White Noise
Two (Tension)
On the nights he couldn't sleep, John would fly.
Those nights weren't rare; sometimes he felt like all the time he'd spent walking through dream bubbles was being made up for now by unshakable, inescapable wakefulness. Hours and hours passed him without pause for rest, so when the sun set and the streets of the city emptied he would give himself a running start. Sometimes he'd ascend at a park, sometimes leaping against the sides of buildings, off the tops of mailboxes or lamp posts. He'd kick off into the sky and keep going until the air became so thin even he couldn't pull breath into his lungs.
Then, freefall.
He'd drop, through the nimbus, the stratus, the cumulus, until his skin prickled and he could feel the ground rushing too close. Until his descent threatened absolute finality. Then he would pull the wind under him, dragging himself out of a swan dive and into a bowl-curve. Up, and up, and again reaching for that invisible barrier where atmosphere ended and vacuum began.
He hadn't told anyone about his midnight excursions but Rose. She'd looked at him in that way - where her head tipped and her fingers drew together in front of her mouth, eyes narrowed. He'd let her try to talk him through it once until after an hour of beating around the psychological bush she'd said post-traumatic stress and he'd shut the conversation down, backed out, and never brought it up again. She'd tried, still tried if she saw that the skin under his eyes was dark with exhaustion, but he wouldn't hear it.
He didn't need psychoanalysis, he just needed to tire himself out. He had his own method, and it worked just fine.
Rarely, he'd give himself a destination. He'd seen more of the world on restless nights than he could accurately map. Sometimes he'd sleep after, waking on the steps of a temple or on the soft needle bed of pine barrens. Then, for a while after, he'd sleep just fine in his bed, without dreams or silent anxieties prickling him back awake.
It had been four days, and sleep had not yet come.
Four days since Dave's apartment. He figured it was nerves, giddiness. The atmosphere between them had changed; suddenly the feeling of a slow fade had revolved to a sudden rush of being pulled back into everything.
Dave liked to touch, was always touching, always reaching. John was used to it. Dave being handsy was nothing new, but when he touched now John felt the ground drop out from under him and he was in freefall again, because a touch would turn into a caress and then with startling frequency Dave would pull him into a kiss and he'd hit the ground, crashing into pieces that broke off and floated away, everything but for where Dave touched him.
The backs of his fingers scraped a branch, reaching naked above a yellowing canopy of oak trees. He pulled back abruptly, the intrusion sent him spinning up into the air on a tiny, startled whirlwind. His fingers itched where the bark scraped him.
Perhaps it was time to stop flying.
John righted himself, smoothing out the wind underneath him until it let him down gently through the treetops, a silent elevator dropping him lower, lower, until his sneakers squelched against the wet carpet of leaves at the tree's base.
The temperature had dropped, turning the rain into an early snow, and then suddenly late summer had made one more push through the chill, melting the snow and startling the trees and plants into a false spring. The smell of new growth under the decaying leaves of early autumn was sharp against the back of his throat. There was still an intermittent drip pattering through thin mist that obscured everything less than a foot or so off the ground. For a moment, he thought he'd brought the clouds down with him, or maybe he'd flown too far without realizing it, to some fog-soaked alpine ridge.
A minute of walking later, and he found he was at the tree-lined park just down the street from his house.
Or, not really his house. It was Mr. Crocker's house, the Dad that had survived; Jane's Dad. Not his dad, with the harlequins and too much cake and the aggressively boring private life. Jane's Dad, who was… so much like his Dad, only lacking memories and the little tiny mannerisms and anything that really mattered. Oh, he was nice, to the point that he'd insisted John stay with them, that he not go out alone, that he needed to be near family. John would have been flattered, was a little flattered, but it all felt a little cold when he remembered Mr. Crocker slipping up just once and calling him 'Dad.'
It had been weird, unsettling. He'd felt awful for days, like he was wearing the ghost of his other life on his shoulders. He'd been borderline resentful, the basic, hateful unfairness of the universe that had let Jane keep her father while his had no room in their new reality had pushed him right over one in many downward steps from that first year. It hadn't been good for anyone, he knew, but at least the others, in their way, had all gotten replacements for the ones they'd lost. None of them had to share.
