colby | colby released | desmond and kip
“Hey, you’re fine. Ride it out. You got this.”
Kip’s chin wobbles as he stares up at the ceiling, breaths huffing out of his nose. His whole body is quaking with tension. The agony is constant, but waves of unbearable, somehow worse pain, crash over him here and there. He doesn’t even try to move his body anymore. It’s useless, it only brings thought-erasing pain. He can’t help it in his sleep, though - so he shifts, and knocks a broken bone against the wall or his own side, and wakes up making sounds.
Desmond can’t touch him.
Can’t hold him, thanks to the thorough shattering he put Kip through. Can’t touch him, because he’s not sure what relationship his fingertips have with Kip’s skin, anymore. The past few times he had to touch his friend, bone gave way underneath his hands, and he can’t get rid of that feeling.
It’s hard on Kip, to not be held. To not get a hand on his shoulder, or on his arm, in support; no pat on the back, no gentle shove, nothing. All they have is each other, and through the years, they’ve been able to turn a hard, cold front to the world, knowing that when they were alone, safe, they could break down if they needed to.
Kip can cry, when they’re alone. Desmond can stare off at nothing and let his mind untether itself from reality like it tries so hard to do at the worst of times. They can sit with each other, backs to the wall, leaning against each other, and just feel the shit they’ve gotta feel.
But now things are complicated in a terrifying new way. Kip won’t be able to move for weeks. He’ll have to heal up so much just to be able to sit up, let alone to walk, to run. Kip will have to take care of him, just so he can survive until then.
And no place is safe enough for long enough to allow for that.
So they’re going to have to move, from this empty, dusty, dark place, to another one. Desmond’s going to have to figure out how to move Kip, pile of broken bones that he is, without attracting any attention, without humiliating Kip.
It’s not possible.
But if they stay here, they’ll get found. And nobody that goes snooping around in abandoned buildings is the type to offer help for free. They’re more likely to try and rob Desmond, or they’ll be cops clearing out squatters. Desmond would freeze, and Kip would be grabbed, and it’d be over. They’d die, or worse, get split up.
“N-not a crybaby, ‘m not,” Mutters Kip, pupils blown wide in the dark, a sheen of sweat clinging to his skin. This wave of unbearable pain is taking forever to pass. He’s not crying, but Desmond knows that the memories hust just as much as tears actually falling, for Kip.
“I know. You’re tough. Nobody’s here, Kip. Nobody called you that.”
Shallow, staggered breaths break the silence of the space over and over again. How they must hurt, with broken ribs and a fractured collarbone.
“Please, ‘m not.”
Desmond frowns. They need a healer, someone with numbing magic. Kip can’t deal with all this pain, this helplessness, without his mind slipping into the fear he felt back then. Desmond’s magic is useless right now, and his hands, they broke Kip. He can’t go out looking for a healer without leaving Kip like this, alone, swearing to an empty room that he’s not weak, he’s not crying.
What good is it to be in the Resistance and still be this alone, this scared? What are they going to do? There are no survivable options. The sudden, overwhelming thought that Kip might die seizes Desmond by the back of the neck, his body locking up in terror. What can I do? What the hell can I do, to fix this?
“Dez, is there… anyone, here?” Breathes the shuddering, whimpering warlock. He looks so helpless, stained black and purple with bruising, taking thin tremulous breaths on a bare, grimy mattress on the floor. The best that Desmond could find, with his friend crunching and sobbing in his arms.
“No. Place is empty.”
“Mnh. ‘kay, good. ‘Cause… ‘m gonna…” Kip blinks, lip quivering.
“‘s okay, man. Let it out.”
Hands lying limp and useless against the floor, Desmond tips his head back against the wall. The only sound in the space they share is near-silent crying, and breathless whines, and the soft sounds that come with Kip trying and failing to calm himself down.
They might die like this, Desmond thinks, trying to follow every possible train of thought about how to move forward, and coming to a dead end every time. They might die before they can even pick up the pieces of what they are, after the mindfucker.