#and they end up in the hospital in the process

[merv606]

Any thoughts on Terry being truly scared that he could have lost Daniel (supposing that Daniel was stabbed instead) and he goes to the hospital while Daniel recovers. Danny is surprised at how…soft and gentle Terry is with him, treating him like glass, and realizes that Terry was terrified of losing him.

I’ll try to answer this without having the fill by @thereminwriting influence me too much but I am going to take the idea of Terry being the one who saved him because it adds another layer of 🌶️ to the whole fucked up situation. There may be some overlap with Mercy but, with Silverusso there always is, as the themes with them are always the same.

Link below for her take - a suggestion to read it as it’s brilliant! It will live rent free.

What this ask inspired, while I feel hits some points made in the ask it may ultimately fail to hit the mark for exactly what you were looking for.

“You think you’d be grateful, is all,” Terry says, picking at some imaginary lint on the bed, which is not there. They both know that. The place is pristine, more high end hotel than hospital. The thread count on the bedsheets has to be higher than what he has at home, and he is an admitted snob when it comes to his night time comforts.

“Gratitude?” Daniel says slowly, like he’s both processing what Terry said and also surprised he’d even say it.

If it wasn’t for the dull ache in his side, the way he can feel the stitches and staples pull when he moves he’d do something stupid. As it were though.

“Gratitude, gratitude,” his voice rising, and then suddenly Daniel just deflates, that little bit of anger burning through the little energy he has built up.

That scared Terry more than anything. His boy’s fire was always so bright, so warm to bask in, so strong and big, despite the small frame it lived inside. That was why it came out so often, too big for it’s confines, never truly able to be contained at all times.

A fire that drew Terry to it like a moth to a flame, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it’s seductive allure. Helpless in the knowledge that like the moth stunned and destroyed by the light it sought, he too would die by it’s heat.

He could’ve think of a better way to go though.

Softly, “it’s just another cage, Terry.”

“Never pegged you as the religious type,” Terry says after a few long moments.

He’s not, not really. He goes through the rituals of it - mass on Christmas Eve - stopping only when his kids got older and Amanda admitted she was only going for him, and he had to admit he really didn’t know why he did, except that he did when he was a kid.

Daniel looks at the keychain’s pendant in his hand, the keychain having been ripped off and stretched to pick the lock of the cage, and he hadn’t even realized, at the time when he bought it what it was, he had simply handed the kid over some money.

He only kept it because he considered it a lucky charm of sorts considering, what it saved him from - that belief was cemented by the fact it was in the pockets of the leggings he wore under his GI when this happened.

A coincidence, he’s sure, but still, he thinks he needs all the help he can get. He’s probably in the most danger right now, after all.

It had been placed on the bedside table, and it was one of the first things he saw when he woke, and when he groggily reached for it, Terry had stilled him, telling him not to move, placing it the palm of his hand.

Here now, he turns it over in his hand.

Even you can’t save me now, Daniel thinks.

Sitting in a hospital paid for by Terry - his life forfeit it wasn’t for Terry.

His life forfeit all the same.

All the same.

More like delayed, all things considered.

Because now he owes Terry.

He owes Terry a debt he cannot possibly repay.

He wonders how Terry will try to collect; what he stands to gain.

“I must say, I was surprised to learn of your skills.”

“I’m from jersey,” Daniel answers absently. “Of course I know how to pick locks.”

Terry chuckles but then the doctor comes in and like always, Daniel is not made privy to the decisions. Everything in Terry’s hands which, as much as he hates that, they have proved to be quite capable.

He’s alive because of them.

——————————

When a few weeks have passed, he finally gathers the courage to watch the video, and for the first time he sees Terry, how he was saved, how calm Terry was, how efficient, how …. Not what Daniel expected.

He doesn’t know what to feel, not only about watching himself get hurt but about Terry. The feed had cut rather quickly all the same. He doesn’t know why, but he hits replay.

Terry comes in, and freezes, grabbing the tablet from Daniel, shattering it against the wall. A nurse rushes in, and Terry barks something to her as he strides out, and after she cleans the mess, she injects something into his IV bag. He doesn’t bother asking, they never tell him.

Terry finally reappears as the drugs settle through him. Daniel can feel them as they move through his blood, dulling everything further, the pain never truly gone, leaving behind heavy limbs and bad coordination, but a sense of peace even as he feels the bed dip and Terry’s side press flush to his. Daniel goes slack against the older man, his weight fully pressed against him until Terry is the very thing holding him up.

Terry puts Daniel’s hand in his, the only apology he’ll get for the outburst, the thumb rubbing the skin.

“My team will have it removed,” Terry explains, like they do anytime a new one pops up, and although Terry knows he can’t get rid of it entirely, it helps. Having something he can control.

Daniel, after all, makes him feel so out of control.

Daniel, after all, had never made him feel so scared.

All the blood that was already arising the Matt by the time Terry got to him, and it had only taken moments.

The knife - Kreese’s knife - embedded deep - and the white of Daniel’s skin as more blood appeared, watching life drain out of him right before his eyes.

Something that only hit Terry after. Terry only allowing it to hit him after, needing to, in that moment, focus on saving Daniel.

