“Pipes?” comes a groggy voice beside them, and their head whips at the sound to see — Lachlan, Lachlan, Lachlan.  She can see him, even in the dark, eyes bright.  Can’t make out his expression.  Can hear his breath.  His breath.  His breath. 

The panic and terror gives way to grief, or something like it, fragile and high - pitched somehow, and Piper dissolves into helpless, wordless sobs.  It’s not until Lachlan’s face goes more panicked than confused, sitting up almost frantically so his hands can press to her cheeks, that it occurs to her that she’s probably crying blot.

“Piper,” he says, voice careful, urgent, they haven’t told him that this is something that happens when they dream, “Piper, we need to —”

“You’re okay,” they breathe out through their tears, and the relief in their voice must surprise him — his eyes widen and his mouth shuts.  “Dreamed you — got hurt, ‘cause of me,” she gasps raggedly.  Almost the same as the memory — hands at their back, shoving them out of the way just in time to take the wound instead.  “‘Cause of me —”  Their hand rises, scarred and trembling, to curl around one of his pressed to her cheek — she wants, at once, to press him closer, keep him here, and pull his hand away — force him to go, to stop touching her like she’s not poison.  She’s gonna hurt him someday, isn’t she?  She’s going to break him.  Jean’s never forgiven her and never will and he’s right for that, and she couldn’t bear for Lachlan to hate her like that, and she can’t —

Lachlan presses their foreheads together.  It’s quick — one of his hands moves to the back of their head, tugs her closer as he leans in.  It’s a clumsy movement, a little too much force, but the contact shocks them just as their words had done to him, and Piper stops thinking, if only for a moment.  Wide eyes stare at him, so close, in the dark.

“You didn’t hurt me,” he says, finally.  It stings like a clean knife between her ribs.  “You’ve never hurt me.”

Her sobs go worse, and his expression splits into something almost - frantic again.

“And you’re crying blot,” he continues, almost awkward, mostly - desperate.  “Piper, we gotta make sure you’re —”

“‘M okay,” they mutter out, small, like it’s a promise.  And it is.  “This jus’ — happens when I have bad dreams.  ‘Cause I...‘cause of something that happened t’ me when I was a kid.”  It’s hard to explain, let alone like this, the bad dream sill playing behind their eyes.  Lachlan’s blood stung her skin where it spattered, like Jean’s had.  “‘M not — in danger.  Just accumulate b - blot easier.”  Her grip on his hand tightens.  “Please don’t — leave.”

(  selfish, selfish, she’s just going to break him, he should go.  he doesn’t.  )

He says, after a long time, “okay.”  Then, “I’m gonna get up, just for a little, just so I can get something to wipe your face off with, okay?”  She nods weakly.  He laughs quietly, tries for a joke : “no offense, but your face is kind of a wreck right now.”

It works, no matter how bad it is; Piper chokes out a watery, surprised giggle.  “S - Sorry.”

“You still look good as hell,” he assures, pulling away — not before his lips press to her brow — and standing.

“You can —” she inhales and tries again.  “I keep a wash cloth that’s already got blot on it in my bag.”  Blot stains and is impossible to get out, so eventually it made sense to just use the same cloth each time.  “If you can just get that wet, that’ll be — good.”

“Got it.”  There’s a strain to his voice she doesn’t understand — maybe it’s hard, to learn how normal this is for them.  “Be right back, promise.”

It’s not long.  They don’t wipe at their face with their hands while they way; it’ll just make it harder to get out later, they know from ample experience.  They’re glad it’s not long — by the time he gets back, the dream is playing behind their eyelids again, and they stiffen and jump, just a bit, when they door opens.  He flips on a light, and she winces at the brightness and he winces at how bad she looks — the light’s back off in an instant, presumably out of kindness for her pounding head. 

They expect him to hand them the cloth, but he doesn’t; he climbs back into bed beside her and presses it to her cheeks, wiping the blot away.  Piper’s shoulders crumple, even as the cold dampness has her sucking in a breath.  It’s — 

It’s a quiet moment.  She’s not sure anyone has ever been so — that any moment has ever been so intimate or so kind to them.  They barely dare to breathe, as if they’ll shatter this / themself.  Piper is a broken thing, and not a person, but Lachlan watches Piper sob blot, the physical show of how shattered and corrupted they are, and he — doesn’t leave or act afraid.  He worries.  He wipes her cheeks off, expression focused and attentive, as though this matters.  Her heartbeat slows, the panic sloughing off of her like water.

It’s a quiet moment that gives way, eventually, to a smile from Lachlan and a helpless, matching one from Piper.  “Got it all,” he says very quietly, setting the wash cloth on his nightstand without looking away from them.  “You okay now?”

“—— Mhmm.”  They swallow, trying to find their voice.  “Thank...you.  Nobody’s ever...”  Their head shakes.  “Thank you, Lachlan.  ‘M sorry for wakin’ you up and everything.”

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, a hand running carefully through her messy hair.  “It’s all good.  And...we can talk, or we can just lay here.  Either works for me.”  They’re struck, again, by that ache at how kind he is, how tender.  Their smiles smears at the edges, and he misinterprets or gets it right.  She’s not sure which would be worse.  “Whatever you need to feel good.”

Piper — wants to talk, they realize.  They want to talk about blot, and their brother a few years ago, and feeling so desperate to save another person that they learned to still blot and magic both.  They want to talk about Jean, and being the reason their most important hurt like that, and being the thing that broke a better person.  They can’t — secrets they promised to keep, and promises still mean everything, like a child believing that a pinky swear is sacred.  But they want to, any maybe that’s a sign of growth, or something like it.

They lean nearer instead, exhausted, head tucking into the juncture of his neck and shoulder.  Piper is a broken thing, and not a person, and maybe this is selfish, to be this close, and maybe she’ll ruin it eventually as she’s so wont to do, to save him or just because she’s bad in some innate way.  But for now, they just feel — okay, for once, despite the ink they can still taste in the back of their throat.

They’re probably too tired for confessions, anyway.