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Tea and Morphine

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Dark didn’t cry. It just wasn’t his thing. He could break down and tear things apart and chew people out but he didn’t cry. It probably had something to do with repressed emotions and growing up in the 20s but he just... refused.

Wilford, on the other hand, was a total cry baby and would burst into tears at the drop of a hat. He almost always seemed better afterwards, and Dark sometimes envied Wilfords ability to share his feelings so openly.

So why, then, had Dark woken up with tears almost immediately streaming down his face?

He couldn’t move. He didn’t trust himself to open his mouth to ask Wilford or Anti for help, lest he might scream in agony. His back was stiff and locked up, his joints burned, he felt like someone was slicing through his neck. The scar from the bullet hole in his body throbbed and pain simply radiated all through his body.

He needed to get up, get dressed, go to the bathroom, get the day started, and yet he was in too much agony to speak properly.

All he could do, was lay there, vision blurry with tears and a migraine, until one of his partners roused.

Unfortunately, this took quite a while. It was an hour before Wilford it up to go take a leak, and it was his jostling of the bed when he came back that finally forced a shriek out of Dark.

“D-Darkling? Are you...”

Wilford rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and made his way over to the other side of the bed. Darks face was wet, his eyes were wide, and he looked faintly embarrassed.

“You’re in pain?”

Dark couldn’t nod. Instead, he tried to grunt in confirmation. Wilford seemed to get it, quickly summoning and pouring a glass of water and fishing through a bedside table for some codeine.

Wilford put an arm just under Darks shoulders to very, very slowly sit him up, and Wilford had to keep reminding him to breathe through his nose. Dark merely whimpered and opened his mouth only enough to take the pills and drink the water Wilford was holding up to his mouth.

“Very good, you’re doing so good, my love... do you need to use the bathroom?”

Dark closed his eyes, hardly wanting to look at Wilford with the shame he felt running through him. But his pain was overwhelming his pride, and he quickly nodded his head, straining his neck to do so.

“Alright, I’m going to carry you there, and then I’m going to sit you down and just make sure you’re pointing down, alright?”

Dark was grateful for the walkthrough of Wilfords plans. He made a surprisingly good caregiver.

Once Dark had finishing going to the toilet and Wilford had oh so carefully dabbed him dry, he picked Dark up again and sat him back down on the bed, being supported by the bedhead.

“Now Darkling, I’m sure you’re not going to be impressed about this, but I figured one of these days... we’d need help.”

Dark attempted to look up questioningly at Wilford, but the tightness in his neck hardly allowed it, so Wilford just summoned it to save them both the time.

It was a wheelchair.

Dark had some... feelings, to say the least. A small lump formed in his throat and tears of shame threatened to spill over again. Wilford saw his face go tense and immediately leaned forward.

“Hey, now. This is nothing to be afraid or ashamed of, you understand? You’re still very much in charge. And if anyone tries to question you, you can run their feet over!”

Dark huffed, half amused, through his nose. His pain killers were slowly starting to kick in and he was more than grateful.

“I don’t know if I have the energy to...”

“No, that’s why I’m pushing you, silly!”


Well, protective Wilford was a feared and respected Ego to be sure. Not many would fuck with even a physically helpless Dark if Wilford was around and... feeling possessive.

“Now, lets go get some breakfast, shall we?”

Dark made a number of a confirmation, and didn’t struggle when Wilford picked him up and placed him in the wheelchair.

It fit like a glove, like it was custom made, and it seemed brand new. Sleek, black, with wheels that Dark could reach if he wanted to propel himself around instead of Wilford doing it for him.

Wilford made eggs, sunny side up, and cut them up for Dark. He bent the fork so that Dark wouldn’t have to crane his neck too much to eat, and the eggs were soft enough to not give Darks jaw any extra strain.

The morphine fogged Darks brain a little, or perhaps that was the sense of love in the air.


The meeting that day went reasonably well, all things considered. Wilford had preemptively moved Darks usual chair out of the way, and other than some concerned questions from Dr Iplier, no one had the courage to question it. If anything, the Egos seemed to be paying more attention to what Dark had to say today. Like they respected him more somehow, by still carrying the business even while visibly hindered.

After Dark adjourned the meeting, Wilford had a quick, calming word with Dr Iplier while Dark wheeled himself to the library with The Host for a chat and some tea.

It wasn’t a particularly eventful day, really. Dark took some more morphine with his tea when The Host noticed his voice becoming tense, but it was... fine. Dark was fine. His pain didn’t make him weak or incapable. Wilford was sure to give him as much independence as possible while the others were around, to avoid any embarrassment.

But Dark got the feeling that he wouldn’t be so easily embarrassed if it got this bad again. The Egos saw strength in Dark, in ways he didn’t even realise he’d been showing.