Archive of Our Own ^beta

Welt is jolted awake by a hit on his door.

His brain goes from peaceful sleep to high alert that forces him to be ready to deflect an attack if that’s needed, but the transition leaves him feeling slightly disoriented, with his heart ready to jump out of his chest and his eyes forced to adapt at lightning seed to look for the attacker, but after several seconds he finds none and so, he reaches for his glasses.

Nothing looks wrong.

It’s still dark outside, there’s no natural light coming from the closed curtains, only the light coming from the street lamp right outside of his window slips through the crack but nothing else. A glance to the clock confirms it’s been just a couple of hours since they said goodnight and went to their room and a more detailed check of his room after turning the light on shows there is nothing out of the ordinary.

But he heard the noise, he’s sure of it.

As much as there’s nightmares every now and then, he is more than capable of distinguishing between what comes from a dream and what comes from reality and that hit clearly came from this very real world, so despite still wearing what he wears for sleeping, he pushes the door open and looks outside, still cautious enough expecting to be attacked but only feeling more confused as he finds nothing.

At first glance, the corridor is still empty, with doors closed and not even noise coming from inside any of the rooms. The tall tables lined at the side with decorative pots also look the same, with nothing out or place or near enough to be guilty for the clear hit that woke him up. Welt truly is starting to reconsider being sure about being capable of distinguishing both things when he sees it.

A single white feather.

It’s near the edge of the carpet adorning the corridor, pressed against the wall with nothing that makes it look abnormal, but something inside Welt drops.

Sunday.

He reaches for his cane and phone before he’s rushing down the corridor, his mind working as fast as it can as he follows the path that leads towards the emergency exit rather than using the main one. His heart is back on his throat, beating as fast as it can while a million things go through his mind, making his hand tremble as he taps at the screen to send a message to the group chat so they wake up and check on what he needs to know, though, he doesn’t need it.

“Stop and don’t try to do anything.”

It’s easy to freeze the fleeting figure as soon as he spots it, Welt can barely see him due the dim light, but his keeps the suspect in place, allowing him to have the situation under control as he approaches him, making sure to stay alert in order to avoid an unpleasant surprise.

“Were you the one who hit my door?” he asks. “Were you expecting me to be just another normal customer you could rob?”

It doesn’t really sit right with him to go for that theory, if his intention was robbing him, then he would have remained inside, hidden in the right place to surprise him and push him back inside so he can ransack the room once he’s neutralised, but there are many theories and going one at a time is more reasonable, he only needs the other to get here and—

“You release him. Now.”

Welt’s neck seems to crack when he snaps his head to the side at hearing the new voice, his eyes widening when he finds another man emerging from the shadows, dragging someone else. Someone who seems to be struggling to walk and who has a sack over his head.

He immediately knows who that is.

“Let go of him.”

A very unique kind of anger flares up his body when the sack is removed and Welt sees Sunday flinching at the sudden light that burns his eyes, though, he’s not even allowed to do much more than that before his head is yanked back by a painful grip on his hair and the edge of a blade is pressed against his throat.

“I’ll slit his throat,” the man threatens, further yanking the Halovian’s head back, forcing him to let out a pained hiss.

“Think what you are doing,” he says. “This won’t end well for you two.”

“I doubt you’re faster than me when I just need to make the smallest of movements to end him,” he says, undisturbed. “The sum is better if he’s alive, but he’s equally profitable if dead.”

Welt sees Sunday closing his eyes, his throat barely moving as he swallows, surely feeling the edge press closer.

The previously frozen man laughs when he releases him, returning to his partner in crime with a smile that seems to say he is sure they will win. “So he’s smart.”

“Appears to be at least,” the other replies, still holding Sunday. “I suggest you walk back into the hotel and go back to sleep.”

“I’m not letting you walk away with it.”

“I don’t remember asking for your permission,” he hisses, Sunday’s eyes squeeze further when the edge presses more against him. “We are taking him.”

Sunday fits with them much more than what he believes.

He’s troubled by his past like Dan Heng, struggles with who he truly is like March but tries to move forward despite that like Stelle. Ever since he boarded the train as a temporary passenger and everyone worked on understanding him beyond the enemy he was back in Penacony, they got used to his presence almost as easily as they had adapted to Stelle’s.

He is calm, silent, like Dan Heng, but indulges every now and then in the activities proposed by the other two young ones. He never says no whenever Himeko suggests experimenting in the kitchen and likes listening to Welt, seeking his guidance as he works on learning how to be a human who lives in the real world instead of a dream. Just recently, they had all gathered to talk about offering him to stay permanently with them because of how right it felt to have him around.

And then this happened.

