#shift-rp

Because Jasmine could tell–it was ending. It was ending, and she hadn’t told him yet.

-

She thought she’d be used to this by now, holding her character as he was dying. But the air smelled like salty tears and rusty blood, and he was trembling beneath her fingertips as she laid him down and pulled his head into her lap, and it occurred to her that she really wasn’t used to this and probably never would be.

He was still awake. Jasmine leaned over him and tried to ignore the way the others were standing by, turned away from them, facing where the bomb would go off and destroy everything… including them. 

“Hey,” she said, and she was proud of holding back the tears so she could have a proper conversation with him.

His lips flickered into a smile. “Hey,” he whispered.

“This all feels very… final.”

“Tell me about it.”

She laughed, but it came out like a sob. Her hands gripped his wound–his fatal wound, the one he couldn’t heal, the one the other him had inflicted on him. It trailed diagonally from the nape of his neck straight over his heart. He was bleeding out right in front of her, but if they could just make it to the explosion… well, they would die together, and Jasmine wasn’t sure why that option sounded better than this.

“It’s okay,” he said. His voice wasn’t harsh, though she thought it maybe should’ve been considering the circumstances.

Another laugh. Sob. Whatever. “Nothing about this is okay,” she said. Hers definitely sounded harsh. Screw it. She was angry. “We’re dying again. We’re dying again. We're kids, we shouldn’t be dying again.”

His eyes were closed but his mouth smiled wryly. “You’re thinking too much. This isn’t something we can change.”

“I just want it to end.” And as soon as she said that, something jolted through her. Because this was the end. It felt like the end. There was no way to know for sure–because this was SHIFT, and they were SHIFTers, and it didn’t end, not in Lord knew how many years–but she felt it in her gut. 

She had to tell him.

Unless it wasn’t.

If it wasn’t the end then this would come back to bite her. They’d be at odds again. Jasmine smoothed back Lucky’s hair and when her fingers smeared blood across his forehead the tears finally came. 

“Lucky, I… I gotta tell you something.”

His chest moved under her fingertips, but it wasn’t rhythmic and it wasn’t natural. He was dying. It kept hitting her smack in the goddamn face. He was dying.

“I know,” he said, a faint smile on his lips. “It’s okay, I know.”

Jasmine shook her head, but she laughed through the tears and this time it was real. “No, you don’t. You don’t know because I haven’t told you yet.” Her smile faltered. “So before we go… because… I feel like…”

“It’s okay.”

“I feel like this is the last time–”

“Jasmine, it's okay.”

“Dom survives,” she blurted, and Lucky’s eyes flitted up to stare at her. His lips stretched into a smile with what little strength he had. She couldn’t feel his pulse anymore.

“I found a way,” she said, returning his smile with a watery one of her own. “I was going to tell you, earlier. Just… never seemed like the right time. But you should know. Just in case." Just in case I never see you again.

He didn’t answer her. Her smile faltered. "Lucky?”

"...thanks, Jazz,” he whispered. His quivering chest stilled. His eyes fixed on the skies above, and Jasmine bowed her head and cried into his hair.

She stayed that way, and didn’t look up until the flash blinded her. She held him in her arms and watched as the fire rushed towards them, their little group of SHIFTers, and she knew at the same time she violently hoped otherwise. Jasmine glanced down, to memorize what he looked like. 

And then the force hit her.

-

Lucky woke up gasping.

His hands flew to his neck, expecting blood soaked tears in his skin. They came away clean. But he could've sworn...

"Dude, relax," came a voice on his left. Lucky turned his head that way and stared. Dom was reading a book, one elbow propped up on a mountain of pillows. He was lying on a king sized bed across from Lucky, glasses crooked, lips quirked in a smirk, and... alive. 

"You were thrashing around like a dog," he continued. "Oh, dude, don't tell me--did you actually have a nightmare? For real?"

"I--" Lucky wasn't quite sure how to react. He scanned the room. The hotel room. It took a second, but he placed it: this was the exact hotel room he left his universe from. Before he...

Before he...

"No," he said out loud, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. It was short again. There was an awkward moment when his fingers tried to brush his bangs from his eyes, except they weren't there anymore. Never had been. He hadn't had bangs long enough to be in his eyes since he was eight.

Dom shrugged. "Looked like a nightmare to me. I bet you do dream, you just forget them as soon as you wake up."

Lucky rolled his eyes. "Well I guess we'll never know, then, will we?"

"Guess not." Dom put his book down and groaned. "Where are those Seekers of yours? They promised to bring up breakfast and I'm ravenous."

