Marco fought.

His hoodie was nowhere to be found.

There was only him, in the room, fighting a plastic mechanical soldier with no weakness in sight.

His arm felt heavy- the adrenaline already rushed off to who knows where. His own body rioted against his idea of physical exertion as he panted, longer and longer each time to catch his breath, yet he couldn't fight the smile that broke out in his face. The soldier was close, and waiting, but Marco was ready. He rushed and slid to the side as the soldier swung its sword above Marco's head. Out of sight, he kicked the green plastic of the mechanical soldier, and off it went, pushed to just a few centimeters prior. It didn't even stumble.

It turned easily, not phased. The soldier parried his sword, and Marco matched it. Their swords clanged once, twice, an ambiance of metals that rang into the underground cave. Shadows followed their dance in the barely lit room, torches in the sides that Marco was careful not to go near- he'd lost too many shirts that way.

His sword, forged from the metal unlike anything on Earth, made its presence more known at each pant that Marco expelled. He was tired, but not tired enough to ask for help for what could be a smug I-told-you-so from his demonic friend. So he struck, and slashed his way and stabbed, but his sword only bounced off the material of the plasticy soldier. Sweat has plastered his hair all over his face, while the plastic warrior didn't looked any worse for wear, if anything, it advanced the same way when he'd first activated it.

He was at a disadvantage- for the most part. On one hand, the soldier was made out of some impenetrable substance. It limited it's movements, and couldn't run. On the other hand, Marco could dodge and swing all he wanted, but still couldn't graze it. Stalemate, Ferguson would've called it, where both sides were unable to do the other harm.

Marco dodged. His enemy's sword was dangerously too close and he didn't have the upper hand. Having to dodge and reel back made something curl into the pit of his stomach. Even in the vast expense of the room, even with the slow fluidity of his enemy's strides, his heart pounded- and it wasn't from the exercise.

He huffed. Then advanced. With renewed vigor and inner promises of Mackie Hand marathon when everything is over, he struck- completely forgetting about the small insignificant fact of his sword not having any effect on the soldier's skin. His sword only slid on the bare body of the soldier, while it finally got a hit on him. A sting shocked his body and he gasped as the sensation burned. A loud noise resounded from all around him, and he blinked away a tear.

Marco fell to the ground, clutching his arm. A sticky substance spilled from where his hand pressed. In front of him, the soldier strode forward. Marco thought to reach for his sword, but his head lurched at the thought of removing the only thing that kept him from bleeding profusely. The soldier took another step, and Marco inched himself back.

Just when he thought that he could afford to lose blood in favor of spending a few moments more alive due to the advancing Toy Story's rejected animatronic, the soldier burst spontaneously on fire and in walked in a demon that's more bored than worried.

The two locked eyes for a moment, then the demon gave him a look of utter smugness. Marco groaned.

"I knew you were sneaking out to fight this thing." Tom announced, finally reaching the robot and kicking it for good measure.

Marco would shrug- but then he would probably make his injury worse. "You know, it's customary in Earth not to make fun of wounded."

Tom flashed him a grin. "Good thing we're not on Earth, then." He offered a hand up to the human, who only shook his head.

"I can walk. I think," he mumbled by the end. Careful not to jostle anything, Marco stood up slowly and took a step forward, and promptly fell forward.

Tom caught him on his descent down to the floor. Marco hissed in pain. "It didn't go through. It's just a slice. I'm fine. I just need to cover it with..." He leaned his weight onto the demon. The electrical sensation didn't leave even when the sword had luckily, not cut his entire arm off. But the feeling still resonated, and if anything, it got worse. Marco bit his lip as nausea rose in him. Should he be standing? Could he still walk? Questions swirled around his brain but his body refused to participate.

Marco fought off the dizziness and walked it off. But the moment he stepped out of the demon's hold, small rocks dug into his knees. He was aware that he'd fallen, and he wanted his body to move, but it wouldn't obey. He could hear voices, but nothing registered on his mind. He closed his eyes tightly, then he was floating.

"I told you not to fight with the plastic soldier." Tom sounded resigned.

Marco mumbled a response. Warmth that swayed him was then replaced by softness at his back, sat on an unfamiliar bed. Tom propped up his arm on a mountain of pillows, before muttering, "Don't move."

Marco was happy to oblige. Footsteps went and gone while he rode out the pins and needles, up to the numbness in his arm.

"You can let go now." Something tugged at his hand, which made him realize the deathly grip he had on his arm. Iron assaulted his nose once more, but there was something more, smooth cloth wound up and around him.

When Marco opened his eyes, his left arm was already bandaged, courtesy of one nonchalant friend.

