"Omar, you can't be here."
The kid's brows dipped, but Kassim barely noticed Omar's concern. He couldn't.
Not when he was battling enough rising panic to shut his heart down entirely if given the chance.
Because Omar wasn't supposed to be there.
"Why not? Kassim, what's going on?"
No, no, no—
Breathing had already been a struggle during the journey over, slinking through the dark as he'd forced his feet to march to their doom.
Now, breathing might as well have been impossible. His chest hitched and his eyes frantically darted about the abandoned room for something—anything.
Because no matter how hard he tried to shove Omar toward the door, the kid wouldn't budge; the worry on his face deepened with every passing second.
Every passing second…
Kassim fought to fill his lungs.
They were running out of time.
No, he had been running out of time for months now. Omar would still have all the time in the world, if Kassim had anything to say about it.
An open door flashed like a firework in the corner of his eye. Bingo. Maybe an old storage room once, maybe a long forgotten pantry. Kassim didn't care.
Whatever it had been, it would work well all the same.
It had to.
"Kassim, what—?"
Cutting Omar off, Kassim switched tactics, shoving him toward the closet instead of the front door.
"Now, you listen to me, Omar, and you listen good, got it?" There must have been something terrifying in his tone—Kassim couldn't tell over the blood gushing through his ears—because Omar stiffened and clamped his mouth shut, face pale as he nodded.
Tightly clutching Omar's shoulders was the only way to keep Kassim's hands from shaking as he drove his brother into the small side room.
"No matter what you hear, you can not make a sound. Don't speak, don't shout, don't scream, don't utter a single word. Don't even breathe too loudly. Do you hear me? Stay in here until I come get you, okay?"
And please, please, please, stay safe.
When Omar didn't reply, face dumbstruck, Kassim gave his shoulders a brief, yet forceful shake. "I said, do you hear me?"
Omar nodded vigorously, eyes wide as he grabbed Kassim's arm. "Okay! Okay, but why? What's going on?"
Lips pursed in a thin line, Kassim risked a glance at the front door. They would be arriving any minute now.
And Omar wasn't supposed to be there…
"I knew the past would catch up with me," he said, voice tight but softer now. "I just didn't think it'd be this soon. Now, stay put. I'll… I'll come get you as soon as I can."
Liar.
Before Omar could say anything else, Kassim shut the door and shoved one of the only pieces of furniture left in the room, an abandoned table, in front of it.
Even if Omar wanted to come out, he couldn't. Not until Kassim—or… or maybe it would have to be someone else—moved the table.
Mere seconds later, three shadows passed through the moonlit entrance.
Heart still pounding, Kassim steeled himself, throwing on a tough, casual exterior.
The men standing before him also looked tough, each wearing a cocky smirk on his face. Like they knew exactly how this would all play out.
Well, Kassim knew how it would go, too, but there was something to be said about putting on a cool front.
"You know," he began, arms crossed as he leaned back against the wall, "I honestly don't even know why we're all here. You guys are missing out on prime sleeping hours right now."
"Oh," the tallest of the three said, chuckling, "you know why we're here."
Calm. Calm. He had to remain—
"Look." There was an edge to his voice he couldn't shake, damn it. "I already paid everything I owe, so why don't we all just let it go? You stop bothering me, I stop bothering you. Wouldn't that be so much easier?"
"Last I checked, we're still missing the interest."
Kassim knit his brows, nails digging into his arms as if trying to stall the rapidly rising fear. "What interest? You never said anything about—"
"You came to us," the leader snapped. "Knowing full well how we operate. I gave you time. I gave you more chances than a street rat like you deserves, and yet here we are. This is all coming to a close the way I figured it might. I have to say, I've been looking forward to this."
His panic spiked as the other two men advanced toward him and Kassim scolded himself for it.
"Now, wait a minute, guys. Let's talk about this…"
He knew how this would end, had played it out a dozen times over in his mind. And yet, as their meaty hands closed around his arms, yanking him away from the wall, he couldn't help but struggle against them.
"I just need more time," he explained. No, he wouldn't beg. He wouldn't plead, but he would try to negotiate to his very last breath.
To his dying day, he would never stop trying—never stop fighting.
That day, he realized, might have just come sooner than he'd expected.
"Wouldn't it be a more profitable business move to give me more time, anyway?"
Another chuckle from the leader as he stepped closer, the gem encrusted rings on his fingers glinting in the moonlight. Kassim tried to inch back, but his captors held him tight.
The leader grabbed his chin and rough nails dug into Kassim's jawline, tilting his head from side to side, examining his face with all the mock gentleness of a serpent about to strike.
"More time for me equals more money for you. Come on, use your head—"
"Shh," the man commanded. "I'm trying to decide which part of your pretty face I'd like to ruin first.
Kassim's chest hitched, but trying to pull away only made the vice-like grip on his chin tighten.
"I swear, I can get whatever you want if you just give me a little more—"
The hand moved to close over his mouth, cutting him off. And for one terrifying moment, he couldn't breathe.
"Oh, Kassim…" The smile was enough to send shivers down his spine, but he wouldn't give any of them that kind of satisfaction. "You're all out of time."
The first punch sent bolts of shock radiating through his body. He'd prepared himself against it for weeks, yet it still caught him by surprise.
Another followed, harder this time and right in the stomach. If he hadn't been able to catch a breath before, he certainly couldn't now. His attacker gave him no time to recover before sending another explosion of pain through his jaw.
There were so many things he wanted to say, but he barely had enough air to fill his lungs, much less to form a coherent sentence.
The rings tore at his skin as a well-aimed backhand knocked his head to the side.
Struggling was pointless, he knew that, but he felt his foot shoot out anyway. He hoped the sudden cry from his attacker meant his boot had hit a good target.
Before Kassim could work a satisfied smirk onto his face, the two men holding him jerked him backward, slamming the back of his head against the wall.
A rush of stars burst across his vision, followed by a cloud of black that just wouldn't clear up fast enough.
