#mentioned murder

There is something so horrible and fucking depressing about nobody liking you, ever, but on the other side of that is being liked, but never for long, and never loved. People like you at first, but it's like buying a treat you see when you look into the window of a nice place, and you take that first bite hoping for something sweet and lovely like you'd expected, only to find it bitter and unpleasant. The second someone discovers the real you, they decide they don't like you, actually, not even a little bit. Hell, the only reason they liked you in the beginning is because you made yourself look appealing, made yourself into something you thought they'd like. But in the end, that wasn't enough to gain their approval, *you* weren't enough to gain their approval.

That is the difference between Edwin and Charles. Sure, Edwin never had any friends, was found unpleasant and odd by his peers, but he was also unapologetically himself. That might've been because he didn't know how to change himself to fit in, to be more likeable, but he still got to be himself. He didn't have to change and mold himself into something the people around him would like, and while that certainly spelled his doom, he still got that time to just be Edwin. That is not to say that things would not have been different had Edwin been able to figure out *how*, exactly, to make himself into something more likeable, as that would be a different story entirely. That is also not to say that Edwin isn't extremely self-conscious because of his experience, or rather, *in*experience with relationships. Why wouldn't he be? He was able to be his true self, sure, but at what cost? He never had any friends or positive relationships, and that was because nobody *liked* his true self. And Simon can't truly count as someone who liked him, because evidently he didn't like him enough to not strap him to a table and sacrifice him to a demon. So yeah, Edwin is more than a little messed up, because no one ever liked him, not even enough to try to be his friend or- or something *more*.

Before Charles.

And Charles is, well, a little different. He had friends, he was probably friends with every member of his cricket team, and then some. But he got that by changing himself to be like them, which he likely learned from "trying to be better" for his dad. He was funny, and he talked about things "the right way", and he ignored it and sometimes even *laughed along* when they "joked" about the color of his skin. He did all the right things and acted just like them, and they liked him. They were his *friends*. And yet, in the end, that wasn't enough. *He* wasn't enough, and the second he showed his true colors instead of being just like them (instead of beating up another student who was "different") he was beaten and, quite literally, left for dead. No matter how hard he tried, Charles wasn't good enough for them, he was too different- too *bad*- and they gave up on him. Just like how his dad gave up on trying to teach him, trying to help him learn to be better, and started beating his lessons into him. Just like how his mom gave up on trying to help him when he inevitably pissed his dad off again, and simply watched as he was beaten time and time again (was it because she thought he deserved it? Because she thought he wasn't good enough?). Just like everyone else in his life who he's tried, and failed, to change for.

Before Edwin.

"We can rough them up a bit," Right Hand suggested, touching to their healed arm lightly. It still hurt— the mere sight of Whumper was enough to resurface the pain that was supposed to be gone, but clinging to Leader's skin.

It all looked to a word from their mouth. Whunper was just there, yet to wake up, tied up and thrown to a corner like a bag. Defenseless. Leader could just wrap their hands around their throat and—

"There's no need," Leader all but ordered, not breaking the blank expression. They didn't know how they sustained their image, but at least their flat look would stop possible protests. "They will pay for what they did to everyone."

"Then let me have the watch at least. You haven't moved since we came back," Right Hand tried again.

"I'm alright," Leader assured. They were alright. They could act like they were alright, at least. And that was more than enough.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Anything I should know before you go?" Leader shifted their stance, taking some weight off of their almost healed ankle.

"No sir."

"Good." Leader nodded, bothered by the formality. Right Hand began walking out, and Leader called them before they could stop themselves.  "Right Hand?"

"Hm?" Right Hand's head snapped at them.

"Don't worry," Leader tried again. They had already burdened the team with their absence. They didn't want to cause more trouble.

"Hard not to," Right Hand muttered.

"I know."

"I won't let you be around when they wake up, though," Right Hand insisted.

Leader gave a small smile. "I give the orders here," they reminded.

"No. Not this time. Last time you insisted on something—"

"It was for the best," Leader cut through the sentence. The other option would end with slaughter of their team.

"No—"

"Right Hand," Leader warned, a little too sharp. They took a deep breath, fixing their tone. "The reason of our argument is now incapacitated. I see no reason for me to leave."

"When will you stop acting as if nothing happened?"

"I'm not ignoring what happened. But truly, Right Hand, I'm alright. Past is past."

Telling was easy, after all. Leader could lie in their sleep. They weren’t proud about that, but it was useful. And it was a lie they told themselves constantly. They would fake it until they made it.

"But its not for me!" Right Hand yelled. The tone made both of them flinch, but it was all Leader needed to pull Right Hand into their embrace. Gently, they wrapped their aching arms around the younger officer. Right Hand grabbed Leader's shirt tightly from behind, tense.

"Its not, and you acting as if you were always here is eating me alive. I… I'm afraid. I don't want you and Whumper in the same city, let alone the same room." Right Hand mumbled, burying their head to Leader's neck and clinging to their shirt. "I can't— we can't lose you again."

