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Ben, Gwen and Kevin had died.
Kevin couldn't wrap his head around it. One second, he was jumping in the way of Charmcaster's magic blasts, and the next, nothing.
Although he hadn't paid much mind to it at first, as the minutes passed, he found himself filled with a palpable sense of discomfort. Nearly dying and actually dying were two different things entirely, he'd come to realize. He wanted nothing more than to accept that they were now alive again and move on, but something kept gnawing at his mind.
Every time the team was out on the field, there was always a chance they wouldn't make it out alive, no matter how small the threat. Maybe one of them would make a grave mistake that would cost them their life, or their opponent would get lucky and take them out. It had always been a possibility, but only that.
Until today, that is.
How was he supposed to even begin processing all that?
Naturally, he had no answer to such a question, so he chose to distract himself by focusing on the sky ahead of him. Unfortunately, he was failing spectacularly, with how he kept zoning out.
Fine. If he had to face these thoughts, he wasn't going to do it alone.
With a grumble, he put the Rust Bucket 3 on autopilot and turned around. Immediately, he noticed Ben looking out the window from his seat, visibly shaken, contrasting his upbeat mood earlier. Clearly, he, too, was coming to grips with the gravity of their whole ordeal. He was usually disinclined to show vulnerability, so for him to do it now spoke volumes about his emotional state.
On his way to the back of the ship, Kevin mutely patted Ben on the shoulder with the lightest touch, both to comfort him and to express gratitude that he was alive again. He reminded himself to pay for his smoothie when they got back to Bellwood. It was the least he could do.
When he entered the cargo bay, Kevin found Gwen sitting with her back against the wall, hugging her knees while she stared at the ground, lip quivering. Arguably, she'd had it the worst out of the three of them. Not only had she died herself, but she'd seen both Ben and Kevin die, too.
Instantly, Kevin pushed his own problems aside. Gwen needed a shoulder to cry on (likely literally), and he deemed it his responsibility to lend his. Almost too eagerly, he rushed to her side and put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She stretched her legs out and leaned her head on his chest.
Tears welled up in her eyes, but she choked them back. She was determined to get everything she needed to say out in the open before allowing herself to crumble. "I'm sorry," she said softly, voice breaking.
With his free hand, he brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it. "No, don't even think about apologizing."
She spoke louder this time, with certitude. "If I hadn't insisted on going back—"
"You wouldn't be you," he cut in. "You see the best in people and go outta your way to help 'em. That's who you are." Though he'd disagreed with her decision to go back to Legerdomain, he didn't hold her at fault for how things had turned out. It's not like she would have known about Charmcaster's plans. "But you can't help someone who doesn't wanna be helped."
Charmcaster had crossed a line by remorselessly sacrificing countless lives to resurrect her father. As sorry as she felt for her, Gwen knew there was no defense for it. Nonetheless, she felt compelled to think of a rational explanation, despite not being in the proper headspace to do anything of the sort. "She wasn't thinking straight."
"She was desperate. I get it, I've been there. I know what it's like to wanna fill a void." To Kevin's chagrin, he began to realize how similar he was to Charmcaster and, for a moment, even sympathized with her. Unpleasant memories from his time as a runaway came flooding back, and he remembered going from one energy source to another to sate his hunger, recklessly committing crimes in the process. "Still doesn't excuse her actions. You of all people know I want my dad back too, but I'd never stoop that low."
Gwen—perhaps naively—still believed Charmcaster could be redeemed somewhere down the line, yet couldn't deny that Kevin had a point. "You're right. I guess I'm just trying to make sense of..." She gestured broadly around her. "Everything."
"Join the club," he murmured.
Gwen opened her mouth to speak, hesitating briefly. "How are you coping?" Maybe it was a stupid question, but necessary all the same.
"This almost feels wrong." With a deep sigh, Kevin ran his free hand through his hair. "We— We're not supposed to be able to die and then live to talk about it. Part of me feels like... like I shouldn't be here."
The mere thought of living in a world without Kevin grieved Gwen. Again, tears threatened to spill over, but she resisted, withdrawing from his chest to look into his eyes. "You listen to me, Kevin Ethan Levin." One hand reached up to stroke his cheek gingerly, immensely grateful he was alive again, safe and sound. "You weren't meant to die. None of us were. You deserve to be here just as much as Ben and I do."
Though his heart knew she was right, his mind still struggled to accept the impossibility of it all. "How— How do we get over this?"
She removed her hand from his cheek and her gaze dropped to the ground. "I don't... I don't know. We will, eventually. We've got each other, right? That should make it easier."
"'Should'," he pointed out. His voice was hardly louder than a whisper.
Gwen pursed her lips, unable to formulate a response. Defeated, she laid her head on Kevin's chest. The seconds of silence between them turned into a minute, then two, then three.
At long last, the weight of all that had happened fully sunk in, and she let the dam break. Her body convulsed as tears streamed down her cheeks, her sobs filling the room. "I can't... I can't b—believe—"
"I'm here," Kevin assured her, squeezing her tightly. No matter how much he needed to, he reminded himself that he couldn't crack. As Gwen's cries intensified, however, maintaining his facade grew more difficult.
Somehow, she knew it, too. "You— You don't have t—t—to be strong for m—me. I know th— this is hitting you j—just as hard. I'm h—here for you, too."
That was all the permission he needed to let down his walls. Once the first tears fell, they didn't stop. Being vulnerable like this felt equally unnatural and cathartic. Between sobs, they exchanged words of encouragement and reassurance, promising each other to find a way past this, together.
The doors to the cargo bay doors slid open, and there stood Ben, barely holding himself together. "Room for one more?"
With a subtle nod, Kevin patted the empty space next to him.
None of what had happened to the team was fair, and Kevin didn't quite know where to go from here, but if nothing else, he was glad he didn't have to endure it alone, and he knew in his bones that they felt the same way.