Wish on the Moon 1/3
Title: Wish on the Moon (1/3)
Author: Ameonna1
Rating: PG
Fandom/Pairing: Watchmen, Dollar Bill/Mothman
Disclaimer: It's not mine, you know who it belongs to.
Warnings: Byron being an angst bunny, hospitals, tweaking of canon for the greater good, maybe some swearing
Summary: This just in! The Dollar Bill has been shot! I repeat the Dollar Bill has been shot! While foiling a bank robbery at the First National witnesses say...
A/N: Hiii! I am delurking with fiction after finding the glory that is this pairing. After stumbling through several attempted Watchmen fics for some reason this one stuck. I'll link subsequent parts as I finish them. Also, thanks to pyrocrastinator for betaing. :)
Second Part
His cape is caught in the goddamn door. It would be embarrassing if the three thugs in front of him didn't have pistols. Nows, it's just... dangerous. Impending. His shoulder drops as the first bullet sweeps past him in the air and he hears glass shatter. But he's on a short leash and there's no pain when two more catch him in the chest but he barely has time to register that when he sees the last flash from a gun muzzle and his head explodes into blackness. The last word he remembers before he sinks to the floor, flitters to the forefront of his mind, like a moth,
Byron.
“Sally, C-come'on...”
Mothman's been backed up in corners before. He's had guns pointed at him, been stabbed twice, there was that one crazy that had nearly pushed him into a band saw down at the lumberyards. But that was nothing compared to Sally Jupiter with her hands on her hips, standing between him and his office door, giving him that look.
“Byron, it's one in the afternoon. Did'ja spill the scotch on you?”
The problem was that she didn't sound mad. He could deal with mad, he could deal with Nelson and Hollis giving him the stink eye. What he couldn't deal with was Sally sounding so disappointed. She sounded too much like Bill.
“Well,” there was an explanation in this, if he could think fast enough. It was perfectly normal to have a drink while doing paperwork. He wasn't going to go out patrolling until way later that night. So, one drink, one pretty big drink, out of the bottle, when he was sure there was no one else out in the hallway.
Somehow he didn't think that was the answer she wanted to hear.
He opened his mouth to try again when the music stopped on the radio. He turned his head at the same time as Sally when the announcer comes on but he isn't prepared for the entire world to drop out from under his feet.
This just in! The Dollar Bill has been shot! I repeat the Dollar Bill has been shot! While foiling a bank robbery at the First National witnesses say...
Byron is suddenly and immeasurably still, it's a long horrific moment where he can't breathe, can't think, can't feel the beat of his heart and Sally's running past him to the two way. He hears Hollis crackle on the other end as the words, 'condition unknown', issue through the air.
That was it. Those words were how it was all going to end. The casual touches, the brilliant smiles, that kiss on the rooftop last month.
It was all going to end in condition unknown.
“Byron!” He snaps back to present day as Sally skids past him, her head turning back, “They've taken him to General!”
Then they're running.
They must look ridiculous, the pair of them in full costume tearing down the sidewalk like the hounds of hell are behind them. They should have taken a car but the hospital is close, maybe Nelly meant for that, and there wasn't any hesitation when they had run out the door.
Hollis is there already and he's standing up from sitting in one of those stiff waiting room chairs, taking in the pair before him. Sally's doubled over, her hands on her knees, panting from the sprint. But Byron's terrified and desperate for information. He's never seen that look on Hollis' face before, he isn't sure what it means, but he feels his stomach drop when the Nite Owl looks down at the ground and just says,
“It's bad.”
Byron can't hear, no he can't process what the doctor in the white coat is saying. It's like a low buzzing hum and he knows Sally's grabbed his hand but he can't feel it. Phrases stick out though, phrases like 'emergency surgery', 'three bullets, two to the chest and one to the head', and 'resuscitate', but it's when 'complications', 'possible brain damage' and 'he isn't expected to live through the night' come out that Byron feels his entire body shudder and he thinks he might be falling.
But someone has their arms around his waist and he's rather bodily pulled through a door where his brain latches on to an arm slamming open a cubicle door and he leans forward over the toilet just in time to be seriously and violently ill. Lunch comes up, some of breakfast, and that half a bottle of scotch that he'd been trying to explain away earlier. Well, there wasn't any denying it now... He dry heaves until he's coughing and then realizes rather belatedly that Hollis is holding him up. One strong arm around his waist and the lightest of touches on his back.
Hollis doesn't say anything. Not a word, as he eases Byron back to lean against the bathroom sink and hands him a towel to wipe his mouth. It's silent, hard to regain any sort of control and he just keeps seeing that same smile over and over and over from that morning. Slowly, shakily Byron raises a hand to cover his eyes as the towel drops out of his hand and he finds the words that had been strangling him the whole run here,
“I should have been there...”
