DRILL AND KILL

Wolf’s eye tics, and he’s fiddling with his hands. Obviously, he feels dumb for even asking, but it’s taken him all morning to find the courage to ask. He just had to.

“Yeah, s’probably the rats,” he mumbles, glancing at the floors as if he was gonna find them scuttling at his feet. The evening might call for more sentries.

“But, uh… did any previous owners… die in here or somethin’? …Maybe? I mean–just makin’ sure.”

He frowned, thinking back to when he found the place. Whether or not someone died here at any point in time wasn’t exactly something that occurred to him; in fact he hadn’t really cared. “Well, there weren’t any bodies ‘ere when I came across it. Just a lotta rubbish and needles.” Hox gazed over Wolf, examining his every little movement. He could tell this wouldn’t be reassurance enough. He’d have to find some solid evidence to show that all was okay.

He's hesitant to lead Hox down to the basement. Truth be told, he had no solid evidence that anything abnormal had been happening, and he'd feel dumb for taking him down there and having nothing to show for it.

Unfortunately, he's already being lead.

Once they stood together in the workshop, Wolf just paused in the silence, listening to the sounds of the old computer fan whirring away on the desk. He silently prayed that whatever he'd been hearing would make a convenient noise for Hoxton to hear, but the room remained quiet.

Summary: Hoxton was just arrested. They just got home. How do they feel? (Featuring Dallas, Wolf and Chains) Trigger warnings: Feels? Feels. Ow. Word Count: 1593

“Hey! Sorry, I know you must be pretty tired… I just thought you could use some help. You seemed pretty… sticky. When you fell on me.”

He mixed a cloth around in the bowl then held it up under the neon lights where he could see.

“You can just relax if you want but uh, you should probably at least take the jacket off.”

“–Even though that’s like… your thing. I get it. Don’t worry, no one else will see you.”

Jacket looked down at Wolf the entire time he talked, not hesitating at all in pushing himself off the couch painfully and shrugging the jacket off.

“…But here,” the water wasn’t as warm as it was when Wolf filled the bowl, but it would certainly be less sticky than blood. He wiped down the American’s face, straying from his hairline. There was no hesitation to push his hair back as he did so.

If Jacket didn’t like something he did, he’d make it pretty clear. A glare in his eyes, a deadpan expression, the tense muscles of a lingering punch–he may not have been vocal but it was usually pretty easy to tell.

To Wolf, at least.

“Whaddya mean? They’re right there.” Their Swedish comrade helpfully pointed to the stack of white bedding behind one of the merchandise stalls, still packaged in the large plastic wrapping. He knelt down, cautiously prying the case open, the sparse array of night guards providing little protection from those already inside, as Chains took stock of the figurines and consoles around them. Wolf held up one of the ‘bags’ to Houston, watching the unmoving face of his mask turn away.

“Wolf.” He paused, unsure how to phrase this… raw contempt. “Are you shitting me.”

Once he got settled down on the couch on the ground floor, Wolf tucked himself in and proceeded to stare up at the ceiling.

He’s not sure how much time passed, but he found that he couldn’t exactly sleep now. These thoughts hadn’t ever bugged him this much before–maybe because he’d never experinced his return so first-hand like this–but where had Jacket been?

Yeah, he did occasionally disappear, and Wolf had a pretty good idea about what he was doing on his little trips, but whose orders was he following? Certainly not Bain, right? There was his whole beef with the Russian mobs…

Deciding he’d feel better if he investigated, Wolf gathered some supplies before heading back down into the basement.

He peeks into Jacket’s room for a moment, trying to make out his figure in the dark, before re-entering with a bowl of warm water and kneeling down beside the sofa.

“Psssst, hey Jacket-”

It was good timing. For the past few minutes Jacket wobbled on the edge of consciousness, wondering just how bad his odds were if he dozed off completely. He had survived worse before. He didn’t even know how long he spent bleeding out on his own living room floor. Could have been hours.

He opened his eyes when he heard Wolf’s voice again, glancing down to see him beside the sofa. Hadn’t even heard him return. 

[ Hello  ►► A wolf. ]

He mixed a cloth around in the bowl then held it up under the neon lights where he could see.

"You can just relax if you want but uh, you should probably at least take the jacket off."

richardisacock:

It took Jacket a moment to go through the mental index of his tapes for an appropriate response.

[ I didn’t know we would have company. ] 

Wolf managed to catch him off guard, which wasn’t something that happened to him often anymore. There were a lot of excuses he could use- the fact he hadn’t slept in several days, the fact his entire body was screaming for rest, the fact that half of this blood could have been his… but it didn’t matter. He should be more careful at this point. Slacking now would make everything he has done up to this point useless.

He took Wolf’s sitting up as an opportunity, pushing him over as much as possible to sit down in the small space where the pillow use to be. Felt good just to sit again. 

“Heheh…” A nervous tone.

He’s receptive to the pushing, moving away from the man and gathering the blanket up in his arms. No sense bugging him anymore. Jacket seemed pretty exhausted from… who knows what.

“I’ll leave you to it then!. Sorry ‘bout that.” His next destination was the couch upstairs again. Things in his arms, he stands and begins shuffling out of the room. He’s worried about his friend, and what he’s been up to, but maybe it was best saved for a later time.

If he hadn’t just woken up, he may have even suggested that Jacket should clean himself before trying to sleep, but honestly, it wasn’t something they all hadn’t done before. Nothing to worry about, right?

Jacket doesn’t even look up as Wolf leaves, eyes having closed when he hit the couch. Did he even hear Wolf? Gave no sign of it if he did. His breathing was careful, forced slow through burning lungs and pain, and took most of his attention to maintain.

He knew that it wasn’t a good idea sleeping right now. He had to move again… but the couch was still a bit warm from Wolf sitting on it, which made it just all the more cozy…

He’s not sure how much time passed, but he found that he couldn’t exactly sleep now. These thoughts hadn’t ever bugged him this much before–maybe because he’d never experinced his return so first-hand like this–but where had Jacket been?

Yeah, he did occasionally disappear, and Wolf had a pretty good idea about what he was doing on his little trips, but whose orders was he following? Certainly not Bain, right? There was his whole beef with the Russian mobs…

Deciding he’d feel better if he investigated, Wolf gathered some supplies before heading back down into the basement.

He peeks into Jacket’s room for a moment, trying to make out his figure in the dark, before re-entering with a bowl of warm water and kneeling down beside the sofa.