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@kaneinvestigations
Welcome to kaneinvestigations, an independent rp blog for Jamie Kane, a private investigator oc. I'm Stark, 30+, not picky at all about pronoun usage, but generally she/her. I work full-time and have other hobbies stealing my time, so I can sometimes be here constantly and other times get really quiet, but I'm always available on discord, which can be requested by mutuals.
rules || verses || ask memes || queue
Of course, it's a fucking mess. Billy should be the last person dragged into this but somehow he found himself in the midst of it. How did Billy even begin to understand? His nose wrinkled, eyes rolling. "Do you really want to find out? I hate to be this way but if you ask questions later that would help considerably." He gestures for the other to follow him, "Let's get out of here before we're next."
ㅤAs much as Jamie absolutely hated to admit it, this guy with the earring who looked exactly like the type of douche who'd spray cheap bathroom cologne on his dick before trying to pick a girl up at the bar was right. Asking questions there in the woods wasn't going to get either of them out of there alive, and frankly, even the whisper - yelling was too loud. There wasn't anything they'd be able to do if the hunters couldn't do anything about that thing with their guns, and chances were higher that if either he or Billy approached, they'd be the ones who got shot at instead of that thing. It grated and every ounce of it showed in his expression, but getting out of there alive was the better option.
ㅤ"Fuck," he hissed, but followed after Billy with another glance back in the direction it had gone before he picked up his pace to make sure he kept up. When he got even with the guy and could speak even quieter, he added, "I hope those answers are real fucking good, man."
‘ It’s either them or us. Don’t think too hard about it. ’
@kaneinvestigations
ㅤ"What the fuck do you mean?" he demanded, though in fairness, he demanded quietly because he'd seen the shadow slinking toward the sound of what Jamie assumed were rednecks with guns - hunters, that he didn't want to run into in dark woods. Still, he didn't want whatever that had been to run into them, either, especially if that was how this guy was talking about it. "What is that?"
ㅤIt wasn't going to stop him from moving in the opposite direction, though.
trickshxt:
A sliver of his conscious deep down frowned at himself. The dejection in Jamie’s eyes, though brief, was stated. Punctuated by a glance away that told far more of an underlying distaste not in Barney but in Jamie’s own self. They all had their own familiarity with the demon of self-hatred. But the casual acceptance in Jamie’s look had him stopping. Teeth biting the inside of his cheek as, quite suddenly, he found himself feeling as if he needed to take a good, long look in the mirror.
(Irrational, right? He didn’t understand the extent of Jamie’s ‘powers’. Wasn’t eager to end up like the guard, wasn’t ready to die again. Two parts of himself warred. Something selfish and self-preserving versus bravery and pride. Hadn’t he wanted to be a hero? Wasn’t this an aspect of that he should embrace? Irrational…irrational…he would never be a hero.)
Lips pursed as he listened. Mentally calculating years and wincing, just a little, just so. No less sympathetically for the time spent away from others without so much as a choice to be given. “And it’s only skin to skin contact, huh?” Which quelled an immediate thought or two. His eyes flicked to the towel being held to Jamie’s head, another glance spared for the clock. “Jesus, what a fucking bad break. Thought I had shitty luck…”
What do you even really say to that though? He wasn’t sure. Lapsing into silence that, with another here, was rapidly becoming awkward. Blunt nails scratched the back of his neck as he thought. Considered the implications of just how much blood was being lost to the towels and the pallor of Jamie’s face.
“That even slowing down?” He asked, quietly. Eyes intent. “Cause doesn’t seem like it from here.” The dread from Jamie was near palatable and it made him nervous. Shifting in his seat as he frantically dredged up every OTHER conversation point he could think of.
“Can see why you aren’t much of one for usin’ it,” he mused. Wincing a bit at himself for the obvious, not so different topic. His hand wiped his face. “You know this means you’re definitely gonna learn how t’use a gun now, right? Distance weapons are our friends - YOURS especially. An’ we’re goin’ double time on learning proper use of one as soon as that head of yours is right as rain.”
Not that Barney needed or wanted Jamie to absolve him of feelings of guilt (Jamie had come to the understanding a long time ago that it wasn't how guilt worked, anyway), but he gladly would have tried if he would have thought it would help. He didn't blame Barney for not wanting to be near him, and honestly? He was bracing himself to be down this client as well as the friend that the man had been becoming, and while a huge part of him recognized that the friendship being lost was the worst part of the whole ordeal, he couldn't help much mourn the much-needed income that had come from doing the shit that the Feds didn't want to do officially for themselves. It never occured to him that Barney migth be beating himself up for not being heroically in the space of the person with the poison touch, but Jamie didn't consider himself much of a hero, either. It was hard for him to put himself in the mindset of one.
"Yeah, skin to skin. Didn't you ever wonder why I'm always overdressed for the weather?" he asked, a little surprised at the prospect that the man might not have wondered, but it seemed far too unlikely. There was more to Jamie than the poison touch, which was part of how he got by being so completely overdressed on a hot summer day, but really, the only thing that Barney had to concern himself with was the dangerous part. "I haven't exactly tested how thin the fabric can get between me and someone else, but t-shirt material is fine and so are medical gloves. Whatever causes it doesn't seem to cling to fabric or anything."
He was explaining, that much was obvious, but there was almost a sense of defensiveness to it, not like he felt like he was being accused, but more that he was trying to reassure Barney that he hadn't been risking the man's life without his knowledge. He'd always been very well-covered around him, and there hadn't been close calls. He wanted that to be perfectly clear, because whatever had happened that night with the guard, Barney hadn't ever been in danger before. Even with the guard down, Jamie had been aggressively aware of Barney and his safety, which was why he'd warned him and gotten away. It wasn't the most articulate, but he wouldn't have let Barney be hurt.
The question about the bleeding took him off-guard for a few seconds, though why, he couldn't have said. It wasn't like it had been long since Barney had dumped the towels on the counter, but Jamie had somehow managed to shove the concern away enough that he just assumed it would stop bleeding eventually. The truth was that it probably would, but he didn't know much about first aid except that head wounds bled a lot, which was just information he'd picked up somewhere along the line and probably from a TV show. He hadn't ever been cracked well enough in the head in the past to have to learn this particular lesson. First time for everything. "Honestly? No idea. I'm just planning to sit here until it does." Or I pass out.
