Chapter Text
Todd Brotzman has an odd relationship with touch.
It’s not something he was ever deprived of, or anything he ever particularly missed in his childhood – he had loving parents and an occasionally clingy little sister. Hugs, cuddling, reassuring squeezes of hands, palms on shoulder – all of that he knew, very well.
Then his youth came, with girlfriends and boyfriends – and hand-holding, kissing, sex.
He’s never not had it.
Not even after he fucked everything up – there was always Amanda and then when he fucked that up too there was Farah and… Dirk.
The point is, Todd Brotzman should be used to touch. He should be used to physical affection. It shouldn’t surprise him or thrill him too much. But…
He finds himself longing for it.
His chest fills with warmth whenever his sister presses her face into his neck as they embrace (even more so now). On the run, when Farah would fall asleep sometimes, her head on his shoulder, he felt weirdly calm – even though nothing about their situation should’ve prompted that. His fingers buzz with excitement when they rest on Dirk’s shoulder. In that split second when his arms were wrapped around his waist in order to jump out of the House Within the House, his heart beat stronger. He felt sure of something.
He wants to touch. He wants to put an arm around Farah, to pull Amanda into his chest, to intertwine his fingers with Dirk’s. He wants to hold them close, to know that they’re there, even if they’re not. To know that maybe, even though he’s an asshole and doesn’t deserve an ounce of it, maybe they will stay.
*
Hobbs’ house has one bedroom.
Todd and Dirk are staying there since Hobbs is in the hospital with Farah and Tina, and someone should probably feed his cat once in a while, and Todd and Dirk are available because they’re so exhausted after Wendimoor and not planning on going back to Seattle without Farah anyway.
Hobbs’ house has one bedroom and a couch that is unfortunately not a pull-out.
For Todd, it’s not even a question – of course, he’s going to take the couch. Dirk has just been shot while visiting the place that traumatized him immensely (at least from Todd’s understanding; it’s not like Dirk spoke much about it). It goes without saying that he needs to rest. On the bed. Especially since he refused to stay at the hospital like he should’ve, and was only there for a couple of hours, enough for them to patch him up but not enough for anything to properly heal.
It’s inarguable .
And yet, somehow Dirk isn’t on board.
“How self-centred do you think I am?” he huffs at Todd.
Todd blinks. “I don’t—”
“Of course, I’m taking the couch, Todd, don’t be ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” Todd echoes. “Dirk, you have a shot wound!”
Dirk rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’ve had worse! And you had to do that—” He waves his hands around. “—that thing with Amanda and the pool, you deserve the bed, Todd, honestly, I’ll be fine—”
“You were shot !”
They squabble for a couple more moments until finally reaching a compromise – they will share the bed.
It’s rather blatantly obvious, Todd supposes. It shouldn’t be a problem. And it’s not . It’s just—
Ah, he’s too tired to think about it now.
Because he is tired, he has to admit. As he sinks into the mattress, he realizes how grateful he is for it. Because when was the last time he had a good night’s sleep? This has been a rough couple of weeks. Rough couple of months, actually.
Maybe even years, now that he thinks about it.
Dirk is out in a matter of seconds. Todd can’t blame him. Even with his truly unnatural large amounts of energy, Dirk has had a long day. They have both had a long day.
Todd settles on his pillow, covering himself tightly with the comforter, and melts into the warm feeling. His bones are aching, the remains of a migraine still lingering on his forehead, and—
Ah, fuck, he should’ve expected this.
Pararibulitis worked differently in Wendimoor but he’s not in Wendimoor anymore. And, as he already established, the past twenty-four hours have put his body through so much stress and pain that… Well, apparently, what’s a little more of that, right?
It starts out with a chill.
He tucks the comforter even tighter around himself – because he doesn’t realize what’s happening yet – and squeezes his eyes shut.
He’s tired. He just needs to go to sleep.
But the chill grows stronger.
Perhaps they left a window open.
No, he already knows what’s going on.
He curses himself in his head. He can’t wake Dirk up. He needs to be quiet.
His body starts to shake.
He’s cold.
He’s very cold. Too cold to reach to the nightstand for his (or Hobbs’ cat’s, whatever) pills.
He doesn’t want to open his eyes at this point.
His teeth chatter, no matter how hard he tries to contain himself, and that hurts. His whole body hurts now – it’s not even cold anymore, it’s just pure pain. Slicing through his skin, bleeding into his bones, an ache so sharp he almost cries out – but he doesn’t. He can’t wake Dirk up.
He’s stopped feeling the comforter over him or the mattress below him. He’s not quite sure if he’s numb or in agonizing pain. Maybe it’s both. Can it be both?
“Todd?”
Fuck.
Fuck .
