Note: This chapter has more drug abuse and side effects! There is also a gross depiction of vomitting and other unsanitary things, so please be wary of that if it is a sore subject for you. Again, I don't recommend this sort of thing at all: I escaped addiction by a close shave, but I know this feeling and this dread better than most people do. Also, I promise that this sad arc will come to an end soon.
On the first day that Henry indulged in his painkillers, he felt great. The world moved at a new speed, but he enjoyed the pace like any other. His mind turned at odd angles, but he appreciated the perspective all the while. Things changed in ways he couldn't anticipate, but he looked forward to them with the same fervor as before.
Nothing seemed too bad on that first day. He wasn't needed past his chore of emptying the convoy wagon, and no one was in any particular rush to find him.
The first day was easy.
The second day was a bit harder, though. Henry woke up with the same things he had before the drugs—ringing in his ears, throbbing in his head, aching in his heart—and he frowned at the realization of such. Of course, he never told anyone about the ringing in his ears. They were there since the cave incident, although they disappeared and reappeared at random intervals. Sometimes they were deafeningly loud, other times they were quiet and unnoticeable and Henry forgot they existed until they came back around in passionate thrums.
He also didn't tell them about the throbbing in his head, but that had more to do with his irregular sleeping schedule and the side effects of his dark magic more than anything. There was also the fact that his heart aches started appearing when Gaius started acting friendlier to him, and it was one of those mysteries that Henry felt he would be unable to solve.
He left all of those realizations as they were, but they each weighed heavily on him, regardless. The weight was painful in and of itself, although the pain was different from any injury that Henry ever had.
This pain wasn't necessarily as tangible, but it left an awful taste in his mouth. He decided that he didn't like it, and he had just the thing to remedy it, too.
He took out some of the painkillers from the underground compartment. He decided to try his hand on something new, this time. There were several little packets full of colored powder, that which he narrowed down to being the sedatives that were supposed to be dissolved in water before usage. There was going to be water at the mess hall for breakfast this morning, right? So then he would be able to use it as a means of taking his medicine. Henry smiled at the thought of it as he snuck a few of the packets away into one of his pockets.
On the morning of the second day, Henry went to the mess hall. He saw Tharja, Miriel, and Maribelle there, so he joined them for breakfast before morning patrols and other services would start. They all had drinks placed around them, and Henry grabbed one of the hot water cups for himself. He waited until the three women were occupied with something else, and he took that time as his opportunity to slip the sedatives into his drink.
By the time he was done, Maribelle's eyes darted over to him. He took the sugar cubes and pretended to submerge them in his drink—he pretended it was coffee. She smiled at him and asked if he would like creamer, as well, but he quickly denied it and said he had his own way of doing things. She didn't press him on the matter, but there was a flash of suspicion that crossed her face for a brief moment.
The feelings disappeared, along with the powder that melted into the hot water in Henry's cup. Tharja went on about a new curse she'd been working on, and Miriel asked if she would like a collaboration on one of her books she was writing—memoirs about magic used in the field. Lissa came by and sat at the table next to Maribelle, and burned a positively bright shade of pink (Henry guessed the color since his eyes were closed) when the duchess complimented her on her everything.
As this all happened, Henry acted like he was paying attention. He laughed, nodded, and said a word here and there to anyone that wanted one. When they all looked away, and when they all decided they had better things to do, Henry downed his drink in one go.
He didn't care that he scalded his tongue on the hot water. He didn't care that his drink tasted like chopped up dirt and shriveled weeds put into rainwater. He didn't care that his skin burned red at the temperature seeping through the cup.
When the drugs kicked in moments later, Henry found it quite funny that he didn't care about anything, anymore.
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The second day passed much like the first. Henry was there but not quite, and if he wasn't so quirky all the time, some people would have suspected that something was actually wrong. But he attended Frederick's Fanatical Fitness Hour, he did his share of patrols and armory checks, and he even contributed in the mess hall meals during dinnertime. On any other occasion, no one would notice that something was amiss.
Gaius did, however. He glanced at Henry from across the room, one day, and made subtle movements in his direction—those little nods and thoughtful looks that signaled out "Hey, come here!" or something to that effect. Knowing Henry's secret like Gaius did, he was sure that the Plegian would notice him through closed eyelids, and that he would bound over with that stupid grin on his face like always.
