I just wanted to send you a quick message and let you know how much I am LOVING your acotar writing!!! There's not nearly enough hurt/comfort and sickfic content in this fandom for some reason and your writing is SO good!!
Aww thank you so much! I have found some incredible fics depending on your character preference, but you do have to hunt a bit for most of them :) I really appreciate the kind words ❤️
Set after ACOWAR and the Winter Solstice. They haven’t spoken to each other in months. But Cassian can’t seem to let her go. Even if Nesta is intent on destroying herself. An imagined scene that occurs during Nesta’s descent to rock bottom. Mostly angsty things and feelings, but please heed the warnings.
He isn’t exactly sure what his life has become. But he knows this loathsome state of barely existing is not sustainable. For either of them.
Night after miserable night, Cassian keeps vigil. Aching inside as she numbs herself with booze until she can’t see straight and throws the last vestiges of her strength into mindless sex, flinging herself from one male to the next.
And inside, his heart cracks, piece by piece, until he isn’t certain there’s anything left to break. And yet it never fails to surprise him with a new hurt. A new crevice of despair to explore.
He feels the weight of her absence like water in his lungs. Sometimes it hurts so much he can’t breathe, can’t think past the ache. Past the knowledge that she’s slipping away. That he might have already lost her.
That it’s all his fault.
He knows she would hate him for it. He also knows he couldn’t help it even if he wanted to. He can’t stay away from her. Not completely. And the alternative is so much worse. So, he keeps to the shadows and rooftops. Never close enough for her to scent him, but never far if she should ever need him.
He knows he’s lying to himself. Nesta Archeron made it clear a long time ago that she does not need anyone. Least of all him.
And yet…Cassian needs her like he needs air to breathe. He came so close to losing her. He couldn’t live with himself if it happened a second time.
So he keeps watch. And ignores the treacherous voice inside that whispers too late. It’s already too late.
Cassian unfurls his wings, stretching the cramped muscles as he rolls his shoulders, yawning and shaking himself awake. It’s nearly three in the morning. The muffled noises of the bar’s patrons filter through the door, bodies bidding slurred farewells and grating his ears with their raucous laughter. But he’s only listening for one voice.
He sees her then, tripping over her own feet as she clings to a male he’s never seen before. He’s tall, built like a bull, with dark hair and even darker eyes. Eyes that rake over Nesta’s lithe frame like he’s going to devour her whole.
Cassian grimaces at the familiar rush of nausea twisting in his stomach as the male palms at her breasts through her dress and roughly pulls her closer to him. Nesta stumbles against him, looking confused for a moment, before she nuzzles into his side and wraps her arms around his neck, preening for him the best she can with the state she’s in.
Cassian gulps hard, slamming his eyes shut against the surge of despair that crashes over him without warning.
He was never her choice. Probably never will be. And he will force himself to accept that. But he won’t accept Nesta disappearing entirely from this realm of existence because of something he could have prevented.
Cassian rubs his hands over his face. His eyes feel uncomfortably gritty from lack of sleep and he needs to bathe. Dried flecks of rusty crimson decorate his forearms, his chest. A gruesome reminder of a necessary evil for every mission he’s ever been sent on. His muscles tremble from overexertion. He’d flown for hours, trying to make it back tonight, just to make sure she did, too. It’s become something of a nightly ritual. And he knows it’s foolish, but he simply cannot help himself.
He watches as they stagger towards the alleyway leading to the main street. Nesta clinging for dear life as she loses her footing once again and nearly crashes headlong into the brick wall. He suppresses the overwhelming urge to hurtle for her and sweep her up in his arms.
The other male catches her, instead. Cassian’s fists clench and he rises from his crouch to fly home. She won’t be alone tonight. And the thought of watching Nesta and this male groping each other all the way to her apartment is making him sick to his stomach.
Cassian is airborne when he feels it. The thrum of terror coursing through his veins as if to tether him, a sensation not quite his own but so acutely intertwined he can barely tell the difference at this point. He glances back towards the alleyway, towards the feeling of wrongness. His heart stutters at the sound of angry shouting. And a muffled scream.
Nesta. Nesta is screaming.
Every thought eddies from his mind as Cassian hurtles for the alleyway, tearing apart the shadows he watched them disappear into. And his heart pounds as the sounds of scuffling and glass shattering reach his ears.
The male didn’t even bother to get them off the street, didn’t bother assuming there would be a single consequence. Cassian’s ears ring and his blood boils as he plummets to the ground, landing with a jarring ricochet, sending splashes of wet earth flying in every direction upon impact.
The male glances up like a startled deer, his expression rapidly morphing from predatory to pure terror as he lays eyes on Cassian’s hulking figure looming above him. He is straddling her from behind, pinning her to the ground. He’s crushing her face into the mud and her dress has been yanked up over her shoulders, completely exposing her. The male’s trousers are undone, already shoved down around his thighs, and Cassian can’t process anything beyond the knowledge that this sack of dead meat won’t live to see the dawn of another day.
“It’s—it’s not what it looks like,” the male stammers breathlessly, releasing Nesta’s dress and doing his best to put some distance between them. “No—no, plea—!”
Cassian doesn’t hear the male’s plea for mercy as he bodily lifts him onto his feet, then further into the air, clenching his hand around the column of the bastard’s spasming throat. He lets him dangle for a few seconds, utterly silent as he stares into the other male’s dilated pupils. Then Cassian hurtles him against the wall, a few bricks crumbling loose at the sheer force of the impact. The male crumples to ground, groaning.
“I think it’s exactly what it looks like,” Cassian growls, hauling the male up by his hair and landing a punch square to his nose. Blood explodes across Cassian’s knuckles, but he barely registers the throb of pain.
He rears back, landing another powerful blow, feeling the male’s body go limp beneath him as bone and cartilage shatter beneath his fist. Cassian has no intention of stopping, but then there’s a quiet sob from somewhere close behind him.
Suddenly, his vision clears, he glances down at the unconscious male and drops him to the ground. He doesn’t matter anymore.
Panting hard, Cassian whirls around and is on his knees in an instant. He carefully pulls Nesta upright, smoothing the unruly strands of loose hair from her gaunt face, shushing her when she moans. Nesta sways onto her hands and knees in the mud.
“Are you hurt?” Cassian demands, the air stuttering in his lungs as he assesses her.
He carefully slides his large hands under her arms, balancing her mostly dead weight against him. He smooths down her rucked skirts the best he can and resists the urge to check for hidden injuries. He quickly tears off a section of his shirt’s hem to wipe her clean. She’s covered in muck and he knows she would hate it. He does his best to wipe off her face and hands at the least.
He only seems to be making the mess worse when she shakes herself free, wringing her hands before wiping them against her dress.
She slurs a few unintelligible words before clawing at his forearm, making a weak attempt to pull herself up. It’s frightening just how out of it she is.
“Here, I’ve got you,” he helps her settle into a steadier position and thumbs away dirty tears from her flushed cheeks, brushing back the rivulets of hair that have fallen free from her braid.
Nesta groans and blinks up at him briefly, but doesn’t seem to actually register him. Her glassy eyes roll as she attempts to reorient herself. The color drains from her face and fresh tears spill down her cheeks. Cassian knows she doesn’t mean for them to.
“Hey,” he whispers, thumbing a stubborn tear from her chin, his heart clenching at the raw, unfiltered pain pulsing behind her beautiful eyes. She’s so intoxicated she can barely hold her head up. Absolutely wasted, but unharmed, he determines with a quiet shudder of relief.
Her forehead abruptly drops to Cassian’s chest and he rubs her back, trying to warm her shivering frame. Why is she not wearing a coat? Maybe he should check and see if she lost it back at the bar?
She either doesn’t have the strength, or awareness to push him away. He can’t tell if she’s trembling from aftershock or the windchill. Either way, he doesn’t intend on letting her go until she stops.
“Nes?” Cassian tries again, “look at me? Can I—“
Nesta lurches with a soft grunt, gripping Cassian’s forearms like she might topple over any moment. Her chest undulates where she’s pressed up against his arm and warm liquid abruptly cascades over his wrist, splattering to the ground.
“Fuck,” Cassian curses, leaning her further over his forearm while she empties her stomach. He cups her damp forehead with his palm, holding her steady.
Nesta’s shoulders jerk as she vomits again, heavier this time. It splashes his pants and stains her dress. She dry heaves miserably, panting through her nausea.
“Take your time,” Cassian sighs, suddenly feeling exhausted as the dregs of adrenaline drain away. “It’s all right.”
“G—ge’ off of me,” she slurs, voice unsteady but somehow still dangerous. “I’ll fucking kill the bastard,” she spits, mud flying from the ends of her hair. Getting sick seems to have revived her a bit. Or at the very least, it’s pissed her off.
