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The daily lessons being, finally, finished with, Kellen files out of the math classroom along with his peers. Those poor, dispirited souls have another hour of bullshit to get through - mandatory prayer group, a bane of the boarding students - and Kellen's very glad to be stepping away from the general stream of sinners to head to the basement instead of the chapel. Though he does, technically, live at the school for the majority of his time, being Leech's brother and ward gives him the benefit of avoiding most of the banes of the boarding students.

It is not all benefits, though, this living with Leech. Now, for example; Leech's erstwhile 'daddy' had gotten himself incredibly beat-up and is currently languishing in Leech's (and Kellen's) bed day-in and day-out. Ruckus seems no more pleased with this arrangement than Kellen, but that doesn't engender much sympathy from the boy. He knows perfectly well that if Ruckus had not been shot, stabbed, and generally kicked into invalidity, the man would likely still be avoiding Leech ninety percent of the time. This would lead Leech to be worried, which would make him angry (with himself more than Ruckus), which would in turn make Kellen angry (definitely with Ruckus). Now that Ruckus is here and in such a pathetic prone state, Leech is able to give his worry a free rein, but - it seems to Kellen - has completely forgotten to be angry about the four months during which Ruckus had been out of contact. And forcibly has also forgotten how Ruckus will inevitably leave again, the very second he's physically capable of it, if not before.

Brooding on this brings Kellen down the flight of stairs to the basement, past the blank doors of isolation cells, and to the door of Leech's (and his) rooms. The door is locked in triplicate due to Leech's worry about Ruckus (either that the people who hurt him will somehow trace him to the school, or that Ruckus would contrive some means of escape) and the younger brother methodically unlocks the series of security measures to let himself inside.

The main room, a combination of living area and office, is empty and dark, as is the tiny kitchen. Only a faint light shows beneath the closed door to the bedroom, and Kellen hesitates, listening, before entering. Dark and empty would be preferable to semi-lit and inhabited by Ruckus, but Kellen is relieved that Leech isn't there, too. Watching Leech fawning over and coddling someone else awoke an uncomfortable jealousy in Kellen which he tried not to examine too closely, thus he spent a lot of time not watching.

Kellen drops his backpack onto the top of the sturdy metal cage to one side of the door, toes off his boots, and collapses on the unoccupied half of the bed. Movement from the other half surprises him; he'd thought Ruckus was sleeping. Not allowing that surprise to show, the kid gives the man a casual, dismissive sort of glance before starting to rummage in the bedside table's small drawer. That glance shows him that while Ruckus is not asleep, he's not precisely awake, either: lazily hooded, somewhat glazed eyes and complete relaxation in the long, battered body. He looks a lot like Jimmy tends to look after taking one of his extended breaks to the bathroom, though lacking the occasionally forgotten belt around the bicep.

Finding his own sedative of choice, Kellen slides the drawer closed and begins to prepare a joint in a routine way. He can feel Ruckus watching him blearily, but refuses to return the look, letting the silence stretch until he, at least, feels awkward in it (he doubts Ruckus feels much of anything at all).

"Leech had to deal with one'a his usual miscreants," Kellen informs the sedated man. "Said to tell you he'd be back a little later." He had also said that Kellen ought to make sure Ruckus is comfortable, but Kellen doesn't pass that on. Finishing his expert joint assembly with a quick flash of tongue across paper and a roll between long fingertips, the kid finally does peer back at Ruckus, watching him for any response - disappointment, relief, or anything in between.

Comments

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Sedated feels... like a lot of places. It's like coming home to smell your favorite dinner is in the oven. It feels like warm hands creeping up under your shirt. Like laying there, prone on your bed with the anticipation of a fucking amazing blowjob about to happen.

It feels like being strung out, but he's starting to notice the edges of the wallpaper of this world peeling away, and it's not the same at all.

He'd already felt lethargic, laid up at Duster's place, even before the Parasite had come to collect him like a kid who put up a hundred Lost Dog posters and finally got a call back. Now he feels something else, something that isn't quite depression - because the shit he's on doesn't really allow for weighted emotions, thats the fucking point - but beyond numb and swirled, he feels trapped.

Sure the lost dog gets to go home with it's master (he's feeling more than mind fucked at that role reversal appearing) but home turns out to be a kennel, and said master is off tending the fields. Or whatever the hell Leech does.

Butter churning? Plastic factory? No, no it has something to do with kids. Like... teaches them to talk about their feelings using a dolphin puppet or some shit like that. Whatever it is, Leech has become a boy scout troop leader, and Ruckus just lays around, prone and listless, sometimes in pain, but most of the time just trying to remember if actual heroin addiction was this... lonely? That might be the word, but he won't use it.

