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[OPEN]

WHO: Hermann, Newton, StarkTech employees, & OPEN to anyone that might want to stop by!
WHERE: StarkTech
WHEN: All of November
WHAT: Nerds and science!!
WARNINGS: Swearing and biology stuff?
NOTES: Feel free to respond with prose if that's your preferred tagging method! Also let us know if you'd rather tag with only one of them, as they'll likely both be responding to a given thread by default.

[The biotech lab is divided by a line of bright yellow tape.

Equipment is divvied up with most of the medical-looking equipment to one side, and most of the computers on the other, as if the division heads simply couldn't reconcile their differences.

Large, imposing chalkboards stand as a strange centerpiece to the technological side, complete with a sliding ladder and numerous boxes of chalk stacked on a desk nearby. Equations litter the surface, complex formula with strings of variables written in lowercase, notations entirely capitalized.

To the right is a ten foot robot, with panels missing and wires exposed, hooked into a small set of monitors running streams of code and projections nearby. The left side of the chalkboards is an engineer's work space, with half-completed bits of tech, spare parts, tools, wiring, screws, and 3D displays strewn about in an organized clutter. Even a small collection of books on what looks to be a neatly maintained personal desk.

The biological side of the lab stands in stark contrast to the professional work environment cultivated on the far side of the tape.

It looks a bit like a college student moved in, complete with cheesy posters, various dinosaur and Godzilla toys decorating the shelves, and humorous science puns and memes that were printed off the internet for display. There are jars everywhere, labelled a bit overzealously with differently colored sticky notes and warnings about the contents.

Paperwork litters most desk surfaces in a disorganized array, backdropped by a large fluctuating holograph depicting lines of chemical readouts. A radio and keyboard stand nearby for no discernible reason, but are nevertheless surrounded by scientific charts and various graphs.

Woe betide anyone that attempts to restore order to the biological division, or disrupts the structure of the technological side.]

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"I'm trying," Joaquin mumbled, but he couldn't seem to stop the shaking. Why did he feel so cold? Was it really just the weather?

He blinked in confusin when Newt held his hands out then slowly tried to hand the items over. He mostly managed though there was still some fumbling with his seemingly nerveless fingers. "Right, right... Bad health and all that. I just... You gotta let me have this."

Usually they helped calm him but it wasn't working tonight. Why wasn't it working tonight? Why was his heart pounding like this and why did he feel so hot? No, cold. Hot?

"Let's be real. I don't gotta let you have anything." It took a little figuring out how best to hold it to light the cigarette, since Newt hadn't tried one of these things for almost fifteen years and even then he hadn't exactly been successful with them. He was a little too fidgety and had to remind himself (a) what it was and (b) that it wasn't his, so as to not put it in his mouth while he lit it. Finally, he handed Joaquin back a lit cigarette.

He pat him on the back almost mechanically and not with a great deal of sympathy, watching him, unsure what to make of Joaquin's less-than-confident behavior and nervous appearance. "You okay there, buddy? You look pretty pale. You know, I get that Hermann's quite a looker," he said, trying to make light of it. "But you don't have to be nervous. I mean, I don't THINK you've got to worry about getting to Third Base yet." Newt shoved his hands in his pockets, considering the thought he'd only meant as a teasing comment. "Hermann doesn't seem the type... Besides, not something I'm sure a big Hero Man like you hasn't had to deal with before anyway, right?"

Joaquin accepted the cigarette given to him and took half a drag, releasing a shaken drift of smoke. He couldn't breathe well. Sure, filling your lungs with smoke probably didn't help but it was like he couldn't inhale enough before he was forced to exhale. His chest felt compressed, like an invisible weight was pushing against his lungs and holding itself there.

Third base? Not the type? Joaquin blinked, confused. Nothing was making any sense. He could hardly see Newton at all through the dark haze smothering his vision.

And then there it was, like a gunshot sounding in a silent room. An innocuous comment meant to just be a joke, or perhaps as a backhanded compliment, but just the right words to set him off.

"Big hero...? Hahah..." Joaquin chuckled, the cigarette falling from his lips and hitting the sidewalk, smoldering uselessly. The lighter also fell from his hands but he didn't seem to notice. He only laughed, hallow and shakey and suddenly he was coughing, wheezing, crying, doubled over while clutching at his stomach.

"Oh my god... Oh my god..." Words tumbled from his lips as he gazed unblinking and unseeing at the ground. Horror etched out along his features like he was watching a gruesome scene only he could see. Then, he said the words he hadn't been able to say but needed so, so badly to admit. "He's dead... He's really dead... And it's my fault!"

