Home Game -- "You will feel a mild tingling sensation, followed by death."
So I was heavily inspired by the above Idol topic for this piece -- and even intended to use it, if I got back into the main game. But I didn't, and the piece is now finished.
Dedicated to n3m3sis43 because Devin bb is my favorite and that's why I torment him the most. Combining our trilogies was perhaps the best decision we've made together as friends and I am super excited to work with you and be your partner 5ever. <3
“You never told me where to meet you,” Jazz said, unable to keep the annoyance and frustration free of his voice. He stalked over to Devin, his fists balled at his sides and his jaw far too tight. Devin just stared at him, golden eyes wide but the rest of his body relaxed, hands hidden deep inside his pockets. When Jazz received no apology, he stood in front of the entrance and folded his arms over his chest. “I had to get here on my own.”
He heard Devin exhale; his voice quiet as he murmured an apology. Jazz’s teeth grit together, his chest still far too tight. Devin stood beside him, his focus on the door for a moment before he slipped a key inside a lock. “Meant to tell you there was a smashball game on, but…”
Jazz rolled his eyes. Devin never watched smashball; the Majerian sport made little sense and was nothing but glorified violence. A sport like that would have never become popular in the Empire, though Jazz certainly could see its appeal. Which is why the word leaving Devin’s mouth at all only meant one thing:
Devin didn’t think they were safe.
“Of course you did,” Jazz muttered, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. He stepped inside just as Devin pushed the door open, waiting for him as Devin closed the door and secured it behind them. Another man -- Marcus, Jazz recalled -- asked for their names before letting them further inside the building. The compound was much larger than Jazz had expected; it was much different than the last one, too, which had been abandoned for a multitude of reasons: the least of which was accessibility.
Still, this one had been much harder to find.
“Did Wes stop being Disagreeable?” Jazz asked once they were out of earshot. His annoyance crept into his words there, too, knowing full well what Devin had meant when he sent Jazz that message an hour ago. Stay home. Just because Devin thought he wasn’t safe didn’t mean there’d be any actual danger, and --
“Not here,” Devin said, his voice coming out in a pleading, half-whine. “Not the time, dude, okay?”
“‘Not the time,’” Jazz repeated. He huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other waving as he said. “Look, I know you don’t fucking want me here, but --”
“Gave you the signal to stay home for a reason,” he said, keeping his eyes frustratingly forward. “It’s not fucking safe.”
“Bullshit,” Jazz spat, putting his arm out and bringing him and Devin both to a stop. He stared up at Devin -- and ignored how the details weren’t quite right, at the moment, as they never were when they came to these meetings. “It’s been the same fucking thing for weeks: it’s not safe -- you don’t want me here -- you think I should go home and wait shit out. Well, guess what? I came to Majeria for a goddamn reason -- I’m not about to stop doing what I think is right because it might be fucking dangerous.”
He was out of breath when he finished, his mouth going dry as those golden eyes seemed to tarnish, just a little. His hands were still on Devin’s arms, holding him in place against the wall of the hallway. Any other time, Devin would make a smartass comment about how Jazz was turning him on, but right now --
“Are you okay?” Jazz asked, concern filling the space in his ribs were righteous anger used to be. “You look like you’re about to be sick.”
Devin shook his head and moved out from under Jazz’s grip. “Shouldn’t even be here,” he said. “Go home while you can, dude. Promise to tell you everything when I get back.”
Jazz scoffed and rolled his eyes again, turning away from Devin with a frustrated shake of his head. “I’m staying here,” he said, noticing the additional members of the Resistance standing in wait at the end of the hall, just in front of a door.
He strode past it, keeping his eyes forward as he found a seat and sat down, leaning against the back of it. As he folded his arms over his chest, he felt more than saw Devin sit down beside him.
Now all they had to do was wait for the meeting to start.
***
Devin sat back in his seat and frowned, hardly listening to the voices of the men and women around him. The meeting had long since been underway, and Jazz’s aggravation with him seemed to fade as his focus was placed elsewhere. He sat with his back straight and his hands folded on top of the table. His blue eyes scanned the faces in front of him, as if trying to ascertain whose argument he wanted to pick apart, first.
It was a side of Jazz he hadn’t seen until Jazz moved to Majeria and pledged his allegiance to the Resistance. He preferred the easy going smile; the relaxed look in his eye and the uncritical way he analyzed everything. This -- this was the Politician, the side Jazz supposedly had intended to leave behind in the Empire. Devin had never been great at politics; he only cared that Majeria -- that Cliffton as a whole -- suppressed his people and made them brainwashed and isolated in the grand scheme of things. Jazz’s concerns were much more global; always had been.
It was a side of Jazz Devin didn’t like very much.
He half-watched as Jazz’s hands unfolded themselves, his fingers spreading overtop the table. Having seen the display enough times before, Devin knew every action that was about to come next: the furrowing of Jazz’s brow, the way he’d clear his throat -- just loud enough to gain everyone’s attention -- the pause until he was certain all eyes were on him before he spoke.
Predictable, precise behavior. It commanded the others’ attentions; betrayed the fact that Jazz was used to getting it without question, and Devin absolutely fucking hated it.
