Chapter Text
༺Chapter 14༻
“Almost there.”
David’s voice pulled Dwight from his exhausted trance, his gaze previously fixed on the forest floor passing beneath his feet. The dense canopy above cast shifting shadows, but through the trees ahead, he could see the flickering glow of a campfire. The sight brought a wave of relief, easing the persistent ache in his side into a more manageable throb. David adjusted his hold, the arm around Dwight’s waist tightening, providing sturdy support. Dwight’s arm, draped over David’s shoulders, was surely heavy, but he tiredly appreciated the steadfast support amidst the swirling darkness in his head.
They had walked in silence since leaving the trial, the quiet punctuated only by rustling leaves and their breathing. David’s voice, a low rumble, broke through the stillness, almost startling Dwight.
“Still with me?”
Admittedly, Dwight didn’t have the strength to answer just yet. He offered only a meek nod, letting his head hang for a moment. His mind was focused solely on keeping his feet moving, silently begging for the distance between them and the campfire to close before exhaustion overtook him.
Just one foot after the other. That was all he could think about, because if he let his mind wander too far...
A few seconds later, they breached the clearing, both men stepping into the area surrounding the campfire. The area was empty, save for the two of them. David wasted no time, guiding Dwight toward the nearest log and carefully helping him lower himself to sit. The log provided a small reprieve for Dwight’s aching legs, though he flinched slightly as the sudden loss of support nearly sent him tumbling backward. David reacted swiftly, steadying him by his shoulders, and the touch seemed to help Dwight find his voice.
“I’m okay,” he said quietly, noting the larger man crouching before him and tilting his head to examine the bloodied patch under Dwight’s ribs. “It’s already healing."
David pulled back with a small frown, his dark brown eyes flicking upward to scrutinize Dwight. As soon as David met his empty stare, the rugged man’s expression shifted. Weariness settled into his face, and he swiped a hand across his nose before nodding and leaning a forearm over his knee. His head hung for a thoughtful, sighing moment, as if he were steeling himself to tackle some sort of difficult task. Dwight watched him in mild confusion, tiredly wondering why David suddenly seemed so hesitant.
“Dwight…” His voice held an uncharacteristic and almost tentative softness, as if preparing for an attempt at comfort.
Instantly, the hollowness in Dwight's chest surged to fill at the slightest hint of reassurance, and every emotion he’d kept at bay came rushing back in, both devastating and horrifying in its wake. Unexpectedly, a dam cracked at that one simple word, and Dwight nearly recoiled from the man, shaking his head vehemently and raising a pleading hand for him to stop.
“David, really, I’m—”
But before he could finish, David cut in, raising a sharp hand.
“No, you’re not,” he spoke, his voice firm yet gentle. “And you don’t have to pretend like you are.”
Words failed Dwight now, constricted in his chest and choked by his tightening throat. The pain of loss gnawed at him stronger than ever, and he could only stare back at the man in front of him. He really wished they had merely sat in silence, not uttered a word about the terrible murder of one of his only friends, because now his heart was picking up speed in his chest, his mind reliving the moment all over again. The sounds of that horrific trial played in his brain like a disturbing echo.
He opened his mouth to speak again, and it took a few tries before he managed to quietly utter a reply
“I’m fine,” he insisted again, "Really, I’m fi—”
It was a bitter, terrible lie, and his throat locked up at the very notion of it. His blood quickened, pounding in his ears like a drum. He didn’t think, couldn’t think—the only thing he could control was to move. As soon as the thought struck him, Dwight abruptly stood, and David immediately got to his feet as well, taking a surprised step back. Without a single word, Dwight turned and walked straight into the woods, dead leaves crunching under his shoes.
David watched with a grim expression as he vanished into the tree line, his silhouette swallowed by the darkness of the forest.
