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thebabblingbrookenook · 2 years ago

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ATTN: Gentlereaders

This latest fic from @eleanor-bradstreet is a whumpy delight. If you are a fellow whump-head like myself, you will know this one has all the good stuff.

The set up is great. It begins with establishing how secluded the characters are (the perfect kindling for a whump fire). You describe everything so beautifully. It was so easy to imagine the stark difference between the cozy warmth of the cabin and the crisp, wet air of the Scottish Highlands. The movie scene playing in my head as I read along was seeing everything outside in deep hues of blue and green, overcast by the foreboding grey skies.

As soon as we came across that giant rock slide I knew things were about to get good. Benedict’s hesitation to let her climb up first was sweet. I loved that he didn’t think twice about trying to get to her when she got stuck. That description of the crack/pop of her leg when the rocks shifted 😨. Perfection. And I was holding my breath when Benedict got ripped away from her field of vision.

That moment of realization once she got her wits about her and she was able to drag herself along to search for Ben. And when her eyes land on the ORANGE ( how dare you) of his clothing. He’s so still. And pale. And trapped! Ughhh! This is the freaking good stuff. I don’t know how to explain why I like the things I like, all I know is that you do it for me haha. When she mentions that he is breathing but that he is clearly struggling to do so because the rock is pinning his chest down!! The panic and determination had my heart pumping big time. That first deep breath, even though he immediately screamed in pain was such a relief. I was really interested to see how whumpy you were going to take it. There are a lot of different life threatening possibilities with a scenario like that.

AND THEN YOU HIT US WITH ABSOLUTE HURT FIC GOLD! The moment that his eyes focus on her and he reaches out to her because he realizes that she is bleeding! And then she hits him with the classic, “Oh, I hadn’t even noticed.” YESSSS.

That agonizing limp/shuffle back to their bothy was the stuff of legends. I’m not going to lie, our reader is a real baddie!

The entire scene of them trying to do damage control was amazing. Gently pulling the wet clothes from his body so he doesn’t get sick, and then seeing the giant bruise forming up his side. Again, I was on the edge of my seat waiting to see just how badly you had maimed him. My fear was internal bleeding. But the suspense of his possible concussion was so satisfying. The continual check-ins throughout the night * CHEF’S KISS*

Oh God, and the setting of her leg in that splint?!?!?! I don’t know how she didn’t pass out from the pain. Especially after you explained that gruesome image of the angle of her leg.

And of course, classic Benedict, unable to stop himself from caregiving even when he is struggling to catch full breaths without wincing in pain.

I don’t know why - probably because I was so enthralled with the whump - I didn’t see the proposal coming! It was so adorable. Very romantic. And then to have VIOLET be the first to notice her ring during their recovery.... I love you for that haha.

Well done my friend. I enjoyed this IMMENSELY. I’m going to have to come up with some fun (horribly cruel) whump prompts so that I can send you requests of my own haha.

Slide (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Modern AU Rated: T - language, suggestiveness, whump/blood/injury Word count: 5.4k

Summary: Benedict takes you on holiday to a remote bothy in the Scottish highlands. But things do not go according to plan.

Author's Note: This is an anon request fill for Benedict and Reader stranded in a cabin with an illness/injury. You can't threaten me with a whumpy good time, because this idea completely took over my brain and I wrote it in a day. 😅 Enjoy

“We should take advantage of the break in the rain. Let’s go on a little hike.”

“A hike?” You looked up from the sofa where you sat curled with a book. Benedict was standing by the door of the bothy, excitedly pulling on a coat. You had been having a relaxing holiday. Five days in a private luxury bothy in the Scottish highlands. He had been coming to the spot alone for years to paint and now wanted to share it with you under the pretense of your dating anniversary. You didn’t know if you believed such things deserved celebration, but your work in the city had been draining you lately and the reprieve was much appreciated.

As luck would have it, your trip coincided with the rainiest weather in decades. It was always raining somewhere in Scotland but this was something else entirely. Torrential downpours for sporadic periods each day. But that hadn’t dampened your time together. Thus far, four days of nothing but lie-ins and fireside bottles of wine; reading while Benedict painted from imagination; lazy sex in the mornings and raucous sex at night. It was a bit dangerous that the bed was lofted, as your activities threatened to send you flying off of it. The little hideaway was so secluded that there was no internet and no cell signal, and that was one of the reasons Benedict loved it so much. He said he could hear his muse more clearly without the rest of the world butting in. Neighbors were also an impossibility, as the bothy was situated in a little copse of trees accessible only by crossing a footbridge that skirted a rough cliff edge. Nothing too high off the ground, but narrow enough that your car was parked half a mile away on the other side of the bridge. It was a tiny paradise, just you and the trees and the birds. The rain had occasionally relented to allow you a few rambles nearby, but you hadn’t undertaken anything as ambitious as to be called a ‘hike’.

Benedict was pulling his boots on and waving you toward the door. “Come on! Fresh air will do us good. Let’s go.”

You were remiss to leave your cozy nest but you knew he was right, and his crooked smile was irresistible. With a sigh you rose to your feet, donned your own coat and followed him.

He took your hand as you traipsed through the wet grass down the trail toward the bridge. The air had an earthy musk scent from the previous night’s deluge. It did feel good to stretch your legs. You didn’t even bother asking where you were headed, you would let Benedict lead you. But he suddenly stopped short.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

The path before you no longer led to the footbridge. Instead it ended abruptly at a slanting jumble of boulders. A rockslide off the side of the nearby cliff had completely blocked your exit.

You both stood dumbstruck, puzzling out your next steps.

“I don’t know how we didn’t hear this,” you murmured, imagining the rumbling crash of so many large stones piling upon themselves.

Benedict chuckled next to you. “Well, one of us was being exceptionally noisy last night.”

You smacked him but it only made him laugh harder. Your frustration was building, so unused to being confronted with an obstacle you couldn’t quickly surmount. Or perhaps you could.

“I’m going to climb over.” You said definitively. “It looks solid enough. I’ll get to the other side, go back to the car and get help so this can get cleared away.”

“Well, I’m going with you.” Ben’s brow furrowed, something anxious in his eyes.

You shook your head. “Maybe. But one at a time. Let me test it out and find the footholds. I’m lighter than you.”

“Be careful,” he urged, but you were already clambering onto the nearest rock, pulling yourself over the larger pieces and tentatively resting your weight with each careful step. The top of the mound rose about eight feet off the ground and you scrabbled your way to it easily enough. Standing on top, you could see on the other side that the footbridge was still intact. It gave you a surge of confidence and you stepped forward, eager to scurry down the other side. Then everything sank, your stomach and your optimism as your right foot found a weak spot and shuddered downward in a small cascade of stones, sinking in up to your thigh until you felt it pinned at the ankle, the rocks trapping you in place.

“Shit!” You hissed, tugging uselessly to free yourself. It didn’t hurt, but it had immobilized you.

“What’s wrong?” Ben called from below, panicked.

You gritted your teeth. God, this was embarrassing. Off you had gone with bravado and now the universe was going to show you better. It was going to double down in fact, because you felt the first drops of rain spattering you from the dull grey sky. You clawed at the stones around your leg, able to toss some aside but others were so large you’d never be able to lift them. An animal part of your brain was starting to flood with fear, but you fought to keep your voice steady.

“I’m bloody stuck.” You lamented. “My leg is caught.” It wasn’t a request for assistance, but you should have known how he would react.

“Hang on, I’m coming!” From your vantage point you could see Ben dash forward and begin to climb the rocks, not caring to test the stability of his steps, just rushing toward you. You opened your mouth to tell him to slow down, but your voice caught in your throat as everything suddenly rumbled, an ominous herald of what was coming. You both froze, staring wide eyed and feet apart from one another. Then everything shifted and fell away.

Your entire sense of gravity tilted as the rocks beneath and around you slid, all jumbling together as they surged further away from the cliffside. You felt your leg snap within the grinding stone and cried out, landing on your side and feeling a jagged edge glance across your forehead. Your eyes fell on Benedict clamoring to reach you as he lost his own footing on the tumbling wave. He was unsuspecting, his eyes locked only on you when a massive boulder came rolling as easily as a toy ball and slammed into his side, knocking him out of view and into the tumult of roiling earth beneath you. You screamed his name but it was lost to the thunderous clatter.

Amidst the chaos, one thought began to form clearly in your mind. This was how you would die. Crushed in a rockslide thanks entirely to your own stupidity. And worst of all, you had dragged Ben with you. The nightmare deepened as the sky ripped with a clap of thunder and rain began to pummel you in earnest as everything continued to slide and roll around you. Numb with anguish, all you could do was bury your face in your hands and wait for fate to claim you.

