Archive of Our Own ^beta

'Medic?' 'We're gonna need a doctor!' 'We're losing him–!' 'Med–' 'Well enough to walk–'

Voices rang out in Legundo's head as he sat himself up with a groan, a hand clutching at his chest. In, out, in, out, in, out. Sweat beaded on the back of his neck, he had to swallow down saliva as to not choke on it. His hands and legs felt twitchy, his body reminiscent on the feeling of needing to get up and run, run, run. There's someone that needs him. Yet there isn't.

His hands ache and shake, but not really. The way his heart is pounding in his chest, its like its got tunnel vision on escaping him through his throat. His legs ache as well, both literally and not, and the more he just sits there, the worse it gets.

Admittedly, as he gets up, he isn't sure what he's doing or where he's going, he knows he just needs to move. Reaching back, he waves the back of his shirt. He's sweaty, gross.

Clown...

Yes. It must be Clown that's hurt. He needs to help. He's hurt.

As Legundo pushes himself out of the bedroom, his leg joints protest at the fact he was leaving his cane behind, but his comfort didn't matter in the moment. Clown needed help. He stumbles through the hallway, a lack of shoes helping with not making as much noise and consequently waking up the other workers. At least, he hoped so, he couldn't really hear over the sound of blood rushing in his ears and the vivid memory of screaming, shouting, explosions and gun fire.

In an attempt to steady himself, if only to get to his patient's room in greater succession, he places a hand on the wall. He's limping slightly, he's sure of it, but it doesn't matter. He needs to get to Clown.

A cold door handle is in Legundo's hand before he knows it, he pushes the door open, making sure to be as quiet and as fast as possible. As soon as the other is in view with the door shut behind him, the doctor swiftly starts assessing him as he walks over to the bed. Breathing seemingly fine, not moving much – not writhing in pain.

Differentiating between reality and the leftover scraps of a nightmare was difficult in the dark, was there really blood dripping down Clown's face? Did his facial scar reopen? With a shaky hand, Legs reaches out, pressing gently over where the wound– scar is. No blood. No open wound. Just skin.

Before he lets himself breathe out in relief, he slides his hand down and presses his index and middle finger against the other's neck. Badump.. badump.. badump..

Normal, if slightly slow, heartbeat. Maybe it's his arms.

As he pulls down the blanket and slides the other's sleeves up, running a hand over his skin to check for injuries, he doesn't notice him stirring. Not until a hand is gently grabbing his wrist. Neither of them comment on how much he flinches.

"Legs...? What the hell are you doing?" Clown groans, eyes cracked open a sliver to see the other hovering over him. He doesn't sound angry, or upset, or in pain.

"Where are– Where are you hurt?" Legundo pats around the other's torso, and he doesn't stop him this time.

"I'm not hurt Legs." He sits up and pulls the blanket down fully to prove his words. For a second, the doctor just blinks at him, a hand still rested on his chest. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

Reaching out, Clown takes hold of his wrist again, gently guiding it to the mattress and making him press down.

"Feel that? It's a mattress. We're in the Whitepine Estate." His voice holds no judgement, only reassurance and understanding. Another hand reaches out, cupping the other man's face. "Feel how my hand isn't cold? We're inside. Not out in the trenches."

All of Legundo's muscles and bones seem to un-tense at once, an internal sigh of relief, after he finally takes in the actual situation. Instinctively, he leans into the touch, no matter how much his brain yells at him that he doesn't deserve it and how he should push Clown away. He doesn't think the other would let him push him away.

A painful knot builds up in his throat and he tries pushing it down, but he cannot as the tears prick his eyes. He is exhausted. Both physically and mentally. It feels humiliating at how quick his distress had dissolved into tears, at how quick Clown is to react to this. Though, he won't deny the man's arms around him didn't feel nice.

"Can you tell me where we are we, Legs?" Evidently an attempt at grounding him, getting him to admit they aren't back on that scarred ground, he appreciates the thought.

"At– At Whitepine Estate..." Legundo mumbles against the other's shoulder in response, stumbling over his own words. He buries his face further against the man's shoulder, as if blocking his sight from being safe, when many other people actually deserved to be in his position more than him, would bury any of his sins.

The arms wrapped around him are pulling him as the body he was leant against moved. A hand spreads on his back, gently patting in such a way that's comfortingly awkward, before he is being laid down. Or rather, he is being pulled to lay down with Clown.

An arm leaves, and Legs has to stop himself from reaching out and yanking it back, before a blanket is being pulled on top of them. The heavy weight is almost enough to pull the doctor back into reality, and stop him from slipping. That along with the sound of his lover's breathing is what fully pulls him back.

Shifting their position, Legundo lays his head on Clown's chest, zeroing in on his heartbeat and breathing. He's alive. He's fine.

Warm lips press against his head and, as if they had pressed some button inside of him, his eyelids start to droop. He can only stave it off for so long, but he is eventually dragged into a dreamless sleep.

Clown drags a hand up the other's back, softly scratching through his hair. Legs is here, he reminds himself, as if not thinking it would mean he would disappear straight from his arms. For now, the doctor can't be taken away from him. The look of constant distress etched into the other's face pained him, if he could take away his pain, he would. But he knows his partner wouldn't let him do so much as think of doing that.

Reluctantly, he drags his eyes away from the other, knowing the sight of his facial expression would only pain and distract him further. There was no use dwelling on it, so he forces himself into his own dreamless sleep.