[ Sam flinches but doesn't pull away (why does he flinch, though? Shouldn't he feel powerful? Untouchable? Shouldn't he feel that clearly no one and nothing can touch him from that vision because Death can't go after itself, afterall—)
He blinks suddenly, realizing tears are stinging his eyes and yes he understands why he's flinching away now— this is a side of him Sam never wanted Jun or anyone else aware of. Even if it's his other self, it's still the same. This is the type of person he is. He doesn't kill quite to the level his other self clearly must to be so flippant and casual in his methods, but it doesn't matter. Murder is still murder. And although every time Sam tells himself it's justified or otherwise deserved, the way he knee-jerk reacts to this all tells him he's never convinced himself of it.
(And in the back of his mind, where this has settled and fused itself to the other memories of this person he follows the chronicles of, he hears them laugh, as if flabbergasted:
Oh, you can't hide from it forever. What's your name, again? Sam, right? Do you remember mine, yet? Do you remember what you really are? It doesn't look like it, but does that matter? You already know exactly what you are, it seems.
Sam breathes in deeply, sharply— but is probably not very good about taking his time. His breath catches and stutters similar to the contracting of his muscles in his diaphragm. He tries again, but the frustration that wells up in him makes it worse— he's panicking. ]
—I'm okay.
[ he's not, and that upsets him even more. There had been so much else than this to see, so much else to experience on this boat and yet yet...
At least he didn't hurt the child. At least ...
(but that thought, too, seems to agitate the voice that's been slowly coagulating into a solid form memory after memory, enough that he feels the sharp edge cut like a knife in his psyche: Don't act surprised like you didn't already know monsters can't have their own codes of conduct to follow when you have yours.) ]
Re: DAY 236; Jun
He blinks suddenly, realizing tears are stinging his eyes and yes he understands why he's flinching away now— this is a side of him Sam never wanted Jun or anyone else aware of. Even if it's his other self, it's still the same. This is the type of person he is. He doesn't kill quite to the level his other self clearly must to be so flippant and casual in his methods, but it doesn't matter. Murder is still murder. And although every time Sam tells himself it's justified or otherwise deserved, the way he knee-jerk reacts to this all tells him he's never convinced himself of it.
(And in the back of his mind, where this has settled and fused itself to the other memories of this person he follows the chronicles of, he hears them laugh, as if flabbergasted:
Oh, you can't hide from it forever. What's your name, again? Sam, right? Do you remember mine, yet? Do you remember what you really are? It doesn't look like it, but does that matter? You already know exactly what you are, it seems.
Sam breathes in deeply, sharply— but is probably not very good about taking his time. His breath catches and stutters similar to the contracting of his muscles in his diaphragm. He tries again, but the frustration that wells up in him makes it worse— he's panicking. ]
—I'm okay.
[ he's not, and that upsets him even more. There had been so much else than this to see, so much else to experience on this boat and yet yet...
At least he didn't hurt the child. At least ...
(but that thought, too, seems to agitate the voice that's been slowly coagulating into a solid form memory after memory, enough that he feels the sharp edge cut like a knife in his psyche: Don't act surprised like you didn't already know monsters can't have their own codes of conduct to follow when you have yours.) ]