Chapter Text
While Wemmbu knows about ten different ways to use a fishing rod, actually fishing is almost definitely the most boring option. It’s literally just staring at water for hours on end and hoping some stupid pebble-brained creature is foolish enough to take the bait; in other words, a cruel and unusual punishment designed specifically to torture him.
However, for reasons he can’t fathom, Egg loves it, which is why he finds himself wasting a perfectly good afternoon sitting with him on the shore of a lake, rod in hand and a bucket half-full of fish resting between them.
Wemmbu has never felt so restless, never had to sit in one spot for so long. His hands keep itching for his scabbard, the thin wood of a fishing rod familiar in his hands but alien in the way he’s using it right now.
Yet despite Wemmbu’s initial protests, as the hours crawl by, he feels himself relaxing as the two of them exchange lazy conversation, bantering half-heartedly as they watch their fishing lines wavering in the water. Restlessness from weeks of near-constant vigilance and fighting melts into something smoother– contentment, almost, the tension bleeding from his limbs as he uncoils under the afternoon sun.
Maybe Egg has a point, after all.
Wemmbu’s in the middle of rambling about the benefits of engraving weapons when Egg suddenly pushes him roughly to the side. The bucket topples over, scattering fish all over the dirt as Wemmbu falls face-first into mud.
Centimetres above his head, where his neck was just moments before, he feels more than hears an arrow whizzing past, its feather fletching brushing his cheek. Breath knocked out of his lungs, the sudden motion out of place after hours of languid rest, he’s too slow to react before a second arrow lodges itself in Egg’s shoulder.
With a yelp, the force of the shot knocks him straight down, fishing rod still clutched in his hands as he sinks into the lake with a splash.
This wouldn’t be too big of an issue – the lake’s not too deep, maybe ten metres at most – except for one key fact: Egg can’t swim.
He’d explained it to Wemmbu before, something about the fact that his wings, each the size of a door, could get so waterlogged when submerged that it was like trying to swim with an anvil strapped to your back.
So, yeah. It’s a bit of an issue.
However, before Wemmbu can even attempt to dive in, he’s forced to dodge away from the shoreline as an iron sword narrowly misses his neck.
He vaguely remembers their attacker as somebody he’d robbed a few months back. How they’d even managed to track him down was a mystery, but he doesn’t bother to think too much about it, instead trying to end them as soon as possible.
A day’s worth of stagnation has rendered his movement speed slow, or maybe it’s just his mind that’s moving too fast. As he splashes potions down, he glances to the left where he can see bubbles rising up the water, a flurry of movement as Egg desperately tries to resurface.
His grip on his sword tightens.
Wemmbu defeats the player in minutes.
It’s still far too long.
After the player falls to the ground, a stab through the chest finally ceasing their movements, Wemmbu immediately pulls off his heavy armour and shoes before diving into the lake. The surface is still, all evidence of anybody trapped beneath absent.
He swims down to Egg, who’s lying on the lakebed, eyes half-lidded as they sluggishly track Wemmbu’s movement. Circling his arms around Egg’s chest, carefully avoiding the shoulder wound, he begins to swim back up to solid ground.
Murky water swirls around them as he kicks, the fish scattering around them panickedly. It stings his eyes, forcing him to squint as he cranes his neck upwards towards the sun.
Egg wasn’t exaggerating– with both the wings, as well as his own dead body weight, they barely make it out in time before Wemmbu himself runs out of air. If not for the strength potions he’d splashed before, it would have genuinely been impossible.
Wemmbu gasps as they finally breach the surface, breath finally returning to starved lungs as he clambers onto the muddy shore. With him, he drags up Egg, whose face has gone grey, eyes slid shut, lips tinted an awful purple. His chest is terrifyingly still, pulse absent from where Wemmbu presses his fingers against his neck.
Shit.
Wasting no time, he lays Egg flat on his back and begins compressions. Egg’s torso jostles each time Wemmbu presses down, the force of the pumps pushing his body into the dirt bank. Underneath his hands, his soaked shirt is frigid, the temperature difference stark against the sweltering warmth of the day.
