There's been a couple thunder storms recently so I figured why not? I'm still sad about these boys.

It's always nice when it rains; a biting cold rain that numbs his skin, not some awful muggy rain that turns the air thick and makes it so that Nine can't wear his glasses outside. But it's a cold rain and his glasses only fog for a moment before they're blurred by raindrops. He tips his head back, unfocused on his soaking clothes and dripping hair, he closes his eyes and directs all of his mental faculties to feeling the rain as it hits his skin.

That's how Twelve finds him some time later; drenched but uncaring despite the shivers wracking his body. Nine looks somewhat peaceful, Twelve can see the way his jaw is clenched to keep his teeth from clacking, and the way his hands are curled to keep from shaking.

"You'll catch a cold," Twelve calls. It's ironic really, Nine is pretty much indefinitely sick, perpetually sick, but the boy has never actually gotten a cold before. That's not what he's worried about though. No matter how much Nine likes the rain, it's not good for him.

Nine ignores him, but Twelve doesn't feel hurt by the fact. He's long since gotten used to Nine's moods, his actions, his expressions, all of it. Twelve has no issue going into the potential flood on the roof, but he slips out of his shirt so he won't have to worry about it getting soaked. He hurries further inside to grab some towels and sweatpants for the both of them, returning to the door and setting them down next to his shirt. The second he steps out, his hair becomes heavy and hangs in dark curls, clinging to his face. He begins to shiver, but continues walking until he reaches Nine.

Twelve reaches up to remove the other boy's glasses before taking his hand and slowly tugging him along back to the door. Nine comes willingly, his only resistance being the slight drag of his feet as he walks. The temperature difference between their temporary home and the outside is enough to force another shiver down Twelve's back. He picks up a towel and throws it at Nine before picking one up for himself. He dries off Nine's glasses as well but doesn't give them back, setting them aside instead.

Nine's fingers are shaking too badly to undo the buttons on his shirt so Twelve steps forward, fixing the taller with a bright smile. They strip out of the rest of their clothes and finish drying off before changing into the sweatpants Twelve had brought.

There's a stretch of heavy silence before Twelve sighs, picking up another towel as his hair hasn't quite dried yet.

"Feel better?" he asks, watching carefully for the rise and fall of Nine's chest.

"Much."

"You're still shivering."

Nine brushes off the concern. He shuffles over to the couch, stumbling slightly as he is without his glasses, and sits down in front of it, staring blankly at Twelve until he joins. Twelve sits behind him, his legs on either side of Nine's body. He's not entirely sure where the hairbrush is so he settles for running his fingers through Nine's hair, placing a towel around his shoulders so the water doesn't drip down his back.

A quiet hush falls over them, it's not strained in the slightest and Twelve finds that, for the most part, they are most comfortable in times like these. The tension seems to vanish from Nine's body and he slumps forward a little bit. Twelve closes his legs some, so his knees hold Nine's shoulders in place. Unhurried, he pats Nine's hair dry, discarding the towel when he's done.

Twelve waits, knowing it'll come soon, now that Nine has wound down enough, now that he's no longer in the rain and his brain is already kicking up to make up for lost time. He makes sure that Nine is still propped up, adjusting his legs so they support the other better, and he waits.

The breathing gives him away, the sudden spike as a rush of information floods into his head, turning on the alarms and overloading his sensors. Nine's body spasms as he tries to draw into himself, his hands shooting up to cradle his head.

"Nine, do you think you can turn around for me?" Twelve asks, his hands brushing against Nine's shoulders.

It takes a moment but Nine nods. He moves his hands from his head and plants them on the ground so he can push himself up enough to turn. Twelve waits patiently for him to finish, and when he does, Twelve cradles his head. Nine's face is scrunched up, his eyes squeezed shut as his breath stutters from his lips. He lets Nine tip forward so his head rests in Twelve's lap.

They sit in silence as Nine pulls himself together, as he systematically dismantles the alarms blaring in his head. All the while, Twelve cards his fingers through Nine's hair, sometimes brushing against his neck or his ears.

Slowly, very slowly, Nine recovers. When he looks up, his eyes are tinged red and somewhat glassy, his hair is mussed from Twelve's hands but he looks infinitely calmer.

"Better?" Twelve asks quietly.

His only response is Nine climbing up onto the couch with him, tucking himself into Twelve's side.

"You still with me?"

Nine only burrows in closer, apparently trying to siphon off Twelve's body heat. It's not really the answer he wants, nor is it the one he needs. The absolute last thing he needs is Nine disappearing into his head. It happens sometimes, Nine will utterly vanish inside himself, nearly comatose. Twelve's never been able to pull him out, unfortunately, Nine only ever returns when he wants to; sometimes hours once it was nearly an entire day.

Twelve settles his hand on Nine's head, sharply pulling his hair up. It does the trick, Nine looks up, eyes wide but not panicked as he stares up at Twelve.

"You still with me?" he repeats.

"Yes," Nine replies, taking a moment to regain control of his faculties.

"Good." Twelve smooths downs Nine's hair, returning to gently running his fingers through it.

They lapse yet again into silence; Twelve continues to pet down Nine's hair and the latter breathes deeply through his nose, trying to anchor himself further. It's only when he full body shivers that he realizes what's keeping him from relaxing completely.

"Shirt," Nine mumbles, butting gently against Twelve's hand.

He thinks he hears Twelve chuckle, but he doesn't care because he's managed to gear his thoughts towards one thing. Granted, that one thing is a shirt, but it suits his purpose just fine.

Twelve swists to kiss his forehead before standing up.

"One moment," he says over his shoulder.

Nine lets his body tip forward a slight bit, allowing his eyes to flutter shut as his head hangs. He can feel the pressure at the base of his skull, can feel it rising and pushing to get out. It's always there, waiting for when he wishes for quiet to surge up and destroy him from the inside out. It's bubbling, boiling, actively trying to kill him, and he knows it. He tries to will it down, squeeze his eyes his shut tighter as his fingers twine in his hair, yanking hard to pull himself back down.

"Hey now, that's my job," Twelve's voice chimes above him, light and dancing despite the situation.

Nine blinks to find his hands being moved from his hair to Twelve's shoulders. The other boy is wearing a sweater that is much too big for him, it's not Nine's, Twelve just has no concept of clothing sizes. He is holding one of Nine's shirts however, which he helps Nine into.

Once Nine is situated, and considerable warmer, Twelve kneels down in front of him, between his knees.

"Okay?"

Nine all but pitches forward, resting his forehead against Twelve's shoulder. It's easier to focus now, much easier.

"Okay."