingers. “Not to toot my own horn, but I got a great memory and I’m good at math.”

He blinks back for a moment, puzzled. His first thought is that human memory, even excellent memory, was still flawed. That's why it's important to document. But the hastily written notes remind him that Dan mentioned not being a fan of writing much, and he puts together the picture of why he was doing things this way.

Miguel was shipped off to an academy since he was 10. It ruined the relationship with his mother, for one. It also left a pretty big blind spot when it came to ways of doing things that were outside of his usual, rigid structure. That didn't mean Dan's way was wrong if it worked for him. There was a lot of intent and thought put into his work.

"Here I was wondering if you were saving the extra large one for the husband." he says, dryly. A little humor never hurt.

"I'd have more questions if we were dealing with a harder material, but with wood there is room to feel it out as you go." he says. "The mechanism here is very elegant."

There is elegance in things that are designed at just the right amount of complexity.

“He gets the gift of my company,” Dan says, smiling. “He don’t do Christmas much. Thinks it’s an overrated holiday.”

He sees as Miguel reads between the lines, and he’s grateful that there’s no derision. He knows they come from different worlds in this regard, and overall, the world is structured assuming Miguel’s level and type of competence and not Dan’s.

“Thank you. If you don’t see nothing that looks evidently wrong, I’m going to start placing saw to wood.”

“It looks good.”

At least, with Miguel’s very blunt way of talking to others, the sparse compliments sprinkled in between have their authentic shine to them.

Dan had most certainly earned his, in his own way. He starts to get up - if the power tools were about to be turned on… well, enhanced senses came with their drawbacks.

Maybe it was time for him to find another task for the altar.

“I appreciate it.”

Dan, being married to someone with heightened hearing, anticipates Miguel’s concern. An electric saw would be easier, but he doesn’t want to be rude and drive Miguel off, so he gets the clamp set up and his safety gloves on and starts to use his analog hand saw. There’s still the sound of sawing, but it isn’t the terrible whine of a power tool. It’s an accommodation he’s happy to make without drawing attention to it.

Dan may not have drawn attention to it, but Miguel takes note. For the first time in a while, he is confronted with the thought that someone else might like to keep him around. And did so with an uncanny attention to detail.

Dan wants him there. For whatever reason. Despite the inconvenience.

He settles down then, for now. Perhaps he can get some painting done, after all.

talking to ghosts

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject