#but anyone with crutches knows the pain of using them and getting salt stuck under the rubber | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

violets-page · 3 years

Text

Shot down Pt.3

Allie takes over your mind and all Raven can do is watch, feeling helpless.

TW: self-harm (kinda extreme)

Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Masterlist

You relied often on the extension of crutches to be mobile. However, things that worked on the ark were not always as great on the ground.

Things like executions, lunch, and crutches, were all much better on the ark. All involved much less suffering. The bumpy terrain and muddy roads made you slip often. Walking made you anxious, afraid that at any moment your legs would give up and you would plummet to the soil. Stuck there until someone become willing to help. Needless to say, you avoided it at all costs. Or at least avoid walking alone.

Today was one of those days where you were forced to. Raven was working on some sort of electric fence around the camp and had begrudgingly left your side after you begged her to. You knew that being cramped inside all day with nothing to work on was worse than hell for her. It had rained earlier and the ground was a cesspool of piss and mud. Falling into it was ill-advised.

You were immensely grateful for the returning strength to your arms and spent many hours working out. Pull-ups were your preference. Without them hobbling along would have been much harder. Raven often commented on them with a smile and a laugh, it always made you blush.

The jagged metal of the crutches sank deep within the soil each time you set them down. It took forever for you to get more than a few feet from your tent, but by that time you had already grown too tired.

You practically fell onto a stray box before hurling the crutches into the mud next to you. You felt your foot twitch. Abby had stated this was a good sign of recovery but to you, it just felt like a painful reminder of your limits.

Your head fell forward as your palms dug into your eyes, holding back the tears like a damn.

The chip in your pocket felt like a hundred pounds as you pulled it out

* * * * * * * *

When Jaha gave you the chip he had seemed so sure of himself, so convinced that these people would be happy. Hell, the man fell from space in a death capsule, was stranded in the desert, almost died, and somehow, and he looked happier than anyone else on this damned planet.

You had run out of other options. The worst that could happen? It turned out to be a piece of plastic and you were left with the unsatisfying taste of dirt.

You held it against your lips toying with the idea, you had run out of time, out of patience, out of hope.

Raven had slowly gotten over her guilt (all thanks to you) and due to your inability to travel more than 30 feet without screaming, you barely saw her. Abby was the only one who checked in regularly and most likely because you spent most of your time in her makeshift waiting room.

Waiting.

You were always waiting. Waiting for your friends to return, waiting for your leg to heal, waiting for love.

Before you could stop yourself you let the chip slide onto your tongue. It dissolved quickly at tasted faintly like salt and dough.

You sat there, waiting for euphoria, waiting for...something.

The kids on the ark sometimes smoked herbs. You thought it would feel like that, the world fading around you as bright colors floated around and everything else just ceased to matter.

Instead, you wiped tears from your eyes all the while cursing Thelonious. You grabbed your crutches, the walk back would take your remaining energy, but better than then be stuck in the oncoming rain.

You felt your annoyance growing with each step as the crutches creaked irritated by your weight on them. You couldn’t take it anymore, the anger came crashing like waves. You slammed the crutches in the mud with a scream. You hated them. They poked you in the arm, they were too tall and made your shoulders ache, they sunk into the ground and were too nosy.

you stood in front of the crutches before raising your leg to stomp on them.

You took your anger out, everything that was wrong with the world you suddenly blamed the crutches for.

“Stupid mother fu-”

Your stomps slowed to a steady pat before halting completely. You were moving, standing. Without the aid of crutches. You took a few more steps, and a few more, and some more. Until your eyes were met with a pristine pair of black heels.

Your eyes trailed up the ivory-toned legs and over the tight red dress of a figure, you'd never seen before. You stared at her in confusion.

“Hello y/n”

* * * * * * * *

Raven hadn’t realized what was happening till it was too late.

