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i remember who i am when i’m with you
or 5 times al needs tom’s touch to help him stay + the 1 time it's tom that needs al’s touch
Resurrection sickness is a bitch.
This is what Bobby always says. Tom isn’t a big fan of the wording, but he can’t deny the truth of that sentence, because each time Al dies, it breaks Tom’s heart to watch his best friend struggle to come back to the real world. To him.
He does his best to help, but in the beginning, they know very little about resurrection sickness. They know that the worst part – the shaking, the pain, the disorientation – usually doesn’t last longer than half an hour. They know that the mental and physical exhaustion that follows lingers for far longer. They know there’s no cure.
Until Tom makes a discovery, and everything changes.
1. Hands
By this point, it’s procedure, really: there’s an incident in the city – a fire, armed robbers, the next supervillain-wannabe –; Al throws himself at the danger without thinking and then dies heroically; Tom picks up the pieces; they wait for him to wake up.
Then the worst part.
Al wakes with a quiet gasp, breath hitching immediately. His eyes stay open for a few seconds – just enough time to find Tom –, but then he fades. By the time he blinks himself awake again, Tom is already out of his chair and there by his side, hovering nervously.
It’s Al that reaches for his hand. It probably isn’t even intentional, and Tom doesn’t think much of it, but when Al takes his hand, the shaking lessens, and he manages to hold on to consciousness.
“That’s it,” Tom coaxes. “I’ve got you.”
Al finally stills, relaxes against the pillow, and falls asleep, breathing steady.
Tom sags back onto his chair, fingers still intertwined with Al’s.
After, when Al wakes properly, neither mentions it. Al because he doesn’t remember; Tom because this is not a pattern yet.
2. Patterns
It becomes a pattern exactly two weeks later.
There’s a hostage situation; Al frees the hostages and apprehends almost all of the perpetrators, but he’s shot three times and bleeds out before the ambulance gets there.
Tom wants to look away from his torn body as he takes him home, but he doesn’t. He also doesn’t alert Bobby, who’s at university (because even superhero-adjacent people need to get their degree somehow). He just lays Al on the bed, cleans his face, and waits until his body puts itself back together.
He’s halfway through his tenth crossword when Al wakes.
Tom’s there in a heartbeat.
“Tom,” Al gets out, but then he’s gone again. He wakes and fades again and again, whole body trembling, breathing erratic.
And Tom, for once, doesn’t think. He lets instinct take over and grabs Al’s shoulder to try to keep him steady. “Al,” he says, trying to sound calmer than he is. “Come on. Stay.”
It’s slow and it’s painful but the shaking lessens and eventually Al stops flickering. Tom still doesn’t pull away, and he notices Al leans into his touch.
“Hm.”
“What?” Al blinks up at him blearily.
“Nothing,” Tom says, because he still isn’t sure.
But he makes a mental note to be there the next time, too. (Not that he would ever not be there. He’d sooner die than leave Al to wake up alone.)
“Okay,” Al replies, still weak.
Tom squeezes his shoulder. “Yeah. We’re okay.”
3. Prayers
And then Tom fails to keep his promise.
Spectacularly.
Because the next time Al comes back confused and disoriented and looking for his touch, Tom is not there.
Bobby is.
It happens because Al chases the villain outside town, far out West, and then he comes back sooner than expected after dying. Tom can’t get there fast enough from the base, but Bobby, who’s on the other side of the city, can.
He finds Al slumped with his back against a tree, the villain lying a few meters away. He’s dead. Al was dead, too – Bobby can never make peace with that thought –, and now he’s back, breathing as if it hurts, eyes focusing on Bobby as if it requires all of his strength.
Because it actually does, Bobby knows that by now.
So he drops to his knees next to Al and grabs his hand.
“Ohthankgod,” he breathes. “You’ve had me worried.”
