This isn't what I'd call a "team-building exercise" [M] [Draco, Goblin]

[nephero]

   Content warning for (technically) involuntary drugging, intense hallucinations, gross bug imagery, PTSD and Jonesy’s tendency to drop F bombs.

   —

   There was a point, once, where Jonah Cole commanded some measure of respect. It was, perhaps, not the kind of respect that other commanding officers and squad leaders might consider “good” respect, but it had always worked for him. After all, Jonesy wasn’t really capable of achieving the other kind of respect— the kind that had an entire city in mourning when they thought their Commander lost to the perils of the void.

   Someone, somewhere in history, once asked if it was better to be loved or to be feared. A kind of shitty question, if half the options weren’t available to you. Such was Jonesy’s dilemma, because he was already hamstrung as it was, and now he had these new recruits who adamantly refused to fall in line to the only option their Squad Lead had left.

   One was physically incapable of feeling fear. No manner of intimidation, of Jonesy’s natural aura, of threatening swarms of spiders could shake the guy. Ellis was like trying to scare one of those wild, wiggly noodle men one sometimes found outside of a grand opening of some shop or another. Utterly fruitless, and it never dampened that damn smile.

   The other, Joan, Jonesy knew was capable of feeling fear. She just seemed to prefer challenging it. Which wasn’t unheard of. Some people, when pressed far enough, turned violent rather than into a gibbering mess. Fought back. Got tougher. It was a good trait to have, being able to stare fear in the face and tell it to sit down and shut the fuck up. It did, however, make her remarkably difficult to handle. At least Darzi had the decency to pretend to obey him half the time, simpering for Jack’s benefit and digging her heels in all other hours of the day. Joan just dug her heels in. Twenty four hours. Seven days a week. Three hundred and fucking sixty five days a year.

   It was such that Jonesy had found himself acquiescing more than he would have ever done so at any point in his career before now. Where before he could stonewall and glare his way into victory, stonewalling and glaring got him nothing but worse and worse results. So, it took a few compromises. Giving into the little things to keep the big things from becoming a big problem.

   Like the big problem of Ellis dragging every last dingy, dirty piece of equipment into his office to scrape the filth out over his floor. Like the big problem of Joan let loose with neon paint cans, spraying over their helmets and probably the furniture while she was at it.

   So desperate for his company. Which was the most bizarre twist of it all— so his fear tactics didn’t work on them, fine. But he never made himself pleasant to be around. He wasn’t fun. He was allergic to the mere concept of it, if Joan’s implications were anything to go by. And yet she— and Ellis, even more so— absolutely insisted in haranguing him at every spare minute either of them had. Others would have gotten the hint, cut their losses, and given up on a lost cause.

   These two had Jonesy carting his laptop down three levels of the Scorpions HQ, to the equipment room, so he could work on next week’s simulations in one corner while the two young Cardinals did their chores. He could only imagine that, somehow, this made them happy. It didn’t make sense, but it made even less sense without this explanation.

   Sighing as he got settled on a far bench, Jonesy looked over the thin screen at the other Pilots in the room, watching as they began the standard and, admittedly, utterly BORING task of scraping old, faded paint off of helmets, and the grime of buildup off of the gas dispensers. The crust was harmless in this ancient state, of course, but it tended to get into the more delicate portions of the dispensers, and could potentially compromise shutoff valves with very dangerous consequences.

   Jonesy tried to remember who had had this task last, thought it might have been Vijaya, and tried to remember if Jack had been around when he’d given the order or not.

   Ah well. Didn’t matter. What mattered was it got done now, and he got the next drills programmed, and this day ended so he could go home, light up, get high and watch something stupid and brightly colored on television the whole weekend.

   Petulant though they could both be about following orders, Joan and Ellis weren’t idiots. So Jonesy sat back and focused on the coding in front of him, brows knit and a deep scowl on his face as he placed trap after trap. Maybe some live Teinari targets this time, the sooner they all got used to screaming, the better. Simulated screams always had a kind of comforting falseness to them— you couldn’t feel sympathy for a computer program like you could for a person. Nothing ever quite measured the same thing.

   Jonesy typed in a quick allocations request, and continued formatting the rest of the first room.

   "Make sure you scrape with the grain, Archer. You chip those helmets and you're explaining to Distribution why we need a whole new set."

[GoblinFae]

It was moments like this when Joan could almost feel like she was part of one of those warm and bubbly squads. The ones where everyone got along, were friends, maybe even family to each other, and did things on their days off. Not even her Squad Leader's constant scowl or unrelenting stream of doom and gloom was enough to smother her current mood. Maybe it was the effects of having Ellis so close. He really was a sweetie and Joan was grateful every day that she had him as a squadmate and friend.

