Scene from a really amazing birthday fic @fortheloveofreya wrote for me back in February. Said fic i

Scene from a really amazing birthday fic @fortheloveofreya wrote for me back in February. Said fic is under the read more for those who are interested in checking it out for themselves (Which I highly recommend)Warning: Some mention of suicidal/depressive thoughts Cursed. That was what he must be. Ever since he was a child, Sylvain was cursed. All because he was born with a Crest and whatever hellish powers came with it. He thought they’d vanished long ago, before he’d even attended Garreg Mach. Back when he was a child, they’d manifested nearly every day, warping his body and shooting him up in size at the slightest change in emotion, the slightest danger for his life. Was it his Crest’s way of protecting him? Of punishing him? He’d never know. As kids, it had been a sort of toy to his friends. Felix was always excited to play “horsie” and latch onto his back, yelling in delight at his movements to pull the other boy off. Ingrid had seen him as a sort of challenge, taking it upon herself to beat him in tag. And Dimitri…Dimitri had always seemed worried about his size-shifting power. After the events of Duscur, he’d been so withdrawn, so scared of every little thing, and so worried about losing his friends. Whenever Sylvain grew, Dimitri backed off, as if afraid that touching him would break him into pieces. He had the vaguest memories of holding Dimitri during one session, when Felix had been called home by Rodrigue and Ingrid was being kept inside for proper schooling (which, he learned when he was older, meant training her to be a good wife). It had been just him and Dimitri that day, the poor traumatized prince wanting only to draw in the dirt. Sylvain had sat next to him, holding a stick and scratching crude pictures of a horse into the soil. He’d cast a glance at Dimitri, at his drawing, at the lines resembling flames and the dead people on the ground. He’d seen the tears forming in Dimitri’s eyes as he began to shiver, his fist clenching so tightly that the stick snapped into pieces and sent splinters into his palm. And when the poor prince had cried out his heart, Sylvain had been there for him, the desire to comfort his friend shooting him up in height so swiftly that neither of them had time to react. He’d reached out to place a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder and suddenly found himself cupping his entire body–and before he could pull back, the prince was sobbing into his palm. Sylvain had held still, scared of crushing or hurting Dimitri, but as his tears worsened he couldn’t help himself from reaching out with both hands, gingerly picking his friend up and holding him to his chest. His mother did the same to him when he cried–perhaps it would work on Dimitri. Whether it did or not, he couldn’t remember. And it wasn’t like it mattered now. Once he’d hit puberty, the growing fits had stopped. He’d finally been normal, normal enough to flirt with girls, to walk safely within the crowd, and leave his damn estate. Sylvain remembered that day as nothing but relief. Finally his curse was gone, and he was free to exist as a human being and not a monster anymore. Until today, when that ugly curse they called a Crest reared its head and sank its fangs back into him. Four years ago Garreg Mach had fallen. Four years ago the war had started, and for those four years he had fought with all he had for the Kingdom. Four years of life or death situations and he hadn’t had a single fit. When they’d found that Dimitri was still alive he hadn’t had a fit. The relief, the joy, and the sudden sadness all flooded him at once, giving him a rollercoaster of emotions which still didn’t induce a slight change in his height. It must be over, permanently, he’d thought foolishly. Until now, after the battle of Gronder Field.  “I’m guessing you’re here because you heard,” Felix says as he approaches the infirmary. His demeanour and attitude are, as always, cold, but today even Felix seems a bit shaken as he stands by the door. “The boar’s inside, but they’re not…positive, about his recovery.”Sylvain clenched a fist and said nothing, pausing by Felix and looking into the crammed infirmary. Soldiers of all sorts were being treated for their wounds, but somewhere within was Dimitri, likely passed out and verging on death from all of his wounds. If only he hadn’t been forced to flee after that arrow lodged into his armor, perhaps he could’ve protected Dimitri, convinced him not recklessly run after the Emperor and get impaled on a spear. From what he’d heard, the professor had been the sole reason for his survival–their quick thinking and powerful healing magic resulted in only two spears finding their way into his body. Even so, it wasn’t enough to permanently undo the damage. And now, here they were, hoping and praying that their king would recover, else they’d have only the professor to rally under, and the Blaidydd bloodline would end. His childhood friend, his