fanficition cove

Originally written/posted: April 2021
Fandom: Dead By Daylight (2016)
Pairing: Jake/Dwight
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 9,510 words
Warnings: Canon Compliant, so canon-typical violence. Hurt/Comfort
Notes: I can’t believe I’ve written DBD fic, lol. Even crazier, I have several other WIPs for this fandom in varying states of being done…might revisit them, I’ve been replaying this game like crazy again lately. Wild to think that game turns 10 years old next month! Also, I cannot find a single scene break in this entire fic, wow — not going to lie, even for me, that’s a first…

It starts, as most things do with the Entity, with sacrifice.

He’s lost count of the things she has claimed. Blood, life, fear and hope, and laughter; of time, valuable resources, of all of their carefully built walls that protect their long-held vulnerabilities. The secrets that keep them up at night. The list goes on and on and on, and for once Dwight has lost track of it entirely.

He can admit that despite his better judgment on the matter, he can’t bring himself to really care all that much. Not right now, anyway. The bright hot pain radiating from his shoulder blade and down his back is enough, for the moment, to distract him from everything else. He’s been perched against this tree since he arrived back at the campfire, and the pain still hasn’t subsided even a fraction. Dwight fears he probably will be dealing with this pain well into the next few trials at this rate.

The Entity makes sure they’re all well enough to walk (or crawl) back to the campfire, but anything else is left up to circumstance and having the ability to heal yourself before escaping. A feat that Dwight didn’t quite accomplish this go around, and now he’s paying the price and then some. His shoulder tinges at him with each little movement he makes, relentlessly determined to be a nuisance. Dwight curses himself for his poor decision-making, mentally making the note to do better next time.

Even so, the bite of pain is a familiar one, and it’s not entirely an unwelcome distraction. Post trials are rough, no matter how many times he comes out of them. It’s almost nice, not having the immediate reminder of everything he did wrong back there.

Even so, he hardly lasts another minute before he has no choice but to inch himself away from the rest of the group. Though the call of good company and a warm fire is tempting, Dwight needs to check his wound, and he’s not about to ask one of the others to do it for him. For one, they’re all exhausted from today’s round of trials, and two, being shirtless in front of everyone else currently sounds like the most mortifying experience of his life to date — and Dwight’s life has pretty much been an accumulation of embarrassing moments and nothing else. Just the thought of one of the others, Bill, Feng, or god, Ace, seeing him like that makes his skin crawl. It spurs him into a light jog, leading him even further away from the group. He’d rather not add that particular flavor of torment to the pile, or get laughed at for his trouble.

Again.

He’ll just have to make do.

“Shit,” he whispers to himself not even a moment later.

Guilt licks at his heels pretty much as soon as that thought forms. He knows the others well enough by now — after everything they’ve been through — to know even if he may have been laughed at before, it’s different now. As it turns out, being caught in an endless loop of death and sacrifice makes it hard to care about whether or not someone is an awkward nerd.

Which means he probably should have stopped caring about this a long time ago as well, but he hasn’t.

Go figure.

Dwight continues away from everyone else, that small truth be damned. He’ll deal with this himself, and he’ll just have to hope that he’s somehow gained the ability to see behind himself since the last time he attempted to nurse a wound without the others finding out about it. He thinks the Entity could at least grant him this one mercy. After all that he’s done for her. After all they’ve done for her.

The fact that this already feels like wishful thinking is easily ignored, even if it does pull another sigh out of him.

There isn’t any point in dwelling, not here.

They’ve all been here long enough to know anything they face here, anything they feel only serves to fuel the horror behind the trials all the more. So, instead, he lowers himself to the first large rock he spots within walking distance. He’s just on the outskirts of the main campfire, so he’s still fairly protected. The rock is cool and hard beneath him, a welcome reprieve from being on his feet; he indulges himself for a few moments before setting to work.

His battered and blood-covered shirt, the one he had dozens of copies of back home for work, slips like silk through his fingers. The buttons pop free with some coaxing, and despite the hilarious change in circumstance, Dwight finds himself right back in his old bedroom regardless. The act of getting ready for work in the morning is not something he thought he would ever miss so much.

Not for the first time, Dwight thinks he would easily go back to life’s simple, mundane cruelties. They were certainly far better than this. Funny, how life tends to work out like that. In the ways you least expect it to.

“What are you doing?”

Dwight doesn’t shriek or anything, but he can hardly call the sound that does tumble out of his mouth human. He’s spinning around immediately even though he already knows who it is, a thin layer of anxiety already starting to form before he’s even met the other man’s eyes.

“I can see how you don’t startle the crows now,” Dwight manages to say, flicking his gaze between himself and Jake.

Jake doesn’t even try to hide how he rolls his eyes.

“It’s as simple as being considerate of their space,” he replies, not for the first time, though he sounds amused more than anything.

“Sure,” Dwight says, dubiously. He squints at Jake suspiciously, wondering why he’s bothered himself with checking up on Dwight when he had been trying to be quiet about it. “Um, so what are you doing here? Did you need something? I just need a few minutes and then I can —“

“What are you doing?” Jake asks again, cutting him off before he can really start to spiral into a round of twenty more questions.

“Uh, well — you know,” starts Dwight, trying desperately to find something to say that isn’t the truth. “Just wanted some fresh air.”

“Uh huh,” Jake says, not sounding impressed in the least. “Want to try again?”

“I have no idea what you’re–”

Jake, mercifully, cuts him off one more time.

“Don’t even bother, man. C’mon, just let me see it.”

Dwight’s cheeks flush almost immediately, fingers tripping over themselves where they’ve been frozen at the collar of his shirt since Jake interrupted him. It’s easy after that to force them into motion, and Dwight finds them now attempting to shield his half-naked body from view.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Jake says, pointing towards Dwight’s poor attempt at trying to maintain modesty. “It’s hard to miss the way you’re favoring that shoulder.”

For a moment, Dwight is struck silent.

The nervous rambling that may have sprouted forward otherwise is frozen in time in the base of his throat. His hands shake where they’re grasping at his shirt collar and it takes everything in him not to let them fall to his sides again.

Jake is right; it’s hard not to notice these kinds of things when they’re almost always within thirty feet of each other at any given time. But it’s still a shock. A soft, warm, trickling shock, one that fills Dwight’s insides like golden honey. It wraps its hopeful, misleading tendrils around the very core of him, and something deep inside settles.

He clears his throat a few times against the weight of realization this causes. Jake’s been here as long as Dwight has, though he’s not sure that really means anything anymore. Is any of this even real anymore?

That’s still a question Dwight struggles with.

“I — I don’t think that’s necessary, Jake. I mean, I can just check it out on my own…I’m sure, uh, that you have better things to do.”

For several moments, Jake only stares at him, a single eyebrow raising at him in response, as if to say, ‘is this the hill you’re going to stick your claim on?’ and Dwight can’t say it is. His flimsy excuse feels even more feeble beneath the collected way his friend stares at him, and giving in honestly isn’t even a decision he’s conscious of making.

Jake won’t be an asshole about this, that much Dwight is sure of.

“Alright,” Dwight croaks out, finally. “Um, yeah, I could use your help.”

He starts to peel the shirt back from his shoulders from his collar. The grimy fabric pools in the dips of his elbows and Dwight must look like an idiot but Jake doesn’t say anything. His gaze tracks over Dwight’s face, trailing down his neck and his collarbone. There are scars littering the surface of his chest, from various hacks, whacks, and various other wounds he’s lost track of since coming here. His back probably suffers the same treatment, but Jake doesn’t seem to mind the scars. Honestly, neither does Dwight.

It’s a stark reminder that whatever it is they’re doing here, whether it ends up actually being reality, it’s real enough to leave lasting marks on his skin. Some days he doubts it anyway, but mostly, it’s enough.

Dwight feels overly aware of his own body, now. He’s equally aware of just how close his friend is to touching him, and the thought makes him swallow again.

“Claudette told me you had a difficult trial,” Jake murmurs, tone almost…conversational.

His expression remains collected, but the hand that finally reaches out to grip his bicep is more than gentle. Even still, his skin ignites at the touch; a testament to just how little he’s been touched outside of the trials.

“We all did,” Dwight argues, never one to take the spotlight. Maybe it’s warranted he does this time, but it’s not as if Jake knows just how rough of a trial it actually was. “I don’t know why my shoulder is still giving me trouble. Usually — usually it’s at least numb by now.”

“Usually?” Jake asks, a frown playing at the corners of his lips.

Dwight shrugs. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m more of a generator guy than a running guy.”

“Hm,” Jake hums, but says nothing else. The furrow between his brows doesn’t disappear, and his hand taps once at his skin, a silent command to turn around.

Dwight sees no way to get out of this now, so he does without complaint.

It doesn’t take long for Jake to whistle at what he sees.

“Your shoulder is bruised to hell, man. Did you run yourself into a stone wall?”

He sputters — shocked at the particular brand of exasperation-tinged-concern in Jake’s tone, and at the relief that is quickly overwhelming everything else. Dwight is just damn grateful his back isn’t rotting off, or anything equally horrifying. The Entity has made it clear she has no problem manipulating their flesh to serve her purpose so truthfully, he wouldn’t put it past her.

“Uh, yeah. Something like that. Only with a chainsaw and a large rock, maybe,” Dwight replies, though the details beyond that are relatively hazy.

Some of their trials are crystal clear afterwards, like the Entity would rather feed off of the residual trauma for a bit longer. Some of them are so bleary on the details he can’t be sure what happened in them at all; can hardly remember if he made it out there alive or if it was another one fated with the end of a hook. His last trial hilariously falls somewhere in the middle. The rest of the trial is a bit hard to grasp at, memory wise, but he does remember how hard he’d been slammed against the rock in a few chases.

He also remembers the hook that followed after.

Twice.

Jake’s answering sigh is long-suffering and the look he can feel the other man fixing at his back is certainly no better. There’s worry there, however, buried beneath everything else, and despite himself, Dwight finds that simple truth warms him more than the campfire here could ever hope to.

“Stay still,” Jake says, though it’s unnecessary. Dwight’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to move from this spot even if he wanted to.

“Alright.”

Jake’s hand, once it connects with the tender skin at Dwight’s back, is warmer still. Warmer than the flush that is already spreading steadily over his cheeks and down his neck. At once, he feels completely out of his depth; he really can’t remember the last time he was touched like this, so casually, so gently; without any pretense. They’re as gentle as they can be with each other during the trials, but the act of patching one up or unhooking each other doesn’t even begin to compare to this.

Dwight is helpless but to make a noise, one he’s sure he’ll be embarrassed about later — as if he’s ever been capable of making noise that didn’t eventually serve to mortify him — but thankfully Jake only assumes the wound is tender and doesn’t comment. The quiet nature of the other man had thrown Dwight off at first, but now he relishes in the calm quiet that comes naturally to him. Jake is steady; reliable, a loner of his own making but that has never once stopped him from helping. The others affectionately point out that Dwight is incapable of leaving anyone behind after the gates open, but Jake is just as bad.

He might even be worse.

“You should try being more careful,” is all Jake says. His touch lingers for a few beats too long before dropping from his skin altogether. Even as goosebumps start to break out in the wake of his heat, Dwight shivers, finding himself foolishly missing it.

“You think I’m not?” Dwight asks, more than a little curiously.

“I think you’re selfless enough to let your self-preservation go out the window when one of us is in trouble,” Jake explains, and well — it’s not like he’s wrong. “Which is pretty much the same thing.”

