Give and Take
Title: Give and Take
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Pre-Nate/Sophie, hinted pre-Dean/Eliot
Verse: Steal The Sky
Fandoms: Leverage, Firefly, Supernatural
Summary: Three times Dean was caught taking care of Eliot, and the (many) time(s) Eliot took care of Dean.
Notes: This is after the Things They Carried arc and happens over the course of the first three jobs pulled by the crew. Generally I'll be keeping with the general idea of the crew pulling their cannon jobs. Only in space. And angst.
This was written as an April Challeng fic for H/c Bingo. The prompts used were Hunger/Starvation, PTSD, Hallucinations, and abandonment issues.
Much thanks and praise for a last minute beta from LMX_v3point3.
All in all, their first official job as a team had gone pretty smoothly. Sure, someone had tried to kill their client, the crew had threatened to disband at one point, and Parker had realized she could argue with orders without getting punished which had proved interesting.
But generally speaking the job had gone without a hitch.
Nate followed the others out of the conference room as the debriefing ended. Sam already had his orders to take them out of orbit and head toward their next stop. Sophie was probably heading to her rooms. Hardison looked about to pass out from exhaustion so he was probably heading back to the crew quarters, Parker a few steps behind him. She’d keep his nightmares away.
Eliot was heading for the kitchen.
Nate gave another internal sigh.
They had planned on stocking up on fresh food for Eliot while on the planet, they’d been running low for a few days and an outlying planet seemed the perfect place to get fresh supplies.
Twelve hours into the job Eliot had become violently ill. If he were anyone else he would have been out of the game for much longer than the few hours when he couldn’t even force himself to stand. As it was they were just lucky they hadn’t needed him until he was mostly recovered.
It wasn’t long after that, they'd realized something in the soil had leeched into the food. It wasn’t enough to make the locals sick but Eliot’s altered physiology meant he couldn’t eat it.
What food they had left from other planets was on Leverage, and even that would barely make it through a couple more meals.
Nate watched, internally wincing, as Eliot started to make dinner for the crew.
It had been at least four days since Eliot had had more than the nutrition replacement pills he constantly carried and water.
They were stopping to get supplies at a market colony a day’s ride out from where they were, but it wasn’t likely they’d be able to get what they’d need and any fresh food they bought there was likely to come from the planet they’d just been on. The closest planet was another day and a half away at least.
You’d never know looking at Eliot how hungry he probably was. It had to be torture to prepare food.
He should make someone else take up the job for the ne-
“Hey, Spencer,” Dean said, the tone of voice with him using Eliot’s clan name making the taunt clear. After finding out that calling someone by their given name was a sign of respect in Project Olympus and that calling one of The Named by their clan name was a mild insult, Dean calling Eliot 'Spencer' was a sure sign teasing and mild rough housing would follow. “I got something for you on world.”
Nate tracked Dean’s voice to where he was lingering on the edge of Eliot’s domain, holding up an apron that read “kiss the cook”.
Eliot shot Dean a glare and switched his hold on the knife in his hand.
Dean’s smile just widened as he shot a taunt back, entering the kitchen without hesitation.
Banter followed, with accusations of “jerk” and “witch” and “asshole” being thrown between the two with the occasional blow as Dean tried to get Eliot to wear the apron.
Nate almost missed their body language telling a different story, or that Dean slid deftly next to Eliot to help without comment.
He smiled then, and retreated back into the conference room.
It may have looked like Dean was harassing Eliot but Nate knew better. There was nothing they could do for Eliot, expect distract him.
And Dean seemed to be pretty good at that.
oOo
It had been a long time since Sophie had put on a wedding. Six years ago, maybe seven, she’d helped a fellow companion turned grifter marry some upper-crust purple-belly and made herself a healthy little profit, even if it had taken her days to get the red hair out of that dress.
She’d forgotten how much fun it could be.
