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The alleys were cold. Everything stung. Everything was numb. He'd spent so long, asking around, looking for help, trying his best to find something, anything that would help. No end was in sight. Was it all going to be for nothing? Maybe Medkit was truly gone. Maybe his brother willingly left because he hated him.
Sword leaned against a concrete wall, examining and deeply analysing the photo again - well, the best that he could in his sleep-deprived condition. He looked so happy, so joyous, so content, so comfortable. Where had this version of Med gone? He breathed out, freezing - it wasn't even that cold. He sat down and attempted to create a plan. One that was destined to succeed. One that would help his brother. One that would...
It seemed impossible. His mind was completely blank. He could do nothing. His brother was at the mercy of whoever was with him now, and he could not see him nor do anything about it.
The swordsman put his head against the wall and shut his eyes. Gosh, he was just realising now how worn out he was - he had not slept in days, instead being kept awake by the fact he did not know where his friend was. His brain was incredibly foggy. All his thoughts blurred together into a thick, grey cloud and before he knew it, he was falling asleep.
The atmosphere had changed. Ever so slightly. He could feel it. His eyelids fluttered open apprehensively, taking in everything around him. His appearance had not changed - the boy's clothes were still in tatters and coated in a layer of dirt. They probably weren't going to be cleaned for a while. His skin was littered with an abundance of minor scratches and bruises he had accrued recently.
He was situated in a black void. The abyss seemed to stretch on for miles, no end or door or someway of knowing there was an exit. Hopeless. Never-ending.
Sword neglected to realise the figure standing a small distance away from him. The one he had been looking for. The one who had gone missing. His... brother. Sword peered at them, finally registering who it was. His eyes showed a mix of relief and shock.
Medkit was equally surprised, but showed to a much less degree. He was not supposed to be wherever here was right now. What had happened? He thought this was a commitment that meant his dear brother was to never ever see him again. He pulled his hands to his chest.
This seems so fake. It can't be like this. Are they messing with him? Are they testing him? If so, why is he so authentic. So real. So loving. Why does he look like he cares? Why is he looking at him like that?
"Med? Is it you..?" The swordsman said, very unsure. Was he dreaming? Sword surveyed every part of him. It all seemed correct. He stepped forward, trying to close the gap between them. Medkit backed away slightly, but not enough to entirely avoid and run away from the boy.
Alarmed and uneasy, Sword got closer. Why now? Why was this happening now? He needed to seize the moment. No way he was letting this moment slip away.
The swordsman observed his hands. Dirty. They were dirty. Why weren't they clean? He walked even closer and held them out, nestling them around the doctor, in an effort to comfort him and himself. Sword often liked to hug Med, much to his dismay and annoyance, but overtime it became something they both found very comforting, and often turned to when things got stressful.
Sword squeezed a little. "I'm sorry... I wish I knew where you were right now. I'm trying.. I swear I'm gonna save you. One way or another." Sword whispered, tears welling up in his eyes. He tried his best to muffle the sobs that escaped from his throat, but they could still be heard, clear as day. Med listened to the words.
It seemed so real. Why. Why were they torturing him like this? Why did the world hate him so much? Hate them so much? Why does the world love to separate them? Why does the world love to see their pain?
Medkit felt a pang in his heart. It stung. Maybe it was Sword. He eased ever so slightly into the embrace, peering down at the boy who had just broken into pieces in front of him. Each cry made his heart shatter even more.
"Don't go looking for me. I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. You're strong." Med uttered. He searched his brain for something else to say, something else to ease the boy's nerves and desperation. "I know, one day, we will meet again." That phrase hit both of them like a truck. Even Medkit was distraught at the idea of it, but it was something they were both going to have to live with for now. In response, a small tear trickled down from his eye.
"Please. I wanna see you again... I wanna... see you again," Sword exclaimed, blinded and lost within a barrage of weeps and wails.
"I am sorry." Med responded.
"Why did you leave..? Please tell me.. Please..." The swordsman choked out, looking at the teal demon, praying for an answer. That was all that he wanted. Just a moment. A moment of respite.
"I..." Med bit his tongue. He didn't wanna say. He couldn't say. He had sworn to silence over this. "..can't say. I..." Nothing he could say felt right but he had to sweeten it, even if only a little. If Sword lost hope and stopped living, he would not know what to do.
"I love you," were the only words that could escape his lips. Sword's grip on him tightened. This felt warm. Unlike everything else going on right now. The streets were freezing. The church was suffocating.
"Please don't leave me again..." was all the swordsman could cough out, in between his whimpers. Med did not know what to say. But his silence already gave Sword the answer.
"I love you too, Med."
Suddenly, they snapped sharply out of this reality. The warmth and comfort fading quickly, only leaving depression and misery in its' wake.
The halls of the Church were cold.
"'Kit. Wake up! Now's not the time to be sleepin'." Scythe slammed her fist down and Medkit's eyes shot open wearily. He peered around. Oh. He was back here again. As usual. This place was slowly asphyxiating him. One day, he knows he is going to die here.
"I apologise." Med said. He wasn't really sorry, but no one needed to know that.
"'Ya better be! Ya' have important work to do. The father is already quite annoyed with 'yer recent behaviour, if I were you I wouldn't push it any further, 'Kit." Scythe hissed, looking down on him as if he were a disobedient pet.
"Yes, I'll get on with it." The angry demon peeked back - her gaze gave off the impression that she was tearing into his soul and tugging at it. It felt as if she already understood everything. It felt as if she already knew he was a liar.
So much had to be done. He knew he would be at this for ages. He felt like he was going to die. He felt like he was going to be trapped here forever. No one here cared for him. No one here understood him.
But, at least, he had a distant, miniscule spark of hope that, maybe, one day, somewhere, somehow, they would meet once again.
That was a nice thought.