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Sasha is not an anxious person.
This is a truth she stands by, no matter what- she may still have bad habits left over from her childhood. Maybe if things don’t go as planned, she freaks out a little. Sometimes she stays up all night pacing, but it’s not because she’s worried, it is because she is prepared. She is not an anxious person, because to her, being anxious is being paralyzed by your fear of the inevitable. She wouldn’t dare freeze. She does.
Which is why Anne is currently covered with exactly 3 blankets, and has 4 pillows, a box of tissues, a large bucket to vomit in, and a box of cold medicine that Sasha is keeping far away from her just in case she takes too much. Not to mention the pot of chicken noodle soup heating up on the stove. She is not anxious about Anne’s condition. Everything is fine. She is simply keeping up with her needs. Everything she can think of to take care of her is there, and Sasha isn’t about to let Anne down by neglecting a single part of the recovery process.
“Kind of a change, isn’t it?” Marcy offers, smiling gently. She reaches out and catches the crook of Sasha’s arm, slowing her to a stop in the middle of her pacing just with a touch. There’s visible tracks in the carpet now, and she’s only been in the living room for about 30 seconds. “Usually it’s me on that couch. I can’t even count the number of times where you guys have had to take care of me.”
Marcy’s immune system had been weak ever since… well, everything. Being impaled, stuck in a tube of water for a month and then violently possessed had taken a horrible toll on her body she was still trying to recover from, even years later. It wasn’t uncommon for Anne and Sasha to wake up to her shivering violently between them at once a month or so, clutching at her head and barely able to stand up. On those days, her and Anne do their best to beat back the nightmares and keep her hydrated and medicated until that particular bout of the storm has passed. It’s nearly a routine at this point. They know what to do.
Anne however… well, she was supposed to have an immune system of steel. Not today apparently. And while her getting sick wasn’t nearly as concerning a matter as Marcy, it was still… unusual. Which might have put Sasha on edge. Just a little.
“Since the war ended, about 52 times or so,” Sasha mumbles absentmindedly. She regrets it as soon as she leaves her mouth- Marcy’s calm expression changes immediately into one of guilt. When a fact becomes a statistic, it’s solid. Measurable . It’s been almost 3 years since they got Marcy back.
“You kept track?...” Marcy whispers. Sasha turns to take Marcy’s cold hands in her own, rubbing over her knuckles gently.
“Only because I was worried-” and yeah, Sasha isn’t an anxious person. She just worries. Just a bit. “I wanted to know if there was a pattern. Just in case.”
“Well… that’s really swe-” The sound of boiling, popping liquid starts to emanate from the kitchen, along with the smell of burning. Marcy whips her gaze away from Sasha in order to haphazardly get up and stumble towards the stove in a panicked rush. “Ah shit, the soup-”
“I got it, I got it-” Sasha is already in the kitchen and turning off the stove before Marcy can say ‘vagabondia chronicles’, practically going into a split as her socks skid and slide against the floor. She pulls herself up and reaches for a bowl out of the cabinets. Hopefully it’s not too burned, but if Anne doesn’t like it, then there’s gotta be another can somewhere-
Marcy meanwhile, pads across the living room, and takes a seat in front of the couch.
Anne looks surprisingly relaxed for someone whose breaths are so snuffly they can be heard from across the room. One arm flops over the side of the cushions, her skin unnaturally hot to the touch. Marcy carefully holds Anne’s hand in her own, and presses a kiss to her forehead.
“It’s time to wake up, Annie,” Marcy whispers, brushing some curls from out of Anne’s eyes. She gives her hand a squeeze, and stifles a giggle as Anne opens her eyes blearily, then lets out a tired groan and turns her head to hide her face in one of the pillows.
“Yeah, I know, I don’t like getting up either,” Marcy coos, combing through Anne’s hair. The poor girl is already shivering- Marcy can feel her hand shaking in her hold, her body desperately craving an unattainable warmth. “But you gotta. Just for a minute or two. Sasha made soup. It might help you feel better- gotta get those nutrients, y’know?”
“Nutrients can wait,” Anne mumbles, her voice weak and barely audible. She attempts to pull another pillow over her head, but her arm doesn’t move much. “Later.”
“C’mon Anne, it’s only for a minute. You don’t even have to eat all of it- sit up for me?” Marcy offers. To her, it’s the least she can do to try and take care of Anne like she had done for her so many times- she had treated her with the utmost gentleness, her voice cutting through the heavy fog in her head like she was Marcy’s personal lighthouse. So, whether or not Anne likes it or not, Marcy is going to go through all of this with her. “Here.”
