A Conference, Ten Dollars, And A Couch // Wrightworth Family (Pt. 17)
This took so long to write for literally no reason. I love Dadnix and Dadworth so hereâs a fic of them with their basically-son. Ao3 link here.
Genre: Hurt/comfort, angst
Summary: After Apollo makes a joke that starts an argument with Klavier, the night is downhill from there. Apollo leaves mid-argument and finds himself in worse trouble than if he had just stayed home. Unsure of calling his boyfriend for help, he calls Phoenix and Miles.
âOkay, seriously, what the hell are you even talking about?â
Apolloâs voice, sharper than ever, cuts through the usually peaceful kitchen. Heâs sitting at the counter while Klavier hovers over the stove, back to the former. The tension in the room is all but a third presence. The men have had slight âquabblesâ before, but none of them compare to the fully-fledged argument that they find themselves in now. This is uncharted territory.
That being said, neither of them knew, or ever even considered, what the otherâs reaction would be in a situation like this. Apollo is surprisingly defensive, whereas Klavier has a forced sense of nonchalance in his voice. It seems that that is what really crawls under Apolloâs skin.
At the almost-shout, Klavier stops stirring the pot on the stove and puts the ladle down with forced calm. He turns slightly.
âYou donât have to yell like that.â
âYouâre accusing me of things, Klavier! What do you want me to do? Sit here and take it? I told you I was sorry.â
âNah,â Klavier shrugs. Itâs a word that he never typically uses, but heâs putting up a front. Itâs unintentional that it makes his boyfriend even angrier, but it canât be taken back now. âI just want to make you acknowledge it.â
ââMake meâ acknowledge it? Oh, yeah, sure. Just back me into a corner and make me say whatever you want.â
âI want you to apologize and mean it!â
With those words, Klavier finally gives into the shouting, solidifying this as a textbook coupleâs fight. He throws his hands up in exasperation as he says it.
Apollo scoffs. His eyes are watering, but he doesnât give in and back down now. Back in the day, he would have buckled under absolutely no pressure. But, after a few years of being a successful attorney, he found his voice. His chords of steel, if one will. His confidence doesnât precede him, always a work in progress, but after fighting for others for so long, why not for himself, too?
âI did mean it! I said I'd stop making those jokes. And I will. So why are you still so mad?â
âBecause you always do this,â Klavier says, his voice a bit lower now. âYou always make some self-depracating joke. I was so excited to give you the news. You could have just been happy for me. This conference is a big deal for prosecutors.â
For a few moments, Apollo is speechless.
âThe first thing I said was that I was so proud of you! I told you that several times! Yeah, okay, I can see where the joke wasnât funny. But I apologized. I already said that Iâd stop doing that. But you canât say that I wasnât excited for you,â he finally responds.
Klavier just nods as he turns back to the stove. Heâs silent as he picks the ladle back up and resumes stirring. The lack of response makes his boyfriend just... deflate.
Apollo sighs heavily and stands. The tension and anger living around them is too much. It feels so strong that he canât breathe in the silence without his throat becoming sore. So, he makes a somewhat hasty decision. He heads to their shared bedroom down the hallway, quickly packing a bag.
He grabs his old backpack that has lived in the closet since he graduated from university. The things he throws into it make it hard to really figure out his plan. Perhaps he doesnât know, either, his mind and emotions too shaken. He throws in his wallet, keys, half-charged phone, a notebook, and his mp3 player with the ancient earbuds wrapped around it. After a moment of hesitation, he shoves his latest case file inside, too. As if heâs not sure if heâll be back before work tomorrow morning. With a sigh, he gives their pet cat, who is currently curled up on the pillow, a few gentle scratches under the chin.
Silently, Apollo leaves the house. He doesnât pass through the kitchen. The front door makes a slight but familiar sound as it closes behind him; thatâs enough for Klavier to hear Apolloâs departure.
âââ§âââââââ§ââ
Maybe this was a bad idea.
Apollo finds himself sitting on a bench in a mostly abandoned park. Itâs getting late, which brings the evening chill, too. Heâs cold, upset, tired, hungryâyou name it. But the man has always been stubborn by nature. He feels like heâs in too deep to just give in and go home. Thereâs a principle to stand on.
So, with a heavy sigh, Apollo leans back against the bench, ignoring the way it freezes his back, and pulls out his phone. 23:19. For at least a minute, he does nothing but stare at the time on his screen. His head feels fuzzy. There are too many thoughts running inside, but somehow also none. None stick, anyway.
