#happy birthday mr vicodin

[fag-house]

happy birthday!!

[winterrose527]

Jon and Robb trying to get a drunk Sansa and Myrcella home

K I didn't write this today, but wrote it like years ago and never posted it I don't think? Maybe I did, but nevertheless, enjoy!

***

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Jon said for the seventeenth time since they’d gotten into the taxi. “What did she say exactly?”

Robb sighed and tried to recount the conversation. It was a little tricky to follow what Sansa was saying, she’d definitely had too much to drink.

“She said that they got in a fight and that Ella left her,” Robb told him.

“But they don’t fight,” Jon argued vehemently.

Seriously, it was as though someone had told him that the earth, after all this time, was indeed flat. Like somebody told him the sky was actually red. He said it like he needed a damn Vicodin due the prospect of Sansa Stark and Myrcella Baratheon arguing.

In Jon’s defense, it did seem a little strange. The two had been inseparable since boarding school, and to Robb’s knowledge had never actually had an argument. There was that one incident on Ella’s last birthday when they both got really drunk and started arguing about who loved the other more - it got really emotional, a few other people started crying as well. Not him, of course, it was just really smoky in there.

The point was that it really didn’t make any sense. Even if Sansa and Ella did have their first fight as the most iconic non-couple-couple, Ella would never leave Sansa at a bar. Especially when she’d been drinking. But on the off chance something calamitous had actually happened, he wasn’t going to not go.

And if something calamitous hadn’t happened, he and Jon were happy for the excuse to seek them out.

The taxi pulled up in front of the pub Sansa had called from. The girls loved this place because they deemed the bartender swoon worthy and he obviously loved them because he always gave them free drinks.

They walked in and immediately started scanning the bar for his sister and Ella. The place was packed, but Robb just looked for where Daario was stationed and sure enough he saw Sansa’s auburn hair.

He tapped Jon on the chest and pointed and they made their way through. Sansa was facing away from them so he called to her. It really was too loud in here though and she looked like she was hanging on whatever it was that Daario was saying.

When he finally got to her, he was, well, not all that surprised to see Ella Baratheon sitting on the barstool next to her.

“Robb?,” she asked in that moneyed voice of hers.

Her cheeks were a little flushed but that could just be the alcohol. She was wearing a black and gold dress that was fitted through the waist and then flared out, her slender legs covered in black tights. Her hair was up and it revealed that little freckle on her swanlike neck and - fuck.

“Hey El,” he cleared his throat, “Sansa what the hell?”

“You’re a poet and you didn’t even know it but I doooooo,” Sansa giggled. “Quick make something up about Ella’s eyes.”

“Huh?,” he wondered.

“Just a little ditty,” Sansa promised, as though it was nothing really, “Come now, Robbert don’t be stingy with your gifts. I really think that you should - oh hello Jon.”

“H-hey Sansa…,” Jon breathed out.

For fuck’s sake. He was going to need a drink to get through this. He gestured to the bartender who ignored him.

Ella bit her lip to hide her smile, “Hey Daario?”

“Yeah darlin’?,” Daario asked immediately, leaning his forearms on the bar.

“Could we please have two Wight Gold Labels neat whenever you get a chance?,” she asked.

Daario glared at him which Robb felt wasn’t entirely called for and nodded, “Sure thing. And how about another martini, on me?”

Ella blushed and nodded, “Thanks.”

Jon muttered something about that being a terrible business model and Robb fought the urge to grin.

“So,” Ella asked, “Why are you guys here? You hate this place.”

“Sansa,” Robb noted, “Care to field this one?”

Sansa looked over at him and furrowed her brow, “Robb? When did you get here?”

They all turned to look at her in horror. Oh no. He had only seen that vacant look in her eyes once, the night of her college graduation.

“Daario cancel those please!,” Ella called, sliding off her bar stool and she took Sansa’s face gently between her hands. “Sansa, sweetie, did you take some shots without me?”

“I would never!,” Sansa argued vehemently taking Ella’s cheeks in her own, “Where I drinketh you drinketh babygirl. I only had like two tequilas and then some green thing.”

“Did that green thing taste like licorice?,” Jon asked.

Sansa turned and all but fluttered her eyelashes at him, “You’re so smart. Did you know that?,” and then as though she realised she had Ella’s face still in her hands turned back to her and said, “You’re smarter though. And you’re so pretty. You’re the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world, I’m so lucky we’re friends.”