But it didn’t. In what felt like only a moment, everything stilled. The rocks had stopped moving, their sound had died away, and you were lying on top of the mound sensing nothing but the cold patter of heavy rain. You were still alive, a fact that was confirmed by the burning pain you felt pulsing in your leg. Looking down you saw that it was freed, released from the churning rocks, but it was bloodied and wouldn’t respond to your attempts to move it. Though it was a novel experience for you, there was no doubt in your mind that it was broken.

That was the least of your worries. As you came back to your senses they all tuned to one goal. You had to find Benedict. You called out for him, voice croaking, but were met with silence. You pushed yourself up to look around. The slide hadn’t buried the trail any further, only shifted on top of itself. You could see the path back to the bothy on one side and the footbridge on the other. But no Benedict. You screamed his name again, louder. Nothing. A sickening dread started to rise from your stomach as you began to pull yourself over the rock. You couldn’t stand properly and even if you could, you didn’t want to risk disturbing anything. It was better to spread your weight across the surface and so you began to slither on your belly, fingers bloodying themselves on rough edges as you dragged along in the direction you had last seen him. Everything was turning slick and muddy with the rain. You moved back down toward the trail, eyes sweeping, and just near the bottom is where you saw a spot of orange amidst the rubble. His shirt.

“Ben!” You shrieked, half-rising on your good leg to hobble over to him. You reached the bottom of the rock pile and saw him lying at the edge of it. You chanted his name desperately as you landed at his side. He was on his back mostly unhidden, a few small stones piled around his limbs which you pushed away, but one large one wedged over the right side of his chest. He was frighteningly pale and seemingly unconscious, lying still as he was battered by rain.

“Ben,” you called to him, taking his face in your hands. “Ben, wake up!” When he didn’t respond, your heart started hammering. No, no, no. You bent an ear to his mouth, silently praying to every deity you had ever heard of. To your great relief, he was breathing. But he was struggling. Your eyes landed on the boulder, covered in lichen and mocking you. You suddenly hated it more than you had hated anything in your life. With a surge of strength you didn’t know you possessed you drove yourself against it, leveraging with your good knee. It felt like fighting a brick wall and yet somehow after a moment, it loosened and you shoved until it tumbled backward and off of Benedict.

Immediately he took a loud, wheezing inhale followed by a groaning “Fuuuuucccckkkkk.”

You would have laughed with relief if you were not so strung out on adrenaline and hell bent on getting as far away from this death trap as possible.

“Ben,” You shook him lightly. “Benedict, open your eyes.”

He did so, blinking against the rain, taking a moment to focus. Those bright, gentle eyes gazed back at you and made you feel rooted to the earth again.

“We need to get back to the bothy. Can you stand?”

He stared at you, seeming dazed, then brought a hand to your forehead, speaking softly. “You’re bleeding.”

As his fingers came away red, you were surprised that you didn’t feel any pain other than the dull throb of your leg. None of this was important right now. You had to get to shelter and then you could assess all of your wounds.

“I’m alright.” You stated firmly. “We need to go, come on now.”

He wrapped his right arm around your shoulders, the sleeve of his coat ripped and dirtied. You braced against each other as best you could and tried to stand but both fell back with shouts of pain, you unable to tolerate any weight on your shattered leg, and him clutching at his right side. You were in bad shape, but had no other options than to push through. No one was coming to help you and neither of you would leave the other.

You locked into each other’s eyes, breathing hard, and a silent understanding passed between you. Now was not a time for weakness. You would need to be strong for each other. You banded your arms around each other once again and, wincing and gasping, slowly staggered to your feet. Ben leaned heavily across your shoulders while you hopped on your left foot and dragged the other behind you.

Somehow through the pouring rain, with the screaming throb in your leg and Benedict swaying weightily beside you, you inched back along the trail to the bothy, soaked to the bone once you finally shambled inside. You maneuvered to gingerly lay Benedict onto the sofa but he still cried out at the movement. Then he laid still, eyes screwed shut against the pain as he exhaled raggedly through his nose. Spurred to action, you hopped loudly around the small space gathering towels, blankets, water, and the tiny first aid kit stashed in a cupboard. What use it would be, you didn’t know, but it was all you had. You checked your phone, already knowing there was no signal to dial out but instinctively needing to confirm it. Your mind spun. Plans. Actions. Steps. You were going to fix this. You were going to get out of this situation. You just had to keep your head, which was significantly harder to do when the man you loved was lying nearby as pale as a ghost and groaning. But you could get yourselves warm and dry. That was a first step.

After stoking a fire in the woodstove you lowered to sit next to the sofa, clumsily tumbling onto the floor as you winced at the shooting ache in your leg. Benedict’s eyes flew open and he looked at you with concern. “Your leg’s broken?” He intuited.

“Mmhmm,” You nodded, breathing through the pain. “But I’m fine. We need to check you out.”

You mopped his hair and face with a towel, the friction and heat from the nearby stove bringing some color back to his skin. You searched his eyes.

“What hurts? How do you feel?”

He grimaced. “Dizzy, but not too bad. I don’t know if I’m concussed or if I just got hit by a great bloody bunch of rocks.” He ended with his telltale smirk.

You were feeling anything but humorous at that moment. His joke made your insides seize, worried something may be seriously wrong.

“Have you been concussed before? Do you know what it feels like?”

He grinned further. “I have. You don’t grow up with seven siblings and not end up concussed. This doesn’t feel the same, but I can’t be sure.” Your mind started to quest through any errant information you had about concussions. He could read the panic in your expression and brought a hand to wrap around yours. “Hey, it’s going to be alright. If I start to go loopy that’s not a good sign, but I really think I’m okay.”

All you could do was nod tightly, imagining a dozen horrific scenarios and realizing there was little to nothing you could do about them. You simply had to stay focused on the moment and the fact that he was clear headed now.

“What else?”

He waved a hand vaguely over his right side. “Something bad, here.”

As carefully as you could, you worked in tandem to peel off his sopping coat while bit back yelps of agony. You frowned at the sight of his right arm, scraped and lacerated shoulder to wrist, but it didn’t appear to be broken. Then you lifted the hem of his t-shirt and he arched as best he could so that you could pull it off, turning his face away as he seethed into the cushions. You sucked in a breath, horrified by what you had uncovered. A bruise, black and purple and green, mottling the entire side of his body and rippling with each breath. Cursing to yourself, you rested fingertips lightly over it and even that caused him to flinch.

“I think…” you wavered. “I think your ribs are broken.”

He stared at the ceiling, his voice tight but sarcastic. “Yep, that feels about right.”

“Can you breathe?”

“Well enough,” he sighed.

The severity of the situation was sinking in. Hysteria was starting to bubble in your chest but you locked your jaw, determined to keep it together. “What do I… What should I do, Ben? How do I fix this?”

He turned to look at you, his expression going soft. “You can’t fix it.”

That threatened to push you over the edge. Your constitution slipped, your chin started to tremble, tears mounting in your eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey.” He cupped your face with a large hand, pads of his fingers pressing into your hair, urging you to focus. “We’re going to be alright. This is what’s going to happen. Tomorrow is our last rental day and the owners visit the property between guests. So they’ll come, see the path is blocked and know that we’re stuck here. They’ll get help. We just have to wait until tomorrow. We have everything we need here. We just have to be still and wait.”

You nodded, swallowing hard against the tears, ashamed that you couldn’t be stronger but breathlessly grateful that he would comfort you even when he was grievously injured. You kissed the palm of his hand and steadied yourself against its warmth. So very little was in your control, but you were determined to right the things that were. Moving carefully and trying to ignore the protesting pangs from your leg, you dried him off and piled him with blankets. The stove was burning high and the bothy still had the cozy air you had enjoyed the past few days. You stripped off your own soaking tops down to your bra and wrapped yourself in a blanket. Then you wet a rag and started to clean the cuts on his arm, dressing them with the ointment and bandages from the first aid kit.

Benedict watched you silently, something twinkling and bemused in his eyes. You worried that if you stared at him too long you were going to cry, so you focused on your task. Once you were finished he held out his hand.

“Give me the rag.” You handed it to him. “Come here.”

You shifted up to face him, concerned. “What do you need?”

Wordlessly, he pulled your chin closer with one hand and began to lightly dab at your forehead with the other. You closed your eyes, feeling the tears threaten again. If there was one thing Benedict Bridgerton would never cease to be come hell or high water, it was a caretaker of others. You weren’t quite sure what you had done to deserve such a man, but you knew it was imperative that you never let him go. As he wiped the blood away, your cut started to sting. You hadn’t found a mirror to examine it and you frankly didn’t want to. He was your only concern right now.

