Hello all! Welcome to A Series of Unfortunate Events, Frye Style! This work is going to be a lengthy (I hope) collection of one-shots and short stories featuring our beloved Frye twins. Mostly, I hope to center on Jacob because he is my boy and I love him, but I am open to other focuses as well. Now, this will be a request based collection, so I might write a few shots from my own mind, but mostly I hope to respond to your guys wishes! I can write whump blood and violence, angst and tears, hurt/comfort and bonding, fluff and humour, whatever really. The only thing I think I totally fail in is writing romance XD So, for your pleasure and to make things a bit easier, I've done one of these thingies.
What I Will Write.
Genres: As said above, I'll write pretty much anything except plotless smut. That it where I draw the line. As of this time, the barest mention of IT in a story makes me backpedal the hell outta that stuff. It's really not necessary to further the story. Sorry.
POVs: I'll mainly write Jacob and Henry POVs for this collection. I can experiment with others, but I'll stick to those two unless asked. I can't write Evie POV, not because I don't like her as a character, but because I find it very hard to get into her head as a writer and, essentially, I can't find her POV. I may experiment with it every now and again, or use it because I think it fits, but generally I'll stay away.
Plots: Most plots I'm good with. I don't do a lot of plotting for oneshots, per sey, most are just little snippets I shove in somewhere they fit okay, but if you have a plot all thought up feel free to share.
Length: Generally I try to keep my shots over two thousand words at least. I don't really have a limit on how many words, except that I feel the longer the better, but not so long it drags.
What I Won't Write: As said above, I absolutely refuse to write anythiny vaguely resembling IT. Even writing kisses makes me uncomfortable, so yea. I also will only write hetero people and relationships. I apologise if that upsets some people, I have no problem with people of various sexual orientations or gender identities, I simply cannot write those relationships and people and do them justice.
So,
Without further ado, I present an example of my writing and the first shot in this work
"Now, Dick, you remember the plan?"
"Of course I remember the plan, Jacob! I'm not an idiot."
Jacob shook his head, flashing a calming smile, and patted Dick's shoulder, "Of course you're not, Dick. But, just for the sake of my own piece of mind, shall we go over it once more?"
Dick made a heavy, sighing noise that sounded similar to a cat being drowned in a drainpipe and settled back on his haunches in the mud and wet cobbles. They were crouched in one of the small spaces one could find behind just about every building in Lambeth; a tiny alcove between house and wall, or fence, that provided shelter from the prevailing wind and rain and, in this particular case, a fine view of the warehouse across the way. Jacob had wittled a hole in the picket fence some time earlier, now leaning forwards to take a peek at the Blighters aimlessly milling about the loaded supply wagon.
The damp soaked into his trousers as he kneeled in the wet, momentarily forgetting to keep his knees up, and he smothered a sigh. If there was one thing London had more than enough of, aside from Templars, it was rain. At that very moment, a light drizzle was making a pathetic attempt on the city. It wasn't much, just a little spatter, but it was enough to form puddles on the already damp streets and wet the clothes of those foolish enough to set foot outside.
Sheltered as they were, between house and fence, the worst of the weather was kept at bay. But, as Jacob had discovered a few minuted prior, the eave over their little nest had a hole in the plumbing that released an unmerciful drip every three seconds. It had been climbing down his shirt persistently while Dick peered through the hole, observing the prize, and a wet line had made its way down his spine to stop at his belt.
He wouldn't deny the bloody drip might have been partly to blame for his decision to act now, rather than wait a little longer.
Leaning back on his heels, he pulled his eye away from the hole in the fence and turned his attention to Dick instead. The Rook was fresh off the streets, little older than Jacob himself. He was a nervous soul, but desperate to prove himself as a member of the ever growing Rooks. Jacob had chosen him for this job partly in the hopes of building his confidence some, the older lads had more important tasks to take care of. Partly.
Also partly because he was fast and slippery.
Puffing a breath in his cheeks, Jacob offered the wily man another reassuring smile, shifting to alleviate the numbness in his aching calves and ankles. Crouching in the damp, muddy streets for two hours straight was murder on the muscles.
"Right," he rubbed his hands together, ignoring the soft clank of his gauntlet fingers hitting the brass knuckles adorning his right hand, "I'll move in first and draw their attention. Lure them away from the wagon. When you hear my whistle..."
