Work Text:
The pain comes and goes in sharp bursts that are stronger than the last.
Sethos knows it's his mind playing tricks on him, but it feels so real.
It comes from within him, too deep, like something pressing down from a place he can’t quite reach with his hands.
He can't see anything clearly, but all he can feel is the ache right where the Ba fragment used to be. It pulses faintly, then stronger, then fades again, similar to a heartbeat.
Sethos’ fingers dig painfully into his skin, trying to rip it open, to get to the pain, and make it stop—
It's useless. No matter how much he digs into his chest, he's unable to reach what’s wrong.
The sensation worsens, like something inside him is being pulled apart.
He feels himself shaking from how much it hurts, but he doesn't stop digging because he doesn't want to deal with it anymore.
But just like earlier, it doesn't work, even if he can feel his fingers grazing something tangible now. A hollow feeling washes over him because he's reminded of how it felt losing the Ba fragment. How it felt like losing a part of himself that he hasn't been able to fill ever since.
The void inside him feels suffocating, pressing down on his lungs uncomfortably.
His chest pulsates, reminding him that something used to sit there, and now there’s only the imprint that it left behind.
Sethos gasps, his fingers still digging, still searching, brushing against something that feels hot. But every time he tries to grasp it, it slips away from his grasp like it’s never meant to be held again.
The pain spikes and tears through him sharply, and for a moment it feels like his chest might split open from the inside, like the piece missing is trying to take the rest of him with it.
His breath breaks into something ragged, uneven, the air struggling to get into his lungs.
“Stop—” he tries to protest, but the word breaks before he can fully get it out.
His hands tremble where they press against his chest. He tries again. Tries to dig deeper, to reach whatever it is that feels so close and yet impossibly far. His fingers curl harder against his skin, nails dragging frantically over his chest as though he can tear through the ache itself. He just needs to push through it—
Before he can go any further, something wraps around his wrists, making his movements come to a stop.
The emptiness still throbs in his ribs, right in the middle of his chest, but the hold around his wrists is steady, preventing him from digging any further. Sethos struggles weakly against it at first, desperation shooting through him until he feels something—a thumb?—brushing against his knuckles.
The thumb continues caressing his knuckles, the movement slow and patient until his grip relaxes, the ache in his chest subsiding momentarily.
The fingers around his wrists loosen hesitantly moments later, like whoever is holding him is waiting to see if he’ll start clawing at himself again.
He doesn't.
He tries to move, to find the source of that touch, and fails because his body doesn't respond to him. Before panic can resurge, another touch follows: careful fingers smoothing through his hair, combing slowly through the strands near the nape of his neck to soothe him.
The touch lingers until his muscles aren't so stiff anymore, his body melting into the caresses unconsciously.
Once the tension leaves him, the fingers start moving through his hair in careful strokes, untangling the nothingness threaded through him little by little, soothing him into forgetting all the horrifying pain that was taking over him.
The ache in his chest still pulses faintly, but it doesn't feel like his chest will split in two anymore. The pain is still there, but the warmth surrounding him makes it feel distant now instead of unbearable.
Sethos’ body feels heavy now, exhaustion replacing the frantic desperation from earlier. The fingers threading through his hair become gentler now, occasionally scratching lightly against his scalp.
He hears a voice humming faintly seconds later.
The sound is so close that he feels it more than hears it, a low vibration brushing against his temple. Sethos can’t make out the melody properly through the haze in his mind, but it makes his chest ache for entirely different reasons now.
He feels… safe in a way he hasn't felt in a very long time. He didn't know how much he craved it until this very moment.
The humming continues while the fingers keep gliding through his hair like the person doing it has all the time in the world for him. Every touch feels impossibly tender as if he's something fragile.
Sethos doesn’t try to fight the exhaustion anymore, letting himself drift in the tenderness surrounding him, his body burying itself deeper against the body that's holding him close.
The fingers in his hair suddenly slow, and he feels something pressing against the center of his chest. A kiss right where the ache was earlier.
A shudder runs through him from the action. The only person in the world who knows exactly where it hurts and knows how to soothe him is Wanderer. He's never let anyone else but him see him in such a vulnerable state before, so it can't be anyone else.
The kiss lingers for just a few seconds longer before pulling back, followed immediately by a hand settling protectively over the same spot, like this person—no, like Wanderer, is trying to hold him together.
He presses closer instinctively against Wanderer once his brain recognizes who it is, his cheek nuzzling against him sleepily to chase more of that comfort.
