don’t wanna let you down but i am hellbound

[sociopathicwolf]

Who| Chuck Hansen and Derek Souza
What| waking up after the mini arena
Where| hospital/med area
When| backdated to the mini arena
Warnings/Notes| probably mentions of death and violence? will update as needed


The first time Derek wakes up, he thinks he’s still in the arena. There’s no other explanation for why he’s waking up at all - he’d known that if he didn’t win the arena, he was going to die. So he wakes up fighting, snarling and clawing and attacking anything that moves, whatever’s trying to pin him down.

They sedate him, but before he goes under, he hears their explanation. This isn’t the arena, they’d grabbed him before he died, he was saved by Snow’s benediction, and so were all of the mentors who’d been reaped.

So was Chuck.

The second time he wakes up, that’s all he can think about. It’s hard to believe when he held Chuck in his arms and watched him fade, when he heard the cannon sound in the arena - he heard that cannon twenty three times in his own arena, and not one of them ever came back.

He has to see for himself. If there’s even the slightest chance that it’s true, Derek can’t just lay in a hospital bed. He struggles up out of it, taking a moment to brace himself against the side of the bed while his legs get steady again.

Then he’s off, prowling around the hospital and ignoring the pain from his injuries or the way his stitches pull at his skin, intent only on finding his best friend.

Comments

[theyoungperish]

The first time he wakes up, Chuck thinks he's still under, the phantom rumble of Derek's voice in his ear. It's a memory, hazy, but it doesn't last. All of a sudden, he blinks awake and strikes out to sweep the person closest to him off his feet. Instinct, an animal's fight locked in his bones, the knowledge that this is an Arena and other people mean death. Derek's a background thought, as he always is, but chuck's more concerned with escape to spend time thinking about why he's still breathing.

Hands grab him, hold him down even as he snarls. A needle, a sharp jab, and then everything fades.

The second time, it's hazier. They've kept him sedated, enough to curb the pain still lingering from the wounds left remaining. He knows how this goes, yeah, though he hadn't ever expected this again. Now, he's pliant enough that he listens to the explanation. It registers, slowly, and Chuck struggles to get to his feet again, mumbles -- Derek? -- under his breath before he can even help himself. But they're gone, flitting away like sterile little birds, cold and sharp and flighty. He can't leave it at this, the bone and gristle of hope, sharp in the back of his throat.

The stitches at his chest pull, aching with the strain, but Chuck simply forges on. He has to see, he has to know. One hand braced against the bed, another, the flat of his foot against the cold floor, another -- "Fuck--!" -- stitches pulling, pain still sharp beneath the morphling as if teeth were still digging into his flesh. There's a gasping, aching moment, all that he allows himself, and then Chuck struggles to push himself up onto his feet. His legs nearly go out from under him, but he doesn't allow it, teeth bared, pale as a sheet with the effort. He has to move, he has to, but before he can there's a familiar skulking figure rounding the corner.

Something like relief clutches at him, but it's deeper, headier, and Chuck sinks back down onto the edge of his bed before he can help it. He wants to get up, to race over and check to make sure his best friend is alright, to make sure this isn't a damn dream. But he stays, knuckles gone white from the way he's clutching the bed, and watches avidly.

If he wasn't already sitting, he has the distinct feeling his legs would be going out from underneath him. Instead, in a voice near quaking with overwhelming relief, he says: "You're late."

[sociopathicwolf]

Derek's running without even realizing it when he sees Chuck, pale and wounded and the hint of dark red against his chest where he's aggravated the gash carved by the sickle wielding Tribute before they killed him and took it. And running is a terrible idea - the muscles in his abdomen scream in protest as one of the stitches from the matching wound on his stomach yanks completely free and his legs very nearly give out from under him, resulting in him only going a few feet before he has to stop and lean against the wall for support.

But fuck that. Nearly dying isn't going to keep him from getting to Chuck, and he pushes off again.

He makes it nearly to the bed before he stumbles, but that's okay. He's close enough now that he can just sink to his knees, hands curled around Chuck's thighs to hold himself up.

And he can't find anything to say, throat closed up and barely able to breath as he struggles with some overwhelming combination of disbelief and gratitude. Chuck was dead, and now he's sitting there in front of him, warm under his hands and all Derek can do in response to that is shake his head, and lean in to press his forehead against Chuck's stomach.

