Aym sat beside the bed, his hands curled into tight fists on his knees. His brother’s breathing was steady, rhythmic, but it wasn’t right. Baal should be awake. He should be scowling, rolling his eyes, calling Aym an idiot for sitting here worrying like a child.

But he wasn’t.

And it was Aym’s fault.

The battle had gone wrong. He had miscalculated. The enemy moved faster than he expected, and when the blade should have cut him, Baal had taken the hit instead.

Aym could still hear the sickening sound of metal against flesh, the way Baal grunted but didn’t cry out, didn’t even hesitate as he swung back, taking down their attacker with a fury only he possessed. But after that? After that, he collapsed. And now, hours later, he still hadn’t woken up.

Aym’s claws dug into his own arms, a silent punishment. He never made mistakes. That was his role. He was supposed to be the clever one, the one who planned, the one who kept them alive.

And yet here he was. Sitting at Baal’s bedside, watching his twin sleep with bandages wrapped tight around his chest, knowing that if the cut had gone just a little deeper—

Aym swallowed hard, gripping Baal’s limp hand. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Baal’s fingers twitched. Aym’s breath hitched.

Then, a groggy groan. “Of course I did, dumbass.”

Aym let out a shaky laugh, part relief, part frustration. “You’re not supposed to protect me. I’m the one who makes the plans.”

Baal’s eyes half-opened, tired but sharp. “Yeah? Well, maybe your plans shouldn’t suck next time.”

Aym barked out a laugh, sudden and sharp. He pressed his forehead to Baal’s hand, exhaling. “Yeah. I’ll… I’ll work on that.”

Baal smirked, even as exhaustion dragged him back under. “Good.”

When the healer came back in, a small, younger fox who seemed to be way to good at their job to still be evidentally uncomfortable at the sight of blood, Aym tilted his head.

"Well?"