The Party's Over [for losthunter]

[boldygoing]

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]

Comments

[boldygoing]

Jim doesn't say yes or no, just squeezes his eyes shut and ducks his head. Fuck, he's so messed up, the whole of the Nightmare driving him deeper and deeper into his own horrors. He may be physically free of that place, but it'll never leave him.

Never.

"I don't wanna hurt you too. I remember chasing... something. I don't know if I..." He can't finish the sentence, its twin echoing in his head from earlier, part of the disjointed sentences he'd managed to get out past a tongue thick with panic. I don't remember if I ate.

Deep breath. Let it out. Again.

James Tiberius Kirk. Captain. SC937-0176CEC. James Tiberius Kirk. Captain. SC937-0176CEC.

Later, he'll be surprised at himself for his command training taking over, saving him from the torture of his own thoughts, inserting itself into his thought processes and taming the rising fear, forcing him into the rigid pattern. Name. Rank. Serial number. Repeat.

James Tiberius Kirk. Captain. SC937-0176CEC.

He uncurls from around himself, raising his eyes to meet Hunter's, his terror held under control by training and willpower alone, the only thing keeping him together. "Did everyone make it out?"

[losthunter]

"You won't hurt me." Hunter doesn't want Jim to push him away. Not now. Not after almost losing him again.

And he can't answer Jim's unspoken question. Doesn't know if he did eat in the Nightmare realm. He feels so upset about the fact that there are unanswered questions. Things that will continue to haunt Jim.

Hunter gently touches Jim's face. "April said there were 19 people who were taken in the Nightmare realm. 19 people came back out. Hermione did a head count. She made sure that everyone who was gone... had returned."

[boldygoing]

Jim's breath hitches in his chest, and he blindly grabs at Hunter. Nineteen people in. Nineteen people out. He hadn't seen any corpses. He remembers that much. "Then I didn't." The relief is crushing, still twisted with guilt but answering the question he'd dreaded the answer to most. Maybe he bit somebody else. Maybe he hurt them, scared them, trapped them in the same feral hell he'd descended to. But he didn't kill anybody. Not from the Nexus.

He doesn't even realize that he's crying from the sheer magnitude of that realization, hot tears streaming silently down his face, just holding onto Hunter like he's the only thing keeping him from blowing away in the wind. His lifeline. One fear in a countless sea of them, laid to rest. It doesn't mean he didn't kill or... eat... anything else. But he knows now that he didn't bring home pieces of anyone else from the party inside himself, sacrificed to sate the monster's hunger.

[losthunter]

Hunter wraps his arms around Jim again. Just embracing the other man, as Jim had one of his questions answered. Hunter is just glad that he had overheard Hermione, when she was doing some field recon after everyone had returned.

His attention had been on Jim... and he had not checked on the others. He was a little selfish in that. And he wonders if he could have done more.

Hunter doesn't call attention to the fact that Jim is crying now.

"I'm here..." Hunter whispers softly. Just trying to be that reassuring presence that Jim needs right now.

[boldygoing]

Jim holds onto him for a long few minutes, unable to care that he's soaking Hunter's shirt with tears that just don't seem to want to stop, or that the position he's in is pulling at his wounded shoulder. He didn't kill anyone. He didn't.

He finally pulls himself together, leaning away enough to swipe at his eyes. God, I'm such a mess. "Sorry." It's all he can think to say, so inadequate to make up for just straight-up fucking falling apart in Hunter's kitchen, for being nothing more than a broken shell. Not even a person anymore.

Maybe.

He takes another breath. James Tiberius Kirk. Captain... "Hermione... can tell if I'm still dangerous?" he asks.

[losthunter]

Hunter gently uses his thumb to wipe away a few of those tears from Jim's face. He shakes his head at the apology. Silently telling Jim it is okay to fall apart around him. It will be their secret. Hunter is here for him to have someone to fall apart on.

"She comes from a world with werewolves. She would know what to do."

