026 》sweet troubled man are you giving or taking?

[thering]

characters: Malcolm, Neal, Negan, Raylan, Doc
location: 1306 Phillips Dr
date/time: day 26 morning
content: the reset Playstation button was pressed
warnings: tbd

After the strangeness of the past two nights they were likely fully expecting to awaken in the same strange, different, not-so-new anymore places they found themselves in in the past two days.

Instead everything seems to have reset, again. The three permanent residents and two guests are back in 1306, exactly where they had been two nights ago. Malcolm was in his own room, Neal was in Doc's and Negan in Raylan's master bedroom. The two displaced cowboys are downstairs sharing one too-small couch, a night of drinking culminating in fighting over couch space and who gets to be the bigger spoon.

The fire in the fireplace had gone out and their Winter 2020 Collection of bespoke lanterns have vanished, but nothing else seems to be awry.

Comments

Sometime earlyish in the day

[thering]

There is a familiarity to the buzzing around the kitchen that Doc would not admit to missing. Familiar faces, familiar conversation, familiar routines. He always takes the last kitchen island stool closest to the wall.

And even though Neal and Negan had only weathered a storm with them, they slotted in well into the morning in the house. The existing residents flow around the two new boulders in the river seamlessly, washing over them, taking them into the fold without complaint.

After he's had some moonshine and food in him, Doc seizes the opportunity to get him alone.

"Mister Caffrey. How's your neck?" Doc had worried over it the past two days. He's relieved to see all four of them intact. Neal being up and moving around and not pale as a ghost most of all.

[conning]

Neal would like to believe he's doing a bit better at the being okay thing since his conversations with Malcolm and Raylan. Like those were warm-up rounds for behaving like a normal person. But he still feels like shit, and the paleness of three days ago has been replaced by the waxy cheesecloth look of sleeplessness.

He's not sure what cup of coffee he's on at this point.

"Doc. It's... fine." He touches the bandage. He largely left it alone over the last two days. He did at least have the good sense to change it once he woke up back here. "As fine as can be expected. How are you doing? Where did you end up?"

[thering]

It looks freshly changed so Doc doesn't offer to change the dressing. He trusts that if anything feels wrong or if it's changed colours to something alarming that Neal would tell him.

"A rather nice house with a couple of new faces." There were strange things about the house, sure, but what isn't strange about Mathias? No doubt they'll get around to sharing what they found in the places they ended up soon enough. "And yourself?"

[conning]

"Grey Gull." He feels a stab of jealousy at the fact that Doc ended up somewhere pleasant. "It... wasn't nice."

He can feel himself tensing up again, feel his breathing quicken, and tries to force himself to calm down. "But it's over."

[thering]

"I see. If it's of any consolation, last night was not nice, either." This morning though. That was alright. New day, new expectations.

Doc reaches over to place a warm, heavy hand on Neal's shoulder, on the side he wasn't bitten. He gives it a firm squeeze, offers as reassuring of a smile as he can manage.

"It is over. You are back here, with us. We did promise to keep you safe. I am sorry we had to let you down."

[conning]

The look that Neal gives Doc is a little lost, a lot homesick. He doesn't want to be as comforted by the statement as he is. He doesn't know this man, historical facts aside. But there's something about him that's as solid and steady as Peter, and it's all Neal can do to keep himself from clinging to that in a literal sense.

He tries to force a smile. It doesn't go particularly well, but the expression is there at least. "You didn't. Let me down. And I got to wake up somewhere with familiar faces, at least."

[thering]

"That's good. Did you eat something?" Raylan had gotten to work throwing together a big spread not long after they were up. Doc probably ate enough to show his appreciation for the effort. He's not sure if everyone else could stomach all of it.

"I think you should stay with us another night. If you don't mind our company. You don't... look so well, if you don't mind me saying so."

[conning]

"Uh... not really." Malcolm had dished him up some breakfast, but he hadn't been able to manage eating it in the end.

It startles him to realize that he wants to stay. That he wants to be as close to the kindness these people have shown him as possible. The tension of it is still there, the sense of owing them, but the thought of something stable in the madness is more enticing. He'll just have to make himself as useful as possible in compensation, though he's not sure any of his talents are particularly useful here.

