At least, Faustite knew, these shoddy arrangements were still a distinct improvement from how Aelius was kept. It was hardly a comfort, however.
Albite looked wearied to the bone and ready to drop, like every modicum of optimism had fled him in the face of nearly losing someone with whom he forged close ties. Faustite sent him away, bade him off to stay with Cryolite where he'd receive the care and rest and break that he deserved for all he'd gone through in the past days.
Where Albite had been ready to drop, Faustite was thrumming with an anxious, pent-up energy. He'd paced and plotted and planned how best they could shelter Aelius for a time, but thoughts and suppositions hardly sated his worries the way that actions did. There was nothing else for it, then; Faustite knew he had to swallow down all of his trepidation and face the boy himself.
But he would not do so unprepared. The better part of a half-hour was spent amassing a well-stocked first aid kit, a serving platter, a fresh pot of tea, cups, spoons, a bowl of sugar and carafe of cream, a pair of blankets that were folded after being checked for stains or holes, and a cookie tray he'd gotten from Axinite. Much of these items were banished to his liminal pocket. After donning his cincher, Faustite kept the blankets pinned to his feverish side with an elbow and supported the platter on one (moderately protesting) hand.
It was then that he ascended the stairs, and each step broadened the pit in his stomach until he reached the landing. Until he was three paces from Aelius's door. Until he was facing the old paneling, his free hand hesitating, before he finally rapped his knuckles lightly on the surface and let himself in.
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It was like a switch had been flicked off the moment Aelius knew he was back within safe arms and company. The remaining energy he had felt like it drained from his body in a steady flow as the excitement faded. The flurry of his extraction from the cold, run down building more of a blur than a solid memory as he finally let himself relax. So, to say he had been oblivious to most of the trouble that Faustite and Albite had gone through to prepare a space for him wouldn’t be an undersight.
Once he’d been placed on the leather couch, it felt like his body was being sucked into the well-loved furniture. The softness of it along with the general warmth of the house lulled him into an off and on fit of slumber.
With the adrenaline of the night gone, Aelius’s condition went downhill with it. The cough that had began to present itself earlier turned into a more concerning racking cough that persistently woke him. With each cough his body reminded him of how much pain it was in. The wounds on his wrists and ankles vying for most painful, but what was suspected cracked ribs was what pained him most with each cough.
Aelius couldn’t help but feel slighted. He was finally free, but couldn’t even relish the joy of it. Hell, he couldn’t even process the nights entire events and everything he felt and saw happen. There was a lot to unpack.
Another cough had almost muffled the sound of the knock. He groaned slightly, not for the intrusion, but his own discomfort. “Come in.” He called with a raspy voice. He expected Waru to walk through the door. Likely to come check on him, maybe even get him to move to the air mattress that lay blown up on the floor. Where had that come from? He must have dozed through that bit. Funny how he hadn’t heard a motor.
He was surprised, when it wasn’t Waru but none other than the owner of the house who eventually followed his knock pass the threshold of the make-shift bedroom. There was no masking his surprise. He had no energy for such things right then. So when he sighed and offered a tired smile it was just as genuine. “Hey.”
He moved to try and prop himself up on the couch, hissing through his teeth in the process.
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Faustite was in no habit of exchanging smiles. Particularly now, when he felt more wooden than he needed to be, when cheer and grace were all but expected. But he had sent away those sentiments when he banished his husband to catch up on sleep and to look after himself. Likely, Aelius wanted Waru to be the one to come in and look after him. The thought alone left smiling utterly out of reach. His next approach was to keep quiet, which was seldom difficult anymore.
His attention lit on Aelius briefly, then quickly flickered away for a spot to place the platter. He realized two things at once: one, that it hurt to look at Aelius now; and two, that they'd forgotten to bring up any sort of nightstand or table for the boy.
With nowhere else to go with it, Faustite set the platter and blankets on the floor next to the couch. He held up a finger in pause — more communication than he typically spared with anyone — and left the room for another half a minute. When he returned, he was carrying an awkward side table from an art deco age that clashed sharply with the riveted leather couch. This, he positioned next to Aelius's head so he needn't reach far.
