Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Howzer is not in a good mood. 

It feels like he hardly ever is, nowadays, but today’s worse than most. The kingdom’s silent - there have been no major attacks and the ever-present worries about the Seven Deadly Sins rising again have calmed. But a silent kingdom means the Holy Knights get the worst missions, and today’s assignment is to march due west for three hours, double-time, and then explore some caves. 

Howzer cannot make this stuff up. 

It’d be better if Griamore was with him, but it’s his day off, and he’s getting too obsessed with Princess Veronica to want to hang out with Howzer much anymore. Howzer doesn’t begrudge him the affection he feels, obviously; it’s just that without Griamore by his side, Howzer feels more alone than ever, and he can’t stop thinking about the last time he and Griamore talked, just before he left for this mission. 

They’d been at Howzer’s place, prepping his armor and rations, and Howzer had nudged him. “Hey. You free this weekend?”

He expected a sly look, a casually vague answer. Griamore just peered out the window as he shrugs. “Maybe. Why?”

“The- The 19th is this weekend.” Howzer’s heart was suddenly in his throat. 

“What about it?”

It wasn’t a big deal, that he didn’t remember. They were adults now. It- It was fine. “Never mind,” he says, and he guessed Griamore was paying just enough attention to notice the mix of resignation and panic crossing his face.

“Wait, Howzer, what-”

“Never mind,” he’d repeated, and rushed off to where the knights were gathering. Griamore hadn’t followed. 

It really doesn’t matter. It’s just that Howzer’s twentieth birthday is in three days and Griamore - and his more distant friends - haven’t said anything about it. He doesn’t know if it’s that they don’t remember or care, but it hurts, a little, and he doesn’t know whether to hate them for it or pull them even closer so he doesn’t lose them too. 

He’s been… really bad at the whole friendship thing, in the past. He’s made too many mistakes, hurt too many people and gotten hurt too deeply in return. Now it’s like he’s forgotten everything that came so easily when he was younger. 

Without effort, his gaze drops back to the group of Holy Knights in front of him, rowdy and unorderly. The troop of Holy Knights on the march aren’t very friendly, which makes the three-hour hike that much worse. They have orders to keep their heads down and their feet marching, which Howzer’s been doing, but apparently these dozen knights have free rein to snigger at each other’s jokes, shove those that slow in front of them, and generally harass others without being reprimanded. 

As Howzer watches, one well-muscled jerk steps in front of another knight and trips her, sending her crashing to the ground. He laughs uproariously, and his friends follow. “You should really watch where you’re going!” they crow, and the bullying is so ridiculously grade-school-level that Howzer can’t stand it. 

“Leave her alone,” he starts, shoving forward and offering a hand to help the knight up. 

She sneers up at him and slaps his hand away with enough unexpected force to send him staggering. 

“I don’t need your help,” she snaps, pulling herself up quickly. Howzer’s face burns as he hears the jeering from the other knights, and doesn’t know what to do except mumble an apology and fall back in line behind them. 

For a second, his eyes meet Gilthunder’s. 

As the commanding knight of today’s mission, he’s right in the thick of it, being jostled and whooped and cheered, indifferent to the attention as always. His posture is impeccable, his manners are sublime, he’s a part of the crowd while being entirely above it, and god forbid there’s one person in the entirety of the Holy Knights who doesn’t consider him their best friend. 

Except Howzer, that is. Gilthunder’s expression shutters as Howzer’s does, and they both look away. 

Goddess, he hates Gilthunder. 

At least, he wants to. He does, most of the time. Since their big fight two years ago, they’ve barely talked - never unless absolutely necessary - and any kind of friendship between them is as dried and withered as the dead plants they march past in the hot sun. 

Gilthunder used to be different, he thinks bitterly, and knows that he was probably different as a kid too, young and idealistic and naive. He’s learned a lot since then: try to help someone, and you’ll always fail. Try to hurt someone, and you’ll always succeed. Howzer used to love being a Holy Knight, but now it’s all distrust and narrowed eyes and which side are you on - he’s not the most politically inclined, but anyone can see that the two grandmasters are disagreeing more and more, causing a divide in the Holy Knights that seems to be getting deeper every day. And the power of the royalty doesn’t do anything to mend differences - even civilians know that the king’s getting weaker as he gets older, less able to maintain his own power. 

Whatever. People change. The world changes. That’s pretty much the only thing Howzer can count on to be true anymore. He’ll just keep avoiding Gilthunder, try not to panic about how the rest of his world is falling apart, and focus on keeping a straight face as the rowdiness of the group in front of him increases.

“Alright, we’re here,” Gilthunder says, right when Howzer’s about to snap. He points to a cave jutting out from the side of a craggy hill. “Remember, we’re looking for a monster, unidentified as of now, though we know from villager reports and crop damage that it is likely chaotic and malevolent. It’s taken children from the nearby village, all wards of the town, and seems to take shelter in the cave system extending below us for roughly three miles.” He’s dead serious now, not that he isn’t always, but there’s a particularly determined light shining in his eyes now that Howzer almost teases him about before choking back the old habit. “Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they chorus, and Gilthunder nods sharply. 

“Groups of two. Don’t get separated, don’t get lost. This is a reconnaissance mission only - find where the creature is located and save the children if you find them. Do not engage. Report back here in three hours. Questions?”

Howzer heard all this in the mission briefing anyway, but his head whips around at ‘groups of two’. He has no friends here, dammit. This is like primary school all over again. 

Grouping up with the brawnier knights, idiotic and cruel, isn’t appealing. And sure, he could join up with one of the weaker knights, the ones bullied earlier, but they have their own cliques and connections, and crawling through a dark, damp cave with someone who can barely defend themselves against other Holy Knights doesn’t sound like his idea of a good time. 

It’s too late, anyway. As he watches, Holy Knights nudge each other or surreptitiously cross the group to stand behind their partners. In seconds, everyone’s paired up, high-fiving and chatting as they head into the caves. Everyone except-

“Oh, no,” he says out loud before he realizes insulting his mission commander isn’t smart. “I mean- Sir Gilthunder, sir, could I join up with another group? Group of three? You’re fine on your own, I’m sure.”

Gilthunder glances at him, and then looks… up. He studies the sky like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world, watching some birds soar above them, and Howzer is abruptly reminded of why he hates Gilthunder so much. 

“Is that a no? Is that a yes? Gil, you idiot, talk to me.” 

Gilthunder snaps to look at him, his eyes wide, and Howzer abruptly realizes what he’s said. He takes a hasty step back. 

Hey. Gilthunder’s a Cardinal and a Platinum-level Holy Knight, and they’ve had a pretty serious falling out. Yes, he’s afraid. Sue him. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I just don’t- uh, can I join another group?”

“...No,” Gilthunder says, after a pause, actually looking at Howzer. “No, that will arouse unnecessary suspicion. We’ll go together.” He tilts his head up slightly. “I’ll say nothing, I swear.” 

Gilthunder sweeps off, and Howzer’s left trying to hide his confusion. Suspicion? Say nothing? What? 

As always, he has no idea what Gilthunder’s talking about, and now he’s going to spend the next three hours with him, staving off confusion and insecurities and small talk. 

Great, he thinks grimly, following Gilthunder into the dark cave. This day cannot get any worse. 

- - -

It does get worse. Obviously. 

It’s not terrible at first, actually, just awkward. He doesn’t really know what to say and Gilthunder is entirely cold and unbothered, so after a few attempts at stuttering out something coherent and getting frosty looks in response, he settles for trailing silently behind Gilthunder and praying for the three hours to pass as quickly as possible. 

To take his mind off the fact that he’s in a confined space with a man he has a very complicated history with, he does his job. He looks around for signs of struggle or monstrous activity like he’s been trained, but there honestly doesn’t seem to be anything, so he busies himself with remembering the turns they’re taking to ensure that they won’t get lost. 

An hour passes in complete silence, the only light being from a few openings in the ceiling letting in straggling sunbeams. 

At this point, Howzer doesn’t expect to find anything at all, and that’s what makes it so surprising when they’re looping back around toward the cave entrance, Gilthunder stops with a sudden hiss of dismay. 

He cranes his head to look over Gilthunder’s shoulder, but all he sees is a small jumble of rocks in a pile. It’s relatively strange, as there aren’t many loose rocks in this type of cave anyway - the walls are smooth and weathered - but it’s nothing Howzer would look twice at. Still, now that Gilthunder’s focused on it, Howzer’s more suspicious. “What is it?”

Gilthunder shifts aside, and Howzer feels a chill run through him. What he’d mistaken for darkish black patterns on the rocks and walls was red.  

Blood. The rocks were saturated in it. 

“Oh, goddess,” he says, sickened. “They’re kids.” 

Gilthunder studies the pile of rocks with an almost distant detachment and then reaches forward. 

“Gilthunder, stop,” Howzer starts, because touching blood was never a good idea when you didn’t know where it came from, but Gilthunder pulls out his sword to carefully push the rocks to the side and pries out something buried underneath. 

It’s something glittering, green, and Howzer squints. “Is that… a scale? Like, of a fish? Could that be from the monster?”

“It’s information,” Gilthunder says quietly, his first words in an hour. “What worries me is the blood.” He touches the blood gently with the tip of his fingers. “It’s fresh. And it’s not human.” 

“Not human?” Howzer says, bewildered. “How can you tell?”

Gilthunder pulls out a handkerchief and wipes off the spot of red. “Because,” he says, and his tone is all off, “I can’t feel my hand.”

