Chapter Text
The first night in the Clan Tempest housing was… rough.
The Thivuses had set up a room in the corner of their little network of living spaces, Jim showing him around the fairly sparse furnishings. “We only got the call from Zavala last night, and we really weren’t sure what you liked, ” he sheepishly explained, hand cupping the back of his neck. “Just went with the basics. Nate can build anything you’d want for furniture, and we know a good weaver if you want any fabric sorts of things.” Wyn just nodded, hand still ghosting back to the lace of his cloak to nervously fidget.
Wyn sits with his legs pulled into his chest, arms wrapped tight like he’ll fly away at any moment. The blankets are a tangle around him, thrown to the side during the last frantic check of the room- every door and drawer thrown wide open as his heart beat into his throat. He’d done that 7 times already that night. Still scared, still anxious, even out of the barracks.
The Vanguard tee Cayde had pressed into his hands outside Zavala’s office smells comfortingly like the Hunter Vanguard himself, loose on his form. It’s the only ‘comfy’ piece of clothing Wyn even has- the whole reason Cayde even got it for him was almost sad.
When they’d returned to Earth after Wyn’s Void overload, Cayde had been pawing through his things to find something for Wyn to recover in, and found nothing but a backup jacket and a dented helmet. Wyn smiles as he dips his face into the shirt collar, woodsmoke and leather warm and soft in his nose. Cayde was more of a comfort then the New Light would ever admit- even just planning out his missions with the Exo made that constant buzzing in his head retreat to a hum.
Omelette cautiously nudges his way into the crook of Wyn’s shoulder, little optic peering up at his Risen. “Do you need help sleeping?” he peeps. Wyn shakes his head, as he has to the last few times Omelette asked.
“Feels wrong, sleeping like that. Good, but wrong.” he murmurs, reaching a hand up to gently stroke the fins of Omelette’s shell. Omelette bobs a little in response, optic sleepily sliding shut.
“I’m right here when you need me, Guardian. Always will be.”
The two nestle into the blankets, Omelette nuzzling closer into Wyn’s neck as the Hunter pulls the blankets up around them both. It’d be a long night, sure- but they’d get through it together.
After a narrowly-dodged maple syrup catastrophe- “Nice throw,” Nate said, tossing the bottle in his hand while Wyn paled. “Probably too expensive to use as a bludgeoning weapon though. Try a brick?" - the three [and Peanut Butter] made their way to the shops down in the Last City. Jim points out some of the tiny shops he’s frequented in the past, while Nate is deadset on their goal.
“Wallmart is a place of great culture n’ fanciness n’ shit,” he’d espoused over breakfast, and he beelines for the Vanguard supply store the second they arrive. “Where else you gonna get coffee, armor polish, .45 ammo, and the froofy little tins of moustache wax Jim likes, all at once?”
Wyn looks up in horror and awe at the size of the building they walk into, nearly stepping on Jim’s heels as he cranes his head to take it all in. “Are buildings supposed to be. This big?” he breathes out, as Jim redirects the cart.
Nate holds back a chuckle, patting the bewildered Hunter on the shoulder. “Lemme tell you somethin’, kid. Many things are possible in a place that sells popcorn by the exit.” he intones sagely, Jim snorting next to them. “Let’s get you started with toiletries, yeah? That toothbrush looked like you chewed on it for fun.” He squints at Wyn, who is decidedly not meeting his eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t chew on your toothbrush for fun.” Wyn continues to avoid his gaze, like a dog who knows he’s torn through the toilet paper. It’s going to be a long shopping trip, Jim quietly reflects, seconds before Wyn almost puts his head through a display mannequin.
Wyn waddles out into the corridor of the changing room, arms held out to the side as he does the prerequisite spin for the Thviuses. “I feel like a sausage,” he admits, the Hunter jacket strained over his shoulders and biceps, chest straining the zipper. Jim hands him the larger size he’d had Omelette surreptitiously resize when Wyn was in the changing stall.
“You’re probably better off shopping in the Titan section or Ghost resizing, honestly. Little less sausage-like.” Wyn deflates like a punctured balloon, and Jim rubs his forehead. “We can also go custom-” He watches the Hunter perk up bright, and is instantly bombarded with the mental image of Wyn’s closet stuffed with clothes. Hunters and their fashion, Jim grumbles internally, reminiscing over the Pack’s horrid spending habits on their armor. “-after you get basics.”
Wyn deflates a little again, but keeps that bright expression. “Can we get exit popcorn?” he asks, as Nate absolutely loses it next to Jim.
Wyn settles down into new covers after his shower, Omelette snuggling into still damp purple skin at his neck. His choppy hair had been managed into a proper style at the barber Jim dragged him to, and the sweet smell of tonka and lavender wafts from the new skincare he picked up. He finally feels at ease. Not like he has to check every drawer, sleep with a gun under his bed and a knife sticking out from between the mattress and boxspring.
“I think… I think this will be good, Wyn.” Omelette whispers, his shell shifting with the ripples of Light under Wyn’s skin. “Somewhere we can make into a real home. Somewhere really, truly safe.”
The second night in Clan Tempest housing ends in sweet, uninterrupted sleep. The first peace in a long time.