Work Text:
Stones crunched lightly underfoot as you cautiously walked through the cavernous tunnels of the tomb. You were aware of Illinois behind you, could almost feel his frustration at your slowed pace, but no matter how often he told you the traps would miss if you moved at a casual walk, you couldn’t help but be cautious.
You carefully peeked your head around a corner to be greeted with the sight of a perfectly normal stone tunnel, and you squinted suspiciously at it. Behind you, Illinois cleared his throat.
“We don’t have all day,” came his voice, tone impatient. You didn’t even bother to respond, instead carefully beginning down the path. You weren’t far down the tunnel when you realised something seemed off; you stopped, tilting your head a little.
What was it? The tunnel air was still stagnant and still, and the ground was still solid underfoot. Then it hit you; the ground was too solid, too firm. There were no pebbles or soil sliding underfoot and the ground wasn’t shifting with your movements.
You turned, ready to warn Illinois, only to see his eyes widen slightly. His hands slammed into your chest, pushing you back, and you landed painfully on your back, stones digging into your flesh painfully but not breaking skin.
You scrambled upright, ignoring the way small rocks painfully dug into your palms, your gaze frantically searching the tunnel where you’d stood seconds before. The walls looked the same, and the dim light hadn’t changed a bit, but what was new was the gaping hole in the floor. Rushing forwards, you stood at the edge and looked down.
From below, Illinois glanced up at you. You couldn’t help but let out a small relieved sigh, smiling a little. That smile faded as you spotted the rope Illinois had at his hip, useless unless he could find a way to get it up to you, and then sheer panic hit as you noticed the walls of the pit were moving.
You yelled down to him, to try and alert him of the danger, but then his gaze met yours, and you knew he knew. He smiled, a kind of sad smile you’d never seen on him before, and then he spoke.
“Don’t worry about me.”
You shook your head, fumbled at the belt of items on your hip, praying you had something, anything , that could help him. The pit walls slowly moved in, closer and closer, towards Illinois. The slowness of them was agonising, knowing he’d be crushed eventually and that it would not be a quick death for him.
“I told you not to fall in love with me,” Illinois said, and you were convinced he’d seen something in your expression just moments earlier, because sure, he was a flirt, but there was something genuine to his tone. All you could do was stare down at him; the pit walls were closing in now, seconds away from brushing his arms.
The silence in the tunnel was deafening, the only sound the scrape of the pit walls as they moved in, slow and steady. You closed your eyes, still and unmoving, as the walls finally began to press against Illinois. You didn’t open them again until the scraping stopped; all that you could see was the ground, those stone pit walls, maybe an inch or two lower than the rest of the floor.
You dropped to your knees, chest tight. He’d been there, right behind you, and you’d lost him. If you’d just moved at a slightly quicker pace, like he’d told you to, he’d be fine. It was your fault he was gone.
Illinois hadn’t even cried out, despite how painful his death must have been. You reached a single hand out, trembling as you placed it lightly on the stone. There was something dark near your fingertips, and against your better judgement, you stretched forward, brushing your fingers over it.
It was liquid, thick and sticky, and you jerked your hand back. Blood coated your fingertips, much too red and much too bright. Turning, you vomited onto the tunnel floor.
*****
Hours had passed when you finally stumbled out of the tunnels, the harsh daylight outside blinding you. You’d grown so used to the darkness of the tomb that you couldn’t see a thing, and as you strained to see anything, you could feel a headache building.
The world slowly came into focus as your eyes adjusted, and your gaze fell on the path that would lead you to the camp you and Illinois had set up the night before. Grief hit you like a truck, and you staggered a little, trying to push past it. You couldn’t get caught up in your emotions now; you had to get to camp, to safety, before nightfall.
You glanced up at the sky. The sun wasn’t setting, not yet, but it wasn’t at it’s highest point either. You really had to get moving. Every step felt like more effort than the last as you trudged down the path to your camp, but you somehow managed to make it without collapsing.
Night hadn’t fallen yet, but it wasn’t far off, and you realised how much longer you’d taken to walk this path than you had earlier this day when you and Illinois had set off for the tomb. Slowly, you raised your hand, shaking, and you saw the red blood, now dried, that coated your fingertips.
You swallowed down rising nausea and turned to the small creek right by your camp. Illinois had insisted on making camp here, for the easy water source. You forced memories of the adventurer from your mind, plunging your hand into the creek, watching the blood wash off.
It was nearly gone from your fingers when you turned and vomited for the second time that day, the thought that it was his blood nauseating. You pulled your hand from the cold running water of the creek, shaking violently.
It took all you had left to cross the small clearing and crawl into the small two-person tent that was there; you tried and failed to force yourself to ignore the fact that Illinois had set it up with you just that morning, flirting as usual.
You’d laughed when he’d tripped over one of the tent pegs, and he’d tried not to look ruffled, but over the time you’d spent with him, you’d learnt to read the emotions that lay beyond his expression. You curled slowly into your sleeping bag, trying not to cry at the memories.
You squeezed your eyes shut, begging for sleep to come. It would be hours until you finally fell asleep, having cried until you couldn’t cry any more, simply passing out, exhausted and wracked with grief.
*****
You awoke on high alert; something was outside your tent, and you had no intentions of being killed today. You moved slowly, careful not to make enough noise to alert whatever was out there that you were there, and crept to the tent opening.
Slowly, painfully slowly, you unzipped the front of the tent, wincing anytime the zipper made slightly too loud of a sound. Finally, after minutes upon painful minutes, there was enough of an opening for you to peek out. There was someone crouched over the campfire, which was now lit, and it looked as though they were cooking something.
You couldn’t tell if they were dangerous or not, and you couldn’t see them properly from where you were, and you decided you had to take a chance. You unzipped the tent a little more, took a breath, then stepped out.
The figure by the campfire paused in whatever they were doing, placing cooking utensils carefully down. Then they turned, and your heart seemed to stop beating; the same charming, bright smile, the same stupidly handsome face.
You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but choke out his name, and something must have shown on your face, in your expression, because his smile morphed into a frown instantly.
“Something wrong, darlin’?” His voice, the way he spoke, the hint of concern curled into his usually calm tone brought you crashing back to earth. He really was in front of you, not dead, not crushed in a pit trap in some godforsaken tomb. Illinois.
You were crying before you could even register your emotions, and you were yelling, voice shaking, about how you’d thought he was dead. Then Illinois had stood up, and the next thing you knew he was doing something he’d never done once in the entire time you’d travelled with him; he was hugging you, letting you cry into his shoulder.
He said nothing, and you knew he didn’t have to. In that moment, you felt you understood him more than you ever had. When you finally calmed, and the tears finally stopped, he let go of you and flashed you that winning smile.
“You’ve never got to worry about me, sweetheart. I’m as smart as I am handsome.”
Normally, you’d have laughed at that, but all you could do was sniffle, and wonder where in the name of god the blood that had been on the stone in the tunnels had come from. After a moment, you managed to actually voice that, to mention the blood, to ask where he’d been hurt.
“There’s not a scratch on me, sapphire,” Illinois said, frowning slightly in concern. It was kind of amusing, if you were honest, that no matter his mood, he never stopped flirting, or calling you pet names.
You expressed your confusion, to which Illinois just shrugged. Neither of you had any clue where the blood had come from; even if Illinois had been scraped, there couldn’t have been a blood splatter like that.
Illinois turned back to the fire, to cooking what you could now see was clearly breakfast, and silence fell between the two of you again. You watched as Illinois carefully flipped the bacon that was in the small pan, then set it back over the fire.
He leaned back in a relaxed, nonchalant manner, but your mind was still racing. Somehow he’d escaped that pit trap unscathed, and you had no clue how. You were still lost in thought when something soft and warm slid into your palm, which had been upturned next to you.
You almost panicked, before realising it was Illinois’ hand. You didn’t say anything for a moment, scared that anything you say might make him take back this moment, but finally, you couldn’t keep yourself quiet anymore.
Illinois’ head tilted a little at your question, a simple question really, just of why. He looked almost thoughtful, like as if he hadn’t realised he’d even moved.
“You seemed a little freaked out,” he said slowly. “Can’t have you freaking out on me, partner.”
Partner. It wasn’t the only time Illinois had called you that, but this time seemed different. The way he’d spoken was softer than usual and almost affectionate. You couldn’t help yourself, leaning over to press a small, gentle kiss to his cheek.
Illinois stiffened, for just a moment, but didn’t pull his hand away from yours. You smiled, shifted closer, dropping your head onto his shoulder. It was a minute or so later that Illinois tentatively wrapped an arm around you, in a very loose, timid hold, and you could have sworn your face was going to break from how wide you were smiling.
The two of you stayed that way for a while, and if the breakfast burned, well, no one would ever have to know.