newtralize | The End Of Love

“I was tired of fighting,” The mumble is exhausted, shaking. “I was done with it.” It’s why he thrashed, it’s why he hit and scratched and bit. He’d had no magic left, nothing that could throw something heavy. If he had—well. That certainly would have been it, but that would have been the plan without it too. He wasn’t going to let Grindelwald have any more information to ruin MACUSA, the world, and if his death was the only way to shatter the facade, so be it.

But it wasn’t. It didn’t end up that way; they figured it out. How, he doesn’t know, after all these months of overthinking everything and absurd escapes attempts. Percival takes his free hand and finally wipes the wetness from his face, laughing some faint thing as Newt tells him they’ve had worse. “They seem to have done a bang-up job, despite. Can’t hardly feel a thing.” an ache, sure, but it was ignorable with a distraction.

A distraction that Percival is still preoccupied with—trying to heal Newt from the damage he’d given him. The magic fizzles and pops from his fingertips as he presses them into Newt’s arm with a blank sort of resolve, a need to fix it no matter depletion and strain it put on him. Newt was a friend—he deserved it. And then his eyes dart up to him.

Welcome home, Percival.

Home. He was home—a place he never thought he’d return to. The exhale puffs from his chest as he blinks down and away, preventing the falling of more tears by dabbing his sleeve against his eyes. The sniff after is short, his gentle nodding hiding the tremble in his jaw and expression some. “Thank you,” He breathes. “I’m glad to be.”

"You have time to rest now," Newt says softly. Had he always been this soft spoken? "And you really will have to give your body some rest. Over exerting yourself wouldn't help you or anyone. I believe Madame President would fire you before she let you back to working anytime soon." Not really a fire, but she definitely wouldn't want to see the man back so soon after being found at the brink of death. He pulls his arm away from the other. Honestly, he had been scratched, clawed, bitten, and even hospitalized by his own creatures. There was no need for Percival to expend energy just to heal these.

How this man manages to fuss over him when they're the one hospitalized is endearing. Hilariously so. "Now stop fussing. We should all be fussing over you. I'm not the one in the hospital bed," Newt chides lightly.

He digs through his many pockets for a handkerchief. It's one that was worn, but well taken care of. "I've gotten permission to temporarily settle here for the time being. I thought, well, perhaps you'd like company while you recover. I've also done extensive physical therapy with creatures before- not that you're a creature or anything. I- Bugger, that didn't come out quite right. What I mean to say is that I'd like to help. With your recovery."

Percival attributes Newt’s softeners in speaking in two parts: firstly to the constant ringing in his ears, and secondly to the situation at hand. They’re in a hospital, and while it’s far from a library people tended to be more quiet. The chuckle he gives is a little strained, not from attitude but effort: he simply lacked the energy. “She likely already put me on leave. She knows this job is all I have.”

That’s how he managed to fuss over him. Protecting others was his livelihood, keeping people safe. The people closest to him were no less exempt from it—and maybe they wished they were, with how much extra he worries about them. But Newt was right, he needed to rest. He could, now, and what a thought that was. Maybe it was just the medication that made him amenable to it.

The blinks are lethargic as he listens to the other’s words, peering over to him when he mentions staying for company. A thought of needing to ask why he was here in America in the first place pops up in his mind but it’s buried again when Newt starts stumbling over himself. Percival smiles, the motion small still but warm and gentle—something he hasn’t worn in months. “I would like that. Your being here.”

"She values too much to replace you," Newt replies back. Percival isn't exactly from some no name lineage and no one would consider the man weak or anything because he had been captured by Grindelwald. After all, many who had faced the wizard hadn't lived to tell the tale.

Also, Newt could tell that Seraphina had a soft spot for the man. A well hidden detail, but one that Newt has picked up.

Newt looks at him before glancing away. Embarrassed. "Right. I. You should probably get more rest. You've just only woken up after all." And he imagines that Percival could do with more of it. His body had a lot of recovering to do and that wasn't going to happen unless the man rested more. "We can speak more once you've gotten more rest." He smiles as he looks back at the other. "You still look rather tired if I can be honest."

When Percival looks to Newt at his kind words, the blink he has is tired, fighting some deep dark doubt in the back of his mind. Still, he nods gingerly as a smile flinches over him. “She’s always been good like that. Since Ilvermorny.” She could be snappish, sometimes a little too sassy, but she was always thoughtful—even if not everyone sees it.

Like Newt. He wasn’t snappish but he was here, kind and thoughtful in his willingness to help despite all their years apart.

Why was it so nice to see the other so flustered? Percival can’t sort it currently though when Newt is prepping to leave he feels a familiar dread inch in from his limbs. “Could you stay?” Is the quick tumble of words as his hand reaches for the edge of the bed—for Newt. “Just until I’m asleep,” He clarifies quietly. “I know you said he was—detained, but…” The words trail as Percival scrunches his eyes closed, head shaking minutely. Grindelwald was still there, right in his mind. He knows Newt is Newt, that he’s real and technically safe, but not the silence and shadows that followed him here.

