A/N: Next chapy. :D Hope you like!

Merlin: 13

...

Merlin stared at his hands, which rested against his knees, vision flickering in and out of focus so that at one moment the cuts and blood were defined with terrifying clarity, and the next were distorted and blurred as if from the tears he was trying so hard to fight.

Sounds were distant and muted. Urgent voices and the roar of flames, consuming the dry wood and hay of the barn as if starved. Merlin didn't look up, he didn't want to see it. The sight of the jagged orange fire lapping against the pale evening sky, the billowing, black smoke hiding what precious few stars there were from sight.

Merlin bit his lip against another fresh wave of pain, so hard, the taste of blood filled his mouth once again. He felt the warm, unabashed liquid trickle from the corner of his lips and down his chin.

His hands were trembling, marred with lacerations and burns. Blisters puckered the soft flesh beneath his fingers, his palms were red and raw.

He drew in a deep, shaky breath, but was unable to satisfy his smoke-filled lungs before he broke out into harsh coughing. Pain flared up and down his torso, scratched at his ravaged throat as he doubled over, pressing his face against the blessedly cool gravel.

The fit left him slowly, and beneath the pain he realized he'd hacked up some black, sticky substance. When he was finally able to gasp in a breath, it brought no relief, but only more agony as the icy, dry air pierced his damaged insides. Merlin curled up into himself, hugging his knees to his chest as he lay on his side. Everything burned and throbbed, his arms rubbing against his legs, his legs rubbing against his chest, his hands against his ankles. He knew he wasn't badly burned, but the pain was unbearable, telling him otherwise.

He knew he should consider himself lucky. Having gotten out. But he didn't. There was only guilt.

He clutched at his head, struggling against the rush of molten memories fighting to gain purchase in his groggy, horrified mind. But it was a losing battle. Images had been branded into his head, his soul. The flames surrounding him, growing faster than should have been possible from such a small spark. The pain as he screamed for help. His eyes, falling onto a bloodied, unconscious figure, trapped beneath a smoldering beam of wood, the lantern that the man had left unattended lying next to him. The panic Merlin felt as he'd tried to lift it for endless moments, but couldn't, not wanting to leave, not knowing if the man was still alive. And the fire kept growing. And the heat got worse. And Merlin was choking.

He ran. He left that man. He killed him.

Merlin whimpered, a sound that was choked and painful, escaping from his dried and bloody throat like a shard of glass. The cold pressed against him, the wind through his tattered, charred clothing stinging the burns and scrapes. He felt as if the whole first layer of his skin had been ripped away. Everything hurt. He pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth and tried to swallow, but failed. He licked his chapped and bleeding lips, but only made them hurt even more. His head throbbed behind his eyes, a solid lump of impenetrable guilt and self-hatred had formed in his stomach. He couldn't even cry. His eyes were too dry. So dry.

So hot.

When the hand touched Merlin's arm, so blessedly, harmlessly warm and reassuring against him, he couldn't help it. He broke down. Sobs tore through him, merciless and tearless, sending fresh shockwaves of agony through his body. But he couldn't stop. He didn't want to.

He was gathered up in someone's embrace. And Merlin, unable to even try and fight it, threw his arms around the burly shoulders. He buried his face in the rough-hewn cloth of the man's shirt against what must have been a massive chest. He dug his fingers into the man's shoulders, gripping the shirt like a lifeline as he let himself succumb to the pain and grief and guilt, the waning terror of a night that had brought only death.

"I-I…I l-left him…I c-c-couldn't…couldn't save…him," Merlin gasped deliriously through his heaving sobs, unable to stop the torrent of words pouring out of him, as if his body was no longer capable of containing the emotions, and had to purge itself.

Merlin was suddenly overcome by another attack. He was squeezed tighter by the enormous, but unbelievably gentle hands as his body shook and seized, expelling globs of black ooze from his lips. Merlin could taste the vile matter on his teeth, but had no energy to spit it out. He buried himself deeper into the man's shirt, wetting it with blood and black spit from his limp and tremulous lips.

"I killed…h-him," he rasped, almost to himself. But…

"No, Merlin,"

Merlin recognized the voice, something falling into place in the back of his mind, something that explained everything. Percival. Merlin didn't look up, ashamed, but curled his fingers tighter around the fabric of Percival's shirt, keeping his face hidden.

"You did the right thing," the knight continued, ever so slightly drawing Merlin in closer, so that the young warlock felt safe in the large, enveloping arms, and his twisted insides uncoiled enough that he exhaled slowly in a breathy whine, "There was nothing you could have done to save that man. You have done nothing wrong. Do you understand?"

The words were gentle, but firm. Holding nothing but the truth. Merlin would have protested, would have insisted he was right, but…

Percival never lied.

And Merlin was too weak. He didn't want to live with the belief he had left someone to die when he could have saved them. He didn't have the strength.

Merlin gathered just enough energy to nod, not knowing if Percival saw or noticed. But it had been enough. A small gesture to tell himself that everything was okay.

The guilt was still there. Like an open wound, but slowly knitting closed. Merlin knew in his mind that he had done no wrong, and someday, he would be able to convince his heart of that.

But for now, it was enough. He hid his eyes in the warm darkness of his large, protective friend, blocking out the world around him.

He fell asleep to the steady, thrumming sound of Percival's heart beat, and the hiss of water against the dying fire.

...

A/N: Review and tell me what you thought! :D I, personally, had a lot of fun writing this. Would you guys like me to make a second part, dealing more with the aftermath, and a bit of bromance? Just PM me if you were a bit confused about what happened. I left it rather vague on purpose, but am sure I could come up with a decent explanation to satisfy your curiosity. ;)