That wasn't the case this time around. Henry might have looked at Gaius' general direction once or twice, but he made no indications that he acknowledged the other's presence. To this, Gaius was slightly miffed, because he didn't like being ignored too much—especially when he went out of his way to signal at someone first. The more rational part of him decided that Henry just didn't see him the first time around, so he tried to signal at him once more.
When Henry's face turned to look straight at him—and when the boy did nothing more but smile blankly as he always did—that's when Gaius knew something was off. He had the strangest feeling that Henry's disposition was just too flighty today, and that his actions were more distant than usual.
He was worried.
But the day was over, and soldiers would be returning to their quarters to sleep, while others stayed awake either patrolling the campgrounds or doing their own thing. Regardless, Gaius found himself unable to meet Henry again, and figured he could bother him about it in the morning.
As he laid down in bed, the assassin couldn't help but wonder if he made a mistake somewhere along the road. He couldn't help but worry that he had hurt the sorcerer in some manner, and the passive attitude he wore that day was a retaliation of such behavior. Maybe there was some unspoken boundary he had crossed, and maybe there was an unknown offense hanging in the air between them. He tossed and turned at his own thoughts, and realized that he wouldn't get anywhere as long as he stayed up as late as he was.
Gaius went to bed shortly thereafter, and needless to say, he dreamt about Henry.
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Third day was the pits.
Henry didn't feel too good. In fact, he felt nauseous and the first thing he did when he woke up was dry heave for ten minutes straight. When his body produced nothing in the way of vomit, Henry decided that it would come out one way or another.
Sickeningly enough, he ended up in the latrine for a longer time than he'd like to admit. When he was done with it all, he felt empty and sick again, and the putrid smell clung to his nose like a plague hanging over him.
He blocked out the odor and the rest of the undesirable things with another dose of the sedatives. He was sure there was a proper name for them somewhere, but along with the rest of the information on the papers, he couldn't bother to read for it. Maybe he'd just stick with "painkillers", because he liked the idea that things other than animals and plants could be killed. He liked the idea that the words he spoke and uttered were powerful enough to kill and hurt other words, and other ideas that existed in the words themselves.
He liked the idea of never feeling pain again. He liked the idea that he could kill pain in the same way he could kill an enemy soldier or Risen.
He liked it.
During training practice on the third day, Henry got partnered up with Nowi. He was one of the few soldiers that had the energy to keep up with her, after all, and she quite liked him, even with his eccentric nature and all that came along with it. If she wasn't so goody-goody, Henry might have liked her even more than he already did.
Of course, it was a bad idea to be partnered up with someone as lively as Nowi, especially when Henry felt less visible than the air itself, or that he might keel over with sudden exhaustion and lightheadedness. It was strange because the painkillers were supposed to take care of that, but he supposed that even life-changing medicine had its side effects—or its days where the effectiveness was lesser than usual.
The majority of the practice battle consisted of Henry trying to dodge oncoming flames, and failing in almost every aspect of doing so. If it weren't for Nowi's control on her end, he would have been burned alive several times over. This revelation should have worried him, but for some reason he kept thinking about riding Nowi's dragon form instead, and napping peacefully in the air while she flapped her wings in monstrous movements below him.
"Hey!" She called out to him, pulling him out of his dazed stupor with her voice that echoed in draconic overtones. "What's wrong, Henry? You're spacing out on me!"
"Sorry, Nowi," he told her. The words slurred together just the tiniest bit, and he said the next few sentences with as much false energy as he could muster. "Just got a lot on my mind~ Or something like that. Maybe the enemy cursed me, after all!"
Although she was suspicious of his words, she ultimately accepted his half-baked apology, and the two of them resumed their sparring session. They were in the presence of Miriel and Libra, as well, both of who were sparring with each other, only a few yards away. Yet the two of them seemed less focused on their own troubles as they eyed the younger two beings with concern. Henry would have thrown a dark joke in their direction, had he known they were there to begin with. It would have cut through the tension in the air, at the very least.
But Henry didn't know that they were there, so the atmosphere around them remained stifled and awkward.
The fight started without his permission, too, yet Henry managed to dodge Nowi's assailing flames once more. She seemed to grow weary of that tactic, however, and switched to something more tame than usual. Nowi flapped her wings into the air, and used the motions to create beats of wind that flew out and tried to topple Henry over. He did nothing but stand there as the wind hit him full on, blowing his bangs up and letting his cape billow out behind him. He laughed softly at the breezes passing him by, feeling warm and safe in their ephemeral embrace.
