He comes to somewhere between waking and oblivion, and can go no farther. Someone is rubbing his hands, his feet- he starts to shiver, and a pathetic noise escapes him as feeling returns to them and it hurts.
Lips cover his, and warmth blossoms in him like the burn of liquor, down to his very core.
Jet’s not sure if that part’s a dream or not, but he’ll take it.
He finally opens his eyes, and Blue-Mask is crouched across a campfire from him. They’re in a tent, small and snug; he smells meat and spice from the small pot on the fire and his mouth waters and the baby stretches in him, which he takes to mean that Thumper’s hungry too.
“Hey,” he tries.
Blue-Mask looks up at his croak. Jet tries to pull himself upright- his snow-soaked outer garments are gone, steaming by the fire, and he’s wrapped in blankets. The hookswords are laid out neatly in arm’s reach of him.
He’s got a cup of the soup in his hands and Blue-Mask’s back across the fire from him in the space of a dizzy blink. He thinks, there’s been easier ways to kill him and first sips, then sculls it. It’s hot. Not just warming, there’s a sizzling edge to the broth that sears the tongue and clears the sinuses, and he coughs after.
It grows, and try as he might to clamp down it rattles in him until he’s doubled over, hacking and shaking and someone’s holding his shoulders like they’re trying to keep him from shaking himself to death, or addling the egg he’s carrying.
Finally the spasm eases, and then stops. The hands withdraw from his shoulders, and he opens his eyes to see Blue-Mask back in place across the tent from him.
“Wow,” he rasps dizzily, and suddenly there’s a mug of half-melted snow at hand- though he actually saw the guy move this time. He’s on the verge of laughing, but that’ll just set it off again, so he gives his most charming after-battle grin and knows he looks crazy. “You sure know how to bring a guy back to life, stranger.”
Blue-Mask doesn’t say anything, just sits back and does his best impersonation of a statue, and a good long while passes in silence during which Jet tries to put his brain back together.
Thumper does one of those ‘let’s-see-if-we-can-make-daddy-nauseous’ somersaults in him, and he swears Blue-Mask follows the movement. Jet looks back at him over the rim of his mug and considers his rescuer through the slowly-clearing haze. He’s been saved from the gallows, but he’s in the middle of a snowstorm, separated from his friends, his resources, and he knows there’s only one thing he’s got left more valuable than his neck stretched on the gibbet.
If his weapons hadn’t been left- very carefully- within plain view, he might have tackled the guy already. This is a very cozy cage, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to let himself be hauled away as a prize by anyone who knows enough to value him or his kid alive.
He plays tired and lays back down, pretending to sleep off the cold some more. Blue-Mask watches him for a while, and pulls the soup off the fire before taking a cup and stepping outside the tent.
Late!late!Bonus!fic- After The War 4/?
Lips cover his, and warmth blossoms in him like the burn of liquor, down to his very core.
Jet’s not sure if that part’s a dream or not, but he’ll take it.
He finally opens his eyes, and Blue-Mask is crouched across a campfire from him. They’re in a tent, small and snug; he smells meat and spice from the small pot on the fire and his mouth waters and the baby stretches in him, which he takes to mean that Thumper’s hungry too.
“Hey,” he tries.
Blue-Mask looks up at his croak. Jet tries to pull himself upright- his snow-soaked outer garments are gone, steaming by the fire, and he’s wrapped in blankets. The hookswords are laid out neatly in arm’s reach of him.
He’s got a cup of the soup in his hands and Blue-Mask’s back across the fire from him in the space of a dizzy blink. He thinks, there’s been easier ways to kill him and first sips, then sculls it. It’s hot. Not just warming, there’s a sizzling edge to the broth that sears the tongue and clears the sinuses, and he coughs after.
It grows, and try as he might to clamp down it rattles in him until he’s doubled over, hacking and shaking and someone’s holding his shoulders like they’re trying to keep him from shaking himself to death, or addling the egg he’s carrying.
Finally the spasm eases, and then stops. The hands withdraw from his shoulders, and he opens his eyes to see Blue-Mask back in place across the tent from him.
“Wow,” he rasps dizzily, and suddenly there’s a mug of half-melted snow at hand- though he actually saw the guy move this time. He’s on the verge of laughing, but that’ll just set it off again, so he gives his most charming after-battle grin and knows he looks crazy. “You sure know how to bring a guy back to life, stranger.”
Blue-Mask doesn’t say anything, just sits back and does his best impersonation of a statue, and a good long while passes in silence during which Jet tries to put his brain back together.
Thumper does one of those ‘let’s-see-if-we-can-make-daddy-nauseous’ somersaults in him, and he swears Blue-Mask follows the movement. Jet looks back at him over the rim of his mug and considers his rescuer through the slowly-clearing haze. He’s been saved from the gallows, but he’s in the middle of a snowstorm, separated from his friends, his resources, and he knows there’s only one thing he’s got left more valuable than his neck stretched on the gibbet.
If his weapons hadn’t been left- very carefully- within plain view, he might have tackled the guy already. This is a very cozy cage, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to let himself be hauled away as a prize by anyone who knows enough to value him or his kid alive.
He plays tired and lays back down, pretending to sleep off the cold some more. Blue-Mask watches him for a while, and pulls the soup off the fire before taking a cup and stepping outside the tent.
…