He waved a hand in a rolling motion, cocking an eyebrow in prompting. Dick picked up on the signal like a setter on a scent, a grin breaking out on his thin, pointed face, "I scoop in and nick the horses."
Jacob chuckled, "Preferably with the wagon attached."
Dick blinked for a second, his head tilting in his odd habit, before he caught on and chortled, "Yessir."
Jacob quirked a lopsided grin, clapping the Rook on the shoulder and rocking on the balls of his feet, "Good man."
His toes tingled with the sensation of blood flowing back into his cramped muscles as he moved to his feet and stamped about a little. His plan was to come at the Blighters from the south end of the street, drawing their attention as far as possible away from the little alcove Dick would remain concealed within until Jacob gave the signal.
The only problem therein, lay in the form of the house they had been using as shelter. To get around to the south, Jacob was required to climb over it, in all its slippery stone glory. Any other day, it wouldn't have proven a problem. He would have scaled the house in a heartbeat had he not spent the last two hours crouching in a cold hole with little leg room and even less breathing space. His body was tight and cramped, not to mention the second he rose above the level of the fence the drizzle was going to impede his vision.
Briefly, he entertained the notion of simply grappling to the roof, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Too noisy, too obvious. He couldn't afford to alert the Blighters to his presence just yet.
Aware of the fact Dick was watching him curiously, he puffed another breath and stomped both legs once before closing the tiny distance to the wall and seeking out his first handhold. The house was constructed with wooden beams jutting out of the stonework every few meters, which made the task easier, but the wood was old and moldy, and decades of rain had made it slimey and slippery.
It took far longer to reach the top than he would have liked, his gloves covered in a fine layer of ooze by the time he hauled himself onto the tiled roof. The drizzle had penetrated his trousers and his socks felt vaguely damp inside his boots. The only saving grace was his jacket, hardy leather rejecting the rain and cold both.
Removing his cap and shaking it out before placing it inside his coat, he lifted the dark hood from inside the collar, perched on the edge of the roof and watching the Blighters go about their unsuspecting business. He smiled a little, flicked his hood over his head, and ghosted down the opposite side of the building to emerge in the street, south of the warehouse and just out of eye range.
Adjusting the gauntlet over his forearm, he slid the brass knuckles back into place, having had to remove them for the climb, and sauntered into the warehouse through the open doors. The wagon horses nickered softly at the stranger moving past, and it was only that which alerted the unobservant sentry to his presence.
"Hey! You. You shouldn't be here!"
Jacob grinned, his teeth a white line in the shadow of his hood. The cowl concealed his face, that of the leader of the Rooks. This warehouse was one of only three Blighter handholds left in Lambeth. The Rooks had washed through the region like a flood, and within a matter of days the majority of Blighter activity had been reduced to a trickle.
Of course, this poor chap with the broken nose and cauliflower ear wasn't to know his misfortune.
"Hallo," Jacob greeted, filling the single word with as much enthusiasm and eagerness as he could, "I wonder, could you tell me where your boss is?"
Broken Nose faltered, uncertainty in his eyes as he caught the glint of light on brass as Jacob flexed his right hand experimentally. He glanced towards the storage room at the back of the shed, just a minute action before he corrected, but Jacob had been trained to see minute details.
He broadened the grin already plastered to his lips, "Thank you. Now I have just one more thing I'd like to say."
The solid weight of a two hundred pound man plus brass slammed into poor Broken Nose's jaw, snapping his head back with a crumpling sound that rendered him senseless. Jacob watched innocently as the man toppled, the wagon horses snorting in alarm at the sudden movement in their peripheral.
Jacob spread his arms, raising his voice to a shout and clearly displaying the bronze on his fingers, "Excuse me, everyone, I think this man has had a terrible accident."
Jacob led the Blighters on a merry dance down the street away from the warehouse. All the while he spouted a litany of taunts, jibes and a variety of namecalling that would have even the stone hearted Evie blushing.
The string of barbs had his little group of friends quite impressively riled, their red faces contorted in odd expressions as they made ungraceful lunges for him. Jacob dodged around them easily, as sly as a cat and fast as one too. He easily ducked under a clumsy sidecut, feeling the momentum of the swing ruffle the top of his hood, and surged back to his feet with a series of rapid blows to the aggressor's sternum.
Despite his shorter stature, Jacob was a muscular man, and like his companion had earlier, the Blighter felt the full weight of the trained assassin slam into his chest, and toppled back with a great woosh of air.