The platter was put upon it next, and Faustite's attention remained focused on his own hands as he carried out the well-practiced art of making tea. Even with his cincher on, he still used the delicate steel tongs to fetch the cubes of sugar for each cup. The warm aroma of a rustic rooibos blend sweetened the air once Faustite poured it, and the cream enriched its color to a smoky caramel reminiscent of coffee. Once finished, he turned the cup so the handle of it faced Aelius.
Faustite abstained from having his own cup for a moment. Instead, he knelt by the side of the couch and beckoned for Aelius to show him a hand. While wearing the cincher, he'd be able to examine it without causing as much undue strain on the boy.
He'd been through enough, Faustite knew. But the worst had yet to come.
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Half-lidded, golden eyes watched as Faustite made his way into the room ladened with items. The boy seemed to be attempting to impersonate a pack mule with the blankets, tray and other items all tucked up against his body and hands full. It was an amusing sight and found himself feeling bad when the plight of having nowhere to put the tray became obvious.
A nod at the raised finger and he watched Faustite leave before leaning against the leather couch’s cushions. Somewhere in his mind, he was grateful the couch was something that could be easily cleaned. Not only was he likely getting blood on it, he himself was filthy. Shedding the coat he had been wearing helped a bit, but even if he couldn’t smell himself he was sure he was rank.
Faustite came back and Aelius roused himself at the sound of footfalls. He lifted his head from the back couch cushions. The way Faustite prepared the tea and put it together was so precise, endearing, and careful. He noted the preparation of only one cup and looked at Faustite quizzically for it, but attention had moved from tea to Aelius’s hand.
A hesitation. Chapped lips moistened by a quick sweep of his tongue before Aelius finally lifted his hand. The wound Faustite would find there was angry red, seeping blood and puss, and was anything but clean. Skin was rubbed raw around the area that the zip-ties had ripped into. It was an angry wound and Aelius knew he had a full set of four.
He sighed, followed by another cough that had him rushing to cover his mouth with his free hand, head turning away from Faustite. “Sorry.” He coughed out. Paused a moment to make sure he was done and cleared his throat. “Sorry to cause so much trouble.” Lowering his hand he kept his eyes locked on the boy in front of him.
“But, I am glad you came. That you could find me.”
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Faustite reached for the proffered hand, took it in his own gingerly. He held it as if made of glass, ready to slip through his fingers and shatter. His attention remained on the cicatrice wrought ugly over the boy's otherwise unmarred wrist. Definitely looked infected. Must have bled for days, for the simple fact that it still threatened to stain his boy's clothes and the couch.
His concentration was stirred only when Aelius began coughing out apologies. not one, but two, as if he was to blame for the entire affair. And maybe that was the case, but Faustite didn't want to confront that now. The deposition could wait.
Faustite retracted his hands long enough to sign back at him. Don't apologize.
He wondered, though — was Aelius glad that he came, or glad that Albite came?
Muri told me where to find you. Took a risk doing that. Took a risk giving Faustite the time of day. And Faustite, too, to have heard that boy spit such eviscerating vitriol at him when given the chance. His words still gouged as they burned themselves into his mind, but there would be time enough to consider that later. That ******** c**t was the hypocritical one for assuming Faustite a two-timing b*****d.
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This will hurt, he signed next, then shifted to pop the clasps on his cincher. Faustite allowed himself a relieved breath to be freed of it, and the billow of pent-up smoke rose lazily toward the ceiling. He hoped it wouldn't exacerbate that cough. He'd ask Albite what to do for that later.
For now, he reached for Aelius's hand once more. Well aware that touching him at all would burn, he only hoped to press his thumb over the weeping portion of the injury for some scant seconds until it cauterized shut. He had to be wary of burning the couch, too, thus he felt awkward for having to reach out so far.
Gently, he laid his thumb across the bleeding laceration. He expected a yelp, the stinking odor of cooked pus, the sizzle of cauterized flesh. But it was no different than touching Aelius with his cincher on — so similar, in fact, that he had to check himself to be sure that he peeled the cincher off completely.
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He had to focus on the sign language. Aelius still wasn’t completely fluent. Hell, he was a beginner under all intent and purposes, but as long as Faustite didn’t fly through the gestures and let Aelius a moment to let his mind and eyes fully connect over what he saw, he had a decent chance at figuring out what was being said.
