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2BDamned is a very, very busy man.
With more recurring responsibilities than he can count on both of his hands, maybe even including his feet, he's fairly sure he's forgotten what boredom is supposed to feel like. The agency, the men in arms, the.. Hank, whatever they are. Something always had to take up his time, to the point he can't say he's ever got any to spare. There was never a moment dull enough to consider taking a break.
The closest he could possibly get to it were days like these. Everyone out on their merry way on a mission, the walkies and security software quiet (but not too quiet), with no trace of activity anywhere near their makeshift base. Maybe if only for a few hours, he could breathe.
He could, hypothetically, if not for the current state of said base. With the whole "try not to get murdered" thing being at the top of the itinerary, any of them were lucky to have space for "clean up all of this shit" that wasn't forcibly cramming it into the margins of their schedule. Usually it was handled by Sanford and Deimos splitting the tasks while 2BDamned continued to work. Hell if he knew if Hank did any of it, it was kind of hard to tell who did what when you were locked up solitary in one room most of your days.
Knowing other things about Hank as well as he did, though, he'd place his bet on that never happening. Hank wasn't the type to clean house, despite being so particular about their things and how they were handled. They were probably too busy preparing for battle in whatever weird pre-murder rituals they had to think about tidying up, but the only way he could glean any insight would be seeing how they kept their own space.
Never before had he felt inclined to poke around Hank's room, a bit too concerned over just what could be lingering inside. Much like investigating any part of Hank, be it busted knuckles and blood caked under their nails or that side-eye they did while watching him cut their food into metal jaw safe pieces, he knows that going beyond the surface will lead to things he's probably happier not knowing. Amidst the clutter, however, their closed door sticks out like a sore thumb and somehow urges him closer.
Maybe it could be a pleasant surprise, he reasons as he places his hand on the knob and begins to turn. Maybe for once Hank could shock him in a nice way rather than a horrifying one.
And so, while his three coworkers slash housemates spent their day ripping through A.A.H.W agents like the useless slabs of meat they were, 2BDamned spent his.. cleaning. Not organizing his office or the common areas of their run down base, no, nothing objectively useful. He's in Hank's room, scrubbing at bloodstains and organizing various things they'd hoarded away.
He's thankful beyond words that at least one of his rubber aprons was clean, but he's flying through gloves with how much gore is caked into the drywall and the fabric of their bare mattress. 2BDamned mutters to himself about how the ungrateful bastard couldn't be bothered to use anything he'd given them to try making it more comfortable. A military blanket tops a heap of countless other things they'd been given as a result of raids. The only signs of life in the place are a half-drank gallon of clean water and a well used knife sharpener beside the "bed", if you could call a bloody mattress on the floor that.
2BDamned exhales, peeling off the current set of gloves. He adjusts his hair, tightening his ponytail and tucking any flyaways behind his ears— he really needed to bite the bullet and just shave it all off, the Nevada heat was too cruel for this length. Even with some of it beginning to thin from malnutrition, it was still too thick to be comfortable in these temperatures.
He's made just shy of 50 mental notes over the course of this project, and all things considered anything to do with his personal care was rather low on that list. At the top is remembering to ask Sanford and Deimos to start taking bigger things from agency bases when allowed by time, safety, and space in the bed of the truck. A spare desk from his office that had been doing nothing but holding a mountain of papers wound up sacrificed to Hank's space, he'd need a replacement eventually. Unless he were to use that as motivation to sort his paperwork— the mere thought makes him scoff. No time for that, yet somehow time for this..
Not quite enough time to stand around in this way, though. He scans the room. With the spare desk had come a spare lamp, already plugged in and tested to ensure it would work. Whether or not Hank would use it was another concept altogether, the desk was just too empty and depressing without. Inside the drawers went some medical supplies and spare bullets. Knives were tucked into their sheathes, guns were pulled from the heap and straightened.
He finishes making their bed by dropping the military blanket at the foot of it, folded into a neat little rectangle. The soft pillowy thunk that sounds as it hits the rubber sheet makes him scowl. It's a true testament to just how little Hank could be bothered to care for anything anybody did for them, how little any attempts at gifting mattered unless it was edible or meant to kill someone. They were the only one not using the damn thing after all, the matching ones that had been given to himself and the others had been thoroughly appreciated since the day they were brought home.
Sanford and Deimos had entered the base triumphantly after finding them, kicking the front door open so loudly 2BDamned could have sworn they were being raided. He'd been unamused at seeing familiar faces after hurrying out of his office with a hand clutching the holstered pistol on his hip, despite their bright expressions.
