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“Leave!” Wei Wuxian practically rolls off the large stone and onto the moist, unforgiving cave floor as he pushes Lan Wangji’s hand away from him again. All his energy went into that last word and action, leaving him completely spent. He is drained and empty - no core to sustain him, no family to shield him, no love wasted on himself to protect his hardened and nearly hollow heart.
There is not much left to him, including his own will to carry on, and it is increasingly harder to keep up any semblance of strength in front of HanGuang-Jun.
Why won’t he just leave so I can die in peace? Does he hate me that much he needs to witness my complete failure.
Wei Wuxian chuckles past the thickness in his mouth, although no pleasure fills him at the sound, the gesture ringing in his ears, silent but deafening. It hurts - everything hurts these days and he is exhausted from the pain. He wonders how long he actually has, before all the sects come for him, a mission to put him down like a dog so they can walk away in triumph at defeating the Yiling Patriarch.
Wei Wuxian will have the last laugh because no one except him comprehends that he buried himself long ago.
“I am here.”
The whispers invade his mind like invasive tendrils, blurry and out of focus like he’s hearing underwater. Swimming to the surface is so much work and there is nothing left for him up in the light, not anymore. He belongs down in the dim, murky depths, nothing tethering him to reality, maintaining his scant grip on humanity. The hand on his wrist tightens as though it perceives his scattered thoughts, consciousness drifting away from him like seafoam floating along with the waves.
The storm never ceases its relentless pressure, carrying him wherever it pleases, abruptly dropping him enough to send him crashing back down, yet never releasing him and allowing him to smash into pieces on the ocean floor, far below the glittering promises in the open air above the surface of the water. He is freezing cold except numbness eludes him, all his senses heightened and unforgiving. Every wound throbs with a dull ache, the pain swirling within him everywhere, a constant companion, and it is his very soul that is bleeding and pleading for comfort.
I don’t deserve it. Just let me drown.
“I am here.” The words parse themselves into syllables and patterns he recognizes. Lan Wangji’s low timbre forces itself through the haze, piercing his brain and filling his mind with a sentiment he can no longer believe in. There is no one here for him, not anymore. Everyone who has ever been by his side is either too disgusted, too angry, or too dead to stay - everyone leaves and soon enough he will join them.
His empty gut twists as his thoughts spiral in an uncontrollable cloud of blame and recrimination - people don’t leave so much as he drives them away, proving himself as undeserving of anybody’s support as he has always known all along. He has been pitied, tolerated, and feared but never-
A gasping sob wrenches itself out of his throat, his back rigidly arching off the rough rock as his body is wracked with coughs. Shijie, his mind wails as he collapses back down, chest heaving for breath from his anguished fit.
It should have been me, it was supposed to be me. How could you leave me behind?
“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji smooths his hand over the damp hair plastered on his forehead, the other resolutely clinging to Wei Wuxian’s own limp fingers. He feels the tightness of the grip, the heat and energy pulsing into him, the act benevolent and merciful while utterly worthless.
“No, no,” chokes out Wei Wuxian, eyes squeezed tightly as he fights against the light and the warmth. He deserves neither - Lan Wangji swinging Bichen at him, trying to destroy both a flute and its user in one slash, that is the only relationship they have and this temporary, fleeting relief from it is confusing and infuriating. “Leave, get out of here...just go.”
You cannot be here. I couldn’t stop the corpses at the pledge conference, I cannot stop the cultivators from coming here.
“Wei Ying, I am here.” Lan Wangji leans down from where he kneels, shifting the air around them, and Wei Wuxian feels the breeze against skin that is fragile like rice paper, cool against the dried blood and fluids that liberally coat his body with disgrace and futility. So many lives lost, soon to be one more. He senses the danger coming, sees the end every time he closes his eyes and wonders if he’ll open them to the witch hunt. A wheeze rushes out of him as he struggles to sit up, clenching his fingers over Lan Wangji’s hand for support, a pained whine whistling past his lips as his injuries protest the movement. The puncture from the arrow that had nestled itself between his ribs oozes, though the blood that seeps down his torso is as sluggish as the rest of him.
