thearena | Even in Hell there are shooting stars

Entry tags:

Even in Hell there are shooting stars

Who| Jet and OPEN
What| Jet flies into the top of the barrier like a champ
Where| On the ground, then in the sky, then on the ground again.
When| Week 3, during Hellrena
Warnings/Notes| Potential hallucinations? Cyborgs.

When the air raid sirens went off and the mist cleared and the heat started in with a vengeance, the only thing Jet was immediately aware of was the fact something was crawling across his skin. At first, he thought it was one of those bugs that had made him sick, but pushing his sleeve up revealed familiar creases cutting though his skin as flesh turned synthetic and bone turned to metal. It felt like it should hurt, but just as with the ijiva he'd thought had left him, it was more like a switch being flipped than a transformation.

His hearing and sight sharpened, the feeling in his feet fled as everything from mid-thigh down turned a hundred percent metal, his mind even cleared a little as the cybernetics in his brain returned. As sluggish as his thought process was with his fever, it took a second or two before the realization dawned on him. He could fly again.

He began moving as though working on muscle memory and set a vague plan into motion. He found a hiding place in the house he'd stopped in to stash the supplies he'd been sent, the metal pipe and his boots and dashed back into the street. He was completely unconcerned with any creatures out for blood with his cybernetics returned and barely even paused before jumping into the air as his feet opened and flared to allow his jets to burst into life.

A steady mechanical hum accompanied with the sounds of thrusters firing filled the street and the blond hovered in the air a moment before shooting up into the sky.

It was a breath of fresh air to be airborne again, to feel the wind against his face and there was a large part of him that wanted to just fly around the whole damn arena for the fun of it, but he had to try something first. If this worked, then maybe he could help out Albert and Venus and Felicity and everyone else stuck in this place.

Up and up he flew, the barrier becoming visible to him through the radar flashing in his eyes. A readout in the corner of his vision told him how far away he was from the object--the dome--and turned red in warning as he got under a thousand feet. Closer, closer, he turned a bit and braced himself, aiming to hit the thing with his shoulder and hopefully bust through it. A hundred feet. Fifty feet. Ten feet.

It sounded like a large gun went off as the American struck against the barrier, but instead of breaking through like he'd hoped, he left a small dot of damage at the pinnacle of the dome and a ripple ran through the illusion of sky. Jet didn't see either of these things. As soon as his shoulder connected with the dome, electricity knifed through his systems and his organic parts and caused him to black out as parts of him temporarily shut down. Instead of simply falling as Jet shut down, the barrier shot him into a dilapidated three-story building that soon became all one level as the cyborg broke through it, leaving him unconscious, feverish and with a sparking shoulder in a bed of rubble.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"What?" Albert jerks his head around, hand still clasped tight to whatever of Jet hasn't shrunk away from him. "Jet, there's no one here. No one but us, but that may change. We need to get mov..."

He trails off because Jet's started speaking again, looking beside him to a ghost of their past that only he can see and Albert's expression goes stony. He clenches his jaw as Jet finishes but still reaches out to steady the blond in a steel grip. "Bina's dead, Jet. She's long dead and you're seeing things."

It's all too easy to keep Jet near him, the American having no direction to his staggering and no strength to resist him with the obvious sickness coursing through him. He can't feel how hot Jet is with his own hands cold metal, but he can tell from how red the other man's face is and how glazed his expression that it can't be a natural temperature.

Maybe that's why he flew straight into the dome against logic.

"We have to move, Jet. We have to get somewhere safe so I can take care of you."

He feels like he should pull away but he doesn't really want to and even when he tries, he finds it's like trying to pull against an immovable object and he's only pulled back to Albert's side.

Bina vanishes, but the thought of her doesn't, only the words 'somewhere safe' break through enough to allow him to think straight. Somewhere safe meant Albert being safe and even if he was mad at him, Jet still wanted him safe.

"There's...a house. Down the street. West. Yellow." Or at least, it had been when he could remember seeing it, his mind still hadn't caught up to the fact all the buildings had seemingly melted around them.

"you aren't going to leave?" It's said with confusion. Wasn't that why Bina was here? She and Albert were going to leave and be happy together and how could Jet argue if that was what Albert wanted?

"Of course I'm not going to leave. I've been looking for you." He tries to sound patient and manages simply by virtue of being distracted with finding them shelter. He's beyond worried, but they have to take things one step at a time.