The ‘Dont Apologize’ was easy enough to follow. The next part was…shoddy. But he believed he got enough to piece together the spelling of Muri’s name (That slowed him down deciphering that he missed a few gestures after that), find and taking a risk. “I guess I owe him.” It was a soft acknowledgement. Considering that the trade off happened and Grieve got both the starseed and Muri’s body, he was certain the flamboyant boy was safe and his soul back inside him.
The words of warning weren’t missed, and Aelius nodded. Those long, nimble fingers undid the cincher around Faustite’s middle, bringing with it’s removal a flash of heat and rise of smoke. Another small cough that Aelius tried to suppress, causing him to wince.
As Faustite reached out agian, Aelius sucked in a breath trying to steel himself for the pain to come. Instead of agonizing pain and the smell of burnt flesh he felt a warmth that was more than any full-human would have, but wasn’t at all uncomfortable. In fact, Aelius found the heat soothing even against skin that was becoming feverish. Like Faustite, Aelius’s eyes looked to the grate, the removed cincher then back to his hand. Brows furrowed in confusion.
“What’s…what is this?” He was both confused and fascinated as he gingerly grasped onto Faustite’s hand to double down on testing this new revelation.
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He felt a brief shock for the thought that haunted him first: was he burning out again? He hadn't felt like he did before, he'd been able to use his flame and exert his power with as much gusto as any other time. But, save for those moments when his fire guttered and struggled, he shouldn't have been able to touch Aelius like this. And Aelius shouldn't be able to grasp his hand without repercussions.
Faustite shook his head in bewilderment. Then he pressed a thumb to the couch, and the cool material soon responded with the vile smell of burning leather. That was sign enough that he was still hot —
Sitting up on his knees, Faustite's attention darted to Aelius's neck. Something had to be blocking his fire from injuring Aelius, and his first thoughts went to the gorget that so seldom left Albite's neck. He could've given it to Aelius before departing for the evening, which would've kept him safe for the time being, but Aelius's neck was bare and Faustite instead grimaced in disgust when he spotted the wounds that the yellow b***h left on his skin. He would gut her and roast ******** sausage links with her corpse later.
Carefully, he slipped his hand away to respond. Something has to be protecting you. Don't know what it would be, though. And to be so clueless left Faustite in a state of consternation — was this something new? Was it some boon inflicted from the capture? Or was this a long undiscovered secret, owing to some bauble bartered from Almadel or dredged up by some other source? It was another mystery with which Faustite felt helplessly in the dark. He held every modicum of power that he could ever dream of, and yet he was dumbstruck by such a simple affair.
But there would be time to hate himself about it later. For now, he couldn't cauterize.
Perhaps they'd be better off washing it out, then. Faustite stood once more, spared a moment to retrieve the blankets, and unraveled them over Aelius for the time being.
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The smoke that rose from the couch at Faustite’s touch proved there was no lack of heat coming off of the General King and that Aelius very much should have a newly cauterized wound. Instead they were both presented with a puzzle, one that Aelius was struggling to stay focused on coming up with a feasible reason for. After all, he wasn’t upset with the turn of events.
No longer would he have to watch Waru and Faustite together, both able to intermingle and touch freely while he sat brewing in his jealousy. He was able to touch Faustite now. It was such a crazy thing. And as Faustite slipped his hand away, Aelius let a finger graze along that slender wrist, in awe.
He could only nod in agreement. But what? He didn’t have Waru’s gorget, which he was pretty Faustite was looking for. Was he angry about the lack of it? No. No, he wasn’t connecting dots right. But why was he safe? It didn’t make any sen…
He coughed again, this one a more intense racking cough as he gasped air in between each spasm of his body, a hand cover his mouth. He leaned forward, pain etched on his face with each cough until finally he stopped. He sat there, paused for a moment to slowly catch his breath. all thoughts from a moment ago gone.
“********.” Another tentative draw of air. Then finally a fairly full breath if raspy. “I think my ribs are cracked.” He confessed. “At least bruised. It hurts too much not to be.”
