comeback fic!!!!!
remember the archie pneumonia fic? this one is like. somehow more of a doozy. truly the longest fic i've ever written (6k words? ish?) and i did it pretty much in one sitting. this is what archie/simon withdrawal does to someone
very angst very sad but it gets better TRUST! this is meant to take place about a year after they meet, so still sort of early in their relationship but after enough time that they care deeply about eachother. you'll see. i heart them
i hope you all enjoy! because of the length of the fic, there are probably many plot holes and typos etc etc but i hope you all enjoy regardless! thank you again for the warm welcome back!
whumpee: Simon
caretaker: Archie
cw: VERY VERY brief mention of a suicide attempt. i can't emphasize how brief and it's also neither simon nor archie. tagging it here just in case but i promise it's like 2 sentences
༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶
“I had it handled.”
“You didn’t.”
“I would have if you didn’t butt in,” Archie spat, eyeing Simon as he approached with a first-aid kit. He made no move to sit down.
“Weird way to say thank you. I saved your life, you were going to get yourself killed—”
“You didn’t save my life. You made an anonymous call to the cops and showed up in person to come and lecture me. You didn’t want to come and help me, you just wanted to make a point.”
“You know what?" Simon began. "Fine. Sue me. I did that too. You were outnumbered and losing. You were being reckless.”
“Simon, I’m meta-human. I can take a few punches—”
“You have enhanced strength. You aren’t invulnerable. I thought the amount of times I’ve had to put you back together would have told you that much.”
“I still could have handled it!” Archie protested.
“You were still being reckless. You were being an idiot.”
“Don’t you call me that.”
“Why? Because it’s true? Archie, you can’t just dive head first into a fight without even knowing how many opponents there are. You’re playing fast and loose with your life.”
“Stop acting like you have some kind of authority over me. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“No. But I’m the person who has to pick up the pieces when things go wrong.” Simon stepped forward, crossing his arms over his chest.
A scowl twisted Archie's face at Simon's words. “Don’t play that card. I never asked you to do that. Not ever.”
“I know. You don't have to. I do it anyway and I’ll do it again and again, but you have to at least try to care about your wellbeing. That's my point, Archie. You act like you don't matter and it's stupid.”
Archie scoffed. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“No, Simon, you wouldn’t!” Archie slammed his hands down on the arm of the couch. “These abilities, they’re a curse. They ruined my goddamn life. They ruined everything. Vigil is the one good thing to come out of them. The only good thing. I do what I do so I can protect people who can't do it themselves. That’s the whole point, Simon. I can’t be walking on eggshells if I want to actually make a difference—”
“For God’s sake Archie! I don’t do what I do because you’re Vigil or because you’re useful. I do it because you’re you! And I’m not going to let you go out in the city and be stupid because you think you have something to prove. I’m not!”
“Let me? You’re being insane.” Archie’s voice was dangerous at this point— bitter and flat. Simon almost had the sense to tread lightly. “You. Don’t Get. It.”
“Insane?” Simon laughed incredulously, tangling an exasperated hand into his hair. “So insane that I’ve kept your secret for the past year, huh?”
Simon suddenly stepped closer, invading Archie’s personal space and jamming a finger towards him.
“Do you even know how many people I could have spilled your identity to? Do you know just how much trouble I could get in if the cops found out I’ve been covering for a vigilante for the past year? Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to just say fuck it and call an ambulance so that I could actually sleep at night without dreading some call that someone’ll find you dead in a ditch?”
There was a long beat of silence. Angry tears welled in Archie’s wide eyes and he began backing away as if prey cornered by a threat. His breath hitched.
“You’re an asshole. Threatening me like that is an asshole move.”
“Fine! I’m a fucking asshole— whatever,” Simon said, throwing his hands up in surrender. “If giving a shit whether my friend lives or dies makes me an asshole, then I’m the biggest asshole there is. Jesus Christ.”
