But Everything Hurts
by K. Stonham
first released 25th November, 2021
"But everything hurts!" Douxie protested as he was helped up from the ground.
Given that he by all rights should be dead, though, he decided that a few aches and pains were a worthwhile price to pay as he ambled over to the others, supported mostly by Steve, figuring out as he went exactly where he hurt the most, and how to avoid it. By the time he'd been caught up, and both Toby and Jim had failed to pull the sword out of the stone, he was standing on his own, only limping a little.
It ached as he hauled himself and Archie aboard the airship, but he figured a good night's sleep would take care of things. New York City was about as far as he could get from Arcadia Oaks, and with all the urbanity of the city, a far cry from it culturally as well. There were tons of magic users there, to muddy the trail, and he knew one or two he thought might let him and Nari crash with them for a few nights, until they could get their feet under themselves.
Except the next morning he woke on a guest bed, curled around Archie and Nari, his body between theirs and the window, and the ache hadn't gone away. If anything, it was worse.
Okay, more than a day to recover, then.
He shoved it down and set to seeking employment and a place for them to sub-sub-sublet. The pain didn't dull, every joint aching like fire, but as long as he kept moving, kept busy, he could mostly ignore it.
It was nights that were the worst, or any time he sat down with his small, strange family and just tried to relax for an hour or two.
It was doable. He could survive this. It was just a little pain.
Then summer turned to autumn, and autumn to winter, and the cold seeped in. It got worse, harder to push through. But he gritted his teeth and persevered.
When he woke crying, though, every joint in his body white-hot with pain like there were knives shoved in them, Douxie finally admitted that something was wrong.
He tried to master the pain, to just shove it down the way he had so often before, and... couldn't. He could move, he knew he could, but he just... couldn't. It was like his body was failing him, the strength in his limbs deserting him.
Foul betrayer, he managed to think.
"Douxie," Archie said, stretching next to him on the bed. "It's time to get up."
"Arch, I... I can't." White cold blossomed in his chest, the panic and fear a dire companion to the icy pain spread through the rest of him.
"Whatever do you mean?"
Douxie managed to turn his face to his familiar, tears on his cheeks. "Arch," he whispered, "something's wrong."
When Archie and Nari managed to drag the admission out of him that the pain had been going on for months, and that he hadn't told them because he hadn't wanted to worry them, had been sure that the pain would pass, that it was all only temporary...
Well, Douxie had never seen a greater look of betrayal on his own familiar's face. It was gone in a flash, but the guilt it left him with was crippling, even worse than the pain. Because Archie was right, he should have told him. His own familiar. His bondmate.
"Arch, I'm sorry," he said, almost hiccuping with tears as he managed to reach for the dragon. "Please, I'm sorry, I won't do it again-"
"Oh, all right, I forgive you," Archie said testily, allowing himself to be gathered close. "If only because you're in enough pain that your rationality is slipping." And Archie was warm, and soft, but just holding him hurt.
"You are like a flower," Nari said, glowing hands hovering over Douxie, her green magic sprinkling down on him like pixie dust. "You wilt in winter. It is not good for you. We should go somewhere warm."
The idea of warmth, real heat, sounded wonderful. But how to get from here to there, from New York to Florida, escaped Douxie. Trying to think of a plan was like white static.
"Oh, Douxie," Nari said softly. "You are in such pain."
He coughed. "Don't suppose I can blame this on the Order?" he asked, trying (weakly) to make a joke.
Nari sat back on her heels, expression considering. "In a way," she finally said. "They were responsible for your death, and it is your death that is responsible for the pain."
"What?" Archie asked, sounding as surprised as Douxie felt.
She conjured the image of a branching plant. "Life is like a plant," she said, and reached out and snapped off an illusory branch. "If left alone long enough, this would truly die," she said, showing it to them. "But with care..." She placed it back against the plant and circled it with green magic. "It may return to life." The branch strengthened, grew a little, threw a few flowers. "However, there is a scar," she said, showing the two of them where the branch joined the main trunk.
Douxie and Archie looked at one another, then back at Nari. "The pain is the scar?" asked Archie.
"Yes," said Nari brightly, nodding.
Douxie's heart sank into his feet. The thought of a lifetime of pain, of a lifetime of this, suddenly stretched out before him, terrifying. And it would be a very, very long life indeed. "Then... it'll never go away, will it?"
Nari shook her head. "I am sorry, but no. However," she said thoughtfully, "there may be ways for it to be... managed."