She curses at the bloody heap of unconscious male, screaming a vicious string of obscenities as she clumsily lurches for him. Cassian catches her before she can face-plant back into the mud.
“Nesta, stop it,” Cassian tries, barely able to contain the furious barrage of uncoordinated fists and flailing limbs. “It’s over. I won’t let him come near you.” Then softer, right against the shell of her ear, “You’re all right, I promise. You’re safe.”
“Tha’s wha’… he told me…then,” her face crumples, a fresh tear slipping free to trickle down her nose. “And…and then—,” she coughs through an aborted sob,” —left. I can’t…”
Cassian freezes, and his heart sinks even further.
“Don’t t-tell them…don’t—“
Cassian blinks down at her, uncertain if playing along will help or simply reignite her anger. He decides to try.
“I won’t. I won’t tell. But Nesta, we should go—“
“Liar,” Nesta growls, trembling fists thumping weakly against his chest. “My sister can’t—“ she pauses to gulp down another wet noise, “—can’t know….’s a burden.” And Nesta’s eyes overflow with fresh tears, her next breath hitching dangerously as she hiccups through another wretched sob.
Cassian immediately gathers her back to his chest, rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades. The fact that she’s letting him only fuels his worry. Her breath is hot against his collarbone, frantic. He slides his hand up to cup the back of her neck, stroking soothingly along her nape.
He feels Nesta’s muscles go limp, and wonders if maybe she’s passed out. Then she jolts against him, sharp and unexpected. She makes a feeble attempt to cover her mouth. Cassian cranes his neck back to try and peer at her face.
“Hey? Are you—“
She shudders involuntarily, then begins vomiting through her fingers down his front — not much this time, but enough to make him grimace. He’s thankful it’s begun raining. Her forehead falls against his chest when she’s finished retching and he adjusts his weight in order to scoop her up into his arms. Trying to clean them both up at this rate seems pointless. She groans at the unexpected shift in gravity, clenching her fists in his soiled shirt.
“Easy,” Cassian hums into her hair when she whimpers. He holds very still for a moment, settling her easily against his chest while she breathes through it. He waits a few seconds to be sure.
“Tell me if you feel like you’re gonna puke again,” he says. She doesn’t so much as grunt and he thinks maybe she’s finally fallen asleep.
Cassian debates the merits of flying versus walking the few blocks to her apartment. He quickly decides that he doesn’t want to risk upsetting her volatile stomach more than necessary, and begins the trek on foot.
He focuses on the warmth of her body pressed against his. The tickle of her hair under his chin. The rhythm of her breaths against his chest. It’s the closest she’s been to him in months and it’s wonderful and overwhelming and horrible all at once.
Because she’s passed out and doesn’t know him, doesn’t have any idea he’s carrying her, touching her.
He prays that she won’t remember tonight when she wakes. Mostly for her sake, but a little bit for his, too. He doesn’t think he can bear the thought of how disgusted she would be. To know he witnessed everything. To know that he was there and put a stop to it. To know that he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stay away.
Gods, he is so royally fucked.
Cassian halts when Nesta presses closer, sighing softly in her sleep as she nuzzles her nose against his skin. His muscles tense.
She hums and settles again, her thumb stroking absently over his chest.
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” Cassian murmurs, the reassurance sounding desperate even to his own ears. He dares to press his lips to her rain soaked hair. “I’ve got you. Almost home.”
“‘Kay…” Nesta slurs into his shirt.
Cassian glances down at the slumbering female in his arms. This stubborn, aggravating, relentless, beautiful, broken female. Something inside his chest, at the core of him, tugs so hard he nearly falls to his knees. An instinct, a feeling of longing so strong, so intense that he can’t bear the thought of letting her go again.
And somehow, although Cassian does not know what the future holds, he’s feels a certainty that somehow, some way, Nesta will be there. Because without her, his future does not exist.
And it’s this certainty that allows him to carry Nesta home, coax a little water into her, put her to bed — and finally allows him to leave. Trusting that it may not be today, it may not be in a year, but someday.
Someday whispers to him, cradles the hurt in his heart, and soothes his deepest fear.
He will wait for her. He will be there when she’s ready. He doesn’t think she hears it. But Cassian still makes her the promise before he leaves, sealed with the gentlest of kisses atop her forehead.
Set during ACOSF. Nesta and Cassian have an argument during one of their training sessions and Nesta has a bone to pick. Cassian returns from Rhysand’s court the following evening. Nesta’s anger quickly turns to worry when she realizes there is something very wrong with him.
Welp, guys. Guess what my new hyper fixation series is? This is unabashed Cassian whump. Because I really needed some of that in my life. This is also my deranged take on how Nesta first discovers wing play. That’s it. That’s the story. Oh yeah, Az makes a guest appearance ❤️ Enjoy my second ACOTAR offering!
——————
Nesta was furious. Specifically, Nesta was furious with Cassian. But she supposed that wasn’t anything new.
Somehow, he managed to get under her skin more effectively than any other being she had ever known in her life. A rare talent, indeed.
She had purposefully positioned herself with her book in a chair close to the entrance to await his return from court. She had a bone to pick with him and was not in a patient mood.
He had snapped at her during training this morning. After he’d instructed them to be in the ring an hour earlier than usual, and then had the audacity to show up almost half an hour late.
To be fair, she had started it. Insisting that she needed to take an extra break and he had not so kindly informed her that if she didn’t get her ass back in the ring and finish the godsdamned set he would gladly add another hour to their session. Nesta had flipped him off and taken an extra three minutes just to watch him fume. His agitation was palpable for the entire session.
The extra hour Cassian promised them was spent running suicides up the side of a remarkably jagged hill. Gwyn had nearly passed out. Emerie had thrown up, and Nesta was seething. Plus she had one hell of a fresh bruise blooming across her shoulder after missing a step on an unstable boulder.
As much as she hated to admit it, it was humiliating. And the heated exchange had been on display for the entire group. She chose to keep her mouth shut in the moment as she had been too exhausted for a full blown argument.
But the behavior was very unlike him. His harsh tone and outright annoyance towards her had stung. Whether she admitted it to herself or not.
Cassian had been off all morning. Distant and restless. In place of his usual good-natured teasing was an unnerving solemnity that was entirely foreign to her. She had meant to ask him how the meetings with Rhysand had gone. He had been so quiet since he returned last night.
That was until he started barking orders at her in the ring. Now Nesta decided she did not give a fuck about the details of the meeting. Now she simply wanted to rip his balls off and watch him writhe on the ground before her while he begged for her forgiveness.
A jarring crash startled her from her novel, immediately followed by a frustrated groan. She listened to him mutter distractedly to himself and watched as he stumbled inside the double doors.
She quirked an unimpressed eyebrow. Cassian was…disheveled, to say the least. His hair was mussed, as if he hadn’t bothered combing a hand through the unruly strands since morning practice. Sweat glistened on his skin and his dark complexion had drained nearly to gray.
Nesta’s initial surge of fury faltered as a twinge of worry bloomed. She narrowed her eyes, assessing him more closely. The unsteady gait, his hand unconsciously drifting towards the wall to check his balance, the way his throat worked as if he were having difficulty swallowing.
“Cassian.”
He nearly tripped over the rug when he heard her voice. Had he not noticed her? That was more concerning than his appearance. He noticed everything. Especially when it came to her. Always.
“Shit,” he cursed. “Nesta. I didn’t see you.” He waved at her, looking rather dazed.
“Finally took my advice and flew into a wall?” She asked tersely.
He snorted. “Something like that.”
“Are you hurt?”
He blinked, seeming surprised by the inquiry. His pinched features softened a bit.
“I’m fine. Just an awkward landing.”
“Good.” In one fluid motion she rose from her chair, tossed her book aside on the coffee table and strode towards him, pinning him against the wall with a hand pressed to his chest.
“Just who in the actual hell do you think you are?”
“Huh?” He gaped back at her, sweaty and wide-eyed and disoriented.
So, the interaction that morning hadn’t even been a blip on his radar. So inconsequential that he had no idea why she was mere seconds from biting his head off. Nesta didn’t know why she was surprised. Males were all the same.
“You do not have the right,” she barreled on, barely pausing for breath, “to order me around like one of your foot soldiers.” Her nostrils flared and Cassian swallowed hard. “Just because we’ve gotten-“ she hesitated, struggling to find the right word, “— used to each other that does not mean you can—“
“What the hell are you talking about?” Cassian interrupted, features twisting in confusion.
“You can’t be serious,” Nesta gaped at him.
Cassian heaved a long suffering sigh, his breath hitching towards the end. Almost as if he were stifling a hiccup. He raised a fist to his lips as he slid along the wall, trying to shimmy away from her hand.
“I’m really not in the mood, Nes,” Cassian grimaced. “Can we talk in the morning?”
