Work Text:
How did he get here?
One moment Phoenix was walking into his office, determined to end off this case properly and sealed it away to his, (or rather failed to be) organised system –
Was it his?
The next, he’s on the floor, a bottle of wine laying gently at his feet, nudging him, pushing him to do something, to drink, to move, to drown, to burn…
Rather than indulge to the wills of a glass bottle, he kicks it. The bottle rolls to the other side of the room, drawing to a stop upon a never-quite removed stain permeating the floor, the glow from the window illuminating its continual presence. With half-drawn eyes, Phoenix watches as the bottle drips, the red claiming its place once more, spreading in tides and waves.
It drips and drips and drips, forming an echo within his mind that grows worse and worse as the fiery colouring spreads and emerges.
And there stands a ghost once more, shattering the bottle and-
He can’t breathe.
Oh.
He can’t breathe.
Terror seeps into his skin, as she - how could he not know it was her - draws closer, the sounds of glass shattering there was only one bottle creep closer, and he is stuck, helpless, trapped to her movement and can only remain still.
She hovers above him, that soft smile etching across her features once more, welcoming him as if he hadn’t seen a monster cross that very face only hours earlier.
‘Oh Feenie’ Dahlia croons ‘You didn’t think I’d be gone so quickly…did you?’
Her voice sent shivers down Phoenix’s spine, the crawling sense of panic rearing its head at her words and he finds himself lost once again, feeling much more like a naïve, innocent version of himself rather than the hardened man he’s become with time. His heart is in his throat and he knows that he cannot speak.
Upon his reaction, her smile sharpens, ‘No, no. No matter what you may do, to have that Fey banish me, kill me and send me off straight to the slaughter!-’
A breath.
‘No, Feenie…I’ll stay with you for life. How could I not? A man like you… is just so easy to haunt.’
Faintly, Phoenix felt his breathing begin to pick up, shuddering intakes overpowered by her voice echoing the room as he shrinks further into the wall he’s trapped against. Suddenly, she grabs him, yanking his chin upwards and slamming his head into the wall, the pain rocketing through emphasised by his tumble off Dusky. Gathering his faltering confidence, Phoenix meets her eyes, the venomous brown piercing and ending any fight he had left in him as she slowly drags a sliver of glass into his peripheral. Softly drawing it across his lips, marking the small scar that he knew existed, a permanent reminder of her place in his life.
Phoenix lets out a small noise, a protest he knows is futile as Dahlia swings the shard down, slicing his lip open in a cruel mockery of the first time. He gasps, and she takes the opportunity. Blood coats them both, as she grabs more and more of the broken bottle, shoving it down his throat, as Phoenix grasps on, pleading, choking as blood spills out. The darkness pours into Phoenix’s vision, coating her face in the perfect visage of a serene smile as she shoves the last piece through his throat, a warning on her lips barely heard over Phoenix’s dying screams.
‘I’ll be waiting, Phoenix Wright.’
***
A scream tears through his throat as Phoenix shoots up, clutching at his throat and lips, begging to breathe. In a daze, he pushes himself off the wall desperate to just move, his lungs crying out as the blood drips down his face landing on the floor, marking his descent. Hands continue to grapple at his throat, nails catching on sore bandaged bandaged? skin, attempting to carve a path to air. His legs burn with the effort, stumbling across carpeted flooring before hitting the wall. Phoenix’s knees give out, but he barely notices before roughly landing on the floor, muffled by his own breathing is he breathing?
Exhaustion hits his body like a train, hands dropping from their rapid pursuit of oxygen to the floor. One rests on carpet, upon a faint reddish brown that never fades, the other on his leg, staining his blue suit a garish shade of purple. Pain begins to ring throughout his body, bandages dotted around his body develop pinpricks of red, emerging from faint cuts yet he couldn’t care less.