Admittedly things were a little different this time around and there was the whole 'people trying to kill her and the others' which was, as she could tell Nate was slowly discovering, actually pretty normal.
The Butcher was new, though she might have jumped ship with the rest of them if he’d still been working for Nishka. But the job was over, the client got her restaurant back, The Butcher was dead, and Leverage was off flying toward their next job.
She should have seen this coming though.
No, she had, in a way at least. She’d seen the look on Eliot’s face at the mention of the Butcher, seen the flash of memory and the hint of fear. But he’d covered it, and quickly, and there had been things to do and Sophie was distracted by her own part.
But here it was, early (very early) in the morning cycle. She was only up because of a call with a contact on a world with odd time schedules and not being able to get back to sleep after.
She’d started to wander the ship and ended up on the catwalk overlooking the cargo bay.
And there they were.
On the floor far below her Eliot and Dean were fighting. She hesitated to say sparring because, despite the distance she could tell they’d been at it for some time and that neither was pulling any punches. Dean had a bloody nose and Eliot was favoring his right leg. It would be interesting to see them explain themselves to Nate in the morning, though at least there were a few days before they had another job.
She stood still, taking a calming breath, quieting her mind. No reason to alert Eliot to her presence.
She was curious.
Dean and Eliot moved toward each other again, almost looking like they were dancing from this distance, dodging and ducking, swinging and faking blows. Eliot was more clumsy than she was used to, his attacks more desperate and unbalanced.
“You can’t get me like that,” Dean taunted. “Come on. Stop messing around and hit me.”
Eliot’s growl in response reverberated around the cargo bay as he moved forward, lashing out again.
And crashing to the floor, barely rolling to absorb a little impact.
Dean was next to him a second later, helping him lay comfortably and sitting back, catching his own breath, wiping at the blood from his nose.
A sound, some type of melody of music she’d never heard before, drifted up from where Dean was humming it, staring into space, looking relaxed.
Or like he was trying to make himself relaxed.
As she turned, retreating into the common area to leave them alone to whatever they needed to do, she heard Dean ask. “You need a round four?”
oOo
Hardison had known Reavers existed. There was no way to avoid the reports of them being filtered through the cortex.
Hell, every few months a handful of LTOs who were no longer considered useful were sent on suicide missions into Reaver occupied space to kill as many as they could before being overrun.
Like that was going to resolve the problem.
Yes. Hardison knew Reavers existed.
He just never believed he’d see their work outside of his own nightmares.
But here they were, standing at the edge of the settlement where they’d met their client, where they’d hoped to return to bail him out of jail and tell him his family now had a house and future.
They had no future.
No one in the settlement did.
The streets were empty, signs of a struggle all over, blood stains painting the town red, but no bodies.
Dean was the first to do *something* besides just stare in horror. He’d been coming with them to get a new part for their ship. Sophie and Sam were still on Leverage.
“Sam,” Dean said, calling over their coms. “Check the cortex, see if anyone’s coming our way. The town was hit by Reavers, but they look to have cleared out a while ago. Make sure we aren’t gonna get a surprise.” Then he turned his attention to the rest of them. “Hardison get back on the shuttle and hook up, we need data on the population of the town, lists of holdings, and anyplace big enough for large gatherings. Nate, go with him.”
Hardison shot a glance to Nate who seemed ready to argue but didn’t. Weird.
“Parker find the mechanics shop. I showed you the part we need. Get it and bring it back here. After, you can go find anything of value you want but be careful. Avoid places you can be trapped. Eliot he-“
Dean’s voice cut off and Hardison turned to look. Their hitter had wandered a few steps further into the settlement, not hearing them.
Slowly Eliot sank to his knees, looking skyward, mouth open in a silent scream before he crumpled forward, holding his head.
Hardison knew Reavers existed. He knew they were evil.
He also knew what Eliot had been through in his life. Knew that Eliot was a Reader, that he sometimes caught flashes of memory of the past. Traces of things.