“Mr Yang, he isn’t there, his door was open and—”

March stops abruptly, her eyes widening when she sees the nightmare-inducing picture in front of her. Behind her, Dan Heng and Stelle freeze as well, shocked and horrified by what they are seeing, though, he sees the way anger is quick to fill those same eyes.

“What is the meaning of this?” Dan Heng asks, barely keeping himself from further moving at noting the now agitated state they are with their arrival. “Don’t be foolish.”

“Clearly, you all are the foolish ones!” he says, Welt can see him further pulling at his hair, some poor feathers caught as well. “You truly want him to die, don’t you? You called for backup!”

Welt didn’t, technically. The last message he sent was asking them to check on Sunday’s room but it’s obvious they followed his phone’s location at suspecting something was amiss once they found the state of the room. He, of course knows not in a million years they imagined they would find a bound and gagged Sunday held by an unknown person with a knife pressing against his throat.

“We came on our own,” Dan Heng answers, still cautious. “You’re outnumbered, think this through.”

“You won’t be faster than me.”

He sees realisation dawning on them in the same way it did on him, their expertise in combat allowing them to see it’s not outright impossible to save Sunday but the chances of succeeding are very slim, especially when they are already agitated and prone to making some uncontrolled movement that will end in tragedy.

So Welt also sees the way anger mixes with the panic, Stelle and Dan Heng are holding her bat and spear so tightly their knuckles have turned white and March is biting her lip while glaring at the one holding Sunday, though, the pain in her eyes when he looks at Sunday can barely be hidden.

“If you don’t want to carry with his death, then you will return to the hotel and remain there,” the man says when the silence extends. “If you behave, then maybe we will share a couple of cents from the reward with you.”

Anger grows, spikes that feel like physical weapons ready to stab into them but that ultimately do nothing other than feed into the smugness those two despicable beings feel.

“You will hear about him again,” they continue. “His execution will surely reach everywhere, after managing to escape for so long, getting him will be celebrated and documented in the front page for every single planet.”

Anger unleashes another wave that presses more against Welt, one that makes him wonder how their weapons are still in one piece. The three young ones look ready to risk it all, with a very characteristic glare that would intimidate anyone who isn’t feeling unreachable and as if nothing is capable of taking from them that advantage.

But then he looks at Sunday and it feels as if someone has punched him in the stomach.

Those golden eyes show fear, the kind that would make those who haven’t faced anything too extreme tremble and maybe even cry. The blooming bruise on the side of his jaw, the way the piece of cloth pulled between his teeth has already rubbed raw the corner of his mouth and the knife still pressed against the delicate skin already creates a picture no one would ever want to see, but then he pays more attention and he sees it:

Defeat.

It’s not that he’s happy to see death closing over him, not that he is trying to cause it, it’s jut that he knows is inevitable and there’s nothing he can do about it. What’s worse, however, is seeing how it still manages to torture him and a quick glance tells him they too notice it.

“You’re going to pay for what you are doing.”

It’s in the moment that the man argues back that Dan Heng moves.

When he uses that special kind of dash his Vidyadhara nature gives to him and that allows his body to phase through a couple of things to reaper in a more advantaged point, Welt uses his power to capture the hand holding the knife and March shoots an arrow at the feet of the other, sending a clunk of ice that wraps around the other.

He shouldn’t but there’s something very satisfying in the crack Stelle’s bat makes when making contact with the one who injured Sunday more.

“He’s hurt!” March’s yell, however, snaps him out of it.

Sunday has collapsed into Dan Heng’s arms, his body trembling as the other tries to keep him from falling the floor, but they wouldn’t be worried about it, shock does that to people, but there is blood on his neck.

“You’re alright,” he says when he manages to find his voice, helping both to rest on the floor and reaching to press against the still bleeding wound. “You’re safe now.”

The quiet cry of pain Sunday lets out when March manages to remove the gag and Stelle works on freeing his arms breaks his heart, but he tries to cling to the fact that he doesn’t seem to be chocking on anything, using it to tell himself the cut isn’t too deep, that Sunday is going to be alright, even when those golden eyes seem to say he’s slipping away.

“Let’s look for Miss Natasha.”

It’s, thankfully, not hard to find her. The small commotion drew the attention of the right people and given the reputation the trio has in the Underworld, the criminals are quickly apprehended and taken care of while they are guided to the clinic where Natasha herself receives them and starts working on Sunday who is still trembling.

From where they are asked to wait, Welt can see she’s complete professionalism and genuine concern. Her hands move efficiently and carefully, her serious expression far from being the gentle smile she always has, but Welt finds a bit more comfort in it, as odd as it sounds, and so finally decides to finally inform Himeko of what just happened.