Archie narrowed his eyes and held his arms close to his chest. His gaze was stormy. “I should go.”
“Hey, you said it. Not me.”
Archie didn’t move for a beat. His eyes iced over with barely concealed rage and he finally bent at the waist to pick up his bag. He slung it over his shoulder and started towards the door.
“I’ll see you, Simon. Don’t bother calling.”
Archie shut the door behind him with more force than necessary and Simon stared dumbly for what must have been two minutes straight.
His heart rabbited in his chest so fast he genuinely worried it might burst.
“Fuck!” He shouted, throwing down the first-aid kit he’d forgotten he was holding. It hit the ground with a crack and supplies sprawled out all across the floor.
Simon felt sick. He couldn’t breathe. Archie left everything was wrong. He hadn't even given Simon a chance to look him over for injuries, he jsut left. Simon knew he fucked up. Badly.
Fat tears welled in Simon's eyes and they stung hot. He bit down hard on his lip.
He could already taste the regret in the back of his throat, bubbling up with a sob that had him crumpling to his knees. How could he have said things like that? God, maybe he really was an asshole.
Simon was not a crier. He hardly ever cried, even when he was hurt and sad and angry. It just wasn’t how his body responded. Despite this, here he was. Bawling like a child and feeling so very alone.
“Fuck,” He whispered, wrapping shaky arms around himself, squeezing tight.
He fought for about half an hour to get his breathing under control. When he finally did, he had little energy left to do anything other than drag his body from the floor to the couch, not even bothering to take off his day clothes or turn off the kitchen light, and curled up with the false hope that he’ll wake up tomorrow and this will all have been a nightmare.
He wasn’t so lucky.
……………
After a restless sleep, Simon woke up to his alarm blaring in his ears.
He let out a drawn-out groan and shut it off, picking up his phone on instinct and doing a double take when he saw it void of anything.
No good morning message. No missed calls. Nothing from the one person he actually cared to hear from.
Then, Archie’s words to Simon replayed in his mind.
Don’t bother calling.
He felt sick. A heavy pit formed in his stomach and he sat up straighter, running a shaky hand through his tangled hair.
It was real. All of it. The fight had happened and he was now facing the possibility of losing the single most important person in his life.
Maybe he was being dramatic, but he'd never foight with Archie like this. They had their spats, sure, but nothing even came close. It left an unpleasant buzz of emotion under Simon's skin.
A pained groan tore through his chest and he buried his face in his hands. A strange, queasy feeling tingled throughout his body as well and he chalked it up to anxiety about the whole thing.
He’d give anything to just know Archie was alright. Undoubtedly, he went on patrol after their fight. Archie almost always called after patrol to check in and let him know if he was stopping by or not. It felt bizzare to be on the recieving end of radio silence.
He already missed him.
Another wave of nausea overtook him as he entertained the possibility that Archie may never forgive him.
He wrapped his arms around his middle and shut his eyes against the vertigo.
Surely not. Surely Archie would come back eventually, or at the very least hear Simon out. Right?
Hot tears pooled in Simon’s eyes again but he scrubbed them away.
He couldn’t uproot his entire day just because of a stupid fight— a fight he had started himself. Archie said don’t call, so he wouldn’t call. He’d carry on like normal. If Archie was ready to talk, he’d message first, but by no means was it Simon’s right to bulldoze that boundary.
And if Archie decided he was done for good, well— Simon chose not to entertain that possibility.
He got himself to his feet, ignoring the head rush, and stumbled to the bathroom.
He didn’t recognize the person staring back at him in the mirror.
His under-eyes were bruised and shadowed with lack of proper sleep and his entire body was shaking inexplicably. The pit in his stomach only got larger and the strange dizziness from earlier was back in full force.
He chalked it up to anxiety one again. He always seemed to be prone to the physical symptoms of it, and this seemed an appropriate thing to be anxious about if there ever was one. He just needed to distract himself until the situation could be resolved.
