Chapter Text
Twenty-five days.
Stolas made it twenty-five days.
That was the number written on the whiteboard hanging on the bathroom wall, decorated with little balloons and stars. Every day, Blitzø drew a different horse in the corner. Today's had a fluffy mane like clouds, and a little speech bubble coming out of it saying "Uve got dis prty bird!"
And now Blitzø was gone on a hit, and Stolas was sitting on the floor, sobbing his eyes out. He didn't have this. He didn't have - whatever it was Blitzø had hoped he would.
What he did have were five bottles of absinthe, lying empty at his feet. Taunting him. Mocking him.
What he did have was water, rushing into the bath from a tap he'd long forgotten to turn off.
And what he did have were feathers, swirling around him in a mesmerizing dance of purple and crimson.
Blitzø finally came home after a long day. Not necessarily a bad day- all the hits had gone well, and they had actually made enough money that he could pay everyone on time. But he was exhausted from the back-to-back stakeouts, and all he wanted was some quality time with his lover.
He had picked up some of the egg custards Stolas had liked so much - he was too beat for an actual date, but dessert on the couch sounded perfect.
"Hey, Pretty Bird!" he called out, kicking the door closed behind him. "Guess what I got!"
What he heard in response was nothing. And he also saw nothing. Which was already concerning, because how did an eleven-foot tall bird hide in a tiny apartment?
The sound of the running water was, initially, a relief. But the image of sneaking in on the bird taking a luxurious bath was interrupted by the faint sound of sobbing that had become all too familiar.
It was only then that he noticed the toppled over potted plant. Its pot empty. The custards were quickly dropped and forgotten as Blitzø yanked open the bathroom door.
The sights all hit him at once, like a train barreling down the tracks.
Stolas.
Sobbing, bleeding Stolas.
Sobbing, bleeding Stolas, surrounded by feathers and absinthe bottles.
Blitzø fell to his knees, clutching Stolas’s shoulders, tears already blurring his vision.
"Stols, what happened?" he asked, and his voice already sounded like it had gone through a sander. "What happened?'
"I'm sorry," gasped Stolas. It was all he was capable of. All he was desperate for.
His face was buried in his knees. Like he could not look up, could not see Blitzø's face, could not see the fucking disappointment -
"I'm sorry," he simply repeated, growing more frantic. "Please - I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry - “
"Stolas, it's okay," Blitzø said in a frantic rush, feeling so desperately not okay. "I'm here now, Stolas, I just…”
He fell silent as the words slowed and jumbled in his mind. “Stolas, I... I don't understand. What happened? You seemed... you seemed okay before I left for work... what happened? Should I... did you need..."
He stopped talking. What was the point? He just held Stolas for a while, before some numb part of his brain told him to get the first aid kit.
Again.
"You're bleeding," he said softly. "Please, I need to see your hands."
But Stolas simply curled up tighter in his shame. He held his arms close to his chest, out of reach. He didn't deserve Blitzø's care, Blitzø's help. Not when he'd failed. Not when he'd thrown away everything Blitzø had worked so hard with him on. Not when he was so useless, so pointless-
Stolas had woken up empty. But he was a good liar. He had smiled as he picked at the eggs Blitzo had prepared. He had smiled as he waved goodbye. He had smiled as he gave his imp a kiss and closed the door behind him.
And then he had sunk to the floor. He hadn't even been upset. Just... empty. But how do you explain empty? Let alone empty for no good reason?
But that was okay. He'd been empty before. He could sit on the couch, and glue his eyes to the wall, or to mindless television, and watch the little hand on the clock go around and around. He sat and waited patiently for Blitzø to come home. Then, usually having been wrapped in a soft blanket and with his lap full of warm imp, Stolas would wait for the sun to set. He would wait for tomorrow and hope it would be better. It often was.
Except today, the waiting had been interrupted. There had been a knock at the door. And Stolas had risen to answer it...
Stolas began to cry harder.
"Don't leave me," he begged, and his voice was hoarse from crying. "Please - please - I'm sorry, Blitzy, I'm sorry - please don't leave me - ”
"I won't," Blitzø said, not able to control the tears flowing down his face. "I won't leave. I won't leave you, Stolas. Please, just tell me…”
Tell me why you won't give me your hands.
Tell me why you won't let me help you.
Tell me why you want to fucking die.
Tell me why nothing I do is ever enough.
“...please tell me what happened.”
"I failed," Stolas choked out. "I... I fucked up. T-that's what happened. I'm sorry..."
He was drunk. He was completely, unquestionably drunk, his voice slurred and muffled as he sobbed helplessly against his bleeding hands. "It's all just... just... one thing after the other, and.... and..."
"Okay. Okay," Blitzø said. He wasn't even really sure what he was trying to convey, except that he had heard him. It was very clear that nothing was okay right now.
"Just... just breathe, Stolas. Did Dr. Smith teach you the... it doesn't matter. Just copy me. It's like... in for four- one, two, three, four- then just hold it for... yeah, okay, you got it, and then let it out slowly..."
Blitzø tried to guide Stolas through the breathing exercise that he barely felt like he understood. It took a few tries, but slowly, Stolas let himself be led into his breathing. The world came back into focus, little by little, and his hands loosened their hold on his knees, just slightly.
