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The walk back to camp felt impossibly long. Not because the distance had changed, but because every step Clancy took looked borrowed.
Torchbearer stayed close enough that their shoulders bumped every few paces. Sometimes Clancy stumbled, and a hand was immediately around his waist before he could hit the ground. Neither of them spoke much. There wasn't anything left to say on the road out of Dema.
The city behind them was quiet. Not peaceful. Just... quiet. The towers no longer held the same suffocating weight they'd carried for decades. Smoke drifted lazily into the gray sky while the remaining citizens cautiously emerged into streets they'd never been allowed to truly own.
It was over. Nico was gone. The bishops had fallen and Clancy was still standing. Barely.
The Bandito camp didn't erupt into cheers when they saw them. The celebration died before it could begin. Everyone's attention landed on Clancy's uneven gait and the exhaustion carved into every inch of his face.
Torchbearer quietly waved everyone back.
"Give him room."
No one argued. Someone dragged over a stump near the center of camp. Torchbearer guided Clancy toward it, keeping an arm around him until the younger man lowered himself onto the rough wood with a shaky exhale.
"...There."
Clancy nodded faintly.
"I'm fine."
Torchbearer looked at him.
"...You're a terrible liar."
A tired, almost invisible smile twitched at the corner of Clancy's mouth.
"Just take my word....for it."
Torchbearer crouched in front of him to check for obvious injuries, such as cuts or bruises. The cut across his nose and lip were old news. What really caught his eyes was something darker. Fresh and dried blood, high on Clancy's inner shoulders, where the red tape lay on the black jacket.
Torchbearer's stomach dropped.
"...Clancy."
No response.
"...Look at me."
Clancy lifted tired eyes.
"You're bleeding."
"Still...?"
Torchbearer reached toward the wounds. His fingers barely touched the fabric before a cold, blackened hand grabbed his wrist. Clancy's grip wasn't strong. It didn't need to be. The pain on his face said enough. His breathing caught. His shoulders tensed.
"Don't..."
The word came out strained.
Torchbearer looked from the hand around his wrist back to Clancy's face.
"You can't move your shoulders."
Silence.
"...Can you?"
Clancy looked away.
"...It hurts."
"I know." Torchbearer's voice stayed impossibly gentle. "But I need to see."
Clancy squeezed his eyes shut. For a long second, neither of them moved. Then, the grip around Torchbearer's wrist slowly loosened, his blackened fingers slipped away.
"...Okay."
Barely above a whisper.
Torchbearer nodded once.
"I've got you."
Carefully, he pushed open the jacket up and over Clancy's shoulders. Every inch seemed to make him flinch. The fabric shifted and dislodged itself from the wound holes. Clancy inhaled sharply through clenched teeth.
"...Sorry."
"It's okay..."
Torchbearer eased one sleeve down first, then the other. Clancy tried helping by shrugging the jacket free and immediately regretted it. A broken gasp escaped him as both shoulders protested. His entire body locked up. Torchbearer immediately steadied him.
"Don't."
"I was trying—"
"I know."
Torchbearer slid the jacket off the rest of the way himself. Following up with the zip up Clancy wore underneath as well.
"There."
Clancy sat breathing harder now. Sweat already forming along his brow. His shirt still hid whatever Nico had done. Torchbearer hesitated only long enough to ask quietly,
"...Can I?"
A tired nod.
Torchbearer hooked his fingers beneath the hem.
"Raise your arms?"
"...Not much."
"I'll do the work."
Another nod.
Slowly, the shirt came upward. Clancy bit down hard enough that his jaw trembled. Every inch of fabric dragged across wounded muscle, pulling at dried blood clinging to his skin. Torchbearer paused whenever Clancy needed to breathe.
"No rush."
Eventually the shirt cleared his head.
Torchbearer froze.
The entire camp seemed to stop breathing with him. Just below each collarbone were two deep angry puncture wounds. Perfectly matched. Dark red. Edges swollen and bruised purple. Blood still welled sluggishly from both holes, trailing down over Clancy's chest despite everything having happened hours ago. The wounds were unmistakably from Nico impaling him with his own antlers.
Torchbearer's throat tightened.
"...Traelea..."
Clancy glanced down.
"They looked worse before."
Torchbearer almost laughed at the absurdity.
"...Those are your standards?"
"He missed anything important."
"You don't know that."
"I'm alive aren't I?"
"That's not the same thing."
Clancy fell quiet.
Torchbearer gently inspected the skin surrounding the wounds without pressing directly against them. They were hot and inflamed. Dirty from dust, ash, and dried blood. His heart sank.
"If these get infected..."
"They won't."
"Trench isn't exactly sanitary."
Clancy sighed.
"I know."
Torchbearer looked over his shoulder.
"Im going to take him to go wash up. We need boiled water to sterilize him afterwards."
Several Banditos were already moving.
"And clean cloth!"
Someone sprinted toward the medical tent.
"Needle and thread?"
"No." Torchbearer shook his head immediately. "They're punctures. Let them drain."
He looked back at Clancy. Those wounds had to hurt every time he breathed. Every movement of his shoulders tugged against torn muscle. Yet he'd walked all the way back to camp without once asking to stop. Torchbearer rested one hand lightly against Clancy's arm.
"You carried this the whole way."
Clancy gave the faintest shrug before immediately wincing.
"...Didn't have much choice."
"No." Torchbearer's voice softened. "I suppose you didn't."
For the first time since they'd left Dema, Clancy looked tired enough to stop pretending. His head leaned forward, closing his eyes.
The stream had always been a place of quiet.
