Work Text:
There’s something ominous about the Shackling Prison.
The cold stone walls feel like they’re closing in around her, shadowy claws stretching long and thin towards her. Waiting to hook into soft flesh and draw warm blood.
It sets her on edge, her eyes constantly tracking the shadows and her heart thumping hard against her rib-cage when she sees something move from the corner of her eyes.
It’s not the presence of the Borison that makes the air feel so oppressive—Stelle is sure that even without them lurking about things would feel much the same as they do now.
That’s just how the Shackling Prison was built to feel like to its prisoners.
Cold. Lonely. Intent on driving one mad.
Dan Heng isn’t doing much better than her, knowing that they’re stuck here till help arrives, whenever that may be. Cloudpiercer remains firmly clasped in his white-knuckled hands despite the fact that they haven’t seen hide or hair of any Borison in a while.
Stelle knows that being back in the Shackling Prison is hard on him and she wishes she had some way of assuaging his fear—he may not admit that he’s scared but she can see it in the tenseness of his body, the set of his shoulders. She has no way of protecting him from his memories, from his past, no matter how badly she wishes she did.
"Your friend doesn’t seem to be doing too well,” Moze says, appearing out of thin air at her side and scaring her half to death.
He is not helping ease her fear by going invisible every few seconds and judging by his raised eyebrows and the small smirk on his face he knows this full well.
Bastard.
His words, however, have Stelle glancing over at Dan Heng again, who’s standing much too close to the edge of a cliff. He doesn’t look any different than usual but in the time that she’s spent with him, the countless nights they’ve spent awake together trying not to think of the shadows that haunt their dreams, she’s gotten good at noticing his tells.
He’s holding himself with an uncertain stillness, his fingers rhythmically tapping against Cloudpiercer, and the skin of his lower lip is slightly red—it’s not that noticeable but Stelle has been keeping an eye at him since the Prison doors shut in their faces and locked them in here, and she can tell that he’s been worrying at it.
Anxious. On edge. Afraid.
Moze must have picked up on the signs as well. He’s got a sharp eye.
Stelle hums, says, “The Shackling Prison isn’t really all that welcoming.”
Moze tilts his head to the side in consideration, his eyes fixed on Dan Heng’s tense form. “No, I suppose it isn’t.”
And there’s something in the tone of his voice, a level of understanding, that suggests that there’s something more behind his words, a story she doesn’t know. Shadows of his past haunting him, much like they are for Dan Heng.
It piques her curiosity and she’s about to ask him what he means by that when a ferocious roar cuts her off, making fear snake through her veins.
The ground rumbles beneath her feet, like a thunderstorm trapped under the ground. In the same breath, Moze dissipates into shadows and Dan Heng and Hanya appear at her side, weapons ready.
The Borison, with their gaping maws and sharp claws, surround them, boxing them in from all sides. They must have been hiding in the shadows, waiting to attack.
“Should have known better than to hope for a break,” Stelle mutters, trying to decide whether to summon her baseball bat or her lance. “Trouble follows us wherever we go.”
A Borison lunges towards her, fangs bared and claws extended to shred her into pieces, and Stelle summons her lance.
She’s feeling particularly stabby today.
They’re vastly outnumbered, four against who knows how many, but they fight together, covering each other’s blind spots. Hanya provides support, summoning chains that ensnare the Borison in a tight grip. Moze weaves in and out of the shadows, cold steel flashing purples as he cuts through them.
Dan Heng is at her back, as he always is, and Stelle watches his in turn, as she always does.
That’s how she catches sight of the Borison sneaking up on Dan Heng from behind, claws extended. Stelle doesn’t think, can’t think because of the fear that clouds her every sense—she just moves. She doesn’t have time to bring up her lance and claws pierce through her skin. The pain is agony, spreading like fire through her body and making it hard to breathe, to think.
There’s a shout from somewhere on her left, followed by deep guttural screams of pain, but she isn’t paying attention to any of that.
Stelle watches as blood, her blood, slowly drips from between her fingers and lands on the dark stone beneath her feet.
The bright red stands out in stark contrast and a part of her—the part that hasn’t yet come to terms with the fact that a Borison claw got close enough to pierce her skin—can’t help but think it looks pretty.
She can feel the way the wound aches, nothing like the split second pain she had felt back on Jarilo V, when Cocolia’s lance had pierced her. The pain then had been over far too quick for Stelle to linger on, but this time it settles in deep, like claws sinking into warm flesh, unwilling to let go.
