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friesian · 2 months

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ockiss 4: lost

REDRAW OF SOMETHING I DREW ALMOST A YEAR AGO!! IT LOOKS SO MUCH BETTER NOW!! also now with writing from @kamiporterbridges. enjoy the outlaws first kiss. ----

As he walked, unafraid, through the Valley of Death, the lone wanderer took in his surroundings with the vague curiosity of a man who's lost, yet not in any hurry to be found. Shadows passed him by in a rush, as he scrunched the dress shirt he was wearing (dirty, green-ish red? Did he even like the color red? such information was dangling just outside his reach; tantalizing in its mystery, but a futile effort all the same).

Did it itch? Did it ache? Was there even a difference at this point?

Bright yellow and green eyes scanned the empty terrain, where other beings scurried around without a semblance of purpose. Just like him, they were lost. But unlike him, they resented such a position.

The wanderer could feel it, too. A submarine restlessness, agitating the placid lake of his emotions. But something else, more powerful (a supreme tiredness, vast like the ocean itself) weighed him down, keeping him in the utmost complacency.

He needed to be... somewhere. But that was before. Now, he was here, and he had to walk.

Suddenly, however, a bright light made him squint; the wanderer stopped, shielding his eyes as he surveyed the scene; somehow, such light seemed forbidden in a place such as this.

The light was a little wisp, dancing around like fireflies in the summer Krytan fields. But he didn't know what fireflies were anymore, or where Kryta was.

He had to...

"...Be somewhere else."

The wanderer stopped, looking up at the wisp - eyebrows shooting slightly up. How could that little ball of light echo his thoughts in such a perfect way? His voice was desperate, and it echoed in the cavernous, empty well of his emotions, making ripples like a rock on the water.

"Hey," he called, blinking. Then, he tipped his hat. "Howdy."

It felt natural to greet someone that way. The wisp seemed to think so too, stopping its aerial dance to turn, somehow, towards the wanderer.

Despite having no eyes to speak of, the wanderer knew it was looking straight at him.

"Howdy!" the wisp replied, floating closer, making the wanderer squint and step backwards. "Ah— sorry! I'm just—"

"Lost," the wanderer replied, frowning ever so slightly. "You got somewhere to be. So do I."

Briefly, the wisp lit up harder.

"Do ya?!" it exclaimed, echoing in the quiet in an unnatural way that made the wanderer's ears fold backwards. Loud. "Godsdamn, been lookin' for someone to help me outta here! I gotta be somewhere else, I lost... somethin'. And I gotta get it back!"

Once again, his urgency was contagious. The wanderer looked for fire and a cigarette, realizing he didn't have any, and that he didn't remember how to smoke, or how soothing tobacco felt down his throat.

"Motherfucker," he grumbled, looking up at the wisp once more. "You remember what you lost at all, kiddo?"

"No..." this time, the light dimmed. The wanderer scowled; why did that little wisp's grief felt like a stab through his heart? "But maybe we can help each other! Ya said you were lost too, right? You also gotta be somewhere else!"

"Eyup," the wanderer replied, nodding once.

"Then maybe we can look together!" The wanderer could feel the smile on the wisp's lips, despite it not having any. It was a strange feeling. "I help you, you help me. Sounds 'bout right?"

"Yer sure you wanna partner up with me?" the wanderer asked, arms crossed. "I know 'bout the same you do."

"Man, you're the only one I've seen so far who wants to do... well, anythin'!" the wisp danced and twirled in the air, and the wanderer felt the impulse, quickly repressed, to playfully grab at it. "So yeah, you're my partner now!"

For reasons unknown to him, the wanderer chuffed - a smile curving his lips up.

"Then let's go, partner."

—

The lights came down on two figures; one, sitting alone above a tree, perched on a branch with a turret by its side; long, tattered jacket hanging loose along with long, powerful legs and a bramble of green, vegetable hair. The wanderer observed the turret beside him with a squint, clenching and relaxing his fists. His hand ached for... something. Something he wasn't quite sure what it was.

The other figure, sitting against a wooden wall, trembled and shrunk - tarnished and dented armor clinking softly as he moved, shrugging and gasping every so often, golden hair falling over his obscured face. The wanderer tilted his head as the wisp hung in the air, expecting. An air of unmistakable sorrow draped over the scene like curtains before a show.

