Chapter Text
Gold flashes around Jesper’s vision, moving like lightning over the prairie. Beneath his steady hands, the table is trembling, sharing in his anticipation. The whole room rises, tilts, swirls, leaving Jesper dizzy and off-kilter. All around their body, their nerves are crackling and sparking, shooting off aound their body. With a shaking hand, down their drink. Whiskey burns down their throat, hot and thick like bombsomoke in their throat. They call for another.
The wheel spins and spins, reaches its peak and begins its descent. Jesper wriggles to the end of his seat his eyes captured by the twirls of gold and green before them. Fists pound on the table and they join them. As they watch, their tongue pokes out the corner of their mouth, hungry, greedy, practically tasting the luck on the air.
This is it, they think. This is mine, this is my one. Fingers drum on the seat, one-two-three-one-two-three, already itching for their prize.
Numbers are called out. Its not his.
Cheering and booing buzz through the air. Jesper flops back into their chair, chin tilted up to the ceiling. A heavy sigh escapes them, their breath warm from the drink. They rub their head, and their hand comes away soaked with sweat. At that moment, they become acutely aware of how their shirt is stucking to their skin. Their bones turn to lead and their head lolls for a moment, ears buzzing, throat pulsing.
“Deal me in again!”
The place falls quiet for half a second as the dealer looks up, broken quickly by a heavy bout of laughter. It spreads about the table like a plague, jumping from one person to another. Jesper laughs too.
“You’re done,” the dealer tells them. “Go home why don’t you? Surely you’ve got someone waiting.”
“Deal me in,” they demand sharply. They snatch a few notes from their jacket’s inside pocket, toss it onto the table and nod curtly towards the dealer. “I’ve got the funds. I can play.”
“Actually,” a voice rasps behind him. “You’re done.”
With his head the way it is, it takes Jesper a few seconds to realise who it is. They glance out of the corner of their eye, taking in the gloved hand, the crows-head cane, the low threat of the voice. They sigh and slam more kruge down on the table.
“Go away, Kaz,” they say with a dismissive wave they’ll pay for later. “I’m busy.”
“No you’re not.”
“Evidently I am.” They keep their eyes on the table and force themeself to remain still. There can’t be a later or any bad news, if they stay here and the cards and dice keep coming. “I’ll be back at the Slat after I finish.”
“Wylan’s awake.”
Shit.
Jesper freezes. The words wash over them, crash like the sea against the cliffs.
All the wamrth drains from them until they’re just a trembling, bleak husk at the table.
Bones creaking, they turn around, teeth chattering, hair on their neck rising. Kaz is glaring down at him, eyes so dark they’re practically black.
“He’s awake,” Kaz repeats. “And he’s been asking where you are for the past half an hour.” His grabs the back of Jesper’s chair. “So lets go.”
Stumbling into the rapid streets of the Barrel, Jesper trips over their feet and rights themself again and tracks Kaz across cobblestones, their chest heaving with every step. Every muscle feels like its alive, jumping like jackrabbits, and the street before them stretches out and contracts in again.
“Wylan’s awake?” they gasp.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Half an hour, as I said.” Jesper nods. Their mouth is so dry. He has to think, what else, what else, what else.
“How-how is he? Is he in pain-is he hurt?”
“He fell out of a seventh storey window, Jesper,” is Kaz’s reply. “How the hell do you think he is?” Against his own will, Jesper’s body stops, his heartpounding a jittery unstable rhythm. That night comes back to them, Wylan cold and still in his arms. It winds itself around them, chokes them, blurs out everything else. All there is is Wylan falling, then screaming, then doing nothing at all.
“Jesper!” Kaz snaps. White smoke forms in front of his face. Jesper nods. Kaz gives a short, harsh huff. A staccato, Jesper remembers. Thats what Wylan would call it. A short note followed by silence.
“He’s got several broken ribs,” Kaz tells them. “We called the medik back. There was internal bleeding, but its being stabilised. Vision was bad. The medik is checking if its permanent or not. But he knew where he was.” Jesper nods, tries to take stock of what Kaz has said. Kaz pulls his wrist and forces them into motion. “Now lets go. He’s spent the whole time asking where you are.”