Holding his hand up to the light, the red coating drying and hardening within the cracks of his palm, the flakes gently fluttering down, damning him to his position. He cannot run. He cannot run from her, he cannot run from his actions if only he had been on time Chief–
With a final sob wracking through his body, Phoenix knows that he cannot run from himself, the true horror residing within his soul. The pain he’s caused and all the suffering that he has left. His hand drops. Tired, dull eyes flicker across the office, the red drops fading in and out of his vision as if they never existed, as if he never stained the office, as if he never –
A rattling breath draws in, feeding bruised lungs their craving as he fainting notes more warm streaks making their way down his face, carving red marks permanently into his bones. Weariness settles in right beside, slotting itself neatly in as Phoenix sees the world begin to fade once more. The darkness welcomes itself back as he shuts his eyes, closing off from the world and hiding away, letting it take him away.
***
Seeing Phoenix in such a state had disturbed Miles, sure. Seeing him almost broken in a hospital would be enough to shake even the strongest of men. Continuing the case, facing his own horrors and traumas in such a public spectacle with the pressure of the world laying upon his sole shoulders, destroys men. So watching him walk away from the courthouse, insisting upon laying the case to bed now, that he would be perfectly fine and would take rest, all alone? Naturally it concerned Miles.
Maybe he was just surprised how concerned he truly was.
Knocking upon the door to Phoenix’s office, the Wright & Co. Law sign dully reflecting back at him, the signs of age beginning to develop on the painted words. Edgeworth knew that Phoenix was sure to be fine, likely working at his desk, slowly making his way through the vast amount of paperwork the trials had naturally developed. Phoenix was fine. He had said so himself.
He knocked again. Louder.
Miles was just projecting. The events of the trial had merely shocked him, facing the idea of spirit channelling once more must have just rattled him. Seeing Hawthorne that many years past his first trial once more was simply unsettling. Knowing Wright’s connection to her… was only a cherry on top. The long flight was draining as expected. Experiencing Schrodinger’s cat or rather Phoenix for 12 hours straight would do that to any sane person.The bandages coating every inch of his visible body, the shuddering coughs that shook his whole body, almost bringing him to his knees. Those glossy, glazed over blue-brown eyes that begged him to help, despite lacking the full words to do so. His immediate agreement and watching those eyes shift into something gentle, akin to adoration and-
Hm. That’s another development brought on by this hellish case.
Gripping his briefcase just a little tighter, he knocked again. A little harder this time.
The developments of the case had been brutal and disturbing, opening the court to unthinkable sights. And yet, all he can think about is Phoenix Wright.
Wright’s strength, the determination, frankly the stubbornness required to keep pushing even with everything and everyone screaming at him not to. Well, who could blame him, for realising that…
Oh. He loves him.
How could he not? The man who has been there for him, saved him, in spite of Miles’ own cruelty, his own harshness, and yet that man persisted. Continued to believe in him, even after Edgeworth’s leaving. Continued to be there for him constantly, forming a place within his own heart dedicated for the man. He had shattered through Edgeworth’s heavy walls and fortress and settled right in as if he had always belonged there, since the first time they had met, within the walls of a classroom. He did belong there. And always will.
Regardless of Edgeworth's own feelings towards the man within the office, the door refused to budge. It wasn’t like Wright to shut people out, to shut him out, he loved having the door open, the freedom of people moving in and out. Knocking again, hammering his knuckles against the wooden door, a silent plea to be let in willingly. Silence echoed through the building.
As a last resort, Edgeworth hunted for the spare key he knew Wright kept around the door despite his complaints about safety and security every time he saw Wright find it after locking himself out. And like clockwork, after each of his lectures, that man would rub the back of his neck, in that telltale sign of embarrassment and nerves and grin blindly at him. As if he was the brightest thing he had ever seen.
Finding the key was easy this time, the metal key peeking out from a hole in the wall. Shaking his head to the idiocy of the man, with one final knock, he let himself into the office, storing the key into his blazer pocket.
Calling out for Wright yielded no response, the prickle of anxiety that had been simmering beneath his skin beginning to rise as he walked deeper into the office, past the initial (what appeared to be) waiting area that seems to have been taken over by Ms. Fey and into the door that he knew led to Wright’s office.
‘Wright?’ called Edgeworth, slowly pushing the door forward, before pausing at the scene laid beyond him in shock. Papers scattered across the floor, as if they had been pushed, thrown. Books dotted open everywhere, the window shining upon the destroyed office. A wine bottle settled next to Wright, empty with only a few drops soaking into the carpeted flooring below. And Wright himself. Bandages wrapped around limp limbs, fever-ridden sweat visibly draining a slumped body, mimicking the late Ms. Fey’s final moment. Barely breathing.