As Faustite pulled away, Aelius let himself lean back slowly, and was incredibly grateful for the blankets but also worried for them. “I am going to get them dirty.” He didn’t push back against them, but was careful with where he placed his hands so as not to immediately get blood on them.
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When it came to the fate of the blankets, Faustite only shrugged. They were replaceable, washable. They were always disposable in his mind, for Faustite knew he would burn the s**t out of them eventually. Or put holes in them. Or stain them indelibly.
The cough was more worrisome, particularly for the complaint of cracked ribs. Exacerbating that cough might do damage enough to break one of those ribs, or splinter it enough that it might put a hole in Aelius's lung. While his Captaincy days were distant, Faustite still recalled sharply the inexplicable asphyxiation he felt, the feeling of something weighing maliciously at his back, crushing his lungs, forcing the breath out of him. Aelius wasn't there yet. For now, the pain must be clamping about him like a vice. but knowing that future was a possibility perturbed him nonetheless.
And Faustite wasn't terribly versed with caring for cracked ribs. Sit up, he signed. Then he vanished, his smoke reaching to cover the void, though it hadn't the chance before he reappeared with an ice pack in hand. He tossed it to the edge of the couch before his heat could warp the plastic package.
Use ice for a while. That's all I remember. He paused then, hands braced against the small of his back while he contemplated the tea briefly.
After a moment, he added, I should go. Don't want my smoke aggravating your cough.
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He did as instructed and eased himself into an upright position, loathe as he was to do it. What he wanted at this point was sleep. To let himself sink into the soft cushions and try to ignore how shitty he felt by slipping into slumber. But, it wasn’t plausible yet. He knew that, but it didn’t ease the longing.
As he situated himself fully, Faustite popped out and back in what felt like a blink of an eye. The boy had been quick in his retrieval as the ice pack was deposited quickly. Aelius picked up the pack noting the spot where the fire half-youma’s fingers must have gripped it for the melted gel inside.
Gingerly, he reached over and pressed the ice pack to his left side. “It’ll help.” He agreed. “Won’t hurt, anyway.” He shifted a bit again, just uncomfortable as a whole. But much better than I was the past 3 days. He wasn’t going to complain.
At Faustite’s statement, Aelius’s brows creased. “No. Don’t.” The response was swift. “I am…not sure exactly what you said about the smoke, but don’t go.” Tired as he was, the thought of being alone right now bothered him. “Please?” The last word was soft. A plea for the boy not to leave him to the solitude yet.
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Faustite knew he had no business being by Aelius's side. He knew his smoke was something filthy, was probably giving Waru a case of lung cancer before the blessed boy turned thirty, and such an irritant only jeopardized Aelius's condition further. It would be irresponsible for him, as a superior, to linger and endanger Aelius's recovery. It should've been Waru here, performing care far more familiar to him than it was to Faustite, but Aelius had to make do with a distant second best until the morning.
But there was nothing to give Aelius in his stead. No books would suffice, and Faustite could summon no company that might please him, but for his brother. And even at that, Trey was still brimming with an ire that ill suited cajoling a younger brother.
Faustite sighed through his nose. His capitulation was evident in how he moved once more for the teapot and prepared his own cup. Once he'd stirred the cream into the blend, he donned his cincher once more and reclaimed the teacup from the platter. Then he sat, careful of his own fleeting soreness, and leaned against the side of the couch where he could keep a silent eye on Aelius.
It occurred to him, then, that they would need more pillows to prop him upright. Wasn't much chance of getting them if Aelius was opposed to being alone.
With the cup in his hand, he wouldn't have to talk. Better that he listened, anyway. Aelius lived through whatever the ******** they did to him, sported the injuries for it, and now faced the long mend. But, even inexperienced gaolers could inflict mental wounds that demanded far more time — and far more care — to heal.
So Faustite stretched his legs out, settled in, made himself get comfortable. They'd likely be there longer than the pot of tea would last.
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A moment passed. Two. And Aelius wondered if Faustite was going to leave him. Sure. He needed sleep. Craved it, but what he wanted more was company that he felt safe around. Someone that he trusted and could relax with. There was something to say about having company when one was feeling like utter s**t. Faustite was one of those people. Even despite all of their issues, Aelius craved the boy’s presence in his life.
