Chapter Text
He thought he was dying on that stage,
To an extent he was, he expected that once it went black it was curtains drawn on himself.
How wrong he was;
When his eyes began to draw open.
It was blinding almost, bright flourescent lights that hummed, though he could not yet hear them.
His mangled vocals grumbled as he stirred back into consciousness, though things didn't settle as they should have. Everything was blurry and his fingers felt a bit tingly, like they were numb.
"Murrhh..." his throat gurbled. Repeatedly blinking and trying to look around, he saw wood paneling and some white, though it had not yet fully settled due to -
"My glasses!" He thought, the first of many.
His voicebox was missing off his chest, the cumbersome thing. His suit was gone, replaced with a gown it would seem, stopping just above his knees.
"The mask-!" Was his next thought, his face appearing franctic with his head locking about the entire room, perhaps they left his things nearby? Whoever brought him here.
As he sat up to look around on further depth a sharp pain shot up from his stomach to his neck, particularly aching in his chest, causing him to grunt and subsequently and slowly lay back down.
Just as he came back down he heard a door, just out if sight due to a privacy wall open. Almost instinctually he clawed at the right side of his face to cover the malformity it had become.
Into view came what looked to be a doctor, when they approached it got much more obvious as he was able to get them into focus with his remaining eye.
"Hello, Mister Leach."
The doctor spoke.
Faintly off, Winslow heard what sounded like 2 other people, if the murmuring was accurate it was 2 women. He hadn't quite good at hearing small noises, wandering the back corridors of The Paradise.
"You can lower your hand, i'm aware of your current condition."
Very slowly, Winslow's hand slowly came back to his side, much like his other hand had, lips pursed and clenched to his metal teeth out of nerve.
"Without further permission, we can't do much. We did however stop any further sucking of air and removed as much as we could. Your lung was punctured, quite a gnarly wound. I highly recommend you take it easy to minimize opening up your stitches and allow yourself to heal. We also found a quite old bullet wound on your leg, but we will need permission for its removal."
He listened, god did his leg start to ache. He wished he could respond without sounding like a scraping chalkboard, It stirred a face of worry to concoct and stick to his face.
What about his work? Was it going to be okay? Or, Phoenix for that matter. Where was she? Hell, even Swan?
"You do have a visitor, i'll step out and give you two time to talk, I'll be back in half an hour."
The doctor stepped away from his bed, and the footsteps drew away, and someone else began to walk into his room.
Oh dear.
Who could it be? Was it the authorities off to whisk him away again? This time for things he did do.
Swan? Did he survive? Was he about to barrarated by the devil himself?
His hand swung back up as fear stuck and clawed up his back, feeling his body draw incredibly cold as his blood froze.
He could feel tension rising in his chest that made the ache more of a sharp jab, which faded as she came into view by the foot of his bed.
His muse, The most perfect singer for a perfect work of art.
She was okay, just like he had hoped.
Naturally his face fell to relief.
Without thinking he tried to say her name, but it came out as a raspy gurgle that snapped him back to reality, his other hand grasping towards his throat.
"Oh-!" Pheonix came over to his bedside, holding his shoulder and the arm rest of the bed, thankfully his good shoulder, but bad side of his face.
"Are you okay? Winslow?"
His functioning eye shut, feeling a cough trying to claw up his throat, but he nodded and kept it down.
His eye opened again, and he lay back full once again, his gaze falling upon her. Almost transfixed.
"Winslow?"
She asked, her head slightly tilting.
His head ushered a bit forward, as if he was asking, 'hm?'.
"Do you need anything? Water?"
He nodded immediately, with the free hand he motioned towards his face; trying to tell her-
"You can remove your hand, I've seen what it looks like."
Ugh. His mouth straightened out in annoyance his hands crunching up into fists.
"Uh, You can still write, can't you? I know your voice is shot, that's what the nurse told me."
His head froze and he was broken from his steeping anger, and slowly and understandingly nodded.
He was able to write Faust no differently! If anything worse from all the pills Swan was stuffing down his throat.
"Give me a second, then."
He watched her leave the bedside and scramble about the room, just out of view.
She rather quickly returned with a pen, black. Along with a napkin.
Not the best medium, but it'd work for the time being.
He took both with either hand and used the armrest as a steady surface to write on.
'Are you okay?'
"I'm..."
He saw her head tilt and her lips purse.
"I'm fine. Shaken, Is all."
He nodded humbly,
Makes sense. She witnessed death several times in less than what, 5 minutes? His appearance likely didn't help. But, he had to, he had to save her-
He rapidly snatched the paper back, and wrote once more.