“Trust me, I’m the lucky one,” Ella told her sweetly, “But now we have to go.”

“But Robb and Jon just got here!,” Sansa protested, then turned to look at him with watery eyes, “You came for me.”

Absinthe always made Sansa particularly grateful for everyone in her life. As far as drunks went it was one of the cutest he’d ever seen. And as a devoted big brother, who had had a couple of drinks himself, he was a complete sucker for it.

“Of course I did,” he told her, “I’d always come for you, you know that.”

“Keep it together Robb,” Jon told him.

“What?,” Robb asked then nodded, his cheeks warming, “Right yeah no um… Sansa you called me and told me that you and Ella got in a fight and she left you.”

“I would never do that,” Ella argued.

“But you did! Remember?”

“N-Sansa that was not an argument! I just told you that I liked Mr. Bingley more than Mr. Darcy and then went outside to take a phone call…”

“You were gone for a really long time.”

Ella picked up her phone and showed them all the call. It was with her brother Gendry and it lasted for… 2 minutes and 45 seconds.

“Sansa,” he chuckled.

“Look Robb maybe you just don’t understand the importance that Pride & Prejudice has had for GENERATIONS of women,” she noted.

“Well considering you made me read it I think I do fully understand,” he argued.

“Yeah,” Jon piped up, who had also been bullied into it, “I mean… I’m with you though Sansa. Mr. Darcy all the way.”

“Really?,” Sansa asked excitedly.

Jon nodded, “But um, I’m really just a sucker for Elizabeth…”

Sansa blushed. Jon might not know it but Sansa had always identified with Elizabeth Bennett. Though from the way he was blushing too, maybe he did. Especially considering Jon was exactly as brooding and aloof as Mr. Darcy.

“Sansa,” Ella said gently, “I think we should go.”

Sansa looked back at her, “Okay Jane.”

Ella giggled, “Sansa!”

“But you’re the prettiest girl in the county!,” Sansa cooed at her. “Tell her - tell her she’s the prettiest girl in the whoooooole country.”

“I thought it was county,” Ella protested.

“Dream big, baby!,” Sansa said and Ella giggled. “Robb tell her.”

“Sansa,” he sighed.

“Useless,” Sansa rolled her eyes and then turned to Jon, “You tell her.”

Jon nodded, “Top Two at least, in the whole world.”

“Top Two?,” Sansa raged, “Top TWO!? Take it back.”

“No,” Jon said.

Sansa took Ella’s chin in her hand and tugged it forward, not exactly gently, “Look at her.”

“Ow.”

“She’s the prettiest girl in the world, okay Dovey?,” he asked, both to appease Sansa and because he’d never get another organic opportunity to say it.

Sansa nodded brightly and Ella took the opportunity to ease her off of her bar stool. Unfortunately Sansa was in heels and landed on them wrong and fell directly into the arms of Jon Snow.

“Woooah, there,” Jon said softly, his arm wrapping around Sansa’s waist.

He chuckled lightly at her and brushed some hair out of her face.

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Sansa said sadly.

“You just had a bit too much fun, that’s all. Nothing to apologise for. Did you have a coat?”

“Here you go,” Ella said, handing it to him.

Jon wrapped her coat around her shoulders and Sansa pushed her arms through the sleeves.

“Can you walk?,” he asked her, his hands on her waist keeping her upright.

“If I say yes will you still hold onto me?,” Sansa asked flirtatiously, her hands on his shoulders.

Robb grimaced and looked away. He was alright with it, the two of them, but he wasn’t sure he needed to see it. He looked over at Ella who was pulling on her own coat trying to hide her grin.

“Course I will,” Jon said gruffly and started leading her out.

“You have everything?,” he asked Ella.

She nodded and he gestured for her to walk in front of him. It was a mistake. With Jon leading Sansa out everyone gave them a wide berth, but the bar was crowded and guys kept getting in Ella’s way to hit on her.

Finally he sighed and placed his hand on the small of her back, “Hope you don’t mind, but at this rate it could take hours getting out of here. Prettiest girl in the county and all.”

She looked up at him and chuckled, “I don’t mind.”

Her eyes smiled into his and he felt that warm molasses spread through his veins like he always did when she was nearby.

Sansa had it right when he called her Jane Bennet. On top of being beautiful and blonde, Ella was sweet, the sweetest person he’d ever met, and charming and loyal.

He’d always had a crush on Jane Bennett.