For a moment, he thinks Al almost smiles: his eyes are clear and he opens his mouth to say something, but he only gets out a “Bo–” before his eyes close and he dips forward. Bobby catches him immediately and gently leans him back against the bark, but Al takes too long to come back, and when he does, he’s quick to go again.
“No,” Bobby pleads. “Please, stay.”
That’s how Tom finds them ten minutes later: Al flickering every ten seconds and Bobby panicking, on the verge of tears, clinging to him.
As if Al could already feel Tom’s presence, his eyes open and he manages to focus on his friend. “Tom,” he says his name as if his prayer is being answered, and Tom is there instantly, grabbing his hand, drawing Al into him until his head lands on Tom’s shoulder.
“I’m here,” he reassures, his other hand going to the nape of Al’s neck, and Bobby watches in wonder as Al stops trembling and his breathing slows. The next time his eyes open, they’re still hazy with pain, but it’s evident he’s here to stay this time.
Tom exhales in relief. He and Bobby exchange a glance, and he knows he’ll have to explain his theory to Bobby in great detail once they get Al home.
Until then, he sends a silent prayer to whoever is listening that he got here when he did.
4. Hugs
It doesn’t take long for Tom to be able to determine what kind of touch Al needs: it’s usually based on how bad the resurrection sickness is. Sometimes a steadying hand on his shoulder is enough, let it be Tom’s or Bobby’s; sometimes he needs more.
This is one of those times.
The explosion that killed him shook the whole city. The worst part is that Al almost survived it; the police was surprisingly efficient with the evacuation and saved a lot of Al’s time, who could focus on the most dangerous areas, the buildings that threatened to collapse any minute.
And then the last one actually did. Al got the three trapped civilians out just in time, but, as usual, there wasn’t enough time to get himself out as well, and the building literally fell on top of him.
Bobby saw it happen on the news, heart in his throat. He raced to the base from campus, and by the time he got there, Tom was already smoothing the covers over Al.
It’s been seven hours since then, and Al still hasn’t woken up.
Dread is starting to pool in Bobby’s stomach.
“What if…” he starts, but Tom cuts him off with a determined “No.”
Bobby doesn’t have the energy to argue with that.
It takes another hour for Al to finally stir. The second he takes a shaky breath, Tom and Bobby are both instantly there, reaching for a hand, a shoulder, whatever is closest, trying to keep Al grounded long enough for his body to attach itself to reality.
“Don’t go, don’t go,” Bobby mutters, but just as suddenly as he wakes, Al goes slump again, head lolling to the side. They both tighten their grip, but this time, it doesn’t seem to be enough.
So Tom does something new.
He sits on the side of the bed, and pulls Al into his arms.
“T–” Al gets out before he slips away again, his hand going slack in Bobby’s.
Tom doesn’t let go. “Come back,” he mutters into Al’s shoulder, eyes stinging with tears that he refuses to let bubble over. “Come back, you self-sacrificing idiot, come back to me.”
And, miraculously, Al does.
It only takes a few minutes, and he stabilizes right there in Tom’s protective grip, breathing becoming controlled, gaze becoming clear.
Tom pulls away just so he can look into Al’s face, his hands still on Al’s shoulders.
“About time.”
Al’s reply is only a weak smile, but it helps both Tom and Bobby release the breath they’ve been holding.
“That’s not fair, though,” Bobby points out later when they sit down for dinner. Al is well enough that they can have it in the kitchen, and he looks at Bobby from across the table with a raised eyebrow and a faint grin.
“What, kiddo?”
“That only Tom got to hug you,” Bobby mutters, suddenly shy. He turns his gaze to where Tom is busying himself at the counter, pretending to make food instead of eavesdropping. He can feel Al’s gaze on his face.
“Bobby,” Al says softly, asking him to look at him with that one word. Bobby was never really good at saying no to Al; he looks back up.
“Yeah?”
“I think I need a hug.”