He flicked his eyes up to Barney very suddenly when the man mentioned how he could see why Jamie wasn't fond of using his touch against people, which was fair even if it was unnecessary, but the real surprise came at the man bringing up guns again. It wasn't as though Barney was wrong to suggest it, but that meant the man meant to be around him again in the future. Unexpected. "Having killed a few people, I really have to say that I'm not a fan. Learning more ways to do it seems a little weird, doesn't it?"
trickshxt:
Jamie’s look of trepidation at the mere idea of medical attention hit him hard for its familiarity; a certain brother of his never did outgrow that distaste of all things medical. (And quite honestly, Barney couldn’t entirely blame him.) He stopped at the flash of unease in Jamie’s eyes and stayed still. Quiet. Hands in plain sight if only to soothe and reassure that a fast one wasn’t going to get pulled.
He’s glad he stopped when he did.
It felt like a week ago that the guard died when it had been mere hours. Face contorted, screams panicked and panted, agony rippling through their body; it hadn’t been a silent or painless death at all. And even the reminder now of it brought a violent shiver to Barney’s body. It wasn’t a death he wished for, by far, and not one he’d wish on any.
“Yeah, there are gloves…” And he kept the eye contact for a long, long moment. Mulling this new realization in his head. First aid wasn’t truly his specialty. A bit of field medicine here and there had gone a long way over the past few years. But beyond some basics? Even he admitted fake it til you make it had its limits. Especially here. “Dunno about how GOOD they are though.”
Part of him knew what that look in Jamie’s eyes was. Fear. Not just over the entire possibility of accidental contact, but, he’d bet, something far deeper. Few people with power like Jamie’s ever saw themselves with the lens of those abilities. Saw the worst version and assumed it was the default. He couldn’t blame those assumptions. The newspaper headlines were riddled with reasons to assume the worst and defend oneself against what seemed to be popular opinion.
Yet while he wasn’t one to necessarily act on what was expected (unless doing so worked in his advantage), there was the added element here of death. A very unforgiving possibility. He either did or he didn’t and the lack of safety net was enough to give him pause.
The clock ticked by for a long moment before he finally spoke. “I got an idea.” And with a turn of his heel he disappeared back into the bathroom. Re-emerging moments later with a handful of towels that he plopped on the counter next to Jamie. “You ain’t comfortable with first aid…and honestly neither am I. So here’s what we’re gonna do. Gonna have you put pressure on your head. If it doesn’t slow down in 10 minutes? We’re gonna have to do something. Deal?”
He sat back down with a heavy huff. (Ignored the guilt at his own actions; was it self-preservation or was it chickening out? He wasn’t entirely sure.) “Take it you don’t go to the doctor much, huh? You had this since childhood…?” A small puff of air escaped his lips. Attempting to lighten the mood; knowing it was likely delivered badly. “Or were ya exposed to some magical poison dart frog as a kid?”
Jamie was quickly coming to the realization that he didn't have to worry about Barney accidentally killing himself with a touch, which should have made him feel worlds better and helped him relax more, but it actually had the opposite reaction. He held that eye contact and watched as the wheels in Barney's skull turned, as he thought over what had happened with the guard (which wasn't far from Jamie's thoughts and wouldn't be for a long, long time), as he imagined it happening to himself. He saw it all, and he saw the fear and discomfort settle into the man's bones. It made something heavy and sick fall into Jamie's stomach, but he understood it.
Worse, he accepted it. Barney's 'idea' was a lot of towels and Jamie basically sitting there and bleeding until they decided it was an emergency, which had actually been Jamie's plan from the beginning, but that didn't change the way felt having Barney settle into that plan in favor of keeping his distance. This was precisely why Jamie didn't advertise his defect, because he isolated himself badly enough without giving the rest of the world reason to enforce a quarantine. As long as the other people around him were respectful of natural human boundaries and he himself was intensely careful what he did and how he covered up, he didn't have problems. Hell, he hadn't had an accident like he'd had just that night in over a decade, and he'd been so damn careful.
There was a resignation in him as he turned his face down, not bothering with any of the towels and just shifting the paper towels to press a dry area to the gash in the hopes that it would do the trick. He was already swimming in the big man's clothes, and he was feeling like he was already imposing on this man far too much without bleeding all over his towels, too. It might have been the throb in his side and the headache he had (which was beside the actual pain from the wound at the back of his head), but he was feeling pretty rotten and it wasn't helping the whole situation. If he thought he could have gracefully just gone home, he might have done that, but Barney had made it pretty clear that it wasn't happening. That had been before Jamie explained the risk of skin contact, however, so he didn't know if maybe that plan had changed. He wondered if the man would be afraid of the things he'd touched now, too.
That might have been unfair, and he instantly felt guilty for thinking it. Not that it hadn't been a problem the one other time that he'd told someone about his condition, but he tried not to think so much about that. Thinking about when it had developed, despite Barney's joke about a magical poison frog he might have been exposed to as a kid, wasn't much better, but he forced a tight smile and still didn't bother looking up. Eye contact at this stage probably wouldn't help him feel any better or deliver the answers that Barney wanted.
"I've been to the doctor a few times. They think I'm a germophobe and who knows what else, so they keep their gloves on and they only touch me after warning me they're gonna," he responded, tone even and just...informative. "It showed up when I was seven, I don't know why or how, it just did. It's been like that ever since."
southernbellc:
Starter || @kaneinvestigations
A person can be as tenacious as they wanted to be, but there came a time when it eventually burned out. Rogue didn’t know where the sudden urge had come from or even why she had started searching, but once she’d packed a bag and hit the road, she knew that turning back before exhausting all avenues was out of the question.
It had taken her the better part of a year following leads all around the country -some even took her out of the states. The ability to fly had its advantages- and coming up empty before she realised that only two options were left to her; either give up and go home, or hire someone that was in the business of finding people. Not wanting to give up just yet, Rogue decided that she was at least going to exhaust her last avenue before calling it a day.
The card had been given to her by some guy she’d met in a bar. He’d been sleazy and wanted to get a little personal with her, but after sweet-talking him a little she got what she needed. A name and the address of what he claimed was the best private dick in town. His words, not her own.
