Chapter Text
The sun sets on the horizon, imbuing The Crossroads in a golden hue as the night sky chases its dying rays. The night life of the bustling city is already coming to life even though the first star hasn’t twinkled into existence yet. Medkit can feel the electric energy in the air as he steps out of the cab, closing the door behind him and watching the yellow car round the corner.
It’s been a long day. Commissions from the holiday rush, a last-minute hospital meeting, and personally going to Zuka’s apartment to fix Rocket’s prosthetic leg. The memories from the past 24 hours seep out of the recesses of Medkit’s soul as he lazily takes the elevator up to the fifth floor of his apartment complex. Once on the highest floor, he steps out, withdrawing his keys from his coat pocket as he approaches his door. It’s easy to spot it from the rest of the doors when everyone else has decorated their doors with holiday decorations. Medkit’s is just plain bare.
He can’t wait to unravel and collapse into bed. Nevermind microwaving dinner or having a hot shower, Medkit just wanted to lay on his old mattress and fall dead asleep. He was so exhausted that he didn’t think that he would need a palmful of melatonin gummies tonight.
Just as he grabs the right key and inserts it into the lock, a voice calls out to him from the stairwell. Medkit freezes, looking over in adrenaline-like panic before recognizing the person.
“Medkit!!”
Rocket comes barrelling up the concrete stairwell like a maniac. His clothes are all a mess and his goggles are lopsided, nearly obscuring the young demon’s vision. In his fingerless-gloved hands is a bloodred envelope of some kind.
“Medkit--- I--- Holy Darkheart---”
Medkit raises an eyebrow., turning to him. “Rocket? Didn’t we just part an hour ago?”
“Yes, but---”
Rocket pants. He holds up a finger as if to say “one moment”, resting his hands on his knees and wheezing like he wasn’t young. It’s as if he ran three consecutive marathons, and that slightly raises concern within the doctor. The young demon finally regains his breath and stands up straight, holding up the envelope.
“Here. It’s for you. Please read it. Like, right now. “
Medkit hesitantly takes the envelope from him.
Under Rocket’s anticipatory, borderline impatient eyes, he glances over it. Bloodred and smooth, stamped close with a… SFOTH seal? Looking closer, Medkit’s eye can trace the familiar lines of the sword emblem and ancient glyphics in the hardened black wax. There’s no doubt it was a fake. Nobody could ever replicate the slight glow of the SFOTH seal and its intricate markings.
Medkit uses his nail to crack the seal. It breaks the perfection of it, unsealing the envelope and exposing the vanilla letter hidden inside. He pulls the letter out now, tucking the envelope away under his arm to read.
‘First Aid Kit, Miracle Doctor of The Crossroads, Child of Blackrock,
You have been invited to the Sword Fight of the Heights Starfall Ball hosted at the end of this month as a special guest, where all factions will be able to attend. For the first time in 10 years, the world will be connected once more.
We will be making announcements that will change Inpherno for the better, and it would be an honour to have you here to support it.
We will see you soon.
- SFOTH.’
“I was… told by my dad to deliver this invitation straight to you.”
Medkit slowly looks up. He can’t muster any words. His brain is thinking faster than it can logically process. Rocket continues speaking, oblivious to the doctor’s conflict.
“They’re sending personal invitations to important people all over Inpherno apparently,” Rocket says. “I don’t know who else is going other than you, me and Dad. We just got our invitations from Rainbeau.”
Medkit blinks, glancing down at the perfectly written letter in his gloved hands.
“They’re inviting…” He trails off. Medkit forces himself to speak. “They’re inviting Blackrock and Lost Temple, aren’t they?”
Rocket falters.
He knows exactly why Medkit asks and why his friend looks so empty, sounds so hollow. It wasn’t safe, it wasn’t necessary, and it wasn’t right. The doctor had run so far just to get away and has finally found a comfortable rhythm here in The Crossroads. This ball would just flip his world upside down. Rocket knew it.
However, the SFOTH were unmoved. They had their own reasons and were playing a different game of chess than everyone else.
“They are,” Rocket replies quietly. Medkit’s frozen now. A deer in headlights, Rocket would joke on another occasion. Instead, he rests a gentle hand on his shoulder. Offers a firm, comforting look, deferring from his hyper nature to be steady for the doctor. “But Dad and I won’t let them hurt you. Besides, the SFOTH aren’t going to allow brawls during the event, so you’ll be safe. They can’t try anything even if they wanted to.”