“Does it hurt?” He asked softly. You were too overcome to do anything other than nod. Then he pulled your chin down even further, leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to your wound.

That’s what broke you. You finally let the tears spill down your cheeks, burrowing your face into the side of his neck. “I’m so sorry, Ben,” you whispered.

“What are you sorry for?” He asked, bewildered.

“I should never have tried to climb those damned rocks.”

He huffed. “You were trying to help us. I’m the one who shouldn’t have jumped up after you.”

You pulled back, sniffling. “You were trying to help me.”

“And look where all of that help landed us,” he smirked, causing you both to chuckle. But his laugh almost immediately turned into agonized gasps.

“Alright, alright,” You put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “No laughing.”

“You need to splint your leg,” he rasped.

“How precisely should I do that?”

His eyes darted around the room. “The kindling for the stove. Take two long pieces and tie them off with towels.”

You began to drag yourself across the floor toward the woodpile, a realization forming that perhaps two people with zero medical training between them should not be as drawn to outdoor isolation as you were. You gathered two sturdy sticks and a handful of dish towels and then scraped your way back to his side.

“Make sure your leg is straight and tie it tight,” Benedict instructed. You nodded but were filled with apprehension. Ever since you had collapsed on the floor, your useless leg had been twisted at an appalling angle. You knew setting it was going to hurt. Taking a deep breath, you reached forward and tugged it straight. A white hot jab of pain jolted through your whole body, causing you to scream. Distantly, you could hear Benedict speaking to you, his hand rubbing circles across your back. His touch was what you focused on, the only thing helping you to fight the nausea as you lined up the wood and tied it tightly on either side of your broken limb, whimpering with each knot pulled. You fell back against the side of the sofa, panting as you found equilibrium and the searing pain faded back to an insistent throb. Benedict wrapped an arm across your chest, the closest thing to an embrace he could offer. You lay in silence together, exhausted, settling in for what was sure to be the longest night of your life.

Warmed by the fire and lulled by the rain driving against the windows, the atmosphere inside the bothy would have been dreadfully romantic if you weren’t both immobilized by broken bones and stranded, awaiting rescue. It would have been all too easy to fall asleep, but you were determined to stay awake until help arrived. You scooched yourself around the floor with all the grace of a geriatric slug, feeding the stove and brewing tea which you helped Benedict to drink as he lay flat. Out of habit you kept checking your phone, wondering if by some miracle a cell signal would appear.

“Sorry there’s no service here,” Benedict frowned. “Part of the whole appeal. Going off the grid.”

“I know,” you ran a reassuring hand through his hair. “It’s not your fault, I just can’t help checking. We need something to occupy ourselves.” Your eyes fell to the stacks of books beneath the coffee table, a motley assortment from the owners and you suspected, prior guests. You began to assess the authors, gauging his reactions.

“Dostoevsky?”

He grinned. “Well, I would enjoy that but I know it would put you to sleep.”

He was right. You set it back. “Ooo! Byron!” You lilted, waving the book at him tauntingly.

He groaned. “God, please. I’m in enough pain already.”

You laughed and tossed it aside. Next was a sleek, mysterious cover with a blurb promising ‘luxurious, unbridled passion’. You smirked. That seemed exciting enough to keep you both awake.

“We’re reading filth,” you announced, settling in next to him again. You had expected something humorous, the kind of tawdry romance novel that every aunt seemed to be fond of. But while the story started out playful enough, the simmering sexual energy woven by the author’s talented prose was so evocative, you both started to squirm. The fearless, beautiful depictions of the lovers’ encounters were so salacious that you were too stunned to keep reading them aloud, your mouth falling open as you blushed instead. Dimestore trash this was not.

Benedict shifted behind you but you couldn’t look at him. “Maybe save that one for later,” he croaked. “Jesus, who wrote that?”

“Faye someone.” You mumbled, setting it aside with a mental note to steal it or buy your own copy.

“Please make me think of something else now,” Benedict pleaded, his voice tight.

“P.G. Wodehouse it is.” You smiled, grateful to have found something light and familiar.

“Brilliant.”

By the time you finished the short volume it was dark outside but the rain hadn’t let up. You could have switched on the lights but that seemed too harsh for the states you were in. The fire was a more relaxing illumination.

Your stomach rumbled, waking up after an extended period of anxiety. “We should eat something.” You had food enough to cook meals for one more day, but could scrounge for now. You trailed a hand lazily over Benedict’s cheek. “What do you want?” He raised a brow. “Scotch. Neat.”

“You’re not drinking in your condition.” You said firmly, eliciting an exaggerated pout from him. “And neither am I. Do you have an appetite for anything solid?”

“Not really.”

“Just bread?”

You knew that would bring a light to his eyes. “With butter?”

You grinned. “Of course.” It was never a question with him. That was the one thing he would always happily eat. Setting off on another crawling journey across the floor to the kitchenette, you cobbled together your dinner. Bread, butter, a bit of cheese, a jar of olives. It would do. It was damn near continental.

After your haphazard meal you found Benedict’s eyes drifting closed, everything about him looking utterly spent.

You held his hand in your own and kissed his bloodied knuckles. “Ben, you’re drifting off. Should you…can you sleep with a concussion?”

His eyes fluttered open, bleary. “Yes,” he mumbled. “Just wake me up every couple of hours to make sure I know my own name. Ask me some questions.”

“Alright.” You nodded, trying to ignore the spike of fear inside. What if he was hiding how he truly felt for your sake? What if he did have a concussion and got worse while he slept? What if you couldn’t wake him up again? Part of you wanted to plead with him to stay awake through the night, but it was overruled by the part that told you to trust him. Choosing hope, you squeezed his hand and laid it across his chest.

“What about you?” He was fading fast, eyes closed.

“I’m not tired,” you lied. “Get some rest.”

Then your vigil began. You set your phone alarm to go off every three hours and brewed another pot of tea. You would stay awake. If anything was compelling enough to combat your wearied body’s exhaustion, it was the need to make sure Benedict kept breathing and that he could come back to you when you woke him. You stayed at his side, studying the angles of his handsome face in the glow of the fire, grateful that he seemed to be peaceful. And you waited.

“Ben?”

“Mmm?”

“Where are you?”

“In Scotland.”

“Why are we here?”

“We’re on holiday.”

“Who is your eldest brother?”

“Anthony.”

“Alright, go back to sleep.”

—

“Ben?”

“Mmm?”

“Where are you?”

“In the mountains.”

“Why are we here?”

“I wanted to paint.”

“Where did you take me on our second date?”

“I said, ‘What do you say we go to Marseille?’”

“Yes, it was awful of you. I finally committed to you and then you said cheesy mad shit like that.”

“But you came with me.”

“I did.”

“And you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did. Go back to sleep.”

—

The third time you woke him, the light was turning grey outside and the rain had weakened to fits of spray. It was the day of your rescue. You just had to wait a few more hours. You decided you should probably wake Benedict for good.

“Ben?” You ran your hands through his hair, coaxing him back.

“Mmm?”

He had awoken so easily each time, it was reassuring.

“Where are you?”

“I’m with you,” he slurred.

Your heart faltered, touched by his response but also concerned at its vagueness.

“And who am I?”

Even though his eyes remained closed, his lips tilted into a small smile. “You’re the love of my life.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Exhaustion, fear, relief and love heaping upon one another.

Your voice trembled. “Where are we both right now?”

“We’re stuck in the bloody bothy.” He spat.

You chuckled, running your thumb over his forehead. He seemed to be lucid. “Why are we here?”

“I wanted to ask you,” he sighed, sounding almost as if slipping back into sleep.

You were confounded. “Ask me what?”

At last his eyes blinked open, settling on you with the steady, blue-grey stare that you could drown in.

“Get my coat.”

Still confused, you did as he asked, pulling his coat from the side of the sofa and handing it to him. It was only when he began rummaging through the pockets that realization struck and you froze. Time seemed to slow as he finally pulled out a small box and tossed the coat aside. He pried the lid open and brought it to rest on his bruised chest so that you were staring face first at a silver ring twined with a sapphire and pearls.

“Ask you to be my wife.” He declared, that timeless cheeky grin lighting his face. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t move. You weren’t sure if you were delirious with exhaustion or dreaming. He continued. “The hike was to an overlook. The landscape I painted that you love so much? I wanted to ask you there. I’m sorry we didn’t make it.”

Everything was falling into place. His insistence on this holiday. The uncharacteristic request for a hike. He had meant it to be one of the most memorable days of your life. It had certainly turned out that way, but not in the expected fashion.

Entirely ignoring the beautiful ring, you pulled him into a kiss.

“Oh, Ben.” You weren’t sure if you were laughing or crying or about to faint. You just needed to have him close.

