(BSF)

[the_death_card]

Who: Dylan, Jack, and Merritt
What: Dylan gets hurt at work. Jack helps patch him up, and the older vampires help him deal with some budding culture shock.
Warning: Blood, injury, etc. 'Verse involves vampires.


the_death_card: *and based on a third coin flip - he's hanging out in the living room again. he was actually out earlier after dusk, but he's just kind of chilling, now*

onebehind: *Jack can probably smell him coming a moment or two before he comes in the door and for more than just the familiarity of his scent. he smells strongly of blood, his own blood, and the reason for it is probably obvious -- or at least made clearer -- the second he comes in the door, one shoulder of his shirt stained in blood. he doesn't look hurt beyond that, though, or particularly freaked out or worried. he does, however, look fairly irritated and he drops his bag on the counter a touch viciously before heading into the living room. he stops when he sees Jack, though, and offers him a wry smile. err, busted?*

the_death_card: *that's putting it mildly, really. he glances back at him when the door opens, already frowning - and then he immediately scoots forward, balancing on the edge of the couch, just on the verge of getting to his feet* What the hell, dude? What happened? Are you okay?

onebehind: I got shot. *at work, most likely* And I'm fine. Just kinda ... *pissed off. he's practically bleeding it as much as he was actually bleeding, at one point. it took an act of will not to just get up, jump across the room and snap the guy's neck. or tear his throat out. or ... anyway. he lets out a breath, trying to calm down before he works himself up too much, and moves to start unbuttoning his shirt, so he can get at the wound, because yeah, it's still there. it hasn't healed, oddly ... *

the_death_card: *and he does get up, then* You still got shot. *he knows it's not as big a deal as it could be, but. he's fixating a little, don't mind him - especially since...* Shouldn't that heal?

onebehind: *rather than answer, he reaches up to his shoulder and presses a finger into the wound, a low, inhuman sound rising in his throat as he does so, eyes taking a handful of steps towards dark, because fuck, that hurts. he grits his teeth -- bears his fangs, if you want to be entirely accurate -- and pulls a long, thin sliver of wood out of the hole in his shoulder. letting out a shaky breath, he holds it up for Jack to see* I packed it with wood, so ... *no. or not immediately, anyway, and that was the point. if he'd just sat there and let it heal, it would have been kind of obvious that he wasn't human*

the_death_card: *watches, cringing, and then...* Okay that's genius and has to hurt like a bitch.

onebehind: Yeah. *to both of those things* Worse part's the fact that I'm gonna have to keep it like this for a couple of weeks. *and he's going to have to stitch it closed, the wood still in there*

the_death_card: *did he mention the ow? or.. all the ow, really* That sucks, dude. *and that's obviously putting it really, really mildly*

onebehind: *well, it's either that or he takes the wood out, lets it heal, and then shoots himself in the shoulder every morning and repacks it with wood. this is the lesser of two evils. but at any rate, he breathes out a sigh of a laugh, lacking in any real humor, and then hums* Perks of the job. *and that said, he lets out another breath, this one almost resigned, wets his lips with his tongue and goes into the kitchen to find a needle and some fishing line. why he keeps that sort of thing in the kitchen, who knows, but there you go*

onebehind: *and after a moment, as he's going through one of the drawers* You know how to do stitches? *because this might be easier if he lets someone else do it*

the_death_card: *yeah, definitely the lesser - but still not good - and he kind of... really hates Dylan's job right now. but anyway...* Uh... yeah, actually. I had them a couple of times. *and might have actually done them for a couple of people on the streets when things got messy, but.*

onebehind: *offers him a vaguely apologetic look, both in response to that hate and in preamble to what he's about to ask next* You wanna give me a hand with this?

the_death_card: *makes a face - not because he's going to say no, just. he's not actually a doctor and he's afraid of hurting Dylan, but he does know it's easier for someone else to do it, so* If you're sure.

