middaeg | this is the life you see

(backs away to let him in, eyebrows raising at his ability to suss out his mood. that telling, huh?)

No, you're not. It's just that– well, a girl I know just texted me saying she got attacked by something. Some guy helped her out, but it turns out that he's a vampire? (of all the things he's not allowed to help with, barred from nier's till morning when he can head over and bust her out of there.) I don't know. She insists she's fine, it's just freaking me out a little.

(but,) You're here now, which is the perfect distraction. C'mon in and we'll head to the kitchen.

Attacked?

I suppose, with the full moon... If she gets back into contact with you and has changed her mind, I'll go along with you. [ Not for her sake. Not to protect her or have her back, as noble as he'd like to think he's becoming. No, for someone else's benefit altogether.

He steps inside when invited in, trailing after him towards the plate of food he's already anticipating. Fuck, he's hungry... ]

Did you or Stiles suffer any side-effects during it?

(wide eyes are convenient windows into how he feels about that, thankful, and relieved.) Seriously? That'd be a great help, yeah– hey, payback for the food, right? (what a reliable guy to have in his corner, still feeling confident about it when they come to stand in the kitchen.

he's been in a pretty decent mood, a few texts withstanding.)

As for side-effects, if feeling completely normal is one then... yes? I'm still lethargic, but I'm almost a whole human again. (which sounds dismissive, and like he hasn't given any thought to it. this is an answer in its own right, considering it's supposed to be impactful, but everything's fine. sasuke's changes are much more considerable and worthy of the attention they're just now paying them.)

Anyway, here's the sandwich. And the pickles if you're interested in checking them out.

[ His own eyes narrow instinctively when he steps inside, skirting away from any sources of light after the darkness he'd adjusted to outside. He's been too ready to try to excuse the headaches as dehydration or strain for the past few days; now it's an unavoidable reality that this is just one more symptom of his transformation.

An unwelcome one. ]

Good. And Stiles? [ he manages after a moment, swallowing saliva thanks to an already watering mouth. The sandwich is an impressive specimen, that's for sure, and it takes all of his willpower to not immediately take a huge bite. ] Is he alright?

–I can try one of the pickles after; tsukemono is a side dish for me.

(oh, tsukemono.) Hey, whenever. They're more popular as a topping for sandwiches and burgers where I come from, but... on top, on the side? Doesn't matter. (following his gaze to the sandwich, which he gestures to in a silent "go on, dig in."

keeps out of the way with a lean against a tall cabinet, listening to it creak under a shift he makes to cross his arms.)

Stiles is fine, I guess? Day by day I'm realizing I don't actually know much about him. (admitting that's pretty easy, since it's only been a couple of weeks and doesn't change anything. time's just something they all need.) Totally my fault for not asking more, but he's been tired and like, really scattered lately. I didn't want to stress him out or give him another panic attack.

(still feels bad about that one.)

Kinda' worries me, you know? Think it's full moon stuff?

He's slow to trust. [ After all, even if he's been willing to share information about his world Stiles has gotten noticeably quieter when it's come to his friends and people close to him. Even accidentally uttering one of their names to Sasuke had set him off, and he can't easily forget that he refused to believe Sasuke would help him get home if his powers were returned to him either. Justifiable wariness, perhaps, but still more than he's seen from others here. ]

He brought that with him. It isn't just this place, and if you gave him a– if he was panicked around you, I wouldn't find that surprising.

[ He's delayed as long as he can, taking advantage of the lull in conversation to finally pick up that sandwich. The first bite is immediate and quickly chewed and swallowed, the next following almost right after. Not desperate, but just short of it. ]

Edited (wrong WORD) 2020-02-13 23:08 (UTC)

Sorry if it's a bit dry, man... I don't have any condiments yet.

(sasuke dives into the sandwich, leaving jonas to wonder about him and stiles. being slow to trust is fine, knowing what it's like to guard certain aspects of life he doesn't want known—evidently not to the same degree his friend is, having to reassure himself that that's what he actually is. stiles feel the same way or he wouldn't stick around, their argument in the street now an insignificant blip on his radar.

it's hypocritical of him to expect either of them to open up when they haven't been given his full run-down, selfish to wait and see how they react to others' histories. time will tell him when to confide, still intent proving his worth first.)