Jacob nimbly danced around the group that had now caught up, thanks to the brief skirmish, brass knuckles flashing on his fingers. He grinned underneath the hood, enjoying the game perhaps a little too much. What did he care, though? His plan was working without a hitch, for once, and in a matter of minutes the warehouse would be empty of all goods and the supplies would be safely on their way to the nearest Rook stronghold.
That thought in mind, he let out a sharp, shrill whistle. The noise was peircing, and it halted the Blighters in their tracks for a moment, startled. Jacob spread his arms and flashed his teeth, playing the whistle into his little act. "Come on, then. I don't have all day to play tag with you lot."
The drizzle had gotten a little heavier since his slippery climb up the side of the little alcove, creating a fine mist in the air that seemed to cover everything. For Jacob, it provided little problem, his vision was impeccable whatever the weather, but for the poor sods, irked and irrational, the rain proved to impede their sight of him.
Nevertheless, one came at him, a bulky fellow Jacob had named Knocker Knees several moments back. He had a rather square face, with a squashed up nose and tiny eyes. Of course, his knees were bowed in the middle so they looked like they might knock together at any moment.
Jacob smothered a chuckle and retreated back another few paces, leading the gangsters even further from their warehouse. Knocker came after him, an angry growl slipping through his thin, beard covered lips, and Jacob skipped a step to the side to avoid the heavy-handed uppercut sent his way. It amazed him that none of them had pulled a gun yet. Perhaps the weather was too bad, they worried they might shoot an ally, or, more likely, they just didn't have any.
He smiled at that thought, stepping up close and personal to Knocker, crunching on toes and inhaling the scent of unwashed man, and delivered a stunning roundhouse. This time, he wasn't able to finish the job, as another, mousy nosed twerp stepped up and tried to nail him from behind.
He rolled out of the way in time to avoid the blow, but a harsh sting cut through his forearm and he glanced down to see a tear in his coat and blood welling in the hole. At the same time, he caught the glint of steel in Mousy's hand. His eyes hardened as he flexed his fingers around the solid weight of the brass knuckles.
"So you found your toothpicks at last."
The second Jacob let go the signal, Dick shot underneath the fence through the rotting hole near the floor and slunk across the road to the open warehouse.
He had watched with glee and a little awe as the Frye walked into the midst of the Blighters like he owned the place, proceeding to gather as much attention as he could with a barrage of abuse that had Dick stifling a laugh, and more importantly, the Blighters throwing reason out the window to chase down the cheeky Rook.
However, the group of gangsters and Jacob had disappeared some minutes ago, the mist swallowimg them up. Dick could still hear the occasional drift of a voice in the drizzle, though, a passing insult here, a cheeky taunt there, that reassured him Jacob was alright.
Slipping into the warehouse, he glanced around nervously, his eyes alighting on Jacob's first aquaintance, prone where he had been taken down. Dick grabbed him by the armpits and hauled him out of the way of the door, unwilling to trample the man despite his questionable loyalties.
That done, he turned his attention to the wagon stationed in the middle of the wide open warehouse. The horses stood calmly where they had been left, heads down and blowing softly, their warm breath creating steam. They were older animals, used to the life they led, and they made little complaint as Dick checked the wagon was secured properly and hoisted himself onto the bench.
Clicking his teeth to wake the animals up, he gathered up the long reins and slapped them experimentally. The old horses seemed to sigh, shaking themselves out before picking up a slow walk. Dick tsked and clicked his teeth again, repeating the slap of the reins with a little more force as they moved out of the warehouse and turned south.
The horses picked up a trot, long and loping, and Dick squinted into the mist in an attempt to pick out Jacob amongst the dark shadows up ahead. Several dark shapes lay on the ground, and as he drew closer Dick could make out the small puddle of blood beside one. A small kernel of fear dropped into his stomach as he looked about sharply for Jacob, praying it wasn't his leader sprawled in the dirt, bleeding his life away.
But no, he could hear sounds of fighting up ahead, a short scream alerting him to the fact Jacob was still fighting fit. He grinned, relieved and exhalted both, and cracked the reins again. The horses responded with displeased grunts, but picked up the pace nontheless, clanking and rumbling as they closed the distance between the wagon and Jacob.
They appeared as if from thin air, materialising from the mist in the space between one second and the next. Jacob was caught in a feirce grapple with a Blighter brute, a blade hovering between them as Jacob pinned the fellow to the wet cobbles. Dick let out a shout, shuffling the reins into one hand and pulling his revolver from its holster. He had never been a very good shot, and the bullet whizzed past harmlessly, but it provided a momentary distraction, and Jacob used it to plunge the knife into the brute's shoulder.