He was yanked around a few more times and when he could finally see again, the air was shoved out of his lungs as he hit the floor. Though he tried to push himself back up, a boot kicked him in the chest.
And he could've sworn he felt something crack.
Not for the first time, as the blows rained down upon him with relentless force, Kassim wondered why his world always seemed to revolve around violence.
Omar noticed things.
Maybe it was because he didn't always have a lot to say—definitely not as much as Kassim or Al—or maybe something in his past had made him an expert on picking up even the subtlest of emotions.
Something had been slightly off with Kassim that day, and though Omar couldn't put his finger on what it was, he'd noticed it.
Noticed the way Kassim didn't laugh as much as usual; didn't seem as talkative.
Noticed the way he stared a little too long at Babkak and Al when they weren't looking—and at Omar when Kassim thought he wasn't looking.
Noticed the way he'd laid awake that night as if he hadn't actually planned on sleeping.
As it would turn out, he hadn't.
Omar had purposed himself to stay awake and watch, he really had, but a thick cloud of sleep had overtaken him before he could even think to stop it.
All's well that ends well—or so he'd thought once—because he'd jolted awake just as Kassim disappeared into the dark stairwell of their hideout.
Something told Omar to follow and he didn't know why. All he knew was that something wasn't quite right.
So, he had followed.
Followed Kassim through the dark, halfway deserted streets of Agrabah. Down back alleys, across bridges, and through the dead market squares that would be alive and bustling by morning, until they arrived at a small abandoned building. A hole in the wall, really.
Kassim had slipped into the darkness and Omar found himself hesitating for a moment before ducking inside, too.
He hadn't quite known what he'd been expecting, but the shock and panic plastered across Kassim's face when their eyes met was not it.
On normal days, such a vulnerable emotion would've quickly been replaced by one of Kassim's well-practiced masks of confidence.
This, Omar had begun to realize with a pang, was far from a normal day.
Instead of a mask, Kassim's fear had only seemed to grow, twisting his face as he'd tried to shoo Omar away.
Why?
Heart clanging in his chest like a cracked bell, Omar tried to press for answers. Tried to figure out what on earth was going on so he could help. Somehow, someway, he needed to help.
With what?
Then, Kassim had told him to listen up in a tone that held absolutely no room for argument.
A tone that chilled Omar to the bone.
Something awful was going to happen and he had the sneaking suspicion that Kassim knew exactly what it was.
When the door had closed, plunging Omar into an even thicker darkness, he'd found himself frozen to the core. At least the other room had been dimly lit by the moonlight streaming through the door and windows.
The muffled voices had startled him at first, though he still couldn't move. Chest heaving, Omar had strained to listen. He'd only been able to make out bits and pieces, but it was enough to know two heart-stopping things: whatever this was centered around money… and it wasn't going to end well.
The fight had started a short time later. It sounded bloody; it sounded brutal.
What had felt like hours passed by in the blink of an eye. Omar had lost all track of time as he now stood, ear pressed up against the door.
Kassim had told him not to move.
Kassim had told him not to make a single sound.
But it sounded like someone was dying out there and he prayed it wasn't Kassim.
Still more time flew by at a dragging pace and everything in Omar screamed at him to cry out. To call to Kassim, to ask if he was okay. To—
But he couldn't. Even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't shove any words through his constricted throat.
"Hit him harder!" Someone commanded, the first words he'd heard since the fight began.
Since he'd heard Kassim's tight voice ask for more time.
Before he even realized what he was doing, Omar shoved his shoulder into the door. In his mind, he would fly out and come to his brother's rescue… somehow…
It would be quite a feat because if Kassim was the best fighter in the gang, Omar was quite possibly the worst.
Thud!
Nothing.
Omar's panicked brain told him that hitting the door had done absolutely nothing.
Why…?
He pressed against it once more, harder this time.
Still nothing.
The truth of the situation stabbed him in the gut.
Something was blocking the door. Something was keeping it closed.
Kassim, what did you do?
Like a bucket of water splashed onto a roaring fire, the chaos on the other side of the door died down before Omar could truly comprehend that it was over.
Over…
No, it wasn't over until he was free again.
Until he was sure that his brother was okay.
Even though he hadn't heard any movement for a solid minute, Omar couldn't bring himself to speak.
Kassim had told him not to.
That was before.
That was before, you're good now. You can…
Can…
"…Kassim?" He barely heard his own whisper. Clearing his throat, Omar called out louder, all the while shoving against the door that just. Wouldn't. Budge.
"Kassim? Kassim! I'm still in here, you know! Kassim, are you out there?"
Nothing.
Not even a faint shuffle of movement.
Omar's heart felt ready to explode and the adrenaline thrust him forward into the door.
The tiniest, smallest fraction of motion was all he got for his efforts.
But it was enough.
It was a thin shred of hope and he clinged to it like he'd just found water in the desert.
A second shove accomplished nothing, but a third did. So did a fourth.
"Kassim? Come on! You said you'd let me out of here! Kassim!"
The pain didn't seem to know which part of his body to assault, his throat or his shoulder, which slammed against the door with all the vigor of a blacksmith's hammer. With the way his throat began to burn the longer he shouted, Omar figured the pain had made its choice. That, and the fact that his shoulder felt like one giant void of nothing, just a numb, bruised chunk of flesh and bone.
There was a crack in the doorway now, only about as wide as two of his fingers pressed together, but wide enough.
His thread of hope was growing with each passing second.
Omar got down on the ground, scrunching his legs like a wound up spring and placing his feet firmly against the door.
Three, two—
With a grunt, Omar set the spring loose, pushing against the door as hard as he could.
It gave him only half an inch in reward.
Time for a new strategy…
Keeping his position, Omar began kicking at the door in short, powerful bursts.
Three, two, one!
Three, two, one!
Three… two…
He sucked in a breath, put all his strength and energy into the next kick.
One!
Two handbreadths of fresh air widened the gap between the door and its frame.
