Chapter Text
Wukong ran down the hill towards his friends, his brothers, Azure Lion waving at him in a greeting. He bent down, picking up a peach he dropped. He was confused, the fruit, perfectly ripe was suddenly rotten and falling apart. He dropped it with a shrug and crossed a stream.
As he joined the Pilgrims by the fire, Zhu-Beije, wearing a too-wide smile made a joke at his expense, about his lateness. He rolled his eyes at the pig, explaining why he was late, but when he mentioned Azure’s name, his friends acted like they never heard of the lion. He felt weird, almost floaty and wondered when was the last time he ate. The rumbling in his belly reminded him it’s been a while, as he waved Zhu Beije by and left to find some fruits.
“I won’t wait forever, Peach,” Macaque, who was gathering fruits as well, reminded him and left for their house.
Something was off…
His head felt weird. Must’ve been the hunger, so he left after his mate towards their house. The two shared the fruit, cuddled, tangled in blankets, but that was fine, Macaque was next to him, his body warm, and taunt and limp against the grass they were on, and the smell of blood burning in his nostrils…
He stirred, there was a red light behind him, telling him something, the buzzing in his ears…
Macaque was dead. The blood, his blood, everywhere, on the grass, on the staff…Wukong’s staff….
“Oh no, no, no no…”, He heard himself begging as he was dragged away from Mac’s body, his head in pain, something hot and painful placed on it. He reached for it….
He grunted into a pile of blankets, knocking something soft on the ground, the space turning around him, too dark and too bright at the same time.
….and he couldn’t move them, as if his limbs didn’t belong to him. The ringing in his ears got louder, the pain in his head worse, the worst pressure turned into horrible pain and he clawed at his face to remove the accursed thing, but he couldn’t reach it.
He was trapped, trapped under the mountain for his crimes and he knew what was coming next, his tormentors with his meal of molten metal. No, no, no, he couldn’t, he couldn’t eat that again. But he wasn’t asked, his mouth pulled open with cruel tools and the burning shoved down his throat, as he started choking and coughing…
…the sheets under him were wet with sweat and tears…
The smell of molten copper, fire and his boiled blood in his troath long after they left, and he coughed, and coughed…
He woke up coughing, trying to get the horrible smell out of his nose, trying to free himself. His head was pounding like it didn’t in a long time. The soft material under him clued him in taht he was in his bed, the “binds” around him just blankets he tangles himself into.
The horrible taste in his mouth…he needed water…
He kept blinking. Blinking, blinking, blinking, until the image of him started to become at least a bit clear despite the splitting headache. Everything was blurry, little spots of light dancing in front of his eyes. There was an annoying buzzing in his head, akin to the sound of TV static.
TV static if someone implanted a TV inside your head.
He lay in his bed, having tangled himself into the blankets, he was way too hot, he tried to toss them away. His stomach felt weird, and there was an awful taste in his throat-
No, nope, nope, ignoring that part!
It was almost a blessing that every movement made his headache worse, pounding, pounding. And the red light…
Right, the red light! He turned his head, as much as he could to be met by it. His stomach churned…
“Ugh,” he closed his eyes with a grunt, just a peak at the light caused a spike of pain, managed to untangle his arm, his right arm, from the blanket and swiped vaguely in the direction of the light. The sound of glass crashing, then a book landing on the floor, both too loud to his ears. He felt cold plastic under his fingers, the alarm clock, and grabbed the accursed thing, intending to toss it across the room. The plastic cracked in his grasp, and he dared look at it, forcing his heavy eyelids to open
The clock was now broken, a pile of plastic and wire in his hand. Numb, but not without strength.
Fuck…
But he assumed that whatever worked, worked. The red light was gone, that was important. He still closed his eyes, the light peaking through the window curtain too much.
His head was pounding, buzzing, pulsing, each pulse like a knife to the skull. Did he ever get a knife to the skull? His head spun just trying to remember it.
Right, brain fog. Pain, static sound, numbness, weird dreams, nausea…
Migraine.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit!
He reached for the other side of the bed, his arm numb. Did he sleep weird? The bed was empty, Mac gone. Already? But Mac would always sleep in!
The red light, the clock, what did it show? 5 PM? 6 PM? It was definitely a PM! Just thinking about that red, glowing P caused his head to spin. Again.
Afternoon. Right. He was feeling weird and hoped it would go away with a nap. So much for that…
Mac must be in the city, rehearsing a play. Or training Bai He. Or buying… something. Or… something. Figuring out which day it was was a task too hard at this point. He’ll be back.
When, though?
Fuck.
Probably too late. The headache was getting worse, pulsing like there was no tomorrow.
