[asldkfhsodihfs] I--I feel like this is something I should've known, Edward! [his voice cracks, and he's looking increasingly upset] That's--and now this happened--I thought you were going to die, and you're telling me that you've been hurt worse than that?!
[Oswald...fumbles. Sputters a bit.] Well, yes, but--! [how does he even put this into words] But nothing like this has happened before! [he swallows, then, because if Edward has had worse, then--] At least...not that anyone's told me. Or that I've seen! Or that you've told me!
[and for a moment, Oswald can't do anything but stare at him. He didn't want him to worry. Sweet, almost, if it wasn't so incredibly mind boggling now. And horrifying, even. Terrifying. Infuriating.]
...you didn't want me to worry. [deadpan, almost] You...you didn't want me to worry?! [escalating now, and he can feel his magic starting to buzz under his skin, restless as he gets worked up,] You almost died now and you've had worse before? Meaning you've almost died before! [his voice rises up the octave in his distress] And what if you had?! Would I ever even have known?! [and there--his voice cracks and breaks, and he can feel his magic clawing at his fingertips, starting to seep out of him, perhaps to start crawling along the floorboards---and Oswald sucks in a breath, yanking it back, burying his face in his hands and taking deep lungfuls of air, trying to calm himself, to get it back under control]
[Edward is quiet, even as Oswald gets more and more worked up. There's a small part of him, inside, that immediately shrinks and cowers at the raised voice. A fear of anger that never quite leaves him.
But the rest of him stays calm, so it doesn't show, other than Edward averting his eyes briefly.]
...I don't know. That would have been up to the castle staff to inform you of, I imagine. [Out of his hands. Things are different, now. But now if anything happens to him, Oswald will know immediately.] I am sorry, your Highness. I didn't mean to cause you any distress...
Edward would've just disappeared with no explanation. Just stopped being in the castle one day and Oswald would've assumed he'd just quit. That he was done with his job and wanted to do something else. He can just imagine it and it's something that's so incredibly plausible and as such, also incredibly distressing. His magic wraps around his throat like a vice, wanting to crawl out from his mouth and expand outward like a scream; he feels too small for his body, like he can't contain whatever it is that's bubbling inside him, he can't--]
You would've just disappeared--[his voice, strangled still, muffled by his hands, and he can feel black spilling out onto his palms but they're pressed to his face and Oswald sucks in a breath, drawing it back inside himself, control, control, and he's shaking with it, pushing unsteadily to his feet, stumbling for the bathroom. He slams the door once he's inside leaning against it, forehead pressed against the flat planks, fingers digging into the wood--black curling at the tips and into claws, raking down and gauging lines in their wake as he sinks to the floor, trembling still]
[But Oswald is going, he's walking, heading for the bathroom. And Edward blinks, staring at the door. He hadn't thought this would be so upsetting to him. And it shouldn't be, really. If Edward had died, then... that would have just meant he was doing his job right, but wasn't quite good enough. There would have been someone else, surely.
...He hopes, anyway.
Really, the reason doesn't matter. Right now, Oswald is upset. Very, very upset. Anything going on with Edward just seems inconsequential.
Edward takes a deep breath... and he pushes himself up. The pain is unimportant right now. He's moving slowly, at least, so he hopefully doesn't cause any damage. But he has to... he has to get to Oswald.
He manages to get his legs on the side of the bed. Now he just has to actually stand...]
[Oswald sucks in as deep of a breath as he can manage--there's anger and hurt and something like anguish burning into a miasma in the pit of his stomach at the horror of this revelation; of everything he didn't know. Wouldn't haven't known.
He wants to tear the room apart, release some of this emotion, get it out of his body, and he opens his mouth--before quickly snapping it shut, pressing his lips together hard. he can't let it out because it's going to destroy something, or, worse, someone. And Edward is the closest person to him and it's in bad enough shape as it is; and, it seems, the fault of that is entirely on Oswald. From the attack to his magic making his injuries worse, it turns out this isn't the first time he's nearly killed Edward simply because they happened to be near each other. Yes, he was technically a bodyguard, but Oswald's never thought of him as such. He's had no reason to. A sacrificial lamb for others, maybe, in the hopes that if his magic got out of control again, Edward would be the first in the line of fire, but Oswald had practiced having control over it for that very reason. So neither Edward nor anyone else would get hurt.
