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Log Title: Home at Last

Log setting: The grey house on Moss Street, sunset.

Log Cast:
Benjamin
Trace
Jason
Walker
Ryan

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Not until the sun's gone down again is there any sign of stirring in the grey house. Upstairs is still deadly quiet, and Ben's soft footfalls on the stairs barely make any sound. They're noticeable, though, for their slowness. Normally a bright patter down the winding steps, these treads are slow and heavy, each carefully placed. Ben appears halfway down, clinging to the handrail for support and resting after each step. He's clad just in his cream-colored soft robe, tied loosely and barely covering the bareness beneath.

Lo and behold, two wayward youths have returned to chez Walker. You might not see them at first, but on the ground at the foot of the couch Jason and Trace are curled up together in a knot that looks as though it was probably very clingy and fierce before sleep loosened the limbs of both boys and smoothed tense features into tranquility. While Jason is out for the count, the bluecap's sleep seems less heavy, and his lids twitch, lips stirring just slightly as your movements and his reluctant timesense starts to tug him towards consciousness.

Finally Ben reaches the cool tile of the entry hall, and turns to angle for the sitting room. Moving over level ground isn't quite so arduous of a task as going down the stairs was, but it's still slow. As he moves into view of the sleep-huddle on the floor, Ben instinctively draws his robe more decently over his hips. Each step carries with it a sharp prick of pain, reflected in the tightening of his features. He's making for the downstairs bathroom when he pauses a few feet from Trace and Jason, just looking down on them.

One slow hand lifts and Trace knuckles and rubs at his eyes clumsily. A careful process begins, to distract himself as gently as possible from the fireheart's arms without stirring them, and he rolls over a little and rubs at his bleary eyes some more, digging fingers into his grimace and mashing his cheeks up with his palms. Finally aware enough to sense your eyes upon him, he peeks out from between fingers at the figure standing over him. First surprise widens his eyes slightly, but then a bashful half-grin touches his lips and he pushes himself up to a slouching sitting position. The boy's chin lifts to look up at you uncertainly, and he doesn't seem to know what to say just yet.

Benjamin smiles just a little, tired eyes kind and sunken just a little. Though sleep was long, it was not restful, and it didn't add much color to the pale cheeks. But oh, he's glad to see you! Hands clutching his robe closed, he steps closer but doesn't bend down. "Morning," whispered, even though sunset is darting redgold beams through the downstairs. "It's good to see you again." It's a sign, it has to be. The boys are back and well; his family is coming together again. When it was fragmented, everything fell apart. But now it can be mended. Ben shifts his weight without thinking, and another dart of pain winces his eyes and jaw.

It's true, the sun is no herald to our concept of 'morning' at this home. Trace picks himself up off the floor, still clumsy with sleep and malnourished weakness, but he manages a steady upright. The little blue-haired artist missed you too, and while he's not as free to express it as the other boys, he slowly takes your hands and clasps them both, head bowed, squeezing tight. "Mornin', Ben," he greets softly. Your hands are released and he looks up timidly. "I'm sorry I was gone," he says. "I jest, I had... this thing I been needin' t'do for awhile now. But, but it's done now, f'good. And I'm back." He tips his head to the side slightly, regarding you with serious hazel eyes, darker eyes than those which used to smile up at you from the bluecap's gaunt face. It's the pupils that cause the illusion, much larger now without chemicals to keep them shrunken to pinpricks. "You been okay, Ben?" He licks his lips. "You hurt?"

Morning is when you wake up. That's what Holly says and so that's Ben's law. He squeezes your hands gently for a moment, his tired smile resurfacing through the pain. In truth, even if you wanted to express that affection in a more exuberant way, you couldn't, and so the quiet hand-clasp is really the best way. "I know," he murmurs, stepping back a bit to glance down over Jason. "Batiste came back a few days ago and told us. And I'm glad, we all are." Warm, fatherly gaze back to you again, though Beaver's dad never stumbled around the house after being beaten near unconscious. There's pride bubbling naked in those big eyes, so awfully proud of you. His smile tightens a little bit, though, and he nods. "Yes, I'm hurt. We're out of painkillers upstairs, I came down to get some. And because my back was too stiff to lay down anymore." What's the use in making excuses? The household knows what goes on upstairs.