Omar could definitely work with that.
On his knees now, he began prying the door open, shoving at the table—he could see, now, it was a table blocking the way—and squeezing his way out at last.
The room was still, almost exactly the same as he had left it save for two things.
The moved table that had imprisoned him.
And Kassim's lifeless body in the middle of the floor.
He couldn't be—
Omar choked on his next breath, pain exploding through his kneecaps as he fell to the ground beside Kassim.
No, he couldn't be dead.
But this, Omar had come to learn over the years, was what dead people looked like. Bruised, broken, and bloody.
If he touched Kassim, would the man shatter? Or turn to dust, somehow? He looked so fragile, so—
He's not dead.
Yet he refused to believe that until he felt the steady throbbing of Kassim's pulse for himself.
Omar eased a couple of trembling fingers underneath his brother's jaw, and for one long, horrific moment, he felt nothing.
No! No, no, it can't be… He can't be—
Then, it was there. A faint, sluggish thump, thump, thump…
It sent waves of relief crashing down on him—waves that morphed into a hurricane as he fully took in Kassim's appearance.
Blood dripped from nearly every part of his face, trickling down and marring angry, red patches of skin. Hand prints and nail marks seemed branded into his biceps, painting an all too vivid picture of what might have happened.
Still shaking, Omar's fingers slid across Kassim's battered chest, checking for any broken ribs. He counted two or three abnormal lumps that confirmed his fear and he swallowed down the threatening swirl of anxiety.
He needed to keep a clear head; needed to help Kassim.
How?
The thought struck Omar dumb. He couldn't carry Kassim, no way. But he couldn't just leave him there, either.
Maybe he can still walk. Yeah… yeah, maybe.
There was only one way to find out.
"Kassim…?" Omar gently shook his friend's shoulder. "Kassim. Come on, don't do this to me. You're gonna be okay."
He hoped to heaven that wasn't a lie.
"Kassim!"
What if whoever did this came back?
That was a new, terrifying thought, but Omar refused to let it frighten him even further, putting all the energy from his panic into trying to wake Kassim.
Eventually, a hoarse moan echoed in Kassim's throat.
"Kassim! That's it, I need you to wake up, okay?" Omar gave his shoulder another light jostling. "Kassim?"
Though one eye was completely swollen shut, his other opened halfway and a glassy, bloodshot orb found Omar's face.
"Omar…?" Another moan as Kassim curled further in on himself with a wince. "How'd… How'd you get here…?"
"You shoved me in a closet, remember?"
Please, remember. Please, please remember.
To Omar's immense relief, recognition dawned on Kassim's bloody features. "Right. Right…" The words floated out on a pained whisper. "Sorry 'bout that."
An "It's okay" danced on the tip of Omar's tongue, yet what came out instead sounded a lot more like, "You said you'd come back for me."
"Yeah…" A wince, Kassim's voice dripping with thick beads of pain. "Yeah… I was… getting to that… Don't worry."
"Don't worry? Kassim, what happened?"
What Omar guessed was supposed to be a chuckle turned into a wet cough that had Kassim clutching his sides.
"You're okay, all right?" Omar said once the coughing had begun to subside. "I'm, uh… I'm gonna get you out of here and you're gonna be just fine."
Another failed chuckle. Another coughing fit.
Another wince that sent shivers down Omar's spine.
"Sure…" Kassim managed between coughs and attempt after vain attempt to catch his breath. "Just… Just give me a minute, 'kay…?"
"No, Kassim, we don't have a minute. What if whoever did this to you comes back?"
A twisted, humorless smile pulled at Kassim's split lips. "Wouldn't count on it. They got what they wanted."
Dare he even ask what the heck that meant?
Kassim answered the question that Omar could practically feel lining his features.
"My best guess? They probably think I'm dead. Wouldn't put it past them. Hell, for a moment, I thought I was dead."
"You're not…" Omar could barely swallow. "You're… You're okay. Do you hear me? You're gonna be okay."
Kassim didn't reply, eyes—or eye, Omar reminded himself—slipping closed for a brief second or two.
"Don't fade on me now." He'd meant to keep that as a thought, but now the words had a voice and he couldn't take them back. Best to keep moving forward. "I still have to get you back home."
"Sure, just…" Kassim clamped down midway through a groan, drawing in several breaths that looked hellishly painful. "Give me a minute…"
This time, though it took every last ounce of self-control he possessed, Omar waited.
He gave him a minute. And only a minute.
Because they had to get moving. Long gone or not, Omar didn't fancy sticking around and tempting fate. There was still a chance whoever did this could return.
There were also Kassim's injuries to consider. The man looked like he'd missed his appointment with Death by mere seconds.
"Kassim…?" Omar had barely touched him, but Kassim startled awake anyway, letting out a hiss as he hugged his stomach.
"I'm up…" He slurred. "'M coming, just…"
"Sorry, but you've run out of minutes." Though Omar had been trying for a bit of levity, or maybe he'd just been anxious to get going and needed his brother to understand that, Kassim's wince deepened and he heaved a sigh.
"Yeah… Yeah, I know."
Okay…
But Kassim was moving now. Or, at least, giving it his best try.
As carefully as he could, Omar slipped an arm under Kassim's shoulder, legs threatening to buckle under his brother's dead weight.
"You've got to help me a bit here," Omar grunted, ignoring the way his arm burned in protest. Maybe he shouldn't have slammed it so many times against the door…
"Trying."
It was such a slow process that Omar could've cried when they were both standing at last. With Kassim slumped against his side, Omar could feel every tremor, every shake of his beaten body.
He wondered briefly what Babkak would have to say about all this. Before he could go down that rabbit trail, Omar forced a foot forward.
Kassim followed suit, though it was an obvious struggle.
They would make it, though.
Omar clenched his teeth, tightening his grip on Kassim.
They had to.
One foot in front of the other.
Left. Right.
Left. Right.
