Caretaker gently cradled the back of Whumpee’s head against their chest, their eyes darting nervously around the cold, dark room they’d been locked in for so long as they carefully pushed both of them further into the corner. The steel door that kept them trapped was slowly beginning to open, the sound of voices being enough to cause Whumpee to whimper tiredly against their shoulder.
“Caretaker…”
“I got you,” they mumbled, forcing their arms a little tighter around Whumpee’s trembling body.
After a moment, however, they found themselves releasing the breath they didn’t even know they were holding, still on edge as three unfamiliar figures stepped through the large door.
“It’s okay,” one of them assured them as they edged closer. Noticing Caretaker’s hesitatancy towards them, along with the way they instinctively shifted themselves so Whumpee was still out of their reach, they offered a gentle smile. “We’re here to rescue you.”
Whumpee lying on their side in their tiny hospital bed, their forehead resting tenderly against Caretaker’s as they rest, and Caretaker’s thumbs gently stroking their bruised face.
They could be softly whispering to each other. About how much they’ve missed each other, and how grateful Whumpee is that Caretaker finally rescued them, or everything they’re gonna do when Whumpee is finally allowed to go home. Whumpee might be quietly venting about everything they had to go through while trapped with Whumper, or listening as Caretaker talks about how they never stopped searching for them, and how hard it was being without them.
Alternatively, Whumpee could be sleeping, and Caretaker just wants to be close to them. To feel their warmth after so long of being apart, to make up for all the time they haven’t been able to love on them.
Caretaker could be gently kissing each of the scars on Whumpee’s arms, face, neck, and everywhere else they can reach, assuring them that they’re still loved and they’re still beautiful and they’re still all the things they were before they were taken.
Soft, soft, soft touches from Caretaker, fingers brushing against Whumpee’s bruised cheek, tucking their hair behind their ear. Looking into their eyes full of pain and sorrow and feeling tears well up in their own. Pulling Whumpee into their arms, holding them tight as they dare, pressing a hand to the back of their head and their lips to their temple and murmuring,
“It’s okay. I’m here now. I’ve got you. I’ll never let anyone hurt you again, I promise.”
When the whumpee is finally able to sleep, the caretakers make it their mission to ensure no one wakes them up/they’re as comfortable as possible.
Someone remains in the room at all times, ensuring the whumpees pillows are positioned correctly, their blankets are pulled up and that the whumpee does not open stitches/accidentally uncover bandages.
Others stand guard of the room, ensuring no one enters or leaves - though there is an incident where the delirious whumpee tries to get out, but they’re eventually convinced to go back to bed.
The doctor/more medically informed person checks on them hourly, checking that their wounds are healing well/they’re not running a fever/to administer medicine.
Someone is primed and ready to make some food as soon as it’s needed. After all, how long has it been since the whumpee has had a substantial meal?
Another makes preparations for the whumpees awakening; they keep water at the bedside and fresh clothes and towels next to the heater because the whumpee needs a shower… but not as much as they need sleep.
(This could be interpreted as a general injury/exhaustion fic or a coma fic)
Whumpee being super out of it for days at a time after the incident and caretaker having to help them into a bath so they can stay clean. Whumpee’s weak attempts to fight when they’re first roused, and don’t realize that they’re no longer in danger. feverish, muttered begging to just please, leave them alone. The cold vulnerability as caretaker undresses them with soft words of reassurance and even softer hands, trying their best not to frighten them and make this as comfortable as possible. The brief panic as the water first touches their skin, and the slow release of tension as the warmth finally starts to loosen their exhausted muscles. Caretaker’s gentle reminders that it’s okay, that they’re safe here.
Bonus: Caretaker tucking a now muchcleaner and comfier whumpee back into bed.
Whumpee is a captured spy/soldier/messenger. When a natural disaster hits the building they’re being held in, everyone forgets about them in their haste to evacuate. Everyone except Caretaker, a low-ranking guard who can’t stand the thought of abandoning anyone to die in the storm.
A’s chest sharply jerks as they take in each shuddering and painful breath, lips parted and eyebrows knitted in fitful sleep. B watches in horror. How could this have ever happened? How did B miss this? A was always so strong.
FE:3H academy phase -> TW whump of minors (teens), (temporary) character death of same
—
They brought me back with them, of course, though I don’t remember it.
I think I was having conversations with Sothis most of the way home to Garreg Mach; she and I were standing in a room with sunlight falling at strange angles, and she was telling me how we’d actually had a very good day after all. I didn’t believe her, but she kept talking anyway. Sothis was good at that.
“Teacher, dear,” Edelgard was saying, somewhere outside the room with the sunlight in it. “Please wake up. Flayn’s crying, and nobody knows what to do about it.”
“Seteth is going to skinus if he comes in and Flayn’s crying,” said Caspar. “Just so you know.”
Someone was coughing, too, a painful rib-scraping sound with gasps in between. I remembered Yuri bent over in the canyon dust, hacking up phlegm and purpleish blood in the shadow of the Demonic Beast. I remembered Shamir staggering against a background of shimmering poison fog. Or was she on the rock-strewn ground instead, neck askew and eyes empty, one bloodied hand reaching out for her bow? The afterimage burned behind my eyes wavered, cloudy.
“…if we hadn’t followed her…” I heard Ferdinand’s hushed murmur, almost frightened.
Ferdinand fell limp to the ground, horse stumbling, amid the cloud of rubble, and fell again, and again.
“…had to break some of her bones again to mend them properly,” Manuela’s voice said. “No, it’s not anyone’s fault - just sometimes a vulnerary gulped down in the middle of a battle isn’t the end-all and be-all of medicine, you know…”
I saw the wolf’s claws sweeping towards me, rotten with dirt and the remnants of its prey, and flinched back, into the fresh embrace of pain. A half-gloved hand rested on my forehead, somewhere beyond where Sothis smiled patiently at me and brought me up again from the dirt, rewinding time and pulling my shattered unbeating heart back into life.
“…running a fever.” Edelgard again, a sharp worried note in that I barely knew how to place. “Can’t you do anything more? She’s burning up.”
