bakerstreet | For all your angsty needs.

For all your angsty needs.

Hurt/Comfort - Hurt/comfort is a fan fiction genre that involves the physical pain or emotional distress of one character, who is cared for by another character. The injury, sickness or other kind of hurt allows an exploration of the characters and their relationship.

- Post with Character Name | Series in the subject.
- Others respond.
- Roll 1-10 at RNG for a scene, play it out and have fun!

1. INJURY. You've been injured. Broken bones or bleeding out or maybe just a tiny little papercut. The choice is yours.
2. SICKNESS. You're sick and laid up in bed, at home or in a hospital. The severity is up to you.
3. FEAR/ANXIETY. Something is happening and you're scared beyond belief.
4. LOSS OF SENSES. Sight, touch, taste, hearing, smell, etc. You've lost some important sense or ability and now you're left to deal with it.
5. DESPAIR. Nothing is good or right anymore and you can't shake the depression. Maybe that friend of yours can help though...
6. BREAKUP. You've been dumped. You need someone to comfort you, possibly by the one who dumped you.
7. MAKE UP. Fight or break up, it's time to makeup.
8. RESCUED. You've just been held captive and/or tortured for however long and finally, someone has come to the rescue.
9. BAD ROMANCE. Fight, cheated on, abused, whatever the case is, someone else can clearly see you need comfort from someone who isn't your terrible lover tonight.
10. LOSS. You've experience a loss of some kind and need help getting through it.
11. INSANITY. You're seeing things that aren't really there, hearing voices, or you're just convinced you're at your wit's end finally and you're going to crack. Maybe someone can give you a helping hand.
12. TIRED. You've had a heard life recently and you're just worn too thin to really care anymore. There's no fight left in you anymore. Can someone help change your mind?
13. ADDICTION. Drugs, alcohol, sex, gambling, or any other type of addiction has got you in its grasp. First time or relapse. Will someone be able to save you?
14. INSOMNIA. You can't sleep anymore, no matter how hard you try. Maybe someone can give you company.
15. NIGHTMARES. Or, on the other end of the spectrum, you can't sleep without gruesome, horrible nightmares. Either someone is stuck in your dream with you, witnessing it or they're just waking you up, soothing you out of it.
16. BLACKMAIL. You've been caught doing something you shouldn't and you were blackmailed because of it
17. SEPARATION. You're going to be separated for awhile or were separated for a long time. Either make up for lost time or try to spend every last moment together.
18. VIOLATED. You've been violated in some way. Can include sexual overtones or not. Can someone help you through it?
19. STRANDED. You've been stranded somewhere remote, with no help of anyone finding you for awhile. Can you survive this together?
20. SINS. You're feeling the weight of your sins and guilt clearer than ever. Can someone give you absolution or lessen the ache any?
21. SECRET. It's difficult having to keep that secret of yours, be it a relationship or something you just don't want to share with anybody else. Maybe it's okay to talk about it now though...
22. ADDITION. Babies should be joyous things unless you're in a situation where you know you won't be able to care for them. Either you've adopted or found out you're pregnant.

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[It's strange the things you think of when life doesn't want to cooperate with you. The weather in Storybrooke has been especially nasty lately, and Emma has been on enough calls about that to be in a pretty crappy mood by the time she realizes she hasn't been by Jefferson's place. She doubts anything happened; it's a sturdy house, and he probably hasn't left it, but not checking in is just asking for trouble.

With that in mind, she heads in that direction after she finishes up at the station, with a text for Mary Margaret to let her know she has a few things to take care of. The last time she showed up at his door it had been with a hat, but she's empty-handed when she knocks this time, hoping he'll at least care enough to answer.

She would break the door down if she had to, but that would only piss him off.]