Bobby literally jumps up from his chair. He rounds the table and puts his arms around Al without another word, and he feels the older man hug him back immediately.
Bobby buries his face into Al’s shoulder, shuddering with relief.
“Now we’re even,” he says to Tom once he manages to let Al go.
Tom, uncharacteristically quiet, puts down the steaming bowl of soup and pulls Bobby into a quick side-hug. “Now we are,” he says.
Al watches them from his chair, still fatigued, but entirely present, entirely safe.
That’s how hugs become a thing.
5. Seconds
And then there are the times when even hugs aren’t enough.
It happens rarely, yet still too often for Bobby’s taste.
This time, they’re both there when Al first comes to; Bobby is attempting to work (and failing miserably) on a paper he has to submit in two days, and Tom is writing his usual mission report. After 6 hours and 12 minutes, Al wakes, gasping.
The first thing he says is, “Something’s wrong.”
That’s unusually coherent considering the death he’s just been through (crash-landing an airplane, it’s a long story), and Tom, already jumping up, can feel he’s right.
“What do you mean?” He still has to ask. He instinctively takes Al’s hand, gaze focused on his friend’s pale face. In his peripheral vision, he sees Bobby do the same.
“I–” is all Al manages to get out before he fades.
It takes two minutes for him to come back again.
That is so much longer than what they’re used to that Tom, for a terrible moment, worries that this is it.
That this is that one time, the one he has been silently preparing for for the last two decades, the one that ends with Al staying dead permanently.
But then Al’s eyes open again.
“I can’t–” he tries, but his breathing hitches and he goes out like a candle.
It’s as if he’s fighting his own body to stay. As if some invisible, cruel force is drawing him away from life, from his family, from Tom.
Tears are streaming down Bobby’s face. “Dad,” he gets out, but his voice breaks. “Come back.”
Al does, quicker than he did before – but he’s also worse. This time, his gaze can’t find their faces, and he’s only there for a few seconds before his head dips again and he’s gone. As they watch, horrified, the cycle repeats itself until Al’s eyes open and close every five seconds, his breathing becoming too fast, his whole body trembling.
Tom knows he must do something to anchor his friend, because he can’t lose him like this. Not when he’s right here, on the verge of surviving another unsurvivable day. Not when his fingers, pale and shaky, are intertwined with Tom’s.
Not when there’s too much Tom hasn’t said yet.
So Tom sits down, pulls Al into his lap, forces himself to let go of his fingers and puts both of his hands to Al’s face.
Al breathes his name, but his eyes don’t even open this time, and he slips again.
Tom counts the seconds.
“Come on,” he says when Al wakes again. “You can’t leave me like this.”
For a fleeting moment, the pain in Al’s gaze is so intense it almost makes Tom’s heart stop – because it’s not just physical pain. Al is actually aware of what is happening, making a conscious effort to return to wakefulness and Tom with each breath he takes, and Tom realizes with a hopeful thud in his chest that Al’s not willing to let go.
Good. Neither am I.
“Tom,” Al keeps using his five seconds to say his name. It simultaneously sounds like he’s praying, and pleading, and saying goodbye, just in case. There’s a lump in Tom’s throat.
“I’m here, I’ve got you, just hold on. Hold on,” Tom whispers back, pressing his forehead to Al’s. Their faces are so close that he feels every shaky exhale, every tremble. When Al sags against him, he moves one of his hands from the side of his face to the nape of his neck, squeezing. “You’re not allowed to leave. We need you here. I need you.”
At first, it seems nothing will help. Al keeps on coming back and fading, and Tom knows that even his superhuman body has its limits – it can’t keep this up forever.
But then, gradually, something shifts.
The cycle becomes slower.
First he manages to stay for ten seconds before his head lolls sideways.
Then twenty.
Thirty.
When he manages to stay for a full minute, Tom swipes a thumb across his cheekbone in a gesture of desperate relief. “That’s it. I’ve got you.”