The man howled and released his grip on Jacob's collar, allowing the Rook to roll gracefully to his feet and bow to those few Blighters still standing.
"Gentlemen and ladies it has been a pleasure, but alas I must depart."
Dick wasn't quite sure how he did it, but somehow the Frye managed to position himself perfectly for grabbing ahold of the wagon as it trundled past and slinging himself up onto the barrels stacked on the back. He knocked back his hood and slid his cap back onto his head, dipping it to the furiously shouting Blighters now running after them.
"Give my regards to your boss!"
His punchline delivered, Jacob slung his legs over the barrels and slid into the seat beside Dick, clapping him heartily on the shoulder. His breath was a little short, but aside from that he seemed unharmed.
"Excellent work, Dick. Your timing couldn't have been better." He praised, removing the brass knuckles from his fingers and slipping them into his coat pocket. Dick felt a grin breaking out on his lips, the one Jacob was wearing seemed infectious.
"Thank you, Gov'ner." He beamed, clicking his teeth at the horses to keep them moving. They were travelling via the backroads to the Rook stronghold in an attempt to avoid any more Blighter confrontations than necessary, but the streets were only just wide enough for the wagon, and the horses were nervous of the small space.
Dick allowed them to drop back to a quiet trot, guiding the big wagon through the narrow alleys carefully. Jacob clambered back onto the rear to ensure they didn't chip the tail going around any of the multiple sharp corners.
Finally, they emerged on the wider roads, being forced to pull up due to the heavy flow of carriages and carts piling up on the cobbles. Jacob sighed heavily, slipping back onto the bench, and leaned back against the barrels stacked behind them.
"Bad timing." He mumbled, leaning forwards after only a moment and picking at a tear in his coat. Dick noticed a red stain on the sleeve around the tear and felt a spike of concern.
"You bleeding, mister Frye?"
Jacob's head snapped up, a guilty expression chased quickly off his face by an easy grin. He waved a hand, "Just a scrape," he assured, "One of the buggers got lucky with his knife."
Dick relaxed a little, then, peering over to see it was, in fact, just a scratch. A hole opened up in the traffic, then, and he urged the horses forwards once more.
Jacob saw the Blighter carriage roughly two seconds before they saw him. Cursing loudly, he reached over and slapped the reins harshly over the horses rumps, much to Dick's surprise and chagrin, and pulled the Rook down as a bullet splintered the barrel behind them. No words needed to be exchanged between them after that, and Jacob retreived his pistol from its place in his belt and cautiously raised his head above the barrel tops.
The wagon thundered loudly over the cobbles, rocking from side to side as the horses lurched and lunged through the streets thick with traffic. In a smaller carriage with only one horse, the Blighter's held the advantage. Jacob cursed again, checking the load in his pistol and took a breath before vaulting over the barrels and surging to his feet.
The swaying motion of the wagon under his feet played havoc with his aim, but he managed to get off three relatively decent shots. They chipped the carriage dangerously close to its two passengars, sending up a spray of splinters. That only served to make them angrier, though, and Jacob was forced to flatten himself to the barrels as a bullet whizzed dangerously close to his face. He felt a thin trickle of blood run down his cheek and adrenaline shot through his veins, widening his senses and focusing his vision.
Without warning, he shot into a kneeling position, folding one arm across his chest and propping the tip of his pistol on his bracer. Sighting, adjusting and firing took the span of three seconds, and the Blighter holding the reins tumbled from his seat with a bullet betwix his eyes. Jacob felt a thrill of satisfaction as he watched the carriage veer horribly off course, the surviving Blighter forced to leap from the bench to avoid the crash that was sure to follow.
He felt a brief stab of pity for the horse, but pushed it aside quickly as he lifted a hand to his cheek, hissing as he felt the long scratch across his cheekbone. Wiping away the blood with his already torn sleeve, he turned back to the front of the wagon...
And cursed again as he saw a carriage, painted in garrish red and black of the Blighters, heading straight for them. He realised a moment too late what the gangsters planned to do, and his wild lunge for Dick's collar was a desperate action.
Throwing his full weight into tossing the Rook aside, clear of the wagon, he lost his balance and fell harshly on his side, the edge of a barrel digging into his ribs.
