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He forced himself not to reach out when Landon floundered, but it was a close thing. Bobby, too, looked concerned, but Landon shook his head. So he was alright, then? Then again, if he wasn't, the doctor would be the one who knew.
The infirmary wasn't too far into the heart of the ship; far enough he couldn't see the door to the deck, but not a hike inward, like the cabins had been. He looked up when Scott mentioned it was the infirmary--no, he knew. Oh, wait, that'd been for Landon. It was a pretty serious concussion, it seemed. Reminded him of when he'd first met Landon. Only Landon had been a lot more pliable back then. Too bad their relationship had been different; it sounded like it could have been fun, to tease a pliable Landon...
He sat, a little lost, and watched as the doctor took apart his handiwork. Two out of three wasn't bad for proper sets. The needle got a raised eyebrow from him, and he shied away from it a little. Needles weren't usually good news. "What's that?" he asked. Even if it was for Landon, he didn't want to just sit here and watch Landon get shot up with--whatever. He didn't trust Bobby that much.
"Local anesthetic," Bobby explained, flicking the bubbles out of the top. "So I can reset the finger." He gestured for Landon to hold his hand up. Bell looked away when he jabbed the needle in. He didn't mind needles so much in concept, but he didn't like to watch people get stuck with them, either. It made him twitch just thinking about it. He was pretty glad he wasn't the one who had to get the shot.
"You can go ahead and take your shirt back off, I'm gonna take another look at those ribs, see if I can't tape 'em up," Bobby said, businesslike. "Not much I can do about bruised ribs, but it might help a bit."
"Got painkillers? That'd help," Bell groused. He really didn't want to get groped up any more, unless it was Landon doing the groping.
Bobby clicked his tongue, then sighed. "I'll give you some if you really need them," he said.
Bell squinted at him. Did bruised ribs not count as really needing them?
When Bell lifted his shirt Landon winced sympathetically. It looked like it hurt. They were both in a bad state, no wonder the local medic had gotten concerned. Or actually, maybe Marley had come around to check whether his balls were still dangling properly after the kick Landon gave them. Some jealousy flared at Bobby's exploring hands mapping out Bellwether's torso, hovering around the bruises for an extended time. Landon wanted to be the only one touching Bell, but he couldn't show that much emotion. He resorted to staring out at the ocean.
Bruised not broken.
Marley knew how to punch just right it seemed.
Landon stood when Bell did, floundered for a second and caught himself on the ship. Okay, standing up quickly was something of a no-go for now. At Bobby's patient, yet concerned stare, Landon just raised his eyebrows and shrugged. Not like he could help it.
Both men led the way inside. It'd been better just sitting outside, with the fresh air, Landon noticed. The air inside was stifling and somewhat oppressive. The stale scent of old food filtered through, some trash and oil.
"Hey, in here," Scott called at Landon when the other zoned out and nearly passed the infirmary. There wasn't much to the room. High cabinets with glass little windows secured supplies along the wall and there were two metal beds. There was a low case with thin drawers in the corner, holding fine instruments. Landon reckoned most crew had at one time earned himself a cut that needed to be dealt with on the fly. Broken bones, not so much, but maybe Bobby could tape up Bell's ribs.
"Sit down, both a' you," Bobby instructed and turned to Landon. Blunt-tipped scissors were wedged underneath Bellwether's handiwork before Landon could protest and the man was clipping the splints free. It hurt.
Landon winced and pulled a face, hiding it by looking down. The fingers were still healing. Good thing this butcher didn't know about his shoulder. Exploring fingers pressed at the joints.
"Fuck -what're you doing?" Landon cried out, moody.
"This one's not set proper," Bobby pointed out.
Shit -no. Was the man going to break it on the spot and reset it?
Apparently not. Landon breathed a sigh of relief when the man let go, but didn't really rejoice at the needle the man was preparing. Landon shot Bell a look.
He took off his jacket and set it aside, then stripped out of the remaining layers all at once. A bruise snagged halfway up, shirts pulling at a sore spot, but by then he was committed; the shirts came off, and he winced, rubbing the spot on his chest. Bobby winced as well, and Bell glanced down, taking it all in. It was his first time seeing it, too. Looked pretty nasty, all told. Blue and purple and red, even black in a few places. Bell prodded at a few of them, then winced when they hurt.
