#that had me sobbing as well | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 8 months

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in the dream i don’t tell anyone, you put your head in my lap ; shoko ieiri

synopsis; ever since the battle in shinjuku came to its conclusion, nothing’s been the same as it used to. but you don’t think anyone is doing quite as badly as shoko.

word count; 4.5k

contents; shoko ieiri/reader, gn!reader, canon-typical mentions of death (iykyk), angst, hurt/comfort (but not very heavy on the comfort), jjk spoilers (up to chapter 236!!), mild gore (mentions of blood, autopsies and general gore-ish imagery? nothing too bad tho), shoko ieiri deserves better, includes gojo slander (stay safe gojo nation)

a/n; first of all i just wanna apologize to the shoko girlies for writing angst when we’re already so starved of content, i have like 50 fluff drabbles planned for her but chapter 236 threw me into a mental angst pit so </3 yeah. i love my wife!!

shoko hasn’t been herself for a while.

the thought sneaks its way into your subconscious, as your feet carry you to her morgue — a rotten thought you just can’t seem to rinse away.

it’s not very hard to notice. she doesn’t talk as much, for one. not that shoko was ever much of a talker, but now the silence around her is deafening. thick and heavy like the spine of a knife. and she smiles even less.

you can’t remember the last time you heard her laugh.

the crescents beneath her eyes are darker than ever, darker than you thought possible. a murky purple that you’d find soothing in any other context, but like this it’s just revolting. her eyes are deep and dark, the same as ever, but now they’re glazed over with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

apathy, maybe.

or bloodlust.

the scent of cigarette smoke that follows her is suffocating. indistinguishable from her natural scent. you don’t know if she’ll ever be able to scrub the tobacco stench off her skin.

(you’ve given up on counting the exact number of cigarettes she smokes each day. you’re not sure you want to know the answer.)

she doesn’t even look alive, anymore. like some part of her already reached its expiration date. a spectre, wandering the hallways, filling the air with the slow, ominous clacking of her heels.

shoko hasn’t been herself for a while — and it’s so obvious. her grief is so heavy, her sleep-deprivation so severe. you’d have to be blind not to notice it.

so why hasn’t anyone said anything?

you gnaw at your bottom lip, trying to suffocate the bitterness swimming inside your veins. it’s a dumb question, really, because you already know. you don’t want to acknowledge it, because it’s so unfair, but you know. of course you do.

no one has the time to. it’s as simple as that.

no one’s doing well, anymore. not since shinjuku.

not since gojo died.

shoko’s grief is a fickle thing. always with her, tucked away within those eyebags, in the pockets of her coat. in that smell of tobacco, never-fading, always lingering. it follows her like a ghost, like something she’ll never quite be rid of.

(like something she doesn’t want to be rid of.)

shoko’s grief is a fickle thing, and it always has been. but recently, it’s been downright overwhelming. it used to be subtle, the kind of thing you notice if you look close enough. if you squint. if you even care enough to try.

but now, it’s more like a haunting than a simple ghost.

(geto. nanami. yaga. and now gojo, too.

how many people does she have to lose before whatever’s watching is satisfied?)

shoko hasn’t been herself for a while, and it’s obvious, and it’s sickening. she still does her duty to a tee, but she isn’t quite there anymore. gaze always forlorn, as if she’s trying to convince herself of something.

and yet no one says a thing.

everything is one big mess, right now. you don’t want to blame anyone. everyone’s exhausted, completely and utterly spent, but they’re still planning it all out. even in the midst of their mourning. because they don’t have any other choice.

this is not the kind of situation where you should be pointing fingers. a part of you is angry, livid even — but you know the others are doing just as badly. it’s not like you aren’t, either.

still, though. isn’t this just too unfair?

”i brought you coffee!”

making sure your voice doesn’t waver is tougher than you initially assumed. just the sight of her sends a tremor running through your ribs; sunken down in her chair, papers in hand, eyes scanning the pages methodically. papers of what, you’d like to ask — but you already know.

(she’s reading through the post-mortem examination report, again. searching for something you don’t understand. you’re not sure she does, either.)

and she looks exhausted.

try as you might, your voice ends up sounding a little stale, as it flows from your lips and reaches her ears. but the attempt is there — the attempt to sound cheerful, calm. normal. to give her something to hold on to.

shoko looks up at you, and her lips curl in a way you think is supposed to form a smile. it doesn’t. her eyes look into yours but it’s like she’s not seeing you at all.

when you go to give her the cup of espresso, your fingertips touch. only for a second, before she curls her fingers around the ceramic handle. she receives the coffee with a small murmur of thanks, but you don’t notice because you’re too busy thinking of how cold her skin feels.

(cold like a ghost. cold like death.)

shaking away the shivers down your spine, you allow your gaze to trail over the morgue. it looks the same as always. cold, empty. foreboding. today, you think it feels just a little chillier than usual. matching the temperature of the outside world, where everything lies buried in heaps of snow and frost.

hesitantly, you plop down in the seat right next to hers. with such a narrow distance, you can smell the tobacco sticking to her clothing. it makes you want to throw up.

(you try not to look over at the couch in the corner of the room, where a certain someone used to slack off. his awkwardly long limbs would dangle off the edges, and shoko would pretend that she didn’t enjoy his company. you were more than content with silently admiring the smile she was trying to hide.)

shoko doesn’t look at you, professional in the way her eyes run across the files. cause of death: damage to central intestines, subsequent loss of blood. from a cut to the stomach, right below the liver and spleen.

you look away before your eyes can read another line.

leaning back in your chair, you exhale a tiny sigh. desperate to fill the silence with something, anything at all. you scramble for topics, racking your brain.

(what could you possibly tell her that she doesn’t already know?)

”the others are still planning everything out,” you speak, playing with your fingers idly to distract yourself. ”i think it’s going well.”

shoko hums, unaffected. ”that’s good.”

she’s speaking to you, but that feeling of unease still won’t go away. her voice sounds still, flat. empty of emotion. but you can tell she’s trying to be polite.

that’s no surprise. shoko isn’t the type to ever show how she’s truly feeling. she’s not the type to ask for help, either. people come to her for help, not the other way around. that’s all she’s ever known.

(in that sense, the two of them were alike.)

but that just makes it all the more important for you to be there. even if you’re a little awkward, and even if you can’t do much. even if it’s only for a moment or two, you want to see her smile. you want to feel for yourself that she’s really there.

looking over at shoko, you wring your hands together, the cold air of the morgue nipping at your sweaty palms. she’s drinking from the cup, one finger around the handle as her other hand flips through the papers.

