Trey's Dilemma

At first, Mac was aware of nothing except the lurching of his own body back into consciousness. He was overwhelmingly dizzy, felt something that could have been either imminent nausea or physical pain, he couldn't yet tell which, and trying to force his eyes open was like lifting the biggest rock he'd ever hefted.

Something bad had happened! His awareness honed swiftly into sharpness and he figured that the sickness wasn't sickness at all but pain - but the lurching continued. His eyes flicked open and he looked up to see the mean serrated jaw of an icewargreymon.

Frost.

"What-" he almost asked before the details of the fight came back to him. A desperate battle between himself and his partners against a myotismon whose intentions had never become clear beyond just wanting to destroy. He remembered the fight in flashes: the myotismon's tightly-controlled movements that meant that his lack of bulk hardly mattered in battle. His chess-master approach to the fight that meant he seemed to anticipate Mac and his allies' movements even before they'd made them. Between them, Mac, Trey and Tundra had been no match for the enemy mon.

Fighting myotismon was difficult beyond belief - everybody knew that! Why had they done it? Because it hunted us, he remembered and repressed a shudder.

The others... He tried to scrabble against Frost's arms - or more specifically, the wide armour on his forearms - to sit up even as he was carried. His body protested heavily but he had to know. "Where are the others? Trey? Tundra?"

"They're both here, Mac. Just try to relax. You burned yourself out," said Frost, his voice deep and rich and, despite the forbidding tone he had a talent for, soothing on this journey home.

Mac settled back down in Frost's grip but felt troubled. "I used up all of my energy? That's bad."

Frost graced him with a sort of sideways nod: agreement, but also sympathy. These things happen, said the nod. Especially against the undead.

That was as maybe, but Mac couldn't - or wouldn't - shake the feeling that believing that could come to any good. To believe that losing against a myotismon was just the natural way of things... it was a defeatist attitude, and therefore a dangerous one.

But what more could be achieved by thinking about the myotismon now, when he was so badly injured? Mac tried to focus on soothing his mind, and contented himself with arching backwards to look around Frost's back and around generally. Who else was here? Who else had come to his and his partners' rescue?

The rescue party was large. That made sense - it would have taken that many other digimon to scare off a myotismon. Sai walked with understated elegance by Frost's side. Behind Frost were Sinber the bancholeomon, his expression uncharacteristically grim as if he'd become sorely angry during the fight (Or afraid, Mac supposed with a stab of worry) and Jared the bladeleomon - both subtly leonine and always watching out for each other, however subconsciously. Each of them carried one of Mac's partners; Trey's head lolled and Tundra looked tense, curled up as if in great pain. Drack the magnamon looked similarly grim - the natural watchful reptilian look on his face was replaced, at least for now, and betrayed only a distinct sense of unease. Angelos the exveemon similarly so, although his deceptively soft-looking wings looked notably tense. The campy bruiser caught Mac's gaze, smiled slightly as his brow furrowed with concern, and looked away again. Spir the rapidmon managed to look entirely unaffected, insectoid-looking mon that he was. Mac wouldn't have known anything was wrong judging by his studied indifference. Finally there was Rex the omnimon, who made his armour look weightless even though Mac knew that was untrue, walking like a king returning from battle - so noble that Mac couldn't tell whether it was a march of victory or defeat.

Finally Mac's eyes fell upon his two brothers, Max and Mark. White saiyan wolves both, their expressions broadly grim but with subtleties Mac was able to pick up for knowing them so well. They were each superficially injured but walked steadily enough. Max's eyes met Mac's and the older brother nodded stiffly.

"Did you kill it?" asked Mac to the group at large, and noticed how difficult it was to control his jaw and tongue. The words came out mangled. The unconsciousness was coming back again.

Mac looked up at the sky, aware that his mind had begun to swim. The sense of the party was bleak. He felt as if he should ask what had happened, how bad it'd got, but he just didn't have the energy any more. He closed his eyes and tried to relax.

Just before he drifted back into unconsciousness he heard Rex say, "Do you want me to take over carrying him, Frost?"

xXx

Towards the rear of the group, the two Saiyan wolf brothers watched as their younger brother's eyes closed and he fell unconscious once more. What could they say at a time like this, to each other or to anybody else present? Max suffered the worst in the expectant silence - perhaps because he was the oldest and had always felt he shouldered the most responsibility. He seemed restless even as he paced along, blatantly unhappy to be unable to help his younger sibling.

Mark kept glancing at him, feeling a persistent sense of anxiety himself. "Max, come on. There wasn't anything more we could do. We're not exactly the big hitters here. The others fought well enough - you saw them."

"He's our little brother!" Max, as ever, glared at him for this attempt at moderation. Mark could see that Max's heart wasn't in the glare, though, and that it was just another effort to act when he felt powerless. Max finally eased up as Rex gave him a subtly warning look. "We should have done more."