He nuzzled his nose against yours, trying to convey as much affection as he could while not being able to move.

“This isn’t how I wanted it to be, but I need to ask you before anything else goes wrong.”

You stared back at him in alarm. “Nothing else is going to go wrong. Don’t you dare say that.”

He only smiled, devastating with his boyish grin and the cheerful crinkles around his bright eyes.

“So? Will you?”

“Yes! Yes, of course I will.” Your words were muffled into his lips as you kissed him again, hands wound tight into his hair, never wanting to let go. You didn’t feel tired anymore. You didn’t feel your pain. All you felt was him. Even now he smelled so wonderful, tasted so wonderful. He was light and certainty. He felt like home.

When you managed to pry yourself off of him, his eyes were glittering. He plucked the ring from its box and slid it onto your shaking hand.

“In sickness and in health.” He beamed. “I think we’ve already covered that bit.”

“Yes, we have.” You fell upon him again, breathless, everything fading behind the reality that he would be yours forever. It was a twist of fortune you’d never feel worthy of.

A few hours later you were snogging rather ferociously when someone began pounding on the door. It was emergency services. Just as Benedict had foretold, the bothy owners had seen the rockslide and sent help. He was infuriatingly correct in that way most of the time. A team of people dressed in yellow bandaged you both further and expressed surprise as how well you had handled yourselves under the circumstances. The rubble would take too long to be cleared but with specialty equipment they carried you expertly over to safety and into awaiting ambulances.

Your tallied damage was three leg fractures, three forehead stitches, three broken ribs and no concussion. ‘Symmetrically maimed’ as Benedict proudly announced to your family members who sped up to Scotland to collect you. In the subsequent weeks everyone was so busy fluttering around your injuries that no one noticed your ring finger. You and Benedict made a game of it, placing bets on who would be the first. You won the bet when three weeks in, Violet suddenly clamped eyes on your left hand and started yelping. Then added to the endless questions about your harrowing tale of survival, you were peppered with questions about wedding plans. Muscling through each day as a couple of lovesick invalids, you hadn’t found time to make any, but you had agreed on one thing. No matter where you went on honeymoon, hiking would not be on the itinerary.

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @faye-tale

#whump whump whump #Eleanor the Destroyer Strikes Again #fic rec #favorite whump author

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years ago

Text

Tell the Truth

Prompts: aaaa the way you write angst is just *chefs kiss* wonderful. I’ve been really enjoying the butterfly project series, it has made me cry multiple times. May I request some fluff to balance the angst? - anon

Excuse me while I sob over Redemption Never Came and politely grabby hand for more angst with a happy ending (Roman angst my beloved) (Also you are an amazing fanfic artist :D) - anon

This is so heartbreaking and whumpy but so soft in the end and I would devour a second part about everyone trying to help undo all the negative patterns they've all instilled in Roman and just showing him affection and everyone's hearts breaking a little more each time he's surprised they actually want to be around him. - LadyofhteWoods

And now a part of me wants to see all those scenarios again, only this time Roman gets loved- walk in the kitchen, get a hug. Sit on the couch? Cuddle pile. Go on a quest? Bring friends, if hurt, patch up and movies. Crying in bed because you had a bad time and your brain is screaming that you suck and a wave of depression has rippled through you and you feel horrible? Have some tea… cry it out…. We’re here. - A_tiny_star_prince

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: self-doubt, self-deprecating thoughts

Pairings: dlampr

Word Count: 7688

Roman lies. A lot. Maybe it's time they did something about it.

Roman’s lies don’t vanish overnight. How could they? When he’s so used to repeating them, over and over, in a horrific little mantra before he goes to sleep, how can he be expected to get rid of them in only one night?

That doesn’t make them less difficult to hear.

Janus is downstairs, helping Virgil fold up one of the blankets strewn about the living room, when he winces and hisses.

“J? You okay?”

Janus nods, jerking his head upward. Virgil follows his gaze and winces too.

“…Princey?”

“I think so.” That’s a lie. He knows it’s Roman.

“I got this,” Virgil says quietly, taking the blanket from Janus, “you go. He seems to let you help more than he lets us.”

He never really had the choice to let me.

Janus swallows heavily as he appears outside Roman’s door. The lies aren’t nearly as poisonous as they were a few days ago, but they’re strong enough to curl his tongue at the bitterness in his throat. He raises a hand to knock on the door.

The lies falter for a moment before another one floats through.

Don’t come in.

He smirks, gently pushing the door open to meet a darkened room.

“Impressive,” he says softly, making his way over to the figure in the bed and perching on the end, “that could’ve been one of mine.”

He’s rewarded with the quietest of huffs before a head shyly peeks out at him from the covers. Janus smiles and tilts his head.

“Hello, sweetie.”

“Hi.” Roman shuffles a little. “Sorry. Didn’t realize I was summoning you.”

“There’s no need to apologize.” Janus glances around the room. His computer is off and shut. The bathroom light and fan are off. He looks back. “Can I help, sweetie?”

A shuffling of the blankets that’s probably supposed to be a shrug.

“Let me come find you, then,” he murmurs, standing and moving to where the head was a moment ago, “how did you get this many blankets on top of you?”

He slowly starts to move them out of the way, peeling back layer after layer, only briefly wondering whether or not Roman can breathe properly under these. It’s a careful act, one he treats with the same reverence as cleaning his gloves or his scales, creating a little cocoon of blankets as he gets further and further into the covers.

The last one puffs just the slightest amount, up and down.

So you can breathe, good.

Janus doesn’t move this one all the way out of the way, just lifts it up enough to peer inside. Roman’s little face peers back at him, partially covered by another blanket clutched tight to his chest. He looks so…child-like.

The realization makes something warm turn in Janus’s chest.

“Knock knock,” he says softly, “anyone home?”

Roman blinks. “Mm.”

“May I come in, sweetie?”

“Mm.” Roman jerks his chin toward Janus’s clothes. “Lose the sharp bits.”

Janus snaps his fingers, transforming his usual clothes into a soft yellow shirt and sleep pants. “Better?”

“Mm.”

“How did you manage to get so many blankets balanced on your bed,” Janus asks as he slips beside Roman, “mine always fall off after three.”

“Practice.” Roman shifts to make room.

Janus frowns. “Come here, sweetie, let me cuddle you.”

“You don’t have to.”

The frown deepens. “Sweetie?”

Roman buries his face a little deeper into the blanket. “You don’t like cuddling. Virgil an’ Remus said so.”

Oh, Roman…

“Come, sweetie,” he insists, tugging Roman gently into a proper hug, “there.”

“But—but—“

“I may not be as big a fan of cuddling as you and Patton,” Janus says firmly, cupping Roman’s face, “and I’m certainly the type that enjoys being tackled by Remus—“

Roman snorts.

“—but you’re upset,” he finishes gently, “and I want to help.”

Burden.

Needy.

Don’t understand boundaries.

Don’t deserve help.

Janus hisses. Roman sighs.

“Sorry.”

“No need for that,” he assures, still cradling Roman’s face as he pulls him close, “I understand. It’s alright.”

“I know, and I—I don’t want you to leave, but—“ Roman swallows— “I just—I still don’t believe you’re here.”

Janus wraps a pair of arms around Roman’s waist and squeezes. “I’m real, I’m here.”

“I just—“

There’s another lie swirling in Roman’s brain, too nebulous to make it all the way to Janus, but present enough that it makes his mouth tingle. He leans down to kiss Roman’s forehead.

“…you said it was your job to protect the Ego.”

“That’s right, sweetie, it is.”

“I guess I…I just…”

Janus gives Roman another encouraging squeeze. Roman brings the blanket further up his face.

“…I guess I figured that if you—if you could h-hate me that much or h-hurt me that badly and not—not care, then you…maybe you…”

Janus’s heart clenches as the lie finally makes itself known.

Not worth protecting.

He pulls away, shushing the heartbroken whine that Roman makes, taking off his gloves and wrapping every arm around the poor thing. He presses another kiss to his forehead, letting the hiss out into his hair.

“That’s not true, sweetie,” he promises, “and you’ll never know how sorry I am for hurting you and letting it get this far.”

And the poor thing is so tired, so weary that he goes limp in Janus’s arms, save for the blanket clutched tightly to his face. Janus frowns, opening his mouth to say that might be a little uncomfortable, what with Roman’s arms tucked between them, when he starts putting the pieces together.

Roman is still wearing a fair amount of clothing, he’s got something pressed up against his face, under his chin, and he’s got so many blankets piled on top of him that even Janus feels warm.

“And here I thought I couldn’t feel more rotten,” he whispers, carding one hand through Roman’s hair, another scratching gently between his shoulder blades, “but you must be in agony.”

