Kindred

"Death! I've found her!" It was a shout from Fury quite a distance away, at the other side of the moor as he checked around the bend. He was halfway there before the panic set in, her voice arcing high with its notes. "Maker, she's cold! Get over here, and quickly!"

Without a second thought, the Pale Rider threw his scythe into the sky between one footstep and the next, its blade carving wide gashes of flashing violet against it.

Signal successfully given, Death dropped to his knees beside his sister. The Black Rider gingerly, fretfully tugged tangled clothing and hair out of the way. "Where had you found her?" Death asked immediately, pushing soaked locks away to try to catch a pulse.

Fury glanced between the two of them, anxiety apparent as she squeezed a small hand, obviously for no comfort other than her own. "She'd washed ashore like this. I think she'd been..."

Death knew the words she wasn't saying.

Her body had been dumped.

The clammy skin gave no pulse of life beneath his fingertips, and he swore softly, looking over his shoulder. "What is taking him—?" Just as he hissed this, a speck of orange appeared at the horizon, steadily growing larger as the beast carried his brother closer.

His sister, however, took no heed. "We need to remove the water from her lungs," The level-headed one of the Four seemed to have lost her rationality, unable to accept the truth of their situation. But he followed along, willing his own denial to drown the facts just as the brackish water had this one's breath.

His sibling propped the girl limply in her arms, and with a hand in front and in the back, he gently pressed along her diaphragm. The ribcage bowed slightly beneath his strength, and the airways were constricted…

Drip, drip, plop.

With each pumping action, more brine and liquid slipped out from between two lips, until there was no more. And it was right in time, as well— Boots solidly bit into the soft earth as War dismounted, sweeping over swiftly and with care. "She breathes?"

"She does not." Fury mourned quietly, head hung and turned away.

"Brother, can you—?" Death never finished, given pause and silence as the body was pulled from the both of them.

War stood with the recently-deceased, and his face became almost bitter with the same expression of angered grief Death had seen on him on only one other occasion. "…It never becomes easier." He stated solemnly, closing his eyes. "This is the second time, and it still feels like the first. We must be more cautious from now on." With only that said, he was surrounded by a whirlwind of fire and ember, body reforming, reshaping— Soon he stood not as a Rider, but a beast of Chaos, flowing with the power that coursed through him as naturally as the mire did where they stood. Yet, this was not sluggish, not the mild bleed of a flesh wound. It rushed and it poured, spilling in violent torrents growing between them.

Just as it spilled and poured, so did she.

The part of him inside of her glowed with his rage, his life and essence; And just as he did, her life didn't splash like a mortal dewdrop, but spilled and poured alike.

The one he held, so dwarfed in comparison, bathed and soaked in what would singe and peel any other. Moisture that had clung so stubbornly to skin, cloth and hair willingly gave up against the burn, bidding its farewell in a brief cloud of mist.

Then, there was a yawn, and a stretch, as if nothing more than a feline awakening from a nap.

Groggy eyes slowly blinked, and the sleep was rubbed away with a pair of careless hands. Another yawn came, this time carrying words. "Stupid crocodile-thing… Just wait til I— Oh. Oh." She processed her immediate situation right then, seeing the immense relief in the ones still crouched on the ground in anticipation. Then she looked to the one still supporting her, and smiled hesitantly, ruefully. "…Sorry."

While it had been an apology made to a beast, it was soon a man holding her, hellish form gone like it had never existed. And it was that man whom had responded.

"As am I."

The fire made in the middle of camp radiated with flickering light and warmth, reaching out to the forms of the gathered Horsemen and their companion.

Death was oddly restless, switching from gazing into the flames, to glancing around their environment, and then fleetingly checking upon the sleeping breaths seen through thick blankets on the other side. He said not a word, but the sentiment borne by his youngest brother was mirrored in him, as well. The first time he'd witnessed her death was when he himself had been delivered from its clutches at the breaking of the Seventh Seal. And it had been War whom had revivified her corpse then, as well. It did not sit well with his sense of guilt…

Fury stared pensively into the fire, unmoving, meditating or otherwise none of them knew. But they'd seen how shaken this had her— This was the first time she'd experienced it, and the inability to act hit her hard.

Strife had rejoined them later into the night, claiming to have been 'taking care of something'; It was clear that none of them would be hunting come daybreak, for there was no longer anything to hunt. He understood that he would be close to useless should she be found, and occupied himself with something he could actually do. And the bloodshed was future catharsis for the news he'd returned to, regardless.

It was War, however, whom seemed to be outwardly affected the most. The mask of a scowl nearly turned snarl was painted across his facial features, as he sat and brooded beside the bundled lump. It was over, he knew this. And yet it did not give his turmoil cause to relent, nor his worries cause to abate.