None of it's surprising, no... but I don't want to hear anymore unless it's from him. If that's cool with you. (jesus, jonas is glad sasuke came to grab a bite, because the way he's holding back is obvious.) I would like to hear what happened between you guys, though. You say you don't get along?

[ "Dry".

Jonas continues to speak and it muffles into something unintelligible by the time it hits his ears. There's no way he can focus on what he says with the bite in his mouth seemingly turning to dust, unpalatable and almost painful to get down with fucking dry it is. It scrapes at the sides of his esophagus when he swallows, lodging itself like a rock in his stomach that nevertheless seems to do nothing to make him feel any fuller.

The sandwich is dropped back down almost immediately, fingers gripping the countertop hard as he takes a long, steadying breath. Why the hell does he feel like this? Like he's cold, like his body is desperate for him to listen to it, like his nerve-endings are raw with the disappointed anger that suddenly burns within him at yet another failure to fix his circumstances. ]

... I didn't hear you.

(his attention's grabbed by a lack of reply.

moreover by sasuke's abandoning of his sandwich, now leaning into his kitchen counters like something's struck him in the chest. jonas, alarmed by the realization that he's liable to be sick in his kitchen, steps away from the larder immediately.) Okay, you're okay. I'm gonna' take this away for a sec– (a lean closer, getting his fingers beneath the plate to set the whole idea in the sink.

if it's not working, they'll try something else.)

How about a drink? Can I get you some water?

[ His eyes squeeze shut as he tries to get a handle on his temper, the growing hunger pains just adding to his already present frustration. And for this to be happening around Jonas– ]

Yeah, water. [ He forces the words out quickly, putting his hopes on that now instead to try to distract himself. ] Water and something that isn't so dry. I couldn't– I can't eat that.

[ Sasuke takes a step back, forcing space between himself and the remains of that meal as he tries again to cut his focus. ] Maybe a piece of fruit, or one of the pickles. Something like that...

That's okay, seriously. It's not worth eating; let's stick to the basics. (swinging open a cupboard, rifling for a clean glass to fill with tap water he learned to clear their first night alone.

although a hospital might've been the best place for him, this may be the second. sasuke came to him so they could sort this out together. it's helpful information in a way, his inability to choke down a sandwich like that, feeling one step closer to figuring out the root cause. he just wishes it didn't have to be so upsetting for him.)

Pickles might work, so I'll get the jar open. Here, (placing the water down, well within reach on the edge of the counter,) sip this. Slowly, alright?

Edited 2020-02-14 01:39 (UTC)

[ Jonas busies himself with the glass while Sasuke feels his own face, checking for any hints of fever or clamminess. Nothing. If anything his face feels a little cool, as if still just barely chilled from the cold air outside in which he's been spending his days and nights. ]

Fine, I know what I'm doing, [ he bites back a bit more roughly than intended, chiding himself internally as he reaches for the water. He slows himself simply to prove a point in spite of wanting to chug it all down to nothing, though with each swallow it becomes even more clear to him.

He's getting hungrier. ] ... thank you.

(snapping back is far beneath him, as levelheaded as someone can be in the situation. sasuke's anxiety is speaking on his behalf now. taking offence or holding him accountable for it would be petty and immature. there's also the matter of jonas being too distracted with the pickle jar to care, barely even hearing the thanks.)

Hm? Yeah. (the lid's locked on tight, and his hands are still damp from fussing in the sink.

fingers grip it, slipshod, which would be harmless on its own. what makes the glass crack is the forceful way he pins it between a hip and the counter. flexing into a twist causes the whole thing to shatter against his palm, jonas recoiling from the mess it makes on the kitchen floor and from the cut that seeps down his wrist.)

Shit! Shit, that stings– (vinegar and salt mingle with blood, rolling off of skin onto hardwood like watercolour paint.)

God, I'm sorry– (now, of all times? this genius move will cost them some time, dimly hoping—while kicking some of the shards away from sasuke's feet—that he's managing to get some of that water down in a way that satisfies him.) We've still got some fruit, just let me get a towel on this, okay?

[ The glass is empty when he sets it back down on the countertop a little too hard, willing Jonas to hurry if only in the now shrinkingly vain hope that some other food item might succeed where all the last ones had failed. How many monsters are there? He goes through each species in his mind, well aware that many have dietary preferences... but that's just it. Almost all of them are preferences, aren't they? Why would so many other normal foods fail to offer him any relief at all?

Then it clicks.

And not a second later, Jonas is bleeding.