But maybe there is a test they can do now, without calling Hermione. Hunter takes Jim's hand. And lifts it to guide Jim's thumb over the tree piercing that is on his forehead. The piercing that is pure silver.

"Tell me. Does it feel weird? Does it hurt to touch the piercing?"

[boldygoing]

Silver.

Maybe. Maybe that will work. Jim doesn't know if it works that way. If all the werewolf stereotypes are true. The bite, yes... the moon... maybe? He remembers staring up at it as venom from the bite worked its claws deep into him, the stark light looming large overhead, hypnotic. But the one that bit him was undead somehow, and he doesn't remember that being part of the mythology.

But maybe. It won't hurt to try.

He doesn't hesitate to touch the tree, even as he braces for blistering pain. It's never stopped him before. Pain is part of life, intertwined with the identity of James T. Kirk for his entire life. And now, as his battered and bruised body complains about the abuse he's put it through today, what's one more?

But the piercing is simply smooth metal under his fingers, just slightly colder than Hunter's body heat, igniting no fire in his fingers where he's touching the silver. "No," he says, bewildered. How can that be? He knows he changed. Can still feel the low-grade fever burning beneath his skin, the mild ache in his joints. Can't tell if it's some kind of post-transformation symptom or... something else?

He pulls back his hand to inspect it, confused at the lack of burns. Nothing. He reaches back out and touches the tree again, pressing his whole hand against it. Still nothing. "I don't... I don't understand."

[losthunter]

Hunter leans into the touch. He is still very tactile to the sensation of a gentle touch to his face. He had thought that he would never have this again. This moment of being touched by his lover. His partner. His love.

He watches Jim carefully as he pulls his hand away to inspect it for a moment. Then reaches out to touch the piercing again. "We can still get Hermione to check for any signs of infection."

"But maybe, the transformation was restricted to the Nightmare realm?"

[boldygoing]

Jim pulls his hand back again, staring at it in utter confusion. He'd thought he was getting a handle on this, but no, here it goes, pulling the rug out from under him again. He can't even trust his own body anymore, unable to trust his mind, flayed raw and vulnerable. It's damn near enough to break a man.

He's already cracked, certainly.

"But the bite," he protests, stuttering uncharacteristically, the words tripping over his tongue in their haste to be heard. "That came through. Everything else. I don't... I don't trust it."

Fucking pull yourself together!

Deep breath. Let it out. Repeat.

Think, Jim. "It's not a full moon, right? Even if... I am still... I won't turn again right now," he says, seeking Hunter's face, needing this reassurance. Needing to know that he isn't a threat, not right now. If it turns out the silver test is useless, then they can deal with that later. But right now he just needs to be safe. Safe from himself, safe to be around others - around Hunter. His body has run ragged and he should have collapsed ages ago, only adrenaline and sheer terror keeping him going.

[losthunter]

"Then we will get Hermione to definitely confirm it. Either way..." Hunter leans forward, gently touching Jim's face again. He frowns at the stuttering. He has never seen Jim this way. He is struggling so hard to pull himself together.

Hunter glances towards the windows. He can see the moon from the kitchen.

"It is a half moon tonight."

"You must be exhausted." Hunter moves to place a tablecloth over the bread, so it will stay fresh until the morning. There is no other food that needs to be stored in a safe place. "Let's try to get you into bed..."

[boldygoing]

The food's safe. Won't be going anywhere. Hidden on the table, an obvious place to look, but... it'll have to do. Jim nods a little, not trusting his voice, unsure what he would even say. Not even confident that this will work. Hunter's right; Jim is exhausted, wrung out until there's nothing left. But his mind won't quit, and he can only dread what's coming as he watches himself get up from the table, as if he's just an observer in his own body, carrying out his nightly routine in the bathroom on autopilot.

This isn't going to end well.

But what else can he do?

