Hurt/Comfort - Überdosis (fürs Team)
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120_minutenTeam: Ravenclaw
Challenge: Hurt/Comfort - Überdosis (fürs Team)
Fandom: "Harry Potter"
Pairing: Oliver Wood/Charlie Weasley
Wörter: 1458
Warnung: character death
A/N: Das alternative unnötige Ende hierzu. Es ist völlig![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nachancas Schuld.
Oliver had never been particularly close to his family. Neither did he hate them, they were good people, but good people he didn't have much in common with.
He had never thought twice about that, at least not until he'd been in Colonel Weasley's cabin for the first time. There, the walls were plastered with pictures and holographic recordings of half an army of smiling redheads and their spouses, kids and childhood friends. Oliver had filed that under 'Colonel Weasley Weirdness'.
Of course, over the following years, he had found out that the lanky guy with the glasses was called Percy and worked for the government and that the twins had been the ones to start the underground Quidditch league at this station and that the youngest of the boys, Ron, was part of an elite Auror unit. He even got to meet Ginny Weasley, an incredibly talented pilot with an infectious laugh and a fierce protective instinct.
Still, he had never quite understood the way Charlie could spend days without sleep when one of his siblings was out on a mission or the way his eyes lit up when he bought alien confectioneries to send to his parents. Or his daydreams of, one day, after the war, taking Oliver out on a trip to properly introduce him to his family as his… whatever he was.
It didn't make sense. But Bill would like him and apparently, that was important to Charlie, so Oliver just went with it and promised to go on that trip.
He had never given it much thought.
If he had, he probably would have gotten nervous about being overwhelmed by all these people. And he would have spent hours trying to figure out what to wear and how to introduce himself.
And if he had thought about it, he would never have imagined it like this.
Oliver never had liked hyperspace travel much but that had been before he'd been alone for days with a metal coffin and the meagre personal belongings of his… friend, commanding officer, lover, whatever he had been.
They had been too late. Not by much, the med bot ensured them, and Oliver resisted the urge to shoot it. In the last seven years, Charles Weasley had come a few dozen times to Oliver's rescue and he had never been too late.
He had no idea what to tell Charlie's parents.
That he was sorry?
Sorry didn't even begin to cover it.
"I am so sorry."
Bill Weasley pulled his mother towards his chest and slung his arms protectivly around her but Oliver could still hear her strangled sobs. Her husband stood next to them, back ramrod straight and tears streaming down his face.
Oliver could barely look at them and for the first time in his life he was thankful for the stiff material and sharp creases of his dress uniform because they prevented him from doing something stupid like hugging Arthur Weasley or dropping to his knees, crying, just because Molly Weasley looked so much like her son.
"So sorry..." His voice was rough, and his breath hitched on the last word, but he couldn't make himself stop talking, he needed to say something, to make this better…
Bill looked at him over his mother's shoulder and shook his head, slowly.
There was nothing Oliver could say.
He lowered his head in acknowledgement and quietly backed out of the door. He still had to bring Charlie's Quidditch gear to the storage unit he had rented until Ron could come and pick it up. And if he started crying as soon as the doors closed behind him, no one needed to know.
"Lieutenant Wood?"
Reflexively, he turned around to face Bill Weasley. Bill Weasley, Charlie's older brother, whose eyes widened just slightly when he saw Oliver's tears.
"Are you coming to the funeral?"
Oliver frantically wiped at his eyes, trying to regain his composure and the contrived aloofness which he had worked so hard on.
"I don't want to be obtrusive."
Bill just shrugged. "But do you want to be there?"
"That would be highly inappropriate."
"You know, Charlie talked a lot about you. He was really fond of the way you never put up with his bullshit. So I'll only ask one more time: Do you want to come to the funeral?"
For a second, Oliver asked himself whether Bill actually knew. But of course he didn't, no one had known, no one could have ever known. Who in their right mind would tell their brother they were sleeping with a subordinate?
But it didn't matter whether he was asking the subordinate or the… lover, the answer was the same in any case. "Of course. - Thank you."
"No, thank you, Lieutenant."
Charlie had often made jokes about his family being a handful and then some and that he had had to run away to the front lines to just get a bit of peace and quiet. Obviously, that had been one hell of an exaggeration.
Only, it kind of hadn't.
The Weasley clan was… overwhelming. Loud, affectionate, warm. Oliver was terrified.
An older lady he vaguely recognised from one of Charlie's holos hugged him tightly. She smelled of flowery perfume and baked goods and he had to fight the urge to push her away and make a run for it.
"Poor dear," she said and patted his back before releasing him and turning to one of Charlie's aunts.
"Lieutenant Wood."
"Captain Weasley." His voice came out a bit strangled, he could hardly breathe. He wanted to say something, something not stupid and, yet, the only thing he could think of was another "I'm sorry for your loss".
Ginny nodded curdly. "I think I should say the same."
"Pardon me?"
Her eyes were a lighter brown than Charlie's had been but the amused flicker that played around them for the fraction of a second was exactly the same.