"Don't do that," Bobby admonished, pushing his hands away. He knelt down and touched Bell's chest, and Bell flinched away on instinct. His hands were dry, rough, and cold, not very nice at all. Would've been nicer if Landon could have examined him, but then it wouldn't have ended with an examination at all. He forced his thoughts away; probably wasn't good to dwell on such things with a doctor actively examining him.
Bobby hesitated on a particularly nasty looking bruise on his ribcage. He pressed harder than usual; Bell hissed at the pressure, unable to hold it in. Bobby wouldn't let up, though, not until he physically pulled away. "I think it's bruised, not broken, though that's bad news for you; it'll take longer to heal. I'd need an x-ray to tell for sure, but god only knows where we'd find one out here."
"It's fine," Bell said, reaching for his shirts again.
Bobby shook his head. Both looked up at Scott's pronouncement; Bobby nodded, while Bell grimaced. Really, it wasn't that bad. Though maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to get Landon looked at while they were right by a doctor. And...how many seamen would really be using the shower in the middle of the day? He smirked a little. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all.
First drop off in two days? No way...Well, no, then again, they probably weren't going straight to America. Maybe they were going stop somewhere along the way. He'd said first, after all. Kind of assumed a second. He pulled his shirts on, then stood; the seamen led the way into the ship, and he followed.
A common face? And they bought that? Well, what else could they say, huh? Maybe they both were goats. Landon sighed out and rested back. At least he'd get to see Bell sort of naked, hah! Emphasis on 'see'. Being outside settled some things, but couldn't quite solve others. His vision was still doing doubles, sometimes resonating in and out. When he felt Bell relax, Landon eased up too, though maybe they shouldn't? If both their guards were down, then -well, it was a rather secluded part of the ship.
Landon waived the idea.
He felt just a little too shitty for beating a goat to death bare-fist anyway. Bobby hadn't failed to notice the make-shift splint and while their attention was focussed on Bell for the time being, Landon was sure the sailor would want to corral them into the infirmary for some actual medical treatment beyond mere observation. Landon didn't feel much for having his fingers broken in case they hadn't been set straight.
"You guys ran into Marley before," Scott asked, hinting at Landon's older injuries. Landon blinked and hesitated.
"These aren't Marley's doing," Landon said finally, foregoing the fact that yeah, they had met Marley before and no, the encounter didn't go down so well. Only that time it'd been Marley on the sore end of things.
"Broken?" Bobby grunted as he tended to Bell.
Landon swallowed. "It's...fine, been a while," he said. Or well, maybe a week, or two, give or take. And whatever the goat had done to heal it. Maybe he should've accepted the blood after all. It would've solved the shoulder injury and some discrepancies. And maybe he would've been slightly less useless during Bellwether's fight against Marley.
"Them splints sure look a while," Bobby remarked with a derogatory shake of his head.
"Did Willie show you were the facilities are?" Scott asked.
"Toilets are..." Landon's good hand pointed, back then forth. He didn't know. They'd seen them before, but right now, someone could tell him any direction and it'd be credible to Landon.
Scott crossed his arms and shook his head.
"You two are going to the infirmary, and then showers," the second-in-command ordered. "We'll reach our first drop-off point in two days, got to look proper, even if the old rust-bucket don't," the man muttered.
He grunted, then sat up. Landon was right. Not about not being a pillow, but about someone coming back. It wasn't like no one knew about this place; the goat-suspect knew, at the very least. They couldn't forget where they were, not even for a second. "Don't wanna," he protested, but he did pull away.
They had to cut their hair--yeah, yeah they did, he thought, remembering the creeper. The ship was steady right now, barely moving in the waves, so he rustled through his coat until he found the knife. There was still a bit of blood caked on the end--his blood. The thought was a strange one. He frowned at it, then rubbed it clean on a shirt. "Pity to see such pretty hair go away," he muttered, running his fingers through Landon's one last time. Unable to resist temptation, he nuzzled down into it, the silky strands a little greasy without washing.