He made the emotionally oppressive workdays so much more bearable. It was probably wrong to use him as an anchor when she felt like she was going to spin out of control from butting heads on a constant basis with Jonesy, but Joan was grateful all the same that she could. He was the first person to greet and accept her into the squad (and with muffins at that!) He didn't hate her with the first mention of her name, oh yes she had caught all those wary glances between the older scorpions. He didn't get into her face for perceived insults to his precious commander. Ellis was just himself, an innately gentle and caring soul.

Being around him was like her days with her Little Bats, so Joan was determined to make the most of it. They were partners in crime when it came to painting the town green or tormenting playing with GhostBoss. She definitely counted it as a massive victory that he had voluntarily dragged himself downstairs to spend time with his subordinates rather than lock himself up in his office as he usually did.

Because where Ellis was like marshmallows in hot chocolate or kittens just learning to walk or any other thing too cute for words, Jonah Cole, Squad Leader of the Margad Scorpions was a fly in your morning coffee or bills on payday or any other insanely infuriating aggravation on an otherwise good day. Joan despised the way he carried himself as if he was above everything and everyone, that there were no consequences for his actions and that his constant aura of "fuck off" was neither his fault nor his problem.

She begged to differ though.

Jonesy was a challenge that she sure as shit wasn't afraid of. So even if it meant a lifetime of jackhammer migraines just to prove herself to him that not only did she belong but that she wasn't going to back down to him, then Joan damn well was going to keep tightening her bootstraps and barreling into his path headfirst.

He didn't need to be her friend. In fact, the very idea that he ever could be would make her laugh. GhostBoss just didn't do words that started with "F." But, she wasn't dumb enough to believe there wasn't something buried beneath the glares. She wanted to know the truth of the matter. She wanted to know why he hated her so much when in the beginning she had done nothing but her best. She was determined to understand why that chip on his shoulder seemed to always be directed at her because until she had joined the squad, she didn't even know who he was. In her mind, Joan hadn't even earned such ire.

So she butted heads with him, invaded his space, challenged him, questioned him, and pushed when it seemed that others just danced around him. She found triggers and learned to avoid always pushing those. Somewhere under the scowl was a sense of humor that regularly shocked the shit out of her whenever he allowed it to leak out to the surface. He would do things like help Ellis through a moment of panic or drag his laptop down to keep them company and Joan would be completely thrown off kilter because buried deep inside somewhere in there was a heart that still gave a fuck about other people.

Joan grinned as he got himself settled, undeterred by the look he gave them over his screen even as she munched away on a granola bar between resurfacing their helmets. Not even his surely instructions could dampen her mood. She mock-saluted him before pausing to dig in the bag beside her for a moment. Seconds later she hucked a candy bar right onto his keyboard.

"Eat a Sniggers, GhostBoss! You ain't you when you're hungry," she cackled before winking at Ellis and offering him one as well. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all.

[Draconian]

Oh shit, Candy!

Ellis grinned at Joan before he opened magical flying candybar and popped it in his mouth. He'd finished cleaning two canisters already and was onto the third  As instructed he'd taken the antidote and after finishing off the candybar, returned to work.

Being compared to a happy inflatable tube was accurate. If the motor was on in any capacity, arms were waving and there's a somewhat doofy look on his face. Easy to please and happy to help, Ellis checked over canister three, looking up and over at Jonesy, glancing to the side at Joan.  Ellis smiled to his squadmate before going through the first parts of the safety check.

When he joined the Scorpions they were as cold and as distant as their tactics. Further even. The only time he saw them was drills. There wasn't much in the way of team building beyond knowing a name and a face. Ellis glanced at Jonesy, frowning at the Lead curiously, ignoring the gentle hiss his cloth made against the canister in his lap.

It had been a spur of the moment. One second Ellis is bad mouthing his squad and then there was the familiar unfamiliar name in the chat. And then it was over for Jonesy. Joan and Ellis on the case, annoy Ghostboss until he liked them. Ellis turned his head down, still smiling, though it quickly and suddenly went away.

The hissing wasn't from the cloth.

"Fu-!" Ellis yelped loudly and tried to jolt away, which he'd managed to do for the most part. There would be a bruise on his arm, later. The hissing was a leak from a container and a metal seem violently exploded out. At least aside from his bruised forearm he was fine. Ellis frowned and crawled over to the destroyed peice of equipment.

"Well shit," Ellis picked it up and shook it. Not super keen on what would it be like if he hadn't taken the anti-thingy-ma-bob. Ellis sighed and stood up, rubbing his sore forearm and rotating his shoulder.

Going to Joansy seemed like the logical choice - Its unlikely a container like this has exploded for Joan. "JonesyBoss?" Ellis started, holding the broken pack in his arms, "How exactly do we write this off? Also this wasn't my fault, I was totally paying attention to what I was doing." He paused and smiled hesitantly, like he was waiting to be called out for somenthing.

[nephero]

   His only warning was a soft hiss. He'd been so wrapped up in unwrapping his Sniggers (as much as he wanted and did glare at Joan for the mild insult), he'd almost not realized what that kind of hiss in this kind of room might mean.