Kane Investigations. It was worth a shot.
It was late in the afternoon when she decided to find the address on the tatty looking card that had clearly been stuffed in the guys wallet for some time, and it was a hot day in the city. Hot days weren’t her favourite, especially when people on the street gave her funny looks because she looked… well, let’s just say that leather gloves and jacket weren’t exactly what people wore on days like this.
For her it was necessity. Crowded streets made it difficult for her to walk down and avoid bumping into someone. Sure, she could have just flown but honestly? That would have gotten her there quicker and Rogue wasn’t sure she was ready for this private investigator to turn her down. So walking gave her time to prepare for it. It took her a little over two hours to find the place she was looking for and it was just as she expected it to be, the building not very well looked after and most of all it just screamed that it was the kind of place that people would try to make a living off of their own backs.
Her boots sounded heavy as she walked up what felt like several flights of stairs, the elevator having the expected ‘Out of Order’ sign hung upon its old doors. Not that she minded, again, to her this was just delaying the inevitable knock-back she was bound to get once she told the guy what she needed help with.
But even the stairs didn’t buy her too much time, before long she was face to face with a door that read in chipped lettering ‘Kane Investigations’ and a crude, worn out door mat that read the same along with some tacked on notes about not receiving junk mail and the like.
Steeling herself, Rogue raised a gloved hand and gave three loud and fast knocks before mentally counting how long she’d wait -she was going to count to sixty- before deciding to just turn tail and go back the way she had come.
While Jamie wasn't in the business of turning down the free advertising, he wasn't entirely sure that he was the best and he was pretty sure there were big investigation firms and one Jessica Jones who might disagree with the sentiment that he was the best. He got by, and for the moment, that was good enough for him. Much more than that, and he'd start taking heat from sources he didn't want it from,and that was the part of the whole process he was inclined to avoid. A friend's boyfriend, one that he wasn't fond of, had taken to calling him 'Lemony Snicket' because he was a series of unfortunate events rolled up into a life, and while it was not an entirely friendly nickname (and he thought it was a reference from somewhere other than the book series, but he didn't know what), Jamie wasn't arguing with its validity. That was precisely why he was trying to do his job and still stay out of trouble.
He had no idea who might be on the way to his door even as he rolled out of bed and went to wash up, but he was glad that he'd at least gotten that far before he heard the knock. With a soft curse, he tossed the towel he'd been drying his face with onto the sink, then slipped through his room to grab a long-sleeved shirt and shut the door before heading for the front door. He'd been told that Jones also had her office in her living room, and it made him wonder if she was as broke as he was, or just thought it was convenient. He was betting the former, though he couldn't argue that it was nice not to potentially miss a client because he wasn't quite at the office, yet.
When he opened the door, he honestly wished he'd had time for coffee, if nothing else, because there was a split second of his mind blanking upon seeing a beautiful woman standing out there with his card in hand. It was like some kind of throwback to the old detective pulps, and he felt the furthest from one of those hardened, gruff investigators that you could possibly get. He blinked for just a beat too long, probably imperceptible behind his otherwise neutral expression, and then remembered he had bedhead and figured that professionalism was a lost cause. Maybe the shirt had smoothed his hair slightly.
"C'mon in," he told her, clearing his throat and stepping out of her way before leading her through the front of the apartment towards his desk. On the way, he gave into the urge to run his hand through his red hair, seeking to attempt taming it, but that might have been a loss for the moment. "What can I do for you?"
trickshxt:
The question was surprising: was he all right? Of course, just fine, as fine as anyone could be after the night they’d had. But after a moment he realized just where the question had spawned from, hand at his back as if unconsciously aware of why. His fingers curled. “Yeah just…old wound,” he sighed. A flash of that memory sending a shiver down his spine. “Just needs a hot pack on it an’ I’ll be fine.”
He glanced at the laundry, though found himself frowning more so at the paper towel than that. Eyes glancing at the first aid kit instead, then back to the hand applying pressure. Confession from earlier finally clicking in his eyes.
A fresh prickle of guilt hit him. Perhaps they should have gone to the hospital instead. His first aid skills were impressive, sure, but stitches were on an ‘emergency case’ basis. And Jamie wasn’t exactly family. Messing up something on him would have far more consequences than if it were Clint. Still, the guy was pale enough as is. Any more blood lost and he’d likely be cleaning more than just clothes off the floor.
So he stood then once more. “That shoulda stopped by now. Means it probably needs somethin’ on it.” At Jamie’s look he tapped his own head. “Your head.” But he hesitated in what to say next. Keen on providing distance, though what he was proposing was decidedly not that. “You…mind if I take a look at it?”
Listen, he'd known the question about whether Barney was okay was a dumb one, but it needed to be asked, and he was very interested in the answer. Hearing that it was an old injury made him wonder if it was one that bothered the man all the time, or if it had been aggravated by the night's events, but that thought process was interrupted by Barney's very obvious interest in what he was doing with the paper towels. It was almost like he could see the realization hit the man, and it made him wish he could have just taken care of it all himself like he would have wanted to. As soon as Barney stood up, he knew things he wasn't really comfortable with were going to go down.
It was fortunate that, despite the opportunity he had in his line of work, he wasn't often injured, because hospital and doctor visits were utterly nerve-wracking for him. He'd gone, and he always came across like some kind of germ freak when he flinched away from any contact that didn't involve gloves or clothing between them, even if most medical professionals preferred the gloves themselves. It still happened often enough that some well-meaning individual with try to touch him without gloves, almost like they thought that would make the nerves less, and it obviously had the opposite effect. Barney wasn't going to just assume he was a germaphobe anymore, though.
He flicked his eyes towards the first aid kit and then to Barney again, obviously uncomfortable with the idea, but also appraising. Barney might not be wrong, but he didn't want to admit that openly. "I'm not sure if you really gathered what happened a little while ago, but you sure you wanna give something like this a try?" he asked, tone disbelieving, but he hadn't made the attempt to move away, yet. He was tense, that was for sure, and watching to make sure Barney didn't get close without him having the chance to move, but he hadn't tried.
