You got that kind of medicine (Silas)

[Matthias Walker]

There may be no set of rules governing all one night stands, but Matthias still has his own.

He helps himself to food in the fridge and slips out of Nate’s apartment before the sun’s up, traces back the few blocks to the bar and then a few more to where his car’s parked. There’s a chill to the air and it’s not much warmer in the car, and he gives himself a minute to regret leaving the warmth of the bed before he focuses on more important things, like the fact that he’s a fifteen-minute drive away from a haunted apartment and he’s probably never going to see Nate or Silas again anyway, so how nice the bed is doesn’t matter.

Three hours later, he spares another minute to regret leaving the bed, because he’s pretty sure that there’s a statistically very low chance of dislocating his shoulder and being thrown around a little by a dead person in bed, whereas it’s becoming a very regular sort of thing in the damn haunted apartment. He doesn’t spare the minute until after he’s stepped back out of the newly un-haunted apartment, though, because sparing moments under pressure is just not a good idea, and once his minute’s over, Matthias reacquaints himself with the art of driving one-handed to the nearest hospital.

It’s like being a teenager all over again, except considerably more bruised all over.

One thing that hasn’t changed from fifteen to twenty-five is the fact that he really, really does not like the hospital. It’s got a peculiarly synthetic smell and paperwork, and his distrust of the entire institution may or may not be somewhat founded on his complete lack of health insurance and money. None of which bothers the nurses, apparently, since Matthias no sooner shows up than a clipboard is stuffed into his hand and he’s propelled into a room with one of those awkward cots in it, a few magazines, and a distinct lack of an actual doctor.

Matthias sits on the cot-thing, spends a moment seriously considering the benefits of trying to pop his own damn shoulder back in place. The rest isn’t too bad—bruises and cuts, things he’s accustomed to ignoring. Not worth paying a hospital fee for, and it wouldn’t be too hard, his shoulder, he could find a nice wall somewhere and just—

The door opens and Matthias says, “So, look, in retrospect I don’t really need you to do anything, I can’t really cover the—hey.” He blinks, wonders briefly if he’s hallucinating and then discards the idea as ridiculous; what he can’t decide is if he’s extraordinarily lucky or extraordinarily not. How many times, exactly, did a third of a one night stand turn out to be a doctor—albeit a doctor with a definite sense of the sleep-deprived and grumpy. And maybe the easiest way to get out of the hospital in as few pieces as possible would be to keep quiet about it, but Matthias’s brain-to-mouth filter is nothing if not mercurial in its effectiveness.

“Well look at you bein’ all fancy in your scrubs and shit,” he blurts, the grin unfurling across his mouth in cheerful disregard to his split lip. He swings his legs, kicking back his heels against the footrest of the cot, and flutters his eyelashes dramatically, mischief hovering in the wide curve of his grin, “So Doc, is that a scalpel in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

[Zephyr]

He’s never been the most experienced with this threesome thing. Sure, he’d been in a couple in college, but most of college was a blur, so he’s forgotten what the morning after is supposed to be like. Not like he particularly cares if Matthias leaves or not, especially pressed up against Nate in sleep. In fact, Silas is pretty sure that things will get complicated and messy really fast if Matthias is still in bed when he wakes up.

So, it’s probably in everyone’s best interest if Matthias does leave.

What Silas had not expected is that the sudden disappearance of warmth at his back is cause for serious disgruntled bewilderment. He wakes with a start, wiggling against Nate and slapping behind him at the bed groggily. “Bastard. Come back.” He growls lightly, only to have Matthias come right back, ruffle his hair…and even though Silas can’t see Matthias’ face from where he has his face pressed into the crook of Nate’s neck, he can feel the massive smug ass grin and he seethes, not bothering to dignify the action with a response.

Silas spends a few more moments listening to Matthias disrupt the tidiness of Nate’s kitchen, and thinks about getting up to chew the kid out about the time he hears the microwave come on. Then he realizes that this is Nate’s place, his business to keep his one night stands from destroying his apartment and that it really isn’t any of his business and promptly goes the fuck back to sleep because he can’t be bothered to get up.

When he finally does wake up again, it’s only an hour or so later and to the persistent buzzing of his phone. Silas’ head still feels fuzzy and he wants very much to ignore it, but it’s the hospital and he has to go in because they’re short staffed today and they need him in there for a fucking consult. Silas is pretty sure that even if he’s the best neurosurgeon at the hospital, he has colleagues that are at least decent surgeons.

So he gets up, gets into the shower and realizes belatedly that there is less shampoo in his bottle of expensive, imported shampoo than there was yesterday and promptly hates Matthias all over again.

~

Since there’s a shortage of staff at the hospital, Silas gets regulated to ER duty after his consult. He spends the time bitching about how the best brain surgeon in Boston gets demoted to putting band aids on cuts. Of course he exaggerates, but when Silas gets in a grumpy mood, everyone is bound to hear about it.

It’s about that time Evelyn shoves another chart in his hands and Silas glares at her retreating form, promising her a swift and painful death for the nurse. She’s used to his bitching and walks away with a cheerful wave that causes Silas to growl as he turns his attention to studying the chart. And yeah, he sees the name on the thing, but he doesn’t put two and two together until he walks into the room and hears that voice.

His head shoots up, and he absolutely can’t help the expressions filtering over his face and the way his eyebrows shoot all the way to his hairline. He just stares at the kid for a moment, ignoring absolutely everything he says as unimportant before blurting out the most important thing overwhelming all these unimportant things.