[ Jefferson is known to have his off days. He hasn't had one since he struck out at the upstairs mirror, thanks in part to the company of a certain sheriff. She's meddlesome in all the wrong ways, he's found, more concerned with telling him how to live his life than fulfilling her own destiny, but she's something. In a long stretch of nothing, something stands out. But that's all it is, really. She's one bright spot in a growing haze, and even as the curse's hold weakens he finds himself falling to moments of despair. Fury. Maybe watching Grace up on that stage, being scooped up into the loving embrace of her new family, was the tipping point. Suddenly it's a slick downward slide down, and he's too stubborn to ask for her help. Too used to being alone and dealing with it however he can, he turns to the one way he can physically stop himself from feeling so miserable.

He's spent enough time in the forest to know what's available to him, and there are temporary remedies for what ails him. Unfortunately his substance of choice means that when Emma knocks he's in no fit state to go open the door. Oh, the noise reaches him, sharp and clear, punching through the hazy calm he'd found with startling volume. Or maybe he imagined it. There's a lot of sound out here in the back garden, birds twittering and the wind through the leaves.

He blinks, contemplating rising from his spot in the flower bed. What if it's Emma? Emma with the long blond hair and keen blue eyes and no consideration for the dire state of things, Emma who lends light to the room like she belongs there. Kind, awful, wonderful Emma. No, shouldn't invite her in. But he missed her so. Well, it would require standing, and that's more effort than he cares to exert right now. Rolling onto his side in the grass suffices, it gives him a nice view of the rosebushes. God, but he hates roses.

He doesn't need her, or anyone, he decies. The sun's tickling his cheek and the wind isn't sharp enough to bite, and he's perfectly content. Or he can at least pretend to be. ]

[Oh, not answering does nothing to help the mood she's in. She pounds on the door a few more times before she grows impatient, deciding that he has to be there, he's just doing this on purpose. The thought of him rejecting her company after she went out of her way for him is enough to have her set on the idea of breaking the door down, just not this door. The one in front is too much work, so she walks around to the side, sure there's a back door or a kitchen entrance, something that would be easier for her to manage.

She's on her way when she spots him, laying in the flowerbed like he doesn't have a care in the world. It's bullshit, of course, because for as limp as his limbs seem to be, this is just sad. And yet Emma can't help herself; she's kneeling down beside him before she even has a solid idea as to what he took.

He thinks he's the Mad Hatter, that gives her some ideas.]

Jefferson, what the hell did you do?

[Her hands go to his sleeves, just in case, and she breathes a sigh of relief when she gets a look at his arms. Everyone else in Storybrooke might like to think that things like this happen to other people, but those are the people who Emma's been surrounded by all of her life. These are the kinds of problems she's seen and dealt with for as long as she can remember.

Having to do this here, with him, that kind of pisses her off. All of this was supposed to be behind her.]

Jefferson.

[She's louder this time, a little sharper in tone, to make him listen. He might not be able to focus, but he can answer the damn question.

And if he can't, they're going to visit Dr. Whale.]

What the hell did you take?

[ There's absolutely no resistance when she reaches for his arms, limp as a ragdoll as his eyes shift to take her in. She's moving so fast, leaving a blurry trail of echoing images behind her, in and out again and never still. Were her eyes always that color? Everything about her is more vivid than he can every remember, including the crease of her frown. For a moment he just stares dumbfounded, not understanding. She's angry with him. That much is clear, but what else is new? It's almost funny in a way because she's always cross with him about something, and a smile spills over his lips, grinning wide and foolish as he takes a deep breath.

God, it feels good just to breathe, to feel cool air in his lungs and the grass and the sunlight and let everything go. Why is she so angry? He feels fine, fantastic even, minding his own business in his own flowerbed. His head lolls as he turns his gaze to an errant blade of grass, still grinning, marveling at the warmth she seems to bring with her. A sun unto herself. That's not bad, actually, maybe he should find a pen and paper.

