And I Ran [Closed]

[unrecovered]

Warnings: Violence! Also probably swearing.
Location: Near the warehouses
Characters: Wash, Greg, Casey, and Bones
When: About a week after Bones reemerges from the subways
Summary: The usual morning jog turns into a Nox fight, because literally everyone in this group has terrible luck.

There was something to be said for routine, especially when the rest of your life made a point of being in a constant state of upheaval. Even though Greg had moved out, and Bones had recently come from a month-long bout in the subways, Wash made sure that the morning jog still happened every day, like clockwork. It meant that, for an hour every morning, he could go as hard as he wanted, enough to get the day started and the cobwebs shaken from his brain and to let him feel like he still had some semblance of control over his situation; it also meant that he could share his cooldown with someone (though it was a full workout for Greg; he had to remind himself of that sometimes).

For the past few days, Bones and Casey had taken to joining them. They kept up, and it was good to have them around; Wash wasn't going to complain.

"Another mile or so and we'll call it good."

Comments

[jonesiseverywhere]

For Casey the world had narrowed to snapping jaws and the roar of angry blood in his ears and arms unable to stay stiff enough.

And then the world went ka-CRACK, a sound that cut straight though to his brain.

And then it went WOOMPH as the air in his lungs was forced out by what felt like all the air in the world hitting him at once.

Casey's hands were yanked upwards by the Nox getting the exact same treatment, wrenching the monster out of his hands and up into the air, shredding it in the process. He watched, wide-eyed and completely baffled. He had been so close to death and suddenly the whole situation rearranged itself so he wasn't.

He stays there on the ground, breathing hard. But as his breath comes back, it gets faster as opposed to evening out. The adrenaline rush that came every time he survived a deadly situation was kicking in, and he makes the attempt to clamor to his feet, stumbling off the pile.

"That was so cool!" What it was, he didn't know, but it was cool!

[unrecovered]

Wash was on all fours, trying to catch his breath, because maybe when that happened the world would start making sense again. He'd even settle for Freesia's level of make sense at this point. No matter which way his frenzied thoughts turned it over, everything came back to one conclusion: that was him. He'd created that wave of air. He'd done it. He finally had his magic.

Whatever relief he could've felt at that was cut short when an injured Nox looking to vent its anger slammed into his shoulder. He overbalanced, yelping in surprise, and still managed to bring an arm up, shoving his elbow into the Nox's throat. Evidently the fuckers didn't learn. He didn't have his balance, and he didn't have strength enough to provide any measure of force, so he let gravity do the work, rolling on top of the Nox and putting all his weight on his elbow. The Nox hit the pavement and, after a moment of resistance, went up in smoke. He had a moment of surprise - evidently that Nox had been more heavily damaged than he'd thought - closely followed by pain, as his elbow hit the pavement, quickly followed by his shoulder and the side of his head.

He rolled onto his back with a low moan, trying to blink away the stars popping in front of his eyes. He wasn't getting up from this; the throbbing in his head and the exhaustion settling in his bones attested to that. He hadn't wiped out this thoroughly in the middle of combat since his fight with the Meta, and he'd begun that battle on the wrong end of a literal minefield.

But there were still Nox around - injured and slowed, yes, but still a threat - and a rift not too far away. He could see from his vantage point (flat on his back in the middle of the street, great) that it was damaged, but it still had the potential to let more shadow creatures in. He couldn't stop yet.

"Bones! Casey!" he managed, loud as he could but still very short of a yell. "The rift!"

That imparted, he focused on the task at hand: staying conscious. It was proving to be a lot more difficult that he'd have liked.

[oldfashionedfutureboy]

"No, no we ain't." He mumbled, stumbling to his feet. Up. They needed to get up and get away- coupla Nox were still wandering around and that wouldn't do. Now that they weren't being swarmed, now that he could breathe he could come down from that terrified high, snap out his focus, and shove.

It gave them a little breathing room while he leaned down to help Casey and Greg back up. "Everyone whole and accounted fo-"

His head snapped up at Wash's voice for the second goddamn time in as many minuets and, well, shit. Mother fucker. Rift. Rift, rift- alright, rift. Wash down. Breathing, but down, and there was an uncomfortable pain in his arm and shoulder but right now they needed to get that damn rift closed. From this distance he couldn't do much of anything, but that didn't keep him from starting back the way he came, shoving aside any Nox that stumbled into his path.

[panspermia]

For a few seconds, things were moving in slow motion, sluggish and disjointed. At least, it felt that way inside Greg's head, brain scrambling for purchase against stimuli from every possible direction. He was still trying to process how they weren't dead. Then, more things were happening, and everything rushed back to proper speed around him. Adrenaline was pumping through and blocking out the pain, enough for him to push himself onto shaky knees and process the important details.

Wash was down. He was alive, he was okay, but he was still closest to--to the rift. Greg grit his teeth. They were still counting him out of this fight. It made sense. He was tired, and weak. He could barely stand. His magic was, overall, pretty useless.

Greg hunched over the pavement, hands flat to the earth, grimacing. Through all this, they were still looking out for him. He needed to return the favor. It might take all the had left, but he had to help.