‘Wright!’ gasped Edgeworth, broken out of his stupor and rushing over to the man. Kneeling before him, checking his pulse at his neck, ensuring that above all else he was still alive. Cradling his head to inspect the drained man ahead of him, being encased by the light creeping through the window. Faint tear tracks marked his face, reinforcing Edgeworth’s prior fears of a destroyed man, cracking under the pressure of it all. Gently, Edgeworth reached for his hand, drenched of sweat and fear and rather impulsively, wrapped it around his neck. Inserting his arm underneath Phoenix’s knees, he carefully lifted him up, treasuring him in his arms, keeping him safe.
Finding the sofa within Phoenix’s office wasn’t particularly a challenge, but cleaning it of the various papers that appear to survive the storm within his private office provided more of a difficulty. Aided in the fact that he didn’t think he could bring himself to put Phoenix down for even a second and dedicate time away from the man.
So in the neatest way he could possibly manage, Edgeworth swept the sheets off to the side, silently promising to sort it all later, he’d do anything, everything later, if it meant Phoenix would be alright.
Laying him to rest, Miles hesitated. He refused to let Phoenix slip through his hands, as if he would disintegrate the second he fully let go. So, crouched down onto the floor, purposely ignoring any dirt that may be gracing it, he clutched on Phoenix’s hand and waited.
***
Waking up with a gasp was not something Phoenix recommended, especially when hit with a cold that felt like bricks crashing down upon you. Coughing violently, using his hand to- wait what?
He couldn’t move his hand. Within the darkness of the room and tired eyes that begged to close again, Phoenix turned, swallowing down any further coughs and saw another hand encompassing his own, the pink sleeve linking to a body that sat next to the sofa. Pink…
Pink. Oh god. Would he ever be free? Was she cursed to haunt him in life forever? Would he go mad at it all, losing himself to his (frankly) fragile mental state?
‘-Nix?’
‘-Enix?’
‘Phoenix!’
Sharply exhaling as he jumped, letting out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding, before being forcibly turned to look at her Miles. Those soft grey eyes masking a sense of terror beneath them as Phoenix faintly felt his hand be squeezed, desperate for a response. ‘Phoenix…’ Miles began, pausing at what he saw in his eyes. ‘Are you alright? I walked in and…’
Shifting awkwardly at the question, shaking off the last tendrils of sleep and the nightmares, Phoenix stared back hesitating before stiltedly saying, ‘I’m always alWright aren’t I?’
Miles’ face collapsed, settling to an indescribable position. Phoenix winced at the sight, trying to grapple for words to reverse the effects and failing.
‘I-’
‘No’ Miles cut him off harshly, but not unkindly ‘No, Wright. Come along, you clearly need rest’
Phoenix fell silent at his words, looking down at their still conjoined hands. Miles’ eyes trailed down, resting upon the same point. His lips quirked upwards before giving a slight tug, pulling Phoenix off the sofa and onto unsteady legs.
‘Upstairs?’ questioned Edgeworth, the response consisting of a weak nod.
***
The walk upstairs to Phoenix’s flat was a hushed one, the echoes of their feet illuminating the way. Pushing open the door, and guiding Phoenix across the messy floor, almost mimicking the storm that had run through the private office. Placing Wright down into a chair, and after a fruitful search, placing down a glass of water ahead of him.
Phoenix stared at the water as Edgeworth placed it down in front of him, doing so gently as if to not spook a wild animal. Shaking his head softly, removing the last of the cobwebs fogging his brain, Phoenix opened his mouth, turning to meet Edgeworth.
‘Edgeworth. It’s late. You should go home, you’ve had a long day.’
Miles had his gaze focused upon the untouched glass, ignoring the words uttered by Phoenix. He could almost hear the cogs turning in Edgeworth’s mind as he seemingly pondered over something.