Eventually, Nowi stopped beating her wings. She stayed in the air, however, examining her opponent's movements with a strange hesitance. Henry stood as still as a statue for that time.
Then, exactly one minute and forty seconds later, Henry crumbled to the ground like a paper doll.
He passed out.
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When Henry stirred on the fourth day, he felt like absolute shit. He woke up in his own tent, then panicked at the realization that he wasn't the one to put himself there in the first place. Someone carried him there, and that meant someone stayed in his quarters long enough to inspect the place. While he still doubted it, there was a chance that they found his stash.
The Plegian discovered the box full of medicinal treatments to still be in one piece, but much to his disdain and disappointment, the plants in there started to wilt. They were still salvageable, but he knew that if he didn't act fast, then his little inventory would be cut in half if he had to throw out the dead plants like he feared he would. So, he scooped out the tiny leaves and stems from inside the box, and shoved them in whatever pocket or fold he could find on his person. Then he walked out of his room with a slouch that didn't match his smile, and he kindly disregarded everyone that passed him by in the same motion.
He vaguely entertained the idea of stuffing all of the plants inside another hot glass of water, but Henry was dazed to the point where he couldn't possibly pour hot water for himself without spilling—so he settled for the next best thing.
He ate the raw plants and restoratives by themselves, grinding the stems and leaves down with his teeth, and chewing on the strange textures in between. He didn't know if taking the painkillers from the direct source would even work or not, but he decided that it would be better to try than not at all. It all tasted like weeds and manure in his mouth, but he didn't care. Once the effects kicked in, he could set himself on fire and not feel a thing. Eating disgusting food, in comparison, was nothing.
The fourth day was objectively worse than the third, however, simply because Henry's plan to eat the raw plants and get on his dazed high failed entirely. He didn't feel the mind-and-body numbing effects like before, and he certainly didn't feel happier for ingesting the drugs, either.
Instead, Henry felt his stomach churn violently, and he ran to the farthest place he could before throwing himself onto the ground. Then he huddled over the dirt, and smeared it with the various colors that escaped his mouth in uncontrolled streams of vomit. The disgusting acts didn't stop there, and Henry found himself upchucking anything and everything that had been in his system for the past few days.
By the time he was done, he felt exhausted and ready to go to bed, even though the day had literally just begun. But he couldn't get away with sleeping through a whole day, so he thought of another solution.
He went to a nearby river and dunked his head in, only to find the cleansing process insufficient unless he threw his whole body in the water, too. So he did exactly that as he silently submerged himself in the clear river. As he sat there soaking (and as the vomit and other dirty things floated off of him and down the stream), he reflected on himself, and wondered why he ended up in this situation to begin with. He wondered why he felt so bad, and why the pain had stirred itself into new angles throughout his entire body.
He wondered why he was even thinking to begin with, as the drugs promised him reprieve for pain in all forms, including those of his thoughts. He was supposed to be floating. He was supposed to be light.
Instead, he felt heavy and very much stuck to the ground. It didn't help that the ringing assaulted his ears again, or that his head throbbed with inconsistencies that never made sense to begin with. His hands trembled, and he brought them up to his face only to pull and push at the meat he found by squeezing his cheeks between his fingers. He repeated these motions several times over, until he finally had enough.
Henry stood up from the river, ignored the chill of the wind that assaulted him, and walked back to camp.
He continued his dismissive waves as he ignored the angry shouts of the others he passed by. He ignored Gaius' rough hands and concerned voice, too. He ignored everything as he shuffled past them all, with nothing but the desire to remain holed up in his tent for an indefinite amount of time. That's what should have happened. That's where the fourth day should have ended.
Instead, Gaius pulled on his hand a second time, and Henry's mind reeled alongside his body in that singular motion. By the time Gaius turned Henry around on his heels to properly face him, he realized something awful.
Henry fell asleep, but not before his eyes were open and not before Gaius caught a glimpse of their dazed and cloudy appearance. They weren't colored purple, blue, indigo, or any of the pretty things that Gaius had seen before.
Henry's eyes were black, and dull as a well-used pencil or a worn-out blade. His eyes were devoid of any mischievous gleam or sinister shine. They certainly didn't have the mystery or magic that used to be there before, and they didn't look as focused or thoughtful as they were before, either.