Neither spoke. Kassim's shallow gasps and hisses filled the air between them with enough sound to take the place of conversation.
Even if he thought Kassim could carry on a decent conversation, Omar didn't know what was left to say, if anything.
He could ask a million questions.
"Who did this to you?"
"Why did they want you dead?"
"What was all that talk about money, anyway?"
None of which Kassim would answer.
He might also ask how Kassim was feeling. What hurt and what felt like it was broken.
Kassim would probably dance around those questions, too.
But those were easier to answer. One look at Kassim screamed excruciating pain.
"S'rry 'bout the door," Kassim mumbled as they neared the hideout.
Omar tried to sound reassuring, but Kassim was fading fast and they needed to move faster. "It's okay. It's fine, d-don't worry about it. Let's just get you—"
The stairs posed an entirely different kind of problem Omar hadn't yet considered.
Kassim voiced the worry for him. "No way I'm… I'm getting up those."
Right, uh…
"Babkak!" It was out of his mouth before he remembered his lips weren't that far from Kassim's ear.
"Ow! Shh! You'll wake th'whole neighborhood."
Right at the moment, Omar couldn't have cared less.
"Babkak! Al! Babkak, I need you!"
Kassim glanced at him through a half-lidded eye and attempted a wry smile. "Think that was loud enough?"
"I sure hope so."
Just as he was about to call out again, he heard the echo of footsteps dashing down the stairs, and he knew his voice had exuded just the right amount of panic to send his brothers running.
Babkak arrived at the bottom first, Aladdin hot on his heels—both looking half asleep and wide awake at the same time. Omar didn't know how that made any sense, it just did, and in the grand scheme of the situation, it didn't really matter.
Biting out a curse, Babkak gave Kassim a quick look over, then slipped an arm around his back to support him from the other side.
Drained from the long journey across town, Omar gladly surrendered his hold to Al, who helped Babkak drag Kassim up the stairs. Though his legs moved the best they could, Omar watched from behind as his brother did more stumbling than any actual walking up the stairs.
Only when they had reached the first room of the hideout and gently settled Kassim on the ground did anyone think to speak.
Al sat back on his heels, face ashen. "What… What happened?"
"I don't know," Omar answered honestly. "I… I didn't really see."
"My fault," Kassim supplied, rolling onto his side and curling in on himself again.
Babkak looked about ready to protest the movement, then settled on shifting to a better position instead. Kneeling in front of Kassim, he began feeling around, much like Omar had done earlier, only with a thoroughness that Omar hadn't been able to match.
Kassim sucked in a sharp breath and Omar had to guess that Babkak had pressed a little too hard on a particularly tender section of his chest.
"Easy!" Kassim hissed as he flinched.
Omar figured it was a good time to fetch some water. Start getting all that blood off…
"Do I even want to know what happened?" Though Babkak had clearly been trying to sound annoyed, his mounting concern drenched his every word.
"I dunno…" Kassim winced. "Do you? Ow, ow! Come on, are you trying t'kill me?"
Omar suppressed a shiver as Kassim tried to fall back on humor to cover the pain in his voice and the tremors in his shallow breathing.
"No," Babkak said. Having finished with his chest, he gently tilted Kassim's head to get a better look at his face. "But it looks like someone was trying to."
Kassim had nothing to say to that, shutting his one good eye and brushing Babkak's hand away.
"'M fine… I'll be fine."
The next bout of coughing said otherwise.
It was then that Omar remembered the water and pushed the bucket toward Babkak.
Al, for his part, had stood up and paced about several times, choosing a different spot near Kassim whenever he sat back down. He looked antsy, like he needed to be doing something but didn't know quite what.
He looked, Omar realized with a sharp flip of his stomach, like he wanted to kill someone.
Al never looked like that, yet he wore the same dark, haunted expression that was normally sported by Kassim.
And Omar didn't know how he felt about it.
A hiss from Kassim brought his attention back to the matter at hand. Babkak had wet a cloth and was trying his best to wash the blood off Kassim's face. Kassim, for his part, was trying his best to shove Babkak's hand away.
Another sharp hiss. "Ow! Knock it off, will you? It's fine as it is."
Babkak pierced him with a look Omar couldn't decipher, but he noted an underlying current of worry. "It's definitely not fine as it is. Now, hold still."
In all fairness, it seemed like Kassim was finally letting Babkak do his work.
And for a few moments, only the sound of Kassim's sometimes sharp, sometimes heavy breathing filled the room.
Aladdin got up to pace again, coming back to settle next to Babkak. Until then, Omar had been content to sit a few feet away, legs pulled up to his chest.
Then, Babkak must have pressed the rag against a particularly painful spot because Kassim's cry rang out before he could clamp down on the sound.
He did eventually, locking his jaw as he scrunched his features into an expression that was pinched with pain.
But that sound…
They had all gotten hurt before—living on the rough streets of Agrabah, how can you not?—but Omar couldn't ever recall hearing Kassim actually cry out in pain. Not like that.
And he jolted.
Al seemed less startled, so maybe he knew something Omar didn't know, and Babkak just got this sad look in his eyes that was almost too faint to make out.
"Sorry," he said, voice soft. "That one might need stitches."
That one. Omar took a peek at it.
That one, the one that had pulled such a raw cry from Kassim's throat, was a thick gash marring the left side of his forehead.
Kassim grit his teeth. "It's fine, just… Next time, knock… me out before… before you touch it, or something…"
Babkak didn't reply, he just shook his head, pursed his lips, and got back to work.
Another round of silence ensued, during which Omar tried not to stare too long and hard at Kassim's injuries. Somehow, now that most of the blood had been wiped away, they looked worse, not better like Omar thought they would.
"Maybe we can get something for the pain." Babkak murmured to no one in particular. "And we'll need to find some bandages, too. You have at least three broken ribs as far as I can tell, so we'll need to wrap your chest. Sooner rather than later," he added.
