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He had hoped a day like this would never find him; that the sun would not rise to such an occasion to extend its warm, golden rays before him and show him the failure of his ways. Now the sun had climbed the tower just as he had, and between the heavy clouds of black smoke outside and the agonizing cries in the air, it nestled its warmth on the cold stone of the windowsill, extending its arm further into the room and cradling the figure slumped against the opposite wall. The golden ray danced gently in the reflections of the crimson spilling from the figure’s chest.
There was so much blood. Oh god, why was there so much blood?
“…Clancy?”. The name got stuck in his throat as raw fear clasped around his neck, squeezing his vocal cords until the name became one big mush of letters.
Wildly, his eyes dashed over the scene that presented itself before him: Clancy’s slumped figure against the dark stone, the blood-red curtains torn down and in shreds scattered across the room, Clancy’s chest adorned by two deep and pulsing gashes, the cracks beginning to form in the stone walls, Clancy’s bruised face half hidden in the darkness.
But not a trace of Nico anywhere. He was gone, for as much as he could tell. Where he had vanished to was nothing his pounding headache wanted to concern itself with right now. His feet reacted before his mind even caught up with the scenery presented before him, and they had only ever known one goal: Clancy.
Pushing himself off of the column he had just grabbed on to, knuckles white as the rough stone cut into his calloused hands, he propelled himself forward. Just these last few meters, he begged the muscles in his legs, heavy and aching with exertion as they were. The flights of stairs leading up the tower had taken up almost all of his strength, not solely from the physical strain but also from the writhing, paralyzing fear that had almost rendered his legs immobile as it clawed itself into his heels and slithered all the way up his back, finally burrowing in the nape of his neck. Fears cold, wet fangs had almost pulled him back, but a tiny sliver of hope kept him from halting and so his footsteps echoed on.
Yellow carnations, he had remembered. “No matter how many times you have to drag me back, you keep fighting,” Clancy had told him one night. His eyes had been heavy with sorrow, then, and his neck was cinched up to his ears in black, tar-like paint. “Promise me that.” Torchbearer had taken this sorrowful face into his hands, gentle palms settling against Clancy so as to not scare him away, and had placed feathery kisses on the others fluttering eyelids; one above each eye. “I promise.” And when he had looked back into those amber eyes, the sorrow had almost disappeared completely. That had been all Clancy needed. With a promise made, Torchbearer had wrapped Clancy’s shivering form in their thick woolen blanket and the next morning the sun had awoken them to yet another day.
High on adrenaline and reeling with anxiety, Torchbearer stumbled through the half-lit room. Tripping over his feet halfway through sent him to the floor and another wave of the dull pounding against his skull before he got up again, took a finale stride and came crashing down before the others slumped figure. The stone flooring was unforgiving under his vulnerable joints. A sharp pain shot through his knees and up his spine; he barely registered it.
“Oh, Clancy,” he whispered, words hot with tears. He wiped the wetness from his eyes on his sleeve. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he blinked away the tears that already had begun to form anew in the corner of his eyes. For half a second his hands hang useless in the air between them, shaking with uncertainty and not wanting to pull them away from the other but not knowing where to help first.
It was still, so still suddenly. He could have sworn he had stopped breathing if it wasn’t for the faint sensation of his chest expanding and deflating under the fabric of his hoodie. The ground beneath him shook once, twice, but no sound accompanied these eruptions. He blinked, dazed, unable to wrap his head around the slowness with which his lids seemed to close. And then it was dark, and another silent eruption shook his body. It must have been hours until he opened his eyes again, and then the sun’s rays flooded his vision again. And the crimson and the others body and his own hands began to crystallize before him again.
It all came crashing back to him and he snapped back into action before his brain even registered it. His body jumped into autopilot on its own, the automation firing up his nerves. Countless battlefields before this had taught him, he remembered. He had seen wounds; cleaned them, clothed them, stitched them. A surge of relief tingled through his arms and hands.
Stop the bleeding shot through his head. Get clean water. And fresh bandages. They would stitch Clancy back up once they got back to camp, but before that he had to get him stable enough so that the other could be transported down and out of the tower.
Stop the bleeding.
