[Darcy Vance]

Darcy’s pulse spiked as she felt the air thin, and her lungs screamed for oxygen that wasn’t reaching them. The room swayed slightly as her vision darkened, but she kept her expression calm, showing no sign of panic. This wasn’t her first brush with someone dangerous—and, as unnerving as it was, she needed to keep her focus on him, not on the tightening in her chest.

With a steadying breath—or attempt at one—she raised her hands higher and held her position, trying to show him she wasn’t going to push any further. Darcy’s voice, though faint, was controlled as she managed to speak. “Alright… I’ll stay right here.” She didn’t dare take another step forward.

Locking eyes with him, she spoke slowly, hoping her calm could somehow ease his mistrust. “I’m only here to help. I’ve got meds for the pain in my pocket,” She added softly, motioning slightly with one hand to the bottles in her coat, “And I can keep my distance while I leave them with you.”

Darcy paused, fighting against the dizziness creeping over her. “I need you to ease up… just a little. Otherwise, we’re both gonna be in trouble.” She didn’t break eye contact, letting him see the honesty there. “So, if you want to get out of here in one piece… let’s try this without hurting each other.” She really ought to stop talking, before she used what breath she did have.

Her heartbeat thudded louder in her ears, but she kept her stance calm and steady. She’d been in tight spots before—she just had to hope he’d see her as an ally, not a threat.

[Jason Sharpe]

The universal gesture of surrender went a long way, but not far enough. He half expected her to use a Gift on him, or someone else to barge into the room, with a tranquilizer or rubber bullets or something, he had no idea. He wasn't used to having his abilities available to him in a setting like this, as he was usually so drugged out of his mind he could barely walk.

The pain in his back reared its ugly head, growing sharper with each ragged breath. He could feel his own senses and thoughts sharpening, feeding off of that terrible ache. But it wouldn't last long.

Jason narrowed his eyes as the women gasped out her words. She seemed to be trying for reassuring, but he'd heard that before. He wouldn't fall for that. He'd had too many needles plunged into him, too many volts run through his body, too many powers used on him to lay back and let it happen. If those pills really were pain medication, he could knock her out and take it. She was probably figuring that out right about now too, so he didn't think she was using that as a bargaining chip. But if she really was a doctor - a real doctor - while his memory was fuzzy, he was very aware that he needed help. He could feel that warm surge of power slipping already.

He didn't 'ease up' as she put it. She was the one using up all her air to speak and he simply didn't give it back to her. Her threat made his expression darken. The vortex in the room shifted, an impossibly strong wind whipping back to crash into the woman, pushing her back against the wall behind her even as he continued to block off her airway until she couldn't breathe.

But the longer he studied that look in her eyes, let her tone sink in, felt his muscles strain and shake at simply remaining upright...

Jason let go of the air in the room suddenly, though his guarded expression never left the woman by the door. He didn't trust her. But...she hadn't explicitly given him a reason to kill her. Though he was more than prepared to if she made any sudden movements.

The only person hurting anyone here would be him hurting her because he wasn't about to let what happened two years ago happen again. He'd killed before and he would again if he had to. Conscience be damned.

[Darcy Vance]

Darcy slumped against the wall, her back pressed firmly to the cool surface as she fought to regain her breath. Her vision fading, the edges of the room losing focus, and she forced herself to meet his narrowed gaze, keeping her movements slow and deliberate. She wasn’t about to push him any further; she’d seen too many wounded animals lash out, knowing that a cornered soul could be the most dangerous of all.

When he finally released the air in the room, Darcy felt the pinprick of panic as her lungs felt they couldn’t fill themselves quick enough. She gasped, coughing slightly as she tried to force herself to take more steadying breaths. The room coming back into focus as she pressed a hand to her chest. The dull ache in her chest eased up as she breathed, but she didn’t dare make any move forward, didn’t try to close the gap. Instead, she reached into her coat pocket, pulled out the bottle of painkillers, and, with a flick of her wrist, gently rolled it across the floor toward him. It stopped just short of his the table he’d been laid out on.

“Pain meds,” She said softly, her voice steady but quiet. “They’re yours to take if you need them. No strings, no tricks.” Her gaze stayed on him, her hands resting open at her sides, showing him she was unarmed and in no rush to get any closer.

“I get that you don’t trust me,” She continued, her voice carrying just enough warmth to show him she wasn’t going anywhere. But still sounding a touch strained from the sudden loss of air before. “You’ve got no reason to. But… I’m just trying to help.”

Darcy drew a slow breath, letting the calm settle over her. She knew she had to meet him on his terms. “All I want is to make sure you don’t bleed out,” She said simply.