As Anne slowly and reluctantly raises herself on her elbows, shutting her eyes tight, Marcy slips onto the couch right next to her and curls an arm around her back to support her. Anne leans into her, still shaking- in fact, Marcy can hear her teeth chattering as she rests her heavy head in the crook of Marcy’s neck as Marcy draws her up.
Meanwhile, Sasha looks around wildly and then finds the small card table they have folded up against the wall. It’s never really used for playing cards- they’re not exactly those kinds of people. Instead, it’s saved for situations exactly like this. She holds the steaming bowl of soup in one hand while awkwardly setting up the table with the other. It’s quite amusing to watch, especially with the way Sasha is now standing on one leg in order to gain some leverage- and to Marcy, her pain tolerance to the heat burning through the bowl has always been something to admire.
“Need some help there?” Marcy offers, grinning. Anne opens one eye and lets out a series of shaky giggles.
“Nope! I- I got it, don’t move, I am a master at this,” Sasha says, smiling triumphantly as the click of the table’s hinges set into place. She sets the soup down, and runs back into the kitchen to grab a spoon, coming back just as fast.
Sasha sets the spoon down and reaches out to gently brush her thumb over Anne’s cheek- the other girl lets out a sigh at the sensation, but refuses to move from where she’s curled into Marcy’s shoulder. If she were less tired, Sasha knows she’d probably shoot her one of those knowing grins, like she can see into the soft parts of Sasha’s soul without even trying, but right now she’s just… lethargic. Sasha would let her rest, but… sometimes you gotta do things you don’t want to.
It’s only when Marcy’s got the actual spoon in her hand that Anne grimaces, and tries to move away.
“I can do this myself… I’m not that sick, guys,” she whispers, despite the fact that minutes before she had been passed out cold and didn’t want to get up. She takes the spoon from Marcy’s grip, and it shakes along with her, the soup threatening to spill over.
“You got it?” Sasha asks, leaning forward onto the couch cushions.
“Y-Yep,” Anne replies, furrowing her brow and resolutely eating the soup. The spoon clangs against the edge of the glass bowl as she tries to refill it, and she flinches and shuts her eyes tight against the noise. Marcy rubs small circles between her shoulderblades.
“It’s okay to let other people take care of you, y’know?” Sasha offers, watching Anne’s unsteady hand like a hawk. “You’re always taking care of us. You don’t have to do everything yourself. We’ve been over this.”
“If I can do it, then I will,” Anne murmurs stubbornly. Another sip. “I don’t… want to put you all in danger.”
“What?” Marcy whispers. They’ve seen this before- it’s so easy to slip back into thinking that they’re back in Amphibia. It’s instinct. Months of fearing for their lives at every second and watching their backs for the next creature or threat to fight have been carved into their bones, the very framework of their bodies. Sasha still jumps sometimes when there’s a particularly loud rustle in the trees. Marcy is a whole another story. In Anne’s case case, it’s more survivor’s guilt than anything, if she had a guess. “Annie, we’re in our apartment. On Earth. Remember?”
“...Right…” Anne blinks, hard. It’s obvious now how cloudy her mind is, whether it’s the tiredness or the general bleariness that comes with being sick. Marcy watches the droopiness of her eyes, the way she’s slumped over into the couch cushions. “...But still…”
Sasha’s hand catches Anne’s as it falls away from her face. The spoon clatters onto the table.
“Okayyyy, Anne. Yeah, this might be ridiculous to you, but we’re dating and this is technically the easiest way,” Sasha says. Anne stares at her through exhausted, half-lidded eyes. “Here.”
Carefully, Sasha spoons her some soup.
Anne lets her.
—
You didn’t go back for them.
Anne feels sick- there’s something heavy lodged in the back of her throat with that realization, anxiety coating every thought she can manage. She knows it as well as she knows her own name- she didn’t go back for them yet. She hasn’t tried hard enough.