You fought against the hold on Clarke and Bellamy in a fit of screams. The forest looked the same to you no matter where you were and your eyes hungrily searched for anything you could recognize

You heard the familiar faint whispers of Raven’s ‘I’m sorry’ before a needle was plunged into your neck and everything went dark.

* * * * * * * *

The drive to the grounder camp felt long and hopeless to Raven. She spent the drive running her hand through your hair hoping part of your unconscious mind would recognize her touch and be soothed by it.

She watched as Clarke and Bellamy hopped out of the truck to reason with the vicious-looking grounder. Her Breath hitched waiting and hoping they would be able to reason with her. She couldn't bear to lose you.

You were all she had.

She felt you shift in her arms, your eyebrows furrowed and she could see your eyes flutter but remain close. For a second she forgot the situation, a gentle smile down at your waking form. Then reality came crashing.

“Hurry she's waking up!”

You felt the fabric of a blindfold as rough hands shoved it down before you could even open your eyes.

Hands were on your body, their touch felt familiar but not enough that you could place the figure. The blindfold cocooned your ears and amplified the sound of your breathing so that Clarke’s voice was a dull mumble.

You felt your body being released from your arms as your back sunk it to something soft and shiny. You immediately started trying to get free. Attempting to rip the blindfold off, you felt your hands and feet grabbed by multiple sets of limbs. Restraints were bound sloppily but tightly around your wrists, with the addition of the blindfold and multiple pairs of hands trying to hold you down you weren't making much, if any progress.

The smartest thing to do was to obliviate one of these obstacles. You choose the easiest one. Your hands clawed at your face, you could faintly feel your skin under your nails as you ripped at it before your fingers were finally able to latch onto the blindfold, yanking it down and around your neck.

Alie’s familiar red dress stood out strongly against the dull tones of the unfamiliar room. The group stood in tense anticipation as you snapped your head around, trying to recognize the room. You knew it wasn't part of the ark, it was too dirty and earth-like. The fur rug made you think Trikru but where you had no idea. When your mind drew a blank Alie grew frustrated. Or at least, her version of frustrated.

“We need to know where you are.”

Your thrashing resumed this time tenfold.

“WHERE AM I. WHERE AM I.”

They struggled to hold you down as you fought past your physical capabilities to escape. They all had a grip on a limb making movement nearly impossible. Injuries, even if you couldn’t feel them, weakened you.

You turned to the closest person, who happened to be Raven, and sunk your teeth into the flesh of her wrists. It was shallow, she yanked her hand back before you could go deeper. Her pain barely registered in your mind, her tears didn’t tug at your heart like you knew they should have.

Instead, you seized the opportunity to reach over and punch Jasper square in the nose. His hold loosed but by then Raven had latched back on, the blood from her wrists trickled slowly down onto your exposed skin. With each failed attempt at escaping struggling grew harder.

Clarke and Bellamy had been quick to grab a spare rope, using it to bound your hands and feet to the posts of the strange bed. You screamed in frustration as Alie stared at you. She showed no emotion, just the same semi-pleasant stare she always held.

“LET ME GO.”

You knew the awful things Alie could do and you were no stranger to them. The scream was a mix of terror and anger. You tossed your body up and down hoping to break the posts, the bed, something to set you free.

“LET ME GO LET ME GO LET ME GO.” Your voice grew more strained with every word. If you could feel pain your throat would probably ache immensely.

The group stepped back after thoroughly double-checking the knots. The sheer look of horror was displayed across all of their faces and it vexed you deeply

Didn't they know you were doing this for them? For her?

* * * * * * * *

Raven stood in the other room, watching you made her feel sick to her stomach. Not that listening to your screams from a different room made it any better. She could hear the creaking of the bed and pained screams throughout the entire house. So she stood, waiting anxiously with Clarke for their next move.

Her nails had been chewed to the beds and she knew that if- when you came to, you would scold her till her ears bleed.

Clarke said she knew where to get a wristband and Sinclair knew how to alter it to suit their needs. But Raven grew nervous with the time it was taking for either of them to follow through on these promises.

