Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a nightmare.

No, that wasn’t quite right. It felt like a nightmare, but it was real. Vimes looked at the blood on his hands, though his legs kept walking. 

He couldn’t stop seeing it - Angua’s horrified expression, Carrot’s grim determination. The blood on his hands, on his sword. The men around him falling, the untrustworthy ones, the infiltrators, the traitors.

Then the snap back to reality, the mark on his wrist burning with agony, the horror of looking across a room of bleeding Watchmen and realizing it was him they’d been trying to stop. He hadn’t killed anyone, he didn’t think. They’d just been trying to stop him, and he’d been so angry.

Carrot had put the shackles on him and hadn’t flinched away from meeting his eyes, and he’d thought that would be the worst - that calm and steady gaze, implacable, but it hadn’t been the worst. 

It hadn’t been, because he was standing in the back yard of the Ramekin estate looking up at the windows where Sybil was rocking Young Sam to sleep, because it was 5:50pm and his body had dragged him here on instinct and now he was more afraid then he’d ever been. 

“They’re no threat,” his mouth said. “Please.” His feet moved of their own accord, his hand opened the back door, and then-

Lightning fast, faster than he could even blink , he was pinned to the wall. Vimes, buried somewhere deep beneath the churning waves of a restrengthened Summoning Dark, cried out with sudden hope. Lord Havelock Vetinari, eyes blank and expressionless, had a knife to his throat. Slowly, evenly, he applied pressure until a trickle of blood ran down Vimes’s neck. 

“You won’t kill me,” said the Summoning Dark. “I’m useful to you.” 

“Sam Vimes would cease to be useful the moment he laid a hand on his family,” Vetinari said smoothly. “The guilt would destroy him, which I rather suspect is your intention.” The Summoning Dark tried an experimental shift, and Vetinari used his free hand to twist one of its arms behind its back painfully. 

“Don’t,” he warned. 

“I can hear his thoughts,” said The Summoning Dark. “He knows your weaknesses. You love him.” 

“He knows I will kill him,” Vetinari said, with flat detachment. “Listen to him.”

“You’d lose Sybil,” the Summoning Dark said. “You’d lose Young Sam.” 

“Yes.”

“Are you strong enough?” 

“Would you like to find out?” Vetinari answered. Even though he couldn’t see his expression Vimes could hear the steel, recognised the immutability in his tone, and relaxed a tiny bit. He was . 

“He thinks about you,” the Summoning Dark said, and Vimes felt it gathering its strength. He tried to shout a warning, but unlike before he had no way through the dark. “Your ocean of darkness that you tend.” 

“Oh? I didn’t realize he still remembered that old conversation,” Vetinari said.

Vimes really tried not to have the realisation, but there was nowhere to think but his own brain and he felt the Summoning Dark catch it. 

“You’re stalling,” it snarled. “Did you call the Watch? It doesn’t matter. They’ll be dead before anyone gets here.” Vetinari tightened his grip. 

“You can’t move without damaging this body,” he said. “It will slow you down.”

“You think you’ll win this fight, don’t you?” it snarled back. “Sure, you’re fast. But we are strong, and hesitation is deadly.”

“Havelock?” a voice called. Vetinari did nothing as foolish as turn, but Sam felt a tiny fraction of his attention shift to Sybil. 

With a snarl, the Summoning Dark bucked its weight backward, creating just enough space between them to drive the heel of Vimes’s hobnailed boots into the very center of Vetinari’s old injury. Vetinari didn’t cry out, but his grip on the knife slackened for a second and the Summoning Dark ripped the arm away, turning and slamming into the taller man with all the force of an arresting tackle. Vimes felt a crunch under the force of the blow and flinched, throwing himself against the darkness again. 

“Leave him alone!” he howled, ripping at the walls of the mental prison with his hands, pounding with bloodied fists.

Vetinari was on his feet still, wary but not visibly showing his injuries. Another blade appeared in his other hand, and they prowled around each other. 

“You can’t hold me,” the Summoning Dark gloated. “You’ll have to really do it. You’ll have to kill me.” 

It lunged forward again, and Vetinari moved smoothly out of the way. 

“I already have,” he said, and the ache in his voice cut Vimes to the core. For him to drop his control like that, mid-fight? It was a message, and the message was to Vimes. Vetinari continued. “I’m sorry, Sam, but you would have forgiven me no alternative.”

The Summoning Dark slapped a hand to the small cut on its neck at the same instant Vimes realized what had happened. He felt like cheering.

”Poison?” the Summoning Dark spat. Now that he concentrated, Vimes could feel the toxin running through his limbs, weighting them, slowing him down. Short bursts of pain flared along his muscles.

“I am an Assassin,” Vetinari said quietly.

The Summoning Dark lunged, forcing all its remaining energy into one final burst, and Vimes felt the dagger in his hand thud into something solid. They tumbled to the floor together, an awkward collection of violence and limbs. Then, as his vision began to waver, the darkness in his head swirled abruptly and vanished. 

“Sir?” Vimes whispered through uncooperative lips. Vetinari shifted, pulling himself up to a seated position and grimacing. A dagger was wedged to the hilt in his side. “That was… sloppy, sir,” he said, choking out the words. Vetinari’s expression softened. He pulled Vimes to him and settled his head in his lap. 