“You used my fucking shampoo!”

[Matthias Walker]

“What.”

It is hardly Matthias at his most eloquent, but he is genuinely blindsided by the accusation that would sound more appropriate coming from a child than the medical professional clutching a clipboard and hopefully planning on fixing his shoulder sometime soon. The smile’s still caught on his mouth, the laughter still lurking in his chest because Silas looks so thoroughly indignant that the only other option would be to take offense, and Matthias would really rather not. He smothers his amusement into a solemn expression, tries to remember back to earlier, before a ghost had taken a severe disliking to his meddling. It’s surprisingly difficult; Matthias has always measured his time in cities by the creepy crawlies he meets, and everything else tends to fade just a little bit in the aftermath.

But he remembers enough. It was, after all, a memorable night, and waking up plastered snugly along the long line of Silas’s spine, fingers splayed over the warm skin under his navel—it had been a nice way to wake up. And the shower, and…“Oh, yeah,” he says, comprehension dawning. “Didn’t know it was yours.” Knowledge, he doesn’t add, would not have stopped him from using it, but he manages a vaguely apologetic sort of tone before, “It was weird as hell, I kept expecting to have an allergic reaction to that shit. Couldn’t read the fucking ingredients list. Hey, Silas, hey, is it still called an ingredients list if you don’t eat it?”

Which, okay, he understands that it’s off-topic, and makes an effort to bring the point back around to the fact that he is not, actually, here to ponder the philosophic side of shampoo bottles and would really like it if he left in one piece with his arm in working order again.

“I think you got off easy,” he offers, slides off of the cot and into Silas’s space (he isn’t actually sure that Silas won’t brain him with the clipboard but hey, what’s life without a little risk). “I mean, seriously, man, you think I don’t regret getting out of bed? But hey—” The smile pulls at his split lip and his tongue flicks out to catch the salt-bitter taste of blood, but it’s no deterrent, “—if it bothers you that much, I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

It is a promise he knows he should not be making, not in the hospital to the man who is, for time being, his physician. Ethics requires Silas to hand him over to someone else, but Matthias is pretty sure that the indignation spawned of shampoo is not one that is going to get him killed and if nothing else, it’s a story in the making, albeit one he has nobody to tell. But when it comes to one night stands, Matthias likes to be optimistic; there’s no reason to assume that Silas has become over the course of several hours entirely indifferent to him when he was not the night before.

[Zephyr]

If Silas had been paying attention to Matthias’ rambling, he probably would have been worried about his mental health as a medical professional. As it is, the only thing he pulls out of the rambling is something that Matthias hadn’t said at all. Mostly something akin to I just used your five hundred dollar shampoo and I am not sorry at all that I’m too much of a goddamn hobo to replace the shampoo that I used in my hobo hair.

Silas’ imagination might fill in a few adjectives here and there.

The doctor is incredibly close to bashing Matthias over the head with his clipboard, which might not be an appropriate action to take on someone who uses your shampoo, but Silas has never been known as the greatest example of rational behavior in the world. And he’s just so fucking close to just saying fuck it and toss Matthias’ chart at the nearest available doctor because he just cannot handle treating the little bastard, and it isn’t because of the shampoo either (mostly). He just doesn’t think it’s ethically sound for him to treat his one night stand the day after (least of all because the other doctors might be frightened that Silas was about to murder the brat).

But then Matthias gets up and approaches him and is still talking, like he could fucking do it all day, and all thoughts of Silas handing him off or even murdering him slowly are burnt away by the slow smoldering of heat at the base of his spine. He simply stares at the kid, blinking uncomprehendingly a few times. Eyes helplessly follow the path of his tongue as it swipes along his cut and get caught on the warm curve of his lip and Silas is remembering the pressure of those lips on his and the warmth of Nate behind him and he just can’t get…

“Oh my god.” He growls, trying to clear his head, because that is not something he should be thinking about at work and he really doesn’t think it’s socially acceptable to be treating patients with a boner. So he fixes Matthias with the most vicious glare he can muster, which is somewhat defeated by the way his eyes are twitching and the equally ferocious flushing of his cheeks at the memories and his proximity, and he flings a hand out towards the cot. “BED. NOW.” Silas roars, a simmering pot of restless sexual energy ready to boil over.

It’d be terribly confusing if any of his coworkers bothered watching him, but the surgeon is so fucking past caring. He is so past caring that he’s ready to pick up his phone to demand Nate get his ass over to the hospital for a recreation of last night’s events…but he holds off. Because he’s a damn professional, and he has obligations to help people even when he can’t stand them.

If Matthias listens to him, and gets back on the bed, Silas will start to cool off, though nothing will cool the heat licking at his abdomen, he schools himself to approach Matthias carefully wary of the kid’s hands and those fucking lips and he just dives in, prodding at Matthias’ shoulder, a little harder than necessary. “What the fuck did you do to yourself?” Did he go jump off a building after he left the bed?

Whatever. Serves him right.

[Matthias Walker]

That—the way Silas watches the flick of his tongue and the look in his eyes—is enough to have the smug smile spreading wider over Matthias’s face; it burns at his lip and the bruise high on his cheekbone but he likes the way Silas watches him. It does not demand words to emphasize his point, or even a touch along the inside of Silas’s wrist; the way Silas’s expression slips, however briefly, is enough. It’s a new day but the night still has its place here, and Matthias is not one to let that slip away easily, not when Silas is right here. That they met again at all is coincidence enough, after all, and Matthias is hardly going to complain about it.

