A Night at the Museum (2: Battle of the Smithsonian) fic (because it's just an unnecessarily long rewrite of the hourglass scene we all KNOW could have been gayer)
Genre: Jedediah/Octavius, Hurt/Comfort
The only reason he starts waxing poetic (well, as poetic as he gets) is because he knows heβs going to get out. Itβs a joke to dissipate the tension on Octaviusβ face, to make him roll his eyes and maybe even chuckle, before he figures out a way to break the glass. Jedediah guesses that Gigantor didnβt want to throw the hourglass to the floor or smash it with his flashlight in case the glass hit Jed, but Octavius, who is way smarter anyway, is here now, so itβs going to be fine. Heβs got a sword and a squirrel (?) and the sand is barely even up to Jedβs neck.
Heβs gotΒ puh-lentyΒ of time.
ββand itβs gonna make you cry,β Jed says, hoping for that eye roll, a chuckle, even the stoic and magnetic Iβm-a-Roman-general stare Octavius is known for that Jed looooves to be the object of after he says or does something fun (stupid).
He kind of gets that last one. When Octavius looks away from the structure of the hourglass heβd been studying and looks straight at Jedediah, itβs the most serious expression Jedβs ever seen him wear. Itβs not the thoughtful, half-lidded gaze full of dry humor that Jed has come to love. In fact, itβs almost the opposite. The lines in his face are taut, especially around the eyes, and the thoughts he can see racing behind them arenβt of the calm and collected variety like normal. The cowboy realizes, after a millisecond, that actually, Octavius looks pissed.Β
βThereβs no time for yourΒ Western melodrama,β Octavius says, with a fury and an intensity that Jed doesnβt think heβs ever heard from the general. The tone hits Jed harder than the sand still pooling around his shoulders, burying him far deeper than the heavy granules have managed to so far.
Although, those are getting pretty close. The sand is pooling a little . . . faster than he expected. Β βI ainβt beinβ dramatic, Iβm beinβ heroic.β Jedediah isnβt proud of the way the last part almost sounds like a pout.
βOf all theββ Octavius is in the middle of taking off his cape and removing his sword from its holsterβer, scabbard. He uses the cape to cover his hands before taking the sword by the blade, aiming the hilt towards the glass and adjusting his stance so that itβs wider and more grounded. Then he bangs the hilt against the glass as hard as he can without warning Jedediah, who is buried so deep in the sand that he couldnβt have braced himself any more for impact if he tried, butΒ still, itβs sudden. He opens his mouth to tell Octavius to warn a feller next time, but the Roman cuts him off. Β
βI donβt want to hearββ
βAnythingΒ else that isnβtββ
βThank you, Octaviusββ
βIβm sorry, Octaviusββ
βIβll do my best toΒ fucking live, Octaviusββ
The uncharacteristic swear, the crack, and Jedβs exclamation of βWhoa!β happen all at the same time, drowning out and amplifying each other simultaneously. The crack isnβt big enough that itβs created an opening for Jedβitβs barely a hairline, not even wide enough for any sand to pour out to buy him some more timeβbut itβs a start, and Octavius, emboldened, resumes hitting it.
Jedediah sputters. βWhat in tarnation, who says I ainβtββ
The fury and the intensity are back, merging into a one-word tornado that buries Jed again.
Octavius adjusts his hold on the sword. βTo think thatΒ youβre trying to deliver a soliloquy right nowββ
βWhatβs a soleeo-key?β
βYouΒ insufferableββ
βWhatβs a soleeo-key?β Jedediah asks, again, louder this time, as if thatβs really the most important thing to ask right now. Β
Octavius ignores the question a second time. βItβs unbelievable, you have no regard forββ
βIβm just tryinβ to lighten the mood!β Jed says, also growing angrier becauseΒ what in the devilβs spittoon is this.
The crack hasnβt grown, so Octavius repositions his stance into one with an even lower center of gravity, breathing hard to catch his breath. βIt is not the time,β he says, quietly, and itβs so much worse than all the other things heβs said put together.
But Jed wonβt shut up yet. βIt is the time,β he says, trying not to think about how he has to turn his chin up to keep the sand from getting in his mouth and how difficult it is to breathe all of a sudden. Is it the sand or something else thatβs constricting his lungs so bad? βI ainβt worried, Iβve got full faith in ya, but listen, Iβm just tryinβ to letcha knowββ Β
And then his whole world is stars.
The hourglass is struck with such force from the side that the mound of heavy sand shifts, taking Jedediah with it and slamming him against another, uncracked pane of glass. The sand crushes Jedediah with the power and mass of a fully collected drift, knocking the wind out of him and ruining any attempts to catch his breath by immediately burying him in an avalanche. Β
This was not part of the plan.Β This was not part of the plan. They were in the middle of a battlefield where someone could have accidentally struck the hourglass at any time butΒ this was still not part of the plan.
He canβt breathe, he actually canβt breathe now, itβs in his eyes and his mouth and itβs c r u s h i n gβ
And then he miraculously isnβt being crushed anymore, heβs being tossed again, cushioned and buffeted by the sand in equal measure. Jed is in so much pain and he doesnβt even know how thatβs possible. Can heΒ getΒ bruises? Did the magic that brought him to life also mean he could die via things that normally killed the living? Teddy had been ripped in half but he had been fine, so why was Jed suffering so much? It was an instinctual knowledge that Jed would suffocate if the hourglass filled up, so he must have lungs of some kind, but he hadnβt really thought about it, because he was supposed to beΒ outΒ by now, and apparently he doesnβt reallyΒ thinkΒ about things before itβs too lateβ
The sand shifts again, and the edges of his vision are going black with technicolorβbright hazy lights are worming their way in from the edges even though his eyes are closed tight against the sand, and itβs much worse than everything actually going black, because itβs new and bright and painful and itβs interfering with his sense of placement. Is he upside down? On his back? On his side? He doesnβt know. He just knows it hurts, and he isnβt sure when the last time he took a breath was. Maybe years ago at this point.
And, shit, that may have been his last one.
The rest of the chapter (and fic) is on my AO3!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/54205204/chapters/137257378
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