Chapter Text
Roz’s parents were talking about sending her away.
The dark thought stayed with Harvey, as he drove around the curves of the roads through the wild woods of his town. It was awful of Harvey, to think of how lonely he would be, when she was gone as well as Sabrina.
Roz—his girlfriend, Harvey reminded himself, his girlfriend who he loved—was having a hard enough time. She’d gone blind. He refused to bother her with his stupid worries. He’d stayed with her talking about Braille and radio plays and visits until the Walkers came home and insisted Roz should go to bed and pointedly stared at Harvey. He hated to leave her, but he had to.
It was one of those nights when the dark seemed laced with frost, and there were no lights in his windows. His dad was out, then. Harvey had suspected he would be. He’d said something about men having needs this morning, the way he did sometimes, and usually after that he’d disappear and stay away for a night or two. He’d come back with considerably emptier pockets.
Harvey figured his dad was even lonelier than he was. He tried to think of it that way, and not to be disgusted by his dad. It seemed even lonelier than being by yourself, paying some poor woman who didn’t want to be with you. It was making someone else lonely too.
He climbed out of his truck, swinging his keys from his fingers, then froze. On his porch steps, in the icy darkness, there was a huddled shape. Harvey didn’t have to wonder who it was: Nick Scratch was unmistakable. But Harvey’d never seen him like this before, his usually arrogant head hanging, his back curved in an attitude that seemed almost like despair.
Harvey dropped his bag and ran to the steps, fetching up on his knees. There was only one thing he could think of that might make Nick Scratch look like that. And oh God, Harvey’d seen Sabrina just today, and he’d been awful to her, all because he was so mad she’d gone away and she didn’t care anymore. Her sweet face was hurt, and if that was the last time he would ever see her, if she was dead like Tommy--
“Nick,” demanded Harvey, urgent. “Did something happen to Sabrina?”
Nick lifted his head. There was another reason, Harvey realized, that dread had scythed through his heart as he approached Nick. The warlock’s usually sharp black eyes were totally unfocused. The air around him had the strong smoky scent of whisky, which Harvey was too familiar with: which silently whispered fear to him.
“We got expelled,” Nick said, his voice very clear and precise.
He hardly understood through his own fear.
“What?” Harvey asked. “But—but is she all right?”
“She’s with her family,” said Nick. “She always has them to go back to, I suppose. She tried going back to you first, of course.”
His mouth worked, trying to form its usual smirk, and then collapsed. Harvey’s heart was slowing from its terrified sprint, but his thoughts were beginning to whirl. Sabrina was safe, then. But Nick Scratch still looked truly awful.
They weren’t friends, he and Sabrina’s new warlock boyfriend. Nick seemed to dislike him. Harvey wasn't sure if this was because Nick was a witch and Harvey was a witch hunter, or because Nick was cool and Harvey was a loser, or some weird supernatural high school combo of the two. Harvey didn’t know what Nick was doing here.
“Do you,” he began, awkwardly. “Do you mind a lot about being expelled?”
“Dorian told me that if I drank any more I would die,” Nick said conversationally. “He said it was just a warning, and I could go right ahead, and he’d take the money for the drinks off my dead body. I… considered it. But I thought perhaps I should stop.”
“Yeah,” Harvey said, soft with horror. “Good call.”
He reached out. It was impossible to think of holding Nick Scratch’s hand, but he felt he should keep hold of him, so he got a careful grip on Nick’s wrist. Nick watched him reach out, then let Harvey grasp his wrist tight, observing with a measuring air.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” said Nick. “And you said I could come here.”
Harvey had done no such thing. But it was clear by now that Nick Scratch was out of his mind drunk, and possibly had no idea where he was, or even who Harvey was. And that didn’t matter, since the important thing was to get him up, and hydrated, and resting. It was still February, and it was freezing outside.
“I’m glad you came here,” Harvey said steadily.
“Are you?” Nick asked. “Oh. I didn’t… I didn’t think you would be.”
For a moment, Harvey thought Nick was simply falling over. Then he realized the fall was calculated, a heavy crumple aimed in Harvey’s direction. Nick landed with his forehead pressed down on Harvey’s shoulder. Harvey’s hand inscribed panic on the night air for a moment, before settling on Nick’s shoulderblade. Nick let out a long relieved breath.
“Huh,” said Harvey. “Okay. Hi.”
“Hi, mortal,” Nick said into his neck.
“Let’s try to get up, shall we!” Harvey suggested desperately. “Come inside.”
“Come in out of the cold,” Nick murmured. Harvey was pretty sure that was what he’d said. Something like that.
“Yes,” Harvey said. “Exactly right. Up we come.”
“Am I invited?”
“Yeah, you’re invited.”
Nick gave a mean little laugh. “You’ll be sorry.”
So, Nick was impossible even when he was drunk. That made sense, since alcohol didn’t tend to improve anyone’s personality. You couldn’t leave people incapacitated out in the cold no matter how annoying they were, though, so Harvey pulled Nick to his feet, arm around his shoulders, and helped him negotiate the steps to the front door.
Fortunately—or not—Harvey had extensive experience handling drunks. If he hadn’t, Nick might have walked right into the doorframe, and then right into a beam. Harvey had to pull him back from doing both. Nick stumbled into Harvey and almost fell twice. For a moment there, Harvey thought it would’ve been easier to carry him.