He breaks down, loses it, sobbing in the men's room of the General Hospital in front of Hollis and God, and he's glad Hollis is there, because he'd rather have God be wherever Bill is.
The next few hours crawl by. Byron remembers some faces beyond Sally and Hollis but those are the two that stick with him. The Hooded Justice is there for who knows how long, and Nelly talking frantically with doctors. Ursula comes and sits on the floor in front of him and Sally for awhile until Eddie calls her away for patrol.
He's missing patrol.
He's exhausted, and his throat hurts. He hasn't been able to keep anything down though offerings had been generous. He's just been sitting in the waiting room, occasionally trembling, and hearing the sound of people talking but not the words. Finally Sally tugs him into her lap and he stretches out over two chairs, burying his face against her stomach, his wings drooping onto the floor.
Bryon's not sure if he needs to sleep or if he just hasn't woken up yet.
Different voices and Byron blinks awake as someone shakes his shoulder. Ursula's looking down at him and Sally is asleep. He can hear Hollis, but when a doctor and a nurse come into focus he's trying to scramble off the chairs but not wake Sally and Ursula's probably the only reason he doesn't hit the floor face first. She hauls him up by his wings and they stumble arm in arm until he can hear what the doctor is saying.
“...out of surgery, but not out of the woods yet. We've got him in a private room on the third floor but his prognosis isn't good. Even if we can control any internal bleeding and he escapes infection, there's still the chance he won't wake. He suffered a severe head wound and it's almost impossible to tell the full extent of damage its caused until later.”
“If he lives,” Byron breathes and Hollis fixes him with a look as the doctor nods, his mouth in a thin line.
“If he lives.”
“Can we see him?”
There's a pause as the doctor takes a breath. Byron knows what the policy is, he knows that it's almost ten at night but please, please, please...
“One at a time, but only for a few moments,” The doctor smiles and nods towards Byron, “And not with those wings.”
His fingers are on the leather straps even before the doctor turns, leaving the nurse to lead them.
He wants to retch again as he stands in the doorway, he wants to but there's nothing in his stomach anymore and he's only got a few minutes. So he steels himself, he tells himself that, yes, the figure in the bed is Bill and he can't... No, he can't believe that. It's too crazy to think that... Something's beeping and there's an awful whooshing noise, rhythmic, breathing. That's the thought that almost sends Byron sliding to the floor. He's not, Bill's not breathing on his own and Byron knows the feeling. There's all these tubes and wires and somewhere underneath it all is his partner. The one whose back he should have been watching. He should have gone with him that morning, Bill had asked him, on a lark. Double the publicity, get out of the office, what do you say?
Slowly Byron stepped forward into the dimly lit room, sliding in between the machines and the bed, the doctor was right, his wings would have never fit in here. There's a long moment where he sees that smile again from that morning, before it fades into the pale face he's looking at. Bill's head is bandaged and Byron can see more white poking out from underneath the thin blanket. He wants to touch him, but the idea of disturbing something so obviously fragile terrifies Byron. It terrifies him because it's Bill and he should never be like this.
Gingerly, he swallows and his eyes fall to the limp hand that's lying against the blankets. It takes him another moment to gather the courage to brush fingertips that he's trying so hard to keep from shaking along the edge of a thumb. Byron bites his lip until he thinks it's going to bleed and then peels his gloves off, tucking them into a strap on his thigh. He's careful of the needle set in the back of Bill's hand, as he grasps fingers in the loosest touch he can manage. He takes a deep breath, Bill's cool to the touch and that's all wrong. It's nothing like the sweet burning that the kiss left behind. Nothing like the normal feel of warmth through leather on his elbow or on his shoulder, or tugging on his straps or tweaking a wing. That's what these fingers were supposed to be doing, not lying here, motionless.
Byron's memory tumbles back to the kiss and how Bill had blushed and asked him to come home with him that night. He'd said no, he'd spent all night drinking and regretting and then...
He cupped his hands around Bill's fingers trying to get some of his warmth into them.
Come home with me...
Come to the bank today...
Byron Lewis had made some monumentally bad decisions in his lifetime. But there was nothing, nothing in the world that could ever compare to this.
He should have gone with him.
He should have but Byron hadn't been thinking about Bill that morning, all he'd been thinking about was the shitty night before and that bottle in the bottom desk of his drawer. Now look at everything that had cost him.
The sounds of the nurse shuffling outside the door make him flinch. He's been in here too long already. But he takes a steadying breath and leans forward, just close enough that Bill could hear him, if he could, and the whisper feels like a piece of his soul is crumbling apart.
“I swear, if you come back to me Bill Brady I will never touch a drop again.”
The unsaid words are left unsaid.