Thinking on it now, he rolled his eyes at his past self for ever being so petty. Even if he still couldn't bring himself to call Mr. Crocker 'dad,' Even if he still put Mr. Crocker down as his uncle on any official paperwork.
Even if he spent a lot of time avoiding the man, because the basic lack of remembrance on his face was sometimes too painful to take.
From here, with dawn just starting to make a real crawl over the horizon, he could see the house, the swing, Mr. Crocker's car. It was steaming in the chill; warming up for the drive into town, to whatever boring office building where Mr. Crocker's boring job took place.
There was a soft whirring behind him; John stepped off of the street and onto the sidewalk as a mail truck passed him, making its weary, halting rounds down the street. The red flag on the Crocker/Egbert mailbox (his name carefully stencilled in under theirs, just inside the box) was raised when the mail truck went on its way, disappearing down the street in the early mist.
He meandered to the mailbox, dropping the flag and pulling out the flimsy stack. Postcards, some business mail, weekly newsletters. He checked the postcards - both from Jade (and by extension, Eridan, who never wrote but for the occasional snide comment in the margins) both with return addresses that were nigh unintelligible. Hellos from a distant land. He stuffed the one addressed to him in his back pocket.
The front door opened and he could see Jane, shivering in her bathrobe, silhouetted against the warm glow of the house. Her breath steamed out to mingle with the mist.
"Jesus, John, this is the fourth night in a row," she sighed at him.
John took his time along the walkway to the door, giving her a minimal shrug. "It was a good night for flying," he said. He stepped just close enough to hold the mail out to Jane; she untucked one hand from within her robe. He wasn't fast enough to dodge - her hand changed course and snatched his wrist.
"You're soaked," Jane chided, pulling his arm, pulling him closer to the house. John planted his feet, shaking his head. Jane rolled her eyes, letting out a sigh that rose up into a little cloud of mist above their heads. "Come on, at least come in for breakfast. Get changed."
John shook his head again, and gently started to peel her fingers away from his wrist. "I'm fine, I'm not hungry." It was a lie, he could probably eat everything in the fridge, if the exhaustion didn't catch up with him first. It was just-
"Jane, what are you- Oh."
Mr. Crocker, arms up, knotting his tie in a perfect half-windsor, peered over Jane's shoulder just as John managed to free himself from her grasp. He shoved the letters into her open hand, and took a step back.
It was difficult to look at him, in the early dimness and through a sleepless fog it was easy to not see the little things that separated James Crocker from who he had been when he was James Egbert. No little scars on his hands from the meteor incident that had taken Nana, fewer stress wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, though a little more silver in the hair… but James Crocker had lived longer, and earned that silver.
"Morning," John said, backing down the front walk. Half-windsor. That was the difference, he always could tell even in the dim early mornings after the worst bouts of insomnia. Mr. Crocker was a half-windsor man, but Dad had preferred the four-in-hand knot. John could remember learning how to tie each different knot, how to tell the difference, sitting on the kitchen counter with a tie draped over his shoulders, tying the thing into incomprehensible loops while Dad cooked or baked or coaxed him along.
He'd thought it was so stupid, back then. He'd never been able to get the knot to lay perfectly straight. His foot dropped off the edge of the walkway and he stumbled, catching himself with a little puff of wind.
They stared at him from the doorway, still as a picture now that Mr. Crocker had finished with his tie.
It wasn't like they were asking him to go. He knew realistically that they were more concerned with asking him to stay. They were nice, even. Most of the time he could stand being around them. It was just a question of belonging, and John didn't. Not that either of them would say so, or even hint that was the case. He just knew that it was and did his best to stay out of their way and keep his life as separate as possible without breaking off completely.
Mr. Crocker broke the thin illusion. He patted Jane on the shoulder, leaned back to take his jacket, and then nodded to John.
"You'll be home for dinner?" He said in the tone of voice that anyone who didn't know better would mistake for a question. John nodded, nearly turned to leave, then paused.
"Is it all right if I bring Dave?"
