Chapter Text
“If your goal is to get me naked, you need only ask.”
Despite himself, Rune huffs a laugh.
“That’s not why I was asking.” He finishes toeing out of his boots and turns to his fiancé (gods, his fiancé. He wonders when the shock of that will fade) who is standing on the other side of their bedroom, removing his own soiled clothes.
The expression on Addam’s face changes at Rune’s words, the hint of amusement fading into concern.
“Is it your shoulder?”
Rune starts to give a sheepish shrug, because of course he wasn’t hiding it as well as he thought he was, but when the movement pulls at his bad shoulder, he has to grit his teeth against the pain. They’re both still reeling from this morning’s events and he doesn’t want to make it all about himself, but…
“It’s a little sore,” he grudgingly admits.
“Rune,” Addam sighs, “requesting my assistance in the shower leads me to believe you are more than ‘a little sore’. In fact,” he adds with a frown as he closes the distance between them, “that you are admitting to any discomfort at all has me very worried.” That worry is made even more evident by the way his accent thickens.
“I’m fine,” Rune insists, then continues quickly before Addam can protest his use of the phrase, “I just haven’t had a chance to rest it recently.”
He swallows hard against the grief that threatens to close his throat. He was able to treat their search for evidence at the Westlands Compound like any other mission while they were there, but now that they’re home, it’s impossible not to think about how they still don’t have any answers, how they’re no closer to finding Lord Tower than they were a few weeks ago. He’d known the effort was futile, but when The Arcanum collectively decided Rune needed to ‘try harder’ in the wake of their brother’s disappearance, he didn’t argue.
Addam’s frown deepens, his own grief clear in his glassy burgundy eyes. “You have been rather busy,” he says softly.
“Exactly–”
“But,” he cuts him off and places gentle hands on his waist, “that is not a good reason to put aside your own well being.”
“My being is well. Can we go shower now?”
Addam sighs again, but his eyes betray his fond amusement.
After another beat, he says, knowingly, “I’m surprised Brandon has let you get away with this.”
Rune can’t hide his flinch and ducks his head.
Addam taps his chin with a cool metal finger until he reluctantly meets his eyes once more.
“Do not conceal your pain from us,” he requests somberly. “If you are hurting, do not make it harder on yourself by attempting to hide it.”
Rune stubbornly holds Addam’s gaze for another moment, then deflates, leaning forward until his forehead thumps onto his broad chest. He knows, objectively, that holding up walls to block Addam and Brand from feeling how much he’s been struggling is fruitless–they both know him well enough to read him without the aid of their bond–but he couldn’t fight the urge to appear stronger than he is, to pretend, if only for a while longer, that he’s holding it together, that he can do this without Anton.
He’s never been able to pretend with Addam and Brand.
He drops the walls and lets them feel the exhaustion, the frustration, the anger that echoes of That Night still haunt him over two decades later, the throbbing pain that has been steadily worsening for days.
“My shoulder is fucked,” Rune mumbles into the soft fabric of Addam’s shirt. “And it’s giving me a headache.”
Addam presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Thank you for being honest. Now, let’s go shower.”
“Brandon is home,” Addam says a few minutes later.
Rune almost smiles at the note of triumph in his voice. He knew that five minutes ago. “You’re getting better at that,” he tells Addam’s throat, tucked against his warm, naked chest, hot water beading down his tense back.
“We’ve been training.” There’s a curious note in his voice when he continues, “I believe he is…angry?”
“Hmm, look deeper.”
Brand’s fury is loud in Rune’s head, but not loud enough to hide the ocean of concern underneath.
He hears him ranting before he even steps into the bathroom.
“...many fucking years have we been dealing with this? Not like this is new!” Brand bursts through the door and starts angrily stripping off his clothes which are, somehow, not nearly as dirty as Addam and Rune’s had been. He must’ve changed before reporting back to Mayan at the Pac Bell.
“How many times do we have to talk about this? Am I better off talking to the fucking wall? It’s so easy to not let it get this bad, it takes five fucking minutes a day to prevent this!” He doesn’t slow his tirade as he climbs into the shower with them. “What was the point of learning those massage techniques if you won’t let me use them? Did I waste six weeks of my life for nothing?” His volume only drops marginally and he starts kneading Rune’s shoulder, still ranting, “Why didn’t you just fucking ask–”
“Stop, stop, stop,” Rune gasps, clenching his eyes shut and turning in Addam’s arms to get his shoulder out of Brand’s reach unnecessarily. Brand had lifted his hands and stepped away the second he felt the spike of pain and panic through their bond, his own horror loud and clear.
