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As soon as Stretch stirs, squirming beside him on the bed, Edge quietly informs him, “You should be able to build that snow fort you were wanting to make by this afternoon.”
Unsurprisingly, Stretch doesn’t react for a few moments. Having lived with him for some years now, Edge knows it takes him a few minutes to boot up after any length of sleep. Nothing like Edge in that regard; Underfell may be long behind him, but the instinct to be up with an attack ready at the drop of a hat most certainly is not. When the sentence does filter through, Stretch struggles to a seated position, leaning heavily against his tall stack of pillows — mostly stolen from Edge’s side of the bed, of course.
“that bad, huh?” As sleepy as he is, still rubbing at bleary eye sockets, Stretch knows. He doesn’t need to ask if Edge has been checking the weather app. The dark, heavy drapes are still tightly shut against their window, preventing any curious glances to the weather outside. And his love is far too smart not to clue into the fact that Edge is still in bed with him, still clad in his pyjamas. It’s obvious that he hasn’t gotten up yet, and that alone is a tremendous hint.
“It’s bearable,” Edge confesses. Not that he needs to, of course, but the least he can do is be honest with Stretch about his discomfort. He had trusted him with this information long ago, after all.
It was one of the most irritating discoveries about life on the Surface, in Edge’s opinion. Which isn’t to say that there aren’t worse problems, of course; angel knows that the way humans treat not only monsterkind but even themselves is its own source of torment. But after years of struggling through the hellishness that Underfell could bring, he had come to expect those kinds of problems. But never could he have anticipated this.
It turns out that while his brother, Stretch and Sans have the ability to teleport, these days Edge can lay claim to the superpower and curse of being a living barometer.
Years of accumulated scars make his bones ache with each and every shift in weather. Especially when the shift in question has to do with the cold and incoming storms. Back in Snowdin, he never dealt with this. Even when the magical fields under the mountain would distort enough for a blizzard, there wasn’t exactly a shift in the physical atmospheric pressure. It was all magic, as are monsters. All magic, and his scarred joints preferred that to stupid Surface weather any day.
Stupid Surface weather and that constant throbbing pain, obvious enough to predict a storm before there is even a cloud in the sky. And that doesn’t even go to begin with how that same meteorological inconsistency seems to aggravate his headaches to no end.
Today, the potential of a skull-crushing migraine is looming ominously in the distance, growing ever nearer. His left ankle, subject to too many sprains and fractures over years of fighting in unpredictable terrains — and occasionally heeled shoes that, fashionable as they were, he knew were inappropriate to wear and yet he did so, if only to spite his older brother — hurts as though it has recently been crushed by a small boulder. That pain shoots all the way up to his pelvis, intense enough that a less logical part of him feels compelled to check for heavy bruising. Yet, all this doesn’t even begin to mention the litany of other complaints his bones have to make with Edge on this snowy winter’s day.
Based on the furrow in Stretch’s brow, he manages to read between the lines that ‘bearable’ translates to hurting from head to toe — quite literally. Leaning towards him, Edge moves in for a kiss of reassurance. Hopefully, Stretch doesn’t notice the slight grimace he makes as his bones belt out a new song of complaint at the movement. “I’ll be fine, love. Go back to sleep.”
With one more kiss — and a slow blink of concern — Stretch does exactly that. Sinking pack into his plush nest of blankets and pillows, he falls back asleep almost instantly. It’s still relatively early in Stretch time; he could do with more rest, especially if he has plans to enjoy the fresh snowfall later today.
Conversely, Edge knows he should be getting up. Nearly any other day, he would have been up and about now for hours. Cleaning and cooking and working out, he would have gotten so much done. Perhaps he would have returned to bed at this point, but it would be bearing a tray of breakfast for Stretch and with hopes of holding his lover close, maybe even putting their mattress to better use.
But Edge still can’t bring himself to move, damn it all to hell. Not to clean, not to cook, and certainly not to work out.
If he had to, he could get up. The pain isn’t bad enough to prevent him, per se. Edge hasn’t certainly worked through worse in the past; after all, guard duty didn’t cease to exist because of mere injuries. Compared to fragile breaks, aching joints are nothing. Plus, provided he were to actually listen to the advice he had gotten from the healer for a change, getting out of bed would bring him that much closer to the pain meds he’s supposed to take when everything is acting up. It would be the wise decision to make.
