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It was worth the risk.
Or at least that's what Reigen told himself as he crouched in the dirt, shielded from view by a scant few bushes.
It was.
They needed it.
Traveling with two children, even with such abilities as theirs, was difficult. They had to be careful. Cautious. Rely more on trade and talk than anything else. And right now, their supplies were running dangerously low.
Reigen wasn’t stupid. He knew he couldn’t take them out all at once, or even two at a time. Tightening the grip on his machete he began luring them one by one, painstakingly slow, painstakingly cautious, dispatching the undead one at a time with the accuracy of a man spent too long in this hell.
He had to come back from this.
The boys were back in the basement of a house a few miles out through a copse of trees. Mob wasn’t well and there was no way Reigen was leaving him alone, even if he could have somehow convinced Ritsu to accompany him.
Swiping the back of his gloved hand across his sweaty forehead, Reigen took a swig from his canteen, resting in the shade and contemplating his approach to the small town pharmacy. Carefully, he wiped his blade clean and tested its sharpness. They’d scoped it out a week ago, making note of how many walkers were in the immediate vicinity, and decided it was worth it. They were effectively in the middle of nowhere and it was pure luck that they stumbled across the place, almost completely shrouded in the plant life slowly reclaiming the planet humanity had ruined. The windows were intact. The door closed. This kind of opportunity, this blessing, would never come around again. Time had been on his side, most of the shambling horde in this area had moved on, chasing other prey or merely wandering away to parts unknown.
But he didn’t know how many were trapped in the building itself and there was no way to know. Not for sure.
If he made one mistake--his stomach turned with the idea of the boys having to dispatch him as something undead.
He shifted the empty packs and prepared himself for the approach. There was no cover, but there was nothing but the wind, silent and soft; if there were any around, their moans would carry on the current. Keeping low, he scurried over the cracked pavement, steps whispering on spare stones. Back pressed to the decaying wood, Reigen listened, making out the scuffing steps that indicated quite a few lost souls on the other side of the wall and their approximate locations. Adrenaline flooded his system, everything became sharp, focused, and he took a deep breath to offset the lightheaded rush, let it settle. He shouldered through the rotting door and immediately took out the creature to his right, a clean blow to the neck severing it completely, in time to duck low and avoid the black, gnashing teeth of another, driving his blade up through its jaw, rolling away to avoid the gush of clotted gore that followed its removal. Another three fell, but it seemed like a group had taken refuge here only to turn each other. He’d seen it before.
There were too many. Closing in around him, and he felt the harsh pressure of a bite at the juncture between his throat and shoulder, sinking into the collar of his leather jacket. It did its job, protected his skin, and he knocked it off with the butt of his machete, flipping it in his hand to plunge it into the resistance of its skull. This is where things began to go wrong and even with all of Reigen’s fast thinking at his disposal, he couldn’t make up for sheer numbers. The next set of teeth he blocked with an open hand and it was the worst mistake he could have made, even as he executed the next two.
It clamped down hard, breaking his ring finger in the process and making him howl, tears of pain and surprise and fear (he had to get back, he had to get back), stung his eyes. Growling low, Reigen kicked out, sending it hurtling into the counter, his glove dangling from its mouth like some sort of awful trophy, leaving him exposed, and his moment of distraction cost him everything.
The next flustered, last second block saved his face, but the wasted mouth skimmed over his frozen skin.
And it was done.
Heaving, he stood in the wreckage, the curdled blood coating his boots thickly. Wiping the weapon clean on the nearest corpse’s clothes he sighed, controlling his breath and calming his galloping pulse. He’d have to sterilize it when he got back. With all of this commentary and plans running in the back of his mind, Reigen checked himself for injuries or open wounds, humming to himself when it seemed the duct tape had done its job. He skimmed over his hands, wincing at the throbbing in his broken digit and froze.
A streak of bright red blood, damning, ruinous, across the meaty part of his thumb.
A bite.
No.
Not even.
Just a stupid nick.
Nothing he’d even have to worry about before.
But now.
A death sentence.
And he was taking two others with him.
Nononononono. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening!
He ran his gloved hand through grimy bangs, vision swimming and fixated on that crimson smudge. It was so small. So small. It couldn’t. He. How could he be sure? It was as if he were turning already, he felt faint and dizzy, panic growing like vines behind his ribcage, up into his throat until it was as if there was no air in the room.
Is this what it felt like? To change? To turn? Into one of those things?
A sob, choked, shoulders hunched. Tears, thick and fast and uncontrollable. He swallowed, gulping, rocking. Okay. Okay. He was okay. It would be okay. There was one thing he could try. He could try it. He would. He had to. Please let this work. Please.
Trembling, he opened the two packs, completely empty and waiting for the haul that was going to be worth it. Without even reading most labels, Reigen started dumping every antibiotic and medicine bottle he recognized into the bags, supplementing it with creams, bandages, gauze, anything they’d ever wanted for on this journey across the country. It took minutes, slap dash cramming and stuffing, as he steeled himself for what he was about to do. The infection had to spread. It wasn’t clear yet if it was in the blood, or in the flesh and if it was already in his veins, he was a dead man anyway.
If it relied on killing him first, he had time.
He stuffed several handles of drug store liquor into the pockets on the sides. It would be excellent for trade. People loved booze. It was no wonder why. He hefted the packs. They were heavy and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to carry both of them, especially after--
But he had to. And he would. It was their only chance.
He cleared the counter and laid his supplies out in meticulous order next to his coiled belt, mouth dry. He wet it with one of the bottles of whiskey he’d set aside for himself, poured a few painkillers and antibiotics into his palm, and washed them down with another swallow, shoving the orange containers into his pocket. Fastidious, thorough, he poured it over the machete, scrubbed it with sterile packing, tossing it on the floor where it soaked through with ichor. He alternated between drinking straight from the bottle and sloshing liberal amounts over the gleaming metal. He took care of his weapons. They all did. It was essential. He fumbled for a lighter, itched for a cigarette and decided he’d earned one before busting the case open and lighting up, inhaling the chemical calm while running the flame over the sharp edge.
Numb, calculated. The warmth of the alcohol was comforting, made his head buzz pleasantly, and he flicked ash, pretending that this was just a night at the bar. He flexed his hand, the one with his broken finger, and felt nothing. A giggle. He rolled the sleeve of his jacket up to his elbow. Another long draught finished the bottle and he threw it into the corner where it shattered so satisfyingly and picked up another, christened it with his lips and upended it over his arm, all over the surface of the wood. He leaned his weight on it, made a fist, squared his stance. Did his utmost to stop visualizing what he was about to do.
Another gulp. A sob. The liquid sloshed as he ran the back of his hand over his eyes.
He could do this.
If it was for them.
Tightening the belt around his bicep, he swallowed, trimmed the end and placed it between his teeth, gritting them so hard his jaw ached through the fog. His heart jumped, sped up, and he breathed harshly through his nose, held it. Exhaled as he brought the machete down on his arm, whole inches above his wrist, with his full strength.
The scream was inhuman and he refused to believe it came from him. He could never sound like that, even as he knew he could. He choked it down, swallowed the shrieking with the whiskey, tasting the salt of his own tears, before spilling half the bottle over the bloody stump where his hand used to be (keep it clean, keep it clean). Translucent gold swirled amongst the red and it was strangely beautiful and he cried for what he’d lost.
He waited. Sat behind the counter with his back against it, tracks on his cheeks dry, the bandages soaking him up until he felt there was nothing left. The only movement the periodic lift of the bottle to his mouth.
Hours passed. Until it was twilight. But he had to be sure. He woke sometime later, sick and faint, to the sound of spring peepers.
With a strength he didn’t think he possessed, he lurched upright, slinging the packs onto his back and only buckling at the knees a little. Shaky, he finished the bottle with one long pull, and proceeded to throw up, the smell of bile and booze doing nothing to help him stop until he was empty. His body pulsed with dull pain as he pushed through the remains of the door, stopped to listen, swayed under an unbelievable weight, and began stumbling back to his boys.
“He’s late.” Mob’s mouth twisted into a thin, worried line, frowning when Ritsu scoffed next to him, taking a break from sharpening his knives to give his older brother a sidelong glance.
“He probably took the stash and kept going by himself.”
“Reigen wouldn’t do that.” Shoving the canteen away he resisted Ritsu’s hand on his forehead. “I’m fine. I should have gone with him.” A slam against the basement door made them both jump; something was fumbling with the knob and both kids held their breath, reaching for their weapons at the same time after cutting the lights. Most of the time, stillness and quiet were enough to convince one of the undead there was nothing worth eating in the vicinity. Unsteady steps and a rasping groan echoed in the darkness. “Reigen?” Mob flicked the lamp back on and gasped as the man lurched to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, dumping the packs and wavering on his feet.
“God, you reek of alcohol.” Ritsu covered his nose with a hand, eyes narrowed. “Is that why you wanted to go? So you could get drunk?” Mob was on his feet, something was wrong. There was so much blood, red, red, blood. That wasn’t right.
“Reigen?”
“Mmmob…” like a sigh of relief, a beatific smile, before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed. What the esper thought had been hidden in shadow was actually so much worse.
Reigen knew it was bad when he wasn’t able to lift the canteen to his mouth without spilling it down the front of himself, his arm shaking too badly, remaining hand too weak to maintain his grip. The boys were out fetching more water, settling in for a long stay. Either he would recover and walk away from this or--
“Damn it…” teeth chattering, he swore under his breath, voice hoarse from his shouting the other day. He was alternately boiling hot and freezing cold, losing large tracts of time to painful exhaustion and blackouts. But he’d already explained how many painkillers he thought he could take safely even if they barely touched the agony spiking through the limb with every shallow breath and prescribed himself double the dose of antibiotics, queasy from the meds and unable to sit up on his own.
This was bad. Bad. So bad.
Coughing, he rolled his head from where it was hanging onto one shoulder. He’d insisted he stay up, propped against the wall with his machete across his lap.
Just in case.
He didn’t tell them it was just in case he started to turn.
He was burning. Trapped in a thicket of flames and fire, of twisted metal and cars ignited. Giant birds circled above, dark shapes in a swirling red sky. He didn’t know where he was, there was no one around, he was alone. Again. Reigen began walking, feet bare, bloody, as he walked over glass and garbage, looking for someone. They were missing and he had to find them.
There were sounds. Buzzing sounds. Annoying sounds, and Reigen batted at his ears, uncoordinated, stumbling over uneven ground and falling hard. He laid there, panting, so hot, so hot, and curled around himself. He hurt. All over and he couldn’t figure out where, it was just everywhere, all over, he hurt.
You’re pathetic.
He shook his head, trying to dislodge the voice, the sounds, the rushing of blood, flowing, so much. Everywhere, he slipped in it when he tried to stand. Where was it all coming from? Growing around him and reflecting the glow of a burning landscape.
You could never be good enough to reunite those boys with their family.
Doggedly he stood, barely able to keep his eyes open, blinking hard and he knew that. He knew that already. He was. He was just trying to do right by them. Keep them safe. Children shouldn’t be wandering alone in this wasteland.
You’re leading them to their deaths and they follow you like lambs to the slaughter.
He went down again, he couldn’t do this, it was too much, too much and he hurt. Rolling painfully onto his back he let his eyes slip shut, the unbearable heat pressing in on him, the warmth of the blood soaked into his auburn hair, staining it, staining his clothes, staining his soul black, black, black, like the filth that spilled out of them when they tore them apart. That would spill from his veins.
The birds came for him.
What use are you?
“We need more water.” Mob poured the remainder over the cloth and laid it upon Reigen’s forehead. The man was burning up, nothing more than fuel for this horrible fire, head restless in the esper’s lap as the kid tried to soothe him through the nightmare and Mob swallowed his fear. Reigen looked almost dead already; the sheen of sweat and awful pallor of his face highlighting the sunken shadows beneath his closed eyelids.
“We’ve gone three times already.” Ritsu looked up from where he was taking inventory and had to admit this was an amazing haul, he just hoped it turned out to be worth it. “It’s luck at this point we haven’t tracked anything back.”
“Shh, shh.” He brushed fingers through damp hair when Reigen whimpered, calling on memories of his mother turned sepia with time. “He needs water, his fever is too high and the medicine isn’t working.” Eyes flicking to the void where his friend’s hand should be, Mob shuddered. They’d changed the dressing a few times but it was getting worse and dark bruising had begun flooding up his arm despite their efforts to keep it clean. They were hiding in an unfinished basement after all. They’d clearly lost that battle and now they were losing him.
“When’s the last time he had any meds?” Ritsu stood above them both, features shadowed by the dull glow of the lanturn and Mob knows he knows because he’d had to hold his head still while they forced them down his throat. His chest warmed; despite his salty demeanor his younger brother was just as scared. Mob checked his watch anyway, knowing it was too early yet. Dramatically, Ritsu rolled his eyes, stringing the jugs together and throwing them around his neck. “I’ll go.” He stopped halfway up the stairs and looked back briefly before ascending up and out.
“They’ll hear him!”
“I know! I know!!”
“Shut him up!”
“I’m trying!” Frantically, Mob held him close, making calming, reassuring noises and whispering promises of safety into his ear as Reigen screamed his throat raw, a sound they would never unhear. It was terrifying; they’d never seen him like this and something was sure to pick up on it, so loud and echoing in the small space. The man was curled up tight around his mangled arm, sobbing, choking, begging, in between gasping for lungfuls of stale air. His words were nigh unintelligible and the few snatches Mob could understand scared him more than anything else. Ritsu tore him out of his brother’s arms, flipping Reigen onto his back and pressing gloved hands over his mouth and nose. “Ritsu!”
“We don’t have a choice. He needs to be quiet or none of us are making it out of here.”
“You’re suffocating him! Stop! Stop! Please, stop!” Mob’s hair lifted off his brow and his aura filled the basement with overwhelming pressure, eyes wide and frantic, his own tears beginning to slip down his cheeks.
“I’m not, I promise. I’m not. Watch. Watch, Niisan!” The struggling picked up as Reigen clawed one handed at his face but he didn’t have the strength to dislodge Ritsu’s determined palms and the weakness in him unfurled a blossom of fear in the younger boy’s chest, made his breath catch uncomfortably. Gradually, Reigen ceased, sluggish in his movements, heels no longer kicking against the dirt, muffled cries dying down until he was silent. Blissfully, safely, silent. Ritsu lifted his hands before his brother could throw him across the room and listened for the sound of Reigen’s labored breathing, relaxing minutely with the faint wheeze of the shallow rasp, the subtle lift of his narrow chest. “See, Niisan, he’s okay.” He dragged fingers through his spiky strands, pulling and allowing the sting to clear his own mind. “He’s okay.”
“Please...please…” whispery and broken randomly into individual syllables with agonal snatches of breath, Reigen begged them to save themselves, to strike him down before-- “D’don’ lemme turn…” Writhing, arching onto one shoulder blade, he coughed, hacking, jerking painfully when he couldn’t stop, the noise forced through his grit teeth when he finally ceased pitiful and defeated. “You have to, have to, don’ lemme h’hurt you...please...p’please…”
Mob was frozen, tears dripping off his chin and his palms clapped over both ears, unable to bear the man’s pleading any longer.
“Listen, listen!” Ritsu held Reigen’s overwarm face between rough hands, working trembling fingers into the sweat soaked hair at his temples in a clumsy attempt at the comfort his brother could bring. He forced him to look, tried to catch his wild eyes and found he couldn’t make contact and for a horrible moment Ritsu thought him blind. “Listen.” Panting from fear and exertion, Reigen’s lashes fluttered and when they opened he met Ritsu’s gaze as best as he was able. “I won’t let you. Okay?” As they threatened to close, the kid shook him back to wakefulness. “I won’t let you.” So calmed, Ritsu let him go.
“What’s happening!?” Ritsu stood over them, fists pressed to his forehead in dread.
“I don’t know! I don’t know!” Mob ran hands like hovering butterflies over Reigen’s rigid body, his twitching, spasming limbs. There was a strange sound, nothing specific, coming from his throat, but it made the boys share a concerned glance. It all seemed to last forever; forever as he convulsed on the makeshift pallet, before falling still and slumping bonelessly to the ground. He panted, regaining consciousness slow, disoriented when Mob stroked his hair back and got into his line of sight. There was no recognition in his vacant gaze as he blinked up at him and the esper offered him a wobbly grin. “It’s okay, you’re okay.” He soothed, supporting his head and offering him a drink. “Sip slow, slow.” Somehow, the shadows in his face had deepened, making him seem gaunt, too thin, and so, so tired. Mob resumed petting his bangs, holding onto his terrified brown eyes, brimming with black, until they rolled back and the seizing began anew.
It happened three times more and by the end Reigen was trembling with exhaustion, fighting to keep hold on Mob’s hand, and keening low in confusion. Ritsu replaced the cold cloth on his brow, smoothing it gently for something to do, to not feel so useless in the face of their friend’s impending end. Reigen tried to speak, to force his twisted up tongue to create the words he desperately wanted to say. Squeezing his hand, Mob smiled for him again, tugging the threadbare blanket back up to his rattling chest.
“Just rest. We’ll be here.”
“Niisan.”
Reigen hadn’t moved for hours, frighteningly, completely still on the sleeping bags.
If they’d thought he looked awful before, now he looked as close to death as ever, skin sallow and drawn across his slack face, the force of his uneven breath barely enough to sustain a bird it seemed. The sour smell of infection was strong and neither of them were naive enough to deny what this was, what this meant. They’d seen it enough in their travels.
They’d seen what comes next.
“Niisan.” Ritsu implored past the lump in his throat. “Niisan, please.”
“No.” Mob had taken up his hand in both of his own, so fragile, so hot, his hands--hand--had never been this warm before, and he rubbed careful thumbs over the back of it, tracing his fragile bones.
“Listen--”
“No. Not yet.” The latest dose of antibiotics was given when he was unconscious and they’d almost choked him. But it was his only shot. It would work. Mob was sure of it. Please let it work. “Pass me a canteen.” He released his thin hand to take it, patting it gently where it rested on his stomach and reassured him though he could not hear that he would hold it again soon, that it was okay, they wouldn't leave him to die alone, they would be here, don’t worry, don’t be scared. Careful and slow, Mob dripped water between fever chapped lips for long minutes before handing it back to his brother and taking up his vigil again.
“We should do it now, Niisan.” Ritsu crouched on Reigen’s other side, testing his temperature for himself and wincing. There was no way he'd survive this and even if he did his mind would be destroyed. It was only a matter of time. “He won't feel anything, he's--” a choked swallow. “He's already gone.”
Ritsu clenched the handles of his knives tighter, the coarse fabric under his fingers something comforting and familiar. Niisan couldn’t stay awake forever and had succumbed to a long overdue sleep but not before begging his younger brother to wait. Just. Wait. And, on his knees, he did, blades secure and his unblinking stare fixed to Reigen’s unmoving face.
It was strange, unsettling. He was always so animated, irritatingly so, filling Niisan’s head with idealism based in a time they barely remembered and could never go back to. But now. Ritsu frowned, contemplating the expression. Contemplating the sting behind his eyes and shaking his head to dispel it.
He would do this. He would do this so his older brother didn’t have to.
It would be easy, neither would know and one was already lost. It would be easy to tell Niisan that he’d passed in his sleep and before he could even start to turn Ritsu had taken care of him.
Quick.
Painless.
The man had already been hurt enough; he’d been brave. Selfless. It was time to let him go.
The boy swallowed hard, inching closer, until he could hear the soft rasping in Reigen’s chest, see the way his unconscious body worked to fill failing lungs with just one more breath. Gently, carefully, Ritsu pressed the tip of one knife under his jaw, angled just so. It would be instant. He wouldn’t even feel it. He hesitated, a tear slipped down his cheek despite himself, and he looked to his brother, deeply asleep, curled up as safe as they ever could be, pressed close to the man’s other side. And when he looked back it was to meet eyes half lidded, lashes like a moth’s wings fluttering with the effort of staying parted. Reigen spoke then, voice rough with disuse, weak still from wasting illness, but whole, before he lost the battle with wakefulness.
“G’work...c’never tell…”
He was a danger to them as he was; barely able to lift his head, unable to stand, walk, run, fight. Most of his time was spent asleep in between doses of antibiotics and mind clouding painkillers. In the short time he could spend awake, he asked them to leave him, to keep moving. It was dangerous to stay in one place this long and they were running short on supplies. Surprisingly, it was Ritsu who told him to quit it.
“We’ve spent too much time on you to leave you behind now.” And he thrust a cup of broth that had been skimmed off a can of unlabeled soup and warmed slightly over the lantern into his palm, catching it up when he couldn’t grip it and awkwardly helping him drink it down with a handful of pills. Neither making eye contact, Ritsu set it aside and tucked a blanket around Reigen’s shoulders as he sat propped and limp against the wall. “Sleep. So you can be awake when Niisan gets back.”
The next time he woke relatively clear headed, he woke alone, taking a slow moment to get his bearings and filling his lungs without feeling choked. Overall, he felt okay, if still a bit tired and so sore. Carefully, Reigen climbed to his knees, catching himself when the dizziness threatened to overwhelm him and waiting until the dimly lit basement came back into focus. He lurched to his feet, tucking his bandaged arm close and catching himself on the grimy wall.
“Whoa…” His legs were like jelly, vision swimming, and he managed to take one unsteady step just as Ritsu and Mob suddenly materialized next to him.
“What are you doing?”
“You shouldn’t be up!” Said in tandem and their hands were on him, firm points of contact, but not strong enough to hold him up and he toppled to the dirt floor with a breathless laugh.
“Guess my legs aren’t as ready as I am.”
They needed a doctor. Reigen needed somewhere safe to recover, somewhere clean where they could properly treat his injury. The medicines were good, but no replacement for actual, semi-professional care.
So they’d have to move.
A few days travel back, they’d passed a large, gated settlement. Of course, with nothing to offer, none of them had been allowed in. But they weren’t so destitute now, weighed down with hard to acquire antibiotics as they were. With enough goods to trade, they could spend some time putting themselves together again.
Reigen was dozing, snoring lightly and tipped against Mob who was getting their weapons squared away in preparation to move while Ritsu packed. He had everything spread out before him, choosing which bottles to hide in their personal packs. Given half a chance, the settlement would take it all and they couldn’t walk away with nothing. Not after what Reigen had sacrificed to get it. With one pack stuffed full of pharmaceuticals and whiskey, Ritsu felt alright with what he’d managed to squirrel away and turned to his older brother.
“It’s time to go.”
Staggering through the trees, Reigen leaned heavily on Mob, not really aware, just exhausted and aching from top to toes and everywhere in between. He kept up an unsteady stream of quiet chatter, bantering with Ritsu who was taking point, when he was most lucid, but mostly focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. It was becoming harder by the minute and even he knew they hadn’t gone nearly far enough.
“That’s…’nd tha’s why--” he broke off with a pained groan, stumbling to his knees, the kid under his arm unable to keep him standing without using his powers. And that would make them a beacon.
“Okay, just a bit more,” Ritsu levered him up on his other side, the pressure on his bad arm, done up close to his body, making him gasp, bite his lip till it bled to keep from screaming. “Shh, just a little while longer.” Mob met his brother’s eyes beneath Reigen’s bowed head, both aware of the fine tremors working through him. They couldn’t push him much further.
His booted feet scuffed in the leaf litter, dragged every other step by the kids he was supposed to be protecting, helping. They moved low, they moved quiet, shifting between trees and straining their hearing for any unnatural sound, picking up only on the labored panting of the man held between them.
Ritsu held up a fist, releasing Reigen and motioning for his brother to do the same, laying him out on the ground and pressing his machete into his palm. Mob lifted a finger to his lips and stalled any argument Reigen wanted to make before moving out of his sight. They were as ghosts, what seemed like a lifetime of hunting and being hunted lending strength to their arms, and silent swiftness to their legs.
Minutes passed, and he held his breath, calmed himself and stayed as still as he could. He was a huge liability. But he could be quiet. Reigen only jumped a little when they slid to a stop next to him.
“Only one.” He wasn’t sure which kid had spoken, too dizzy with relief and hurt.
“Let’s go.” And Reigen was swept up so quickly it was like a veil slipped over his eyes and he lost everything.
They dragged him, loaded down with his dead weight, the packs, their supplies, and it was exhausting but no more than an hour or so until the last place they’d camped before finding the basement. It wasn’t as safe, but it was fairly secure, a shed behind an old ramshackle house, and when it came into view it was the sweetest sight they’d seen in what felt like forever. Ritsu laid out the sleeping bags and together they lowered him down, Mob checking his temperature and pursing his lips. Still feverish, it had risen from the exertion, and after applying a cool cloth to his face, mopping up the sweat, Reigen came too, sighed in relief, looking up blearily into worried faces.
“I c’n…I c’n do that…Mob…” as he tried to get his breath back, arm not tied up in a sling reaching clumsily. Ritsu pushed it down, squeezed his wrist gently.
“Relax. We've got you.”
It was raining when they made it and close to sundown as Ritsu hammered against the wall, shouting until he was hoarse to be heard above the storm. Reigen collapsed, shuddering, against Mob, kneeling in the muck and the mud, head lolling back and face tipped up to the clouds. The last day had been hell on him and he’d barely been conscious, let alone aware of what was happening. They’d made it this far just to--
“Please! We can barter!” Ritsu kicked the corrugated metal and chain, grunting in frustration. “We have medicines! Please!” He glanced back to his brother, trying to rouse the man after he fell, overbalanced and exhausted, into the mire, running dirty fingers through soaking bangs.
“Ritsu.” Eyes tired and too large in his face, Niisan begged for a solution. They couldn’t stay out here like this, the chill and the elements would kill Reigen, surely, and they didn’t come all this way just to watch him die in the filth outside of the biggest settlement they’d seen since leaving the city.
“It’s okay, Niisan.” Focused on the door, his hair began to dance, lifting off his forehead, enveloped in his aura. Mob gripped Reigen closer, shielding his pallid, hot face in his chest and staring into the woods. This was dangerous. But they didn’t have a choice. Metal creaked and groaned, stretched to its breaking point as chain snapped, whipped through the air, and a space appeared in the gate. The screaming and shouting, guns and arrows and weapons all pointed at them, and Ritsu raised his hands even though Mob knew it was for show. He could cast them aside like spare yen if he so chose. His strong, capable, younger brother. “We can barter.” And he tossed a bottle at their feet.
Neither brother wanted to let him out of their sight, holding onto the sleeve of his leather jacket as he was borne through the clean halls of their makeshift hospital on a stretcher. It was bright, lit well by a generator or perhaps solar panels; they’d seen both, and Ritsu kept careful hold of their only security.
One couldn’t be too careful with even the humans left alive.
Reigen was stripped, washed, lashes fluttering at the sensation of warm water and cleansing soap, and a nurse offered the same to the boys. Offered to take their clothes to be laundered and gave them all loose scrubs to wear and a cot to sit upon as the surgery was prepped. The warmth of the room and the knowledge that it would take more than the undead had to break into these walls allowed fatigue to seep into their bones, and it was only through sheer force of will that they were able to settle on the terms of their agreement with the leader of this camp before they succumbed.
Mob jerked awake first, tumbling out of the cot in a tangle of blanket and limbs, warm and clean for the first time in months and wholly disoriented because of it. Scrubbing his cheek with one hand, he looked around, noticing Ritsu’s mop of messy hair half-hidden in a bundle of quilt. It was midday, if he was reading the light in the room right, and the low bustling of numerous people performing everyday tasks outside the windows made it feel as if this was a normal day. A normal day from before.
“Mob?” Raspy, but familiar, a comfort in all this new.
“Reigen!” He was clean, hooked up to bags of fluids and tucked beneath white sheets, so pale under the bright sun, but smiling crookedly and clear eyed. Mob felt tears sting his eyes, slip down his cheeks in relief and Reigen held up one arm, grunting when the small body collided with his aching chest, embracing the kid as tightly as he could as he shook and cried.
“Shh, it’s alright. You did so well, you’re both so brave, Mob. So brave.” He tugged, weakly, but Mob understood, clambering into the bed next to him and clinging to his neck as Reigen ran his hand up and down his shivering back. “S’okay, Mob, s’okay. Shh, shh…”
Ritsu woke sometime later, confused when his brother was nowhere to be found, until he glanced at the bed and met Reigen’s sleepy gaze. Clumsy, grip full of kid, he gestured to Ritsu. He paused, swiping his eyes with the back of his hand, and hesitated minutely before climbing into the bed on his other side and tucking himself under his wounded arm and clinging just as desperately. Reigen didn’t mention it, just dropped a chaste kiss on the top of his head.
They slept.
For almost four weeks they’d enjoyed the creature comforts of clean clothes, hot water, warm food, and at the end of it all they’d been offered a place to stay. They could learn jobs, help with the community, become members of this bastion of safety, even if it was only an illusion. So they declined, graciously accepting a pack full of food to replace all the antibiotics and painkillers and whiskey Reigen had retrieved and Ritsu had traded for his life.
Reigen stretched, yawned, and ruffled Mob’s dark hair before shrugging his pack onto strong shoulders and checking the security of the weapon at his hip. Ritsu joined them in bidding farewell to the family that had taken them all in for the last month, promising to send word if they found anything in the direction they were going.
Side by side, they set off through the gate.