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At his best Slit was a selfish, demanding animal; he felt a sense of territorial streak towards anything he viewed as able to further his place in that miserable world or useful enough to be violently coveted and kept from being stolen from him. Tools, food, cars; it was a short list in a life where possessions only amounted to what a person could carry and defend against the equally greedy human dogs around them and Slit was not hesitant to crack bones and spill blood for what he had claimed for himself. It was a skill he had been raised with; a bloody, cruel survival tactic that had carried him well and kept him alive longer than most War Boys.
But rarely did it extend to people because what point was there in that? Everyone died and if they were lucky they died in a blaze of fire and twisted metal; they died the proper way and were Witnessed because just living in the burning sands was hard enough but to linger there endless as an empty spirit had to be the worst sort of hell.
Slit could not imagine any fate more horrific than walking those roads forever denied the chance to feel the wind or a steering wheel gripped tightly; it was the fate of cowards who would never die and live again.
And even if Nux had been a fool enough to throw away so many chances at Valhalla it was not a fate his Driver deserved. It was not the endless empty purgatory that the closest thing he'd ever had to a friend would suffer if he had any say in it. Joe had no doubt given up on Nux, the world had given up on him the day he was born; Slit was too stubborn to though and his loyalty was a steel cage that was not likely to bend or break. Whatever spell of madness had fallen over the other War Boy would be fixed once he had some sense knocked into him; Slit was not hesitant to use violence to bring Nux back to his shattered senses and back to the right side of that battle.
If anyone in their hell-fire world deserved Valhalla by Slit's opinion, which was the only opinion that made a damn bit of difference to the Lancer, it was that overly-eager fool.
Death didn't get to take Nux away soft and steal his glory; Slit would fight the reaper himself if he had to because he knew that when it came down to it Nux would have done the same for him.
The Rig stood before him as a lumbering, steel-jawed beast that held somewhere in its' belly the goal; the sickly War Boy with the impossible blue eyes. The metal beast shuddered and growled as it sputtered fumes while the distant sound of chaos in the cab was a sure sign that the Wives and the Feral were scrambling to set things right and stir the machine back into motion. Slit prayed for just a few moments, hoped that he would have even that before he lunged at the Rig and dove under it, shoving at panels until he found the one that shifted under his tense fingers, gave way and exposed the innards of the monster, the gates of hell spread out before him; and he clawed his way inside in silent defiance of every tiny voice in his head telling him how grave a mistake he was making and over so little to gain.
But the gain was waiting for him, as he slunk and shoved himself through the spaces too narrow for his own thicker bulk; by the time he emerged inside the Rig from the undercarriage his shoulders were decorated with bloody smears from a dozen gashes and his fingers were split. It all just fueled him though, charged him from the inside out with high octane madness that left a taste of coppery determination on his cracked lips. A clawing, slithering serpent; he made his way forward in predatory silence and only paused once when the sharp voice of one of the wives cut through the air and sent him ducking to conceal himself, but no attack came and his efforts only quickened.
When he found him, a slumped mess on the floor all wrapped up in his self-pity like a blanket; it was instinctive to cover the twinge of sympathy he felt with a rough snarl and a kick to the nearest spot his boot could reach. The contact was brief, leather to the bend of Nux's knee, but was enough to jolt the War Boy out of his thoughts and send him bolting unsteady to his feet with those strange blue eyes as wide as sun when they settled on him.
"Slit!" The way the word tumbled from Nux's scarred lips, so full of relief and some odd sense of joy, nearly made him jump; the only real sound of happiness Slit had ever known had always been Nux's voice.
"Now that you're here it'll be easier, she told me there's more for me. Do you think she's right? Are we still going to see Valhalla if we help?" A mile a minute and equal parts demanding hope and uncertainty; when Nux launched into the words they were like a haze of Chrome that mulled over Slit's brain. But they were wrong, they were so very, very wrong; nothing but dirt and lies spewed by the Wives to entrap Nux and use him for their gain.
And nobody was allowed to use Nux for that, nobody but himself; Slit would fight to the death to prove that he alone was granted that gift.
Nux was a bundle of sudden energy over his appearance, already midway into a ramble about how he would help Slit talk to the Wives, how they would accept him and that maybe there was a purpose for Slit too; by the way his voice grew stronger and stronger in pitch only made it obvious how entirely he believed the words himself and how this madness would, somehow, be the best idea to ever had settled into that rapid-fire brain. It was more the grin that made Slit weary; the sunlight burned in that smile and he only stayed tense and silent waiting for the night to fall over it.
He saw the instant when it changed, the glimmer in his Driver's eyes; when Nux realized that he was not there to save the Wives or to be a pawn in their game and was just as unwilling to allow Nux to make the mistake. Bright blue darkened for an instant to clouds and sandstorm-grays; the moment that Slit knew his own gaze had hardened with the knowledge that he would not be able to pry Nux free from the snare he had fallen into. Words had never done much good in Slit's life; but the words of the Wives had poisoned Nux down to his very core. Home was so far behind them and Slit had, for once, longed to see it again and be done with that war for the day; when Nux had been gone it had felt like his shadow was missing and nothing would set it right until his Driver was back safe and sound.
He could not save Nux from this madness, just looking at his expression told Slit that in such sharp terms.
So be it.
It was a crashing blow, the way he smashed into the smaller War Boy, feeling nails rip into his skin and dig furrowed while the weight of their bodies threw them both to the ground in a rolling, hissing mass of anger and resolve. It would be a battle, it had to be; Slit would not allow the Wives to take away Nux's glory and he would not allow him to die soft. He would see to it that Chrome shone through Nux's vicious gaze even if he damned himself for it; Slit held no lofty hopes that he hadn't been damned all his life anyway.
