Work Text:
Mike wakes up sobbing, and they are not his tears. They've been here before, though, a thousand times and more. He reaches to the bedside table, feeling around for the drawer, and the tub within.
Only once it is in hand does he roll over, lazily nudging his face into the back of Pac's neck.
He earns a gasp, and a shudder, but also Pac uncurling just enough to be handed the cream.
Pac holds it in shaking hands, Mike follows the spikes of pain from their bond as he slathers some onto his fingers, then sleepily massages it into aching wounds - amputation scars, knife scars, the barely healed cut on his stomach...
As he works the sobbing quietens - for him, and for Pac.
They fall back asleep with the pot still open, wounds soothed, and wake in the morning to it spilt on the bed. Every time they promise to put it back next time.
Every time they forget.
Pac wakes up sobbing, and they are not his tears. They've been here before, but not as often as people seem to think. He rolls over with a lazy arm, flopping it over Mike's side.
Only once he is certain he is not making things worse, Pac pulls Mike against him, and presses his face into Mike's hair.
He gains an extra sob, louder than the rest, before Mike turns in the bed and buries himself into Pac's chest.
Mike shudders with the cold, scrabbling along their bond in a desperate attempt for comfort. Pac pulls him closer in body and in mind, cradling him and whispering to him and trying to warm him up in every way he knows how.
Soon enough their tears begin to dry - still they cling to each other, and hold on.
They don't go back to sleep, not on nights like this, not when to let reality drift is to be alone once again. Every second they spend promising they're together, they're safe, it's okay.
Every time fate has made liars of them yet.