The question catches him by surprise. His eyes widen a little before they immediately soften. He doesn't judge the other nor is he surprised that the other would request company. Percival had gone through unspeakable torment and it would be foolish to think that he wouldn't have lingering trauma for it.

Newt settles back into his seat. "Of course. You needn't explain yourself. I understand. I will stay for however long you need me, so please rest. I'll be here when you awaken." And perhaps he'll linger incase the other has to be awakened. Newt was doubtful that his sleep will always be peaceful going forward.

In the time it takes Newt to agree to stay, as slight as it is, Percival already feels some degree of shame. He’s a grown man, no matter the horrendous things that happened to him, and the other had already reassured him his captor was locked away—those facts should have been enough for him. Still, they weren’t.

Yet once Newt is seated and agrees, as quickly as that negativity appeared it vanishes. There’s still an anxiety, of course, that something somehow will happen—but the thought that he won’t be alone makes it less. Percival smiles a small, exhausted thing that shakes a little at the corners of his mouth. “Thank you.”

He has no intention of sleeping well, or at all really, but once the sounds of the hospital and Newt’s breathing finally register as normal things that wouldn’t harm him or shock him awake, he drifts off. Even then he fights himself, a halting pattern of jolting himself awake a few times right before he falls asleep. Once he does let go, thoroughly exhausted, Percival dozes a solid few hours—far more than he’s used to getting.

And his body is primed for the fallout of it. It’s not used to resting so well for so long, and it tells near the end of his sleep by the way he shifts. Down the hall a heavy door slams, sending Percival into an immediate panic. He’s still drowsy, confused from the rest he’s gotten, but he still sits up in bed despite the pain shooting through him, slamming his back against the headboard as he scans the room with ragged breath. Surely Grindelwald was coming—he knew he would eventually.

Instead of leaving after Percival falls asleep, Newt just busies himself with some writing while he sat in a chair that was far from comfortable. How he misses sitting on a forest or jungle ground trying to finish a sketch of some exotic bird before it flew off. The city isn't really his thing. It never had been and it still wasn't, but he found that he'd probably be here for awhile.

He's still there when the other suddenly jolts awake. Newt goes completely still as he watches the other for a moment; not wanting to cause the other any extra distress. The Brit does speak up though, voice soft and gentle. "Percival?" Newt had always been good at making himself seem harmless and smaller than he seemed. Slightly hunched and holding himself in a way that made him seem less threatening. It worked well with creatures, so hopefully the other would also not see him as a threat.

"Percival, are you okay?"

Seconds tick away in his head and those seconds, whenever he heard a noise, were all he had to make a plan when waking from whatever rest his body could steal. Immediately his eyes are darting from the door to the windows, both on the interior and exterior walls. He doesn’t seem to notice Newt until the man speaks his name and it doesn’t matter how quietly he manages to sound, it startles Percival.

His head snaps to the other side of the bed and his eyes are nearly wild—anticipating. The entirety of his body is wound up, ready to spring in spite of the fact he doesn’t have the energy for much else. Unlike an animal in a trap however, he keeps still at the sight of Newt. Breathing is another thing, still heavy and unsure, but his eyebrows flinch at the words.

And in a few long moments Percival’s breath hitches and he shakes his head. Once. Twice. Hands that were clenched into the sheets so tightly that his knuckles paled slowly loosen, along side the rest of his body. “The noise. I thought it—” The words bob in his throat before he takes a half gasped breath, hands coming up to rub at his eyes. “Him.”

Newt is also completely still. Percival isn't a beast, but the idea is the same. Any sudden movements could startle and the last thing he wanted was to cause the other more panic than he already probably was in.

Once the other seems to acknowledge and recognize him, he holds his hands out to the other with his palms up. A gesture that shows no signs of hostility. A silent offering for the other to ground himself and to be sure that he was real. He would give the other whatever he needed to hopefully find some form of comfort.

"It was just a door," Newt explains. "Nothing to be concerned about. You're safe here." Newt offers the softest of smiles. "You aren't in danger and you aren't alone."

Dropping his hands from his eyes, now puffy and bright, he dries them with his blanket as he looks to Newt’s hands. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust the other man but something else tugs at him, gnawing at his mind and holding him back. It’s clear by the look on him, though more so by the hand he reaches out with.

When it meets Newt’s the touch is halting, as if he expected some static to jolt him, and when nothing adverse happens he tests it further, a hesitant and trembling hand feathering over before gently rest his palm over Newt’s. Touch was clearly not the problem, if the way Percival slowly clutched to the other was any indication, but the manner in which he expected it to turn.

“It doesn’t feel safe,” He mutters in reply, flexing his grip on Newt to check the reality of it. Looking up he catches Newt’s smile and immediately looks back to their hands. “That could be me, however.” Still discombobulated from captivity. Who did that, jumping from the sound of a door?

Sniffing in a breath he stops biting the inside of his lip. “Thank you. For staying.” He knows Newt promised but he's still grateful for it.

The End Of Love

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