Chapter Text
Three explosion sounds ricochet off buildings, nauseous pink, toxic fumes spewed into the air.
Choking. All he can do is choke on blood, on the fresh wound that lines his neck, crumpling as the crystal flickers, cracking, shattering–like reality itself caving in on him.
The world caves in.
He’s falling, endless and merciless, and no one is there to catch him.
Medkit jolts awake, curling in on himself. Feathers brush against his back, a scaled arm pressed against his. Two seconds pass of silence, Medkit only staring up at the ceiling.
Two seconds, and then the crash.
Medkit sucked in a breath, bringing a hand to his neck. His own action of attempted self-soothing causes him to flinch back, shifting to cover his mouth.
The noises of his dream seem to echo in his ears, a crashing cacophony of memories and feelings, of his body ripped to shreds. His still-cracked crystal flickers, the pulsing glow timed to his rapid heartbeat.
The shifting of fabric barely registers in his already running mind, not even his name gently called.
Nothing properly registers until cool scales come in contact with his arm, the temperature shocking him out of the distant feeling of warm blood.
“Medkit?” Rocket asks quietly, bent halfway over Sword, his brows furrowed. The fish-esq demon’s fins flicked upwards as he realised Medkit was listening, a worried but gentle smile on his face. “Had a nightmare?”
The teal demon looks away, still firmly covering his mouth. He nods after a moment of hesitation, sinking into the feathers of Sword’s wing wrapped around him. The avian demon is still asleep, snoring lightly.
“...Apologies. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Medkit murmured, finally drawing his hand away from his mouth, watching as it trembled in the glow of his crystal. Rocket slouched back on the couch, leaning against Sword.
“You didn’t wake me, dude. I was already awake. Besides, we all get nightmares, and after what happened yesterday? Damn, I’m more surprised you didn’t wake up with a worse reaction.” Rocket tried for a jest, drawing a sigh from Medkit.
“Either way, Rocket. You and Sword are still young. You shouldn’t be dealing with my issues.”
Rocket gave him an incredulous look, barely seen in the dim light. The blue demon jabbed at his arm lightly, resting his head against Sword’s shoulder.
“Shut up, old man. We all deal with each other’s issues, regardless of age. You think I don’t know how to help? All respect, but I live with a war vet.”
Medkit huffed out a breath, looking away. Rocket scoffed in reply, draping his tail across Sword and Medkit’s legs.
There’s a beat of silence, until Rocket speaks again.
“You can tell me if something’s wrong. You can tell Sword if something’s wrong. We’re going to help you, so it’s time to start getting used to it.”
Silence falls once again.
Medkit nestled himself into Sword’s side, breathing slowly. His crystal’s glow evened out to something closer to normal, the crack crawling up the bottom point stark and clear to see.
He was tired, painfully tired, but the thought of falling asleep more seemed to scare him.
Minutes passed. Rocket was on his phone, quiet noise played as he scrolled through some social media app. Sword’s quiet snores slowly fade away as the avian demon stirs awake, his feathers rustling as he yawns.
For some reason, the simple knowledge that Sword is awake and okay calms Medkit more than he suspected it would. The red demon curled his wing around Medkit, tugging the teal demon closer to him with a quiet mumble–
“You’re here.”
Whether that was meant to comfort Sword or Medkit, neither knew.
Days seem to fade and blur together, haunted with nightmares and fears of the future and past. Medkit wasn’t the only one affected, Sword frequently wandered into Medkit’s room, his eyes pricked with tears from dreams of the phight.
Both of their largest comforts was the simple presence of the other, the fact that they were there.
Flashes of the past imprint itself into his mind every night, even despite that fact, embedded into his sight.
Between the twisting explosions, the toxic air, and snarling laughter, neither can get a good night’s sleep.
Rocket visits often now, crashing over for sleepovers, complaining of his father constantly hanging out with some strange demon with navy blue horns.
But despite it all, the three are there for each other. Pulling each other up from the worst of states, constantly there.
Rocket wastes no time in talking sense into the two, Sword is a constant presence of warmth and comfort, and Medkit’s level-headedness prevents them from making rash decisions.
And still.
He falls so often now. Falling, and someone is always falling with him, reaching for him from above.
Sharpened, rotting claws, scrabbling for purchase on his horns, tugging at his eyepatch.
The sky itself collapses as he falls, scratches sinking into his skin as he reaches without mercy.
Again, again, again, this dream reiterates itself, overlapping in his mind.
Torn apart limb by limb, chaos and bitterness lining every action as pink gas spills from decaying teeth.
Frostbitten clouds do nothing to buffet his fall, leaving a vicious battle drawing out among the snowflakes and ice crystals. Muscles and ligaments torn, horns broken and split, eyes pulled from sockets and bitter venom sunk into veins.
