Work Text:
The smell of sulfur, strong and irradiated and thoroughly fel in nature wakes him from a muddy dream he already can’t remember. His ribs ache from the position he’d fallen into, curled on his side and pressed against unrelenting bars and the unnatural twisted material that serves as his cell digs into his bare skin. It’s a wholly unpleasant way to wake up, but he’s stopped expecting it to be any different. If he were to open his eyes he would see the same room he’s seen for the past what feels like an eternity with sickly green fel braziers and cracked walls, so he doesn’t. The constant water dripping from damage in the high vaulted dome ceilings into shallow puddles had made him lose many a nights sleep but now he was almost at the point where he could tune it out.
At first, he’d been indignant and enraged. The first time he woke up here was also the most unpleasant, though he could hardly say that any time after that was any better. “You’ll never get away with this”, he had growled murderously at the demon lord that stood before him and regarded him placidly as if he was no threat to him whatsoever. “It seems I already have.” Detheroc smirked down at him in a facsimile of a human's smile. “Who do you imagine will notice anything is amiss when I am there, playing your role better than you ever could?”
Over time, Shaw realized he was right. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but judging by the way his body has withered away to nearly half of his original size, it’s been long enough. He was foolish to think anyone would come for him. He knows that this is part of the torture, the breaking of his spirit along with his body, but as time progresses it’s hard to deny the truth of his situation. Amber Kearnen was the only one who knew, and he’d watched her die. He’d let her die with his lack of foresight. It was easy to hate himself after that. It was easier still when the demonic inquisitors who often came down here laughed gleefully and told him about King Varian’s demise. Too many had been lost simply because he wasn’t good enough.
“Being on the other side of those bars doesn’t feel so good, does it?” Shaw’s eyes snap open at the voice; its timbre hauntingly familiar despite how many years it’s been.
Edwin VanCleef is across from him, leaning against a weapon rack nonchalantly as he peels the skin of an apple off carefully with a knife. His knife. The knife Shaw had given him so, so many years ago. He understands now that he’s gone insane.
Undeterred by Shaw’s silence, he continues. “This isn’t so different from what I had to deal with. In your case, the demons are more literal. It’s easier to understand that it’s wrong, that way.”
“You’ve come back to gloat,” Shaw snarls, his voice rough from disuse. If he is to spend the rest of his days speaking to a ghost, then so be it. “It figures that this is to be my punishment.”
Edwin shrugs disinterestedly, still not taking his eyes away from his meticulous carving. He looks just like the memory he’s kept near and dear to his heart; a secret image of a man lost that he’s also done his best to distance himself from. He’d never had a chance to get old and grey like Shaw had and his thick hair was pulled back from his face, stunning and raven black and brilliant even in the sickly green lighting that illuminated him. A thin layer of chalk and dust covered him and his plain work clothes as if he had just finished a long day in the city working on the construction of the cathedral.
Even if Shaw wasn’t as desiccated as he currently was, the differences between them were stark. Edwin’s face was not even half as lined as Shaw’s was and it’s hard to believe that he had once been the older and wiser of the two. Even now he feels cowed by his presence, figment of his imagination or not. He makes an effort to sit up properly and grimaces at the pain that lances through his legs as he attempts to straighten out his spine. When he looks up at the ghost again, Edwin is fixing him with an intense stare. Even through his hard edges and the mouth that no longer smiled, he was still handsome in a way that made Shaw nostalgic for days that were long gone.
“Look at what’s become of you, Matty.” The nickname stings in a way he had almost forgotten and it’s almost too difficult to maintain eye contact with the apparition. His tone is as serious as his demeanor and his eyes are flinty; cold and judgmental in the way he had remembered them being in the later years. “Is this what you fought so desperately to protect? The so-called honor of the Alliance that’s forgotten you even exist?”
It’s said with the obvious intent to bait him and he ignores it. He realizes now that this is a test of his resolve. Rainwater continues to drip through the cracks and echo loudly within the walls.
“I wish things hadn’t ended up the way they did,” he concedes after a lengthy silence, waiting for Edwin’s anger to boil over. “There could have been so much more for you. For us.”
Edwin is the first to look away, muscles tensing in his jaw as he turns his attention back to the apple in his hand and continuing to peel it in precise motions. “I know.”
It’s useless to even say. They both wanted very different things and in the end, it was Shaw who got his way and Edwin who ended up with his head on a pike. How would things be now if the outcome had been the other way around? He supposes it doesn’t matter. Dwelling on impossible hypotheticals wasn’t something he often bothered himself with doing.
“It wasn’t all bad, Matty.”