He studied the others figure; continually the dark-red liquid seeped from Clancy’s wounds deeper into dark fabric of his jacket. Torchbearer had to get him out of that heavy cloth first, then he could reach the wounds better.
He reached for the tiny piece of shiny metal dangling just beneath Clancy’s chin. When he gripped it, his fingers slid right off.
The tiny metal piece did not want to comply, keeping its grip tight on the dark fabric, not wanting to reveal what lay beneath. His blood-soaked hands were not making it any easier for him, sticky they were but too wet, and the clasp slipped from between his fingertips, again and again and again. He tried and tried, almost losing himself between the repetitions, losing sight of the greater picture before him, eyes tunneling in on the glinting silver, the reflection of the sun light within the metal stinging in his eyes. But it did not budge, mocking his desperate attempts with how tight it clung to the metal teeth binding it together.
Almost, he lost himself along the curve of the slippery metal. A faint echo brought the tunnel before his eyes to rupture, combat boots, heavy and sturdy, against solid stone. The galloping growing closer rapidly, the thumping rumbling through the tower and up the winding staircase behind him.
The small metal dangled abandoned, still neatly tucked under Clancy’s chin, as small sigh of relief escaped from Torchbearers lips. Without looking at the arriving banditos, he barked out the orders over his shoulder: “Get me clean water and fresh bandages. Hurry, we have an emergency over here!”. With that, the footsteps got lost in the depths of the tower again, just as fast as they had arrived.
He began to maneuver his arms out of the sleeves of his hoodie. Pulling it over his head, he scrunched up the soft fabric into a tight coil, ready to be used as a temporary gauze. Studying the injury made it unclear where the dark fabric ended and where the wounds began, shreds of black fabric clinging to open flesh and soft tissue, and everything swam together in a sea of dark red liquid.
He pressed the tight coil against those deep gashes, trying his best to cover the worst with the fabric.
Within seconds the dark green of the hoodie turned into a murky brown as more and more blood seeped into it. The urge to snap his hands away was nauseating, feeling the warmth of the liquid radiating against his palms and witnessing how the red crawled deeper and deeper into the crevices of his hands, forming tiny roads of torment. He had to swallow it all down, force his breathing to stay steady and focused, yet the faint taste of metal clung to the back of his throat, and the smell clogged his nostrils.
He tore his eyes away from the bloody mess and focused his gaze on Clancy’s face. In the dimly lit room he could make out the damage that was littered all over his face: bright red bruises blossoming along his cheekbone and on his jaw, a few cuts on the soft flesh, a deep path of red etched across his nose bridge. None of it was bad enough to warrant stitches. He sighed; he would take any small win he could get right now.
But how much ground was he gaining, and how much had he lost already? How long has it been?
Time was slipping through his fingers. Had it really only been minutes since he stumbled up the steps, legs heavy and eyes wild? How much blood could a person safely lose in such a short amount of time? How much blood had Clancy lost until now? And why was there still blood oozing out of his wounds? Shouldn’t it have slowed down by now? How much liquid could a hoodie’s worth of fabric soak up? Too much? Or not enough? He was losing his grip, and everything seemed to slip through his fingers.
His back began to ache from being bent over and the stress of 3 or more lifetimes weighing on his shoulders. He felt it gnaw on his bones and perforate his tissue; hollowing out his form until nothing but shreds of skin remained.
Clancy’s eyes stayed closed, amber lost in the haze of insentience. He increased the pressure on Clancy’s wounds, finding a purpose in keeping his hands steady and working.
“Come on, Clancy.” The sharp edges of desperation cut into the sturdy tissue of his throat.
The fear came back when he realized his plea met nothing but the cold stone walls around him. It slithered around his neck and squeezed. His skin tingled dangerously where the coldness lay above, seeping into him, wanting to paralyze him.
“Come on, don’t…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, wouldn’t dare speak it. Speaking it would set it free into the space between them and that would make the possibility of it occurring to real, to tangible. He feared he could manifest it into existence merely by naming it, grant it some kind of life of itself, and then he wouldn’t be able to control it anymore. So he kept it inside, pushed it back to the roof of his mouth and down down down, swallowing it whole. Unwillingly it wanted to go, but he forced it down, keeping his teeth pressed tightly together till he feared they would break so that it could not escape accidentally. He kept it down where it was far away from Clancy, where it couldn’t hurt him.