Hardison could tell his powers were going into overload. He could only imagine what Eliot was seeing, hearing, feeling…
Could only imagine what the Reavers had done that could make someone like Eliot look like his sanity was breaking under the weight of it all.
“Shit,” Dean said, half running to the downed hitter. “We have to get him out of here.” He grabbed Eliot’s hands pulling them away from where they’d been gripping his head. “Eliot, look at me. Gorramit, look at me. It’s not…” He looked up at them, desperation in his eyes. “Help me get him out of here. He’s watching what they did.” He railed against their shocked, stunned silence. “Do you want him to fucking become one of them?”
The desperation in his voice broke through to them, finally, Nate moving to help Dean all but drag Eliot to his feet, half carrying him back to the shuttle as they all hurried after.
Eliot was still non-responsive by the time they let him collapse onto the floor of the shuttle and Nate moved to fly them out of there.
Hardison watched Dean shift Eliot so he was leaning against the wall, half sitting up. The tips of Eliot’s fingers were stained red. He’d dug his nails into his scalp deep enough to draw blood.
“Eliot are you with us?” Dean asked, getting no response. “Eliot, you hear me?” He asked again in slightly broken and badly accented Greek. His hand reached across the space between them, pushing Eliot’s hair out of his face. There was something absurdly intimate about that gesture. “Come back. You are looking for something. You’ll find it here.”
Eliot’s head slowly moved, his eyes turning upward, finding Dean’s. His skin was pale, eyes haunted, body starting to tremble as if he was going into shock.
Hardison prayed he’d never actually meet a Reaver face to face.
“Get a blanket,” Dean ordered, strangely calm, still not breaking eye-contact with Eliot. “Right. I am right here. This is real. You saw just hallucinations.”
“No,” Eliot’s response was cold. “Not just hallucinations.”
Hardison handed Dean the blanket, suddenly reluctant to touch Eliot, afraid of breaking the tether to sanity Dean seemed to have managed to forge for him.
“Not,” Dean admitted, taking the blanket and slowly wrapping it around Eliot’s shoulders. “But not happening now. Are you here now?”
Eliot nodded, pulling the blanket tighter around himself, shifting position. Hardison watched, still feeling like he was in shock, not sure if *he* had started to hallucinate when Eliot reached out a hand and pulled Dean closer until they were sitting shoulder to shoulder.
“You want I thought the crew not know.” Dean said, making a face like he was aware of the word salad his Greek was descending into, and Hardison’s mind told him he was probably trying to make up for his limited understanding by using Chinese grammar instead of English, making the whole thing worse.
'Cause that was easier to process than what he’d actually said.
“Let them watch,” Eliot half growled, wincing, possibly at the bad attempts at Greek, leaning his head against Dean’s shoulder. “It might make up for your chick flick moment there boy.”
“Witch,” Dean shot back, his tone only sounding half insulting.
Hardison retreated to sit next to Nate, the whole situation just a little too much.
He thought he’d have nightmares about Reavers that night. Especially knowing that Sam and Dean had gone back down planet-side on a “hunt”.
But in the end he only dreamed about insult exchanges as Dean and Eliot went into battle, sawed off shotgun blazing, and Eliot’s long knife glinting sunlight as they danced a bloody whirlwind.
oOo
It’s been a few months but Eliot still keeps odd hours. Ever since he went off his medication he’s needed to sleep a little more but not all that much.
It’s useful. He can run and train and spar and cook and spend time with Dean and still get the rest he needs.
Or, at times like this, he can wait.
Wait, perched on a piece of machinery in the engine room, for the Impala to dock back with Leverage.
For Dean to come wandering through here.
Dean shares The Impala with Sam. Eliot shares his room with his clan.
The engine room is where they go for it to be just them. Even Parker doesn’t bother them in here.
He waits, listening to the hum of machinery, feeling the last bits of tension drain away, soaking in the comfort of this familiar space, or the warmth in the air here.