Rune grabs Brand’s wrists where they’re frozen in the space between them, not to stop him from touching, but to reassure him that touch isn’t the problem while he waits for the dizziness to subside long enough to form words.
“I almost puked on Addam,” is what he eventually rasps, the pain flaring bright enough to have his stomach rolling.
Brand’s clever fingers have years of experience navigating the scar tissue in Rune’s shoulder and the fact that his touch caused this level of pain is a troubling indication of just how wrecked the joint currently is.
Brand moves one of his hands to Rune’s right shoulder, not pressing down, just a warm, comforting weight. “I need to get the knots out,” he says quietly.
“I know, just…” He takes a few shallow breaths. “Give me a minute.”
Brand uses Rune’s grip to guide him forward until he is slumped against him instead of Addam and the latter keeps warm hands on Rune’s back, stroking gently. Rune lets that and the heat of the shower spray drain some of the tightness out of his muscles. It doesn’t make the pain go away, but stops it from getting worse.
“It’s not going to get better if we do nothing,” Brand whispers.
“I know,” Rune says again. “I know. I just want to lie down.” Horrifyingly, he feels his eyes start to burn and he keeps his face pressed into Brand’s neck to hide it. He’s tired, he’s in pain, and he really just wants a fucking break.
“Hero,” Addam soothes, running his metal hand, warmed by the water, up and down the throbbing muscles in his neck. “Let us clean you up first, then we will work on your shoulder. Does that sound alright?”
He goes to nod, which was really stupid, and can’t help the pathetic noise he lets out when the pain shoots up his shoulder, through the back of his neck, and up into his skull.
“Stop fucking moving,” Brand says, exasperated. “Let us do the work, you just…focus on existing, okay?”
“Okay,” he mumbles, then does just that.
Addam and Brand are gentle with him, guiding his limbs this way and that as they work together to wash the dirt from his skin, removing all traces of failure from the Westlands. Addam pays extra attention to his scalp, running soapy fingers through his hair, massaging in pleasant smelling conditioner for longer than is strictly necessary, easing some of the pounding ache at the base of his skull. Brand, meanwhile, works out knots in the areas surrounding his bad shoulder–his biceps, lower back, his good shoulder (which, after days of compensating, doesn't feel all that good)--carefully avoiding his right trapezius. Rune lets himself drift as their attention continues and after some indiscernible amount of time, he finds himself sitting on the closed toilet seat, wrapped in a fluffy towel.
He focuses his vision in time to watch Addam pull a shirt over his head.
"Mmm," he hums sleepily, "that's a nice view."
Brand groans. "Fucking shameless."
"Oh, leave him alone, Brandon," Addam says with a twinkle in his eye. "He's not feeling well."
"I was talking about you, Saint Nicholas."
"What ever will you do when I share your name, Saint John?"
Brand acts like he's not blushing and sending delighted energy through their bond when he replies, "I've been brainstorming."
Addam laughs as he starts running a silk towel through Rune's hair gentle, so gentle, around the tender parts of his neck. Both he and Brand had made fun of Addam for the outlandishly expensive towels, but right now, Rune is grateful for them, grateful for Addam.
Brand is waiting with Rune's clothes and together, the two of them manage to get him into his favorite pair of pajama pants (the ones he stole from Brand when he started taking his leg days seriously back when they were teenagers).
He's herded into the bedroom and onto their bed, and Addam climbs on next to him, once again guiding his limbs around in a way that somehow does not jar his shoulder until he's resting half on top of Addam, giving Brand access to his bare shoulder. They’re both well versed in taking care of his old and oft-flaring injury, but Rune is unsurprised that Brand is taking the lead. The last time he remembers his shoulder hurting this badly, they were still living at the Pac Bell.
His grief is interrupted by the scent of a familiar massage oil and Rune tenses in anticipation, knowing that the pain won't go away unless he gets through more pain first.
"I'm sorry, Rune," Brand says miserably.
"It's okay," he lies. He really doesn't feel okay.
Addam starts to shift. "I have healing stored, I could--"
"No," Brand and Rune say at the same time.
"Magic can't fix the damage, it's too old,” Brand explains. “The scar tissue has been around for too long."
Addam's despair is loud through the bond. "But, perhaps, some of the inflammation..."
He sounds desperate enough that Rune is about to suggest he try it anyway, but Brand says, "The rebound pain will be even worse when the spell wears off, don’t let him lie to you about that."
He sighs, but agrees, "Alright," then kisses the top of Rune's head. "I'm sorry, Hero."
"Stop," he mumbles, uncomfortable with their apologies. "It's my fault for letting it get this bad."
Brand and Addam talk over each other in their rush to disagree.
Rune interrupts them. "You were right, Brand."