”does it taste okay?” you ask, softly. if only you could ask her that under better circumstances, with cups of espresso made with better coffee machines than those at jujutsu high. ”i made it myself, so…”

”it’s fine.” shoko takes a sip. dragging her syllables out, as if mustering the will to speak. ”don’t worry.”

short sentences. almost cold, but you know better than that. she just doesn’t have it in her to pretend that everything is normal, anymore.

and it makes you uncomfortable. this silence.

a couple months ago, it would have felt comforting; a quiet, peaceful kind of solitude shared between the two of you. nostalgic, like the smell of morning dew. or the way moonlight feels on your skin when the world falls asleep.

the silence you had with shoko always felt so tender. a single moment of peace, before the other shoe dropped. just that one moment was enough to give you the hope you needed to make it through another day.

you loved being silent with shoko. you loved her silence, the way she could soothe your very soul without saying a thing.

but now it only stings your skin. you fear that you might drown in it.

there is nothing to say. you want to ask her how she’s doing, but you already know. you want to ask her why she’s still reading the files from gojo’s autopsy, but you already know.

you want to ask her if she can still keep going, like this. but you already know.

she doesn’t have a choice.

(something crumbles, deep inside your chest, like ashes cast into the sea.)

”hey. shoko?”

she hums, again. weak. quiet. absentminded, acknowledging your words but not really hearing them.

you take a deep breath.

”i think i’m going to quit being a sorcerer.”

silence.

for a moment, nothing happens. nothing moves, or speaks. the air is cold and crisp and carries no meaning, no words, nothing at all.

like time is frozen. frozen like all the bodies shoko’s had to dig inside these past few months. frozen like gojo was when she found him in the snow.

frozen like your youth, a glass marble kept in your pocket for moments when you feel as if the ground beneath your feet is about to slip away. then you’d take it out, and look deep inside it. watch the swirling of greens and blues and purples. that streak of indigo right in the middle of the glass. memories of the past, to give you comfort.

to remind yourself of why you’re doing this. to give you a reason to keep moving forward.

(south or north, it doesn’t matter. stay as you are or move forward, look to the past or to the future — none of it matters if you aren’t alive. that’s the conclusion you came to.)

shoko’s expression, too, is frozen. it doesn’t change, even as you let those loaded words fall from your tongue. you watch her carefully, out of the corner of your eye. she doesn’t even look at you, gaze still glued to the tiny letters detailing exactly what gojo’s pulse was at when he got cut.

but something flickers, in the depths of her irises, so fast you barely catch it. something you can’t identify, but it’s still something. it’s movement. it’s alive.

”not right now, obviously,” you elaborate. suddenly a little nervous, now that the words have been made manifest. ”but… you know. once all this is over.”

not sure what else to say, you trail off, fidgeting with your fingers again. voice wavering pitifully towards the end of the sentence, because deep down you know it’s not a question of once, but a question of if.

(if this ever ends. if i don’t die tomorrow, or the day after that.)

you swallow the lump in your throat, and look at her. trying to find her eyes. trying to keep her alive for as long as you can, this sequence of motion, this moment frozen in time.

trying to reach her.

”you won’t ever have to worry about me dying,” you throw in, like the words are light and not heavy as bricks. but you know she needs to hear them. ”i’ll leave, and then — and then…”

staring down at your lap, you link your hands together. exhaling, a little breathless. sheepish, in a way. ”… well. i don’t know. i haven’t thought that far ahead, yet.”

you never had the chance to. you didn’t even really think of it as a possibility, as something you could do. and you know it’s not a possibility for shoko. the choice to be a sorcerer was never hers, from the very beginning.

a user of the reverse cursed technique. capable of healing almost any wound, more power and capability than a child should ever have. invaluable. she’s saved so many lives you’re sure she’ll be reborn as a god.

but the choice was never hers.

a soothing kind of ache blooms in both your palms, as your nails dig into the soft skin. hard enough to form crescents, like the ones under shoko’s eyes, that she’ll never be rid of no matter how much she sleeps. the choice was never hers.

isn’t that just too cruel?

they don’t deserve her. none of them do. the elders didn’t, the jujutsu world doesn’t — not even the students. no one deserves it; everything she does for everyone, day and night, just slaving away in the morgue or her office. cutting up curses and old friends. every second of the day, always that same buzzing of her name being called.

shoko, someone needs healing, come quick!

shoko, i know it’s 2 am and you have work tomorrow, but there’s a curse that i need you to dissect.

shoko, i think i got a paper cut, would you mind taking a look?

none of them deserve her.

you think of gojo. a flash of white hair, a grin brighter than the sun. a bloodstained smile — one shoko had to wipe away.

something ugly claws its way up your throat.

none of them deserve her. especially not him.

what were you thinking, leaving her all alone like this? so much for being the strongest. you couldn’t even stay alive.

why would you die with a smile on your face? do you have any idea how cruel that is to her?

you idiot. don’t you know how much she missed you?

— yeah. none of them deserve her. gojo doesn’t, the world doesn’t, and neither do you. no one does.

what shoko deserves is to live a normal life.

and she never will.

it’s foolish. it’s naive, a juvenile daydream. but you wish for it so, so badly. so much that even just the thought alone feels like too much to bear.

you wish you could bring her with you.

you wish you could take her hand in yours, and run away. leave it all behind, every single thing, without caring about the consequences. you’d hold her hand and never let it go, and then you’d run and run until you were both high on adrenaline and breathless laughter.

maybe you could go somewhere, together. somewhere better. outside of japan, where there are less curses. money wouldn’t be an issue, you both have more than you know what to do with — one of the perks of having a job that’s bound to kill you. you could settle down in some smaller town, peaceful, maybe a little secluded. just to make sure no one finds you.

maybe you could open up a little shop, together. or spend all your days tangled up beneath the blankets, catching up on lost sleep. talking and whispering, like you’d do back at the sleepovers you used to have. you’d make her coffee every morning, and tea every evening. you’d spend the rest of your life trying to make her laugh as loud as possible.

there’s nothing you want more. absolutely nothing. there never will be.

— but you can’t ask her.

you can’t ask her to come with you, no matter how much you want to. that’d be the cruelest thing you could possibly do to her.

she would never agree. you’d only be hurting her more. so selfish, all of these wishes. it was so much simpler back when you were just kids. when you didn’t have to care about duties or responsibilities. when your cognitive empathic abilities were just a little more lacking.

a sigh flows from your lips. resigned, but somewhat hopeful, all the same. tainted with the murmurs of a memory that’ll never happen.

