Ficlet: Waking up 9/13 (George/Lee)
Nov. 21st, 2008 03:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seedeeTitle: Waking up
Pairing: George/Lee
Prompt: 9/13: Splat
Rating: Light R for some cursing
Word Count: 1150
Summary: The aftermath of New Year's Eve.
Author's Notes: Again more than 1000 words, even though I did my best to keep it short. The boys just won't shut up.
Link to Prompt Table: here
previous: 8. R.S.V.P.
Lee was very aware of the agonising pain in his back when he woke up. Instinctively he tried to move, tried to find a more comfortable position, but as he shifted, a sharp sting nearly made him throw up and he gasped.
"Easy, mate," someone said and put a hand on his shoulder. It was George, Lee didn't need to see him to recognise his voice. "Don't move. It'll be better soon."
Not moving seemed like a very good idea. Lee opened his eyes and blinked a few times. He was lying on his stomach in a comfortable bed. It was a big one. George was sitting next to him, leaning with his back against the headboard. Lee's neck was stiff, probably from being in the same position for quite some time.
"Here, drink this." A small vial was pressed against Lee's lips, and a hand was supporting his head, helping him to lift it enough so he could drink the dark brown liquid. It tasted foul, yet he managed to swallow it without choking. "How are you feeling?"
Regurgitated went through Lee's mind, but he didn't trust himself to pronounce it. "Alive," summed it up quite nicely. "Hurts."
George touched Lee's forehead as if to check for fever. "Mum said we weren't allowed to give you more until you'd wake up."
Lee snorted softly.
"I know, we usually don't listen on principle." George started playing with Lee's dreadlocks, twining them around his fingers. Lee wondered if he was doing it consciously. "She did a good job patching you up, but she's not a healer and she said that giving too much while you weren't conscious could be dangerous."
Breathing became more easy as the pain lessened, but it still hurt more than anything Lee could remember, including falling off his broom in second year.
"Where are we?" Lee's throat felt raw and he swallowed thickly, wondering when clearing his throat had become something barely manageable.
"Aunt Muriel's."
"You're joking." Lee looked around. The angle wasn't the best, but he could see at least parts of the room. The decoration was old-fashioned, and he hadn't been here before. A hideous pattern in brown and yellow adorned the walls, the bedposts were made of dark wood and a heavy oil painting showing a man in a thunderstorm did nothing to lighten the atmosphere.
"Not joking. Hardly anyone knows that this house even exists. Add a fidelius charm, ancient blood wards and some family secrets we better not talk about. Dad said it's their emergency plan if the family has to go into hiding. We're just a bit early. They saw Fred, so we're stuck here. The shop's closed."
George kept twiddling his hair, every so often touching Lee's bare shoulder with his knuckles.
"What happened?"
George didn't answer for a long time. He was biting his lip and kept looking at a point somewhere behind Lee. "You were a complete moron, that's what happened."
Lee stared at him, he had no idea what George meant.
"Don't look like at me like that," George said. Lee was confused at the change of his demeanour. "You were bleeding to death in my fucking living room. And I was right there."
Oh, he meant that. Lee closed his eyes. Disappointment was written all over George's face, and he didn't want to see it.
"What the hell were you thinking? We were on the other side of the bloody table. One word, Lee. Just one single word would have been enough. A few minutes later and..." George didn't finish the sentence. Lee appreciated it. "How can anyone be that stupid?"
Lee didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to describe the tiredness and the odd feeling he remembered very clearly.
"It didn't hurt," he eventually said and forced himself to look at George. "All I wanted was some sleep. There was something wrong, but it didn't seem important." Lee shrugged, but regretted the movement instantly. He coughed and regretted that even more.
"I don't believe that, Lee. There's a slash on your back from shoulder to hip." Lee grimaced, he didn't know if he was ready to hear that yet. "Clever curse, it left your clothes intact. We tried to stop the bleeding and called Mum. Couldn't go to St. Mungo's, could we?" George took a deep breath as if to calm himself. "It's been three days."
"'m sorry," Lee mumbled. After a prolonged silence he asked, "Is your mum still here?" Lee should at least thank her.
