What about Wash? Wash should be running. He didn't have his armor, he didn't have his gun, no one had any clue as to what kinda magic he had- if he had magic, and he was a soldier. Soldiers knew when to stand and when to fall back-
Didn't they? He couldn't spare a look over his shoulder but the yell'n from Greg and the frustrated struggling of Casey told him that no. Wash was not, in fact, doing the rational, reasonable, MILITANT thing and fall'n back. He was hold'n the line to what? Buy time? He was in goddamn JOGGING SHOES for christ's sake! What the hell was he gonna do to the Nox, bullrush 'em? Stupid self sacrificial blondes that kept mak'n his life hell. Stupid kids that kept strugg'n against his grip and mak'n him slip. Stupid goddamn Nox that screamed in the back of his head and made it hard to focus.
Get gone. Get 'em home. Get 'em safe.
It'd be simpler if his lizard brain wasn't screaming bloody, terrified murder. He hadn't tried this kind of sprint while carr'n another body in well over a year. He sure as hell never tried it while also keep'n a struggl'n body safely away from the fight with the power of his MIND. Somth'n had to give.
Unfortunately, it was his knee. Or ankle. Or something. Something slid and something went sideways and maybe he didn't keep his legs as straight as he should- but a good fifteen, twenty feet away from the fight he lost hold of Casey- but had enough sense to simply let go instead of accidentally flig'n the kid into the pavement. He and Greg didn't get that luxury. He tried us'n his will to catch him but it only really softened the blow on Greg, he twisted and landed hard on his side. No heads cracked, no limbs busted- just. Exhausted and terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought.
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Didn't they? He couldn't spare a look over his shoulder but the yell'n from Greg and the frustrated struggling of Casey told him that no. Wash was not, in fact, doing the rational, reasonable, MILITANT thing and fall'n back. He was hold'n the line to what? Buy time? He was in goddamn JOGGING SHOES for christ's sake! What the hell was he gonna do to the Nox, bullrush 'em? Stupid self sacrificial blondes that kept mak'n his life hell. Stupid kids that kept strugg'n against his grip and mak'n him slip. Stupid goddamn Nox that screamed in the back of his head and made it hard to focus.
Get gone. Get 'em home. Get 'em safe.
It'd be simpler if his lizard brain wasn't screaming bloody, terrified murder. He hadn't tried this kind of sprint while carr'n another body in well over a year. He sure as hell never tried it while also keep'n a struggl'n body safely away from the fight with the power of his MIND. Somth'n had to give.
Unfortunately, it was his knee. Or ankle. Or something. Something slid and something went sideways and maybe he didn't keep his legs as straight as he should- but a good fifteen, twenty feet away from the fight he lost hold of Casey- but had enough sense to simply let go instead of accidentally flig'n the kid into the pavement. He and Greg didn't get that luxury. He tried us'n his will to catch him but it only really softened the blow on Greg, he twisted and landed hard on his side. No heads cracked, no limbs busted- just. Exhausted and terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought.