fifth_garde | (no subject)

[Obviously, there has been no sleeping on Owen's part, and he had only been in bed for a few hours before Jason had called. Instead of sleep, he'd filled the first forty-five minutes with a frantic trip to the nearest twenty-four hour drugstore, where he'd tried hard not to arouse suspicion as he crammed supplies into a basket and hustled them to the till (he'd even had the foresight to use an American accent and pay in cash), then grabbed a taxi back to the hotel.

After that, the time had been filled with pacing. He'd turned the television on and off four times before pitching the remote at the wall in a fit of fruitless pique (the back had come off and the batteries had spilled out onto the floor, but it hadn't broken). He unmade and remade both beds with military precision. He scanned the news for any traces of what had happened to Jason and his Cepan. Mostly, he stewed in his own angst and guilt about not being able to help.

It was, in short, probably the worst five hours of his life since the night his mother had told him that his father and brother were dead, and that they had to run. At least that night he'd been able to do something-- his mother had been there for him to take care of, and they'd been on the move. Now he's alone, and caged in this... Stupid hotel room.

He's hyper-sensitive and keenly attuned to the environment, so he when he hears footfalls outside for the first time in three hours, he sits bolt upright and rushes to the door, yanking it open. He's exhausted, and stressed, and, truth be told, on the wrong side of panic, so when he sees Jason standing in the doorway, looking heartbroken and defeated and bloody, his stomach develops phasing powers of its own and seems to drop right through his body. It only lasts a moment, however, before practicality takes over.]

Inside, quick, before anyone sees you.

[He tugs him inside and shuts the door quickly, assessing his injuries.]

Where are you hurt?

[He allows himself to be pulled inside. Frankly, even if he could help himself right now he's not too sure if he would want to. Maybe it was time for him to let himself be taken care of, just once.

Mostly he was just thankful for the fact he'd went out and bought a bag full of wonderful fresh, new clothing. He'd need a new everything now... new home.. new computers, how could he have forgotten about the computers. He couldn't afford to lose any of his credit cards now or identity cards. Luckily he had a few extras in the car for those miscellaneous big purchases which needed to be instantly disposable.

He barely speaks and when he first tries his voice just cracks and he swallows, thinking on what he was going to say while he peeled off his jacket, revealing a rather significant bloodstain on the shoulder and a tear in the t-shirt, not exposing much but he'd probably need to remove it regardless in a moment.]

Head, shoulder... [He raises a hand to his chest and taps the space above his heart.] Here, but 'm not sure if that's related.

[He turns entirely lost eyes on Owen.] He's dead... really dead, there wasn't even a body, there's never a body.

[That gaze is just about enough to break his heart, but he holds it: steady, reassuring, and full of genuine understanding, because Owen has been through all this himself.]

...There's nothing I can say right now that will make it any better, and believe me, I know what I'm talking about. ...But I'm still sorry. I'm so very sorry, Jason, but right now, just for right now, we have to focus on getting you cleaned up.

[Owen is operating purely on auto-pilot right now, and he barely even registers putting his hand out for the scissors which smoothly glides its way out of the drugstore bag to his hand. Jason's shirt is getting cut down the middle (since the last thing he needs right now is more shoulder movement or attempting to phase) and peeled off, and he reaches out to touch his shoulder before jerking his hand back.]

...Christ. [He clears his throat.] ...This will sting. [Antiseptic cleansing is go.]

[He turns to look at his injury, seeking his muscle burned away so viciously was a rather shocking sight.]

Damn, that must hurt. [He sighs and runs a hand through his hair which only ends up disturbing his head injury and making it bleed a little more. He barely registers Owen using magic, which at any other time he'd have been definitely impressed by.]

I really hate antiseptic, only good thing t'come from alcohol is drunkenness. [He grinds his teeth and waits for the impending sting.]

You took painkillers? How many?

[Because he couldn't still be running on natural painkillers this long after the fact. In any case, Owen will clean the wound on his shoulder as carefully and gently as possible, trying very hard to keep his expression neutral rather than as distressed as he feels.]

Six...? Something around there.

[He sighs. It wasn't like he needed to worry about dying from it, he does however make a hissing noise when the cloth touches his shoulder. He reaches out and grabs Owen's hand to make him stop but realises it would be counter-productive and just drops his hand into his lap.]

