Post by Paperbag Fill on Sept 5, 2022 22:36:24 GMT
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The TV flickered light against a dark bedroom as a pair of canine eyes watched with fascination at the program. Sharks and other marine animals flitted across the screen through digital-recorded waters. Winston's ears sat low as his head rested upon his front paws, watching the Shark Week special. His eyes bounced back and forth across the screen as he gazed at the moving creatures. The canine remembered the beach and how John would play with him, throwing the ball or leaping in together and exploring the depths of the ocean. John had a smile on his face. Even on days not as good as those, even on the bad ones, he smiled. But there was something new to his smiles now ever since that strange occurrence outside New York and the other time in Millennium City. He could sense it, smell it off John. What could he do but be there for his friend? The dog glanced at the door, hearing the rushing water. As soon as John got done with chores, the two of them would watch movies and play. It would be all better! It always got better.
Rushing water poured over his hands as John scrubbed the inside of a pot. Second time he nearly burnt what he had been attempting to cook, with attempting to be the key word. Was he out of practice? He sighed and shook his head. Never had a problem before. What was the problem? He was distracted, too distracted. He'd be fine. He just needed to get pack into the rhythm that was his life. He just needed to scrub these last few pieces off. Not too hard, not too soft. With his strength, he'd needed to be precise. His wrist and arm swiveled slightly as the rubbed the small scrubber along the inside of the skillet.
He kept scrubbing. The motion became a little quicker, a little faster. The water ran down his hands. They'd never get clean at this rate. He began working at the skillet harder. Nothing was coming off. He kept at it. Just a little more. Just some more. Get the blood off the-. The handle snapped off the skillet as the metal bent itself inward.
John blinked.
"Fuck."
He tossed the scrubber into the sink along with the skillet before both hands slammed down on the sides of the counter as the sound of wood and metal threatening to bend and break both counter and sink withstood his strength and weight. Light breathes rapidly escaped his chest, barely constricting and releasing in quick bursts. Back and forth, rapid before slowing as he took each breath slower and slower. He closed his eyes. A mistake. He remembered holding her. So much blood. Darkness all around. And that thing, that damnable monster. He lost count of how many times he showered to get it all off. John's eyes snapped open once more. And what did he do the next time there was trouble? Run back into the middle of the fire and do the same gods damned thing again. No plan, no real back up. In the end, he got his ass handed to him, wasting valuable precious time instead of doing what he was actually good at. All that time. More than enough time to be used to help instead of fight.
Time that could have been spent saving all those-.
A whimper next to his leg drew his eyes away from the sink and down towards a pair of blue canine eyes. Winston began clambering up John's leg, his triangle-shaped ears reaching past the hip of John. He kept patting his paws on John's leg, trying to lick his arm, hand. Anything. A desperate attempt to ground John. The broad-shouldered man simply lowered himself closer to the floor, letting go of the counter and kneeling down before pulling Winston close in a hug, petting the mane of fur from head to back.
"I'm okay, boy. I'll be okay. Just a bad thought. I'll be fine."
A whimper followed by a gruff bark followed. Winston wiggled himself out of John's grasp a little before staring into the alien man's eyes, growling a little.
"I just need a bit of rest is all. I'll be okay."
His eyes trailed over to a set of pictures, framed and set on one shelf attached to the wall. An older picture stood in the center. Two parents, mother and father--the later not yet quite having the greying hair the other pictures would find--while three kids stood together between the two adult figures. Two boys and a girl. The girl had brown hair, like her mother, while the boys had black hair like their father. Only one boy had blue eyes unlike the other siblings, each sharing eyes of either their mother and father.
And much older than the young, blue-eyed boy in the middle.
His gaze shifted over. More pictures. All three graduations. His brother and him together in front of a restaurant, proud of what his older brother had accomplished. His sister in a white gown together with the rest of the family as a red-headed groom in glasses smiled alongside her. More photos of family get-togethers and parties. Less exciting pictures dotted between a few. Playing chess against his dad. His mother and him working a small garden along with his mother's sister.
John smiled before it faded away, replaced by a simple sigh, "How about you and me go pay a visit to the niece and nephew? Hm?"
Winston's growl disappeared before turning his head over to the side in surprise. John rubbed under the dog's chin and along the neck. His other hand rubbed its fingers against the palm, not quite able to get rid of that one sensation before settling on using the other hand to rub Winston's fur more.
