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Scott used to love the winter.
He’s being fully honest, too. He loved the snow and the chill and the holidays- But, now, as he sits with frosted hands and a trembling body, he can’t think of anything he hates more.
He curls further in on himself, clinging to the red scarf stolen from his friend- (who would hurt him, who would hate him-) for dear life. It’s the only bright thing in this dreary, horrible land, where everything is snow and ice and sadness like a weight on his chest.
He’s hidden inside his ice palace, barely awake. He wants to go home.
Despite that, despite what he knows is likely frostbite creeping up his hands and legs, he doesn’t move. He could be back in two days, maybe less. He could . But he could also hurt them, and he doesn’t want to. The idea of seeing Gem again makes his already fragile health fray, and he leans over, shaking a bit. He feels so out of it, bleary and exhausted and just wanting to sleep .
His eyes are closing when he hears the ice doors slam and then shatter .
A voice from downstairs screams- “Scott?! Scott, you fucking bastard, I’m going to kill you- Where are you?!”
He can’t recognize the voice- can’t place who the sharp tone and anger belongs too, but he curls up in fear regardless. Half frozen feathers poof out, shielding him. This is bad - but he can’t think of why, the cold making his brain slow and overwhelmed. He pulls his hair, a bad attempt at grounding himself, and makes a horrified sound when he realizes can’t feel his hands- it’s all pins and needles. Everything hurts, and he makes a horrible, pathetic whimper at the fear and horror growing in his ribcage.
The voice continues to scream as it climbs up the stairs, and Scott finds himself curling up more, in the corner of this room. Ice-cold water has melted through his clothes, but he doesn’t notice the ache of frostbite as his heart pounds against his ribcage. The doors of the hall his room is on are being opened, shattered from the impact over and over as the angry voice continues to search. He curls up tighter, desperately trying to hide himself in an empty room. He’s so scared .
His room’s door slams, shatters , little specks of ice hitting his face from the entrance of the room. A man- red, and oh-so familiar that Scott’s sure he could place him if he could think past the snowstorm in his mind, stands where a door used to. He immediately strides over to where Scott is- and oh, Aeor, he’s getting closer , he’s going to hurt him-
“Scott, you mother fucker - What the fuck are you doing? Cowering in the corner?”
Scott, against his own will, makes a scared, soft sound, pushing himself back against the wall.
The redhead scoffs. “What the- why are you so blue?”
He falls silent, staring at Scott for a few moments. Scott stares back at him with wide, hazy eyes. He’s familiar , but Scott can’t place it. He shies away as the redhead kneels next to him, and reaches a hand out to grab his shirt.
“Shit- your clothes are soaked, have you just been sitting in the ice water? What is wrong with y-” He cuts himself off with a sigh, and looks up for a second, clearly weighing his options. Scott, frozen still, takes the second to stare at him.
His angry, dark blue eyes are narrowed, some odd swirl of emotions hidden in them. Scott’s too tired to decode that , so he focuses on the rest of him.
He’s strong- lithe muscle like an athlete, and he has a bit of soot smeared on his face. He’s panicked, sure, but his face is pretty even under stress. He’s really pretty, Scott thinks. Like the fires in the homes of every Rivdendellian- simple, yes, but warm and good .
“..you’re, uhm.. Pretty.” Scott mumbles with a loopy smile. The fear has faded, his half functioning mind interpreting the silence as a non-threat.
The red sighs, putting a hand to his face. “For Salmon’s sake , Scott- wait a damned minute, is that my scarf?”
Scott hums tiredly, eyes closing of their own accord. “M’ybe, I dunno..” The cold is a weight on his eyelids, and he can feel himself getting further and further away from the ground, drawn into the deep cold dark of sleep.
He is rudely interrupted from his nap by a panicked shout, and the redhead shaking him awake. He blinks his eyes open, staring at the redhead balefully. “‘M tired.” He mutters, not fighting back as the man pulls him into his arms. He’s warm- and Scott’s prior assumption about him being strong is correct as he lifts Scott off the ground.
The sheer ease in which he’s scooped up is enough to rattle his fraying mind, and he giggles quietly. “Take a guy out for dinner first, will ‘ya? Wow, how rude ..”
He’s pink faced, not just from the cold, and sees no reason to not hide his face in the man's neck, slinging an arm around his shoulders for balance. The man sighs.
“You are so out of it- you wouldn’t let this happen over your dead body, huh?” He asks in a half teasing tone. His voice grows more concerned as he continues. “Which- holy shit, I’m still pissed , but- Scott, you’re freezing. Why did you- you should’ve come to me, or Katherine, I’m sure we could’ve-”
Scott jolts at his words, an irrational pit of fear opening in his stomach. He can’t go home, he’ll hurt them and they’ll hurt him-
Images of a fire scorched and bombed Rivendell appear in his mind, his friends encased in ice, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Everything still hurts, and he whimpers as the man brings a hand to his cheek. His palm rests softly, calluses pressed against Scott’s petal-soft skin. It’s grounding, the warmth waking him up better than the cold did, and he blinks his eyes open again.
