Chapter Text
Saps doesn’t let go of Flux the entire walk back.
The camp is a smear of torches and tents, soldiers part as he pass, eyes linger on Flux’s barely recognizable body.
Someone reaches out a hand to help but snaps it back when they realize who Saps is carrying.
Inside the medic tent, everything smells like iron and bitter herbs. The lamplight glows a harsh white. Saps eases Flux down inch by inch, like a sudden movement might shatter what little is left.
“Easy,” one of the medics says, reaching for the gloves. “We’ll take it from here.”
Saps hesitantly steps away from Flux and disappears into the corner of the tent. Though his eyes still steal glances back.
Up close, the damage is worse. The edges of the slash is jagged and swollen. Dried blood mats in his hair. His ankle already purpling, bent wrong even when still.
They cut away what’s left of Flux’s sleeves. Someone cleans the wound on his face. Flux jerks, breath stuttering.
Saps’s hand shoots out on instinct, but it pulls back at the same moment.
Saps turns his head away when the fabric of Flux’s shirt sticks on the dried blood, when he makes a broken sound in his throat.
The stitching takes a long time.
Thread pulls the skin on his face together that will never sit right again.
"That will scar." A medic mumbles.
Saps nods, some things don’t fade.
They splint Flux’s ankle, careful but firm. Resetting it draws a sharp cry as his head rolls to the side. Saps presses his forehead to the edge of the cot, eyes screwed shut, breath shaking like he’s the one being broken.
Yet he can’t seem to step out.
When it’s done, Flux looks smaller. Wrapped in clean bandages, face half hidden beneath gauze, lashes dark against his cheeks. Still cuffed.
The medics step back.
“He’ll live." A younger medic sneers with a mocking tone. Glaring at flux with distain.
Saps doesn’t respond, he didn’t even fully register it until they’ve all left.
The tent grows quiet, save for the soft rasp of Flux’s breathing and the distant hum of camp settling into night.
Saps pulls a stool closer and sits, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight like he’s praying. He brushes a strand of hair from Flux’s face, slow and gentle, careful not to disturb the stitches.
His thumb hesitates near the scar, then pulls away like it’s burned.
“You always hated scars,” he whispers. “Said they made you look unpolished.”
Flux doesn’t answer.
Outside, Ish slips a folded scrap of paper into the tent and vanishes. Ish delivered the messages, he liked butting in everyone’s business.
Saps unfolds it with stiff fingers.
Schood: Don’t forget what he did. I know you’ve always been kind hearted Saps, but with that asshole kindness will get you no where.
Schood: Keep me updated, and get him back to Westhelm as soon as possible.
Saps crumples the paper in his fist and sets it aside.
He doesn’t sleep.
When the night deepens and the lamps burn low, he shifts Flux carefully onto his side so he won’t choke if he vomits. He loosens the blankets when Flux starts to sweat, tightens them again when he shivers. At one point, Flux’s fingers twitch against the cuffs, a soft, unconscious tug, and Saps adjusts them without thinking.
Eventually, deep into the night, Flux’s breathing evens out. Like a knot inside him finally came loose.
Saps pulls his hand back, guilt gnawing at his heart even though he knows full well Flux deserves every bit of this. Right?
Saps thinks to himself.
No, he deserves worse and Schpood will make sure of that.
But why doesn’t he feel satisfied?
He leaves near dawn, when his eyes finally threatens to give out. The guards outside direct him to the neighboring tent. He collapses onto the cot fully dressed, boots still on, the lack of sleep dragging him under in seconds.
Flux wakes up to the sharp ache in his body.
His head pounds with a dull dread. His face stings with agony. The moment he shifts, he can feel his ankle screaming in pain.
Saps dreams of watching the sunset with Flux on his island, before the sand collapses beneath them and suddenly Saps is back on the tower in the lonely night. Wind howling around him, except this time, he jumped. Crimson painting the snow as blood curdling screams ring out from the distance.
Saps wakes in a cold sweat, it’s to shouting.
Flux’s voice, hoarse and panicked, ripping through the thin canvas walls.
“No, don’t-get off-!"
Saps is on his feet before he’s fully conscious, heart slamming against his ribs. He bursts into the medic tent Flux jerks upright, chains rattling loud and ugly. The medics who were checking up on his bandage now thrown back.
His good eye is wild, unfocused, darting across the room like a trapped animal’s. He holds out a syringe needle like a weapon. His injured ankle shifts and he cries out, collapsing back against the cot.
Flux’s gaze to Saps.
For a second, there’s nothing. Then recognition crashes in, sharp and dreading. Memories from the day before flood his mind.
His mouth opens as if wanting to say something but it shuts before a word could get out.
He tries to move again, cuffs biting into his wrists. His face twists, pain and humiliation warring in his expression.
“Calm down,” Saps says, trying to be as firm as he can.
"They’re fixing you up."
Flux laughs weakly, the sound cracking halfway through.
"What’s the point if I’m gonna get executed."
Flux’s gaze flicks away when he feels his eyes wetting.
Saps nods.
“Right.”
Silence stretches between them, heavy and fragile. Outside, the camp stirs, unaware of the quiet war happening in the small space.
Flux closes his eyes, shoulders sagging as he feels the exhaustion pulling him under again. But he tries his best to stay conscious.
Saps is still standing there, his mind telling him to leave yet his heart still feels the attachment he has with Flux. Bounding and barely hanging on.
Then Schpood’s message echoes in the back of his mind. As if being dragged back into reality, Saps pivots toward the exit and leaves without a word.