The oncoming carriage grew closer by the second as its passengers bailed out the sides, rolling as they hit the cobbles, and in a last ditch effort to get free, Jacob rolled.
In hindsight, it was one of his worse escape plans.
He hit the cobblestones with a bone shuddered impact, the air leaving his lungs in a whoosh as the wagon thundered on millimeters from his head. His hat was long gone, and the momentum of the wagon wheels rolling past threw his hair in all directions.
Coughing harshly, he lay on the road for a moment, winded and aching in every bone on his right side. A horrendous crashing sound exploded through the street, and the sickening screams of the horses as they collided with each other was enough to turn his stomach. He felt another stab of pity for the poor animals, regretful that he had caused their untimely fate.
Gradually, his limbs started to function again, and he painfully pulled his legs under him and lurched awkwardly to his feet. The crowd had gathered around the scene of the crash, several long meters further down the road, and he half hopped half stumbled into the dark reprieve of an alley to avoid the eyes that would inevitably start searching for culprits.
His right shoulder throbbed painfully, an old friend, and experience told him the bone was probably dislocated. His hissed through gritted teeth as his skimmed the fingers of his left hand over the top of the joint, feeling the wrongness of the angle, the sharp butt of bone where it shouldn't have been.
He sighed heavily, resting his head against the wall he was leaned up against, and took a moment to wonder for Dick. He hoped the Rook had made the jump alright and gotten away, hopefully far away by now.
He should leave, too, he knew. Aside from the shoulder, he was fairly certain his injuries were only bruises. Briefly, he entertained the idea of putting the bone back in himself, but cast it aside quickly. Too risky, he needed the arm to be properly healed, not a hack-dash job he'd done himself.
He sighed again, pushing off the wall and wincing as his bruised body complained loudly. There would be no climbing shortcuts today, just a slow, painful shuffle back to the train in the heavy drizzle and the muddy streets.
Henry let out a quiet sigh, closing the book set on the counter before him with a gentle touch and turning to place it back on its shelf. Several hours had been spent pouring over the ancient manuscript for some reference to the Shroud, yet all he had found was unhelful yibber yabber.
He drummed his fingers on the counter, glancing around the curio shop for something to catch his inspiration. The heavens were unloading their burdens on the streets once again, a steady roll of rain beating on the roof of his little shop, and he sighed resignedly while watching the hurried figures moving past outside the shop window.
Perhaps, he would wait until the rain eased and then head back to the train. He had several tomes awaiting his eye in the study there, too. Besides, he couldn't help but smile, Evie might appreciate some company.
Jacob had left earlier that morning, shortly after yet another heated discussion, if that were even the right word. The twins seemed to fight more than anything else, now. In the beginning, there had been a line between them, it was true, but lately Henry felt that line had widened into a ravine.
Yes, he thought warmly, Evie would be glad of a sympathetic ear, and a hand with the piles of old books they had collected for studying the Pieces.
A loud bang crashed through his thoughts like a gunshot, pulling his attention to the door to the shop. A rough curse came from the other side of the wood, followed by another sharp rap.
"Greenie! Open up!"
There was only one person in all of London who called him that, and he felt relief and despair both as he recognised Jacob's voice. If the younger twin was here at the shop, Henry couldn't very well leave him to his own devises and travel to the train.
It wasn't that he didn't trust Jacob, well, not entirely, it was just that he knew what the younger Frye was like, and was loath to test fate by leaving the man alone in the curio.
"Greenie!"
Henry stifled another sigh and stood, walking around the counter and crossing to the door. Briefly, he wondered why Jacob didn't simply enter, the door wasn't locked, but he was more focused on getting the thing open before the Frye broke it down.
"Alright, it's open." He began, watching the floor as the door swung inwards to make sure it didn't hit anything. When he looked back up, he started in surprise, letting out an involuntary gasp.
Jacob cracked a grin, the gash across his cheekbone splitting and oozing fresh blood at the movement. "Afternoon. Mind if I come in? Little wet out here."
Henry snapped his mouth shut quickly, stepping to the side hurriedly, "Of course, please, come in."
Jacob nodded gratefully and stepped inside, limping badly on his right leg and wavering slightly as soon as he took his weight off the support of the doorframe. Henry shut ajd bolted the door before turning to the Frye, confusion amd concern in his eyes as he got a good look at the other assassin.
