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The new year had come and went and the holiday season dragged on far past its welcome. Going back to the office was an experience that some would label as "weird" considering someone died on the job – even if it was just for a couple days. Now that everyone is caught in the slump of mid-January and finally took the Christmas decorations down, everything feels normal again.
Mr. Boss has asked Charlie a million times if he’s safe to make people smile given the previous situation... of his death. Every time there was an answer of “yes” to varying levels of formality. Charlie just acted like nothing happened and refused to talk about it to anybody, no matter how much they asked.
Charlie remembered everything, every painful detail, every step he took to find Satan. He just didn’t know where to start talking about it and people respected that. He didn't need to dump his trauma onto his co-workers who probably wouldn't get paid to help. Sure, they would listen to him ramble, but he didn't want to push that boundary or open up that much.
And Charlie never said anything about it. End of story.
After a busy week at work, Charlie was glad to just sleep in the next morning. Pim made them both dinner and they watched a season of the Mr. Frog show, talking through most of it and kissing for the rest of it. Pim was ready for bed the second the TV clicked off and they both went into their normal nighttime routine. The yellow critter would pick up the clothes on his bedroom floor, have a cigarette, brush his teeth and get into bed. Pim would tidy up every other room, join Charlie to brush his teeth, then huddle up right next to Charlie in bed. It wasn't anything crazy, but neither of them needed that. The simple and domestic routine was enough for them. Charlie fell asleep on his back, an arm wrapped around Pim who half assedly had an arm draped over Charlies chest to try and keep him in place.
They both needed the sleep after the week they had which made Charlie all the more pissed when he suddenly woke up with a twitch that resonated through his whole body.
Charlie frowned and stared at the ceiling with eyes that are still blurry from sleep. He craned his neck and blinked a dozen times to finally read the dim alarm clock that said 2:43am in it's ugly neon green. That just made him frown harder and close his eyes, facing the ceiling again. He probably woke up because of a particularly hard snore.
No, Pim would have woken him up first to roll him onto his side to try and combat the noise. That meant there was a dream involved, but Charlie couldn't remember it.
Whatever was bothering him in the dream didn’t stick around long in his mind but managed to shake him enough that he started to sweat. Charlie ran warm compared to everyone else, he’s a big critter with unhealthy habits, of course he sweats a lot. Pim thought it was nice since they could keep the temperature of the apartment to a minimum and it's still cold outside. Obviously, the warmer critter agreed until summer rolls around.
Charlie couldn't think about it for long until he felt short of breath. Again, that feeling wasn’t unfamiliar to him. He smoked so he was bound to have trouble breathing one day but he didn’t expect it to happen to him in his thirties, let alone in the middle of the night. Maybe sleeping on his back clogged his nose up... somehow. It's a big nose with a mind of its own and Charlie couldn't always rely on it.
He wiped at his forehead with the forearm that Pim wasn’t clinging to before opening his mouth to breathe a little better. Pim would have absolutely called Charlie out for mouth breathing if he was awake, but he isn't awake, so it's fine. Charlie held his breath for a second and put a clammy hand onto the center of naked chest, right over the cross necklace he wore, and felt it rise and fall with each shallow breath.
One inhale in particular makes Charlie grimace and grit his teeth to try and not let a sound out. His right side was hit with a sharp pain, like a very intense cramp from running or sitting in a weird position for too long, but he wasn't doing either of those. He drank sometimes and it wasn't nearly enough to shut his kidneys down.
Right. He was stabbed and tortured in Hell. The yellow critter didn't expect the stab wounds to scar once he came back from the explosive goop mess he crashed his own funeral as -- but they did scar. And they hurt. It felt like he was getting stabbed by those hot, pointy, pitchforks all over again.
Charlie forced one of his eyes to crack open and look at Pim who was still sound asleep, holding onto his larger hand. He doesn’t know what’s going on and Charlie wants to keep it that way. This was his problem to deal with, not Pim’s. It wouldn’t even be the first time he had a bad dream since he came back, people have nightmares all the time. Hallways that go on forever, going back to school, teeth falling out... what makes a dream about Charlie going to Hell and getting tortured any different?
