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This is where Clancy dies.
Except, he doesn't.
For some god forsaken reason, he can still feel himself breathing. He doesn't know where he is. It's dark behind his eyelids. No thoughts, no memories, just silence.
There's hands on him, swaddling him in what feels like a weighted blanket. He melts into it, lets it overtake him. He can't help it. It's warm, and he's cold. So cold.
The hands are gone. The sound of footsteps fades. He's left all alone, but at least he isn't freezing anymore.
The Torchbearer is cold, but he doesn't care. He's running. Fast.
There's wind blowing in his ears, muffling the sound of his footsteps on concrete. He can hear each exhale of breath, each thud of his pounding heartbeat. The torch that's always in his hand isn't lit right now. He's gripping it with shaking fingers as he rushes towards the tower. The Bishop's tower. The tower that Clancy is in.
Clancy was supposed to give him a signal. He was supposed to toss a roll of yellow tape out of the window, let in unravel until it hit the ground. It was supposed to mean that the Banditos had won - that Clancy had won.
The sign never came. Torch should've known better. He should've followed Clancy up there, followed him and helped him fight. He should've ran after him sooner.
He brings the torch to his mouth and bites down on it as he grabs the stones to lift himself up. It's steep, so he doesn't look down. Not that he wants to. There isn't a single thought in his head that doesn't involve getting to Clancy as soon as possible.
When Torch finally pulls himself into the tower, he's immediately on alert. The room is dim, and he doesn't see anything at first. But the light from the window is shining directly onto something in the corner, and he squints to get a better view. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust.
That's when he sees Clancy.
He's huddled in the corner, knees to chest, shaking. There's a familiar red cloth draped over his back and pooling over his fingertips.
A robe, Torch realizes. A Bishop robe.
"Clancy," Torch says, pushing his torch into his back pocket and rushing over to aid.
Clancy is turned away from him, face in his hands. He jumps at Torch's voice, cowering in on himself.
"No," Clancy says. "No, no, no, no-" He's burying himself in the red material, voice raw and broken.
Torch falls to his knees beside him, grabbing onto the robe and trying to turn Clancy to face him.
"No, Torch, no," Clancy's repeating. He sounds like a broken record. "Please don't look at me."
Torch doesn't listen to him. He keeps pulling on the fabric, breaths coming out in loud huffs. He's in disbelief, not wanting to believe the sight in front of him. It can't be. Clancy can't be...
"Please," Clancy tries again, but Torch catches him by his wrists, pulling him to face him.
Clancy's head is ducked down, the hood of the robe concealing his face. Torch's eyes fall to his trembling hands. They're black from his fingertips to his wrists.
"No." Torch mutters, shaking.
"Torch, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Clancy's saying, trying not to break open, spilling apologies through fits of tears.
"No," Torch says again, louder. He reaches for Clancy's hood, shoving it down.
That's when he sees Clancy. Really sees Clancy.
His neck is black, and the pigment sprawls up onto his face, over his chin and nose. In a shape much like the bandanna Torch wears over the lower half of his face. Clancy looks... He looks like a Bishop.
The Torchbearer stops. "Are you-"
"You have to go," Clancy says, weakly shoving Torch away. "Please. If he knew you were in here-"
Torch lets go of Clancy's wrists, reaching out to touch the black on Clancy's cheek.
Clancy flinches, turning away. "I know you don't understand - but this. This is for the better."
Torch shakes his head, going to grab at Clancy's waist and trying to get him to stand.
"Torch, listen to me." Clancy says, fighting against his grip. "If he finds you here, he'll hurt you. You have to go, make sure the others are okay."
"Not leaving without you," Torch mutters, finally getting Clancy on his feet.
Clancy finds Torch's shoulders, gripping tight into them and holding him away. "Don't you remember what you told me? In the letter?"
Torch pauses, resting on Clancy's forearms.
"You said we must destroy them or we'll become them," Clancy says. "But what if we have to become them to destroy them?"
"No," Torch is saying immediately, shakily gripping the fabric around Clancy's elbows. "You have to come with us, you can't stay here." He's pulling on him, less fierce now.
Clancy isn't budging. "Torch," he says.
Torch shakes his head again, looking down, lip quivering.
"Josh."
"I can't lose you," Torch says, coming to a halt. He refuses to meet Clancy's eyes, looking at the limited space between them. "I can't lose you again. Not when — not when we were so close."
Clancy frowns. "This was never the end of the fight," he says. "You know that. You know there's more we have to do. Defeating Nico is just the first step."
Torch finally looks at Clancy. "Where is Nico?"
Clancy squints, almost as if looking at the Torchbearer hurts him. "That's why you have to go," he says. "He's... he's still in here."
"It was him, right?" Torch asks, hand reaching to graze the black on his cheek again. Clancy doesn't flinch away this time. "That did this?"