She glanced to where Clarke was talking to the grounder and felt her muscles tense when the girl gave Clarke an angry glare. Whatever Clarke was trying to achieve, she was doing a horrible job of it.

By now all of her nails had been chomped town to raw skin so she switched to pacing. Back and forth, back and forth trying to drown out your ever-fainting screams.

Raven let an audible sound of relief when Clarke set the wristband on the table. It had been a silent mutual agreement that Sinclair would be the one to work on the wristbands.

One part because He knew them best and the other because Raven couldn’t keep her fingers from trembling long enough to do the necessary machine work.

“So how do we do this?” Clarke seemed the calmest of them all. Losing Lexa had numbed her in a way.

“If we can turn it into an EMP we can use it to fry the bitch out of her head. The electromagnetic pulse would destroy the critics. You just need to reverse the polarity and...”

Raven droned on in her explanation, faintly aware of how quiet the neighboring room had grown.

“We don’t know what the chip embedded in her brain is like, it could cause a bad outcome”

“Worse than this?” Her question was met with a defeating silence. Not that she expected anyone would answer. She wasn’t feeling too strongly about the plan either but she couldn't watch you slowly break apart, her lover disappearing with every day until all that's left would be a hollow shell. She tried to reassure herself that it was what you would want.

The group continued to talk, working up a solution until they had a solid plan mapped out. Monty and Octavia had fled to the dropship to gather the necessary parts while everyone else had stayed behind.

She made her way back into the room to watch you.

Maybe for a moment, she could envision you back to normal, pretending that she was simply watching you blissfully relax.

* * * * * * * *

Raven stood in the corner of the room. Her posture was rigid and he hands crossed over her chest relaying defensive positioning.

Not that you even cared. You surveyed your bound wrists with a bored expression. Her eyes fluttered between you and the floor constantly. The floor was basic dirt and about as interesting as well... dirt. Meaning that she was avoiding your eyes.

You rolled your wrists thoughtfully considering a slip-out process, you knew how Raven worked, how she thought, her weak spots. You could take her easily. You tugged at the right wrist restarting trying desperately to wrench your wrist free.

Alie watched you robotically her red dress unnatural in the atmosphere.

“With marginally more slack, you could reach those knots.”

The idea hadn’t occurred to you before. without pain inhabilitating you, you’d be able to dislocate your shoulder, properly creating more slack.

You twisted, you could feel the muscles in your arm pulling taut as you put out exasperated grunts. Raven’s eyes snapped to yours, her worry clouding her fear.

“Y/N, please...”

When you made no effort to stop she took note of your clenched jaw and furrowed brow.

“What- what are you doing?”

Her voice no longer had any effect on you. Your heart didn’t ache when you saw the pain in her eyes, you didn’t feel the need to comfort her when you could sense her anxiety. You were trying to help her, get her to take the chip so that you could be happy together so that her pain could end. But until she did, she was just a pest in your mission.

You kept tugging, you could feel your muscles grow stressed as you got closer to your goal. The grinding of your bones scrapped your ears as your arm popped out of its socket.

Raven stood frozen in shock. The fear on her face was evident but she was too startled to have a reasonable reaction.

“There is no pain here Ray, you could be free.”

Maybe it was the nickname rolling off your tongue, it’s lack of love or familiarity, or maybe she saw you trying to chew off the restraints, but she finally snapped out of it.

“STOP IT! GUYS.”

The blood has started to run back down your arm. Somehow in forgetting pain you also forgot about death. Raven didn’t know what to do, how to stop you, and stop the bleeding all at once.

Her heart was pounding out of her chest as images of your still body lying in a pool of blood clouded her thoughts.

“Oh god.”

She reached for your head, her calloused fingers against your cheeks as she tried to turn your head away from her wrists. You snapped at her, your teeth clenching around the air, but it was enough to get her to let go. The memory of your teeth in her skin and the stinging of her wrist were a painful reminder of how far you would go.

