Chapter Text
The afternoon is just-
-people. His family close up. It’s like the first days all over again. He’s never alone. Never left behind - and they are never far. In some ways, it’s worse. He’s in the middle of a nightmare that is still happening. But it’s not only happening to him. It’s them too. And they are trying so hard. To comfort him. And he can tell they need it too.
Now that it’s only him here, the hospital is stricter with rules. His family stays. Long as they can. Peter and Stiles come by. And their families. But they don’t stay. It’s weird. That they know him. Know that he’s overwhelmed, that Argents and Ania only is enough. They aren’t…mad. Stiles smiles, squeezes his hand. Peter doesn’t touch him. But it’s not because he doesn’t want to…? More like he doesn’t know if he should. That’s okay though. The line in his head is open all day.
One less thing to worry about.
The hard part is when they leave. Ri and Ania are…calm. At least on the outside. Alli and Drew look…sad. So so sad. But he smiles and he waves. Says goodbye when they go. And then he asks for Dreamless Sleeping Potion.
They’ve been giving him less and less. Dependence or what have you. But that won’t work today. It was already hard before the Officer. He won’t sleep if he doesn’t have one. There’s no way. At least, they don’t make too much of a fuss. The fifteen minutes between drinking and sleeping are very long. So very long. It’s him and the white squares of the ceiling and him thinking about things that everyone believes are theirs. By being alive. By just being . Things that are yours that no one else can touch. Or should touch. Things that are sacred.
And yet.
And yet, he thinks. Someone’s fingers did touch.
Someone’s fingers went everywhere. There is a person. Out there in the world. Who didn’t just touch something that they should have. Someone out there has touched everything he has ever been - things he’s thought of, things he’s never told anyone, things he knows. Someone dug into him. Not his car or his house or-
-or anything else. Anything that he loves but can replace.
Someone…touched him. A stranger.
An enemy.
And he doesn’t even remember-
-everything he ate is coming back up-
-because he doesn’t remember.
Whether he wants to or not.
///
He struggles.
The day after that is a battle. He’s shrinking. Less and less words. He can’t focus. He blinks and ten minutes have gone by. His breakfast is cold. He blinks again and there’s a Healer in front of him. Her mouth is moving. But it takes him a second. To focus on her and listen. It’s not that he’s doing it on purpose again. It’s just-
-he’s losing time. And losing words. Again. He’s going backwards .
It’s too bad Alli and Ania and Stiles are there. And see him lose time. It’s why he has to keep going. He can’t. He can’t get worse. Not after all of it. So, he curls his fingers. It works if his nails hurt his palms. He can-
-he can-
-fuck, he doesn’t know the word. The one where you can just stare at one thing. And do that one thing only. Because it’s the only thing. But that - that word, that thing - is what he does. Pushing through the morning. Smiling but not smiling. Pushing, pushing, pushing.
Seconds? Minutes? It takes him time to notice. His soulmate is speaking. In their heads. Across the phone line. And it’s a nice voice. Like he could taste it. Or smell it. If he wanted to. He should answer. On purpose.
Hello.
Good morning. Are you meant to be in therapy this afternoon?
Yeah. Just…thinking about it. It’s too much. But he doesn’t need to share. Normal schedule. Since yesterday was…not normal.
No - no, it wasn’t. I’m sure Stiles has already asked you if you’re sure.
He did. And Alli. Ania. My cousins. Everyone.
It’s a lot. From all sides.
How dare they.
Is…Peter teasing him. Don’t you even start.
I promise not to join their ranks.
He is, isn’t he.
‘I promise’, I said - why won’t you believe me?
You told me. That you’re not to be trusted.
A second. Or whatever time is in their heads. When they talk this way. But a really long second. And a…thing in his head that feels zippy. Something like…surprise? Maybe? In the bond. Like he’d surprised Peter again.
I said I’m not always to be believed, Christopher. But I am always to be trusted.
...always, huh.
There’s nothing like that. Nothing is for always. But when Peter says it like that, maybe it is. Or maybe it isn’t but Peter will make it. Make it real.
I’m sure the team will be coming into your room at any moment. I shall leave you to it.
Alright. Will you…
What?
Tell him. Show him what happened. How it happened. Bring the file? Later?
Of course. Will you let Noah and myself handle it?
And now he’s…he forgets the word but it’s like Peter is…thinking different of him. Less of him. And that sets him off. He doesn’t know why it’s happened or-
-or how it’s happened. There’s so much he cannot control. And he doesn’t even get to. Take care of it himself. Take care of Alli himself. Make sentences. Make sense and-
I…am not a child. His chest is so hot. He’s so angry. To be…to be-
Coddled.
So soft, Peter’s voice.
No, no, you are not . I meant what I said yesterday. I promised you.
Up against the heat in his chest, Peter’s voice is cool. Like cold water. But it’s not enough. Because Chris has been alone. He’s handled everything alone. Until now. And only because of this…horrible thing. That has happened to him.
Is still happening.
