Jacob/Dep + 17 for the Angst/Fluff asks please (:
holy wow it has taken me a while to do this and for that i am sorry most beautiful whalesharks i hope i can at least give you something worthy of your patience. it uh??? ?? ? ? ? ???? yep. : D i hope this is okay
17. “Nothing is wrong with you.”
“Jacob,” The bedding stirs, the shell of one foot rubbing warmth into the other, “It’s cold.” Her voice is heavy, groggy with sleep and she rubs the backs of her palms into her eyes as she turns away from the wall. “Jake?”
The room is dark and a cricket chirps in response, it’s hum wavering in and out of tune in the cold. Her jaw offsets, bottom lip cupping to blow stray hairs from her brow- where had he gotten off to? Eyes trace a pooling, moth-eaten-curtain-strewn path of moonlight as she debates leaving the warmth of the itchy, woolen blanket.
The tiles are cold underfoot and the tail of her blanket cape drags down the hall behind her. Dry, flecking tiles creak as she makes progress, honing in on the faint sounds of distress from the bathroom a few doors down. A whimper. Squeaking flesh on tile- several pained grunts. Digging- no, scratching?
It sounds like a psychotic mouse den is somewhere in the walls.
Although she is less than a hundred feet away, the safety of Jacobs office seems miles away when her fingers cusp the antique knob. Ophelia takes a slow, steadying breath. She isn’t sure what to be prepared for. This is Saint Francis, Jacob Seeds domain; anything could be waiting for her on the other side of that door.
Slowly it swings open, hinges nearly muffled by the resonation of strangled breathing. It takes her much longer than it should to digest what she’s bearing witness to.
She knows better- truly, she does. But, still, her mouth hangs open, lips soft around his name, “Jacob?”
Although his head jerks in her direction he doesn’t look at her. Not really. “Bugs,” Determined, meaty hands dig into his forearms with an almost renewed sense of action. Swiping palms against his bare chest squelch, nails curling in an effort to thwart off whatever he is seeing. “Fucking,” He annunciates in a way that brings a startled hand to her lips- he is frightened, “B u g s!!”
There is a fine line she is toeing as she steps further into the two stall restroom: she shouldn’t wake him and risk making things worse, but he’s injuring himself. Deeply.
Jacob makes a heart wrenching sound, digits back at his arms and digging.
Ophelia releases her hold on the blanket and it hangs at one of her shoulders stubbornly. “Jake, it’s okay,” Her leveled tone seems to do nothing for his near frenzied motions, nails scoring skin and teeth baring, “Let me help you.”
Taking a half step forward she hangs near the wall, keeping the sink between them. “We can get them off together-”
He doesn’t say anything but his body language conveys exactly how he is feeling on the situation and he half grunts his negativity.
“We- I-” She sputters for a moment, gears shifting wildly, “I have this!” Gripping the still clinging corner of blanket at her shoulder she makes sure to move slowly- fluidly, so as not to startle him and his half-crazed mind. “You can smother them, all at once.”
Jacob lifts a bloodied, raw hand to his nose and he wipes, sniffling- debating. “Hnn,” His jaw works a few times before functioning, southern accent thick in his sleep addled state, “Give it here.”
Ophelia is hyper-vigilant as she transfers ownership of the material, lower lip wavering at the thought of the woolen knit against the damage he’s done to himself. She remains silent. One hand wraps the lip of the sink- anchoring as she watches.
He makes a stifled noise of relief as the fabric wraps around him- he feels like crying. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” As the night terror really begins to subside he finds himself leaning into the rear wall of the bathroom-? Dripping? Where was he-
“There’s nothing wrong with you, honey.” That seems to finally catch his attention, cold blues washing over her. “H e y,” Despite his gory visage half of her lips upturn.
“I-” He means to retort that he is more than aware of the fact that he is just fine but he grips the partially soaked blanket, fever-snippets of his ptsd laden hallucination seeping in. “Need a nap, I am fucking exhausted.” He stares at his crimson dripped toes and silence passes between them for a brief second, “And confused.”
Ophelia holds a hand out, moving so that there isn’t a ceramic barrier between them, “Let me clean you up first, Mountain Man.” Her expression softens, more than glad to be let into such a private moment, “Y’know, maybe avoid any real, serious infection?”
“What do you mean?” Although his mouth is moving he takes the Deputy’s hand, “Staci lives here, I am already seriously infected.”
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