betweentheearth | I think you're my best friend [closed]

I think you're my best friend [closed]

Who: Lazarus and Tony
What: Too many feels to handle, relationship woes and endings.
Where: L and Cesar's apartment... minus a Cesar ;;
When: After the breakup
Warnings: FEELS, candid relationship talk, poorly managed mental illness

Cesar had left with the explicit understanding that Lazarus would be looked after and reach out to those he could trust and count on. It's not like there aren't a multitude of those people in this very same building, better equipped to deal with unmedicated episodes without the painful, raw emotional baggage that still hangs between the two men in the form of Cesar's deceased brother.

But now that the glass has been cleaned up and the bandages and stitches have been applied where necessary, Lazarus hasn't really followed through. He's preferred to be alone and keep this a secret for now, and even though he realizes that Cesar might possibly have contacted people to give them a heads up about the severity of this situation as a whole, he might also have just gotten far away as fast as possible. Assuming the best, he trusts Lazarus even now to do what's needed; assuming the worst, he's already trying to forget.

Lazarus tries not to think of it, or the pills that continue to dwindle in supply. It's a quiet day, as they go, and he makes the best of it by trying to get some sleep. The bed is no longer shared, but he takes a pillow and blanket to the couch all the same.

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Tony had indeed been contacted, and while he was understandably worried he'd kept his distance for a short while to give Lazarus his space and a chance to come forward on his own. Having failed that for longer than Tony's patience runs, he finally made the decision to visit on his own terms.

By now he's worried, if it's really getting bad who knows what might happen? So Tony decides its time to drop by and pay a visit.

A polite knock at the door heralds his arrival, followed by a sharp "L! 'Ey, you in?" A customary Tony way of saying 'I'm not leaving until you let me in so you might as well do it.'

When Tony knocks, Lazarus is startled out of an uneasy sleep. He takes it where he can get it these days, usually when he's so exhausted he can't keep his eyes open any longer and practically just collapses. He sits up, stretches his snapping back briefly, one side of his hair flat and mashed and the other sticking up where the pillow shaped it.

He comes to the door, opening it a crack, peering out with one wide, red-rimmed eye. a portion of bandage on his cut cheekbone can probably be glimpsed as well.

"Yes? What is it?" he asks hesitantly, not opening the door further just yet.

As much as Tony hates being the one responsible for Lazarus losing sleep, this is important. And with as much time as he's spent bickering or chasing after Shou these days, he doesn't have a lot of time of his own on his hands. He's always willing to make time for Lazarus, however.

Tony's leaning against the door frame, his own eyes tired and carrying bags of their own, though nowhere near the severity of L's. They shoot to the bandage, and he raises an eyebrow.

"It's rude to make a visitor stand on your mat, y'know. Especially your brother." You gonna let him in, or what, L?

It's touching that Tony's willing to make time for Lazarus; that anyone is, really, but he's in a quandary these days where he questions more than ever how within his rights he is to ask for that. When is it relying on a friend in need, and when is it mercilessly sucking the life force out of someone who means well, but didn't sign up for a certain level of nightmarish issues?

You can at least answer that second one, can't you Lazarus?

He lowers his gaze, conscious of the way Tony's lingers on his bandaged cheek, eventually opening the door wider while keeping it as a barrier between himself and the other young man. Inside, the apartment is in slight disarray, with patchy bloodstains in the carpet that Lazarus has very uncharacteristically not cleaned up. Somewhat stereotypically, there's a half-empty bottle of vodka on the coffee table.

Lazarus is his brother, that hasn't changed and won't any time soon. As far as Tony's concerned L has every right in the world to ask for his time, sure sometimes it can be a little taxing but he knew what he was signing up for. Lazarus needs people now more than ever, especially if what Cesar had said is true.

The state of the room didn't bode well.

His gaze quickly sweeps over it, certainly noting the uncharacteristically left behind blood, the vodka... L's own unkempt appearance. He's not doing well at all. After a brief moment of scrutinizing the room he steps inside, turning his attention back to L. "How you been? Haven't heard much out of you lately."

Having the right to ask isn't the same as feeling like that right exists, and Lazarus is in a state where he's been questioning reality itself, as well as admittedly difficult and ambiguous social questions that overlap awkwardly with erratic mental health issues.

Once Tony's in the apartment, he leans his back back against the door to shut it.