He's not sure he should sleep next to Hunter tonight. Not sure if he can trust himself not to freak out, or even just disturb the other man's sleep from tossing and turning, or worse, if he starts screaming. Or... howling. But the idea of being alone is just as terrifying as it was when he was still in shock, left alone with only his shattered self for company, no one to pull him back from the brink if he tips over the edge.

He won't impose. He can't. Can't make this decision, can't push it on Hunter, even if he thinks he knows what the answer is. Can't assume anything anymore. "Where do you want me?" he asks hesitantly, not quite looking towards the bed.

[losthunter]

Hunter knows that this will be a difficult night, for both of them. This night is a lot different than the one where Jim was affected by Austin's magic. The Nightmare realm might have brought back many of the same memories... and made Jim live through the worst part of his life again... but it also inflicted a new terror in the other man.

So when Jim pauses in the bedroom, asking where he should sleep, Hunter moves on autopilot himself. He takes Jim's hand in his own, and guides him to the bed. He gets in first, before gently pulling Jim to lay beside him.

He knows that Jim might awaken to nightmares tonight. That neither of them will have an easy sleep. But Hunter feels that maybe it would give Jim just a little security, to have someone holding him tonight.

"Here... I want you by my side. Always." Hunter finally speaks.

[boldygoing]

Jim is used to being a leader. Embracing his independence, striding forward to make his own decisions, leading both by order and by example. But the captain isn't here right now. He goes along passively, allowing Hunter to maneuver him into bed. His body is sore, aching, uncomfortable. Shouldn't have eaten so much, but didn't want to waste it, too afraid not to eat it all. It takes him a few minutes to find a comfortable position that doesn't press too hard on his injuries, where his limbs don't ache too badly from the post-transformation stress, his body heat a few degrees warmer than normal against Hunter's side.

His body is exhausted, but his mind keeps going, floundering with what to do with soft sheets and a breathing body against his own, so foreign after the grit and blood of Tarsus and the Nightmare that came after. He needs to sleep. He has to. But his eyes refuse to close, too afraid of what he'll see on the other side.

"Sorry," he mutters into the darkness, guilt tugging at his chest. "In advance."

[losthunter]

"You are here, with me..." Hunter strokes his fingers through Jim's hair. "Try to focus on me. Maybe it will keep the memories away for a little bit."

He knows why Jim is apologizing. That there is nothing either of them can do tonight to keep the nightmares from tormenting Jim tonight.

"I love you." Hunter wants Jim to focus on that fact. It is all he can give right now.

[boldygoing]

I love you.

What... what does he even say to that? Hunter doesn't know what he's done. Doesn't know that he took a man's life, no matter if he had to do it. That he put his blade in Kodos' throat and felt nothing, neither revulsion nor triumph, just stood there and watched the life drain from the man's mouth. Until he stood back up again and applauded their slow, inexorable transformation into Khan, a monster far worse than the worgen that took Jim's body and filled him with a terrible hunger.

Werewolf or not... he's a monster anyway.

How can he be with someone so good, so open and accepting? Someone who doesn't seem to give a shit what crimes he's committed, what danger he poses. How does Jim Kirk deserve something like love?

He lets out a breath and rests his forehead against Hunter's shoulder, guilty and selfish, undeserving of such kindness. Yet at the same time, he craves it, needs those little scraps of affection as much as he needs food, just as desperate to cling to what little he can find for himself. Always afraid that it'll be taken away. "I know."

[losthunter]

I know

It might not be the typical response. But it is enough just hearing Jim that he knows. It means the world to Hunter for Jim to know that he is loved. Accepted.

He doesn't know the doubts that are weighing on Jim's mind right now. He can't address the concerns. The guilt. The fact that Jim views himself as a monster right now.

He just holds Jim close to him. Grateful to have the other man in his arms again. Content to give him a safe place for a few moments.

Hunter closes his eyes. They both need to try to sleep. And while he is uncertain if Jim will actually be able to find peace tonight... a part of him hopes that he can keep the nightmare memories at bay for a little bit. Just enough to allow Jim to rest and try to reclaim himself.