And, by some miracle or, hell, maybe he looked as pitiful as he felt, Faustite turned to make his own cup of tea. A sign that the General King was going to settle in. A soft smile spread on the boys face as the cincher was put back on and Faustite settled himself on the floor against the couch.
Looking to the cup that had been poured for him, Aelius reached out for the cup. He tried not to focus on his wrist, and instead on the glaze of the cup. The blue bright with a paler blue appearing to drip along the edges. He lifted it to his lips to sip and test the heat.
Gods, he hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. Even the hot tea helped ease the parched mouth and throat.
Another cough. This one mild, and somehow he avoided spilling the tea. The ice pack he pressed a bit more firmly against his side.
“You know. I never thought they’d do something like that.” Aelius said, eyes shifting to look down upon the dark head of hair. He watched as Faustite circled his hands around his own cup. The black of his fingers helping the emphasis the color of the matching partner to what Aelius held. “Didn’t think they’d ever make a move on their own that involved outright attacking us.” He hadn’t ever experienced that himself. Not on this level. Not here in Destiny City. “They’ve always seemed to act too high and mighty for something like a hostage situation.” Tired thoughts. Things that had crossed his mind over the past 3 nights as he remained in order’s ‘care’.
“Pretty sure the hardest thing was waiting and knowing there was no way to really track me.”
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Faustite sipped the tea without much tasting it. Too lost was he to his own thoughts, as his attention lingered on Aelius, that his typical pleasures escaped him. He thought back to the previous days, to all the worry spoken and unsaid among the team. He thought of Fafnir, how rigid and authoritative he became at the idea that the enemy disappeared his brother. How Waru seemed desolate about it — lost, like he needed Trey's hand to hold so he'd have some tenuous strand of reassurance.
The days were horrid. Faustite wasted a sleepless day combing over personnel files while the rest of the team searched Aelius's last known loc, his haunts. The Mauvians tried to map his path via GPS, but that demanded time to jury rig the software needed to do so. In the interim, everyone felt powerless. Faustite didn't know if — or when — to expect a ransom note. And if there wasn't a ransom note, when would he start finding pieces of Aelius? Or the full boy, robbed of life, dumped in a garbage sack near a bend in the river? What if they never found him again?
Or if they found him wearing white? Even if Fafnir and Faustite dismissed the possibility, there was nothing prohibiting Aelius from doing so.
Faustite was roused from his thoughts when Aelius spoke again. He sounded better, having wet his parched throat with some tea. It was rare to see an offensive from the White Moon. For this, he nodded briefly. Seldom had he encountered it himself, and he was uncertain if Aelius had witnessed something similar.
But there was something in Aelius's phrasing that had Faustite setting his tea aside.
Were you a hostage or a prisoner of war? He asked slowly, carefully. We never found a ransom note. Doubt we would have found you without one. Did they say why they took you? Or ask you anything?
If they did, that will tell us if we should expect to see this again.
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There. The hands began again. Mental thanks were sent to Faustite as the boy slowed his usually quic movements down to something that Aelius was able to follow. He still needed time to sit and decipher and fill in blanks for words he didn’t understand. Thankfully, it was only a few words that were beyond his vocabulary. Faustite kept things as simple as possible.
Before speaking, he took another sip of tea to help wet his throat. Hopefully it would help stave off another coughing fit while he talked. “Hostage.” There was a tiredness to his response but certainty. “At first I was just asked some generic questions by the Cybele squire. She was fixated on starseeds and our victims.” A pause as he waited out what he thought might be the start of a cough, but nothing came of it.
“It was the Earth Knight that clued me in a bit. She started asking questions about you. It was clear that the Knight at least, was more interested in getting at you but she seemed to lack any direct plans. At least, that’s what I got during…” Ah. There was the cough. A moment to let it pass and clear his throat. “Ugh. the meeting.”
“I am pretty sure if you didn’t find me that night you wouldn’t have.” The still vivid memory of the group of them discussing what to do with him. How unanimous they all seemed to be. “Not alive anyway. I was a risk.”
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To hear that he was a hostage was heartening in a twisted way. They wouldn't kill him if they sought collateral. But, as Aelius went on, it was clear that the White Moon thought they could gain nothing worth the penalty of holding him.
