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thatslikely · 3 years

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Monster - R.L.

Monster- (Young) Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader (unspecified house)

Warnings: descriptions of blood and violence

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: I don’t normally write for the Marauders, but this was a special request for my best friend Ocean, who has stood by my side for as long as I can remember. I love you Ocean <3

Just a reminder: Y/N is Your Name, and thoughts/flashbacks are in italics.

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @probably-peeves @anchoeritic @theweasleytwinsgirl

if you want to be added to my general or character-specific taglist, send me a dm or an ask!

----

Remus Lupin was a monster; a hideous beast deserving of nothing but a depressing life. A creature doomed to an eternity of rightfully earned misery and isolation. He was nothing more than a savage, barbaric werewolf.

Y/N, Y/L/N was a gorgeous and effervescent girl, who seemingly had the whole world rooting for her. She was exceptionally astute, a skilled and hallowed prefect, and unimaginably beautiful in every sense of the word. Someone who deserved nothing but the best.

While Remus would never believe it, he was the exact antithesis of a monster. To his friends, and to his great surprise, you, he was an altruistic, solicitous, and perceptive boy. A boy who you loved with every fiber of your being. A boy who needed to learn to love himself.

No matter what actions you took or words you sang, Remus sat in denial of your true feelings for him.

“But… why would you love someone like me? You already figured out that I’m a werewolf. I’m a monster, Y/N. You deserve so more than I could ever give to you,” Remus stated somberly. His eyes glistened with tears and were distinctly tinged with self-loathing. His normally soft, caramel locks were disheveled, and his worn Gryffindor uniform was wrinkled.

“Moony,” you started, Remus flinching at the nickname spilling from your lips, “I don’t care that you’re a werewolf. You’re breathtaking to me all the time, full moon or not. You have to understand, you’re not a monster! You’re someone I love. Someone I can’t live without.”

With the last sentence escaping your mouth with a plea, the tears that had been brewing in Remus’ eyes finally dripped down his face freely. He looked so broken, all the concrete walls that he had built up for so long crumbling under your acceptance and love. He was completely and utterly vulnerable.

He couldn’t be bothered to smudge away the translucent tears staining his cheeks, instead his arms instinctively reached to you like an infant, for a tight hug. He clung to your body like a lifeline; your soft and delicate skin drenched with a well-kept cardigan pressed into his aching chest. You felt so comforting in his arms, he could’ve held you forever.

“Y/N… I love you.”

The Great Hall was packed to the rafters with students adorned in varicolored robes, laughs and conversations dancing in one ear and out the other. The ancient, wooden tables were enveloped with pearly plates of every size, each supporting sky-scraping mounds of delicious house elf-made food. You promptly took the vacant seat next to Remus, reserved courtesy of himself, excited to see him after an endless day of droning professors.

James and Sirius were already plotting some sort of devious scheme, probably directed at their fierce rival, a raven-haired fellow fifth year named Severus Snape. You and Remus never became involved with the dastardly pranks, however, instead opting for unbiased pacifism. While a beady-eyed Peter was eagerly lapping up James’ and Sirius’ plans like ice-cold water in a desert, your stunning eyes lovingly locked with Remus’ handsome, mahogany ones.

You were quick to notice that Remus’ loaded plate of food remained untouched all dinner, contrasting the hefty meal residing in your own stomach. The full moon was approaching quickly, and there was no doubt he was worried out of his wits. You subtly motioned for him to pick at his plate, to no avail.

If only he would allow you to comfort him about his monthly transformations. He had always been quick to shut down discussion of anything related to the lupine side of him, no matter how much you begged on your hands and knees for him to open up.

“Remus, you really should eat. It’ll make you feel better, I promise,” you said with a concerned smile. The already troubled expression he wore fell even lower.

“I’m not hungry,” he said softly with strict finality. His face was painted with worry and guilt, a familiar but unpleasant sight. Once he noticed your gaze remained locked on him, he hastily covered up his unhappy expression with a small pseudo-smile.

“Can you at least have a bite of chocolate?” you asked, grabbing a small chuck of delicious candy from a wrapper in your robe pocket. You extended your sugar-filled hand to him expectantly, and he obliged, grabbing the cracked square with annoyance. Once he started chewing on the sweet chocolate, however, his nerves relaxed and his demeanor softened.

“Where’d you get this stuff, darling? Tastes quite good,” he asked, his words barely distinguishable thanks to the silky chocolate that filled his scarred cheeks. The nervous look that previously resided on his face was completely erased, a goofy grin triumphantly taking over.

“I’ll tell you, only if you swear to eat at least a little bit of your dinner,” you said motherly, gesturing your hands towards his plate of cold food. He emitted a sarcastic grumble before spooning some cold mashed potatoes into his mouth. He tried, and failed, to hide his gagging at the taste of the cold mush on his tongue, but he persevered, swallowing a few bites.

“I believe I owe you some chocolate,” you said satisfied, this time removing the whole bar from your inky black cloak pocket. You ensured the bar was wrapped nicely before gingerly giving it to a giddy Remus.

“Now, where can I get myself some of this? They don’t sell it at Honeydukes, do they?” he questioned, before breaking off a bit of the milky chocolate, promptly popping it into his mouth. He kindly shared some extra squares with the other three Marauders, ‘thanks’ repeatedly passed his way.

“It’s homemade, straight from Mum’s kitchen. I get sent some just about every Sunday, so it looks like I’m your only source. Bummer.”

“Oh well. I suppose it’s worth it.” Remus rolled his eyes jokingly, sending a thankful squeeze to your interlocked fingers.

The rest of dinner flowed along effortlessly.

----

Your droopy eyes languidly peeled open, revealing the lazy golden rays of light dancing across the stone walls of your cluttered dorm. The repulsive taste of mucus lingered at the back of your throat, an unwelcome side effect of your restless sleep.

Tonight was the night of the dreaded full moon.

Violent images of a bloody and wounded Remus flashed through your brain, causing a pained whimper to escape your throat. It always shattered your heart to see Remus returning back from a transformation, beaten, limping and broken.

He made every effort to conceal himself returning in that state, cautiously darting to the Hospital wing, not wanting you to see, and subsequently pity him. But unknown to him, the tucked-away broom closet parallel to Madam Pomfrey’s provided a miniscule glance of his disheveled self every dangerously moonlit night.

You sluggishly got up from your bed, a bone-creaking stretch of your arms coupling with a sloth-like yawn following suit. You trudged through quicksand to the bathroom, quickly brushing your teeth to rid your mouth of the unpleasant morning taste that coated your tastebuds.

Not long after, you threw on a comfortable outfit, one of Remus’ worn and oversized t-shirts and some sweatpants. If wearing his clothes could bring him a little joy today, it was worth it.

“I like your shirt today. Looks quite dashing,” you said in a joking tone to the boy sprawled on the crimson-dressed bed below you. Remus was donning a holey, earth-toned t-shirt, topped with a matching unbuttoned, cocoa-colored flannel which complimented his messy mop of hair.

He sat up with an innocent smirk, saying, “It’d look pretty ‘dashing’ on you, too.” Remus’ cheeks gained heat at his bold comment, his mind imagining you wrapped in his clothes. Your goofy smile added to his favorite shirt would be near perfect.

“Wanna test your theory?” you casually asked, tiny droplets of adrenaline coursing through your veins. You were always a bit flustered around Remus, but the prospect of his shirt was too alluring to pass up.

His face morphed into a slightly mischievous grin, and his hands quickly tore off the flannel overshirt that complimented the coveted top underneath. “Turn around for a second.”

You cocked your eyebrow in surprise before complying, pivoting your body away from the changing Remus. You envisioned his bare torso, dotted with sore scars. The exciting ruffling of clothes played behind you in a whisper.

Your eyes begged to sneak a peek, but they listened to Remus’ request, remaining clamped shut until he signaled, “Okay, you can look now.”

The prized brown shirt laid scrunched-up in his lap, his hands busily buttoning the few top buttons of his flannel, which was now stretched across his whole chest. After the flannel was fitted to his satisfaction, he tossed you the shirt with an amused smile.

You promptly slipped it over your head, the familiar and angelic smell of Remus brushing your nostrils. The shirt fit like a potato sack on your body, but to him, you looked ethereal.