So, he steeled himself and quickly got himself ready for work.
He left his apartment a mess, and couldnt find it in him to care as he closed and locked the door behind him.
……………
Simon spent the majority of his day in a daze. Tasks at the hospital were done mindlessly and in a sort of brain fog that no amount of caffeine seemed to touch.
Twice now, co-workers asked Simon if he was alright and Simon lied straight through his teeth.
Truth was, his thoughts were still on one person and one person only.
He thought of Archie idly throughout the day. Sometimes he’d space out and imagine that they werent fighting at all— that he’d come home to Archie lounging on his couch with that smile of his and he wouldn't have to worry about a thing.
Other times, he’d imagine what he’d say to him. He’d imagine saying sorry. He just wanted him to know how much he regretted everything that went down.
The majority of the day, though, was spent fretting. The possibility of Archie never speaking to him again seemed to be getting higher and higher, and the last words he said to him rang through his mind. He practically kicked him out, and now he was paying the price.
With every passing hour of the day, Simon also felt weaker and shakier and more exhausted, and all he wanted was to go home.
He thanked his lucky stars when his supervisor took a look at him and ordered him home early. He wanted to argue and say he wasn’t sick, like she suggested, and that it was just a somatic response to anxiety, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
The weather had taken a turn for the worse. It was gloomy and stormy and all around miserable. He almost laughed at the irony of its parallel to his mood.
To make things worse, he had forgotten a proper jacket the one day that freezing rain was forecasted. Of course.
The bus ride back to his apartment was spent as curled in on himself as was socially acceptable.
As soon as he stepped across the threshold of his apartment, he shucked off his soaked hoodie and puffed air into his trembling fingers before pulling out his phone hopefully. Maybe Archie was ready to talk. Maybe they would finally be able to put this past them and move on from this horrendous fight.
Nothing.
Simon wanted to cry again.
He could have kicked himself. It was all his fault. He hated how bad he was at confrontation. He hated how stubborn he was. He hated himself for what he said to Archie, he hated all of it. Archie probably hated him too now, and he deserved it. He has no one to blame but himself.
Still, he can’t shake the ugly feeling the whole thing put in his chest. Archie acted like he didn’t care about himself and it drove Simon up the wall with worry. He was acting like a child, and Simon couldn’t abide. His frustration made it come out all wrong.
With a shark intake of breath, Simon swallowed tears once again and chafed his hands up and down his arms. God, it was still so cold. He felt weak again.
He sank down into his couch, pulling a thin blanket around himself and gave a harsh shiver that had him pulling his knees up and under the blanket as well.
His mind wandered again.
He can’t remember the last time he hadn’t heard from Archie in this long.
It’s been a year since he started taking care of Vigil.
In the beginning, it was mostly brief house calls in the dead of night when Vigil didn’t know where else to go. Simon stitched him up, briefly chastised him, and wouldn't hear from him until the next time he stopped by.
Gradually, he began to linger around longer. Archie began to linger, and Simon found himself enjoying the guy’s company well into the night.
The past few months were when Simon really understood how lucky he was to have had someone like Archie choose him.
Honestly, he didn’t believe in soulmates until he met him.
Archie had begun spending more and more time with Simon. It wasn’t just in the nights anymore either— just the other week, the two went to see a movie together. There was no mention of Vigil or injuries or anything of the sort. It was almost domestic.
It was then that Simon realized it wasn't just a transactional relationship anymore. They were friends. Maybe more than that. It didn’t matter what it was called, all that seemed to matter was that Archie was someone Simon looked forward to seeing no matter what. He was his reason for getting out of bed sometimes.
And it was over.
All of that— all of it was over. All because Simon couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He couldn't understand and he couldn't reason and instead what came out was lashing anger and venom that thinly concealed the terror about almost losing Archie again.
And there was no way to make Archie understand that. It was just over.
