thankyou4myheart: (In My Sights)
Deckard {BP-001} ([personal profile] thankyou4myheart) wrote in [community profile] re_alignment_logs 2014-08-01 03:08 am (UTC)

Same for this one - also HAI walls-'o-text oy... >,o

Deckard drove along what felt like the backside of Nowhere. Yep . . . Nowhereville, Pick-a-Forged District, Haven Precinct. His world over the last few months had become both broader and more miniscule than he could have previously imagined.

At least, not since finally emerging for the very first time from the hidden warehouse he'd been built in.

In his meanderings – patrols, he'd long convinced himself – over the past half-year and more, he'd found and catalogued pretty much every square millimeter of his new home, making himself useful, staving off various griefs – for his partner, for his lost teammates, for the family that had adopted him, and all the friends he and his team, his brothers, had made back home, as well as doing everything he could think of to ensure the health, safety, and happiness of his new friends and all those under his care here.

And "those under his care" of course included his own teammates. Those who . . . were still here.

Every time he began to think he'd lost McCrane too, he'd find another subtly-altered bush, another faintly-marked sniper spot. Anyone else would likely have missed them, but Deckard knew his brother as well as anyone.

Or so he liked to think.

Part of him felt that he didn't know McCrane anymore, not as he'd like. His brother had been through far more than he had now, had born burdens he was never meant to carry, and that Deckard hadn't been here to help him bear. He'd seen things and done things – suffered things – Deckard could only hear or read about long after the fact.

It was irrational and he knew it, but Deckard felt deeply like he had failed his teammate, his brother. Deckard was the one built to be the leader, to shoulder the weight and the cares of responsibility. He should have been here so that McCrane didn't have to do it.

He should have tried harder to get McCrane to let him shoulder it all once he had arrived. Not that he didn't think McCrane couldn't handle things. He just . . . hadn't wanted his brother to have to.

And now, it seemed, the damage had been done.

Deckard had been left with little more than marks on high ridges and the occasional assurance over the Link that McCrane was still here, that he was "all right." Deckard knew his brother wasn't, but he hadn't wanted to force himself on McCrane, hoping in time that the sniper would come to him when he was ready to open up. He'd yet to do so, and Deckard's worry had grown too deep to ignore. He was done hoping McCrane would come to him on his own. He supposed he should have known better – McCrane's Super AI was programmed off of his own, after all, and he . . . he knew from past experience that he himself tended to try to weather things on his own rather than burden others.

The time for giving space was over. Now it was time to bring his brother back. He'd drive until he found McCrane, and then back him into a corner if that's what it took to get his brother to talk.

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