They both seemed a little stunned at the question. He was a little surprised himself; normally it was 'you mind if I eat somewhere else tonight?' He almost never invited someone over. Not for any particular reason, it was just… difficult.
But Mr. Crocker smiled, Jane mimicking it almost perfectly. "Of course, your friends are always welcome," Mr. Crocker said. He took a few long strides down the walk to his car, then paused, his hand lingering on the door handle. "Do you want a ride, John?"
John was already retreating along the walk when the question made him still again. This time he couldn't tell if it was an offer or an order, and decided to hell with erring on the side of caution. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shook his head. "Nah, I'll walk. Um, thanks though."
Mr. Crocker nodded, doffed his hat, and got into his car. There was a long minute where John wondered if he really was supposed to get in, if this was the signal for one of those Important Talks One Must Have With An Adult, but the car finally backed out of the driveway and went on down the street, maybe a little under the speed limit, maybe idling too long at the stop sign at the end of the block, but eventually the car and Mr. Crocker disappeared into the morning mist.
John didn't realize Jane had come up to stand next to him until she spoke, making him jump and stumble off the sidewalk.
"You really need to talk to someone about this sleeping thing," she said, reaching out to grab the sleeve of his jacket, tugging him back onto the path, using the momentum to turn him so they faced each other. She knew he hated it, how she could read his moves and copy the exact frown he gave to someone else who was acting like a jackass, and she did it anyway because she could and there was clearly nothing he could do to stop her. It was like looking into a soft-focus mirror, and it annoyed the shit out of him, especially knowing that he should have been giving himself the same look in real mirrors for the past few days. If not the past few years.
"It's fine," John grumbled, trying and failing to tug his arm out of her grasp. "I'm just kind of jittery about things right now. Um, kind of a big thing happened and I'm still working through it."
"What big thing?" She moved a little closer, enough that standing level it really was like a mirror. Jane moved when he did, mapping every twitch to keep him from avoiding her gaze. "John, come on. What big thing?"
A gust of wind shook the trees, stirring the mist, shoving Jane back away from him and towards the house like a giant invisible hand. Jane yelped and stumbled but caught her balance before she fell. John jittered back a few paces, putting up his hands. "Sorry. I'll tell you later, just…" he took a few more steps back - he could see her building up towards getting seriously pissed - "Not right now, okay? Let me figure it out."
"John. Egbert." Jane squared up her shoulders, fists clenched, taking a few hard steps towards him. John danced back, hands at surrender. He shouldn't have called the wind on her, shouldn't have pushed her back.
"I'm sorry," he said again, and for a second he wasn't sure if he meant it. He just needed some time, some coffee, some sleep, food, anything, as long as it was anything away from here. He needed to be where Dave was for a little while, to get his head on straight. "Dinner, I promise, I'll let you know," he said.
Then, before Jane could lunge for him, he turned and ran, taking to the air before the mist swallowed her angry yell for him to come back.
John flew just above the cover of the mist until it started to burn off in the morning sun, taking himself lower until he was taking more time dodging branches than actually flying. He let himself down behind a bus stop, empty for now on this part of town, one of the midday express lines that ran only at unreliable intervals on a mostly useless route. He sat on the cold bench and rubbed his face, digging his thumbs into his eyes until the geometric dance of false light started to make him dizzy.
Pissing off Jane had been a stupid idea. He'd have to make it up to her, maybe bring something to dinner or offer to help cook this time (not that she'd let him - he was an awful cook - but it was the thought that counted, right?) or at least take care of the cleanup after. And of course he'd tell her, eventually, about Dave. Maybe even about how weird his headspace had been just before, about how he was still trying to balance out actually wanting to be a part of the world again, as long as Dave was around.
He just needed to level that thought, to come to grips with the idea that Dave seemed to be the only anchor he wanted, despite probably not being the only one he needed. If he looked at it realistically, it seemed like an awful lot of pressure to put on one person. It seemed unfair, and stupid, like he was jumping the gun, latching on too quick to an offer he hadn't entirely thought through. That maybe this really was a rebound thing and he'd end up disappointed and heartbroken.