He coughed up another stream of tears and snot, hiccupping for air. Trying to regain his composure he almost missed the twitch that jerked across the other’s eyelids.
“Torch?” The other’s eyes cracked open, the amber underneath looking dull, unpolished. His words were so thin, had he not caught them they would have faded into nothingness.
No matter the lacking gleam in those eyes and the hollowness of his voice, that one word alone was enough to vibrate through his ears and echo inside his head.
The newfound hope sent another rush of adrenaline through him, hot tears once again rushing down his cheeks and into the cracks of his wobbly smile. Battling against his vision getting blurry again, he tried to wipe away the bustling streams on his upper arm, only halting his movement when he heard Clancy groan under the change of pressure against his chest.
“Sorry… sorry.” He sniffled as a laugh gurgled up his throat. The new burning firing up every last nerve in his body swept through his system completely with a he’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive echoing into the deepest, darkest crevices found inside of him. When the rush encountered the barrier of his skin he felt it bubble underneath, hot and electric, wanting to break free. Had he not been where he was at that moment, he would have jumped up and ran, screaming his lungs out while doing so just to get rid of the energy boiling in his throat. But he was there, and he would never even dare to run away from this, from him. With his hands having to stay steady and his knees firmly on the ground, the energy had only one way to break free of its constraints. A nervous laugh at first crescendoed into an almost hysterical one, echoing all the way through the tower.
The few carefree seconds were not made to last, though. The squirming Clancy underneath him struggled against his wakefulness and hearing only a maddening laugh did not help orient him. “…What?” The strain of the blood loss became evident whenever Clancy tried to speak. His voice was thin, wobbly underneath Torchbearer. But he was talking, at least. Means its not too late, we still have time.
“It’s alright,” Torchbearer tried to soothe him. “You’re okay, it’s gonna be okay.” He hoped Clancy could not hear the strain in his own words.
When he looked at the other again, he saw his amber eyes had stopped wandering by now. His gaze was fixed straight forward in an empty, unblinking gaze that was usually only reserved for the dead.
Those rich amber eyes now so devoid of life was frightening to witness. Where they once shone almost golden, sweet and rich like molten honey, like a syrupy blanket where he could lay all his fears to rest, it seemed now as if someone had emptied the can and only the murky encasing remained. He remembered how the sun would get trapped within the other’s eyes, the warm rays dancing in his eyes along with all his hopes and dreams. He remembered getting lost in them so easily, like the moths do in their campfire at night, and he would stumble on rocks and sticks in his way, but he didn’t care as long as he could gaze into those warm eyes, guiding him wherever he wanted. He needed the amber to shine bright like a gemstone again, so bright he could catch his own reflection in the yellow again and he could dream of being fossilized within that golden hue and never be away from the other’s side ever again.
Torchbearer crouched down more, shoving his face directly into the others field of vision and waiting for some kind of recognition to spark inside the amber, but nothing came. “Clancy, hey, you with me?”. Clancy looked straight through him. The sudden burst of energy turned into acid in his throat, plummeting heavy, sour into his stomach.
“You have to keep talking to me, okay? Clancy?” The silence was too deafening, carried too much nothingness that he did not want to listen to, so rambled on: “You got a bit bruised but we’re gonna patch you up, alright? You’re gonna be okay, everything is gonna be okay.” His words reached a desperation only a lost worshipper knew; with cold stone underneath and no god above but pleading nonetheless for the echo of the words to reach something bigger than himself.
If the other could not see him, was he even able to hear him? Understand his words? Or had the fever taken hold of Clancy’s brain completely, warping the remainder of his consciousness into a hazy blotch of colors and sounds?
Then, Clancy spoke again, his words barely above a hushed whisper. Hearing his sliver of a voice that almost broke off in the distance between them pulled on his heartstrings in a way that he could have sworn he felt them rupture, one after another after another after another after another, inside of him. “Dark… it’s so… dark.”