”maybe i’ll open up a bakery, or something.” you tap your fingers against the desk, smiling a little to yourself at the thought. or trying to. ”then you could come visit.”

shoko looks into her cup of coffee. watching the swirling of the vortex, the abyss that gazes back at her. she doesn’t look at you but you can tell she’s listening. then she puts the cup down, and you glance at her now-empty hand.

shoko’s hands have always been pretty. even when they’re covered in grime, or stained with blood. thin, a little bony, smooth skin obscuring clear blue veins. moles litter her hands like stars in the sky; one right beneath her pinkie, another by her wrist. the more you look, the more you find.

tentatively, you broach the distance between you. curling your fingers around her slender ones, where they rest on her lap. linking hands. it’s a slow movement, drawn out and careful, accompanied by the heavy beating of your heart.

(her skin is cold to the touch. your skin buzzes with unease, but you don’t let go.)

then you smile. a small thing, not really optimistic, but the attempt is there. something for her to hold on to. looking deep into her eyes, admiring the hazel glow that never quite left them.

”i’ll give you free pastries.”

a moment passes. shoko’s fingers squeeze around yours — weakly, but it’s there. movement, motion, life. a way of reaching out. a way to hold on.

her eyes continue to trail over the page, but you know she’s not reading any of the contents. you’ve caught her attention. a small victory, but you’ll take what you can get.

”i don’t like sweets,” she reminds you, leaning back a little in her chair. allowing her eyes to flutter shut, at last — and it’s not much but it’s something. a moment of relief for those tired, tired eyes. more tired than any 29 year old’s should be.

”i’ll change your mind,” you promise, mustering up enough will to sound smug. ”my pastries will be out of this world. you’ll get a sweet tooth in no time, sho.”

she exhales a breath, vaguely amused. your smile widens, hopelessly. her happiness was always the root of yours, wasn’t it?

then she looks at you, one eyebrow raised in lazy scepticism. ”can you even bake?”

”nope,” you deadpan. ”but i’ll learn. you’ll see.”

this time, shoko almost chuckles — and it’s more than you’ve gotten out of her in recent memory. god, you missed that sound. a little raspy, from all the cigarettes, but still so honeyed and smooth. hearing it makes you feel as if everything will turn out fine, in the end.

(what a powerful thing, for a voice to do. one so lovely it anchors you to the earth.)

a faux pout curls its way to your lips, and you squeeze her hand lightly. ”don’t laugh, i’m being serious!” your pout shifts into a soft grin, a little teasing. ”i’ll get you addicted to sugar instead of nicotine.”

”haha…”

shoko laughs. shoko laughs and it’s beautiful.

shoko laughs, a genuine laugh, and it’s so beautiful that you almost don’t notice the tears in her eyes. almost.

and then you realize your mistake.

a memory comes to you, then. you recall a hushed conversation, beneath a cloudy summer sky. the air was heavy with the scent of lilacs and cigarette smoke. two people were beside you, and all you cared about was listening to the tilt of their voices. that, and nothing more. a time before everything and everyone went south.

(”you know, shoko. you really should drop those death sticks of yours.”

”i don’t want to hear that from the guy who needs 40 grams of pure sugar every day just to function.”

”rude! and as far as addictions go, sugar is a cut above nicotine, don’t ya think?”

”whatever. just worry about yourself, gojo.”)

by the time you realize, it’s already far too late. the tears have already begun to fall. little droplets of grief, sticking to her skin.

they trickle down the contours of shoko’s face, and fall onto the paper in her hand, smudging the letters. she clutches it tightly, crinkling it, just to make the damage worse. her other hand is still holding yours, chipped nails digging into your skin gently.

but she keeps laughing. low, hazy laughter — pained. she sounds like she’s in pain, and that’s because she is. even if no one ever cares to mention it.

(how cruel, for her to be born with the reverse cursed technique. capable of healing any physical wound; leaving her with too many mental ones to count. never to be healed or acknowledged, in this life or the next.)

you can only stare. helpless to her sadness. her eyes are a little red, and she’s biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood — a drop of scarlet falls onto the paper, and you think of gojo again.

you think of shoko finding him. running to his side. doing all she could to heal him, to patch him up — getting blood all over her hands and clothes. red everywhere, staining the pure white of the snowfall. like something out of a painting.

she did all that she could. pressing down on his chest, positive cursed energy pouring out from her fingertips in tandem with the snow. pressing two shaky fingers to his pulse point, just in case. just to find any sign of life, absolutely anything. hoping so tenderly that she’d feel the flutter of his pulse. that he’d get up, and laugh obnoxiously, and ask her if she really thought he’d leave her behind so easily.

you’d never seen her look so scared. so desperate, a primal kind of fear you’ve learned to associate with self-driven survival. the way some animals can claw their way out of a predator’s stomach if they’re swallowed whole. but she did that to save him. trying to claw him out, herself. from the belly of the beast.

she did all that she could.

but gojo didn’t do anything. he just laid there, split in two. frozen in time, eternally young. watching the sky. smiling.

(what a wonderful way to die. what an awful thing for an old friend to find.)

before your mind can catch up, your body acts. muscle memory, in the way your arms curl around her midriff to bring her close. tucking her into your side while she sniffles and cries. still laughing, like she’s still trying to convince you that she’s fine. like she’s isn’t falling apart at the seams.

the dam breaks. the ice shatters. everything comes crashing down — and you’re there to pick up the pieces. despite everything.

it’s not enough, it never will be. but at least it’s something.

it’s heart-wrenching, the way she clings to you. like you’re the only thing she has. the dry laughter that spills from her throat devolves into sobbing, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath, nails clinging to the fabric of your clothing like she’s trying to anchor herself. broken sniffles fill the space between you as she hides away, in the crook of your neck.

(the sound makes you feel like someone drove a knife from your sternum down to your stomach.)

all you can do is hold her. quietly, delicately. as if she could break if you squeeze her too hard. as if she’d shatter like a sheet of glass if you were to say the wrong thing again.

you hold shoko like she’s fragile. because she is, regardless of what anyone else says. because she’s a human being, and she’s grieving, and she needs this.

eventually, she musters up the will to speak — and it’s awful, raspy, broken syllables she has to force out of her throat.

she chokes on the words like they’re poisonous. like she’s been carrying them around for decades, bubbling beneath the surface, waiting to be let out.

