#*implied

They just wanted to hear anything besides the smothering silence, any sharp cracks of breaking branches, any deep sinking steps into the snow and muttered curses, any soft white puffs of breath in the air (any loud loud loud sirens screaming, any sounds of pursuit, any yells). Anything.

They just wanted to see anything but slowly falling snow and white banks blanketing the ground, grey-ish trees swaying slightly in the icy, stinging breeze, a shape appearing from the woods, any glimpse of bright orange or dark green, any slight sight of blond hair or green eyes out of the corner of their eyes. Anything.

They kept waiting (irrationally, expecting, dreading, waiting) for the sharp metallic scent of blood, for anything but the slight scent of pine nettles, anything besides the all-encompassing, overwhelming nothingness of snow. Anything at all. That was all they wanted.

They were afraid that they’d be met with something they didn’t want to, but they were more afraid that they wouldn’t see anything at all. That this would be a completely pointless outing, an absolute waste of time that they could of used to observe, to watch, to think, to plan, to meet up with Sapnap and listen for any scraps of information, to go say hi to Ranboo and hunch over a set of blueprints, talking into the pale hours of the morning (ignoring the missing third person between them, leading them, keeping them together and on good terms, because he was gone, at least for now, and they both just had to wait).

They were afraid that something had gone wrong. The mercenary was concerned that they were betrayed, that they weren’t going to get paid. Punz was worried that the waiting was for nothing, that the plan was off, that they weren’t ever going to see him again because they were never allowed to go to that prison in the first place and Ranboo wasn’t able to anymore so if something had happened, they’d have no idea.

They were afraid that he was wrong, that he had miscalculated and now there wasn’t anything either of them could do about it now.

They were so afraid, and they were so full of dread, and they were so numb from standing out here so many times so long. It was so tiring to worry, to fear, to dread, and they tried to be intentional, efficient, with everything they did. It was unnecessary. They couldn’t afford that.

(They didn’t have much to work with here. They didn’t have too much to work off. They had to try. They knew what their purpose was. They knew what they were meant to do, and they were going to do it. They weren’t going to let him down)

***

In the end, Punz had to go home with nothing to show for it but their numb fingers and hollowed-out heart unable to feel anything but a faint sense of disappointment and residue dread. They were too tired for this.