He raises an eyebrow innocently at Silas’s hissed words, cannot resist the tilt of his head, “‘God’ is awfully formal, you can just call me Matthias—” The words dissolve into a laugh at Silas’s roared orders, and he makes his strategic retreat with the laughter still shaking his shoulders painfully, imagines the faces of every person who passes by the door. Hospitals promote privacy, but he’s pretty sure they don’t have sound-proof doors, and Matthias yields to the temptation of adding to the rumors by saying loudly, “It’s so cute how eager you are to get me in bed, Doc, you know I’d never deny you—motherfuckin’ ow!”

His amusement crumples into a hiss of protest. Matthias isn’t trying to twitch away from him, but the press of Silas’s fingers sends pain radiating through his shoulder, drying his mouth with the intensity of it. “Fuck,” he huffs. It didn’t hurt this much before. Side effect of the adrenaline rush wearing off, he supposes, as he blinks the irritating white spots out of his eyes and shrugs, forces himself to relax into pliancy under Silas’s palms. “No big thing,” which would be infinitely more convincing if not for the tight set of his jaw, “I just ran into a couple guys who wouldn’t leave these girls alone, so I took care of it.” Lips quirk into a smile, the edge of weariness hidden in the drop of his lashes. “You should see the other guys.”

It’s a familiar half-truth. Silas doesn’t have to know the guys were long dead and that he went looking for them, provided he doesn’t look too closely at Matthias’s knuckles where the skin’s clean, and Matthias doesn’t think he will; the dislocated shoulder’s a much bigger problem than assorted scrapes and bruises. That there’s still salt clinging to the creases of his sleeves and jeans is a more obvious problem, but he’s too sore to brush it off. Instead Matthias swings his legs around so Silas is standing between them, and casually plops his forehead down against Silas’s shoulder.

“I already know it’s dislocated, you don’t have to keep poking at it, it’s not gonna grow teeth and bite or anything,” he mumbles. “Just pop it back in place and take me home or something, that way if I start to die a dramatic death you can do your doctor thing and save me.”

[Zephyr]

Silas doesn’t stop to think about how Matthias isn’t taking him seriously at all, because if he does, he’s pretty sure that he won’t like the results. So instead, he blocks out anything that has to do with Matthias making fun of him and decides to focus on his work. It’s hard to compartmentalize when he has his hands on Matthias, and inhales his scent. It was so prominent last night, surrounding him, mixed with the familiar smell of his best friend, and he has to take a deep breath to wash the memories and focus on the task at hand.

Namely Matthias’ shoulder.

It isn’t as bad as it looks, he decides quickly enough. Silas isn’t one to pry into anyone else’s business, so he accepts the other man’s explanation with a distracted grunt. “Take your damn clothes off, and I don’t want any damn lip.” Like he’s really going to be able to stop Matthias from saying anything about Silas’ order. Instead, the doctor largely ignores anything that’s said once he gets his hands on Matthias’ unclothed shoulder. The skin is bruised where it’s dislocated, and probably won’t get much better before it gets worse. Still, getting it put back into place is a good leap towards that.

The fight has seeped out of Silas as he goes into doctor mode. It’s comforting, really, Matthias’ presence now, having this. Knowing exactly what he’s doing. He just lets a thoughtful expression cross his face as he studies it, smiles genuinely at Matthias’ tired words and laughs a little bit. “God. You just never give up, do you?” He was realizing that he liked this kid, despite trying his hardest to hate him, he just can’t, and it’s so frustrating that he’s completely helpless like this.

“Well.” He says after a second. “I’m going to have to pop it back into place.” He meets Matthias’ gaze steadily, amusement in his eyes. “I can offer you a painkiller before, but unless I jab you with a needle, it’ll just take longer to work than it’s worth. So I’m hoping you can take a little pain and deal with it while I do this.” He focuses his attention back on Matthias’ arm, runs his palm gently over the warm curve of his shoulder. “Okay. Tell me when you’re ready.” His voice has taken on an entirely different tone once he’d begun his examination.

When Matthias is ready, Silas grips his shoulder firmly, jerks it up and in with one deft movement, honed from years of practice and just stands there, an anchor of support for the pain. He rests Matthias’ forehead against his chest for a moment, raking his fingers through the kid’s hair while he laughs, the sound soft in the privacy of the room. “You okay? Want some drugs? My treat.” He decides to make it a point to prescribe something stronger than they’d normally give someone for a dislocated shoulder, but “…I swear to god if you get hooked on the pills and try to turn me into your own personal drug dealer, I’ll fucking kill you myself.”

Then he turns his attention to the rest of Matthias’ wounds, prodding cuts with alcohol and Neosporin and probably paying more attention to them than he would have a complete stranger, but this is stupidly therapeutic anyway. “Don’t you have a place of your own?” Silas grumps after a moment, no real disapproval in his voice. “Not that I have any problem sharing mine for the night, but don’t you ever sleep in your own goddamn bed?” It didn’t really matter. Silas is talking just to fill the space between them. He really has no problem taking Matthias home, but he thinks about calling Nate and letting him know…for reasons.

[Matthias Walker]

“Heh. Lip.”

Matthias leers at Silas just on principle, but there is a thoughtful solemnity in his eyes despite the exaggerated smile; that Silas is treating him despite the sex and despite the growling is telltale in its own right. It is, though, easier to let it pass unsaid, his gratitude swallowed, than to fumble together some semblance of a thanks, so Matthias focuses on easing the jacket and shirt off of his shoulder, catching his lower lip between his teeth to keep the soft hisses of pain in his throat. The bruising looks worse than it feels; it’s the grate of displaced bone that’s really the issue, and Matthias is good at ignoring the pain. It is not the first time he’s dislocated that shoulder, he doubts it will be the last, and he has, after all, had much worse.