“I’m here, Clancy, you’re not alone. Focus on my voice, okay?” He hoped the other would grab onto his guidance in the dark, that his voice alone was strong enough to carry him through. Peering over his shoulder, Torchbearer realized that the life-saving supplies still hadn’t arrived and looking back at Clancy he knew time was running out. How long would it take them to gather all the things he had tasked them to bring? How much time had passed since then? Shouldn’t they be here by now? Or had the battle outside…
He buried his fingers deeper in the bloody fabric. He couldn’t take any more loss right now.
Their time was running out, the seconds eating away at the others consciousness and he could feel them feasting on his remaining sanity, too.
“Torch?” Like the flame of a match in a dark, windy tunnel his voice flickered between them whenever he tried to speak. Despite his weak state, he sounded terrified in his words.
A half-hearted smile spread painfully in the corners of his mouth and worry twisted inside his stomach into a coil of acid. “Yes, yes, that’s right, its me.”
“Keep talking to me, Clancy.” He breathed, when for a few moments he didn’t get an answer.
The only answer he got was nonverbal. Clancy began to squirm against Torchbearers grasp. His nose scrunched and eyebrows raised, amber eyes open in a grimace. Though fearfully wide, Clancy’s eyes stayed carrying the same emptiness, dull and haunted by an invisible force.
“Please!” He began to gasp. His voice was high, strained like a fishing line ready to snap. “Please, Torch!” He keened, crying for air as his breath grew more erratic. A newfound strength seemed to have possessed him, strangling him, forcing him quiet when he wanted to speak. A wail sounded again from him, echoing in the emptiness around them.
Reacting on instinct, one of Torchbearers hands abandoned the bloody coil and rushed up, cupping the side of Clancy’s face carefully. The other flinched away from the sudden contact, eyes opening impossibly wider. “Hey, hey, hey, Clancy, it’s okay. I’m here.” He shooed, waiting a moment before placing his hand on the others cheek again, who, this time, stayed in his grasp.
“…you’re not real.”
“Yes I am, I promise. I’m right here.” He had to convince the other who spoke with such a certainty that Torchbearer had to wonder what gruesome reality Clancy believed to live through behind his empty eyes in this exact moment. “I’m gonna proof it to you, okay?”
Lightly he grasped for the others hand lying palm open beside him. Clancy’s fingers twitched before enclosing his weakly. “It’s me, alright?”
Carefully he guided Clancy’s soft fingers up and to his face. The others cold hand grazed Torchbearers cheek and Torchbearer felt the remainder of his heartstrings rupture just like the others had before.
“You see? I’m right here.” Clancy’s fingers began to wander out from under his own, weakly tracing the curves and depths of Torchbearers face; over his cheekbone and up his brow, sliding along his temple up into his locks, brushing his finger lightly against them.
“It’s you.” Clancy breathed, quiet disbelief stuck in the back of his throat.
“It’s me” Torchbearer equally choked on his words, the sad smile returning to his lips. “Just hold on to me, okay, love?”
Trembling fingers twisted disoriented in his locks, finding comfort in the springs of his dark hair, before sliding down into his neck where they came to rest. “See? It’s okay, it’s me.”
“I… I wanted…” Clancy winced in pain, his nails cutting into the flesh where they rested in Torchbearers neck. He welcomed the pain. Albeit small, it offered a temporary distraction from the mental toll the current situation took on him. It also served as a reminder that Clancy was still alive, one that he more willingly accepted than the hot, sticky blood against his fingers.
“Easy, love.” With his free hand he rubbed reassuringly over Clancy’s elbow, squeezing it lightly in a small gesture.
“I wanted you to…”, Clancy tried again, “show me around the city… walls.” He rushed out the last words in feverish delusion.
“And I will.” He would have promised Clancy the moon and all its surrounding stars in that moment. The other could have asked for the sun and Torchbearer would have found a way to get his hands on it and bottle it up so Clancy could put in on his shelf between all the other shiny trinkets he collected. He would plunge the world into darkness if it meant for Clancy’s eyes to shine brighter. It’s a strategy so unfitting for a just leader, but his selfishness clawed deep within his bones and desperation made him put everything on red. “So you have to promise you’ll pull through for me, okay?”
“…okay” The moon, the stars, the sun, all the planets. The salty waves of the Paladin Strait, the high cliffs surrounding Trench, the concrete walls and towers of Dema. He was ready to take it all and grind it into dust so that Clancy would live to see another day.
“Promise me, love.”