They stepped out into the cool fall air.

“We’ll never get a taxi here,” Ella said, “We should walk around to the Kingsroad.”

“Alright then,” Jon said and swooped Sansa up into his arms.

She giggled and cooed, “Jon Snowwwww what are you doing??”

“There’s no way you were making it to the Kingsroad.”

Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her head on his shoulder, “Once more ‘round the park, Chauncy.”

Ella giggled and started leading the way so he fell into step beside her.

“Sorry we ruined your night,” she sighed, “I had no idea Sansa would call you. If you guys just put us in a taxi I’ll get her home and into bed.”

The girls shared a flat in the same cozy little hamlet across town where he and Jon lived. His father had only approved of it due to the proximity to his and Jon’s places, it was dead in between them, three blocks on either side.

“You could never ruin my night, you know that,” he said. At least… he hoped she knew that. “Don’t you?”

She looked up at him and he didn’t think he imagined her blush. But she playfully nudged her arm against his and said, “I know you’re too kind to tell me if we had.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes more. Jon had passed them, and Sansa was stroking his hair as he carried her up to the main street. He couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but he heard their quiet tones and hushed laughter, like everything between them was a wonderful secret.

“So Mr. Bingley, huh?,” he asked Ella.

“Does that surprise you?,” she wondered, “I’m not one much for broods. Except Jon.”

“No it’s just that… he reminds me of Grey Wind,” Robb shrugged, “He’s a dopey labrador.”

“Take that back,” Ella chided, “Grey Wind is not dopey.”

Robb chuckled and nodded in apology.

“And neither is Charles,” Ella went on.

“Charles?,” he teased, “You’re on a first name basis now?”

She giggled his favorite giggle. The surprised one, as though the laughter couldn’t help bubble out of her before she’d allowed it to.

“Oh things are very serious between us,” she joked, “But really I guess I’m just a fool for a fool in lo—ohhoww.”

Out of nowhere Ella had stumbled, and he was nearly bent over completely as he narrowly caught her from smacking onto the road.

“By the gods,” he said, pulling her back up, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Ella nodded and then her face fell, “No.”

He didn’t dare let go, and in truth he had no desire to. “Did you have too much absinthe too?,” he teased, trying to get her to smile.

She shook her head, “No it’s just these damn heels Sansa made me wear.”

He looked down and was surprised she hadn’t fallen earlier. The heels were as slim as needles, which was really sexy but definitely not appropriate for the cobblestone they found themselves on.

“Do you think you sprained it?,” he asked in concern.

“No I don’t think so,” she said holding onto him and trying to put her weight on it, “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Think, hmm?,” he asked, because he still hadn’t gotten her smile. He scooped her up into his arms, “Not good enough.”

She let out a giggle now, “Robb!”

“Those heels are more of a weapon than they are actual footwear,” he reasoned, trying not to think about how good she felt.

“I’m too heavy,” she said stupidly.

“Ha! You’re cute,” he guffawed as he started walking. She really did feel weightless in his arms, the warmth she was transferring to his body was the only confirmation that she was actually there. “I could carry you all the way back to your apartment.”

“You’re good at it, you know,” she told him.

“At what?,” he wondered. It didn’t take a particular set of skills to hold her and walk.

“The whole Knight in Shining Armour thing,” she explained. “It suits you, always has.”

“Well you’re welcome to my services anytime,” he told her then added, “Though you’ve never struck me as the kind of girl that needed saving.”

“Really?,” she grinned, “That’s so sweet. And present reality excluded, I’m not. It’s nice to know though, that if I ever did that well, that maybe -“

“Not maybe,” he told her in a serious tone. Holding her was so intimate, that he immediately understood the soft way Jon and Sansa were speaking. It felt like they were in their own little bubble, and for whatever reason it demanded honesty. “You have to know that.”

She placed her hands on his shoulders, propping herself up and she nodded. She let her forehead fall against his temple, “I do. Promise.”

He tightened his grip on her and fought the urge to nuzzle against her. Her arms went around his neck though and she laid her cheek on his shoulder.

“How’s that ankle?,” he asked her.

“Hmm?,” she asked dreamily, and then giggled, “Oh, oh it’s fine. You can put me down if you want.”

“We shouldn’t risk it,” he said stupidly and he could swear he felt her smile against him.

She wrapped her arms around him tighter and he felt her cold nose against his neck. He rubbed her arm because the coat she was wearing wasn’t nearly warm enough for the evening.

