Abyssus

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Again, thanks for the reviews!I love you all so dearly! 3 . I've only just introduced Fang and Vanille, but unfortunately they don't appear again until chapter four. This chapter focuses on Snow and Hope. Enjoy! :)

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Chapter Three – Live

Hope was only dimly aware of the rain on his face as he struggled to stay awake. He couldn't fathom how long he'd just lain there with a metal spike lodged in his stomach, as there was no hope of him managing to lift his arm to glance at his watch. Answering Snow's call had sapped whatever strength he had had left, and now, his arms felt like lead, and his eyelids felt heavy. He was sprawled oddly, not quite lying on his back, and tilted in such a way that his feet rested a little higher than his head. He could still move his legs, one outstretched and one curling back towards his body a little, which meant that he had not ruptured his spine and paralysed himself, but that was little comfort when one of his hands was still half clenching a thick metal strut that was slick with blood and a foot high. Just thinking about it made him want to throw up, which wouldn't have been a good plan – his mouth was already tasting awful, the iron metal flavour he knew to be blood coating his tongue and gums. His teeth felt strange, loose, as though he'd been clenching them, which he figured he probably had.

He made an involuntary sound that was half whimper, half cough, as another violent spasm rocked his body, sending searing jolts of pain from his stomach right up his spine. The jerking movements had started a little while back; he presumed they were due to the trauma his body was currently going through. He had no control over them, and every time one wracked his slender figure, he convulsed around the metal pinning him down, and pain would flair in his stomach. Not for the first time, he thought of his father. Where was he? Did he survive? Did he know that Hope was alive, just trapped in a heap of rubble? Everything was hazy, and quiet, and Hope could feel himself drifting off again. He felt his body tremble as he slipped into delirium, suddenly seeing obscure childhood memories flash before his eyes. He thought he could hear music, and something in his head was telling him he recognised the song as one the tiny toy above his crib used to play as it spun, casting pretty blue and yellow lights in gentle, looping patterns onto the walls and ceiling.

He could feel himself slipping back into unconsciousness, and he struggled, mentally, to stop himself. He knew he was dying, though the blood was prevented from escaping his body too drastically by the spike through his stomach, the injury was too severe, the trauma too much. His body, luckily, spasmed once more, breaking him out of his stupor with a sharp jerk of pain. He gasped for breath. Snow would come. He had to, he always had before. He tried once more to haul himself off the spike, only to move a few millimetres before falling back with a high-pitched cry. Movement was out. He really did just have to lie here and wait to be rescued.

...

Snow shook his head disbelievingly as he surveyed the wreckage that was Vallis City. There were a few people milling around, but they had the same vacant, purposeless stare that the few he'd seen wandering Oerba had. They must have lost everything. Just like me. He shook himself. No. Not everything. There's still Hope. He found no end of irony in the boy's name, as always. For someone whose name meant something so positive, the kid was extremely good at getting himself in trouble and being unable to get himself out of it. He had parked his ride some distance away, just in case those soldiers back on the plains were presuming to follow his trail, and now, he just had to find Hope's house. He assumed that's where the boy would be, not that he had any genuine idea where he might live. Sure, Serah had had Bartholomew Estheim's address, in her address book, but that was hardly an accessible commodity at this given moment. Thinking about Serah brought about another pang of loss, and he wondered if he would hurt this much forever, now. That was depressing. Shaking himself free once more of his depression, he turned his focus to finding Hope. He ended up just hollering the boy's name, although, if his condition had worsened any, the younger would hardly be able to reply.

"HOPE! C'MON, KID! HOPE!"

No reply. He hadn't exactly expected one, so he began to systematically search the rubble. All Hope had said was that he couldn't move. Was he trapped? Stuck? Worst case scenario, he was trapped under a pile of rubble. If that was the case, Snow's chances of finding him before he ran out of air were slim. A grimace as an unbidden image of that very occurrence popped into his head – sometimes he could murder his overactive imagination. "Hope!" He continued to call for the boy, over and over, ignoring the silent phantoms walking aimlessly around him. They were starting to creep him out. Occasionally he stumbled on loose wreckage, and tumbled to the ground, scraping himself up as he did so, and cursing. The adrenalin rush he'd gained from the flight out was swiftly ebbing away, and he became acutely aware that as midday came and went, exhaustion was beginning to creep through his battered body. Unless he had some sort of breakthrough soon, he would pass out.

