meretricula | fic: I hope this song will guide you home (football rpf)

this is not the sequel to the soulmates fic. this is not my

cornerflag fic. it's not even post-AO reaction fic. this is not even close to what I'm supposed to be writing. however, in the midst of my late-night essay adventures, I decided that what I really, really wanted was more Victor+Andres hurt/comfort fluff reacting to Andres' annus horribilis in 2009-10. in the immortal words of

astolat, where would fandom be if we only used the good plots once?

title: I hope this song will guide you home
fandom: football RPF
pairing: Xavi Hernandez/Andres Iniesta
rating: PG-13
word count: 2600
summary: Andres gets hurt. Everyone reacts accordingly.
notes: takes place in the same universe as the best luck I had was you (ergo based on this prompt at

footballkink), and largely inspired by a ridiculous late-night conversation with

luxover in the comments about the many (overprotective) merits of one Victor Valdes. proper citations at the bottom as per usual, and concrit is always welcome!

Andres felt the exact moment he tore the muscle in his leg, and he knew Xavi felt it too, because his head jerked up from all the way across the field, a split second before Andres clamped down on their bond hard enough to keep Xavi completely out. He walked off the pitch slowly, shaking his head when Emili tried to catch his attention. He knew he was going to cry, could feel the tears starting to well up no matter what he did, and he just wanted - well, he wanted not to be injured again. He wanted it to stop hurting. He wanted to stop feeling like this. But failing that, he just wanted to sit down in a corner and catch his breath before they rushed him off to the hospital for scans and tests and more completely terrible news. He could already tell it was bad. He didn't need to know more just yet.

"Andres. Andresito." Xavi was leaning over him, panting a little, reaching down. "Andres, are you - what - " He looked scared, Andres thought numbly. He couldn't feel what Xavi was feeling, of course - if he opened up enough for that, his leg would hurt Xavi too - but he looked really scared.

That was, somehow, the final straw. The tears suddenly spilled over, and Andres knew it was pathetic, knew he was pathetic, but he just - "Victor," he said, choking. "Where's - I want - where's Victor - "

"I'm right here," Victor said, and of course he was, exactly where Andres needed him like always, kneeling down and putting his arms around Andres. "I'm here, it's okay, shh, I'm here, I'm here. It's okay, I'll fix it, I'm here, don't worry, shhh." The words didn't really mean anything; they barely even registered. Victor was there, though, and something in the back of Andres' brain knew that it was safe to just press his face into Victor's chest and cry. "I'm here," Victor repeated above him. "I'm here, it's okay, I'm right here."

"It's his leg," he heard Xavi say, as if from very far away. "I can't - I can't feel - he did something to his leg, but I don't - "

"All right," Emili said. "He didn't break anything, or you'd both be screaming. We'll take him to do some scans, and - "

"Back off," Victor snarled. There was some shuffling behind him, but Andres couldn't see and he couldn't really bring himself to care. He just - his leg really hurt, and he didn't think he could stop crying. Victor couldn't fix his leg for him, but Andres knew he'd take care of everything else. "No, don't worry," Victor said quietly, when he clutched harder at his arms. "I'm here, don't worry, I'll - I'll bring him, okay?" he added, to whoever it was, maybe Emili. "Just - keep them from crowding us, all right, it's not going to help."

"All right, back to practice, everyone," Pep said, and oh god, Pep. Victor stroked the back of his neck reassuringly, over and over again, until he could almost breathe instead of gulping at air like he was drowning.

"It's just - I just tore a muscle," he managed. "It's not - "

"Okay, we'll still do some scans, just to make sure," Emili said firmly. "Can you get up? Good, that's good, all right, now just - "

"No, don't!" Andres flinched back from Xavi's outstretched hand. He'd had to figure out how to block, after Dani, but he still wasn't as good as Xavi; if Xavi touched him he knew he wouldn't be able to keep it up. The wounded look on Xavi's face would have hurt him if he let himself think about it, but he couldn't do that now. "Victor," Andres said, pleading.

Victor immediately wrapped an arm around his shoulders again. "Do you want me to carry you?" he asked, apparently serious. That broke something in the air around them, and Andres pushed his face into the place where Victor's shoulder met his chest, giggling helplessly. "What? I can!"

"I can walk," Andres said, his mouth still pressed against Victor's shirt. "Just - stay?"

"Don't be stupid, I'm not leaving you," Victor said. "C'mon, infirmary. Tests await you. Go on ahead," he added to Emili and Xavi. "We know where we're going, and this one's going to be slow." He dropped an absent-minded kiss on the top of Andres' head and started chivvying him off the field.

*

"He's getting so big now," Andres said, smiling down at Victor and Dylan from his seat on the couch.

"You are, aren't you? You're getting so big!" Victor cooed, and made airplane noises as he swooped Dylan around his head. Andres wished, not for the first time, that everyone whose impression of Victor was solely based on his tattoos, shaved head and tendency to scream at his defense could see him around his son. "Soon you'll be too heavy for me to carry, oof! Andres, you have to help me!"