   Before Jonesy could so much as shout, the soft hiss became a deafening crack. The canister in front of Ellis exploded open, burying the young Pilot in a malevolent cloud of highlighter-yellow gas. Jonesy shot to his feet, his laptop clattering to the floor as he yanked his shirt collar up and over his mouth and nose. As if that would actually do anything.

   But, survival instincts didn’t always care for logic.

   Luckily, the room’s sensor’s seemed to understand the situation with total clarity. Unluckily, this meant there was the rattling thunk-thunk-thunk as the locking mechanism rolled into place at the sliding doors, emergency sirens blaring intermittently between a robotic— if painfully informative— voice detailing,

   “Contaminant breach. Warning. Contaminant breach. Warning. Lockdown measures in effect. Warning. Please wait for decontamination protocols. Warning. Contaminant breach.”

   O2 masks. He needed to get to the O2 masks. The gas had completely filled the room, a putrid-colored fog that rendered visibility next to zero. It was designed that way— the less you could see, the more alone you felt, and there was something about that sickly yellow that set off all the little animal alarm bells in your head.

   The emergency masks were tucked away inside a false-wall compartment, helpfully outlined and labelled ‘In Case of Emergency, Press Here’. He just needed to get to them, get some airflow while he waited for the decon fans to kick on, and—

   There was a horrible, jarring juttering screech of metal on metal overhead, followed by a rapid-fire click-click-clicking. The telltale whoosh of the fans sucking out the tainted air never came. Shit. SHIT.

   Without the fans, the masks would only do so much. It was an insidious little gas, specially designed for ruthless efficacy courtesy of the most sadistic minds R&D had to offer. It found its way in however it could— the respiratory system was, of course, the quickest. In close confines like this, even the filters of gas masks wouldn’t hold up for very long. He had a better chance with an alternate source of oxygen of course, but…

   Left in close confines like this, with the whole room saturated, dermal absorption was also inevitable.

   He needed to get to the O2 masks.

   “Contaminant breach. Warning. Contaminant breach. Warning. Lockdown measures in effect. Warning. Please wait for decontamination protocols. Warning. Contaminant breach.”

   Jonesy felt along the wall, trying to keep his breaths as short as possible, squinting against the gas for the telltale shapes of his squadmembers. Had they taken the antidote like he’d told them to? Why the fuck hadn’t he himself remembered his own warning? Too late it remembered the series of vials he kept in his desk, his own extra stash tucked away for emergencies. Emergencies like this.

   Ellis might be okay. He didn’t feel fear, not the way this gas was meant to make a person feel fear. He might just imagine his Lobster Husband and a thousand spider wives, and be in utterly insensible maniac for a time. The canister had gone off as he was working on it, though. Had it burst and hurt him? Where was Joan—

   Joan.

   “Archer!” He shouted, as much as he dared with as much breath as he dared, “Archer, masks, get your masks on!”

   She didn’t have Ellis’ talent for shrugging off fear. If she hadn’t had her dose, there was no telling what would happen— victims of the hallucinogenic were never meant to recover—

   A shadow moved in the gas, just as Jonesy’s hand hit the panel, and the wall split open with a soft hydraulic hiss. A set of small oxygen masks and accompanying canisters waited there, nestled in soft fluorescent lighting with helpful instructions spelled out in helpful images. Breathable, uncontaminated air.

   “Get it on, quick— grab another, ELLIS, stay where you are!” Jonesy was already pulling a set free, and turned to shove the equipment into Joan’s waiting hands when the gas thinned just long enough for Jonesy to see—

   calloused hands scarred knuckles a grip too strong to break but never strong enough to bruise the telltale glint of a ring gifted on graduation black steel set with violent vibrant garnet pride and joy and somehow always burning ice cold despite never having been removed once

   Jonesy’s heart stopped.

   A cold sweat broke over him in waves, like how the arctic ocean might have felt if he’d had any concept of what the arctic ocean could feel like. His neurons screamed with misfire after misfire, and Jonesy jerked back as the hands, those telltale hands, turned into the rest: a razorblade grin and the kind of self-assured swagger that told him there was nowhere to run.

   The sudden motion backwards was too much for the sudden jelly of his legs to handle. Jonesy stumbled back against the wall, and on some base, stupid, animal instinct he thrust the oxygen tank at Ruslan as if that bit of defense would help. It clattered, useless, to the floor, and Jonesy soon followed, slipping to the ground as every muscle in him failed.

   “Well, well, well, look who it is—”

   “Get the FUCK away from me!” Jonesy lashed out, but the hand with the ring shot forward like a viper, gripping his jaw and squeezing until Jonesy was sure the bones would break. He kicked out, but Ruslan didn’t seem to even feel it.