There was a long, exhausting few seconds where nothing evidently happened. Then the cracks in the pavement started. Long, sharp thorns shoved their way into the morning light, all around the street. The largest any got was perhaps half a foot, before Greg gasped for air and went down on his elbows.

[jonesiseverywhere]

Why was just one fireball too much to ask?!

Everyone was still alive, and now they had to close the rift. That part was simple. But Wash was on his back and probably wasn't getting up, Bones was moving through the Nox like he was hurt and Greg was way too wiped to fight.

That left Casey to...do what? Follow Bones? No, no he had to get Wash out of there...no, should he protect Greg? Too many options, all of them important and urgent and immediate, and he needed an answer NOW his brain just couldn't settle on- Were those spikes?

"What th-" Greg was on the ground and now there were thorns jutting out of the pavement. Only barely long enough to impale the Nox but maybe if he-

This was Casey's element, the improvised, the spontaneous, the wild. The focus came. The answer was clear. Adrenaline filled his stomach, filled the tank, and both his hands burst into flames. He took off, skating around the field of thorns, low to the ground, hands out. The fire caught the thorns like a bunch of evil birthday candles and spread downwards.

"Bones!" He shouted as loud as he could, "Throw 'em!"

[oldfashionedfutureboy]

Wash, down. Greg? Down. Casey was still up, still mov'n so two out of four ain't all that bad- they just had the one rift and the few scragglers. Destroy the rift. Kill the Nox. Get everyone home. Like any good surgery he broke it down into simple, manageable steps. Saw what was and what needed to be, imagined the steps in between.

The rift was presenting a problem for all that he was still sprinting forward and shoving Nox into the spikes Greg provided so well. Fewer and fewer on the way down- then Casey provides the answer. He'd never done this much before- but then again he'd never hauled someone up bodily and carried them before. It didn't matter if he COULD.

It mattered that he NEEDED to. COULD he or couldn't he wasn't a question. Failure was not an option, not now. Not when the scraggly limbs of more Nox started to drip down from it. Leonard didn't think. He swung his hands down (still sorting out what physical gestures got the best results, testing was still inconclusive) much like he was grabbing weeds back and the Ranch and yanked. It felt right. It felt appropriate and the spikes cracked free of the pavement. They hovered and burned, moving forward with him as he sprinted the last few steps, twisting and hurling his arm forward as though throwing a javelin.

Or a football. That was more muscle memory, he'd never HELD a javelin before.

They spiraled, they flew, they cracked into the Rift like missiles of doom and shred it to bits, sealing it off and ending the rest of the Nox in the area.

For a moment Leonard stood, winded and aching and staring. They'd just- done what they couldn't the first day.

They'd closed a rift.

With minimal damage.

With only their magic.

"...HELL YEAH!" Clearly a fist pump was appropriate. Then again that was probably just the adrenaline.

[panspermia]

It all probably would have looked really cool, if Greg had been upright to see any of it. However, magic being as it was these days, Greg was too busy groaning softly on the ground. First fire, then getting torn up out of the earth... it didn't feel fantastic. Not fully painful, per se, but a lot of discomfort on top of everything else right now. It took away from properly relishing their victory.

Still, the sound of cheering did make it through to him, something he'd much rather hear than more battle cries or yells of pain or really anything he'd been hearing for the last minute and a half. Things were looking up, right?

Unable to move from his very heavy, very comfortable place on the ground, Greg lifted a fist weakly in celebration. "W-whoo." Groaning again, he tried to lift his head, to minimal success. "Everyone... all right? Wash...?"

[jonesiseverywhere]

It did look really cool. Casey's head was swimming, like he was drained from the top down, kind of like when he had a concussion. And just like when he had a concussion at the end of a winning hockey game, he didn't even care.

"We did it!" He skated back around to where Greg was, whooping and hollering. He figured that Bones could grab Wash while he took care of Greg. It didn't even occur to him that Wash might not be OK, because that sonic boom thing was so freakin' metal and you just can't not be OK after you do something like that.

Speaking of, Greg was going to be OK too, but...later. Eventually. Sure, right now it didn't look like he could move, but after a hand getting home and some downtime he'd be able to appreciate how rad this all was. Casey held out his hand to help Greg up.

"Dude, wicked spikes!" He was going to gush about this the whole way home.

[unrecovered]

For being injured, barely conscious, and flat on his back on the pavement, Wash was a hell of a lot better than he could have been. He blinked, trying to clear the haze from his vision, trying to focus enough to help.

No dice. He hadn't figured it would work, but still - he hated being useless.

(Except maybe he wasn't anymore, his brain reminded him sluggishly. There was a reason he was wiped out on the ground, after all.)

The rift went down in a fairly spectacular fashion, and somehow he found the energy to smile. He heard everyone chime in - they were all okay, or at least alive. Given the situation barely five minutes ago, he'd definitely take that alternative. "Good," he managed aloud, voice shaky and exhausted and barely a fraction of its normal volume. "Good."

Then he promptly passed out.