Heat (Piper & Trickster) PG-13 2/7
The epic fanfic by greenygal and I continues. As always, comments are appreciated!
Part One is here.
37.9 Degrees Celsius / 100.2 degrees Fahrenheit
Afterwards, Trickster gripped the blankets with hands that were shaking a little.
"'some more water please?" he muttered into the pillow. His voice rasped slightly...from the screaming?
"Of course," Piper said, and nearly fled to the sink. It took three tries before he was able to hold the glass steady under the tap.
When he returned, face hopefully composed, Trickster raised himself enough to sip from the glass, then slumped tiredly back to the bed. "Thanks," he said, then lapsed into silence, staring vaguely past Piper.
Piper sank down onto his chair next to the bed and watched him for a few minutes, until the silence started to get to him. Picking a topic nearly at random, he asked, "So, how do you know this is worse than breaking bones? I don't remember ever seeing you in a cast." Not very good small talk, probably, but he felt too frayed to do better.
Trickster didn’t object, anyway--for a moment Piper wasn’t even sure he understood. "What?" He blinked vaguely, then seemed to start tracking the conversation. "Oh. I...I've broken a few bones a few times. 's not as bad as this. Play the villain, take your lumps." His shoulders moved slightly, then stilled, an almost-shrug. "It's not like you've never been hurt, I bet. Plus I fell off the wire when I was eight. Everyone was pissed off with me." He sounded faintly aggrieved at the memory.
"At eight? You didn't use nets?" It was hard to imagine, with or without the nets. Assuming it was true, of course--it wouldn’t be the first time Trickster had spun utterly ridiculous tales of his carny childhood, just for fun.
"Just the practice one," Trickster was saying, voice slightly hazy with either pain or concentration. He sounded perfectly believable, but then he always did. "Only eight feet or so. Nine. Maybe. Can't remember. Was mucking around a bit. There was a show that night and they were all ticked."
"Doesn't sound like much fun," Piper said in dry understatement. "Did you see a doctor, at least?"
"Yeah. My foot was in a cast and I was out of the show for weeks." He shifted a little, and winced. "It threw my balance off practicing on the trapeze," he added, as if that were a perfectly normal activity for a child with a broken foot, and perhaps in his world it had been.
"Taught you not to fall, I guess," Piper murmured. He hadn’t so much as climbed a tree, back then. He’d never learned to judge Trickster’s stories because true or false, they were all equally alien to him.
"I didn't like the wire much anyway," Trickster sighed. "Trapeze was a bit better. Mostly. You broken any bones? Or anything?" He was talking quickly, the words choppy with discomfort, and sweat had beaded on his forehead. "Just distract me, will you? This is just..." He shifted a little, gritting his teeth.
Piper shrugged. "Nothing too serious." Mostly true; his worst experiences had never been the physical. "Cracked ribs, flesh wounds--never get in front of a woman with claws. A few concussions, I hate those...." His eyes strayed back down to the edge of the bandage visible under the blanket, and memory hissed down his spine. "...I got shot with an arrow once." He hadn’t realized he was speaking until he heard the words.
Trickster looked mildly intrigued. "Green Arrow?" he hazarded.
"No... Some other loon with a bow. I never found out his name." He hadn’t realized until now that he didn’t know; it had seemed irrelevant at the time, like knowing the precise color of the truck that hit you. "It was kind of...random," he finished inadequately.
"Guessing they didn't have to fish it out with tweezers though." There was a sour edge to Trickster’s voice, and Piper bit his tongue to keep from snapping.
"Flash pulled it out. I think. It's a little blurry." Innocuous word for that haze of drug-borne insanity, the warmth of the venom spreading through his veins...he shivered, remembering.
Trickster hadn’t seen it, wasn’t even looking at him. "Guess...'s easier when it's done in two seconds," and gunshot wound or not, Piper’s temper flared.
"I offered you that," he snapped. "You’re the one who turned it down." So stop whining.
Trickster stiffened; maybe he’d picked up the unspoken words. "I said actually two seconds, not twenty minutes of mind control."
Piper’s eyes narrowed. "If I wanted to control your mind, I wouldn’t have asked permission." Not a threat. Just the truth. Because if Trickster thought that what Piper had been offering was anything like a real mental assault... Well. The more fool him.
