suicidemission | OPEN RP

Chuck keeps trying, keeps failing to get up. He hates it, hates himself and hates his stupid fucking body. He hates the doctors that took his leg, hates that it had to be done.

And as he wallows in that misery, someone comes in and Chuck struggles to sit, push himself up and even that's a chore and he's only partially managed it when Yancy Becket comes into view.

Of course it's him. Better than Raleigh, but it would be a Becket, wouldn't it.

"Fuck off, I can do it," he growls, expression grim and determined, cheeks streaked with tears that are now no longer being shed.

Yancy's not too sure what hurts more, the clear pain in this kid's voice on his face, because they're both about the same. When he was in there in his recovery, he didn't get angry at anyone—it wasn't their fault. But because he didn't get angry he felt stripped of his dignity and shame filled him instead.

In the end he was glad for the help. So he wasn't just about to let this kid hurt himself anymore because of strain. Though when he's so pointedly told to go away, all Yancy does is move his hands away, scooting back some to give the youngest Hansen some room.

Yeah—he knew who he was after getting a look at him. He'd seen him on the news, had Raleigh talk his ear off a few times about him. He wasn't just another amputee; he was a jaeger pilot. Like hell was Yancy going to leave him on the floor. "You're right;" He adjusts his tone to something calmer. "I'm sure your can. It just takes time. And focus."

Chuck glares up at him, eyes red-rimmed and a little bloodshot. He doesn't need help, he doesn't want help but that..

Is a lie.

He knows it's a lie, because he's been down here for a solid half hour trying to get up and he hasn't been able to do anything except exhaust himself and cry out of sheer frustration.

So yeah, he needs the help. But admitting that you need it is almost impossible, especially when you're a person like Chuck who was, before Pitfall, strong and adept and made of pure muscle. He's just a shell of himself now, unable to even pick his own ass up off the floor.

He should've just died. Fuck Stacker.

"Whatever," he growls, trying to wrench his arm away so that he can try again, use his arms to get up. He's weak though, and his ribs are still sore and mending and all his effort earns is a stab of pain and a sharp cry.

It's killing him to see the kid like this all torn up, recovering, because it's reminding Yancy of all the shit he had gone through since waking up. He's sympathetic sure but there's not a drop of pity expressed, because there's no pity to be had.

What Chuck did wasn't shameful—it was heroic, anyone who said it was less was wrong and what's happening to him now... it's painful. Yancy understands his headspace, that glare he'd been given, the tone behind that 'fuck off'. He gets that anger but he's passive to it because Chuck needs to know he's not fucking off just because he's hurt and pissy.

He needs to know he's not alone in what he's going through.

Though once that cry hits Yancy's ears his nerves spike and he's close to the Aussie again. "Nope, okay—here we go." He positions his hands to lift him up, real hand snaking up under an arm and around his back while the other took one of Chuck's to give him balance.

It was quick then, getting them both back standing, and Yancy gently set the younger down on the bed. There's a soft whirring when he's lifting Chuck, and even when he unwraps his arm from him. He takes a step back but leaves his hands out in case they're needed again, but Yancy's looking over the kid as he offers. "You need me to get a nurse?"

"NO, I don't need a goddamn nurse," Chuck snaps, tears in his eyes that go completely ignored.

Fuck this. He doesn't need help, doesn't need Yancy Becket pitying him - of all people - doesn't need anyone.

liar liar pants on fire

"I just need--"

Chuck takes a shuddering breath and refuses to look at him.

"The goddamn...window open. That's it."

Yancy nods to that snap, slow and steady. If he's expressing anything now it's guilt—the memory of himself snapping at others when he was laid up apparently still all too fresh.

And he doesn't look away when those tears build, but he doesn't crowd and clamor over Chuck either.

Mostly because he's speaking up again, making the blond listen a little closer. The admittance, or at the very least the demand, from Chuck earns a crooked little smile from Yancy.

"Yeah—gets stuffy real easy in here, doesn't it?" He laughs softly as he walks to the window, popping the locks open and twisting the handle to crack the windows open one at a time. "The breeze isn't too strong today but you'll still get some fresh air."

"Yeah," he says, tone muffled from trying to wipe his face off while Yancy's back is turned. "Real stuffy."