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Dwight's hands trembled as he submerged his glasses into the stream of water once more, a futile attempt to rid them of the stubborn blend of blood and dirt ingrained in the cracks. His compromised eyesight had caused him to step unwittingly far before he'd stumbled over a slick rock, clumsily catching himself on a knee, the water's edge soaking his pants. The cold water bit into his skin, sending a shiver down his spine, and it did little to ease the panic building inside him.
It was bad enough he’d lost Claudette, but his vision too?
As he lifted the glasses to inspect them, the world around him blurred into a twisted canvas of shadows and shapes. The dense forest, already a labyrinth of uncertainty, now appeared even more menacing, veiled behind a murky haze. If the fog rolled in again, he'd be utterly lost. The darkness of the trials often matched the dimness of his surroundings, if not surpassing it, and the cracked, distorted image his lens now provided would likely only lead to his demise.
How could he survive the trials if he couldn’t see?
His thumb, moving in rhythmic circles over the fractured frames in an attempt to clean them, gradually came to a slow halt.
What was the use anyway?
No amount of cleaning or repairs would alter the inevitable. Because eventually, at some point, he’d end up just like Claudette. No matter how fiercely he fought, how hard he strived, or how ferociously he gnashed his teeth against the relentless struggle of death, it was inevitable. Nothing was certain, except for death. And that, far from being an escape, only perpetuated the cycle of pain, suffering, and loneliness. Sight or not, he was trapped in the cyclic nature of the realms, his fate eternally sealed by countless trials.
A whisper within him suggested surrender, the bitter allure of letting go, letting the next trial claim him. Maybe it would offer respite from the heartache, paving the way for a fresh, terrified start. Anything seemed preferable to the perpetual agony that lay ahead. A numbing flood of bleak acceptance took the place of the despair in his chest, and his anxious heartbeat slowed. Even the haunting memories of the trial, of Claudette's agonizing crawl toward freedom, failed to stir his nerves now.
Because it was all pointless.
All of it.
“...Dwight?”
David's voice cut through the silence, the sound of approaching footsteps having been a distant backdrop until he spoke. Awareness of David's presence lingered, yet Dwight's mind, awash with turmoil, struggled to grasp his surroundings until the moment his name pierced through the haze.
Attempting to respond, Dwight turned ever so slightly and opened his mouth. No sound emerged though, and he found it difficult to speak suddenly. Somewhere along the way, his glasses had slipped away, lost in the frigid water. With a resigned sigh, he plunged his hand back into the icy depths, fingers groping blindly in the water. Behind him, David approached, kneeling down at his side with a quite sigh.
"Here, mate," David's warm hand enveloped Dwight's wrist, gently guiding his searching hand from the water's chill embrace. "Take these."
Dwight peered down, the blurred outline of David's hand extending an object toward him. His wet fingers reached out tentatively, closing around the offered item. To his surprise, the familiar shape of glasses met his touch, though not quite the same as his own.
"They're a bit more square, but hopefully the right kind," David remarked, and there was a subtle note of friendly hopefulness in his voice, a delicate deviation from his usual demeanor.
Dwight remained silent, unmoving, feeling some sort of odd, bewildered shock. Gradually, his fingers moved to open the frame, raising the spectacles to his face. The realm's woods appeared before him once more, crisp and clear, though slightly out of focus compared to his previous pair—an adjustment he was sure to grow accustomed to in time.
All prior thoughts of defeat seemed silly suddenly. An even smaller part of himself was horrified at how quickly he’d given in to them, mixed with a small twinge of disappointment. Eventually, his gaze shifted up to David. Confusion, a new and welcomed emotion, settled in, and finally, Dwight found his voice.
"When..." The words, still breaking in, hesitated, prompting a change in direction when Dwight wasn’t sure how to finish them. “How did you…?"
"I, er..." David emitted a small, self-conscious chuckle, his hand rising to rub the back of his head. An air of embarrassment seemed to envelop him as his gaze momentarily dropped to the shattered glasses, compelling him to reach out and retrieve them from the water's bed. "I kinda found them in a desk drawer a few trials back. Figured I knew a bloke with shit eyesight. Thought it might be smart to have a backup. Guess it's a good thing I did."
