January 25th, 1895 - Dempsey Estate
After this thread

Dean still felt bad about having to send Hanna home, but he would figure out how to make it up to her. It would be a careful balancing act, he knew, but he would figure it out. First he had to find out if there was anything to balance after all. After sending Hanna back through the floo, he gave himself a couple minutes to collect his thoughts, though they were still scattered. He made his way up to his office and poured a shallow glass of whiskey while he wrote himself a note to send flowers to Hanna in the morning, something colorful, though he hadn't any idea what blooms to send specifically. That was what the florist was for. A card seemed too risky, but he'd send an owl later in the day to reschedule their plans, if she still wanted to. He downed the whiskey in one sip and felt the booze running through is veins.

After settling that with a to-do list on his desk, feeling marginally better about having a plan of action, Dean finally made his way back downstairs to face the floo. This felt like a bit of a risk, having a conversation of this magnitude at the Dempsey estate where there were an awful lot of people around, but it felt like his only option. There felt like a time limit on whatever it was Don Juan had to say to him and Dean wasn't about to let it pass without finding out.

It had been almost twenty minutes since Don Juan had left and Dean worried he'd waited too long, but the few minutes to gather himself had been necessary. He grabbed a pinch of powder from the mantle, reaching for his overcoat as an afterthought before stepping into the flames and announcing his destination. He stepped out of the green flames on the other side, into the sitting room he'd only been a couple of times, already feeling out of place. Determined not to let it show, he straightened his shoulders and brushed the soot from his sleeves. For a lack of anything meaningful to say, he led with, "Sorry, had to square away a couple things." Mostly get his brain to function again, but he didn't need to admit that much.

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Don Juan Dempsey

  

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Don Juan hadn't gone farther than the parlor once he was through the floo. He started off in an armchair, then as the minutes ticked by he rose and paced, then as they kept ticking he made himself a drink. Thank Merlin he hadn't taken Dean's suggestion to wait at the house. Five minutes, indeed. He tried to convince himself it was fine; he'd known the woman upstairs needed more than five minutes if Hudson was doing it properly. On the other hand, the longer the time stretched on the more he worried that Hudson wasn't going to show at all. He'd seemed insistent about it, but what did Don Juan really know about what he was thinking? Hudson had pretended to be casual while the woman was downstairs with them, too. And that was setting aside the possibility that Hudson might have needed to stay in order to do damage control. There might not have been anything inherently suspicious about one man visiting another, but Don Juan didn't know her or what she was like. And there were clues that there was more going on, if she knew what to look for. Don Juan had been barefoot when she arrived, for one. Hudson clearly hadn't been expecting him. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility that she'd pieced together more than she should have and Hudson had needed to spend time talking her down.

He did come, in the end. Don Juan was perched on the arm of a sofa when the fireplace lit up, tense. "And now they're squared away?" he asked. First things first, that. He wasn't sure where he and Hudson stood emotionally or romantically, particularly not with this new wrinkle of women in their nightgowns — but he was sure Hudson would tell him if there was a risk they'd been discovered.

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"For tonight," Dean nodded. Hanna deserved a better explanation, but he wasn't exactly sure how to go about it, but it was a conversation for tomorrow, or another day, whenever she was ready. Hopefully he could smooth down any ruffled feathers easily enough. Their situation was casual, but even Dean could recognize his reactions tonight told a different story and he had to piece through that on his own time, independent from whatever was going on here.

He wanted to assure Don Juan that there was nothing to worry about there, because as of right now there wasn't, but he would know more once he got to have a real conversation with Hanna about it. Dean also had the sneaking suspicion that Don Juan didn't want to hear about her in detail. "Still want to talk?" Dean still felt a little awkward standing there with his coat over his arm but he was resolute in wanting to have this conversation, even if he wasn't sure how it would go. Mostly he was hoping there was somewhere a little more private to do this.