Burning, like the sun in the cloudless blue sky. But the wings of the giant bird blotted out the sun, as Petra lay in a lifeless heap below. Or was she on her feet, stumbling, hair dark gleaming crimson in the sun, shrieking a Brigid war cry as she swung her sword at its outstretched talons?
I didn’t know. I wanted to look up and find out, but my eyes were so heavy, and the blankets pinned me down without doing anything to stop my shivers. I sobbed, my throat aching, because I didn’t know if I’d been good enough to save them all, all of my students who’d followed me fearless into the jagged canyon’s mouth.
…Jeralt would tell me if any of them had died. He always told me the truth.
But Jeralt wasn’t here. I had seen him fall, too, that day in the ruined chapel, and this time there was no other memory to contradict.
“Teacher,” said Edelgard, and I could smell the faint scent of battle and ashes and sweat on her, and feel her breath on my face. Hers was the hand against my cheek, I thought, hazily - a strangely warm solid point in the midst of a cold strange world.
“Teacher,” said Dorothea, “wake up.” She stood on the edge of the precipice, wreathed in gleaming sigils, upraised hand sending burning white meteors rushing towards the demonic beast looming above me.
But that wasn’t now. That was memories. I knew that.
Safe, I signed, my fingers sluggish on the blankets. The very tendons of my arm ached at the motion. Safe all you… question.
Someone caught their breath, sharp and sudden.
“Yes, we’re all safe, Teacher.”
Yuri’s voice, hoarse and gravelled between coughs, from somewhere not far away - “We’re hereanyway.”
“Go to them,” said Sothis, her small face solemn beneath the green masses of her braids. The sunlight came from behind her and from her own hands at the same time. “And you were telling me you weren’t the favorite professor!”
Every time I had fallen, I had gotten up. That was my gift, for whatever reason, from whatever source. I used it for myself but I had used it for them, too, and it would be enough; it had to be enough…
I opened my eyes.
The infirmary, in its candlelit evening dim. Manuela, standing by the next bed over, with an arm under Yuri’s shaking shoulders as she guided a cup to his lips. Flayn wrapped in a quilt by the fireplace, sniffling into an immense handkerchief, with Ferdinand tentatively patting her back. Shamir sitting on the floor, her arm in a sling, scowling and sipping soup one-handed from a bowl. Caspar leaning against the wall by the window. Bernadetta rocking back and forth on the edge of a chair nearby, with Hapi rubbing her shoulders and Constance fussing with the bandage on her own forehead. Dorothea standing on one side of my bed, twisting her hands together. Edelgard on the other side, kneeling, her dirt-smudged face level to me and her eyes gravely fixed on my face.
Sothis was still there, sitting at the foot of the bed; she nodded at me, before I blinked and she was gone.
They were safe - my Black Eagles. I felt the unfamiliar shape of a smile stretch across my lips, and leaned into Edelgard’s hand.
Whumpee swore that’s what they heard, but it was hard to tell with all the loud noises ringing through their ears.
“Focus, whumpee.”
The voice became impatient and whumpee felt something grab their face. It forced their head up, their thumb digging into the side of their cheek.
“Open your eyes and look at me”
They opened their eyes and looked up. The person who had a hold of their face looked worried and upset, but their expression softened the moment they saw whumpee’s eyes. They took a quick sigh of relief and composed themselves.
“You had me worried, I took you for dead. I was about to give up on you in a minute or two.” They spoke, glancing at their watch like they were actually counting. - At first, whumpee thought they were restrained. But after some squirming, they felt it was just a heavy blanket tightly wrapped around them.
“Who…” Whumpee murmured. Their voice was so weak it was hardly audible. “Who are you?…”
The stranger huffed a smile, before pouring them a cold cup of water.
Summary: Jude’s final attempt sends him back to the day Willem’s car crash happens. But this time, the drunk driver hits another car instead. Willem is alive. With the memories of a life without Willem, Jude decides to achieve a better ending than the one he got. And with Willem by his side, nothing feels impossible.
(Also, sorry if the writing style feels a bit different than Yanagihara’s, My first language isn’t English and I didn’t read the English version of this book. I really hope there aren’t too many noticeable mistakes that would prevent you from enjoying it.)
–
VIII / The Butterfly Effect
The needle of the syringe that’s inside of Jude St. Francis feels cold. Nothing more, nothing less. The fingers of the man holding it trembles for a second, even himself isn’t sure if it’s because he is scared or excited. Scared for death, or excited for the release.
Release. That’s the name he came up with for this attempt months ago, while he was planning the letters each person would get. He has become such a dead weight on other people that it is noticeable; from their smiles that hide worry, or their eyes covered in dark circles. People around him are tired because of him. Harold, Julia, and Andy, they all are. He thinks how their lives would be if they never met Jude. Probably way happier. This thought has been putting a lot of weight on his shoulders and each day the weight multiplies. The shoulders that have been already carrying so much of the past.
The needle stays inside of him for a couple of minutes, he still didn’t inject the air into his artery. He looks around himself, taking in the last chance of using his senses, ever. He looks at the -perfectly- clean bathroom tiles, feels its texture with his hand that’s not holding the syringe and smells the perfume of Willem he poured onto himself minutes before. He cries, of course. Cries for what he is doing, how others are going to react, and what could have been. If only this and that were different. If he was a better person, then things would be different. He would make everyone proud. Maybe even himself.
He fought, very hard. He just wishes other people will be aware of it after what will happen moments later. That he is not doing this because he is giving up, but because he fought so long that he can’t bear to do it any longer. “Release me from my promise to you.” He remembers shouting these words to Harold, “Don’t make me do this anymore, don’t make me go on.”
But he stops himself from diving too deep into his thoughts or memories. He has already thought about these probably his entire life. What good would they be in his final moments? So, he changes his focus; He looks at the space in front of him and thinks of him, Willem. He knows it’s selfish not to imagine Harold or Julia or Andy… but Willem is already dead and dead people can’t be more disappointed. Thinking anybody else who is alive would only make him feel guilty about what he is about to do. He tries to imagine Willem in front of him, he thinks how his touch would feel on his cheeks, arms, chest, and back. He thinks about all the years he knew him. How Willem always found a way to find his way back home and how he always tried to take care of Jude. He plays their memories on his head, one by one, that’s how he always planned it would go. Because if he doesn’t, his promise to Harold will be all over the corners of his mind, and that way he could never find the courage to do what he is about to do.
