[ The kid flinches backwards when Gen takes that half-step forward, falling over as he does. He's immediately scrambling to right himself, even if it's just to curl back into a ball. Maybe if he stays facing them. Maybe if he doesn't make any sudden movements. Maybe if he doesn't do anything to make them mad—
He ducks his head back into his knees when Gen moves his hands, trying to muffle his newest tears, soaking the legs of his pants with them as his body racks itself with sobs. Maybe if he's quiet. Maybe if, maybe maybe maybe—
But he doesn't hear any more footsteps, and he takes a peek back up at the questions. Gen is terrifying him right now, and the tone of voice isn't helping, but maybe he won't do anything to him. ]
I— [ The kid has to bring his head up a little further so he isn't speaking into his knees. ] I— [ Hiccup. ] I don't know—
He's me.
[ Amos' voice cuts through, sounding exhausted. Strained. He'd been too frozen, too dumbstruck, to really do anything when Gen had moved in front of him, but listening to him trying to interrogate his five-year-old self was enough to snap him out of it.
He's shifted out from behind Gen to look at himself again, and... no, this is too much. Gingerly Amos lowers himself to the ground, sitting there, inadvertently bringing himself down to his younger self's eye level — at least before he breaks the gaze by shutting his eyes, dipping his head, holding it in one hand. ]
He's me. When I was a kid. Gen, you...
[ He doesn't even know how to finish that sentence. Can't be like this? Need to be nice? Does it even matter?
Amos' own head buried in his hand, he misses the kid's reaction — one where he's stopped crying and is staring at the two of them with wide, terrified eyes. It has to be some kind of trick as far as he's concerned, but it's not like Amos has made a move towards him, so... ]
no subject
He ducks his head back into his knees when Gen moves his hands, trying to muffle his newest tears, soaking the legs of his pants with them as his body racks itself with sobs. Maybe if he's quiet. Maybe if, maybe maybe maybe—
But he doesn't hear any more footsteps, and he takes a peek back up at the questions. Gen is terrifying him right now, and the tone of voice isn't helping, but maybe he won't do anything to him. ]
I— [ The kid has to bring his head up a little further so he isn't speaking into his knees. ] I— [ Hiccup. ] I don't know—
He's me.
[ Amos' voice cuts through, sounding exhausted. Strained. He'd been too frozen, too dumbstruck, to really do anything when Gen had moved in front of him, but listening to him trying to interrogate his five-year-old self was enough to snap him out of it.
He's shifted out from behind Gen to look at himself again, and... no, this is too much. Gingerly Amos lowers himself to the ground, sitting there, inadvertently bringing himself down to his younger self's eye level — at least before he breaks the gaze by shutting his eyes, dipping his head, holding it in one hand. ]
He's me. When I was a kid. Gen, you...
[ He doesn't even know how to finish that sentence. Can't be like this? Need to be nice? Does it even matter?
Amos' own head buried in his hand, he misses the kid's reaction — one where he's stopped crying and is staring at the two of them with wide, terrified eyes. It has to be some kind of trick as far as he's concerned, but it's not like Amos has made a move towards him, so... ]