Dwight snorts. “I don’t think that’s how that works.”

Ever the silent type, Jake lets the conversation dip off from there, and they fall quiet for a few moments. It doesn’t take long for Dwight’s brain to start fixating on something, and of course it chooses to fixate on just how distinctly aware he suddenly is of how naked his chest is.

It only seems to grow more awkward the longer that particular thought has to brew. He makes a move to grab for his shirt, as Jake can’t really do anything else for him aside from patting him on his (healthy) shoulder and tell him to do better next time. They really can’t afford to waste any of their supplies on this, even if they do set some aside for post-trial care. Jake, apparently, doesn’t feel the same, as his grip closes gently around Dwight’s wrist before he gets very far.

“None of that,” Jake replies, narrowing his gaze. “We need to dress your wound.”

“Um, no we don’t?”

“Yes, we do,” Jake argues.

“I feel fine, well — mostly, and we need the supplies—“

“I’m not trusting your judgment right now, man. No offense,” Jake replies, smirking a little. His words are somehow dismissive and teasing at the same time.

That had taken some getting used to.

That teasing could be something good, that it could croon at you like a fond song, that it did not always have to be inherently cruel. It’s the same thing he had seen people in high school use to have fun with their friends. A way of showing affection and inclusion that he never got the chance to experience from the outside looking in. How could he? He had always been an easy target for bullies, and kids were nothing if not persistent. Dwight has lost count of the things he has been teased for, most of all the things he couldn’t control; his height, his scrawniness, his propensity for anxiety, and eventually, when they were smart enough to pick up on it, his sexuality.

The first time Meg had called him a nerd, Dwight could hardly fight off the panic attack. Not only had it brought him back to his youth, but it brought him back to those few nights in the woods, before the Entity took him. He’d been so caught up in the word that was used he hadn’t noticed Meg’s voice had nothing but kind amusement in it, and it took him longer than that to register what she had said before it.

“That was pretty smart thinking back there, nerd. Thanks for the save.”

The gentle teasing within the group had taken off from there.

Dwight had never thought he could have this.

This had always been an other people thing, one he had never been included in on but was made the butt of the joke for several times. He still hasn’t decided if it’s a mean twist of fate or just undoubtedly hilarious that it had to happen here.

Perhaps it’s a bit of both.

“Hey,” Jake says, waving a hand in front of his face. Dwight didn’t even notice him circle back around. “Where did you go?”

“Uh,” Dwight starts, feeling his cheeks go red fast. He scrambles for something to say that isn’t just thinking about how people actually seem to like me now because while that’s a little too true, it also is just a bit too pathetic, even for him. Jake wouldn’t laugh at him, he knows that, but he’s already feeling raw from this alone. Anything else might kill him. He’d come back, probably, but that makes it worse. “N — nothing terribly important. Just…regular stuff.”

“Right,” Jake retorts, shortly, obviously not believing him. The man gestures to the injury on Dwight’s shoulder, and then to the campfire. Dwight can make out just the faintest rise and call of laughter filtering in. “I’m going to see if Claudette has something to help.”

“Jake…really, it’s fine. It’ll heal on its own.”

“The puncture wound is swollen. A salve will help the pain for your next trial.”

Dwight blows out a breath, a last ditch effort to stop the ball from rolling any further.

“I can take it. Claudette hasn’t had the chance to go search for the plants she needs lately…I don’t want to put her out.”

Jake either doesn’t hear him or pretends very convincingly not to. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

“Is this truly worth all this — trouble?” Dwight asks, a nervous laugh escaping as he does.

Jake’s never been this insistent before, usually he’s quite understanding if someone wants to let a wound heal on its own. For him to push back this much strikes Dwight as a little odd. More than a little, actually.

“Yes, it is. You’re hurt,” Jake says, like that says it all and he doesn’t need to elaborate. Meanwhile, Dwight’s ears start ringing. “She won’t let me leave without something to help anyway. You know that, right?”

Dwight curses. He does know that. Claudette would march over here herself to make sure he took that salve the moment she found out he was nursing a wound without aid. She would for any of them; Dwight and her have that in common.

“You’re not wrong,” says Dwight, voice almost inaudible.

“Great. Now that’s settled, sit tight.”

Jake must sense more arguments are forming on his tongue yet again, as he just pats Dwight’s shoulder sympathetically and takes off. Dwight wasn’t even able to form the first syllable, so he picks up his shirt from the ground in protest. He slips it over his shoulders like a makeshift cape; Jake will surely roll his eyes when he sees it, but it makes Dwight’s skin feel less like it’s trying to crawl off of his body. Call him a prude, or shy, or whatever, but it’s hard to find comfort in baring himself like that. At least here.

Jake, to his credit, is only gone for a few moments. Dwight sees him approach their other companions where they’re gathered in various states around the fire. Claudette, predictably, is with Meg; they’re curled around each other as they unwind from their trial with Dwight in the Red Forest. Both of them escaped unharmed, but he doesn’t blame them for seeking each other out. It’s an advantage, Dwight knows, to have someone to lean on like that.

Someone to brush away the sadness, the defeat, the misery. Even just for a moment. Dwight thinks a lot of things would be worth suffering through for that.

Dwight finally tears his gaze away, feeling like he’s intruding on something even though there’s no way they can see him. Claudette is passing what looks to be a small jar into Jake’s hand.

“Shit,” Dwight mumbles to himself — again. Looks like there isn’t any way he’s going to get out of this one.

On the bright side, he’s relatively sure Jake will have no interest in partaking in the mortifying process of applying it himself. Which is a good thing. A very good thing. Having his hands on Dwight’s skin to check for damage had been painful enough for his heart rate to endure; he can’t imagine what extended contact like that would do to him.

