Chapter Text
“GET JUAN AND GET OUT OF HERE!” Tina screeches at him. It always feels wrong to abandon a fight, especially when it’s his friends taking the blows, but Foolish knows she’s right. The blast had opened a hole in the prison wall that he could just fit through, and if he wasn’t fast, Multi could get to Juan first and use him as a hostage. Again. The spike of anger sharpens into focus and he leaps forward, dodging a CNE Worker, and throws himself inside.
Juan is shackled to a table, eyes glazed over, drying blood stark against his unusually pale skin. There’s no time to dwell on that. Nor is there time to do this gently. Juan doesn’t recognize him, feebly pulling away as Foolish takes an axe to the manacles and tries to pry him loose. All the pent-up rage and helplessness of the past two weeks floods into Foolish and he rips the bonds apart in seconds. The sounds of battle fade into the background as he moves to scoop up Juan. He doesn’t even register Tina slicing the neck off of the worker that had tried to follow him in. He tries as hard as he can to be gentle, but he has no idea what parts of Juan hurt the least under his bloodied and tattered clothes. The best thing to do is get him out fast and get a potion into him. That doesn’t mean Juan’s pained gasp as he is lifted hurts Foolish’s heart any less.
Juan has always been light, but malnourishment and Foolish’s adrenaline make it feel like carrying nothing. Foolish snatches his warpstone with one hand, eyes scanning the room to ensure they are clear. Outside, the fight is raging. He spots Ash and Aldo locked in a duel, and spares a brief thought towards hoping the rematch goes better than last time. The warpstone opens painfully slowly, but it does open, and Foolish tenses his body around Juan as the purple particles surround them and carry them far, far away.
It’s only when they land in the silent bunker that he realizes how loud it had been. The only thing he can hear now is his own thundering heartbeat. And the only thing he can see is Juan. Juan blinks slowly, body tense, eyes wandering up towards Foolish, who half-collapses towards the little cot with the pile of potions and bandages that they’d set up the night before. Thank god. He sets Juan down sitting up, hands on his back in what he hopes is a supportive and not painful position. Juan doesn’t seem like he’ll tip over immediately, so Foolish removes one hand and blindly grabs towards the potions, not willing to tear his eyes from his friend.
“Hey, Juan,” he croaks, fighting to sound normal. “It’s me. You’re safe. Can you drink this for me?”
He bites back a sob of relief when Juan’s tired eyes finally meet his. His mouth moves slightly, no sound emerging, but the look he gives Foolish is one of recognition, and pain, and the faintest glimmer of hope. Couldn’t beat it out of him, that bastard. Foolish lifts a shaky hand to Juan’s mouth, holding a healing potion and popping the top off with his thumb. He tries to hold it as steady as he can to Juan’s lips. It’s slow going, Juan wincing with every swallow, but by the end his breath sounds less raspy and there’s just a little more light in his eyes. He’s not going to die. Not today. Foolish feels the relief run through his body as he chokes back emotion. Can’t fall apart. Not now. He tilts his head, making eye contact with Juan again and gently holding his shoulders.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” Juan gives the faintest of nods. Foolish scans his body, eyestracing the painfully thin and still-shaking form, and decides that Juan’s dignity will have to be fine with being carried again. He slides his arms as gently as possible around Juan’s back and under his knees, carrying him over to the little bathroom of the bunker and depositing him in the bathtub. Juan flinches as the warm water first makes contact with his skin, but as it starts to fill he seems to relax into it. Then he slowly reaches a shaking hand out, cupping some of the water in his palm. Foolish watches him, not thinking anything of it, until Juan brings it to his lips. With how badly he’s shaking, no water makes it. But it’s enough for Foolish to realize what he needs, and he whips out a bottle of water from his backpack as fast as possible and holds it over to Juan. Fuck, he should’ve known. Tina better put a mace through Multi and Aldo’s teeth.
Juan gulps down the water in no time. When it’s done, he looks over to Foolish. No words, barely even a move of a head, but Foolish knows Juan so well that he recognizes the thanks. He gives a nod and a small smile in return. Anything you need, always. No matter the bickering, that’s always been their bond. As the water reaches Juan’s chest, he closes his eyes, trusting. Foolish turns off the faucet, gets the soap and a washcloth, and gets to work.
It’s nearly an hour by the time he is done. Juan’s filthy clothes discarded in the trash, the water around him finally clear after a third drain and refill. Bandages wound around the worst of the wounds. He’s still small and pale, still barely conscious after two weeks of hell, but he looks like Juan again. Alive and whole. Foolish pulls the plug on the drain and watches it begin to swirl away for a few moments. He wishes he could wash the memories of the last few weeks away as well. If only it were that easy.
He is startled from thought by a brush of fingers on his wrist. Juan is looking at him, brown eyes still weary but so unmistakably him. Foolish feels himself smile. “You good?” He asks, softly. Juan faintly returns his smile.
“Gracias,” he rasps, and Foolish’s smile widens.
Juan insists on making the next parts as hard as possible. Trying to stand by himself, and failing, trying to put a shirt on, and failing, trying to walk across the room, and failing. Foolish doesn’t say a word; he doesn’t need to. Just an amused glance as he catches Juan each time, while Juan glares in response but accepts the help. Their little dance.
But as Foolish guides him towards the bed, Juan suddenly stops, halting their incredibly slow progress. And he looks up, with as much determination as Foolish has ever seen from him, and rasps, “No.”
Goddamnit. “What do you mean no? You’ve gotta rest, buddy.” Foolish tries to nudge him forward, to no avail.
“Tina, the others. Have to help them.”
“What? No!” Foolish sputters. “You can’t even walk, idiot. They’re fine. Look.” He shoves the communicator at Juan, showing the multiple death messages. None for Aldo, which would definitely be a problem later, but Tina had gotten Multi. Of course she did. He knew she would. Juan squints at the communicator, and Foolish realizes something. “Oh, goddamnit. You don’t have your fucking glasses, do you?” Juan returns his glare stubbornly. The stupid idiot. “You can’t see shit! Do you even know who I am right now? You couldn’t fight a rabbit! You’re sitting down and going the fuck to bed, asshole!”
He feels, rather than sees, the moment Juan can’t hold his glower any longer. The smile creeps slower than normal across his worn face, but it’s there. It’s beautiful and real and alive. And then, like the clouds parting after a thunderstorm, he starts to laugh. That stupid little giggle that somehow survived two weeks of torture splits Foolish wide open and then he’s laughing, too, giddy from the sound that he hasn’t heard in what feels like a lifetime. He has to hold Juan up as they laugh, splitting the silence of the bunker with the sound. How much has he missed this? For just a moment, alone in this little hideaway, all the world is right. And it sounds like home.