He's going stir crazy. He can't take it. He wants out, out out out but he can't do that because he hasn't been fitting with his prosthetic yet and God he just wants clean air. A decent shower. Anything but this torture.

Just because someone can't see you cry doesn't mean they can't hear it. That was something Raleigh told him when he was in a hospital bed, dealing with behind entirely limbless. Funny thing about having no arms; you can't even wipe your own tears away.

So Yancy takes a moment or two longer at the windows, trying to get all of them at least partly open for Chuck while giving him a second to himself.

He fixes the gloves on his hands as he rounds back in front of the bed, having a long glance at the brunet. "Look, I know I don't have to tell you how crazy it gets in here, sitting around and waiting." It's a tentative little shrug he gives. "I'll bet they've told you to take it easy already."

Not that it was hard to figure out. "But—" Yancy stops his train of thought then, looking to the clock on the wall. "I've got a check up to get to... you mind if I swing by on my way out?"

"They've tried."

Telling Chuck to do anything is almost a guarantee he'll do the exact opposite.

'Take it easy. Rest. Relax'.

Like fucking hell. How is he supposed to do that with a missing limb? A limb he swears he can still feel. It itches. It throbs. It wakes him up at night, phantom pain clawing it's way up the length of his body.

"If you want. Can't stop you."

Please come back. His tone is nonchalant and dismissive but in his eyes...

Desperation. Loneliness. Trauma.

The nod is quick but understanding. Yancy had always listened to doctors and medical advisors after his mom got sick but when he was where Chuck is he was unreasonable as all hell (and for good reason but).

"Things heal quicker when you do. When you give yourself a break." And that's all he's going to say about that, because he can't make up the kid's mind for him—just try to give him advice and make some sense out of people telling you what to do.

And despite the pause he gives at Chuck's answer and the look in his eye, the corner of Yancy's mouth curls up a hair. "Okay." Comes the simple reply as he starts to back out of the room. "If I want." He tilts his head down before he disappears into the hall and smiles at the Aussie. "You take care of yourself, all right?"

"Yeah, whatever."

He shuffles in the bed and looks away, picking at his blanket, desperately trying to keep his expression hidden from Yancy.

Chuck waits - because there's literally nothing else for him to do right now. He reads and plays with his ipad, watches a bit of TV. Eventually he dozes off, so if Yancy does decide to come back, Chuck's dozing, face relaxed and for a single, rare moment, his brow isn't furrowed and he's not spewing vitriol and venom at anyone within earshot.

It's a short, amused chuckle Yancy lets out as he turns away to head out. No, he didn't see all of Chuck's face when he looked away but he got the gist of the gesture.

But he's gone longer than he expects to be, his appointment being less than stellar. So when he does come back he's a little stiff in the joints walking in, though seeing the other fast asleep gives him pause. Enough of a pause he almost checks the room number to make sure he walked in the right room. Yancy isn't dumb, however, and (with the new aches that found him...) well, he did want to visit the kid.

He takes a seat in one of the nearby chairs, easing into it trying not to make a noise. The soft, puffing exhale he couldn't help but Yancy relaxes into the chair after a moment, tipping his head back for a few moments at the relief of not moving his limbs.

He shifts a little when Yancy sits down, the noise just enough to tug at his consciousness. Chuck's been a light sleeper for a long time - being military born and raised does that and acompanied with getting into the PPDC proper...

Well. One doesn't sleep much, especially when it's the end of the world.

He could sleep more now, he reckons, now that the threat is passed and they're all moving on, but phantom pains and nightmares plague his mind at night and he's sure as hell not used to a comfy bed or the opportunity to get some sleep.

So as quiet as Yancy is, Chuck hears. He hears and he cracks an eye and swallows, carefully pushing himself up with a wince.

"Y'came back."

Yancy had thought that maybe his choice in seating would have given him just a little leeway in not disturbing Chuck's likely much needed rest, but when he hears the kid moving he does too—or at least his head does anyway, and he tries to mask the pain in his voice with some humor.

"And miss that surprised look on your face?" His grin is small but a tittle tried as he quickly shakes his head. "Besides, I wanted to." Yancy mentions with a flick of his brows, tilting his head at Chuck.

