Descole stumbled back into the sanctuary, struggling to stay upright. He leaned against the wall heavily, body shuddering and covered in sweat from the wounds on his body. Being brought back from that warm, black blanket of death had thrown his body right back into it, and he was struggling not to go into shock.
Targent would be eradicated. Bronev was done hurting people. The Azran legacy had been been found, then stopped. There was no more reason for Descole to continue anymore. That's why he didn't follow Layton and the others to that large piece of rubble that dropped down to safety. Back to the world around them.
What was the point? He was in pain, his entire life of studying and planning for revenge, for gaining the secrets of the Azran… it was all over. The answer, to him, was very simple: There was no point anymore.
He slid down the wall, sending another electric spike of pain up and throughout every nerve, every limb, of his body. He couldn't keep his body from twitching. He just wanted it to go away, to end. He let out a pained grimace as a piece of stone landed next to him, spraying rubble and debris over him, settling over his scratched, burned, and bruised body. He shut his eyes, trying to will his body to go limp, to accept the fate he had. However, he was not strong-willed enough to simply pass out.
"Des!" There was nothing Descole wanted to more than to sleep. He just wanted to sleep. He opened his eyes slightly at the voice, however, clouded vision falling on Nate, who was kneeling in front of him, face pulled tight with fear and worry. Don't you dare --
Descole let out a pained shout when Nate scooped him up and gently placed him over his shoulder. The masked man couldn't breathe, the burn pressed up against Nate's shoulder blade and causing more of that indescribable pain to shoot up his body. The pain only increased when Nate started to move. Descole's vision finally began to fade and his body finally began to stop shuddering and twitching. Descole embraced it, closing his eyes again and let his harsh breathing begin to fade.
"Des, stay with me, alright? We're going to help you get better."
"No." Des's voice was nothing more than a whisper. "Just… let me…."
"I can't, Desmond." The name didn't feel right to Des. Descole didn't fit, either. He groaned softly. Just what he needed. An identity crisis, along with the pain that threatened to take his consciousness. Nate started moving slightly faster at Des's pained groan, rubbing the masked man's back as gently as he could, inadvertently brushing the burn that stretched over his body and causing him even more pain. Des couldn't --
The world faded just as he heard Nate telling him that they were on the Bostonius again with Raymond.
Nate could tell when Des wasn't with them anymore, the way his body finally went completely slack letting him know immediately (though Des still trembled, his skin burning with a fever that took Nate completely by surprise). Des's breathing evened out slightly, but it was still shallow, shaky. Nate couldn't help but wonder what, exactly, had happened to the masked man in the Azran sanctuary. He jumped back on the Bostonius, jostling Des's body in the process and causing him to grip Des's torso tighter, to not let him fall.
Des, though unconscious (at least, Nate thought he was unconscious), let out a strangled, choked scream, body tensing and twitching. Nate bit his lip, loosening his grip immediately and rushing into the airship. Raymond looked back at him from where he was piloting, eyes widening slightly when he saw Des's limp form over Nate's shoulder.
"Get him to his room, Nate. See what is hurt, alright? I'll land the Bostonius somewhere." Nate nodded, and moved to the bedrooms, nudging open Des's and laying him on his bed. He took off the mask first, noticing the white had patches of drying blood on it. Des's eyes were half-lidded and cloudy, unseeing, his lips parted slightly. His face was covered in slight bruises and scratches, dust and pieces of rubble in his hair and in a light coating over his body. His torso moved up and down irregularly with sharp, shaky breaths. Nate noticed the dark patch on Des's suit and decided to look at that, first. He slowly peeled away the suit jacket, then covered his mouth at the large, dark bloodstain covering almost the entirety of the left side of his white blouse. No wonder he had screamed. The wound must be serious.
He slowly unbuttoned the article of clothing and peeled it away. It pulled on some of the drying blood on his torso, and Des's eyes snapped back to some sort of clarity, giving a sharp intake of air. He immediately winced and groaned in pain, body beginning to twitch again. Nate moved, stroked Des's tangled and messy hair as he pulled the rest of the shirt off.
Nate immediately gagged. He could see the marred, burned skin, bubbling and blistering around the wound itself. The wound -- Nate felt faint. He couldn't stop staring at it. It looked painful as all hell. Des's breath rattled and wheezed; his mouth twisted into a pained grimace, teeth grinding together. Nate felt himself sitting down, head feeling light. Good God, that wound looked so painful.
Raymond entered the room to find both Des and Nate on the verge of unconsciousness. The old butler checked on Nate first, then told him to go rest while he looked at Des's wound. Nate bit his lip hard, then shook his head.
"No, I'll stay and help clean him up." Raymond frowned.
"Are you sure?" Nate nodded.
"Yeah." Raymond left for the first aid kit while Nate went and got a cool cloth and a bowl of soapy water to clean the dust and blood from Des's body. After a moment of thought, he grabbed a couple of towels and another bowl to wash Des's hair out in. When he got back into the room, Des was writhing, shouting in pain, as Raymond was cleaning the burn with antiseptic. Raymond's mouth was set in a thin line.
"Nate, can you sit him up so I can wrap the wound?" Nate placed the bowls down and shook his head.
"Can I clean his torso first?" Raymond looked at Nate, then at the bowls. He nodded. Nate moved closer, dipping the rag in a bowl and wringing it out before wiping carefully at Des's chest and abdomen, being careful to avoid the burn, which still looked awful, even after being cleaned.
