[It doesn't take long- not in relation to the time he usually spends asleep. Inside of his dream, there's a hiss of words curling at his ear, like a motherfucking thief, and he hates it, but he doesn't have time to ask and be given, he doesn't have time to try and create a dialogue with the decayed forest- he just needs.
And so he hits the ground running, attracted immediately to the metallic gleam of a knife and a jar of... something. Ronan doesn't think, just takes them both, grasping the knife as if it will turn back and cut him, and tucking the jar against his chest with his eyes squeezed shut as he tries to press every bit of dream magic into it, changing the contents to be more effective, faster acting, just- better.
The trees fall silent after the initial questioning that Ronan didn't respond to, and he hears the all-too-familiar rush of wings a moment later. No time. In and out-
He gasps for breath on the floor of their house, his eyes snapping open as the jar exists on his chest, the knife in his curled fingers. The first object is about four inches in diameter, made of some sort of opaque glass, with a lid that's sealed on with a little bit of pressure. The knife is- well, it's ruthless, sharp and wickedly flat along the blade, with an edge that already seems to be cutting into the couch where it's digging in.
It takes him a minute after waking up- it always does, no matter how much he's screaming at himself to move, tend to Adam and make sure that this doesn't spread any further than it has to. Once he can finally move, he feels sloppy, drunk, and he lets go of the knife so he can roll himself ungracefully to his side, before swaying upright, blinking his eyes to focus on the situation before him.
The jar has rolled off of his stomach and he grabs at it with uncoordinated fingers, sliding himself closer to the both of them before wrenching the top off of the lid. There's a sort of paste inside, thick and light green, and Ronan dips his fingers in it immediately, reaching for Adam's arm to try and smear it over the injury.]
Here, just- stay still.
[Ronan still feels and sounds a little breathless, but he's not allowing any time to get in his way and instead focuses on trying to spread the salve across as much of the wound as he can. It should counteract the agent, maybe pull the infection out from Adam's blood- he's not sure, but he dreamt it to work, and so it has to.]
no subject
And so he hits the ground running, attracted immediately to the metallic gleam of a knife and a jar of... something. Ronan doesn't think, just takes them both, grasping the knife as if it will turn back and cut him, and tucking the jar against his chest with his eyes squeezed shut as he tries to press every bit of dream magic into it, changing the contents to be more effective, faster acting, just- better.
The trees fall silent after the initial questioning that Ronan didn't respond to, and he hears the all-too-familiar rush of wings a moment later. No time. In and out-
He gasps for breath on the floor of their house, his eyes snapping open as the jar exists on his chest, the knife in his curled fingers. The first object is about four inches in diameter, made of some sort of opaque glass, with a lid that's sealed on with a little bit of pressure. The knife is- well, it's ruthless, sharp and wickedly flat along the blade, with an edge that already seems to be cutting into the couch where it's digging in.
It takes him a minute after waking up- it always does, no matter how much he's screaming at himself to move, tend to Adam and make sure that this doesn't spread any further than it has to. Once he can finally move, he feels sloppy, drunk, and he lets go of the knife so he can roll himself ungracefully to his side, before swaying upright, blinking his eyes to focus on the situation before him.
The jar has rolled off of his stomach and he grabs at it with uncoordinated fingers, sliding himself closer to the both of them before wrenching the top off of the lid. There's a sort of paste inside, thick and light green, and Ronan dips his fingers in it immediately, reaching for Adam's arm to try and smear it over the injury.]
Here, just- stay still.
[Ronan still feels and sounds a little breathless, but he's not allowing any time to get in his way and instead focuses on trying to spread the salve across as much of the wound as he can. It should counteract the agent, maybe pull the infection out from Adam's blood- he's not sure, but he dreamt it to work, and so it has to.]