Bleeding Ghosts

[madimpossibledreamer]

Hope you had a great Thanksgiving, or, if you don't celebrate it, just a great day.
~Dreamer~

Main Points:
Arrow/Assassin's Creed
Summary: Ollie wakes up as someone else.
Word Count: 650
Rating: Teen

          Tommy wakes in the middle of the night, slightly confused, and it takes him one moment to realize why.
          There’s still a warm body tangled in his own.  He’s opted to use Ollie’s chest as a pillow in his sleep, their legs tangled together.  He can’t prevent a smile from crossing his face.  That’s a first since they started dating—Oliver will lie down, wait until he’s asleep or nearly there, and slip away.  He’s grown strangely fond of Tommy’s cheap couch, but then, he’d had, what, maybe five years of not sleeping in a comfortable bed?  Habits had grown hard to break.
          Oliver moans, but it’s not a good moan.  The heartbeat he can hear is fast, and he stirs restlessly.
          Tommy’s first thought is to wake Oliver up.  To calm him down from his nightmare.  Comfort him.  But Ollie had made it entirely clear what he was to do in this situation.  He rolls off his boyfriend as well as he can, disentangling himself from Queen.  It’s not quite as quick as it should be, and one of Oliver’s flailing arms catches him in the shoulder.  It’s going to bruise.
          He taps Oliver on the shoulder and pulls his hand back—not quite quickly enough.  The Assassin moves too quickly, and suddenly there are hands around his throat—not hard enough to make him pass out or even be incapable of speaking—on purpose, it turns out, because the next second he hisses in Italian, “What do you want with me, Templar?”
          “…A couple things,” Tommy manages—in English, because they’ve tested this, and yes, even Bleeding Oliver knows English, even if he’s really confused about it.  “A date, more lovely sex,” he waggles his eyebrows, “…for you to feel okay.”
          Confusion enters those beautiful eyes.  The first couple words seriously bother him—the last ones—
          The last ones he doesn’t know what to do with, which is good, because he’s not going to kill a target when he’s confused.
          “What the hell are you talking about?” the Assassin spits harshly.
          “I am not a Templar.  That’s my bastard of a father,” the fingers tighten a miniscule amount, and he’s definitely going to have a sore throat in the morning, “…and he’s disappointed I fell in love with you.  But his opinion doesn’t matter.  You matter, tesoro.”
          There’s a moment of silence, where Ollie’s face goes blank.  Then his hands drop, curled and shaking on Tommy’s chest, breath shaky.  He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, but Tommy can see the visible horror in his eyes.
          “Should I start with the Creed in Italian next time?” Tommy asks, and sees the panic grow in his boyfriend’s eyes.  This is the point where Oliver panics, tries to push him away to protect him.  It’s true he could have died.  Though he’s pretty sure the familiarity helped protect him, keeping Ollie from hurting him before he came back to himself.  “No, wait, I could sew the Assassin symbol on my pajamas.  It won’t be pretty, but—”
          Ollie manages a half-hysterical chuckle.  “You’re insane.”
          “Who else could help with your problems?” he asks amiably, yawning and getting back up onto the bed because it’s definitely getting a little chilly.  Slipping back under the covers sounds like a good idea.
          “I wish I could make you feel as safe as you make me feel.”  Oliver’s still shaking, but he’s already starting to blink slowly.
          “You do,” Tommy assures him, “…attack and all.  But we can fix it for next time.  You’re not the only soldier who’s come home and is lost in the battlefield—it’s just that most of them aren’t actually fighting a war when they get back.”  His hands manage to coax Oliver back down, rearranging a still-shaky Queen until they’re both comfortable.  A half-hearted massage at the really tense muscles of his neck gets both to relax and fall asleep.