The man above him still looks conflicted, but there’s an inexperienced softness there, too.
“Hey… how about this, okay? You just take a breath, and I’ll get us home.”
Scott makes a soft, exhausted warbling sound, curling up tighter in the man’s arms. “..you can’t lemme get hurt, ‘kay?”
He can feel the ground shift as they leave, elytra flaring out into the air. “Okay. Just- don’t fucking die before we get there, okay?”
Despite the man’s best efforts, Scott’s asleep before he can reply.
-
Scott wakes up slowly.
He’s not sure he’d say he’s fully awake - time passes like syrup, a hazy mixture of warmth and pain. He grumbles slightly at the ache in his bones- some unidentifiable coldness that’s sunken deep into his body. It’s soothed in part by the warmth beside him- wait, what ?
He shifts in place- he’s lying down, half trapped by a warm weight. He sighs, and allows himself to relax while he attempts to figure out what in Aeor’s name is going on . His wings are pinned awkwardly around the warmth- one trapped under, one slung over. Everything hurts- his whole body is pins and needles, each slight movement sending shockwaves of pain throughout his body. The warmth is pleasant, though.
The warmth beside him moves a bit, stubble poking his skin, and Scott can feel breath ghosting the side of his neck.
He goes entirely still. Joints lock up, frozen in ice-cold shock and confusion. The feeling of his heart stuttering wakes him up quickly, and he desperately tries to recall how he got here, now recognizing the warmth for what it is- someone sleeping pressed against his back, effectively big spooning him.
(For all his flirtations, Scott doesn’t know what to do when people are close.)
The person holding him sighs, and mumbles something to themself as they wake. Their arms, wrapped around Scott’s midsection, tug him closer. Against his own will, he relaxes into the hold with a quiet and content hum. It’s dumb, but- well, they’re strong, and warm, and when was the last time Scott was held? He’d be a fool to not take the opportunity. Scott still can’t place who it is though, and the thought bothers him as he settles.
His eyes widen when he catches a thin strand of soft, orange hair draped over his shoulder.
Fuck.
Scott closes his eyes and forces himself to pretend to sleep- evening his breath out, letting his tensed shoulders fall, and trying his best to steady his trembling heart. What the hell - was fWhip the man who had rescued him from the tundra? And why ?
It’s obvious, now- Scott can smell the gunpowder and coffee that always seems to follow the Count, can place the slight stubble poking the sliver of his neck exposed from his shirt.
fWhip sighs, and Scott shivers imperceptibly at the breath against his neck. It’s all so painfully domestic it makes his head spin. He does not understand fWhip’s angle, and he doesn’t understand what he has to gain from this. If he wanted Scott dead, he would be.
So what, exactly, does he want from him?
Scott’s shoulders tense as he mulls his situation over, and a faint grumble sounds out from behind him.
“Go to sleep.” fWhip untangles himself from Scott, cold washing back over him in a wave. The man, wearing the same scarf Scott had dragged out to the icy wastelands, looks unbothered by the proximity, dressed in a thin black binder and dark grey sweatpants. Scott ignores the warmth pooling in his stomach at the casual intimacy- something Scott, alone for so long, never got to have.
fWhip sighs at Scott’s silent staring, and reaches a hand out. Scott presses his eyes shut tight, and doesn’t respond when fWhip pokes his face. “Scott. I know you’re awake.” Scott opens one eye, glaring at him. “Count fWhip.” He greets, voice cold. Any vulnerability he may have felt is gone as he lets the mask he’s so used to slip back on.
He sits up, noting his clothes have changed- soft silk pants and button up cover his still-healing skin. His hands are wrapped in thin, dry cloth bandages- if he moves them, he can feel the beginnings of blisters forming. He’s beginning to realize, now, in fWhip’s bed, wearing presumably his clothes, that his taxing facade of coldness may be doing more damage than good. Stubborn as always, Scott doubles down and ignores his sudden revelation.
Cruelty has kept him safe for this long- he’s not giving it up now.
“I don’t suppose you have a good reason to have me here?” Scott asks, pulling himself up and folding his hands into his lap. His wings, ruffled and hurt, send shivers of pain down his spine as he pulls them into a more presentable shape, pinned high against his back.
fWhip, perhaps sensing Scott’s defeat, grins. Scott politely chooses to ignore the way his face heats up at the slight fangs poking out and pressing against fWhip’s anxiety-bitten lips.
“Oh, other than keeping you alive?” fWhip teases, hints of something crueler under his tone. “And it’s not like you’re out of the woods, either- put your damn blanket back on.”
His voice is commanding, narrowed eyes staring Scott down until he acquiesces and tugs the discarded blanket back over himself. He lets his wings lay flat against the bed and tuck them below the cotton fabric of the blanket, and lets out an involuntary sigh of relief when damaged feathers are allowed to rest.