"Are there gloves in that kit? Good ones that won't break or rip?" he asked, once again glancing down at the kit like he could tell just from looking at it. "I can sit here and this will stop bleeding at some point. It's a head wound, it's gonna bleed a lot - you don't have to do this."
A beat of eye contact, then a sigh. "Just. Don't touch my skin without the gloves, okay? If they rip or something, you have to stop and get another. Touching me without gloves or cloth between us will kill you, just like that guy in the alley, and you saw how fast it was. If you don't want to, that's okay, too. I'll be fine."
trickshxt:
He SNORTED at the mention of sleepovers. Mind briefly landing on nights spent in the pickup’s cab, bundled with Clint against the Southern winters that brought a chill deep in the night. Was that sleepover enough? He didn’t know, though didn’t offer the question up for debate.
Instead, he stayed quiet. Giving Jamie the chance to talk and the space to unfold, so to speak. The question needed room to breathe as was, and the answer would too. Especially when it was inherent that something deeper than ok be given. Admitting anything beyond that, he knew from experience, was akin to admitting a wound had been taken. That you yourself weren’t superhuman, weren’t impervious to action; dangerous knowledge in the hands of strangers, even more so in the hands of those you knew.
He took the moment to give Jamie a quiet glance over. Noting the blood and moving to grab one of three first aid kits in the apartment. Sliding over the counter top with little fan fare, little announcement. The last thing needed here was more fuss. He’d perhaps already overstepped as it - the wince earlier hadn’t been missed - and it was a silent struggle to ensure he didn’t oscillate from overcaring to under.
“We can talk about boys if ya like, though pretty sure you’re also supposed to play spin the bottle or truth or dare an’ if I”m honest, not sure either of us would have fun with that…”
Three knocks at the door interrupted his thought and he rose to go retrieve the food. Wincing as he paid, hand moving to his back. Noticeably slower as he came back, offering the bag to Jamie first as he sat back down. (He’d eat, though it would be barely. A pretense at eating if only for Jamie to feel less awkward and alone.)
“Don’t worry about the towel,” he huffed, a small curl of amusement in his features. “Place is bound t’get destroyed in the next save-the-world-whatever. Last three places have an’ comin’ up on the new record. I’ll get a new one then.” It’s said as a joke though it’s meant through and through. A shrug of his shoulders as he picked naan bread apart with his fingers.
Slowly his shoulders relaxed. Awkwardness of earlier bleeding out until the room felt a bit more normal. Less like eggshells littered the floor and more like they sat here out of mutual agreement. Perhaps tomorrow he’d feel guilt over all this. For now, however, exhaustion began to creep in. Fingers uneasy. “Last time, my place was supposedly taken out by some kinda death ray. Guess it wasn’t really a death ray but still.”
Barney wasn’t wrong; the admission of injury was difficult enough for Jamie to make, but it was an understatement of how exactly he felt and it was very plainly only touching on the physical of it all. He didn’t want to talk about the emotional impact of someone dying anytime they touched him or what that might mean for his life, and he didn’t want to get into the intricacies of what was wrong with him, even though he figured Barney was going to push to know what the hell had happened. It was inevitable, and Jamie didn’t actually blame him for that. If the roles were reversed, he’d want to know what the hell happened, he was pretty sure.
“Hard pass,” he offered on the mention of ‘spin the bottle’ and ‘truth or dare’, actually approaching the kitchen and glancing around for somewhere he could drop his messy pile of stuff where it wouldn’t be a problem. Barney had mentioned knowing how to clean blood out of things better than him, and Jamie believed him, but it didn’t mean that he was really expecting the guy to do much of anything with them. He'd take care of it all later, when his head and side weren't throbbing so hard, though watching Barney go off to answer the door certainly suggested that Jamie wasn't the only one who was sore. "You should give my building a try, I don't think it'll go down if they actually try to demo it." A pause. "You okay?"
The question was probably a stupid one just from watching Barney move around, but he hadn't actually seen much of what happened when the man tried to step in to help him with that thug, and what he had seen had made him paranoid about accidentally touching Barney, as well, so whatever damage his almost-friend had sustained was a mystery to him beyond the initial hit that had been taken. Watching wasn't helping too much, since Barney just settled back at the counter with the food and the first aid kit, both of which he'd offered Jamie wordlessly, and he sighed.
Dumping his stuff in the safest place he could find on the floor, he avoided the first aid kit altogether to just grab a few paper towels that he pressed to the back of his head. He honestly had no idea how bad it was except that it hurt, it was bleeding, and it was just adding to his general shitty mood for the evening. He had very little appetite, actually felt a little nauseous at the thought of food, and that was another thing that he wasn't sure was a symptom of getting his head smashed into the pavement or just having accidentally killed another person. Both were equally likely, and the problem he had with actually taking care of the cut on his head was that he couldn't see it to do much about it (and he wasn't great at first aid to begin with) and he was terrified to let Barney close enough to touch him. The man seemed to be trying to give him space, but even then, Jamie didn't know if it was fear for his own safety or to make Jamie himself more comfortable. He hated everything about it.
He took the seat that was obviously meant for him, though he was tense about it initially and then pretty much just leaned so that he could hold the paper towels in place with his head leaning on one hand propped up with his elbow on the surface before him, and the other elbow just as propped and putting pressure on the cut. He was ready to be done with this day.
dapperfvck:
“Bloody hell,” John glanced at the price tag. Forty dollars. Christ. “Y’know it wasn’t that long ago I coulda found this f’five quid in a second-hand store.” John sighed. Not like knew the exchange rate off the top of his head, but he sure as hell didn’t think the dollar had been that strong in the recent years. “Bugger that.” He handed the record back to the red head and shook his head regretfully. “Curse o’ capitalism, innit?”
Renee was into that eBay nonsense. He supposed he could give Chas a stipend to spend on it. With another regretful sigh, John nodded at the man. “Ta anyway, mate.”
He lingered a little longer, browsing for other titles until his skin began to itch for a smoke. Leaning against brick and mortar, he enjoyed his quiet little moment. It was actually a lovely day, which was a bit disturbing when he considered his reason for being Stateside. He could understand that people didn’t believe in the things that he’d seen. Sun’s out, tidy birds were in short skirts, blokes in tight, thin shirts that showed off biceps and the lines of definition, it was hard to imagine vicious spirits and demons walking the earth.
