Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Winter break had just hit, which meant that naturally, the first thing that Winnie and Augustine did was sleep in until noon then watch Christmas movies together on the couch in their snug little apartment by the university.

It had been Winnie’s idea to move in, naturally; the second that Augustine mentioned he’d be transferring in for sophomore year, the blonde had begun planning for them to be roommates (after he cried out of happiness for him for a solid minute and a half). He claimed it was because the rent would be cheaper this way, but they both knew the real reason: it was just the most natural decision. They had years of sleepovers and weeklong hangouts under their belt, so how hard could being roommates be? The answer was… surprisingly not difficult at all. They already knew each other so well, knew each other’s flaws and quirks and habits, so cohabitation came as easily to them as breathing.

They were about halfway through some 50-cent Hallmark movie that had come on, following some perfume creator who also made candles for some reason (yeah, he didn’t know where they came up with this shit either), and Winnie was already partially asleep in his lap, with Augustine absentmindedly running his fingers through the blonde locks. 

“Hey Win, should I put on something else?” he asked, mildly amused. His best friend let out a long yawn that endearingly reminded him of a sleepy kitten before shaking his head.

“Mm, no, I’m- I’m awake,” he insisted. Even as he spoke, his eyes were already drifting closed again from Augustine’s hair-petting. 

Augustine let out a snort. “Yeah, you really sound it.” Winnie made a whining noise and pouted, but didn’t dispute him. “Fine, I’ll keep it on. But don’t expect me to fill you in on the last 30 minutes when you cry about not remembering it later.”

About fifteen minutes later… yep, he was asleep. Augustine chuckled silently at his sleeping friend. Fifteen years of knowing each other, and despite all the ways Winnie had changed over that time, in some ways he was exactly the same. 

When he was sure that Winnie was sound asleep, Augustine carefully lifted his head and stood up, setting his head down on one of the throw pillows Winnie had bought on impulse. With his legs free, he made his way over to the kitchen, planning to start on dinner while Winnie got well deserved rest. 

As he opened the fridge, he frowned. Hmm. The two of them would have to go food shopping tomorrow, they were running low on pretty much everything. Still, there was enough present for him to make something light for dinner, which should be fine considering neither had wasted that much energy that day. He grabbed a few things and cooked up some grilled sandwiches, setting them on a plate and bringing them back into the living room and placing the plate on the coffee table. 

Augustine took a sandwich for himself and relaxed back into the couch, glancing back at the sleeping blonde next to him. Almost immediately, he felt something in his stomach flip. Even asleep, Winnie had this sort of… glow to him that made him impossible to look away from. It made his mind wander, made his heart curious about things that were definitely not normal friend thoughts. 

He swallowed and focused back on his sandwich, pushing the thoughts out. Whatever the feeling was, it could wait. 

Right now, this was enough. 

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“Hey Augustine, which type of milk do we get again, the fat free or low fat?”

The two of them were currently in the grocery store down the street from their apartment, restocking the fridge and pantry for the week (it was supposed to be for the month, but they knew themselves better than that).

Augustine glanced over at the cartons Winnie was looking at. “Neither, because we get whole.” He reached past Winnie's head, grabbing the correct milk and putting it in the cart as Winnie laughed. “Can you go get the bread? We used the last slices last night for those sandwiches.” Winnie nodded and walked towards the bread aisle while Augustine grabbed a few other ingredients they needed from the cold section. Damn, this would suck to walk back with. He really needed to get a sidecar for his motorbike or something so he could just drive to and from the grocery store instead of having to carry everything back all the time.

Winnie came back a few minutes later with the bread and some other stuff he’d forgotten about, and soon after that they headed to the checkout. After a quick debate over who would pay (Augustine won this time) and grabbing a few last minute goodies from the candy setup by the registers like the suckers they were, they split the bags up evenly and headed out to begin their walk home.

“It’s gotten cold again fast, huh?” Winnie remarked cheerfully as they walked side by side on the sidewalk. The sun was low in the sky, and their breaths were just warm enough to be seen in the brisk air. “Betcha any day now that we’ll have a blizzard.”

Augustine scoffed. “Don’t act like you’re excited about that. We both know you’d succumb to cabin fever within a week.”

“Not true,” Winnie argued. “No way. I could never be bored with you around, Auggie.”