All of a sudden she started giggling, it tickled his neck.

“What’s so funny?,” he wondered.

“Does your mom still do your laundry?,” she asked.

He blushed and argued, “No! No of course not.”

Which was the truth. Except when he went home to Winterfell. But it wasn’t like he asked her to.

“Why do you ask?,” he wondered.

“You smell like the laundry detergent she uses,” she explained.

“Oh! Sorry,” he said.

She lifted her head off of him and smiled, “Don’t be sorry. You smell nice. Like home.”

Her eyes went wide like she couldn’t quite believe she had said that, and he certainly couldn’t believe that she’d said it either.

He didn’t know what to say. A thousand different possibilities raced through his mind. He could tell her that he liked the way she smelled too. Or that he loved that she associated Winterfell with home. He could tell her he wanted to make love to her on a pile of clean laundry. All of it would have been true, but he didn’t say any of it.

Instead he just stared at her, and she stared back.

The air got really thick around them and the edges of his vision took on a kind of shimmery quality and her green eyes were locked on his, her soft pink lips parted in an o of surprise.

He started leaning closer and he was pretty sure that she did too.

“Robby we got a taxi!,” Sansa called delightedly and he and Ella sprung apart as far as they were able considering that he was still holding her.

“We should um go,” he said.

“Yeah…we should,” Ella agreed. Then prompted, “But only one of us can walk right now so…”

“Oh! Oh right,” he nodded and started speed walking over to the taxi.

He deposited her into the backseat next to Sansa and then followed her in.

“Where to?,” the driver asked.

“Winterfell!,” Sansa cried.

“Dovey no,” Robb argued, “It’s the middle of the night and it’s a half hour outside the city…”

“Come on, Robb, they’ll be so happy to see us! Dad will make us pancakes in the morning and we can spend the rest of the weekend out there with the kids,” Sansa pleaded.

Jon turned around from the front seat, “It does sound kind of nice…,” though he was pretty sure Jon would have agreed to anything Sansa wanted in that moment, “And Rickon wanted us to look over that history essay anyway.”

He looked at Ella who very pointedly did not look at him, a small smile threatening her lips.

“Alright,” he sighed, “Let’s go home.”

[xxx-cat-xxx]

Family Business

Happy Birthday, @awesomesockes! Some Tony & Happy friendship whump for you.

Thanks to @marvelous-writer for your expertise and to @whumphoarder for beta reading!

_______________________

Tony blinks himself awake a few hours later. 

His body seems to weigh a thousand pounds, and there’s a dull underlying pain that warns him not to move. His thoughts are sluggish from the drugs to the point that his head feels as though it’s been stuffed with enough cotton to be exhibited in a natural science museum. The hospital room is dimly lit. It must be night outside, because it’s dark—too dark. The blue light of the arc reactor, always in the periphery of Tony’s vision, is missing. 

For the briefest of moments, he panics. But then it all comes back to him: Happy, his mansion, the snow. A fake Mandarin, and then the real one. Pepper, falling away from him. The heart surgery that brought him to this hospital.

Suddenly, Tony is acutely aware of feeling very sick.

“J,” he starts, then swallows thickly against the bile rising in his throat. “Anyone up?”

The AI’s voice answers immediately from the phone on his nightstand. “Miss Potts is on a video conference call with SI Australia, Mr Rhodes has gone home to shower, and Mr Hogan is in his hospital room, watching Downton Abbey season 2 episode 9 for the eleventh time this month.”

Guilt and nausea are battling each other, but there is no way Tony can get up and make it to the toilet on his own. Hell, the tubes still connected to his chest make it hard to even turn onto his side right now, not even to mention the pain that would cause.

In the end, the desire not to throw up on his hospital bed wins. “Get Happy here,” he orders the AI. 

Tony closes his eyes, tips his head back, and breathes shallowly, willing the contents of his stomach to stay down a bit longer. By the time he hears the squeak of the wheelchair on the linoleum outside, the urge to puke has decreased a little from ‘very urgent’ to ‘annoyingly persistent.’

“Wow,” Happy states as he wheels into the room, “JARVIS wasn’t kidding. You’re white as a sheet.”

“Hey Hap,” Tony gives a little wave with three of his fingers. “Just need a trash can or something. Can’t really get to the bathroom.”

Happy looks around the room. Tony notices that the cast on his right arm has now been replaced by a simple sling, and the bruises have faded almost entirely from his face. His friend is due to be released in the coming days, whereas Tony has to stay at least another week. 

