signed_sabrina | (no subject)

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nick scratch

(no subject)

Sabrina's not really sure what happened after she'd passed out, soaked in the blood of someone she loves and the creature that helped create her. She knows, of course, that she'd been take home and put to bed, practically forced to eat and drink when she'd wakened. She'd expect no less.

And she knows Nick is alive, that he's recovering.

What Sabrina doesn't know, what's making her steps feel leaden and heavy as she makes her way to his apartment, what's making her hesitate outside the door to his bedroom, is what he knows and remembers. How he might feel about having been Lucifer's unwilling host, and what he'd done-- what she'd done to keep him. She knows that her only chance had been to use the Lance when it was Nick who was present, instead of the devil, and she also knows that there had been no option for her to go to him as he lay wounded.

No, that chance is now, and Sabrina, looking pale and tired, hesitates in Nick's doorway. She knows he won't do anything but accept her; she's not sure if she feels like she deserves it.

"Nick?"

She steps closer anyway.

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He's been dozing in and out, in a cloud of pills and magic-induced pain relief, the bandages snug around his midriff, from hips to ribs. He hears her say his name and he opens his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You took your time, Spellman."

She doesn't waste any more time at the door.

She's perched on the edge of the bed beside him, hands drifting over his face and his arms and shoulders as if not sure where she can touch him. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I wasn't in good shape afterward. I came as soon as I was awake."

He nods. Even that feels like it takes him a lot of effort, but his smile does widen a little bit. He leans into her touch when she touches his face. "Charlie told me," he says. "He said...you'd be here when you could. I think Rosie was here too, but...that might have been a dream? Maybe."

Her features, tired and drawn, relax at the way he seeks her touch, and she cards her fingers through his hair. "I'm sure she was. They took care of you while I took care of other things. Do you remember anything? I'm just-- so glad to see you."

"It's kind of hazy," he and admits, eyes drifting closed as she plays with his hair. "I remember seeing you for a second... Before everything went dark."

"I think I'm glad you don't remember it clearly, then," she says, taking more comfort than should be possible from even this closeness, her fingers in his hair, finding his hand with her free hand, which has been wrapped a few times in white gauze. "Everyone is safe now, and you're going to be okay."

Her voice only quavers a little.

He frowns, grazing his fingers around the gauze wrapping on her hand.

"What happened?"

"How much do you know?" she asks, caught in a wave of warmth that overpowers more complex feelings at the notion that it's her hand he's inquiring about right now. "You know-- you know I'm the one that hurt you?"

He nods, wincing when the movement of his head feels like it's rattled his brain.

"I sort of remember that," he says. "I remember...you tell me you loved me, and I remember going down."

Sabrina manages a teary smile at that.

"That's right," she says, pulling their laced fingers to her lips. "That's how it happened. I-- Lucifer was here. In Darrow. He got into you, and he's gone now. Dead. I had to hurt both of you to do it."

"I was...I knew he was there," he says, swallowing painfully. "And I tried to fight it. But...it was all just...fog."

Sabrina leans down to press a careful kiss to his mouth. "I know," she whispers, swallowing against the tightness in the back of her throat. She gives up any pretense she'd had that she wasn't going to crawl right into bed with him, and does so, carefully arranging herself next to him so she can, even more carefully, hold him a little.

"Everyone who counts knows it wasn't you. He may be a great liar, but he couldn't be you. He outed himself by being cruel."

He leans into her, resting his temple against her and closing his eyes.

"Did I hurt anyone?"

He feels right again, and she curls around him as best she can.

"You didn't. Lucifer killed a man at the club where we stopped him. But cameras will show what happened, and we left his-- Lucifer's-- body there."

"Good," says Nick, his stomach roiling unpleasantly at the thought of it. "It's like...you know when you have a nightmare, and you wake up unsettled, but you can't quite figure out...why you're unsettled because you can't quite remember the dream? It's like that."

“He pretended to be you,” she murmurs, kissing the shell of his ear. “Broke up with me, was mean to Rosie. But after a few days, I— that’s not you. I knew it couldn’t be. I did a spell to confirm and—“

It had been both terror and relief.

Nick frowns, dark eyebrows pulling together for a moment. "I could never be mean to you. Either of you. I love you." He curls closer, as close as he can with his stitches pulling slightly under bandages.

