Work Text:
Torchbearer stood frozen in place, his heart pounding in his ears and almost eclipsing his vision. The familiarity of the feeling did not alter the pain. He felt… hollowed out, or like he was breaking in two.
Clancy, or what once was Clancy, slowly walked down the line of torchbearers, as one by one Torchbearer's own fell with the one they had been willing to fall for.
His heart felt like an ember that had nothing else to burn but itself, and he stood unmoving in his place.
In an eternity and one second, “Clancy” stood before him, offering the robe mechanically to him, not looking him in the face.
Torchbearer knew that this person, in this instant, could see him. Torchbearer may not have lost all hope for forever--he knew he hadn't--but in this instant there was no yellow in him. The waves had swallowed him, and the ember was spluttering.
The Bishop raised his eyes from where they had fixed on the yellow cross that traced its way to Torchbearer's heart, and for one moment, held his gaze.
The waves crashed into Torchbearer from the depths of the Bishop's eyes. Nothing. Dark. Cold. Like the ichor painting far too much of what was once Clancy, the black seeped from inside his eyes. And then the Bishop moved on, down the line, and another torchbearer, too bright and so full of trust, fell.
Torchbearer stepped back, and tearing the part of him that left from the part of him that stayed, he made his way to the door. Stepping over the threshold, another glimpse of sunrise caught his eye from a window in the stairwell, and Torchbearer took a breath that reached into the torn parts of his chest.
Clancy may not have won this time, but he had fought and survived. He was out there again, and they would find him again. As many times as it took. Always.
----
Torchbearer stood in the line of other torchbearers, almost holding his breath. Clancy mechanically passed robes to one torchbearer after another. Torchbearer knew that he would be visible to Clancy the same way that the others were: he wanted to be seen. He wanted Clancy to see him.
And despite his best efforts to pretend otherwise, Clancy did see him.
As they stood bared face to half-marked face, Torchbearer breathed steadily. Clancy held out the robe, hanging, smothering, between them. Quietly, Torchbearer willed Clancy to look him in the eyes, to simply see him. It was not too late. It was never too late. No matter how Clancy stood before him, their friendship would never be broken by the darkness, not on Torchbearer's side.
And Clancy did, if only for a second. In that second, Torchbearer made him a different offer instead. To cast this off, to come home. Home to him and Jenna and Debbie and Mark and the odd little family they had made, home to all the banditos, their blood; come home to campfire and tents under the stars, home to a City reclaimed, home to the work of rebuilding a City, this time with unbroken and unbreaking foundations.
And in that second, Torchbearer thought he saw something in the depths of Clancy's eyes, something like a match flaring in the darkness, before the match was snuffed out. Clancy turned away, and mechanically offered that robe to the next in line.
Torchbearer breathed deep, and turned, greeting the pain in his heart like he greeted his aching muscles after hard work. Clancy may have continued down the line, offering the robe to others who would take it, but Torchbearer's offer would never be withdrawn, would never pass Clancy by.
As he headed to the door and then down the steps, something settled into his chest with the same weight as the offer he had made to Clancy. He knew that Clancy was out there, again. And he would find him, and the cycle would begin again. Just like the rising sun, they would try again. Torchbearer's offer would never be withdrawn.
----
Torchbearer stood, waiting for Clancy to step in front of him like you would wait to see whether anything would be left standing in the ashes of a wildfire. He'd been here enough times to know that no matter how dire things already looked, this right here was the final moment of this cycle, the final instant where either peace or fear would win.
Robe by robe, Clancy worked his way towards him, and then stood before him, seeming to stare straight through him. But Torchbearer knew better. This was no Bishop, not yet. The robes and paint were only the penultimate steps, not the finale itself. Torchbearer knew because despite what he tried to portray, Clancy could see him.
The robe held between them barely registered to Torchbearer as he watched Clancy's face, searching for any sign of… anything. Clancy finally raised his eyes to Torchbearer's, and Torchbearer saw in an instant everything play out.
He saw the same fight that he knew had happened behind the locked door, just before his arrival. He knew--he knew that in some sense, Clancy had already escaped, gone to fight another day, and that Torchbearer would find him beyond the tower walls again. But here, as this person looked in his eyes, he watched the remaining fragment of his best friend play out in miniature the battle that had just happened.
And he watched the moment in this person's eyes where the last traces of Clancy, the last traces of being the sheep rather than the shepherd, were wiped away, leaving something sterile, something sharp as neon and black as ichor. And the Bishop turned away, and moved on, his transformation complete, down to his bones.
Torchbearer turned away, willing himself not to cry. His best friend had just, in some way, died twice in front of him, but the more important truth is that he was still alive. He was still alive, and Torchbearer knew that nothing would stop him from finding him and helping him again. For every time they lost, for every time he watched some part of his friend die in a Bishop's eyes, he also saw Clancy survive, come screaming through the darkest hour and greet the sunlight again. And he would always, always be there, with every bandito that would follow him, until they all were free.