Petition to have more Steddie writers, have Eddie call Steve "leman."
It's literally the Medieval version of "sweetheart" and it's pronounced "lemon" so unless it's on paper, people will just think Eddie is calling Steve lemon. Eddie is a giant freaking nerd and would do something incredibly dorky like this.
Original Story Here Trigger warning for broken bones, depression, anxiety, spiraling, self harm, neglect, and abuse. The continuation has similar content.
Hidden under the cut for user discretion.
Click for Story
That meeting was an absolute disaster, The council was not prepared for him Quitting, dreadfully surprised and afraid that he was even capable of yelling back at them at all. Some of them whispered about corruption or glitching, he is not corrupted Thank you very much; just finally balanced. Regardless, Dream can't be bothered to feel any guilt about it, if they want to be afraid of him that's their choice.
Being able to feel their fear in that way was certainly new to him. He's always been able to detect negative emotions, just not parse them out as easily, before seeming like a complicated swirl of tangled yarn. Now he can actually perceive each individual strand, telling fear from nerves and anxiety instead of having to guess which was which. He isn't scared of that though, feeling more elation than anything. Branded as a traitor he may be, but his mood is surprisingly good.
As a freshly rogue out code, he decided it was best not to stick around, catching up on some much needed energy from that meeting he's recharged enough to slightly heal his wounds. He's walked around on broken bones before, so making his way to a peaceful little AU to patch up more is nothing new to him. When he's at his new destination resting under a nice tree, he texts Swap to grab the medkit, seeing as while Ink can portal, he'll never remember the needed supplies. Dream also types a quick message that he quit the Omega Timeline, and that he'll explain better in person. He got a thumbs up response back, and so he decided to lean back and wait.
It's not long before the two arrive, Swap running over to Dream and gasping about the state of his limbs. “DREAM! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS, HOW COULD YOU WALK AROUND ON THOSE FOR WHO KNOWS HOW LONG! THEY COULD HAVE SPLINTERED OR WORSE!” When he's riled up, Swap can go on for what feels like an eternity. At least he's begun to help patch up Dream in the meantime, even though he's now got Dream trapped in a lecture. Kneeling down on the ground next to Dream has them both smiling. Even with all the bluster, Swap would have made an excellent nurse if things were different. Dream doesn't mind getting his non-existent ears talked off, happy to feel the relief and concern coming from his friend; a truly gifted healer, even without using a drop of magic.
It's strange for Ink to hang back so long though, usually Dream is tackled into a hug regardless of his injuries. It takes a moment for Ink to amble up, not with the usual bouncing step, but a more measured walk. Dream looks at Ink approaching with a grateful smile “You have my thanks for bringing Blue and the medkit,” he knows that Swap doesn't love being called Blue, but it's the only way Ink remembers the poor mortal. Swap even has a minor twinge of annoyance hearing the name. Dream smiles apologetically at his caretaker before moving on. “The last fight was a bit intense. Speaking of, I've also got some new–”
“You're not Dream” Both Dream and Swap pause at the declaration Ink just made. Both look at the artist with mild confusion and shock. Ink’s eyelights are also white, both locked on Dream In such a serious way he's never seen before. Dream can feel the fluctuating paint fueled feelings drifting around Ink, so Ink didn't forget to drink the vials?
“Um, Ink. Whatever do you mean?” Dream can't help but feel a little hurt seep into his voice now that he can. Swap is now looking at him too with surprise from the non-chipper tone.
“You ate the Black Apple right?” What ink just said shocked Dream to the core of his apple soul, did Ink see him do it? Was Ink there watching? He hadn't mentioned anything about that in the text. Has something else given that away?
With more trepidation than he'd like to admit “Yes, I did. The Apple wasn't black however.” That got something to change in ink with a jolt, eyelights rapidly flipping through different shapes and colors. Looking at Dream like a broken puzzle now instead of that hollow dissection a second ago.
Ink started muttering to himself, checking his scarf while Dream and Swap just looked at each other in concern. The artist has always been cryptic and eclectic, but usually with the same awkward cheer Dream always had as well. This serious contemplation is a new level of off-putting.
In an unusually gentle tone for their exuberant blue teammate “Ink, Why Don't You Tell Us What's Wrong Friend?” Swap has gone back to helping splint dreams bones. Splitting attention between the two guardians. A little nervous as to what's going on between them. As neither of them had ever acted this way before.
Ink strangely serious without being hollow, still full of color and not lacking or in excess of any particular paint. Dream is measured without false bubble and cheer, mellow in a way that was fabricated before, now truly exuding a peaceful presence.
