Hey, itās me again! I really hope you like this one, I had a lot of fun writing it! hehehe
TW: severe burns, graphic injury description, medical trauma, blood, panic attacks, implied self-blame / guilt, violence.
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His mouth was dry, so dry his tongue stuck to his palate and peeled off, leaving behind that viscous pull. At first, he didnāt feel pain. Honestly, it surprised him not to feel pain after being hit by a rocket launcher. But then he noticed it: the way his throat clenched in a silent snarl, nerves exploding all at once. Even the faintest touch of air made his skin prickle, nerves laid bare like magmaāred, burned and blistering hot. Hot enough to bubble the flesh, with no blood left because it had all been burned away. He couldnāt move, not when he felt them shifting him, and the pain was so sharp, so overwhelming, he couldnāt even pass out. It had gone past the point where death even seemed possible.
The sharp clack of metal boots echoed through the ruined mall, mixed with Arthurās desperate shouts telling survivors to clear out, and Lettie barking for space. Soon the sting of antiseptic filled the air, mixing with the stench of burned flesh and salted fat that made anyone nearby retch. But Lettie couldnāt let herself gag. Couldnāt let her hands shake, even as the rhythmic sound of metal tools blended with the broken, muffled whimpers coming from the victim of that cruel blast. It had to be mechanical, methodical, steps drilled into her from militia training. This wasnāt the first time sheād treated burns this badābut it was the first time she truly feared she might fail.
āCall Vell. No, I need himā Lettieās voice cut through the noise. Sure, forceful, edged with a desperation that meant she didnāt even look at anyone when she said it.
An almost animal growl ripped through the air. āWhat the fuck do you mean by that? We aināt got time to bloody findāā Quincyās words were slapped out of his mouth by a single sharp strike. His eyes, wild with rage, met Aoiās, and that fury dissolved into raw confusion.
āIf Lettie says go get Vell, then you go get Vellā There were tears in Aoiās eyes, caught on her lashes, threatening to fall. Maybe it was the way she looked at himālike theyād already lost, that finally pushed Quincy into motion. If Vell was anywhere, itād be with Amir.
He reached the arcade. For the first time, it stood silent, lights off except a single lamp in the back office that threw moving shadows of those inside. Quincy made sure his steps were loud so he wouldnāt startle them. Inside were Amir, Eleanor and Vell. The sight twisted something sharp in Quincyās chest.
Amir, shaking uncontrollably, clung to Vell and Eleanor, crying so hard static sparked across his skin like racing lightning, fingers twitching as they dug into Vellās jacket. Quincy knew Amir needed them more than anything. Heād been in that same dark place, guilt turning your insides rotten. Except unlike him, Amirās guilt still breathedāfor now.
āHey, they need you outside. Nowā Maybe he sounded calm. Like he wasnāt seconds away from tearing himself apart from helplessness. Vellās look was clear as day: Not moving. Even at gunpoint. Quincy dragged a hand over his scalp, breath ragged. āIāll stay with him. Lettie needs you. She asked for you, herselfā
Vell studied him. He knew how complicated things were between Quincy and Amir, enough to say no outright. He was about to, when Quincy slammed a hand into the wall, voice shaking. Quincyās eyes burned with desperation, not hate. Hands trembling. A breath so ragged it might break. And in his gaze, a plea so raw it nearly split Vell in two. Eyes so close to tears that Vell had never seen before.
A sigh was Vellās only answer. He turned to Amir, pressing kisses to his tear-wet cheeks, hands brushing trembling skin. He promised heād be back as soon as possible. Amir collapsed to his knees, clutching Vellās clothes, fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he whispered broken words, begging Vell to stay.
Eleanor had to pry Amirās hands free, gripping them firmly, while Vell ran off, bile rising in his throat at leaving Amir like that. Only Eleanor, Amir, and Quincy stayed behind. Maybe Quincy had never shown what Amir truly meant to him, that bond, that quiet brotherhood. But now wasnāt the time to hold anything back. They needed each other as badly as lungs needed air. They fell into a desperate embrace: sniper and runner, holding each other like drowning men while Eleanor quietly slipped through their minds, humming lullabies to soothe them. None of them were usually physical, but in that moment, they stayed like that, shoulder to shoulder, facing the unknown together. Like the family theyād become.
The next twelve hours crawled by, heavy with dread so thick it felt like it dug under the skin. Hunger gnawed at them, but the real weight was fear⦠fear that the doors would open with the worst news. When the makeshift infirmary doors finally opened, Arthur was waiting.
āHowās the drifter?ā Arthurās voice was rough, weary, but edged with hope. āHeāll live. Should wake up in a few hours. Though if it were me⦠I wouldnāt want toā Vell answered, peeling off blood-soaked gloves, tossing them into the trash.
Vell felt drained, not just from the surgery, but from the thought that kept circling him: maybe itād be easier to reset him, to let Aetherion forget what lay ahead. But he couldnāt do that. Not without talking to everyone first, to his pillow, to Amir. Lost in thought, Vell didnāt even realize his knees were about to give out, adrenaline gone. It wasnāt the hand on his waist that pulled him back, but who it belonged to. Amir.
āHey pretty boy, you look like you could use a breakā Amirās voice was playful, like he hadnāt just almost torn the arcade apart in panic. Vell exhaled, shaky, surprised but grateful, pressing a kiss to Amirās lips. āWe both shouldā Amir added, quick as always, dragging them off toward their room, ducking away from everyoneās eyes, especially Quincyās.
Eleanorās voice reached everyoneās heads, a soft warning: Theyāre here, just before a loud crash echoed from the loading bay. Everyone except Amir and Vell ran to see what happened, smoke curling away. There, in the center, stood two young, hooded figures. One with a long braid, posture sharp and threatening; the other just behind him, calmer but not timid. āWhere is he?ā asked the one with the braid, leveling a pistol at Arthur. Behind them, something that looked like an alien dog growled low.
āIdentify yourselves!ā Arthur barked, sword raised. The rest of the Hex held still, not wanting to provoke the beast.
āAetherion. Where is he?ā the braided one demanded again, lowering his hood to reveal a face that looked exactly like Aetherionās, only younger. Quincy felt the blood drain from his face; he couldnāt tell if it was shock or leftover adrenaline. Because when the other figure lowered his hood⦠he looked just like Vell.