"I'm not going anywhere." Leader patted Right Hand's back, pulling away only a little after Right Hand loosened their grip.

"Don't. Ever." Right Hand stepped back fully, schooling their voice back to neutral just because Whumper began to stir.

Right Hand grabbed Leader's wrist to pull them back, but Leader didn’t budge. Instead, they shook Whumper with their shoe, trying to get them coherent faster.

"Rise and shine, darling. I brought you to your hell."

"Don't tell me they fixed you," Whumper whined, sitting up straighter. They looked sore.

Good.

"Bold of you to assume your pathetic attempts made a dent on me,"Leader retorted.

"You break my heart," Whumper pouted. They wiggled in their place a little. "At least your mercy is still here. These binds are too lose."

They were not, Leader reminded themselves. Leader checked it far too often to doubt just because Whumper made a comment.

"When will the vehicle arrive?" Leader asked, ignoring Whumper trying again.

"Almost there," Right Hand said after checking their phone.

"And you'll just let me go, dear? I thought you loved me when I was crushing your bones. A special experience and all. Sentimental people like you would appreciate quality bonding time more."

"Shut it. Adults are talking," Right Hand snarled back before Leader could open their mouth. "Leader, we still have time for it. I can't stand them."

"We gotta be an example. And I want full prize, their corpse cuts the bounty in half," Leader returned, voice neutral. They were surprisingly alright with Right Hand's suggestions, they admitted to themselves reluctantly, but it wouldn't satisfy Leader.

Nothing could calm down the rage Leader had locked deep into their mind.

"Technically, they can fall from the elevator shaft and elevator can fall on them. In best case scenerio, we'll have to call for cleanup."

"See, this is the hospitality you kept gloating about, dear Leader. You can't even pull your weight. You should try my discipline methods."

Leader didn't wince at the remark. Their hand, hidden behind their body, however, clenched into a fist hard enough to hurt. The suggestion made them feel dirty for no reason. Leader wasn't a monster.

Or well, they weren't a monster like Whumper.

Because Leader knew what they could do. Leader still remembered the first time Whumper released their underlings into their cell. They remembered the second, the third. They remembered the bloodshed just by their hands. They remembered the raw rage shutting down their thoughts.

They remembered the corpses

"Its always sad to see people assume fear is a good teacher," Leader mused instead, dismissing the thoughts. The safehouse's door cracked open behind them. There were still two doors between, but Leader could practically feel people closing. They stepped aside, turning their face to the door as if it was a potential treat. Of course they knew it was not but still… survival instincts were hard to get rid of.

Leader let the rest on Right Hand. They offered their opinion only when asked as the authorities dragged Whumper away.

-•-

This was the tunnel she'd been painstakingly using her ability with earth to clear, the one she hoped to use to escape this shithole. The one she'd spent nearly every night working on since she'd been sentenced weeks ago.

It was not that other tunnel. She was standing, not lying on the ground. No one was touching her. There wasn't even room for another person, except directly behind her. Someone would have to enter her cell and find the entrance to sneak up behind her. It wasn’t even a rational scenario. 

But there was no light, and her mind couldn't tell the difference between this tunnel and that tunnel. 

Her breaths whistled down constricted airways, and Carr's hands flew to her throat, trying to scrape away the large, callused hand that was choking her. The other hand was everywhere, and she could do nothing, because she couldn't breathe.

It wasn't real, it wasn't real, it wasn't real! 

But it felt real. It was dark, and she was underground, with tears falling down her cheeks like rain. That fucking hand that wasn't even real slid under her waistband…

Carr jerked away, a breathless sob emerging, only to slam her back into the tunnel wall. The dull throb of her lash wounds erupted into nerve-searing agony, and she barely had the presence of mind to clap a hand over her mouth. She bit into her palm, hard, to keep from screaming.

The shock reset her mind. As the pain in her back settled to a more tolerable level, Carr registered the musty smell of the earth, felt the almost clay-like substance at her back. There was no stone in this tunnel. She couldn't work stone with her elemental ability. It was the reason she hadn't just opened the earth to swallow that asshole.

That very dead asshole. If she kept telling herself that, eventually, her body would believe it.

Sweat beaded on her brow, which she wiped away using her sleeve. Her hand was still trembling, and her head was swimming from that memory, and… today was not going to be that day. She had to get out of there.

She’d barely had the strength to come down to begin with, and now she was regretting that choice. Carr used what little energy she had left to call on the subterranean plant she'd coaxed to live over her tunnel. The soft crunch of its roots punching holes in the roof of her tunnel reassured her, and she forced her feet to move. As long as no one with elemental earth looked too closely, the plant's roots would register as earth, filling the suspiciously empty space leading away from her cell.

Frustration filled her when she slipped under the thin blanket on her cot and pillowed her head on her arms. It was taking too fucking long to tunnel out; she should've been done in a couple weeks, tops. But she'd been busy taking care of Resh in the manor for days and days. Then, she'd wasted a lot of time finding, creating a space for, and coaxing her cover plant to take up residence where she needed it.