Heat spread over his face and neck like a wildfire at the sudden compliment. He didn’t know what it was about Winnie’s words that always left him suddenly dumbfounded, as if half his knowledge of the English language had been wiped clean. “That’s- don’t say stuff like that,” he grumbled, eyes darting away. 

A hand suddenly wrapped around his wrist and yanked him back. He glances back at Winnie. “The hell-?”

“Pay attention, Augustine,” Winnie told him with a concerned frown. “The light’s still red, we can’t cross yet, see?” Augustine looked ahead of him and sure enough, the crossing symbol was in the shape of a red hand. Damn, how had he missed that? He’d walked this path dozens of times before. 

Augustine sighed, waiting next to Winnie until the red flipped to green. He reaffirmed the grip on the bags and looked back at the blonde as they started to cross. “Thanks, Win. Don’t know where I’d be without-”

“Augustine!”

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Time slowed down, in that moment. Everything was suddenly happening all at once and he couldn’t keep track anymore.

Screeching tires, like nails against a freshly cleaned chalkboard.

A blinding light jetting towards them.

A searing pain through his whole body.

Blue eyes, wide with panic.

Blonde locks, mixed with blood. 

Screaming. Him screaming. 

Grocery bags scattered across the road.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood.

Chapter Text

After about four straight hours of tests, resting, more tests, more resting, and some shitty hospital breakfast food, he was finally given the all-clear. He could have just told them from the beginning that he was fine, but hey, what did he know? Wasn’t like he knew his own body or anything.

“You’re lucky it wasn’t more serious. It’s dangerous to walk the streets late at night, you know.”

Augustine held back a tsk at that. Yeah, sure. As if he was the one who needed a lecture about safety after they’d been the ones rammed into while they had the right of way. His leg bounced anxiously in the hospital bed, eagerly waiting for the part where they told him how the fuck his best friend was doing instead of dodging his questions or telling him to get more rest. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Can I see Winnie yet or not?”

The doctor— Dr Zapier, according to the obnoxiously shiny plastic name tag on his jacket— let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, but no. He only recently woke up—”

“He’s up?! Why the hell didn’t anyone tell me then, Jesus— ” He began to get out of bed before Dr. Zapier held up a hand,

“Not yet, Mister Orlov.” Augustine scowled at the use of his last name. “Your friend was in a much more critical condition than you. There may be mental traumas that aren’t immediately noticeable. You’re just going to have to wait.”

Damnit. He hated waiting. Especially in situations like this. But if it was for Winnie…

He sighed, laying back down on the uncomfortable hospital bed. If it was for Winnie, he could wait a little bit longer.

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It was another three hours at least before anyone came back to check on him (he could tell because of the six god awful episodes of Friends he had to suffer through on the small tv in his room while waiting for an update on Winnie). Not that he could really blame them for leaving him alone for so long, he guessed. Hospitals… Hospitals pissed him off.

(Yes, they pissed him off; that was why he felt his jaw clench whenever he’d drive by the building on his motorbike; that was why Winnie clutched his all-too-white knuckles whenever he went in for his yearly physical; that was why every second away from his best friend in this fucking place set him on edge, made him feel small)

“Alright, Mister Orlov—”

“It’s Augustine.”

“...Right. Augustine. Winnie’s been cleared enough for visitors. But I will warn you, he seems to be suffering from mild memory problems—”

“Okay. yeah, I get it,  just take me to him already,” he interrupted, irritated. His fingers twitched against the sheets, eager to get the hell away from these white walls and get back to their normal lives, away from heart monitors and IV tubes and doctors with shiny plastic name tags on their lab coats.

Dr. Zapier gave him a look of disapproval at the behavior, but what was he gonna do, keep him in here longer ? He gestured at Augustine to follow him down the hall to Winnie’s room. He let out a breathy laugh when the walk led them from room 115 to room 117. Winnie had been in the next room over the entire time, huh? Of course they’d be neighbors even in the hospital.

The door opened and Augustine felt the stress that had been building up over the past several hours immediately evaporate at the sight of bright blue eyes that widened at his entrance. Augustine took long steps, quickly engulfing Winnie in a hug, burying his head in the blonde’s shoulder and letting his bones go slack.

He was okay.

Winnie was okay.

“I’m glad you’re safe, Win,” he muttered, definitely not choking back tears. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

Winnie laughed, voice slightly trembling. Clearly he was still shaken up from the incident too. “I’m, uh, glad you’re safe too.”