Not willing to accept anything else.

You can lose something you never really had.

But Daniel will be now. Something he has. Finally. And Terry will be damned if he’ll lose it.

———————————

“I can’t believe you put me in a dog cage,” Daniel grumbles as he eats his steak and buttered lobster.

Well he can, but a part of him can’t - won’t - examine it too closely. The same coping mechanism he’s been using when it comes to Terry for thirty years now. It mostly proves successful,

“Danny,” he starts.

“Thought that would, what? Make me submit? Like before.”

A deep sigh, and really Terry has no right sound that put upon.

He wasn’t the one locked in a dog cage.

“Of course you would see it like that.” Both exasperated yet fond.

“How should I see it?!”

At first you would think humiliation, and Terry’s attempt to install fear in Daniel - the same fear Terry felt but, that wasn’t it - not at all.

Nothing could be further for the truth.

It was protection.

Cages keep things in, but they also keep them out.

They keep things safe.

They keep them from leaving.

He actually hadn’t wanted Daniel to wake up until reaching the desired destination.

“I fear cages,” Terry starts but stops, not sure what to say, off kilter in a way only Daniel manages to do to him.

“Why do you fear cages?”

The story pours out, and Daniel sits, stunned.

He had no idea. At all.

Terry’s loyalty to Kreese makes so much sense now. As does their falling out. Which has hardened into hate since the accident.

Part of Terry blames Kreese.

It was his knife after all.

“He always tries to destroy the good things in my life.”

It not only makes sense but Daniel realizes, with a clarity he wouldn’t before, as he too carries that same burden now. Carries the same mixed feelings about being indebted to someone you do not wish to be indebted to.

An understanding, a part of him connected to Terry.

A part of himself that will never belong to him again.

———————————-

He protested in the beginning, Terry helping him change, but now he doesn’t; there would be no point.

He winces, the scar twisting, so new it’s still more deep purple, the skin too tight from where he was sewed and stitched back together.

Terry frowns, his hand touching it, and Daniel flinches; he can’t help it. Even he doesn’t even like touching it himself

It feels wrong - foreign. It feels like a change he didn’t want but will have no choice but to accept.

Isn’t that Terry whoever he comes into Daniel’s life.

It feels like the situation he finds himself in.

It looks ugly, even if he knows in time it will fade to pink and then further still until it’s faded to the point that it nearly matches his skin

He knows he should be grateful to be alive, to be here, even if here is with Terry.

He knows all of this but still, he will carry a piece of this always.

He carrie enough of Terry around with him - he has for thirty years.

The older man’s fingers are so damm gentle as they trace the new skin forming, solidifying into something permanent.

Everything about Terry has been so damm gentle.

All his touches, all the looks directed at Daniel, even when Terry thinks Daniel isn’t paying attention.

Terry helps him into his shirt.

————————————-

“Why?” Daniel asks when he finally gathers the courage. The thing that took him the longest to do.

“I wasn’t about to let you die, Daniel,” Terry nearly scoffs. “I’m not that much of ….”

“I know,” Daniel interrupts.

And he does. Truly. Terry is a Bond villain, and like all Bond villains, he lives to monologue and come up with elaborate plots, plots he knows, deep down, won’t work.

Just like they know Bond will walk away each time, that they want him to, so does Terry.

Because If you really want someone gone, it’s not hard. Simple is best.

If you truly want to win, that is.

But the winning isn’t the point. The end isn’t the point, because it’s not even a journey.

It’s a game, and it’s the fun in playing the game.

But when you take out the opponent, and you win the game, oh how you stop having fun.

Because the opponent was what you actually wanted all along, this game, was the only way to get that.

Something almost ruined this ages old ritual, something the villain hadn’t planned himself, hadn’t even accounted for.

“Why all this?” Daniel gestures around. It certainly is above and beyond. Putting aside the part Daniel can never hope to possibly repay, can’t even begin to, the money alone Terry has spent is astronomical, and shows no signs of stopping. The money Terry has assured Daniel he does not want, nor does he seem to even care about.

They stare at each other.

“I think you know,” is all Terry says, and it’s not cryptic, not at all.

Because Daniel thinks he does too.

Daniel thinks, he always did.

—————-

The plastic surgeon is flown in.

Daniel is fine with the scar.

It’s Terry that hates it.

It reminds him of too much.

The overwhelming fear in the days after, the unbridled anger at it even happening. Something Terry has been felt before.

How he had failed.

How he had almost lost something, that while never was his, was something he had never wanted more.

How he would have lost everything all the same, had Daniel not pulled through.

No.

No part of his boy is to be reminded of this.

No part of him will be marked by any man but Terry.

If his body is to change now, to open and accept anything inside, to be split open, to bleed, it will be by Terry’s doing.

And it will be by pleasure and not pain.

——————————————

The night he wakes to Terry sitting in the side of the hospital bed, everything dark expect for the light of the moon filtering in through the near floor to ceiling windows, is the night he really sees.

The older man’s back is to him, and although everything is silent, eerily so, he can tell Terry is crying.

