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om_mainScott goes to check on Jean-Paul, because sarcasm heals all wounds.
Scott had waited a little while to go see Jean-Paul. Yeah, he wanted to check on him, but other people probably did, too. People who he was closer to, like Jeanne-Marie or Simon. Still, that he was gonna go see the house's prickliest Canadian was a foregone conclusion, and he made his way through the infirmary until he found the little room they'd stowed him in.
"Hey," he greeted. Scott set the bowl he'd not-so-cleverly hidden behind his back on the bedside table. "Tried to make poutine. You probably shouldn't eat it, though. In your weakened state, it could kill you."
Bluntly put, Jean-Paul looked like hell -- pale, eyes sunken and bruised-looking, and he was bandaged from his neck on down his right side. He greeted Scott with a weak snort.
"You would insult a national delicacy while I'm too laid up to give you the beating you deserve. You did not even sample it yourself?"
"Why would I poison myself?" He asked innocently. Scott's tone was mocking, but he was taking it all in: the bruises, the bandages, the tubes and machines that sat ominously in the room. Uncomfortable with the imagery of it all, he leaned against a wall, shoving his hands in his pockets. "How you feeling, all things considered?"
"Like I was bled and chopped into dogmeat," was the blunt answer. Somehow, he didn't think Scott would appreciate being shielded. "But we got everyone back and no one was allowed to do anything they shouldn't be able to live with. So I put this in a win column for the good guys."
It was a more optimistic Jean-Paul than Scott was used to hearing, which he guessed was a good sign, physical condition aside. "Glad to hear it." It wasn't all peaches and...whatever the fuck good stuff that was in cliches was, he was sure. No. After that length of time, with those monsters? Impossible. But they'd gotten everyone back, and everyone was alive.
It could be worse. Scott was still probably going to chalk this up as a draw, though.
"You know what I love about you, Beaubier? The way you shelter me," he said, utterly deadpan.
"You're my delicate Nebraskan prairie flower, Summers." Jean-Paul's eyes slipped shut. "Besides, if you get depressed, you might let yourself go and the fourth-best ass in the school would be ruined."
"Fourth? I'm not sure if I'm horrified or insulted." He stepped closer, though, despite the fact that getting near someone that torn up made him nervous.
He didn't think ass-whooping was contagious, he was more afraid that he would somehow make it worse. "You okay? Need anything? Or anyone?"
Jean-Paul hesitated. "...could you be extra nice to Jeanne-Marie until Josh wakes up and I can get the fuck out of here?"
Scott just stared at him for a minute. "Just so we're on the same page: you look like you were just beat up by a hockey team and then run down by a bus that was carrying a pack of pitbulls, I ask if you need anything, and your one request while I'm in this abnormally generous mood is that I be nice to your sister?"
He blinked, before tacking on a probably unnecessary, "I will, but why?"
Jean-Paul took a deep breath. It looked as if it hurt him to do so.
"She felt it. What happened to me."
Scott glanced around the room-cell-thing. "Do you have pain drugs, Beaubier, that you should be taking so that talking doesn't make you pass out? I promise, if you take them, that I'll check on Jeanne-Marie when I leave."
"I didn't pass out when my classmate fileted me. The next dose should kick in soon enough...the trick metabolism is a pain in the ass, though." Jean-Paul nodded toward the door. "I convinced her to take a break. Go get something to eat."
Scott grimaced a little. "Laura?"
A slow nod. "Not her fault. The bastards hit us with some spray that drove her nuts."
"Scent trigger," he murmured in recollection. "Turns her...feral, I guess, right? How many people did she get this time?"
"Just me. I held her off while the others got that...trigger? rinsed off."
Scott nodded, envisioning the scene in his head with the minimal information he had. It could've been so much worse. She'd killed an entire room full of people, the last time. "You're lucky as fuck, Jean-Paul. Just so you know."
"You don't have to tell me that." Jean-Paul tapped the bandage at his throat. "Cavalry arrived just under the wire."
It was nerve-racking, to hear about it but to have less than zero impact on the outcome, but Scott had to know and if Jean-Paul was talking about it, apparently he had to share. Still, he didn't need to stress the other boy out -- not the way he looked already. So Scott smirked, "And here I was going to be impressed with your single-handed bad-assery."
"You should always be impressed with me. I was working under a handicap, remember?"
Scott's voice was teasing, "To which handicap are you referring?" Because, however much he was trying for normality, the situation had been against Jean-Paul in about twenty different ways, by his count.
"One of us was going for kill shots. And the other was not."
Scott sobered immediately. "Right. That one."
"Don't worry too much about it, all right? Rest while you can yourself."
"I sleep plenty," Scott assured him, shrugging. "Five or six hours a day. Leaves me more than enough time to come piss you off. Or to try and poison you with your native food. Whichever."
"Don't even try to pretend you're not going to step things up as soon as we know what Tessa got out of that place, connard. I'll likely be joining you in it once I'm out of here."
His voice was innocent. "Step things up? Me?"
"You. And Phil. And Tessa." Jean-Paul's expression was decidedly smug. "Now get out of here before I'm forced to rise from my sickbed and defend the honor of my homeland."
"We will see," Scott said idly. "But fine. I can take a hint. I'll go check on your sister. You need me to do anything else, while I'm feeling magnanimous?"
"Non, I am fine for now. But if you want to stop by later and make sure I do not sleep too much, I won't even bitch you out."