Simon listlessly stared at the mess on his floor. The bandages and sutures and tweezers in the first-aid kit from yesterday’s outburst were strewn about and Simon still couldn't find it in him to pick them up.
He pulled his phone out again, trembling as he did. He still couldn’t seem to get warm. He glanced over at the thermostat and saw that the heat was on, it just seemed to be bouncing off of him.
Weird. That was a new symptom of anxiety.
He muffled a yawn into his fist and unlocked his phone to another blank screen.
His heart sank.
This was killing him. Really. It was. Now, it went beyond whether Archie forgave him or not, it was a matter of whether he was alive.
Simon knew him well enough to know that heightened emotions plus the amount of spite and resentment he most likely held toward Simon right now couldn’t be a safe combination. Sure, Archie had a day to cool off, but he was nothing if not stubborn and that alone made Simon feel like he was going to be sick.
Maybe it was irrational, or maybe it was an excuse, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Archie could be out there and hurt and he had to do something about it.
He stood on shaky legs and muffled a cough into the crook of his elbow— another weird symptom that he elected to ignore.
He needed to find Vigil. He knew his usual patrol routes; all he needed was just a glimpse of him to make sure he was okay and then he’d leave him alone. That’s all he wanted.
He grabbed his still-damp sweater and shrugged it on, giving another harsh shiver. His head spun and his muscles ached, but he’d be damned if he was going to rest before making sure his Archie was okay.
……………
The rain hadn’t let up when Simon made his way to the sidewalk and to the next block over. If anything, it had gotten worse and the cold settled deep into Simon’s bones.
Everything felt wrong.
He had thought some fresh air would help, but evidently he was wrong.
He felt drained and exhausted and shaky and dazed and he kept having to make sure he wasn't just walking around in circles. The city is hard to navigate when your mind is a million miles away.
His sweater was doing absolutely nothing for him anymore. Warmth was a concept so distant from him he almost didn’t remember what it felt like to not be freezing.
His body gave another rather dramatic convulsion of shivers and he curled in on himself, spurring himself across a street to check another block.
The night was busy— busy enough that he was almost certain Vigil was out.
Right. Archie. That’s why he was here. He needed to make sure he was alright. Every second that passed without knowing felt like torture to Simon. Every weird anxiety-induced ailment could wait until he saw Archie with his own eyes.
Another block and there was nothing. Simon’s feet were beginning to go numb. The hems of his jeans were soaked through and he could feel the moisture on his calves. It made him shudder again.
He blinked slowly. Maybe Archie was hiding.
That didn’t seem right. That was juvenile, even for Archie. Simon couldn’t seem to think straight. He coughed wetly into the back of his hand and stumbled slightly as he came around another corner building.
It was then that he saw the vague silhouette of curly hair in a body suit on the roof of the building across the street.
He exhaled all the air from his chest, reeling from relief. It was him. He was okay. He moved back to get out of Archie's ridiculous earshot and observed him.
He was talking to someone. His body language gave the impression that he was concerned. He wrapped the person in one of those bear hugs of his from behind, held them close, and Simon suddenly understood what was happening.
Archie was talking someone out of jumping.
That sort of came with the job, patrolling rooftops and such. Archie handled people like that with such tenderness. He always seemed to know what to say, what to do, to make someone step away. He radiated hope and seeing it in action was breathtaking.
Simon remained flush against the wall of the building to stay out of Archie’s line of sight, but he tilted his head over so slightly to get a better look.
Despite the fact that he promised himself he’d leave after proof of life, he didn’t want to go just yet. He drank in the sight for a few more moments.
He watched as Archie walked the person away from the ledge, arm wrapped around their shoulders. He watched as he leaned down to speak to them and saw his shoulder move as he rubbed circles into the person’s back while doing so. The person collapsed into a heap of sobs as threw themself into Archie's arms, and Archie didn't even flinch. He just held them until they pulled away first.
A lump formed in Simon’s throat and he felt sick once again.