   “Our… very… own…”

   Jonesy shrieked against the hand that gripped him, scratched at whatever part of this tormenting apparition he could reach— something, anything, but like a true nightmare the man somehow remained completely out of reach, a mere inch beyond every raking swipe—

   “moaning Joan.” Ruslan began to laugh, a horrible, bubbling laugh. He loomed over Jonesy, the laughter turning to wretched hacking as piles of black maggots erupted from his grinning mouth. The entire mass of vileness spewed out and over Jonesy’s chest, his stomach, his flailing arms— they bit and burrowed, and no manner of clawing seemed to deter them in their quest to get at every scrap of skin left bare to the world— and all the while he kept screaming. Screaming and wailing a harmony with the sirens overhead, but neither they nor Jonesy’s voice nor the roar of the fans overhead were enough to drown out the ragged breathing above him.

[GoblinFae]

Too focused on the crunch of granola in her ears and the scrape of the knife against thick layers of paint--this HAD to be Laszlo's helmet with this much paint and crap on it--Joan stood no chance at ever catching the hiss. It was the sudden bang that had her jumping in action though.

"Fuck!," she spat emphatically as she jammed the helmet over her own head. It was a bit too big and without an oxygen hook up was essentially useless at filtering out the majority of the gas. However, it did provide her with a much needed ability to see through the dense haze before the air filters were able to kick in.

She was on her feet in an instant then, already bolting for the oxygen before her name was being belted out to do so. While both she and Ellis had followed Jonesy's directions--she could butt heads with him all day, everyday but that only ever came second to doing her job to the best of her ability--the antidotes would only prevent the majority of the hallucinogenic properties. The gas was not meant to be ingested in any shape or form, no one needed that crap in their lungs unless they were the scum of the earth. In that case Joan would gladly invite them to take a deep breath before taking a long walk off a short cliff.

Jonah thrust the mask into her hands which she was quick to accept. The helmet was ripped off and discarded with a dull clunk before the new mask was fitted in its place. Straps tightened and a press of a button on the side and blessed filtered air was filling her lungs again. Joan grabbed a second one, turning towards where she had last seen Ellis.

"You alright, Ellis? Still with us?"

The fans kicked on overhead, rapidly filtering out the smog and revealing a somewhat dazed looking Ellis but at least he was on his feet. Joan was just moving to step towards him when there was a sharp bang by the heel of her boot. She glanced down to find a third oxygen mask on the ground and Jonesy staring at her without seeing. The whites of his eyes were clearly visible on three sides and his nostrils were flaring sharply as he slumped against the wall. Someone had forgotten to heed his own advice and take his medicine.

She cursed angrily under her breath and turned back to face her other squadmate. "Ellis! Catch!" She tossed the facemask to him once she was sure she had his attention, then scooped up the other one and hurried to approach dear, old GhostBoss. Joan crouched over him, fighting to get the mask on him even as he howled and clawed at monsters she could not see.

"I'm trying to help you," she bit back, tugging his straps tighter and releasing oxygen into his face. It was too little too late but at least he wouldn't be continuing to breathe more of that poison into his system.

"Our...very...own...Moaning Joan"

Her eyes bulged as a wave of suggestion and words brushed against her so strongly she flinched away as if physically touched. It was hard for an empath to truly describe all the things they felt when filtering the emotions of others to someone who was not like them. Of course there was the general recognition that 'Karl is angry so I feel angry.' But what most people failed to comprehend were all the nuances and flavours of that emotion. There was an intimacy and depth of emotion that there really wasn't any words for.

But, when those words echoed from Johan Cole's psyche to her own, it took her very breath away. There was just so many layers to it all. There was revulsion, terror, trepidation, the primal beast set loose to rule in fight or flight. Even further below that blistering wave of emotion though was guilt, arousal, self-loathing, pain, and wrath. It rattled her to her core, sending a slimy, icy sweat down her spine and bile into her throat.

Joan felt like she had just been doused in a thick, vile, oily tar that clung to her, seeping into every pore until it drowned her. She couldn't breathe as it overwhelmed her. Flashes of her own memories mixed and drowned with these new sensation. But that was the problem, wasn't it? This wasn't new. She was well acquainted with villains that laid in her bed.

A flailing kick from Johan caught her in the ribs and knocked her clean on her ass. It was a different tormentor she was caught thinking about though. Clammy touches and searing burns ghosted through her mind. If it weren't for the oxygen mask, Joan would have sworn she could smell burnt hair and stagnant water again. 'That's my good girl...so flexible...' She clapped her hands to her ears suddenly and curled forward into a tight ball. "SHUT UP!" she screamed suddenly. "Shut up, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!!!"

'HE isn't here. This isn't real. This is just a panic attack. Jonesy isn't like him. Right? No, this can't be happening. Not again. Not again, not again, not again. Make it stop! FOCUS! We've had been gassed. This is HIS emotions not mine. I'm not the victim here. I'm not the problem. Moaning Joan. What the fuck does that even MEAN? I thought he was gay! Oh gods it's happening again. It's just like before. It's nothing like before. It's always the ones you trust. It's always the ones you trust. Not again! Why this? I thought this was over. How can he feel that way? How can there be two of them? Why can't they leave me alone? How long...all this time? It hurts so much. It's getting worse. I can't breathe.'

