[ CLOSED ]

[evulsed]

characters: Vanitas, Castiel, Bruce, Riku — others TBA
location: the beach, the museum
date/time: between Feb 27 - March 1
content: Vanitas took a gamble that ended rather poorly
warnings: gore
other: will match format! will also use this as a bit of a catch all and update accordingly

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[equinoctials]

Riku doesn't sleep.

He makes up for it by eating more, but for the most part, the only thing he cooks in the kitchen is liquid and warm, savory and full of proteins, whatever dark and leafy greens they still have on hand. Riku knows that these things are a home remedy for anemia back on the islands, though the version he remembers is a watery porridge of flaked fish, stewed dark greens, medicinal herbs and wild rice.

Canned chicken soup fortified with barley and canned spinach is a tastier, if less authentic variation, the source of a savory scent wafting from a covered dish on the shelf jutting from the bed's headboard.

Healing this way takes time, more importantly it demands rest. Riku has considered, on more than a few occasions, whether the Darkness in his heart could be utilized the way Vanitas had healed him once, but what tempers the temptation is the knowledge of how greater Darkness tended to liven Vanitas up, made him reckless and overconfident in the illusion of invincibility.

He tells himself he'll try when Vanitas regains more of his strength. Currently, his weight sinks the edge of the mattress, one hand shutting the lid on one of his makeshift first aid boxes. A small sound keens in his throat, and Riku's other palm pushes back the dark hair from the other boy's brow.

"Easy," warns Riku, "You're badly hurt."

The box is pushed away towards the foot of the bed, his hand pushes again through his hair, this time, it escapes him that it would've been strange to find him comforting Vanitas in a situation like this, over half a year ago.

"You're safe. Try not to move."

[evulsed]

The press of that hand soothes Vanitas on an animal level, something much deeper and instinctual than anything he may have learned to combat this sort of comfort. It's warm, and gentle, but heavy enough that Vanitas can feel the weight of his palm and the way Riku's callouses catch in the baby strands of his black hair, smoothing it away from his face. It's almost enough to lull him back under, the tension climbing in his body as he claws toward wakefulness easing out of his shoulders in one long exhale, contracting his ribcage.

He murmurs: Riku. Or at least tries to, a verbal acknowledgement that he recognizes the voice. Then everything catches up to him all at once, the journey crashing all over him, the droning that had gone on and on and on. The spirits that lashed him alive, chasing him back into Beacon, the fear he'd felt that he might lead them back. Not everyone here would be able to contend with that sort of thing—

Vanitas inhales sharply and his eyes pop open, adrenaline pounding abruptly through his whole body. "Bruce—" He moves as if he's about to put his hands underneath him and get up, when screaming agony floors him before he can even fully flex any muscle. Involuntarily, he cries out and freezes, trembling from head to foot and breathing hard.

[equinoctials]

When Riku sees the relief implicit in that long sigh, there's a different feeling that blooms in his chest that exists alongside his worry and concern despite it being so apparently out of place. Does he really have a right to feel... a little happy to have brought him a little comfort? It's a question that, once formed, scatters; Vanitas is trying to move and, reminded of his horrific injuries, cries out.

"Damn it," he mutters, moving without a thought, to lean over him and press him by the wrists down and hem him in, pushing at the back of his skull with his brow. It's the only way - everywhere else is too recently stitched up and bandaged.

"He's fine! Everyone's fine," Riku speaks right against the back of his dark hair, "...We're worried about you," Riku confesses, after a stretch of silence, feeling him tremble all over underneath him, hearing him breathe, damning himself for not having some other way he could ease his agony.

"I don't know what happened," he says, "But your injuries are severe. You have to stay still, please."

[evulsed]

Panic surges through him at first. Not only is his body wrecked, but now he's being physically held down. A brief flash of a memory tears through him, sending him right back to the desert and the sand and the feel of a boot on the back of his head. Reflex, then, makes him go as still as he can— every muscle he can access locked in place in some animal effort to prevent any further pain from occurring.

It happens quickly, and ends just as fast with the punctuation of Riku's voice breaking through to him. Gasping for breath, Vanitas' wide eyes cut sidelong from where his cheek is pressed against the pillow, an attempt to look up and see. All that's in his vision is the dark color of Riku's clothing, his torso casting a shadow over him and blocking the lantern light— but as Vanitas' lungs remember to work, familiarity settles over him. The copper of blood lingers, but around that is a scent that's uniquely Riku. Not Darkness or Light, but something that always clings to his skin and his hair and his clothing.

Vanitas inhales and fights the urge to wince when it expands his ribs and pulls on his wounds. "Riku," He breathes, but there's urgency in the exhale. "Nothing followed me?"

[equinoctials]

He can smell the blood, the disinfectant, the scent of his Darkness, can feel the restrained swell of his chest as he inhales, thinks he can hear that silent hitch when Vanitas resists a wince. That's how close they are, but Riku doesn't re-establish distance when he isn't sure yet if Vanitas won't try to get up again.

"Nothing," promises Riku, "Nothing followed."

He's sure Castiel would have said something if there had been some impending danger, some circumstances that he could attribute to Vanitas's grievous injuries when he arrived in the museum. No- when Riku barged in, medical kit in tow, it was to see Bruce and Castiel manhandling Vanitas's unconscious form, drenched in his blood.

He hated it. Seeing Vanitas like that, insensate and bone-chillingly pliant, his pale skin streaked with blood. Well after the fact, Riku knows he was afraid he wouldn't make it, that maybe this would be the time he doesn't come back.

Finally, he eases back, cautiously.

"We're as safe as we usually are," he says truthfully, "...There's time enough later to gloat about you worrying about us." Such as when he's not critically wounded.

[evulsed]

Slowly, his heart rate starts to even out, and Vanitas closes his eyes with the unfamiliar sensation of relief washes over him. Those things... there was no easy way to fight them. All those blade-like arms, and they'd been so quick, and he'd been fading so quickly in the Darkness. Maybe he should have known, because if they appeared behind him they definitely would have ripped him to shred and he wouldn't be waking up to Riku at his back, but instead to the broad glow of a candle-lit altar.

"Shut up," His voice is rough as sand paper, and there's no bite in his retort; he's too tired, the adrenaline and the ache in all of him too intense. Riku is right— he was worried. It isn't the first time it's happened, but it is strange to hear it so plainly and know that it's correct.

He stays still, though some of the initial tension starts to ease from his body. It's clear he isn't going to try and leap to his feet, at the very least. His eyes cut back up to try and find Riku. It's— alarmingly vulnerable, to be like this. Vanitas can recognize that it's fear sizzling under his skin, despite the fact he knows Riku won't hurt him.