He takes a breath as if preparing to speak before exhaling it in a slow sigh.

"...what do you already know?" he finally asks.

That is true, and a sentiment Tony knows all too well. He still feels like a drag on the people around him sometimes, even when he's doing more than enough to earn his keep. He also knows how L often under plays his own problems and doesn't ask for help when he needs it for the same reasons. It's fine, Tony will just give it rather than waiting on Lazarus to ask.

"Cesar told me you two broke it off. How you holdin' up?"

The answer's clear enough, judging by the state of L's apartment. Eventually Tony moves to make himself comfortable on L's couch, refraining from commenting on the bloodstains for now.

Lazarus keeps his eyes on Tony and his back to the wall as he moves toward the kitchenette, choosing a seat that keeps the table between them. He sits on his legs and curls his shoulders forward, and the effect is that he might be trying to make his scrawny, patched-up form look as small as possible. Tony might have to move the pillow and blanket aside to get comfortable on the couch; otherwise, he will be close enough to detect the way shared sleep mingles scents that still cling to the items.

"What else did he tell you?" He asks rigidly, with a note of impatience. He highly doubts that Cesar left it at that, and he would rather fill in known blanks than start singing like a canary indiscriminately about what's obvious (the bloodstains) and what's not (the symptoms that made climbing out the bathroom window seem like a good idea at the time.)

The way Lazarus keeps distance between them is noted, but for now Tony lets him. He probably needs his space, and crowding him won't help matters right now. He's making himself small, nonthreatening, but why? It's strange behavior, but not entirely uncommon for Lazarus. A far cry from the confident man who had stood up to the Japanese government so many months ago, however.

This whole thing has been rough on everyone.

Lazily he does toss the blanket and pillow aside, indeed pausing as he notices the mingling scents. It's still strange, the things his nose picks up, and stranger still that L hasn't completely sanitized Cesar out of the apartment yet.

"'Bout the cuts," He thumbs vaguely in L's direction, indicating his face. "'Bout your state. You're not doing too well, are you?" Hah, understatement of the century. Cesar was predictably vague, but Tony could put the clues together. He knows enough about Lazarus to know what's probably going on.

Lazarus' shadowed, hollow eyes follow Tony's every move; it's a primal kind of wariness that anyone in a trusting and caring relationship would find odd and even hurtful. But something is clearly amiss, here. The control that Lazarus ordinarily struggles to maintain with Lysol and bleach is absent; he doesn't even look like he's showered within the last few days, and he twitches when Tony moves the blanket and pillow as if to try to stop him, but he remains silent throughout the process, as if accepting his own powerlessness in the face of a force far stronger than he is.

The force isn't actually Tony. Something else is locking and mangling Lazarus and it's behind his eyes and in the uneasy, bizarre way he moves and speaks.

"I..."

A forced smile starts and then dies, the effort unstainable and exhausting.

"My psychiatrist is dead. The office is leveled, so is White Pines. I can't locate any of my records. The kinds of drugs I'm taking..." He laughs, and it's a fractured sound. "...they don't just hand those out, not without very good reason. I can't keep going like this, I can't..."

It stings to be looked at like that, deeper than Tony cared to mention or admit. He shoves it aside, trying to convince himself it's nothing to do with him and just something happening in L's mind. Certainly nothing had happened between them to make L act this way, right? But no, there's far more amiss than just the look. The normally eye-watering stench of lysol is gone, and L not showering? Unthinkable.

He just watches L as he struggles to speak, then finally relents. Ah, well... that explains a thing or seven. "There's nothing you can access? Nathan?" He's not sure, with how much was destroyed during the invasion all those records may be completely lost. Thoughtfully he rubs his chin. "...You're running out, or are out, aren't you?"

That can't be good.

Lazarus can't help it. He's helpless in a terrifyingly complete sense, actually, to the point where he doesn't think he can leave the apartment, make a meal, clean up a mess without the remaining threads of the world unraveling and leaving him drifting in the cold vacuum of space. His pulse and his breath come quickly. His matted hair is in desperate need of combing. He's rangy and pale and in need of a meal, but he's feeling no hunger whatsoever.

"Nathan..." he shakes his head. "I'm supposed to take care of Nathan, just like I'm supposed to take care of you. I don't have time for this, I can't deal with it right now, not when the two of you need me to hold everything else together. I'm letting you down, I'm letting everyone down."

