7: Bloodied
They almost did it. Almost. Despite being depleted, they managed to knock out four more people—only three left, Sting landing some spectacular kicks—when reinforcements arrived.
That had not been in the plan.
How they'd known, Raios didn't know: maybe it was randomness, or the unluck that followed him everywhere. New, unfamiliar faces appeared through the burned-out wall behind Raios and Sting. If it hadn't been for Sting slicing another wall with his magic and ramming into Raios so they tumbled back into the main warehouse, they'd have been overwhelmed from both sides.
It still wasn't fast enough to keep Raios from being caught in the gut by flying debris. One of the mages exploded a desk at them, splinters ripping into Raios's chest, miraculously missing his face. The burn on his shoulder took the hit straight on and skin shredded and scraped away like old paint. Swaths of raw red covered his stomach and chest now, and his shirt was nothing more than threads in the wounds.
He bit his lips and kept going. It was all there was to do.
Raios had been paying close attention to Sting's fighting—as close as one could while throwing punches. He was tuned into Sting's body, his heartbeat, his muscles, his breath. The fighting styles Sting had been taught were an exact mirror to Raios's.
He wondered…
Their magic was running low, and these new fighters were actual mages. If more hadn't shown up, he and Sting might've won, but this: no, this was going to be too much. Unless.
Raios gripped Sting's hand—he knew when Sting would twist between attacks, and caught him. Surprise reverberated through Sting, who jolted and made a strange sound, but he didn't stop fighting. Raios followed his moves, and when Sting inhaled to roar, Raios copied him.
He pushed his magic into Sting's skin, intending to power him up, but to his surprise, Sting pushed back.
They connected.
Everything was the same, shared, united. Power, spirit—in all of it, they were one. With Sting's heart beating in his chest, Raios felt the world settle into alignment.
Without having to think, they released their attack together.
The roar was a whirlwind of darkness and light. The shadow world and the holy. It carved a path through their remaining opponents and exploded the warehouse wall. For several moments, light and dark were the only thing in existence: creation was undone, awaiting existence, a worldless world.
Their combined power took out everything.
As the building trembled and sight returned, Raios felt the vestiges of their unity as they dodged falling debris. He could feel Sting's wounds, including a pounding headache and throbbing in his arms—
Sting pushed Raios gently but firmly out of his mind.
"It's going to collapse," Sting said.
Still holding hands, they flew through the gaping hole and out into the street. As the building shook itself apart and dust filled the air, Raios covered his face and tried not to breathe.
Coughing in the aftermath, Raios looked over at Sting, whose glowing blue eyes were focused on the spectacle. Half the building had fallen down; several burned-out walls tilted precariously; and the metal fingers of barred cells stuck up through the debris.
"We brought down the roof," Sting said, turning on Raios with a goofy, lopsided grin.
A startled laugh burst out Raios's chest.
"Yes," he chuckled. "Guess we did."
More softly, Sting whispered, "We finished it."
They'd done it. Something worth fighting for. A hundred emotions crowded around Raios's heart, the shape of which he couldn't tell yet.
Pride, maybe. The comforting presence of his father.
Around them, the murmurs of a crowd began to gather. The people were grimy and scarred like they were, and when Raios heard words like slave traders, he realized the locals had known. Of course they had. Just like him, living in the slums, knowing what happened and just doing your best to keep your head down and not be seen. Nobody could do anything—and the Fiore armament wouldn't have helped. Nobody listened to the barrios. Except him and Sting.
Shouts got their attention—official shouts, from armed guards with the Fiore crest on their uniforms. Shit.
"We need to go," Raios hissed.
Trying not to enjoy it too much, he pulled Sting tight against his side and drew them both into the shadows.
Three hours. That was how long it took them to destroy a black market enterprise selling children.
Sting kept exclaiming over it, making it difficult for them to successfully steal a meal—which, Raios felt, they'd truly earned. When they returned to the first resort where they'd stayed (in order to recuperate in luxury), Raios wondered if he'd have to silence Sting by force, but the boy finally quieted down and shoved food in his mouth. They were both shivering from excess adrenaline and hunger.
Without any preamble to his intentions, Sting stripped and walked into the bath.
Raios choked on his food.
They were both a pale grey from dust, with sticky spots where wounds showed through; cleaning was definitely in order. But Raios felt he deserved some warning before being subjected to Sting's muscled backside. Why did he have to be beautiful?
"Come in here," Sting called. "You look like a youkai."
Raios's hands trembled as he undressed out of Sting's line of sight. Trembled. Scared of Sting and of being naked around him. Stupid. It had never bothered Raios before a week ago.
Grit had somehow worked its way under all his clothes. In the process of stripping, he also discovered that his face (where throbbing was so normal he didn't notice it anymore) was bleeding again and his eye was swollen.
