The first thought that comes to her head is shifter. Grabbing a silver knife from under the sink, she nicks him on the arm. He bleeds, not burns, and barely flinches.
"What are you doing?!" He yells sobering up a bit, "I came here for help not to be attacked again!" Mai holds out her knife defensively.
"What the hell are you!?" She sprawls back towards the toilet. Jett looks down at his now perfect side. He's speechless.
"I'm sopping up blood, and my hands!" She holds them up, "My hands go all warm, and I look down and you're that!" She points to his bare skin with the knife.
Jett apprehensively touches his abdomen jerking his hand back upon making contact. He trembles, running his fingertips across the area, making little circles. The pit in his gut grows weighing him down unable to move. His breathing becomes labored, his eyes grow wide, and between the shock and the booze, he can't hold it in anymore.
His body convulses and in a hot flash, he falls sideways onto his hands losing the contents of his stomach on Mai's feet. The puke is liquid fire coming out of his throat; it reeks of every alcohol. He dry heaves painfully. Weak, his body throbbing, more of the sticky yellowish-brown bile escapes him. The taste lingers on the back of his tongue. He hangs his head, his dark straight hair falling in his eyes. Sweat coats his body.
Mai tries to hold it together, leaning her back against the toilet, closing her eyes and barely moving as the boy retches all over her pumps. Her relatively new and favorite pumps. But right now, the state of her shoes is not the most pressing matter on her mind. She refrains from vomiting, gagging at the smell. Vomit doesn't sit well with her, most other smells she can handle, but not vomit.
Don't puke, don't puke. Don't smell it, don't throw up, Mai don't! Keep it down!
The small bathroom has become a hellish pit of sensations. The sound of Jett retching and dry heaving. The smell of booze and bodily fluids. The heat that seems to be trapped in the small area. The hot sticky feeling of watery vomit in her shoes. The dull lighting that flutters slightly because the bulb needs replacing. The anxiety over what happened with the young man's wounds. And on top of everything, she's concerned about how to get the blood stains out of her dress. She can't take it anymore.
Mai kicks off her shoes and escapes to the living room. She screams at the top of her lungs.
Jett pushes himself up off the floor feebly; embarrassment overwhelming him. Lightheaded and sick, everything in the world seems out of place, nothing is making sense to him. She asked him what he is, but what kind of healing hands does she possess? He hadn't done a thing. She was the one rubbing her hands all over him, digging into his wounds. Then suddenly he's fixed? He tries to sit himself up, a difficult task with his injured shoulder. The fall down had put extra weight on it causing shooting pain on impact. He could feel the swelling start to set in. He uses the back of his hand to wipe off his mouth which tastes like death.
Using his good arm to hoist himself up, he attempts standing. Weak kneed and faint from throwing up, he's unable. His endeavors gain him a quick visual black out, pulsating headache, intense throbbing in his burnt leg, and a realization that he still has other wounds in need of attention. They all hurt like a bitch. Any attempts at moving from his spot are futile without some assistance. The only person available to assist him is in the living room having a meltdown. One would think being around hunters her whole life she would have it together better.
Jett realizes that he's on his own for the moment. He reaches for the bottle of Jack, but the smell makes him gag again. He slides it away from him, not wanting to go through that hell twice. Sick to the core and still hammered, he rests his head against the wall and listens to Mai pace back and forth in the other room. She has louder feet than she realizes. The young hunter closes his eyes. Sleep would be nice, sleep and relief from the rest of his pain. Frankly he knows it isn't going to happen. He has to get up and fix himself if she is just going to panic out there.
He twists his mostly naked body as much as he can to grab hold of the needle and thread. The mirror above the sink isn't an option for him to use since he is grounded. No other mirror is in sight. He'll work on his right arm first. Taking in a breath, he pours rubbing alcohol over the wound. It's just deep enough to need stiches but not many. Becoming somewhat ambidextrous over the years when it came to stitching, he feels confident he can finish cleaning up all by himself. He can barely thread the needle. His fingers won't hold still enough to shove the little string through the eye. After many stubborn attempts he gives up. His head pounds out, his temples pulse, he's feverish and exhausted, not to mention drunk.
"Mai."
No response. He tries a little louder.
"Mai!"
Again there is no response.
"Miss Mai! I'm not magically pulled together everywhere! I'm human okay? Please come back in her or drag me out or something."
The loud pacing of feet stops. Jett waits for her to come back into the bathroom or at least talk to him. But the feet start pacing again, this time sounding farther off. Is she leaving? His anger at her grows.
"Damn it Winchester! Don't just leave me here!" He roars.
Mai walks in through the kitchen side door holding paper towels and a garbage bag.
"Shut it Rhone. I didn't forget you and your remaining boo boos." Her sass is crippling.