[boldygoing]

Jim lies awake for a long time.

It isn't that he doesn't try to sleep. The longer he lies in one position, the more the dull ache in his bones nags at him until he has to shift, even if only slightly. The slightest soft sounds in the house set his brain to Red Alert, snapping him to full alertness until he can convince himself that there's no danger, and he damn near works himself into a panic attack when he finally realizes he's unarmed, his knife lost somewhere in the depths of the Nightmare. Never mind that Hunter is safer if he doesn't have it, never mind that he's more of a danger to himself with it than without it.

You're safe, Jim. Breathe.

It's difficult for him to relax his guard after being in survival mode again for so long. But eventually the exhaustion drags him down, like being pulled underwater and held there until the bubbles stop, darkness creeping in until it's all he can see. And for a time he sleeps like the dead, finally broken and empty of horrors that are pushed aside for later.

That doesn't last either.

He wakes more than once with an unvoiced cry on his lips, breaths wheezing in his chest, eyes darting around the darkened room without really seeing it until he finally recognizes where he is. Runs his hands across his body to check for fur and finds only smooth skin. And at least once, when he miraculously doesn't wake Hunter, he stumbles out of bed and checks the entire apartment for threats, unable to rest until he's certain there's no threats lurking in the shadows, that the bread on the table remains untouched, that the ration bars are all still accounted for. Hating himself all the while, powerless to stop the compulsion by doing anything other than what it demands, an endless stream of what if what if what if running through his thoughts.

It's not a restful, healing sleep. Not when he wakes so often, not when the fear still nags at him despite everything he's done to reassure himself. But he does get some sleep, a little at a time, and the longer it lasts, the more familiar it feels.

[losthunter]

Hunter is not quite aware of how little Jim sleeps. For him, the presence of Jim in the bed close to him is enough to allow him to sleep properly.

It took him a little to get truly lost into slumber, since Jim was unable to properly fall asleep himself at first. He can feel when Jim snaps to full alertness, can sense Jim looking around to make sure he is safe. In those moments, Hunter just places a hand on Jim's shoulder, reminding him that he is safe.

When exhaustion finally claims Jim, sleep claims Hunter. And he doesn't waken when Jim wakens in the middle of the night. Doesn't move when Jim stumbles out of bed and checks the entire apartment.

There is a slight movement in the shadows, since one occupant of the apartment has noticed that Jim is awake. Soon, he is being followed by Crookshanks. Who watches Jim curiously as the human checks for threats, checks the bread, checks the ration bars. And Crookshanks continues to follow Jim, until the human returns to the bed. The half-Kneazle waits for Jim to get settled, then jumps up on the bed, to curl beside the Starfleet Captain.

The half-Kneazle will watch over Jim, if that helps the man to find some rest. Nothing gets past a Kneazle, when they are guarding someone they care about.

[boldygoing]

The sudden movement startles Jim, the bed dipping slightly under the cat's weight, and he's halfway through raising empty fists to defend himself, heart pounding out of his chest, when he hears the sound of purring. "Crookshanks?" he whispers uncertainly, and fur touches his hands, not coarse and shaggy like the worgen, but soft and fluffy.

The purring is a soothing sound, and when the little feline curls up against his side, Jim's hand seems drawn to him, soft fur under his fingers. A brief, stupid thought flicks through his mind that he hopes he doesn't smell like wet dog, and the ghost of a laugh wheezes past his lips, not really funny so much as absurd after the day he's had. But it's something, anyway. A small shelter from the storm of fear and uncertainty.

He's not sure if he'll feel safe for a long time. But with Hunter on one side, and a purring cat on the other, it's the closest he's felt in a while. And he finally manages to drift off to restless, but continual, sleep. Dreams of chasing something, running on all four paws beneath the light of the moon, and the cold dead eyes of Kodos.

[losthunter]

Crookshanks arches his head into Jim's uncertain touch. Purring even louder to remind the human that the house is protected. The Kneazle is here.

