#thousand problems

47. Touching their elbow to get their attention

(This belongs in my cursed!Pinocchio/Lampwick in Storybrooke verse, which can be found here)

They're halfway down Main Street when Lampwick feels Pinocchio tugging at his elbow.

He ignores it, at first. He's not a dog to call to attention with a pull to the leash, for one, and he and Pinocchio have quarreled besides, so they're currently not on speaking terms with one another, instead trudging along the sidewalk with their gazes cast in two separate directions.

It's nothing serious - for them bickering is nearly a second nature, as commonplace as breathing or drinking a glass of water. They've hardly gone a day since they first met without finding something to squabble about. In a few hours they'll be hanging all over each other again, drawing lots to pick which responsible adult they're going to pester for some food, the cause of their disagreement long gone and forgotten.

Until then, though, Lampwick has every intention to remain committed to the bit, keeping up the silent act with his hands shoved deeply in his pockets. No amount of insistence on Pinocchio's part will convince him to give up, no siree.

But Pinocchio doesn't appear to be aware of this, and he continues tugging insistently at Lampwick's arm, once, then twice. By the third time Lampwick has long since gotten fed up with the whole ordeal, and he rounds up on the other boy with all the force of his outrage, eyes ablaze.

"Listen, I already told you, I'm sorry Granny caught us messing with the jukebox, but she'd have never noticed if you hadn't been so damn loud about it-"

But Pinocchio isn't of a mind to harass him again, it seems. Pinocchio isn't even looking at him - Lampwick blinks, stunned, momentarily caught off guard, and that's when he notices the horrified look on his friend's face and the way his arm trembles as he points it at the sky.

Lampwick follows Pinocchio's outstretched finger, and then feels all color drain off his face, dread pooling low into his belly.

His first instinct is to curse out loud, colorfully enough to make even the tamest fairy pale in dismay. Well, second, to be extremely honest - the first one is to grab a hold on Pinocchio's shirt and put himself between his friend and the threat, a fact he'd never live down if it weren't for the huge black dragon currently taking flight over the surrounding roofs, its leathery wings spreading on the sky above their heads. He might not be the smartest pea in this pod, but even he can acknowledge that imminent danger takes precedence over their daily fight, though he would still like someone to explain him how in Meissa's name did a dragon reach Storybrooke.

The third instinct, sensibly enough, is to book it.

He yanks Pinocchio out of his reverie and begins to run for dear life, breaking out of his frenzy only to check that he can hear the other's shoes thump against the concrete alongside his own, even over the dragon's deafening roar. Fuck it, he thinks, numbly.

They're going to settle their dispute in Geppetto's basement. Whatever it was about, it's not worth being turned into roast beef for a flying lizard.

30. Grabbing onto their arm

(This is either my very specific Lampwick AU or any generic universe where they grow up together, your pick)

(Also I'm very sorry about this one)

"Lampwick, wait!"

Lampwick doesn't wait. In fact, Lampwick hardly seems to hear him - he sprints forward with a laugh, darting further and further away, heedless of Pinocchio calling after him.

Pinocchio tries to keep up for another couple minutes, then gives up and flops down onto the ground, trying to catch his breath. The pain doesn't subside, but it does relent a little bit now that he's taken the weight off his legs, and he grits his teeth against it, pulling at the grass around his feet to keep his mind occupied.

Lampwick has disappeared around the bend completely by now. He's probably too giddy to care about what has become of Pinocchio, too elated at the prospect of finally winning a race to notice anything else - Pinocchio's still the fastest between the two of them, despite Lampwick's longer legs, and it's not often that he gives up before he's won, unless it's on purpose. He wouldn't begrudge Lampwick the desire to take the chance that's been offered to him on a silver plate.

Another stab runs through his leg, and Pinocchio finds himself bending forward, squeezing his eyes shut in the hope of fighting it off. It's the left one - it's always the left one that bothers him the most, though the other puts up a valiant fight at times, aching long into the night when all he wants is for a few hours of sleep. He broke both legs, as a donkey, but the left is the one that got into the fox trap, once upon a time, and it went right through the door, as well, if a little later down the line: it makes sense that it would hurt more, all things considered.

It's not fair. Nothing should hurt, not this much, at least - he was supposed to leave it all behind when he woke up a real boy, leave the stab wounds and the rope burns to the puppet hanging lopsided from his father's chair. The scars would have been plenty enough, an unpleasant reminder every time he strips down to jump into a stream, crisscrossing his body and raising under the skin like cornerstones every time he rubs his fingers over them. There was no need for anything more.

But more is what Pinocchio got, even after he proved himself worthy. He supposes he shouldn't complain - it's a blessing that it didn't hurt any sooner, when he was still made of wood and knives and splinters couldn't pierce him any deeper. No one else in the world ever got a second body to start anew, except him and Lampwick, and Lampwick has his own scabs to worry about, ugly strips of scarred skin where Giangio used to whip on his back and legs.

Lucky. They should count themselves lucky. This is a second chance for both of them - third, maybe, for Pinocchio, fourth or fifth or sixth. They deserve what they got, even if it hurts. Even if it makes Pinocchio want to scream day in and day out.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

Pinocchio looks up, blinking away tears. He hadn't even noticed he'd started crying, and now he hurries to wipe it all off his face as he watches Lampwick crouch at his side, still panting and heaving, a look of concern on his face.

"Nothing" he mumbles, trying not to flinch as the lie leaves his mouth. His friend would never rat him out about it, but he still should stick to the truth, just in case someone else is within earshot.

Luckily, Lampwick doesn't seem to buy it anyway. "That doesn't look like nothing", he says. His gaze travels down to Pinocchio's outstretched legs, his lips pursing in thought. "Is it your leg? Same old?"

This time, Pinocchio can't help but nod in confirmation, feeling light-headed and tired to the bone. A thin layer of sweat has formed on his arms and forehead, and the breeze running through the fields is almost enough to make him shiver, despite the summer heat.

Lampwick doesn't reply for a couple minutes, his head cocked to the side. Then, suddenly, he holds out a hand and grabs a hold of Pinocchio's arm.

"Come on. I'm taking you home. You'll feel better when you're laying down, and we can get you some of that ointment your father uses. Old bones all heal the same, I wager."

Pinocchio grunts in dismay, but he doesn't have the energy for more complaints, so he lets himself get hauled to his feet, leaning heavily against Lampwick as they begin the walk back the way they came.

"Did you get to the old oak?" He asks after a moment, once they've taken the first few tentative, hobbling steps.

Lampwick scoffs. "Fat chance of that. No, I didn't. Wouldn't have been fair. We're doing it again tomorrow, and I get a headstart. Ten steps sound good?"

"Ten? You're getting five at best, you cheater."

"Seven and we've got ourselves a deal."

Pinocchio smiles wanly and butts his head lightly against his friend's shoulder. "Seven it is."

They don't utter another word until they've reached Pinocchio's house, but there's no need for it. There are entire conversations summed up in Lampwick's arm wrapped under his shoulder, holding him up during the long, slow way back home, and Pinocchio's grateful for those, he truly is.