This is Your Chance to Transform (The Moment You Confront the Storm)

“Hope can be a powerful force. Maybe there's no actual magic in it, but when you know what you hope for most and hold it like a light within you, you can make things happen, almost like magic.”
~~~
Fit is rescued by Pac from Vaccus, a gentle touch being the perfect guide to bring him home. Filled with soft care, slow acceptance and two men simply treasuring each other is all the forever they need.

Notes:

For LillianCDoodles.

Hello!
This was written in one sitting last night as a piece for Hideduo Kiss week, a twitter event that was a delight to participate in. [Takes place after my previous piece 'Artificial Stars on Eclipsed Skies'.]
For May 2nd it was forehead kisses & normal cubitos.
Summary credit goes to Laini Taylor and her book Daughter of Smoke & Bone and lyrics are from Ocean of Night by the Editors.
The inspiration of this fic came from the person it is gifted too [LillianCDoodles] a fantastic idea!
Enjoy!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Wasting on nothing

Effortlessly, you appear

Sound of the thunder

Reverberate in your ears

This is a slow dance

This is the chance to transform

Pause for the silence

Inhabit the calm of the storm

His angel had rescued him.

Delirious and half out of his mind, Pac drags his injured boyfriend all the way back to the plains the anarchist recognised vaguely. A rectangle of gleaming obsidian greeted them, Pac grunting under the weight of Fit. His leg was good and broken, splinted with two stripped sticks it could only bear a minuscule amount of the weight it should, his opposite hip aching from the added load.

Since they awoke at dawn, no words had left Fit’s cracked lips. He found himself unable to do so, Pac asking questions softly before realising his boyfriend’s mind was still very far away. Reminiscing on the rancid taste of rotting flesh and the stagnant cave water he had been surviving off, he wondered how much of his heart there was left to save.

The organ felt wilted and frozen, the smallest cracks in the icey shield forming after Pac appeared with a determined expression. Descending from the cavern’s ceiling where Fit had been watching the moon for many, many cycles, his saviour forced healing potions down his throat before patching Fit up best he could. That was the last thing he remembered, before slumber claimed Fit under the others concerned care.

When morning came, it took a long time for Pac to convince him he wasn’t a figment of Fit’s muddled mind. Letting Fit’s trembling fingers dance across his warm cheeks when he crouched in front of the shaking man, Pac could only smile while his hurt boyfriend used a tentative touch to reassure himself.

Fit thought he should be running and screaming. The man who finally cracked and admitted his own feelings to him mere weeks prior had been feasting on human flesh, the same thing that happened to Pac’s leg below the knee. The beautiful brunette, night skies colouring deep within his eyes and surrounding his crown with a blessing of soft waves, had surprised the fuck out of Fit by stubbornly remaining by his side.

Going out of his way to revive his half dead corpse and dragging him all the way to before a sign of hope, whistling to the crow that kept watch overhead. Helping Fit sit down on a boulder nearby, the crow surrounded by mystical particles landing on the brunette's outstretched forearm.

“Amor, can you tell Her we are ready?” Pac's entrancing voice is tired, worn out by the circumstances leading up to now.

Clicking her beak, the crow's eyes flash vibrant purple. Pac comes to stand before Fit, flinching when his boyfriend does in surprise at his approach. Leaning down so those silver flecked eyes met Fit's own hazel, the face he would never tire of staring at wears an expression of concern, brows furrowed.

“Philza will most likely be on the other end of this portal, what do we tell him?”

Struggling for a morsel of thought, the anarchist eventually shrugs and Pac sighs.

“Alright, alright I'm sure he will respect you being exhausted, don't worry Fitch.”

Fit felt his heart stutter to life hearing Pac's accented voice add so much more affection to his simple name. Unable to break their eye contact, he searches for any judgement in those night depths and finds none.

If only he could form coherent thoughts, he wraps the affection Pac holds for him around his shattered soul like a healing balm. He had no idea how he would recover, if he would. Physically he had no doubt, but it would be a long time before he could smell rotten flesh and not be haunted by nightmares staged in the cavern he memorised in his time alone. Shuddering, Amor caws just as Pac leans into comfort Fit.

