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We hide behind our walls,
Barricaded with our feelings
We ignore our tortured souls,
Disregard our own wellbeing
We chastise those who do the same
But will we ever change?
No
For when it comes to safety,
Theirs will always be our aim.
He wasn’t meaning to hide it. He really wasn’t. But they were so busy and everyone was in trouble and he was so focused on making sure that they all stayed on their feet that the sharp sting in his side just above his hip didn’t really seem that important right now.
Only now the fighting’s over, but they’ve lost a lot of time, and they’re in a hurry, and he’s out of healing spells, and he can walk just fine, even if it is painful, so he tamps down the pain and tells himself he’ll take care of it when they get where they’re going. He doesn’t want to slow them down anymore. And besides, he’s seen how many hits Ashton and Orym can take, he can handle a little stinging in his side. He’s fine.
They get into another scuffle as the sun starts to set. They’re about an hour away from the nearest town, when a trio of bandits attempts to rob them. It’s short work. Ashton and Orym hardly even have to land any hits before the three robbers are tucking tail and running for the woods. But not before one of them gets a lucky hit on Dorian. Maybe it was just chance, maybe he’s moving slower because of his side and the exhaustion, but one of the thieves wielding a quarterstaff manages to get a solid crack in against the side of Dorian’s head. He quickly retaliates, swinging with his blade and leaving a thin trail of red along the man’s arm, before they all begin to run. His head is ringing, and there are stars swimming in his eyes. He thinks it might be bleeding, but before he can even so much as touch his fingertip to his wound, Orym is urging everyone forward.
“Everyone alright? We don’t have much time before it’s dark, we’re so close. I’d like to sleep in an actual bed tonight,” he says wryly, and Dorian huffs in agreement. Frankly, a bed sounds lovely. His head is pounding now, and his side is throbbing, and his bones ache from sleeping on the ground, and he never sleeps well when he’s on the road anyway. So yes, Dorian would love to make it to a bed tonight. So he blinks away the stars and drops his hand from his head, a lie on his lips as he sheaths his sword. Orym nods happily, taking Dorian’s lie at face value (it isn’t really a lie, because he is fine), and they continue on. Dorian tells himself he’ll check his wounds as soon as they get to the room.
There’s only one room available, but there are two beds and that’s more than enough for them. Through some unspoken agreement, Laudna and Imogen get one bed, Chetney disappears under one of them, Fearne and Orym make a beeline for the other, and Ashton seems perfectly content to set their bedroll up in the corner, grabbing an extra blanket and pillow from one of the beds.
Without thinking, Dorian throws himself down onto the bed next to Orym and Fearne, his body aching and exhausted and unable to resist the comfort of a bed on his weary bones. He tells himself he’s just going to rest for a minute, and then he’ll go take care of his injuries. But his eyes start to droop almost instantly, and Orym curls up into his uninjured side, almost kneading him like a cat, and Dorian is asleep before he can even realize it.
Orym wakes up to the scent of iron. The groggy recognition of the smell of blood jolts him fully awake, and he sits bolt upright in bed where he’s cradled between Dorian and Fearne. Dorian has shifted in the night, rolling over to his side, and Orym’s eyes are instantly drawn to the dark, red stain coating the entire left side of Dorian’s clothing. Some of it looks long dried, but there’s a fresh spot that, coupled with the smell, tells Orym that something is still bleeding, and badly. Orym feels like he can’t breathe. For a moment he hears nothing but the pounding of his heart in his ears, and it’s only made worse when he realizes he can’t tell if Dorian is breathing or not. Without even hesitating, he’s yelling at the top of his lungs as he rolls Dorian onto his back, desperately checking for a pulse.
“FEARNE! Wake up! Wake up, Dorian needs help!” He doesn’t even care if he wakes the whole inn, he just needs to make sure Dorian is alive. His heart thunders in his chest and it’s so strong he can barely feel Dorian’s own pulse under his fingers. He nearly collapses in relief when he does feel it, but he doesn’t let himself hope just yet. He shakes Dorian gently, one hand pressing tightly to the wound in his side, the other fisted in the collar of his shirt that he never changed. “Dorian. Dorian? Dorian please, you gotta wake up,” he pleads, growing increasingly more concerned when Dorian doesn’t even so much as stir.
Gods please no. Not like this.
Orym opens his mouth to yell for Fearne again, snapping it shut with a painful click when he feels her hand on his shoulder and her large, comforting presence at his back.
