[Teddy tilts their head at alternate dimension, because at this point they aren’t sure if that makes it make more or less sense than just…creatures that the government knows but is actively either not doing anything about or encouraging. Sure. Why not inter-dimensional hive minds the government knows about.
She can’t help a grin, despite their collective on-edge…ness. She deadpans:]
You think I’d be out here helping you placate a giant goat man if I thought you were super into NASCAR? Come on, man.
[They can’t banter about Indiana or move on to the so much more fascinating attractions of rural West Virginia, though, because shortly they’re hiding from said kinda-cryptid.
Eddie has a death grip on Teddy’s hand, but it’s …nice? Eddie could turn into a bat and fuck off, but he hasn’t, he’s just holding onto her. Maybe she’s even helping? And Teddy hates admitting that she’s scared, but right now she’s fucking terrified, so the bruise-worthy clench they have on each other is just fine.
They’re not even sure what they’re scared of: this thing doesn’t have a lot of lore of attacking people, but it feels horrifying. Like late night panic attacks, like losing everybody.
Teddy takes a long breath in and a long breath out, steadying herself and hoping maybe her own counted breaths will feel a little contagious to Eddie’s body on some evolutionary level. Okay. She can do this. She’s figured out — from the few times it’s worked here, and the powers it was most like in that other universe — that if she doesn’t have a specific intent, there will still be a sort of underlying push to work together, to help each other. But she thinks hard about the intent, fastening the ideas to the song: of not wanting any harm to the Lyhos, of a trade for the mask, of giving it a present; and of calm and peacefulness spreading over all three of them.
They wrap their other arm around the one Eddie's holding their hand with: half comforting hug, half ...security, like the way you might clutch a teddy bear to you: when they release his jacket to move their hand, their knuckles ache from how hard they were holding on.
And then they sing, soft and still watching; unsteady at first but easing into it:]
"When you’re weary, feeling small, when tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all. I’m on your side, oh, when times get rough, and friends just can’t be found. Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down...”
no subject
She can’t help a grin, despite their collective on-edge…ness. She deadpans:]
You think I’d be out here helping you placate a giant goat man if I thought you were super into NASCAR? Come on, man.
[They can’t banter about Indiana or move on to the so much more fascinating attractions of rural West Virginia, though, because shortly they’re hiding from said kinda-cryptid.
Eddie has a death grip on Teddy’s hand, but it’s …nice? Eddie could turn into a bat and fuck off, but he hasn’t, he’s just holding onto her. Maybe she’s even helping? And Teddy hates admitting that she’s scared, but right now she’s fucking terrified, so the bruise-worthy clench they have on each other is just fine.
They’re not even sure what they’re scared of: this thing doesn’t have a lot of lore of attacking people, but it feels horrifying. Like late night panic attacks, like losing everybody.
Teddy takes a long breath in and a long breath out, steadying herself and hoping maybe her own counted breaths will feel a little contagious to Eddie’s body on some evolutionary level. Okay. She can do this. She’s figured out — from the few times it’s worked here, and the powers it was most like in that other universe — that if she doesn’t have a specific intent, there will still be a sort of underlying push to work together, to help each other. But she thinks hard about the intent, fastening the ideas to the song: of not wanting any harm to the Lyhos, of a trade for the mask, of giving it a present; and of calm and peacefulness spreading over all three of them.
They wrap their other arm around the one Eddie's holding their hand with: half comforting hug, half ...security, like the way you might clutch a teddy bear to you: when they release his jacket to move their hand, their knuckles ache from how hard they were holding on.
And then they sing, soft and still watching; unsteady at first but easing into it:]
"When you’re weary, feeling small,
when tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all.
I’m on your side, oh, when times get rough,
and friends just can’t be found.
Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down...”