It takes a moment for his words to sink in. “What?”

“As soon as I touched it, it went numb. There aren’t many creatures with blood that potent. It could be a a cockatrice, from the north, or some sort of demonic subspecies, but it’s hard to-”

“Stop! Just- stop. Are you okay?”

Gilthunder has the gall to look confused. “Of course.” 

“No, you’re not. You can’t feel your hand, Gilthunder.” Goddess. “We can head back. This is only about recon, remember? We’ve got what we came for. You need to be treated. We have a medic outside.” 

Gilthunder stands, his left arm hanging limp. “It’s not my sword arm, and I’m sure it’ll wear off soon. I can keep going.”

“I- I know you can keep going. My point is-” Howzer doesn’t even know why he’s pushing so hard. He doesn’t even like Gilthunder and he keeps reminding himself of that fact, but the idea that this idiot who used to be his friend is injured and isn’t even seeking help rubs him the wrong way. “My point is, you don’t have to.” 

Gilthunder cocks his head and narrows his eyes, a peculiar gesture that reminds Howzer more of a bird than a human. His answer gives Howzer chills. “Of course I do.” 

What is Howzer supposed to say to that? 

It sounds too much like their argument all those years ago, anyway, and Howzer remembers who won that one all too clearly. So he steps aside and lets Gilthunder go ahead, and then they’re back to the old pattern of Howzer trailing behind Gilthunder, both of them checking the chambers and passageways as they move forward. But now Howzer’s paying as much attention to his companion as he is to the green scales they continue to find, all of them buried under small piles of rocks in groups of three or four. Gilthunder’s in rough shape, though his posture and bearing is as impeccable as ever. Every so often he sways slightly, catching himself on a wall, and continues as if nothing happened. Howzer just stops himself from reaching out to help him each time. Finally, thirty minutes into following the trail of scales, Gilthunder’s left hand spasms slightly and Howzer watches as Gilthunder carefully stretches his fingers in and out, bending all of them individually. His hand is fine. 

Gilthunder breathes out a nearly undetectable sigh of relief, and Howzer echoes him without quite meaning to. Gilthunder’s head turns sharply at the sound, and Howzer pretends to study a cave wall. After a suspicious half-second, he turns and keeps walking. 

Goddess. 

Gilthunder seems to have only gotten stranger in the years they’ve spent apart. When he’s around others, he’s confident and all-inspiring, and in the darkness of these caves, he’s far quieter and so much of a martyr for his work it’s frankly concerning. Howzer’s going to be glad when all this is over.

And then, of course, is when it all goes to hell. 

“Howzer,” Gilthunder says abruptly. “Did you hear that?”

Howzer’s about to ask him what he’s talking about, and then he hears it. 

A ratcheting wail, unmistakably from a terrified child, somewhere in front of them. Howzer and Gilthunder glance at each other and break into a run. 

Howzer draws his sword as they race forward, but Gil doesn’t. Howzer has no time to question it because suddenly they’ve burst into an open chamber and the wail shifts into a scream and there is a girl in the corner of the cave, rocking back and forth with wide eyes and unkempt hair, and Gilthunder holds him back and says, “Water. Get me water.” 

And that’s obviously insane, but Howzer uncaps his waterskin and pours the remaining water out. Gilthunder cups it in his hands and mutters something. 

Howzer swears the water glows. 

Gilthunder, not wasting a beat, turns and throws it all over the child, drenching her hair and clothes. 

There’s a sudden silence. Howzer’s still looking around for some kind of evil fish or whatever a cockatrice is, but it looks like it’s just the girl - not older than ten, oh goddess - and the two knights. 

Well. The girl had been scared of something, but maybe the absurdity of Gilthunder dousing her with putrid cave water had shocked her out of it. They’d found her, and she looked unharmed apart from the obvious signs of malnutrition and uncleanliness. Mission accomplished.

“We’re here to help,” Gilthunder says gently. 

“Mister,” she says, awed, eyes shining almost uncomfortably bright out of her grimy face, “what did you do? You got rid of it.” 

What? 

Gilthunder smiles sadly. “No, I didn’t. The holy water’s temporary - it’ll give you three minutes, maybe five.” 

She blinks, and then flattens herself against the wall. “What? Then- then- you need to stay away! I’m not, I’m not good, I’m cursed, I-” She breaks into tears, and Howzer sees Gilthunder’s face flash with an expression of agony before it’s cleared away like it was never there. 

“Listen to me,” he says firmly. “I know it's some kind of transformation, but you need to tell me how it works so I can break it.” 

The girl takes a gasping breath, steeling herself, and then rolls up her sleeves. 

Howzer flinches, but Gilthunder holds completely steady. Like he’d expected this. 

Instead of skin, the girl’s arms are almost completely covered in scales, a bright scintillating green, vibrant and wrong in a way that sets Howzer’s heart pounding. There are odd, misshapen gaps, crusted with red, and Howzer knows with a terrifying certainty where the scales in the cave corridors came from.

“It started two weeks ago,” the girl whimpers. “Our- our father insulted a druid and the next day, we-” Her voice breaks. “Ripping these out stops it a little. But it hurts so much, mister.” 

“You didn’t tell anyone. Why?” 

“It’s not just the scales,” she whispers. “We… it hurts, so much, and then we change. And then we turn back to this, and we don’t know what happens in between, and then Father came in yelling about monsters destroying crops and blood that burned when you touched it, and we didn’t mean to, but-” She heaves a breath. “I told them we should run and not come back. We didn’t want to hurt anyone.” 

“I know you didn’t,” Gilthunder says, completely calm. 

“My brother’s right there,” she says, pointing to the side of the cave at a silent bundle they didn’t see before. “He’s sleeping, but he changed yesterday and he hasn’t woken up yet. Can you fix him? Please, mister, like you fixed me?” 

“I’ll do better,” Gilthunder says, walking over and stooping to pick him up. “Howzer, could you hold him?”

Howzer takes the baby boy, doing his best to ignore the hard ridges of scales he feels underneath the blanket. He’s so young. “Gilthunder,” he says quietly. “What’s going on?”

“The girl and her brother are under a curse. We’re breaking it.” 

And that’s all Howzer really needs to hear. “What do you need me to do?”

“Hold him and stand next to her,” Gilthunder says, pointing. “There might be some… light. It’s normal.” 

Howzer does what he’s told, and Gilthunder puts one of his hands on the boy’s forehead and the other on the girl’s shoulder, and closes his eyes. 

For a long moment, there’s nothing. 

And then Gilthunder starts chanting something in a language Howzer’s never heard before, something ethereal and chiming with power. His voice is quiet but forceful, and Howzer knows what he’s saying even without understanding the words: Take out the evil. Take out the pain. Bring back what is good. 

A warm blue glow spreads from his hands, the same color as his lightning, brighter and brighter until it lights up the cave, and Gil’s voice grows louder. Take out the evil. Take out the pain. Bring back what is good.

The girl goes limp against the wall, shuddering, and Howzer puts his hand out so she doesn’t fall forward. A moment later, the baby in his arms starts whimpering. 

Gilthunder stops speaking, but the light is only getting brighter, and Howzer feels the scales in the baby's back disappear through the blanket. He sees the girl’s arm… ripple, somehow, which is nauseating to watch, but the scales are slowly flipping up and vanishing into dust, leaving unbroken skin behind. The girl’s eyes shine with awe and relief. 

Howzer’s worried about Gilthunder, though. Howzer can see sweat beading on his brow, and his face is pinched in a way that suggests pain. Is breaking the curse somehow hurting him?

“Hey, is the curse gone?” he whispers to the girl, and she nods. He turns back to Gilthunder. “Okay, you can stop now.” 

Gilthunder doesn’t. 

“Gilthunder,” he tries. “Hey. Can you hear me?”

His hands start to shake, and when the girl starts to move back he sways forward with her. 

“Gilthunder, you did it,” Howzer says, panic slipping into his voice. “Gil, stop it, you’re hurting yourself.” He takes a risk and grips Gil’s shoulder. “You’ve broken the curse, Gil! Stop!”

Gilthunder’s eyes fly open and he falls back, shaking off Howzer’s hand. Howzer doesn’t even care. 

“Thank the goddesses. Are you alright?”

“I… broke the curse?” Gilthunder mutters, and glances up, looking bewildered. 

“Yeah, the girl and her brother. You do…” Howzer hesitates. “You do remember that, right?”

Gilthunder looks at him, dazed. “I… what?”

He sways heavily, and Howzer makes a noise of alarm as he hastily transfers the baby to his sister, using his free hand to keep Gilthunder upright. “You need to sit down.” 

It’s a marker of how exhausted Gilthunder is that he doesn’t protest, instead letting his knees buckle and letting Howzer lower him to the ground. He bows his head, breathing heavily. 

Howzer glances over at the girl and boy. “Are you sure the curse is broken?”

“Yes,” the girl says, patting herself and her brother down. “It’s all gone. Oh, mister, thank you!” 

“No… problem,” Gilthunder pants, although Howzer disagrees, considering Gilthunder looks half-dead. What’s that about, anyway? 

“What did you do, Gil? Are you… okay?”

“Fine,” he says dismissively, though his face is far too pale and he has to try to speak twice before he can get enough air to speak. “Just- curse breaking. Druid stuff.”

“Since when do you know ‘druid stuff’? And why'd you learn to break curses? That’s not a part of knight training.” 

