[action!] little lion man
Alfred wakes up that night in a cold sweat.
He looks around his room nervously, taking in everything, posters, books, clothes on the floor, comic books, his laptop... All the things that are his. A breath escapes his lips and he rakes fingers through his hair. Here he'd just thought that this week had been echoes of his capture in the attic but no... Now it was dawning on him that it wasn't just him. It's a shared nightmare. The others are with him in there. Watching the others die. He didn't save them.
The American curls up and starts to cry, shaking with the sobs, clutching at his gut and the scar at his leg, chest and then finally the ones at his wrist. He makes sure they're there. That his skin is healing, that is hasn't been pierced by a bullet or is bleeding all over his bed. He makes sure of this because Alfred doesn't want to die. He's invincible. He's twenty-one. He still has a life to live and damned if anyone's going to take it from him.
But for now, he simply cries.
He calls Ivan the moment his hands aren't shaking so badly that he can't even dial the right number and when he can draw breath without it shuddering or shaking or threatening to break. Ivan answers after the first ring and his voice isn't groggy with sleep, but alert and awake. Obvious Alfred isn't the only one being plagued with nightmares. They talk and even when there's no words left they just sit and listen to each other's breathing.
Alfred says he's coming over and Ivan doesn't argue.
Before he leaves, Alfred hesitates on the second-floor landing before walking to the end of the hall, to the master bedroom and gently opens the door. There Arthur sits, breathing quietly, tangled in his sheets but most definitely alive and not sagging against a white-haired murderer. Alfred smiles to himself and closes the door silently. His partner; his landlord, is safe.
A trip across town in the dead of night, hoisting himself up the recently repaired fire escape and then a light tapping on Ivan's window. The curtains flutter aside, the window opens and Alfred is pulled into and straight into Ivan's chest and the grip is so tight that neither can breath properly. Alfred immediately sinks into it and buries his face. He takes a deep breath, smelling Ivan and letting out a quiet exhale.
Finally, the silent moon becomes too much. "Hey..." Alfred murmurs quietly and gently pulls himself away from Ivan who's response to the greeting is quiet and weak. Alfred knows from this alone that they've both had the same nightmare and that doesn't comfort him. His hands automatically go up to hold the Russian's face, to assure himself and Ivan that this real. That no one is dead. That only in dreams are they deprived of that right.
Here, they are together.
He glances over at the bed, prepared to curl into it but sees two other figures already deeply asleep there. Natalia and Ion have been sleeping with Ivan. They've all been together and Alfred is much too tired to inquire after their activities. At this point, he just has to trust Ivan because Ivan is all he has. There he is, in his hands. That soft face, the cold eyes. Alfred leans up to kiss him once before Ivan pulls him from the room. They have coffee and Alfred sits on the counter, watching as Ivan pulls out an orange bottle with a white cap and deposits two pills into his hand.
"Captagon. Anti-sleeping medication." Ivan replies to Alfred curious stare but before the Russian can throw back the two pills, Alfred takes his wrist and pulls it down. He watches the violet eyes worriedly. "I just don't want the nightmares again."
"I'm here aren't I?" Alfred answers automatically. A quietness, another long and soft kiss and the quiet promise of I love you is grumbled and mumbled somewhere in there.
They leave their unfinished coffees and the two white pills on the counter.
That night, Alfred and Ivan sleep in Yekaterina's room.
He looks around his room nervously, taking in everything, posters, books, clothes on the floor, comic books, his laptop... All the things that are his. A breath escapes his lips and he rakes fingers through his hair. Here he'd just thought that this week had been echoes of his capture in the attic but no... Now it was dawning on him that it wasn't just him. It's a shared nightmare. The others are with him in there. Watching the others die. He didn't save them.
The American curls up and starts to cry, shaking with the sobs, clutching at his gut and the scar at his leg, chest and then finally the ones at his wrist. He makes sure they're there. That his skin is healing, that is hasn't been pierced by a bullet or is bleeding all over his bed. He makes sure of this because Alfred doesn't want to die. He's invincible. He's twenty-one. He still has a life to live and damned if anyone's going to take it from him.
But for now, he simply cries.
He calls Ivan the moment his hands aren't shaking so badly that he can't even dial the right number and when he can draw breath without it shuddering or shaking or threatening to break. Ivan answers after the first ring and his voice isn't groggy with sleep, but alert and awake. Obvious Alfred isn't the only one being plagued with nightmares. They talk and even when there's no words left they just sit and listen to each other's breathing.
Alfred says he's coming over and Ivan doesn't argue.
Before he leaves, Alfred hesitates on the second-floor landing before walking to the end of the hall, to the master bedroom and gently opens the door. There Arthur sits, breathing quietly, tangled in his sheets but most definitely alive and not sagging against a white-haired murderer. Alfred smiles to himself and closes the door silently. His partner; his landlord, is safe.
A trip across town in the dead of night, hoisting himself up the recently repaired fire escape and then a light tapping on Ivan's window. The curtains flutter aside, the window opens and Alfred is pulled into and straight into Ivan's chest and the grip is so tight that neither can breath properly. Alfred immediately sinks into it and buries his face. He takes a deep breath, smelling Ivan and letting out a quiet exhale.
Finally, the silent moon becomes too much. "Hey..." Alfred murmurs quietly and gently pulls himself away from Ivan who's response to the greeting is quiet and weak. Alfred knows from this alone that they've both had the same nightmare and that doesn't comfort him. His hands automatically go up to hold the Russian's face, to assure himself and Ivan that this real. That no one is dead. That only in dreams are they deprived of that right.
Here, they are together.
He glances over at the bed, prepared to curl into it but sees two other figures already deeply asleep there. Natalia and Ion have been sleeping with Ivan. They've all been together and Alfred is much too tired to inquire after their activities. At this point, he just has to trust Ivan because Ivan is all he has. There he is, in his hands. That soft face, the cold eyes. Alfred leans up to kiss him once before Ivan pulls him from the room. They have coffee and Alfred sits on the counter, watching as Ivan pulls out an orange bottle with a white cap and deposits two pills into his hand.
"Captagon. Anti-sleeping medication." Ivan replies to Alfred curious stare but before the Russian can throw back the two pills, Alfred takes his wrist and pulls it down. He watches the violet eyes worriedly. "I just don't want the nightmares again."
"I'm here aren't I?" Alfred answers automatically. A quietness, another long and soft kiss and the quiet promise of I love you is grumbled and mumbled somewhere in there.
They leave their unfinished coffees and the two white pills on the counter.
That night, Alfred and Ivan sleep in Yekaterina's room.