With that, she went quiet, allowing him the space to make his own choice. She’d done all she could to show him she was exactly who she claimed to be. Now it was up to him. She wasn’t willing to put herself further at risk, she had a family waiting for her at home after-all.

[Jason Sharpe]

[Dane Wayland whenever you want to hop back in]

Jason slumped back against the table. A few more pillows would have been humane. But he supposed he could be just as much monster as man if he wanted.

He forced his eyes to stay open, watching the woman slump to the ground and slowly pull precious air back into her lungs. Pressed his teeth together and bite the sides of his tongue, just hard enough to hurt, to remind himself he was real and present and not just in danger, but dangerous.

The only sound in the medical ward was the heart monitor that hadn't changed rhythm since he woke up, the thrumming AC, and the sound of Darcy coughing and wheezing. Jason narrowed his eyes as she reached into her pocket and pulled out the bottle. The pills tinkled against each other in the bottle as she rolled it over. He watching to plink against one leg of the table and spin and come to a stop below. He couldn't get up gracefully to reach for it, but it was close enough to look at. Not that he knew what he was looking at. Pills. Definitely.

Dark eyes flicked back up to Darcy as she continued. Jason watched her warily. He huffed in amusement as she claimed to want to make sure he didn't die. Sure. But she had a point. The pain was deepening and forcing its way in, taking over. The back of the table felt warm, and he realized maybe that wasn't sweat from exertion, but something else. Still, his gaze didn't leave hers.

Once again, he felt like a terrible judge of character. But that man at the rest stop had got him here. And he still wasn't sure 'here' was a bad place or not. But rest stop had been a bad place. No question.

Jason swallowed and nodded slowly, putting his own hand down and limp across his lap. The darkness tugged at him, encouraged him to let go and relax and give in. But he had promised to be here. For Her. The heart monitor slowed, first to something more relaxed, and then more and more as he struggled not to drift off from pushing himself.

[Dane Wayland]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","lizardstripe"]

i'm burnin' up with the witches[break]
always been the same and i'll never change

Dane attended his chores with little hurry. And, while he was gone, he received no news or update from the doctor — good or bad. [break][break]

At some point in the morning, he'd taken a moment to look his friend up on the list of recently completed bounties. But the information the Guild had on him had been next to nothing. Marginal. Only a placeholder name, a suggested Gift, and a terribly-cropped photo that looked a little unlike the half-dead, exhausted man that Dane had drug about. The man who'd hunted him tonight had, of course, padded the information with his own report. Filled in some unknowns. Added details about the night, his victim's Gift, and the man's competency (no doubt trying to up his "danger" classification in an attempt to be paid more... or, just as likely... to excuse the mess they'd made). [break][break]

Dane could have contested it. Submitted his own report, detailing — among other, trivial things — that the guy was not dead. But... after only a little bit of mulling... the follow-up he'd made as the assigned cleaner had been minimal and succinct. The place had been a wreck, the Sector had come sniffing about before he could "finish" a proper disposal, but there was no reason to worry and nothing that could be followed back. All thumbs up, prayer hands, and blushing faces (emojis were discouraged in reports, so.. naturally... Dane made sure to load them with them).[break][break]

If the Sector said otherwise, in whatever public reports they made about the night's destruction... or in whatever (slightly more honest) reports some Guild-insider scrounged up from them... then, well — they would lie about it, wouldn't they?[break][break]

He wasn't worried about it, honestly. And no one had reached out to him for further clarification. The only person he'd really had to speak to was the cleaner he was filling in for. He'd left the pretty mess in his car for him to deal with (to "make up" for his own cleanliness in the past half-year), and the guy hadn't even been fussed. Dane had a sneaking suspicion that... on the contrary... he might have actually been a little grateful for it. [break][break]

He probably needed more hobbies. [break][break]

Eventually, he made his way back to the surgeon's office. He'd cleaned up a bit and loaded a small duffle bag with snacks, clothes, and a number of things to distract him through a sleepless morning (most namely his Switch and the Animal Crossing game he'd grown fond of). He'd picked up a bottle of whiskey (as promised) for the surgeon and packed away some more preferable alcohol of his own as well.[break][break]

He parked his new car — another Guild vehicle (but this one screamed "I make 30k a year, have a retirement plan, and couldn't afford to file an insurance claim when someone door-checked me in the Whole Foods parking lot") — next to hers, in the front instead of the back, and let his dog out the backseat before gathering his things. As the pair moved around the building — quick through the cold rain that'd been falling steadily now and was forecasted to continue all day today and next — he plucked an apple juice pouch from the side pocket of his duffle and gnawed off the top. [break][break]