“That..” Medkit’s eye drifts away to focus on the rusted doorknob of his. His bed and merciful sleep calls to him. The soundless black of sleep sounds so nice right now. “That still doesn’t comfort me. Do you know how many targets are on my head again? The gates are the only thing keeping me from them.”
“Like I said, we can protect you,” Rocket reassures. “You’ve always helped us. Now it’s our turn to help you.” He pauses. “And for the record, Med, we aren’t protecting you because of what you have. It’s because you’re our friend, and friends got your back.”
Medkit is silent. What words could he possibly conjure to make himself feel better, now that the weight of this new predicament weighs heavily upon his shoulders?
None. Absolutely nothing.
He needs a drink. And a few cigarettes. And probably those melatonin gummies.
“Thank you, Rocket.” He musters a tight nod, stepping back and turning away to go into his apartment. He can feel Rocket’s eyes piercing the back of his head. “I appreciate you delivering this letter. I’ll talk to you about this later, I’m tired after working all day.”
Rocket frowns. His hands rest limply at his sides. He knows better than to press on with this matter and upset Medkit even more. “... Sure, Med. I’ll be at my house, so you can come by in the morning.”
They both know Medkit won’t show up. Yet, they pretend he will. Medkit smiles, painting his face with hollow appreciation and bidding his friend goodnight. Rocket waves him off as he walks into the apartment and closes the door, leaving the avian in the hallway. He sighs through his nose, fixes his goggles, then heads back down the stairwell, wistfully looking at Medkit’s closed door before disappearing into the night.
The silence of his apartment usually comforts him. Medkit finds ease in the quiet of his evening routine, of moving around without people yelling about or bullets whizzing past him. But tonight, the silence is deafening. The clicks of the four locks on his door feel like weights of damnation promising him Hell.
With heavy hands and jelly-like limbs, Medkit sets his briefcase down and kicks his dress shoes off. In his socks, he floats to his room without a thought of dinner or showering. He immediately undresses into a random shirt and sweatpants, flops onto his dingy bed, and lays on his side while staring at the letter clenched in his hand.
It feels like a curse. An absolute curse, stringed letters cursing him for all he has done. ‘You can’t run from your problems. You can’t solve anything by hiding away. It was only a matter of time until you faced the music.’ He wants to cry, but he has no tears in him. Just exhaustion.
His mind flits to the possibility of faking sick. Say he came down with the flu or chickenpox so he’s stuck in bed until further notice. It’s an enticing thought, one Medkit plays around with for a while, but each delicious scenario ends up the same: the SFOTH sending someone to check on him, call him out on his bullshit, and drag his miserable self to the ball, therefore making a fool of himself. There was no way to evade the SFOTH. They had their ways, especially for someone as important as him.
… Important. Hah.
Medkit sets the letter down. He grabs for the crystal floating between his horns, pulling it out of its resting place to look at it. It glows a soft teal on him and his bed covers, glowing in his room like a night light. It’s soothing and warm to the touch. It fits perfectly in Medkit’s hand as if made for him.
The crystal made him important. It’s why people were always drawn to his person. They wanted to be saved by a miracle, and they sought the only soul who could provide them that. Medkit was just that, a miracle doctor to the masses, spawned with healing hands and given a gift from the stars. He was nothing more than his gifts.
His fingers clench around the crystal as if trying to subconsciously shatter it. Medkit sighs sharply, fighting the urge to throw the crystal---though it would just float right back to his horns like nothing happened, he’s tried. He simply puts it back, crumples the letter, and grabs the cigarette pack and lighter hidden in his nightstand drawer.
No more thinking. Medkit repeats that thought as he lights a cigarette and gets up to make himself a cup of whiskey. No more thinking, just watching stupid telenovelas until his brain turns into mush and he’s drunk off his mind. No more letters, no more crystals, no more SFOTH. Just him and his bed, relaxing like it was a regular Friday night.
Turning the TV on, Medkit sighs. ‘It’s just a regular Friday.’
“You good Med? Is the colour not your thing, or…?”