There was the sound of boots clumping down the passageway, and Bell pulled away sharply just in time for the goat-suspect to return, this time with the creeper in tow. They both did a double take to see him here. "We were looking for you," the creeper explained, and Bell went stiff, the knife held at the ready in his hand, down by his side so they couldn't see it but it'd be ready for use at the slightest provocation.
"You got beat up pretty bad by Marley too, didn't you? C'mere, take your shirt off, let me get a look," the creeper said.
Not just a creep but also a fetishist? Bell became more tense, if such a thing were possible. If the creep took another step towards them, he'd meet the business end of Bell's blade.
Scott sighed. The both of them were so skittish, ready to run or fight at the slightest provocation. "Bobby's the ship's doctor. Calm down. He needs to check to make sure you didn't break anything."
Bell relaxed half a hair, then slipped the knife back away. Ship's doctor? He glanced at Landon, but the other seemed relaxed and fine with it. Well...okay, then. "I didn't break anything," he proclaimed.
"Let me determine that," Bobby suggested.
Bell glanced from one to another, then sighed. "Right here?" he asked.
"We're all men," Bobby replied.
Ha, like that meant anything. Bell hesitated, still unsure.
"Do I know you from somewhere? You seem really familiar, but I can't quite place it..." the goat suspect said.
"I get that all the time. I've got a common face," Bell said with a shrug. The goat suspect looked uncertain, but nodded all the same.
"It's a concussion, not brain-damage," Landon defended his intellect. Actually, it could very well be he would end up with permanent damage, if he kept refusing the goat's blood. The splints around his fingers could do with a change. His hand had hurt for months after being broken too -until Bell woke up and healed that. It'd become so convenient to just think of himself as being immortal, but really, Landon knew he was dependant more than anything else. The memory of being stabbed through the gut by Robert-goat still stood out in his memory -in Daniel's memory. It hadn't even been frightening or painful, just resolved. He'd been meaning to die, hadn't he?
The ocean was bright, glistening in the sun, and Landon closed his eyes. With the waves calm like this and the breeze relatively gentle, it felt like the freighter was a solid mass, still. He felt okay now. Maybe the nausea had been a combination of having his brains sloshed around and being seasick.
"Hey, I'm not a pillow," Landon protested meekly. With a sigh, Landon looked down at Bell. The man had gotten it worse than him for once. Who knew what kind of bruises were underneath all those layers of clothes? Wouldn't the goat heal those at least?
"Love you too, Bell," he muttered softly and nuzzled the man's hair. This was dangerous, taking a risk. Landon relished being this close for a few more minutes and then nudged Bell up.
"C'mon, sit up, they'll probably come back to check up on me," Landon reasoned. Landon knew he would, if he found a man running around a ship on his socks with a concussion.
"Should cut your hair," he observed. They both ought to. Had they brought the knife? Landon recalled they still had the bloodied one he'd used to kill Bellwether with. It sounded so strange. A measure of guilt squeezed at his bowels.
And he still hadn't checked this Bell yet. What if this was sinewy-goat?
Bellwether hadn't ever chased illusions around before, so it was cause for some suspicion. Landon couldn't recall whether he'd seen anything. A lot of yesterday was just a big giant blur of black pain and trivial nightmares.
As long as Landon was okay. Or as okay as passed for okay, these days. Seemed like they were chasing one another around the boat, him looking for Landon, then Landon looking for him.
"You're gonna get permanent damage, at this point," Bell said, trying to make light of it, though it wasn't really a light subject. Then again, the goat had healed Daniel right out of him, so maybe it'd heal all the head trauma, too. Hopefully. He rested his head on Landon's shoulder. The heat shared between them was a nice contrast against the chill of the sea air. They could just spend the rest of the journey like this, comfortable alone together.