present day crush, would be gone, stolen in the blink of an eye, all because he hadn’t done anything. “Hey.” Felix placed a hand on his shoulder, his stern eyes meeting Sylvain’s own. Usually, he only did this when he was yelling at him and forcing him to pay attention. But now, something softer was in those dark eyes. “It’s upsetting what the boar–Dimitri–did, but there’s no use in snapping at him over it, or at yourself. You couldn’t wield with an arrow in your arm, so don’t go in there and declare that you’re the cause of this.”Sylvain blinked, a smile pulling the corners of his lips up in his natural defense mechanism. How the hell Felix had zoned in immediately on his insecurity, he couldn’t know, but the threat was there suddenly, and he couldn’t let it stand. “Aw, you’re comforting me for once? Where was this Felix when I got dumped by that dancer last week?” He teased, and Felix shoved him. “Are you really going to joke–ugh, nevermind. Forget I said anything,” his old friend snapped, and returned to guarding the infirmary. His hand rested just upon his sword hilt, despite them both knowing there would likely be no threats from the Empire while both sides licked their wounds. Sylvain kept his smile up. “Relax Felix, I’m just joking. Thanks for being so considerate.” He winked and Felix almost rolled his eyes. “You never change,” he muttered, and that was that. When Sylvain entered the infirmary, he was immediately seized upon by a cleric who assumed he was another injured soldier returning from battle. If he wasn’t so convicted to find Dimitri, he might’ve stopped to flirt with her as she insisted upon removing his armor and looking him over for wounds. Instead, he asked her for the location of the king, explaining he was fine and that his shoulder wound was already bound and healing. He found Dimitri in the very back to the infirmary, perhaps the first who had been treated. He had been placed in a room aside from the busy infirmary and stripped to nothing but his boxers–for nearly every other inch of him was covered in bandages. Sylvain could see bandages on his legs, arms, and, the most concerning of all, his midsection. While most of the other bandages were clean, the ones on his midsection were rusty, and when he glanced at the wastebasket in the corner, he saw it was full of similar looking bindings. Two clerics were attending to Dimitri, both of them bearing blood-spattered dresses and gloves. Fresh bandages were just off to their sides on carts bearing all sorts of medical supplies. In addition to it all they were working healing magic when Sylvain stepped in, and only one bothered to even cast him a glance. He waited until they finished before asking if he could spend time with Dimitri–not that he would request any of them leave. That would be as well as impaling Dimitri a third time. They nodded and stepped back, moving to wash their hands and maintain their medical gear as he stood beside the bed of the fallen king. Even though he had teased Felix for saying it, he couldn’t help but feel like this was partially his fault. He had retreated when he could’ve fought, could’ve stayed back and blocked Dimitri’s path, or cried out to force logic back into his brain. Maybe he could’ve stopped a lance from impaling him, or served as a shield…wouldn’t it be better for him to fall anyways? He was cursed and useless, couldn’t even keep his friends safe in this war, and when it came down to any form of seriousness he immediately felt he had to lighten the mood…The thought almost made him laugh aloud at himself: here he was, the skirt chaser who never had anything good to say and was always so light-hearted, thinking about such depressing topics and feeling so poorly about himself that potential suicide almost felt better than living. Enough. He should do what he came here to do, regardless of if the clerics could hear him, regardless of if Dimitri was asleep. “Hey, Dimi,” he said to the king’s sleeping form, leaning over a little to get a better look at his face. “I just wanted you to know…I’m sorry. I…” God, what else could he say? That it was his fault? That he’d get revenge for Dimitri? That he’d keep him safe? Deep down, he wanted nothing more than to do just that, and yet he knew his promises would be empty, because who was he to stop Dimitri when the king could snap him like a twig? What would he do, stand up and get batted aside like a fly?He was so useless when it came down to it. Useless to his friends, useless to his cause, useless to his family, useless to–A sudden pain in his head made him flinch. It felt like something had just smacked against the inside of his skull. He rubbed the afflicted spot with one hand and balanced himself on Dimitri’s bed with the other. “Ow…what in the–”He felt a sudden surge from within and realized with horror that he recognized this feeling. This very feeling which should have died years ago. Sylvain didn’t even have time to tell the clerics to run before his height shot up, his head painfully banging against