Trickster’s gaze flickered to Piper for a moment, seeking what, Piper didn’t know. Then it shifted away again. The silence lengthened uneasily; when Trickster finally broke it, it was as if Piper hadn’t spoken. His tone was harsh, but that might have been the pain. "Give me...a day or two to get better. We know where we ditched the truck. They won't...won't find it in the trees. We can fix it; get out of here. When it's light. When the heat's off. When I’m not..." He trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut for a minute. "Need some water... And I'm hungry but I can't... My head's still spinning. Dammit!" The last word was hissed through clenched teeth, pain and frustration equally evident in the tone.
Piper silently held up the glass. Even if he’d been inclined to offer sympathy, he knew perfectly well the other man wouldn’t want it.
Trickster managed a drink, then slumped back. "You're doing a, a...crap job of distracting me, y'know," he rasped.
Apparently they were going to pretend that last conversational turn hadn’t happened. Probably just as well, even if the whining was back. "You usually do most of the talking," Piper defended, "just like--" Like Wally. Subject change, right now-- "Look, don't worry about the truck," he said hurriedly. "I'll go check it out in the morning. It's just bullet holes, I can fix that." Then he paused as the words caught up with him, and he flinched, eyes drawn to the bandage again.
Trickster laughed briefly, and then winced. "Doing well so far...."
"Well, let's keep it that way, all right?" Piper suggested, doing his best to sound casual and not...pleading. "Most of my fix-it skills involve a welding torch."
Trickster shot him a mock glare. "'kay... You come near me with a welding torch and I'm really gonna kick your ass."
"Oh, I don't know." Piper pretended to look thoughtful. "Cyborg Trickster? It might have potential."
"Could I join the Teen Titans?"
Piper’s mouth twisted. "I don’t think they’d let you in--" Distraction, that’s not a distraction-- "--but maybe if you started putting 'Kid' in front of your name," he finished smoothly.
"'salready someone out there who'd prolly try that...." Trickster muttered, scowling.
God, is he still holding onto that grudge? Yes, of course he is. "Your little fanboy, right. Trickster 2.0--even more irritating than the original. Had to admire his skills, though." Piper smirked down at the other Rogue. Truthfully, he hadn’t seen enough of the kid to have much of an opinion, except that he was probably just retribution on Trickster for something or other, but punching Trickster’s buttons should at least give him something else to think about.
Sure enough, Trickster’s scowl deepened. "Whish ones?" he muttered, mockery clear even through the blurring of the syllables. "The screaming when...when I punched him in the face or...or the falling when I dropped him into the dumpster? Li’l punk had no class. He...I..." He’d started to shift to look up at Piper, and broke off with a strangled sound, eyes squeezed shut and face twisted with pain.
"Maybe you shouldn't do that again," Piper suggested. He kept any sympathy out of his voice, but put one hand lightly on Trickster’s arm until the tension in his body eased.
"Stupid, stupid--" He was still for a moment, then opened his eyes again and gave Piper an uncomfortable sideways glance. "Dammit. I... You...you're going to hav'to help me up."
Piper stared at him. "What part of 'hold still' and 'you shouldn't do that' are you having problems with?" Once, just once, he’s going to do something I tell him to....
"What...what part of bathroom are you having..." He gave up on the sarcasm, a bad sign in itself. "Dammit, jus...just help me...."
"Oh." Right. This is going to be fun. Piper sighed and leaned down to offer his support in getting Trickster up. Trickster’s face was pale and strained by the time he’d gotten mostly upright, but he seemed painfully intent on doing as much of the work as possible, leaning on Piper as little as his body would allow.
"Jus'...help me up, and to the door," he panted, half-standing, "and... Ah!" He twisted awkwardly, went stark white, and slumped backwards, a sudden dead weight under Piper’s hands.
Swearing, Piper grabbed at the other man, getting his arms around him before he could fall all the way. Trickster gave a harsh gasp--Piper was guiltily aware that he’d jarred the wound in his haste--and started struggling in his grip.
Piper tightened his hold automatically, and Trickster’s resistance increased. Idiot, does he want to fall? "Will you just hold still and let me--" he started, and then Trickster gave one convulsive jerk that broke him loose of Piper’s grasp, and tumbled backwards. Frantically Piper pulled him back--too hard, and they both went down onto the floor, landing with a crack of Piper’s head on the wooden floorboards.