She'd made good progress after that, only to end up here. With fresh lash marks slowing her down, eating at the vital reserves of energy she needed to fuel her elemental ability, and panic attacks she couldn't afford but had no control over. She didn't know when the prince was coming back, but Carr knew she certainly didn't want to be here when he did.

And, fuck. She now had a problem of conscience, as well. How was she supposed to just disappear into the night, leaving Resh here? After what he had done for her?

The thought kept her awake, even though her eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. She gave in and closed them, hoping… but no, her mind kept picking at his behavior.

As if it wasn't enough that he'd arrived in the nick of time, Resh had also half-carried her around all day when she'd refused to be carted off to her cell. She had needed to eat more than she needed to rest, and you didn't eat here if you didn't work. He'd kept her secret, a secret which he hadn't even commented on yet, which Carr found a little strange. How could he not care? Why did he care at all? She couldn't wrap her mind around that, most of all.

Feelings were… inconvenient. If she had an explanation for Resh’s behavior, maybe the feelings would go away. Maybe then, she wouldn’t feel like her heart beat too fast when he looked at her. Maybe his thoughtfulness wouldn’t continue to erode the wall she’d built around herself. 

Then it wouldn’t matter if she couldn’t find a way to get him out, too. 

~~~

Carr could feel Resh's eyes on her as she plunged her stupid spade back into the ground. The sun beat down on her as she dug up another beet and moved on down the line. Resh came in behind her to plant a different vegetable where the beet had been, something called succession planting, not that she gave a shit. 

The relief of being back on the topside rotation was lessened by the brutal heat and the fucking chains linking her feet together, which clinked every time she moved. Her sweat-soaked shirt was sticking to her back, which stung like a bitch. She was done with the bandages, but the level of activity expected from her kept cracking the wounds open.

Multiple days had passed, and she still couldn’t summon the nerve to ask Resh why he hadn't said anything about her being a girl. He'd just returned to their former routine without comment, although he'd kept a close eye on her since the incident. 

Carr wished she could just ignore the fact that anything had happened, but nightmares interrupted the little sleep she afforded herself each night. She wished she could ignore the fact that someone knew her greatest secret, but the fading bruises on Resh’s face were a constant reminder. It was driving her crazy.

To cap off her foul mood, the guards patrolling the perimeter of the field had been whispering about Marcus’ return, which, from what she could tell, would be sometime tomorrow. Carr had another two or three nights of work left to do on her escape tunnel, but somehow she needed to make it work tonight. 

And she still had yet to find an answer to the possibility of bringing Resh with her.

"Ugh, this is worse than slinking around during a festival looking for marks," Resh muttered beside her.

Wait, what? Carr turned her head, watching as Resh wiped his sweaty face with his sleeve. "Why'd you get locked up?" she asked, suddenly curious.

Resh scooped dirt over the seedling he'd planted. "I tried to run after the prince killed a prisoner."

"That when you were workin’ here?" Carr asked, pulling another fucking beet out of the ground. It would've been nice to use her element to harvest the damned vegetables, but she needed to conserve her energy. It was going to take everything she had to finish her tunnel tonight.

"Yeah," Resh said, arranging the dirt just so.

"That's all you're gonna say," Carr remarked flatly after a few minutes of silence. 

There was no response, and her heart sank when the all-too-familiar warning bells began ringing in her mind.  

Was this it, the part where Resh's ugly side came out? Because you'd have to be a sick fuck to willingly work at this place. Forced to take the work to feed a family, she could see that. But if you were disgusted by what you were forced to do, wouldn't you say so? Act embarrassed that you'd held such a shit-fucked job?

The motherfucking chains clinked as she moved from plant to plant, skipping over every other one. The shackles chafed her ankles where dirt had become trapped underneath. Her knees ached, her back stung, her eyes were gritty from too little sleep and too much sun. 

The silence stretched between them, and Carr stabbed the spade into the earth, wishing she were stabbing something else. Stupid, she was fucking stupid. Couldn't trust nobody; she should know that by now. Not that she had ever… trusted him? Had she?

Carr pressed her face into her shoulder, ostensibly to wipe off sweat but really to hide the godsdamn tears pricking her eyes. What the fuck was wrong with her? 

She gritted her teeth and quickly scanned her surroundings while she tossed some more beets into the collection basket. The other prisoners in this field–one of three the Center provided "workers" for–were spaced far enough apart that they'd be out of earshot if one spoke quietly enough. She and Resh were near the center of the field, out of earshot of the guards as well.

"So… what?" Carr asked bitterly as she hacked at the ground with her spade. "You just worked here for shits and giggles?

Stab.

"Don't see why you'd bother runnin’ if you liked what you were doin’."

Stab.

Resh's continued silence had her heart beating too fast.

"Or is killing people just one step too fuckin’ far for you?" Carr slammed her spade into the dirt and grabbed the mutilated beets she’d uncovered. She threw them in the basket. 