Clarke came in as you resumed chewing on the restraints. So close...

Before you could get them Bellamy and Raven had yanked you away. Enforcing your body in its position with more rope.

Clarke shouted at you to stop but you drowned her out, straining your neck in a futile attempt to reach the restraints.

“Alie.”

Your head snapped to Jasper’s as the familiar probing sensation in your brain occurred. Everything went dark, when you came back to it, Alie was staring at you. The slightest traces of distaste etched across her red lips.

“Let them help you”

You froze, staring straight ahead. For a moment everyone else did too. Probably expecting you to lash out again and bite one of them. When you didn’t Raven quickly took to untying your wrists.

You watched her with faint interest. You couldn’t remember why you wanted to save her but you knew you did, somewhere deep down. Your eyes traveled down her arms. Her fingers were latched tightly around your arm. The teeth marks were barely visible, caked under her dried blood. Or maybe that was yours. You felt something in you ache, you can’t feel pain but this feeling... felt painful?

You pondered upon its appearance as Clarke used her foot to relocate your shoulder.

You didn’t even flinch.

* * * * * * * *

Raven had volunteered to stay with you. God knows why, you had hurt her enough. You rolled her eyes when she did, not that anyone noticed.

She sat at the end of the bed. you didn’t really mind, not that you could even do anything if you did.

You looked her up and down.

“Do you still cry?” It wasn’t really a question, you knew the answer. You just wanted to hear her say it.

Her eyes shot up to yours. Her hands tensed in her lap and you momentarily took note of her bloody nails.

“What”

“You used to cry over my leg. Why did you stop?”

She opened her mouth but then shut it not knowing how to answer, or who was even talking to her.

“If I’m being honest I think it was quite selfish of you. I’m the one with the fucked up leg and yet, I was the one comforting you about it.”

Her expression hardened but the tears in her eyes stayed. your stomach ached again but you ignored it.

“Get out of her head Alie”

You smiled at her, a nice teethy one, completely catching her off guard.

“It’s not Alie. It’s me Raven, your- your.” but your mind drew a blank. How did you know Raven? You couldn’t remember and it made you mad.

“You're the reason I’m in here. the reason I took the chip. Because you let me get shot.”

“Shut up.”

“You couldn’t help me and when I needed you most you disappeared.” you sneered at her as tears ran down her face.

“I’m sorry... I-”

Clarke’s hand was on her shoulder, leading her out of the room before you could get another jab in, but that didn’t stop you from trying.

“I HATE YOU RAVEN. I HATE YOU.”

* * * * * * * *

You watched as Sinclaire put together a type of bracelet device.

“Their design is good, I won’t be able to get here before they disconnect you.”

You felt your heart rate spike knowing what was to come and that you had no way of stopping it. You struggled to try to pull your hands free before they could latch the device on. Your attempts were pathetic.

“You know too much. I can’t let them have you.”

The red dress disappeared and your head felt like it was on fire.

Die. Die. Die. Die. Die.

You had to get rid of the burning, it engulfed your head, shooting from the base of your neck, its flame growing stronger every second. You slammed your head against the headboard. Once. Twice. Every time you did the burning seemed to stop for a second, so you speed up. Screaming as your brain felt like it was being incinerated. You didn’t even notice when the bracelet was strapped on. Your eyes moved to Raven's tear-stained face and her mouth open in an apparent scream.

You almost stopped. A second of hesitation before the banging resumed.

You didn’t notice when blood started to run down your neck or when Octavia grabbed your head in an attempt to hold it still. You tried to scream at them to stop, that they needed to let you stop the burning but you couldn’t seem to form words.

You screamed as tears ran down your eyes.

“Please please please Raven. I don’t wanna die. Please don’t let them kill me!” You hiccuped. Your neck continued to jolt as you tried to smash it against the headboard. She looked heartbroken as her hands fell to your cheeks. You closed your eyes as sobs racked your body. The faint feeling of her lips against your forehead felt like a drop of water in the desert.