Ink looks up from his scarf, finally looking at Swap with some sort of recognition. “Oh, Oh! Sorry, but that's not Dream you're patching up Blue!” What? Did they truly hear that right the first time?
“Um, Ink.” Under his breath he whispers, ‘please call me swap’ with fond exasperation before moving on. “This Is Dream. He Called Us Here After Fighting Nightmare. He Is Wearing What Dream Always Wears, Same Eye Color, Same Positive–” Swaps eyelights snap to Dream in some kind of realization.
Dream now a little afraid asks. “Swap, is everything alright?” Swap looks at dream, really looks at him and comes to some sort of conclusion before looking at Ink.
“The Aura Is Gone, Or Not Gone? Different.” With a little unease, Swap keeps bandaging Dream, looking far more tired than moments ago. “You Don't Feel Warm Anymore–”
“That's not all!” Ink interrupts “You aren't cold and slimy either! Or tentacly, which you should be if you ate the other Apple” Ink wasn't smiling, looking on with a mix of confusion and worry. Checking his scarf again and again. “This isn't right, you aren't Dream anymore, but something is wrong, you aren't Shattered either”
The almost hysterical panic in Ink’s voice has Swap and Dream fearful. Dream is getting used to the new emotions he finally has, and he can tell Swap is also surprised and worried. Swap is looking more exhausted and run down by the minute, something Dream wasn't able to truly notice before.
“Swap, what is the matter, you do not look well” Dream places a hand over Swap’s, he's bandaged enough to handle himself. With the new connection to negativity, he might even be able to call upon some more of his healing magic. A little brush of the sensation causes Swap to jolt.
Swap jumps from Dream's touch immediately, stopping any healing before it starts. “Oh, Nothing Nothing! I'm Fine, Truly!” He waves his hands frantically at Dream, trying to dismiss the concern. Dream, now having a newfound sense, can empathize with how ragged the mortal skeleton looks…oh no.
“Swap…” the soft somber tone catches the mortal off guard, halting his panic. “I apologize” Dream looks away, now caught up in all the memories of how he had been inadvertently pulling Swap into his self sacrifice and neglect. The two of them destroying themselves for the greater good. Neither giving themselves time to rest or recover, even denying themselves healing knowing it would expend energy they couldn't afford. If he feels awful as a guardian, he can hardly imagine how Swap feels. Well, he doesn't have to imagine it now. He can feel it seeping from his friend, the deep ache, the sleeplessness, the hunger and fatigue. He looks back to his loyal companion, eyes full of regret “It appears as though my actions have harmed you, and for that I am deeply sorry my friend.”
The apologies seem to have left Swap speechless. So many feelings war inside of the skeleton before he settles on sorrow with a sad smile. “What Changed? You Never Seemed To Care Before” He's looking at both Dream and Ink for answers.
Ink finally pipes back up with something, also looking lost and saddened. “Dream, you were supposed to Shatter” Dream and Swap look up at Ink in distress now. Ink's eyes are reflecting a dark blue and purple “You were supposed to eat the black apple to become like Nightmare and take on the corruption, but the script is wrong! I don't know what's supposed to happen next” Ink looks to be in anguish, tears of ink starting to leak from his sockets as he trembles. “You are supposed to be evil right now and tear this multiverse apart, dragging me and blue down with you!”
Ink is shouting now, Swap is stunned, looking at Dream like he'll jump at his neck and eat him. Dream is lost, he doesn't feel corrupted, he can just see more clearly than he ever has before. His relentless positivity has blinded him to his own pain and to that of his dear friends. Deciding to do something, he carefully stands up on his healing limbs to embrace Ink.
The shaking artist accepts the hug with a sobbing breath. Struggling to put together some kind of sentence. “This is wrong…” another sniff “We shouldn't be hugging!” A wail of sadness “You should have come back from the meeting after killing everyone and then hurt me and Blue!” Ink keeps trembling. Dream looks at Swap, who doesn't know what's happening either. Ink keeps going, punctuating each outburst with a hiccup. “You woke up, you weren't supposed to wake up! You were supposed to go away forever! But I don't want you to go back either! I don't want to fix it!”
Dream holds on so carefully, navigating the torrent of emotions Ink is unleashing. Calling on the Purple apple he ate. It's not dissimilar to how he used to call upon his magic before, only this time instead of pushing something out, it feels like inviting someone in. Giving them sanctuary to rest in the calming sense of a deep ocean, of easing their woes with guiding moonlight, giving the warmth of comfort in soft winter nights. Dream pulls tenderly on Ink's feelings to stabilize the soulless skeleton before he uses up all his paint. “Maybe you do not have to fix it this time Ink”
Ink freezes, not even pretending to breathe anymore, responding in an empty whisper. “It's my job to fix the script, they'll leave us if the story is wrong”
Dream motions Swap over to join in, shaking free of his own paralysis Swap hugs the two guardians and shakes with own realizations. Dream keeps going, having an idea as to what ink is talking about. “Are these the creators you've mentioned before?” Dream received a nod to his bloody bandage-covered sternum. “Do you think they made it okay for things to change?”