the ceiling. He hissed and ducked, placing a hand on top of it protectively as his gaze fell upon the clerics staring up at him with fear in their eyes. It was a fearful gaze he knew all too well. “Don’t just stand there!” He yelled, immediately regretting it as their cringed back. “Grab Dimitri and run! I don’t want to hurt any of you!”But his Crest had other plans. Another surge ran through him, and Sylvain shot up so fast that had the ceiling not been recently reinforced he would’ve broken through it. Instead, he yelped and lost his balance, catching himself on his hands just before he would’ve hit the clerics. One of them screamed and ran, likely going for the knights. The other stared at him, fear and fascination in her eyes, before looking to Dimitri. Sylvain had fallen just over top of him, forming an arc over his bed. If she had wanted to take her patient, she wasn’t given the chance. Sylvain cringed as the feeling rose within him again, trying his best to repress it, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to focus on an energy that was barely even his. When he opened his eyes, he saw his efforts were futile–and the cleric was gone. He took up the entire room, his bent legs pressing against one side and his head the other. Looking beneath him, he could see Dimitri still passed out–and how his chest alone was wider than the king’s entire body. It was only a few feet from him as well–if Sylvain grew again, it was possible he could crush his friend. He clenched his teeth and tried to suppress tears. Why, dammit!? He’d thought that this damn curse was through! That he was finally human, an actual human, who didn’t grow to giant sizes and didn’t crush their friends and didn’t scare off innocent clerics from their jobs!The sound of voices nearby alerted him to his newfound audience–of course everyone in the infirmary wanted to see the freak, hunched over the king like some kind of guard dog. All the eyes he already felt on him made him avert his gaze and focus on the ground as his jaw began to tremble. It went on like this for who knew how long, but eventually he heard a familiar voice–Felix’s–and the door slamming shut. Had his friend come through for him? Or had they just decided to lock him in? Perhaps they were preparing a special unit to extricate him from Dimitri, or maybe they were bracing to…to kill him. He swallowed hard, trying to look on some kind of bright side, if it even existed. He hadn’t crushed Dimitri, and now they were alone together. Maybe if he shifted enough, he could change his position slightly…Slowly Sylvain began to sidle back, shifting ever so slightly so he could fit his bulk elsewhere in the room, but it became obvious quite soon that the position he had held before was perhaps the best he could manage. He had to be at least thirty feet tall, perhaps forty, and his body did not want to fit in this tiny room, which was more like a repurposed office. He groaned as he tried to return to the position he’d held before, arms already beginning to ache from how much he was leaning on them. His chest brushed against Dimitri as he leaned over him again and Sylvain froze, terrified that he’d knock the king over or crush him. For a few moments it was completely silent and still in the room before he heard Dimitri let out a soft groan. Beneath him, the small weight of his friend began to move, one arm rising to grab the fabric of Sylvain’s shirt and attempt to pull it a little closer. Sylvain didn’t dare move, but he couldn’t resist Dimitri’s strength even at this size. His body lowered a bit more, heart leaping in his chest as he felt Dimitri’s body beneath it. But there was no cracking, no screaming or crushing. Instead, all he heard was a soft hum, and all he felt were gentle movements against him, as if Dimitri was trying to unconsciously snuggle into him. The realization that yes, that was exactly what Dimitri was trying to do, made him blush a little. He became aware of his own heartbeat, fast paced since he had grown, pounding away right above his friend’s body. It sounded a little absurd to him, but was Dimitri taking a bit of comfort in this? Just like when we were kids, he thought, remembering the time he had held Dimitri to his chest after Duscur. Something about the action, perhaps the warmth, perhaps the promise of life beneath him, had already seemed to calm the prince, and even now, it was still inducing the same effect. Sylvain almost smiled at that. He might be cursed, but even that curse had been made into a bit of a blessing, small as it was. Beneath him Dimitri was sleeping peacefully, soothed by the beat of his heart and the heat of his body, and even though Sylvain was crammed rather frustratingly into this room, that knowledge made this experience just a bit more tolerable. Of course, he’d have to deal with some rather irritated knights and clerics when he turned back, but until then…Sylvain let himself enjoy the moment, short as it would be.  -- source link

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