The fingers in his hair resume their gentle movements followed by the humming to lull him into sleep. Sethos can feel every vibration through the body holding him close, his breathing unconsciously falling into rhythm with it.
Another tender brush of fingers along his scalp makes his eyelids grow impossibly heavy because he feels safe knowing Wanderer is looking over him, so he lets himself drift into sleep.
—
Sethos wakes up hours later to cool fingers resting on his forehead.
They brush damp hair away from his skin with gentleness, then move back to linger there for a second like they’re checking his temperature before retreating again.
“No fever,” Wanderer murmurs to himself, sounding relieved.
Sethos stays still for a moment longer, eyes staying closed because the exhaustion is still stubbornly clinging to him. The blankets wrapped around him are unbearably soft and cozy, making him want to sink deeper into the mattress instead of waking up properly.
Beside him, the bed shifts carefully, and seconds later, he hears footsteps moving away, followed by the faint clink of dishes somewhere in the kitchen.
The sounds of Wanderer moving through the kitchen blend softly into the stillness of the house: the light clink of dishes, water simmering, a cabinet opening, and shutting again. Sethos breathes slowly, his chest feeling lighter from how painfully domestic it is.
There’s something comforting about hearing Wanderer move around his home like this, the domesticity of it filling the hollowness in his heart that he has been trying so hard to ignore for years.
The phantom pain in his chest appeared a while after he had to give the Ba fragment to Cyno, becoming something he had to deal with more often than he would like.
Some days it’s quiet enough that Sethos can almost pretend it isn’t there anymore, buried under laughter and distractions and the familiar rhythm of everyday life. Other days, it aches deep enough to remind him that something important was torn out of him, taking a part of him with it, causing his body to burn up with a fever each time.
Today is one of his bad days.
Thankfully, the ache is still there from his earlier episode, but it no longer feels overwhelming. Not while Wanderer is here taking care of him.
The sound of Wanderer plating something pulls him out of his thoughts, and despite the exhaustion in his body encouraging him back toward sleep, his curiosity wins. He stirs in bed, finally forcing his eyes open. He blinks slowly to adjust to the dim light filtering through the curtains, his vision still hazy with sleep.
The first thing he notices is a bowl sitting on the nightstand, a folded cloth draped beside it, and a book lying open face-down, which probably belongs to Wanderer, meaning he's been here for a while now.
Carefully, he pushes himself up against the pillows, immediately pausing when dizziness shoots through him. His head pulses in protest at the movement, sharp enough to make him inhale through his teeth.
He must've been louder than he thought because moments later, Wanderer appears in the doorway, his reaction immediate.
“You're awake,” he says, his eyes scanning Sethos to check the pain hasn't returned.
Sethos blinks blearily, still sluggish from sleep. Wanderer looks annoyed, but Sethos knows him well enough by now to recognize that it's not genuine annoyance but worry. It's the kind of irritation he falls into whenever he’s worried and trying very hard to hide it. His brows are drawn together faintly, hair slightly disheveled from running his hands through it too many times, and there’s still a spoon loosely hooked between his fingers like he came here the second he heard Sethos move.
It's such an endearing sight that Sethos forgets about all the pain momentarily.
Wanderer notices him staring immediately, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
A tired smile tugs at the corners of Sethos’ mouth. “You look stressed.”
“Tch. I wonder whose fault that is.”
Despite the sharpness of his response, Wanderer is already crossing the room toward him, the mattress dipping gently as he sits on the edge of the bed next to him. He presses his fingers against Sethos’ forehead, checking his temperature again.
Once he's satisfied with what he finds, he slides his fingers into Sethos’ hair, brushing the damp strands away from his face.
Wanderer pauses for a moment when Sethos relaxes against his touch before continuing slower this time. He combs his fingers through Sethos’ strands just like he did earlier to calm him down.
“Still no fever,” he says, mostly to himself in reassurance that the fever hasn't gone up in the minutes that he last checked.
Sethos watches him through heavy eyelids, but he still shows a playful smile. “You don't need to fuss over me.”
Wanderer rolls his eyes, but his fingers are still moving through his hair tenderly.
“You were delirious a few hours ago,” he retorts flatly, “so I have to make sure it doesn't happen again.”
The words should probably sound harsher than they do, but the way he's taking care of Sethos ruins any real bite behind them.
Sethos hums quietly, leaning a little further into the fingers on his head, almost nuzzling into it as if asking for more.
Wanderer looks at his face for a moment as if he's contemplating something, and then he lets his fingertips scratch lightly against Sethos’ scalp.