The water was murky by the time he finished cleaning both sides of his torso -- Raymond sat him up, supported him even as Des shuddered and twitched in pain, breathing quick. Then, Nate placed the rag back in the bowl and held Des while Raymond wrapped his burn (Des shouted and tried to shy away from the cloth almost intristically, not conscious enough to tell them to stop but not unconscious enough to let them take care of him without problems). They laid Des back on the bed, and Nate asked Raymond to help him wash Des's hair. Raymond gave a sad smile, and positioned Des so that his head was hanging over the bed. Nate gathered the long, auburn hair and dipped it in the water, using his hands to wash the water over the hair, making sure to get every single strand before he scrubbed Des's hair with the soap he had kept with him when he had filled the bowls with water.
He was drying Des's hair when Raymond spoke. "He's finally lost consciousness."
"Has he?"
"Yes." He finally placed the towel and somewhat dirty bowl of water on he ground (Des had had his hat on when Nate found him -- his hair wasn't as dirty as it would have been, but still had gotten dust and small pieces of debris in it). "I haven't seen a wound that bad in a while. I would have been more worried if he had remained awake."
Nate returned to the old bowl he had used to clean Des's torso, and went to rinse it out and fill it back up with more soapy water. Raymond had moved Des back into a comfortable position, placing a soft pillow under his burn so that it wasn't resting on the bed. Nate dipped his hand into the bowl, pulling out the rag and wringing it out before he slowly worked on Des's face, wiping away the dried blood and dirt. He dipped it back into the water.
"Do you think we need to clean his legs and feet?"
"I don't see why not, Nate." Des probably wouldn't be able to bathe in a long while, anyways. Might as well.
Nate removed Des's trousers, shoes, and socks carefully, wiping them down before slipping a pair of pajama bottoms on him. Nate sat next to Des, and held a hand gently in his. Now all they had to do was wait.
Nate and Raymond took turns watching over Des, monitoring his temperature and breathing. Des's fever hadn't dropped since that first day; he also woke in spurts. Nate made sure that when Des was awake, he made him drink broth and water to keep him alive.
A week had passed before Des started moving weakly when Nate went to place another spoonful of broth in his mouth. Nate quickly placed the spoon back into the bowl before gripping Des's hand.
"Des, are you --" Des groaned, trying to shift and ultimately hissing sharply when his wound was disturbed. His eyes were open -- they were lucid, not the clouded gaze Nate was used to seeing whenever Des was awake enough to eat. He was back.
Nate stood up quickly, then went to get Raymond, who was sleeping when Nate knocked on the door. The door opened slightly -- Raymond's tired, worried eyes gazed back at him.
"What happened --"
"It's Des. He's awake." Raymond was awake immediately, moving passed Nate and into Des's room. Nate followed behind.
"Stop -- I don't want --" Des was weakly moving, wincing and crying. "Stop it, Raymo --" He coughed, groaning loudly and letting out a choked sob. "I don't want help. Please, just -- kill me. If it means staying like this -- just --"
"Desmond, you have a fever, you aren't thinking clearly --"
"I don't care." Raymond was looking at Des's wounds, placing a hand on his forehead and checking his temperature. Des let out a clipped cry when Raymond moved the gauze away to check the burn. "Just end it all, please. It hurts, please, I can't --" Raymond and Nate shared a glance before Raymond stood and left. Nate moved towards Des again, sitting next to him and reaching for a hand. Des's face was pinched tight with anguish. "Nate, please --"
"I'm sorry," Nate whispered. "We're going to help you, alright?"
"Just let me die," Des whispered as Raymond came back, holding a bottle.
"Let's get some pain medication in you, alright?"
"What's the point?" Des wheezed. "I just want to die anyways --"
"Desmond." Raymond's voice had hardened. "You're going to live. Now take the medication."
"No."
"Please, Des." The red-eyed man glanced at Nate, breathing labored. Unwanted tears of pain were trailing down his face. "Take the medicine. You won't be able to feel a thing once it kicks in." Raymond took out a small pill and held it out to Des. The man looked at it, face twisted in disgust. "You won't be in pain anymore. Please…."
Des stared at the pill for a moment longer before taking it in his hand and swallowing it, wincing. Nate reached onto the desk for the glass of water he had brought in for Des, handing it to him. The red-eyed man grasped it with a shaky hand before taking a sip.
"You'll be okay, Des."
Half an hour passed before Des's face slowly started to relax.
"How are you feeling, Des?"
"...Alright." Des shifted slightly, and only gave a small wince. "You're too good to me, Nate." Nate bit his lip when Des gave a small smile.
"I'm glad you're feeling better." Nate squeezed Des's hand. Des was quiet for a moment, searching Nate's face.
"Can you lay next to me?"
"Wh --"
"As long as you don't touch my burn, I should be fine."
"Des, I can think of several reasons on why this isn't a good idea."
"Nate…." Des frowned. "Please?"
Nate sighed before standing and slipping into bed next to Des -- the side without the burn. His body was still shivering with a fever, but it had gone down a bit due to the pill Raymond gave him. Nate grabbed Des's hand, and Des turned his head to give a quick kiss on Nate's lips.
"Thank you." Nate, despite everything, smiled.
"It was my pleasure, Des."