Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lights on

The first thing Dunban notices upon drifting into awareness is the horrible ache in his head, as well as the rest of his body. He feels like he just finished five of Vangarre’s drills. The second thing he notices is the horrid taste in his mouth, like something’s crawled in there and died during the night.

The last thing Dunban remembers is being at the bar with Dickson and Mumkhar. Mumkhar had left early, claiming he had a headache, leaving Dunban with Dickson. He remembers having a few more drinks and then... He doesn’t really remember what came after, but vaguely recalls something about... stars?

He doesn’t remember walking home, though. He didn’t fall asleep at the bar, did he? Groggily cracking one eye open reveals the ceiling of his own bedroom. Apparently he did make it home at some point.

Moving his head slightly, he notices someone has drawn the curtains firmly shut to block out the sunlight and turning his head to the other side reveals a glass of water and some painkillers on his nightstand.

Deciding not to question it, Dunban slowly sits up and takes the offered relief from the pain. It will take some time for the painkillers to kick in, but the cool water feels wonderful for his parched throat, and also helps get rid of some of the taste in his mouth.

That’s when he hears sounds coming from downstairs. The rhythmic chopping sound of a knife cutting something, followed by the sizzling of a pan. He’s instantly wide awake. Surely Fiora isn’t trying to cook something on her own? She’s not allowed, not yet, not without supervision. What if she cuts her finger or burns herself?

Dunban forces himself on his feet, ignoring the way the world seems to sway around him, and makes his way to the stairs. Navigating his way down the staircase is painfully slow, as he has to lean heavily on the railing and take the steps one at the time to prevent himself from plummeting down headfirst. The sight in the kitchen is not what he had been expecting.

Fiora is there, but not attempting to cook anything. Instead, she’s sitting on the kitchen counter, legs dangling. She’s wearing the simple blue dress she wears to sleep, and mismatched socks. Shulk is sitting at the table in his pyjamas, nose buried in a book. Standing at the stove is Dickson. He has taken off his vest, gloves, and bandana, which are all draped over the back of one of the chairs. He seems to be making pancakes.

Dunban freezes in place. Blinks. Wonders if he’s still sleeping and this is all some bizarre dream. Then Fiora notices him.

“Dunban, you’re awake!” she exclaims, hops down from the counter and runs up to him. “You never get up this late,” she says, looking up at him with wide green eyes. “I was worried you were just going to sleep forever and never wake up!”

“I’m sorry I worried you,” Dunban says, patting her on the head. “I guess I needed some extra sleep today.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Dickson says, looking at them over his shoulder. “She wanted to wake you right away, but I told her to wait until the pancakes are done.”

“Thanks,” Dunban says. Fiora waking him would undoubtedly have consisted of her jumping on him and possibly shouting in his ear. He’s not sure if he would have been able to tolerate it in his hungover state.

“Oh, right!” Fiora pushes his hand aside and runs back to the counter to fetch something. “Here, I made this for you,” she says, presenting him with a slice of buttered toast. “Dickson said you’re not allowed any pancakes unless you eat that first.”

“Thank you,” he tells Fiora, then looks back at Dickson with a raised eyebrow. Dickson just shrugs.

“Might as well make sure you can keep something down before giving you the good stuff.”

That does make sense, even if Dunban doesn’t really like admitting it. So he settles for glowering at the man as he nibbles on the toast.

“All right!” Dickson declares a few minutes later. “Breakfast time! Shulk, put the book away,” he adds, nodding when the boy sets the book aside and away from the table.

Fiora has taken a seat across from Shulk, so Dunban sits down next to her. Dickson is soon serving them all tall stacks of pancakes, topped with berries and chocolate chips, before taking the seat next to Shulk, across from Dunban. Dunban notices he has buttoned up his shirt properly for once, probably to prevent anything from the pan from splattering on him.

The children waste no time digging into their breakfast, steadily reducing the piles to crumbs at an impressive speed. Dunban almost wonders where all the food is even going. Surely these small children can’t have stomachs that big?

Dunban, for his part, takes his time with the pancakes, making sure to enjoy every bite. It’s not every day one gets breakfast like this. He looks up at Dickson, to see the man also taking his time eating.