Gilthunder stiffens suddenly. “Just wanted to. I don’t know.”

Howzer squints. “And how’d you know all that incantation stuff?”

“I don’t know,” Gilthunder says, obviously lying. “Must’ve read it somewhere.”

Howzer wants to push harder because something about that definitely isn’t adding up, but place and time and all that. He’ll file it away for later. “Cool. You sure you’re okay?”

“It’s… draining on my powers, that’s all,” Gilthunder says, a massive understatement given that his eyes can’t even focus on Howzer for more than a second at a time. “I can keep going.” 

Again with the ‘I can keep going’. Howzer’s going to kill whoever put it into Gil’s mind that he can’t take a moment of rest. “Okay,” he says, instead of voicing his concerns. “But the kids are tired. Want to rest here for a few minutes and then head back? Mission completed, anyhow.” 

Gilthunder’s hackles visibly fall once Howzer drops the subject of curse breaking, and he nods, letting his head droop again. For a good five minutes, the only sound is of Gilthunder’s unsteady breathing. 

And then Howzer realizes something. “Wait,” he says slowly, turning. “You said them.”

The girl blinks, and for a moment the dim light of the cave throws her face into shadow. “What?”

“‘I told them we should run and not come back.’ We were told that three children had been taken. You have another sibling.” 

“Oh, yes,” she says quickly. “Four years older than me. He’s out to get food right now, oh, mister, you can break his curse too, please!”

Gil’s already nodding, but Howzer feels a low chill shoot through him. 

“Wait.” 

Something doesn’t- something’s wrong. 

“You’re lying,” he says slowly. 

The girl’s face goes blank.

“You said- you said, before, that your father insulted a druid,” Howzer says. “But we were told that you were wards of your village. You don’t have a father.”

“I- I meant-”

“Maybe you meant one of the villagers that raised you,” Howzer interrupts, mind whirling. “That might make sense. But why would you three specifically, and no one else, be punished for that? And druids don’t don’t curse people - for one, they’re rarely strong enough, and two, if they are, their culture dictates that they only use their power for good and for helping others. Look at Gilthunder - he used druidic power to break your curse. We would’ve heard if there had been a druid just going around cursing people. Your story doesn’t add up.” 

The girl is quiet. 

“Well?” Howzer asks, suddenly angry. Goddess, he hates liars. “What’s the truth? Obviously you were cursed. But where’s your brother? Who cursed you?”

“I’m just-” The girl’s voice breaks. “I’m just trying to protect him.” 

“Just tell us the truth,” Gilthunder says, and his voice is a little harder. Still gentle, still kind, but with an undertone of command that wasn’t there before. 

“The- the truth,” the girl says slowly, and looks up, uneasy. She looks like a different person than the scared girl who’d begged Gilthunder for help just minutes before, and Howzer doesn’t like it. “That’s not easy.” 

“You don’t have a choice,” Howzer says shortly, and the girl glances at the sword at his waist and nods hastily. 

“Okay. You’re- you’re right, mister. I don’t have a father. Or a mother. Neither do my brothers, and the three of us don’t belong anywhere except with each other. My older brother, all he cares about is protecting us.”

“Protecting you?” Gilthunder said sharply. “From what?”

“Have you ever met a village ward?” she responds, raising her eyes to meet Gilthunder’s. “Do you know what it’s like, to not have parents? To know that the only way you’ll ever be anything more than what you are now is by taking as little and giving as much as you can? Do you know how unfair of a life that is?”

“I know more than you’d think,” Gilthunder responds, and Howzer blinks. 

“Then you know that when you’re all alone except for two people, all you care about is them. You’d do anything for them, get stronger and do things you don’t want just so that they can be safe. Everything you do is so they can be fed and happy and protected.” 

Gil’s expression is intent, almost scarily so. “Yes.” 

“My older brother, he got angry at how the villagers never gave him as much money as the rest of the men. He did as much work as a man twice his age and got half as much, and he was the one who had to pay for our house and our food and everything we needed to live. So one day he argued with them, and then he started fighting with them, like an idiot, and when he got back home-” She wipes her eyes. “He was hurt. Really badly. And the village healer was one of the men who hurt him. But there was a druid who sometimes lived in the forest, and so I took my brother to him.” 

She swallows. 

“The druid healed him. But my brother, he was so angry. He asked the druid to make him strong, to make all of us strong, so he could protect us and we could protect ourselves. And I don’t- I don’t know if the druid knew what he was doing, I don’t know if he meant for it to happen this way, but the next morning, the scales had started to come in. I ripped mine out, and my little brother’s, but they just kept coming back.” 

“But I don’t understand.” Gilthunder shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t you just say this? Why not seek help? The Holy Knights have handled cases like this before, and so have the druids. Liones isn’t far away and neither are the druid camps. If you wanted to break the curse, then you could have done it easily!” 

“You don’t understand,” the girl says helplessly. “To my older brother, none of this was a curse. He’d asked for a blessing and he’d received one. He got stronger and more- more like a monster every night, and he refused to rip out his scales the way we did. I had to do it in secret so he wouldn’t know.”

“We wondered why the scales were hidden,” Howzer murmurs. 

“He kept changing. He destroyed the fields of the villagers that hurt him. He slaughtered cattle so we could eat well for the first time in months. He kept saying that it was the only-” 

“The only way,” a low voice growls from behind them, and Howzer whirls, “to protect them.” 

Howzer’s been trained to face the most gruesome creatures on the earth without hesitation, but he finds himself flinching back on instinct. 

It’s not the scales, though he tastes bile when he sees how they’ve crawled up to this boy’s scalp. It’s not the claws, sharper than sharp and stained with red, or the predator’s crouching stance more suited to an animal than a man. 

It’s the human poking through that chills his blood, that sets him moving in front of Gilthunder - still unsteady, still weak - and drawing his sword. The gnarls of human hair writhing through the horns erupting from the boy’s skull. The chinks of human skin poking through the dark scales around his wrist. The eyes. 

Oh, goddess, the eyes. 

“Stay back,” Howzer says, voice shaking. The eyes are- there’s something wrong with them. Their utter emptiness. Howzer can’t see anything behind the black. “Stay away from them.” 

“Don’t hurt him, please, brother,” the girl gasps, hands outstretched. “He means no harm. Please don’t.”

“He’s keeping me away from you,” the boy - the monster - snarls. “I need to protect you.” 

“Not like this.” 

Gilthunder steps out and Howzer could murder him on the spot. He’s still trembling from weakness and he’s coming closer anyway. Who made this man so self-sacrificial? 

“Not like this,” Gilthunder repeats, and his voice carries clearly in the silence of the cave. “Look at yourself. Look at your sister. You’re not protecting her, you’re scaring her.” 

The creature glances at his sister’s trembling form and Howzer catches its twitch of uncertainty. “I’m powerful. This is power.” 

“That’s what they want you to think,” Gilthunder says quietly, still stepping forward. His gaze doesn’t falter. “But this? It’s not power. Only cruelty. You don’t want that.” 

A long silence, and then the long, painful screech of claws against stone. The creature stands, and Howzer shudders in horror. “How could you know what I want?”

“Everyone has someone they love. Everyone has someone they would die to protect.” 

“I’m not dying.” 

“You’re not,” Gilthunder agrees. His feet take him closer, closer, closer. “That makes it worse, doesn’t it?” 

“I-”

“All you want to do is protect them, and you’re willing to lose your humanity to do it. And I’ll tell you what you’ve discovered: it’s easy. You don’t even need a curse, really. Once you stop caring about anything except her, it’s done. She’ll be safe, forever, but terrified of you when you’re not looking. And she won’t meet your eyes and she’ll tell you she hardly recognizes you anymore, that you’re not who she loves, and the worst part is that she’s right, isn’t she? It’s all your fault, all your fault, and Mar-” Gilthunder sways, expression hollow. “-and your siblings will never forgive you for it. But I can help you. I can take away the curse. You just have to be willing.” 

“I don’t want to be human,” the creature growls, and Gilthunder laughs. 

Laughs, in the dark face of the most terrifying thing they’ve ever seen. 

“I can’t turn you human,” he says, almost gently. He’s an arm’s length away, looking up into the empty eyes of the creature. He steps closer, and then they’re a breath apart. “Only you can do that.” 

All Howzer can hear is his heart pounding. 

Gilthunder reaches out slowly, so slowly, until his hands are over the creature’s heart. A cool blue light shines from his hands as he begins chanting, and the creature lowers itself to the ground, trembling.

Something’s different, though. As the minutes pass, Gilthunder’s brow becomes damp with sweat, the limp creature is emitting a low growl of discontent, and none of the scales are disappearing. A few near the heart vanish, but they’re replaced just as quickly. 

Howzer cautiously nears Gilthunder just as his eyes open. “Howzer,” he pants, ragged. “I can’t- I can’t-” 

“If you don’t have enough power, you can try again later,” Howzer suggests, but Gilthunder shakes his head almost wildly. 

“No, it’s- it’s too strong. If I don’t do it now, I- it won’t- He wanted it, Howzer, and the curse fed on that. It doesn’t want to be broken.” 

Howzer feels a chill sweep through him. “What do you mean, it doesn’t want to be broken?”  

As if on cue, the creature let out an ear-piercing scream and writhes violently. 

“Brother!” the girl cries. 

“He’s getting violent,” Gilthunder says, hands fumbling to press back against the creature’s scales. “The curse is taking control. Howzer, I’m not fast enough.” 

