eatabug

[eatabug]

❝ oh, mo ghràdh. ❞ the softer parts of a well-guarded heart ― the parts meant only for the eyes of his husband ― ache in a way that feels like a physical pain in his chest at the sight of the tears welling in dark eyes, the subtle tremble of a lip beneath the pad of his thumb. he does not hesitate to gather santiago up in his arms, to hold him tight in an embrace as his body shakes with sobs. lindsay buries his face in dark locks and presses kisses to the crown of his head, murmurs gentle words of comfort into his hair and lets him cry for as long as he needs ; one hand remains secure around santiago, holds him close as tears soak into the cotton of his t-shirt, and the other palm rubs soothing circles up and down the length of his back. ❝ that's it, love. let it out. i've got ye. ❞

with his cheek resting against the top of santiago's head and his gaze locked somewhere on the hazy dark beyond the screen of their porch, lindsay listens intently as the sobs slow enough for santiago to speak. the hand on his back lifts to comb through his hair, fingers tangling in silver-studded strands, but it pauses when santi voices his worries, his fears about the day aloud. and lindsay, to his defense, cannot even begin to imagine what that must have felt like ; he has been trained to remain calm and react accordingly in a number of different crisis situations ― christ, he spent years training others the very same ― but lindsay has not yet had to face the true horror of being in a disaster situation and needing to locate and protect his loved ones in the moment.

( by the time he'd made it to his sister, it was already too late. )

❝ ach, dinnae ye talk like that, santi. d'ye hear me? ❞ only gently chiding, the words are murmured against his temple. he feels santiago's grasp grow tighter and presses a kiss to the spot where his lips hover, an attempt to soothe even a modicum of the torment clearly waging a war in his lover's mind. ❝ i dinnae blame ye fer bein' scared. i cannae imagine anything worse, if i'd been there with ye, i dinnae ken― but it's nae fair tae yer heart, is it? it may be strong, but it cannae go carryin' around the heavy weight o' what ifs and would haves like that. ❞ lindsay pulls back then, just enough to look his husband in the eye, his gaze firm but not unkind. ❝ ye were there, and ye did get to them in time, didnae ye? there's nothin' tae forgive because nothin' happened tae them or tae ye. ❞

and look, lindsay will be the first to admit that he knows it isn't ever so simple. there are not enough words in the world for him to be able to fully take away the guilt that eats at his husband for all of the people he could not help, all of the lives he could not save. he is simply too empathetic, too feeling ― not to a fault, because lindsay believes it is one of the most wonderful, beautiful things about him, but at very least to the point that it hurts him deeply. ❝ shh, macushla. ❞ he pulls santiago back into his chest then, wraps both arms around him and closes his eyes as he breathes in deep for a moment the warm, familiar scent of him. ❝ it's not yer fault. and ye can help them more, cannae ye, having gotten out o' there? ❞ even if it meant they'd opened the doors of their home to the injured. lindsay would just have to get used to that.

the whispered confession from santiago is nearly enough to break his own steady façade and linsday squeezes him just a little tighter as he closes his own eyes against the burning he feels just behind them. he doesn't want to leave, either. christ, if he had his way, he'd take his husband right up to their bed and wrap him up in his arms there, beneath the sheets, leaving a trail of kisses and comforting words along the curve of his neck until they both fell asleep. although lindsay is not so lucky, that does not prevent him from still seeking out silver linings where he can. he is not the optimist in this relationship, not by any means, but he can be anything for santiago. ❝ ah dinnae hafta leave fer an hour, ❞ he says softly, ❝ and if it's all the same, i'd like tae spend it just like this. ❞

he should've known better to think for a second that lindsay wouldn't see through his attempts to push the emotion away. while he may be able to hold it at bay with his siblings or maisie or any of the adopted children they've taken on, always trying to be the rock amongst them. ready to give love, keep them grounded, and help with whatever they needed. but that was something him and lindsay did for each other. he'd always been much more sensitive and emotional in comparison to his other half. lindsay was a fortress and it had taken santi a good long time to break down even a few of those walls. so when he gently bats away his apologies and runs that calloused thumb across his cheek, santiago didn't bother to protest.

yer not fine are ye, love? no, no he wasn't and he said as much with a shake of his head in lindsay's skilled hands. lord knows he couldn't speak or he'd end up a blubbering idiot in that moment. though he was pulled in close and that dam was broken quite quickly. tears flowed silently like a downpour rain. he adjusted in the seat to be cradled in his husband's strong hold. for a few moments it was all he could do to stay quietly shuddering, sobbing, and basking in the comfort of the man he loves. soaking in that warmth and feeling protected in that release. it was theirs and there was no reason to be ashamed of it.

"i was so scared i wouldn't get to them in time, that when i saw maisie i nearly broke down right there in the middle of the chaos," his hands held tightly onto the forearm wrapped around him, the one thing holding him somewhat together as santiago spoke his fears softly aloud. "i would've never been able to forgive myself if something happened to them." and that was not the entire fear attached to that statement. santiago knew in his heart that not only would he never be able to forgive himself and be absolutely devastated if something happened to maisie, that lindsay would never be able to look at him again. he would not want his forgiveness even if he did give it to him.

"there were so many fallen, all the cries for help and i couldn't stop and by the time i was able to go back—" santiago didn't finish, he didn't need to. he'd wanted to help all of them but knew he couldn't stop, knew he needed to get maisie out first and find his familia, both blood and the surrogates they'd adopted along the way. it had been a day full of fears, heartbreak, and over-exertion. there was little relief to counter it and there would be no relief when lindsay inevitably left him to go where he was needed, their bed would remain uniformly made and cold until the two of them entered it again, together. "i wish you did not have to leave." he confessed so quietly he didn't know if he'd said it aloud.

[eatabug]

who : ashton ryder ( @ashryder ) where : outside of the afterglow compound hospital

it's purely happenstance that benny happens to spot him coming out of the building containing the compound's hospital ward. the explosives specialist is too anxious, too paranoid not to listen to every scrap of conversation that happens to drift past his workstation. he knows, then, that ashton has come to the compound. he'd been injured in the incident at central market. benny isn't entirely sure how badly ― not a lot was exchanged in the way of details, at least nothing he could overhear ― but he has to assume that it wasn't good for ryder to have permitted treatment here of all places. he doesn't visit while he's in the hospital ; it is no fault of his former brother-in-arms, but there is very little that would convince benedicto to step foot in that facility again.

instead, chance provides him the opportunity to lay eyes on the other man, to see that he is, in fact, better than he'd been when he arrived. benny picks up his pace on the sidewalk until he falls in step with ashton, dark eyes glancing over toward him as he does. ❝ hola, ryder, ❞ he offers. ❝ i would say it's good to see you, pero ... ❞ benny pauses, shakes his head. ❝ how are you, mi amigo? are you well? i― heard you were at the facility, i am sorry did not ask after you sooner. ❞

[eatabug]

there is no feeling in this world comparable to that of a hug from santiago muñoz and that is a hill that benedicto would gladly lay his life down on. for a man who, his entire life, has been averse to touch to the point of physical discomfort, it seems strange that he might feel so fondly of such an open and unabashed show of affection. but santiago has always known the right way to embrace him, in the way that he needs ; arms wrap around him so tight that he can feel the buttons and metal pin backs on his uniform press into his chest and for a split second, he feels like a child, back home in chile and trying to match his breathing to his big brother's until their hearts beat in sync and he feels like he can breathe again. benny squeezes him back but for a moment until santiago pulls away, and in spite of the lack of contact, the weight on his shoulders feels just a little bit lighter.