Ink starts moving again, regaining some life back to his form. Ink has always looked small but in this moment the diminutive skeleton appears truly fragile. Ink looks back up to Dream and gasps! “Your eyes! They! They!” Ink reaches up and grabs Dream's face, pulling his skull down to be eyelevel with the vertically challenged Ink. “You really do have both?” Ink is looking so deeply into dream's eyelights it is uncomfortable, Dream has never liked confrontation and isn't sure what's happening.
Dream keeps looking to the side with his skull stuck. Eyelights darting around refusing to look at Ink, who is deceptively strong refusing to let go. “Ink…Could you please release my head, and tell me what's the matter?” Ink just whips Dream's skull in the direction of Swap, who has still been in the hug at Dreams side, burying his own head in dreams shoulder. He too is in disbelief looking at dream's face.
Swap finally gives him an answer, “Well, I Believe The Issue Is That Your Eyelights Now Contain Some Purple” He gives Dream and Ink a squeeze. “It Doesn't Feel Bad, And It's Far Less Oppressive Than Before.” Swap looks down to the side, feeling guilt over the confession.
Dream too feels shame for not realizing how much his own presence had put pressure on those close to him. “Ink”, Dream calls very carefully, Ink immediately releasing Dream's skull to hide back against Dream's chest. “You had mentioned before that I was supposed to take on Nightmares corruption?”
Ink sniffs before answering. “Please forget that, I said too much. It doesn't matter anyway.” Ink's grip tightens a bit around Dream's aching ribs, exuding more fear as the feeling becomes more prominent in the little skeleton.
Dream and Swap share a long look before Dream comes to a decision. “We should disband–”
“What?” “What Do You Mean!?” Both Swap and Ink manage to say in unison, one of shock and the other in melancholy.
“If I am to fall, I do not wish for either of you to be near. Swap, you need to go home. You have fought so valiantly and for so long. Please, rest friend.” Dream taps his frontal bone to Swaps, he very quietly apologized “I can not bear to see this life destroy you any longer. And I know I am to blame”
Swap meets Dream's eyes in quiet contemplation, accepting Dream's proposal without argument. Already accepting of the decision. “Dream, If You Leave, Where Will You Go?” Swap starts to lower all three of them back to the ground, likely noticing the shaking from dream’s pain and his own exhaustion. Ink suddenly breaths out harshly, finally releasing Dream's broken ribs.
They sit beside each other, leaning against each other and the tree. Ink looks at the other two with a longing. “You two can be free, now, ya’ know.” Ink looks back to the horizon of the little world they are in, peering beyond at something only the creation guardian can see.
Dream, just looking at the sky, inquires back. “How do you mean Ink?”
“You don't have titles; you just gave those up and someone else allowed you to. You aren't Dream anymore, and he's just a regular swap now” Ink isn't crying like before, just smiling in a detached way while the tears flow silently. “If you pick a new one, you might not Shatter if you encounter Nightmare”.
Ink suddenly hops up with his famous agility, summing that massive brush to flourish it with a twirl. The typical Ink Grin™ back in place, “So, I'm headed out! This has been fun but I gotta go!” Exclaimed with an enthusiasm like this whole situation didn't happen, slapping an inky portal on the ground. There's a wave goodbye before Ink falters and the smile drops… “See you around?” The question asked with such tentative broken hope before Ink returns to form and disappears into the puddle. All evidence of the paint evaporating before long.
Dream and Swap are Bewildered and Perplexed by what that could mean. Neither of them made the decision to move or follow after Ink. Swap can’t actually leave yet, being mortal and unable to portal while Dream is reeling with the cryptic nonsense that threatens to give him a headache. Swap looks to hum with a shrug, “Wanna Go Back To My Place, Clean The Blood Off You And Part Ways?”
Dream gives a soft nod in reply, “Yes, I’ll be quick to be on the move again so as not to attract unwanted attention. I might also need a new outfit as this one is ruined…especially the case if what Ink says is true” the last part uttered very quietly. One last look towards the peaceful horizon before Dream stands, offering a hand to Swap. The blue clad skeleton only hesitates slightly before taking it, not releasing the grip as Dream opens a portal to Swap’s home.
