Percy Weasley (sentimentalist) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-01-27 23:38:00 |
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“Give him another 4 hours and he’ll be up, wringing your neck for coffee and his phone.” That was the pronouncement from one medi-witch who, standing over Percy Weasley’s bed, beheld the bureaucrat with something akin to scoffing. Her fellow Healer looked at her, and shaking his head, slipped out of the room and down the spell-damage ward where all were kept busy with the Death Eaters’ handiwork. But it didn’t take 4 hours for Percy to wake up. Ever the achiever, it was less than 10 minutes before his eyelashes began to flutter. And in 30 minutes he managed to utter Oliver’s name. Fifteen after that and he’d said something about his Mum. One hour later, he jerked away, surging upward in panic to find himself well-gauzed and ensconced in a bed. All of these things were not okay, however, because Percy was alone and he had absolutely no news regarding what had befallen the people he loved. He only knew he wasn’t dead. But the good thing? There was a wheelchair in a corner and his wand lay on the table by a pitcher of water. He moved slowly, aware of the pull from the Death Eater’s dark curses, and his body’s response to the beating it took. But he grasped his wand firmly and summoned the wheelchair. Pure willpower then propelled him from the side of the bed (lips bitten to keep from crying out) and into the seat where, with one more charm he propelled himself from the room. If Oliver wasn’t with him, that meant that he was here somewhere. Percy wouldn’t consider the alternative, so it meant that he would quietly wheel into each and every room before he could successfully determine the location (fate) of his Oliver. Whether it was sheer luck or willpower that had allowed Oliver to find help soon enough, he probably would never know. Either way, the healers had him under heavy sedation while they worked on stopping the acid burns before it was too late. He was lucky, he overheard someone say right before he passed out earlier. It could have been worse, they said. Oliver didn’t know how it could be, outside of dying. Then the pain became too much, and the world went black. It came back into focus slowly. He heard the hustle and bustle of the hospital, he heard his slow breathing. Then light filtered in as he tried to open his eyes. “What -” His mouth was so dry, and the world felt far away. “Perce?” No one else was in the room, but he caught a glimpse of blonde hair outside. Oliver tried to sit up. “Percy?” Though weak and hoarse, Percy would have recognized that voice anywhere. And he paused the chair’s progress, wincing at the jerk caused in his body, managing to keep from crying out for the desire to see Oliver. Wheeling into the room, he suddenly realized he couldn’t see much at all since his eyes were clouded with tears. The chair came to a stop next to his bed and he sat there dumbly, continuing to openly weep. Fear, joy, intense pain all commingled to take Percy’s typical pedantry away. “Hey,” Oliver said softly, reaching out for Percy’s hand despite the protest by his body, “it’s okay.” It wasn’t okay, but what else could you say? He didn’t feel okay, and he knew he didn’t look okay, but they were both alive. That was more than he thought he’d wake up to. Percy’s tears made Oliver’s own eyes well up too, and he smiled weakly. “Missed me, did you?” Percy gripped Oliver’s hand gently, afraid to pull him closer lest he hurt either of them. But there he yet was — warm, vital, breathing. And Percy hadn’t the art to reckon his thankfulness. He took a shallow breath and caught his eye at last. “Yeah. I did.” Oliver squeezed Percy’s hand, even though he didn’t know what exactly was wrong with his fiancé or what would hurt. All that mattered in that moment was that Percy knew he was there, alive and still strong underneath the bandages. He wanted to tell Percy to join him on the bed. The healers probably wouldn’t like that, but Oliver didn’t care much. After what they’d been through, they should be allowed that one small comfort, just for a bit. “Missed you too,” he murmured. His throat tightened up a little as Oliver thought about what had happened at the match. “I tried to find you, but… had to fight one of them off, and I - I didn’t know where to look anymore.” “ — I was trying to get to you, too” came quietly, as the facts came back to him. He remembered Bill’s heroism, and the help the Order of the Phoenix brought. Mostly he remembered being terrified of dying and leaving so many things undone. “You did good, Olly.” He fell back to the boyish nickname he had for him in younger years. “You’re here.” “Yeah,” Oliver breathed. “You too.” He didn’t know what exactly had happened to Percy, but he’d survived. That was the most important thing. “I kept thinking,” he continued, his voice cracking, “that we’d never even get married. That I’d never see -” It was too horrible to think about, but he couldn’t stop. It was that or think about the flashes of light coming from Death Eater wands, about screams and so much blood. Percy had a moment of guilt. In his own desperate way, he knew he had to get to Oliver. But when it came down to facing the Death Eater, all he could consider was living. And in surviving, he