The Beast Inside

Cover Up

"Shit shit shit..."

The Irish man mutters under his breath, panic twisting at his gut as he struggles through Mark's front door and up the stairs, clutching at his left arm tightly, where blood pooled around his ripped t-shirt.

Quickly and not so quietly he makes his way into Mark's bathroom, shutting and locking the door quickly behind him. Tears brim his eyes as he looks down at his arm, a bullet wound, where blood leaked heavily from, the pain burning.

"Son of a bitch!"

He snarls loudly, walking to Mark's mirror and opening the cabinet, trying desperately to not look at the blood, and to ignore the red-hot pain, silver definitely hurt worse than anything he'd felt before.

Digging through the cabinet, and ignoring any objects he knocked down, the Irish man soon finds what he is looking for, a roll of bandages, silently thankful the man owned some.

He breathes quickly and sits on the toilet seat, reaching for a small washcloth and running it under sink water, struggling to not let tears fall, though that in itself was a struggle. He sucks in a breath as he rolls what's left of his sleeve up and presses the washcloth against it, wincing in pain, though biting his tongue as to not release a whimper.

Letting the washcloth soak up the blood, made the wound look even worse. A normal person may have bled out already, but thankfully Jack wasn't human. That didn't mean it hurt any less however.

After he had cleared most of the blood he sucks in a breath, prepared for what he had to do next, prepared for the immense pain. Without another thought he reaches into his wound with his bare fingers, releasing a small yell of pain before biting his tongue once again, tasting coppery blood as he does, though he ignores it, digging through the hole and soon enough coming across what he was looking for.

Jack pulls his fingers out, in his hand the silver bullet. He winces and sets it on the sink ignoring the blood that leaked onto the surface of the sink, instead looking at his wound, which had begun to heal slowly. Though he could heal quickly compared to humans, silver affected him horribly, the pain alone was bad, but it also made the wound heal much slower.

The Irish man breathes heavily, his heart racing as he quickly wraps his arm in the bandages, the arm, wrapping it tightly and releasing a sigh as the blood stops flowing down his arm. His blue eyes roam the bathroom quickly, anxiously. What the hell was he going to do? He couldn't hide a wound like this from both hunters, what could he do?

The green haired man is pulled from his frantic thoughts as the front door can be heard opening. His blue orbs widen in a slight fear as he hears the two men walk in. Jack lunges to the door, making sure it was locked before releasing a relieved sigh and sliding down the wooden door, until he sat on the floor, his breathing heavy, heart racing, and eyes teared, as the pain still burned in his arm, barely able to move it, he simply sits in silence, holding his breath when he hears heavy footsteps up the stairs.

"Sean?"

A familiar deep voice asks through the door after a couple minutes, a bit of worry lacing his tone. Jack sucks in a small breath, before finally speaking, thankfully keeping his voice neutral despite the tears that threatened to fall down his face, and the bit of red that stained the room around him.

"Yah...?"

As soon as Jack speaks Mark goes silent for a few seconds, listening close to the Irish man's tone, and clearly hearing a bit of distress.

"Everything alright?"

The red haired man asks through the door again. Jack's eyes wander over the scene in the bathroom, his wounded arm, the red staining the sink and a bit on the floor. He wanted desperately to tell Mark no, tell him that something was wrong, and come clean about everything.

However, he stops himself as his mouth opens to speak, Mark was the one who shot him. He was a hunter, if Jack told the truth, it would risk his life. Thought Mark was one of his closest friends, he was a hunter, and hunters would do anything to kill a beast like him.

"Yah... I'm fine... Just... just getting a bit sick I think..."

The Irish man mutters through the door, quickly wiping a salty tear that falls down his cheek before it hits the floor beneath him. The man on the other side of the door goes silent, seeming to notice something was off, and debating on whether to keep prying or not.

"Alright... I'm going to bed... Goodnight Sean, wake me up if you need anything..."

With that Jack can hear footsteps echo down the hallway, and a door closes. Jack releases a soft breath, clenching his eyes shut for a few seconds, and calming himself, breathing in and out... in and out...

Finally, after about five minutes had passed he stands up, grabbing the washcloth from before and running it under the sink water again, wiping off any bit of blood he'd gotten on the bathroom floor and sink. Simply grabbing the silver bullet and wrapping it in the washcloth, opening the door slowly and cautiously looking out.

Seeing Mark had truly gone to bed he makes his way out of the bathroom and down the stairs, his blue eyes anxiously darting around the dark house as he opens the front door quietly and walks outside, throwing the bloody washcloth and silver bullet into the bin, burying it under one of the trash bags already in there.

Releasing a small relieved sigh he walks back inside, closing and locking the door behind him, tiptoeing his way up the stairs and into his bedroom, his blood pumping in his ears, and his breathing a bit uneven.

He slowly grabs a few items of clothing, a pair of black sweats and a white t-shirt, and strips of his dirtied clothes, tossing them simply to the side as he changes into the clean ones, wincing at each small movement of his wounded arm, but managing to get pajamas on and climb into bed, his exhaustion taking over him, and sleep overtaking him instantly, and thoughts of this night melting away, at least for now.