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Don Juan hesitated at the question. Obviously this entire conversation had been his idea in the first place. Hudson wouldn't have been seeking him out if he hadn't waltzed in to his home unannounced. But the context had shifted from the beginning of the night, and Don Juan still wasn't sure how far. He wasn't at all sure what conversation it was they were about to have. Hudson was here, and that meant something... but it could have only meant that he had never stopped worrying that Don Juan couldn't be trusted to be alone. He might have been here out of obligation, because he thought that if he ignored the situation Don Juan's sobriety would crack like a dropped glass. (And he wasn't entirely wrong, was he? It wasn't as though Don Juan hadn't felt the itch on the back of his hand while he was waiting in the parlor, like there was something in his pocket that he wanted to reach for, even though his pockets had been empty for days).

"If you do," he ventured. "I didn't mean to... presume." He had presumed, of course. It had never occurred to him that Hudson might have someone else in his life now — not someone he cared for more, at any rate. Sex was one thing; they'd always had other people they slept with. But the woman tonight hadn't been just that, and Don Juan didn't know enough about the situation to know what she was... or how much room was left for him in Hudson's life.

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Dean nodded. He'd basically had to fight for the chance not even thirty minutes ago and he was here now, "I do." He probably shouldn't, given their history. He didn't know how to quite let go of Don Juan, even if they couldn't ever quite seem to get things to work out the way they wanted. He liked to think that went both ways, considering Don Juan had come to his place tonight with some important news. If he was truly sober things could be vastly different than they had in the past. It had been Dean to break down last time and this time he'd respected the split, so now he was curious.

Still, Dean couldn't elaborate any more than that in their current setting. Any number of siblings or parents could be lurking and so he didn't want to say anything damning.

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There were butterflies in his stomach. He hadn't expected that.

They had to switch venues, that much was clear. Where to go next was less so. Don Juan could have simply brought Hudson across the hall to a study — there were no shortage of book-lined rooms on the bottom floor of the Dempsey house, and it would have gotten them away from the floo and given them a lockable door, which was probably sufficient for privacy. He didn't imagine anyone was going to be yelling, and while his siblings weren't at all above eavesdropping when they thought something interesting was happening, they had no reason to suspect he even had company, much less that they would be talking about anything important. There was his bedroom, simultaneously more and less private — more sheltered from the chance of interruption from other family, but with more of himself exposed to Hudson while they talked. If the way this conversation was heading was I'm really happy for you, but I've found someone else then Don Juan thought he would prefer a study to his bedroom. And there was outside, for a walk through the gardens or around the grounds, but — well, maybe it was stupid, but Don Juan still felt mildly sentimental about walking around the grounds with Hudson on a winter night. If the conversation they were going to have was the end of things, he would have preferred the study to the garden, too.

But Hudson was here. That meant something. If he had been coming out of a sense of obligation, to let Don Juan down gently so that he didn't crash back towards substance abuse when Hudson left, then would he have been so keen to make it tonight? Would he have made excuses to someone he cared more about so that he could come and play knight in shining armor here? Don Juan thought it was unlikely, though not impossible. Hudson had been stupid for him before. Don Juan polished off his drink and abandoned the glass on a side table. "Let's go outside," he decided, then swept towards the door and down the hall without waiting to see if Hudson was following.

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   Dean Hudson

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Maybe he'd been expecting something like that, reminiscent of a memorable visit, years ago now, when he'd grabbed his coat on his way out. The ease and the comfort he'd once felt here was gone tonight. Dean felt on more edge as he swung on his coat and followed Don Juan from the manor. At least outside they weren't likely to be overheard. It was dark and cold, his breath fogging up the air before him as he hunkered down into his coat; he was missing his orange scarf right about now.

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets, following Dempsey, falling into step beside him easily. He wasn't sure if Don Juan had a destination in mind or just wanted to escape the house, but at least it was a little easier to breathe out here. The cold air felt good in his lungs and Dean sucked in a few deep breaths, waiting for Don Juan to start whatever he wanted to say. He gave it a good distance from the house, assuming anybody else would be crazy to be out here this time of night, but he had met the bulk of the Dempsey clan at one point or another, nothing was really impossible. The silence stretched out and the farther they got, the less sure he was of how to break it. All he could do was sneak glances at Don Juan out of the corner of his eye and wait him out.