“You are,” Howzer says fiercely. “I’ll protect you.” 

And then the creature roars to its feet, and Howzer instantly realizes how difficult it is to protect someone who has to be touching the enemy at all times. 

His swordwork has to be perfect to deflect every blow sent Gil’s way while leaving the boy underneath the monster unharmed. Howzer does his duty with the grim uncertainty of not knowing if he’ll survive it. 

The kids are safe, at least, hidden behind an overhang. Gilthunder’s his only worry, with his outpouring of power and how he needs to half-lean against Howzer as he fights to keep himself upright. 

Take out the evil, take out the pain, bring back what is good, he chants, louder and louder to be heard over the clashing of swords and claws. But it’s not doing anything, and the scales that disappear and stay gone are far and few between, and Howzer is utterly aware of Gil’s physical weakness. 

“We need to retreat, Gil!” he screams as the monster nearly brings his claws down on him. He can’t fight this forever. “Gil! Let’s get out of here!” 

And then he-

And then Howzer turns to look at Gilthunder for a half second, and he’s been trained to never take his eyes off an opponent but he forgets and-

And there’s blood, everywhere, and Gilthunder’s chest is red and a strangled kind of gasp escapes him-

And Howzer strikes out at the beast, uncaring of causing pain to what hurt his friend, and there’s more blood, and then Gilthunder screams-

I can’t feel my hand, Gilthunder had said, after touching a drop of dried blood, and now there’s a flood of it seeping through an open wound. 

Gilthunder, pale and dazed, looks at the bloody wound in his stomach and uses his last few seconds of movement to jump bodily onto the monster. 

“Gil!” Howzer screams, and Gilthunder’s eyes are closed and his body is frozen but his chanting doesn’t stop and soon he’s yelling over the creature’s howls, voice deep and so powerful the air itself glows, and Howzer sees tears streaming from his eyes. Bring back what is good! Gilthunder yells, and the creature clutches its own wound and shrieks. Bring back what is good!

The light brightens until Howzer can’t see anything but blue, and then it brightens to a blinding, unearthly white- and then Gilthunder screams, a wordless shout of fury and power, the earth shakes with it, and everything grows unbearable and Howzer’s knees almost buckle and everyone is screaming- and then, suddenly, nothing. 

Nothing but black. Nothing but Howzer’s own breathing. 

Howzer blinks rapidly. “Gil!” He gropes blindly to where Gilthunder had been fighting. “Gilthunder! Answer me!” 

“W… Where…” 

Howzer freezes, because he doesn’t know that voice, but then the girl cries, “Brother!” and Howzer has to stamp down his anger before it gets out of hand. 

“Is the curse broken?” he shouts. 

“Yes,” the boy says, voice unsteady. “The- the knight with the druid light. He was under me when I turned back.” He hesitates. “He’s not moving.”

No. 

“No, ’m fine,” Gil’s voice grunts distantly, and Howzer’s vision starts filtering in. 

“Idiot,” he nearly shouts, and he shouldn’t have said that except he’s so worried he can’t think. “Keep talking. Kid, keep talking. Let me find you.” 

The kid obliges in an annoying way. “Sir, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Howzer doesn’t know if he’s talking to Gilthunder or him, but he doesn’t particularly care either way. “I’ll never- I’ll never ask for something like that again. What I became, I’ll never- I didn’t know-”

“’S fine,” Gilthunder says, like a forgiving idiot. “Be someone your siblings can be proud of, okay?” 

“I- I will, I swear, I-” 

“Shut up,” Howzer blurts, because his eyes have adjusted enough to see Gilthunder’s wound and he wishes they hadn’t. “Shut up, both of you. We have to get you to the medics, Gilthunder.” 

“I can-” Gilthunder cuts himself off. Howzer has a moment to be grateful because if Gilthunder said I can keep going Howzer’s not sure what he would have done, and then he sees how wide Gil’s eyes have become. 

A second later, he feels it. 

The cave floor is shaking. 

“I think I destabilized the cave ceiling when I broke the spell,” Gilthunder whispers hoarsely. “Everything’s going to come down.” 

Howzer swears lowly. “Okay. Okay. Kids, can all of you come with me?” They all nod. “Good. Okay. Gilthunder, can you walk?”

Gilthunder smiles. It’s an awful thing, twisted and resigned. “I can’t move, Howzer.” 

Howzer remembers the creature’s - the boy’s - poisonous blood spurting into Gilthunder’s wound and tries to breathe. “Right. Right. Okay, I’m lifting you.” 

“Not procedure,” Gilthunder mutters. “This mission’s goal is to save civilians.” 

Howzer doesn’t understand what he means at first and then blanches. “I’m not leaving you here, Gilthunder, are you crazy?”

“I’ll slow you down. There’s an exit a minute away, you know the directions,” Gilthunder says, and gasps roughly for air. “I- I’ll be fine. Come back for me if you can.” 

If he can.

Howzer ignores the tightening in his chest. “Don’t die on me, Gil.” He doesn’t wait for a response, turning to grab the girl and her younger brother and gesturing at the oldest kid to follow him. “Let’s go.” 

They find the exit, thank all the goddesses. 

“Sir Howzer!” a knight yells when they sprint toward where the troop is gathered. “Where were-”

“Gil’s still back there,” Howzer pants, throwing the baby into the girl’s arms and sending them stumbling forward. “Send a rider to Liones, he’s injured.” 

He throws himself back into the cave. Gilthunder’s in the same position when he gets back, the wound looking worse in the dull light, and Howzer ignores his cry of pain as he moves to haul him onto his back. “Let’s go, jerk,” he grunts, because if he has to carry two hundred pounds of armor and dead weight then he’s allowed to insult the guy. 

The entire cave seems to vibrate, rocking underneath his feet, and Howzer makes it all of one step before the ceiling falls. 

- - -

Everything acquires a strange haziness, after that. When he comes to, his head is pounding and he inhales stirred-up dust and coughs for a minute straight. Something smells awful. Once he can breathe deeply, he fumbles around and finds Gilthunder sprawled beside him. The exit tunnel is completely filled and a near-imperceptible trembling in the ground makes Howzer instinctively aware that they can’t touch it without bringing more of the cave down on them. Still, the wall behind them feels steady and there’s just enough space to straighten his back and spread his arms. If he had to wake up stuck in a cave, there were worse ones to be stuck in. 

“I think most of the rocks missed us,” he tells Gilthunder, hitting his head when he tries to rise from a crouch. He swallows a swear, determined to stay positive. “The knights know where we are, so we’ll be out of here soon. Okay?”

There’s no response, and he abandons optimism and panics, shaking the body next to him. “Gilthunder?”

“’M here.” Gilthunder’s voice is strained. “It hurts, Howzer.” 

Oh, goddess. “I know, Gilthunder,” he says, half of him startled at how gentle he’s being to Sir Gilthunder of all people and half of him not knowing what else to do but fall into old habits. “Were you hit by the rocks?”

“I-” Gilthunder coughs, hard. “I don’t know. My head hurts.” 

“Okay. Okay.” He swallows hard and prays for his lightheadedness to fade. “How about we take off your armor then, huh? More mobility could be nice, and I need to check your wound.”

Howzer hears a grunt of effort and then panting breaths. “I can’t. I can barely move anyway, Howzer, it doesn’t matter.”

“Wouldn’t you feel better if you were out of it?”

A long pause, so long Howzer worries he’s fallen asleep. And then: “Yes.” Deathly quiet, like it’s a sin to want to be comfortable. 

“Okay then,” Howzer responds, and starts unlatching armor pieces and releasing catches hidden deep in his old friend’s armor, muscle memory still unfaded. He hesitates when he gets to the torn chestplate, but he takes a quick breath of fortitude and does it. 

And then… nothing. 

It’s pitch-black, after all. Howzer doesn’t know anything except that there’s no wet blood against the chestplate itself and he doesn’t know how that’s possible. “Hey, can you give me some light?” 

Stupid. Stupid. It’s something he said to Gil all the time back in the day, whenever he needed a pinch of lightning to see by, and this whole situation is dangerously blurring the boundaries between Gilthunder and Gil. Howzer waits with an aching heart for Gilthunder to shoot him down, but all he does is let out a shuddery breath and let his hand fall onto Howzer’s. 

Thin, arcing strands of sky-blue lightning spark between their joined palms, and Howzer carefully guides them to hover around Gilthunder’s chest. 

“Don’t look,” he says quickly, but Gilthunder already has. 

It’s worse than he’d thought, and maybe better. The wound is centered at the heart - the monster that the boy had become had known what it was doing - and deep and jagged, the whole of his chest looking dead and lifeless and beyond saving. But- but there’s no blood, and Gilthunder’s breathing is shallow but steady, it’s nothing as terrible as Howzer feared, because the wound has already closed. Somehow, the wound isn’t bleeding. 

Howzer almost smiles, thinking it a miracle, but he sees Gilthunder’s expression as his head tilts forward, relieved and knowing, and he freezes. He looks closer. 

The wound hasn’t closed naturally. It’s been burned. Cauterized, perfectly and devastatingly. 

He hears an echo of Gilthunder’s scream as he broke the boy’s curse somewhere in his mind. A scream of power… and of pain. 

He abruptly recognizes the smell in the air as the scent of charred meat. He swallows bile. 

He double-taps Gilthunder’s hand, a signal from another life, and the electricity fades. There’s an aching silence. Howzer opens his mouth but doesn’t know what he’ll say. 