onebehind: I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't. *he pauses, pulling the thread and needle out of the drawer, and then* You might wanna come in here. *easier to get blood out of tile than carpet and couches*

the_death_card: *huffs out a breath, steadying himself, and then moves to join Dylan in the kitchen - and he looks somehow calmer, now, considering he just turned on a little. or off, depending on how you want to look at it. it's the same way he centers himself before a show or before he went after Dylan and Fuller in the apartment, and so on*

onebehind: *he frowns a little, not entirely sure he approves, but he doesn't comment. instead, he sets the supplies down on the counter, grabs his shirt from where he set it down to start going through the drawers -- he figures Jack can use it for clean up, since it's ruined already, rather than trying to find a towel and ruining that, too -- and moves to slide up onto the counter, next to it all. it's a little awkward, considering he can't put much weight on his injured arm, but having the kind of strength he does otherwise makes it possible, at least* Too bad painkillers don't really work for us. *this ... is going to suck*

the_death_card: *and he kind of gets that - but he figures focus is good, and he doesn't really want to have to squash the same butterflies he had before the face-off in the apartment* Yeah... you want a pillow or a towel or something? *for distraction in the form of squeezing or biting or whatever*

onebehind: *thinks about that, briefly, before nodding* Yeah. *it feels kind of silly, but it's better than him putting a crater in the granite*

the_death_card: *it's clear he doesn't think it's silly, considering he offered. and stitches suck even with anesthesia, so...* Which one?

onebehind: Uh ... *and another moment of thought* ... towel. *so much for not destroying those. oh, well*

the_death_card: *the Eye has people to send up with/as room service. if they mind a couple of destroyed towels, he'd be surprised. priorities, dude.* Be right back. *and after a moment in which he ducks into the downstairs bathroom, he's back with one that he hands off*

onebehind: *true. but at any rate, when Jack returns with the towel, he takes it from him, folds it in half a couple of times, and with a deep breath, bites down on it. when he lets the breath out, some several seconds later, he catches Jack's eye and nods. whenever he's ready*

the_death_card: *gets the needle sterilized - yes, he knows that's not as much an issue here; he's still doing it - and threaded, and then moves to stand in front of Dylan, waiting for the nod - and then he sets to carefully but confidently suturing the wound closed*

onebehind: *to his credit, he doesn't scream. he does, however, growl, eyes blacking out as he sinks his fangs into the towel, fingers balling into fists in his lap with enough force to draw blood with his nails. next time (and there probably will be a next time, unfortunately) he swears to God, he's going to find a crack addict somewhere, drag them up here and tear their throat out before the stitches, just so he doesn't have to feel it. next time, he swears he'll just decide fuck it, no wood, no stitches let him heal, let the people he works with realize what he is. next time -- well, his thoughts are racing and full of violence and darkness and things he probably won't ever actually do, because he's really not that kind of guy, vampire or not, but he can't help it. it hurts*

the_death_card: *and that would be another reason he took the time to focus before they got into this, because he flinches outright as he starts, as he gets some of that back from Dylan thanks to their connection. he makes himself keep going, though, knowing stopping isn't going to do anything but prolong this, blood welling on his own mouth where his fangs extended and sliced through his bottom lip as he caught it between his teeth. and finally, what feels like years later, despite only being a few minutes, he ties off the thread* Okay. Okay, I'm done. They're done. *swipes the back of his hand over his mouth*

onebehind: *he takes a moment afterwards, eyes sliding closed, breathing heavily despite the fact that he really doesn't need it, as he tries to refocus his thoughts and tune out the lazy aching throb in his shoulder. when he manages, when he catches his breath, he lets out a shaky sigh, rakes his tongue over his teeth and finally, slowly opens his eyes. the sense that he's considering poking at his shoulder follows, briefly, there and then gone like the tide as he talks himself out of it, and then, roughly and instead, he offers* Thanks. *a beat* And sorry for the ... *for the overflow, through their connection*

the_death_card: *watches him as he pulls himself together, letting out a long breath of his own* It's alright. I was kind of expecting it. *maybe not for it to be that strong, but still. and after a long beat...* You alright? You want me to call for anyone or anything?

onebehind: *and despite his better judgement, he reaches up to thumb at some of the blood on his shoulder, idly, breathing out a small, slow hiss as he takes his hand away. okay. not doing that again. anyway, first in reference to what he didn't say, and as if it explains everything* I'm your sire. *and he kind of didn't have the mental capacity to keep his thoughts to himself, at that point. a pause follows and then* And I'm -- I think I'm gonna need something to eat. *he'd prefer something warm, but cold might be better, if only because* I've lost a lot of blood today. *and he might not be able to stop, if he goes for something living*

the_death_card: *and doesn't actually smack at Dylan's hand, though he does reach out like he's about to. don't mess with it, dude. and it does, actually, explain everything, and he nods* Yeah, that's why I kind of expected it. *and then, already moving toward the refrigerator as soon as Dylan answers...* You want me to order normal food, too? *if Dylan's making do with leftovers, something actually good with it might take some of the mediocrity out of it, he figures - and Jack's a firm believer in comfort food*

the_death_card: Or I can cook something. There's some stuff around.

