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Oliver has had this dream before, when shows were looking to not work out, or when things in the building got too tense. Or even if he’d had a dip past its prime. He’s in the park with his son and he’s got this weary look in his eyes trying to explain something to his father. Oliver can’t tell if he’s not saying enough or too much in response, but whatever he does, nothing seems to put Will at ease. It’s time for the weird sickness induced bit. Will holds up a set of keys, three on a loop. They’re viscous with blood.
Oliver jolts awake, dream Will slipping away completely. He’s not soothed by consciousness; his hands still outstretched for something to hold. There’s movement in the corner of his eye and he’s usually quick to address it, but he finds that turning his head feels like it’s happening in slow motion. The couch dips beside him, the movement enough to rock his already unsettled stomach.
“Easy, Putnam. Didn’t mean to spook you there.”
Oliver feels Mable’s hand settle slowly around his elbow. She sounds sincere, even though there’s a small smile to her words. He’s a little embarrassed.
“Oh you didn’t. I was just recalling another time of whimsy and flair. Y’know, not unlike now.” Oliver finds it difficult now to conjure up a story. A headache beats back against his train of thought, and he lowers his head, eyes running from the light. He feels Mable’s fingers scour his neck and cheek.
“Yeah you’re quite the spectacle,” she drawles, sarcastically. Mable hoists Oliver into a standing position, hovering protectively by his swaying form. “C’mon. I gotta get you to Charles’ apartment before I head out.”
Perturbed by the thought of Charles being his nurse, he does his best to stop Mabel in her tracks. “You mean you won’t be with us? What am I gonna do when he goes on one of his endless tirades about the glory days?”
Mable coaxes him into the elevator and they travel to Charles' apartment with ease. “Well, you’ll probably listen for once, since it sounds to me you’ll lose your voice pretty soon.”
Charles opens the door when they’ve arrived, and Oliver shrinks away from the pitying gaze as he looks him over.
“Oh buddy.”
“Don’t say a thing,” Oliver interjects. “Mabel’s convinced I need a babysitter and it seems that you’re the eligible bachelor. Am I to invite myself into your humble estate?”
Mable ushers him into Charles’ arms. Oliver hadn’t realized he’d been shivering until he’s face to chest with Charles Haden Savage, soaking in the newfound body heat he finds there. Oliver feels light on his feet and a tad dizzy suddenly, even with Charles’ awkwardly stiff grip around him. Mabel and Charles speak quietly.
“I’ll come check in later. Let me know if something… let me know if you need anything.”
“Everything will be fine. Go. Enjoy your exhibit. Tell Theo I said hi.”
Oliver feels Mabel press a gentle hand of good wishes into his shoulder. He swallows dryly and tries to return the gesture, but then the clack of her boots become faint, and then she’s gone. Soon the two men are moving into the apartment; Charles moving at a glacial pace, which somehow both irritates and aids Oliver. Finally they make their way to what he thinks is the couch, and he’s about to sink into the cushions when Charles rouses him.
“Wait here. I’m going to get you some water, then you can lay down.”
Oliver wants to clarify but Charles is weirdly quick, leaving him in the dark room alone. He reclines, expecting the cushion of the couch but finds himself flopping completely on his back. He’s more alert now and stretches out an arm to find a pillow at his fingertips. The comforter materializes around him and he realizes where he is.
He’s in Charles’ bedroom.
Charles reenters the room with a glass of water in one hand and an icepack in the other as Oliver pushes himself to his feet to retrieve it. He stumbles toward the taller man, gesturing to the bedroom.
“At least buy me dinner, Charles honestly.”
Charles scoffs at Oliver and struggles to find the words. “I only thought you should lie down. You don’t look so good, if I send you to your apartment you’re not gonna make it to your own bed.”
Oliver accepts the glass of water and nearly downs the whole thing in one go. His body is screaming for hydration. He passes it back to Charles to cough into his arm, the effort sending stars into his vision.
“Probably wouldn’t even make it to the foyer,” he wheezes. “But Winnie needs me. I’m sorry but I can’t fulfill any of your wacky fantasies, Charles. Now help me back to my apartment.”
Charles just places the ice pack on Oliver’s head, watching as he visibly deflates in relief. He leads him back to the bed, the both of them sitting on the edge.
“I’ll go to her after you fall asleep. Just let me do this for you, okay?”
Oliver shakes his head, a snarky remark on his tongue about Charles falling asleep before he would, when his mouth opens in a huge yawn. He can’t help but seek the warmth from earlier, melting into Charles’ side, his head falling on his shoulder.
“Whatever you do, don’t touch the fridge,” he mumbles.
Before Oliver knows it, Charles has him laying down in the bed, the comforter pulled up to meet his shoulders. He had told him something else before he left, but Oliver finds himself drifting, lulled by the scent of Charles’ clean laundry and then he’s back in the park holding Will again. He doesn’t look concerned now, and this time Oliver can hear the sound of his sweet boy’s voice.
“They’re nice people. I’m glad you found them.”
Oliver shrugs, he recalls Mabel’s doting touch and Charles’ firm embrace. A warmth blooms in his chest. He smiles in his sleep.
“I’m glad they found me.”