“don’t — don’t end up here,” shoko pleads, voice wavering through the syllables. full of fear. “please.”

you know what she means. she doesn’t have to say it, because you know.

don’t end up in my morgue. don’t end up on my autopsy table.

shoko sounds meek. she sounds close to falling apart. you’ve never seen her like this before, clutching onto your sleeves as if begging you to stay.

“you’re — you’re the only one i…”

she doesn’t finish, cut off by a broken sniffle. but she doesn’t need to.

you’re the only one i have left. i can’t lose you, too.

please don’t die. please don’t leave me behind.

a shaky inhale. your arms tighten around her waist, tugging her closer. praying that she’ll feel the steady beating of your heart, the undeniable proof that you’re alive. that you haven’t left her yet.

you blink away the tears in your eyes, grasping for control over your wavering voice.

“i won’t.”

and maybe it’s cruel, maybe it’s the cruelest thing you could do to her — making a promise you know you might not be able to keep. but you do so anyway. helpless to her sadness. at the complete mercy of her grief. you’d do anything to stop the tears from falling, to soothe the turmoil in her chest.

“i won’t let you be alone, shoko,” you murmur into her hair, with all the comfort you can possibly muster. ”not now, or ever.”

three words yearn to be spoken, resting on the tip of your tongue. three little syllables, desperate to be heard after living in the back of your throat for so many years.

and for a second, you think you might say it.

you think you might say it, breathe life into the statement. you can almost taste it, can almost hear it. can almost see what her expression would look like.

but shoko sniffles, and hugs you tighter. protective, like you’ll leave if she doesn’t. so tightly that it hurts a little.

and you swallow the words, once more.

right now, this is enough. it’s enough that you’re alive, that you’re here. that’s what shoko needs, right now.

she doesn’t need your love. she just needs you to stay alive.

so you will. you decide that you will, no matter what. you’ll leave, and you’ll open up a shitty bakery that won’t get any customers — and you’ll give her free pastries for the rest of your life. you’ll get her so addicted to sweets that she’ll have no choice but to come back for more.

shoko cries like a child. filling the silence of the morgue with her shaky breaths and quiet sniffles, little hiccups and whimpers. the tears never seem to stop, and you wonder how long it’s been since she last let them fall.

you hold her in your arms, smoothing a palm down her back, counting the bumps of vertebra — and don’t say anything. there’s no need to.

for now, the soft patter of your heartbeat is enough.

ijichi stands just outside the morgue, unmoving. not saying a thing.

it’s muffled, hushed and quiet, but still audible. the sound of childlike crying. the kind all sorcerers do their best to keep to themselves.

in his arms lie a bundle of papers. the final pages of gojo’s autopsy report. it’s important that shoko sees them — vital, according to her. something about the six eyes, the possibilities they hold. the hope that maybe, just maybe…

— he clutches them tightly, and then walks away.

#the wlw urge to leave everything behind and start a bakery together……#idk how to feel abt this i just!! needed to get some shoko thoughts out!!! she’s my fave jjk girl and i love the way her grief is portrayed #i just hope gege does her justice but i have a good feeling that he will!! if not its on sight #she’s so special to me. the airport scene hurts sm because she really is all alone now :(( its so fucked up i SOBBED into my pillow #well i mean. she still has ijichi. and i love him dont get me wrong but like. STILL #im delusional tho so i think next chapter shoko will use her rct to heal gojo #and then we’ll get a scene of him leaving the airport with shoko. trust me gege and i are like this🤞#sorry for basing all my titles on siken poems. anyway go read ’i had a dream about you’ its so shoko #shoko ieiri #shoko ieiri x reader #shoko ieiri x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #jjk 236 #jujutsu kaisen 236 #…. i think. thats all the tags…….

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skyloftian-nutcase · 9 months

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Quest for a Cure (LU in Healthcare War Era)

Sicktember prompt 2 is here! :D @hermitdrabbles56 @socialc1imb I know you wanted to see this plot. :)

(AO3 link)

His entire body hurt so much. It wasn’t the worst pain he’d ever been in, but by heaven it was unpleasant. What was more alarming, though, was the distinct sense of dread that was steadily building in his stomach, a knowledge of oncoming darkness that couldn’t be pierced, a strange peace and anxiety fighting for control as something so unquestionably inevitable slowly edged ever closer.

Time swallowed thickly, trying to open his eyes. By all things holy, I certainly am being dramatic this evening.

Yes. Yes, he was just being dramatic. That’s what the logical side of his brain was saying, at least. The side that was desperately trying to maintain control as it slipped through his fingers. The rest of his mind was registering how utterly weak he was, how he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in at least two days (from what he could reckon), how someone was at his side constantly, how this virus had hit others and was more than capable of snuffing out its victims.

The darkness was pierced with light, dim and flickering—he really needed to change that lightbulb, didn’t he?—and he saw three silhouettes over him.

Saria? Sheik? No, none of the figures matched their physiques. The blurred edges of those over him started to clear, just enough for him to see familiar faces.

His Lost Boys.

Warriors, Sky, and Wind were watching him with varying expressions of concern. Wind’s eyes were wide and worried, fear evident in his constricted brow. Sky was more distant, anxiety held at bay by sheer force of will but still clearly showing through his expressive face, however muted he tried to make it. Warriors just looked exhausted, a dread shrouding him and making him look far older than he actually was.

Time tried to smile, but he knew it looked as strained as it felt. “What’s with the long faces?”

“You’re definitely not going to work today, old man,” Warriors said with a carefully light tone. “I see the night didn’t treat you well.”

“Are you feeling any better than before? You look awful,” Wind asked, his voice trembling.

Time swallowed thickly. He’d physically been through worse, he knew, but…

He was a trauma surgeon. He fixed things. A laceration was simple, an illness…

Damn it all. There was a reason he didn’t go into internal medicine. He hated how helpless he felt. He hated how scared his boys looked. He hated how he knew in his bones that this was not going to be an easy illness to overcome… assuming he would even overcome it.

“I’ll be up and about soon, Nugget,” Time answered to reassure them, even if he was lying through his teeth. Wind brown uncurled a hair, the tension in his face releasing for a moment, and Time thought he’d almost succeeded. Sky and Warriors, on the other hand, had hardly changed their expressions.

“Please try to rest,” Sky said so softly that Time almost missed it entirely.