Joan clawed at the back of her neck trying to scrape away the viscera that was mentally assaulting her. She was trapped, caught between two sets of emotions and memories as trauma triggered trauma. Where every day since joining the Scorpions had been a constant, painful wall of pain from to drown out Jonesy's projections, this, the unfettered release of his capabilities was like the rail blasting through wet tissue paper and she was the paper plastered hot metal. He was so much stronger than her, so much stronger than she ever imagined and he was dragging her down a deep, dark hole of horror that had the potential to trap her within her own mind if she couldn't claw her way back out soon. For the life of her though, she couldn't remember how to do it.

[Draconian]

It would occur to Ellis that his next choice of words, "Oh, yeah, Everything is fine," were probably the singular most incorrect words for the coming situation. Ellis held his hurt arm to his chest for a moment, not enjoying the dull throb that shot over his forearm in the least. His eyes felt crusty and he licked his lips, making a noise before spitting off to the side. Eugh, he was just fuckin' covered in the weird gas stuff. He'd need several showers and --

Ellis jerked his head up, mind pulled away from his Dull-Throb Arm and looked at the spectacle of Joan trying to force an oxygen mask over Jonesy's face and... Oh right. He flipped into high gear, rushing over about the same moment a cold sweat was on his back and he just felt sick to his stomach. Eugh, it was like he was reading on the rail but also looking out the window and just... Motion sick. Ellis swallowed thickly before he moved forward, picking up a tossed oxygen mask and pulling it over his head because, oh shit, the colour blue was maybe tasting a bit like grapes right now.

The emergency showers weren't in here, so dragging them to get washed was out of the question. Ellis wasn't sure who to try to help first. Joan was an empath. She'd feel all the stuff but Jonesy was also an empath who projected it.

Which meant Joan would be getting a double whammy from Jonesy. Stuff he was shooting out like barbed wire and the stuff he was clearly feeling. Ellis thought for a brief moment that he'd be happy to switch with one of them. He just felt a little dizzy and a little sick. Still, Ellis did his best to dust off his clothes before he squatted down behind Joan and gently took her hands in his. "Joan," Ellis said, his voice sturdy.

He squeezed her hands in an attempt to comfort and shuffled in behind her. Ellis didn't know but he knew Jonesy would be violent. Far more violent than Joan. Which was why he had to shuffle her away.

"Joan," Ellis said, his voice relatively normal. Calm. "Listen to my voice, okay? I'm going to sit behind you and I want you to relax." He did as he said he would, shuffling behind her, one leg on either side of hers, smoothing his hands over her arms and pressing his chest to her back. "Feel my heartbeat, okay? Ignore Jonesy. It's just you and me in the room. I want you to take slow breaths with me," Ellis tried to remember what Jonesy had instructed him to do when his heart was beating too fast and he couldn't take any breaths deep enough for it to count as getting oxygen.

Also the empathy thing. Ellis did the only thing he could think of doing. He held Joan tight, his head tucked beside hers, eyes on Jonesy who looked just fucking terrified. "When you catch your breath, I want you to go to the other side of the room," Ellis paused to do another few seconds of the breathing. His own pulse was slow and lazy, like it was any other day. What was the point of panicking? No point.

Sure his arm hurt but it'd heal fine.

 "Maybe if I'm between you and Ghostboss it'll be a buffer? I'll try thinking of puppies and kittens and and fun things, okay?" Ellis wished for a brief moment that maybe he was better at reading minds and seeing into them or something. See what everyone was so absolutely terrified, but he knew he probably wouldn't have understood why. Knew that he was always going to be a little odd that way.

"I'm worried Jonesy is going to hurt you or himself, so I'm going to restrain him until medical can get into the door after the room has been decontaminated. Shouldn't be long now," Ellis slowly moved to sit up, one arm around Joan's middle and the other over her shoulders to help her up and shuffle her to the other side of the room, glancing over his shoulder at the person he'd probably have to koala backpack. They were about the same size. "Jonesy," Maybe his voice would be nice? Sorta? Explain what was going on? "I'm going to take Joan to the other side of the room and then I'm going to help you okay? We can taste the grass of the walls while we wait and holy shit, beige tastes exactly like old person butterscotch, who'da thunk?" Pleasantly surprised at the revelation, he perked a strangely pleased smile to Joan while he helped her across the room.

This was fiiiine. They'd be fine. Ellis smoothed a hand up and down Joan's arm and glanced back at Jonesy. Ellis watched him for a moment, eyes focusing before he snapped back to attention. Jonesy had a flavour too and it tasted oddly like what Ellis would picture fear to taste like. Sorta like cilantro. Eugh.

[nephero]

The carpet of the office floor scratched like hell. It ground against his skin, sticky and wriggling with the few maggots that hadn't turned to bourbon. The hair on his arms and face clung uncomfortably to his skin, pulling with every jerking, desperate attempt to get away from the desk and towards the door.