Remus wasn’t seen all day, for he was locked up in his dorm, rotting away with anxiety. James, Sirius, and Peter all attempted to get him out of the cage he laid trapped in, but nothing, even the most enticing offers, would make him budge.

He finally emerged from his cave to the common room late into the afternoon, wearing puffy, red eyes with heavy purple bags underneath. You immediately ran to him, arms wrapping tightly around his stiff chest. He released a sigh before reciprocating the hug, a tiny, tired smile, resting on his face.

“Good afternoon to you, too,” he breathily muttered in your ear. Your whole body sprang up with goosebumps at the feeling of his warm breath hitting your skin.

“I’ve been worried sick about you.” Your soft, relieved voice rang through his ears, guilt panging his heart.

“Don’t ever worry about me, honey. I’ll always be okay, and here for you.”

After stepping back from the solacing embrace, the other Marauders were quick to check on him. You stood away from their tight circle by the fire, simply admiring the laugh escaping Remus’ lips at one of James’ jokes.

He’ll be okay, you comfortably told yourself, He’ll always be okay.

However, you failed to consider your own safety.

----

The pale strips of moonlight that shone through the window illuminated your glassy, saucer eyes, accompanied by your heart rapidly banging in your chest like a fast-tempoed timpani. Your arms vibrated with fear, and your ears remained steadily perked, listening for any stray howls reverberating from the Shrieking Shack.

You had tried your best to think positively: at least after tonight, he won’t worry for a while, but the images of a currently suffering Remus swam in your head, swiftly extinguishing your optimism.

Lupine-esque whimpers echoed through your brain, accompanying the ghastly memories of a bloodied Remus, causing your stomach to churn like the sea in a thunderstorm. You were plagued with such intense worry and guilt that you refused to remain idle in your dorm any longer.

If he remained abandoned by you every full moon, the scars that accented his skin would come back even more profound than last month. His chest would be drenched in his own blood, a familiar but nauseating sight. His leg would wobble to class every day just as badly, his knee sore and rigid. You couldn’t just sit and watch him break and heal again every month. Remus needed help.

You stuffed your feather-filled pillows under the duvet of your four-poster in the rough shape of a human body, hopefully convincing as your own. Then, you proceeded to noiselessly creep through your tranquil dorm, the minute tapping of your slippers on the hardwood blending seamlessly with the regular humming of the ancient castle.

After safely out of the dorms and lifeless common room, you dashed to the Gryffindor tower, careful to avoid the observant eyes of patrolling professors. You softly muttered the password to the half-asleep Fat Lady, who you were well acquainted with thanks to the Marauder’s frequent antics.

You tip-toed up the cold, stone steps to the boy dormitories, promptly arriving at the fifth year dorms. You gave the sturdy, wooden door a light rap, crossing your fingers that the notorious night-owls would open up.

Your desperate wish was soon granted, a worried James peeling open the door, revealing the rest of the Marauders sitting in a circle on the rug behind him. “What’s up?” He whispered, a glint of mischief still present in his eyes, “you worried about Moony, too?”

“N- well yes, but I’m not here for a group therapy session. I need your cloak. The invisible one,” you quietly stated, confident and determined.

“What could you possibly be up to? Something tells me it’s not just a trip to the kitchens.” James looked considerably more suspicious, his knuckles’ grip tightening on the door. Sirius got up from his spot on the floor, approaching the door frame.

“Er- just give me the cloak, please? I can’t sit around knowing he’s suffering alone out there. Not anymore.” Your eyes threatened to fill with tears, but you successfully fought to keep them under control.

“Y/N, is this really the best idea? I know you two are ‘in love or whatever’ but is it worth dying for? You and I both know the danger of his condition.” You winced at James’ words before stubbornly nodding, determined to leave with the cloak.

“At least let us go with you. I don’t think Moony would want his girlfriend dying, especially if it was his fault.” Sirius snatched his wand and coat from the nightstand, ready to accompany you to the lupine love of your life.

“I’m sure that there’s no way in hell I could stop you guys, but, please, don’t worry about me. I’m a perfectly capable witch, believe it or not.”

James uneasily handed you the cloak while Sirius gave you a comforting pat on the back. You turned away from the dorm, your mind set on the Shrieking Shack.

----

The fierce wind howled through the towering, spiky trees, not soothing your jittery nerves in the slightest. The previously clear, starry sky was now blanketed with inky storm clouds. The ground occasionally rattled with booming thunder, making your tingly legs shake even more.

Your wand was out and eager to spew spells at any unusual sights or sounds, despite knowing that the only real threat, Remus, resided exclusively in the shack. You gradually inched closer to the Whomping Willow, not exhibiting any Gryffindor-ish traits as you did so.

When you were finally within range of it’s murderous branches, you skillfully levitated a rock to perfectly rest on the trunk’s secret pressure-point, paralyzing its wooden limbs without a sweat. You ducked under it’s ancient roots, running towards the demonic barks that echoed in the distance.

You tore the transparent hood off of your shoulders, dropping it on the porch of the dilapidated house. Your vision blurred with fearful tears, but regardless, you pushed the peeling door of the shack open, scared to see what lay inside.

Musty, forgone furniture was haphazardly thrown around what was presumably the den; deep and fresh claw marks mangled the grimy plush of chairs. Moldy tabletops were smashed in, opaque glass windows were shattered into millions of pieces, and there were unsettlingly large paw prints dotting the rotting floor.

“Remus?” you squeaked, your throat tense and withdrawn. Low, animalistic growls could be heard from the second floor, and with a gulp, you slowly ascended the creaky stairs which groaned under your every movement.

“Remus…?” you repeated at the top of the desolate stairs, this time barely audible. “Moony?”

The level was eerily quiet, making you regret your decisions a hundred times over. You scampered forward, the small beam of white light emitted from the tip of your wand growing shaky with fear. He’s up here, somewhere. Thoughts of a suffering Remus drove you to peer through every room, fearfully expecting to find a helpless, balled up werewolf sitting in the corner.

Each battered bedroom lay devoid of life, disregarding the infestation of cockroaches that resided in the decaying walls. Your legs felt numb and uncontrollable as you stepped to the final bedroom at the end of the hallway. Remus must be in here.

You rolled your wrist around, making sure it was pliant in preparation for the spells that would likely need casting. You pushed the unhinged door to the side, ready to face your lupine boyfriend.

Barbaric, unintelligible noises tickled your ears at a low frequency. You walked silently into the room, the quivering grip on your wand increasing. You stepped further and further into the room, towards the bed that lay broken in the center.

A thunderous snarl from the closet jolted you around, invisible tears pouring down your face. “Remus? Remus, come out, it’s m-me.”

Bloodied claws, sharp as daggers, dug into the aged wood, slowly approaching you like a predator sneaking up on its prey. “Remus, its Y/N. Don’t worry. It’s okay, I’m here.”

Inhuman, savage eyes pierced into your own soaked ones. Not an ounce of your boyfriend was left in the shadowy wolf; the way he slinked towards you viciously, the way bubbly drool fell from his twisted snout, the open wounds that characterized his back.

His demeanor showed no signs of recognition, only ferine instincts ruled his primitive mind. “Remus… it's me…” Your voice cracked with heartbreak, a sob escaping afterwards. Silence, save for the deep, drawn out growls from the werewolf.

“REMUS! REMUS, TELL ME YOU REMEMBER ME? PLEASE, REMUS, PLEASE,” you wailed. Maybe you were yelling to get through to him, or maybe just to hear your own voice over your booming heart that drowned out your thoughts.

Remus left you no time to think, let alone act, as your whittled wand thudded to the floor, and the vicious werewolf’s jaw sunk into your delicate collarbone. Sanguine blood splattered extravagantly across the decrepit room, its hauntingly intricate patterns tainting the rickety bed behind you, turning its dusty white sheets a sickly crimson.

A hoarse shriek rattled through your teeth as the feral canines dug deeper into your shredded flesh. Your vision went blurry, not from the tortured tears spilling from your eyes, but from mind-numbing exhaustion. The last thing you saw before collapsing onto the floor with a groan, your mouth contorted open in pain, was a quick flash of black and brown.