He’s brought out of his thoughts by a gentle tug at his shirt collar. It feels playful.

“Of course you put this back on.”

“Unlike some friends of ours, being shirtless isn’t, uh… it’s not my natural state.”

There’s a pause, and then,

“…Isn’t being shirtless everyone’s natural state?”

Dwight’s cheeks flush again, images sprouting forward of Jake’s own state of undress beneath his clothes, and just how defined his muscles must be underneath them. The man had spent years alone in the forest, living off of the land and sustaining a life for himself with his own two hands. Dwight isn’t an idiot; he knows what that must do to one’s body. And now that he’s confronted this, it seems to be all he wants to think about.

“I — I guess?” comes Dwight’s strangled reply.

Jake’s eyes are amused, now, and his fingers whisper gently at Dwight’s shoulder once more, seemingly having his fill of fun.

“Take this off for me again, will you?”

“Why?” Dwight asks, struggling to follow exactly what this means.

“Claudette said the sooner this salve gets on the better.”

“Um,” he replies, feeling very much like he’d welcome actual death at this very moment. It seems Dwight knows shit all about his companion, because this situation seemed comfortably out of reach. “I can do that by — by myself. You’ve helped more than enough, Jake.”

“You can’t reach your shoulder properly with the angle of the wound,” Jake points out.

Dwight hadn’t really thought the logistics out that far. His brain is still tripping over Jake and muscles and just how close Jake may have gotten to the lumberjack stereotype while alone in the woods. He doesn’t really want to admit any of that out loud, though, so instead he crosses his arms over his chest, half-defensive, half-anxious.

“I’m sure I can figure it out.”

Jake, understandably, looks unconvinced.

“You sure about that?”

“Jake…” Dwight trails off. He feels the unbearable urge to run, but he recognizes that’s ridiculous. It’s just Jake; it’s not the other man’s fault Dwight’s been harboring a ridiculous crush on him since they got here.

“If you’d rather, I’ll turn my back while you try to apply it yourself,” Jake starts, and he makes sure to meet Dwight’s eyes before he continues. “But…the offer is there.”

Dwight holds his gaze, for the first time all night, and the rest of the fight he’s been holding onto for the last several minutes finally evaporates right out of him completely. Jake is right; he’s been right about a lot of things tonight. Even if it means he has to swallow down the mass of insecurities bubbling to the surface. It was a losing battle from the start, really.

Most things are where Jake is concerned. The man is far too stubborn for his own good; it’s one of the things Dwight first admired about him.

“Fine,” Dwight says. “Okay. You’re right.”

And before Jake can say anything else, before Dwight can possibly make this even worse for himself, he lets his makeshift cape of a shirt fall to the ground once more. Like ripping off a bandaid.

Thankfully, Jake doesn’t falter. The man never does.

He reaches out with a steady hand to grip at Dwight’s shoulder, a determined set to his mouth as he disappears from view. He sets to work without another word, opening the jar up and taking some of the ointment onto his fingers. The first press of his calloused hand is a whisper against his back; the medication sending shivers breaking out over his abused skin. Dwight shudders, unable to stop himself from shying away from the intrusion of disinfectant, even if temporarily.

“Stop that,” Jake tsks, his free hand coming to Dwight’s other shoulder to keep him still. Dwight feels flayed open by the touch. He reluctantly resigns himself to another miserable few minutes, and tries not to let it show.

“Sorry,” Dwight mutters, a reflex.

Jake hums, but otherwise he remains quiet as he works. Dwight has to bite his lip to keep himself from filling the silence with nervous chatter. Jake never felt the need to fill silences with conversation but Dwight never learned how to stop.

Surprising seemingly the both of them, it’s Jake who eventually breaks the silence first.

“You really ought to get better at running from them.”

Dwight ducks his head, feeling a bitter laugh bubble forth.

“Like I said…running isn’t really my thing, if that isn’t obvious already.”

There’s the sound of tearing fabric instead of a reply, and Dwight turns, alarmed, in the sudden absence of Jake’s grip to see the other man is busy ripping the fabric of his own shirt. It takes a few seconds for Dwight to realize what this means — being in extended physical contact with Jake is not conducive to Dwight’s critical thinking skills — but when he does, reaching out to grab Jake’s wrist is easier than it should be.

“Um…what are you doing?”

“Makin’ a bandage,” Jake says, and Dwight feels his blood pressure drop as his worst fears are confirmed.

“That’s — that’s not — you don’t have to do that. Really. It’s fine, Jake. The salve is more than enough.”

Jake grunts, the sound of tearing fabric sounding in his ears once again. It lasts until, presumably, the other man has enough to patch up Dwight’s shoulder. The fact that Jake is ruining one of the few things they’re allowed to keep here for him makes something distinctly disquieting and tight take root in his chest.

It pulls him in two different directions, the bright sear of insecurity at someone having such close stakes at his vulnerability, and the soft caress of hope that splashes like ocean waves at his ribcage. That Jake would want to take care of him like this, that he’s insisting on taking care of him like this… Dwight is too weak of a man not to get swept up in the crest of it.

It already feels more important than it probably is. Dwight allows himself to cling to the notion anyway.

“Your next trial will be soon,” Jake says, finally. There’s a weight behind his words that Dwight can’t put his finger on. “If you don’t think you can get better at running, at least let me do this.”

“I, uh, I remember reading somewhere that it’s good to let wounds breathe a little before dressing them.”

Jake laughs. “Something tells me you’ll live anyway.”

Dwight struggles to find an argument after that. Mainly because part of him doesn’t really want to, part of him wants to allow himself this; to be taken care of. It’s a useless, thoughtful gesture that will be wasted the very moment Dwight gets hooked again, but it is one he wants to indulge in anyway.

“I guess I will.”

