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Renjun fades in and out of consciousness. He has no concept of time―it is no longer measured in days and hours, but by the number of times he’s woken up from some blood loss induced trance. So far, he’s been here for twenty-three faints.
He isn’t sure where here is, exactly. He was blindfolded when he was brought here, and he’s only ever seen the inside of this canyon that stretches as far as the eye can see, towering over the horizon and blocking any potential landmarks from his line of sight. If Renjun was stronger, he might try to escape, or find some way to orient himself to his surroundings, but as it is, he’s too exhausted. He just wants to sleep again.
He doesn’t get the chance. A pair of figures approach him, kicking up dirt under their heavy steps, and Renjun tugs against his restraints, shoulders aching as he pulls at his tied hands, joints bending in a way they probably shouldn’t. He recognizes only one of them―Jeno is his name, and he’s the only one Renjun sees on a regular basis. He’s sick, Renjun thinks, and maybe that’s why he needs Renjun’s blood. Renjun’s mind is too foggy to really comprehend anything.
The other man sits Jeno down beside Renjun, going through the usual production of hooking them up, and Renjun revels in the fact that he’ll be able to sleep soon. He’s so hungry. His body hurts. Sleep will make him feel better, he tells himself. Always sleep.
Renjun likes Jeno. He at least looks remorseful for what they do to Renjun, and he apologizes every time. “Sorry, Jun,” he whispers, out of earshot of the others, and Renjun can’t remember ever telling Jeno his name.
Renjun doesn’t give a verbal answer, but he does try to nod; it just makes him dizzy. Jeno tells him not to move too much, to stay still, and Renjun has no choice but to listen. Jeno mutters something about taking too much―too much of what, Renjun can’t fathom―but it sounds more like he’s talking to himself, now. Renjun is okay with that. He’s tired. So tired. Jeno is speaking again, but it’s far away, like he’s underwater.
The next time Renjun wakes, it’s night, and there’s a hand over his mouth and nose that feels oddly cold against his skin. He looks up at the man it’s attached to, and sees the metal appendage fixed to his shoulder joint, and that explains the unforgiving feeling of his palm. “My name is Donghyuck,” he says, and Renjun doesn’t react. He has no use for names here, nor is he at all fazed by another war painted face giving him orders. So when Donghyuck says, “Wait here,” as if Renjun could do otherwise, he just nods. “I’ll be back.”
Renjun sits there chained to the canyon wall like he’s spent the last twenty-four blackouts, eyes slowly adjusting to the dark of the night, the whole world washed in silver by the full moon above him. Donghyuck doesn’t take long, or it doesn’t seem like he does, anyway. He’s a little bloodier when he returns, and Renjun notices the guns and knives strapped to every available space on his person for the first time. Donghyuck moves behind Renjun, breaking the chains that hold him there with some tool Renjun can’t see, or maybe just his robotic arm. “Get up. We’re leaving,” he says inexplicably, and if Renjun had any sense, he’d be asking Donghyuck why the hell he should trust him.
As it is, his only other option is staying here and wasting away in a slow and painful death, and Renjun’s brain is too oxygen deprived to think critically. He doesn’t even register the words, “What about Jeno?” before they leave his mouth.
Donghyuck looks at him like he’s insane, like the whole fucking world hasn’t lost its damn mind. “What about him?” he asks, incredulous, his human hand twitching over the gun in the holster on his hip.
“He’s sick.” Renjun doesn’t know that, actually, but even still it’s the only thing he’s even remotely sure of at the moment. He doesn’t know why it matters, though. He doesn’t know why anything matters anymore.
“Well, that fucking sucks for him,” Donghyuck says brusquely, taking Renjun by the hand―it’s still so odd how benign his bionic grip is―and starting off in what Renjun can only assume is the direction of their way out. “Send him a real nice get well soon card when we’re done here.”
Renjun frowns. “Hold on,” he says abruptly, stopping in his tracks so suddenly that Donghyuck reels back from where their hands are still attached.
“What is your problem?” Donghyuck sighs, exasperated.
“We can’t leave him,” Renjun says simply. “He was the only one who was ever nice to me.”
Donghyuck looks at him like he’s deranged, like he’s one of the unruly brutes that dominate this lawless land. “Renjun, no one is nice in the apocalypse.” Renjun does not ask how Donghyuck knows his name, nor does he debate the validity of that very subjective statement. He just frees his hand from Donghyuck’s grasp, folds his arms and plants his feet, making it clear he has no intention of going anywhere. Donghyuck relents, though he’s clearly not happy about it. “Fine. God, you’re stubborn.”