He needed to wash the whiskey off. It always burned so bad-- Jonesy had never been a fan of hard liquor. It burned, it stank, and every sip ended in harsh full body shudders. It tasted bad, so bad, but it drowned out everything else. But Jonesy could never stomach it for long, and at a point it was a matter of sealing his mouth shut and just letting it wash over.

A terrible waste of expensive whiskey.

“Joan, you're behaving very poorly, now,” A different voice, familiar and not, beyond Ruslan’s rotting breath and somewhere else. It stank, but less of bourbon and more of the sea-- Jonesy had only been to the island domes a few times, and remembered the rush of waves. It sounded like white noise, a static on a failed radio channel. In and out like a great malevolent breath.

The office carpet was wet. Sticky. Salty. He rolled onto his knees despite how much it terrified him to be this vulnerable. Weak. He crawled forward, his hands slapping in the white foam of the ocean surf. He scooped it up, splashing at his face to wash off the stick. The bourbon. The filth. To swallow it scoop after scoop until the seawater would make him sick and all he could taste was salt.

It didn't take Ruslan long to get a hold of him, to grab his neck and face and push him under in punishment for the lost whiskey. Jonesy flailed, hard and panicked, dug his nails into Ruslan’s skin and dragged raw angry welts into being. Ruslan yanked him back up, on his knees and spine pulled backwards in a harsh arc, and Jonesy gasped for breath against the hand over his mouth.

“You're so loud,” came the laughing comment in his ear, before he was dunked under the surf again.

When he came back up, it wasn't with Ruslan. Or the ghost of Valdemar. When he came back up and tried to tread water, it was with Laur standing there, somber and ashen, his skin waxy and wrong. But then, no one ever looked right dead.

Jonesy splashed, hard, but he could feel himself tiring. It was getting harder and harder to keep his head above the rolling waves. Laur looked down at him from where the surf splashed around his ankles.

“Laur-- help--"

“I thought you liked treading water?” Laur replied evenly, gesturing at the mere foot of space between them. “Why are you still here?”

“I can't--"

The ocean rolled beneath him, a wave crashing over his back and sending him into a somersaulting roll. End over end, and no amount of kicking seemed to right him, the water crushing in on all sides-- and then Jonesy understood. It wasn't just the water.

Tentacles. Massive, powerful, sparkling pale tentacles gripped him from behind, pulling his arms and legs back while another coiled in a shuddering, loving way over his head. The creature pushed through the water, dragging him close, and Jonesy could hear the snapping of a beak just behind his skull as it spoke, all whispered malevolence in a voice Jonesy knew too, too well.

“I’ve got you.”

The water muffled his howls, weakened his movements, robbed him of breath and energy with every pull and every kick and every thrash. Jonesy looked up at the surface, tried to fight his way against the behemoth below, but Laur was becoming fainter and fainter as sank.

And then, finally, the blackened depths took him and Jonesy was left with nothing but the tightening closeness of the monster's grip.

[GoblinFae]

She shuddered violently, her nails still raking across her own skin in hopes of making the vileness end even as she heard her name through the fog of her horrified mind. Her brown eyes snapped on, pupils wide and unfocused as she scanned the room for the real world voice she was hearing. She couldn't focus. She couldn't see.

Hands suddenly latched onto her own from behind, squeezing and restraining her in ways that filled her with rage. With a howl, Joan yanked her arms down from above her head and then used the motion to twist and throw all her weight into driving her right elbow back behind her and into her captor's ribs. A second call of her name paired with gentle caresses did nothing to quell her panicked state of mind. Her entire body shivered as she continued to struggle against the warmth at her back and caged arms locking her in place.

Jonah's horrors were still crawling and rattling in her mind. Her head lolled back in her panic, every breath becoming faster and shorter until she wasn't sure she remembered how to breathe anymore. It was just too much. She couldn't absorb it all and she couldn't lock any of it out. He was just too much for her. Perhaps if they had trained properly, if she hadn't made him hate her so, they could have practiced on this to build up a team tolerance for each other's gifts. Too little, too late for she was now completely at his mercy.

The lights overhead were so bright, making her eyes fill with glassy tears as she whimpered. For a moment her head rocked to the side and her forehead was pressed against a warm neck. Every muscle in her body tensed further as her eyes drifted up and caught a slight glint of scales. Ellis. It was Ellis!

Joan gasped for air suddenly and ceased her flailing. Her back arched as she fought to catch her breath and finding that she was still coming up excessively short on breath even with the oxygen mask. She dug the bottom of her boots into the ground and pressed back more fully against him while her hands, once struggling to claw their way free, turned to clasp over top of them.

Buried deep beneath the deep, black, crashing waves was a tiny, gentle undercurrent of calm. She clung fiercely to it and drew it in close. It did nothing to silence the voices Jonesy was projecting. But it helped her enough to hear Ellis more fully over the heart-stopping fear being thrown at her. It took several long minutes to understand him but finally she was able to mimic the ballooning of his chest against her back and draw precious air into her own lungs.

