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It’s nearly two in the morning, and Vex’halia has officially given up on any hope of sleep. Wraith possession is assuredly unpleasant, and the attack wore all of them out. But she’s too distracted to settle down. Wary, she supposes is more accurate. She can’t get Percy out of her head. More specifically, what Percy did.
She isn’t certain what to make of this new development. Especially after whatever had possessed him to very nearly murder an innocent, terrified boy. She could feel it, the moment that fucking mask slipped over his face. The anger, the hunger, and the desperation. All leeching from him in ebony tendrils stinking of an ancient, bitter hatred.
Not all his, of that she is certain. He didn’t feel like Percy in those brief, terrible moments. She can’t precisely explain it. Except that she knows, must believe, that he wasn’t all there.
Too anxious to lie still any longer, Vex pulls on her robe and slides out of bed, hissing as her bare feet make contact with the chilly stone. She wanders the hallway for a few minutes before heading to the kitchen. Perhaps a cup of tea will help to settle her.
She nearly retreats when she finds Percy hunched over the kitchen table. He hasn’t bothered to light a candle. He’s clutching a cloudy brown bottle, rolling it idly between his palms. He looks distressed, too wrapped up in his thoughts for her liking. He’s barely spoken two words to her since the incident with the Briarwoods.
But she’s not about to let him get away with his brooding. Inhaling a steadying breath, she gathers her robe tighter to her chest and steps deliberately inside the room.
She watches as he raises the bottle to his lips, taking a long, measured gulp. She quirks an eyebrow in surprise.
“May I join you?”
Percy doesn’t startle, just gives a noncommittal shrug, barely turning to glance at her. She notes the exhausted slump in his shoulders. The absurdly disheveled state of his hair. He barely looks like himself.
She slides into the chair beside him, giving Percy a calculating once over. “Couldn’t sleep, either?”
“Mm,” Percy grunts. “How’s Vax?”
It seems to be an effort to get out, a heavy slur slithering through his words. He blinks once, twice, slowly, as if waiting for her features to filter into focus.
“Whining about his doomed destiny as a monstrous blood-sucker.” She tries for a bit of levity. According to the frown creasing Percy’s brow, he either isn’t amused, or doesn’t comprehend the joke. In his current state, she’s betting on the latter.
“He’ll be fine,” she rolls her eyes. “Pike healed the worst of it.”
“Are…are you alright?” He looks at her, then, genuinely concerned. Though his glassy eyes struggle to hold her gaze. The stutter in his voice catches her off guard.
“Quite.” It comes out softer than she intends. “It was an unpleasant day, to say the least. But everyone is still here, and more-or-less intact.”
Percy hums and swallows another mouthful, belatedly wiping his lips on the back of his hand to catch the drops that dribble free. There’s a pause, an uncertain moment where his hand hovers, stifling a barely perceptible gag. Clearly not enjoying his chosen poison and yet he’s pressing forward regardless. He groans softly behind his glove, a wet, sticky noise.
“You on the other hand, I’m not so sure,” Vex frowns. “Percy, are you…drunk?”
She’s never seen him imbibe more than a few sips from the single glass of wine he typically orders when they go out to pubs. And Vex has always suspected that he only orders the glass for the guise. An attempt to blend in with the group.
“You know, when I said it would be nice to see you unwind, this isn’t precisely what I meant.” She takes the bottle from him and sniffs. The odor isn’t the least bit enticing, but she takes a tentative sip, nonetheless.
The liquor is vile and cloys uncomfortably in the back of her throat going down. “Where the hell did you find this shit?” Vex stifles a gag of her own, grimacing at the bitter foulness.
Percy points vaguely to a small cabinet nestled behind the decades-abandoned stove. “Scanlan drank some earlier. I don’t think he’s dead yet.”
“That’s a terrible endorsement,” Vex chides, handing the bottle back to him. ”I could’ve stolen you something more palatable.”
“Palatable wasn’t exactly on my list of priorities,” Percy mutters. He runs a hand through his hair, now hopelessly mussed.
“Clearly.” Vex shakes her head at him, unnerved. “What was on your list, then?”
Percy stares fixedly into the mostly empty bottle. Vex suspects he must have been nursing it for a good while before she interrupted him.
“Dreaming.” He squints, hurriedly taking another pull and choking down the repulsive mouthful.
“Dreaming?”
“I don’t want to dream, tonight,” he explains.
“Ah,” Vex’halia nods sadly. “I see.” She changes tactics. “So, what’s your plan?” Her lips quirk, a gesture of confidence in his resilience.
“What do you mean?”
“Come now, Percival. We both know you always have a plan.”
“That depends,” Percy’s voice is steady, his eyes clearing, if only for a few seconds. “If it’s the Briarwoods you’re referring to, I plan to destroy everything they’ve built on my family’s grave.” He takes another drink. “And I finally have the means to do just that.”