“To warn him of the poison?” he said, only a faint strain in his voice indicating the presence of an inconvenient blade. “Would you believe me if I said it was part of the plan?” 

“Yes,” Vimes said simply. “You don’t… gloat. Sir.” Something cracked in Vetinari’s expression. 

“It doesn’t have to be sir,” he said, so softly. “You do know my name.”

“Just tryin’ to make it easier, sir,” Vimes said, and coughed weakly. The room was entirely out-of-focus now. 

“Nothing would have made this easy,” Vetinari said, though his voice sounded very distant. 

Sam Vimes slipped away.

Chapter Text

“Good morning,” a familiar voice said gently, and Vimes opened his eyes. He was in a very soft four-poster bed, settled under a huge quilt he’d never liked very much. On the table beside him was a tray with coffee, crunchy eggs, and toast cut into soldiers. A warm weight on his chest resolved into Young Sam, sleeping draped across him like a cat. 

“Well,” he said, for lack of anything else to say. “They really get the details right in the afterlife.” There was a slightly ragged laugh and he glanced over to see Vetinari perched on the edge of the bed. It was an usually awkward position for him, making him look even more like a flamingo than usual, and Vimes’s eyes went to the whiteness of a bandage under the loose black robe he was wearing. 

“I’m not dead?” he asked. He felt his heart rate spike, and he twisted his wrist to where the symbol - was gone? 

“We had some very interesting guests while you were out,” Sybil said, seemingly producing lettuce from somewhere in her pyjamas and garnishing his plate with it. He frowned at it. “Including, among others, Mr. Bashfullsson and some Dwarvish holy folks.” 

“We had grags here!?” Vimes asked, blinking back and forth between the two of them. Young Sam, used to loud and enthusiastic conversations, stayed asleep on his chest. 

“Among others,” Vetinari said.

“Havelock called in some favours,” Sybil explained. “Well. He called in a lot of favours.” Vimes glanced at Vetinari, who grimaced slightly. 

“The Low King may have negotiated a slightly better trade deal than I would otherwise have preferred,” he confessed.

“But… I died,” Vimes said. “You poisoned me. You said so!”

“I lied,” Vetinari said, and gave him a crooked smile.

“We weren’t sure how it worked, but Havelock & I suspected it would flee a host it thought was dying,” Sybil said. “You couldn’t have any doubts, or the… Thing… would know.” 

“Sybil sent a warning to the Watch House to let you go,” Vetinari said. “I worked on a poison that would incapacitate you long-term and provide convincing symptoms before unconsciousness.” 

“You had them let me go?” Vimes asked, trying to work up the energy to be angry. It was harder than he’d like, safe and secure with his family around him. “What if I’d-“

“Young Sam wasn’t here,” Sybil said. “I was holding Dribble. He was surprisingly accepting of being swaddled.” 

“Well, still, I-“ Vimes blustered. 

“You would not have gotten past me,” Vetinari said, almost casually. 

“I stabbed you!” Vimes said, nevertheless aware he was losing the argument. 

“I thought it might encourage the beast to leave, if it thought it had partially achieved its objective,” Vetinari said. “I ensured you missed any vital organs.” Sybil gave him a stern look at that, and Vimes felt the weight of an earlier scolding hovering over the Patrician. 

“What if it comes back?” Vimes asked, shifting and wincing at a sudden shot of pain down his spine. He didn’t like that he had to acknowledge its existence, but it seemed the others already had.

“It won’t,” Sybil said. “The dwarves said that the ritual that dispelled the rune will mean it can’t possess you again without a new injury.” 

“And how did you get them here so quickly?” Vimes asked, relaxing finally into the absurdity of the situation. Vetinari and Sybil traded looks.

“We had to keep you under, for everyone’s safety.” Sybil said sheepishly. Vimes blinked. 

“What does that mean?”

“It’s been two weeks,” Vetinari said, uncharacteristically direct. “Carrot has been managing the Watch.”

“Oh. Okay,” Vimes said. He eyed the eggs, and Sybil handed him the plate. He took a bite and closed his eyes. Two weeks. He opened his eyes again. 

“Thank you,” he said. There was something stirring in his mind, some sense of how much his two partners had moved Heaven and Disc to get him back, but it was swallowed by a sudden wave of exhaustion. “Can I - can I go back to sleep?” 

“Of course,” Sybil said, taking the plate and putting it back on the table. She laid down on the bed and Vimes tucked himself up against her side. Young Sam shifted slightly, curling one hand into his mother’s pyjamas. Vetinari stood as if he was going to leave, but surprised Vimes by walking around to slip onto the bed by his other side. A cool hand took his, and Vetinari sighed.

“I’d rather not kill you again,” he murmured. “Let’s avoid it, in future.” Vimes hummed thoughtfully, feeling the vibration of it against the bodies beside him. 

“You’re part of my family,” he said, equally soft. “You said I’d never forgive myself if I hurt a member of my family, but you let me stab you.”

”I rather thought you’d always wanted to,” Vetinari replied. Vimes snorted a laugh. “Go to sleep,” he continued. “We’ll talk about it when you wake up.”

This time, when Sam Vimes slipped back into the quiet darkness of unconsciousness, he found he wasn’t frightened at all.