With his mind on his injuries, he slunk in—hunched with his arms trying to hide his abdominal injuries—and joined Sting. The latter had just finished filling the bath, dunking himself in like this was normal.
Raios couldn't remember ever being in a situation where he could actually immerse himself in hot water. Bathing usually meant splashing yourself from a cold basin and doing the best you could. When he actually bothered to bathe.
Was Sting used to being clean? Raios would have to make more effort.
Perching on the edge, Raios slipped his feet in the water and slowly began to scrub the dirt off. His awareness of Sting's body kicked back in and he studiously avoided looking at the other boy, self-consciousness buzzing. They were quite close, the bath small. Thank the goddess Sting occupied himself with washing.
Water took away dried blood, and Raios was relieved to see his chest and stomach weren't as skinned as they looked. Deep cuts and gashes covered him, but they had closed and didn't hurt any more than the usual injuries he lived with. He got as much of the dried blood off as possible.
As the last of the grime came off them, skin shiny, Sting observed, "We're both pretty bruised." He poked at a purple bloom on his leg. "Ow."
"Don't poke it, baka," Raios grunted.
Sting flicked water at him.
"Damn," Sting said suddenly. "What did you do?"
Following Sting's gaze on his body and blushing, Raios put a hand over the mark, black and swollen on his brown thigh, and found that his palm couldn't cover it all.
"I don't remember," he said honestly.
Looking up for the first time, he saw that Sting's curly hair was bedraggled like an upset cat that had been forcibly washed. And…
"Holy shit," Raios gulped. "You're bleeding."
"Yeah," Sting scoffed, brushing vaguely at the cuts on his arms and torso. "Here and here and here. So are you."
He reached out as if to touch Raios's chest and Raios shifted quickly.
"No," he interrupted, "I mean up here."
He pointed to Sting's eyebrow.
The cut Sting had sustained coming to his rescue was far deeper than Raios first realized. A red trail squiggled around his eye and down his wet cheek, flow constant. And thick.
Sting touched it tenderly, staring at the scarlet on his fingers.
"Huh. I didn't realize it was still open. Let's see if… Ow—fuck! Damn, I think the bone might be br—bruised."
Shit. Raios swallowed. The woman's shadow magic had been a true marvel—he wished he could've eaten more. But on Sting, whose greatest weakness was dark magic, it cut sharper than a knife. He'd blocked most of the impact with his arms—
Wait. No.
Raios lunged for Sting, splashing water everywhere.
"Hey—!" Sting protested.
Raios grabbed Sting's hands and flipped them over.
He still had the old bandages wrapped around his forearms for now, managing to keep them mostly dry. The bandages were brown and dirty…
And on the underside, torn apart.
"Sting," Raios whispered.
Deep rents ran along one elbow and across the opposite wrist. Black, scarlet, terracotta. They looked like they'd been cauterized—maybe an attack of fire, maybe Sting's own magic. Raios couldn't believe he hadn't seen—but Sting had kept these new cuts facing down. When Raios stared up at him, Sting looked guilty.
"Do they hurt?" Raios asked, trying very hard not to growl.
Sting nodded.
"Why the hell didn't you say anything?"
Sting looked like he might cry, but his voice stayed strong.
"I figured we'd deal with them when you help me with the bandages."
"Sting." Raios reached his fingers for one of the gashes, stopping short of the bloody mess. His voice was thick. "Your bandages are in the wounds; you know what this means? It's going to rip them back open when we peal these off."
Sting stared down, shrinking and small.
Throat icy, Raios said, "You got these because of me."
"No, I didn't. That's why I didn't say anything." Sting pulled from Raios's grip. "You always take responsibility for things. I didn't want you to feel bad."
Raios couldn't look at him. He didn't know if he was angry or afraid or both…or even what he was angry at—the traffickers, or Sting, or himself.
"That's a terrible reason to ignore injuries like this," he mumbled.
"So stop acting guilty for things, and I won't have to," Sting snapped. "Your whole chest is cut up because of me. How do you think I feel? Speaking of which," Sting's voice softened, "how is it feeling?"
Raios wrapped his arms around himself protectively.
"It's fine. They're not bad."
"Okay." Sting sighed heavily. "Well, how do you propose we deal with these?" he asked, lifting his hands. Now that Raios was paying attention, he saw Sting's arms were shaking.
"We can try soaking the cloths off."
When Sting lowered his arms, Raios snatched up his hands again.
"Not in this water. It's got enough dirt and blood in it already."
Sting merely shrugged, making Raios glare at him.
"Those are open wounds. We have to take care of them."
"Fine. You're the healer," Sting said.
Flaring irritation kept Raios from feeling insecure about his naked body as he straightened and got out of the bath. Drying himself, he marveled at how nicely brown his skin looked now. He felt loads better. Minor cuts had sealed, and joints and bruises ached less.