Trickster made a strangled noise of agony, and then wrenched himself off and away from Piper with a speed that might have been insulting if Piper hadn’t been seeing too many stars to care.
A moment later the stars had faded, and he managed to suck in a breath. It seemed to help. Another one, and he felt capable of sitting up. His head ached, but it would pass. He looked around, and found Trickster only a couple of feet away, half-curled on the floor with his back to Piper, dazed and breathing in gasps. Good, Piper thought, and couldn’t quite make himself be sorry.
He moved over to kneel next to Trickster and looked him over critically, carefully not touching. He didn’t seem to be bleeding or seriously bruised, and his eyes were tracking Piper without difficulty. Good, Piper thought again, and felt better. But all the same--
"So, feel better now that I'm not helping you?" he inquired sarcastically. "Maybe you want to lie there being self-sufficient all night?"
"Oh, shuddup," Trickster wheezed, apparently out of energy for any more eloquent responses. "I wasn't going to... I'd've been fine. You didn' have to...to grope me.... The hell is your problem?"
Piper stared at him in sheer outraged shock. "What is my--" His voice rose to a shout. "What is wrong with you? You can't even pretend to be a decent human being for five minutes? To acknowledge that someone was trying to save your neck, again?" He would have died in that damned base if I hadn’t dragged him out, and now he’s-- And then Trickster’s words sank in properly, and he stopped short, the rage transmuting into something cooler and darker. "Or is it who was doing it, is that the problem?" he breathed. "There something you'd like to say to me, Tricks?"
"Trickster," the other man snapped through gritted teeth. "I'm not...not telling you anything. Keep imagining things 'f it makes you feel better. Leave me out of it." As he spoke, he’d begun carefully trying to ease himself upright without Piper's help. It would have been more impressive if he hadn’t been shaking and dripping with sweat from the effort.
Piper felt his expression harden. "If you want," he agreed, sitting back. "Of course," he added in a deceptively pleasant tone, "if you think you're getting up without help, I'm not the one imagining things."
Trickster glared at him, then resumed his painful efforts, visibly biting his lip to keep silent. I don’t care, Piper thought furiously.
But by the time Trickster had worked his way into a half-sitting position, heavily leaning on his shaking arms, Piper’s conscience was prodding him sharply. How long are you going to make him suffer to prove a point?
"Ah, hell," Piper muttered. Just because Trickster was a bastard, that didn’t mean he had to be. He offered his hand, and Trickster accepted it without complaint, not quite able to hide the flicker of relief in his eyes.
They managed to make their way over to the bathroom without discussion or incident, although Trickster still seemed determined to manage with the minimum of support. Piper grimly held his tongue, even when Trickster insisted on going in by himself, clinging carefully to the doorframe. It seemed a long time before Trickster called his name, and they made their shaky way back to the bed, Trickster gritting his teeth with every step.
After he’d been awkwardly lowered back onto the bed, Trickster mumbled "Thanks," as reluctantly as if that hurt too. But the look of near-despair on his face made Piper decide to accept it at face value. Helplessness was difficult to endure, he admitted a little guiltily.
"Do you need anything else?" he asked.
"Sleep," Trickster mumbled, then something flickered in his eyes and he made a face. "M'fine. Jus' great. Never better."
Piper smiled ironically. "Getting shot turns you into a lousy liar."
Trickster blinked, clearly trying to gather enough wits for a comeback. "Guess...guess you've gotta have a couple of gunshot wounds under there then...."
"Some of us don't want to make lying into a way of life." He’d meant it to sound chilly, but it just came out...tired.
Trickster sounded tired too, and a little out of it. He wasn't lying about needing sleep, at least. "Then..." he protested, clearly struggling for the right words, "then people can see right through you. Why'd you want to be made of glass?"
Made of glass. Only Trickster would see it that way; all vulnerability, no support, no companionship....
"Because it's nice to have people who know who you are," Piper said softly, and felt his eyes suddenly blurring. So long since he hadn’t been afraid to be known.... "Isn't it?" he whispered, as if the other man might have an answer.
But Trickster just looked at him, uncomprehending, and then closed his eyes.
