deercountry | i'm faithless now

[ Speaking of unresponsive, Eames doesn't even stir. There is little in this or any world that could wake him right now. ]

[ His omen, at least, is calm. He's more worried about Eames' pain than the idea of him dying, that would be fine, but the agony he's going to be in while he heals is a terrible thought. ]

I can't move him. Not without making his injuries considerably worse.

[ The fox peers expectantly up at Arthur. Being bipedal and having hands gives him a lot more options here. ]

[Arthur looks at the fox with wide, desperate eyes.]

I can’t… I can’t lift him.

[His voice is trembling - he’d give anything to be able to do that right now, but there’s no way. Especially not with him in this state. He gets up and goes to the living room, returning shortly with some pillows and a blanket that he drops on the floor before sinking back down. He carefully lifts Eames head to slip a pillow underneath it, swallowing a lump in his throat as he smooths back Eames’ hair.]

What do I do?

[ Ah, he's freaking out. Púca wants to reach out to Sylvia for help dealing with her person, but he's still too preoccupied with Eames himself to follow that thought the whole way. ]

We'll do what we can here, then. Until he wakes up.

[ The fox bumps his head against Arthur's thigh in some vague attempt to be reassuring. ]

[Arthur takes a shaky breath in and out, nodding hesitantly as he tries to keep his cool.]

I can just... I'll stay here.

[He pulls another pillow over and lays down to face Eames, dragging the blanket close as well so he can carefully drape it over both of them. Sylvia watches from a perch nearby, head tilted with an inscrutable mixture of worry and curiousity.]

Is he going to be okay?

Physically, yes.

[ He paces a little, and comes to stand behind Eames, looking down at Arthur with a tilt of his head. ]

Sleep is healing for you-- for Sleepers.

[ He's still gonna be a mess when he comes to, but between being a fae and being a sleeper, Eames should heal relatively fast with enough rest. But of course, they both know making Eames acknowledge what a bad state he's in is easier said than done. ]

[Arthur nods again, staring ahead at Eames with wide eyes. He'll easily fall asleep again. He's exhausted and the blast of adrenaline getting down here is already petering out.]

[He can't think of anything else to do but wait, taking one of Eames' hands in his own and gently pulling it close. Without any interruptions he'll be out again within a matter of minutes, settling into a heavy sleep.]

[ Eames sleeps for the better part of a day. It's heavy, he doesn't even move a little in his sleep at all. And when he does wake up, it's like normal at first. He tries to stretch, roll onto his back, but his body protests that quite heavily. He groans loudly, a mix of confusion and pain, trying to settle in a position that's at least tolerable but everything hurts and his mind is very slow to catch up to the situation. ]

[Eames' groan wakes Arthur abruptly, and he gasps and pushes himself up like there's danger afoot to deal with.]

Jesus, fuck...

[He looks down at Eames, reaching over to touch him and pulling back at the last moment.]

Hey, it's okay.

[ He tries to sit up, but it comes with another shout of pain and he just lies there. ]

What--

[ His eyes dart back and forth, as if scanning for some unseen threat. As if the idea that he would still be in pain is so out there that something must be happening. ]

It's okay.

[He takes a deep breath. He's tired still, but he can do this.]

You must have been at the farm. Let me get you some water.

[ Boxer's been laying by them while they slept. He lets out a soft whine and licks Eames' face, but he's cautious of all this. It doesn't really do much to settle Eames' panic-- there's a musty smell that he knows is him, and his nerves are frayed and he doesn't know how he got home. ]

[ It takes some effort just to lift his arm enough to pet the dog, but-- His hand is covered in grime and there are wounds on his arm and it makes Eames. Well, it makes him angry more than anything, but he doesn't have the energy to do more than stew in it. ]

[Arthur fills up a glass of water and wets a washcloth under the sink, making sure the water's not too cold or too warm. He comes back and kneels back down beside Eames, putting down the glass and the cloth and reaching for the pillow he slept on.]

Here, let me prop you up a bit more.

[If Eames allows it he'll tuck the other pillow behind his head so he can drink some water without risk of choking, and then he'll move on to start cleaning up Eames' hands and arms.]

Thank you.

[Even if he wanted to, he doesn't have the energy or the strength to fight Arthur. He doesn't even go for the water — though he really should. His voice is hoarse and his throat hurts — just watching Arthur when he starts cleaning his hands with a frown.]

[He's quiet for a little while, and then:] You were there?

[ Arthur mentioned the farm, so that means he knows about it somehow. ]

Yeah.

[Arthur keeps his eyes on what he's doing, his voice a little distant.]

Didn't get it as bad as you, but I don't know long they had me strung up in there.

[ Immediately his hand turns in Arthur's grip to grab his wrist, and he stares uo at Arthur. Gaze harsh, but not at Arthur exactly. ]

Are you-- [ Okay? What a stupid question. ] How bad?

[Arthur doesn't try and pull his arm out of Eames' grasp, he just sighs and uses his free hand to lift up his shirt and show Eames the criss-crossing wounds on his chest and stomach. Being a coldblood means none of it is really actively bleeding, but it definitely hasn't made any significant process healing either. Eventually the dark, icy lines will give way to scars but for now they're stark against his skin.]

[He drops his shirt back down.]

They only got as far as harvesting blood before someone found me and helped me out. [He tugs lightly on his arm.] Now let me do this.

[ Eames' brows pull together, clearly he wants to do something but there's nothing he can do and that really only adds to the mounting frustration and anger that he's feeling. ]

[ But he does at least let go of Arthur's wrist and nods. ]

[Arthur's slow and methodical to avoid hurting Eames, working his way up one arm and then switching to the other. It's caring and tender without being overly intimate; like this is just his job right now and he's going to do it well. He briefly considers cajoling Eames into drinking some of the water, but thinks better of it.]

If you can move at all you should get up to bed.

[Eames gives that aome thought and frowns, based on what trying to sit up just then was like...]

You're going to have to help me.

[Arthur nods and sits back, setting the cloth aside before he stands up.]

I would’ve carried you up last night if I could, but…

That's okay.

[ He's not exactly light, especially not when it's all dead weight and Arthur's clearly recovering himself, Eames isn't going to be mad at Arthur for that. Eames just nods in understanding and lifts his arms with a soft grunt so Arthur can help him. ]

[Arthur carefully starts to lift Eames, slipping under his arm and grunting with the effort as he tries to get them over to the stairs. They’ll get up to the bedroom but it’s not going to be a comfortable trip.]

[ God it hurts. Eames grits his teeth on another pained shout as he's pulled up. He leans on Arthur, steps slow and halting. He's definitely breathing heavy too, but it's fine. He's fine. ]

I wish we had a bedroom downstairs.

[ This SUCKS ]

[Arthur holds him up, careful where he puts his hand.]

Maybe we should renovate. Turn this place into a bungalow.

[ Eames laughs, though it makes him cough. And that hurts. ]

I'll think about it.

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