Work Text:
They decide the doctor's house is the best place to go right now. As he rides to her house with LT and Jean, eyes cast out the small window watching the houses as they pass, his mind replays the conversation he had with Jean. Time is short. Especially in their line of work. He should stop wasting it. He should talk to Sean.
Marion shifts, wincing as something twinges in his back. With everything going on, and the very likely odds that one or both of them won’t make it out of this alive, he needs to tell Sean how he feels. How he’s felt for years.
The carriage arrives, and he quickly jumps out to help Jinah from the carriage. She sways unsteadily for only a moment before he sees her stiffen her spine. With an inhaled breath, she focuses once more, taking measured steps to the door. Once inside and seated, she takes out her bag.
“Mister Trapp, let me take a look at your injuries,” she commands in that cold way of hers. Cold as heard from an outsider, but Marion knows her. There’s a warmth in her eyes, a care in the way she handles LT, that shows her concern.
He tunes them out as he walks around the space aimlessly. Considers getting a bourbon, but ultimately decides against it. Not until Sean and Auntie Bee are back. Then they can all have a drink. And discuss their next plans.
Not that he has any suggestions for where they can go. Sean’s been staying at the chapter house. Marion's place is much too small. He’ll have to be sure to offer the couch to Sean when he returns.
Or the bed
, he thinks, blushing slightly at the thought. He supposes it will depend on how their conversation goes. Jean's house could work, but he hates to intrude on her space. Auntie Bee's space isn't her own, and Nathaniel... he's not entirely sure about Nathaniel's place.
He considers sitting, but he’s much too anxious to sit still. Not with Sean and Auntie Bee still out there. Still potentially in danger.
He’s mid step when his sight fizzes around the edges. It crackles and pops like vinegar and baking soda, indicating a vision is coming. He’s barely able to stop before the vision overtakes him.
“We are the same, you and I,” the man holding the shotgun says. Fear curdles in his belly even before the gun is raised. He sees Sean jump to the side, the gun going off, catching half his chest. Streaks of blood begin to appear, raw skin showing through the tears in his shirt, but Sean doesn’t slow down. The majority of the bullet caught the door frame, and Sean takes advantage of the damage, tearing a large hunk out and running straight at the man.
Duncan. Sean went to see Duncan. Apparently he was too late.
Marion watches as the hunk of wood sinks into the thing’s chest, even as it swings the gun up for a second shot. Chromatic flares jump from it as it begins to rearrange its form. Then Sean’s face is staring into Sean’s face as the gun g oes off again. Sean’s fear seeps into the vision, seeps into Marion. Fear and something else. Feels a bit like regret.
Sean’s body is flung back a step or two before it drops to the floor with a heavy thud, eyes shutting.
Marion can feel the vision ending and wills it to continue for a moment longer. He needs to see if Sean makes it. He needs to see what happens next. He needs to know that Sean will live until he can get there.
He’s able to hold on just long enough to hear the shotgun cock, before his vision returns.
“Marion, I really must insist you come sit down. Your breathing is dangerously tachypneic,” Jean tells him. She’s standing next to him, having vacated her spot on the couch at some point during his vision.
It takes a tremendous amount of effort to take a deep breath. “No. Sean’s in trouble,” he says, pushing out of her grip and heading to the door. His scar pulses, the pain so intense he stumbles slightly.
“Give us a moment and we’ll come with you!” LT shouts, but he ignores the man. This isn’t the army, even if they are currently at war. He doesn’t have to listen to him anymore.
“I’ll meet you there!” he shouts back, the door slamming behind him as he exits the house.
Fear is his constant companion as he grabs a horse from the stable, swinging up onto its back without bothering to saddle it first. His visions are supposed to be helpful. They’re supposed to show him the things he can stop. But he knows full well there is absolutely no way he can possibly get to Sean in time to stop this from happening.
That fact will not stop him from trying.
The journey to Duncan’s house is a blur of grays and blacks. The blur of his periphery is similar to what he sees right before a vision, but he knows another one is not coming. Pain still flares in his chest, shooting up into his neck from the last one. Echoes of his ability, reminding him that each one comes at a cost.
He’s out of the saddle before the horse has completely stopped, nearly falling as his feet make a desperate bid to keep up with him. He doesn’t bother to tie up the horse. The thought doesn’t even cross his mind as he crosses the threshold.
It doesn’t take him long to find the shattered wood spilling across the floor, buckshot peppering the wallpaper.
“Mar? That you?” comes a weak voice. Too weak. Marion rushes inside.
Sean has managed to prop himself up against the seat Not Duncan was sitting in. “Sean?” His voice cracks, and his feet slip in the blood as he rushes to his side. “Oh, God, Sean.”