Something in his words catches the edge of her mind, just so, and she kisses the wrinkle between his brows. “You do love us,” she murmurs. “That’s how I knew it wasn’t you.” She presses closer too, breathing in the familiar scent of him.

"More than anything," he says, smiling when she kisses him, his forehead relaxing. "I remember...I remember you crying. It felt like I was screaming the whole time."

“He’s a good liar,” she allows, “but he doesn’t know love. I did cry, but I just... I know you. I believe in you, Nicholas Scratch.” She continues to pepper him with tiny brushes of her lips. “I’ll kill as many Dark Lords as I need to, if it keeps you safe and happy.”

"At least someone does," he says, that same smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He closes his eyes, basking in the attention, warmed by her love. "I'm safe," he says. "And you're here. So I'm happy."

"I'm far from the only one," Sabrina tells him, and it feels so good to see him content in her arms. "No hard feelings about the part where I stabbed you with the Lance of Longinus?"

It still hurts to say, but not quite as much, and the ability to press her face into his neck for a moment helps too.

"I could never have hard feelings about you, Spellman," he says, lifting one hand to brush against her fair hair. "Even if it really did sting."

Sabrina's got a dirty joke on her lips, but it's stayed by the touch of his hand, the relief of acknowledging what she'd had to do to him. She knows that he understands, or she's fairly certain he's the only one who can know the depth of it, the standing at the edge of a chasm with a singular, obscure hope-- and in it, the utter destruction of something so much bigger than any of them.

"I'm sorry about that too," she whispers. "I realized he'd be at his most vulnerable when he let you through. I hate this stupid apocalyptic shit has to hurt you."

"It makes sense," he says, turning his head to brush his nose against Sabrina's cheek. "I don't blame you. I could never...You did what you had to. That's...pretty much the bravest thing that I've ever heard of."

"I guess I really was destined for destruction of something or another, huh," she says quietly, though the nuzzle to her cheek makes it difficult to hold onto the darker, more complex emotions. "I'm sure ourselves back in Greendale will still have to deal with it, but it's strange to think of what everyone would think. Not that I wouldn't do it there, too."

She turns to kiss the precise center of his lower lip. "I'd do it again, anyway."

"Good thing it didn't take," he says, brushing his fingers through her hair gently, smiling when she kisses him, lifting his head to take another kiss, even though it makes him wince. "We're okay, Spellman. We're all going to be okay."

"Be careful," she whispers, those two words somehow more vulnerable and fragile-sounding than anything else she's said. "I'm right here, and we've got time now."

She huffs out a tiny laugh.

"Though we're going to have to behave a while while you recover."

"Doctors were very clear on that," he says, shifting a little bit. "Horror stories about scarring and bursting stitches. So, yeah. We'd better be at least a little bit careful."

"Somehow we'll manage," Sabrina promises, gently pressing their foreheads back together. There would be something deeply soothing about having him that way, knowing he's himself and back with her, but there's something to be said for waiting. "I'll visit every day after school."

"I'm pretty sure I can survive on my own while you guys have got class," he says, smiling at her, tilting his head so that he can take a kiss. "I'll find some bad TV. Drink a lot of tea."

"Gonna rot your brain," Sabrina says, but then he kisses her and she melts against him, shivering. "I didn't let myself think about anything but how to make sure I killed him. I didn't let myself think about losing you, you know."

"You didn't lose me," he says, gently, combing his fingers through her fair hair. "I'm right here, Spellman. I'm all yours."

Something about his words catches the edge of her mind again, all yours, but she lets this too slide away. It's warm and he's safe and sound; she pushes into his touch with a contented little sigh.

"I know," she answers in a whisper. "It was just a little touch and go for a while."

"I know," he says, softly, kissing her forehead. "But I'd say we've earned a bit of a soft, quiet time now."

"I sure hope so," she whispers, even if something in her doubts that a soft and quiet time can stay. "As soon as you're ready, we'll-- we'll go to the beach, even if it's a little cold. We can have a bonfire."

"That sounds perfect," he says, and it really, really does. "Even if it's cold, we'll bundle up."

Sabrina burrows into him as much as she dares, as if it's already cold. "All four of us, and we'll do it like mortals, and bring sticks and marshmallows and other things. And look at the stars."

It sounds as perfect as she can think up at the moment, she decides.

"That sounds completely perfect," he says, his eyes drifting closed, he's so warm and safe and content with her tucked in against his side.

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