apocalypsehowcomm | Leave me here, Burning with you (Open)

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Leave me here, Burning with you (Open)

Who: Andrew Jaeger

bloodalwaystells and Everyone!
When: Late April-May
Where: Various locations
Summary: Catch-all for post-assassination and TDM events
Warnings: Scars, hospital setting, burn wounds, mentions of violence, murder, and torture, burned bodies, more will be added as needed!

((OOC: Open to planning, just PM or brimstonemuse to discuss ideas and set up a starter! I will match brackets or prose, as desired!))

The Infirmary ((Approx April 23-30, after this thread)) CW: Burn wounds and other damage, hospital setting

It's not the first time that Jaeger has been hurt in the line of so-called "duty", and it won't be the last. Normally, it's something he can fix, but not anymore. Not here, especially since using his powers is partly what got him into this situation in the first place.

So, a hospital bed is home for a while, until he is steady on his feet and showing signs of good healing. He's being kept in the infirmary ward for some fairly severe burns, and some rather mysterious internal damage that has him occasionally coughing blood. Bandages cover one arm and his side and chest, and there's a quietly beaten, haggard look to him that the big man seldom allows to show. Painkillers help, and so do visitors, though his entirely inadequate hospital gown shows both a fine array of decorative-looking scars (well healed) on his arms, and the vicious mark across his throat that by now is starting to become common knowledge.

Visitors will be greeted with a wan smile, though, once word gets out that he's laid up. It's better than listlessly flipping through cable channels for something interesting to watch. Most of the time, he settles on a murder mystery or old western, though other times he'll simply doze through whatever's on the screen.

Well-Read - (May 1 - 12): CW: mentions of torture, murder, scars/scarification, Bad Magic

Being out of the infirmary is a relief for Jaeger, even if it means returning to something like chaos. He's still healing, though, still tentative and careful in the way he moves. A book fair, though? That's a good excuse to get out and about. Fresh air, a change of scenery, and hopefully, bringing back something interesting to read while he's still recovering a bit.

There's still bandages, but he's better. He'll continue to get better, he's resolute on that. He might be out of action for a bit, but certainly not too much longer. He hopes.

In the meantime, he'll be found browsing the offered books, especially the folklore and local history sections. Or, occasionally, hunched over a laptop, a rare deep scowl on his face as the questions flash by. Terrible, pointedly direct questions, that the computer has no business knowing.

Hello, Sebastian. May we call you that? No. Invalid answer. Hello, Sebastian. May we call you that? No. Invalid answer. Hello, Sebastian. May we call you that? Yes. Excellent! Welcome, Sebastian.

This is not the worst of the questions. Not even close to it. Do you still love your wife? gets a vicious glare, and by the time he gets to Why did you kill Claudia when she was already helpless? he's ready to throw the laptop. Or just wither and die on the spot...that's an option too. He's tired and overdue for his next pain pill and goddamn, sometimes this place is just awful.

Alternatively, he might catch a glimpse of your screen, even in spite of his best efforts not to pry. But it's really just a reading questionnaire, right? There's no harm in seeing what kind of questions they're- oh. Okay.

Training Wheels Off - (May 13 - 14) CW: burn wounds, burned bodies, claustrophobia

The Train

Jaeger has never been fond of flying, really. A train proves much more comfortable, even if it's slower, and he is still healing. Most of the bandages are off by now, but he's still just a little bit careful, a little bit tired. Three weeks is a good amount of time to heal, though, and his wounds are well on the way to becoming new scars across his chest and arm.

He's going to choose to take the time on the train to relax as best he can, to lose himself in the liminal space of travel. They're going to be on the train for a while so he may as well make the best of it.

Until things start getting weird, at least. Then he can be found on a slow patrol of the train, or standing sentry (or sitting sentry) at one of the ends of the train cars. Breaks are taken in the dining car, usually with a cup of apple juice or a bottle of water and gaze alert to the darkness beyond the windows.