Jesper can’t breathe. If it weren’t for Kaz’s hand around his wrist, he may well have collapsed right there. His mind is taken over by a memory he doesn’t have; Wylan’s eyes fluttering open, a soft puff of breath escaping him. He’s looking around, his brow furrowed, asking where Jesper is. And no-one can answer because no-one knows where he is, because he didn’t tell anyone because-
“He did?”
Kaz doesn’t stop, doesn’t even falter as he walks. As they weave in and out of the night-time crowds, hungry for a bit of entertainment, Kaz’s whispered breath brushes past his ear, and it reminds Jesper of the ice cliffs they found in Fjerda. Cold and hard, impossible and unforgiving.
“He did, and we had to lie to cover your ass,” he says. “And if you ever put us in that position again….”
Kaz doesn’t finish the threat. Jesper doesn’t know whether he’s glad or not.
When they arrive, Wylan is sitting up in the bed, a bleary look in his blue eyes. Sitting is one word for it; he suspects the pillows are doing more than he is. Matthias sits in front of him, gently helping him drink the last contents of a glass. Jesper stands in the doorway, his heart buzzing, his soul willing his mind to connect with the image in front of him.
(He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive)
Slowly, Wylan turns and something sparks in his eyes, like a torch being lit in the far distance. Despite Matthias sitting in front of him, he squirms and reaches out.
Jesper doesn’t miss how he winces.
“Jesper! You’re here!” he says. His voice is hoarse from the disuse, weighted down by whatever drugs they’ve just given him. Wylan wriggles again, legs shifting beneath the blanket and then he’s pressing against Matthias’ hold. Jesper just stands and watches, frozen by some external force, as Wylan’s face screws into a weak frown, he gives a small, pained groan. He reaches past Matthias, slender fingers chalk white.
Finally, he comes back to life and dashes across the room.
“Wylan.” Matthias takes a generous step back and allows Jesper to sit down on the mattress, Wylan’s hand clasped between his two. He presses one kiss to it, intending to be a quick gesture, but then his relief takes over and he kisses him again and again. There’s a slight tremor in Wylan’s hand, as if his body is still holding itself together as it mends. And if Jesper kisses it enough times, perhaps he can fix it.
“You’re okay,” he whispers between kisses. “Oh Saints, you’re okay.”
“Yeah,” Wylan mumbles. “M’okay.” Jesper pauses. With one hand still clutching Wylan’s, he allows the other to reach out and carefully, cautiously cup his face. His eyes stay trained on Wylan, breath held, waiting for the moment where something goes wrong. Dried cuts still criss-cross his face, some taped over and some still open.
“You’re all right,” he says again. Wylan just nods, a small reassurance mumbled under his breath. There’s a small moment where Jesper can just breathe, the pieces of himself that had been worn out and disjointed beginning to pull themselves back together.
Then, Wylan’s gaze turns to behind Jesper, and he frowns.
“Kaz Brekker,” he says, weakly jabbing his finger in his direction. “I have a bone to pick with you.”
“You do?” Jesper asks.
“Mhm,” he murmurs. Jesper feels him stiffen beneath the sheets. “You should too. Sending you off on a job like that when I’m hurt.” Wylan pouts, lower lip stuck out, his brows furrowed together. He looks back at Kaz, nothing malicious in his features. “Shame on you, Brekker. Shame.”
“Yes, Wylan.” Jesper almost jumps at the response. Everything that he’d directed towards Jesper on the way here; the low-burning fury, the seething disappointment simmering beneath his skin, it was all gone. When Jesper dares glance over his shoulder, he finds Kaz smiling, his anger hung up outside as if it were a coat he’d taken off. “I do apologise for sending Jesper away.” His eyes turn to Jesper again. Nothing changes, except for his eyes. They turn darker, a stormcloud passing in front of the sun. “He should’ve been right here with you.”
“Too right,” Wylan agrees. Wylan’s free hand pats Jesper’s chest. “You’re not allowed to do jobs for Kaz anymore.” Jesper just nods, response caught in his throat. Wylan blinks, slowly, tilts his head to the side. He narrows his eyes, the way he always does when he’s trying to work something out.
“Hey,” he murmurs. He reaches up clumsily and pats Jesper’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m-am okay and… you’re here.”
There’s a moment where Jesper can’t move, or breathe, or speak. Where he’s not even sure he’s real any more.
Then, they squeeze Wylan’s hand, and forces his features into a smile. Tears run down his cheeks and drip across the blankets.