A questioning hum is let out against his throat.

“You’re still touch starved, sweetie,” he says in way of answering, squeezing a little tighter, “are you still cold?”

There’s a soft rush of breath as Janus cups the back of his neck and then a noise is just about torn from his throat as he uses it to pull Roman close.

“Oh, shh, shh, you poor thing,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to his cheek, “I’m right here, sweetie, I won’t leave you.”

They lie there for a while longer, Roman’s arms slowly lowering the blanket until he shyly puts his arms around Janus in return.

“There you go, sweetie,” he encourages, “hold onto me, that’s it.”

“Why—why are you letting me hug you?”

“Because it seems like you’d like to hug me.” Janus squeezes him again. “You don’t need to have a reason, sweetie, if you need a cuddle, you can have one.”

I need a reason. I need an excuse. I need an argument. I have to convince you.

Another hiss. “You can always ask for hugs, sweetie, you don’t need to convince me to hug you.”

“…really?”

Oh, Roman… “Yes, sweetie, you can ask any of us.”

The wave of disbelief that hits him makes him grit his teeth.

“I promise, sweetie. I promise.” Another kiss to his forehead. “You’re not unwanted, you’re not a burden.”

The silence he gets implies that Roman may not want to prove that—or disprove it—for himself right now.

“…can we just stay here for a bit?”

“For as long as you need, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, settling them in for some rest, “for as long as you want.”

——————————

Patton is in the kitchen, the first one downstairs this morning. There’s already a pot of coffee brewing and he sets the kettle up on the counter. He reaches up to pull the mugs for everyone. The plain black one for Logan, the Nightmare Before Christmas one for Virgil, the sparkly one for Remus, and the blue puppy one for himself. He frowns.

Roman used to keep his mug down here too. This really big red one with a golden crown on the side. He hasn’t seen it in ages.

Footsteps on the stairs.

He turns and sees Roman walk into the kitchen, smiling brightly as if there’s nothing wrong in the world, not a seam or stitch of his prince costume out of place. He strides into the room like he owns it, as if he’s just come down the stairs in his resplendent palace to a crown of adoring onlookers.

“Ah! Patton!” Goodness, he speaks like it too. “Good morning!”

“Roman!” Patton rushes forward and wraps him in a hug.

This is where everything goes wrong.

Roman tenses. Not in a way that means he wants out, but out of sheer surprise. Patton waits for Roman’s arms to wrap around him but instead, there’s just a very, very soft touch to his shoulder.

“Patton,” he asks quietly, “are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m great, kiddo, why?”

“W-well, you’re…you’re hugging me.”

“Sure am.”

“…why?”

Suddenly Patton feels very cold.

He pulls back, not enough to let Roman go completely, but enough to look up and see a truly heartbreaking look of confusion on his face. He can’t help the soft noise that comes out of his mouth as he raises one hand to his face.

“Are you asking why I’m hugging you?” Roman nods. “I want to hug you, kiddo. You’re hug-shaped.”

“I’m…what?”

“Hug-shaped,” Patton repeats, tugging him a little closer with the arm still around his waist, “you’re worth hugging, I like hugging you.”

“O-oh.”

And Patton has to watch as every scrap of confidence falls from Roman’s expression, his shoulders slump, and he looks like he loses some of his height, even. The shift is so drastic that it almost springs tears to his eyes at how much Prince Roman suddenly looks like a lost child, swimming in a costume too big and too heavy for him. Roman face contorts as he looks at a spot on the counter, furrowing his brow as if it’ll explain everything to him if he just glares hard enough.

There’s something fragile about the way Roman leans into Patton’s hand, something breakable about how warm he is right now. Patton shifts his weight to his other leg and there’s a flash of panic in Roman’s eyes, quickly stifled but there.

“Oh, kiddo, I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs, pulling Roman back in for a proper hug, “I’m right here, it’s okay. You just let it out, okay?”

Roman’s breathe shudders a little into Patton’s shoulder. Then he starts pushing Patton away.

Patton listens, confused, until he watches Roman shake himself and put the mask of the prince right back on.

“Terribly sorry,” he says in the awful, awful cheerful voice as he rakes a hand through his hair, “don’t know what came over me.”

“Don’t,” Patton blurts before he can stop himself, “don’t do that, sweetheart.”

“Don’t do what, Padre?”

“Don’t pretend,” he says, reaching out for Roman again, “you don’t have to pretend you’re okay. Or that you don’t want something.”

“I don’t like being needy, Patton,” Roman says in a soft voice that’s just this side of wobbly, “and you don’t like me needy.”

And doesn’t that just feel hot and guilty in Patton’s throat?

“I like you, sweetheart,” he says instead, “and you’re not being needy if you want comfort or even just a touch. You’re allowed to want something, Roman, you are.”

Roman huffs in disbelief and turns.

“No, Roman—“ Patton hurries to get in front of him— “you are.”

Something flickers across Roman’s expression. Patton doesn’t even need Janus to tell him that Roman thinks he’s walking into a trap.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Patton says quietly, “I’ve hurt you so much, haven’t I? I’ve made you think that your job is wrong, that you—that you’re wrong and you’re not, kiddo. You’re not wrong. You’re not awful. I promise.”

Roman’s lip wobbles.

“Oh, come here, sweetheart,” Patton coos, wrapping him back in a hug, and finally, finally Roman’s arms come up to wrap around him too, before he’s being squeezed so tight it borders on painful.

Patton doesn’t care.

“It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart, I promise.” He rocks them back and forth a little as Roman buries his face in his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out, I know we will.”

They stay like that until the kettle goes off and Roman startles, jumping back a little bit. Patton soothes away the last of the jitters and smiles, watching Roman look like…Roman. Not the Prince, not the horribly lost child, just…just Roman.

“I think that’s my cue to make you the biggest mug of hot chocolate you’ve had since Christmas,” he says quietly, “now what mug would you like?”

Roman glances at the cabinet. “Anyone is fine.”

“Then why don’t you go grab one while I get the hot chocolate?”

Patton busies himself with the box, purposely letting Roman have his privacy as he picks out a mug, trying not to make his smile too blinding when he turns and sees Roman shyly hold out a big red mug with a sparkly crown.

“Good choice,” he says softly as he takes it from him, “I missed this mug.”

Judging by the way Roman’s mouth curls up in a little smile, he knows what Patton meant.

——————————

Virgil walks into the room and sees Roman sprawled out across the chair. He almost doesn’t see it.

He’s got to give it to Janus; even though he knows he can hear lies, he’s not sure he would’ve believed that they were actually coming from Roman. Because Roman looks the fucking picture of relaxed right now. It looks like he saw Patton and Logan on the couch and decided there wasn’t enough room for him to take up as much space as he wants. It looks like he’s occupying the entire fucking corner and not just the chair. It looks like he’s every bit the arrogant prince they used to think he was.

Then he sees how tight his jaw is and the slight tremble of his hands.

The room isn’t warm, there’s no reason for Princey to be shivering. There’s certainly no reason for him to be so tense as he sits in the chair, tapping a pen against his cheek in a fabulous impression of mindless thinking but is actually a carefully controlled way of preventing himself from moving any further.

He’s gotta hand it to him. Princey’s good.

Virgil walks up to Roman and shoves his hands into his pockets as Roman looks up.

“Dark and Stormy,” he says in a perfected casual lilt, “is there something I can do for you?”

And wow, okay, if this is what Janus hears all the time then Virgil has no idea how he fucking does it.

Janus hears lies, Virgil hears fears.

Please don’t make me leave.

If you want the chair I’l give it to you, I’ll move, I’ll sit on the floor, I’ll be quiet, but please don’t make me go. I want to stay, please, can I—can I stay? Is that okay?

Virgil tilts his head. “Move the book.”

Roman furrows his brow. “What?”

“The book.” Virgil nods to the notebook in Roman’s lap. “Move it. Move your arm.”

Confused, Roman does as he asks only to squeak in surprise when Virgil pronounces it perfect and plonks himself in Roman’s lap.

“Virgil!”

“Yeah?” Virgil pulls out his phone and leans his head against Roman’s shoulder. “What’s up?”

“You—you’re—“ Roman still doesn’t move— “you’re in my lap.”

“Sure am.” Virgil looks up at him and lowers his voice to a whisper. “No?”

Roman’s voice drops too. “What?”

Virgil indicates his weight. “No? This okay?”

“Y-yeah, it’s fine, I just—what?”

In lieu of a verbal answer, Virgil reaches behind him to take Roman’s free hand and pull it close, tucking it under his chin and clutching it there. Roman’s hand trembles. He finds himself absentmindedly running his thumb over the knuckles, the palm, the fingers. He keeps his eyes on Roman’s face.