The culprit sits a few feet away, a neglected teapot gone cold and a toppled teacup. There's only dregs left of something earthy-smelling at the bottom, strains of flowers and spongy material floating about the bottom. ]

[Alright, so maybe she shouldn't have expected any kind of answer from him. She has her phone out when she spots the teapot, and it falls into the grass while she leans down for the pot and the cup. One smell of it, and she understands his methods. Can't say she's surprised either, just extremely disappointed. Setting them down, she picks up her phone again and this time it goes back into her pocket. There's probably a right way to do this and a wrong way to do this; past experience says as much, but she's tempted by the wrong way.

There's also storming out and leaving him to rot, too. That option's appealing at the moment.]

You're actually supposed to be smarter than this.

[Saner, no. But smarter, yes. In her mind, there are a million believable scenarios that all explain his connection to Paige. He gave her up when she was too small to remember, or they took her away because he wasn't dealing. This being a part of it is out of the question, because she can't imagine him using anything while he had his kid in his life.

She also can't imagine him getting her back like this, either. Paige is a good kid, she deserves a good father, not this train wreck.]

You need to get up, we're going inside. Because if we're not going inside, I'm locking you up.

[ Her words twist and fold over each other, like colors in an oil spill. They don't make much sense, except she doesn't seem angry now. Something worse than that, something that pokes through the happy haze and coils cold in his stomach. The grin fades as he looks at her, trying to sort it out in his head before the thoughts can go skittering off and out of reach. It's hard to think, which is exactly what he was hoping for when he took the tea, but now is proving troublesome.

She isn't still, either. Her face seems to shift, grow brighter and full of color, pink cheeks and such blue, blue eyes. His brow furrows lightly as he stares at her before finally speaking up in soft question. ]

...Alice?

No, not Alice.

[Whoever the hell Alice is, Emma knows she's not her. Although she does feel like she fell down the rabbit hole when she spends enough time around this guy, so maybe there's something to that. Who the hell knows, she's not going to analyze it. Right now she has Jefferson's fairytale hallucinations to worry about.

He's more likely to run than he is to settle down, but she reaches for his hand anyway with a careful tug to see if he might start to pull himself up. Anyone sees him like this, and it'll be the talk of the town.]

Emma.

Emma.

[ At first he's nothing but dead weight, but a second or two passes and he seems to grasp the idea she's trying to get across. With effort he pulls himself up out of the grass, a few flower petals and bits of grass sticking to his arm and back, and he still looks as if he's a long, long ways away from sober.

He wouldn't smile so easily, for one thing. Her hand so warm, so soft. Is it even real? ]

Emma, I was...sorry, the door. I should have answered.

Yeah, I'm guessing if you weren't high, you would've.

[There's something she can't keep out of her voice through this, all the usual annoyance with a hint of resignation. There's no easy way of pulling him out of it, and at least he hasn't gotten himself hurt. Physically, aside from everything he did to himself intentionally, he looks okay.

Desperate, but okay. How does she keep ending up responsible for him?]

Let's go inside, get you cleaned up.

[And she might just get rid of any substance she can find.]

...I hate it in there.

[ His eyes drift to the house, but there's no real hate or anger there. It's all bled away at the height of this little ride of his, and all he looks is tired. He's tired of those walls keeping him prisoner, of only every looking out windows and through telescopes. The world's always so distant, and he remembers when he was a part of it.

The forest. Digging for mushrooms, savoring the smell of the earth and the woods. Of tea brewing, and the flowers Grace would bring home. After a moment he looks himself over, plucking one of the flower petals free of his sleeve and staring at it. Such a tiny, delicate thing. ]

We should stay. Here. I got her a new rabbit, like the one she wanted.

Sorry, but right now, I don't trust you out here.

[If that warped story he told her has any truth to it and Regina played a part in how he ended up like this, she doesn't want to risk Jefferson running off where their Madame Mayor might see him. This is ammo, they don't need to give her that. She brushes at his sleeves halfheartedly and motions toward he door.]

I'm trying to help you, Jefferson.