A hand on her shoulder has her looking up in a stunned daze, her eyes taking a moment to focus on the person in front of her. Her amber eyes meet Dan Heng’s stormy blue ones. There is anger and fear in the line of his jaw and in the tense set of his shoulders, and Stelle watches, wide-eyed, as his horns and tail disappear, remnants of Cloudhymn magic swirling in the air. Cloudpiercer is stained with blood as is the ground behind him now that she looks. The last of the Borison lie scattered behind him, nothing more than broken corpses.
Dan Heng.
She can feel the slight tremble in his fingers, can feel the weight with which they hold on to her and dig into her shoulder. He seems more scared about this than she does and she’s the one with a wound that hasn’t yet stopped bleeding, though it will soon enough. Already the pain has started to abate, duller than it had been mere seconds ago, no longer threatening to make her pass out.
Stelle has never seen Dan Heng of all people look this terrified.
“Hey,” Stelle says, placing a hand on top of the one clutching her shoulder in a vice grip. “Are you okay?”
His breath hitches, a quiet sound that digs deep into her chest and makes her heart ache for him. She decides then that she doesn’t like seeing Dan Heng upset.
The Shackling Prison had done its part, bringing to mind memories that Dan Heng no doubt wanted to keep buried for an eternity, and Stelle had only gone and made things worse by getting hurt.
She would rather crush the world in her hands, would rather the stars in the sky burn and die then Dan Heng look at her with such open fear in his blue eyes.
“I should be asking you that.” The grip on her shoulder loosens but he doesn’t move away. His eyes harden but Stelle can tell he isn’t angry with her—he’s gotten easier to read. “That Borison was headed towards me, not you. What the hell were you thinking, jumping in front of me like that?”
Stelle raises an eyebrow; she doesn’t really understand his question—of course she jumped in front of that Borison; she had to—but Dan Heng has often said that she speaks before she thinks, so Stelle finds herself mulling over the question, trying to understand what answer he's looking for from her.
"I guess I wasn't really thinking," she finally admits, her voice quiet and her eyes fixed on his. "I saw the Borison headed towards you and I had to do something. I couldn't let it hurt you."
The panic that had gripped her heart in an iron fist, that had made it hard to breathe, to think past anything but it’s going to hurt Dan Heng….Stelle doesn’t ever want to feel like that again.
"And what about you?" He shakes her shoulders but there's no strength behind it, just a level of desperation that she finds she understands. "You didn't need to do that. Not for me. I...I would have been fine."
Stelle wants to laugh because that couldn't be further from the truth. If she hadn't jumped in front of Dan Heng, if she hadn't taken the blow meant for him, then their positions would be reversed. It would be his blood on her hands rather than hers on his.
And that is something Stelle finds she can't live with because it's not like Dan Heng is immortal—well, not really—but she is. Stelle knows this, Dan Heng knows this.
"I'll be fine as well. You know I will."
That doesn't appease Dan Heng like she thought it would, and a part of her understands.
It's not easy seeing the person you love in pain.
"Never," he says, his voice low, "do that again."
And just like earlier Stelle doesn't hesitate, doesn't think.
"I will," she retorts. "You're important to me." She feels heat rise to her cheeks and rushes to add, "And the others. You know Pom Pom and March would be upset if something happened to you."
It's an easy truth, but one that is beyond Dan Heng's understanding, despite all the knowledge he's acquired over the years.
And, isn't that a pity, that he still fails to understand how important he is, how much he means to everyone on the Express—to her.
It's an unconscious act, her reaching for him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him in close. He hesitates a touch, his breath ghosting her cheek, but then his hand is on her back, the touch light as a feather. The warmth from his body is welcoming and tender, chasing away the aching cold of the Prison air and filling the empty spaces inside of her.
Stelle could stay like this forever, frozen in time and without a worry in her bones. Just the steady beat of Dan Heng's heart in her ears.
But they don't have the time, not yet at least.
The Prison doors sliding open, shouts from the Cloud Knights gathered outside, have them pulling away. Stelle takes Dan Heng's hand in her own, not willing to let go just yet. A shy smile blossoms on his face, like spring's first bloom breaking through layers of winter's frost, vibrant in its beauty.
Dan Heng squeezes her hand and Stelle squeezes his right back, marveling at the way her heart swells with warmth and hoping it lasts.