Deimos had held up a bundle of fabric high above his head, and with it a cascade of blood poured up his arm and down the front of his shirt. He kept proudly wearing that grin even as he winced and cursed in pain. Upon further inspection 2BDamned could see that both of them looked like hell, various wounds already blossoming bruises and Jebus Christ Deimos' abdomen is steadily bleeding out oh what the fuck—
"Deimos!" 2BDamned shrieked, bristling. "Both of you—! What the hell happened?"
"That ain't important right now!" Deimos fired back, shoving the fabric towards him more emphatically. "Look what we got, c'mon, look! Ya know ya want to Doc, I can see it, c'mooon~"
"Will you shut your goddamn—" 2BDamned paused, letting out a deep breath. He could scold the daylights out of them both when they were on the surgical table at his mercy, unable to run from it or interrupt. "Give me that thing then, fuck," the medic snatched it from Deimos' hands. It's large and made from thick material, a bit scratchy if he's being honest. He felt over it for a moment, quirking a brow. "A blanket?"
"Bet your ass," Sanford confirmed, holding up his armful of similar fabric to emphasize. "That spot had a whole cabinet a these fuckers. Normally they take 'em with when they abandon ship, but we caught these guys just right. Dei n' I miss havin' somethin' to sleep under for damn sure, thought ya n' big man might appreciate 'em too."
"Exactly four left, can ya believe that shit Doc? Some kinda crazy luck we had, tell ya that!" Deimos dropped his arm again, and this time the blood rolled downward between his fingers to create another puddle on the floor. 2BDamned's grip on the blanket tightened quickly.
"Both of you, my office, now. I'll give Hank their shit." the two glanced to each other for a moment too long. "Go! And start putting pressure on those injuries!" with a series of affimrative remarks, they both dropped their loot and slid past 2BDamned, still basking in their finds.
Upon hearing his office door click shut, he'd looked to the blanket and began to fidget, feeling over it with his fingers and squeezing it to his chest. It made him feel absolutely pathetic to be excited over something so simple, but he couldn't deny his delight. Things that were for leisure rather than survival and necessity were such rare commodities in this hellscape. The fact that a blanket of all things was a leisure item in his mind.. Nevada truly was an unreal place.
There was no visual evidence of his excitement, fond smile hidden behind his mask and all gratitude being kept to himself. He had two people bleeding out in his office, anyhow; two people in good spirits despite that, but bleeding out nonetheless. 2BDamned would take this blanket to his room, deal with Hank later, and not say a word to Sanford and Deimos about how impactful of a find this was.
He would have, at least, if he hadn't been met with a much larger figure suddenly looming behind him. When he turned to head for his office he bumped right into Hank, narrowly keeping himself from tripping over his own feet with how quickly he had to readjust his stance. He made a choked noise, tilting his head back to glare up at Hank. How long had they even been there?
"Jebus fucking— Christ, Wimbleton. How many times do I have to tell you to make some indication that you've come up behind me?" fifteen, apparently, probably soon to be more. Hank didn't answer, only directed their gaze to the bundle in 2BDamned's arms, head tilted in curiosity. 2BDamned hurries to explain, "Sanford and Deimos found them earlier from a raid. One of them is yours." Hank looks around the medic, to the pile on the floor, then to him and back again. They lift a large hand and point to themselves as if to ask, 'me?'.
So much for this one being his to keep, 2BDamned thought as he shoved the blanket at Hank's chest. "Yes, you, you big hulking dolt. Take it."
Hank did not take it. They stared, and shifted their weight a little, and stared some more. 2BDamned lamented for the umpteenth time how they could learn to emote with something other than their eyes for once. Eventually, Hank shook their head and turned to retreat back to their room.
"Wh— are you kidding me?" 2BDamned snapped, "Can you even begin to fathom what kinds of injuries they took to get these? They risked themselves for your sorry ass like we always do and you won't even take it?" Hank waved their hand dismissively and disappeared, closing the door behind them.
2BDamned cursed under his breath, almost amazed by the sheer audacity of it all. He'd made a detour towards Hank's room on the way to his office, flung the door open, thrown the blanket inside and slammed it shut before he could hear anything about it.
He's clenching his jaw so tightly his teeth are starting to grind. 2BDamned releases that with a sigh, pain shooting up the sides of his skull and into his temple. Lord only knew how long he'd be able to spend thinking of all the ways Hank pissed him off if not for that ache, and a familiar call from down the hallway.
"Doc, we're home!"
Sanford's tone is casual, with zero trace of urgency or concern. That alone makes his shoulders lose tension, grateful that he wouldn't need to handle both informing Hank of his handiwork and fixing up the other two afterwards (or somehow worse, fixing up Hank). Steeling himself for the annoying conversation to come, he makes his way out of their room quickly in hopes of catching them before they were en route. He still hears their boots clunking into the entryway, and immediately uses that spare time to scurry towards the noise.