He tuned them out: Jazz’s words. He’d likely heard them all before. How the raids the Majerian military had been utilizing weren’t a tactic they thought of on their own; how Jazz’s own country, the Alban Empire, was likely to blame for these new attempts in silencing the Resistance’s voice.
It was the pause in any speaking that brought Devin’s attention back to the present. The way Jazz had his lip just fractionally caught underneath his teeth. “I know it’s hard to trust me,” Jazz said, gesturing loosely to himself. “It’s obvious just by looking at me that I’m not from Majeria, but -- I’ve seen the outside world you all are fighting to be like, one day. I’ve been a part of it, and I’m familiar with its flaws. Trust me on this -- if the Resistance is going to win, we have to be prepared to do whatever it takes.”
Devin snorted at that, hoping the noise wouldn’t be heard, though the brief flicker of Jazz’s eyes in his direction told him otherwise. He bit back his wry response; how it wasn’t Jazz’s own people they’d be killing in order to achieve their goals, anymore -- it was Devin’s. He heard the thoughts of several others echo the same thing, and --
He heard something else. A sharp, singular noise and the muffled collapse of something solid, far enough away Devin wasn't sure what it was. Tensing, Devin strained his senses past the room and closed his eyes. There was no familiar chill accompanying the presence of another Manip like himself, but --
“What is it, Sasha?” Jazz murmured.
Devin blinked, coming back to the room at the sound of his fake name, everyone's eyes on him. He was their alarm of sorts; their way of knowing if the Majerian military was getting too close. “Not sure,” he said, furrowing his brow.
He felt it more than heard it, the next loud pop, this one much closer. Jazz jumped, his hand clutching at his left shoulder.
“They're here,” Jazz whispered.
It wasn’t a question, but Devin nodded and stood up from his seat, focusing his attention outward. He blocked out the noise in the room; forced himself to forget Jazz was at his side as he tried to place just how much time they had.
“Second floor,” he said. “No Manips, just soldiers,” he continued, putting his hand on the wall. He gulped as he felt the energy flooding the building they were in; the anxiety mounting behind him. “Lots of soldiers.”
“We need to go,” Jazz said, turning to face the rest of the room. Devin blinked at the calmness of his tone; how he still commanded the room with his mere presence. With his short stature and slim frame, he shouldn’t have managed to hold the attention of the bulkier, more solid Majerians as well as he did. “Sasha will stay behind and neutralize the threat -- everyone else, we need to get out of here through the hidden exit, and quickly. They likely have all of the other exits surrounded...”
Devin tuned Jazz’s words out and closed his eyes once again. With his hand on the wall, he could feel every ounce of steel present in the building; where its structural weaknesses and strengths were and just how he could bring parts of it down without the risk of harming his fellow Resistance members. It’d require a high amount of energy and finesse, but --
He had more than enough of a charge. He could use his powers, do exactly as Jazz said, and join up with everyone quickly, escaping without any further loss of life. The room emptied, and he slipped out into the hallway, not at all looking back even as he heard Jazz order him to stay safe.
Staying safe wasn’t an option, anymore. He would have to start with the third floor down, block the staircases -- make sure that the hidden exit was clear. And he’d have to leave an escape route for himself, one different than the one the others took, just in case --
He heard the first crashes ahead of him; felt walls crumble as he placed mental pressure on them. Shouts and hollers could be heard, now, distant but clear. A Manip! They have a Manip!
Devin laughed, the air around him going cold and causing him to shiver. Yeah, they had a Manip. A Manip that escaped the fucking Program. A Manip stronger than most and mostly charged, to boot. A Manip that could kick all of their asses and walk out of here, unharmed and unnoticed, except --
More vibrations; more noises, coming from the other side of the building. More soldiers, more feet. Devin focused on a wall before those soldiers, shuddering just as it gave way under his mental onslaught. If he could just keep them from ever making it down here --
He didn’t have enough time to block off every route. A third onslaught, from another entrance, and this time the chill that overcame him didn’t come from himself.
They had a Manip. No, two of them.
Devin stepped back into the room, shut the door he’d just stepped through, and moved out towards the second one. With the touch of his hands against the wall, the room’s ceiling caved in, effectively barricading the doors -- but Devin knew there were multiple offices the military teams could tear through -- and if they had Manips, it was only a matter of time before they cleared Devin’s obstacles and picked their way through to them.
He closed his eyes, his ears trained on every noise -- the stomping of feet, the shouting of voices, the thoughts no one said out loud. Where were the other Manips? How far away were they? Were they separated -- they were. One on each end of the building, moving towards the middle. Moving downward. If he could just --
“Devin!”
Hands were on his arm, tugging him away from the wall. Pulling him down the hallway. “We need to go!”
Devin started, his attention snapping away from the movement of the other Manips and towards sky blue eyes widened with fear and panic. Calm no longer pervaded the other man’s actions. “Can’t go,” Devin choked out, wrenching his arm free of Jazz’s grip. “They’ve got Manips.”