'm gonna be okay... honest.

I know. Nothing I see is life-threatening, at least not once they're properly cleaned.

[This hurts him nearly as much as you, Jason, but he'll persevere.]

Shoulder's done, for now. You need to take a shower and let me do it again so I can bandage it up. Follow my finger with your eyes, please?

[He'll move his hand across all three axes, watching to see if Jason's gaze is following.]

...Can they track you? Do we need to move soon?

[He follows at first but then rolls his eyes.]

Y'know I just drove for five hours, 'm sure that means I can see.

[He waves his hand, though.] They can't follow when I killed them all.

[He swallows thickly and pulls himself up, especially considering he'll need to stand upright for his shower.]

It's not about seeing, it's about checking to see whether or not your responses are what they should be. I need--

[And his penlight flies out of his bag and into his hand, and that one does make him blink.]

Thank Christ. ...Will others inspect the site afterwards?

Wait-- I'm not done yet. Stay sitting for a minute and look into the light for me, please.

[He looks into the light and tries his best to follow, but his reactions seem sluggish and disjointed, whether that had anything to do with concussion or just plain exhaustion he had no idea.]

No site left, it was a little house in the country. I blew it up, there'll be no trace of anything.

[He frowns.] He'd jus' bought it, anyway. There'll be no trail.

[If Jason cries, Owen will be undone completely, so he's just going to try to not look at the obvious pain on his face as he cleans the cut on his head. The reaction times are concerning him, but he can't afford to let Jason sleep if he's potentially concussed.]

...Okay. I think we're done for the minute. ...Go get cleaned up. I'll be right outside the door if you need anything, okay? I'll have clothes waiting, too.

[He nods and walks towards the bathroom, locking the door and proceeding to fight his way out of his clothing. He stumbles into the shower itself and puts the water on, waiting for it to get hot. He scrubs himself clean, trying his best to ignore the pain until his skin is red and buffed as well as possible. He stands there for a moment when finally some emotion floods him more than the water was able to.

He leans against the shower wall before finally realising the man who was more than any parent could have been was actually dead. That's when the tears start, they weren't the dignified tears he'd expected to shed but instead these were ugly body-racking sobs. He let himself slide to the bottom of the shower while he hopes the water somehow muffles what he knew were ridiculously loud sobs.

Eventually though the water gets uncomfortably cold and he realises his face must look a godawful mess. He guesses he'd finally purged the first set of his grief, though that wouldn't be the end of it at all. It was just enough for now.

He climbs out of the shower, sniffling slightly before he pushes the button again to turn the shower off. He grabs a towel from the rail and dries himself off, trying it around his waist considering his total lack of clothes. He unlocks the shower door and walks out again, eyeing Owen carefully for any hint he might have heard what went on in the bathroom.]

[He heard pretty much everything, but he will never speak of it, nor will he give any inclination he heard, though sitting on the other side of the door and listening to that from anyone would be painful, much less from Jason.

That's not really the point, however; what is important is that he has underwear and a pair of loose, draw-string pants for Jason to change into. No t-shirt, since Owen's going to need to get at his shoulder again.]

I'm going to need another go at that shoulder, if you can stand it.

Edited 2011-07-29 21:09 (UTC)

[He blindly accepts the clothes from Owen and drops his towel, the nudity contained absolutely no sexual implications. It was just easier than trying to conserve any kind of dignity.

He pulls on the clothes and sits again on the bed beside Owen, nodding.]

I'll be fine, I just need somethin' t'drink... [Yes, the awkward post-crying stage where it made it very difficult to speak without starting up again. Though, he wasn't about to lose his shit any time soon.]

[The thought doesn't even occur to Owen, or it would have occurred a lot earlier when he cut the shirt off. Mostly he's just focused on how awful that wound looks, and how he isn't fully sure he really has sufficient supplies to deal with it here. He has, however, thought of drinks; there is a selection of orange juice, sports drinks and bottled water on hand.]

Take your pick.

[He sets aside gauze, antiseptic cream with mild anaesthetic and tape on the bed.]

...I'm really sorry, but this is going to hurt worse than the last time, and then it's going to get better. Trust me, all right?

[He takes the sports drink, ever mindful of the fact that he really must have burned through a lot of energy earlier just to have been able to perform the way he did with his Legacies. He bites the cap off one and takes a generous gulp of it, helping him sooth his throat.]