At some point in the evening, after the chaos of the Tunnel Incident, Jaeger will return to his assigned sleeping car, and whoever his roommate for the trip might be. If it's someone he knows, he will be as cordial as ever...if it's someone he previously hasn't met, well, he'll still be friendly, if a bit reserved? But quick to introduce himself before stretching out his huge frame on the provided bedding with a deep sigh.

Burned Bridges

He's not hallucinating. He's pretty sure of that, and the sight of the body propped up by the tracks, contorted by intense heat into something barely human-seeming, is a strange and surreal shock after the night they've had. He's seen a lot of Weird Things In The Woods but a body always draws his attention right away. It's wired into him by now, with all the awful things he's seen, even though through the glass of a moving train car, it's oddly distant and surreal.

Until Jaeger sees the lower portion of a leg, and the whole thing snaps into focus. Untouched, unscorched, just laying there amid the charred, leathery mess of the rest of the corpse. "That's human."

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"Can't these things be turned off or somethin'?" he asks, leaning over to look closer for a switch. He has been taking tech classes, enough to know a little bit by now.

"Looks like it's messed up. It ain't taking what you're putting in there. Guess we could call over a librarian?" He sounds less certain about that. In his experience kicking up a fuss with so-called authority figures only leads to more trouble, not less.

"If you can't get up easy, you can lean on me. We can make it look real natural. Nobody has to know." He doesn't know if that's it. Something has him uneasy and glued to his seet.

"No, I can get up." He doesn't want to put that burden on George because he is quite capable of getting to his feet, he just doesn't want to leave the screen.

He glances at George, then nods briefly and hits the power button. The screen stays lit, those accusatory letters still bright on the laptop face. Another press gathers exactly the same result, and in irritation Jaeger reaches to the back of the computer to pull out the power cord.

Still there. Of course. That's not a surprise: Jaeger is starting to learn to expect the worst here and he shoots George a look that's positively mournful.

Why did you kill Claudia when she was already helpless?

"I don't want the librarian. I don't think it will help." He pauses, then rests his forehead in his palm, trying to gather his composure. He shouldn't be breaking down over this sort of trivial mindgame, but, here he is. Too many weeks of stress and pain wears a man down, he supposes.

Finally, quietly, he admits, "The screen is showing me questions about...things that have happened. Things no one should know about." His head still resting on his hand, giving himself a moment of tiny collapse. Just a little.

George lets out a low huff of breath. Of course it's something like this. As if he hasn't seen ample evidence things are never fully straightforward in town. "Well," he says, a bit more slow and measured, "I ain't gonna stand here readin' over your shoulder, but I also ain't leaving you here alone."

Maybe it's presumption the way he settles a steady hand to his shoulder, one that doesn't look obviously bandaged or damaged, the firm squeeze. "So you do what you got to do. I'll make sure nobody else comes over here lookie-looin'." A couple of clapping pats follow before he releases him, squares up more behind his chair, and stands with feet planted and arms folded.

Anybody comes there way will be getting first a glare and then maybe something worse if they don't take the hint. Jaeger went out of his way to help him that day he fell through the ceiling and didn't hold it against him when he gave him hell. He can return the favor a little.

What he needs to do. Well, shit. There's an obvious way to make the terrible question go away, and at least George will keep anyone else away.

That alone might be worth an explanation, because Jaeger isn't sure how much the other man has actually seen. If he knows about the sins that the mage carries, just as surely and clearly as his scars. And as much as Jaeger clings to his secrets, the idea of being marked that way doesn't appeal. He's always had a reason, every time. Just about every time it was a good reason, too.

Jaeger gives a slow breath out, managing not to wince as the motion tugs the bandages across his chest. His arm is better, though he's going to have a splash of scarring there, too, when this is all done. Scars that might fade, given time, but that he'll wear for at least a little while.

He types in a response, brisk and sharp and entirely too honest. It's something he believes, no matter how fucked up the whole situation was...even if that realization only came in retrospect, after the lights and the fear and the blood had faded to ringing afterimpressions.