“…promise” A tear stole itself down his cheek, unaccompanied and yet his eyes burned. He pressed a kiss on the inside of Clancy’s wrist, almost too forceful, almost boiling over with desperation. He had to feel the other in a way that was not seeping liquid, had to feel Clancy’s heartbeat against his lips to savor the sweetness of hope on his tongue. His teeth ached with the fear of loss.
Torchbearer had to speak or he would have followed Clancy into the madness of delirium. “It’s so beautiful out there, you will love it.”
“…yeah?” The pulse grew weaker under his lips.
He laughed softly, couldn’t help the chuckle. Maybe he himself was already in delirium, maybe he was still asleep in their tent back in camp and a lost soul had come to plague him in his sleep. “You always had a sense for scenery.”
The eerie silence began to stretch out between them again, making him jittery with fear. “Keep talking to me, love. Don’t get lost on me now.”
“Tell me… about it.”
“You look so beautiful with that big grin of yours.” He let his mind wander, just for a second, imagining Clancy in the middle of the golden wheat field, the horizon stretching on for miles behind him, the warm rays of the sun reaching for the both of them and casting long shadows behind them. “You can run towards the horizon for miles, trying to catch the sun before it fully rises, and still not reach the end of the fields.”
He leaned his forehead against the others and Clancy’s hand followed him at the back of his neck, still holding on to his proof of reality. In this proximity Torchbearer could hear the shallowness of the others breath. His chest tightened with fright, and he wanted to let out the shuttering breath that was seemingly punched out of him, but he stopped himself at the last second. He couldn’t let the other know how terrified he actually was.
“We will have picnic there, like that one time we did outside of camp, remember? I forgot to bring the sandwiches, and we only had grapes to eat. You were so fed up with me.”
A hint of a small smile tucked on the other’s lips. His bottom lip trembled slightly. “…hm.” Where his voice was only at whisper first, it was almost completely gone now. Torchbearer squeezed his eyes shut to breath for a second, before he spoke again: “I will show you, I promise.”
“We will watch the sunrise together” Maybe in that second he spoke it into existence more so as to make a vow with the future, to vow to let them both see another day together. Clancy’s eyes closed slightly more, the amber being taken over by the shadows gradually. “Once you’re all healed up I will take you there.”
A heartbeat later, a bucket of water was placed by his side along with a pile of pristine, white bandages in a basket.
A warm hand came to rest on Torchbearers shoulder. “We will take it from here”, the voice of rescue spoke softly. Another set of hands took over the grip on the hoodie. He felt the exhaustion in his limps as the adrenaline dissipated and he found himself giving the reins up willingly. No longer of use to the rescue effort as more skilled banditos took over his place in front of Clancy, he scooted over, yet he was not able to let the other go. His hands gravitated to Clancy like two magnets would to each other; if he were to let go now he felt the other would slip away entirely. Clancy’s face had grown colder under his palms, slowly he tried to massage some of his own warmth into his skin to keep him from freezing. “We’re gonna patch you up now. Before you know it you’re back in camp.” He heard the metal of the scissors ripping through the fabric as they cut away Clancy’s jacket, but his eyes stayed trained on the others face, quivers of unease darting over his features.
“We need to lay him on his back”, a second voice directed behind him, accompanied by fabric rustling and water splashing.
Torchbearer nodded slightly before speaking again: “we’re gonna have to rearrange you now, okay, Clancy?” The others eye lids had begun to droop even lower, the shadows of unconsciousness drawing in and fogging his irises. The only sign giving away that Clancy was still with them was his facial features moving with waves of pain as the others poked and prodded at his form, trying to get him stable enough.
He gave the others the needed space for the following steps. Once they shifted his wounded body to a more bearable position, Torchbearer scooted over to kneel to the left of Clancy’s head, careful not to obstruct the way of the other banditos. The other was lying on the floor now, chest barely rising under the hands that cleaned his wounds. With his jacket gone, Torchbearer wondered if it wouldn’t get to cold for the other to lay on the stone flooring. With both of his hands he kept Clancy’s head steady, painting soothing movements into the side of his face with his fingers.
