Work Text:
Alastor pulled his hood a litle further over his face, trying to block the violently blowing snow from assualting him.
His face was cold- actually, no, his whole body was cold. He certainly hadn't dressed appropriately for the weather. And Vincent had somehow dressed even worse.
Alastor wasn't even sure why they were doing this anymore. Maybe the idea of finding a warm, vacant cabin at the top was enough to keep them going. At least, that's what Vincent insisted upon. He wasn't sure he believed the weatherman on that one, honestly. Who in their right mind would have built something up there? More importantly, what would they do if there was nothing when they got to the top?
The longer they'd gone on this walk, the more questions he thought up - though they never once slipped past his lips, too concentrated on getting this ridiculous hike over with as quickly as possible.
Perhaps he was a little too concentrated, because Vincent's annoying, grating rambling had stopped suddenly, and he didn't notice.
Alastor just kept trudging through the deep snow.
Three minutes passed by.
Suddenly, only then, had he realized Vincent had shut up. Normally, he would be grateful for the silence, but in these conditions, it was wrong. Very, very wrong.
He whipped his head around, hoping the weatherman would be right behind him, with his glasses all fogged up and a childish pout on his face. But to Alastor's concern (and disappointment), nothing was there but his own tracks behind him, fading into the blizzard after a distance.
"..Vincent?" His voice echoed all around him, yet no reply. "Where in the heavens did you just go?" His voice cracked, concern creeping into it, no matter how hard he tried to remain apathetic to the situation.
Vincent isn't that stupid.. he certainly could fool someone with how he acts around Alastor, clueless and hardly ever paying attention. But is he really so incompetant? He didn't just fall down the mountain, did he? He wouldn't have abandoned this and just gone home.. Did he have a heart attack? The possibilities were seemingly endless in Alastor's mind.
He swallowed nervously. If the weatherman was dead, he'd be sure to be blamed. He was the last one with the man.. and he was black. Possibly the worst combination to have in this very scenario - although it may have been a little worse if Vincent were a woman, he supposed. If that were the case, he'd probably have been assumed of worse than mere murder in cold blood.
Concentrate.
Vincent had stopped talking quite a bit ago - I'll probably would have to walk back a-ways to find him, if he's even alive still, that is. Oh good lord, Vincent. The things you get yourself into..
Quickly, Alastor turned on his heel, nearly tripping over himself. The cold wind burned his face, his mouth felt dry, and he was frozen to the bone, but he still persisted. He wasn't about to lose everything because of some simpering weatherboy.
-
As Alastor thought, he indeed had to travel back several minutes before he could even find the other now semi-filled pair of footprints in the snow. What were originally following close-by to his own, strayed from the path and directly over a very avoidable ledge.
Alastor pinched his nosebridge as he looked over the ledge - at least it wasn't as far of a fall as he thought it was.
About six feet down, in a heap, laid Vincent Whittman, in a tangle of limbs and snow.
"Vincent! There you are." A sigh of relief escaped him. Vincent groaned weakly in response as he turned his head, voice a little raspy. "..A-Al..?"
Alastor slid down the ledge side carefully, coming down to beside Vincent, who let out another quiet groan.
"What in the world even happened?" He questioned, observing Vincent's body. The weatherman's eyes were red and puffy, his face tear-stained, and flushed from the cold.
Vincent lifted his head a little. "I.. tripped over the ledge." He offered an embarrassed smile, despite it all. "And I'm pretty sure I.. I broke my leg, because it hurts like a bitc- fu-CK-" He yelped in pain as Alastor grabbed both his legs roughly.
"Which one?" Alastor's hands squeezed his legs as he tried find a fracture - of which he found none.
"My right one, under my knee, I thin-" He was cut off by Alastor squeezing on the spot. "Here?"
"Yes- fuck- stop being so rough!" He whined.
"I can't get you up any other way." Alastor rolled his eyes as he released Vincent's leg from his grasp.
"Yes, you can?"
"How, then, pray tell?" Alastor's sarcastic tone was unmistakable.
"..Pick me up?" Vincent replied quietly, eyes averting from the other's.
Alastor sighed. The idiot.
. . .
Vincent squeaked in surprise as Alastor picked him up, one arm by his shoulders and the other beneath his knees.
Alastor hissed through his teeth nearly imperceptively, straining his muscles as he struggled to force the larger over his head.
Although, unbeknownst to Vincent, Alastor was rather experienced when it came to carrying around bodies.