They end up in Swap’s room, the lovely house on the surface has an adjoined bathroom full of snacks, medical supplies, sewing kits, and emergency supplies for the brief moments Swap was able to rest before being thrust out into the multiverse again. Together they got Dream fully patched up and in some new clothes, a baggy long-sleeved cream colored shirt, some also baggy cargo pants, a belt of pouches with essentials for his upcoming travels, and a rucksack with a rain poncho to keep Dream dry. Not many words are exchanged but Dream is sure to thank his dear friend for this kindness before they part ways. Knowing that he will stop later, Dream decides to just wear the cloak now, saving room in the bag for the sleeping gear he’ll need to obtain. He looks in the mirror to see himself, wondering who that stranger is looking back at him. The only things of his old life showing are the clasp of his cape peeking out of the cloak, and the circlet on his head.
He feels the need to remove it, but he can’t bear the thought of throwing either item away. He pulls his circlet down past his skull so it rests upon his clavicle, bending it to overlap to ensure it won't fall off. He looks back to his own eyelights, seeing the drops of purple resting at the bottom in the pools of gold, that have since softened into a sweeter yellow. They were not like that earlier when he confronted the council... He really isn’t Dream anymore is he? He looks back to Swap, who is also surprised at the new image, not bothering to say anything but begins to head towards the stairs gesturing for Dream to follow.
They are both in the kitchen, silently enjoying a last meal together consisting of unassembled sandwich bits: pickles, bread, peanut butter, some cheese, olives, Swap’s guilty ketchup pleasure, and a heaping helping of cold turkey slices. They are comfortably existing before Swap’s brother enters the home, dropping his grocery bags and rushing to embrace Swap with all that he has.
Swap is greeted by his brother with open arms, their embrace is so warm until Papyrus notices Dream. Dream is…less welcome, completely understandable; being the one who kept Swap away for countless nights; inadvertently or otherwise. Dream understands, truly; what it's like to be separated from a sibling for so long. Without the Positive Apple constantly chanting about the greater good, he can empathize with his former teammate’s brother and see how many mistakes he had made with Swap. “Do not worry Papyrus, I will not be taking him away ever again. We have disbanded.”
”That’s great and all but, who are you exactly?” The lanky Papyrus looks at Dream with the suspicion of a stranger, not the malice of someone who kept his sibling hostage to battle Eldritch gods. Dream is stunned, and Swap is more than a little surprised. Neither of them had expected Papyrus not to recognize the one before them as the guardian of positivity. But, maybe that isn’t true anymore, and this particular Papyrus is exceptional at detecting lies.
Dream…not Dream… decides to introduce himself politely either way, “Hello, there is no reason to fear. I am…just a wanderer” He reaches out politely to shake hands with Swap’s brother, hearing the silly but familiar rubber chicken squeak within the grasp of their hands.
Papyrus chuckles a bit with the strange honk, mentioning the wonders of comedy, while Swap shakes his head fondly. Papyrus lets go with a smile, “Well then. Nice ta mee’cha Wanderer” and with that, Dream Wanderer can feel something etched on the apples in his chest. Truly the beginning of a new life.
He looks up at the kindly Papyrus with more true joy than he’s felt in a long time, then turns to his friend and gives a shining smile. He receives such a heartfelt grin in return, looking at both of them with gratitude. “Your kindness to me means more than you could ever know, please never hesitate to call me if you need anything. You have my eternal and most sincere gratitude.” He opens his arms for an embrace not only finding Swap within his arms, but Papyrus wrapped around the two as well. Wanderer rubs his face in Swap’s chest plate to hide the tears, he vows to make the multiverse a better place one SOUL at a time. For himself, for his friends, for his brother.
He turns to leave, waving as he opens a portal of yellow and violet. Not with a goodbye, but a “See you next time”. He steps through and the gateway shatters with a shower of sparkles, not knowing where he’s going, Wanderer chooses to let his magic guide where he goes next with no destination in mind. Finally looking forward to the future, for the first time since he was a child. When life was simple as sleeping under an apple tree with his twin, wishing on stars and not even knowing what their lives could have held. He is able to forge his own path outside of the pre-determined doom.
Gentle Surgery got me on a chokehold ngl. Maybe Spy goes to check on Medic after he's been staying in his lab and it's past 3 am and he hasn't been seen all day.
Anyway love your works and I hope you have a good day~
The first thing Spy noticed upon walking into the dining room for breakfast—fashionably late, of course—was that Medic’s spot at the table was empty.
Scout was already trying to fight over the sausages with Soldier and possibly Sniper as well, who appeared to realise how completely outmatched he was but was still trying his hardest not to get stabbed by a stray fork. Engineer was too busy stuffing eggs into his mouth to chastise them for their table manners and everyone else was either half-asleep or actively snoring into their cereal bowls.