Only Willem, Jude guides himself in the right direction. Willem’s hair, Willem’s smell, Willem’s kind heart, and Willem’s arms around him as they slept together side by side every night. The memories get faster and faster as his heartbeats do as well. Sacred memories that only belong to them. How lucky and blessed Jude must be to have such magical memories. Willem, he thinks.
Willem, Willem, Willem.
I hope we can meet again someday, dear.
He shuts down his eyes and injects the syringe all at once. The air that was previously stuck in the syringe’s tube finds its way and welcomes its new home, Jude’s artery.
The pain he feels isn’t how he imagined it would be, it feels normal to him, way too normal. But he can’t figure it out if it was because the actual act wasn’t as harsh as the papers written about it or if his body was so used to inflicting pain to itself that this was nothing new. He feels happy. Yes, the pain, his body trembling and his legs kicking around in an animalistic way feels distracting, but he can still think of Willem. Not being able to do that was his biggest fear in the whole act itself.
He thinks of him until his mind doesn’t allow him to, until he forgets what he looks like. But that doesn’t stop him. He knows Willem’s name and Willem’s name is enough home to him. Enough to keep him safe from Brother Luke and Dr. Traylor’s fingers that are reaching for him. It seems that Jude carried his demons with him for so long that his mind still can’t let go of them, even at death. He still clearly remembers every single detail about them, but he isn’t worried.
It’s okay. He knows Willem’s name, nothing else would be strong enough to take that name away from him.
–
There is a noise.
The noise comes and goes, one by one, but it is always the same noise. As if somebody is shutting a light switch on and off repeatedly. He drifts away from his dazed state, he can hear the ringing more and more clearly now. Jude can’t help but shake his head, the fog that’s surrounding him needs to get away because the noise is getting more and more irritating each passing second. He feels his right arm slapping through the air as if he is materializing the thing that’s bothering him and punching it. But it doesn’t work, the ringing is still there.
Seconds feel like an eternity. An eternity of remembering what he has done seconds ago. Great, he thinks to himself, I’m in the hospital again. He failed. Failing twice in a subject so close to him feels like a punch in the throat. This is the one thing he should be doing successfully and better than anyone, but he even fails at this, apparently.
The ringing gets louder and louder, so loud that he takes a bold step to get up. The action is more of a reflex but what surprises him is that he can feel his body moving. His muscles tensing up and his prosthetics lifting him to the ground. He feels worried now, how is he standing up if he is in the hospital? It’s time to open your eyes, he commands himself. Something is wrong, Jude. It feels like it takes him days just to lift his glued eyelids back up. The light feels violent, he covers his eyes for a while with his scarred hand and waits until they adapt to seeing, observing life once again.
He is in the Lantern House. He looks around with a huge discomfort in his chest. How is he here, why is he here? He wasn’t supposed to be here, the last thing he remembers is the needle that was inside of his skin and the stroke taking control of his body. Being here made no sense at all.
His mind doesn’t even think about how it could just be a bad nightmare.
His thoughts get distracted by the ringing once again. What he thought were hospital machines beeping was coming from the kitchen table.
Oh, his phone was ringing.
He slowly but surely moves his body towards the kitchen, since he still feels a bit dazed, he doesn’t bother checking the caller and just answers the phone. “Hello?”
“Hi Judy!” the voice that’s coming from the other side of the phone reaches him and suddenly Jude is wide awake, feeling clearer than he had ever felt. He pushes the phone closer to his ear until it hurts and is still shocked by the unexpected voice. Was this a voicemail? Or an old recording he put on a loop to fall asleep? “Dear, I just met up with Malcolm and Sophie at the station, we’ll shortly be on our way. Do you need anything from the grocery store?”
Willem’s voice.
Jude doesn’t even hear the words themselves; he just hears Willem’s beautiful voice on his ears and tears up. Even if somebody is messing with him by playing this sound to him on the phone, Jude doesn’t care. “Willem, is that you?” he whispers to the phone. “Of course, it’s me, Judy.” Willem chuckles sincerely, “Or is there anyone else that calls you ’dear’?”
Jude instantly takes a step back from the phone and even falls to the ground. This conversation has never happened between them and his mind is racing between millions of thoughts on what the hell is going on. He is not sure how long he stayed on the ground, he was so distracted and mesmerized by Willem’s name on the screen. “Jude?” Willem finally speaks once again, “Is everything alright?”
Jude wasn’t alright, he would be crying hysterically if he wasn’t biting on his own fingers to silence himself. The tears are rolling down from his cheeks nonstop and he knows this can’t be real. This is the day Willem dies .
The day Willem went to pick up Malcolm and Sophie seems so far away from now. Just a blur, a lost page on a dusted calendar.
He would laugh at himself if he could, to the fact that he questioned how moments ago his suicide attempt could be a dream. Jude wasn’t stupid, it wasn’t a dream . The nightmares he had to endure, the days that only had ever-lasting pain in them couldn’t be a dream.
But this was one. Hearing and seeing Willem could only be a dream. It always was . They would get rarer and rarer, so much so that he doesn’t even remember which day was it the last time he had seen Willem in his dreams. He inhales sharply and forces himself to sound normal and picks up the phone again, “Sorry,” He says, “I’m cooking at the same time, a bit busy.” He adds. “Oh, I see!” Jude can see the smile that forms on Willem’s face. “So, do you need anything?” Willem asks once again.
Jude smiles faintly. I just need you, Willem. But you’re never going to come back to me.
He leans on the phone, he could almost hear Willem’s steady breathing on the phone, he would never speak and drive so they must still be in the train station. The thought of warning Willem about the car crash sounds so desperate to him. But he is desperate, he is and has always been since this day. The funny thing was, Willem wouldn’t even think of him as crazy, he would nod and say he would make sure to drive a bit slower. But Jude still can’t find the courage to warn him. He takes a deep breath and wipes his eyes so that he can see again, “I’m out of soil for the garden,” He puts his forehead to the wall, he knows there is a flower shop right before the place the car crash is going to happen. “Can you stop by and get me some?” the question is such a simple one without context, so it doesn’t even take a second for Willem to answer, “Of course, the usual store?” he asks for reassurance and Jude nods, “Mhm.” He says, “ Please take your time.”