And every night, he wakes gasping for any semblance of air in his cracked, broken lungs. And every night he wakes too early, going to prepare food for himself, haunted by swimming memories.
Screams and laughter sing songs together, lost to the windswept sky as they plummet, hearts in headlocks as they bite and tear and laugh and cry, taking shots and never waiting.
Intertwined fates of decay and death, doomed to destroy each other. Some say true love is a dog running with a stick of dynamite, and that the two will explode together.
Medkit thinks that the dog loves nothing but the hatred it carries for itself.
He barely even recognises his own meal as he halfheartedly pours water into a pre-prepared cup, sticking it in the microwave and hefting himself up onto the counter to wait, his head in his hands.
Nothing but old dogs and sticks of dynamite, laughing and howling at the moon and cosmos for daring to show their shattered faces, while ignoring the stardust and moonrocks that speckle their pelts.
Staring into streetlights and watching the heavy snowfall, letting the ground collapse underneath them as teeth are bared.
The microwave beeps softly. Medkit shifts to pull the cup out of it, his tired eyes catching a glimpse of something red.
And this time, feathers shelter his form from that growling stick of dynamite.
“...Are you seriously putting ramen in the microwave?” Sword asked incredulously, his wings ruffling as he stared at Medkit in disgust.
“Is something wrong with that?” Medkit asks, closing the microwave door and sticking a fork into the noodles. Sword’s disgusted expression grew stronger as he walked fully into the kitchen, looking between Medkit and the microwave.
“Of course?? Have you never used a teapot to boil water?”
Medkit blinked as he shovelled some of the ramen into his mouth, his tail twitching behind him. A beat of silence passed as Medkit finished his bite, staring directly at Sword.
“I don’t know how to use a teapot.”
Sword makes a noise of pure despair, accented by Medkit’s sly smile as he realises just how much he can torment the red demon here, even if it’s about shameful things.
“I’ve never used an oven before.”
Sword made another noise of despair as he pulled the electric teapot from its spot, filling it with water. Medkit takes another sip of his noodles, crossing his legs as he remains seated on the counter.
“I tried to use a stove once, and a colleague of mine had to run in with a fire extinguisher.”
Sword’s next noise of distress was louder as he set the teapot back on its holder, turning towards Medkit.
“I am teaching you how to cook.”
“You can try.”
And gods does Sword try. It goes horrifically until the red demon finally finds an approach that actually clicks.
“Okay–okay, so cooking isn’t working. It’s a disaster, actually, but I saw something that might help.”
Medkit stood there with a stained apron, giving the stove a deadpan glare. He looked towards Sword, clearly questioning.
“What if we try baking? Because, if you really think about it, baking is just… chemistry with food.”
Medkit’s eye lights up.
“How so?”
Slingshot stood in the centre of the cafe’s kitchen, pointing a spatula at Medkit. Sword was grinning happily as he watched, his tail flicking back and forth.
“How many meals did you fail to cook.” Slingshot asked, squinting at the teal demon.
“At least twenty. I caused roughly five accidental fires that were dealt with quickly.” Medkit responded, picking at his gloves. Slingshot’s expression went from stern to horrified.
The feline demon looked towards Sword with distress.
“Are you sure this guy should be anywhere near the kitchen?”
“He put ramen in the microwave.”
Slingshot made a noise of agony, turning back to Medkit.
“Oh gods. If Sword is so insistent, I’ll help you learn–but only because you taught Skate how to not be completely dogshit at chess. What sort of approach, uh…”
“Sword mentioned baking is like chemistry?” Medkit tilted his head, looking at the various scattered materials around the kitchen. Slingshot nodded sternly.
“Science approach, then. We’re making cookies.”
A week passed, and he can’t just stay at his house or in Slingshot’s kitchen constantly. With great reluctance, Medkit put on his work clothes, heading towards the church.
Broker greeted him with a smile, arms folded behind her back. Her glass eye seemed to glimmer in the flickering torches that lined the church hall, her tail flicking behind her.
“Meds! We’ve been wondering when you’d come back, the family has missed you.” Broker spoke, standing up straighter as he beckoned Medkit to follow. The teal demon hesitated, resting one hand against his holster.
“I’m keeping this strictly professional, Broker. Does anyone need gear repairs, or assistance with healing?” Medkit’s tone remained blank and level, staying still in place. “If there is nothing anyone needs help with, I will be returning home.”
He needs to actually fix his crystal anyway. Broker’s smile dropped for barely a second before it was restored, attempting to be softer.
“Well, an acolyte would like some repairs after their gear was damaged in a fight. Come, come, they’ve been waiting for you.”
Medkit followed silently, his hand on his holster the entire time.