I can't fit in this skin, It's worn and useless thin

[unpocoloco]

WHO: Héctor and Peter (again), Héctor and Ekkehardt
WHERE: Aube and out by that old Gazebo hangout / the infirmary
WHEN: Nearly a week after the 28 days later mission
WHAT: A catch up and a Check Up TM with an absolutely miserable man.
WARNINGS: Spoilers and bones and corpses and likewise

For Peter

In theory, they probably could have talked on the plane when it was taking them back. But as it was happening he could only stare ahead, glassy eyes wide and a million miles away. Feeling like his heart was tearing more and more the further the plane flew, he didn't manage to even glance Peter's way.

Not to mention, it wasn't long before everything else kicked in, the undead poisons he breathed, his time limit, the simple memory of the undead being blown apart. At that point, his knees were drawn up as close as he could make them, his arms went hugging his gut, and his head bowed. His breath little more than a rasp, he spent the rest of that plane trip shuddering as the shimmers of gold flickered on off through him and offered no more than pained or sickly grunts after that.

It's a miracle he made it to the freezer, really, and this time he didn't wait to change for a second, simply tumbling into a dead heap in the cold. Days pass. And then nights too. His skin starts turning blue and his hair becomes stiff with frost and there is no doubt that what's in that cramped freezer is absolutely a corpse.

It's not the longest he's been down for, but it's certainly up there. He doesn't burst from the freezer this time. Instead, waking with that first gasp, his body rattles with the cold but otherwise it's a struggle to move. Blindly, he eventually finds the door and climbs out. He can hardly care how it looks to everyone else; he grabs the blankets off his bed and walks out with them and his guitar, still shivering with them wrapped around. It's probably a good thing it's the dead of night anyway. He's set to leave, go out and play Coco's song, when he stops and turns back.

He goes to Peter's door. Then stands there, wondering if he should knock when the kid might be asleep. Perhaps at some point Peter will find him instead, ice chunks still in hair. Or perhaps he'll catch him out the door.

For Ekkehardt

Just a few more nights later, once he thinks he's finally gotten his bearings and gathered... he's not even sure if it's courage but something, he makes his way to the infirmary at last. He's been here a few times but not for himself. Mostly for saying hello to anyway awake and peering out the door or to try and see if there's anything he can "borrow". Still, even that is a rare event. Doctors and Dead equaled bad, bad, very bad things.

Or at least, that's what he thought before. Seeing that shade of Ekkehardt before, he hasn't entirely been able to get it out of mind. He's also simply reaching a point where things are hard right now and if the only thing he can deal with is his bones, then maybe it was time to deal with that.

And so, he's here, in the late evening when most are asleep. He hopes. He breathes deep, swallows nervously, then pushes through the door.

"Señor Ekkehardt? Are you in?"

Comments

[spelleton]

Ekkehardt doesn't usually permanently retire to his room until it becomes quite late; accidents happen at any time, after all. He looks up as Héctor enters, smiling pleasantly as usual.

Does he ever get tired? It doesn't seem like he does. It's late, and he's clearly had some work to do, but he's fresh as ever.

"I am, as it turns out. What can I do for you, Héctor?"

[made_up_names]

It's okay really. Peter wasn't feeling 100% on the way back for mysterious reasons himself, plus Avery had stuck him in the MIDDLE OF COACH where he can't get up and move around without making everyone around him mad, so he'd just been miserable and bored and frankly kind of worried about Héctor too, who clearly hadn't made it to Mexico after all. Better that the both of them just try to get any sleep they could on the plane and worry about sorting things out later.

And then he gets home, and - at some point Gwen shows up? Maybe she showed up before the trip but he doesn't actually encounter her until after? Timelines, who cares. The point is that he was distracted for a few days with messes of his own, just enough not to notice that he hasn't seen Héctor. When he does, though, he beelines for Héctor's room to see if his skeleton uncle is okay. He does that a couple times, in fact, but the result is still the same: no Héctor in his room. No Héctor that he can see anyway, and he's not about to go snooping in the refrigerator to see if there's a dead body in there.

So he worries, and things happen, and he is not sleeping any better than he was last week, for sure. After a particularly bad round of nightmares, he abruptly opens the door to his room, intending to at least go sit in the common room or something - and finds Héctor standing there, still wrapped in a blanket, chunks of ice clinging to his everything.

"-- Héctor? Are you okay? Where the hell did you go?" Peter stares up at him, worried and frankly a little upset. There are also three fresh pink lines across his face that definitely weren't present when he was on the zombie mission. Claw marks, freshly healed but still kind of raw. The one splitting his lip is still kind of ragged at the edges.