After a minute of Winnie’s arms staying firmly by his side, Augustine pulled away. “...Win?”

Something was off.

“Hm?” He looks up at Augustine, blue eyes meeting brown.

“Why are you acting so weird right now?”

Something was different.

“Sorry, it’s just, um..” he wrung his hands together. “It’s– I don’t, exactly, know who you are?”

Chapter Text

“You… what?”

The boy with brown eyes looked at him confused, nose scrunched. He seemed almost.. insulted? Oh God , was he someone important? Was he like Winnie's husband or— wait, no. No ring. That wouldn't make sense. Boyfriend maybe? Family? 

He held his hands up and waved them around frantically, trying to apologize. “Sorry! That sounded rude, didn’t it? It’s just that I don’t really remember anything right now and-”

The boy with brown eyes laughed awkwardly. Every forced sound from his throat felt like another wave of guilt rolling over Winnie, drowning him. “C’mon, Win, what are you talking about, ‘course you know me.”

“I'm— I'm sorry, but I really don't. They said I have amnesia. But it should only be temporary!” he added at the end, attempting to reassure the brunette. 

“Mild memory problems my ass ,” the boy hissed under his breath, turning around to look at the doctor with a glare. “You didn't say anything about any damn amnesia.”

The doctor closed his eyes. “You didn't give me a chance to, Mister Orlov—” 

“It's Augustine.”

Augustine. Winnie rolled the name around in his head, tasting the word on his tongue. Augustine Orlov. It was the kind of name that made him think of chocolate smores and childhood sleepovers. The thought made his head throb. He felt like there were clear memories there, memories he could almost reach if he could just stretch his fingers out a little bit further. He wondered if this would be a common occurrence (He hoped not; it kind of hurt).

He glanced up again just in time to see the brown eyed boy — Augustine, he now knew his name was— start to walk back over to the doctor and oh he had a nagging feeling that if he didn’t do something now Augustine wouldn’t be allowed back in. He placed a hand on his arm and Augustine instantly froze. He glanced back at Winnie, confused.

“So you’re Augustine, huh?” He smiled up at chocolate eyes. “Well, it’s nice to meet you! I hope you won’t mind me having to get to know you all over again, hehe.”

Augustine— he kept repeating the name in his head, it sounded so familiar and at home there— looked down at Winnie on the hospital bed, eyes blinking, mouth agape in disbelief. Then, he laughed. Laughed . 

“You never fail to amaze me, Win, you know that?”

Winnie may have been missing the majority of his memories, but he quickly deduced that Augustine’s laugh was probably one of his favorite sounds.

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Following that rather awkward introduction, Augustine made it a habit to stop by and visit at least once a day. Winnie was worried at first that the constant visits would become overwhelming, but he quickly found that being in Augustine’s presence felt more like second nature than anything. He would come in around noon carrying a small grocery bag of snacks, and they would just… talk, or sit in comfortable silence, or make fun of the TV show that was playing in the corner of the room (Well, Augustine made fun of it, at least; Winnie thought it was cute.)

He learned that the brown eyed boy's full name was Augustine Irakliy Orlov, and that he was Winnie's best friend. They had known each other since grade school, and they were roommates. He learned that the two of them were hit by a car walking home from the store, and that he was now suffering from something called focal retrograde amnesia. He also learned that he was missing about 23 years worth of memories, a number which felt like it should be a lot scarier than it was. 

After a few more days of resting and observation, Winnie was (“fucking finally,” Augustine grumbled) cleared and allowed to leave. As Augustine walked him out and over to a taxi that was waiting outside the hospital, Winnie shivered. He’d vaguely remembered the doctors mentioning it was December, but he was really unprepared for the chill. 

Augustine glanced at him and let out a small huff, slipping his hoodie off and handing it to him. “Here,” he mumbled, focusing ahead of him now and away from Winnie’s face. He hesitated for a few moments, but accepted the jacket, slipping the bulky thing over his light sweater. It was surprisingly soft and warm. 

“Thanks, Augustine,” Winnie said, smiling thoughtfully at him. His friend’s composure seemed to stiffen briefly at the gratitude, before relaxing again. He shrugged dismissively.