It was an interesting thought. He considered it quietly, rolling it over in his head. If his presence woke the goats up, then was it his fault all these weird goats were showing up, rather than him being sent after all the weird goats? It did make sense. After all, Mindy had seemed pretty normal at first. Robert, too, hadn't had any idea of what he really was until after his encounter with Bell. The only one who'd already been acting weird was Mr. Pan, and even he hadn't had a fully-crazed goat up and running around. Maybe it was the case. Then what? Should he stop traveling around? Stick to one spot and hope the goats didn't come to him? Or what, just kill himself and rid the world of the trigger that caused the goats to cause problems? But that wouldn't solve anything. It wasn't as though he were the cause; rather, the thing inside him. And he doubted Landon alone could kill that goat, if he'd even try. The weird love Landon had for it would probably get in the way, even if Bell asked him to kill it. That thought pattern led to some unhappy thoughts he didn't like to bring up again, so he forced himself to turn his mind away from it.
"Sorry," he said. He nuzzled Landon's neck and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek as apology. They were all alone, no one would notice something like that. "Love you." He closed his eyes and leaned a little more weight on Landon. He could take a nap, right here.
Bellwether? Convenient. He'd been -wait, he'd been looking for Bell and now he'd somehow forgotten. To boot, he wasn't even wearing a coat or boots for that matter. No wonder they'd looked at him oddly, inspecting his head for serious injury.
"Looking for you," Landon replied after a short hesitation. He stifled the slight shake of the head Landon felt tempted to make at Bell's inquiry.
"No. I'm not hurt," which was a lie, because he obviously was.
"There was this- I was...following you, and they cornered me...this guy said I have a concussion -what's new, right?" Landon muttered, only slightly more coherent than last night. At least there was some improvement going on. Taking a deep breath, Landon relaxed against the metal at his back and just stared ahead. It really did make him feel better. Goats were better than humans, most of the time. Sure, some tried to kill him, but most of the time they did so pretty straight-forwardly. Except Bellwether-goat. He was more human than goat sometimes.
"Yeah, me either," Landon replied when Bell mentioned the ocean was pretty. Like Bell, Landon hadn't been on a trip like this before either. Sure, he'd seen the water from a plane, flying above it, as he was certain Bellwether had, but this was different. More real. Tangible? Landon let his mind clear out again, as that seemed to stifle the headache. Bellwether's body was warm against his.
This was nice. Peaceful.
Something weird? Fast-like? A hybrid? They'd sent away Alice, but the other hybrid following Alice had just up and disappeared at some point. Escaped when they distracted goat-lump. Maybe that's why Bellwether-goat wanted to hunt it down. Maybe they weren't here for nice-guy-goat after all.
It'd be nice if that was the case.
"You know...I've been thinking," Landon piped up. "If..." It was sort of hard to construct into words that made sense right then. Landon's face grew pained for a bit and then he sighed out. "You know the way goats recognize you? What if- it's more like, your presence wakes them up," he ventured slowly.
"Maybe goats sleep, like yours was when we first met," Landon stated. It'd become more of a nuisance guiding them around when it was awake. It made sense.
"I don't know, you're asking me to keep an eye out, but I can't even see straight," Landon complained.
The sea air was brisk but comfortable, a tinge of salt brining the air. His hair was whisked about annoyingly, but even so, it was nice to walk out under the sun and breathe in fresh air. The sun dazzled his eyes when he stared too long at the sea, the reflective nature of the waves bringing it out all the more.
The last thing he expected to see up here was Landon, but there the guy was, the goat-suspect leaning over him. Bell sped into a jog, but by the time he got close, Scott had already left. He slowed, came up beside Landon, then sat down as well. "What're you doing up and about?" he asked. Landon still looked pretty sick to him. Especially the eyes. He didn't know what was up with Landon's pupils, but whatever it was, having two different sizes of pupils probably wasn't a good sign. Suspicious on principle, he glanced over his shoulder in the direction the goat-suspect had left. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"
The goat-suspect had brought Landon to a relatively empty stretch of deck; the workers were mostly busy elsewhere, so no one obstructed their view of the horizon or asked them to move. It was really peaceful. And rather nice of him, just in general. Though it wasn't like they could judge by his actions whether or not he was a goat. The shell didn't usually have any idea of what lurked beneath.