❝ ¿cada día? your heart is too big, hermano. ❞ a truth known to anyone who has the privilege of knowing his older brother, but benny cannot even dismiss him or his sentimental notions ― he misses him too, every single day. there was a time when santiago had been his rock, his anchor within the eaa. a time when the compound felt safe, when what they were doing there had still felt right. he used to have dinner with santiago in the mess hall nearly every night. it's hard to lose routines. a hand lifts to dismiss his brother's thanks ― it's the least he can do. benny takes a seat opposite santi, the clink of glass prompting him to take a sip of his batanga. he's not surprised by the answer he's given, even if he wishes santiago would give him more. perhaps it makes sense that he wouldn't. benny tries not to think too hard about it. ❝ i heard you and maisie were at the market. i'm just glad to see you unharmed pero ... te ves cansado. ❞

and if anyone understands that, it's benny. he's tired, too. if only he could manage to sleep when he closes his eyes. ❝ i― i am alright, ❞ he answers, not because it's the truth, but because in light of the recent crisis in devil's elbow, it would be selfish to bring up the same demons that have been haunting him for years before the bugs came up from the ground. ❝ it has been ... quiet in my department this week. ❞ he doesn't say so, but benny expects as much is only because burnington is in afterglow's own backyard ― his own hands have brought about the means of destruction of entire towns for plagues far lesser than this. but benny knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. ❝ it feels cruel to say the break has been welcome, pero ... ❞ the younger muñoz does not finish his thought, and instead punctuates it with a sip of his drink.

the offer to stay in their guest room makes his stomach twist, a pang of jealousy and want that strikes him straight through the gut. he shifts a little in his seat, hides his grimace behind his glass. in this moment, he is hyperaware of the cool metal cradled in his eye socket, the soft electronic buzz that seems to radiate from inside his head. ❝ sí, ❞ he says quietly. ❝ maybe ... maybe soon. ❞ or maybe not. he returns his drink to the table and tries to lean into the shift of focus. ❝ ¿qué quieres decir? were ― were you treating people in your home? ❞

santiago muñoz had many things to regret in his life, not nearly as many as he had to be thankful for, but plenty all the same. one of the biggest ones was not getting his brother benny out of the eastern atlantic army when he retired. what happened to him after, what was still happening to him. he was reminded often that he'd failed him. he's been trying to find a loophole in his contract ever since, even if he feels better that amelia can be there with him most days. still, it bothered him. which is why he made sure to meet up with him whenever possible, even if it meant going on frequent trips back to the compound or slipping away from his husband nibling to the mad scientist.

he must have been downstairs with frankie when benny arrived. she was showing him what she's been working on and he'd made a point to check in on how she was doing. post-traumatic stress was a fickle thing and he wanted to be sure she knew there were plenty of people she could go to if she needed them. he made his way back over to the bar and it didn't take long to spot his brother in the crowd, his heart lurching toward him and feet following after. it was times like these, when things were their hardest, he was reminded just how much he missed having benny there all the time. one of his closest siblings, but also best friends.

"buenas noches hermano, ¿cómo estás?" he greeted, moving in to give him a quick but tight hug. "i missed you too much, everyday." santiago said the words into his shoulder before pulling away to look him over properly. he can't say it was to see if he was in one piece because that ship had sailed many moons ago now. but there was no harm in checking that there wasn't anything new there. "mmm, yes, a paloma. thank you, please, sit with me." he moved to clink his glass against his brother's and take a hearty first drink before answering the question he was going to have to offer a white lie up for. "as good as to be expected." he waved it off because how he was doing was not important, it never was, he was more concerned with benito. "how are you fairing? you know if you want to stay over in the city the spare room is always made for you. now that sera's done playing doctor at my house." something he is certain lindsay is over the moon about.

[eatabug]

the red line diner has always held a very close place in benedicto's heart ; for over twenty years now, the vinyl-upholstered booths and mirrored walls have offered a strange sort of respite to the troubled soldier. when he was younger, the greasy american fare was often a welcome reprieve from what was being served up in the mess hall on compound ; the older he got, the more often he'd find himself in one of the back booths on sleepless nights, nursing a cup of something decaffeinated and trying to quiet the constant chaos in his mind to the white noise of dripping coffee pots and sparse conversation. but it isn't just hot tea or a fresh plate of pancakes ( or even the fleeting solace of a moment away from the compound ) that keeps him returning to burnington's neon-lit beacon for bacon and eggs. it's the people.

or a person, rather. jamila crowley is a long-standing fixture at the diner, a waitress for just about as long as he's been a customer of the establishment. and benny has never been a social creature, not in the same way some of his siblings are ; he's always struggled to connect, to form the same bonds. he knows it's not normal, the way his heart begins to palpitate, the way his palms sweat when he so much as tries to hold a conversation with someone to whom he is not blood related. and yet, it isn't that way around her, is it? benny is drawn to her like a moth to a flame ; there's something about the warmth that radiates from her, the way it seems to illuminate the edges of his darkest nights.

he's already resigned himself to the fact he will not see her there when he pulls into the diner's small lot ; his brain operates on routines, on patterns and schedules. he knows when she works, if only because he consistently takes notice of her absence when she's not there. ( he tells himself it's because he notices everything. there's nothing more to it. ) but it's been a long day and he's been from one end of burnington to the other trying to get a head count on all of his siblings and he just wants to sit down and be still for a moment. if he can get a cup of chamomile with it, all the better. but he's only just barely got boots on the gravel when he spots her across the lot, standing just outside the diner and looking for all the world like she should've left hours ago.

her greeting is enough tug a tired smile to his lips, small but sincere. ❝ buenas tardes, jamila, ❞ benny offers once he's near enough that he needn't raise his voice to address her. he stills to a stop a few feet away from her, tries to be inconspicuous as his dark gaze searches her silhouette for injury while she speaks. ❝ that's kind of you, ❞ he says as if he'd ever expect anything less. she's got goodness in her heart ; benny may not understand it, but he can feel it. ❝ i'm― i'm sorry to hear about mona, ❞ he continues quietly, ❝ she's a good woman. she doesn't deserve that. ❞ but neither did most who met such cruel fates. a shake of his head, as if to push the thought from his mind, and then he's focusing his attention on her questions.

❝ the family is― they're okay. sera, she was injured, and maisie, but they did not get sick, gracias a dios. ❞ and benny is grateful ― he has been on the compound now through not one but two emergences and he knows how bad it could have been. he doesn't want to answer when she asks after his own wellbeing, though ; the last thing anyone needs is to worry over him. instead, he gently shifts the focus to her. ❝ ¿estás bien? have you been holding up okay? ❞ another pause, only a beat, and then, ❝ am i holding you up? lo siento, if you switched with mona, surely you must be ready to leave. ❞

@eatabug

LOCATION: outside the diner, mid-afternoon. FOR: benny muñoz.