"You're what?"

"Don't do this to me Shamrock." Dom picked his book up again and stretched back. "You really need to expand your vocabulary."

Lucky frowned at him. Why did that sound so... wasn't there someone who...

He reached up to trace a path from the nape of his neck down his chest. It still stung. He'd died. He was pretty sure he'd died. And... there was a girl... crying. And he told her...

"I think I did have a dream," he said out loud.

"Seriously? What was it about?"

"I don't know. There was a girl, and we were waiting for this big explosion, but I got hurt and... I think I died."

Dom snorted. "Well, we all know that's impossible."

"Right." Lucky pushed a hand through his hair again. "I know, it just felt so real."

"Was I there?"

"No, I don't think so." Lucky smirked. "She acted like you, though. A little bit. Except she was meaner."

Dom peered at him over the edges of his book. "That sounds like a personal challenge."

"Shove off."

"Whatever." Dom went back to reading. "She got a name?"

"I... don't remember." It shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did.

"Bummer. I would've loved to meet my gender-bent twin." 

The door whirred and clicked, then, and Ava and Brock entered with trays of food.

"We got a little bit of everything," Ava said wryly, "because stars knows between the two of you the food would run out in three seconds flat in this place."

"Oh, you're my hero!" Dom jumped up, book forgotten on the bed. Lucky followed more slowly. He glanced at the book as he passed.

He didn't even like reading.

Yessssss thank you omg

—

Jasmine used to have a good immune system. Pre-divorce, before the insomnia hit, before her anxiety levels skyrocketed, before she would force herself awake so she wouldn’t have to deal with the nightmares. And even after that, for a while, she rarely ever got sick. 

Jasmine is nightmarish when she's sick.

--

She was still ranting hours after the others had left the cabin, swearing up a storm even though her voice was next to gone. Lucky sighed and rubbed his forehead from the kitchen. Superhearing was a blessing and a curse.

"I am perfectly lucid!" his author grumbled. "I could've helped. So what if I can't read maps? I know landmarks. I'm pretty observant. At least I think I am. Shit, what do I know."

The other SHIFTers gave Lucky looks of pity (though Amara and Lisa both snickered like Jasmine being delirious and in pain was hilarious) as they left. They promised they'd be back soon, provided they didn't run into trouble on the way. This was SHIFT--hunting for some secret treasure in the woods was just asking for something to go wrong. It wouldn't surprise him, anyway.

The soup was done. Or at least, he figured it was. He checked the timer on the stove. It read 0:00, but there wasn't any alarm to let him know time had run out. Lucky groaned and turned the stove off, ruffling through the cabinets to find a bowl. He lifted the pan with bare hands and poured a generous amount into the bowl before grabbing a spoon and approaching the bedroom with caution.

"Jazz?" he called. It wasn't a good idea to startle her. Last time she threw a book at his head.

Sniffling answered him. "Go away, Lucky."

Lucky opened the door. The room was dark, but not dark enough. The window was partially blocked by a pillow to try to erase the cheery rays of sun flittering through the tree branches. His author lay curled on her left side, the blankets strewn haphazardly about her. Some tangled in her legs, some wrapped around her shoulders. It didn't look comfortable.

"I brought soup," Lucky offered as he approached, sidestepping the small trashcan serving as her vomit chute.

Jasmine stuck her head further out of her precarious coccoon. "I hate soup."

Lucky exhaled in exasperation. "It'll make you feel better."

"Nothing makes me feel better."

"Just a mouthful?"

"Sure, I'll give you a mouthful of something."

He stared at her. That was probably meant to be a threat, but it didn't make much sense. He put the bowl down on the small table by the bed. "Fever?"

She sniffed. "Naturally. Not that you'd be able to tell. Nothing's hot to you. Do you even get sick anymore?"

"I have a very good immune system."

"So do I!" The exclamation made her wince at her own voice. "Fuck this noise."

She swore more when she was sick, Lucky noted. He felt bad for her parents. He studied her face, noting that while it certainly didn't change color it did look clammy, her eyes glassed and her cheeks bloated. Her hair was matted with dried sweat. He must've caught her between heaving. The periods of these were getting longer as the hours wore on. Lucky assumed that was a good thing.

"Just a spoonful," he encouraged.

She sent him a dirty look. "Not there yet. Just gonna throw it up again." Her lips were cracked. Her breathing was labored, too, and she wheezed between words. Not to mention her voice sounded like someone rattling a handful of gravel together.