And though Al’s body makes it as hard as it can, the trembling eventually lessens and then stops almost entirely. The flickering ends… And then he’s there.
Really there. Awake, present, fully himself.
And fully exhausted.
Still cradled in Tom’s embrace, he looks up with hazy eyes.
“Thank you,” he mumbles, eyes already half-closed.
Tom brushes damp curls of hair from his forehead. “You came back.”
“I came back,” Al echoes, voice weak but constant.
On the other side of the bed, Bobby wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. For a long time, he doesn’t say anything. Not until Al falls asleep properly for the first time in hours, not until Tom presses a soft kiss to his temple before arranging the covers over him. Not until Tom collapses back into his chair, tired and pale but visibly relieved.
“How did you do that?” Bobby asks then, voice small.
Tom looks at him, really looks at him, and sees the fear and the panic and the red around his eyes, the aftereffect of crying.
“I don’t know,” he admits. It’s true. Still, he will do it again and again, as many times as Al needs him to. Because, Bobby realizes, Tom Bolles will always do whatever it takes for Al Ulbrickson to come back.
+ 1. Touches
For once, the resurrection sickness is surprisingly mild; especially considering that Al is completely alone.
Well, save for the corpse of the extraterrestrial monster.
He looks around, attempts to sit, attempts to stand, finds he can – though he’s still a little wobbly, and there’s only one coherent thought on his mind: where are they? He died, he came back – that must have taken at least three hours, probably more. How is it that Tom and Bobby still haven’t found him?
And then he realizes.
Because this is not his city. The monster was big and it could fly and the only way for Al to keep up was by lounging onto its back from a rooftop and managing to kill it mid-flight.
Obviously, he knew that was not something he would survive.
He just didn’t expect the whole thing would take so long.
The monster’s skin was so thick that Al literally had to search its whole body to find a weak spot where he could thrust in a blade and break tissue – all while being at least fifty meters above ground and trying to hold on to a creature that was very clearly dissatisfied with his presence.
In the end, he did find a joint where the armor gave way to softer skin… But when they fell, the monster’s vast body destroying multiple (abandoned, thankfully) buildings in the outskirts of an unfamiliar city, it wasn’t just the monster that died.
Good thing he only followed Al to the dead, not back.
And now he’s here, unsteady and sore and very annoyed, because he doesn’t know how long he was out, he’s tens – if not hundreds – of miles away from home, and his family is not here, which means they’re probably worried out of their minds.
Or maybe….
No. Al tries not to even think about the other possibility… The one in which his family has given up on him, convinced he’s gone for good this time. He will fight alien monsters over and over if need be, but he doesn’t think he could survive if his family abandoned him.
Thankfully, they didn’t.
But Al doesn’t know that yet.
So he takes a bus.
By the time the bus rolls into his own city, his home, it’s already dark. A few civilians that recognize him offer to give him a ride, but he refuses, deciding to walk. He uses the twenty minutes it takes to get to the base to prepare himself for the worst.
Obviously he hopes it doesn’t come to pass, but he’s never been known for his optimism.
The minute he crosses the perimeter, the outer warning system activates. The door flies open exactly three seconds later.
It’s Bobby, breathless and pale. For a moment, he seems to be frozen in place, just staring at Al as he reaches the entrance.
Then something shifts in his expression and he lunges for Al.
“Dad!” He chokes out, pulling the older man into a tight hug, refusing to soften his grip even when Al winces.
“Hi, kiddo,” Al breathes into Bobby’s messy curls, arms coming up around Bobby’s waist.
“You’re not allowed to do that again. Ever,” Bobby says, and he wants to sound commanding, but his voice breaks on the last syllable. “I thought I lost you,” he adds quietly, and when they pull apart to look at each other, Al sees there are tears in his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“Did you…?” Bobby doesn’t finish, but Al hears the last word nevertheless.