Spy wrinkled his nose in distaste and thumped Demoman on the back as he passed by, who spluttered and immediately started coughing up the milk he’d inhaled. Spy poured himself a steaming mug of coffee and took his seat next to Heavy, who was staring murderously at his burnt toast.
“Unpleasant morning?” Spy asked without looking, and Heavy grunted.
“Soldier patrolled last night,” he said by way of explanation, “Was loud. Did not sleep well.”
Spy hummed as he buttered his own untoasted bread and decided against making a snarky remark on how he wouldn’t have known that, since his own room was soundproof. At least it explained why everyone looked dead on their feet, and quite possibly Medic’s absence, though Spy couldn’t know for sure until he asked; Medic was usually quite punctual, in spite of the fact that he liked to spend his nights working away on his experiments and got little to no sleep.
Spy had casually questioned him about his sleeping schedule once and Medic had simply shrugged and said that there were things to be done and breakthroughs to be had, which were statistically more likely to happen during the night. When Spy had raised an eyebrow and asked him to elaborate on his sources, Medic had laughed in his face.
So Spy left Heavy to glower in peace and assumed the good doctor would show up for lunch. He ate his bread with butter and jam, added a pinch of sugar in his coffee and treated himself to a vanilla brioche from his secret stash. He made a mental reminder to bring his sapper to Engineer’s workshop later as he washed his plate and nodded to his teammates on his way out, ignoring Scout struggling to get out of the headlock Soldier had him in.
Since there were no battles scheduled that day, everyone went about relaxing in their own way, which for Spy included barricading himself in his smoking room with a good book and a fine wine. The hours passed swiftly, and Spy eventually opened the windows to air out the room and made his way to lunch.
It was Pyro’s turn on the stove, who could surprisingly cook up a storm when they weren’t messing with the settings in order to see how high the fire could burn. Spy didn’t recognise whatever they’d put on the table, but it did look appetising enough and ended up tasting delicious, if a bit too spicy for his taste.
He did notice halfway through the meal that Medic still hadn’t shown up and stated as much to Heavy, who frowned at the empty chair. He speculated that Medic might be working on something and reluctantly agreed to bring a tray of leftovers to the infirmary afterwards—Medic didn’t tolerate interruptions very well, even if they were well-intentioned.
Spy had pushed aside his concerns and decided to trust that Heavy wouldn’t let Medic starve. Everyone knew how well they got along and how much Heavy fretted over his teammates’ wellbeing—a leftover habit from looking after his sisters all his life, Spy knew.
So he ate his lunch and then went into town to help Engineer shop for weekly supplies. He himself had been planning on getting a new shoe polish and perhaps a new set of wine glasses. His old ones had dwindled in number over the last months due to his unfortunate decision to lend them to Demoman for game night, which had resulted in their being used to create what Scout had dubbed ‘the world’s shittiest champagne tower’ and ultimately shattering on impact when Soldier had drunkenly dived into them to take a ‘champagne bath’.
They hadn’t even used a decent brand of champagne for it. Needless to say Spy wouldn’t be making that mistake again.
By the time they returned and busied themselves with unloading the van, Spy had nearly forgotten about Medic’s suspicious absence. Heavy was nowhere to be seen, so Spy assumed that he’d gotten Medic to eat and decided to camp out in the infirmary for some peace and quiet, since someone was blasting the radio at full volume from somewhere inside the base. He’d picked up his sapper, thanked Engineer for his service, and returned to his smoking room to finish the book he’d started.
And then dinner came and Medic was still nowhere to be found.
“Door to infirmary was open,” Heavy said in-between bites of steak when Spy questioned him on whether he’d seen the doctor at all, “But door to lab was closed. Assumed doctor was busy, left tray with food on the table.”
Heavy had turned away to compliment Pyro on the mashed potatoes, and then Sniper had joined the conversation, and of course Scout had been chattering away the entire time, so the topic of Medic was soon dropped. Spy ate in silence, brow furrowed, and didn’t even react when the others had to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre on Soldier because he choked on a bone.
He offered to wash the dishes simply to take his mind off things, even if Engineer did stare at him like he’d grown a second head and asked him to repeat himself, and ignored the background noise of the team making up some new card game to play before bed. The rushing water brought him little comfort and the sharp scent of the dish soap stuck to his suit, which only further soured his mood. When he was done he tossed away the gloves and marched back to his room without so much as waving goodnight to everyone still hanging around in the living room.
Instead of going to sleep he adjusted his tie, strapped on his cloaking watch and slipped into Medic’s room.