"Painkillers," Archie said instantly.
Douxie shook his head, and regretted it. "I've already been taking them. The over the counter stuff barely takes the edge off. And anything stronger needs a prescription." Which meant a doctor, which meant health insurance, which he didn't have because he was a part-timer because America was fucked up and spread its legs to capitalism when it came to the well-being of its people.
"I have some contacts," Archie said thoughtfully.
"And I am not taking anything back alley," Douxie said with a glare. "You do remember the seventies, right?"
Archie looked abashed.
"The seventies?" Nari asked.
Archie coughed. "We learned the effect of the ingestion of certain chemicals on wizards. And dragons," he muttered.
"Very colorful," Douxie supplied from where he lay on the bed. "Very fun. But I think all of New York City would notice the effects of a master wizard being high out of his mind, and that kind of thing is exactly what we want to avoid while we're hiding from the Arcane Order."
Stymied, the three of them sat there for several minutes. Until Douxie's phone buzzed with the first of the day's messages from the Guardians of Arcadia group chat. "Someone's up early," Archie muttered. Then he paused. "Douxie..."
"No," Douxie told him.
"You don't even know what I was going to say," Archie protested.
"You're going to suggest telling them, and, no, Archie. They're teenagers. They deserve the chance to remember that for the first time in a while. I'm not dumping my problems on them."
"If we don't find a solution, it's going to become their problem as well," Archie pointed out. "But in any case, what I was thinking was, Jim mentioned that his mother is a doctor. Who is well aware of the magical world. We could arrange a phone consultation with her."
Douxie blinked. And remembered the red-haired woman he'd served at the cafe any number of times. She had frequently been wearing scrubs, he supposed. And he knew full well that she was aware of the trolls and changelings, given she'd come in with them a time or three. "Maybe...?" he said. It was worth a shot, anyway.
The phone consult didn't come until mid-afternoon, East Coast time, by which point Douxie had been propped up in bed, every single pillow they owned stuffed behind his back, and been made oatmeal (by Archie) and tea (by Nari). His hands were shaking so badly he'd needed to be spoonfed, and he felt vaguely betrayed that Archie had taught Nari how to make airplane noises with the spoon. The mug of tea he didn't dare lift for fear of the liquid splashing all over the bed, but the burning heat of the ceramic made his hands feel slightly better.
"Hello, Douxie, was it?"
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you for talking with me."
A laugh. "Any friend of Jim's. Now, what seems to be the problem?"
Douxie sighed and closed his eyes so he didn't have to look at Archie and Nari. If he didn't see them, he could pretend they weren't there, that it was just himself and voice of the doctor on the phone. As best he could, without bringing magic into it, because that, at least, seemed entirely disconnected from the pain, he went through his symptoms, how long he'd had them, how intense they were.
Doctor Lake hummed, then described a one to ten pain chart to him, and asked him to re-evaluate his pain levels based on it.
Flushing, feeling humiliated, Douxie had to go up a couple numbers.
She sighed over the line. "Based on what you've said, I'd diagnose likely chronic pain," the doctor said. "I can write you a prescription-"
"I can't afford it," Douxie said, even more miserable now. His relative poverty had never bothered him much; he was able to keep himself, Archie, and Nari fed, clothed, and warm, which was all he had ever needed. But prescription medications were out of his reach.
She sighed. "Then I don't know how to help you."
"Are there any alternative medicines?" Archie asked. Douxie opened his eyes. His familiar was standing right by the cellphone, intent on it.
Doctor Lake hesitated. "There's anecdotal evidence that urtication-the application of stinging nettles-might offer some relief. And there's some research indicating that cannabinoids might also have a beneficial effect, of course, but those are even more expensive than most prescriptions."
"I can grow those," Nari said with determination. She looked up, met Douxie's eyes. "It is the least I can do in return for your kindness, Douxie."
"Nari, no-"
"Let me do this," she said, as implacable as the tide. She looked back down at the black rectangle of his phone. "Thank you, Doctor Lake, for your help."
"You're welcome," the doctor replied. "I just wish I could help more."
"Don't tell Jim," Douxie begged. He didn't know the Trollhunter well, but he respected him, and didn't want him or his friends to view himself with pity, of all things.
Doctor Lake laughed. "Don't worry," she said. "I take HIPAA very seriously. And feel free to call me again if you need anything. And I do mean anything."
"Yes, Doctor," Douxie said, and ended the call.
"I will need seeds," Nari said to Archie.
