meet me in the aftermath
Written for Comfortember 2020, Prompt: Exhaustion. Like all my Sky High fics thus far, I've named Will and Warren's alter-egos Airstrike and Inferno. Title from Lifehouse's Aftermath. Comments and kudos would be awesome. Enjoy!
The battle is finally over. The war is finally won.
They've been at it for days now, swarms of superheroes fighting with everything they have to save the world from a handful of overpowered supervillains hell bent on destroying it. They've lost friends and allies in the fray, watched civilians suffer, cities burn, buildings fall. Maxville had, inexplicably, been at the heart of the chaos and not much of the town is left standing in the aftermath.
But, now it's done.
And now comes the recovery.
As news of their victory hits, everyone starts to gather. What used to be City Hall becomes the base of operations. The injured get carried off to the room that's most intact, where those with healing powers and those with medical supplies can fix them up. Those with superstrength and x-ray vision and other helpful powers get sent to aid with search and rescue. Those without relevant skills and the smattering of civilians still around do whatever they can to keep the searchers and the healers going. A few fighters are left on guard, in case any lingering underlings try to make a move while the superheroes are otherwise occupied.
Will, as Airstrike, is up to something like 52 hours with hardly a break. He's been flying nearly constantly for the last 12, carting around a superhero with a heat sensor ability to look for survivors trapped in the rubble. Before that, he'd been digging through it himself. They land to mark an area for the ground crew to check.
"You need a break," his partner tells him, when he nearly drops her as they prepare to head back up.
"No, I can go a little longer," he insists, unwilling to stop when there's still so much work to be done.
But she refuses to let him try again. It turns out to be a smart move, because when he tries to fly off on his own, he feels the world start to spin around him and he's perilously close to crashing headlong into the ground when another flyer catches him, carries him off to medical in spite of his protests.
Warren's there, helping out wherever he can because Inferno's fire powers aren't so useful in the wake of a city that's seen entirely too much fire lately. Sure enough, he spots Will nearly immediately. "You idiot," he says, taking over for the superhero who'd gotten Will this far, an arm slung over Will's shoulder as they hobble toward the nearest open cot. "I told you not to push it."
"But I can help," he argues, even as Warren's hands on his shoulders wrangle him down. "I can-"
"You can help, yes," Warren assures him, "but you can't if you don't take care of yourself, too. Rest, drink something, eat something. Then you can go out again."
Will looks all around him. Sees the scores of injured superheroes scattered about the room. Some are reuniting with friends and family. Some sit alone and mourning the ones they haven't been able to find. Some of them won't make it out of this room. Some of them never even made it into the room. Some have already been quietly transported to the makeshift morgue they have set-up in the basement.
Will's lucky. He didn't lose anyone. His parents, his friends, they all escaped the fight with nothing more than minor injuries. He and Warren, too.
For the first time since the battle started, he lets himself be relieved by that fact. Warren's still here, he still has his partner, the love of his life. He reaches out and Warren moves into him without question, arms wrapping around him and holding tight. "I'm glad you're okay," he mumbles, "don't know what I'd do if I lost you."
"Same to you, Stronghold," Warren says, pressing his lips to Will's for a brief moment. "Now, please. For me, rest."
"Stay?" Will asks. He knows Warren's been going just as long as he has. And sleep might come easier with Warren at his side, it always does.
With a glance around the room to ensure that they can spare him for a little while, he lays down beside Will. It's cramped, these hospital cots are not meant for two, but they make it work, snuggled close. The chaos around them, the noise and the loss and the relief start to fade away, just for a little while.