spacejail | Certain People Aren't Dead AU

Healing is slow going. Shaking off getting shot? Not something he can do with a wink and a grin like before, like he might've with all the expectations of being #2 on the leaderboard, like he had to while on the run with Delta. No one to impress, then, but D and even then it didn't matter half as much as getting them somewhere safe. There's the crew, sure. But Ohio's been taking every flinch personally and York is too damn tired to not let himself wince a little.

He's old, bullets hurt, and he can only crack so many jokes. He only has so many ways of hold himself so it doesn't hurt-

And can only take so many sleepless nights before he seeks a solution.

It's not neat or easy- it's not as simple as finding North (dead) or Carolina (also dead) and falling in with them for a night. It'd been understood, then, his need for contact. Something to ground him and remind him that he'd survived whatever batshit thing he'd been doing that got him shot. It's just him and Ohio and- he doesn't ask. Doesn't knock. Just has Reti let him in before shuffling his way to the bed, perching on the mattress. "Can't sleep for shit on my own. Budge over."

Not being able to sleep? It sucks, but at least right now it means Ohio's lucid to hear the shuff of the door and recognize York's outline. He sits up out of confusion instead of the need to prepare for some kind of fight. It's hard to make out details in the dark room, but his posture is alert without threat.

"What?"

There's no anger or indignation in that what, it's just a pause, a request for time as he processes the request. Can't sleep for shit on my own. It's a personal problem for Ohio, not something he's expected anyone to share.

"Cant' sleep. Make room or deal with me sleeping on you." He gives Ohio about five, six more seconds before lowering himself to the mattress, tucking himself on his side, back to the door. He knows he's safe here, knows Reti won't let anyone in that isn't authorized.

Ohio hesitates. Having somebody come into his space like this is very weird for him, but... Well. York has seen him here before. York has hauled him back from a complete collapse. Hell, he's helped carry York bleeding off a battlefield. This isn't any more personally vulnerable than anything they've already done for one another.

He doesn't speak as he moves over, there's understanding in that mute acceptance. He raises the blanket, he feels the mattress shift as York settles in.

Ohio prefers to sleep facing toward the door, tension manifesting even in this small way, and so he finds himself lying with someone else facing out at his back. Even just knowing that makes it feel like a secret layer of muscle he forgot he had in his shoulders has unclenched. That was worse than he'd thought, he hadn't even noticed it. Shit.

"Goodnight," he says, and he's not sure why he does it, but he shifts one of his heels back and just makes contact with York with it. He's here. They're both here. Then he withdraws it.

"Mhmm." York doesn't say much, they're both trying (failing) to fall asleep and pressing back until he feels his spine align with Ohio's takes most of his momentary focus. The steady thud of a heartbeat, the slow expansion of ribs with each quiet breath ticks away under York's skin. Settles him in slow increments. Lulls him as much as having D work out some kind of logic problem or another would back when he still had Delta.

Reacting to the brush against his foot is- instant and instinctual, his leg shifting enough to tangle their ankles together. A sole point of contact. Something solid. Something grounding. Something he's not going to give up, sorry Ohio. Hope you didn't want your foot back.

This isn't the first time York's found a steadying presence sleeping beside someone else like this, but it is for Ohio. He knows there are people who would have. Indiana. Alabama. But he lost them at the same time he lost Pi, and before that he'd labored under the belief that sharing any of his fear would hurt them more than it would benefit anybody.

To some degree, he still worries about that. But here's York, settling against his back like it's a relief and a comfort. There's still tension in Ohio, he can't make all of it disappear, but it's not ruining that.

He breathes, long and slow and deliberate, forcing it so it can become natural and steady and let him finally rest. York's ankle is tangled with his, and it's a surprisingly stabilizing feeling. There's something very equal about it, one busted up person to another. Ohio didn't expect that answer, but it feels natural and reassuring and hell, he's going to be able to sleep like this.

His last waking thought is something vague and warm and grateful as he sinks down in.

It's as familiar as it isn't- new body, old habit. Ohio relaxing into this saves York the awkward tension of explaining it so, points for making their lives easy. Bit by bit he lets himself drift, comfortable and confident in that A) nothing is going to get them while they're laid up like this and B) Ohio won't make it weird.

Which is absolutely the case.