He felt his sanity slipping today, faster than…
And somewhere out there Dean was hunting down the survivors and killing them. Putting them out of their misery.
Sometimes the verse just really sucked.
He pulls his legs up and waits.
He needs to be here when Dean gets back.
Dean tries to be subtle about it, and mostly fails, but Dean looks after him. Eliot hadn't been particularly pleased with someone thinking he needed looking after but it was… nice?
And it gives him the rare opportunity to return the favor.
Not that Dean needs looking after either. And Dean isn’t exactly a walking science experiment turned time bomb.
But there was one thing Eliot found Dean needed.
One thing Eliot knows he can’t provide forever. Hell, Eliot wasn’t sure how much longer he could provide it with his own body giving out a little more every day.
He knew he was running out of time. He could feel it in his bones and the beat of his heart and the burn of his muscles. He had another year, he thought, maybe two. Probably not.
But a year is a long time. He's going to use it as best he can.
Take this last ride through the Black, make the best of it, breathe free air, claim his body and mind and do with it as he wanted to.
And maybe convince those he was coming to love that when he left it wasn’t by his choice but still for the best.
Dean walks in, looking worn down, looking exhausted, the sensation of death and suffering clinging to him like a stench.
But he looks up, and sees Eliot, and smiles. A light fresh in those green eyes and a jump of sensation chased across Eliot’s mind.
Eliot was there. Eliot was still there. Eliot was waiting for him to come back.
Eliot smiles back, feeling the warmth settle in Dean’s mind chasing away the ever present threat of abandonment, the sensation that he’ll blink and everything will disappear, be ripped away.
Eliot isn’t sure how this will play out in the end, how this odd thing between a hunter who’s lost everything he’s ever cared about at least once and a dying Reader would turn out when they ran out of days.
But he thinks, if he can keep being *here* for as long as he is able, and if this crew can hold itself together after he bows out, then maybe Dean will find what he’s been looking for.
Eliot thinks he might already have.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Pre-Nate/Sophie, hinted pre-Dean/Eliot
Verse: Steal The Sky
Fandoms: Leverage, Firefly, Supernatural
Summary: Three times Dean was caught taking care of Eliot, and the (many) time(s) Eliot took care of Dean.
Notes: This is after the Things They Carried arc and happens over the course of the first three jobs pulled by the crew. Generally I'll be keeping with the general idea of the crew pulling their cannon jobs. Only in space. And angst.
This was written as an April Challeng fic for H/c Bingo. The prompts used were Hunger/Starvation, PTSD, Hallucinations, and abandonment issues.
Much thanks and praise for a last minute beta from LMX_v3point3.
All in all, their first official job as a team had gone pretty smoothly. Sure, someone had tried to kill their client, the crew had threatened to disband at one point, and Parker had realized she could argue with orders without getting punished which had proved interesting.
But generally speaking the job had gone without a hitch.
Nate followed the others out of the conference room as the debriefing ended. Sam already had his orders to take them out of orbit and head toward their next stop. Sophie was probably heading to her rooms. Hardison looked about to pass out from exhaustion so he was probably heading back to the crew quarters, Parker a few steps behind him. She’d keep his nightmares away.
Eliot was heading for the kitchen.
Nate gave another internal sigh.
They had planned on stocking up on fresh food for Eliot while on the planet, they’d been running low for a few days and an outlying planet seemed the perfect place to get fresh supplies.
Twelve hours into the job Eliot had become violently ill. If he were anyone else he would have been out of the game for much longer than the few hours when he couldn’t even force himself to stand. As it was they were just lucky they hadn’t needed him until he was mostly recovered.
It wasn’t long after that, they'd realized something in the soil had leeched into the food. It wasn’t enough to make the locals sick but Eliot’s altered physiology meant he couldn’t eat it.
What food they had left from other planets was on Leverage, and even that would barely make it through a couple more meals.