But he supposes being as far away as he is from the bed is a little rude, and it flashes across his face that he's not going to like what he's about to do—stand up. It's slow going and he almost has trouble with it, moving the chair closer to Chuck's bed. He's just as slow to sit again and it's with a soft groaning whine.

"So," Yancy sighs, trying another smile. "You get some rest while I was gone?"

He doesn't have to do all that, drag the chair around or anything. Chuck didn't even expect him to show back up, he certainly doesn't expect him to come closer. Not when it clearly pains him.

"Didn't have to," he mumbles, shifting in the bed and wincing, shoulders hunching in his frustration.

He's glad Yancy showed back up, though. Company is nice and the view of the wall gets boring. Yancy lightens up the room in more ways than one.

"Guess so. Didn't mean to pass out." He absently picks at his arm, looking away. "How long were you gone?"

He's visiting. And sure, they don't know each other outside of their names and maybe a few stories but Yancy wasn't about to make Chuck feel ostracized by keeping all the way on the other side of the room. Pain smain.

The mumble only lets him keep his smile, at least until the Aussie winces. "It'll—it'll get better, the pain. I know that sounds like bullshit, and later you won't be thinking it, but it's weirdly true still."

Chuck might not listen to the nurses and doctors who tell him what to expect because how would they know, so he hopes his two cents help a little because Yancy gets it, the frustration—the comfort of visitors.

"Hey, you need the rest. I did that a lot too, conking out whenever." Besides, Yancy doesn't feel so ostracized himself around Chuck. "Uh, two hours?" He thinks back, looking at his watch real quick. "Yeah, almost two. My routine check up wasn't so routine." He quietly chuckles.

"Yeah it does, mate." Bullshit indeed. Chuck snorts, and runs a hand through his hair and tries (without trying to make it look like he's trying) to make himself look presentable.

Doesn't do much. He's tired and he looks tired and his face is still a little pink from his cry earlier. Damn pale aussie skin.

"Ngh. Two hours."

Didn't feel like it. Felt more like five minutes.

"Yeah that doesn't sound so routine."

Yancy watches on and off—trying to be subtle—Chuck's grooming. It's funny in an endearing kind of way that he's trying to make himself look a little more neat. As if he still couldn't see the puffy color on the younger's face.

All the same he doesn't say anything, just tries to keep his grin down to something polite and respectful, laughing again when the other whines about his sleep.

"I'm just gonna say it one last time but—" He sucks in a breath and lets it out slow: "Things'll get better."

It was a lesson that took him way too fucking long to learn, and bless the patience from everyone around him who got him back up onto his hopeful, hypothetical feet.

"Well," Yancy huffs, smile still on his face as he looks down to an arm. "Getting refitted is always a bitch." He looks up to Chuck with a shrugging expression. "What can you do, right?" A beat, and then; "You're welcome, by the way. The new tech on your generation's prosthetics aren't going to be buggy and problematic."

It's a vain effort. He knows he looks like shit.

"Yeah...you do keep saying that."

And it's still not helping, but there's a twitch of a smile at the corners of his lips. Dumb Beckets and their optimism. Growling doesn't seem to be doing much good at keeping Yancy away, either.

Not...that he wants him to go. He hasn't had many visitors.

"Goody. I can hardly wait."

OPEN RP

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wtf i TAGGED this???? where is it?!?SLKF

I hope DW eating tags isn't a thing now /sobs

UM SO I'M SLOW DO YOU STILL WANNA CONTINUE THIS....

eyy so remember how I said I was gonna tag all the yancy things

YAY IM SO HAPPY TO HAVE YOU BACK IN MY INBOX

I'M SO HAPPY TO BE BACK SOBS

GRABS

/CLINGS TO

MY DARLING

DARLING DEAR

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OPEN RP

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wtf i TAGGED this???? where is it?!?SLKF

I hope DW eating tags isn't a thing now /sobs

UM SO I'M SLOW DO YOU STILL WANNA CONTINUE THIS....

eyy so remember how I said I was gonna tag all the yancy things

YAY IM SO HAPPY TO HAVE YOU BACK IN MY INBOX

I'M SO HAPPY TO BE BACK SOBS

*GRABS*

/CLINGS TO

MY DARLING

DARLING DEAR

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GRABS