"No, I was a fucking douchebag because I hate seeing you in pain and I was mad at myself for not noticing earlier. It is absolutely not your fucking fault for having chronic pain and if you don't shut down that line of thinking right fucking now, I'm going to–”
Addam cuts off his threat with a tap on the arm.
Rune huffs, and it makes everything hurt, and he decides he’s going to stop fucking moving and says, “Okay.”
“Okay,” Brand agrees, then places warm hands on Rune’s back.
The massage oil is supposed to have soothing properties, but they aren’t enough to stop Rune from flinching at the first touch, the muscles surrounding his shoulder doing what they can to protect the damaged area.
"Breathe," Brand reminds him.
He does, an exaggerated exhale that he can pretend makes him feel more relaxed.
Brand is barely pressing down, just smoothing his hands in sweeping motions up and down Rune's back, not avoiding the knots, but not focusing on them, either. Usually when they do this, Brand is relentless, honing in on the most painful spots and pressing down until the scar tissue gives under his hands, but usually, Rune isn't in so much pain that it's making him feel sick.
Addam has his hand in Rune's hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, distracting him just enough that he doesn't immediately roll away from Brand when he puts more pressure on his shoulder.
"Keep breathing.”
Rune tries, really, but he can't stop himself from freezing when the pain travels up his shoulder and into his neck, sending stabbing sensations all the way to his forehead.
Brand swears softly. "I don't think it's ever been this bad."
Rune makes a pitiful noise, agreeing, then tries to close his end of the bond so Brand and Addam don't have to feel this along with him.
"Don't you dare," Brand growls, "I need to know when it's too much."
"Hero," Addam admonishes, "remember what we discussed earlier?"
He gives up, making a frustrated noise that turns into a gasp when Brand increases the pressure again.
Addam shushes him. "You are doing so well, Hero, being so strong."
Rune's eyes start burning again, a combination of the pain, guilt, and overwhelming adoration for the two most important people in his life taking care of him in a way he'd never be able to ask for without complaint or judgment.
His emotions shut off abruptly when Brand gets under his shoulder blade and the pain, the pain, the pain—
"Okay, you're okay," Brand is saying, no longer touching him, "we can take a break."
Rune can't answer yet, gasping in shallow breaths as his stomach tries to crawl up his throat in response to the throbbing in his skull. He grips Addam’s arms like a lifeline, trying not to get lost in memories of the only other time his shoulder hurt this much, the soft Russian accent doing more to ground him than the actual words being whispered in his ear.
There's movement on the mattress, which does nothing to help Rune’s nausea, and he cracks his eyes open to see Brand putting a wastebasket next to the bed.
His guilt and despair are coursing through the bond, so Rune does what he always does.
"No. If you make me puke, I'm puking on you."
The joke doesn’t land. Brand still feels sad and he's getting a vague sense of helplessness from Addam. So, he tries again.
"I'm okay. You can keep going."
And so the cycle continues. Brand starts gentle, slowly increasing the pressure until Rune is seriously in danger of losing the battle with his stomach, then backs off until he can handle more. All the while, Addam mutters words of encouragement, fingers still running through his hair.
They can’t be more than five minutes into the process when Brand's phone rings loud enough to make Rune flinch.
"Why is that not silenced?" Addam asks harshly.
"It's silenced for everyone but Mayan," is his equally sharp response.
Addam, properly chastised, ducks his head.
Brand pulls his phone out, struggles to pick up the call with his oiled fingers, swears, then says, "Yeah?"
Rune watches through squinted eyes as Brand's face turns outraged.
"I already gave you my report!" He listens for a moment, then growls, "That's fucking bullshit."
He snaps his teeth shut at whatever Mayan says in response, grief and misery flooding the bond.
"Okay, I understand." He meets Rune's eyes, misery now warring with fury. "You're gonna have to give us a minute."
He throws the phone aside without another word then pinches the bridge of his nose. When he speaks again, it's through clenched teeth.
"They need you at the convocation building. Apparently, companions reporting to companions isn't viable intel."
Addam’s fury is nearly as palpable as Brand's. "That is absurd."
"I know that. Mayan knows that. But it's out of our hands." He drops his arm and meets Rune's eyes. "I am so sorry, Rune."
Rune closes his eyes, lets one miserable sob escape–only one, because if he gives his exhaustion any more ground, he’ll lose himself to it–then starts to push himself up. His right arm buckles with the effort and he nearly collapses back onto Addam when the dizzying pain flares.
"Perhaps we can--"
"I'll go tell Lord Asshat to suck my--"
"Stop." Rune takes a moment to breathe with his head bowed and arm cradled against his middle. "I have to go." He looks at each of them in turn, then asks, "Help me?"