“Then they have Adepts, too, and Wes isn’t here right now for you to pull another charge from if yours runs out,” Jazz said, an odd note to his voice. “But you can pull from their Adepts, right?”
Devin couldn’t place the note -- Jazz's last words didn't even register. He couldn’t place anything, anymore. Every sensory detail faded out, his breathing growing uneven as he kept one hand on the wall and closed his eyes again. Where were the soldiers? Had they made it to the fourth floor down? Where was the rest of their group?
It all flooded back to him at once. Devin cradled his head in his hands, his breath coming in short gasps as he tried to make sense of it all. Footsteps. A language, half-forgotten that he still understood subconsciously -- He’s this way. No Adept with him.
The floor underneath him gave way, shifting underneath his feet. Jazz yelped beside him, his hands back on Devin’s arm. “Goddamnit, Devin, c’mon!”
“They’re this way!”
Spoken out loud. Jazz’s fingers tightening around his bicep, pulling him away from the shouting voices. “You’re overloaded,” Jazz groaned. “Shit, Devin, you’re --”
Useless. He was fucking useless as the first soldier rounded on them from another entry point in the hallway, her weapon aimed at Devin. He had no time to react, his eyes widening just as he felt something solid push him out of the way, gunfire ricocheting in his ears and off the wall.
They were in a room, the door wide open and Devin collapsed the hallway underneath the soldier’s feet; pushed the weapon out of her hands even though he could no longer see her and snapped it in half. He was vaguely aware of Jazz pressed against him, his breathing uneven and his face paler than usual, blue eyes clouded over with something.
He felt his shirt dampen -- felt the way Jazz’s body trembled against him and how tightly Jazz held onto him, but with only one hand. “S-Shit,” Jazz whimpered, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “We need -- we need to go, and I don’t think I can --”
Walk, Devin heard, and his stomach crashed to the floor just as Jazz’s grip on him slackened, his knees buckling just as Devin caught him.
He had Jazz on his back in seconds, Jazz’s arms loosely draped over his shoulders, Jazz’s face buried against the back of his neck. He could feel something warm seep into his shirt, focused on stemming the flow of it while also darting his way through hallways, his footsteps far too loud in his own ears.
“I’m slowing you down,” Jazz gasped against his neck, his elbows pressing into Devin’s shoulders. “Devin, I’m -- put me down…”
“Can’t walk, dude,” Devin argued, his voice strangled as his attention was split in several places. The exit was so close. They could get out of here. They could get to safety. Get Jazz to safety.
“I can.” But the way Jazz’s voice cracked as he spoke betrayed him. “Just -- you need -- your strength to -- to get out of here, and I’m --”
“Not fucking leaving you behind.” The exit. He could see it. He didn’t sense anyone else there, and --
Dry desert air greeted them, the sun still lingering over the horizon. He could feel the soldiers; feel the Manips. Close, but still far enough behind. Maybe they’d given up -- maybe he could make it to his car without drawing attention to themselves. Might have to let Jazz walk, after all, and --
“M-My car’s closer,” Jazz whispered, his grip going slack on Devin’s shoulders. “Put me the fuck down. I can walk.”
Devin did as he was told, crouching down just enough for Jazz to put his feet to the ground. Jazz leaned against the wall behind him; Devin moved away from him and placed his hands on the door. He had to seal it. Make it look like just another wall, something the soldiers would overlook. The Manips had drifted away, their presences growing distant as Devin focused what energy he could on doing just that, the door shifting and changing under his hands.
“Everyone’s in the -- the other building,” Jazz coughed beside him once Devin pulled his hands away from the wall. He lurched forward, one arm draped over his stomach, the other hanging uselessly at his side. Devin saw red staining Jazz’s loose fingers; the darkening of his shirt underneath the other. “You bought them -- enough time…”
“Stop talking,” Devin ordered, moving back over to Jazz. “Gonna make yourself pass out.”
Jazz laughed at that, the sound pained and choked. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing his back flat against the wall. “Know we’re not -- that we’re not safe yet, but…”
Devin shook his head, took his time to secure their little alcove, which he knew was out of sight -- he had designed the exit strategy, had rehearsed it with Jazz multiple times, built the extra hallways they had fled down. The less he used his powers, the less the other Manips could sense him, and now --
Now his focus was on Jazz.
“Safe here for now,” Devin said. “Can wait it out here. Not gonna find us -- promise.”
Jazz nodded, and Devin could feel the tremble in Jazz’s legs; how their strength threatened to give out. Jazz’s eyes focused on some point beyond him, his breathing uneven as he clutched at his side. “Fucking hurts,” he whined, his face tinging pink. He slid down the wall, and Devin caught him, eased him down to the ground so that Jazz was sitting and he was kneeling beside him.