IT'S NO SECRET THAT jamila adores nearly every customer she comes into contact with ( of course there's the duds -- as there always are when offering any kind of service ), but her kindness is not always met with such a distinct amount of care. this amongst many things is what makes benny different -- one of the last thing she expected. frankly, with most of those in afterglow's service, she very rarely found it within herself to look past the uniform. in fact, she feels the opposite of what she has been taught to feel around a protector -- engulfed in nothing but unease. she's grown up surrounded by a far different idea of what a legion for the people looks like, and it certainly wasn't those in the governing body within the confines of their ivory tower, watching on while innocent people suffered. but benny -- as she had come to know, wasn't one of them. those eyes, they were of a man not just damaged, but trapped. perhaps one may not have noticed unless they were digging for such an understanding, but he looks at her with far more softness than the haunted, the guarded, can often offer. she would know.

switching shifts with mona may had been a rather last minute decision, but jamila certainly didn't mind -- especially when it meant she was helping someone out. the other waitress had a husband who sustained injuries in the cicada attack, and she was balancing his at-home transition with the rest of their family. jamila ordinarily worked in the early hours just after the sun had come up, at the time when most people rise from slumber. however, today she had found herself handling the stragglers, the insomniacs and the drunkard. however, she still put on the same smile as she always had. at the conclusion of her shift, the compulsion for fresh air calls to her -- or at least some space away from people. she can't go home yet. perhaps it's why she finds herself positioned just outside the door, back against the aged frame. eyes momentarily closed, taking the moment in. that she could go home, get some rest -- that is, until she notices a familiar silhouette coming into focus as she opens her eyes.

" hey there stranger! " she calls out with a smile, adjusting the worn light spring jacket over her shoulders. even if the weather continues to turn over, perhaps the weather that day may have needed more. regardless, she doesn't seem to mind. " thought i was gonna miss ya today -- switched shifts with mona may so she could stay with her husband... he got hurt real bad and the family's takin' shifts to sit with him. " she finds herself pausing -- worried she's rambling, saying too much. " how're you doin'? the family all okay? i'm sure they're keepin' you so busy y'can barely keep your head on straight. "

[eatabug]

it would be a lie to say that the corners of his lips don't twitch upward into a ghost of a smile as he watches his brother startle beneath the hood of the car, a huff of a breath that could almost be mistaken for a laugh escaping him. but it's gone by the time javier extricates himself from the vehicle he's working on, replaced by the same concerned expression that has carved a permanent crease between his brows as he takes the opportunity to look javier over a little better. of all of his siblings, benny thinks that perhaps javi is the one he need worry about least. even so, it is a relief to actually lay eyes on him all in one piece.

benny is unfazed by the bluntness of the question ― he's always preferred direct communication. ❝ e― estaba preocupado, ❞ he confesses, an honest answer. ❝ after what happened at the market, the compound was swarmed, por dentro y por fuera. i couldn't come to dinner sunday, and i just― ❞ he pauses, fidgeting with a loose thread on his sleeve. he's never been good with feelings. ❝ i wanted to― needed to see you were okay. you are okay, aren't you? ❞

at the question about himself, benny shrugs, nods. ❝ surviving, ❞ he answers. that's the best answer he can give. the truth is, he's not sleeping ; it's hidden in the shadows under dull eyes and the faint tremor of his hands. ❝ my department has been quiet this week. están enfermos, many of them. ❞ it feels wrong to call it a blessing, but if nothing else, it is a slight reprieve. why, then, does he not feel relieved?

Sure, Javier was well aware that taking and throwing punches to deal with the shit hand he'd been dealt wasn't exactly the most healthy of coping methods. But with the fighting ring at Hell's Gate closed up, he has been feeling particularly on edge - even more so than usual. So instead, he threw himself into work at the Fishery to make up for it, even though there was less than normal to do there right now, too. It seemed like at this point most of the vehicles around the shop were simply waiting to be picked up, their owners too nervous about the swarm that had decided to call Burnington home to make the trip out to the Fishery. Or perhaps laid up in a bed because if said swarm...

At least it seemed like there was a light at the end of that tunnel, though how the antidote came to be and the lives lost in association with it (with so little detail about them), was questionable at best.

Javier startles when Benny's knuckles rap on the hood of the vehicle he's working on, a muttered curse in spanish on his lips before he straightens up to find his brother and his gaze softens, slightly. It's not often Benny makes the trip out this way and he can't help the surprise that sneaks into his expression a moment later. "¿Qué estás haciendo aquí?" he says, though it comes off a little more bluntly than he means it. He grabs for a towel nearby to wipe his hands, nodding along to Benny's request. "Por supuesto, Benny. It's good to see you. How have you been?"

[eatabug]

��� do i―? si, yes, i― i think― ❞

anxious hands are just as quickly fluttering through the pockets of his jacket, his pants, patting down the stiff, military-issue fabric in search of a small aluminum pill minder. the truth is, as much as he loathes most of the pharmaceuticals that the professionals at afterglow have deemed necessary for him, there are a select few that come in handy in the rare emergency situation he needs chemical intervention ― a little yellow tablet that drowns out the voices in his head with radio static, a blue-and-white capsule to sedate his racing heart and soothe his churning stomach when the anxiety becomes too much.

finally he finds the cool metal case and pries it open, pills clattering as a shaky hand tries to tap one of each into his palm. in the end there are seven different tablets in a variety of shapes, sizes and colors. it's a shameful sight, isn't it? that he can't even function without a rainbow of prescription pills to correct his brain chemistry? ❝ three in the morning, two at night. two for emergencies. ❞ benny licks his lips, swallows hard as he shoves the small case back into his pocket. it almost gets fumbled to the floor when the sound of the kettle screeching has him nearly jumping out of his skin. he quickly recovers, even if his heart is still pounding in his chest. calm down, benny.

when she approaches him with the mug, benny extends his own hand in an offer ― an exchange, though arguably not one that benefits her in any way. at some point, he thinks, he will find a way to repay her for showing him such compassion. he doesn't deserve it. with the pills out of his palm, benny wraps both hands around the mug and cradles it close, breathing in the aromatic steam that wafts up from chipped ceramic. ❝ gracias, delia, ❞ he says quietly, grateful, before taking a sip. ❝ what ― what is in this? ❞ not wanting to be rude, he drinks a little more before adding, ❝ i only mean to ask, will― will finishing it impair my ability to return to the compound tonight? i― i drove myself. ❞

delia listens, she doesn't judge, but she's never been a fan of afterglow and their practices. she's been told, several times and by many a person, that the death of her brother and the subsequent death of her father have left her cruel and unwavering, unable to open her heart to anything and unwilling to listen to anyone's plight if it doesn't run up against her own. cold, heartless, waiting to die. the list rattles around in her mind often, the version of herself that the world believes is the truth, the only. has she become so monstrous? she likes to think, if it were true, she'd take a single look at benny and turn him away. that she'd tell him she can't help him, doesn't want to help him, has no interest in a plight of seemingly his own making.

but she doesn't.

her office in the back has always been a makeshift something. doctors office, therapists office, bedroom, actual office for motel business. the list keeps growing. it's the safest place in the motel, with her rarely leaving it as business meetings and 'business meetings' roll in and out all day every day. it's basically become her home, a small space where her clothing liters one corner and the couch is noticeably worn from quick naps. the hot plate on her desk has a kettle on top of it, and the room fills with a strange, earthy scent as it bubbles and roils. "do you have any with you? whatever they've given you? i have a friend who owes me a favor, might be able to reverse engineer it and figure out what they're actually having you take." it would be a huge favor to call in, but looking at benny now? might be worth it.

the kettle screeches and she moves to quickly pour a yellow-orange tea into a chipped mug on the desk, then kneels in front of him with an expression she hopes is soft enough not to spook. "here, drink this. it's meant to be calming. my dad always used to have a cup before bed."