The man seems to be in a bit of a trance until he hears voices not too far from him. The sound makes him quickly look up, finding that a group of men are walking through. Apollo doesnât like to judge people, ever, but he canât help but notice that these men look... rough. Mean and definitely stronger than him. Sensing danger, his mind kicks back into gear. His body tenses.
He calmly slips his bag onto his back and puts his phone in his pocket. Abruptly breaking into a run would draw too much attention. But as he tries to remain calm, he feels dread settling in his stomach. His intuition is sharp. Whenever he feels that something is amiss, it almost always is. Somehow, that makes it worse. Now he knows that something is going to happen.
Just as he turns to calmly walk down the path, one of the men calls out to him.
âHey! Whereâya going? You donât gotta leave!â
Apollo sighs and forces himself to look back at them.
âItâs getting late,â he says with a shrug. âI should head home.â
âLate? The nights just started!â one of the other men exclaim, waving the can of beer that heâs been holding. His long blond hair is so similar to Klavierâs but is a bit frizzy from the wind. He looks more like an 80âs hair metal band member than Klavierâs modern, sleek boyband look. None of that is what scares Apollo. Itâs the huge muscles in the manâs arm and the look in his eyes that does it.
Apollo doesnât move closer to them but doesnât move away when they start getting closer to him. If he looks too obviously scared, that could be dangerous. God, he just wants to go home.
âI have work tomorrow.â
âMan, whatever. Call in sick. Have some fun with us.â
âIâd better not. The parkâs all yours. You guys have fun, though.â
Apollo turns to walk away, hoping that his feigned calm-confidence will be enough to end the conversation here.
But of course, it doesnât work out that way.
âI mean... You could at least spot us some cash. If youâre too good to hang out with us.â
Those words come from the shorter man whoâd been hanging back. He might be smaller than his friends, but his eyes look dangerous. The tone of his voice is steady, but itâs clear that heâs not making a suggestion.
Apollo, just wanting this to be over, sighs and pulls out his wallet.
âHere, all I have is a ten.â
âTen?â the blond man scoffs. âWhat are we gonna get with that?â
Apollo just shrugs and holds the cash out towards the group. Itâs quickly taken from him. His words were the truth; he doesnât have more cash on him. The dread in him is becoming tight. He knows that it wonât be enough.
âââ§âââââââ§ââ
Blood is the first thing Apollo smells when he rouses back into consciousness. For a long few moments, it doesnât make sense. He doesnât remember anything at first. When his memory finally kicks into gear, he rolls onto his back with the heaviest of sighs. He can barely feel the tears that slip down his face.
For a minute, he just lies on the pavement, focusing on his breathing and the stars above him. God, does his body hurt right now. When he finally shifts to sit up a bit, he sees why. There are bruises starting to form on every part of his body. Thereâs sporadic splotches of blood all over his clothes. When he licks his chapped lips, he can taste blood there, too.
Heâs barely able to sit up. His back feels sorer than he ever thought possible. He shifted just enough to look at himself and his surroundings but quickly has to lean back. The men from before are nowhere in sight, thankfully. His backpack lies on the ground a bit away from him, opened and pilfered through. Only his wallet and mp3 player seem to be missing.
Apollo cries, wiping at his face as he reaches for his phone. He sees his current state in the reflection of the now-cracked screen. It hurts to see himself in such a state, especially when he feels like this is all his fault.
His mind is definitely scattered now. As he unlocks his phone, he doesnât even know who to call. Even after all of this, part of him doesnât want to call Klavier. He doesnât want his boyfriend to come running right now. Thatâs a feeling he never thought heâd have. Deep down, though, he doesnât want to make a scene about himself after their fight. He doesnât want to look like heâs fishing for sympathy or comfort, as if this had been on purpose.
With bleary vision, Apollo clicks on a different contact. He clicks it onto speakerphone, too bruised to hold the phone to his ear. After several rings, the line connects.
â...Miles. Hi. Um...â
The faint sound of fabric shifting and the click of a lamp can be heard from the other side of the line.
âApollo? Are you okay?â
The namesake hesitates for a few excruciating moments before speaking.
âNot really? I canât move. I got into a fight, I think...â
âYou think you got into a fight? Where are you?â
âThe park. God, what is the name of this freaking place? The one we used to bring Trucy to.â
âOkay, I know what youâre talking about. Weâre coming, okay? Keep talking to me.â
With an agreeing hum from the younger man, Miles and Phoenix are getting into their car. Apollo can hear the doors shutting and the engine roaring to life. Thereâs a weird feeling settling in his chest; for so long, he didnât have people that would jump out of bed and run to him like this. Back in the day, he wouldnât have even had anyone to call. His vision is spinning.