He shrugged and almost put the Misfits album back, still indecisive about it but looking into whatever else was there. He glanced after the guy as he walked out, gloved fingers lingering along the spine of a very specific album before he rolled his eyes, walked up to the counter, made a moment of small talk and paid. Honestly, he didn’t know why the hell he was bothering, but he made it out the door and found the blond Brit outside having a smoke, just as he’d been expecting; the stranger smelled like a smoker, if he was honest. This was where he also found himself propping himself up against the brick, though with enough space that an unintentional touch was highly unlikely. He had the bag in hand, didn’t have the excuse of a smoke, but he lingered in silence for a beat, perhaps still considering what he was going to do. “You’re an awful long way from home, aren’t you? What’s an old rock star like you doing all the way over here?” he asked, and while he was politely referencing Constantine’s previous ‘career’, he wasn’t unaware of the much more intense reputation the man had in other circles. He spent a lot of time online.
trickshxt:
PITY ; a dangerous response to give, that he knew. Often doing little to ease and more to guilt, driving the other further into the depths of self resentment and pity. Rarely had pity ever helped him in his life and he couldn’t imagine that now it would do much more than it had ever given him.
So instead he kept himself in check and watched instead. “You’re gonna swim in ‘em, but there’s some shirts hangin’ up in the closet. Take whatever ya need.” He turned then to tug a number from the fridge. Carefully lined up menus and post its, each with something tried and true for a stomach that didn’t always play nice.
He hummed as he looked and with great care didn’t look back over at Jamie. “Naw, it’s my neighbor’s home that I just eat in, sleep in, and live in.” He sighed, however, at himself. Chiding himself internally for the misplaced push back. A bad habit. “Yes, it’s my place. Ain’t much I know but…” He shrugged, not willing to apologize.
It wasn’t big nor was it fancy, or even decorated. Walls bare save for few precious knickknacks. A coffee table of library books. A meager collection of novelty mugs in a cabinet. The bedroom just as empty and a closet with three Hawaiian shirts to choose from. His succulents stood sentinel in the window, watching the two non-plants closely and whispering in the growth of new roots.
A shiver ran up his spine as he realized the heat in the room from another body. The way the space seemed a little more full, a little bit louder. Sanctuary breached, no matter how he told himself it wasn’t.
(He’d worked so hard for this space, though. Bled and cried and sweat for this scrap of independence. Modest and lonely, but out of the sun and rain. Away from eyes and something to call his own, that only he could control. He’d let Jamie in, he soothes himself by saying. But heaven help the man should the place be compromised…)
“The deal is, you’re gonna shower. You got blood on ya and, no offense, but I know how to get blood outta shit probably better ‘n you.” He glanced over then, blinking slow. “You’re gonna eat. Then you’re gonna sleep. An’ in the mornin’ we’re gonna talk after I get back from work. But only then. All right?”
He didn’t mean to insist, but he also absolutely meant to put the force in his voice. The insistence. “Now go shower.”
And with that he turned away, menu in hand. Eyes scanning as he waited, expectantly, to hear footsteps away. Only when they were heard did he sigh. Sitting heavily at the island and counting his knuckles until the food order was, at least, in. The easy part done.
If only he could say the same for the night to come.
Fingers massage his temple and for a long, long moment he lets himself get lost in memories of sand and sun. When, finally, the water shuts off he has to shake his head. Careful to give Jamie the space when he finally emerges. Crossword in hand and nearly finished from this morning.
“Don’t got cable, but think there’s Netflix,” he said, gently, casually. Tapping his pencil on three down. “Not sure though. Mighta let it lapse. Ain’t easy keepin’ a credit card when…” You were him. He glanced over then, pencil tip planting in a box. “Got plenty to read, though. Food should be here in about twenty.” And there would be no easy way to ask. So he said it much like a bandaid coming off; quick and clean. “You ok?”
The pushback was something Jamie could deal with, and it helped ease his locked down expression into something much more...tired, but real. Attitude was something he was very familiar with, except that Barney’s evaporated first into a sigh, then honesty and finally...a very forceful set of instructions that put Jamie back on edge immediately. If he was honest, he wasn’t used to people taking that kind of tone with him, and normally, he would have balked so hard that he would have snapped back or just left. The fact that he was already a wreck internally and also that Barney was absolutely getting forceful in ways that were actually for Jamie’s benefit threw him for a loop. A shower, food and sleep before talking. He felt like an invader in this man’s home, like he wasn’t really welcome, but how much of that was his own making, he couldn’t have said. The reality was that he wasn’t really being given much choice in the matter, and while he wasn’t trapped there, he realized that to argue or leave would be to risk breaking something possibly beyond repair. Maybe he needed this, someone to step up and act for his well-being in this situation, when he so obviously wasn’t doing it for himself. He still hesitated a moment too long, a small flinch at the more insistent tone of voice that Barney had ended on telling him to go shower, but it was brief, and then what was he going to do? He went into the bedroom, as he’d been instructed, and went digging for clothing to manage the absolute most skin coverage that he could, since Barney had told him to find what he could and the man’s safety if he was insisting that Jamie be here was Jamie’s absolute top priority. He found sweats and a sweatshirt, both emblazoned with ARMY and way too big for him, and hit the bathroom. He had to peel some of his clothes off, namely the jeans that were wet with alley damp and the shirt that was soaking up the majority of the blood from the back of his head; now he knew why Barney had said that bit about getting blood out of things. Wonderful. He made the neatest pile of dirty clothes (with the gun that he’d absolutely forgotten about in the moment on top of it all after he’d checked the safety) that he could before he got in, gently washed his hair to get the blood out while hopefully not making the cut any worse, finished the shower quickly and then realized very suddenly that Barney didn’t have a single dark-colored towel on offer. The darkest was a faded purple color, was it what they called mauve? Regardless, it was the ugliest one, so it was the one he grabbed, hoping that Barney wouldn’t be pissed. He’d already rinsed the shower and tub extra well. When he came out, it was with the towel still on his shoulders to protect the gray sweatshirt from hair dye and actual bleeding, which was fortunately less intense than it had been the week before (the dye, at least), and with his clothes and boots in hand. He felt intensely awkward, even as Barney launched into an explanation of the entertainment on hand. Jamie got the feeling that he wasn’t going to be spending much time on any of that in this weird pseudo-kidnapping situation. “I never went to any sleepovers, but I always got the impression we’re supposed to stay up all night talking about boys, or something,” he offered, part of him hoping that if he made the joke, maybe it would all ease up, but being asked if he was okay probably wasn’t going to be one of those things Barney would let him brush off with a non-answer. Given how he’d been about the rest of his instructions, Jamie wasn’t expecting much to change. “Bruised, mostly. The back of my head is bleeding, but I can’t see what it looks like so I’m running with the assumption that it’ll be fine soon. I owe you a towel, too,” he pointed out guiltily, because he’d known even before he grabbed the mauve one that it was going to be stained red and pink from his hair.