The rumble of the Rig rolling back to life drowned out their voices, dampened the pained yowl that Slit swallowed down roughly when nails raked over his damaged face, pinpoints of agony that he matched with a shove of his palm against those life-stealing lumps at Nux's shoulder to grind into them until he felt the smaller man thrash and claw at his chest to drive him back. But Slit would not move, he clung like a cat, fists and knees driving into delicate spots and hands forcing Nux to the ground with a slam time and time again.
They had sparred countless times in their intertwined lives so knew what each other favored and what their strengths were, knew the best spots to cause pain as well as they could claim to know themselves; it was a bittersweet battle of wills to try to drive the life out of the most familiar of bodies.
Violence was the litany of their youth and the only language the world had taught them; but unleashing it with such dismal intentions almost made Slit sick to his stomach.
He didn't hesitate though, anything of that sort would spoil the fight and make it soft, would steal away what he knew now that he was the only one left to give Nux. This was the War Boy who fate had thrown at him to be his Driver and his brother, the other side to his own madness and the single most obsessive fixation in Slit's life beyond his devotion to the cause. Nux would not follow the soft path of the Wives and those fools, would not wither away under sickness and spend the rest of his days of night fevers and gasping for air out in some strange secret spot in the endless sands; he deserved better than that. Deserved all the Chrome in the world because that was what Nux had always given him, in harsh words and the next breath laughter and smiles, in sunlight-glittery eyes and quiet as death silence curled up sleeping moments next to him.
Nux was rightfully his only friend, his Driver, and nearly his everything, all that was left good out there; and he would have Valhalla instead of sickness and a weak end.
Fingers stained with crimson from the torn flesh that laced over Nux's ruined shoulder, bone gleaming like beautiful ivory amid the gore, Slit smashed downward again and rolled his weight with a pressure that finally earned him the snap and crack of a dozen little bones under him; a lifetime of sickness building a body strong of will but weaker in design. He could feel the flesh and blood yielding under his knee pressed to the elaborate scars on Nux's chest and the roll of all the slick things inside shifting around, splitting against jagged bits of misplaced rib even if Nux's ivory-decorated skin hid away the details until the taunt surface.
The gasp told him enough, he felt a flicker of pride for Nux when there was no scream, and felt a spray of slick red across his own already-dripping face and tense-set jaw.
His own barely registered, so intense was that victory, but it was the sudden weakness in his left side that made him buckle, unable to keep himself sound as his body tried to slump and his gaze trailed briefly to the hand curled around a chunk of makeshift metal blade that only barely protruded from his own skin. The rest he could feel deeper, in some spot that he couldn't have put a name to for lack of knowing the inner workings of his own body, but could feel the pressure that was cutting out the air from his lungs slowly with each pained breath.
And he wondered for an instant if that was the pain Nux felt all those nights he woke coughing and gasping and all he could do for him was wait it out, allowing the Driver to curl against his side in their bunk, shuddering and weak, until the fit of fever finally passed.
Those nights danced in Slit's mind right then, in a few short seconds an entire lifetime filled his thoughts; so much bad and a few hints of good laced through it. Every good memory marked by blue eyes and a lopsided smile over skeleton-grim scarred lips. Sharing food and secrets, arguments that dissolved into amused irritation, rough touches and others not so rough but eager; it had been his hand alone that had carved the V8 into Nux's chest in the most painful show of devotion in the other War Boy's life and those same hands that had drawn stifled sounds of passion from him when they both finally understood need and trust in each other when there was little else in the world to trust.
Blood and water, rust and Chrome; some of the brightest Chrome Slit had ever thought possible for some broken creature such as himself.
This was right, he decided, this was how it was supposed to be. And it would be enough; it may not have been on the road but it had been in war, it would be enough to grant Nux the Valhalla he deserved and that was what mattered and it was with a fierce sense of pride that Slit was the one to see to it that Nux reached it.
His head was growing too heavy to lift as his life seeped out around that blade, and he could hardly even hear the rattled gasp at air from Nux as he still managed to half loom over him, unable to sink down and unwilling to draw back; he would see those eyes one more time because he needed it worse than he needed water or even glory. Nux was his alone and now he had to give him over to the gates of Chrome forever. Slit could not bring himself to the idea of tears because he didn't really even know how to cry; he knew this was the last gift he could offer the War Boy but he wasn't really sure if it was the blade or something else that made his chest feel so suddenly tight.
Acceptance was all he saw in the slowly-hazy blue, he had expected hatred, and it seemed as though Nux understood that this was the only way. Maybe he even knew what Slit had done for him because those eyes were begging for the words, needed them, and Slit would never have denied him that.
"I see you."
It was half slurred through freshly-ripped old scars and amid a trail of blood that still dripped steady and dark from his jaw to paint the V8 on Nux's chest the most glorious hues, and it took nearly all the energy left in Slit's body to force them out, voice so much weaker than he wanted it to sound. But the gratitude made that tight ache in his chest swelled again when he saw it so clear in Nux's eyes, watched his chapped lips move in a repeat of the phrase; the one that would open the gates for the both of them.
How it should be, Slit decided with a sense of more peace than he had ever felt otherwise in life even as his body slumped from the numb sensation that rolled over it and he watched the light in Nux's eyes dim out like dusk falling over the sands as a ghost of a smile played on bloody lips, knowing that he was only a few steps behind him. Nux would wait, Slit knew, just a few moments while he caught up as the final air in his torn lungs left him and the darkness curtained around him.
They would be Awaited together, as they were meant to be.