#soft scene

“Peter, that you?” your voice rang out from the shared bedroom. The apartment was nearly pitch black besides the dim light that shone from the cracked bedroom door. 

“Yea its me” 

You crawled out of bed putting on your robe before heading into the living room. Like clockwork Peter began his “nightly” routine even though I was nearly 8 am. You knew he would be up for another 2 hours doing work only to be up at 7 for work again. A never ending cycle. Glancing at Peter you felt his exhaustion. 

You could see it in the way his feet dragged across the floor, the bags under his eyes seeming to be worse these past few days, his tie that was barely tied anymore hanging loosely around his neck as if he had intended to take it off a while ago. His jacket was off and now hung on the hook by the door revealing his very wrinkled shit that was partially untucked. His movements were robotic, moving more from habit than actual thought. Drop his bag. Head toward the table where his laptop sat waiting, an ever-present reminder that his job never really ended even when he was off the clock. Do more work till he passed out from exhaustion on the table. Then go to work again.

Except tonight.

You came up behind him, hands resting on his shoulders gently digging into the meat of his back. With a groan he leaned his head back resting it on your chest. 

“Long day at work?” You asked your voice soft. Between your voice and your hands massaging his shoulders he could pass out any minute. 

“When is it not” He groaned before lifting his head, gently grabbing your hand off his shoulder to kiss your knuckles. He reached to open his laptop to continue his work when your hand reached out, fingers curling around his wrist gently, but firm enough that he knew this was non-negotiable.

"Not tonight."

He blinked, slow, like his brain needed a second to catch up. "I just need to—"

"To what? Work more? Stay up until you pass out again?" You shot a pointed look his way. You both knew you were right. Your hand still on his wrist gently tugged him up out of his seat towards the sofa. "Peter, you’re running yourself into the ground."

He let out a dry laugh. "I'm fine."

You gave him yet another look that screamed “bullshit”

You sit on the sofa dragging his large stature down with you. Gently you push his head onto your lap, your fingers threading through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. Immediately you felt his shoulders loosen, the tension bleeding out of them like air escaping a balloon. His eyes fluttered shut against his will, and his head tilted into the touch, chasing after it as if it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

A quiet hum slipped from his throat before he could stop it.

"See?" You let out a soft chuckle. One of your hands gently trailing down his back to gently massage his shoulder. "Feels nice, doesn’t it?"

Peter let out a sound, a mix between agreement and surrender. He didn’t want to admit how good it felt. How much he needed this. How much he had been running on empty, barely keeping himself together, until now. He shifted slightly bringing his arms to wrap around you, his head pressing onto your chest. The steady thump, thump, thump of your heartbeat matching his own. His exhaustion hit him like a wave, maybe it was your warmth, or the way your fingers gently moved through his hair and on his back tracing patterns, or maybe it really was just the exhaustion catching up to him. 

You could feel his breaths even out exhaling long and slow, his body going boneless sinking further into your touch, your presence, your silent reassurance that at least for tonight he didn’t have to keep himself upright. The world blurred at the edges, thoughts dissolving into a haze of warmth and comfort. 

Gently you reached up to grab the blanket resting on the back of the sofa, draping over the two of you. Pressing a kiss onto the top of his head you whispered. Your voice reached through the haze to anchor him in the only place that mattered. 

"Sleep, Peter. I've got you."

And for the first time in longer than he could remember, he let himself believe it.

And he slept.

Heavy breathing reverberated all around him, a constant reminder of the dragon curled around the wagon. There was no part of it that wasn't touching the wood, and no way Stan could go anywhere without stepping on it. Every direction he turned was scales, and along one side its massive chest expanded and pushed into the canopy, before slowly pulling back as the dragon exhaled. Its tail and claws were curled around the other side, clingy to the sides like a child would a stuffed animal.

One of its wings was thrown over the wagon, spines tensing and relaxing with every other breath. The same breath that tickled the back of Stan's neck and warmed his face. The same breath that he'd been listening to since it fell asleep, maybe hours ago

Maybe minutes. It was hard to tell without clocks.

All Stan knew was that it was still night time, the only light he had came from the warm golden glow clutched to his chest, and he couldn't sleep.

There was a buzzing energy going through him. A restlessness that had him tossing and turning. The blankets had been twisted and untwisted around and twisted again, then kicked off and abandoned by his feet. All the pillows were flung to the sides, leaving him with nothing but his light orb resting on his and the urge to roll back and forth and maybe make some sounds about it.