trickshxt:
HE WATCHED A WAR IN JAMIE’S EYES ; self loathing a nefarious foe, playing dirty and winning before Barney’s gaze. There’s little chance any has against such a powerful disgust. No words he knows of to change the tide. And just as suddenly as this all seemed to start, it was over. Dead man on the ground between them and a loss of an entirely different kind in the living eyes that stared back at him.
Silence stretched. Between them a field of guilt bloomed. What ifs and should haves and could haves popping from the earth. Stretching pungent petals to the night and lingering between them like smog. He should have done better, had never meant to share a secret such as this with a nearly relative stranger. It wasn’t the kind of protection he’d vowed to give and for that it hangs like a failure within the blank eyes of Jamie.
A wince ran through him at the question. Though the phone in his hand suddenly felt heavy and useless. An afterthought, nothing more. Protocol danced through his head, but what could he even say here without bringing them both in?
Something told him that as bad of an idea as his next thought was…going in would be worse.
With a click the phone snapped shut. And with it his resolve strengthened. A decision made. “Guess there ain’t a point now.” His eyes glanced to Jamie’s hands, thankful for the gloves there for once. His own sweating within his. “We gotta get outta here. Quickly. Quietly.” And his eyes raked the hunched in form of Jamie; as if slouching would roll the man into a ball. “Can ya do that? If not you need t’tell me now before we walk away from this.”
The nod is enough for him to move. Though he saw the almost flinch as he approached Jamie, gait slowing and words summoned rather than motion. “C’mon. Out to the street. Goin’ back the way we came. Don’t touch anything. Don’t step on anything. Yeah?”
With any luck another guard patrol will be by soon. Bodies were not uncommon within these circles and the cops were hated even more than a dead lackey. Chances are, it wouldn’t make the morning paper. Yet paranoia had rarely hurt him in these situations, so he took care as they went to sweep the rooms for signs of them.
The fresh air had him breathing deep. But Jamie did little than take a slow breath and Barney’s eyes narrowed. Taking in the pulled lips, the straight shoulders, the way hands are stiffly held in place. The backfire of a car spooked them both, a jump and a wince. Though it gave him a chance to watch Jamie’s face fall back into something so carefully constructed that Barney wondered if a single tap would crack the entirety of it.
(He doubted it, if only for the fact that those who knew how to pack such things in knew exactly how to build the houses they’d lie in forever.)
“C’mon,” he said, not gentle, but quiet. “Up that way.” Leading in silence for the better part of a half hour until they appear on the steps of a run down keystone. Brick sun stained and dirt streaked.
The keys were dug from his pocket as they climbed the stairs. Five floors in all. Broken sign hanging from the elevator as if there’d ever been a hope of the thing working at all. Lock stiff and door opening with a squeak. The apartment just as it was left: clean and sparse. He flicked the lights on and locked the door behind Jamie before finally, finally sparing him a look.
His eyes softened; nearly unperceptive in their display of what he could only call pity. The death of another at your hand was never something that got easier. Hauntings that would last a life time nothing new to his own questionable sleep habits. “Get cleaned up,” he said, finally. Short nod given to the bedroom, the bathroom just beyond. “You look like you’re gonna faint. Hot water’ll do ya some good. That an’ a good meal. You like Indian?” He already had a menu half in hand, giving a polite glance to the menu (as if it weren’t recognized.)
This entire situation had opened up an entirely different element to his relationship with Barney, and as much as he liked the man, he’d have been lying if he’d said that he wasn’t a screaming ball of anxiety on the inside about everything to do with him, at this point. Barney had just watched a man die after touching Jamie, and that wasn’t the kind of thing anyone just forgot. Jamie had absolutely no idea what was going to happen between them or what direction his life was going to veer into because of this, but it felt like the kind of thing with consequences. Maybe he should have been more concerned about where they were going and longer term issues, but he was honestly just panicking about the immediate future, the conversation they were going to have to have and of course, the inevitable treatment from Barney like he was a loaded gun constantly pointed at everyone’s heads. Jamie, in all fairness, did not talk about his condition, for what he figured were obvious reasons. Because of that, it wasn’t like he was often treated like he was some kind of leper, but he was used to feeling like an outsider because he was the ‘weird kid’ and he knew what getting too close to people could do. When he’d already alienated himself to such an extent and was working on building relationships on a level that he could personally feel like he trusted himself with, it was a harsh realization that he could be pushed even further away. Perhaps the worst part was that he couldn’t even blame Barney if he did. In fact, he’d understand and even potentially encourage it simply because he understood. Barney had every right. Really, anyone did. His face was impassive, locked down the entire quiet walk (other than that car backfiring and making them both jump), and his expression only broke as they reached their destination and he realized he was entering an apartment building. It was possible that the man was running an office of some kind out of there, he knew that, or even that it was an impromptu local operation for the Feds that held Barney’s leash, but he wasn’t going to bolt, either. He was already so tired and just spent from what they’d left behind in the alley, as though his entire life leading up until this point was just sitting on his shoulders at that exact moment, and the injuries he’d sustained probably weren’t helping. Whatever was planned, he’d weather it, and hopefully he’d come out the other side okay. With such cynical thoughts tearing through the back of his mind, it was almost jarring to be let into what was suddenly very clearly Barney’s home. He must have looked like a spooked cat suddenly, tense and completely unprepared for his surroundings, and turning his hazel gaze Barney’s way didn’t really help. He could see something there, and it made his insides twist up, but the way the man’s expression changed to something softer was the dangerous part. He was prepared to be yelled at, lead into a trap ‘for your own good’ or pretty much any other thing that his imagination could cook up in the wake of someone with federal connections watching him murder a guy with his touch, but he wasn’t prepared for this. For a moment, he just stared at Barney’s instructions to get cleaned up, and frankly, he should have known better than to walk into the light looking like he did. He didn’t know that he’d smeared his own blood onto his forehead, but he could feel the slow drip down the back of his neck like sweat soaking into the collar of his shirt. “I, uh, don’t have clean clothes. These are filthy and wet, so there’s really no sense in bothering. I’m not gonna faint, I’m fine,” he said, his tone carefully as unaffected as possible, despite how uncertain he felt about all of this. He’d never fainted before, so he figured it wasn’t really a possibility, but it had also been a long time since he’d gotten cracked in the head like that, so who honestly knew? He was on his feet and wasn’t feeling lightheaded, so he was assuming he was fine. “I don’t mind Indian,” he said, still careful, but another glance around him and he just wasn’t sure he could just stand there and wait for the other shoe to drop. “Barney, what’s the deal here? I assume this is your home, so why would you bring me here?”
