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"Haha... that was great, 'Kit." Scythe panted, wiping the sweat off of her forehead. She was laughing despite the blood slowly seeping into the white of her jacket. His head ached.
The hunt had been successful. More than successful, according to Scythe. Thanks to him, she said— the thought made him nauseous. It was a small town and the higher-ups instructed her to pick off the local dissenters. Vital to the health of the Church, apparently.
The sun was setting behind them, though the air around them was still hotter than Hell. Even though the cult took them to the small town, Scythe insisted that the two could walk back by themselves. Along with some suggestive jokes, he'd chosen not to linger on them.
Scythe had told him it wasn't far. Medkit had a different opinion. His head continued to throb. His undershirt was drenched. It was too hot.
But as they continued to walk, his head got lighter with every step. Vomit threatened to crawl up his throat. The skin near his eyes and ears was numbing.
As the seconds passed, he felt himself grow weaker. Pins and needles spread from his legs to the rest of his body. It barely felt like his head was connected to the rest of him.
Scythe only turned around when she heard him shuffling his feet and kicking up dirt.
"The hell are ya so slow fer, 'Kit? I'd like to be back before dark—" Her voice was full of impatience until she saw him trip. As fast as she could be, she was at his side helping him stand.
"Medkit?" She sounded bewildered. He panted, about to answer—
His vision was flooded by colors, blurring everything in front of him. He was attacked with nausea, lightheadedness, and headache all at once.
"I can't see. Scythe— I can't—" his voice left his mouth quiet and weak, bare and trembling. After the words spilled out of him, she let out a frustrated groan. He held onto her sleeves, whispering her name like she could magically make it all better.
Scythe scooped him into her arms, dropping her gear and the bag of horns they secured. He was only faintly aware of what was happening.
"Of fucking course." She muttered, looking for a shady area. He barely felt like he was there, the ache in the back of his throat and behind his eyes grounding him. She ran them under a rocky arch, setting him down on the flattest rock she could find. He still held onto her wrists, barely able to form a fist.
Scythe fiddled with the canteen hooked onto her belt. He turned his body away, gagging a few times. He squeezed his eyes shut in shame.
"Open."
She tapped his cheek to get his attention, holding the canteen in the same hand. He did and she poured the water down his throat. She stopped every few seconds to let him breathe. He didn't let go of her wrist.
She stopped once the canteen was half full, exchanging the water for her hat. She attempted to balance it on his horns, sticking her tongue out in focus. She eventually got it stuck on the tip of them. He could only slump forward, every limb weak. He felt so heavy and so light at the same time.
"Scythe." Her name left his lips like it was instinct. He repeated it as she undressed him.
"Shit, this thing's thick." She muttered, throwing his jacket over her back. She undid some of the top buttons and stuffed his eyepatch in her pocket. Scythe dumped the rest of the water on the back of his neck. His hand on her wrist fell.
He remedied it by capturing her sleeve.
He held it as tight as he could.
Almost distantly, he could hear her speaking on the phone. She sounded impatient and frustrated. He barely processed what she was saying.
Once she was off the phone, she took his hand. Idly, she rubbed the skin on the back of it with her thumb. He looked up at her, despite how heavy his skull was. His eyes were barely open.
“You’re gonna be fine, ‘Kit.” She murmured. She adjusted the hat, sighing.
His hand slipped from her sleeve as she pulled away.
She walked off to get her gear and sack of horns. He watched her out of the corner of his eye.
Once she was standing in front of him again, he felt relieved. Everything was hazy. Scythe made a few faces as she tried to figure out how to carry… everything.
He was hoisted on her back.
“Hold this.” She murmured, leaning her scythe in its rifle form against her back. She loosely wrapped his arm around it to keep it in place. She winced as it dug into her back.
Scythe managed to hold the sack of horns in her mouth. She grumbled as they started walking.
It felt like an eternity to Medkit. His head felt so heavy, he had no choice but to lean it against hers. Scythe only laughed quietly, her voice muffled by her trophies. The walk home was almost completely quiet apart from the sound of her walking.
When they arrived back at the Church, Scythe took them to her quarters. Medkit was set down and commanded to go take a cold bath. He felt lost as he walked off.
Once he was out of the bath, Scythe played doctor. He was dressed in her clothes, the tank top baggy on him. She laid him on her bed, a cold pack resting under his neck. He winced as the cold burned his skin. The whole room was cool.
“Don’t be like that Doc, it’s good fer ya.” She sighed, pushing his bangs up from his forehead. She poured water in his mouth every few minutes.
Her form was hazy to him, but he could feel the softness of her gaze.
"Yer such a troublemaker... I ought to-" Before she finished her sentence, she cut herself off. The demon only shook her head and laughed. He mourned the low tone of her voice.
He couldn’t take his eye off of her. Medkit gawked at the demon before him, eye half-lidded.
Scythe pet his hair, horns, and face. He lamented the tiredness creeping up on him. He savored every second as his eyelid grew heavier and heavier.
She stayed with him until he fell asleep —
—and a little after.