Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You know, I think I’ve dropped you off here about a thousand times now and yet I’ve never been inside before.”

It was not intentional, and it was not an accident. There was a reason Jelpax didn’t go home every night even though he easily could. A reason he chose to stay in the dorms long past the day they were finally given permission to leave. He shrugged as he hopped off Drax’s skimmer, his expression giving nothing away.

“You’ve been inside before,” said Jelpax. He grabbed his bag from the skimmer and slung it over his shoulder as he took a step back.

“I meant recently,” Drax clarified. He pulled his skimmer into park and leaned back; arms crossed against his chest. The only hope for Jelpax was that he didn’t turn off the engine. “I barely remember what it looks like. Is it still loud?”

“No. It’s mostly just tense silence and the occasional awkward small talk.”

“Is your room still covered in books?”

“I can assure you they are safely stored on their shelves now.”

Drax chuckled. He hesitated just long enough for Jelpax to turn around. “Hey, is everything all right?”

“Yes.” If anything were amiss, he would have told Drax about it. At least, if it were mildly to moderately amiss. He was admittedly quite silent when it came to the biggest issues in his life. Better not to upset anyone else, he rationalized. “Why?”

“It’s just that you haven’t been asking for rides as often. I’m starting to miss your company.”

“We see each other all day, Drax, and it’s hardly a long drive.”

“That’s not really the point.”

“I’m fine,” Jelpax insisted more forcefully. He briefly wondered if that was what Drax felt like when Jelpax pressed him for answers but decided that he did not care. “It’s just that with my later courses and larger workload, the drive home seems like a waste of time.”

He nodded and said nothing else. Jelpax turned back toward his house, hopeful that the interrogation was over.

Then Drax turned the engine off.

“Hey, you forgot these!” Drax held up two books that Jelpax left by his feet. He knew he shouldn’t have brought anything that couldn’t fit in his bag. He stepped forward to take the books, but Drax was out of the skimmer before he could. “It’s all right, I can carry them in for you.”

“That’s really not necessary,” said Jelpax. He reached for the books again and Drax spun around to dodge him. He marched forward as if visiting Jelpax’s house was something that he did frequently. And recently, counter to his point earlier. “Drax.”

“It’s fine, I won’t stay long. I just want to see if your books are really all on the shelves. Are your brothers home?”

“Maybe, no, and no.”

“Oldest to youngest? Baby still can’t leave the dorms?”

“Correct.”

“Why no Syds? Sames as usual?”

“Basically.” He stopped and placed a hand on Drax’s chest when Drax reached for the door handle. Jelpax swallowed, unable to hold steady eye contact. “Are you seriously coming in right now?”

“Unless you really, really, really don’t want me to.”

The only thing Jelpax really, really, really didn’t want was to go inside his own house but he was running out of excuses not to. He tried to time his visits for the good days, but they became few and far between. It reached a point where he just had to suck it up to get his family off his back for a bit.

“Fine.”

Jelpax slid the door open himself and walked in, Drax trailing behind him. The house was essentially the same as the last time Drax had seen it—as he said earlier, Jelpax and his family were rather minimalist and as such, rarely significantly updated their decor—but it didn’t feel the same. The air was heavy, and the silence was no longer relaxing but tense.

They made it halfway to Jelpax’s room before they were noticed. Jelpax’s dad leaned out of his home office, his beard scruffy and his gaze narrowed. He slid his bottle on his desk and looked Drax up and down several times before he turned his attention to Jelpax, one bushy brow raised.

“This your little boyfriend from primary school?” he asked, in that vaguely judgmental, moderately aloof tone only he could manage.

Without hesitation, Jelpax grabbed Drax’s wrist and pulled him deeper into the house as he muttered, “Just ignore him.”

Drax opened his mouth but said nothing. He allowed Jelpax to drag him to his bedroom, the one place in the house no one else would touch. The one room where he could lie down and close his eyes and pretend everything was the way it used to be. There was a chance someone would pound on his door and break his illusion, yes, but at least he could make it last for a second.

He released Drax’s wrist, dropped his bag on the floor, and sat on the edge of his bed. Drax looked around the room, pacing between the bookshelves, then narrowed his gaze. He walked to the edge of a bookshelf and grabbed a book from halfway under a chair. He placed his hands on his hips, as if he were about to scold Jelpax.