After the phone call ends, Jude feels himself almost going crazy. First, the seconds don’t pass. He is stuck in a singular moment, thinking of how the conversation went. Repeats every single word Willem just said to him in his head and lives them in his head again and again. Then, seconds pass like sands falling from an hourglass. He wishes for time to slow down but minutes keep passing and passing. Jude is surprised at how childish he is feeling. He thinks that how he is feeling would be the same if he had a normal childhood and if he was waiting for Christmas morning.
When the doorbell rings, he is still in the same spot the phone call happened.
He doesn’t know how to react or respond, he just feels his body preparing to get up and run to the door. Will he see Willem? Is he that lucky in his dream?
Then it hits him, maybe nothing has changed. Maybe it’ll be a police officer standing in front of his house again, announcing what happened to his dearest friends.
Knowing himself, Jude can guess which way this dream is going to go. His mind has never been a friend to him, so why would it this time?
That’s why he doesn’t move an inch, he stays there and looks at the door. Why was it locked anyway? Couldn’t they just enter and save him from the misery? Minutes pass once again, his phone is also ringing now. He slowly gets up and looks around. The kitchen is familiarly strange to him. Over the years after Willem’s death, he made small changes but those changes aren’t there anymore. Not being able to find comfort in his own house makes him even more anxious. Each step towards the door feels like a journey itself.
When he finally opens the door, he was fully expecting to see an officer standing right next to him to announce whoever got hurt this time.
But he doesn’t see a police officer. What he sees feels just like another day of his everyday life. But a part of him knows this isn’t ordinary. A part of him is sure how much this cannot be real. He looks at the people greeting him by the door, Sophie, Malcolm, and Willem.
Willem.
Jude feels as if he is seeing Willem for the first time in his entire life, all his grace at once. All the days he starved himself just to have a glimpse of him, all the nights he buried his face onto Willem’s shirt, and all the days he used Willem’s perfume on his pillow. Every single day he spent without Willem comes at him like ravenous wolves jumping at their prey. Jude is so overwhelmed that he doesn’t recognize the worry on their faces. Well, technically he does, but he is used to it, so it doesn’t bat an eye.
“What took you so long?” Willem says. The simple, without character words leaving Willem’s mouth sounds like music from the heavens to Jude. He could cry, he wants to cry. But his old habits are also returning him, he can’t do that in front of Malcolm and Sophie.
Jude has always been good at lying, so much so that he could come up with one without even taking another breath. It is one of the greatest defences he built against the world trying to find their way to his secrets. “I got tired from waiting for you guys, so I took a nap.” He explains while looking at the paper bags that are filled with groceries in their hand. “Why was the door locked in the first place?” Malcolm asks. He knew Malcolm probably all of his adult life, he was Jude’s one of the closest, dearest friends. But spending two years without seeing or talking to him is showing its outcomes. Malcolm feels and looks like a stranger to him; someone he needs to trust all over again.
Jude slowly comes back to his senses more and more and as he does, he realizes how monotone the questions sound, how superficial and shallow. Whatever he replies with won’t make a difference to them because the questions are just out of kindness. They have something else in their mind, Jude thinks. “I started getting paranoid lately when it’s just me in the house.” He finally blurts it out, and just like how he thought, they nod and keep looking at him with dilated pupils and unstable breaths. He curses at himself for caring. He wants to be selfish and take Willem into his arms, he wants to touch every single part of him, he wants to bury his nose and smell him, even kiss him. But he doesn’t, he can’t, not when they look so out of character. “What happened to you guys?” Jude asks instead, he is better at lying than them, so he knows they won’t understand how fake his question is as well, just like theirs. They might not know it, but he himself knows. He doesn’t care about what happened to them, he just wants Willem. And that makes him despise himself even more.
“Judy…” Willem exhales, steps into the house, and wraps his arms around Jude tightly, securing him in his place, as if somebody is going to come and snatch him away from them. The moment Willem takes him in his arms, Jude figures out this cannot be real. No matter how real his dreams felt, they never felt this close, this detailed. They were always vague about Willem because no matter how many times he watched Willem’s movies or videos, he would be nothing but a blur in his head. How is this real, how are you real?
Willem quickly breaks the embrace, takes Jude’s face into his hands, and kisses his cheek gently. Willem’s lips touching him feels like an award for surviving through all those days without him. “There was an accident.” Willem finally says, “A truck hit the car right in front of us, Jude… Right in front of us. There was blood everywhere.” Willem’s words are disconnected from each other, they had long pauses and it seemed like he didn’t even know what emotions he was feeling, let alone describe them.
He takes a quick small step back to distance himself from Willem. “The driver… didn’t hit you?” he asks while sighing in relief, he almost even smiles, not realizing how stupid and arrogant the question sounds. “What?” Malcolm responds instead, “God no, Jude. Why would you say that?”
He blinks a couple of times and figures he should be surprised, maybe shocked even. But he isn’t, he still remembers every detail, the driver -how could he forget-, his name and what vehicle he drove, what beer company he worked for, and exactly how much money he took from him… “God.” Jude finally speaks and asks the question he already knows the answer of, “How bad was it, Willem.”
Willem. Speaking his name to Willem himself is a paradise he yearned for years. Willem opens his mouth, but words don’t come out of it. Malcolm and Sophie sense his stress and also steps into the house. They all guide Willem to the couch in the living room and Jude goes to the kitchen to take a glass of water for Willem. His steps in the kitchen are so fast, so childishly quick that it doesn’t even take more than ten seconds to give him the glass.
When he has the chance of seeing Willem, any time he spends elsewhere would be wasted time.
“There was a family of four… Two kids.” Malcolm whispers, he is still shaking, “Their poor bodies were all over the ground.”
Sophie shushes Malcolm and looks at Jude, as if Malcolm’s words would affect Jude’s mental state or triggers him in any way. He laughs at Sophie in his mind. I saw all your dead bodies, helped people identify Willem, do you really think some random people would affect me?