I killed her because she wasn't going to stop, otherwise.

The words are as stark as they can be on the screen, but Jaeger lets out a slow sigh of relief...until the next question. Of course there's another question.

Don't you feel bad, Sebastian?

Stop. Fucking. Calling me that. He doesn't type the words but, oh, he wants to. He wants this to go away, and with utter disgust and defeat he turns in his chair, away from the expectant cursor.

"I think I'm ready to go."

"Then let's beat feet." He's ready to get out of the library. All of those stacked books just feel like bait in a crab trap now. He's glad he has never been much a reader, wasn't tempted over toward the quizzes. He already knows what kinds of questions he'd be asked, and it's all too fresh and raw to imagine it would end any way other than bad.

He steps away from the chair to give Jaeger room to get up. Once they're out of the building, he sets his hat on his head, the brim shielding his eyes from the noonday sun. He keeps pace with Jaeger and lets him set it, slower than either of them would take it if he wasn't so busted up.

After a little while, he says, "I ain't never been much a talker. Been told I got a decent ear." It's all he'll offer, the only push in any direction as to whether the other man will talk or not. If he doesn't take it, it's no skin off his nose, and if he does, he'll make good on what he's said. Listen without flapping his gums too much.

Jaeger rises with only the slightest hesitation, mindful of his bandaged chest and arm as he gets to his feet and then grabs the small canvas shopping bag of books that he's picked out. No great burden, and it will give him something to do while resting in his room the way he's supposed to be.

One last baleful glance at the computer screen, and then he follows George out into the sun. He winces slightly at the sun, but relaxes again after a moment- or tries to, anyway, the ire melting out of him in favor of quiet defeat.

They walk for a bit, and then George makes his offer and Jaeger slows further still, weighing those words against his own shame.

Of course, George saw the screen. Why else would he be offering to talk about it? That much is clear in Jaeger's mind, and he heaves a deep sigh, ignoring the twinge it sends through his too-tight skin, the angry wounds still covered with gauze and salve.

"You saw what was on the screen, then." It's not a question, not really. Just a weary statement of fact, as he steadily refuses to meet the other man's eyes. A sidelong look is the best he'll offer, as though holding that much back would preserve his secrets after all.

He slows, too, head on a swivel and eyes scanning the not too crowded sidewalk as they go, habit. Long habit.

"Yeah," he says, simple enough. "The one settin' there when I walked up." He offers a shrug and hooks his thumbs in his pockets. "You ain't gotta say a word you don't want to. Ain't gonna change nothing between us if you don't."

A man has a right to his secrets, whatever they are. His curiosity is far weaker than his desire to hold onto his own. Jaeger's alright, though, at least as far as he can tell so far. He also doesn't want to give the impression he wouldn't hear him out if he needs it off his chest. "I heard and seen a lot on the road. Ain't much that shocks me." There. He's said his piece. The rest of it's in Jaeger's court.

Jaeger scans the sidewalk, too, the quick watchfulness of someone seldom at rest, but there's less to it this time, a kind of weary acceptance of the necessity. He's quiet for a long few moments, weighing what he wants to say, before he decides that he wants to explain.

That it wasn't a choice he made, but a dark necessity. He feels brittle and light as an empty husk, remembering all that came with it, but he'd rather George know the whole truth than just that painful, incriminating shard of it. He respectss George, and he wants him to understand.

The hush of silk on silk, bright eyes by the light of a hanging lamp. The sly clink of surgical tools, the slow drip of water on stone. Wearing it down, wearing it out. We're going to have a wonderful time, Sebastian. You and me.

Cold shakes him in spite of the spring sunshine, but he looks at George for a moment, then fixes his eyes on a point straight ahead as he speaks.

"She was the one who gave me my scars. Her and her...mentor."

Jordan was a whole other matter, and one he leaves be for the moment. Better to keep this simple, stark truth shared in a few spare words.

