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Terry had seen it in their eyes.
What had once been shiny, and full of life, now appeared dull and exhausted.
Exhaustion, it dragged their body down in a noticeable way. Their feet scuffling across the floor, shoulders hunched and eyes taking longer and longer to open with every blink. Their body acted as though it had weights attached to every limb, as though the mere act of living was dragging them down.
He and Player weren’t close, barely interacting outside Terrys visits during their journey (he's totally not stalking them) and when they would occasionally crash at his apartment, flopping onto the floor and curling up with the blankets that Terry had provided, and if they’d occasionally awaken to the penguin shivering and they a single blanket richer, neither mentioned it.
Bringing it up would be difficult, what would he even say? When would he say it? The only time they’d meet is when the Player had been so overworked, so depleted that they couldn't go on or when they were in the process of getting to that point. Both times have them strangely irritable, if the furrow in their brow and unusually snappy tone is anything to go by.
Sure, he could just bring it up to that girl that he's seen to be hanging around them, but he's sure she's noticed, it’s impossible not to. Besides, that’d be weird to have some stranger go up to you and tell you to check in on your friend.
Its not because he’s worried she’d tell them that he requested it…
Definitely not.
Anyways, today was the first time in a month that he’s had Player in his room. He had expected the knocking at the door to be Jerry, but to his surprise a tall (by his standards) human stood in the doorway instead of his brother.
He knew better than to strike up a conversation, not that they were rude, but he understood that with the way that they were limping that their patience had been already tested, and Terrys worried- er, he believed that sarcastic comments would snap that last thread holding their sanity together and Terry didn't want to deal with that.
Waddling over to his closet, he had been stockpiling more and more blankets and pillows since Player had begun this arrangement, not because he cared but so they’d stop complaining about being cold all night, he needed his beauty sleep too.
He pulled out four large sheets and a couple pillows, throwing them over to Player, who had already found their place on the ground next to his bed and was now arranging some sort of nest-like structure on the hard-wood floor.
They nodded at them, “Thank you, Terry.” It was rare that they spoke, their voice raspy from disuse, but he didn't show his shock, knowing that if he did Player would close themselves off again. “Mhm, whatever.” Terry grumbled, ending the exchange as abruptly as it had started.
Terry watched as the swords were gently placed on the ground next to them, as they stripped themselves of their valuables. Eventually left with just a shirt, and some shorts Terry had bought. (not for player, he’d never of out of his way like that for them!) And if Terrys eyes lingered on the transparent blade, that was between him and himself only.
That blade, the ghostwalker, it… brought unpleasant memories to front, ones that Terry couldn’t seem to shake.
(they weren’t moving.
He should’ve checked if they were following, he knew they’d do something stupid. They always do. What an idiot.
Their eyes were glossy and unfocused. Their chest no longer moved, devoid of breath, of life. Their fingers were no longer twitching as they fought the urge to fidget with something, their mouth was open, a thin line of drool escaping it.
Terry doesn't remember how loud he screamed at them to wake up, or how long he did it for before he climbed the ladder and rushed to where Jerry and Kitchen wizard were. It felt like years that they were de- unconscious for.
Not dead, they weren't dead. Kitchen wizard had told him that they were just in a magic induced coma, which wasn’t much better, but at least they had a pulse.
It didn’t calm his nerves, Jerry looked frightened as Terry threatened the Kitchen Wizard to do something, anything!
please, do anything, they can’t die yet, not like this.)
The bedside lamp was turned on for them, he knew better than to leave them in the pitch black from the last incident. Terry’s beak still hurts from where they had grabbed it in an act of what they perceived as self defense.
His flipper pulled the sheets over his body as he averted his gaze to the drywall.
Closing his eyes, he pretended he doesn't have nightmares about the feeling of his flipper pressed against their cold wrist, trying to feel out a pulse, pretends that he didn't cry after he woke. He pretends that he doesn't think about the possibility that next time they won’t make it out.
Because there will be a next time, with someone as reckless as they are. Always fighting, never stopping until their neglect of their bodily needs finally catches up with them and their forced to stop, to rest for a moment.
The soft snoring coming from the bundle of blankets on the floor was usually annoyingly, but now he reveled in the sound. They were alive, they were breathing, this quest hadn't yet took their life.
It would eventually, but not now. For now he can still trace their face with his eyes, try to remember every detail so that he may never forget them when they're gone. It was inevitable, his death was written in the stars while the universe was still taking its first breaths. Terry just couldn't figure out why them.
Sometimes, he dreams of beating Shedletsky. With a bat, or his launcher, or maybe just a plain rock to really make it hurt. How inconsiderate can somebody be to send someone on such a dangerous pursuit, it may be urgent but surely there are more admins who can do it? Surely some person waltzing down the street wasn’t the only option!
Maybe he should just kill them all, all the admins, the gods. They’d all pay for the crime of hurting somebody Terry tolerated, somebody he… cared for.
Terry doesn't know when he started to care, maybe he always has. Maybe it was when they still smiled at him after every insult, never being scared away by his antagonistic personality, or maybe it was when they had gave him tix to buy Jerry ice cream, or perhaps when they had stopped at his house after the first sword, skin unusually cold and eyes a little more dead than before.
Perhaps it had been after the second, when their eyes began to shimmer an unusual green in the sunlight, or maybe it was when they woke up from their first nightmare in Terry's presence, when they grasped desperately at Terry for a solace that he didn't know how to give.
He hated it, whatever the reason, he had never truly cared for someone besides his brother. Yet now, his heart opened for another.
Unfortunately, that opened space is one fated to be left empty.
Its a feeling unlike any other he had yet to encounter, he can almost feel the hole left by a death yet to happen, he can almost see the headlights rounding the corner as he peered over the bed, glancing down at the sleeping figure.
Something was coming, somehow he knew, and he feared that Player might not be strong enough to face it.
The only thing Terry could do is try to be there, protect them, because for some reason this weasel managed to burrow their way under his skin and Terry had no idea how to get them out. So he did as he could, leaving his door open for them and stopping by the places he knew they’d be.
He would one day be left with a closet full of blankets and pillows, and a pair of shorts that would go unused. There will be a spot in his mind, forever replaying their witty remarks, the tired glances, and those damned swords.
Right now, though, their here. In Terrys shitty apartment they rest, seeking him out after ever night terror as if he were some sort of safe haven.
They’re breathing,
They have a pulse,
Its not over yet,
he still has time.