The rest of the evening is quiet. It is not until the morning when Hunter awakens to sounds in the kitchen, of Hermione preparing breakfast.

He turns to wrap his arm around Jim, and has to laugh with his hand touches Crookshanks. He is content to stay in bed, until Jim is fully awake.

[boldygoing]

Jim is not resting peacefully, twitching occasionally in his sleep, muttering under his breath but not entirely awake. It isn't until a particularly loud noise comes from the direction of the kitchen that he lurches fully awake, momentarily disoriented at his surroundings. Where...?

Oh.

He coughs lightly, pretty sure he knows whose arms are wrapped around him, and the source of the gentle rumbling against his side. "Morning," he mumbles, wrestling his thoughts in order. Hunter's apartment. Crookshanks. Must be Hermione in the other room.

James Tiberius Kirk. Captain... Not a werewolf. Human hands. Not on Tarsus.

It's a little easier to accept, this time around. He's not that rested and he's not okay, still cracked and broken, and the bruised parts of his body protest at the movement after stiffening up overnight, especially his shoulder. But the fever is gone, and he doesn't feel like he's going to fly apart at the slightest touch either. His body has made use of what little rest he did manage to get, giving him enough energy to face the day, whatever it brings.

As long as it's a better day than yesterday.

[losthunter]

"Morning." Hunter can sort of tell that it was not a restful night for Jim. But he hopes that the other man was able to get some rest last night.

"Hermione is likely making porridge for breakfast." It has become a routine for him and her, for the last couple of days. She makes breakfast. He makes supper. They sometimes meet up for lunch, depending on their schedules.

Crookshanks stretches out besides Jim, blinking up at the two men as they speak. Are they staying in bed? He isn't moving until a decision has been made.

[boldygoing]

Porridge? Jim gives Hunter an uncertain, slightly suspicious look. That's what you feed to sick people, or someone who hasn't eaten solid food in weeks. He choked down his fair share on the rescue ship and the hospital in Iowa, no matter how much he hated it. And while he rationally knows that Hunter couldn't possibly know that, let alone Hermione, he has a deep-seated wariness about anything that treads too close to home.

Normally, it would be fine. He could just laugh it off and eat the damn porridge without letting on how much he'd rather be eating almost anything else, just so it wouldn't go to waste.

"You two normally have that for breakfast?" he asks, as casually as he can manage.

[losthunter]

Hunter doesn't understand the slightly suspicious look that Jim is giving him. "Yes. Hermione said it is how they started the day at Hogwarts, with a warm bowl of porridge, with sliced peaches or bananas depending on the season. Milk and orange juice."

"Kept the students bellies warm while they were at their studies."

"And I am sure she will make some toast with the bread. And get out the jams and the jellies." Based on the fact that Crookshanks just sat straight up, and then bolted towards the kitchen, Hermione must be getting his dish prepared too.

[boldygoing]

Okay. Okay. It's not some kind of... underhanded ploy to treat him like some kind of... invalid. Still, the choice of breakfast's main course is an unappealing one, and he grimaces a little, hoping that Hermione didn't make enough for him. She probably did. She's thoughtful that way.

Toast, jam... those he can deal with just fine. At least it's not some soupy, mushy crap. Not exactly filling, but... at least she doesn't go for the full English breakfast. And suddenly, porridge doesn't sound so bad in comparison. Waking up to the smell of frying bacon might actually tip him back over the edge.

Jim stifles a groan as he sits up, his body protesting at being vertical again, and rubs his hands over his face and through his hair. He has an epic case of bed head and he couldn't give less of a shit. "Gonna make coffee in a minute," he mutters, pushing himself to his feet. He's got to make a pit stop first.

God, he looks like he got run over by a shuttle. Jim examines himself in the bathroom mirror, inspecting the purple bruises on his face, a bit baffled as to what even caused them. Looks like someone pelted him with rocks. He shakes his head, checks his teeth - no fangs, just normal human chompers - and pads his way towards the kitchen.