2BDamned stops at the doorway to the kitchen. Deimos has already made himself comfortable at the table, filthy blood-soaked boots propped up on the table just the way 2BDamned hates and has told him not to do about 500 times over. The frown he wears at the sight does not make Deimos move his feet, instead giving a cheery wave and a grin. "Howdy, Doc. Safe n' sound, sir." he salutes.
Sanford is at the counter, pulling bullets from the copious amount of pockets in his cargos and letting them clatter from his hands onto the cracked laminate. He perks up hearing Deimos address their medic, giving a smile of his own and a small salute to match. "Whatcha been up to, Doc? Ain't never see ya in that thing 'less you're elbow deep in somebody." 2BDamned looks down at the apron still draped over him, shaking his head. A hand comes up to nurse the continual throbbing in his skull.
"I was busy."
Sanford nods, "No worries, glad ya kept occupied.. like that's hard for ya, pfft. Should try restin' one a these days. Want the mission debrief now or later, boss man? I ain't wanna interrupt all your business now."
The throbbing changes to pounding when Hank approaches, weaving between them and easily pushing past him to escape to their quarters. His body stiffens as if it had never relaxed in the first place, and he waves towards Sanford in dismissal.
"Wimbleton," 2BDamned calls, being ignored as Hank trudges to their room. "Dammit, Wimbleton, listen to me when I'm talking to you." he rushes behind them, unable to get past with Hank's broad body taking up half the corridor. "Hey, dipshit!" fed up of the silence, 2BDamned grabs Hank's arm and yanks them to a stop. Despite it being painfully obvious how easy it would be for them to pull away and keep moving, they simply look over their shoulder to stare down at him. "Thank you, fucking hell.. look, I tidied up your room when you were out so you didn't come back to that horrifying hovel you call a—" Hank tears out of his grasp and takes off down the hall. "Motherfucker— I'm not done!" like clockwork, he chases right after them.
Sanford and Deimos look to each other upon hearing all the commotion. Deimos snickers. "Think they're gon' be back there playin' husband and wife, Ford?"
Sanford brings his hand down on Deimos' head, playfully squeezing and ruffling his hat. "Bet ya twenty bucks there ain't no way in hell." Deimos groans, straightening his hat before holding out a hand to Sanford.
"Shake on it, brother. You're on."
The clap of their hands meeting occurs simultaneously with the crack of Hank's bedroom door slamming open. Hank stands in the doorway, clutching the frame in a white-knuckled grip as they look over what 2BDamned had done.
It's so wrong and different it makes their chest heave, rough breaths in time to their pupils rapidly flicking over every altered detail. He touched their weapons and tools, where they sleep. Hank feels they could vomit, even at the parts normal people would find 'nicer'.
The walls are significantly less brown, stains lightened, the same of the ratty carpet beneath. Their bed is in the same place it was before, but there's now a rubber sheet laid over the mattress. The military blanket is folded into a neat square at the foot of it, shaped the same way it was when 2BDamned had initially given it to them. When their focus settles on it everything seems to freeze, shoulders slumping from their tense state and breathing losing its weighted effort. Curious eyes watch them behind reddened lenses as they slowly appear to come down from their distressed high.
2BDamned doesn't dare try to speak, just allows them the space to take everything in on their own time. Their steps are slow when they walk inside, sitting down on their bed and looking to the folded blanket. One of their hands moves to pinch the fabric between their fingers and rub, and their occupancy with that is just enough for 2BDamned to feel it's okay to open his mouth.
"I know it's probably a lot," he begins, fidgeting with his own fingers while he gathers his words. "I'm sorry if you're.. less than enthused by me rummaging through your.. copious amounts of.. random scattered bullshit. Your living space was a wreck, Wimbleton, I know we're in pretty dire conditions here but you don't have to be keeping yourself miserable. I also know you couldn't give a damn less about what I do for you at least 90% of the time.. so excuse me for trying if you really don't like it. You just really need to take better care of yourself, and.."
And Hank's not listening. Rarely do they look at him when he speaks unless he demands it, but there's a vacancy to their gaze, to the repetitive movement of their fingertips around the fabric. They don't make any noise of acknowledgment or spare him even a glance. He wonders if they realized he was talking at all.
Perhaps its them seeking some sort of comfort, a safety net amidst all the change? That wouldn't add up properly with it being something they refused to use, only another new addition to their space they'd rejected. Hank dislikes the unfamiliar, dislikes alteration, dislikes anything new until they eventually learn to take it in if they didn't kill it first. Yet here they are, being oddly clinging towards it.