They fetched up against the upright beam near the door. Harvey still had his arm around Nick’s shoulders. Nick was—if it was anyone but Nick, Harvey would have described him as clinging. His hands were loosely grasping Harvey’s shirt, and whenever Harvey shifted position he made an unhappy questing sound, and moved to settle his head down on Harvey’s shoulder, or press his face against Harvey’s throat. It was a lot of physical intimacy all at once.
A cuddly drunk was better than a mean one, Harvey supposed, no matter how wild and unexpected the cuddliness. He knew how mean a mean drunk could get.
“So, I think you should have a glass of water,” Harvey suggested. “Actually, I think you should have more than one. And maybe something to eat.”
“I want lasagna,” Nick said promptly.
“Not sure I have the ingredients for lasagna,” said Harvey, then felt bad. “I could… go to the store?”
Nick’s hands went tight in his shirt, and against Harvey’s shoulder he felt Nick shake his head. It seemed Harvey wasn’t allowed go to the store.
“I want symbolic lasagna,” said Nick grouchily.
Harvey laughed. “Oh, okay. Symbolic lasagna it is, then.”
Since symbolic lasagna wouldn’t help Nick sober up, Harvey kept his arm around Nick’s shoulders and guided him to the tap, where he got Nick a glass of water. Nick made a refusing sound when Harvey tried to detach and make him take the glass.
“Drink it or I’ll be disappointed in you,” he said sternly, forcing the glass into Nick’s hands.
Nick made a face, but when Harvey allowed Nick to keep a firm grip on his sleeve Nick drank obediently enough, tipping the glass back. Some of the water spilled down Nick’s chin, gleaming silver in the dark of the kitchen, but Nick was clearly trying. Nick was in a bad way.
Harvey felt sorry enough for him that he let Nick cuddle back up willingly enough, putting an arm around his shoulders again. After all, Nick was having a tough time with being expelled, and with standing.
As though sensing the new give in Harvey’s body as he accepted the cuddling was gonna keep happening, Nick made a pleased, interested sound and began to nose along the skin above Harvey’s shirt collar.
Okay, cuddly drunk, cool it!
“You need to go to bed,” Harvey said, in a firm and calm way.
“Come with me,” Nick mumbled against his throat.
“Obviously I have to?” Harvey pointed out. “You can barely walk.”
If he wasn’t a witch, Harvey would’ve thought about taking him to the hospital to get his stomach pumped. But witches didn’t do hospitals, Sabrina had said. She’d been born in the woods, which seemed a safety hazard.
While Harvey was fretting about witches and their unsanitary lifestyles, he forgot to mind the warlock currently in his charge as closely as he should have, and Nick hit the side of his head against the doorframe pretty hard.
“Oh no,” said Harvey. “Wow, I’m sorry. Are you OK?”
He brought Nick to the bed in a stumbling rush, got him sitting down on the bed and watched anxiously as Nick hunched over for a second, then realized with dawning outrage that Nick wasn’t in terrible pain but laughing softly.
“You’re so weird,” Nick told him, breathless. “I’d forgotten.”
“Excuse me for being concerned you have head trauma,” Harvey said indignantly.
He was kneeling on the carpet looking up at Nick’s face, but since Nick was laughing at him, he wasn’t going to try and check Nick’s head. As soon as he had that vengeful thought, he regretted it: you couldn’t let people suffer just because they were mocking and cruel. So he checked Nick’s head after all, fingers very light in Nick’s curly hair. There was a bump but it wouldn’t be like, a goose egg. Sparrow egg at worst.
When he drew his hand back, he found Nick looking at him in a strange way. His face was difficult to read, but his focus was intent.
“I miss you,” Nick whispered.
“Um,” said Harvey.
It was becoming terrifyingly clear that Nick was actually hung up on the mortal guy whose house he’d misidentified as Harvey’s due to extreme drunkenness. Harvey didn’t know what to do about that at all. He didn’t get witches or the way they did stuff. Since when was Nick Scratch into guys? He seemed so into Sabrina. Wouldn’t this make Sabrina mad? Or would it be okay with her, since she was a cool weird witch and Harvey didn’t know that side of her or her life full of weirdness? Would all the weirdness be okay with this mortal guy? Maybe not. It didn’t seem like things were going that well with the mortal guy.
“Not sure why,” Nick added, closing his eyes. “You are so stupid.”
“Oh, wow, that’s nice!” Harvey exclaimed.
That was so romantic, he did not think!
He was pretty sure he knew why Nick wasn’t getting anywhere with this guy. He now wondered how Nick had got somewhere with Sabrina: he’d been presuming Nick was actually very charming around people he liked, but maybe not!
Harvey felt sorry for the unknown mortal, and for Nick, and for Sabrina. Only Nick was here right now, though, and he needed help.
“Nick,” Harvey said, trying to be gentle. “You should lie down. You’ll feel better if you get some sleep.”
“Will I?” said Nick. “I guess so. You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”
“No,” said Harvey. “I wouldn’t.”
He eased Nick back onto the pillows, then tried to gently extricate his shirt from Nick’s grasp. This proved impossible. Harvey tugged as hard on the shirt as he could. Nick held fast.
“I won’t let you go,” said Nick, stubbornly. “I’m sick of letting you go.”
“This is ridiculous,” said Harvey.
"Your face is ridiculous," snapped Nick.
He couldn't believe his night was turning into forcible cuddles and insults. Witches were the worst. He'd been planning on--staring sadly into space, unable to stop thinking of all the people he'd lost and those he couldn't help.
Okay, those hadn't been great plans. He still hadn't wanted it to abruptly turn drunk warlock o'clock. Harvey opened his mouth to try and explain about the mistaken identity, and why cuddle time must end.