Scott’s relief is cut short when fWhip hums and analyzes Scott with careful eyes. Scott shies away under fWhips gaze, suddenly very aware of how vulnerable he is. He’s known that the whole time, of course he has, but it finally seems to click for him as fWhip evaluates him. He’s clearly analyzing his worth, and likely what would happen if he killed him right here.
“So. I saved you,” fWhip begins, and Scott nods reluctantly. Without the haze of what was likely frostbite numbing his mind, he knows how bad his situation was- he likely would have died if not for fWhip’s help.
He’s… not sure if he wishes he didn’t, considering the glint in fWhip’s eye.
“And I was even so kind to hold you when you clearly wanted me to-” fWhip continues with no small amount of joy in Scott’s shame. Fuck . He’d been so out of it he’d given up on trying to pretend he wasn’t so lonely- he’d let fWhip carry him, and told him he was pretty, and-
Fuck. Aeor, Scott was such an idiot .
fWhip sighs, and rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna ask too much of you, dude-” Absolute bullshit, but Scott will hear him out.
“But you hurt my sister.” fWhip says, tone darkening. He leans forward, and Scott curls into himself. “And you need to fix it. Or, I’ll go through with my original plan- Which is to say, killing you .”
Scott nods, and manages to mutter a response. “..Of course, Count. I-I didn’t mean to hurt her in the first place, I was going to help her anyway-”
fWhip scoffs. “-Oh, sure . You hurt her and then ran away- ” His voice is bitter enough that Scott cringes. It’s not that he disagrees with fWhip- he’s a coward and a fool, and he knows it. How else could he have gotten himself into such a messy situation?
“-And then I had to save you.” fWhip finishes. “Honestly, you should consider it a mercy that I let you recover. Maybe if you’d died from frostbite, she’d have been healed.”
Scott bows his head in silent acknowledgment. He wants to fight- he really, really does, but his head hurts, and fWhip’s not even wrong . Scott had been naive to even entertain the idea this was anything but cold, calculated cost and effect on fWhip’s end.
“Ah. I’ll be out of your hair then, I suppose.” Scott announces, attempting to stand. His legs immediately feel weak, pins and needles waking up cold skin. fWhip’s eyes widen, momentarily, and he reaches out to grab Scott's arm.
‘Okay- hold on, wait- ” fWhip curses as Scott attempts to wrestle himself out of the Count’s grip, strength already fading. He really doesn’t have the energy to fight right now- his vision is already swimming and he’s oddly lightheaded, so he settles for quietly seething as fWhip guides him back to bed. He sits on soft downy comforters, and glares at the Count.
fWhip sighs, and presses his face into his hands. “ Scott . You had frostbite less than a day ago. Please, for the love of everything sacred, do not make me take you as a hostage because you’re trying to run away . While injured .” He asks exhaustedly. Scott pities him for a second, but it’s washed away when he remembers the Count was planning on killing him .
Scott huffs. “Well, maybe it’d be better if I did, you clearly don’t care about my well-being-” He snaps. “I can heal your sister just as well as I can in Rivendell as I can here, and honestly, I don’t appreciate how you’ve been handling this. Do you care or not , fWhip, make up your mind .”
fWhip makes a confused sound, and fires back at him. “What?! Scott, I cannot be more clear, I don’t care about you, I would have killed you, this is only for my sister -”
Scott laughs, “Oh, really, fWhip? You held me while I slept for your
sister?
I think we both know that everything you’ve done so far doesn’t matter for Gem at all, so let’s be honest here-”
“Scott, shut up .” fWhip shouts, raising his voice to drown Scott out. Scott grins exhaustedly, tired, but proud of himself for finally getting one over on the Count.
fWhip glares at him, red-faced. "We- you - we’re not doing this ,” He says.
“What?” Scott asks innocently, tilting his head and fluttering his eyelashes at fWhip.
fWhip wrinkles his nose at him, faint brown freckles highlighted by a red blush. Scott grins at the sight, leaning forward and biting back a grimace at the swimming feeling it leaves in his mind.
“You like what you see?” He jokes, tilting his head coyly. fWhip sighs deeply again, looking away from him.
“For Salmon’s sake, Scott, you’re horrible .”
The conversation settles from there. fWhip leaves Scott with promises of food and water when he returns, and Scott, in a show of good faith, decides to believe him.
“Be back soon!” He calls, waving theatrically. fWhip sighs, irritation and amusement lining his face in equal measures.
“Don’t die while I’m gone, Smajor,” The red.head answers before stepping out of the bedroom door. Scott smiles to himself, curling the soft blanket tighter around his shoulders.
Things will probably not be okay. He knows this. fWhip’s kindness will likely not last, and the ache in his bones will likely not fade.
But- for now, he’s content to rest in the fantasy of care- a world where someone helps him, because they want to.