“I can tell,” Devin said, brushing his long hair out of his eyes. He grimaced at the grime present in it; how it stuck to his own red-stained fingers. Without asking, he pressed his fingers against Jazz’s stomach and closed his eyes. Healing had never been his strong suit. Slowing the bleed, keeping them alive and holding on --
Jazz turned to him, then, blue eyes wide but clear. “Don’t,” he said. He pulled his hand away from his stomach, reaching for Devin. “You don’t -- have an Adept, and I -- I’m --”
Devin blocked the rest of it, Jazz’s lips moving but the words refusing to register. He knew just how much blood Jazz had lost; how much he was continuing to lose. He knew how much of a charge he’d need just to make Jazz stable enough to get him to a doctor -- a surgeon, one like Jazz’s husband back in the Alban Empire, and --
“Devin.” Devin’s eyes burned as they met Jazz’s gaze. As Jazz’s fingers brushed his cheek. “It hurts.”
“I can’t.” Devin shook his head. “Dude, no, I can’t --”
“You need to get out of here,” Jazz insisted. “Wes -- you gotta protect Wes. And Calla. You can’t -- you’re just…”
Prolonging the inevitable he heard despite his best efforts not to, Jazz’s eyes never leaving his even as he couldn’t get the words past his own lips
"I know you heard me," Jazz managed after a moment, the clarity in his eyes fading as his brow furrowed. "Devin, please. Just -- I'm not gonna --"
"Don't know that, dude," Devin growled, pulling Jazz's hand away from his cheek. He sniffed and ignored the heaviness in his chest; the way his stomach twisted in his throat. "Can still get you to a doctor."
"No," Jazz said with a jerk of his head. "Can't -- risk it. I know you're -- that you're trying to -- to stop the bleeding, but --" Jazz's brows knit together again. "It's only -- making it worse."
His breathing grew heavy and uneven, his heart rate erratic. It hurts, Devin's mind repeated.
With a desperate whine, Devin pushed himself away from the ground -- away from Jazz. He paced in the small, protected space, raking sticky fingers through mussed up hair. Tears rolled down his face and his stomach flipped. "I can't," he repeated as he jerked to a stop.
"Please."
Those blue eyes faded, then refocused, following Devin's every move. But Devin could feel the loss of blood pressure; the way Jazz's body begged for mercy.
He steeled himself, scrubbing his tears away with the palm of his hand, no doubt smearing Jazz's blood on his face. He knelt down beside Jazz again. "Want me to make it quicker? Might --" He gulped, the words tangling on his tongue at first. "Might take a little while if I don't."
Jazz's eyes widened and he bit his lip, turning his head away from Devin. The back of his head thumped against the wall as he struggled for breath. Devin had dropped his focus just enough to let Jazz’s wounds bleed freely; the lack of mental focus heightened the pained expression on Jazz’s face.
“Yes.” The word was breathed, heavy and choked. He hung his head, teeth gritting together as his body slumped against the wall. “Please.”
Devin nodded, his heart pounding in his ears. Without thinking, he moved closer to Jazz, straddling his legs and cradling Jazz’s face in his hands. Jazz’s eyes flew open, an odd, stifled noise escaping hm. “Your face,” he said. “It’s -- still all wrong.”
Blinking, Devin pulled back from Jazz some before he remembered that he had used his powers to alter his appearance -- just enough so that he wouldn’t be recognized by anyone who knew him. Keeping up the facade had grown effortless; something he no longer had to think about. Closing his eyes, he felt his facial structure shift back into its proper form. Felt the way Jazz’s body relaxed under his.
“That’s -- better…” Jazz managed, his bloodied hand cupping Devin’s cheek. Devin didn’t open his eyes, just relished in the small caress. “I love you.”
He choked back a sob, leaning into the soft touch of Jazz’s fingers. “Love you too.”
“You’ll be okay,” Jazz said, his voice quiet and distant and filled with gravel. He cleared his throat. “Promise me you’ll -- be okay…”
“Can’t promise you that,” Devin said, the words leaving him in a rush. He opened his eyes and leaned forward, his hands still holding Jazz’s head up. He could feel Jazz’s weak pulse under his fingers; how it struggled to keep going.
Jazz snorted at that and gave a slight shake of his head. “Should’ve listened to you,” he said, his eyes not wavering from Devin’s. “Maybe then I wouldn’t -- be asking you to…” He trailed off, his hand falling away from Devin’s face as he looked away from him, his eyes closing once again. “Will it hurt?”
Devin shook his head. “No.” A tremor worked its way through his body and he closed his eyes. “Want me to tell Savin anything?”
“You -- know what to tell him…” Jazz managed a slight, tearful smile. “Tell him I -- wasn’t in pain. That you -- made sure I wasn’t. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Silence overtook them both, Jazz’s pulse still wild under Devin’s fingers. He didn’t want to admit that he kept making sure Jazz’s brain was getting enough blood, what little of it was left to circulate Jazz’s vascular system, and --
“You ready?” Devin asked, the words horrible and rough and frightening to his own ears. He knew just where to cut off the blood flow; how to make it quick and as painless as possible. They’d trained him for this, back in the Program. He sensed the right spot and held his breath as Jazz’s eyes met his once again.
“Yes.”
Devin nodded and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Jazz’s. He tasted blood and ignored it. Felt Jazz kiss back and focused on that instead as he tore that one spot wide open, Jazz’s breath coming to a choked stop and his body going slack under Devin’s.
“Sweet dreams, dude,” he whispered as he pulled away from him, his hands falling to his sides. He stared at Jazz’s face, a sob wracking his body.