Why was she pushing so hard? She didn't give a fuck. And she certainly didn't give a fuck what Resh thought about her killing that asshole who'd tried to rape her.

The fucker planted another godsdamned seed, not even bothering to look at her.

"You gonna fuckin’ say something?" she snarled, so far beyond pissed that her eyes were trying to tear up again. So much for not giving a fuck, godsdamnit. 

"Does it matter?" Resh asked, still staring at the ground. "Does the why of it really matter? I was here. I helped him torture people."

His tone was off; something wasn't adding up. The wrongness of it pierced through her anger and embarrassment. She looked, really looked this time, and could finally see how his shoulders were slumped, recognized the way he refused to look at her.

He was ashamed.

Fuck. Now she felt like shit for jumping him like that. Not that she would ever fucking admit it. 

"Yeah, it fuckin’ matters," she muttered, chains fucking clinking when she moved down the row. It mattered to her.

Resh sighed, but she gave him the courtesy of not looking at him. Instead, she concentrated on digging and not screaming with frustration every time she heard the chains rattle.

"When my father died, we lost our only source of income and got kicked out of our home. My sister was sick and kept getting worse. I couldn't afford the medicine she needed. I could barely find enough work to feed us at first. I was damned lucky to find a place to stay. When I finally turned eighteen a couple years later, I petitioned the Crown."

Carr heard the rustle of fabric and chain as he moved. He couldn’t be much older than nineteen or twenty now, if she were to guess. Fuck, that meant he’d been, what, sixteen or so? That was not a good age to suddenly find yourself out on the streets. Too old to garner the sympathy shown a child and too young for almost everything else. Everything else legal, anyway. 

"In exchange for two years of service to the Crown, Queen Melaina promised my sister would receive the treatment she needed. They sent me here to serve Prince Marcus. I…" he trailed off, swallowing hard.

"You had no choice," she finished for him, pausing her digging to study him. She wanted to cry again and cursed herself for being a stupid sentimental fool.

"Yeah, well, that doesn't really mean shit, does it. I still helped," he said, finally looking over at her, although he didn’t quite meet her eyes.

Carr scoffed. "You sayin’ it don't mean shit that the men I've killed all tried to rape me or hurt someone else? There's a big difference between killin’ for no reason and the other. At least, I think so."

She should know. She was primarily a thief, but Nykim asked her to off someone every now and then. He knew how picky she was about her targets, though. She’d done enough senseless killing when she was younger. 

Resh's expression hardened, and he looked right at her as he said, "They deserved to die."

Something within her relaxed at the way he hadn't even hesitated. 

"Why haven't you said anything about… me?" Fuck, she hadn't meant to say that. Not yet, anyway. Carr bit her lip; it didn't matter now, did it? She turned back to the harvesting; it was her avoiding eye contact now.

"Because I’m pretty sure I know why you do it. And I figured it'd make you uncomfortable to talk about," Resh said.

She opened her mouth–

"Before you ask, no, I don't think any differently or less of you. How stupid would that be? What does it matter if you're one or the other?" He waited until she met his eyes before returning to his task.

Carr's heart fluttered. How did he do that? She wasn’t even interested in men. Or women, really. She didn't want anyone in her life, was completely satisfied on her own. Or as on her own as she could get, being part of Nykim's pack. She certainly didn’t look forward to spending time with any of them…

Reaper take her. She was imprisoned with the man, and she looked forward to spending time with him? 

She made a snap decision and asked, "You stole while you were on the streets?"

At Resh's nod, she quieted, considering. They were at the edge of the field now, so she exchanged her full basket for an empty one, was given a drink of water, and went back to her fucking harvesting. Resh looked at her quizzically, but she shook her head. Not here, where the guards could listen. They worked in silence until she figured they’d gotten far enough in.

"Do you think… do you think you could steal some keys?" she asked, chewing on her lip when he turned to stare at her.

"For the cell?" His words were barely audible. "Carr, there's no way you can get out that way. The guards would–"

"No, for yours," she interrupted. "And t' get into mine."

Resh paused, his seedling halfway covered. "You have earth. But how? The prince wards the grounds, and…" 

"Marcus hasn't been here for weeks," she finished. "Don't think he's renewed the wards in a bit, anyways. I was able t’ work past 'em even when he was here."

Resh’s hands moved again, finishing his task. "There's always guards on duty with earth, watching. How did you get past them?"

Carr huffed. "Don't worry ‘bout it. Can you or can't you? He comes back tomorrow, so I need t’ leave tonight."

"I'll see what I can do," Resh said. "But, Carr?"

"Yeah?"

"If I can't, leave without me." His tone was deadly serious. "I'd rather not find out what the prince will do to you for killing Creve."

Carr closed her eyes. She'd rather not find out, either.

~~~

Resh

Stealing the keys had been the easy part. Just a tiny bit of kinetic magic to ease them from a guard's pocket as the prisoners were locked back in their cells for the evening. It hadn't even been enough power to set Resh's eyes aglow.