----

“Y/N… I’m so sorry.” Your chest vibrated from the lugubrious sobs escaping Remus’ nauseated throat. His lips and chin was crusted with a rusty red waterfall sourced from his now human teeth, his tousled, sweat-drenched hair rested on your heart. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

“I’m a monster.”

Your dried, bloodshot eyes peeled open, taking in the confusing sight that surrounded you. You were crumpled on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, held by a sobbing, gory Remus. A melancholy James, Sirius, and Peter stood further back, taking in the depressing sight before them.

Languid morning rays shone through the opaque glass of the window, the beams perfectly highlighting the slick trails of blood that dried all over your body. Your shirt was torn to shreds, the collar being the most mangled. Your shoulder stung with the pain of a thousand Crucio-curses.

“Remus… what happened?” you croaked, your throat unwilling to cooperate, its texture like sandpaper. His drenched, brown eyes looked up to you in shock, tears falling down his scarred checks even faster. Last night was nothing but a hazy black blur which made your head pound even thinking about it.

“What happened to me, Remus?”

“I turned you. You’re a monster like me now.”

“I-I don’t think I understand…”

“You came to the Shrieking Shack last night to comfort Remus, and well, he bit you. You’re a werewolf now,” Sirius solemnly said, his gaze pointed to his black Doc Martens. Remus soon ran out of tears to cry, his eyes instead spacing out, his mind drowning out your words and touches.

“I turned you into a werewolf. I’ve sentenced you to the same hell that I live. I’m so sorry, there’s nothing we can do. I’m a monster!” Remus shouted, his shaky voice the most depressing thing that’s ever graced your ears. You sat on the floor, wrapped in Remus’ sorrowful embrace, shocked silence filling the mournful room. Tears subconsciously coated your burning cheeks and chin, fusing with the rust-colored, crusted blood, creating a sickly pink waterfall down your face.

“Remus, it’s okay-”

“No, it's not. Not this time, Y/N. It's all my fault,” he cried, “I swore that I would protect you, protect you from that monstrous side of me, and now look. We’re one and the same. Except that I’m a truly vile being deep down. I should be gone.”

“Being a werewolf isn’t some cool superpower or something; it's a disease! It's a ravaging, dangerous, violent disease; it taints everything, it’s inescapable. A disease that the person that matters the most to me now has, and it’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have come to this school in the first place. I don’t deserve any of this. I deserve to die.”

“Remus John Lupin, don’t you dare say that you deserve anything even remotely close to death! I know being a werewolf is going to be difficult, painful, everything, but at least I have someone to help me! At least I have someone who isn’t just going to leave me on the streets and have me fend for myself. I trust you more than anyone, I know it’s going to be okay, okay? You’re far from a monster, Moony. You’re someone I love,” you choked out, your voice fading with pain.

Remus’ eyes found crystalline tears once again, and you held his bloodied head to your chest, allowing his ears to hear your slow heartbeat, cooing, “It’s okay, it’s okay, I love you. It’s going to be okay, I promise. I’ll survive, we’ll survive, together.”

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

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Almost, Soon: Dex / Wright Farling

CW: References to past torture/injuries, references to ongoing torture

Collab between @spiffythespook and I, featuring Wright Farling and Dex. A direct follow-up to the Dismantled, Insecurity by @spiffythespook, Reconstruction, He Imagines Going Home, and A Chance to Burn series of Dex and Wright pieces.

It contains my favorite Dex line I’ve ever written.

The library was less than a mile from Karen’s house. On a normal week Dex walked there in a little more than fifteen minutes. He liked to take his time, appreciate the flowers in people’s yards or the birds in the trees.

This was not a normal week.

When he was finally unwilling to wait any longer, and Seb and Peter could no longer convince him to stay in bed or in the house, the walk to the library took nearly an hour.

Dex was only upright by the end of it thanks to Peter, who kept a careful arm around his lower back, avoiding the welts still healing under Sebastian’s makeshift bandages. He listed heavily to the right and Peter took his weight without complaint, the much-younger man as focused on the goal as Dex was.

Peter took risks the others wouldn’t - or in Henry’s case, risks no one would allow him to take.

Dex wasn’t healing fast enough - Karen’s insistence on keeping him sleep-deprived and underfed ensured it. Refusing to let her win, Dex had decided today was the day that he would make it to the library, come hell or high water, and no amount of nervous worry from his brothers could make him change his mind.

“We can still go back,” Peter said softly, when Dex stumbled again and Peter had to catch him by his elbow to keep him on his feet.

Dex shook his head, and kept his light brown eyes focused on the library’s double doors. Just fifty feet or so, fifty steps, that’s not so bad. He looked terrible and he knew it - even though Seb had cut the stitches and removed them after ten days like the video said, his face was still bandaged and he shuffled more than he walked, new bruises from Karen’s grudge rapidly covering the healing ones.

Peter pulled the doors open and Dex managed - just barely - to keep himself upright to walk through them on his own. People stared.

Dex didn’t care. He had a singular goal, and he wouldn’t fail it. Even as he kept himself straight-backed and strong, he was terrified he would follow Wright’s instructions and sit here, alone, until he understood this hope he had been given was just another trap, too.

Whiskey to ease a dying man towards his end.

A prayer to give the damned a delusion of salvation.

He took the largest copy of Paradise Lost, a leatherbound, illustrated edition that he had checked out before, and found a table near the history section. When he opened up to a random page, he tried to scan the words, but saw nothing but floating, meaningless letters. He was so fucking exhausted, and so hungry, and it all hurt so, so much.

Peter leaned over with a careful hand on his shoulder. “Do you want me to leave?”

Dex looked up to meet Peter’s calm brown eyes. Compassion, friendliness, and courage. He had understood only after Karen had nearly killed him how unfair he’d been to his brothers. He was trying to make up for it, now, however he could.

N-O-T Y-E-T, he fingerspelled with his good hand, then gripped onto Peter’s shirt and tried to say please, mouthing the word without sound.

If Wright didn’t come, Dex could not stand the idea of being alone.

Peter nodded, settling into his seat. “Don’t worry,” He said softly. “He’ll come. Madam always says she likes that Wright doesn’t break promises. He… he won’t break one he made to you, right?”

Dex looked at him, with no idea what to say or how to begin to say it, before he dropped his eyes back to the book.

Abash’d the Devil stood and felt how awful Goodness is.

What if Wright didn’t come? What would he do then? What would even be left to hope for?

In the parking lot, a man in a cheap rented car - utterly nondescript, and something Karen wouldn’t spare a glance at if she happened to spot it around town - watched the library.

Wright was here every Tuesday since the day he’d called the house. He stayed awake and present, difficult as that was. The other Tuesdays, he had gone inside for a little while and spoken to some of the staff, read people he pinned as regulars. There were many kind people here. It was a safe place.

He watched Dex make his slow, halting way along the sidewalk and across the parking lot, Peter all but carrying him. Wright didn’t realize he was white-knuckling the steering wheel as he watched every painful step and stumble with his heart in his throat.

He kept his tears back and watched the window when Dex had disappeared from sight outside, then reappeared right where he’d hoped to see him - classic literature. Wright watched him select the book and head toward the history section, out of view, with the same slow shuffle.

He swallowed and leaned back against the headrest. I can’t do this, he thought, followed by, Don’t be fucking selfish, Wright. He can’t do this, and yet here he is. Kyle would beat you to death if you let this guy down after what he’s done to keep you.

He bit at his thumbnail anxiously, then grit his teeth, steeled himself. Whether or not he could do this, he had to. He pulled on a newsboy beret - his hair was too distinct - and stepped out of the car, making his way inside as though he were a regular, too. He supposed on his third Tuesday visit, he was starting to become one.

Wright paused and stared from across the room the moment Dex was in view. He could feel the pain and hope even from here, watched the way Dex couldn’t quite focus on the book, or even on Peter’s face when he leaned over to speak to him. Watched Dex take Peter’s sleeve in his hand, twist his fingers into the fabric. Even from here, he could see Dex mouth, please.

Wright took his cap off and clenched it tightly in one hand, then walked decisively to the table and set the cap down, resting his hands on the back of a free chair. He swallowed, blinked a couple times, and said softly, “Dex.”