His eyes were black and null of everything except that blackness. Soon enough, they disappeared behind closed eyelids, too, and remained that way as the body they shared shut down. Henry whimpered pathetically—a noise that was quite unusual for him to make and did nothing but set Gaius' mind on fire with worry—and shivered violently before fainting. Then he fell against the other with the light force of his body, collapsing into Gaius' arms like he had always belonged there.
Gaius would have found the action endearing if he wasn't so frustrated with the other's recent behavior. Henry keeled over, but in doing so he ended up in a compromising position where he smothered his face against the top of Gaius' chest—where the strands of his white hair tickled the base of Gaius' neck.
The assassin resisted the urge to laugh, and instead he used his arms to steady the sorcerer, and hold him in the same motion as he propped him up on his back. Then he carried the sleeping boy back to his tent, grumbling about how inconvenient the situation was as he did so.
Oddly enough, this reminded him of a time long ago, where he had to carry the same sleeping boy on his back for at least a mile until they got back to the Shepherds' camp. It was so long ago that Gaius still hated Henry's guts back then. In fact, they hated each other so much that their battle with the enemy Risen weighed heavily on them, and it was the first time in the entire war campaign where either of the two felt like they were going to die.
So much time passed since then, but carrying Henry on his back reminded Gaius of the old memories. Some of them were admittingly hazy, but others were painted with stark and vivid colors, such that Gaius couldn't forget them even if he tried.
And sometimes, he did try.
On the fourth day, Henry fainted and Gaius returned him to his bed. Gaius also resolved within himself that he would confront Henry the next morning, and ask him about the strange behavior he had shown over the last few days.
On the fourth day, Henry did not dream about Gaius. Instead, his dreams were occupied by visions of himself flying, flying, and flying up in the sky where no one could ever hope to touch him. In those dreams, his feathered wings were pearly white and large, beating wind and thunder with each flap he made. Also in those dreams, Henry reached a place previously undiscovered, and he smiled at the sights laid out before him.
On the fourth day, Henry dreamed that his wings melted off his back, and he had no choice but to fall to the oblivion below him whilst his feathers drifted down in tandem.
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Day five rolled around.
Henry felt bad.
He stopped worrying so much, and realized that all the gross things like throwing up could be avoided if he got his daily intake of drugs as soon as possible. The moment he was conscious, Henry spent all his energy into unearthing his stash, and twisting open the bottles in frenzied movements. These ones were in powdered form again, but he didn't have time to entertain them with hot water like usual. He just opened the packets with slight movements, and emptied out the dry powder reserves straight into his mouth.
He coughed and hacked on the substance, sending sprays of it everywhere as he did so. The colors contrasted with his outfit, and it vaguely looked like Henry had been assaulted by a blackboard eraser. The powder turned chalky on his clothes, and fell off in colored clumps that left impressions behind.
He might have cared more, but his outfit was already disgusting because it smelled like old river water and acid. It also had the faint hint of vomit on it, still, something he wondered if the others noticed or not.
Maybe that's why he got so many nasty looks the other day.
Either way, the dust got everywhere, and the initial shock of inhaling too much of it at once disappeared when the effects kicked in. Henry loved this part—he loved it when his veins turned to ice and his mind froze over with the same coolness and certainty. He loved it when his body registered nothing from gashes to stubbed toes. He loved it when his eyes swam with weird visions and colorful spots, mixing the reality in front of him with the fantasy in his mind.
He loved it.
He loved it so much that he inhaled more than he normally did. Henry's mouth felt tired from all the movement it made, because his face became smeared with stray dust and saliva, like a wall being painted over by a mural. His hands moved inaccurately and involuntarily, and he found himself shaking all the while.
Just as he had the strength to put the remains of his stash away, the tent flaps to his quarters opened up violently. Henry looked up at the perpetrator with a cloudy look in his eye, and laughed as loudly as he could.
"Oh, Honeybuns," he lamented. "Don't you know how to knock?"
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Day five was still there. Gaius woke up early, got some training and exercise in, and even served on the dawn patrol alongside Libra and Nowi. The kid was too energetic for the two grown males, and it showed when she dragged them along to something bright and adventurous, forgetting the entire purpose of a patrol was not to run around noticeably, but to keep at a steadily hidden pace and stay alert for possible threats.
Either way, Gaius was up early, and in those early hours he formulated his plan for the rest of the day.