“It could’ve been me…” Willem says, he picks his words carefully. He is covering his eyes with his hands, “We stopped at the flower shop on the side of the road,” Willem gives a glance at Jude, “It only took me a minute to get it, Judy. If I didn’t stop there, it would’ve hit us instead.” He says and Jude can feel the tears forming in Willem’s eyes from the way he speaks. Willem doesn’t sound like he is scared he almost died; he sounds guilty. “It could’ve been me…” he had said, but the only reason he said it like that must be because he didn’t want to upset Jude. It should’ve been me, what he was trying to say. He should’ve been the one to get hit, instead of the family.
Soil? Jude thinks, all the horrible, endless nightmare-like days went without Willem was avoided because he was out of a bag of soil? He curses at the universe, or life, or whatever god there may be. Fuck the family who died, Jude thinks selfishly, I already once accepted the fact that I would give up on Malcolm, JB, and Harold all at once just to have you back. And he was back, all because of some stupid soil?
The soil that you asked from him. His conciseness suddenly reminds him. Then the realization comes like boiling water pouring down on his entire body. Was he the reason this happened?
“I’m so sorry, Willem,” Jude speaks, but he is still lying. “How is the driver?” he continues. “The fucker is fine, barely a scratch. Apparently, he was drunk.” Malcolm answers, his words cut like razors, they carry so much anger it almost lits the room on fire, he remembers feeling this same rage once as well. Jude takes Willem’s hands onto his own ones -they feel so tender, rough but warm- “I will see what I can do about this, I promise you…” he comforts Willem, “I will not let him get away with this.”
Of course, these words are nothing but a way to comfort Willem. Jude never went out of his way to work on a case that wasn’t introduced to him by the company or colleagues first.
He doesn’t want to act anymore; he wants to care about this family that died. So, he searches into his soul to find the flames he once set on fire, the fire that burned everything that was behind the reason for the car crash. But when you set something tremendous on fire, it doesn’t just stop once the job is done. It keeps burning, keeps seeking for more and more to destroy. And what it found next was Jude himself.
He reminds himself of the hatred when he saw the driver’s face and how satisfying it felt when he took every single penny from him -and his family- as if it would be enough to buy Willem back from the dead.
He searches and searches, but he can’t find it.
He knows the reason behind it very well; he is simply not angry at the driver, how could he be, after all, he didn’t hit Willem. It wasn’t Willem’s car, Willem was safe. How could he be angry at him? If he was standing next to him right now, Jude might even thank him, “Thank you.” He would say, “Thank you for not picking him this time.”
Who he is angry at isn’t the driver anymore. It’s himself. He was the reason why they died. And after coming to terms that this was somehow real, Jude feels guilty. ‘But Willem is safe,’ his mind appears at him for comfort, ’Isn’t it worth it, Jude? He is safe and sound. You didn’t even know the family.’
It was true, not him or neither Willem knew who they were. But Willem had seen their bodies. All the sorrow and guilt he is going through right now is because of Jude. He is the reason behind Willem’s trauma.
The dinner goes awkwardly standard. Conversations die easy and the only constant noise is the forks and knives hitting the plates. Jude tries not to stare at Willem for long periods, to not make him suspicious of anything. Look at your food for 30 seconds, then ask a question to Malcolm that Willem would also answer, then you can look into his eyes as much as you want as he speaks. Finding shortcuts like this was something Jude was good at, so he could fabricate as many excuses to stare at Willem, his home. Not that Willem would mind Jude’s eyes on him, but Jude wanted to act normal. He wasn’t going to reveal what was going on before he finds any clues. That is if he can find any.
Oh, how terribly I missed you, Willem.
In the past two years, he read and memorized Willem’s emails so much so that he could think of how Willem would react in a situation. That was a coping mechanism he figured out a while after Willem’s death. When he sought guidance or needed affection from Willem, he would dive into his mind and let his imagination react as Willem. Willem would do this if he were here, say this and kiss like this. But now, he doesn’t need to do that, or anything similar. He doesn’t need to starve himself to see him or let go of Willem entirely to move on.
Willem is right there, right next to him, and when Willem is next to Jude, he knows he is safe, he knows this is where he is meant to be.
Somehow, none of them realizes there is something wrong with Jude. It is probably because they’re dealing with their demons and struggles right now. This gives some time for Jude to focus on what the hell is going on. But the answers he finds are close to none and the more questions he finds the faster time passes.
Next thing Jude knows, it is time for bed. He already prepared the guest room for Malcolm and Sophie, so he just tells them goodnight and lets them settle there. But even then, even after hours of their arrival, he isn’t ready for sharing a bed with Willem, not yet, not this soon. He can barely go on looking at his eyes without having a heart attack, how is he suppose to lay next to him? So, he busies himself with dishes, then reorganizes some of the kitchen shelves. He spent so long without Willem that the house’s interior changed over the years. He is now used to taking the glasses from the third cabin instead of the first one and the plates from the upper shelf rather than the cabinet below. So, he takes them one by one and adjusts them to how he is used to. But Jude also knows that he can’t stay away from the bedroom forever. Willem is still shocked. Sure, he made a couple of jokes as they were eating dinner or told stories about his latest projects, smiled like how he always does, but Jude knows how good of an actor he is and this is nothing but an act. Willem needs help right now, switching the places of plates and glasses isn’t a good excuse to be away from him. Not when he just got him back.
He counts his steps to the bedroom one by one, when the number reaches thirteen, he is by the door. Jude first knocks on the door -he doesn’t want to scare Willem, just in case- and enters slowly. The room isn’t lit completely. Only the lamp that’s next to Willem’s side of the bed is on and he is half laying on the bed, holding a book Jude knows wouldn’t be interesting to Willem’s liking. His eyes weren’t even on the pages, he was staring at the ceiling.
Willem’s eyes change their location and find Jude, and Jude can see how fast they soften, his heart breaks into million pieces all at once. He quickly builds himself back up but it’s barely holding it together. Hold on Jude, he commands himself, you can’t let him see that you’re struggling, not when he is like this. “Judy…” Willem says, his voice carries all the emotions he was holding back throughout the day. “I’m here, Willem.” He quickly walks towards Willem and holds his hand. Willem’s eyes fill with tears and he closes them shut before he starts crying.
