#helltapestry

     words are exchanged. noise that doesn’t add up to much in the heat, the slow - simmering aftermath of a melting pot at full boil. 

     he puts one foot in front of the other by rote. people fuss over nate, ask questions that he can’t even try to field. at some point, they step into sick bay where every face blurs together. lena, seth, brecken. rahim and jade. peter, glued to nate’s side. deanna within arm’s reach while he hangs back, lingers by the door, keeping everyone’s focus on the kid. 

     he could sleep, he thinks dimly. fuck, he could sleep. the back of his head tips, thudding gently against the doorframe. maybe he can close his eyes for a minute. right here. thirty seconds, maybe, before anybody notices. 

     “— fucking reckless, is what it was. it’s a goddamn wonder you weren’t killed — all three of you.”

     “brecken.”

     “nah, nah, don’t give me that, lena, you can’t bloody well act like that wasn’t the most careless fucking display of —”

     “brecken!” jade, this time, then lena, equally stern. 

     “hey. save it for tomorrow. let them rest, and then you can start yelling again.”

     brecken’s the first to leave. the others filter out one at a time; jade touches his shoulder briefly, rahim gives him a meaningful thumbs up. the boys stay, lena tending to nate, seth disappearing for more supplies into the adjoining kitchen. 

     deanna stays, too.

     “that goes for you two as well, by the way,” lena tells her and crane. “for god’s sake, get some rest.”

     “is he gonna be alright?” crane manages. audibly sluggish, even to his own ears. 

     “he’ll live,” lena says. “thanks to both of you.”

     crane nods. his eyelids are heavy, pendulum weights wanting to drag them down. the cots in sick bay suddenly look more inviting than a five - star hotel suite. 

     rest. sure. rest sounds great. 

     he’s never understood that expression ‘no rest for the wicked.’ shitty, immoral people never seem to complain about a lack of sleep; their hands are always dirty, yet their conscience stays clean. it’s the other people who lie awake at night. who toss and turn, even when the exhaustion spreads deep as marrow, because they can’t shake their trauma. their guilt, sorrow, regret, whatever. those are the ones who don’t rest.

     bad timing is an understatement. brecken filled him in. back at the tower less than thirty minutes before he’s gearing up again, injuries be damned. 

     he already has a pretty good idea of what happened.

     bad timing when he sees her coming down the hall, ready to tear him a new one — just like jade. just like lena. he shouldn’t be leaving this soon, and he knows it. he doesn’t care.