The way he rakes his hair away from his face probably says that well enough.

"Everything's broken, and this time... I don't think it can be fixed."

Tony knows, and can't hold it against him. Doesn't mean it doesn't still sting, of course. But for now he's more concerned about L and what all of this is doing to him. The invasion may be over, but they're far from being out of hot water.

"Nathan and I are big boys, we can look after ourselves for a while. Now you're the one who needs some help," He frowns, turning his gaze to regard L evenly once more. "You're not letting anyone down. Looks like it's my turn to look after you for a change, though. Come on, you need a shower, want some help or just want me to sit in the door and keep you company?"

He's going to have to talk to Nathan about this, they'll have to figure out how to hold down the fort while L can't.

Lazarus still seems uncertain, even after Tony's reassurance. He worries, even when he's in no shape to be a caretaker or a confidante, about his little brothers. People he promised to look after, protect and nurture and lead...

His round, hunted eyes widen. He knows he can't argue; he used up all his will to state a case when Cesar was still here. He just swallows and nods, curling his shoulders forward, not specifying which of Tony's offers he wants to take him up on.

Painfully, he tries to shed his shirt, but sweat and grease have made some of the bandages fall off of his glass-shredded back. It sticks to the healing cuts, and his breath catches and shudders as he tries to peel it off.

Words alone can't always ease worries, not ones as deep seated and understandable as Lazarus'. After everything, of course he's going to worry. They've been through hell and they still aren't yet out of the fire. He's protected and nurtured them enough though, they can take the lead for a while.

The nod isn't very helpful, so Tony just waits for a more solid answer. When one fails to come, but Lazarus instead insists on trying to peel his-stuck on shirt he moves to help.

"Tsss, careful. Geeze look at you," He murmurs, trying to intervene so he can pick the shirt more gently away from those cuts. Yeah that's going to need some tending, too. One step at a time, he has to figure out how he can help with the pressing issue of L's medication, but this is something he can help with immediately. "I'm gonna have to talk to Nathan. How much is it okay for him to know?"

He stiffens under Tony's hands, but doesn't try to move away. He hasn't tried to escape anything since he let Cesar leave, urged him to, even, and now it's just him alone waiting for this apartment to crush the life out of him completely. He breathes hard and heavy when Tony helps him get his shirt off, revealing a cut-up travesty that used to be a smooth, pale back. Bones jut, ribs and shoulders blades sticking out; he's lost weight, hasn't been eating. Some of the cuts are red and angry around the edges, healing crooked and inflamed.

"Tell him everything," he says hoarsely. "It's not a good idea for me to keep secrets, right now."

There's a part of Tony that realizes L's only being so complacent because he's out of energy to fight. And even though that troubles him on many levels, he'll take it if it means getting Lazarus some help that he desperately needs. Wouldn't be the first time he's stripped him and shoved him into a tub, this time he's not dying from a fever at the very least.

"Shit," He murmurs quietly, trying his best to be gentle as he begins peeling away some of the spent bandages from his skin. "We need to get these cleaned up, unless you want to get an infection." The not eating is obvious, and not a huge surprise. Right, so, first course of action: Cleaning and proper wound dressing. Then food, then he'll figure out where to go from there.

"Alright, I'll fill him in. I've got your back, you know that, yeah?"

He's weak, depleted of energy and willpower, and that makes him pliable and willing under Tony's cautious hands. It's better than it could be, like it was a few days ago with Cesar. He thought he was a ghost, he made every attempt to kick and buck and claw his way to what his warped mind thought that safety must be.

He shudders and his shoulders curl and tighten as Tony pulls away the bandages. They haven't been tended to or replaced since Cesar originally put them on, and he was unconscious then, doped up on Xanax and beneficially dead to the world. He shakes his head numbly at the indirect threat of infection.

"My back?" he murmurs indistinctly. "You don't want it. You've seen it, I mean... you're looking at it..."

It's probably better this way. Though Tony's certainly capable of withstanding anything Lazarus could throw at him physically, it was much better that he didn't have to. Or have to try to keep him from taking a really inconvenient dive off of a building.

L's lucky it isn't worse, to be fair, but some of the injuries look dangerously angry and should definitely be tended to before a hospital visit becomes necessary. "Got any rubbing alcohol? Neosporin?" He's going to simply skim over the disjointed and nonsensical nature in L's words, he knows what's causing it. There's really no reason to point it out to him.