Then came an ugly thought. What if, by bringing the burning house down on those involved, he validated that thought? If anyone survived, which he was certain some of those cockroaches must've, then they could point to the incident as evidence that any captures must be executed. And if a capture could so easily draw out a person of interest, then that was opportunity enough to build an ambush around it.
But, he reminded himself, this might not be a trend. And he fought with harsher tactics than the White Moon typically accepted. Still, it didn't sit right with him.
The Cybele Squire was hardly worth a thought but for how he might hurt the Princess through her. But the Earth Knight? She was evidence enough that the team was becoming a target by simple association with him. And he just endorsed that. So if the rest of them wore bigger targets as a result, he bore sole responsibility for that. And that — his blood iced over, his head spun. If his actions put his team at risk, then what the ******** was he supposed to do? How did he strike back decisively enough that they would never entertain such a scheme again?
Or was the answer something worse, like reassigning his team? Or, somehow, divesting himself from his emotions? Or what if it only ended with his entire team dead, like Axinite?
It wasn't time for that, he told himself. Aelius was alive. The White Moon wouldn't be ******** around for a minute after that. The team was okay. Everyone was accounted for. They could address the situation later.
For now, he had Aelius to focus on.
'I was a risk.'
Faustite smiled, however slight. His attention lowered, flame eyes scoured by lashes.
You're okay now, he signed, then took a sip of his half-remembered tea. He just needed a task — something he could focus on. Something he could accomplish without ******** it all to hell. And there was one, in easy reach — Should find what's granting you protection. Need to get those wounds sealed and dressed. Got anything magical in origin?
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In the quiet of Faustite’s thinking, Aelius let himself sink a bit further into the couch. His head leaning backwards, neck cradled against the top of the back cushion. His concern for getting blood on things diminished to a hazy worry as his eyes closed. It was comforting to know that Faustite was just there. It helped to ease fear he didn’t quite understand or care to dive into. It would require more brain power than he cared to offer up. Unfortunately, his attempt at rest was thwarted by more coughing, but it brought his attention back to Faustite as he resituated himself into a proper sitting posture again.
“Hmmm…I am.” He agreed. His own tired smile came in response to Faustites. How long had it been since he’d seen that smile? Since it was directed at Aelius himself? Too long, the injured boy decided. It felt good to see and brought a warmth that brought a small surge of energy to direct onto the next question.
“Right…The protection.” He cleared his throat and shifted a bit again. His poor hand was growing cold from the ice-pack and he fidgeted his fingers around a bit as he thought about it.
He did a mental body check of himself. Trying to think what was and wasn’t still there. He’d been stripped of basically everything but his clothing so what could possibly still be on him that could…
He reached up to his neck fingers fishing around for something. He hissed as he hit the wounds on his neck. “My necklace. I don’t think they took it.” Fingers fumbled with the collar of his shirt as he struggled with it.
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Setting the cup aside, Faustite rose at the comment of a necklace. He'd seen it a few scant times, thought it was a goad or a silent riposte for Faustite cutting him off before. To hear that there was anything magical about it drained all humor from his face.
He doubted Aelius was in much of a mood or a position to pull one over on him now, but that sense that he was walking into a fight hadn't fully faded, either.
When Aelius struggled to grab at the chain, Faustite rested his fingers on the back of the boy's hand as an invitation to give it a rest. He could root the thing out, even if taking a necklace apart was nigh impossible with such long claws. The length of chain was long enough, however, that he could simply lift it over Aelius's head. And, as he felt the weight on the chain shift when he raised it, Faustite saw both the rings they'd once exchanged with each other and a piece of black crystal that had been fashioned into a pendant.
The crystal left him uneasy. In its center was a dull orange glow, foreboding and hateful, like the one rooted in his chest. Even as he touched it with a thumb, he felt a heat emanating from it that felt inexplicably like his.
He paused no further. Faustite lifted the necklace off of him and set it upon the platter. Then he motioned for Aelius to give up one of his hands again.