He tries to find the house Jet indicated but nearly all the structures look as if they're barely standing. The walls crack and peel as he watches, coming apart more like seared flesh crumbling to ash than wood or brick. He finds a house that might have been yellow once, the exterior now blackened and rusty in the heat-haze, and he half carries, half drags Jet inside. It's no cooler in here than it is out there, but at least they're hidden from immediate view.

Albert sets Jet down on a pile of textile that was once a couch, unsure for a moment that it can handle the blond's weight. After he surmises that it won't cave in on itself, he uncoils the fabric rope from across his chest and bunches it up or Jet's use as a pillow. "I've got some water. Hopefully that will help a little. We need to find some way to bring your fever down."

The German busies himself with getting his supplies out, shedding his jacket in the process and using it as another pillow for his partner. It's too hot for it right now anyway, even with his mechanics keeping him cooler than human norm. That won't last long though, not in this heat, but he has other concerns.

Soon he has a small cup of lukewarm water and presses it to Jet's mouth, lifting the American's head so he can drink and so the cool metal of his hand can sooth the fever still working in his fiance. "Drink."

Jet obeys and drinks as much as he's given, suddenly thirsty even though it hadn't occurred to him before. Once he'd finished his head felt a little clearer and he became a little more aware of himself. At least he felt like he did.

"Shit, Al...what happened? Everything hurts. Musta broken something...doc's gonna be pissed..." Gilmore always gave him an earful when he damaged some part of himself, going on about how reckless and bull-headed Jet was. It was torture enough that the red head contemplated not ever doing anything risky again. Not that that ever actually stopped him, but it was a thought.

There was another thought too, one that didn't fit with the early 2000's era his head had gone to. His voice went quieter when he spoke again, more tired.

"...there's stuff in the staircase."

Jet's color gets a little better with the water and Albert decides to deplete his stores a bit more and pour the blond another cup. He's still not making sense, talking about Gilmore as if he's here to scold the American for being careless. Albert doesn't have the heart to tell him they're alone here without that support; his partner will come to his senses eventually with some care.

Wait, the stairs? That doesn't make sense.

Albert patiently waits until his fiance has finished the second cup before pulling it away so Jet can speak again. "What stairs, Jet?"

Stairs? Had he said something about stairs? There were things in the stairs...things he'd hidden. Probably from his father, he didn't want to piss his dad off when he was in one of those moods.

Unfocused eyes turned to a pile of rubble behind Albert that might have once been stairs for all the wood in the pile. Near the base of the pile, however, was a small space, nothing that stood out but big enough to hide something in.

"Those stairs. Had to hide that stuff so Pa wouldn't find it...he doesn't like it when I get new things. 'Specially things that fly." They had flown in on little parachutes, he remembered that clearly enough. Anything that could fly was important enough to keep, but it was also something his dad hated.

A small quaking took the blond's system as shivers set in despite the heat emanating from him and stifling the room. He twitched and jerked, his expression twisting into discomfort. "Thunder...when'd it start raining?"

His expression changed again into one of childlike fear as his hand groped to find something comforting to hold. "Pa says it's stupid to be scared of it, but it's so loud. He'll get mad if he hears me."

There'd been plenty of New York storms where the lightning had flashed viciously and the thunder had torn through the air right behind it, causing the little boy tucked in a corner of his room to yelp in fear which had only resulted in the heavy footfalls of his drunk father coming to make him shut up. He didn't want that.

Albert's eyes follow Jet's feverish gaze to the hole a bit off and he almost gets up to go see what's there - Jet's shoes, at least, since he's missing those - but then chills start jumping through his partner's body and Jet sounds so small and frightened that Albert can't bring himself to move away even those few steps.

"Shh, it's alright. Your Pa isn't here. He won't bother you, it's just me." The German shifts, sitting on his hip next to Jet instead of in a crouch. If there's chills, then there could be an infection starting somewhere, though Albert's at a loss as to where considering there's not much that's still organic on the outside. Inside there's little he can do but wait unless some sponsor takes pity and they can't bank on that. Worried and frightened himself, Albert does the only thing he can do and pours another small cup of water to try and keep Jet cool. He offers it up, tilting Jet's head again, his metallic hands cool against the back of the blond's neck.