Roman’s other arm lowers, gingerly resting on Virgil’s legs. Virgil smiles and squeezes his hand.

“I’m sorry, Princey,” he whispers, “I’ve been fucking awful to you.”

Roman’s face twitches. “…so have I.”

“What, been awful to me or awful to you?”

For a moment, he thinks Roman’s just going to say that he’s been awful to Virgil. Which, yes, he was in the past, but not like Virgil’s been. But instead, Roman opens his mouth and shakily whispers: ‘both.’

“I know, Princey.” Virgil squeezes his hand again. “You’re all good with me, and we can…if you want, I can help with the second part too.”

Roman’s eyes widen and godfuckingdamnit that hurts.

“I gotcha, Roman,” he says softly, lacing their fingers together, “and ‘m sorry I haven’t been there for you recently.”

Roman swallows, Virgil’s eyes drawn to the roll of his throat. “You…you want to help me?”

Roman, you’re gonna ruin my reputation of not having a heart by smashing it into fucking pieces.

“Yeah, Roman,” he reassures, “I wanna help you. You’re important.”

“I am?”

“Sure are, Princey.” He lightly knocks his head against Roman’s. “And if it ever feels like I don’t believe that, call me out on my bullshit. ‘Cause that’s bullshit.”

“What are you two muttering about over there?” Patton shakes his head fondly when Virgil decides to just turn his head upside down instead of turning around. “Virgil, that’s not good for your spine.”

“We’re metaphysical, Pop-star, who cares?”

“When you start complaining about neck pain,” Logan says wryly, “me.”

He glances up too and Virgil hides a smirk at how his face softens when he spots Roman’s expression.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, yes,” Roman says hurriedly, “everything’s fine.”

“It’s Hug Roman time,” Virgil says immediately after, “so I’m hugging Roman.”

“I think that’s less of a hug than you sitting on his lap,” Logan says, standing, “but we’ll never fit all of us on that chair.”

Virgil feels more than hears Roman’s inhale as Logan and Patton start moving the couch cushions to the floor. He sits back upright just in time to see Roman’s hopeful face and butts his head against his again.

“Come on, Princey, let’s go.”

“…are you going to stand up, or…?”

“Or you could carry me.”

“Virgil,” he hears Patton chide.

“No, no,” Roman says, “it’s fine, I can carry him if he wants to be carried. I will need my hand back, though.”

Okay, yes, Virgil does enjoy Roman carrying him a bit too much for altruistic purposes but it’s worth it when Roman goes to gently set him down and the other two pull him down instead.

“There,” Logan says softly as Roman’s head comes to rest against the base of the couch, “much better.”

Roman opens his mouth to say something when Logan’s hand tangles in his hair and it turns into a slightly strangled sound. Patton chuckles, wrapping his arms around Roman and sighing softly.

“Hey, who wants to play a game?”

Remus’s head pops up from behind the couch.

“We’re already playing a game,” Virgil says, “it’s called Cuddle Roman, now get your butt down here.”

Remus gasps. “My favorite!”

“Okay good,” Virgil mutters as he moves out of Roman’s lap to make room for Remus, “I totally thought he was talking about butts.”

“I have a feeling, my dear,” Janus sighs, striding from the shadows and totally not making Virgil jump, “that it’s both.”

Remus just cackles. Janus takes a seat, reaching out to take one of Roman’s hands in his. Roman frowns at him slightly, his head still spinning from the amount of people around him.

“What—is there something wrong?”

Janus shakes his head. “It’s Hug Roman hours. So I’m here.”

Vigil chuckles at the blush on Roman’s face. “So this is becoming a regular thing, right?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Indeed.”

“Yay!”

Remus just holds his brother tighter.

——————————

“…come in.”

“If you’d like to reschedule, Roman, it’s no trouble, I’m happy to…”

Logan trails off as he walks into the room, Roman’s back to him as he hunches over a table near the door to the Imagination. He shuts the door quietly behind him and tucks the notebook under his arm.

“Roman?” He takes a step forward. “Are you alright?”

“Never better, Specs,” Roman says cheerily, too cheerily, “just give me one moment and I’m all yours.”

Logan frowns. “If you’d like to reschedule, Roman,” he repeats, softer this time, “I can assure you, it’s fine.”

“No, no, that’d be rude.” Something crinkles in Roman’s hands. “Just—just one moment.”

There’s a heavy clunk and a barely contained hiss.

“Roman—“ he starts forward— “are you hurt?”

“Not hurt.” Another clunk. “Just…incredibly clumsy, it seems.”

“Can I help?”

If he weren’t paying attention, he would miss the way Roman’s shoulders tense with disbelief.

“N-no, that’s alright,” Roman says, the first time his voice has slipped, “I’m just…no, it’s alright.”

He jerks his head toward the desk, being very careful not to let Logan see his face.

“It’s over there, I’ll be with you in one moment.”

Logan looks, then walks over to the desk and carefully sets down his notebook. He glances up at Roman and can’t stop the soft noise at seeing Roman’s hands shake and fumble with a large bottle.

“Roman,” he calls softly, “Roman, please.”

Roman freezes.

“…please what?”

“Let me help you,” he says, walking over, “let me help you with this.”

Roman shudders and tries to laugh again. “You don’t need to busy yourself with inane and worthless tasks, Logan.”

Oh. Oh, dear.

“You’re not inane or worthless, Roman,” he says firmly, “nor are you a task.”

Roman’s shoulder is cold under his hand. He cups it nonetheless and leans closer, mindful to keep his gaze down and away.

“Please?”

Under his hand, Roman sighs. “…if that’s what you want.”

He’s not prepared for when Roman turns around, a bottle of micellar water in one hand and cotton ovals in the other. His makeup—done so wonderfully this morning—is smeared and wearing away, his nose bright red under the concealer. Logan lets out another soft noise, taking the proffered items and gently pushing Roman to sit on the table.

He takes one of the cotton ovals and gets it damp, cupping Roman’s chin in one hand.

“Let me know if anything starts to sting or hurt,” he instructs softly and starts to clean the smudges from his face. Roman sits perfectly still, his gaze down at Logan’s tie. His hands fold neatly in his lap and he looks every bit the cooperative ideal.

Except for the way he looks terrified every time Logan so much as shifts his hand.

“You are not worthless,” Logan says quietly as he works, swapping out the cotton ovals when needed, “you are not annoying me. You are someone I care about very deeply and someone I enjoy helping.”

Roman’s chin wobbles.

“I am always impressed by the ideas you create,” he continues after quietly bidding Roman to turn slightly, “and you never cease to amaze me with your creativity.”

Roman’s throat works against his hand as he swallows. “Remus—“

“Remus is Remus,” Logan interrupts gently, “turn—yes, there you go—and you are Roman. You are clever, you are kind, and you are wonderful, and I care about you very much.”

He takes a new cotton oval and takes Roman’s chin again, tapping gently until Roman makes eye contact.

“Close your eyes,” he bids, “and let me know if they start to sting at any point.”

Roman closes his eyes and Logan carefully, carefully starts to clean off the eyeshadow. The golden sparkles are stubborn, clinging to the skin, but he works patiently until the last of them come off. He realizes after that the oval is wetter than it was when he began.

“Oh, little star,” he breathes, glancing around and summoning a soft washcloth to clean Roman’s face the rest of the way, “it’s alright, you can cry if you need to. I won’t mind.”

“It’s stupid,” Roman mutters, raising a hand to swipe angrily at the tears, “it’s stupid.”

“If it’s making you upset, it’s not stupid.” Logan gently but firmly places Roman’s hands on his own shoulders and replaces them with the cloth. “Tell me?”

“I—it’s not even a quest.” Roman’s voice cracks horribly on the last word. “It’s just—I was making something and it broke and I—I worked really hard on it and now it’s ruined.”

Logan lets out a soft noise. “I’m sorry.”

His chest aches when the apology makes Roman shake himself. “It’s fine. Sorry, I didn’t want to just dump that on you.”

“I asked you to tell me what was wrong,” Logan chides, patting his cheek dry, “you’re not dumping anything on me.”

He sets the cloth aside and cups Roman’s face with his hands.

“And I am also sorry,” he whispers, “that I have made you believe that I do not worry about you the same way I worry about Thomas.”

Roman’s eyes fly open. “You—you what?”

“I care about you very deeply, Roman,” Logan says, “you’re very important to me. So yes, of course, I worry about you. You’re upset, and I’ve made you feel like you can’t come to me. I…I have not behaved well toward you. And I will remedy that.”

A new wave of tears meets Logan’s thumbs carefully swiping them away.

“Bonk?”