"Sting," Raios said without looking around, "thanks for today. You're a good partner."
He didn't see Sting's awe-struck smile. Nor the blushing glance Sting aimed at his rear.
Raios had to worry about Sting being noisy again when he picked the remains of the bandages out of his damp wounds. Soaking them in water helped, but the cloth had been charred into his skin in some places, and removing it involved ripping Sting back open. In tiny, slow, agonizing jerks.
The amount of red now seeping into the fresh water scared Raios out of his mind.
When Sting swallowed another scream, Raios stopped for the dozenth time, fingers hovering.
"Worse than…when she sliced me," Sting whispered, panting.
Raios wanted to cry.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm sorry it hurts, I'm so sorry …"
Sting just shook his head, opening his mouth to gasp a ragged breath, then shutting it tight again as more noises whimpered in his throat.
Gripping Sting's bare shoulders, Raios rubbed circles into his skin.
"It's okay. It'll be over soon. You can do it."
"Just finish," Sting whispered. He was growing pale, and guilt threatened to crush Raios's chest. "Get it over with. Please."
Raios lowered Sting's arms into the water again and obeyed. Even when Sting's gasp broke off into soundlessness, he didn't stop. Didn't look up. He knew if he saw the pain on Sting's face, he wouldn't be able to continue. He couldn't stand hurting Sting.
But here he was, doing exactly that.
Finally the ragged bandages were gone. Raios licked his lips, Sting's tears leaving salt in the air.
"You did it," Raios said.
Sting didn't open his eyes. Holding out his arms, he murmured, "Put new ones on?"
Amid the water, scarlet dribbled and began to drip off his fingers.
"I can't right now—"
Sting moaned.
"You're still bleeding, and it'll only stick again. It needs—"
"But it hurts," Sting interrupted, gasping. "It hurts…"
Sting folded himself into Raios's arms. After a second, Raios hugged him, staring down at the exhausted head which landed on his shoulder. Sting shook heavily now, and Raios could see torn flesh in the deep wounds. What might be bone. Fuck.
"I'll wrap them up again," he promised, "but first…"
Taking Sting's hands, he led them gently to the bath and wrapped Sting's fingers around the edge.
"I know you're tired, but hold onto this to keep the cuts from sticking to anything. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Raios rose.
"Where are you going?" Sting asked, eyes flying open; panicked but swaying.
"I'm getting something for you." Raios gave him an encouraging smile, even though he felt sick inside; Sting's blood made him want to throw up. "I'll be back really soon. Trust me."
Hiccoughing, Sting nodded and slumped against the wall, still gripping the bath.
Melting into the shadows, Raios flew out.
Ten minutes later, Raios materialized in the room out of breath, whole body screaming. His magic was basically gone and some of his cuts had reopened, but speed had been his focus. When he darted into the bathroom, Sting was tilting dangerously to the side, knuckles white. Blood had dripped on the tile, but he valiantly hadn't moved.
Raios fell on his knees next to him and grabbed Sting's hands.
"It's okay: you can let go," he said when Sting tried to resist.
"What did you get…?" Sting broke off. The silence was a ball of pain too intense for noise. Raios felt his heart threaten to rupture. He couldn't do this.
"It's just something that'll make your arms feel better and keep the bandages from sticking to them," he soothed, pulling his contraband from a pocket. "Hold still."
He began to apply the balm, ignoring the way it smeared fresh blood. Sting's arms had swollen while he was gone. When Sting couldn't seem to stop trembling, Raios moved faster.
As he applied fresh cloths, Raios had to ignore Sting's pain to get it done, and he still hated himself for it. I don't ever want to ignore you. Ever. But he'd been the one to do this to Sting. Not just the getting wounded—but stripping the wounds back open, cleaning them out and making them bleed again, exhausting what was left of Sting's energy.
When he finished, he half-carried Sting to the futon. Sting wasn't crying—was too tired even for that, but when Raios laid him down, Sting rolled up against him with a weary, wordless moan.
"I'm not leaving," Raios said, heart breaking.
Sting looked so desperate, arms held close against his chest. Reaching out, Raios cupped his cheek. Here, now, the intimate touch wasn't romantic. It was just reaching out, trying to be comforting in the midst of Sting's need. Sting was tired and in pain; he needed closeness. Raios would do anything for Sting.
He'd come to Raios's aid several times throughout the battle, and in a much larger sense, had rescued Raios from himself. Simply by being in that box when Raios opened it—by behind beautiful and strong and determined; by being passionately in love with life and welcoming Raios in, accepting him despite what he was, Sting had saved him.
When he was sure Sting's eyes were closed, Raios mouthed, I love you.
It didn't have to require a response. Sting could go on being amazing. Raios would be happy just being his friend.
