Work Text:
sooner
or later, when it’s even darker
than it is now, when the snow is colder,
when it’s darkest and coldest
and candles are no longer any use to us
and the visibility is zero: Yes.
It’s still you. It’s still you.
- Margaret Atwood; from “Shapechangers in Winter”
Couldn’t help but think what if, what if… and starting to worry. Couldn’t help but remember what it was like back then. Remembering familiar faces turned alien. Remembering blood and trying so hard not to hurt his friends who weren’t his friends then.
So much blood when he rammed that pen into Stan.
He could feel bile crawling into his throat and for a second had to wonder if something wasn’t in him. Couldn’t help but wonder what would come out of he retched…
‘Casey! Damnit, Casey!’
He felt hands shaking him roughly, and his sight widens slightly after tunneling in. He could now feel himself shaking, and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, something’s in his throat- something is in him-
‘Casey, you’re hyperventilating, put your head down.’
Strong hands guided his head gently as he doubled over, rubbing his back in soothing circles as he kept saying, breathe, breathe…
When he felt like himself again, he straightened up, eyes locking into Zeke’s steady brown, seeking an anchor.
The gentle arms around him gathered his body into an embrace, their weight sinking them into the couch. Zeke’s heartbeats were against Casey’s ear as he rested his head, and they’re steady like his eyes, steady like his hands.
They’re steady like his voice, a low whisper against his ear and reverberating in his chest, ‘I’ve got you,’ and just like that, he chased away Casey’s demons.
His demons won’t catch him sleeping here, in their ratty old sofa with the last patch of sunlight before dusk, listening to Zeke’s steady breathing.
They still lined their clothes with batches of scat and they’re not inviting anybody inside their door else they’ll invite demons in, but lacing his fingers with Zeke’s like this, Casey felt okay.
They got through another day today.
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