Nate watched, internally wincing, as Eliot started to make dinner for the crew.
It had been at least four days since Eliot had had more than the nutrition replacement pills he constantly carried and water.
They were stopping to get supplies at a market colony a day’s ride out from where they were, but it wasn’t likely they’d be able to get what they’d need and any fresh food they bought there was likely to come from the planet they’d just been on. The closest planet was another day and a half away at least.
You’d never know looking at Eliot how hungry he probably was. It had to be torture to prepare food.
He should make someone else take up the job for the ne-
“Hey, Spencer,” Dean said, the tone of voice with him using Eliot’s clan name making the taunt clear. After finding out that calling someone by their given name was a sign of respect in Project Olympus and that calling one of The Named by their clan name was a mild insult, Dean calling Eliot 'Spencer' was a sure sign teasing and mild rough housing would follow. “I got something for you on world.”
Nate tracked Dean’s voice to where he was lingering on the edge of Eliot’s domain, holding up an apron that read “kiss the cook”.
Eliot shot Dean a glare and switched his hold on the knife in his hand.
Dean’s smile just widened as he shot a taunt back, entering the kitchen without hesitation.
Banter followed, with accusations of “jerk” and “witch” and “asshole” being thrown between the two with the occasional blow as Dean tried to get Eliot to wear the apron.
Nate almost missed their body language telling a different story, or that Dean slid deftly next to Eliot to help without comment.
He smiled then, and retreated back into the conference room.
It may have looked like Dean was harassing Eliot but Nate knew better. There was nothing they could do for Eliot, expect distract him.
And Dean seemed to be pretty good at that.
oOo
It had been a long time since Sophie had put on a wedding. Six years ago, maybe seven, she’d helped a fellow companion turned grifter marry some upper-crust purple-belly and made herself a healthy little profit, even if it had taken her days to get the red hair out of that dress.
She’d forgotten how much fun it could be.
Admittedly things were a little different this time around and there was the whole 'people trying to kill her and the others' which was, as she could tell Nate was slowly discovering, actually pretty normal.
The Butcher was new, though she might have jumped ship with the rest of them if he’d still been working for Nishka. But the job was over, the client got her restaurant back, The Butcher was dead, and Leverage was off flying toward their next job.
She should have seen this coming though.
No, she had, in a way at least. She’d seen the look on Eliot’s face at the mention of the Butcher, seen the flash of memory and the hint of fear. But he’d covered it, and quickly, and there had been things to do and Sophie was distracted by her own part.
But here it was, early (very early) in the morning cycle. She was only up because of a call with a contact on a world with odd time schedules and not being able to get back to sleep after.
She’d started to wander the ship and ended up on the catwalk overlooking the cargo bay.
And there they were.
On the floor far below her Eliot and Dean were fighting. She hesitated to say sparring because, despite the distance she could tell they’d been at it for some time and that neither was pulling any punches. Dean had a bloody nose and Eliot was favoring his right leg. It would be interesting to see them explain themselves to Nate in the morning, though at least there were a few days before they had another job.
She stood still, taking a calming breath, quieting her mind. No reason to alert Eliot to her presence.
She was curious.
Dean and Eliot moved toward each other again, almost looking like they were dancing from this distance, dodging and ducking, swinging and faking blows. Eliot was more clumsy than she was used to, his attacks more desperate and unbalanced.
“You can’t get me like that,” Dean taunted. “Come on. Stop messing around and hit me.”
Eliot’s growl in response reverberated around the cargo bay as he moved forward, lashing out again.
And crashing to the floor, barely rolling to absorb a little impact.
Dean was next to him a second later, helping him lay comfortably and sitting back, catching his own breath, wiping at the blood from his nose.
A sound, some type of melody of music she’d never heard before, drifted up from where Dean was humming it, staring into space, looking relaxed.
Or like he was trying to make himself relaxed.