âAre you hurt, bud?â Phoenixâs voice comes through the line. He sounds tired but greatly concerned. He takes over the line while Miles focuses on driving.
âJesus. Okay, itâs okay. Weâre almost there, just hold on, okay?â
Apollo really has no idea where the conversation goes after that. He can feel himself speaking, and he can hear the speaker of his phone. Not one word of it registers in his mind. He lies on his injured back, staring up at nothing in particular.
The familiar car pulls into the parking lot just a minute or so later. The men waste no time in getting out and running across the grass, over to where Apollo is laid on the pavement of the walking path.
âOh my God,â Phoenix whispers, mostly to himself, as him as his husband drop to their knees beside the boy that is basically one of their kids.
Milesâs eyebrows furrow deeply. He keeps his hands very gentle as he lays them on the boyâs outer arms.
âApollo, what happened? Who did you get into a fight with?â
âSome guys. I donât know. I didnât know them.â
Miles frowns at the slight slurring in the boyâs voice. The splotchiness of Apolloâs cheeks and bleariness of his eyes are not good signs. Miles busies his hands by adjusting the boyâs sweater and checking visible injuries.
âBuddy...â Phoenix starts slowly. âWas it a fight or did these guys beat you up?â
The question is careful and quiet. Phoenix doesnât ask it to embarrass or belittle Apollo. He just needs to know what happened. From the looks of the boy, heâs pretty sure that he already does. It makes his chest ache to even think about.
Apolloâs gaze drifts a bit, getting distant. No answer comes.
Miles quickly starts tapping the boyâs cheek to keep him conscious. Heâs kneeling beside Apollo, leaning over him to get into his line of sight. Hopefully to be something to focus on.
âApollo. Stay with me. We need to get you to the hospital.â
âNo. No, no hospital.â
âNo... I wasnât stabbed or anything. Itâs just bruises. No hospital.â
âYou might have a concussion orââ
The weak yell from Apollo makes both older men fall quiet. The boy clearly isnât thinking straight, but heâs just been through someone majorly traumatic, so they canât fault him too much for that.
Miles and Phoenix share a look, seeming to have a conversation without any words. Years of marriage gave them such a skill. Reluctantly, they agree to Apolloâs terms. Itâs a very delicate situation and theyâre going to have to play it by ear. For two logical people, itâs hard to do, but they know that the boy needs to make the decision right now.
âFine,â Miles says. âNo hospital. Unless you start showing signs of head trauma, you hear me?â
Apollo weakly agrees to the compromise.
When Phoenix tries to help Apollo shift to sit up properly, the latter hisses in pain. Tears pool in Apolloâs eyes at the feeling. He chokes out a sob. Phoenix winces in sympathy, his hands very careful on Apolloâs back. He sees the blood soaked into the back of the boyâs sweater but doesnât comment on it yet. The pang in his heart is hard to ignore.
âI know, I know. Iâm sorry, Polly,â he whispers. The familial nickname that they always hear Trucy call Apollo just slips out of Phoenix in the moment.
Phoenix and Miles work together to get Apollo on his feet. The boy sways but doesnât collapse. They can work with that. In a blur that Apollo wonât end up remembering the next day, they manage to get him into the car. He winces and hisses as he gets in, but thereâs not too much that he can do to ease the pain. Itâs unrelenting and he has no choice but to endure it.
When Miles is about to step away to get in the driverâs seat, Apollo whines and weakly grabs the formerâs forearm. Miles pauses and looks down at him through the open car door. Phoenix is sitting with Apollo and looks up at his husband at the pause.
âWhat is it?â Miles asks quietly, not untangling himself from Apolloâs grip yet.
âMm. Please donât go.â
âIâm just getting in the front. Iâm not leaving, Apollo.â
âNo. No, no, no, no...â the namesake mumbles incoherently.
Miles sighs softly, meeting Phoenixâs eyes. They silently switch spots, Miles taking position beside the boy instead. Phoenix is silent as he walks around the car to get behind the wheel. He doesnât mind the responsibility of getting them home. All he wants is for the boy he sees like a son to feel better. If his husband is the one Apollo wants in the back with him, then Phoenix doesnât mind.
âOkay, shh, Iâm right here,â Miles whispers to Apollo, wrapping a gentle arm around him.
By some divine intervention, Apollo falls asleep on the way home. Itâs shallow and restless, but itâs sleep. Miles doesnât move. He stays steady, letting his son curl up against him with the darkness of the night to keep it a private moment. Apollo wonât remember it, or else heâd be eternally embarrassed, but Miles will never forget it. Heâll never mention it, ever, but heâll remember. Heâll remember the somewhat odd and sharp feeling of being needed, of being able to provide such a deep sense of comfort for someone. That he was the first person Apollo thought to call while in distress.