After a little while, Blitzø tried again. "Just... just tell me what happened today. Please?”
"I was having a bad day," he sniffled. "Broke one of your favorite horse mugs... then..."
He swallowed. "I saw my... medication was running out, so I... I tried to be... useful. I called my old pharmacy, and... I never had to c-care about the money before. But... but now.... I d-don't think we - "
Blitzø let out a strange imitation of a laugh. It was more like a groan mixed with a sob. "That’s fine, Stolas, I have like a million horse mugs. And... and we'll figure out your meds together."
He knew that the individual problems weren't the whole thing. It was the buildup of everything. Hell, he had punched holes in the wall for less. But he hoped it was helping anyway.
"And then... and then the mail came,” Stolas continued, like he hadn't heard him. “And I just... I just..." He trailed off into tears.
Blitzø tried to take Stolas’s arm again, as slowly and gently as he could, to assess the damage. Hesitantly, Stolas let him.
Blitzø's breath caught in his throat when he saw the state of Stolas’s hands, his arms, his… everything.
It wasn't good. It was decidedly not good. He was bleeding. Large bunches of feathers, even newly-regrown, had been yanked out in handfuls, and deep scratches lined the featherless skin when that hadn't been enough.
The mirror had been shattered, a few shards of glass on the floor beside Stolas.
There were a few spots on his arms and his thighs where in desperation to escape the emotional pain, he had used the glass to dig deeper, to cut through skin and nearly through flesh, where blood was still flowing like wine. Where skin, a few broken quills holding on, peeled and hung away from his arm like a soaked bandage. In some places, small shards of glass were embedded in the palms of the shaking bird, and in the knees he'd been grasping tightly.
It wasn't the worst injury Blitzø had seen, not by a long shot. Not as bad as what he was used to patching up for himself after a particularly bad field injury, not a bullet wound or a knife slash. And honestly, it wasn't even the worst injury he had seen Stolas have, thanks to that fuckhead Striker.
But this wasn't from a hit. This wasn't from angelic steel. This was from a fucking mirror and Stolas had done it to himself.
Stolas collapsed into Blitzø's arms with a sob, the imp trying to hold him as upright as he could. His bones were hollow, but a wet bird could be quite heavy. Blitzø tried not to shudder as he felt Stolas’s blood seep into his coat, holding him close.
He wished he knew what to say. But everything he could think of would only make this, somehow, worse.
“What happened with the mail?” he whispered.
"I had set up... mail... rerouted... from the palace,” Stolas choked out through tears. “And... it's all… and everyone hates me, Blitzø..." He let out a broken sound. "I knew they did... I know I made it happen, but some of them... some of them said - said I should..."
"Fuck them," Blitzø growled, holding Stolas close. "Fuck anyone and everyone that ever made you feel like this. Wanna fucking hurt them.”
"Don't... d-don't hurt anyone,” Stolas whimpered. “It's not... not their fault. It's just me... all of this... it's all just me. I deserve everything they said… and then… and then…"
He wiped his eyes, smearing blood over his cheek.
"And then one of the letters I got... an error, I suppose... it was for Via..." He buried his face in Blitzø's shirt. "Nothing special, j-just a-an advertisement for taxidermy classes, but it.... it h-had her name.... on the envelope... and....and for a second.... I... I had thought... I had thought..."
He pulled back, shaking his head furiously. "I'm sorry... Blitzø... I d-don't know why, I just... I just couldn't... I know I promised.....it wasn't even anything - I... I'm so sorry..."
Blitzø looked at Stolas, still crying, still furious. He tried to calm down, to get rid of enough misery and anger so that he could do what he needed to do. Slowly, he grabbed some antiseptic from the first-aid kit, opening the bottle and dabbing some onto a washcloth. "This is gonna sting," he said, his voice suddenly heavy and flat. "But I'm not letting you get an infection."
Stolas just sniffled. Then he put his arm out with a dead expression, tears running down his cheeks.
Stolas didn't care if it hurt. Perhaps some part of him still even craved the pain. His shoulders trembled. But other than that, he held still for Blitzø to work.
"I have tweezers somewhere if you need them for the glass," he mumbled, not looking at Blitzø. "The ones I use for preening."
"There's tweezers in the first aid kit already," Blitzø said, his voice so flat that it was almost monotonous.
And then the dripping tap was the only sound.
Blitzø was silent as he carefully removed the glass from Stolas’s right hand. Stolas just sat there in the silence.
Sometimes his breath hitched as Blitzø's antiseptic stung a particularly deep wound, or wiped a little bit too harshly against delicate skin. He did let out a little sob, hiding his face, as Blitzø began digging glass from his palm, but it wasn't clear if it was from pain or shame.
His fingers didn't curl, despite his tears. His palm lay flat. His body tensed instead as tweezers poked and prodded, pulling at glass fragments embedded deep in his hand, like a wound coil.
He spread his fingers, pushing his palm against the glass as Blitzø dug it out from his palm. The pain felt right. It felt like... like he was being punished. And shouldn't he be?
Eventually, Blitzø finished removing all the glass from his hand, carefully washing and bandaging it. Stolas silently offered his other arm to Blitzø. To start it all over again.