It seemed like hours later that he finally caught a soft cry of his name, finally, in response to his desperate calling. "Hope!" He headed towards the sound of the boy's voice, shoving pieces of cracked marble and twisted, viciously sharp metal struts out of the way. He scanned the area, blue eyes desperate for a familiar flash of silver. "Hope! Keep talking to me, buddy..." This time there was no reply for several seconds, and Snow snarled in frustration. "HOPE!"

"Snow..."

His ears locked onto the sound, and he scrambled up and over another pile of wreckage, pointedly ignoring the twisted body that lay amongst it, and finally, he saw Hope, lying on the ground several feet away. It was only once he'd scrambled over to the boy and dropped down beside him that he realised the full extent of the reason the kid couldn't move. He'd fallen, hard, on a brutal steel spike, that was pinning him to the floor like a butterfly. The spike itself was hauntingly slick with the teenager's blood, and the boy was gripping the metal as though his life depended on it. In fact, his hand had most likely locked around the thing. He'd initially assumed that Hope was wearing a red shirt, but with a wave of nausea, he realised it was supposed to be white, it was just completely covered in blood. Ironically, the strut was what was now keeping him alive, preventing a lethal amount of blood from leaving the boy's body. He let out a deep breath. "Holy shit."

Hope's pale green eyes were so full of relief as they came to rest on him that the blond haired man had to smile reassuringly. The shaking teenager's face was streaked with tears, and he was tense, obviously in a great deal of pain. Snow gripped the younger boy's trembling hand. "It's alright. We'll get you sorted out." He quickly assessed the situation. Hope would have to be lifted clear of the spike, and then, almost immediately, he'd need both entry and exit wounds tightly bound to stop the blood flow. He'd need antibiotics, and as many potions as he could possibly force down the boy's neck. In other words, he would have to leave Hope alone again to go and find a med kit. The look on the boy's face when he voiced this almost broke him. "Don't...leave me..." The younger murmured, frightened. Snow felt his stomach twist with indecision. Maybe he could get Hope off this thing now, and take him with him to find a med kit? No. No, that was just idiocy. "Hope...listen to me." He said hoarsely. "I can't help you until I have the right kit. I promise I'll be back, okay?" He lifted the hand he was holding, noting the grimace of pain that flickered over the boy's face as he did so. Clutching it between both his bigger hands, he sighed. "I'll come back, and I'll get that thing out of you."

He waited for Hope's response, determined not to leave until the kid had given his consent. When he finally nodded, Snow burst into action, a new adrenalin kick borne from finally finding his young friend, and knowing that his life now depended completely upon the older man, giving him the strength to ignore his hunger and exhaustion. He scrambled back over the rubble, taking quick stock of the boy's location as he went in search of a medical kit. He wondered where the hell he was supposed to look. Surely Vallis had a hospital? He scrabbled around, and finally he had to stop and ask one of the vacant-eyed people roaming the streets. The one he picked was an older woman, sat silently on a step of a staircase that led to nowhere, it's destination a mystery, a pile of rubble. "Hey, you! Miss! Where was the hospital? I've got a seriously injured kid who needs help..."

Luckily, she looked up, and didn't just completely ignore him. She looked to be around fifty, and had deep circles around her eyes. "H...Hospital?" She murmured, blinking. She didn't look too injured, and Snow wondered where she'd been when the blast hit. A trembling finger pointed to her left. "Down there. S'just rubble now, but you might...might find some stuff..." She said faintly, eyes lowered. "Hope your friend survives..." She finished, mumbling, a couple of tears dripping down her cheeks. Snow would have liked to take five to comfort her, but he had more pressing matters to deal with. He thanked her, briefly touching her shoulder, then followed her directions. Several trips and embarrassing stumbles later, sure enough, he found the remains of a sign bearing the worldwide symbol that signalled 'hospital' half buried amongst the wreckage. He carefully picked his way around, eyes searching out a med pack of any description. He wanted potions, and bandages. That was it. Come on, they had to be here. Several minutes later, just as the faint stirrings of desperation were beginning to assault him, he found a first aid kit. It wasn't ideal, he would have liked to have found something a bit more substantial, but he'd left Hope alone for long enough. He wanted to sort the boy out, and get the hell away from Vallis.