would continue to embody their plans. But these anxieties did not take shape for him. They were ambiguous, formless entities that hemmed along his edges. “Stop. We will. You are.” Mutely, Oliver nodded. It felt impossible for him to find his voice through everything. He just clutched Percy’s hand tighter, trying to focus on that and not on how his hand was trembling. “Percy,” he whispered, when he was sure no one else was nearby. He leaned closer, as much as he could. His memories were coming back in pieces, though they all still had a fuzzy quality to them that made Oliver wonder how much of them were real and how much were just nightmares his subconscious created. “I think -- one of them fell, Percy. Because of --” Me. The word was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t get it out. Percy blinked, his head pounding with the pain potions that had overwhelmed him and still swam miasmatic in his blood. Oliver’s words, however, were sobering. He looked at him squarely. “They never would have been there if they hadn’t been intent on murder. You didn’t do anything.” The room swam around him and he held Oliver all the more tightly. “You kept yourself safe. You did what anyone would do. You are not to be blamed.” “I know, but --” But what if they’re dead? What if they find out? What would they do? There were so many questions in Oliver’s head, and none of them could be answered peacefully. He knew exactly what would happen. It would probably happen slowly and painfully. His eyes welled up with tears again -- not out of relief that time, but fear -- and he shook his head. “We can talk about this when we’re home.” Oliver didn’t want anyone to overhear. He didn’t know how many people they could trust outside of their families and friends. (And even the latter had some question marks, considering what Francine had said.) “Um. Should you be out of bed?” A decisive nod. And discuss it - plan for it, even - they would. If Percy could do anything (beyond survive) it was to make contingency plans of contingency plans. And then his contingency plans had notions, objectives, and directives of their own. But for now? “ … no?” He suspected the Healers would be after him at any moment. “But I didn’t know …” And knowing the Order was present, any number of his own family members could also be present. Percy’s breath began to elevate, getting shallow against the bindings at his chest. Didn’t know if you were okay. Oliver could fill in the blanks. The only reason he hadn’t been thinking about that was because he hadn’t spent much time awake. He could tell that Percy was falling down the same hole he’d been in when he hadn’t known how Oliver was. Percy didn’t need to say it; after all the years he’d spent watching Percy and getting to know Percy, Oliver knew Percy’s expressions and body language better than anyone. “Hey.” He pushed himself up so he was sitting. He really wanted to pull Percy into bed, but he didn’t think he could do that in the state he was in. “Look at me. We’re all going to get through this.” His thumb brushed over the soft skin on the back of Percy’s hand. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Centering himself, he focused on Oliver’s voice and began willing the room around him to stop spinning. He used his wand to get closer to the bed. With a great effort and a groan, he hauled himself to his feet and perched on the edge of Oliver’s bed. If he could just see them past this moment, if he could just get up and start working … “I’m right where …” he took a breath. “I’m good. We’re good.” Oliver chuckled, and then winced. “You’re a great big idiot, Percy Weasley.” But he didn’t stop Percy or call for a Healer. It was good to see Percy closer, as awful as he looked. It was good to feel his weight on the bed and the warmth of him pressed against Oliver’s leg, proof that they were both alive. “You know,” reluctantly, Oliver scooted away, giving Percy more room, “bet they’d let you stay here if we were already married. They’ll probably be really cross when they find you here. Should’ve thought of that before the Death Eaters tried to kill everyone again.” Kicking with his one good leg, Percy managed to lever himself in the hospital bed next to Oliver, ignoring the protesting from his injuries and the good sense that told him that they should heal separately. Percy already intended to be home by Monday and back to work within a week, lest a Death Eater manage to usurp him. And my family. But until then, or until such a time the Healers separated them, he buried his face in the hollow of Oliver’s neck. “Let me at them.” “You’re sooo scary,” Oliver assured him, though he was smiling, so it probably wasn’t that convincing. Carefully, he wrapped an arm around Percy’s shoulders, not wanting to apply too much pressure or touch him in the wrong place. He was able to reach up to run his fingers through the hair at the back of Percy’s neck, at least. “You’ll show them.” “Mmmmmmm,” was all Oliver managed to get out of Percy. Curled into the sheets with Oliver’s warmth assuring himself of his survival, he knew that the other items weighing on his mind could not be quite so stubbornly managed. Particularly when he heard a voice behind them. “Good Merlin! Two, where there were one! Take this blonde one back or get him a bloody cot!” |