onebehind: *slides down off the counter, looking a little small and a lot tired, and moves to toss the towel in the trash can -- he kind of shredded it with his fangs -- before turning to join him by the refrigerator* Uh ... either way. *he wouldn't say no to comfort food*

the_death_card: *congrats, Dylan, you get to see him switch over to mothering mode. first things first, and he grabs one of the bags they keep around for emergencies and passes it to him - but doesn't close the refrigerator* I can do like... breakfast stuff or macaroni and cheese. *he can work off recipes, but there's not a whole lot of variety actually in the suite right now* Or I can call room service or... the entirety of New York's takeout offerings. *and shoots him a little wry grin over his shoulder*

onebehind: *takes the bag from him and bites into it immediately, not entirely able to stop himself, to wait, and definitely not able to take the time to put it into a glass or something. he glances up at him, briefly, from under his eyebrows, as Jack talks, his expression a touch feral -- he obviously realy wasn't kidding about losing a lot of blood and needing something -- and then finally, once he feels a little steadier, he pulls the bag away from his mouth, half-finished for now, licking at his lips* Breakfast's good. *if he doesn't mind cooking. if he does, well, the kitchen downstairs can probably do breakfast or there's probably a diner around somewhere that does takeout. it's New York. either way, breakfast foods. yes*

the_death_card: *and as they discussed before, is not at all bothered by any of that - other than the fact that he'd like to hunt down whoever shot Dylan and return the favor, plus some. he nods at Dylan's answer and sets to getting things out of the refrigerator and the cabinets. he doesn't mind cooking - and it'll give him something to do other than worry about all of this*

onebehind: Thanks. *goes back to his dinner a little less ferverntly. and after a moment, after he's gotten a little more blood in his system ... * You get that you don't need to worry, right? *he's fine, minus the inconvenience of having wood stitched into his shoulder*

the_death_card: *snorts before he can stop himself, and without turning around* Getting it and not actually worrying are kind of different things.

onebehind: *he echoes the sound* Point.

the_hermit: *suddenly, as he jogs down the last few steps from upstairs* It goes along with the fact that our little video after the chase didn't take all that much acting.

the_death_card: *startles a little - and then looks a little guilty - that the others had gotten upset on his account - as he nods*

onebehind: *he looks a little guilty, himself, both because, well, that had been his idea, and because -- err, hi there. pay no mind to the shirtless guy who's obviously been shot* Yeah. *a beat and then, almost belatedly* Hey.

the_hermit: *oh, he's definitely paying attention* You look like you had a fun day at work. *now they're going to need a mop for the sarcasm*

onebehind: What gave it away? *two mops*

the_hermit: I've told you people this, it's a combination of the vampire thing with the years spent reading body language for a living. *a beat, and, more seriously* Are you okay? *and yeah, he heard the conversation, but he still has to ask*

onebehind: *he looks like he has a comeback for that on the tip of his tongue, if only briefly before he seems to decide against spitting it out. he shrugs, albeit gingerly, instead* I'm fine. *a beat* I got shot. *and had to find a way to keep himself from healing and all that fun stuff -- all of which Merritt can probably pick up on, what with the vampire-mentalist combo*

the_hermit: *thank you* I can see that. *and yeah, he can get all that. again with it all sounding like a terribly fun want to spend an afternoon* I'm with him, though, in being generally against that. *a beat* Your buddies get the guy?

onebehind: *he darkens just the tiniest bit* They're working on it. They hit him, though. *so there's that. it'll slow the guy who shot him down enough so they can catch him, maybe*

the_hermit: *doesn't look happy, either, but nods*

onebehind: *if it helps any, if he could have gotten away with it and as said before, he would have torn the guy's throat out, there and then? but at any rate, he lets out a breath of a sigh after a moment, and then repeats* I'm fine.

the_hermit: We know you're fine, Jacob. Or I know you're fine, you freaked him *nods toward Jack* right out.