In the end, he managed to put him back down on the ledge above. Alastor scrambled up afterwards, a smirk adorning his features - something that complimented his face. At least, Vincent thought so.
"Happy, now?"
Vincent's face flushed a little more - this time from embarrassment instead of the cold. "I- yeah, I guess..-"
"So.. what now? Do we try and finish this, or go home?" Alastor questioned, looking down at the sprawled out figure by his feet. "I would personally prefer we give up, but this was your idea after all, so, your choice, darling."
"We're.. probably closer to the top..?" Vincent shrugged, sitting up with a grunt or two in between the action, his leg throbbing painfully. "I mean, we've gotten this far. What's the worst that could happen?"
Alastor sighed. "You really do have the worst suggestions.. Ah, but if you insist.."
Alastor stood up, looking down at Vincent.
"Can you stand at all? I don't believe that I'm strong enough to carry you all the way there."
"Uh.. I'll try. I dunno yet." Vincent reached his hands up over his head awkwardly and waited for Alastor to assist him in getting off the ground.
"Vincent, what are you-" The radio host tilted his head, not seeming to get the idea. It was almost comical when realization took over on his face. "Oh."
Alastor grabbed Vincent by his arms and lifted him up to stand, leaning him against his left side. He guided Vincent's right arm to wrap around his shoulders. "..Does that work?" The consideration he was taking towards Vincent's comfort was surprising to himself, almost irked him - especially combined with the proximity he now had to him. An uncomfortable feeling had now lodged itself in his stomach, though he would try to ignore it for the time being.
"..Yeah," Vincent's grip tightened around Alastor's shoulder a little more, fingers digging in slightly. "This'll work."
"Ah- jeez, loosen your grip a little, Vincent. I'm not going to let you fall. If not for mine, than at least for your sake."
Alastor started to walk up the trail again, Vincent struggling to keep up with the pace, limping along pathetically beside him.
-
A couple of tiring minutes passed. "Agh- Alastor, are we- almost there..?" Vincent panted, out of breath. "I don't know! Ask the mountain, for god's sake." Alastor snapped back, frustrated with the entire situation as a whole, his patience running thin.
"O-okay..-" Vincent mumbled, looking down at the ground. Alastor held back from yelling at him, taking a deep breath. "I didn't mean it literally. I swear, you could fool a man into thinking you really were stupid, Whittman."
"Oh..- I- Hey! That's a shitty thing to say."
"I'm very serious." He continued dragging the weatherman along.
"Ugh- well, I- I'm trying, okay? My leg still really fucking hurts, y'know-"
"That's a terrible excuse for being stupid, Vincent. Keep complaining, we'll see how far that gets you."
-
A solid, cold, uncomfortable hour passed. It had to have been the evening, by the time they had reached the top. Mind you, they started that journey at 10 AM. He just lost an entire day, thanks to Vincent.
Despite everything, he even still had to carry Vincent more than half of the remainder of the way up. The entire time, he had the weatherman too close for comfort, and yet the extra body heat did absolutely nothing against the persistent, brisk cold.
"You have got to be kidding me." Alastor stated, frustration evident in his voice, side-by-side with annoyance. "There's nothing here!" He dropped Vincent into the snow, the latter letting out a huff as he fell in the snow.
"..Are you blind? There's literally a cabin right fucking there!" He said from the ground, pushing himself into a sitting position with a pained sound.
"I- Vincent, for the love of god. You've made this entire experience insufferable."
"It's not my fault that you agreed to take me up here on some Valentine's Day hike as a "toast to friends" or whatever the hell you said we were."
"Shut up." Alastor grumbled as he wiped off his fogged-up glasses, only to see that there really was a cabin there that he hadn't seen before. At least they were lucky in that aspect, he supposed.
He lifted Vincent up again and brought him towards the cabin, the steps up to it creaking under their shared weight. The door's hinges practically shrieked as it was forced open and the two entered inside - it was clear the place hadn't been entered in ages, and Alastor could only wonder why exactly that was.
The weatherman groaned unceremouniously as he was dropped once more, now onto a rather conveniently placed though uncomfortable sofa. Dust exploded in a cloud off of it, throwing Alastor into a brief coughing fit.
"Couldn't you have been more gentle?" Vincent pouted.
"Maybe- *cough* But you just made me waste my entire day, you imbecile. I'm not exactly happy with you." Alastor gave one more cough, finally over the dust that entered his system.
"That's not a fair reason, you know. If I said that, you'd probably be livid."