He hadn't spoken in a while.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. He'd already said it. But now, somehow, it felt heavier in the silence.
"I know," Blitzø said quietly. Removing what seemed to be the last piece of glass from Stolas’s left hand, he finally looked up at him. He was still crying as he wrapped up Stolas’s palm in a bandage, realizing that Stolas would need all of them.
"And I forgive you," he said. "I know this wasn't something you, like... planned. I know you've been getting better. But Stolas... you really fucking scared me. And honestly, I'm still scared. I'm fucking terrified."
"I know," Stolas sniffled. He raised his hand, careful of the bandages, and wiped his eyes with his blood-covered sleeve. "I - I know." He sighed deeply, sniffling.
"I.... I never wanted...." Another little sob. "You... believed in me... so much... and then I.... I..."
"I still believe in you," he said quietly. "I do. And I'm never gonna leave you. I'm here for you, no matter what. But sometimes it still feels like... like I'm not..."
He shook his head. He didn't know if he could follow those words. He didn't know where they'd take him. He just started cleaning and bandaging Stolas’ thighs.
When he finally finished, he looked back up at Stolas. "Can you stand?"
Stolas nodded, weakly. The crying had stopped, but the sniffling sobs had turned to little hooting hiccups. He stood, a little shaky from the emotion and loss of blood. He let Blitzø lead him to the couch, stepping over the pile of mail on the floor, and then over the box of egg custards. Then the bird sank into cushions, like he wished they would swallow him. His conscious mind worried about getting blood and water on them, but his body was too tired to care.
Blitzø curled up next to him on the couch, pulling a blanket over them. He really should clean up the bathroom, he thought, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He put his ear to Stolas’s chest and listened to his heart beat.
It was such a beautiful sound, and he was afraid that if he moved even an inch, it might stop. That he might never hear it again.
"It's not your fault," Stolas mumbled. "It's never, ever your fault. You... you didn't ask for this. For any of this. You're... the only good thing in my life, Blitzø. You, and Loona, and..."
His eyes fell on a photograph, and he curled up a little tighter. It was a photograph in a little white frame, taken just because. Loona, in a soft sweater - and Stolas, holding a trophy made of construction paper. She had made it for him to celebrate his latest Halo win. And Stolas was smiling, little daffodils on his nails visible as he held the paper proudly, like it was made of real gold.
Blitzø looked at the picture and managed something like a smile. "Good pic, isn't it?" he said, nuzzling against Stolas’s chest again. "You look like family. Like my family."
He sighed, gripping Stolas like that could keep anything from ever hurting Stolas again. Even Stolas himself. It was fucking stupid. But it didn't stop him.
"I just want to keep my family safe," he muttered against Stolas’s chest feathers, wondering bitterly if he'd eventually try pulling those out too. "I try so hard to do that. Why can't I do that?"
It was that moment at which Stolas' brain decided to remind him how much alcohol he'd drunk. He felt shame race through his throat, burning like a cheap whiskey.
Blitzø was trying so hard. For him. To keep him safe. And what did he do?
He made Blitzø feel like a failure. That's what he did.
And yet somehow, Blitzø had called him family.
Stolas didn't know what to do. Promise to Blitzø he'd never do it again? That he'd never drink again, either?
He couldn't do that. That board... no matter how high the number he may write some day... it would always go back to zero, wouldn't it?
He would always fail.
He would always end up here. With Blitzø against his chest. With his imp somehow feeling like it was him who had failed.
Stolas thought for a long, long time about what to say. And some of his thoughts were too ugly, too twisted to string into words. And others hurt in a different way.
Because of Dr. Smith, sometimes a few of his thoughts were now kind to himself. Even if he didn't deserve those. Even if he didn't want them. And they hurt too, sometimes more than those thoughts he was too scared to voice, the ones that pulled barbed tails through his intestines as they wormed their way to his heart and constricted his lungs. Because at least those thoughts didn't make him feel disgusted for thinking them.
"I'm sick, Blitzø," he mumbled, ever so quietly. "I'm... I'm ill. Maybe... maybe that's not something you can... fix by trying harder. Maybe it's... just..." He swallowed. "What I am."
Would you still want me in your family, Blitzø? he thought.
Would you want me, if this is how I am forever?
Do I still get to be yours?
Blitzø was silent for a few seconds, processing. "Okay," he said eventually. "I... I mean, it's not like I'm the fucking picture of mental health. It's not that I'm disappointed in you, Stols. It's not that you're not living up to some fucking... standard or something. I just... I just don't want to lose you."
He looked up at him, eyes big and soft and glowing slightly in the dimmed light. "I'll do whatever it takes. Even if it means this. However many times you fall, that's how many times I'll help you back up. Just..." He tried to think of what he was even asking for. "Maybe... you could call me next time? If you start feeling like this? I don't know if I'll always be able to help, but... at least I'd know. At least... I could come home faster. Take care of you sooner. I wouldn't have to worry that..."
He said the last part so quietly, buried in Stolas’s feathers. His voice was drowned out by the perfectly unceasing beat of Stolas’s heart. "...that I'll be too late."
Oh.
...Oh.
Stolas put his bandaged arms around Blitzø tightly, ignoring the sting.