If only she could get up. Then maybe she could find them. She doesn’t know where they are at the moment- ( a golden glow illuminating the tears streaking down Marcy’s face as she-) but she’ll find out, because that’s what she’s been trying to do this entire time, right? She’s so close- ( Sasha’s voice ringing out, buzzing in her ears as she screamed-) so close, she just has to look for them-
The surface she slides onto is cold. She’s so cold . She can barely breathe without her entire body quaking, but it hurts- she just has to find them. That’s all she has to do, and they’re out there, and oh god, what if they’re dead? What if she was too late? What if she failed them, and she’s never going to see them again, and it’s all her fault because she wasn’t strong enough-
She isn’t even strong enough to move . Her limbs feel like lead, weighing her down, sticking her to the hard floor with her sweat. Everything hurts. There’s a pounding in her head that won’t go away, building the bile in the back of her throat with every heartbeat- she’s surrounded in nothing but darkness and they’re still out there and she doesn’t even know where to go.
She didn’t mean to leave them behind. It was just bright, and then she was being pulled back and they were still there, and if she had a choice she would have stayed. Just so she didn’t lose them again. She couldn’t. And yet here she is, and they’re gone.
She can’t fight against the sobs ripping themselves out of her throat. It’s almost automatic, the way her breathing tapers off into shaky gasps.
The footsteps coming towards her shake the ground and echo painfully in her ears. She curls into herself.
“Anne? Anne? Oh god, are you alright?”
She must be hallucinating.
Someone, with soft hands and a firm grip moves her. There’s fingers brushing across her face. Someone found her. Despite the warmth emanating from them, she can’t bear to relax.
You didn’t… find them…
“Shh- Anne, honey, look at me. Open your eyes. What’s wrong?”
She needs to find Marcy and Sasha. That’s what’s wrong. She left them behind. She needs to find them again. And again, and again and again-
The most she manages is a soft croaking of their names. The syllables come out broken, just like they are.
“Shh.. We’re right here- we’re right here. Look at me, Anne. Just for a moment, please.”
She does as she’s told. Her surroundings are blurry and dark, blue tinging the edges of her vision in a frosty glow. The person looking down at her in concern- short black hair and the ridge of a scar across their nose-
She’d recognize her face anywhere. It's stamped into every part of her. She can't picture life without her, because there never was. Wood chips, and pencils, and pastel colors of childhood contrasting with a dark suit and tattered capes of teenage horror.
“ Marcy,” She gasps. Almost automatically she clings to her like it’s the last time she’ll ever see her- which maybe it is, considering the way her memories swirl around her head, struggling to make sense or line up.
“Yep, that’s me, you’re okay…” Marcy’s hands comb through her hair. Anne could stare at the way the shadows flit over her face forever. There’s still someone missing- did she meet Marcy first this time? Was she alright? When did she get the scar? Her head hurts. Where’s Sasha? “Ah, your eyes are going all blue… that’s not good.”
She pulls a phone out of her pocket and texts with one hand. There’s dark circles of scar tissue on the back of them. Anne would reach up and kiss them if she could. The image of tubes snaking across a tiled floor echoes in her mind. Marcy makes a face after soft pings echo from somewhere else, and switches to hold the phone to her ear.
The sound of ringing echoes.
The rustle of sheets and the scramble and crashes of someone stumbling blindly in the dark follow. A figure runs into the room, and crouches down right next to Marcy. A hand lands on her forehead. It’s calloused, tough.
“You could have just woken me,” the figure whispers. One eye is closed, the other staring directly at her. Long strands of blonde hair fall down in front of her face, and brush Anne as the figure leans down to get a closer look at her. It's her.
“I didn’t want to leave her.”
“ Sasha?...” Anne whispers desperately, straining towards her. They were always so distant back then- when did Sasha start hugging her like she used to? With no space to leave between them?
“Hey Annie,” Sasha replies, smiling softly. Like she did when they finished that mission together, or when she’d sneak looks at her during class. Marcy leans into her shoulder. “You okay?”
She reaches for her. Sasha takes her hand in her own, and Marcy does the same. Hot and cold. Night and day. Strong and gentle. They’re here. They found her instead. She had tried so hard to look for them and they were here the entire time.
“Now that you guys are here…I thought…” Her breath catches in her throat as another wave of confusing emotion washes over her. “That- that I didn’t… come back for you-”
“Shhh- you did, you did,” Marcy reassures her. She whispers something into Sasha’s ear, and Sasha nods. “You came back for us. You always have. We’re right here. We’re not going anywhere anymore, I promise. We’re safe now, okay?”
When Anne attempts to move closer to Marcy, a pair of strong arms wraps around her, and picks her off the ground. Sasha is so warm. Anne curls towards her, seeking it like a moth chases a flame, and Sasha lets out a short laugh, the sound of it rumbling in her chest.
Within moments, she is carefully set down on a soft bed.
When she reaches for them, Sasha and Marcy reach back.