Which gives him a idea.

Once the water's drained - he'll have to ration more carefully now, he's down to one day's worth - he lowers Jet back to the makeshift pillow and rests his right hand on the younger man's forehead. It's not cold, not in the ambient heat, but it is cooler than Jet's burning skin at least and he hopes it affords some small comfort. "I've got you. Nothing's going to harm you, I promise."

The cool metal hand against his forehead and the promise of safety cause him to relax into the make-shift bed a little more. The chills didn't fade and he still felt like there was a small fire under his skin, but he felt like it would be okay with Albert there next to him.

Slowly, his eyelids got heavier but he fought to focus on Albert's face while his mind tried to dredge up something it thought the German needed to know.

"Albert..I'm sorry. I never should have left you...You're everything." Albert had always been everything to Jet, he'd just never said it in so many words.

The battle to stay awake was lost and his eyes slipped closed as he fell into a fitful doze.

Albert shakes his head as Jet drops into sleep; if a light blush paints his cheeks, it must be from the heat surrounding them and has nothing to do with Jet's sentiment. He'd more than made up for their time apart. They're engaged now, for goodness sake. He has no need to apologize now, but the fact that he still does, that that guilt is still inside Jet, even if Albert wishes it gone he takes it as an expression of the depths of Jet's care.

Once his fiance is sleeping and Albert's traced his fingers through his hair a bit to be sure, the German carefully gets to his feet and investigates what's left of the stairs.

A broken metal pipe and a folding knife - good, he'd gotten his hands on some tools. His shoes - also good. He'd thought before blasting himself into the dome above the arena. Well, thought a little bit at least. Lastly there's a sleeping bag. It's too warm for it right now, but if the arena reverts back to the misty cold that it had started in the sleeping bag is big enough to keep them both warm.

Quietly so as not to wake Jet, Albert sets about consolidating their supplies.

Jet drifted in and out of sleep, though his times 'awake' were short and consisted of him stirring a bit before settling back down with nothing more than a quiet mumble if that.

By the time he woke up fully, he felt like he'd slept for days, his head groggy and his movements sluggish. Jet sat up slowly and pressed his hands to his head for a moment. There was a light sheen of sweat on his brow, though his skin still felt warm to the touch. He'd had a fever, he remembered that much, but maybe it had partially broken while he was out.

What else had happened? He thought he remembered flying and hitting something and he was pretty sure he'd talked to someone...

--A sickeningly familiar sound of wet velcro ripping reached his ears and his stomach churned violently in response causing the blond to curl up a bit and groan.

Finally, blue eyes looked around the room to find the source of the sound and fell on Albert in the process of skinning one of the massive dogs Jet had seen loping around before.

Several things occurred to him at once in that moment: he realized it had been Albert he'd been talking to and that his partner must have found him after Jet had flown wherever he'd flown to, the other memories that drifted in his mind had no place where they were -a thunder storm, his father, Gilmore, Bina- and lastly, Albert looked like hell. His clothes were torn in places, he was clearly scuffed up and there looked to be blood on his face. It was the last observation that had the American stumbling to his feet, an achievement only accomplished by virtue of his legs being mostly cybernetic, all the muscles and organic parts through him felt disconcertingly weak.

"What happened? Are you okay?"

It may not have been days (plural) but a full day had passed since Jet had fallen asleep. Albert let him rest, knowing that to be the best he can do for a fever here in the arena and as long as they're cyborgs he can protect them if they stay in one place. He'd ventured out onto the street a few times, once when he'd heard a noise, and again when Sabriel had come close. They'd fought off a pack of these wild dogs and while Albert may look a little worse for the wear, the dogs had fared much worse.

At least they'll have food for a good while. He's already turned one into jerky - the oven in the gutted house may not work but with the weather so hot the meat dehydrates quickly regardless so the rack is laden with precisely cut strips of do meat - and is in the process of skinning a second with the knife in his left hand when he hears Jet come up behind him.

"You should be resting still. Your fever broke but you've been out a fully day." He glances up at his partner, brushing at the dried blood on his cheek with the side of his right hand. "I'm fine, I've just been holding the perimeter."

He felt a sliver of anxiety at the thought of his partner 'holding the perimeter' while Jet was out cold. What if Albert had been hurt or killed? Jet wouldn't have been there to help. But he keeps it to himself because, if their roles were switched, he'd have done the same thing.