trickshxt:
Immediately he knows: there’s something seriously wrong. Jamie’s eyes are too wide, movements too erratic, sudden panic an uncharacteristic in one he’s seen manage a stare with such austerity even he stopped. A red flag pops up at those wide eyes and he realizes he knows it well; a panic born of denial at a deed already staining finger tips.
Rather than chase he freezes. Giving space and watching with half a look as Jamie retreats. A deep instinct says to go after. But practical knowledge knows those cornered hit hardest. And he’s not anxious to be on the receiving end of a fist.
Particularly considering the state of the guy on the ground. Knees crack as he crouches, ignoring the proclamation of his own ancient nature to put two fingers to the vein of the guy’s neck. He frowns. “Hell of a punch ya got there…” Though the words are half murmured, falling into a quiet dread. Watching a chest labor to breath. Faster and faster and faster. “Fuck…”
Brow furrows. He’s seen this before. The rapid breath. The wheeze from a throat. But where from eludes him and his own rational worry starts to scream. “We gotta get this guy to a hospital.” A glance shows Jamie hasn’t moved. Odd. “Somethin’s wrong.” And he slips, easily, into a rare reassurance brought out solely for bystanders who meant well, did well, but are unused to dealing with the red on their name. “Sure it ain’t anythin’ you really did, but we need t’ get him in and fast.”
Barney stands then, patting for his cell phone. Glancing around before realizing one crucial thing is missing here: Jamie. He whirls to find the young man where h’d left him. And at that he frowns. “You all right?”
His face freezes. “Everythin’ all right? Ain’t said a word and if he’s got ya good I need to know now to know who I’m callin’ in.”
“Yeah,” he said, far too suddenly after too long silent, and he knew it as soon as he snapped everything back into place: he’d fucked up literally everything about this. Barney was trying to, what, reassure him? That was a lost cause, but it was nothing the other man had any control over, and the fact that he was trying to regain some level of control over the situation was admirable, if nothing else. Jamie himself was obviously failing in that department, even though the trainwreck was mostly his fault at that point. He needed to get up, push through. “I’m fine, he’s not.” It was a soft remark, but no less honest for the feeling it was missing, at least in regards to the man on the ground. Jamie watched, trying to drag everything inside of him back from the panic of the accidental contact, but even that isn’t true, is it? The contact wasn’t an accident at all, not for the man dying on the dirty asphalt in front of them, and that wasn’t going to assuage the guilt much, but it was something to grasp at to help pull himself together. It was his fault for existing, but not for touching. He hadn’t wanted the contact just as his attacker wouldn’t have wanted the fate he was currently enduring, but there was no amount of guilt or panic that would make him call for help that he knew would never make it in time. They could report the body, but that was about it. Thinking about it in distancing terms, the body instead of a person, probably wasn’t the healthiest, but he could catch his own breath again. He could push through, and though he still hadn’t made any move to get up or get any closer to Barney, he took a deep breath and ran one dirty, gloved hand through his hair, which he’d regret later when he thought about it. Right then, he felt filthy and damp from the alley and the recent rain, so it didn’t even occur to him entirely. “Are you calling anyone?” Only after asking did he turn his eyes up to Barney, and if he looked in the dark, he might be able to see that the calm he was trying to push to the surface was still a struggle, but he was trying. He still would have flinched away if Barney had tried to touch him, but until that was a problem, he could try to pretend it away. His lip was bleeding and there would be bruising blossoming over that side of his face very quickly, but he had the benefit of looking mostly unharmed, at least for the time being. By the time it showed, he was much more likely to have his shit together again, and Barney never had to know about any other issues, as long as he was careful, namely the throb and wetness at the back of his skull and the ache in his side. That wasn’t helped by the fact that he’d bled on his hand when he’d run his fingers through his hair, but for the moment, he just needed to know if Barney was going to call the authorities, because that would decide whether he stayed or took off; he wasn’t lingering to try explaining to the cops and EMTs how this guy had died, or to have his name on a report as the last person in contact with the asshole before he dropped dead from some unknown poison. The fact that he wasn’t locked up somewhere for the safety of everyone around him already was a miracle, so he wasn’t volunteering for more chances at it. The man who’d attacked him was dead, and Jamie hung his head, suddenly just so damn tired.
trickshxt:
for @kaneinvestigations!
He doesn’t see the grunt get up, so intent is he on picking the lock. Nor does he necessarily see the first blow fall. Barney hears it, however; the heavy thwock of muscled fist to side and the cry of someone losing the air in their lungs. The lock pick drops and he’s up, turning just in time to see Jamie and what he’d believed to be a down and out goon fall to the floor.
“Jay!” There’d been a reason he hadn’t wanted to bring the guy along, and it’s playing out now. First conflict and he knows the guy isn’t going to reach for his gun. And with close range like this it’s safer to keep his own holstered.
He moves fast as he tries to vault the containers they’d been rummaging through. Grabbing the goon’s coat and earning an elbow to the face for his efforts. He staggers back, pain blinding his vision for a moment. Blinking away the dots and then blinking in confusion at the now convulsing goon on the ground…
Instinct has him moving toward Jamie, hand outstretched to help him up. “What the hell kind of move was that?”