's fine, honestly. I can work with pain.

[It had been part of his training to push pain away to deal with at another time, physical pain that is.. and thinking of his training just brought up the emotional pain which he also didn't want to deal with. He also realised that meant he'd peaked in terms of training now that he had no one left teaching him how to be a Garde.]

I believe you. I just generally dislike causing it.

[He will probably be causing quite a bit of it, despite this, making sure the wound is properly cleaned and covered with cream before applying the cause and taping it into place. He'll check to see how well it's healing tomorrow --or later, to be more accurate-- and if not... Well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. There were spells, but...]

Just this one now.

[He brushes his thumb across Jason's temple while inspecting the wound now it's cleaned up. Fortunately, this one is a lot less serious, and all it requires is disinfectant, anaesthetic, and two butterfly stitches.]

...I'm still worried about concussion, so you're going to stay awake for a little bit, though I know you have to be exhausted. And there's a good chance we'll have matching scars, though I tried to ensure it'll heal cleanly.

[He mutters out a couple of expletives, it was painful even by normal standards.]

Tomorrow I'll fix it. I brought somethin' with me I just can't use it tonight.

[He'd use the healing stone.. the injuries were serious enough to require that level of healing and he'd just get drunk to ignore the pain.]

'm gonna be fine, 'n yeah if the swimmin' feelin' is anything t'go by I have concussion. But I can't just turn up in a hospital, 'n like I said once I get my head together I can heal everything like that.

[He manages a weak smile when Owen's done patching him up.]

Thanks.. I had nowhere else t'go.

Edited 2011-07-29 22:11 (UTC)

No, I know. I understand. We'll wait it out for a while and see how you're feeling a little later.

...I understand. And I-- I know what that's like. So you don't have to thank me, even if you feel as if you do.

I do though, y'had no reason t'help me. I'm still basically a stranger.

[He stands up, drinking more of the sports drink and sitting more comfortably on the bed. He just needed a few days to work everything out, eventually he'd heal on a mental level. The physical healing was going to be a lot simpler but it would involve going to get the chest which would be significantly heavier without the added adrenaline boost.]

'm surprisingly.. awake. I feel I should pass out any moment but even thinkin' about sleep seems difficult. [He sighs and leans against the headboard, wincing slightly.]

You're--

[And he pauses, because he really isn't completely how to finish that sentence for a moment. When he continues, his voice is soft.]

If I'm being absolutely honest, I have no idea what you are, but I strongly suspect that you were very much on the way to being something at least a lot like a good friend.

I like you. I like being around you. I relate to your circumstance. We can help each other a lot. And I'd help anyone in trouble if I could. So I have a lot of reasons help you, and no reasons not to help you. Let me--

[Jason's getting pillows arranged behind him now to ease the strain on his chest. Owen rests against the headboard beside him, one knee drawn up, on which he rests his chin.]

...Ironically, I'm a bit crap at this as a friend.

[He's not too sure how to take that, it was interesting to be considered anything close to anything, but he'd felt it too. He tilts his head to the side, just short of resting it on Owen's shoulder.]

Y'know... I was thinkin' the same thing, 'n this could be the painkillers, exhaustion and mental trauma talkin' but it might be nice t'actually have a friend who wants me around rather than just needs it.

[He sighs, taking another drink.]

's nice, really.

[Owen gives him a slightly wry smile.]

Be sure to let me know if you happen to change your mind once your faculties return. ...Speaking of which, I've got more painkillers, if you need them. I'm worried about giving you too many, but those injuries are fairly... severe.

...We can talk about it, if you want.

[He means the other, non-treated injuries, obviously.]

[He finds himself staring at the ceiling.]

Guess we'll find out in a few hours then, 'n no more painkillers. My heads swimmin' enough as it is.

[He frowns and claps his hand lightly on Owen's thigh.]

'm not ready for that yet, really. 's a floodgate ready t'explode 'n neither of us are able t'deal with that.

That probably for the best. You can sleep in a little while, but I'll have to wake you periodically to make sure you're all right.

[Owen glances at him at that and shifts over the tiniest fraction so their shoulders are touching.] ...Take all the time you need. ...But I'm here when you're ready. And I can deal with whatever you need me to.