The figure against the wall waved a paper around - a paper that the wanderer eyed with curiosity. It was a letter; or at least, it was shaped like one. The words were garbled and the letters made no sense, like a half-remembered image of a notice looked at from afar.

The figure above, smoking up a storm, squinted as well, and the wanderer found himself touching his own face, his own brow. There was something familiar about that face. About those gestures. About that sorrow in his eyes.

The figure huffed like an angry bull, shaking his head as if scolding himself for what he was about to do, before leaning down, looming over that tiny blonde man with a scowl.

"Hey," he called - that low, bassy tone catching the wanderer's breath in his throat. "You good down there?"

Equally as shocked, the blonde figure below jumped - snapping at the man perched on the tree. And once again the wanderer found his breath caught in his throat; a deeply seated pain aching in the depths of his chest. A sorrow so deep it clawed its way back to him from the shores of oblivion.

"The hell you want?" the kid -because it was a kid, that much the wanderer knew- grumbled, hostile like a tiny feral kitten who has forgotten the taste of milk and the warmth of a lap to lay on.

Their back and forth was a strange dance; two steps ahead and one back, each time the blonde man regarded the one on the tree with hostility. But bemusement, and badly concealed worry, was all the man on the tree had to offer to the more and more disconcerted blonde.

Finally, a truce was made - the man of the turret offered a blunt, and the man with the letter accepted it, albeit begrudgingly. And finally the man in the tree was no more, as he jumped down and dropped, heavy as he was, in front of the blonde.

"Here you go," he offered, handing a rolled joint towards the blonde. "Name's—"

"There they are again!" the wisp suddenly alerted him, and the wanderer whipped around, wrench at the ready.

A shadowy figure jumped from the brambles, leaping over them to hold onto the figures, stretching out towards each other, offering and taking. And it ripped something crucial, it seemed; the image dissolved into the ether.

"Hey!" the wanderer yelled out, leaping into action as the wisp followed. "Give that back!"

He didn't quite know what that was. But the wanderer knew he needed it back - desperately so.

Scenes passed by the two of them as they pursued the shadowy figure - the blonde man and the man with the turret slowly growing closer, eating together, fighting together, laughing together. The twang of a banjo made the wanderer's ears twitch as they ran by, as did the sound of the blonde man's tears. His sorrow felt like his own, in a way. And the impulse of reaching out, of squeezing him close, of shushing his fears and drying his tears, felt only natural.

"Here!" the wisp suddenly leapt forward, igniting in light, and making the shadowy figure recoil. And the wanderer finally brought down the wrench over it, tearing into its shape, unmaking it rather than destroying it.

The figure vanished, yet its shadow yielded an object that the wanderer contemplated, dumbfounded. An old, mistreated red bandana rested on the floor, unremarkable in its simplicity, but transcendental for reasons unknown.

The wanderer reached over, gloved fingers gingerly touching its rough embroidery, picked at it by the years. And then, as he stowed his weapon -Matilda, his wrench was called Matilda. He knew so now-, he grasped at it, picking it up, contemplating it like the treasure it was, despite having lost all meaning.

"Excuse me!" a voice called - a small, frail-looking woman observed him, the petals composing her hair puffing upon being noticed. "Yes, you! I'm sorry, but the patient cannot be visited at the time - he seems to be... unstable, and dangerous."

The wanderer blurted out the words, like an actor ready to read their lines on a well loved play.

"Name's Marwyd," he said - and the words rang true in his lips. "Priory engineer. I gotta see him."

The woman - a Pact medic, now he knew, seemed to recoil in sadness.

"Oh," she murmured, looking down. "He has been calling out for you. Even in dreams..."

Marwyd, the wanderer, felt that sorrow in his chest again. The Pact medic, however, interrupted his musings with a sigh.

"You have five minutes," she murmured, parting the tent flap as she glanced around. "Good luck, soldier."

Clumsily, still clinging to the bandana on his hand, Marwyd stepped forth. And there he was - the blonde man, laying on the bed, sleeping.