Hank doesn't react when 2BDamned takes gentle steps inside. Their head doesn't snap towards him as it's supposed to when another person gets too close, unmoving even when the medic sits down on the bed beside them. For once, drawing his own conclusions wasn't working. He's always read Hank like a book, and now the pages are dampened with bleeding ink that's entirely unintelligible. His only option is going back to basics he'd done when he met that mercenary.
Put a crowbar to the deepest parts of their psyche. At a firm yet slow pace, pry.
"It's fine if you really don't like it, you know." is where 2BDamned chooses to start. He's known for years that he should begin with making it clear he isn't out to hurt them if he wants to be taken seriously. Despite their obvious differences, 2BDamned can only assume they're aware of the power he holds; aware enough to understand that there is scarcely danger in his presense, and if he's disclosing so openly, he means business.
Hank shakes their head. So they were listening? 2BDamned's brow furrows.
"Then, what's your problem?"
The quiet game is one much better played by two, and yet Hank is keen on being victorious as the only participant. They lift the blanket into their lap. Now they're touching over it with both hands, feeling the fabric and squeezing it to their body. They bury into it as they lay back, turning onto their side and curling their legs to their chest, only pressing the blanket deeper into them.
2BDamned blinks at them. He wants to find the words to address just how uncanny it is to see Hank like this, but anything that has the potential to go from his brain to his mouth is either garbled nothingness or a bit too callous for the situation at hand. He's not a psych, not a therapist, not even a doctor. What is he supposed to do here?
Think, dissenter, think..
They don't want to talk, they never do. He'd be a moron if he tried to expect that from them on a good day. Sitting here awkwardly would also get him approximately nowhere, so the point in that was moot too. The better of two evils was to leave it alone for now, and hope Hank would figure their shit out like they usually did.
A heavy sigh falls from 2BDamned when he stands up. Hank remains unmoving, laying sideways on a bed that hardly fit their bulk to begin with. That cannot be comfortable, especially not for someone with chronic pain in essentially every part of their body. He rolls his eyes so hard he fears they'll fall out. "Yeah, yeah, I'm going. It's still your bed, you can take up all the space."
Hank lifts their head ever so slightly, peering at him with a gaze a little too wide and a little too soft. It makes him incomprehensibly uncomfortable, to the point he has to steel himself to not shiver or grimace. If he wasn't already sure this was a task far beyond his imaginary pay grade, he's certain now. They shuffle a couple of inches to the side, just enough to get their feet up on the bed. Effectively, that has done nothing to help their case.
Everything must be a chore with you. Just lay on the bed like a normal goddamn person. How he wishes he could say it. It isn't held back because of Hank, but because for whatever reason he's physically unable to choke it out.
2BDamned clears his throat, trying to speak as if he hasn't just been rattled to his core. "No.. get on the bed, all the way on."
The look in their eyes doesn't change, but 2BDamned can relax when they move their gaze away from him and back down to their blanket. The few moments of silence to follow feels like an eternity. By the end of it, though, Hank does obey, finally laying properly lengthwise.
They look at least kind of comfortably settled. That is more than enough for 2BDamned to consider this a victory and get the hell out, it's getting much too warm and weird in here anyway. "Well.. whatever this is, Wimbleton. It's your room. You can touch any of it and do.. whatever. I'm going back to work."
The continued lack of a response is both a blessing and a curse. 2BDamned shuts the door gently with the softest of clicks, leaning against it to bury his face in his hands and release a muffled groan. He covers his eyes with the back of his hand, huffing out a breath into his mask before dropping his arms to his sides. Like a wet dog, he shakes his head in an attempt to rid himself of the horrible energy in that room. There is nothing he can do about this, and for once in his life he's got to deal with that.
2BDamned trudges back through the kitchen, mumbling to himself while holding his forehead in his hand. That's the only impression he makes on the two grunts still occupying the space, making Sanford shake his head and hold a hand out to Deimos.
"That's a hard no, chucklehead. Pay up." Deimos grumbles and starts digging through his pockets.
2BDamned was not a man to sleep in. He wasn't a man to sleep at all, getting technical about it, but he was acutely aware of the human brain's necessity for at least a modicum of rest in order to continue optimal function. Nevada called at every hour, downtime impossible to pinpoint and yet ultimately required. On a regular evening, after triple checking the base's security measures through bleary eyes and various aches, he'd collapse into bed for exactly two to three hours of relaxation, then hop right back to it upon waking.
Yesterday was not a regular evening. Rather than his usual routine he'd wound up crashing at his desk while trying to solve the equation of Hank plus blanket equalling absolute fucking nonsense. His back angrily cracked in protest when he'd straightened in his chair. He feels barely awake, even more exhausted than usual. With a groan he rakes his fingers down his face, coming to rest over the tattered fabric of his mask. This was stupid, and Hank was stupid. With a new day he needed to focus on the more important things, like another annoying bodily need; sustenance. The smell and sound of Sanford cooking breakfast calls to him and he unfortunately has to answer.