“I thought there were no books on the floor,” said Drax. Jelpax forced a smile and shrugged, unable to think of a witty comeback. Drax set the book down on the shelf. “You can come to my place, if you want. Or I can give you a ride back.”

“No, it’s fine,” Jelpax protested. “You should go.”

Silence overtook them. For a moment, Drax simply stared at Jelpax, his expression unclear. Then he knelt in front of Jelpax and wrapped his arms around him. Jelpax immediately relaxed as he rested his forehead against Jelpax’s shoulder, their hearts beating against each other.

“You deserve better than fine,” said Drax quietly. “You deserve so much better than fucking fine.”

There were a dozen responses Jelpax could have given. Each of them considered, he chose to say nothing. Drax’s embrace counteracted the tension in the air, brought him peace where he had none. And, for once, Jelpax allowed himself to accept it.

Chapter Text

“I told you this would happen if we brought him.”

“Ushas saying ‘I told you so?’ Wow, that’s a first.”

“I’m not saying ‘I told you so,’ I’m saying that I warned you.”

“I don’t see a difference between those two phrases.”

“You couldn’t see the difference in adding a third person either.”

“I just wanted to make it more interesting. You hardly participate.”

“Why would I participate when I have you to do the work?”

“Why even come if you’re not going to do anything? At least he tried.”

“Yeah, he tried, and now look at him.”

“Not to get in the way of you arguing about me but I still have a hook in my hand. Just as a reminder, you know. Hook in my fucking hand.”

Ushas and Rallon turned over their shoulders. Vansell sat on the edge of the dock; his legs folded beneath him as he held out his palm. A metal hook tore through his skin, its serrated surface impossible to simply remove. He pointed to it when he got no verbal response, his brow raised impatiently.

“We were just discussing the best way to get it out,” said Rallon awkwardly. “You know, since this is something that we’ve definitely dealt with before and can take care of without calling anyone.”

“Do you think I’m deaf? I’m sitting like a meter away from you. I heard every word you just said.”

“I think he heard us,” whispered Ushas.

“Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Rallon whipped out his phone and opened his messages. “All right, which one of us is studying medicine?”

“Well, if I recall correctly…” Ushas placed a hand on her chin and pretended to think. She dragged out the gag for several seconds too long before she smiled and tapped her temple knowingly. “That’s right—none of us. Mortimus is the only one who comes close, and I wouldn’t trust him to put on a plaster.”

“What about you? Surely, you’ve taken some relevant course?”

“Technically I have done some surgical procedures, but they’ve all been on cadavers. I find they’re far less concerned about pain and, you know, potentially bleeding out. Although I suppose Vansell might not be too bothered about those either?”

“I am, actually.” Vansell blinked, gripping his left hand in his right. “I’m very concerned about those things.”

Rallon groaned and dropped his head into his hands. Fishing was something that him and Ushas had done together many times before. At least, if Ushas watching while Rallon did all the work to catch her specimens counted as “together.” He didn’t mind it too much considering he enjoyed the peacefulness of fishing and Ushas appreciated the fresh fish to experiment on, but it did get dull some days.

That was why, when Vansell asked where he was going, Rallon made the mistake of inviting him along. And of course, it was the one day of Vansell’s life when he had absolutely nowhere better to be. Ushas said it was a bad idea, that Vansell was the kind of indoor-only person who would mess something up and derail the day, but Rallon didn’t listen. Vansell was smart, he told himself. He wouldn’t do anything wrong.

Except get his hook stuck in his hand, apparently.

“All right, well, let’s just see what we can do by ourselves.” Ushas knelt in front of Vansell and took his hand into her own. She leaned forward and narrowed her brown eyes at the hook. “We just have to kind of ease it out. Gently. Without hitting anything important in his hand. It isn’t in there too deep, is it?”

“No idea,” said Vansell. “I stopped feeling it at some point during your arguing. Does that mean I’ll have to have my hand amputated soon?”

“Honestly, I think that would be easier for me than delicately removing this thing.”

“Unfortunately, I’m very attached to my hand.”