Just as well. Piper didn’t want to talk anymore.
**************
To the next part.
Part One is here.
37.9 Degrees Celsius / 100.2 degrees Fahrenheit
Afterwards, Trickster gripped the blankets with hands that were shaking a little.
"'some more water please?" he muttered into the pillow. His voice rasped slightly...from the screaming?
"Of course," Piper said, and nearly fled to the sink. It took three tries before he was able to hold the glass steady under the tap.
When he returned, face hopefully composed, Trickster raised himself enough to sip from the glass, then slumped tiredly back to the bed. "Thanks," he said, then lapsed into silence, staring vaguely past Piper.
Piper sank down onto his chair next to the bed and watched him for a few minutes, until the silence started to get to him. Picking a topic nearly at random, he asked, "So, how do you know this is worse than breaking bones? I don't remember ever seeing you in a cast." Not very good small talk, probably, but he felt too frayed to do better.
Trickster didn’t object, anyway--for a moment Piper wasn’t even sure he understood. "What?" He blinked vaguely, then seemed to start tracking the conversation. "Oh. I...I've broken a few bones a few times. 's not as bad as this. Play the villain, take your lumps." His shoulders moved slightly, then stilled, an almost-shrug. "It's not like you've never been hurt, I bet. Plus I fell off the wire when I was eight. Everyone was pissed off with me." He sounded faintly aggrieved at the memory.
"At eight? You didn't use nets?" It was hard to imagine, with or without the nets. Assuming it was true, of course--it wouldn’t be the first time Trickster had spun utterly ridiculous tales of his carny childhood, just for fun.
"Just the practice one," Trickster was saying, voice slightly hazy with either pain or concentration. He sounded perfectly believable, but then he always did. "Only eight feet or so. Nine. Maybe. Can't remember. Was mucking around a bit. There was a show that night and they were all ticked."
"Doesn't sound like much fun," Piper said in dry understatement. "Did you see a doctor, at least?"
"Yeah. My foot was in a cast and I was out of the show for weeks." He shifted a little, and winced. "It threw my balance off practicing on the trapeze," he added, as if that were a perfectly normal activity for a child with a broken foot, and perhaps in his world it had been.
"Taught you not to fall, I guess," Piper murmured. He hadn’t so much as climbed a tree, back then. He’d never learned to judge Trickster’s stories because true or false, they were all equally alien to him.
"I didn't like the wire much anyway," Trickster sighed. "Trapeze was a bit better. Mostly. You broken any bones? Or anything?" He was talking quickly, the words choppy with discomfort, and sweat had beaded on his forehead. "Just distract me, will you? This is just..." He shifted a little, gritting his teeth.
Piper shrugged. "Nothing too serious." Mostly true; his worst experiences had never been the physical. "Cracked ribs, flesh wounds--never get in front of a woman with claws. A few concussions, I hate those...." His eyes strayed back down to the edge of the bandage visible under the blanket, and memory hissed down his spine. "...I got shot with an arrow once." He hadn’t realized he was speaking until he heard the words.
Trickster looked mildly intrigued. "Green Arrow?" he hazarded.
"No... Some other loon with a bow. I never found out his name." He hadn’t realized until now that he didn’t know; it had seemed irrelevant at the time, like knowing the precise color of the truck that hit you. "It was kind of...random," he finished inadequately.
"Guessing they didn't have to fish it out with tweezers though." There was a sour edge to Trickster’s voice, and Piper bit his tongue to keep from snapping.
"Flash pulled it out. I think. It's a little blurry." Innocuous word for that haze of drug-borne insanity, the warmth of the venom spreading through his veins...he shivered, remembering.
Trickster hadn’t seen it, wasn’t even looking at him. "Guess...'s easier when it's done in two seconds," and gunshot wound or not, Piper’s temper flared.
"I offered you that," he snapped. "You’re the one who turned it down." So stop whining.
Trickster stiffened; maybe he’d picked up the unspoken words. "I said actually two seconds, not twenty minutes of mind control."
Piper’s eyes narrowed. "If I wanted to control your mind, I wouldn’t have asked permission." Not a threat. Just the truth. Because if Trickster thought that what Piper had been offering was anything like a real mental assault... Well. The more fool him.