"Oh..." Trace says softly, averting his eyes. "Batiste was around?" He shifts his weight, clearly juggling with some discomfort. "Batiste... didn't make it," he finally says, softly. With some surprise, too. Of the two of them, who would expect Batiste, he who always seems to have himself in such control? "I gotta find him sometime, I guess. Talk to him." He sighs and shakes his head a little, brushing off the very painful matter for later. "Anyway. If you run out upstairs, Jason's got mine in his coat. M'sure he'll share when he wakes up. We got Percadan and Valium, f'when things got too bad..." He blushes a little and hitches a shrug.

Shortly after Ben retreated back up the winding staircase, Trace settled himself back down next to you again. He curls up behind you, gently nestling his forehead to your upper back, one arm curling around your waist. His eyes close but he does not sleep. Lying down and staying still does help his dizziness some, and though he still gets the occasional lurch of perception. He's not quite sure what's up, but writes it off to some belated effect of kicking that only now decided to show rear it's ugly head. Well, ugly, but much milder than other symptoms he's recently endured, so he's more than happy to lie there next to you and ride through it. It's peaceful hear, really. The house is absolutely silent.

Jason didn't really sleep that well last night, and the signs of bad dreams are all over his face when you brought yourself back to him. But as you settle yourself against him, the tense lines of his face ease with a long, slow sigh. You hear through his back his breathing settle into a deeper, calmer rhythm. His hand slides up to tangle fingers with yours and he snuggles back against you. Finally, eyes still closed, he mumbles sleepily, "Trace?" Please. A little stretch against you and he asks, slightly more coherant, "Where are we?" Because I want to make sure it's where I think it is before I open my eyes.

Trace tightens his fingers around yours in a brief squeeze before relaxing the grip. He shifts to lift his chin, and with lips brushing your ear gently, he whispers, "Home." A tiny kiss is planted at the back of your neck, and then nestles back down comfortably. It feels good to shape the words, and again he repeats, "We're home."

Benjamin comes downstairs.

Benjamin is in the bathroom for an awfully long time, even after the water runs and the cabinet rustles. There's a couple of soft mutters, but the door is tightly shut and the substance doesn't make it through. Eventually, though, the door clicks open again and Ben shuffles out with his robe wrapped around him like a little old man. Out of the back hall's shadows he appears, rubbing sleep from his face.

Actually, that ranks up there on one of the nicer ways to be told you're home. Jason shivers slightly at the sensation at his ear, a twitch of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. But the gentle touch of lips on his neck makes his eyes finally pry open and the twitch grow to a tiny, if rather sad smile. No, it's not quite where he wanted it to be. But, then again... "No one's here, right?" he asks softly, lifting his other hand to rub at his eyes. He's comfortable here though, spooning with the bluecap behind him, so he's not going to make the moves to wake all the way up right now. Cause, right now, things are better than they have been in a long time. But waking up means reality and that thing's seriously biting major dong here.

Feeling dizzy, Trace decided to lay back down, and that's where he's at now, curled back up with his fireheart. He peeks up as Ben enters the room again, and offers another tiny smile of greeting, before looking back and murmuring to Jason, "Was jest us, but Ben jest came downstairs... See?" One last little nose rub into the boy's tangle of red hair, and then he turns a little, but contents himself to stay on the floor this time. In the long run, that last attempt at living comfortably upright proved shortlived. "You feelin' better...?" he asks the robed writer softly.

"No." Ben's reply is quiet and gentle, but definite. He's still moving like his backside was caught in a steel beartrap and he's trying not to jostle it free. Sudden embarassment grabs him and holds him firm, setting up an invisible wall past which his glance can't seem to move. "I'm stiff and my joints ache and I feel twenty years older." Moving past the snuggle of teens on the floor, puttering along but somehow managing to stay free of bitterness. He toddles over to the couch and carefully, oh so slowly, lowers himself to stretch out on his stomach. When his cheek hits the armrest pillow he breathes a deep sigh of relief. All that movement's made him dizzy again.

