Welcome to Gaia! ::

A lot had happened to Tristan Graves lately. His brother, whom he'd thought dead for a year - and because Tristan didn't handle emotional trauma well, now had only about 50% of his possessions intact - was suddenly back. His family was complete again. It should have made him happy, but it just screwed with his head even more than finding out his elder brother had been dead in the first place.

So, he'd run. Apparently, that was what the Graves men did when they hit trouble; they ran.

Only, just then, Tristan had no idea what the hell he was running from.

Skidding around a corner, sneakers slipping in a puddle of slush, he caught himself against a wall.

But whatever was behind him was faster, and it breathed filth down the back of his neck when it loomed behind him, jaw cracking loudly in anticipation.

Things were not looking up for Tristan. Whatever was chasing him was catching up, and he barely managed to push off the wall and dodge what he could only assume was a deathly appendage of some wild animal. He'd barely managed to get away, breath burning in his lungs, when the gayest thing he'd seen since Grayson's bellydancing outfit appeared before him.

It was a dude. A dude in some kind of -- breeches? A dude who was dressed like Robin Hood.

Who wanted him to stand behind him.

Awesome.

Because the choices were Queerest Guy Ever and Wild Animal, Tristan made the executive decision to sprint behind him, only pausing to wonder why the guy knew he was Grayson's brother when he was safely using him as a body shield. Jesus, this guy knew Grayson? It figured.

Grayson was queer as rainbow suspenders. This was probably one of his -- ugh, whatever. He didn't want to think about it.

As he tried to stop, his sneakers hit slush again and he slipped, hitting the ground hard. Well, awesome. He was on his a**, slushy water practically freezing him to the ground, and all that stood between him and some escapee from the Kitty Den in the zoo was a guy in breeches.

Awesome.

Dad's stuffed mushrooms must have been pretty goddamn special, was all Tristan thought, as something straight out of Africa sprung out of the pavement and bloomed over his head. He watched, with wide, somewhat terrified eyes, as vines slithered across the ground, a huge fern leave draped itself over his lap. In the confusion of it all, the only thing he could think to say was --

"What the ******** <******** moment, he half-expected to wake up.

Or hear a monkey shriek.

This was definitely some kind of mushroom high. Or dream. Either way, Tristan supposed it couldn't get worse - and if it could, well, whatever. He would wake up and be in his bed, and shake off the idea of the really weird dream. At least, it had better just be a really weird dream, and not end up as some kind of dirty, disgusting dream.

His lip curled at the very thought, even as he followed Robin Hood. No way was this going to be some LOGO special episode. If he had enough control in this dream/high to realize something was afoot, he had enough control to keep untoward things from happening.

"Okay, fine." He stared very decidedly at the cape flapping behind the guy in front of him -- ugh, really gay -- and asked loudly, "How do you know my brother?"

Even if it was a dream, he still wanted it to make sense.

What the hell -- his dreams were getting preachy? That was not fair. He didn't sign up for that, bad mushrooms or not.

"Classmate, huh." He folded his arms, hovered at the entrance of the cave. "Okay. So you're my brother's big gay boyfriend, I get it."

He looked behind him, not very impressed with the cave. It didn't look particularly hospitable, and he wasn't very excited to be left behind while Robin Hood ran off, killed whatever was running around the freaking jungle, and then escorted him home like some seven year-old girl.

Man, this dream sucked.

"Okay, whatever." He threw his hands up, turned around. "I'll be here. Jesus, this dream sucks."

Clearly, Breeches Dude was a homo in denial. It was the only way to explain it; even Tristan, who was quite loud and obnoxious about his own sexuality, didn't go so far as to make up far-fetched stories about some chick screaming his name in the middle of the jungle. (This was a weird dream.) Regardless, he wasn't too impressed with being hauled around by the closet queer, but what could he do? He was apparently unable to wake himself up. All he could do was sit in the cave, apparently.

And so sit he did.

He sat for a while.

And he sat some more.

Eventually, he muttered, "Probably got his a** eaten." There was a beat of silence, and he muttered, "The fairy."