Newt was really out of his element here. For the last five years his constant companion had been Hermann--who rarely emoted his own shortcomings and, if he did, it was usually some form of anger. Dealing with people and their emotional breakdowns was a messy messy business and while Newt had a bit of experience since arriving in this world, it was still a bit like trying to navigate an alien culture.

What was his life? Newt was supposed to be the frantic chicken with his head cut off, the unstable one.

He looked down at the cigarette and lighter a bit awkwardly and helplessly, expression pinched, as he brought his eyes back up to Joaquin himself. The scene reminded him too much of Hermann, of Qubit...their haunted eyes and babbling at the Swear-In in August... (Crane ...he couldn't...not again, not yet) ...of things in Newt's own head and days spent with the lights off, cocooned in his own world, trying to escape reality. He hesitated, unsure about offering physical comfort, and finally grabbed a fistful of Joaquin's sleeve.

"Hey. Hey! Hermann's fine," he insisted. And he was glad for their connection, for the solid reassurance in Newt's brain that Hermann was indeed just fine, or else Joaguin's words could have set Newt off into panicked hysterics too. As it was, he could feel anxiety sinking in deep into his bones, as contrary to his own words, Newt could now imagine horrible ways that Joaquin could be right, that some impending doom was coming Hermann's way and... His voice wavered and he tightened his hold on the fabric to keep his twitching hands from full-on shaking. "He's not--He's not dead. Look," Newt swallowed and tried a little more force behind his voice, "look, I'll take you up to see him, if you want--but first, dude, you need to snap out of this." Impulsively, he shook Joaquin by his shoulders, or did so as well as his shorter stature and lighter muscle mass could manage. "Come on, man. Come on. Breathe. You're scaring the shit out of me. Sit down--yeah, okay? Head between your knees, breathe, before you hurt yourself."

Newt is talking but Joaquin doesn't understand the words for a while, locked in an invisible hell where all he sees is a sunset sky, a crumbled church, a falling bell. An explosion. And then there's the rain in the morning, further back still but just as vivid, and pale cheeks, cold hands, and a hot, blazing moment of utter helplessness. Fear and sadness and madness folding into anger and grief.

Then there's a tug at his shirt and Joaquin blinks, eyes focusing momentarily on Newton and the words leaving his mouth. He tries to shake his head but it comes across as just shivering and he chatters, speaking in a pained hiss.

"N-no! It's not... It's Manolo!" Hopeless, helpless. His fault. "Manolo's dead. He's died twice, twice! and it's my fault! I couldn't.. I wanted... And it'll just happen again here and I can't--! There's nothing I can do!"

Newt looks down, eyes wide, his grip loosening. Oh. (Oh, good. It's Manolo. Not Hermann. He isn't even very sorry for that thought.)

Well, yeah, that makes sense. The skeleton-- The powers didn't come out of nowhere. There seemed to be actual ties to something in their real life, so it stood to reason that a man who could transform into a skeleton that he couldn't transform into back home might have actually DIED somewhere in there, but--shit.

He realizes he has withdrawn a little and is looking at Joaquin through a new light, more critically. Survivor's guilt, or...was Mr. Hero not at all the hero he billed himself as?

"Not if you're freaking OUT there isn't!" Newt snaps. "What the fuck, man. How does a guy die twi--You know what, never mind. Don't answer that. I don't need to know. Or I do, but I'll ask later, when you're not--OKAY. SO. How's it YOUR fault?" Not the most sensitive question to ask, but Newt has never been known for his sensitivity to the feelings of others. "Because Manolo seems awfully chummy with the guy who supposedly caused two of his deaths!"

There were questions to center on, things coming back into focus slowly but not completely. Joaquin tried to breathe, tried following Newton's advice. It worked maybe a little.

"The first time... The first time I know it was me, I said... I said terrible, horrible things," he gasped, swallowing down tearless sobs. "Ma... Someone else just died, and Manolo was there and I... I accused him, told him it was his fault, he should've done something to stop it and saved her but..."

Joaquin shook his head, fresh tears starting to glaze over his eyes again. He got quiet but his words weren't any less emotional. "... We got word not even an hour later... His body was just outside of town and, and it couldn't have just been some coincidence!"

Did Newt even get what he was saying? Joaquin didn't stop to clarify, continuing on like he couldn't stop. This was the most terrible kind of confession. "The second time... I t-tried to give Manolo my... my immortality. But it didn't..." And Joaquin's breathing began to quicken again. "He didn't...! I failed!"