"You’re clingier when you’re sick,” Wanderer mumbles, almost like he didn't mean to say it out loud.
“That's because you like doting on me.” A sleepy grin spreads across Sethos’ face as he says it.
“... Hmph.”
Wanderer huffs out, but he doesn't deny it because he knows it's true since he tends to pamper him even more when he's sick like this. Before Sethos can say anything else, he finally pulls his hand away, though not without brushing his fingers once more through Sethos’ hair because he can’t help himself.
“Sit still,” he says instead to change the subject, even though the tip of his ears are red now. “You need to eat something.”
Sethos watches him leave the room without another word, coming back minutes later with a steaming bowl in his hands. He looks fairly pleased with himself while taking a seat next to him on the bed again.
“I want to be pampered like this every day,” he admits sleepily, half teasing half serious.
Wanderer shoots him a flat look before scooping up a spoonful of broth.
“You become even more annoying when you’re sick. I didn’t think that was possible.”
Sethos laughs under his breath, the sound quieter than usual from exhaustion, but the playfulness in his eyes is bright. He can tell Wanderer is relieved to see him with some energy by the way the tension in his shoulders finally loosens.
He brings the spoon towards Sethos' lips, lifting an eyebrow expectantly when he doesn't move.
Sethos blinks at it. “You’re feeding me?”
Wanderer raises an eyebrow. “Would you rather spill soup all over yourself trying to hold the bowl with shaking hands?”
Sethos glances downward automatically, just now noticing how shaky his hands are, completely out of his control because he can't stop them no matter how hard he tries.
The realization makes embarrassment creep into him, but before it can settle into his chest properly, Wanderer clicks his tongue.
“Don’t start.”
Sethos looks back up at him, almost surprised by how firm Wanderer sounds.
“I can literally see you thinking too hard,” Wanderer continues, his voice coming out softer than what Sethos is used to. “Don't punish yourself for things you can't control.”
The bluntness of his words knocks the apology right out of Sethos before he can say it. Instead, he just smiles weakly and leans forward enough to take the spoonful into his mouth, humming pleasantly at how tasty it is.
Wanderer’s expression softens almost imperceptibly at the sound.
“At least your appetite is back,” he says under his breath.
The relief in his voice catches Sethos off guard more than the words themselves.
Wanderer usually hides his concern behind sarcasm sharp enough to cut through people, but his worry seems to have worn some of those edges down tonight. Maybe Sethos getting sick like this always does something to him.
Sethos smiles faintly at the idea of Wanderer being this worried about him, even if he feels a little guilty over it.
“You sound relieved.”
Wanderer avoids his eyes immediately, focusing instead on stirring the spoon through the broth.
“You scared me earlier,” he admits after a moment, voice low enough that Sethos almost misses it.
Sethos watches Wanderer silently for a second, taking in the way he keeps his attention stubbornly fixed on the bowl instead of looking at him directly. It’s strangely endearing seeing him like this, trying to hide how deeply he cares, yet unable to stop it from slipping through anyway.
His smile falters, his gaze lowering toward his lap. “… Sorry,” he responds instinctively.
The memory comes back to him in fragments: pain tearing through his chest, his fingers digging desperately against his skin to stop the ache, and Wanderer comforting him through it.
Sethos’ fingers curl weakly into the blanket. “Did I scratch myself badly?”
Wanderer stills almost imperceptibly at the question.
“Not badly enough to leave scars,” he answers after a second, his voice quieter now.
Sethos hesitates, biting his lower lip.
“I remember trying to get it out,” he says softly. “It felt like something was stuck inside me again.”
He hates how the words sound so fragile as they leave his lips.
Wanderer’s expression tightens immediately.
“Sethos.”
“I know it doesn’t make sense,” Sethos interrupts him quickly, his exhaustion making it harder to keep the helplessness out of his voice. “I just— it hurt so much, and it felt like if I could just reach it then maybe—”
“Stop. Don't.” Wanderer cuts him off before he can spiral further.
Sethos’ breath hitches, startled by how firm he sounds.
Wanderer exhales through his nose before setting the bowl down onto the nightstand beside him. He then reaches over and places his hand carefully against the center of Sethos’ chest.
“You were hurting,” Wanderer says gentler this time, thumb brushing once through the fabric of Sethos’ top. “You couldn't control it.”
Sethos lowers his gaze. “Still scared you, though.”
A brief silence follows.
Wanderer’s hand presses slightly more firmly against his chest in an attempt to ground him.
“Yes,” he admits quietly. “You did.”