The curtains were drawn, casting the room in partial shade, but the lamp on the far desk was on, shining dimly. The floor was clean and the bed was made, though the closet had been left half-open and the air was stale, indicating that no one had opened any windows in quite some time. Spy knew Medic tidied up regularly, but this went beyond that—the room looked almost unlived in, and when Spy touched the lamp on the desk he found it burning to the touch.
Spy tapped his fingers on the desk, weighing his options, and eventually reached over and turned it off. The only possible explanation for the lamp being on was that Medic had gone back to his lab in the middle of the night and hadn’t returned yet, and he’d forgotten to turn off the light in the middle of the rush. The thought made Spy tap his fingers harder the longer he waited.
Heavy wasn’t a very skilled liar and knew better than to lie to him of all people besides, so Spy had to assume that he’d indeed taken food to the infirmary and left it there when Medic hadn’t come out to greet him. But had he gone to check if the food had been touched afterwards? Had he knocked on the doors to the lab or listened for any noise that might indicate Medic was inside? Had he even thought to check for Medic in his room? On the balcony? In the gun range?
Spy came back to himself only to realise the room had gone pitch black. He checked his watch.
It was fifteen minutes past 3 am.
He didn’t even stop to close the door on his way out. The halls were silent, meaning everyone else was either asleep of holed up in their rooms, with the notable exception of Engineer whom Spy could hear welding something together as he passed his workshop. The doves startled awake when Spy barged into the infirmary and started crooning at him in displeasure, and he had no choice but to pause for a few minutes to calm them down—he hadn’t spent months earning their trust only to give them something to hold a grudge against now.
That and Medic wouldn’t approve of him upsetting his darling birds just because he was in a hurry.
The tray of food was still on the desk and completely untouched, as Spy had predicted, and the doors to the lab were not only closed, but locked from the inside. Good thing Spy was, among many other things, an expert at picking locks.
He had to shield his eyes from the fluorescent lights inside, but once his eyes got used to them he noticed that the room was more of a mess than usual. There were tools and papers scattered everywhere, drawers and cabinets left open, muddled jars of questionable contents and airtight containers that were usually carefully arranged on the shelves now in disarray. Spy stepped over a blueprint that had definitely been borrowed from Engineer and nearly slipped on a page that had likely been ripped from an old medical journal.
There was a flutter of wings next to his ear and a small weight landed on his shoulder. Spy huffed a private little laugh.
“Hello, Archimedes,” he said, reaching up to pet him before Archimedes could peck at his mask like he always did when Spy didn’t greet him right away. Archimedes crooned softly and leaned into his touch, then casually started grooming himself after Spy lowered his hand.
“Ah,” Spy said quietly as he rounded the operating table, “There he is.”
Medic was sitting next to one of the counters, gloves and coat tossed haphazardly at his feet, a stack of books by his left and a microscope to his right. His cheek was pressed against an open notebook, his glasses crooked, and he was snoring softly, fast asleep.
Spy came up to him and snapped his fingers next to his ear. When that garnered no reaction he grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him gently, then more forcefully, until Medic finally stirred. Spy watched him unstick his face from the paper and sluggishly push himself off the counter, then groan at the bright lights, pinching the bridge of his nose and further dislodging his glasses.
Spy, who had been quite prepared to deliver a scathing lecture, suddenly couldn’t muster up the vitriol.
“Busy night, doctor?” he said anyway, just to see how Medic would react.
Medic startled and squinted his way. Blinked a few times. Seemed to finally recognise that it was Spy standing in front of him, and also seemed baffled to see Archimedes staring back at him from his shoulder.
“Mhuh?” he said, eloquently.
Spy snorted, unable to stop himself. He reached out and rubbed his thumb over Medic’s cheekbone, trying very hard to ignore the way his heart fluttered when Medic, still drowsy, instinctively leaned into his touch.
“You have ink stains on your face,” Spy said.
“Mhm,” Medic replied, and instead of reaching up to wipe off said ink stains simply wrapped his hand around Spy’s wrist and leaned even further into his touch.
Spy sighed, but didn’t pull away. His questions could wait until the morning. “Come now, let’s get you to bed,” he said softly, “There will be time for your experiments another day.”
Medic grumbled something under his breath, already half-asleep again, but went willingly, letting Spy guide him around the clutter and leaning on him as they navigated the halls together. They left Archimedes with the other doves and made it to Medic’s room without incident, safe for them bumping into Engineer as he was leaving his workshop.
Engineer had nodded at Spy and Spy had nodded back, and that had been that, a silent agreement that this encounter had never happened.