Her. Newt could guess Joaquin meant Maria, their friend (their...more?) and the only other person either had mentioned ever other than each other. So Joaquin had blamed Manolo for Maria's death (unjustly, by the sound of things) and Manolo had...

Killed himself?

Well, he was a musician. How very, uh, punk rock. No, really, Newt didn't want to make light of it, he wasn't, but it somehow didn't surprise him that of the two, Joaquin did the blaming and Manolo did the dying. What a telanovela. ...No, not making light of it. Newt was equally dramatic himself.

...Okay, and clearly he underestimated the world these two came from if immortality was a thing--more so a thing you could GIVE to another person like an STD or something.

"Seriously, breathe. I'm not giving you CPR or anything if you hyperventilate." Newt knew himself well enough to know that once he started talking, he was likely to say the wrong thing the wrong way and set Joaquin off again. He needed to be calm, or closer to, before Newt expressed an opinion. He didn't want to have to be the one to explain to Manolo and Hermann that he'd killed their boyfriend by further inducing a panic attack.

He apparently didn't, however, know himself well enough to consider his tendency to have no follow through on the great advice he gave himself, and to run his mouth at every opportunity. Newt didn't mince words. He was terrible at comfort and what came out as he paced around right then wasn't even close to comforting.

"And anyway, yeah, from one shitty, petty human being to another, that was a dick move--that TRANSCENDS dick moves, alright? I mean, Manolo seems like a nice guy, like genuinely nice, dude, and I get that you were hurt, that she--I'm guessing Maria?--that Maria was dead, but blaming him for it? Friends don't--Or I don't THINK friends do--let's be real, that's worse than me telling Hermann--" He waved his hands, clearing the tangent. "Okay, not important, story for another day. Point is, you screwed up there. But!" he continued, realizing that was a terrible place to leave off, "obviously your world gets take-backs on that and if Manolo was already revived, what's stopping him from reviving again?"

It was hard to just breathe. So, so hard to try and just wrangle his lungs into proper working order. Joaquin wheezed, clutching at his own hands, wringing his wrists and just trying to calm himself as Newton instructed. But it wasn't working.

Hearing Maria's name was enough to get him mumbling again, frantic. "I can't face her again. Not after this... Not after that."

He was an awful person. Joaquin knew he was trash and deserved nothing more than to be thrown away, discarded. But Manolo was too sweet to do that and Maria would forgive him. They always were like that. But he didn't deserve it and that hurt even worse, knowing he would selfishly accept that. But he couldn't allow himself to do that anymore. It wasn't fair to them. He was so awful.

"I don't know!" He reached up, running fingers through his short, jagged haircut. Sweat trickled down his brow in rivers, cold and clammy. "I don't think he was supposed to... But he did and I, I tried to give him m-my Medal. The Medal that started this whole mess and...!"

There was a pause in his words and Joaquin sucked in a breath, suddenly a horrible thought fitting into place. "What if... What if I missed on purpose? What if I... Did I even really try to...?"

Oh god, he just didn't know anymore! But the possibility was there. Maybe he had neglected to make sure it was fastened on, and maybe in a subconscious fit of jealousy he had still wanted Manolo out of the picture. The thought disgusted him, making his stomach flip and twist coldly. But it was very possible, and he couldn't think straight enough to remember back clearly and make certain. His faith in his own motives were shaken.

"Dude. If YOU don't know your own motivations, I certainly don't," he said with a toss of his head. "But, hey, I HAVE known a lot of charming assholes in my time--and I'm not saying you're not one of them, but..." I don't really think you're one of them anymore. Even for a theatrical charming asshole, this would be a bit much. The guy had worked himself into a cold sweat, looked more remorseful than anyone Newt had met. He really hoped Joaquin didn't pass out. The pavement didn't look particularly forgiving.

"This is treading into...psychology? philosophy? And to be honest, I know nothing about heroics. Hermann's the hero. I'm the--the one who knows a lot about doing the selfish thing, okay," he admitted, "--but the point is... the fuck does it matter? If Manolo is dead, he's dead. If he can be revived, cool. But he's alive now." And even though this little jaunt into another dimension, at least by all the accounts Newt had heard, was like a filler episode in an anime: lots of character-development/adventures rendered moot upon return to the main storyline... He still thought it a sidequest worth exploring, if only for curiosity's sake.

"Okay. Look. I get it. And I'm not saying what you did or thought then doesn't matter--it does, but..." He glanced up at the StarkTech building again, pursed his lips and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "You can really only move ...forward. Your past intentions created your past actions and those created the shitty situation that you and Manolo are left with-- But, hey, if you want to continue to let those intentions dictate your future actions, fine! But don't be surprised when you get similar results."