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Don Juan had been expecting Hudson to speak first. He'd been insistent upon following Don Juan, after all, when Don Juan had been ready to cut his losses and run. As they moved farther from the house it became clear that wasn't going to happen, which meant much to his chagrin that Don Juan was going to have to figure out where to start. He'd thought about this before, a little... but when he'd been thinking about it before he hadn't imagined that the climatic reveal had already been botched, a throwaway line while Hudson tried to get back to the girl upstairs. What else was even to say about it, if Hudson wasn't going to pepper him with questions? He was sober, that was it. There was only one other thing for Don Juan to say, which was to ask does that change anything?

He shuffled his feet. The cold was stinging. He could feel it more now than he had at any point in December; you never felt cold when you were high.

"I've missed you," he said, and the flush on his cheeks could maybe have passed for a reaction to the cold. "I think about you a lot."

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Dean felt like maybe he was having some sort of dream. It didn't quite all piece together, why his subconscious was trying to put these two sides of his life into focus, but Dean wasn't about to pass on the chance.

Don Juan missed him; he still thought about him; he was sober. These were all good things. Dean would be lying if he said he hadn't also thought about Don Juan over the last year, hadn't missed him, he just hadn't known what to do after the last split. This time he'd tried to be better about not caving in during moments of weakness and making things worse. When they'd left it last, it hadn't been as dramatic as the first time, but it still hurt and he knew it was his fault.

After giving it a momento sink in, Dean smiled gently, turning his head to look at Don Juan a little better. "Nothing has changed for me, I don't think it ever will." Despite the difficulties and the arguments and the breaks, Dean would always have room for Don Juan.

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Nothing had changed. Don Juan didn't think that was entirely true, but it was heartening to hear Hudson say it all the same. It was clear some things had changed, because Don Juan had never needed to worry about staying away from Hudson's house lest he run into a woman arriving in a nightgown before, and if they were going to start seeing each other again they'd eventually have to talk about that... but if what Hudson was trying to convey was that the bigger things hadn't changed, then Don Juan wasn't sure they needed to talk about it tonight. If Hudson still wanted him...

Or did nothing has changed mean nothing had changed from the conversation they'd had after things had fallen apart? One of Hudson's complaints had been that Don Juan was unreliable when it came to their plans; did sobriety fix that? A lack of sobriety certainly hadn't helped, but it had been so long since Don Juan had gone entirely without substances that he wasn't sure he knew who he was without them anymore. The last time he'd been sober for a significant stretch was when he'd been in Spain, in 1890. More than four years ago. He'd changed in the past four years in more ways than one, though; this version of him had maybe never been sober, so how was he meant to know if he could be any better than he'd been before?

He didn't really want to talk about this sort of thing. He wanted to tentatively reach out and take Hudson's hand, then once he had it pull him behind a garden wall and kiss him until they had to stop for breath. But if he was trying to make things last this time, if he was trying to make things really work — well, they'd had a habit of never having difficult conversations before. Maybe it was time to change that.

"I'm going to stay sober," he said, swallowing. "But I'm sure it'll still be — messy. And if you don't want that..." He shrugged, to indicate he couldn't blame Hudson if he said no. Particularly not if he had someone else he cared for now who was less messy.

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Without any idea of how long Don Juan had already been sober, Dean had to wonder if something else was going on. They'd tried before and it hadn't ended well, but he could already tell there was something different about it. He needed to change his mindset, keep positive intentions at the forefront, if things were going to change. Don Juan wasn't the only one who had things to work on. Messy wasn't impossible after all.

"I want to be there for it." Dean decided. It would look different, he knew, but he meant it when he said nothing had changed for him. Removing one of the biggest hurdles of their past would at least take one roadblock out of the way. Maybe the third time would be the charm? "And put in the work to make this stick, whatever it takes." When things were good last time, they'd been so good. If they could just get back to that and figure it out, Dean thought things might be alright.

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For the first time since he'd slid into Hudson's parlor and realized Hudson had company, Don Juan's shoulders sagged with relief. "I was hoping you'd say that," he admitted. His voice was hoarse but he had no desire to try and pull the emotion out of it. There was no pretending to be suave at a moment like this, or playing it cool. He had come back because he desperately wanted Dean in his life again and now it seemed possible. Why try to pretend he cared less than he did?

"I've been pretty messy while you've been gone," he confessed. "I'm — ready for things to get better."