But, just this once, he doesn’t want to. The bed is warm, staving off some additional stiffness that the cold can bring. He wants to indulge in the warmth, rather than using the tried and true method of slowly stretching out of the worst of it. The room is quiet and dark. Staying might even help push a headache back longer.
And more importantly, Stretch is still here.
His selfish desires to stay near his love when he’s hurting is what finally tips the scales. Yanking some of the blankets closer to his side of the bed, Edge makes the decision to get up only when Stretch does. He can afford to rest up a bit more, even if he doesn’t need it, before his day.
Nodding to himself, Edge closes his eyes.
“edgelord?”
At the sound of the familiar nickname, Edge’s eyes fly open, only to narrow in a confused squint. He must truly be off his game today. Stretch stands beside the bed, fully dressed and the fact that he managed to sit up without Edge noticing is astounding, let alone left and come back without him having realised that he was gone in the first place. Rocking on his toes, Stretch has his hands hidden behind his back. Unlike the unseen fidgeting that is probably the source of the odd sloshing and jangling combination, he doesn’t bother to hide the way his tongue darts quickly between his teeth. One of Stretch’s anxious habits, making up for the fact that he can’t chew at his fingertips or grab a smoke with his hands full.
Edge doesn’t bother moving before he answers; he sees no reason to prolong his love’s concern for him. “Yes?”
Stretch opens his mouth, his hands almost making a reappearance, only to freeze. His skull tilts ever so slightly to the left, a sign of one of his mental reboots, as Stretch jokingly calls it. Straightening his head, he asks, “touch day or no-touch day?”
Ah. That would explain the reboot, then; Stretch was probably halfway to a hug before considering the possibility that Edge might not be up to it at the moment. Stars, he loves this monster. He loves him so, so much.
This time, Edge pauses before responding. It won’t do either of them any good if he answers flippantly, only to find out that he was wrong. Stretch helped him come up with their ‘touch’ system for a reason. A simple way to communicate when either of them isn’t comfortable with the idea of being held, Edge gets the most use of it — rather unfortunately so, in his opinion. It wouldn’t be the first time that his pain has only made attempts at physical affection turn into something far more unpleasant.
Finally, he settles on, “Careful touch day.” The idea sounds wonderful. Edge craves it, wanting Stretch back beside him where he belongs. Still, something at the back of his mind warns against it, taunting him with worries that Stretch’s arms might become caging instead of embracing, irritating instead of the comfort he seeks. The worry that it might make him hurt more, and that’s the last thing he ever wants, for Stretch to hurt him, even by accident.
“got it.”
Stretch climbs back into bed, revealing the thermos and pill bottles he had kept behind his back. Edge grabs the thermos first, allowing his love to settle back in as he opens the lid to reveal some not-quite-boiling hot tea. A quick sip reveals the familiar flavour of golden flower tea, albeit one flavoured with more honey than the beverage he used to share with his Undyne years ago.
Without complaint, Edge grabs the bottle containing his weaker pain relievers. Does he need it? No, not in his opinion, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t think it would be nice not to deal with today’s weather-driven discomfort. Just because he can work past the pain, it doesn’t make it pleasant to do so. He leaves the orange container filled with stronger meds alone for now. Those ones are definitely overkill for his current condition; it would be a waste to use them.
When he swallows a pill, chasing it down with a long swig of tea, he doesn’t imagine the way worried creases leave Stretch’s face. Stretch takes back the pill bottle, setting it on the side table for him. “let me know if you need more, babe?”
“... I will,” Edge promises, albeit reluctantly so. Worth it, though, based on the resulting bright smile that lights Stretch up.
“good to hear.” He pulls the covers up with his bare toes, exasperatingly impressive as always, adjusting the bedding until they are both properly hidden from the cold. “i turned the heating up a bit, but for now, i thought we could maybe cuddle.”
A wonderful idea. With a gentle tug, Edge brings Stretch into his arms, his lithe form fitting nicely against him. It’s odd, how two skeletons entangling themselves together can be so comfortable, but he isn’t going to question that logic. Edge can appreciate the small mercies the universe gives.
Still, face buried into the soft fleece of Stretch’s sweater, he protests, “But I really need to be getting up.”
“do you?”
“Yes.” Said in a groan, more in an attempt to convince himself than Stretch. “I can’t just spend the entire day lazing about.”
Even though he can’t look into his love’s eyes in this position, Edge can practically hear the dry eye-roll accompanying his, “uh huh.”
“It would be a waste of time; I have so much to do. The weather shouldn’t be enough to stop me. I’m getting too soft.”
