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Oscar doesn’t know how long it’s been. He stares across from him, into Zolf’s face, taking every inch of it, every line, in with his aching eyes. They’re lying on their sides, facing each other on a makeshift bed of furs crafted from what happened to be around that Oscar could drag over. Zolf let Oscar carry him here, professing that he wanted to go where Oscar went, and well—all Oscar thought to do was to lie down.
He’s spent much of that time crying with Zolf’s fingers gently threading in and out of his hair. They’ve been staring at each other for the better part of an hour, at the very least. Lying, breathing. Existing together, against all odds.
It’s been long enough for the shock to wear off. For Oscar to feel the sting of his absent magic, surgically extracted from him by a scalpel that didn’t have the decency to even leave a scar.
He’s been trying not to think about what that same… separation—is the word he finally lands on—has done to the world. He knows Topaz isn’t there. He thinks about Prague. About the gods. And inevitably about the afterlife.
He starts to tear up again. He bites his bottom lip with the hope that it might put a stop to the pricking in his eyes. He knows he’s failed when Zolf reaches out with a bandaged hand to swipe at it before tucking some hair behind one of Oscar’s ears.
Oscar watches a slow smile spread Zolf’s lips. Some of the chapped cracks and splits from the heat of the fire break open, blood welling up in them that is quickly licked away.
“Thought you were done cryin’.”
It’s soft, Zolf’s tone teasing. It makes Oscar huff with a laugh that brings forth the well of fresh tears.
“What is it, Oscar?”
Oscar shakes his head. Zolf is still fragile, still just as raw as he is.
“No one else but us.” Zolf whispers.
Oscar smiles, takes a deep, shuddering breath. Zolf is here right now, with him.
“I can’t feel it anymore.”
It comes out as a whisper, a secret, a confession. “I don’t know if it’s still there.”
Zolf’s brow furrows, he feels familiar fingers squeeze his shoulder. “If what’s still there?”
“The garden, all the things connected to it…” Oscar falls silent again, tears flowing more freely as he prepares to voice this next thought and with it admit to himself, give voice and power to the fear of it.
“Is there an afterlife anymore?”
“Dunno.”
Zolf pulls away slightly. Oscar’s heart seizes and his fingers twitch as if to pull him back in but Oscar stops himself. He’s never going to push. His heart starts again as Zolf appears in thought and settles back in towards him.
Oscar squeezes his eyes shut, curling in on himself in an act of self comfort. The way he used to cry alone on his bed in Japan with a fist pressed to his mouth to keep it quiet.
He hears Zolf before he feels him. Hears the rustling of the furs as he scoots towards him and presses against him.
“Zolf, your burns!” Oscar protests.
Zolf keeps shuffling over, grumbling. “Sod the burns.”
“But we can’t let them get infected!”
Zolf snuffles into Oscar’s neck before pulling away to look at him. He touches Oscar’s face, where the scar used to be. Zolf’s touch, at least, still feels magical.
“Good thing we have experience with that then, eh?”
Oscar’s bottom lip trembles. A hand pushes his head into Zolf’s chest. He worries about getting salt on any of Zolf’s wounds but can't bring himself to pull away.
Oscar waits until he can spool the thread of his thoughts together to make a coherent picture.
“I’ve been there twice.” Oscar doesn’t know where his voice comes from.
“To a place no one might ever go again.” He can’t stop now that he’s started. The tears flow down his face, following the paths laid earlier by his dried ones. His voice cracks, he aches.
He shakes and Zolf holds the rattling pieces together.
“I’m not supposed to be here.” He whispers, just above the volume of one of Zolf’s deep, even breaths.
He might be the last creature in the world to have been resurrected. He’s not sure he deserves the honor.
Zolf’s grip loosens, and he lifts Oscar’s chin to look at him. His eyes flick over Oscar’s face and Oscar wonders what he sees aside from the red, puffy eyes and streaks of grime.
“Brought you back for a reason, yeah?”
Oscar sobs in response, focusing on the solidity of Zolf’s body, crying harder when he realizes how much of that body is covered in bandages.
“I still need you. This is a mess, Oscar. I don’t want to…don’t know if I could do it without you.”
Oscar nods. It’s all he can do. He nuzzles in closer to Zolf, as close as he can get. Quiet falls over them again, voices and footsteps and the sound of stone against stone in the background, reminding him the world is still there.
Zolf clears his throat some time later, prompting Oscar to open his eyes. Zolf tightens his grip, keeps Oscar’s head from moving, so that he can’t look at him.
“I might never see Feryn again.”
Oscar’s breath catches. Something wet falls into his hair and the hitch in Zolf’s breath lets him know Zolf is crying.
This moment is fragile. Any slight disturbance could shatter it like glass along all the little cracks Oscar feels like are running through him. Through them. All the things they’ve ignored in favor of saving the world.
“We were always recklessly hopeful.” Oscar sniffles.
It feels better to be doing it with Zolf in his arms. Sobbing onto him instead of his own fist.
Oscar swallows and speaks with a watery voice, hoping he can be the beacon of hope that Zolf has been for him. “We don’t know how any of this works. Souls are ineffable, perhaps the same limits don’t apply to a soul on the way to their Elysian Field.”
Zolf grunts. Oscar shifts so that he is the one curled around Zolf, rubbing circles into the skin of his back not afflicted with burns.
“There’s a place for everyone.” Oscar murmurs into Zolf’s hair. “Mine is here with you. Thank you. For reminding me.”
Zolf nods, weeping into his clothing.
“And when this is all over,” Oscar continues, “when it all…goes dark or weird or whatever…I’ll be with you then, too.” Oscar stares at his hands against the skin of Zolf’s back, swallowing thickly. “Wherever we end up.”
“Yeah.” Zolf chokes out, voice muffled by the fabric in front of it.
“All we can do is hope.”
“We hope.” Zolf echoes.
Oscar clutches him tighter as Zolf moves his face so it presses right against the scar over Oscar’s heart. All they can do is hope. And as long as Zolf is still here, still with him, hope is still alive.