“About yesterday...” he starts, having some questions about what exactly went down after that last drink he remembers having.

“Probably wondering how we all ended up here, eh?” Dickson interrupts him swiftly.

“Well, yes, that too,” Dunban admits. He does want to know that too, especially how Shulk and Dickson came to be here as well.

“Well, it’s pretty simple,” Dickson tells him. “I brought you home since you couldn’t walk without tripping over your own feet.” Dunban winces at the description of his state but doesn’t say anything. “Then I decided leaving you here with just Fiora wouldn’t be a good idea, so I went and got Shulk and we both stayed here overnight.” Dickson finishes his short story by sticking a forkful of pancake in his mouth.

“It was fun!” Fiora tells him. “Like a sleepover!” She’s so happy and excited, he can’t not smile right along with her.

“It was fun,” Shulk agrees, mumbling around a mouthful of pancake. A reminder from Dickson to not talk with his mouth full gets him to swallow the mouthful in a single, painful looking gulp. “Maybe we can do it again sometime?” he asks, looking at Fiora, Dickson, Dunban, then Fiora again.

“We should!” Fiora agrees. “Next time we should prepare first, so we can have snacks and lots of pillows and blankets and stuff!”

“Maybe we can invite Reyn too,” Shulk suggests.

“Maybe,” Fiora says, wrinkling her nose. “But only if he behaves. And promises to not do anything dumb, like putting worms in the bed or something.” They both laugh, then push aside their now empty plates, thank for breakfast, and run off saying they need to get dressed because they promised to play hide and seek with Reyn later.

“Kids,” Dickson mutters when the two of them are alone in the kitchen. “Way too much energy.” He gets up, stretches, then starts picking up the dirty plates and puts them in the sink.

“I didn’t do anything stupid last night, did I?” Dunban has to ask, not that the children aren’t here to hear. He thinks he sees Dickson pause for a moment before continuing what he was doing. He really wants to hear that no, he didn’t do anything stupid last night. He just had too much to drink and needed some help getting back home. It’s still a bit embarrassing, but not too bad.

“Well,” Dickson drawls, drawing out the word, and Dunban can immediately tell from the tone that he did indeed do something stupid last night.

“You tried to climb on a table,” Dickson informs him, a teasing grin on his face. “But you gave up on that when you tripped over a chair. Then you threw up on some guy’s shoes after I decided it’s best to take you home. Then you fell on your ass when trying to take off your boots, so I also had to do that for you,” he gleefully finishes the story.

“Really?” Dunban wants do disappear. Just sink through the floor.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Dickson adds, “that guy you threw up on was even more drunk than you, so he probably doesn’t remember anything about it either. Probably thinks he threw up on his own shoes.”

“It does not make me feel better,” Dunban mutters, burying his head in his hands. He has a feeling Dickson isn't telling him everything that happened, but he's not sure if he wants to know at this point. He groans in misery. The headache has receded thanks to the painkillers, but there’s still an insistent pounding that doesn’t seem in a hurry to leave. He looks up at Dickson between his fingers.

“How are you not hung over at all?” he asks. “You drank twice as much as I did.” At least. He suspects it might have been a good deal more.

“Experience,” Dickson shrugs. He looks like he might be about to say something more, but Shulk and Fiora choose that moment to interrupt them by running past, now out of their pyjamas and in regular clothes. They’re at the front door in moments, before Dunban has time to do more than blink.

“Remember to stay in the Colony!” Dickson calls after them. “We don’t have time to come look for you because you got lost in the hills! Dinner is at five thirty, feel free to bring Reyn with you!” The kids answer something Dunban doesn’t quite catch and are gone, door slamming shut behind them.

“I hope you plan to do the cooking,” Dunban says. “Because I don’t have anything to feed three hungry children.” Not to mention how his cooking is only just edible under normal circumstances. He knows from experience having a hangover doesn’t make it better.

“As if I would put you at the stove in your condition,” Dickson chuckles. “You’d burn your hands off.” He leans over the table to ruffle Dunban’s already messy hair. “I’ll have to make a trip to the market to get some ingredients, since you have practically nothing here.” True enough, though Dunban doesn’t really like admitting it.