“I’m sorry love” You felt all the blood in your body vibrate as the current soared through you.

* * * * * * * *

When you woke up everything hurt. The pain shocked you at first. You’d grow accustomed to its absence. You went to move your hands to your head, the sticky blood coated your fingers as they rested upon a thin cut at the base of your neck.

“Ow.”

Everyone let out an audible sigh of relief. Her familiar hands were on the sides of your head, pulling your face into her chest. You allowed her scent and the smooth folds of her shit to engulf your senses as you tried to ignore the bustling headache that was sneaking up on you.

As if suddenly remembering you grasped her forearms pulling them away from your head, You stared at the deep, red indentations on her wrists.

You felt your breath catch in your throat as you let out a soft gasp.

You had done that to her.

She sensed your emotions, she always did. And she always knew exactly what to do about it. Her hands moved back to your hair, stroking it gently while avoiding the cuts and bruises you’d received.

You stared up at her for a while until the pain grew too much and you closed your eyes, allowing your head to fall back forward against her stomach.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

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seeaddywrite · 5 years

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malex + “Please, be gentle with me. I’ll break if you aren’t careful enough.” please! 💕

this one was really hard, because neither of our boys are generally the openly mushy type! but i tried – i hope you enjoy! :) & look, a rare sighting of Alex’s pov on this blog! also, this one is a companion fic to this one.

warnings for ptsd, panic attacks, self-hatred & an unreliable narrator.

The thing that no one tells a stupid kid about to enlist isn’t that going to war fucks you up — everyone knows that. It’s broadcast through the media, in television shows and romance novels, and hell, there are even commercials about vets with post-traumatic stress disorder. As a kid, Alex was privy to the more intimate details of what that looks like; he’s pretty sure Jesse Manes wasn’t born with a mindset that allowed breaking his own son’s bones. That, Alex figures, came from what he did to survive during his own tours of duty.

Alex doesn’t like to admit that he’s got anything in common with the psychopath who fathered him, but it’s hard to ignore, lately. As a kid, despite the constant fear that his own father was going to go too far and actually kill him one day, Alex was pretty optimistic. He had plans — leaving Roswell came first, followed by pursuing a music career in a real city, without the small minds that came from small town living. Later, it had been finding a gorgeous, guitar-playing guy to create a life with far, far away from his family and the insanity that seems to run rampant in their genes. Because young Alex wasn’t like his father, or his grandfather, or even his oldest brother. He was sane, and he wasn’t going to get sucked into the violence and rigidity of a military existence chasing aliens.

Military service changed all of that. Some of it for the better — Alex isn’t stupid enough to say that there was nothing good about his time in the Air Force. Enlisting showed him the aptitude he hadn’t known he had for computers, had introduced him to some of his closest friends, and given him the skills and courage he needed to realize that Jesse Manes wasn’t nearly as powerful as he liked his children to think. He’s proud of his service.

Unfortunately, pride isn’t enough to stop him from realizing that not all of his internal changes were positive ones. Some days, when he looks in the mirror, all he can see is the negative — how the circles beneath his eyes tell everyone of his newly complicated relationship with sleep, and how the crutch he leans on constantly denotes weakness to anyone who looks at him. But, more than the physical, Alex hates the emotional changes from who he used to be. Anxiety has become an inconstant companion, coming and going as it pleases and leaving him shaking and pale for no external reason. Even when he’s feeling stable, it’s so much harder to feel excited, or even content. Every happy moment is constantly overshadowed by the question of when it will end, and Alex loathes that more than anything.