How could he have hurt someone like that? How could he have said what he said? It was then that Simon finally understood.
Archie was reckless, not because he didn't care, but because he cared too much. He'd take hours of pain and bruised and broken bones if it meant one more person got to go home safely.
Simon sniffled silently, fists clenched at his sides.
He had to go. He couldn’t risk Archie seeing him anymore than he had already, and he doubted Archie would even want to see him in the first place.
Maybe Archie didn't need him anymore.
Simon had been given the gift of a light in his life, and he went and snuffed it out on his own. He had to be the worst person ever.
He felt like a mess— weepy and shaky and more emotional than he’d ever been in his life. And he deserved it. He deserved whatever came to him.
He dragged his achy, tired body down the blocks he had come from. The bustling night had died down, and somehow the weather had only gotten worse. He trudged through wet sidewalk, ignoring the mildly concerned looks of passersby. He must have looks really awful. It didn't matter. He was having trouble walking in a straight line.
By the time he got to the bottom of the stairs to his apartment building, something was very, very wrong.
He couldn’t stop shaking. It wasn't like before. It was all-consuming now. He dropped his key three time before he finally managed to open the gate to the property. He started realizing this may be more than just anxiety.
His head was spinning so violently, he had to clamp a hand onto the railing to keep himself up, and even then he pitched dangerously forward.
He coughed into his elbow again, whimpering as the pain bloomed in his entire chest.
Come on, Guevara. One foot in front of the other.
He laboriously climbed the stairs, and with every step he felt more and more like he was going to either lose his lunch or be sent careening down them or both at the same time. It was incredibly unappealing.
Crossing the threshold felt heaven-sent, and the second he locked the door behind him, things started getting very weird.
Time seemed to be coming and going in short bursts.
He peeled off his wet hoodie for the second time that night, but this time he forwent hanging it neatly on the designated hook, opting to let it fall to the floor as he staggered to the thermostat.
Gas bills be damned, he was getting warm. He cranked it up as high as it would go and sank unceremoniously to his knees.
There was a strange high-pitched whine and it took an embarrassingly long time for Simon to realize he was the one making the sound.
He was halfway concerned. He knew that this was all wrong. He shouldn't feel as if reality was moving through molasses, but he was just so tired. All he wanted was to take a shower and go to sleep.
A shower. Oh yes. That would help tremendously.
With a soft whimper, he began to crawl towards the hallway. The thought of standing made him want to die, so he improvised.
As he hauled his body across the floor, he started seeing things moving on the wall. Long, slender shadows danced on the walls and he felt his breathing pick up. He could have sworn there were whispers— whispers in Archie's voice— expressing disdain.
He didn’t understand. He was scared, despite logically, somewhere deep in his mind, knowing that he was alone in his apartment. There was nothing here, yet it felt so real.
“Archie” materialized in the shadow behind the door of the bathroom, swaying with the streetlight coming through the window.
He muttered unintelligible things, but there was one thing Simon could make out over and over.
I'm better off without you.
A cough suddenly tore through his throat and he curled reflexively in on himself. It went on and on and he couldn't breathe and when he finally opened his eyes, he didn’t know where he was. Archie was gone. The whispers were gone. It was dark and cold and everything hurt.
He was alone again.
Stopping just a few feet short from the bathroom door, Simon gave up on his shower. He gave up entirely. He was spent. His muscles weren’t listening to him anymore and he had no choice but to resign to his fate.
……………
Archie steeled himself with a long, deep breath, figurative tail between his legs, before knocking twice on Simon’s door.
Last night had gone unfavorably to say the least. Archie shuddered thinking about it again.
Simon had been a dick. That was a given, but Archie had been one too and the whole thing just got out of hand.
He went on patrol two nights in a row to blow off some steam, and it ended up putting things into perspective. He couldn't be mad forever, and frankly, he didn't want to be.