"You and I aren't the same, Vincent. Remember that." Alastor shook his head as he wandered off somewhere in the cabin.
Vincent stared at the ceiling, vision slightly starry. The sofa creaked beneath him, somehow uncomfortable in every spot no matter how much he tried to adjust himself. He groaned pathetically, a hand running through his wet dyed-black hair. "Why am I so.. guhh.."
Seconds drawled on like hours as he waited for Alastor to come back- Wait. Why did care so much about Alastorr coming back?
He's nothing more than an underpaid radio host, a means to an end for me. A step on the ladder to fame and recognition.
..Underpaid? God damnit, Vincent, pull yourself together! He's black, of course he's underpaid! He and his kind don't belong here.
Or.. Were they really that bad? His father told him they were. But Alastor was nice - well, about as nice as he could be. He wasn't sure if either of them felt anything more towards each other than mere toleration. He deserved full wage, Vincent supposed. It's not like his radio shows were even bad..
Why am I even thinking about this? It's not like he actually matters. Like I said; means to an end. He's just a means to an end.
"What are you mumbling about?" Alastor's face suddenly appeared, filling the majority of Vincent's vision. He flinched backwards. "AH! Shit, sorry- nothing important." "Mhm.. if you say so. Regardless- I found some things I could try to make a.. makeshift bandage with, if you'll allow me to try?" The radio host's head was on a genuinely curious tilt; something Vincent had yet to truly see from him. It made him want to agree badly. He supposed he may as well. Not like he had much else to lose anyways, right? "..Sure. Give it a go, I guess..-"
"Good choice." Alastor replied, as if he would have done it anyways without permission - he wouldn't have, but it was nice to make Vincent think that.
-
Vincent had his leg propped up on the sofa as Alastor knelt beside it, various rags resting on his lap, and a bucket of water beside him. His face sported a particularly concentrated look.
Something that Vincent swore made his heart falter in his chest, if only for a split second. "Vincent, for goodness sake, how did you fuck up your leg this badly?" Alastor questioned, breaking Vincent out of his oddly trance-like state.
"..I fell on it," Vincent glanced away. Alastor rolled his eyes as he pulled up Vincent's pant leg. "..A-And on a rock. There was a rock down there, too." Vincent looked off to the side, biting his lip as he tried to stifle the pain.
It hurt. A lot.
It came as no surprise to Vincent, of course. It wasn't like he was a stranger to pain - he was a clumsy child, and unfortunately, even though he might not admit it, it carried over to adulthood.
"Okay, hold still. I'm going to try to clean it," Alastor wrang out a rag in the bucket - Vincent couldn't tell whether it was warm or cold just yet, and even though logic told him it'd be cold, he really, really hoped it'd be warm.
When the fabric touched his leg, he genuinely flinched - cold. Worse than just "cold", actually. It was fucking freezing.
"What did I just say to you, Whittman? Must I command you like a mutt or something?" Alastor looked disapproving, and that alone almost made Vincent want to go back to laying in the snow.. but simultaneously he hoped Alastor might. He knew he probably wouldn't; he'd probably prefer to save his breath for something more benefiting to him. But that didn't mean Vincent couldn't hope.
Alastor started to rub the bloody area with the rag, Vincent's body, at the very least, growing more used to the temperature.
Each pass over the spot in-which the bone was broken hurt, in Vincent's words, "like a bitch", but it was Alastor causing him the pain, so he couldn't really be bothered to complain much.
Although, it's needed to be acknowledged that it still bothered him, regardless.
Back and forth, back and forth, the repetition of the action.
Until it stopped abruptly.
Vincent, who's eyes were half-lidded at the point, came to open fully.
"..Huh? Why'd you stop?"
The look Alastor gave him was nothing short of a silent "Are you a bleeding idiot?"
Which, literally, he was.
Vincent felt his face flush slightly with embarrassment as he remembered exactly what Alastor was doing; just patching him up, essentially.
So what if he maybe got caught up a bit in the enjoyment of it all?
It felt good to have all of Alastor's attention on him.
Alastor started to create a makeshift bandage on his leg with the rags - Vincent had this gut feeling it was probably a fruitless idea, but he wasn't about to speak against it.
-
He tied them up tightly around the problem area and pulled back. "Is that any better?" All of the words Alastor was saying felt vile on his tongue - he wanted to scrub it violently and maybe take it out and mince it for good measure. He strongly disliked the attatchment he was gaining towards Vincent since he met him a few weeks ago. It made him feel soft, weak.. like he affected by idiocy, like he found this man endearing.