Time watched the boy and stretched a trembling hand out to take his. Sky slowly took it. His hand felt so warm in Time’s frozen grip that it brought a little sigh of relief through the surgeon’s lips.

He wanted to say something, anything. Some anxious thought in the back of his mind said this might be his last chance to do so. He really didn’t appreciate the sentiment behind that, but…

If it was his time, then it was his time, he supposed. His gaze passed theirs, up to the ceiling. You have lousy timing, you know. Why would you take me away now, when I have children to look after? To finally find companionship and family, to finally find a purpose once more, to finally feel as if I belong, only to be ripped away and leave them bereft… what a terrible fate.

Despite his ire at the situation, despite his worry for his boys, Time felt his eyes closing once more, and the darkness consumed him.

As the surgeon’s eyes closed and he let out a shaky breath, the three others in the room tensed once more. Sky hated feeling how limp Time’s hold was on his hand, and he stepped away, hugging himself as Wind slid in to replace him. He took a fortifying, slow breath, leaning against the doorway while Warriors took the washcloth from Time’s forehead and dipped it in a bowl of ice water.

“So is he feeling better…?” Wind questioned hesitantly, suddenly not so sure of Time’s reassurance.

“No,” Warriors answered curtly, and Sky winced. The nurse was clearly not pleased with what he was seeing, and it made Sky worry even more.

“You think it’s going to get that bad?” Sky asked hesitantly, his voice quiet.

Warriors sighed as he wrung the cloth out. “I don’t know. I’ve seen it sweeping through barracks, though. It hits everyone to varying degrees. Some people just feel run down and bedridden, and others…”

The rest of his sentence hung heavily in the air.

Wind burst out, “But you guys are medical people! There’s a hospital right here!”

“It’s a field hospital, kiddo,” Warriors clarified as he wiped the sweat off Time’s brow once more. “We stabilize, do emergency surgeries, and then ship them somewhere more equipped to handle a long-term stay and recovery. Besides, the medicine to treat this virus is expensive, they’re not going to ship it out here unless it’s taking out the troops in droves, and it isn’t. Time wouldn’t be staying here, and his illness isn’t something we have medicine for. Either he’s going to get through it or someone will fly him out of here.”

Sky shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t usually fly people from the field hospital to the fully equipped military hospital in the Gerudo capital. He hadn’t seen a piece of land that wasn’t involved in the conflict since he’d finished basic training. The capital was very much in a safe location and therefore not his priority. Time would be protected there, but…

“We’d never see him again! What if they transfer him from there or something?!” Wind exclaimed.

“You don’t know that—” Warriors tried to reassure, but now the teenager was frantic.

“No! This is stupid, why does everyone have to keep leaving—” Wind growled, turning towards the door, and then he stopped with a heavy sigh. “I’m… I’m sorry. I know you’re dealing with a lot.”

“It’s okay, Sailor,” Warriors replied with a kind smile, though Wind didn’t see it.

Sky looked between the pair, and then his eyes settled on Time’s pale face, already drenched once again in sweat. He wasn’t winning this fight and Sky knew it. Thoughts clouded his mind so much he couldn’t put words to them or string a coherent sentence together. He settled for putting a gentle, reassuring hand on Wind’s shoulder.

Then sudden clarity struck him. His lips pressed firmly against each other, and his fingers curled into Wind’s shoulder, catching the teenager’s attention. Sky motioned towards the hallway with his head.

“We’ll be back later,” Sky said to Warriors, who gave a simple nod.

When the door to Time’s room closed, Wind said, “I know I shouldn’t have yelled. Can we do something to help them, though? I can bring Wars food or something.”

“I have a better idea,” Sky said, a smile starting to pull at his lips. “This virus is pretty common to this area. Which means somebody has to have medicine for it closer than the capital. I think the nearest enemy camp in the town ought to be a good place to start.”

Wind gasped, immediately catching on to what Sky was implying. “Hell yeah! I know all the ways to get in there too!”

Sky smiled as the boy’s face practically glowed. There were likely a hundred rules Sky was breaking in even suggesting this, but he didn’t care. Time was seriously ill, and Sky knew the enemy had to have medicine for such a thing. Sure, the local village might not have it, nor would their military base, but many of the enemies they were fighting here were locals, and they had been dealing with this for ages. He also knew from flybys where their nearby camp was – the nearest one, at least, and the one that was based in a town, which meant it likely had the medicine.

And he had a kid who knew how to sneak in and out of said encampment.

It was time to help their friend.

Sky guided Wind to his own quarters. His roommate thankfully was out, which gave him the opportunity to plan things out somewhere as private as possible. He quickly pulled out desert camouflage attire, putting it on and glancing at Wind, who waved him off.

“I’m small, I sneak in and out of there without it all the time,” the kid reassured him with a smile. His easy confidence both amused Sky and made him uneasy. For a moment he realized the gravity of what he was asking of a fourteen-year-old. Time’s pain-stricken face floated into his mind, though, and his anxieties over losing him overruled the concern. Besides, Wind had said it himself – he’d snuck in and out plenty of times. It wasn’t fair to ask this of the kid, but Sky did have to wonder how well they’d fare if the army utilized Wind to take the enemy base down entirely.

That was a matter for another day. Sky couldn’t eliminate an entire enemy base, but he could sneak into one.

But just in case, he packed two pistols and his semi-automatic gun. Just in case. And maybe a sniper rifle.

Wind did, under mild protest, get a camouflage jacket from Sky, both for the elder teenager’s sanity and because the desert was frigid at night.

The pair snuck by the guards rather easily—unnervingly easy, Sky would have to bring this up later—and began their long trek through the desert.

“How long does it usually take to get to the town?” Sky asked before adding out of curiosity, “And why do you sneak in there so much? You know they can kill you, right?”

“It’s like an hour walk from here with the route I take,” Wind answered. At Sky’s alarmed expression, he added, “It’s not a route that vehicles can drive. We’re gonna be climbing. A lot. Hope you can hold on to all your guns.”

“Speaking of which,” Sky said, holding out a pistol and a machete. “Do not use these unless you absolutely have to. Got it?”

Wind reached out hesitantly. Sky quickly asked, “You do know how to shoot, right?”

Wind gave him bewildered, somewhat exasperated look. “Why the hell would I know how to shoot?”

Great. Maybe just the machete, then. “I don’t know, you’ve been wandering a war zone for so long now I figured you had something up your sleeve to defend yourself.”