He didn’t hear nor feel Dirk. But there’s not much that he actually registers now, other than the pain and the shaking.
“Todd, what’s—Are you—”
It takes him a moment to realize that Dirk is touching him – one hand on his shoulder, rolling him onto his back, another one on his face.
“Todd, wake up. Open your eyes.”
Todd gets an urge to groan, “I’m awake, you idiot,” but he can’t do that. He can barely move. He can’t feel his muscles. All there is is the pain.
“Todd.”
There’s an edge of desperation to Dirk’s voice and fuck , he’s been through so much, he was supposed to rest tonight. Instead, Todd is putting him through this.
As he lifts his eyelids, he finds them almost stuck together by ice. He can feel it (of course, that he can feel) – his lashes ripping open, frost crinkling around them, falling onto his cheeks and peppering them with even more chill.
Dirk breathes out. “ Todd .”
He’s leaning over him in the dim light of a night lamp he must’ve turned on. Todd can barely see him – through the ice, and his tears, and the pain .
“C—Cold,” he manages through his chattering teeth.
Dirk raises a hand to his forehead – a hand that Todd can’t feel – as if to check his temperature. But then his eyes widen with realization.
“O— Oh ,” he lets out and leans back, spinning his head around as if looking for something. “Todd, where are your pills?”
Todd tries to point to the nightstand with his—something and he’s not sure if he succeeds but Dirk must get the hint, or maybe he holistically gets it, because he’s rummaging through the drawer in the next second.
Todd is shaking. He is shaking so badly. God. God , this really hurts.
“Todd, I need your mouth open for this.”
Shit. When did he close his eyes again?
Thankfully, it’s not as painful to open them this time around. Dirk is standing over him again, with an open palm and two of those red pills in it.
Todd tries. He really tries. But his jaw is shaking. He is so cold —No. He is in so much pain .
“It’s okay,” Dirk says. His hand is on Todd’s chin now – holding his mouth open. “It’s alright.”
Dirk pushes the pills into his mouth. It hurts. Swallowing them hurts. Todd hadn’t realized this before but his throat and mouth are freezing cold, too.
Dirk lets go of him then and Todd flops back against the pillow but he’s still shaking and he’s still so cold and it hurts , even though it’s going away, it hurts, and his body must be going into shock, he thinks, God, it hurts so much .
“Still cold, are you, Todd?” Dirk is saying, and shit , Todd has closed his eyes again. “Just hold on a second, Hobbs said something about— A-ha !”
Todd opens his eyes to see Dirk on the other side of the room (how long were his eyes closed for?), pulling out a pile of blankets from the closet.
But Todd’s body feels like it’s on fire now and he wants to pull away – from the comforter, the blankets that Dirk is carrying toward him, from everything, he just wants this to end, please, why can’t it end?
“Nuh-uh, Todd, you’re not going anywhere,” Dirk says, dumping the blankets onto him. “One thing I know is that when you’re cold, you have to warm up.”
(There’s a slight tremble in Dirk’s voice, Todd notices unconsciously.)
“N—No,” he stutters, trying to shake the blankets off. But he can’t – he’s still shaking himself and his whole body hurts, his skin seemingly burning off his bones.
“It’s okay,” Dirk is saying again (Todd can’t quite tell if he’s addressing him or himself), crawling back into bed next to Todd. “You’re going to be perfectly fine. It’s going to be over in just a second.”
It should already be over, Todd thinks pathetically. The attack should be passing already, he’s taken the pills, it should be done . Why, oh why , does his body think he was actually frozen? Why—
Dirk is wrapping his arm around him.
“It’s alright,” he breathes out, practically a whisper. “It’s alright.”
He holds Todd as he writhes and moans in pain. His palm rubs into his shoulder, which should enrage Todd, in his current state of feeling like his entire body is in flames, but for some reason, it doesn’t. Dirk holds him, holds him through it all, his forehead pressed against his other shoulder, mumbling the words, “It’s alright,” over and over like a cursed matra.
(His heart is pounding, Todd realizes as they’re pressed up so closely together.)
Dirk holds Todd until the shaking dies down, until he’s rid of the sensation of being so hot he might burn, until he breathes out in relief, his skin now only tickling with the aftermath of it all.
Dirk notices, of course, he does, and clears his throat, making a move as if to retreat his arm.
“Wait—” Todd manages and the weakness of his voice surprises him.
Dirk freezes.
A feeling of complete embarrassment washes over Todd for a split second but he’s tired, so tired , that he decides to go to hell with it.
“Could you, um,” he mumbles. “Could you maybe keep holding me?”
There’s a beat of silence, Dirk’s arm still hovering an inch over Todd’s torso. But then Dirk drops it, wrapping it back around Todd and settling his head against his shoulder again.
“‘Course, Todd.”