Then, he sat on his cot and stared into the cell across from his. Eventually, the guards left, and the other prisoners quieted. Through the dim torchlight left behind, he watched as Carr held up a finger.

Wait.

At least, Resh assumed that’s what that gesture meant. He nodded, even though he had no clue what he was waiting for. 

Carr inclined her head, then threw her legs over the side of her cot. Except there was a wall on that side. The cots were horizontally placed against the back wall of the cells. But against all logic, she slid off the bed and disappeared.

Well. That was interesting. He used his lifesense to watch for her energy until she faded out of his range, then leaned against the brick wall, crossing his legs in front of him. Gods, it was nice to be able to do that again.

The splints had been removed a few days ago, and in their place, he had a stiff leather sleeve for his arm and leg that Mieste called a brace. While the braces weren't exactly comfortable, they were infinitely better than the splints, and Resh could remove them to bathe and sleep.

With nothing to do but wait, Resh practiced squeezing his right hand into a fist over and over. He'd been told it would improve his grip strength, since his right hand was noticeably weaker than the left.

He also thought about what this escape would mean. Could he even go through with it? If he didn't complete his end of the bargain with the Crown, they'd turn his sister out, and he'd have to flee the capital and possibly the country to avoid being charged with abandonment of a debt. Resh wasn't even sure if Orla needed continuous doses of medicine or if she was cured now.

On the other hand, he really didn't want Orla to grow up in the palace as a lady's maid. Not with Marcus there. So maybe escaping, grabbing Orla, and fleeing to the northern realm of Va’ahl was his best bet. It certainly sounded better than enduring another year here.

Time passed. Resh could hear the prisoners in the adjacent cells snoring and shifting in their sleep. Sleep he wished he could join them in; his eyelids felt heavy, and his muscles were sore after working in the fields all day.

Every time a guard came through, he laid down and held his breath, convinced they would see Carr wasn't in her cot. But they never noticed.

Eventually, he grew tired of waiting. It felt like it'd been too long, that she should've been back by now. What if she'd exhausted herself? He waited for the next guard to make his rounds, then moved.

Over in her cell, Resh knelt on her cot and tried to locate the opening to whatever tunnel she'd been making, but he couldn't see anything. Fuck, he should've thought about that. Of course, she would conceal the entrance. Maybe he should've waited after all. But the other prisoners were starting to stir, and so much time had passed that it must be near morning. He wouldn't have been able to wait much longer.

He was running options over in his mind when he caught the faint sounds of the earth shifting. Carr's head appeared over the edge of the cot, accompanied by a barely audible curse.

"Sorry," Resh whispered, concerned at what he saw. Even in the dim light, she looked too pale. A thin sheen of sweat covered her forehead, and her eyes were bloodshot. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," she whispered back, although her tone and the shakiness in her voice told Resh she was anything but. "C’mon, we need t’ hurry."

With her help, he slipped down into the pitch-darkness of her tunnel. His shoulders brushed against the tunnel’s walls, making him glad, for once in his life, that he wasn't a larger man. 

Resh utilized his lifesense so he'd have some kind of guidance as they began walking and was immediately fascinated by the green sparks of plant life he could see floating in the air. As Carr's golden light pressed forward, the green plant lights rose, allowing them to pass. When Resh glanced behind them, he could see they descended again once they were through.

"This is genius," he said. He was beyond impressed with the scope of this tunnel and the effort Carr had gone through to keep it hidden.

Her breath hitched. "I suppose?"

That shakiness was still there in her voice, and Resh’s concern grew. "Carr, what's wrong?"

"I… I've been… Fuck! Can you just keep talkin’ or something? So I know who the fuck's walkin’ behind me?" she asked, a rare note of vulnerability present behind the frustrated anger filling her tone.

"Of course," Resh said, the weight of the earth above him nearly crushing him as he realized why she would ask such a thing. He felt like an idiot for not realizing sooner.

He filled the silence with stories about his sister–when she had been well and life had been happier. Carr made little noises every now and then, which he took as acknowledgment of his words. 

They walked for what felt like hours, and he had to imagine the guards would discover their absence anytime now. Resh was about to ask how much further when he heard the sound of water during one of his pauses between stories. 

"What is that?" he asked instead. 

"The river," Carr said, sounding absolutely exhausted. "Thank fuck. We'll need t’ walk upstream t’ make our way back to the city, but there's plenty of reeds and areas t’ hide in on the way if the guards think t’ search there."

"The water will hide our presence from anyone searching for us with lifesense." Resh voiced his thoughts as he worked through that plan. "Going back to the city seems a bit risky. I have to go there to get my sister, but you certainly don't."

"I do," Carr said. "Need t’ visit my stash, and Nykim has connections that'd be useful in gettin’ to your sister. Unless you're plannin’ on walking into the palace lookin’ like you do? Askin’ the queen t’ let your sister leave the city with you?"

Light began to filter in around Carr's body, the sound of the river growing closer. Resh supposed she had a point, although he was extremely hesitant to ask for help from the city's most notorious packleader.