“I do!” Wind replied excitedly, pulling out a boomerang. “This baby’s helped me out in tough times!”

“Huh.” Sky gazed at the boomerang curiously. “That’s different.”

“It works!”

Sky shrugged. Whatever worked, he supposed.

The adolescent pair continued into the desert night, a chilly wind trying to tear through them. Wind’s path quickly went off the main road, and Sky did indeed find himself climbing nearly sheer cliffs, gripping whatever flora had managed to creep along its walls. He started sweating quickly, feeling his stamin fall, but they managed to reach the top before his grip gave out. Their journey was mostly spent in silence aside from Wind giving pointers on footing, giving Sky plenty of time to formulate different plans.

This medicine had to be in a clinic or hospital. Which meant they’d have to get to that point. Then they’d have to figure out how to sneak into such a facility. It was a good thing he had thought to swipe a few items that Wars had left lying around.

Wind held up his hand suddenly, making Sky freeze. Then the kid cackled, pulling out his phone. “Gotta do the obligatory pre-break-in selfie.”

“Wind!” Sky hissed. “I could get court martialed for this, no pictures!”

“Oh come on!” Wind argued. “I’m not dumb, I don’t share this stuff! These pictures are to show my grandma and sister when I find them, that’s all.”

Sky sighed heavily. To hell with it. Pulling down the black mask that was covering his face he gave a strained smile as Wind winked at the camera with a peace sign.

The edge of the town was surrounded by stone walls. The only entrance in and out was flanked with multiple armed guards. Sky looked at Wind hesitantly, and the kid had the audacity to smirk. Sky was almost proud of him.

Wind moved towards the alpha side of the town wall, pointing to a spot that seemed darker than the rest of the surrounding area. “A lot of places here have old leftovers from way back when. This town’s got old sewage system that they don’t really use, it’s kind of more just runoff for… I don’t know, I guess they get rain sometimes. Either way, we can get in that way because they don’t really use it anymore.”

“And nobody’s guarding it?” Sky asked curiously.

“There’s, like, one guy. And he’s so freaking bored. He plays games on his phone.”

Sky snorted out a laugh and then followed his friend. The pathway was a little muddy, implying that something usually ran through here. It didn’t have a terrible odor to it, though it wasn’t great. Sky clutched his gun tightly as Wind peered around a corner and motioned for him to follow. The mud squelched too loudly for his liking, and with as on edge as he was feeling…

These people wouldn’t hesitate to hurt them. He’d seen what they were capable of. They’d shot down a medical helicopter for heaven’s sake. Still, if Wind had managed to sneak in and out…

Wind pointed silently, and Sky saw the guard in question. He squinted, staring at the man’s phone. Was that Angry Birds?

Slowly, Sky put his gun away, letting it rest on his back, and the pair scooted forward. The man sat close to the entrance, but not directly beside it. If he stayed engrossed in his game, they might actually have a chance. Wind snuck out first, quick and silent. Sky followed suit, feeling his stomach clench so tightly he thought he could throw up, but neither caught the guard’s attention.

Great. Great. They were in the city. Sky let out a subtle laugh, shaking the jitters off as they slipped into an alley. Now all they had to do was find a clinic or hospital or—

Oh, that giant building with the medical symbol ought to do nicely.

“What are you usually doing when you sneak in here?” Sky asked, suddenly curious.

Wind shrugged. “Looking for my sister and grandma. But they don’t really have refugee locations or prisoners here or anything.”

Sky felt his heart hurt. This kid was so determined to find his family. It was no wonder he was desperate not to lose anyone else.

“They’ve got curfews and stuff here,” Wind noted. “Since they turned the whole place into a base and all.”

There went Sky’s next thought to just blend in with the civilians. He supposed they would have to sneak around everywhere, then.

Maneuvering to get to the hospital wasn’t too terrible – the majority of the guards were posted along the walls rather than through the streets. The hospital was a fairly small one, but still more of an official medical institution than the field hospital Sky flew people to. He grabbed Wind by the shoulder and motioned to a bag he’d brought along.

“What’s that?” Wind asked hesitantly.

Reaching in, Sky pulled out a pair of scrubs and smiled mischievously.

Wind’s eyes brightened. “We’re posing as nurses!”

“I am,” Sky corrected. “You won’t fit in Wars’ clothes.”

“How did you get his scrubs?”

“Lost a bet. He wanted me to do his laundry as punishment.”

“…Did you clean them first?”

Sky tilted his head with a sheepish smile. “Well… point is, I have scrubs.”

Wind raised a cautious eyebrow. “So then what about me…?”

Sky’s smile grew more devious.

Ten minutes later, a security guard was knocked unconscious and dragged away, tied and gagged (with a bonus unconscious selfie with Wind winking and Sky looking mildly exasperated), and a wheelchair was acquired as a nurse wheeled his pediatric patient into the hospital.

“Okay, so we need to find the pharmacy,” Wind whispered. “That’s where the medicine would be, right?”

“We need to know what the medicine is first,” Sky replied quietly. “The only way to do that is for you to have that virus.”

Wind gave a quick huh? And then gasped with an oh! And proceeded to start fake coughing so hard the veins in his neck bulged.

“Easy, sailor,” Sky said worriedly, but Wind waved him off. When they stopped at the emergency department doors, Sky got himself together and waved sheepishly at the triage tech. “Forgot my badge, sorry. Mind letting me in?”

The triage tech rolled her eyes good naturedly and walked over. “You’re on the struggle bus tonight, buddy.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sky replied with a chuckle as he wheeled Wind in.

“So uh, what’s this virus called anyway?” Wind whispered as Sky found an empty room to put him in.

“I know the colloquial term is Sand Fever,” Sky said, pausing. “But I don’t know its actual name. I’m hoping that’s enough, though.”

If there was one thing Sky knew he could rely on, it was the chaos in the emergency department. He went to registration and put on a show how there was no paperwork for this new patient and gave her false information for a face sheet. She noted that he hadn’t been triaged, according to the paperwork, and Sky said he had, actually, he was in bad enough shape that they were going to get the info once they brought him back, which wasn’t unheard of for critical patients.

So one false paperwork bracelet later, Sky and Wind found themselves awaiting a physician’s examination for the presumed serious case of Sand Fever. Wind really played it up as much as he could, and it certainly worked well enough that the physician was willing to do a test for the virus. As soon as she left, Sky asked Wind, “How did you fake wheezing? Like this whole thing definitely has my heart rate and blood pressure up, but I can’t fake wheezing.”