He couldn’t see any trace of pain in Jazz’s frozen expression -- just relief.
Dedicated to n3m3sis43 because Devin bb is my favorite and that's why I torment him the most. Combining our trilogies was perhaps the best decision we've made together as friends and I am super excited to work with you and be your partner 5ever. <3
“You never told me where to meet you,” Jazz said, unable to keep the annoyance and frustration free of his voice. He stalked over to Devin, his fists balled at his sides and his jaw far too tight. Devin just stared at him, golden eyes wide but the rest of his body relaxed, hands hidden deep inside his pockets. When Jazz received no apology, he stood in front of the entrance and folded his arms over his chest. “I had to get here on my own.”
He heard Devin exhale; his voice quiet as he murmured an apology. Jazz’s teeth grit together, his chest still far too tight. Devin stood beside him, his focus on the door for a moment before he slipped a key inside a lock. “Meant to tell you there was a smashball game on, but…”
Jazz rolled his eyes. Devin never watched smashball; the Majerian sport made little sense and was nothing but glorified violence. A sport like that would have never become popular in the Empire, though Jazz certainly could see its appeal. Which is why the word leaving Devin’s mouth at all only meant one thing:
Devin didn’t think they were safe.
“Of course you did,” Jazz muttered, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. He stepped inside just as Devin pushed the door open, waiting for him as Devin closed the door and secured it behind them. Another man -- Marcus, Jazz recalled -- asked for their names before letting them further inside the building. The compound was much larger than Jazz had expected; it was much different than the last one, too, which had been abandoned for a multitude of reasons: the least of which was accessibility.
Still, this one had been much harder to find.
“Did Wes stop being Disagreeable?” Jazz asked once they were out of earshot. His annoyance crept into his words there, too, knowing full well what Devin had meant when he sent Jazz that message an hour ago. Stay home. Just because Devin thought he wasn’t safe didn’t mean there’d be any actual danger, and --
“Not here,” Devin said, his voice coming out in a pleading, half-whine. “Not the time, dude, okay?”
“‘Not the time,’” Jazz repeated. He huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other waving as he said. “Look, I know you don’t fucking want me here, but --”
“Gave you the signal to stay home for a reason,” he said, keeping his eyes frustratingly forward. “It’s not fucking safe.”
“Bullshit,” Jazz spat, putting his arm out and bringing him and Devin both to a stop. He stared up at Devin -- and ignored how the details weren’t quite right, at the moment, as they never were when they came to these meetings. “It’s been the same fucking thing for weeks: it’s not safe -- you don’t want me here -- you think I should go home and wait shit out. Well, guess what? I came to Majeria for a goddamn reason -- I’m not about to stop doing what I think is right because it might be fucking dangerous.”
He was out of breath when he finished, his mouth going dry as those golden eyes seemed to tarnish, just a little. His hands were still on Devin’s arms, holding him in place against the wall of the hallway. Any other time, Devin would make a smartass comment about how Jazz was turning him on, but right now --
“Are you okay?” Jazz asked, concern filling the space in his ribs were righteous anger used to be. “You look like you’re about to be sick.”
Devin shook his head and moved out from under Jazz’s grip. “Shouldn’t even be here,” he said. “Go home while you can, dude. Promise to tell you everything when I get back.”
Jazz scoffed and rolled his eyes again, turning away from Devin with a frustrated shake of his head. “I’m staying here,” he said, noticing the additional members of the Resistance standing in wait at the end of the hall, just in front of a door.
He strode past it, keeping his eyes forward as he found a seat and sat down, leaning against the back of it. As he folded his arms over his chest, he felt more than saw Devin sit down beside him.
Now all they had to do was wait for the meeting to start.
***
Devin sat back in his seat and frowned, hardly listening to the voices of the men and women around him. The meeting had long since been underway, and Jazz’s aggravation with him seemed to fade as his focus was placed elsewhere. He sat with his back straight and his hands folded on top of the table. His blue eyes scanned the faces in front of him, as if trying to ascertain whose argument he wanted to pick apart, first.
It was a side of Jazz he hadn’t seen until Jazz moved to Majeria and pledged his allegiance to the Resistance. He preferred the easy going smile; the relaxed look in his eye and the uncritical way he analyzed everything. This -- this was the Politician, the side Jazz supposedly had intended to leave behind in the Empire. Devin had never been great at politics; he only cared that Majeria -- that Cliffton as a whole -- suppressed his people and made them brainwashed and isolated in the grand scheme of things. Jazz’s concerns were much more global; always had been.
It was a side of Jazz Devin didn’t like very much.
He half-watched as Jazz’s hands unfolded themselves, his fingers spreading overtop the table. Having seen the display enough times before, Devin knew every action that was about to come next: the furrowing of Jazz’s brow, the way he’d clear his throat -- just loud enough to gain everyone’s attention -- the pause until he was certain all eyes were on him before he spoke.
Predictable, precise behavior. It commanded the others’ attentions; betrayed the fact that Jazz was used to getting it without question, and Devin absolutely fucking hated it.
