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[mrballisticsdummy]

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[mrballisticsdummy]

Jacobi is there, has been there and might be a lot drunk. So when the coat moves, he doesn't think much of it. He just idly reaches up to settle it back on him from where he's been sitting beside the bed.

And then -

"Oh shit," he mumbles and turns, pulling the jacket down. "Tim?"

[statementfuckingends]

Tim flinches - the scraping on his skin is like knives, the lights all too bright - and everything aches but he still brings a hand up to cover his eyes.

"...Jacobi?" His voice is hoarse, gravelly and quiet and very clearly reluctant, as he forces his hand up again to actually look.

[mrballisticsdummy]

Jacobi sits up on his knees and covers him with a blanket, shuffling to turn off the light so he can sit beside him again.

"Jesus, Tim," he mutters, hands shaking and smelling like cheap vodka. "Don't move."

[statementfuckingends]

In the time between getting to the light switch and back, Tim's managed to push off most of the blanket. His clothes are a tattered mess of bloodstained and burns, held together by threadbare strands so pointless he might as well be naked.

"Don't." It's a mumble, as he rolls to be face-down in the pillow. "Hurts t'touch."

[mrballisticsdummy]

He sighs. "Yeah," he tells him, folding the blanket to put it aside. "Yeah, I want to gnaw my own arms off."

And he wasn't nearly as badly burned.

"I'm glad you're back," he says softly, propping himself up with one bandaged arm on the bed.

[statementfuckingends]

He feels the shitty little bed shift under Jacobi's weight, and turns his head just enough to look at him. There's nothing but exhaustion on his face, but he's so, so glad just to see Jacobi. That his friend's alright.

"...y'smell like shit."

[mrballisticsdummy]

"I started drinking without you," he mutters. "And I haven't - taken a shower."

He shrugs.

"Don't give me shit for it. I could have blown the ship apart. I thought about it. My warden's down. I could do whatever I wanted."

[statementfuckingends]

"But you didn't." That gets the ghost of a smile on his face, even through the haze. "Good job."

He grunts as he shifts again, but he manages to hold one hand out, asking silently for the bottle. He needs something to numb the pain.

[mrballisticsdummy]

"If you puke everywhere, I'm not going to be held responsible."

He hands over the bottle and leans his head back, vision swimming.

"I just stayed trashed enough that it doesn't matter.

[statementfuckingends]

He takes a swig, still lying on his back; but the burn makes him cough, unexpected and sensitive and he sputters it back out as he curls up on one side, bracing himself with a hand on the wall and heaves, dry and useless but painful.

[mrballisticsdummy]

Jacobi takes the bottle back and pulls it away. "Stop that," he mutters. "Don't push yourself. You need to sit still. Even if I have to look at your sort of naked self."

[statementfuckingends]

Tim doesn't resist - he's shaking now, from the sudden exertion, and he lets himself flop onto his back again. One hand reaches blindly for the blanket, and at least pulls it over his hips so Jacobi's delicate constitution is spared.

His eyes flicker shut as he breathes through the pain, and it's a few breaths before he opens his eyes to half-squint at Jacobi.

"'m sorry."

[mrballisticsdummy]

"If it hurts, leave it off," he tells him. "I really don't fucking care."

He rests his head on the bed beside him. "Are you sorry for what? Making the most annoying domain?"

[statementfuckingends]

That gets a slightly wheezy huff. "Little bit. Wasn't great."

He closes his eyes and lets his head rest straight again. "Shouldn't've asked."

[mrballisticsdummy]

"Asked what?" he wonders, closing his eyes before picking up the bottle again to take another drink.

[statementfuckingends]

"The detonator." It's less of a word and more of a breath, a tired exhale, and he lifts a hand to run it through his filthy hair. "I could've... could've kept going. Gotten you out. Done..." What could he have done there, when he doesn't even know fully what he did, just flashes of coherency in a nightmare of calliope music and screams. "...something."

[mrballisticsdummy]

He shakes his head. "No, Tim. That's what I do. Who else would do it?"

Jacobi breaks. He breaks and he destroys.

At least he could help someone this time.

[statementfuckingends]

Tim's breathing hitches, just quietly, because he knows.

He Knew.

No-one else there could have done it. None of them would even have been able to know what they were searching for. And Tim couldn't, not when he was running the show. It's just a miracle that Jacobi still had the Hunt left in him.

His breathing becomes shallower, faster, and he lets his hand slip down to cover his face again.

"Wasn't fair to make you."

[mrballisticsdummy]

He reaches up and gently trails fingertips across Tim's hand. He knows he's raw. He knows he's hurting.

"Tim. I forced you to tell me. I forced it. I remember that."

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His hand tenses at the touch, but he doesn't pull away.

"'s'not how that worked. I was... i-it was Stranger, but. Eye, too. Had to make sure you... you saw what it was, to fear it right." The long sentences are hard, leave him breathless, but he needs Jacobi to understand. "I don't... dunno how you tapped it, but. Stranger, Eye, not as far apart as y'think. Ritual was never gonna work, was it Gertrude, you... y'need to Know t'know...what you're looking at is wrong."

His hand lifts, muscles trembling, and rests on Jacobi's. "You couldn't hurt me, not. Not like that. Told you 'cos I wanted to."

[mrballisticsdummy]

"No. That's what Jon said. But I could have not pushed. I could have backed off. But you needed it. I know you well enough to know what you wanted, even when I didn't know a damn thing."

He lets his fingers rest lightly against his hand.

[statementfuckingends]

His next breath is more of a wheeze, hoarse from all that talking. Sore on every point that touches a blanket, touches Jacobi. But he stays still, and there's nearly another faint smile.

"Yeah. You could've." A deeper breath, that calms the following ones down a bit more. "I'm... glad you didn't."

[mrballisticsdummy]

"Yeah, I know," he says and closes his eyes again, folding his arms underneath him.

He doesn't want to talk about what he did. He doesn't even remember how he did it.

He doesn't want to talk about how right it felt in that moment.

"I have something for your skin if you want it," he murmurs. "I know you're not really burned anymore, but it might make it feel better."

[statementfuckingends]

He shakes his head gently, and immediately groans softly with regret.

"Won't help. Not yet. Not gonna be able t'put it on."

One eye's easier to open, so he cracks apart his fingers and looks at Jacobi through the gap.

"'m'alright, Daniel. Just... hurts."

[mrballisticsdummy]

Jacobi isn't actually getting up. He's staying right where he is. "Okay," he mutters. "I'm gonna stay right here with you."

He has been by his side most of the time and he doesn't plan on stopping now.

"I'm sorry my last words to you were so shitty."