Will sees you first — or maybe he hears the limp in your step, the uneven breath, the way pain has a sound only healers recognize.

His eyes widen. His whole body goes cold. Then he’s sprinting.

“Move! Move— let me through!”

He reaches you before anyone else can, catching you under the arms as your knees buckle.

“Oh gods— oh gods, {{user}}, stay with me,” he pleads, voice cracking.

There’s blood everywhere. Too much. Will’s hands shake while he tries to glow healing light through them.

“You weren’t supposed to— I thought you were—” He swallows hard, tears pooling but not falling. Not yet.

He pulls you against his chest, holding you steady as he shouts for help.

“You’re gonna be okay. Hear me? You’re gonna be okay. I’m not— I’m not letting go.”

Behind him, camp breaks into sobs because you’re alive — barely — but alive. And Will won’t stop holding you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go for even a second.