He sighed aloud, then nudged Landon. "It's pretty, isn't it? I've never been on a boat like this before," he said, indicating the horizon. Nothing. Nothing but water to the horizon. It was beautiful and frightening all at once. He shifted closer, trying to make as much contact as possible as covertly as possible. They'd been brought to a secluded place, after all, might as well make the most of it.
"I've been seeing...something," he confessed, after a moment's silence. He hadn't wanted to earlier, because of the chance Kent might overhear and misunderstand. "I don't know what. Little flickers of motion. Like fabric, hair...just a little, around a corner...and then it's gone. Real quick-like. Might be nothing. Might be something. Keep an eye out, though." Never a bad idea, keeping an eye out. Especially not when weirdness was going on.
"First time we met," Landon stated, eyes nervously flicking back and forth between Bobby and Scott. Scott pursed his lips, took another step. Adrenalin kept Landon focussed, even though his eyes wouldn't actually conform to that notion. They remained slightly uneven and unable to properly keep the image a single one.
A meaty hand landed on his shoulder.
"C'mon, nothing 'ere for you," Scott mentioned and pulled Landon out of the narrow hallway. Bobby stopped Landon from leaving by a hand to his chest, taking his chin and moving Landon's head so their eyes met.
Landon cringed. What the fuck-
Were they going to team on him?
"Relax," Bobby stressed.
Relax and it won't hurt when he got someone's junk stuck up his ass?
"Definitely a concussion," the man confirmed, leaving Landon slightly confused.
As if he needed the additional confusion to begin with.
"What?" he managed.
Scott shook his head, "you two are skittish little land rats, aren't ya?" He pointed with his thumb, "Bobby's second job is being the medic."
Oh. That- no, this was still slightly weird.
Or maybe that was just him.
Bellwether-goat mentioned they had nothing else to do on shore, but did that include the boat? It could've alerted them to the presence of this goat before they got on, and they could've found different transport, so was this goat a no go? The man himself didn't appear aware of his predicament, but had confirmed Bell's suspicion.
If it was Bellwether. The way he'd walked away without a thought, chasing imaginary toilets felt off. Maybe he needed to check using the symbol again. Honestly, the train of thought rattled the unhinged parts of Landon's brain and he stumbled back from Bobby's hold.
"I'm fine, it's just rest right?" Landon muttered. He wanted to get away.
Skittish was right.
Scott waived Bobby away, pushing Landon ahead. The hand at his back was a steady driving force and before Landon knew it, they were outside. Fresh air assaulted him. There was sunshine now and a long stretching ocean everywhere else. Just the sight of that steady horizon eased his stomach in a way Landon hadn't even noticed ailed him. Scott pushed him down to sit.
"Just stay here a while, it'll help with the seasickness," the man uttered before strolling away. Had the goat chosen this ship because of that goat or what? To kill it? Or to get helped by it? Landon was confused and thinking made his head ache.
The elusive thing flitted down the hallway, always just out of sight, just slipping around corners or diving into the shadow as he was about to get a clear line on it. The bruises didn't help; anything more than a walk proved too painful to sustain, his ribs and abdomen protesting any quick motion. The motion stayed always just ahead of him, teasing at corners and flicking at shadows, just out of reach, just barely in sight. Bell growled and chased after it, unwilling to give up. It was leading him somewhere, huh? Well, whatever! Who cared? He couldn't get much more beat up. And if it was a goat thing, the goat might heal him in the end. It'd almost be a relief, at this point.
He found himself on deck, suddenly. He looked around, taking it in for a second time. Now that it wasn't stormy, it was kind of cool. The ocean was a huge plane of greenish blue all around him, white cresting at the tips of waves; all the way to the horizon there was nothing but water, water, water. The deck itself was full with equipment, life boats, and the like; he made note of the lifeboats for later, so maybe they wouldn't have to swim their way to America.
The motion had vanished, whatever he was chasing gone away. He frowned, but gave up. What was he really going to do? Run around until he saw motion again? It wasn't like he knew what the thing he was chasing looked like. And he didn't think for a second that it was actually her. Probably didn't even look like her. Maybe some other girl had stowed away. Maybe sinewy goat was playing a game. Or maybe the motion was a figment of his imagination. He was on painkillers, after all. Maybe they were screwing with his brain. It wouldn't be surprising, at this point.