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Dean's insides twisted a little at Don Juan's admission. He hated to hear things had been difficult when he hadn't been nearly as big of a disaster as he had the first time. There had been no bender, no year spent in the bottle. A week or so holed up in his house maybe drinking a little more than normal, just to fall asleep and keep his thoughts from wandering too far, but Dean had dug himself out much easier this time.

Figuring they were far enough away from the house now, he reached out a hand to brush his fingers along Don Juan's, feeling like they both needed the contact. "I'm sorry things have been hard," he felt guilty, largely to blame and maybe that was what made it worse. All he wanted to do was gather Don Juan in close and help make things better, but they couldn't do that here. The intent was there though, "I like my life better when you're in it, so let's make things better." Dean admitted. Even if it was messy and they struggled, he knew that much was true.

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Don Juan's fingers danced against Dean's in answer. "Let's make things better," he agreed, audibly relieved. Dean just being here was already making things better. Don Juan not trembling from withdrawal was already making things better — he probably could have counted the days in December that hadn't been touched by either a drug or the painful aftershocks of it on his fingers. No more of that. No more opium dens, no more nights lost to a haze, no more waking up places and not being sure how he'd gotten there, no more empty Whitechapel flat.

He had another urge to pull Hudson somewhere shadowy so that he could hold him — the contact of their fingers had stirred the hunger for more contact — but there was at least one other big issue to discuss before he could give in to that. "You're... seeing someone else, too?" Don Juan prompted. He didn't know exactly what conversation he was trying to have here, so he didn't know how to start it and was relying on Hudson to take the lead. Don Juan had never been in a position before where he had to discuss one lover with another, and he didn't want to pry here — but if she was close enough that she was flooing to Hudson's in her nightgown they clearly needed to talk about something, if only to prevent a repeat of his unintentional interruption tonight.

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Good, that was decided. Dean found himself as relieved by it as he was looking forward to it. Imagining a way to make things work was something that often crossed his mind when he couldn't fall asleep or after a deep glass of whiskey when he was sat behind his desk working on something and getting distracted.

If they were indeed going to do this, it was only natural that Don Juan ask about Hanna. While she hadn't been part of the equation in the past, she was now, unless either she or Don Juan decided that it wouldn't work out. Dean thought he could figure it out, but he wasn't the only one with thoughts and feelings on the subject. While he and Don Juan had never been monogamous, there had never been situations of the same caliber like his agreement with Hanna. "Sort of?" How exactly did he explain it? "She tired to husband-trap me on the beach last summer, so I agreed to show her the ropes of sex," seemed like a weird thing to say. It was a strange situation, truly, but Dean enjoyed her company, he certainly enjoyed their evenings together, but was it deeper than that? Before tonight he might have said no, but obviously his actions earlier were in contrast.

"It's been casual, she's got some things going on," Dean knew the husband hunt hadn't been exactly easy for her and they both knew he couldn't be that for her. He also suspected there was something else under the surface that she either couldn't or wouldn't tell him. Casual meant that he wasn't privy to those kinds of things. "It started out as providing some lessons," he snorted a little; Don Juan had once suggested Dean do just that. "Now it's like a good distraction when she needs it." Dean didn't like seeing her distraught at social events, hands shaking, retreating into the corners and it was the only thing he could think of to do in situations like that.

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Don Juan assumed the things she had going on were a brutish and ineffective husband. It seemed like at least half of married women did (understandably; Don Juan had slept with his fair share of brutish and ineffective male lovers, so he was hardly blind to the faults of his own gender). He hadn't recognized the woman tonight, between her state of undress and how off-kilter he'd been upon her arrival, but he assumed she was married. Debutantes did not do that things casually, and certainly not in so premeditated a fashion as flooing over in a nightgown.

He had an impulse to say be careful, but Don Juan warning someone not to get caught with a married woman would have been rather hypocritical.

"Okay," he said with a nod. "Do you usually schedule her visits, or...?" Or would Don Juan have to be prepared to climb out a window if she came over unannounced while he was lurking in Hudson's bedroom? If she was used to surprise visits it might just be that Don Juan didn't get to spend time at Hudson's house any more, which would certainly be a sharp departure from their previous relationships where he'd gone through phases where he'd more or less lived there.

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