Dwight can’t see his face, but something tells him Jake is probably smiling.

“Thanks,” The man whispers.

Dwight has no idea what he’s being thanked for, but he nods his head anyway, and Jake’s hands resume their work on his skin. Silence sounds once again, but this time, instead of making Dwight feel at ease, something claws at him. Something ugly and untrue but something he can’t help but struggle with. It’s one of the things that keeps Dwight awake, even if sleep is already hard to come by here. Even his bones are heavy with it, and Dwight doesn’t know how much longer he can keep it from spilling out.

Still, Jake’s hands don’t falter. If he picks up on Dwight’s shift in mood, he’s kind enough not to comment on it. Not that it really matters in the end, as Dwight hardly lasts another moment before his next words are punched out of him.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Jake replies, immediately, but he swears there might be some hesitance in his tone anyway.

Dwight doesn’t know what to think of it, so he doesn’t.

“Do — do you really believe that? About us?”

Jake’s eyes narrow, concern coloring his features as his hands tighten their hold on Dwight’s biceps. It’s barely noticeable, a tic that Dwight doesn’t even think Jake is aware of.

“Believe what?”

Dwight swallows once, and then several more times before he’s able to speak again.

“Do you really think we’re still alive?” Dwight asks, gesturing around them with a bit of a strangled laugh. “Here?”

Jake’s eyes track over Dwight’s face like he’s trying to see whether or not Dwight means it. His hands are still but steady, in that very same spot he was just clutching at before. Dwight can see the makeshift bandage hanging helplessly from his fingers. Though he looks as impassive as Dwight’s ever seen him, something about him seems frantic. He doesn’t think Jake’s face has ever been so close to his before.

He hates himself for noticing.

He hates himself even more for wanting to bridge the distance even further.

“Yes,” Jake’s answer is easy; absolute. Final. It should be comforting but all it does is make Dwight laugh.

“Why?”

“I have to,” is all Jake says at first. “I can’t — I won’t accept anything else.”

Dwight bites into his lower lip. “It’s hard to feel like this is really living.”

“Sometimes. But our blood still runs, our hearts still pump and our lungs still fill up with air. Even here. That’s a good enough sign to keep fighting for me.”

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice shaking and barely there. When put like that, it seems so simple. And maybe it is, maybe it is as simple as Jake believes it is. Dwight hopes so. He really, really hopes so. He doesn’t know if he could take the truth of anything else. “Yeah.”

The longer they’re here, and the more times they die, and die, and die, the sentiment only seems to tarnish. The lines have begun to blur, and despite himself, Dwight finds it hard to equate the Entity and all her realms to life. At least as they once knew it.

Maybe that’s Jake’s point.

“Hey,” Jake whispers back, his voice so soft and gentle, that for a moment, Dwight thinks he’s making it up. That it’s a last ditch attempt at comforting himself during one of the most mortifying experiences of his life.

It is Jake’s voice, though, and it is his hand that eventually comes to rest at the base of Dwight’s throat. Dwight has been held there, right in that same spot, so many times while getting pulled from lockers, but this is still somehow new. Jake is warm sunshine and his touch settles an ache Dwight didn’t know he had. He feels so wholly taken care of, with a single touch.

It’s too much.

It’s all too much, and Dwight shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut against the brunt force of it all; one of the few confessions he never thought he’d tell just spilled from his mouth and for the first time a confession of his was respected.

He’s not sure how many more times he can get opened up today without spilling everything else over with it. All of the secrets he holds so dear to his chest; the embarrassing number of them that circle right back to the man standing in front of him. It feels like it’s been ages and minutes since the last time he’s been this full to the brim.

He wonders if Jake can tell.

“Sorry,” Dwight says, for lack of something better to say. “It doesn’t matter — it would just make this easier, that’s all. To know for sure that this isn’t all that’s left for us.”

Jake’s thumb starts to rub comforting circles into Dwight’s skin. Dwight’s breath catches in his throat. “It isn’t.”

“You sound pretty confident,” Dwight says, echoing a small laugh.

“That’s ‘cause I am,” replies Jake. “Law of Averages. Something has to tip in our favor eventually. When it does, it’ll be something big.”

Dwight’s lips twitch into a smile at that; unable to quite help himself.

“I hope you’re right.”

Jake seems to sense Dwight doesn’t know how to talk about this anymore and lets it drop. Dwight is pretty sure that they’ll skirt around this conversation a few more times given how stubborn the other man can be, and Dwight finds himself actually looking forward to it. Maybe by then it’ll be easier to accept. To actually believe.

Jake’s hand trails off of his throat as he circles back around to (finally) finish dressing the wound at Dwight’s back. It’s easier to admit than he thought it would be, but Jake’s ministrations are already helping dull the pain a little. Dwight’s not convinced a near emotional breakdown will be worth the trouble.

Dwight finds himself grateful for it; there’s no denying he already feels a small weight lifted off his shoulders.

Jake’s hands fall off from him a few moments later, and before he knows it, Dwight’s shirt is being pressed back into his hands. The trail of Jake’s fingers on the fabric seems to linger. Dwight chocks it up to wishful thinking, fingers tightening on the fabric to steady himself.

“I take it you don’t need help putting this back on?”

Dwight’s head snaps up to meet Jake’s gaze again — something he hadn’t realized he was avoiding doing until then — and there’s another small smirk playing at the edges of Jake’s mouth. Dwight’s entire body seems to flush from how this image alone makes his heart skip in his chest, so he quickly shoves his arms through his shirt sleeves. It gives him something else to focus on to gather his thoughts, and he just has to hope that Jake takes his sputtering as usual.

“That won’t be necessary,” Dwight replies, far too quickly. Jake’s eyes seem to glint in amusement. “I’ve bothered you enough.”