"She liked to hurt people and she wasn't going to stop unless someone made her."

He nods, solemn, quiet, just hearing him out. How many people could he say that about he has known in his life, people nobody stopped? People like Curley? If he could've stopped Curley, Carlson, all the rest of them, he would have, but also...in the end, didn't somebody have to stop Lennie, too?

"The right thing to do ain't always the easy thing to do," he says finally.

There's such a crushing relief there at not being judged. At being accepted at face value, because Claudia was wrong, twisted and sadistic and entirely detached from the concepts of empathy and care. Just the fact that she had enjoyed what she'd inflicted on him was enough, but he'd seen even darker depths there in his time with her.

Depths that he's not eager to plumb, but there's validation there by the very fact of it. She would not have stopped, would have found new and even more deranged ways to sate the darkness in her. And it probably would have started once Jordan was tired of him, ready to execute him in whatever awful way appealed to her.

He didn't lose much sleep over it, and that might be the messed-up part but he's grown to accept it. Even if it was wrong, no one else will suffer at her hands and that's a salve on his conscience.

"I still believe it was the right thing to do, even if I wasn't in my right mind at the time." His gaze flickers toward George again, just a brief glance to see how the man is really reacting. It matches his words, and that's reassuring.

"It was six years ago, and needless to say I don't talk about it much. Some days...some days are better than others."

He nods again, not much in his staid demeanor changing. There's a certain recognition in his eyes of the cost of such things, no lack of empathy in the concerned way his brows lower and stay there. "I don't reckon that's ever the sort a' thing a man gets used to talking about." It's not like words change anything. Deeds stick and stay.

"Or having done, no matter how necessary." Maybe he feels a little bit wrong or hypocritical encouraging him to talk about his own heaviness without offering up in turn. It's not the same thing, and it's not about him. It's reason enough to hold his own thoughts close.

"It should bother you. If it didn't...I don't think that'd say nothin' good. What do you think?"

Jaeger stops where he stands, and wordlessly pushes the sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow. There's nothing hostile about the gesture: just resigned, weary. He doesn't enjoy any of this.

Jaeger's entire forearm is covered with distressingly clean, clear white scars, curving and swirling in delicate abstract patterns over his skin. Deep enough that they'll stay, that they bled for a long time and healed only reluctantly.

Something very sharp was used, and there are a lot of them, done with the same kind of care and precision an artist would apply to their craft. Which isn't far from the truth.

"They go all the way up. Both sides." He lets the sleeve fall back, and presses his hand to his forehead for a moment.

That was exceptionally rude, and Jaeger knows it, but he's tired. His burns hurt, and he sort of wants today to be over. There's no anger at George there, not really, but this place, this town? He's feeling the first awful bubblings of resentment and shame.

He lets out a soft grunt, glancing up at him quickly after laying his eyes good on what he's shown. "Guess it really don't say nothin' good, but that ain't on you." He's seen and heard enough from men back from the war to know about torture. Worse.

He claps him lightly on his uninjured shoulder and holds out a hand. "Let me carry them books a ways? No sense in throwing your balance off with that cane. Hot as hell today, too." It seems hot to him because he's not used to humidity much at all.

Jaeger sighs quietly, gives George a flash of apologetic expression. He's glad he hasn't disturbed the man any further than is already innate to this whole conversation, though the whole thing still sits hard and uneasy in his gut.

"Some days are better than others. I try to make the best choices I can, though...protect people from going through what I went through. It's not always a choice I want to make, but sometimes...that's what you have."

Jaeger is, in a lot of ways, a soldier. Has been, will continue to be. The fight might change, but not the weight of it, the bitter necessities that come with it.

He's marked in ways that no one should be, and if nothing else, it puts him in the category of "useful". To be able to stop people like Easterbrook, without collecting even more scars.