Simon hadn’t texted after he left, and Archie didn’t expect him to. He told him not to while in his fit of rage (and regretted the words the second they left his mouth), but either way, people usually wanted space after fights like this, didn’t they?
Archie really didn’t have a lot of experience. He wasn’t great at holding down friends that were close enough that fights like this even occurred. It was vaguely comforting to know that Simon was a person worth fighting for.
He had been the one to storm out and he felt it was his responsibility to be the one to make first move again, and after reflecting on everything, he owed him a big apology.
Archie had let his own issues get in the way of understanding Simon. Simon was being an asshole because he was worried, and Archie had failed to see that. He got defensive and volatile and everything just ended so much worse that it would have if he just heard what he was saying. He wanted to say sorry and talk about it so they could have a fresh start, and jeez, he was taking forver to answer the door.
He knocked again. “Simon? Hey, I know you’re pissed but I really think we should talk. No way in hell you’re asleep either, so don't go pretending you are!”
Silence.
Archie’s eyebrows furrowed and he leaned to try and peek through the front window. He didn’t see much, save for the mess that was there the night he stormed out, which worried him further.
“Simon! Come on, man. I’m sorry about everything. I just want to talk. If you’re not ready, that’s fine, but at least tell me that.”
There was more silence, but it was immediately followed by the sound of glass breaking.
Archie’s heart dropped to his feet and all of a sudden, he didn’t care if Simon was ready to talk or not. Something felt wrong.
With practiced efficiency from countless nights of clamoring his way through the back window, he shimmied his way around the side of the building and lifted the door, slipping in easily.
“Simon!” Archie called out, frantically searching the kitchen and living room to no avail.
He heard soft crying from the hallway, and immediately beelined as if nothing else mattered.
What he saw made him stop in his tracks.
Simon was kneeling on the tile floor of the open bathroom, shaking to the point that Archie could see it from several feet away. He was holding what used to be a glass, but all that was left were large shards and smeared blood.
He looked awful. His button-up and jeans were visibly damp and despite the oppressive heat in the apartment, Simon’s teeth were chattering as he wept over the broken glass.
Most concerningly perhaps, was that he didn’t even notice Archie standing at the end of the hall. He was staring at the blood on his hands in horror, sputtering soft sounds that probably had some meaning that Archie couldn’t even begin to decipher. They might have even been in Spanish.
Archie shook his head sharply and got his ass into gear.
“Simon,” He whispered, closing the distance between them and kneeling beside him. He pressed his hand to Simon’s forehead, then cheek, then neck and cursed. Heat was radiating off every inch of his skin. He still wasn’t responding.
“Simon, I need you to look at me. Please. Talk to me, buddy,” He coaxed, placing a hand on either side of his face and tilting it gently.
“No,” Simon managed, shutting his eyes. “S’not real. Not.. I’m..”
“Damn it, Simon. When did you even get this sick? We need to get your fever down.”
“No.. no no,” Simon repeated, leaning out of Archie’s grasp. He swayed, blinking against the apparent vertigo. When he reached a hand out towards a piece of glass, Archie batted it away.
“No, don’t touch that. Hold on.”
Archie carefully picked up the pieces with a cloth and tossed them in the trash can before pulling Simon’s hands towards him to inspect the wounds.
“Sheesh… when you do something, you don’t half-ass it, do you?” Archie ribbed, but Simon only offered a soft whimper in response.
“Right. Okay. Brain-cooking fever,” He reminded himself, pressing a clean washcloth to Simon’s hands and getting to his feet.
Archie began running the tap in Simon’s bathtub, setting the temperature to cool, just shy of lukewarm. While that filled up, he took to gently cleaning and wrapping the cuts on Simon’s hands.
“Jus’ wanted… water,” He whispered, keeping his gaze down.
“I know, Simon. I know. Can you get to your feet for me?”
Simon made no move to comply, and Archie internally groaned.
“Alright, plan B.”
He bent at the waist and grabbed just underneath Simon’s armpits, hauling him up to sit on the rim of the tub.