“I knew you were an idiot, but I never took you for a coward, Cassian.”
He winced at her harsh tone.
“Are you actually trying to get out of this?” Nesta demanded, digging her pointer finger into his chest with renewed vigor.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Cassian managed a tight smile. “Especially if I knew what it is I’m supposed to be getting out of. But right now I really need to—“
“What’s wrong with you?” Nesta snapped, noting the way his gigantic form seemed to be trembling with involuntary shivers, his shoulders hunching as if he couldn’t help curling over to protect himself. She heard him gulp carefully before he dared to open his mouth again.
“Jus’…tired, I guess,” he murmured, a noticeable slur lacing his words. “Long day. Sorry.”
She wanted to point out that he was apologizing for the wrong thing. But a second later, Cassian began slumping against the wall, eyes fluttering.
He inhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head against an apparent swell of dizziness.
“Cassian.” Not a question. A demand to look at her.
Cassian’s hazel eyes lifted to meet her own, glassy and unfocused.
Nesta’s finger retracted, her palm flattening against his chest in its place, rubbing a tentative circle. An unspoken question. The gesture seemed to unbalance him.
Cassian swallowed thickly once more, forcing out a steadying exhale as he attempted to straighten.
“It’s late,” he grunted softly, “I’m going to bed. You should do the same.”
“It didn’t matter to you,” Nesta said, eyes lowered. Ashamed he had made her feel this way to begin with. Disgusted she had let herself indulge in the feeling. Let it ruin her entire day. He wasn’t worth it. She would tell herself that until she finally believed it.
“What didn’t matter?” He looked genuinely distressed, searching her face for an answer. “Please, I don’t—“
“Forget it,” Nesta spat, angry and simmering with an acute hurt that she was doing a piss-poor job of disguising. “It doesn’t matter. Clearly.”
“Nes,” Cassian reached for her as she turned away from him, grasping for her hand.
She snatched it away and left him clinging to the wall. Every intention of retrieving her book and escaping to her bedroom to fume in peace.
“Nesta,” Cassian begged weakly, desperation practically vibrating from him.
She faltered at the soft groan and muffled thud that immediately punctuated his plea.
Nesta whirled on her heel and froze. Her mouth went dry and her heartbeat thundered in her eardrums. The world ceased to spin. Or had begun spinning too fast. She wasn’t certain.
Cassian had collapsed. He lay crumpled on his side against the wall, long legs splayed before him and his head lolling against his chest at an awkward angle. Completely unconscious.
It took Nesta a few seconds to shake herself back to reality as the world resumed around her, and her panic fueled instincts took over.
She rushed back to him, clothed knees sliding on the floor and bumping against Cassian’s spread thighs in her haste to reach him. She shook his shoulders. No response. She pressed her head to his chest, calming her frantic breathing so she could hear… yes, his heartbeat. Too fast. Much too fast. But it was there.
Nesta sagged in relief. The bastard wasn’t dead.
She cupped his face in her hands, supporting his neck as she raised his chin to assess. She felt the heat radiating beneath her fingers, roiling and insistent and wrong. Felt her fingers slip over the sticky sweat coating his skin.
He was burning, his cheeks flushed with fever. And he wasn’t waking up.
Nesta patted his overly warm face, gentle at first, and then more insistent when he didn’t budge.
“Cassian? Open your eyes,” she swallowed the tremor in her voice and forced her words into some semblance of a command. “Get up.”
He groaned, the noise rumbling low in his throat, but he did not open his eyes.
“Cassian,” Nesta demanded. “You’re scaring me,” she ran her knuckles over his cheek, balancing his head against her free palm. She could feel the panic threatening to overwhelm, found herself glancing around for someone to help. Anyone. Where was the damn Shadowsinger when you actually needed him?
Cassian shivered involuntarily, eyelashes fluttering. Blown orbs encased in hazel blinked up at her, slowly, as if he had no idea where he was or which realm he was in.
Breath Nesta hadn’t even realized she’d been holding rushed out of her. She wilted over him, her forehead momentarily coming to rest against his shoulder as he took stock of himself.
“Nes?” he slurred, staring up at her in confusion. Then after a moment, he smiled drunkenly and moved to thumb away a loose piece of her hair that was hanging in his face. “Hey,” he whispered. He coaxed the strand over the shell of her ear and adjusted his hips underneath her. “You’re…on top of me?” Woozy amusement danced in his dazed eyes.
“Don’t hey me,” Nesta huffed, struggling to keep her welling tears at bay. “Don’t fucking do that.” She pulled his hand away from the side of her neck, immediately climbing off of him.
“Sorry,” Cassian tried to push up straighter. “Think I got dizzy.”
“No shit,” Nesta glared, checking his pulse again with her middle and forefinger pressed to his wrist. “You’re running a fever. How long have you been running fever?”
“Um,” Cassian gulped, head lolling against her hand. “Don’ know.” His thumb grazed her wrist, circling once. An entirely unconscious gesture, she realized. He was quiet for a few seconds, sorting himself out.
“I don’t feel good,” he frowned, as if just realizing his predicament. His shoulders jolted ominously, unintentionally punctuating his statement.
“You don’t say.”
Nesta froze, watching warily as the column of his throat bobbed again. She saw him fighting against the obvious urge to retch. He shuddered, fists clenching as he nearly lost control. His throat worked convulsively while he struggled through the nausea. She heard a wet choking noise, quickly followed by a heavy swallow, then another. Suddenly, the situation had become dire.
“Cassian?” She whispered, her fingers hesitating against his cheek, more worried than she cared to admit to herself. “What do you need?”
He pressed a fist to his mouth, closing his eyes as he rolled onto his knees, swaying precariously while he waited for the scenery to slide back into place beneath him.
“Think I need—the bathing room,” he gulped, staggering against the wall as Nesta helped him to his feet.
She was afraid of that. He looked so nauseous she was surprised he hadn’t already lost it.
“Please don’t vomit yet,” she begged, unsure if she was imploring him or her own constitution.
Cassian looked down helplessly at her as he belched into his hand, low and wet. A warning. They needed to move quickly.
“Come on,” she urged him forward. She had only passed by his bedchamber once, but she navigated the hallways winding towards his room easily enough. His scent seemed to be much stronger in certain parts of the House. She didn’t pause to consider the fact that apparently she was fucking scenting him now.
“Almost there,” Nesta reassured. They staggered to a stop when Cassian curled over his knees to stifle a retch with his palm. But he managed to swallow a few times, inhaling carefully through his nose, and pushed away from the wall.
“Now or later?” Nesta asked, glancing between the bathing room, a few more steps down the hallway, and his bedchamber. He looked ready to collapse on his feet.
“I—don’t know,” Cassian panted. He still held his stomach, considering. “Feel strange.”
“Strange how?”
“Don’t know,” he slurred unhelpfully. “Dizzy.” His eyelashes fluttered and his shoulders rolled with another aborted retch. He composed himself, coughing roughly into his fist.
“Hold on.” Nesta decided for both of them, and maneuvered him into the bathing room. Cassian didn’t protest. Although she was certain it was because he couldn’t exactly open his mouth at the moment for fear of losing his breakfast.
Nesta breathed a sigh of relief when she realized he was going to make it. She guided him over the toilet when he teetered sideways. She began removing his leather wrist bands and undoing his jacket strings. Cassian tugged weakly at his damp tunic, unsuccessfully attempting to pull the fabric over his head.
“‘S too hot,” he complained, inhaling a few careful breaths through his nose.
“Here, let me,” Nesta placated, batting his uncooperative hands away and quickly peeling off his shirt. His skin glistened with fever sweat, even as relentless shivering seized his muscles.
Cassian criss-crossed his arms over the bowl, letting his head rest against his forearm. He started coughing again and spat into the water, waiting.
“You don’t…” he paused to gag in his mouth, lips stubbornly closed. “-don’t have to stay,” he choked out. He seemed to be waiting for her to decide to leave before he fully gave in to the nausea. Before she saw everything.
Nesta considered. If it had been anyone else she would have left them to their misery long ago. But something in her chest had begun to ache, watching Cassian struggle to lift his head. And earlier, he hadn’t woken up for…what felt like a very long while. And she refused to think about the last time she’d seen look him so vulnerable. The last time he hadn’t woken up.
Didn’t change the fact that he’d scared the shit out of her. She wasn’t going to let him keel over. Not tonight, anyway.
“You can’t be by yourself right now.”
“I’ll be fine,” Cassian insisted with a distracted wave in her general direction. He turned back towards the bowl with a grunt to spit up more saliva.
“Don’t be stupid, Cassian. You can barely hold your head up.”
So, it was decided. At least for Nesta. And Cassian could bitch all he wanted, but whether he admitted it to her or not, he needed help.