It’s Gilthunder who speaks first, weak as he is. “I had to do it, Howzer. It was the only way.” 

And Howzer can’t argue with that. Goddess knows what he could have done, stuck in a cave with a friend bleeding out and no form of medical equipment or training. But: “I wish you didn’t have to.”

Gilthunder laughs softly. “I wish for a lot of things.” 

And hearing the distant sorrow in his voice, Howzer wants to press - but this is neither the time nor the place, and so he lets it rest. “So, are you… okay?”

“I don’t think so,” Gilthunder admits, an unusual honesty that makes Howzer’s heart beat quicker. “There’s the poison. I still can’t move. And burning a wound doesn’t do much if it’s not looked at. I probably have a day before I’m beyond saving.” 

“Don’t say that,” Howzer snaps. 

Even in the darkness, Howzer can almost make out how Gilthunder tilts his head, precise and confused. “It’s the truth.” 

Howzer takes a deep breath, tasting dust, and moves silently to take off Gilthunder’s gauntlets and metal boots, then moving to remove his own. He carefully stacks the chainmail in the far side of their little chamber, which reduces the space they have to move by half but paradoxically gives Howzer room to breathe. He curls up into a tight ball, feeling ridiculous but not knowing what else he’s supposed to do. 

“You’re mad,” Gilthunder says quietly. 

“I’m not,” Howzer says. And then- “I don’t know. I- Maybe I am mad. I don’t want to be here,” and why not say it, “with you.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault,” he says, voice muffled in his knees. 

“It is.” 

Howzer waits, but it sounds like that’s all he’s going to get, and that sounds about par for the course with Gilthunder, so he sighs. “I don’t want you to die.” 

There’s a long pause, during which Gilthunder almost audibly hesitates. “Oh.” 

“And you’re surprised. Damn you. Damn me.” Howzer thinks, for a moment, that being stuck like this with Gilthunder might actually kill him. The silence, the tip-toeing around everything important, the pressure to speak and to help and to understand something he’s always a step behind. “I want to hate you, Gilthunder. And I can’t- I can’t hate you, no matter how hard I try.” 

Gilthunder breathes out slowly. “I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t know you anymore. Who taught you to, to sacrifice yourself for everything? Who made you think you’re a monster? Who-” Turned you into one, he almost says. 

Gilthunder doesn’t answer. Howzer lets it drop, and devotes the next short eternity to making sure neither of them fall asleep. 

- - -

“I miss you,” Howzer eventually says, when conversation is the only thing that will keep his eyes open. It’s been… hours, at least. The knights shouldn’t take this long. He wonders absently how long it takes caves to run out of air. “But I can’t- I can’t be that person again.”

“Howzer,” Gilthunder says, and his voice is probably supposed to sound blank but all Howzer hears is exhaustion. “Don’t say anything you’ll regret when we get out of here.” 

And that’s all it takes for Howzer’s quiet discontent to turn into anger, and thank the goddesses because nothing wakes him up so thoroughly as rage. “Shut up. Do you know how I know how much pain you’re in? Did you know that I couldn’t breathe properly for weeks after you hit me? That I couldn’t train because my ribs were broken? Did you even notice? Just shut up.”

He didn’t know it was possible for someone to hear confusion, but he hears the hitch of Gilthunder’s breath, the slow twitch of fingers, and knows. 

He can’t help but laugh. “You don’t even know what I’m talking about, do you?”

Gilthunder clears his throat, pulling electricity from the air and using the light to meet Howzer’s eyes. “That evening. Our fight.” He doesn’t elaborate further. “Howzer, I…” He breathes unsteadily, a hand against his wound. “I remember. I’m sorry.” 

“That’s not enough, Gilthunder.” 

“I know. I… I have done…” He lets out a pained sound, tilting his head back against the wall with a soft thump. “So many things that I regret. And that is… one of the things that I return to the most.”

“So then why did you do it?” Not even at his angriest would Howzer have ever physically hurt Gilthunder. Not even when he wanted to. Not even now, when there’s nothing keeping them civil except the flimsiness of a knight code and distant memories of better times. 

Gilthunder shakes his head, lightning dimming and throwing his face into shadow, and the anger surges again. 

“You always do this,” he accuses, shoving Gilthunder farther away from him as if the extra inch of space would calm the storm in his heart. “You- You always- Just let me in, Gilthunder.” He’s horrified to realize that his voice is breaking, but he can’t stop. “I don’t get it! You can’t have a secret so big that you won’t let me in!”

There’s a long silence, during which he can’t hear Gilthunder breathe at all. His heart pounds fiercely in his ears, and then it dulls to a low throbbing, and then Howzer’s left breathing heavily in the silence. And then he hears it. 

Gilthunder is chuckling. It’s a low, horrible thing, louder and louder until it’s laughter, drawing from the chest and sending him doubling over with pain but only getting more frenzied. It echoes, higher and higher, until the floor shudders with Howzer’s growing unease and he puts a hand on Gilthunder’s shoulder. “Stop. You’ll bring the cave down.” 

Gilthunder can’t hear him, almost shrieking with laughter, and without warning lightning runs down his arms from his wounded heart. He raises his head to the low ceiling and howls with mirth at some joke that Howzer can’t begin to understand. 

“Stop it,” Howzer commands. “Gilthunder, look at me!” 

And Gilthunder does, eyes bent into crescent moons under the force of his madness, and Howzer’s gaze is caught on the tear tracks beneath his eyes. Gilthunder tilts his head higher, laughing laughing laughing, and all the while he is crying so hard he can barely breathe. 

“Goddess,” Howzer whispers, and reaches a half-unconscious hand to his cheeks. The moment his thumb brushes Gilthunder’s cheek, the man hiccups mid-laugh and looks at him with wide eyes. 

Howzer draws back. 

Gilthunder’s chest is trembling with either pain or suppressed laughter, and his lips curve upward into a gruesome imitation of a smile. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, between snickers, wiping his tears himself. “I can’t- Oh goddess, I’m so sorry-” 

“Gilthunder,” Howzer says miserably, because he doesn’t understand, and Gilthunder’s laughter climbs in pitch before he slaps a hand over his mouth. 

“I- I wish,” he says when he’s stopped shaking, and seems to forcibly change the subject. “You never called me that. Before.” 

“Gilthunder?” Howzer asks, and all at once the light dims. The laughter stops. 

“Yeah.” 

And Howzer doesn’t understand anything. He’s still angry, he’s still furious, and he doesn’t get why Gilthunder is so hurt over nothing, and he doesn’t know Gilthunder, but- 

But he knows Gil better than anyone else. Despite it all, Howzer knows him. 

And he knows, deep down, that Gil is suffering a hurt far, far beyond what he’s been allowed to see, even now. And so he thinks about what it’s like to feel alone and afraid and in pain, something that Gilthunder is feeling even though Howzer doesn’t understand why, and puts a careful hand over his friend’s. 

“Gil,” he says carefully, and the man gives a full-body shudder. “I know you’re hurting. I’m sorry.” 

Gil buries his head in his hands, shaking, and the light goes out. Gil’s unsteady breaths are the only sound for an endless span of time, and then they even out. 

Asleep. 

Howzer listens to his slow breathing with an odd mix of sorrow and relief. He wonders if he should try to sleep too. There’s a fear in it, that if he closes his eyes now then he’ll never wake up, but he feels a soft pressure on his arm and realizes Gil is leaning into him in his sleep. Minutes later, the unconscious Gil’s head is tucked above Howzer’s shoulder. 

Right, he thinks blearily, resting his cheek on Gil’s soft hair, tightening his hold on Gil’s wrist. Just resting for a minute. Just… a minute. 

He’s gone before he realizes his eyes are closed. 

- - -

Howzer wakes slowly, snorting out hair, and then startles awake because hair. Sitting. Gil. What. 

And then he remembers. 

And then he remembers why, exactly, sleeping was such a bad idea. 

“Gilthunder. Hey, Gil,” he says, lightly ruffling the hair on the head underneath him. 

“Nngh,” Gil groans, burrowing further into Howzer, and with the clarity that comes from sleep Howzer is abruptly aware of how strange all of this is, but he can’t think about that when Gil is sleeping with what might be a head injury. 

“I need you to wake up. We can’t sleep.” 

Gil freezes. And then, with a suddenness that startles Howzer, he draws away. “I’m up,” he says quickly. “I’m up, I’m here, I can train.” 

Howzer frowns. “Gilthunder, it’s Howzer.” 

“I’m up, ’m here,” Gil repears, except halfway through it becomes slurred, and Howzer feels his forehead and it comes away slick with sweat. Howzer feels sick. Infection. 

“Gil, do you remember the rockfall?” Gil moans when he starts to draw his hand back so Howzer keeps it there, the closest thing to a cool compress he has. 

“’M training,” Gilthunder murmurs, relaxing into Howzer’s hand. “Meliodas?”

Howzer flinches. Delirium. “No, Gil. It’s me, Howzer.” 

“I’m stronger than the Seven Deadly Sins,” Gilthunder mutters, his bleary eyes cracking open. He’s crying. “I’m stronger than all of them. You remember, right? Sir Meliodas, please, you remember?”

“Gilthunder, rest,” Howzer says softly, and Gilthunder sags as Howzer moves his hand through his hair. 

“I’ll train, I promise,” he sighs softly after a few minutes of silence, dull eyes falling shut. “’S for you. ’S all for… you.” 