This, it seems, is where the end of Stretch’s patience lies. Scoffing, he traps Edge’s arms under his own, gently securing them against his ribcage. “just shut up and snuggle already. don’t make me call red over.”
“Red would agree that I’m being unreasonable soft,” he grumbles in retort, even as he closes his eyes.
“yeah yeah, big guy. do you want some music?”
“As long as it isn’t any of your awful meme shit.”
Stretch shakes against him as he chuckles. Bringing out his phone, he says, “fine, but just know that i’m never gonna give you up ‘cause of your lack of true internet culture.”
“I resent that I understood that.”
For the rest of the morning, they stay curled up against each other. Drowsing, Edge sighs contentedly while Stretch whispers all sorts of information to him with a charming enthusiasm. It doesn’t dull his pain — even with the pain killers, there’s at least a little present, aching reminders of why he’s still in bed — but it sure as hell makes it more bearable.
Then again, Edge is a romantic fool. As far as he’s concerned, anything in life becomes more pleasant when Stretch is by his side.
Partway through an explanation of his plans for his next feat of engineering — meaning, of course, the intricate snow fort he’s wanting to make with the neighbourhood children — Stretch cuts off. Before Edge can ask what’s wrong, his love squirms around in his arms, facing him. Looking at his face so closely makes him feel a little cross-eyed, but it brings him within better kissing distance. Something, it seems, that Stretch seems to agree with, pressing his mouth against Edge’s oh so sweetly.
By the time he pulls back, Stretch is panting, face flushed. “hey.”
“Hey yourself,” Edge murmurs, ready to go back for more kisses and fuck his still aching bones, he’s already in bed with his pretty lover, might as well put it to better use.
That plan, however, doesn’t come to be. Not yet, at least; the day is still young. Instead, blush glowing more brightly, Stretch looks up at him with a shy expression. “i was wondering…”
When he doesn’t continue, Edge prompts, “You were wondering?”
“you can always say no. but. i was wondering if i could maybe try healing?” Stretch gestures vaguely, his hand implying at a wide selection of Edge’s scars.
Edge’s soul feels tight in his chest, straining against the constraints of his ribs out of his love for Stretch. Holding him more tightly, he says, “Love, my scars are just that: scars. They’re too old to benefit from any healing.”
“yeah, i know. i was just hoping that maybe, you know, it might help you feel better? maybe it might stop them from hurting a bit.”
“All right.”
Edge opens his arms, allowing Stretch to position himself more comfortably to heal. Soon, green surrounds his senses. Healing magic, the shade of freshly budding leaves, mists up from Stretch’s hands, seeking Edge’s body. As it passes through his bones, there is a distinct trickling of what can only be described as softness, the healing magic both pleasantly hot and refreshingly cool at once. Stretch keeps pushing it into him, a steady stream. Edge can’t say if it truly reduces his pain or if the love he feels for this sweet, brilliant, caring monster simply overshadows all of his aches. All he knows is that he tilts Stretch’s chin up to give his thanks from the very depths of his dark, broken, LV-filled soul in a lingering kiss.
“feeling better, babe?” Stretch laughs delightedly against his mouth. Edge is sure that if he let him, he would snuggle back in, probably for the rest of the day.
Tempting.
Rather than giving into that whim, Edge pinches Stretch’s coccyx through his sweatpants. As expected, he jumps in surprise, quite an amusing expression locked onto his face. Edge takes advantage of his distraction to sit up. His spine lets loose a long series of crackling pops, brief flares of increased pain exploding into small amounts of relief. Swinging his legs off the bed, he offers out a hand for Stretch to follow.
“I’m not sure how hungry you are, but I’m thinking about an early lunch.” Although, technically speaking, he supposes that it would be a late breakfast.
Stretch climbs off the bed with enough enthusiasm to nearly knock them both over. The blanket trails behind him. “that works for me. after, want me to run you a hot bath?”
Lifting Stretch’s hand to his mouth, Edge kisses it gratefully. “That sounds wonderful.”
Together, they shuffle towards the kitchen. Freshly swaddled in their blanket, Edge clings close to Stretch. And if he ever notices that sometimes Edge leans on him a little too much, making up for stiff joints buckling, he certainly doesn’t say anything; he appreciates Stretch for that. Plans for a quick lunch run through his mind. Anything that will grant him more time to stay close to Stretch, basking in his presence. That’s something to be grateful for all the time, cold-induced pain or not.
No matter the weather, one constant in life will always be his love for Stretch.