Roman leans forward and lets Logan rest their foreheads together. After a moment, his hands move to give Roman a proper hug, leaning up to press a kiss to his forehead.

“What were you making, if I may ask?”

“…just a house.” Roman sniffles. “It got destroyed in the last brainstorm.”

“Would you like help?”

“…don’t we have to work on the ideas?”

Logan smiles, resting their foreheads together once more. “This feels more important, doesn’t it?”

Roman’s small but warm smile is more than worth the extra hours they’ll have to spend working on the videos.

——————————

Somehow they forgot.

Somehow they forgot that Roman was scared of the dark.

It wasn’t common that thunderstorms plagued the Imagination, simply because—well, Thomas didn’t need literal brainstorms when he’s got Logan working with him. Sure, sometimes Remus decides he’s going to make his entrance extra cliché and arrive in a literal flash of lightning. Or Roman will create a field of flowers larger than the eye can see and soft bruised purple clouds will roll across the sky, quiet thunder and light rain that feels like a cushion.

But it’s never enough to cause a blackout.

For a moment, they’re all just confused. Thomas’s apartment is fine, Thomas is fine, so they don’t understand what’s happened. Then Remus points out that they, uh, maybe didn’t close the door to the Imagination as tightly as they should have.

He gets smacked upside the head for that.

So they’re here, in the middle of the dark, trying frantically to figure out how to not run into everything. Well, three of them are fine. Virgil can see in the dark. Janus can see in the dark. Remus can see in the dark.

“Is that because you’re the Dark Sides,” Patton mumbles as he puts his glasses back on for the fifth time in the past minute, “or do you each have some kind of ability?”

Remus smiles, even if Patton can’t see it. “It’s more fun!”

“That doesn’t—“ Logan pinches the bridge of his nose— “that doesn’t even answer the question, Remus.”

“I think you’ll find that’s his justification for most things,” Janus says wryly, taking Patton carefully by the arm and guiding him to sit on the couch, safely out of harm’s way.

Virgil elbows Remus to get him to put down the Morningstar, please, and sits down next to Patton. “How long is this going to take to go away?”

Remus shrugs. “Dunno. Probably won’t be that long. We all just gotta sit tight.”

Janus raises a hand to his mouth—not that Logan can truly appreciate his expression—and mock gasps. “Remus, suggesting that we don’t do anything?”

“Oh, fuck off, Snakey.”

“Language!”

Remus blows a fat raspberry. “Even I know it’s a bad idea to try and do something right now. I mean ask Roman—“

It takes a moment for them to realize that Roman isn’t sitting there.

“We should go get him,” Logan says after a moment, “just to make sure we’re all in the same place.”

And with that, Remus is off, stomping up the stairs and conveniently forgetting that two Sides can’t see past the little pinpricks of light at the bottom of the windows. Virgil rolls his eyes and makes to stand, only to frown.

“Virgil?” Logan touches his elbow when he notices him pause. “Are you alright?”

“Feels like I’m being summoned.” He rubs his chest absentmindedly. “But not really.”

“Well, let’s just keep an eye on—hey!”

Virgil doesn’t even hear the end of Logan’s sentence before he’s yanked into another room.

He blinks, disoriented, shaking his head to figure out where he is. Only when Remus bursts up the stairs and pouts that how dare Virgil sink out to beat him here does he realize why he’s here.

Judging by the way Remus’s face falls a second later, he does too.

Remus knocks lightly on the door. After a moment, he curses and goes to knock louder.

“Don’t,” Virgil mutters, grabbing Remus’s arm, “you’re gonna freak him out more.”

“Well, I can’t just blow the fucking door open,” he growls, shaking him off, “that’s gonna make it worse.”

He opens his mouth but another sharp tug from his chest makes him wince. “Okay, then don’t bust it down. Just—oh, god, we gotta get in there.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice.”

Remus doesn’t rear back and kick the door open, which says something about how concerned he is. They can’t see much of anything except for—

—oh.

Oh, no.

Roman notices immediately when the blackout happens. How could he not? He’d been in the middle of trying to sort out his journal for the day when suddenly he was drowning.

Oh god.

Oh, god.

Within an instant, his chest seizes. He can’t see. He can’t see. There’s something—

No. No, it’s fine. He’s in his room. Everything is fine. Because he’s safe. He’s in his room, he knows where everything is, he knows what everything is in here, he’s fine.

There’s nothing here to be scared of. There’s nothing here to be scared of.

So why is Roman so scared?

He shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t be. He’s a prince, for Disney’s sake, he’s the protector of the Mindscape, he’s—he’s—

He’s Prince Roman. Not some newly minted squire crying because he’s away from home for the first time and it’s all dark and scary and he can’t see anything because he doesn’t know what’s going on and he can’t tell where anything is and he swears he can see things moving in the shadows and—and—and—

Roman shoves his fist in his mouth before he can whimper.

No. No. He’s fine.

He’s fine.

…besides, what would the others say?

He’s a prince. He’s Roman. He’s not some scared weak thing. He’s just—he’s just—it’s—it’s—

They can’t see him like this. He’s supposed to be strong. He’ll never be taken seriously if they don’t see that he can be strong. They don’t take him seriously already, do they? Let alone if they could see him in the dark, alone, hyperventilating, terrified.

But he is.

He’s—he—

Something moves.

Oh, god, something moved.

He freezes, goes absolutely still, tries frantically to still his heaving chest, be small, be unnoticeable, his pride doesn’t matter right now, it doesn’t, he’s not gonna be hurt if he can’t be seen—

“Ro-Bro?”

His next inhale is a whine.

No, no, not Remus—he can’t—not Remus, Remus is strong, Remus will laugh at him, Remus loves the dark, he can’t cry in front of Remus, not for this—

“Oh, Ro-Bro,” he hears through the haze, “Ro-Bro, I’m so fucking sorry, I forgot, hey—hey—“

He won’t cry. He won’t cry. He won’t cry.

“Hey,” Remus calls, tugging carefully at the hand clapped over his mouth, “hey, don’t do that, Roro, you’re gonna hurt yourself, stop it, it’s gonna fucking hurt if you do that, you know that—“

The sob that tears itself out of his throat as Remus pries his hand away hurts his ears.

“Hey, Roro,” Remus soothes, taking his hands and squeezing them firmly, “hey, you gotta just be here for me, you focus on me, okay?”

“Re—“

“Come here, Ro.”

Remus scoops him up into his lap. To hell with whatever is twisting around in the shadows, Remus is holding him in his lap, rocking him back and forth and Remus is of the dark.

A rush of shame through his stomach and the first real sob into Remus’s shoulder hurts.

“Nuh-uh, Ro,” comes the mutter over his head, “don’t hold it in.”

The shame only grows. Then Remus tightens his grip until it’s all he can feel.

“I’m right here, Ro, I’m right here. It’s okay. You can be scared.”

“N-not scared.”

A gentle hiss in his ear as something—someone presses against his back and more arms than he can count wrap around his chest.

“Shh, shh,” Remus murmurs as he starts, “it’s just Janny.”

“Boo,” Janus whispers as he presses a kiss on his shoulder. Why—why is he here—did he—did he lie too much? He’s not scared, he’s not scared—

“Shh, sweetie,” he whispers as Roman starts to flinch, “I’ve got you, you’re okay, sweetie, stop that. We’ve got you.”

“You’re scared, bud.” Is that—is that Virgil? “Hey, hey, buddy, we got you. I’m sorry, Roman, I forgot you were so scared of the dark.”

Can’t be scared, can’t be scared—

“Shh, shh, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, “stop that. You’re allowed to be scared, it’s okay. You don’t have to be ashamed of it.”

Virgil presses closer, nudging Janus’s head out of the way and replacing it with his own. He leans down to nuzzle into the crook of Roman’s neck, finding the place his collar digs into his neck and loosening it. Curse him. Curse him.

“Hey, bud,” Virgil murmurs, “you’re okay. You’re okay.”

“N-no—“

Janus hisses gently in his ear again.

“No—“ Roman’s breath hitches— “no, no, no—“

“Roman,” comes Logan’s warm voice from somewhere above him, and no—

“Give him to me,” he hears again after a moment, and when he feels Remus’s arms begin to loosen and Janus pulls away he mewls—

“Hush, little one,” Logan says softly, gathering the poor prince into his lap, “you’re safe, you’re right here, it’s just a blackout.”

“You’ll—“ Roman hiccups, his hands still pushing Logan away from him— “you’ll laugh—“

“Never,” comes the chorus, Logan’s arms firmly around his waist. Then another pair of hands covers his and pulls them away.

“Hey, kiddo,” Patton murmurs, gently but firmly placing his arms around Logan’s neck so Logan can cuddle him properly, “sorry it took us a little longer to get here, we had to take it slow up the stairs.”