“You know me,” he says dryly, once he’s dropped his shirt loosely to the floor and Silas’s fingers return, softer this time, “Epitome of determination.” The smile turns up the corners of his mouth, inviting amusement at his own casual immodesty. “Pinnacle of humanity. Einstein and Schrodinger ain’t got nothin’ on me.” He nudges lightly at Silas’s knee with his foot, drops his head as the man’s hands settle warmly on his shoulder, and maybe it’s cowardice that has him closing his eyes, his heartbeat reacting to the inescapability of the pain as he leans into Silas. “Ready when you are, doc.”

He is not, in fact, ready.

The pain should be familiar, but it still drags a sound that is half groan and half sob from his throat, the fingers of his free hand twisting into Silas’s scrubs until his knuckles bleed white under the skin. The touch of hands in his hair and the rumble of Silas’s voice above him startles a laugh out of him, a little raspy. “You just want to get me high to have your wicked way with me,” he accuses, his voice muffled against the other man’s chest. “It’s okay, schnookums, you won’t need the drugs. I’m easy.”

Silas shifting has Matthias swaying upright again, reluctant to let go of him entirely as he starts in on the cuts that Matthias had expected to go ignored. The antiseptic burns, but it’s ignorable, and Matthias isn’t tired enough to doze off. He hooks his ankles around the backs of Silas’s knees instead, watches Silas as he methodically works his way down the scrapes that lace up his chest and across his ribs. A laugh catches in his throat at the half-hearted bitching, and Matthias reaches up with his right hand to run his fingers through Silas’s hair, thumbing it into cowlicks.

“Nah,” he says honestly, eyebrows furrowing a little as he concentrates on turning Silas’s hair into a Mohawk; it’s not actually long enough to get there but certainly not for lack of trying. “I’m just passing through, should be outta Boston in a week or two. My bed’s a few states away, I’m not up for the commute.” He’s not sure if he means New York or North Carolina, but it doesn’t matter either way; they’re both home only in memory and occasionally in name, but never in practice. “Anyway, this is more fun. When’s your shift end?”

[♥ Nathan ♥]

Waking up alone is, if Nathan had to rate it, among the sorriest of ways to start a day. There is something to be said for not worrying about anyone else for the slow drag of the morning, but more often than not the werewolf finds that he would rather rise nestled beside another warm body – and maybe it’s for that reason that he has grown so close to Silas, to the comforting and continued companionship the other man offers. That familiar scent and embrace are what he ends up blaming his late morning on; with Silas beside him, he has no mind for the actions of their independent third wheel. His head is not attuned, as it would normally be, for the motions and departure of Matthias. Instead, as the kid chooses to slip out early and slink away, Nathan only sleeps on, working off the worst of the night’s exertions.

An hour later, when Silas’s phone buzzes disappointingly and forces them both to begrudgingly face the day, Nate considers the consequences of his late morning well deserved. Like some sort of porn gremlin, he mutters at one point while surveying the damage – the spattering of grease left in his microwave, the expensive coffee pilfered from his cabinet, the missing mug. It is not a high toll for what had been an enjoyable evening, but for once the werewolf joins his partner in needless complaining. Nathan, when it comes right down to it, is not a morning person.

There are benefits to largely being one’s owns boss, and though Nathan is almost obsessively dedicated to both his company and his job, the rewards that come with his position are ones he still occasionally manages to take advantage of. Benefits like deciding to work from home after a late and enjoyable night instead of bothering to commute; perks like abandoning even that small amount of effort for an extended lunch break and a trip further downtown. Following Silas’ departure, he idles away a few hours attending to work that often gets left behind in the bustle off the office, before abandoning the idea of productivity all together and taking up his own lunch break idea.

He brings his laptop with him, if only for the illusion – or self-delusion – of getting some work done while out, and takes to the streets.

A favorite café exists only a few blocks from his building, and Nate stops on his trek for a half-dozen donuts and two coffees, which balances precariously in a tray held in one hand. Silas’ hours are unpredictable, as his sudden disappearance this morning attests to, and the man does not expect to find him immediately available when he arrives at the hospital; he chitchats with a receptionist, offers a wave of his fingers and a cheeky grin to a knowing gaggle of nurses, and eventually asks where he might find a Doctor Vincent. Drinks in hand, donuts still hot, he wanders the hallways until he finds the right room, where he is content to wait for only a bare minimum of seconds.

Bothering Silas while he’s wish a patient is not normally in his method of operations, but it is the doctor’s goddamn day off, and Nate thinks he can spur him into remembering that and leaving the hospital early. Dedication will only get you so far, especially when Silas already ranks among the top on his field (and his pay can hardly get higher, can it?). Nathan knocks, pauses for a response, and then will stick his head around the door either way – boldly displaying the bag of donuts with the identifiable Ma’s logo.

”Silas, when you gotta moment, I—“ and then he pauses to actually look in the room, to recognize that oddly familiar smell that rushes up to greet his nose, and his eyes narrow suspiciously. There, in an oddly surreal picture, sits Matthias, half-dressed and looking much worse (and yet still so damnably attractive) than he had the previous night, his hands twisting and toying in Silas’ hair. There is a flicker of confusion, some uncertainty that flashes over Nate’s face before evaporating in an instant, and he instead flashes the pair a disarming grin.