But Byron knows very well what he'll do if he loses his partner in this tiny dim room.
Author: Ameonna1
Rating: PG
Fandom/Pairing: Watchmen, Dollar Bill/Mothman
Disclaimer: It's not mine, you know who it belongs to.
Warnings: Byron being an angst bunny, hospitals, tweaking of canon for the greater good, maybe some swearing
Summary: This just in! The Dollar Bill has been shot! I repeat the Dollar Bill has been shot! While foiling a bank robbery at the First National witnesses say...
A/N: Hiii! I am delurking with fiction after finding the glory that is this pairing. After stumbling through several attempted Watchmen fics for some reason this one stuck. I'll link subsequent parts as I finish them. Also, thanks to pyrocrastinator for betaing. :)
Second Part
His cape is caught in the goddamn door. It would be embarrassing if the three thugs in front of him didn't have pistols. Nows, it's just... dangerous. Impending. His shoulder drops as the first bullet sweeps past him in the air and he hears glass shatter. But he's on a short leash and there's no pain when two more catch him in the chest but he barely has time to register that when he sees the last flash from a gun muzzle and his head explodes into blackness. The last word he remembers before he sinks to the floor, flitters to the forefront of his mind, like a moth,
Byron.
“Sally, C-come'on...”
Mothman's been backed up in corners before. He's had guns pointed at him, been stabbed twice, there was that one crazy that had nearly pushed him into a band saw down at the lumberyards. But that was nothing compared to Sally Jupiter with her hands on her hips, standing between him and his office door, giving him that look.
“Byron, it's one in the afternoon. Did'ja spill the scotch on you?”
The problem was that she didn't sound mad. He could deal with mad, he could deal with Nelson and Hollis giving him the stink eye. What he couldn't deal with was Sally sounding so disappointed. She sounded too much like Bill.
“Well,” there was an explanation in this, if he could think fast enough. It was perfectly normal to have a drink while doing paperwork. He wasn't going to go out patrolling until way later that night. So, one drink, one pretty big drink, out of the bottle, when he was sure there was no one else out in the hallway.
Somehow he didn't think that was the answer she wanted to hear.
He opened his mouth to try again when the music stopped on the radio. He turned his head at the same time as Sally when the announcer comes on but he isn't prepared for the entire world to drop out from under his feet.
This just in! The Dollar Bill has been shot! I repeat the Dollar Bill has been shot! While foiling a bank robbery at the First National witnesses say...
Byron is suddenly and immeasurably still, it's a long horrific moment where he can't breathe, can't think, can't feel the beat of his heart and Sally's running past him to the two way. He hears Hollis crackle on the other end as the words, 'condition unknown', issue through the air.
That was it. Those words were how it was all going to end. The casual touches, the brilliant smiles, that kiss on the rooftop last month.
It was all going to end in condition unknown.
“Byron!” He snaps back to present day as Sally skids past him, her head turning back, “They've taken him to General!”
Then they're running.
They must look ridiculous, the pair of them in full costume tearing down the sidewalk like the hounds of hell are behind them. They should have taken a car but the hospital is close, maybe Nelly meant for that, and there wasn't any hesitation when they had run out the door.
Hollis is there already and he's standing up from sitting in one of those stiff waiting room chairs, taking in the pair before him. Sally's doubled over, her hands on her knees, panting from the sprint. But Byron's terrified and desperate for information. He's never seen that look on Hollis' face before, he isn't sure what it means, but he feels his stomach drop when the Nite Owl looks down at the ground and just says,
“It's bad.”
Byron can't hear, no he can't process what the doctor in the white coat is saying. It's like a low buzzing hum and he knows Sally's grabbed his hand but he can't feel it. Phrases stick out though, phrases like 'emergency surgery', 'three bullets, two to the chest and one to the head', and 'resuscitate', but it's when 'complications', 'possible brain damage' and 'he isn't expected to live through the night' come out that Byron feels his entire body shudder and he thinks he might be falling.
But someone has their arms around his waist and he's rather bodily pulled through a door where his brain latches on to an arm slamming open a cubicle door and he leans forward over the toilet just in time to be seriously and violently ill. Lunch comes up, some of breakfast, and that half a bottle of scotch that he'd been trying to explain away earlier. Well, there wasn't any denying it now... He dry heaves until he's coughing and then realizes rather belatedly that Hollis is holding him up. One strong arm around his waist and the lightest of touches on his back.
Hollis doesn't say anything. Not a word, as he eases Byron back to lean against the bathroom sink and hands him a towel to wipe his mouth. It's silent, hard to regain any sort of control and he just keeps seeing that same smile over and over and over from that morning. Slowly, shakily Byron raises a hand to cover his eyes as the towel drops out of his hand and he finds the words that had been strangling him the whole run here,
“I should have been there...”
