Like the Stain of Breath Upon a Mirror
Dec. 18th, 2018 11:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
redtailedhawk90Drabble #5 -- From this Whumptober prompt list.
Exhaustion
Like the Stain of Breath Upon a Mirror | The Room Where It Happened (Podcast) | Tseer/Wyatt
Wyatt is sitting in a chair, elbows on knees and hands in his hair, when Tseer shuffles into the room. When he looks up, his eyes are red-rimmed and his features pinched, as if he is in pain. Well, Tseer thinks, I suppose he would be.
"I felt..." Wyatt gestures to his neck, unwilling to form the words. Tseer nods wearily. He tries to work past the lump in his throat because even though Corra healed him swallowing still hurts and aarakocra can't cry, dammit, but his face feels flushed under his feathers and his breathing is ragged and wet and his legs are shaking under his weight.
"Wyatt, I--" His voice cracks under the weight of everything that happened and everything that is happening and everything that he saw. In an instant, Wyatt is beside him, his arm warm and comforting around his waist. He half-carries Tseer to the pile of pillows and blankets that serves as their bed, gently lowering them both down to the floor so they are sitting against the wall: Tseer between Wyatt's legs, his wings pressed tight to Wyatt's chest.
"I've got you," says Wyatt softly as he rests his chin on Tseer's shoulder and kisses his jaw. "My firebird. I've got you. You're safe now." Tseer threads his trembling talons with Wyatt's fingers, forcing himself to match his breath to the rise and fall of the man's behind him. He doesn't realize he's whimpering with each exhale until Wyatt tightens his arms around him and presses his face into the crook of his neck.
He'd been prepared for a fight. He wasn't a soldier like Tessa, but he'd gone into the Dream Den willing to do whatever was necessary to save Fuku, and knowing that probably meant he would get hurt, maybe even die. He put himself on the front line--without armor, without even a weapon--because he wanted to protect his friends. He wanted to be the kind of person his parents thought he was. He wanted to be a hero.
But the adversary they met in the dreamscape had fought back with more than violence. The visions he planted in Tseer's mind weren't dark or twisted or terrifying.
They were happy.
We couldn't be more proud of you, his mother had said, in the dream.
How could he tell Wyatt that his pain now wasn't from the his aching throat, or the bruises on his torso, but from a gibbering existential dread that sat like a stone in his gut? Nothing is coming, the man had said, and Tseer had the overwhelming feeling that they were up against something bigger than they could ever imagine. Something dark and insidious told him that they would all die in this fight, pawns to greater beings. He would never sit in an expensive banquet hall and preen as Wyatt accepted a philanthropic award. He would never see his parents again. He would never hear them say that they were proud.
Time passes, and eventually Tseer's breathing slows. His shoulders stop shaking. The lump in his throat eases. He turns in Wyatt's arms and sits crossways in his lap, resting his head against his chest to listen to his heartbeat. Wyatt gently cards through Tseer's feathers with the fingers of one hand while keeping tight grip of one of his talons with the other.
"Do you want to talk about it?" asks Wyatt.
"No," says Tseer. Then, "Not yet."
"Then what do you need?"
"Just hold me. Please."
And Wyatt does.
Exhaustion
Like the Stain of Breath Upon a Mirror | The Room Where It Happened (Podcast) | Tseer/Wyatt
Wyatt is sitting in a chair, elbows on knees and hands in his hair, when Tseer shuffles into the room. When he looks up, his eyes are red-rimmed and his features pinched, as if he is in pain. Well, Tseer thinks, I suppose he would be.
"I felt..." Wyatt gestures to his neck, unwilling to form the words. Tseer nods wearily. He tries to work past the lump in his throat because even though Corra healed him swallowing still hurts and aarakocra can't cry, dammit, but his face feels flushed under his feathers and his breathing is ragged and wet and his legs are shaking under his weight.
"Wyatt, I--" His voice cracks under the weight of everything that happened and everything that is happening and everything that he saw. In an instant, Wyatt is beside him, his arm warm and comforting around his waist. He half-carries Tseer to the pile of pillows and blankets that serves as their bed, gently lowering them both down to the floor so they are sitting against the wall: Tseer between Wyatt's legs, his wings pressed tight to Wyatt's chest.
"I've got you," says Wyatt softly as he rests his chin on Tseer's shoulder and kisses his jaw. "My firebird. I've got you. You're safe now." Tseer threads his trembling talons with Wyatt's fingers, forcing himself to match his breath to the rise and fall of the man's behind him. He doesn't realize he's whimpering with each exhale until Wyatt tightens his arms around him and presses his face into the crook of his neck.
He'd been prepared for a fight. He wasn't a soldier like Tessa, but he'd gone into the Dream Den willing to do whatever was necessary to save Fuku, and knowing that probably meant he would get hurt, maybe even die. He put himself on the front line--without armor, without even a weapon--because he wanted to protect his friends. He wanted to be the kind of person his parents thought he was. He wanted to be a hero.
But the adversary they met in the dreamscape had fought back with more than violence. The visions he planted in Tseer's mind weren't dark or twisted or terrifying.
They were happy.
We couldn't be more proud of you, his mother had said, in the dream.
How could he tell Wyatt that his pain now wasn't from the his aching throat, or the bruises on his torso, but from a gibbering existential dread that sat like a stone in his gut? Nothing is coming, the man had said, and Tseer had the overwhelming feeling that they were up against something bigger than they could ever imagine. Something dark and insidious told him that they would all die in this fight, pawns to greater beings. He would never sit in an expensive banquet hall and preen as Wyatt accepted a philanthropic award. He would never see his parents again. He would never hear them say that they were proud.
Time passes, and eventually Tseer's breathing slows. His shoulders stop shaking. The lump in his throat eases. He turns in Wyatt's arms and sits crossways in his lap, resting his head against his chest to listen to his heartbeat. Wyatt gently cards through Tseer's feathers with the fingers of one hand while keeping tight grip of one of his talons with the other.
"Do you want to talk about it?" asks Wyatt.
"No," says Tseer. Then, "Not yet."
"Then what do you need?"
"Just hold me. Please."
And Wyatt does.
no subject
Date: 2018-12-20 03:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-12-20 02:51 pm (UTC)