Pac huffs a deep breath, digging out a crafting table and finishing the makeshift crutch he had been working away at. Finishing it by wrapping wool over the part that would tuck into the crook of his arm, Pac's wiry strength shows as he helps Fit stand. Able to balance, at least for a few moments, the crow lands on Pac's shoulder just as the end void flashes to cover the portal corner to corner.

Walking slowly through, Fit takes one last look at the barren landscape he was leaving behind. Wondering what repercussions this would have once Madagio found out his favourite victim had escaped, he worries if he is even worth it. Staring at the determined being at his side, a powerful bow strung around his shoulder to waist he comes to a decision. Pac was worth leagues beyond this scarred, broken man he fished from the cavern that was close to becoming an anarchist's tomb.

The cold feeling of being transported through dimensions washes over them as Pac pulls them through, an ancient familiar voice whispers in the notched shell of Fit's ear.

“Be kind to yourself, my archivist of histories. You have people who love you. Let them fix the wounds of your grief, or at least begin the process of healing by providing their own thread made of love.”

Depositing him on warm netherrack, Fit blinks quickly against the tears that flood his vision against the bright sun. Vaccus was muted and barren, he pictured its stain leaking out from where he landed not feeling like he should be back on Quesadilla Island with his toxicity. Maybe his cursed life would follow him here, putting all these poor souls in danger because of his past.

“Oh my, are you okay Fitch?” Pac appears behind him and helps him back to his feet as the anarchist recovers.

He gives the smallest nod, turning quickly as a motor kicking to life echoes across the soft flowing water. As his vision clears he catches sight of a green and white striped hat racing towards them, his old friend’s blue eyes full of relief as he speeds closer. Slowing the boat so only the smallest wave washes over their feet, Phil nearly falls jumping out of the boat as Fit takes a step back out of instinct.

Phil’s observational gaze catches the action, freezing in place and holding out his arms to Pac instead who leaps into them with glee. “Glad to see you back mate, what a sight for sore eyes.”

“It went surprisingly well, pass along our thanks to Her please for making this so painless.” Phil nods along to Pac’s request, face turning back to Fit.

“How are you doing?”

Unable to even meet his caring expression, Fit drops his glance to his feet as Pac steps closer to the anarchist’s side. “It’s been a long few days y’know, we were just hoping to borrow your warpstone so I can bring Fit home.”

Phil is quiet for a few heartbeats before giving a noise of assent, hopping back in his boat. “Come on, we can talk later about everything you experienced.”

Fit lets out a sigh of relief, barely able to voice what happened in his isolation to Pac, let alone anyone else. Clambering in the boat with clumsy actions, Pac takes his crutch and puts it in his own glowing inventory before climbing in the back seat. The engine roars as Phil turns it on, reaching out to place the softest hand on Fit’s leg just above his knee that's wrapped in bandages.

“I’m here for you mate, always. You know that, I don’t have to remind you of our past alliances beyond vowing to you I will be at your side until my heart stops beating.”

They make it back to Phil’s significantly bigger house, the crow expanding in Fit’s absence. Pac helps him back out of the boat, careful with his healing leg as Phil ties it off properly to the redwood dock the clever crow built. Slipping the crutch back into his armpit, Fit leans heavily upon it as his head spins.

Pac seems to catch on that his energy is wearing thin, turning to address Phil while sticking directly beside his boyfriend. “I am going to stay close to him until he is better, we will be at our property if you need us. I think I need to get Fitch home to rest, y’know?”

“Of course, no issues here, kings. Take care of each other, I will only come by if it's an emergency. Hell I won’t even tell anyone Fit is back until you are both good and ready. Go take a while to readjust, I am a simple message away if you need anything.” Phil says, before looking right at Fit. “Even if it's to come tell you that you deserve saving, I will paint it upon your walls for you to see daily.”

The smallest smirk appears, the muscles sore after lack of use as he meets his oldest friend’s eyes.

“There ya go.” He snaps his fingers, turning to Pac. “I was planning to roast a large amount of meat tonight for storage, if you want I can drop some off in a few hours so you can get a proper meal in. I’ll just leave it outside yours Pac and send you a message when I do, I won’t be able to eat it all anyways.”