Vex rests her chin in her hand and studies him, “Back to Whitestone, then?”
Percy’s shoulders stiffen and he slumps over the table, as if the very thought of returning home might physically crush him. He jolts with a soft hiccup, the motion rousing him a bit. He swallows carefully, glaring at the bottle as if it’s just betrayed him.
“No other choice,” he huffs out a shaky breath laced with bitter laughter. “No choice…” He presses his lips closed against another hiccup. “If I don’t – we lose everything. Everything will be, just, gone—”
Vex’halia frowns, disturbed by his lack of coherence. He’s losing touch again. She doesn’t like what the alcohol is doing to him.
“Percy?” She reaches out to touch his shoulder. When he doesn’t respond, she glides her fingers down his arm in what she hopes is a comforting gesture. “I think it’s time we get you to bed.”
Percy’s pupils dilate in a surge of panic. Alarmed, he pulls his arm from her grasp. “No!” he growls, the protest clawing its way up around an uncooperative tongue. “Can’t sleep. Not—not right now.”
“No, darling,” Vex lowers her voice, shushing him, “not to sleep. Just to rest your eyes for a bit. We’ve all had a very long day. I’ll stay with you. Not to worry.”
“I can’t—" Percy cuts himself off with another hiccup, except this time, the expulsion rolls into a belch, surprising them both. His gloved hand immediately flies to his lips and his cheeks flush with embarrassment.
“Pardon me,” he mumbles, fingers hovering over his lips as if he might not be able to stop himself, otherwise. It takes him a moment to swallow down whatever attempts to come up. The rosy color leaches from his face, and his throat bobs in a frantic rhythm.
“Oh, dear,” Vex’halia sighs, fingers gliding in an arc down his back. “Percy, darling, you don’t look well.”
“Forgive me, I don’t feel very well”, he mumbles thickly in agreement. “I think…I do need to lie down.”
She watches as he drags his forearms across the table, bracing to rise, only managing a few unsteady inches before vertigo overwhelms his willpower and he tumbles out of the chair, fingers scrabbling along the edge of the wood for purchase.
It happens so quickly that Vex’halia can only gape at his predicament, before her reflexes finally kick in and she reaches out to steady his fall.
Despite her efforts, Percy still ends up landing on his ass in a decidedly undignified sprawl on the floor. His legs are askew, one hand still gripping the table above him at an awkward angle.
“Shit, you meant right now,” Vex smiles without missing a beat. But Percy doesn’t return the smile. He just looks confused and upset.
“Are you hurt?” She suppresses the urge to laugh and kneels down smoothly beside him.
Percy shakes his head, and even that small movement forces him to close his eyes against an apparent swell of dizziness. The tips of his ears flush red.
“Just my pride, I’m afraid.” Percy releases the table in favor of cradling his head. “—‘mm so dizzy…” he mutters.
“Rest for a moment,” Vex advises. “Take a deep breath. It will pass.”
His shoulders hitch and the lingering remnants of his composure dissolve in a particularly violent onslaught of hiccups. He cups his hand over his lips, attempting to stifle the undignified expulsions.
Vex shakes her head, fondly. Even in this compromised state, Percy is still concerned with keeping up appearances.
“It’s alright,” she soothes. “No one is here.”
“You’re here,” Percy points out with a devastated pout. But a moment later he’s lilting onto her available shoulder, cheek coming to rest just above her collarbone. A warm puff of breath sends a small shiver down the back of her neck.
“Do I count?” she smiles into his hair.
“No –” he slurs into her shoulder, yawning, then abruptly jerks his chin up at her and stammers, “Yes! I mean - of course you do, I mean…fuck – “
“Hush, darling,” Vex quirks an amused eyebrow at his distress, “before you pull something.”
Percy nearly smiles, then he suddenly goes very still, pallor turning gray as a sheen of sweat drenches every inch of exposed skin. He’s soaked in a matter of seconds. He pants through his nose and sways over his knees, throat working steadily as beads of sweat drip down his neck to collect in his eyebrows. He covers his mouth just in time to stifle the next belch behind his palm.
Vex winces, realizing what’s almost certainly about to happen. Even if Percy is doing everything within his power to deny himself the release. She places a supportive hand between his shoulders. “Let’s make you more comfortable, hm?” She begins peeling off his damp coat.
Percy complies with a disgruntled groan, mirroring her movements as she coaxes his arms out of the constricting garment. Next come the gloves. Once free, he shivers a little in his thin tunic, the garment clinging to his slick skin. She frowns at the licks of ash staining the white fabric but doesn’t say anything about it. She’d honestly prefer not to think about that right now.
Vex reaches up to remove his glasses which have been nesting in a rather precarious position on the tip of his nose. “For safe keeping,” she grins. “You can have them back when you’ve sobered up.”