Because while everything else has changed, his feelings for Michael Guerin are still as deep and passionate as ever, and Alex can’t enjoy it. He tries, God, he tries. But every time he thinks he can do it, when he’s confident in his own ability to be what Michael needs, something sparks that same anxiety that has sent him running a hundred times before. Michael kisses him at the reunion? Alex panics when Isobel Evans might find out. Michael takes him on an actual date, in public, and stares at him with obvious affection, uncaring of who can see — Alex lets his father get under his skin and hurts Michael enough that he can actually see the heartbreak in his eyes. One would think that after all that, Michael would punch Alex when he comes around, asking questions about his past and who he is, but the other man still lets him in … and, yet again, despite his intentions, Alex runs away as soon as he realizes there’s a chance that Michael might abandon him. It’s a miracle that Michael doesn’t seem to hate him even now; God knows that Alex hates himself.

It’s a cycle he can’t break, and Alex is resigned to the fact that he’s not meant to figure it out. He works alongside Michael and the others, helping them fight back against Project Shepherd and his father as his penance, trying to show Michael how much he means to him without trampling all over his heart, but some days, he aches with wanting the other man’s arms around him. On the hard days, when he hurts to much to wear his prosthetic and can’t leave his house, or when he’s curled on the bathroom floor, gasping through the aftermath of a nightmare and trying to ground himself with the stupid techniques his military-appointed shrink assigned him before deeming him fit for duty, Alex always has to resist calling Michael. He knows he would come. Of course he would. It’s like a law of the universe: whenever Alex needs him, Michael Guerin comes. So Alex can’t ask, can’t need him, because he’s got nothing to give back.

So the night that the guy Maria has nicknamed ‘Racist Hank’ punches a guy and sends him sprawling into Alex’s bad leg while he’s spending some time with the others outside of working and running for their lives, Alex sucks it up when the immediate throb in his residual limb sends him spiraling. Pain doesn’t always have this effect on him; Alex’s usually as calm and competent with pain management as he is with hacking. But every ache in that leg sends him straight back to Baghdad, to the crash and the adrenaline, to waking up in a German hospital to find himself missing a limb –

Alex cuts off that line of thinking quickly. It’s not quite a panic attack, not yet, though he knows that if he doesn’t get a handle on himself, it’ll become one. He’s gotten good at hiding his weaknesses behind a mask of competency and detachment, and it works that night, too. Liz glances at him once, from where she leans against Max’s arm, but she only flashes him a smile. Michael, though – Michael’s eyes, as always, track his every movement, and seem to know way too much. Alex does his best to ignore the fog creeping into his mind and the way his fingers shake when he releases the beer bottle in his hands. He keeps up with the conversation around the table for a few minutes, nodding when Isobel declares that they all need more drinks, and smiling woodenly when Max kisses Liz on the mouth – but soon, he can’t manage it. It takes all of his focus to stay seated, to keep his stomach from overturning. His leg aches, though Alex can’t be sure that it’s a physical pain, and he’s desperate to leave before his heart beats out of his chest and shows everyone what a coward he is.

Salvation comes in Michael’s quiet voice. “Hey, you good, man?”

Alex wants to answer. He simultaneously wants to insist that he’s fine and walk out of the bar under his own power and to burrow into Michael’s arms and hide there until he can breathe normally again. Fuck. He flinches at Michael’s calloused hand on his, and guilt at the way the other man yanks his hand back as if stung adds itself to the heap of negative emotion in his head.

Michael doesn’t say anything about that, though. Those uncannily perceptive eyes just watch him as Alex struggles to find his voice, to find any words to get him out of this situation –

And again, Michael saves him. “You want to get out of here?”

Alex’s answering nod is desperate, and he’s not sure he cares. His breath is starting to stutter, and it’s going to become impossible to maintain any sort of dignity if he starts hyperventilating in the middle of Maria’s bar. After all of his hard work to show his friends that he’s fine, that he came back from war with all of his faculties, and that they don’t need to worry about him, that would definitely be a blow to his pride. And at this point, Alex feels like pride is one of the few things he’s got left.

