Author's Note: Chapter two! Cause I felt so awful for doing this to those boys. I wanted them to make up. Or out apparently. Whatever.
"But I, oh I, I'm gonna fix this world up for you,
I'll try, I'll try to build it all around you.
You'll never gonna have to be alone,
You'll always know you got someone,
To fix the world up for you," –James Morrison
Dexter was in his half of their shared mind, crying his eyes out and wishing he could stop.
Because seriously, what kinda of guy cries over stupid little things like this? A lame-ass one, that's what. He was sick of people looking down on him because of his height and size and weight and his glasses and well, everything about him. How he apparently oozed some pansy aura that screamed he constantly needed to be saved.
Well he was tired of it. That was probably why he'd confronted Duncan all by himself. Sure, it was a stupid, and not thought out at all. Basically, he'd cornered a surprised and much to muscled-Duncan behind the school, which was basically like setting up pins in a bowling alley. All they needed was the ball. They were alone and secluded, Duncan hated Dexter, the drugs didn't help his temperament, and he had several inches and at least as many if not more pounds on him. Of course it would end horribly for his smaller, ninety-eight-pounds-when-soaking-wet weakling of a brother.
Although, admittedly, Dexter didn't think it would end this bad: one busted knee, a split lip that transcended up his face into three stitches, a black eye….and about as many bruised ribs as he could possibly handle without breaking right in half.
But the pains were like fire right now.
"Think it's about time, hahh…for more…medicine." Dexter grunted weakly to himself as he woke up in the real world, and shuffled over to his desk, where a tall glass of water and a few miracle pills sat waiting him, provided by his ever loving mother.
Dexter hissed as the pain stabbed him sporadically throughout his injuries as he hobbled back to his bed, where he feebly scooted the cat over and laid down next it. For a second Dexter was stricken by the worry his overly obese cat would pounce onto his bruised stomach as was custom, but Mr. Chubbikin's merely meowed at Dexter's touch, and thankfully did nothing more than burrow down right by the pained geek's head and purr like a motor boat.
"I hate this." The geek mumbled to the ceiling above him. He half expected Freakazoid to answer him-but wasn't entirely surprised when he remembered what he'd done earlier to his alter ego.
Pushed him away.
So, so far away that even someone with a short attention span as Freak would never come back and forgive him for what he'd done. With all his confessions and attempts to make up with his alter ego, they'd failed him. And Dexter, in his weak and weary state of mind, supposes he deserves being alone for this, for all of it.
With less strength than he truly had left, Dexter rolled a bit on his bed, his cast making almost any position but on his back to be uncomfortable and sore. And moving his torso was about as easy as getting the cat on a diet.
"I hate sleeping alone." Dexter declared to his ceiling as he felt his mind come to a crawl and he became quite drowsy.
That was all Freakazoid needed. As soon as Dexter slipped off the sleep, (which took little to no time at all, seeing as the drugs he took was helping him snooze quicker than an infomercial.) Freak was moving from his half of their mind to Dexter's little 'room' of their shared brain space.
Alright, so technically, Freak had been eavesdropping earlier. But ever since Dexter had left the Freakazone, Freak had kept a close mind's eye on him. He couldn't help it. It was in his nature, it was practically programmed into his brain to keep Dexter safe from harm-and this time, he'd really screwed the hell up.
But he could fix Dexter. He knew he could. But honestly, who else was there but him for Dex?
He had to fix this-what was going on between wouldn't get better if left alone. It anything, it would fester, and they'd both suffer the long term affects of being separated from one another. It was never a good idea to split them up, as crazy wild Freak was he knew he needed Dexter's calming, fretting mind to keep him in line.
Or bad things would happen, Freakazoid was sure of it.
There Dexter lay, all alone in his big bed. He was covered by a sheet to the middle of his back, where his purple pajamas peeked through. His arms were curled carefully around his pillow and his eyes were closed. He was sleeping rather tentatively, even his breaths were cautious of the pain he was still in. Though Freak could only tell from the dim thoughts being broadcasted from Dexter's half of the link, and they were pretty foggy at best. He'd taken his pain pills, then.
Freakazoid crept over to his bed, climbing onto the bed as carefully as he could muster, taking care not to disturb his partner's injuries. The brown haired teen stirred slightly but didn't open his eyes then. Moving with more care than probably anyone has ever seen the manic super hero do; Freakazoid craned his arm over the still boy, and removed Dexter's glasses off his nose, knowing that just outside in the real world, Dexter had fallen asleep with them on, again. The super hero pressed his lips to the boy's cheek, and it was then when Dexter rolled over and looked at him, blinking in the dim light, looking like he'd seen Candlejack.
"I didn't want you to have to sleep alone," Freakazoid explained simply. Dexter smiled softly and curled up under the hovering hero, pressing his lips against those upturned blue ones. His arms snaked around Freak's neck and he put his hands at the small of his back. They kissed until Dexter pulled away a few moments after, looking sleepy but more relaxed than he had in weeks.
"Freakazoid…I….I'm sorry that I…" Dexter trailed off, leaving the sentence to hang in the air apologetically between them.