Phoenix keeps glancing up to the rearview mirror, checking on them. He stays quiet, but his heart is racing in his chest. Adrenaline always gets the best of him, even after all these years. The inside of his cheek is a bit raw from where he keeps biting at it.
Finally, after forever or no time at allâno one can tell anymoreâthey make it home. To the Wright-Edgeworth house, that is. The safest place in the city.
With a lot of struggle and some pain, they manage to get Apollo inside and on the couch. The boy is out cold and just slumps over immediately. Phoenix sighs and puts his hands on his hips while Miles crosses his arms. Theyâre both used to being problem-solvers, so this is nothing new. Theyâve taken care of everyone in their little family time and time again, and will continue to do so. Their couch has become like a checkpoint for these people.
âWhy didnât he call Klavier?â Phoenix whispers, glancing at his husband.
Miles sighs and shakes his head.
âI donât know. Klavier is still in town, right? The big conference isnât for another two weeks.â
âI thought so. Do you think they had a fight?â Phoenix asks quietly. Then, after a pause: âYou donât think...â
Milesâs eyebrows furrow at the very thought of what Phoenix is implying. It makes his stomach drop despite being absolutely certain that it isnât the truth. The brief image that flashes through his head is enough to make someone sick.
âThat he did this? Absolutely not.â
Phoenix lets out a breath and nods slowly. Heâs seen a lot in his day, so itâs become easy for his mind to wander.
âShould we call him? Even if they did have a fight, I'm sure heâd want to know about something like... this.â
Miles quietly deliberates. He checks his phone, looking at the time. 03:41. A heavy sigh escapes him. They could wait until morning, so everyone has a clearer head to help and figure things out. His gaze drifts back to the boy on the couch. Apollo is covered in bruises and dried blood, a pained look on his face even in sleep. Miles huffs, irritated at not knowing what to do.
Phoenix rests a gentle hand on the side of his husbandâs arm. A calm, steadying gesture that heâs done a million times.
âHow about I call him and you check Apollo over? Help him clean up a bit.â
To that, Miles takes a deep breath and nods. That he can do.
With a plan formed, they get to work. Phoenix steps into the kitchen to call Klavier while Miles kneels down next to the couch, attempting to rouse Apollo.
âPolly? Hey, itâs okay... Itâs just me. Miles. Can you hear me?â he murmurs, almost uncharacteristically gentle. He watches intently as the boy in front of him stirs awake. Milesâs chest aches at seeing the pain return to Apolloâs face as soon as heâs awake.
âMmph. Hey. What time is it?â
âAlmost four. Can you sit up?â
Apollo nods, huffing in tired pain, and sits up. Itâs almost like heâs gotten used to the pain being there and knows he has no choice but to move alongside it. He flinches slightly when Milesâs hand touches his back.
âSorry,â Apollo mumbles, never meaning to jerk away from the man.
âItâs fine, buddy. Câmon, I need to check you over. Let me help you to the bathroom. Thereâs a heater in there you can sit in front of while I clean you up, okay?â
Apollo nods. Right now, heâd sit through anything as long as it promised some warmth. His hands are so cold that his fingers feel too stiff to bend. Miles smiles sadly and helps the boy up off of the couch. He gives Apollo a moment to get used to being on his feet before guiding him down the hall.
Miles closes the door behind them once theyâre in the bathroom. He uses his foot to turn the low nob on the heater, the hum of it immediately filling the space. Apollo sits down in the floor in front of it. Heâs quiet, not bothering to watch Miles as the latter gathers some supplies. After a minute, Miles sits on his knees behind Apollo.
âThis might sting a little,â he murmurs, waiting for a nod of consent from the boy before peeling off the blood-muddled sweater to reveal the extent of the injury.
Miles has to deliberately keep his breathing even. Apollo is bruised and bleeding all over. The sight makes Miles want to hunt down whoever did this to his son and do what he was accused of at Gourd Lake.
He takes a deep breath and very gently starts to clean Apolloâs back with a wet cloth. His touches are careful and deliberate, slow but efficient. He takes his time, wanting Apollo to feel cared for and safe in this moment.
âTurn around for me, buddy,â Miles whispers once heâs done patching up Apolloâs back.
Apollo complies, taking a second to shift and turn to face Miles. The heater, now behind him, feels nice on his back. Soothing, even. Since heâs facing toward Miles now, he quietly watches as the man cleans and patches up his waist and abs. His sides, specifically, are heavily bruised and turning purple. Like the men kept kicking him even after he was out.
