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Something irreparable shatters in Rhys’ chest the moment Mor’s feet leave the snow, Feyre tucked securely in her arms.
Taking her away. Away from him. Because if she couldn’t stand him before, now she most certainly hates him.
Rhys sways onto his hands and knees. Tries to crawl to where she last stood, her name once again caught in his throat. But he doesn’t make it further than an inch before Cassian’s large hands are hauling him upright, careful of the damage to his wings. Rhys chokes on a sob, desperate and laced with so much agony he’s almost certain he will die right there, collapsed atop the snow.
Cassian hums something unintelligible above him, obviously trying to soothe, trying to understand what happened. But Rhys can barely hear over the ringing in his ears. He attempts to claw out of Cassian’s grasp, but only manages to stumble sideways into the trunk of a tree.
“Gods dammit, Rhys,” Cassian bellows after him, “Stop it!”
He’s by his side again in an instant, arms locked securely around Rhys’ chest.
Rhys ignores him, continuing to struggle, coughing through another sob. He can’t help it. He doesn’t care anymore. His mate despises him, probably wishes he were dead so that she never has to lay eyes on him again. And he has no one to blame but himself.
“Rhys, please,” Cassian begs him, more gently this time, “You’ve got to calm down. You’ll hurt yourself.”
“Get off,” Rhys snarls, making another attempt to break free and almost comically failing.
“You’re gonna face plant, you stupid bastard,” Cassian retorts, though there’s little heat behind the admonishment. “You can barely stay upright, let alone walk.” Cassian isn’t even certain Rhys is understanding him.
Rhys makes another noise of protest, before his eyes go wide and he once again begins pulling at Cassian’s arms locked around his chest.
“Rhys, what the—“ but Cassian is abruptly cut off by a wet choking noise, and the next second vomit sprays from Rhys’ lips, decorating Cassian’s wrist cuff before landing in the snow at their feet. “Fuck,” Cassian sighs.
Rhys stops fighting and sags over Cassian’s arm, retching miserably.
“Get it up,” Cassian encourages, resigned to his fate, patting Rhys’ heaving back with his free hand as his High Lord continues emptying his stomach.
“Inside,” Rhys spits, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he finally gets a break. “Take me inside.” Stress tears drip over the bridge of his nose and Cassian takes pity, dragging Rhys into their cabin, away from prying eyes.
“What the hell was that?” Cassian demands once the door is shut. He loosens his grip, but doesn’t let go of Rhys’ shoulder.
“Bloodbane,” Rhys croaks, voice wrecked from the bout of vomiting. “—‘s still leaving my system.” He presses a fist to his lips, panting through his nose.
Cassian’s entire being ripples with concern. And then just as quickly is replaced by anger. “Rhys. Tell me what happened.”
“Ambush,” Rhys sags against the doorframe. Cassian doesn’t miss the way his palm hovers protectively against his stomach. The way he’s trembling from the effort of maintaining the pain filtering through every inch of his broken body. “We were shot out of the sky.” Guilt clouds his eyes.
Cassian nods, noting Rhys’ wounds with a renewed surge of rage. He reaches to rub the pad of his thumb over Rhys’ temple, his skin comes away tacky with blood. Rhys groans, swallowing thickly as his eyes flutter. He catches his weight, clears his throat and visibly forces himself to back to alertness.
“What else?” Cassian urges, worry etching his face. “What happened with Feyre?”
Rhys inhales another shuddering breath, shakier than before. The air hitches on the way down and Cassian realizes he’s trying not to cry.
“The fucking Suriel,” Rhys growls, swiping furiously at his face. The simple action throws off his equilibrium and he abruptly crumples to his knees, barely catching himself. Cassian follows him down, hands gripping Rhys’ shoulders. “It told her.”
“Told her…” Cassian prompts. Although he’s already anticipating where this is going.
“She’s my mate, Cass.”
And Rhysand looks so utterly devastated at the confession that Cassian immediately pulls him into a hug. He doesn’t know what else to do.
“Yeah,” Cassian smiles sadly into Rhys’ mussed hair. “We all kind of guessed that part.”
Rhys trembles with a wet exhale against Cassian’s chest. His breaths are almost panicked. His chest rising and falling in an uneven staccato that doesn’t seem to be allowing him enough air.
“Easy,” Cassian shushes. “You look like hell. Let’s get you cleaned up and to bed. You can tell me the rest later.”
Rhys shakes his head, blinking against a wave of dizziness. He struggles out of Cassian’s embrace. “No,” he manages through gritted teeth. Cassian hears an audible gulp, then another, “—‘m gon…gonna—“ Rhys bows forward onto his elbows, shoulders rolling with a barely contained gag.
“Come on, dumbass,” Cassian grunts, hauling Rhys up off the floor and bracing his shoulder under his brother’s arm. He only has a few seconds before Rhys loses it, but he gives the order anyway. “Hold it. You’re almost there.”
Rhys’ head rolls against Cassian’s shoulder and he stumbles, jaw quivering with nausea. “Feel sick…” Rhys slurs, gripping at Cassian’s forearm to keep himself upright.
“I know you do,” Cassian replies easily, depositing Rhys in front of the toilet and gently guiding him over the edge. “Ok, you can stop holding it.”
Rhys sags in relief. His stomach visibly lurches and a harsh belch reverberates inside the bowl. Cassian cringes, tightening his grip on Rhys’ shoulders.
“I fucked up, Cass,” he spits, voice thick with unshed tears. “Fucked it all up.” His stomach clenches unproductively again. “She hates me,” he coughs. The effort expends more energy than he has to give.
“No, Rhys,” Cassian insists, “she doesn’t. Never has. Never will, if I had to wager.”