“Can you try some water?” Nesta coaxed, reaching to fill a glass near the sink.
“Mmm,” Cassian groaned, giving a quick shake of his head. “Feel too full,” he managed thickly.
“Just try some,” Nesta sighed, tipping the glass to his lips. “I think it’ll help.”
Cassian looked skeptical, but apparently did not have the energy to protest further. He accepted the glass she offered and swallowed obediently, throat working as he managed a few tentative mouthfuls.
After he’d had as much as he could handle, he crouched back on his heels, sitting very still for several seconds, breathing deeply while his body decided if it was going to accept the water. A moment later he shook his head in defeat, lurching forward with a harsh gag as watery drool fell past his lips. Nesta gave a surprised yelp, hand hovering uncertainly, but not quite touching him.
“Please don’t,” Nesta begged, turning her head away.
Cassian braced his arms against the bowl and belched deeply, immediately spitting up a lukewarm mouthful of the water Nesta had just plied him with. His muscles quivered as he fought the urge to keep going, to allow his body’s instincts take over and just let it up. He felt Nesta frantically gathering his hair away from his face, bunching the strands in her fist against his nape.
“Can’t really help it, sweetheart,” Cassian slurred. “Sorry.”
She flicked his ear and settled into a crouch close behind him, against her better judgement. She rested her fingers tentatively against his lower back, expecting him to flinch away. Instead, he seemed to relax into her touch. She despised the flood of relief at the unconscious acceptance of her presence.
Unspoken permission granted, Nesta began tracing light circles into the coiled grooves of muscle along the broad plane of his back. She did her best to avoid looking inside the bowl, swallowing back an involuntary gag of her own.
Cassian hummed, appreciative, but so overwhelmed with the need to be sick again that he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He was panting miserably now as he adjusted his crouch in preparation. She heard the next attempt to swallow catch in his throat, heard the gurgle of liquid as his body’s reflexes kicked in and his muscles prepared for release.
When Cassian felt his stomach contract again, he didn’t fight it. He opened his mouth and let it come, ugly and brutal, but a welcome relief after holding it down for so long.
He was shocked to find Nesta still clutching a fistful of his hair in place when he eventually came up for air. Especially because he could tell she wanted to be anywhere but with him while he puked his guts up.
“Finished?” Nesta wrinkled her nose sympathetically, reaching to offer him the water glass.
Cassian was too exhausted to do more than shake his head. His mouth was already filling with more bitter saliva, jaw going slack as a fresh wave of nausea sluiced through him.
“Fuck,” he swore, spitting up the excess. “Nes, really. I’m ok, you don’t —“, he paused to burp, “—don’t have to stay with me.” His stomach gurgled unhappily and he winced.
“No,” Nesta agreed. “I don’t.” But she didn’t budge from where she sat perched behind him.
“I’m not done,” he warned, “probably going to be here a while.”
His shoulders tensed as he repositioned his upper body back over the toilet, as if bracing for her to call him disgusting and storm out. She supposed a few months ago she might have done just that, just to spite him. She felt ashamed of the thought now. And his odd behavior earlier in the day suddenly made more sense. Assuming he’d been feeling sick since that morning. She still needed to talk to him, but she could also feel her anger dissolving in the wake of his suffering.
Despite her vested interest in ensuring Cassian didn’t drown in the toilet bowl, she also didn’t want to force her company on him if he preferred privacy. She would understand if he did.
“Do you…want me to go?” Nesta hated herself for dreading his answer.
Cassian turned his head to look up at her, most of the weight still balanced on his forearm. His eyes were wet, stress tears leaking out to drip over his nose. But they softened as he took in her expression. Softened just for her.
He opened his mouth, presumably to answer, but his features went slack and the blood drained from his face. She quickly combed his hair back tighter and followed him up to her knees as his large frame bowed forward with the contraction.
At first nothing happened. Cassian swayed unsteadily and mumbled something she couldn’t make out. The floor seemed to be tilting beneath him. The arm supporting his head slid off the rim of the bowl and Nesta caught his forehead before it hit the edge. Her concern spiked as she realized just how dulled his reflexes were.
Cassian shuddered beneath her, the abrupt movement sending his throat into full contraction. He could do little more than groan as once again, his stomach contents came pouring out in heavy gushes, spilling violently into the bowl.
It went on for several horrible, unrelenting minutes. Finally, it seemed he was close to emptying himself out, bringing up little more than bile. Cassian gulped down a frantic breath of air, finally able to fill his lungs, desperately trying to settle his stomach.
Nesta dared to slide her hand carefully around his midsection, kneading at the spasming cramps as his body continued to revolt.
She felt his muscles seize up beneath her fingers and hummed sympathetically as Cassian retched on nothing but air.
“Calm down,” Nesta soothed, massaging circles into his overly warm flesh. “You’re empty.”
Cassian coughed, straining to catch his breath, his stomach stubbornly refusing to acknowledge that he was indeed empty.
“Nes…”
Quiet, barely a whisper.
“Yes?”
“Get Az.” Cassian’s voice was thick with lingering sickness. He sounded strange, not quite coherent.
“Why?”
“G—gonna pass out.”
Cassian’s coiled muscles went limp as he made good on his warning and slid to the floor.
“Oh, fuck,” Nesta cried, “No. We’re not doing this again. Cassian, sit up!”
To his credit, he did make an attempt to follow her order. Trying to rally his waning strength and stay awake. But the moment he was upright, his eyes rolled back in his head and he fully lost consciousness.
“Fuck,” Nesta repeated.
She was going to need help moving him.
——————
Cassian could feel hands roving over his chest, his face, urgent and insistent. He wanted them to stop touching him. He wanted to sleep and be left alone. He was so tired. And every movement seemed to hurt more than usual. He felt large hands snaking underneath his armpits and suddenly the floor fell out from beneath him as someone began hauling him upwards.
He groaned, only semi-conscious as his forehead came to rest against a strong shoulder. He vaguely recognized Azriel’s scent, too woozy to wonder why he’d come back to the House so soon.
“Come on, help me out,” Azriel said in his ear. “I told you to stay at the camp.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Someone asked from behind them, a female voice whose scent he also recognized…craved….
And then it was all Cassian could do to keep from vomiting down his brother’s back as Azriel hauled him over his shoulder and walked him the few steps to his bed chamber, laying him down on the massive mattress.
“He never listens to me,” Azirel replied in that calm monotone.
Cassian immediately rolled onto his side, gulping down a fresh surge of queasiness. He couldn’t help gagging into the sheets, but nothing came up.
“Be gentle!” He heard Nesta demand from somewhere over Az’s shoulder, and nearly choked with delirious laughter when he saw her smack his brother’s arm.
Az, for his part, appeared entirely unbothered by her tone, sitting on the edge of the bed to gauge Cassian’s temperature. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly at the heat rolling off his brother.
Azriel watched Nesta fuss over him. She had gone to fetch an empty basin, a pitcher of water, and a few extra cloths from the bathroom. She adjusted his bedsheets and arranged the items in the order she intended to use them.
“It’s been going around the camp,” Azriel explained. “He’s been off all day. I told him he’d wear himself out. Told him to rest.”
“What’s been going around?”
Cassian made an embarrassingly needy noise when she settled down beside him, content to nuzzle in to her scent and lose himself in the glorious feeling of her fingers in his hair. His head was pounding, but her fingers felt so nice.
Azriel thought for a moment, “I suppose that it is similar to your human flu. Except the symptoms are more acute, more…intense.” He frowned down at Cassian. “Some of the Illyrians have been ill for almost two weeks.”
Cassian wished he wasn’t already aware of just how much of an understatement that was. They had visited a few of the more severe cases over the last three days. He was glad his brother had neglected to mention the two that had died the night before.
After a few contemplative moments Az said, “You probably shouldn’t be in here. He’s definitely contagious.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Nesta replied without hesitation.
And although Cassian agreed with his brother— she should not be anywhere near him like this—he couldn’t help the swell of warmth that flooded his chest at her unwavering response. His muscles relaxed just a fraction when he realized she wasn’t going to leave him alone. She would stay.
“Will he survive?”
And directly to the point as always.
Cassian couldn’t help snorting softly. If this illness was what took him down after all they’d been through in five hundred godsdamned years, he didn’t deserve to live.
His throat felt too raw to speak properly, but he slid his hand over the sheets until he found hers, and gave it what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.
It’s going to be all right.
She clearly thought he was seeking comfort because she shushed him, not unkindly, and smoothed a damp strand of hair out of his eyes.
“Of course,” was Azriel’s gentle response. “But from what we’ve been dealing with in the camps, he’s in for a rough couple of days. Or longer.” Then, quieter, almost to himself, “Cassian does not often get sick.”