“Yes, I’m here darling,” they reply. “I’m not going anywhere.” Wylan nods, a brief, hazy smile passes his face.
“Hey when… we get home we need to… sort out the curtains in the living room…” His voice trails off, words getting lost in a hazy blur as his eyes slide shut. The hand on his shoulder falls slack before it curls and trails down Jesper’s chest like a raindrop down a window. Jesper catches it, feels the limp weight in his grip.
Nina speaks up before they have time to start panicking.
“He’ll be okay,” she tells them. “He just needs to rest. We had to give him some hefty painkillers. He has a lot of broken bones and we’ll have to double check his vision but…” Nina stops. Breathes in, straightens her back. A soldier’s move. She nods, meets Jesper’s eyes. “He’ll be okay.”
“Thank you,” they say. His eyes roam around the room, the four of them looking back at him. An accusation hangs in the air compounded by the unavoidable fact that they know what they did. It’s just pity that holds them back from saying it. “T-thank you.”
No-one knows what to do with themselves then. Nina is exhausted, the long hours plain to see on her face, and even then Matthias has to convince her to leave. They leave hand in hand, after Nina gives Jesper a hug and Matthias clasps his shoulder.
The Fjerdan also gives a last look at Wylan, takes heaving breath. Steadies himself. Jesper shuffles aside and allows Matthias to gently kiss his forehead. Jesper hears the nickname he always uses for Wylan, the Fjerdan for lamb.
Then they’re gone.
Kaz and Inej leave shortly after, agreed in one of the silent conversations Jesper is never privy to. Inej sat beside him before they left, wrapped her hands around his shoulders, ran her fingers through his hair. Jesper had leaned into it and readily accepted every little bit of comfort regardless of whether they deserve it.
“It’ll be all right,” she whispers in his ear. They nod, squeeze her fingers. Inej presses herself further into his side and touches her forehead to his temple. “It’ll be all right,” she says again.
That second time, Jesper isn’t sure if she’s still talking about Wylan.
There’s a strange sense of deja vu as he waits by Wylan’s bedside, the feeling that someone wound a key and reset the clock. They’re back where they started, frozen on a hard wooden chair, waiting for Wylan to wake up, a growing, relentless humming beneath their skin.
Its different this time, they remind themself. Wylan’s out of danger now, knocked out due to painkillers, shifting and muttering in his sleep. There should be relief in the air, the sense that a breath was finally released, and there is. Sort of. Jesper can look at Wylan without helplessness drowning them.
Instead, he gets something else, and they can’t say if its better or worse. Because every time they look at Wylan, whatever relief they feel gets swallowed whole, greedily gobbled by the all-encompassing shame inside them. It clogs their lungs as if they’ve swallowed oil, it laces itself into each pathetic beat of their heart. There’s a moment where Jesper contemplates letting go of Wylan’s hand. They don’t deserve to hold them like this.
They do try to let go. Wylan moans and grabs it back before settling back to sleep.
Bit by bit, their mind pieces itself together, like fragments of a broken bottle. Half an hour, Kaz said. That’s how long it was between Wylan waking up and Kaz finding him. At they start they had promised they wouldn’t leave Wylan’s side until he was awake, hadn’t they? They said it and they know they meant it. Jesper isn’t the one to break promises like that, especially when it comes to Wylan.
But if they meant it, why didn’t they keep it?
And Kaz had covered for them. As had Inej and Matthias and Nina. They had all lied for them, jsut as they had lied for them on Black Veil when their father had appeared and where his money went. The same song, the same old dance, just in nicer shoes and a different jacket.
Jesper runs a hand over their face. Surely, they should’ve learned by now. Why did they make the same mistake again? All around them, everyone else has learned, grown, become better. Why are they still here, repeating habits they should’ve broken long ago? For someone who thrives on novelty, why are they so resistant to change?
There, in the blanketed quiet of the room, Jesper doesn’t have anywhere to run. Nor does he have the energy, or the will. That’s what happens when you spend a life running from your faults.
As the long, long hours catch up to him, Jesper’s head nods, his eyes close and without quite meaning to, he trips, stumbles and falls into sleep beside Wylan.
Jesper wakes to a stiff neck and heavy eyes. Muffled conversations flow beneath the floorboards and behind the walls; the Slat is waking up. There’s work to be done, cons to be had tables to run. Life goes on.