Whenever the other winced from the movement against his wounds, Torchbearers heart tightened painfully inside of his chest. In those instances he wished he could all that ails Clancy away. Like the torch in his hand, he wanted to bear the pain for him, too. Put it all on his own shoulders and leave the other to rest, weightless and carefree. But here they were, the Torchbearers hands bloody and shaking, as if the North Star itself had dimmed in the night sky, and Clancy’s feet stumbling through the mud, earth soft and moist with his oozing blood, the soles of his boots dragging and leaving marks in the soil behind him.
He could only keep Clancy’s hand in his own, offering it for the other to squeeze when the pain got too much.
When Clancy opened his eyes again, they stung from the light coming through the fabric of the tent. Dull yellow and orange rays softly illuminated the space around him, and he found himself promptly closing his eyes again with a groan. The sun stayed with him, its velvety warmth cradling his weak frame.
“Hey, easy now.” A voice to his right piped up, soft and soothing. Although his brain was still full of thick wool, and the cushion pressed against the back of his eyes and down his throat, the unmistakable deep rumbling of that voice filled him with a serenity only one person was able to bring him.
“You got hit pretty badly. You’ll have to take it slow.” The voice continued. Clancy didn’t try to stir again and just listened to the voice lulling him further.
Warm fingertips began to traverse his locks, tangling in the rich brown and pressing soothing circles into his scalp. Clancy nuzzled closer to the addicting warmth, sinking deeper into the soft mat he was laying on. “Torch.” He mumbled as reassurance that the other was with him, holding him, not leaving his side.
“Yes, my love. You’re alright now; scared me quite a bit, though.”
“’m sorry.” He mumbled, tongue heavy. The words were burdensome to force out between all the wool in his head, its density almost obstructing all of his senses.
“It’s alright.” The fingertips wandered around his face, brushing over his cheek lightly. “You came back to me, that is all that matters now.
“It’ll take some more days before you’re back on your feet.” Torchbearer explained further while massaging tiny circles along the others cheek, never wanting to let go. The fear of feeling Clancy slipping through his fingers still rested deep in his bones, and Torchbearer had found himself not leaving the others side not even for a second these past few days. He would be there to help Clancy back on his feet when it was time.
“We’ll take it slow, okay? There is no rush.”
“Torch?” Clancy quirked up again, voice laced with exhaustion.
“Yeah?”
“Gimme a kiss?”
The other chuckled above him, lightly like a warm summer breeze, and Clancy’s mouth quirked upwards just the tiniest bit.
“You’re insatiable, you know that? Even when you’re wounded you’re still so demanding.”
He exhaled audibly, not being able to form a chuckle in this state. “It’s what you love about me”
“I love everything about you.” Clancy felt the others nose nuzzle against his cheek, then, his soft breath tickling faintly against his bare skin.
A tiny kiss was pressed onto the corner of his mouth, small and fleeting, before they fully pressed onto his. A small sigh escaped Clancy’s lips, sending shivers of pure bliss down the others spine.
“The field…” Clancy began again when they parted, Torchbearers breath still ghosting across his lips. In their shared intimacy, where their breaths fell into sync, his voice was barely above a whisper. The others thumb brushed reassuringly over Clancy’s forehead, soothing, waiting for the fog to clear up so he would continue his train of thought.
“Is it like this? In the early morning hours?”
“Just as bright I’m afraid.” Torchbearer’s chuckle reverberated in the valleys of Clancy’s lips and continued to dance across his cheeks. He was sure he would taste the sweetness of joy on his tongue if he licked the trace from his lips.
“That’s fine. Then I will just look at you instead.”
“Okay, it’s a date then. Once you’re back on your feet I’ll take you.” A date. He remembered them having a handful of them before, still his heart felt like it would burst at the seams at those words.
“Now, though, you get some more rest.” One of Torchbearers hands found Clancy’s, interlocking their fingers. Bringing their hands up, he placed another soft kiss against the back of Clancy’s hand. He couldn’t keep his mouth and his love to himself today, it seemed. And Clancy wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Stay?” He didn’t have to ask, he knew that.
“I’m not going anywhere, don’t worry, love.”
Torchbearer held his hand as Clancy drifted off into sleep again. His dream was full of bright yellow and oranges, golden fields, and deep brown eyes, gleaming like molten chocolate, rich and sweet, under the suns rays.