400yearsofsurvival | 8th Bite // [Spam] // CW for lasting and bloody injuries, mild burns

[ Monday (evening) ]

[ To say he was having difficulty was an understatement. After everything Dillon did, he felt...unsettled. That added to his newest injuries was far more than he wanted to deal with. It was frustrating to wait for these things to heal. The wound should have been gone in less than a minute after the bar had been pulled out. But like the burns, it lingered. The burns were better, now. Thankfully. It wasn't even that they were healed, just...less. They required far less bandages. But his chest, back and side were a mess. Thick bandages wrapping his chest, and more around his palms. He didn't even bother finding a replacement shirt. He just made his way back to Chris's cabin. It was rare that he needed rest. But wounds like this warranted it. ]

[ Tuesday ]

[ Late that day, having slept through most of it, he headed up from the eight level to the fourth. But on the stairs, as he neared his assigned floor, he smelled blood. Sniffing at the air, he was able to find it. Smears. Hand prints. Following it up the stairs, he finally found the source. He watched, from a distance. Stephen, having his little tantrum at the door to CES. He didn't know the reason behind it, or even the implications of it. But seeing the man so very broken was such an incredible pleasure.

But he heard someone approaching. He was in no shape to deal with any one who might assume he'd been involved in the bloody mess on the floor. So he retreated. Shirtless and bandaged, he made a brief stop by the dining hall. But only long enough to gather up half a day's supply of blood rations and fruit. He didn't even bother going for apples, just whatever he could easily grab. Then it was back to the burned out husk of his room to gather up what clothes he had left. Then on to Chris's cabin, where he intended not to leave until he absolutely had to. ]

[ Wednesday ]

[ He didn't feel it anymore. But he had the memory of it. That feeling Dillon's touch had inspired. It had been fleeting at best. But it was a bright flash in something that had been dark for so very long. It was something true and genuine. A stark contrast to the dry and bitter remnants he had left. It wasn't something one could easily ignore.

Between that and his severely weakened state, he wasn't out nearly as much as he'd been before. And he wasn't being quite as careful of his comings and goings as he had been. But he ventured out less often and returned quickly. Going only a few places. Like the dining hall just long enough to grab something. Or the infirmary to have his bandages changed. He was starting to appreciate David in a weird sort of way. Not with any sort of gratitude, thankfully. But there was something to be said for knowing there was at least one entity on this ship he could go to without having to deal with the mess that was most humans. No prying, no questions of morality. Cold and clinical. If only more people on the ship were like that.

Those he'd been watching will notice a very distinct lack of his presence today. And he'll be much harder to find than usual. Unless someone finds out he's in Chris's room. ]

[ Voice ][ Late Wednesday ]

[ He sounds weary. Without his usual menace. ]

What's it take to get a new cabin, on a new level?

[ Private to Chris ][ Voice ][ Later Wednesday ]

[ It's getting into the hours some might refer to as the "dead of night" and Jerry is relocating, after verifying Stiles' hadn't been toying with him. Chris's room is left relatively in tact. The sheets and blankets stripped completely off the bed (because who wants that gross dog smell?), and there may be a bit of blood on the mattress. From the vampires wounds or his feeding habits, who knows. But there's plenty of evidence in the trash that he's been bringing his rations there to consume them. ]

Room's all yours, guy.

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Too late. It's already done.

Is it.

It is.

What's the catch?

[He pauses for the briefest of moments. He considers the possibility of telling Jerry that his friends are off limits from now on. But even if he does and even if Jerry agrees to those terms, Stiles will still never trust him to stick to his word. Not in a million years.]

There isn't one. I just don't want Dean around you. It's mutually beneficial.

[ Good. Cause Jerry's word should never, ever be trusted. ]

Your inmate? He could use a little more...supervision.

[Excuse him while he rolls his eyes.]

He's not the only one.

[ He's not amused by the accusation. Because he's not come nearly as close to killing anyone. Well, maybe Stephen. But that's was a very special circumstance. ]

Twice now your inmate's tried to kill me. I'm starting to think maybe you're not cut out for the job. Or. Maybe? I need to hold you...responsible.

[And Stiles isn't impressed. Because it's not about whether Jerry's trying to kill people or not. He's hurting people regardless.]

Yeah, why don't we talk about that for a minute. [His voice is a lot more icy now, less neutral.] The day you bit me. You were surprised for a second. Why was that? Were you expecting me to turn right then? Is that how it works in your world? All it takes is a bite?

[ There's a faint sound, bordering on a laugh. Did Stiles think he could get answers just by asking? The surprise had been before the bite, when the blood hadn't enthralled him. But why let him know he was sniffing the wrong trail? ]

When you saw my hands, the other day. You looked like you'd seen a ghost. Something like that happen back home? Was it the bandages. Or...the burns.

[ So Stiles had just glanced at his hands. But Lydia had a much stronger reaction. ]

[Never hurts to try. He'll work it out eventually. He always does. But he's about as willing to answer that question truthfully as Jerry is to cough up answers of his own.]

Oh, that. Right. Well, you see when I was a kid I was traumatized by a mummy that came to life via a magic spell and tried to kill me. I'm mostly over it but every now and then I get these vivid flashbacks about the whole incident. It turned out okay though, obviously.

No. But...something came after you.

[ Stories, especially when spat out by a sarcastic teenager, always contained a grain of truth. ]

[A short chuckle escapes him. He could spit out about a dozen more on top of that, all things or people who'd come after him. There's a long list.]

Congrats. Your new room is 818.

[ There's a pause. Before he lets out another sound that's close to a laugh. Subtle, as anything more hurts too much. ]

Level eight. Really?

[Stiles' eyes narrow at that and he immediately wonders who's caught his attention on level eight.]

Yep. Level eight. You're welcome.

[Without waiting for a response, he disconnects. Now he needs to dig out his list of who stays on level eight and try to figure that out, too.]

[ It shouldn't be too hard to figure out. Who's on level eight, has been sporting a bite wound or two, and recently had a total mental meltdown? ]

8th Bite // [Spam] // CW for lasting and bloody injuries, mild burns

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