the_death_card: *looks up from his cooking, looking for an instant like he might argue with that but then just makes a face because yeah, he did a bit* I know how it all works and that you're fine, it's still just... the principle of the thing, you know? *any of them getting hurt, even though it's hard to do permanent damage to half of them, is still up there with worst fears* And that whole... culture shock thing. *like they talked about before. and he knows, logically, but his brain doesn't still quite equate shot to minor injury*

onebehind: *and he looks immediately guilty again* I'm sorry. *it's not like he was trying to get shot, but* And I guess I just kind of -- I've been like this so long that I kind of forget ... *that, for anyone else, anyone human, being shot wouldn't be just a minor injury*

the_death_card: It's okay. *and he means that* I mean, I doubt you decided getting shot would be a good thing to do this afternoon, so it's not your fault. And I'll get used to it. *again with feeling a little like he should already be used to all this, but yeah. they've already discussed that*

onebehind: Yeah, no, not so much. *still, though*

the_death_card: *again* It's okay, seriously. I'm glad that's just annoying, though. *and that he's okay, obviously, but he's trying to play this off, now, because he's really not the one anyone needs to be worrying about when Dylan got shot. and he'll stop dwelling on that at some point, he promises*

onebehind: *he'll be fine, which is the point of this not quite argument. it also means that he can be worried about upsetting Jack, as such, and he frowns at him for a long moment, wordlessly, trying to figure out how to make this better for him or at least easier to swallow. nothing's quite coming to mind, though, and so, suddenly frustrated by that, he reaches up to scrub a hand over his face and then glances at Merritt. and there's a little apology for him, in that look -- he's sorry if he picked up on the telepathic backlash, while Jack was stitching him up, or if he caught the smell of his blood or the sound of him snarling into the towel -- but there's also a lot of any suggestions?*

the_hermit: *he did a bit - he only didn't come down sooner because he didn't want to interrupt while Jack was actually doing the thing and he could tell no one was in immediate mortal peril. or immortal peril, or whatever it counts as for them. but anyway. he's also kinda got nothin' for anything that could help, because yeah, it's probably only time that's going to help with the not worrying so much. not that he thinks any of them will ever not worry about one of the rest of the family, considering they are family, but anyway. sorry, dude, you're kind of on your own here*

onebehind: * ... thanks. thanks for that. lets out a breath of a sigh and goes back to the remains of the blood bag, half because he still needs to and half so he can be done with the thing, so he can move to dispose of it and brush past Jack gently but very deliberately as he does so*

the_hermit: *makes an actually apologetic face. he's not the one Jack's worried about, here*

the_death_card: *has been pretty much ignoring all that in favor of finishing and plating the eggs, considering he knew they were talking over his head. when Dylan brushes past, though, he immediately shifts toward him, into the contact*

onebehind: *after a moment and as he comes back from throwing the empty bag away* On the plus side, I'll probably be able to avoid work for a few days. *until his shoulder "heals." the crew that he runs with might have a dangerous job and they're well aware of that, of the fact that sometimes their people get hurt or worse, but they're not actively looking to get them killed, either. they'll make him sit out both because he's an easy target, at the moment and as far as they know, and because he's a liability until he can actually use his arm again*

the_death_card: There's probably better ways to get a vacation. *and he's actually joking with that, shooting Dylan an actual grin as he finishes the rest of the food and offers both Dylan and Merritt a plate*

the_hermit: You gonna manage to avoid desk duty or something? *ohay, food* Oh, thanks.

the_death_card: *nods acceptance to that as he gets his own plate and turns to lean against the counter with it*

onebehind: *takes the plate from him with a snort at the comment and a mumbled thanks for the food itself, and moves to lean against the counter, too, and next to Jack. and after a moment, wryly* There's really not as much paperwork as you'd think. *if worse comes to worst, he'll be stuck doing half-days at most*

the_death_card: *and it's pretty obviously unintentional that he shifts toward Dylan again*

the_hermit: There's always paperwork, though. When the world ends, there will be cockroaches and paperwork left.

the_death_card: *snorts* Nice.

the_hermit: Thank you.

onebehind: *he, on the other hand, does so much shift as just turns to face him a little, also unintentionally* And maybe us.

the_hermit: *smiles a little at the two of them, something a little melancholy in the expression, even though he makes an effort to hide it by poking at his food* And us.

the_death_card: And garbage cleaning robots.

onebehind: *he catches that look, despite Merritt's best attempts and arches his eyebrows at him, slowly, subtly. rather than respond to this expression verbally, however, he snorts at Jack* And garbage cleaning robots.