He can't meet Doc's eyes when he answers. "I'll stay. You're better company than Elijah." Right, he hadn't remembered the vampire's name before. "He's the one who bit me."

[thering]

"I have met Mister Mikaelson," Doc confirms. "He did hint at being old but neglected to mention the teeth." To be fair, Doc didn't take him too seriously then. He's not going to bring up the fact that he had invited Elijah in and given him some moonshine, same as he would have anyone else. He knew nothing of the other man then. Would not have done so if he had known Elijah was going around hurting people.

"There is plenty of room. You are welcome to stay as long as you like." Even after he's fully recovered. Or even if he wants to make it an occasional thing. It hasn't escaped Doc's notice that he seems to be on good terms with Malcolm. He could use a sociable friend that won't simply grunt and growl at him and pretend they're listening while drinking their frustrations away.

"You'd be doing us a favour too, keeping our New Yorker company. Us country folk, we're from different worlds." Not to mention the whole 1851 thing.

[conning]

Our New Yorker. Neal can't help smiling at that. At the rest, though, he hesitates. He's never really had roommates. Unless Mozzie counts. From only child to studio in New York, he's used to having his own space. He could take a house of his own in this abandoned town, but that would just make him feel isolated. He could stay in the boarding house, but it's a little too communal for his tastes.

"You don't think Raylan or Malcolm would mind?"

[thering]

Doc Holliday is loyal, and fiercely protective. Malcolm is our New Yorker as much as Raylan is our Marshal. Unfortunately my Marshal was taken a hundred and forty years ago and will never be bequeathed to anyone else, so Raylan just has to settle for being the next best thing. Perhaps in time Neal will be theirs, too.

"You could ask them yourself if you are worried, but I can assure you that you are not an imposition." On the highly unlikely chance that they might take issue, they would definitely not say no once they've sampled some of Neal's cooking.

[conning]

"I owe you." He huffs out a laugh. "All of you. You and Malcolm for explaining this place, helping me after I got bitten. Raylan for finding me out there."

Neal looks down. "Thank you. All of you."

[thering]

"Nothing is owed." This is their way. Or, it was, before everyone got hostile and started locking their doors and assumed ill intentions of well-meant hospitality.

"I only ask that you share any information you might find that might lead to us getting everyone home." He has asked the same of everyone, in the hopes that they can all leave this place intact, even if it means they may well never see each other again. It would be bittersweet, but he doesn't believe that this is where their stories end.

[conning]

Neal nods. That's a given, as far as he's concerned. He's so not equipped to unravel this place on his own. He needs a team, and if his people aren't here... Well, he'll have to borrow other people's people. Or be borrowed by them. The thought makes him smile again, though it's tired.

"Not the kind of case I usually work on, but hey, we all need a change of pace now and then."

[thering]

Neal had explained that he was a man of many talents but Doc never asked what he was currently doing. 'Case' sounds a lot more like what Raylan and Malcolm do day to day.

"Did you want to talk about anything that might have happened over the last two days? I know all of this hasn't been easy." Not just for Neal, but he wasn't around the last time they were whisked away. It would be particularly hard on him.

[conning]

Neal hesitates. He almost just says I'm fine. But he's already told Malcolm the truth.

He shakes his head, drifting over to one of the couches to sit down. He wraps both hands around his coffee mug. "There's not much to talk about. It was... loud. The building kept shaking. Felt like it was going to come down around us, sometimes. We all heard voices, but none of us could understand them, and none of us heard the same voices." He takes a deep, soft breath, slowly tensing up again even as he tries to stay calm. "The wind was the worst part. It screamed. Felt like it was clawing into our heads. It hurt, mentally and physically."

[thering]

Doc follows Neal to the couch, easing himself down next to him, careful not to upset his coffee. He's not sure he heard that kind of ruckus but with the blizzard outside he couldn't have noticed much beyond what was happening in the house he himself was trapped in. He nods as he listens without interjecting, trying to piece together a puzzle where he's missing three quarters of the pieces and doing his best not to be frustrated by the process.

"Things weren't that pleasant where I ended up either. There were phantoms in the mirror and shadows moving out of the corner of your eye." And that's not to mention the unsettling noises in the ceiling and in the basement. "These things will eat away at you. You have to try not to dwell on them too much."