‘Miles?-’
‘You almost died. Barely a couple days ago, you nearly met death in the face. What would we have done if you had…’ Edgeworth turning to face Phoenix as he trailed off, grief and anguish drowning his features for a moment before continuing.
‘You cannot tell me truthfully, and I truly mean truthfully, that you were not seriously injured, that you still aren’t seriously hurt and yet you continue to be dismissive. You are coated in bandages, please Wright. Phoenix. Tell me the extent of it all, allow yourself to rely on someone else. Don’t suffer by yourself under the strain of it all. Please.’
His eyes glimmered with unshedded tears, a silent plea buried within. Phoenix turned away.
‘Leave it Edgeworth. I’m fine, not a charity case you need to save. Everything's been sorted, everything solved. This isn’t another investigation you need to conduct. Go home.’
Miles flinched at the harsh words, a stab of guilt hitting Phoenix in the heart upon seeing Miles’ reaction.
‘Look…just. He began more softly, hesitantly before uttering ‘Just go. I’m fine. Leave it. Just do what you normally do and go.’
And without waiting for a response, he walked out the room, away from Edgeworth’s piercing glimmering eyes and out of sight of the ghosts that refuse to let his soul go. Back to his darkness, his punishment for all he’s done and can’t stop doing.
God he’s tired.
And should probably take a shower to avoid ruining his sheets. No need to place extra work on himself, not when-
‘Phoenix Wright! Do not leave me with that foolish excuse and don’t get me started on your poor attempt at the state of your health, why won’t you simply be honest with me? It isn’t as if we have no existing history so I beg you, Wright. Do not deflect, and let me in… let me return all the efforts you have put onto me.’ The hallway echoing the words as if sentencing him, following him closely. But he can’t let himself fall now. Not to him.
‘Edgeworth, just leave it! Go home to whatever hotel you’re residing in. I don’t need any help-’
‘Bullshit.’ The sharp word cutting off both his sentence and thought process, silenced by the near unheard of language bursting through Edgeworth’s mouth. Phoenix stopped just outside of the bathroom as the footsteps caught up to him, turning slightly to face the determined face of his oldest friend.
‘Phoenix. Listen to me. Listen to yourself. You’ve been through a harsh ordeal and simply pushing everything to the side, repressing it all, is only going to hurt you further!’ pleaded Edgeworth before continuing ‘Do not pretend like I have no possible idea of what you are going through and I know it is not… easy. But Phoenix…please.’
All the fight left his body at the sound of Miles practically begging, but he just felt drained. Exhausted. Too heavily injured to explain.
A weak ‘Fuck off…’ dropped from his lips, wincing at how unconvincing he sounded before rapidly turning and-
Ouch.
Perhaps he should have realised how close he actually was to the doorway before ramming into it.
Releasing a soft groan at the rising throbbing sensation of pain rocking through his body, this seemed to spur Edgeworth into moving. Hands hovering, trying to be as delicate as possible before gently finding Phoenix’s, and guiding both their bodies to the floor.
‘Oh Wright.. what are we going to do with you?’ The remark softly hummed through the air, a gentle mix of familiar chastising, and teasing. ‘Where do you keep your medicine? Preferably the painkillers you received from the hospital?’
At the mention of medicine, a cold shiver ran down Phoenix’s spine, too reminiscent of…
‘I just need a shower. And like you said. Rest. Right.’
‘...right. But you also need to-’ Is all Phoenix heard before pulling himself up firmly into the bathroom, and slamming the door shut. Locking it behind him, he could still hear mixed protests from Edgworth, muffled by the door. Until it all stopped. And the world fell silent.
***
With the last time Phoenix was submerged in water being a freezing cold river that he very briefly accepted he was going to die in, he probably should have expected how uncomfortable the shower would be. And how painful it would be. Taking off each bandage that wasn’t waterproof took time, leaving his muscles to work on autopilot while his brain went into overdrive. The silence consuming his flat felt deafening, overwhelming. And was a permanent reminder of how truly alone he was. He knows he shouldn’t have pushed Miles, shouldn’t have stepped out of line with his comments, shouldn’t have brushed him off, ignored him, slammed a door in his-
The shower was cold. The water trickled down into each and every cut and soaked into each and every bruise exposed to its harsh landscape. Seeping down right to his soul, the pain and agony that lay within. He refused to acknowledge it, and it continued to consume him. A perfect storm brewing within his mind, fighting against him, and slowly dragging him down to the lowest parts of his being.
