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

[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.