Daniel sits up, hand holding onto his side, where he thinks it will always twinge slightly, although it’s more a habit now than a need, and the fact that Terry doesn’t turn to him, doesn’t hone in on the fact he’s awake and moving adds to the wrongness of this whole thing.

He gently and slowly lays a hand on the older man’s shoulder, not wanting to spoke him, he’s clearly out of it, and in an even softer tone, the ones he’d use on his kids when they were younger and upset, he asked, “Terry?”

Daniel expects the older man to get up, leave, but instead a large hand comes up and covers him.

They say nothing, but then Terry’s hand squeezes his, and in a broken voice finally speaks.

“I could have lost you.”

Terry made a mistake.

A mistake he can’t fix. - not now. Because he’s in too deep, because he loves Daniel.

And this, this was never the plan, all those years ago. To fall for the boy …. to fall again for the man the boy became.

Because when you love something, you now have something that can destroy you.

Destroy you without even meaning too.

Daniel would have destroyed him, without even trying.

Destroyed Terry in away that he would not have been able to rebuild himself from.

Even a phoenix eventually loses its will to rise again.

A world with Daniel is not one Terry wishes to be in. He tried, for thirty years, and it was no life at all. It certainly wasn’t living.

He got it back though, that feeling of being alive, but oh, what he traded for it. Because now he has this fear, heavy on his chest.

This fear of losing something you cannot replace.

When he looks down, sometimes he can still see the blood on his hands.

“You didn’t though.”

Daniel kneels, his chest to Terry’s back, his head on his shoulder, thin arms wrapped around the older man.

“You saved me.”

He had.

Terry had battled death with his bare hands for Daniel and won. But one day, one day …..

“We saved each other,” is all Terry says, focusing on that to stave off the panic.

“Let’s focus on that,” Daniel says, nuzzling his cheek into his shoulder. Terry can feel the warmth of his breaths gaunt his neck.

Plastered against his back, Daniel moves with Terry almost, to the feel the rise and fall of Terry’s breathing. Terry can feel the beat of Daniel’s heart, they��re pressed so tight.

Concentrating on that. On the moment. On what he can control in the here and now.

The dread subsides, for now, even if Terry knows it has simply retreated.

The moonlight shines down on them, this moment in time, and they stay like that until the sun chases it away, illuminating the sins instead.

———————-

“Oh god,” a breathy little moan, as Terry’s cock slides home, opening Daniel to him.

Four fingers, four of Terry’s thick fingers, and his mouth, had put the time in to get Daniel here like this, body open enough to accept the older man inside him; to accept his love.

Like a virgin on a mound, about to be offered up as sacrifice, this is how he will repay Terry.

Daniel arches up, legs squeezing tighter to the older man’s sides as his eyes squeeze shut, blunt fingernails drawing down a broad pale back.

They’ll both bleed for this tonight.

They’ll always bleed for each other.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Terry groans, and Daniel kisses him, only because he can’t handle much more.

He can’t handle Terry here inside him like this - how good it feels - how right it feels - and hear the raw truth in Terry’s voice.

He can’t.

His body is already the temple Terry is about to worship at - to ruin and rebuild - his body the vessel for this offering of his.

He knows his heart and soul will follow suit. If he was being honest with himself, something he seldom is, they already have.

The older man will accept nothing else. Daniel finds he wants nothing else.

Hands roaming, touching warm sweat slick skin, sharing the air moving between them.

The older man so damn gentle as he keeps sliding in.

Daniel finding within himself, to somehow open more and more, until Terry’s cock is all the way in, both men joined as one.

Terry carving a spot for himself that only he will be able to fill.

Hips snapping in, the wet noises of their coupling, the pin pricks of pleasure when the older man’s cock brushes his prostate, the sharp grin, like a shark sensing blood in the water as Terry concentrates on hitting that spot.

Hands pins above his head, Daniel opening his eyes at the older man’s command, Terry staring down.

“I love you. So much, Danny. So damm much,” he groans, rocking in, burying his face into the smaller man’s neck.

The slapping noise of skin on skin as he’s taken, as Terry chases his release, both of their releases, in each other.

Hands grab slim hips, feeling the bone under his palm, fingers digging in, greedy and covetous, but Daniel can feel the love even if he can also feel the bruises it is leaving.

Love with teeth, it suits them.

Always did.

And a love that leaves marks from those teeth, stained red with blood.

A love that is visible - a mixture of pleasure and pain, sometimes in equal measure.

That is them.

“Oh,” he sobs out as he comes in the space between them, not even a hand on his cock needed.

The clenching of his body, already a tight and perfect fit around Terry’s cock, is the older man’s undoing, and his hand grasps the smaller man’s side, covering the now barely visible scar, as empties himself inside the smaller body.

Daniel’s legs fall off his sides, splayed open obscenely as Terry fills and fills and fills him. He moans softly at the sensation of Terry’s come inside him, which doesn’t seem to be stopping, the warming blooming through him as his hips keep gently fucking in, making sure it’s as deep as it can go, making sure Daniel is even more full than he thought possible.

Finally finished, Terry collapses on top of Daniel, careful as he does though. He’s always careful with his boy, even if sometimes it’s his own personal brand of it.