And yet Dave had made it more than abundantly clear that he wasn't anything of the sort. That, at least, he could trust. Dave was terrible at lying - his face got red and you could see his eyes trying to break contact from behind the shades. He didn't have tells, he had big neon signs. The thought made him smile; there had been a time when Dave had existed only in walls of red text, a long labyrinth of words and obfuscating irony and at it's center: Dave, who wasn't exactly as good with irony or keeping a straight face or any kind of real dishonesty that didn't involve a lot of forethought and even then couldn't have any guilt attached or he'd choke.
John conjured Dave's face up in his mind, trying to imagine how long they could make it through dinner before Jane's probing looks and Mr. Crocker's kind ambivalence got to him, before he blurted out something like 'so if anyone's interested I'm planning on banging John in the near future.' The idea made the back of his neck prick hot with a blush. Oh, the things they could do now.
But first, he needed coffee, something stronger than the stuff at the Crocker house. Sweet and hot, in a tiny cup. Espresso might do it; he'd be jazzed for a while and then maybe he could finally dive down, find his way back to his bed in a caffeine crash haze and let the world go quiet for a few hours. Just so he could sleep without dreaming, just for a little while, to catch up.
Coffee, cafe. There was one just west of the bus stop. John could just see the sign if he squinted hard enough. He pushed off of the bench, spun on his heel, almost went wide off the sidewalk and into a decorative tree. Closed his eyes again and continued along his way, following the quiet.
Dave, still in his head. Serious, grinning, avoidant, expectant, loud like the ticking heart of time John imagined he'd hear if he sat in the middle of a clock tower. Cool, not. Hot, definitely, many iterations of hot. Calling him up to dinner would get him teased, 'God John that's so fucking traditional am I gonna have to ask Crocker for your hand in marriage?'
He bumped into something soft; it uttered a familiar laugh. his eyes snapped open and he jumped back to apologize, looked down and-
"Rose! How-" He stopped the stupid question before he could finish asking it. Asking Rose how she knew where and when to be when she wanted to meet with someone without their knowing was about as stupid as asking if water was wet. It also had the unfortunate side effect of being exposed to a nice, acidic, lengthy lecture on how easy it is to be forgotten, usually starting with 'Oh my, it seems you have amnesia.'
Her mouth was already forming the 'oh' when he waved his hand to stop her.
"Nope, nope, it is too early for that, Miss Lalonde," he said, making an x over his chest with his arms. Rose smiled, then nodded.
"As you say. It's certainly very early for you, Mister Egbert." Her chin tilted up, and her smile thinned out to a straight line, just edging a frown. "You haven't slept."
He shrugged. "I've been flying." He half-turned, pulling open the cafe door to let her pass through. "It was a good night for flying," he elaborated, uselessly. She kept the neutral-bordering-on-dissatisfied look on her face as she passed him, only smiling again when the barista greeted them both.
He considered skipping out. He could always close the door and sprint until he found a quiet place to take off, but then, if Rose thought he'd do such a thing, she wouldn't have gone into the Cafe. Unless...
Ugh, too early to try and think in paradoxes. Besides, one never could tell if Rose really did see the way things were going to go, or if she was so good at bluffing that people like him went along with what she wanted simply because it was supposed to be a foregone conclusion.
Rose ordered their drinks, he paid for both. They took the booth furthest back from the door to wait. Rose set her back on the seat beside her, set her elbows on the table, and folded her hands under her chin, watching him expectantly.
John tried not to flinch under her gaze. It was difficult; he never knew how much she could tell from just looking at him, and never knew if she was going to bring up one obvious issue or another, or let things be. He never knew, not until after the conversation had ended and they'd gone their separate ways. At the very least he kept his foot from jiggling under the table, but his fingers picked at the cuffs of his jacket - frayed, like the rest of him.
Their coffee arrived before either his reluctance or her patience could break. He poured too much sugar into his mug. Rose took hers black; she continued to watch him as she took a sip. Whatever was filtering music into the cafe tipped over to something with a lot of banjo and the sound of it made the back of his teeth ache while he gulped down his too-sweet coffee.