She’s distraught, as expected, asking for every single detail and how it could happen and he understands. They came to Belobog to help old friends with some minor things that didn’t really represent any kind of threat or even problem. Welt is here just because he wanted to see how they were doing after some more time has passed since they removed the Stellaron and Sunday mentioned he would like to see it, too.

He’s sure no one imagined this could happen.

“He’s going to be alright,” Natasha says, smiling softly at the collective sigh of relief. “The cut wasn’t too deep, the bruises on his face and stomach don’t present a real threat either, he will just need time to recover.”

“Thank the Aeons,” March sighs, leaning against the table. “I thought… It looked really bad.”

“Injuries in that area tend to bleed a lot, but there was no damage to the important parts, ” she explains. “I gave him some painkillers that will surely help him sleep, but I believe it would be best if you talk to him before he falls asleep.”

They agree immediately, with March and Stelle barreling into the room the other is in while Welt and Dan Heng stay behind so Natasha can give them everything they will need to keep in mind to ensure his recovery goes smoothly, with Dan Heng going immediately going out to buy the medicines while Welt sends Himeko the good news hoping that will help her feel better.

“Sunday, is good to see you alright.”

There’s relief filling those eyes when both Welt and Dan Heng walk in, Sunday even pushes himself up to sit a bit better as he finds himself surrounded by everyone, but it’s short-lived. Welt sees his expression falling slightly as he looks down at his bandaged wrists.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “I apologise I have disturbed your sleep.”

“What are you talking about?!” March argues. “I don’t even want to imagine how it would have been to wake up and not find you there!”

It’s a thought they all dislike and Sunday barely holds back a shudder as he nods. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

“No need, we told you we take care of each other,” Stelle hums.

Sunday somehow sinks a bit lower.

“Thank you…”

“Head back to the hotel, I’ll stay with him for the night,” Welt says when it also becomes evident for them how the other isn’t feeling that well. “He needs to rest and you too.”

It’s not something they aren’t that eager to follow, but they are mature and sensitive enough to understand the reason behind it, and so, Welt sees them moving closer to pat him on the shoulder and give a couple of encouraging words, promising better things when they return to the train and they can leave this behind, for a while at least.

“You’re also tired, Mr Yang…”

“It won’t be the first or last time I have done something like this,” he says with a hum, arranging the bottles on the table. “You need to rest after the traumatic experience.”

Sunday looks down again, his hand gripping the blanket covering his legs with a mix of anger and fear shining beneath the sense of normality he’s trying to put up.

“I don’t know how I managed to kick your door…”

His hands hover over the bottles he was moving, his back still turned to the other but his head raising so he knows he’s listening and wishes to continue hearing what he has to say.

“I don’t even know how they slipped inside my room,” he adds, sounding angry. “They were suddenly on me and… I couldn’t see anything, could barely breathe after they punched me but I… I kicked and it was your door.”

“You were very smart, used what you had at your disposal to find help,” he praises him, turning slowly to look at him. “March said it, the only thing you would have left behind is a messy room.”

“It was a matter of time before they came,” he says and Welt turns fully to look at him. “I have seen the prize put on me.”

“It’s that why you accepted death?”

Sunday’s head snaps up at him, golden eyes blown wide as he opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something before closing it again, hand gripping the blanket more. “How…”

“I could see it,” he explains. “I have probably seen all the emotions appear in someone’s face and even when you hid it very well, I could see it.”

Sunday’s eyes seem to glaze over when he looks to the side, unshed tears starting to gather in the corner of them as he shifts to cross his arms over his chest, his wings fluttering weakly. “I’m living a borrowed life.”

“What are you—”

“It’s because of Robin that I was saved from that execution cell, it’s because you accepted me that I had another chance, that I could leave Penacony, but for a lot, I’m still a criminal,” he continues quietly. “No one outside of a handful of individuals care about what I want or what I’m looking for and this leaves it clear, it’s a matter of time before it catches up to me.”

His hand comes to rest against the bandage wrapped around his neck and combined with the bruises on his face and bandaged wrists, Welt can see the kind of vulnerability no one really likes to show but that, at the end of the day, is impossible to hide. He remembers seeing it in Dan Heng, in March, even in Stelle.

“You are a Nameless, Sunday,” he says, those eyes snap up to him again. “We protect and help each other, we’re not abandoning you.”

“But I’m not…” he starts but stops as the words seem to sink even more. “Really?”

“I’m sure they won’t appreciate I revealed it before, but they will understand,” he hums. “For now, you need to rest, we can discuss it better tomorrow when we’re back at the train.”

Sunday nods, rubbing harshly at his eyes to get rid of the tears.

And the small smile is everything Welt needs to know it was the right thing.