“Yeah.” Bobby shuts his eyes for a second, eyebrows drawing together in worry. Then he says, “Let’s get you inside.” And, almost as an afterthought, “Where the hell is Tom already?”
Tom, as it turns out, is sitting in Al’s room, the one he normally recovers in.
Bobby did shout for him when the warning system activated and he saw a disheveled, slightly limping Al appear on the security feed, but then he was so occupied with the realization that his dad isn’t actually gone forever that he forgot to check whether Tom had heard him.
He didn’t.
He also doesn’t hear Al’s steps as he arrives to lean against the doorframe, Tom’s back to him.
Doesn’t seem to hear when Al says his name.
But then–
“And now I’m hallucinating.” That makes Al’s chest tighten with worry.
“You’re not,” he says into the silence before he could think through whether this is a good idea.
Tom, finally, turns. Sees him. Freezes.
Al stares back, holding his breath.
Then–
Tom’s face crumples.
He jumps up so fast Al barely has time to brace himself for impact. They collide there in the door, and Al keeps the frantic Tom steady.
Then he realizes Tom is shaking.
“Tom…”
“You were dead,” Tom says, voice choked with tears. “You were dead, you were–”
And that’s when he finally breaks. He presses his face into Al’s shoulder and lets himself be held by his best friend, his longest friend, the person without whom he couldn’t live but almost had to.
As if he could read his thoughts, Al says, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” And then, like he knows Tom needs permission, “You can let go now.”
Only then do the tears flow, and Tom lets himself sag against Al, lets himself be embraced completely. “You were dead,” he says again, as if he is waiting for Al to contradict him.
So Al does. “I’m not anymore. You didn’t lose me.” He pulls away from Tom momentarily to put his forehead against his best friend’s, his longest friend’s, the person’s who’s been the only constant, the only anchor in his life for as long as he can remember.
It resembles resurrection sickness in a twisted, eerily accurate way: Tom needs to come back to the reality in which Al survived, and he needs to be held by Al to manage that. (Also because he probably couldn’t stay upright alone.)
Al keeps murmuring, one of his arms around Tom’s waist, a hand on his face, thumb caressing his cheek slowly. “I’m sorry,” he says. And, “It’s okay, you did great”, and finally, something Tom has the energy to answer, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Tom whispers, opening his eyes. Truth is, he’s already said this to the empty room a few hours ago. It feels considerably better to say it to a very alive, very smiling Al.
And then they hear the click of a camera.
Bobby stands in the corridor, lowering the camera hanging around his neck, a grin on his face.
“Bobby,” Al says sternly.
The kid has the audacity to shrug.
“You’ll thank me later.”
Tom doesn’t – he prefers not to remember his weak moments, and he especially prefers not to remember the moments he almost lost Al.
Al, on the other hand, does thank Bobby, and he does take a copy of the picture. It serves as a reminder: that he came back, and that someone waited for him to do so. That he’s more than an untouchable symbol, a necessary casualty, a constant sacrifice – that his presence matters.
In the picture, they’re standing, but they’re completely tangled: one of Tom’s legs is between Al’s, his hands on Al’s back and in his hair, Al’s arm around Tom’s waist, his thumb sweeping under his eye, their foreheads pressed together, their eyes closed.
It’s irregular and messy and entirely out of character for both of them… And yet, they both look like they’re right where they need to be.
Al loves that picture, so much so that it ends up on his desk in his office, where he sometimes glances at it fondly.
It’s a good thing, too, because this way Tom also has a chance to (secretly) glance at it fondly whenever he wanders into Al’s office – sometimes just to make sure he’s still there, still breathing, still ready to smile at him.
And each time, Al is waiting for the sound of his steps, waiting for his hand on his shoulder, waiting for Tom’s dark eyes to find his.
They don’t say anything; they know it all already.
But their fingers do tangle sometimes, their way of making sure they’re both alright.
And this time, they are. They are, they are, they are.