He tuned them out: Jazz’s words. He’d likely heard them all before. How the raids the Majerian military had been utilizing weren’t a tactic they thought of on their own; how Jazz’s own country, the Alban Empire, was likely to blame for these new attempts in silencing the Resistance’s voice.
It was the pause in any speaking that brought Devin’s attention back to the present. The way Jazz had his lip just fractionally caught underneath his teeth. “I know it’s hard to trust me,” Jazz said, gesturing loosely to himself. “It’s obvious just by looking at me that I’m not from Majeria, but -- I’ve seen the outside world you all are fighting to be like, one day. I’ve been a part of it, and I’m familiar with its flaws. Trust me on this -- if the Resistance is going to win, we have to be prepared to do whatever it takes.”
Devin snorted at that, hoping the noise wouldn’t be heard, though the brief flicker of Jazz’s eyes in his direction told him otherwise. He bit back his wry response; how it wasn’t Jazz’s own people they’d be killing in order to achieve their goals, anymore -- it was Devin’s. He heard the thoughts of several others echo the same thing, and --
He heard something else. A sharp, singular noise and the muffled collapse of something solid, far enough away Devin wasn't sure what it was. Tensing, Devin strained his senses past the room and closed his eyes. There was no familiar chill accompanying the presence of another Manip like himself, but --
“What is it, Sasha?” Jazz murmured.
Devin blinked, coming back to the room at the sound of his fake name, everyone's eyes on him. He was their alarm of sorts; their way of knowing if the Majerian military was getting too close. “Not sure,” he said, furrowing his brow.
He felt it more than heard it, the next loud pop, this one much closer. Jazz jumped, his hand clutching at his left shoulder.
“They're here,” Jazz whispered.
It wasn’t a question, but Devin nodded and stood up from his seat, focusing his attention outward. He blocked out the noise in the room; forced himself to forget Jazz was at his side as he tried to place just how much time they had.
“Second floor,” he said. “No Manips, just soldiers,” he continued, putting his hand on the wall. He gulped as he felt the energy flooding the building they were in; the anxiety mounting behind him. “Lots of soldiers.”
“We need to go,” Jazz said, turning to face the rest of the room. Devin blinked at the calmness of his tone; how he still commanded the room with his mere presence. With his short stature and slim frame, he shouldn’t have managed to hold the attention of the bulkier, more solid Majerians as well as he did. “Sasha will stay behind and neutralize the threat -- everyone else, we need to get out of here through the hidden exit, and quickly. They likely have all of the other exits surrounded...”
Devin tuned Jazz’s words out and closed his eyes once again. With his hand on the wall, he could feel every ounce of steel present in the building; where its structural weaknesses and strengths were and just how he could bring parts of it down without the risk of harming his fellow Resistance members. It’d require a high amount of energy and finesse, but --
He had more than enough of a charge. He could use his powers, do exactly as Jazz said, and join up with everyone quickly, escaping without any further loss of life. The room emptied, and he slipped out into the hallway, not at all looking back even as he heard Jazz order him to stay safe.
Staying safe wasn’t an option, anymore. He would have to start with the third floor down, block the staircases -- make sure that the hidden exit was clear. And he’d have to leave an escape route for himself, one different than the one the others took, just in case --
He heard the first crashes ahead of him; felt walls crumble as he placed mental pressure on them. Shouts and hollers could be heard, now, distant but clear. A Manip! They have a Manip!
Devin laughed, the air around him going cold and causing him to shiver. Yeah, they had a Manip. A Manip that escaped the fucking Program. A Manip stronger than most and mostly charged, to boot. A Manip that could kick all of their asses and walk out of here, unharmed and unnoticed, except --
More vibrations; more noises, coming from the other side of the building. More soldiers, more feet. Devin focused on a wall before those soldiers, shuddering just as it gave way under his mental onslaught. If he could just keep them from ever making it down here --
He didn’t have enough time to block off every route. A third onslaught, from another entrance, and this time the chill that overcame him didn’t come from himself.
They had a Manip. No, two of them.
Devin stepped back into the room, shut the door he’d just stepped through, and moved out towards the second one. With the touch of his hands against the wall, the room’s ceiling caved in, effectively barricading the doors -- but Devin knew there were multiple offices the military teams could tear through -- and if they had Manips, it was only a matter of time before they cleared Devin’s obstacles and picked their way through to them.
He closed his eyes, his ears trained on every noise -- the stomping of feet, the shouting of voices, the thoughts no one said out loud. Where were the other Manips? How far away were they? Were they separated -- they were. One on each end of the building, moving towards the middle. Moving downward. If he could just --
“Devin!”
Hands were on his arm, tugging him away from the wall. Pulling him down the hallway. “We need to go!”
Devin started, his attention snapping away from the movement of the other Manips and towards sky blue eyes widened with fear and panic. Calm no longer pervaded the other man’s actions. “Can’t go,” Devin choked out, wrenching his arm free of Jazz’s grip. “They’ve got Manips.”
“Then they have Adepts, too, and Wes isn’t here right now for you to pull another charge from if yours runs out,” Jazz said, an odd note to his voice. “But you can pull from their Adepts, right?”