"I will," he said softly. "Next time, I... I will. I promise. It... I... couldn't get my thoughts together. And I didn't... I didn't think."
He pressed Blitzø's face softly against his chest fluff. Against his heart.
"I will," he said softly. "That I can promise. I'm sorry."
He swallowed. "Though I am... disappointed in myself. Even if you say you aren't. You give me so much, Blitzø... it feels like I should be.... stronger." He turned away. "Like you."
"Like me?" Blitzø almost laughed then. "Stolas, I might just be the biggest fucking mess to ever live. Especially in relationships. You saw the fucking party dedicated to what a piece of shit I am, and they're not fucking wrong."
He sighed. Negative self-talk again. "I don't feel strong. But… I guess you don't feel strong either, do you? And you're so strong, to have survived everything you've been through. To have gotten better, even if not every moment is better. So maybe... maybe we're both stronger than we think we are. Right?"
He rubbed his cheek against Stolas’s feathers for a moment, just to feel the thrum of life beneath them. "Maybe we can remind each other of that."
"...maybe," Stolas said softly. "I'd like that."
And they stayed like that for a while, Stolas' fingers gently scratching between Blitzø's horns.
Eventually, Stolas sighed. "I have to clean the bathroom, before Loona comes home," he mumbled, his voice low. "And.... and erase the board."
The board. Blitzø's stomach sank a little at the thought of that, knowing how much it would hurt Stolas to see that big beautiful 25 become a 0.
"I can clean up," he said, reluctantly separating himself from Stolas. "You need to rest, so you-"
You stay here, he almost said, catching himself. He wouldn't let this be a repeat of the time he had ordered Stolas to stay on the couch and abandoned him for hours.
"I'll leave the door open," he said. "So you can still see me. And we can still talk while I'm cleaning, if you want. But... but only if you want to. We don't have to talk. Just want you to see that I'll just be... right there. That I'll come back when I'm done, and sooner, if you ask me to. Okay?"
Stolas didn't want to separate himself from Blitzø. But he nodded. That.... seeing him, hearing him... around at least be better. "Okay," he said softly. He let go of Blitzø, releasing him.
He looked down at his hands. The bandages on his palms, and the little sunflowers on his nails. The polish was chipped, and now stained with blood.
Three days. Three more days, and he would've gotten to paint them again.
He sighed. "Could you pass me the, um.... nail polish remover?"
Blitzø stared at him from the bathroom. "What for?" he asked suspiciously. "Not to brag, but the sunflowers still look great. They're barely chipped at all.”
Stolas looked at him like it was obvious.
"Because ... because it was a reward for making it twenty-one days," he said, weakly. "And now... now I'm back to zero. So... so I haven't earned it."
He sniffled as he looked down. "I was going to ask if for one month we could go to the botanical gardens," he mumbled. "But I suppose it will have to wait."
Blitzø cocked his head, clearly puzzled. "But you did make it 21 days," he said. "You made it 25 days. So you should still have the sunflowers, right? Falling off the wagon doesn't change the fact that you did that. And 25 days is a long time. So... I think you should keep your sunflowers," he said, with a resolute little nod of his head.
The botanical garden was a trickier one. He didn't think Stolas had to earn a nice trip, but he knew Stolas wouldn't agree. "How about we go when you hit one week again?" he suggested. "For research. So you can show me the next flowers you want on your nails in person." He smiled encouragingly at him. "That way I'll be sure to get them right. And I want guns on my nails next week!"
Stolas sniffled. He looked up at Blitzø.
"But... but none of that progress matters," he said weakly. "I... I'm starting over, Blitzø."
Blitzø chuckled, walking back over to the couch. "That’s bullshit, Stols," he said good-naturedly. "If I shoot 25 targets and then miss the 26th, that doesn't change that I already got 25 dead bitches' worth of hits."
He sat back down next to him. "You did something really hard for you for a long time," he said quietly. "And hopefully next time, it'll be even longer. But even if it isn't, you will be okay. And I'll be here helping you up, or cheering you on, no matter what."
Stolas just stared at him.
To say that was not how he thought about it was an understatement.
"But -" And his eyes began tearing up again. "But I fucked up," he said. "You.... you should be upset with me. You - you're supposed to -"
Stolas suddenly realized that he was expecting to be punished.
Blitzø realized it too. And for maybe the hundredth time, it made him want to find whoever had taught him that and splatter their brains against the wall.
He sighed and pulled Stolas into a hug, trying to be careful not to touch his injuries. "I mean, you did fuck up, yeah. But have you met me? You're gonna have to work pretty hard to fuck up more than I do. And... yeah, I'm upset, but just because I'm worried about you. About how much pain you're in. Why would I ever wanna make you feel worse about that?"
"Because that's what I deserve?" Stolas mumbled, weakly. A tear ran down his cheek. "Because I... maybe I could've stopped myself, but... but I was selfish... I let myself hurt you..." He sniffled as another tear followed, and then another. "I'm... I'm the reason you're worried... that you're in pain... that you're scared… don't... don't you want to hurt me back, Blitzø?"