'Where are we?'
"The Swanage."
She spoke.
"You've been here for a few days now, 4 I think. Don't worry though, the place is mine now."
That last bit rung louder than the rest, he visibly got confused. Hers, now?
He took the paper back, and scribbled hastily.
'Is Swan dead?'
She moved, and looked at the scribble.
"Uhh..."
His heart and soul held still, whatever remained of it that wasn't broken, anticipating.
"I'm more than sure. He is."
A weight just lifted itself off his shoulders, sighing and visibly slumping back slightly.
Good riddance, may that lying bastard rot in hell, where he belongs.
He leaned back forward, and wrote again.
'Where are my glasses?'
This time he felt his hand shake and the grip on the pen grow a bit loose, when he finished writing he relinquished his hand entirely and let her grab the paper.
"Your.. glasses..?" It took a second for Phoenix to remember, he could see the twisting cogs in her head and the realization in her eyes.
"Your glasses! Oh my god- Winslow, I am so sorry, I completely forgot you had those!"
A yawn curled up his throat, annoyance coming back to his thoughts.
Not the worst issue in the world, the twitching in his leg is far more of a concern since he can still somewhat see out of his eye.
"Would you like for me to get them?"
She asked.
A slight tremor grew in his elbow, taking the paper back once more
'Later, they're in The Paradise. In my studio.'
His writing looked, worse. Far more scratchy, Thanks to the damned shaking.
"Oh..."
She said, after reading his words. She didn't know exactly where it was, Swan built that place like a maze.
"I need to go there soon, ill pick them up and bring them when I visit next, okay?"
Her eyes looked upon his face, half wretched and the other half puzzled and weary looking.
Winslow nodded in acknowledgement.
His head twisted as a thought came to, and he snatched the paper once more.
'Where are my things? Mask, voice box, clothes?'
He pushed it off to her, and which she read.
"They're outside in a box, the doctors told me they don't you wearing any of it just yet, not till you're more healed up.'
Figures, his tongue fidgeting at the back of his stainless steel teeth.
He only had one concern left, by far the most important to him.
Snatching it away one last time he deliberated and wrote slowly.
'What will happen to Faust?'
She sat still, her own thoughts seemingly trying to piece it all together.
His stomach began to turn.
Years of work, his soul and heart manifest as a feat of art, finished and butchered, wanting to get it back into his grasp so fervently it drove him to murder.
"I think..." She paused.
"I Think I own it too, I've been off and on with a lawyer and going through Swans possessions, real estate, and assets, things like that."
She could tell that answer left him a bit puzzled, disgruntled by how how lips moved.
"The Juicy Fruits might, but as far as I know they're under my management basically."
The knot untwisted most of the way, a sigh leaving his weary mouth.
"If you want, I could try to give you full ownership over it. Im not sure how since you're.... well, legally dead. But I promise, I won't touch it. Not a finger."
The knot, fully dissipated. Relief washed over him and he felt for the first time in a long time, natural ease.
Pheonix looked at the ground briefly, then back up at him.
"I think i'll be going Winslow, I have some other people in hospital I've been meaning to visit, I will be back soon, okay? And with your glasses!"
Both of her hands coming up and holding onto the arm rest.
He nodded back, taking the tissue and crumpling it in his hand slightly as his fingers tensed.
On the way out, he waved with his other hand when she turned to face him one last time, closing the door as she left.
Oof, moving like that made his chest hurt, best to just, lay back down. Bed wasn't too bad, felt better than the bed in his old apartment.
He still had more questions, but they could wait.
Hung up on her owning Swan's assets. So they did marry afterall, and the bastard had no-one else to give his possessions to, his right-hand man was dead too afterall.
Fortunate for her, she's inherited one of the largest music labels, ever, atleast to his knowledge. Perhaps even his entire company.
Made sense he was here, rather than a hospital. The dots very easy aligned in his head, even if it was a little fuzzy up there from the lingering stuff in his system and the blood loss. If he had gone to a hospital he wouldn't be able to be registered; because he's dead. Also, an escapee. They'd get the authorities all over him and ship him back to prison.
But he's not there, rotting in a cell.
He's safe, and the woman and more importantly his life's work is too.
What more could he ask for?
Well, maybe for the tremors to stop, and a glass of water. That would be nice.
He heard the door once more click and open, and the Doctor had returned.
"Mister Leach, we're going to behind some routine check-up procedures, to our best understanding you consumed numerous forms of medication, this true?'
He nodded.
Had he been able to talk, he could mention the sleep deprivation too.
Finally figuring out what Swan was giving him.
That should be Fun.