Dex turned to look at him - he was a sight, with a bandage that took up nearly one whole side of his face and fresh blossoming bruises on the other, more black and purple smudges peeking out above and below his simple green collar, splinted broken fingers on his right hand. Dex’s grip loosened from Peter’s sleeve immediately, eyes wide with surprise. Peter swallowed, not quite leaning in to block Wright’s view of the other Box Boy, but not far from it.

“Peter, thank you-” Wright glanced at him with a tense smile. “Go home. I can drop him off at the gate. Karen will be some time, I assume.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed, not in hostility but trying to understand what to do. Whether to obey Wright - and God knew his instincts leaned towards obedience for Karen’s oldest and only true friend - or defy him and stay here for Dex’s sake.

His trained responses might be immediate obedience, but his innate sense of himself and his worry for Dex said otherwise. “I don’t want to leave in case he needs me.”

He glanced back down at Dex, and discovered Dex wasn’t looking at him at all. He was instead staring at Wright like fresh water in the center of the Sahara. “Dex? What do you want me to-”

Dex put up one hand. Go home, he mouthed, absently. He never looked away from Wright’s face. Go home.

Peter took in the tears standing in Dex’s eyes - the desperate intensity of his expression - and swallowed hard, ducking his head and pulling away. “Yeah, oh… okay. Be… be safe, Dex.” He backed up a little, frowning, and then jammed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and walked away, looking once or twice over his shoulder.

Wright stared right back at Dex, looking almost pensive from how hard he was concentrating to control himself. He didn’t look back at Peter - he didn’t need to, to hear the boy’s steps retreat and the door open and shut behind him. With him gone, Wright pushed the chair he’d chosen close to Dex, sat and leaned forward to take the man’s good hand gently. When Dex gripped onto his hand so tightly it nearly hurt, Wright’s mouth quivered slightly.

“Tell me she didn’t take your voice,” he said, and he didn’t mean it to sound as�� weak as it did. “I don’t… want you to have to live without your voice.”

Dex had to breathe slowly, to keep himself calm. Even so, tears still threatened and his throat felt tight, constricted. He swallowed, and shook his head.

“No,” he said, not quite a hoarse whisper. “But Peter doesn’t know I speak for you.”

Wright took a sharp breath in and released it, relieved that it hadn’t gone that far. Small relief. “Good. They shouldn’t, it would be dangerous-” he said softly, and then shook his head slightly. Dex knew that.

He leaned forward and trailed a finger very lightly over Dex’s bandaged cheek and gently cupped the other, staring into his eyes. “I can tell why she did that. But she’s wrong. You’re still beautiful. I won’t want you less because of a scar. I won’t want you less because of anything.”

Dex held so still he might have been carved from stone, staring into Wright’s eyes, before he collapsed forward against him. His forehead dropped lightly against the other man’s collarbone, breathing through gritted teeth as he tried to keep back the sound that wanted to break out of him.

He wanted to scream, in a kind of fierce and joyless victory. He had been right - he was still wanted, she hadn’t taken this one last thing. Wright was still his.

“Didn’t tell,” he said, hoarse gravelly voice thin and strained from holding himself together. “She asks and asks and I don’t tell about us… promise, promise I don’t.”

Wright’s hands moved, one into Dex’s hair to stroke the familiar soft texture under his fingers, the other to rub very carefully at his shoulder. “I know you don’t, love,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the man’s head. “I know you. I knew you wouldn’t. I’m sorry.”

Dex let out a choked-off sob, fighting to try and keep it back.

There weren’t a lot of other patrons at this time on a Tuesday, but a few people looked up at the sound, took the two of them in. Dismissed after, mostly - fighting boyfriends, or one friend consoling another, nothing to concern themselves with. A few clearly saw Dex’s collar - and the dismissal came even faster, then. A misbehaving pet and a no-doubt chiding owner.

A couple just looked, a little longer, more… thoroughly. At a man consoling another. At Dex’s obvious injuries. At Wright’s obvious lack of them.

Dex didn’t notice. He shivered at the feeling of fingers in his hair, Wright’s familiar warmth and feel and scent. He would have known him blindfolded, from the way he felt.

He had a lot of experience with that.

“I don’t know how, but she knew, she knew that I-… that I felt-” He cut himself off, shaking his head a little without raising it. “She knew what I feel.”

Wright could feel tension in the room - his sensing just seemed to get stronger with age - but that wasn’t in his focus. Dex consumed all his focus. “That’s… not good.”

His mind raced. He needed to get Dex out, away from her. He had to finish his boys, though - they were just broken, now, and they had to be put back together before he cut them free. He couldn’t put Dex in a position where he had to watch Wright hurt them, and he didn’t want the man to have to know and ignore his work. Karen’s judgement…

Well, he couldn’t tolerate her hurting Dex like this for much longer, much as it wasn’t enough to earn judgement. But, the moment he was free from his boys, the moment he had Cori prepared, he would leave the country to buck attention off. Three months abroad, minimum, and then he could be back. Maybe by then, he would be able to build a good case against her.

He wasn’t focusing at all on the present, and a younger man who had been staring had approached without Wright’s notice. He startled, slightly, when he noticed the stranger standing… well, clearly deliberately within Dex’s view and more in Wright’s periphery. He wondered…

The man cleared his throat, sounding awkward yet determined. “Hey, uh… Are you guys alright over here? You’re in rough shape,” he said. Wright was incredibly confused, until he realized that the man was trying - rather poorly - to covertly address Dex.

Dex didn’t even react - he was largely invisible to people, once they saw his collar, like a luxury car. No one thought a Lamborghini had a brain.

He had assumed the man was speaking to Wright, until he cleared his throat again. Then Dex pulled back, sitting back up with a visible flinch and audible hiss as it made pain spike up one side, where Dex was reasonably sure he had a bruised rib.

“Hey. Uh, man. Um.” The young man’s eyes went from Wright to Dex, narrowed slightly in suspicion. When Dex didn’t respond to him, he looked even more awkward and uncomfortable. “Uh… Pet?” He tried.

This time, Dex looked up automatically. He tilted his head slightly, trying to look questioning.

“Are… you okay?” The man asked with a heavy weight to the words, and Dex wasn’t sure what he was really asking.

He tapped his own mouth and shook his head. Mute, he mouthed. It was instinct. It didn’t even sink in that the man had probably already heard him talking.

“I think he’s asking if you need help, darling,” Wright murmured.

The man tensed, eyed Wright. Looked at Dex again. “I heard you speak. Before. I can…call somebody for you, if you want. If he’s…”

Nervous eyes on Wright, and Wright just sat calmly back, taking Dex’s good hand in his own to help ground him. “I’m not his owner, although he is my guy. And he’s a person, not a pet. Go on, ask him what you want.”

Wright’s calm did not reassure the stranger, only serving to make him more wary. He moved closer to Dex and spoke a little lower. “If he’s hurting you, if he’s… if he’s not being good to you, I can call the cops.”

Dex stared up at the man, his mind utterly blank from sheer surprise. He had been what he was for twenty years. In all that time, he could count on one hand the number of times someone had come up in public and offered to help.

“I must look awful,” Dex said, unable to keep the hint of humor from his hoarse, gravelly voice. At the same time, his hand tightened around Wright’s, holding on for dear life.

He is my guy, Wright had said, so casually open. Dex felt so small and so held, all at once.

“He is not the one who hurts me,” Dex said gently.

“I just want to know if you need help,” The young man insisted. “If it’s not him-” He cut his eyes at Wright, in a way that made it clear he didn’t believe that for a second. “-then tell me who they are. Pet abuse is, is illegal. I know WRU has, like, a tip line for that-”

Dex couldn’t stop himself - he tried, but he couldn’t. He laughed, the odd utterly natural sound so at odds with the forced gravel of his speaking voice. The idea of someone calling the company to try and report on Karen hurting him was so absurd he couldn’t begin to even fathom a reply.

It hurt to laugh - ached in his ribs and back, pulled at the raw skin under the bandage, made his shoulders nearly ache, even - but he couldn’t stop. Before long, the laughter started to change, as tears welled up all over again and fell this time, soaking into the bandage and loosening the adhesive strips Sebastian had so carefully applied to keep it on. Dex hunched over, pulling his broken hand back to himself, making sounds that were neither laughter nor sobs, but caught somewhere in between.