”…I brought donuts,” he continues, shaking the bag at them in obvious confirmation – and if some of the easy confidence has leaked from Nate’s voice, it may only be noticeable to an attentive ear.

[Zephyr]

The sound that comes from Matthias is smothered against his chest, and he tightens his arms around him almost protectively for a moment before the pain seems to wane and he talks. As he works on the cuts and bruises, he is listening to Matthias’ words, trying to be as gentle as possible with his alcohol as he dabs blood away here and there. He knows that it shouldn’t bother him, Matthias leaving, because from the beginning, that has been a fact. Matthias was a one time thing. He was always leaving…but still. Silas doesn’t want to let him go.

It’s a selfish little feeling, and one that he pushes away in favor of listening to the kid’s story, nodding lightly. “Well. At least you won’t have to go home with a dislocated shoulder.” He says distantly, trying to ignore the feeling of fingers in his hair, because it’s getting a little much and he just wants to be done. He isn’t so sure about taking the kid home, mainly because sleeping around is Nate’s thing, not Silas’, and while he wants to mean a lot to both of them, he doesn’t want to step on Nate’s toes, not when he has to live with the guy after Matthias leaves.

Silas gives a noncommittal grunt when Matthias asks him the question, standing up and stepping away for look over his handiwork. “You can put your clothes back on now” He snorts, replacing his things before he speaks again. “I don’t have a shift.” He starts out, back turned to Matthias as he scribbles on the chart. “It’s my day off…well, it was supposed to be. But they need me to work, so here I am. I could probably just leave, but…”

And he doesn’t get the words out because there is Nate, peeking his head through the door and holding up a bag that smells suspiciously of pastries. He catches the drop of the sentence when he sees Matthias, and he isn’t completely oblivious to the subtle changes in Nate’s demeanor, but it means little to Silas. Nothing was happening. “The idiot got himself into a bar fight.” Silas grunts, shrugging and returning to scribbling on his chart. “I had to pop his arm back into place because he can’t seem to get it through his fool head that his body is not a punching bag.”

After he fills out the chart, he approaches Matthias again. “I’m going to get you a damn sling. You can’t be moving that arm that much while it’s healing.” Then he looks to Nate, gaze seeking, prodding…for what he couldn’t figure out. Maybe this is why he shouldn’t get so close to Matthias. He doesn’t want Nate to get possessive over the kid, which might have already happened. But things will return to normal when Matthias leaves. Until then Silas just has to make his presence minimal.

He snorts and flashes Nate a grin, eying the bag. “Are those for me? I hope those are for me. The goddamn hospital has me running ragged on my day off. I want to just go home.” And why couldn’t he? Go home, drink and sleep and just not have to worry about the problems of the world for a day. “Did you get any work done?” He asks as an aside, taking the bag and poking into it hopefully.

[Matthias Walker]

Yeah, home.

Like that’s going to happen. Matthias pulls a face, hopes it will suffice for an answer in lieu of the words, because he really doesn’t know what to say to that; he likes to keep the lies to a minimum because it’s just easier not to get tangled up in them like that, and everything he can possibly say about home is going to come out wrong. Easier to just focus on the little shocks of pain where Silas’s hands land, the other man’s proximity and the warmth he exudes a strangely comforting counterpoint to the burn of alcohol against his skin. He makes a sympathetic sound as the man continues, apparently unbothered by his lack of a real answer, murmurs, “That blows, man, just ditch and—”

And Nate, apparently. Matthias blinks, does not miss the stutter in the man’s sentence nor the drop in his tone, and feels oddly like he did the one time in high school he got caught making out with someone else’s girlfriend, sans the insults and punches. He’s grateful for the difference, really; given his condition he doesn’t think he could take another hit (not that he’d oppose the making out), but it’s still a bizarre flashback. And one he has no idea how to react to—not then and not now. He drops his hands back to the bed, offers Nate a casual grin, and wonders if he should be concerned about security in the hospital or not before Silas speaks up, as caustic as the moment he stepped into the room, as if the past ten minutes had never happened.

It’s probably easier for his brain to comprehend that way.

“I didn’t—” Matthias starts, half-indignant, at Silas’s loose interpretation of his own story, “It wasn’t a bar fight. I was being, you know, honorable and shit!” Yeah, maybe the bar fight’s the easiest explanation—though why Silas thinks he would be at a bar so early in the morning is truly beyond Matthias—but he’s already agreed to go around being an unsung hero, the literal slayer of monsters with no fanfare; he doesn’t appreciate getting that promptly reduced to punching bag at a bar, thanks.

Not that it’s inaccurate.

Pain is a sign of life, and all that.

But it isn’t accurate this time. He sticks out his tongue at Silas’s back, tilts his head to catch Nate’s eye, and says in a way he refuses to acknowledge as petulant, “He’s lying. Lying liar that lies. And I don’t want a sling, I can’t—” Pay for a sling, wear a sling on hunts, flirt his way to a bed with a sling. “—it’s fine.” It’s actually not; just picking up his shirt and pulling it on has him choking back the rising nausea, but he really can’t deal with a sling and the pain doesn’t stop him from sliding off of the bed, stepping around to clap a hand against Silas’s shoulder as he’s halfway through poking through the doughnut bag, “I’m just going to, you know, go check out and all, look, take the day off or something, man, I’m not gonna fuck up my shoulder and—I got your coffee cup.”

