Warnings: mention of non-con, hurt/comfort
Word Count: 850, roughly.
Summary: According to episode 54 of Ask that Guy with the Glasses, Guy slept with Linkara, who was very upset about it. This is a short fic about Linkara and Spoony in the aftermath.
Author’s notes: I finally buckled down and wrote this fic in California, thanks to the support and companionship of my muse and best friend, Skyblue Reverie. I could never have written a word if not for her continued love and inspiration.
Forty-three minutes later, Linkara pushed open his apartment front door – their apartment front door – and debated crossing the threshold. This was stupid. This was stupid and he was being stupid about it. At worst, it was an embarrassment. A degradation. An overwrought trope, brought to life by the laziest of writers to generate angst, something too cliché to even exist.
And yet, here he was.
He entered. Spoony would probably be asleep. He usually was this time of night. Linkara let his coat slip from his shoulders and fall to the carpet in a shapeless puddle behind him. His hat followed with an unsatisfying, muted thump. His gun, though, that was better. His magic gun (worthless, useless hunk of metal, jamming at the lightest breeze) thunked heavy against the floor, stripping a physical weight from his side that, if he pretended hard enough, he could almost imagine was metaphorical.
“Jesus, Linkara, what happened?”
So Spoony was awake. Perfect. He shouldn’t have come back here – a reassuring phone call, a hastily rented motel room, and he could have fixed this. It could have been that simple. Why had he come home? It occurred to him, in that moment, that this was probably why so many superheroes preferred to spend their lives alone. Chronic isolation syndrome.
He felt instantly horrible for thinking it. Because Spoony was staring at him with big, worried eyes, and *Jeez*, what was he supposed to say? I’m fine? Don’t mind the blood?
Spoony cupped a hand under Linkara’s chin, and he couldn’t figure out why, until he looked down and saw the small red pool in the center of Spoony’s palm. His nose was bleeding again. Damn it. He needed to stop jinxing himself through thought…or something.
“C’mon,” he said, grabbing Linkara’s hand and leading him to the bathroom. Linkara’s blood, still smeared all over his fingers, slid slick between them. “Are you planning to tell me what happened, man? Was it Vyce?”
He looked away.
“Jesus.” Spoony flicked the lights on in their bathroom, three of the four florescent bars buzzing to life above them. Linkara stared very deliberately into the bathtub, avoiding the mirror, and watched a spider crawl across the porcelain. They needed a new place. He should tell Spoony that they needed to find a new apartment, some place with fewer bugs and lighting that didn’t feel like a medical examiner’s morgue.
“Here,” Spoony said, pulling a first aid kit from under the sink. “Look at me – here.” Linkara felt Spoony’s fingers on the side of his face, under his chin, guide his gaze forward. “Look at me. That cut is nasty.”
The whole situation was nasty, but Linkara didn’t say so. Instead, he held still as Spoony cleaned away trails of dried blood from his face, Spoony’s fingers light and gentle against his skin, like a caress. “Whatever’s happened, we’ll fix it. It’ll be fine.” He continued to clean, dabbing Neosporin on with his finger while Linkara stared vacant and tried to keep his hands from shaking.
Spoony threw out the bloody tissue and held up two paper wrapped bandages. “Wolverine or Power Rangers?” he asked, every ounce of him serious.
Linkara didn’t even realize he’d started to cry. He couldn’t help it.
The warm wrap of Spoony’s arms was a surprise. It wasn’t in Spoony’s nature to initiate physicality between them. He was, in a word, submissive, even when the two of them weren’t engaged in that sort of play, and often it fell to Linkara to watch, and to give and take whatever was needed. But that wasn’t going to happen tonight. “Breathe,” he murmured into Linkara’s neck.
Linkara didn’t understand what Spoony meant – he was breathing, he was breathing so fast that he felt lightheaded and the bathroom felt unsteady, how could he breathe any more than this, and –”
“Shhh. Shhh.” Spoony pressed a kiss to his temple, and Linkara felt upright again, like the floor had steadied under his feet. “I’m right here. Was it Insano?”
“No,” Linkara said. He didn’t want to talk about it, but Spoony needed to know that, needed to know that the blood and the violence and the sour smell of sex had nothing to do with him, or anyone who looked like him.
“Can we kill him?”
“It was Guy.”
They stayed like that for what felt like a long time, embracing under the harsh bathroom light, letting the futility of the situation wash over them. Neither of them said what they were both thinking: that Guy, with his sadism, and his weapons, and his close friends in low and frightening places, wouldn’t even see them as a threat. That Linkara had been lucky to get away with his life. That their only option was to keep their heads down and pretend that this had never happened.
Then Spoony said, “I don’t think my mêlée attack is worth much, but if I use my limit break when he’s least suspecting…”
Linkara smiled. He wasn’t able to laugh yet, but even so, it was a good moment. “You’re such a dork.”
“You love me for it,” Spoony replied, and Linkara had to agree. The superheroes, he decided, were morons.