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Sora woke up.
The recollections of what had happened right before were fleeting, as many memories for her were. One moment, she had been waiting in that giant vast room that felt so, so small when she was there alone with her master- Father- Master- and another, she had been fighting alongside- Someone whose name escaped her, their face too, the two of them (Though truly, her memories were so scattered she hardly trusted they existed) facing down the visage of a demon, Sora's sister, who wasn't really her sister, but the word sounded nice, the idea of family beyond herself and Mister Rien feeling like- Warm hot cocoa in winter, or maybe soft and sweet ice cream. Then the world blackened, and-
And the next, final moment was her, awakening on a thin mattress and a metal frame. Better than her old bed, as at least it was unstained and fresh despite the bare threads. More of a comfort than she had known for a while.
What exactly had happened, how she survived- The answer was unclear, but a deep pit in her stomach churned as she realised what that meant for her unresolved Prescript.
Because- She failed, right? She failed to stop Yoshihide. She made it through, like her pager asked, but her mission was no success. If she was here, and Mister Rien was not, then-
She choked on a sob. It dripped out of her throat like poison. The weight of what happened clung to her back like Atlas shouldering the world. The consequences of failure, for one, and the heavy, crushing fear of what could come next for the girl who'd just lost it all.
...Maybe he's just outside. Maybe they're all healing together! The House of Spiders burned, but surely they evacuated somewhere safe. Just because the halls looked like Limbus Company's did not mean they were, surely. Her father would be waiting, with ice cream, and a pat to her head that never failed to make her flinch with how gentle it was, yet how insidious, but that was just how fathers and masters were, she reckoned, and he'd tell her she did a good job, and even if Yoshihide got away, she could be his real daughter, for real. And her pager would beep and tell her that her Prescript was clear, and she'd thank it for its kindness to her, even when she failed to follow it in its unquestionable wholeness, and she would not fear, nor would she feel sick because she failed and that she was a terrible Proxy. Her vision blackened at the edges. Unbeknownst to her, her hands were shaking, nails bitten to hell and back clawing into her palms with the force but not the sharpness to draw blood, not without Procuration active.
Another sob threatened to tear out, a long drawn out death rattle of a wail as Sora's world disintegrated slice by slice, but the crushing weight of karma was gently pushed away by the sound of sniffling from a bed Sora had thought empty until now.
"..."
How long had she been out? How long had it been since she had spoken, uttered her final words before what she thought would be oblivion? Opening her mouth, her lips could form the letters, even with her ever-present stutter, but the noises refused to come.
She coughed weakly, hummed a little. Tried to warm herself up.
"...H-hello..?"
Was someone else there? She'd fight to defend herself, but breaking from her thoughts brought with it the painful realisation that her limbs were heavy, sore. The licks of flame and slices of blades had their toll on her clammy white flesh, old bruises hidden under new, worse wounds, a new pain to brush over the little pains of her past, and she was feeling them now. Fighting would be hard with heavy head, arms and soul, and so for her sake (She hated to think selfishly, when her thoughts before this were all for the Prescripts, the Index, Mister Rien. If they served her, that was good, too, but her will was her god's, at the end of the day, and actions for herself were for the Prescripts), she hoped it was a friend.
The sniffling continued, louder. The frail figure under the cover shifted, restless, erratic, like it was being chased, its legs kicking, writhing. Sora inched away, blinking confusedly- In the confusion of awakening, she'd forgotten to put her glasses back on- until a voice she recognised whimpered in his sleep.
"..N-no... I don't... I don't hate you... I..."
Yes, it was a voice Sora was much more used to hearing in a clear, unwavering manner. The boy, about her age, was polite, with a soft voice, though not weak, able to speak with the confidence of his post, yet in a manner of submission, so that his Nursefather may not beat him senseless.
It hurt to hear his voice crack, in a way it had not when his ribs where broken, face bloodied, legs and arms and fleshy bits bruised and bludgeoned and exhausted without reprieve. Now, when he was safest, was when he'd finally broken.
"...Lucio?"
It was nothing more than babbling, the swordsman fighting an invisible threat, one that even now snaked itself around his neck like a noose. Sora could relate. Her heart would soothe her pain, but whatever tiny, rational part of her brain remained knew that the House of Spiders had left its mark on all of its apprentices for the very worst.
She sat in silence for a moment, listening, a passive presence to the sick display. She had not been commanded to comfort him, did not know if she was allowed, or if touching him would double the weight of consequence on her back, and so in that moment, inaction was her action, her hands clawing at her palms, her knuckles, wrists- Wings, it felt weird to not be shackled.
...That wasn't a good sentence to think out of context, she grimaced.