“Don’t need you ending up back in the hospital with frostbite after you just got out. Knowing your shitty luck, you’d somehow manage to pull it off.” 

“That’s not very nice to say to someone who just got out of the hospital,” Winnie protested, poking him in the side of the arm.

Augustine gave Winnie a flat look. “Win, we were hit by the same car.”

“Details, details.” He waved his hand dismissively.

The banter continued that way the whole trip back to their apartment, dialogue flowing between the two of them unexpectedly smoothly considering Winnie had only known Augustine for just a few days. He wondered if their conversations were always this way, throwing quips back and forth as effortlessly as breathing. (He really, really hoped so. He could get used to this.) The more they talked, the less uneasy Winnie felt about relearning everything about his life while living with a total stranger. After all, they’d done nothing except get along ever since he met Augustine for the first (second?) time.

If they could pull that off, how hard could being roommates with him possibly be?

Chapter Text

The first day back in the apartment was... a little awkward.

Last night, Winnie had been hit with some sort of post-hospital exhaustion, so he didn’t get to check out the apartment before he stumbled inside and fell face-first into the sofa, too wiped out to bother trying to make it to wherever his bed was. Now, in the morning light as Winnie rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he had the opportunity to fully take in his surroundings.

It was a small apartment, with not much to it. There was a TV a little ways ahead of him, a dining table against the wall with a few chairs surrounding it, and a coat rack by the door. Along the walls were some framed photos, presumably of them, but he was still too tired to tell. 

Winnie stretched his arms above his head, blanket falling off his shoulders. 

Wait, blanket? 

He frowned in confusion at the fabric. When had he—

“Morning.” a gruff voice rumbled at him. Winnie turned his head to face the kitchen, where he spotted Augustine at the stove, already awake. It was then that he finally registered the smell of bacon in the air. 

“You cook?” he asked through a yawn.

Augustine scoffed. “Obviously. The only thing you ever cook up in the kitchen is disaster.” With the spatula he moved a few of the bacon slices off the pan and onto a clean plate, filling the gaps in the pan with two fresh slices; the sound of sizzling filled the air as they made contact with the butter in the pan.

Slowly, he made his way over to Augustine, lazily plopping down on the counter next to him. “Mm, it smells really—” he cut himself off with another yawn. Something about it must have amused Augustine, because he let out a snort. Winnie squinted in confusion. “Mm, what’d I say, what’s so funny?”

The faintest smile graced his lips. “Don’t worry about it. Anyway, go ahead and dig in. They're a bit on the chewier side, just how you like them.” He gestured with his spatula to the plate.

Winnie plucked a fresh piece off of the plate, wincing slightly at its heat, before taking a bite. Oh. This was… this tasted perfect. He let out a noise of satisfaction as he finished the bacon off, going for another piece immediately after. 

After a few minutes of this, he eventually looked over at Augustine, who'd begun cleaning up. “So, what's the plan for today?” Winnie asked, kicking his feet back and forth. 

Augustine rubbed the back of his neck. “No plans, just… get yourself used to the apartment for now. Check out your bedroom and stuff.”

Oh, right. He had a bedroom. He’d forgotten about that part.

Now that he was awake though, he had to admit he was curious what his room was like. “Would you mind if I-”

“First door on the left.”

Winnie hopped off the kitchen counter and excitedly made his way over to his bedroom. It was interesting, getting to figure out the kind of person he was. It felt like a scene straight out of some sort of mystery or thriller, where he was both the detective and the suspect. 

He looked around the room upon entering and found himself staring at,  well, just about everything. There were colorful posters on the wall of bands and… musicals? (Was he a musical person? That didn't seem right.)  The next thing to catch his eye was a laundry basket sitting on his bed, still half-full of neatly-folded shirts. There was a desk along the wall which was covered in little trinkets, as well as several colorful sticky notes with reminders written on them in cute handwriting.

His eyes fell on the corkboard on the wall, which was covered nearly completely in photos, drawings, and other keepsakes that he had collected over the years. It was a bit intimidating, if Winnie was being honest. 

He focused his gaze on the photo at the center of the corkboard. It was a photo of him and Augustine, maybe a few years younger than they were now? He had an arm thrown over Augustine’s shoulder as the two of them made peace signs at the camera and grinned. He could see why it was in the center; Augustine was practically shining. He wondered what could have caused him to smile that wide. 

(He wondered if he could make Augustine smile like that, too.)