And yet, it didn't really make him feel as horrible as he made it out to be.
If anything, he liked taking care of Vincent.
He tried to tell himself it was just because the man was vulnerable; an easy target should he need to do anthing.
But it really wasn't.
Alastor wouldn't be caught dead admitting it, but he truly did find Vincent and his occasionally idiocy endearing.
-
A few minutes had passed. Alastor slumped against the old sofa, still sitting on the floor, while his companion remained laying on it. The wind was still howling outside, and guaranteed to still be blizzarding.
. . .
"..I'm kinda hungry." Vincent stated, rather out of the blue and assaulting the silence. "Are you hungry?"
Alastor turned his head. "Of course I'm hungry. I haven't eaten all day either, Vincent."
Vincent pushed himself to sit up, positioning himself as though he were about to stand. "I'm gonna go look for some food."
Alastor almost told him to stay put and rest - but that sounded too much like he cared about him, so he kept his mouth shut.
He nodded and watched silently as Vincent carefully stood up and limped out of the room with an air of determination around him.Alastor fidgeted with the edge of his coat sleeve as he waited for him to return.
. . .
Waiting?
Shit.
He was waiting for him.
He cared enough about this buffoon to be waiting to be in his presence again.
Alastor pinched his nosebridge. "What have I gotten myself into.."
-
Soon enough, Vincent came back, holding.. something. Alastor was having trouble making it out in the dark of the cabin, combined with already having poor-er eyesight.
"Welcome back, Vincent. I see you found something?" He eyed the thing he was holding curiously.
"Yeah- it's not much, I'll be honest. But I found some non-expired bread and peanut butter."
Alastor stared at him blankly for a moment before his face contorted into something only describable as pure disbelief.
"What? You found non-expired, non-moldy bread and peanut butter??"
That meant someone had been there more recently than he'd previously thought.
And whoever it was brought food for whoever would be there next.
"Yep,"
A butter knife clattered to the floor from Vincent's grasp.
"Shit- can you get that? I can't bend over too easily." He asked as he set the sealed loaf and container down on the floor in front of the sofa where he then (painedly) sat down.
Alastor picked up the butter knife and set it on top of the peanut butter jar. Vincent then got to making the two of them sandwiches as they conversated.
"So.. they were just.. in a cupboard in there?" Alastor questioned.
"You'd be correct," Vincent grabbed two pieces of bread and cracked open the jar. "I'm still amazed there was anything here."
"Likewise. Who in their right mind would have done that?"
"God knows, but I'm thankful for 'em," He started to spread it on the bread. "It was really recent too, this loaf's still like two weeks from its expiry date!"
"That's insane."
"I know, right?"
Vincent handed Alastor a sandwich, that he then placed on his lap, clearly waiting for Vincent to finish his own sandwich before eating. Vincent wouldn't say anything about it, but it really touched his heart. "I'm really glad, though. We wouldn't be alive if not for that."
"You're underestimating the lengths I would go to keep myself alive, Vincent, but sure."
Alastor felt himself lie straight through his teeth. He'd never kill and eat Vincent - well, unless he was insane. Then, he might. But certainly not in his right mind.
Vincent finished his own about fourty-five seconds later and closed the loaf and the jar, pushing them aside.
"You can go ahead and eat, Al."
"I know, I was just waiting for you." Alastor took a bite of the sandwich, and Vincent did the same moments after.
The two sat in silence for a bit (only silently because Alastor insisted that talking with a mouthful was dreadfully disgusting).
After rhey both finished, Alastor got up to bring the food back to the kitchen.
-
When he came back, Vincent was sitting directly in the middle of the sofa, counting something on his fingers and mumbling to himself.
"What are you doing?" An affectionate laugh slipped from Alastor's lips, and a mortified blush took over his face - luckily, it was dark enough in the room to not be blatantly obvious.
"Eh, nothing. I'm just, uh.. tired."
Alastor nodded. "I'm surprised you didn't say that hours ago, Whittman," he sat down on Vincent's right. "But I can't blame you - it's been a long, wretched day, as far as I'm concerned."
Vincent leaned against his shoulder slightly - but Alastor didn't feel like wanting to get away from him this time. And it seemed this was a good decision, because he felt Vincent relax after about thirty seconds.
"..How's your leg?"
"It's about as good as it'll be, I'd say. But thanks. ..For helping me, I mean. I thought you were just gonna leave me there."
"Nonsense. I wouldn't. For.. several reasons."