No, it was all very... Wrong. It was what she knew, however, and that was the only security she needed, when her father-not-father-master-monster-mister was gone maybe, and her home destroyed, and she was a spider with no web.
And so, instructed not, she laid down, and listened to Lucio cry. And it hurt to hear a friend in pain, but choosing for herself with no direction hurt more.
Lucio had tried to kill his mother, and he, once again, had failed. The routine remained the same every night, where Valencina would drink, and scream, at him, at the invisible spectre of Yoshihide that haunted them both, even when he hardly had a face to put to the name, at the ceiling, at the other Nursefathers... Screaming was the common denominator, either way, as creative as she was with who the cause of all of her problems was. Then, she would lay on her couch, always her couch, where she'd burned his arm with a cigar butt when he'd leaned against it as an inexperienced greenie, and after a quiet cry, tears and blood intermingling in her eye, she'd fall asleep, chest bared to the world, like an invitation to strike.
And Lucio would stand over her, blade in hand. Watching. It would be so easy. He'd killed before, he knew the place to strike-
"Stab the heart in front of you!"
And he'd deliberate. And deliberate, and think again and again, grip tight, getting sweaty, the handle of his blade starting to burn into his skin. The night grew long, but his rage neither abated nor blossomed, and he'd stay stood still for hours, watching. Thinking.
"Stab that bastard's heart!"
Valencina's voice was like a knife in his brain. It hurt to recall, but he didn't know why. His chest burned.
Most evenings, it would end the same. He'd grow weak in the early hours, like the novice he was, neither strong enough to stand resolute, nor to end it all there and then, and he would retreat to his room to sleep, picking at his scabs so they wouldn't heal, his own personal little punishment.
Tonight was different. He stared at his mother, his patron, the guardian angel who took him from poverty into the arms of La Famiglia, somewhere he'd survive, have purpose, at the cost of a few extra broken bones. The target of her exposed flesh, the vulnerable sprawl she had taken. Aim for the heart. Cut it down. Cut her down. His heart felt like it was falling apart as he raised his blade and he struck it into her and he grinned at his decision, at his freedom, yes, the freedom he desired and feared, but it was too late to fear now-
Valencina's eye swung open, and his blade bounced aside with such ferocity that he felt the tremor in his arms.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Textbook?"
And he had no response that was not stammering nor a beg for mercy, so he remained quiet, as she loomed over him, and suddenly she was all too tall, and he was a kid in the Backstreets again, bony and frail and small.
"When your superior asks you a question-" And he feels the leather of her glove strike his jaw with the force of a gun, "You respond."
"...I apologise."
Wrong answer. The hand that fed slapped him again, the skin of his cheek reddening with shame and pain instantly.
"Do you hate me, Textbook? Lucio, do you hate me? Are you that ungrateful for the chances you, some- Fucking rat off the streets, got!?"
"...I don't- I don't hate you-" He lied, not untruthfully, "I'm not- Ungrateful-"
"Are you not!? After you tried to ram a fucking sword through my chest!?"
Another strike. Another. The blood running from his nose was hot and sticky and it tasted like iron. His skin blossomed into hues of blue with every beat- It was a little fast, wasn't it? Skin didn't bruise so swiftly. He could not focus, though, as his body was thrown to the floor, like he was much, much smaller than his muscled frame implied.
"You... You told me-"
"Told you what, Textbook? To stop being a fucking failure!?"
"To... To strike the heart."
Valencina's form hunched over him. It didn't quite look like her, her hair too dark, eyes too wide, scared in a way she never would have let him see her, and Lucio questioned for a moment who it was he saw instead. Her snarl was familiar, though, as was her cigar, as was the sword she held high, her presence enough to ensure he didn't move to escape. Yes, he'd messed up. And she'd show him how to finish the job properly.
And he would not, would never, never again, turn against her will.
The blade pushed through his heart, and the pain felt real enough that he screamed, sure he had felt such a pain before, like some sick sense of deja vu, and he unravelled, and the room did as well, and the ceiling above- Falling away to darkness, his body falling away, his heart torn out of his pectoral, the room's walls crumpling, the lights exploding, and it's just him and Valencina and nothing else, and then he's gone, too. And he swore he could see her expression fall in horror and the cigar drop from her lips before-
He woke up. Breathing, heavily. Body unbruised. Heart in his chest - But the dull pain spreading through his chest reminded him exactly why he was in a hospital bed. Visions of chitin, the stink of smoke, from cigarettes and a long-gone war that lingered still, a panicked cry as Lucio lunged and then darkness-
Oh.
He'd probably nearly died.
...Valencina probably did die.
