Work Text:
Offering Solace and Safety
It had already been a long day and he was no closer to being happy about his newest “acquisition”. The man should have stayed in the well for as much trouble as Bobo knew he was going to be. He wasn’t stupid; he could read a man and John Henry Holliday was a definite threat and no matter what he said; the man would go to his death protecting Wyatt Earp’s line.
The Revenants were a bigger headache and getting them corralled was a migraine he wasn’t exactly thrilled about, either. Honestly, this curse needed to end. It would have been preferred a decade or so ago but here they were.
And he’s almost got himself relaxed enough to think about sleeping when there is a sharp rap on the door followed by, “Boss, boss, you have got to do something!”
Teeth snapping in frustration, he crosses and throws open the door with a snapped, “What do you want?!” He’s a little surprised to find at least four of them hovering by the door.
“You have to deal with Holliday,” comes the annoyed reply from one of the others, “His screaming is getting ridiculous.”
He pauses a moment. “Screaming?” he asks slowly trying to wrap his mind around this.
“Probably fucking nightmares but it’s getting ridiculous. Either shut him up or he’s getting his throat slit.”
His jaw tightens a moment before he steps out of the trailer towering over the Revenant by a good few inches inwardly amused by the way he steps back. “Last time I checked, you weren’t exactly against someone screaming though I suppose you prefer to be the one causing it?”
“Boss, please just…”
“I’ll handle Holliday,” he says gruffly as he stalks around them, “Go do something that isn’t going to get yourselves dragged over the line tonight because I’m not in the mood.” He lets that be the end of it as he storms for the trailer he’d allowed the other to stay at. It was honestly the worst idea he’d had, he was sure but…
He tries very hard to ignore anything that might follow that train of thought. Of course it’s easier when he hears the male upon approach. He huffs as he reaches and opens the door. “You just have to have goddamn Night Terrors don’t you, Hank?” He steps in and closes and locks the trailer door for good measure before slowly approaching the other. Seeing him like this; pale, sweating, and thrashing around strikes a strange chord in him that he’s not sure he likes very much. “Why are you so much trouble still, Holliday?” he mutters as he stops at the bedside, “Honestly, letting them handle you was probably the simpler idea. Anything that doesn’t have you an eternal thorn in my side would be the best idea. But I’m probably about to be stupid. Fuck it then, I’ll just blame Robert. ‘S all his fault any goddamn way the overly protective idiot.” And here he was, in the trailer of a panicked man caught in the throes of Night Terrors talking to himself. Just a regular night in good ol’ Purgatory wasn’t it?
Of course he finds soon that the other is very difficult when he’s like this and soon is far more frustrated than he likes. Hell was full of screaming so he’s sure the others could have ignored it. Hell, they hated him enough just for being Wyatt’s long-time friend that it might have amused others. But, he concedes, if only to himself, the human familiars might not be so keen on someone screaming bloody murder.
Irritation is what finally has him peeling the sweat-soaked sheets from the other and he has the moment where grabbing the pillow and shoving it over the man’s face might have seemed a more agreeable idea but he was tired and had the edges of a migraine and did not want the fuss. So instead, he shrugs off his coat with a muttered, “I know this isn’t fucking going to work but I don’t know what else to fucking do with you,” before drawing the material around him tightly. He expects a lot of things and all of them are bad so when Doc actually quiets, he’s a little on the startled side, himself. Slowly, he shifts so that he’s dragged the other against him and watches as he presses into the material. Interesting.
It’s not any easier for Bobo to handle when he ends up with the man curled up in his arms a combination of wrapped and tangled in his coat but at least he was sleeping again. Drawing an arm around him, he gives a low growl of, “I swear to fucking god, Henry, this is the only damn time I’m doing this for you.” Slowly, he settles himself and falls asleep trying not to think about how nice it was to have someone curled against him, even through layers, pressed against all of him they could find clearly seeking that someone was there. That he wasn’t alone.
Waking up is less fun especially when he realizes that he has to either stay here or try and get his coat back. Grumbling, he slips out of the bed before finding something to write on and leaves, “Return my coat when you come to your senses. Make sure that’s soon or I’m going to drop in and roll you out of it onto the floor. The next time this happens it had better be in my goddamn trailer. The bed is bigger,” before slipping out and closing the door. It was early enough, he’d always risen earlier than anyone, that no one would notice. If anyone did they would know not to comment.
He’s halfway to his own space when he realizes he’d just invited more of this with one of the lines of the not and huffs a moment before muttering, “Robert, let’s try not to be stupid this century please. Do not, do not be stupid. Not with another man. Not with that man.”
He ignores the part of him sure it was already too late for that because he had things to plan and get done and did not have time for stupid feelings for even more idiotic men. He did not.