But he’s fine. Phoenix Wright is always fine. He can't, he refuses to be anything else.
No matter how alone he is.
No matter the ghosts that follow him.
No matter the harm he does to those who surround him.
He’ll stay fine.
Won’t he…?
***
Drying off the water felt arguably worse than being in it, and by the end Phoenix could only feel like a husk of a person, a person he once was. Staring into the mirror as the slight condensation that had been able to build up disappeared, he watched as a shattered man stared back, haunted by the skeletons that had sprung out of his closet and immediately attacked. Dark shadows sunk into his cheeks, his healthy tan skin turned a sickly pale, his sleeping shirt hung loosely around his body and his eyes looked dull. Frosted. The spark sinking into the background, begging to return but unable to do so alone.
If he wasn’t so alone. And wasn’t so content in pushing those who care away. But is he really content doing so…?
Tearing his eyes away from the fading body ahead of him reflected at him, Phoenix grabbed the roll of bandages given to him, forced into his hand as he shakily signed his own discharge papers at the hospital. Resting next to them was the pack of painkiller tablets that had also been heavily forced into his hands as he attempted to walk out. Phoenix didn’t touch them.
Walking out back into the corridor, he turned to his room to just. Collapse into bed and sleep for the next year. To just let himself go. Turning the handle, ready to succumb to the darkness that awaited him, seeing the light shine onto the bandages he was- light?
And there, hovering by his frankly shamefully small bed, was Miles Edgeworth illuminated by the harsh lighting that arrived with Phoenix’s room. Clutching his arm but staring back into Phoenix’s eyes. And something small broke in his chest. As Miles Edgeworth stayed.
‘...Why?...’ He recognises his own voice hollowly asking. Silently begging.
Edgeworth’s face remained blank. Or rather, his face remained still, wide eyes not shifting. Scared somehow as if his answer could shatter the world. Like it would damage Phoenix more than anything else could.
A minute passes, and Phoenix is just about to give up, bury himself back into a void of pain and familiarity that he had expected before Edgeworth shifts, drops his arm and in a few paces, is standing right in front of him. And unexpectedly, gently, cusps his face leaning closely in and whispers.
‘I care about you more than you’ll ever know. I always have. And always will.’
A pause. And then a sob.
‘Oh Phoenix…’
‘Miles… I don’t-’ Another sob bubbles up Phoenix’s chest as he collapses onto Edgeworth, onto Miles, his oldest, greatest friend. A chain follows the first until he’s breaking down onto Miles’ clothes, who merely brings him closer. As his cries die down, Phoenix finds himself moved onto his bed with the man who means everything to him, kneeling in front of him, reaching up to wipe away the remaining tears that streak his face.
Lifting up the roll of bandages that he had held such a death grip onto, Phoenix gently removed Miles’ hand and placed the roll into it. A silent ask.
A silent acceptance.
***
Edgeworth had reached Phoenix’s arms by the time the silence was broken.
‘...I had a nightmare. Before you walked in.’
A sharp intake of air, which released into a sigh as Miles’ response came through.
‘That doesn’t surprise me. You appeared. Haunted. As if you had finally been destroyed under all that pressure. I thought maybe…’ He trailed off, leaving the implication hovering over them as the final bandage was attached, tying it off and tucking it under itself.
Reaching his eyes, the whisper of ‘I’m so sorry’ emerged from cracked lips as Phoenix stared into the pained grey.
‘Don’t apologise’ came the response, pushing Phoenix down to lay onto the bed fully before standing up. A hand shot out from the bed, clutching on, to keep him there. And so he stayed.
'We'll talk in the morning, yes? I will not leave and you will be safe, I promise. Rest now.'
'Could... could you join me? It's silly but-' Cutting himself off as without a pause, Edgeworth, still adorned in half of his usual work outfit, shoved himself into small bed and half-held Phoenix.
'Sleep, Phoenix. Lights on or off?'
'...on.'