If it mattered anymore, now would be the moment he misses his golden core, except he is certain it is currently housed in a safer, better body, one not malnourished and mistreated as it’s pushed to its limits. His brother has never been second best, not in Wei Wuxian’s eyes, even now when red-hot loathing had burned into him as the other man held their sister and howled his grief and hatred. Wei Wuxian would rather have faced Sandu’s precision than the lifeless face of Jiang Yanli and the broken one of Jiang Cheng.
“Leave,” mutters Wei Wuxian, fingernails digging into Lan Wangji’s hand, which trembles underneath the treatment but stays firmly in his grasp. “Not….not you.”
Lan Zhan, please. Why won’t you just leave? Are we close?
Lan Wangji gently encourages him to lay back down, and he offers no resistance to the treatment as his body hits the flat surface of the unforgiving boulder. Wei Wuxian groans weakly, cracking his eyes open, although the weight of his eyelids prove the task difficult. Hovering above him, dim moonlight bathing him in the softest glow, Lan Wangji appears like an angel come to take him away. Wei Wuxian sobs, one dirtied savior at his side, and he doesn’t understand why someone as honorable and mighty as HanGuang-Jun would waste his time. This is the sort of riddle that Wei Wuxian craves, a tangle of logic that he can pick and pull until it is unraveled like fine thread in his hands - his mind is so muddied the thoughts leave as swiftly as they enter, trickling out of his eyes like so many tears.
“Wei Ying. Hold on, I am here.” The desperate voice ghosts past his ears, slipping in through the cracks but there’s so little substance left in Wei Wuxian there is nowhere to tuck those sentiments, nothing solid enough to patch in order to slow the bleeding. Wei Wuxian is slipping away from himself, lulled like the tide pulling grains of sand out to sea, quickly sinking out of sight. “I am here for you.”
“You,” mumbles Wei Wuxian incoherently, raising a hand to push futilely at Lan Wangji’s shoulder, pain slamming into his chest and crushing his skull as he tries to speak. He grits his teeth and forces out the words that don’t sound quite like his thoughts, his mind and body battling his every move. “Not you. Get lost.”
Not you too, Lan Zhan. Please don’t be here when they come for me.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes flutter closed, he can no longer keep them open as lucidity fades and darkness begins to shadow his mind. As he sinks into the mental abyss, he wonders if he’ll reawaken.
Lan Wangji presses his ear directly over Wei Wuxian’s mouth, and frighteningly shallow breaths puff against his clammy skin, hardly even shifting his hair, as he fights down another wave of nausea. His leg has long since grown numb to the pain, but his body nears the end of its reserves. He refuses to lie down and abandon Wei Wuxian to a weak, selfish need for rest. He swallows with difficulty, his own breathing shaky and too loud in the stillness of the cave. A brief respite - Lan Wangji is certain their refuge will be shattered at any moment.
Wei Wuxian is fading far too quickly, no matter how much spiritual energy Lan Wangji passes to him, nothing seems to help. All it does is delay his own healing, his body sweating and shaking, but he has no concern for trivial matters right now. He holds on to Wei Wuxian more tightly, one hand gripping his fingers, the other stroking his hair, and Lan Wangji doesn’t know what else to do. He lays his forehead down on Wei Wuxian’s chest, feeling the chill radiating off of him - he has never felt so helpless, even while determination courses through him at what still remains to be done.
A low humming sound slips into Lan Wangji’s consciousness, filling him with a song he hasn’t heard since time spent hopeless and isolated in another cave with this same man, except this time he is the one begging the other to believe how close they are. They had both been battered and exhausted then too, although this scene seems much more futile even though Lan Wangji fervently believes in everything he does, a precarious balancing act along a razor-thin blade of a sword. “Wei Ying.”