Unable to trust her voice, Joan gave Ellis's arms two squeezes back and slowly nodded her head. She could manage it. There was no sense in arguing with him that proximity and buffers weren't going to do anything when you were a toothpick standing up against a battering ram. She needed all her focus diverted to concentrating on breathing and remaining grounded until help arrived.

Shakily she leaned heavily on Ellis as he escorted to her a safe and distant corner of the room. There she carefully pooled in a heap onto the floor. Using one arm to pillow her face, the other cradled the back of her head protectively while she firmly wedged her back flat against the wall behind her. It was a tactic she had learned to do back then. No one could sneak up on you if they couldn't get behind you. No one could hurt you too badly if you protected yourself properly.

'Joan, you're behaving very poorly, now.'

Her eyes snapped open again to glare out over her arm to where Ellis was trying to assist Jonesy. When this was all over they were going to have a very serious conversation behind closed doors and then Joan Archer, Pilot Cardinal of the Margad Scorpions was going to beat the ever-living shit out of her commanding officer for being such a sick, vile pervert.

She just needed to get through the next minute. And the one after that. And the one after that until medical arrived. Just a little bit longer, that was all she needed to do, hang on just a little bit longer and it would all be over.

[Draconian]

There was always a few fleeting moments during the day when Ellis was genuinely glad he couldn't experience bone chilling fear. He knew at one point he could - everyone could- and then there had been an accident and then after that... Everything was just kind of different. Like losing a limb. Either you lay down and give up or you learn how to work with what you have left, even if it's a little wobbly. Ellis cradled Joan against him while she flailed. Grunted in pain when her elbow connected with his side and did his best to steady his wheezing after the blow knocked the wind from him.

Still, his heart rate didn't pick up and he just stayed. Controlled. Calm. Ellis could be what Joan needed him to be and right now it was a calm steady rock. He escorted her to the corner, feeling bad when he watched her ball up because he couldn't help anymore. He left her there, coloured in fear - the whole room was just saturated in it and Ellis couldn't understand why. He had to get Jonesy into a corner or something. Once he gave Joan a weary thumbs up, he rubbed his side and glanced at his arm, aware that it hurt but not being able to do much more of it because Jonesy was crawling across the fucking floor. Shaking like a leaf.

"Hey," Ellis said, kneeling down and placing a on the back of Jonesy's neck. That was supposed to be a comforting place right? What he hadn't been anticipating was the wholly violent reaction to the touch. Ellis gasped loudly and winced when hands were on his arms and nails were digging in. He'd only worn civvies today since it was just supposed to be general clean up, so it wasn't a surprise when blood welled easily from the scratches.

Not really knowing what else to do, he did to Jonesy what he'd done to Joan. Joan had calmed down, right? Sure it took a little bit but she calmed down. "Jonesy!" Ellis said, voice picked up and he bent over the other man, catching his arms in his at the wrist to hold them away. So he couldn't claw. It was a strange fight to sort of noodle his way around someone flailing, but Ellis decided if he used himself as a brace of sorts, Jonesy couldn't accidentally break his arm smashing it against a wall.

Once he'd managed to grab hold of Jonesy's wrists from behind, the other mans back plastered to his chest and his legs curled around. He had Jonesy firmly in his grasp, safe, at least from flailing accidents. Ellis chanted softly to himself, a mantra of 'it's okay' with his face tucked in behind Jonesys ear, head turned so he didn't smash their oxygen masks. Ellis didn't have a clue what Jonesy was going through. Didn't have the faintest idea of what he was seeing instead of the ceiling of the room they were in.

Whatever it was though, caused him to give a good jerk and Ellis grunted loudly, letting out a hot pained wheeze when he heard the dull meaty sound of bone snapping. The canister had damaged his arm but the struggle to hold Jonesy was too much. Still, he had to keep Jonesy here and safe. Maybe not compliant but not dangerous. The medical units would be by once the room was vented and they'd be sedated and everything would be fine.

"I've got you,"

Ellis said, voice low from pain before he turned back to his mantra of, 'it's okay'. Eyes squeezed shut so he didn't scream from the continued pressure of broken bone and flesh. Face turned away, he didn't see when the medical team finally came in, masks on just in case.

Maybe trying to comfort them had been a bad idea, Ellis considered, because now he had a broken arm and who knows what other torso damage.  Ah well. Shitty bonding moments were still bonding moments or something.

[nephero]

   It’s okay.

   Jonesy blinked against the darkened depths, the sun a distant shimmer on the water’s surface. It was so far away now, he couldn’t even see where Laur had been standing while he struggled to keep his head above the waves. The creature’s grip on him hadn’t let up— there had been a slight shift, one tentacle twitching against his arm, but besides that, he was trapped.

   He’d tried so hard, and it had been worth nothing.

   It’s okay.

