boldygoing | The Party's Over [for losthunter]

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The Party's Over [for losthunter]

He's still in shock.

There's a part of Jim that consciously knows this. His body has been locked into fight-or-flight mode for hours upon hours, his hands still trembling from the adrenaline, exhaustion held at bay by survival instincts that haven't realized that the danger has passed. The Halloween costume that Hunter had worked so hard on is damn near unrecognizable, only the paint-streaked pants clinging stubbornly to his hips, his feet and chest bare save for the bloodstained cloth wrapped loosely around his shoulder. Rusty brown specks of dried blood still cling to his face along with thicker, tackier stains on his hands, unmoved by the... fur... that is no longer adorning his skin.

His senses feel... off. As he numbly follows Hunter into the Nexus apartment on autopilot, the vibrant colors of the artwork in the studio damn near leap off the canvas at him, but sounds seem muffled, scents almost impossible to pick up, his body still struggling to cope with the sudden change back to human norms. His bones ache beneath his skin, a dull throbbing in his limbs and chest, his blood practically burning in his veins as his boosted immune system destroys the last traces of the worgen's curse, a low-grade fever the only outward sign of the fierce battle being waged beneath the surface of the skin.

Part of him wants to reassure Hunter that he's okay, to deny he's in pain, to pretend like nothing ever happened. That it was all some horrible nightmare. But he can't. He's filthy and bloody and shell-shocked, and phantom echoes of ravenous hunger still pick at him like vultures picking at a carcass. He's not starving anymore. He knows that. His body knows that. But he can't forget how it felt, not when the wounds are so raw, freshly ripped back open after years of coping.

He comes to a faltering stop inside the apartment, fidgeting, uncertain, struggling to determine what comes next. How to even begin to move forward from here.

[Trigger Warning for disordered eating and PTSD]

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Hunter feels lost about what to do right now.

He does not know what happened to Jim in the Nightmare realm. All he knows is that it appears like Jim went through literal Hell.

And every five seconds, he is glancing over his shoulder to see if Jim is still there. To make sure that the Starfleet captain does not disappear again. So he sees that Jim is still dealing with shock. He sees those hands trembling. He frowns at how unrecognizable the Halloween costume is... not because he worked so hard on it, but because it is a clear sign that Jim had faced a fight. Not once. But many times.

Jim has barely said a word since they left the Nexus cafe where the Halloween party had been held. And Hunter is still trying to make sense of it all. He was just so damn worried. It had been hard to really concentrate on anything else, once everyone else was returned to the Nexus cafe.

He doesn't know what to do. How to help.

The one thing that sticks out the most is how filthy and blood Jim is. And perhaps the offer of a shower would be a good start.

Hunter gently leads Jim into the bathroom, a small frown on his face when he notices how the other man fidgets. "Here... let's get you in the shower."

Jim doesn't fight the guiding hands, uncharacteristically cooperative. Even if it weren't for all the other copious clues to his mental state, that would be a dead giveaway to how Not Okay he currently is.

It's a good thing there isn't much clothing left to remove, because his hands are shaking a little too much to sort out the tangled mess of cloth around his shoulder enough to get it off. Beneath the bloodstained fabric is a series of deep punctures, an elongated crescent that looks unmistakably like some sort of animal bite mark. It's not actively bleeding anymore, but it's still raw and new, something that definitely wasn't there this morning.

Jim flinches at the hiss of the shower turning on, the warm water softly striking him and immediately turning pinkish-brown where it swirls down the drain. Beneath the rusty brown stains, there are dark bruises forming in scattered places across his body, including small marks on his face, and there's a cut on his right forearm that is too straight and deliberate to be made by anything other than a small blade of some kind. But there are no broken bones, no other injuries that would be responsible for the blood that's slowly washing away from his skin.

He holds up his hands, where the worst of it still clings under and around his fingernails, and shudders. "We killed him." He doesn't plan to speak, but he does anyway, his voice almost too loud in his own ears, in the confines of the shower.

There is no savaging the bloody clothing. So Hunter just drops each article in a little pile, planning to deal with them at a later time.

He frowns deeply at the sight of the crescent-shaped deep punctures. And as the shower starts to clean off the rusty brown stains of blood, he notices the dark bruises covering Jim's body. Hunter moves to the medicine cabinet, to find a tube of Polysporin that he could be used on the wounds, later.