...
He was free.
...Admittedly, he had dreamed about it a few times, more than a few, even. What he'd do outside of the House. After his purpose was spent, when he was free. There had been a reason they'd remained just as dreams. Because he was nothing, outside of the Spider's Web. Because without Valencina, he was nothing. He was a Textbook left unwritten.
He had no tears to cry at her death, but he had no hope with her gone. He stared at his hands, the bandages on his arms, far less shoddily wrapped than they had been for a long time. A fresh start... Though there wasn't anything left to be reborn anew. Lucio was a husk.
He sighed, softly, and became uncomfortably, viscerally aware that someone was staring at him.
"...Can I help you?"
His voice was not as strong as he had wanted it to sound, softened by irrational fear and the grogginess of recently waking.
"O-oh. You're awake! H-Hi, Lucio!"
...Oh, great.
He did not dislike Sora. He didn't dislike any of the apprentices; they were all in hell together, after all, and no one of them was any better than the others. He did not know any of them well, however, not strange Albina, with her fleshborn sword, nor Kira, ever so loud and immature, or- Ah... He wasn't sure who else there was.
And Sora. She was... He didn't know her. None of them, really, he was a distant observer as he trained and trained and trained. And all he knew of Sora was that she stuttered, and had EGO, for whatever reason, and she did strange, offputting things, because the Prescripts and her Nursefather told her to. Strange, impractical clothes, chains and shackles, days she'd go hungry or stand stock still. She'd annoy the others, with her critical comments on their interests and her blunt words, even if he could presume she meant well. In all, if he had to choose a prisoner in a room with him, she would not be his first, nor his last, option.
But he didn't get to choose. And then, there were two.
"...Hello. "
...What does one even say? 'Sorry you might have seen me screaming at a dream of my death'? 'How was your ass-kicking at Yoshihide's hands'?
"...Where are we?"
As good a start as any.
"I- I don't know... It looks like- T-the LCE place we raided..?"
That sounded as reasonable as anything. That Limbus Company that Yoshihide worked for was an interesting place, wasn't it? Encouraging the destruction of their own branch- Even if he didn't see much of the carnage, himself, on his hostage mission. Whatever machinations they had in store for the former apprentices could be anything, like tearing free of the web and stumbling straight into the maw of the waiting snake. That scared him. He was still a prisoner.
"...I see. And are you okay?"
He could see how her eyes widened, her head shrink into her shoulders- It looked weird, seeing her without the collar she'd always wear, her mouth visible in a grimace.
"...I- I don't know. I don't k-know anymore."
Neither did he. He wasn't sure anything could be okay, anymore.
"...Physically, I mean."
"O-oh... Um... I've got some- Bruises, but I- I think they're old..."
Sora looked down at her bare arms in her hospital gown, frowning.
"Um- L-Looks like some scars and burns from the fight. They- They'll heal, probably, e-even if Yoshihide inflicted them, r-right?"
He didn't know. Their superiors' hadn't. He hoped so. Even when he knew nothing about Sora, she was the closest thing to familiarity, right now.
"...A-and you?"
"...Ah," he sighed, taking in the sight of his bandaged arms.
"...Nothing new. I think they gave me an ampule while we were in the House, given the circumstances."
Sora looked jealous, he guessed. Her face was all scrunched up like an angry cat.
"L-lucky... What e-even happened to you?"
He paused, violet eyes glazing over slightly.
"...Just a nasty run-in."
His mind returned to his final moments. The piercing pain that tore through his chest, the way his muscles twitched, like he were a fly in its death throes, limbs spasming in a final act of desperation, before he went limp. The expression of that strange, insectile man, terrified- Resigned. Lucio had gotten the sense that they were both helpless bugs in their own little nets. He... He couldn't blame him, for killing him. He should have stayed dead.
The answer sated Sora, at least, who nodded and laughed quietly.
"I- I guess the same happened to- M-me. Big si- Yoshihide, she's... R-really scary, isn't she?"
Could they have a different conversation? Lucio was not in the mood for reminiscence, anymore. His mother was dead. His purpose nixed. He's- Nothing.
"...Mm."
"A-and now, um- I-I guess we have the whole world a-as our oyster..? 'Cause- 'Cause I don't know if anyone else is- H-here with us."
Stop talking.
"...I-I... I don't think Mister Rien is coming back, is he?"
Stop it.
"...I-I'm scared, Lucio-"
"Stop."
Sora flinched.