Vincent chuckled fondly. "That's good to know."
Alastor sighed, leaning back, gaze on the ceiling.
"Sometimes I wonder whether this was chance or fate, but I think you surpass the usage of either of those terms."
"Is that a compliment, or an insult?"
"Which ever you want it to be." Alastor slung an arm around Vincent's shoulder, the latter moving closer to him.
It's just for body heat," Alastor tried to convince himself - which wasn't entirely untrue. It was particularly cold in the cabin - but you get what you pay for. And in their case, they paid nothing.
In all seriousness, though, feelings were weird. Alastor could constantly feel himself fluctuating between loving Vincent and hating his guts - although maybe it wasn't hate as much as it was frustration at his stupidity (which, unfortunately for Vincent, he displayed a lot in front of Alastor) and his safety.
He tried to ignore the complicatedness of it for now, and focus on Vincent; at the moment, the weather man was leaning against his side, head on his shoulder so close to his neck he could feel every puff of breath he released.
On the plus side, he was warm. Very warm. Much better than the freezing cold outside.
Hell, he was so warm he was kind of like a human blanket, in a sense.
Alastor gave in and rested his head on top of Vincent's, nuzzling into his hair with a murmur or two as he got comfortable. Essentially, indirectly informing Vincent that they should probably go to sleep - it'd be a long day tomorrow.
-
In the morning, Alastor woke up first. He stretched slightly before remembering he had Vincent sleeping on him.
He cracked one of his eyes open to see Vincent indeed still resting on him in the same place he was last night - albeit with messier hair and more drool (the fucker drooled all over Alastor's shirt..)
He looked much sweeter when he was sleeping, in Alastor's opinion. Less obnoxious and worrying than when he was awake by a stark amount.
Alastor suddenly felt Vincent start to wake up, too. "Mmm.." "Good morning, Vincent. I take it you slept well?" Alastor asked, voice deep and gravelly from sleep. Vincent wasn't hardly awake yet and he was already blushing.
"..Allll... stop itttt.." Vincent murmured as he forced his heterochromatic eyes open, meeting Alastor's brown ones with a pout.
"Stop what? I was merely indirectly pointing out your.. drooling habit."
Vincent replied with an annoyed (or embarrassed, he couldn't tell) whine as he moved off of Alastor.
His eyes landed on the mess he'd made on Alastor's shirt and he swore Vincent's face must have flushed further.
Alastor had to employ every bone in his body to not laugh.
"I- I swear I don't usually drool so much.."
"It's fine, I genuinely do not care that much - just, wake up and whatever you need to do. We've got to leave sooner than later."
"...Yeah." Vincent stood up off the couch, stretching. A couple of bones cracked. "Fuck, I'm getting old, aren't I?"
"Vincent, you're thirty-one."
"And? I feel old!"
"I'm thirty-five, do you see me complaining?"
"Fine, maybe we're not old. But I still feel like it!"
"Whatever you say, Vin."
Alastor stood up, feeling his drool-damped shirt hit his chest unpleasantly. He tried his hardest to hide a grimace but it still seeped into his expression regardless.
. . .
Vincent froze in the middle of slipping on a coat. Alastor just called him a nickname. Were they officially on the nickname stage? Alastor shot him a weird look - something like disgust. He wondered why for a moment before realizing it wasn't him that caused it - well, it was, just indirectly - it was the drool on Alastor's shirt.
"..Is it.. still wet?"
"Urgh- If you must know, yes, it is, and it's disgusting, Vincent."
-
They were half way down the mountain by now. It had only been two hours - decent progress was being made.
Alastor tried to focus on the crunch of the snow beneath their feet, and not the man beside him.
It was so hard.
Alastor had never felt like this before - especially to someone he thought he merely tolerated.
It was unfamiliar, strange, and worst of all..
Unpredictable.
"Hey, woah, earth to Al!" Alastor feels himself being dragged harshly to the left, breaking him out of his thoughts. "You nearly fell right where I did!" Alastor's eyes widened as he realized - he really did nearly fall over the ledge where he'd found Vincent, approximately eighteen hours ago. "..I can't believe I nearly did that," Alastor murmured, beneath his breath. "Thanks for not letting me get hurt next, I suppose." "No problem, Al."
-
When they bottom of the mountain was finally reached, Vincent hugged Alastor - certainly tighter than required.
"We did it! We did it!!" He cheered, a genuinely child-like grin adorning his features.
...
Maybe that idea wasn't so bad after all.