( open + some closed prompts )

[figureitout]

CHARACTERS: stiles and YOU, stiles and a bunch of ppl
DATE: between march 17 and march 23
WARNINGS: injuries, panic attacks, more or less zombies, idk man i'll update
SUMMARY: peter's infection finally reaches the more serious symptoms, and like any well-adjusted individual, he runs away after lashing out unintentionally. stiles deals with the injuries and tries to mobilize a search for him (mostly by doing the searching all by himself, good job??)

i. i'm frozen to the bones — university

[ it isn't a common sight, to see Stiles out and about so early in the morning it can barely be called morning — sure, he makes a point to be at the station early enough, but never without complaining about the time and increasingly desperate attempts to drown himself in coffee. now, though, he looks wide awake, despite the heavy circles around his eyes.

no, the sight isn't a common one, but it certainly is alarming, especially when one pays careful attention to the way each step he takes is somehow less steady than the one before it, the way he cradles his arm at an awkward angle and winces when moving forward jostles it slightly. still, he isn't stopping — he makes his way across the university grounds, then to where the cars are parked...

... yep, you guessed it, he's totally going to drive his car like this, with one arm out of commission and looking like he might actually clock out any minute now.

someone.

should probably stop him. ]

ii. i'm a million miles from home — random city location of your choosing

[ he's no longer sure how long he's been walking around. hours, days — he's trying not to count how long it's been since his ill-adviced decision to try and tranquilize a sleeping super-powered individual, seriously, just how did he think that was a good plan?

(he didn't, that's what. he didn't think, because he had no plan. none... just like he doesn't have a plan now. for someone whose strength tends to be coming up with plans, he sure seems to be lacking in that department lately.)

the magitek is of no help, because what good is a locating system built in when you can just leave your magical jewelry in a lab, right? right. quietly, he mutters, ] You just had to remember that too, didn't you? Great.

[ as if talking to himself in the place of the one he actually wants to talk to, making dry comments about the situation, made it all somehow easier to deal with. (spoilers: it doesn't.)

after another block, Stiles finally has to sit down, finding the nearest bench that's empty. it's cold, but he doesn't care, curling in on himself as he leans his head in his hands. this... isn't working. he has no plan, no idea where to look for Peter, no clues to follow. nothing. it's like he's disappeared into thin air and all he can do is walk around the city until his legs give out under him, until the curfew once again forces him back inside — back to the dorms, to his room, in the faint hope that maybe, maybe this time it won't be empty.

breathe, he reminds himself. it'll be fine. it's fine. it's — ]

Fine. It's fine. I'm fine, [ he whispers out loud, his voice brittle, barely there.

(spoilers: he's not.) ]

iii. wildcard!!

[ feel free to wildcard me with whatever strikes your fancy!! or poke me over at celen for a closed starter! all closed starters will be their own comments, just bear with me as i write them up...

also, the explanation (and plotting post) for "how not to deal with being infected: a guide by peter parker" is here in case none of this is making any sense! ]

Comments

[figureitout]

[ given that this is the first time he and Fugo have spoken to each other, perhaps he should be more alarmed by the sudden appearance of a knife... but he's not. even without the obvious dedication Fugo has shown to making sure he'll make it, there's a special logic inside his head that goes from "Giorno trusts Fugo" to "I trust Giorno" and finally to "ergo, I can trust Fugo". or something of the sort, anyway. granted, he's not always so quick to trust those his friends do...but in Giorno's case, he feels he can trust his judgement. Giorno doesn't seem like someone who'd trust easily, after all, and so it follows the trust must be earned.

(but really — hasn't Fugo earned his, too, with all of this?)

he breathes out... and smiles. the smallest of smiles, but very real nonetheless. ] ... Giogio. I don't know what I expected. That's — that's so like him and not like him at all, at the same time.

[unholey]

[Trust is such a funny thing. Fugo is never quite sure what to do with it once he has it-- mostly because he knows it isn't reall. If anyone knew what he was really like, no one in their right mind would want him around. It's nice to have while it's there, he supposes. But he never expects it to stay.]

I think that was the moment it started to sink in that Giorno my age. Before that moment, he seemed unknowable-- the kind of person who was untouchable. [With the sling as about as constructed as it gets, he looks up at Stiles.] I'm going to have to adjust your arm to get it in the right position. It's going to hurt.

[figureitout]

Yeah, [ he mutters, ] I know what you mean. [ it's the perfect way to describe Giorno — only it isn't. or it is and isn't, because Giorno seems to be many things at once: untouchable, unknowable, confident... and yet, Stiles remembers his quiet surprise when they first met, the uncertainty, the edge of not enough that was so familiar to him in Perdition's Rest.

pressing his mouth together into a line, Stiles nods a go-ahead for Fugo. ] It's fine. [ it has to be. then, to distract; ] How old are you guys, actually? I don't... I don't think I know. [ please. keep talking, give him something to focus on. ]

[unholey]

[Fugo rises from his crouch to hang one loop one end of the sling around Stiles' neck.]

There's some time nonsense mucking things up-- [Fugo works while he speaks, calm and measured; after the sling is settled, he doesn't give Stiles any more warning than he did before when he reaches to carefully but quickly tuck his injured arm into the sling.] -- but I'm seventeen and he's sixteen.

[figureitout]

[ he's prepared — at least enough to have raised his good arm, the back of his hand against his mouth, so that when Fugo moves his arm he can bite down, muffling the shout of pain that escapes him no matter how much he tries to swallow it down.

his voice is hoarse when he response, ] Seriously? I'd thought we're more or less the same age. I mean, I guess we still are, I'm just a couple years older, but still. [ maybe it's the airs they give — Fugo with his quiet seriousness, and Giorno with his charm and confidence. ]

... thanks. [ for the sling. for all of this. ]

[unholey]

[Fugo critically examines his work. He's confident that the arm is as secure as it's going to be with the makeshift sling, but he wouldn't be himself if he didn't check and then double check to make sure it's all clear. When he's done, he looks up at Stiles again; Stiles' face is drawn with pain, but there's a sense of resolution about him. Even though he clearly needs more help than this, Stiles isn't going to let himself get it until he's accomplished what he's meant to do.]

Don't worry about it. I get that a lot. [Fugo rises back to his feet, tucking the knife out of sight again and brushing the dirt off of his knees. Then he offers a hand to to Stiles to help him up.] And no problem. This sort of thing-- it's why I learned about emergency first aid.

mebe wrap here or at yours?

[figureitout]

[ only after a couple seconds of hesitating does he grab the offered hand, almost like he thinks he should be able to get up on his own. he's accepted help up to this point, though...one more won't hurt.

(or perhaps he just won't feel it, one more grain of sand lost on a beach full of it.) ]

... 'm glad you did. I — I've got to go now. [ he's got someone to find. ]