Chapter Text
The fields were quiet, as they typically were. The place seemed endless, a vast expanse of wheat and wind that nearly obscured the trees in the distance which bordered the territory. The place always unsettled them, but they had to pass through to get to the supposed medicinal haven in the jungle just east of the fields.
Mono was sick, and wasn’t getting any better. Not by Six’s standards anyway – the dumb boy would always insist he was alright as he coughed breathlessly into his sleeve, or expelled the food he had just eaten onto the ground far enough away that he thought she couldn’t see. Just the thought of his idiocy made her bristle and shoot him a bitter glance, which he didn’t notice, considering his glazed over eyes and unresponsive expression. He looked utterly exhausted, like a walking corpse.
It was something they learned just recently. Leaving the wretched city had adverse effects on his body. The grand iron ship was different, it had plenty of energy stored within its great Maw, enough to sustain him quite easily. But places like these, where the hum of electricity was replaced by chittering birds and soft breezes, were not good for him. It was like “withdrawal,” a word she had learned from her many hours rummaging through books while he slept. Without the static, he seemed to wither. Even if he had gotten better in some aspects, he had gotten worse in others, and she knew it would take quite a while for his body to adjust to the varying energies of the world.
The towering windmill finally came into view, the fog kind enough to disperse around its foundation, revealing the crooked doorframe they’d enter through.
Six squeezed his hand, angling her head to level him with a doubtful glare. He didn’t react until she squeezed his hand again, which caused him to gasp and return her gaze, albeit without the frustration hers held. He offered her a tired, sad smile and placed his other hand over hers, wordlessly questioning why she’d alerted him with a tilt of his head.
She grimaced and quickly looked away. Seeing that expression on his face made her feel nauseous, even more so than when she was wrought with hunger-pains. Even if the pain wasn’t physical, it was unpleasant and therefore unwelcome.
“Shelter, for this night.” She raised her finger and pointed, not bothering to check whether or not he had seen, not wanting to look at his face, “Have stairs, you climb or I carry?”
“Six-” he shot her a look of disbelief (which was lost on her considering she refused to look at him), clarity momentarily returning to his gaze, “Six, you’re not… going to carry me.”
“If necessary, will.” She decided, not giving him a moment to respond before continuing to trek forward.
As they made it to the entrance, she realized very quickly that she was, in fact, going to carry him.
He’d been easy to hoist when they were little-er, she didn’t think there was any reason it would be much different now. She was proven to be even more correct than she even could have imagined.
His weight was akin to that of a feather. Skill, strength and smarts had allowed the two of them to procure enough food to be more than just skin and bones, but it was almost as if he never put on any of the weight she did. She knew their bodies were wildly different; she’d never seen any other girl with rows and rows of knife-like fangs too large for her mouth, or another boy with black eyes and tendrils which covered his limbs like ink. But this was ridiculous. She was going to shove food down his throat if this kept happening.
“Six- Six, I can… walk.” The way his voice dropped to a mumble was enough for her to know he was a big fat liar, so she jostled him just enough to irritate him. He whimpered and she immediately felt that all-too-familiar nausea wash over her again. She whispered an apology and held him closer, praying that the warmth of her body would wash away the damp cold which seized his body. Too cold and too skinny. He was very strange.
As they reached the top floor, Six gently placed him along the pole which held up the horizontally rotating wheel, stripping her coat off and laying it over him. He breathed out an apology, which she promptly ignored, and curled himself further into her coat, shivering. Six hopped down the steps to fetch their bags, retrieving them quickly and retreating back to the top floor.
As she emerged from the stairs, she caught Mono’s eye. For the first time in days, he looked alert.
She furrowed her brows and slowly tilted her head at him. He breathed in, coughed (which made her nearly jump out of her skin), and slurred out, “Thought I… Heard something.”
Lovely, spectacular, growled her internal monologue, now he’s having auditory hallucinations.
“Probably tired,” she sighed, drawing her palm down her face in annoyance, “both eat, then sleep. Monster not come, stairs very small.”
He seemed reluctant to do either of those things, but nodded fervently after she fixed him with a harsh glare.
He would throw up if he tried to lay down after eating, so she urged him to lean up against her shoulder and fall asleep. His protests turned to mutters, then he was out and his breathing (shallow, she noted,) slowed.
She finally felt the fight leave her body and her own breathing picking up. She hated it, she hated this feeling. A decade ago, this wouldn't have even crossed her mind. Friendship was fickle. The more time you spend with a person, the more danger you risk putting yourself in. Keep moving, she would drill into her own head, stagnancy is suicide, the words would pace grooves into the grounds of her mind, a mantra that stopped her threadbare sanity from breaking like a dam.
Which is why he was so dangerous. The most crucial part, however, was the past. Was. Was dangerous. But at the beginning, she never saw past the blank slate of his bag-covered face and acts of kindness she (at the time) couldn't discern from acts of self preservation, selfishness, because that was all she knew. Every second spent with him was another bundle of kindling to fuel the roaring flame that was her paranoia. To her, that connection was a rickety house, safe to fools, death for the wary. Eventually all it would take was one drop of water before the roof would crash down and slaughter those inside. There was no security in this world. Oases were just mirages that revealed themselves to the hopeful. Hope and stupidity were two sides of the same coin. She'd learned to snuff it out long, long ago.
But he rekindled it.
And in this world that was a death sentence wrapped in silk.
She cast her gaze over to him again, examining each and every inch of his face – exhausted even as he rested. The pain seized her again, but she ignored it in favor of pulling him closer. He was cold. So, so cold. Sometimes that paranoia she tried to quell would bubble in the deep recesses of her mind, whispering to her all the terrible things that could happen to him. Before, those thoughts would just be about herself.
Somehow, the thought of someone she cared for hurting was worse than the idea of herself hurting.
Again, such an idea was unfathomable to her some time ago.
She heard him wince, and snapped to attention. Her grip had gotten too tight around his midsection. She pulled her hand away like it had been burned, eyes widening and heart picking up speed.
If she kept worrying about him like this, she might not be the only one getting hurt.
She suppressed her fear, as she often did, and leaned into him further. Barely, just barely, she could feel him heating up under her oppressive warmth. His shudders slowed to shivers, and his breaths evened out.
As she closed her eyes, she let herself feel okay. Maybe they would be fine.
...
The wooden boards creaked in the distance. That was the last thing she heard before a bucket was swung into her face and it all went black.