` ` That Hurt More Than I Thought It Would ` `

"Watch out - !"

Red. It is all Revelation's eyes catch.

The shouted words ring in Revelation's ears, even through the thin covering around their head. In one moment, their gloved fingers are slipping on the gun in their hands, their enemy so close they can see the glint of white shining from their eyes- and the next, a body is crashing to the floor, a flash of silver caught in the light, before-

A streak of black and white jumps in front of them. They whip around as fast as their body will allow, weapon already positioned and ready to fire, but there is no longer anything to fire at; not anything that Revelation needs to now: just the blur of colors.

And once they settle, Revelation is met with a trembling form; darker skin and white, slumped over a glint of silver that now rests somewhere in their side. Revelation's eyes wander over black, sweat-slicked strands of hair falling out of a loose tie and scarred flesh, and, most notably, golden eyes.

Achilles.

And in front of him stands the man that, a moment ago, Revelation had their back to, their hand wrapped around the hilt that now is lodged firmly in flesh.

Revelation feels their breath stutter.

Achilles is only down for the moment. It's in these moments that their similarities shine: he has had the ability to fight in dire situations beat into him through battle after battle, enough that his shocked form can force itself to move: teeth grit around the pain of the holt as he lifts his spear and launches it forward, stabbed into the attacker in a swift display of strength.

Then the body, unceremoniously, falls to the floor with a thump.

And a second later, Achilles looks like he might follow it.

Revelation sends a thank you to whatever higher being watches them that that seemed to be the last of the men for now, because as aware of Achilles' fighting skill Revelation is, they do not think he could have continued fighting otherwise: he sways dangerously, teetering as a hand moves to clutch his side. Crimson lines his palms.

The familiar stench of blood finally reaches Revelation's throat and that, more than anything, finally has their body kicking into gear. Achilles isn't the only one who can run off instinct.

Their mind begins firing off a cursory glance around, bullet points lining up in single file along the walls of their head: medium sized room, no enemies detected nearby for now. The area should be vacant enough. There's a space that is smaller closeby, easy to keep an eye on everything from here. It'll work. They have the time.

Their hands are already on Achilles, dragging him away despite the grunts.

"Sit," Their voice aches from disuse, graveled and low, but this situation seems to fall under the 'must use' category unfortunately, since Achilles is not great at picking up on the meanings of their silence. Or maybe he just chooses not to most of the time. "You're injured."

"No shit," Achilles bites back, looking as if he is holding back a groan. His hands tighten on his side, his face scrunching miserably. "Gods, that hurt more than I thought it would..."

Revelation stifles a huff as they clear off some space for Achilles to sit, a table conveniently tucked away in this spot. The junk sweeps off into the floor with a crash, and Revelation is quick to get Achilles sat down, their eyes already trailing over the crimson that taints white fabric. At least it is made up via the paling skin beneath- likely the only reason Achilles is letting Revelation manhandle him right now.

That never does seem to get him to stop talking though, to Revelation's chagrin.

"Stop touching me," Achilles says, torn between breathlessness and a grumble. In Revelation's opinion, he is really in no position to argue right now. "I've been hurt before, I can deal with it-"

"Arrogant." It slips out of them as more of a growl than intended. "You're wounded. That requires attending to, disregarding prior experience."

That becomes rather obvious when Revelation finally gets Achilles' hands off his side, the wound now visible. And...

...Mmm.

At least the stab appears to be clean.

The attacking party had not had the time to finish the job before Achilles had slain them: there rests silver, a dagger settled in the tender flesh of Achilles' abdomen. Blood pools out around it, not bleeding quite as steadily as before due to the plug that is the weapon, but still concerning nonetheless: Revelation suppresses the urge to flinch.

Quickly now- they bend down a bit more, their gloved fingers gently holding Achilles' side and his stomach, feather-light against the sensitive skin. Human anatomy is a familiar topic, drilled into their head with years of precise practice: they trust their eyes. Lateral to the midline; it missed his stomach. Non-vital, then?