It is stilted, and half the notes are hidden beneath a delirious fatigue so thick Lan Wangji can smell it blanketing Wei Wuxian, but the ethereal melody soothes his soul like a balm. He tenderly kisses the soiled fabric sticking to Wei Wuxian’s chest, just once, just enough to acknowledge that this song will no longer bring him comfort, but instead haunt him, if he fails in his mission of protection.
Faint commotion outside the cave draws his attention, and only causes Wei Wuxian to cease the music with a quiet moan. Lan Wangji cracks open an eye and stares at the mouth of the cave.
“Get lost.” The words are a plea but the tone has shifted irrevocably, and Lan Wangji hears Wei Wuxian begging for abandonment, to leave him behind in order for Lan Wangji to save himself, as though his life is worthless and one to be used as a sacrifice.
Lan Wangji shakes his head, skin rubbing insistently against rough, stained robes at the action. “Wei Ying, I am here.” A slight shuffling sound by the mouth of the cave alerts Lan Wangji to the presence of others, but he ignores them and focuses on the man underneath him.
“Just leave.” Wei Wuxian’s wispy voice reminds Lan Wangji of the delicate teacup his mother had handed him one afternoon, years ago, bone white with thin light blue asphodel painted on the surface. He had never been allowed a real teacup before, but when his brother had been handed one, he had also. Lan Xichen held the cup reverently and carefully, sipping and setting it down. Lan Wangji had watched his elder brother with rapt attention, all while quivering with overjoyed excitement at being with his mother for their monthly appointment. He had lost his handle on the cup, and watched helplessly as it smashed into jagged shards on the floor of the small, stark cottage, the bottom of his trousers getting soaked with hot tea. Lan Wangji holds Wei Wuxian’s hand now, much more cautious with fragile things.
A voice far too familiar, one that usually brings comfort and guidance, breaks the silence, dulcet tones drifting over towards them and Lan Wangji longs to deflect them with Bichen. He takes a stuttering deep breath, nerves exposed and raw as he lifts his head and tightens his grip on Wei Wuxian’s hand.
“I am here, Wei Ying.” The words roll easily off his tongue, a promise to both of them that he is not leaving Wei Wuxian’s side. He rises slowly to his feet, hot pain shooting from his hip to his foot, fast and scorching like lightning, and turns to face Lan Xichen, taking note of the swarm of regal and pristine white hovering at the cave entrance, doubtless waiting for a signal from their sect leader. His sect leader. His brother.
“Wangji. Do you know what you are doing?” Lan Xichen’s voice is concerned but firm, his eyes flickering between him and Wei Wuxian, taking in every macabre and pathetic detail of the scene before him. “How...how is he?”
Lan Wangji frowns in contemplation, his brother’s compassion settling his fraying composure. He has always trusted Lan Xichen. “He is not well-”
“Wangji! What is the meaning of this? Hiding with the likes of the Yiling Patriarch! This is not the righteous path you were raised to walk on. You need to return to Gusu and we will take Wei Wuxian into our custody.” Lan Qiren shoves his way past his elder nephew and faces Lan Wangji head-on, fuming in a controlled rage.
“Uncle. You will not.” Lan Wangji has never defied his family before but he will not turn his back on Wei Wuxian now when he needs support instead of indictment, respect instead of fear, nurturing instead of torture.
Lan Qiren spares one disgusted glare down at a barely conscious Wei Wuxian, and Lan Wangji notes that he appears even worse than mere moments ago. His heart races as all he longs to do is scoop the other man up and hide him away somewhere safe, if such a place even exists for him at this point, except he will never force anything onto Wei Wuxian, even his deliverance.
“Explain yourself, Wangji.” His uncle’s voice penetrates his straying thoughts, shifting the focus back onto the current problem. “You must realize how this looks.”
