//Thought we've established that I'm terrible at resting,// Jono countered, though he was leaning against Hannibal all the same before finally relenting and shifting his weight to lay down. //But I suppose I'd be a terrible guest if I refused out of hand.//

Especially after putting on Hannibal's pajamas.

//You, er, really don't mind the cat, then?//

//No, I didn't think you were fooled for a mmm-nnghh...//

Please excuse Jonothon for just a second, because he needed to sort of writhe about on the bed while he processed that. A quality meat pie eaten with the sort of attention that Hannibal could devote to it apparently had that effect on him.

//... S'just, I was maybe working up to the actually asking part...//

Hnngh.

//He's old, and I can't leave him alone in my apartment here with Angelo and Joni, and he doesn't travel well. Hates the carrier, doesn't know what's going on outside of it. Not to mention... he was th'butcher's cat. I'm not planning on bringing home every animal I find when I set out to kill a man. There usually aren't any. But...//

That was only mild distress that Jono was sending back to Hannibal. He was very much enjoying the food, but wasn't entirely certain he was up for this much sensory overload, and was too damn tired to put up a proper wall.

//Any number of... of staff... used to go t'that butcher for... for food... Ermengarde would've recognized him, or... or anyone...//

He was trying to piece together words, Hannibal. Mean.

Jono had absolutely learned his lesson about surprise cats! Not that he thought another one would get along with this one, anyway. He handled Joni well enough, but that was grudgingly, and only because Joni tended to travel around in Jono's too-deep pockets.

//I'll... keep a lookout,// Jono promised, nodding a little and reaching up to rub at his temple again. //Not many people are in the market for an old cat, nevermind a deaf one, but if you'd rather him gone, I'll try to make your time with him as quick and painless as possible.//

//Headache forever,// Jono mumbled. //Or at least the foreseeable future. It hasn't really let up for months, now. But then, neither have I, really.//

Yes, he was aware what sort of idiot that made him.

//Haven't had a nosebleed yet today. I'll consider that progress.//

//I know, I know, I'm a bloody... stupid...// He closed his eyes and leaned his face into Hannibal's touch a little. //Stupid... son of a... what is that?//

It smelled... minty? And after a moment, it felt quite nice. Tingly. Hot and cold at the same time. Between the cream itself and Hannibal's hands, that was good.

//S'good,// Jono shared, in case, somehow, Hannibal hadn't been aware. //Sort of... it's sort of...//

Tingly, Jonothon. The word was tingly.

//Prickles. Prickles a bit.//

... Close enough.

//Nono, s'a good prickly,// Jono decided, curling up a little closer, against Hannibal's hip. Between the cat and Jonothon, he probably wasn't going to be going anywhere any time soon. //Soothing. It is soothing. Your hands are nice, too...//

Big fan. Big fan, right here.

//Same as usual, I suppose,// Jono murmured, sensing at least a hint of that amusement, and leaving Hannibal to it. //Same hurt, same guilt. Same worries. Little stronger than usual, is all. There's more of it than usual. S'been a bad... little while... for that.//

Bad little while? Bad lifetime for it, more like.

//Nightmares, same as always, I suppose,// Jono replied. //Faces when I close my eyes. Too many damn lifetimes, moments that ought to be well and truly set apart, all bleeding into one another. Even when I'm not tapping myself to empty, I try not to sleep, you know.//

//It... might, if you care to hear any of it. I've got plenty to pick from, at any rate... Weapon X, Fortress X... a lot of bloody places with X in the name, really...//

He wrinkled his nose a little bit.

//Coming to hate that sodding letter.//

//Hell if I know where to start,// Jono muttered. //It bleeds. Christ, does it bleed. There are moments when it's odd that people aren't calling me Starsmore, and moments when I'm proud to be the General and moments where I have difficulty bloody remembering it, because in my head I'm a scared kid breaking out of a sodding high-security prison, blowing the Ghost Rider straight back to Hell. I don't know anymore if human beings are normals or flatscans or landens or preaks. I don't know if I'm a hero or a villain, or some sad, sick, tired bastard somewhere in between. I have friends, in my head, who are alive and who are dead all at the same bloody time, and it takes me full minutes of raking my brain sometimes before I can remember which it actually is.//

He shrugged his shoulders a little, closed his eyes.

//I wake up at night, and my body is completely the wrong shape, I'm too small or too whole or there's too much of me missing. Sometimes it's a terrible bloody mess between the three.//

//It's always cold.//

If not physically, then mentally, emotionally. There had always, always been something cold. Odd, for a man on fire. But there it was.

//My name stays the same. The joke of a family I left behind doesn't change. The pain... there's a constant, I suppose. The guilt... surprisingly, the guilt isn't a constant. Sometimes I'm too angry to loathe myself. Sometimes I'm too numb.//