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Ashton shifts on the mattress, trying to get comfortable in their unfamiliar surroundings. It’s been a long fucking day, and as fascinating as all of this is–as well as enlightening in regards to what makes Fearne Fearne –they can’t shake a prickle of unease at being so far away from anything they know. They couldn’t get back to familiar turf on their own. They don’t like needing to rely on other people like that, especially people they hardly know. Despite the rest of the Hells’ apparent trust in this Planerider Ryn, Ashton doesn’t know the odd tiefling from a stranger on the street.
If Ashton wasn’t already so on edge, the knock on their door probably would have startled them. As things stand, it’s just one more potential danger to add to the tally in the back of their mind.
And anyway, the familiar voice that follows soon after the knock is enough to…not put Ashton at ease, exactly, but at least not wear any further on their already frayed nerves.
“Ash? You in there?” Orym sounds about as relaxed as Ashton feels.
“Yeah, I’m here, come in.” They’re fucking exhaustedand, as strange as this place is, the bed is fucking comfortable. They’d rather not get up unless they have to fight something.
The door swings open and Ashton watches Orym take in the cubby of a room Fearne had pointed him toward when he’d asked where he could crash for the night, after it became clear that she didn’t intend to go to bed any time soon and if he wanted to sleep he was going to have to take matters into his own hands.The space is small and rounded, with wooden walls interspersed between branches that curl up and cradle the floor. The ceiling is a canopy of leaves that shift and rustle in a nonexistent breeze. Small multicolored lights are suspended amongst the greenery, filling the room with a dim glow which fades and flickers in a way not dissimilar to the light emanating from Ashton’s head.
The space is almost entirely taken up by the bed Ashton sprawls on, a mass of pillowy cushions draped in jewel-toned blankets that rests directly on the tree-bark floor. There are bits and baubles scattered about the room–some tossed haphazardly in corners and some balanced skillfully among the knotted branches. Ashton had understood instantly upon entering the room both Fearne’s love of trinkets and her conviction that no one will notice if a few go missing here and there.
Ashton watches Orym take all of this in with one quick pass around the space, and then his too-intense focus settles on them. They can almost feel his eyes scanning their body, prodding at the sore places, taking stock in a way that feels almost…angry.
“Thought you’d be in bed already.” It’s late. Or, Ashton thinks it’s late. And anyway Orym’s been quiet all afternoon, at least since they joined back up with the group.
“Yeah, well, I guess we can’t always predict where each other will be.” His voice is hard. Ashton frowns, confused. They play back the sound of Orym’s voice through the door from a few moments ago. Had it been colder than normal? Shit, is Orym mad at them?
Ashton almost asks, but a stubborn streak in them shuts that down. If Orym’s pissed he can tell them himself. With his fucking words. Ashton’s too tired to people any more than he already is by letting Orym in here in the first place.
Orym seems to take note of their silence. He steps further into the room and closes the door behind him. Ashton notices then that he’s holding something; an ornate wooden box that definitely fits in with the antique eclectic vibe of Fearne’s childhood home. They raise an eyebrow.
As always, Orym notices. “Letters is tapped and stressed. Fearne is distracted. You’re beat to the hells, and I’m low on med supplies. So I asked…Nana,” There’s the briefest of hesitations before Orym uses the title Morrigan had insisted they call her after Fearne introduced them all as her new best friends in the entire world, “if I could borrow her first aid kit.”
Ashton grimaces. “I think I might rather take my chances than risk whatever’s in there.”
Orym’s scowl–he’s definitely scowling now–deepens. “No.”
Ashton shifts to face him head on. “‘No’?” They shake their head. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means we’re a team and we work together and we don’t run off while everyone’s back is turned to somewhere we can’t look after each other.” Orym’s voice is rough. It trembles a bit now that he’s speaking in more than clipped sentences.
“I was looking out for the group.” They insist. “I told you, I thought Violet was after us, so–”
“So you went after a potential assassin on your own without telling anyone what was going on. Great teamwork, Ash.”
They roll their eyes. “Look, you’re clearly pissed at me, so le’t’s fucking have it out now, or else leave. I’m too fucking tired for this shit.” Ashton returns Orym’s scowl with a glare of his own. He’s already in a bad mood from the shit with Violet, and he’s sore and worn out and nervous about being in such an unpredictable place. And now steady, calm Orym is pissed off at them and Ashton doesn’t even understand why.
They hold that standoff for a long moment, eyes locked, silent.
Finally, Orym breaks. He looks away, and his voice comes out quieter, though no less firm. “I’m not mad at you, Ash. I’m just…worn out.” He lifts the box again. “How about you let me patch you up so we can go to bed and today can be over?”
Ashton hesitates. There’s definitely something off about Orym, but if he doesn’t want to talk about it, they’re not exactly one to argue. Besides, he really does feel like shit, and if something in Nana’s box can make him feel better, he’ll take it.
There’s also the nagging ache in the back of their mind telling them that if they keep poking at Orym one day he might actually leave, and after the day of separation they’ve had, that’s not what they want.
They still haven’t totally recovered from the spike of anxiety that followed Imogen’s message about skipping town, stat.
