Feo’s eyes softened as Lucius’s voice filled the space between them, as lighthearted and carefree as ever. He listened, letting the words settle in the quiet night around them. His presence was a comfort. It always had been. It felt easy to let Lucius carry the weight of their thoughts, to let him weave them into something playful, something free. But in the span of a heartbeat, that peace was shattered.

The instant Lucius stepped off the curb, Feo’s instincts kicked in—a lifetime of training, of watching the world with sharp eyes, shifted into overdrive. The shout from the cyclist came too late. The crash followed too quickly. And in that split second, everything changed.

The world blurred. The street, the neon lights, the sounds of the city—they all disappeared into the haze of adrenaline. The only thing Feo could see was Lucius. His heart pounded in his chest as he dropped to his knees, the cold ground suddenly unbearable beneath him. His hands reached out, trembling, desperately searching for something solid to hold on to. His fingers brushed against Lucius’s arm, shaking as the dagger found its place in his palm, a familiar weight that felt all wrong in his hand at that moment.

“Lulu... the wrap... where’s the wrap?” His voice cracked, a strained whisper filled with more fear than he cared to admit. His eyes never left Lucius, watching him with frantic urgency, willing him to be okay, to be alive. His mind screamed, his chest tightened, but all he could do was fumble around, feeling the heavy weight of helplessness press down on him.

But the damn cyclist kept coming. The asshole kept walking toward them, and Feo could feel his rage flaring, a vicious, fiery thing in his chest. "Back, dammit!" Feo roared, his voice raw, desperate. "Stay the fuck away!" He didn’t care how it sounded, didn’t care who was around. There was no room for hesitation. Not when Lucius was there, hurt, vulnerable in his arms.

The sickening, familiar sensation crawled up Feo’s spine. Not again. Not again. His chest squeezed so tight he could barely breathe. He could feel Lucius’s weight against him, but it felt like an anchor pulling him down into a pit of memories he couldn’t escape. Memories of a boy he couldn’t save, a past he couldn’t outrun.

"Fuck," Feo’s voice was strangled with panic, a raw rasp, as his thoughts collided with the brutal truth. This is my fault. It’s always my fault. He shook his head, almost violently, as though the thought could be shaken out of him. But it wouldn’t leave. He had failed before. And now, here, in this moment, the weight of that past threatened to crush him again. He couldn’t lose Lucius. He couldn’t.

“Lulu... please, just—just be okay. Please...” The words were breathless, slipping out in a tremble. But there was no response, no answer. Only the horrible sense of helplessness wrapping its cold fingers around his throat. He couldn’t let it swallow him. He refused.

His hands tightened around Lucius, and for a moment, it felt like the world stood still. Like nothing existed but him and Lucius. He would protect him, he would fix this, he had to. His mind raced with the need to do something, to take action, to fix what was broken, but all he could do was hold Lucius close, trying to stem the bleeding of his own panic. He wasn’t sure who he was trying to reassure—Lucius or himself. His heart was thundering in his chest, every beat sharp, frantic.

“Hospital,” Feo spat, his voice sharp like a blade, as he glared at the cyclist. His entire body was trembling, trembling from fear, from rage, from the crushing weight of responsibility. He couldn’t even feel the cold anymore. “Tell me where the hospital is. Now.” His words were low and threatening, sharp with the knowledge that this wasn’t just about getting help—it was about survival. When the man hesitated, he raised his voice, the tone a booming shout that came from deep within his chest. Deep within his head. "Now, dammit, or I'll cut your goddamn throat! Find it and take me there!"

His gaze locked with the cyclist’s, a feral intensity in his eyes that screamed the danger in his soul. The world had narrowed. There was no one but Lucius. No one but the man in his arms, the one who always stood by him, the one who had become everything to him.

Feo’s heart twisted painfully as he felt his pulse race, as he heard his own thoughts screeching, as the world around him continued to spin and blur. Lucius was hurt. And Feo couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t let this be another failure. Not again.

But all he could do was hold on. Hold on and pray. Pray that the warmth of Lucius’s body was enough, that the steady rhythm of his breath wasn’t a dream. That somehow, through the chaos, they would make it through this. That Lucius would make it through this.

Feo could already feel the gnawing ache inside him—the guilt, the raw sense of failure that would never fully leave. But he couldn’t think about that right now. Not when Lucius was slipping through his fingers.

“I’ll get you through this,” Feo whispered to him, his voice trembling.

Aside from the haze of pain that Lucius could feel swirling in his brain, there wasn't much else other than disappointment. A small sigh, a shake of his head and a small frown on his face. That was inconvenient timing.

They had the wrap. It would all be fine.

"I'm good, I'm going to be fine," Lucius sat up with a slight struggle. Feo's panic was ... unfortunately predictable. Lucius wrinkled his nose, a little bit amused. The rush and flutter from the Nordic demigod was endearing actually.