“Pat—Pat—“

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Patton coos, crouching down to run a hand through his hair as Logan tucks him into the crook of his neck and Virgil rests his head on his shoulder, “we’re all here, it’s okay.”

“Stupid—st—stupid,” Roman mumbles, “I’m stupid—“

Another hiss, followed by a kiss to the nape of his neck. “Stop lying, sweetie,” Janus whispers, “stop it. You’re not stupid.”

“I’m a prince afraid of the dark,” Roman spits out, disgusted, “of course I’m stupid.”

“Falsehood,” Logan murmurs with more tenderness than Roman can remember, “you’re not stupid. You’re not.”

“I’m crying because I’m afraid of the dark,” he spits again, “I’m af-fraid of the dark—I’m afraid of the dark, I’m—I’m afraid—“

He’s afraid of the dark.

Patton presses a kiss to his forehead. “I don’t like the dark either, sweetheart.”

“You’re—you’re not—you’re not crying—“

“No, I’m not.” Another kiss. “But you are, Roman, and that’s okay.”

“Come on, Princey.” Virgil butts his head gently against Roman’s. “You just gotta breathe first, okay? We’re not going anywhere.”

Remus calls from somewhere over his shoulder—what has he been doing? Where’s he been?— “come on, I got all the pillows.”

“Re?”

“Come on, Ro-Bro,” Remus murmurs, appearing at his other shoulder, “close your eyes.”

“It’s already d-dark, Re.”

“I know, but I don’t wanna get the blanket in your eyes.” Suddenly, there’s a swath of fabric hitting him in the face. “It’s just for a moment, Roro.”

“Ready?” Logan scoops him up. “Up we go.”

“H-how can you see?”

“He can’t,” Janus says, suddenly appearing behind him, “but I can. Come now, my prince, we’re just over here, come on…”

Roman lets out a soft noise of surprise when his back hits something soft.

“Snap yourself into something more comfortable, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, “we’re all just going to stay here for a while.”

Patton takes his hand and kisses the back of it as Logan helps tug down the t-shirt he’s poofed himself into.

“I’m sorry,” Roman mumbles, “I’m sorry I’m so scared.”

“None of that now, sweetheart,” Patton chides, cuddling into his side—oh, Patton’s in soft things too now— “you’re gonna be taken care of now. We’re right here.”

“I’m right here, Ro-Bro,” Remus says, promptly flopping down over Roman’s legs, “and no one else is going anywhere.”

Virgil huffs, curling around his head and ruffling his hair. “He’s right, Princey. Just relax for a little.”

“H-how long is the blackout going to last?”

“I don’t know, sweetie,” Janus says, snuggling into his other side, taking his hand between two of his, “but we’ll be here the whole time. Now please, sweetie, breathe.”

He tries. But it’s still dark and even though he knows the others are here, he can still feel the darkness pressing in on top of him. He can still see things moving in the shadows. He can feel it. He can see it. It hurts.

“Roman,” comes Logan’s voice, warm in the dark, “Roman, listen to me.”

“L-Logan?”

“Yes, dear,” he says, “it’s alright. Virgil is by your head, and he can see in the dark.”

Virgil gives his hair a little tug. “Right here, Princey. I’ve got you.”

“Patton is on your left. He won’t let anything hurt you.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” Patton kisses his cheek. “I won’t leave you.”

“Janus is on your right. He can also see in the dark, and it’s his job to protect you.”

Janus leans down to kiss his temple and squeezes his hand. “My prince,” he murmurs tenderly, “my sweetie.”

“And Remus…”

“Nothing’s laying a fucking finger on you, Ro-Bro,” Remus growls from down by his feet, “they’re gonna have to get through me first.”

Logan chuckles. “See?”

“L-Logan?”

“I’m right here, little star,” he says softly, “what do you need?”

“W—where are you?” Roman’s hands tense in Patton’s and Janus’s. “Where—I—I can’t—“

“Hush now,” Logan says, so softly, so softly, as a hand cups his cheek to brush away his tears, “I’m right here, I know you can’t see me. I’m sorry. I know it’s dark. I know you’re afraid. It’s okay, my dear, shh.”

Roman tries to reach out for him only to be thwarted by the grip on his hands.

“Hush, Roman, it’s alright, what can I do?”

“S-stay, please, stay—I want you to stay—“

“I’m right here, can I—“

“Please—“

He almost sobs again with relief when Logan lies down, his head tucked over his shoulder, curling his arms about his waist.

“We’re right here, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, “we’ve got you.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” Patton kisses the back of his hand.

“It’s okay to be scared, Princey.”

“We won’t let anything happen to you, Roro.”

It takes another half an hour for the storm to end and the lights to flicker back on. Roman stays tucked up in their arms, their soft words in his ear, gentle hands wiping away his tears, until he can blink up at all of them and murmur ‘thank you.’

“Of course, sweetie.”

“We’re here for you, Roman.”

“It’s no problem, Princey.”

“We’ve got you, kiddo.”

“All you gotta do is ask, Roro.”

——————————

Remus knocks on the door, the present in his hands. Roman opens the door and tilts his head.

“Re?”

“Can I come in, Ro-Bro?”

“Yeah, yeah, come on.” Roman shuts the door. “What’s up?”

“This is for you,” Remus says, holding out the box.

“Oh—Remus, I didn’t—I’m sorry—“

“You didn’t miss anything, Ro,” Remus says quickly, “and I’m not expecting anything in return. Just wanted to give you something.”

He shuffles.

“And I, uh, I also haven’t really apologized for the shit I’ve done to you, so…it’s that too.”

“O-oh.” Roman clutches the box. “Thank you, Remus. Can I open it now?”

“Sure.” He watches as Roman carefully opens the box and pulls out the stuffed octopus.

“Oh, Re, this is so cute!” He holds it up, looking at the little face. “I love it, thank you.”

He turns it over.

“Wait, what’s…”

“It’s a mood toy,” Remus says quietly, “if you flip it this way, it’s happy.”

The cream side of the octopus has a little smiley face.

“And if you turn it inside out—“ Roman flips the plush so that a red face frowns at him— “it’s sad.”

Roman’s eyes widen and he looks up at Remus.

“I know you find it hard to ask for things,” Remus says, edging a bit closer, “so I thought this could…help.”

“Re…”

“And I—oof!” Remus lets out a grunt as Roman tackles him onto the bed. He chuckles, his arms wrapping tightly around his brother. “I’m glad you like it Roro, just promise me you’ll use it?”

He gets his request a few days later.

It’s been quiet, Thomas is taking a break, and they’re all in various corners of the living room. Janus and Virgil are lazing about in the patch of sun by the window, Patton is in the kitchen, Logan is working on something on his laptop, and Remus is toying with the grip on his Morningstar.

Roman walks down the stairs and he’s clutching a little red octopus.

“Hey, Ro,” Remus says quietly, hopping up and scurrying over to meet him as he comes down the stairs, “you wanna go be alone?”

Roman shakes his head, pushing gingerly into the living room. Remus turns to see everyone paying attention to them, including Janus, who’s sat up fully and is reaching out to Roman.

“Come here, sweetie,” he calls, “is your brain being a bastard?”

Distantly, Remus hears Patton huff at the language but no one says a word as Janus gathers Roman into his chest, bending to murmur softly in his ear. Virgil scoots closer, acting as the guardian, letting Roman relax with the knowledge that nothing will surprise him right now. A gentle tap on Remus’s shoulder and he turns to see Logan, who bends closer.

“What do we do to help?”

“Help me make a mattress big enough for all of us?”

Under Logan’s guidance, Remus manages to make a normal mattress with lots of comfy blankets and pillows. Patton comes from the kitchen with a glass of water set on the table near the three on the floor. He pauses as he turns and quickly sets a cup of tea next to it.

Roman’s grip on the octopus doesn’t lighten up, even after he’s been in Janus’s arms for a while, even after Logan’s gone over and helped Virgil walk him through coming out of the spiral. Janus walks over to Remus and Patton and quietly tells them they should try and get them all to eat something. Nothing too straining for Roman’s system, but something.

Patton brings out a few bowls of snack food and sets them at the foot of the mattress. Then he goes and gently cards his hands through Roman’s hair.

“Come on, kiddos,” he says softly, “let’s move to the mattress.”

Logan scoops Roman into his arms, depositing him safely in the center of the mattress, little red octopus in tow. The rest of them cuddle around him, some Disney movie playing on the TV. Roman eats, then lays his head on Remus’s shoulder. Logan takes Roman’s free hand into his lap and cradles it there, stroking it with his thumb.

About halfway through the movie, Roman turns the octopus so that the cream side smiles at the screen too.

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