Kassim groaned. "Sounds good. I'll… I'll get on that in a minute…"
"You are going to stay right there," Babkak corrected. "If you do anything, it's gonna be to tell me what happened."
"Boring story," Kassim mumbled, eyes still closed, though his face was a bit more relaxed now. Omar wondered how long it would take him to fall asleep.
It might be easier that way, especially when Babkak brought out the needle and thread. Or when they would have to ease his vest off to wrap his chest.
Instead of pressing Kassim further, Babkak shifted his gaze to Omar. "Were you there?"
"Uh… Yeah." Omar gave a slow nod. "Yeah, I was there…"
Kassim coughed a few times, a sound that made Omar's throat hurt just listening to it, and said, "He doesn't know anything."
"But he was there," Aladdin interjected, speaking up at last. "How would he not know?"
"'Cause," Kassim replied, leaving it at that.
As Al continued to pry, Kassim looked like he was doing everything in his power to keep from drifting off to sleep, even having opened his good eye once more. "Because why?"
"Because," Omar said before Kassim could get a word out, "he shoved me into a closet."
Aladdin blinked at this, then frowned deeper, opening his mouth just to close it again.
"But I did hear things," Omar ventured, careful to avoid Kassim's stare, which was no doubt burning holes right through his forehead.
"What things?"
Omar shrugged, licking his lips. "Uh… Like, uh… Well, arguing for one, but I couldn't really make out what everyone was saying. Something about money? I don't know…" When Kassim let out a small groan, Omar knew he'd deciphered the muffled words correctly.
Deciding to take a chance, he looked at Kassim, whose gaze now studied the ceiling, and let the words slip from his mouth.
"You… You knew, didn't you? You knew this was how it would end… Didn't you?"
"That's it." Kassim sighed, then coughed, trying in vain to ease the pressure of the broken ribs against his lungs. "You can knock me out now. Don't think I wanna be awake for this…"
"You don't need any more head trauma than you've already got, idiot," Babkak said. "Well, did you?"
"Did I what?"
"For crying out loud, Kassim. Did you know this would happen?"
"Yes! Fine, all right. I had a… vague feeling something like this would happen. What I didn't know was that someone would follow me."
"Good thing he did," Babkak countered. "Just be grateful I'm not going to make you tell the whole story right now. We need to get these wounds wrapped first. But later. Oh, you can bet later is coming, and it's coming for you, Kassim. I will find out what happened, got it?"
Kassim tried for an eyeroll, failed miserably, and then let his eyes slip closed. "Sure. Whatever."
Al got up to pace again and Omar found himself fetching a needle and thread for Babkak—for the head wound that still oozed a sluggish stream of blood, no matter how many times Babkak cleaned it off.
Kassim had known.
The thought did nothing to chase away the cold pit that had been building in Omar's stomach since he'd first followed Kassim out into the night.
What else had Kassim known? How had he expected to make it back home like that? And what if the men had come back? Had he factored in something like that?
And what would he have done if Omar hadn't been there to help?
As he handed over the needle, along with an old rag for Kassim to bite down on, a new thought stabbed his mind with such force, Omar feared for a moment he might be physically ill.
Kassim's muffled moans and pained whines filtered through the rag about halfway through Babkak's stitching.
Maybe he's just too tired to hold them back anymore…
Whatever the case, Omar couldn't stand another minute of it and the full weight of all that had happened that night came crashing down on him.
The last thing Omar saw before he disappeared into the stairwell was Kassim gripping Aladdin's hand so hard that the latter couldn't hold back a wince.
Air.
He needed air.
Omar burst onto the roof and gasped, gulping in buckets of fresh night air like his life depended on it.
Because Kassim had known.
But he hadn't thought Omar would follow; hadn't known Omar would be there to help.
Pressing himself into a corner, Omar hugged his knees, digging his fingers into his thighs until it hurt—until he was almost certain he might actually pierce his own skin.
Kassim had known. Had known what would happen to him. Had everything figured out in his mind, yet he'd still gone. For some reason he'd known and he had still gone there.
And he hadn't planned on coming back.
Babkak had learned long ago not to let anything surprise him, to accept things as they came without fanfare. He didn't have too many expectations in life, so he was rarely let down, and he knew his brothers so well by now that he was rarely surprised anymore by their antics.
Surprise, as it turns out, was not the same as worry.
And Babkak worried about them plenty.
Being woken up in the middle of the night by Omar's cries for help didn't surprise him. After all, anything could happen on the streets of Agrabah and he had refused to jump to conclusions as he raced down the stairs.
No, he'd refused to let himself get all worked up with worry… until he had laid eyes on Kassim. That's when the worry had spiked tenfold, nearly drowning him as he'd helped his brother up the stairs.
That had all felt like hours ago, even though he knew it hadn't even been one.
Sweat lined his brow as he tied off the last of the stitching. Part of him had hoped Kassim would pass out, but the idiot still seemed to be holding on, if the slightly pained expression on Al's face was any indication.
"There," he breathed, taking a moment to sigh; to steady his breathing.
With the hand that wasn't hanging onto Aladdin for dear life, Kassim removed the rag from his mouth and sucked in a strangled gasp.
"It shouldn't…" Kassim's chest stuttered. "Shouldn't hurt that much… usually… Right…?"
"Well," Babkak began slowly, "it's probably being amplified by the rest of the pain. I don't think there's one inch of your body that's not hurting right now."
Kassim made a poor attempt at a scoff. "That's for damn sure. And why… is it so hot in here…? Doesn't… the weather have anything better to do than to… to try to suffocate us?"
Right.
That age-old Kassim-ism. The one that told Babkak something was very wrong and Kassim didn't want anyone to find out what.
Well. They were going to find out. Babkak would make sure of that.
Secrets never did anybody any good.
"Al, how's our stash of bandages looking?"
Aladdin started, looking as though Babkak had just yanked him out of a trance. "Oh, uh… I don't know. I-I'll go check."
With Babkak's help, Al worked his hand away from Kassim's and ventured to the other side of the room.
