The Yellow Court - a sfawtde/dawtde fic
AO3 link -https://archiveofourown.org/works/84232626/chapters/229791193#workskin
CHAPTER 3 - Survivorās Guilt
(Tw for panic attack and implied suicide attempt)
Avery emptily wanders around the cathedral; he seems to have an instinctive sense of the contents and location of every room despite having never seen it before.
Soon enough, he stands in front of a bathroom mirror in a grand bedroom he assumes is his. Swirling golden tentacles and swan wings line the yellow lights and cascade down the sides of the mirror.
There is a stranger in the reflection, and it is undeniably himself.
If he squints, his hair is in its usual loose curls, his face still rounds off into a soft oval, and heās even got his modest stubble that he was never confident enough to let grow into anything more.
But it's an artistās rendition.
His hair is carved out to be longer than it was, into whatever homogenized jelly that makes up his new body; his jaw no longer lacks the surety of bone nor the hand he used to feel for it, and his stubble is out of place in his carefully sculpted face, stuck on for recognition at the last minute like an art project.
Avery canāt help but think of the ridiculous green fluorescent poltergeists from the movies. He feels like he died, sent to haunt a reality with a sense of humor.
Crumbling down to the cold tile in choked sobs, Averyās thoughts begin to consume him.
What of his old life? What of his family? His parents live not too far away.
His father is a heroic man; would he have rushed outside to defend against the dancers, or would his mother have convinced him to stay and let them pass?
He needs to find them, to help them.
But once more, a crushing apathy drops upon his shoulders like tungsten chains, and he cannot bring himself to stand
āYour duties are here; you cannot help them.ā A voice undeniably his own whispers in his ear.
He continues to cry; his breath quickens. The more he tries to breathe or think, the heavier the chains lie upon him, crushing his lungs under their weight.
āYour duties are here.ā
He crawls helplessly along the tile and hoists himself onto the ledge of the bathtub, as if climbing onto a higher surface would provide him any relief. It doesnāt.
Before he knows it, he is inside the spacious bathtub, big enough to accommodate him with ample room to move, yet small enough to knock against his shoulders and knees; his heavy embroidered vestments fold upon his arms like a moving blanket. The physical sensation actually seems to lift the weight off of him.
Itās better, but it isnāt enough, though. Avery wishes he could tear down the shower curtains, the ceiling. He wants to bury himself, like he was under his house.
Waterās got weight to it. And thereās a faucet right there. The drain plug is right next to his head. He reaches for the faucet handle.
It wasnāt until he felt the first droplet on his forehead that he came back to his senses.
āYeah.ā Averyās sniffles and torn voice betray him. Derek peers into the tub; his helmet is off, and he doesnāt look all too great himself.
āMind if I join you? ā His voice is flat and exhausted.
Avery sniffs and wipes his eyes; such an odd request, to be in the bathtub.
āIāll⦠Iāll take off my armor so it doesnāt jab you,ā he reassures, a little embarrassed.
Avery chuckles. āYeah, of course, man.ā He sits up and leaves room for Derek to sit.
Avery watches as Derek removes his armor. Heās far frailer than Avery initially thought. Beneath the armor, the bulk of the plates makes him look so grizzly.
Heās down to a padded tunic and a pair of oversized pants. He sits carefully next to Avery; his grace seems to indicate he has far more experience cramming himself into a bathtub in times of stress than Avery does.
āDo you still have that infinite knowledge thing, Derek?ā He asks.
āIs there any possibility we can get out of this? Go back to normal?ā
Derek sighs and tries to loosen his hair a bit more, taking some time to consider the factors. Some of his locs fell around the frame of his face. Avery hadnāt seen him without his helmet until then. He thought he was beautiful.
Derek sighed and put his hands on his head. āNot a chance.ā
āThereās no one? Nothing that could save us?ā
Derek seems to wince at the thought. āI donāt think the king would even let us fathom the possibility.ā
They both look straight ahead at nothing in particular, shoulder to shoulder.
āSo itās just us then.ā
Avery begins to laugh, the tears well up without fuss now, rolling down lazily down his face. He is too exhausted to sob.
Derek wraps his arm around Avery. The gentle squeeze makes the apathy upon his back melt away more than any weight he couldāve buried himself in. Avery lays his head onto Derekās shoulder; he does not pull away.
āWhy are you here anyway? Howād you know I was in here?ā
āI donāt know, why were you trying to take a bath with your clothes on?ā Derek said in a deadpan tone that caught Avery off guard. He sighs, āIām sorry, I guess I just had this feeling that I needed to come check on you.ā
āHm.ā Avery figured it was part of the knowledge thing. He picked his head up from Derekās shoulder. āWell, what now?ā
āI guess⦠nothing?ā
Derek stands up from the tub and steps out. āItās like 3 am right now if my memory serves correctly,ā he looks in the mirror, and heās a little appalled by what he sees
Derek turns back to Avery; his eyes are puffy. āWe both look a little worse for wear, and thereās nothing we can do about⦠all this,ā he gestures vaguely and sighs. āI see no reason why we shouldnāt get some rest and figure this out in the morning.ā
Avery buries his face in his arms; he doesnāt respond. Derek frowns and kneels in front of the tub.
āI dragged us into this⦠I promise Iāll get us out.ā He extends a hand, Avery takes it, and Derek pulls him up from the bathtub. āI promise.ā
Avery gives him a meek nod as he begins to collect his armor.
āGoodnight, Avery. Iāll be in the next room over.ā
Avery watches him as he leaves. āNight, Derekā¦ā