The sheer smell of it has his mouth watering in an instant, copper standing out so distinctly from vinegar, and he realizes that none of his other senses have been so sharp in reaction to anything in weeks. His knees lock as his eyes focus in on a rivulet of red, almost daring not to breathe in again as he tries to force himself to take a step back. ]

No... Forget that, I have to get out of here... Move, Jonas, now. Get away from me! [ The shout seems to snap him out of his own stupor, finally stumbling back a step or two as he snaps his gaze towards the door. ]

[ After an exhausting day spent resisting the siren call of sleep, Stiles finally submitted at some point in the early afternoon. He stirs now, aware vaguely of muted voices at the periphery of his consciousness. When the jar shatters downstairs, his eyes snap open as a rush of adrenaline floods his system. What the hell was that? Fear clears any lingering cobwebs of sleep. Vaulting out of bed, Stiles pauses only to snatch up the fireplace poker he’d stolen from an abandoned house nearby. Then, clad in a pair of loose sleeping pants and t-shirt, he descends to the first floor warily. The potential break-in that he’d envisioned is no where to be found. Instead, he sees the back of Sasuke’s head – why is he here, why did Jonas give him an invitation – and then, almost garishly bright against the kitchen tiling, Jonas’ blood.

He puts the pieces together quickly. ]

Calm down! [ he snaps, circling cautiously around Sasuke to stand between the two. ] Now, I’m gonna assume you didn’t hurt him.

[ Stiles can’t see the jar, but he definitely heard glass breaking; it seems unlikely Jonas was attacked. Regardless, there’s a hard, steely glint to his eyes as he stares down Sasuke, fire poker at the ready. ]

But I’m going to put a hole in you where the sun don’t shine if you try anything. [ Without taking his gaze off Sasuke, he throws over his shoulder, ] Jonas, use the back door and go outside. Take something to stop the bleeding. You can’t be in here right now.

Edited (not that kind of backdoor lmao) 2020-02-14 04:02 (UTC)

(it throbs, not hurting as badly as it looks like it might. his biggest concern is pulling crushed glass from it, but jonas' attention leaves the dish towel he's wadded in a damn hurry. sasuke's shout startles him immediately into a frightened nod, but the eyes... there's something in the eyes that lances paralyzing fear up his spine.

that's why it didn't occur to him, finding it beyond reasonable to suppose sasuke could be something when he might be the other. he blinded himself when he should've been studying, realizing that he slacked off again and this time at their detriment. he's about to find his sea-legs and run from his mistake—he's always been good at that, pacing himself until he has to sprint—when stiles joins them in the kitchen.)

Wait, no– (eyes fall to the fire poker, widening.) Stiles, what the hell is that? You're not going to hit him with that.

(could be misinterpreted as "you shouldn't hit him," or maybe even a "it's wrong to hit him." what jonas really means is that there's a reason the first thing sasuke gave him was a knife to defend himself with, a reason he carries a sword around, and a reason he only has one arm. all three are compelling him to go, not proud or desperate to stay, but he can't slip out and abandon stiles when they're both in danger.

taking a slow step back, wise not to step in the broken jar.)

It's alright, just back up and come with me. Okay?

Edited (i suck at writing 2k20) 2020-02-14 04:31 (UTC)

[ He feels like his insides are constricting. His guts are tying themselves in knots while his stomach clenches hard like a fist whose each and every knuckle is pushing up between his ribs, driving the breath from his lungs. A groan is forced out in spite of a tight diaphragm and it's one of sheer pain, every instinct he has telling him that that blood isn't a want or even a compulsion. It's a need, and without it his own body will desiccate and his veins will fill with tar. His hand lifts to his face, tightening over his mouth and nose as he tries to block out a temptation he's never felt before.

He has to get out. He has to get out and he knows that, even with the entrance of Stiles, even with the fire poker brandished in his direction and paired with an unavoidable threat, even with the blood splattered on the floor. And yet... a few words stick out to him and root him to the floor.

His eyes lift as his hand lowers, fingers lingering near his jaw as his gaze sets itself on Stiles. In any other circumstance they'd be red, a cold anger settled behind them. ]

... you already know. I didn't say a word and you just walked in but you know– you knew, from before. From that dream, and you didn't tell me?

You didn't fucking tell me? Why?

