Unravel Me

Dear god, don't ask. Big-ish spoilery things from Brenon and Theron's story, sort of. It's an important scene, but it'll get redone if I continue this. I read a line in a bad smut fic and it made me write this, and now my characters are never going to forgive me.

Theron is a bastard and a half.
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The situation wasn't ideal- far from it, in fact- but Brenon was sure he'd been in worse scrapes in the past. He just couldn't think of anything worse than being Blacklisted, tortured, and thrown naked into a small room with no windows and a door made of something slippery and unweavable at the moment.

Mih was unconscious in the corner, and Theron was sketching patterns on the wall with a piece of chalk he'd made out of his little finger. He'd bound off the bleeding stump with some of Mih's hair; she hadn't noticed him tearing it out of her scalp. He hadn't said a word since they'd been put in containment, leading Bren to assume that his friend had simply gone mad. He'd bitten off his finger to make the chalk.

At least they weren't dead yet.

He managed to drag himself across the cell to check on Mih again; the left side of her face was starting to swell and turn the color of rotten apples. Bren could feel the tiny hairline fractures in her skull, but didn't have the energy to do anything about them- with his hands broken, all he could really do was hold them still and try not to scream. It had taken most of his strength to weave the bones mostly straight. Mih was still breathing, but she didn't look like she was going to wake up soon- if ever.

Mih would be the lucky one, of course. She'd been unconscious for most of the day. Bren's mind shyed away from thinking about the last ten hours- his hands were the least of his pains.

"I need your help." Theron's voice was a startlingly harsh rasp, not at all unlike the sound of his chalk on the wall. "Come over here."

Brenon recognized a few of the patterns Theron had drawn; a few of them were his own creations, things for working with stone and aether. He'd planned on polishing them and sending them to the Registrar to get his magicrafter's license. A stab of pain in his chest made him close his eyes; none of that was ever going to happen, now.

"What are you trying to do?" His tongue was thick in his mouth, and his words felt garbled and slow. He kept his eyes closed, partly to keep from being overwhelmed by vertigo and partly to shut out the sight of what might have been.

"You don't want to know. Give me your hands."

Bren opened his eyes and wished he hadn't; Theron had gone mad, it was completely obvious now that he could see the blank desperation in the other man's eyes. His hands throbbed in time with his suddenly racing heartbeat.

Theron made an impatient noise and grabbed Brenon's wrists, nearly knocking them both off balance. Brenon didn't bother with not screaming as Theron undid all of his careful weaving. His scream cut off sharply as Theron backhanded him in the face.

"Quiet. This'll hurt a lot worse if you struggle." Theron hit him again. "And keep your eyes open. You need to concentrate on the patterns- I remember fuck all about weaving aether."

Brenon stared duly at Theron's face and finally offered up his hands. Theron took hold of his wrists again, gently this time, and began pulling. Bren nearly screamed again; it felt as though Theron were drawing his soul out through his hands.

"Shut up and weave me earth and aether; the patterns are right there so you don't have to hurt yourself trying to think about them." Theron's voice was distant but scornful.

And to think, I used to enjoy being your friend... He stared at the patterns on the wall in blank incomprehension. Everything hurt, and whatever Theron was doing with his hands wasn't helping. It would take a proper magicrafter to do what he was asking, and Brenon just wasn't that good- he wasn't some sort of an Omniweaver, the way Theron was apparently an Omnismith. (And that was a joke, wasn't it? No one with any talent stayed a weaver.) He couldn't weave those patterns without the help of half a dozen whistlers, if then- and that would only be if he were whole, and not broken in more ways than he cared to think about.

Everything hurt, and the disgusted look Theron was giving him only made it worse.

"What are you waiting for?" Theron hissed. He was starting to glow faintly around the edges, and no crafter Bren had heard of had ever been able to do that. "I told you-"

"I can't." The words were a barely audible sob. The pulling sensation increased, and his vision fuzzed out around the edges.

"You will. I need you for this, Bren. I can't do this without you and I won't let you stop me."

"Let me go..." He couldn't pull out of Theron's grasp, not while Theron was siphoning away his soul. "Please, Ther. You're unravelling me." There was blood in his mouth, in his eyes.

There was blood all over Theron's hands, almost the same color as that damned bird's eyes. Of course- it was so simple. Funny that he wouldn't notice, wouldn't understand, until he was dying at the hands of his best friend. The Voyance never Blacklisted someone without a reason, right? And now Theron was going to kill them all.

"I'm sorry Brenon." His friend's breath was warm in his ear. "I'm sorry, but I need you. It's for the best- just think of how much better off you'll be. You can put all of this behind you, and move on to a better place. Think of the aether, and how beautiful it is, how free you'll be. And you'll see Mih there, and she'll be whole, just think of it, how wonderful it is. Concentrate..."

His mind unravelled beneath the lulling sound of Theron's voice, and everything went white.