“What happened?” She says sleepily, and Orym’s jaw tightens with guilt. He doesn’t even know. He hadn’t noticed anything.
“I-I don’t know, I woke up and smelled blood and now he won’t wake up,” Orym stammers, pressing harder into Dorian’s side, hoping to elicit something from the unconscious man. But Dorian still doesn’t stir, and Orym feels like his heart might burst out of his chest with how badly it’s racing. “Fearne, why won’t he wake up?” He’s whining, he can hear it, pleading uselessly, and Fearne simply squeezes his shoulder and slips off the bed, making her way around to Dorian’s other side. Fearne leans over Dorian, cradling his head and muttering softly under her breath, and Orym finds he can’t even focus on her. His vision seems to tunnel, nothing but Dorian in his mind. He can’t breathe, and the only thing keeping him sane right now is the hand he has pressed firmly against Dorian’s throat. The pulse is there, and it’s reassuring, but he still won’t wake up and Orym is panicking. He’s pulled out of his daze by Fearne’s loud exclamation of surprise.
“Oh my,” she says in her typical fashion, and Orym feels his stomach drop . His eyes snap up to meet her gaze, and she stares at him wide eyed before looking back down at Dorian. She touches her fingers to his temple, and Orym watches in horror as they come away sticky with blood.
Oh gods…
“Fearne, you have to fix him,” Orym breathes, and he sees Fearne cock her head at him slightly.
“Well what else would I be doing?” she asks calmly, and Orym wishes he could bottle that calm and drink it like a shot. His heart is racing as he watches Fearne begin her spell, and he’s still got his fingers pressed into the crook of Dorian’s neck. He doesn’t know that he’ll ever be able to move them, after this.
For a moment, he almost thinks it didn't work. He sits there with his heart in his throat for what feels like an eternity, running through every scenario in his head where Dorian doesn’t wake up, and none of them are pretty. They all end with him spiraling out in grief and despair and he realizes he can’t even fathom what his life would be like without Dorian by his side. And he’s realizing in this split second that he never, ever, wants to find out.
Please, Dorian Storm. Don’t you dare leave me, too.
And then, finally, a sound like music to his ears: Dorian inhaling sharply. Orym’s hand, the one now covered in blood, flies up to grab Dorian’s hand now that the injury has been healed, and Fearne’s bloody hand is resting on Dorian’s injured temple. He jackknifes up, gasping in pain as he does so, and Orym rushes to press him back to the mattress.
“Whoa! Hey, it’s okay, Dorian. Just breathe, okay?” He tells him calmly, and he can hear that his voice is trembling but he doesn’t care, because Dorian is awake. Dorian blinks owlishly, slowly coming back to the land of the living, and he stares intently at Orym before looking down at the bloody hand now on his chest.
“Are you hurt?” Dorian rasps, trying to sit up again, before wincing sharply and laying back down when Fearne tuts loudly at him from up by his head. Orym frowns, anger and frustration at Dorian’s lack of self-care starting to bleed into his fear and relief.
“No, but you are. How could you never say anything?” Orym explodes and Dorian’s eyes immediately widen, a sheepish blush covering his cheeks. But Orym doesn’t miss the way he jumps, just a little, when he yells, and he immediately sobers. It hits him like a ton of bricks, that he nearly just lost Dorian and he hadn’t even known he’d been hurt. He’s angry and horrified and devastated all at once and he isn’t sure what emotion to focus on first. But he takes a deep breath, reminding himself that it’s not Dorian’s fault he never takes his own health and safety into account. It’s fully his parents’, and Orym decides to redirect the majority of his anger onto them. It’s something he and Fearne have wordlessly talked about between the two of them, the horrifying realization that Dorian’s parents had made it obvious to him that his well-being didn’t matter, that his brother and other things always came first. They named him second son, for gods’ sake. He’s still upset, and frankly a little hurt that Dorian still doesn’t feel like he can tell them when he’s injured. Because it is clear that Dorian knew. This wasn’t just some injury that never revealed itself until the adrenaline wore off. Orym could read the guilt on Dorian’s face. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, settling more comfortably onto the mattress next to Dorian. “I’m sorry, I just… Dorian, why didn’t you say anything? You weren’t-” his voice breaks, just a little, and he tries to catch his breath. Dorian tries to sit up again, a little urgently this time.
“Orym?” Dorian’s voice is soft, and exhausted, but it’s so utterly concerned for Orym’s well-being in this moment and it breaks him completely.