Trickster’s gaze flickered to Piper for a moment, seeking what, Piper didn’t know. Then it shifted away again. The silence lengthened uneasily; when Trickster finally broke it, it was as if Piper hadn’t spoken. His tone was harsh, but that might have been the pain. "Give me...a day or two to get better. We know where we ditched the truck. They won't...won't find it in the trees. We can fix it; get out of here. When it's light. When the heat's off. When I’m not..." He trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut for a minute. "Need some water... And I'm hungry but I can't... My head's still spinning. Dammit!" The last word was hissed through clenched teeth, pain and frustration equally evident in the tone.
Piper silently held up the glass. Even if he’d been inclined to offer sympathy, he knew perfectly well the other man wouldn’t want it.
Trickster managed a drink, then slumped back. "You're doing a, a...crap job of distracting me, y'know," he rasped.
Apparently they were going to pretend that last conversational turn hadn’t happened. Probably just as well, even if the whining was back. "You usually do most of the talking," Piper defended, "just like--" Like Wally. Subject change, right now-- "Look, don't worry about the truck," he said hurriedly. "I'll go check it out in the morning. It's just bullet holes, I can fix that." Then he paused as the words caught up with him, and he flinched, eyes drawn to the bandage again.
Trickster laughed briefly, and then winced. "Doing well so far...."
"Well, let's keep it that way, all right?" Piper suggested, doing his best to sound casual and not...pleading. "Most of my fix-it skills involve a welding torch."
Trickster shot him a mock glare. "'kay... You come near me with a welding torch and I'm really gonna kick your ass."
"Oh, I don't know." Piper pretended to look thoughtful. "Cyborg Trickster? It might have potential."
"Could I join the Teen Titans?"
Piper’s mouth twisted. "I don’t think they’d let you in--" Distraction, that’s not a distraction-- "--but maybe if you started putting 'Kid' in front of your name," he finished smoothly.
"'salready someone out there who'd prolly try that...." Trickster muttered, scowling.
God, is he still holding onto that grudge? Yes, of course he is. "Your little fanboy, right. Trickster 2.0--even more irritating than the original. Had to admire his skills, though." Piper smirked down at the other Rogue. Truthfully, he hadn’t seen enough of the kid to have much of an opinion, except that he was probably just retribution on Trickster for something or other, but punching Trickster’s buttons should at least give him something else to think about.
Sure enough, Trickster’s scowl deepened. "Whish ones?" he muttered, mockery clear even through the blurring of the syllables. "The screaming when...when I punched him in the face or...or the falling when I dropped him into the dumpster? Li’l punk had no class. He...I..." He’d started to shift to look up at Piper, and broke off with a strangled sound, eyes squeezed shut and face twisted with pain.
"Maybe you shouldn't do that again," Piper suggested. He kept any sympathy out of his voice, but put one hand lightly on Trickster’s arm until the tension in his body eased.
"Stupid, stupid--" He was still for a moment, then opened his eyes again and gave Piper an uncomfortable sideways glance. "Dammit. I... You...you're going to hav'to help me up."
Piper stared at him. "What part of 'hold still' and 'you shouldn't do that' are you having problems with?" Once, just once, he’s going to do something I tell him to....
"What...what part of bathroom are you having..." He gave up on the sarcasm, a bad sign in itself. "Dammit, jus...just help me...."
"Oh." Right. This is going to be fun. Piper sighed and leaned down to offer his support in getting Trickster up. Trickster’s face was pale and strained by the time he’d gotten mostly upright, but he seemed painfully intent on doing as much of the work as possible, leaning on Piper as little as his body would allow.
"Jus'...help me up, and to the door," he panted, half-standing, "and... Ah!" He twisted awkwardly, went stark white, and slumped backwards, a sudden dead weight under Piper’s hands.
Swearing, Piper grabbed at the other man, getting his arms around him before he could fall all the way. Trickster gave a harsh gasp--Piper was guiltily aware that he’d jarred the wound in his haste--and started struggling in his grip.
Piper tightened his hold automatically, and Trickster’s resistance increased. Idiot, does he want to fall? "Will you just hold still and let me--" he started, and then Trickster gave one convulsive jerk that broke him loose of Piper’s grasp, and tumbled backwards. Frantically Piper pulled him back--too hard, and they both went down onto the floor, landing with a crack of Piper’s head on the wooden floorboards.