Pim's shoulders were rising and falling slowly, lips parted to let drool seep onto the pillow, and he looked so comfortable. It almost made Charlie jealous. How could one crittter be sleeping so soundly? It feels like there's no more oxygen in the room but that doesn't bother Pim in the slightest. Probably because Pim isn't bordering on hyperventilating.
Slowly, Charlie props himself up and tilts his head back, the movement sending another series of sharp pains up his side. He clutches at his side and moves a shaky arm away from Pim's hold. The last thing he wants to do is wake Pim up and explain what he’s doing.
And to be honest? Charlie doesn’t know what’s happening.
The yellow critter sits up and puts both hands on the end of his round nose, trying to cope with the sudden sense of nausea by audibly gasping for air, but the gasp turns into a gag. He doesn't have a lot of time to recover before he shoves the blankets away and stands up from the bed.
He ignores the half awake and tired “Charlie?” from the now awake critter he shared his bed with as he fumbled his way into the bathroom. Every step on the worn carpet feels like his legs are fighting back and ready to collapse under his weight, not nearly awake as his brain and lungs are.
Charlie has partied enough to know when he’s going to throw up. He has been high, drunk, cross-faded, blasted, crunk, and any other possible combination of syllables to convey he was fucked up. But it never felt like this. Even his first bong rip, where his lungs were shredded by the asshole who didn’t warn him that it would burn, didn’t feel like this.
The light switch goes ignored as Charlie hunches over the toilet bowl and throws up the dinner Pim made for the both of them.
It just makes him feel worse. Throwing up normally helps settle the stomach and relax the mind for just a minute, but as he kneels there, clinging onto the porcelain for dear life, he doesn’t know how much worse this can get. The dinner Pim made wasn’t meant to be thrown up. The sense of dread he suddenly feels -- or at least now acknowledges -- makes him choke on air again.
He lets his body lean against the tub and immediately tenses up as his warm and sticky skin makes contact with cold porcelain. He turns his attention to the water-damaged ceiling which was caused from the apartment above, and tries to make sense of the incoherent shapes. Both hands rest on his torso, one covers his heart, the other covers his still uneasy stomach.
Finally, his breathing steadies, his heart stops beating at a rate of an iconic peanut jig, and he doesn't feel like removing everything in his stomach again. He leans over to flush the toilet with a shaking hand before using the toilet seat to pull himself up from the ground. Charlie blindly fumbles in the cabinet above the sink for mouthwash, knowing he’d regret it in the morning if he didn’t do this now. Charlie fumbles with the damn childproof safety cap before taking a swig straight from the bottle before closing it again. He swishes the minty alcohol water for a minute before spitting in the sink, clutching one half of the door frame as he does so.
Charlie looks in the mirror and with the faint light from the window in his bedroom, he can tell that he looks pale. The thought crosses his mind that he looks dead, but he quickly shakes that from his subconscious. He died once. But he’s alive now. He really is. Charlie rubs at his face before letting go of the doorframe and shuffling back into his shared bedroom.
He only looks up from the floor once he’s halfway towards the bed because he feels Pim's large eyes staring at him.
“Is everything alright?” Pim asks, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes to wake himself up the best he can. Pim would do anything for Charlie and go to any length to make him feel better, but Charlie didn’t know if that was what he wanted right now. He opted to shift his weight and look away from Pim, trying to find somewhere to put his hands. He scratches at the hair on his chest then crosses his arms, just to uncross them so they rest stiffly at his side.
“Charlie, why don’t you… sit down with me, yeah?” Pim suggests, patting at the divot Charlie has made over the years of using the same mattress. Charlie nods and does just that. He sits on the bed so his legs are dangling off the side of it, his back is to Pim so he can distract himself with the messy floor of his room. It’s covered in stains from the past tenants (even though quite a few are from himself) he just never cared enough to clean it.