It was stupid, so stupid of him to lose sight of the guy Barney had dropped, like he was some kind of amateur. He was letting the fact that he was there with Barney make him too comfortable, so he’d had his camera up to his face because photographic evidence was what he did and there was something very liberating about digital cameras being able to record everything for later examination. It looked like they weren’t the first ones to have a scuffle out here and they’d been dealing with the contents of the containers left outside, and that might prove interesting to them later. All he could think in the first moment after he was hit was that he was so grateful that the camera strap was actually around his neck this time, because he would have dropped it instantly otherwise. The second thought to hit him was that he couldn’t breathe after that huge fist had struck the side of his ribs, and though he’d cried out immediately, he couldn’t have said if he did later on. He was thrown to the ground with the big guy on top of him, which was a dangerous spot to be in for his own well-being, but he managed to be even more terrified for his attacker. Barney was right to think that Jamie wasn’t going to reach for his gun, but not for the reasons he’d expected; Jamie had thrown his gloved hands up to try to keep this asshole from touching him, which was a lot harder than it sounded when the man seemed determined to smash him in the face with one bare fist. A punch got through and Jamie turned his shoulder into it to keep fabric between their skin, he heard Barney behind the guy getting hit, and his attacker used Jamie’s grip on his arms to pull his upper body up off of the ground and then slam him back with dizzying force. His hold slipped, and then a big fist smashed into the side of his face and his awareness wavered for a few seconds. The damage was done. His attacker flinched and Jamie made horrified eye contact with him for a long few seconds before the convulsions set in, and he realized with a dawning terror that he did not want this man dying on top of him. He had to scramble, kick and push to get him off and to his side, then he pushed himself even further away on the dirty ground of the alley, watching with wide eyes and a pale face marred by the redness of a hit that would soon blossom into a hell of a bruise. He could taste blood in his mouth where his cheek had been crushed into his teeth and his lip was bleeding on one side from the same, but it was the last thing he cared about. He only had eyes for the man who’d attacked him until Barney came at him, asking him about what had happened, and he scrambled even further away with an unnatural quickness. “Don’t touch me!”
Artist: beeple . Title: RED CENTURY “everyday [10.21.17]”
You're making a choice to live like this And all of the noise - I am silence
Jamie Kane | Private Investigator | Poison Touch
We already know how it ends tonight You run in the dark through a firefight An original character written by Stark. Multiverse, multiship, multifandom. Promo image credit: Zess
Audience of One
If his upstairs neighbor had any clue exactly how much time he spent crouching on fire escapes, usually in the cold and damp, their growing habit of hanging out on the one they shared wouldn’t seem out of place in the slightest. It wasn’t exactly a place he liked finding himself outside of their little chats, but it was effective - the people he was being paid to spy on didn’t tend to notice someone across the street and a building over on a fire escape getting just the right angle through the crack in their curtains for photographic proof of their indiscretions. Not all of them were that easy, but most of them were. He was getting damn good at the computer angle for a few of the cases that required a bit of a tech touch, but honestly? Most of his work was best when simplified - practical effects held up against the test of time. For this particular number, there hadn’t been an easy, or even a moderately difficult, angle to get a look inside a window while maintaining a nice, safe distance in case anything got too crazy, but he’d gotten lucky in another way. It was riskier and he hated it, but the apartment next door to his mark’s place was empty, and it shared fire escapes. That put him right outside their window, peeking carefully inside with his camera ready to snap everything he needed as quickly as he could so that he could also take off sooner rather than later. The wind this late at night still had bite to it, and all it took was someone catching a glimpse of him from inside to blow this whole situation up. It was a glamorous life of both looking and sometimes feeling like a total creep, even though he wasn’t the one getting caught cheating. As expected, the couple made their way into the light of the room, entangled in each other and quickly shedding clothes. He made sure he would absolutely have a few shots that showed the husband’s face as clearly as possible, just so that there was no doubt whatsoever about who it was, and though he wasn’t always inclined to share a mistress’s identity with an angry, hurt and emotionally compromised wife, he made sure there would be a few pictures that didn’t have her features obscured, as well. Those were just in case he needed them, and once the pair hit a certain point, he backed off and turned away. He had his evidence without lingering for the full spectacle, and he was freezing his ass off despite the fingerless gloves and scarf he’d grabbed on the way out. They were full of shit when they said it would shape up to be a warm spring. It was as he was crawling back in through the window that he caught something out of the corner of his eye from a different apartment. The angle was weird, but if he leaned over the edge of the escape’s railing, he could probably get his camera in for a decent shot. It wasn’t for a job when he started snapping an arguing couple as the man took a wild swing at his female companion and sent her stumbling backward. She threw her hands up in defense and he followed her, body language threatening and leaving no doubt that he’d hit her again, but he had his proof. Whether she would be willing to press charges was entirely up in the air, but if he dropped them off at the police station, maybe the cops could talk her into it. Either way, he pulled his phone out, taking note of the apartment even from the outside of the building, and put a 911 call in as he eased the window shut behind him and quietly eased his way through the quiet apartment. “Hello, yes? Could you send an officer out? There’s a lot of yelling and screaming coming from my neighbor’s apartment…” No, he would not stay on the line, but he silently stopped outside the door after giving the operator the address and whatever details he could and hanging up. He wanted to think the guy wouldn’t kill her, but honestly? He didn’t believe the cops would get there in time to do anything, if they took his report all that seriously. It wasn’t like he could tell them he was sitting there watching through the window and saw the guy beating on her, and he knew for a fact it took the city cops about ten minutes to make it out to a call that wasn’t deemed absolutely critical. If she didn’t take him seriously, it’d probably be 15. Since it didn’t sound like it was letting up, he made a different call. He wasn’t some hero about to bust in the door, and he didn’t actually think he could break down a door if he had a tool to help him along. He probably could have gotten past the lock and a chain lock wasn’t all that difficult to break, but that was the kind of thing that would end up with people dead. It was a lot less violent to hit the fire alarm as he made his way down the hall, setting it shrieking through the building as he cut a quick pace out the front. He maintained that pace for a solid block before he dropped to a more casual stroll in the direction of home.