"Why would Nykim help me?" Resh asked. "It's not like I'm–"

The earth around him began to shudder, cutting him off.

"Shit," Carr gasped. "Run!" She took off, still much faster than him, even injured and exhausted as she was.

There was enough light now that he could see the cracks forming in the earth above them. Way too much light. It must be later in the morning than he’d thought.

"Can you hold it?" Resh yelled. As they rounded a curve, the sky became visible where the tunnel ended. A tunnel that was quickly collapsing around them. To be so close…

"No," Carr panted ahead of him. "It… has t’ be… Marcus." Her eyes were wide as she glanced over her shoulder at him. "Hurry!"

Fuck fuck fuck. Resh could see how this was going to go. Only another fucking royal would have a chance against Prince Marcus' earth ability, but maybe… maybe his magic would be enough?

He didn't even stop to consider what could happen to him if he revealed his magic. Reaching inside himself, he threw power at the earth above their heads and the mouth of the tunnel, which seemed so close and yet so far away. He couldn't let that collapse, couldn't let them be buried underground, to either suffocate to death or be excavated by the prince for a different, more painful kind of death. Because surely he would kill them for this.

Purple light flooded the tunnel ahead of him, showcasing the crumbling ground under their feet. Which was not fucking good, especially as he watched Carr stumble and almost fall.

Resh attempted to hold the ground together as well. The strain of using his magic this way was immediate; all he'd ever used it for was lifting small, valuable objects from a target. Sometimes, he could even make the object appear right in his hand instead of taking the risk of floating it to him. But this… this was a much larger scale of magic use, and a piercing pain took up residence in his head, so bad it felt like someone was stabbing him through his eyes.

Reaction headache. Too much magic, too fast. He didn’t know much about his magic, but he did know that. He could barely see through the pain and the darkness pressing in on his peripheral vision. Shit, was he draining his Source already?

"Almost there!" Carr yelled over the loud cracks and groans of the earth breaking apart around them. "Resh? Shit, you're a fuckin’ mage? No fuckin’ wonder we aren't dead yet."

She must've glanced over her shoulder again. Resh couldn't tell, could only see a vague, blurry outline of her body in the light streaming in from outside. Every step he took felt like wading through mud at this point, his magic sapping his energy as he pushed harder and harder, desperately trying to keep the tunnel from collapsing.

"Resh, you have t’ move faster," Carr pleaded. Her voice sounded so very far away.

"I'm right behind you," he managed to say, grabbing his head. Gods, it felt like it was going to explode. "Go!"

Chunks of earth pelted his shoulders as his magic faltered. He pushed forward, blinking furiously to see through his tears. Was she out?

He stumbled over the suddenly uneven ground beneath him, crashing heavily to his knees. Fuck, there was a vise grip squeezing around his temples; he pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes to keep them from popping out of his head.

"RESH!" Carr screamed, and this time her voice stabbed through every nerve ending he had.

The earth rained down around him, and his knees sank into the softening ground beneath him. He needed to let go of his magic–the pain in his head was unbearable–but he wouldn't until he knew she was out. He wasn't going to make it, but she still could.

Whimpering, he forced his eyes open. Was she out?

His heart lurched when he saw half the mouth of the tunnel had collapsed, but then he noticed Carr's face peering in over the edge, saw her hands clawing at the dirt in front of her. It hurt to see how distressed she was, but he shook his head, trying to tell her it was no use. Her mouth moved, but he couldn't hear the words.

She was out.

Resh cut the channel to his Source, releasing his hold on his magic. The backlash of pain nearly knocked him senseless, blacking out his vision momentarily and filling his ears with the roaring of his own blood.

It wasn't enough to block the sound of the tunnel collapsing around him, though. Then, the light was gone, along with Carr's tear-streaked face.

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“Excuse me?” Whumpee’s brows furrowed, though they knew quite well just what they was talking about. 

“You covered your tracks well. Of course, you were bound to slip up at some point. I began to monitor radio transmissions last week, and there was some... unusual activity coming from your room.”

“I don’t know what your talking about-”

“Cut the bullshit, Whumpee.” They snapped, pushing up from their chair. Before Whumpee could even comprehend, much less get out of their chair, Whumper’s gun was free of its holster, aimed directly at their head. “You stay right there.”

Slowly, Whumpee sank back into their seat, from where they had begun to get up. They didn’t break eye contact as Whumper walked around the desk, and pulled their pistol free from where it was sheathed at their waist. They tossed it across the room without a glance at where it would land. 

“Do you know how many spies your team has sent after me?” Whumper’s expression was unreadable, as they returned to his desk chair, their hold on the gun never wavering. “Seriously, do you know?” Now they were taunting them. 

“No.” Whumpee bit out. 

“Sixty-two. Men, women, people of all ages. You’re one of the youngest so far, but that’s besides the point. Do you know how many I killed?”

Whumpee clenched their fists. 

“Answer me,” Whumper’s voice was quiet. It would have been better if they yelled. 

