#//laying facedown on the floor// bro let me go back to bed that was such a good dream

[dogcollarpunk]

Good Morning. Had a dream where cm punk was back and feuding with MJF. Ack.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Two Plus Two (baon)

Summary:  Stretch is pretty good at math, but he never wanted to be on this side of the equation 

Tags: Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Hospitals

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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The past 48 hours had been something of a learning experience for Stretch, and he had to say, while he usually loved learning new things, trying experiments, running with theories, to be perfectly fucking frank, this was an education he could’ve done without.

To start with, he’d learned that even if Asgore was a murdering dick, Stretch was enough of a soft touch that he didn’t like to see anyone hurting, and he could, in fact, find it within himself to offer sympathy to the devil.

He’d learned that he couldn’t, actually, sleep anywhere and at any time like his bro always said.

He’d learned that Red did have a few scraps of kindness that he kept around for bad times, meagerly parceling them out if they were desperately required, and that it would probably be best to never bring that fact up to him for any idle chitchat, but Stretch was grateful for them, anyway.

And most importantly, he’d learned he did not like being on the opposite side of the hospital equation, at all, not one fucking bit.

Stretch scrubbed a hand over his face tiredly, shifting yet again in the torture device this place called a chair. It was the curse of the tall, to suffer furniture and rooms that didn’t fit by any stretch (heh) of the imagination. Too narrow, too short, the cushions not padded quite enough. There just wasn’t enough chair in this chair for him, he needed to strap two of ‘em together and then maybe his Frankenchair would be enough, if it didn’t start giving him any daddy issues.

Or maybe it wouldn’t matter if they’d wheeled in the best model from Lazyboy heaven for him, because where he really wanted to be was in the bed, both hands firmly on its current occupant.

Said occupant was sleeping again and that at least was something to be grateful for. Stretch’d been in the bed earlier, curled up next to Edge and he couldn’t say it’d been peaceful, but he’d been sleeping the sleep of the exhausted, dreamless and deep.

Until a strange sound woke him up sometime before the asscrack of dawn. It took him a minute to realize what woke him, sitting there bewildered in the dark and trying to figure out why their bedroom looked odd. Took hearing that little whine again, like nothing he’d heard before, and for a second, his sleep-foggy mind froze, seizing on the idea that it was that kitten. The kitten he’d rescued that was surely a cat by now and here it was, crying for him, because it was his now, wasn’t it, his responsibility, his problem, and it lived in Red’s house, but he’d made the choice to save the bedraggled little thing and now it was here and if he looked, it would be sitting by the bed, smiling up at him with needle-sharp teeth and the madness in its eyes promising a reward, he--

Then Edge whimpered again in his sleep and Stretch woke up all the way. He shoved that stupidly panicked thought away, fuck, like he needed any more nightmare fuel, and sat up to check on his husband.

Whatever medication they’d given him on the plane must’ve loosening up its grasp enough to let the pain leak through, but not enough for him to actually wake up. Crimson gathered at the corners of his sockets but didn’t fall, instead settling into rusty stains beneath them.

Yeah, a glance was more than enough of that shit. He’d gone out and found a nurse in record time, gotten him dosed up again. Stretch’s nightmares were gonna have to step up their game because seeing Edge’s face twisted in terrific pain was a legitimately horrifying sight. Even during the worst of his migraines, Edge didn’t let him see him that way.

Edge had settled back to sleep and Stretch was afraid to lay next to him again. He’d gotten a glimpse of all the hurts that were currently hiding beneath that blanket and he didn’t want to chance accidently giving any of them a nudge. Anyway, Edge was out cold, it wasn’t like he would know to miss him. That twisting pain stealing away into peaceful rest as the medication did its work.

Since then, he’d been mostly alone, the occasional nurse stopping in, and Sans briefly showed up to let him know Papyrus was awake and doing okay. No one else had anything past bumps and bruises, and they’d all gone down to the Embassy to deal with all the inevitable fallout. Which only made Stretch all the gladder that any work he did was unofficial. Yeah, he didn’t get to take the road trips, but that also meant he didn’t have to work cleanup duty and he called that a fair trade.

But that left him here in this stupid chair, chewing on his thumb while he watched Edge sleeping. If he really focused, he could see the rise and fall of his breathing, and he was at a count of 649. 650. 651.

Made him wonder what Edge counted all the times he’d been in the hospital, swallowing down a mouthful of bittersweet guilt to think of it. Counting was better than looking at his bruised and battered skull, better than staring at the bulky rise of the blanket that he knew was covering Edge’s wrapped and splinted leg, that must’ve been a mess if it was still like that after healing, fuck, how bad had it been, how close had he come to--

A faint knock on the door interrupted that. Stretch looked up as it swung open to see Jeff peering cautiously inside. He smiled when he saw Stretch was awake, giving the clear plastic cup he was holding a little waggle. The contents were violently green, topped with a whipped cream swirl and a praline sprinkle, and the top of the straw still protectively covered with a piece of wrapper.

