Fics like too busy saving everybody else to save yourself

“We have got to stop doing this, buddy,” a soft voice mutters from somewhere above him. Matt inhales deeply, startled into wakefulness at the unexpected presence of someone else in his space. His brain has a half second of confusion to think danger-intruder-threat before the familiar barely-there scent of cedarwood suffused with overpriced coffee and discount strawberry shampoo registers in his nose and he realises it’s Foggy. “Stop. What?” he rasps, his throat dry. Matt uses his hands to push himself up, turning first onto his side and then onto his back, until he’s leaning his weight on his elbows, and pointing his head vaguely towards where the sound of Foggy’s heartbeat is strongest. He tries his best to ignore the way the motion stokes a flare of pain throughout his body. “Stop. Y’know. This.” Matt can feel the air currents flutter against his face where Foggy is jestering back and forth between them. “You, unconscious on the floor of your apartment. Me, walking in to find you half dead. It’s not good for either of us, Matt.” “Half? I’m barely a quarter dead, I swear,” Matt quips back on instinct, because contrariness is baked into the fibre of his being even when his brain feels like sludge.

Fics like too busy saving everybody else to save yourself

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