Trickster made a strangled noise of agony, and then wrenched himself off and away from Piper with a speed that might have been insulting if Piper hadn’t been seeing too many stars to care.
A moment later the stars had faded, and he managed to suck in a breath. It seemed to help. Another one, and he felt capable of sitting up. His head ached, but it would pass. He looked around, and found Trickster only a couple of feet away, half-curled on the floor with his back to Piper, dazed and breathing in gasps. Good, Piper thought, and couldn’t quite make himself be sorry.
He moved over to kneel next to Trickster and looked him over critically, carefully not touching. He didn’t seem to be bleeding or seriously bruised, and his eyes were tracking Piper without difficulty. Good, Piper thought again, and felt better. But all the same--
"So, feel better now that I'm not helping you?" he inquired sarcastically. "Maybe you want to lie there being self-sufficient all night?"
"Oh, shuddup," Trickster wheezed, apparently out of energy for any more eloquent responses. "I wasn't going to... I'd've been fine. You didn' have to...to grope me.... The hell is your problem?"
Piper stared at him in sheer outraged shock. "What is my--" His voice rose to a shout. "What is wrong with you? You can't even pretend to be a decent human being for five minutes? To acknowledge that someone was trying to save your neck, again?" He would have died in that damned base if I hadn’t dragged him out, and now he’s-- And then Trickster’s words sank in properly, and he stopped short, the rage transmuting into something cooler and darker. "Or is it who was doing it, is that the problem?" he breathed. "There something you'd like to say to me, Tricks?"
"Trickster," the other man snapped through gritted teeth. "I'm not...not telling you anything. Keep imagining things 'f it makes you feel better. Leave me out of it." As he spoke, he’d begun carefully trying to ease himself upright without Piper's help. It would have been more impressive if he hadn’t been shaking and dripping with sweat from the effort.
Piper felt his expression harden. "If you want," he agreed, sitting back. "Of course," he added in a deceptively pleasant tone, "if you think you're getting up without help, I'm not the one imagining things."
Trickster glared at him, then resumed his painful efforts, visibly biting his lip to keep silent. I don’t care, Piper thought furiously.
But by the time Trickster had worked his way into a half-sitting position, heavily leaning on his shaking arms, Piper’s conscience was prodding him sharply. How long are you going to make him suffer to prove a point?
"Ah, hell," Piper muttered. Just because Trickster was a bastard, that didn’t mean he had to be. He offered his hand, and Trickster accepted it without complaint, not quite able to hide the flicker of relief in his eyes.
They managed to make their way over to the bathroom without discussion or incident, although Trickster still seemed determined to manage with the minimum of support. Piper grimly held his tongue, even when Trickster insisted on going in by himself, clinging carefully to the doorframe. It seemed a long time before Trickster called his name, and they made their shaky way back to the bed, Trickster gritting his teeth with every step.
After he’d been awkwardly lowered back onto the bed, Trickster mumbled "Thanks," as reluctantly as if that hurt too. But the look of near-despair on his face made Piper decide to accept it at face value. Helplessness was difficult to endure, he admitted a little guiltily.
"Do you need anything else?" he asked.
"Sleep," Trickster mumbled, then something flickered in his eyes and he made a face. "M'fine. Jus' great. Never better."
Piper smiled ironically. "Getting shot turns you into a lousy liar."
Trickster blinked, clearly trying to gather enough wits for a comeback. "Guess...guess you've gotta have a couple of gunshot wounds under there then...."
"Some of us don't want to make lying into a way of life." He’d meant it to sound chilly, but it just came out...tired.
Trickster sounded tired too, and a little out of it. He wasn't lying about needing sleep, at least. "Then..." he protested, clearly struggling for the right words, "then people can see right through you. Why'd you want to be made of glass?"
Made of glass. Only Trickster would see it that way; all vulnerability, no support, no companionship....
"Because it's nice to have people who know who you are," Piper said softly, and felt his eyes suddenly blurring. So long since he hadn’t been afraid to be known.... "Isn't it?" he whispered, as if the other man might have an answer.
But Trickster just looked at him, uncomprehending, and then closed his eyes.
Just as well. Piper didn’t want to talk anymore.
**************
To the next part.