Devin couldn’t place the note -- Jazz's last words didn't even register. He couldn’t place anything, anymore. Every sensory detail faded out, his breathing growing uneven as he kept one hand on the wall and closed his eyes again. Where were the soldiers? Had they made it to the fourth floor down? Where was the rest of their group?
It all flooded back to him at once. Devin cradled his head in his hands, his breath coming in short gasps as he tried to make sense of it all. Footsteps. A language, half-forgotten that he still understood subconsciously -- He’s this way. No Adept with him.
The floor underneath him gave way, shifting underneath his feet. Jazz yelped beside him, his hands back on Devin’s arm. “Goddamnit, Devin, c’mon!”
“They’re this way!”
Spoken out loud. Jazz’s fingers tightening around his bicep, pulling him away from the shouting voices. “You’re overloaded,” Jazz groaned. “Shit, Devin, you’re --”
Useless. He was fucking useless as the first soldier rounded on them from another entry point in the hallway, her weapon aimed at Devin. He had no time to react, his eyes widening just as he felt something solid push him out of the way, gunfire ricocheting in his ears and off the wall.
They were in a room, the door wide open and Devin collapsed the hallway underneath the soldier’s feet; pushed the weapon out of her hands even though he could no longer see her and snapped it in half. He was vaguely aware of Jazz pressed against him, his breathing uneven and his face paler than usual, blue eyes clouded over with something.
He felt his shirt dampen -- felt the way Jazz’s body trembled against him and how tightly Jazz held onto him, but with only one hand. “S-Shit,” Jazz whimpered, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “We need -- we need to go, and I don’t think I can --”
Walk, Devin heard, and his stomach crashed to the floor just as Jazz’s grip on him slackened, his knees buckling just as Devin caught him.
He had Jazz on his back in seconds, Jazz’s arms loosely draped over his shoulders, Jazz’s face buried against the back of his neck. He could feel something warm seep into his shirt, focused on stemming the flow of it while also darting his way through hallways, his footsteps far too loud in his own ears.
“I’m slowing you down,” Jazz gasped against his neck, his elbows pressing into Devin’s shoulders. “Devin, I’m -- put me down…”
“Can’t walk, dude,” Devin argued, his voice strangled as his attention was split in several places. The exit was so close. They could get out of here. They could get to safety. Get Jazz to safety.
“I can.” But the way Jazz’s voice cracked as he spoke betrayed him. “Just -- you need -- your strength to -- to get out of here, and I’m --”
“Not fucking leaving you behind.” The exit. He could see it. He didn’t sense anyone else there, and --
Dry desert air greeted them, the sun still lingering over the horizon. He could feel the soldiers; feel the Manips. Close, but still far enough behind. Maybe they’d given up -- maybe he could make it to his car without drawing attention to themselves. Might have to let Jazz walk, after all, and --
“M-My car’s closer,” Jazz whispered, his grip going slack on Devin’s shoulders. “Put me the fuck down. I can walk.”
Devin did as he was told, crouching down just enough for Jazz to put his feet to the ground. Jazz leaned against the wall behind him; Devin moved away from him and placed his hands on the door. He had to seal it. Make it look like just another wall, something the soldiers would overlook. The Manips had drifted away, their presences growing distant as Devin focused what energy he could on doing just that, the door shifting and changing under his hands.
“Everyone’s in the -- the other building,” Jazz coughed beside him once Devin pulled his hands away from the wall. He lurched forward, one arm draped over his stomach, the other hanging uselessly at his side. Devin saw red staining Jazz’s loose fingers; the darkening of his shirt underneath the other. “You bought them -- enough time…”
“Stop talking,” Devin ordered, moving back over to Jazz. “Gonna make yourself pass out.”
Jazz laughed at that, the sound pained and choked. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing his back flat against the wall. “Know we’re not -- that we’re not safe yet, but…”
Devin shook his head, took his time to secure their little alcove, which he knew was out of sight -- he had designed the exit strategy, had rehearsed it with Jazz multiple times, built the extra hallways they had fled down. The less he used his powers, the less the other Manips could sense him, and now --
Now his focus was on Jazz.
“Safe here for now,” Devin said. “Can wait it out here. Not gonna find us -- promise.”
Jazz nodded, and Devin could feel the tremble in Jazz’s legs; how their strength threatened to give out. Jazz’s eyes focused on some point beyond him, his breathing uneven as he clutched at his side. “Fucking hurts,” he whined, his face tinging pink. He slid down the wall, and Devin caught him, eased him down to the ground so that Jazz was sitting and he was kneeling beside him.
“I can tell,” Devin said, brushing his long hair out of his eyes. He grimaced at the grime present in it; how it stuck to his own red-stained fingers. Without asking, he pressed his fingers against Jazz’s stomach and closed his eyes. Healing had never been his strong suit. Slowing the bleed, keeping them alive and holding on --
Jazz turned to him, then, blue eyes wide but clear. “Don’t,” he said. He pulled his hand away from his stomach, reaching for Devin. “You don’t -- have an Adept, and I -- I’m --”
Devin blocked the rest of it, Jazz’s lips moving but the words refusing to register. He knew just how much blood Jazz had lost; how much he was continuing to lose. He knew how much of a charge he’d need just to make Jazz stable enough to get him to a doctor -- a surgeon, one like Jazz’s husband back in the Alban Empire, and --
“Devin.” Devin’s eyes burned as they met Jazz’s gaze. As Jazz’s fingers brushed his cheek. “It hurts.”