The dragon hummed thoughtfully. "I know of a few places to ask," he said after a moment.
And exhausted by the weight of the conversation, of the pain, of all the things he was trying not to feel, Douxie closed his eyes and tuned them out.
Eventually, he fell asleep.
By the time he awoke, it was another day, and a dragon and a goddess were snuggled up next to Douxie on the mattress.
He flexed his hand experimentally. It still hurt, of course, but the knives of the day before had been withdrawn. The apartment felt warmer than usual, he noticed, and that brought thoughts of the heating bill.
But he was just so tired of being tired and in pain, so he decided to let it be, just for today.
He slid out from the bed without waking the other two and made a careful way to the postage-stamp bathroom. The tap spluttered and spat and ran cold, but at least the water wasn't rusty. The cold water stung as Douxie splashed it on his face and used it to brush the previous day off his teeth. The age-spotted mirror over the sink was useless for anything but making funny faces in, so he couldn't tell if he looked as bad as he felt.
Going back into the one room of their shoebox studio apartment, he filled the kettle in the kitchenette and set it on the stove. While he waited for it to heat, he realized the lush garden that filled nearly half the apartment had changed overnight.
All of the old plants were still there, but smaller and crammed together into fewer containers. The remaining pots, positioned near the windows to catch the best of the thin winter sunlight, were filled with lush new growth.
Stinging nettle.
And marijuana.
Douxie blinked.
"I'm sure that's not legal here," he said, and made a note to look it up. Because if it worked, he would bless Nari and all her works, but he remembered all too well that it was a remarkably stinky plant, and that its scent clung to everything it touched. The last thing they needed was to get raided by the DEA.
Ignoring the plants for the time being, he made himself tea, black and strong, and toast with strawberry jam, an indulgence. And used the quiet time to look up the questions of legality, and application of plants.
Gloves, he concluded. He'd need to pick up a pair of dishwashing gloves at the dollar store, and some snap-shut boxes to minimize the smell of things as best he could. He knew a spell or two that he thought he could adapt to dehydration purposes, which would limit the scent a good deal more than using the oven might.
...If the plants even worked on the pain.
Well, there was no time like the present, he thought, and set his mug down on the counter, crossing the room and lowering himself down by the nettles. He reached out a hand to the toothy leaves, and braced himself.
He'd always hated nettlebite, no matter how tasty the cooked greens were. But there was already enough pain that the sting was less of an outlier than usual. And the heat left behind, he concluded, felt nice in its own way, though it was definitely the heat of a fever, not the heat of a Southern California summer.
(He missed California. He missed his band, and his other friends, and the Guardians of Arcadia. He wanted to go home-)
But if wishes were horses, beggars would ride, and Douxie had a shift to be getting ready for. He'd just have to hope the pain was manageable today, and keep taking notes on which hand felt better through the day: the untouched one, or the one he'd thrust into a bunch of nettle?
Within a few weeks, he'd almost gotten used to the new normal. Drink some tea in the morning, and sprinkle some cannabis oil onto scrambled eggs or whatever he was having for breakfast. He was getting used to the taste, only a little muskier than oregano. Have a little bit more on his evening meal. It did help dull the pain, walled it off - he could tell it was still there, but it didn't rule him. Archie said he was a bit less manic than usual under the herbal regimen. Douxie wasn't sure if Archie meant that as a compliment or not, so he elected to ignore it. No one else seemed to notice, but then no one else he interacted with daily really knew him.
Every few days he harvested and dried the plants' buds, always hoping the smell wouldn't drift out into the building's hallway. Nari made the plants rebud, or possibly grew new ones while he was out at work; Douxie wasn't sure. He did know that she was tweaking the plants, trying to make them more effective at blocking out the pain that never really left him. And after all the work on potions and tinctures he'd had to put in over the centuries, making the infused oil was almost ridiculously simple. The only truly tricky part of it was using magic to vent the smell of the crushed dried flowers as they baked in the oven. It meant leaving the apartment's window open - and letting the aching cold in.
He was tired all the time, exhausted, but surviving. Managing. Keeping their little family afloat. And if he needed more help from Archie, from Nari, than he was used to... well, Douxie was learning to swallow down his pride and ask for what he needed, rather than end up in another collapse. He couldn't afford one, on so many different levels. The nettles remained, for his flareups. They worked faster than the cannabis, and he was growing used to the pain that overrode other pain, but Douxie still instinctively flinched each time he had to touch them.