Sethos winces, the guilt still nagging at him.
Wanderer’s expression turns even softer as if he can tell what's going through his head.
“You aren't a bother,” he says before Sethos can retreat into himself. “I hate seeing you in pain like that.”
The confession lingers in Sethos’ chest.
Wanderer’s thumb continues tracing slow circles over the spot that hurt earlier, soothing him little by little without even seeming aware he’s doing it.
“… I couldn’t stop,” Sethos admits eventually, voice barely above a whisper. “It felt so empty.”
Something flickers across Wanderer’s expression. Something pained and gentle all at once.
His fingers slide upward until they're resting directly above the place Sethos was clawing at earlier.
“You don’t have to deal with it alone anymore,” he murmurs.
Sethos’ throat tightens unexpectedly, his eyes stinging with tears he doesn't want to let fall.
He leans against Wanderer’s shoulder for comfort instead.
Wanderer pauses mid-movement. “… Comfortable?”
Sethos hums sleepily. “Very.”
A sigh leaves Wanderer afterward, but there’s no irritation in it. If anything, he shifts closer on his own so Sethos can lean against him more easily.
He lets out a light hum and picks the bowl back up again, deciding they've talked long enough.
He lifts another spoonful toward Sethos, clearly trying to move past his confession before Sethos can dwell on it too much.
“Open your mouth,” he mutters.
Sethos can’t help the small smile that spreads across his face before he obediently leans in to take the soup.
The soup tastes warm and comforting, like a warm embrace after a long day. Combined with the blankets tucked around him and Wanderer sitting close beside him, it leaves him feeling drowsy in the most pleasant way possible.
Sethos finishes the last few bites while half-asleep against Wanderer’s shoulder, eyes growing heavier with every passing second.
Wanderer sets the empty bowl aside onto the nightstand while Sethos struggles to keep his eyes open.
He looks down at Sethos, who is very obviously seconds away from falling asleep sitting upright.
“You’re done,” Wanderer says.
Sethos makes a low noise in response that barely resembles words.
Wanderer rolls his eyes affectionately. “You’re impossible.”
“Mhm,” Sethos hums drowsily, not sounding concerned about it at all.
A faintly exasperated sigh leaves Wanderer, but despite his complaints, his hand slides gently behind Sethos’ back a second later, guiding him carefully down against the pillows before he can accidentally tip sideways off the bed.
He then pulls the blankets back up around Sethos’ chest automatically, fingers smoothing absentmindedly over the fabric once he’s satisfied.
Sethos only smiles sleepily in return.
The room grows silent after that.
The lamplight spills warmly across the bed, and Sethos can hear the faint rustle of Wanderer moving beside him as he reaches for the abandoned book on the nightstand, but before he can grab it, Sethos’ fingers curl weakly around the edge of his sleeve.
Wanderer stops, glancing back to look down at him curiously.
“What now?” He asks, though the sharpness in his voice has lowered considerably by now.
Sethos blinks up at him through half-lidded eyelids, almost pouting. “Come here.”
Wanderer raises an eyebrow. “I’m already here.”
“Closer.”
For a second, Wanderer just looks at him.
His gaze lingers on Sethos’ tired expression and how he's practically struggling to stay awake now that the fever and pain have finally eased enough for exhaustion to settle in fully. The sight pulls the last of Wanderer’s resistance away.
After a brief hesitation that seems more out of habit than genuine reluctance, he finally gives up on the book entirely and shifts closer instead, finally slipping under the blankets carefully to avoid disturbing him too much.
The moment Wanderer settles properly beside him, Sethos instinctively curls toward him, pressing close until he can tuck his face against Wanderer’s neck with a happy little sigh.
Wanderer stills briefly at the contact, but then he slides one arm around Sethos’ waist to pull him closer properly protectively.
Sethos relaxes against him instantly.
“There you go,” Wanderer murmurs warmly.
Sethos nuzzles contentedly into his skin in response.
The phantom sensation in his chest still pulses faintly every now and then in the place where the Ba fragment used to rest, but it no longer feels like it's tearing him apart.
“You know… I think getting sick would be a lot worse without you.”
Wanderer goes still at the heartfelt confession.
Sethos barely catches the way his expression becomes fond before tiredness drags his eyes shut again.
“Then it’s a good thing you have me,” Wanderer responds after a second, pressing a kiss against Sethos’ forehead.
The hand around Sethos’ waist tightens ever so slightly afterward in reassurance.
Feeling safe in Wanderer’s arms, Sethos falls asleep only moments later.