“You don’t-” Howzer can barely breathe. “You don’t need to train, Gil. I’m here. Do you know who I am?”

“Love you, Margaret,” he hums, and Howzer stiffens. “I missed you.” 

His breathing calms, and Howzer can only stare blankly ahead, waiting for the darkness to resolve itself into some kind of answer to the impossible sentence Gilthunder just said. 

Love you, Margaret.

There weren’t any other Margarets. None that they knew. 

But the alternative didn’t make any sense. 

Did it?

- - -

Gilthunder keeps slipping, after that. He falls asleep mid-sentence. He never wakes up knowing where he is. When he speaks, his voice is slurred, and he doesn’t seem to be able to move anything beyond his hands and his head. 

The half-dozenth time his hand twitches against Howzer’s, a sign of him waking, Howzer sticks to his script. “Hey, Gil. It’s Howzer. Do you know where you are?”

Half the time, Gil doesn’t acknowledge Howzer, eyelashes fluttering and gaze blank before he sinks back into sleep, but this time, Gil nods lightly against Howzer’s cool palm. “Wi’ you. Cave. ’S not here.” 

It’s not here. He’s said it any time he’s said anything at all. Howzer still doesn’t know what it means. “Good, that’s so good. Can you give me some light? I need to check your head and chest.” 

Gil can’t do it, most of the time. The effort is enough to push him back into unconsciousness. This time, the sight that the weak sputtering of lightning brings is worse than the darkness. Howzer covers Gil’s eyes before he can see and it’s a testament to Gil’s weakness that he allows it. 

It’s as bad as he expected, the unnatural redness of the skin around the chest wound putting the rest of Gil’s pale skin into stark relief. His skin is bathed in sweat, far too hot for comfort. There’s some kind of toxin in the wound, for sure. His head doesn’t seem as bad off, but he can’t quite maneuver the flashes of light to see the back of Gil’s head, so it’s just guesswork. 

It’s not as if Howzer can do anything about it, anyway. They don’t have medicine or even water. All he can do is pray it doesn’t get worse. 

Without warning, the lightning is doused, all the sparks dimming at once. “Howzer?” Gil says weakly. “Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Howzer says softly. This happens sometimes, the sudden disorientation. “Don’t talk, Gil. You’ll be okay.” 

“Howzer,” Gil repeats, shaking off his hand with an unusual burst of energy. “Howzer, please, is it here, is it-” He breaks off with something that sounds terrifyingly similar to a sob. 

“Gil, I’m the only one here. Listen to me. You’re safe.” 

“It’s not here but it always is, Howzer, I’ve done something wrong, she’s going to- I can’t- I can’t do this-”  

Howzer squeezes his hand desperately. “Gilthunder! Gil, listen to me. Can you feel my hand? Calm down.” 

In a minute, when Gil speaks, he sounds almost normal. “Howzer? What’s- My head, it hurts.” 

“I know, Gil,” he says wearily. “Do you know where you are?”

“Oh. The cave. You’re here. Are-” His voice shifts to alarm. “Are the kids safe?”

Howzer almost laughs. “They’re not who you should be worried about, Gilthunder.” 

They sit in silence for a while. Howzer doesn’t know what to think, what to say, until Gil says, voice weak but clear, “I’m not making it out of here, am I?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Howzer snaps, even though that’s exactly what he was trying not to think. “You’re the strongest knight in the kingdom. You’ll survive a few scratches.” 

“Howzer,” Gil starts, but Howzer doesn’t let him finish. 

“No. No! You’re not dying here. You hear me? You stay alive.” Howzer doesn’t know who Gil is, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t know if they’re friends or enemies, or what half of his stupid delirious ramblings mean, but he knows he’s not going to let him die. 

Gilthunder says nothing, and Howzer’s heavy breaths echo in the silence. 

“I wish we had water,” Gil finally breathes, leaning against Howzer. “I wish the pain would stop.” His voice acquires a dreamy quality, soft and blurry. “You remember when we were kids? Before… everything. When your mom would make us drink a full glass of lemonade and eat two cookies before we went outside and played?”

Howzer smiles in the dark. “Yeah. Hydration, she was big on it. Her lemonade was more lemon than water, though, so sour.”

“I miss her,” Gil whispers. “And my mom. I miss that life, being kids, I- I want-” His voice breaks. “I want my dad.” 

Howzer can’t say anything to that. Or, maybe he can. “I’m sorry, Gil.” 

“It’s better he’s gone,” Gil mumbles, hands trembling. “He can’t see me like this. I- it’s not me, what I am, but I can’t-” His voice breaks. “I can’t ever talk about it, he’d hate me, and I des- I deserve it-”

“Shh,” Howzer says, fumbling to wipe away his tears. “You’re delirious, Gilthunder.” 

“No, I’m not. Howzer,” a wet gasp, “you hate me.” 

“No I-”

“You do, you do, you do!” Gil’s voice ratchets into a high wail. Howzer tries to reach out to him, but Gil shoves him away. “I deserve it! I hate myself! I’m not- I’m not myself, Howzer, this isn’t me, it’s the thing and I can’t get rid of it and you hate me and I hate-” 

“Gil! I don’t hate you!” Howzer shouts, and Gil’s delirious rant tapers off to quiet gasps and mumbles. “I don’t understand you. But I- I can’t hate you when you’re like this. You know that.” 

Something’s niggling at Howzer, and he doesn’t know what to think about all the little things Gil’s said or done, doesn’t know how to add them up the right way to make a full picture. 

Gil’s tendencies towards self-sacrifice and self-isolation. The fits of fear that come on him when he thinks he’s being watched. The way he shuts down when Howzer asks him what’s wrong. 

I’ll say nothing. I can’t ever talk about it. I’m not myself. 

I can’t get rid of it. 

There’s a thought that comes to him suddenly, and it’s not pleasant.

“Gil, why did you learn how to break curses?” he asks slowly. 

Gil doesn’t answer, doesn’t hear, and Howzer becomes too busy calming him down to ask him again. He presses the cool metal of their armor to his forehead instead of a compress, and dusts off Gil’s chest and upper arms to try and keep him safe from further infection. When Gil wakes and remembers nothing, Howzer takes it in stride and tries to keep him talking. When Gil starts screaming, he calms him down. And when Gil falls asleep and tucks himself back into Howzer’s arms, his head on Howzer’s shoulder, Howzer listens for the raspy in, out, in, out of his breaths and prays for them to continue. 

He tries not to imagine the thud of the cave walls falling on them both. Or the terrifying sensation of gasping for air in a vacuum deep underground, hunger gnawing at stomach and thirst clawing at throat. Or the knights finding them too late, one man and one corpse, worse than if they died together. 

He doesn’t sleep. His waking thoughts bring enough nightmares as it is. 

- - -

It’s an uncountable eternity later when Howzer hears something. 

He thinks, at first, that the dull sounds are the rocks shifting, and braces himself over Gilthunder. And then his ears adjust, and he gapes in the dark, because- because those are voices. “Gil. Gil, do you hear that? HEY! WE’RE IN HERE!” 

Gil moans, limp and useless, and Howzer shakes him. “Gil! Wake up!”

“Howzer?” he murmurs confusedly, but soon he seems to tense as well. “Is it here, Howzer?”

“It’s the knights,” Howzer says, barely listening. “I hear people. We’re getting out of here, Gil. HEY!” 

A chink of pale light breaks through the rockfall along with voices, their names being called, and Howzer nearly cries. “Come on, Gil,” he says, somehow finding the strength to crouch and bracing Gil’s dead weight against his side. 

A knight Howzer doesn’t recognize peers through the small hole. “Sir Howzer! The rocks were too unstable to move until now. Are either of you injured?”

“Yes,” he hears himself saying, so relieved he can barely think. “Sir Gilthunder is wounded. He’s delirious.” 

“Okay, he’s coming out first,” she says, but Gil is a limpet on his waist, refusing to be pried off, so they go together, crouching and stumbling. 

And then somehow, suddenly, there’s light, dazzling in its intensity. Howzer feels tears down his cheeks. “Gil. Gil, we’re getting out. Hang on.” 

“Are you two alright?” 

And Gil snaps to attention like a switch has been pulled. “No,” he breathes, horror convulsing his features. 

Howzer squints. “Grandmaster Dreyfus, is that you?” he starts and then falls to the ground because Gilthunder is clutching him and dragging him backwards and opening his mouth and SCREAMING-

“You CAN’T MAKE ME!” Gil shrieks, eyes rolling and teeth gnashing. “I WON’T! I WON’T LEAVE! YOU THINK YOU CAN CONTROL ME BUT YOU CAN’T! I CAN’T- please, PLEASE, please, Howzer, where are you, I need you, it’s HERE, I can’t, he KILLED MY- my-” He claws at the rocks, at his chest, at Howzer’s arm. Howzer, dazed with hunger and thirst and exhaustion, grips him back. 

“You’re delirious, Gil. We need to go,” he murmurs. Gil stares out into the brightness, trembling, and wilts. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, and then forces Howzer away, nearly falling over as he forces himself to his feet alone. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m coming. I didn’t- I won’t-” A solitary tear beads at the edge of his eye. “I’m so sorry.”

Howzer reaches out, uncertain of what he means, but Gil shifts away, looking upward with an expression of agony. As Howzer watches, his eyes shutter against the sun. The tear slides down his cheek. And, in almost slow motion, his knees buckle and he collapses, clutching his chest. 