[eatabug]

his entire world has narrowed down to a single pinpoint and that is pain. if he's at all aware that clay is moving around the shelves of remedy roots in search of something, anything to make it better, it's lost to the acid fire spreading across his face and throat, searing down his arms in angry crimson streaks. beau thinks this must be what hellfire feels like ; he doesn't know how long it's been now since the cicadas descended on the market, but it feels like it's been ages of throbbing, pulsing, blinding agony. when he cries out now, it is not for his friend, but for whatever god or higher power is listening. whether it's for aid or mercy at this point, he's not sure. he just wants it to stop!

but then clay's back again, she's here, and beau tries desperately to focus on her, tries to let himself be grounded in her presence. he sucks in a deep breath and pries his eyes open ― eye? only one of his eyes is opening, why is only one of his eyes opening? goodness gracious, it hurts so bad ― to look at what she's holding out to him. it's a bottle, and beau takes it with shaky hands, sinking his teeth into his lip to bite back a groan when the cap cuts into blistered palms as he pries it open. he wants to ask her how much but he's so desperate for relief that he can't even spit the words out. the analgesic liquid spills down his chin as he raises the bottle to his lips and tilts his head back, swallowing as much of it as he can manage. he chokes and sputters as the bottle is clumsily placed on the floor before forcing a couple of deep breaths. he's going to be okay. everything's going to be okay.

if he had even a shred of awareness, he'd feel so much guilt for the way she's ruining her shirt for him, but as it stands, he's backed against the wall, hunched over himself and shaking as he tries desperately not to claw at his face. the salve relieves the pain of the rash in the same way that a splash of cool water relieves the heat of a searing hot pan still on the flame. but it's something, and god, he'll take anything right now so he tries to keep still enough to let her work. ❝ p-promise? ❞ he manages to get out through gritted teeth, tears streaming down his cheeks. it's not so much a question as it is a plea. ❝ p-please promise, i― i'm s-so scared, i don't wa-wanna die, clay, please, i can't― z-ziggy an' dixie, i― but it hurts, ithurtsithurtssobad― ❞

Every pleading word from Beau's mouth is like an ice pick to her heart, and while she tries to stay level-headed, tries to keep her mind on task, the urgency of his tone and the state of him is starting to cloud her mind with panic. It wasn't like this in the army, it wasn't like this the first time she'd been tasked to help the population of Burnington when the cicadas had come; she'd had no problem at all detaching from the wailing, the begging, the groaning and crying. You didn't know them and had no interest to change that fact. But she does know this man, and that in itself is an understatement.

Moving through Remedy Roots' stock, Clay knows there's something that should solve the issue at least for now, until she could get Beau more substantial help. Antibiotical, no; antifungal, no; analgesic, maybe. Pulling a few things off the shelves, Clay kneels down in front of Beau again. "Sweetheart, swallow this," she says, holding up a bottle of the analgesic liquid, while opening an anti-inflammatory salve.

The blisters already look gnarly, the swelling warping the whole side of his face, and it takes everything in her to keep her face straight, to not wince at the sight of it. If she showed exactly how she feels in this moment, there'd be no hope for him. Getting up again, Clay pulls her shirt off and starts tearing strips off it to spread the salve onto it before gently wrapping every part of his skin affected.

"You're going to be okay. I'm going to make sure of it, okay?"

[eatabug]

darach o'brien has never been one for taking direction from others, but it should be known that he does not hesitate when kiran insists that he ❛ keep leaning into him. ❜ an arm comes to wrap around the taller man's waist, nimble fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt both in an attempt to relieve some of the weight from his ankle and, selfishly, to get impossibly closer to kiran. to his credit, the card sharp manages to keep pace relatively well as they start down the sidewalk in spite of his limp ; it's not saying much, though ― kiran's stride is twice the length of his on a good day, and he knows that they're slowing their own gate drastically to accommodate him.

❝ lucky me, ❞ dara quips, and for once, he's not being facetious. he is feckin' lucky that kiran happened to be in the right place at the right time to swoop in and white knight his sorry ass before he got curb stomped six feet into the concrete by a crowd frantic to escape the market. luminescent iries are on the lookout for errant insects as they continue to move ― feckin' hell, didn't he say it was close? ― but he's still mindful to pay attention to what kiran is saying. his sister got him a house? darach shakes his head and immediately regrets the action. that shit kinda hurts. are the drugs wearing off? that doesn't matter. why does kiran think he gives a flying feck who paid for the house? he could've said he was taking dara back to a storm drain to string him up by his busted ankle, and darach still would've followed.

because it's kiran.

❝ of course i remember. ❞ and that's the honest to christ truth ; sometimes, darach lays in bed and stares at his ceiling and just replays the memories of his time with kiran like reels of film. if they were a real, tangible thing, darach thinks they'd be worn from overuse. and it truly was a special thing, wasn't it, in those early days? he'd never been so captivated by another person before. it was in a house just like the one kiran leads him up to now that darach spent hours upon hours learning every detail, every curve and plane and edge of the body that holds him close. ❝ i remember wanting to tie you to the bed to keep ye there with me forever ... and then realizing there were no feckin' bedposts. ❞

darach lets himself be led through kiran's new home, curiosity causing his gaze to wander, drinking in details up until the moment he's helped into the bed. and then he sinks into the mattress, eyes slipping shut involuntarily for a moment as he's suddenly and wholly surrounded by the scent or kiran. ❝ thanks, ❞ he says, and it takes everything in him not to roll over and bury his face in the pillows, to breathe deep a memory he's missed for far too long. but kiran is too concerned with taking care of his feckin' foot so darach remains still, wincing only slightly when he props it up. and, okay, a little when he wraps it too. the shit smarts, okay?

❝ would you, uh ... feck, i hate to ask you to go down there― ❞ darach cuts himself off. he offered, he reminds himself. ❝ my brothers are bound to go mental once they find out what's happened at the market, at least until they know kitty and i are safe. ❞ more kitty now, darach thinks a bit bitterly, but he bites his tongue. ❝ can ye let them know i'm not dead in a ditch somewhere? finn, he, uh ... he wanted to talk to you anyway. two birds, one ― ow! ― one stone. ❞ dara pauses as kiran finishes wrapping his ankle ; the combination of support and ice have eased the pain to a dull throb, something he can push to the back of his mind for now. it's a bit awkward, the way he sits up enough to catch kiran's fingers in his own, and then he's flopping back against the bed again, tugging kiran closer.

❝ you don't have to leave yet, though, do ye? streets are probably still chaos, it's not safe. ❞ his gaze flickers over kiran's face, the smallest of smiles twitching at the corners of his lips. ❝ could, uh ... could maybe stay with me for a while? just until the streets clear out, of course. ❞

truth be told, kiran wouldn't know the answer to the math question that fast anyways but it sounded right enough. judging by the sassy response, it sounded like dara wasn't concussed and if he was, it wasn't bad enough for them to worry about. "yeah, well, fuck me for checking anyways." kiran rolled his eyes but there was no anger or frustration to the tone. they had a feeling dara would respond exactly the way they did because they knew him. this was the first time since their reunion ( if you could truly call it that with how guarded kiran had been ) that kiran realized that maybe, just maybe dara hadn't been putting on an act with them and who they fell in love with was who they spent time with and the person they were holding onto in that moment. there were no lies and maybe, just maybe, he'd actually been sorry.