At the offered hand, he gives a small nod, the barest flicker of smile. He appreciates the offer, and he'll accept it graciously, handing over the bag. It's not particularly big or heavy but it's one less thing to keep track of, for a little while. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

"Yeah." He nods. It's the most laconic of agreement, not to shut him down or stop the conversation but because it's all he has to say. When things get down to the bone and a man's lucky, what's necessary and right can be the same things. They rarely feel like the same things. And sometimes there is no right. There's only the least harm.

He can tell Jaeger's heart's in the right place. He helped him plenty his first day in a way that engendered a degree of trust. It's one reason he's here now.

"You're welcome." He takes the sack and lets it swing freely as they go. If the silence drags, it's not uncomfortable on his end of it. He's just chewing on a lot and not ready to spit any of it out.

Jaeger's too deep in his own thoughts to even think about asking if George has experienced anything close. It really doesn't even occur to him, that someone who seems so normal (if displaced), could relate to sadism, torture, and murder. And in the context of magic, no less, which he hasn't even added to the mix.

Quiet descends, and they start walking again, Jaeger with his sleeves safely in place again. It's the best shelter he has, as if his past could be covered and hidden the same way. He's not ready to be that bare, not beyond what he's already shown.

He feels self-conscious at the silence in a way he rarely does. Normally, Jaeger is the observant, thoughtful, stoic one, the one who listens without speaking. This time, he's the one that's done the talking, even if it wasn't actually much. Even if the horrible little questions program did most of the talking for him.

But this is who he is now. This is what he has, the closest he's been able to come to rebuilding a man who was quite literally torn to tatters. Maybe he's better than he thinks he is. He's not sure- Indigo had always felt that way, but she wasn't here and he might never see her again. He still holds that judgment close, a sparkling reassurance amid very dark thoughts.

He's almost ready to accept silence for the rest of the walk home, when he hears himself say, "Thank you for listening. I know it's not easy things to hear about someone you know."

He shakes his head. "Ain't a matter a' easy or not. Man's got something on his chest he decides to get off it, don't take a saint to give him the space, 'specially given where we are and what we're trying to do. I know some a' that decision was taken outta your hands. I meant it when I said you didn't owe me none."

He takes a few more steps before adding, "Glad you felt like you could say it, all the same."

He can be harsh, abrupt and judgmental under some circumstances, he knows. Easy to rile, easy to make pop off. He can also be patient and giving with the right company. Jaeger brings out more of what he likes about himself than what he doesn't. That has its own value.

Jaeger exhales and nods slowly, grateful for the space that George is giving him.

Given the choice, he never would have been there at all. He never would have chosen pain, and degradation, the fear for his family and himself, the whispers in the dark and the weight of a dangerous pact, no matter how brief.

But that was what happened, and Jaeger had done what was right at the time. Maybe it could have happened differently, but it didn't.

"I feel better for having been able to explain. Because, you're right. It's nothing I ever would have chose for myself. And...there should be a reason for some of those choices. Not an excuse, because it's still a choice I made, things I didn't see until it was too late, but...a reason."

"I can understand that." It's a little quieter. Sometimes it's strange walking down the street in the bright sun on a pretty day and knowing in his bones there's a lot that isn't right and never will be.

The best anybody can do is take what they have and make their decisions in the moment weighing the good against the bad, or the bad against the worse. Life isn't always neat or clean with the choices it offers.

"For what it's worth, you awwright by me."

Things can be very strange in the light of day. Especially after weeks in darkness, what feels like a million miles away from the dawn. It seems like the bad has a little less power in the spring sunshine, a little less hold, even though Jaeger has fought for his life just as desperately in the sun as he has in the dark.

It still feels strange, though. Like it should be different.

Jaeger pauses for a moment, glancing at George, then a small but real smile comes over his face. It's weary, for all that he's shared today, but it's there and he means it.

"Thank you. That means a lot to me. I'm trying to do the best I can...there's a lot of things I've left behind and I want that to be for the better."

And it's good to know that someone decent, someone like George, thinks he's alright.

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Leave me here, Burning with you (Open)

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cw: references to torture/medical horror

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cw: scars, knives, torture

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