Chapter Text
It starts the night after the Workshop Battle, this ache in Aguero’s chest. Not the pain that was there before, no—that was a white-hot flame that licked at his entire being, an unquenchable thing that threatened to erupt into a scorching, all-consuming wildfire every second of the seven years that Bam was “dead.” This is new.
It feels warm and soft, and it wraps itself around Aguero’s heart as he lies on the blankets, watching Bam fall asleep, finally safe, finally home, where he belongs, with Aguero and Rak. It’s a dull throb that nestles deep into Aguero, and it… scares him.
It scares him so much more than the grief and the rage he’d felt every waking second between the deep-sea fishing test and the Hand of Arlen. Because that torch he carried was something he could use. He used it to clear floors ruthlessly, to fuel his nonstop climb. It was a tool. He could control it.
This feels different. It bubbles up inside him like a dizzy fever, like a living creature, and it scares him. Being so weak to someone scares him. Bam—he never would, the gentle, caring person he is, but—Bam could ask Aguero to kill in cold blood for him, and he would. He would die for him.
As Bam sleeps next to him, Aguero wants to reach out and touch his hair, smooth it away from that face he missed so much, but he’s afraid if he does, his fragile thread of self-control will snap.
~
On the Hell Train, it hasn’t decreased in intensity. Not even by a hair. They fight monsters and guardians, and Bam takes those bites from Fenryl during his fight with Kaiser. The knowledge that Bam is strong enough to win the fight does nothing to soothe the pang in Aguero’s chest every time Bam’s blood hits the floor or the walls with that sickening splatter. When all Aguero can do for him after the fight is to turn his lighthouse into a gurney to carry him, a nauseous guilt rises up in the back of his throat.
One day, after Bam’s disappeared off to the Rice Pot again, Aguero can’t distract himself from obsessing about it. He pulls up information on his lighthouses and reads and reads, to hide from the nagging feeling that Bam has finally realized he’s outgrown Aguero and moved on. Aguero isn’t sure when he stops reading and starts blindly skimming the paragraphs, but by the time he realizes his thoughts have drifted off, his vision is blurred by hot tears. He angrily swipes them away while closing his lighthouses’ user interface. With a glance at the closed door to make sure he’s alone, he grabs a pillow, covers his face, and screams.
Aguero doesn’t cry. He’s a problem solver. He can think and plan his way out of any situation. Losing allies won’t change his ability to Figure. It. Out.
So why does this thought, that Bam might have just left the Rice Pot and fucked off to climb the Tower without him, affect him so strongly? It’s an alien sensation, this shaky, heart-pounding fear, and the tears are taking him completely off guard. Aguero can count on one hand the number of times he’s felt this scared, and until now, all of them have involved some insanely powerful enemy. Except…
Aguero stands up abruptly, uncharacteristically losing his footing for a split second as he gets up from the bed. He goes to the sink and splashes cold water on his face, which is red and hot, and he hates any emotions showing up on his face like that. He grips the sink and takes slow, deep breaths until his shoulders stop shaking and his eyes are no longer rimmed with red. Then he goes back to sit on the edge of the bed, checking his pocket for a message from Bam. It doesn’t come. But then the door opens.
Aguero’s head snaps up, and he carefully keeps the scratchy, strained tone out of his voice as he says, “You’re back, Bam.”
Those golden eyes meet his, and Bam says, “Khun…” and trails off.
“Looks like you were in the Rice Pot,” Aguero says, getting to his feet, six feet away from Bam. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yeah…” Bam nods.
Aguero takes a step forward, nearly closing the distance between them. “How sad…” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Trying to get more powerful by yourself.”
Bam’s mouth falls open. “No, that’s—”
“When I look at you sometimes, it worries me that—” Aguero bites back the emotion that threatens to overflow into his words. “You would just wander off and leave us someday.” He smiles, cool and controlled. “So at least tell us when you go somewhere.”
Bam’s fingers twitch at his sides, but he doesn’t move closer or back away. His voice is barely above a whisper, his gaze breaking away to the floor. “Khun…”
“So that I can chase you anytime,” Aguero finishes. It’s a plea and a promise, and he can’t ask Bam to stay with him, can’t ask him to let Aguero hold him back. All he wants is to know where Bam goes. All he wants is to follow.
