We Three

Concern

West headed toward the kitchen at a snail- like pace after being kicked out. Well, he passed through at least, casting a casual glance to the basement door on the opposite side.

It was about time to listen to something  Gull told him, he figured. Plus, a shower did seem like a good idea. His walk from the kitchen to the bedrooms felt longer than it ever had. The Infected must have taken more out of him than he had originally thought. West drug his feet into the first door on the left; the shared room with his siblings.

It was the smallest room of the bunch. West suspected that it was just a fancy closet, but it also held the only carpeted floor. Everyone had fought hard for that; It had been a very intense game of large group rock-paper-scissors. Three sleeping bags had been stuffed into the room along with a makeshift shelf that stood in the corner furthest from the door. This left little space for walking without risk of trodding on a variable of limbs.

Not that it mattered; none of them had gotten a good night's rest for a while.

West cleared Covyn's bag to get to their supply shelf. He didn't feel like facing their wrath if he messed up the well made "bed", as hardly slept in as it was. The supply shelf was a simple two level wooden design that stood about a foot off the ground. It didn't hold much, just extra clothes, a few towels, and some knick-knacks. West nabbed a shirt, jeans, and tugged out the bottom towel before glancing around the empty room once more and retreating back out to the hallway, into the kitchen, then down the basement stairs.

West sighed as his feet hit the concrete of the basement floor. The sturdiness of the concrete had always made him feel stable. The main basement held three rooms; the "café" (which Hal and Lola had claimed), the bathroom, and Grei's lab. The door a few paces to his right was the bathroom. Once he'd stepped in-- it was close, lock, and strip. Then, he was in the shower, lukewarm water forming paths down his back, then falling down to paint nearly translucent red and brown lines all the way to the drain. 

West took a deep breath in, allowing himself to close his eyes for a moment. To just... relax. Believe it or not, there hadn't been a lot of time for that. His mind wandered back to his fight alongside Roone. It had been so easy to slip back into defense mode. He was reminded how quickly he'd beaten down his brother's attackers. The Infected. Whatever. How easy it had been to dissociate.

No, no, no, no. Don't do this now. Just focus on the water, that's it. Grab the soap, notice how it feels in your hands, your arms, your legs. Good. Don't forget to wash behind your ears.

***

West stayed in the shower longer than he intended. Long enough to become as pruny as could be and squeaky clean. He dressed carefully in a t- shirt and jeans, laced up his boots, and unlocked the door. On opening, he expected the small brush of air as he unlocks it and it opens, along with the feeling of clean clothes brushing his skin as he walks to the base of the stairs. He also expected the sturdy feeling of slightly bending of wooden basement stairs under his weight as he ascended them.

What he didn't expect, however, is to open the basement door to the gore he'd intended to leave behind.

There, at the top of the stairs, was Hal. Holding a decapitated head. The same head that Roone had separated from its body on his watch shift.

West was just just about through with surprises for the day.

In hindsight, he should have suspected that Grei would want to run some tests on the thing in his basement lab. The old scientist had always weirded West out with his unnatural obsession with the humanoid beings. In the back of his mind, West was hoping he'd be out of the general area before it was time for the transportation.

West sucked in a breath. He blinked once, twice. Then, shaking his head, he slid to the right of the small staircase to allow Hal to pass, clutching the railing with shaking hands.

"What'd you bring that in here for, Hal?" he asked- tone light, air limited. "God, I had enough of that, what, thirty minutes ago?"

"I don't think it was expecting to meet you again either, Batair." Hal's steady voice pulled West's eyes up toward the older man's. The corners of Hal's mouth turned up slightly, but his eyes held an uncomfortably familiar emotion that West still couldn't place. It had followed him in the eyes of others ever since his parents had died. West coughed awkwardly to shake the feeling from his mind. Fortunately, for West, there was some humor hidden just under the mystery feeling in Hal's light eyes, so he'd stick with that.

"Was that a joke I heard in there?" Eyes more alight with the feeling of humor now than the mystery emotion, Hal gave West a slight nod as he moved down the stairs. West forced his typical smirk.

"Nice."

With nothing else to say, West escaped into the kitchen. As he cleared it, the door swung shut behind him, obscuring Hal and the offending head from his line of sight. But he still felt off. He didn't realize how long he'd been awkwardly standing in the kitchen, laser focused at the door until two thin, pale hands landed heavily on his shoulders.

"Are you trying to burn a hole in the door or something?" they asked. No, not the hands-- the disembodied voice connected to it. West startled and grabbed onto the offending wrist that had landed on his right shoulder, pulling out and away from himself, then down. The body to which it was attached swirled from behind him and nearly slammed into the counter that lined the basement door's left side. He didn't know what was happening. 

Was he being attacked?

Everything was so foggy. West could feel his breathing become heavier as he struggled to remember how.

Through everything, West could see the figure go slack and shrink in on themselves-- diverting their gaze through a head turn as an attempt to look less threatening.

"Hey, hey, I yield! West, it's just me! It's Covyn."

West blinked, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding before letting go of Covyn's wrist. Covyn. The oldest Batair sibling. His family. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he backed up to lean against the kitchen island, hidden from him until this moment. His hands gripped the cool stability of the tabletop as he forced himself to breathe. 

In. One...two...three. 

He could feel Covyn's eyes on his lowered head. 

Out. One...two...three. 

Twice more, and he felt Covyn step closer to him and felt them slow down their breathing to meet his own. The two stood like that for a while, West gripping the counter of the island for dear life-- Covyn breathing with him, occasionally whispering words of comfort. They didn't dare try to touch him again.

"I'm right here."

After what felt like hours, West was finally able to lift his head, softly releasing a shaky breath.

Blue eyes, bright with concern, stared back at him silently asking him what he needed.

"I'm...okay. I'm good." he could hear himself saying. The concern didn't leave Covyn's eyes. Of course it didn't. He wasn't really okay, but they knew that already.