He doesn’t bother to pull out, loathe to leave Daniel’s body until he absolutely has to, even if he is eager to see the mess he’s left his boy in.

There is always later for that.

They have that luxury of later now.

Who would have thought that here, of all places, a second, third, and fourth chance.

Terry’s lost count.

As many as they need to get it right.

Terry will see to that.

[obstinaterixatrix]

god I could go for a crematorium-ish romance right now. but like not the ones I’ve already read something new. I’ve reread my bias so many times I wanna see a different guy stepping on rakes and getting kicked down flights of stairs and wailing sobbing throwing himself to the ground groveling for forgiveness. and being hit by a car

[introspectivememories]

can i be honest? i dont think tim and bear have a really grand proposal. i think it happens at their apartment that they got bc bear finally put his foot down and went "baby you're immunocompromised. you cannot live on a murderboat on the gotham river" and tim reluctantly gives in but not without finding some random apartment complex that's still near the marina so he can go down and get his ass beat at poker by pie. and so it happens late at night, when tim is in nightwing sleep shorts and bear's old band tee on and bear is in some horrendous anime sweats and no shirt because their home is the only place he's ever felt comfortable leaving his scars out. and the lamplight gives a soft hazy glow to bear's tattoos and tim reaches under the shirt to scratch and in the movement bear can see the bear tim got tattooed onto his hip and he can't help grin softly. and they're both sitting on the couch as some lame ass procedural drama goes on in the background and they're eating batburger. tim's got the nightwing special and bear has the sword robin combo. and the ringbox is burning a hole through bear's thigh and tim makes some stupid comment about how lame meredith sounds begging some guy to love her and all bear can think is how much he loves this boy. so he gets up to get some water and he positions his phone so that he can get the best video bc tim is a sucker for home video and he plops down on the sofa hard enough that tim turns around to complain except bear is holding the ringbox open with a soft "marry me?" and tim goes "what?" and bear says "baby i have loved you since you walked through the gates of our high school and i loved you when you left and i loved you when you came back. i love the way you talk to yourself and i love the way dance when i put music on. and i even love the fact that you shove your ice cold feet in my shins every night. and i don't know exactly what to say except that i want to do this everyday until you get dentures and i get a hip replacement. and i want to be horny in the old age home and-" and tim cuts him off sob-laughing and says "can i say yes now?" and bear who is also crying says "wait, let me finish love. -and i want to do this in as many lives as we get together. so all this to says, timothy jackson drake, will you marry me?" and tim launches himself bear and shouts "yes, yes, yes! a thousand times over, yes" and they're sobbing as they slip the rings on each other.

[elenadoeslife]

⛈

[heybaetae]

.

[foolishlyzephyrus]

i’m so sorry but seven’s death is comical

[orcelito]

As for my post this morning. If anyone was worried. Me personally I'm okay (I guess) but my dad's in the hospital and things r still very up in the air. So.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

got my seventh covid shot today and currently waiting for the side effects with my iced coffee like heyyy

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 30: Recovery

Hospital Bed

3817 Words; Ouroboros AU

TW for injury, mentions of murder

AO3 ver

“Of all the irresponsible, ill-thought out, reckless—”

Hollis continued her lecture, pacing back and forth throughout the body of the Pelican. Sam shrunk back a little further into her seat—though that did nothing for the killer headache currently prancing about in her skull. Apparently she did have a limit to how many times she could explode metal or empty air or stone, good to know. Now if only her head would stop trying to explode itself…

Mirtala shifted beside her, blatantly staring at Raz who was sitting next to her. Hollis was still lecturing, and it looked like everyone else was listening, but Sam had kind of tuned her out a while ago. Not that she had meant to—just, it was kinda hard to listen to someone when her head was being chewed up better than Fur Lancelot could ever mash acorns. Ugh, an acorn kinda sounded nice now—except for the fact that her head felt like a mashed acorn. Her gaze drifted over to Norma—did her splinted arm feel like a mashed acorn, too?

Actually, now that Sam thought about it, wasn’t everyone exhausted? Couldn’t the lecture wait until they could all actually listen to it—no, wait, Hollis was just gonna give them the same lecture at class in the morning, wasn’t she. So maybe Sam didn’t need to tune in now, if she’d get to hear it later.

Mirtala shifted beside her, drawing Sam’s attention back to her. As far as Sam could tell, Tala was pretty cool. Not as cool as Dogen, of course, but Sam could appreciate Mirtala’s determination to blow her enemies up. That she had been Pooter’s missing sister all along probably explained that, actually. She was currently alternating between staring at Raz like she wasn’t sure what to make of him and glaring at Hollis—

(“Where is my brother.” A quiet demand that stopped Hollis in her tracks as she finally noticed Tala standing next to Raz, “Where’s Dion.”)

But from what Sam knew, there really wasn’t any choice but to send Dion to the hospital. She hadn’t gotten the chance to see the guy herself, let alone meet him—but from what she had overheard Sasha mentioning to Milla, it uh. It hadn’t been good. Mirtala, on the other hand, was relatively unscathed and holding Raz’ hand like a lifeline, so she’d been shuffled onto the Pelican with the rest of them for the time being. Sam wished she could offer anything more than a “sorry I indirectly blew your brother up” but there really wasn’t much she could do. Not with her brain feeling like a steamrolled acorn.

