[ when their hands first touch and the empathy bond kicks in, thomas is a practiced calm, too still, with a tension running underneath it. WICKED had him jump through all kinds of mental hoops, he can keep his shit together for a couple minutes while there's a visitor in his head. for the most part, he does, but the memories hit him harder than he's expecting.
thomas doesn't remember rural america. it's like flipping a switch and changing a black and white movie to color. he knows it, somewhere in his mind, somewhere in the back of his head. knows sidewalk and mailbox and bicycle, but there's no details, no source to trace it back to. bizarre. it's always such a bizarre feeling. through the bond comes keen interest, tied with confusion, almost frustration, and somewhere deeper, a vague nostalgia.
the music festival is an explosion of color and sound and sensation, and if anything, this is that part that threatens to overwhelm him. weirdly enough, thomas maybe doesn't have a memory for riding a bike, but he sure does for being drugged out of his mind. the experiences in ian's head with it is a lot more pleasant, joyful, people milling around and pushing against each other and the word alive on repeat. his chest feels light for the first time in a long while, and thomas kind of wishes he could stay in that one, but he won't.
a classroom, rows of chairs filled with young adults, not in the cold, white rooms of the WICKED compounds where thomas learned things not terribly different from what's on ian's board. it's warm here, people talking, smiling, even that laugh ian's holding in. it's another world entirely to him, and part of him wants to stay and explore there too. but we haven't gotten to the bad, and he needs to know about the bad.
there it is, a massive structure crushing down on homes, on people. death and panic and fear, shock and chaos. it's not something thomas is unused to, and his mind snaps back to Denver without him meaning to. ian might pick up on a spike of tension, fear, and an aching despair. he pushes it down rather quickly, focusing on what he's seeing. thomas drinks in as much detail as he can, before the channel changes. a huge magnet, like the city is just a junk yard and it's compounding day. the destruction and ease of it is chilling, and he tries not to think about people that may have been inside.
a group of survivors on a trek. yeah, thomas knows this one too. he sees the little girl and thinks of chuck. wonders, sadly, if she met the same kind of end. a dull sadness throbs somewhere deep in his chest, muffled like it's coming through walls. oh hey, sassy TA made it. good for him.
and the end, well. the end looks eerily like the glade, but built by adults with life skills and not traumatized amnesiac children desperate to survive. there's a lot of similarity he's seeing in those last few scenes, and he wonders for a second, if there's any version of earth that hasn't rocketed towards annihilation already.
when their hands part, thomas has a careful frown on his features, brows knit in concentrated thought. it was intriguing, definitely worth the discomfort, but it left him with more questions. then again, it's thomas, so who's really surprised that he has questions? ]
What the hell was that? That thing that crushed the city. [ he never saw anything individual, just those massive objects and all they destroyed. whatever happened to ian's home, it was a disaster, but what was it? ]
no subject
thomas doesn't remember rural america. it's like flipping a switch and changing a black and white movie to color. he knows it, somewhere in his mind, somewhere in the back of his head. knows sidewalk and mailbox and bicycle, but there's no details, no source to trace it back to. bizarre. it's always such a bizarre feeling. through the bond comes keen interest, tied with confusion, almost frustration, and somewhere deeper, a vague nostalgia.
the music festival is an explosion of color and sound and sensation, and if anything, this is that part that threatens to overwhelm him. weirdly enough, thomas maybe doesn't have a memory for riding a bike, but he sure does for being drugged out of his mind. the experiences in ian's head with it is a lot more pleasant, joyful, people milling around and pushing against each other and the word alive on repeat. his chest feels light for the first time in a long while, and thomas kind of wishes he could stay in that one, but he won't.
a classroom, rows of chairs filled with young adults, not in the cold, white rooms of the WICKED compounds where thomas learned things not terribly different from what's on ian's board. it's warm here, people talking, smiling, even that laugh ian's holding in. it's another world entirely to him, and part of him wants to stay and explore there too. but we haven't gotten to the bad, and he needs to know about the bad.
there it is, a massive structure crushing down on homes, on people. death and panic and fear, shock and chaos. it's not something thomas is unused to, and his mind snaps back to Denver without him meaning to. ian might pick up on a spike of tension, fear, and an aching despair. he pushes it down rather quickly, focusing on what he's seeing. thomas drinks in as much detail as he can, before the channel changes. a huge magnet, like the city is just a junk yard and it's compounding day. the destruction and ease of it is chilling, and he tries not to think about people that may have been inside.
a group of survivors on a trek. yeah, thomas knows this one too. he sees the little girl and thinks of chuck. wonders, sadly, if she met the same kind of end. a dull sadness throbs somewhere deep in his chest, muffled like it's coming through walls. oh hey, sassy TA made it. good for him.
and the end, well. the end looks eerily like the glade, but built by adults with life skills and not traumatized amnesiac children desperate to survive. there's a lot of similarity he's seeing in those last few scenes, and he wonders for a second, if there's any version of earth that hasn't rocketed towards annihilation already.
when their hands part, thomas has a careful frown on his features, brows knit in concentrated thought. it was intriguing, definitely worth the discomfort, but it left him with more questions. then again, it's thomas, so who's really surprised that he has questions? ]
What the hell was that? That thing that crushed the city. [ he never saw anything individual, just those massive objects and all they destroyed. whatever happened to ian's home, it was a disaster, but what was it? ]
What were you running from?