By the time spring came around, reports from the West Coast said Krel had raised Camelot from its ruins and the castle in the clouds flew once again. The three of them took a day trip to it to help restore and improve its magical defenses. The journey was nerve-wracking as they were all constantly hyper-vigilant, waiting for the Arcane Order to appear behind every passing cloud or tree. Douxie breathed a sigh of relief when they landed the airship in the great hall.
"Not like Camelot's safe either," Archie pointed out.
"Don't remind me," Douxie muttered, vanishing his staff and hopping down from the ship.
But it was so good to see his friends again, to be given an enthusiastic tour by Krel of everything he had done, and all the projects he was still working on. Douxie dove in, helping with good will. The castle had been the first place that had ever felt like a home - perhaps it might be one yet again someday.
Nari and Archie disappeared partway through his and Krel's (admittedly highly technical) talk, vanishing to who-knew-where. Douxie wasn't overly concerned; there were enough spells layered onto Camelot that while the Order could (and had) attack the flying castle from outside, they wouldn't be able to simply appear on it and snatch their sister away.
It was around the time he and Krel were being bullied into a meal break (a late lunch for everyone else; for the three of them who were adjusted to East Coast time, an early supper) that Douxie found out just what the pair had been up to.
"Um," Claire said, wide-eyed, "do you know what they've been growing in the east courtyard gardens?"
Douxie side-eyed Archie and Nari. "I have a guess," he said, then raised his eyebrows. "Though it does surprise me that you recognize those plants, Claire?"
She flushed and mumbled something about her dad's brother.
"Wait, what plants?" Toby asked.
"Marijuana!" said Claire.
Toby and Jim's eyes just about bugged out.
"And nettles!" Nari chimed in cheerfully.
"What is marijuana?" asked Krel.
"It's an old domesticated plant," Archie told him. "Currently illegal in large swaths of this country because something's usefulness has never stopped humans' cultural prejudices from overriding common sense."
"Ah." Krel nodded. "I think that is a universal thing. What is it used for?"
"Hemp fibers, for cloth and ropes," Douxie started.
"Druggies," Jim said darkly.
Douxie paused, and suddenly felt like Merlin, seeing the future stretching out in two directions before himself. He could either change the subject and keep his vulnerability private... or he could bare before the others that he hurt every day, all the time, and let the chips fall where they might.
Archie's gaze met his. They'd had so many roundabout talks about how his pain, and what he needed to do to live with it, wasn't something to be ashamed of. And he knew Archie would support him either way he went in this, but...
...But Archie was right. Douxie was tired enough, without the weight of shame adding to it.
"Being a little judgmental there, aren't you, Jim?" Douxie asked lightly instead, and pulled out the small vial buried in the depths of his pocket. He deliberately opened it and sprinkled a few drops of oil onto his bowl of the thick chowder that was their lunch, warm and hearty against the cold winds that still haunted half the castle's unfinished structures. He looked up, met Jim's eyes. "It's also used for pain management."
You could have heard a pin drop.
"You are in pain?" asked Krel.
Douxie nodded. "Constantly and unrelentingly. The plants don't take care of all of it, but they do at least help dull it." He stirred the oil in, waited to see if the others would judge him.
"Whoa whoa whoa, since when?" Toby demanded.
Douxie shrugged. "Since the last time we ran into the Order."
"When Douxie came back," Nari said, "his soul no longer fit quite right into his body. So there is always pain, now."
"I'm sorry," Claire whispered.
"Me too," said Jim. He had the good grace to look ashamed.
"It's fine, I'm managing most days," Douxie said. "But my point is, even if I was an addict and one of those druggies we've all seen outside Denny's, that doesn't give you the right to judge, Jim. You don't know other people's stories or why they do what they do."
"And half those druggies are werewolves suffering from moon-hangover, anyway," added Archie, and addressed his own bowl of chowder.
"Wait, what?!" demanded Toby.
"Though I am curious," Douxie said, addressing Nari, "why plant them here?"
She shrugged. "Hopefully someday this will be our home again," she said. "And the day we return here, our garden will be ready."
Douxie thought of their tiny garden, crammed in and taking over more than half of their microscopic New York apartment. Partly for his benefit, partly for hers. (And the pot of dragon nip for Archie's, no matter how he tried to deny it.)
Nari certainly deserved a much bigger garden to play in. All of Camelot's, in fact. "Go nuts," he told her. "Just don't let the ivy tear down the walls, Krel just got finished rebuilding them."
Nari laughed and patted his cheek. "I will find things other than ivy to grow."