"What?" Achilles hisses. Had Revelation been talking, or was Achilles just anxious? "What is it?"

They glance up, before narrowing their eyes: a warning for him to wait. Ignoring that, of course, Achilles shifts and tries to bend over for a better look.

...And Revelation watches the blood drain from his face.

"Oh. Ouch." His voice is suddenly tiny. "Yeah that's... not good."

Revelation makes a soft "mm" of agreement. Not good indeed.

The wound is rather deep from what Revelation can see from here... but, again, they have to trust it did not hit anything vital. Only time will tell... For now, the most Revelation can do is try to patch it up to the best of their ability.

Achilles simply watches during the beat of silence as Revelation reaches forward for the stained fabric of his top, eyes set on the flowy fabric attached to it at the shoulder. They take the thin material in gloved hands, gently as if holding something fragile, before...

"Hey-!" A rip. The fabric tears easily, breaking into two ribbons that Revelation swiftly wraps around their palms. "What are you-? Don't tear my stuff!"

"To cover the wound," Revelation murmurs back, ripping the last piece off Achilles' shoulder. They leave the right shoulder's drapery intact, knowing firsthand that ripping that one will undo the whole shirt.

Achilles scowls and holds his right shoulder a bit closer, protecting it. "Rip up your own stuff, then!"

"It was already stained." They tear the longer strips into thinner pieces now. "And this fabric is better suited-"

"Doesn't mean you get to ruin it," Achilles bites back. His body is already trying to curl, wanting to wrap itself around it. He is easily agitated at best; stress does not make it any better. "There's no point in wrapping it anyways, the knife is still in it."

"Patience." They are half-tempted to just leave it there. "Might I remind you, this is your own fault to begin with."

"My fault?! It's my own fault I got stabbed?"

"Correct."

Achilles bristles. "I was just doing my job!"

"Your job." Revelation looks up at that, hands stilling. They are perfectly aware of Achilles' dire need to 'protect' others- it is one of the things they cannot help but respect as much as they loathe it. It is likely because of that loathing and the stress of blood that causes the rare occurrence of their words spilling "Achilles, in case you have forgotten, you jumped in front of me."

"And?"

Revelation's chest stutters.

And.

Silence follows that for a long moment.

It is a fact that Revelation cannot ignore, cannot brush away and forget: Achilles, upon seeing his greatest rival threatened with an end, chose to stand between them and the knife.

He saved Revelation.

Achilles holds that eye-contact. Regret for his word choice flashes through his eyes, before it hardens into something firmer. Something resolute.

He doesn't feel guilty for the action.

And Revelation...

...

Finally, Revelation forces their hands to move again. The thought sits in their gut, heavy as a stone, but direct consequence requires action. In this way, they can, at the very least, repay.

Wordlessly, they carry on.

Their hand hovers over the knife handle for a long moment, tempted. It is harder, after that admission, to do anything to cause much further harm.

Leave it to Achilles to make this harder than it should be...

Really though, Revelation isn't even entirely sure that taking it out is even the best course of action right now. The entry, while violent, does at least seem to be plugging the blood flow for the moment. If removed- well... It probably would not be good. Granted, Revelation's knowledge of wounds is rather limited: gunshots are far different from stabs.

An annoyed voice breaks their concentration.

"Are you gonna take it out, or am I gonna have to?" Achilles finally grunts after Revelation has silently stared for just a bit too long. He's struggling to stay still already, sweat lining his skin.

Revelation scowls. "Not yet."

"I swear to Hades-" Achilles tries to raise up, only to be stopped by the flicker of pain that rushes over his face. He stops, swallowing back a pained sound, before grunting, "It's not gonna fall out on its own, Rev, you might as well get it out already."

"I am... not certain that is for the best right now."

Achilles, after an impatient look, groans in frustration, "The best-? I've been stabbed! It's already not 'the best'!"

"Mm..." They don't know of another who tests their patience quite this much. "You seem rather talkative, despite your injuries."