When Sting's heartbeat leveled off into a doze, Raios rose to tackle his face.
The wound had opened—yet again—and he hadn't managed to clean out all the dirt in the bath, so he carefully rinsed it. It wasn't bleeding as much as it had on other days. Though the skin around his eye was swollen, he could see.
Small blessings. It was still a jagged mark.
While he saved most of the balm for Sting, he used a tiny bit on his nose. It took him a long time to decide to do that. If he healed quickly, though, Sting wouldn't worry about him so much. Sting wouldn't force him to sit still and be taken care of. Sting wouldn't touch his face anymore…
Raios had paused for the smallest second.
But he didn't want Sting worrying about him.
When he finished, he returned to Sting's side. Where I belong. As he watched Sting sleep, his own exhaustion caught up with him.
Tears escaped, the prisoners of a broken spirit. Sure, they won, but there had been too much pain to call it a clean victory. Raios had to re-injure Sting in order to take care of him: the irony of that wasn't lost on him. Always hurting those he cared about. Always.
That was who he was, but the fact that Sting wanted to be around him anyway…Raios could never repay that debt.
Maybe that was okay.
They both slept for over a day.
Somehow they were lucky enough that nobody booked the room they appropriated. Sting was awake when Raios cracked his eyes open. A wonderful smell—besides Sting's—wafted through the room, and he sat up quickly.
"Food," Sting said before he could ask, holding some out to him. "I stole some from downstairs—don't worry, nobody saw me."
"I trust you," Raios said, taking the sweet-smelling offering.
He was grateful Sting had stolen a lot of food, because they were both famished.
As they polished off the makeshift feast, Raios said, "We should redo your arms."
Sting flinched.
"Can we not? I mean, not yet. Just a nap first. And then we can."
Raios nodded. He couldn't force Sting through any more pain.
They both curled up again, Raios less surprised than he used to be when Sting lay down right next to him. As Sting curled to put his head on Raios's shoulder, legs pressed up against his thigh, Raios was better at controlling the flutter in his chest. If he pretended it was only fear of being touched, he could focus on being brave, and just manage not to blush.
"Thanks for taking such good care of me," Sting murmured. "You make me feel better."
His breath was hot on Raios's shoulder, even through the fabric of his yukata.
Raios swallowed. "Any time."
Then he kicked himself for saying something so dumb. Great, here came the heat in his cheeks.
But Sting said nothing about the blush, cuddling in as close to Raios as possible.
Fear of being touched was part of what made this hard for him. But, he realized, it was getting easier. He trusted Sting. Knew where Sting would stop, draw the line. Knew Sting well enough to predict his movements, so that it wasn't quite so unknown and terrifying.
Sting felt like home in a way Raios hadn't experienced for a very long time. Warm and known and okay.
That thought made him relax as they dropped off together.
Raios fell asleep first.
No wonder, with all the fretting and bandaging and running around he'd been doing. When Sting knew Raios was out, he tilted his head just a little and watched Raios's face, twitching every so often in sleep.
He wondered what Raios dreamt about.
Raios was the most enigmatic person Sting had ever met. Sting hardly got anything out of him about his life before, but there were things to pick up in his body language and what he left unsaid. While Raios acted strong and hardnosed, Sting knew that meant Raios felt weak and small and insignificant.
Sting wanted him to feel at ease, truly and effortlessly. He didn't know how to do that, but together seemed the best way forward. It was very clear to Sting that he had an effect on Raios—a sign that Raios might just be learning to trust him. He loved when Raios's heartbeat picked up when Sting looked at him; he hated when Raios cowered in fear of him. In Raios's fear, Sting got lost, unable to help. He wanted to hold Raios's hand and plant good things together and grow a world where everyone thrived. Especially Raios.
Besides, they couldn't split up now. They were twins with their magic. Not just the same moves, but they'd done a Unison Raid. It was amazing, sharing their senses for those seconds. Even without that connection, Sting could always feel Raios's presence nearby: a gap in his light, a chink in his armor. Darkness that Sting couldn't reach, but he wanted to.
He so wanted to.
The deep, thoughtful expression Raios got when he thought the world didn't see him—Sting lived and died for that look. Soft and lonely and sad. And yet still hopeful. Waiting for greater things.
Sting wanted to protect Raios's pure spirit. And he wanted Raios to smile. He really, really wanted to see Raios smile for real. So far Sting could count Raios's grins on one hand, and they'd all been hidden behind hands or hair.
When Raios smiled, Sting found the strength to love the shittiest corners of the world. Something about Raios changed everything.
Eventually, still gazing at Raios and imagining him without anything covering his face, Sting dozed off.
Still recovering, their 'nap' lapsed into yet another day, and they didn't awaken until a roar echoed in the street below.