Lucky frowned. He really didn't know much about being sick. "Right. Sorry."

She closed her eyes. "S'fine. Better than how Mom handles it." A snort escaped her. "Yelled at me for throwing up on her carpet. 'Nd dragged me up the stairs." She lifted a hand and waved it weakly at the foot of the bed. "Feet first. Stepped on my hair. No fun."

Lucky didn't know what to say to that. "Sorry."

Another snort. "Not your fault. Thought I was dying. Blew things out of proportion. Couldn't go to soccer. Then power outage, but it was okay 'cause I was sick."

Okay, that didn't make any sense. Lucky pursed his lips. "I'll leave this here with you, okay?"

"Mmkay."

Lucky left her alone, trying to make sense of what she said.

-

Half an hour later she was retching again. How she had food to throw up, Lucky couldn't guess. They never ate much nowadays. They weren't starving, either, but Lucky put that down as a magic SHIFT thing. In any case, he waited outside her door until she finished, before opening it a crack.

Jasmine was crying. He stepped inside. "Jasmine? You okay?"

"Stomach hurts," she said, her face buried into her pillow. "Head hurts. Hate this."

"I know." And he did. This was worse than cages and bad guys. She couldn't fight this, not head on.

"It's too hot."

"I know."

She reached blindly for the side table, grabbed the spoon, and chucked it in his general direction. Lucky sidestepped. "Okay, I sort of know. I can sympathize."

"Your face can sympathize."

"Okay." Lucky didn't know what that meant.

"Do you think I'm pregnant?"

"Uh, what?"

She lifted her face. Her dark eyes were bright with fever. "Y'know, 'cause this started in the morning. Like morning sickness. 'Cept I didn't have sex with anybody... So maybe it's, like, Jesus or something." She squinted at him. "Stop laughing! This is serious business!"

Lucky wiped the smile from his face. "Of course. Serious business."

Jasmine glowered. "Are you mocking me?"

"Maybe a little bit."

"Nng. Whatever." She rolled back to her side, a pillow pressed to her stomach. "I want ice cream."

"I left the sweets in the last SHIFT."

"Don't try sarcasm, Luke Anthony, it doesn't fit you."

Lucky rolled his eyes. He took the soup and bent over to pick up the spoon. "Get some rest, Jasmine."

"What the fuck do you think I've been doing?"

-

She was asleep the next time he went in. He noted that the blankets were pulled around her instead of tangled in her limbs. The tears had dried on her cheeks. He smiled and closed the door.

-

"You were in my dream."

He paused at the doorway, raising an eyebrow in her direction.

"'Cept you were a zombie. Or turning into one. 'Cause you never wore shoes."

"Well that sucks," he remarked. "Hungry now?"

"Yes." At his surprised look she managed a weak smile. "Think my fever broke. Maybe. It can be off and on."

"Well good. I brought more soup."

Jasmine moaned. "I don't want your goddamn soup!"

"I'll try not to be insulted by that."

"I hate soup!" She whined, "Luckyyyyy," as if that would change his mind.

Lucky fixed her with a cheery smile. "Well too bad, 'cause that's all we got."

"Bullshit."

"Dom would pitch a fit if he heard you say that to him."

"Dom's a pansy." Jasmine fell silent. "Thanks, by the way."

Lucky blinked. "For what?"

"Staying with me. Not being a dick."

"Oh. Uh, you're welcome, I guess." Lucky scratched the back of his head. "I wasn't planning on leaving you here like this anyway."

"Yeah, I know, it's just..." She frowned at the wall. "Being sick sucks. I do this thing where I say stupid stuff and people hate me for it and I don't really remember if I said anything to you but if I did and you stayed... I dunno. Just, thanks."

Lucky shrugged. "No problem."

"Cool." Jasmine flopped onto her back. "Glad we got that out of the way. Now, Lucky. Feed me."

Lucky lifted the bowl again. "Soup."

"No!"

Lucky threw up his hands. "What exactly do you want, then?"

"I don't know! Sandwich or something!" Lucky stomped out of the room, ignoring her "thank you!" as he went.

He came back in with her sandwich to find that she was fast asleep. With a resigned sigh he left the sandwich--just peanut butter, seeing as whoever owned this house before had nothing else--on the side table and settled himself in outside her room.

That's how the SHIFTers found him in the morning, passed out with his back pressed to her door.

"Rough night?" came from Amara, a smirk on her face.

Lucky rubbed the sleep from his eyes and shrugged. "Nah, we're cool."