“That sounds lovely, thank you Philza.” Pac compliments, Fit reaching out towards the warpstone they are standing in front of. “Want to go to mine, Fitch?”

The anarchist nods, not having the capacity to climb any sort of ladder right now his boyfriend’s made the most sense. Pac and Phil exchange a few more things before the blonde crow waves them off, the newly reunited couple disappearing in a vibrant gathering then an explosion of particles.

This is your ocean, an ocean of night

This is the notion, your ocean of night

This is your ocean, an ocean of night

This is the notion, your ocean of night

Fit’s leg gives way the moment they land in front of Pac’s, going over with a low scream Pac gasps, unable to catch him before he hits the ground. Pain sings up his nerves with vicious ferocity, his limbs and ribs nearly making him blackout as they let him know their discomfort.

“Oh coração, I am sorry I should have gone first.” Pac waits for him to give a thumbs up before helping him stand once more, leading him to a chair placed in the middle of his living room after maneuvering through the front doors. Helping him swing his leg over the lip of the metal tub beneath, Fit is nervous about what is coming watching Pac start to draw water into a bucket he heats over a fireplace.

Pac joins him one more as he waits for another metal container to warm, his eyes terribly soft meeting Fit’s own gaze full of terror surrounding being vulnerable with anyone, especially Pac. “I need to get the grime off your skin so I can look at your injuries and judge if they need more treatment, that’s all that’s going to happen, I swear.”

Fit’s heartbeat races at his close proximity, the warmth of the brunette’s affection for the broken man seeking to ease his concerns and untangle his twisted thoughts. “Fitch, please let me take care of you. Trust me when I say I followed you to hell, and I will bring you all the way back. Even your heart, whatever capacity you need, I am there.”

Coughing, Fit’s normally sonorous voice cracks before saying the only thing he can at the moment. “Saudade, angelo. That’s the only thing that kept me forcing myself to survive was the miniscule possibility I would see Ramon, you and the rest of my family again.”

“Coração…” Pac trails off, his shoulders tense as he squeezes his eyes shut. Taking a deep breath, he opens his orbs to stare at his love once more. “Ramon, Richas and the rest of the eggs went into a coma a few weeks ago, none of them have awoken yet.”

Fit nearly falls over in shock, Pac catching him once more keeping him upright on the chair. “I am sorry, I wish you were returning to better news. We have been doing all we can but they remain in some induced state that is keeping them alive yet unconscious.”

Pac wraps his arms around Fit’s once strong shoulders, muscles weakened after far too long without proper nutrition. Humming softly in his throat, tears spill from Fit’s eyes as his heart comes alive enough to feel like it was drowning in sorrow leaning into Pac’s strong form. The embodiment of change in his life wasn’t even there to greet him, placed in danger the moment Fit was stolen away.

It was all his fault.

Pac held him tight, careful with his embrace when Fit winces until they find a position that doesn’t hurt the anarchist. His breathing starts to quicken as the blame seeks to hit him where it stings the most, his boyfriend’s humming of a song providing him a lifeline to hold in the emotional storm rushing together around his mind. When the panic strikes Pac is quick to help him calm down, experienced with his own attacks he knows the best tricks. As the event ends Fit is blinking sleep from his eyes, mentally and physically in agony.

Helping him drink a health potion, Pac checks he can hold his balance before reheating the water he had stored. Having no more energy to protest, Pac’s hands are gentle as he helps Fit strip out of the clothes he had been trapped in for months. Immediately placing them into a bag, Pac mumbles about burning them later drawing out a spare set of clothes laying them across the couch nearby. Pouring the first few containers of water around Fit's feet, he mentally praises the fact its a pleasant temperature beyond how much it stings the open wounds.

Picking up a sponge, his boyfriend adds soap before gently scrubbing at Fit’s scarred skin being cautious with the worst tender spots of dark bruising. His only intention providing comfort and helping Fit heal, the anarchist draws from the love Pac performed this task with. Removing the bandages that were supporting Fit’s shattered ribs, even with health potions it is a slow injury to heal. Fit’s chest screams its pain as he supports himself fully once more, his face twisting as it hits.