Apollo is too tired to cry. That will come tomorrow, when the memories will start hitting him. For now, he just watches, his head feeling heavy.
âââ§âââââââ§ââ
Klavierâs voice rings out as soon as the door comes open. Phoenix steps back immediately, not hesitating to let the blond inside. When Klavier got the news on the phone, he had sounded panicked, almost like he couldnât believe what he was hearing. Now that heâs here, heâs a flurry of panic, guilt, and need. A deep, sharp need to see Apollo for himself. Their argument is long forgotten at this point.
âMiles is helping him. Itâll only be a minute,â Phoenix says calmly, putting a hand on Klavierâs shoulder, keeping him in the room. Otherwise, Klavier would barge right into the bathroom and take over.
Phoenix takes the minute to guide Klavier to sit down on the couch; he sits in the armchair across from him.
Phoenix sighs but isnât entirely surprised to hear that sentiment. It happens all the time. A fight, then something tragic occurs, and both sides end up carrying guilt from it. He knows that Apollo is blaming himself, too. So, Phoenix nods quietly, leaning back and clasping his hands together over his stomach. He doesnât speak first, instead giving Klavier the room to vent.
âI yelled at him. And I kept bringing it back up even after he apologized.â
âKept bringing what up?â
âHe made a stupid joke,â Klavier sighs. âYou know him. You know his little self-deprecating jokes. Usually, I donât care. But it just, ugh, it just got under my skin this time.â
âWhat did he say?â Phoenix probes quietly.
âI told him that I got selected to go the big prosecutorâs conference in New York. He did tell me he was proud of me. And happy for me. But he said that now he had to âcatch upâ to me. I donât know. It rubbed me the wrong way. Like why couldnât he just be happy for me without throwing that in there? It just makes me feel guilty for being successful.â
Phoenix listens intently, sighing inaudibly. He can see both sides of this argument. Apollo hadnât meant any harm by the joke, he knows that for a fact. They both do. Itâs just common for him to say things like that when he feels awkward. But Klavier had been wanting more celebration, it seems.
âI yelled at him,â Klavier repeats, putting his head in his hands. âIt kept escalating until he just... left. Iâve never seen him just walk out like that before.â
Before Phoenix can press out any more information, the bathroom door opens. Miles steps out, Apollo coming out behind him. The younger man looks cleaner, now just bruises and some scars. The blood is all cleaned away, and Miles lent him clothes to wear while they wash what Apollo had on before. Klavier didnât see the extent of the damage while it was fresh, but he can imagine.
Klavier shoots up off of the couch, meeting his boyfriend halfway.
âOh my God...â he whispers, his hands coming out but hesitating to touch Apollo. They hover beside Apolloâs arms as Klavier quickly looks him over.
Apollo looks nervous. Nervous to face Klavier. It kind of breaks the blondâs heart to see that, and to know exactly why that look is on his boyfriendâs face.
âCan I hug you, liebling?â
Apollo gives a small nod, which is mirrored by Klavier before the latter moves in and wraps his arms around the injured body.
âItâs okay. Itâs okay. Weâll fine whoever did this.â
âNo, Klav, I donât care. Iâm tired. I donât want to.â
Apolloâs words are weak and exhausted but true. He doesnât feel like hunting down the guys that did this to him. He just wants the pain to subside and to go home to his loving bed and cat.
Klavier falters for a moment, but knows that now is not the time to push the issue. The sun is starting to rise outside, just barely. The dark blue that takes over before the sun can be seen through the sheer curtains.
âOkay,â Klavier whispers, pulling back to look at his loverâs face. âLetâs go lay down. We can talk tomorrow.â
Miles quickly steps off down the hallway, opening the door to their guest room. Itâs pretty basic but comfortable. The sheets are washed after every visit, and, now, they sit, waiting for its visitors tonight. Miles pulls back the comforter as Klavier steers Apollo to sit on the edge. Phoenix puts Apolloâs bag on the dresser.
Klavier kneels down and quickly gets Apolloâs shoes off, tossing them aside. His hands are slightly shaking as he pushes his boyfriend to lie down.
âThank you,â is all he whispers to Phoenix and Miles as they start to head out. Itâs the only words he can manage out at all right now. The men offer nods and sad smiles. All four of them are about to crash and sleep until probably midday.
No matter what time they get up later, theyâll figure everything out. They always do. Apollo will heal just fine, as he has the greatest support system that anyone could ask for.
I hope someone out there got some comfort from this. Requests always open :)
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