Shaw shudders, and now it’s his turn to say it. “I know.”
There were many things he had forced himself to forget, but there were still memories that were stubbornly lodged in his brain that he had never been able to shake off. Edwin had been standing over a table late at night with only a flickering lantern for light, arms crossed and brows creased together in concentration as he went over the original blueprints for the Stormwind canals for what had to have been the hundredth time. He was so engrossed in it that he hadn’t even noticed Mathias come up beside him until he leaned over and laid a soft kiss against his temple. “You’re still looking at this?” Mathias had asked; devastatingly young and green. “You’ll burn yourself out if you keep stressing over these damn canals.”
The Edwin from his memory wasn’t much younger than the ghost of Edwin standing before him now which twisted his gut in a way he hadn’t altogether anticipated. “What are you, my wife?” Edwin had asked him with a snort, leaning into his touch all the same. “And besides, I have to. I could either build the canals like this, or I could do it in a way that makes actual sense.” He had groaned in frustration and Mathias wrapped an arm around his middle, resting his chin on his shoulder. “Who built this city originally? Some idiot with a hammer and a dream?” Eventually Mathias had been able to coax him back to bed and after they had each had their fill, they slept with their limbs tangled under the linen sheets until the sun was halfway into the sky.
“It doesn’t matter,” Shaw snaps through gritted teeth, molars grinding against each other almost painfully as he banishes the memory. “You’re dead and I’m not. You killed the queen and I did my part to stop you and the rest of the Defias from turning Stormwind into a warzone.” He took a deep breath, ignoring how his lungs ached in his chest. “We had some good memories, but that’s all they were. I can’t change what happened and neither can you. I don’t want this guilt to follow me for the rest of my life.”
Edwin says nothing as he finishes cutting the last chunk of skin from the apple, letting the pieces fall towards the ground until they disappear before making contact with it. Eventually he looks back up at him and takes a bite, blood spilling forth from the apple as he tears off a piece with his teeth.
“But it will, won’t it?”
He can’t formulate a response or even a cohesive thought as he feels and then hears a horrible rumbling in the corridors above them, shaking the foundations of the citadel violently. Edwin isn’t bothered as it intensifies to a fever pitch and Shaw holds onto the bars with a white knuckle grip, immediately on the defensive even though he knows there’s nothing he can do in this state.
The heavy barred door to the staircase splinters to pieces as a wall of viscous fel bursts through it, consuming everything in its path. Waves upon waves of it gushes in like a flood and Edwin’s skin melts from bone on contact, the acidic nature of the fel working instantaneously and horrifyingly. The last thing he sees is Edwin’s blood-stained face looking at him with intent until he’s staring at nothing but empty eye sockets. Shaw can’t breathe as the wave descends upon him and he can’t move—
And then he sits up in bed, gulping down lungfuls of air as he feels a thick layer of sweat all over his skin. His eyes struggle to adjust in the darkness and he realizes many things at once. He’s not at Felsoul Hold, he’s not dead, and Edwin was never there. None of this calms him down as fast as he would like and he rubs the sweat from his face with the back of his hand which does nothing except smear it around messily and uselessly. He feels like he’s spinning and he has nothing to ground himself with. The floor beneath him sways gently as if he were on a ship, and he realizes that he is. It’s not helping him right now.
He’s too tired and wound up to react to the gentle hand laying on the small of his back, large and calloused against his skin. “You alright?” A voice— Flynn asks, voice rough as if he’s just been woken up from the throes of slumber.
Shaw can’t answer him when he’s still feeling like this. The fel still tingles at his skin and the image of Edwin’s skull being eaten by it makes him feel sick. He can’t do anything but fist his hands in his hair and bring his knees to his chest.
If Flynn truly was fast asleep just a moment ago he shows no signs of it now as he swiftly gathers him in his arms and gently disentangles Shaw’s hands from his hair. It pulls a harsh breath from him and Flynn runs a hand along his back and presses his nose to his hair, murmuring things Shaw’s panic addled mind can’t quite process.
He hums a song into his hair like he’s a child, and Light help him, it works. The vibration from his chest surrounds him and evens out his breathing until he’s so exhausted that he nearly falls back into unconsciousness. He fights it for as long as he can until Flynn pulls him back down onto the mattress with him, never letting Shaw out of his embrace. “It’s ok,” Flynn says softly. “I’m here, alright? I’m here. You’re safe.”
Shaw doesn’t like to be held, usually, but he can’t think of anywhere he’d rather be at this moment. He lets himself fall back asleep in the other man’s arms and thankfully, he dreams of nothing at all.