Apparently, that did nothing. And even his attempt to quell his magic, which is starting to creep across the floorboards, dragging scraping marks into the wood, was absolutely and utterly useless. Edward had gotten hurt anyway, and Oswald didn't know and wouldn't have known. He nearly died and the times before were worse and it's
devastating
He kind of wants to cry but the risk of that emotion is too high and he tries to strangle it, fingers digging deeper into the wood, breath a hiccup in his throat as he struggles for control]
[Edward stands up, slowly. His limbs are shaky, but his willpower is strong enough to make up for that. It just means he has to take it slowly. That's not ideal, but it will do, for now.
He messed up. Not just now, in that conversation. Before. When he slipped up enough to get hurt in the first place. He never should have let that dagger get him. He'd let himself get distracted and... that's his own stupid fault.
Carefully, he puts his hand against the wound in question, on his side. Making sure not to disturb it too much as he slowly makes his way to the bathroom door. He hates... moving this slowly. Like this, he's so completely and utterly useless. He can barely even make it to the door to talk to Oswald.
But he manages, just about. He won't try to open the door or anything, of course, he just stands there. He should be audible through the door, at least.]
[Edward's voice trickles through, and it takes a moment for it to register, as deep in his head as Oswald is. When it does, his eyes fly open in surprise, heart sinking down to his stomach] Edward? [and his eyes flick to the gauges in the wood, in the floor, realizing how much he's let his magic get away from him. And now Edward is far too close for the state he's in now. Oswald sucks in a harsh breath, panic surging and overriding the other emotions that have threatened to overwhelm him. And he's forcibly drawing all of that magic back into his body with a concentrated yank. It almost hurts with how quickly it retreats back into him--but he ignores that, pushing to his feet and moving to yank the door open]
What are you doing?! You need to be resting, you absolute--[he cuts himself off with another snarl, already reaching for Edward, to herd him back to bed]
[That's about all he gets out before Oswald yanks the door open and reaches for him. And he blinks, surprised, confused.]
I'm sorry, your Highness, but I needed to know if you were alright--
[It's slow heading back to the bed and Edward is more than a little reluctant, really only moving because Oswald is herding him. He's far too concerned with Oswald right now to even think about rest.]
[Oswald almost laughs. It's not funny. It is absurd. What comes out is a strangled, almost hiccup] You're the one that almost died and you needed to know if I'm alright?
[he shakes his head, definitely still herding Edward back to bed, mouth setting into a line] Stop thinking about your job for a moment and think about yourself!
[Edward's frown deepens as he sits down on the bed. Not getting in quite yet, but just. Slowly angling his head up at Oswald, as if he's searching for something in his face. An explanation, maybe.
There's a clear lack of understanding there.]
I can't just stop thinking about you, your Highness. Especially not when I've caused you distress.
Thank you, Edward, but getting up and moving when you're already badly injured shockingly does not assuage any distress I'm feeling. [snapped, aggravated--he can feel his magic still moving just under the surface, wanting to get out, and it's only the sheer panic of not wanting it to show itself that's keeping him level-headed enough to keep it in check.] Now would you please lay down and rest?
Stop--[apologizing. The word strangles in his throat. Edward looks very small in that bed. Pale. Oswald swallows, and shakes his head, feeling his eyes sting, going glassy] Just...stay there. Sleep. Please. [and he's turning around and walking back towards the bathroom, trying to keep his steps more measured until he's inside. He doesn't slam the door this time; just closes it quietly.
He still feels like he wants to claw his skin off or maybe let his magic devour him because everything feels like so much and it's overwhelming and awful and Oswald just leans agains the door and lets himself sink to the floor]
[Again, Edward doesn't get out much before Oswald turns and leaves again, no real opportunity to say anything. Not that he's sure what he would've said, right now.
"Please" aside, that was as much of an order as it could be, really, and Edward really should listen to it and sleep. The problem is he's not sure he can, right now. Physically he feels a strange mix of exhausted and wide awake. He's still shaky, more so now that he'd ventured out of the bed like that.
He turns to his side - the one without the wound, obviously - and just puts his arms around himself. There's this horrible, awful feeling in his stomach. Like some horrible pit that threatens to swallow up all of his insides. He hates it.
Himself, too, right now.
He curls up just a little, arms tightening around himself. Time to just... lie there.
It probably won't be too long until he falls asleep anyway, but it feels wrong. All of this. He's just not sure why or how.]
[Edward will be asleep by the time Oswald feels stable enough to come out of the bathroom. He has his magic back under control. It's tenuous; all that emotion is still there, repressed, swimming beneath the surface--but he's holding on enough that at least he doesn't feel like he's going to slip and accidentally kill Edward or anyone else.
