#and i’m alright fighting against the brain demons that have taken up residence all week

[lightspren]

really unfair when your chronic illness symptoms (joint pain and asthma) make you want to cry but crying will 100% make some of the symptoms worse

can’t have shit in chronic illness land

[solaneceae]

EGOTOBER DAY 5 - Umbrella

The street was quiet, save for the pitter-patter of raindrops crashing on his umbrella. He hummed a cheery tune whose origin he couldn’t place, mindlessly syncing up to the sound of two pairs of shoes walking the asphalt.

“So… how’s your family doing?”

Dr. Iplier tilted his head towards Henrik, surprised by his sudden query; his old friend hadn’t said a word since they left the clinic a few minutes ago. The late evening was cold and rainy, and his workaholic colleague had forgot to bring his umbrella. So Edward had offered to walk him home under his own, an offer the German had taken without much protest.

And here laid the problem; Dr. Schneeplestein was a proud, stubborn man- much like himself- and he despised needing any sort of assistance. So him accepting without much of a fight was… concerning, to say the least.

He shook himself out of his thoughts; Henrik was waiting for an answer, his light grey-blue eyes peering at him sedately. He’d ask later. “Hectic.” he sighed. “Wilford set fire to a nightclub last week, so Dark grounded him until the authorities stop looking for him. They’ve both been in a foul mood ever since, and it’s up to me to pick up the pieces. As always.”

Ah, the brown-haired ego pondered, explains how often he missed work lately. “How about the new guy, the one with the stutter?”

Edward’s features softened; apparently, the Manor had a new resident, one that the dark-haired doctor had taken a shine to. “Oh, you mean young Eric. He’s been doing better, actually. He only broke down crying twice this week.”

Henrik hummed approvingly. “Ja, the Derekson boy. Poor soul. No offense mein Freund, but with a household like yours? The fact that he’s still alive is a crowning achievement in itself."

“None taken. Honestly, I don’t think you Septics realize how lucky you are. I’m starting to think Mark can only create raging psychopaths, narcissists or cripplingly traumatized egos.”

“And which of those are you, then?”

A smirk. “I’m a doctor. Therefore, I’m all of those things and more.”

Schneep barked out a laugh; he always liked talking to Edward. The Ipliers were, in his professional opinion, walking disaster magnets- that is, whenever they weren’t the ones causing the disaster in the first place. Henrik knew his own family was chaotic- they too had their very own demon to deal after all- but the Manor’s inhabitants were on a whole other level.

Despite all that, the strong-jawed, level-headed doctor was a welcome presence in Henrik’s life. “How about yours?” said doctor asked, ruffling his untamed hair. The humidity had made it especially poofy and shiny today.

Schneep rolled his eyes. “Same as ever. Rambunctious. Reckless. Anti and Marv keep snapping at each other like rabid wolves, und I swear Jackie shows up half-dead at the door every other week now…”

He ran a shaky hand through his own hair; it was tangled and greasy. Jesus, when was the last time he’d gone home to shower and eat? “I know he heals faster than a normal human, but I’m getting worried. Other than that, they’re all doing fine… Jacques' been busy running his art studio and paid us a visit last month, and Angus should come back from Australia soon.”

Dr Iplier hummed in sympathy. As a doctor himself- as well as the only sane man in a ridiculously large ego family, he understood the feeling quite well. But he couldn’t help but notice how the shadows under his colleague’s eyes had gotten darker, his milky complexion paler, his footing less secure. Even his hair looked grayer these days; he guiltily wondered if the shifts Henrik had been covering on his behalf had something to do with it.

Edward was glad he’d offered to accompany him tonight; the German’s state was starting to worry him. “Have you been taking care of yourself properly?”

Schneep let out a mirthless chuckle, averting his gaze. “What doctor worthy of that title does.”

“You shouldn’t be neglecting your own health!”

“Look who’s talking.”

Edward cringed at that, turning away from his friend. Touché. “Alright, so I’m a hypocrite, fine. It doesn’t make it less true.”

There was a lull in the conversation as they kept walking, both stubbornly staring in front of them. The sun had finally set, and the street lamps around them were gradually switching on.

“I just want them to be okay.”

Dr. Iplier looked at Henrik; he was still staring ahead, but his eyes had lost their shine and focus. He looked tired. Drained. “Things have been getting better between most of them, I know that. But some of them have issues they’re just not willing to work through, and it frustrates me to no end.” The younger ego groaned, resting his face in his hands. “I’m just. So. Tired. Of taking care of everyone. All the time. It’s like they’ll fall apart if I’m not there to mend the bridges. JJ’s presence has been helping a lot, but…”

“Hey.”

Henrik looked up at his friend. The broader man was staring at him, his dark brown eyes burning with intent.

“They’ll be fine.” Edward said softly. “Like you said, they’re getting better. They wouldn’t want you overworking yourself to death for their sake.”