“And I didn’t bring my meat cleaver.”

“Can we be serious here, please?” asked Rallon. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath to calm himself. “Messing about isn’t going to get the hook out of his hand. And knowing us, if we have to go to the nurse, she’ll probably make sure we’re never allowed to fish again.”

“I would be perfectly okay with that, actually,” said Vansell.

“I’m never inviting you anywhere again.”

“I am perfectly okay with that too.”

Ushas rolled her eyes as the boys glared at each other. She pinched the hook in Vansell’s hand and leaned in close again. It was just a beginner hook, not like the crazy ones Rallon had. Surely it couldn’t be that hard to just pull out? She tugged it at an angle and Vansell inhaled sharply. She muttered a quick apology and resumed her fiddling more gently.

Given his experience taking them out of fish mouths, Rallon decided to give it a shot of his own. He sat beside Ushas and reached for Vansell’s hand. The hook had thoroughly pierced his skin, but it wasn’t too deep. Rallon slid the hook down slightly, highly aware of what he’d learned in his anatomy course and pulled it back up at a moderate angle. Miraculously, it slid out of Vansell’s skin, leaving only a slight injury in its wake.

“You couldn’t tell because I have incredible self-control,” Vansell started, nursing his bleeding palm, “but that hurt like a motherfucker.”

“Sorry,” said Rallon with a shrug.

Ushas grabbed the first-aid kit from her bag and pulled out a bandage wrap. She offered it to Vansell who merely raised a brow, prompting her to wrap his hand herself. He sighed and rose to his feet, his hand elevated.

“Well, we’d best get back to work now.” Ushas gestured to the fishing rods. Neither Rallon nor Vansell moved a muscle. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Vansell gestured toward the Academy. “Let’s go.”

“What? Wait!”

They did not. Instead, Rallon and Vansell walked away from the dock without care for the supplies or the friend they left behind.

Chapter Text

“Mortimus.”

Hands gripped his shoulders, shook him several times. He groaned and shoved his head deeper into his blankets.

“Mortimus, wake up.” He blinked twice but he couldn’t see clearly. The world spun, his eyes unable to focus. He let them drift shut only for his shoulders to be shaken again. “Mortimus, do not fall asleep again. Mortimus.”

The incessant shaking finally roused him. Through his blurred vision, he recognized Magnus, one hand still on Mortimus’s shoulder. Mortimus realized that he was not on his bed as he assumed and that rather than blankets, he had shoved his head into a pile of clothes on the floor.

“Give me your arm.”

Mortimus didn’t resist when Magnus pulled his arm around his shoulder and lifted him to his feet. He allowed Magnus to carry most of his weight, unable to support himself. It was dark outside, but he was still fully dressed, the fabric of his robes clinging to his cold, sweaty skin. Slowly, Magnus walked Mortimus to the restroom, but not slowly enough.

The vertigo hit hard, and they barely reached the toilet before he emptied his stomach of the almost nothing he consumed that day. He groaned and dropped his head into his hands as he leaned back against the wall, his breath heavy and his throat dry. Mortimus did not move when Magnus knelt in front of him and unlaced his robes.

His robes were discarded on the floor, replaced by a wet cloth draped around his neck. Magnus lifted a glass of water to his lips, but Mortimus shook his head, refused to open his mouth. He kept his eyes shut as Magnus removed his boots, his socks, and pressed another wet cloth to his forehead. He thought he heard Magnus talking but the words were distant, unintelligible, and Mortimus swore the voice was not always his.

“You need to drink something,” said Magnus, suddenly clear. Mortimus shook his head again, his knuckles pressed against his eyes. His head was pounding, he couldn’t stop shaking, and all he wanted was to go back to sleep. “Mortimus, open your eyes. Mortimus. Mortimus.”

“I don’t feel good,” Mortimus muttered. “I don’t want it.”

Without warning, Magnus slid his arms beneath Mortimus’s armpits and pulled him to his feet. Mortimus clung to the counter for dear life as Magnus turned on the sink, one hand holding Mortimus steady while the other splashed water on his face. Mortimus caught a brief glance of himself in the mirror and squeezed his eyes shut. He knew what he looked like, and he didn’t want to see it.