Spy wiped the ink off Medic’s face with a wet handkerchief and carefully tucked him in, making sure to place his glasses safely on the nightstand. As he made to go something pulled him back down, and he saw Medic watching him through half-lidded eyes, his hand fisted into Spy’s suit jacket. Spy sighed, too tired to argue, shed his jacket and his shoes and his mask and elbowed Medic out of the way as he wiggled under the covers.
Medic pulled him in by the waist and murmured something into his hair, and Spy smiled against his skin when he made out the words.
I’m finished SUDDENLY 40-pages (-ish, it hasn’t been edited yet) fic about...
*dramatic drums*
PRESSLINGTON!
*cheering, applause*
No one expected this, and I’m first of all.
الطين يملأ الشارع .. الساعة الثانية بعد منتصف الليل .. حيث الوقت متأخر جدا لوجود الأسر و الفتيات و مبكر جدا لوجود مصلي الفجر ..
الطين يملأ الشارع .. و الحثالة و السكارى يبدأون نوبات مجونهم ..
أنا لست حثالة و لست سكير و لكني أيضا لا أسرة لي و لا أصلي الفجر ..
لنسمي حالتي إذا سقط مجتمعي .. أنا جنين مجهض ... أنا أنصاف حلول و أنصاف حالات .. أنا نصف بشر
البشر يخافون مني ...حتى الحثالة و السكيرة ...
عيني الواحدة تلمع في ضوء القمر و فمي المخوخ من الأسنان ينفرج عن ثقب كفم حوت .. أنا ككلاب الشوارع ..
البشر يخافون أما الكلاب فلا
أنا كلب و لكن ذهني لا يزال حاضرا لحسن حظي او لسوئه
تمر سيارة مسرعة يتقاظف منها الصياح وسط علو صوت المسجل ...
تمر محدثة طرطشات في برك المطر و المجاري
يعقبها رجل يسير مهرولا و هو يلتحف معطفه الذي يبدي من تحته ثوب الأطباء ..
هو طبيب إذا عائد من نوبته ليس زبونا
يتقاطع مع هرولته مراهق ينفث الدخان من فمه
جميعهم يمرون و أنا جالس أتحسس جيبي الثمين
يدعونني العراب ... و لكني لست عرابا هذا لقب فقط .. كباقي الألقاب السخيفة التي لا معنى لها
الإسم يفقد المرء هويته .. يحوله من كيان إلى مجموعة أحرف متراصة .. بعكس الأرقام
في السجن يعطونك رقما و سروالا أزرق و قميصا بنفس اللون ...
تتوه وسط دوامات القمصان الزرقاء الأخرى .. و مع ذلك تحافظ على هويتك .. على رقمك ..على كيانك المتفرد وسط باقي السجناء
في السجن حيث تسلب حرية الجسد .. تعود الروح حرة
الفتى المراهق يدور حول نفسه يتلفت يمنة و يسرى .. ينفث دخان سيجارته مرتعدا
أراه يقترب منى ببطئ ممزوج بحذر
يتفحص وجهي مرتعدا ..
"أأنت العراب"
لا ينتظر إجابة و يتابع حديثه متلعثما "أريد شريطي ترامادول"
أخرج من جيبي شريطا واحدا
ينظر إليه و لا يطالب بالآخر .. فقط يقول " لست مدمنا أنت تعلم .. أربده للمذاكرة أنت تعلم"
يكرر أنت تعلم و كأنها حقيقة كونية .. أنا أعلم شيئا .. أنه يلتمس عذرا لنفسه
هنا لا مكان للأعذار .. لا مكان للأحكام .. نحن هنا أخوة .. في عالم بعد منتصف الليل ..هنا لا تسري علينا قواعد البشر نحن حراس الجنان و زبانية جهنم ..نحن كلاب المطر.. نحن العرابون إن شئت أن تسمينا
أومئ له رفعا للحرج و عطفا على وجله .. يعطيني ورقة واحدة من فئة مئتين و بهرول بعيدا
And if you needed proof
That humans are a little crazy
Well just look around
At the show, at the train, in the crowd
Little pocket universes, a million miles away
Like ghosts passing by in an elaborate dance
Waiting for just a little spark of excitement
To draw their attention together
Steve and Eddie being each other's first queer kiss, but they don't fall in love instantly with each other. It's real freaking awkward and they're both like "that was weird" and quietly move on.
But... they remain friends of course and as the years pass and partners come and go from their lives both Steve and Eddie (privately) are falling deeper and deeper in love with one another. It feels like something that will never work out, so neither of them act on it, but the more time they spend together the more they like one another.
A love that is not on sight, but built through hours spent together and learning all of each other's complexities and flaws. That is what makes them fall in love with one another. That is what leads to 3am phone calls and goodbyes that take an hour. That is what will eventually lead to kiss number 2 which will topple into a real romance.