He starts to button his shirt up to give his hands something to do rather than to continue to shake, eyes flicking back to Jake as he does. He would have thought that maybe Jake would take his leave by now, but the man only stands there, watching him unabashedly. There’s a furrow between his brows again, one that Dwight feels the urge to reach out and trace smooth with his fingers. He’s been fighting that urge more and more lately, even more urges similar, and Jake’s little exercise in stubbornly taking care of him like this has certainly not made them any easier to handle.

“I was the one who dragged you away,” Jake reminds him, which is true. But it’s not like Dwight made that process any easier on him.

“Either way I wanted to say thank you,” Dwight says, almost awkwardly. It’s not what he wants to say, really, though it is what he should have said from the very beginning. When Jake dragged him over here and refused to do anything but try to help. “For looking out for me. I didn’t — I didn’t want anyone to notice.”

The furrow reappears between Jake’s brows.

“We all noticed,” Jake says, a strange tone to his voice, like he can’t believe Dwight wanted that for himself but also believes it all too easily. Part of him is offended at this, but the larger, less tamable part of him feels warm for reasons he’s too tired to examine. “You should know better than to try to hide anything from us.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Dwight allows. It’s the truth, even if it’s one Dwight will probably fight against again, eventually. Unfortunately. “But everyone has their secrets, Jake.”

Jake’s mouth twists, and it’s with something Dwight still can’t immediately name. It isn’t exasperation or irritation, or any of the other emotions Dwight might have expected. It seems almost challenging, as if Jake’s waiting to hear something he’s not sure Dwight’s willing to put into words.

“Even you?”

The words should be a surprise, but they’re not. Dwight laughs, short and loud. It doesn’t hurt his chest as much as he thought it would.

“Yeah,” Dwight says, no hesitation. He’s not sure if it’s what Jake wants to hear, but it’s the truth. That has to count for something. “Especially me.”

“Hm.” Jake hums.

Dwight narrows his eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jake replies, which means it’s definitely something.

It sets Dwight on edge, even more so than he already was, but at least he already knows he isn’t being made fun of. Jake’s just being a little shit, and Dwight can handle that. Honestly, he prefers him this way; open and not closing in on himself, both figuratively and literally. Dwight doesn’t pretend to know exactly what life was like for Jake before all of this, but he knows it had lasting influences. He wonders if Jake recognizes any of Dwight’s.

He promptly shuts that thought down right after. He doesn’t want to know.

“What about you, Mr. Solitary and Mysterious?” Dwight asks, for lack of anything better to say. “Do you have any well-kept secrets we don’t know about?”

Jake breaks into a laugh, and Dwight feels sickly sweet honey fill his insides at the sound. God, this is getting ridiculous. Now that his mind isn’t on the searing pain in his shoulder, and now that he just spent the last several minutes getting taken care of by him, all Dwight can focus on is Jake. Jake’s smile, the easy confidence coming off of him in waves, the fluffy hair that is always on the right side of unkempt. Dwight finds the whole package unbearably charming and it’s becoming impossible to pretend he doesn’t notice it.

“A few,” Jake says, finally, voice still light with amusement.

Dwight smiles. “Fair enough.”

Now that his shirt is back on (and buttoned) and his shoulder is patched up, he finds himself still expecting Jake to make his exit. While it’s not like they haven’t hung around with each other in between trials before, it usually isn’t long before Jake breaks off from the rest of them to explore on his own. Dwight’s a bit envious of him for that; sometimes it feels like if he breaks away the entire camp will fall apart without him.

Sometimes he even wishes he’d be invited along.

To his surprise, though, Jake doesn’t make to move away.

Instead, he sits down on the ground right beside him, leaning against the rock Dwight was resting on earlier while waiting for him. He looks every bit the picture of nonchalance, crossing his ankles as he gets settled in for what seems to be a relaxing day in the park rather than a short rendezvous before the next trial. It makes another amused smile spring forward without Dwight’s permission, and he’s sure his voice gives him away when he speaks.

“Comfortable?”

“Extremely,” Jake says. “You should join me.”

Dwight’s cheeks heat, and for an insufferable, miserable moment he thinks Jake’s somehow become a psychic without any of them knowing, as that sounds exactly like what he’s been waiting to hear for so long.

“I’m already here,” Dwight points out, voice high and nervous.

“I mean here,” Jake says, going on to pat the ground beside him like the ridiculous person he is. “Unless you have other plans?”

Dwight blinks at him, words taking longer than they should to process properly. When they do, his eyebrows raise, and he lasts maybe six seconds more before he shakes his head.

“Oh, no, I have no plans,” he murmurs.

“Sit with me, then.”

Without giving himself another chance to second guess himself, Dwight gracelessly lowers himself to the ground beside Jake. Only, he loses his balance on the way down, knocking into his friend with a small sound and too many misplaced limbs. His cheeks flood red all over again, as if determined to make this situation even worse for himself. He can only hope this is what does it and has his consciousness cut off entirely. It would save him a world of worrying alone. Of course it doesn’t happen, but it would’ve been nice.

Jake breathes another laugh, this one small, hands reaching over to gently straighten him out. He pats Dwight’s arm as if to make sure he stays there before he retreats, and despite the small smirk on his lips, he doesn’t look bothered.

“Hm,” he hums again. “I think you lost more blood than I thought.”

Dwight rolls his eyes, but there’s a small smile on his face now, too. He feels a bit like a small kid again, crowding around on the ground in the field next door. Sometimes he even hung around the other kids, looking for cool things to show their parents later. He eventually became too weird for them to hang out with, and the ones who didn’t mind inevitably moved away. But this isn’t unlike what it was then.

The knees he knocks into are bigger, and the laugh that welcomes him is deeper, kinder, but the nostalgia of it still manages to sting.