“I can’t.” Devin shook his head. “Dude, no, I can’t --”
“You need to get out of here,” Jazz insisted. “Wes -- you gotta protect Wes. And Calla. You can’t -- you’re just…”
Prolonging the inevitable he heard despite his best efforts not to, Jazz’s eyes never leaving his even as he couldn’t get the words past his own lips
"I know you heard me," Jazz managed after a moment, the clarity in his eyes fading as his brow furrowed. "Devin, please. Just -- I'm not gonna --"
"Don't know that, dude," Devin growled, pulling Jazz's hand away from his cheek. He sniffed and ignored the heaviness in his chest; the way his stomach twisted in his throat. "Can still get you to a doctor."
"No," Jazz said with a jerk of his head. "Can't -- risk it. I know you're -- that you're trying to -- to stop the bleeding, but --" Jazz's brows knit together again. "It's only -- making it worse."
His breathing grew heavy and uneven, his heart rate erratic. It hurts, Devin's mind repeated.
With a desperate whine, Devin pushed himself away from the ground -- away from Jazz. He paced in the small, protected space, raking sticky fingers through mussed up hair. Tears rolled down his face and his stomach flipped. "I can't," he repeated as he jerked to a stop.
"Please."
Those blue eyes faded, then refocused, following Devin's every move. But Devin could feel the loss of blood pressure; the way Jazz's body begged for mercy.
He steeled himself, scrubbing his tears away with the palm of his hand, no doubt smearing Jazz's blood on his face. He knelt down beside Jazz again. "Want me to make it quicker? Might --" He gulped, the words tangling on his tongue at first. "Might take a little while if I don't."
Jazz's eyes widened and he bit his lip, turning his head away from Devin. The back of his head thumped against the wall as he struggled for breath. Devin had dropped his focus just enough to let Jazz’s wounds bleed freely; the lack of mental focus heightened the pained expression on Jazz’s face.
“Yes.” The word was breathed, heavy and choked. He hung his head, teeth gritting together as his body slumped against the wall. “Please.”
Devin nodded, his heart pounding in his ears. Without thinking, he moved closer to Jazz, straddling his legs and cradling Jazz’s face in his hands. Jazz’s eyes flew open, an odd, stifled noise escaping hm. “Your face,” he said. “It’s -- still all wrong.”
Blinking, Devin pulled back from Jazz some before he remembered that he had used his powers to alter his appearance -- just enough so that he wouldn’t be recognized by anyone who knew him. Keeping up the facade had grown effortless; something he no longer had to think about. Closing his eyes, he felt his facial structure shift back into its proper form. Felt the way Jazz’s body relaxed under his.
“That’s -- better…” Jazz managed, his bloodied hand cupping Devin’s cheek. Devin didn’t open his eyes, just relished in the small caress. “I love you.”
He choked back a sob, leaning into the soft touch of Jazz’s fingers. “Love you too.”
“You’ll be okay,” Jazz said, his voice quiet and distant and filled with gravel. He cleared his throat. “Promise me you’ll -- be okay…”
“Can’t promise you that,” Devin said, the words leaving him in a rush. He opened his eyes and leaned forward, his hands still holding Jazz’s head up. He could feel Jazz’s weak pulse under his fingers; how it struggled to keep going.
Jazz snorted at that and gave a slight shake of his head. “Should’ve listened to you,” he said, his eyes not wavering from Devin’s. “Maybe then I wouldn’t -- be asking you to…” He trailed off, his hand falling away from Devin’s face as he looked away from him, his eyes closing once again. “Will it hurt?”
Devin shook his head. “No.” A tremor worked its way through his body and he closed his eyes. “Want me to tell Savin anything?”
“You -- know what to tell him…” Jazz managed a slight, tearful smile. “Tell him I -- wasn’t in pain. That you -- made sure I wasn’t. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Silence overtook them both, Jazz’s pulse still wild under Devin’s fingers. He didn’t want to admit that he kept making sure Jazz’s brain was getting enough blood, what little of it was left to circulate Jazz’s vascular system, and --
“You ready?” Devin asked, the words horrible and rough and frightening to his own ears. He knew just where to cut off the blood flow; how to make it quick and as painless as possible. They’d trained him for this, back in the Program. He sensed the right spot and held his breath as Jazz’s eyes met his once again.
“Yes.”
Devin nodded and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Jazz’s. He tasted blood and ignored it. Felt Jazz kiss back and focused on that instead as he tore that one spot wide open, Jazz’s breath coming to a choked stop and his body going slack under Devin’s.
“Sweet dreams, dude,” he whispered as he pulled away from him, his hands falling to his sides. He stared at Jazz’s face, a sob wracking his body.
He couldn’t see any trace of pain in Jazz’s frozen expression -- just relief.