Hope wasn't doing well when he got back. He was shaking, and his face was shining with sweat. Snow was almost certain he had a fever, which probably meant his injury was infected. This wasn't good news, he decided as he crouched beside the younger boy again. Working quickly, Snow leant over Hope, unlocked his hand from around the pole and lifted his arms, ignoring the squeak of pain the action caused. He got as low as he could, carefully avoiding the bloody spike, and manoeuvred the boy's arms around his neck. "Hold on, if you can, kid..." He instructed, arms sliding underneath the stark white teenager's knees and upper back. Hope trembled, obviously aware that this was about to become excruciatingly painful. "Ready? I'm going to lift you off." Mentally counting to three, and bracing his knees to ensure he could lift the boy completely clear in one go, he stood, keeping tight hold of Hope.

The younger's shriek of agony pierced his ears, and he reflexively tightened his grip in an attempt to comfort him. The poor boy continued to howl, clinging to his neck and writhing helplessly in Snow's grip. Hurriedly, the blond tore the soaked rags of Hope's shirt from his heaving chest, and set him down, holding his upper body off the floor with one arm, and tying a tight bandage straight around his abdomen with the other. He felt slightly ill as blood began to seep out of both Hope's stomach, and his lower back, coating his bare hand. How the spike hadn't just killed him outright he didn't know. The kid must have been determined to stay alive. He pulled the bandage tighter, prompting another heartbreaking scream of agony. Pass out. Please, just pass out, kid. It'll be easier. He grunted as he tied the first bandage off, then tied a second that looped up over the boy's shoulder, since there was a pretty nasty wound there, too. He must have hit it on something before he fell. Distantly, he realised the Hope had to have fallen quite a distance to impale himself the way he'd managed to. He glanced up, and grimaced. The remains of a house built into the side of the cliff stuck out forlornly, and furniture lay in shattered pieces around them.

Hope must have fallen fifty feet. How in the hell was he still alive?

Finally, and to his relief, Hope's entire body went limp in his arms. He could still hear laboured, panicky breathing, so he wasn't worried that the younger had lost consciousness. He continued to work diligently, ensuring that the bandages were stopping the blood flow. He winced, glancing at the boy's face, which was ghostly pale, silver hair plastered to his forehead.

Still. He convinced himself that just finding Hope alive was a good thing. Snow wasn't completely alone after all. He sighed and leant back on his knees once he was satisfied with his bandaging attempt. He could try to force a potion down Hope's throat now, but he would rather have the boy conscious and willing for that, so he'd let him sleep, for now. As he gingerly lifted Hope off the ground again and into his arms, he flinched a little as the younger stirred in his sleep and let out a muffled cry of pain. "Come on. Let's...I don't know, find somewhere out of the rain. And get some food. And blankets. And maybe some new clothes." Snow sighed. He wasn't going to get any sleep for a while yet.

He noted that Hope was lighter than he remembered, despite the fact that he was quite obviously taller than he had been the last time Snow had had to carry him anywhere. He assumed that was largely down to blood loss or something, he wasn't sure; it wasn't as though he was a trained medic. He could feel the boy shivering, and he rearranged him in his arms, loathe to force too much pressure on his back and stomach by having him curl up, but more inclined to share his admittedly limited body heat with the sleeping teenager. "Yeah. Definitely clothes." He'd left the bloodstained rag of an excuse for a shirt behind, and would have to find something to keep Hope warm. Picking his way through the rubble and shaking the rain from his hair every thirty seconds or so, he spotted the half-blocked entrance to what had to be some sort of cave or tunnel. Upon entry, he found the wrecked remains of an elevator carriage – he was in some sort of lift shaft. He had no concept of what Vallis had actually looked like before it had been reduced to rubble, but he imagined that the people here had done remarkably well in three years. He knew the whole city was the idea of Hope's father, Bartholomew, an ex Sanctum genius, and he wondered if the man was still alive.

Gently setting Hope on the filthy floor – not ideal, but it was the only option they had – he sighed, hoping the bandages would keep out further infection. He reminded himself to make sure the boy took some antibiotics as well as a potion, just to ensure that his body could fight off the virus. Shrugging out of his black shirt, which was a bit grungy by now, but would satisfy his purpose, he draped it over Hope's mostly bare upper body. He dithered over leaving him alone and asleep, but figured that no-one would disturb him, if they even came near the lift shaft, that was. Everyone was in the same position, anyway. Still, he'd try to be as quick as possible. He'd rather he be present when Hope eventually woke up, and besides, he had to keep an eye on the kid's condition. He was all too aware that Hope could still be in a lot of danger. The extent of the injury the steel spike had caused remained an unknown, and he wanted to be there if he suddenly needed medical attention. Snow felt his stomach drop. He definitely didn't want that to happen. He wasn't a doctor, and he could think of nothing worse than having to watch the kid die because he didn't know how to save him. Leaving Hope alone once more, he ventured back out into the rain, shrugging off the cold and flexing his aching arms in an effort to stop the freezing drops sting quite so much as they hit his bare torso.