Dwight can feel Jake’s eyes on him again, and not for the first time, he can’t help but wonder why. Maybe he’s marveling at just how many times Dwight’s face can rival that of a tomato without it exploding on him.

Unable to take it much longer, they both speak again at the same time.

“So — was there something you wanted to talk about…or—“

There’s a breath. “Your freckles are one of my favorite things about you, you know.”

The words seem to collide right into each other as soon as they leave their mouths, and Dwight watches in fascination as a small amount of pink starts to bleed onto Jake’s cheeks. Almost as if he hadn’t meant to say anything about it at all.

Dwight, on the other hand, is so busy processing what just happened that his mouth snaps shut so fast, and so hard, his teeth clack together painfully. This time not even his own nerves can overwhelm the need to meet Jake’s gaze. By the time he does, the other man has already recovered from his blunder, looking for all the world like he wasn’t just caught red-handed saying something absolutely absurd. Sure, his cheeks are a little rosier than normal still, but secondhand embarrassment is an emotion Dwight often brings out in others. So, it’s not like he’s going to hold it against him.

“Freckles?” asks Dwight, voice faint.

Truthfully, Dwight has always hated them.

His only small mercy was that they were relatively unnoticeable as long as he stayed out of the sun. The fact that Jake noticed them at all feels important (the fact that he complimented them is another matter entirely, of course).

“Yeah,” Jake says, a small quirk to his mouth. “They’re pretty noticeable right now. With how red your face is and everything.”

There’s still a strange note to his tone. It’s sweet, filling him up in ways he hadn’t even known he was empty. He had no idea another person could make you feel so warm.

Especially here.

He ducks his head, equally affected by Jake’s words as he is by his own thoughts.

“Shut up,” he says, knocking their shoulders together. “I’m injured.”

There’s another laugh, and the press of Jake’s shoulder into his. It doesn’t leave.

“I wasn’t aware shoulder injuries caused your face to defy color theory,” Jake retorts.

He rolls his eyes. “Well, given enough time here they’ll go away completely, so poke fun at them while you can.”

He knows that’s not exactly what’s going on here, but if he acknowledges that Jake complimented them out loud, he might as well evaporate into a useless puddle for the Entity on the spot.

Jake doesn’t call him out on it, because he’s the best. Thankfully.

“That would be a shame.”

“Not really.”

“It would be a shame,” Jake knocks into his shoulder again, a repeat gesture for his repeat words. “They’re pretty cute.”

Huh.

Dwight’s brain circuits out entirely then.

That feels…weighted; pointed. Even though his nerves are strong enough to swallow him whole, Dwight’s eyes track up the lines of Jake’s throat, over the planes of his cheeks and meets the chocolate warmth of his gaze. Jake’s hand starts to tenderly trail a path up Dwight’s forearm. His gloves are back on but it does nothing to mask the way Dwight’s skin lights up in goosebumps at the simple touch. His entire body feels like it’s on fire, but he doesn’t want to run. He wants to stay right here, where Jake will keep looking at him and touching him just like this.

“Um, what.”

“I know you heard me,” Jake replies, fondly. He doesn’t seem too terribly put out by the circles Dwight’s conversation is running him around in. If anything, he seems charmed. “Tonight made me realize some things.

What the hell is he even talking about? Dwight asks himself, maybe even a bit manically.

Hope is coursing through him as thick as his own blood, and he has to force himself not to choke on his next words.

“What things?” He asks, because he’s always been a masochist. That’s the only explanation for why he always keeps trying, without fail. Isn’t it?

“Do you remember when we first got here?”

“Of course I do,” Dwight whispers, not really sure where this could possibly be heading but he knows Jake does. That’s the thing about Jake, he always has a plan — and a plan for his plan’s plan — and he has yet to steer them astray. “I think it took a few dozen trials for you to even speak to me one-on-one.”

Dwight remembers that time more fondly than he thought he would. Back when everything was new; fresh, back when they all didn’t know each other the way they do now. Dwight had never once considered before how circumstances bring people together. Even people who might not have liked each other very much before are inseparable now. The Entity may not give them many mercies, but at the very least she’s granted them this. That has to count for something.

Jake had been even quieter then; stoic.

He had been the most equipped of the original four of them for their new life here, having spent the years previous living off of the land. The only thing they could get out of him for countless trials was that he’d lived in the woods and coincidentally knew his way around a hook. Dwight had been intrigued, to say the least. Of course he had. He was handsome and mysterious and not outright cruel.

And maybe a part of him had even recognized something in Jake. Something he hadn’t even known how to look for.

Jake’s voice brings him back to the present, thankfully silencing those thoughts from growing any further for the time being.

“I didn’t want to get close to anyone again,” Jake is saying, the bite of bitter humor present in his tone. Dwight thinks it’s mainly directed at himself rather than at any of them. “Being close to people always meant having to deal with their expectation too. I hate that.”

Dwight bites his lip. He can’t really relate to the level of pressure Jake obviously felt, at least not personally; most people stopped expecting things of Dwight long before he disappeared.

But, he thinks he understands.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jake sighs. “But — after that trial where we lost Claudette and Meg for the first time, it was different.”

Dwight’s brows furrow. That…had been an unnecessarily hard trial.

It was their first time up against Hillbilly, and to say that it had been a learning curve for them would have been an understatement. That had been the first time someone had actually died while in a trial.

That was before they knew you always came back.

“How so?” Dwight asks, curious to a fault.

“I’d never seen you like that before,” is all Jake says about it, at least at first.

Dwight scoffs, shaking his head in self-depreciation. “What? A sobbing mess?”

“As a leader,” Jake gently corrects. Dwight watches as he seems to debate with himself for a moment before continuing, “I didn’t think much of people before I got here. Honestly, I’m not sure I still do. But…you guys? You? You’re alright. More than alright.”