Jason's green eyes go up to track the progress of the Ben as it... drags itself through the living room. But then he shuts those eyes tightly. He doesn't know why Ben's in pain. He doesn't know why at all. No. He doesn't. Because if he did, he'd have to know other things too. Other things that he doesn't want to know. Things that don't happen at 'Home.' So Jason just stays quiet and burrows himself back more into the bluecap he's pressed against. If you stay small enough, perhaps people won't notice you.

Trace props his head up on one elbow, and the other starts to pet through Jason's mane very gently and pick through the occasional tangle with care. His eyes lift up to Ben, however, and he says softly, "Like I said, we got some painkillers left over. If you want 'em. I don't much need 'em no more anyway." His gentle hand continues in long, slow strokes, and he leans in again to speak quietly to Jason. "It's evenin', y'know. We slept all day. I guess we're catchin' up from all those nights."

Benjamin buries his face in the pillow for a few moments, wrapping his arms around the soft square. From Trace's comfort to his, maybe. Fair trade? After a moment he turns his head a little and mumbles, "You said Valium? That helps you sleep, right?" Professor's clueless. At least valium he's heard of. That other one, Percawhatever, is a complete mystery. One pinkened-brown eye peers down at the boys, silently wistful.

Jason does his best to lose himself in Trace's gentle groomings, and does a fairly good job of it too. Things would be much better if the entire world consisted of caring fingers stroking through his hair. Maybe even a brush wielded carefully. "Wish it was next week," he mumbles softly. But... fuck. Fucking reality. Jason growls softly out of nowhere, then says in an only barely stronger tone, "Y'should prolly try the percadan." And then in a quieter tone, probably just an fyi to Trace, "Check my pocket if ya want." 'Cause I sure as hell am not moving. Not for this reality thing that's been battering at him for the past two weeks. He was strong, sure. But, hey, even Hercules gets the shit kicked out of him from time to time.

"Valium can make you sleepy if you're not used to it," Trace says, nodding a little. "F'you, couple'd make you drowsy. F'me, a handful'd make me drowsy. Maybe." He quirks a grin that's not really amused and shrugs, slipping his hand away to snake down into Jason's pocket and pull out a little pill bottle. Bastardly thing, the cause of many a fight during Trace and Jason's getaway. They didn't often tend to agree on just when and how much Trace needed. Well, he's trying hard now to make ammends for being such a jerk about that. "The bigger ones're Valium, but they ain't stronger. Dunno." He looks to Ben and puts out his disagreement with Jason's statement. "With the percodan... I mean, that shit'll knock you out, Ben." He hands it over. "S'up t'you." Once the bottle's out of his hands, he lay back down and goes back to his petting.

Benjamin takes both bottles, squinting at them. Sleepy versus knocked out. Then again, pain and anxiety versus thought-less blackness. The second option is looking better and better. "I don't know," he sighs after a moment, resting his head again and letting both pill bottles dangle in one hand, off the side of the couch. "It's not up to me. If I take the wrong thing and Holly finds out he'll feel so guilty." Eyes closed, he rambles on in sorrow. Never has Ben been completely without hope, not before the boys. Not sprawled out, immobile and unable. Finally he just sighs, and the bottles fall with a clack-rattle to roll under the coffee table. "Never mind. Thanks, though."

Ryan and Walker enter from the front stoop.

Benjamin is stretched out on his stomach on the couch, one arm dangling over the side. Nearby, Trace and Jason have spooned up together and all three don't look much better for their rest.

Where, oh where has Walker gone? Who knows where he has been but he's stepping inside now. With Ryan in tow. Hooky! He waits till the youth's inside to nudge the door shut, shedding his coat and dropping it over the hall table. "Hey..." He calls into the living room toward the barely-glimpsed figures sprawled in there. "S'up?"

Trace is on the carpet near the foot of the couch with Jason, running his fingers slowly through the redhead's hair with his head propped up on the other elbow.

Jason cracks one eye open again, just staring at the coffee table's leg that's right in front of his face. "Yeah," he mutters, almost unintelligably. "Cos, y'know, we wouldn' wanna have him feelin' guilty 'bout nuthin'." But the bottle's clatter-roll announces Ben's decision and the eye shuts again. Bitter? Hell yeah. Does he have the right to be? Well, depends. He makes a small face as Trace encounters yet another tangle in the mass that his hair's become, but then he just settles back against his friend. He's gonna take whatever comfort is going to be provided, because, yeah, like Ben pointed out, no one's looking very rested here. Home sweet home.