His foot started to jiggle just as he set down his mug. He could only think of one topic Rose would corner him about that didn't involve lecturing him on his health (not immediately, anyway) and there was no way he could think of to start a conversation that had such touchy subjects like Dave and whether or not John had spent the last few days getting intimately acquainted with how good Dave was at kissing.
Okay, perhaps intimately acquainted was pushing it a little. They'd kissed on the futon, again when he'd left the Strider apartment for home, and then, yesterday (or the day before?) in front of the train station. A few times more, privately. All brief, but all of them... good. He'd enjoyed them. He counted them and set them aside in a little pocket of his memory, where all the Good Things went. Every time Dave kissed him he was surprised by how enjoyable it was. He hadn't yet screwed up the courage to initiate a kiss, but soon, very soon.
Rose's hands were tucked under her chin again. Her mouth had curved back up into that knowing, sardonic smile.
"Uh, so, have you..." he tried to still his leg, but the agitated bouncing of his knee went on unabated. "Um, anything interesting going on lately?"
Rose shrugged. "Not of late. I met with Kanaya yesterday, but that is usual."
He nodded. "Yeah, I've been hanging out with Dave," he tried to smile in a way that did not indicate that 'hanging' should have been 'making.'
Rose's serene smile did not budge one inch. She knows, John thought, picking up his mug again for another teeth-aching swig.
"You have been together quite a bit recently," she replied. Her eyebrows didn't so much as twitch but he could hear the Eyebrow Raise of Inquisition in her voice.
"Um, yes." There was not a single thing he could say that would stop that tone in her voice. Not one damn thing he could do before she made some kind of obvious remark and then he would blush and stutter and probably act stupid. He looked over at Rose, and for just a minute her carefully polite smile had softened a little into a kind of expectant fondness. Not because she knew, he realized, but because watching him agonize over what she knew and how to broach the subject was likely her prime entertainment. John sighed out a little laugh, and his nervousness began to dissipate. Not for the first time he thought that, with Rose, he might someday understand what pale love really meant.
"Yeah, well, it's not like we're picking out matching cumberbunds for a wedding or anything," he said, pushing his mug towards the edge of the table. "The, um. You know, with Terezi. It's still pretty fresh."
"Yes, I hadn't expected Dave to bounce to someone else so quickly," Rose murmured, her voice cool and level. She was staring at him again, watching his reaction carefully. He slumped in his seat. It was no good trying to put on a brave face; she saw right through it without error.
"I'm kind of… well, worried about exactly that. I don't want to be the rebound guy."
"I very much doubt Dave would ever put you down as just the 'rebound guy," Rose replied. She reached over the table, putting her hand around his, and gently pulling his fingers away from their vice grip on the coffee cup. "You know he does like to put on airs, but he does take relationships seriously. Not the least the relationships with those who are already dear friends."
"Right," John said, turning his hand to squeeze her fingers. "You're right, I'm probably overthinking. It's just... Kind of a surprise? Not a bad surprise, a really good one. But it's just he's my best friend, so," he shrugged, holding up his free hand in a useless gesture.
Rose put her head to one side, her mouth tilting back up into a smile. "From personal experience, I can attest that falling in love with someone you consider to be your best friend is a very good thing to have happen." She squeezed his fingers again, then retreated to her coffee. For a moment, John allowed himself to be convinced that he'd survive this conversation without-
"I can also attest, from extensive research," Rose said, grinning wickedly at him over her cup, "that you may want to invest in water based lubricants in the near future. It's healthier than silicon."
"Oh god," John covered his face with his hands, sinking down into his seat. "Rose, no. Please no. I'm having a hard enough time-"
"Or you're going to," she interrupted, the wickedness in her smile intensifying. John snorted at her from behind his hands.
"Shut uuuuuuuup," he groaned, crossing his arms over his head. "Rose, you are not even helping a little!"
"Tell her something she doesn't know," was the voice in his ear. John jumped, his knees knocking against the underside of the table, arms going up in surprise or surrender, leaning away from the speaker until he realized, with a sudden, manic joy, that the speaker was Dave. Dave smiling at him, leaning over the back of the booth, hair damp from the fog, eyes sleepy behind his shades.