"We'll go tomorrow. They miss you. And we haven't seen them in a while."
Winston barked happily before growling a little again. His teeth sunk into John's wrist before he began to tug him towards the TV. John chuckled a little before getting up and allowing himself to be led along.
"Okay. Okay, buddy."
The dishes could do themselves later. Documentaries always put him to sleep.
Rushing water poured over his hands as John scrubbed the inside of a pot. Second time he nearly burnt what he had been attempting to cook, with attempting to be the key word. Was he out of practice? He sighed and shook his head. Never had a problem before. What was the problem? He was distracted, too distracted. He'd be fine. He just needed to get pack into the rhythm that was his life. He just needed to scrub these last few pieces off. Not too hard, not too soft. With his strength, he'd needed to be precise. His wrist and arm swiveled slightly as the rubbed the small scrubber along the inside of the skillet.
He kept scrubbing. The motion became a little quicker, a little faster. The water ran down his hands. They'd never get clean at this rate. He began working at the skillet harder. Nothing was coming off. He kept at it. Just a little more. Just some more. Get the blood off the-. The handle snapped off the skillet as the metal bent itself inward.
John blinked.
"Fuck."
He tossed the scrubber into the sink along with the skillet before both hands slammed down on the sides of the counter as the sound of wood and metal threatening to bend and break both counter and sink withstood his strength and weight. Light breathes rapidly escaped his chest, barely constricting and releasing in quick bursts. Back and forth, rapid before slowing as he took each breath slower and slower. He closed his eyes. A mistake. He remembered holding her. So much blood. Darkness all around. And that thing, that damnable monster. He lost count of how many times he showered to get it all off. John's eyes snapped open once more. And what did he do the next time there was trouble? Run back into the middle of the fire and do the same gods damned thing again. No plan, no real back up. In the end, he got his ass handed to him, wasting valuable precious time instead of doing what he was actually good at. All that time. More than enough time to be used to help instead of fight.
Time that could have been spent saving all those-.
A whimper next to his leg drew his eyes away from the sink and down towards a pair of blue canine eyes. Winston began clambering up John's leg, his triangle-shaped ears reaching past the hip of John. He kept patting his paws on John's leg, trying to lick his arm, hand. Anything. A desperate attempt to ground John. The broad-shouldered man simply lowered himself closer to the floor, letting go of the counter and kneeling down before pulling Winston close in a hug, petting the mane of fur from head to back.
"I'm okay, boy. I'll be okay. Just a bad thought. I'll be fine."
A whimper followed by a gruff bark followed. Winston wiggled himself out of John's grasp a little before staring into the alien man's eyes, growling a little.
"I just need a bit of rest is all. I'll be okay."
His eyes trailed over to a set of pictures, framed and set on one shelf attached to the wall. An older picture stood in the center. Two parents, mother and father--the later not yet quite having the greying hair the other pictures would find--while three kids stood together between the two adult figures. Two boys and a girl. The girl had brown hair, like her mother, while the boys had black hair like their father. Only one boy had blue eyes unlike the other siblings, each sharing eyes of either their mother and father.
And much older than the young, blue-eyed boy in the middle.
His gaze shifted over. More pictures. All three graduations. His brother and him together in front of a restaurant, proud of what his older brother had accomplished. His sister in a white gown together with the rest of the family as a red-headed groom in glasses smiled alongside her. More photos of family get-togethers and parties. Less exciting pictures dotted between a few. Playing chess against his dad. His mother and him working a small garden along with his mother's sister.
John smiled before it faded away, replaced by a simple sigh, "How about you and me go pay a visit to the niece and nephew? Hm?"
Winston's growl disappeared before turning his head over to the side in surprise. John rubbed under the dog's chin and along the neck. His other hand rubbed its fingers against the palm, not quite able to get rid of that one sensation before settling on using the other hand to rub Winston's fur more.
"We'll go tomorrow. They miss you. And we haven't seen them in a while."
Winston barked happily before growling a little again. His teeth sunk into John's wrist before he began to tug him towards the TV. John chuckled a little before getting up and allowing himself to be led along.
"Okay. Okay, buddy."
The dishes could do themselves later. Documentaries always put him to sleep.