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They should have kept driving until they reached Chicago, Rolan thinks. Stopping at a hotel was a mistake. How all three of them thought they could fall asleep after everything baffles him. He can barely close his eyes without seeing the horrified look in the person behind the front desk’s eyes when she noticed the arm he was trying to hide.
Kian had noticed his discomfort and had tried to hurry up the process as much as possible. The way her hand trembled slightly as she handed over the key was very visible though. They all got separate rooms, but they’re all interconnected in a way that somehow makes the pressing darkness of the room far worse.
Rolan stares at the ceiling blankly. For some reason, there’s a pattern put on it that’s horrible, but at least it’s slightly distracting. The clock next to him ticks as the seconds pass by, which somehow makes it worse. It feels like there’s a gaping wound inside of him from where he was torn from the hivemind.
A part of him, the part that he just discovered but he already wants to smother, is calling out for a hive that he knows is already gone. Aloneunsafenottherewherehelp, it calls, and Rolan realizes that clicks are coming out of him.
A wave of disgust washes over him. Muffling the clicks only haflways works, and the darkness feels like it’s pressing in on him. He curls up further into itself, his previous attempts at stopping the clicks fruitless as they only intensify. He feels an ache of loneliness that is both not-him and uncomfortably him worsen as there’s no answer.
God, he hopes he doesn’t wake the others up. They’d be horrified, but then again, they have the right to be, don’t they? He’s a monster now; inhuman. Fuck, he just wanted to get home before having any crises (he refuses to think of Galloway as his home).
The door to Kian’s room clicks open, and he stiffens. Rolan’s eyes dart over, and he hates how he can see perfectly in the darkness. They had enough time to grab clothes, but Kian is still choosing to wear Rand’s jacket. Probably as some sort of anchor, Rolan can’t exactly judge.
He walks in, eyes tired but movements fluid like he’d never fallen asleep. There aren’t any fronts, not like he’d apparently been doing for the first day in Galloway before everything went to shit. It’s just Kian. Kian, who doesn’t look scared even when the clicking increases in frequency.
Illogically, Rolan hides his arm under the one thin blanket that the hotel provided. He knows that Kian has already seen it, but he hides it anyway.
“Sorry, shit- I didn’t mean to wake anyone up.” Kian closes the door behind him. He’s positioned right in front of the window, moonlight highlighting the two silver streaks in his hair that resurrection had given him. There’s exhaustion in his features, but not fear or caution. Rolan feels like there should be some wariness in his expression after everything they’ve found out.
“It’s fine, dude, it’s not like I was sleeping anyway.” The sharp bark of laughter feels unlike Kian, but Rolan guesses that none of them are really the same after everything. He feels another crisis coming on and pushes it back. Not right now, not while Kian is right there. “Are you alright, though? I learned this really bitching grounding technique in therapy that might help.”
“I’m about as ok as can be expected.” Rolan replies, which is a mistake because Kian can automatically tell what that means.
Kian goes to sit on the foot of the bed that Rolan’s in, but he visibly hesitates and sits on the other bed in the room. Rolan aches.
“What happened to us was heinous, dude, it…” Kian trails off, out of words for once.
“I’m not going to a fucking shrink, Kian, you know this.”
“That’s not- well, you definitely do need therapy, but just talking can help. I had this friend in Hollywood that-” Kian stops.
“Yeah, I guess.” Rolan thinks about the horror and disgust he feels while thinking about what he is and what he has always been. He thinks of whether he can even be considered Rolan Deep at all, or if he’s just an eldritch bug monster that’s been wearing a dead person’s identity for almost two decades. Instead of any of that, what comes out is, “the clicking, it’s driving me insane. I wish I could stop it.”
“Oh!” For some reason, Kian almost looks relieved. “It’s not that bad though. It’s reassuring in a way, dude.”
Rolan squints. “What are you talking about? How?” Kian’s posture shifts to almost defensive.
“Look, it- I wasn’t a bug for long, but I still remember it. And it helps the transition, I don’t fucking know how to explain it.” Rolan’s reaction to that must be visible, so Kian switches track. “And it’s kind of like Rand’s snoring-”
“What-”
“It reminds me that we’re all ok. We made it out. It’s proof that you two are still here even when I can’t see you.”
“Oh.” That makes a weird amount of sense. “But then why couldn’t you sleep?” Dumb question, there are so many reasons to not be able to relax enough to fall asleep.
Kian visibly wilts. “It’s Black Betty, dude.” Seeing how Rolan is about to apologize again for that, he continues, “no, it’s not that. It was the right move. The thing is that I, well… I can’t remember anything except for that fucking song, man.”
“Shit,” Rolan says eloquently. He was never good at comforting people; that was always Rand. What can even be said in response to that?
“I’ll figure it out.” And there’s the optimism that had guided Kian through everything, even after there was no visible way of escaping. Sometimes Rolan envies Kian, a little, for multiple reasons.
There’s silence for a solid minute. Mindlessly, Rolan blurts out, “So you really don’t mind?’ He asks, staring over Kian’s shoulder and out the window.
Luckily, or maybe unluckily, Kian gets exactly what he means. “Not really. I mean, you’re still you, dude. My therapist said identity is what you make of it.” Rolan makes eye contact and sees just how genuine Kian is being. It’s far too late for this.
“Oh, um. Thank you.” And this is when Rolan notices that there hasn’t been any clicking for the entire conversation.
Kian yawns. “Oh shit, looks like I’m actually tired now! Right on!” For some reason, right as he moves to get up and presumably to leave, Rolan feels a burst of panic. He doesn’t outright show it, but, well. The clicking starts again.
The expression on Kian’s face changes to a grin. “Shut the fuck up.” Rolan says through the noise.
“Well if you want me to stay so badly…” Kian winks. Rolan doesn’t protest, because he wants the clicking to stop (and maybe because he wants Kian to stay). It takes Kian a grand total of five minutes to get comfortable and fall asleep. Rolan, meanwhile, is filled with a sense of peace and the quiet buzzing of safehivehomehere as he finally drifts off.