But then, it seems it wasn't just his magic that made him a danger to Edward. All that work to keep it under control, to contain it....what good did it do? What good would it have done? Edward might've already died, almost died, because of him, anyway. Simply because of what he is. It's neither better or worse that he wouldn't have known; either way, the result is the same: Edward dead because of him.
Oswald sits heavily on the cot near Edward's bed, staring blankly out the window.
What was the point? Why did he try so hard to control himself, control his magic, when apparently just being near him was enough to put Edward in danger? Oswald turns his face away from the window and the night sky beyond, looking down at his hands. Even know, his magic stirs just under the surface, pressing against the barrier's he's erected, trying to get out. It makes him sick.]
[Edward is, mercifully, staying asleep. There's only so much that a stubborn mind can do, fighting against the body, and he was bound to lose eventually. Exhaustion always wins, in the end.
Though it is a restless sleep. Not for a bit, but eventually, Edward starts shifting a lot in his sleep.
Whether or not it's still night or already morning when Oswald notices that is another matter. Either way, it's not ideal. If Edward keeps shifting in his sleep like that, he might aggravate his injuries.]
[Oswald notices rather quickly. It's still night, and there's barely a sliver of moon left to see by, but he can clearly hear Edward shifting. Which certainly will not help his injuries any. So he'll pull himself to his feet and move across the room to reach out and rest a hand on Edward's shoulder, gently, and see if he can at least move him onto his back. Maybe that will help?]
[It won't be too difficult to move Edward. He's still shifting a lot, though, and... now that Oswald's closer, he might notice Edward's definitely sweating.
Edward? [now he's quite worried--and he's moving to the door so he can ring for some water and cloth to try and cool down whatever is making him sweat, returning to his side almost immediately. His brow is creased in a frown, reaching out to brush some hair away from his forehead. This is...not good. How can he get him to stop moving?]
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...I'm your bodyguard. I'm supposed to protect you, if you're attacked. No matter what.
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...you didn't want me to worry. [deadpan, almost] You...you didn't want me to worry?! [escalating now, and he can feel his magic starting to buzz under his skin, restless as he gets worked up,] You almost died now and you've had worse before? Meaning you've almost died before! [his voice rises up the octave in his distress] And what if you had?! Would I ever even have known?! [and there--his voice cracks and breaks, and he can feel his magic clawing at his fingertips, starting to seep out of him, perhaps to start crawling along the floorboards---and Oswald sucks in a breath, yanking it back, burying his face in his hands and taking deep lungfuls of air, trying to calm himself, to get it back under control]
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But the rest of him stays calm, so it doesn't show, other than Edward averting his eyes briefly.]
...I don't know. That would have been up to the castle staff to inform you of, I imagine. [Out of his hands. Things are different, now. But now if anything happens to him, Oswald will know immediately.] I am sorry, your Highness. I didn't mean to cause you any distress...
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If that's case, he probably wouldn't have known.
Edward would've just disappeared with no explanation. Just stopped being in the castle one day and Oswald would've assumed he'd just quit. That he was done with his job and wanted to do something else. He can just imagine it and it's something that's so incredibly plausible and as such, also incredibly distressing. His magic wraps around his throat like a vice, wanting to crawl out from his mouth and expand outward like a scream; he feels too small for his body, like he can't contain whatever it is that's bubbling inside him, he can't--]
You would've just disappeared--[his voice, strangled still, muffled by his hands, and he can feel black spilling out onto his palms but they're pressed to his face and Oswald sucks in a breath, drawing it back inside himself, control, control, and he's shaking with it, pushing unsteadily to his feet, stumbling for the bathroom. He slams the door once he's inside leaning against it, forehead pressed against the flat planks, fingers digging into the wood--black curling at the tips and into claws, raking down and gauging lines in their wake as he sinks to the floor, trembling still]
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[But Oswald is going, he's walking, heading for the bathroom. And Edward blinks, staring at the door. He hadn't thought this would be so upsetting to him. And it shouldn't be, really. If Edward had died, then... that would have just meant he was doing his job right, but wasn't quite good enough. There would have been someone else, surely.
...He hopes, anyway.
Really, the reason doesn't matter. Right now, Oswald is upset. Very, very upset. Anything going on with Edward just seems inconsequential.
Edward takes a deep breath... and he pushes himself up. The pain is unimportant right now. He's moving slowly, at least, so he hopefully doesn't cause any damage. But he has to... he has to get to Oswald.
He manages to get his legs on the side of the bed. Now he just has to actually stand...]
