Work Text:
Warm sunlight seeps out between a cover of thin wispy clouds reaching across the blue sky. Birds chirp their beautiful evening songs from the trees above. Sweat clings to your skin in a thin even layer, a single river trickling down between your shoulder blades to pool at the small of your back.
Luckily, despite The Clergy’s insistence that all Siblings of Sin are to wear uniforms, you had yet to encounter anyone who would enforce said dress code. And thank Satan for that. Otherwise you would have long since melted into a puddle under the sun. Wearing a pair of shorts and an all too big cut off shirt was all that was sparing you from the full brunt of the blazing Summer heat. Plans had been set to build a gazebo near their small pond in order to make the church grounds seem more lively and inviting. You happen to be among the Siblings tasked with making it happen.
Others had been with you through the day and afternoon, but without a supervisor to oversee their work, they all had decided to call the day early around 3PM. Ever the workaholic however, you were set on working until the expected 5PM cut off time. Even if that meant working alone. Why prolong a project more than is necessary? So, alone you stand as you place a level along a cross beam that would soon make up the floor. A few minor adjustments are made before you are expertly securing the board into place.
Along the outer edge of the frame of the gazebo some of the Brothers have dug small trenches where Primo plans to plant some of his rhododendrons. You remain completely unaware of the uneven earth surrounding you. Okay okay, so maybe you did know about your Brothers digging around the worksite. But what’s the phrase? Out of sight out of mind?
Taking a step backwards as you are turning around surely isn’t your brightest idea, but you are already in motion before the thought crosses your mind. Big mistake. As your foot twists along with you, it catches the edge of one of the many ditches and has your balance immediately thrown out the window. Strings of curses spill from your mouth as your world begins to turn horizontal.
Your ankle hits first, exposed skin dragging along rough dirt until the flesh is pink and raw. From ankle to knee your shin burns with the friction along the disheveled earth you come crashing down upon. All too late for salvation, your palms catch the grass in a futile attempt to stop your already stalled momentum, right hand catching and slicing layers deep. Flat on the ground you lie as you wait for the thunder in your chest to cease. But it doesn’t.
Tears bubble at the corner of your eyes as you try to make sense of what’s up from down. Frustration fueled panic sets in, inducing your anxiety to cloud your senses. Stomach churning, you can’t bring yourself to lift up and out from the shallow ditch. Can’t bring yourself to assess the damage. You are content to wallow in the makeshift grave until either the passing of the feeling of impending doom or Satan himself is ready to come claim you. Pressing your face down you try to let the soft grass kiss your cheeks and muffle the stutter of your quiet sobs.
“Caro, are you out here?” A breath hitches in your throat at the sound of a familiar accented voice. One you have grown to love, but one you dread to face in your current state.
Maybe, just maybe if you hold ever so still enough he won’t be able to spot you. But he isn’t that prehistoric. The last thing you want is your partner seeing you in such a sorry state. But you hear the crunch of footfalls through grass continues to creep closer. You can’t bring yourself to lift your head as the footsteps halt a few feet away.
“Napping on the job are we now, amore?” From an outsider’s view it surely looked as if you had stepped into the small hole and spread your upper half out amongst the grass.
You are somewhat sprawled out in an awkward way that if anxiety wasn’t killing you, you would find it quite comical as well. Kind of like a starfish clinging to the rocks of the tidepools. But we don’t always get what we want. Giving the single most pathetic whimper you have ever heard, you lift your head just enough to expose your big watery eyes and trembling bottom lip. Mismatched mirthful gaze turns somber within seconds as Papa Emeritus IV drops to a knee before you.
“Oh, caro, what happened? Did you take a tumble?” Copia speaks in such an easy soothing tone that is full of concern. At your nod, he gives the most heart wrenching frown. “May I see? Can you do that for me, amore?”
Stifling another sniffle you drop your face back into the grass but you lift your stinging hand, outstretching it away from you. Leather clad hands grasp your hand in a feather light touch before delicately turning it palm up. A whine leaves your lips as a thumb brushes along what you can only assume is a large gash splitting your palm.
“It’s not so bad topolino. Come take a look, si?” You really don’t want to, but as both thumbs move to rub gentle circles along your wrist you know that you have to. “Prometto, it truly is not as bad as you may think, amore mio.”
Sucking a deep breath in hopes it will provide the strength you require, you lift your head once again. Your eyes follow the same path as the mismatched pair before you to take in the damage.