But he didn’t care about self-preservation. That’s why he died.
There’s a light rustle of the blankets as Pim pushes them aside and sits next to Charlie, resting his hand near the larger one just in case Charlie needed it. Pim pulled at the bottom of the shirt he was wearing, something that was Charlie's which didn’t fit him anymore so Pim just added it to his own wardrobe.
“It’s probably the dark playing tricks on me, Charlie, but you look horrible.” Pim mumbles, leaning on Charlie’s bicep. That gets the yellow critter to scoff. “Do you want to talk?” Charlie doesn’t answer, so Pim takes it as a no. “Let’s lay back down, that normally helps when I'm feeling nauseous so it might help for you too.”
Pim scoots away from Charlie and gets back under the covers, holding them up for the other critter. He sighs and swings his legs onto the bed before leaning against the pillows in a scuffed half-laying-down position. Pim drapes the blanket over Charlie before curling back up against his side, resting his head on Charlie’s chest, listening to the fast heartbeat.
They sit there in silence for a while and it wouldn’t be a surprise if one of them fell asleep. There’s the occasional city sound outside their window, someone yells on the sidewalk followed by a car horn honk then the screech of tires. The city is like white noise to them at this point.
“I saw the devil.”
“What?”
“When I died, I saw the devil. I went to Hell.”
Pim doesn’t say anything and neither does Charlie. Pim looks up at him, trying to read his expression for any indicator that would contrast his dull and nasally voice, but there’s nothing, his expression is blank and his eyes are staring at the dresser across the room. A siren wails in the distance and Pim tenses, feeling Charlie take in a deep breath.
"When I died, I met the devil, Satan, whatever. He was- he reminded me of... me. I'm not a bad guy, shitty yeah for sure. You’ve seen how I can get. But this guy, Satan, was- he- I don't think that was where I should have gone." Charlie spoke slowly and softly, with pauses between his words as he tries to think of them as he goes along. Pim just sits there and listens, feeling his own heartbeat pick up at the new information he's being given.
"I traveled across the rings of Hell to meet the guy to get out. I thought I could make him smile, it’s my job to do that. I thought if I made him smile then he'd- Satan would send me back to Earth. It was bullshit, he didn’t, I don’t know why I thought he would,” he gives a shaky laugh before tilting his head back. “I died, Pim. You watched me die. I should be dead right now. But I’m not. And I don’t know why I’m not trapped in Hell right now. I think it's freaking me out."
Charlie doesn't say anything else and Pim is at a loss for words, which plunges them into another period of silence. Pim tightens his grip on Charlie and scoots closer to which Charlie wraps his arms around Pim in response. He shifts his gaze to the window by his bed and scoffs.
“Christ, I sound like a quivering pussy right now. Talking about how I died and stuff. Look at my hands, man, they're shaking like I just got hit by a cattle-prod.” Charlie chuckles, holding a very shaky hand up for Pim to look at.
Pim hums and takes a hold of Charlie's hand before pressing a light kiss to his knuckles.
"You're not a "pussy," Charlie. You were traumatized and have no way to process what happened to you. I can't relate to how you..." he trails off before clearing his throat, "but I can say that I'm here for you. Chances are, you'll never forget what happened. You'll wake up with anxiety and panic, just like I do sometimes. I still think about it. Seeing you like that and knowing it was the nasty argument I started. You- what happened to you was nothing short of horrid. But for some odd reason you're back. And I wouldn't change that for the world. I’m just glad you’re here with me, Charlie."
Silence returns, but this time it’s comfortable. Or as comfortable as it can be. They both have a lot more to say and neither of them are strong enough to say anything else.
Charlie gives a loud sniffle before rubbing at his face. He would never admit to crying and Pim would never acknowledge it. That’s what was great about Pim – or one great thing about him. He knew what Charlie was and wasn’t comfortable with. He could have pestered Charlie day after day about what happened when he died, but he didn’t. Pim just held onto him a little tighter and kept a closer eye on the critter to make sure nothing weird happened.
