Chapter Text
John stirred, the sheets tangled loosely around his legs. The room was warm but stifling, spilling through the windows in golden streaks. But it wasn’t the sunlight, or even the dull throb in his ribs that woke him.
It was the German Shepherd, his heavy paws thudding against the bed as he leapt up, mattress sinking under his weight. Before John could even blink, a cold wet nose pressed against his cheek followed by a warm tongue dragging across his face.
“Christ, Lobo,” John rasped, starchy and hoarse but carrying the ghost of a faint laugh as he half-heartedly shoved the dog’s head away. “Alright, alright, I’m up– stop that!”
Lobo, oblivious to the command, whined and pressed closer, tail thumping against the bed frame like a drumbeat.
“Rúben,” John croaked, twisting his head as he tried to shield his face from the onslaught. “Are you just gonna stand there and let this bloody dog drown me?”
The complaint died on his lips when his eyes landed on Rúben. He sat in the chair by the window, barely leaning forward, gaze fixed on John with so much intensity it stole all the air from the room. He wasn’t the man John had gotten used to seeing– the sharp suits, the ruthless composure, someone always three steps ahead. No, this Rúben was frayed at the edges. His shirt hung loose, rumpled, beard growing longer and no longer immaculate with neatness. The morning light caught his face in a way that accentuated the weariness.
“Rúben,” John repeated.
Rúben leaned back slightly at that. “How do you feel?”
“Like I got run over by a bloody train,” John muttered, attempting a chuckle but wincing as his hand instinctively pressed against his ribs. “Tell your bloody dog to stop licking me.”
A faint flicker of a smile flashed across Rúben’s lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “He’s worried about you,” he said simply. “Been sleeping outside the door since we brought you home.”
John softened at that, fingers brushing gently over Lobo’s fur. The dog whined again, big amber eyes brimming with concern.
“I’m alright, sweetheart,” John whispered, voice cracking as he scratched behind Lobo’s ears. He then turned back to Rúben. “And you. !uit staring at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m about to disappear.”
Rúben didn’t reply. Instead, he rose from the chair and crossed the room, ending up by John’s bedside. His silence spoke louder than any words ever could. John sighed, letting his head fall back against the pillow. His throat ached, every breath pulling at the pain in his ribs, but the weight of Rúben’s quiet was worse than the physical toll.
“Don’t do this,” John rasped. “Don’t shut me out, Rúben.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re not exactly letting me in, either,” John countered. “Go on then. Say something. Anything. Tell me I look like shite if you’ve a mind to.”
“You don’t,” Rúben said, almost too quickly. “You look…” He trailed off, brushing his hand against John’s cheek with a tenderness he hadn’t felt in a while. “You look alive.”
The words hit harder than they should have. John’s breath hitched, the weight in Rúben’s voice threatening to pull him under. “Of course I’m alive,” John replied, forcing a lightness that just ended up ringing hollow.
“Don’t,” Rúben snapped, the veneer of his control slipping. “Don’t act like it wasn’t close. Don’t pretend like you weren’t–” He cut himself off.
“Rúben,” John said. “Look at me.”
Rúben’s gaze flicked back to his, the rawness in his eyes like an open wound.
“I’m alright,” John said, each word a deliberate push against the silence. “I’m right here, yeah? Not goin’ anywhere.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, with a sharp inhale, Rúben reached into his pocket, fingers curling tightly around something small and cold. When he pulled it out, John’s eyes dropped to it immediately. The ring. The silver band was still stained with dried blood, refusing to washing it off as if it were a reminder– deep red streaks clung stubbornly to its surface.
“It’s cursed,” Rúben said quietly. “Brings nothing but bad luck. I never should’ve given it to you.”
John’s brow furrowed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not,” Rúben snapped again, tone sharper now. “Look at what’s happened since I gave it to you. It’s– it’s a fucking curse.”
John blinked, slightly starled by the venom. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”
“Dunno,” Rúben muttered, voice cracking under the weight of the confession and he looked like a child again like this. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the ring tighter. “I don’t know what I believe in anymore. But I can’t– can’t look at it, not after–” He cut himself off again. “I should get rid of it.”
“Rúben,” John cut in, heart breaking at the sight of him unraveling. He extended a hand, palm open. “Give it.”
“No,” Rúben’s eyes narrowed, sharp and defiant. “I’m not giving it to you. It’s bad luck, John, you don’t–”
“Rúben,” John’s voice was steady, commanding in a way that didn’t feel like John, catching Rúben off-guard. “Give it here.”
For a moment, Rúben hesitated, fingers clutching the ring like it was the only thing tethering him to sanity. But the look in John’s eyes– calm, resolute– made something inside him break. With a shuddering breath, he placed the ring into John’s waiting palm.