Banditos came here to wash clothes, fill canteens, or simply escape the noise of camp for a while. Today, it became something else. A place to finally let go.
Torchbearer eased Clancy into the shallow water, supporting him beneath one arm as he lowered him onto a smooth rock where the stream reached just above his waist. The cool water rippled around them.
Clancy inhaled sharply at the temperature.
"...Cold."
"It'll help once you get used to it."
"You'd think the sun would've warmed it up more..."
Within moments, the constant tension holding Clancy's shoulders rigid began to loosen, if only a little. The luke warm water soothed aching muscles that had been clenched for far too long.
Torchbearer knelt beside him. A clean cloth rested in one hand. He dipped it beneath the current before gently wringing it out.
"I'm going to clean you up."
Clancy gave a sleepy hum that might have been agreement.
Torchbearer started carefully around the puncture wounds first, never touching them directly. The dried blood softened beneath the damp cloth. Ash lifted away. Gray streaks disappeared into the current. The bruising around the wounds looked even worse now that the dirt was gone, blooming deep violet beneath caramel skin.
Torchbearer forced himself not to linger. Instead he continued upward, across Clancy's shoulders, along the back of his neck.
The black smear stained nearly every inch of skin there. It climbed beneath his ear and curled up along his jaw.
Torchbearer frowned. It had spread farther than he'd realized.
Almost without thinking, he reached up. His thumb brushed against the side of Clancy's neck, rubbing gently. He expected nothing to happen. Instead, the black came away.
Torchbearer blinked.
His thumb was stained. Beneath it was clean skin.
"...What?"
He looked down at the cloth. Another careful swipe. More black lifted away effortlessly, dissolving into the rushing water like watered-down ink.
"...Clancy?"
"Hm..."
"It..."
Torchbearer rubbed again. The stain simply disappeared like paint. Nothing resisted him.
Clancy merely tilted his head away from the hand resting against his neck, silently giving Torchbearer better access. No hesitation. No discomfort beyond the obvious soreness. Just trust.
Torchbearer carefully continued.
The black receded from Clancy's neck and beneath his jaw. The healthy color of his skin slowly returned.
"...Would you look at that..."
Clancy cracked one eye open.
"...What's happening?"
"It's coming off."
"...What is?"
"The smear."
Clancy looked mildly confused.
Torchbearer held up the cloth. Dark streaks stained the fabric.
"...It's wiping away."
For a moment, Clancy simply stared.
"...That's..." Another blink. "...Unexpected."
Torchbearer almost laughed.
"I thought it'd be...I don't know...Permanent? Something like that."
Clancy let out the faintest tired chuckle.
"So did I."
Torchbearer moved lower. He gently took one of Clancy's hands. Black stained every finger, embedded beneath every nail. It had looked impossible to remove before. Now, Torchbearer simply lowered the hand beneath the stream. Using both thumbs, he rubbed slowly over the back of it. The water immediately turned dark. Black ribbons twisted downstream. More and more of Clancy's skin appeared beneath the stain. His knuckles. His fingers. His palm. Torchbearer repeated the process with the other hand. The black simply melted away, like it had never belonged there.
Clancy watched through heavy eyelids, his expression barely changed. Too exhausted to react much.
"...Huh..."
He slowly turned one hand over. Flexed his fingers. The familiar skin underneath looked almost foreign.
"...Didn't think..." His voice drifted. "...It would be... that easy."
Torchbearer smiled softly.
"I have a guess."
Clancy looked at him.
"...Maybe..." Torchbearer rinsed the cloth again. "...Maybe Nico's hold on you died with him."
The words settled quietly between them. Clancy stared down at his clean hands. Then looked toward the current carrying the black away. A small, very small, smile found its way onto his face.
"...I'd like that to be true..."
His eyes slowly closed again. The smile lingered. His shoulders rose with a careful breath. Immediately, the wounds beneath his collarbones protested. His face pinched. He took in another slow inhale and controlled exhale, trying not to think about it. Finally, his voice was barely louder than the stream.
"...I'm so tired..."
The words weren't dramatic. They weren't a complaint. Just...honest. Torchbearer's chest ached.
How long had Clancy been carrying everything? The city. The bishops. Nico. The expectations. The fear. Years of never being allowed to stop. Years of surviving instead of living and somehow, even after all of that, he'd still found the strength to bring Dema down.
Torchbearer reached forward. One hand slipped gently behind Clancy's neck. His fingers rested lightly in the damp hair at the base of his skull, careful of every bruise, every sore muscle. He leaned forward until their foreheads met. Cool water flowed around them. Neither spoke for several seconds, then Torchbearer whispered,
"You can rest now."
Clancy's breathing faltered.
"You already did the hard part."
Torchbearer's thumb stroked gently behind his ear.
"...It's my turn now." Another quiet breath. "My turn to carry you."
Clancy's lips parted as if to argue, but nothing came out. Instead, he let out a long and heavy sigh. Years of tension leaving with it. Then, almost unconsciously, he leaned forward. Pressing his forehead more firmly against Torchbearer's. Nearly closing the tiny space that remained. The curve of their noses seamlessly lining up as if they were meant to fit together like a puzzle. Torchbearer smiled through the sting gathering behind his eyes.
"I've got you."
Clancy didn't answer. He didn't need to. The way he melted into the touch. The way his shoulders finally stopped trying to bear the impossible alone. Said it all. Clancy allowed himself to believe someone else's promise.
"Cover me...?" Clancy sighed.
"Covering you." Torchbearer smiled fondly.
Clancy let himself rest. The cycle had finally been broken.