He could feel Azriel’s spike of anxiety. His shadows circled the bed, almost hovering, as if awaiting orders.
“Get the healer, Azriel.” Nesta’s features were set, her mouth a hard line and eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she poured icy water into the bowl and began wetting one of the cloths.
“Nes,” Cassian croaked, immediately regretting opening his mouth as her name grated past his sore throat. “I’ll be fine. I jus’—“ he faltered when she laid the cloth securely over his forehead, the wonderful coolness soothing the burning beneath his skin, “—need to…sleep it off,” Cassian’s involuntary sigh of relief was audible, his eyes drifting closed without his permission.
“Azriel.”
Nesta’s voice was quiet, but her tone was like polished steel. Dangerous. So deadly serious he knew anyone who wasn’t his brother would have been scampering out the door as fast as they could put their legs in front of them.
Azriel merely glanced past her to Cassian. He could practically see the smoke billowing out of Nesta’s ears at the delay.
“Az,” Cassian made sure his eyes were focused and held his voice as steady as he could manage when he told his brother, “I’ll be fine. The healers can’t be spared right now. They should be tending to—“ he bit his lip, glancing briefly at Nesta. “—to the others. I just need sleep.” Cassian tried to muster a smile for her. “We can fight in the morning. I won’t forget. Promise.”
Azriel didn’t look convinced, but he wouldn’t go against Cassian’s decision.
Nesta stared at him, studying him intently for an uncomfortably long moment. He saw the second her shields slid firmly into place. Then she carefully placed the bowl on the floor. Rose from the bed and smoothed her skirts. His heart sank into his already roiling stomach. He knew what that look meant.
“Fine,” she didn’t look back at Cassian. Instead, she strode past Azriel, heading for the door. “Since you’re both so unconcerned, I’ll leave you to it. I should have been in bed three hours ago.”
“Nesta, wait,” Cassian groaned, angling his neck to follow her retreating figure. “Stay.”
Cassian didn’t know if she could hear him, but he still flinched when she shut the door behind her. He already missed her scent, her hands, her company. He was mortified to feel his eyes welling.
Don’t leave.
He let himself whimper into the pillow, grinding his teeth through a particularly intense cramp. Her fingers had been the most incredible thing he’d ever felt. He tried mimicking her ministrations, kneading his own hand directly into his stomach muscles like she’d done earlier, coaxing them to relax. But it wasn’t working, his stomach continued cramping horribly, refusing to release him from the spasms. He must not be doing it right.
“Cass,” Azriel redirected his attention.
It took longer than Cassian was comfortable admitting for his eyes to focus on his brother. The room spun in a disorienting circle and he rolled back over, shoving his face into the mattress, hoping if he stayed perfectly still, the seasick feeling would pass.
“Maybe she’s right about the healer,” Azriel ventured. “This hit you fast. It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
“I know,” Cassian mumbled, his breaths already evening out. “But…shouldn’t waste their time on me.”
Az opened his mouth to protest, but Cassian shook his head.
“—‘s fine. Dealt with worse.”
“What do you need?”
Nesta’s hands…Nesta. But now she was angry with him. Always so angry…
“Sleep.”
“All right,” Azriel conceded. “I’ll check in later. Don’t forget to drink your water, dumbass.”
Cassian waved a thumbs-up in Azriel’s general direction, relieved that he could finally close his eyes without feeling like he had to convince everyone of just how fine he was.
He was dead to the world in seconds.
——————
Something was wrong.
Nesta wasn’t certain how she knew. Except that she woke from a restless sleep with a horrible sense of dread. An uneasy knot of terror twisting deep in her gut. And— a tug. A strange sensation of longing for…something. She didn’t know what. Only that it ached terribly, cried out to her in a silent scream, swallowing all rational thought whole. Nesta choked back a sudden sob as it nearly tore from her throat. Where the hell had that come from?
Cassian. Something was wrong. Fuck….
Nesta jumped at the abrupt knock on her bedroom door. She took a moment to compose herself and slid out of bed, wiping her eyes and smoothing her loose braid. She opened the door and found Azriel standing outside, fist raised as though poised to knock again.
He lowered his hand and cleared his throat nervously.
“I’m leaving,” he told her. “I’ll bring back a healer. I need you to sit up with him.”
Nesta’s brows rose in surprise. Then her stomach flipped at the realization that his condition must have worsened considerably if Cassian could no longer prevent Azriel from leaving to fetch a healer.
She studied the other male. The defeated droop of his shoulders, the guilt furrowing his brow. The way his shadows seemed to flit restlessly about him.
“He keeps asking for you,” Az scrubbed a hand over his exhausted features. “I don’t even think he knows he’s doing it. Please? Just go sit with him.”
And the quiet desperation in his voice cleaved at Nesta’s heart. She knew Azriel was assuming she was going to slam the door in his face, maybe tell him to fuck off because they didn’t listen to her earlier. And Az would be forced to leave his brother alone, without bringing Cassian the only comfort he’d asked for these past miserable hours. And inexplicably, impossibly, that comfort was her.
Nesta opened the door and pushed past Azriel, heading directly for Cassian’s room.
“If he dies before you return,” Nesta called over her shoulder, her words razor sharp, “—don’t bother coming back.”
It wasn’t fair to him. Nesta knew that Azriel was just as worried. But she had no one else here to direct her anger towards. And if she kept it inside she knew she was going to lose her mind to the fear, instead.
And so she did not look back as she hurried down the hall, spurred on even quicker by that godsdamned ache throbbing in her chest.
The room was dark, her figure casting long shadows before her as the light from the hall spilled through the doorway. His scent was so strong, roiling with pure, undiluted terror. She nearly gasped as a heaviness settled over her, something dark and wrong and so all consuming that she couldn’t tell which of them it was emanating from. Only that it was…wrong.
Cassian was curled on his side under the blankets. His chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm, too shallow, the air rattling in his lungs. He was moaning softly in his sleep. The sounds of his distress filled the space between them. Nesta realized that she would do just about anything to make those noises stop.
Nightmare. That’s what this was. He was trapped in a nightmare. She could feel it writhing in his subconscious like a living thing. Awful and overwhelming and he couldn’t find his way out. Couldn’t get out….
Because inside the void was death. Death and pain and nauseating fear and the scent of it clung to everywhere. There was so much blood on his hands. And he couldn’t wash it away, and he couldn’t forget a single one of them. Couldn’t save them. Couldn’t save her….
Cassian whimpered something in his sleep that sounded like her name. He trembled beneath the sheets, body straining against an invisible force.
Nesta didn’t realize she’d climbed onto the bed until she was hovering over him, her hands moving over his bare shoulders and chest of their own accord, trying to turn him over. Trying to pull him out.
Her heart stopped beating for a split second when he slurred her name once more. So desperately full of anguished sorrow that it took her breath away.
“I’m here,” she told him, smoothing back his unruly hair. “Open your eyes, Cassian.”
Cassian thrashed beneath her, his sleep addled noises growing more frantic. But he did not wake.
“Cassian,” she tried again, desperation slithering into her voice despite herself. “It’s a dream. Just a bad dream.”
Cassian gulped down what sounded like a sob as he burrowed further into the blankets, mumbling incoherent nonsense and sweating through the sheets.
Nesta stroked his brow, wincing at the heat she felt. Cassian seemed to unconsciously lean in to her touch. His wings were splayed over the mattress at an awkward angle that did not look the least bit comfortable.
Cassian cried out, suddenly jerking upright and inadvertently throwing Nesta off of him as he scrambled back against the headboard. His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving as he struggled out of deep sleep.
His hazel eyes were bloodshot, darting wildly around the room. He made a small, disbelieving sound of relief when they finally landed on her. His bottom lip quivered and his eyes glistened, threatening to overflow any second.
“N-Nes…Nesta?”
Cassian reached for her, as if not believing she truly stood before him.
Nesta crawled back over to him, cupping his face in both hands, stroking the tears from his cheeks. His fever was raging, glazing his eyes and dulling his movements.
“I’m here,” she soothed, making sure to stay in his line of vision. “You’re all right.”
Cassian rolled onto his knees towards her, face crumpling as he engulfed her in his arms, burying himself against her stomach. His hands shook as he stroked up and down her sides, needing to feel that she was really there with him.
“It’s all right,” she repeated, running her fingers through the tangled strands of his hair. “Just a bad dream.”
“Y-yeah—“ Cassian’s voice trembled as he clutched at her, his whiskers tickling her stomach through the thin layer of her nightgown. He rose up higher on his knees, petting her hair, kneading his thumbs against her temple as he searched her face and then her body for signs of harm, for any sign that she was in pain.
She had already lived part of the nightmare he’d been trapped in. Wished she hadn’t been able to feel every fucking thing he felt all over again in those dreadful moments before waking. Nesta’s own breath hitched dangerously.