A worker bumped into him, and he grunted, glaring over his shoulder at the offender. The offender frowned back, lip lifted. Bell grimaced. Seemed like picking a fight with Marley hadn't won him many friends. Aside from the creeper. He still wasn't sure what that had been about. At a second thought, sex didn't make sense unless the guy was gay from the start, hadn't they just made port? It wasn't impossible, but...it felt wrong. Maybe he had a different goal. Whatever--Bell wasn't going to play his game. Whatever it was.
And just like that Bell was gone again without so much as a word. Was he leaving? Made sense, Landon was useless anyway. Always fucking useless. Even against humans, apparently. Wasn't there a thing against such indiscriminate irony? They killed goats a hundred times, no, a thousand times more powerful than humans, the little ants -but they got messed up by the likes of Marley. Kent's remark got Landon's attention and he blinked the haze away, peering at Bellwether. From his vintage point, there wasn't much to see but the top of Bell's head. He was headed for the door?
Was he sick?
Landon vaguely recalled Bellwether saying he'd followed Landon outside -to hold his hair back or something. But then, Bell hadn't found him and some time had gone missing. Something felt off. Landon sat up slowly, switched between Kent and the open door and sighed. Bell running through the ship alone, injured and on painkillers was probably not a good idea. Then again, the same could be said for Landon.
Landon wiped at his face, winced, and climbed down from the bed. It'd taken some willpower to leave the bat behind -it'd stand out on the ship. He didn't want any more trouble than they were already in. Unlike Bellwether's rush, Landon's gait was slow. The pain in his head intensified each time his heel hit the cruddy carpet floor.
"Bell? Where the fuck're you going?" Landon called out. The bathroom then? To be fair, Landon didn't quite posses Bell's knack for mapping out unknown territories and he sighed: Bell was long out of sight.
"And what're you doing here, buddy?" Scott called out.
Shit. The goat. Suspected goat. Thing. Man.
Landon realized he'd walked into one of the small hallways, the ones Willie warned them about they had nothing to find.
"I was...looking for my friend," Landon started, "did you see him?"
Actually. If he had his bat, it'd be near to perfect. Small, dead-end hallway, no one else in sight. Shit. A dead-end hallway of which Scott was blocking the exit.
"Haven't seen 'im," Scott said and narrowed his eyes at Landon. Bobby was stood right behind Scott, arms folded and a stern look about his face.
"So what's this deal with Marley then, eh? Said your friend stole his truck," Scott started and Landon grinned.
"He's got a lookalike, that's all -why would we steal a car when we planned to get on a boat?"
"That's what I've been thinking...do I know your friend from somewhere?" Scott asked, almost hesitant and stepped towards Landon.
Kent was right; Landon was muddled, all right, and he couldn't say why. The lethargy and lack of focus reminded him of the blood-induced trips, but there'd been no blood involved, this time. It worried him. Landon was slipping again. Going back to that place where he threw himself into rivers and cut his wrists. And right now, they were surrounded by so much water. It would almost be too easy for him to kill himself.
Landon slowly figured out what Bell meant and located them after a long search. Not many left in the blister pack. Half of one was gone; he took the other half, figuring he'd conserve what they had left. Three pills to last them a week across the ocean, with Marley hankering for blood. This was going to go well.
Cogs? Landon usually only brought up cogs on a blood trip. Had someone given him blood after all? It wouldn't be the first time another goat had interfered. Or had he taken so much as to be permanently addled by it? Bell hoped it wasn't the second, though for some reason he felt possessive about the first. No one else was allowed to give Landon blood. That was his job.
No, no, he was getting ahead of himself. Landon would've healed if he'd been given blood. Maybe it was just a concussion. Just a rattled brain pulling up old data.
Landon's eyes were boring a hole in his chest. Before Kent took notice, Bell removed himself from Landon's line of sight and retreated to his bed, sitting down again. He stood, brushed Kent's hair off, then sat again. There really wasn't anything to do but lie around. Landon had the right idea. Maybe he'd just lie here until the painkillers hit.
