Jack Russel (
wereperrito) wrote in
route666rp2025-02-26 12:00 pm
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
Roommates [Closed]
Who: Jack, John, and Serph
What: Just some softness before the next event.
When: Three days after the moon warp, evening
Where: John's room in the Convoy
Warnings: Just three men ignoring, or unaware of, social norms. A bit of blood smell on somebody.
For the three nights after spending a big chunk of the post-warp day sharing John's bed, Jack goes back to his van. It had been nice, but John doesn't explicitly invite him to stay, and he hasn't kept himself alive this long by overstaying his welcome places.
And the he sleeps terribly each night. The first night he assumes it's because he slept most of the day. The second night that excuse is wearing a little thin. The third night, he resigns himself to his brain having decided he needs a warm body next to him again. And, well, it's not like John seemed to mind. He'd woken up to being half sprawled across the man and having his hair petted. That's not usually the reaction of someone who is put out by having a bedmate, platonic or otherwise. Maybe he won't mind again.
Only way to find out is to ask.
So he locks up the van and heads into the convoy once the sun sets, has his dinner, and then finds his way to John's room and knocks. He wonders if there will be rusty shears in his future again.
What: Just some softness before the next event.
When: Three days after the moon warp, evening
Where: John's room in the Convoy
Warnings: Just three men ignoring, or unaware of, social norms. A bit of blood smell on somebody.
For the three nights after spending a big chunk of the post-warp day sharing John's bed, Jack goes back to his van. It had been nice, but John doesn't explicitly invite him to stay, and he hasn't kept himself alive this long by overstaying his welcome places.
And the he sleeps terribly each night. The first night he assumes it's because he slept most of the day. The second night that excuse is wearing a little thin. The third night, he resigns himself to his brain having decided he needs a warm body next to him again. And, well, it's not like John seemed to mind. He'd woken up to being half sprawled across the man and having his hair petted. That's not usually the reaction of someone who is put out by having a bedmate, platonic or otherwise. Maybe he won't mind again.
Only way to find out is to ask.
So he locks up the van and heads into the convoy once the sun sets, has his dinner, and then finds his way to John's room and knocks. He wonders if there will be rusty shears in his future again.
early march, before the wings
He'd hoped to join Jack and Serph once they were already asleep, and thus avoid notice or questions. He has changed into clean clothing— another faded, oversized T-shirt and threadbare athletic shorts— except for the yellow cowl. It's... a mess. Badly bloodstained, then washed inexpertly in a Convoy shower, scrubbed with their sad industrial hand soap. John clearly has no idea how to get blood out of clothing, because the result is a still-damp, still-stained wrap that hides his head and neck.
He doesn't take it off to sleep, as he normally might. Instead John sets down his bag in the corner, struggles out of his shoes, and resolutely pretends nothing is wrong.
Re: early march, before the wings
So John coming in smelling strongly of blood-- his own blood, even-- means Jack is already climbing off the bed and approaching, not quickly, not wanting to startle him, but definitely like he's aiming to put a hand on him. "John? What happened?"
No pretending allowed here, sorry buddy.
no subject
But he does not move away from the touch, should Jack set a hand on him. Instead, John leans in to that warm point of contact.
"Nothing. Just... a brief encounter with a monster." There are other scents beneath the blood: mud, motor oil, the acrid tang of gunpowder. And Blake, where she'd licked the blood up from his throat. "I'm alright. Go back to sleep, Jack."
no subject
no subject
The movement reveals bandages beneath his damp and bloodsoaked cowl. He struggled into a fresh shirt and shorts, but he hasn't bathed since the attack. John knows their body well enough to know they'd certainly pass out in the shower. The wrappings are smeared and spotted with blood. He has been wounded at carotid and jugular: it's frankly impossible that he is standing upright.
Even these few seconds of standing unsupported have pressed those limits. He sways more heavily into Jack, listing against his arm and onto his shoulder.