John studied the ring for a moment, turning it over between his fingers. He slid it back onto his finger without a second thought, and the fit was perfect still– snug, familiar, as if it had never left.
He didn’t believe in curses the way Rúben did, not really. Besides, how could something so small, so full of thought and bought with so much love, given to him by the love of his life cause him bad luck? It was impossible. Ridiculous, even. It couldn’t be true.
“There,” he murmured. “See? I’m fine.”
“John–”
“The onnly protection I need,” John said, shooting him a faint smile, “is you.”
The words landed like a blow. For a moment, he was speechless, didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond to the quiet conviction, confidence, belief, faith John had in him, the way he looked at Rúben like he believed everything he said with his whole heart. And then Rúben looked at the sight of him, bruised and battered, and felt like the biggest fraud in the world.
The room fell silent, save for the faint creak of the old house. Rúben’s gaze still lingered on the ring, but he didn’t speak.
“I know you went after Flynn,” John said, breaking the quiet.
Rúben stiffened beside him, the faintest flicker of guilt passing over his face.
“I told you not to,” John continued before Rúben could speak. He didn’t sound angry or even disappointed, he just sounded… tired. “I told you to leave it alone. And you said you would.”
Rúben exhaled through his nose, gaze dropping to the floor. “I couldn’t,” he admitted. “Not after what he did to you, to your shop. He needed to pay, John, it’s only fait.”
John sighed, leaning back into the pillows. “I get it,” he said, soft but pointed. His eyes locked onto Rúben’s, cutting through the space between them. “I do. I know why you did it. I know you think you’re protecting me, I know what kind of man you are. You keep everything in line because it’s how you survive. It’s all you’ve ever known, it’s how things have worked out well for you. God knows I’ve watched you try to take on the whole bloody world for me.”
“I’m not going to apologise for that, John.”
“I know,” John replied, squeezing Rúben’s wrist once. “I know you won’t, sweetheart. But…” He paused. “You’ve given Flynn what he wanted. He’s not coming back for us now, is he? So can we– can we let it go? Please?”
Rúben’s mouth opened, the argument already poised on the tip of his tongue. John didn’t understand, he didn’t understand the wicked ways of their world and how revenge never slept, how vengeance is an ever growing parasite that clung onto you and never let go.
But then his eyes found John again.
Him, lying there, looking small. His eyes, usually bright and light were heavy with fatigue, with weariness. The bruises under his them were stark, skin pale as death itself. His lips were swollen, face marred with a patchwork of cuts and fading yellows and purples. He looked broken, and it was all because of Flynn. Because of him.
The anger burning in Rúben’s chest threatened to flare again whenever he thought about it, but it dulled under the silent plea in John’s eyes, the silent surrender in his sagging shoulders. Rúben could only swallow his own thoughts, bite his tongue, nodding heavily.
“Alright.”
John’s lips curved into a faint, satisfied smile. “Thank you.”
“Can I ask you something else?” John added.
Rúben arched a brow, wary but curious.
John’s grin widened at that, fingers tugging gently at Rúben’s sleeve. “Will you cuddle me?”
Rúben blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of the request. Words failed him, like it always did when it came to John, but the warmth in his chest filled the cracks that the guilt and anger had left behind. He looked down at John, bruised and bloodied but still somehow smiling, still somehow himself. There was a faint glint of mischief in those wide eyes Rúben could never say no to, the one that undid Rúben every damn time.
John was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Rúben exhaled a shaky breath, the corner of his mouth twitching into a tender smile. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “‘Course I will.”
He slid onto the bed with care, mindful of John’s injuries, and wrapped an arm around him. John sank into the embrace, his head resting heavily against Rúben’s chest and for the first time in what felt like years, his body relaxed. He melted into Rúben’s warmth, breaths slow and even.
At the edge of the bed, Lobo stirred at the added weight. The dog, who had been watching quietly this whole time now lifted his heads, ears twitching as he surveyed the two of them. His eyes burned with something close to disapproval, tail giving an irritated twitch. He huffed dramatically, a sound almost human in its derision, and rose to his feet with a deliberate stomp. He padded closer, movements heavy and loud as if to announce his dissatisfaction.
Rúben glanced at the dog, still holding John close. “What’d you want?” he muttered, lifting his head slightly to meet Lobo’s stare. “You’re not even trying to hide it, are you?”
Lobo didn’t respond, of course, but the way his ears pricked up and his tail wagged slightly felt suspiciously like an answer.
John let out a weak chuckle, muffled against Rúben’s chest. “He’s sizing you up. Deciding if you’re a threat.”
“A threat to what?”
“To him,” John grinned faintly, eyes closing as he rested against Rúben. “He thinks you’re taking me away from him.”
Rúben scoffed. “Taking you away from him? Pretty sure you’re mine in the first place.”