Sunrays poke through the curtains, draping across Wylan’s body. His ruddy curls shimmer in the light, his mouth is half open as he sleeps. If Jesper ignored the shadows beneath his eyes and the cuts on his face, they could imagine that its any other day, and that they are just about to kiss Wylan’s neck to wake him up, that they’re about to have lazy cuddles in bed before heading down to make breakfast. Saints, what perfect bliss.
Half-lost in their daydream, Jesper reaches up and brushes Wylan’s hair from his face, a half-smile gracing his face as he does. Wylan’s face scrunches and he shifts, a soft sigh escaping him. Jesper freezes, panic gripping him tightly. Wylan moves again, this time murmurs his name, and then his eyes flutter and he looks up at him his gaze still heavy with sleep.
“Morning,” he rasps weakly. He blinks heavily and for a moment, Jesper thinks he’s about to fall asleep again. Then Wylan rubs rubs his eyes, lets out a yawn, and starts trying to pull himself up. It takes about a second for him to pull something too hard, and he lets out a harsh, agnoised gasp. The sound embeds itself into Jesper’s brain, and he knows it will stay there forever.
“Hey, hey,” they mutter. “Here just-let me help.” They wrap one arm around Wylan’s waist while the other arranges pillows behind him. They’re not really sure what they’re doing, and that uselessness works its way into every haphazard movement, but eventually they manage to get Wylan settled and sitting somewhat comfortably against the pillows. Jesper moves to go back to the chair, but Wylan grabs his arm and pulls him onto the bed with him. Its such a classic Wylan move that Jesper can’t help but smile, despite everything. He’s always been clingy. Sometimes its like sharing a bed with a bear cub.
“Morning, darling,” Jesper whispers. Wylan flashes a bleary smile. Carefully, gently, Jesper trails his finger up the inside of Wylan’s arm. “How are you feeling?”
“Peachy,” he breathes. The strain in his voice implies anything but. Without meaning to, Jesper’s eyes drop to Wylan’s chest. Nina said they fixed his bandages last night. Kaz mentioned broken ribs. Internal bleeding.
After a few seconds Wylan’s gaze follows his. His free hand, still with a slight tremor, comes up and gently touches his ribs. For a few seconds, he lets them trail across his chest, like an animal exploring its enclosure. It seems harmless on the surface, even if Jesper’s heart is hammering with each beat.
Suddenly, Wylan presses too hard or finds a particularly bad spot, and his whole body reacts. He lurches forward, eyes blown wide, and his free hand grabs the blanket with such intensity the knuckles are in danger of ripping through the skin.
“You’re in pain,” they say. “You-you need some painkillers. Here-”
“I’m fine.”
“Wylan, you’re hurting.”
“I’m fine,” he says again, and its because he sounds the strongest he has since last night that Jesper stops himself. With a tug on his wrist, Jesper lets himself be lowered back onto the mattress. “I-I don’t want to pass out just yet.”
“But-”
“Jesper,” he says. For a moment, he almost seems like himself again. His hand curls around Jesper’s wrist. “Jesper, I was out for I don’t know how long, then when you came back I was high on whatever the hell that Nina gave me. I just want to sit with you for a bit. Is that too much to ask?”
On the one hand, he wants to say yes, it is. Because the simple act of sitting up is leaving Wylan breathless and his nails leave imprints on Jesper’s skin. Honestly, there’s a part of Jesper that wants to force-feed Wylan painkillers until he’s better. But there’s another part of him that spent days pacing this room, waiting for the moment Wylan opens his eyes. And then he did.
With possibly the most care he’s ever used in his life, Jesper reaches up and cups Wylan’s cheek, rubbing his thumb under his eye.
“How can I say no to that face?” he replies softly. Wylan gives a contented hum and then leans into their touch, his fingers relax as he strokes Jesper’s arm.
It’s there, with Wylan’s hands growing warm against his skin, his breaths steady at his side, that Jesper begins to feel it. It starts small, smatterings of rain against a windowpane, and then it grows, the sky turns dark and darker, thunder rolls through him, and the rain pelts and pelts, heavier and heavier, and much as he tries, he can’t escape it or breathe through it or pretend that it’s okay, even for Wylan’s sake.