Donghyuck pulls a knife from the garter on his thigh, yanking the sawn-off shotgun strapped across his chest into position so it’s ready when he needs it. He hands the knife to Renjun, who starts to protest that he can’t fight, but Donghyuck cuts him off. “You gotta be ready, just in case. You’ll be fine. You were always good with knives.” Renjun doesn’t have time to wonder how Donghyuck knows that before they’re off, searching the camp for the only other person Renjun even comes close to trusting.
They find Jeno sitting on a boulder at the edge of the ravine, and Donghyuck uses the same metal-hand-over-the-mouth maneuver on him that Renjun was subjected to. Jeno is obviously much more combat ready, and he moves to flip Donghyuck over his shoulder before Renjun hisses, “Stop!”
“Jun?” Jeno asks, dropping Donghyuck’s arm, though Renjun can’t tell if Jeno is intentionally listening to him or just caught by surprise.
“Jun?” Donghyuck parrots, standing upright again. “He has a nickname for you?”
Jeno furrows his brows. “Is that…Is that not his name?”
“It’s Renjun.” It’s a bit late for introductions, Renjun thinks, but better late than never.
“Sorry,” Jeno says, and he sounds like he means it. Renjun can’t remember the last time he heard someone say sorry. He can’t remember a lot of things.
“Okay, you’re right, he is nice,” Donghyuck says, and his tone is just as irreverent as always, but Renjun still gets the feeling it’s a big thing for him to admit. “C’mon, Jeno, we’re getting the hell out of here. You coming or not?”
Jeno’s eyes flicker back and forth between the two of them, but it takes very little deliberation for him to make his decision. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
Donghyuck just starts off in a seemingly random direction, leaving Renjun and Jeno with no choice but to go after him. Jeno doesn’t have a weapon, but Renjun thinks he can probably handle himself, anyway. They stick close to the walls of the canyon, gliding through shadows following Donghyuck’s lead. Every now and then, they pause to let one of Renjun’s captors pass―the human eye follows movement, Renjun remembers someone telling him. He thinks maybe it was Donghyuck, but that wouldn’t make much sense. Then again, the apocalypse doesn’t make much sense.
Renjun’s head is just starting to hurt when they reach their destination; namely, a patch of rock that looks exactly like the rest of their surroundings. Renjun’s not sure how Donghyuck found it, let alone remembered where it was, but there’s a gentle slope hidden by an outcropping that Donghyuck urges them toward. They begin their ascent, Jeno guarding the front and Donghyuck pulling up the rear with Renjun sandwiched between them.
It’s a long process, and so tiring, and Renjun feels like he could die by the time they reach the top. Donghyuck and Jeno are all but dragging him along at this point, and Renjun feels terrible that he’s forcing them into such a vulnerable position, but his head feels like it might topple right off his shoulders. He hears Donghyuck say something about how long it’s been since he ate, and Jeno replies but Renjun doesn’t catch it. He’s too focused on keeping his eyes open, which is funny, because he doesn’t remember the last time he wanted to stay awake. Doesn’t remember the last time he had a reason to.
When they make it back to flat land, there’s a truck waiting for them. It’s covered in spikes and weapons and skulls that look a bit too realistic for Renjun’s liking, and Donghyuck climbs behind the driver’s seat without any hesitation. Jeno hauls Renjun into the passenger seat with him, holding him tight as Donghyuck turns the engine over and the exhaust pipes let out a mighty burst of flames. There are no doors, so Jeno braces himself against the bare metal frame and bodily shields Renjun from falling to a very anticlimactic death. Donghyuck’s eyes stay on the desert in front of them, but every now and then he glances into the rearview mirror at the missile launcher in the bed of the truck. Renjun wonders who’s supposed to use it, if they find themselves in danger.
They drive for what feels like forever, going seemingly nowhere into the inky night, and Jeno’s arms must be numb from keeping Renjun in the seat with him, but his grip never loosens. Renjun thinks he hears Donghyuck thank Jeno for that, but he’s just out of reach. Renjun is so drained, in every sense of the word.
Donghyuck notices. He seems like a very observant person. “You’re safe now,” he says, and Renjun doesn’t know how but he can tell it’s meant for both of them. Jeno must realize it too, if the way his breath hitches, chest stuttering against Renjun’s back, is anything to go by. “Just sit tight. We’re going home.”
Renjun doesn’t know where home is, but he’d probably go anywhere with Jeno and Donghyuck. He falls asleep to the sound of their voices under the kaleidoscope stars, and this is the first time he truly lets himself rest.