His legs feel like gelatin when he stands up, momentarily holding onto his desk to balance. His mind already whirs with every way he can scold Hank for causing him so much turmoil the second he sees them sat at the table.
Ever since they began working together Hank had always been the first one awake in the morning, a marvel to the one who had to usually force himself down to bed to begin with. He's not sure he ever could understand their sleep habits, regardless of how hard he tried.
Slowly, he makes his way out of his office and down the hall. Stopping in the entryway to the kitchen, he leans against the doorframe with a yawn, still not quite awake enough to properly register his surroundings.
"Well, I'll be damned." 2BDamned makes a tired, inquisitive sound at Sanford's comment, rubbing at his eyes. "You're awake 'fore Hank too, Doc? That ain't right."
2BDamned is definitely awake now. Hearing that Hank isn't present yet makes his eyes snap open wide, looking to the table only occupied by Deimos, still hardly awake with an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth. A rush of adrenaline flushes through him, as close to panic as he's capable of feeling. He holds his forehead in his hand to nurse an already budding headache, cursing under his breath as he starts to swiftly stride through the kitchen. "Both of you stay here, I'm going to make sure that idiot is still breathing." he's completely certain that Hank is in fact alive, and that is what makes his blood run cold.
The distress isn't enough to stop him from snagging that pesky cigarette from between Deimos' lips on his way by, earning an array of sluggish protests. "I told you already you can't have these in the house, shut the ever-loving fuck up, Deimos."
Brisk wide steps take him quickly down the hallway, with barely enough cognitive function and forethought to slow down as he gets closer. Heavy quick thunking approaching their direction would only frighten them.
Pause. Deep breath in, deep breath out. If you are outwardly worried, Hank certainly will be. The situation is loaded enough as it is.
Once he feels he's composed enough to be perceived, he taps the back of his knuckles against Hank's bedroom door. He's met with no response.
Using all of the restraint within the entire state of Nevada, he suppresses the groan he so desperately wants to let out to release even an iota of this misery. Fuck this stupid, stupid life he chose, and that stupid, stupid Wimbleton right along with it. 2BDamned draws in another breath. For a remarkably short amount of time, he contemplates doing something that he would never even dream of on any regular day. Ultimately he concludes that desperate times call for desperate measures.
With no verbalization or warning, he opens Hank's door. The gears in his mind jarringly screech to a halt when he sees them, curled up in an almost fetal position on their bed, the blanket still cradled into their chest and held tightly. They aren't sleeping, unless they've suddenly developed a habit of doing so with their eyes open. Even still, there's no movement or acknowledgment of his presence.
He's in too deep now to try to leave. Metaphorical crowbar steeled in hand, he takes a few steps inside and guides the door back to quietly click shut.
Of all things to get their attention, that nonthreatening noise does it a bit too well. Hank rushes to sit up, heavy boots slamming onto the floor and fist reflexively reeling back—
"Wimbleton!" 2BDamned whisper-yells, not wanting to alert Sanford and Deimos any more than they already could have been. "Will you cut that out? It's me!" it does only a bit more than nothing to console them, unwavering with their stance but not making any moves just yet. Their eyes are wide and wild, not unlike how they'd looked yesterday taking in their new digs. There's something else there that 2BDamned can't put his finger on. "It's just.. me." he speaks in a more level tone this time. "I'm not going to hurt you. Relax."
Hank doesn't lay back down how they were before. Their fist drops into their lap. They can't really refute the logic they're met with when they see familiar cascading grey hair and a doctor's coat. Shoulders slump as their form appears uncharacteristically limp. They simply sit there, staring at 2BDamned, leaving him to scramble for what'd be the next best move in this deranged cat and mouse charade he'd unintentionally began playing.
He sits down at the desk he'd donated so graciously. Hank's reaction amounts to another big fat nothing. That's good, or bad. How clueless this situation has left him makes him so unbelievably rattled, but he puts on a brave face so not to further disturb Hank. He taps his fingertips rhythmically across his knee. Their eyes remain locked on his in a makeshift staring contest, not even sparing a glance to the motion. Interesting.
"Did you sleep last night?" is the first thing he can think to ask that'd get him anywhere. Hank shakes their head, tense body language worming its way back in just as quickly as it had left. Their own set of mental cogs begin to turn, shaking away the cobwebs that'd settled overnight. 2BDamned is here because they did something, probably something wrong at that. He doesn't come to their room other than to give quick idle checkups on mortal wounds, yet they don't have any of those right this second. They don't remember how long they've been in bed, but once the smell of breakfast all but smacks them across the face they realize the answer is far too long.