Wind huffed, almost proudly, but then he wilted a little uncertainly. “I… don’t know. I tried hard, though.”

Sky’s confidence in the situation faltered a moment, quivering like a freshly hatched chick. Wait…

Dread filled him, and he slowly walked out of the room. He wandered the emergency department to get a lay of the land and distract himself, keeping close enough that he could rush to Wind’s room if anyone suspected anything. He felt incredibly exposed all of a sudden.

After maybe his third lap around the unit, the physician from earlier stopped him. “I put in orders for the Velkisen. Give him an initial dose and then I’ll write a script for pharmacy to fill.”

Sky blinked. What? “Uh, yeah. Okay.”

He repeated the name over and over. Velkisen. Velkisen.

Wait. Was that… was that the antiviral medication? Was… did that mean…?

“Shit,” Sky swore, going back to Wind’s room.

Wind perked up immediately, having been anxiously fiddling with the blanket provided to him. He also immediately could read Sky’s expression and knew something was wrong. “What is it?”

“You’ve got Sand Fever,” Sky said.

Wind blinked. Then he said, “Wow. Okay. That makes sense for the wheezing and achiness.”

“You’re achy and didn’t say anything?!”

Wind stood, crossing his arms defensively. “What differnce does it make? It doesn’t affect everyone the same, clearly I’m not as bad off! So what if I got it from Time! He needs the medicine.”

Sky groaned. “Well, we’re in luck because—”

A script! They were going to get a script!! All Sky had to do was fudge the amount of pills they would need, he could double or trip it, and they could get out of here with everything they needed from the hospital pharmacy!

…Assuming the pharmacist didn’t question it.

And he needed to get the initial dose apparently.

Sky advised Wind to wait and turned quickly, asking another nurse to let him into the medication room because of his supposedly forgotten badge. That wouldn’t get him into the actual dispenser, though, and he knew that. He had to figure out something.

Wait. He knew a trick he’d seen Warriors done a few times to override for medication. All it took was swiping some aspirin out of someone’s bag. Then he poked another nurse. “Hey, I need to return this medication, but it’s not popping up for me. Do you mind checking for me?”

The nurse shrugged and popped in easily enough, and Sky once again felt guilty at how he was abusing the camaraderie that emergency personnel showed each other.

The nurse logged into the dispenser and asked, “What’s the med called?”

“Vil—Vilkon—Vel—”

“Velkisen?”

“Yes! That’s the one.”

The nurse tossed him a look with a smirk. “Long night?”

Sky laughed nervously. “Yeah. I keep tripping over my words.”

“What’s the patient’s name?”

“Last name is Tingle.”

“Looks like it hasn’t even been dispensed.”

Sky made a humming sound and gently pushed by the nurse to look at the screen. “Weird. Well, I guess I’ll just pull it again, then.”

He tapped the medicine name with his finger, and a drawer popped open. When a compartment opened inside, awaiting his removal of the medication inside, he hesitated.

This was an intravenous medicine. He could immediately tell from the vial. There was no way he was administering this to Wind, even if the boy needed it. He grabbed it nonetheless – hopefully it could help Time. The script ought to provide more anyway. With a nod to the other nurse, he quickly made his way back to Wind, who was just finishing a conversation with the doctor.

“How old did you tell them I was, anyway? She hasn’t once asked about a parent,” Wind noted as Sky hastily slid the door closed.

“Eighteen,” Sky answered easily before pulling out the medicine. “Did you get the script?”

Wind waved the paper triumphantly. “I sure did! Tripled the dose, too. Now we just wait until I get discharged?”

“No,” Sky immediately said. “Too much paperwork, too many questions, too easy for people to figure out something’s off. Let’s head for the pharmacy now.”

“That means we have to sneak by the nurses too.”

“Yeah.”

“Sweet! Best night ever! We’re like spies!”

Sky sighed heavily, feeling exhausted. They were going to be dead spies if they weren’t careful. “Let’s go.”

Wind snapped one more selfie, showing his hospital wristband, and then nearly skipped over in delight. The pair tried to look as innocuous as possible as they casually slipped out of the room and into a hallway before following a transporter through locked doors and peeling off to head towards the signs indicating pharmacy.

It was honestly unnerving how easy it was, even if Sky felt like he was going to have a heart attack at any moment. He was going to ask Wind how the kid was so excited, but the more he watched him, the more he saw the nervous ticks, the way the younger one’s hands were shaking, the way his eyes were constantly on alert. Wind was just as scared as he was, but he expressed it through excited jitters.

The pharmacy tech filled the prescription after an agonizing few minutes, and before they knew it, they were slinking through the basement of the hospital with pockets full of pills.

“I hope this is enough,” Sky muttered as they found their tied up security guard. The man was wiggling now, trying to yell over the gag Sky had secured over his mouth. Sky grabbed his bag of supplies, changing out of his scrubs and back into his uniform as Wind threw the spare camouflage jacket back on and ripped off his hospital bracelet, pocketing it. Then Sky grabbed the butt of the gunstock and slammed it into the man’s temple, knocking him out once more. He then untied the guard so he could awaken and get actual help when they’d left.

But he should have known. This mission had been all too easy. Something had to go wrong.

It was blissfully late in the game. They had gotten back to the Angry Birds guard, who had now taken position directly in front of the entrance to their escape route. The pair came up with a plan quickly, and Sky waltzed up to the guard.

“Nice score,” he commented with a smile, and the guard jumped, registered the sight in front of him, and promptly got clocked on the head by a boomerang that he’d missed due to Sky’s distraction. A solid punch to the face did the rest of the work.

Unfortunately, it was time for the soldier to check in based on the radio traffic. Sky grabbed his gun, hissing for Wind to run ahead, and the pair tore into the tunnel. By the time they’d reached the other side, alarms were blaring.

“Head for the cliffs!” Sky yelled. If they could clear them they’d at lease be out of sight.

Instead, a spotlight shone right on them. Wind yelled, running faster. Sky whirled, firing his rifle at the light source, blinking rapidly to see his target. A few blind shots in the general direction eliminated the spotlight, but it also gave away their position just as well.

“Climb! Now!!” he ordered, slipping behind a boulder to give cover fire.

Wind scrambled up the rocks, flinching as gunfire peppered the area around him, though it primarily honed in on Sky’s general location. Sky fired off rapidly, praying he hit at least a few targets or warded them away long enough.