Newt shrugged. "I personally think you need to consider what you'd do NOW, not what you wanted to do THEN, especially since it sounds like you don't like Past-Joaquin all that much. And regardless of whether you were well-intentioned or a selfish dick, your takeaway sounds like it's the same: 'I was a asshole to Manolo. I regret that. I want to be better to him, and if it's possible to save him, I want to.'" Newt looked pointedly at him, hands spread in an open gesture as if inviting him to challenge the statement. "Right?"

That terrible realization coupled with his already pessimistic thoughts left Joaquin struggling to find any light in the situation. How could he have allowed himself to fall so far?

Don't stop fighting for what's right. Laughable. Hilarious. Who ever thought he was capable of doing anything for the right reasons? He was just too ... too selfish.

Newton was rambling. It was impolite to not listen. He tried to use that screeching voice to find a mental purchase for his thoughts as he clutched at his jacket. He worked to control his breathing. Suddenly there were tears everywhere but they didn't seem possible to stop.

Look forward. Look to changing the results. Some of what Newt said reminded Joaquin of his job as a life coach. But what he said made sense. He wanted to change it. He wanted to be better to Manolo and give him everything he deserved. But that also meant telling the truth. That would be the hardest of all.

"Manolo is my best friend," he said hopelessly. He gasped for a breath and tried to wipe away some wetness from his face. More tears rushed down to take the place of the old. "I d-don't know what I'm going to do... if he hates me. But I can't... I don't deserve his friendship anymore."

What do you do with someone when they're crying? He pat Joaquin's shoulder and then gave it a squeeze and tried to remember what it was that people did for him when he had panic attacks. A hug? He awkwardly put an arm around Joaquin's back and pat his side. It was ...something, at least.

"I don't deserve the friendship I've got," he admitted softly. "But I want his friendship enough to keep trying to deserve it." It felt like a revelation, a vow, a reminder.

Newt was not necessarily an optimistic man. He was not a pessimist and worry-wort in the same way Hermann was, and data wasn't the same kind of end-all-be-all, but he didn't necessarily put a ton of faith into people he hardly knew. That said, he didn't think Manolo was the type who could not bury the hatchet. He had obviously been affected--hurt, betrayed--by Joaquin's words enough to kill himself, but the man Newt had met the couple of times didn't seem like he was still unable to get over that. And if he was, Joaquin had had a lot to make up for, if he could make up for it.

"You know, even if you scream and--and say something godawful to each other? Still better than not talking and waiting for that bomb to drop. Right? Because it'll come out eventually and when you least want it to and if you do it now, at least you get to do it on your own terms. Rip that bandaid off now." It had worked for Newt, so that was the advice he could give. Talking, yelling, fighting...that had always been the way Newt communicated with the person most vital to his existence these past few years. And maybe it wasn't the healthiest way to go about it, but it was the only way Newt knew how and sometimes you had to just mutually rage and vent and cry in frustration and curse everything to damnation in order to find your feet again. He had walked out of that fight with Hermann having said a great deal of things that, for better or worse, had to be said.

"There's a point where you have to, I guess, give up on looking like the cool, tough guy. Man up and talk about feelings. Apologize," Newt was still learning the latter. "And I know, you're looking at me going 'Newt, what the hell do you know about manning up?' Not much, sure, but enough and I know about trying to look like you got it together. When you don't. When you've really fucked up."

He let out a deep sigh and looked down at the sidewalk. He pat Joaquin again.

"God, man. I'm rooting for you, I don't know why. But I hope it fucking works out."

Newt was talking about Hermann, surely. Who else would he be talking about? But the softness of his voice made it sound like he was... empathizing with Joaquin? Surely he had never turned against Hermann like Joaquin had against Manolo. But the hugs, however awkward they were, were appreciated. Joaquin just wished he could reach back, but if he did he wasn't sure if he'd manage to let go.

"Do it... now?" Yeah. Yeah. It had to be now. And he was going to have to be honest. Truthful. And that scared him more than anything.

"I'm not good... saying the right words in this kind of thing. But I can... I can apologize and just tell him what happened and..." And then what? He'd take whatever blows came.

That pat on the back meant more to Joaquin than he could express. But all he could find in himself to say was, "Thanks. I... I..."

Joaquin sniffled and wiped at his face again, then looked up at the StarkTech building. "I need to go home. Talk to Manolo. I don't know why I came here, really but..." and his gaze falls back to Newt, "... I'm glad I did."

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[OPEN]

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TW: mentions of suicide in this tag

continuing that warning

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