She absorbs a large amount of the barf-blood cocktail with Jett's tee shirt and throws it away. Mopping up the rest with the paper towels, she adds his destroyed jeans to the bag. Putting her arm around his torso, Jett gains some leverage. Pulling him up is a difficulty for both parties involved, but they eventually bring him to his feet. Mai walks him into the living room and he sees the real reason for her pacing. She has moved the couch closer to the fireplace which now had a roasting fire burning inside. She sits him down on the couch. Propping up his feet she returns to the bathroom to get the medical kit.
Wordlessly she sits down at the boy's side and sterilizes a fresh needle; threading it with ease and steady hands. He expects her to butcher him, but her stitches are smooth and gentle, he can barely feel them. Her freckled face is serious. Her full lips are pressed together sternly, her blue eyes are focused; delicate fingers make steady stiches on his forearm. Jett relaxes a bit. The teenager feels the most comfortable he's been since this morning. Mai ties off the thread and cuts it, moving on to his face.
Jett breathes her scent in during their closeness. Other than the stench of his puke, she smells like faded perfume and hairspray. Her fingertip grazed his cheek bone, he finds this soothing. She slides the needle into his cheek again tying up each stich as she goes. The light of the fire casts a shadow over the left side of her face. Loose hair falls into her eyes but she doesn't stop to push it away. Jett gazes downward at her dress. It's covered in blood and vomit and who knows what else; his blood and vomit and who knows what else. What an excellent impression he must be making on her. He wonders for the first time why she's dressed up, where she was going, and who Walt is.
"You look pretty."
Mai's fingers stop for a moment; she leans back and looks up at the hunter. That has to be sarcasm; the drunken boy has to be mocking her.
"Seriously?"
"Yes?" He doesn't understand the annoyance in her tone, "You just look like you have a date or something."
"Or something…" she remarks sadly but with an edge, "thank you I guess." She returns to working on his face.
Jett doesn't attempt conversation for a while. He looks down at himself.
"I'm naked." He states bluntly.
Shoe's on the other foot now. Mai thinks to herself childishly.
She hadn't even thought about his lack of clothes until now, but her brain can't help but assess the in-his-underwear-Jett who sits inches from her. She tries to focus on the stitches again, but her cheeks betray her, giving off an involuntary blush. Jett can see her face flushing a bit of scarlet under the dim lighting. He smiles to himself, but chooses not to say anything.
She ties off the last stich on his face and covers the area with a bandage. It takes her all of ten minutes now to clean up his other cuts and scrapes. After slipping his arm into a makeshift sling and cleaning up the supplies, Mai hands him a blanket.
"You can sleep down here tonight. We can find you some clothes in the morning." She starts to walk away but Jett grabs her arm. His eyes are lethargic but pleading.
"Will you stay down here with me for a while?"
No.
"Sure." She takes a seat in the plush chair to the left of the couch.
"Do you remember being at Bobby Singer's house?" He closes his eyes letting his head fall onto the arm of the couch.
"Yes, you and your grandfather stopped by."
Jett laughs harshly.
"I cut loose from that ass hole."
Mai doesn't respond, but Jett rolls into a monologue.
"He's a kill first, figure out if they are human later kind of guy. I couldn't take it, you know? I was fighting him all the time, he wasn't listening. This life isn't as black and white as everyone seems to think. Frankly… It's like I'm the only person who cares about them."
Mai still sits and listens to the rant.
"Like maybe I'm just the idiot who cares too much about the feelings of monsters… 'They're going to kill eventually'. Well, you know what? Bears kill people eventually! We don't slaughter them off the planet!" He pinches his fingers at the bridge of his nose and rubs his hand down his face, "Okay, not the best example, but you get my point right?" He lifts his head and looks at her waiting for a response.
"Yeah." She humors.
She pities him being without family. She can understand being at odds, judging family members on their bad choices, fighting with them, being estranged for periods of time. But other than her family sympathy, she can care less about his little existential crisis. She's more of a black and white person herself. Evil is evil and if it's not pure evil it's a predator to humans, simple as that. Jett though feels satisfied that he's persuaded her into his viewpoint on the subject.
"You should get some sleep." Mai suggests.
He sprawls out on the couch as she starts to leave the room. Words are mumbled from his mouth, but Mai can't make them out. She stops in the entranceway and gives her guest another once over. He is already fast asleep. In the morning she'll figure out what to do with him, but for now, she's going to shower and get some rest herself.
'Fangirl' by Rainbow Rowell. I recently read it and it was wonderful! Put it on your must read list instantly. Sorry for the cheesy book plug, but I had to. Reading it inspires me to write more fanfiction.
Also, reviews would be wonderful, but I promised myself I wouldn't beg for feedback.