"that's because i wasn't in the market. keep leaning into me." he was so close and the more they moved together, the harder it was for kiran to not get lost in a reverie with dara's scent filling his nostrils. "i was on my way to work but i think i'll get a pass for not coming in today." especially when hugo found out about what went down in the market. they needed to get into shelter, away from the war of the oversized bugs and safe. he had a feeling he was going to need to wrap dara's ankle or leg when they got there. "my sister got me set up with a shotgun house, it's just around the corner. with my money, by the way, she didn't just buy it for me." which didn't take long to get to, but saying it out loud also unlocked a memory for them.

"it's like that place we stayed in for two weeks after we met, you remember? that place i rented when i was scoping you out originally." kiran remembered how he went on about the reason they were called shotgun houses. it was a good but complicated memory and as they arrived at his house, there was a soft smile that tugged his lips upwards. once inside he helped dara to the bed. "i'm in between furniture sets right now so this is going to be the most comfortable place. here put that foot up," he helped him get his leg up on a couple of cushions and went to go grab some ice and a wrap. when he returned, he checked over the injury before he started to wrap it up. "you can stay here as long as you need to, but is there anyone you'd like me to call? i could walk somewhere if the phones are still down."

[eatabug]

of course it would happen that the day hell's gate opens back up is a day that angel isn't on the schedule ― she's been itching to get back out on the floor, desperate for a distraction to keep her mind away from all of the frustration and anger churning in her head and in her heart for afterglow. sure, the time off gave her ample opportunity to check in on all of her loved ones ( and even take the drive all the way out to the compound ― she's been burning candles religiously since she got back because she can still smell the disinfectant ) but it also left her plenty of time to fester. and like, even just the word is gross, so she's really trying hard not to.

angel is in the middle of reorganizing her closet for the third time this week ― first by color, then by season, and now it's simply by mood ― when she hears the front door open and the familiar sound of her cousin's voice floating down the hall. ❝ back here, mi vida! ❞ angel calls over her shoulder as she drapes a gown that she's yet to find the perfect occasion for over the back of a chair. she waits until iris falls into view in her doorway to rush forward, throwing long arms around her in a tight embrace. ❝ i'm so proud of you, bebé, it's scary out there. ❞ she holds iris at arm's length then to give her a once over. ❝ you're good? you're okay? oh, dios mío, it's so good to see you!❞

location: angel's place

closed starter for: @eatabug (angel)

in times of stress and sadness, the first people iris sought out were her cousins. apart from her dad, they were the only family she had, and having them in her life was more than just important, it was a necessity. but the biggest problem was that iris never admitted to when she was feeling bad; she simply showed up with a smile on her face and a happy-go-lucky attitude. she was thankful that she had angel and rio to keep her somewhat grounded, tough she didn't know if she'd ever be able to pluck up the courage to tell them when she was feeling terrible. maybe part of her even hoped that they'd be able to recognize it without ever having to say a word.

angel was who iris sought out when she needed a self-proclaimed 'girlie day', the polish on her nails chipped and her lips chapped from biting and chewing on them far too much. she had a feeling that her cousin would take one look at her appearance and chastise her, but iris kind of deserved it; she'd been neglecting herself for what felt like months, and now was the time to change that.

"yoohoo," she called out in a sing-song voice, a smile plastered on her face as she let herself inside. she'd knocked at least three times, so just letting herself in was a risk in and of itself. iris just hoped that angel didn't have anyone over. "i braved the big bad outside to come check on you. where the heck are you? i need to se your gorgeous face."

[eatabug]

❝ ah dinnae ken why we didnae hear about 'em sooner. ❞ surely not everybody who'd been around to see the last one, even two or three broods emerge had forgotten or expired. why, then, was there no mention on any of the radio segments? no warnings in the daily burn? it was almost as if they'd wanted to blindside the population with crisis, willful ignorance to the detriment of devil's elbow at large. but why? ❝ ach, if i can be honest wit' ye, javi, i'm about near done tryin' tae make sense o' this feckin' place. every time i do, some shite like this happens tae throw me fer another loop. there's nae rhyme or reason tae it. ❞

his gaze is constantly moving as he speaks, methodically scanning the crowd before running down the line of soldiers posted along the gate wall. rinse and repeat. his lips twitch into something resembling a smirk at javier's observation, but there's no real amusement behind it. he's right, of course. it doesn't make a lick of sense, not to anyone in their right mind. lindsay knows better than to hold such high expectations of the folks at afterglow.

❝ disnae it? ❞ lindsay asks, sparing javier a glance. ❝ ye dinnae make it tae the top o' somewhere as well an' truly fecked as that wi'out bein' well an' truly fecked yerself. and anyway, he's nae the head o' the whole place, jus' the medical department. tae my understanding, though, the whole lot of 'em think the sun shines out his arse all the same, just as charming as he is malevolent. ❞ he shakes his head. ❝ feck's sake, even santi used tae be friends with the guy. ❞ there's a snort then, as lindsay looks back at javier again. ❝ ah dinnae disagree, but have ye got any suggestions? he disnae leave the compound, and i doubt he's gonnae retire any time soon. ❞

"Right..." Javier mutters, as if he has any idea what a periodical cicada is compared to any other cicada. Frankly, he hardly even knows what a cicada really is; other than a fucking annoying bug that apparently turned toxic and large as all hell in the last however many years it had been exposed to radiation. "Yeah, I'm sure we would've heard about killer cicadas by now if this was the norm," he agrees, though then again - it sounded like it wasn't the first time they'd been around here. Which brought them back to square one. Every toxin had a means of an antidote, didn't it? Or were they all just shit out of luck?

But then again, he was no scientist. He wasn't about to pull a cure out of his ass any time soon. Best leave it to the professionals...

A hand lifts to rub against the back of his neck, glancing back over the crowd of people that surrounded them, and then to the guards and building in question. It was hard to think that a place that was supposed to be so innovative and ground breaking had fallen so far. If this truly had gone through Devil's Elbow before Javier couldn't think of a reasonable excuse not to have a solution at this point. Unless there simply wasn't a solution. And if that were the case wouldn't they have said so by now? 'Go hug your loved ones, it's the last time you'll see 'em.'

"I've heard of him. Don't really know him. Doesn't make much sense why a guy like that would be the head of Afterglow." Yet they'd all heard the rumors about what Afterglow did. They knew it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. But what other choices did they really have around here? Silver Linings, but a small resistance could only go so far to knock down a full blown enterprise like Afterglow. "Sounds like we should do somethin' to get him outta there."

[eatabug]

hands pause where they're busy twisting the cups in the small paper carrier to reveal the flavors scrawled on each in permanent marker when ziggy makes a comment about a doctor coming in while they were gone and skylar looks up from the coffee, dark eyes narrowed inquisitively. what was wrong with the doctor that just came in? skylar doesn't even have the time to ask before their newfound friend is answering for them anyway ― in the form of another question, no less. normally they're better at controlling their face, but sky is tired. tired and frustrated. there's no hiding their scowl as they pluck the caramel macchiato from the carrier and hold it out.