He decided that he would visit Henry first thing in the morning, and demand the answers that the other has kept secret for so long. He wanted to know why Henry was acting so weird. He wanted to know why so many people whispered strange rumors about him in the past few days. He wanted to know why Henry had been avoiding him since they first settled in their new camp. He wanted to know why Henry fainted the other day.
He wanted to know.
And the curse that came with curiosity was the truth that one wanted so badly in the first place. Gaius found himself face to face with a reality he didn't necessarily want nor expect to happen, yet it was there all the same.
He huffed quietly, then spread open the tent flaps with a practiced but angry movement. He expected to see Henry asleep on his bed, or at least walking around and getting ready for the day. He expected him to smile back at him in a (fake) cheerful manner, and give some wisecrack about his persistence up to now, or something to that degree. He expected to see a magic circle come to life, with a sacrifice in the middle of it and a sorcerer standing to the side all while chanting strange words.
Gaius expected everything except what he actually saw.
And what he saw wasn't very pretty.
Henry was sat on the floor, huddled over something but looking utterly guilty about it. His smile wavered into funny curves, that which only made him laugh harder as he ogled Gaius' concerned expression. The boy's face was smeared with colorful substances, as were the whole front side of his clothes. Additionally, his body was shaking ever so slightly, and the half hearted motions that the rest of his body took on said something about its condition.
Gaius gulped.
Henry laughed, albeit weakly. "Oh, Honeybuns. Don't you know how to knock?"
"This is a tent," Gaius deadpanned. "There's no Gods-damned doors in a tent."
"Libra would die hearing you say the Gods names in vain," Henry countered. "He might just die anyway. Oh well."
"Henry, what are you doing?"
"Huh? I dunno. Ask again later."
"Henry."
"Sheesh, sheesh! What's with the first name basis, huuuh?" the vowels were elongated more than normal. The drawl in Henry's voice sounded too sedate to be funny.
Gaius didn't like the picture that was coming together in his head. He kept talking to stall its completion.
"This is a serious matter. What're you doing? And how come you've been acting strange lately?"
"What's it matter to you," Henry muttered beneath his breath. "You don't care about me."
"What?" Gaius yelled, the loudness of his voice shocking even himself. He toned it down just a little before repeating himself, but it did nothing to hide his obvious distraught. "What?"
"You don't care about me," Henry simply said. "Or something like that."
"Henry, what's wrong with you? Why are you—"
"There's too many things wrong with me, Honeybuns. Do you want the alphabetical list or the chronological list?"
"Stop that!" he snapped at him, not feeling any guilt when he saw a visible flinch take hold of the other's body. "Are you...drunk? Henry, have you been drinking?"
"...Pfft," he sputtered. "Pfft...Hahahaha!" his laughter escaped before him in voluminous eruptions, and he held his face in his hands with unsteady fingers. "Oh, he thinks I'm drunk! You think I'm drunk! I haven't been drinking, Honeybuns. At least, not the things you think I've been drinking."
"If you're not drunk, then what's going on? This ain't like you, Jun—Henry." he wanted to revert to nicknames since that was what Henry seemed intent on doing, but he knew that doing so would only play into the game that the other surely set up for him. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction of it all that easily.
Henry talked in a somewhat unfettered tone, anyway. "I don't know how say this, so I'll just show you."
"What are you gonna show me—"
Before Gaius could finish talking, Henry jumped up to his feet in a matter of seconds. Then he reached for one of Gaius' arm-swords—the ones that stuck out from his sides, waiting to be dislodged and used against enemies—and took it from its place. Gaius was still confused, but had no time to act before Henry did the unthinkable.
He brandished the blade in his right hand, and cut a long line down his left arm. He went right through the thin material of his outfit, and sliced through his own dark skin as crimson blood leaked out the wound he left for himself. The blade collected this blood, and let it drip from its sharp edge with every passing second.
That was the last straw.
Gaius quickly grabbed the knife from Henry, and threw it far to the side where it clattered against the ground. Then he shoved him as far back as he could, ignoring the sounds of protest that escaped the other's chapped, bruised lips. Gaius ended up straddling Henry on the sorcerer's own bed, pinning both of his arms down to prevent him from hurting himself any further. The greens in his eyes were alive with acidic fury, and he bore a venomous stare down at the boy trapped beneath him.
Gaius trembled, and freshly hot anger continued to surge through him all the while. The smile that Henry usually wore was still in place, somehow. He gave him kudos for consistence, at the very least. Otherwise he was very, very, very unhappy with this outcome. He willed himself not to stare at the crimson line that now ran down Henry's left arm—he forced himself to ignore the blood that was staining his own fingertips as he held him there with an iron grip.