Dwight tries to hide how wide his smile gets at that by ducking his head out of view. He’s not sure it works.

“Careful, Jake. A few more words like that and we’ll start to think you’re fond of us or something.”

He hears the other man huff, almost exasperated. It’s only just now that Dwight realizes Jake’s hand has stopped tracing patterns on his forearm, and is instead inching its way towards Dwight’s own palm where it rests in his lap. He blinks at it, eyes unseeing for several seconds as he tries to reason with himself that there’s no way he could possibly hallucinating this.

The way Jake’s fingers are sliding through his own feels real. The texture of his gloves is rough and worn from thousands of trials of use and it catches on the bare skin of Dwight’s hands.

He doesn’t have the imagination to inspire that level of detail, he knows that.

“Oh,” He says, throat tight from nerves and the first notes of relief.

Contrary to popular belief, he’s not an idiot, nor is he truly that oblivious. He knows what this means, and he knows what he wants this to mean, and he thinks for the first time they might be the same exact thing. A part of him won’t quiet until he asks, though, so the next thing he knows he’s forcing himself to speak again.

“Um, is this something you want to do with all of us…or…?”

Jake gives a short laugh at that. “Uh, no. I can’t say I do.”

Dwight doesn’t even try to hope that he’s imagining the dopey smile that takes over his face at that. He squeezes Jake’s hand, a silent sign of approval and he hopes it’s enough to convey what he’s not sure he can put into words. Not that it matters much anyway, as it’s only a few seconds later he’s opening his mouth again despite himself.

“And — I am? Someone you want to do this with?”

Obviously, a voice berates him quietly. Why else would he be holding his hand right now if not?

“Obviously,” Jake replies, and normally, maybe the words would chafe, but it’s impossible for even Dwight to take offense to them with Jake’s fingers wrapped around his own. “I’m not exactly good at this kind of thing.”

Dwight laughs, low and amused.

“You think I am?” He asks, raising his eyebrows pointedly. He doesn’t think he really needs to spell out that any experience he has in this field- – and many, many others — is lacking. To put it mildly. “I need you to tell me what you mean though, Jake. ‘Cause I know what I want, and I think I know what you want, but—“

“I would like to kiss you,” Jake says, winces, and then adds, reluctantly, “Preferably repeatedly.”

Dwight’s brain forcibly restarts itself a few dozen times. And then a few more.

“I would also like to kiss you,” Dwight says, what feels like hours or maybe only minutes later, and he hopes if Jake notices his voice shaking he is kind enough not to say anything.

The tension that Jake’s been holding onto melts out of him at once at that, and instead there’s something playful about him now. Something that Dwight wants to hold onto a little bit longer.

“But not repeatedly?”

When Dwight convinces himself to look at him again — a feat he’s realized he’s conquered many times tonight, and many times before then too — the smile that rests on Jake’s face can only be described as shit-eating. Dwight feels a surge of adrenaline at the sight, or maybe it’s confidence, or maybe it doesn’t really matter exactly what it is, only that it is what finally gives him the courage to lift his other hand to Jake’s collar. It takes even less courage than he thought it would to yank the man forward into a kiss.

Dwight makes a noise the moment their lips connect, which is another thing to feel embarrassed about later. Now, though, now all Dwight feels is a surge of affection so strong he’s afraid it might knock him over, one that only grows when Jake’s free hand knits itself into Dwight’s hair.

While he can say confidently that he has no idea what he’s doing right now, Jake definitely does. His hands on Dwight are steady and sure, and the way his lips move against his own is certainly no different. Jake’s lips are soft, far softer than Dwight had thought would be possibly without access to products like Chapstick or running water, but it feels so good that he can’t bring himself to care about the specifics.

Jake doesn’t either, and it doesn’t take long for Dwight to get lost in the feeling of them finally coming together like this. He never thought that kissing another person could feel like this, like you’re being opened and sewn shut at the same time. That the way that Jake’s lips move against his own, the barest hint of tongue that teases the seam of his mouth open could feel anything other than wet and awkward.

Dwight’s coming to understand he doesn’t know a lot of things, but he likes learning them.

Dwight finds himself wanting more already, and he leans forward into Jake a bit clumsily, hands tightening uncomfortably in his jacket. It causes him to let out a chuckle into his mouth, and with a soft brush of another kiss to the corner of Dwight’s mouth, Jake pulls away.

“That was nice,” Jake whispers. His hand that was previously in his hair moves to thumb along the ridge of Dwight’s jaw. Even through the protection of his glove, the weight of his touch sings at him.

“Sorry,” Dwight apologizes, though he’s too happy to muster the proper amount of mortification. “I — um, I’m sure it’s not a surprise that this isn’t something I’ve done very often.”

Or at all.

A furrow appears between Jake’s eyebrows again. He still looks pleased, but Dwight can read the disappointment that lingers.

“It is.”

Dwight’s breath catches. “What?”

“It is a surprise to me,” Jake says, meeting Dwight’s gaze like it’s the easiest thing in the world. And maybe it is, some of the time, but not now. “I understand, okay? Before this, I never really felt appreciated either.”

He can only imagine how red his face is again. Dwight should feel a lot of things right now, probably but the only thing he can focus on is how endearing Jake is. Even so, it’s not like this is necessary, so really no one can blame him for protesting.

“Jake, I—“

Jake silences him with a kiss. It’s the first time Dwight has ever been silenced so gently.

“No. Whatever you’re about to say just — no,” Jake says when they pull away.

“Wow,” Dwight breathes, sounding more awestruck than he intends. “You’re really serious, huh?”

“I’m going to kiss you again instead of answering that,” Jake informs him, before doing, well, exactly that.

Another ticket of proof of just how great Jake is at following through on plans.

Dwight smiles into the kiss, and once again, allows himself to fall.