“You wouldn’t wake up, Dorian. I woke up to you bleeding next to me and when I tried to wake you up…” He trails off, unable to keep talking. If he says anything else he might start crying, and he can’t do that. Dorian’s eyes widen, and Orym hates that he can see the guilt growing in his eyes but at the same time… he wants Dorian to understand that he can’t hide things like this. He says fuck it and decides to lay it on even thicker, baring a little bit of his soul in the process. He shoves down the guilt at trying to manipulate Dorian’s own guilt into making him safer and continues. “What am I supposed to do if you die next to me and I didn’t even know you were hurt? What am I supposed to do if you’re gone, Dorian? I can’t, I can’t do that. Not again,” he all but whispers at the end, and Dorian goes still as a board. He stares at Orym, eyes wide and startled, heart racing under Orym’s fingers (still stuck to his neck like he’d predicted), and Orym sees the moment his eyes fill with tears.
“I’m sorry,” Dorian chokes out, softer than Orym’s ever heard him, more broken and yet more whole than Orym’s ever heard him. As if he’s never quite let himself believe someone would care if he was gone, but now just maybe he believes it. Believes Orym . It breaks Orym’s heart all over again, and he takes another moment to curse Dorian’s parents to the ninth hell and back. And then, as if she can read his mind like Imogen can, Fearne pipes up from the other side of the bed where she’s softly cleaning away some of the blood from Dorian’s hair.
“I’m sorry your parents are assholes,” she says matter-of-factly, and Orym lets out an undignified snort as Dorian whips his head around to look at Fearne for the first time.
“What?” He asks incredulously, and Orym decides to blame the injury on his apparent confusion. (He knows Dorian has never quite accepted just how terrible his parents are like he and Fearne have, but he decides it’s not worth it to argue that point just yet.) Fearne just shrugs, carding her fingers through Dorian’s tangled hair.
“Yes. I’m sorry your family made you believe you weren’t important,” she continues, as if it’s the most casual thing she could’ve ever said, and Orym actually laughs at the way Dorian splutters. When Dorian looks back at him, Orym also shrugs.
“She’s not wrong,” he acquiesces and Dorian’s jaw drops. Orym laughs lightly before quickly pulling Dorian’s attention back to him. Yes, Fearne’s right, but he wants to make extra sure Dorian knows that next time, he needs to tell someone. If not just for his safety, then for Orym’s sanity and emotional well-being. “Dorian, we’re serious though. Was there a reason you didn’t say anything? Because I know you knew,” Orym adds quietly, and once again he sees Dorian shrink under the guilt. It hurts, but he steels himself against it for now. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. And in that silence, Orym can hear the sounds of the others stirring, a testament to how tired they all were that they’re only just now waking up. From across the room, he hears Ashton’s gruff groaning, and what sounds like them sitting up.
“What the fuck. What’s going on?” They grumble, annoyance and a hint of concern tingeing their voice. Dorian looks down at his hands sheepishly, and Orym finally peels his fingers away from his throat to grab them tightly, stopping the nervous fidgeting.
“Dorian went and got himself hurt during our trip and never said anything,” Orym tells him wryly, and he can practically see the way Ashton’s eyebrow raises when he huffs loudly.
“What the fuck, Dorian,” Ashton barks, pulling themselves roughly to their feet, kicking FCG as they go. “Wake up, Letters, Dorian’s hurt.” Dorian looks like he wants nothing more than to sink into the mattress and disappear from sight, and Orym’s stuck between amused and still annoyed. In the end, his concern wins out over everything, and he gives Dorian a gentle squeeze of reassurance.
“He’s mostly fine, now. But we’re having a very important discussion about how you tell people when you’re bleeding out and have a head wound,” Orym emphasizes the last part especially, leveling Dorian with a stern glare, and Dorian winces.
“I’m really sorry, Orym I didn’t-I swear I wasn’t trying to hide it,” he pleads, and Orym is once again reminded of Dorian and his childhood of perfecting half-truths and not-quite-lies. Sometimes he forgets that Dorian operates just outside the circles of absolute truth, something Orym has a hard time understanding. Dorian is a horrible liar, so sometimes Orym forgets that telling the truth and not lying are two very different things to Dorian. He fully believes that Dorian didn’t consider any of this lying. He might not even consider it hiding. He decides to stay quiet and let Dorian continue. “I just-I didn’t think it was anything bad, at first. And we were all tired and just wanted to get to the inn and I thought-I thought it was fine. And I didn’t want to slow us down,” Dorian explains desperately, looking between everyone like a caged animal, and Orym feels sick.