Jacob looked like he'd been dragged to hell and back. His jacket was torn in several places, stained with mud and a disturbingly rich red. His pants faired little better and his normally slicked back hair was gone to the wind, hanging in his face and dripping water as he turned to face Henry with a wince.
"Don't supposs you have a chair in here?" He asked, holding his right arm stiffly bent over his chest, with his keft hand supporting the wrist. Henry nodded, slightly shamefaced that he had been too preoccupied getting a look at the Frye's injuries to see he needed to sit down.
Unfortunately, by the time he pulled a chair out for Jacob to sit, the man had already found a seat on the floor. Whether the adtion was voluntary or not was anyones guess, but he ended up leaning heavily against the counter, his head lolling to one side.
Henry crouched worriedly, dropping the satchel he had also grabbed while retrieving the chair, and patted his uninjured cheek softly. "Jacob?"
The man stirred immediately, his face snapping up to meet Henry's gaze. His eyes were slightly out of focus, but he was lucid. He waved a hand in the air, wincing as it invariably caused him pain. Henry didn't wonder; it looked like he'd been run over by a wagon. Or several.
"Needed to sit, for a minute." The Frye slurred, using his left side entirely to push himself into a straighter sitting position, letting his head rest on the counter as he hissed softly.
Henry nodded, turning to the satchel and placing it at his side, "I can imagine." He agreed sympathetically, running a critical gaze over the other man.
Jacob nodded once, before shaking his head a little, like a man trying to shake off a hangover. After a moment, he seemed to regain a little clarity, gesturing to his shoulder vaguely.
"Shoulder's out. Didn't want to fix it myself." He explained shortly. Henry frowned, shifting to get a better look at the affected area. He could see by the lump under Jacob's coat that the shoulder was, indeed, out, but he wouldn't be able to do anything with the thick layers of leather and fabric over it.
He sighed, reached into his belt for a knife. Jacob eyed him warily, the blood dried over his cheek mixing with the fresh trail to give him a pale, garish look.
"I hope you don't expect to cut my coat with that."
Henry gave him a confused look, "Of course. I can't fix your arm through all these clothes."
Jacob had the audacity to shake his head quickly, wincing as he applied pressure to his shoulder unintentionally. "No cutting. I can get it off."
He proceeded to try and do so, and somewhere amid his attempts to reason that the coat was already torn and holy, Henry found himself attempting to help.
He told himself he was just doing it to stop Evie from having to struggle with her brother. He wasn't entirely comfortable with the younger Frye twin just yet, the man swung in unchartered curves that made little sense to either his sister or Henry, and not knowing how the man might react to a given stimuli made him nervous.
However, by the time Jacob got the blasted jacket off and was back to sitting against the counter, his arm cradled to his chest and tight, whistling breaths escaping from him as, Henry imagined, he regretted his stubborness to keep the coat, he seemed a different man. Quieter, more predictable. Everyone reacted the same to pain, Henry supposed.
Now able to get a proper look at the shoulder, Jacob had plenty more shirts that he would not mourn the loss of this one's right side, he sucked his teeth in concentration. The disloaction was relatively simple, just a matter of pulling the joint back into the correct position. Henry had praticed the theory a dozen times, only problem being this wasn't theoretical, it was Jacob. Evie's brother.
He puffed a breath, glanced at Jacob's drawn face, eyes watching him expectantly, and rolled up his sleeves. Placing his hands in the appropriate position, he took a deep breath, attempting to alleviate the lump in his stomach, without much luck, and pressed against the bones.
Jacob let out an ungodly bellow, like that of a wounded bull, and suddenly Henry found himself with hands on thin air and Jacob halfway across the room. The Frye had lurched to his feet, one hand on his shoulder, the other pulled close to his chest.
Henry stood silently, his pulse thundering in his ears as he worried he had done it wrong, putting the bone in the wrong position. Slowly, ever so slowly, Jacob let the arm drop to his side, twisting it experimentally. Henry let go a massive breath he hadn't realised he was holding as the Frye nodded and turned, pained lines still creased across his face, but a smile there as well.
"Thanks, Greenie."
He nodded mutely, still recovering from the shot of adrenaline to his system that he hadn't needed. But Jacob was reaching for his coat then, moving to shrug the material over his shoulders, and without thinking, Henry moved forwards to place a hand on his forearm.
Jacob raised an eyebrow, question in his face, and Henry ran a glance up and down his person.
"What about your other wounds?" He questioned, aware of the way Jacob was regarding him with what could only be called bemusement.