Hollis’ lecture continued. The Pelican flew on.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion drifted into consciousness. Pain scrabbled at his everything, but in a way that was distant, muffled.

He caught a blurry glimpse of white—

And then he fell back into unconsciousness.

+=+=+=+=+

“What the f—heck is wrong with you?!” Were the first words Lili said as the junior agents trudged off of the Pelican. Her arms were crossed, much like Truman’s, who stood beside her. You went on an adventure and didn’t think to TELL ME? Her mental voice snaked into Raz’ head like fire up a trellis, anger undercut with what might have been worry if Raz was lucky. While Hollis’ attention turned towards Truman, Lili marched up to Raz, poking him in the chest. “What if Ford hadn’t told Truman where you guys went?” She asked, “What if you didn’t come back?”

“Leave him alone!” And there was Mirtala, interposing herself between Lili and Raz with a glare, hands balled into fists. “You don’t get to talk to my brother like that!”

“Wh—” Lili flinched back, eyes widening as Mirtala’s words registered. Raz grabbed at Mirtala’s shoulder to try and pull her back, a warning “Tala—” creaking out from his throat.

Mirtala shrugged Raz’ hand off and stuck her tongue out at Lili. Sparks danced at Lili’s fingertips, unwilling to back down to a six year old—

And then Truman was there, gently pulling Lili back while Hollis herded the rest of the junior agents towards the door. “So you’re Mirtala,” He greeted, as Lili crossed her arms and turned her glare onto Raz—we are NOT done talking about this!

Mirtala turned narrowed blue eyes onto Truman. “And who are you?” She demanded.

Raz elbowed his sister. “That’s the Grand Head of the Psychonauts.” He hissed, before looking back at Lili and thinking I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry at her.

Mirtala processed those words, then—“oh, like your dorky spy comics?” She asked, suddenly the picture of girlish innocence once again.

Raz sputtered. “Dorky—?”

“Children, children.” Truman set a hand on Raz and Lili’s shoulders, leading them towards the door. “We’ve all had a very long night. Let’s try hashing this out once we’ve all had a good night’s sleep, okay?” He turned his attention to Mirtala directly. “Your family will be very happy to see you again—do you want to see them tonight, or wait until tomorrow?”

Mirtala would have crossed her arms if she wasn’t holding Raz’ hand. “Will Dee get to see them too?” Her eyes widened, “Or do you hate him for killing people?”

“We’re… working on that.” Truman said. “He’s not actually in our custody, currently—the…” he trailed off at Mirtala’s glare. “You and your brother won’t be separated for long.” He promised, as the four of them made it to the tube leading up to the atrium.

Raz really hoped Truman could keep that promise.

+=+=+=+=+

“I mean, we have just as much jurisdiction here as you do.” Agent Booth was arguing. “And the guy committed several murders.” This was why Hollis hated dealing with the Federal Bureau of Investigations—they seemed to go out of their way to make things as difficult as possible for her.

“Ouroboros is just as much our case as yours.” Hollis explained, with more patience in her grit teeth than she felt the man before her deserved. “Not to mention, we’ll be handling the bulk of the paperwork regardless since it was our agents who were present at the scene—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Booth waved dismissively. “But it was our guys who took the fighters to the hospital, and it’ll be our guys who investigate from here on out. Your work is appreciated, but—” He shot her a grin that was probably meant to be reassuring, but that really only made Hollis grit her teeth a little harder, “We’ll take it from here.”

Hollis’ eyes narrowed. She smiled primly, not breaking eye contact with the agent in front of her. “He’s a child.” She pointed out. And an Aquato, who the Psychonauts owed and even if they didn’t it still wasn’t right to keep him separate from his family—

Booth shrugged. “I’m sure they’ll try him as a minor.” He offered. Hollis’ smile twitched.

The door behind her opened, a woman Hollis recognized as one of the top forensic anthropologists in the country entering the office. “Booth, Hodgins found—am I interrupting?”

Booth shook his head. “Nope! Forsythe here was just leaving.” He nodded his head towards the door, a clear dismissal. Hollis stood slowly, but she didn’t leave. No, she leaned forwards, and spoke, voice calm and collected.

“I don’t care how much bureaucratic bullshit you throw my way, Agent Booth.” Hollis warned. “Dionysus Aquato was a missing persons case before all of this, and a child on top of that. The Psychonauts will handle his part of the investigation—and he will be transferred to Clay Ridge even if I have to oversee the transfer myself.” She grabbed the folder she had brought with her as she straightened back up. “That’s a promise, Agent Booth.” Her piece said, she turned to leave, though she could still hear through the open door as she left.

“Booth.” Brennan scolded, looking aghast. “You’re really trying to keep a child separated from his family?” She sounded disgusted. Hollis couldn’t help but agree.

“Wh—” Booth’s hands flew out, “He’s got a body count in the double digits!” Whatever else he was going to say faded out as she made her way down the hall to the elevator. As the doors slid closed, chintzy elevator music floating into the space, Hollis allowed herself one satisfied smile. She hadn’t accounted for Brennan, but—

It seemed luck was on her side, for once.