“But-”

“Shush. I’m a doctor, I know what’s best.”

Henrik frowned; it’d been a while since the other has used that. On him, no less. “So am I, dummkopf.”

“Well I’ve been around longer, that obviously makes me the superior one.” Edward boasted, proudly puffing up his chest.

“How does that make any sense?!” Henrik squawked, his thin hands flying everywhere in indignation.

“Because I said so!”

“Gott, you’re insufferable!”

They glared at each other for a few seconds, before bursting into laughter. Henrik had jerked his head backwards, howling with mirth, while Edward had devolved into his baritone guffaw, almost kneeling over in his hilarity. That meant he wasn’t protecting them from the rain anymore, but none of them cared.

Their manic laughter faded into nervous chuckles, and Schneep wiped the tears from his eyes. Christ, that felt good. “Thank you, Edward. I really needed this.”

“Anytime, old friend.”

The German tilted his head, smiling brightly at the Iplier. “Look at you, giving actual logical advice. I can’t believe you’re the same man that kept telling everyone they were dying.”

“Hey,” Edward shrugged, “Mark may have made me as a joke, but egos aren’t mindless puppets.” he looked up at the sky. It was starting to clear up. “We’re not that different from humans. We change. We grow.”

He smiled mischievously. “You of all people should know that. Remember-”

“I swear I will punch you if you finish that sentence.”

“-when you thought the penis bone was an actual thing?”

“Screw you Edward. I am a respectable, perfectly qualified doktor now!” He was. Had an actual diploma and everything.

The Iplier snorted, smiling fondly. “I know. You’re the very best.”

Schneep almost tripped on his own foot at his colleague’s words, eyes widening. “Was-”

“We’re here.”

Henrik followed the other’s gaze. He was right; they were now right in front of the house, and he could vaguely make out the sound of Chase’s drumming and Jameson’s violin. They were practicing again.

He sighed, but it was in relief this time; no sign of an argument, nor of another one of Marvin’s spells gone wrong. Maybe he could catch a break after all. He turned towards Edward again, clearing his throat. “Well. Thank you for walking me home, I appreciate it.”

The Iplier waved dismissively. “Eh, don’t mention it.” He then sobered up and put his hand on the other’s shoulder. “But I meant what I said. I care about you, and I don’t want to see you waste away. So I want you to be more careful with how you treat yourself, okay?”

Henrik blinked then nodded, a bit dazed by the affection he could feel behind the other’s words, and at the strange way the streetlights were reflecting in his chocolate eyes. “Okay… I’ll keep that in mind.”

Edward stayed silent for a while, searching Henrik’s face for something. Once he seemed to find it, he closed his eyes and breathed out. “Alright. I trust you.”

His fingers brushed against the smaller man’s stubble as he withdrew his hand. Henrik’s breath hitched.

“Get some sleep, Hen.” Edward murmured. “Please. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

His lips stretched in a farewell smile before he walked away, leaving Henrik standing alone in front of his house under the fading rain. The younger ego’s hand shakily rose up, fingers tracing the lingering heat on his cheek.

Gottverdammt. Maybe he needed a drink.

-----

*flips table* gOD DAMMIT EDWARD

i was this close. THIS CLOSE. to succeed in not making it shippy. and my brain goes sike and does this shit. well i guess this is my life now. i'll go down with this ship

@tabbynerdicat @egopocalypse @humblecacti @lilakennedy (its schneep time its schneep time gather all your stans its schneep time-)

[mightyjemma]

i'll take the fall (and the fault in us)

Summary: {Post 2x02} "Please tell me you are real." (Or: Wynonna, the teddy bear, a bottle of Jack Daniels and an unexpected visitor sit in the dark in front of a fire.)

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Notes: title taken from the lyrics of 'want you back' by haim. (BUT JUST KNOW THAT I WANT YOU BACK) warning for the canon typical usage of alcohol. i wrote this in 40 minutes in an attempt to get my head out of studying mode. not beta read and just barely spell and grammar checked. (sorry)

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read @ ao3 or under the cut: 

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The teddy bear is looking at her with way too much judgement for such a fuzzy toy. Its black polished eyes shine in the fiery glow. Wynonna turns him around before taking a hearty swing of the Jack Daniels bottle. She ditched the porch for the warmth of her beloved fireplace.

"You're too young to see me drink," she mutters to the bear. It's all she has been doing today, mutter to herself. Feels kind of healing, cleansing.

Wynonna stares into the bright flame until everything she sees is white. Actually she is freezing, even in her winter coat and with the blanket around her shoulders. The alcohol warms her from the inside out, but it's not a good idea from any other point of view. Alcohol in cold places only kills you faster a voice, that sounds eerily similar to Dolls', says.

She takes another gulp and waits for the familiar burn in her mouth, her throat.

"Not to diminish your victory against the shady spiders today, but you really shouldn't do this."