“I’ll be quick, coração, I swear.” Pac is standing in front of him now, in the same tub with his pants rolled up to his knees. Leaning forward hesitantly, he presses his beautiful lips to Fit’s forehead and kisses him before moving onto washing his chest.

Having detached his prosthetic arm beforehand, Pac is careful around the shoulder socket taking the most time cleaning dirt from the healed surgery site. As he finishes each spot, Pac continues to press a kiss across each scar he uncovers, skin raw after being uncovered from months worth of dirt.

Fit’s heart felt like it wanted to leap out of his broad chest, Her words caressing his memories as he felt Pac care for him without complaint or question. Lovingly protected by the only man to ever break past Fit’s reservations, he is in awe that he is lucky enough to be in the same room as Pac once more. The brunette put himself in immense danger and was the only reason he found his way back to this island he now called home. His north star held him up then guided him back to love and safety.

While Pac is removing the splint around his leg to care for it properly, he found a stool to sit upon with a table of medical supplies on a folding table beside him. Drawing Fit’s leg onto his lap, Fit asks the question that had been rolling around his mind for a while.

“Where do we go from here?”

Pac’s clever eyes are inquisitive as he looks at the shattered soul before him midway through unwrapping the hurt limb, searching desperately for a motivation to keep going. “I don’t know.”

Fit’s eyes widen at Pac’s wild laugh before smiling, shrugging his hoodie-covered shoulders. “Coração, my home is finally before me once more. I will do anything for you, you spent so long caring for me it's my turn to save you. My plans over the next week include being at your side until you get sick of me, then when you do I will check on our children and speak with our friends.”

“I don’t deserve you.” Fit admits, feeling the phantoms of ancient crimson between his fingers and sticking to his tongue. “My past is engulfed in blood and death, traversing wastelands for far too long, slowly dying as I dodged close-range explosions that damaged my hearing permanently. I’ve killed–too many people. I struggle to even have a number with the amount of deaths that were my fault or by my hands.

“Pac.” Fit slows his barrage of words, staring directly into Pac’s wide night-toned eyes. “I don’t deserve someone as pure and hopeful as you. I am poison, I am a walking curse, people around me always die. I don’t trust easily and you will most likely never know all I have done since my conscious reawoke. I feel like the very shame surrounding the knowledge I have to bear could drag me to the bottom of the deepest ocean with its weight.”

“Did Ramon ever judge you?” Pac stops his rant dead as he pulls off the hoodie he wore after placing his leg back in the pool below carefully, Fit clamping his mouth shut before eventually shaking his head. “Neither will I. This island is full of people with skeletons in their closet, I chose you. Crimes, death and all.”

“Why?”

“Because you chose me to let down your walls for.” Pac’s honesty hits him directly in his heart slamming against aching ribs. “We found each other in the darkness, now it's up to us to create the light. You claim to be poison but I have only ever known kindness from these hands.”

Picking up Fit’s scarred appendages as he moves to kneel beside Fit, he kisses both hands with reverence before pressing them to either side of his graceful jaw. Both their cheeks heat, a wave of determination hardens Pac’s features before he breathes out. “You saved me, let me save you.”

Fit can’t do anything beyond nod, trapped in the endless depths of Pac’s stunning eyes. His handsome appearance was also covered in the scars of past wounds, stories wrought in lightened skin in various spots on Pac’s exposed skin. “Coração, you have given me a gift with that agreement. Now, let us finish so you are no longer shivering in the middle of my living room.”

Love is a feeling

Buried with me in the yard

Gaze at the skyline

Under the ocean of stars

This is your slow dance

And this is your chance to transform

Lost to a moment

The moment you confront the storm

Wrapping his leg back up with proper equipment this time, Pac also makes sure to bind his ribcage once more before helping Fit into the spare clothes. Phil had handed them over before they left his home, telling them to keep them. His size was a closer match to Fit, especially after the two moons at the bottom of a cavern.

