By: Dana
Summary: He's gone through too much, to lose Pippin now.
Characters: Merry, Pippin
Pairings: None
Rating: G
Warnings: Angst
Author's Notes: Happy birthday, Lillie! A bit of post-quest angst, to celebrate your happy day. (Yes, that sounds about as wrong to you, as it does to me.) (And the excuse for the sleeping in the same room, I suppose, would be that I couldn't see them, this early after, wanting to sleep alone, after all that had gone before. So, nyer. Deal.) Revised 08.16.04.
Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with J.R.R. Tolkien or New Line Cinema. Any and all characters and situations that have been borrowed are for the author's personal use only, and for the entertainment of others.

Merry woke to the sound of a sharp cry. It pierced through the darkness, and chased away the gloom. Merry quickly threw his legs over the side, even as he sat, and he did sit for a moment, his eyes adjusting to light no brighter than the gathered shifting shadows. There was another cry, sharp like a knife as it grated on his nerves, and any thought of it being nothing more than the remnants of dream were chased away, right then, like the sun as it burned away lingering morning mist.

"Pippin?" he called, though he was already sure, and the floorboards were cool under his bare feet; the light of the moon faint and ghostly, and he padded from his bed to his cousin's. There could be no one else. "Pippin, can you hear me?"

Pippin could not.

He made a noise that sounded suspiciously as though he was choking and Merry felt the chilly rise of fear chase up his spine, the sound of Pippin thrashing against the covers, dark nightmares come to haunt him.

"Pippin?" he urged him for some reply, grasping for Pippin's hand. He thought that Pippin was too cool, like that fear, and he clasped that hand between his own as he sat on the edge of the bed. It gave a creak that was swallowed by the sound of his own voice. "Pippin, can you hear me?"

Pippin gave a jerk at the same time as a thin, wordless cry.

Merry stroked Pippin's hand. It would not be the first nightmare that he had sat through, and he doubted that it would be the last. They had come to them often, after they first had returned, after the Ruffians had been thoroughly scoured from the Shire. They were the things that they would not speak of, the things that could haunt them now, with the Quest behind them. Those things that Merry guessed would trouble them to the end of their days.

And all that Merry could offer was having been there too, was knowing what it was that darkened Pippin's eyes. And Frodo knew, as well, but Frodo was gone, and Sam knew, but Merry could not bring it upon himself to darken Sam's door.

It was little comfort, cold hands; Merry did not know what more he could offer.

Merry squeezed Pippin's hand and bowed his head, pressing his lips together in a thin hard line. "It's all right, now, it's all right, Pippin."

Merry couldn't help but feel that those were empty words; they might have made it back, but they were most certainly not the same. And he could feel it in the whispers, and the looks, and knowing that there were those out there that thought them all but dead. And their return was a miracle to some, but to others, it was wrong.

"We made it home, Pip. It's all right."

Pippin was quiet, though fretting, and Merry looked to his face, and sighed and kissed his hand where he held it clasped. For a moment, nothing more, this wasn't the Pippin who had faced a Troll; this was the lad he remembered with sticky fingers, who got into mischief more often than not, and always had a smile, even if some stodgy old Aunt tried to chase it away with a frown. It didn't seem right to see Pippin's face twisting in pain.

"I remember when you were seven and you'd come with your Mum and your Da for a visit," Merry said, and he closed his eyes and looked back, and saw through faded sunlight the courtyard, and Pippin laughing as he threw himself into his cousin's arms. "And you told me that you'd had enough of those sisters of yours, with their fussing and fretting, and would I, please-please-please, take you for a swim. And I said that I would think about it and you told me that I was being a spoilt sport. And then you went off to lift tarts from Cook, and I went with you. And I didn't know why."

Merry laughed, slowly. Pippin was sleeping easy, seemingly calmed by the sound of Merry's voice.

"Because you were just a little lad and I was almost a tween, but you were my very favorite cousin, and I knew that you were special. And I guess that you were always meant to be." He opened one eye and smile, though it was sad. "Frodo was my very best friend, the year before you were born, and then he went and moved to Bag End. And I thought that maybe my world had ended. And it was a miserable day, Pip, the day you came into the world." He laughed, again, and rubbed Pippin's hand between his own.

"Raining, oh, I don't think I remember it having rained that hard, in about forever. But there you were, little, so little, and crying. And it chased the clouds away, Pippin. And you've been my light since. Even when you got me into trouble with my Da. Even when you stole the last seedcake. Even ever, Pippin, always. Always."

And he'd been his light, too, when they'd left the Shire, without knowing if they'd ever come back. And Pippin had been Merry's light, when they'd set out from Rivendell, with the Company, and he'd been the one to bring smiles to them all. In Moria, through that long darkness. Afterwards, in Lothlorien, when they'd felt such loss. At Parth Galen, that Boromir would die to defend them, and they were all there fighting side by side with the Man. Even when they'd felt smallest, that long forced march with the Orcs, it had been Pippin who had been his light, who had saved him; he wouldn't be here now, if it hadn't been for Pippin. And he might even be able to forgive him for doing something so stupid as looking into the Palantir, because Merry certainly didn't know what he'd do if he'd have lost Pippin, then. And he practically had, and Pippin had been taken away to Gondor. Merry had almost given up. Almost dying had been cold, but Pippin would have understood. He couldn't have let someone so fair as Eowyn, die alone. But then they'd come together again, only to be parted. And Merry waited again, while Pippin went off to war. That had almost been too much for Pippin, and even now, he joked about having died. And Merry really had lost him, for a little bit, then. But Pippin was stronger than that. They'd made it through so much together.

Surely they could make it through the rest of their lives.

Merry closed his eyes again, and bowed his head, pressing it against Pippin's held hand. Old memories tasted bittersweet in the obscurity of the moonlit room. "You've always been my light, Pippin. Let me be yours."

And he thought that maybe he heard a laugh, and the faint feel of Pippin's hand tightening against his own. "You always have been," he said again, as if he needed to be sure.

Merry was quite sure that Pippin still slept, so he let go of his cousin's hand, setting it on his chest. He turned over on his side, and Merry couldn't help but chuckle. "Just know I'll always be here for you, Pip. And I know you'll always be here for me. I don't think I could ask for a better deal than that."

Merry sat in silence, then took a deep breath and moved back to his own bed, crawling under the covers. Crickhollow fell silent again and he watched the faint moonbeams as they chased their way across the floor.

It could have been different, Merry crying out, and Pippin soothing him in the dark. And there would be other nightmares. But it came down to one thing, in the end; that they had formed a bond that no darkness could break.

Merry fell asleep, and dreamt of long lost summer days.