As she turned, retreating into the common area to leave them alone to whatever they needed to do, she heard Dean ask. “You need a round four?”
oOo
Hardison had known Reavers existed. There was no way to avoid the reports of them being filtered through the cortex.
Hell, every few months a handful of LTOs who were no longer considered useful were sent on suicide missions into Reaver occupied space to kill as many as they could before being overrun.
Like that was going to resolve the problem.
Yes. Hardison knew Reavers existed.
He just never believed he’d see their work outside of his own nightmares.
But here they were, standing at the edge of the settlement where they’d met their client, where they’d hoped to return to bail him out of jail and tell him his family now had a house and future.
They had no future.
No one in the settlement did.
The streets were empty, signs of a struggle all over, blood stains painting the town red, but no bodies.
Dean was the first to do *something* besides just stare in horror. He’d been coming with them to get a new part for their ship. Sophie and Sam were still on Leverage.
“Sam,” Dean said, calling over their coms. “Check the cortex, see if anyone’s coming our way. The town was hit by Reavers, but they look to have cleared out a while ago. Make sure we aren’t gonna get a surprise.” Then he turned his attention to the rest of them. “Hardison get back on the shuttle and hook up, we need data on the population of the town, lists of holdings, and anyplace big enough for large gatherings. Nate, go with him.”
Hardison shot a glance to Nate who seemed ready to argue but didn’t. Weird.
“Parker find the mechanics shop. I showed you the part we need. Get it and bring it back here. After, you can go find anything of value you want but be careful. Avoid places you can be trapped. Eliot he-“
Dean’s voice cut off and Hardison turned to look. Their hitter had wandered a few steps further into the settlement, not hearing them.
Slowly Eliot sank to his knees, looking skyward, mouth open in a silent scream before he crumpled forward, holding his head.
Hardison knew Reavers existed. He knew they were evil.
He also knew what Eliot had been through in his life. Knew that Eliot was a Reader, that he sometimes caught flashes of memory of the past. Traces of things.
Hardison could tell his powers were going into overload. He could only imagine what Eliot was seeing, hearing, feeling…
Could only imagine what the Reavers had done that could make someone like Eliot look like his sanity was breaking under the weight of it all.
“Shit,” Dean said, half running to the downed hitter. “We have to get him out of here.” He grabbed Eliot’s hands pulling them away from where they’d been gripping his head. “Eliot, look at me. Gorramit, look at me. It’s not…” He looked up at them, desperation in his eyes. “Help me get him out of here. He’s watching what they did.” He railed against their shocked, stunned silence. “Do you want him to fucking become one of them?”
The desperation in his voice broke through to them, finally, Nate moving to help Dean all but drag Eliot to his feet, half carrying him back to the shuttle as they all hurried after.
Eliot was still non-responsive by the time they let him collapse onto the floor of the shuttle and Nate moved to fly them out of there.
Hardison watched Dean shift Eliot so he was leaning against the wall, half sitting up. The tips of Eliot’s fingers were stained red. He’d dug his nails into his scalp deep enough to draw blood.
“Eliot are you with us?” Dean asked, getting no response. “Eliot, you hear me?” He asked again in slightly broken and badly accented Greek. His hand reached across the space between them, pushing Eliot’s hair out of his face. There was something absurdly intimate about that gesture. “Come back. You are looking for something. You’ll find it here.”
Eliot’s head slowly moved, his eyes turning upward, finding Dean’s. His skin was pale, eyes haunted, body starting to tremble as if he was going into shock.
Hardison prayed he’d never actually meet a Reaver face to face.
“Get a blanket,” Dean ordered, strangely calm, still not breaking eye-contact with Eliot. “Right. I am right here. This is real. You saw just hallucinations.”
“No,” Eliot’s response was cold. “Not just hallucinations.”
Hardison handed Dean the blanket, suddenly reluctant to touch Eliot, afraid of breaking the tether to sanity Dean seemed to have managed to forge for him.