❝ what the hell was estrada doing poking around in here? ❞ if there's one thing skylar prides themself on as community officer, it's keeping up on the talk around town. the gossip. of course, they're never one to proliferate it, not if they can help it. but it's always better to know, isn't it? and they know quite a bit about felix. skylar crosses their legs in the chair and leans in a little closer, their voice lowering as they twist their own paper cup between their hands. ❝ look, i know the eaa is in bed with afterglow, but that's well above my paygrade. that's not me. ❞ it feels an important distinction to make in this moment. skylar is just trying to to good for the community ― they have nothing do to with whatever fuck shit is happening in the afterglow labs.

❝ but i will say this ― do not let him touch your man. i believe in intuition. trust your instincts. he is not good news and i wouldn't put it past him to do exactly that. ❞ skylar is mindful to keep their voice just shy of a whisper, well aware that there are ears all over the hospital. they take a sip of their latte, gaze drifting toward the door before they continue. ❝ afterglow is really good ― like, criminally good ― at covering their own asses so it's not like you're going to find an exposé if you go digging, but people talk. people love to talk. ❞ another sip of their latte, and skylar shoots ziggy a pointed look over the lid. ❝ apparently he killed his own daughter. took her out into the woods and came back to the compound alone, covered in blood. blamed it on an animal attack. ❞

the doctor had just ignored ziggy sitting there while he talked to ashton. he had that kind of air about him that said he was too important for any room he walked into and for all ziggy knew, he was. that didn't stop them for tuning into everything he was saying to ash and, more specifically, what he was saying about beau and tadhg. sure, he was concerned about the insinuations he was making about ashton, too, but to be completely honest, ash was much more capable of taking care of himself than any effort ziggy would be able to offer. however, both tadhg and beau were defenseless at the moment and ziggy wouldn't let anything happen to either of them.

luckily, ashton was able to get him out of the room and left shortly after. now, ziggy waited anxiously between the two beds, wondering what they should do. they felt like they were failing beau by not saying something to the doctor then and there, but then again, what if the medicine worked? would they be depriving beau of getting the first dose and healing faster? then again, it could make him so much worse or even, no, no, ziggy wasn't going to think about the ultimate worse case scenario. nope, can't go there.

they were so lost in thought that they didn't even hear skylar come back in the room until they were adjusting their chair beside them. "uh caramel, i guess," ziggy sat up and turned to face their fast growing friend ( the trauma bonding and wild amount of things in common had them growing close quick, it was a surprise they hadn't met before to be honest ). "as long as it isn't the doctor that was just in here. have you ever heard of a felix estrada before?" ziggy had thought he read the name somewhere recently but lack of sleep and stress had them losing the ability to piece thoughts together properly.

"sorry, there was a doctor in here talking about testing on one of them," they motioned between the beds. "i know you're associated with them, kind of," the governance was not the same as afterglow but they were associated, right? ziggy wasn't trying to offend their new friend. "i'm just worried they'll test that treatment on them without even asking. would they do that?" he had a good feeling they would.

[eatabug]

❝ right. ❞

for a moment, it's all that lindsay says ― for a number of reasons, in truth. above all else, he doesn't need her to elaborate to know exactly what she means. it would be undeniably unsafe to say anything more than she already has, not without potentially incriminating herself to whatever prying ears happen to be lingering nearby. how she's even managed to squirrel away as much as she has of the corporation's medical supplies is beyond him ( he'd expect such an accredited facility to have a better handle on their inventory ) but he doesn't intend to put her at risk any more than that by asking questions.

the other reason? he's still not entirely comfortable with the fact that the living room he left behind in the dead of the night to patrol the compound gate has been turned into a triage unit for the injured scattered around his home. and look, he doesn't have to be told how selfish it is, he already knows. and maybe he's a neat freak, but his own neuroses over cleanliness, surprisingly enough, have nothing to do with it this time. christ alive, maisie's hurt and santiago's exhausted and neither one of them can make it to a bed without stepping around someone else ailing on their floor.

❝ what d'ye want me tae do, sera? ❞ it's a genuine question, and if it sounds a little sharper around the edges than he intends, it's only because he's feckin' tired. ❝ ah dinnae ken what they're planning, but the fact yer worried about it is reason enough i cannae feckin' leave. reason we cannae leave. these folk, they'd be sittin' ducks, the lot o' them. they're sad an' they're scared an' those fecks in there are plannin' tae retaliate on 'em fer it. ah cannae turn my back tae that. ❞

~~*~~

Sera pulls her gaze back to the guards at the gates. They are easier to look at then the slightly accusatory look and question that Lindsay just leveled at her. He was just here to keep people safe just in case. She was here to commit an actual crime. Not that anyone in Silver Linings cared about where they supplies used to save their lives came from, it was still illegal. And she would still be punished harshly if she was ever caught. Again, a choice she made when she took the job.

"We're running out of...everything," she answers him simply trusting that he will put the rest of the information together. They all know, or at least they should, where things come from. It's not like there's a catalog she can order this stuff from these days. The only supplier is the one they are all fighting against. But actually saying it out loud this close to the compound is the definition of stupidity.

Her guilty eyes fall back on him. The hypocrisy of what she's doing while telling him to be safe isn't completely lost on her. "Look you know as well as I do that they are likely planning something already. Please don't play right into their hands. This might have all been a ploy to get you guys out in the open anyway. To cull what they consider the rotten fruit in more ways than one. You see what I mean?"

[eatabug]

this is why angel needs to be more careful with her words.

the moment that she speaks the phrase into existence, she knows she's made a mistake. hell, even before it's slipped her tongue, she knows she shouldn't. and it's not like he's wrong, is it? it was never just fucking, no matter how much she tries to tell herself otherwise. how long had she spent envisioning, idealizing a future with him? how many of her own walls had she let down around him? the truth is, darcy knows her better than most, and whether or not she loves him now like she had then, she'll always care for him. you don't just lay yourself bare for someone and then just forget or, worse, pretend you never gave a fuck at all.

( she's not kate winslet, okay? there's no way she'd bleach her hair or let anyone poke around in her head to delete her memories. )

❝ lo sé, cariño, ❞ angel sighs, her voice suddenly several decibels softer as she pulls a manicured hand through her curls, ❝ i know. i'm sorry, i didn't mean it like that. ❞ she can't deny the twist of guilt in her gut at the way he speaks about himself, the way others speak of him. as much as he tries to project an air of casual indifference about it all, she knows better. ❝ and i don't think you're pathetic either pero i do think you've got your priorities all out of whack. have you thought anymore about what we talked about last time? ❞ and the time before. and the time before. she doesn't have to say it aloud to be confident he knows what she means. he needs help, professional help. not the kind she can give him in a twenty minute wellness check every other week.

her eyes follow him as he rises from the floor, flickering briefly to the makeshift kitchen in question when she's offered tea. angel shakes her head, but she tries to keep a courteous smile on her lips all the same. ❝ no, save your tea. i'm counting on something stronger when i get home. ❞ she needs a little bit of liquor after the day ( days? ) she's had and there's a jar of moonshine courtesy of mama mabel chilling in her freezer. the smile that's been twitching at her lips since his offer falters at the question and teeth sink into her bottom lip, arms coming to cross over her chest. ❝ mhm, ❞ she answers, quiet. ❝ a few. not rio, gracias a dios, pero ― scarlett, and um ... and others. ❞

she doesn't say perry's name aloud, not only because she doesn't want to start tearing up in the middle of this stupid treehouse, but because she'd feel like a bitch for bringing up her new partner now. she's not trying to hurt him. she'd ask after archie, but she knows better than to try and get information about his family out of him. instead, she simply asks, ❝ you? ❞