The addendum is for Nate, and stops Matthias awkwardly halfway out the door with the tips of his fingers still grazing against Silas’s shoulder in his attempt to maneuver between the two men, his eyebrows furrowing a little. “Shit. I was totally going to return that. Am. I am totally going to return that, just, eventually.” His gaze slides to Silas, wary, “I promise I can wash a cup without dislocating my shoulder, being a man of incredible skill and all.”

[♥ Nathan ♥]

In a gesture that speaks more of wolf than man, Nate flicks his tongue across his lower lip in brief hesitation before sidling into the small room, shutting the door behind him with a bump of his hips. He nods at Matthias casually, as though this were the most normal thing in the world – whether that is his bringing Silas coffee or bumping in to Mattie again is vague – but whatever awkwardness had clung to him in that vulnerable moment, it dissipates with a renewed attention to composure. There are a thousand and one different bright sides to running into the younger man a second time, and Nate is already entertaining the thought of any number of them.

”Honorable and shit,” he reiterates, quirking a brow at Mattie while letting himself further into the room. If the guy wants to hide whatever reason he had ended up here – there’s very little glory in getting the shit kicked out of you – Nate’s not going to press him, but that doesn’t mean he won’t mock the kid’s attempt at a cover-up. ”You’d better listen to him, though.” With the air of a man who own his surroundings, the werewolf plops himself down in a guest chair and slides the second over to prop his feet up on, idly unrolling the top of his bag of pastries. ”—they got straps on these beds and everything,” which he knows for entirely wholesome reasons. ”Just let him get you a goddamn sling.”

Nathan has broken and dislocated enough things in his life to know there’s sound advice in Silas’ orders – and even if he hadn’t, he’d trust the man’s judgment. The surgeon’s next statement has him clutching his donuts to his chest possessively, sizing Silas up suspiciously. ”—They’re for us. And him, too,” he adds, nodding at Mattie. ”So don’t eat them all.” And only then will the man relax, holding out the second cup of coffee and the bag for Silas to take. ”Did enough, but I was a little distracted,” he replies cheekily, though his follow-up is cut off when Mattie begins his petulant tirade. Nathan drops his chin into his hand and watches with an amused smirk, brows drawn upwards, until the boy’s done babbling.

If he didn’t know any better, Matthias’ stumbling elaboration would only encourage that creeping and uncomfortable suspicion that he had interrupted something. It is either that or the kid really has no experience in dealing with the awkward aftermath of a one-night stand, but after how he had preformed the previous night, Nate has his doubts regarding that option. What keeps him going is the stalwart sentiment that even if Silas and Mattie had been doing anything, it is not his problem. Nathan is practiced at believing lies so fully they become truth; and as the conversation continues, his nonchalance is nothing if entirely sincere.

The wolf is a possessive thing, and Nathan is a jealous man, but he is intelligent enough to keep both unwanted emotions well in hand.

”—yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen.” The werewolf shifts his weight to sit upright, daring to even place his feet back on the floor. ”He’s not gonna let you out of here until he’s good and ready.” Hell, Nate doesn’t have any knowledge of medicine and he wouldn’t let Mattie slip away, either – so perhaps he can’t blame Silas so much for being so hands-on. The man gestures at the kid with his cup as he speaks, pinning him with his blue-eyed stare, and will rise to his feet if Mattie doesn’t return to the bed. ”Plus, now you get a donut out of it.” Presuming Silas didn’t decide they were all his. ”…though I would like my mug back.”

And then he is rising anyway, striding forward with his coffee in hand, his responding smirk hidden by the rim of his cup. ”Or were you inviting yourself back over to return it in person?”

[Zephyr]

The look Silas shoots Nate is positively indignant. “I’m not a hog. I wouldn’t eat them all!” He starts to protest, though with the way he eats (usually only when he remembers or gets brought something), he probably could eat them all. “Without offering you guys any.” He flashes Nate one of his rare crooked smiles before taking the coffee with a grunt of thanks.

With food in hand, Silas is content to listen to the conversation at hand halfheartedly at best, though his head shoots up when he feels Matthias’ hand and his eyes promptly narrow dangerously. He’s about to tell him off when Nate speaks up and Silas flashes the other wolf a look before snorting at Matthias. “He’s right you know.” A little growly tone entered his words at the most, even though it was slightly amused. He poked his nose back in the bag, pulling out a donut and promptly shoving it at Matthias’ chest. “Go sit back down on the bed.” Silas growls, picking himself out a donut and nudging the back towards Nate. Silas pulled himself up onto the counter and sat there with half a donut in his hand and his coffee.

Eyes dart back and forth from Nate to Matthias when the werewolf makes the offer. Silas has to keep from snorting again, because that is such a predictable thing to say. Nate doesn’t even care about the damn coffee cup, and Silas has to ask himself why he even cares if Matthias visits Nate. Not like he’d even know unless he was there. Silas ignores this feeling, because he isn’t supposed to care what Nate does or who he does it with. This is the deal. This is what he went into this…whatever the hell it is knowing. Neither of them are exclusive, and even though Silas hasn’t slept with anyone else (besides Matthias, but he’s hardly counting that because Nate slept with him too. So they cancel each other out. Clearly. Silas is good at math, okay?)