"We have gone through Charlie's belongings," she said matter of factly and produced a small standard equipment recording device from a pocket in her dress. "This is for you."
He didn't understand. "Why would it--"
Without hesitation, she pressed the small device into his hand and then leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to his forehead.
Oliver, however, could only stare at the recording device in his hand. This didn't make sense. Why would… Charlie had left a message for him. A message. For him.
It took a while to maneuvre himself through the crowd of Charlie's relatives and friends, way too many people for the small living room, who hugged and patted and smiled knowingly. When he finally reached the stairs leading up to the bathroom, Oliver was out of breath and shaking, close to panicking. His fingers trembled when he flicked on the recorder.
"Lieutenant Wood, I need you to know… Know that I--" Charlie's already faint voice faded away and the rest of the recording was static noise.
"He really sucked at that sort of thing, didn't he?"
Oliver flinched and the small recorder fell from his hand with a clinking noise. Behind him, on the stairs, sat George. There was no way to deny the family resemblance. The same eyes, the same broad shoulders and even the same, lop-sided smile. And the same warm, deliberate drawl. Oliver thought he was going to be sick.
George grimaced. "Sorry. - But it was a bit of a shock, for all of us. He was always way more into his birds than into… people. Mum feels horrible about kind of throwing you out."
Since he had arrived at the Weasley's house, Oliver had felt like he was caught in a wave of red-headded hugs and expressions of sympathy and freshly baked pastries, that was trying to pull him under, to suffocate him. He couldn't catch up, catch a breath. Charlie had left him a message, had wanted him to know something, something that everybody knew but him and George sounded so much like him and he wanted to punch someone and-- he sank to his knees, gasping for breath, sobbing.
It was all too much.
He was being pulled into yet another hug and this time, he let himself sink into it and started weeping into George's shoulder. The other man only tightened his grip and buried his own face in Oliver's hair.
It was oddly comforting.
Finally, after hours or, probably, just minutes, Oliver lifted his head. "How do you do it?"
"It's not the first time."
"Exactly."
George smiled, sadly. "Well, I'm not alone. And neither are you. You are family, you know?"
Oliver thought that he didn't know anything. And that that much family was just terrifying. But it was also… nice. Somehow.
Challenge: Hurt/Comfort - Überdosis (fürs Team)
Fandom: "Harry Potter"
Pairing: Oliver Wood/Charlie Weasley
Wörter: 1458
Warnung: character death
A/N: Das alternative unnötige Ende hierzu. Es ist völlig
nachancas Schuld.Oliver had never been particularly close to his family. Neither did he hate them, they were good people, but good people he didn't have much in common with.
He had never thought twice about that, at least not until he'd been in Colonel Weasley's cabin for the first time. There, the walls were plastered with pictures and holographic recordings of half an army of smiling redheads and their spouses, kids and childhood friends. Oliver had filed that under 'Colonel Weasley Weirdness'.
Of course, over the following years, he had found out that the lanky guy with the glasses was called Percy and worked for the government and that the twins had been the ones to start the underground Quidditch league at this station and that the youngest of the boys, Ron, was part of an elite Auror unit. He even got to meet Ginny Weasley, an incredibly talented pilot with an infectious laugh and a fierce protective instinct.
Still, he had never quite understood the way Charlie could spend days without sleep when one of his siblings was out on a mission or the way his eyes lit up when he bought alien confectioneries to send to his parents. Or his daydreams of, one day, after the war, taking Oliver out on a trip to properly introduce him to his family as his… whatever he was.
It didn't make sense. But Bill would like him and apparently, that was important to Charlie, so Oliver just went with it and promised to go on that trip.
He had never given it much thought.
If he had, he probably would have gotten nervous about being overwhelmed by all these people. And he would have spent hours trying to figure out what to wear and how to introduce himself.
And if he had thought about it, he would never have imagined it like this.
Oliver never had liked hyperspace travel much but that had been before he'd been alone for days with a metal coffin and the meagre personal belongings of his… friend, commanding officer, lover, whatever he had been.
They had been too late. Not by much, the med bot ensured them, and Oliver resisted the urge to shoot it. In the last seven years, Charles Weasley had come a few dozen times to Oliver's rescue and he had never been too late.
He had no idea what to tell Charlie's parents.
That he was sorry?
Sorry didn't even begin to cover it.
"I am so sorry."
Bill Weasley pulled his mother towards his chest and slung his arms protectivly around her but Oliver could still hear her strangled sobs. Her husband stood next to them, back ramrod straight and tears streaming down his face.
Oliver could barely look at them and for the first time in his life he was thankful for the stiff material and sharp creases of his dress uniform because they prevented him from doing something stupid like hugging Arthur Weasley or dropping to his knees, crying, just because Molly Weasley looked so much like her son.
"So sorry..." His voice was rough, and his breath hitched on the last word, but he couldn't make himself stop talking, he needed to say something, to make this better…
Bill looked at him over his mother's shoulder and shook his head, slowly.
There was nothing Oliver could say.
He lowered his head in acknowledgement and quietly backed out of the door. He still had to bring Charlie's Quidditch gear to the storage unit he had rented until Ron could come and pick it up. And if he started crying as soon as the doors closed behind him, no one needed to know.
