Chapter Text
Present-
The warehouse was dark as the chasms, a labyrinth of storage alcoves and towers of crates. He pulled his last sphere from his pocket. Nearly dun, it cast a weak, shivering circle of light around him. He held his breath, listening carefully for some hint at his direction.
Another cough.
His head whipped to the right, to the far end of the massive building. He ran, straining his hearing as he followed the rasping hacks.
Other than the thud of his feet on stone, the place was deathly quiet. Gradually, ragged gasps began to echo through the silence. Labored. Crackling and wet. Halting, and terrifyingly familiar.
Every surgeon knew that rattle. The sound of failure. Of a battle you could no longer win.
He swallowed his panic as he reached the far wall of the warehouse, following it to a small room hidden in the corner. He found the door cracked, the breaths shuddering from within.
He threw the door open, and dropped the shardblade, nearly falling to his knees.
Adolin hung limp, his arms spread wide, chained to the wall by the wrists. His head sagged forward, his blond-black hair matted with blood and filth. He was stripped naked, with wide, violent bruises wrapped around his torso, over his leg, on his arms, everywhere. His chest heaved, fighting for each breath as though it took every shred of strength left in him. Several of his ribs lay odd angles, the broken bones jutting out painfully.
Three glyphs stained the skin over his heart a pale, bloodless gray that only carving into someone with a shardblade could create.
Worthless. Arrogant. Coward.
Kaladin's breath caught in his throat. He stumbled toward him, breath hitching as he caught sight of the growing gray stain on his flank. The shattered remains of Oathbringer lay on the floor beside him.
“Adolin…?” he whispered.
There was no answer.
He ran the last half dozen feet, cold terror flooding his limbs. His eyes raked over his restraints, trying to find a place he could cut. The chains vanished into the wall, looped through the steel encasing his hands. There was no room to fit a shardblade, not without cutting him.
“Syl… Syl help me find a way… I have to get him down…” He stammered, at a loss where to even begin.
Syl flew away, expression grim.
He reached for him, but hesitated, trying to find some part of him that wasn't bruised or bleeding. His eyes burned, fingers shaking as he carefully brushed his cheek, gently cupping his face in his hand. He lifted his head, fear a crushing weight in his chest as he found his eyes half open, his gaze unfocused. He didn't so much as stir at the touch.
“Wake up.” he said, voice shaking.
The blue eyes stared past him, vacant and empty.
“Adolin!” Kaladin barked, louder.
He grabbed his shoulder with his other hand and shook him slightly. His head rolled from his grasp, lolling forward, and Kaladin fought back a sob.
“Adolin, wake up!” he shouted. “Wake up, Storm you!”
He seized his face in both hands, far rougher, and pressed his forehead to Adolin's.
“You're supposed to be different, you're the one who stays with me, you always stayed!” he growled, brow twisted in agony as he stared into those sightless, half lidded eyes.
“Please.” He choked, tears leaving trails of fire on his cheeks.
His raked his fingers through his hair, knotting at the back of his head.
Adolin's breaths grew weaker, softer. Kaladin's pleas faded with them. He stroked his hair, hoping it brought him some last comfort. That he would know he wasn't alone.
“I'm sorry.” Kaladin whispered. “I'm sorry, I should have seen it, should have known how you felt… I should have told you…”
He closed his eyes, nuzzling his cheek softly, longing for some answer, some sign. He kissed him, achingly tender, waiting for his lips to move, to return the pressure.
But there was only cold skin. The taste of blood. Deadweight.
Kaladin pulled back, mouth half open in an agonized grimace.
Faint, pale blue Stormlight drifted from his lips.
Though only a weak whisper, Adolin drew it in.
“Kal…”
It was barely a sigh.
Kaladin froze.
Hands shaking, this time with hope and terror in equal measure, he cradled his head.
Adolin's brow furrowed, trying to force his eyes to focus.
“Kal… you…”
“I'm here.” Kaladin whispered. “I've got you. Just hang on, alright?”
Adolin's breath hitched, trying to lift his head.
“Kal, no… you… you can't-” he slurred.
Kaladin stroked his cheek.
“Syl's going to get you down, ok?” he soothed.
A clink echoed from the wall and the casing around Adolin's left hand opened, the chain falling slack. His knees buckled immediately, hanging by one arm.
Kaladin caught him, bracing him as Syl worked on the other chain.
Adolin sagged in his hold, face buried in the crook of his neck. “… please… have to… have to go…” He panted, increasingly urgent.
The second chain went slack, and Adolin slumped into his arms, cold and limp. For a few moments, Kaladin clutched him to his chest. He closed his eyes, breathing him in, unwilling to relinquish his hold quite yet.
“Run… have to…” Adolin pled, breaths speeding.
Reluctantly, Kaladin lowered him to the floor, gently laying him on the stone. He shrugged off his captain's jacket, grateful for the extra length, and covered him. He began to examine his wounds, rage overriding fear as he saw the marks of torture.
Adolin stared up at him dazedly, breaths speeding. He fumbled for his arm. Though his hand shook, his grip was surprisingly strong.
“Run, Kal. I can't… run…” He urged, frantic now.
Kaladin turned to look at him. His fury must have shown, because Adolin flinched. He forced the anger back, expression softening as he stroked his hair from his forehead.
“I'll carry you.” He soothed. “I won't let him near you again, Adolin. I swear it.”
Adolin cringed. “Not for me… please, not for me…” he begged.
Kaladin pulled aside the jacket, carefully examining the shardblade wound to his side. His brow furrowed, only half hearing him as he felt from his sternum and down, to the left, following his bottom rib.
Upper left quadrant. Likely destruction of the spleen, possible damage to the lung, stomach and large intestine.
He pressed the wound, gently palpating the cold flesh. Adolin grunted, sweat beading on his forehead. His breathing was still strained, the Harrow continuing its path of ruin deep in his lungs.
“I can't…” Adolin whispered against the pain. “I can't be the reason you die…”
He looked over at the words.
Adolin stared at him, tears spilling down his cheeks. “All I've ever done is cause you pain.” He said shakily, breath hitching.
Kaladin swallowed, heart sinking. He bent, lifting his head and shoulders and embracing him as gently as he could.
“You've caused me to feel so many things…” He said. “But never pain.”
He pulled back, kissing his forehead.
He's coming, Kaladin! Syl whispered.
He grimaced, reluctantly laying him back to the stone.
“I love you.” He whispered, pressing their foreheads together one last time. “No matter what happens next, please remember that.”
He stood, summoning Syl as a spear.
Adolin stared up at him, terrified.
“Kaladin…” He said weakly.
Kaladin turned, facing the door as a shadow fell upon them.
“Kaladin!” He tried to move, and could barely lift his arm, hand shaking.
The Windrunner spun his spear, taking a defensive stance.
Amaram charged.