He spent the next hour cursing and stumbling his way around what used to be Vallis City, locating anything and everything he thought he might need. A half collapsed doorway that led to a musty, dark space that contained a lot of screwed up and sooty clothes was his most fortuitous find, and he carefully went through the piles of charred rags to find the sturdiest, warmest, and most intact items of clothing he could. He wasn't bothered about size, or colour, at this point. Usually he was a bit of a girl about what he wore, but he figured this probably wasn't the time. He rolled up the bundle as tightly as he could, and hauled it up and under one arm. He would probably need some sort of bag or rucksack to carry everything in. He moved off, ignoring the pain in his shoulder that seemed to be increasing. He had yet to even glance at it, not sure he'd like what he'd see if he did. Continuing through Vallis and locating an upturned vending machine in the process, raiding the pile of snacks and shoving as much as he could carry into his pockets, he spent over an hour looking for blankets, and eventually retraced his steps back to the hospital to find some, which he also shoved under his arm. He picked up a second first aid kit while he was at it, although this one was missing half of its contents.

As he was walking back, having decided that enough was enough and that he needed to sit down and eat something, he kept a wary eye on his surroundings. He wasn't sure why he was so on edge; he seemed to be jumping at every little sound, and his eyes flickered back and forth suspiciously, as though he expected some new horror to unfold. Thankfully, Hope was still out for the count when he arrived back at the lift shaft. He dumped the bundle of stuff on the floor, threw on one of the shirts he'd acquired, and crouched beside the younger boy, checking him over. Satisfied that he was still breathing, he dithered over whether to wake him and let him eat something. Several moments later, he did, shaking the boy's shoulder gently. "Hope..."

...

Pale green eyes struggled to focus for a few seconds, before Hope's vision cleared. He blinked rapidly, a soft and slightly embarrassing whimper slipping from between his lips as pain bloomed in his stomach once more. Snow hovered over him, a weak smile on his face. "Hey, kid..." Hope acknowledged the greeting with a half-hearted nod, trying to move his arm. He was still struggling to breathe properly, and his situation worsened when his memories finally caught up with him, overwhelmingly. All those people who must have died when that bomb, or whatever it was, had gone off...he shook his head slightly and began to sob, completely and utterly at as loss as to what was going to happen now.

He soon found himself gathered up in Snow's embrace, and he clung to the older man like a lifeline, shoulders shaking as he gripped his shirt, pain, shock and confusion overpowering him. Snow seemed not to mind, and he rearranged Hope in his big arms, keeping him as uncurled as possible while hugging him to his taller frame. "It's alright...you're alive, I'm alive. That's something..." he was saying, but Hope pretty much ignored him. He'd never felt quite this helpless, he decided, shaking and crying in Snow's arms. He remembered clinging to his mother like this when he'd scraped himself up as a child, although this seemed an odd time to think about that sort of memory. A wave of regret washed over him as he suddenly missed her all over again. He felt tired. After several minutes, his uncontrollable tears finally slowed, and he relaxed a little. He let Snow force something cool and soothing down his sore throat, and lay him back down again, this time with something soft under his head. He mumbled his thanks, voice sounding stiff and cracked. It hurt to speak. Snow may have replied, he could certainly hear a buzzing that could have been the older man's voice, but he was losing consciousness once more. Gratefully, he sank into sleep once again, exhaustion numbing his head so much, he was pretty certain he wouldn't even dream.

...

Another Author's Note: I don't know if it seems that Snow is coping just a little too well with Serah's death at this point, but I'd like to remind everyone, just in case, that his mind is currently 100% occupied. He has a purpose, and so it's easier for him to continue and block the thoughts of loss, pain and guilt. This is, as anyone who's played the game should know, an existing characteristic of Snow's.

Next time: Snow continues to look after Hope, and tells him about Serah and the baby. Fang and Vanille reach Oerba, and discover that they haven't slept very long at all.