"Well, there's a laceration. You should add more cloth if it bleeds through. Just keep it above your heart for a while, I'm should get something to heal that." He stared at Marco intently. "Unless you feel faint? You're sweating too much and I think you should lay your head on your knees and-"

Marco's mind drifted out of focus but he managed to stay in the present. He licked his lips and let out a ragged breath. "I didn't know you knew anything about human anatomy."

"I don't."

Marco checked if his muddled mind caused the hallucination. Yet the bandage was there, holding up and clean. "You just spontaneously learned the ability to what, diagnose human condition?"

"Let it go, Diaz." Tom's brows took an effort to remain relaxed, and he sighed. His words creeped into a mumble. "I didn't know anything. I, ah, learned. First aid."

"Why?" Marco fought against the heaviness in his mind.

"We both know I'm not the safest person around." Tom's words rang with a sense of finality. A wall of flames burst out of the ground, and the demon stepped through without looking back.

Marco stared where the demon disappeared for far too long. He didn't know if it was the shock- or his body's natural ability to numb, but even with his knowledge on how his arm had burned while only being a cut, he didn't feel anything now.

He wondered. With nothing to occupy him, thoughts raced in his mind with no intention of stopping.

Thoughtful. Tom was surprisingly thoughtful. It was a word that Marco never knew he could associate with the demon. It took him a moment to put a word to his feeling, especially when everything felt muddled with shock. But he realized he was oddly touched.

With that, Marco yawned. He wasn't aware when he dozed off, but he woke up to smooth, soft strokes in his hair. The hand stilled as soon as Marco opened his eyes, slowly, unfocused, until he clearly saw the deep, dark hue of crimson from the other's eyes. Tom ruffled his hair once more before standing up. "Good. I wasn't sure if this would work if your body wasn't aware enough to heal." He triumphantly held up a bottle.

"It'll be quick. Don't squirm." He quickly undid the bandage he made to stop the blood leakage, and while Marco had a small bout of panic, he restrained himself and waited.

Tom tilted back the odd glass and poured a clear liquid, one that seemed to pierce within the skin of the wound. Marco shivered. He counted in his head as the coldness didn't falter.

'fifteen... sixteen... seventeen... eighteen... nineteen..."

The pulls, pinch and cold, was logically only a few seconds deep, but it felt longer when the chilling sensation finally faded into nothing and the cloud in Marco's head cleared.

Slowly, cautiously, Marco flexed his arm. He clenched his fingers and mimed playing his electric keyboard, then raised it above then below. When no pain registered, he breathed out, "It didn't even scar."

Tom looked pleased for a moment, then twisted his features into something more accusing. "You're still an idiot. I told you not to. It's not a toy, you know. I bet you don't know the first thing about swordplay."

"Sure I do!"

"You never had lessons! Do you even know how to use a sword properly?"

"I have common sense. Just slice with the sharp end."

Tom let out a sound of frustration. He blinked, then didn't open all eyes for a moment. After a particularly long sigh, he said, "Fight me."

Marco's expression morphed into something akin to regret. "What?"

"Unless you're lying and don't really know how to..."

"Well, I just got back from injury!"

"It's healed now, isn't it? If you can fight, you will. Common sense, you said? Then prove that you could slice me with the sharp end."

Marco snapped his mouth shut as he realized he didn't have anything more on his sleeve. He thought back and remembered why he was there in the first place. "Aren't I supposed to help you transcribe the old tablet you got from your archive?"

"Aren't you not supposed to fight the plastic soldier?" The demon shot back.

"...You're never letting that go, aren't you?"

Tom rolled his eyes, the heat from his gaze unfading. At the very least, he seemed to be willing to drop the subject. He then gestured to a small pile at Marco's side. "Eat. I hear they're good for blood loss. I'm gonna get you water." He stood, once more, once again.

Marco realized the other was letting him off the hook."Hey Tom?"

The demon paused, expectant.

Marco fiddled with the fruit he'd grabbed. "Thanks. Not just for the oranges. You're actually a pretty good guy."

If Tom was surprised at the sentiment, he didn't show it. He did purse his lips before answering, "We had a deal, remember? I'm supposed to take care of you in the meantime. Like I would do to Star. I'm just doing my best. You don't need to thank me." He left.

Disappointment settled heavily at Marco's chest. He didn't have time to figure out why, as the demon didn't waste time on his return.

Marco accepted the bottle wordlessly and drank. It was refreshing, and he finished it all in a few gulps. He didn't feel satisfied, like there was still something inside him that was breaking, but his throat was no longer parched. It was a start. "I'll get started on the translation again."

He didn't watch the other's expression unlike normal. What's the point? Marco flexed his fingers in anticipation of writing. The process wasn't difficult- it was dull, but Marco figured he'd had too much excitement for the day. "Let's go back to the study."