where the fear has gone... | Class of the Titans, Archie x Theresa

[thecrazyalaskan]

Title: where the fear has gone there will be nothing (only I will remain)
Author: TheCrazyAlaskan
Fandom / Setting: Class of the Titans
Characters / Pairings: Archie Vincent x Theresa Sheridan
Word Count: 1263
Warnings / Notes: TW: references to past child abuse; Written for Round XIII of Hurt / Comfort Bingo: Forced to Face Fear; prompt from @Whumpster-Dumpster on Tumblr
Summary: He who has overcome his fears will truly be free — Aristotle

Guess who's going through a big ass resurgence of their middle school Greek mythology phase? :P 

 

Missions had a tendency to go sideways—by now, all of them begrudgingly accepted it as part of the job—but this one had gone so breathtakingly sideways it could have qualified as a new form of geometry. The good news was that they were close to rejoining the rest of their party and getting on with it all. The bad news—

"If you think for one goddamn second that I'm going to swim across this river—" Archie crossed his arms over his chest, as if punctuating the sentence.

Theresa resisted the urge to counter by crossing her arms as well. "Well how else are we going to get across?"

Archie pointed to the thin, withered trees on the opposite bank. "We can Luke and Leia this and just swing across."

Theresa considered the trees, eyes narrowed. "They don't look like they can support either of us," she said warily, "let alone both of us."

"Let me try," he insisted, digging into shorts pockets in search of his whip.

Theresa lifted her hands, as if appealing to the gods themselves, or whatever entity hadn't forsaken her. "As you wish."

If Archie heard or was choosing to ignore the quip was unclear. His focus remained on the task at hand as he stretched momentarily before cracking the whip across the river. His expression brightened as the end of the whip wrapped around the single protruding branch—only for it to darken once more when his experimental tug broke the branch off. "Well, fuck."

"What was that about Luke and Leia?" Theresa asked, her chin in her hand, from where she'd sat on a felled log.

"You don't have to rub it in, damn…" Archie muttered, reeling in the end of his whip and disentangling the branch from it.

Theresa stood after watching him for a moment. "Can we please try things my way now?"

"I told you, I'm not swimming across—" he repeated.

"I never said we'd swim." She dropped to one knee and glanced over her shoulder at him. "C'mon, get up here."

Again, Archie crossed his arms over his chest, his posture unsure rather than defensive. "You're gonna carry me?"

Theresa shrugged. "It's not like you weigh anything."

He hated to admit that she was right, but… well. He slowly clambered onto her back, arms wrapped around her shoulders as she grabbed his thighs and hoisted him up. It was like the world's smallest elevator, giving him the same sinking feeling in his stomach—a sensation that only got worse as she moved for the riverbank.

"You've… got me right?" he mumbled, his breath warm against her ear.

"I've got you," she reassured before stepping into the river.

The water was cold, and despite only being submerged to the ankle, Theresa gasped at the shock of it. The mud and silt of the riverbed sucked at her shoes, and more than once she had to stop to get better footing to avoid losing them.

The feeling didn't improve as she waded deeper into the current, which threatened to sweep her off balance, a situation exacerbated by the way she was carrying Archie. Their center of gravity was dramatically altered, making Theresa all the more unstable, not to mention—"

"Ohmigod—!" The strong currents made water splash against them as they reached the middle of the river, and it made Archie's grip around her shoulders and neck tighten as he hid his face, almost as if he felt like not being able to see the water meant that he would be shielded from it.

All it did was press on Theresa's neck, and for a moment her breath caught in her throat. "I've got you," she rasped before trying again. "I've got you—it's gonna be okay, Archie…"

"You promise?" The words were mumbled against her shoulder blade, and if Theresa felt the heat of his tears soaking into her tank top, she didn't call attention to it.

"I promise." They were halfway across the river now, the water up to Theresa's chest—to Archie's knees, and she could feel his legs grip her tighter, like he was riding a horse.

"Please don't drop me—" he gasped against her neck.

"I'm not gonna drop you," she said, trying to keep the exasperated, impatient, choked edge out of her voice.

"Water's gonna fuck up my brace," he went on, as if he hadn't heard her.

"We'll have Mr. Hephaestus fix it," she promised, "just like he always does. I'm not gonna let anything bad happen to you, Archie."

A gnarled branch sticking up from the riverbed caught her foot as she stepped forward, and the current finally brought them down. Theresa yelped as she dropped, impossibly quickly, to one knee, the water coming up to their necks. Pain exploded in her knee as she landed—it wasn't broken, but it would certainly bruise—and her pained gasp was strangled as Archie's grip tightened even more dramatically. "We're gonna drown—"

"We're not gonna drown," Theresa said, the words coming through clenched teeth as she braced against the mud and silt riverbed and, with no small measure of effort, pushed herself back to her feet. As she rose from the frigid, murky water, the misty spray of the current and the rapidly cooling air raised goosebumps along her arms and shoulders. She moved slowly, probing as much as she dared with one foot for further tripping hazards before pushing onward. Her muscles burned from bearing Archie's weight, and her fingers were starting to tingle from keeping a tight grip on his legs.

The opposite bank was slick with mud and moss, and more than once they slid back down the embankment or Theresa fell to her knees before finally clambering onto dry ground. She released Archie, and both of them dropped wearily to the grass, the blades scratching and sticking to their wet limbs. Theresa laid face down on the ground, sprawled out like a starfish and content to appreciate her vital signs; beside her, Archie was unsnapping his ankle brace and lying back to contemplate his life as he knew it.

They laid in silence for a moment before Theresa spoke. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah sure." He wasn't looking at her, but that was hardly necessary for them to have a conversation.

"I love you," she began simply, "but you're stupid reckless and don't fear anything… so why water?"

The last time someone had asked about it, he'd soundly told the offender to get fucked six ways to Sunday; now he sighed deeply, as if he'd been expecting the question. "I used to like the water," he admitted. "You had to drag me out of the pool when they did free community swim days."

Theresa pushed herself up on her elbows to look at him. "What happened?"

He turned his gaze toward hers, his gray eyes almost melancholy. "Exactly what you expect to happen when your drunk parents leave their five year old in a bathtub."

Color rushed to Theresa's cheeks, and she had to force herself to not avert her gaze. She hadn't considered the fact that his phobia might be connected to the god awful childhood he'd hinted to her when it was just them and they were being honest with one another. "I'm sorry that happened to you, Archie—I really am."

"Whatever." His gaze turned to the overcast sky again as gray clouds that promised rain passed by.

"Do you…" She picked up a few blades of grass, then flicked them away. "Do you feel any better now that you've gone in the water like that?"

"Not really."