Exhaustion was tugging on his eyes and made his limbs heavy and clumsy, but his mind kept buzzing buzzing buzzing.

He just wanted to close his eyes and let it all fade away. Even if it meant he had to deal with Bill.

With a sigh he sat up, letting the orb and his arms flop to his side. He watched it settle down in a fold in the too soft mattress, then blinked as the shadows shifted.

Another sigh had him rolling over to his stomach. He brought his arms up to cushion his head.

Dragged a pillow to use instead. Squished it into shape.

Then into another shape.

Then another.

Threw it to the side.

Shivered as Six inhaled, and used a toe to grab the edge of a blanket. It made it halfway up his legs before the feeling became too constricting, and he kicked it away again.

Sat up. Rolled over. Twisted and turned and curled up and laid straight and-

With a groan Stan shot up and shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes. The pressure eased some of the burning, but did nothing to get rid of the jittering clawing away inside him. He had no idea where all this energy had come from, or why he couldn't turn it all off and settle down. Thoughts kept crawling around his mind, too vague to make sense of, half-formed and leaving him on edge.

Six continued to breath evenly, its deep sleep an insult to life itself and more importantly to Stan, who was trapped in its coils until morning came. There was no way to climb over it so he could walk the extra energy off, and even if he could there was nowhere to walk to. Just an endless (but not really) golden sea, that he would definitely trip and fall all over trying to get anywhere in the dark.

Which would wake up Six and then the dragon would drag Stan back to the wagon and he'd be right back where he started, except now with a dragon claw smushing him into the mattress.

Not a scenario he wants to be a part of.

Dragging his hands down his face, he turned to look at where Six's head was leaning into the wagon. It was hard to make out in the low light, and the darkness beyond looked deeper then night, but he could still see the curve of its horns and the flaring of its nostrils. Stan watched it breath for seconds that melted into minutes, before another slow, grainy blink brought his own awakness back to his attention.

How long until morning? Was it even worth trying to sleep at this point? Or should he push through until tomorrow, and hope he could take a nap somewhere.

But if he didn't sleep, he'd still have to entertain himself until McGucket turned the lights on, and there was not much in the way of entertainment in his tiny wagon bed. The mere thought of reading or writing made his eyes water, staring into the black abyss of the treasury sounded like a good way to get lost into every dark thought he'd ever had, and staring into the light orb a good way to burn his eyes out.

There really was only one thing to do.

With another hefty sigh, Stan pushed pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Agonizingly slowly, he shuffled over to the edge of the wagon closest to Six's snout. Once there he threw one hand over the side, then a leg, then gripped the edge so he wouldn't go tumbling into the crevice between the dragon and the wagon.

Not that there was much space, but getting stuck sounded like a good way to have a panic attack until Six woke up or he was crushed.

One foot was firmly placed on the leg supporting Six's head. It was slowly joined by the other, and then by his hands as he pushed off the edge and gripped the side of its snout. The dragon didn't stir as he painstakingly crawled up the side of its face, didn't blink when he flopped onto the space between its eyes, and didn't twitch when he sat up and glared down at it.

"Hey," he rasped, voice thick with the sleep he wasn't getting, "get up. Hey."

Six didn't get up, and Stan kicked his heels into the sides of its snout and poked at one of its eyelids.

Nothing.

"Wake up," He repeated, moving to slap the space between its eyes instead, "If I gotta be awake, so do you. Can't be the only one suffering here. C'mon, get up. Stupid giant lizard."

A deep breath brought Stan higher, and a quick exhale almost threw him from his perch. One giant eyelid peeled back, its slit pupil moving to focus on Stan with a grumble.

Stan couldn't even find it in him feel smug. Feeling anything sounded like more work then he was willing to put into anything, and so he just frowned harder and kicked his heels again.

"Hey," He said, flat and lifeless, "m'bored. Wanna go do something."

Six's eye narrowed, but it was joined by a second, so Stan counted it as a win. Both eyes crossed to focus on him, and elsewhere coins clinked as the dragon shifted.

One single claw came up and brushed over Stan's head, not quite touching it. Stan was once more jostled as Six let out a series of clicks, ending with a large huff.

The claw came down behind Stan on the dragons snout, and its two eyes slowly began to close.

Not on his watch.