“You’re…all right?” His chest jumped with a hiccup.
Nesta swallowed, that aggravating tugging sensation thrumming insistently when she rose to meet him, looping her arms around his neck.
“Yes,” she whispered. “So are you.”
Cassian closed his eyes and nodded, letting his forehead fall against the crook of her neck. The broad shoulders jolted against her, his nose smooshing into her collarbone in a desperate attempt to regain his equilibrium. He huffed out a warm puff of air through his nose, followed by an audible gulp.
Nesta pulled away to study him. She rubbed his chest and retrieved the bin from the floor with her free hand. She could feel that he was about to throw up. His fever was too high and he was far too disoriented to bother denying the residual nausea. She could feel his control slipping as consciousness reignited the symptoms that had been lying dormant for the past few hours.
He released her abruptly, leaning to the side to retch into his palm. Nesta shoved the container between his legs just in time for Cassian to burp up a messy stream of liquid. A heavier gush immediately followed without requiring any effort on his part. Cassian was flirting with unconsciousness again as he drooled into to the bin, trying unsuccessfully to clear his throat.
“Fuck,” he coughed, bowing further over his knees when his stomach seized again.
Nesta brought a damp cloth to his lips, wiping away the worst of the mess. Cassian swayed, shoulders hitching ominously when he belched again over his lap. He wasn’t even trying to keep up a facade any longer. Between the fever and lingering nightmare, Cassian’s tolerance was spent.
Nesta paused her ministrations, holding the cloth loosely against his mouth as a precaution while he composed himself, making sure the latest expulsion wasn’t about to become productive again. Finally, he nodded, panting roughly as she set the soiled cloth aside and replaced it with a glass of water.
Cassian shook his head, not wanting to risk putting anything else in his stomach.
“Can’t,” he croaked, voice rough from sleep and the unexpected bout of vomiting.
“You’re dehydrated,” Nesta argued gently. “Just try a few small sips.”
Cassian groaned in response, curling in on himself as he collapsed onto the pillows at an awkward angle. He coughed roughly into the mattress, grunting at the effort it took to force a swallow. His uneasy stomach rolled in protest at the abrupt movement.
“Hush,” Nesta soothed, her fingers straying lazily over the arc of his back, stroking over the sinuous membrane connecting the joint of his left wing to his shoulder.
Cassian’s entire body shuddered and he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, clenching the bedsheets in his fist. He exhaled slowly, trying to calm his breathing. Nesta’s fingers paused, she frowned down at him.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “Did I hurt you?” She slid her fingers lightly along the velvety winged flesh fluttering against his ribcage.
Cassian gasped, inhaling another startled breath. “N—no,” he slurred. “Feels….” he trailed off, a moan tangling with the ghost of her name on his lips, “—‘s good.” He keened at the sudden pressure of her thumb circling the base of his other wing. The membrane rippled involuntarily beneath her touch, unfurling of its own accord.
“What?” She asked, curiously sliding the back of her fingernail against a raised vein.
Cassian’s mouth hung open as he panted, “Holy mother, Nesta….”
Nesta halted, caught off guard by his reaction. At first she assumed he was cramping, but her ministrations seemed to loosen his muscles, calm his frantic breathing. The furrow between his brows smoothed and when he opened his eyes again, they seemed a little clearer. Or he was simply coming down from the adrenaline surge after getting sick.
“Your hands are…fucking magic—“ a wet cough of hysterical laughter burst from his chest. He sounded absolutely delirious. She wasn’t certain whether or not that was a good thing.
“Keep…keep going—“
She arched a surprised eyebrow. A smile curved at the stern corner of her mouth as she stroked a single, deliberate forefinger along the thick shaft of muscle connecting soft membrane to the rougher web of flesh along the outer edge of his wings.
His response was immediate. Cassian groaned, completely unrestrained, his breath hitching unevenly. “You…gods—“ he slurred, fingers roving over the blankets, searching for her.
She obliged, allowing his hand to close over the one she still held pressed to his chest. He slid their entwined hands down to his sternum, past his belly button, and finally coming to rest just below the dip in his lower stomach. Cassian sighed appreciatively at the unexpected reprieve from the misery of the last several hours.
She knew she could have easily kept going, would have been willing to offer him a pleasant few minutes of escape to ease his discomfort. But Nesta took advantage of his brief moment of lucidity to accomplish a much more pressing goal.
“Try some water?” She paused the massage to gauge his reaction.
Cassian hummed a soft, noncommittal noise in response, sliding his free hand further down her thigh, circling his fingers suggestively over the smooth skin.
“Will you stay?”
And Nesta’s heart clenched.
“Will you try some water?” Nesta countered. “You need to keep some liquid down.”
Cassian nodded, closing his eyes when the room swam. He pushed himself up on his elbows and accepted the glass she raised to his lips, covering her hand with his own to tip it.
He managed a sip, then choked on the second attempt and the meager mouthful Cassian had forced himself to swallow made a swift reappearance. He spluttered and spit up the excess into the cup Nesta now held steady below his chin.
“That’s okay,” Nesta soothed, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.
“Sorry,” he coughed. “Can’t swallow.”
“You can’t swallow?” Nesta repeated, her lips pursing with concern. She dabbed at his wet chin and rang out the cloth in the bowl.
“I didn’t think that would ever be an issue for you,” she remarked, eyes still focused on her task.
Cassian blinked at her, then gave a weak, incredulous snort of laughter that dissolved into a fit of coughing as he collapsed back against the pillows.
“Oh, trust me, sweetheart,” he rasped, attempting to muster some semblance of the grin he knew ruffled her feathers every time without fail. “If I weren’t so fucking nauseous I’d be swallowing you whole right now.”
To her absolute mortification, Nesta felt herself blushing. The tips of her ears flared hot as she yanked her hand away from his and busied herself with straightening his bedsheets.
“Don’t be disgusting,” she grumbled. But her nostrils flared when his hand moved further up her thigh just below her backside.
“You come to sit with me on the bathroom floor and hold my hair while I puke,” the amusement rumbled in his throat as drowsiness settled over him once more and he shifted beneath her. “You clean me up, and that is what disgusts you?”
His expression was serious but his eyes twinkled, gently teasing her. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, too. She was just relieved to see some of his usual self. To see something other than misery and sickness etched in his face.
“You’re ridiculous.”
And this time, Nesta found that she did not care if he noticed the rogue twitch of her lips.
“Thanks, I try,” Cassian winked at her.
A pitiful effort but she still appreciated that he was making an attempt. It helped to banish the images of him lying unconscious and far too close to death for comfort.
That was the moment Nesta remembered she was supposed to be angry with him.
Cassian sensed the tension shift between them and frowned warily.
“What is it?” The question was soft, full of concern. His hand on her thigh moved in a questioning circle, pausing to squeeze as if urging her to tell him.
Nesta rolled off of him, disentangling their limbs as she bent down to retrieve the bin to wash it out.
“Don’t try any more water until I get back with this,” she instructed. Cassian looked confused.
Nesta understood why when she glanced down and found the inside of the container completely spotless. Right. Magic House. She kept forgetting.
She froze, glaring at the floor as if it might offer an alternative escape route. And then her shoulders slumped. She sat back on the bed and clasped her hands in her lap.
“Please? Tell me why you’re upset,” Cassian tried. “I’m sorry for whatever I did.” He pushed himself up and tried to sit behind her. He blew out a queasy breath as a wave of dizziness slammed into him and he let his forehead bump against the back of her shoulder. The impact did not feel intentional.
“I said it doesn’t matter,” Nesta replied, snapping her gaze over her shoulder at him. Cassian’s equilibrium seemed to settle enough for him to lift his head a little.
“Yes, it does,” he stared her down in return, hazel eyes flashing with that familiar stubbornness.
Nesta deflated, accepting that she wasn’t going to win this one. She suddenly felt very stupid. And she hated that yet again, Cassian was the reason.
“I don’t want to talk,” she swept her hair behind her ears with a practiced flip of her fingers. “And you need to rest. Azriel will be back with a healer soon.”
“You’re leaving again?” Cassian’s face fell, panic filling his fever-glazed eyes. He moved as if to reach for her and pull her back to him.
“I’ll be close by,” Nesta reassured him. “But you should try to get some more sleep. I’ll wake you when Az returns.”
“Nes?” Cassian had given up on her returning to his bed and slumped onto his side, his arm dangling awkwardly off the edge along with his foot.
“What?” She sighed, exasperated with him. With herself.
“Thank you.”
She paused at his door. Damn it, why couldn’t she stay mad at him? She dipped her head but did not glance back.
“Don’t die.”
“I won’t,” he promised, so gently that her resolve nearly collapsed. She could hear the lilting smile in his voice. “Besides,” he was slurring now, drowsiness overcoming his willpower, “we have a fight scheduled for tomorrow morning. I wouldn’t dream of missing it.”