Willem holds back Jude’s hand with his left and onto Jude’s shirt with his right hand. He is fighting himself not to pull Jude in but Jude knows that’s what he actually wants, what he needs right now. So he exhales, doesn’t think about his problems, and lets Willems pull him beside him, next to the arms he belongs.
Willem breaks down, “The family’s kid looked like him.” He whispers. Jude knows Willem wants to shout and break and probably destroy the whole house apart. So why isn’t he? Why is Willem still holding his feelings inside, is it because Malcolm’s here? Or is it because of Jude?
“Who?” Jude whispers, covering Willem’s back with his arms and forming a hug. “Willem it’s okay, I’m right here. Talk to me.” He says and Willem inhales hesitantly and blurts a word out, but he can’t finish his sentence. “Hem…” he manages to say, and that is enough for Jude to understand.
Hemming.
Of course, he knows who Hemming is, he has heard his name maybe hundreds of times from Willem’s childhood memories. Willem’s past was never a closed box, Jude has heard snippets of his home, his family, and about his brother many many times. His eyes would lose their focus each time he mentioned his brother as if he is trying to imagine himself there with him. From what Jude knows, Hemming was a good person, yes he couldn’t react or do things like a regular person would do but he gave comfort to Willem and Jude was forever grateful for that.
But whenever he hears stories about Hemming, he feels as if he is learning more about Willem than his brother. How Willem would take him on walks each morning and tell him stories when it was sleep time. He learns it again and again, how kind Willem is, how pure-hearted he must be to take care of his older brother like that, with so much passion. So, each time the topic of Willem’s past comes up, Jude finds himself falling for him all over again.
Sometimes, he wondered if Willem was interested in being friends with Jude because he reminded him of Hemming. That thought occurred more and more after Willem confessed to him. Was he seeing something in Jude that would remind him of Hemming? Was he imagining his brother whenever Jude needed help psychically? After all, Willem helped dozens of kids who had disabilities, and wasn’t that because they reminded him of his brother?
Thankfully, Jude later figured out that wasn’t the case. He tried testing him many times. Just like the time he tested if Harold was one hundred percent sure about adopting him. He sometimes used his wheelchair in the house even when he didn’t need to, he used his legs as an excuse to cancel scheduled important events, would go out of his way to let Willem help with things that Jude would normally be able to do. These things weren’t something he was used to doing, -getting help from others made him feel weak, but this wasn’t getting help; this was to observe- then, he would look at Willem, see the expression on his face. Was it similar to Caleb’s? Was Willem seeing his disabilities, not as his personality but as something that was standing in the way of being himself?
But however many times he looked at Willem, he saw no difference. Not even once, not even if he was tired or angry. It was as if Willem was seeing Jude as a whole, as if each and every single part of his personality was required to be on the stage to complete “Jude”. He was certain of it when he tested him for the last time. They were fighting -Who knows about what, it’s been so long since Willem died that all their fights feel insignificant-, and Jude struggled to take a file he needed to grab from the shelf, he couldn’t reach. Of course, like many times in the past, his legs were aching -they weren’t amputated yet- and Jude just couldn’t grab them.
He tried and tried and eventually gave up, their words were still on the air, arguing and shouting and trying to force their opinions onto each other. Then Willem got up, took the file Jude couldn’t reach, gave it to him, and returned, arguing as if nothing had happened. That’s when Jude understood, it meant nothing to Willem.
If Willem took pity on Jude’s disability and stopped the fight once he saw him struggling, then Jude would know how it was just a barrier. But Willem never saw it like that. The struggles that came with Jude were a part of Jude, not something that should be excluded.
In the bedroom, they stay in that position for a while, Willem’s crying slowed down. Tears left their spot for soft whimpers and sobs. Their position changed as well; The hug turned into sleeping in each others arms. Jude feels extremely lucky that Willem is in no state of realizing how fast his heart is beating. Because if he did, Willem would get up and rush him to Andy, assuming Jude was having a heart attack.
But he can’t go on like this either, he missed Willem. Their usual position in bed -Willem hugging Jude’s back- doesn’t feel enough, not when Jude can only see the walls. Jude wants more of Willem, all of him.
So, he does something that he never did before, he slowly turns around -Willem gets surprised as well, but he doesn’t react- and lets Willem’s hands get free of him. He doubts for a second, not because he is afraid he would be unable to, but because he might not handle being this close to Willem after everything. Not now, Jude scolds himself to take action, not when you got your second chance.
They lay on the bed, facing each other for god knows how long. Then, Jude closes the distance, burying his head onto Willem’s chest and hugging him so tight that Willem lets out a soft sound. He inhales, taking in Willem’s warmth and scent -Oh how different and cheap the perfume’s smell felt now- but he needs more, he pulls onto Willem even more and their bodies feel as if they are one. It takes a couple of seconds for Willem to react. He first kisses Jude’s hair, then hugs him back. They are both crying silently, but being next to each other is enough comfort for them to know that they are safe and whatever they’re fighting for isn’t stronger than them.
Jude cries and cries and cries. For what he went through these last two years, for having Willem back, and most importantly, for the endless guilt of being the reason for killing a family.
He can tell Willem is asleep now, his breathing is in sync, and Willem’s fingers don’t draw circles around his shoulder anymore. He wants this moment to never end, if he had the power, he would take the chance of freezing and staying in this exact moment forever, sacrificing everything else about his life without a doubt. But he knows he can’t.
He knows that the past two years without Willem wasn’t some sort of an ever-lasting nightmare or an effect of sickness. He remembers reading about a man falling asleep and dreaming an entire life for himself. The man would meet a woman, marry her, and have two kids. After he wakes up the next morning, he doesn’t even realize that the life he woke up to wasn’t the bed he shared with his wife. He had no wife to begin with, it was all a dream.
But Jude knows this isn’t what happened with him. It can’t be fake; the reason he knows this leads to the root of many of his problems; his past. Jude’s past has never been a passive observer, it never waited until Jude gave an opening to attack. They were always on the hunt, trying to break all of Jude’s defence’s at once, jumping and dashing forward, biting every inch of the walls Jude built up over the years. That’s why his past has always been with him, he carries them with him. Every day with Brother Luke and every step he took running away from Dr. Traylor.