He looks over at Jim, when he finally speaks. And moves back to the shower. Standing just outside of it... to give Jim a little space right now.

"Who?" He is not sure if Jim will answer. "Who did you kill?"

Jim had almost forgotten there was someone else there, but he doesn't jump at the sound of Hunter's voice, quiet and hesitant. He just keeps staring at his hands, his pulse beginning to race, breath quickening as he sees his own hands plunging the boot knife into Kodos' throat, soaking his hands in that monster's blood.

The blood still staining his hands, becoming stickier as the water rains down on him, pink rivulets running down and dripping from his elbows.

Who's the killer, Jim?

"We killed him," he repeats, a note of delayed panic creeping into his voice. Until now, he hasn't had the luxury of letting it sink in, letting himself truly realize what he went through, too focused on survival. But now that adrenaline is wearing off, the warm water washing away his single-minded focus on survival along with the filth of the Nightmare, exposing fresh raw wounds on his mind as well as his body. He starts to scrub at his hands, ineffectually, the motions slowly becoming more frantic as he tries to get the blood off.

"We killed him. We had to but we killed him," he rambles, only partly aware that he's answering at all, stuttering over his own words as he becomes more agitated. Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him... "He gave the order, we were too late, we had to stop it but it was just him, just him."

Edited 2017-11-25 23:55 (UTC)

Hunter watches, a little scared for Jim, as the other man frantically starts to scrub at his hands. And he knows that Jim is still in shock.

He has to try to get Jim to focus on what is real. So he moves slowly, stripping off his own clothing. And then enters the shower, inching forward carefully so that he doesn't accidentally trigger any of Jim's fight instincts.

He finds a wash-sponge, and gently pulls Jim closer to him, so he can help wash off the blood from the other man's body.

He doesn't know how much of what Jim faced was real... or not. So he doesn't even try to comfort Jim with false hope.

"It wasn't him. It was but it wasn't. It was him. He wasn't there before."

Well done. Well done. Slow, pitifully slow. But effective. How does it feel captain? How does it feel to be Just. Like. Me?

Jim shudders as hands grab at him, cruel squeezing fingers that shoved him through the mirror and into - no, no, it isn't Khan. Not Kodos either. These hands are gentle, careful. Taking his fingers and scrubbing softly at the stains there, gently washing away the physical reminders of what he did. The steam swirls up around them from the heat of the water, easing away some of the shivers, but it can't erase the memories, the feeling of hot blood spilling between his... claws?

Not claws. Soft pink human hands, tender and furless, the little scars around his knuckles familiar and comforting. His hands.

What... what happened? The last clear memory he has is the pain in his shoulder, a growing weakness spreading through his limbs, and then something rose in him howling and hungry and... and...

"I don't remember," he whispers, not resisting as Hunter pulls him closer to clean the bite wound on his shoulder, scrubbing in soft circles so it won't start bleeding again. "It's all mixed up."

Hunter has paused very briefly when Jim shuddered slightly, reacting to the first sensation of his touch. But when there is no defensive action, he continues with his goal. To try to clean the blood of Jim's body. It is all he can do right now.

He has no idea who Jim is talking about. And Jim is too confused right now to speak.

Hunter can't help with the mental anguish... but he can clean the flesh. He can be gentle and tend to the wounds. To get the stain of blood off Jim's body.

"I am here Jim. Try to focus on me." He whispers.

Jim gathers himself enough to try to help, fumbling hands combing through his hair and beard to rinse out the gunk of that horrible place. God, he can still smell it, even through the sharp menthol scent that he's pretty sure is burned into his sinuses, and he doesn't have any idea if it's real or in his head.

"It sent us back there," he says, stumbling over his words, horrified at himself but struggling to make Hunter understand. "Me and other me. Lived it all again but worse this time. Then I..." He stops, looking down at his hands again. "I don't... don't remember if I... ate."

He can't even begin to articulate what little he remembers of the last... hours? Days? ...that they spent in the Nightmare. The excitement of chasing someone through shadows and stark moonlight, the taste of blood on his tongue, a hunger that wouldn't stop. Feral. Monstrous.