Percy screws up his face like he’s about to argue, then seems to think better of it and gives a dejected nod. His hands idle down the length of his trousers to palm his knees as he rocks gently over his lap, back and forth.
Vex cups her hand over his forehead, concern creasing the corners of her mouth. His unruly silver forelock curls between her fingers, the strands limp with sweat. He swallows thickly, leaning into her touch, barely able to hold himself upright.
“Darling,” she whispers into his shoulder, breath tickling the shell of his ear, “If you need to—”
“No,” Percy cuts her off, though his voice trembles. He slurs through the words, gulping around the fullness in his throat. “I jus’ – just need to sit still for a…moment.”
“Alright,” Vex nods, leaning away from him to drag over a dusty wooden bucket. “But just in case.” She nudges the container between his sprawled legs, crouching behind him to support his near deadweight.
Percy goes rigid and shakes his head. He glares at the bucket for all of two seconds before his stomach visibly lurches and a powerful heave ripples up from deep in his belly.
Despite his desperate lunge for the bucket, Percy refuses to let go, cheeks ballooning and veins bulging as he rides out his body’s aborted attempt to purge.
When it happens again with no results, Vex decides she’s had enough of his nonsense. She scoots up closer behind him, feigning support as she wraps an arm around his waist, planting her other hand firmly against his back. The second she feels his muscles begin to contract, Vex presses on his stomach, not enough to hurt, but just enough to move things along.
The effect is immediate. She feels Percy’s body convulse as the urge overwhelms him, and suddenly everything he’s been holding onto comes spilling out in a violent torrent. He mostly makes it into the bucket.
“There you go,” Vex encourages, rubbing encouraging circles against his back.
Percy groans, eyes rolling back in his head as instinct takes over and his body forces up another gurgling retch. Foul smelling liquid gushes all over his trousers before he’s able to regain his bearings and aim the rest into the bucket.
“Fuck,” he spits, saliva and bile intermingling as they cling stubbornly to his chin.
Vex takes advantage of the reprieve to cup Percy’s cheek and wipe away the stress tears with her thumb. “You’ll be alright in a moment, darling.” Percy blinks up at her, dazed. “I’m right here for you.”
His glistening lips part again as if to respond, but all he manages is a choked whimper. His eyes glaze over, and he begins listing forward, nearly into her lap. She swiftly guides him back over the bucket just before Percy belches up another wave of his overindulgence. A miserable whine escapes him as tendrils of sick drip from his nose from the force of his retching. Percy scrambles to wipe himself clean with the back of his discarded glove.
Vex replaces the soiled glove with her handkerchief. Percy looks like he might begin crying in earnest, but he accepts the clean piece of cloth and presses it to his mouth, wiping up the worst of the mess. He shoves away from the bucket, almost toppling over in his haste to get away from the evidence of his humiliation. Vex’halia is there immediately, cushioning his uncoordinated endeavor.
“This is revolting,” he slurs, words muffled by the handkerchief. He coughs against the lingering sting of acid. “Why the hell are you still here?”
“Because you need someone to be,” she replies without hesitation.
Percy stares at his ruined trousers for a few moments before mumbling, “Is this how Keyleth feels all the time?” He stifles a residual burp with the back of his fist. “It’s bloody awful. Doesn’t help at all.”
Vex snorts, relieved that he finally appears moderately coherent. As much as she hated the whole ordeal, getting sick seemed to help clear his head a bit.
“Yes, bloody awful,” she agrees, combing his damp bangs out of his eyes. “I’m sorry, darling. But at least now I know why you only pretend to drink with us.”
Percy still looks like he wants to cry. Vex can’t remember ever seeing him so ill. His miserable expression triggers a protective ache somewhere deep in her chest.
“Please, don’ tell the others,” he begs, dabbing uselessly at the vomit drying on his pant leg.
“Never,” Vex promises, resuming the gentle massage between his shoulder blades. Then adds under her breath, “Your clothes will do all of the talking.”
Percy either ignores the comment, or more likely, is too exhausted to care.
Despite his earlier protests, the soothing motion of her fingers seem to be lulling Percy into a very sleepy state, indeed.
His forehead comes to rest just inside the crook between her shoulder and nape. He hums contentedly as Vex continues stroking up and down the length of his back. And she chooses to ignore the fact that the man currently passing out in her arms reeks to high heaven.
“Time for bed, love,” she whispers. “Let’s clean up and get some water in you, hm?”
Percy shakes his head against her neck, but makes no effort to detach himself, nor keep his eyes open.
“Stay?”
It’s the barest ghost of a breath against her skin. The final exhale before sleep overtakes conscious thought.
“Of course, Percy,” Vex answers, tenderly pressing her lips to his overheated forehead. “I won’t let you dream, tonight.”
Or any night. She will not allow him to do this alone. Whatever this may be.