+=+=+=+=+

Mirtala threw a rock into the water. It had been a few days since… well, everything, and they still hadn’t let her see Dion. Her family’s caravan was a little further back into the trees—and wasn’t that weird, that her family was so close to a whole bunch of fortune tellers after everything Dad had said about them—still within her line of sight if she looked back.

Or rather, Mirtala figured, she was in her family’s line of sight.

Frazie chucked a pinecone over the water, far further than Mirtala could throw it. The two of them had been chucking rocks and pinecones in silence for the past while, though Mirtala noticed Frazie using her mind to blow up some of the pinecones after she threw them. Mirtala… wasn’t sure how to think about that.

She wasn’t sure how to think about a lot of things. She hadn’t seen a sky that wasn’t green or purple in a while, she hadn’t been an acrobat proper for a while—

Her braids were still twisted into tight little buns, dark blue ribbon not really standing out from her hair. Her mom had offered to braid it, this morning—but Mirtala had gone to Frazie, instead. She was too on-edge, she supposed. Nothing—nothing made sense anymore.

Nona wasn’t her Nona. The water curse wasn’t real(?), and psychics were a good thing now. It was so different from the family Mirtala remembered, the change so jarring and sudden—

But Raz looked happier, and Dad walked around a little lighter now, and Frazie was shooting pinecones with psychic blasts without hesitation, so Mirtala figured the changes weren’t bad. They were just different.

(Or maybe Mirtala was the one who was different.)

“Hey guys.” And there was Raz, coming up behind them on that ball of brain stuff that let him run around faster. “How’s things?”

Frazie shrugged. “Any news on Dee?” She asked, as Mirtala managed to hurl a pinecone just short of the opposite bank. Mirtala turned her attention fully onto Raz, waiting for his answer. She was expecting a denial—

Raz brightened. “Hollis says we can go see him at Clay Ridge whenever we’re ready!” He said. “Mom and Dad were planning to visit him tomorrow—”

“Why not now?!” Mirtala nearly shrieked, before stepping back and lowering her voice at Frazie’s flinch. “Why can’t we go now—”

Raz shrugged. “Dad said it’d be a two-hour drive.” He glanced up at the sky, which was still quite blue in Mirtala’s opinion, even if it wasn’t quite as bright as it had been during lunch. “And Nona wanted to come along.”

Frazie nodded, like that made perfect sense. Mirtala’s face scrunched in a pout, and she picked up a rock to hurl into the water as hard as she could—

Only for a hand made of water to catch the rock and throw it the rest of the way to the other bank. Mirtala blinked.

“Pooter, stop that.” Frazie groused, as the hand fell away only to rise again with a new rock and hurl it at the opposite bank.

“But why?” Raz was grinning, as he made the water hand grab another rock from the riverbed to throw. “Why can’t I throw rocks with you guys?”

“Because you won’t let me see Dion.” Mirtala sniffed, crossing her arms. Frazie snorted into her hand.

“They won’t let me see him either!” Raz protested. His face softened, and then—“Is… what’s Dee like?” He asked, “After… Ouroboros?” He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, something uncertain written across his face.

“He’s still Dion, if that’s what you’re asking.” Mirtala replied airily. Except Dion wasn’t the same as he’d been before Ouroboros, not really—

(And neither was Mirtala—)

—but it wasn’t like the rest of the family had stayed the same, so it probably evened out.

“Is it…” Frazie started, flipping over onto her hands as her jaw worked. “Is it true? That Dion… killed people?”

“It’s Ouroboros.” Mirtala said flatly. “And Dee never lost when it mattered, so I don’t get what you’re so worried about.”

Raz and Frazie exchanged looks, silent conversation running between them that Mirtala wasn’t privy to. Mirtala huffed, and started wandering back in the direction of the caravan. So what if everything was different and wouldn’t be the same? So what if it was all so confusing, in a way that almost made her miss the awful routine of Ouroboros? Mirtala would find a way to roll with it—she was an Aquato, after all. And she was good at keeping her head above water—

She’d had to be, to survive Ouroboros.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion drifted back into consciousness slowly.

The first thing to register was pressure at his back; the next, a faint beeping. His mind rolled around in his skull as the rest of the world slowly drifted into reality around him, like water trickling down a wall. His limbs felt sort of distant, muted, his whole body kind of vaguely floaty in a way that his muddled brain didn’t care to puzzle through.

He groaned, attempting to sit up and ask Mirtala how last night’s fight had gone—

(Fire in the stands, rent metal debris all over the arena—)

Muffled pain shot through his bones. He couldn’t move his right arm or his left leg, his throat was unreasonably dry and that stupid beeping wouldn’t stop—

Oh.