He lived in hell, and this man wanted so sincerely to call Lucifer to complain about how Beezelbub treated him.

“Oh, love,” Wright murmured, barely audible. He stood and stroked Dex’s hair, and looked over the young man with calculated but gentle eyes. “WRU has a tip line simply so that you think better of calling the police. Not that the police or court could do much with the lawyers. I should know. An acquaintance of mine works there. Please leave us alone. I can assure you, I’m doing my best to remove him from his owner safely. Your input will jeopardize us.”

“He looks pretty jeopardized already to me,” The man said, not quite hostile, but getting closer to it now that Dex was clearly and audibly upset. Dex didn’t look up now, pressing his head lightly into Wright’s touch, still curled over himself. Laughter had finally transitioned fully into open crying. He didn’t even seem to hear what Wright had said. “Somebody beat the daylights out of him, and I think either it’s you or you know and you’re not-”

“There you are, Zander,” A young brunette in a cardigan with a small silver nametag clipped to one side popped up just behind the man, putting a hand on his arm. “They have your hold ready at the check-out desk.”

The young man swallowed, looking at the librarian. “Someone should do something about shit like this. I’m tired of seeing pets treated like this!”

The librarian looked sidelong at Wright, as if weighing him. Then back to the man. "Ask at the front desk for Marianne, and tell her you want a biography on James Taylor called Rain.”

“What?”

“Just go, Zander. I’ll handle this disturbance.” The young man shot one more glare at Wright and then all but stomped away. The librarian looked back at Wright, calmly. “You’re creating a scene. Dex has a special request ready but it requires a signature.”

Wright looked over her, trying to determine whether she was helping them both or trying to help Dex away from him. “I’ll help him to come sign,” he said rather slowly, reaching for his cap and putting it back on just so he didn’t have to carry it.

He leaned down and wrapped his arm rather low on Dex’s side, where he thought there might be less damage - the kidney area was never a good place to focus on unless you wanted to kill someone, and Karen always placed her damage with expert attention to detail. “Dex,” he murmured by his ear. “The librarian wants you to sign something. I could carry you, but we’re in public. I could anyways, or you could try to walk.”

Maybe it was a poor time to offer a choice. Wright hoped it wouldn’t disturb him further.

Dex looked up, when Wright said his name, his eyes red-rimmed now and still glistening, expression utterly lost. He nodded, slowly, leaning against Wright and put both palms on the table. He mouthed, I stand, and forced himself to his feet.

His legs trembled, but held him.

The librarian watched him with genuine compassion. “Dex, hun, we have that wheelchair we keep in the back. Please let me get it for you.”

No. Dex cut his hand through the air, an angry slash, and shook his head. He looked at the librarian. I W-A-L-K.

She sighed. “Dex…”

Dex raised his eyes to look at her directly. I W-A-L-K, he spelled again, and took a deep breath, leaning hard against Wright for support. Wright kept his arm around his waist.

“… Fine. Okay.” Her eyes kept going between Dex and Wright - weighing, considering, measuring. Connecting dots. She was younger, in her very late twenties, but had the look of someone who understood far more than she let on. “If you’ll follow me, please, sir.” She gestured for him to go with her behind the check-out counter, to a row of offices along the back wall.

Wright was still while the librarian looked them over. He didn’t withhold anything, didn’t square up or school his expression, or hide the relieved release of tension when she asked him to follow. He walked slowly with Dex, careful not to rush him along, and the other man moved with the same slow shuffle he’d had with Peter, slumped against Wright for support the whole way. Eventually, they reached the back wall, the office she led them to.

She took a key from a necklace she’d been wearing hidden, pulling it up and out of the neckline of her shirt with an embarrassed little smile in Wright’s direction. “Sorry, kind of forgot,” She mumbled, turning red as she fumbled the necklace off over her head and turned the key in the lock to the door.

Wright smiled back. “That’s alright. We all forget things now and then, even what we should remember.”

The librarian unlocked the door for them, then paused. She leaned in close, putting a hand on Dex’s arm, grasping it tightly until his eyes raised again to meet hers. “Dex. Is this him?”

Dex nodded, slowly.

The librarian sighed, but some of the tension left her. “I thought it might be. All right, come on in. Mind the mess - I’m a librarian, not a clean freak.” She gestured to an office that consisted of a desk, a couple of chairs, a truly immense amount of books stacked neatly… and an even more immense series of folders, file cabinets, and papers that weren’t. “We haven’t seen Dex in a while,” She said, not quite conversationally, to Wright. “We were wondering if he was on one of his… trips, again.”

“Ah…I think we both wish that,” Wright murmured. “From what I understand, they’re going to be scarce from here on. Thank you,” he didn’t hide his look at her nametag, “Lillian. Thank you for your kindness.”

He carefully lowered Dex into one of the chairs, cupped his cheek and looked at him a moment. Dex stared back up at him, unwilling to take his eyes off Wright’s face, a little afraid this was just imagination, too, and he’d disappear. Wright’s hand slid away and then rested on Dex’s head again as he looked to Lillian, worry showing on his face.

“Would you do me a favor, please?” he asked, careful how he chose his words. “Could I give you my phone number, and could you call me when there is trouble like that, when you don’t see him? Or could you let him call me? Or… both…”

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind doing that, but…” She trailed off, looking down, at the way Dex looked at Wright. Her lips pressed together, uncomfortably, and then she nodded firmly. “I could. I guess he could breathe at you, at least.”

Dex’s eyes flickered to her, and he smiled, faintly. Lillian sighed. “There we go. Had to see a smile before I believe it’s you, Dex, you know that.” She hesitated, then looked back at Wright. “We know who he is. Did she…?”

Dex grabbed onto her arm with his good hand, shaking his head quickly, fearfully. Go, please, he mouthed, then fingerspelled quickly. N-O-T H-E-R. Please, alone, he signed one-handed.

“Yeah… yeah, okay.” Lillian sighed one more time. “Dex… I’ll watch for when you leave.” Back to Wright, and she considered him for a moment longer. “I hope you’re half of what he says you are,” She said, heavily but sincerely, and let herself out of her office.

Wright stared at her as she left, his heart failing him for a moment. I hope so, too, Lillian, he thought without saying. When the door shut, he pulled off his cap again and set it on the desk. He leaned down to Dex, to place a kiss softly on his lips.

“They’re kind to you, here,” he murmured. Something like regret flickered through his eyes. “You tell them about me?”

Dex pressed the kiss back, then winced when he put a little too much pressure, pulling back to put a hand up to his bandage, frowning absently as he felt at the loosened edges.

He blinked, surprised - not so much by the question as by his tone. “Some things,” he said, carefully. “Not names. Just… going places. Things I see with you.” A flicker of a smile, there and then gone again. “Only one is still here from when we started. They noticed I was… better.” He shrugged. “Wanted someone to know it was better, sometimes.”

Someone other than Jordan, who he wrote occasional letters to, sent to that house in Alaska, after poring over the ones Wright’s former project sent at Karen’s behest. Dex was fairly sure the only reason the letters had any detail in them at all was because Jordan knew Dex was the one really reading them.

Wright listened, feeling… oh, he was grateful and relieved and a little proud, even. At the same time, he ached. He pulled his chair up near the other man and sat down. “Dex…” He stared absently past the man, thinking of how long it would take to fix his boys.

They were so close… he just needed to reinforce a relationship between them, to work on Adrian a little more…

“I’m going to be… six…” No. If he was too quick, he’d be clumsy, and they would come out worse instead of better. His eyes moved back and forth, as if seeing his work before him. “Ten months, at the most. I promise not to take longer, not if I can help it.”

Dex slumped, a little, but nodded, pressing his lips together. His heart ached at the thought, but he pushed it back, knowing that if he felt too strongly, too obviously, Wright could notice it. Would feel it, too.

“Ten months until I see you again,” He whispered. They’d already had to wait five years, once. Ten months was nothing, in comparison. But it was still so long, to live this way, on only promises, drops of water in the desert.

Wright frowned, slightly. “Dex, you’ll see me before then. I’ll… well, I’m out of town, but within driving distance. When you’re well, she’ll send you out again for errands. Did she follow any sort of pattern with the days, before?”