Rose was laughing at him, but she was inconsequential for now, just another part of the scenery. John scooted aside enough for Dave to sit next to him, gesturing a little too grandly as he did. The exhaustion, the misty edge to the world dissipated as Dave sat close, warm, smiling at him or at nothing, taking the mug John had abandoned, taking a sip, making a face equal parts disgust and respect.
"Damn, is this coffee or coffee flavored sugar water you're putting in your body? This is fucking disgusting." Dave finished off the mug, then slumped in his seat, his head resting on John's shoulder briefly before something Rose said had him animated again, gesturing at her in fondness or annoyance.
John's arm seized, twitched, he wasn't sure if he should put his arm around Dave's shoulder or stay still. His heart was up and galloping, shaking his ribs and making his throat feel swollen. He settled for leaning on the table, hands crossed in front of his mouth, eyes on Dave, watching him scrunch up his face at Rose, at coffee, at being awake in general. Watching his mouth move with a kind of intense focus that he forgot he had the capability of utilizing.
Rose's fingers snapped next to his ear. He yelped, knees knocking once again against the underside of the table. Dave, laughing, caught silverware as the sudden jolt sent them flying.
John flushed, covering his face with his hands. "Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry I'm just tired," he groaned. Dave's arm snaked around his shoulder, shaking him good-naturedly.
"I told you so," Rose said, her voice piercing through the haze like a needle. John smiled behind his hands as she continued talking. "Both of you need sleep. Dave, you've studied as much as is humanly possible, even for you. John," he dropped his hands. She was leaning forward, just inches away, violet eyes boring into his with the intensity of a very close, perturbed sun. "You're a mess, Mister Egbert. Go sleep with my brother."
"Rose, I am scandalized," Dave gasped, pulling John back out of Rose's hypnotic stare, shoving John's head to his chest and mock-patting his hair. "Such solicitations in front of poor, sweet, baby John, and in public as well?" He let out a loud, mock sigh. "I thought better of you, Rose darling."
"You'll think better about the back of my hand in a moment, David," Rose growled back, waving her hands at them. "God, look at you idiots. Would you go take a nap already?"
They clambered out together, Dave dragging John behind him, out of the cafe and along the sidewalk, making faces at Rose through the cafe's window before darting further down the street, John in tow.
"No way in hell am I getting to sleep any time soon," Dave said, letting go of John's arm long enough to let him turn around and walk, then latching onto his wrist again. "I've been up all night chugging Red Bull and reading sad plays for English. Real fucking southern gothic shit with nervous breakdowns and scandals and crap. I feel like I'm gonna have a nervous breakdown reading this shit. Jesus, you look like a fucking meth addict. When's the last time you slept?"
John blinked, his brain catching up to Dave's mouth at a ten second delay. "Oh, just… I mean, I was out flying," he said lamely, the excuse sounding more flimsy now that the sun was burning off the mist, and Dave was staring sideways at him, fingers pressed up against the pulse in his wrist. He sighed. "Just a couple days," he admitted.
"Just a couple?" Dave came to a halt, then peered closely at John, the corners of his mouth tugging to a frown. "Oh man look at your eyes you aren't even fucking around. What's wrong? Are you sick?"
"No, I just…" John shrugged, tried halfheartedly to pull his wrist from Dave's grip, and then gave up. "Just kind of anxious, I don't know."
"Anxious?" Dave turned, grabbing John's free wrist, drawing him close, making John's pulse jump stupidly. "What about?"
You, this, us, pick one, John thought while his brain struggled to make his mouth move.
"Do you want to come to dinner tonight?" is what came out instead. He could see Dave blinking behind the shades, each one taking him in degrees from confusion to clarity.
"Oh my god, John, did you just spend the last couple days not sleeping because you were agonizing about asking me out to dinner? Because that's what this is sounding like to me right now."
John stuttered, looking away. "Y-yeah," he said. That seemed as good an explanation as any. It made sense, right?
"You're such a fucking dweeb, John," Dave said, tugging John's wrists to make him bend enough that Dave could kiss him.