He extended his hand again, and Dwight looked down to see his old glasses dripping with water—an earnest offering.
"Here."
Dwight realized his hand trembled as he reached for the glasses, and the moment his fingers closed around them, his vision blurred again, this time, not due to a lack of glasses.
"Hey…" David spoke, his voice too gentle for Dwight to stomach.
That was all it took for the dam to burst, and Dwight's shoulders, now as unsteady as his hands, began to shake as well. Hot tears spilled over when he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, mingling with the dirt and blood on his face.
Silently crying in front of another person should have been embarrassing, humiliating, but Dwight felt nothing of the sort. There was only the empty pit in his stomach and a hollow ache in his heart, echoing now with his own soft sobs. He squeezed his eyes tighter, shaking his head again, as if trying to escape from the overwhelming wave of emotions crashing over him. His throat tightened involuntarily, an instinctive urge to apologize, to make amends for his perceived weakness, for anything and everything that might have been his fault, including this moment right here and now.
He never got the chance. Suddenly, a hand gripped his shoulder, pulling him forward. In any other circumstance, Dwight might have frozen in surprise, but he only melted right into the warm space between David's neck and collarbone. The sobs intensified, threatening to tear him apart, but tight, strong arms enveloped him, offering a solidity almost suffocating in its strength. Dwight struggled to breathe under his gasps and sobs, warm, strong hands tracing soothing paths up and down his back. His own hands reached up and clutched tightly at the front of David's gray jacket, the earthy scent grounding him. In that moment, there were no excuses, no uttered "I'm fine's." There were only the woods, the steady rhythm of Davids heart, and the sounds of Dwight's own quiet sobs.
Gradually, his trembling form eased, and with one last shuddering breath and a sniff, Dwight grew quiet and motionless against David's chest, save for the rhythmic cadence of his occasionally sniffling breaths. The numbness seeped back in, more comfortable now that the fit had passed, devoid of the earlier despondency and replaced by exhaustion. He lingered in the warm embrace for a few quiet moments, simply resting with closed eyes, absorbing David's scent.
He had nearly forgotten he was being held until a voice gently drew him back to the world, preventing him from sinking into the moment forever.
"You alright, mate?" David whispered softly near his ear, the stubble of his jaw brushing against Dwight's brow as he tilted his chin slightly down. "Ain't falling asleep there, are you?"
Dwight chuckled, the sound empty, shaking his head against the damp spot on David's jacket with another small sniffle.
"No," he muttered weakly. "M'awake."
Now it was David's turn to chuckle, the sound a welcome relief amidst the heaviness of the moment. The arms embracing him loosened and shifted, hands moving to his shoulders and gently prying him loose.
"Good, ‘cause my knee’s getting sore like this." David's tone was light, the teasing bringing a faint smile to Dwight's lips.
Dwight couldn't bring himself to meet David's eyes as he pulled away, offering only a meek smile and a nod. He wiped his hands over his tear-streaked face, scoffing and shaking his head at his own disheveled appearance.
God, he must look terrible. He certainly felt that way.
"Hey," David interrupted, perhaps sensing the internal torment. "I don’t want to see none of that, okay? You got every right to have a breakdown. If anyone round here needs one, it's you. So don’t go beating yourself up. I ain't gonna stand for it."
Another tear welled up at his words, trailing down Dwight's cheek, but he swiftly wiped it away, determined to regain control.
"I know," he uttered quietly, turning his head away in shame to gaze somberly at the babbling creek. "It’s just… I wish I were like you. I wish I weren’t so—"
David grabbed his chin, pulling his gaze back. "You are not weak, Dwight. Ya hear me? You are one of the strongest, sharpest survivors I’ve ever met. None of what happened is your fault, you hear me?"
There weren’t words to convey the depths of Dwight's emotions in that moment, so he settled on the next best thing, which turned out to be a small, murmured, "Okay."