[He doesn't have to trust her, he just has to listen for long enough to sober up. They can take care of the rest of it later, but this needs to be handled one step at a time. Get him in the house, get him settled, then move on.]

Let me.

I know, I know...

[ He lets out a quiet sound before tipping forward, almost enough to bend over double, and his free hand swipes at his face. The scratch of his jaw, the worried wrinkles, they all seem pronounced to the touch. ]

You try. You try so hard, and I...I'm not easy. I know.

[ His shoulders sink. All that happiness is circling the drain, and it isn't fair. He just wanted a few hours to forget, to go back to a better time and remember when it wasn't this horrible. He wants nothing to do with that house right now and Emma's voice is the only thing keeping him from slipping all the way down into a bad, bad trip.

Unthinking he pulls her hand up to his lips, eyes scrunching shut. ]

M'sorry.

[It takes effort not to recoil, but she keeps her hand in his until he lets it drop. She didn't sign up for this, and having to deal with it anyway is frustrating, but it wouldn't take much to make him worse. Say the wrong or pull away and he'll go spiraling, all it takes is a look in his eyes to know that. He won't get what he needs from her, but she can clean him up for now. It's better than nothing, and all she's able to offer.]

Just come with me, okay?

[Because she's not sure she does try that hard. Coming to check in on him once in a while isn't the same as actively working to make this guy better. She does it on her own schedule, on her own terms.

She slips her hands into her pockets to stay out of reach and takes a step toward the door to see if he'll follow after all.]

It'll be alright.

[ He doesn't look convinced, to say the least. The house looms behind her and just lingers just in front of it, shifting and wavering in his vision without moving. Or maybe she did. Jefferson studies her for a moment in question before turning his gaze back to the garden. To the sunshine and the sound of the forest beyond, and that look is so utterly forlorn.

Why can't it be easy?

Then, on unsteady legs, he tries to pull himself upright...and almost immediately after putting weight on his legs topples back into the grass to splay out. A few seconds pass and there's a helpless little giggle. ]

[Yeah, why the hell can't it be easy?

She kicks at the grass, letting her anger get the better of her for a moment, until her eyes pass over him and she realizes how low he is right now. He's not quite incapable of doing what she wants, but lack of motivation is playing a part in it. So she sits in the grass beside him, changing tactics.

At least there are no mysterious flowers around. She'd be long gone if there were.]

Alright, tell me why you did this. You want to stay out here, we'll stay. But I want an explanation.

...too much of a coward to do anything else.

[ It's an abruptly sober statement, and even he seems to realize it. There's a moment where he says and does nothing else, looking reflective, and then he's tipping his head back to stare into the sky. Why wouldn't he do this? Instead of wallowing in his despair, cursing Regina and the sightless fools in this town, he can instead contemplate the colors of the sky, or how good the breeze feels on his skin.

He licks his lips before answering again, tasting the sweet, earthy taste of the remnants of the tea. ]

Too many mirrors in there. You have look at them now and then, you know. Except the one upstairs. I fixed it.

[ He grins widely, obviously pleased with himself for having done so. ]

Yeah, you fixed it and nearly broke your hand.

[That concerns her enough to have her wondering if she should take down the rest of them before he ends up on a particularly bad trip and tries to finish what he started. Emma knows it's not enough to keep thinking of things she could do rather than just talking him through it, but any distraction would be a welcome one. She doesn't like seeing him like this, torn up because he can't be with his kid.

The feeling's not so far away from her that she doesn't understand it, but she knows better. This isn't how you fix your problems, it's how you get yourself killed. He doesn't have anyone to look after him when it gets bad.]

We could take them down. Maybe move some things around.

[His house is nice, but it's big. It's a lot for one person, meant for a larger family and kids running through it. He'd be better off if he had something else, but that's not actually something she can change. It's a house, his house, even if he hates it. He's lucky to have one.]

Nothing actually gets better like this, Jefferson. You're still going to go back to the same situation you were in before.