The haze that had been lingering in John's head grew heavy. If there was a world, it had blurred into mist again. There was no necessary thing that existed now but Dave, nothing more coveted. Dave began to laugh and the kiss ended, leaving John's mouth feeling numb and clumsy. He grinned back, Dave laughed again, then stepped back, dropping one of John's hands so they could walk. "Of course I'll come to dinner," he said, dropping his chin, adjusting his shades. John could just see the blush darkening his skin before he started to walk again, tugging John along with.
They'd made it as far as Mr. Crocker's living room. Jane was home still, watching tv, and when they'd stumbled in they'd collapsed onto the couch next to her. They were asleep by the time Jane had come back with a blanket.
She watched them sleep, tangled up on the couch, using each other as a pillow. She hadn't seen Dave much, recently. Then again she wasn't surprised; the whole 'hot mom' thing had been a hilariously awkward joke for a while, but once that shared humor had run its course, it had been harder to interact with someone who had for such a long time been the enigmatic 'Dirk's Bro.' Sometimes she caught herself watching his face, shocked by how animated it was compared to Dirk, who had never seemed to get the hang of facial expressions.
At least they looked content, and at least John was sleeping. She was still angry that John had broken protocol earlier. It hadn't hurt, getting shoved back by the gust he'd called down. Not physically, anyway. John's dodgy distrust of her, the refusal to let her help, that hurt more than breaking the one rule.
Jane sighed. There wasn't much she could do now, she supposed, but make something for lunch.
She kept the kitchen door propped open just enough to hear if either of the boys woke, and set to making up sandwiches. Cooking she could deal with, it was easy to let her mind drift away while her hands did the work. Baking was the best, she could run on automatic and bake for hours, but little meals were like a cup of coffee, a little pick-me-up. So she hummed to herself, portioning out three plates, covering two and placing them in the fridge, setting aside the third just to make sure neither of them had woken up. She peeked into the living room.
John was standing with his back to the kitchen door, head down. He wasn't standing still but swaying gently, hands hanging loose at his sides. Jane paused, then edged the door open a little more.
She thought she could hear him mumbling… something. His voice was too low to make out from here, if it wasn't just her imagination. His head, she noticed, every so often would shake side to side as if he was saying 'no.'
"John?"
The mumbling was still too soft to hear, but as she edged around behind him she could see his mouth moving. She reached out, but he jerked to the side, pacing to the other end of the room, head shaking. Jane pulled her hand back, fingers twitching for her fetch modus. She glanced to the couch - Dave was still sprawled there, fast asleep. John began to pace again, passing from the door to the stairs, head down. His mouth had stopped moving; the room was silent but for the sound of his footsteps.
Jane crept closer, bending a little to better see his face. He stopped pacing again, leaning instead with his shoulder pressed against the wall. Jane moved with slow, careful steps until she stood in front of him, then looked up to his face.
She could see his eyes were open, but blank. His face was impassive as if he was still asleep, but his eyes were open wide, glassy, sightless as doll eyes. She waved her hand in front of his face. He didn't move.
"John, are you sleepwalking?" She murmured, not so much needing an answer as needing to break the silence. His head sagged a little, swaying from side to side as it had before. Jane's hand moved before her brain could catch it up.
She touched John's face, and every lightbulb in the house shattered.
The Lifey Thing - as with all the 'Things,' - was funny sometimes. She knew her control over it was about as solid as trying to use your hands to divert water. You could guide some of it, but something would always leak, and always at the most inopportune times.
Like now, for instance. She felt it bubble up in her hand, felt it pull, and then burst. It had never felt like that before, but then she'd never felt it get wrenched out of her like a sudden punch to the gut. There wasn't any time to process the shattering lightbulbs, or the high-pitched whine of electronics reacting to a miniature Maid of Life Fireworks Show. She wouldn't register Dave yelling in shock or falling off the couch until hours later, or the sharp sudden pain in the back of her head as if someone had stuck a needle into her brain. It happened, quickly, and when it was over, John pitched forward into her arms while Dave tried to make sense of the sudden shock.
She dragged John to the couch, setting him down, propping a throw pillow under his head.
"What the fuck just happened?" Dave asked, crouching next to her. He reached for John but she swatted his hand away.