Clancy pauses before nodding. "It always is. You know that."
Torch's eyes soften. He cups Clancy's face in his hand, rubs circles with his thumb. He keeps looking at him, eyebrows drawn in and lips in a tight line. Clancy lets Torch hold him. He thinks briefly - just for a split second - of a future where they are free from the chains of Dema. Where Clancy is out of their control, where the only person who's allowed to touch him is the Torchbearer. He sees them, old and gray, laughing and smiling together and it's such a lovely and horrid thought that he gets sick to his stomach. It's not possible - that life. It isn't theirs to have.
"You need to go." Clancy says, although he doesn't want him to. He wants Torch to stay here with him - and what an awful thought that is. How selfish. How selfish of him to want that.
"When will I see you again?" Torch asks.
Clancy slowly shakes his head, lips pouting.
"Tyler." He pleads.
Before Clancy can respond, his knees give out. He falls into Torch's grasp, who joins him on the floor.
"Clancy — are you — what's going on? Are you okay?" Torch is trying to set him down, trying to make him stand, trying to do something to help him.
Clancy's mind spins. He can barely hear the Torchbearer anymore. His vision goes in and out - stuck between dreaming and reality. Torch is old, and then he's young, and then he's really in front of him, and then he isn't.
Clancy grabs out to anything that will hold him. He realizes it's Torch's arms, and it grounds him for a moment. He tries to speak but his tongue is stuck between his teeth.
"You — yougottago," he gets out. Torch finally gives up on trying to get him to stand, and instead cradles his head in his lap.
"Not leaving you like this," Torch replies. He fumbles with Clancy's robe, pushing it off of his shoulders. "Are you hot? Can you breathe?"
"J'sh... feel s'like..." Clancy slurs. He feels his legs start to lose feeling, his arms following suit. His body goes limp, like he can't control it, like it isn't his. He curses. "Nico's... he's..."
"He's what?" Torch asks, holding his face in his hands. He's wiping the sweat off of Clancy's forehead with his sweatshirt, massaging circles into his temples. "Tyler, I'm here, I'm not leaving y-"
Very suddenly, Torch feels the impact of a fist hit his jaw. His head falls back, hands flying off of Clancy's face.
He doesn't register anything before a second punch is thrown, hitting him square in the nose. He tumbles onto his back, away from Clancy, eyes squeezing shut and arms coming up to guard himself. The third hit he's expecting doesn't come.
Torch rises, slowly gets up on his knees. Clancy is standing now, across from him, turned away and picking back up the robe previously discarded. He watches as Clancy wordlessly slips it back on, the sleeves pooling over his black fingertips.
"Clancy," Torch rasps. "Don't do this."
Clancy doesn't say anything. He turns around, head down, the hood covering his face again.
"Don't." Torch repeats.
But then Clancy's moving towards him, fast and weirdly coordinated and he lands a kick directly in Torch's stomach. Torch coughs, hunching over to hold himself. "Fuck," he says, looking up at Clancy. "Tyler?" And then Clancy gets him again, kicks him right in the jaw and it knocks Torch backwards, knees tucking and his heels digging into his back.
He gasps for an uncertain breath, hands flying up to aid his jaw as he groans. He doesn't have much time to recover before Clancy's on top of him, hands attacking wherever they can. And Torch just fucking takes it. He lets Clancy land every punch, lets him hurt him over and over again. He couldn't imagine ever hitting back. He would never.
To have Clancy in the flesh is enough in this moment, even if he is against him. To know that he didn't die here, alone in the tower. To know that Torch got to hold him in his hand just seconds ago. Each hit proved that Clancy was real, alive, breathing... and there was nothing more that Torch wanted. Each bruise and scar that his fists would leave behind would be a memory of him. A beautiful memory. To have Clancy so close. To have Clancy's physical impacts on him for days to come was enough. To be killed by Clancy... that might just be okay. That might just be quite enough.
Torch is about to give up. He's about to let the pain overtake him. But Clancy throws a particular punch that has his hood blown off of his head. And that's when Torch sees it.
Clancy's eyes are a familiar shade of yellow. There's dried tears all over his face, and his teeth are gritted and on display. It's almost like he's trying to stop himself. His punches are getting less intense - just erratic.
This isn't Clancy he's fighting. This is Nico.
Torch is suddenly, almost unbelievably filled with a rush of adrenaline. He contemplates for a minute. And then he realizes he has nothing more to think about.
Nico is only as strong as the body he is in. And it's no surprise to either of them that Torch was always physically stronger than Clancy.
I'm sorry, Torch thinks and then he's got Clancy's wrists in one hand and he's digging his torch out of his back pocket. Clancy struggles against his grip, snarls at him and it seems so inhumane. Torch takes the stick and hits Clancy in the side of his head so hard that his body almost immediately goes limp. He falls right onto the Torchbearer's chest.