It's different out here. You told me to go outside, not to let myself be trapped. You were right.

[ His eyes dance around the garden, to the far edge where the shadow of the trees starts to spill over the lawn. It used to be quiet here, until Emma came into town. The birds started singing again, crickets chirping. Like the place was coming back to life. ]

You forget things. Important things. How the wind has a taste, how the grass feels. There's good out there, so many beautiful things. I used to remember...it just gets harder to see it.

[ Something darkens in his eyes when they shift back to her, unfocused but earnest. ]

All I can think about is her. And I can't tell her, I can't hurt her with the truth, I know how much it hurts. I can't. I won't. Can't tell her...can't go on like this.

I didn't mean come out when you're high so that you can get yourself killed.

[In fact, that's the opposite of everything she did mean. She meant talk to people, get to know them. Go out, making connections. Not spend more time alone, in a place where he could get hurt. It reminds her of that time she found him while he was drunk, and makes her wonder how often things like this happen. No one would know. And unless something changes, he's going to end up hurt.]

Maybe someday things will be different.

[She knows that's not enough, but nothing she tells him while he's high is going to be taken to heart anyway. She might as well make it easy on herself and save the lecturing for later. He doesn't want it anyway.

She locks her eyes on his, twisting a flower between her fingers.]

And if it changes, you're not going to want her to see you like this.

[ Of course he wouldn't want her to see him like this. He hates seeing himself this way, a pathetic shell. One reason the mirrors upset him so, he can see the lines where he's started to crack. Why would he want her to see them too, to see how broken he's become?

Emma might not think he's taking her words to heart, but they get there just the same, sharp and icy and right to the core. It feels like something splintering inside and then even the sun isn't enough to dispel it. Instead he stares back at her, in all her disappointment, and he wonders why he fights it at all. Emma doesn't believe. Things aren't ever going to change, and even if they did and Grace remembered, she'd know he abandoned her.

Emma's not wrong; he's at his lowest, his most desperate, or he wouldn't have resorted to this. All those thoughts he'd been trying to escape start piling themselves back on, and he's never felt heavier. He blinks against the sting in his eyes before turning his head away, fingers curling tightly in the grass.

Maybe getting himself killed out here would be a mercy. ]

[When his eyes wander away, she makes the choice to reach out, dropping the petals in her hand and reaching for his in the grass, covering the back of his palm and winding her fingers with his. It's heartfelt, even if it isn't the biggest gesture. Maybe it was too soon to throw that out there, but he can't keep doing this.]

If you love her, you won't give up.

[Just like she can't give up on Henry. The life he has now isn't the one he needs, and as scared as Emma is, she knows that. There has to be something she can change, some way of making sure he has his best chance. She's his mother, maybe it's time to start acting like one.

Just like Jefferson has to start acting like a father if he ever wants to be one again.]

You know honestly, in spite of all of this, I think you're a good guy.

[Troubled, but good. Desperate, but the intentions are there. He's capable of more, that much she's sure of. She's seen it in the things he's done for her. Making tea and mending hats.]

Having some flaws - numerous ones, in your case, doesn't actually change that. Giving up, though, that does.

[It's also a lot like letting Regina win.]

Maybe she's not with you, but living like this? It's still failing her. She deserves better, Jefferson. So do you.

[ There's not a word in response. That swift slide downward isn't so readily stopped, and only certain words stick in the jumble. Failing. He's failing Grace, she deserves better. Any fabricated joy that might be left is long gone by now, though he remains deeply under the influence. Now it's just murk and gloom, the same as he always bears but more, and he's got no reason or sense to fend off those encroaching doubts and fears that chase themselves in circles inside his own head.

There's a full-body shiver, as though he's suddenly gotten very cold, and even when she grasps his hand, his skin flushed and warmer than usual, he doesn't look up. He might not even be aware of her presence anymore, or at least not in a real sense. He can feel her there, hear her, but his mind is somewhere far, far away. Grace, he's failed Grace...

