deercountry | i'm faithless now

Entry tags:

i'm faithless now

Who: Arthur (

specifiercity) & Asami Sato (

futureinventor)
What: Event & General prompts for November!
When: Throughout November
Where: All over! I'll update here for the open prompts!

Content Warnings: event warnings generally apply, a little bit of Arthur's PTSD getting triggered (within the event)

[if you wanna plot with me hit me up at

dreamalittlebigger!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ 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.

[Arthur takes it slow up the stairs, one step at a time to make sure Eames isn’t gonna just collapse on him or anything.]

Maybe after you’ve healed up a bit.

[ He certainly comes close a couple of times. Eames has a frown of concentration on his face, staring down at his feet the whole way up to make sure he makes each step. He's shaky, a couple of times has to take a moment just to right himself, but he manages not to fall down at least. ]

[ (Probably for the best as there's a dog following them very closely up the stairs.) ]

Almost there.

[Arthur's patient. Worried, too. He's obviously never seen Eames in this state before and there's a pit in his stomach that he's successfully ignoring as he begins to guide him to the bedroom.]

[ Honestly he has no idea when he's ever been so glad to see this bedroom. He wants to just open the door and fall into bed, but that would be a bad idea for... A lot of reasons, so. Eames hums in understanding as he staggers along, clung to Arthur as much as he can. ]

[Arthur brings him to the bed and very carefully lowers him down to sit there, staying close so he can help him lay back if he needs it. Once Eames is horizontal he takes a deep breath and swallows that lump threatening to form in his throat.]

I'll go get your water.

Thanks...

[ Eames tries to right himself. It doesn't really work — there's no right right now. ]

[ On a semi-positive though, when Boxer puts his paws on the edge of the bed so he can look up on it, Eames manages to reach a hand to him with minimal groans and a soft "hey there," which seems to calm the dog down a little. ]

[Arthur has to stop at least once to just breathe. This has, so aggressively, brought the idea of losing Eames to the forefront of his mind and he can feel it threatening to break him. He gets the glass of water off the floor, leaving the pillows and blanket for later, and gets a bowl of water and a clean washcloth so he can do a little more to clean up Eames' wounds.]

[Which he goes to start doing pretty much straight away, after he puts the water down on the bedside table. Better to do that than face any real emotions right.]

[ Boxer pressing his face into Eames' palm does a surprising amount to settle him. It's hard to think about what a fucking horrible situation this is when there's a dog licking his hand like his life depends on it. In some ways it's a relief, because he knows if he thinks about it he'll sink, he won't be able to function the little bit he can now. Easier to focus on the dog, murmuring soft reassurances the animal can't even understand. ]

[ He winces when Arthur starts cleaning him, trying his best just to allow it but. ]

Don't. It's fine.

No, it's—

[He doesn't look up.]

It'll make you feel better.

I don't know if that's possible.

[ He means for it to sound like a joke, but it doesn't. He just sounds pitiful and tired. ]

Well what am I supposed to do, then?

[He throws up his hand, frustrated and tired. He lets out a shaky breath looks away, anywhere but Eames at the moment.]

Come-- Come here.

[ He wants to reach for Arthur. Grab his wrist and pull him down like he would if he was fine. But he's not and he can't. He just looks up at Arthur, desperately trying not to look as weak as he feels. ]

You need rest too.

[He feels a sting in his eyes and shakes his head, taking yet another deep breath. He thinks about how to do this, how to talk to Eames about everything going on in his head and his chest and his stomach, but caught between all their spoken and unspoken agreements it's hard to put anything together. He finally glances over and makes an admission.]

I was really scared last night.

[ There are no words for how desperately Eames doesn't want to talk about this-- about any of it. There's a door, but it's flimsy, and just behind it is every ounce of terror and pain he felt in that place. Every moment some part of him considered giving up. The way his throat felt scraped raw and he wondered just how much he'd screamed and why he couldn't remember it. ]

[ Eames swallows and frowns, looking at Arthur's chest. ]

I'm sorry.

[Arthur can't hold it in if he's still. Every moment he sits here doing nothing makes that more and more clear. And it was fine last night when Eames was passed out, when the only witnesses to his bare fear were Boxer and their omens, but just as Eames wants to keep his door shut Arthur would very much like to do the same.]

Can you just... let me help you?

I don't--

[ He swallows again, an edge of panic rising in his chest. He doesn't understand why they can't just lay down, get some more rest, instead of focusing on this. On his injuries. It's not like it'll really make such a huge difference. ]

[ What's he supposed to say though? Just leave him grimy and bleeding? Eames closes his eyes, breathes out a shaky breath and nods. Fine. ]

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