Work Text:
They are curled up on the floor of the haunted library, and nobody is really sure what to do. Some bread had been shared around earlier, but all they have is what is on their persons.
Everyone has split off into smaller groups, huddled together wherever there is space. Some of them can be heard talking in low voices, but with the eggs asleep they try to keep it quiet.
Felps is already asleep again, face buried in Pac's back as he clings. Richarlyson has somehow wormed his way between them, while Ramón sleeps sat against a bookshelf. His head has drifted to rest on his father's side, Fit keeping watch as he keeps Pac's head in his lap and plays with his hair. Bagi sits on his other side, Empanada asleep in her lap. Mike thinks she was trying to keep watch as well, but joined her daughter a few minutes ago.
Mike himself is pressed against Pac's front, awkwardly propped up on Fit's knee. It's worth it, though, to be able to curl properly about his best friend. Prison has torn all of their trauma back to light, but Pac...
Fuck, they are so lucky he only managed to steal half a handful of sleeping pills.
There's no way they could treat him, not in the prison and certainly not here.
"You good, Mike?" Fit tries to keep his voice quiet, but it's still deep enough to carry.
"He's a fucking idiot," Mike says, in lieu of an answer. "I swear, if he pulls this shit again I'll kill him. If- If he wants to die so bad I'll- I'll'-"
Fit's hand shifts from Pac's hair to Mike's, not petting but instead allowing his thumb to rub circles just behind Mike's ear. Mike allows the tension to drain a little.
"We'll work on it," Fit promises. "He's safe for now. We're all safe for now. It'll be better now we're away, and you'll both get to see it."
With something called a reset and instability? It's not going to last.
Mike tells Fit as much, and gets laughter in return.
"You get used to it," Fit replies, not unkindly but not gently either. "People only trash so many of your bases before you give up on getting attached."
"I know that," Mike snaps back, and maybe it hasn't been bases but he and Pac have lost nearly as many homes as they are years old.
Between the orphanage, and the streets, and a life of crime then being on the run. The island is the first time they've had a home that felt like - maybe - it was theirs to keep, and already it is being torn away.
He should have known better than to hope.
"Hey, hey," Fit taps him for attention. "None of that shit. We've got each other still - between you, me, Pac, and the kids we'll get a house sorted in no time. Sand and concrete isn't much - we can still make that house Pac wanted. Just need to start again."
And Mike... he doesn't know how to say that, after this, he isn't sure Pac is still going to want a house. Maybe it's changed, but what he's always wanted before was a small, dark hole, somewhere hidden and secret and enclosed on all sides. There's comfort in hiding and in anonymity, and fuck knows he'll need the comfort after this.
Mike's comfort is Pac's comfort.
Either way, he doesn't care.
"It'll suck," Mike replies.
"It always does," and Fit sounds so tired. Still he says, "go to sleep, Mike - I'll keep an eye out and we can sort it in the morning."
Mike doesn't think he can, but he sees the out for what it is. He tucks Pac closer to himself - a little awkward for Felps and Richarlyson also clinging, and even worse for Fit's knees - and finds his pulse.
It's still in a state of drug-induced slowness.
It's fine, though, Mike knows what it being dangerous would feel like. They've done that before, and fuck knows it will happen again.
It's also steadily improving; if Mike didn't know what Pac had done, he would think it just the pulse of someone deeply asleep.
Fit doesn't tell Mike its fine, not again. He just keeps watch, and keeps them safe, protecting the group even as Mike protects their Pac.