Lobo, as if understanding perfectly, let out a distinctly offended huff.
“Lobo,” Rúben said warningly as the dog began to wedge himself between them, his broad, furry body pushing against John while his nose nudged insistently at Rúben’s side. “Oi, what in Heaven’s name do you think you’re doing?”
John’s laugh broke the tension, though it was cut short by a wince. “It’s his thing– doesn’t like to share, do you, sweetheart?”
“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Rúben muttered darkly, leaning back as Lobo continued his determined assault. He wasn’t necessarily aggressive, just relentless. His head butted into Rúben’s ribs then, getting up on all fours and using his full weight to shove Rúben further toward the edge of the bed.
“That’s enough,” Rúben said, grabbing the dog’s collar in a half-hearted attempt to hold him back. It was useless, though– Lobo was getting too big. The dog simply huffed again, pawing at Rúben’s chest while his tail wagged furiously.
“Fuck’s sake– John, call him off,” Rúben said, exasperation edging his tone. “He actually listens to you.”
John only laughed harder, shoulders shaking as he tried his best to stifle it. “To be fair to him,” he said, catching his breath, “he was here first.”
Rúben shot him an incredulous look. “You’re not seriously– Lobo! Enough!”
The dog responded by leaning his full weight against Rúben again, his head now resting squarely on John’s stomach, a picture of victory.
“Unbelievable,” Rúben muttered. “Bloody dog’s trying to kick me out of my own bed. Just wait, you. Cheap kibble for you next time. No more salmon for your royal highness.”
Lobo barked once, sharp and indignant, before comically plopping his head back onto John’s chest. He groaned in response, though there was no bite, smiling from ear to ear.
“Lobo, you’re heavy,” John complained, weakly attempting to push the dog off. “And you’re squishing me.”
Rúben glared at Lobo, patience wearing thinner by the second. “Get off him,” he said firmly, reaching out to shove the dog aside. But Lobo only growled low in his throat, and then closed his jaws around Rúben’s wrist. It wasn’t hard, just enough to make his point. Back off.
“Lobo!” Rúben yelped, yanking his hand away.
John’s laughter, raspy but warm, filled the room again. “He’s never letting me go,” he said, shaking his head. “Face it, Rúben. You’ve been replaced.”
“I have not been replaced,” Rúben grumbled. “This is my bed. My human. My territory. You hear me?”
Lobo, unimpressed by Rúben’s dramatics, let out another huff and he stretched his paws further, draping himself across John like a protective barrier. His tail wagged lazily, as if taunting Rúben.
“Move,” Rúben growled again, attempting to sound authoritative.
The dog didn’t even flinch. Instead, he sighed contentedly, closing his eyes as if the matter was already settled.
John’s laughter only grew, though it sent another strain through his ribs he couldn’t quite hide with a wince. “I think he’s saying you’ve got to earn your place,” he teased. “Maybe try being a bit nicer.”
Rúben pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something low in Portuguese. “You’re encouraging this.”
“I’m not doing anything,” John said, grinning up at him. His laughter lit up his face, that bright, toothy smile lighting up his entire face. The overwhelming feeling of love, of seeing his face so alive again, surged up in Rúben.
He leaned forward, hand carefully bypassing Lobo’s bulk to brush John’s hair back. His tone softened immediately. “You alright, baby? Don’t think you’re supposed to be laughing this much.”
John nodded, chuckles slowing. “I’m fine,” he said. “This is the most fun I’ve had in months.”
Rúben leaned in closer, trying to manoeuvre around Lobo to get his arms around John again but the dog shifted, lifting his head to meet Rúben’s gaze directly. For a moment, it was like a standoff, neither willing to give ground.
But then, with no warning, Lobo lunged forward, dragging his tongue across Rúben’s face in one quick, sloppy motion. He wagged his tail, letting out a delighted bark as his earlier defiance melted into pure affection.
“Oh, now you’re sorry,” Rúben muttered, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt. He reached out, ruffling Lobo’s fur with a begrudging sigh. “You’re lucky you’re cute, you little bastard.”
Lobo wagged his tail harder, aiming another lick at Rúben’s hand before flopping back onto the bed. He nuzzled against John’s side again. John scratched behind the dog’s ears, a fond smile playing on his lips.
“See? He’s just a big softie,” he said, looking up at Rúben. “Reminds me of someone.”
Rúben huffed, through there was no real heat behind it. He shifted closer, wrapping his arm around John again. This time, Lobo allowed it as he stretched out lower in the bed, warm body pressing against both their legs.
The three of them settled into the comfortable silence. Rúben tightened his hold on John, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head while Lobo let out another contented sigh, eyes drooping shut. The afternoon finally settled onto them, like they were the picture of a perfect little portrait.