And the nausea…
But the headache was worse, like a ring of pain pressing in on his skull…
No, no, no…
The searing gold pressed into his skull, as he begged for mercy…
No, nope, not happening! He was getting his meds now and sleeping this off.
Opening his eyes wide and shooting up into a seating position was a remarkably stupid idea. He sent the room spinning around him, his bed swaying like a boat on an unsteady sea. Fog blurred his vision, and his mind, the pain in his head was almost unbearable, for a moment, it was the only thing that existed.
Dark dots swam in his field of vision…
Do not pass out
… more dark dots …
Don’t pass out!
What was he doing?
Right, medicine. A mix of herbs, magic and some of the strongest painkillers known to mortals.
Feet on the ground. Pushing himself off the bed and standing up felt like the hardest task in the world. Right leg. Left leg. Stepping forward. Right, left, right, left. Each step, another wave of pain in his head, but he couldn’t stop.
The door to his room was closed. He found the doorknob, opened it. Afternoon sun in the windows was torture. He hissed. Walked to the bathroom, barely able to look as the afternoon sun entered the room.
Everything was blurry. The dots of light, little sparkes of torture swimming in his field of vision, weren’t helping. He opened the bathroom door, stumbled to the sink.
Sink…sink… right, sink drawer. Left side of sink. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
Red eyes, scars across the side of his face, fur forever damaged by the furnace, the line on his throat, the circlet scar, where the pain was the worst, like there was more than the scar left…
Why were his glamorous down? He tried drawing at the magic, fixing it, at least his face, but it only made everything worse. His vision blurring further, light dots growing larger, his legs unsteady, and the pain, pain, pain…
Nope, nope, medicine, glamorous later.
Medicine.
Drawer. Open drawer. Reach inside. Bottle of tincture, crushed herbs, pills…
He could barely see the pills.
The pills…
Herbs…
What was he doing.?
Where was he? …. It was all so … blurry he couldn’t see anything.
Right. Bathroom, sink drawer, medicine. Already out.
Medicine.
Medicine.
Medicine.
Pop the pills out, one, two, three…
His throat was dry.
He needed water. Water. Glass of water.
Glass.
He reached blindly for the thing, he knocked something over. A crash. Crap, what was that?
Crap, the glass. He broke the glass.
Another was in the kitchen.
He grabbed the medicine, all in his robe pocket. He was wearing his robe? He didn’t even notice.
Walking to the kitchen. One leg in front of the other. Left, right, left right. Like walking through the fog. Evil sparkles got even worse. The pain white hot, like the sun in the windows. He closed his eyes, getting to the kitchen by memory and touch.
He was still dizzy. His head hurt even worse. His ears rang.
He bumped into a counter. Finally, the kitchen. Opening his eyes was hard, so hard…
There was too much light, blinding, stupid, afternoon light…
He found a cup, plastic, thank stars, by the stove. Plastic cup. Kitchen sink. Water.
Dizzy. He was so, so dizzy.
His hands were numb, he reached for the medicine, his ears rang and rang, his hands were numb. Something fell to the ground. It was the medicine. Shit. He bent down. The weird feeling got worse in his stomach. What was its name…
What was he doing?
Right, medicine.
He didn’t know how he managed to bend down and pick it up without falling. He needed water, and then he would drink it, and the pain would leave and he would sleep.
He had to get to the sofa. If he slept on the kitchen floor, Mac would worry.
Mac, where was Mac?
He didn’t like Mac seeing him like this. But it was unavoidable. And he needed help. He had to get to the sofa.
Eyes closed, he felt his way to the sofa. Some water spilled.
There was buzzing, static, so much in his ears… The floor moved below him moved, wavered, shifted…
Weird feeling in his stomach got stronger.
Nausea.
Worse than before
Oh no.
Oh no, no, no.
Fear pierced through the fog, and he stumbled towards the bathroom again.
Don’t puke here, don’t puke here, don’t puke here… The burning in his throat, vague memories from a nightmare became worse, the feeling of sick, his stomach doing backflips, his whole body burning, trapped, unable to move, to stop them…
The feeling of molten copper and the burning iron,
“No, no… non, …lease no…” He clung on the bathtub edge.
Bathtub…
Bathtub! He was in his bathroom, not under Five Phases Mountain. Safe, he would take his medicine and then..
And then he hurled, emptying the entire contents of his stomach, and then some, his lunch and snacks and bile leaving his body.
He was trapped, under the mountain, the awful smell of his own burned flesh in his nose, as if the taste of molten copper and burning iron mixed with blood wasn’t horrible enough.
The smell of his own stomach content hit his nose, the cold tiles under him oddly comforting… Bathroom, not mountain, bathroom, not mountain…
His throat burned and burned, and some celestial soldiers pulled at his mouth corner to force it open, another shoving more of the molten metal…
“Please, please no,” he barely uttered.