Dex just stared at him, genuinely baffled - before, pain be damned, he threw himself forward and got his arms around Wright’s neck, ignoring the way it hurt to move at all and hurt even more to move quickly. “Thought you meant wouldn’t come back again,” he said, holding onto Wright until his body was simply protesting too many ways in too many places to keep it up. “For ten months. Th, thought… thought I wouldn’t see you, not get to touch, can’t-… can’t do this, without you…”

He ran his hands - both of them, the splints rough against Wright’s but he didn’t care anymore - over the back of his neck, to the sides of his face, down to his shoulders. Wright shuddered, letting out a deep, heavy breath. He pulled the man down into his lap, holding him, supporting Dex as he needed as Dex stared into Wright’s face, his adoration written openly all over it. Adoration, and desperate fear.

“I can’t do it anymore without you. I can’t live like this without a r-reason anymore…”

Wright blinked a few times, swallowed, not quite meeting Dex’s eyes. He’s breaking. You left him too long. “Dex… I’m not- I’m not asking you to. I’ll visit you if I can, here, and I’ll take you in ten months. I can’t… I can’t leave you with her, but I can’t take you now. I- you don’t need to see my boys, and I haven’t… she hasn’t earned my judgement, still, but even if she doesn’t in ten months… I don’t care.”

The words flowed from his mouth unbidden, dangerous secrets he had planned to keep, especially from Dex.

Dex nodded, swallowing hard, sitting up enough to keep his eyes on Wright’s face, searching for the sincerity there. His heart raced with a bone-deep fear at the words - he knew what judgement meant - but he could pretend, when Wright couched it in terms like that, that he didn’t. He could lie to himself, so he could lie to her. Dex had long ago made himself a master at it.

“Is fine,” He said, softly. Worried, scared, desperate to reassure him. Terrified to lose this, too, if he tried to push. “I can wait. Have waited. Can wait more, can.”

Wright closed his eyes against the awful fear and uncertainty in Dex’s voice. “She’s too cruel to you now,” he murmured, opening again and searching the other’s eyes. He cupped Dex’s uninjured cheek and pressed their foreheads gently together, his other hand stroking slowly up and down his back. “Are the boys helping you? As much as they can, at least?”

Dex’s eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into Wright’s touch, tilting his head to press his cheek against Wright’s palm. Warm, and holding him. He’s coming back, he’ll come back for me, he won’t leave me here alone forever. Live for this.

Dex nodded without opening his eyes, breathing slowing, calming down. “Seb does stitches, bandages. Found videos to learn from. Henry…” He swallowed, aching with guilt thinking of his young face, already so good at closing himself off into a kind of false calm that papered over his real feelings. “Henry does what he can. We don’t let him do much. Peter…”

He swallowed.

“Sneaking food. Not allowed to eat anymore. Just Facility shakes.”

Wright’s eyes darkened, teeth clenched together and showing just a bit through his lips, mouth set in a sort of benign snarl. He pursed his lips together, then, directing his glare away from Dex, across the room. Without moving Dex from his lap, Wright took out his cellphone and called the library’s phone. He asked for Lillian, said that he was John, Dex’s man, and asked her to come in when she had a moment.

Lillian popped her head in, not even batting an eyelash at the sight of Dex, a badly-injured grown man, curled against Wright and in his lap. This was the man they’d all heard so much about, and Dex was clearly at the end of his rope. She wouldn’t begrudge him a moment of what he was getting now.

“Yes, John?” She asked, in the tone of a woman who knew very well that he was probably giving her a fake name.

He held out a fifty to her. “Would you please go to the restaurant down the street and buy four hamburgers, plenty of toppings, please? Or send someone to do so. Keep the change for yourself.”

Lillian took the money, blinking, surprised. “Ah… sure, John. Um. Yeah, will, will do.” She looked at Dex, who turned slightly to look back at her. Now that he’d mentioned burgers, Dex did seem thinner… she’d thought it was just the bruises making his cheekbones stand out…

She ducked back out without another word, Wright murmuring a thank-you as she went.

“Don’t have to do that,” Dex said, softly, when she had closed the door behind her. He reached up with his good hand to turn Wright’s face back to him. “They’re not so bad, if you don’t taste them, the shakes.”

Wright looked at him, looked from Dex’s eyes to his bruises and lips, back up to his eyes. “Darling, you’re starving. Let me take care of you while I can,” he said softly, rubbing his face into Dex’s hand.

Dex snorted, and said, “‘No trainee starves’,” in a spot-on impression of the PR people the company used. “'WRU shakes are designed by top nutritionists to provide required daily vitamin and mineral intake with just four servings a day.’”

After a second, he tried to smile, wryly, with just the one side of his mouth. “But they still taste like chocolate chalk. She’s angry at me. I was supposed to be perfect.”

Wright laughed, shaking his head a bit. “She wouldn’t know perfect if it smacked her across the face. She’s always been insecure about her work with you. Look, I’ve brought you a gift… I saw it, and I thought of… us. You and I.”

He pulled out a small square box, the length and width of his hand. A rather embarrassed, barely-there flush appeared in his cheeks. “Feel free to tell me if it was a terrible idea.”

Dex blinked at him, catching the flush only because he knew Wright as well as he did, after so long. He looked down at the box, and then back up at his face. It was hard to keep his smile to one side.

“You have given me plenty of embarrassing things to see me turn red,” He said, teasing, nuzzling into his warm skin. “What could possibly make you turn red, for me?”

“Am I?” he murmured, the flush darkening. He turned his face a bit, rubbing against Dex as the man nuzzled him. “Open it, love. I want to know if it’s not… good.”

He’d found it in a craftsman’s shop, on an upper shelf and covered in dust. The porcelain was white, painted with intricate blue and green patterns, cracked in six or so places and the cracks mended with gold. He had made the mistake, many years ago, of thinking Karen’s work was like this, so beautiful.

Karen’s work was just a clumsy drop to the floor.

Dex opened the box one-handed, blinking and staring down at the little piece of pottery, head slightly tilted. He shifted a little in Wright’s lap, looking closer, and then held it up to catch the light. “You keep calling me love,” Dex said, voice low and soft with awe as he looked over the gift. “I keep pretending I don’t hear it. Afraid I’m imagining again.”

Wright swallowed. He hadn’t realized. He used to be very particular, very careful about the pet names that he used with Dex. Always darling, sometimes hun, but he said love to Karen for years, and he hadn’t wanted to do that to too many people. He hadn’t said love to Karen in years. He wasn’t so careful to withhold certain things from Dex anymore.

Dex, Wright thought, would have his everything soon enough.

He stared at the man’s face, reading the awe there with relief. He would’ve hated to spark distaste, or panic. Wright relaxed and said quietly, “You’re not imagining.”

Dex went very still.

He had gone to Wright for twenty years, more or less, except for when Wright was in prison. Even then, he went with Karen whenever she’d let him, just for a fleeting moment of eye contact when she had her eyes down and wouldn’t see them share it. He had protected Wright the best he could, every time he had to. He’d lied to the police and the lawyers with his serenely empty smile, every inch the brainless Box Boy Karen had turned him into.

And he would tell every single lie all over again, without hesitation.

Dex slowly lowered the gift, although he still held it tightly. He wasn’t quite looking at Wright any longer, but off to the side, nervousness written across him. He could feel his heart beating in his throat.

“Not imagining the word, or the feeling behind it?” His voice was nearly a whisper, as he asked for something he had never asked for before.

Wright was still looking at him, memorizing the moment. Putting this image of Dex alongside hundreds of others that he had taken such good care to store. He was as vulnerable now as Wright - more vulnerable - and Wright would be a goddamn liar if he said he didn’t like how that looked on Dex’s face.

Openness had always been appealing to the man who pried people open and rearranged them to be better. With Dex… he liked every look. Every thought, every emotion. He didn’t want to rearrange him or destroy him. He just… he had always wanted to bring Dex’s wholeness back to him. Was that love? Was love the tenderness he felt, the protectiveness, the absolute hatred at Karen for hurting him? Was love biblical - you loved Me because I first loved you and died for you.

