Chapter Text
How had he let it come to this?
In his life, he had learned that no one just did things out of the goodness of their hearts. Payment was to be made up front, or you’ll end up getting swindled.
Yes, he was jaded; but experience had made him this way. Nothing is given to you, it must be bought or earned.
So why was he the one breaking that rule? When did he start making sacrifices?
Warning people against danger was one thing. Easy really. Job done, if they don’t listen that’s on them- but putting himself in danger to save them? That was something that fools in fairytales did. Not him.
Or so he had thought.
And now he’s on the floor, gasping through the taste of blood in his mouth as Marcille leans over him, speaking words that sound distant even to his sensitive ears.
Had he been pushed underwater? No, that didn’t make any sense. They were in a brick strewn corridor, nowhere near any bodies of water. So then why did he feel like he was drowning?
Something warm pools its way under his pinky, slithering around the last knuckle where it lays on the ground. He clenches his fingers, feeling the liquid gather between the digits, shuttering at the gross feeling of it cooling rapidly against his skin.
He looks down at it, movements slow, and once again wonders if he really isn’t underwater.
On his hand, the liquid is dark and red and thick and-
Oh, Right. Blood.
He remembers this feeling, of bleeding out. His first death he had been stabbed through the throat by a mimic, not easy to forget. And that wasn’t the only time; but those had all been his own fault for being so reckless.
This time he’d shoved someone out of the way. He had done it intentionally, and he doesn’t understand why.
Now they’ll have to go on without him. There’s no way they can risk a backlash if Marcille tries to resurrect him, and he can tell by the blackness creeping its way around his vision that the wound is fatal and he doesn’t have very long before he bleeds out.
Man that sucks.
They’d be fine right? Laios is nothing if not stubborn, though lacking a bit in the common sense department, but Marcille could keep him reigned in somewhat. Senshi is strong, and wise to the ways of the dungeon. Maybe they wouldn’t miss him, maybe someone would come along to drag him back to the surface. He could finally go and retire, see his daughters again, open his shop and live the rest of his life in peace.
But what if they don’t make it? What if they get caught up in some trap and have to start all over again? What would happen to Falin? Could someone come back after being digested? Was that really possible?
A sudden fear creeps over him, closing in like the very real chill of shock and blood loss. She could die for good and it would be all his fault. He shouldn’t care, but he does. They have to know that he didn’t want this to happen, before it’s too late.
He grabs at Marcille’s arm, small hand slipping over the soft cotton of her sleeve before he catches the cloth between his fingers, blood coloring the blue an ugly purple. She stops talking mid sentence, mouth hanging open as she directs her attention away from his wound, green eyes wide with fear.
Maybe someday he’ll tell her she’s pretty, but more likely what will come out is that she’s pretty annoying. But now isn’t the time for any of that.
“M’sorry…” the words bubble past a mouthful of blood and he chokes on it, ignoring the feeling of it running down his chin as he coughs.
Marcille just stares at him for a moment dumbfounded before her brows scrunch and a fire lights in her eyes.
“Oh no! No, nope! You’ll be fine! Stop talking and save your strength!”
“Marcille-”
“I said stop talking!”
He doesn’t really have a choice in the matter now, his strength is fading fast. He can’t hold on any longer and his hand drops from her arm, eyelids slipping closed of their own accord.
“No, hey! Chilchuck, look at me!” She sounds panicked, and he can just see her leaning over him, her free hand cupping his cheek and turning his head towards her.
Someone speaks on his other side, matter of fact and calm as a muscular arm lifts him under the shoulders. He decides it must be the same person.
“Alright kid, I need you to open up. This is going to taste horrible but it’ll keep you with us for the time being.”
Only Senshi calls him that, and while he feels a tick of annoyance, he doesn’t have the energy to do much else than open his mouth. Either this kills him or the blood loss, he’s not going to be picky.
Whatever it is, it’s warm, liquid, and extremely bitter, managing to overpower the metallic taste of blood. He gags once but manages to keep it down, eyes closed and fully leaning into the arm under his back now.
How embarrassing, being held like this. He hasn’t felt this way since he was a child.
A tingling feeling washes over him and the pain begins to fade into the background. He’s exhausted, his thoughts covered in a heavy fog, his limbs no longer cooperating as he feels his head drop back.
“Is he going to be okay?” A voice, concerned and light.
“He’ll be fine missy. Let’s get him somewhere safe and then you can use some of your magic on him for good measure.” A rumbling voice next to his ear.
“Here, let me.” Steadfast, young and determined.
Suddenly it feels like he’s floating, being lifted into the sky. He lets himself go.