Ryan does just that and, slipping in through the door so Walker can shut it he then follows the other guy down towards the living room, waving and saying, "Howdy," to the others when he gets in to view.

Trace blinks up at Ben, honestly confused. He.. refused it, even though he's still hurting? "Take the wrong thing..? But--" He drops it at Jason's words, looking to the boy with even *more* confusion. Coz, uhm. Ahem. It's not quite our place to question the married couple's idea of fun, right? So he just lets it all go with a relenting sigh, eyes drifting to land upon the pill bottle under the coffee table, out of reach. Mm. Wonder if they're going to forget about that down there. Such thoughts are quickly banished, and the bluecap is grateful for the distraction of Walker and Ryan's arrival. "Hey again," he greets, craning his neck to look at them.

Voices in the hall spark a weak surge of energy through Ben's form. Gotta dispel the gloom that he threw over the room. He takes a deep breath and holds it, getting his knees up under him so that straightening isn't such a chore. With the help of the back of the couch he pulls up to a kneel, then foot by foot he hoists himself to stand down on the floor. A quick tug makes sure that his robe is decent as he glances toward the hall. "Oh, morning," he calls, pulling up an exhausted smile. "Sorry, I just got up." That more toward Ryan in apology for his half-clothed state. To all in general, "Just give me a few minutes to get dressed" and more to get up and down the stairs "and I'll make some breakfast if you want."

Walker lingers for a few moments in the entryway to the living room, bleached rosewood lips tugging down just a little. Not enough to really change the rather washed-out expression already claiming sallow, chiselled features though. Too late Ben; gloom's already felt. Well, it never truly went away so anything from the living room now is simply another shadow-sliver into the larger moat. Quietly he turns and disappears into the kitchen and a few moments later soft rattling ensues as bottles above the refrigerator are sorted and sifted through. What -won't- collide badly with ether? Hmm.

Ryan glances around the room and then arches an eyebrow a little puzzledly as Walker disappears into the kitchen... Hmm well this is a nice happy bunch... He keeps moving into the living room and he just smiles and waves Ben's apology off, "Hey it's your house don't mind me." Looking around for a free chair he parks himself on the arm rather than sit in it properly and glances at Trace and Jason, "So what have you guys been doin' since yesterday?"

Jason seems completely unrepentant about his sudden about-face when it came to ignoring the couple's amusements. Of course, you know, that's probably because he didn't really sense any amusement going on last night. The sounds of people arriving finally spur Jason to some movement, though. He reaches out an arm and snags the pill bottle from where it ended up, then stuffs it away back in his pocket. Yes, Prince Valium and Princess Percodan are once again safe where they most likely won't cause too much mischief. And then he shoves himself up onto his elbows as well, once again rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles. Ryan gets a look at his question, though. "What does it look like we been doing? /Sleepin'/, jesus." Yes, the redhead's fuse is certainly at one of its shorter points this lovely afternoon.

Benjamin watches Walker retreat, silent. What could he have done to prevent that? Be cheerful, smiling, and cooking eggs with his pearls on, maybe. Ben steels his jaw, and manuvers around the boys and Ryan toward the kitchen. Each step is carefully laid, and it's slow going, but he makes it there to lean on the kitchen entry. "Riene?" The quiet word begins a much softer series that doesn't work its way to the living room except in a low, strained burr.

Trace looks to Jason, and then back up at the football player with a somewhat chagrined chuckle. "Yep. Jes' sleepin. Coz s'like... When we were gone, we barely got no sleep, y'know? So our bodies is catchin' up." He turns onto his stomach and crosses his arms in front of himself, dropping his chin down into the fold, peeking up. "So whatchya been up to, Ryan?" Trace is trying to be amiable, even though he's looking a little peaked, to be honest. That breakfast Ben promised is sorely needed.

From the kitchen, soft, insistent words meet Ben's. No fire there. Just subdued insistence.

Ryan fixes glassy eyes on Jason and his smile just grows wider and dopier looking, "You'll have to excuse me I'm as thick as two bricks and miss the obvious a lot, thinkin' ain't my strong suit." No me get clubbed into ground a lot and bounced on head. Leaning his elbow on the top of his seat he makes himself comfortable and switches his attention on Trace, "What have I been up to? Not much really, goin'ta school, playin' ball, stuff like that. Had a bit of trouble with the law for a while but that seems to have kinda been cleared up... I think... That's about it."

