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[I know talking is hard, but please...
I wanted to go to Paris and see the Louvre. I wanted to be Amélie. I wanted to leave and be happy.

Connor exhales, and it's clearly amused. Yeah, no. That's enough being weirdly vulnerable for one day.]

I'll tell you another time. [He doesn't drop the soft, lilting tone of the story.] Go to sleep, Dave.

[Then, quietly, he starts to sing. He doesn't put the thread of suggestion behind it that he did for Ricky when they first met, though. It's just a regular lullaby, intended to lure Dave into sleep.]

[Dave asks questions and never fully expects answers, so even the vague promise of a follow up is enough to satisfy him for now.

He grumbles in protest at the order, gentle as it may be. He doesn't know how he's supposed to sleep with about ten thousand things running through his mind.

Luckily (?) his body is so physically tired that the soothing feeling he gets from being sung to is enough to make him shut his eyes and at least try to enjoy it. Only now he doesn't want to sleep because he doesn't want a moment where he feels like this to end.

It's not up to him, though. It's not long before he's actually asleep, his chest rising and falling in a slow, relaxed rhythm. His face is mostly peaceful but occasionally he'll frown in his sleep. It's fine. He almost immediately curls himself into a Dave-sized ball and he tucks his head under his own arm. That's when you know he's really out of here.]

[ it's a couple hours later that dirk gets back. he's a little worse for wear, frankly: he's taken off the gas mask and replaced it with his shades, but they're all cracked on one side. he's quiet when he enters, practiced in staying silent, and he heads right to the kitchen to start up. there's a first aid kit in one of the drawers and sewing supplies in a bag on the counter so he pulls out both, starting up the water in the sink.

he has to work on his side first: there's a knife still sticking out of him and he's too stoic about it to be a real person. he gets everything ready before he removes the knife, but his hand is wet from the blood dripping from the slash on his arm so when he tries to set it down, it slips out of his hand and falls into the sink with a clatter. ]

Shit.

[ he yanks a chair up to the counter and takes the jacket off first and then his shirt, wincing when the fabric pulls away from the skin. it starts the blood up again too, and he sighs and grabs a dishtowel to put pressure on the wound with one hand.

the other starts grabbing for thread and needles and the alcohol wipes from the first aid kit.

he'll just finish this up and get to sleep. ]

[Connor slept approximately an hour and then didn't move because sometimes you're a person who only likes being touched on your own terms and you wake up curled around another person. If Dave's not awake he can't ruin it by trying to touch Connor, who still sometimes flinches when people touch him unexpectedly, so he breathes out and stays until he hears the clatter of something. He slips out of the room, forgetting he took off his jacket. It's not exactly that he cares about people seeing his arms anymore, more that sometimes it feels nice to feel like there's a barrier between him and the world. That the layers between him and other people are physical too.

He doesn't enter the kitchen, exactly, standing exactly on the threshold like he's a vampire who needs to be invited in. His hair is also loose, much longer than it looks when he has it up, and falling around his shoulders.]

I can help you with that. It's a bitch to hold the needle when you're bleeding on it.

[It's quiet, matter-of-fact like that's something he's done. Like he didn't learn how to do field surgery as a terrified teenager in the woods. That was basically a lifetime ago, as far as he's concerned, and he's stitched himself up a few times since then.]

[ dirk hears connor coming before he sees him, and he can tell from the cadence of the step it isn't dave, so he's glad for that much. he doesn't want dave to see him like this, only in part because he seemed so upset earlier when dirk said he was going.

he thinks he got off easy in the fight: caustic fights with the skill of someone very used to fighting, and that sticks with him. not just an evil scientist after all.

he'll have to keep that in mind next time.

when connor speaks he doesn't answer for a moment, cleaning the needle with one of the swabs and not looking up. ]

Didn't need the gas mask, at least. Ruined a perfectly good jacket, though.

[ a beat. ]

I got this.

[ but his dominant arm is the one that's wounded and it started bleeding again as soon as he started using both hands: the blood from that makes the needle slip from his fingers and onto the counter.

he stares at it a long moment before amending: ]

Alright. You got me.

[Connor stays on the threshold, waiting, until Dirk relents. Then he crosses the space between them and kneels to get a better look at what he's dealing with. His hand hovers over the knife wound, not quite touching.]

Let's make the most of the night, like we're gonna die young. [The quiet song stops the flow of the blood, but doesn't do much else. He pulls his hand away.] I can fix the jacket later, if you want.

[Standing, Connor locates the discarded needle and another alcohol wipe. Normally he'd run the needle through fire, but he doubts Dirk has the patience to do this right. Instead he kneels back down and looks up at Dirk.]

Can I touch you, or would you prefer I try not to?

[Like, touching Dirk at least some is unavoidable but he can absolutely try and avoid it as much as possible.]