"How could I resist that kind of invitation?"
Scott had waited a little while to go see Jean-Paul. Yeah, he wanted to check on him, but other people probably did, too. People who he was closer to, like Jeanne-Marie or Simon. Still, that he was gonna go see the house's prickliest Canadian was a foregone conclusion, and he made his way through the infirmary until he found the little room they'd stowed him in.
"Hey," he greeted. Scott set the bowl he'd not-so-cleverly hidden behind his back on the bedside table. "Tried to make poutine. You probably shouldn't eat it, though. In your weakened state, it could kill you."
Bluntly put, Jean-Paul looked like hell -- pale, eyes sunken and bruised-looking, and he was bandaged from his neck on down his right side. He greeted Scott with a weak snort.
"You would insult a national delicacy while I'm too laid up to give you the beating you deserve. You did not even sample it yourself?"
"Why would I poison myself?" He asked innocently. Scott's tone was mocking, but he was taking it all in: the bruises, the bandages, the tubes and machines that sat ominously in the room. Uncomfortable with the imagery of it all, he leaned against a wall, shoving his hands in his pockets. "How you feeling, all things considered?"
"Like I was bled and chopped into dogmeat," was the blunt answer. Somehow, he didn't think Scott would appreciate being shielded. "But we got everyone back and no one was allowed to do anything they shouldn't be able to live with. So I put this in a win column for the good guys."
It was a more optimistic Jean-Paul than Scott was used to hearing, which he guessed was a good sign, physical condition aside. "Glad to hear it." It wasn't all peaches and...whatever the fuck good stuff that was in cliches was, he was sure. No. After that length of time, with those monsters? Impossible. But they'd gotten everyone back, and everyone was alive.
It could be worse. Scott was still probably going to chalk this up as a draw, though.
"You know what I love about you, Beaubier? The way you shelter me," he said, utterly deadpan.
"You're my delicate Nebraskan prairie flower, Summers." Jean-Paul's eyes slipped shut. "Besides, if you get depressed, you might let yourself go and the fourth-best ass in the school would be ruined."
"Fourth? I'm not sure if I'm horrified or insulted." He stepped closer, though, despite the fact that getting near someone that torn up made him nervous.
He didn't think ass-whooping was contagious, he was more afraid that he would somehow make it worse. "You okay? Need anything? Or anyone?"
Jean-Paul hesitated. "...could you be extra nice to Jeanne-Marie until Josh wakes up and I can get the fuck out of here?"
Scott just stared at him for a minute. "Just so we're on the same page: you look like you were just beat up by a hockey team and then run down by a bus that was carrying a pack of pitbulls, I ask if you need anything, and your one request while I'm in this abnormally generous mood is that I be nice to your sister?"
He blinked, before tacking on a probably unnecessary, "I will, but why?"
Jean-Paul took a deep breath. It looked as if it hurt him to do so.
"She felt it. What happened to me."
Scott glanced around the room-cell-thing. "Do you have pain drugs, Beaubier, that you should be taking so that talking doesn't make you pass out? I promise, if you take them, that I'll check on Jeanne-Marie when I leave."
"I didn't pass out when my classmate fileted me. The next dose should kick in soon enough...the trick metabolism is a pain in the ass, though." Jean-Paul nodded toward the door. "I convinced her to take a break. Go get something to eat."
Scott grimaced a little. "Laura?"
A slow nod. "Not her fault. The bastards hit us with some spray that drove her nuts."
"Scent trigger," he murmured in recollection. "Turns her...feral, I guess, right? How many people did she get this time?"
"Just me. I held her off while the others got that...trigger? rinsed off."
Scott nodded, envisioning the scene in his head with the minimal information he had. It could've been so much worse. She'd killed an entire room full of people, the last time. "You're lucky as fuck, Jean-Paul. Just so you know."
"You don't have to tell me that." Jean-Paul tapped the bandage at his throat. "Cavalry arrived just under the wire."
It was nerve-racking, to hear about it but to have less than zero impact on the outcome, but Scott had to know and if Jean-Paul was talking about it, apparently he had to share. Still, he didn't need to stress the other boy out -- not the way he looked already. So Scott smirked, "And here I was going to be impressed with your single-handed bad-assery."
"You should always be impressed with me. I was working under a handicap, remember?"
Scott's voice was teasing, "To which handicap are you referring?" Because, however much he was trying for normality, the situation had been against Jean-Paul in about twenty different ways, by his count.
"One of us was going for kill shots. And the other was not."
Scott sobered immediately. "Right. That one."
"Don't worry too much about it, all right? Rest while you can yourself."
"I sleep plenty," Scott assured him, shrugging. "Five or six hours a day. Leaves me more than enough time to come piss you off. Or to try and poison you with your native food. Whichever."
"Don't even try to pretend you're not going to step things up as soon as we know what Tessa got out of that place, connard. I'll likely be joining you in it once I'm out of here."
His voice was innocent. "Step things up? Me?"
"You. And Phil. And Tessa." Jean-Paul's expression was decidedly smug. "Now get out of here before I'm forced to rise from my sickbed and defend the honor of my homeland."
"We will see," Scott said idly. "But fine. I can take a hint. I'll go check on your sister. You need me to do anything else, while I'm feeling magnanimous?"
"Non, I am fine for now. But if you want to stop by later and make sure I do not sleep too much, I won't even bitch you out."
"How could I resist that kind of invitation?"