The dull ache from the injury was fuzzing his senses, drawing a sort of damper over his mind. It softened his sharp and quick thoughts, pulling them into a slow shuffle.

Feo's cry caught his thoughts and Lucius looked up. "Hey--hey. It's okay. It's just broken, I'm not dying. Geez," he shook his head, trying to get his feet under him. "We just need to get a splint from the hospital--"

Lucius tried picking at the wrap but with only one hand... it was pretty much impossible.

The cyclist jumped back, his hands held up in a sort of 'surrender' position and gesture. "It's just down the street, man," his hand pointed toward the large building.

"It's alright, Feo," Lucius insisted, using his good hand to cup his injury, bracing it against his own chest. It wasn't the first time and he should've known better than to catch himself. But it had been a while.

"I'm sorry," Lucius said quickly, slowly standing up with some difficulty. "I really should've been watching where I was going. Are you hurt?"

The cyclist stared back at the blond man for a few seconds. It was almost as if he had to take the time to register what Lucius was saying. "Am--I'm fine, kid. You're not fine. You're the injured one!"

Lucius shook his head in an attempt at a shrug. "I gotta make sure," he leaned his weight against the other man's side. "But uhm... thanks. We should... head to the hospital. Yeah. Have a nice night!"

Lucius dragged himself forward, internally kicking himself. This was going to bring up a lot of questions, a lot of everything. He could already see the way it had affected Feo.

Him?

Eh. It was another broken bone. Not the first and clearly, not the last. But this time, they had the wrap of Apollo. Which meant injuries wouldn't last near as long. Or heal funky.

"The wrap is on my other arm," Lucius explained quietly. "We just need to get it wrapped and then splinted and it'll be fine in the morning," his voice lowered to a soft murmur. "It's going to be fine. Not my first rodeo," Lucius cracked a faint smile, trying to ease the tension.

Feo’s breath was still coming too fast, too sharp, his chest rising and falling with the leftover panic that hadn’t quite let go of him yet. His pulse pounded in his ears, a furious drumbeat of fear and guilt, even as Lucius—somehow, impossibly—was already brushing the entire thing off like it was just an inconvenience.

-

His voice—steady, amused, teasing—should have been a relief, but it only made Feo’s stomach twist harder. Lucius always did this. He always had to be fine, had to laugh in the face of pain, had to be the one reassuring him. And Feo hated it. Hated that he had come to expect Lucius to carry the weight of his own injuries like they were nothing more than scratches. Hated that he felt so helpless in moments like this.

-

Lucius moved, trying to sit up, and Feo caught him instinctively, steadying him even though it felt like his own hands were shaking too hard to be of any use. The sight of his arm—bent in a way no arm should ever be—made Feo’s stomach churn, but Lucius still wasn’t panicking. "Just a broken bone," he said, like it was an afterthought.

-

Feo swallowed hard, his jaw locking. His fingers curled tighter around the dagger he hadn’t even realized he was still holding.

-

It wasn’t fine. None of this was fine.

-

Lucius, of course, was already trying to move on, already brushing off the injury and shifting the concern away from himself. Feo barely processed what the cyclist was saying—he didn’t care. Didn’t give a shit about directions or apologies or anything else. All that mattered was Lucius, standing, swaying slightly, using his good arm to clutch the broken one. His voice was softer now, quieter, as if he was trying to soothe Feo of all people.

-

Feo clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

-

-

That was supposed to be reassuring. It should have been reassuring. They had a solution. He knew that. But it didn’t stop the anger curling under his ribs like something alive. Not anger at Lucius—never at him—but at this, at everything that had led to this moment. At the fact that even with the wrap of Apollo, even knowing it would heal, Feo had still been one second too slow.

-

He wanted to scream. He wanted to shove Lucius against the nearest wall and shake him and demand that he stop acting like this was normal. That he stop taking pain and injury and near-misses in stride, as if they were just part of his existence, as if they were inevitable.

-

But he didn’t.

-

Instead, he exhaled sharply through his nose, stuffing all of it down, pushing it deep into the pit in his chest where all the other unresolved things lived. Then, with a tight, controlled motion, he shoved the dagger back into its place, forcing his hands to stop trembling.

-

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered, voice strained but low, his eyes locked on Lucius like he was trying to hold him together with sheer force of will.

-

Feo shook his head, stepping in closer, bracing an arm around Lucius’s good side, and then scooping him up into his arms again. He didn't care who saw. Lucius was not going to walk like this, even if he struggled and insisted he could walk. And the feeling of digging his fingers into the fabric of Lucius's shirt was comforting, if only just a little.

-

“Come on,” he said, his voice rough as he carried Lucius forward, toward the hospital. His grip tightened unconsciously, as if he was afraid that if he let go, Lucius might slip through his fingers entirely.

-

As if he wasn’t already terrified that he had almost lost him.

