legionworld | Just Kidding [Open]

Who: Wash and whoever wants to visit him
What: Guess who has another near-death experience to add to the pile!
Where: Medbay
When: The day after this, so also after Time Ripples and Mind Slayer
Warnings/Notes: None yet

Wash wakes up slowly. He's sore, and in an unfamiliar bed, and for a brief moment he thinks of Connie and wonders if he doubled down on that mistake-

Oh. No, he's in medical. Different kind of mistake, then.

It doesn't take long for the staff to notice he's awake and give him the rundown. The bullet caused massive damage to his lung (entry wound was fairly standard; exit wound was a mess); he's only alive because Chief and Dave brought got him to medical in time, and even then he was touch and go for a little bit; yes, that is Dave in the bed next to him, but it's exhaustion from power overuse and he'll be fine once he's had some rest; Wash has healed up fine thanks to his healing factor, but he's still on bed rest until tomorrow at the earliest. The nurse imparting that last piece of information has one of the sternest glares he thinks he's ever seen, and they don't let up until Wash raises his hands in surrender. "Okay. Bed rest. Got it."

That's evidently good enough, and they leave him to his own devices and thoughts he'd rather avoid. Superheroing for months, facing down assassins in his fucking memories and twisted amped-up comic villains and Darth Vader, and he nearly dies because of a sniper that wasn't in the briefing of a mission that should've been a milk run. Christ.

He wonders if the news got out. It's been more than twelve hours, so probably. That probably caused one hell of a ruckus. He can probably look forward to having company, then. Should be fun, for certain what-do-you-mean-you-nearly-died-again flavors of "fun."

Maybe he can catch someone before they come in and get them to bring him fruit from the mess. He can hope, right?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Wash hasn't been awake for too long - long enough to know that breathing too deeply makes his chest ache, at least - before he hears the groan coming from the other side of the room, followed by the snark. Well, Dave sounds like he's doing about as okay as can be expected. Good.

"If I got a Purple Heart every time I got injured, I'd have enough to paint my armor purple. And I'm not doing that, because that's medic colors." A beat. "Are you holding up okay?"

"I'm not dead, so I've been worse."

The snark comes almost automatically. It's only as he's replying that everything seems to finally settle in, the weight of the situation; Wash had almost died. The thought of it makes his chest feel tight, like his heart had stopped and couldn't figure out how to get going again. He was well-practiced at pushing all that shit aside in the heat of a dangerous moment, but everything seems okay right now so there's no adrenaline to bury the feelings under and jesus.

Face pressed to his knees, he has to take a steadying breath against the wave of belated distress. Clench his hands in the sheets so they won't tremble. Distantly, it occurs to him that this is probably what he'd expected to feel back when Bro died, when he'd been angry and purposeful but not sad. He hadn't really understood why back then, but he does now and he knows why a close call with Wash is hitting him so much harder than standing over his actual guardian's actual corpse.

Fuck.

His head pounds, but he ignores it to slip out of the cot on shaky legs, cross over to Wash's cot, and drape himself over Wash's chest in a hug that is probably more flop than embrace but fuck it, he is tired.

"Sorry," he murmurs without lifting his head. Hell if he's sure why, it just feels like the only appropriate thing to say.

"Same," he deadpans with the beginnings of a smirk. It's not quite accurate, but hey, nothing like morbid humor after yet another near-death experience, right?

But the humor stops there. Dave is quiet for too long - Wash can hear him breathing, but that's about it. By the time he starts to prop himself up to get a better look, Dave is at his bedside and then on his chest. Turns out it's hard to be cavalier when the near-death experience is not your own, and easy to forget that when it is.

So he wraps his arms around Dave and holds him. Dave doesn't usually initiate hugs, which means he damn well needs this one. "You saved my life. You have nothing to apologize for."

For just a moment, Dave wishes Wash were more like his bro. Not Bro, but like, Dirk, who had totally let him off the hook and played along with his bullshitting when he was being embarassingly sincere and affectionate. Because Wash is being painfully serious about this and Dave doesn't think he can look the dude in the eye right now.

So. He doesn't. He just talks right into Wash's chest, trying very hard to keep a steady voice and only mostly succeeding. "You got shot in the chest and I'm probably aggravating the wound here clinging like a hysterical widow on her hubby's corpse at the funeral."

Well. He is kind of clinging.

Sometimes you need to have an actual serious conversation. Just because it may not be very long doesn't mean it's not necessary. "If the wound was still life-threatening, they'd have me intubated and sedated somewhere. It's healed already. I'm fine, and I don't mind clinging." A beat. "But I'm definitely not marrying a teenager, and I'm pretty sure I already told you you're not my type, so you don't have to worry about being widowed just yet."

Dave snorts into Wash's shirt. Hospital gown. Whatever it is. "You're real quick to forget I'm taken anyway," he says dryly. "Doesn't matter if he isn't here, I'm no cheater. My love is pure and true and I will not be led astray by a DILF."

He's, uh. Still not getting off, though.

(Give him a break, he is a teensy bit emotional right now and getting hugged back is nice actually.)

"Good. Glad we're on the same page." No reason to push that joke.

It takes Wash about that long to realize that Dave is half-on, half-off the bed. There's no way that's comfortable, especially with how tired Dave seems to still be. "Now c'mon," he says, hooking an arm around Dave's hips and pulling him onto the bed, "get up here." Might as well make things easier for the both of them.

Stupid grown adults capable of tossing him around like a bag of rice. Twice in a week is too much. He has to kind of scramble over the edge of the cot to help Wash out, half as a matter or pride and half because the dude just got shot and Dave feels bad leaving him to do any actual work no matter how recovered he claims to be. It ends with Dave wedged in alongside him, tucked under his arm and shit, it is a full-blown cuddle now.

Okay, yeah. He is red-faced and shades-less and kind of a wreck still. He's definitely not removing his face from where it is safely pressed against Wash's shoulder and thus hidden forever.

"I'm telling the internet that Freelancer is a cuddler," he mumbles instead. "I don't give a fuck about the consequences of them asking how I know this. I will take one for the team to ensure your fanfic is full of sappy emotional hugging with your whole spectrum of armorbros."

Well, that works out well enough. Wash shifts a bit - he's stiff and his back is sore, and he'll need to work that out once the doctor decides he's had enough bed rest - but eventually settles in as Dave does. He keeps one arm around Dave, elbow bent and hand resting on Dave's head, lightly stroking his hair.

He snorts at the muted sass. "I'd make a joke about how my life is full of emotional armored hugging, but it doesn't make sense if you haven't met Caboose. Also, you're acting like I read what they write about me." He reads a few for the hell of it - only the ones that come highly recommended by the fandom at large, and anonymously - but Dave doesn't need to know that.

Just Kidding [Open]

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