“I’ll do the dishes,” he says instead as he gets up, trying to, unsuccessfully, tame his hair by running his fingers thorough it. “Only fair, since you made breakfast.” He pauses, looking over at Dickson who’s in the middle of tying the red bandana around his head. “Thanks for that, by the way. You didn’t have to.”

“Kids needed breakfast,” Dickson shrugs, tugging on his gloves. “Wasn’t going to have you cook for them with the state you were in.”

“I don’t think they needed pancakes with chocolate chips,” he points out with a grin. “Admit it, you just wanted to spoil them a little, old man.”

“I’m not admitting any such thing,” Dickson snaps at him half-heartedly. Dunban just grins. He knows Dickson well enough to know he might as well have said Yes, I did. But no way am I actually going to admit it.

“Of course you won’t,” Dunban smiles, and turns to the dishes. Seems this day will be a good one after all.

Chapter Text

Lights off

“I like the lights here,” Dunban says, looking up at the strings of lights shimmering near the ceiling. “They look like stars.”

Small and flickering, they look warm and inviting. He wonders what it would be like to hold one in his hand.

Dunban and his friends Dickson and Mumkhar are at a bar celebrating the success of their first official mission together. Well, Mumkhar was here at least, at first. He’s left already, claiming he’s had too much to drink. He’s so boring sometimes. They haven’t had that many drinks. Sure, Dunban has totally lost count of them, and the room seems to spin around him, but that’s perfectly normal, right? He’s not drunk!

Dunban looks down at his half-finished drink, back up at the pretty lights. “I want to touch them,” he decides.

“Dunban...” Dickson starts saying something, but he’s not really listening. It’s probably not important anyway. A hand grabs his arm, but he shrugs it off.

The lights are pretty high up, so he’ll have to climb on something to reach them. Maybe the table will do...

When he stands up, the floor seems to sway under his feet. Then his legs hit something and suddenly he’s laying on his back on the floor, looking up at the ceiling and the lights. So near, yet so far.

“Dunban, are you alright?” Dickson appears next to him, looking down at him with a hand on his arm.

Dunban is not sure what just happened, but for some reason he seems to have trouble focusing his eyes on one spot. His gaze slips from Dickson’s face down to his exposed chest, the strange amulet he always wears, then lands on his equally exposed forearms.

He has pretty strong-looking arms, doesn’t he? Probably strong enough to be able to lift Dunban on the table if he wants to. But he doesn’t want to, because he likes to be mean like that, messing around with people and not giving them what they want and –

“Dunban!” Now Dickson is shaking him, making the whole bar go all blurry. “Are you alright?”

Of course he’s alright, why wouldn’t he be? Well, he will be better as soon as the world stops being quite so blurry.

Dunban forces himself to focus his gaze on Dickson’s face, and... his eyes are kind of pretty, aren’t they? All blue and shimmering, just like the lights.

“Your eyes are pretty,” he says, because he feels it’s important Dickson knows this. He tries to lift his hand to point but ends up poking Dickson in the cheek instead.

“What the hell...” Dickson mutters, and Dunban wonders why he’s so surprised. Maybe no one has ever told him that before? That’s a bit sad. Everyone should get compliments sometimes. Even Dunban gets them. Fiora once told him his hair looks funny when he gets out of bed, and a girl at the market once told him his eyes look “dreamy”, whatever that meant, and his mum used to call him a handsome boy when he was young.

If no one’s ever complimented Dickson, then that’s pretty sad, he decides. Without thinking, acting on impulse, Dunban grabs a handful of Dickson’s hair (softer than he’d expected) and pulls him down to press their mouths together. Only he misses and ends up pressing his lips to Dickson’s cheek.

That’s not right, he thinks and adjusts himself a little, to turn the mess into a proper kiss. He doesn’t really have any experience in kissing, so he hopes it’s okay.

Dickson makes a funny sound and pushes him back on the floor.

“All right, you’ve definitely had too much to drink,” Dickson mutters as a comfortable darkness settles over Dunban and drags him into unconsciousness.