[unpocoloco]

He's here. No turning back now. Greeting him brightly at that which is something unusual at night. Crazy as it seems, his suspicions might be right.

"I... considered your offer."

He glances around the room. "Is there some place... private?"

[spelleton]

"There's private rooms for one-on-one consultations, if that would make you more comfortable." Sometimes there were injuries - mental or physical - that needed to be kept private, after all.

He leads Héctor past the room of the infirmary with the more public beds (all empty, thankfully) to a hallway lined with doors. He opens one and walks into the room first - it's not usually what he does, but he's giving Héctor one last chance to decide if it's really what he wants to do.

He won't force it.

Provided the other man does enter, the door will close silently behind him, glowing briefly with light.

"Now, what problems are you having?"

[unpocoloco]

He almost wishes that Ekkehardt hadn't given him a choice. He usually makes bad ones. And he's not sure he's really prepared for this besides.

But he follows Ekkehardt in and watches the way the door glows. A lock? A silencing spell? Something else? Whatever it is, he doesn't get to ask.

He rubs nervously at his arm. "Well I... I have a few older injuries. Just a few small fractures. Maybe you'd know what to do with them?" He puts on a bracing smile.

[spelleton]

"Certainly. If you could show me the general location of your small fractures, that would be helpful." There's an emphasis on 'small fractures' that suggests Ekkehardt doesn't really believe they're small, but he's playing along anyway to make him feel slightly more comfortable in an environment the other man is clearly feeling very nervous about.

"If you're worried about it hurting, rest assured I've become an expert at treating broken bones. I try to keep pain at a minimum."

[unpocoloco]

There's a two second relief, to see Peter's awake. And then it's gone cause Peter's not okay. His eyes go right to those scratches, taking in just how deep they run, like Peter ran into some kind of monster. It throws him right off what he was going to say, and what Peter's asking.

"What? Yes, I was in my dorm and-- Nevermind that!" He waves his free hand and shakes his head, then leans in closer, that free hand hovering like he's holding back from reaching out. "Peter, what happened to your face? When did this happen...?"

It wasn't on the mission was it? No it can't have been. He saw Peter. So then what the heck would cause this. "Are you okay?"

[made_up_names]

Oh. Yeah. He is super clawed up still, right? At least his healing factor took care of the worst of it, but the marks are still obviously fresh and deep. Peter got in a fight with something nasty, though. Uh. Hopefully he won since he’s still here?

“I’m fine,” he says, wincing a little. He’s still a little bit sore right now, especially around where his mouth was split. “Uh, my best friend from home showed up.”

As if? That explains anything?? He seems to realize that after a pause, adding: “We ran into a ... bear.” Yeah. A bear. Totally a bear.

[unpocoloco]

His mouth presses to a line and he says nothing about it hurting. He's not that afraid of the pain of it at this point, but it's a good excuse for the fear he does have.

He breathes in, then out. "Okay." Okay... Here he goes.

"Well I... may... have broken... my leg." He bends and pulls up his pant leg up to his knee. "The tibia is snapped." He points along it, though it's not the easiest to tell without an x-ray. "I kind of sorted it out, but the fibula, it's... loose? Like, it keeps popping out on me-- not through the skin, obviously, but it's not connecting the way it should and I can't make it go back and stay back." He huffs in frustration, like one talking about a bad door hinge that won't stop squeaking.

He rises up a little and hops to re-steady himself from that. He pushes back a sleeve. "My ulna, here, that's cracked too, but honestly that's not too bad, I just want to be sure since I--" let a zombie chomp down on it. "Got into a scrape with it recently. Other than that... I've got a split rib here." He feels that out through his clothing, that rib settled just at the front. "And, one back here, the lowest one. I'm not sure it's still in place right." He knows it's not. He lost that rib a long time ago and it's not coming back. But normal people don't just lose ribs like that.

"Also, some teeth but you're not a dentist." He laughs nervously. "Really, it's just the fibula I'm worried about. You know. It can be hard to walk with. I'd be okay with a cane, if I need it." He probably needs it.

He thinks nothing of the fact that most people wouldn't know the exact break locations, let alone the names of their bones.

[unpocoloco]

"Your best friend did this to-- Oh." Okay so that takes away the horror of thawaitaminute.

He squints.

"Peter. I'll give you this. You're getting better at this secret keeping thing, but you're still not that good."

And then the concern is back.

"Did your friend hurt you? If you're going to answer yes, I want you to tell me if it was an accident or on purpose."

[spelleton]

For Ekkehardt, used to patients who generally tend to gesture at one place or another and let him sort it out, it's telling. The fact that he focuses on bones in particular is another unusual sign.

He can probably get away with this, then.