His throat burned and he felt another wave of nausea hitting. More puking.
… bathroom, not mountain, bathroom, not mountain…
He had to get water. Medicine, clean himself up. The taste of molten metal lingered in his throat…
No, no, he was in his bathroom, puked, migraine, nothing more…water…water…
…
…
His limbs were trapped, he couldn’t protect himself. They kept going, and going, until their cruelty was satisfied. The burning in his mouth and throat was almost worse than the headache. He begged, pleaded, and hated himself for it. But how could he not? He was Sun Wukong, Great Sage Equal to Heaven, he wasn’t supposed to plead, but this was too much, even for him.
Tears streamed down his face, his entire body burned, he wished for someone, anyone….
He was immobile. Helpless. Trapped.
…
His ears rang
His vision blurr…
Bathroom…floor…
…
…
A voice called his name. Mocking, taunting…
“...kong”
…
“Wu…”
…
No, not mocking…scared…
…
He opened his eyes. When did he close them? A foggy, blurry, dark silhouette was next to him, trying to shove something in his mouth…
“No m..rr…” he muttered.
“I know… …ow…”
His body shook, and he wanted to pull away, but something told him this might be safe….maybe…or not…
“...kong? Are you …wake? Can … hear me??”
“No…” he swatted at the figure, arm heavy, not moving…
His eyes felt shut again.
It was dark under the mountain, and his throat burned…
He blinked, trying to focus his vision. The dark figure crouched next to him, mixing something in the mortar. The noise annoying, made the buzzing worse…
He smelled familiar. He felt familiar. It wasn’t a celestial guard, his tormentors, it was…
“Mac…”
His vision darkened, the buzzing louder, the world swimming around him…
“...on Peach, come on! You …ve to,”
His head was gently propped up, something soft below him, a gentle hand on his cheek…
Blurry face, familiar face, dark fur, red mask, one blind eye…his Plum.
“Ungh…”
“Don’t … to speak. Just …pen yo.. mouth …. please… f… me …”
Consuming anything felt like torture, even from Plum’s hand. He shook his head. It sent the world spinning, “Nh-nn…”
“... will help, …. on, Peach,” a soft kiss on his forehead, “plea…”
He grunted.
“I know … kno… I’m sorry….”
A spoon was pushed into his mouth. Then another. He almost gagged, but it was comforting. Herbs…something sweet…peach?
“There …go. Good job…”
Something cold was pressed against his lips. A straw. Water…
The hand that propped his head helped, he swallowed…one…two…three… the burning in his throat lessened…
“See? ….etter, right? …”
Plum kept muttering something soft and comforting, but he couldn’t focus enough to hear what it was.
He was sleepy…
So sleepy…
His vision blurry. Barelly saw his Plum right in front of him…
…
…
Did he pass out? Was the pain going away?
A soft smell of wet wipes in the air, covering the stench of sick
“Ugh…”
“I know. It's ok, … will be ok, I got you,” Plum said, fingers in Wukong’s hair, “Let’s … … to bed…”
He was lifted, gently. Face against Plum’s chest. Soft, warm, familiar scent… Not burning iron, flesh, damp cave…just Mac…just his Plum.
The house was darker than before, no painful light. He closed his eyes, burying his face against’ Plum’s chest. He kept muttering, the rumble in his chest bringing comfort…
He didn’t understand what he was saying, but it was comforting. His mind kept slipping from the foggy, painful, burning semi-reality, to the (bezlično) but peaceful dreaminess, but the medicine didn’t kick in fully just yet, searing pain around his skull.
Cold air brushed against his fur. Was he naked? Did Mac take off his vomit-soaked robe?
He was laid on the soft mattress, the scent of their bedroom filling his nostrils. He let out a small grunt as his head bobbed a bit, sending spikes of pain.
“Oops, sorry, let’s get … ….ortable,” a light blanket was pulled over him, “There … go,” Plum’s hand gently moved his hair from his face. “I’m here, I ..n’t leave …”
Mattress shifted. He blinked, eyelids heavier…. the pain subsided a small bit. It brought relief. couldn’t lift his head to look at Plum properly. He curled up closer against him…
The fog in his brain grew heavier … but not bad…not now…
“You’ll be all…. …k, Peach? Just …. your ey…”
The buzzing grew weaker, Plum’s voice less discernible, and he did as told, the darkness comforting.
Plum’s weight shifted. He grasped at it.
Didn't want to be alone.
Not again.
The cave, cold, but burning, alone…
“Hey, … , I’ll stay right here,” voice, velvety darkness, said, “just …. us both comforta…”
Pressed against Plum… warm chest…touch, familiar…
“...’ll feel better … soon… …romise…”
The darkness he slipped into….comforting…he drifted off…
“I love you…Pea…”