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As Faustite removed the chain, Aelius felt like a piece of him was being taken away. He rarely, ever, took it off. Dance class and photo shoots were the only exception. Both required the lack of any accessories. The former for the chances of it getting caught on anything or anyone, and the latter because it didn’t work for what he was modeling (Unless, of course, he could hide it under layers). It was a bit like putting himself out on display for Faustite. Especially with the two rings that also sat on the chain. A continuous reminder of they had and what, Aelius hoped, could eventually have again. Hence his inability to part with the pieces of jewelry.
Aelius watched as Faustite studied the jewelry. The black piece of crystal was the main focal point that seemed to really pull the General King’s attention. Faustite’s flame was something that Aelius thought of as special. Some force that required something of substantial force to counter. Waru’s magical Gorget being one of those items. Faustite’s Cincher another. Never would he have thought something so small could be. “That’s…I got that when you were promoted. You became encased in your fire which crystallized. I had….accidentally chipped a piece off.” While I was freaking out and losing my s**t. But, that last part he didn’t voice. It wasn’t a road he felt was worth going down and with how they reacted when Faustite came out of that crystal well…he felt it was pretty damn obvious the distress that occurred.
At the gesture for his hand, Aelius obliged again. He reached out to Faustite with no reluctance or hesitation despite knowing what was likely going to happen if that little piece of fire was the answer to his fire resistance.
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Faustite wasn't privy to what happened while he was being promoted. He remembered being carried by Taenite. He remembered seeing the doors to the Rift from the Hall of Shadows. He remembered suddenly being on the floor, looking up at the Rift's bloodshot sky, surrounded by the faces of everyone who stuck by him. He remembered assuming that he was a youma — that the giddy influx of power he felt was the boon bestowed on anyone who youmafied completely.
While he'd heard a recount of what happened on the outside, Faustite never paid much thought to how the crystal must have looked. Seeing it now, lying on the platter, Faustite supposed that was why he found it so repugnant. It reminded him of when he had almost succumbed.
And if that fragment of crystal guarded Aelius, then he guessed it was a potent source of magic. Such articles were beyond his field of study, though; Laurelite would know more.
This time, Faustite pressed his thumb against the perpetually seeping wound on Aelius's wrist. It was as it should have been, all this time — the skin seethed, crackled, burned. The smell of singed flesh wafted past him, coupled with cooked pus. His touch lingered only for a moment.
It was a grim reality that he had to use himself like a cauterizing iron. That he had to hurt Aelius to heal him. But that same process would necessarily be repeated thrice more before he could grant the boy his necklace and treat the injuries proper.
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The shock of the pain had Aelius gritting his teeth, a small whimper of a sound escaping him even as Faustite removed his hand from the wound. His heavy breathing held the rasp of illness to it, but it didn’t stop him from sucking in breath. The searing sensation lingered long after Faustite’s thumb was removed. It left Aelius feeling as if he should be shoving his hand into a bucket of ice to remove the heat that blistered there. Normally, the smell of burning flesh no longer bothered him, but knowing it was his own… Well, that made him a bit nauseous.
Like Faustite, Aelius knew there were three more times to go. “********.” He cursed when he finally had breath and brain-space to think beyond the pain.
“That hurt far more than I thought it would.” A stupid thought. Also maybe not the smartest thing to voice, but Aelius wasn’t anywhere close to being able to censor himself. Not in the physical and mental state he was in. He was living moment by moment and just surviving while being incredibly thankful for where he was.
He swallowed. “Gods. Would it be better to get this over quick or give me a moment in between?” The question was thrown out there. Who it was for, himself or Faustite, was a mystery even to the boy who voiced it. Neither situation felt like something he wanted to do right now. What he wanted was his necklace back and to utilize it’s obvious magical properties to curl up around Faustite’s warmth and just ******** sleep while he felt safe for the first time in 3 days.
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He paused, sighed. Aelius was right — this was just more torture if he didn't go about it as quickly as possible. Setting his jaw, Faustite threw back the bottom half of the blankets.
Aelius's ankles looked like s**t. Like hamburger. No better than Cybele's before she had gotten out of the Farnsworth. His heart dropped for the boy, and a measure of guilt stained his thoughts. Pushing them aside, Faustite told himself to keep moving. Keep doing, and eventually he would outpace such ideas.