He reaches out with his magic, a glint of red glimmering in one of the eyeslits of his mask as he focuses his will on confirming those injuries. Hands lightly moving over the body without quite touching.

"You've done quite a bit of damage to yourself over time, but I can fix those easily enough. You'll need to walk carefully for a while - a cane would be a good idea, just for safety - but you'll be fine, otherwise.

There's no getting that rib back for you, I'm afraid, since I don't know where you lost it."

He sits back, dismissing his glamour with a wave of his hand, letting the illusion of flesh dissipate like fine mist. He smiles the same as ever, head tilted slightly.

"But I suspect it's not that vital a loss."

[made_up_names]

Damn it. He really does need to get better at this lying thing or poor Gwen is going to get a rap for cutting people up. Which. She did do? But also she didn’t do? Look, it’s complicated, and he doesn’t quite understand the whole story yet.

“Yes,” he says, rubbing at his face. “But it wasn’t her fault at all.” And that’s roughly truthful? He doesn’t understand how this whole symbiote thing works but he heard something else when she’d been attacking him. “It’s really complicated, and she feels really bad about it, and I am still really glad to see her, okay?”

He really missed Gwen! It’s been like three weeks and that’s way too long. He’s not going to let a little thing like a face scar ruin things between them.

[unpocoloco]

He expected this would involve some kind of magic, everything does here, so he's not surprised to see that red glimmer. He stays still and lets the man look him over, trying to steady his nerves over the thought Ekkehardt might find something he shouldn't. Or a lack of something.

It's not until his lost rib is mentioned that he thinks something off here. And then the man changes.

His breath catches and he starts, staring as his eyes take in the sight of bone. "You're... you're dead. You really are dead. I thought you were!" He almost sounds victorious, before his brain catches up. He looks sheepish, wincing. "Ah, I'm sorry. I hope it wasn't recent?"

He hasn't had to be that particular kind of sensitive for a while. But all this means...

"...You know I'm dead too, don't you?"

[spelleton]

"I've been dead for sixteen years and counting," Ekkehardt says, sounding amused at the apology. "Hardly recent. And yes. Living people don't get so exact about the way their bones have broken; they're usually more concerned with the flesh surrounding it. It's rather hard to check your own ribs with all that meat in the way, especially."

It's a bit of a morbid way to describe it, but, well. It is what it is. "You can relax, if that's what you were nervous about. Rest assured, I'm not going to tell anyone."

[unpocoloco]

He sighs heavily.

"Okay. I believe you. But I don't want this happening again. If she needs help with something there are people here for that. There's a point where too many accidents becomes a pattern and that usually means there's something that's not an accident in there, something preventable. I'd prefer it either way if that pattern wasn't a bunch of scars on you."

He draws back a bit. Still not all happy to see what's been done to Peter, but it's done. And maybe he's the sort to trust a friend too easily and understands too well. But that also reminds him a bit of what he actually came here for.

"And on that note, I owe you an apology. For back when we were in America. I shouldn't have used you like that." Using a kid. What was he thinking? He really does just sink lower and lower. "It was irresponsible, and I'm sorry."

[unpocoloco]

Ah, no big deal then, he thinks, an amused look coming upon him too. Really, the way he talks about it, while morbid, is exactly the sort of way he would talk about it were he with his primos. It relaxes him more, even before Ekkehardt outright assures him.

Well, that's as good an invitation as any. He breathes deep, closes his eyes, and draws on that power. Markings light up from under the skin of his face, swirls and dots of color, and soon after, every bone beneath his skin is lighting too in a soft gold. The flesh eases off the bone and all those useless organs simply disappear. He sighs as the literal and metaphorical weight lifts.

A skeleton is in his place now, looking far more at ease than the man that was there. Seeming to be carved into face are those markings from before, colorful even without the light. The exposed bone of his arm has some sort of bandage tape holding it together, and his leg is held with duct tape. Unfortunately, he's also swimming in his clothing now, these things not made for a purely skeletal frame. That's going to take a minute to roll those sleeves higher. Then, he turns a slight grin to Ekkehardt and says, "Ten years, me. I guess I did make it obvious. It's a hard habit to break once you start actually trying to keep track of what's what."

[made_up_names]

He bows his head a bit at that. Honestly he’s not sure if he can promise that? He won’t turn Gwen in if she’s leery of involving the staff, but he gets where Héctor is coming from. Plus Gwen probably doesn’t want him hurt either so. “All right,” he says reluctantly. “But it’s not gonna happen again so it won’t matter.”