He remembered now. His name tasted sweet on his tongue.

"Johnny," he named the blonde man, who stirred at his voice, looking for him like a flowing looking for the sun.

"Mar?" he weakly, weepily called. And his stirring became frantic, covering himself from invisible monsters clawing at him from the shadows.

He remembered. Of course he remembered. The heat, the burning feeling on his hand as he reached out, holding him down, holding him close.

"S'alright, Johnny, s'alright," he swore, despite now knowing it wasn't alright. It would never be alright again. "I'm here now."

"It killed him, Mar!" Johnny cried out, incandescent tears flowing down his cheeks. "He's dead. Nick's dead."

"M'sorry," he murmured, gently caressing the golden thread of his locks. "M'so sorry, Johnny. If there's anythin' I can do fer you..."

Johnny suddenly held his hands, clenching at the bandana as well. And Marwyd understood its purpose and its function like never before. The tether that binded them.

"Kill that damn dragon," Johnny growled through clenched teeth. "Kill it fuckin' dead!"

And as he let go of his bandana, of his name and self, Marwyd nodded. For he didn't need it anymore.

"I promise."

The image vanished - not dissolved in the ether, but gently fading as Johnny's expression softened. And the yearning grew in Marwyd's heart.

He had somewhere to be. Someone to find.

"Let's keep goin'," he said, turning backwards towards the wisp.

But its sudden stillness, its quiet contemplation, gave him pause. He tilted his head.

"You good?" he asked, squinting ever so slightly. The wisp jumped in place.

"Whah— yeah! M'good." It didn't sound convinced. And something in his voice made Marwyd's ears perk up in attention. Something in those whiny, saddened tones. "Let's go!"

Marwyd held his gaze on it for a moment, before nodding once. He figured they'd find whatever it was looking for eventually.

–

The road continued on down memories untold, through a darkened forest of bad omens. Marwyd and his incorporeal partner walked down treacherous slopes, finally leaving the Pact behind. Memories dropped gently like leaves sometimes, then suddenly like a cold winter shower. And Marwyd kept grabbing at his dress shirt, feeling the sting of loss, and something else entirely.

Under the canopy of naked branches they stopped once more. The scene lit up with the unbearable white of the sun glistening over the snow, and Marwyd inhaled sharply, scowling once again. He remembered that scene.

And he didn’t like it.

As if waiting for him to realize, the words reached his ears with painful clarity, folding backwards as if trying to escape it.

“You killed him!” Johnny was in hysterics - looking down at the man who didn’t deserve to be called his father.

“He ain't dead,” Marwyd assured him through clenched teeth. And not for lack of tryin’.

“Dad?! Dad!” he wasn't listening, hurrying to kneel beside that awful man, looking for a pulse with trembling hands.

Marwyd didn’t know if he was trembling because of the image of his father knocked out on the floor, or because of the cane he had gotten directly to the head, courtesy of the same man.

Despite knowing how it ended, Marwyd knew he was powerless to stop it. Johnny screamed, not listening, not even wanting to do so. Terrified of his own loneliness, he retreated deep within it, far away from where Marwyd could reach him.

“Get the fuck outta here!” Johnny yelled, and through the echoes of time Marwyd felt the impact of one of those delicate porcelain figurines - bruising the back of his head and shattering against the floor.

It hurt. It still hurt. And not because of the bruise.

He glared over his shoulder, seeing that known face twisted by rage and tears.

“Don't ever talk to me again,” he said - sealing the fate of their solitude.

“Wait!” Johnny called suddenly. “Please, don't– M'sorry, I didn't want to–”

Marwyd stopped on his tracks, eyes wide. That wasn't how it went at all.

He turned on his heels, hoping to find Johnny's tenderness. But the memory was long gone, and only the wisp remained, floating in the air with confused urgency that echoed his own.

And once again, Marwyd named him. His name, despite everything, still sweet on his lips.

“Johnny?” he called.

The light became unbearable under the darkened sky. Marwyd shielded himself from it, but quickly forced himself to see. The light took shape, molding itself into a figure he knew all too well. A figure he would never be able to forget - not even in the Valley of Death.

More corporeal than the ghosts around him, Johnny's boots touched the ground, as he examined his body with shock and confusion.