Hank rises from the bed, standing straight up and stiff as a board. Tearing their gaze from 2BDamned, they begin to head for the door. 2BDamned has other plans, however, taking a firm grip on their arm as they try to move past him and commanding that they "Wait."
They flinch, and for once 2BDamned can't tell if it's due to the contact or his tone. The way they look between his hand and his eyes doesn't help him find an answer, either. 2BDamned reinitiates that staring contest that he'd previously won, keeping his focus on Hank's face in hopes of keeping them grounded. Would Hank necessarily feel stable seeing him? He isn't sure, but one thing he is sure of is that he has to go out on a limb if he wants to gain any ground.
"Is something going on?" plain, simple, to the point with no bullshit. It's got to help him along somehow in principle alone. They shake their head, less certain than before. They look unsure of themselves, like a frightened animal caught in a trap, their arm bracing in preparation to yank away. As such, 2BDamned prepares for the opposite, clinging tighter and going on, "I don't believe you." when their eyes seem to get impossibly wider, he exhales as if to remind himself that he shouldn't be frustrated right now. "But I'm still not going to hurt you."
Hank spares a glance towards the bed, then looks down at the floor. That tells 2BDamned.. something. Probably. Curse Hank's affinity for being as vague as possible when he needed to know literally anything.
Think, dissenter, think!
The new room is foreign to Hank, that's as plain as the warped sheet of metal on their face. Something about that blanket, about a made bed, confused them so heavily they dug themselves into an impossibly deep hole. He looks to the bed, too, blanket haphazardly thrown in an unkempt heap. "Do you.. like the bed?" he feels like he's talking to a toddler when he asks it in that tone, but with his hands tied so tight he's lost feeling in them he can only do so much.
How ready he feels to throw in the towel when Hank merely shrugs, not even offering the courtesy of looking at him anymore. Why does he even bother?
Because the sight of Hank genuinely thinking for a few seconds before turning that shrug to a nod is so satisfying, he has to actively stop himself from going lax in relief. Good, great, awesome. That's getting somewhere! He doesn't get too excited, well aware this could tank any second now. "Have you ever slept with anything like that?" he asks, daring to toe the line.
The only reaction he receives this time is Hank tugging their arm back towards themselves, walking towards the exit again how they'd initially intended. Without the faintest clue of how to answer him, aware he'd only keep pushing every button he uncovered, they needed to escape.
And there it goes. Tanking.
For the first time since meeting Hank Wimbleton, 2BDamned admits defeat. Because of course it can't be easy, it never could and it never would with them. What is easy is feeling the frustration and letting it boil out of him at his loss, but he knows better than that. So he just sighs and allows them to go, moving to their bed to start folding their blanket back up. "Well, now you can have your bed and your blanket every night. If you think your room is missing anything more, snag whatever from your raids."
Hank shakes their head at him again, unamused. It truly didn't matter what they wanted, not that they know what they'd want anyway. 2BDamned seemed to have a pretty good concept of it, though, with the way he'd done up everything. Something tells them to pause before being completely out of the medic's sight, and they do, making sure he's looking at them before quickly signing a simple question.
Like what?
Oh. Hank is throwing him a bone. Now 2BDamned can easily say today is the strangest thing he's ever experienced. He looks down at the blanket in his arms, then back to Hank. "Well.." Jebus, what wasn't their room missing to constitute normalcy. If what they really care about is the bed, then.. "It'd be nice to have something to put your head on to sleep, wouldn't it?" lord only knew how much he missed having a pillow, he can only assume the same of Hank.
Or so he thinks, until Hank does what Hank always does and just looks at him. They tilt their head in one direction, then the other, nose scrunched. 2BDamned can almost see the smoke pouring from their ears as their brain works in overdrive. Why are they looking at him like that over this of all things?
At first, 2BDamned only looks back at them, trying to determine just what could possibly be confusing about what he'd said. "You know.." he leads, opting to throw them their bone back to make it fair. "A pillow?" Hank shakes their head, tapping their arm as if to say that's all they need to rest their head on. Their expression only deepens by the minute.
2BDamned really cannot figure out just what kind of life Hank must have lived before they impulsively decided to slay 30 people. Aside from now knowing that it is the kind of life where having a pillow and a blanket in their bed is a foreign concept, he's not sure he ever wants to know. He opens his mouth to talk some more but winds up closing it with merely a choked sound, pinching the skin between his eyes and huffing out a breath. "Wait," he quickly moves to shuffle past Hank, shoving them back into their bedroom by proxy. "Just.. wait. Go lay down. I'll be right back."