He hopes. God does he hope. He and Gwen have some stuff to work out. He just sort of keeps running his thumb over the scar splitting his lip as he listens to Héctor move on, frowning a little. Yeah, Héctor did involve a kid but. He’s a superhero? That’s what he does? So when Héctor apologizes he looks genuinely baffled for a moment.


“But you didn’t,” he says bluntly. “I volunteered, remember?”

Seriously, Héctor, did you hit your head or something? He’s worried now.

[unpocoloco]

He hopes so too. He can't imagine having to deal with a friend like that.

He doesn't fully know about the superhero part. But it also wouldn't really change much.

He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. It was a dangerous situation. I should've told you no. Done it myself and screwed up myself. I'm the adult here. That's not changing regardless of anything else." At least not for a few more years.

"... Though I am still grateful," He admits. Even if it didn't work. "I don't know if you were going anywhere but... I was off to that Gazebo again. If you'd like to join me?" There's something a little uncertain in his voice now, like Peter might want less to do with him, but the hope remains. "Though, it is late, so I would understand if you need your sleep." And there's an out for Peter. Just in case.

[made_up_names]

Look. Héctor is obviously not the worst person to even shove Peter into danger like that. Tony Stark (or whoever might substitute) gets the award there. As such, Héctor apologizing to Peter for something as minor as distracting some zombies just seems. Wrong? Unnecessary, for sure. Sorry, Héctor. You mean well and Pete probably deserves it, but he still doesn't get it.

"Yeah, well, I've got superpowers," he says. As if that excuses everything. "It's fine."

He'll take gratitude, though. That's pretty sweet. He brightens a bit at Héctor's suggestion. "I'm not sleeping any time soon anyway," he says with a grin. "You gonna play for me this time?" As opposed to them mostly just crying a whole lot. Honestly, Héctor has good timing here; Peter never manages much sleep after he's had his nightmare for the night.

[unpocoloco]

Just because the bar is low doesn't mean he feels great about keeping it there. But at least for now he lets it go with a roll of his eyes and something of a wry smile. He worries about you, Peter.

He laughs. "Genuine Héctor Rivera," He says, in the style of a cheesy commercial. He picks a quick but quiet pattern on the guitar. "Now with at least 50% more music, guaranteed." And less crying. He hopes.

He bobs his head. "Go get whatever you need and we'll head off."

[made_up_names]

Peter probably needs to be worried about, honestly. He's had a lot of shit happen for an otherwise relatively normal sixteen year old.

"Cool," he says. "That'll work." It'll only take him a moment to slip inside and grab his backpack; he might have already been planning to sneak out to Soleil and swing around. Sorry, Bee, he's basically ignoring that rule of yours.

[unpocoloco]

Well, even if he planned to sneak out, at least now he's supervised by an adult. That's probably better. Even if that adult is Héctor.

"It's winter! Grab a jacket!" He calls while Peter's still in the room. It's hypocritical, but he doesn't think he has to explain why he doesn't have a jacket-- and he is still draped in a blanket like the lamest royal king possible. Not that it matters for anything but how he feels, but still.

Once Peter's out, he leads them onward with a wave. The blanket is tucked up around him to act as a particular long shawl, a little more out of the way of his limping walk. The cold outside hits him harder than it probably does Peter, but he presses on.

"So..." He starts. "What did you do back there to distract all those guys...?"

[made_up_names]

Oh. Right. Jacket is important. He'll grab it real quick and sling it over his shoulders, not putting it on but. At least he has it! And once that first cold blast hits him he is grateful for it, brr. He'll take a moment to actually stick his arms through the sleeves now.

Also, now that he knows you're a skeleton? He's totally staring at that limp now, Héctor. It's not going uncommented on tonight.

"Oh, yeah," he says. "So you know that tree out by the other side? I used it to swing over the zombie horde and just kinda barrel into them."

It was a flawless plan and you can't tell him otherwise.

[unpocoloco]

That's fine. He knows how kids have to do these things. He was young once too, and seeing that all again makes him smile, amused more than anything.

At least he is until Peter tells him what his plan was.

"Dios mio, Peter." He's not sure how he feels about that. A little impressed, a little bit entirely horrified. He might just tell Peter otherwise on that flawless thing. "You're lucky you didn't get bit." Really, really lucky.

Though he also says, "... That... is definitely distracting though."

[made_up_names]

Peter still sort of thinks he's invincible, despite literally having died? Especially when faced with the slowest zombies on the planet. "It was fine," he insists stubbornly. "I've fought way worse with that kind of thing? I'm really, really fast and strong."

He'd just kind of barreled in, kicked some zombies in the face, and then barreled back out again. No way for the zombies to bite him if he's moving fast enough. "Anyway, it worked," he continues with a shrug. "So close enough."