He breaks down, loses it, sobbing in the men's room of the General Hospital in front of Hollis and God, and he's glad Hollis is there, because he'd rather have God be wherever Bill is.
The next few hours crawl by. Byron remembers some faces beyond Sally and Hollis but those are the two that stick with him. The Hooded Justice is there for who knows how long, and Nelly talking frantically with doctors. Ursula comes and sits on the floor in front of him and Sally for awhile until Eddie calls her away for patrol.
He's missing patrol.
He's exhausted, and his throat hurts. He hasn't been able to keep anything down though offerings had been generous. He's just been sitting in the waiting room, occasionally trembling, and hearing the sound of people talking but not the words. Finally Sally tugs him into her lap and he stretches out over two chairs, burying his face against her stomach, his wings drooping onto the floor.
Bryon's not sure if he needs to sleep or if he just hasn't woken up yet.
Different voices and Byron blinks awake as someone shakes his shoulder. Ursula's looking down at him and Sally is asleep. He can hear Hollis, but when a doctor and a nurse come into focus he's trying to scramble off the chairs but not wake Sally and Ursula's probably the only reason he doesn't hit the floor face first. She hauls him up by his wings and they stumble arm in arm until he can hear what the doctor is saying.
“...out of surgery, but not out of the woods yet. We've got him in a private room on the third floor but his prognosis isn't good. Even if we can control any internal bleeding and he escapes infection, there's still the chance he won't wake. He suffered a severe head wound and it's almost impossible to tell the full extent of damage its caused until later.”
“If he lives,” Byron breathes and Hollis fixes him with a look as the doctor nods, his mouth in a thin line.
“If he lives.”
“Can we see him?”
There's a pause as the doctor takes a breath. Byron knows what the policy is, he knows that it's almost ten at night but please, please, please...
“One at a time, but only for a few moments,” The doctor smiles and nods towards Byron, “And not with those wings.”
His fingers are on the leather straps even before the doctor turns, leaving the nurse to lead them.
He wants to retch again as he stands in the doorway, he wants to but there's nothing in his stomach anymore and he's only got a few minutes. So he steels himself, he tells himself that, yes, the figure in the bed is Bill and he can't... No, he can't believe that. It's too crazy to think that... Something's beeping and there's an awful whooshing noise, rhythmic, breathing. That's the thought that almost sends Byron sliding to the floor. He's not, Bill's not breathing on his own and Byron knows the feeling. There's all these tubes and wires and somewhere underneath it all is his partner. The one whose back he should have been watching. He should have gone with him that morning, Bill had asked him, on a lark. Double the publicity, get out of the office, what do you say?
Slowly Byron stepped forward into the dimly lit room, sliding in between the machines and the bed, the doctor was right, his wings would have never fit in here. There's a long moment where he sees that smile again from that morning, before it fades into the pale face he's looking at. Bill's head is bandaged and Byron can see more white poking out from underneath the thin blanket. He wants to touch him, but the idea of disturbing something so obviously fragile terrifies Byron. It terrifies him because it's Bill and he should never be like this.
Gingerly, he swallows and his eyes fall to the limp hand that's lying against the blankets. It takes him another moment to gather the courage to brush fingertips that he's trying so hard to keep from shaking along the edge of a thumb. Byron bites his lip until he thinks it's going to bleed and then peels his gloves off, tucking them into a strap on his thigh. He's careful of the needle set in the back of Bill's hand, as he grasps fingers in the loosest touch he can manage. He takes a deep breath, Bill's cool to the touch and that's all wrong. It's nothing like the sweet burning that the kiss left behind. Nothing like the normal feel of warmth through leather on his elbow or on his shoulder, or tugging on his straps or tweaking a wing. That's what these fingers were supposed to be doing, not lying here, motionless.
Byron's memory tumbles back to the kiss and how Bill had blushed and asked him to come home with him that night. He'd said no, he'd spent all night drinking and regretting and then...
He cupped his hands around Bill's fingers trying to get some of his warmth into them.
Come home with me...
Come to the bank today...
Byron Lewis had made some monumentally bad decisions in his lifetime. But there was nothing, nothing in the world that could ever compare to this.
He should have gone with him.
He should have but Byron hadn't been thinking about Bill that morning, all he'd been thinking about was the shitty night before and that bottle in the bottom desk of his drawer. Now look at everything that had cost him.
The sounds of the nurse shuffling outside the door make him flinch. He's been in here too long already. But he takes a steadying breath and leans forward, just close enough that Bill could hear him, if he could, and the whisper feels like a piece of his soul is crumbling apart.
“I swear, if you come back to me Bill Brady I will never touch a drop again.”
The unsaid words are left unsaid.
But Byron knows very well what he'll do if he loses his partner in this tiny dim room.