"Lieutenant Wood?"
Reflexively, he turned around to face Bill Weasley. Bill Weasley, Charlie's older brother, whose eyes widened just slightly when he saw Oliver's tears.
"Are you coming to the funeral?"
Oliver frantically wiped at his eyes, trying to regain his composure and the contrived aloofness which he had worked so hard on.
"I don't want to be obtrusive."
Bill just shrugged. "But do you want to be there?"
"That would be highly inappropriate."
"You know, Charlie talked a lot about you. He was really fond of the way you never put up with his bullshit. So I'll only ask one more time: Do you want to come to the funeral?"
For a second, Oliver asked himself whether Bill actually knew. But of course he didn't, no one had known, no one could have ever known. Who in their right mind would tell their brother they were sleeping with a subordinate?
But it didn't matter whether he was asking the subordinate or the… lover, the answer was the same in any case. "Of course. - Thank you."
"No, thank you, Lieutenant."
Charlie had often made jokes about his family being a handful and then some and that he had had to run away to the front lines to just get a bit of peace and quiet. Obviously, that had been one hell of an exaggeration.
Only, it kind of hadn't.
The Weasley clan was… overwhelming. Loud, affectionate, warm. Oliver was terrified.
An older lady he vaguely recognised from one of Charlie's holos hugged him tightly. She smelled of flowery perfume and baked goods and he had to fight the urge to push her away and make a run for it.
"Poor dear," she said and patted his back before releasing him and turning to one of Charlie's aunts.
"Lieutenant Wood."
"Captain Weasley." His voice came out a bit strangled, he could hardly breathe. He wanted to say something, something not stupid and, yet, the only thing he could think of was another "I'm sorry for your loss".
Ginny nodded curdly. "I think I should say the same."
"Pardon me?"
Her eyes were a lighter brown than Charlie's had been but the amused flicker that played around them for the fraction of a second was exactly the same.
"We have gone through Charlie's belongings," she said matter of factly and produced a small standard equipment recording device from a pocket in her dress. "This is for you."
He didn't understand. "Why would it--"
Without hesitation, she pressed the small device into his hand and then leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to his forehead.
Oliver, however, could only stare at the recording device in his hand. This didn't make sense. Why would… Charlie had left a message for him. A message. For him.
It took a while to maneuvre himself through the crowd of Charlie's relatives and friends, way too many people for the small living room, who hugged and patted and smiled knowingly. When he finally reached the stairs leading up to the bathroom, Oliver was out of breath and shaking, close to panicking. His fingers trembled when he flicked on the recorder.
"Lieutenant Wood, I need you to know… Know that I--" Charlie's already faint voice faded away and the rest of the recording was static noise.
"He really sucked at that sort of thing, didn't he?"
Oliver flinched and the small recorder fell from his hand with a clinking noise. Behind him, on the stairs, sat George. There was no way to deny the family resemblance. The same eyes, the same broad shoulders and even the same, lop-sided smile. And the same warm, deliberate drawl. Oliver thought he was going to be sick.
George grimaced. "Sorry. - But it was a bit of a shock, for all of us. He was always way more into his birds than into… people. Mum feels horrible about kind of throwing you out."
Since he had arrived at the Weasley's house, Oliver had felt like he was caught in a wave of red-headded hugs and expressions of sympathy and freshly baked pastries, that was trying to pull him under, to suffocate him. He couldn't catch up, catch a breath. Charlie had left him a message, had wanted him to know something, something that everybody knew but him and George sounded so much like him and he wanted to punch someone and-- he sank to his knees, gasping for breath, sobbing.
It was all too much.
He was being pulled into yet another hug and this time, he let himself sink into it and started weeping into George's shoulder. The other man only tightened his grip and buried his own face in Oliver's hair.
It was oddly comforting.
Finally, after hours or, probably, just minutes, Oliver lifted his head. "How do you do it?"
"It's not the first time."
"Exactly."
George smiled, sadly. "Well, I'm not alone. And neither are you. You are family, you know?"
Oliver thought that he didn't know anything. And that that much family was just terrifying. But it was also… nice. Somehow.
no subject
Date: 2016-09-16 10:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-16 11:28 am (UTC)Aber was hältst du von diesem Fix-it: Streiche in der letzten Fic das "Transport arrangiert" und mach ein "ich war schon bei der Familie" raus und dann streich hier den Sarg und das Aufnahmegerät und ta-daaah! Angstiges Familiendrama (mit irgendwie anderem Coming Out, sechster Sinn oder so) und dann am Ende die Nachricht, dass Charlie doch lebt.
So, dass ist jetzt mein Headcanon. ;)
no subject
Date: 2016-09-21 03:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-16 08:30 pm (UTC)Ich meine, es ist wundervoll, aber es ist auch furchtbar traurig. (Zum Glück gibt es auch das andere Ende ...) Und "Überdosis", das hast Du grandios umgesetzt!
no subject
Date: 2016-09-20 09:05 pm (UTC)