"...S-sorry. I-I'm being stupid, again. I just don't- Don't know what I'm gonna d-do now. D-do you? A-are you gonna try and join the Thumb proper? O-or-"
...His expression softened, creases in the corners smoothing that he didn't realise were there. Pity flooded his veins, and a similar fear. The Thumb surely would not take him, anymore, his life stained with Valencina's cigar stench. So, he'd choose patience, rather than a return to what he knew.
"I think," Lucio started, Sora jumping a little in surprise, "I'll wait and see. I need to heal up, first. Nowhere I want to go will take me, anyway."
She'd been jealous, almost, of him, and always had been. Even if he was beaten and bruised, Valencina's attention was unconditional. She cherished her broken Textbook, always took care of him- Never good care, and she supposed it didn't make up for the torment Lucio suffered, but at least he was seen. At least she'd look at him, and say "That's my apprentice." She wished her Nursefather would have ever done the same. Sora thought that may make her a bad person.
That envy returned now, hot and electric. How could he? How could he wait, take losing everything so nonchalantly? Even when the House of Spiders had given him dreams as cruel as what she had just seen, it was home. How was he not crying and breaking down, right now, like she felt like doing? How could he keep going when Sora, alone and in pain, could only wait until her karma came along and crushed her under its weight? She's turned her eye from her duty, her devotion, and even if it was not of her own accord, the punishment would be indiscriminate towards the cause of impiety.
She only realised she was crying when the hot tears hit her scarred, bitten hands, and her shoulders heaved and shook.
"Sora. Are you okay?"
The voice was distant, but getting closer. Her head spun. How could anything be okay? She needed the Prescripts. She needed them to tell her she was right, that her desires to live on were okay, that she could think for herself. Her freedom was the ball and chain that threatened to drown her before she could break the surface.
"Sora."
She could faintly hear Lucio grunt in pain, the sound of footsteps dragging. A hand touched her shoulder, and she flinched. Contact scared her. She couldn't do it. It hurt, the brush against her skin. Every touch hurt.
"D-don't touch me-"
She paused, hand mid-swing, staring into her fellow apprentice's eyes. He did not look offended at her rejection. He looked worried.
"Very well. May I sit at the end of your bed?"
She could get a better look at the heavy bandaging around his chest. It wasn't just a run-in he'd had, was it?
"...Y-yes please."
She sat cross-legged, arms straight, wrists together, the posture she'd always taken and she wasn't going to change any time soon, even without her sword around her hands. She gave a smile, nervous and shaky, saltwater tears gathering on her lower lip. Lucio joined her, sat more primly, legs together and hanging off the bed, though his upper body twisted awkwardly to face her.
"Are you okay?"
"...I- I told you. I'm not."
"...That's alright. I'm not, either."
Her eyes went wide.
"...B-but.. You sounded so-"
"Certain? I just have ideas, for now. I don't even know why we're here, let alone what will happen to us."
That... Was true. Limbus Company's motives evaded her.
"B-But if they wanted us dead, they'd have- They wouldn't have healed us, r-right?"
He nodded, staring at the floor.
"...I- I don't know what I can do, now. I don't want to- Go back to how things were. B-before I joined the Index. It's.. It's t-too much."
Too much had changed. She'd changed.
"...What's your favourite ice cream, Sora?"
That felt out of place. Sora tilted her head, nervous. Was there a right answer? Was he judging her taste?
"...U-um. Vanilla..? With- With almond on top! I-It's not basic... Vanilla has a nice- Flavour."
But despite her desperate defense, Lucio just smiled.
"...I've not had ice cream in a long time. We could go get some, after we get out of here. That could be your goal."
...It was a nice idea. She'd been craving some ice cream after the raid. And her beeper, it had never opposed her having some- So it probably- The Will of the City wouldn't mind her having some. Probably. Maybe it would judge her, punish her, karma tight on her neck because she hadn't deserved to get a nice treat, but she didn't know that. Maybe it would be okay.
"...O-okay! I'll show you the best places to buy some, okay? And- We'll have a really, really n-nice day."
Lucio smiled.
She reckoned, with his words to her then, with his terrified screaming in that dream, with logic and reason returning to her mind after her sudden anxiety, that Lucio was not doing all that well, himself. He could talk smoothly, plan for a future that may not come, but his hands still shook when he didn't realise, and he was still as trapped as any of the other apprentices may have been in the shadows of the past. Yet, he was trying to be strong for her. It made her happy, even as guilt held her heart, knowing she had not helped him through his dream as he had helped her through her fear. She could have- She should have, even uncommanded.
...Maybe next time. She knew his dreams would return, as would her fear for a future without prescription, and maybe, that next time, they'd be there to lean on each other, ensure they weren't alone. It felt naive, Sora admitted, but... Maybe, she'd feel happy to call Lucio her friend, properly.