“Fine.” They say, sitting up and facing Orym.
He joins them on the mattress, placing the first aid kit on the bed between them. He goes to open it, and then pauses, putting a hand on the lid and looking up at Ashton with an almost playful spark in his eyes, all traces of whatever is off today gone for a moment. He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I honestly have no idea what’s gonna be in here, so maybe…brace yourself.” Orym really has no right to be so endearing, especially when Ashton’s trying to be in a bad fucking mood.
“I don’t really know how to brace for anything here, considering the fucking flowers outside tried to eat us for singing at them, but okay.” They nod at Orym, and the seriousness is back to his face as he slowly opens the box.
Ashton peers inside. The box has no semblance of organization to it. Bits and pieces are scattered throughout the contents; strands of ribbon, clumps of moss, buttons, something that almost looks like money. Before Ashton can comment, the contents begin to rustle, and a small purple lizard scurries its way out of the box and up Orym’s arm. They both jump, and then fast as lighting it leaps onto the nearby wall and disappears into the greenery above.
“How important do you think that little guy was?” Orym asks, frozen with his hand still on the box’s lid.
“Oh, my money’s on Fearne being the one who put it there.” Ashton shakes their head fondly.
“Right. I guess I owe her a pet lizard.” Cautiously, Orym digs through the rest of the contents, none of which seem to be alive. He does come up with some ointment, which he sniffs and seems confident enough of its medicinal properties, as well as a few candies that remind Ashton of the ones they’d caught Fearne pilfering from Bertrand’s body.
Orym sets the box aside. “I know you got hit in the face, is that the worst of it?” he asks.
Ashton considers for a moment, and then nods. They’d been tied up pretty tightly while they were passed out, but their skin is too tough for any kind of rope burn. There’s the normal aches and pains of course, but their captors hadn’t been very creative, especially since they couldn’t figure out why Ashotn’s apparently human face hurt so bad to hit.
Orym nods, too, and digs in his own pack for a cloth. “This stuff might sting, but it’ll be good for the bruises, and it should help the swelling go down.”
“S’fine.” Ashton tips their left cheek towards Orym. They’d been grateful at least that their bad side took the brunt of the punches–their left eye is swollen enough that if it were their good eye they’d be walking around nearly blind.
Orym dips his cloth in the ointment, and then gently spreads it across their cheekbone. It does sting, but not badly. The stuff smells cool and minty, although just a little bit…off, like whatever it's made of is too alien to put their finger on, exactly. The stinging fades, leaving a dim numbness behind. It’s nice. Ashton leans into the feeling, eyes drifting shut.
They settle into silence, Orym working carefully, his small fingers pressing gently against their jaw, guiding them to turn their head to give him better access to their bruises.
After a few minutes, Orym breaks the silence. “We turned around and you were just gone. ” That wrongness is back in his voice. Ashton opens their eyes.
Orym’s hands are shaking, just a little. If Ashton didn’t know his hands to be ever-steady, he wouldn’t have picked up on it. He tries to catch Orym’s eyes, but he pointedly looks down, scooping more ointment onto his rag.
“You can’t disappear on me– us –like that.”
Ashton blinks. Orym sounds…almost afraid? Did he think they’d just ditch the group like that? Ashton almost wants to laugh. If anyone got ditched it would be them. They did get ditched. They scoff. “Not like anybody fucking missed me. You went to the fucking fire plane without me?” They don’t know why they’re so pissed off. The fire plane sounds like a shitty place to be. But the idea of being alone, of the rest of the Hells being somewhere Ashton couldn’t follow…it brings back those first moments after the shit at Hexum’s. Would any of the Hells stay, like Milo did? Fresh Cut Grass? Potentially. Orym? He doesn’t know.
They hadn’t realized how much they cared about this group. How much it would hurt if they got left behind, again .
“You ran off on us, what were we supposed to do? Imogen barely had enough magic to find you, because you didn’t tell anyone where you were.”
Ashton scoffs. “If it was that big a fucking inconvenience you should have just skipped town and left me behind.” The words come out without them really thinking about it, and immediately they wish they could take them back. Orym has fallen silent, the anger draining from his eyes. Fuck. Ashton hates that look.
“Ash–”
“Forget it.” He turns, pulling away from Orym’s touch. He lets them go. “It doesn't matter.”
“Of course it matters.” Orym sounds even more upset now. Of-fucking-course he does. That’s all Ashton ever manages to do. Orym takes a deep breath. “I…the reason I was so upset is because when I turned around and you were gone I…” his voice breaks, “I panicked for a second. Or…more than a second.” Ashton turns to face him again. “I know it’s not rational and I know you can take care of yourself, but…people can disappear so fast. ” Orym looks down, wipes at his eyes. “I guess I just assumed you would know that I…I can’t lose you.”
Ashton closes his eyes. “Yeah, well. No one’s ever cared about losing me before.”