And he thinks about what Peter is saying. That they’ll look at it first! Like he’s a child-
I’m not managing you. I’m not assuming that you need to be handled with kid gloves. I won’t redact anything from the file or nor will I keep you in the dark about any of the details of what happened to you.
Still so soft. But…he says it like he means it. Like he’s never meant anything else.
Instead, I say to you the same thing I said to Stiles when I properly met him for the first time in the hospital in Beacon Hills. Christopher, you are my mate .
…huh. The thing is. It’s the first time Peter’s said it. The first time in their heads. It’s hard to hide feelings like this. There’s no way to lie. It’s also…a fact. That they are mates. But what does it matter right now when Chris is. Not having an easy time.
Okay. And what. Does that mean.
It means that I will do everything in my power to get to the bottom of this. It means that I cannot do anything less than my best in making sure that you’re safe, at the very least.
Oh.
He doesn’t mean it like he thinks Christopher is less. Or weak. Or…can’t take it. No, Peter says ‘mate’ like it means Peter would help no matter what. Even if he and Chris never spoke again. Or never did anything with the bond. He says it like a…promise. It’s a lot. Too much to think about. And he’s tired again.
…alright.
It’s rude. But he thinks Peter will understand.
Falling asleep is all he can do.
///
If he had to guess, he would say that his family decided on their own to not bombard him. Alli, his beautiful baby girl, knows him just about as well as Ania. Between the two of them, they probably thought it would be okay to give him space. Let him think. Let him come to them when he wants to talk.
Nothing’s changed.
Not really. It’s just that now they all know that someone had Christopher long enough to-
-nothing’s changed. It’s just that now everyone knows. Including him.
So his daughter and his best friend and his favorite cousins don’t say anything yet.
///
Someone touched me.
It’s a daze.
The week is a daze.
He still loses time. His family notices. The Healers notice. His soulmates must know too. Their families hide very little from each other. But he persists. Being busy is better, for as long as he can. Speech therapy to keep the words he has. To remember the words he’s forgotten. Sometimes they write. To make sure his hands and fingers keep working. But he hears sounds and he processes what they mean and he says them back. He thinks about how to help himself remember. He listens and he hears and he talks and he gets confused. All in a day’s work. Every morning.
Someone touched me.
His legs are thin. They are weak. They are better than they were. But he has lost muscle, they tell him. At least this is not something his brain has forgotten. Or erased. It would be very inconvenient to have to learn walking all over again. He practices. And his legs remember how. And magic and potions will build him back up again. He holds the wood, he stumbles, one foot in front of the other.
Someone touched me.
Everything is hard but he stays busy. He holds Ania’s hands in the evening. And Alli is warm against his side. Drew Hale tells jokes and Drew Argent tells stories. Stiles and Peter and Ri crowd in. He listens very carefully. If he can focus on words in the room, he can ignore words in his head. If he listens very carefully to the songs and the jokes and the stories. Then he can focus only on them. See only them. Hear only them. Not the-
- someone touched me-
-other stuff. It only works until all the families have to go. Then he’s drowning in-
-someone touched me, someone touched me, someone touched me, someone touched-
-one thought. The only thought that keeps him busy between taking Sleeping Draughts and actually sleeping.
///
One, two, three days.
Family in his room. Soulmates in his head. No dreams, which is good. No feeling rested, which is not good. But it's fine.
Three days, four, five.
He's just...going. He just has to keep going.
///
Healer Hernandez asks him if he’s open to psychotherapy in a quiet thirty minutes that she initiates the following Tuesday, six days after Officer Stabler brings the news.
She is good about it - she takes over his speech therapy session, dismisses his usual therapist, and treats it like a meeting to provide updates. She starts by reviewing his progress. Telling him he’s making great progress, that walking unassisted in his last hour-long session is “a sign that you’re advancing farther than we could have hoped for in a short amount of time”. It’s nice to know he’s not suffering in vain. Good that his body is recovering.
Then she reviews his progress with speech therapy. Asks him questions about what’s working and not working. Pulls up his chart to show him something that he guesses also means that he’s doing well there too, since she’s nodding and looking pleased.
And then she puts her hands together and just looks at him.
“I think,” and it sounds firm, not an ‘ I-think’ but more of a ‘ you-really-should’ so he sits up in his therapy chair, “you should speak to someone about what’s happened to you. A therapist might be really helpful to have - someone to talk to, someone to process how you’re feeling.”
He hadn’t even thought of that.
“Thank you,” he says, because it’s the only thing he can say in the moment. “I will think about it.”
///
“Christophe.” Ania sounds serious above him. Pushing his wheelchair along the path around the Clinic. He pushes his head all the way back to look at her. Even upside down, she looks serious. Uh oh. It looks like they are going to talk about it. He should have known. Five days was a long time for his best friend to say nothing. Still, he drops his head back down. Focuses on the cheerful pink and yellow flowers on either side.
“Mm?” He pretends nothing is wrong.
“Let’s sit.”
