[ Fuck, this can't be easy on Ian. Setting aside the physical torment he's been put through, and at least half of it at Mace's hands, the strain this must be putting on his psyche ...
No wonder he can't immediately look away from what's in the fridge, no wonder he slams the fuckin' door shut, and Mace's hand tightens sympathetically on his shoulder. For whatever godawful reason, this place has Ian squarely in its eyeless sights; once might've been a random hit, twice a lot more suspicious, but the third time is flat-out enough for Mace to want to make dead certain that he doesn't leave Ian's side for the duration of this goddamn nightmare.
So if he's a little too much in Ian's orbit even while they gather supplies, all the way back to the bedroom, well. He can't really help it. Keeps a discreet eye on him with more concern than for his body alone, watching his hands for any tremor, his face for any signs of distress.
There's none that he can see, though he still breathes easier once they're inside the bedroom and the dresser's shoved against the entrance. Which, of course, is when Ian pulls out a drawer and promptly starts taking it apart. It doesn't take more than a couple seconds for Mace to realize why he's doing it, but still. Take it easy, buddy.
At least he's sitting down for it, and Mace takes a seat next to him with a vaguely exasperated exhale — but what Ian says next has him pausing mid-way. On the one hand, Ian's right. It's absolutely not sustainable, and they have no damn way of knowing what the next day's gonna look like here, at the mercy of these evil motherfuckers.
But in the woods, surrounded by all that fog and the way it muffled sound as well as sight, they'll be at the mercy of everything else.
When the bottom panel of the drawer is all the way off, Mace snatches up the hammer up before Ian can get any ideas, and holds his other hand out for nails so he can go board up the window. It's his fuck-up, after all, and it's only right that he fixes it. ]
Outside could be potentially worse. Although if we stay here much longer, we're definitely fish in a barrel for these pieces of shit. Fuckin' cowards.
[ Spoken in between hammering in nails at the window, that last part grunted out with no small amount of ire, because it's not lost on him that they're targeting the teacher over the (ostensible) soldier. It reminds him of the horrible sight that had awaited them in the fridge, though, and there's a pause as he mulls over how Ian must be feeling.
With a pensive, sober look over his bare shoulder, ]
What about a compromise? We stick it out here until you heal up a bit more. Take shifts to keep watch at night, so they can't get the drop on us like that again.
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No wonder he can't immediately look away from what's in the fridge, no wonder he slams the fuckin' door shut, and Mace's hand tightens sympathetically on his shoulder. For whatever godawful reason, this place has Ian squarely in its eyeless sights; once might've been a random hit, twice a lot more suspicious, but the third time is flat-out enough for Mace to want to make dead certain that he doesn't leave Ian's side for the duration of this goddamn nightmare.
So if he's a little too much in Ian's orbit even while they gather supplies, all the way back to the bedroom, well. He can't really help it. Keeps a discreet eye on him with more concern than for his body alone, watching his hands for any tremor, his face for any signs of distress.
There's none that he can see, though he still breathes easier once they're inside the bedroom and the dresser's shoved against the entrance. Which, of course, is when Ian pulls out a drawer and promptly starts taking it apart. It doesn't take more than a couple seconds for Mace to realize why he's doing it, but still. Take it easy, buddy.
At least he's sitting down for it, and Mace takes a seat next to him with a vaguely exasperated exhale — but what Ian says next has him pausing mid-way. On the one hand, Ian's right. It's absolutely not sustainable, and they have no damn way of knowing what the next day's gonna look like here, at the mercy of these evil motherfuckers.
But in the woods, surrounded by all that fog and the way it muffled sound as well as sight, they'll be at the mercy of everything else.
When the bottom panel of the drawer is all the way off, Mace snatches up the hammer up before Ian can get any ideas, and holds his other hand out for nails so he can go board up the window. It's his fuck-up, after all, and it's only right that he fixes it. ]
Outside could be potentially worse. Although if we stay here much longer, we're definitely fish in a barrel for these pieces of shit. Fuckin' cowards.
[ Spoken in between hammering in nails at the window, that last part grunted out with no small amount of ire, because it's not lost on him that they're targeting the teacher over the (ostensible) soldier. It reminds him of the horrible sight that had awaited them in the fridge, though, and there's a pause as he mulls over how Ian must be feeling.
With a pensive, sober look over his bare shoulder, ]
What about a compromise? We stick it out here until you heal up a bit more. Take shifts to keep watch at night, so they can't get the drop on us like that again.