“Johnny!” called Marwyd again.

“Mar!” Johnny called in turn, breaking into a sprint.

He clashed into Marwyd’s arms with the force of the ocean, or his impetuous temper. Whatever could hit the hardest - Marwyd wasn't sure he could tell the difference anymore.

He buried his hooked nose in those golden curls, enveloping Johnny in a devastating embrace, squeezing him against his chest. He who held the secret of his name, who reached through time and space, over and over again, no matter how far he was. Through the pain, through the years, through their own, miserable fears and grudges.

“M'sorry, Mar, M'so fuckin’ sorry!” Johnny cried in his chest, clinging to him as fiercely as Marwyd clung to him.

“Hey there, kid,” he murmured - lips brushing against the top of his head, desperate to touch him. To know he was real. To know that, once again, he had come looking for him. “S'alright.”

Despite their circumstances, he had to admit to himself, quietly and secretly, that he was happy they were together. Even in their final adventure.

“Kiddo, are you–” he murmured. Johnny leaned backwards, looking up at him.

“I ain’t sure,” he replied, wide eyes filled to the brim with tears he hurried to wipe away. “Guess that's a good sign. You…?”

Marwyd huffed tiredly.

“Don't think I made it, Firefly.”

Johnny drew in a shaky breath. And his panicked stare turned resolute.

“Well I don’t give no fucks,” he said, hands gripping at Marwyd's arms. “I told ya if ya got yourself killed I'd be right here to drag your ass back. Well, here I am! Now let's get draggin’!”

Biting down a smile, Marwyd chuffed. How in Torment did he always manage to make him believe in the impossible? Killing a dragon with a cannon? Hunting down an impostor mursaat? Killing a god?

The road behind him suddenly lit up in flames. Both of them looked over Marwyd’s shoulder - the fire dancing in their eyes.

“We gotta keep goin’,” he said - reluctantly letting go of Johnny. He nodded, resolute.

“Right behind ya.”

The road ascended in war and flames - up and up into the moonless sky. Quietly, Marwyd’s hand sought for Johnny's, finding eager fingers locking with his own.

–

The years of war they had waged against the rogue god of war Balthazar scarred even the Domain of the Lost, flames hurrying them up the ruins of a semblance of an ancient tower. Fighting the heralds, finding Marwyd’s father again, finding Johnny's brother, Nick, trapped inside an armor wielded shut. There was still much left to do. The people of Elona still needed to be free.

But at the top of the tower they found Balthazar, or its shadow in Marwyd’s memories. He had struck Johnny down - and only now Marwyd realized he was still alive, even if just barely. The Johnny beside him contemplated himself with saddened, yet curious eyes, rubbing his arm where a burnt bruise was still visible on his inert body.

“It is fitting, then,” Balthazar said, and Marwyd looked up at him in defiance. “You came all the way back to die in your home. Goodbye, outlaw.”

A flash of unbearable heat and light made Marwyd stumble, flinching, clutching at his chest where a sword went through him; cut and boiling from his shoulder to his hip. The incandescent pain made him hiss through clenched teeth. And then, nothing.

The fire faded, and the valley was quiet once again.

When Marwyd looked down at Johnny, he found him staring back up at him.

“Firefly–”

“There's gotta be a way,” Johnny interrupted, fists clenched. “You promised. You promised!”

His words echoed inside his heart. A hollow pain taking over, worse than the pain of death.

“I know,” Marwyd said with a nod. “I promised I'd come back. And that's what I outta do.”

“Ah, so there you are.”

Both on alert, Marwyd and Johnny whipped around, weapons at the ready as the shadows gathered at the top of the tower. Slowly but surely a shape emerged from the shadows themselves; solid like Johnny, imposing like a mountain at night. Their face, under a black, hooded cloak, was a bone-white mask of death; a bovine creature whose semblance had long since been lost.

Marwyd had never been devoted to all of the human gods - his expertise lay in the mysteries of the cult of Balthazar. But even he could recognize the grim visage of one of the servants of the God of Death.

“Grenth?” Johnny murmured, stepping slightly in front of Marwyd. The figure scoffed, both amused and, apparently, annoyed.