“Dorian! It’s okay, I understand. Just… we’re gonna have to have a serious talk about what ‘fine’ means to you,” Orym says softly, and Dorian meets his gaze. There are a few tears that have managed to escape, and Orym wipes them away without thinking. Dorian whimpers, nearly melting into Orym’s touch, and Orym freezes. Orym is hit with a flash image of Dorian’s parents dumping him coldly in a room and walking away, leaving him crying on the floor after one of their zone of truth spells, and he wants to scream. Without thinking about it any further, he collapses onto Dorian’s chest, wrapping him up in the biggest hug he can muster, and Dorian stiffens for a half a second before practically evaporating into Orym’s arms.
“I’m sorry,” Dorian cries into his shoulder, and Orym just shushes him softly.
“It’s okay, we’re not mad,” Orym tells him softly, before amending his statement. “Well, not mad at you, at least. You scared the hell outta me, Dorian Storm. You can’t do that to me again, okay?” Orym whispers, and Dorian sniffs before nodding. Orym tightens his grip. “I’m serious. I need you to promise me, that you’ll tell me when you’re hurt or there’s something wrong? Even the little things. I want to know, Dorian. I care about you, please let me do that,” Orym continues, hardly even able to keep the tears out of his eyes, and he feels Dorian start trembling.
“Okay, okay I promise. I promise I’ll try,” Dorian breathes, and Orym smiles softly. He pulls away just enough to look Dorian in the eyes, and he’s struck by just how much disbelief and emotion is in them.
“That’s all I ask, Dorian,” Orym assures him, gently reaching up to brush more tears away, and Dorian breathes out a choked laugh. They’re both startled out of the moment by FCG rolling up next to Fearne.
“Pardon me, but do y’all mind if I take a look? I’m sure a few hours’ rest will do just fine, but I’d like to make sure,” the little automaton says politely, and Orym laughs softly.
“Yeah, Letters, take care of our boy,” Orym tells him, nodding and sitting up, pulling Dorian up into a better sitting position with him. He keeps his thigh pressed tight against Dorian’s, one hand still tangled tightly with Dorian’s. He looks around the room finally, seeing everyone now standing around in various states of awareness. Ashton is grumpily leaning against the wall on Orym’s side of the bed, but Orym can see the way he’s watching Dorian like a hawk. Imogen and Laudna are leaning on each other next to Ashton, Imogen still looks half asleep but she’s watching with a furrowed brow, and Orym half wonders what she’d hear if she looked into Dorian’s mind. He quickly shakes that thought away. Laudna is quietly talking to Pâté, and Orym can’t hear the words but her tone sounds concerned, like she’s narrating her worry for her little rat friend. Fearne is still quietly brushing her fingers through Dorian’s hair, and she’s started braiding it into small little braids, druidcrafting little flowers into the braids. Orym doesn’t even think she realizes she’s doing it, she’s just so focused on Dorian and keeping him calm.
And Dorian, he’s looking around the room and taking in everyone around him with unshed tears like he can’t fathom that people would care about him this much. Orym squeezes his hand again, smiling softly when Dorian’s eyes snap back over to Orym. Dorian gives him a watery half smile, full of guilt and hope and a healthy note of apprehension, but also what looks like a great deal of love, and Orym hopes he can feel every bit of love and affection pouring into him from this whole room. Wordlessly, he shifts his position, not missing the way Dorian’s face falls when Orym breaks the contact with him. But he simply turns and presses his back up against the headboard, stretching his legs alongside Dorian, snuggling into his side and reaching out to re-tangle their fingers together. Dorian melts into him, and Orym feels the whole-body sigh he lets out. He’s not sure if it’s from Orym burrowing into his side or from FCG’s healing, but either way it means one thing: Dorian is content, or at least more content than he has been. Orym lets his eyes slide close, smiling gently when Dorian leans his head onto his.
“Thank you, Orym,” Dorian whispers so only he can hear, and Orym hums happily.
“Love,” Orym says simply, and Dorian’s breath hitches.
“Love love,” Dorian breathes, and Orym feels his heartbeat settle into the gentle rhythm of sleep just as his own lulls him into dreamland.
He knows things won’t be perfect right away. There are years of trained behaviors they need to work through, and conversations to be had about the definition of “fine” and just how much Dorian's parents put him through, but for now he’s got a promise to try, and his best friend is alive and breathing next to him, and that’s all that matters. The rest can wait.