Michael turns around to talk to the others; Alex doesn’t know what he says, but when the other man turns around expectantly, he finds himself stuck in the chair. The low-level ache in his leg is still there, and he doesn’t want to stand – he’s not sure he could, even, without help. So, swallowing past the lump in his throat, he waves at his leg in vague explanation and asks hoarsely, “Think you could give me a hand?”

He’s expecting Michael to haul him out of the chair, and part of him is excited for the prospect – it gives him an excuse to let Michael hold him together, if only for the few minutes it takes to make it out the door. But instead, Michael just puts his hands out and waits.

It’s harder than he’d like to reach out and take the offer. It’s stupid, since Alex is the one who asked for help, but this – this feels like he’s asking for too much, admitting to weakness. But Alex reaches out anyway, because he can’t fall apart in the middle of the Pony, and he trusts Michael.

They make it out the door pretty quickly after Alex throws a half-hearted wave at the rest of their friends, and he all but falls into Michael’s chest when they’re alone on the dark street. Alex presses his face into Michael’s neck, inhaling the familiar scent of sweat and motor oil and laundry detergent like it’s smelling salts or something. It works – or maybe it’s just the warmth of Michael’s body, and the sturdiness of his muscles, holding Alex up while he can’t quite manage it alone.

“Hey,” Michael’s voice is low, and Alex can feel it rumble through his chest. “You okay?”

Alex chuckles, and knows the sound isn’t a happy one. “You already know the answer to that.” His voice sounds raspy, like he’s been screaming – and Alex supposes he has, though the noise has all been internal.

“You checked out on us during that fight. You faked it pretty well for a while, but I – I could tell something was wrong.” Of course he could. Michael’s always been able to read Alex so, so well. “You want me to take you home? Maria won’t let anyone tow your SUV.” The offer sounds so good that Alex’s exhales in relief, his pounding heart easing slightly at just the thought of being in a safe, isolated place with Michael.

“I can –” But Michael doesn’t let him finish, and the accusation that Alex is trying to push him away again, to insist that he’s fine when it’s blatantly obvious that he’s falling apart at the seams, stings. He goes rigid as his lungs stop cooperating, and he yanks himself out of Michael’s embrace, nearly tumbling down to the sidewalk when his weight is put back on the prosthetic. He catches his balance, though, and looks at Michael even when he’d rather avert his gaze.

“I was just going to say that I can send her a text tomorrow and ask her to have someone drive it to the cabin,” he tells Michael in a soft voice. “I’d appreciate the ride. If you don’t mind.” It sounds like every too-polite interaction they’ve had over the last few months, since Alex insisted they be friends, and maybe that’s what Michael wants. The way he stomps over to the driver’s seat of the truck doesn’t really seem to support that theory, but Alex ignores it and clambers into the other seat, biting down hard on his cheek when he’s forced to use the prosthetic to push himself into the cab.

Once inside, Alex sits with his hands clenched on his thighs to keep himself from reaching out to Michael as a way to anchor himself. His breath is once again coming too quickly, and he has to keep his mouth shut, because he’s not sure what embarrassing things would fall out of it, otherwise. But Michael isn’t content with the silence, and Alex ends up telling him what happened at the bar, about the panic that creeps up on him sometimes for no real reason. He expects to be swamped with embarrassment, but Michael’s calm assertion that panic doesn’t always need a reason keeps the mortification at bay.

“Anything I can do to help?”

The casual question, the offer insinuated within it so easily, makes Alex’s eyes sting. There are a thousand things he could say, each of them dismissive and right, because he has no business dragging Michael into the shitshow that is his life right now, not again. But he can’t stop himself from grabbing at Michael’s hands as soon as the engine turns off in front of the cabin, even when he realizes that the strength of his grip is probably hurting him. He stares intently into Guerin’s eyes, letting him see pat the walls and the facade and into the swirling anxiety and desperation that’s doubling as his mind.