Kassim was still breathing heavily, which wasn't doing anything to ease Babkak's concern about those ribs. Dipping his hand in the water bucket, he carded it through Kassim's hair, hoping to alleviate some of the heat his brother was feeling.
"I'm sure the weather's not doing it on purpose," he soothed, earning a half-hearted glare from Kassim and a mumble that sounded something like Don't patronize me.
Babkak rolled his eyes. "Then don't talk about the weather like its got a personal vendetta against you."
By then, Al had returned with a few makeshift bandages—long strips of cloth Babkak mainly kept on hand for Kassim, the idiot—and a thicker piece for Kassim's chest.
That was going to be a nightmare to wrap, Babkak could already tell.
He vaguely registered that Omar had disappeared at some point, but he could only focus on one crisis at a time. After they wrapped Kassim's ribs, he could send Al up to the roof to look for the kid.
Whatever had happened to them that night sounded nothing short of traumatic.
"All right," Babkak began, "this is gonna hurt like hell, but you need to sit up so we can take care of those ribs."
Though Kassim nodded, he didn't move. Babkak actually would've been surprised if he had.
Nodding at Aladdin to take Kassim's right, Babkak remained at his left side and carefully, gently began to ease Kassim into a sitting position. Though it was with several hisses and groans—and one especially harsh curse aimed at no one in particular—Kassim eventually moved to help them until he was leaning upright against the wall.
"Maybe," he heaved, a thick layer of sweat glistening all over his face, "we can… stop here for now and… and pick up where we left off in the morning, yeah…?"
"No," Babkak replied. "That vest's got to come off before we can do anything else. Believe me, it's best to get it over with as soon as possible."
Kassim didn't seem to like the sound of that, but he complied anyway, letting Babkak and Aladdin ease off his vest so they could continue dressing the wounds.
The first layer of cloth around his chest had Kassim flinching backward into the wall, which sent a hiss and a curse flying out of his mouth.
"Don't move so much," Babkak instructed. "Or, at least try not to."
"Easy—Gah!—for you to say," Kassim bit out, flinching back again and grabbing hold of Babkak's wrist in a feeble attempt to shove it away.
"Look, I won't hesitate to have Al hold you down for this if I have to."
"Do you really have to make it so…" Kassim gasped for a breath. "So tight?"
"If you want it to do its job, then yes. Now, just… try to relax."
Babkak couldn't tell if the sound that followed was a bitter laugh or a choked sob. He was leaning toward the latter, though, and it was a testament to how badly Kassim was hurting.
It was a well-known fact among the gang that if Kassim stubbed his toe, jammed his finger, or something of the like—even something as small as a minor sunburn—he would whine and complain about it for hours. However, if he got in a fight or sprained an ankle while running from the guards, you wouldn't have known he was injured unless you saw it happen. Once, Babkak had watched him tumble down half a flight of stairs while they were on the run and not even bat an eye.
This… well… It was all very abnormal for the gang's self-proclaimed "toughest member." No wonder Al looked somewhat dazed as he helped wrap Kassim's ribs.
"I really don't think… it should be this tight."
"It's not," Babkak reassured him, tying off the ends of the cloth. "It just feels that way because, believe it or not, your ribs are broken."
All in all it was… easier than Babkak had thought it'd be. If having to put every last ounce of his energy into ignoring the sharp cries that escaped Kassim's clenched teeth could ever be called easy.
Though Kassim was still eternally trying to catch his breath, the hardest part of the night was over. Now, he could concentrate on the smaller cuts.
"Hey, Al," Babkak said after a moment of working in silence, Aladdin hovering off to the side. "Why don't you go see if you can find Omar? See if he's all right."
Aladdin nodded, still looking a little out of it as he vanished up the stairs to the roof a few seconds later.
"Probably…" Kassim settled into another coughing fit, one that sounded a bit drier than the last, so Babkak counted that as a small win. "Probably scared him half to death."
"He's not the only one," Babkak shot back, but there was no real malice in his tone.
Kassim's next sentence floated out on a whisper, a single word Babkak hadn't wanted to hear yet. "Sorry."
Instead of responding, Babkak walked to his little corner of the room and rifled around in his things before sitting back down next to Kassim.
"Don't apologize. Just shut up and drink this."
The instant realization dawned on Kassim's face, he pushed the bottle away. "I'm not gonna take that from you, no way."
"Drink it. Come on, it'll help."
"But…" Kassim shook his head, his twisted expression proving the motion was a bad idea. "You've been saving it for something important for, like, ever. I'm fine, really. I'll be fine."
"Kassim, you are important, and this is as good a time as any to open it up." Popping the top, Babkak offered the prized batch of alcohol once more. A bottle of arak he had swiped long ago from a traveling merchant. "Trust me, it'll help with the pain."
With a shaky sigh, Kassim accepted the drink, knocking it back like it was some sort of life-saving medicine.
"Only if you drink with me," he said once he'd finished, handing the bottle back to Babkak.
"Oh, that's a given." After a gulp or two of his own, Babkak sighed, letting the fatigue wash over his bones at last.
The whirlwind of the past hour was finally catching up to him.
"So…" He let a few moments of silence pass by before broaching the question. "You shoved Omar into a closet, huh?"
"Oh, no. I'm not… not drunk enough for that conversation." To emphasize his point, Kassim took another long drink of arak. "It can't be later already, can it?"
"It can be later," Babkak returned, "whenever I want it to be."
"Then make it be some other time."
"Kassim…" The warning that laced his tone had no obvious effect on his brother, but Babkak wasn't about to give up.
"What? What do you want me to say?"
They shared another round of alcohol before Babkak asked, "Who did this to you?"
Kassim's whine was half real, half theatrics. "Do we have to do this now?"
"I mean, there's always tomorrow morning, but something tells me you're going to feel even less up for it then."
Heaving a sigh, Kassim fiddled with the bottle, spinning it slowly between his hands—hands that looked like they hadn't even been given a chance to fight back.