"Oh no you don't," Stan grumbled, reaching down to grab one of its eyelids, consequences of touching a dragons eye be damned, "I ain't walkin' around here in the dark. You can go back to sleep after you drop me off at the entrance. I won't try to run, trust me. I'm too tired."

The last bit he breathed out more than spoke, but it was true. The thought of doing more then walking around until he collapsed or morning arrived sounded like torture. At most he might drag his feet to his unused bedroom and try to sleep in an actual bed or find a corner Six couldn't reach him.

Six let out another huff, but its eyes started opening again.

Success.

"That's right," Stan let go to pat the dragon between the eyes and sat up, squinting towards where he thought the doors might be, "Just get me over there and- hey."

The last word was supposed to be a shout as Six failed to go anywhere and instead slid its claw up to press Stan into its forehead, but came out more like a mild comment towards a bale of hay. Six clicked, but didn't move its claw, pressing Stan into the warm scales of its forehead and pinning him with the rougher scales of its claw.

One of its talons started moving up and down the back of his head. It pushed Stan's head further into the scales and he sighed, dragging a hand up to rub at his face.

"Gett'off." Stan kicked his legs and squirmed, grunting when the dragon started squeezing him, "off! S'not comfortable. And I'm not sleepin."

Six huffed again, but did relent. The claw disappeared, giving Stan space to sit up and glare directly into the dragon's eyes.

Or eye. This close, Stan could only look at one at a time.

The claw reappeared before Stan could demand Six take him to the edge of the treasury. Its talons curled around him and pulled, scooping him up into its claw. A low rumble filled his ears as it stood, sending coins cascading down the gold mountain.

Stan watched it slide away and disappear into the gloom. More coins dropped down from where they had become lodged in the dragons scales, adding to the noise and raining down onto the wagon.

Above him Six yawned, sitting back onto its hind legs and rubbing at one of its eyes. Two giant wings flared out, the edges also consumed by the darkness sitting heavily around them, before slowly drawing back as it squinted down at the wagon. The claw not holding Stan reached down to pick up the light orb, which it plopped down onto Stan.

"Lets go." Stan mumbled as Six started plodding down of the gold mountain, "We can do some... something. I dunno what, just- what are you doin. Stop."

Six, worthless dragon that it was, did not go to the entrance of the treasury, but instead stomped over to the next coin mountain over and laid back down. Without the wagon it could curl into a tighter circle, then twisted so that its belly was up. It wiggled around to get comfortable, talons carefully curled so that Stan wouldn't fall down, then let out another deep sigh.

Dropping Stan right onto its chest.

"Hey!" Stan yelped, scrambling to get to his feet before a claw slammed down on him, squishing him to its chest, "Hey! Let go of me! This isn't- Gettoff!"

His whole body vibrated as Six grumbled a reply. The claw did not get off, and its talon went back to rubbing the back of Stan's head, pushing his hair up and down and shoving his cheek into the soft scales of its stomach. Every time it breathed Stan was crushed into the claw pinning him in place, pushing the breath out of his lungs as he squirmed and tried to claw his way to freedom.

After a few minutes Six shifted again, dragging Stan further up its belly towards its neck. Its next breath didn't push into him nearly as hard, but now all he could hear was Six's thundering heart beat.

He was too tired to keep trying to wiggle free, and too pinned to do more then shift side to side and kick his ankles. The talon petting his head started slowing down, until it came to a stop across the back of his head.

"You better not-"

Six breathed in deeply, then let out a slow, shuddering breath. Before too long it was back to the easy rhythm of sleep, with Stan clutched to its chest. Even if he hadn't been bone tired, he wouldn't have been to pull himself free from its iron hold. Just its weight was enough to hold Stan in place, a weight that prevented anything but the slightest of movements.

Not that Stan didn't try. He wiggled and kicked, thrashed his head and ankles as best he could, and squirmed until he ran out of breath and was left panting into its shiny golden scales. The light from his orb barely made it out from underneath to illuminate the curve of Six's chest and neck, and the orb itself was digging painfully into his side.

As his breathing slowed, he became more aware of the steady thump below his ear. It filled his ears, drowning out his own rapid heart and vague dark thoughts, until all he could hear inside his head was a deep, steady thump-thump.

Thump-thump

Thump-thump

The warmth from below and above seeped into his bones, settling the energy that had been coursing through him.