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He wants to tear the room apart, release some of this emotion, get it out of his body, and he opens his mouth--before quickly snapping it shut, pressing his lips together hard. he can't let it out because it's going to destroy something, or, worse, someone. And Edward is the closest person to him and it's in bad enough shape as it is; and, it seems, the fault of that is entirely on Oswald. From the attack to his magic making his injuries worse, it turns out this isn't the first time he's nearly killed Edward simply because they happened to be near each other. Yes, he was technically a bodyguard, but Oswald's never thought of him as such. He's had no reason to. A sacrificial lamb for others, maybe, in the hopes that if his magic got out of control again, Edward would be the first in the line of fire, but Oswald had practiced having control over it for that very reason. So neither Edward nor anyone else would get hurt.
Apparently, that did nothing. And even his attempt to quell his magic, which is starting to creep across the floorboards, dragging scraping marks into the wood, was absolutely and utterly useless. Edward had gotten hurt anyway, and Oswald didn't know and wouldn't have known. He nearly died and the times before were worse and it's
devastating
He kind of wants to cry but the risk of that emotion is too high and he tries to strangle it, fingers digging deeper into the wood, breath a hiccup in his throat as he struggles for control]
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He messed up. Not just now, in that conversation. Before. When he slipped up enough to get hurt in the first place. He never should have let that dagger get him. He'd let himself get distracted and... that's his own stupid fault.
Carefully, he puts his hand against the wound in question, on his side. Making sure not to disturb it too much as he slowly makes his way to the bathroom door. He hates... moving this slowly. Like this, he's so completely and utterly useless. He can barely even make it to the door to talk to Oswald.
But he manages, just about. He won't try to open the door or anything, of course, he just stands there. He should be audible through the door, at least.]
...Your Highness?
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What are you doing?! You need to be resting, you absolute--[he cuts himself off with another snarl, already reaching for Edward, to herd him back to bed]
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I--
[That's about all he gets out before Oswald yanks the door open and reaches for him. And he blinks, surprised, confused.]
I'm sorry, your Highness, but I needed to know if you were alright--
[It's slow heading back to the bed and Edward is more than a little reluctant, really only moving because Oswald is herding him. He's far too concerned with Oswald right now to even think about rest.]
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[he shakes his head, definitely still herding Edward back to bed, mouth setting into a line] Stop thinking about your job for a moment and think about yourself!
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There's a clear lack of understanding there.]
I can't just stop thinking about you, your Highness. Especially not when I've caused you distress.
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...It seems he can't do anything right at the moment.]
I... Yes, alright, your Highness. [He gets back in bed. Slowly, of course. But he settles in so he has a clear view of Oswald.] I'm sorry.
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He still feels like he wants to claw his skin off or maybe let his magic devour him because everything feels like so much and it's overwhelming and awful and Oswald just leans agains the door and lets himself sink to the floor]
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[Again, Edward doesn't get out much before Oswald turns and leaves again, no real opportunity to say anything. Not that he's sure what he would've said, right now.
"Please" aside, that was as much of an order as it could be, really, and Edward really should listen to it and sleep. The problem is he's not sure he can, right now. Physically he feels a strange mix of exhausted and wide awake. He's still shaky, more so now that he'd ventured out of the bed like that.
He turns to his side - the one without the wound, obviously - and just puts his arms around himself. There's this horrible, awful feeling in his stomach. Like some horrible pit that threatens to swallow up all of his insides. He hates it.
Himself, too, right now.
He curls up just a little, arms tightening around himself. Time to just... lie there.
It probably won't be too long until he falls asleep anyway, but it feels wrong. All of this. He's just not sure why or how.]
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But then, it seems it wasn't just his magic that made him a danger to Edward. All that work to keep it under control, to contain it....what good did it do? What good would it have done? Edward might've already died, almost died, because of him, anyway. Simply because of what he is. It's neither better or worse that he wouldn't have known; either way, the result is the same: Edward dead because of him.
Oswald sits heavily on the cot near Edward's bed, staring blankly out the window.
What was the point? Why did he try so hard to control himself, control his magic, when apparently just being near him was enough to put Edward in danger? Oswald turns his face away from the window and the night sky beyond, looking down at his hands. Even know, his magic stirs just under the surface, pressing against the barrier's he's erected, trying to get out. It makes him sick.]
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Though it is a restless sleep. Not for a bit, but eventually, Edward starts shifting a lot in his sleep.
Whether or not it's still night or already morning when Oswald notices that is another matter. Either way, it's not ideal. If Edward keeps shifting in his sleep like that, he might aggravate his injuries.]
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...A nightmare, maybe?]
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