[ The protest falls on deaf ears; Stiles assumes that Jonas is objecting the possibility of violence, which – for all his flagging sense of humanity – Stiles is more than prepared to inflict. He has no qualms with the reasonable suggestion to follow suit, however. Bare feet sliding on the floor, he inches backwards in his housemate’s direction. The fire poker is ice cold in his hands, but slowly warming to his body temperature. He’s become so morbidly accustomed to this, this ugly struggle between life and death. Despite his terror, his breath is even. Despite his lack of experience, his hands hold the makeshift weapon steady. The threat wasn’t an idle one; Stiles knows, if forced to act, that he’s capable of hurting someone like Sasuke. He’s done it before.

Sasuke’s accusation pulls him up short, confusing in its non sequitur, though it’s apparent when Stiles makes the connection. ]

It isn’t like that. [ The defense sounds weak even to his own ears, but it’s the truth. ] I had no idea you didn’t know. I had my own reasons to avoid talking about the dream. It had nothing to do with you.

[ Isn’t that the crux of it, though? Stiles, so self-absorbed in his own troubles, remained totally ignorant to someone else’s plight – even when it was staring him right in the face. No matter their complicated relationship, no matter his irreverent disregard for Sasuke’s opinions, Stiles carries that guilt now. It eats away at his insides, bolstered by insecurity. This is his fault; he offers no more excuses. ]

(there's some conversation happening between them that jonas is lost to, searching blood and glass for an answer that makes sense. he met stiles in a similar way via bizarre circumstances he can't fully convince himself were dreamed and not real. it seems as though sasuke's missing his own version of events, ones he should vividly remember. where then, is the truth supposed to come from?

sucking in a sharp breath, jonas narrowly avoids raising his voice at the two.)

Hey, listen to me. (a hand is raised, the one not cradled against his waist, in the universal bid for peace.) What has or hasn't been said can be discussed later.

(this night has turned banana bread really fast. nona. his conversation with nona in the forest—when she was panicking and alex was no help, trying to talk her down from doing anything rash—makes him seal his teeth together and dredge up whatever confidence he salvaged from that godforsaken island. she wasn't about to lash out physically, but the bottom line is the same: some calm needs to be injected into this situation.)

Arguing with him right now, Stiles? Seriously? (jonas is upset, voice rougher when it lowers. the shake is perceptible, but just barely.) Sasuke, I'm sorry I couldn't do anything. I-I tried and we– you and I were making progress. We would've had this figured out... but now it's time to go. There's no reason why any of us should still be standing here.

We're going to move aside, back or out. Okay? Jesus... just– please, guys.

[ The huff of a laugh is sharp and harsh, an altogether ugly sound that's without mirth and is instead colored with a mix of anger and visible discomfort. It's strained, just like his voice and expression, with a line of tension prominent in a clenched jaw. How stupid... Not Stiles, not Jonas. Himself. He'd done the research and even when symptoms had started showing up he'd considered them mild and safe to ignore for now. He hadn't done what he now always does, which is to assume the worst and make the appropriate preparations.

Now he's little more than a danger to others, again. ]

"Quid pro quo", huh.

[ There's a quiet rage in the stare he fixes Stiles with, one that seems ready to fuel a lunge forward at any moment... until his brow furrows and his teeth grit, hand squeezing tight into a fist that drops to his side as he visibly struggles against that impulse. When he looks up again his eyes are glassy, forehead damp with sweat as he fights valiantly against a last glance at blood. ]

Don't, I'll go. I should leave... This– [ Eyes close for a second, hand finding purchase against the countertop before he's taking a sudden and decisive step towards the front door. ] This isn't what I want.

[ Which is all he says, all he trusts himself to say before he's moving, not even bothering to shut the door behind himself after he slams it open and disappears back out into the night. ]

[ Under the intensity of that enraged gaze, Stiles feels his own anger rear its head – sharpening into something hurt when Jonas attempts to mediate, only to then single out Stiles immediately after. The admonishment seems contradictory and hypocritical, picks at the frayed thread of doubt Stiles has about his single real friendship in this godforsaken city. A shot of resentment burns its way down his throat before Stiles is able to push aside the childish reaction. Not the time.

His words are thrown back in his face, but what really gets him is the look he’s given. The smell of blood, the anticipation of violence, the steely resolve hardening his heart – it’s like he’s back in the library with Donovan. “What were you thinking the moment you knew he was dead and there was no saving him?” asked Theo, who already knew the answer.