“There is nothing to say then. This is exactly as it appears.” Lan Wangji controls his voice and his temper, although every word from his uncle is a strike to his soul, poking at the smoldering embers of his barely contained fire. Lan Xichen puts a hand on Lan Qiren’s arm, an attempt at armistice, but he is shaken off and ignored. Their uncle turns and beckons the other sect members forward, and Lan Wangji recognizes many who have personally tutored and trained him, all the while singing his praises and exalting his virtue. His hand instinctively goes to Bichen, fist clenching around its hilt, although it stays sheathed for now.
Lan Wangji glances over to Lan Xichen, desperately hoping for clemency from the one person who has the power to get everyone present to stand down, himself included. It is expecting too much from someone who was raised to uphold all the same rules and values, to lead a slowly rebuilding Cloud Recesses at far too young an age for that level of responsibility. Lan Wangji will grovel if it will make any difference. “Brother.”
“Wangji.” Lan Xichen dips his chin and closes his eyes, in a last, silent bid for guidance in this impossible situation.
There isn’t time for this. Lan Wangji’s knuckles ache as they strain, white-knuckled against Bichen’s hilt, waiting for the words that will untether him from the only person left in his life that has never failed him.
“Leave.” Slurred words tumble from Wei Wuxian’s lips, all eyes on him as he struggles to breathe, lying on the stone slab, the pool of blood growing steadily larger around him, one rivulet of dark liquid slowly making its way to the cave floor. Lan Wangji foolishly turns his back, except he still trusts his brother implicitly, and rushes to Wei Wuxian’s side. He relinquishes the grip on his sword in order to hold something much more precious to him, clasping a cold, calloused hand between his trembling ones.
“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji hovers, unsure what else he can do, aware they are running out of time and options. He combs his fingers lightly through Wei Wuxian’s hair, sweeping it back off his face and tucking errant strands behind frigid ears. The back of his hand trails along a cheek that is far too cool for all the injuries sustained, and he gently presses the pad of his thumb into Wei Wuxian’s bottom lip, feeling the shivering vibrations against the digit. He senses the stares of numerous members of his revered sect boring into his back, and yet he only has eyes for one man. “I am here.”
“Wangji.” Lan Xichen calls for his attention, standing beside Lan Qiren, looking every bit the dutiful nephew and diligent sect leader. “There isn’t anything else to be done.”
Lan Wangji stands up, ignoring his leg, the pain throbbing through his entire body is nothing compared to the agony twisting in his heart. With a firm grasp, he unsheathes Bichen and faces down thirty-five members of GusuLan, praying that two of them will stay well out of the fray. He doesn’t wish to harm any member of the Lan sect, but his desire to protect Wei Wuxian exceeds everything else.
There is a standstill, tense and silent, although far from the noiseless tranquility they all rely upon within the hallowed walls of the Cloud Recesses, until someone makes a hostile move towards the rock and Wei Wuxian. With the glare of Bichen as his only support, in an agile body fueled by nothing except adrenaline and indignation, Lan Wangji makes swift enough work of dispatching all but two of the GusuLan cultivators who had come to arrest Wei Wuxian. Sword dripping and unable to stand on his own two feet, Lan Wangji kneels in disgrace before his uncle and brother, yearning for nothing except to return to Wei Wuxian’s side before his condition worsens any further.
“Wangji,” murmurs Lan Xichen, disturbed by everything he has just witnessed, dismay and horror clear in his eyes and the set of his mouth. Lan Wangji feels no remorse - he regrets nothing except his brother’s lack of faith in him.
Lan Qiren’s eyes are barbs as they glare at him, no words necessary to communicate his disappointment and frustration, but Lan Wangji does not care. In a tone used to commanding respect and obedience, he speaks with authority and expects compliance. “You will bring Wei Wuxian to Gusu.”
“I will not.” Lan Wangji watches his uncle gather steam, turning deaf ears towards the imminent castigation. He needs to get Wei Wuxian somewhere safer than here, the stench of battle and defeat thick in the air. Lan Xichen places a hand on Lan Qiren’s arm, and soundlessly they turn to gather the wounded and transport them back to the Cloud Recesses. His brother peers over his shoulder once, staring at Lan Wangji, who hopes his face screams his tormented conviction, while somehow portraying nothing at all.