The door was still unlocked and, as he held it open for Snowcone to trot through and stepped inside, he shook out his dripping bangs and called out, "Heyo! I'm back!" Snowcone gave herself a vigorous shake beside him, earning a quick laugh, and as he moved down the hall, he continued in the same loud, announcing voice, "I peeped your vending machine on my way out. Lot of trash options... especially if you don't like chocolate. So I brought tons of snacks. Was going to order us something but... nothing good is open yet." [break][break]

As they approached the end of the hall, Snowcone whined low in her throat and Dane paused with his hand on the door, listening for any noise on the other side while he let his eye drag to the dog's perked attention. Her head lowered... her shiny, wet nose quivered testingly... and her attentive gaze roved searchingly at the door's edges. As if she sensed or anticipated some tension. Was on edge. Or was simply letting him know "to be cautious". [break][break]

He thought of the bus stop and its destruction. His fellow hunter's notes. The battlemap of scars across his new pal's body and the tense stiffening of air around them when they'd been in the forest. He was obviously powerful. Dangerous. Had survived a fair bit — what, Dane could only guess — and had proved capable of defending himself. [break][break]

Dane knew... tested survivors didn't tend to do well in captivity. Especially when they weren't "well". Being bedridden, or in any way debilitated, could spike that defensive edge to something quite reactionary. Or panicked. Like a wild animal inconsolably pacing the walls of its cage, lashing out or backing into a corner with a low, warning growl when it was approached; refusing to understand (or believe) its rehabilitator only wanted to help. Hurting itself further in a mindless desperation to keep itself guarded.[break][break]

His friend had been mostly amicable so far in their dealings but... how much of that was due to dying? And how much life, strength, and whatever else had a little bit of rest and blood-regeneration restored? [break][break]

Dane only considered it for only a moment. [break]
It wasn't usually his style to be particularly prudent. Or to tip-toe. [break][break]

Motioning for Snowcone to 'stay', he plastered on a pleasant grin and shoved through the door; speaking quick and moving inside without any apparent wariness. "It's been raining non-stop. How lucky that we just missed it, huh?" As he entered the room, he cast his gaze in a quick poke about and noted its telling signs of disarray with little emotion — notes and pens scattered across the floor, frames askew on the wall, instruments rattled to untidiness... the doctor-woman seated unceremoniously on the floor, looking a little whipped about. [break][break]

Oof. There was a... possibility, he supposed... that she wouldn't answer the next time he came knocking.[break][break]

He lifted his apple juice pouch to his lips, took a noisy slurp to finish it off, and then drug his gaze from her, to the man on the table. "Problem?" He tipped his head, bottom lip jutting in the faintest semblance of a pout while his brow knitted up at the middle to feign some hammed-up hurt. He lifted the whiskey bottle in his other hand to wave on the air and shrugged up the duffle bag of supplies slung across his back. "I thought we were playing nice?"

Tag: Jason Sharpe & Darcy Vance [break]
Notes: Give me a nudge for any changes! Or if I should have time-skipped or anything, idk?

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[Darcy Vance]

Darcy had barely managed to steady herself when Dane’s cheerful voice carried down the hall, quickly followed by his energetic entrance into the room. She grimaced, still breathing heavily, her hand pressed against her chest. Her gaze flicked toward the patient, who looked like he was barely holding it together himself. Dane, of course, seemed blissfully unaware of the tension in the room, as he slurped on an apple juice pouch and glanced between them.

She exhaled slowly, trying to regain control over the situation. This wasn’t ideal, but at least Dane’s presence had broken the heavy silence, giving her a second to regroup.

“Nice timing.” She murmured, her voice still strained as she pushed herself off the wall. She shot a brief, assessing look at him, not quite sure she wanted to attempt to get nearer. Not when he was still so defensive.

Dane, oblivious or simply unbothered, raised the bottle of whiskey with a shrug. “I thought we were playing nice?” He asked, his expression painted with mock disappointment as he surveyed the scattered mess and her position on the floor.

Darcy shook her head, offering him a dry, weary smile. “We are,” He replied, her tone even. She gestured vaguely at the mess. “Just… a little misunderstanding.”

Turning her gaze back to the patient, she took a slow step back, signaling she was giving him the space he needed to decide for himself. “You’re in good hands,” She said softly. “And I’ll be here to help as much as you need…or as little.” Her voice softened, but there was an edge of sincerity in her tone. She was no longer pushing him, only extending the option, and then she gave him one last nod.

For now, she had to trust that he’d take what he needed—whether it was the pain meds, her help, or Dane’s support. She had a family to get back to, but she’d keep her word for as long as they felt the need for her presence.