"Well, if I have to." Andres reached out, and obligingly feigned shock when Victor deposited Dylan in his arms. "What on earth are they feeding you! Your daddy should use you for his weight training, hmm? You're much more fun than free weights."

"Better-looking, too," Victor contributed from the carpet, where he'd flopped out on his back in a boneless sprawl, eyes closed.

"He takes after his mama, no?" Andres poked Victor in the stomach with his foot and snickered when he let out an abortive shriek. "Gets the ticklish part from you, though."

"You're lucky I can't hit you while you're injured," Victor grumbled.

"I knew there had to be an upside to it somehow."

Victor patted Andres' ankle. He looked like he was thinking about saying something, but Yolanda wandered into the living room before he worked out whatever it was. "Do you two know what you want for dinner?" she asked. "I know it's still early, but I need to get some things if we're staying in."

"Oh," Andres said, startled. "I don't think - I should go home before supper, at least. If that's… you'll drive me home, right." He kicked Victor again.

"I see how it is," Victor said mournfully. "I'm nothing but a glorified chauffeur to you. My years of devotion, reduced to minimum-wage labor - "

"You're lucky I can't tickle you while I'm holding the baby," Andres informed him.

"Well, if that's all," Yolanda said, and winked at Andres as she swooped down to pick up Dylan. "Time for a nap for this guy, and you two can work out your transportation and tickling issues while we're out of the room."

Victor watched them leave with a fond smile, and Andres couldn't quite bring himself to make fun of him for it. He liked Yolanda - well, he'd always liked Victor's girlfriends, or at least the ones who lasted long enough to worry about. But Yolanda was fun, and kind, and he thought she was good for Victor. He didn't really know what she thought of him, but she never seemed to mind when Victor dragged him home with him. He supposed he'd sort of been part of the package when she met Victor in the first place.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay for dinner?" Victor asked, interrupting his thoughts. "You could spend the night, even. Yolanda wouldn't mind."

"No, I should go home. Sleep in my own bed, eat my own food, you know. And anyway I don't want you to get sick of me," he added, smiling.

"Hey," Victor said. He pushed himself up onto the couch with an audible grunt and pulled Andres into a weird hybrid between a hug and a headlock. "There is never any danger of that, okay? You know that."

"It was a joke," Andres said. Victor didn't let go, and he relaxed with a sigh against his chest. "I know. I'm sorry, about… you know, I guess."

"You don't have anything to apologize for," Victor said seriously. "You'd do the same for me. You did do the same for me."

Andres sighed again. It felt like a long time ago, and maybe it was, being young and scared to death when Victor, who was always cheerful and loud, would suddenly get quiet and angry and sad. He could remember just sitting next to Victor for hours when he got like that, because he didn't know what else to do. He still felt helpless, remembering, even though he knew Victor was better now, happier. "I didn't do very much."

"You were there." Victor squeezed a little harder, then let him sit back up. "You wanted to be there for me. That's enough." Andres pushed his face into Victor's shoulder, and then squawked when Victor dug his fingers into his side. "And that'll teach you to tickle me. Come on, Miss Daisy, I'll drive you home."

*

Andres let himself into his house and stared. The lights were all on, he could smell food cooking, and there was some sort of clattering going on in the kitchen. Either he had forgotten a visit from his parents, or he was in the process of being burgled by the world's friendliest home invaders. "Hello?" he called, puzzled.

Xavi appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Where have you been? An MRI doesn't take that long. I was starting to worry."

"Victor took me home with him," Andres said. He felt a bit guilty now; of course Xavi had his own key and had been in and out of his house for years, but it hadn't even occurred to Andres that he might be waiting there for him. "He thought playing with Dylan might make me feel better."

"Oh." Xavi paused, then came out into the hall to meet him. "Do you? Feel better, I mean."

He started to lean in close, close enough for a kiss, and Andres jerked backwards. "Don't touch me," he said, frustrated. He didn't mean to be unkind, but he was just - he was so tired, and Xavi knew better than this.

Xavi flinched, eyes wide, and slowly held up his hands. "I'm sorry I'm not Victor," he said.

"What? What are you talking about?" Andres scrubbed his hands over his face, then skirted around Xavi and went into the kitchen. Whatever Xavi was cooking smelled delicious, but the thought of eating made his stomach turn.

"You don't seem to mind when he touches you," Xavi said, following him.

Andres dropped into a chair and put his head in his arms on the table. "What does that have to do with anything? I'm not bonded to Victor," he mumbled. "It's a completely diff - Xavi, stop. You know I can't shield if you do that."

Xavi's hand froze on the table momentarily, halfway to Andres', before Xavi yanked it back. "So don't," he exploded. "Do you think I want - ? Ever since - every time something bad happens, you go to Victor and you won't let me even -

"I'm sorry Dani died, all right? I am so, so sorry that that happened, and I'm sorry he wasn't my friend too so I can't feel the way you feel, but you have to - to stop punishing me for it!"