Medkit blinks. He glances around to get his surroundings, remembering where the hell he even was. ‘Right. Shopping.’
The next day, Rocket immediately blew up Medkit’s phone with what could only be described as an avalanche of texts and missed calls. All good-intended, but very annoying as the hungover doctor grumbled and tried to swipe his phone into the bathroom. The young demon invited Medkit to go shopping with him and Zuka since both him and his dad weren’t that educated in what to wear for formal events. After all, Rocket wore hand-me-downs, and Zuka liked to dress like he was homeless. Medkit blearily said yes without thinking, did his best to gather himself, then went out to shop.
Now here he was, shopping with the father and son duo in one of the fanciest suit shops in The Crossroads. They had a suit, dress, or a combination of both for any occasion---was what they advertised when Medkit looked them up---in any colour, any size, and to any preference. Their prices were a big range as well, so Medkit could look around sparingly without having to worry about his wallet.
When they met up at the mall where the shop was, Rocket was energetic, to say the least. He was talking at a million miles an hour, running around and ecstatically pointing at various things like a young child. Zuka quietly explains to Medkit that he’s never taken Rocket to this part of The Crossroads, so the doctor sucks it up and decides to give him a pass.
He does almost relinquish it when they reach the shop. It’s quite the sight: fancy displays, rose gold-gilded doors propped open, crystal windows tinted white. Rocket is blown away immediately---pun intended---and runs in with no humiliation whatsoever. Medkit and Zuka follow suit much more quietly.
Now here they were. Zuka has slinked off somewhere to look for something black-coloured, leaving Rocket to drag Medkit to the blue-coloured section.
“No, it’s fine,” Medkit says. He rubs his face and shakes his head, clearing it just a little. “Just hungover, that's all.”
Rocket gapes, eyebrows furrowing almost comically. “You’re what?”
“The one in your left hand is better. It’s more form-fitting.”
“Medkit.”
Medkit waves him off dismissively. “Rocket, I am an adult. I can handle myself. Can we move on now?”
“Are you that worried about the ball?” Rocket presses on. “I told you, we’ll---”
“Rocket. Please.”
Medkit’s voice is sharp. Rocket flinches at his tone, his own sternness dropping. The doctor replays his words and immediately regrets it.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
Rocket stares at him for a long moment before lightly nodding. A small smile works its way onto his face. “It’s okay. My fault for pushing you. I’m just.. y’know, worried about you.”
“I appreciate your concern,” Medkit replies, patting his shoulder, “but I think I have to come to my own terms. I need time to process the situation.”
“Sure doc, as long as you can process it by the end of the month,” Rocket grins. With that, he gratefully changes the subject and goes back to picking a suit.
Medkit’s mind clears up as he helps. He’s able to get Rocket to pick a suit that’s not too flashy, a solid dark blue suit with white lining. Of course the young demon disappears to ask for alterations on the suit, “something extra”, so Medkit finds Zuka instead. Zuka’s already picked out a suit that doesn’t offend Medkit’s tastes, and with the doctor’s help, is able to find a nice set of suspenders to go along with it. Zuka eventually goes off to find Rocket and apply his own alterations, leaving Medkit to find his own suit.
The shop is huge, and Medkit wanders around a bit. He does wind back in the blue section, drawn to a particular suit with a specific flair that leaves him in awe. Checking the price tag, it’s a little more than what his budget was set for, but---to hell with it, he’s a mess but he’s going to dress the best. Medkit grabs the suit without another thought and joins the other two for alterations.
Standing with them as they’re measured and questioned for what they want, Medkit feels better. Zuka’s solid comfort and Rocket’s chaotic protectiveness brings an ease to the doctor’s heart; at this point, the two seemed like close family to him. When Rocket promised protection, he knew they would go through with it. They were solid people through and through, ones he could count on always.
The thought of going to the ball was daunting. It made his stomach flip and turn unpleasantly, bringing about chills throughout his body. However, Medkit feels that everything will be okay as long as Rocket and Zuka are there. ‘Everything will be okay.’
“We done?” Rocket chirps. “I wanna go to Ranged Royale and eat!”
Zuka scoffs. “Not a chance. I’m not washing barbeque sauce off of your clothes again.”
“Aww man!!”