Okay, yeah, please and thank you, Stretch would know a special order from the Beanery anywhere, and was pretty sure he could hear a chorus of angels coming up from the rear, la la la-ing him a miracle.

He held out both hands in the universal gesture for ‘gimmie’ and Jeff’s grin widened. He slipped through the door, padding over quietly and handed it over. Sweet matcha and cream exploded over his tongue at the first sip and Stretch closed his sockets, basking in its sweet, sweet caffeinated embrace.

Absently, he signed ‘thank you’, only realizing what he’d done when Jeff gave him a blank look.

Edge hadn’t stirred and probably wasn’t going to be hearing much through the painkiller’s embrace, but Stretch didn’t want to take the chance. He gestured towards the door and both of them went out into the hallway.

“sorry, i forgot you don’t speak hands,” Stretch said, sheepishly. He took another drink, the straw crackling almost overshadowing his happy moan. “you are a saint.”

“Nah, I was stopping in for some caffeine myself, anyway, I figured you needed something to keep you going.” Jeff’s grin faded and he jerked his head towards the door. “How is he?”

“he’ll be okay,” Stretch said firmly. The docs hadn’t given him a full rundown yet and probably wouldn’t until the last of the healing magic faded from Edge’s system. Until it did, they really couldn’t make an accurate assessment and choose a course of treatment. Mixing homebrew with hospital magic could be tricky, Stretch knew that from his own past experiments, plus it wasn’t always better to force bones to knit and bruises to fade. Sometimes, it was less taxing to let things heal the old-fashioned way. Stretch knew all that, he’d seen experiments, hell, he’d been part of a few.

Knowing that didn’t make the waiting easier.

“how are things downtown?” Stretch asked and from the shadow that fell over Jeff’s face, it wasn’t going so great.

Fuck.

“I’m your friend, right?” Jeff said, slowly.

“yeah.” Stretch said, simply. He didn’t even have a joke for that, no pun or insinuation.

“Then can you trust me when I say don’t worry about that? It’s getting handled, that’s all that matters. You go ahead and keep your concerns saved up for him, okay?”

Stretch frowned, playing with his straw. “trying to step it up with the protectiveness while the mama bear is out of commission?”

Jeff shook his head. “No. I’m trying to keep my friend, who had a pretty shitty weekend and could probably use a decent nap, from worrying about things that he can’t do anything about.”

“fair,” Stretch smiled and if it felt a little wobbly, eh, Andy wouldn’t hold it against him. “thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I need to get back, but I have my phone. If you two need anything, anything at all--”

“You’ll be the first name in the text. Promise.” A fistbump was never good enough when a hug would do, and Stretch yanked Jeff in for one, letting his chin dig into the top of Jeff’s head through the cushion of his hair, rubbing in a sort of modified noogie. Jeff laughed a little and gave Stretch a shove, heading back towards the elevators.

Stretch watched him go before he slipped back into the room and carefully closed the door. Edge must’ve gotten a little restless while he was gone, the blanket was rumpled and half falling off the side of the bed, trailing all the way down to the floor. It left him in only a thin hospital gown, not exactly cozy.

He set his drink on the side table and reached out to pull it back up, not wanting Edge to get cold.

He never got the chance.

Stretch never even saw Edge move, so fucking fast, the pain registering before anything. The world blurred as Stretch was suddenly shoved facedown on the mattress, his arm twisted painfully up behind his back by an iron grip around his wrist, tight enough that it threatened to crack bone.

Stretch cried out, torn between shock and fear, whimpering as his wrist was roughly forced up between his shoulder blades, “stop! edge, it’s me, please!”

That grip only tightened, his wrist bones shrieking in pain. Fuck, fuck, he’d shortcut if he had to, but that sure as fuck wouldn’t do Edge much good, getting dragged through the void wasn’t great for wounded souls or bones, even if it didn’t set him up for ten minutes of puking.

Suddenly, he was released, and Stretch sagged down in relief, clumsily pulling his wrenched arm back around. His wrist was throbbing, but Stretch wasn’t worried about that right now. He scrambled off the bed, turning to see Edge blinking at him in foggy confusion, breathing too fast and hard. The blankets were everywhere, falling from the bed in a mess and his IV line was tangled around one arm and the bed railing. At least he hadn’t managed to yank it out. Without the blankets, all his bruises and dings were on display, and it made Stretch’s soul throb in sympathetic pain, but not enough for him to get any closer.