“You didn’t see her — her face,” Rhys swallows down another aborted retch. “She looked so fucking betrayed.” He shivers, muscles trembling beneath Cassian’s hand. “I did that. I—I did that to her.”
“She just needs a little time.” Cassian frowns down at his struggling brother. “Stop holding it,” he commands, giving Rhys an encouraging pat between his shoulder blades, careful to avoid the bruises. “The sooner you stop fighting it, the sooner I can get you to bed.”
That does it. Rhys leans further over the toilet and retches hard, back arching beneath Cassian’s hand. His head dips between his shoulders as a watery torrent spills into the bowl, half a second later he’s bringing up even more with barely a moment to catch his breath between bouts.
”There you go.”
Cassian winces, stroking carefully down Rhys’ back. Rhys coughs into the water, spitting up a mouthful of bile before he slumps back against Cassian’s chest, utterly spent.
“I can’t do this,” Rhys whispers. “It’s killing me, Cassian.”
“Look, let’s get you healed up. You’re kind of a mess right now. Don’t worry about everything else. It’ll work itself out. Feyre just needs time to cool off.”
Rhys barks a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. As if to prove Cassian’s point, his stomach heaves again and more bile dribbles into the bowl. Cassian resumes the back rub, waiting for the fit to pass.
It takes more patience than Cassian cares to admit to coax Rhys away from the toilet and strip him for bed.
He’s feverish and upset and still sick to his stomach. Az left to fetch Madja the moment he knew Rhys wasn’t dying. But they’re still waiting on the healer’s arrival and until then, Cassian is in charge of babysitting.
Rhys collapses face first onto the mattress, naked now except for his undershorts. The bruising on his back has deepened and his muscles won’t stop quivering. Cassian wrestles him under the blanket as gently as possible. He grabs a bin and places it beside the bed within easy reach just in case, although at this point, he can’t imagine Rhys has anything left to throw up.
Cassian coaxes some water into him and draws the curtain, hoping rest will expedite his healing. But as soon as Cassian has him settled, the tears come. Rhys starts crying in earnest, his sobs barely muffled by the pillows.
“Rhys,” Cassian hums, hand once again resting on his brother’s back. “It’s not that bad. I promise you.”
“It is,” Rhys insists, glassy eyes flickering pathetically up at Cassian. “She’ll never want to see me again.” His voice catches and he coughs wetly into the mattress.
“Rhys, please try to calm down,” Cassian’s brows furrow with concern. “You’ll make yourself sick again.” He’s so worked up, Cassian seriously considers just knocking him out. For his own good.
Rhys is either too exhausted, or too delirious to care. He mumbles something about going to find her, Mor will tell him, she has to. He begins struggling with the blanket, trying to muster the strength to rise.
Cassian has had enough. He grabs Rhys by the shoulders, hard enough to force his brother to focus, if only for a few precious seconds.
“You’re not getting out of this bed, Rhysand. If I have to tie you down myself I will. Understand me?”
“But—“
“No gods damned buts,” Cassian growls. “Az is coming with Madja. She’ll tell you when you can get out of bed. Until then you don’t have a say.”
More tears slip down Rhys’ flushed cheeks. Cassian immediately softens, his heart breaking at the lost look on his brother’s face.
“It’ll be alright.”
Rhys shakes his head and swallows, swaying in Cassian’s grip. He gulps again, shuddering involuntarily. It’s the only warning Cassian gets before the water he’d forced Rhys to drink comes back up in a violent rush, all over Rhys’ chest and Cassian’s lap.
Cassian swears and shoves the bin into Rhys’ chest, holding his brother steady with his free hand.
Rhys barely has time to retch before he’s throwing up again.
“Fuck, how do you have anything left?” Cassian marvels, supporting Rhys’ head with the hand that’s not holding the bin steady for him.
Rhys is sweating, trembling, his body wracked by dry heaves. His stomach wringing itself out until he’s doing little more than gagging on his own spit. The poison refusing to eddy out of him quickly. Cassian drags his fingers through the sweat soaked strands of Rhys’ hair. Gods, he’s burning up.
“You’re empty,” Cassian shushes after the next heave rolls into an unproductive belch. “You’re done, Rhys.”
Rhys doesn’t have the energy to do more than sag over the bin. So Cassian balances his brother over his arm and places the bin carefully on the floor to deal with later. Cassian wipes the worst of the mess off Rhys’ chest with his sleeve, then presses the clean side to his glistening lips.
Rhys groans, nearly unconscious.
“All right,” Cassian sighs, “nap time for you. Here we go,” he lowers Rhys to the bed again, tucking the blanket securely around his shoulders. Rhys fusses belligerently for a moment and Cassian’s hand hovers over his back, not convinced Rhys doesn’t have more in his stomach. One wrong move could set him off again at this rate.
“I miss her,” Rhys murmurs.
“You’ll see her again soon.” Cassian reassures, voice gentle. He knows it’s true. If Rhysand was in his right mind this wouldn’t be so difficult to convince him of. Everyone sees the way the two idiots look at each other. But it’s not a secret that Feyre has a temper.
Rhys closes his eyes, a fresh tear breaking free of his dark lashes. He buries his face in the sheets, congested breaths growing heavy.
“You think she’ll ever forgive me?” He slurs, just barely awake.
Cassian forces a breath of laughter, “Of course she will. She enjoys calling you a prick too much to keep up the silent treatment for long. Don’t worry.”
A ghost of a smile plays at the corners of Rhys’ mouth. Relief, Cassian realizes. He exhales deeply, pain lines evening out as unconsciousness tugs at him.
“She does,” he whispers. And then he’s finally asleep.
“Rest, brother,” Cassian says. “I’ll be here if you need me.”