Achilles scoffs at the abrupt subject change.

"Like you're being much better." He leans back against the table, head lolling back, scowling at the ceiling. "I liked you better when you were-" A grunt. "-silent and all... quiet."

"Eloquent as usual."

"Shut up," Achilles spits back. "You try being 'eloquent' with a knife in your side! It's pretty fucking hard!"

And dealing with this wasn't any less difficult...

One thing Revelation has learned, though: the world has a terrible tendency to make it harder.

Their shoulders tense. Something catches their attention, their sensitive ears catching and grabbing onto the shift in the environment; it causes them to turn away from the body in front of them, the scent of iron fading into the back of their mind as their eyes trail over the darkness around them. Achilles, similarly, looks up, paying no mind to Revelation's reaction, focused on what he has been similarly trained to pick up.

The facility settles around them. In the distance, a noise is heard, soft.

Such a simple sound, but... it is enough to indicate to those conditioned.

They are not alone in this place. That, or at the very least safe.

It was foolish to assume that the enemy had been completely wiped out, especially considering the nature of the attack: an ambush was cowardly and secretive to begin with, it was untelling how many more hid away, waiting to strike after their comrades had perished. How many more remain? How much longer until they are rediscovered?

Revelation would rather not find out. Not with the current state of their companion.

"The knife stays," Revelation mutters. Their voice is hushed now, graveled lower: mindful of their position here. "It stays in place until we find a medical professional." Until they can get somewhere safer, too, away from whatever remains of their enemy...

The abrupt reminder of their vulnerability in this place has sobered Achilles considerably; he wears a familiar scowl, but by now Revelation can pick apart that it is contemplative: he is thinking, rather hard.

And, a moment later, before Revelation can touch the wound again, his hand settles over Revelation's.

"Wait." He says. It's calmer, matching Revelation's volume. "Just, hold on..."

They can afford a moment. Revelation waits, wordlessly watching Achilles as he takes a deep breath in... then:

"Seriously, take it out. Now."

"No." The answer comes easily. Firm.

Achilles' scowl just deepens into something more frustrated. "You'll have to take it out eventually- do it before they get here."

"You will bleed out."

"And?"

Revelation has had just about enough of these compounds.

They look up and into Achilles' eyes, feeling their own expression grow firmer, frustration leaking into their composure and displaying the apprehension they have felt since the moment they had first seen blood. Steady, they remind themself. Steady. "Do you harbor a death wish that strong? Because if so, I will finish you off myself-"

"Leave me here."

The admission clamps Revelation's mouth shut.

Leave him here.

Achilles, unperturbed, continues.

"I'm injured- I'm just dead weight at this point. Those men, they'll be here any moment- and one of us needs to get out of here. It's not going to be me, not while I'm like-" He gestures vaguely, fighting the urge to worry his lip. "-this."

This...

Revelation's eyes wander over him again, taking in his whole state: sweat-soaked skin, slicked hair, and the signs of someone forcing their breath to remain even, only given away by small stutters of pain. Above all things, there is one thing Revelation can recognize more than anything: the face of someone in pain. Achilles is more hurt than he acts.

Bangs fall over his eyes as he turns away, hand tightening into a fist.

"The best thing you could do is leave me behind. You can take the knife with you, I'll be dying anyways. I might be able to hold off the others if I'm still able, but don't waste your time on me- you should focus on getting out, to tell Vinna and Ga-"

He falters. Swallows. "To tell everyone what happened. Just leave me behind and go."

Revelation stares.

They know it must look unnerving; they cannot help the way their body locks in place, contemplation leaving them paralyzed. Intimidation is a natural instinct.

Achilles tries to look stern as well, even when faced with silence. When it stretches for far longer than warranted after a speech like that, Achilles clears his throat, before trying again.

"Rev-"

"I will not do that." When they manage to find their voice again, they settle for simple noncompliance. Achilles sighs, his eyes slipping shut; pissed.