Chapter Text
Not even the best of plans can stop the desert’s erosion. After a million slow years of wind, then dust, then rainfall; you'll get hills, valleys, then ravines every time, as sure as the Witch's postal routes. After a few short months of war, you get craters. Blank space.
“Aren’t you a little worried?”
“About what?”
Sunlight danced around the desert home, ricocheting off wood panel walls in warm glow, but an anxious cloud pooled around the center of this room. The Girl rocked on locked legs, trying not to look too closely at the couch she leaned over, where Volume lay. Chatter carried on around her. The television beeped the sound of space invaders as the twins, Vaya and Vamos, used their re-discovered electricity for all it was worth. And, although she knew he was still alive, Volume lay there like a statue, unmoving. The worn leather was motionless under him. Around his torso were bandages wrapped in tight cushioned layers, stained faintly. “About your friend,” she answered Vamos finally, “He was shot.”
“Well duh,” Vamos laughed as if she were only concerned about something as trivial as the weather. They didn’t look up, still focused on the TV, battling Vaya's high score. “He's got nothing to worry about! He’s on good terms with the Witch.”
Her eyes shifted back to Volume when he breathed in. It was painful for him like before, but less so, Volume's only concern at the moment was how stiff his side felt where the beam grazed him. “Yeah,” he spoke up dryly to confirm Vamos' statement, “And don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” He craned his neck to smile at the Girl, praying it didn’t look as forced as it felt. “Unfortunately, the Witch is gonna have to wait.”
He couldn’t see her face as well as he would've liked to from this angle, but he could see enough to identify the pity on her frown. He didn’t mind. He suspected he might be more delirious than lucid (a byproduct of the pain meds Vaya crowdsourced from the Nest) and could feel his thoughts slipping in and out of his head more than not, but despite this he could still, sadly, remember yesterday's clap clear as day - namely how he’d collapsed on the Girl. And what he said to her.
He’d wanted to protect her. Maybe that alone was foolish. Sandpups were as common as cacti in the desert, whole regions of the Zones were populated by nothing but rebellious teenagers, too young to know how young they were. The Nest itself housed almost as many teenagers under its roof as it housed any other age under thirty (which seemed to be the fated cut-off, all things considered). Regardless, the Girl couldn’t have been more than eighteen, two years behind Vaya and Vamos, and dragging a child into a fight that wasn’t hers, to save two undergrads, felt revoltingly wrong to Volume. Call him what you will - an old joy, a softie, or a Witch's chick - but needless violence never felt right on his tongue to begin with. Violence for a kid as young as her was only especially uncomfortable.
She didn’t protest when Volume held her back, the rest of the Ultra V’s lunging ahead to do their self-appointed job on the front line. Hovering behind with his focus on the Girl, Volume had assumed they were safe enough. They usually were, after all, a few draculoids is no big event.
But he’d misread the situation. With one hand on the Girl’s shoulder, the other clutching the gun at his side, and an irritating grain of sand in the pit of his boot, his body reacted to the blast sooner than his mind did. He stumbled, lungs frozen. The sensation was like that time - a few weeks back - Vinyl had winded him badly during a friendly session of fighting club at the Nest. Only this time when he looked down he saw the blood, the smoldering burn signing his ribcage, and he realized what must’ve happened. It was then that he felt the pain. The Girl caught him when he fell, but unable to support his weight she completed the fall for him.
Oceans in Volume’s ears roared over his thoughts. He tried, bravely at first, to stay alert, but to no avail. The Girl said something to him, or maybe she only opened her mouth in shock, but regardless no sound reached him as if there were a glass wall between his senses and the world. With exception to the sand in his boot, which he seemed to feel intently now more than ever. How pathetic, to be dying, when all you can think of is how badly you'd love to give your shoes a good shake.
He had no intention to survive this. It looked bad. It felt bad. He considered himself too much a realist to expect anything better. But another traumatized teen wouldn’t help anybody either, so he’d fix what he could. He pulled down his bandana and prayed to the Witch that the girl could lipread her way through the firefight that was still sounding off right beside them.
“It’s okay. It’s okay,” he comforted in hoarse whispers. "It'll be okay." He tried his best to ignore the distressed tears welling up in the Girl’s eyes. Their faces were too close together for him to ignore it. “Don’t worry - I’m tired. I’m tired of hiding,” was the best condolence he could offer her.
And now, almost a full day later, Volume felt the Girl’s eyes pierce him.
"I'm tired of hiding."
Stupid.
At the barest minimum, she was keeping that dialogue to herself for now, thank the Witch. Volume shifted on the couch - groaning a sigh - as he mentally ran through the situation again. If she’d mentioned it to someone already, the fallout would’ve surfaced by now. Neither Vaya nor Vamos were known for subtly, and Val has been looking for an excuse to blow up ever since Volume first landed this injury. Vinyl on the other hand was ever the enigma, but it’s been a night, so he's had plenty of opportunities to express sympathy towards Volume, and it was Volume's best guess that he would have should he have known what Volume’s last words were meant to be. Volume meant what he’d said. The problem was he hadn’t anticipated living to face the consequences of it. Even without any yet surfaced consequences, the knowledge that something could come of his words filled him with a shameful dread. He barely knew this girl, and still he already had no choice but to trust her.