Bam inhales sharply at his words, makes eye contact again, opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something back. And Aguero would take anything. Just promise you’ll tell us, so I can follow. Please.
And then the door opens again with a whoosh, and Endorsi is barreling into the room, chased by some kind of Yuri Ha Jahad-themed floating drone, scolding Bam for wandering off, shouting at the drone, and whirling around to disappear as suddenly as she came.
Aguero sighs. The moment is gone. Besides, Bam’s worry is palpable in the air, and Aguero can’t leave it like that. He gets Bam’s attention back. “Bam.”
Those eyes are so bright, the same as they were years before, on the testing floor. The crack of worry that cuts across Bam’s soft features is painful to look at.
Softly, Aguero says, “Ehwa, the gator… and that swordsman kid are probably all alive and safe. So don’t worry too much.” Bam’s expression relaxes the tiniest bit. “What we have to do now is not to worry about the others. We just have to survive until they come back. They’re not the type to die so easily, are they?” He mumbles, “Especially that alligator punk.”
Bam’s smile doesn’t come back, but he takes a deep breath and sighs, “Yeah.” Aguero is suddenly gripped by the urge to pull him into a hug, to tangle his hands in Bam’s hair and hold him until he knows deep in his bones that everything will be okay, the way Aguero knows, deeply, that he would do anything to make everything okay, for Bam. He’s just about to move closer, to grab Bam and pull him close, when—swoosh—
“Bam!” Endorsi snaps, appearing in the room via Bong Bong, landing on the bed and then leaping right up to Bam. Why does she keep showing up!?
“Endorsi…?” Bam says, like a question, and she’s yelling, telling him to stop acting like it’s the end of the world because a few companions are gone. Bam backs away, eyes wide, and doesn’t say a word. She charges into his space, saying what Khun’s thinking, although at the worst possible time, telling him there are people at his side who want to protect him, too, and ordering him to be safe and take care of himself. Then, again, she disappears through the door, tailed by Yuri’s drone.
Bam stares wordlessly at the door as it closes behind Endorsi. Aguero sits down on the bed again and silently pats the spot next to him.
Instead of sitting down, Bam just flops onto the bed, on his back, arms over his face, shirt riding up to expose a sliver of skin at his waist, and get a grip, Aguero. Aguero scoots closer and fixes his gaze on the wall.
Bam sighs, staring at the ceiling. “Khun, I know, I should appreciate that you all want me to be safe, but…” He bites his lip. “If I’m not getting stronger, I—” Is he crying?
Aguero twists around to face Bam, leans over until he’s resting his forearms on the bed, loosely enclosing Bam, their faces inches apart. Bam’s hand comes up to his own cheek, quickly wiping away the tears there. “If I’m not getting stronger, then I’m not protecting you.” His voice cracks into a sob. “I need to protect you.”
Aguero hesitates for a moment, one hand hovering over Bam’s, before he gently pulls Bam’s hand down, exposing his tear-stained face. He cups his hand on Bam’s cheek. Why did someone like this end up with such a heavy burden to bear?
The warm, trembling, hungry creature creeps up from Aguero’s gut again. He gives in, just the slightest concession, and strokes Bam’s hair, pushing his bangs out of his face. “You’re doing perfectly,” he says, and his voice wavers as Bam tilts his head to lean into the touch. “You’re protecting us—you’re doing fine, Bam.”
Bam sits up, Aguero leans back to give him room, and then Bam wraps his arms around Aguero, squeezing him in a tight hug, burying his face in Aguero’s shoulder. Aguero’s so surprised, it takes a second for him to return the embrace. Bam mumbles something into the fabric of Aguero’s shirt. Aguero pulls away, just a little, and gives in again, tracing Bam’s chin with one finger and guiding his face up to meet his own.
“What did you say, Bam?”
Bam takes a shuddering breath. “I said, I don’t think I am. I should be doing more, getting stronger, faster—I can’t—it’s not enough,” he says, and pulls out of Aguero’s arms, turning away and leaving Aguero feeling cold.
The warmth in his chest coils tightly back up into a tense knot in his stomach. Bam is staring at the wall and won’t look at him again. Aguero says, “Then I’ll follow you, and I’ll help you until it is enough.”
Even if he gets left behind when that happens.
Aguero sleeps fitfully that night, dreaming of cold and distance and loss.