The Not Leech does come by, and Ruckus still isn't sure what to do with him. If the kid had a big curly mustache, than he could be sure that there was a good and evil version, and that he should only be concerned with the former, but alas, no such obvious indication had been made.

Aside from Kellen's mostly obvious outward disdain for Ruckus as a whole.

Ruckus hasn't quite figured out how to work - let along enjoy - television, so that wasn't much of a distraction, thus Kellen, being the only thing he'd seen move almost all day, was nearly a welcome entertainment source by now. "Dolphin puppets... s' time consuming..." he lists, head turned just enough that he's nearly speaking into the pillow, trying to shift a little but quickly remembering that whatever he can still feel, probably shouldn't be moved. Otherwise he might have bothered putting on a shirt today, but really, the abrasions make them itchy anyhow.

The one visible eye lazily tracks Kellen's movements around the room, hesitant and, if he would ever admit it, almost fearful of being entirely helpless in a room with someone who quite publicly would hold no remorse in your demise.

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By the time Ruckus replies, Kellen is nearly convinced he won't. Not that he could be said to be on edge with waiting for it; in the meantime he's lit that joint and taken a few draws on it, and the day's tensions have been exhaled along with the smoke, leaving his lean form sunk deeper into the pillows behind him and his ever-changing eyes lazily hooded, a sedate deep blue. At the eventual answer, he turns to peer again at his bed-mate, an eyebrow arched in expectation of an explanation he knows he won't get.

If he did get it, he likely couldn't decipher it, so he blows the whole thing off.

"Never seen any dolphin puppets," he responds instead, letting his gaze trail pseudo-thoughtfully to the ceiling. "...but there is that one vibe he's got, dolphin-shaped, at the top at least, and curved some just so..."

The kid trails off in favor of taking another draw off his joint, and in favor of recalling the last time that dolphin made an appearance. Unfortunately, he hasn't smoked quite enough to follow that train of thought with complete disregard to his surroundings or company; even more unfortunately, he recalls the last time Ruckus made an appearance. The man was unarguably in much better shape then and, judging from the noises that kept Kellen up the better part of the night, in a very vigorous state of health. This memory, the boy cuts off quickly, closing his eyes tight for a second. "But I guess you'd know all 'bout that stuff."

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Ruckus is sort of drifting while Kellen talks, like it's a white noise he's been waiting patiently for just so he could get some restful sleep. But like a dog and an intruder, he doesn't trust the situation enough to let himself fall asleep with Kellen so intent on hovering.

Leech's hovering is starting to feel a lot more relaxing now.

He feels much too much like he's layed out like a dead body, once again trying to shift a little just to change it to a more defensive angle, but a few muscle twitches and a tensing of his still sculpted abdominal muscles reminds him he isn't up to that sort of complicated decision making yet.

Closing both eyes for a moment to breath steadily, he mumbles a response to the conversation he's only sort of a part of, "Don'... trust dolphins. Like that."

It takes a few tics to register that his sexual prowess is being discussed, and instead of defense, he just smirks sideways, knowing he has nothing to worry about in that department.

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Kellen is NOT hovering, he is nowhere close to hovering. He is merely refusing to give up any of his territory - appropriately marked and claimed - which probably makes him the dog of that internal analogy. It is starting to occur to him, however, that having Ruckus in such a prone and defenseless position could have its advantages, maybe even ones that don't involve violence. Ruckus clearly has no real idea of what he's saying, responding without thinking, and that could be beneficial. If maybe not to Ruckus himself.

After one more hit from the joint, Kellen leans to snuff it in the ashtray and leave the remainder for later. He drops back to the pillows with a heaviness that doesn't fit him, then squirms further down the bed, crossing his arms and generally settling in. "That's good, you shouldn't. Dolphins are the rapists of the seas, true story." The boy nods once to assert this as fact, his fuzzy hair trembling with the movement. He doesn't quite miss Ruckus' self-satisfied smirk, but doesn't attribute much to it, because who knows what it is in response to. The landscape of Ruckus' mind is an alien land, even to Leech who has made a study of it, and Kellen doesn't have any intention of trying to decode it.

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Ruckus doesn't think to pretend to be asleep, or just ask Kellen to go away. It's not like complaining to Leech later won't have any pull, the kid is just coddling him like mad and he might as well for once use it to his aid. But no, just just lays there half-dead, happy for the company or some shit like that. He'll think on this later and hate himself.

There is another muscle spasm or two for when Kellen flops, attributing it delayed reactions and not having the sense to get up and move. Or the ability. He swallows,wincing at the feeling but rationalizing that it isn't from injury, just dehydration and making a move for whatever liquid Leech left for him on the nightstand with a bendy straw. He knows it'll be there. Because Leech is like that. Fuck he hates it.