“No,” Whumpee whispered, flinching as they laughed, a cold, harsh sound. 

“All of them. Like clockwork, they all broke, and spilled everything they knew. I killed every single one of them.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” Whumpee felt their heart sink. 

“Because, my dear sixty-three, it seems your teammates have failed to do so.”

“So you’re going to kill me,” Whumpee realized, breaking eye contact. Of course they knew it was part of the risk, they had been warned when taking the job, but it had never been much of a reality to that moment. 

“Oh, no, I’m not going to kill you. Actually, I’ve grown quite fond of you, as much as I hate to admit it.” Whumper’s fingers tightened around the gun, then relaxed slightly. “You’re one of the best soldiers I’ve seen, even if it’s just been a facade. Much more competent than the dumbasses I have out there, excellent shot, and even better fighting skills. No doubt Leader taught you. Tell me, did they teach you how to withstand torture?”

The question came out of nowhere, and Whumpee had to take a second to find their words. “It’s protocol, you know that.”

“Ah, yes, I suppose I do. I just wanted to hear you say it.” Whumper pressed a button on the side of their desk, one that Whumpee didn’t know what it did. 

Less than a minute later, there was a knock on the door, and Whumper pressed the button that opened it. 

.

.

Meliodas took a deep breath after stepping into the Fairy King’s Forest. It was the first time, truly, since Stigma three thousand years ago that he was here alongside its king. Speaking of which, Meliodas couldn’t help but spare a glance at King, catching a glimpse of an apprehensive expression before it was washed away when he realized Meliodas was looking his way.

He took a deep breath and looked at Gerheade.

“Just how much does he actually know?”

She turned to look at him as they began to travel to where she could feel Gloxinia’s presence. Gloxinia and Drole, actually. Stars, it had been so long since she had felt either of their presences in the forest, but it was tainted now. The comfort it would have brought centuries ago still remained, but it was tinged slightly with wariness.

Right. They still wore their commandments.

“Nothing. They don’t even know you’re alive again.” She lowered her voice. “Considering certain companions here, you may want to distract them quickly. I think they know some things in the demon language… if you can explain fast enough so they don’t… do anything accidentally.”

Meliodas inhaled shakily but nodded. “Right. Okay.” He exhaled slowly and clenched his fists as they strode deeper into the forest, the rest of the Sins and Elizabeth and the pig - Gerheade believed his name was Hawk, if she remembered correctly from Diane’s ramblings earlier - following close behind. Meliodas slowed, then came to a stop just outside the Sacred Tree he had never had the chance to visit before. “Stars, I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.” She gently knocked her shoulder with his before parting the roots that acted as a door. Meliodas still hesitated, and a glance at his friends revealed they were at a loss for how to react, seeing their captain actually nervous. But they too also appeared nervous. She could understand the feeling - thousands of years ago, she too had once felt worried when seeing Meliodas look even slightly vulnerable.

He took a deep breath and followed the path inside, Gerheade and Elizabeth following close behind, with the Sins trailing after them.

Meliodas was the first in the little clearing, and he stepped in only enough to let the others past. No one traveled too far, and no one noticed the vines that hid Elaine’s previous resting place from view. Gerheade didn’t need more than three people breaking down here at a time.

And she was certain that would happen when three eyes landed on Meliodas, the beings those gazes belonged to freezing, their conversation vanishing immediately. Meliodas himself was also tense, staring up at two old friends and, if Gerheade assumed correctly by the fact that they had helped murder him, recent enemies.

Drole and Gloxinia barely even seemed to register that others were present, Gloxinia sinking to the ground to be level with Meliodas while Drole sat very, very still. Gerheade had a feeling he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

Gloxinia swallowed thickly, slowly walking towards Meliodas, maintaining eye contact until he was just a few steps away. So close, Gerheade could see her brother trembling, and she yearned to reach out and comfort him. But Meliodas was also starting to show small tremors, hands no longer balled into fists at his side but stuffed into his pockets where she had no doubt that he was coming very close to making his palms bleed.

The previous fairy king was the first to break the stifling silence.

“Meliodas.”

The name was soft, as though if spoken any louder the man it belonged to would disappear before their eyes. Gloxinia’s voice held a myriad of emotions that Gerheade could only just touch the iceberg in understanding, the regret and relief both palpable in the only word he had said.

Meliodas didn’t relax, but Gerheade could tell he stopped shaking, at the very least. Still tense, but no longer trembling.

Gloxinia took a deep breath but seemed unable to find the words to say anything else. He looked back at Drole for a moment, a silent conversation passing between them.

Drole used just the smallest bit of power to raise them all up enough to where he wouldn’t tower over them.

“How are you alive?” Drole whispered, though everyone could hear it clear as day.

Meliodas also had to take a deep breath, the air stuttering for a moment. “It’s… a long story.” He looked between them. “A story that… I should share with you. With everyone, finally.” Meliodas glanced back at the others. Gloxinia and Drole followed his gaze.