“Looks worse than it is,” he cracks. Always with the jokes.
“Where did he go?” Marion asks, pulling the shirt back to inspect the wound. Looks like he got lucky. The last shot caught him on the left. Numerous small wounds cover his belly, but nothing large or serious. Most of the bleeding seems to have stopped.
“I dunno, man. Was a little busy nearly dyin’,” Sean remarks, coughing and wincing. “Fuck, shit hurts like a bitch.”
Marion’s hands still. Duncan wasn’t Duncan at the end of the vision. Duncan had become Sean. “What’s the code?” he asks, removing his hands from the bleeding man and pulling out his knife.
“Come on, man. You really gonna try to test my memory right now?” Sean asks, disbelief crossing his face. “Breathing is fuckin’ agony, ya know?”
Marion nods. “Right. Yeah, of course,” he agrees with a soft laugh. “We’ll ask you later. I’m gonna cut your shirt off, okay? Jean’s right behind me. Should be here any second.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for her?” Sean asks. He worriedly looks down at his blood stained shirt. “I’d hate to bleed out before she gets here.”
Marion rolls his eyes. “How many wounds of yours did I have to bandage up on the front?” he asks with a small smile. “I think I can manage.”
Sean still looks worried, but he doesn’t argue any further. Marion carefully begins to cut away at the shirt. It’s several agonizing minutes before he swears. “I need you to lean forward. Something’s caught.”
Unease flashes in Sean’s eyes, but he leans forward, hissing as the wounds tug. Marion wraps his arms around him, like a hug, and begins to cut at the shirt from the back. Then he slips the knife up through the base of the skull.
“Sean wouldn’t have to remember the code word,” he growls as the form in his arms melts. He leaves the knife where it is. “SEAN?”
The place isn’t big. It doesn’t take him long to find Sean in a closet. Deft fingers to the carotid finds a pulse, giving him hope. “The doc is on her way. Just hold on for me, okay?” he begs, tears falling from his cheeks onto the too still body of Sean.
Carefully, he gets him out of the closet and lying on the floor. He examines the wounds, then rips his own shirt off, pressing it into the largest wound, staunching the flow of blood.
“If I’d’a known getting shot is what I had to do to get yer shirt off, I’d’a done it ages ago.” The words are soft, the Irish brogue thick.
“You’ve been shot before,” Marion reminds him, laughing and crying as he holds the man’s head cradled gently in his lap.
“Ah, so it’s the almost dying that did it, huh?” he continues, a peaceful smile on his lips.
“Or maybe you just have to ask,” Marion tells him. “Guess you’ll need to stick around to find out.”
Sean’s eyes slip closed and he hums. “Not sure that’s in the cards this time around, Mar.”
“Don’t say that,” he cries, the words tearing out of him on a sob.
“I’ll do my best, okay?”
“Okay,” he replies, tears falling in a steady stream.
“Keep pressure on the wound.” Jean’s clinical instructions are right next to him and Marion can’t recall her arriving. He follows each command in turn, until Sean’s patched up. He passed out at some point during the procedure, causing Marion’s vision to blur completely with tears.
“That’s all I can do. We need to move him. Carefully,” Jean commands.
Marion swipes at his eyes. “Is he gonna be okay?” he asks. Begs, really.
Jean’s eyes soften as she looks at him. “I hope so,” she responds.
Everything hurts. Sean’s fairly certain he has never in his life been in as much pain as he’s in right now. He opens his eyes anyway.
The room is too bright and he immediately closes them again, groaning as spikes of pain jam into his eye sockets. The fuck is the room so bright for?
“Sorry,” comes the doc's voice from the black ether around him. He must have spoken aloud. “We’ll draw the curtains.”
There’s rustling in the room, the brightness against his eyelids dimming. He barely notices, because a warm hand engulfs his. He doesn’t need his vision to know it’s Marion. “Hey, Mar,” he greets, the words slurring.
“Hey, Sean,” he replies. It’s choked. Is he crying?
“What the fuck are you crying for?” he grumbles. The words feel like gravel in his throat and he coughs around them.
There’s a watery giggle. A sniff. “Because you almost died, asshole,” Marion replies.
Sean slowly pries his eyelids open, feeling each millimeter grate through an ocean of sand. He blinks a few times, trying to clear his vision. He doesn’t speak until he can see Marion. Fuck. He looks like shit.
“Didn’t though,” he replies, attempting a crooked grin. He’s not so sure he manages because Marion doesn’t look any less worried. He hates that he’s the reason Marion is sad.
“Nah. Course not. You’re too stubborn to die,” Marion attempts to joke, but fresh tears stain his cheeks and Sean knows this is hard for him.