Gently he pats L's side, encouragement and insistence in one gesture. "Come on, up with you. Into the shower we'll get you cleaned up." To Tony's over-sensitive nose he stinks, but he's learning to cope with that without throwing too many fits about it. Sometimes he can't help the look on his face, though.

It's always better when friends don't physically fight friends, whether or not there's as large a discrepancy between strength and skill levels as there is between Tony and Lazarus. As it is he puts up no resistance, nods and points to a drawer in the kitchen when Tony asks about Neosporin and rubbing alcohol. Even if his words and thoughts are nonsensical and disjointed, he understands well enough what's being asked and why it's happening.

He can't take care of himself, and now it's falling to someone he was supposed to take care of. Even though he signed off on the confidentiality of the matter, he doesn't want Nathan to know about this any more than he wants Tony to be the one to push him into the shower and disinfect and patch his newest cuts.

Well, what do you want? You sent Cesar away, and White Pines is a pile of ashes.

He realizes that a couple of years ago, he almost went back, and would probably be in that pile of ashes if he had. He erupts into peals of strange, frenetic laughter that is devoid of joy or reason as Tony helps to haul him off to the shower. Though the glass has been cleaned up, cold air comes in through the space where Lazarus broke the window frame in his ill-advised, ill-fated escape attempt.

Briefly Tony breaks away from picking at L's back to go collect the things he'll need, before returning to usher him towards the shower. Clean first, then he can try to treat the wounds as best he knows how. The hot water may help to break them open a bit, so that he can flush them out with the alcohol. It'll be unpleasant but for a guy who used to drink hand sanitizer he somehow doubts that'll be a problem.

The freedom from confidentiality makes things more simple for Tony, but he's not going to go spilling all of Lazarus' sordid secrets unless absolutely necessary. He'll tell Nathan what they both need to know to keep a lid on things, but the details can be spared. He knows how to be diplomatic, it'll be fine.

The laughter is startling and earns a slight twitching jump of surprise, a surprised and startled glance shot his way. But still Tony ushers, just shaking his head and assuming it'll all make sense eventually. "Remind me to put some plastic on that. Clothes off, sit down, we'll get you cleaned up." He murmurs as he shuffles about, setting the alcohol nearby to be used later. At least Japanese showers make this sort of thing a lot easier than Western style, that's for sure.

He goes like a child led, easily if somewhat dazedly. No part of this is going to be pleasant, and while that's a difficult thing to stomach, it's necessary, and for all that Lazarus has done for the Numbered, he doesn't think that anyone else would come. Not like this, not for this. It's too depressing and too humiliating.

It's also a tremendous relief, because no matter what happens now, at least he isn't alone with the hideous disease anymore.

Obediently, he shucks off the rest of his clothes. His fall did a fair amount of damage to his skin; the exposed parts got cut badly, and even the ones covered by jeans and his shirt didn't escape entirely unscathed. He moves in a way that makes it clear that these spots are tender, slowly and stiltedly. He steps into the shower carefully, aware that there might be some glass he missed, but feeling no loose shards bite into his foot as he sinks into a crouch.

"Tony, hey..." he starts softly. "I did the right thing, didn't I? By making him go?"

Perhaps, but Tony won't hold it against him. When Lazarus neglected himself so long he nearly died of pneumonia? That he held against him, slightly anyway, because his friend and brother wasn't taking care of himself and scared the hell out of him. It wasn't that he needed help, he's never held that against Lazarus.

But that had also taught him a disturbing trend, L needed to be kept an eye on at times, to make sure he wasn't forgetting basic human functions like eating. Eating was a big one. So after hearing Cesar had left, he knew it would be a good idea to check up on him. Thank goodness he had, too.

It's just a little worse than he was expecting, that's all.

"Yeah," Came the immediate response as Tony moved to get the water going. "Yeah, you did. Better for you both. As much as it sucks, I know."

"Just wish you'd have called me and let me know what was going on."

For a goddamn adult, Lazarus feels a lot of shame and disappointment in the way certain things have played out. The pneumonia scare was a big one, but it's practically the tip of the iceberg as far as other elements go. As he exposes his pitiful body while Tony draws the water, he stares at the rising level in the newly-clean tub, remembering when it was covered in a layer of shattered glass.