Happy locates one of those signature kidney-shaped basins hospitals always seem to have lying around and presses it into Tony’s hands. “Should I wake one of the doctors?” 

Tony shakes his head as best he can. “It’s just the meds messing with my stomach.”

“Antibiotics, huh?” Happy nods knowingly. “Yeah, been there too.”

There’s a pang of guilt in Tony’s stomach, causing the nausea to intensify again. He struggles to sit up a little and can’t suppress a moan at the pain even that minimal strain brings along.  

“Wait,” Happy quickly interferes, reaching for the remote to raise the head of the bed and prop his friend upright. Tony manages to lift his arms just enough that he can hold the basin under his mouth. He spits a few strings of excess saliva into it. “Sorry,” he manages, feeling his throat go tight.

“‘S okay, boss. No offence, but as long as you’re puking in this and not on me, I’m glad. Still remember that time in Singapore.” He wrinkles his nose up at the recollection. “That curry didn’t look great going in, and looked far worse on my pants.”

Tony almost laughs, then coughs, then heaves. He doesn’t have much in him except the yoghurt and toast that made up his meagre hospital dinner, but his stomach doesn’t seem to care. After the first bout of vomiting it just cramps over and over on nothing, every dry heave bringing pangs of agony to his injured chest. 

When he’s done, he feels almost lightheaded, be it from the pain or the lack of sustenance. He weakly lets his head fall back against the pillow, trying to catch his breath.

“You alright?” Happy’s casualness can’t hide a tinge of worry when he pries the basin from Tony’s hands to rinse it out.

“‘M good,” Tony breathes, then grimaces as another spike of pain reverberates through his chest. He involuntarily brings a shaky hand to where the remnants of his sternum are covered in bandages.

Happy frowns. “You want me to up your morphine? Or you can have some of my Vicodin?” he offers. “I forgot to take my evening dose―Matthew was in the middle of his proposal to Mary.”

“Nah. ‘S okay,” Tony declines wistfully. He’d love to drug himself to the point of oblivion just about now, but an opiod addiction is the last thing he needs during his efforts to get his life back on track. “Just gimme some water to rinse.” The taste of vomit in his mouth is enough to almost make him gag again.

Happy gets a glass of water and then awkwardly holds the now empty basin under Tony’s mouth, who swirls and spits before shakily wiping his lips. Maybe it’s exhaustion or the pain or the meds he’s arguably still doped up on, but Tony feels the sudden urge to somehow express his gratitude to the man who left his own hospital bed in the middle of the night to care for the person who couldn’t protect him in the first place.

“I…” he starts when Happy has taken the basin away, then trails off when it occurs to him that he has no idea what to say.

“...should go to sleep,” Happy finishes for him. 

“Nah.” Not when he can avoid it. Tony hasn’t dreamed of New York since defeating Killian, which is a plus, but he’s seen Pepper fall almost every time he closed his eyes. “Let’s do something fun. Hey, I just survived a major experimental heart surgery. I’m allowed to celebrate a bit.”

“Yeah,”  Happy gestures around the hospital room. “Great party you got going here.”

“Still better than your last birthday. Pepper told me you watched Jane Austen with your 80-year old neighbour and were in bed by nine.”

Happy looks mildly offended. “Elenor is only 76.”

In the end, they find Die Hard playing on one of the channels of the small TV that Tony has neglected so far in favour of his phone. Happy maneuvers himself out of the wheelchair and onto the smaller cot that Pepper had slept on the first night after Tony’s surgery, propping up his injured leg with an extra pillow. Despite his insistence on staying awake, Tony has a hard time keeping his eyes open. The world’s a bit hazy now, and, though he would never admit it, Happy’s presence makes his whole post-surgery anxiety much more bearable.

Bruce Willis has just taken out another terrorist when Happy suddenly turns to Tony, his expression having grown serious. “Just wanted to say―it wasn’t your fault, boss.” 

Tony blinks at him, wondering when his own emotional state became so transparent.

“You know it’s my job to look out for you,” Happy continues. “I’d do it again if I had to.”

“Hap,” Tony sighs, “No offence, but I literally have an iron suit of armour for protection. I really think we’re past the bodyguard stage now.” 

“Exactly.” Happy grins. “We’re family.”

_________________

All my fics

Taglist: @toomuchtoread33  @yepokokfine

_______________________