“I’m over!” Wind called. “Come on!”

“I’ll follow you, just go!!”

“Sky—”

“GO!”

Any argument Wind might have had was covered by the wound of bullets slamming into stone, sending dust and tiny, sharp rocks flying. Sky prayed the kid listened. You have the medicine, Wind. Save Time and yourself.

The distinct sound of a gave opening caught his attention, as well as motors. Sky turned his head and saw two motorcyclists tearing out of the main entrance to the town. They wouldn’t be able to get to Wind in the higher terrain, but they could chase him down until he reached the end of the cliffs. Taking a steadying breath, he peered out from his shelter and fired, managing to pick one rider off, leaving their bike spinning out of control.

Their bike.

Sky held his breath and ran. Bullets sprayed the ground around him, creating a trail as the gunner tried to keep up with his steps. Sky nearly slammed into the bike, throwing a leg over and gunning it with all his might.

Drawing close to the cliffs, he screamed out Wind’s name. After the third attempt, he saw the blonde head poking over some stone, the only thing visible about him. Wind immediately perked up, but then he pointed and shouted in warning. Sky turned and saw the other cyclist approaching, gun in hand.

Pulling out one of the pistols he had tucked into his side, Sky fired once, twice, thrice, and the soldier fell. He moved towards the cliff again. “JUMP!”

Wind ran alongside him and leapt without hesitation, arms and legs splayed out wide. Sky reached out for him, managing to catch the falling teenager and helping him climb onto the bike between the pilot and the handles.

“Hold on tight!” He instructed as they tore into the night. Wind kept a continuous lookout, and Sky’s head turned so much it might as well have been on a swivel, but they had gotten enough of a lead to outmaneuver anyone on foot, and Wind started pointing out trails off the main road before any other vehicles could exit the base.

Sky revved the engine again, watching as they accelerated to speeds in the triple digits, and Wind laughed almost as loudly as his namesake that was whipping through their hair. The farther they got from the town, the more infectious the laughter became, and eventually Sky himself was whooping and screaming in delight.

We made it.

XXX

The room felt so quiet. So empty. So cold.

Warriors slumped in his seat, alone with his thoughts. Time had long since fallen asleep, breathing disturbingly shallow. It was high time he take him to the hospital. It was high time he get transported somewhere that could better handle this, assuming it wasn’t too late already.

It was silly, really, to assume such a thing. Time had only been sick a couple days. It had just slammed him all at once. He hadn’t become altered to such a degree until tonight. Some part of Warriors’ brain insisted on taking care of him here, in the barracks, as if telling himself the situation as fine would actually make it so.

But he’d waited long enough. He wasn’t going to risk Time’s life over his desperate attempt to placate his mind. Time would go to the hospital in the capital and be treated and he would be fine. Never mind how quickly he was deteriorating. He would be fine.

He fell apart in forty-eight hours. Will he last the flight? Will they even think it’s worth flying him? Will they risk a pilot, a flight crew, a helicopter to transport someone who might already be too far gone?

Is this my fault for not taking him to the hospital sooner?

Warriors was usually better than this. He could figure out when a situation was going south, he could distance his emotions from the situation. This should be no different.

Except it was different. Because he’d already lost others, and just the mere thought of Time leaving sent him spiraling.

Impa. Lana. Oh fuck, Lana.

Warriors blinked tears away, tried to regulate his breathing. It was time to get moving. He tried not to look at Time, tried to think he was just taking a patient, grabbed his radio to call for an ambulance, when the door to the room slammed open with such intensity it nearly took it off its hinges.

Shooting to his feet, Warriors stumbled and knocked over the chair he’d been sitting on, taking in the sight before him. Sky and Wind were in front of him, breathless, excited, covered in sand and sweat and—was that a smear of blood?! They were wearing camouflage, and Sky was sporting multiple weapons in different holsters.

Warrior felt his body grow cold. “What. Did. You. Do.”

The pair immediately dug into their pockets, hands emerging bearing pill bottles and a vial. Their eyes shone with hope, twinkling brightly like stars in their filthy faces. “We got medicine.”

The nurse’s brain immediately put the pieces together, and his body found itself in a strange, bewildering, clashing state of relief and horror. “You stupid bastards.”

Their laughter at his words was not appreciated.

“You could’ve gotten yourselves killed!”

“Medicine!” Sky barked as if issuing an order, interrupting Warriors tirade.

The nurse snatched the medication, still glaring at the pair. “We’re not done here, you hear me?”

He tore into his drawer to grab a syringe, a flush, and alcohol swabs. The medication, according to a quick internet search, was given IM, which simplified things. He was still taking Time to the hospital, though. But injection first. Dosage check first. Reconfirm the route first.

Time didn’t flinch as Warriors gave the shot. Sky was already on the radio calling an ambulance. Wind was smiling in the corner, looking like a triumphant little imp.

They were imps. Warriors was going to have a freaking heart attack. The lecture he had in store for them would certainly be enough to make them think twice before doing anything like this ever again.

Good Lord. If Time’s illness doesn’t kill me, these two surely will.

XXX

Waking up really shouldn’t have been this hard.

For whatever reason, Time was distinctly uncomfortable. The bed was too hard, blankets too warm, skin too itchy, joints too sore. As he fluttered his eyes open, he swallowed and coughed at the dry sensation at the back of his throat.

What had…? Where was…?

Wait.

Sitting up, Time felt the room spin a hair, paused, and then resumed what he was doing.

“Easy, old man.”

Warriors. That was Warriors.

Glancing to his left, Time saw the army nurse watching him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. Warriors gave a small, relieved smile, and it temporarily hid the dark circles under his eyes.

“You’re okay!” Came from his other side, and immediately Time felt Sky’s hand on his other shoulder as the teenager helped guide him back to his pillow.

“I’m… okay,” Time affirmed, actually feeling like it could potentially be true. He felt… not great, but also not the way he had before. The growing dread, the bone-weary exhaustion, the haziness… they were all gone.

He marveled at it a moment. Couldn’t quite believe it himself. He’d been so sure that…

Well. He supposed even surgeons could be wrong.

“Time!”

Wind practically leapt onto the bed, held in check by the other two, but not even Warriors and Sky could stop him when Time held out his arms invitingly. Wind tore into his embrace, practically flattening him into the bed as Time chuckled, relief flooding his body.

“It’s good to see you boys,” he whispered, tears leaking out of his eyes and disappearing into Wind’s hair.

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