The super hero in question slipped his arms around Dexter and rested his wide hands over that slim waist. He leaned forward, his trademark hair standing straight up and their foreheads pressed together, breathing gentle wafts of warm air into each other's face. But then Freakazoid spoke with his mind, or rather his heart, through their strong mental link, his eyes slipping closed at the connection.
Tears welled into Dexter's eyes.
Forgiveness. And acceptance. And raw, blissful pure, so very pure love, so glowing and brilliant it washed over Dexter like hot bath water, wrapping around his spine and down to his toes. Freak wasn't even using his words, only raw emotions to get his feelings across.
And Dexter lapped it all up.
I l-love you, Freakazoid. The thought came unbidden through Dexter's half of the link and had about as much pizzazz as the color gray, but Freakazoid understood it all the same, and his arms tightened protectively. Dexter was returning his own thoughts, and Freakazoid felt like a thousand fireworks had gone off in his heart at Dexter's whispered confession. Considering his limitless powers, this could very well be true.
But then, when Dexter kissed him, back, Freak knew fireworks weren't going off anymore. It had to be nothing less than a dozen rockets, this endless stream of euphoria careening around his body at the speed of light.
Or maybe he was just picking up on the drugs running through Dex's system.
At Dexter's mental pleads, Freakazoid moved onto his back (for how could he deny his little partner, anything, ever?) and pulled Dexter with him, taking great care and supporting all the right wounds as they rolled. He moved his lips from that pale neck to that bony sternum once his skin was bared and Dexter trembled at the sweet gestures, soft whimpers falling past his parted, swollen lips.
"I want you so bad it's not even funny," Dexter whispered, flexing his hips up against him. Freakazoid chuckled softly, but there was a hint of sadness in his next words.
"That's the drugs talking."
It was Dex's turn to laugh quietly, though the sound was muffled by Freak's shoulder as he buried his nose into it and sighed happily. "I'm sleepy Freak…not high." He corrected with a mumble.
Hmm. There's a difference? A kiss to the pulse point in his throat.
When you're in as much pain as I am, yes.
…Still? Worry lanced over the link, Freakazoid was worrying about Dexter with all the insistence of a mother hen.
There's less pain now, don't worry. You're not gonna break me. At this warm assurance, Freakazoid merely continued his servicing, shifting his hips, and cuddling up ever so close back to his smaller half, threading his gloved hands through that chocolate hair and stroking the boy's scalp. Dexter responded to it all, preening like a parrot under the attention. He really was so beautiful. Freak cradled Dexter in his arms; resting his chin atop Dexter's head and inhaling his scent, feeling his usual high energy relax like low tide in him at Dexter's natural scent. Only Dexter could get him, of all people, in such a low keyed state. The consistency of pudding. They really did balance each other out. And while it would have been tempting to go further, oh so amazingly further, (because admit it or not they both were quite the hormonal teenagers with rampart imaginations) but Freakazoid didn't want to rush things when they absolutely needed to take things slow.
He couldn't afford to lose Dexter again, in any way, shape or form.
As if reading his alter ego's mind, Dexter glanced into those bright blue eyes and smiled softly and knowingly, leaning closer as best his ribs could allow. Freak played his fingertips down the smaller's curved spine, kissing his shoulders and neck. Dexter whimpered again and closed his eyes, biting down on his bottom lip.
"Please?" Dexter begged softly with a stuck out lower lip that made his other half's mind weak in his knees. Highly powerful mental link or no, Freakazoid knew what his little partner was asking for so cutely even without.
Freak wanted to say yes. Hell, he wanted to scream yes. Wanted to get Dexter screaming yes….but.
The tips of his fingers brushed up against one of the stiff bandages that were peaking through Dex's pajama tops that had ridden up in all heat of the moment. When Dexter's eyes flickered down to see where Freak was looking so intently, he held back the automatic motion of tensing up and forced himself to relax. Of all people, this was the last person to ever hurt him.
"Sorry, Dexxy. Dun' wanna hurt you," He paused, then chuckled. "You're like a kitten….or a baby owl." With those glasses. God. So fucking cute.
Well. That certainly ruined any romantic mood Dexter had been hoping to fester. Now all he wanted to do was sulk in a corner over the loss of his manliness. (Freak called it pouting.)
Because that downright adorable blush from his little partner was threatening to topple any of the remaining dregs in Freak's reserves, and straight up for it.
Still. Not even he could easily ignore the lances of pain that flickered across Dexter's hazel eyes as the boy tried, and failed, to situate himself comfortably with his many wounds. Protecting Dexter was his first and foremost objective….even if that meant from himself. Seeing the troubles Dexter was going through when it came to a simple maneuver, Freak cradled Dexter closer and carefully tipped them on their sides, and let Dexter fall back onto his bed, but Freak's arm still pillowed the drugged teen with great care.
His lips fell upon Dexter's eyelids in feather light breaths and Freak pressed his lips against Dexter's ear. "It's all okay now…right?" he asked softly, seeking assurance.
Then shhh. I got you.
Dexter languidly kissed his cheeks and snuggled close, fondling the ends of that spiked black hair with a satisfied sigh. Freak held Dexter against him, keeping him warm and safe. "I got you," He whispered again, kissing his forehead.
"I know." Dexter answered sleepily, already falling back under the haze of slumber.
I got you, and I'm never letting you out of my sight again.