What he didn't expect but should've was he himself making it weird. Sometime in the night he rolls, twisting, rolling until he's tucked up against Ohio's back, arms looped around his waist, leg tangled between his- face mashed up against the nape of his neck as he snuffles through what isn't quite a snore but isn't entirely silent breathing. The shape of this body isn't familiar- but he trusts it. Knows he's safe here, knows he probably won't get shot for this.

Maybe.

Ohio wakes first, because that's how this ship is run. Ohio wakes first. It happens. It's not impressive, it's usually because he's just garbage at sleeping, but...

He moves, and discovers that someone has him. He freezes, his memory replays, and that sure is York up against him.

Of people he ever expected to cuddle him, York doesn't even make top ten. Hell, he'd be hard pressed to even find ten people for that list. People don't have reasons to touch him this way.

Ohio shouldn't stop to reflect on that. Getting misty about things he shouldn't have wastes time and feels like shit.

"Hey," he says. He shifts, trying to move York's arm. Better to wake him up instead of to slink out like any of this was actually weird, right?

The best part about finally having someone to burrow in with? York doesn't dream. Doesn't relive memories of the crash, of the project, of the grenade or the fight with Wyoming. Doesn't dwell on shit that'd give him nightmares. No, the warmth and steady thud of Ohio's heartbeat keeps him settled the whole night through- and when that contentment is disturbed by Ohio trying to squirm away, by him mumbling?

York protests with an incoherent grumble. His hand tightens on Ohio's shirt, face burrowing deeper against his shoulder, leg hooking around to tangle their legs together.

Not. Going. Anywhere.

Fuck.

The worst part about this is that it isn't bad. Well. Socially this is awful, but physically? Ohio doesn't quite mind being hung onto like that. Like he matters. Like things are okay. That's kind of fulfilling in a very surprising way that he's going to have to escape from immediately, before he thinks about it in too much detail.

So, he has to twist out of this like it's a grapple. Find the weak point in York's grip, press there, move.

"York."

This is gonna be weird, but being let go of? Current top priority.

Edited 2018-06-24 21:44 (UTC)

"Nnnh." He mumbles incoherently, burrowing deeper into Ohio's shoulder. Like if he clings they wont have to go anywhere. Right now he's warm and comfortable and feeling...safe. Solid. For the first time in years he feels like he might not wake up from a screaming nightmare, the world is distant and soft edged and without the same worry and weight that has him drowning day in, day out.

Not so bad since he fell in with Ohio but-

He doesn't want to let go. He won't. And nothing is going to make him.

He sure is stubborn. Ohio sinks back down after a moment. He can feel York just clinging onto him, and it doesn't make any sense-

Well. Actually maybe it does, but it definitely means something is still not okay.

Ohio's hand comes up, finds where York's fingers curled in his shirt, and rests across them. It's a hand like the rest of Ohio: broad palm, long fingers. He doesn't grapple with York, he just... rests it there.

He lets out a long, slow breath. He can wait a little. That's a thing he supposes he can do. It's making it a lot harder not to focus on how all this feels or what it might mean, though.

It takes a little while longer for York to shake himself awake, eyes fluttering, grip shifting on Ohio when it registers that he's...actually sleeping. With Ohio. "...um."

He doesn't really remember why staying or making Ohio stay was so damn important? They both sleep for shit, apparently, without someone else. this? This is the best sleep he's gotten in...years. Literal years. Since Delta deleted himself from his brain- or he thought he'd done that. Slowly he uncurls, patting Ohio's chest awkwardly. "Sorry, bro."

He could make a joke out of this, probably. Maybe that would even be the smart move, but it's hard because none of this is actually funny to him.

He rolls to sit up. There are options here: Good morning, beautiful. Sleep well? Rise and shine.

"You okay now?" is what he actually says, glancing back at York.

He doesn't want to just dismiss it and try to laugh. It feels like it would be... maybe not rude but something.

"...yeah." He scrubs at his face, slowly trying to sit up. The patchjob is holding but he's still sore as fuck. "Haven't slept that well in awhile. You?"

Because flipping this around on Ohio is easier than dealing with any of his own bullshit.

"...Same."

At least he's not alone in that.

"I think I forgot..."

He trails off, shaking his head. There are a lot of things he'd forgotten.

"...what it was like to feel normal?" For a little bit. To have someone. To have anyone at all, honestly. York scrubs at his face and pats whatever part of Ohio's closest. "...thanks. For. You know."

Certain People Aren't Dead AU

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