#im aware its day 12. i dont care. time is fake. mouse is gay for ME.

[save-the-spiral]

Wiztober Day Nine: Mice

Welcome to day Nine of Wiztober2020. Dyvim loving hours. Khrysalis Spoilers ahead. Content warnings for Injury mention, slight disassociation/panic attack from narrator.

@pyromancyy @necrospellbinder I summon you for reader/dyvim content. hello.

(link to prompt list)

You hiss in pain as the bandages tighten around your calf. You had insisted you were capable of tending to your own injuries, but your companion insisted on helping. So now you both were camping out in a small alcove of rock on the outskirts of the Khonda Desert, hiding without your armor so you could be healed.

“Sorry!” Dyvim mumbles reflexively, his paw shakily gripping the roll of bandages.

“S’fine.” You hiss again, letting your head fall back as you looked above towards a starless sky as twilight quickly descended into night. It was eerie, but the dread in your heart isn’t enough to stop your newfound comfort in darkness and shadows.

Shadowmancy is a hell of a thing, you muse.

“Done.” Dyvim smiles weakly, patting your knee with his paw.

Your heart races and you blush as you catch his gaze, instantly turning away.

“Thank you, Dyvim.” You manage, swallowing nervously. He's so close to you, looking so earnest and bright. “But really, you didn’t have to.”

Dyvim moves closer, settling down to sit right by your side. You still stare to the side, as if a cliff face is at all entertaining. A brush of soft fur, and suddenly his paw is on your cheek, turning your head to face him. You hope he can’t feel the heat of your blush through his adorable little toe beans on his paws.

It is so small and warm. All of him is so small and warm, a contained little star, infinite energy swirling inside of him.

Dyvim feels untouchable. A specter of greatness you can never achieve, a determination that you never truly had, even in the beginning.

“I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. His whiskers twitch and ears flicker as he says it.

Your mouth opens slightly, at a loss for words when you realize he hadn’t removed his paw from your cheek yet, that his small claws had traced your jawline. Finally, you speak. “But...”

At your obvious discomfort, he drops his paw. “I’m sorry- I-”

“But why?” You finally manage to say, exhaling a shaky breath.

"What?”

“Why tend to my wounds? Why treat me like I can’t help myself? I’ve saved about a dozen worlds by now, I don’t need-!”  You don’t even realize your hands have been trembling until Dyvim takes them in his paws.

“You...” Dyvim pauses, then chuckles slightly. Before you could even get offended, he continues talking. “You get any help at all, and decide people are patronizing you. I only want to help, and even the simplest act makes you say ridiculous things.”

“Ridiculous?!” Your voice raises with indignation.

Dyvim holds on tighter to your hands in his, and even though his hands are more delicate, more mundane, without the hum of magic under his skin like you possessed, you can’t bear to rip your hands away from his even as your anger rises. The thought of accidentally hurting Dyvim is anathema. The possibility of seeing his face twisting with pain or slack with death, it's as if someone reached in your chest and tried to pull out your heart, clawing and clenching and straining until you can’t breathe-

Your eyes open when you realize Dyvim had been repeating your name, a question, as if calling out and not knowing if you were there. His fingers run through your hair, dulled claws lightly scratching at your skull, a repeating rhythm. His other hand is around you, clutching your shoulder, a barrier of fur and muscle that you knew was stronger than it appeared.

It almost feels like a hug. And that is strange to you. You move your head, no longer tucked in the soft space of Dyvim’s neck and shoulder, and blink blearily up at him, and wonder if you had ever been hugged since coming to the Spiral. Since you had been summoned by Headmaster Ambrose. The answer makes your entire body ache, old wounds rising to the surface to remind you of days spent injured with no one to heal you.

“Dyvim?” You whisper.

“Oh, thank goodness.” He mutters quickly, eyes suddenly brightening from their dull worry. “It was so strange- you suddenly weren’t responding- and at first I thought you fell asleep, but-”

“Shhh.” You tiredly press a finger to his lips, hushing him. Your heart skips a beat as you see what you were doing, and you quickly let your hands fall to your lap. The fur on his face was now awkwardly ruffled.

Dyvim looks down at you, eyes locking with yours, and says your name. It's sad, not pitying, but concerned, as if he's helpless to stop whatever may come to hurt you. In a way, he is. He isn’t a wizard, and because of that so many battles were fought without him. So many opportunities to be stuck at the sidelines, powerless to stop whatever tried to kill you this time.

His hand is resting at the back of your skull, and the arm supporting your back was no longer tense, but still strong enough that you can rest against it.

“I just...” You whisper again. “I can’t put my life in another persons hands. Ever since I learned of magic, I’ve been on my own. Years of questing, of killing and saving people, of victory and defeat... and it’s all relied on me. My triumphs. My mistakes.” Your breath shakes, and you squeeze your eyes shut for only a moment before opening them again. “I can’t drag another person down with me when I fail.”

You let your head rest on his collarbones, the soft feeling of fur enveloping you as you close your eyes. You can hear his heartbeat.

Dyvim rests his chin on your head, and his hug encircles you. You feel so small in that moment, safe and quiet where no one could hurt you.

You feel tears gather at your eyes, and will them away.

“I’m always scared.” Dyvim finally says. His voice is young and fragile, and you know if it were a better time you and he would still be considered too young for the adult world, but too old to be a child.

Neither of you got a chance to be a child.

Dyvim exhales, thinking for a moment. “Every time we go into battle, I think it must surely be our last. That any moment there will be something to throw me out of a window again, dying. Or you will be defeated and the enemy cruel and unmerciful. Fear chases me like a rabid animal, uncaring and ruthless. I am afraid, all the time.”

Your hands snake upwards, and you hug Dyvim back, fingers interlocking where they now rest at his back.

The desert is quiet at night. Distantly, you think you may hear the sounds of both mouse encampments, but maybe your mind is playing tricks on you.

“I have always been afraid, ever since I truly understood what world I had been born into. The only thing that can keep the fear at bay... It’s knowing I can heal you. I can help, I can bandage your wounds and make your meals and keep you company, and I know, in a way, that even those paltry actions help save my world.” Dyvim’s voice wavers, as if on the verge of tears. “You are worth it. Worth the fear, and whatever it takes to care for you. Not because you saved worlds before, or even saved the whole Spiral. It’s because I care about you. Who you are. A person whose path has denied them what they deserve. You are allowed to show weakness, to be afraid and hurt, with me. We have faced so much together, and I can only hope that means something. I promise I will care for you in any way I can, on my honor if I must.”

You realize you are crying as you move away from his chest, only to say, “That won’t be necessary.” in a trembling voice.

Dyvim pulls you in tight, hugging you as if it’s his only chance, savoring it and how ephemeral this affection must be by its own nature. You fall asleep together, under the starless sky. For this moment, where you both begin to drift into sleep, there is nothing more important than the fact that you two are together, and safe.