"No," Blitzø said simply. "I don't want to hurt you back. I don't want anyone to hurt you, Stols. Not you, not any fucking shithead who has some stupid fucking problem with you, and especially not me. And I... I know I have hurt you before, and I hate myself for that. But I'm never gonna hurt you again, if I can help it. And I won't let anyone else hurt you either. I... I can't always stop you from hurting yourself, but I really, really want you to try not to. And I definitely don't wanna make it worse."
Stolas dabbed at his eyes with his sleeve. "It feels wrong," he mumbled. "That after ... after what I did... you're being so kind to me. That.... that you still care. That you still want me. That.... that you're even still here... you should..."
"Tough shit," said Blitzø, giving him a sideways grin before cuddling up to him. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Even if -" He swallowed, his voice still shaky from crying. "Even if it... happens again?"
Blitzø flinched a little, imagining a repeat of this. Imagining it even worse.
Imagining him dead. Another person you couldn't fucking save.
But he looked up and gave him a sad little smile. "Yeah, Stols. Even if. But... just... just call me, okay?"
Stolas nodded. For a while, he was just... quiet.
The bathroom wasn't going to get cleaned anytime soon. Blitzø shot Loona a text.
"Can I tell you something?" Stolas asked, very softly. "Even if it might upset you at first?"
Was that even a real question? Blitzø thought to himself. If this hadn't scared him off, he wasn't sure what would.
But he kept the sass inside his skull for now. "Yeah, Stols. What is it?"
Stolas took a deep breath.
"You keep saying you're scared to lose me." He sighed. "I... understand what you're really asking, Blitzø. You want to know if I'm going to kill myself."
It was soft. And yet it was also just as plainly said as if Stolas was describing the properties of a plant.
"...I did think about that," Stolas said softly. "The first month I was here.... and the first month after Sinsmas... I had a lot of thoughts about doing that. I thought about jumping off the balcony, but worried it would hurt too badly. I kept my pills, even while refusing to take them properly, so I'd..." he sighed. "So I'd have an exit."
He took another breath. "But I haven't, Blitzø. I haven't wanted to do that in - in a while, now. Because I have you. And because I have Loona. And because the medication and therapy is starting to help, and I'm starting to... to enjoy things again, and..."
"I know what you saw today... scared you. But.... but I'm not trying to end my life. And you don't need to tiptoe around those words." He sighed. "Maybe... knowing that... would help you be less afraid for me?”
Blitzø's breath caught in his throat. The worst part was that it didn't surprise him. He noticed how longingly Stolas had stared off the balcony. Once or twice, he had heard Stolas counting under his breath while he did. And Stolas had literally said that he wanted to take the whole bottle of pills, back when he was at his worst.
That was the worst part. But the scariest part was trusting that Stolas really meant what he said.
"You're... you're not lying to me, right?" he said slowly. "You really don't want to kill yourself anymore? I'm not gonna come home and find you dead?"
Stolas pulled back.
He held his hands.
He looked into Blitzø's eyes, so he could see his face.
"I'm not lying to you," he said, softly and evenly. It hurt to know Blitzø could not simply believe him. But he also understood his fear.
"I do not wish or plan, anymore, to end my life. And if that ever changes, or if I wish to hurt myself in another way, no matter how warped my thoughts may become, no matter how much my mind attempts to convince me that I am a burden to you, I will call you. I will not text, or leave a note, I will call, and I will not stop calling you until you pick up the phone. I promise."
"I... I swear it to you on my daughter's life," he said, as softly as he'd ever spoken. "On Octavia."
Blitzø's eyes widened a little. "Okay," he said softly. "I believe you."
"Thank you. And..." Stolas took a deep breath. "I do have one more idea, if it will help you... feel safe in those words. I know words are not always enough."
Blitzø stood up a little and kissed Stolas’ forehead, then sat back down, looking at him with the softest gaze he was capable of. "What were you thinking?"
Stolas got up, squeezing Blitzø's hands in reassurance of his return, and then walked over to the bathroom.
He sighed, taking in the scene. The feathers, many of them young and barely-grown... the blood...
He glanced at the 25 on the wall and let it be, opening the medicine cabinet instead.
A moment later he sat back down, and handed Blitzø his medication bottle. The one Octavia had thrown at him on Sinsmas.
"I want you to hold onto it," he said softly. "If I ever did it, it would be that way. I will ask you for them every morning. And when you are no longer scared of what I may do with them in a dark moment, Blitzø, you can give them back to me. But only then."
Blitzø nodded, taking the pill bottle from Stolas' hand. "Thanks, Stolas," he said. He wasn't crying, but the hitch in his voice gave away that it was possible. "This... means a lot to me."
"I know," he said softly. "I wouldn't give them to you if I didn't mean what I said. Or if I didn't trust you, Blitzø. I... I hope you know that."
***
It had been a few days.
The bathroom had gotten cleaned up, eventually. But Stolas never did erase the 25, after thinking about it long and hard. He kept it up, replacing it instead the next morning with a 1.
It was a setback. But it was not defeat. And Blitzø's little horse doodle stayed where it was.
There was one element Stolas hadn't considered when giving Blitzø his pills, however - and that was that Blitzø was quite forgetful, even with something important like that. The idea of the imp looking into ADHD evaluation was being thrown around, increasingly seriously. So Stolas always had to ask, but he found that he didn't always mind.