“I need to check your vitals, then I can step out,” Jinah tells him. He ignores her. She’ll do what she needs to do.
Marion lets go of his hand and sits back, giving the doctor room to work.
“It’s good to see you awake, dear boy.” Auntie Bee’s voice comes from the corner to his left. He doesn’t look, simply nods.
“Yes, uh. Very good to see you awake. I think we’ll all…” LT clears his voice a bit more violently than probably necessary. “We’ll go get lunch and catch up after you’re a little more awake. Yes. Wouldn’t want to overwhelm you.”
Sean knows what they’re doing. They’re giving him and Marion time to be alone. He doesn’t do anything to stop them. Once more, he simply nods. His eyes haven’t left Marion, and Marion’s haven’t left his lap.
“You seem to be holding steady. We’ll be back in a bit. If you need anything,” Jean begins.
“I’ll ring the bell,” Marion tells her.
There’s a bit of shuffling around, then the door shuts. Only then does Marion look back up.
“Hand’s getting cold,” Sean jokes, extending his fingers slightly. Marion takes it immediately. The warmth seeps into him.
“You almost died, Sean,” Marion says again. This time his voice cracks. He doesn’t even try to pretend he’s okay anymore. But he’s still not looking at Sean.
“Look at me,” Sean commands. Marion’s eyes flick up and lock on his. “Yeah. I almost did. I didn’t, though. You saved me. Again. At this point, I don’t think there’s any way I can make it up to you.”
“You owe me nothing,” Marion tells him.
“Yeah, but I do,” Sean insists. “How the fuck did you manage to save me this time? I shoulda been a goner. You weren’t even there, man.”
“I almost didn’t,” Marion confesses. “I saw the vision. Knew I’d be too late. Went anyway. I don’t think it cared if you were dead.”
“How’d you know it wasn’t me?” Sean asks, remembering his own face staring back at him before he fell.
Marion gives him a crooked smile. Squeezes his hand. “Come on. Course I’d know if it were you or not. I know you too well, Sean.”
Sean chuckles. Immediately regrets it. He tries to hide the pain, but Marion sees it. Of course he sees it. He’s ringing the bell and helping Sean sit up as a series of coughs wrack his frame. Those hurt nearly as much as laughing had initially.
It takes far too long for the spasms to stop. For pain meds to be given and the doctor to leave. For him to be alone once more with Marion.
"No, seriously. How'd you know it wasn't me?" Sean asks again.
"He said he needed to think about the code word," Marion explains.
"It's your favorite flower, why would I need to think about that. Starry petunia," Sean tells him.
"Exactly," Marion agrees. "Knew it couldn't be you."
"I'm glad you knew it wasn't me."
“Yeah. Me too. Glad you were still alive.”
“Yeah. Me too,” Sean replies, offering a crooked grin.
A tense silence settles between them and Marion looks down at their joined hands. Tears form on his lashes. Fall onto Sean’s skin. Each one burns with regret. It’s his fault Marion’s crying.
“You gotta stop getting yourself into situations like this,” Marion finally says, looking up at him. The agony of his face is almost too much to look at, but Sean won’t allow himself to look away.
“Not like I’m trying to get myself killed,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood.
It doesn’t work. “Aren’t you though?”
He pauses, staring at Marion in surprise. “That really what you think?” he asks. Marion shrugs. “I don’t got a death wish. I don’t. Life might be really fucking hard right now. I might not sleep most nights, and sometimes loud sounds bring me back to the front, but I don’t wanna die, Mar. Mostly because of you. And Ma. But I have to protect you. All of you. I gotta be there on the front so none of y’all get hurt. Cause I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to any of you and I could have stopped it. Then , I’d have a death wish. But right now? Nah. I’m just willing to be a casualty of the war.”
“Because of me?” Marion asks, latching onto that one tiny little sentence in the middle of all those god damned words.
“Course because of you,” Sean admits, nearly shrugging before he thinks better of it. “Come on, Mar. You gotta know.”
“I gotta know what?” Marion asks, eyes burning into his own.
“You gonna make me say it, huh?” Sean asks, looking away. He stares at their joined hands. “I love you, man.”
“I love you, too, asshole,” Marion says. Sean doesn’t need to be looking at him to know he’s rolling his eyes, too.
“Not what I mean,” Sean continues. Because if he doesn’t say it now, he’s never going to. “I mean, sure, that way too. But I’m in love with you. I joke about having no wife or kids, but it’s because of you. I don’t want a wife and kids, man. I just want you. Dammit. Look, you made me all sappy and shit.”
“Look at me,” Marion commands, voice suddenly serious. Sean’s not sure he’d ever be able to resist a command from him, so he looks up. Marion's eyes burn. “I’m in love with you, too.”