Nesta thought she heard a sleepy chuckle from beneath folded wings as she slammed the door shut behind her.
I just about shit my pants when I saw your name come across my dash. Welcome back, Cabb! Long time no see! Here’s hoping you stick around to entertain us lil goblins 🍻
Aww, thanks! I’m always lurking 😏 Just haven’t been active for a hot minute. Might be posting a little here and there for a fandom 3 years too late lol Hope you’re doing well anon!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Temporarily back from the grave after getting sucked in to the ACOTAR fandom 💀 (I know, I know…but I’m having fun). Enjoy this imagined missing scene from ACOMAF.
Rhys winnows Feyre back to the Illeryian camp after Feyre learns of the mating bond. Feyre doesn’t take the information well. Rhys is emotionally distraught and suffering through the lingering effects of the Bloodbane arrows. Cassian looks after his brother.
Missing scene from TLOVM Ep4: After revealing the details of his family’s murder to the group while they’re under house arrest, Percy attempts to drown his trauma. Memories of Whitestone are hitting him hard. Vex’halia offers him some company.
***rises from the grave to throw some vox machina sickfic garbage at you*** I enjoyed the hell out of the show, and y’all know I never pass up an opportunity to whump an angsty white-haired anime boy :)
It’s nearly two in the morning, and Vex’halia has officially given up on any hope of sleep. Wraith possession is assuredly unpleasant, and the attack wore all of them out. But she’s too distracted to settle down. Wary, she supposes is more accurate. She can’t get Percy out of her head. More specifically, what Percy did.
She isn’t certain what to make of this new development. Especially after whatever had possessed him to very nearly murder an innocent, terrified boy. She could feel it, the moment that fucking mask slipped over his face. The anger, the hunger, and the desperation. All leeching from him in ebony tendrils stinking of an ancient, bitter hatred.
Not all his, of that she is certain. He didn’t feel like Percy in those brief, terrible moments. She can’t precisely explain it. Except that she knows, must believe, that he wasn’t all there.
Too anxious to lie still any longer, Vex pulls on her robe and slides out of bed, hissing as her bare feet make contact with the chilly stone. She wanders the hallway for a few minutes before heading to the kitchen. Perhaps a cup of tea will help to settle her.
She nearly retreats when she finds Percy hunched over the kitchen table. He hasn’t bothered to light a candle. He’s clutching a cloudy brown bottle, rolling it idly between his palms. He looks distressed, too wrapped up in his thoughts for her liking. He’s barely spoken two words to her since the incident with the Briarwoods.
But she’s not about to let him get away with his brooding. Inhaling a steadying breath, she gathers her robe tighter to her chest and steps deliberately inside the room.
She watches as he raises the bottle to his lips, taking a long, measured gulp. She quirks an eyebrow in surprise.
Missing scene from TLOVM Ep4: After revealing the details of his family’s murder to the group while they’re under house arrest, Percy attempts to drown his trauma. Memories of Whitestone are hitting him hard. Vex’halia offers him some company.
***rises from the grave to throw some vox machina sickfic garbage at you*** I enjoyed the hell out of the show, and y’all know I never pass up an opportunity to whump an angsty white-haired anime boy :)
It’s nearly two in the morning, and Vex’halia has officially given up on any hope of sleep. Wraith possession is assuredly unpleasant, and the attack wore all of them out. But she’s too distracted to settle down. Wary, she supposes is more accurate. She can’t get Percy out of her head. More specifically, what Percy did.
She isn’t certain what to make of this new development. Especially after whatever had possessed him to very nearly murder an innocent, terrified boy. She could feel it, the moment that fucking mask slipped over his face. The anger, the hunger, and the desperation. All leeching from him in ebony tendrils stinking of an ancient, bitter hatred.
Not all his, of that she is certain. He didn’t feel like Percy in those brief, terrible moments. She can’t precisely explain it. Except that she knows, must believe, that he wasn’t all there.
Too anxious to lie still any longer, Vex pulls on her robe and slides out of bed, hissing as her bare feet make contact with the chilly stone. She wanders the hallway for a few minutes before heading to the kitchen. Perhaps a cup of tea will help to settle her.
She nearly retreats when she finds Percy hunched over the kitchen table. He hasn’t bothered to light a candle. He’s clutching a cloudy brown bottle, rolling it idly between his palms. He looks distressed, too wrapped up in his thoughts for her liking. He’s barely spoken two words to her since the incident with the Briarwoods.
But she’s not about to let him get away with his brooding. Inhaling a steadying breath, she gathers her robe tighter to her chest and steps deliberately inside the room.
She watches as he raises the bottle to his lips, taking a long, measured gulp. She quirks an eyebrow in surprise.
“May I join you?”
Percy doesn’t startle, just gives a noncommittal shrug, barely turning to glance at her. She notes the exhausted slump in his shoulders. The absurdly disheveled state of his hair. He barely looks like himself.
She slides into the chair beside him, giving Percy a calculating once over. “Couldn’t sleep, either?”
“Mm,” Percy grunts. “How’s Vax?”
It seems to be an effort to get out, a heavy slur slithering through his words. He blinks once, twice, slowly, as if waiting for her features to filter into focus.
“Whining about his doomed destiny as a monstrous blood-sucker.” She tries for a bit of levity. According to the frown creasing Percy’s brow, he either isn’t amused, or doesn’t comprehend the joke. In his current state, she’s betting on the latter.
“He’ll be fine,” she rolls her eyes. “Pike healed the worst of it.”
“Are…are you alright?” He looks at her, then, genuinely concerned. Though his glassy eyes struggle to hold her gaze. The stutter in his voice catches her off guard.
“Quite.” It comes out softer than she intends. “It was an unpleasant day, to say the least. But everyone is still here, and more-or-less intact.”
Percy hums and swallows another mouthful, belatedly wiping his lips on the back of his hand to catch the drops that dribble free. There’s a pause, an uncertain moment where his hand hovers, stifling a barely perceptible gag. Clearly not enjoying his chosen poison and yet he’s pressing forward regardless. He groans softly behind his glove, a wet, sticky noise.
“You on the other hand, I’m not so sure,” Vex frowns. “Percy, are you…drunk?”
She’s never seen him imbibe more than a few sips from the single glass of wine he typically orders when they go out to pubs. And Vex has always suspected that he only orders the glass for the guise. An attempt to blend in with the group.
“You know, when I said it would be nice to see you unwind, this isn’t precisely what I meant.” She takes the bottle from him and sniffs. The odor isn’t the least bit enticing, but she takes a tentative sip, nonetheless.
The liquor is vile and cloys uncomfortably in the back of her throat going down. “Where the hell did you find this shit?” Vex stifles a gag of her own, grimacing at the bitter foulness.
Percy points vaguely to a small cabinet nestled behind the decades-abandoned stove. “Scanlan drank some earlier. I don’t think he’s dead yet.”
“That’s a terrible endorsement,” Vex chides, handing the bottle back to him. ”I could’ve stolen you something more palatable.”
“Palatable wasn’t exactly on my list of priorities,” Percy mutters. He runs a hand through his hair, now hopelessly mussed.
“Clearly.” Vex shakes her head at him, unnerved. “What was on your list, then?”
Percy stares fixedly into the mostly empty bottle. Vex suspects he must have been nursing it for a good while before she interrupted him.
“Dreaming.” He squints, hurriedly taking another pull and choking down the repulsive mouthful.
“Dreaming?”
“I don’t want to dream, tonight,” he explains.
“Ah,” Vex’halia nods sadly. “I see.” She changes tactics. “So, what’s your plan?” Her lips quirk, a gesture of confidence in his resilience.
“What do you mean?”
“Come now, Percival. We both know you always have a plan.”
“That depends,” Percy’s voice is steady, his eyes clearing, if only for a few seconds. “If it’s the Briarwoods you’re referring to, I plan to destroy everything they’ve built on my family’s grave.” He takes another drink. “And I finally have the means to do just that.”
Vex rests her chin in her hand and studies him, “Back to Whitestone, then?”
Percy’s shoulders stiffen and he slumps over the table, as if the very thought of returning home might physically crush him. He jolts with a soft hiccup, the motion rousing him a bit. He swallows carefully, glaring at the bottle as if it’s just betrayed him.
“No other choice,” he huffs out a shaky breath laced with bitter laughter. “No choice…” He presses his lips closed against another hiccup. “If I don’t – we lose everything. Everything will be, just, gone—”
Vex’halia frowns, disturbed by his lack of coherence. He’s losing touch again. She doesn’t like what the alcohol is doing to him.
“Percy?” She reaches out to touch his shoulder. When he doesn’t respond, she glides her fingers down his arm in what she hopes is a comforting gesture. “I think it’s time we get you to bed.”