"it wasn't just fucking, you know." there's a bite in his tone that he normally doesn't have, that kind of defensive flourish, like he's trying to defend his honor and not just a long dead relationship that he honestly should have gotten over by now. he knows that people are going to look at things differently, reminisce differently, perhaps even care differently about things once they've ended, but it's not unfair or incorrect to say that angel had been, at one time, the most stable thing in his life, and reducing it down to fucking feels.... blatant and wrong in a way that even darcy in his worst haze can push against.

of course, that's his own feeling, there's no telling what angel feels, and he's too scared to ask.

he looks up at her for a moment, just kind of looks because sometimes it's nice to have something new and pleasant to look at in his trashy little hovel, and then he offers a shrug that he pretends is indifferent. "it's okay if you think it, though. don't they all? pathetic is one of the nicer things i've been called." he's not unfamiliar with himself, with what he is and what he has become. but he likes himself more now. feels more like himself now. perhaps a side effect of the delusions people say he has.

eyes linger on her hand for a minute before he reaches out to take it, standing and stretching to his full height, listening to all of the little snaps and cracks his body makes as it draws itself upright. "can i get you anything to drink? i have tea, i think." he isn't actually sure what's in the corner designated kitchen, with the scavenged hot plate and the clutter of boxes labeled cabinets. he hasn't checked in a while. "are you okay? did anyone you--- is anyone close to you hurt?"

[eatabug]

❝ good morning to you too, archie. ❞

if the enthusiasm in their greeting is a little lacking compared to the energy they usually bring to the door of the civic councilmember's office, they'll blame it on a lack of decent sleep or the headache blooming behind their eyes from yet another day spent under the glow of these godforsaken fluorescent lights. lord only knows the coffee they're slinging down in the hospital cafeteria ― for twice the credits it's worth, mind ― is doing absolutely nothing to take the edge off.

and okay, to their credit, they haven't spent the whole week in this hospital room. was that only because tadhg insisted they not stay the whole time? maybe. ( look, they're still new and skylar's not trying to scare him away with some u-haul lesbian level love-bombing, even if they are, like, ridiculously worried about the state of him right now. ) but that meant skylar did leave long enough to go home and shower a few times, to get their computer and their phone charger and something to eat that didn't come from a vending machine.

and no, okay, maybe skylar didn't make it into town hall even once in that window of time. but that's not to say they weren't working! they sit up a bit in their chair, indignant, and flip a few braids over their shoulder as they fix him with a stare. ❝ did we get all our big feelings out, arch? are we done? do you need a coffee or a hug? ❞ the community officer tries to keep their voice down as they speak, not wanting to disturb tadhg's sleep only a few feet away, but a roll of their eyes adds a silent emphasis their volume can't convey.

❝ okay, awesome. first of all, i'm not hiding. in case you haven't noticed ― and i know you have ― we're kind of in the eye of that shitstorm you speak of right now. this is the fuck factory at the moment. just because i haven't been in the office doesn't mean i haven't been doing my job. ❞ alright, no, maybe they haven't been doing any paperwork ( and no, they don't want to think about what a nightmare that's going to be once they finally get back to their desk ) but they have been taking to people, trying to gather information and assuage concerns simultaneously where they can. it's not a dishonest answer, just ... a slightly duplicitous one. isn't that what archie does for a living? it's not like he can judge. ❝ and, no, it's not charity work. that's my boyfriend. dick. ❞

who: @eatabug ( skylar ) where: afterglow hospital, that room they won't leave

they'd started trials and that was the best fucking news archie's been given all week. which, for the record, that fucking week has felt like half a lifetime. one day, archie was going to wake up and go to work and have nothing on his desk to cover-up or spin or make some somber announcement about. on that day, he was going to fucking tap dance like fred astaire on every floor of every building in the damn compound. hell, he was so confident it would never happen that he would let it be filmed and broadcast live in every country in the world.

and to make matters fucking worse, the community officer who basically knew everyone was missing in action. how the hell was archie supposed to control the narrative without the information about these fucking people and how they felt? plus it would be great to have them out in the field doing their shiny, happy, friendly thing with all the angry and worried people outside trying to burn down the place with all the doctors inside of it that can cure their loved ones. he was headed over to check how these trials were going when he noticed the very distinct features of the missing community officer in one of the rooms.

"well if it isn't mx. shiny happy sunshine hiding behind the clouds when the crops are flooding." the words fell out of his mouth without much thought when he burst into the shared room. truth be told, the hospital and labs gave him the creeps. everything was so fucking white. he didn't pay any attention to the sleeping person on the bed or who might be on the other side of the curtain divider. "good to know you've been in here with whoever the fuck that is while we've all been dealing with shit show at the fuck factory out there. what the fuck are you doing, case?" he looked around again and still couldn't find an answer to explain their choice. "is this some kind of charity work? community comfort duty or is that, i don't know, fucking family?" they motioned to the bandaged giant on the bed with braided hair. he certainly didn't look like fucking family, for the record.

[eatabug]

under any other circumstances, judah would have at least pushed back against if not outright refused such a direct order from the president of the jackals ― he was an associate, after all, and that was borne mostly out of blood and respect for the legacy his uncle left behind. he provided them the shop as a space to gather and to work on their bikes and he'd do anything in his power to help them that did not directly endanger himself or his brother ( or dixie, at this point ) but he doesn't fall within their ranks. he isn't patched in. the thing is, these aren't normal circumstances, and as much as he likes to project that he is, judah isn't actually an asshole. so he fucking listens. listens as he half-drags her down the alley because he knows there's not a single goddamn world in which she'd let him carry her.

and it's not like any of her requests are unprecedented either. she's not asking the world of him. his plan was to take her to a medic the second he laid eyes on her. he doesn't know where the hell this safehouse is, mind, but beyond that, he can't find it in him to refuse her. ❝ fuck's sake, now don't you go worryin' 'bout me and mine right now, scar, ❞ judah says, and he's got his gaze locked on the end of the alley because he cannot stand to watch the blisters forming on her skin with every step they take. ❝ crystal. soon as i get you where you're goin', i'll start reachin' out, get jojo to help me. we'll let 'em all know what happened, get a head count. ❞ and he does mean that. much as he didn't ask for it, he feels a sort of responsibility to her in this moment.

his own features contort in a sympathetic wince as she curses her way onto the back of the bike. he waits until he can feel her arms around him ( and fuck, he just knows that's got to be agonizing ) to secure his own helmet on her head. and then he's revving the engine and pealing away from the curb. ❝ alright, alright, ❞ he concedes, his gaze locked on the road ahead. ❝ just like ― shit, don't pass out on me or nothin' back there, scar, i swear to god―! ❞