“Oh...”
You feel just as small as you are sure your voice sounds in the moment. A mere two inch cut is what you see before you. Blood is clearly seen between the torn skin, but it is trapped below the surface of another layer of skin already sealed off due to the angle of the wound. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks as you drop your head and let out a pitiful wail. Tugging at your arm, you try to pull from Copia’s grasp to curl up in on yourself. But he holds fast.
“No, no none of that! There is nothing to be ashamed of mio dolce ragazzo!” His hands slide down your forearm to grasp just above the elbow. As you pause your retreat, Copia takes that as his go ahead to continue. “Will you come out so I may see all of you?”
Eyes lifting to meet those of your lover, you silently beg for him to lend you some of his strength. Sensing what you need, Copia gives you a bright beaming smile that tells you without words that he believes in all that you are. Another whimper passes your lips, but in a way that communicates your appreciation.
Reaching your other arm out towards Copia, you wait for him to take hold and begin to move backwards. Half being pulled and half crawling, you manage to slither out of your pit of despair only to sprawl awkwardly partially in Copia’s lap. He hums and coos at you as he shuffles your limbs around until you are cradled perfectly between his legs and side pressed to his chest.
“That’s it,” Copia gives one of those old man sighs of comfort and content as he gives you praise and holds you to him. “Now let Papa see the rest, si? Let me take care of you.”
Nodding, still not quite ready to use your words, you press your face into his neck and point him towards your shins. Unlike your palm, your left leg looks a bit worse for wear. From ankle to knee your skin is a practically glowing shade of radiant pink. Patches of skin in areas are rubbed away and completely raw, oozing bits of blood and plasma. It will certainly be a big mess of scabs come the following day.
“You will be fine,” Copia’s soothing voice hums as one hand rubs up and down your bicep. “Just a few scrapes and booboos, nothing you cannot handle, si?”
Once again you nod, head tucked nicely into his neck. But that is all the answer Copia needs. Rather than pushing you before you are ready, Copia is content to simply hold you until you decide to tell him the chain of events that led him to finding you this way. Focusing on the steady rise and fall of his chest with breath puts you more and more at ease with each passing moment. Nuzzling once into his neck, you finally sigh and straighten your back.
“Are you ready to tell Papa what happened?” Copia’s voice regains his teasing tone as he takes note of your improved mood. It earns him a small giggle and soft elbow jab to the ribs. He takes it as a sign he has done his job.
“I uh... forgot that the others had dug out some holes for Primo’s flowers. And well, I kept working after they all decided to leave early,” your hands are moving and gesturing, conveying nothing really in particular as you explain your mishap. “So there I was making sure the board was level, then I stepped back as I was turning to grab something and... and well then I was in a ditch. It seems my clumsiness knows no bounds.”
All the while Copia listens intently, reassuring hands giving you a gentle squeeze whenever your speech begins to falter. When you’ve finished, he gives a nod and gains a look of being deep in thought. Holding you close to his chest, Copia lets his eyes meet yours before he speaks.
“I see, topolino,” a thumb reaches up to brush along your cheek. “Would you like for me to punish the other Siblings for abandoning their duties early? It is not safe to leave a Brother to work alone on the job.”
For probably too long you consider the thought. Sure, had the others been there you may have not fallen. Or even if you did, they at least would have been there to help you immediately instead of leaving you to wallow with frustrated anxiety.
“No, Copia,” you punctuate his name by placing a kiss along the bottom of his jaw. “Thank you for the offer though.”
“Are you sure? I know Sister Imperator would be more than delighted to subject them to a weekend of work.”
Snaking your arms around your Papa’s shoulders, you smile and once more press your nose into his neck. Without a doubt you could see Sister full of glee at putting more work onto the shoulders of your Siblings.
“Yes, I am sure. It wasn’t their fault, and I just as well could have gone with them when they all left. But you know me, a big workaholic.” You feel the way Copia leans into your touch. “However,” you break the brief pause of silence. “I would love it if a certain Papa were to carry me back to his room to get cleaned up...maybe even to share a hot bath with.”
Happy chuckles leave your partner as he slides an arm under your legs. A small giggling scream leaves you as you are lifted into the air as Copia stands. Though you hear the creak of his old joints, he shows no signs of strain or discomfort under your added weight.
“That I can arrange, amore mio,” you don’t miss the eyebrow wiggle he gives before setting towards his room at a more than walking pace.