“Maybe you’ll have better luck getting close.” She shrugged, stepping toward Dane and taking the whiskey bottle. Giving an appreciative nod, knowing as badly as she wanted a drink right now; she wasn’t having one while the injured man was so unpredictable.

---

Tags: Dane Wayland & Jason Sharpe

[Jason Sharpe]

His eyes snapped open with the door. Jason tried to pick himself up again and failed miserably, slumping back against the table. This person he recognized at least. The one who'd found him at the bus stop, carried him to his car and...well, probably dragged him here. Jason studied him as he spoke about the weather. If he hadn't recognized his face, he certainly would have recognized that flippant tone. He couldn't remember if they shared names or not.

Jason knew those words. Knew the cleaner's words weren't for the doctor but were for him. He remembered the dogs. The growls. Their reactive shift the moment their owner seemed to be at ease with his agreement of a truce.

To be perfectly honest, Jason couldn't afford to break that truce any more than he might have already. Even if he didn't exactly trust either of them. He narrowed his eyes and tried to relax his jaw. His gaze didn't move from the man even as the doctor spoke. The phrases she used made a dent and he looked back down to the floor where the bottle rested entirely out of his reach. Jason took a deep slow breath and let it out, feeling that tension loosen. He couldn't keep this up and he knew well enough they didn't need him as much as he needed them right now.

He didn't take himself off high alert, still more than a little fearful, but he did relax, directing a grudgingly apologetic look at the woman under the other man's supervision. Play nice. For some pain meds, maybe a new IV and a blood transfusion and another nap. Fine. Long as he didn't wake up drugged out of his mind.

[Dane Wayland]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","lizardstripe"]

i'm burnin' up with the witches[break]
always been the same and i'll never change

The man on the table — Jason, the bounty listing had named him — stirred when Dane entered, then fell back against the table. He looked to him and, when their eyes met, Dane lifted his brow and let the corners of his mouth quirk in the smallest, thrilled way. Even though Jason lacked the strength to properly hold himself up, there was a severe sort of cut, still, in his gaze. The same look that'd been there when Dane fell upon him, a couple breaths from dying, in the forest. Steel. Warning — not loud or verbal, but silent and sharp. A promise of bite with no need to bark. Prepared. Steadied despite the odds. And, even when the doctor-woman spoke — no doubt downplaying whatever had transpired before Dane's arrival — Jason didn't look to her. And Dane's lips tugged the tiniest bit more. [break][break]

He held his gaze for as long as Jason did. Not in any particularly challenging way... but in a strangely conversational way. Like slow-blinking at a cat that was still formulating its weighty opinion. Or a simple acknowledgment of what made Jason do so and what it meant, to be evaluated and weighed as a threat not yet tested, and to match it. Give the consideration back to him. Like a little nod. [break][break]

He could see the other man consider his words; judge them and try to slacken the instinctual tension in him. And, as soon as Jason's eyes dropped, Dane smacked his lips and turned his bright, beaming gaze on the doctor; handing off her bottle and huffing a short laugh on a quiet breath. "Well, if it's just a little misunderstanding," he mused, voice sly and knowing. "Then these things do happen. All forgiven?" [break][break]

As soon as the bottle was handed off, he moved closer — not bothering being slow or cautious — and bent to pick up the pill bottle on the floor. His lip curled distastefully. Nasty things. Even before his brother and his loathsome addictions, Dane had never liked painkillers. He preferred to feel his pains. He earned them. Deserved them. And, if he needed to dull them to sleep, then a bottle of alcohol would fucking do.[break][break]

He tapped the prescription bottle loudly to the table next to the man and 'tsk'ed when he noted the crimson bled through his bandages and beginning to pool beneath him. What had he been thinking earlier, about wounded, wild animals in captivity — always hurting themselves as they threw themselves at their bars? [break][break]

"Don't be angry, Doc... but it looks like Jason," his eyes flickered to the man's face, a brow lifting questioningly. "Is that right? Your name?" He lifted an arm to wipe the rain from his brow. "May have undone some of your work." He dropped his voice and dipped a little down (as if speaking "aside" to the tabled man, though his voice was still decidedly loud enough for the surgeon to hear). "Though... if you haven't been very nice to her, she might make me stitch you back up. And I know damn well she wasn't talking about me, when she said 'good hands'." His shoulders shimmied, just barely, and he chortled. "We don't know each other like that."

Tag: Jason Sharpe & Darcy Vance [break]
Notes: Give me a nudge for any changes! Or if you need more.

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[newclass=.lizardstripe]line-height:1.3;[/newclass]