David released a steady sigh through his nose, withdrawing his hand and tapping a mock fist against Dwight's chin. "Atta boy. There’s a fighter in you. Don't forget it."
Dwight scoffed again, this time in embarrassed disbelief. He wasn't any of the sort, but it was sweet of David to try, even if it mostly felt like a bitter lie to cheer him up. Nevertheless, he felt grateful, if not a little bashful now.
"Thanks, David," he uttered quietly, his red eyes sheepishly flickering upwards.
David gave a small, warm smile as he nodded, his eyes far too gentle. "Anytime." His gaze shifted towards the direction of the campfire before turning back curiously. "You want to stay out here for a bit?"
Dwight shook his head. "No. We should go back."
The thought of standing was almost as exhausting as the emotional storm he'd weathered, but Dwight couldn't bear to stay by the cold of the creek any longer.
David gave him a searching look before nodding slowly. "Alright, mate. Let's get you back."
It was only then that the chill fully seeped into his awareness. His pants were soaked, the cold penetrating through him despite the numbness that still lingered. As Dwight struggled to his feet, David offered a steadying hand. "You sure you're okay to stand?"
"Yeah," Dwight replied with determination, pushing himself up with David's support. "It's freezing out here."
David helped him to his feet, and Dwight wobbled unsteadily at first. His damp pants clung to him like a second skin, chilling him to the bone and fueling his eagerness to return to the warmth. Together, they quietly made their way through the woods back to the campfire. Dwight settled in front of the fire, his back against a log, shivering slightly as he watched the flames dance before him. His mind drifted towards his hobby of taking notes after a trial, but he couldn't fathom what he would write this time around.
The sudden reminder of the item nestled against his chest halted his sluggish thoughts, freezing them in place. His hand crept towards the pocket on his shirtfront, his movement weighted with a heavy reluctance. The pocket suddenly felt a thousand times heavier, and David, who had been moving to sit on the log behind Dwight, cast an odd look at him before speaking.
"What is it?"
With a heavy heart, Dwight shifted, crossing his legs and leaning forward as he extracted the photo from his pocket.
"Nothing," he answered quietly.
Without another word, he extended his hand and released the photo into the flames, his gaze skirting away from the image. It danced briefly in the firelight before succumbing to the fire, consumed by the hungry orange glow. Dwight and David watched in silence as the photograph crumbled into ash and floating embers, the fire crackling softly as it consumed the remnants.
Despite the warmth of the flames licking at his skin, a pervasive numbness lingered within Dwight, chilling him. He drew his legs closer, wrapping his arms around them in a feeble attempt to ward off the cold. His gaze remained fixed on the flickering campfire, exhaustion weighing heavily upon him, his mind almost too weary to process the turmoil within.
Almost.
Before Dwight could spiral into the depths of his own thoughts though, he felt David's presence drawing nearer. A soft rustle of fabric reached his ears, prompting him to glance to the side. To his surprise, he found a dark shadow settling over both sides of his peripheral vision. A second later, a warm jacket was draped around his shoulders and gently adjusted.
Dwight found himself oddly stupefied by the unexpected kindness of the gesture, his gaze shifting to the side to meet David's, but the other man remained silent, his attention fixed on the dancing flames before them. The weight around his shoulders offered a small measure of comfort, and Dwight slowly turned his focus back to the flames.
They sat, side by side, both silently captivated by the warmth of the fire. Dwight's shivers gradually subsided, replaced by a lingering tire. The bright yellow flames flickered and danced, casting shifting shadows in the perpetual night. David's presence beside him was a comfort, a silent companion in his silent grief. As the fire crackled and popped, it wasn’t long before Dwight felt a heavy weariness settle over him like a thick blanket. In the embrace of David's jacket, he let his chin rest on his knee and slowly, he drifted into a dreamless slumber, the warmth of the fire cocooning them both in a fragile peace.