The water was cold, but it made him feel better. His shaking lessened, some of the pressure released from his head. He leaned against the counter for a long moment after Magnus turned the water off, his hearts pounding and he breathed. When Magnus lifted the glass back to his mouth, Mortimus didn’t resist. He took tiny sips, testing the strength of his stomach before he committed.

“What did you take?” asked Magnus. There was no edge to his tone. No aggression or compassion. It was just flat.

“Nothing,” Mortimus insisted. He had to convince not only Magnus but himself. The truth was, he didn’t remember. “Nothing. I didn’t take anything.”

Magnus was silent for several seconds, his voice soft when he said, “I know. You never do.”

He tugged Mortimus’s arm back around his shoulder and walked him out to his bed. He helped Mortimus trade his sweaty undershirt for a bathrobe and his trousers for ones more suited for sleep. Then he tried to lower Mortimus onto his bed and he shook his head frantically. There was something on his mattress, tiny spots swirling around it.

Mortimus stumbled backward and Magnus quickly caught him. The look on his face was not surprised, not confused. Even concerned was a stretch. He simply stared at Mortimus as if he knew exactly what happened, knew exactly what he would say.

“There are bugs,” he whispered.

“There are not bugs,” said Magnus calmly. He kept his hands around Mortimus’s arms, holding him upright. “We’ve talked about this before, you remember? There are no bugs. There is nothing on your bed.”

“The bugs.”

“They’re not real.”

“I can see them.”

“I believe you.” Magnus reached one hand up to push Mortimus’s tangled hair out of his eyes. He tried to meet his gaze, but it was impossible with how much Mortimus’s eyes shifted. “Look at me. Listen to me. You’re going to sit on your bed and I’m going to sit with you, so you know that it’s safe but first I need to turn the lights off, okay?”

“No.” Mortimus shook his head, his breath catching in his throat. “I don’t want it off. I need to see the— the—”

“I know you don’t want it but you’re getting way too much stimuli right now. I’m going to turn off the lights and the fan and it’s going to be dark and quiet in here, all right? We’ve done this before. I know what you need. Let me help you.”

Mortimus leaned back against the wall, head in his hands as Magnus quickly crossed the room to turn off the lights and fan. The room fell dark save for the moonlight between the curtains, silent save for the faint sounds from their neighbors inside the building and out. Magnus took Mortimus’s wrist and helped him into his bed, then climbed on the other side to sit beside him above the covers.

As much as he didn’t care to admit it, Magnus was right. Mortimus kept his eyes shut for a long minute and when he opened them, all he could see was the faint outline of his blanket in the moonlight, and Magnus at his side. All he could hear was Magnus’s breathing and the strong winds behind the curtain.

“Do you feel any better?” asked Magnus quietly.

“Yeah,” Mortimus mumbled. “Please don’t go anywhere. Please.”

“I won’t. Someone has to shake you awake if you stop breathing again.”

“You don’t have to.”

Magnus said nothing. He wrapped his arms around Mortimus, pulled his head into the crook of his shoulder. Maybe he really did care.

Maybe.

Chapter Text

“It’s fine,” said Koschei, “nobody will even notice it.”

Those were, of course, the last words spoken shortly before someone noticed it.

Lungin, thankfully, did not point it out. He simply stopped, stared at it for a moment, and walked away. Drax let out a relieved breath a moment too soon. In hindsight, he should have realized the jig was up the moment Lungin of all people noticed that the trophy was chipped. Drax inhaled slowly and did his best to look innocent.

Borusa was only halfway through the door when he furrowed his brow, his gaze landing on the trophy. He’d won it many years ago for his… well, Drax had never actually read what was written on it, even when he chipped it. That was probably a good thing, he thought. Surely the culprit would know what was written on the object of their vandalism?

“All right,” Borusa started as he closed the door behind him, “who chipped my trophy?”

Unsurprisingly, the room remained silent. Several students glanced around, searching for guilty reactions, while others looked somehow afraid despite their innocence. Drax and Koschei stared straight ahead. Any wrong movement and Borusa would know it was them.