Torch throws his head back onto the concrete below them, trying to catch his breath. He's hurt - and bad, and he's knows Clancy's not in good shape either.
Torch doesn't even know if he can stand. He needs to wake Clancy up. They need to get out of here.
"Clancy," he whispers. No reply.
"Tyler," he tries.
"Baby."
Clancy's completely still in his lap, black stained lips parted and ragged breaths coming out in short puffs. Torch sits up as well as he can, cursing lowly as a pang twists in his side. He cups Clancy's jaw in his shaking hand, thumb rubbing circles into his cheek. He doesn't care if the black paint stains him. He'd rather touch Clancy and be stained forever than never hold him again.
There's a clanking noise behind him. Torch cranes his head towards the window. He watches, gratefully, as two Banditos jump in. A sigh of relief escapes him, and the weight on his shoulders dulls.
"Get Clancy out of here," he says, barely above a whisper. The Banditos look at Clancy in ease, but then another look washes over their faces. They see the paint on his hands, on his neck, over his nose. They see the red robe draping over his arms. Then Torch's bleeding face.
"Did he do this to-" One of them begins to say, a boy - Marcus. Torch interrupts him.
"You..." He says. "You heard what I said." The Banditos nod after a pause of hesitancy, reaching to lift Clancy off of Torch's lap.
The Torchbearer goes to stand, but his body feels heavy. He slumps back down, teeth gritted and head spinning.
"Torchbearer, let us help you." The other Bandito - Kens - says. She's got kind eyes, reassuring and calm.
"Clancy is the first priority," Torch replies. "Get him out first. You can come back for me."
"But-"
"Please."
Thankfully, they listen to him. They lift Clancy on their shoulders and exit carefully through the window. Torch watches them anxiously. He watches for any signs of pain on Clancy's face, but there isn't any.
Once the Banditos are out of view, Torch lets his body collapse. He lets himself lay on the cold ground, blood pouring from his skin. He lays in the feeling of worthlessness. If he had just gone sooner, he would've been able to help Clancy fight against Nico. Then they wouldn't be in this situation - Clancy never would have been seized. Neither of them would be hurt.
Torch grits his teeth, choking on a sob. He feels wet tears on his cheeks and lifts his hand to swipe them away as quickly as possible. He can't let the others find him like this. Beaten down, bloody, crying. He can't show any weakness. His eyes and his body and his skin burn. He feels set aflame.
There's a piercing creaking noise, and Torch's eyes flicker up instantly. He watches as a door that he didn't even realize was in front of him slams open. A haze escapes it, clouding around a dark figure. He can barely depict it, can barely register any color other and red. Then there's a voice.
"Torchbearer."
It's deep. Unwavering. Laced with corruption.
Nico.
"You cannot save him forever," he says.
Torch tries to get a better look at him through the fog, but to no avail. He feels muddled, head pounding and eyelids heavy.
"You can try, but you will never succeed. As long as Clancy is in my vicinity, I am able to seize him whenever I please."
Torch chokes on his own blood. He coughs, turning his head and spitting it out.
"I have broken him," Nico says. "And I will continue to break him in front of you. Over. And over again. And there is nothing you can do to stop me."
Torch is filled with anger, metal and insults laced on his tongue. He tries to push himself up with his elbows, but fails. His head falls back onto the concrete, exhausted. Pain shoots up his spine.
"And soon, Torchbearer," Nico says. "Clancy will be broken beyond repair."
Torch goes to say something, anything, but his tongue is locked between his teeth and his entire body is throbbing. He squeezes his eyes shut, weeping and gagging on his tears.
He doesn't know how long he lays there. Nico is long gone by now, he knows it. But he can't move.
His eyes remain shut as he hears two pairs of footsteps enter the tower. He feels hands at his sides, familiar voices whispering above him. He lets Marcus and Kens carry him out, lets the harsh wind from the outside hit his face and dry his tears and blood. He lets his guard down for the first time ever. He lets them carry him.
Torch doesn't know when they get back to camp. All he knows is when he opens his eyes, he's back in a tent. In the midst of his blurry vision, he sees Clancy beside him. Black paint still stains his chin. He's asleep.
By some miracle, Torch is able to lift his arm. He reaches to Clancy's hand, brushes their fingers together, and then holds him tightly.
Torch doesn't know if Clancy squeezes back, or if it's just his imagination. He falls back asleep.
Torch wakes up with a choking gasp. He's met with a chill in his spine and a pain in his side. He turns to look beside him and sees an empty cot. Sheets on. Bed made.
Clancy. Where is Clancy?
He rises immediately, standing on his weak legs. They threaten to make him fall. He winces, grabbing his side and tumbling to the tent's entrance. It's halfway open. He unzips it the rest of the way, warmth from the sun pouring onto his feeble body. He squints, letting his eyes adjust to the light.