He knelt by his partner's side and rubbed away the last flakes of dried blood from the German's face, relieved to see it hadn't come from there to begin with.

It was then that the state of the house he recognized as the one he'd been loitering around came to his attention. It looked horrific and between the sight of the house looking like a rotting corpse, the actual corpses in the room and the sound of tearing skin, Jet quickly found a place to sit and lean against a crumbling wall while his head found a place between his knees.

He was going to be one lucky guy if he didn't end up attempting to spit his stomach out of his mouth.

"What the hell's been going on? This place looks like some B-movie horror flick."

Jet brushing the blood from his face feels oddly muted until Albert remembers that he hasn't shaved in three weeks or however long it's been in the arena so far. Briefly, he imagines coming out after with a snowy white beard and is left wondering where the hell that idea came from. By the time the thought flees him, Jet's across the room again, huddled as if he's going to be sick.

"It must be the gimmick in this arena. First cold and mist then heat and haze. I expect it'll turn back again in several days so it's a good thing you stashed your supplies." He motions to the bundle of knife, pipe, sleeping bag, and shoes. "We've got food to last for a good long while now, but water we'll have to go hunting for."

Wiping off his knife with the torn edge of some cloth, Albert stands to stretch his legs from crouching for too long. He looks at Jet again, eyebrows furrowed. "Are you feeling any better? You look like you might vomit."

"Yeah, I just might. Still deciding." He wasn't exactly feeling better, but if he didn't hurl in the next couple of minutes, he figured he'd be fine.

He looked up at his partner, turning his mind to something else -some other topic to focus on- so he didn't think about how stifling the room was. "How much water have you had? I don't remember a whole lot after hitting that dome thing, but I know you gave me more than my fair share."

He assumed Albert had, anyway. Truthfully, all he could remember was drinking water at some point, but he knew Albert and it wouldn't surprise him if the older man had given Jet more than the blond would have let himself take, had he been aware of himself.

"Whatever's left, you should have it."

"I've had enough to keep me going. So have you." It's not exactly cryptic. With his chapped lips and dry mouth Albert's not bothering to hide that yes, he did give Jet more than he would if the other man had been healthy, but to leave a fever thirsty is more dangerous than normal dehydration. He stands by his decision. "There's enough left to keep us going until we can find more."

As long as that's within the next 36 hours.

"Lay back down, on your left side. It should help the nausea." There's an oddness to his tone, something that if it wasn't coming from the very masculine German might be mistaken for maternal, but it's little wonder if an onlooker knows Albert's origins. His mother was a nurse, it's how he knows what little first aid he remembers.

Jet made a disgruntled noise at Albert's response, none too thrilled with the thought of his fiance forgoing water more than he should for Jet's sake.

He was still a little shaky when he stood, but he kept his feet and his stomach and moved to where Albert was standing. His hand found the place where the German's jaw met his neck and Jet mustered the hardest glare along with the sternest tone he could manage with his stomach still twisting and that vague feeling of weakness chasing through his limbs. "Do me a favor and drink the damn water."

His fingers ran up to trace along his partner's chapped lips as though to prove his point. He didn't press beyond that, hoping Albert would just listen to him while he returned to the makeshift couch and laid down as directed.

It took a moment or two, but soon the feeling of nausea abated, much to the blond's relief.

His lips sting as Jet's thumb runs across them, further driving home the blond's point, but Albert stubbornly would rather ration the water they do have until he's certain that Jet's fever is gone for good. Luckily, thanks to Sabriel, that will hopefully not be long.

The German drags the skinned dog into the kitchen to slice into strips and lay down on the rack in the oven, hoping that in the time it takes him to do that - a short time, with the blade in his left hand able to cut steel much less fat and bone - that Jet will either be asleep or feeling better. If his nausea is gone, Albert can give Jet some of the fever pills.

Twenty minutes later Albert lumbers back through to what used to be a living room, smelling of blood and sweat, and crouches by his fiance to see if he's fallen asleep again. Since he hasn't, he murmurs in a low, cracked voice. "Any better?"

Jet winces to himself hearing Albert's voice like that, no doubt from a dry throat. He wished he could be surprised that his fiance hadn't listened to him.