Orym’s expression darkens. “That’s on them, not you. And I…I didn’t think about how all of this would…bring up the past for you, too.” He reaches out slowly to put a hand on Ashton’s knee. They let him, even though they feel like an asshole. Of course losing Will has made Orym extra cautious. If they were a better friend they would have thought of that, like how Orym thought about the fact that the entire fucking party traveling to another plane of existence would scare the shit out of Ashton. Instead, they got pissed at Orym for being pissed at them for reminding him of his dead fucking husband. Gods, they’re shit at this. “I just…it’s been…a lot, lately. And you disappeared, and then we ran into Ludinus, and I thought maybe he had…” Orym’s voice breaks, and he shakes his head, seemingly unwilling to continue down that train of thought. “I’m not going anywhere, Ash. I don’t like losing people. And you’re…I can’t lose you.”
“Don’t know why. I’m kind of an asshole.” It’s not so much that he thinks Orym is lying to him–he can tell Orym thinks he means every word. It’s more that he’s heard this shit before, and it always ends the same. They don’t want to say that, though. Like speaking the words might bring the ending hurtling that much faster towards them.
Orym must read it on their face anyway. “You are.” There’s a smile in his voice now, and Ashton has no idea how with just two words Orym can make the worst parts of them feel like fucking virtues. “But you’re not, too. I saw how you were with Kai. She was lost, and scared, and you made sure she knew she was safe, and she understood what was about to happen, and she was okay with it. A lot of assholes wouldn’t have bothered.”
Ashton shrugs. “Yeah, well, I was…pretty messed up, at first. After…” they gesture to their head. “I was…confused, and I couldn’t always remember where I was, or how to say shit. It was…awful. I was scared pretty much all the time.” Their voice cracks a little bit, and fuck, it’s been forever. They thought they were over this shit. They drag a hand across their face, trying to get it together. They’ve never admitted how terrifying that time of their life was, not even to Milo, who witnessed it. The one good thing is that Orym isn’t saying shit. Maybe he can sense that Ashton can’t take his pity. Or sympathy. Or whatever the fuck he feels. They’re scared to look and see. “Anyway, Milo was real good at calming me down. They’re…fucking patient. Gods know how many times they had to tell me the Nobodys were gone, and it never got…I never took it well.” They clear their throat. “I was just trying to do what they did for me.”
It’s silent for a long moment. Finally, Ashton braves a glance at Orym. His eyes are red-rimmed and wet. Ashton winces, and Orym immediately shakes his head.
“It’s not pity, Ash. It’s not even really about you. It’s me being selfish and thinking about how close I came to never getting to know you.” He takes a deep breath, wipes at his eyes. “I know we both have our…stuff.” That’s the understatement of the week , Ashton thinks, but he doesn't say anything. “I’m trying not to let mine make me afraid of…this.” He gestures between them. “Do you think maybe…we can start trusting each other to not disappear?”
Ashton hesitates. They want that. They really do. But they’ve also been in more than enough fights to know that the hits that hurt the most are the ones they’re not braced for. They don’t think they can handle losing Orym once they’ve learned to depend on him.
But how can they say no when Orym’s looking at them like that?
“Okay. We can try it.” He takes a deep breath. “Fuck.”
Orym smiles. “Yeah. These past few weeks have been…hard.”
Ashton pauses, studying Orym. He remembers the conversation they had on the airship, after Chetney lost his shit. About them asking each other for help when they need it. This is pretty much the closest to admitting he’s not okay Orym ever gets. “Are you good?”
There’s a long beat of silence. “...For now.” Orym finally says, straightening his shoulders. He sniffs, wipes at his face. “Bend down so I can finish this, and we can go to sleep.”
Ashton complies. He lets Orym slather what is probably an excessive amount of ointment on his bruises. FCG will probably insist on fixing them the rest of the way in the morning. One day away from his friends and he’d already missed being taken care of. It’s risky. It’s good.
“Hey. I’m…sorry. For disappearing on you.” Discomfort twists under their skin, but they push on. They hate this, but they’re pretty sure it’s what Orym needs. Maybe what Ashton needs, too. “I sorta thought…I guess I assumed no one would notice. Or…care. But I should have…I didn’t think about how it would make you feel. With…Will.”
Orym’s touch stills for a moment, and then he’s moving again, gently massaging the medicine into their skin. He’s moved down their jaw, to the point where their head meets their neck. Ashton’s pretty sure there are no bruises there, but it feels good anyway.
“Thanks.” Orym murmurs. His voice has that fragile lilt to it that he always gets when he talks about this, like he’s tiptoeing around memories he doesn’t want to awaken. “I’m sorry I got mad instead of talking to you.”
Ashton smiles a little. “Honestly, I’d rather get yelled at than do…this.”
Orym smiles, too. “It’s hard.” He pauses. “But…worth it.”
Ashton doesn’t say anything.
When he’s done, Orym wordlessly kicks off his shoes and settles on the bed next to Ashton. They smile. “I thought for sure you’d want to check out Fearne’s childhood bedroom.”
Orym hums sleepily. “I’m sure we’ll be here more than one night. Assuming Nana doesn’t kill us in our sleep.” He yawns. “For tonight, I’d like to stay by you.” He peels his eyes open, suddenly unsure. “If…that’s okay?”
“It is.” They settle under the blankets with Orym, one hand reaching across the cushions to find his. This is good, too. Ashton really fucking hopes it lasts.