I’ve been thinking a lot about Eddie seeing the patches from his old vest onto a new less ruined one after I made that post about his PT—so my prompt for you is Steve helping Eddie resew his new vest (but he’s not really helping he’s just kind of there for kisses and emotional support hehe)
I took a little more into the "actually helping" realm, but it's still fluffy sweet. Other people can send me prrrommmppptts too!
--
Eddie had never done something like this with someone else before. Sewing his ripped jeans, bags, and battle-vest had been a solo venture thus far, but it felt strangely intimate to be getting help with his new vest. The old one wasn't salvageable, but Eddie had managed to save some of the patches and pins to start again. This wasn't his first battle vest, and it probably wouldn't be the last, but he had hoped to hang onto his old denim. It wasn't to be though, so Eddie had thrifted a second (or third) hand denim jacket and ripped the sleeves off to start all over again.
"What's this one?" Steve asked, handing over a pin Eddie had gotten from hanging outside a metal show he couldn't get tickets for.
"Bad Brains," Eddie explained, taking the yellow button and running a thumb over the red lightning bolt that streaked across the front. "From New York, I think. I traded for it; no one really plays their stuff on the radio."
Steve nodded like he was going to retain any of that as Eddie debated over where to stick the pin. He settled on the front right pocket and then turned the vest over.
"You want to help sew the back patch?" Eddie asked, grabbing the swath of fabric he had cut from an old band-T. He hadn't been able to get the blood out of his old DIO patch, and while 'the bloody look' was cool, something about it made Eddie squirm. He didn't like that it was Steve's blood, or that the stain had made part of the album art unreadable.
So, DIO was retired, and Eddie instead centred his new Megadeth patch on the back of his vest.
Eddie handed over a needle and thread to Steve and then cut himself his own length. He strung the needle easily and tied it off before setting to work. Steve seemed to be taking his sweet time, and Eddie eventually glanced at him to see what the hold up was.
Steve was still gingerly trying to thread the needle, his brows pinched with frustration.
Eddie snorted lightly before turning the vest around so it was facing Steve.
"Here, you continue my line, and I'll finish this," Eddie teased gently, finding Steve's inability to thread a needle charming.
"Is it too late to say I've never done this before?" Steve asked, picking up the needle and thread Eddie had left behind and stabbing into the fabric.
"I can tell," Eddie chuckled, easily starting to work again. "You don't have to, you know. I don't mind just having some company."
"No, it's alright," Steve said slowly, obviously concentrating as he tried to stick the needle up through the patch. "What're boyfriend for?"
Eddie felt a syrupy smile spread across his face at Steve's words, his stomach tumbling around inside of him. He was still getting used to Steve calling them 'boyfriends' and Eddie couldn't help how giddy it made him each time. Sure, it had been nearly a month, but it still made Eddie feel like he was a blushing fifteen-year-old.
"If you insist… love," Eddie said, keeping his gaze down. He was trying out a new pet-name and he wasn't really sure if it was pushing things a bit too far. Love or My Love was such an intimate title, but Eddie had been thinking of it for a while now. He saw Steve pause at the use of the new nickname though, and waited for him to say something.
"Ow---Jesus," Steve said instead, and Eddie looked up to see him holding his hand up, a ruby-red bead of blood forming on his finger.
"Ah…" Eddie said lamely, smiling still as he reached over for Steve's hand. "Sticking yourself hurts."
"Yeah, thanks for stating the obvious," Steve bitched, letting Eddie take his hand.
"I thought you'd be a bit more durable… you know, with the whole… missing a chunk of your stomach, thing," Eddie teased gently, putting his lips to the wound on Steve's finger much the same way his mother would have when he was a child.
Steve didn't reply to Eddie's comment, instead sitting there quietly and letting Eddie suck on the tip of his finger.
"You want a band-aid?" Eddie asked, pulling back just a bit and then cheekily pressing his tongue against Steve's finger, holding it there with his mouth open.
"Yeah, a band-aid----what are you doing? Don't be weird," Steve chuckled, still not resisting Eddie's grip.
Eddie quirked a brow at him and pulled back, before huffing a laugh.
"Look who you're talking to. Weird is practically stamped on my forehead," he scolded, before licking Steve's finger again for good measure.
"Alright, alright, fair. We get it, Count Dracula, can we grab that band-aid?"
Eddie chuckled again and then scrambled to his feet, trotting off toward the bathroom, but not before turning around and sticking his fingers in front of his lips to replicate fangs.
"I vant---to suck yer ddiiiiccck," he teased, smiling wide when he got an honest belly laugh from Steve.