Judging by Jason's look, he whole-heartedly agrees with that thinking thing right now. "Musta had a busy day then," he mutters. But then he just slides back down to lay on his stomach next to Trace again, discreetly resting his head against the other's shoulder. Trace is peaked, Jason is pale, they both look like hell, really. He tries really hard not to eavesdrop on the conversation in the kitchen, but, well.. Okay. So he /says/ to himself he's trying not to, but he is, really.

Walker's soft words fall off and are soon replaced by a soft sputter-coughing. That choked sort of sound folks make when liquid goes down the wrong tube.

Trace nudges Jason ever so gently and smiles, and says in a voice that's not supposed to carry further than the pretty red tangle of hair he's mumbling into, "Gotta be nice to our loveable football player. He's a very rare breed." He looks up again and says, "I was thinkin' 'bout goin' back. T'school, I mean." He shrugs just a little, embarrassedly, because it's dorky to want to go to school. "But I guess... It'd be a lot of trouble, an' I got Ben to teach me stuff, an' all the books here, if there's somethin' I don't know." A glance to the kitchen, concerned. Ben's not really in any sort of teaching state at the moment, of course. Back to Ryan. "So how'd you get the cops off yer back? What happened?"

The coughing sound is followed hard upon by Ben's voice, low but hard-edged and stern. The F-word even comes through a couple of times. Whoa.

Ryan just chuckles some more and stretches out on his chair like a big old lazy cat, if he heard anything he doesn't show it, "It's a really long story man, and kinda complicated. I've been have troubles with the law on and off for months. Somebody bribed some cops to set me up for somethin' and the got caught. Now the guy that did it is on the run and nobody knows where he went, that's about it in a nutshell." Smiling again Ryan reaches into his jacket pocket for his tin, yes his own little prescription for stress relief, "School's great man. I mean sure the actual work part sucks but you get great holidays and it's great for meetin' girls." How's that for switchin' topics midstream?

The stern words from the kitchen are met by a low and soft, nearly plaintive sounding return from Walker. No one listen.

Jason just grunts softly in reply to Trace's murmured words. Yeah, sure, be nice. So the redhead musters /all/ those nice words that he's got up. And doesn't say anything at all. He lays with his chin on folded arms, eyes sullenly peering through their tangled curtain at the carpet just in front of him. Just by the tones of the conversation in the kitchen, he can probably put that conversation together. And the one in here is about cops and school. Just think, he could be /sleeping/ right now. To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub. Pretty much a no-win sitution to Jason.

Again, the low but firm words in Ben's voice. A long series of them, rising and falling in a list of instructions. Either a severe role-reversal has taken place, or someone's simply tired of taking it all.

The conversation drifting out of the kitchen is starting to worry Trace. Like, really unsettle him, after he caught swearing coming out of there. But there's nothing to do but pretend it's not happening. It's an easy talent to pick up, really, tuning out your parent's fighting. Kinda like riding a bike I guess, as it's been most of his lifetime since he's had to use it. "Yeah..." Trace nods a little to Ryan and then grins. "School girls is prolly' a lot less nuts than street girls. They're all nuts, seriously. I mean, you'd think you'd get these bad girl runaway chicks or whatever and they'd put out, but they don't. They all got issues and shit." Oh my god, this is so refreshing. He's like. Having a heterosexual conversation in this household.

Ryan laughs and shrugs, "Well I don't pretend to understand 'em, they don't make no sense to me either. You got it right the first time though, they all be nuts." Unscrewing his tin lid he pulls out nice, yummy joint and sticks it between his lips, he's been practically living on this stuff lately. But yay relief is in sight, only one more month and then he can stop denying himself, "Cheerleaders Trace, that's all you need to find, then it's easy. Sure gets kinda borin' quick but the first few months it's OK." A zippo is produced from his jeans next and he snaps it open to fire his smoke up. Suck, suck, suck, and hold it in, "Ahhh..." He breaths out a nice plume of smoke and then offers it around, "Anyone?"

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