Well, I’m not about to sacrifice my sons for him, but I will sacrifice my friend. My love isn’t perfect, and never has been.

Wright cupped Dex’s cheek, seeking out his eyes. “No, you’re not imagining. I love you, Dex,” he murmured. “I love you, and in ten months, you’re going to be only mine.”

Dex jerked in his breath, closing his eyes against the words he had wanted most in the world to hear, said so readily, so easily, after they had spent so long never saying them at all. He slid his right arm around Wright’s neck again, careful not to touch anything directly with his healing broken fingers, and kissed him. Wright kissed back tenderly, deeply, careful not to press too much.

“Love you,” Dex whispered against Wright’s lips, as desperately as he’d spoken before, but with a whole new tone to his words. Hope. “Loved you a long time ago, love you, please, want to be just yours, please, please mean it.”

Loved you a long time ago echoes in Wright’s mind. It’s going to change his memories, and he finds that he doesn’t mind, even if it means Dex felt for him long before he’d done anything to deserve it. I love him because he first loved me, but that makes him God, he thinks, and he’s smiling just a little even though he’s sure he’s going to cry.

“I mean it. I love you and I’m going to take you away,” Wright murmured, sliding his hand through Dex’s hair. “I’m sorry I’ve taken so long, love.”

When Wright pulled away from the kiss to speak, Dex kissed his face, at his ear, down his neck - sliding his good hand up to curve around the side of his neck, too. There was pain, but he didn’t care. There was always pain, now. He looked ridiculous, probably - a grown man in another man’s lap, heavily injured, kissing at any hint of skin he could find.

He didn’t care.

“Don’t want to wear her collar anymore,” he said softly into the skin of Wright’s neck. “Want to wear yours, be yours. Am already yours. Yours before we knew it.”

Wright shivered at the touch to his neck, at the words Dex spoke. He held Dex tightly, kept moving his hand through the man’s hair. “I didn’t think to bring it…” he said, fingers gently pulling at the dark locks - more possessive than painful. “You’re mine, love. I’ll be yours soon.”

Dex could have melted into those words. You’re mine. I’ll be yours. He could live on them, swing from day to day, punishment to punishment, with that voice speaking those words into his mind. Reasons to live he could build into a wall around himself.

He caught his breath at the hand in his hair. If he hadn’t been so injured he could barely move, he might have liked it even more.

The handle of the door turned behind them, and Wright craned his head back to look, baring his neck in the process. Dex dropped his own head, slightly, to hide the rush of blood to his face. Lillian stepped in with a large paper bag.

Wright held his arm out for it, so she wouldn’t have to cross the room to put it on the desk. “Thank you, Lillian. I appreciate that.”

Lillian looked at the two of them - as curled up as they’d been before - and gave a knowing little smile. “No problem. If ever a man on Earth looked like he needed a burger… got a couple of fries, for you, too. The rest…” Lillian hesitated. “If you don’t have any objections, I’ll give it to a friend of ours who has a shelter for people like him. Zan was aiming at the wrong target, but he’s right. Someone should do something. About…” She nodded at Dex, who ducked away as if to hide the ruin of his face. “That. The way they get treated, and nobody can do a damn thing.”

Wright tilted his head a bit. “No, keep it for yourself. Give them…” he set the bag on the table and fished in his pocket for his wallet. He took a cheque from the billfold, already signed (but by a Phillip Lawrence, not a John) and awaiting an amount.

“Anything under… oh I don’t remember what’s in this,” he muttered, holding the cheque out to her. “Tell them to put whatever number they need. I’ll make sure there’s enough in that account.”

Lillian’s eyes widened as she stared at a literal blank check. Then she looked slowly up, nodding dumbly and folding it, slipping it into her pocket. “Ah, wow. Just. Thanks. I’m guessing you’re not really Phillip, either, but… damn, Dex, you didn’t say your man was rich.”

Dex, distracted by the smell of fried potato and salt and beef wafting out of the bag Lillian had come in with, only nodded faintly. He spelled N-O-T I-M-P-O-R-T-A-N-T.

“Uh, yeah, it kind of is… Look, just… I know Nat wouldn’t ever take more than a couple grand, don’t worry… I’ll just…" Her voice trailed off. “I’ll go call her.”

“Oh, tell her to take more than a couple. She should take several hundred grand. I have too much anyway, and rescue situations are expensive.”

Lillian stared at Wright for a couple seconds more in bald-faced, obvious shock, and then gave a sort of startled, jerky nod and turned to walk back out. Once she was gone, Wright reached for the bag and pulled out one of the wrapped burgers, pulling back foil and paper for Dex and then holding it out to him.

Dex hadn’t been allowed solid food in weeks. What he got was snuck to him by Peter, a bite or two slid to the end of his fingers when Karen wasn’t looking, which inevitably meant eating out of the palm of his hand from where Dex now knelt on the floor at meals where Karen was present.

Most of a piece of toast, bits of bacon, a bite or two of eggs. Cut up bites of steak or chicken or whatever meat Karen forced Peter to eat that night. Just enough that his stomach didn’t protest the solid food, but never enough to really feel full.

Despite ravenous hunger, Dex was too well-trained to eat until he was told. He took the burger when it was held out to him, feeling the slight give of the bun. The smell of the meat nearly made him feel drunk. He looked down at the burger in his hands, nearly drooling at it. Then back up at Wright.

“Please?” He asked, softly. “Can eat?”

Wright stared down at him, heart dropping to his stomach even as he savored a please. He’d rather have that from Dex in a different situation: Dex was never supposed to be like one of his boys. Not at this age. Even Wright’s boys grew out of their habits within a few years of freedom, they were released so young. This is her doing. Not mine.

“Yes. Go ahead, love,” he said with a nod, slipping a hand back into Dex’s hair.

Dex let out a shuddering breath, mouthing thank you as he brought the burger up to his lips. He took his time, careful not to take too big a bite and stretch his healing face. The first bite felt like pure heaven on his tongue and he closed his eyes, making a sound not unlike a moan. It was gone too soon, too quickly, but the taste of meat and bread and cheese, the onion and pickle and condiments, made him feel light-headed at how good it was.

He reached for the bag unthinkingly, hesitated - then licked at his lips and reached again, more determined this time, taking out the second burger without asking. He stilled with the wrapping around it half-undone, looking up at Wright, tilting his head back into the touch to his hair. “This can’t be pretty to watch,” he said, with a flicker of a smile.

Wright smiled back. He thought about what some couples said - how they didn’t see age on each other, really, how they looked to each other as beautiful and radiant as the first time they met, or the first time they fell in love.

If I really look, I can see your age. But look at you, you gorgeous man.

“It is. I’m saving you some starvation, helping you, providing…” he murmured. “I love to see you eat. You’re always pretty to me. You’re… awe-inspiring.” Wright tilted his head, as if seeing Dex from another new angle for the first time. “You’re not her masterpiece. You’re… ours. Yours and mine.”

Dex paused, blinking up at Wright, and then slowly set the burger back down, pulling him in for another kiss. No hesitation, no regard for the aches and pains still in him. Wright held him closer, kissed back without inhibition. Dex let himself drown in ways he had missed for far too long, in the press of lips and the taste of Wright’s tongue, the feel of it moving against his. A shiver of heat in him, even as his exhausted body protested even the hint of what Dex wanted more than anything to be able to do right now.

“Wish I could do more with you,” He said, sounding sincerely regretful. “Be more, after having to wait. All of me yours, Wright.”

Almost, had been the teasing addition to the phrase they’d thrown back and forth over the years. He left it off, this time.

“Soon,” Wright murmured, a change from the almost. He cupped Dex’s uninjured cheek and searched his eyes. “You’re enough for me. You’re more than enough. You’re everything. You’re an endless depth. You don’t need to try to be more. You’re enough.”

Dex nearly bit his own tongue to fight back another rush of tears. He’d never cried as much as he had since Karen found out his feelings. Never worked harder to hold tears back. All he thinks of you is that you have a nice face and he likes to look at it when he’s fucking you, Karen’s voice slithered, cold and angry, in the back of his mind. No pretty face for him to admire now, hm?

She had misjudged them, the both of them. Or maybe she could only see them accurately apart, her understanding clouded when she tried to consider them together.