It feels like all of the days without Willem emerged into one and joined those monsters, they formed an alliance with the other monsters there and attacked at once. They are all trying to find their way back in, to feed until they can’t do it anymore.
The monsters never came from things that were fake or imaginary, they were always real -except for that one time Jude imagined Harold taking advantage of him, but that was due to a fever- The creature that the past two years turned into is massive, probably way bigger than any other monster lurking around Jude’s head. He knows they can’t be fake or just an imagination of the mind. He is sure of it, they were real.
What he is not sure of is how he is going to go on. How different the events are going to be with all of them still alive? All the time travel movies he has seen in his life often dealt with the “Butterfly Effect”; even a change of something affecting the future drastically. But Jude isn’t worried about that, whatever challenges life throws at him, he knows he can handle it when Willem is next to him.
Then Jude realizes. If he wasn’t embraced by Willem’s arms so tightly, he would even get up from the information his mind just came up with;
He has lived through the worst.
A life without Willem , a life where he disappointed every single person that has ever known and cared for him. A life that took him to the day where he sat on that cold bathroom floor and forced a syringe into his artery willingly. The things he felt back then are what he is feeling now but he is suddenly more self-aware this time.
If how he lived his life the way he wanted it turned out like this -the worst case scenario, without a doubt- then even the smallest difference he would make from now on would only make things for the better.
What if he spoke about his feelings more, or smiled more, or forced to take part in a social event Willem wanted them to join this time? What if he just went to Harold and hugged him -they haven’t done that since Caleb-, what if he thanked -instead of apologizing- Andy for all the trouble he has caused him. This and this and this and this and this. What’s the worst thing that could happen? He already successfully killed himself once.
Jude promises himself that no matter what he does from now on, he will not let the same ending happen to him, not again. He doesn’t know what gave him this second chance, he might never even find out, but it doesn’t matter. He has been given one and is not going to waste it.
He spends the entire night watching Willem asleep. His fingers are so curious, touch starved yet so shy that it takes him hours to go from Willem’s shoulders to his chest. It is pitch black, so he can’t see him at all, but he knows he is there, he can hear his soothing breathing and his chest rising slowly. His warmth is radiating, and it feels as if it is creating a shield around Jude’s body. He doesn’t need to fight the demons and monsters all alone now, he has Willem’s strength and protection with him. And he hopes his own warmth is providing the same thing to Willem.
He needs to change, and change seems so easy when Willem is still next to him. Even if the change is the slightest, smallest act, it can’t ever get worse than the ending he got.
The butterfly effect, he reminds himself.
Then, for the first time since Willem’s death, Jude St. Francis falls asleep peacefully.
the end.
–
[AN]
This series… Jude is an amazing character, I think Hanya Yanagihara portrayed the “If you don’t seek help, this is what happens” theme very well and this fic is in no way to insult her writing, I’m not saying my version is better or the right ending for the book! I’m just a sucker for characters getting the ending they deserve so I’m putting my own spin on this, in my version of the ending, Jude decides to seek the help he needs.
I hope you liked this!! Writing Willem and Jude supporting each other was SUCH a therapy for me. This book affected me so much and being able to give them some comfort is the only thing helping me accept the ending of the book without making me go through an existential crisis. Thank you SO SO much for taking your time to read this fic. If you enjoyed it, leaving a comment would mean the world to me, I would love to hear your opinions on it!
I’m really not sure if I’ll continue this series, I think there’s space for one more chapter where Jude meets the rest of the characters. Writing a character that’s so beautifully and carefully written was very difficult, I had to pause writing and ask myself if Jude would think like this or if he did, what would be the reason behind it. I hope they didn’t feel out of character to you. Thank you!!!
warnings: hurt/comfort, but very little comfort, description of self hate (the character, not the reader)
i listened to god must hate me and nearly made myself cry writing this one
there was exactly zero thoughts in your head as you headed back home from your stroll. initially, you were just going to stop by bubu pharmacy and pick up some things, but from then you just went on walking through each and every little street and pathway liyue has to offer, enjoying the nice weather and the overall gleeful mood everyone seemed to be in.
by the time you reached the door to your home, it was already getting dark, and your hand was all red and hurting from carrying the shopping bags for a long time, but it didn’t seem to have dampened your mood. you turned the key in the lock of your door and pushed it open with your foot.
“i’m back!” you shouted, announcing your return to your boyfriend, who you supposed had to be home by now, considering it was his day off as well, but mentally you were prepared to find a note with his usual “hi love, i got called back to work, don’t know when i’ll be back, see you later, love you, don’t miss me too much” resting on the kitchen counter or the dining table.
when you were met with silence, the thought of him having left seemed even more realistic, and though you weren’t exactly surprised, it did sting you a bit, you were looking forward to spending the day together.
having closed the door, and while making peace with the fact that you had to entertain yourself alone this evening, you began the tedious task of putting the groceries away, and generally organizing everything that you’ve bought. only after finishing that did you venture further into your home, intentionally walking towards the bathroom, to maybe make yourself a nice bath or something of sorts.
you halted upon hearing a soft thud coming from the room that has been recently turned into tartaglia’s workplace, or more likely, gym, as if someone fell in there. frozen in place, suspecting it to be a thief or something, because surely if childe was home he would’ve said hi, you waited for the next sound.
you didn’t expect it to be a curse word said in a brittle voice, followed by something sliding towards the floor. recognizing the owner of said voice instantly, you didn’t even bother to knock before opening the door wide, and marching in there.
you were met with a difficult situation. your boyfriend was indeed there, and as it turned out, he was the one to have fallen on the floor, now hiding his face between his knees and crossed arms, looking like a lost kid. in front of him, there was a punching bag that has seen better times, and besides, a lot of broken objects that he had to slam against the floor or something along the lines of that. the room seemed tense and you stayed silent for a moment before coming back to your senses and walking up to his side.
“love?” you asked quietly, crouching in front of him. he didn’t notice your presence, still very deep inside of his own mind, muttering another “fuck” under his breath. “hey” you nudged his shoulder, attempting to speak as softly as it was humanly possible.
to say it was rare to see the almighty, confident and even presumptuous lord tartaglia like this would be an understatement; you were almost sure you had never, ever seen him break down, nor have you heard of a situation like that happening. hence, you didn’t exactly know how to act. it got to you rather painfully that, while he was an expert at cheering you up and getting you out of the worst breakdowns, you had to idea how to do the same for him.
he didn’t lift his head up, but you did hear a quiet “what do you want” coming from him. it was hoarse and wobbly, and didn’t sound like him at all.
