Work Text:
Zolf sat on the floor of the mausoleum, massaging his legs. The prosthetics didn’t irritate him when they were on, thanks to the magic. But when he took them off, the muscles could get quite sore.
Next to him was Oscar. He didn’t know exactly when the bard became Oscar in his mind, instead of Wilde. The shift felt so natural. He gently took Oscar’s hand in his, trying not to disturb him too much. His hand was warm, an unnatural but not overbearing warmth: a lingering effect from the resurrection. The first resurrection.
Oscar stirred slightly, muttering unintelligibly. “Oscar,” Zolf murmured, “you’re alrigh’. I’ve- I’m ‘ere.” He squeezed Oscar’s hand, not so hard that it would hurt but enough to hopefully wake him.
Thankfully, he judged it right. Oscar woke up with a start, but he calmed a bit when he saw Zolf. “Is… is everything alright?” His voice was a mix of concern and hesitation, as if he was nervous to know the answer. Zolf didn’t blame him. They had been through so much within the past week alone.
Zolf nodded. “Yeah, we’re fine.” It was hard for him to say, as if he didn’t believe it. He had to believe it, he had to cling onto hope. “You were talkin’ in your sleep again. Though’ it was a nightmare.” Zolf and Oscar were very familiar with each others’ sleeping schedules. They were used to waking to screams or sharp breaths, to calming each other down when it felt like the ghosts of their pasts were so real that they could choke them.
“Oh.” Oscar looked at Zolf with an expression he had never seen before. He nodded, then looked down to see his hand in Zolf’s. “Thank you.”
“‘S no problem, Oscar. Didn’ wan’ you to wake anyone up with your screamin’.”
Oscar shook his head. “Not just for this, Zolf.” He sat up, his eyes meeting Zolf’s. “I don’t think I properly thanked you for bringing me back. Again.”
“Oh, erm,” Zolf stammered, tapping his fingers against the floor, “like I said before, it’s… Well, I didn’ ‘ave much choice.” The memories of the Ursan resurrection ritual played through his mind, repeating one sentence in particular.
“Because I need you, Wilde.”
He felt a kiss on the back of his hand. “Where’s your mind going, Zolf?” Oscar’s voice, gently dragging him out of his thoughts and back to reality.
“That you keep dyin’ on me an’ I keep ‘avin’ to bring you back.” He meant it as a joke. He didn’t want to say it with the pain he really felt at the thought of nearly losing Oscar. But one look at Oscar’s face told him that his joke really didn’t sound like one.
Oscar sighed and squeezed Zolf’s hand. He tried to focus on Oscar’s touch, gentle and warm and real. “It will be over soon. One way or another.”
Zolf just sat there, focusing on Oscar’s words. They were so close to fixing everything. This was their last stand. Part of him didn’t even want to go back to sleep. He just wanted to stay awake and savour the moment.
“Come back to me, Zolf,” Oscar murmured.
Zolf sighed and nodded slowly. “‘M ‘ere, Oscar.” He leaned his head on Oscar’s chest, relieved to hear the thump, thump, thump so clearly. It was a sound he was so grateful to hear. A sound that he found that he treasured.
He felt Oscar’s arms wrap around him, one hand combing through his hair and one resting on his back. “Good,” he said, relief seeping into his voice. “I’m here, too.”
And if Zolf let him cry while being held by Oscar, well… That was between him and the gods he didn’t care for.