Thump-thump

Thump-thump

The scales of its stomach pressed into his face, making it itch uncomfortably, even as he melted into them.

Thump-thump

Thump-thump

Thump-thump

Thump-thump

Slowly, his eyes began to close. His breathing evened out, his heart-beat slowed, and the darkness that had been creeping at the edges of his mind began to wash over him. All the buzzing fizzled out, directionless and settled by the weight of a dragon.

With a small sigh of his own, Stan's eyes closed.

She shook her head, unable to hold his gaze under the weight of memories she had fought so hard to suppress for too long. Two hundred years of pretending that the first kindness ever shown to her had not stolen her heart long before she had ever deemed it of any use. 

“You never came back,” she whispered, the dip of her head sending waves of silver-white hair cascading in front of her face, obscuring the obsidian dark skin that marked her out for so much hatred here on the surface. 

“It was not for lack of will. I was prevented by those that had missed me.”

She felt, more than saw, his approach to her side; the strange comfort of his looming bulk dwarfing her more modest height with a protective mien that was as much a part of him as the broad muscular body that carried him. He stood close, so close; close enough she could feel the heat of his skin through the cloth of her shirt, shivering just a little in reaction to an intimacy that was not yet fully realised. 

“You are cold?” he asked, his arm lifting, hand hovering as though to clasp her shoulder, slide about her back. 

“I-I ...No, I’m just ... it’s been a strange day.”

Coward, she heard that long-forgotten, despised voice from her deep past whisper in the confines of her mind, the last echoes of a matriarch whose only grace in this world had been to fear Lolth more than she hated the child she had been given to raise in her ranks. 

“X’oriethlyn.”

The sound of her given name, unspoken for centuries, rolling from his tongue without a second thought drew a gasp from her throat, her head spinning with the sudden realisation that this druid, this man, did not lie. He did remember her; he remembered enough of her that the old name bestowed by the Spider Queen herself came as easily to him as the name she had given herself when she had first found freedom on the surface. Warmth coursed through her from the gentle press of his hand to her back as he reached for her swaying form; reached only to steady her, not to presume that she welcomed his touch. 

But welcome it she did, unable to prevent herself from turning into the unconditional warmth that opened his arms to her, allowing her to burrow into his embrace like the lost child she had been when they had first met all those long years ago. He smelled of oak and moss and rich, dark earth, of fur and fresh rain, and all those things she had never been able to put a name to until his capture by the matriarch of House Yril'Lysaen. Halsin’s arms closed around her, just as they had done back then, shielding her from the world as she clung to an anchor that she had thought she would never see again. 

How long they stood together on the shore, she could not have said, enveloped as she was in the safety of the druid’s embrace, her face pushed into the curve of his chest, his breath ruffling the fall of her moon-touched hair. 

“You have come so far, little wolf,” he murmured to her, tightening his embrace against the shudder of memory as it ripped through her, as though he could hold back the tide of whips and spiders and cruelty with just the force of his unassuming presence. And perhaps he could; if it had not been for him, tearing through the remaining ranks of guards in the chaos of the fall, she might never have escaped the Underdark herself. “I have longed to see you in the light.”

“I took your name for me,” she said, the words half-laughing, half-sobs, encouraged when she felt his lips curve into a smile against her hair. 

“I could see your strength even then,” he said, his cheek firm against her temple. “If circumstances had allowed, I would have come back for you. I would have delivered you safely to those who could have raised you better.”

“You gave me a chance no one else ever did,” Fallon whispered, finally raising her eyes to his. “You gave me freedom, Halsin. I can’t ever repay you for it.”

His smile seemed to gentle somehow further in the cool light of the moon, his head lowering until his brow touched hers, until all she could see was the druid she had loved in the secret of her soul for so many years, certain she would never see him again. 

“Your freedom was never something I expected payment for,” he murmured. “Your life is your own, Fallon X’oriethlyn. But I am glad to see you walk in the light. Your radiance is undimmed by time.”

She snorted with laughter, squeezing his waist gently before easing back, dashing the unwanted tears from her face. 

“You are still too charming for your own good,” she retorted, her smile a moonbeam of its own in the face of his chuckle.

“Or perhaps I am seeking to unlock a new memory.”

His palm touched her cheek, turning her face back to his, and for the longest moment, she thought she could see her dreams reflected in hazel eyes that flickered with something neither one of them could yet put a name to. But he was free, and so was she, at last walking beneath the same moon.