hold out against the night // Syd and Benedict

Stay here, he says.

Stay here, stay here, stay here.

The next moment, before Syd can even discern the faces in the smoke, something changes. He sees… a boy, maybe, lurching toward Benedict. Syd tries to shove him away, to get him to stop, but --

The air shifts. The smoke parts, just for a second, as he turns back to look at his ally.

He sees Benedict sinking into the mush.

His heart seizes. He doesn’t think twice. While the others retreat into the smoke, Syd rushes back. Every time he takes a step, his boots make an ugly sound, pulling against the foul earth trying to devour him.

”Hey, hey,” he says, reaching forward. He secures his hands underneath Benedict’s arms and tries to pull him up. It works, sort of, but he needs help. He needs Benedict to move. Syd investigates his face, thinks of saying, ”Okay, just one step, buddy, come on,” but then he sees the faraway look in Bene’s eyes.

He’s not dead. He’s panting. He’s okay. Just a second ago he was swearing against the pain.

Syd looks down and finds that Bene’s bad leg has come undone from its shoddy wrappings.

He grimaces.

”Looks like I’m walking us both!” he says, trying to feign cheerfulness, trying to.. to give Bene some of his energy.

With great effort, he nestles himself underneath Bene’s shoulder, straining to hold on without causing further injury. He grunts, lifting the dying weight of him. A flash of a memory pierces through his thoughts: Syd, destined to die in the Bloodbath with a broken leg, being hoisted from the dirt by Benedict. They saved each other then. They can save each other again.

Blood trickles from a wound on Bene’s arm, soaking into Syd’s traded uniform. He grits his teeth, breath coming in ragged from the struggle, and takes another step. And then another. The minutes feel like hours as his muscles strain against the added weight.

One step after the other, he lugs Benedict to solid ground. 

Exhausted, he drops him a little too quickly to be comfortable, and he winces at the way the boy’s leg twists.

He wants to collapse and let the smoke overtake him. But he can’t. He won’t.

”Hey,” he says again, leaning over the other boy. ”That’s the worst part over. Come on. Let’s get you fixed up.”

Now that they’re on solid ground, closer, he can see the weak look in Bene’s eyes.

He looks away, trying not to panic.

Then he notices something a few feet away, nestled beside a rock. At first he thinks it’s a piece of clothing, but then he discerns the strings and the container attached. A parachute. Was it sent for him and Bene? Or did someone just miss it in all this smoke?

Either way, Syd scrambles to open it, his fingers awkwardly fumbling over the latch. Inside is a piece of cloth, he thinks, before he unfurls it and reads the words plastered on the front of the shirt.

EVERYTHING HURTS AND I’M DYING.

”Ugh!” Syd yells, raging against the people pulling the strings. He rushes back to Benedict and pushes the cloth against the gaping wound on his leg. He wishes, briefly, that he had some water to rinse the worst of the muck away.

When he looks back up at Bene’s face, he changes his mind. He wishes he had some water for Bene to drink.

The problem he faces is this: he doesn’t dare use his effort to do anything but staunch the bleeding on Bene’s leg. Whenever he makes a move to do anything else, the blood just flows faster. 

He won’t let it happen. He can’t. 

But he’s gotta fess up to himself.

Bene’s dying.

Sitting beside his ally, Syd tries to blink tears away. Bene’s not supposed to die. Bene’s supposed to go back to the love of his life. He’s supposed to hold her in his arms and know that everything will be okay again.

But instead he’s here, stinking of sewage, fading.

All Syd can do is lie.

With a half-broken voice, he says, ”It’s gonna be okay, Bene. I swear it.”