[theyoungperish]

Chuck's heart falls heavy into the pit of his stomach, twisting and sour, the second Derek stumbles and nearly goes down. For a moment, he's almost sure this was a game and he's going to see his best friend fall, bleeding out in a medical room with nobody to help him. Maybe the Arena is lingering longer than he thought, but he shoves up, readying to go to Derek's side even if it means ripping up his own stitches and falling with him. Instead, Derek rallies himself, surges forward -- he's always been the strongest of the two, and with determination? Chuck's not surprised to see it even as blood blossoms at his shirt.

He watches, dizzying relief carved into him, and instinctively reaches out to try to slow Derek's fall, to catch him or help him, keep him safe. Instead, Derek goes to his knees and chuck's left with his hands at his shoulders, suddenly unsure around someone he's known for most of his life. It lasts a moment before he shoves that notion away, ignoring the knots tight up in his insides.

"Derek..." Softly, more whisper than not, leaning over and pressing his face into Derek's dark hair. He smells like anti-septic, clean, but in a sterile way rather than the usual scent of salt and metal and dirt, earthy and real. But it doesn't matter, it really fucking doesn't, not when they're alive and mostly whole. Derek's hands grip his thighs, his face presses into the plane of his stomach, and it's real, oh it is. It's only hidden as he is that Chuck lets his features crumple, swallowing hard around the sudden tears he doesn't let fall. Instead there's a heaving exhale, hands barely steady, one cupping the nape of Derek's neck, maybe too hard, but he needs to be sure. He can't let go, or some part of him is sure Derek will disappear on him all over again, although that was his own damn fault really.

He'd known, the instant Derek got him out of the hoard, the instant he realized how bad it was. Chuck wasn't just dooming himself, he was dooming Derek too, signing his death certificate with shaking, bloodied fingers. Derek was never going to win unless Chuck was at his side, but the knowledge aches, caught beneath his breastbone.

"You idiot," furious, but its a brittle, hopeless thing. He'd known, he really had. Now, Derek's stomachs bleeds slowly against his leg, not a threat but reminder, and Chuck presses a kiss to the crown of Derek's head, eyes closing so he doesn't have to see the room, doesn't have to see Derek being torn away from him again. He'd fight harder this time, the both of them will, and That should be a comfort but it isn't. Again, softer, "You idiot."

[sociopathicwolf]

His eyes slide shut when Chuck's hand curls around the back of his neck, giving a contented rumble. It's not too hard for him - he doesn't want gentle, not right now. Gentle doesn't feel real, and he needs to feel like Chuck is real. Like watching him fade away was just a bad dream, was just a trick of the Capitol to remind him what they can do, and-

And he didn't need the reminder, but okay. Okay. He promised Snow he'd do anything if they just let Chuck live, and Chuck is alive. Derek will do anything, but that doesn't matter right now.

The Capitol is as far from his mind as it usually is when he just gets to be alone with Chuck. Usually it's when they're sparring or when he's curled up with a book and reading it aloud or getting Chuck to read it aloud to him, but this is good. He'll take this, too, and he slides his hands up Chuck's thighs to wrap his arms around Chuck's waist.

Derek shakes his head, nuzzling a little bit into Chuck's stomach. "You're an idiot," he mutters darkly at him.

For thinking that Derek was ever going to last long without him, that he could ever handle everything the Capitol's turned him into - everything he's turned himself into - without a reason for doing it all. And Derek is way too damn stubborn to ever think of finding himself a new reason.

And yet-

"I didn't give up."

He doesn't want Chuck to think he let him down. He promised to try, and he tried, he killed just about everything he ran into, until he ran into Chuck. Until he did give up, technically, but he doesn't really think it's fair that Chuck could expect him to be able to kill Chuck himself. Or what he'd been convinced was Chuck, at the time, but there was no reason for him to think it wasn't.

Derek makes no promises for what he might have done after the arena was over, and he won't pretend that he doesn't understand what it's like to want to die now, but he tried.

[theyoungperish]

It's surreal, having this. He's almost sure it's a dream, like the ones the Capitol threw weeks ago that went bad halfway through. It's a reminder, but not one they ever needed. Still, it's good having this, the pain, the haze, the soft comfort of his best friend pressed against him. Chuck almost feels as if he's holding tight to a buoy in the middle of a storm, the only thing keeping him from going under the waves. One false move and he's gone.

