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The paralyzing numbness was driving him insane. The night seemed neverending, the grains in the hourglass stuck in place. Gwaine coped the only way he knew how.
The ale was good, dizzying enough to allow him to forget for a few minutes. After too many nights in the tavern, however, it had lost it's effect. The rage inside him had been building up, an explosion was imminent. In the end, it was a snide comment from a stocky man that let it release. Gwaine learned then, that it was the punches he craved. The release, the bursts of pain he could anticipate, the rush of a fight. He'd be kicked out sooner or later anyways, it might as well be on a high.
Time and time again he found himself in the tavern, only to be thrown out, never really satisfied, like trying to take a breath that never quite reached his lungs. And everytime afterwards, as he lied on the filthy ground outside the tavern, he cried, until he couldn't anymore, and then he picked up his rotten pieces and stumbled his way onto his bed, where he could hide from anyone demanding something from him.
The last time his broken mind had led him to the tavern was different.
The donkey-faced man's fist had definitely broken his nose, while pissed off drunks' boots came down hard on his face, and then his ribs, repeatedly. He couldn't see out of his left eye, and every breath left him in agony. It was the worst it had ever gotten before.
He was thrown out of the tavern like a rag doll, hitting the ground with brutal force. The pain was almost too great to bear, leaving him incapable of moving off the rough ground, but gracefully, also of dwelling on the burning ache of loss and self loathing that otherwise occupied his thoughts.
A voice managed to break through the silence, low and soothing, and for a minute, Gwaine thought it had sounded like someone else's. But it was Merlin who was lifting him to his feet, supporting his limp weight with his body the entire way to his chambers and whispering "I got you". He had to give it to him, he was much stronger than he looked.
He fought to keep breathing through the pain, and even harder to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.
Merlin helped him onto the bed, arranging the pillows to support him all while murmuring apologies each time he winced, and lighthearted threats afterwards. He lit a candle and held it close to his face, taking note of the damage.
He shouldn't see him like that, Gwaine knew, but it would take a much stronger man than him to find the courage to send him away. Gwaine, pathetic as he was, leaned into the unconditionally sympathetic touch of the servant, knowing he did not deserve it one bit.
If he were in any way worthy of his friendship, he'd be the one offering comfort right then, for he knew that while he'd lost a friend, Merlin had lost something even greater. It was hard to miss, the wholehearted trust that Merlin had shared only with the Knight. He didn't look at Gwen like that, or Arthur, not even him, despite Gwaine's best efforts. He supposed his current predicament easily explained that away. He'd never deserved him before, and now, he almost felt sorry for the man that should have given up on him a long time ago.
Merlin persisted. He'd found some kind of cloth somewhere, and a cup of water, and was cleaning the blood from his face.
The cloth was soft, and the cool water helped, if only for a minute. Merlin's touch was that of a healer's, gentle but efficient as he worked in silence.
When he was finished with his face, he tugged softly at the hem of his now ruined shirt.
"I just want to see how bad it is." He told him in a low voice.
Gwaine grunted in response, and shifted as best he could to allow Merlin to lift his shirt. He couldn't hold back a hiss at the sudden stabbing pain.
"Sorry, sorry." Merlin whispered.
"Not your fault." Gwaine said.
As his bruised skin became visible, Merlin's face fell, his thick brows furrowing in disappointment.
"I'll get you something for the pain." He said, letting the fabric cover the evidence of Gwaine's recklessness once again.
Being pain free did feel quite appealing, Gwaine thought, before the dark overtook him.
He woke up to cool fingertips stroking his hair away from his face. Merlin was sitting next to him, eyes glossy, achingly sad. It could be felt throughout the room, thick and suffocating, the grief of a man that had lost far too much in his short life. Gwaine wanted to recoil in shame.
Merlin didn't speak as he placed a hand on the back of Gwaine's neck, to help him swallow down the sour smelling liquid in the cup he brought to his lips.
"That should help." The servant promised, but Gwaine could swear that most of his pain was already gone by the time he'd woken.
"Thank you, Merlin."
"You're the only friend I've got." Merlin shrugged, even as his voice wavered and tears gathered in his waterline.
If Gwaine still had a heart, it was shattered right then. The Knight failed to stifle the sob that escaped him, his eyes stinging with tears that he uselessly tried to keep from falling. He would blame the alcohol for that later, when he apologized to Merlin, or as he ran from ever having to face him again. He was still uncertain.
Merlin looked like he wanted to say something, a slight tension to his face, lips pressed together.
For as much as he wanted to say anything himself, the knight couldn't bring himself to open his mouth. Merlin's eyes moved from his face to his body a couple of times, uncertain, before finally rising to his feet to carry over a blanket to his bed.
There was nothing else for the servant to do, and he'd already done way more than he ought to have for a man as selfish as Gwaine. It was time for his penance now. For his actions, he paid with hours spent with an agonizing aloneness, the devastating knowledge that he'd ensured there was no one left to remedy it. It was time for Merlin to go, to leave him on his own, but Gwaine wasn't ready.
He wasn't brave either. A plead for him to stay never made it past his lips.
But Merlin didn't leave. He draped the delicately woven blanket over him carefully, then laid the softest, most precious of kisses at the top of his head.
"It wasn't fair." He whispered through tears.
Of course Merlin understood. He always did.
He locked eyes with his friend, too weak to offer any words, too scared to close his eyes for fear he might not be there when he woke. Sleep was tugging at the edges of his consciousness, assisted by the medicine and the ale, and all he could do was beg wordlessly for comfort he did not deserve.
His hand was taken in between Merlin's own, and they were cold, but at least he could feel they were there, even when the candle went out and the darkness obscured the slender man's figure entirely. His thumbs were rubbing circles over his bruised knuckles, and it should've hurt, but it felt like what he imagined being loved felt like instead.
From the chair he'd dragged over to his bedside, the servant whispered softly until Gwaine found the courage to close his eyes and let himself drift.
"I'm here. Rest."