Work Text:
The thing about being able to fly was that you forget you can fall. When he took up the mantle of falcon, Joaquín learned first hand what it felt like to lose his wings.
He was flipping—rapidly—through the air as he plummeted towards the ocean. He kept thinking “wait—wait—just let me stop spinning—wait.” He tried to open his wings. At some point in his spinning he caught a glimpse of Sam. He tried to open his wings again. Sam was too far away to catch him. The water was right there. He was going to die. Joaquín Torres was going to die.
Joaquín shot upright out of bed with a scream halfway out of his mouth. He was wet. His hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. Did he just get pulled from the water? His ears were ringing. He raised a trembling hand to move his hair from his eyes. He was shivering. Why was he shivering? He wasn’t cold. His teeth were clenched and he was rocking back and forth. When did that happen? He willed his jaw to loosen but it wouldn’t move. It wouldn’t move. How was he able to breathe with his jaw clenched? He couldn’t breathe. He couldn't breathe and he couldn’t open his mouth. He was underwater again. The water was in his lungs. It—
“Joaquín!” A voice next to him.
The shaken man whipped his head to the side. Bob. What was Bob doing in the ocean? Bob wasn’t—
“Look at me. Breathe Joaquín, breathe.” Bob held one of Joaquín’s clenched fists to his chest and began breathing exaggeratedly. “Just copy me. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”
Just copy Bob. That was easy. He’d do anything Bob asked. He felt the water draining from his lungs.
“Good job, Joaquín. Do you know where you are?” Bob’s voice was firm but edged with concern.
“The…the hospital…” Joaquín rasped.
Why was his throat so hoarse? Had he swallowed that much salt water? Bob’s lips pursed and his eyebrows knit together.
“You’re in my bedroom at the Watchtower. You’re safe. I’m right here with you. Your crash was 13 months ago. You just woke up from a nightmare.” Bob told him, squeezing their interlocked hands.
Joaquín wheezed as he deflated. He rested his forehead on Bob’s shoulder. Bob reacted immediately, wrapping his arms around Joaquín and rubbing his back.
“I’m right here, Quin.” He whispered. “I’m right here.”
Joaquín hadn’t even realized he had been crying until a sob forced its way up his sore throat.
“I’m sorry.” He cried against Bob’s sweatshirt. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry.” Joaquín whimpered, curling closer into Bob.
“There’s nothing to apologize for, baby.” The brunette soothed the quivering man in his arms. He kissed the side of his head. “Is there anything I can do for you right now?”
“Just hold me, please.” Joaquín whimpered as he rubbed his face into the junction of Bob’s neck, hiding from the world.
“Of course, Quin.” The taller man breathed, kissing his head again.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. The only noises were Joaquín’s dysregulated breathing and Bob’s murmured mantras.
“Let’s go make a snack.” Bob suggested to the man cradled in his arms.
Joaquín had a far away look in his eyes but nodded some. Bob slipped off the bed and pulled his partner along by his hand. He followed complacently. Bob took them to the kitchen. Joaquín stared out of the large windows overlooking the city. The height made his stomach feel all knotted. He grit his teeth in frustration.
What use was a falcon that was scared of heights? God, he was so fucking useless, wasn’t he?
“Hey, Quin.” Bob pulled Joaquín out of his thoughts, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve gotta learn how to make the best midnight snack ever.” Bob smiled at him.
Joaquín leaned over the counter as Bob took peanut butter, tortillas, and two small containers out of the pantry.
“What are you making?” Joaquín asked with morbid fascination as he quirked his head to the side.
“What?” Bob huffed in amusement. “It’s a peanut butter quesadilla.” Bob explained like it was obvious.
“What?” Joaquín gawked again. “That is a disgraceful use of tortillas.”
“You know quesadilla literally means ‘little cheesy thing.’ No part of this is a quesadilla.” Joaquín felt some of the remaining tension in his body ease away as he bantered with Bob.
“Well then call it a ‘little peanut butter-y thing. Whatever that translates to.” Bob shrugged as he smeared peanut butter on a tortilla.
A beat of silence passed before he spoke again.
“I used to make these all the time when…uh…when there wasn’t much food in the house.” Bob cleared his throat a bit. “Old reliable. Tortilla, peanut butter, cinnamon, and sugar.” He said as he slapped another tortilla on top of the first one.
Joaquín took one of Bob’s hands in his own and kissed it. The tips of Bob’s ears grew red and he gave him a thankful smile. He gently pulled his hand from Joaquín’s.
“Now we microwave it.” He shifted topics quickly.
“Microwave?” Joaquín exclaimed, aghast.
“Yup.” Bob plopped the two not-quesadillas directly onto the microwave turntable, no plate.
“Babe.” Joaquín leveled him with a ’you cannot be serious right now’ look.
The taller man giggled.
“What?” Bob asked innocently.
“Oh my God.” Joaquín rolled his eyes.
“You’re hating but just wait until you try it. You’ll be begging for me to make another.” Bob declared matter-of-factly.
“Mhmm.” Joaquín hummed, unconvinced.
The microwave beeped and Bob took out the two not-quesadillas, putting them on one shared paper towel.
“C’mon let’s sit on the couch.” Bob led Joaquín to the couch and they huddled close together as Bob turned on a show.
“Here, take a bite.” Bob held out Joaquín’s not-a-quesadilla.
Joaquín took it, amused. “You didn’t even cut it, how am I supposed to eat it?” He huffed in amusement.
“Uhh with your mouth, dumbass.” Bob replied with mock-sarcasm.
Joaquín shook his head and took a bite. Bob did as well. The melted peanut butter started dripping down smeared across his face
“Dripping! dripping! It’s dripping!” Bob moved his hand to catch the melted peanut butter leaking from the tortilla.
Joaquín quickly corrected the not-a-quesadilla’s position while attempting to laugh and chew at the same time.
“You got peanut butter all over me.” Bob whined with his mouth full.
“Stop complaining.” Joaquín shifted to face Bob.
Joaquín grasped Bob’s peanut butter covered hand and sucked the peanut butter off his fingers. Bob struggled against Joaquín’s grip playfully.
“Ew! Let go, you freak!” Bob laughed as he wiggled in the other man’s hold.
After the peanut butter had been cleared from Bob’s hand, Joaquín let go.
“You’re so gross.” Bob said with no real venom as he wiped his hand on Joaquín’s chest.
“You love me.” Joaquín asserted confidently.
“Yeah.” Bob sighed, snuggling into Joaquín’s side. “So how was the quesadilla?”
“Not a quesadilla.” Joaquín corrected. “But it was…fine. That’s all I’ll give you.”
“That’s a win in my book.” Bob rested his head on Joaquín’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded on the TV.
A comfortable silence fell over them.
“Thank you, Bob. For…all of it.” Joaquín whispered against the man’s soft hair.
“It was really no problem.” Bob squeezed Joaquín’s hand. “I understand it. The nightmares. The fear.”
Bob spoke quietly but firmly.
“I’m always here if you need me. I know you don’t like being vulnerable, but I like taking care of you.”
Joaquín let Bob’s words swirl through his head. He wasn’t good at the whole opening up thing, it’s something Sam scolded him about pretty regularly. Joaquín looked down at Bob, who was half asleep watching whatever show he’d put on. Maybe he’d be able to try it more intentionally. Yeah. Yeah, he could do that. For Bob.
Yeah, for Bob.