As swiftly as he could, he removed Simon’s jeans and shirt and with a soft apology, guided him into the tepid water.
Simon yelped immediately, but he had no strength to fight against it. Tears began pooling in his eyes again and he shivered violently, and Archie silently vowed that whoever invented fevers was some kind of sadist. This was miserable.
“C-Cold..” Simon moaned, wrapping his arms around his torso in a death grip.
“I’m sorry. This was the quickest way I could think of. You aren’t exactly being cooperative right now,” He said, tangling a hand in Simon’s sweat-soaked hair.
Simon still seemed to be somewhere else entirely in his mind, and it was starting to get really worrisome.
How long had he even been like this? He seemed relatively fine before Archie left. Pissed off? Sure, but there was nothing that could have suggested something like this.
And why in God’s name hadn’t he called. Argument or not, Archie still would have dropped everything if Simon called him in this state. No questions asked.
It didn't matter now. He was here, and he wasn't leaving until Simon was okay. Which was proving to be a more monumental task than he'd originally thought.
Just when Archie was starting to think he’d have to call for help, Simon gave a small gasp from where he was bonelessly laying against the wall of the tub.
“Archie?” He asked, voice trembling. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and recognition.
Archie sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair once again. “Yeah. It’s me.”
“I don’t… I’m…” He began, blinking rapidly. “I’m so cold.”
“Alright, yeah, let’s get you out of there.”
It took some manhandling, but Archie eventually managed to set Simon on the toilet lid with a towel wrapped around his shoulders.
He looked pathetically small like that, and he was flagging too, so Archie worked fast.
He grabbed some of Simon’s sleep clothes from his room and helped him pull them on before leading him, slowly, to the bedroom.
Simon was still racked with unrelenting tremors, and the second he was in bed, he curled up once again. His eyes were glassy and Archie could tell he was losing him again.
“Come on, buddy. Sit up for just a little longer. I need to get you drugged up and then you can sleep. You need it.”
Simon nodded, and to his credit, he did blink hard against the sleep in his eyes and watched Archie idly. He opened his mouth and closed it again, as if he wanted to say something.
Archie busied himself with dosing the right amount of fever reducers before turning to face his friend, and frowning when fresh tears appeared in his eyes.
“Archie,” Simon slurred. “Last night—”
“Shhh. Not now, Simon. We’ll talk about that later. I promise. Right now you need to rest.”
He spoke quietly as he helped Simon take the pills, then coaxed him under the covers and tucked them tightly around him. He was expecting more of a fight, but Simon was out the second his head hit the pillow.
Archie breathed properly for the first time since entering the apartment, and slipped a hand into Simon’s limp one.
It was going to be a long night for sure.
……………
Simon’s dreams were either inexplicable, distressing, or both.
Several times he woke up with a painful gasp, and each time a disembodied hand would find its way to his hair or on his chest and an equally disembodied voice would whisper sweet nothings until sleep pulled him under again. He must have been imagining things.
He could have been asleep for hours or days, but the first time he woke up with his wits about him, he was alone.
He was soaked thoroughly with the kind of sweat that could only come from a broken fever. Soft, yellow light spilled in through the windows and the moment of peace washed over Simon for about thirty seconds before things finally started to come back to him in waves.
The fight. The rain. Patrol. Archie.
Simon felt his heart sink again. He reached for his phone to hopelessly check for messages, but he stopped short when he heard footsteps heading towards him from the kitchen.
His heart rate sped up, but he was powerless to defend himself. He shut his eyes and braced for the worst, hoping whatever robber or attacker had mercy on him when they—
“Simon? You’re awake!”
Simon’s eyes shot open. Archie was standing casually, holding a steaming bowl of liquid. His hair was messy and his shirt was wrinkled, but God, was he a sight for sore eyes. Simon stared as if he were a mirage. He still couldn’t be sure he wasn’t.