Stolas buttoned his shirt as he heard Blitzø, once again, running around making everyone coffee. The moment he walked out of the bathroom, a bowl of cereal was thrust into his hands.
He watched Blitzø already pulling on his shoes while thrusting toast into his own mouth. Loona had slept over with friends, which meant Blitzø was driving Stolas to therapy on top of everything else.
Stolas sighed with exaggeration, eating a spoonful of cereal. "Blitzyyyyy, you've forgotten to medicate me again. One of these days the Hoot Loops may not be enough.”
Blitzø groaned. "Fuck my fucking ass," he grumbled. "I swear if I forget one more time I'm gonna write it on my fucking forehead backward so I see it in the morning when I look in the mirror."
He pulled the bottle out of his pocket, shaking out two pills and putting them in Stolas’s hand, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank fuck you've got a better memory than me. Want some water with those, pretty bird?"
Stolas took them in his palm. "Could take them with a different liquid, Blitzy," he said with a playful wink. "That would involve me, ahem, fucking you in your fucking -”
Blitzø laughed. "Nice as that sounds, I don't think we got time for me to help the medicine go down that way," he said, looking around for his keys. He found them in the oven for reasons he couldn't possibly fathom, then turned back with a wicked smirk. "Remind me the next time we got a free morning, though, yeah? I'm down to play naughty doctor if you are.”
"Oh?" Stolas smirked, popping the pills in his mouth and washing them down with the remainder of his cereal milk. "Do I need an appointment with Doctor Blitzy now too?”
Blitzø laughed. "Nah, babe, no appointment necessary. Doctor Blitzy's always got time for you.”
Stolas hummed, considering the possibilities as he threw on his coat and pocketed his insurance card. "You could come to give me my morning pills... might need to do a full exam while you're at it. Perhaps run some tests, hmm?"
“Fuck yeah,” Blitzø said approvingly. “Gives ‘the doctor is in’ a whole new meaning.” He winked at Stolas as they headed out the door and into the parking lot. "Now get your ass in the van, thirsty bird. Gotta get that big beautiful brain of yours checked out."
"Only if you check out the rest of me tomorrow morning," Stolas said smoothly, climbing into the van. "I need my - FUCK!"
One day, he'd get into the van without banging his head.
It was not that day.
Blitzø rubbed his shoulder sympathetically. "Tylenol?" he asked. He always kept the glove box stocked with it now.
Stolas groaned as he buckled his seat belt, rubbing his forehead. But he still managed to smile. "Yes please, Dr. Blitzy," he murmured. "I'll take a kiss too, if you prescribe those."
"Oh, I do. Doctor's orders." Blitzø leaned in, grinning unrepentantly before grabbing his coat's lapels, allowing a luxurious moment of leisure in his hectic day as he kissed him slowly.
As he pulled back and started to drive away, Stolas reached into the glove box, the Tylenol bottle rattling in his hand. “Do you think Dr. Smith treats repeated head trauma?”
Blitzø looked thoughtful before shaking his head. "I don't think so. They said something about how someone would need to go visit... another type of fucking brain doctor, I don't know."
"Probably a neurologist," Stolas sighed. He shook two tylenol pills into his hand, drinking them down with the dregs of Blitzø's coffee. "How many times do I need to hit my head for it to necessitate a brain scan?"
"I feel like you'd probably qualify by now," Blitzø said, grinning as he beat the yellow light. He was trying not to run reds anymore, but he sure loved running yellows. And that made him a pretty responsible fucking driver by Hell standards.
He glanced at Stolas. "Sorry about that, by the way. Wish I could stop it from happening but like, you're so fucking tall, I don't really know how you were able to ride in cars at all."
Stolas stretched, putting his head out of the top hole for a moment and cracking his neck. He did like the breeze, but he found it made it hard to talk, so he pulled it back in.
"I didn't much," he said simply. "Why would I drive when I had the ability to portal freely? When I did, it was moreso for momentous occasions... and in that case it was a car or a horse-drawn carriage appropriate to my stature. It's really a wonder I don't get motion sick from your driving."
"Oh yeah, sorry. Guess I should have realized that." His eyes flicked to Stolas’s at a red light. "I can portal you more, if you want. Just... not for the mindspace sessions, though. The doc said that the magic can, uh... can 'interact adversely' with people after the mindspace magic. Which means it could fuck you up, I guess.”
"And if I'm already, as you said, fucked up?"
Blitzø snorted. "Always further to go. You could get to Blitzø-level."
Stolas smiled weakly. "I love driving with you, Blitzø," he said, and it was soft and earnest.
***
He looked up as they pulled in. Stolas sighed. "I have a feeling today's session won't be easy.”
Blitzø looked at him sympathetically. "Probably not," he said. "I'll be back to get you in an hour though. Unless you need me back sooner. Text me if you wanna bail, okay?"
Stolas looked a little nervous, and then gave a little nod. "Okay," he mumbled simply, knowing he'd be far too ashamed of himself to ever do that.
He leaned over, pecking Blitzø on the cheek, before carefully climbing out of the car.
As he walked up, the joy and playfulness of that morning faded. He could feel the scratch of bandages under his sleeves, knew there were bags under his eyes most days this week.
There was no hiding it.