He paced up and down the aisles, dark hands clasped behind his back. Borusa stopped to scrutinize several students, asked a handful of questions, but found no satisfactory responses or objectively reasonable suspects. He stopped two desks away from Koschei, and for a moment, Koschei thought he was a goner. Then he turned the other way.

“Lungin,” Borusa called sharply, “may I ask why you’re sinking down in your chair like that?”

“No particular reason, sir,” said Lungin. His eyes widened and he sank even lower into his seat. It didn’t make any sense why he was so uncomfortable. Did he think he broke the trophy by being the first one to notice the chip? “I haven’t touched your trophy, I swear.”

“You look awfully guilty for someone who swears.”

“I wouldn’t touch it, honest!”

Borusa’s gaze intensified as Lungin pulled at the collar of his robes, sweat beading on his forehead. It was truly impressive how he managed to look so utterly guilty despite doing absolutely nothing wrong. Koschei shot Drax a glance while Borusa wasn’t looking and Drax returned it with only a shrug.

“You’ve been struggling in this course recently, haven’t you, Lungin?” asked Borusa without regard for who heard. Drax couldn’t say he was surprised Lungin struggled with logic anyway. He rarely used it himself. “Is it possible you saw that trophy on my desk, knew that it was precious to me, and decided to take out your frustrations on it?”

“No! No, absolutely not.” Lungin shook his head frantically, his impeccable bowl cut tickling the tops of his ears. “I would never do anything to damage your property, Professor Borusa. I promise! I do sometimes struggle with this course, but I appreciate your tutoring so very much. Why would I want to do anything to harm you?”

“That’s exactly what I would like to know. Why would you want to do anything to harm me, Lungin?”

Drax almost choked on his own spit as he held back his laugh. The petrified look on Lungin’s face was nothing short of priceless. He gripped the edge of his desk, his eyes wide as his ears and cheeks flushed bright red. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words came out. Borusa allowed him to fluster for several seconds before he rolled his eyes and turned around.

He walked to the front of the class, his lips curled slightly upward. The room was silent as he crossed his arms and leaned back against his desk. He scanned the rows of students but landed on no one in particular before he took a slow, deep breath and addressed them as a whole.

“All right,” he started, “which one of you was willing to let Lungin take the fall for your actions? Or should I ask which two of you?”

The direction of Borusa’s gaze was unmistakable as it flickered between Drax and Koschei. They glanced at each other, neither speaking a word. There was no way that Borusa interrogated Lungin so harshly only to attack Drax and Koschei instead.

“I’m not sure why you’re looking at me, Professor,” said Drax, “but may I offer the speculation that most any of us would be willing to let Lungin take the fall for our actions? I mean, not be rude but he is… you know… Lungin.”

“I’m right here,” Lungin mumbled.

“Yes, I’m aware of that, thank you. Actually, while I have you, can I ask if you’re secretly an undercover Scendeles?”

“I’m from House Forewind.”

Drax scoffed. “Please. I don’t know who chose your cover, but you should tell them to pick a less prestigious House next time. Nobody is going to believe that.”

“That’s quite enough of that, Draxin.” Borusa’s tone was stern enough to get Drax’s attention. “It’s very, very obvious that you and Koschei are the ones responsible for the damages so why don’t you just tell me what happened?”

“Right now?” Koschei made a face and glanced around the room. Nearly every single desk had a student seated behind it. “Don’t you think it’s better that we wait until after class? We could meet you in your office?”

“Oh, no. The whole class is invested in this now and they deserve to know what happened, don’t you think?”

“No, actually, I don’t. I really don’t think.”

“We can tell that by your exam scores,” said Drax.

“Sorry, whose side are you on?”

“Mine.”

“Enough.” Borusa clapped his hands twice. “One of you needs to explain what happened right now or you’re both off to see the Headmaster. Understood?”

“We’re innocent, sir,” Koschei insisted. “I assure you, we have not and would not ever touch your trophy.”

As Koschei spoke the last word, Theta slid in the door, a bottle of glue in his hand. He held it up for Drax and Koschei to see, then stopped in his tracks when he saw Borusa at the front of the classroom.

“Professor,” he said, “you’re early.”

“You’re late,” Borusa countered. He nodded to Theta’s hand. “Care to explain the glue?”

He did not.