Tristan wasn't too concerned, considering this was all probably a dream. Or a high. Or something. He didn't care anymore; he just knew that he wanted to wake up, or go home, or whatever. So, he stood, brushing off the seat of his pants, and gave Robin Hood a critical eye.

There was some more silence, and he stated, "You look like hell."

Though this guy said he knew Grayson, Tristan couldn't see anything familiar about him. Still, he didn't believe in a world where people saved other people from escaped zoo animals for no reason, so he supposed the guy was probably telling the truth. Either way, it didn't look like his hero (?) was going to make it very far on his own stead, so Tristan sighed.

It was something like his brother's sigh, except it was full of teenaged attitude. "Come on, then."

Without letting him argue, Tristan took his arm up and looped it over his own shoulders, voice gruff as he instructed, "Lean on me. Get me out of this Alice in Wonderland hellhole, and I'll get you to my house."

He didn't like the idea of carting a guy around any more than the next straight man did, but what could he do?

It was probably as close to a thank you as Jude was going to get.

"Hey!"

They'd almost made it, and the guy decided to faint now? Tristan supposed it was better later than sooner, but he was still surprised enough by it that he dropped him, and swore loudly when he hit the ground. In the darkness, it was difficult for him to tell who it was, but if he was honest, he wasn't really looking. The night was beginning to wear on him, and whatever the hell was going on, he was done with it.

That was probably why he was so grateful when their porch light came on, the door flying open, and Grayson stood silhouetted in the light.

"Gray!" Throwing his arms up, he waved him over.

Barefoot and fresh from the shower, Grayson nevertheless hurried down the steps, dancing from the cold of the pavement as well as the air around him. It was night, after all, and he was wearing a tee shirt and pajama pants; not the best ensemble to be out and about. He was getting ready for bed, if it wasn't obvious, and he'd just been about to go say goodnight to Tristan when he'd realized he couldn't find him.

Luckily, he'd been in the kitchen when he heard the commotion outside, so it had been a quick walk.

"What is going-" Eyes falling, his heart leapt, and he said incredulously, "Jude?"

A thousand possibilities raced through his mind, each more dire than the last, as he hit his knees next to his -- comrade. Surely they weren't friends; his waking up alone and freezing in Jude's storage unit after their last conversation proved that much. Regardless, there was real concern in his face when his hands brushed Jude's shoulders, traveled to his face, pressed to his forehead.

Fever, and God, look at the wounds. He was no nurse, but he could tell Jude needed some kind of assistance. When he got him inside, under the light, he would see just what kind.

Head snapping up, he ordered in a surprisingly calm voice, "Go open the door to my room, and strip my blankets off the bed."

Normally Tristan would have argued. Maybe there was something in Gray's face that warned him against it; it didn't matter. Tristan turned, and Grayson slipped his arms underneath Jude's, lifting him with more strength than it seemed likely would come from a dancer's frame. It was awkward, but he managed to adjust Jude's weight well enough to support the majority of it on his own shoulder, one arm pressed hard against the back of his thighs as he turned and strode quickly into the house.

His parents weren't awake, which was good. It made it that much easier to lay Jude down, push his arms aside so that the damage could be assessed. Wounds, everywhere - he'd obviously been in another fight - but the majority of them didn't seem too terrible. There was one, on his side, that seemed worse than the others. Grayson touched it, lightly, and Jude hissed - yes, this was bad.

But, worse than the wounds, it would seem, was the fever.

Tristan hovered by the door, something like alarm in his face, and Grayson said quietly, "I need some towels - wet towels - and some water. He's not too bad."

When Tristan came back, he'd ask what had happened. For now, he looked at Jude's face, searching it. Despite himself, he murmured, "What's happened now, Jude?"

He didn't expect an answer, so he looked down at his side again. There was only one way to take care of that, he decided, and grabbed the hem of Jude's already bloodstained shirt.

Jude could be angry about Grayson disrobing him later. He had to get that side cleaned up so he could see how bad the damage really was.