deercountry | i'm faithless now

[ 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. ]

[Arthur decides he'll make it quick, as a compromise. He doesn't even ask Eames to try sitting up so he can get at his back, he just focuses on his stomach and chest, methodically working around the wounds and cuts to keep from hurting him.]

[Once that's done he wrings out the cloth and folds a clean corner of it over his fingers to get some of the blood and grime out of Eames' beard. It's hard to avoid his eyes, but he's doing a pretty good job of it.]

[ Eames works his jaw, but aside from the occasional wince or hiss of pain he does well at keeping quiet. He's doing his best to cooperate, and the way for him to do that is to do as little as possible to acknowledge what's going on. He stares past Arthur to the ceiling above them like he's trying to will himself to dissociate. Just step out of his body for as long as it takes for him to be clean enough. ]

[Arthur puts the bowl and the cloth aside and sighs. He knows that he should just lay down with Eames, maybe that would make him feel better. Maybe it would make them both feel better. But instead his shoulders droop and he looks down at his lap, just thinking.]

[ Eames exhales heavily once it seems like Arthur's done, still staring at the ceiling. At this point he just doesn't know what to do, because Arthur seems absolutely focused on this, but Eames hates it. And he's sure Arthur thinks it's stubborn pride but it's not. Every sting and ache makes him think again of being in that tower, of trying to navigate through the haze of blood and pain. ]

[ And in turn it makes him think of Samantha. Of Harris. Of witches and vampires before them. And he can't give in to that. He can't. ]

[Arthur sighs and looks up at Eames at last.]

I don't know what I'm supposed to do.

I don't think there's anything you're supposed to do.

[ Eames meets his gaze with a frown. ]

You're a state and I can't even-- [ He pauses. Exhales. Recalibrates for a lighter tone. This is a silly problem, ha ha. ] I don't think I can manage drinking that glass of water on my own--

[ As if his body wants to make a point, he coughs and it's followed by a feeble whine and some failed attempt to curl in on himself with the pain that follows. Eames' brows pull together in a brief moment of upset and his gaze moves back to the ceiling for a moment or two. ]

Just lay with me for a bit. Please.

Edited (i changed my mind fuck you) 2021-11-23 07:21 (UTC)

[Arthur sighs, the nods after a moment. He's not sure what will happen to everything that's threatening to bubble over if he just lays down, but it's what Eames wants and it's what his own body wants, so he decides to acquiesce.]

[He slips into bed, carefully so as not to jostle Eames too much. He curls up to his side, resting his hand on a spot on Eames' chest where it hopefully won't cause him any pain.]

[God he's fucking tired. He almost feels like he could fall asleep right away.]

[ Eames makes a soft, pleased noise when Arthur's curled up to his side and tentatively he lifts a hand to cover Arthur's on his chest and closes his eyes. ]

[ ... And he's out like a light. ]

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