“Hardly,” they said, contemplating them like an especially interesting piece of a puzzle. “But I am His will through His absence. I am the Judge, and you two have dodged me for long enough.”

Marwyd scowled. He had already been killed by a god. He could definitely take on one of their advisors.

“We ain’t dodgin’ no one, you Judge fella,” he said, arms crossed.

“We on our way out,” Johnny added, similarly scowling.

The Judge, once again, seemed amused by their defiance.

“I hope you two are aware of the place you are in,” they said - one ample gesture enveloping the whole valley. Shadows shambled on the plains, looking for their names, looking for their memories, or delivering themselves to despair.

Johnny scoffed in turn.

“Lemme tell ya somethin’ mister Judge,” he said, stepping up, out of Marwyd’s reach as he tried to stop him. “We ain’t from ‘round these parts. We got places to be, gods to kill, if ya catch my drift. Not yours, though. Other god.”

A green flame lit up the Judge’s eyes from within the depths of their mask.

“You hang at the edge of life and death,” they said, pointing an armored finger towards Johnny before regarding Marwyd in a similar manner. “And you succumbed to the rogue god’s power already. What hope do you have of beating him, as he grows more powerful and bold?”

Marwyd scowled, huffing like an angry bull.

“We don’t need no hope,” he said, weighing his trusty Matilda, on his hands. “Only thing we need’s a shot. And to kill the motherfucker before he does us.”

The Judge hummed, staring down at both, measuring their resolution.

“Your death might be long, agonizing,” they warned - their skeletal face lighting up from within once again. Marwyd could feel the burn cutting through him once more, but refused to do anything beyond glaring at the Judge, stalwart. “And your destiny might be too horrible to speak of.”

He gestured towards Johnny, who blinked once before looking up at Marwyd. Their eyes met briefly - a wordless dialogue.

“Well let the motherfucker try,” Johnny finally said, arms crossed.

“Fool me once, n’all that crap,” Marwyd added, hands gripping at Matilda with renewed vigor.

At the end of all things, they would even walk through the Valley of Death together. There was nothing that could stand in their way. Marwyd had to believe it to be so.

The Judge’s eyes lit up once more, hand still raised towards Johnny.

“Be it foolishness, or be it bravery; Balthazar must be stopped.” Their cadaveric face turned to face Johnny. “But the land of the dead is no place for the living.”

Johnny blinked once again, as Marwyd could feel a wave of relief washing over him. He was alive. He was alright.

“The hell does that mean?” Johnny questioned, stepping forward.

“You were stubborn enough to follow your friend down here,” the Judge explained, fingers weaving some sort of magic that made Marwyd’s spines stand on end. “But you must return to where you belong. Your time is not yet spent, son of Kryta.”

Eyes wide and breath hitching up, Johnny held onto Marwyd’s arm, squeezing.

“I ain’t leavin’ him here!” he protested, looking up at Marwyd, pleading.

Marwyd glanced down at him, stern as ever, but with a glint in his eye. He turned, releasing his arm from Johnny’s desperate grip to hold his shoulders, examining that face he had grown to know as well as his own. Those soft features, those big, sad eyes of golden lashes, those soft lips, pouting, with a question itching to blurt out of them like a torrent.

“He’s right, Firefly,” he finally said. Johnny’s eyes grew wide once more.

“What?!” he blurted up, stepping backwards. Marwyd sighed, hands slowly dropping to his sides.

“You helped me out a bunch here, but you gotta go back out there,” he insisted. “Whatever happens next, you gotta keep goin’. Fer Nick. And fer me.”

Shaking his head, eyes welling with tears, Johnny refused with a “nuh-uh” that grew in urgency.

“I ain’t goin’ back without you!” he insisted, tears finally rolling down his cheeks.

It was strange. To be dead. To have been murdered by the god he had been taught to worship. And to be at peace with it, if it meant Johnny could go back. If it meant he would live.

In the end, his death had meant something. There was still so much left to do. But Johnny was alive, and that was all that mattered.

So he dried Johnny’s tears one last time, gaze soft when it washed over that face.

“Be right behind you,” he said, finally taking a step backwards. “I promise.”

“No, Mar–!”