He shouted: "Don't ever do that again! Do you hear me, Henry? Never again!"
"Haha…" Henry laughed weakly, and shook his head. "No, I don't hear you, Gaius. Don't you get it?"
"Get what?"
"I don't feel it," he almost whispered the words out, as if they were too sacred to be heard by mere humans. "I don't feel the cut I just gave myself."
"What?" Gaius hissed out the question, completely enraged and confused. "What do you mean you don't feel it? Don't lie to me, Henry. You're hurt and I can see it—"
"I'm not hurt because I don't feel pain," Henry said, interrupting Gaius in the flightiest way possible. "I haven't felt pain in the past few days."
"What do you mean? Explain things better, you Gods-damned idiot!"
"Did you know the medics have drugs that numb you from pain? I wouldn't feel my toe if I stubbed it. I don't even really feel you on top of me right now." The words came out in coherent sentences, but they were spoken in such a disjointed way that Gaius felt cold listening to them. It was as if Henry were some machine, instead of the living breathing being he truly was.
Gaius wasn't having it, no matter the analogy. "Why would something like that even exist? And more importantly, why have you been taking it? Henry, this isn't good."
"I know it's not," Henry conceded softly. His voice sounded really far away, now. His eyes opened, too, but they were still as black as they were yesterday. He continued speaking throughout all these little moments. "That's why I did it, dummy."
"..." There were so many words Gaius wanted to say. Instead, he felt the frustration and indignation rise up through his body, completely simultaneous with the shame and regret that filled his heart just now. Henry had been suffering enough to the point where he needed release? He had been shouldering the pain to the point where he couldn't take it anymore, so he relied on drugs? Why would he, though? And when did he get access to such vile things? Gaius wanted to say all of this and more, but it all died out on his tongue.
Henry found a new surge of energy and kept talking. "I stole it."
"You what?"
"I stole the medicine."
"From where? Where did you steal it from?"
"The first day we came here, Frederick asked me to help unload the convoy wagons. I was in a healer's tent with Libra when I found it all stuffed in a box somewhere."
He had a whole box of that shit? Not just a bottle or two, but a whole box? Gaius blanched at the thoughts forming his mind. He tried to pretend that he didn't feel icy, because he needed the fire to burn Henry.
He needed the heat to keep him warm.
"Why, Henry? Why'd you do it?"
"Why did I cut myself, or why did I take the stuff?"
"Both, you idiot."
"I dunno. Maybe you should kill me and ask my ghost." A sneer appeared on his face, warping any semblance of warmth or patience that existed there before. "I'm not entirely here right now, so none of my answers are valid, after all!"
Gaius didn't speak. He let his actions do the talking for him this time, and he hissed as his hand stung with the fresh force of hitting something. In this case, Gaius let go of Henry's left hand, only to slap him across the face in the same movement. He watched the golden-brown color of Henry's skin turn red, and he watched as the boy's face whipped pitifully in the direction he had been slapped in. Worse was that Henry was too dazed to inspect the damage, and he didn't even turn his head back to stare up at Gaius anymore.
He felt sick.
He got up.
He was halfway out the tent when he heard Henry sigh pitifully behind him.
"Well, this sucks. Turns out you're just like everyone else, after all."
"What do you mean?"
"You're just gonna leave me here," Henry said, with no emotion coloring his voice whatsoever. "But it's fine. 'M used to it, anyway. Being left alone, I mean."
Gaius paused for a short moment, then he swiveled on his heels to stare down the other in the eye. "I'm leaving," he reinforced the idea. "I'm leaving to get you some bandages. You're still injured, you idiot."
"That's—"
"You're a fool if you think I'll abandon you right now. You're a fool for so many things that I think I've lost count, Henry."
"Gaius…"
"Shut up, and stay put. I'm leaving for now, but I'll be back." He didn't move, despite his claims. Then he added on: "I'll be back."
Gaius disappeared behind the tent flaps, leaving nothing in his wake except for the bloody Henry and the scent of mint in the air. The fragrance upset Henry's nose and stomach, but he didn't feel these things as he should, since the medicine still surged throughout his body.
Yet, he had the strange inkling that the pain was there, all the same. He curled in on himself, and laughed quietly.
He was such a mess, after all.