They keep going down the path until they reach their spot. A wide iron bench and room to park his wheelchair at an angle. They always stop there so they can get some sun. Enjoy the breeze, talk if he feels like it. This time is the same. He brushes his hand against the flowers. He feels his cheeks heat up, hears the bees and the insects buzz as she takes her time setting him up. Putting a shawl over his shoulders for protection. Then sitting down herself, reaching for one of his hands, and smiling so he smiles back.
“You’ve been quiet, dear one.” Her smile goes away until she looks serious again. But she squeezes his hand, at least. “Ever since they told us the news.”
So. They really are talking about this.
“...what do you want me to say?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want you to say anything - I just want to know how you’re feeling. We’ve done our best to distract you this week but you have been dealt blow after blow this month. You survived and now you’re finding out that there’s even more to survive.”
“How I’m feeling?”
What a short question, she asks. A small question. Nothing about what he feels is small. So, he shrugs. Her facial expression doesn’t change at all but she doesn’t say anything. Just squeezes his hand again and looks around them, like she always does.
So, maybe, they aren’t talking about it today.
But it’s all he can think about most days.
His cheeks are warm and the insects are buzzing and-
-and it’s all he can think about. That he has to keep busy to keep from thinking about how someone’s violated his head. That he doesn’t know who or for what reason. That he doesn’t feel safe anymore. Not like he did when he woke up and no one could say why he’d been attacked and nearly died but now he really doesn’t feel safe.
He doesn’t know if he ever will again.
///
Is he going backwards, not being able to sleep anymore without draughts?
They’d been weaning him off up until last week.
Is he weak?
If he just lays here and tries not to feel exhausted by the idea that there’s another day to get through the next time he opens his eyes, is that weak?
Is he?
Is he?
///
Peter is Left Hand. Noah is a town sheriff. Still, between the two, it takes a week to go through the official report.
It’s not even that he wants to read it. It’s that he has to. There’s no way that he’s not going to read it. He has to know as much as everyone else does about what happened to him. Everyone else knows so much more than he does, at this point. Knowledge is power. He has to know. It’s the only reason he takes the thick folder that Noah hands him while Peter makes himself comfortable.
“I have to check in with my own department before heading back to the local precinct,” Noah says, clapping a hand over Chris’ shoulders, “but Peter’s just as much of an expert, if very unorthodox.”
There’s a slightly bubbly feeling in his head - Peter’s pleased, maybe - that he ignores to say thank you. And wave the man out the door. Before looking back to the man remaining. No, he doesn’t like to say things that are…facts. Things that you can see with your eyes are true. He forgets the word. Still, he says it.
“Staying?”
“For any questions you might have or aspects you would like to talk through,” his soulmate says.
Right. For some reason, he doesn’t think that’s why he’s staying. Or it’s not the only thing. But he doesn’t care about asking because he has to save up all his courage for the folder.
It’s not enough courage.
The words on these pages start off clear. Separate. But the way he’s described? How they talk about what happened to him? It’s weird. Because the words are straight-forward. Or they use medical words. Or they are emotional - at least, the eyewitness statements are. And there are photos. Blood on concrete. In his car. The grocery bags on the ground. Police tape.
It takes him at least an hour to read everything. When he’s done, it feels like his breathing is a lot faster. He just sits there trying to catch his damn breath. Peter stays quiet the entire hour. And for the few extra minutes where Chris is trying to calm down.
“Christopher.”
He tilts his head up to look at Peter. “Mm?”
“May I touch you?”
It’s…the last thing he expected the wolf to say. Which must be clear on his face or his scent because Peter laughs but, for the first time ever, he sounds a bit like he can’t believe he just said that.
“Stiles says being close to either of us is pretty calming and, after reading through your own folder, I think you could use some calming.”
This might also be the first time he’s ever heard Peter explain himself. Without someone asking him, even. He’s definitely embarrassed. But he’s also not wrong. Also, weres like to take care of each other with touch. It’s a good sign, isn’t it? That Peter is offering comfort?
“Yes,” he says and it’s not very hard to say it.
Except for how it suddenly is.
Fuck.
“Oh, Christopher,” he hears Peter say somewhere past the burn in his throat, past the way his vision is suddenly blurry, before he can cover his face with his hands-
-and then he’s in a very nice hug.
“I’m sorry.” The words go right into the softness of Peter’s jacket. It really is a nice hug. Which means he falls apart right after he speaks. Everything is just so-
-so much. It’s like the crying isn’t even what he’s really feeling. Is this what life is going to be like until they catch whoever did this to him? Feeling like his chest is going to burst? Or he can’t breathe? Is he going to be looking over his shoulders forever? Wondering who the hell out there pawed through his memories? Or whether they, God forbid, put anything into him? Him and his fucked up head and his words? Is he even safe for everyone else to be around? If they never solve this, does he just have to live this way for the rest of his whole godforsaken life?
And that thought just-
-fuck.
Fuck.
He can’t.
So he cries and cries until he can’t. Until he’s not thinking anymore, not thinking about the photographs or words on paper or anything else. Just lying there.
And, not once, does Peter ever stop hugging him.