   Jonesy blinked again, though the water made the effort almost Herculean. His eyes stung hot with salt, his lungs ached for air that he didn’t dare take. Not yet. He’d tried so hard, he couldn’t drown now. Not like this. He tensed, every muscle tightening as he fought his own animal instincts, mouth clamped shut. His head spun, the tentacles coiled tighter around his chest. Even if he wanted to take in a lungful of sea water now, he couldn’t.

   It’s okay.

   The beak clicked behind his ear, hissed through the water. This was it, he’d tried so hard, and he’d just ended back right where he’d started.

   At least this time, the water guaranteed he’d be quiet.

   
   Eventually oxygen deprivation took its toll, and Jonesy’s head lolled back against Elli’s shoulder, mouth open beneath the plastic of the oxygen mask and ribcage finally, thankfully moving in the steady rhythm of someone who wasn’t actively holding their breath.

   The fans overhead had nearly completed their task of clearing the air of any remnants of the gas, though the canister itself was still coated in a fine spray from where it had burst. No one would be able to handle it bare-handed until it dried completely, but the canister would be disposed of long before that. Once the fans cleared the air, the blaring warning sirens melted into silence, and the mechanical thunk-thunk of the door’s locks disengaging rang out in the deafening void.

   As soon as the room was no longer under quarantine, the doors opened to a flood of personnel, all wrapped head to toe in hazmat suits and respirators to avoid any contact with any potentially lingering chemicals. Joan was closest, and so the medics reached her first, though perhaps not as slowly as they maybe should have when dealing with potentially altered mental states.

   The next flurry of motion was towards Ellis and Jonesy, though thankfully Jonesy was still firmly unconscious, if a little ashen. It took some finagling to get them all out into the decontamination room for a hose-down, and more than a few sedatives when that stirred Jonesy to wakefulness enough to put up a rather hellish fight, but eventually all the contaminated clothing and equipment was disposed of and several stretchers were wheeled out for ease of transport.

   It was useless to question anyone in their state, though the place was still swarming with agents from all departments, up to and including several severe Pilots with rose insignias on long jackets. They were more interested in harassing a few other officials, however, and only one spared a look at the trio as they were loaded up for transport to medical.

[GoblinFae]

She dug her ears against her shoulders so tightly that she felt like she was crushing her own head into a soup can just to drown everything out. She didn't want to hear the blare of the sirens, the whirl of the fans, the voices Jonesy was projecting, the voices of her own memories, the hiss of the oxygen mask or even her own heartbeat as it thudded loudly in her chest and ears like how pressing her ear into old seashells in Nonna's bathroom had sounded.

Each breath came in a puff of stressed air that fogged up the mask and made her face feel humid and moist. Stars would it not end?! Jonesy's panic was still slamming against her shredded walls like a child through a beaded curtain. Not even Ellis's calm presence and soothing voice were enough to temper that.

Squeezing her eyes closed to block out the flashing lights proved to be a mistake for her though. The sounds of her breathing mask reminded her of someone else's labored breathing to the point that her heart seized in her chest and she whimpered to curl in tighter about herself. It wasn't real. He wasn't here. This was Jonah Cole's fear and not her own. The sounds of struggling were not not because a Lil' Bat was being caged but because Jonesy needed to be protected for his own safety. Joan tried desperately to convince herself and ground herself in the now to keep from slipping into the then.

The barrage of emotions ceased with such suddenness that Joan actually snapped her head up in fear. Was he dead? Had the fear killed him? It was certainly possible. He was an empath after all. It took lesser men to survive the kind of trauma he had been spewing like a master water fountain. Joan unconsciously held her breath and squinted towards the tangled pair. She only gasped for air again herself when she could clearly see his chest rise and fall with much needed breath all on its own. Joan collapsed once more in a heap on the ground in hopes of waiting out the rest of the lockdown in a spot of peace.

It was therefore a blessed relief when the flashing and blaring finally ceased. The ringing continued in her ears all the same so she stayed put, her body easing some of its tension into a puddle of goo. The hair on the back of her neck still stood on end and she still felt incredibly raw with the entire ordeal. The hand that came down to clasp her shoulder was aggressively shoved off with a shout. Joan was up and on her feet in a shot, chin tucked in and fists raised in defense. Her eyes were wide in terror and as the medics moved towards her, her mind could only remember flashes of the last times a group of medics had swarmed her and dragged her through uncomfortable hospital halls with oppressing, flickering lights overhead.

"Don't touch me!" she barked out, sweeping a leg out to knock one down even as another caught her from behind and locked her against his broad chest. "Let go of me! I'm fine, go help Jonesy! Hey! Let go of me," she continued to howl and squirm even as they barked orders around her. It took two of them to hold her while a third administered a blue syringe of sedative. The effects were not readily immediate as she fought almost drunkenly against them while being loaded up onto a stretcher, restrained, and rolled out. She was out before she even left the facility, her last bleary sight of flickering yellow lights and the outline of a large male peering down at her.