the_hermit: *don't mind him, he's just resisting being outright sentimental*

the_death_card: *glances between Dylan and Merritt, raising an eyebrow, too. he might not be... either of them as far as the stage stuff goes, but there's still the connection in there* Everything okay?

the_hermit: *makes a face at himself. whoops* Yeah, sorry. Thinking too much.

the_death_card: *still frowning a little* That's dangerous.

onebehind: *he frowns just the tiniest bit himself -- he forgot that Jack would probably be able to pick up on his sudden worry or didn't stop to think about it, whichever -- and then a little more, just on general principle* I'm with Jack. *a beat* You wanna share with the rest of the class? *or with him, either through facial expressions or eye contact and telepathy?*

the_hermit: *ugh, fine, and he sets his fork on his plate and half-turns to set the whole thing aside* I was feeling pretty old before I met you guys. *considering he didn't really have anyone - and everyone he did have was either dead or had tried to make him dead. which both of them already know* Vampires are supposed to be all cool and mysterious, not have to deal with depression like a human. *makes a little face. sometimes, he really misses not being able to get drunk. but that's the point, really. he's... not jealous of Dylan and Jack and their connection because they're seriously kind of adorable and he knows Dylan's lacked Someone as long as Merritt himself has, and he does count the other Horsemen as family, now, but every now and then...*

onebehind: *he squints at him for a moment, still frowning, then slowly, faintly raises both his chin and his eyebrows. Merritt has them -- they're his, just as much as he's theirs, regardless of bloodlines -- and yeah, he knows he knows that, but still. he feels it needs to be reinforced, even if he doesn't say it outloud. and even more than that, he knows they could fix that, right? obviously, no, he can't sire Merritt, but if they start sharing blood semi-regularly, it'd sort of imitate the whole sire bond connection thing, and if that's what Merritt wants, he'd be willing to give it to him. he's sure the others would, too, once they're all turned*

the_hermit: *he appreciates the reinforcement, seriously. because yeah. as much as none of the kids ever had a problem with him being a vampire once they found out, he still worried about it, occasionally, that one of them would. and obviously that's behind them, now, but. he still takes a step back in the readjustment, sometimes. and he's. not going to say no to that - with any of them.*

the_death_card: *frowning at him* I feel like I should smack you upside the head for some of that. *because yeah, what Dylan said, to what of that he managed to pick up*

the_hermit: *snorts* I'm old and set in my ways. It wouldn't hurt.

onebehind: *he can't speak for the kids -- or, well, for Jack, since the others need to be turned, first -- but ... whenever he wants, as far as the blood sharing thing goes on his end of things. and he offers him that, before allowing Merritt an almost wry smile, and gesturing him closer. c'mmere, Merritt. so they can beat you*

the_hermit: *not right now because Dylan just got shot - and even if it's not as big a deal as it could be for them, there was still a lot of blood loss in there, between the actual shooting and the stitches. but anyway. yes, at some point. sooner than later. and he's just going to offer both of them a "really?" - but that doesn't stop him pushing away from the counter and moving into range*

onebehind: *he nods a little, faintly ... and then, yep, proceeds to whack Merritt lightly*

the_death_card: *does the same, laughing a little*

the_hermit: *and once he's stepped back* Happy, now? *might be fighting a smile of his own, now, though*

onebehind: Little bit. *not that he actually needed to hit Merritt, but ... he figured it'd get him to laugh or at least smile, and well, mission accomplished*

the_hermit: *mission definitely accomplished, as yeah, a lot of that tension's gone.* I'll deny this whole conversation ever happened if either of you mentions it to Daniel, by the way. *yep. definitely feeling better*

the_death_card: *rolls his eyes outright - but laughs a little, too. and he might finally be relaxing again, too, where he's been a big ball of worry over Dylan through most of this*

onebehind: My lips are sealed. *and he's fine, Jack. he gets the culture shock aspect, where a gunshot wound would be a lot bigger deal if he weren't already dead, yes, but he's fine*

the_death_card: *yeah, he's finally gotten that. not that it's going to stop him worrying every time things like this happen - but he'd worry about any of them if they got anything worse than a papercut, because they're family, so...*

onebehind: * ... he'd be lying if he said he probably wouldn't be in the same boat. but anyway, he flashes both Jack and Merritt a little smile, and goes to work on his breakfast ... dinner ... breakfast. whatever*