Not the first time.

Hunter reaches to the shower caddy that holds all the lotions and soaps that he uses, to find a small bottle of shampoo that he bought a few months ago. A small sign of his acknowledgement that Jim spends some of his time at the apartment.

And pours just a little in his hand, to help massage it through Jim's hair, and help lift more of the grime and gunk from the other man.

There is only one place that Jim would consider enough of a Nightmare to be reacting this bad. Tarsus IV. And he leans forward just a little, to show Jim that he is still there. No matter what needs to be said.

And he knows that he can't comfort Jim right now. Because trying to tell Jim that he did eat might cause the wrong reaction. It might surface a memory that Jim really doesn't need.

Because even though Hunter doesn't know the whole story, he has seen enough of the pieces of what happened to connect the dots. The way Jim reacted during the cannibalism scene when they watched Pirates of the Caribbean Dead Man's Chest. Jim's reactions when he was forced to relive his nightmares, due to Austin's magic. He knows, without being told.

"Fuck... Jim. I'm sorry you had to live through that again."

The familiar touch is somehow strange now, but still soothing, and part of Jim takes some solace in the fact that Hunter understands. Not everything. Not even close. But enough. Because there's no way in hell he's with it enough to give a proper debrief. The captainly persona he normally projects is shattered and broken into a million pieces, and all that's left is just Jim, feeling as small and lost as he was when he came back from Tarsus IV the first time.

He takes in a shuddering breath and lets it out. "It wasn't... just that. Something... happened... to me. I don't..." He stops himself, aware now just how scattered his thoughts are, trying desperately to pull himself back together. His hand drifts up to the bite mark on his shoulder, wincing at the memory of being shaken like a ragdoll by the massive beast. The other captain's friend.

He swipes his tongue over his lower lip, nervous and dreading the answer. He vaguely remembers insisting on not going home earlier, too frightened by the thought of the full moon waiting to greet him on his own Earth. "What... what's the moon look like now?"

It is so strange to see Jim acting so differently than usual. His emotions are so raw. He seems so vulnerable.

And Hunter listens carefully when Jim speaks. He is not sure what the other man is trying to say. But notices how Jim touches that bite mark on his shoulder.

"The moon?" Hunter doesn't understand why that would make Jim nervous. "I didn't really stop to look..." He was honestly too worried for Jim.

"Do you want me to go check on what phase it is in?"

Edited 2017-11-26 05:36 (UTC)

The moment Hunter says the word go, Jim's heartrate immediately spikes and he grabs the other man's arm to stop him from moving away. "No. Don't... don't leave me alone. Please."

Part of him is still afraid that this isn't real. That if Hunter walks away and leaves him by himself, then he'll wake up back in the Nightmare, starving and desperate. Or worse. He hasn't been alone since before the party, not that he remembers. Hunter isn't his counterpart, didn't experience the same horrors that they relived in living, nauseating color. But after spending what feels like weeks sticking close to the only person he could trust, the idea of being alone is unnerving at best.

At least by now, he's pretty much clean, the paleness of his skin making his injuries stand out all the more. And he's actually responding to Hunter now, not just rambling hysterically without any context.

Hunter bites his bottom lip when Jim grabs him. And moves forward to gently wrap his arms around Jim. "I'm here. I am not leaving..."

He wants to promise that he would never leave. But he doesn't know what Jim experienced in the Nightmare. Did someone else make that promise? Did someone else leave?

So he just keeps that promise in his heart, while he embraces Jim gently. Letting the shower wash over both of them.

Jim shivers despite the warm water softly striking his back, clinging tightly to Hunter. You left him. You left him you left him you left him...

"Stop it." His voice is small, a whisper to himself muffled against the body of the man holding him in his arms, disturbed by the vague impressions he remembers from... whatever came after the bite. It wasn't him. He was there. You didn't leave him. You didn't eat him.

"How... long... were we gone?" he asks, once he can trust his voice not to crack or waver, to choke down the screams that still howl in his heart. To force them down into that dark place where he buried those memories before, out of sight but not out of mind, the ghosts of that horrible place clinging to him damn near every day of his life.