Lucius looked back at Feo. None of what he had said was actually reassuring. He... he could see it. This wasn't a problem... well, it was a problem but Lucius was used to this sort of thing. It hurt, it sucked but the good side of this one was the wrap. They had a solution! A quick... a quicker fix.

The night was going to hurt and suck but it was a little blip in the pain scale.

It was just another broken bone, nothing like what he had been through.

"I'm okay," Lucius insisted, mostly because he wasn't sure what else he could say. Reassurances? Might as well, he didn't really have anything else to say at this point. "Okay... well, not really but I'm going to be okay. Everything is going to be fine. We have the wrap, the hospital is right there, it doesn't hurt that much--"

An idiot.

Yeah. That... panned out well. It wasn't wrong in the least sense. Lucius really was an idiot, he just had small moments when he had smarter moments.

Lucius leaned into Feo's chest, his head resting onto his shoulder. "Okay... okay. Fine, fine," he mumbled. "But it really doesn't hurt that much," his words were a faint mumble into his chest. "It's just a little inconvenience. I've got wings... and all... it's... well, you crash-land at first when you're trying to fly. Crash-landings can hurt a lot more. This is nothing."

His sapphire eyes looked toward the hospital, the lights flooding the street below. Lucius could smell the sterile air from where they were.

The nurse up at the front desk looked bored. She was piecing through a book and looked up in surprise when the two stepped in. "... what's wrong?"

"Oh, it's alright. We just need a splint," Lucius explained with a small and weak laugh. "Elbow got a bit busted, I wasn't as careful as I should've been. I got taken out by a bike, ha..."

He shook his head weakly as she jumped to her feet. "X-Rays--"

"No no, just a splint, please," Lucius replied wearily, his head spinning. "Feo, please just a wrap... a splint. With the wrap... ... and maybe a little bit of something to take the edge off the pain."

He took in a shaking breath. Now... now it was starting to actually hurt. The slow dull and radiating pain that itched into his fingers, stretched up into his shoulder and neck, scraped skin that bled slightly...

"... yeah okay, it kinda hurts a bit," Lucius whispered.

Feo’s grip on him tightened, his arm a steady, unrelenting presence against Lucius’s side. His other hands twitched, fingers curling like he wanted to grab him, to shake him, to do something—but all he could do was hold him and swallow back the fury clawing up his throat.

-

"It doesn't hurt that much."

-

Feo knew that was a lie. Knew Lucius was just trying to make this easier, to downplay it, to keep him from spiraling. But it wasn’t working. Not when Lucius was leaning into him now, weight pressing against his chest, voice going softer, smaller.

-

-

Right. Because it had been a little inconvenience when Iven had—

-

Feo shut his eyes for a second, inhaling sharply, before forcing himself to move. He took Lucius forward, each step feeling like he was walking through water, too slow, too heavy. The hospital doors slid open in front of them, sterile light spilling onto the wet pavement.

-

The scent of antiseptic filled his nose. His stomach turned.

-

Lucius was still talking, still laughing as he approached the front desk. Still throwing out excuses, still brushing it off, still acting like this was fine. Feo barely heard the nurse’s response over the dull roar in his head.

-

"Feo, please, just a wrap... a splint."

-

His name. Soft. Tired.

-

Feo’s jaw clenched as he exhaled through his nose, nostrils flaring. His entire body was tight with the effort of keeping himself contained, keeping his rage from spilling over and drowning everything in its wake.

-

Lucius wavered slightly, sucking in a breath, and something about the way it shook made Feo go rigid.

-

-

Feo snapped.

-

"No shit," he growled, his voice a razor’s edge, slicing through the quiet. His grip on Lucius tightened, steadying him and shutting him up before he could say something stupid and protesting again. He couldn't hit the desk, but he could kick it—and that's what he did, boot slamming into the metal hard enough to rattle the pens in their little plastic cup.

-

"A splint. Now." His tone left no room for argument, his storm-grey eyes locked onto the nurse with the force of a blade pressed against her throat. "And something for the pain. He’s not fine, he’s not just walking it off, so quit wasting time and fix it."

-

He felt Lucius shift against him, felt the slight movement of a weak attempt at placation, but he wasn’t having it. Not now. Not with the way Lucius’s breath was getting shallower, not with the way his fingers were twitching like he was fighting the urge to curl in on himself. Too familiar. If Lucius ever—

-

The nurse blinked, startled, before scrambling to her feet. "O-okay," she stammered, already moving.

-

Feo barely registered it.

-

His focus was locked on Lucius, his hands gripping him like he was afraid he’d disappear if he let go. His voice dropped to something rough, something hoarse, something dangerous in its quietness.

-

"Don't lie to me again."

-

It wasn’t an order. It wasn’t a plea. It was something in between, something raw and wounded and barely holding itself together.

-

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t keep watching Lucius pretend. Couldn’t keep standing there while he made light of his own pain, while he tried to shoulder everything like he always did.

-

Not this time. Not anymore.