"'s enough on the land... set bear traps. Don' want Leech all... attacked by rape bears..."

If someone where typing his teleprompter, they'd have shot themselves by now.

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Though in another mood, Kellen would likely have chosen to make a caustic comment about how Leech could have been attacked by all the rape-bears in the area over the last four months, and Ruckus wouldn't have even known about it, much less been able to prevent it, he doesn't find himself capable of saying so just now. Because he is stoned, and Ruckus sounds so very serious about it, that the kid can't do anything but laugh. Unwillingly, ignominiously, but he's still laughing; he tries at first to contain it but the mirth escapes him with a choked sort of snort and an irrepressible grin, followed quickly by something that might be freakishly akin to giggles, which then becomes full-throated, uncontrollable laughter as Ruckus persists in looking concerned about this threat.

When he finally recovers some composure, a few minutes later, Kellen lifts his head from where it's been buried beneath one arm - he's curled up even farther down the bed now, the opposite arm encircling his stomach which is maybe aching a little from laughing so hard. "Never heard of any bears outraging anyone's virtue, around here...fuck." Another strangled snort, and he presses his face against the silky black comforter to stifle it. "Must be that's only Jersey bears...or mebbe the ones here just disguise themselves as priests, instead..." Try as he might, there's still a shaky thread of laughter running through his words - because, rape bears.

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Ruckus maybe has it in him to laugh at this situation, even if he doesn't really know whats funny. But instead, maybe there is finally a sinking feeling of fuck, what had gone on while he was MIA this time? He keeps away from Leech to keep him safe, but maybe keeping him tucked up safe against him would have been better. Fuck. Fuck he's really not good at this at all.

He may mean to say all that out loud, but instead of words it comes out as a low grown that could be passed off as 'something hurts and that sucks right now' just as easily as nothing. "Kids not... 's not safe anywhere. Try ta stay 'way from him, jus'... end up like this an... dragged back." He looks unfocused as he glances around the room, hazy martini eyes looking more full of crushed ice and olives than ever, not really focusing on anything. "Don' like myself, like this." Holy shit. Drugs are amazing.

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Kellen calms enough to push himself back into an upright position, all his wriggling during that fit of amusement having brought him to be facing Ruckus now, instead of beside him. Ducking his head down to wipe a stray tear of laughter from his cheek, it's inevitable that he smears some of the eyeliner from the corner of his eye, leaving a long smudge along his cheekbone to his ear. He shifts to sit cross-legged on the bed, procuring the pack of cigarettes from one hip pocket, and only halfway listens to Ruckus' mostly-incoherent rambling.

Even halfway was probably too much. What with Ruckus dropping nouns and vital adjectives from his little monologue, what Kellen takes away from it is probably not what was actually intended, and his eyes are colder again when he gets the (incorrect) gist of it and looks more sharply at the man across from him. "The fuck does that mean? He's not safe, you have to stay away from him? Leech didn't have anything to do with getting you fucked-up and hospitalized." To his credit, Kellen sounds somewhat less volatile than he feels, though that likely won't last long depending on Ruckus' response. For which Kellen waits intently, muttering not-quite-under his breath that he doesn't much like the man like this, either.

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"It's... what? No. Took a... preventative action..." He articulates the big word there, like he's learning it for the first time, but makes it work somehow. Kellen is just bamboozling the ever-living shit out of him right now, with his logic and reasoning and complete sentences. Damn, he should really just check out right now and go to blessed dream land until Leech comes back and he has someone to focus on again without fear of smothering.

He shakes his head to answer in the negative, but it makes him feel a little like his brain is pin-balling through his skull and it's none too great a feeling. "Killed his rape bear." He slurs the words through that rockcandy voice of his, but it's still probably the most clear sentence he's said this whole time. Kellen might know about Ivan, might not, but maybe it still makes sense in an abstract to him. "Didn' want Leech... steppin in the traps..."

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If it doesn't make sense to Kellen, that only means it fits with everything else he knows or half-knows or suspects about Ruckus. Preventative action? It sounds like one of those terms the awkward health teacher used during Kellen's (far too late) sex-ed classes last year, when he was in a school that wasn't Catholic and therefore didn't deny the existence of sex. The rest of that makes even less sense, but even the return of rape-bears doesn't make Kellen break from his narrow-eyed suspicious look at Ruckus.

He bites back a few more hostile responses, knowing Leech wouldn't like for them to be given voice, and that they would be wasted on Ruckus right now besides. Instead, he merely exhales heavily through his nose and says in a remarkably even tone, "I just don't get why you bother to come back, if the first thing you wanna do is leave."

