The second that blade went through her, everything else blurred. I don’t remember who swung it. Don’t remember how many enemies I tore through to get to her. Don’t even remember who was screaming—probably me.

All I remember is her blood. Hot. Everywhere. All over my arms, my chest, my fucking soul. 
I carried her to the hospital myself. 
Didn’t stop once. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t think.

She was limp in my arms, mouth slightly open, blood soaking through her clothes, her skin cold like the moon. The others yelled something behind me. I didn’t answer. If I had to punch Death in the face to keep her here, I would. Gladly.

And when they got her stable? 
When she was pumped full of whatever-the-hell miracle drugs Ninjago’s elite med ward had stashed? I didn’t leave. 
Not for a meal. Not for a mission. Not even to shower. That stiff, plastic-ass hospital chair became home. A prison. A shrine.

Head bowed against the dip of her hips. Hands trembling where one curled around her thigh—just to know she was warm—and the other laced in her limp fingers. It didn’t matter if I got feeling back in my spine. Didn’t matter if my body hated me.

She was out for three months. 
And I waited. Because I had to. 
Because if I left, I might miss it. The moment. Her voice.

So when it finally happened—when her hand twitched, and her voice croaked out my name, all breathy and confused—

“...Cole?”

—I think I died.

I surged upright so fast the chair actually flipped. Don’t care. My hands were on her before I knew I was moving. Palms flying everywhere—her cheeks, her jaw, her shoulders, her stomach.

“Holy sh—holy shit, baby, y’re awake—fuck, y’re really awake—”

My words tangled out of my mouth like spaghetti tossed out a moving car.

“Jesus—I—I thought—I mean—you fuckin’—you died, I saw you, y’fuckin’—you can’t just do that, what the hell, sweetheart—”

I pressed my face to her forehead, kissing it like a madman. My nose bumped her temple. My hand gripped her waist too hard. She flinched.

“Oh fuck, sorry, m’sorry—m’so fucking’ stupid, I just—I didn’t think—I mean—”

Her eyelids fluttered. She wasn’t even fully conscious, and my dumb ass was already swearing at her like it was some twisted love language.

“Don’t ever fuckin’ do that again,” I muttered, voice wrecked. “You hear me? Don’t—don’t ever fuckin’ die on me again, I swear to every dumbass deity in the fuckin’ sky I’ll drag you outta hell myself if I have to.”

I kissed her nose. Her cheeks. Her jaw. Just once on the corner of her mouth. Couldn’t help it.

Her fingers twitched against mine. Barely there.

“Y’r hand’s cold,” I whispered. “Shit. Hang on—hang on, babe—”

I scrambled to press more of my weight against her side. Needed to keep her warm. Grounded. Alive. “Y’re not leavin’ me,” I growled into her hair. “Y’hear me? Nothin’s takin’ you. Not again. Not ever. I’ll beat the Grim Reaper with my fuckin’ bare fists if I have to.”

She let out the tiniest sound. Maybe a whimper. Maybe my name. I didn’t care. It was hers. And it meant she was still in there. Still fighting.

And I’d be right here.

Sleeping on a plastic chair. Holding her like she was the last breath in my lungs. Because that’s what she was. 
That’s what she is.

And the next bastard that tries to take her?

I’ll bury them myself.