"I..." He clasps Jack on the shoulder for stability and tries stubbornly to regain his feet. John hesitates, then confesses: "It was one of us. She had gone mad. Like what happens to you."
no subject
He needs to fuss or he might do something more embarrassing like go on a rant in Spanish, or cry. He never wanted that for anyone else. It's bad enough for a moon warp, or a full moon, for one night out of a month, but at any time? Randomly? Thanks, he hates this.
no subject
"It's perfectly clean." He's grumbling, defensive. "You try bandaging something when you've lost all your goddamn blood."
no subject
He's careful about it. His first aid kit is in his van, so he has to use the same bandage. He doesn't even remove it, lest he tear a growing scab and make the bleeding start again. He just holds it in place and adjusts the tape to make it more secure, cleaning around it gently.
He does a bit of muttering in Spanish, though given the translation effect, John probably gets the gist. Lots of under-the-breath complaining about how none of this is remotely fair and he'd like to have a good talking to with whoever caused it all to begin with.
no subject
It's how he spent the first month of life, after all. Lilly cared for them while Arthur slept.
"She was alright by the end. She... returned to herself." He gives Jack a careful, sidelong look: there's something hopeful to it, almost shy. "She survived."
That outcome was far from certain. Lowering the gun went against his every instinct, except those he willfully decided to practice. He is quietly, fiercely proud.
no subject
He looks up at John, instead. "She is okay, too? Not just alive, but okay?"
no subject
"She... Yes. She, uh." He hesitates, caught between embarrassment and pride, and then says all in a rush: "Do you know Evanescence? The music. We listened to a C-D." He says CD with the careful precision of someone who has no idea what it means. And, immediately defensive: "It's very good music."
Perhaps it's foolish that he keeps treating new and violent monsters as friends. Were Arthur the one making these choices, John would certainly have words of caution for him, and more likely words of reproach. But... well, Jack is sometimes a monster, yet he touches John as gently as Lilly ever did.
no subject
He shakes his head a bit, and agrees enough to say, "Yes, that band was very popular for a while. You sat down with someone who attacked you and listened to music after?" Which... does suggest she's okay, he supposes.
He should not be surprised. John invited him to share the bed after a night of babysitting the wolf. This may just be the way John is. Jack has some tendencies that direction, himself, if just in the compassion sense.
no subject
"The music came on while we were fighting." Defensive again, but it's all bluster. There is no real bite to his voice. "But yes, I suppose we took a moment in the aftermath to listen. Would you rather I'd shot her?"
Shot her again. He'll neglect to mention that part.
no subject
He considers, then adds, mostly teasing and clearly so, "You aren't going to invite her to sleep in here too, are you? We may run out of room if you do." Admittedly, that part's true. It's tight enough as it is.
no subject
At that, he gives a huff of amusement. A bit wry, a bit embarrassed, but there's no sign he takes the joke as anything but literal.
"Jack, if I were to offer my bed to everyone who has tried to kill me, we would quickly lose sight of the bed."
no subject
A pause. Then a blink up at John's face. "Wait, who else has tried to kill you?" Jack knows the wolf did, and now this person, is there someone else??
no subject
"I meant back home! I have had a few... tense moments, perhaps, with those among our number. But nothing like this." He gestures to his bandaged neck. "But I suppose more is to be expected, if we all continue to... ah..."
He has no delicate way to say turn into monsters.
no subject
no subject
Especially not when it wins him statements like that one. The sort of thing Arthur might have said to him, or he to Arthur, after surviving something particularly dire. John cannot help but smile.
"Thank you, Jack." He says it with utterly genuine warmth. "Yes. I'm okay."
no subject
no subject
Even if he isn't on death's door, the fussing feels... nice.
He folds down onto the bed with the finality of a tree going over. John curls down to pluck blearily at his shoelaces, cheek pressed to the comforter with a sigh of relief.
"I'll sleep."
no subject