Barnabas ordered some soup. Vincent stared off into space.
“Are you okay?”
“Hmm?” Vincent looked over. “Yes.”
“Right. Sure.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Barnabas looked sadly at the bowl of grayish goo in front of him. “This is not the best soup I’ve ever had.”
“Well, what did you expect from this joint?” There weren’t a lot of places to get hot food in Cottageworth, and none of them were good.
“I thought food was supposed to taste, like, exquisite after near-death experiences or whatever.”
“Maybe we’re not really at the after part yet.”
“I guess.”
“It certainly doesn’t feel like it’s over.”
That was true. They were back in the shithole they never wanted to see again and they didn’t know what to do or where to go. Barnabas sighed and watched as Vincent made himself eat the entire bowl of sludge. Barnabas could only manage half of his.
“So, what do you want to do?” asked Vincent.
“I don’t know. How are you feeling?”
“Like shit.”
He looked pale, and tired, and scared. Barnabas was scared, too. Scared that the town would mob up and burn them or something. Scared that Vincent wouldn’t recover. Scared that somehow the wizard wasn’t really dead and this whole ordeal was just one of his tricks. Barnabas stood up and immediately felt sick. He wasn’t sure he could keep the soup down. This was awful. He’d fucked everything up. He didn’t know what to do, Vincent was injured, they needed to leave, and he felt so, so sick.
“Hey.” Vincent poked him. “Let’s go check on the dragon.”
When they got there, the dragon was gone. Barnabas was so relieved, and so tired, he almost sat down on the dungeon floor.
“Hey,” Vincent yelled down the stairs. “Get your ass back up here.”
Barnabas didn’t really think he could do it, but he did it anyway. Vincent hugged him tightly when he got to the top of the stairs.
“Is there somewhere you want to go?”
“Anywhere. Just get me the fuck out of here.”
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