Grandmaster Dreyfus, thank the goddesses, catches him. He looks at Gilthunder with a strange expression, something with not nearly enough concern for Howzer’s liking, and that’s when Howzer’s strength fails him. 

He slumps and finds a knight supporting him. “Gil,” he mutters. 

“Sir Gilthunder will be back to normal. Just as he was,” a voice promises through the distant din of calls to medics and rocks shifting and breaths gasped in cold air, and Howzer doesn’t know how to say That’s not good enough, look at him, so he settles for nodding heavily and tipping over into unconsciousness. 

- - -

“How is he?”

“Sir Howzer,” the doctor says sternly, and Howzer holds his hand up in surrender. 

“I know, I know. But… how is he?”

“He hasn’t woken, sir, and will not until he is healed,” the woman says, exasperated. “The coma is medically induced, as his makeshift cauterization prevented blood loss but did not destroy the toxic elements in his bloodstream. We plan to keep him under for a day and a half to ensure he recovers fully.” 

“Surprisingly enough, that answer did not change in the two minutes it took you to go to the bathroom,” Griamore drawls from the benches outside Gil’s sickroom. The emotion on his face is somewhere from concerned to frustrated, and Howzer gets it. It’s weird for a friend to go from hating another guy’s guts to compulsively asking about said guy’s wellbeing, but he can’t talk about what went down without smelling dust and feeling like he’s back there again, so the memories of that day - it had been a full day, the both of them starving and alone in that cave with nothing to turn to but each other - are locked away in Howzer’s mind. He’s not opening up that particular box for anyone, not even Griamore. 

As soon as Howzer had woken and been cleared by the medics, Griamore had been there panicking and gripping him in a tight hug. Howzer feels a little bad about his uncharitable thoughts before the cave-in - of course Griamore cares about him. Of course he has time for Howzer. He’s terrible for thinking that he didn’t. 

“Well,” Griamore says, brushing his knees and standing up. “You’ve been discharged, right?”

“Yeah. Just light bruising, nothing serious. I’m back to duty tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow?” Griamore says, surprised. “My father and Grandmaster Hendrickson didn’t give you more time off than that?”

“They offered, but…” It’s hard to put into words. I can keep going, Gil had kept saying, and now he can’t, lying immobile in a hospital bed. Howzer’s not letting that determination go to waste in an unconscious man. 

“I get it,” Griamore says, not getting it. “Anyway, if you’re sure you’re okay, I need to head out.” 

A sinking feeling, but a selfish one. Howzer pushes it away. “Oh?”

“You know I’m working up to a permanent position at the palace, and father says he can’t be seen showing favoritism and giving them to me straight out, so I’m asking for all of the temporary assignments instead. I have a date with Princess Veronica and-” 

Howzer’s head whips around. “A date?”

“No! I have a- a guarding activity! She’s meeting some ambassadors, I have to-”

“You. Said. Date.” 

“I did not say date-” 

“You did.”

“I misspoke then,” Griamore says, face on fire, and Howzer spins up a little whirlwind to muss his hair because it makes him all flustered trying to pat it down. 

“Go have fun on your not-a-date, then,” he says. “Give her a kiss for me.” 

“Don’t joke like that, Howzer, she’s a princess,” Griamore hisses, hands clenching and unclenching. He probably would’ve punched Howzer at least a little by now, but Howzer’s taking advantage of the thank-god-my-friend-is-alive high. He has that right. 

And suddenly that little box in Howzer’s mind opens a crack and he’s thinking about another friend muttering about another princess, something he’d forgotten until now, and he can’t quite breathe right. “Yeah, yeah. Good luck.” 

Griamore’s still irritated, but he reaches out to grip Howzer’s shoulder tightly. “I’m glad you’re well, hey? Maybe after this weekend, we can hang out like we used to.” 

“For sure,” Howzer says, grinning, and does his best to keep his smile on his face after Griamore leaves. 

After this weekend.

Right. 

- - -

“Wait, you want me to take Gil’s rotation?”

Howzer is in the grandmasters’ study, suited up and staring at the two grandmasters, Dreyfus sitting calmly behind the desk and Grandmaster Hendrickson leaning against the side wall. He’d assumed that he was summoned for some kind of morale boost after a probably-traumatic experience, but now he’s being told that he can’t even assume his old rotation. 

“Correct,” Grandmaster Dreyfus says. “Your usual positions have been covered, but we would like you to handle his.” 

“But why me?”

“Sir Gilthunder works most of the higher-level assignments in Liones, most significantly the royal guard. Grandmaster Hendrickson and I need a replacement that we fully trust around the crown, and you came to mind. This would only be until Sir Gilthunder himself fully recovers, of course. If you’re amenable…”

“Well, sure, yeah.” A day in the life of Sir Gilthunder. Why not. “What does that entail, exactly?”

Grandmaster Dreyfus hands him a roll of paper and Howzer unfurls it bemusedly. And then with surprise. And then with alarm. 

The unrolled parchment is nearly as long as he is tall. 

“Sir Gilthunder does this much?”

Grandmaster Dreyfus looks startled as well. “Judging by the length of the schedule, that is well above our average workload. I was not aware that Gilthunder was taking so much upon himself. Will you still be able to handle it?” 

Howzer sneaks a look at Grandmaster Hendrickson, who’s not moved from where he’s studying his fingernails. Isn’t it the grandmasters who approve the knight assignments? Someone must have known about all the work Gilthunder was accepting. But that’s not his place, so he just nods, giving the parchment a cursory glance. “Yes, sir.” 

“Excellent,” Grandmaster Dreyfus says. 

“If that’s all, sir?” Howzer says, gesturing to the door, and Grandmaster Hendrickson clears his throat. 

He’s been oddly quiet, his blue eyes glittering as he listens, and Howzer’s nerves tingle with uneasiness as his posture straightens. He feels as though he’s missed something. “I have a quick question for you, Sir Howzer.” 

“Of course, sir.” 

“I understand that Sir Gilthunder was delirious near the end.” 

Near the end. He says it like Gil’s dead, and it sends a chill down Howzer’s spine. “Uh, yes, sir.” 

“Did he… say anything to you? Anything that seemed… strange?”

Howzer meets his eyes calmly. 

I’ll say nothing. 

Love you, Margaret. 

He KILLED MY-

“No, sir,” he says. “You know delirium. He didn’t say much that made sense.” 

“But what did he say?”

Howzer pauses. “He talked some about his father.” 

Grandmaster Dreyfus flinches at that, and Howzer winces. Gilthunder’s father was Dreyfus’s brother, wasn’t he? But in the corner of his eye, Grandmaster Hendrickson’s expression seems to grow harder, colder, and his posture tightens until he resembles nothing more than a blade, wickedly sharp and quivering in its scabbard. 

“And what did he say about Grandmaster Zaratras?”

“Only that he missed him,” Howzer says carefully. “He wished Meliodas was present so that he could avenge his father.”

Hendrickson relaxes entirely at that, a serpent’s coils unwinding. Howzer tries not to notice. “I see. He should know that the Holy Knights will remain ever-vigilant in watching for signs of the traitors. We will notify him at the slightest hint of their reappearance.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Dismissed, Sir Howzer. Inform us if there are any difficulties in assuming Sir Gilthunder’s rotation.” 

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” 

- - -

Howzer quickly learns that Gil’s schedule isn’t difficult, exactly, only demanding. It’s a wake-early-sleep-late kind of routine, and he’s glad he only has to do it for a day, since he can’t remember the last time he woke up before the sun rose and he knows he won’t get back until dark. 

But it’s not awful if you ignore the lack of free time. It’s mostly long patrols alone, a couple short reconnaissance-type missions, some training and mentoring of the younger knights, and a long stint guarding the royals from afternoon to sundown. 

He’s glad when he gets to the castle and his day is almost over. Elizabeth pounces on him, laughing, and he swings the thirteen-year-old around before setting her down on her feet. “Hello to my favorite princess!”

“Shh,” she says, beaming. “You’re not allowed to say that.” 

“What, I can’t tell the truth?” 

“Sir Howzer!” she shrieks, giggling, and he stops tickling her at the formal address. Right. He’s here for work, isn’t he? Growing up around the princesses because of Gilthunder and Griamore didn’t mean he could mess around with them, however sister-shaped the youngest princess always seemed. 

Throw politics in, and this was even more dangerous. He knew Holy Knight opinion on the royals wasn’t friendly on the best of days - two powers meant to check each other meant constant clashes and disagreements behind the scenes, however allied they appeared to the general public - and being spotted playing around with a royal could be a detriment to Howzer’s own career. 

“Fine, fine. Princess, do you know where Sir Gilthunder is usually stationed at night?”

“Over there!” She points, and Howzer furrows his eyebrows. 

“In the garden?”

“No, just next to the gate. Underneath the window.” 

“Alright. Thanks,” he says, and is about to walk off when she puts her hand on his. 

“Sir Howzer? Is Gilthunder injured?”

No Sir for Gil. Huh. “What makes you think that, princess?”

“He isn’t here today.” Her eyes are wide and earnest. “He works hard to protect all of us. I know he wouldn’t forsake his duty unless he was hurt.” 

“I could’ve come with him.” 

“You don’t like him,” she says matter-of-factly. “You don’t talk with him anymore. It makes him sad.” 

He blinks. “I talk with him.” 

She studies him hard, and then smiles. “Okay. That’s good. And he’ll be better soon?”