[ he relaxes when the bleeding stops, but only a little. he's still wound tight like a spring that's about to snap, but his shoulders return to a neutral position. he shrugs with his good arm just after though, a small movement like always. ]

I'm pretty good at sewing, but I've never been able to make leather repair sit properly. I wouldn't mind the help, thanks.

[ he watches connor, but it's dark enough in here that he takes off his broken shades and sets them on the counter. his eyes are bright orange to contrast dave's red, and the light color at least partially explains the shades inside the house deal he has going on.

the question surprises him, but he appreciates it. normally he'd tell connor to try not to touch him, but he's tired enough that he just wants this over with as soon as possible. ]

No, go ahead.

[ he shifts, silent a moment, before continuing. ]

I didn't get a chance to kill him, we got interrupted. [ he runs his tongue over his teeth. ]

But I managed to do enough damage he might reconsider trying again. He's a real piece of fuckin' work.

I used to make leather. Had an awful teal leather jacket I loved until my dragon set it on fire.

[He says it while he's working, one hand holding the wound together while he slowly stitches it back together. He doesn't seem to see anything weird or off with what he said, despite looking and sounding like a relatively normal person.

His hands are steady, but it's clear he's not... entirely comfortable with what he's doing. It's in the tightness of his shoulders, the way careful way he's breathing. The last time he did this for someone else was... worse, Shion trying to talk him through a panic while he tried not to notice the blood getting everywhere, over everything. He didn't realize until he settled into the motion that it would trigger him.]

Don't have the equipment for that here, but I can probably patch the jacket.

[ it's a good thing that connor isn't looking at dirk's face, because he mouths 'my dragon set it on fire' vaguely incredulously, which is hypocritical because he was literally murdered by a giant dog man, but whatever.

he watches connor though, and notes his discomfort. a part of him does feel bad about it, which is a strange feeling because he really never felt guilt about anything before he came here. there just wasn't room for guilt or regret in his brain before he died.

he doesn't hiss in pain or jerk away or do anything really; the only way it's possible to tell that connor is sewing up a person instead of a doll is that the muscles twitch slightly under his hand.

eventually, he sighs. ]

I'll let you have a go at it.

[Honestly? Shion didn't move much either while Connor was patching him up so Connor doesn't notice. He made marginally more noise but he also got shot in the leg with an arrow so there was, maybe, more extensive damage involved.]

Good. I like working with my hands.

[His coping method for his discomfort is to flirt, unfortunately. Knotting the end of the thread, Connor holds out a hand.]

Scissors.

[Usually, he'd pull out a razor blade to cut it but uh. First of all, he hasn't carried a razor blade since he arrived here, and second of all, it'd be in the jacket he was wearing.]

Mm.

[ he doesn't respond BADLY to the flirt, but there's an air of disinterest about him in response to it, which is probably actually still bad if i think about it for more than one second.

but anyway, connor asks for scissors and dirk takes the small pair he uses for detail work out of the sewing shit on the counter and hands them over carefully, leaning back a little now that connor isn't actively stitching. ]

Thanks. I need to get this cleaned up by the time Dave wakes up.

[Connor looks off into the distance for a moment, eyes slightly unfocused.]

He won't wake up yet. [Then, realizing that sounds ominous as shit:] Sorry, I mean. He's still sleeping. Do you need help with anything else? I'm already gory as shit.

[He's actually not. His hands are nearly clean except for the smearing of blood on his fingertips from the actual process of sewing. Sometimes, your weird musical theatre powers mean you don't actually get blood on you because there's no blood budget. Don't worry about it.]

[ you know what, sure. sure, that ominous comment is fine even though he grips the edge of the counter until connor amends it.

he's openly surprised by the lack of blood on connor's hands, but he shakes his head and stands. he stretches, winces one (one) time, then shakes his head again. ]

I already owe you for stitching me up. I'll take care of this then go shower and get rid of these clothes.

[Sometimes, when he uses the weirder aspects of his powers, he forgets that they're... unpleasant. To other people. He can get a glimpse at the trajectory of what's happening at any given moment, but it always comes out of his mouth ominously. Connor stands, taking a deliberate step back.]

Do you want me to stay? I can go.

You don't have to go. I'm not about to tell you to leave.

[ he starts to rummage under the sink for some cleaners and a cloth, but pauses as he looks over toward the blood all over the floor. ]

Fuck, I don't have a mop.

[Connor's mildly afraid Dirk's just gonna bleed all over the floor and nothing will get cleaned up. He's not going to just, like, say that though. It would be rude, first of all, but second of all he feels like there's definitely a line that's been drawn between the two of them and he doesn't really... it feels weird to cross it, right now.]

It'll go faster if you let me clean this up and you go clean yourself up.

[ there's a pregnant pause. finally dirk sighs and puts the cloths he'd taken out on the counter and nods. ]

Fine.

[ he hesitates before adding: ]

Thank you.