"Douxie, wait up!"
"You go ahead," he told Krel. "I'll be there in a few."
The Akiridion looked back and forth between him and Jim, then shrugged. "As you people say, it is your funeral."
"We're not having a funeral for him, he's not dead!" Jim called after Krel.
Douxie had to stifle a snicker.
"So, um." Jim ran a hand through his hair and studied his shoes. "About what I said earlier..."
"Jim." Douxie waited until the Trollhunter looked up at him. "It's fine."
"It's not, though. You're right, and I shouldn't have said that."
Douxie sighed. Most of the time he didn't feel older than his physical age... but sometimes he was reminded that all the other Guardians of Arcadia really were terribly young, with barely a fraction of his life experience. "Mind if I make a few guesses?"
Jim shrugged. "Sure."
"Your mom's a doctor, so you've gotten some talks from her. And you've probably had D.A.R.E., or whatever the current anti-drug program is, go through your school a few times in your life. Am I right?"
Jim nodded.
"So your perspective on the ingestion of certain plants and chemicals is limited to people trying to scare you into staying away from them. While mine is... significantly less straight-laced than that."
Jim looked hesitant, like he wasn't sure what Douxie was actually laying down what Jim was picking up.
Douxie decided to make it easy for him. "I was very much part of the counter-culture in the 1970s, Jim. And I can confirm that Coca-Cola tasted a lot better before they removed its not-so-secret ingredient. Just about any drug you care to name, I've probably tried at some point."
"But... why?"
Douxie shrugged. "It was the thing to do at the time, it was fun, it was interesting, I was invited to partake... any number of reasons. From my point of view, the problem modern society faces is that it's divorced mind-alterants from meaning. They're escape vehicles, nothing more. And there's a lot that people want to escape from. So, I would recommend in the future you keep that, and kindness, in mind when you talk about things you haven't personally experienced."
Jim bit his lip as he chewed that over. Finally, he nodded. "I will, thanks." He drew a breath and drew himself up, seeming to steel himself. "The other thing I wanted to ask is... is it that bad? Your pain," he specified.
"Bad enough," Douxie said quietly. He didn't want Jim to worry, but... honesty and trust were precious and important things. "I've stopped trying to push through when I can't. Thanks for setting me up with a consult with your mom, by the way."
"What happened?" Jim asked. "I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want, that's totally your business, but... I've been wondering. And Mom wouldn't tell me anything."
"She is a consummate professional. And... that was the day I learned why pushing through's not a good thing." At Jim's openly inquiring expression, he added, "Everything I'd been ignoring rebounded on me. I was in so much pain I couldn't even sit up."
Jim breathed a Trollish curse, which made Douxie have to smile.
But the smile faded. "I hadn't told Archie, or Nari, that I was even hurting, and I ended up paying the price for it. Pride goeth before a fall, and all that."
"And... now?"
He shrugged. "I suppose I'm learning to adopt your philosophy - that we're stronger when we lean on our friends."
"And your pain?"
Douxie sighed and looked away. "It never goes away, Jim. It never will. The best I can do it keep it at bay."
In his peripheral vision, he could see Jim's hands tightening to fists. "There's nothing anyone can do?"
Douxie shook his head. "Nothing. Sorry."
And Jim didn't like that, he could see it on the younger man's face. "Promise me you're going to lean on the rest of us when you need it."
Douxie smiled, amused. "A bit hard when we're on opposite sides of the country."
Jim was not amused. "Douxie."
"Fine, fine, I promise," Douxie said easily, with the wave of a hand. "I solemnly swear that I, Hisirdoux Casperan, will ask for help from the rest of the Guardians of Arcadia and sundry associated parties when I need it. Signed, witnessed, and sealed on this day in the year of our lord, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera." His eyes met Jim's. "As long as that promise is reciprocal."
Jim glowered. "I'm not dumb enough not to ask for help when I need it."
Douxie arched an eyebrow. "Oh, really? That's not what I've heard."
"I'm not dumb enough anymore," Jim amended.
"Good enough," Douxie decided. He extended his hand. "So we have a deal?"
"Deal." Jim shook his hand.
And it only hurt a little.
Author's Note: Sopa wanted a (non-magic AU) modern Douxie with chronic pain, but for me, springboarding from the line "But everything hurts!" was a more natural way to go. The druggies at Denny's being werewolves is from Kayasurin's Rise of the Guardians story "Hungry Like The Wolf" on AO3, and dragon nip is, of course, from How To Train Your Dragon.