Wynonna drops the bottle onto the ground and some of its content spills into the snow.

That was ---

His voice.

She whips her head to the right and there he is,sitting in the chair that's usually reserved for Waverly. There is the same blinding smile on his face, the one she's seen just a week ago. This time there are no tears rolling down his face. Or at least she can't see them in the dark, only enlightened by the fiery glow.

Her jaw just --- drops. She tries to find words, the speeches she's prepared for him in case of his return, in case of a miracle. It's not like Wynonna believes in miraculous returns anymore, not after what happened with Willa.

"Dolls." It's all she whispers, all that needs to be said.

He only nods at that. Worry is etched into every line of his face, his eyes are overflowing with it.

"Please tell me you are real."

Please tell me I'm not losing my mind.

Please tell me you're alive and well.

There are too many ghost following her around, she can't live with his too. Lucado would have her head if she found out.

"I'm what you need me to be," Dolls answers calmly.

"A self-aware hallucination. Charming," Wynonna says. She picks up the ice-cold bottle and chugs down the remains, then letting the bottle drop to the ground again.

"On the risk of repeating myself, but drinking in the cold is really a bad idea. You should keep a clear head."

"Are you going to leave me again when a sober up again?" She stares him down, fire in her bones and ice in her voice.

Dolls remains silent at her side.

"That's what I thought. So I'd rather have the fake company my drunk brain provides me with, than deal the crushing loneliness of a lucid mind." Her voice is barely above a whisper.

It needs to be said, even if it's said to a ghost.

"Are you?"

"What?"

"Lonely," Dolls says. "You have Waverly. Nicole. Doc."

"They have their own lives, their own happiness, their own --- whatever the fuck Doc is doing with the bar. Wave and Nicole are currently doing it upstairs. They don't need the fucked up shit show that's going down in my head."

Wynonna takes the bear from his place in time-out and clutches him to her chest. The bear feels cold and for a moment has a guilty conscience for letting him freeze. With the other hand she fingers her necklace. She looks over at Dolls, who does nothing but return her gaze.

At least she is hallucinating an attentive listener.

He reaches over and for a second there is a spark where his hand touches hers. It feels warm and so achingly real, almost as if he was really here. He doesn't let go and she doesn't pull away.

She craves this, the contact. It's something to fill the sucking black hole inside her, soothing it like the demons she hunts.

"I'm sure they'd help you."

"I don't want to be a burden to them. Dead weight keeping them down. I never did. It's why I left Purgatory when I did. I'm the ultimate martyr, they should consider me for sainthood."

"Saint Wynonna, patron saint of lost people and anything with alcohol." Dolls softly stroke his thumb over the back of her hand. "Tell them how you feel."

Silent tears run down her face and she's too proud to wipe them away. "I'm falling apart," she almost yells. "I can't --- voice it."

He doesn't answer.

"The loneliness won't be gone," Wynonna begins. "Put me in the town hall with every single resident of this hell hole and all those demons and I'd still be lonely. Because none of them are you. You are still gone. You are not here."

The salty tears feel so cold on her cheeks, like little needle pricks.

"Wynonna ---"

"You are not real!" Now she is yelling for sure. "You are not real. You are not real. You are not real. You are not real. You are gone."  

Hiccups interrupt her breathing and she can barely breathe at all. It hurts so much, all over her chest. The losing, always losing, of the people she loves the most. She killed Willa and Dolls is gone and it hurts so fucking much.

Wynonna pulls up her knees onto the chair, wrapping her arms around herself. This is turning into a full-blown meltdown and she hates herself for being so soft, so weak.

"It's alright. You are fine. Just breathe." Dolls' phantom hands rub all over her back in soothing patterns. It's not fair, a hallucination shouldn't feel so real. He continues to murmur calming phrases into her ear, until her breathing slows, until the tears ebb away.

"Wynonna, listen. I'll come back. I'll fight every single assassin and agent and demon if I have to. But you have to believe in me."

"I never stopped."

"I know. And now you should go to bed. Tomorrow's a new day. Gotta kick all those demons in their asses."

"I'm so goddamn tired," Wynonna whispers.

"I know."

He gives her a kiss on her check and there's the spark again. It's not nearly enough, this poor substitute of his presence. The fire continues to burn down and down, until it is completely out. She rises from her seat and steadily walks towards the house. She wants to turn back to him, knowing that she would see his figure standing in the dark, only illuminated by the meager light of the half-moon.

But she doesn't.

There is a myth, about time and love and patience, Orpheus bringing back Eurydice from the hands of the god of death. If only he had waited until she wasn't in the dark anymore.

But she will wait, for him to return to her.

Even if she just wants the pain inside her to stop.

The massive hangover greeting her after waking up in the morning is not the worst thing. Neither is the back ache from sleeping on the ancient couch downstairs.

He's gone again, real or not.

And that's so much worse.