Had he known that his life would be turned upside down, and inside out due to his mistakenly brave stunt to save his friend, and that this is where he'd be only half a cycle afterwards, he'd have told everyone to go fuck themselves and trapped himself in his room. But he would have also been a different person. Someone smaller. Someone weaker. Someone without a purpose.

Hemlock had been in the protection of Blackfeather's stolen wings when the blast of the medic residential area occurred. Walls, glass, electronics, bedding, and some personal undergarments had littered the area with a billow of smoke and fritzing wires. Sprays of water burst through as well, with everything torn to bits by the blast. In the midst of the fray, he'd watched as Rowan, Goldhorn, and a few others had been blown away.

Then through the smoke, a figure dressed in nothing but a simple gown stepped forward, dark leg appearing first. Then his tightly coiled body. Lastly unveiling his face, a grin so terrible splitting open his face, joining his mouth into a gaping hole like a leviathan's. This was no human body. At least… not anymore.

Blackfeather abandoned him, and the wings, rushing to Blackthorn, who caught him in his arms. "Hrafn?" The voice made tremors in the foundations of the walls.

Blackfeather nodded as he slipped into a kneeling position, tears flowly down his face as he grinned. "Yes, it's me. Draighean. I've been so alone without you. I've had to hide. To stay where they can't reach me, and where I can protect them."

"They are still alive?" Blackthorn lifted Blackfeather into his arms, carrying him through the halls, as a groom might do for a bride in a holovid.

Neither Blackfeather nor Blackthorn seemed to pay him much mind, as he stayed frozen to the spot next to the hall gate, underneath the black wings. They passed him as if he didn't exist, stepping past the cloak, without even bothering to look at him.

Blackfeather didn't look back to see him once he'd been lifted into Blackthorn's arms.

Then the pulse inside his body return, like a pressure growing just below his heart. Like a very uncomfortable heart burn. He rubbed at his chest, then remembered there were a bunch of people lying injured down the hall. He scrambled to his feet, dragging the feather cloak with him, despite it's weight. It clung to his shoulder naturally over the coils of silver.

The people who'd been fighting Blackthorn managed to avoid the worst of the debris, except for Rowan, who had a large pipe piece sticking out his torso. His dark skin looked pale even under the emergency red flashing lights. Three minutes. The droids would come. They had to.

He bent down next to Rowan, kneeling and shaking him awake. "Rowan! Rowan! Don't go to sleep. Please! Oh Psion's Mercy." The blood was pouring out of him faster than it should. He couldn't understand why the blood was deciding it was a good time to pump harder. In times like these the body should just adapt and stop bleeding so much.

Rowan's eyes fluttered open as he choked on a groan. "Gold--" Hemlock bent down to listen to what he was saying. Rowan whimpered, and opened his eyes, "Goldhorn…" Rowan whispered, eyes frantically searching. He helped him sit up as much as Rowan should considering he had a pipe sticking out his stomach.

"Rowan, you really shouldn't move around like this. Just wait like 2 minutes for the droids to come. Okay? You're going to be alright." He was blabbering, but he liked Rowan. He'd been good to him. Gave him the new leg. Gave him the new clothes, which were utterly soaked in blood. He'd launder them before giving them back.

Rowan wailed when he saw Goldhorn's prone body, and attempted to drag himself towards the golden man who looked so much smaller now that he was crumpled between two pieces of paneling. Hemlock begged, "Rowan, please, stop moving."

Rowan either lost too much blood or his body was shutting down because the muscles relaxed and he flopped. Hemlock grabbed him before he accidentally drove the pipe deeper into his abdomen. Hemlock couldn't feel his body, or his limbs, or anything else. His breathing was coming in short and shallow. Painful to the point where his vision was tunneling and he felt like he was just going to pass out.

No. I'm stronger than that now. I'm better than that. I need to save him. He hurriedly grabbed a few of the balls off his belt and prayed this would work. He dropped one into the tube and the hardened material burst through. Then he popped the second around Rowan's abdomen, where it was leaking. The white material was pink by the time it worked its way around Rowan's waist and up his chest, but he didn't see any more color bleeding through.

Please let this work.

As he leaned back, a distressing wave of shock bowled him from behind. He turned to see Hawthorn rushing to him, pulling him away from Rowan. Hawthorn's mind was pressing against him but it stayed respectfully at the perimeter. It felt like a thousand hounds at his threshold, waiting for it's master to tell them its okay to enter the yard.

"Hemlock? Are you okay? Why do you have Yngvir's wings?" Hemlock had forgotten he'd been wearing them. But how could Hawthorn see him if Blackfeather and Blackthorn couldn't?

Hawthorn yanked them off and Hemlock realized that was what had kept Hawthorn at bay. He threw up as much defenses he could before Hawthorn could plunder him again. The act shook Hawthorn, his eyes blowing wide, hurt oozing from him. He seemed to plead, but Hemlock stood firm. This was not the time for sentiments. "It's not my blood. Rowan's dying. We need to get him medical attention."

Hawthorn's voice was strangled, like he was holding something in his throat. "Cassio's coming. They got captured by Alabaster, but broke free."

The hands on his forearms stroked the inside of his arm. Hawthorn leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Hemlock's. "I thought…" Hemlock felt it more than Hawthorn's inability to speak did.

The crash of loneliness, desperation and denial made him cringe with sympathy. He could feel all at once the hunger around the void, that grew and grew as it consumed every other emotion in its path. All that remained was a hollowness that could choke, and even kill a man. Hawthorn broke when Hemlock raised his hands to Hawthorn's face, stroking his cheek. The tears fell between them into his lap, and the hair blocked Hemlock from seeing the man's face. "When you're signature disappeared, I thought you'd been killed in the explosion."

Hawthorn, the strong, powerful, invincible Hawthorn, crumpled and leaned into him, burying his face into Hemlock's shoulder. Hemlock let himself give in and wrapped his arms around Hawthorn's shaking body. He stroked his spine, and his hair, but kept quiet, because Hawthorn wasn't done. He had too much to answer for.

"Then I saw you hunched over, those wings on your back and the blood on your hands. I thought…" Hawthorn clutched at him tighter, his breathing drawing deep shudders through them both. "I thought it had all been my fault."

Hemlock froze, stopped stroking and Hawthorn's haunches rose, making him lift his head to look at Hemlock. Hawthorn looked wrecked. As if he'd been the one launched through several walls into a pile of debris. Why would any of this be Hawthorn's fault?

Hawthorn fell limp in his arms, "I was the one who wiped their memories."

The world around him froze and time stopped, dropping into a single fragment of an infinity that warped around the words Hawthorn said. Hemlock choked on the impossibility of the situation.

"I'm the reason why this is all happening."