And soon enough, he was back in the chair. Stolas didn't speak, didn't answer the question he knew would come. He simply sat, looking at the bandages that wrapped his hands to the base of his fingers.
And waited for what Dr. Smith would say when they saw them too, which he knew they would. Even beyond their empathy, Dr. Smith was observant. Especially regarding their patients.
So of course, they noticed the bandages. The eye bags. They even noticed that the sunflowers on Stolas’s nails (quite well-painted, they thought, mildly impressed with Blitzø's newfound skill) were more chipped than normal.
And most of all, they noticed his body language, his expression, his seeming expectation that he would be lectured or worse.
They were determined not to meet that expectation. It made their first question more gentle.
"Could you tell me what happened since I saw you last week?"
Stolas sighed.
"I had a bad day," he mumbled. "Nothing really that... special. Just... a string of small disappointments... and then I read the hate mail I'm being sent for my role in the trial... and... then something reminded me of Via, and I suppose, I..."
His fingers picked at the corner of a bandage. For such a chaotic being, Blitzø had been so neat when tending to his wounds.
"I... I had a breakdown," he mumbled, not looking at the doctor. "I got very drunk, broke a mirror and... and hurt myself rather badly."
Stolas' fingers fumbled with the beads on his bracelet.
"I messed up, is what happened," he sighed. "I fell into an emotion I could not climb out of, and broke all the rules we had set. That's what has happened. I... I understand if you don't wish to work with me anymore."
The doctor tilted their head slightly. "Of course I will still work with you, Stolas. A relapse is no reason to stop treatment. And thank you for telling me what happened honestly.
"Was Blitzø able to help you through your relapse?"
Stolas nodded softly. "He... bandaged my wounds, and then.... we talked." He looked down. "I had... he told me how much it had frightened him. And I told him about... how I used to have suicidal intent, but don't anymore. I believe that's what he was really afraid of. So I gave him my medication to hold onto to... to remove the means. I don't intend to - do anything like that, not anymore. But I think it helped him trust that."
He sighed. "He kept saying... a relapse didn't mean I was starting over. But it felt very hard to believe that."
"That sounds like a wonderful plan, Stolas,” they said. “I'm so glad you were able to talk about this and offer an opportunity to build trust with him. Now... why didn't you believe that a relapse wasn't starting over? Can you tell me your thought process?"
"It's as if... one is building a house, and then it burns down. You would not say the house is still partially built. It would need to be built anew, like it had never been built before. Just like my feathers will need to... to regrow."
"I see," Dr. Smith said calmly. "I am inclined to agree that there is definitely an element of starting over. And of course, that can be deeply frustrating, that all your hard work needs to begin again."
They leaned forward a little. "What I would like to ask you, though, is this. Do you think relapsing and starting over invalidates the work you did before? So, to use your metaphor, does rebuilding the house mean that you hadn't done a good job building it before?"
"It means the house isn't built," Stolas said simply. "What difference does it make if it was built well before or not?"
"Because it means that you already learned skills to build it," they said. "I understand that it's easy to equate a lack of results with a lack of progress. But you have progressed, and you are more than your results. You learned, slowly and painfully at times, how to build, when you didn't know how before. And I think that still matters, especially as you rebuild."
"And how many times am I going to have to rebuild?" Stolas muttered. "And... and how many times until no one wants to help me anymore, knowing that effort is meaningless in the end? How many times until people get frustrated, or - " Stolas took a deep breath, voicing a yet unspoken fear. "Or - or institutionalize me somewhere, or -"
"I think you're catastrophizing, Stolas," they said gently. "And I understand the impulse. I don't want to diminish how frustrating of a loss this is for you. But let's think about this for a moment. You told me that Blitzø helped you bandage your wounds. That he is, on your suggestion, keeping your medication so that you don't attempt suicide. Has he indicated to you that he will stop helping you? That he wants to institutionalize you?"
"No," Stolas muttered. "But... but his sister is - was - in rehab. I know he... he must have helped with that." He sniffled. "When it got too much for him to handle."
"And do you think you are too much to handle?" they asked gently.
Stolas hesitated.
Then he nodded.
"Why do you think that?"
"It's what everyone has always said about me.”
"Everyone?" they asked, raising an eyebrow slightly. "I'm sure some people have said that to you, and we can definitely talk about that. But has everyone said that about you?"
Stolas could almost feel his workbook on cognitive distortions smacking him on the head. "No. Not everyone has said that. It's called hyperbole. Not everyone in the world is even aware of my existence, as a matter of fact." He couldn't quite help the dry snark even if he hadn't intended it.
But Dr. Smith just smiled at the snark, almost like it was an in-joke between them. He's using humor. That's a good sign. "Yes. That is a good reframing of that overgeneralization. And does it stand to reason, then, that some people do not think you are too much?"
Stolas sighed.
"Doctor Smith - for once in my life - can I not simply have a thought?"
They stopped smiling. "I apologize if I am being too argumentative against your thoughts. It was not my intention to invalidate how you are processing this. Yes, Stolas, you can certainly have thoughts. You have quite a lot, I'm sure. But in this instance, I thought it might be worthwhile to remind you that some of your most distressing thoughts are cognitive distortions. That more accurate reframing of them can actually limit the distress they cause."