“I think we are past me having a silly crush, now,” Dex said, a little tentatively, wanting suddenly to turn her words back against her. “You say such good things to me, about me…”

Had anyone else, ever? He couldn’t remember.

Wright was still looking into his eyes, teary though they were. He was grave. “Dex… I’ll be honest to both of us, now - I’ve adored you far more than a crush or a toy since… oh, since our first Christmas. I only realized that in prison, while I was thinking… and I could hardly think of anything or anyone else. We’re well beyond crushes, yes. I’m going to take you, and I’m going to die with you. If you’ll… tolerate me. I’m not exactly a prize anymore, as it happens… and I likely never was.”

Dex’s only response to that was a slight raise of his eyebrow, a bit of his dry humor. A wordless and I am one? They were both far past being young enough to see themselves that way.

He pressed his forehead to Dex’s, gently, fingers moving softly over the man’s cheek. Dex closed his eyes, leaning into it, chin tilted slightly up. “It’s not a silly crush. I’m not going to betray you now, after all that we’ve had together. She’s wrong. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about - she doesn’t know how to love someone for who they are outside of what they do for her.”

“Doesn’t love,” Dex said, almost tenderly. “Can’t feel it. She doesn’t know what the feeling is. But I, I do…”

There was a tentative knock, a pause, and then Lillian opened it, slowly, giving them a tentative smile before she turned her eyes to Wright. “Someone just called for you. Or, him, but…” She shrugged. “They asked for the man with Dex and I don’t see any others. Line three, if you know how to work a multi-line phone. I can help, if you don’t.”

Wright turned his head to look at Lillian, but did so with as little movement as possible, still touching Dex. He smiled at her and his tone was warm. “I do, but I would appreciate it if you could pick up the call for me and pass me the phone, Lillian. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Like you think he’ll disappear,” Lillian said, but her tone was gentle and amused and she headed for the phone on the desk without annoyance. Honestly, seeing Dex’s face and having seen him nearly carried inside, she could see where the worry came from.

Dex frowned, thinking, and touched Lillian’s arm lightly when she came close to them. She looked up and Dex signed H-E-N-R-Y and tilted his head in question.

“No, I don’t think so. I’ve talked to him before about things he wanted to order. Here you go.” She picked the phone up and hit the button for line 3, handing it to Wright.

Wright was surprised at the interchange - how long, he wondered, had Karen been letting the others leave the premises without her? Or did Dex just carry the books for them? But it didn’t matter at the moment.

He accepted the phone with a smile and thanks, and held it to his ear, eyes back on Dex. “Hello. Peter?” He guessed.

“Um. Yeah. This is Peter.” His voice was stronger than the last time he’d spoken to Wright by phone - easier, without the sound of Dex sobbing echoing down the stairs, to sound strong. “Sorry, we have your cell number but, um, if she checks the call log… she checks it a lot. The library is safer. It’s just, you know-… oh, sorry. You, um, you don’t care about that. I’m sorry. I ramble sometimes on the phone, I just-”

The sound of a younger voice hissing something just out of earshot in the background. Dex, still leaning into Wright, quirked a small smile at the sound.

“No, I will, I’ll tell him! Um, Dex is still… you still have him, right?”

“Yes, I have him. And I do, in fact, care. Thank you for avoiding my cell - that was wise,” Wright responded calmly, smiling both because the nervous boys amused him and Dex’s smile was… well. Dex’s smile. “What would you like to tell me, Peter?”

“S-sorry. I don’t normally get to use the phone but Seb is cooking something and Henry wouldn’t do it-”

More hissed, not-quite-audible speech on the other end. Dex closed his eyes, shoulders shaking with silent laughter, even as he winced at the motion jostling his bruises. Wright smirked, then, realizing just what was going on with those boys.

“Right, no, I’m telling him right now! She, uh, she’s coming back early, to have Henry, um, sing and play piano for a couple people, so… you should probably bring Dex home.” He paused, then added awkwardly, “Um. Sorry. Again.”

“Thank you, Peter. We’ll return shortly. Could you please wait near the gate to help Dex?” Wright said. He held the phone with his shoulder and leaned forward with his free arm, taking Dex’s unfinished burger and dropping it into the open fast food bag. He made eye contact with Lillian, though he didn’t make a request yet. “I’m going to hang up, now, Peter. Tell Henry he should practice.”

“He says you should practice,” Peter said audibly on the other end, slightly muffled as he clearly had his hand over the bottom of the phone. I do practice! Came the answer, defensive and snapping.

Dex calmly took the phone and hung it up for Wright, the same small smile playing over his face. He hadn’t exactly missed that Henry and Peter acted less like brothers than they did… something else entirely, but he had purposefully pretended not to notice. It was… sort of nice, to finally acknowledge it even just to himself and Wright.

Even if the boys themselves hadn’t, yet.

C-R-U-S-H, he spelled. He might have been smirking.

“Just a little one,” Wright murmured back, still smiling his amusement.

“Sounds like you’re heading out,” Lillian said. Dex nodded, signing thank you to her, which she waved off. “Hush, Dex. You know we love seeing you here. No one will bother you on your way out.”

Wright gently brought Dex up to standing, his arm still around the man’s waist. He took a pen from the desk and wrote his phone number neatly on a stray piece of what appeared to be scrap. And then he reached back and down for the bag of food. “Please call me if you need anything, or for Dex and I, or if you have any worries, Lillian. I’m retired - I have plenty of time.”

Lillian took the scrap of paper, biting her lower lip in thought. She looked at Dex - leaning heavily against Wright for support, even as he looked miles better than when he first came in - and then back to Wright. “You said earlier something about him not going on trips. If he’s gone for a while again, I should call you? I mean obviously if we see him looking… worse-”

Dex snorted, slowly spelling U-N-L-I-K-E-L-Y, and Lillian affectionately rolled her eyes in return.

“Don’t be obtuse, Dex. We’ll call if he's… badly hurt again. But if he just stops coming without warning? Should I assume… you need to know that?”

“Yes, you should assume the worst and call,” Wright nodded, his arm reflexively tightening around Dex’s waist. He hesitated a moment, before adding, “I’ll let you know when you can assume better.”

Dex bit his lower lip against the soft, private smile that wanted to come out, at that. Ten months until he’ll tell them not to worry about me any longer. And Wright would visit before that, when he could, and Dex could keep himself going on those visits, on that promise.

A promise Wright intended to keep. Water in the desert.

“Okay. Take care, Dex.” Lillian frowned, worriedly, before she slipped the folded scrap of paper into her front pocket. “Be safe.” When Dex only smiled again, dryly, she sighed. “You know what I mean. As safe as you can be, given…”

Given what you are. The words were there, in the air between them, but Lillian caught herself before she said them.

I try, Dex signed to her. Not that he could do much, now, to stem the tide of Karen’s slow-burning, unending anger. He had failed her, in the most profound way. It said something about how broken he was that part of him felt sincere guilt to have let her down, even now. Even as the wound she’d torn across his face throbbed even more.

We go, he mouthed to Wright, gripping tightly onto him with his good hand as the room spun lazily around him. Please.

Wright nodded, but… Dex looked tired, and he still had to walk back to the house. He brought Dex’s hand to his shoulder, and picked the other man up as he had many times before, carried him without shame like a bride out the door of the room. Dex was far too exhausted to try and argue, and barely noticed the other library patrons who watched them leave.

Wright carefully set him back on his feet by the car door, opening it up before he helped Dex to get into the passenger seat. He fastened the seatbelt for him, then stopped for a moment to look and gently press a kiss to his lips.

Dex smiled into the kiss, then pulled back and looked up at him. “Hey,” he said, softly, nuzzling briefly into Wright’s face. “Won’t disappear, if you don’t. Can wait for you.”

Wright moaned very softly and closed his eyes for a moment. Look at what he sacrifices for you. You don’t deserve him. He looked at Dex again, trailed the backs of his fingers down the man’s cheek and neck.

“Thank you, love,” he murmured.

“Love you,” Dex whispered back. “Love you. Can wait.”

Wright pulled away rather abruptly, and closed Dex’s door. He circled the back of the car, taking his time, and he only got back in to start the vehicle once he’d made certain there were no tears standing in his eyes.

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