Can I have him, please?

He couldn't provide for her then, and here...here, why would she want anything to do with him? With a father who left her?

Promise me you'll come back!

She deserves better. Deserves...she deserves...more than this, more than him. Even with this house, these things, it doesn't mean anything alone.

If you truly cared for your daughter you never would have left her in the first place.

He's gotten so weary of being alone. Give up, yes, that's a good plan, that's exactly what he should do. ]

Edited 2013-03-22 14:15 (UTC)

[Emma can tell he's crashing just before it happens, and she gives his hand a gentle squeeze to try to help him through it. She's still angry, not just at him for doing this, but more at herself for constantly putting herself in this situation when she doesn't have to be. There's just something about him, some hint of someone who wants the help, and it pulls her back when she's sure her life would be easier if she left him alone.

He doesn't actually want to be left on his own, or he would have sent her away by now.

There's no pulling him back until he's ready, she knows anything she says will just make it worse. Better to keep her mouth shut and wait it out. She lays back in the grass, worn from a long day and lets go of his hand. When he's ready, they'll deal. She still wishes she didn't care, that she could get up and leave and not hate herself for it, but that's not an option anymore.

He needs someone, so she's there, waiting.

[ He's not coming down, not any time soon. Everything's as vivid and unreal as it had been to start, but there's none of the warmth or rapture left. Instead all he wants to do is curl on his side and try not to close his eyes, because it's worse inside his head than it is out here. The ground rocks and shifts slowly under him, like a ship at sea, and the sound of birdsong is distant now. Melancholy.

If he could put a stop to this ill-advised trip now, he would. Unfortunately he's let himself slip to a very dark place, so dark he's lost the ability to care if he comes back or not. He will, of course. It'll take a few hours but he'll come out of it, surly and unhappy and as depressed as ever, but in the meanwhile he can't work up the energy to do anything but dwell on her words. His eyes fall to the grass, to the broken petals under his head.

Maybe if he ate one, he'd shrink down to nothing and disappear. When he was younger he'd thought the game hysterical, and he and Alice had made themselves sick on mushrooms and cake and various sorts of tea, because she was curious and he was reckless and the two together were the worst combination ever. Or the best. It still feels like the best. He wouldn't have traded it for anything.

But she's gone now. Everyone's gone. Everyone except Emma, but she's no help at all. Not the sun after all, but fire, beautiful and destructive. ]

[She's not feeling especially destructive today, not when she's sober and he's falling apart. He never should have taken what he did to begin with, and now they're both stuck dealing with it. There's nothing to say, but plenty to do that she hasn't offered, and she doesn't take any action beyond taking out her phone to text an explanation to Mary Margaret so that her roommate doesn't worry.

He's going to hate her for this, but that's alright. He probably hates her already for not believing in the curse. He's too far gone to see the world for what it is, but it nags at her all the same. He's not some horrible person who wants to hurt people. Why is it so hard for him to exist in this quiet little town with the least threatening group of people she's ever met?

There's no answer, none that makes sense, so she takes it for what it is. He's lonely, damaged, scared, whatever. He's been on his own for too long. But how do you change that? How do you help someone who doesn't want it?

Those questions have no answers, but she turns them over at first before she gives in. And that's maddening, because all she wants to do is make him ride this out so that he doesn't think to put himself in this situation again.]

Jefferson?

[She sits up with a sigh, shifting closer until she's beside him, and then...

Then she realizes she wants no part in sorting through this, but what choice does she have after what she brought on? So she reaches out, running a hand through his hair, a gentle touch that she doesn't want to offer him. She looks toward the door again and then lets her eyes fall over Jefferson, moving her other hand against his arm, sliding up to his shoulder.]

Hey, come on. We can make this better. We'll go inside, and I'll give you something, and you'll be okay again. Alright?

Edited 2013-03-22 21:51 (UTC)

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