“edge?” Stretch kept a wary distance back, nope, fool me once.

That fogginess cleared abruptly, crimson eye lights going narrow and sharp and instead, dawning horror took over as the emotion of the morning, mixed in with a healthy dollop of grief.

Ah, damn it, this was a ride they didn’t need to take. Whee, it was just a rollercoaster in here today, wasn’t it. Or right now maybe more like the bumper cars.

“Did I hurt you?” Edge demanded. He started to reach out, faltered, and this time Stretch was willing to take his chances. He wouldn’t allow Edge to ever think he was afraid of him, not for anything in this world or any other.

“no, no, i’m fine, i’m perfectly fine,” Stretch tried, but that was the poster child for pointless. Edge was already grabbing his arm again, as gentle now as he’d been rough before, shoving up his sleeve to inspect the damages. The prickling sensation of a Check washed over him and Stretch only sighed, held still as Edge scanned him. “c’mon, babe, you didn’t hurt me, only a little bump on the fender. i mean, any crash you can walk away from, right?” If anything, Edge only looked more upset, and here he was, sitting there with bruises up to his brow bones, looking like hell and probably feeling worse, and he was worried about Stretch. Yeah, that was his mama bear. He reached out, cupped Edge’s face with his free hand. ”seriously, babe, i’m fine.”

Edge only looked Stretch over searchingly, his touch gentle as he stroked Stretch’s wrist where bruises were already rising, dark and mottled, and for once could he get a favor and not have Edge realize they were in the shape of his fingers?

Couldn’t say if any local genies granted that wish, but Edge did sink back against the pillows reluctantly, scrubbing at his face with a trembling hand.

Cautiously, Stretch reached out to pluck his IV line from where it was caught on the bed rail. It wasn’t easy with only one available hand, but Edge didn’t seem inclined to let go and Stretch wasn’t about to make him. The blankets were harder, pulling them back up on the bed and then tucking them around Edge before Stretch took a careful seat on top of them. He was expecting a lecture on getting too close when Edge was sleeping, well-deserved, really, he knew better than that, and it was pretty damn lucky that Edge’s control was what it was. Or maybe apologies, Edge miserably asking forgiveness for something that never fucking needed it. It wasn’t his fault he’d grown up on the wrong side of the tracks in Murder World and that shit left its mark. He wasn’t hurt past a little bruise and a wake-up call, there wasn’t a damn thing to apologize for.

But Edge only held his hand, circled his aching wrist with soothingly warm fingers. He didn’t say anything for a long time, sitting there with his eye lights lowered, and when he did speak, it was about the last thing Stretch expected to hear.

“Happy anniversary,” Edge mumbled.

Stretch gawked at him, mouth dropping open and Edge glanced up, meeting his gaze. The hopefulness in those deep crimson eye lights made Stretch burst out laughing, gulping down the sob that tried to join it. “seriously? that’s what you’re going with?”

Edge only shrugged, glancing back down. “Didn’t want you to think I forgot.”

In the midst of everything, the fact that today was their anniversary hadn’t even crossed Stretch’s mind, so he didn’t have much of a leg to hop on. “babe, i knew you didn’t.”

“Did you?” Those two words were filled with so much uncertainty and maybe Edge was awake, but surely the meds were still affecting him, letting bits and pieces of emotion fall out through the cracks that Edge would usually never show, not even to him.

“yeah. i did,” Stretch said quietly. “i knew. i’m sorry i overreacted.”

Lightly, Edge pressed his fingers to Stretch’s mouth. His hands were still bare, his touch unbearably cautious and Stretch made a mental note to get him a pair of gloves. “Don’t. Don’t apologize.”

Stretch kissed those fingers, wished he could push all the depth of his love through it. “listen. my therapist is all about talking things over, but in this case? i’m thinking maybe we could pack it up and lose it in a mental dumpster. let it go?”

“Love--”

“i don’t want to argue with you,” Stretch said simply. “i got mad and i got over it before i ever heard you were hurt, and now? i just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Edge studied him for a long moment, then slowly nodded. He looked ruefully around the tidy hospital room with its generic landscape paintings and neutral colors. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind for our anniversary celebration.”

“what, you mean you weren’t going to go for the ebott general dinner and drug package?” Stretch teased, then curiously, “what were you thinking?”

Because damn if his baby didn’t shine when he made plans.

Edge smiled faintly. “If I tell you now, it won’t be a surprise when I finally do it.”