“He will, princess.” 

“Good. I’m going to go tease Veronica about her crush on Sir Griamore now.” She runs off, the frills of her dress flying behind her. Howzer shakes off the strange feeling of double vision he always gets when he sees her, like he’s seeing both a naive girl and a young woman wise beyond her years at the same time. And then he hears what she’s said. 

Princess Veronica with a crush on Griamore. 

Okay, then. 

He walks over to where Gil’s usually stationed and settles himself in for a long wait. He assumes the job is more interesting when the royals themselves are outside, but all he has to do is guard the relatively secluded entrance to the castle and then call it a day. 

He stands there for a good hour in silence, guard up - because just because it was a boring position didn’t mean he didn’t treat the responsibility seriously - and then he hears a female voice call out. “Sir Gilthunder? Are you there?”

He shifts, looking upward. 

A pale arm in a purple sleeve reaches down from the window on the second floor, hanging high enough to look casual but low enough for Howzer to touch if he strained. It’s open, as if its owner wants Howzer to take it. 

“I’ve heard the grandmasters, goddesses bless them both, saying that my father is due to fall ill soon. Have you patrolled the prisons recently? I believe they are to be renovated for new visitors.” 

The arm stretches languidly, fingers fluttering. Howzer opens his mouth and closes it. What. 

“Sir Gilthunder?” the voice says, sounding alarmed. “Is there news on the Seven Deadly Sins? Are they no longer in hiding? Are you-” A clearing of a throat. “Are the Holy Knights well?”

“I’m not Gilthunder, my lady,” Howzer says, stepping away from the wall, and it’s almost comical how quickly the hand retracts. 

“Who- Who is it?” Genuine fear, behind those words, and Howzer doesn’t understand but that isn’t exactly new. 

“Sir Howzer, my lady,” he says, stepping forward and turning to face the voice. “Sir Gilthunder is unable to serve at the moment.” 

A shaky breath. “What’s happened to him?”

“An accident,” he says, speaking carefully. “To whom do I have the privilege of speaking?”

“…Sir Howzer, you know me.” 

Howzer squints in the dim light. Waist-length hair, formal dress, the perfect posture of all the royals- 

“Princess Margaret,” he gasps, falling to a crouch. “Forgive me. I didn’t recognize you.” 

He’s carefully ignoring all of his questions about her enigmatic opening comments and the familiarity she seemed to expect with Gilthunder. He very, very carefully forgets the echo of Gil’s feverish words in the cave. 

Love you, Margaret. 

“Never mind that,” she says stiffly. “What has happened to Sir Gilthunder? Is he grievously injured?”

“Yes, my lady,” he says, and doesn’t miss how her hand flies to her lips. “But he will make a full recovery. He should be back to duty soon.” 

“You are telling the truth?”

Howzer narrows his eyes. “I would not lie to a princess. It is forbidden.”

“Of course, of course. I only ask because- because he is always stationed below my window, and it is quite startling to see another in his place.” 

Right, sure, but her body language is all off. She’s trembling almost imperceptibly, hands clutching her dress. Still afraid, but he can’t think why. 

“Is there a reason you do not want Sir Gilthunder near you?” he asks slowly. “I can see about having him reassigned if his placement here disturbs you.” 

Princess Margaret draws up, stiff, but Howzer cannot miss the tension that fills every part of her body. “No need for that. Your concern is appreciated, but unnecessary. Thank you, Sir Howzer.” 

“Of course,” he says, and shifts awkwardly as she withdraws and closes the window. 

Alright. 

- - -

Early the next morning, Howzer doesn’t have work - bless the weekend - and is back to annoying the doctors. 

The “medically induced” part of the coma is no longer in effect, the doctors tell him, and all that’s left is to wait for Sir Gilthunder to wake up on his own. And he should wake up on his own soon - “in no less than an hour,” he’s told when he won’t shut up. 

And so he sits there. And then he doesn’t, because sitting beside Gil when he’s out of it only brings back the smell of dust and charred flesh, so he’s pacing the room when Gilthunder begins to stir. 

Howzer suddenly feels the urge to leave, pressing all in around him, and he’s already gripped the door handle before he knows what he’s doing. Because- because he doesn’t understand anything. Something’s going on with the princess, something’s going on with the grandmasters, and underneath it all, something is affecting Gil, driving him to near insanity in delirium and to isolation when he’s awake. And Howzer knows - knows - that Gil won’t tell him what any of it means. 

Howzer wants to leave, should leave, because how does he say, You just saved three lives and then I saved yours and I’m farther than ever from understanding you but I don’t hate you as much as I once did?

He can’t. There’s estrangement and then there’s whatever he and Gil have, and he doesn’t know if wounds this old or this deep can be healed. A few days in a cave does not a restored friendship make, after all. 

But just as he starts to open the door, there’s a gasp from the bed and the sound of crackling lightning. Howzer whirls to find Gil sitting bolt upright in the thin sheets, panting and looking frankly ridiculous in the hospital gown the doctors changed him into. But he’s alive, and his eyes are open and clear, and even the sparks flying off him don’t make Howzer dim his relieved grin. “Hey.” 

“Howzer,” Gilthunder grits out, managing to look both bewildered and furious at the same time. “What am I doing here?”

“Easy.” Howzer almost moves to help Gil when he clutches his chest, but he holds back the instinct at the last second. “We got out of the cave after a day, but you’ve spent the last day recuperating.” 

“Recuperating?” Gilthunder repeats, eyes wide and confused. He keeps glancing at the closed window, for some reason. Doesn’t look Howzer in the eye. “From what?”

Howzer does his best to explain, but he pauses after he describes the cave-in. “You were… delirious, for a while there. I didn’t-” He takes a deep breath. Everything’s fine. Gil is right there. “I didn’t think you’d make it.” 

“Delirious,” Gil repeats, utterly still. The blood drains from his face. “What did I say?”

Howzer doesn’t hesitate. “Nothing much. Nothing that made sense.” 

“What does that mean?”

“You thought I hated you, for one.” 

Gilthunder flinches back, and suddenly looks very, very weak. “Right.” 

“And I don’t.” Gilthunder’s expression goes completely blank, and Howzer brushes his hair out of his eyes, nervous but determined. “I don’t .” 

“Okay,” Gilthunder says, not hiding his disbelief. 

“I- Look.” Howzer sits down on the chair beside Gilthunder. “Just- I don’t like not understanding things. And I don’t understand you. And for a while, that meant that I hated you. But.” 

“...But?” Gilthunder says hoarsely. 

“But I should’ve realized that that has nothing to do with our friendship. And you should know how sorry I am, for hurting you. I don’t want you to be alone.” 

Gilthunder flinches again. “I don’t need your pity. I’m doing just fine without you.” 

“Okay,” Howzer says, because even though he doubts it, that could be the truth. “But I think it took you almost dying next to me for me to realize that I miss you. And that I’d really like to…” He had to say it, didn’t he? “…to be your friend again, Gil.” 

Gil stares at him, and suddenly both their faces twist with mortification and terror. Howzer twists away, face burning, and Gilthunder scrubs frantically at his eyes. 

“Stop it. I just woke up,” he chokes out. He sniffs awkwardly, the sound loud enough to wake the dead in the tiny room. “I’m not- I don’t usually- But. Yes. Me too.” 

There’s a beat of awkward silence before Howzer snorts. 

“Goddess, we’re so emotionally constipated,” he mutters, turning back, and Gil snickers quietly. 

“Howzer,” he says slowly, as if realizing something. “If it’s been two days - it’s your birthday, isn’t it? Your twentieth?” 

Howzer blinks and turns, startled. “You remember?” 

Gilthunder raises an eyebrow. “I don’t forget dates easily. Happy birthday.”

“Right,” Howzer says, trying to blink away the sudden wet in his eyes. Griamore hadn’t remembered, but Gil did. He didn’t know how that made him feel. “Thank you. But I need to ask: about what you’re hiding-”

“No.” Gilthunder’s voice is brittle but his posture is stone. The look on his face is filled with so much fear Howzer’s mouth snaps shut. “Don’t. Stop.” 

Howzer can’t ask. Howzer can’t voice any kind of question about Gilthunder’s lies, about Margaret’s cryptic remarks, about the crawling feeling the grandmasters give him when he looks them in the eye- but he can ask the question that matters. 

“...Can I help?” Howzer says softly. 

Gilthunder looks up, astonishment plain on his face. And then he smiles , sorrowful and wondering. He looks so lonely. “That you want to is enough.” 

“I’ll be there for you,” Howzer swears. He stands in one swift moment and grips Gilthunder’s hands. “I’ll be there for you, always. If you want to tell me, you can. If you need help, ever, I’ll be there.”

Gilthunder closes his eyes. “I’m not going to stop lying, Howzer. There’s so much more to this than you realize. I will lie to you, and be unfathomably cruel, and I will never tell you why.” 

“As long as it’s you in there,” Howzer says fiercely. “As long as you promise me that you’ll never forget Gil when you’re being Sir Gilthunder.” 

Gilthunder’s breath leaves him in a choked gasp and he brings their joined hands to his forehead in silent assent, tears falling and hands trembling. “Howzer,” he breathes, voice thick. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

Sun streams through the locked window. We’ll survive this, Howzer thinks wildly, desperately, bravely, understanding nothing but not letting that dim the fierce flame of loyalty coming back to life in his chest. Whatever the cost, we’ll survive this. We’re going to be okay.