“I thought I lost you,” they gasp. Their unsteady hand slides round the back of Wylan’s neck and tangles in his curls. The once-tender movement feels like navigating a minefield; one wrong step can ruin everything. “I thought you were gone. I thought-”
“I’m right here,” Wylan reminds them. “Jes, I’m right here.” With painstaking slowness, Wylan grabs their chin and tilts it so that they’re looking at him, albeit through a blur of tears. They blink, breathe, wipe their eyes until Wylan is once again clear, dimples in his pale cheeks as he smiles. “I’m not going anywhere, you silly old man.”
That gets a chuckle out of him. Jesper isn’t sure if he should be relieved that he can laugh or disturbed at how alien it sounds. They kiss Wylan’s fingers, then his wrist, then his forehead, rubs his nose against his. Saints, he hadn’t realisde how deeply he had missed him until now, how easily he’d taken simply touches for granted. If they could, they’d kiss every inch of Wylan’s skin and nuzzle every crevice on his body.
They can’t though. Because Wylan’s breath is still hitching, and they can hear the pained moans he’s trying so hard to hide. Even through his shirt and the blankets, they can feel him shaking. So they settle for what they have.”
“Get all those wildest fantasies ready, merchling,” they mutter against his skin. “Because the minute you’re better, there’s nothing off the table.”
“Oh,” he squeaks. A pale pink flush dances across his cheeks. “I’ll start making a list.”
“Gah!” Jesper groans. “That’s the most unsexy thing you can say.”
“My lists are incredibly sexy I’ll have you know.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” he teases. Wylan giggles, the sound so low and weak compared to what Jesper is used to. Wylan’s breaths are growing more strained, his hand is tightening around Jesper’s wrist.
They’re about to get more painkillers, or maybe call for Nina, when the door opens and the very woman emerges, as though Jesper summoned her from the ether. Matthias trails after her, with a leather bag that Jesper assumes are medical supplies, and the grin that lights up his face when he sees Wylan pulls at Jesper’s heart more than they’d like to admit.
“Um, I sincerely hope you two weren’t getting up to anything here,” Nina tuts. She waves Jesper away and takes their spot on the bed. “Because you, dear Wylan, are on a heavy ban from such activities until you heal.”
“Boo,” Wylan replies. He shrugs, then winces. Still, he keeps his tone light as Nina checks his bandages. “Then I suppose we’ll have to make up for lost time.”
“Civilised conversation, please,” Matthias sighs, but his smile doesn’t waver. “How are you feeling, Lamb?”
“Ugh everyone keeps asking me that,” he says. “I’m fine.”
“You look it,” Nina responds. She takes his chin carefully and angles it towards her. “Medik said last night your vision was a worry. How is it now?”
“That was Jesper I was flirting with, right?”
“Wylan!” Nina sighs, sounding rather exasperated. Jesper twitches, hands immediately reaching for their revolvers. It seems to sober Wylan up as well, because the smile fades from this face and what Nina gets instead is a quick, sober nod.
“I can see you guys. You’re a little blurry, but I can tell who’s who.”
“Oaky,” she says. She tilts Wylan’s head upwards toward the light. “We’ll need to get the medik back in, but your pupils are responding.”
“I love when they do that.”
“Okay. Lets see the ribs.” Wylan nods, lets out a slow breath and screws his eyes shut. From the sidelines, Jesper watches as Nina pulls up Wylan’s shirt. Even from their angle, they can see the myriad of bruises across his skin, painting his chest like a canvas of blue and black and yellow. Nina looks over her shoulder and Matthias rushes to her side, handing her pieces of cloth and small glass bottles that she presses against Wylan’s side, securing them with little pieces of tape or string. They count to three and then Matthias helps move him, muttering small assurances that Jesper can barely hear under Wylan’s muted whimpering. They watch as his head falls back against the wall, his eyes flutter shut, blood pools on his bitten lip. He’s in good hands with Nina, they know. And he’s over the worst of it and the medik stabilised him.
And he’s okay. It’s okay. They’re okay.
Jesper mutters the mantra, as the door creaks open, black flashes in his periphery. One by one, Jesper’s muscles seize, as if building towards something. The cane raps once, twice more, then stops, and leaves a heavy, hollow silence in its wake.
“Jesper,” Kaz begins. His voice is so low that Nina and Matthias don’t react. This isn’t something for the rest of them, they realise. Dread lines his chest. This is something for Jesper and Jesper only. Kaz’s coffee-coloured eyes flash, as if twin bombs were ignited behind them. “Outside. Now.”