"I'm not sure, but don't touch him for a minute."
John's eyes were closed, now. When Jane pulled one open, it looked clear and normal. She sighed and sat back on her heels letting John's eye close, resting her hand on his forehead.
It wasn't a science, the Lifey thing. By the time the power had come to her, there wasn't really time to learn how to use it very well, and no real need after the game had ended. But she could, if she concentrated, navigate along the streams of power that Life negotiated. To her, John felt 'fine,' maybe developing a light cold from being out in the wet, clearly over was damage from sleeplessness, but she could feel it dissipating, feeding off the energy that had been dragged out of her.
She pulled her hand away, then picked up the blanket - tossed aside in all the confusion - and tucked it around John once again.
"Jane?"
Dave was hovering behind her, peering over her shoulder. She gave him an apologetic smile and stood up, brushing her hands on her skirt for lack of anything better to do.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to spook you. I just," she gestured at John, a little helplessly. "He was sleepwalking. I think the Lifey thing kind of… fixed it."
Dave scooted around her, sitting on the couch next to John. He rummaged under the blanket, emerging with one of John's hands clasped between his own. Jane blinked at him. "He's okay, right?"
"Um, yeah, of course he's okay, I just kind of de-insomnia'd him, I think." There were dogs barking outside. When she stood back, she could hear glass crunching underneath her shoe. The lightbulbs - she wondered how far that surge had gone. She backed away from the couch to the door, pulling it open to check outside.
There were a few people lingering on the sidewalk, some neighbors milling around the base of a streetlamp. She could see the bulb's shattered glass glistening in the afternoon sun.
"Fucking idiot," she heard Dave mumbling, She glanced over her shoulder, and caught him brushing the hair back from John's face.
"Since when are you so publicly affectionate?" She asked.
Dave flashed her a grin. "What, I can't fret over my boyfriend?"
"Boyfriend?" Jane stared at him, and then laughed a little. That sure explained a lot. "Since when?"
"Couple days," Dave left off fussing over John, instead reclining back against the opposite side of the couch, settling in as if he planned to keep vigil the rest of the day.
"Who else knows?"
Dave ticked the names off his fingers. "Karkat, Dirk, Rose, probably Kanaya. I don't know if he told anyone."
Jane lifted an eyebrow at him. "Terezi?"
He frowned at her, shook his head. "I'm not required to divulge information."
"When did you break up?" Jane paused. "Again?"
"What the fuck is this, Sixty Minutes?"
"I'm just curious!" Jane huffed at him, crossing her arms. "I'm just worried this is a rebound thing, and that-"
"What the fuck is it with the two of you and rebounds? That's not what this is, all right? I just don't want to talk about the Terezi thing. Everything else is inconsequential."
Jane narrowed her eyes. Stubborn, but Striders were stubborn by definition. "I'm just worried about John, is all."
"Yeah, so am I, considering you Lifey Thinged him into a coma. Look," Dave leaned forward, peering at her over the tops of his shades. "I don't want to talk about or to Terezi right now, okay? If you keep pushing me, not only will I have to talk to her, but I might just blab to Miss 'I Get Off On Persecuting People For Minor Infractions' about you blasting my sweetheart over here with a few million megawatts of Go The Fuck To Sleep."
Jane bristled. "Blackmail isn't nice, Dave," she growled at him, but he had a point. She wouldn't exactly look great in this situation, even less if Terezi found out about John blasting her earlier, which, knowing Terezi, she'd discover that little tidbit pretty quickly.
"It's just fine if no one has to use it, Jane," Dave replied, before pushing his shades back up his nose. "Seriously, I'm not mad about the lifey thing, John's asleep so no harm, no foul. I don't want to tattle on you."
Jane wrinkled her nose, then raised her hands in defeat. "Fine, I won't pry or anything."
"Any more than you already have," Dave grinned at her, flashing a thumbs up. "And I won't be a jerk."
"Any more than you already are," Jane shot back, sticking out her tongue. Then she sighed, glancing around the room. The digital clocks were all blinking 12:00, and there was the problem of the lightbulbs still. "At least tap into some of that Knightly valor of yours and help me clean up."