He seems heartened, at least, that Tony agrees that he did the right thing. "Yeah?" he asks, voice thin, latching onto it for what it is. Clinging, even, desperate to know that something good came of something that still feels so horribly raw.

"He didn't want to. But he would have hated me," he says, drawing his arms closer to his body and shivering. "He wold have come to... hate me, Tony. I just... that's why I didn't call you right away. I wanted to see if I could go it alone because this isn't anyone's problem but mine."

Thankfully no glass remained, that would make for a dreadful experience. Once the temperature is right Tony motions for Lazarus to hop in while he finishes filling it. "It's a bit hot, tell me if it's too much? Try to soften up some of those cuts." Then maybe he can get them disinfected and spare Lazarus something even worse than embarrassment.

"He still cares," Tony agrees quietly. "I don't know if he'd hate you, but it'd be hard. With his brother... he's probably still going through a lot, yeah?" Were he in Cesar's shoes, Tony couldn't be certain he'd react with the same level of grace and composure. He casts Lazarus a sympathetic smile. "I know, L. But that's what I'm here for, remember?"

He won't hold it against him, he knows that pride all too well.

Whether or not it's too hot or cold, Lazarus probably wouldn't say so. He's numb and disassociated, and lowers himself into the water while Tony talks gently in his general direction.

"He wouldn't stop caring..." he answers, curling his torn-up back. "But that's it exactly. Moises is always here. I've burned a template of reality into my brain and it still isn't always enough to make a difference. I ruined everything... the least I can do is keep from finding a way to ruin even more."

He hugs his legs to his chest, nodding dejectedly at Tony's reassurance. "Yeah, I... I know."

Tony can only hope it isn't too hot, cold might be worse, given Lazarus' state. The heat may help soften some of those poorly healed wounds as well.

"That's good," If it were too easy, well... Then Tony would need to have a few Words with Cesar, wouldn't he? As it is, he's content to let it lay the way it is. It wasn't the best situation, all around, but possibly better in the long run. At least until L can get sorted out. "No you didn't. Relax, these things happen, right?" Briefly he scuttles away to grab a cup to pour water with, returning just as swiftly.

"Okay, head back, let's get this hair washed yeah?" Murmured casually while shoving a bar of soap into Lazarus' hands in a silent command to help out. Once he's clean he'll feel better, right?

"We'll figure this out."

He glances back over his shoulder, looking mildly exasperated, as though wondering how the hell it can be good in spite of the reassurances. He feels like he's missing an arm, and it doesn't even matter that he's technically the person who gave permission for it to be amputated.

He shivers, swallowing the lump in his throat and tipping his head back at Tony's request. It's a side of the young man he hasn't seen yet, and if he was in a better place, mentally and emotionally and maybe wasn't the cut-up pitiful creature in the tub. Unlike the last time they had a similar health crisis... Tony actually seems calm, soothing, and competent. He's not panicking, he's just patiently helping where it's needed.

"Or we won't..." he mumbles, red-rimmed eyes staring glassily at the ceiling. "Either way, it's only two choices, and I guess that's something to take some kind of comfort in."

Because it meant his care was true, even if it hurt more. But Tony's not responding to that look or explaining himself, he's busy getting what he needs to treat L's back. It's going to hurt, it's going to hurt for a very long time. But they can work through it, can't they?

This time Lazarus isn't near death, for one, and Tony's been through.. a lot. For another. Shou requires a lot of reassurance as well, he's learned some patience there, and some impatience, but that won't help Lazarus. Nah, he's here to look after his brother. And right now a gentle hand and clean hair seem to be a better ticket than scolding.

"We will," He reaffirms, dumping water into L's hair then following up with shampoo. They'll have him back in a semi-normal state in no time. "I've got an idea or two."

It's not pleasant for anyone involved in this difficult situation. As much as Lazarus feels like he should be doing Tony the same courtesy he gave Cesar and cut him loose, asking and even demanding that he leave, he knows that he wouldn't last long without someone to take care of him. Even though his pride smarts and stings at that realization, it's been years since he genuinely wanted to die, and even this difficult life is preferable to no life at all.

"Ideas?" he asks as Tony works the shampoo into a lather. It'll be tough going, getting through the snags and tangles o his shaggy hair. "I... want to hear them. I think I need to hear them."

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I think you're my best friend [closed]

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