Something flitted past the door, the same elusive motion from yesterday. He sat up sharply and walked over to the door. Nothing.
"Where you going in such a hurry?" Kent asked.
"Bathroom," Bell replied.
Kent snorted, probably amused by both land rats getting sick. It was getting easier and easier to ignore him. He didn't care what Kent thought, he was catching that--whatever it was.
Hands touched him and it felt like the first sensation in a long time. Landon's eyes slowly slipped open and dazedly watched the figure in front of him. His good hand automatically clutched the bat tighter, but nothing came to mind to act upon. Instead, Landon's brow knit together in slight confusion. The words Bellwether uttered repeated themselves several times in his head, until finally they started making sense. Painkillers? Uhm, yeah, right.
Not in the bag?
What bag -the, oh, the duffel.
Landon relaxed his grip marginally, since it was Bellwether asking. Where had the cogs gone to anyway? He'd been standing on them and he could still hear them. Or wait, no, that was the boat, wasn't it?
Bell's face looked painful, maybe he'd want one of the painkillers. There weren't many left, to be fair. Between his broken fingers and the cut on his shoulder, the strip was steadily declining. There were three left, and the bit he'd left from before.
"Painkillers?" Landon parroted, buying his muddle brain some time.
"Think he took em all?" Kent piped up without even looking up from his busy-work. "Sounds like it, he does," the man said with a snort.
Landon glared at Kent as best he could, which given, wasn't that good. Slowly Landon let go of the bat and sighed out, rifling through his pockets. Not there. What had he done with the box after taking the pill? Landon sat up a little and found it had gotten squashed under his weight. Oh well, not like the pills would suffer -they were pain free, probably always.
"Here," Landon handed over what was left of the gnarled box.
"Where did the cogs go?" he asked, slightly puzzled, before lying back down. His stare zoned out on Bell's chest. In there. Had to be. If he'd push his ear against Bellwether's chest, the cogs would be right there. It was comforting and unsettling at the same time. Especially considering Alice was now a child of the both of them, technically. Little baby-goats had Landon's face after all. Landon snorted at that idea and tried to get comfortable again without much success. With just half a pill, he was just feeling hazy, but still in pain.
Bell rolled his eyes, figuring a non-reaction was the best reaction. It wasn't that weird to say when you came back, anyways. Was it? Ah, who cared. "Don't get hair on my bed," he replied, wiping imaginary dust off the mattress.
He didn't feel like replying to Kent's question about Landon. Yeah, the guy was pretty obviously sick; whether it was seasickness or a concussion was yet to be seen and honestly mox nix at this point. Landon was lying on the bed, shifting a little in his sleep; it looked as though he were caught in a nightmare. Bell wanted to comfort him, the way Landon always comforted him regardless of the chance of strangulation, but no dice with Kent hanging around. So instead he sat down on the bed and pushed his hair back tiredly. He should cut it. Get rid of the pretty boy status. But at the same time, if he cut it it'd be prickly all down his back, and he still didn't know where the showers were. He didn't want to cut it if he couldn't shower afterward. Not like he'd never done that before, but still. It was a week. A week, and he'd be fine. Besides, growing his hair out wasn't a bad idea in general. Less chance of recognition back in America.
He groaned and laid down. Ugh, everything hurt. Where were the painkillers? He needed painkillers. He heaved himself up and wandered over to the duffel. A few minutes of rifling through it later yielded nothing. He glanced up at Landon. He was cuddling with his bat; it almost drew a chuckle from Bell, though he caught it at the last second. Had he been replaced by a bat? It'd make for a poor partner.
But if he had the bat, maybe he had the painkillers, too. And it was an excuse to wake him from the dream. Bell stood and crossed to Landon's bunk, reaching out to roughly shove him awake, trying to act as straight as possible about it. "Yo, where's the painkillers?" he asked. "Didn't see them in the bag." He forced himself not to look at Kent; while he wanted to see if the guy had reacted, glancing over all the time would give up the game faster than anything.
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