SCARLETT KNOWS THAT AMIDST the unexpected, there is cause for confusion. madness, even. searching for answers to questions that don't have them -- alongside the rest. until they all become a jumbled mess of words. she's sure his mind is racing, searching for his brother. scarlett had given up blood family in exchange for freedom, but she too had her mind on certain people -- one of which in a way she firmly believes she shouldn't. the first is rio. perhaps it seems so simple, from a business standpoint. rio was her number two. if they could connect, they could think of next steps. when in reality -- her heart felt like it was screaming in her chest. at least, that's where it should be. she could hear it in her ears. she was not a desperate woman -- but in this case, she found herself aching to know only one thing: that they were breathing. she had tried, she really had. frankly, scarlett hulley had more enemies than friends and truly trusted less people than she could count on two hands. she should not be in the business of feeling this way about anyone, let alone her vice president. " more? how much is fuckin' more? they... they kinda fuckin' blur together... " scarlett groans. it had been what felt like a lifetime since the last time the swarm consumed them, but she had evaded it the first time. still a fresh-faced, wide eyes jackals member with so much to lose. " ah fuck it -- just get me the hell out of here. "

the blisters. they were coming. blossoming along her skin faster than she could even blink. she didn't remember much about the side effect, or what was bound to happen to her next. she wasn't scared of much, hell, not even dying. something was bound to take her out sooner rather than later -- but she felt something akin to scared of the incoming pain. " ah fuck -- okay, okay. " it's then she's hit by a wave so painful -- it causes her face to contort in a silent scream. it's then she realizes: they need a plan. even in excruciating pain, she still finds it within her to give an order. " get me to a fuckin' medic.... from there, start reachin' out. doesn't have'ta be you... spend time with your... your brother and that girl'a yours. make sure they're okay. but one of you will have'ta come by and let me know however everybody's doin' eventually. " she lets in a sharp inhale, realizing how much energy her speech has taken out of her.

" we clear? "

as she's assisted onto the bike, she feels the movement in nearly every vertebra. " fuckin' shit god damn -- " she mutters, unable to stop the obscenities in usual scarlett fashion. of course she hasn't entirely thought this through. even if she was a ride or die supporter of the militia and their work, it had been ages since she had paid them any kind of visit. " just start drivin... i need'ta make sense of where i am. then i can give y'the way. "

afterglow wasn't going to get their hands on her.

[eatabug]

the remark is enough to draw a snort from judah and he tilts his head in a nod, conceding to the truth in the other man's words. agreement comes in the form of a low groan as he stretches in the passenger seat, arching his back until he can hear it pop before sinking into the leather. ❝ ain't that the goddamn truth, ❞ he says, ❝ same shit would be a fuckin' blessin' at this point. i'd kill for a little consistency in all a' this bullshit.❞ last month it was crazy bug cult fuckers dragging industrial fans into town to try and drug everyone into conversion, this month it's actual fucking bugs. it's almost enough to make judah miss the mines.

( no, that's a goddamn lie. he ain't never goin' back down there. )

his nose wrinkles slightly at javier's explanation ― so he was right, it was his brother's house ― but he's got his back to the man to line up a shot with his bottle cap and the trash bin against the wall a couple yards away, so javi can't see the way his face falters. look, he's not judging ― if push came to shove, he and his brother would probably offer the space in shop for crisis support. but that's the shop, it's not their home. he sure as shit wouldn't let anyone into the airstream. his left eye squints slightly and he pokes his tongue out in concentration as he chucks the bottle cap across the room. it hits the rim of the trash can before clattering to the floor. judah swears under his breath before refocusing his attention on the conversation at hand.

❝ they all okay, then? i know y'all got a massive fuckin' brood ― is everyone accounted for? your mama good? ❞ judah wouldn't ask just anybody, mostly just 'cause he doesn't care, but he likes javi. good guy, hard worker. he wants to check in. javi's question comes right as he's taken a swig from his beer and he nods, swallowing and clearing his throat before speaking again. ❝ yeah, thank fuck ain't neither of them were at the market. i was tryin' to go in and grab a couple things, but i showed up just in time to grab scar and get the fuck outta there. ❞

A touch of a smile curves Javier's lips as Judah settles in the seat beside him and a beer is extended in his direction. He doesn't hesitate to accept the offer, as if he hadn't already been rooting around in the fridge earlier (he makes a mental note to go to the store to stock it back up, at some point). He pops the top off with his own bottle opener and swallows down a mouthful before humoring Judah with a response. "I'd say 'same shit, different day', but this shit is getting a bit out of hand." They were used to radiation causing unexpected problems and all that, but toxic bugs descending on the town and wrecking havoc? It was a new one in his book.

Truth be told Javier was getting antsy. He didn't like too much time cooped up on his own - too much time to get up in his head and let his thoughts wander into the darker recesses.

"Yeah, I guess so. Apparently when crisis hits, people thought Santiago's was the place to be?" He knew Afterglow was...questionable, at best, in some of their practices. But they were still a medical facility. Probably better equipped to deal with a such an incident than Santiago's bedroom - but, hell, who was Javier to make that call? Sera probably knew far better than him, and she seemed well prepared to just keel over and die right there and then than even give thought to seeking treatment from Afterglow.

He shakes his head a bit, sucking in a breath before taking another sip from the bottle in his hand. Then his eyes slip over in Judah's direction. "You and Jonah come out okay? Dixie, too?"

[eatabug]

❝ 'course i know what i'm doin', ye of little fuckin' faith! quit doubtin' me. ❞

the exclamation is made with a level of confidence that belies the fact that he's only ever been on this farm a handful of times and, beyond that, this is his first time doing any of it on his own. well, no, okay, not technically on his own ― there's a reason he brought jonah along, there's no way he's doing this shit alone at night ― but it's his first time trying to tend to any of the animals without dixie here to tell him what to do. it's not that hard, though. move a couple of hay bales, make sure the chickens are in the coop, maybe raid the fridge before they go. what could possibly go wrong?

of course, the second that thought crosses his mind, judah's head shoots up at the sound of his brother's whistle. the first thing he spots are the lights and the younger fisher is swearing under his breath as he shoves shut the door to the truck and comes around to stand beside jo, arms crossed over his chest and shoulders squared as his brother speaks. he's more than happy to let jonah address them first, his own gaze expectant at his brother's question. go figure the useless fucks would show up the one time they ain't doin' shit wrong.

❝ sir, we're here responding to a call reporting suspicious activity on this private property, ❞ the peacekeeper addresses jonah. ❝ suspected trespassing and breaking and entering. is this your property? ❞ it's clear from his tone when he asks that he already knows the answer, and judah can't bite back his scoff.

❝ oh, cut the bullshit. like y'all don't already know us on a first name basis, ❞ he retorts. ❝ does either of us look like a goddamn clary? we were asked to come here. now answer my brother's question. y'all got a warrant or not? ❞

who: @eatabug ( judah ) where: the farm he never wanted to go to but is at now

while jonah definitely had a massive amount of respect for anyone trying to sustain living on their own accord and not live off the governance or corporate greed, he had no business being on a farm. but for some reason he was getting up close and personal with the turner-clary menagerie because his brother was hard up for some girl for the first time in his life. ( and yes, he got it, he related in more ways than one to that level of dedication to someone and he was happy for him, he truly was, he just did not want to be on a farm during a bug war when it was nearing night time. )

"do you even know what you're doin' out here, man?" he got out of the truck just in time to see the lights flash on the squad car they somehow missed following them in while they were mid heated discussion about the whether or not they would take an antidote from afterglow knowing what they know and if they would let them use them as a test subject in some future hypothetical situation. jonah liked to throw out hypothetical situations like that, but judah had his own he posed right back.

the older twin let out a sharp whistle to get judah's attention as the officers got out of their vehicle. "look alive, we got company." he took a few steps forward. "evenin' officers, this is private property you know that right? you have a warrant to be here or are you just trespassing right now?"