Don't mention it.

[Connor closes the gap between them again, wordlessly taking one of the cloths Dirk set on the counter, wetting it in the sink, and then kneeling again to get his Cinderella on. This is easy. This he knows how to do. It feels like the first normal thing he's done since Dave texted him, and he sinks into the repetitive nature of it without paying attention to anything else.

He should go. He should have gone, actually, but instead he focuses on making the floor as spotless as possible. If he just focuses on that, he doesn't have to think about the anxiety threatening to unspool in his chest.]

I won't.

[ dirk disappears a moment after that: he just sort of slinks off into the shadows, though his mental state is in more of a 'flash step away from whatever's going on' mode.

he heads to the bathroom to take a shower and toss his clothes in a garbage bag. he'll take that out later. he's gone a while, mostly because there's blood everywhere, and when he comes back out he's in lounge pants and a white long-sleeve shirt. there's no blood on it, so he must've taken care of his arm too.

he drops on the couch with a grunt, head tipping back toward the ceiling. ]

I'm getting slower.

[ he might just be projecting, but it feels that way. normally he would have been able to slice a guy into pieces before he could even react, but here he is, worse for wear because he was too slow. ]

Is it that you're slower or that your powers aren't working quite right?

[Connor's washing the rags when Dirk comes back out. The question is curious because he doesn't have very much reference when it comes to these sorts of things. His powers don't quite work right here either, but they're also so unwieldy that he's not noticing much of a difference in how he uses them. He knows that Dave had problems with his powers, though, and it stands to reason that if they're related, their powers might be related and under the same sorts of restrictions.

Then, very hesitantly:]

You might not have enough manna for it either.

I don't really have powers.

[ well, not really. not like any of the kids that got their powers around the time he died. he sighs, tipping his head more to look in connor's direction. ]

I'm good with swords, I'm sturdy, and I'm fast. That's the extent of my skills.

[ he sighs, running his tongue over his teeth and just going back to leaning his head back. he closes his eyes this time. ]

The manna has an effect on everything you do to an extent, doesn't it? Not just powers? All I've really done is a spar.

Sure, and this isn't a power either.

[Connor waves a hand around absently, music suddenly playing softly. It has no obvious source, and the song doesn't... okay. The music always means something, but in this case, he was using his powers like a personal radio and all he did was expand the area of effect.]

Just because something is normal where you're from doesn't mean it's normal everywhere, and it's all connected to manna.

[That was maybe the worst thing for him to learn: manna isn't just the source for his stupid gem powers, it's the source powering his ability to manipulate the music. It's quiet when he doesn't have enough manna to power his inner sense of hearing and he's never experienced that before. It genuinely frightened him the first time it happened, and he's taken pains to not let it happen again.]

Mm. Figured that was you.

[ he's noticed the music, and it just seemed to make sense that it was connor. dirk likes music, overall, so he's not opposed to a walking soundtrack, it's just jarring the first couple of times.

he barely restrains himself from sighing again, throat working once as he swallows.

when he continues, there's an air of quiet about it, like it's not something he'd normally admit. ]

Normally, I'm too fast for normal human eyes to follow. It's come easily to me for years. Tonight, though... I was lagging. I wouldn't have gotten this wounded normally. Maybe one or the other, but both? Too slow. I don't know what to do with that. I don't want to have to touch people just to be able to do what I've always done, but I can't fall behind.

You don't have to... touch them, necessarily.

[Eugh. He doesn't really want to... explain this. He really does not want to explain how Dave knows him because Connor lived with him for a week in a weird. Domestic domming. Situation. To his brother. So instead he goes with:]

You didn't feel it earlier, when I stitched you up? It's about intimacy and you can achieve that other ways. If you... whip someone, for example, and they're into that.

[He shrugs. Maybe that's not the best example—whipping requires aftercare, right? He's not really, uh. Into that specifically? So he doesn't really... know? But every other kink he can think of on short notice requires more contact. He's definitely just not super knowledgeable and most of what he knows is... definitely mainly gleaned from a small scattering of experiences and an unhealthy amount of fanfic. Don't worry about it!]

Fighting's intimate, right, but if you're used to using your powers to fight then you're gonna use up more manna than you're generating. Like earlier... I couldn't heal Dave without generating more manna. The healing was draining me.

If I'm honest... It's not even so much the touching as the intimacy. I'm no good with it.

[ he picks at his nailbeds briefly, looking at his hands like he can still see the blood on them. he doesn't have his gloves on because they're drying; his hands are scarred too. when he speaks again it's after a long silence. ]

I did feel it, earlier. It wasn't as difficult as I thought it'd be, but that still doesn't mean I'm particularly open to doing it in general.

[ he feels heavy suddenly, tired and weighted, and he's not sure if it's the lack of manna, the wounds, the conversation, or all three. ]

I didn't feel any better after the spar. I should have realized why to start with.

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