"You think I'm - " Andres jolted back upright and stared. "Xavi. I'm not - how could you - "

"What else am I supposed to think?"

Andres was the first to break the deadlock between their eyes. He looked down at his hands on the table, struggling to find words that Xavi would understand. He hadn't really needed to for such a long time. "I am sad all the time," he said tightly. "Not just - when I think about it, or when I'm by myself, or when I'm hurt. I'm sad when I'm training, and when I'm watching television, and when I'm sitting on the floor of Victor's living room playing with the baby. All the time. I feel like crying and I don't even know why half the time but it's like dragging weights around not to. It's exhausting and I keep getting injured so my body hurts too and sometimes I wake up in the morning and I think I don't have the energy to crawl out of bed. Do you think I - I hate feeling this way, all right? And I can't, I can't, if I let you feel - I love you, Xavi. I don't want you to feel like this."

"Andres," Xavi said, shocked and quiet. Andres kept staring down at the table; he couldn't face the thought of meeting Xavi's eyes. Instead he watched, silent and motionless, as Xavi finally completed the gesture he'd aborted so many times that day and wrapped his hand around Andres' wrist. He put it over the fabric of his shirt, carefully, so their skin didn't touch. "Andres, I don't want you to feel like that either."

"There isn't a whole lot you can do about it," Andres said.

Xavi waited until he raised his head, his thumb rubbing over the pulse in Andres' wrist through his sleeve. "All right. But I don't want you to feel like this alone. Please, don't - don't lock me out, all right? I love you. Even if I can't help, I want - I want to be there for you." His voice trailed off into nothingness, and his shoulders hunched in on themselves when Andres twisted his arm out of his grip.

Andres looked at Xavi and thought about what Victor had said, and made a decision. "All right," he said softly. He laced their fingers together and took down the walls.

"Oh," Xavi said, and flinched, the color draining out of his face. Andres tried to pull away, but Xavi was holding his hand too tightly. "Oh, god."

"I told you - Xavi, let me - let go - "

"I'm not letting go," Xavi said fiercely. Andres could feel his anger, a little, prickling through the ever-present fog of unhappiness, and beyond that, something warmer. Xavi pulled their joined hands closer to him and pressed Andres' fingers to his mouth. "Andres, god, I love you, don't ask me that." That was what the warm feeling was, Andres thought suddenly. He had forgotten, somehow, what it felt like to feel how much Xavi loved him.

"I'm sorry," he said. He didn't know what else to say.

"There's nothing you have to be sorry for," Xavi said. He touched Andres' cheek with his free hand, then slid it down to cup his chin. "Just let me help, all right? At least let me try."

"Okay," Andres managed, blinking back tears. "Okay."

Xavi smiled at him. "May I kiss you?" he asked formally. Andres didn't bother to answer, just leaned over the table and fitted his mouth over Xavi's. He'd forgotten this too, how nice it was to kiss Xavi, even knowing that it wasn't going to go anywhere else. He hadn't had sex in a long time; he hadn't even thought about it, or wanted it really. He thought he might want it now.

Somewhere behind him, a timer buzzed, and Xavi laughed into the kiss before he pulled away. "Hold that thought, all right? I'll get the rest of dinner ready, we'll eat, and then we can see how you're feeling about it. We've got all the time in the world."

"All right." Andres stayed at the table and watched as Xavi moved around his kitchen. He could still feel Xavi as strongly as if they were skin-to-skin, and he concentrated on that, holding onto it as a talisman against the darker things inside him. "Xavi," he said suddenly. "I love you."

Xavi was passing between the refrigerator and the oven behind him. His hand brushed the back of Andres' neck, warm and comforting. "I know."

notes:

1. Andres Iniesta and Victor Valdes are best friends.

2. An interview about Andres' unspeakably shitty year in 2009-10 can be found here. To sum up: his friend Dani Jarque had died unexpectedly, he kept getting injured, and he was understandably pretty depressed.

3. Andres describes Victor as a very outgoing person, but he also had a rough time with depression when he was younger; he didn't like being a goalkeeper, and he was so talented that he didn't have a lot of choice about it. He worked with a therapist to try to deal with his psychological issues, and he seems to be doing much better now. I'm glad he's happy now, but to be honest, the story about how Victor ended up a professional goalkeeper depresses me. (interview part one and two)

4. Victor's partner is named Yolanda Cardona and their son, Dylan, was born in August 2009.

5. No, there is no such thing as soulbonding in the real world. Though when it comes to Andres Iniesta and Xavi Hernandez, I'm not sure it would make that much of a difference (7:32-8:04).

6. Let's just pretend that "Driving Miss Daisy" is a cultural reference that a Spanish man in his mid-twenties would get.

7. Barcelona primer is here to educate you further! And if you have any other questions, please feel free to ask. If I don't know I can probably point you towards someone who does!

8. Title and cut-text from Such Great Heights by The Postal Service.