Stretch groaned and flopped back on the mattress, careful to avoid Edge’s bandaged leg. “that’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair,” Edge told him. He stiffened suddenly, eye lights flashing as he demanded, “Who else was hurt, I saw Toriel with Papyrus, was he—”

“woah, hang on,” Stretch sat back up quickly enough that he almost fell off the side. Edge grabbing hold of him to steady him before he got an in-depth view of the floor. “papyrus is all right. he was kinda banged up, but he woke up about an hour ago. none of our people were badly hurt, bruises and bumps, that’s it. right now, you’re the only one who’s on the rough side.”

“And the Humans?”

Uh. That threw him for a loopty loop. “i don’t know, no one has told me anything about any humans, babe.”

Edge groaned, sagging back against the pillows. “There were Humans there greeting us, they were too far away for me to shield them, my focus was on Toriel and Frisk.”

Yeah, okay, no wonder Jeff told him to worry about it later.

That had all the makings of a problem and a half, and Stretch didn’t need three guesses over who was going to end up dealing with it. But that would have to wait; the Embassy problem solver was starting to twist a little, shifting his weight in a futile effort to find a comfortable spot. His eye lights were narrowing, his mouth tightening, and yeah, okay, Stretch’s doctorate wasn’t in medicine, but Edge was obviously starting to really feel his aches and pains and was trying to hide it.

Stretch started to climb to his feet. “i’m thinking it’s time to let the nurse know you’re awake.”

Instantly, Edge’s grip around his wrist tightened, but with such care, not pressing even a bit on the fresh bruises. “Not yet.”

“yeah, yet.” And when he still didn’t let go, Stretch went for the big guns; he was just about done fucking around for the day and it was barely ten am. “babe, it hurts me to see you hurting.”

Always go with the strongest attack first, that was the rule. Edge faltered visibly, and Stretch didn’t miss the way his gaze flicked down to his wrist, yeah, looked like Edge wasn’t ready to forgive himself for that yet, may as well use it.

“I hate the medication,” Edge complained, “I can’t think straight with it.”

“i noticed,” Edge winced, but Stretch wasn’t thinking about their wrestling match. He only smirked and asked, “gonna rave about how pretty i am again?”

That derailed the guilt train but good. Edge blinked at him and said blankly, “i what now?”

“remind me to get a copy of the video,” Stretch said, then at the thunderously indignant expression he got, he added hurriedly, “look, i get it. all your control issues are piling up at the end of the ramp. but you can either let me call the nurse to bring in the magic feel-better pills or i’ll get them myself, and if you think i won’t sit on you and plug your nasal cavity until you open your mouth, you need to bet on a better pony.”

He gave Edge a good moment to chew on that, and he did, jaw working hard, teeth grinding. Then suddenly, a corner of Edge’s mouth quirked up. “Are you promising to sit in my lap?”

Stretch didn’t think Edge’s flirty little smirk had ever looked better, even if he was being a shit, and he scoffed, “honey, you are getting yourself into a debt you can’t repay. better quit while you’re ahead.” He reached out and ran a thumb lightly over Edge’s mouth, careful of the sharp line of teeth. “i’ll give you a head start later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Edge echoed, then he heaved a put-upon sigh. “All right, I’ll take the damn medicine. “If,” he stressed, “you lay down with me and let me hold you.”

“you strike a tough bargain, babe.”

Soon enough, Edge was grudgingly swallowing down the little cup of pills the nice nurse brought, even sticking out his tongue which was supposed to prove he'd swallowed them, but Stretch suspected was his baby taking advantage of a moment.

Then it was the two of them again, alone in the room with the curtains drawn against the morning light. Stretch settled against Edge, trying to be careful, but it was pretty damn hard when his husband wasn’t. Edge only hauled him in tight, tucking him against his side and the moment he had Stretch arranged to his liking, he settled back with a sigh, tension leaking away.

That was fine by Stretch. He only snuggled in, burrowed in the combined warmth of his honey and the blanket layers. Sleepy fingertips were stroking his skull, petting softly, and that was lovely, but odd, too, because now Stretch knew the difference between two sets of sharpened fingertips doing the same gesture; Red’s cracked phalanges grazing along curved bone, wavering on the border of almost-pain and Edge’s infinitely more cautious touches, feathering along his coronal sutures.

Not a comparison he ever thought he’d be able to make and not one he was about to share with either brother. The touch dwindled to nothing, his hand falling lax as Edge drifted off and so long as Stretch stayed here next to Edge while he slept, his husband would know it was him, and he wouldn’t get any urges to toss him into a wall or the void or anything.

That was fine. This was right where he’d wanted to be in the first place.

Stretch sighed, shifting to rest his hand on Edge’s ribcage, the better to feel him breathing, each slow, even breath that matched the pulse of his soul.

“happy anniversary,” Stretch whispered, and started counting.

-finis-