As he tried to reach him once more, Johnny’s figure dissolved in light, shrinking in on itself like the wisp it had been until it vanished. Marwyd closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath before turning towards the Judge.

“You heard it,” he said, glaring in defiance. “I’m goin’ back even if I gotta blow the damn gate wide open.”

The Judge chuckled, finally lowering their hand as their attention turned towards Marwyd once more.

“Your body lacks the vital spark to return like your companion did,” they said, solemnly glancing down at him. “Even if I feel inclined to, I can’t open the path for you.”

Marwyd huffed.

“I made a promise to blondie,” he said, reaching for Matilda. “So you better scram or I’m takin’ the key or whatever from yer corpse.”

One last time, the Judge’s eyes lit up in a green flame.

“It is not me who holds the key to your freedom,” they said. “So I’m afraid you’ll be taking it from something else’s corpse.”

Marwyd squinted, standing up straight.

“The hell you mean by that,” he grumbled, gripping at Matilda still.

“Would you do me a favor before departing?” the Judge said, undeterred.

After a brief pause, Marwyd huffed once more. He didn’t like to owe to gods nor men. But working for it… it was certainly a different beast altogether.

“I’m listenin’.”

–

With a wheeze and an unbearable cough, Johnny found himself feeling the evening cold creeping inside his bones, as well as the sharp pain of a battle he had lost. He rolled on his side, unable to hold himself up, arms trembling before dropping on his face once more. Fresh cuts bled freely in the wind, and insects began their dusk chanting up to indifferent skies.

Groaning and crying out, Johnny gave himself a moment to catch his breath, feeling the loose dirt blowing up into his nose as he fought a broken rib to breathe.

The day ending, with the soothing night crawling over a sky that, slowly, became dotted with stars, felt like a cruel joke. And Johnny shrunk into himself, grabbing fistfuls of dirt as he curled up in on himself - unwelcome tears clearing paths through the soot and dust on his cheeks.

He didn't dare to open his eyes. To realize that what he feared was no dream, but his horrifying present.

But he had to face it. He owed it to Marwyd. At the very least, he owed him that much.

Sobbing and heaving, he sat up, trembling and squeezing his eyes shut one last time before glancing up through the tangled, bloody mess of his unraveled curls. And sure enough Marwyd was still there, like waiting for him to wake him up.

Desperate, gasping breaths ravaged him as he dragged himself closer, unable to ignite the rage magic that kept his legs working. At a glance, it seemed like Marwyd was sleeping - his face relaxed, free from its permanent scowl, from the rage and the pain. As Johnny cradled him up, holding his limp head over his lap, he noticed a drying bloodstain, dripping down from his parted lips to his chin. Johnny scrunched his face, feeling another wave of tears wreck him down, before sobbing a desperate breath and wiping the blood off with his finger.

He ignored the smoking, open gash splitting Marwyd from shoulder to hip, body barely held together by scraps of burnt, dark green flesh. He merely combed Marwyd's hair off his face, his hand softly cupping his cheek, caressing it with his thumb.

"Mar, I—" he drew a shaky breath, teardrops pooling on Marwyd's face as they fell, freely, from Johnny's eyes. "M'sorry. I tried... I— I failed. I miss you. I miss you so much. And I never told you—"

He had never told him. That every second apart was agony. That missing him was a malady that only finding him once more could ease. That he was diseased, bewitched, enthralled by days spent riding together, by evenings spent jamming the night away.

Feeling the sting of broken bones and pained muscle, Johnny hugged Marwyd's remains as if they could save him from oblivion. As if the long road ahead would be less lonely because he carried dark green bloodstains with him.

Marwyd had told him he would never leave him alone. But just like Nick, there was no returning from the Mists. And some promises would be left unfulfilled, no matter how hard they tried to keep them.

"I swear I'm gonna get that son of a bitch!" Johnny muttered, clinging to Marwyd's jacket with abandon. "I fuckin' swear it! I swear it, I swear it..."

Devolving into sobs once more, Johnny weeped on Marwyd's chest, hoping those clawed hands would hold him one last time for the road.