That wasn't a thought Babkak wanted to entertain. Not now… Not when his brain was already so clouded with stress.
"Fine. Remember… Well, remember earlier this year when, uh… when Omar got really sick?"
Speaking of another awful scare…
Babkak nodded. "And you stole that medicine?"
"I didn't steal it," came the quiet confession as Kassim stared down at the bottle. "Something like that… it's almost impossible to steal the right one—the one you actually need. So, I borrowed some money and bought it." Kassim paused, though whether it was to let the words sink in or to catch his breath, Babkak couldn't tell. "I paid it all off. I swear, I paid it all off, but they wouldn't leave me alone; mentioned something about interest and unfinished business and all that. And I… Well, I've met men like them before. I know how they operate. I couldn't… I didn't want… I was under their thumb and this seemed like the only way to escape them."
As he took another drink, Babkak found his own mouth suddenly dry and in need of the numbing alcohol.
"All right." Babkak sucked in a breath, steeling himself for what he was about to ask. "I need you to answer me honestly on this one. No beating around the bush." Another breath. Please, be wrong. Oh, how he wanted to be wrong. "Did you expect to come back home tonight? Or was it like Omar said?"
"I couldn't just stand by and risk letting them take everything that was between us out on you guys. And I know they would've."
"That wasn't the question. Did you," Babkak pressed, his tone razor sharp, "think you'd come back home tonight."
A pause as Kassim took a shaky breath.
And Babkak held his.
"No."
Kassim drowned the implications of his answer in another gulp of arak while Babkak buried half his face in his hand.
"Damn it, Kassim," he bit out, voice barely a whisper. "Damn it…"
Kassim must have sensed Babkak's rising emotion because he wisely kept his mouth shut.
It bubbled inside Babkak, a white hot mix of anger and sadness that both seared his chest and chilled him to the bone.
"After all we've been through together," he muttered, running a hand through his hair and tugging on the short locks. "I can't believe you'd do something like that."
The longer he thought about it all, the harder his heart beat against his chest.
Kassim had almost…
Earlier that day could've been the last time they all saw him.
Damn him!
"You're lucky I don't kill you right now."
"Someone else already tried, so…"
"That's not funny."
Kassim gave a slight shrug. "Didn't say it was."
"You can't…" Sucking in a breath, Babkak glared at his brother. "You can't just go and do stuff like that! You're not a one-man show anymore—you haven't been for a long, long time. You have people here who care about you! Do you even know how much pain you would've caused if you left one day and just never came back? Here, give me that!" Snatching the bottle, he took a long drink, trying in vain to calm his already shot nerves.
"I couldn't see any other options," Kassim replied, his exhausted voice devoid of all the fight it'd normally hold during a conversation like this. "I was out of time and had to make a choice."
And that was enough to drain some of the heat from Babkak's own voice.
"You didn't even say goodbye."
They were sitting close enough that Babkak could feel Kassim tremble at the soft statement.
"I… I couldn't." Thick emotion clouded his tone and Kassim's next inhale was accompanied by a quick swipe at his good eye. "I've… I've already had to say goodbye too many times to too many people. I'm not saying it to you guys. I… I can't."
It took a moment, but as Babkak studied Kassim, he nodded.
"You know," he began, passing the alcohol back to Kassim. At the rate they were going, Babkak doubted the bottle's ability to last the rest of the night. "It might take me a bit to forgive you for this."
"That's fine." Kassim took a deep breath, his arm wrapping gingerly around his chest. "It's gonna take me a while, too."
Right…
"I just have one more question."
"Shoot."
"How do you know those guys aren't gonna come back for you?"
A smirk wasn't what he'd been expecting from Kassim. "Omar asked the same thing. They wouldn't have left me there in the first place if they'd thought I was still alive."
So… why are you?
Babkak couldn't stop the thought from bouncing around his mind and he doused it with another drink.
That's not what he wanted to be dwelling on right now.
It was like Kassim had read his mind, though, because he heaved a sigh. "I honestly don't know what happened. They were just sloppy, I guess."
"Really?" Babkak's gaze gave him a once over. "I mean, that looks pretty thorough to me."
A wince pinched Kassim's features. "Don't I know it…" Then, he let out a low moan. "I think I'm gonna be turned off that stuff for the rest of my life."
"Good." Babkak lifted the bottle. "Because we're almost out."
"Why didn't you warn me it was that strong?"
"Maybe," Babkak replied, flashing a small smirk of his own even as his insides continued to twist and turn, "you're just a lightweight."
"Are you kidding? I can drink both Omar and Al under the table."
"That's not saying much."
"All right. Challenge accepted. Next time, I'll drink you under the table. But right now…" Another wince. "I think I need to lay down…"
If Babkak hadn't helped him onto the floor, he was certain Kassim would've fallen and knocked himself out somehow.
That'd be just his luck, wouldn't it?
Only…
Babkak worked on keeping his breathing steady as he watched Kassim's eye slip closed, arm wrapping once more around his chest.
Kassim had been lucky, hadn't he?
Somehow, he'd cheated death, and Babkak didn't know how to stop himself from thinking about that.
It would replay in his mind over and over until it drove him insane, he could already tell.
Their conversation tonight would never shut off.
Flashes of Kassim leaning against Omar, all bloody and bruised would never stop assaulting his mind's eye.
And Kassim's quiet confession—no, he hadn't planned on coming back; hadn't planned on surviving—would surely haunt him forever.
"It would be you, wouldn't it?" Babkak whispered as he leaned back against the wall, taking up the nearly empty bottle and pressing it to his lips.
Kassim didn't reply.
Good. That meant the idiot was finally asleep.
"If anyone was gonna cheat death," he went on after one final drink, "it would be you."
It wasn't difficult to find Omar. He was tucked away in his usual corner on the roof.
And Kassim was right, it was hot. Aladdin could feel the band of sweat clinging to his brow as he sat down beside Omar.