He started to turn over to face Albert when the smell of sweat and blood hit him and his face twisted to match the churning in his stomach. One pale hand shot out to push against Albert's chest -though not with much force. "Get lost, Heinrich, you reek. Spent too much time ripping dogs apart."

Jet was aware he probably didn't smell much better since there weren't exactly showers or even some running water around.

That's fair, really. Even he sweats some in this heat and he'd been skinning those dogs the better part of the morning, but it's not as if they can take a shower in these circumstances.

God what would he give for a shower?

Which is a silly thought when they're low enough on water to drink, let alone bathe. Stay focused.

"If you're well enough to be worried about my smell, you're well enough for medicine." With a snort, Albert digs in a pocket for the fever pills and hands over that and the plastic pitcher full of fresh water. It's all there is aside from one small emergency cup he has left over from Jessica's gifts, but it's more than they would have had if Sabriel hadn't come along. "Here, take these. Once I'm sure you can keep them down, I'll drink."

Jet looked from the pitcher to Albert and sat up as though he intended to do as the German said.

Instead he pushed against the hand with the pills in them and set a hard look on his fiance. "No. I'm not taking anything until you take a drink."

With his whole body burning up and his head still a little muffled from the fever, the thought of taking something to put him normal was highly enticing. But Albert's dry lips and throat and knowing the older man was likely taking care of Jet more than he was taking care of himself, made the blond hold back.

Albert could be devilishly stubborn and aggravating, but Jet was infamous for both.

"Jet, you have a fever. In this heat it could kill you. If the medicine doesn't work I need to have the water on hand to keep you fighting off whatever you've got." The fever would get so much worse without water, even the clean but ultimately warm water in the pitcher. He can't keep it cool in this heat.

But even with the desperation tracing the cracks in his voice, Albert can tell that his words have little effect but to set Jet's jaw further. It would be faster just to do it.

With a sigh, Albert takes a swallow from the pitcher. He feels better almost instantly just from the small measure. His tongue feels less cottony and his head clears somewhat and it's all he can do not to drink even more. They don't know how long it will be until they can find more, he can't afford to be greedy.

"Satisfied? Now take the damn pills."

Jet didn't really look satisfied, he wanted Albert to drink more than that, but he'd promised so he took the pills and swallowed them down with a gulp of his own.

A wave of fatigue washed through him as though his body suddenly remembered moving was hard when it hadn't done any of that in more than a day. Plus, while his mechanical parts had all rebooted and relatively shaken the strain of the electricity on them, his organic tissue was still recovering. He leaned back against the wall his make-shift bed was leaned against itself.

"You should take another drink, Albert. You're the stronger of the two of us right now. If something comes sniffing around here, you need to be in good shape."

Something (he suspected it was his pride) hurt at having to admit he wasn't in a good enough state to take care of himself -something he'd almost never admit to otherwise- but he hoped it would drive a bit more sense into his dumb partner.

"I know my limits. Get some more sleep, but tell me when you think you're well enough to move. I don't like staying in one place this long." Especially not when at least one person knows where they are, as helpful as she'd been. And it's not exactly off the main thoroughfare of the town, though that might be working to their advantage. No one wants to be too much out in the open and they're quite close to the cornucopia.

"I have food too, if you want. Jerky, but also some things sent from the Capitol." That's probably better for Jet right now than dog meat of dubious nutritional value.

"Yeah, that doesn't mean you stick to 'em." Jet grumbled. He settled a little more against the wall, but didn't lie back down. Albert was probably right, Jet needed more sleep -certainly until his fever broke for good- but Jet didn't really want to sleep more. Albert had been watching over him for more than a day, Jet felt like he was slacking off and putting them in more danger if he didn't do his part.

"You've still got some of that stuff drying, right? Once that's mostly done, we'll go. Till then, you should tell me what the hell happened. I remember thinking I could try to bust through the barrier over this place and free us. Tell me that thing at least cracked or something."

"You left a smudge," Albert responds wryly, choosing to ignore the comment regarding his ignoring his own well being. He feels he's ignoring Jet's a bit too in the moment with not insisting his fiance go back to sleep, but Albert's been in relative silence for more than a day and it's starting to get to him, so he's loathe to be without Jet's company, even just in sleep.

"I came as fast as I could and dragged you here to safety." Or at least it's been safe so far. No knowing how long that will last. "You were delirious."

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