Percy’s pupils dilate in a surge of panic. Alarmed, he pulls his arm from her grasp. “No!” he growls, the protest clawing its way up around an uncooperative tongue. “Can’t sleep. Not—not right now.”
“No, darling,” Vex lowers her voice, shushing him, “not to sleep. Just to rest your eyes for a bit. We’ve all had a very long day. I’ll stay with you. Not to worry.”
“I can’t—" Percy cuts himself off with another hiccup, except this time, the expulsion rolls into a belch, surprising them both. His gloved hand immediately flies to his lips and his cheeks flush with embarrassment.
“Pardon me,” he mumbles, fingers hovering over his lips as if he might not be able to stop himself, otherwise. It takes him a moment to swallow down whatever attempts to come up. The rosy color leaches from his face, and his throat bobs in a frantic rhythm.
“Oh, dear,” Vex’halia sighs, fingers gliding in an arc down his back. “Percy, darling, you don’t look well.”
“Forgive me, I don’t feel very well”, he mumbles thickly in agreement. “I think…I do need to lie down.”
She watches as he drags his forearms across the table, bracing to rise, only managing a few unsteady inches before vertigo overwhelms his willpower and he tumbles out of the chair, fingers scrabbling along the edge of the wood for purchase.
It happens so quickly that Vex’halia can only gape at his predicament, before her reflexes finally kick in and she reaches out to steady his fall.
Despite her efforts, Percy still ends up landing on his ass in a decidedly undignified sprawl on the floor. His legs are askew, one hand still gripping the table above him at an awkward angle.
“Shit, you meant right now,” Vex smiles without missing a beat. But Percy doesn’t return the smile. He just looks confused and upset.
“Are you hurt?” She suppresses the urge to laugh and kneels down smoothly beside him.
Percy gives a clumsy shake of his head, and even that small movement forces him to close his eyes against an apparent swell of dizziness. The tips of his ears flush red.
“Just my pride, I’m afraid.” Percy releases the table in favor of cradling his head. “—‘mm so dizzy…” he mutters.
“Rest for a moment,” Vex advises. “Take a deep breath. It will pass.”
His shoulders hitch and the lingering remnants of his composure dissolve in a particularly violent onslaught of hiccups. He cups his hand over his lips, attempting to stifle the undignified expulsions.
Vex shakes her head, fondly. Even in this compromised state, Percy is still concerned with keeping up appearances.
“It’s alright,” she soothes. “No one is here.”
“You’re here,” Percy points out with a devastated pout. But a moment later he’s lilting onto her available shoulder, cheek coming to rest just above her collarbone. A warm puff of breath sends a small shiver down the back of her neck.
“Do I count?” she smiles into his hair.
“No –” he slurs into her shoulder, yawning, then abruptly jerks his chin up at her and stammers, “Yes! I mean - of course you do, I mean…fuck – “
“Hush, darling,” Vex quirks an amused eyebrow at his distress, “before you pull something.”
Percy nearly smiles, then he suddenly goes very still, pallor going gray as a sheen of sweat drenches every inch of exposed skin. He’s soaked in a matter of seconds. He pants through his nose and sways over his knees, throat working steadily as beads of sweat drip down his neck to collect in his eyebrows. He covers his mouth just in time to stifle the next belch behind his palm.
Vex winces, realizing what’s almost certainly about to happen. Even if Percy is doing everything within his power to deny himself the release. She places a supportive hand between his shoulder blades. “Let’s make you more comfortable, hm?” She begins peeling off his damp coat.
Percy complies with a disgruntled groan, mirroring her movements as she coaxes his arms out of the constricting garment. Next come the gloves. Once free, he shivers a little in his thin tunic, the garment clinging to his slick skin. She frowns at the licks of ash staining the white fabric but doesn’t say anything about it. She’d honestly prefer not to think about that right now.
Vex reaches up to remove his glasses which have been resting in a rather precarious position on the tip of his nose. “For safe keeping,” she grins. “You can have them back when you’ve sobered up.”
Percy screws up his face like he’s about to argue, then seems to think better of it and gives a dejected nod. His hands idle down the length of his trousers to palm his knees as he rocks gently over his lap, back and forth.
Vex cups her hand over his forehead, concern creasing the corners of her mouth. His unruly silver forelock curls between her fingers, the strands limp with sweat. He swallows thickly, leaning into her touch, barely able to hold himself upright.
“Darling,” she whispers into his shoulder, breath tickling the shell of his ear, “If you need to—”
“No,” Percy cuts her off, though his voice trembles. He slurs through the words, gulping around the fullness in his throat. “I jus’ – just need to sit still for a…moment.”
“Alright,” Vex nods, leaning away from him to drag over a dusty wooden bucket. “But just in case.” She nudges the container between his sprawled legs, crouching behind him to support his near deadweight.
Percy goes rigid and shakes his head. He glares at the bucket for all of two seconds before his stomach visibly lurches and a powerful heave ripples up from deep in his belly.
Despite his desperate lunge for the bucket, Percy refuses to let go, cheeks ballooning and veins bulging as he rides out his body’s aborted attempt to purge.
When it happens again with no results, Vex decides she’s had enough of his nonsense. She scoots up closer behind him, feigning support as she wraps an arm around his waist, planting her other hand firmly against his back. The second she feels his muscles begin to contract, Vex presses on his stomach, not enough to hurt, but just enough to move things along.
The effect is immediate. She feels Percy’s body convulse as the urge overwhelms him, and suddenly everything he’s been holding onto comes spilling out in a violent torrent. He mostly makes it into the bucket.
“There you go,” Vex encourages, rubbing encouraging circles against his back.
Percy groans, eyes rolling back in his head as instinct takes over and his body forces up another gurgling retch. Foul smelling liquid gushes all over his trousers before he’s able to regain his bearings and aim the rest into the bucket.
“Fuck,” he spits, saliva and bile intermingling as they cling stubbornly to his chin.
Vex takes advantage of the reprieve to cup Percy’s cheek and wipe away the stress tears with her thumb. “You’ll be alright in a moment, darling.” Percy blinks up at her, dazed. “I’m right here for you.”
His glistening lips part again as if to respond, but all he manages is a choked whimper. His eyes glaze over, and he begins listing forward, nearly into her lap. She swiftly guides him back over the bucket just before Percy belches up another wave of his overindulgence. A miserable whine escapes him as tendrils of sick drip from his nose from the force of his retching. Percy scrambles to wipe himself clean with the back of his discarded glove.
Vex replaces the soiled glove with her handkerchief. Percy looks like he might begin crying in earnest, but he accepts the clean piece of cloth and presses it to his mouth, wiping up the worst of the mess. He shoves away from the bucket, almost toppling over in his haste to get away from the evidence of his humiliation. Vex’halia is there immediately, cushioning his uncoordinated endeavor.
“This is revolting,” he slurs, words muffled by the handkerchief. He coughs against the lingering sting of acid. “Why the hell are you still here?”
“Because you need someone to be,” she replies without hesitation.
Percy stares at his ruined trousers for a few moments before mumbling, “Is this how Keyleth feels all the time?” He stifles a residual burp with the back of his fist. “It’s bloody awful. Doesn’t help at all.”
Vex snorts, relieved that he finally appears moderately coherent. As much as she hated the whole ordeal, getting sick seemed to help clear his head a bit.
“Yes, bloody awful,” she agrees, combing his damp bangs out of his eyes. “I’m sorry, darling. But at least now I know why you only pretend to drink with us.”
Percy still looks like he wants to cry. Vex can’t remember ever seeing him so ill. His miserable expression triggers a protective ache somewhere deep in her chest.
“Please, don’ tell the others,” he begs, wiping uselessly at the vomit drying on his pant leg.
“Never,” Vex promises, resuming the gentle massage between his shoulder blades. Then adds under her breath, “Your clothes will do all of the talking.”
Percy either ignores the comment, or more likely, is too exhausted to care.
Despite his earlier protests, the soothing motion of her fingers seem to be lulling Percy into a very sleepy state, indeed.
His forehead comes to rest just inside the crook between her shoulder and nape. He hums contentedly as Vex continues stroking up and down the length of his back. And she chooses to ignore the fact that the man currently passing out in her arms reeks to high heaven.
“Time for bed, love,” she whispers. “Let’s clean up and get some water in you, hm?”
Percy shakes his head against her neck, but makes no effort to detach himself, nor keep his eyes open.
“Stay?”
It’s the barest ghost of a breath against her skin. The final exhale before sleep overtakes conscious thought.
“Of course, Percy,” Vex answers, tenderly pressing her lips to his overheated forehead. “I won’t let you dream, tonight.”
Or any night. She will not allow him to do this alone. Whatever this may be.
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