Hunter knows that Jim isn't talking to him, when he says Stop it, so does not let go of the other man. He stays close, so he can just try to ease the other man's fears as much as possible. He strokes his hands down Jim's back.

"A few hours." Hunter responds softly. "None of us really knew what happened. Steve and Faris went after a spider creature, who we had thought had taken the cage. And then April told us about the Nightmare realm. There was a small group that gathered to try to open up a gate between the dimensions. So they could try to rescue you all."

That startles him, cutting even through the pain and shock that still wracks his body, and he pulls back enough to search Hunter's face for the truth. "What?"

Only hours? The fuck? How is that possible?

There's the barest hint of the Captain briefly clawing his way to the surface, trying to assert himself in the shreds of what remains of his psyche, still shaken and battered and broken. "We were... it can't just be hours. We were starving." That couldn't happen in hours, could it? No, he's been there. That wasn't even the nagging hunger of a few skipped meals, it was the roaring, gnawing emptiness of going weeks without, driving him towards the most difficult decision he's ever made in his entire life.

Edited 2017-11-26 19:30 (UTC)

Hunter gently touched Jim's face. Concerned when Jim is startled by his answer.

"From what I understand, those in the Nightmare realm experienced time differently than the rest of us. Sort of like how, in the Nexus, a few days can pass... but you go home and very little time has passed."

"So you could have been gone... longer."

Okay. Okay. Don't panic. It's fucking over and there's nothing you can do to change it, Jim.

It doesn't matter, apparently, his pulse speeding up again, vision skittering past Hunter and into some middle distance for a moment as Jim fights to pull himself together, to keep himself from flying apart. He was so hungry, then. But now he isn't, not like that. Just normal hunger, like he's a few hours late for lunch.

What... what did I do?

He doesn't remember. But... nobody said that anyone was still missing, right? When they all... got back. But maybe someone had gotten pulled into the Nightmare and no one noticed, and when they didn't return... But maybe it's all just paranoia, and it haunts him that he doesn't know.

He swallows hard, forcing down the nausea before it gets any worse, old fear gnawing away at him not to waste anything he's already eaten, no matter ~~who~~ what it was. "I... I think I'm... ready to get out now."

His hands are clean, the blood scrubbed out from under the fingernails and from the cracks in his palms, even though he can still see it in his mind's eye. Won't stop seeing it for a while, he's pretty sure. What, will these hands ne'er be clean? But staying here in the shower longer won't help, won't wash away the black marks from his soul, just as it can't wash away the bruises in his flesh.

"Okay..." Hunter steps out of the shower first, moving away for a moment to grab a couple of towels. He wraps one around his waist.

And he guides Jim out of the shower. "I am going to put some Polysporin on you first..." He tells the other man. Then proceeds to use the ointment to gently cover the bruises and new marks that cover Jim's body.

Then with that done, Hunter wraps Jim in a towel, and pulls him close for another embrace. He hates seeing Jim like this. So lost. So uncertain of himself.

The hot water has helped ease the shock a bit, Hunter's efforts helping Jim keep himself anchored to the here and now, grasping for any purchase on solid ground as the storm of his own memories try to sweep him away. The sting of his wounds as they're touched and treated is as much a reminder as the gentle hands tending to him, not sealed up like they would be with modern medical technology, without even a scar to mark that they were there in the first place. He flinches only slightly as his arm is wrapped up to protect the deep cut there, as a large, soft square of gauze is settled and taped onto his shoulder over the bite mark.

He catches sight of himself in the mirror over Hunter's shoulder, and for a moment, it doesn't make any sense. Doesn't match what's in his head. But he doesn't know what he expected. A scrawny, stick-thin thirteen year old boy... or the hulking, hungry monster that clawed its way out of human flesh to roam unfamiliar streets in search of prey.

But no. It's just Jim. White bandages and dark bruises boasting of his war wounds, but still an adult, still human. Still himself.

Whoever that is.

Those gentle arms wrap around him again, and he leans into them, utterly lost. His whole world has been turned upside-down and inside-out and he no longer knows which way is up anymore, and all he has to hold onto is the warm body held against his. "I don't know what to do now," he confesses quietly.

Hunter doesn't know what to do either. All he can do is to try to keep Jim safe. To keep him close. To embrace him. To love him.

