Chapter Text
When he was young and didn’t know any better, everyone around Joel made it their mission to instill and ingrain one lesson into his mind.
Whatever happens, you must never use your magic on yourself.
His mother said it one sunny morning, holding him by the shoulders. His teacher had told it before, in a dingy classroom where he’d had his first lesson about magic. Neighbors, classmates, friends—each and every single one of them had said some kind of variation about that widespread warning to him at some point in his life.
Naturally, he’d followed it, what with it being basically the number one rule if you happen to be an Alchemist. Never use your magic on yourself. Simple as that.
But now Joel is here, lying amidst the cold stone ground in some deserted street, miles away from the center of the city and definitely farther away from his apartment, with a gaping, bleeding wound in his chest, and he’s on the verge of breaking that rule to save his life.
He barely even registered what had happened.
One moment he was just walking, and the next he was being dragged, a hand over his mouth, and then multiple things happened at once. He’d struggled in the person’s grasp, trying to reach for his phone, when another pair of hands ripped it away from him and smashed it into the ground.
And then, in the blink of an eye, a sharp slashing sound cut through the air, and blood splattered everywhere. Joel had fallen to the ground, gasping for breath, vision blurry and a horrible wave of agony wracking his body.
Afterwards, all he heard were scurrying footsteps, but he swore on his life that amidst the haze in his mind, Joel saw a pair of glowing purple eyes in that darkness.
And now he was here, with no way to contact anyone, no strength to move and much less walk miles back to his apartment. All he had was his magic.
It would be so easy, too. All he had to do was focus before he fell unconscious and heal his wound. Then he’d hurry back home where the others were most definitely waiting impatiently for him and pretend like nothing happened.
Obviously, Joel knows the risks of using your magic on yourself. It’d been repeated over and over again to him as well. He’d heard stories of it, too: those Alchemists who broke that rule were inevitably consumed by their magic, turning against them and killing them slowly and agonizingly. Essentially, the reason for that rule was to prevent exactly that.
So should he wait a little longer, see if someone comes by? Should he wait for his friends to realize something was wrong? Then again, how would they even find him when his phone was broken? And Joel has a suspicion that if he waits a bit more, he’ll end up dead on this street.
The only choice he had was to heal himself now and inevitably die later.
Should I die here or later? He thinks vaguely, then laughs breathlessly as he stares at the silent night sky. This was too cruel. Each option would be painful, either way.
…But his friends were waiting for him in their shared apartment, and Joel was already running late. They’d all promised to hang out tonight as it was the only time all four of them would be free, and Joel couldn’t break that promise. He could imagine Scar setting up their living room, stacking pillows here and there as he hummed a tune to himself. Jimmy would be there microwaving a bowl of popcorn as he suggested what movies they should watch. And, of course, Grian was probably calling him, standing with one arm crossed.
It hurt to think about them, how tonight was supposed to be all laughter and stories and not this. The thought of them finding out he was dead twists something painfully in his heart, more painful than the blade that had slashed through him. He imagines the look of horror on their faces and takes a shuddering breath, hovering his hands over his bleeding chest.
It was so, so hypocritical, wasn’t it? He’ll hurt them either way, but at least this choice wouldn’t take effect instantaneously. At least they’d still be together, even if just for a while. Even if he won’t be himself anymore.
Focus.
Joel wills himself to, and feels the flow of warm magic in his veins like it always does when he’s healing someone else. Apparently, using magic on yourself doesn’t really hurt; if anything, it’s comforting, in a way. So this is what being healed feels like. It was like a ball of warmness spreading all the way to his fingertips, and as Joel closed his eyes, the pain gradually lessened until it was just a dull ache in his chest.
His hands drop to his sides, exhausted. That was that. The wound was closed, as if it was never even there in the first place.
He lay there for a while, catching his breath and internally preparing himself for the long walk back. And, of course, for the lecture that will inevitably greet him when he gets home.
He desperately tries not to think of anything else.
Each lamp post that Joel walks by, the night seems to get darker. Or maybe he was just exhausted.
Who knew what time it was. It had to have been at least almost midnight. He grits his teeth and picks up the pace despite the protests of his aching limbs. The others were most definitely irritated by him now, and he wouldn’t blame them. They were supposed to be together by now, watching movies while the rest of the world slept, and instead what Joel will give them is this pathetic state of himself, and an agonizing death that all of his friends would have to watch each second of.
God, that’s horrible.
Maybe he should just leave now and fade away from their lives quietly. Maybe that way they’d resent him enough for going away without as much as a goodbye and not be as hurt by his oncoming demise. Maybe.
But his footsteps still stubbornly led him back to the apartment, and with shaking hands Joel pressed the ‘8’ button on the elevator. He leaned against the wall, breathing heavily and blinking back the annoying white spots on his vision. He will not pass out here.
Despite the absence of the wound on his chest, he was still very much tired from its aftereffects and walking for what felt like forever. Healing magic didn’t mean all of the pain would instantly disappear, too, after all.
And he was still covered in blood. How would he even begin to explain all of this?
For now, Joel zips his jacket completely and runs trembling fingers through his hair. What did he get himself into?
The elevator door opens with a click. Joel shivers at the cool air that greets him, so he quickly walks over to their apartment and takes a deep breath and closes his eyes momentarily.
He’d thought of a million excuses earlier as he fought not to collapse in the midst of this maze-like city, things like I got lost or Sorry, I had to heal someone who got hurt or I had to work overtime, a million little things he could say to his friends when he showed up at the door, but now that he was actually here, all the words immediately died on his tongue.
All three of them were standing there, with matching concerned expressions on their faces.
“Where were you?” Scar.
“Dude, we’ve been calling you for the past hour.” Jimmy.
“What happened?” Grian.
It was like everything he had to say just dissipated right then and there, and all Joel could really do was just stand there, utterly speechless.
“Are you all right?” Grian asked, but suddenly those stubborn white spots came back in full force, and the next thing Joel knew his ears were ringing, noises drowning out amidst his hazy mind. His friends were saying something, wide worried eyes looking at him.
He swayed on his feet, dizzy, and fell quietly into someone’s arms.