As long as he remained, she would as well. But, should he finally fall one day, he would be spelling out both of their deaths. It was far from what he wanted, but he could not give his word that his life would stay within reach…

It was Strife that broke the silence, his tone unassuming. "Say, Death. I have an idea." All eyes turned to him at that, and he paused as if considering something. "If she should put herself in a situation like that a third time, we should just forgo the resurrection. You could use necromancy instead, and she'll be a willing slave the rest of her un-life. Then we could just tell her to stay out of trouble, and we won't have to worry."

"Oi. I heard that, you ass." Was the loud grumble slightly muffled under the blankets, and that was all it took for the tension to break.

Strife's voice was innocent. "I was just giving something to think over. And, if that should give you extra motivation to not gallivant without us, then it is an extra master served."

Now fully roused, the girl sat up, completely in disarray, and glared at him. He didn't seem too convinced by it. "Quit it with the 'master' hints. You are sick and twisted and frankly I feel you'd make a better servant than me. Footstool." None of the words had bite to them, but he was amused anyway.

"Footstool? Now that's harsh." He drawled. "Besides, that's what you have the youngest and eldest for. One for each foot. Fury and I are just here for the entertainment."

She started struggling with her blanket, trying to get up to possibly kick him in the shin or somesuch, but a large metal hand landed firmly on the blanket, keeping it tucked where it was. "Don't let him provoke you." War advised, shooting a look to Death for letting Strife run unchecked. "Go to sleep, we leave in the morning."

She narrowed her eyes at him, and set her elbows upon the back of his hand, propping her chin in both of hers. "And how am I supposed to go to bed when you're making that face?" She asked candidly, and his flinch was highly visible. "This feels like you were the one to kick the bucket and I tripped over your body or something. But while I got the case of fatality, everyone else got the trauma, so…" Her hands were wiped down her face, and his hand was released. "Can I say thank you? Since everyone worried so much. I know that's not the right thing to say, exactly, but I mean it."

Fury smiled faintly, but said nothing, still watching the flames; Strife scoffed, folded his hands behind his head and laid back on the ground; And while War angled his face away, Death shifted to get more comfortable, bringing a knee up to rest his arm on.

"I wouldn't thank us, if I were you." The Pale Rider said this as if only making a comment, but his eyes were serious. "If you begin showing us gratitude for selfish behavior, who knows what we'd try to get away with?"

War watched in curiosity as she abruptly disappeared under the blanket, pulling it over her head with a sound of discontent. He pulled it back off without thinking, and she glowered at him. "Stop playing around." He ordered flatly. "Go. To. Sleep."

She scowled her defiance, and Death started chuckling. "Perhaps necromancy would help you, in this." His tone became mild. "You wouldn't be very pretty, but at least someone would take you seriously when you make faces like that, if you were half rotten-away."

She sputtered. "Do you hear him, War?" It was demanded of him, and he was slightly unsure as to what she was talking about. "Your brothers are all unscrupulous, every single one of them! How did you come from the same place as them, huh?"

"I hope I'm not the only one who notices how the seniority roles are reversed, to her." Fury murmured, wiping her mouth to hide her smile.

The White Rider beside her let out a laugh of derision. "Unscrupulous? Hah!"

"Scruples do tend to get in the way of one's goals," Death said this like an admittance. He lifted a hand negligently and gave a small wave with it. "But I did make a point, didn't I?"

Seeing that War wasn't going to back her up on this one, she folded her arms and sniffed.

"I'd still be prettier than you."

"Oh-ho-ho, ouch." Strife winced with a laugh, rolling onto his side with a shake of his head. "Looks like she made a point too, brother."

Sending a dry look to Fury, whom was idly covering her mouth again, Death shrugged a shoulder. "I'd rather look like I do than have to keep a death count for myself."

She laughed, putting her fists up with a little growl. "Come over here and say that," She challenged, grinning. "And you're a hypocrite, too. You started on your death count long before I did!"

"All right, break it up children." Strife sighed theatrically, rolling over to look at them. "Preferably before you break out the fisticuffs. She may look weak, Death, but my stomach assures you that a punch made with metaphysical strength hurts just as badly as one made with regular strength."

She pouted. "I apologized for that, didn't I?"

He stated bluntly, "Not even close."

About to retort once more, enjoying the friendly rivalry, she squawked when her shoulder was taken and she was pushed back onto the grass. War stared at her with a cocked eyebrow, the downturn of his mouth very slight. "Ignore them, and rest. It isn't safe to be so active this soon, and they will blame me if you aren't able to travel tomorrow." Once more the thick blanket was pulled up, but this time she didn't resist.

But she did grumble.

"So damn pushy…"

They couldn't help but shake their heads to each other, when soft snoring was heard just five minutes later.

Authors Note: Great big thanks to DecepticonQueen for bothering to use that lil' typity-box at the bottom of the page, and anonymous? Challenge accepted. B) Wait for the next chapter.