This has little to do with the current discussion, but anything else would cause no less confusion and no more. Looking away, the boy brings that cigarette to his lips finally and lights it. He throws a hopeful glance at the clock, but is disappointed to see that it is not yet late enough for anyone he might enjoy spending time with to be at liberty. In dubious resignation, Kellen drops to lay on his back again, staring up at the cigarette smoke interweaving with the canopy of chains over the bed.

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Kellen is totally not getting his meaning, but he can't think of any better way to explain the situation to this idiot that totally doesn't get the weight of this admission. With any hope, Leech won't be told. "Don' have another Leech." He says simply. Like it's his way of saying 'I love him above all others and wish to be near'. "Yer new... ya don' know... what stuff means." Like Kellen is the newbie in their class and wasn't there to copy the homework from the previous week. Like any of this matters to him.

For a second, Ruckus - with Leech on the brain - seems to forget it's not the parasite sitting with him, (Kellen's familiar appearance doesn't help) And he reaches out with a wrapped arm and splinted finger for Kellen's cigarette in a familiar sort of comfortable action, like they do this all the time. He and Leech do, of course. But this is just a mind slip, innocent enough.

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Whatever benevolence Kellen might be aiming for, he can't stop the forcefully disbelieving snort for Ruckus' words. Any accusations of not "knowing what stuff means" are clearly being thrown in the wrong direction, in his belief, and he almost says so, but is silenced by the unexpected grabby-hand extended towards him. He even leans back from it some, sliding a suspicious look to the owner of said hand, but eventually discerns its harmlessness and replaces his cigarette between those fingers. Maybe Kellen and Leech commonly do this, as well, so it's easier for the boy to figure out, but he resolutely turns his gaze back towards the ceiling once the transfer is completed.

"I'm surprised you even recognize it," he mutters, covering up for this moment of kindness. "But since you do, why don't you spend any time appreciating the one that you do have?" If grumbling and discontent, the question isn't too acidic, and sounds genuinely curious.

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Ruckus starts to fade out a little while waiting for the cigarette, distracted by the anchor tattoo on his own hand between the thumb and forefinger, trying to remember when he got it and why. Even after Kellen relents and allows him the smoke, he gets entranced by his own abused skin, looking over himself like he's just noticing fuck, he's done some shit. Ink and silvery scars everywhere, one hiding the other in many cases. But eventually his lidded eyes fall over the mass of scar tissue at his side, and the simple sprawl of letters inked just over it in an arc, Leech. Damn sure remembers getting that and why.

Instead of an answer, he takes a careful drag, eyes drifting closed and freed hand laying carefully just over the letters, like they were just done and still too raw to really feel, despite the much older bullet wound they're adorning having so little actual feeling anymore. "Ya don' know... what shit means." He says again, quieter, maybe not even really to Kellen, but this is something he doesn't feel like he needs to explain, even to himself.

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As Kellen's still studying the chains overhead, he can't follow Ruckus' line of sight, and in any case he definitely couldn't follow the man's train of thought. Therefore he only sighs in disappointment for the repetition and runs a hand through his hair, making it even more hopelessly mussed. Perhaps discussing Ruckus' lack of consideration for anyone's feelings (his own included, surely) isn't the best way to pass the next hour without succumbing to the urge to either kick him while he's down, or escape to the secret attic room post-haste, there to remain until Ruckus heals and goes.

With a sudden air of decision, Kellen sits up in one swift movement - still ever-energetic despite the weed - and reaches to reclaim his smoke, before Ruckus forgets about it and sets fire to the bed. "So." He pauses to take a drag, and grasps for an acceptably neutral topic that will still be of interest. It doesn't take long to decide on one. "How long've you known Duster?"

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He's tracing lazily over the lines of the tattoo, feeling a little more like he's on the real stuff now with the added buzz of a cigarette fresh in his nerves, and the fact that it feels so warm and so much like home should scare him more than it does. Instead, he reaches the better of his two arms up behind him to sit up a little, trying to stay level with the kid he doesn't trust not to smother him.

The topic change is welcomed, even if he sort of wishes Leech were here now, because he feels bad and good and high and too sober all at the same time, and Leech would... well he doesn't know, but it would be nice, right now. "Fuck, I've... 've always known him." Can't really remember meeting him, or any time without him, for that matter. Any time without D in his life probably wasn't something he wanted to remember anyway.

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Dispassionately watching Ruckus flail around in his attempts to sit up, Kellen waits until the man manages it to offer the cigarette to him once more, perhaps as preliminary bribery for this conversation. One eye narrows in consideration for that response, but so far, Kellen's managing not to look too interested in the conversation. "Ahh...I guess ya must know him pretty well, then." The statement comes out somewhat questioning, and slightly more noticeably hopeful, as if he wants to hear in detail just how well Duster is known. Those wrong eyes watch Ruckus without very much expression, reaching again to take the cigarette back after a moment.