Oh, he was in a hospital. Or something like that. There was a cuff around his wrist connected to the frame around his bed, leather-wrapped metal pulling taut when he tried to move his left arm. But… he’d been in the Death Pit, hadn’t he? How had he managed—

(A fist like a sledgehammer impacting his gut, a backhand that made his head spin—)

Dion groaned again. His everything hurt in a distant way—some kind of painkiller? The room smelled like antiseptic. He craned his head to look around—yep, some kind of hospital or infirmary or whatever. There was nobody else in the room—

Mirtala! Shit, where was his sister, what had happened to her—

“Oh!” Dion’s head snapped over to the door—oh, fuck, he moved it too fast, eughhhh—the nurse was at his side in an instant, as Dion blinked up at them. “Here, let me—” They did something to adjust the bed Dion was laying on, and suddenly he was sitting upright, braced against the fold of the bed. “Is that better?”

Dion hmmed affirmatively. “Where… am I?” He asked, despite the dry throat.

“You’re at Clay Ridge Hospital,” The nurse explained, rattling off the name of a town Dion didn’t recognize. “You suffered several injuries—though it looks like you’re healing well! The doctor can give you a full rundown once she’s in.” Yeah, Dion kind of figured he was injured, what with the injuries clear as day all over him—

“Can you tell me your name?” The nurse asked.

“Dion.” Dion answered. “Aquato.” He added, after a moment of thought.

The nurse nodded, mouth opening to ask another question—

“Oh, good, he’s lucid.” Dion looked at the woman who had entered the room. She was wearing a striped suit, short curls falling over one eye, a clipboard floating at her side—

Dion’s eyes narrowed. He was at a hard disadvantage, what with the broken arm and whatever was going on with his ankle—not to mention the cuff on his left wrist. Still, he watched warily as the woman approached, as though he would actually be able to put up a fight.

“Oh, Dr. Forsythe!” The nurse greeted. “I didn’t know you were in today.” Forsythe nodded at the nurse, clipboard still floating at her side.

“So you’re the doctor?” Dion asked, staring at the floating clipboard. Maybe she was like Tammy, or Raz—oh, who was he kidding. He was fucked, wasn’t he?

“I’m a doctor.” Forsythe agreed, as the nurse left the room—no no don’t leave him alone with a fortune teller—“But not yours.” She grabbed the clipboard, unclipping a folder and pulling out a sheet of paper. “Currently, I am the Second Head of the Psychonauts.”

“Then why are you here?” Dion grit out, leaning back as though he might physically melt into the bed. Where was Mirtala—was she okay? Had she been taken by fortune tellers, or cops, or something worse that Dion couldn’t think of?

“Because you’ve caused quite the ruckus with that little stunt of yours.” Forsythe explained, like tha made any sense. She was writing something on the paper, though Dion couldn’t make out what. “You did murder Ethan C. Reed right in front of one of our agents.” Dion could vaguely remember doing that.

Dion would have crossed his arms if he could. “‘S not like he didn’t deserve it.” He argued.

Forsythe leveled him with an unimpressed look. After a moment, she continued. “Regardless, your situation is… complicated. As nice as it would be to put you right back with your family—” Ha, like any sane Aquato who didn’t obsess over nerdy comics would ever go near a powerful fortune teller— “—there’s the matter of the ongoing investigation into Ouroboros, and your own involvement.” She slipped the sheet of paper back into the folder, and took a seat in the chair next to the bed. “So you’ll be remaining in Psychonauts custody until we can get that sorted out.”

Oh good god, Dion was being held prisoner by psychic cops. Ohhhh he was so fucked—

“And my sister?” Dion cut in, as a new fear entered his mind.

“Your sister doesn’t have a body count.” Forscythe responded flatly. Dion’s eyes narrowed; that wasn’t an answer to his question.

Forsythe continued speaking. “It’s better than FBI custody—really, once you’re cleared for discharge you won’t actually be very far from your family.” Her voice had softened slightly, for all that Dion didn’t quite believe her. “Your brother isn’t sharing his dorm with anyone—” what— “and what the FBI doesn’t know won’t hurt them.”

Dion sputtered, choking on nothing. “Brother—” Oh god, what had Raz gotten himself into this time? Or—or was it Queepie—

Forsythe grimaced. “There’s a lot you’ll need to catch up on.” She stood. “But it’ll be better if you hear it from your family directly.” She made her way for the door, and turned back to say one last thing. “Visiting hours are over for today, but they’ll be in tomorrow. Dr. Wilson will be in soon.” The door closed behind her, leaving Dion alone in a room he couldn’t escape and probably shouldn’t try to leave. She left more questions than she had answered—

And Dion’s throat was still unreasonably dry.

+=+=+=+=+

Mirtala rocked back and forth on her feet as her parents talked to the receptionist. She wanted to run around in circles yelling at them to hurry up—but Frazie’s hand was heavy on her shoulder. At least Queepie looked similarly impatient—though he was probably just bored. At least Raz was definitely impatient, rocking back and forth and standing on one of his brain stuff balls to see over the counter as the receptionist confirmed where Dion was. Nona hovered towards the back of the group, watchful eye on the children.

The moment the Aquatos had the go-ahead, Mirtala launched herself down the hall, ignoring her mother’s calls to slow down. Room 239, 240, 241—there! The door opened easily. “DIDI!”

Dion blinked. He was sitting up, leaning back against the pillows propping him up. His arm was in a cast, his leg similarly immobilized in a sling. There was a faded bruise along his jawline. But most important of all: he was alive. He had won.