Silas keeps quiet for the most part, content to smother his feelings with coffee and donuts and then whenever he can get out of this godawful place, he can go home, pass out for a few days and not have to pay attention to anything. For now though, he is content to watch the powerplay between Matthias and Nate, and whatever feelings he’s felt today, he can ignore them and focus on this. Because this is easier to handle than emotions. “You’re about as subtle as a bag of rocks, Nate.” Silas growls into his coffee. Not like he really needed to be subtle, and not like Silas is much better, but still. He kicks Nate lightly and gives the other wolf a glare that’s hardly intimidating…but he tries. “I’m going to tear you a goddamn new one if you cause him to fuck up his shoulder.” And this is nothing that has to do with the low simmer of jealousy in the back of his stomach, or the realization that he probably wasn’t invited.

Silas was just a doctor, plain and simple, and if fucking causes more damage to Matthias’ shoulder, he really is going to be pissed at Nate. He flashes Matthias a look then. “I do not want you leaving town without coming to me first so I can check out your shoulder. I’m not going to make you wear a sling, but if you have fucked it up more, I’ll make damn sure that you wear one for a goddamn long time.” Then he grows silent. For all of Silas’ eccentricities, he takes his job seriously, and maybe, deep down, he cares more about other people than he says he does.

“I wonder if they notice if I just leave. This goddamn place is stressing as hell.” That’s more than obvious in the way his fingers shake around the coffee cup as he drains it, something he can’t quite hide no matter how tightly he grips it. He often wonders if it’s possible to work yourself to death. Sometimes, Silas thinks he can get pretty damn close.

He falls silent after that, content to listen to Matthias and Nate talk and biding his time for when he can slip out without any of his coworkers being any the wiser.

[Matthias Walker]

The promise of doughnuts is enough to make Matthias hesitate, his eyebrows knitting together half in suspicion and half in dismay; he wants the food but it doesn’t change the fact that he cannot afford to pay for the sling—or, in retrospect, the time he has been here. It is a pity, he thinks dryly, that being someone’s one night stand does not come with discount benefits. And while he does have fake credit cards by necessity—it is one of the many life lessons his father taught him—Matthias prefers to avoid using them if at all possible; even if the risk of getting caught is slim it is still present and the hunting is easier without the police aware of his presence. And it is unnecessary: The sling will inevitably be discarded in the ever-growing pile of miscellany in the trunk of his car and his shoulder will be fine.

It’s difficult to argue when Silas shoves a doughnut at him; Matthias takes it automatically, blinks owlishly at him and then at Nate, and then sighs, “Doughnut, then. What is it with you guys and putting me on beds?” Still, he obediently turns around again to reclaim the bed, steadfastly ignoring the crinkling of paper under him and kicking his heels idly against the base; if he’s not even allowed to sit in a chair then the irritations that come with the hospital beds are to be dealt with accordingly.

Mouth slants up at the blatant offer; it is impossible not to take it as a compliment and coming from Nate, it is certainly a boost to his ego. Matthias intends to follow up on it; Silas’s grumbling accusation is only a brief distraction. “Subtlety is overrated,” he says easily, turns the flash of his smile to Nate. “Pretty sure I owe you for it anyway, I’d hate to go without making it up to you…” The deliberate flick of his tongue over his lower lip is as explicit an offer as he is willing to make; it’s a tease in and of itself and his eyes are still bright with the masked laughter. Just because the ending is, at least on his part, already decided does not mean the preceding game of offer and counter cannot be equally enjoyable.

He laughs outright at Silas’s poorly-concealed bitching, eyebrow arching at the man in half-amusement, half-curiosity: The doctor acts just slightly different with Nate there and Matthias is unwilling to put it down to the shift in roles from physician to friend and leave it at that. He’d laughed before—soft, sure, but laughs nonetheless. The downgrade to growling and one smile is subtle, but there, and Matthias is nothing if not nosy.

“Do you plan on super-gluing the sling to me or just ditching to tag along on a cross-country road trip so you can bitch at me in person?” he asks, expression settling into mock solemnity before it eases into nonchalance. “Seriously, Doc, chill. It’s not a big deal.” It isn’t, either; Matthias lives in a state of perpetually bruised, and he’s learned to ignore it for the most part—it is not an entirely pleasant way to go about hunting but if Matthias is not fond of being constantly on the edge of hurting, he’s even less fond of taking breaks.

But there is nothing that says he cannot be a hypocrite, so Matthias takes a bite out of the doughnut, tips it at Silas in lieu of a drink, and adds, “Know what else isn’t a big deal? Taking a break. As in, I’m pretty sure the hospital is not going to fall apart without you. The world is…uh, big and full of doughnuts and coffee? I don’t know. Help me,” he appeals to Nate. “I bet if we tied him to a wheelchair we could smuggle him out.”

[♥ Nathan ♥]

The aroma of coffee in the air is nearly overpowering that sterile hospital stench, the oppressive aroma of disinfectant and bleach that once made Nate so reluctant to enter this place – at least prior to Silas’ involvement in his life. He swirls his cardboard travel cup between his fingers, glad for the addition of something to keep his hands busy, and shoots Silas a curious and assessing stare; there is very little natural about the game they are playing, the sudden abrasive brush of ego and doubt. As though realizing his comment may have been to blame, Nate simply accepts the bag offered to him and busies himself with digging through it, selecting a donut at random before discarding the bag to the counter lazily.