How long had he been underwater– five minutes? Six?
“Egg, cmon bro,” Wemmbu hisses as he pushes down. He feels something crack underneath his hands; a wave of nausea overwhelms him as Egg’s ribs give way.
Once he reaches thirty, Wemmbu leans forward and pinches Egg’s nose, forcing breath into his lungs. He watches, waits, but there is no movement.
His vision swims as he restarts compressions, mind racing. He knows humans can survive about five minutes without oxygen, but what about angel hybrids? Was he fighting a losing battle, trying to resuscitate a fucking corpse?
“Please, Egg–”
And it’s entirely Wemmbu’s fault, too. If he was stronger, he’d have noticed the arrow before Egg did. He’d have won the fight faster, been able to swim back to shore quicker. He repeats the thought like a mantra, spiralling through his head over and over and over and–
He breathes air into Egg’s lungs, watches as his chest rises once then falls still again. How many cycles has it been now?
“–you can’t leave me behind, you can’t–”
Wemmbu feels broken ribs shift beneath his weight, feels the stinging in his eyes, his clothing, cold, muggy, clinging to his body as he pushes. Egg’s wings, normally a cloud-like white, are streaked a filthy pale brown, mud and soil clumped between feathers. He’d hate that, Wemmbu thinks, vaguely.
On the right side, blood weeping from his shoulder begins to seep into the dirt, the force of the compressions displacing the arrow.
“–not like this, not like this,” he begs, sobs, prays.
Grief, cloying, sinks into his bones like a curse. He keeps pushing, keeps forcing air down waterlogged lungs, even after minutes pass, until–
Abruptly, violently, Egg jolts awake. Wemmbu immediately shifts him around, watches, terrified, as he hacks up lungfuls of lake water onto the shore, gulping air in wheezing gasps in between rounds of vomiting.
There’s nothing he can do now but wait it out, his hands steady as they hold up Egg’s shaking frame. Sheer relief overcomes him, air finally returning to his body as if in solidarity with Egg. He hadn’t even noticed he’d stopped breathing to begin with.
Finally, a lifetime later, Egg slumps to a stop.
“You good, bro?” Wemmbu asks, still rubbing circles into his shoulder, the uninjured one. He winces– the guy just almost just died and got his ribs broken, of course he isn’t okay.
Egg doesn’t answer, head bent away from Wemmbu as his whole body seems to wilt.
“Egg?”
In the silence of the afternoon, his breathing, still laboured and reedy, is all too loud. It’s definitely not meant to sound like that, but Wemmbu’s almost glad at how loud it is, reassuring him with each difficult gulp of air that Egg is still alive.
He shifts himself around so he’s facing Egg, brushing sopping white hair out of his face so he can properly see him. Blue eyes slowly take in his surroundings before they finally land on Wemmbu, blinking listlessly at him.
“...Wemmbu? What…”
Egg breaks off in a groan, one of his hands lifting from the ground to grip his chest. Every movement broadcasts waves of pain throughout his torso, fractured ribs shifting within.
“What happened?”
“...You don’t remember?” Wemmbu deadpans. He hopes he sounds less scared than he feels. He doubts he does.
Egg’s brows furrow as if deep in thought. “Somebody tried to shoot you. I fell into the lake– wait, how’d you even get me out?”
“Strength potions, bro.”
“Ohh…”
They fall back into silence as Egg regains his breath, resting against the ground as strength returns to his limbs. Wemmbu makes quick work of the injured shoulder– the wound is shallow enough that the arrow can be safely pulled out, the whole thing wrapped in some spare bandages he has lying around his inventory. The ribs will have to wait.
After enough time has passed, Egg tries to lift himself from the ground. His knees buckle the second he straightens up, and Wemmbu barely stops him from plummeting face-first into mud.
He lifts Egg’s arm over his shoulders, wrapping his own arm supportively around his waist, and tries to avoid jostling his ribs.
“Dude, I’ve actually had enough of fishing for a lifetime, from today alone,” he says, as they begin the hobbling journey back home.
“Not gonna lie, I think you’re right,” Egg chuckles faintly. “Let’s just go home.”