True to Aelius's wishes, Faustite reached for both ankles at once. They needed only the quickest sear — just enough to cut off the broken blood vessels that leaked his life's blood across the couch and blanket. Once more came the chorus of hissing, however brief, and the stench of cauterized skin to tell them both that the job was nearly done.
When he came for the remaining wrist, his other hand was already reaching for the necklace he left on the platter. With the chain gathered up, he pressed his thumb to the last of the offending wounds. The worst of it was over, though he felt no better about it. Faustite cast the necklace over Aelius's head once more.
He'd still need his cincher for the next part, so he seized it from the floor and folded it back over his grate. The first aid kit was summoned, set next to him on the floor, and opened like a tackle box. He couldn't speak while he worked, but the silence and ministration might give Aelius time enough to relax — or to air whatever thoughts still nagged him. Better that he rest, though; a deposition was nigh in his future, and Faustite could only guess how quickly that would antagonize such fresh wounds.
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He knew it was coming sure. But each new time Faustite touched him the surprise (not surprise) pain would cause him to jerk in response. Thankfully the boy was being quick about it. Taking as little time as needed to cauterize and effectively cleaning the wounds in the process. There was a moment that Aelius was could feel and see a blackening on the edges of his vision. The ice pack left to fall onto the couch as forgotten about as the other wrist was done. Potentially cracked ribs be damned he was not holding that pack up as he breathed and hissed through the pain.
He barely felt the necklace going around his head. Eyes were closed tight as he waited out remaining after-effects of the cauterizing. It didn’t take very long, but damn it felt like an eternity before he was squinting eyes open. Keeping them closed effectively cut off Faustite’s mean of communication. He knew that. Promised that he wouldn’t do such a thing if could be helped, but when he saw Faustite rummaging within the first aid kit, hands busy with items that were likely to soon make the room and him smell of medicine, Aelius let his eyes drift closed again.
“Thank you.” He said quietly, head again settling back against the leather couch. Had he already thanks Faustite already? He couldn’t remember and honestly, there was more to thank than just the extraction. There was the work involved in organizing his return, setting up this room, carting his a** to the house, caring for him and just….generally being there for him. “I was…worried I’d not get to see you again” He coughed a bit as he squirmed himself further down into the couch, ribs protesting him enough that he fumbled around for the ice pack to press it against his painful side.
As Faustite began doing whatever it was he had planned, Aelius let himself relax. The gentle ministrations and soothing of aches helped alleviate some of his discomfort. Enough anyway that he began to doze lightly before, eventually, falling asleep completely knowing he was safe.
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His thanks was heard, but Faustite could not acknowledge him beyond a nod at the moment. There was much to do with debriding some of the eschar around the cauterization, applying an antibiotic, and wrapping the wounds in clean gauze. Each task had to be repeated three times over, and that was only to see to the wounds from the zip ties that cut into his wrists and ankles. He had yet to touch Aelius's neck, which likely needed an iodine preparation, or any of the other injuries that they hadn't yet checked for.
So he got to work. For the next hour, Faustite's sleeves remained rolled up while he treated the reddened, vile marks on Aelius's neck and dressed them in a thin layer of gauze. By then, Aelius was asleep, so Faustite was gingerly as he lowered the covers and raised half-ruined clothing while he hunted for more hurts. Searched skin in gentle brushes where he couldn't get a proper look, and he paused only when Aelius began to stir.
The night wore on steadily. Faustite finished his search by pressing gingerly against the boy's stomach, but found no resistance in the manner of an internal bleed. Still, he disliked that cough. Disliked the uncertainty of whether Aelius's rib was cracked or fractured.
But there was nothing for it right now. Aelius needed sleep. X-rays could wait til the morning, when he had rest enough that he could be taken to the Negaverse's hospital. And when the boy came home from that ordeal, perhaps he could have the bath that he so sorely needed.
There was little to do but wait. Faustite sank down beside the couch once more. As he whiled the hours away, he polished off his tea. Let his mind wander with the profusion of concerns that only multiplied the more he thought about them. He retracted knees to chest, then rested his chin upon the poor, bony perch. When he wasn't watching Aelius, he stared at a point so far away that it may as well have been in Destiny City.
And slowly, so slowly, the false dark turned to gloaming.
strickenized