[conning]

"How do you keep from dwelling on them?" It's a genuine question. The sort of thing he would ask Peter in this situation, if Peter had ever been remotely in a situation like this one.

[thering]

"You accept that your mind will play tricks on you, think of these as mere distractions, and focus on the important things." Unfortunately he's had some experience this department, having been left alone and in the cold, wet darkness for over a century. He knows too well the kinds of tricks that his mind can play on him. Wouldn't have made it out if he kept tugging at the loose threads of what had been left of his sanity.

"The most important things are taken care of. Water, shelter, food. Beyond that it's whatever you think is important to you. I think we need to look after people while they are in our lives while we find a way outta here. The people under this roof. The other people in town. I thought about how you were holding up over the last two days, tried to get word back to this house. These are things within our control. Whatever's gonna try and get us - a shaking building or voices, phantoms in the mirror or unsettling noises - these are not in our control." Doc gives Neal one of those small shrugs that say a lot more than a mere small gesture.

"If I just had dwelt on the things that ate away at me and let things outside of my control dictate what I can and cannot do with my life, then I would have died from tuberculosis not having ever left Georgia. I would have never met Wyatt, or rode to Tombstone, or even be here right now." Maybe he's more cautious and a hell of a lot more mellowed out these days, but Doc would never advocate to just let things happen to you.

[conning]

The important things. Neal remembers the feeling of his arms around Daisy as the building shook, sharing bits of his life with a stranger who didn't feel like one at all by the end of the day. Malcolm, this morning, with his confession about how Raylan saved him, and Neal's reciprocation with the story about his dad. Raylan's gentleness earlier. Doc's gentleness now. Neal has built friendships on less and done it faster.

"Do you think Malcolm's right? That someone built this town to be this way?"

[thering]

"I am starting to think that the things that are happening to us cannot be ascribed to mere coincidence or randomness. But I do not know who or what has this kind of power. Or how we can bargain our way out of this." He can't think of anything they would have that someone with this kind of ability would not easily be able to attain for themselves, or be willing to trade for.

"There aren't many other phenomena I can think of wherein food just appears every day. People kept in their pens. A few show up, a few go missing. We are like little farm animals." Only it is left to be seen who among them would be Napoleon the pig.

[conning]

"There's always a way." Always. He may not know what it is yet, but he knows they'll find it.

"Eventually whoever or whatever's behind this will make a mistake. We just need to catch it when it happens. And stay alive in the mean time."

[thering]

"I agree." And if there's one thing he is good at without his guns out here, it would be surviving. He's been through worse. He would not be gotten done in by a bunch of faceless abductors mired in strange shit happening all around him.

"We did not manage to pursue our loose end, Mister Mikaelson, before we left. We have some immediate concerns to tend to today but I promise you, he won't hurt you again. Not on my watch." He would not go behind Raylan's back to take care of their little problem, but he isn't sure that they are on the same page regarding this topic, the same way he is sure that they are on the same page on just about every other topic.

[conning]

Neal really doesn't know what to do with the fact that these near-strangers seem to care as much as they do. He's had time to build that kind of relationship with Peter and his family in New York. He knows what they would do for him and what he would do for them. There's a track record there.

But here, he's no one. The con man who passed out on their couch. Never, never has he gotten this kind of consideration from strangers. They know what he is. Raylan and Malcolm do, at least, but that hasn't seemed to have changed anything.

"I'm an ex-con," Neal says abruptly. "I'm a thief. If we met a hundred and fifty years ago, I'd be in your crosshairs, not on your couch."

[thering]

It's an odd little... slightly irrelevant revelation? Doc seems a little puzzled, eyebrows furrowed as he tips his head to one side a bit.

"Name a man in this house who has not done anything regrettable and I would prove you wrong. If you stole from me a hundred and fifty years ago I would have shot and killed you faster than you could say your own name," Doc concedes. He wouldn't have hesitated back then, too. If he did he would be the one dead in the streets.

"But you showed up three days ago needing help. You did not steal from us. You have stolen, in the past. You have also drawn, you cooked, you read. That could make you a thief, an artiste, a chef, or a frontier history aficionado. I do not have the privilege of defining the man I am. History has made me a gunslinger, a gambler, a dentist, a vagabond. My legacy has been set in stone. I would not rob you of such a privilege, to decide the kind of man you are today."