“Not,” Dean admitted, taking the blanket and slowly wrapping it around Eliot’s shoulders. “But not happening now. Are you here now?”
Eliot nodded, pulling the blanket tighter around himself, shifting position. Hardison watched, still feeling like he was in shock, not sure if *he* had started to hallucinate when Eliot reached out a hand and pulled Dean closer until they were sitting shoulder to shoulder.
“You want I thought the crew not know.” Dean said, making a face like he was aware of the word salad his Greek was descending into, and Hardison’s mind told him he was probably trying to make up for his limited understanding by using Chinese grammar instead of English, making the whole thing worse.
'Cause that was easier to process than what he’d actually said.
“Let them watch,” Eliot half growled, wincing, possibly at the bad attempts at Greek, leaning his head against Dean’s shoulder. “It might make up for your chick flick moment there boy.”
“Witch,” Dean shot back, his tone only sounding half insulting.
Hardison retreated to sit next to Nate, the whole situation just a little too much.
He thought he’d have nightmares about Reavers that night. Especially knowing that Sam and Dean had gone back down planet-side on a “hunt”.
But in the end he only dreamed about insult exchanges as Dean and Eliot went into battle, sawed off shotgun blazing, and Eliot’s long knife glinting sunlight as they danced a bloody whirlwind.
oOo
It’s been a few months but Eliot still keeps odd hours. Ever since he went off his medication he’s needed to sleep a little more but not all that much.
It’s useful. He can run and train and spar and cook and spend time with Dean and still get the rest he needs.
Or, at times like this, he can wait.
Wait, perched on a piece of machinery in the engine room, for the Impala to dock back with Leverage.
For Dean to come wandering through here.
Dean shares The Impala with Sam. Eliot shares his room with his clan.
The engine room is where they go for it to be just them. Even Parker doesn’t bother them in here.
He waits, listening to the hum of machinery, feeling the last bits of tension drain away, soaking in the comfort of this familiar space, or the warmth in the air here.
He felt his sanity slipping today, faster than…
And somewhere out there Dean was hunting down the survivors and killing them. Putting them out of their misery.
Sometimes the verse just really sucked.
He pulls his legs up and waits.
He needs to be here when Dean gets back.
Dean tries to be subtle about it, and mostly fails, but Dean looks after him. Eliot hadn't been particularly pleased with someone thinking he needed looking after but it was… nice?
And it gives him the rare opportunity to return the favor.
Not that Dean needs looking after either. And Dean isn’t exactly a walking science experiment turned time bomb.
But there was one thing Eliot found Dean needed.
One thing Eliot knows he can’t provide forever. Hell, Eliot wasn’t sure how much longer he could provide it with his own body giving out a little more every day.
He knew he was running out of time. He could feel it in his bones and the beat of his heart and the burn of his muscles. He had another year, he thought, maybe two. Probably not.
But a year is a long time. He's going to use it as best he can.
Take this last ride through the Black, make the best of it, breathe free air, claim his body and mind and do with it as he wanted to.
And maybe convince those he was coming to love that when he left it wasn’t by his choice but still for the best.
Dean walks in, looking worn down, looking exhausted, the sensation of death and suffering clinging to him like a stench.
But he looks up, and sees Eliot, and smiles. A light fresh in those green eyes and a jump of sensation chased across Eliot’s mind.
Eliot was there. Eliot was still there. Eliot was waiting for him to come back.
Eliot smiles back, feeling the warmth settle in Dean’s mind chasing away the ever present threat of abandonment, the sensation that he’ll blink and everything will disappear, be ripped away.
Eliot isn’t sure how this will play out in the end, how this odd thing between a hunter who’s lost everything he’s ever cared about at least once and a dying Reader would turn out when they ran out of days.
But he thinks, if he can keep being *here* for as long as he is able, and if this crew can hold itself together after he bows out, then maybe Dean will find what he’s been looking for.
Eliot thinks he might already have.