Hank proves their ability to be okay-ish at following orders, when it's in their greater interest at least. They shuffle back to their bed, settling back down but choosing to remain sat upright until his return. They're still trying to figure out what exactly 2BDamned could be talking about. The only thing they can come up with is the little square pad at the head of 2BDamned's medical table, and if that's technically a medical device that couldn't be it. He's a very smart man, that's for sure, but right now he sounds just shy of insane.
2BDamned is thanking any deity listening that Hank finally chose to give in as he moves back the way he came. After all the prodding and work he'd done to get them to pay attention when he spoke he supposed he only deserved it, however he's fully aware that there are no guarantees in life; especially not in Nevada, especially not with Hank. He zips past Sanford and Deimos on the way to his own room and assures them immediately that everything is fine, but arises more questions than answers when he passes by yet again holding his own gifted blanket.
Deimos observes the medic scurrying off before grinning at Sanford. He leans back in his chair and holds his hand out, making a come hither motion with his fingers. "I'll be takin' my twenty bucks back, sir." Sanford observes, too, absolutely gobsmacked as he starts to dig into the pocket of his pants.
"Shit, man. When you're right, you're right."
When 2BDamned re-enters Hank's room, he's folding it in his arms just as he had theirs, scowling at their positioning. "Lay down, Wimbleton, head up." continuing their obedient streak they do as they're told, watching up at him with curious eyes concentrated on the bundle in his arms. Blanket, they sign, earning a nod in confirmation. He shapes it into a neat little rectangle. "It's makeshift, but that's the best I can do." tucking it underneath their head, his knees crackle loudly when he bends down to be eye level with them. "Rest your head on it."
They lay still for a moment before nestling in. Their jaw creaks at the added pressure and an airy fried noise huffs out of them, but they don't seem to be in any pain. Confusion remains settled on their features. They sign to him again, medicine, convinced he must have something to administer or poke at if he's trying to make them comfortable. All he's really doing is telling himself to add to their file that the metal prosthetic reacts just fine to them using a pillow.
A few fingers press to his temple, only about halfway to genuine annoyance. "It's your room, not my office. I don't have anything to give you."
Hank nods. Momentarily, they debate upon opening up to 2BDamned. Telling someone more of their life before that fateful day, creating a witness to what they've experienced. Should they give in, they could never go back to a time where he no longer knew. It'd be spoken into existence permanently and they would have to find some way to live with that. Would 2BDamned look at them differently? Would he pity them? The thought makes their stomach turn and kills any possible consideration, words dying on their tongue along with it.
2BDamned is more than aware that Hank never did and probably never would have anything to say. He's also aware that it's more than a little weird for him to be stationary in Hank's room like this while they rest. He stews in the silence with them for a few moments, until he can gather his thoughts. "You should get some sleep, Wimble—.. Hank."
Hearing their first name from 2BDamned makes them crane their neck to look up at him sharply. They don't entirely mind, they don't think, but the stark difference in familiarity is enough to make them worry for a second. They shake their head, signing not tired.
It feels so wrong to 2BDamned to address Hank by their first name. It seemed wrong to use their last at a vulnerable time like this. He really couldn't win, not ever, but he'll give himself a few bonus points for predicting that Hank would say they're not tired despite getting no sleep. "Bullshit.. spend today sleeping. The others and I can do some long range work. You have a proper bed now, put it to use. I worked my ass off to do it for you."
What felt wrong to Hank was the idea of 2BDamned sticking around until they did as told. It frightens them to think about being watched as they got more and more exhausted and drifted into sleep, and staying holed up in their room burning daylight sounds far from viable. They start to sit up in protest.
"Oh no you don't," 2BDamned's hand meets their shoulder and pushes, making them flop back onto the bloodied mattress that he'd spent so long trying to get the stains out of. "I'll go make sure Deimos doesn't accidentally doxx us to the A.A.H.W." he knows Deimos wouldn't, because Deimos is smart, but he needs a reason to leave the room before the emotional vulnerability makes him vomit all over the floor he'd just tidied yesterday. "You stay here and get some damn sleep. If I catch you up and out of bed, I'm putting you back in it."
Hank glares at first, as if they're daring 2BDamned to stand his ground. Unfortunately for them, he's never backed down from even a vague semblance of a challenge and Hank can tell when they've lost against him. They truly didn't have the energy to spend the day arguing over something so small, and that would just be wasting time in a different font anyhow which is what they're fighting to avoid. There is no point, they realize as they relent and settle back down.
A sigh of relief sounds from 2BDamned. He's grateful that if Hank would pick any moment to listen to him, aside from when they were tapping at death's door, it's to do with their own wellbeing. If he wasn't certain he'd choke on it, he'd thank them. "Good." he stands up, slow and careful. "I'll wake you up for lunch later. Until then, just worry about sleeping." Hank nods at him, watching him wearily as he exits their room. The door clicks softly just as it presumably had when he'd come in.