In a rare move, Nate disengages and averts his eyes distractedly, at least for as long as it takes for Silas to man up and kick at his ankle. He glances upwards to catch the doctor’s wannabe death glare and holds it pointedly, brow quirked and smirk smug; all traces of his brief moment of humility erased in the line of that expression. ”I don’t know why you’d expect anything different,” the werewolf challenges mockingly, but the smile he eventually fixes Silas with is entirely honest. ”I promise not to mess him up more than he already is.” He tilts his head towards Matthias, and manages an attempt at a withering look – though the subtle curve of his lips belies his intent. ”You don’t owe me anything,” he laughs after a moment. ”Though I do feel like I missed out some.” Blue eyes rake downwards over Matthias’ form in slow demonstration.

So much for being humble, but Nate has no real intent to hurt Silas further – his words are spoken lightly, with a tone that manages to keep the seriousness from his voice (no matter how he may actually mean them). The werewolf’s desire to continue this exchange is aborted only thanks to his respect for Silas, and his rather selfish interest in keeping his bedmate happy; no one wants to be a third wheel, and where they may have resolved that particular issue with a small amount of liquor and a large amount of lust, it is harder come morning. Harsher shadows are always drawn in the light of day.

Nathan retreats, then, taking his donut and the dregs of his coffee and settling back to his seat. It is as close to a relinquishing of dominance as Silas is like to get – a subtle yielding of space to the doctor’s presence and authority – and Nate sprawls out lazily in his chair, letting the man get through his belligerent lecture while attempting to appear indifferent. Despite Matthias’ easy smiles and blatant flirting, Nate still feels decidedly uncertain about the whole situation, and it is with a stubborn sense of entitlement that he stays. A little tension in the air and the intrusion of some handsome, blue-eyed acquaintance wouldn’t ruin his goddamn lunch break.

Finishing the last of his donut, Nathan flicks the crumbs from his fingers and glances upwards cautiously, as though testing the air to make sure the absurd back-and-forth is finished. He’s said his piece – he has no vested interest in Matthias staying in a sling or not, save for lending his support to Silas – and if the idiot wants to bail on them and run out, the werewolf isn’t going to stop him. He might be left with a lingering sense of disappointment, but it is more for an opportunity missed than anything else; Mattie is a novelty, a curiosity, and where he has made an impression Nate has not made the mistake of getting attached.

Only Silas holds that record.

”He’s got a point,” Nate shrugs at Silas, supporting his cheek in his palm, his elbow on the armrest. ”It’s your goddamn day off. We had plans.” Plans like sleeping late and not doing anything, which really weren’t plans at all, but Nathan is fond of the lazy days he gets to spend in – particularly when it comes with company. Working from home with a selection of bad movies and Silas to distract him had seemed like a great idea until the doctor’s phone had ruined it. Clever blue eyes leave Mattie to fix upon Silas, matched by a mischievous smile. The implications there seem far more fun than dwelling on missed opportunities, and he leaps at the new thread. ”You up for bailing? Or do we need to resort to desperate measures?”

[Zephyr]

It occurs to Silas after that the tension in the room is probably his fault. He licks his lips and crushes the coffee cup in his hands, brushing his hands off on his scrubs as he turns his attention to Nate. He shoots the other wolf a glare, but it’s halfhearted at best. He catches the look the wolf gives Matthias, but chooses not to dwell on it. Instead, he gets up to go toss his cup in the trash because he realized he was slowly mutilating the poor thing with his hand without realizing it.

Even though the look hadn’t been directed at him, it sent chills up his spine. Because he can still remember how Nate felt. His warmth, his scent all around him. The way he fucking claimed him. He felt his face heating up with the flush on his cheeks at the memories, and he hoped that the other men were too focused on each other to notice him, because he knew that if he were to turn away from them, that’d be really goddamn suspicious. So he decides not to look at Nate or at Matthias. Instead, he studies his feet intently from where he’d fallen to lean against the doorframe.

He may not have been a wolf as long as Nate has, but he’s been one long enough to decode the subtle body language that the other man is exuding. No one is comfortable right now. Silas licks his lips, then goes to lean on Nate’s chair. His stance is casual, and he lowers one hand to brush a finger across Nate’s cheek and down his jaw. It is a fondly affectionate motion, a part of the werewolf that he doesn’t let slip often. Silas isn’t quite sure of the meaning. An apology maybe? He feels like he has a lot to apologize for lately. The tension in the room a big thing. His hand is withdrawn quickly, in case the light touch isn’t welcome.

Silas snorts at Nate, knowing that they really didn’t have any plans. Sleeping all day maybe. Maybe some more rigorous activities later on. He meets Nate’s gaze though, and he feels a rush of heat in his abdomen and in his ears and goddamn. How can the fucking bastard make him feel like that just by looking at him. It isn’t even fair. Silas squirms in discomfort as if the look reminds him of how goddamn sore his ass is, and he shoots Nate a scathing glare that is much less intimidating than he’d meant it to be. Of course the bastard is sure to notice it, and he isn’t going to just let it go either.

And if he actually likes being able to still feel what Nate did to him? Well, those thoughts have no place in somewhere as sanitary as a hospital, so when he looks at Nate, catches his eyes, he knows there’s no goddamn way that he’s going to be able to say no to that. Not with the invitation and implications heavy in those blue eyes.

Just because he’s suddenly found it hard to catch his breath and his heart feels like it might beat right out of his chest doesn’t mean he just has to take it. “Fine.” He tries to growl, even though the sound is much more breathless than he meant it to be. Silas pauses, swallows the words, squirms again. This time he’s able to project just how put out by this whole situation he most definitely is (read: not at all). “This time we’re going to my goddamn apartment!” Silas glares at him, walking past Nate towards the door, trying to get out of the way before Nate notices how he’s walking.