“what’s up? why’re we sitting in the dark?” you continued carefully, your fingers running through his hair, since he normally liked it, in any attempt of bringing him some comfort.
the room fell silent again, and you thought of either leaving him be and just sitting there, or asking another question, but were thrown off tracks by a sudden reply.
“i’m a lost cause” he said slowly, leaving you completely stunned. “i’m-” he started again, but ran out of breath “i can’t even-”
“easy” you coaxed, feeling his body tremble under your hand. “darling, look at me”
“no” he shook his head instantly, attempting to cover up even tighter.
“come on, please. i want to help you.”
witnessing him struggle to even show you, a person he loved, his face, was breaking your heart piece by piece, but nothing could’ve prepared you for what you saw when he finally did lift his head up.
your eyes were met with his, usually bright and blue, like the sea on a sunny day, now painted a hue bordering on violet, tired and dark, bloodshot with veins all around the iris. his face was as if broken and glued back together with a lavender glue, like his blood turned a different shade and painted his face, almost as if with makeup. the lines were glowing slightly, shining a sickly light at the rest of his pale condition. it wouldn’t feel enough to say it was scary sight - it got the blood in your veins circle back into your heart, or at least that’s what you felt.
his face was wet with tears and sweat, and had a desperate look painted all over it. you didn’t think twice before moving your hand to cup his cheek, but he urged away from the contact, as if it hurt him.
only then did you start noticing a bunch of very familiar and very worrying details - how his clothes were ripped, how he struggled breathing, how hot his skin felt, how his hair looked as if he was out faced with strong wind, instead of just sitting in a room.
“you used it” you stated “why?”
as if on cue, tears started spilling from his eyes again, and he turned away, searching for words.
“i was trying to get better at it” he admitted “i thought… the reason for why i always feel like i’m dying afterwards is because im tired from battle, or because of something in the environment, or… i just hoped it wasn’t just my fault”
“but-”
“the last time i trained it in safe conditions were still in the fatui facilities. i was young. i thought that now, now that i stopped growing and all, maybe it’d have less of an affect on me. it didn’t. it doesn’t.”
“we know for a while now that it doesn’t. you know it damn well. why would you-”
“oh for fucks sake!” he interrupted with more energy than in the entirety of the conversation “how would you feel knowing that you have something, you are something every damn army in the world would desire, that you’re supposed to be so special and all, and you can’t even do it right?” his voice was balancing on the fine edge of a cry. “i am nothing more than a simple instrument of war and havoc, and i’m failing at the one thing i’m supposedly good at. i was sent away from home, my father hates me to this day, i spent my teenage years being trained, tested, looked down on, pointed at, sent away as far from my homeland as possible, all for nothing? all for not even being good enough at the one thing that caused it?”
your heart ached. your entire body and spirit ached. you wanted to shout “no” at him, but you couldn’t interrupt something so important, thought heart wrenching.
“ajax, you’re a human being.” you whispered “human beings have boundaries.”
“i have been told i was a monster far too many times to still believe something as naive” he hissed, an unknowing shade of hatred appearing in his eyes. even if it wasn’t directed at you, you still felt small under his piercing gaze. he cleared his throat before coming back to the previous subject. “i… wanted to see how long i could manage. recently i noticed i get tired way easier than i once did when using it, and that the effects last longer. and other than that…” he stopped, looking into your eyes, as if he was searching for your approval to continue. “it’s taking control over me. i get… i get dreams, visions, my face looks different, sometimes a voice in my head starts whispering into my thoughts. it’s terrifying.”
like hell it was terrifying. just the way he said it made shivers run up your spine.
“control as in…?” you asked carefully
“as in it’s either going to kill me or make me do it myself” he murmured before practically bursting into tears. you rushed to hug him, feeling your eyes prickle as well, and this time were met with hands embracing your body desperately, pulling you as close as he possibly could, to a suffocating extent. “i don’t want to die yet” he begged in a whisper, making you sob as well.
you wanted to say something, you had to, but words just wouldn’t come out.
“fuck, if i was just a little stronger, had just a little more willpower… why do i have to be this pathetic? the unbeatable tartaglia beaten by tartaglia himself! i guess that’s a fitting end to my story”
this was your cue for bringing yourself back up and facing him with a fierce look.
“you’re not pathetic. and you’re not going to die. you’re by far the strongest person i know, and i know by previous experience you can do anything you set your mind to. you’re the one who always turns problems into challenges, and aren’t challenges what you love the most? if that’s what you fear, then do what you always do and defeat it. and i’ll be there to say you won, just as you always do.” you tried hard to steady your voice and to make it sound confident, even thought you were at the verge of panic. you believed every word you said, but still, even the thought of loosing your love was way too hard for you to bear. “i will turn the world upside down if that’s what i have to do in order to help you, but i will do it. i will do anything to ensure you’re safe. i promise” you said, wrapping your pinkie around his, just like he always does.
you watched as the violet strings on his face slowly subdued and color returned to his cheeks.
“you really believe that?” he asked, but it wasn’t at all sarcastic. there was a desperate hope in his voice, a need of reassurance you’ve never seen him show before.
“i know it” you answered confidently. “i mean, your parents really did look into the future before naming you after a mythical hero”
“a mythical hero who went insane” he argued immediately.
“well, unless you’re on bad terms with a god like athena then i don’t think that kind of an end awaits you”
“someone has done their reading” it was nice to see humor coming back to him “well, not unless mister zhongli counts”
“isn’t it him who’s on bad terms with you?” you joked carefully, knowing rex lapis’ lie was still a sensitive subject with your boyfriend.
“gods” he chuckled “i must’ve done something really good in my past life to deserve you in this one”
whumpee who doesn’t want to admit defeat and go to bed, and ends up laying on their floor curled up under a blanket. as long as they’re not in bed, they’re not really sick, right?
(later, caretaker finds them feverish and delirious and scoops them right up and takes them to bed where they belong)
