Chapter Text
Lupin had never been able to dream when he slept. Not that it mattered.
He hadn’t slept in days since the bank job.
He lay naked on top of the sticky comforter – a scratchy fake satin thing with blotches of century-old stains. His hands clenched at them, sweating hard enough to wet the fabric into a gummy pulp.
His eyes were clenched tight. His breath exploded in puffed whistles of exertion.
White hot fire of pain. Cascading. Rolling. The craters of gunshots puckered in skin that expanded and contracted with each breath.
“Easy, Lu, easy,” a voice rumbling from above. A warm, dry hand pressing on Lupin’s face. The shell of Lupin’s ear cradled like a precious thing.
Oh, Daisuke. Bless his heart.
Lupin tried to breathe deep. The pain of it made him dizzy. Broken ribs?
He tried to speak, but could only manage a hollow whisper. His brain sizzled.
With Jigen, he always spoke in English. It was easiest for both of them. But he couldn’t find the words. For now, English was tucked away in an impregnable vault.
“Où suis-je?”
Jigen’s hand migrated to Lupin’s forehead, feeling the molten skin. “We’re in the safe house. Goemon’s on lookout. Fujiko went to nick some drugs for you. One of your wounds is infected.”
Under the fog of hurt, Lupin felt his eyelids peel open.
The world looked back at him, fuzzy. A dark blob of a figure loomed over him, distinctly furry. A map of indistinct facial features hugged by a familiar nest of hair and pointed beard.
“There you are.” Jigen’s voice wrenched Lupin from the precipice of delirium, deep and grounding. The hand on his sweating forehead went back to his cheek, a firm caress. His fingers pressed into his flushed skin.
Lupin remembered slipping from a window. It had been a sheet of ice lingering on the sill he hadn’t seen in the flurry of the chase. If it hadn’t been there, if he hadn’t slipped, he would have leapt from the window to a waiting rope that had trailed down from Fujiko’s helicopter.
He would have clung the rope, swung around, and waved goodbye at the pursuing security guards with all of the flamboyant, boyish charm he could muster up. Abayo.
Instead, he flailed forward and careened over the edge. He remembered the stab of horror. He remembered reaching for his breast pocket to activate an emergency parachute.
And then, a thunderclap. Another. Then several more.
An intrepid cop from the root of the building shot at Lupin’s body with as many slugs as he could fire. Some of them connected. Most didn’t. Windowpanes crackled into dust all around his target.
The last bit Lupin remembered was pressing the parachute button underneath a cacophony of glass, screams, and gunfire.
And now, silence. No, that wasn’t true. There was the buzz of the AC unit. His own breath in high-pitched whistles.
The picture was clearer now. Lupin could make out Jigen’s eyes, liquid brown glinting under his bangs. His expression was masked, much to Lupin’s annoyance. He had known this man for thirty years. He knew when he was hiding something.
Somewhere in a corner of his brain, Lupin found English. “How bad is it?” he whispered. Anything louder would have made the pain worse.
He watched Jigen visibly hesitate. “Uh…”
“Don’t you dare even try to lie to me, Daisuke. I swear to god.”
“Fine.” Jigen’s shoulders slumped. “Well, it’s not great. You were out cold for two days. You got shot four times while you were falling, and the parachute opened too late. Your right arm and leg broke when you hit the ground.”
Lupin didn’t say anything. The shock of it made the fog start to creep back. He wanted to push it away. Keep lucid. Don’t close your eyes, Arsene. Keep awake.
From his bedside perch, Jigen reached for the nightstand and took a glass. He shifted his position and gently took the back of Lupin’s head, lifting him.
“You need to drink something, okay?” He held the rim of the glass to Lupin’s cracked lips, tilting slowly.
The water was lukewarm and stale. It tasted awful, as bad as the city water in Paris. Lupin forced himself to swallow two mouthfuls before screwing his eyes and mouth shut.
Jigen nodded and took the glass away. “Good, that’s really good.”
The praise made Lupin feel warm. Safe. He felt his eyes start to close.
Something cold was brought to his lips and pressed down. Lupin watched Jigen swipe a stick of lip balm from one corner of his mouth to the other.
“Smack for me, Lu.”
From a far-off plane, absently, Lupin felt himself try and fail.
God, he was so tired.
Jigen capped the balm and took his thumb to Lupin’s lower lip. He spread the gloss evenly. “There you go,” he mumbled.
God, he is such a mother hen.
For some reason, Lupin felt himself start to cry. He didn’t know why. The tears beaded his eyes and streamed down, pooling in the hollows of his neck.
“It’s okay.” Jigen held his hand. Pet the peach fuzz of his hair. “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”
He cried harder. The sobs ripped at his chest. He couldn’t help it. It was so stupid. Pathetic. He wanted a cigarette so bad.
“I’ve got you, Lu.” Jigen moved to take a tissue and dab at Lupin’s cheeks. “Try and sleep, yeah? I’ll get you awake when Fujiko gets back.”
Lupin didn’t reply. The sobs faded to childish hiccups. His eyes were shut. He felt drained. He wanted to say something, anything. He couldn’t find the right words in any language.
He must have fallen asleep. He didn’t dream.