Pim softly scratched at Charlies chest and mumbled a series of "it's alright" and "do what you have to" as Charlie bit back every sound his body wanted to make. He was an alpha male, he shouldn't be crying over a bad dream or even at the concept of mortality. That's for weak beta males. Charlie gives a shaky laugh before coughing.
“I’ve had bad trips before, but nothing like how I feel now.” Charlie mumbles, voice sounding worse for wear. If the context wasn’t what it was, Pim would have said it sounded attractive.
“How do you feel right now, Charlie?” Pim asked, keeping his voice right above a whisper.
“Shitty.”
“How though? Like you’re being strangled, or you ate something nasty?”
“Both... I think. It’s- I threw up and couldn’t breathe, got the shakes like I hadn’t had a drink in weeks. I'm still shaking and it's hard to even think.” Charlie had a drink with dinner so there was no way it could have been withdrawal, even if he was cutting back how much he drank. Pim hums and thinks for a second.
“I think you had an anxiety attack, Charlie.”
“What?”
“An anxiety attack. When you feel like you have no control of the situation or your thoughts. It gets hard to breathe and depending on how bad it is you could throw up or have chest pains and-“ Charlie cuts him off.
“I know what they are, dude. I just… haven’t had one.”
“Not before tonight.”
Charlie scoffs and looks down at Pim. “Guess not.”
Pim laughs before closing his eyes. He pressed a kiss to Charlie's neck which was the easiest place to reach without moving around too much. Given the fact Charlie threw up within the hour, he didn’t really want to go near his lips until he knew that there was a toothbrush in there. Drinking from the mouthwash bottle was something Charlie did when he was too tired to brush his teeth which was gross but that just added to his charm.
"You're probably exhausted. Let's try and go back to bed, yeah? Tomorrow is Saturday, so we don't have to go to work. We'll spend the whole day together if that's what you want, you know I’m here for you." Pim offers, drawing an idle heart on Charlie's chest to keep his body and mind hopefully occupied.
Charlie gives a weak "okay" before laying down on his side and taking Pim with him. Pim adjusts himself so he put his face in Charlie’s chest and wraps his arms around his large frame the best he could. They lay there again before Charlie laughs.
"You're too good at your job, man. Making me smile and shit after trauma dumping like that."
Pim smiles and kisses Charlie’s chest. "I'm too good at caring for my friends, even if there are nasty arguments. I'm just..." Pim falls quiet before sighing. "I'm just glad you're here with me again, Charlie. I don’t think I can say that enough. I don't need to know what else happened in those two days you were gone, but it wasn't good for anybody. God knows how you felt about it."
Charlie hums in agreement, the noise resonating in his chest in something akin to a purr. It was one of the few things Charlie would do only around Pim.
“If you want me to talk about that shit more, erm, don’t- you’ll have to give me time. I’m still processing it. Dying isn’t as easy as old people make it out to be.” Charlie figured that if he put that offer out there it would be good for the sake of their sanities.
“That works for me,” Pim chuckles into Charlie's chest, rubbing a hand up and down his side, feeling at the scar tissue before resting his hand on his love handles. “But I’m serious, Charlie, we should sleep. I’m exhausted.”
“From dealing with me? Thanks, Pim.”
“Oh, shut it, that’s not what I meant. It's almost three in the morning. You don’t have to make it weird.” That gets Charlie to chuckle out a string of “okay”s before draping his arm over the smaller critters side.
Pim falls asleep first, he always does.
Charlie spends a few minutes thinking about what happened that night out in the woods. They fought and then he died. That could have been the last thing they did. But it wasn’t. There was bound to be more fights but no more deaths. Giving a deep sigh, Charlie closes his eyes and tries to find the power to sleep again.
For the first time in weeks, he doesn’t dream about anything.