You think we should have gone? With my power? With yours, for that matter? Mark deliberated over whether to say what was on his mind and tentatively decided to say it only when Max's tension seemed to be on a relatively low ebb. And when there was less chance he'd feel humiliated by his lack of control being mentioned in front of so many other warriors. "Max, I'm too weak to fight a myotismon. Far too weak. And you..? It'd only end up using your own strength against you."

"That doesn't matter!" snapped Max and looked hard into Mark's eyes, challenging him.

Mark, despite his small stature, held the gaze until Max gave in. They both knew such a disagreement would never come to blows. Not between family, not between brothers.

Finally Max dropped his gaze. "It still doesn't feel right," he mumbled.

And Mark could only agree.

xXx

Sinber and Jared looked at each other as they listened to this exchange, each with a quiet smile.

"Think that's enough of an invitation?" Sinber asked Jared under his breath.

"Worth a try," Jared answered, and began to compile his plan of approach. To make this happen would mean working with that most fragile of materials: the ego of a hungry young warrior. There was no guarantee this was going to work but he prepared himself as best he could.

The two leonines changed trajectory to join the eldest white saiyan.

At first all Max could do was look sullenly at them both. The two felines waited it out and eventually he opened the conversation, although whether he knew that's what they were waiting for they could only guess.

"Thank you for today."

Mark nodded, smiling just enough for the two wolves combined. A truly uncomfortable smile, like many of his smiles.

"You're welcome," said Jared, and left just enough of a pause before continuing. "You're a strong fighter."

Max gave him a sideways glance and hesitated before speaking. "I don't think I fought my best today."

"I've seen you in better flow," offered Jared.

"You're not going to tell me I did my best, are you?" Max laughed, a little too loudly.

Jared smiled at the attempt at humour. "No, although I think it is true, given your current skill level. You can do better. We all can, for that matter. But a myotismon must be handled carefully, and a fighter with less discipline is at greater risk. I have a few ideas for how to help you learn better control."

He watched carefully but casually as Max went through a thought process that he suspected went in the order of defensiveness, shame or guilt, and curiosity. The saiyan looked at his fallen brother as if trying to figure out a way to answer that embodied everything he felt.

Yes, thought Jared, Inner peace is not among your strong points.

Max's glance was obvious enough that Sinber was able to answer, taking over from Jared. "The path of the warrior is fraught with hurdles Max. Feeling that we have failed our family and friends is among the worst. But what marks the warrior as special is the ability to use hurdles to grow."

Max looked at him as if begging him for more help than that, and Jared was relieved that Sinber was in a good enough mood to be level-headed, despite their semi-defeat in the battle. The fact that he was parroting things Jared himself had said before was fine with him if it meant Sinber didn't end up getting upset enough to throw blame around.

Meanwhile, Sinber clearly chose to speak frankly on the matter: "Yes, it is true that you could have fought better today, and that you were fighting for your brother. Of course you wish you'd been stronger. Perhaps this situation will happen again. So take up Jared's offer," he concluded, putting a companionable yet slightly overbearing hand on Max's shoulder, made harder and more artificial for the fact that he was busy carrying an unconscious Trey.

Max looked at the ground as the group walked along and Jared saw the conflict in the wolf's eyes. To admit that he had fought at less than full capacity was to admit that he had done less than his best for his brother, and Jared understood very well that this was painful. But he had to do it if he was to accept.

Sai came to the rescue, joining their huddle with his usual aethereal grace. "I have help to offer you, Max. Every fighter can benefit from greater focus if they allow it."

Jared offered Sai a discrete smile of thanks, but the taomon did not see it. His focus was fully on the saiyan wolf instead. Jared fought the urge to say anything else. Less is more, so the saying goes. But Sai was the perfect person to talk about focus. His body was slight but his mental power made him exceptionally great - it was not his brute force but his precision that gave him an edge. And what an edge it was!

Max looked around at them all, and finally at Mark. Mark nodded almost imperceptibly and Max sighed. "Okay. Thank you," he spoke gloomily, his hands clenched and rubbing his fingers against each other in agitation.

The group went silent, and soon Max noticed that Jared was giving him a raised-eyebrow look. The wolf shook himself. "Sorry - yes, thank you Sai. I'd very much appreciate that."

Sai bowed graciously and walked on.

"So," piped up Mark, "When will you two start?"

Another chuckle rippled in the conversation and Jared looked over to see Drack laughing, his great shoulders shaking with humour restrained mainly by his own weight.

Mark gave him a butthurt look. "What?" Jared noted how often Mark did this: showed his resentment because he was so well-known for being a weak warrior. The youngest of the saiyan brothers did his best, but his best never matched up to the others. As the designated pipsqueak - by the standards of their group, at least - he felt safe being petulant because he felt certain that nobody would take his threats seriously.

It was believed by the others to be a problem. Was Drack truly approaching Mark about it now, of all times? Jared believed so.

Soon enough Drack managed to stop his great blue shoulders from shaking. "All this talk about self-improvement has made me restless to train. How about you, Mark?"

Mark blinked at the bigger male. "Me?"

Drack returned him with a friendly, yet unwavering gaze. "You."