He still felt weak, cold and unable to relax. Part of his mind was loud, stating he was back in the pit still and this was all a delirium-induced hallucination. Pac had been careful to tuck him beneath a soft blanket on the couch under the painting of butterflies, his heart raw with sorrow thinking of his son Ramon. He was torn in several directions, mere wisps of what he once was, his personality in shreds buried beneath the guilt he wore like shackles.

The bang of the door startles Fit, Pac apologising as he drags the tub back inside with metallic pangs as it hits the floor. Offering a rare curse, Pac manages to bring it back to his kitchen and leans it against the wall atop a towel he folded there earlier. Dropping a package on his counter neatly wrapped in twine, Fit watches Pac start to pull out ingredients.

“Sandwiches and soup okay? Trust me in saying you should be careful with what you eat while adjusting to proper food once more.”

“Anything is better than what I have been filling my stomach with.” Fit mumbles, Pac barely catching what he says.

The silence is heavy before Pac clears his throat, unwrapping the paper rectangle he brought in from outdoors. “How much do you want me to know?”

Fit’s paranoia reaches a high as he peers around, Pac noticing his mood shift before he goes to cover all the windows with the curtains near them. Serving him some tea he prepared earlier, Pac sits beside him on the couch.

“My boss tossed me into the pit after ridiculing my attachments and deciding to show me what they had to do to theirs in pursuit of their mission. Most of my injuries occurred because of that fall, leaving me with limited decisions of what to eat beyond the decaying meat around me of fallen folk. I’d imagine you can put it together from there–” He can’t help looking down at Pac’s metal leg, seeing his bionic limb to still be in decent shape.

Pac’s barely contained expression of disgust leaves Fit wanting to curl up and perish, before the beautiful man shakes it off. Taking a deep breath, he gives Fit a small smile. “I understand. Well, my food will definitely be better than human flesh.”

Was that a joke? Fit stared at Pac who can’t hold back his chuckling, the stoic man following suit. Joy blooms in his chest for the first time in moons, Pac’s nonchalant humour one of his favourite traits. “Maybe not much better, but with Phil’s contribution it will at least be palatable.”

Getting back up, Pac presses another quick kiss to Fit’s forehead before attending to the task he spoke about. With warm cheeks as the spot Pac touched lingers a pleasant remembrance, Fit unabashedly watching his love work to nurture him back to health. He sent prayers to whoever was listening that they had some time of peace before shit hit the fan once more.

Thinking back to the vision of his nightfall angel coming to his rescue, he wonders if maybe he can finally rekindle the hope there is a chance they have a happy ever after. He couldn’t help his optimism sparking back to life, the tiniest ember gaining size the longer he spent around Pac. Fit never wanted this time together to end, feeling like the best dream he has ever experienced.

He found someone who accepted him, scars and all. He clung to his reason to keep moving in the spirit of a sly thief with a bleeding heart and a martyr complex. Pac was so wonderfully himself, the only unique heart that ever held the key to the anarchist’s own.

Determined to treasure the good times and memorise how it feels, to archive the comfort held within these tiny moments of harmony. An anchor for any bad events ahead, when his resolve and character would be tested once more.

But for the first time since his awakening, he held confidence it was real. Pac did come save him from the depths of Vaccus with the help of a crow warrior much older than he appeared. With his metal arm back in place, he taps his flesh to remind himself this is reality.

“OW!” Pac exclaims, Fit jumping and peering over to where Pac is holding his hand beneath a stream of cold water with a pale complexion.

Standing with the help of his crutch, he makes his way back to the chair where it now stood near the kitchen and gestures for Pac to come closer. Grabbing the medical kit from where it was always stored, he unwraps the crimson towel feeling bad as Pac hissed. The knife wound he caused himself lay across his palm, shallow yet it bled a lot, soaking the fabric he grabbed in his panic.

Cleaning it quickly, Fit’s steady hand slowly returned the longer he remained conscious, concentrating fully on bandaging the wound in front of him. Once he finishes, he holds Pac’s hand gently still. Focusing on feeling all the raised skin of scars, the curve of his knuckles and the rough callous following a life of hard work with a reverence he rarely allows himself. Pac lets him do so as long as he needs, they eventually separate so Pac can finish making their supper.