And it stings a little knowing that Jim went through Hell, and there is nothing he can do to make it better.

"I can make a small lunch." Hunter doesn't want Jim to try to think about the last time he ate. Instead, offer him food right now.

"Yes." His answer is out of his mouth almost before Hunter is finished suggesting it. Anything to chase away even the slightest hunger pangs, to quiet the ghosts that have risen up from walking the streets of that awful place. Food, real food, not the scraps he managed to scavenge on his luckier days, or... what he had when things were worse.

He lets himself step back, desperately trying to act normal, to scrape up what's left of James T. Kirk and pour it into the shattered vessel that remains. This is normal. He can do this. He can. For Hunter's sake.

The tremor in his hands is still there, but far less than it was, and Jim runs a hand through damp hair as he tries to compose himself. What's step one? He knows that he knows this one. He takes in a shaky breath and lets it out slowly. Step one. Clothes. That's right. A towel will only get him so far. And while he has no shame in his body, right now he needs that extra layer of armor to protect him from the world, something comfortable and familiar. Normal.

"I need... clothes." He doesn't want to stray too far, to let Hunter out of his sight, to be alone even for a moment. Not yet. But the apartment is so open, wide open spaces that maybe he won't have to.

Despite the fact that most of Hunter's apartment is open concept, there is no sight lines between the bedroom, the bathroom, and the kitchen. And since Hunter doesn't want to make Jim feel abandoned, he makes a plan in his head.

"Clothes first." He guides Jim into the bedroom first. There is a drawer in Hunter's dresser that is dedicated to keeping Jim's clothing. There are small signs of Jim all over the apartment, if one wants to see them. The shampoo in the shower. The extra toothbrush by the sink. Jim's clothing in the drawer. A selection of holo-novels that Jim has left behind. The ration bars that are still stored safely in the kitchen.

Hunter too decides to get dressed into a comfortable pair of pajama bottoms and a simple muscle shirt. He will wait until Jim is dressed, before heading towards the kitchen. And pulls some fruit and cheese out of the fridge.

He doesn't know how much to make. He doesn't want to overload Jim, but just give him enough to feel that he has real food in his stomach.

All of Jim's outfits he keeps stored here are civilian clothes, but that's all right. He doesn't feel much like a Starfleet officer at the moment, let alone a captain, even less than he did when he was still in the hospital after the Vengeance incident. He stares down into the drawer at the folded shirts and pants, damn near overwhelmed by the choice, before he just reaches into the drawer and pulls out the first items that meet his outstretched hand. Black sweatpants, a soft cotton tee-shirt with the faded logo of the Academy command division across the chest. He hisses through his teeth when he raises his arm, pulling at the bite on his shoulder, slipping the soft material over the bandages.

He leaves his feet bare, and there's something weird about the varnished wood under his toes, like his body had forgotten how this is supposed to feel. His steps are hesitant as he follows Hunter back out into the main apartment, staring down at his feet. Not paws, no claws, the pads of his feet more sensitive now. Human.

He pauses for a moment at the kitchen, watching Hunter rummage through the refrigerator to find something for them to eat, before his gaze is drawn to the nearby cupboard, its door just like any other, but behind it... Jim opens the door and pulls out the small crate, setting it down on the counter and opening it up. Still almost full, only missing two, pilfered from his stash during the curse he'd endured... how long ago?

Doesn't matter. Still mostly full. Jim quickly counts them under his breath, making sure they're all there. Not compelled to eat any, just... look. Reassure himself that there's plenty here if he needs it.

Edited 2017-11-26 23:09 (UTC)

Hunter just glances at Jim briefly, when the other man pulls out the small crate of ration bars. He does not say a way as Jim counts them. He understands why. And anything that might help calm Jim right now is only a good thing.

He starts with cleaning off the fruit. He has some apples, peaches, oranges, grapes, watermelon. He also has some vegetables, celery, cucumbers, carrots. The larger fruit gets washed and cut up into smaller slices. The vegetables also get cut up, into bite-sized offerings. Finally, Hunter brings out a few different cheeses, cubing them into smaller bite-sized squares.

He sets out a large plate for them to both enjoy. And pours a large glass of water for both of them too. "Anything else?"

The Party's Over [for losthunter]

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