A Strange World, and an Unlikely Friendship.

Chapter Six

 Lucien woke up what he thought was the second time that day- he was wrong of course, nearly twenty two hours had passed since he and Bowser Junior fell asleep in the castle infirmary- with his throat dry as bone and his head throbbing with the pain of having two PTSD attacks in the span of one day. He tried to sit up and yawn, but found himself trapped in the arms of a certain Darklands prince, who, true to his word, had not left him in the middle of the night to go sleep in his own bed. He tried squirming his way out of the prince's hold but found himself held tight. Junior had one arm wrapped around Lucien's left shoulder, clawed hand buried in his hair, the other was settled on the right side of Lucien's waist, just under where the scars ended. Lucien's face was tucked into the side of Junior's neck, and Lucien could feel Junior's chin on the top of his head. Thankfully the IV cord wasn't tangled up between them, and the little nubbins that had been tucked inside his nose had been taken out, something he was thankful for because those things had  felt really weird in his nose. 

Lucien slowly untangled himself from Bowser Junior's octopus-like hold, carefully he extracted his arm from Junior's head and shoulder. Then he carefully-pausing each time Junior made a sound- lifted Junior's arm from his waist, placing it in the small space in between their bodies. Every time Junior mumbled or shifted Lucien felt like his heart would burst. Lucien pushed himself up on his elbow, feeling Junior's hand slip from his hair and fall back on the bed-wincing a bit since Junior's claws may have accidentally pulled a few strands out- and fully sat up, breathing a sigh of relief when Junior didn't wake up. Lucien stretched and rubbed the sleep out of his eye, keeping his head down to avoid smelling the bleach that permeated the air and to instead smell the lavender that had rubbed onto his shirt from Bowser Junior's while they were asleep.

Now to work on getting some water in his system.

Looking around, he saw that he was in a hospital room that looked like any hospital room in the world: White walls with badly painted pictures of flowers, white tile floors sterilized with bleach, white furniture 'artfully' scattered around the room to try and fool anyone into thinking they were at home instead of a hospital, white side table with white pitcher of water and a nurse call button-

Wait!

Water

Lucien's head jerked back to the side table, his eye fixating on the porcelain pitcher filled with water. He could see barely melted ice cubes floating serenely inside.

And two plastic cups sitting right next to the pitcher.

Oh thank you Mama!

Lucien moved carefully over the the pitcher, pausing at every other movement Junior made. He stopped at the table with the pitcher, watching the small ice cubes floating around in the water, and the water peacefully sitting inside the pitcher. He moved one of the cups closer to him, gripping the handle to the pitcher trying to lift it. Due to his weakened state, the pitcher titled to one side, water running down the side and onto the table. Lucien quickly put it down, recomposing himself before trying again. This time he managed to lift it a few inches off the table before his grip started to slip again, causing more water to hit the table and drip down to the floor. He cursed under his breath and put it down.

"Need some help?" a groggy voice said from behind him, Lucien's head whipped around to stare at a tired Bowser Junior, who had been watching him the entire time. Lucien narrowed his eye at Junior, an attempt of a half hearted glare, before sighing and nodding his head.

Lucien sat back on the bed and watched as Junior moved next to him and effortlessly poured him a glass from the remaining water in the pitcher. He was jealous of the Prince for a few moments before Bowser Junior handed him the glass. He drank it greedily, almost moaning with relief when the cold liquid went down his throat. Junior chuckled silently, setting down the nearly empty pitcher and walking out of the room to grab a few towels.

When he came back the child had picked up the nearly empty pitcher and was drinking from it, soaking the top of his shirt. Junior laughed and handed him one of the towels before he started cleaning up the spilled water as good as a spoiled child of royalty would. Which meant that he kicked the ice cubes under the bed to melt and pushed around the puddles of water, completely soaking the towel and rendering it useless before most of the water could be cleaned up.

Junior heard a giggle coming from above him, he looked up from the floor to find the mystery child looking down at him, giggling a rather musical giggle.

In that moment Junior didn't care that he was being laughed at, all he knew what that he really wanted to hear that laugh again. Before his cheeks could fill with blood, he was jerked out of his sudden realization by the child's voice, it sounded a bit rough-probably from disuse- bit is was better than the dry croak he'd heard before.

"Don't you know how to mop up water?" the child said, mimicking the playful tone Junior had when he'd asked the child if he could talk.

"No I don't actually," Junior answered truthfully, sitting back on his knees and leaving the towel on the floor, "Normally the maids clean up spills."

The child didn't answer back, instead, before Junior could even protest, the child was climbing out of bed, towel in hand, tugging his IV closer so it wouldn't be irritated when he moved.

"You should be in bed!" Junior protested, trying to grab the towel out of the child's hand, the child ignored him and dodged, laying the towel on the remaining water a dabbing at it. He then swirled the towel around once, twice, thrice, before picking up the towel to reveal an almost dry floor.

"That's how you dry a floor," the child said as he leaned back against the bed frame, his tone slightly smug, a slight smile on his face that made him look quite.....lovely, in Junior's opinion.

The child glanced down, noticing the trails the melting ice cubes had left when Junior kicked them under the bed, "Did you kick the cubes under the bed?" his tone was both joking and baffled.

Now Junior blushed, "I don't clean!" he protested as the child turned from him and began picking up the ice, "Normally the maids do it and Papa gave up on me cleaning my room years ago!"

"Hand me the pitcher, please?" said the child, still under the bed and cleaning up the ice, Junior handed him the pitcher and continued talking.

"Why are you cleaning up anyway? You're the guest, the servants should be cleaning, not you."

"You've been so kind to me, i'm only trying to repay the favor," the child answered shyly, his scars getting darker with a blush.

Junior sat back and looked at the child as he continued to clean, his mind filling with questions he wanted to ask, the main one being: where did those awful scars come from?

"Can I ask you something?" Junior said, shifting his shell against a pillow that he had pulled down from the bed.

"Sure," the child said, his hand coming out from under the bed, "Pass me another towel, please?"

Junior compiled and handed him a mostly dry towel, "So, where did the scars come from?"

The child's thin form froze under the bed, Junior was about to take back his question- he had seen how rude it made him look- when the child answered, his voice quiet and firm:

"I don't want to talk anymore."

Realizing his mistake too late to fix it, Junior tried his best to try to mumble out some sort of apology, some way to tell the child he was sorry for what he had said. But the damage was done. That trust was broken. And would never be the same.