“Let’s go eat at Jorrt,” Medkit pipes up. The other two look his way, slight surprise showing on their faces from his suggestion---the doctor rarely suggested like this.
“Oh--- Well, if Med wants to go---!”
Rocket happily throws his shoulder around Medkit, bringing him close. Medkit yelps as he’s roped into a one-sided hug.
“Can we Dad?” Rocket pleads, giving Zuka his best puppy dog eyes. “Pretty pretty please? For all things good, and for Med???”
“... Sure. But you’re paying for yourself.”
Rocket pumps a fist into the air. “Works for me! Let’s go!”
The young demon lets go of Medkit and immediately zooms out without thinking about his suit. Zuka dutifully grabs it, thanking the tailors and heading to the counter to pay with Medkit.
“We’ll have to see Spray Paint,” Zuka says as the cashier puts their suits in separate bags.
Medkit tilts his head to the side. “For what reason?”
“We’ll need to be cautious.” Zuka stuffs his hand in his pocket, glancing around as he talks. “Line our suits with bulletproof vests, add extra pockets, a knife or two. She can tailor our suits with these alterations.”
“Do you know something I don’t?” Medkit asks. He can’t help the sharp edge in his voice.
“It’s just intuition.” Zuka leans in closer, hushing his voice so no other browsers or employees can hear their conversation. “I just got a bad feeling about all of this. But I don’t know if you want to hear---”
“Zuka, just tell me,” Medkit sighs.
A hard line etches itself across the ex-soldier’s face. He glances around one more time, opens his mouth to speak, but they’re interrupted by the cashier who has returned with their bags. The both of them melt back to their previous stances, paying for the suits and politely saying goodbye. They walk out of the store and find Rocket bouncing on his heels impatiently, then let him lead the way to Jorrt. While the young demon’s preoccupied with running around and greeting random strangers, Zuka takes the opportunity to resume their conversation.
“This was a long time ago, okay? So take this with a grain of salt.” Medkit walks closer, relaxing his mannerisms and looking as if he was engaged in gossip with Zuka. Zuka follows suit, bumping shoulders with him gently. “I used to work for the SFOTH, and they’re a messy bunch of gods. They were very, very divided which was a pain in my ass, always having my orders redone by each god because they didn’t like the previous one. Last time I heard, they had some big argument. Things haven’t been the same since in The Heights.”
‘Oh.’ “Are you insinuating that there’s conflict within the SFOTH?” Medkit asks.
“Could be.” Zuka shrugs. “Could explain why they separated the regions in the first place and why The Spawn started bringing out demons with curses. There’s something wrong up there and they needed to control Inpherno best they could.”
Medkit hums. “So for this hypothetical… Why would we need protective suits? Other than the other factions who want me dead.”
Zuka is quiet. Medkit tears his gaze away from Rocket frolicking around to observe his older companion. The ex-soldier holds a solemn look on his face, one that Medkit has seen too often when Zuka slips back into his world of death and memories. A face of grief and knowing.
“It just.. feels like war to me.”
War.
A foreign concept Medkit has learned, but couldn’t understand.
Medkit is not a child of war. He was born in an era of peace and grew up in such. But the same can’t be said for Zuka, an ex-soldier for Blackrock who fought their dirtiest battles for them. Even when the older demon was a Phighter, a war raged in the north of Inpherno, and his faction called for him---he eventually paid the price for their reckless actions. He knew war, he could sense it, and he could recognize it. He’s lived to tell the tale, after all.
So when Zuka spells out his concerns, Medkit’s blood runs cold. He wants to deny his older companion immediately, but he can’t find any plausible rebuttals in his arsenal. Only silence.
“I could be wrong and I could be scaring you for no reason,” Zuka lightly jokes, bringing Medkit out of his warbled thoughts, “but it’s better to be safe than sorry. So.. is it fine with you if we stop by Spray Paint’s shop after lunch?”
“Ah.. no problem. Do what you will.”
Medkit smiles, but he’s unsure how to feel. This is just more information to digest, more information to store away in his wired brain.
‘Everything will be okay. It’s just a ball.’
“Okay. Let’s hurry up before Rocket rocket jumps his way to Jorrt.”
Medkit follows Zuka into the lunch rush crowd of The Crossroads centre.
‘Everything will be okay. It’s just. A ball.’