Work Text:
Machina Soul, Gray decided, was a bastard’s magic. If he hadn’t seen enough of Take Over with the Strauss siblings, this dark guild nobody was reinforcing his opinion that it was best to stay away from anyone who dabbled in it. Guns for arms and legs were simply unfair. At least, when Bisca or Alzack shot at him—which wasn’t unheard of in the midst of guild-wide brawls—Gray knew they had to pull the trigger themselves.
The bullet seemed to pierce through him in slow motion. It split his flesh open, right at the centre of the cross-shaped scar on his side, as if the enemy mage were playing target practice. He probably was.
Gray grunted as the bullet tore through muscle, searing, and lodged itself somewhere in his abdomen. Blood spurted from the open wound and he fell to one knee. His hand flew up to staunch the bleeding.
Another barrage of ammunition flew his way, but a wall of ice intercepted it. Static Ice Make wasn’t his helper’s usual style, but Gray would have recognised Lyon’s magic signature even if there had been other ice mages around. Sure enough, he stood between Gray and the makeshift barrier, still hunched in casting stance. A lock of white hair flopped over his forehead as he turned around to assess the damage.
"You in one piece?"
Gray grunted and pressed his palm harder against his side. Crimson rivulets gushed between his fingers. "Shut up and help me pull this shit out."
Bullets rattled and wedged harmlessly into the thick ice shield. Or, not so harmlessly—cracks webbed from the fissures and Lyon hastened to raise another wall just behind the first. One more incantation birthed a flock of eagles that dove for the Machina Soul mage.
He jogged over to Gray and dropped to his knees, eyes sharp. The blood dribbled down Gray’s hipbone, soaking his trousers. The one time he didn’t take them off. With a certain reluctance, he moved his stained hand to expose the wound. He would find red beneath his nails for days.
When Lyon’s gaze fell to the intersecting scars, shame and guilt dimmed his expression. The fingers that had been reaching for Gray stilled and fell back at his sides. Gray remembered the feeling of an ice blade spearing through him, the mad look on Lyon’s face.
His bloodied hand clamped Lyon’s shoulder. He didn’t even complain about Gray ruining his fancy coat, but he met his eyes, so Gray took it as a sign that he was going to listen.
Gray’s jaw set as he summoned his best approximation of a surgery tool. "I need your help getting this out of me—" he squeezed Lyon’s shoulder for emphasis "—and then we’re kicking this guy’s ass together."
Lyon faltered and Gray wondered if his sorry excuse for a pep talk had fallen on deaf ears. Then, Lyon’s hand covered his.
He gave a hint of a smile. "Don’t scream too loud or you’ll scare the asshole away."
Gray grinned, but the sardonic response slipped off his tongue when Lyon ripped the Ice Make creation from his fingers and plunged it into the wound.