What the hell?
Archie stepped forward and set the bowl down on Simon’s nightstand, swiveling to press a hand against Simon’s forehead.
“You’re fever’s down, finally. I seriously thought you were going to somehow cook yourself from the inside out, man.”
Simon blinked. “Archie, what—”
Archie put a hand and cut Simon off. “Yeah, yeah. I know what you’re going to say. Just eat first, okay? I have no idea when the last time you did that was.”
Simon opened his mouth to argue, to demand answers as to how or why Archie was even here, but the bowl was pressed into his chest and God, did it smell good.
“Okay.”
The silence while Simon ate should have been more uncomfortable than it was, but honestly Simon just felt happy that Archie was in his proximity again.
He ate with fervor, and he caught the fond smirk on Archie’s face before he dove back into his bowl.
When he was done, Archie pressed a glass of water into Simon’s hands (which were bandaged, he’d have to ask later) and sat back in the chair he’d brought from the kitchen.
Now the silence was awkward. Archie picked at his fingers and kept his gaze down, and Simon took that as his cue to speak. He inhaled, preparing for the worst.
“How did— I mean, why? You’re here.” Simon stammered. Real eloquent, Guevara.
“Yeah. I, uh, well, I came last night to check— to talk to you. You know. After everything. You weren't answering the door so I, uh, broke in.”
“You did?” Simon murmured, not quite believing his ears. “Hang on, last night? What time is it?”
“A little past noon.”
“Noon? You stayed the whole night?” Simon asked incredulously.
“Well, yeah. You were a real mess. I couldn’t just leave you. You couldn't even walk. You scared me, Simon. You should have called me.”
Simon deflated slightly. “You told me not to.”
“No, I— well, I did. But it was stupid. I didn’t mean it. I shouldn’t have said it. I was just pissed off at the moment, but I didn’t mean it.”
Simon stayed silent.
“Simon, I need you to know that if you’re ever this sick, you can always call me. No matter what. I’ll come, no questions asked. Okay?”
Simon attempted to swallow back the tears that built in his throat and nodded, but it was no use. His breath hitched and his brows pinched together as fat drops ran down his face.
Archie looked slightly alarmed, and he kicked off his shoes to climb up on the bed and sit criss-cross beside Simon. A hesitant hand came to rest on his knee. “Oh, what’s wrong? Was it something I said?”
“No, no. It’s fine. I just— I thought—” Simon whispered, rubbing his eyes. “I didn’t think you’d come. I thought you hated me after— after what I said. I thought you were done with me.”
There was a pregnant pause, and then Simon felt warm arms wrap around his shoulders and he was helpless to do anything other than sink into them.
“Oh, Simon.” He said sadly. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. I’m sorry about last night. I should never have just left like that. It was a real mess, but I don’t hate you. And I could never just be done with you. Not over something like that.”
Simon turned his face into Archie’s chest and gripped his shirt like a lifeline. He smelled familiar and Simon felt as if he could live the rest of his life like this— safe and warm and held.
“I’m so sorry. I said some fucked up things. I don’t think you’re an idiot, Archie. And I’d never tell anyone your secret.”
“Ah, it’s fine. I can be an idiot sometimes. That’s why I have you,” He mused into Simon’s hair. “Besides, I think you were right. For some of it. I need to be smarter about what I do. Can’t help anyone if I’m dead.”
Simon rolled his eyes but pulled Archie closer to him, shifting so they were laying back in the pillows, tangled up with one another.
“Still, I’ll try to be less of a dick about it next time. I’m not your guardian, I’m your friend. And I trust you. I always have.”
Archie didn’t say anything to that. He just smiled, laying a hand flat against Simon’s back, and rubbed slow circles into.
Once Simon was halfway to unconsciousness again, Archie tilted his head down to face him.
“Get some rest. We can talk more later, but you need sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up. Promise.”
Simon didn’t need to be told twice. He slept.
༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶
