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It seemed clear, in the moment, that Mercutio was dead.
Romeo felt his mind shatter like a vase released from weak fingers. The awful instinct to seize his sword moved his grip from a fist only for a moment before Benvolio seized the betraying hand and yanked him aside.
"He will live," Benvolio said evenly, "if we act quickly."
His loyalty was truer than the fevered instinct to hunt down the retreating Tybalt like the dog he was. It had to be. He couldn't allow this to be for nothing.
Though Mercutio was limp and heavy, Benvolio and Romeo moved him through the streets to the doctor in residence. Upon the doctor stripping Mercutio of the clothes obscuring where he was struck by Tybalt's blade, the wound and the flesh it revealed dizzied Romeo, and he pressed his fists into his eyes out of frustration. Cowardice. Failure. He was not even man enough to remain stoically beside his dying friend.
These could be Mercutio's last moments. He dragged his hands away from his face at Benvolio's light touch to his elbow, and nausea threatened to drown his consciousness entirely as the doctor examined the pulsing wound.
"Romeo," Mercutio whispered, a barely audible sound.
Romeo retched, and turned away, finding water to splash over his face in desperation to shock his system out of the nightmarish sensations crashing over him. Benvolio was not there to break the fever of fear, now; he was with Mercutio, where Romeo meant to be, if he were not a fool and a coward.
Sick, pale, deadly frightened, Romeo returned to stand beside Benvolio, a vigil of despair as the doctor began to stitch the wound closed.
"He may live yet," the doctor said simply, a man of few words, and Romeo forced himself still in the effort not to show the emotion rising in his throat.
A man must be brave, steadfast, and honorable. He was of an age enough to understand that.
Romeo breathed, and prayed for Mercutio, the last and only thing he could do.
"Your face," Mercutio said, "my dear Romeo, you look more to number among the dead than I would."
The comment on his pallor didn't change the frown on Romeo's face as he carefully guided Mercutio from the chamberpot. "I worry for you."
"Astonishing," Mercutio deadpanned. He remained terribly still once he laid in bed, clearly desperate not to jar his hopefully healing wound. "You have never once worried for me."
Romeo felt his jaw set as he knelt beside Mercutio to check any heat in his forehead with a touch of his wrist to his forehead. "Do you not see the difference?"
"Have I not faced death before?" Mercutio gestured, with far less of the usual flair. It was a ginger motion, and Romeo didn't miss its weakness. "I survive like a pest."
"I wonder at your stubbornness in acknowledging you nearly faced almighty God for my sake," Romeo said sharply.
"I did," Mercutio said cheerfully. "He said, sweet Mercutio, if you return to your friends, they will make your short life miserable with frowns at your japes, so choose wisely."
"We blaspheme now." Romeo knew, if he let him, Mercutio would effectively push him away. He dabbed at Mercutio's forehead with a damp rag. "Mercutio, you cannot send me away."
Mercutio's smile was weary. "Might I read that as a challenge?"
"You could have died," Romeo retorted. "Do you know what would have become of us without you?"
"Ah, humorless creatures," Mercutio went on. "A house full of mourners. The grandest funeral for beloved family, and feasts in his memory."
The image was vivid, whether Mercutio meant it to be or not, and Romeo flinched. "Must you jape on something so terrible?"
"Poor Romeo would wear the darkest sable for years. It would become him. Oh, in many ways."
Romeo leaned heavily into the bed. "We should have turned away from Tybalt," he said. "You should have turned away."
Mercutio's tone tightened above Romeo as he spoke. "You would unman me," he said. "To save me like one of your dear maidens from fear and trouble. I am not a maid, Romeo."
Romeo looked up to face him, and Mercutio's expression was daunting to face. "You are no maid," he agreed. "But I would not have believed you as one to earn manhood through a blade into your gut."
"How would you have me earn manhood?" Mercutio persisted, interest and acid both in his tone. "Must I cower to Romeo's wishes?"
Romeo released a weary sigh. "What wishes do I have for you but to survive?"
"To carry on without you as you mean to marry your sweet lady," Mercutio said. "I may be better dead than to face you as an exiled man in a home filled with children cursed by both your houses."
Romeo snapped. "Why do you seek to anger me?"
Mercutio's smile was stronger, now, something awful glittering in his eyes. "Does it trouble you to hear the truth of it?"
Romeo pulled in a breath and waited for his anger to subside. "I will swear myself against Tybalt," he started. "This is beyond insult. As for the lady you speak of – "
"Oh, yes, what of her?" Mercutio cut him off with.
Romeo fell quiet for a moment as he thought. "You must rest," he answered, instead. "Close your eyes. You must have tired yourself well in all your attempts to trouble me."
"Not nearly so much as you might hope," Mercutio said, but closed his eyes at any rate. "Do you mean to stay?"
There was only one answer to that. "Yes."
Into the dead of night, Romeo sat beside Mercutio as he rested, both reassured to see him breathe and sick with fear at the sight of bandages that might do little to keep him among the living after all.
Despite his attempt at a vigil, Mercutio sent Romeo away to sleep in his own bed, against all of Romeo's own wishes, but it did suit restful sleep better than the chair at Mercutio's. The call came just past the break of day, well before he could bring himself to eat: sweet Juliet's nurse with a concerned message from the girl.
There was only one true answer. "I have naught to say."
The nurse looked pale as she withdrew upon the dismissal in Romeo's gesture. Romeo, dazed, went to force himself to eat. He had to have some strength to face the day, the coming days, whether or not Mercutio would survive the injury itself but fall ill yet.
The note arrived, unsigned, but in Benvolio's handwriting: Come soon. He's calling for you.
Romeo knew he looked a terrible mess as he returned to Mercutio's side, but Mercutio was in no state to notice, much to Romeo's rising fear, Mercutio soaked with sweat and pale, twisted in a strange position in his bed. "Romeo," he murmured.
"I'm here," Romeo said instantly. "Mercutio, I'm – " The doctor had returned to Mercutio as well, and nudged Romeo away from his spot beside Mercutio despite the moment to better examine his wound.
"This will not be easy for him," the doctor warned Romeo. "You and your family must give me time enough to work and him time enough to recover. Do you understand?"
"No," Mercutio said, lost in delirium. "He must stay."
"You must rest," the doctor said firmly, "and think of nothing but your future."
"I do." Mercutio sounded agonized, so unlike himself, and Romeo felt a stab of guilt into his gut. "I think of, of grand futures, grand love."
The doctor kept Romeo at a distance still. "If that comforts you, think on it, then," he told Mercutio.
"What creatures deserve grand love?" Mercutio rambled. "What faery magics does it take to turn his head?"
"Please go," the doctor directed to Romeo. "He may want company, but you will both fare better in conversation and memory when I call for you."
Romeo stared at Mercutio's feverishly fluttered and unfocused gaze, and nodded slowly. He took one step back, two, then forced himself out of the door. Benvolio rested against the wall on the other side, and spoke before Romeo could respond to his presence. "Heed the doctor," he said.
Romeo had meant to, until it was mentioned otherwise. "Benvolio."
"Heed the doctor. He will bring Mercutio back to us."
Romeo's breath came out shaky. "I understand."
Benvolio kept Romeo's desire to see Mercutio at bay with a brief respite, a bit to eat, some witty comments, and the doctor returned to greet them both within an hour's time. Romeo managed not to leap to his feet, and merely listened.
"You might see him," the doctor told them, "but do not trouble him. He is not himself."
Benvolio nodded, and Romeo pushed himself to his feet, not himself either, as he led Benvolio to Mercutio's door. He looked to Benvolio, who nodded to the door. "You won't join me?" he asked.
"I believe you need this more than I might."
It wasn't what he wanted to hear, but it rang true. Romeo moved into the room, where Mercutio rested, splayed, half on his unwounded side. He glanced up at Romeo as he entered, and a playful if unfocused smile grew on his pale and red-splotched face.
"The lover returns. Hello, Romeo."
It stung Romeo still. "I am here for you."
"Are you?" Mercutio asked, and the weakness in his voice was so unlike him that Romeo felt sick at hearing it. "Are you with me?"
"To the death." He knew that, now. "I am no longer a lover. You will have to consider new japes."
Mercutio blinked heavily. "Are you not?"
"The lady Juliet is fair," Romeo said, with all the dizziness of horrible truth overtaking him, "but I cannot choose more bloodshed over simple celibacy."
"Celibacy!" Mercutio laughed, and coughed into his bedding. "Oh, Romeo, you believe you can resist the next fair creature you see through a crowd?"
Romeo took a short breath. "I have grown."
"I might believe you," Mercutio said, "if you were not the most lovely fool I knew."
Not himself, indeed. He seemed quite himself. "Do you mean this well or ill?"
"I mean all things well, even if they are taken ill." Mercutio laughed again. "Even if I am taken ill."
Romeo breathed again, to calm himself. "Do you truly think me a fool?"
"I think you as sweet as fruit with poison in it," Mercutio said. "I must partake, for its sweetness, and I must ache, for it aims to kill me slowly despite its taste."
Romeo stared at him. "What do you say?" he challenged Mercutio.
Mercutio returned his gaze, unflinching. "I ache. I know of Queen Mab's ill-intent upon her visits in my slumber. I dream of you, as your head turns from me."
He was frozen where he stood, frightened to move, unable to leave. "Why do you dream of me? What have I done?"
Mercutio dropped his head against the bed. "Oh, sweet Romeo. You would ask for plain words from Mercutio in his hour of weakness? Even at the strength of Samson I am no such creature."
"I beg of you," Romeo pressed, eager, terrified. "Explain, for your favorite fool."
"Must I place a kiss upon your lips to make you understand, or will you take that as a friend?" Mercutio answered, weary. "Must I pledge my heart to you in a chapel before our own? Do you heed me now?"
It was clear enough, and his heart swelled in terror and interest. He moved to Mercutio's side, knelt beside the bed, and smoothed the sweat from his hair. "I am with you," he murmured, and pressed his lips to Mercutio's forehead. "I will bring Benvolio. I have asked too much of you."
"Never," Mercutio said simply, soft, and closed his eyes as Romeo brushed his lips across Mercutio's forehead again.
Romeo drew a chair beside the bed, and took one short breath before calling softly, "Benvolio, welcome."
Benvolio moved inside of the room, with no sign that he had heard their conversation. Romeo stayed in his chair as the others spoke in soft tones, troubled and tangled as his mind and heart remained.
Perhaps he was a fool, his japes more cruel than those who had once worn motley, words of love and devotion that he could not maintain. The lady Juliet would mourn his absence, and Mercutio would warn him away with wit to keep from Romeo's half-witted acts and words wounding him through the heart.
He had no choice but to grow, to improve. He was not a boy who could excuse ill behavior with a child's self-control. He rolled Mercutio's words in his mind, and allowed himself the time to think.
A Montague, one of Romeo's distant cousins, murdered Tybalt's brother late at night in the street and left him to die.
It didn't appear to have any relation to Mercutio's brush with death – only a plain expression of the feud in general – but the news darkened the thoughts of the trio who largely remained cloistered in Mercutio's home even days after his wound and ensuing illness. It would not go unanswered, and it would be taken as Romeo's revenge against Tybalt even if he had not ordered it in the slightest way.
"Think clearly," Benvolio instructed Romeo, as though it was as simple as that, and frowned at the frown sent in his direction. "Take your fear in hand and direct it elsewhere. This requires reason."
"It seems plain to me," Mercutio said from his spot propped up in bed, "that Tybalt could well seek to challenge Romeo. Might he survive that?"
"I am not interested in this feud," Romeo made clear. "I am not interested in Tybalt or any other Capulet. This is not our war, and you both should understand that well."
"We are Montagues," Benvolio spoke up, and his gaze was level as Romeo looked at him sharply. "This war will follow us until the day the last Capulet is dead."
"Too many feral beasts on the streets of this fair city," Mercutio said. "Creatures too eager to show their dominance by ripping out a throat and leaving a mess for those with rational minds. What can young men do in the face of such dimwitted brutality?"
Romeo's face ached with his frown. "Could we not sue for peace?"
"Oh, would they even speak to us?" Benvolio sighed, his fingers pressing to his temples. "Would you want to sue for peace, Romeo?"
"Why would I not?" Romeo challenged, unable to not bristle.
Benvolio glanced up at him, skepticism in his eyes and in his tone. "Tybalt's blade tasted Mercutio's blood. Does that not cloud your reasoning?"
Mercutio laughed. "Romeo thinks ahead of you, Benvolio. He wishes it not to taste my blood again."
Romeo sighed, weary. "He knows where to strike me mortally," he agreed.
"Truly." Mercutio looked amused. "You mean to sue for peace? To spare the lives of your own?"
Romeo stared at him. "You cannot defend yourself. You can barely stand without pain."
"Then I bear my blade in my bed," Mercutio answered, with a faint smile. "I can still bear it well."
Romeo didn't miss the reference, and glanced away with a short exhalation. "We will sue for peace if he comes to our door," he said. "Until then, we keep our focus on what is most important."
Mercutio shifted where he sat, clearly physically uncomfortable. "And what is that?"
"You," Romeo said, moderating his words with some genuine mild irritation, and Mercutio's pained smile broadened. "You must rest, I must change your bandages." He moved to Mercutio's side, and dropped to a knee beside the bed with bandages in hand as a half-watching Benvolio left the room without comment.
Mercutio grunted as he hit the bed. "Oh, wine," he declared. "To soothe my soul and terrible pains. No? You would deny a man who has faced St Peter a taste of vintage from my own deep cellar?"
Romeo shook his head as he gingerly removed the bandages and examined the skin beneath. "Well enough," he said, and began to bind him up again with pain at Mercutio's clear discomfort at both the sensation and the caretaking. "As you will."
It was obviously not what Mercutio expected to hear. He looked into Romeo's face, his expression unreadable. "And you? Will you drink with me?"
"As ever," Romeo answered, an ache in his chest, and he fetched a bottle of wine and cups to pour them out. He extended the cup to Mercutio, who gratefully partook, and held onto his own. "Say what you will, Mercutio."
"Might I?" Mercutio downed more wine. "If you must sue for peace, do it for the right reason."
Nor was that what Romeo expected. "I tire of the spectre of death," he said. "I am too young to have a pale rider follow me so."
Mercutio's smile was faint as the bitterness of the wine. "Not for me, then."
"For all of us," Romeo said, and could not tear his gaze away from Mercutio. "A fair enough answer for you?"
"I suppose," Mercutio mused. "You expect more of me."
Romeo steadied himself; it was easy for Mercutio to take control of every conversation if he was allowed. "Shall I ask you to pledge your heart before me again?"
Mercutio drank, gaze cast downward, then laughed. "I have done no such thing."
"Then do so," Romeo said, his breaths short. "We cannot stay in this purgatory forever so you might shed this as a sin."
"Is it not?" Mercutio asked, and made a pained sound, the cup falling from his hands onto the floor. Romeo set aside his cup, swept the remaining wine away with a nearby rag once placed on Mercutio's feverish head, and knelt beside him again. "Please," he began, and leaned into Romeo's hand to his face.
Romeo kissed him, then, a brief affair that made Mercutio's breath catch in his chest. Romeo opened his eyes for a moment to see Mercutio still soft and open, quiet, and knew he longed for more. A second kiss, a third, and Mercutio breathed, desperate, satisfied.
"Your very own fool," Romeo murmured.
"Our motley match." Mercutio's smile still teased. "Watch me as I jape and I will catch you as you stumble."
Romeo stroked his hand delicately over Mercutio's wound, a gentle motion to soothe. "Did you taste enough?" he asked. "Or do your appetites continue?"
Mercutio laughed, clearly delighted. "Be gentle, Romeo," he said. "I am weak to all things, least of all temptation."
"As ever." Romeo kissed him once again, and Mercutio laughed into his mouth.
"Let me be, Romeo," Mercutio complained, as Romeo caught his hand before he could undo his own bandage. "I am well enough to manage myself."
Romeo sighed as he leaned into Mercutio's side in the bed, and let his hand drop to Mercutio's thigh. "You are as stubborn as a cat."
"As a cat?" Mercutio echoed, and looked beneath the bandage to sigh. "Leave wit and metaphor to me – you spin better pretty words of devotion than you do clever ones."
"How does it fare?" he persisted with Mercutio.
"As the doctor said."
It had been well over a fortnight since the duel with Tybalt, and three days since the death of Tybalt's brother. The streets were, apparently, tense outside of Mercutio's home. Benvolio had advised to watch and wait for the reaction of the Capulets in the street, and so far they had not been completely soaked with blood – some small comfort. There seemed only one way forward.
"You think on the feud," Mercutio said, with the same uncertainty at Romeo's care as ever.
Romeo jerked his gaze up from the bandages as he finished. "What do you mean?"
"You wear the same expression each time. It bodes ill."
Romeo pressed a brief kiss into Mercutio's shoulder. "I think to sue for peace yet."
"My Romeo." Mercutio sounded fond, if weary. "He is all heart."
"And what of it?" Romeo brushed a kiss into his neck next. "If the urges of my heart do end this feud, is it not a fair thing?"
"I know you mean to do this." Mercutio was serious, now, and it startled Romeo to hear. "Stay wary. It is no longer safe even for those who mean well so long as they bear the name and blood of Montague. I will strike down all Capulets I might find if they kill my fool in his foolishness."
"I will not go alone," Romeo explained, "and I will state my purpose to Capulets, Montagues, and the Prince alike before I do."
"Ah, Benvolio," Mercutio said, and gently touched Romeo's hand where it still rested on his thigh. "Might I trust you with the fate of these families, of this city?"
"Trust me with our fate." Romeo half-murmured it into his shoulder. "Yours, mine, Benvolio's. Damn the rest."
"Strong words," Mercutio noted. "From a strong heart indeed."
"A fool's words," Romeo answered, "and a fool's heart."
Mercutio laughed at his folly, as ever, and Romeo couldn't resist a smile.