Exhaustion sets in and it sets in hard. The second 2BDamned is gone their entire body gains this deep pressing weight, feeling almost shoved into their bed. His presence is intense and none of that leaves along with him, it always hangs and fills any emptiness left within Hank. Every little thing he said and did to them, no— for them..
2BDamned did it for them.
They exhale deeply and bury their face into 2BDamned's blanket. Before there's any more time to process the real extent of any of this situation beyond that, they're fast asleep.
2BDamned doesn't wake Hank up for lunch. He's entirely prepared to, having gone to their room and all, but upon opening the door and seeing them still resting as they were told something in his mind nags at him to leave them be. Against his better judgment he does listen, and he proceeds to spend the day working in the kitchen with Deimos to get past cybersecurity barriers and copy down coordinate strings.
By the time dinner rolls around, though, making a justification doesn't come as easy to him. Especially when Sanford is already halfway through cooking and he's well aware that going a day without eating wouldn't fare swimmingly for the mercenary either (and they got so unbearably bitchy when they were hungry, too, but that's less pertinent).
13 hours is more than enough sleep, he reminds himself when he opens Hank's door for what feels like the 50th time in the past few days. They don't wake up to his footsteps, or when he flicks on the lamp. It leaves him stood beside their bed awkwardly looking down at them while they sleep, and it's weird. Hank was up before him every single day, he's just now realizing he has no idea how to wake them in a way that won't make them attempt to end his life. Not that he couldn't take that, but he's really not in the mood.
They always manage to put him in the strangest situations, don't they. Situations like rubbing the bed beside them like he's waking a sleeping tiger, scratching his nails on the rubber sheet to make a bit of noise. Hank shifts somewhat with a low grumble, not fully lucid but appearing to take some notice. "Wimbleton," the first name referral leaves as quickly as it came, 2BDamned's formality returning. There's an abnormal softness to his voice. "Wimbleton, it's me." Hank only makes another sound, seeming to nestle deeper into the blanket rather than prepare to get out. "Fuck sakes.."
He wouldn't exactly call it uncomfortable, resting his fingertips on the back of one of their hands. There's a warmth to them, even moreso when he places his hand flat, palm to their knuckles and fingers over theirs. Off-putting, however not unpleasant. His fingers tap over the backs of theirs gently.
Hank looks over their shoulder at him, scowling at 2BDamned like he killed their mother. They make a questioning, annoyed sound. 2BDamned takes it on the chin out of sheer relief that they're behaving more like they're supposed to, pulling back his hand. "Sleeping all day mission accomplished, Wimbleton. Come on, Sanford should be done with dinner by now." he's pleasantly surprised by how unbothered they seem at the time of day, but they do make another grunt that sounds less than happy. "I haven't cut it for you yet because I'm busy being here waking your ass up. I'll do it in a second." they nod, pacified. There's a shift in their expression, features relaxing.
2BDamned isn't sure he's ever seen Hank look like that, at least not when they aren't drenched in blood or actively bleeding themselves. He feels an urge to tell them to wipe that look off their face, and another to allow them to keep it there for a while just to see what it does to them. Neither of those things would ever leave the confines of his mind.
What would never leave Hank's is the urge to ask him to put his hand back over theirs. Instead, they'd settle for keeping the makeshift pillow he's decided to give them, keeping their room arranged how he'd left it, eating the meals he put the work into cutting for them and sitting still when he asked them to and letting him do whatever he thought was right for them, because he knows. After yesterday, this morning, this moment. 2BDamned knows them.
For the first time in their life, Hank is known. For the first time, Hank is scared, and it's of the horrifying reality that is being known.
"Wimbleton." 2BDamned snaps his fingers right beside their ear, making them twitch to attention. "I didn't wake you up just for you to start daydreaming instead. You need to get up." they hum in affirmation, moving to sit up. "I'm going to get your food ready. If you're not in that kitchen in five.."
"Com.. ing. Doc." they croak out, jaw squeaking from the movement. 2BDamned gives them a look, still unused to them opting for spoken word over sign or mere noises. It's plenty confirmation for him that Hank is listening, so he takes that at face value and makes his own way back to the others while Hank slowly rises from their bed.
Maybe they're capable of being more than a thorn in somebody's side, an obligation and a piece of work. Maybe if they thought and tried, they could be a person and not a murderous monster. Or at least a fraction of a person within one.
They fold both blankets into neat little rectangles before they leave. Upon entering their common space, waiting behind 2BDamned to get their breakfast with an eerie sense of calm about them, they faintly hear Sanford and Deimos chattering back and forth about some stupid bet they'd made and how the results were "inconclusive".
Whatever that meant.