Lan Wangji ignores the mounting pain that threatens to consume him and crawls over to Wei Wuxian, whose head lolls halfway off the stone, one arm dangling off the edge, fingers trailing in the blood below. With a panicked fumble, he grabs the other’s wrist and presses firmly on nearly translucent skin searching for signs of life and spiritual energy, which is still so low he cannot detect its presence at all. He locates a thready pulse, and with a slight sob, he holds the wrist up to his mouth, feeling the heartbeat with his lips.
Lan Wangji peels off his filthy outer robe, cringing at its state but not having anything else with which to use for extra warmth, and wraps it around Wei Wuxian. He stiffly gets to his feet, wincing at every movement, and lifts the unconscious, distressingly frail cultivator into his arms, tucking his head carefully into his shoulder.
“I am here, Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji promises as he noses through tangled, lank black hair.
Not wanting to draw any further attention to themselves, Lan Wangji chooses to keep Bichen at his hip, and continue on to the Burial Mounds on foot. With every stumbling step taken, continual reassurances are murmured directly into the cold shell of an ear, and he brings Wei Wuxian closer to the place he calls home.
After setting Wei Wuxian down on his bed, Lan Wangji hesitantly rises to his feet - the thought of walking away now clamps around his lungs, each breath drawn proves harder than the last. He must go and atone for his behavior, not due to guilt or remorse, but simply because he cannot abandon his brother and sect. Wei Wuxian will be able to recuperate here, and Lan Wangji vows to return and support him once more.
“Wei Ying.” Calmly adjusting the nearly unrecognizable Lan robe to cover the eerily still and slight form, Lan Wangji rests his forehead against Wei Wuxian’s. He gives voice to one final oath, these words easier now than they ever have been before, and he refuses to consider them a farewell or eulogy. “I do not regret this, I do not regret you. We are close. I will see you again.”
Lan Wangji begins to leave the Burial Mounds and Wei Wuxian, with aching limbs, reluctant feet, and a leaden heart. He turns and sees two bleary grey eyes following his departing form. With nothing left to do or say, Lan Wangji returns to Gusu alone.
Wei Wuxian stares at Lan Wangji’s retreating back, grateful he’d awoken only to hear his final words, no longer having the vigor to absorb accusations and judgement from anyone, least of all the captivating and honorable HanGuang-Jun.
I will see you again.
The words slog through Wei Wuxian’s mind, a promise to return and help drag him off to Gusu or Yunmeng where he can be imprisoned and cured. Pressing his palm against the void in his chest, he gasps, the sound brittle and weak as it echoes around him. There is no place for him anywhere beyond the reviled and feared spot he occupies in people’s minds.
I will see you again.
A noise startles Wei Wuxian out of his stupor, as a tiny, warm hand grasps one of his. The gesture cuts through the fog and he squeezes back with all his remaining strength.
“Xian-Gege is hurt?” Wen Yuan asks, the young, exhausted voice trembling with worry.
“You’re getting sick, A-Yuan. Go back to sleep. Stay quiet, stay hidden. I’ll tend to you in the morning.” Wei Wuxian closes his eyes, yet the miniature hand folded into his refuses to waver.
Wen Yuan mumbles, as he climbs up next to Wei Wuxian to cuddle for heat. “I remember him.”
“Do you? You’re tired and ill, now sleep A-Yuan.” Drowsy and slipping back into the muddled mess in his head, Wei Wuxian almost misses the last remark that tumbles out of the child’s yawning mouth.
“I trust him. You should too, Xian-Gege.” With a snuggle and a snort, Wen Yuan drifts back into slumber, still clutching Wei Wuxian’s hand tightly in his fist.
I am here.
Wei Ying.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes slide shut, two faint but distinct points of light sear into his mind as he is yanked back down into the inescapable darkness.