As the sun died down, however, a glint of green caught Johnny's eyes. He shrunk in on himself, vaguely remembering somber paths between life and death, and glowing, fiery eyes behind a skeletal mask. He blinked his eyes open, softly dropping Marwyd back down and staring at him, wiping his tears away despite knowing it was an absurd task.

In the growing darkness, it was hard to distinguish much of anything.

Until a soft, pained cough shook Marwyd's body on the ground.

Johnny's eyes widened in shock, as Marwyd's cough grew to a wheeze, and he rolled to his side, holding his shoulder. After spitting blood beside him, he finally glanced over his shoulder, catching Johnny's teary stare.

"You hurt?" he murmured - voice strained, cavernous like death itself.

Johnny blinked once, then twice, as his face scrunched once again; tears pooling in his eyes. A sob wrecked him, and he weeped like a child, openly and unashamed.

"I thought—! You—!" He gasped for air, unable to get a hold on himself, squeezing his arms in a tight, desperate hug. "You were dead, Mar! You were—"

"Shh, here," dragging himself closer, Marwyd stretched Johnny into a hug. "Judge cut me a deal. Got rid of a problem fer'em. And they used that energy to shove me back. S'alright, Firefly... told ya I ain't goin' nowhere."

"I thought you were gonna leave me alone," Johnny cried, nuzzling into Marwyd's bloody chest, minding little about the pungent smell of burning aloe impregnating it all. "I can't lose you Mar. I can't. I ain't strong enough. I don't wanna be alone... I don't wanna be without you!"

Each word squeezed at Marwyd's chest, echoing the feeling with an all-encompassing roar. He wasn't good with feelings - he didn't know what it all meant. But he did know one thing and one thing only: he didn't want to be alone anymore either.

He refused to be without Johnny.

They parted merely to look into each other's eyes - Johnny's still watery and bloodshot, making that deep blue even deeper in contrast. Marwyd had always thought one could get lost in those eyes. Like a wanderer in the desert. And maybe he'd like to wander in them, after being so close to lose it all.

In a flash, he realized he had been a fool. All the answers to his questions were right within his grasp all along, swimming in those eyes of blue. His hands climbed up Johnny's anatomy to reach his face, caressing his cheeks, framing those eyes.

All he had to do was reach out to grab those answers. The answer to his yearning, to his neverending sorrow. And perhaps death had, finally, made him braver than he had ever been.

As he leaned in, eyes lidded staring down at Johnny's lips to be sure not to mess it all up, he could feel Johnny's gaze going from crushing sadness to intrigued curiosity, and finally to open surprise. Yet he didn't move, softly parting his lips in a question he didn't get to formulate, as all the answers came to him in a rush.

Marwyd had never kissed anybody before. He didn't quite know what to expect - people always seemed to make a big deal out of things he couldn't hope to understand. But as he felt Johnny's soft, pouty lips finally touching his, suddenly everything made perfect sense. His painful upbringing, his eternal solitude. His roaming in the desert and his service in the Pact. That brief moment of compassion he had for a sad child soldier, all those years back. And his untimely death, begging for it to be enough to keep Johnny safe.

Now Johnny was safe in his arms, and neither of them were going nowhere. Johnny's eyes slowly, sleepily closed as he made the kiss deeper, tilting his head to the side, showing Marwyd the ropes, the pathways of expressing love in a language they could both understand. And it took Marwyd a moment to realize he hadn't been struck by the rage of an uncaring god once more for feeling something that wasn't hate for another man.

All he felt was a jolt inside his chest, a blooming in his heart, a flutter in his head. Was that what love felt like?

They only parted to glance at each other briefly, both surprised by that apparent breach of the rules of friendship. But neither had ever been too keen on rules, anyway. And this time it was Johnny the one who jumped into his arms once more, kissing him with abandon, making Marwyd grunt in pain for death had left its mark on him, but it didn't matter.

Finally, their games of cat and mouse were at an end. And even if he couldn't name it -not yet, not now, not so soon-, Marwyd realized it was okay.

From now on, they'd be forever intertwined. And it was, indeed, okay.

#outlaws #marwyd #johnny #ockiss24 #oc kiss week #ockissweek #I'M SO PROUD OF THE REDRAW OF THIS. i might post a comparison later.

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