Or maybe the heat was just a product of all the stress and anxiety…
A welcome breeze brushed his skin, which was still on edge from everything, and he heaved a sigh.
"Are you okay?" he asked Omar. If the youngest member of their gang hugged his knees any tighter, Aladdin wondered if they would burst.
Omar glanced up, tearing his gaze away from the floor. "How is he?"
"I asked you first."
A shrug. "I'm fine."
"Yeah." Aladdin carded trembling fingers through his hair. "That's what he's saying, too. I don't believe either of you."
Omar pursed his lips at this, clutching tighter at his legs. "How… How did he look when you left?"
Aladdin found he didn't want to answer that question. He didn't want to talk about this, really, and if he tried to sugarcoat the gory details…
"He's fine. We patched him up nicely. You know, I really think it's all gonna be okay."
…Omar would just see for himself sooner or later—and then realize that Aladdin had lied. That would only make things worse, so Aladdin sucked in a breath.
"He's… Well, Babkak finished with the stitching and we wrapped his ribs. When I left, Babkak was working on some of the smaller cuts, I think, so… Yeah, it's still… still pretty bad."
But I think it's gonna be okay.
He didn't add that part, knowing he couldn't make Omar believe something he wasn't even sure he believed himself.
Not yet.
Omar nodded, gaze shifting again. Though he looked to be staring out at the dark cityscape, the spacey distance in his eyes told Aladdin otherwise.
"You should've seen him." The quiet voice trembled slightly and Aladdin debated wrapping an arm around Omar's shoulders.
But he looked so tightly wound, so on edge, that Aladdin didn't think he'd appreciate the touch right now.
"I did." Holding back a shiver was only a temporary fix. Aladdin knew they'd all be rattled about this for quite some time.
"No," Omar pressed and Aladdin didn't doubt he was seeing some sort of replay of whatever had caused all this.
Whatever Kassim wasn't telling them.
He made a quick mental note to ask Babkak later. That's probably what they're talking about down there, anyway. At least, he hoped they were…
"You didn't. You saw him standing up and talking and making sarcastic comments like he always does." Omar shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. "You didn't see him. Not like I did… He was…" A sharp intake of breath. "I swear, I thought he was dead. I… I-I couldn't feel his pulse and I—" When Omar's chest hitched, Aladdin threw caution to the wind and slipped a comforting arm around his shoulders. Though he flinched, Omar leaned into the touch almost immediately.
"Hey… He's going to be fine. Maybe not now, but eventually…" Whatever words of comfort he'd had left died in his throat, which felt like it had been chugging sand for the last hour… Or however long it's been.
"Where'd it happen?" There. That was an easy question. Right?
Omar shook his head. "I don't know. I'd never been there before. I thought… I thought… That whole time, I thought I was hearing some sort of fight. But… That's not what it was. They really were trying to kill him, weren't they?"
Aladdin wouldn't know. With a jolt, he realized how very little about this whole situation he actually knew.
Omar didn't wait for him to respond. "Did he get a chance to fight back? Did he even try?"
"Knowing Kassim," Aladdin interjected before Omar could throw himself off the deep end with too many poisonous questions, "he probably did."
"His hands didn't look like he did."
Yeah… Well… uh. "Maybe he used his feet, I don't know." I don't know anything.
And it was driving him crazy.
He needed answers, he needed a reason. He desperately needed to know that this was some sort of twisted last-ditch effort for… for something on Kassim's part—and that it would never happen again.
"Do you remember anything else? I mean… Well, how much did you actually hear?"
"Not a lot, just what I said downstairs. Stuff about money, I think… Uh, Kassim kept asking for more time, or something like that." Omar swiped at his eyes before clutching at his knees again. "I heard a lot of cursing, a lot of punching, and th-then someone said to hit Kassim harder… I don't know. I should've been paying better attention, but the way he looked at me before he shoved me in that dark room… The tone of his voice… I-I don't think I've ever heard him sound like that before."
"Like what?"
A tremor wracked Omar's frame, and then he sat deathly still. "Like… Like he didn't think he could keep me safe or something, like… Like he was terrified. Like he didn't think he'd be coming back for me." Another swipe at his eyes. "He said he'd come back for me…"
As Aladdin pulled Omar closer and held him tight, he mentally went back through every minute of the day. Had there been any signs? There had to have been, or how else would Omar have known to follow?
None of it made sense and Aladdin was sick of being kept in the dark.
Kassim squeezing his arm a little tighter than normal.
The memory hit him like a punch to the gut. He could still feel his brother's hand on his shoulder; could still see the way Kassim had looked at him with such depth.
So, that had been one sign, at least. One sign that Aladdin cursed himself for brushing off as nothing—as normal.
Kassim not paying much attention to their impromptu planning session, when they all had started talking about what tomorrow might bring. Like they usually did.
That was another sign.
"Kassim?" Babkak's fingers had snapped in front of his face because Kassim had zoned out.
"Huh? Oh, yeah, whatever. That sounds good, I don't really care."
Babkak had crossed his arms at that. "'Whatever, I don't really care?'"
"What? I don't. You guys can do whatever you want tomorrow."
That, Aladdin remembered, had sparked a short, yet heated argument, one that hadn't really been resolved…
That could have been the last of it.
His lungs stalled and for one terrifying moment, he couldn't remember how to breathe.
Because Kassim could have died and their last memories together would have been of some stupid argument.
That didn't sit well with Aladdin at all.
How many times had one of them flirted with danger, then just expected everything to turn out fine in the end?
How many days had Aladdin truly lived out like it was his very last?
Before he could drown in his own thoughts, he glanced at Omar.
"Think we should go back down?"
Omar gave the smallest of head shakes. "I don't want to. I… I can't. Not yet. You can, though."
"Nah." Aladdin sighed, readjusting his hold on his friend's shoulders. "I won't leave you all alone up here."
"I'm fine."
He couldn't stop the scoff that burned his lips. "You know, I'm really getting tired of hearing that…"