Mark shrugged uncomfortably and looked away. "Well, I don't exactly... This isn't quite the time I'd choose to... Why are you asking me this?"

"Precisely because of that, I think dearie." Angelos, whose unusually soft voice carried surprisingly well among the gruffer tones of the group, seemed to relax a little as he joined in.

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

Angelos rolled his head - his own version of an eye roll. "Your strength, darling. Focus is all well and good, but you can be stronger."

Jared silently hoped Angelos' unsubtle approach wouldn't put the youngest wolf off and readied himself to intervene if he deemed it necessary. That said, the no-nonsense approach tended to work for Angelos.

"Don't call me darling!" Mark retorted.

Angelos tilted his head airily. "Or you'll what?" The exveemon didn't threaten others lightly - and despite his choice of words this was no threat. Jared recognised it for what it was: playfulness, cleverly disguised with Angelos' dry sense of humour.

Mark opened his mouth to answer but the words caught in his throat. He shut his mouth again and tried smirking at the ground instead. It looked too full of anger for him to pull it off right.

"Train with us," Angelos offered simply.

"I'm not big enough," Mark shot back, although it was a wavering retort.

"So?" asked the winged warrior.

"So..." He eventually gave up and sighed. "So nothing. Thanks." He produced another of those angry grins and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He walked on and looked everywhere but at the ones who had offered him help: at the grass, at the tree line, at the blue sky and white clouds that felt entirely inappropriate for the grimness of the day.

The big males around him understood his discomfort well enough and said nothing. The job was done: he had accepted their offer. Nothing more had to be said.

Frost waited a suitable length of time and spoke up. "Two new, dedicated training programmes. You will all need support. Allow me to play secretary and arrange for all of this."

"Thank you Frost," said Jared with a polite nod, closely followed by a similar sentiment uttered brightly from Drack.

"And while I'm doing that, I'll manage Mac's post-injury care and rehabilitation."

Max and Mark both spoke up simultaneously but it was Mark whose voice won out. "He's our brother. We should be the ones to care for him!"

"He will certainly benefit from being under your care," said Frost with a nod. "You are family, while I am not. But I would like to add my expertise to the effort."

The two young brothers were unconvinced so Angelos put a big, gentle claw on Mark's shoulder. "Mark. Frost has a lot of experience with this. An injured and exhausted mon is very hard, intensive work, and it's too easy as a carer to make mistakes when you are tired. Trust me, I know. Listen to Frost. He knows what he's talking about."

"Mac will recover whether Frost helps or not," Rex added. "But with his direction the recovery will be faster - and easier for Mac. Accept his offer."

Mark and Max looked at each other, troubled looks on their faces. Finally it was Max who spoke. "You've all offered us a lot of help, and we're grateful. Thank you Frost, we would very much appreciate your leadership."

Rex nodded his approval. "Well said, Max."

The group settled down once again, content that all was taken care of, at least for now. It was Trey's moaning that prompted their next words.

Sinber looked down at his burden. "Either he's having a nightmare or he's got injuries we didn't see."

Jared tilted his head to try and interpret the exact nature of Trey's moaning before glancing at Frost. "Any idea what that is?"

Frost answered without missing a beat. "That's a nightmare. He's not enjoying himself but he'll be safe."

xXx

Trey fought his very hardest, his lover and brother both by his side. Normally that would be enough to lend him the confidence he needed but this was a myotismon they were fighting! You didn't just walk away from a fight with one of these things - not unless you were part of a small army and lucky enough to be among the unharmed...

He, Mac and Tundra fought on but Trey could see they were slowly failing. He saw the minor but decisive mistakes, the little miscalculations his companions were making. He noticed his own too and prayed silently that he wouldn't be the one to let them down.

He blinked, his body lurched, and when his eyes flicked open again he found himself a mile away. The tall, spectral figure of the myotismon battled on with the weregarurumon and three-tailed saiyan wolf, the battle quiet but curiously, the sound was still instantaneous - not delayed from the distance the sound had to carry. He saw the tall monster swipe at the wolf, cutting him down.

Trey tried to sprint forward, aware he was too far away to prevent a catastrophe, only half-caring how the myotismon had sent him so far away but desperate to get close again and protect his tamer and mate.

He found that however fast he ran the ground passed underfoot with agonising slowness. The faster he ran, the slower it went by. He could walk it faster! And yet he didn't choose to walk. He couldn't.

The myotismon struck Tundra down too and then looked inscrutably at him across that great span of space, and Trey was certain he was the next to be killed.

He lurched again. The myotismon's breath billowed in his face and he struck out, not wanting to die-

"Ohh, steady, steady!" said Sinber as he laid Trey down on something soft and comfortable.

Trey thrashed a little, still half-believing the myotismon was close by, that his two best friends were dead or dying, before the nightmare faded entirely away.

"What-" he asked before Jared shushed him from behind Sinber's shoulder.

"Rest. We'll get you something to calm your mind, and then you need to sleep some more."

Trey reluctantly accepted that but never got his calming medication, for he was asleep by the time Frost came to administer him.

TO BE CONTINUED...