“That one’s from autumn last year,” Augustine remarked, noticing Winnie’s gaze. His lips were tilted upward slightly as he spoke. “Took it the day I drove up here. Practically jumped me the second I was out of the car for it.”

Winnie tried to imagine the scene in his head, but all he could manifest was a headache. He put a hand to his forehead, fingers lightly massaging his temple.

“You good, Win?” Augustine asked, eyebrow raised slightly.

“Oh!” Winnie lowered his hand and gave him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’m fine, It’s just that when I think too hard sometimes it seems to give me a little headache.” He laughed, acting as if it wasn’t a big deal, then directed his attention elsewhere in the room to a little stuffed elk laying on his bed. 

Winnie felt his face light up. “My elk!” He plopped down on the bed and nabbed it, pulling the small plush into a hug. He sighed contentedly as the soft fur rubbed against his cheek. 

“...Wait, you remember that thing?” 

He glanced over at his friend, grinning. “Of course I do, I've had him since I was two!”

Winnie blinked, suddenly realizing the weight of recognizing his stuffed elk. He'd remembered something. That was kind of a big deal, wasn't it?

He tried to remember anything else about the small stuffed animal in his hands.  He reached for a memory, eyebrows creasing in thought. He was so close, he knew it. If he could just tilt it forward some…

His head throbbed again. The memory toppled back into place, just out of reach, teasing him. Taunting him. 

Augustine noticed, of course. “You sure you're okay, Winnie?”

“Yeah, just- don't remember anything else. ”

“Oh.” There was something about the way Augustine said the word, with so much disappointment , that made Winnie's stomach lurch. A strange quiet filled the room, neither of them looking at each other.

“...I should probably change.” Winnie broke the silence first. 

Augustine swallowed and nodded. “Right. Yeah. I get it.” The silence set in again. His fingers drummed against the doorframe absentmindedly. “If you need anything—”

Winnie quickly cut him off. “Yeah. Thanks.” Augustine stood there awkwardly for a few more seconds, as if hesitant to say anything more, before finally retreating back into the main area, leaving Winnie alone in the room. It was the first time he'd been alone since he'd woken up, he realized. He wasn't used to this feeling,  and as he sat in the quiet room all by himself, Winnie began to develop the distinct feeling that he wasn't supposed to be here. 

He looked through the clothes that belonged to Winnie Bosko. He looked at the books on the shelves, the items in his drawers, and the trophies on his desk. It felt like snooping. These were not his to look at; he was not Winnie Bosko. 

His thoughts paused. No, No, he was still Winnie. He just didn’t remember it yet. These things can take time, the doctor said. It would be silly to assume his memories would come back overnight. He just needed to be more like Augustine about this. Relaxed. Laid-back. Confident.

He wasn't sure who he was, really. But Augustine liked him. For now, that could be enough. 

Right?

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(TW: mild body horror ahead)

It's cold.

Winnie trudges along the path in front of him, each step heavy and draining. His shoes are soaked through, damp, dense, all but useless. 

Someone is holding his hand; it is warm, it is sticky. 

He tries to let go; their fingers are sewn together, lazy stitches. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. 

He looks at the figure's face. It is Augustine, it is Winnie, it is some horrific amalgamation of the two, constantly shifting, constantly remolding, constantly looking at him. 

He turns away from the creature and looks forward again, nauseated by the vision. In front of him is a mirror now. It is shattered, but still reflects. He looks at himself. 

There is no face. It is smooth, pale, porcelain. The creature's hand- the one not attached to Winnie- pushes into his face, reshaping it easily as if he were made of clay.

It creates two even, round cavities. Eyes are produced and inserted accordingly. His nose is next, then his cheekbones. The creature gets to his mouth. It pauses, before pulling out a knife.

The creature begins to carve. The motions are calming, smooth and even. But it's slow, too slow. It pulls out a bigger knife. Faster now, but less exact. His face hurts. Faster. Messier. Not enough. Not enough.

It pulls out a saw. He cannot move, cannot run. It hurts, hurt, hurts, hurts-

Winnie doesn't think he wants to smile anymore. 

The creature puts down the saw. It smiles at its handiwork, hungry and proud. 

Winnie looks into the mirror. 

Shining eyes,

soft cheekbones,

a slightly crooked nose, 

and a smile that would never go away.