Gerheade knew the second both Drole and Gloxinia spotted Elizabeth, standing at her side and radiating nervousness. Gerheade stood straighter and sent a glare their way; whether they saw it or not was up for debate.

“Is that-”

Meliodas cut Gloxinia off, speaking words Gerheade had tried to learn but had never managed to. She hoped Gloxinia and Drole did, though. They had been sealed with the demons for three thousand years. Surely they had learned some of the language the demons used.

She waited with bated breath, the confusion that appeared on their faces worrisome, but then they nodded slowly, tearing gazes away from Elizabeth and keeping them away for now.

“Al… alright. Whenever you’re ready,” Gloxinia said.

Meliodas nodded, turning to Merlin. “Merlin, could you shrink Diane and Drole, please?”

Merlin was frowning, and Gerheade only just remembered the fact that she also knew the story. She knew everything as well. “Are you sure about this, Captain?”

“No,” Meliodas admitted, “but Gerheade’s right. I need to let others help.”

The mage hesitantly nodded, looking up at the confused giant before casting the shrinking spell.

.

.

.

Silence was all that followed Meliodas’ story. 

He had shared everything he could, bar Gerheade’s time with him - because, really, she had no relation to his curse, she just existed in the same centuries that he did - and Elizabeth’s name. He had told them about Elizabeth’s curse, though. He told them about an old friend who would always die before his eyes if they should ever recover their memories of before, be reincarnated, and start the cycle again.

Gerheade carefully watched everyone, not missing how both Drole and Gloxinia seemed to very easily catch onto just who that old friend was. She was the slightest bit pleased with the rage in their expressions, at the sheer cruelty of the gods which every race had once held in such high regard.

The Sins were an array of emotions - anger, sorrow, shock - all swirling about the group as they processed Meliodas’ tale. Only Merlin was unsurprised by anything their captain had said, her only reaction now being a frown and refusal to look anywhere but the center of their little circle, lost in her own thoughts.

Meliodas swallowed thickly, glancing at Gerheade and she smiled reassuringly, resting a hand atop his own in the grass and giving it a squeeze. He relaxed a bit and turned his attention back to their companions.

“So… you were alone, for three thousand years, except for a friend who died no matter what, over and over again?” Ban asked slowly.

Meliodas hummed slightly. “Sort of? I wasn’t always alone.” He took a deep breath before nodding to Gerheade and Merlin. “I had these two with me as well.”

Gloxinia tilted his head, squinting between Gerheade and Meliodas. “How did that happen? Last I checked, you loathed each other.”

“I never loathed Gerheade.”

“I used to loathe Meliodas,” Gerheade said at the same time as him. Meliodas pouted at her slightly, and she grinned. “But a lot changes after three thousand years, brother. It was just us for many of those years. It’d be weird if we didn’t become friends.”

“You two could have just moved on, never be at the same place. I always figured the first chance you got, you’d leave the Fairy King forest behind,” Drole said with a small nod Meliodas’ way.

The blonde shrugged. “Honestly… I don’t remember what exactly drew me back to the forest, but I had just experienced the second death of one of my closest friends and learned about the curses. I think I just recognized it and it registered as a safe place to be at the time. It worked out in the end, since I ended up coming across Gerheade, and wasn’t that a surprise? Especially since you looked worse than I did.”

Gerheade grimaced slightly at the memory. “Definitely not one of my best moments. At that point, I was just waiting for death to take me and it never bothered to even try.”

“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked, peering to look at Gerheade from Meliodas’ other side.

Gerheade could see both Gloxinia and Harlequin look away, one overwhelmed by a shameful expression and the other one appearing so utterly sad it broke her heart a little. She hummed softly, wondering how much she should share.

It seemed to be an honesty hour, though.

“When Stigma still resided in the Fairy King’s forest, we would provide a home to refugees. These refugees were from a variety of clans, the exception being ones from the demon clan. Towards the end of the… the first Holy War, I suppose, some of the humans attacked the fairies. Some humans I considered friends and one I considered more. I happened to be one of the targetted fairies.” Gerheade gestured to her eye, tilted her wings into view, and moved her dress just enough to reveal the end of her legs, cut where her knees were. 

“I don’t know how long I was unconscious from the blood loss, but when I awoke I was alone, the humans were killed as were most of the fairies in the vicinity. I couldn’t feel anyone in the forest, though. I woke up after the goddesses had sealed the demons and after the Supreme Deity and Demon King cursed Meliodas and his friend.

“Somehow I managed to get to a lake. I don’t remember how, I was in and out of consciousness for a lot of it and my memory is just really fuzzy. But I stayed by that lake for some time before Meliodas found me.” She laughed humorlessly. “I was there for a while, that I know, and somehow despite doing nothing that would ensure I survived I was. I was rotting away with no sign of actually dying, until Meliodas showed up and, considering there wasn’t anyone else in the forest, we… teamed up, for a lack of better words.”

Meliodas nodded. “What else were we supposed to do, when everyone else we held dear was either dead, sealed, or cursed?”