89 and mckirk pretty please?
At this point I’m guessing at memes, but I figure you probably don’t remember either, so hey! It’s Mckirk and its 89 from some sort of writing prompt?? Anyways, I’m continuing on in the same world as a Mckirk wizards prompt I got ages ago (mostly because I’m shamelessly recycling ideas from a gramander au that will probably never get written). Anyways, please enjoy darling! <3
100 Prompts: “I thought you forgot about me.” “Never.”
It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Of all the possible scenarios Jim had ever thought up about how the war would end, Bones lying pale and still in a field hospital bed had never once occurred to him. It should be him, it should be Jim in that bed, clinging onto life because Bone’s ordered him to.
It wasn’t supposed to be Bones. Bones was supposed to be strong and irascible, grumpy and with a horrible bedside manner.
“Are you sure it was the only way?” Jim refused to relinquish Bones’ hand, even as he looked up at the Healer.
“He’s not the first,” the Healer informed Jim, too tired and worn to be as comforting as she should be. “It’s Spell Shock,” she continued, her tired eyes having a far too knowing look in them. “He might have over come it on his own, but every time the potion wore off-” she shrugged.
Jim winced, he knew exactly what she didn’t say. He had been trying to forget the screaming that had torn Bones’ throat raw, the perpetual shaking in hands that had once been the steadiest he had ever known. The blankness in once warm hazel eyes that could no longer recognize their surroundings.
“How much?” he asked, heart sinking. How much of Bones’ memory had they taken? Would he remember the last six months? The adrenaline fueled relationship that had started in the bottom of a trench, and was as much desperation as it was genuine affection.
“Without knowing the specific trigger-” the Healer hesitated, then pushed on. “We couldn’t take the risk.”
Jim’s throat felt like it was closing up, fears of being abandoned again rising up to choke him, though he fought them down again ruthlessly. “When- When will he wake up?”
“Any moment now,” the Healer, Chapel, said, finally managing to find her sympathy. “I’ll leave you alone then.”
She had been right, it didn’t take long. There was a soft groan from the bed, and Jim knew he should pull back his hand, but instead he squeezed tighter, leaning forward. “Bones?”
Leonard blinked his eyes opened, and they fixed on Jim’s face. He searched those eyes, looking for even the faintest glimmer of recognition.
“What? Where- Who-?” the voice was groggy, gravelly, and contained nothing but confusion.
Jim snatched his hand back abruptly like it burned. “Sorry,” he found himself saying, his voice thick. “You’re probably wondering who the hell I am and what I’m doing here-”
“Don’t be an idiot, Jim,” Bones groaned, giving up on trying to lift his head, and instead lifting his hand to reach for Jim’s again. “I’m wonderin’ what in the hell you’re doing up there when there’s plenty of room in this cot.”
Jim stared. “You- You know who I am?”
“’Course I do. You’re my- my- What’s the term we’re using? Jim? Jim! What in the hell- why are you crying?” Leonard forced himself up onto his elbows, and reached for Jim again, cradling his face with one hand. “What is it, darlin’?”
“They had to- you were- I thought you forgot me.”
Slowly, comprehension dawned, and Leonard shook his head. “Never,” he said simply. “I made sure I’d never forget you, Jim, no matter what.”
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