But letting him in isn’t enough. Michael wants the words, and Alex doesn’t know if he can give him that. “Don’t make me ask,” he begs in a whisper. Don’t make me admit it. Just - please be gentle with me. I’ll break if you’re not careful enough, and if you put me back together, I’ll never be able to let you leave.

Alex doesn’t know if Michael’s being stubborn, or if he’s finally hit the point of no return with the man – maybe this is when he’s going to get shoved out of Michael’s life, instead of the other way around. He’d deserve it, he knows he would. But he says the words anyway, when pushed, spilling all of his anxieties and unwanted desires when Michael points out that he’s not a mind-reader. His hands shake harder than ever as he speaks, but there are strong fingers supporting them, clasping them against Michael’s chest and holding him steady, so Alex gets through it.

When Michael whispers against his hair that he’ll stay, that Alex is okay, the latter gives up and weeps openly into the strong shoulder beneath him. The embrace is exactly what he needs in that moment, strong and gentle, warm and soft, with Michael’s ridiculous curls tickling his damp cheeks. Alex isn’t ashamed to admit that he clings, his fingers scrabbling against the collar of Michael’s button-down shirt to get at skin.

“Easy,” Michael murmurs again, and there’s a hand against his back, rough fingers stroking along Alex’s spine. “I’ve got you.” It’s impossible to disbelieve him like this, with their chests pressed together to tightly that Alex can feel Michael’s heartbeat against his own. He nods jerkily, his own hands finally giving up on the buttons and sliding down Michael’s sides to delve under the fabric and press against the flat, strong planes of his stomach. While normally he’d be appreciating the other man’s physique, this time, it’s all about the warmth and comfort another man’s skin against his brings.

“You ready to go inside?” Michael asks, an indeterminable amount of time later. Alex’s breathing has returned to normal, and his hands no longer shake – and, most importantly, he can think straight again.

He nods once, starting to disentangle himself from Michael. The look in the other man’s eyes makes him pause, though, and Alex raises an eyebrow. “You said you’d stay,” he says plaintively, when it’s clear that Michael’s questioning his welcome in Alex’s home. “I’m hoping you meant longer than half an hour. Especially since I spent most of that time ruining your shirt.” Alex jerks his chin at the wet patch on the shoulder of Michael’s flannel, his ears feeling hot with shame.

“That what you want?” Michael asks, and there’s a wariness in his voice that makes Alex furious with himself all over again. If he hadn’t left before, over and over again, Michael wouldn’t need to ask that question. He would trust Alex the first time – but that’s Alex’s cross to bear.

“You’re what I want,” Alex says firmly, catching Michael’s good hand in his again. He’s learned his lesson tonight about verbalizing what he wants, and while he fully anticipates forgetting it the next day for his dignity’s sake, tonight, he’s willing to keep talking if it proves to Michael that he’s serious. “I want you to stay with me tonight. In my bed. And tomorrow, too, if you want – you might change your mind, because I don’t sleep worth a damn much, anymore – but yeah, Michael. That’s what I want.” He catches his lower lip between his teeth, chewing at it uncertainly before adding, “Please?”

Michael leans back and unlocks the truck’s doors, then disappears outside for a long minute. Alex’s heart begins to pound as he realizes that he might have just been rejected – but before he can figure it out, Michael’s back, on his side of the vehicle this time, and opens the door. “I’m thinking pancakes for breakfast,” he says, once both of Alex’s feet are on the ground, and he staring up at Michael, hopeful and confused all at once. “C’mon, Alex,” he finishes, shaking his head. “Don’t look at me like that, like you don’t already know the answer. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me to stay for ten years – you can’t really think I’d say ‘no,’ now.”

Alex’s eyelids fall closed for a moment in pure, unadulterated relief, and once again, he tucks himself into Michael’s arms, trusting that he’d hold him upright. Because, there it was in action, the single law of their universe: whenever Alex needs him, Michael Guerin is always there.

#my fic #malex fic #michael guerin/alex manes #this is very alex introspection-y #and got a bit lengthier than intended #whoops

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