Stolas put down his face in his hands, not caring how much his palms stung. His head throbbed. He was just...
He was just tired.
"Dr. Smith," he said softly, "I have a box full of letters from thousands of residents of Hell telling me to kill myself. And not all of them are about the lies I gave at the trial. Many of them are just... about who I am as a person. How I treat people. About... what kind of husband I am, what kind of father -"
He felt a tear slide down his cheek.
"I can't - some days I can't - analyze everything like this, I - I just want to feel, and... and wait for it to go away. To waste the day away with - sex and stupid jokes and a drink or two - and wait… Can't I just do that?”
Dr. Smith listened patiently, and slowly nodded. "Distraction can be a valuable technique in managing one's feelings, yes," they said softly. "We can certainly do some of that. But... Stolas, you experienced something very upsetting. Something that seemed to cause you to think you have accomplished nothing, and worse, something that you thought would make me want to stop seeing you.
"I wanted to make sure you know that is not what a relapse means, on a cognitive level. But if you do not feel capable of engaging with that today, we can do other things. Focusing on positive things, or even seemingly trivial things. Or perhaps a relaxation exercise to alleviate some of your distress without the need for analysis."
They smiled again, just a little. "These sessions are meant to help you in the way that is the most useful to you, now, in this moment. And your input on what that help should be is invaluable."
"Are -" Stolas took a breath. "Are we still doing a mindspace session today?”
"That depends on a few things," they said softly. "First, is that what you want to do today? Because one thing you will not find in the mindspace is distraction."
Stolas thought about it for a little while. He wiped his tears carefully with a tissue from the coffee table, without looking up.
"I don't want to feel like this," he mumbled. "Like I'm... walking along the edge of a blade laid across a precipice. I just want to feel... alright. Just for a little while. I am too tired to make microscope slides out of my thoughts. I am too afraid, perhaps, to find out what lies beneath their surface. And my normal solutions to this situation are - " He sighed, his fingers playing with Blitzø's bracelet almost forcefully. "Things I am trying to learn not to rely on, which is taking as much energy as I am able to give. I know that... lasting change takes time, and effort, and pain. But I do not want lasting change today. I just... I just want something... to feel okay... and not make it all worse. If a memory can do so, then that is what I want. If not, then... then something else."
He looked up at them in an almost pleading way. "I've never learned how to handle this... in a healthy way. And I am trying to learn. Could... could you help me with that?"
They smiled warmly at him. "Yes, I can help you with that. Thank you for telling me what you need."
They leaned back a little, considering. "A relaxation exercise then, I think," they said decisively. "If you'd like, I could use my empathy to help you relax as well. It would be similar to when we first entered the mindspace, but we would just stay here and help you relax, and let go of some of your thoughts for a little while. It often leads to an elevated mood for at least a few hours afterward. How does that sound?”
Stolas nodded, a look of relief palpable in his eyes. And then he seemed to think for a moment. "I would like that. But... could you also... teach me to do it myself, if that's possible?" he asked softly. "So... so I have something to do, to make the pain stop, that isn't..."
He looked down at his bandaged hands.
"... that?"
They nodded. "I definitely can. Let's begin. Could you close your eyes?"
Stolas adjusted himself in his seat, took a deep breath, and closed both sets of his eyes, his fingers still fidgeting with the beaded bracelet.
"Imagine you are at the edge of a river, watching it flow. Its water is cool, crisp, and clear, moving serenely but unceasingly forward. This is the river of your mind. Your thoughts drift by. Some thoughts feel nice, and some might upset you. But never for long, as the river gently carries the thoughts away.
“Now, some thoughts may get stuck. Caught somewhere, and the water cannot move them away. When that happens, you have a different thought to clear them away. That thought is your mantra. Say it now, out loud."
Stolas blushed lightly. Sometimes he found his choice of mantra to be a little childish.
But it helped. And when he said it out loud, he heard it in Blitzø's voice in his mind.
"You will be okay," he said softly.
"And as you say it, it clears away whatever thought had been stuck there, letting those other thoughts float away,” Dr. Smith continued. “It is always able to do this. Now, Stolas. I'd like you to watch the river for a while. You do not need to think about anything. Thoughts will come, but you don't need to fight them. Just observe them and let them drift away. If a thought gets stuck, use your mantra to clear it away."
And Stolas sat, and imagined.
The grass under his hands. The trickle of the stream. The breeze through his feathers.
Watching the thoughts drift by.
This feels silly, whispered a leaf, bobbing in the water.
It's not silly if it helps, said another.
You think anyone else needs to do things like this just to be able to handle some disappointment? said a mass of matted leaves, many voices speaking as one. No. You're weak. You've always been weak.
Blitzø might do something like this when he gets angry or upset, suggested a bit of floating bark. And Blitzø is the strongest person you know.
Blitzø can handle it, said the matted leaves, growing louder as more leaves joined their mass.You can't.
You don't deserve him.
"You will be okay," whispered Stolas. And he watched as his fingers plucked the mass of leaves out of the stream, crushing them in his hand.
Yeah, birdie, you're crushing it! he heard a small red leaf cry out, circling in the rapids.
And very faintly, Stolas smiled.