Sasuke departs in a rush. Breath escaping him in a noisy exhale of relief, Stiles skids across the room to lock the front door after the vampire. ]

Jesus Christ.

[ All things considered, that went better than most of the pack’s first shifts. Concern for Jonas’ injury prompts him to return to the kitchen, the sight of blood in the dark likening it to an almost black color. ]

How deep is it?

(rattled into shutting his eyes by the noise of their front door, he grabs for the edge of the counter.

sasuke came here seeking help, sick and exhausted, and now he's fled the sight of blood to wander through the night alone. cold, hungry, and lacking the wherewithal to resist temptation till morning, an entirely separate problem. this isn't what he wanted? of course it isn't; none of them signed up for this. he can't blame him for being stressed, for snapping, for beating a noisy retreat. who could?

jonas doesn't move, even when stiles addresses him.)

... what? (bit by bit he regains feeling, the first movement a shake in bloody fingers.) I'm– it's fine. Thank you...

(the second is a raise of his eyes, watching stiles lock the door and round on him; the third is a clench of his jaw, gritting the following words out to hide the way his voice wavers with uncertainty.) I should've told you he was coming over. I-I didn't know you were home– here. Jesus, did you have to stand in front of me like some kind of meat shield?

[ An unnatural calm settles over Stiles as he evaluates Jonas. There’s no room in his heart for darker, hotter emotions when someone he cares about is injured. The fire poker is set aside, forgotten. Guided by the familiarity of tending to others, he reaches out to gently but firmly take the wounded hand in his own. Stiles peels away the dish rag, making a mental note to himself that the gash may become infected because of the contaminated cloth, and examines the thumb under better lighting. ]

You’ve got glass in there, [ he says, subdued. ] We should get you to a clinic.

[ His housemate’s comments are heard, though not acknowledged. They aren’t important right now. And any honest response to the meat shield remark will undoubtedly upset Jonas. Unfortunately, there’s still another major issue to consider. ]

He’s dangerous to people. [ And himself, but that is (unkindly) not Stiles’ main concern. ] Can you message him? Let him know that feeding on an animal seemed to work in the dream.

(stiles takes his hand with no thought to the blood and vinegar, and it earns him a discomfited grunt.) God– wanna' warn a guy, Stiles? Forget about the cut. (he finally sounds appropriately frustrated, snatching his hand back.

his threshold is far higher than this, hand ignored, as it's the scrutiny that bothers him most. scared or injured, the last thing jonas wants to do is bring attention to himself. he doesn't even want to have this discussion right now, but there's still the matter of a fire poker going unaddressed and stiles avoiding answering his questions.)

Yeah, and? We're all dangerous to people, don't you get that? (despite how hostile those words sound together, his tone doesn't stray from firm patience.) Sasuke was trying to figure out what he was so he could avoid a situation like this... and you knew? Like, isn't that a little selfish, man?

And you're standing here retroactively telling me what to do when this conversation was owed to him a week and a half ago?

Edited (REDUNDANCY!!!!) 2020-02-14 17:38 (UTC)

[ Naïve, he thinks reproachfully – the first real uncharitable opinion he’s developed about Jonas – as the other teen tries to minimize the unparalleled threat Sasuke currently poses. It’s like insisting that in a room full of people equipped with guns everyone is equally dangerous when only one of those guns is actually loaded. With firsthand experience of just how unstable someone in Sasuke’s position is, Stiles opens his mouth to contest the point. But his housemate isn’t finished speaking.

Despite the clear weather outside, he can suddenly hear rain. The sound of the Animal Clinic door slamming shut with finality. The unhealthy clicks of his jeep’s failing engine. Enervated by the unfinished business he has in his home world, Stiles accepts Jonas’ criticism like a slap in the face. He’s so tired of having to defend himself, of no one listening, of no one having his back. ]

I already said I had no idea he didn’t know. [ He looks at Jonas and only sees Scott. ] You think I was holding out on him because of what, spite?

[ Stiles picks up the fire poker, half-expecting the same flinch from Jonas now that the wrench had inspired in Scott. ]

Believe me or don’t, [ he says, voice flat and cold. ] I’m going to grab my shoes.

[ And without waiting for a response, he heads back up the stairs to do just that. When he returns less than a minute later, he’s wearing shoes and a jacket – with his comm watch in hand, a text message already sent off. ]

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