It's unnerving, not knowing where he stands. But he does, he made a promise while dying, and he'll keep it. They both will, unknowingly.

"I know," he murmurs, an answer to both statements really, because he does. He'd known it was unfair to ask, knows it didn't work. But he doesn't know it all, really. He doesn't know how long Derek lasted, how far he git, what took him out in the end. He'd feel sick, knowing it was a twisted, savaged form of himself that killed Derek. So maybe it's good he hasn't seen it yet, though there's no way he can avoid it forever.

But whatever, that's too much thought right now. Instead, chuck breathes in and out, stroking a hand over Derek's loose hair, gathering himself. And then he pushes back from the edge of the bed, very carefully.

"C'mon," he pats the edge of the bed, wriggling backwards to make room for Derek to follow him up. The doctors probably won't like it, but fuck them, chuck doesn't care what they have to say. "You're staying here."

[sociopathicwolf]

There's probably a part of him, of both of them, that's still in shock, and Derek knows enough to be dimly aware of that. Neither of them expected to come back when they were dying, for the Capitol to swoop in and save them at the last minute, granting them a second chance.

They're on borrowed time, maybe, but Derek doesn't care. They already were, anyway.

He gives a soft rumble at Chuck's response, relief coursing through him. Derek isn't sure how much Chuck knows, how long Chuck's been back here, if he saw any of Derek's final moments in the arena. Later he'll worry about that, because he doesn't want Chuck to see what happened but he knows it's inevitable, but right now, all he can think about is Chuck being here.

There's a grumble of protest when Chuck starts pushing back, but it fades at what he says. Then he pushes up equally carefully, trying not upset his injuries more than he already has, gingerly setting himself down on the bed.

"Not sure I could make it back anyway."

[theyoungperish]

He doesn't bother thinking about it, because it makes him uneasy. They should be dead, but they're not, and that's fucking great, it is. But damn, there's no way they didn't get the message behind this. The Capitol is both Executioner and Savior, deciding fates with the flick of a wrist. They have a second chance, borrowed time added to their already borrowed slot.

They won't waste it, can't.

Not when Chuck knows first hand just what they can and will do. Not when he's got Derek bleeding and aching at his feet, stolen mere moments from death. Horror lodges in his throat and stays there, even as Derek makes soft comforted noises, crawling up in the bed, alive, alive, alive.

"Good." Chuck huffs, shifting carefully so that none of his other stitches pop. The bed isn't that comfortable at all, but it doesn't matter. Chuck waits for Derek to resettle, tugs up the sheets around them -- fuck you he's cold, these gowns are good for nothing -- and curls around his best friend. There's a pleased rumble as he rests his cheek on Derek's chest, careful with the wound stretched across his stomach as he moves his arms, and relaxes in so much as he can.

wrap this up here?

[sociopathicwolf]

In this moment, climbing into the hospital bed and letting Chuck settle himself against him, Derek can't feel anything but grateful. He thought he lost everything, and now the Capitol's given it back to him.

This is everything right here, curled up in his arms.

Derek carefully curls his arm around Chuck's back, hand settling on the back of Chuck's head and fingers stroking through his hair. He closes his eyes, listening to the sound of Chuck's breathing, feeling his breath against his chest, sliding his thumb around to feel the beat of Chuck's heart from the pulse in his neck.

He's alive.

"Go back to sleep," he rumbles. "We're gonna need it."

yes ma'am!

[theyoungperish]

Chuck might not have all those memories of watching his best friend die in his arms, but he never expected to wake up. Certainly didn't expect to have this again. How can he be anything but grateful in this one moment? Snow's benediction saved them, gave them everything back.

He cannot forget that.

It's fucking relaxing, all the weight stripped off his shoulders, when Derek curls around him like that. It's familiar, easy, almost immediately Chuck's feeling the grasp of sleep tugging at him. There's a grumble that's all show, nuzzling closer as Derek runs his fingers through his hair and strokes his thumb against the pulsepoint at his neck.

Yeah, yeah he gets it.

It's why he rests his head against Derek's chest, moving with each breath, the strong, reliable beat of his heart a lullaby. Soon enough, he's asleep, between one breath and another. He's safe here, with Derek, it's okay.