Someone must see him, because they yell, "he's awake!" And then he's surrounded by people.
He's handed a torch. His torch. He holds it and he faces everyone and he's almost brought to tears. He's so grateful to be here with these people, his people. Their voices begin to muddle together. He scans the crowd. Clancy's not there.
"Where..." he rasps. "Where is Clancy?"
Then there's silence. The Bandito's faces all seem to fall, avoiding eye contact. There's guilt written all over them.
Torch feels a pang in his chest that strikes him right to his core.
"Where is he?" He repeats.
The Torchbearer is led to the other side of camp. The others follow closely behind, whispering and muttering amongst themselves.
Two of them pull open the flaps of a small tent, and Torch is met with a sight that makes the pain in his side numb and transfer directly into his gut. He hands his torch off to someone.
Clancy meets his eyes. He's sat at one of the corners, hands tied behind his back and clothes tattered. He's still got the black paint on his face, although it's scuffed and faded. There's lines of skin down his cheeks, tear marks.
"Torch?" Clancy rasps. His eyes are red and puffy. His lip tucks between his teeth.
"Clancy," Torch breathes, rushing over to him and bringing him into his arms. He squeezes him so tight it hurts.
“You’re - what’re…” Torch turns to the group behind him. He sees the pair that brought them out of the tower, and Kens steps forward.
“You should distance yourself,” she says, concerned, hands out and shielding herself.
"You guys - you just left him here?” Torch asks, voice breaking. “You tied him up and left him to fend for himself like some kind of dog?"
"Torchbearer, you have to understand-”
"No, I don't. I don't understand.” Torch claps back, veins popping from his neck. This isn’t like him - to lash out, to get angry. But he just can’t help it. “This is - this is Clancy. The one who's been fighting for us this entire time, and you - did you even check if he was okay? Check for any wounds or?"
"Torchbearer. He doesn't…” Kens begins. “He doesn't deserve that. He tried to kill you.”
"It wasn't him, he was seized," Torch replies. "You'd have known that if you'd just talked to him. But instead you dragged him here all by himself and you - Fuck.” He curses, which he never ever does.
“You can’t be seized alive,” the other out of the pair says. He steps in front of her, holding out his arm to protect her. As if Torch is someone to be protected from. “That’s just an excuse.”
“It’s not, it’s what happened,” Torch says. “I’m your leader, why would I lie about that?”
He never pulls the “I’m your leader” card. Ever. But how else is he supposed to get his point across? How else is he supposed to convince his people that he’s on their side?
“You’d do anything to protect him.” Marcus recoils. “Look, you’ve been unconscious for four days, Torchbearer. What else were we supposed to do with him?”
“Four days… you…” Torch begins, glancing at Clancy. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at Torch. His head is hung low in shame. “You’ve had him like this for four days? You didn’t even - you didn’t even wipe off the marks.”
“Why should we?” Kens asks, frustrated. “It’s his true form. He’s a Bishop!”
Whatever thread of self respect the Torchbearer was holding onto snaps. Breaks in half. Disappears into thin air.
“Leave,” he all but yells. “Everybody out. Right now.”
The Banditos stand motionless, unresponsive. They have this look in their eyes that makes Torch afraid of himself. They leave quietly, silently and zipping up the tent behind them.
Torch turns back to face Clancy.
“Tyler,” Josh gasps, immediately going to untie his wrists. The rope’s red indentions in his flesh are prominent. Torch wants to fucking cry.
Clancy’s hands fly up, and Torch thinks he’s going to hug him, but he pushes away.
“I’m sorry,” Clancy says. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He sinks in on himself, repeating apologies and covering his face with his hands.
“Stop it,” Torch says. He brings Clancy in close, presses his shaking head into his chest. He wraps his arms around him and holds him so snug. They fit like two fucking puzzle pieces.
“They’re right - they’re right about me,” Clancy says. “They have every right to be afraid. You should leave. Just leave me here.”
Torch shakes his head, squeezes Clancy in his grip. “Stop,” he says.
Torch thinks, how could Clancy possibly be a solitary creature when the dip of his neck and curve of his palms are almost sculpted to hold Torch’s face in them?
“You have to apologize to them,” Clancy’s saying. “They can hate me all they want but, they can’t… they can’t hate you.”
“I don’t care,” Torch replies. “Tyler, I don’t care about that.”
Clancy breaks away, meets Torch’s eyes. He’s crying like Torch has never seen him cry before. His mouth is open, black painted lips quivering and huffing quietly.
Torch’s stomach churns.
“I’m a Bishop.” Clancy says.
“I know.” Torch replies, and he buries him back in arms. His mind spins.
And soon, Torchbearer, Clancy will be broken beyond repair.