"She'll be here soon. She comes around twice a day to deal with the messy stuff." George gestured vaguely and made a face.
Lee frowned, and thought with growing horror of all the things 'messy stuff' implied after three days. Someone must have changed his clothes, possibly washed him and... "Oh god." Lee groaned and grabbed a pillow, hiding his head. It hurt enough to make him hiss, but it was worth it. He'd never be able to look Mrs. Weasley in the face again.
George pulled the pillow away. "Don't be ridiculous. She raised seven kids, nothing she hasn't seen or done before."
"Not helping," Lee said pathetically.
"Could have been worse." George patted Lee's shoulder. The touch was comforting and his hand lingered.
Lee bent his arm and took George's hand with his own. Only belatedly he realised what he'd done and he froze. What had he been thinking? Best mates didn't hold hands. He was terrified. It felt like he'd just jumped from a high rock into a pool of knee-deep ice-cold water.
But George didn't pull away, and George didn't freak out. He actually didn't do anything but sit there and let Lee hold his hand.
Gradually Lee relaxed. And just as he was about to start breathing again, George intertwined their fingers.
Lee couldn't look away from their hands. They had touched uncountable times. There had been nudges, slaps, hugs, pats, squeezes, shoves. But there hadn't been any hand-holding yet.
"How's the rest of the family?" Lee asked slowly. The best solution for something huge, that didn't quite make sense but was too precious to let go, was definitely to ignore it.
George ran his thumb along Lee's wrist and back before answering. "No change. Charlie in Romania, Bill and Fleur at Shell's Cottage and Mum and Dad are ready to move if necessary." George was silent for a moment and Lee saw how much he struggled to keep his face blank as he continued. "Gin wants to go back to Hogwarts, Ron's missing and Percy is still a bloody stubborn prat." Lee squeezed his hand and nearly gasped when George squeezed back.
Whatever it was, it was over when Mrs. Weasley entered the room. She beamed when she saw that he was awake, sent George down to the kitchen and proceeded to teach Lee the true meaning of mortification.
next: 10. pontification
Pairing: George/Lee
Prompt: 9/13: Splat
Rating: Light R for some cursing
Word Count: 1150
Summary: The aftermath of New Year's Eve.
Author's Notes: Again more than 1000 words, even though I did my best to keep it short. The boys just won't shut up.
Link to Prompt Table: here
previous: 8. R.S.V.P.
Lee was very aware of the agonising pain in his back when he woke up. Instinctively he tried to move, tried to find a more comfortable position, but as he shifted, a sharp sting nearly made him throw up and he gasped.
"Easy, mate," someone said and put a hand on his shoulder. It was George, Lee didn't need to see him to recognise his voice. "Don't move. It'll be better soon."
Not moving seemed like a very good idea. Lee opened his eyes and blinked a few times. He was lying on his stomach in a comfortable bed. It was a big one. George was sitting next to him, leaning with his back against the headboard. Lee's neck was stiff, probably from being in the same position for quite some time.
"Here, drink this." A small vial was pressed against Lee's lips, and a hand was supporting his head, helping him to lift it enough so he could drink the dark brown liquid. It tasted foul, yet he managed to swallow it without choking. "How are you feeling?"
Regurgitated went through Lee's mind, but he didn't trust himself to pronounce it. "Alive," summed it up quite nicely. "Hurts."
George touched Lee's forehead as if to check for fever. "Mum said we weren't allowed to give you more until you'd wake up."
Lee snorted softly.
"I know, we usually don't listen on principle." George started playing with Lee's dreadlocks, twining them around his fingers. Lee wondered if he was doing it consciously. "She did a good job patching you up, but she's not a healer and she said that giving too much while you weren't conscious could be dangerous."
Breathing became more easy as the pain lessened, but it still hurt more than anything Lee could remember, including falling off his broom in second year.
"Where are we?" Lee's throat felt raw and he swallowed thickly, wondering when clearing his throat had become something barely manageable.
"Aunt Muriel's."
"You're joking." Lee looked around. The angle wasn't the best, but he could see at least parts of the room. The decoration was old-fashioned, and he hadn't been here before. A hideous pattern in brown and yellow adorned the walls, the bedposts were made of dark wood and a heavy oil painting showing a man in a thunderstorm did nothing to lighten the atmosphere.
"Not joking. Hardly anyone knows that this house even exists. Add a fidelius charm, ancient blood wards and some family secrets we better not talk about. Dad said it's their emergency plan if the family has to go into hiding. We're just a bit early. They saw Fred, so we're stuck here. The shop's closed."
George kept twiddling his hair, every so often touching Lee's bare shoulder with his knuckles.
"What happened?"
George didn't answer for a long time. He was biting his lip and kept looking at a point somewhere behind Lee. "You were a complete moron, that's what happened."
Lee stared at him, he had no idea what George meant.
"Don't look like at me like that," George said. Lee was confused at the change of his demeanour. "You were bleeding to death in my fucking living room. And I was right there."
Oh, he meant that. Lee closed his eyes. Disappointment was written all over George's face, and he didn't want to see it.
"What the hell were you thinking? We were on the other side of the bloody table. One word, Lee. Just one single word would have been enough. A few minutes later and..." George didn't finish the sentence. Lee appreciated it. "How can anyone be that stupid?"
Lee didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to describe the tiredness and the odd feeling he remembered very clearly.
"It didn't hurt," he eventually said and forced himself to look at George. "All I wanted was some sleep. There was something wrong, but it didn't seem important." Lee shrugged, but regretted the movement instantly. He coughed and regretted that even more.
"I don't believe that, Lee. There's a slash on your back from shoulder to hip." Lee grimaced, he didn't know if he was ready to hear that yet. "Clever curse, it left your clothes intact. We tried to stop the bleeding and called Mum. Couldn't go to St. Mungo's, could we?" George took a deep breath as if to calm himself. "It's been three days."
"'m sorry," Lee mumbled. After a prolonged silence he asked, "Is your mum still here?" Lee should at least thank her.
"She'll be here soon. She comes around twice a day to deal with the messy stuff." George gestured vaguely and made a face.
Lee frowned, and thought with growing horror of all the things 'messy stuff' implied after three days. Someone must have changed his clothes, possibly washed him and... "Oh god." Lee groaned and grabbed a pillow, hiding his head. It hurt enough to make him hiss, but it was worth it. He'd never be able to look Mrs. Weasley in the face again.
George pulled the pillow away. "Don't be ridiculous. She raised seven kids, nothing she hasn't seen or done before."
"Not helping," Lee said pathetically.
"Could have been worse." George patted Lee's shoulder. The touch was comforting and his hand lingered.
Lee bent his arm and took George's hand with his own. Only belatedly he realised what he'd done and he froze. What had he been thinking? Best mates didn't hold hands. He was terrified. It felt like he'd just jumped from a high rock into a pool of knee-deep ice-cold water.
But George didn't pull away, and George didn't freak out. He actually didn't do anything but sit there and let Lee hold his hand.
Gradually Lee relaxed. And just as he was about to start breathing again, George intertwined their fingers.
Lee couldn't look away from their hands. They had touched uncountable times. There had been nudges, slaps, hugs, pats, squeezes, shoves. But there hadn't been any hand-holding yet.
"How's the rest of the family?" Lee asked slowly. The best solution for something huge, that didn't quite make sense but was too precious to let go, was definitely to ignore it.
George ran his thumb along Lee's wrist and back before answering. "No change. Charlie in Romania, Bill and Fleur at Shell's Cottage and Mum and Dad are ready to move if necessary." George was silent for a moment and Lee saw how much he struggled to keep his face blank as he continued. "Gin wants to go back to Hogwarts, Ron's missing and Percy is still a bloody stubborn prat." Lee squeezed his hand and nearly gasped when George squeezed back.
Whatever it was, it was over when Mrs. Weasley entered the room. She beamed when she saw that he was awake, sent George down to the kitchen and proceeded to teach Lee the true meaning of mortification.
next: 10. pontification
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no subject
on 2010-04-05 04:14 pm (UTC)