(Just like he always did, when it mattered—)

Mirtala ran up, launching herself up the chair and onto the bed. Dion wheezed as she landed not quite to the side of him, her knee smacking into his side. “Tala, ribs—”

But Mirtala didn’t have it in herself to care. “You big dummy!” She was scolding him, hands on his shoulder as she put her face up in front of him so he could tell how serious this was, “We’re supposed to stick together!” She jabbed her finger in his face as he sputtered, “And you’re not supposed to die!”

“Wh—I’m not dead!” Dion protested.

“You almost were!” Mirtala riposted. She opened her mouth to continue—

“Mirtala, topolina, don’t rush ahead—!” Dion’s eyes widened as their mother entered the room. Donatella froze in the doorway at the sight of him, hands over her mouth. After a moment, she rushed forwards, the rest of the family filing in behind her and spreading around the bed.

“My son,” Augustus started, face going slack.

“Oh.” Dion nearly squeaked, as Donatella scooped Mirtala up into her arms—to much protest. Mirtala wiggled free, dropping down onto the chair and clambering up onto the back of it to remain level with Dion. “You’re all—” He sounded… not quite small, but like—

(a hand ghosting over her back before pulling away, the silence painful—)

Mirtala gripped the back of the seat. Queepie crawled up beside her, squinting at Dion like he didn’t quite believe he was real. “You look different.” He said, pointing at Dion. “are you really Dion?”

Dion snorted. He lifted his right arm to gesture towards Queepie—Mirtala’s eyes narrowed as she noticed the cuff around his left wrist. “I don’t know, are you really Queepie?” There was humor in his voice, tired as it sounded.

Queepie gasped. “Of course I am!”

Donatella clasped Dion’s hand in hers, ignoring the cast. “Oh, bambino, it is so good to see you’re okay.”

“How are you feeling?” Augustus asked. “Are they treating you well?”

Dion shrugged, then winced. “Well, I’m alive.” He replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so bored.” He added, annoyed.

Nona chuckled. “Nothing for you to do but heal, is that it?” She tsked, then raised her hand to her mouth to mock-whisper conspiratorially. “We’ll bust you out of here before lunch.”

“I can’t wait.” Dion agreed. He turned his attention to Frazie, who had been standing at the foot of the bed in silence. “You finally find a girlfriend who can stand to look at you?” He half-joked, making Queepie giggle.

“So much has changed!” Mirtala announced, bouncing up and down in place. “Dad’s psychic!”

Dion jerked in surprise. “What—since when was that—” He cast a helpless look to Augustus, who grinned sheepishly. “What happened?”

“It’s a long story.” Raz warned.

“I’ve got nothing but time.” Dion pointed out.

“Okay.” Raz nodded. “So it started when I ran away—”

“YOU WHAT?”

[yay-depression]

just found out that some ppl with hypermobility spectrum disorder and some kinds of EDS can carry the same kind of genetic mutations as redheads for metabolizing anesthesia (especially localized anesthesia) … my life makes sense now

[thethingything]

shoutout to the nurse that didn't know we had a migraine, but specifically turned off the lights on the side of the recovery room where we were and kept talking in a really soft voice and saying we could close our eyes and take a nap if we needed to. she was very kind and gentle and made a point of trying to make sure it was a relaxing environment.

also during the procedure the surgeon kept telling us we were doing amazing and then when he visited us afterwards he said it again and then was like "no I'm being serious, I thought you'd be really anxious and you handled it incredibly well and were a great patient" but then he also offered to do our follow up appointment as a phone call so we don't have to use up too much energy because he knows we have ME/CFS.

and then there was the thing where I told the nurse I was getting overwhelmed by the sensation of the cannula in our hand and she was like "we usually keep it in for these reasons but you seem okay and if you feel like you can handle taking some pain meds and having something to eat then I'm happy to take it out for you" and then followed through with that. and got the pain meds for us and made sure food was brought up to the room shortly after.

I feel like there's so much to process but like our pain meds have worn off and we're still in less pain than we were before the procedure. I'm still waiting to see whether our brain decides to flip its shit later because sometimes dealing with a fuckload of triggers makes it do that even if we handled it really well and were completely fine at the time.

but anyway, I am really relieved and the hospital staff were really nice and took us seriously and made a lot of effort to make sure we were comfortable, and they were all really friendly and kept joking with us so it felt a lot more chill and nice. oh and they gave us some bright yellow grippy socks lol

[identitty-dickruption]

so fucking anxious about going to therapy today that I may just not go. fucking. shaking

[worshipper-status]

I wish I was dead

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

skipping class for the first time in my life bc my professor has covid and he sent out an email saying we’re having class and he’s asymptomatic and will wear a mask per cdc guidelines even tho he’s past the 5 day required isolation period. like. great whatevs but have you actually tested negative

update: the answer was no he had not

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[orcelito]

Ykno sometimes trauma is in the stupid little things no one thinks about being traumatic. The little things that take you back, make a funny little video remind you of one of the most painful nights of your life

And you can't fault anybody for that. Not even yourself for looking at it. So you're just like. Sitting here & contemplating this bitch we call life