Jacob scoffed, stuffing his right hand into his pocket and leaving it there. "Just bruises, Greenie. We both know you don't want me here too long."
Henry couldn't deny that was true, but the state Jacob had been in only a few moments before made him wonder about the truth in the Frye's words. It was highly possible it was only the adrenaline of having his arm out back in was making him feel better. Dark bruises lined most of the skin Henry could see, and the gash on his cheek was still bleeding sluggishly.
"Relax, I'll be heading straight back to the train and taking a hot bath," Jacob grinned, "I'll try not to interupt."
Henry did not miss the implication in his voice and words, stammering over his reply and giving Jacob the perfect opportunity to slip out the door, a chuckle on his lips and rain through the door.
Henry sighed and looked back around the curio shop, resigned once more.
Fryes, he thought tiredly.
By the time Jacob got back to the train, he was cold, exhausted and miserable.
The rain had onky gotten heavier in the last hour, and water had crept into his coat through the seams and tears. His right side was one big lump of agony, and waiting for the train to pull into station, as he knew it would in less than a minute, he barely resisted the urge to just sit down and go to sleep right there.
Years ago, back in Crowley, Ethan had put them through vigorous conditioning drills every day. Each grew progessively more difficult than the last, and most days it was all the twins could do to hobble to their beds and collapse. Still, those exercises had built up a strong pain tolerance over the years, and it was that which Jacob thanked in that moment.
The loud toot of the train jerked him out of his semi dozing state, jolting him back to the present with a hiss as his side burned and he shuffled awkwardly onto the train. He sighed softly as he realised he'd entered the wrong carriage, turning and heading towards his own car, rather than the study he had somehow ended up in.
"Jacob?"
He started, spinning on the spot to fix his gaze on the source of his sister's disbelieving voice. The action made his head spin and he grunted slightly, leaning against the wall for support.
Evie had one hand splayed on the open page of her book, running her eye up and down his form with a mixture of disbelief and concern.
Jacob smiled tiredly, closing his eyes for a moment, "Hallo, Ev." He was too exhausted to bicker tonight, the lump of misery his body had become throwing a dampner on any ire he might have felt.
When next he opened his eyes, a gentle touch was at his cheek and Evie stood inches away from him, a softness in her eyes he hadn't seen for what felt like years and a tenderness to her voice.
"Oh, Jacob," she whispered, tracing a finger over the gash on his cheek, feather-light, "What have you done to yourself?"
He huffed, winced as every muscle in his body protested, and shifted his weight more to his left side, "You should sse the other guy...s."
Evie barely supressed a snort, shaking her head and grasping his wrist, "Come now, sit and let me take a look at you."
He obeyed without complaint, letting her lead him to a spare chair and sit him down in it. The coat stuck to his wet shirt, but he refused to let her cut it either. On the bright side, the cold had numbed his shoulder.
Evie eyed the slashed shirt suspiciously, lifting her gaze to Jacob's tired eyes as she inspected the swellung ariund the joint. He shrugged lopsidedly, neither confirming or denying anything.
Evie let out a breath, tsked quietly to herself, and rested a hand on his knee. He realised, somewhat belatedly, that time had ticked onwards while he shut off, distancing himself from the unpleasantness of it all.
He was cold, the wet fabric of his shirt sticking to him like glue, and before he could think about supressing it, a shiver ran up his spine.
His entire body exploded into agony with little warning. He whimpered quietly, leaning forwards to rest his head on Evie's shoulder. She stiffened slightly, her shoulder tensing up under his brow, but after a moment, she let out a breath and relaxed.
Gentle fingers came to card through his hair, pushing the wet strands back against his head. Evie rested her head on his, pressed her cheek against his hair, and breathed quietly.
The silence was filling in a way he couldn't explain. The simple closeness of his twin seemed to banish the hurts and aches from his weary body. He inhaled shakily, let it out in a deep woosh that stung his ribs.
"I've missed you."
Evie's hand paused for a second, her fingers tangled in his hair, before he felt the shift of her face as her lips tugged upwards a little.
"I've missed you too."
And thus it begins! I apologize for any spelling mistakes throughout the work, I'm still trying to get used to my new keyboard. Please send me your ideas for an Unfortunate Event(s) for our beloved Fryes! Reviews are loved and constructive criticism is amazing but please don't flame me. I'm just a wittle cupcake.
"What was that explosion?"
"Explosion?"
"Evie."