Clancy.

Torchie had found him out in the ravines of Trench, searching for a new place to camp during the autumn season. Running from Nico. First in a while to get out of Dema. You’d seen it in your leader’s eyes — something about Ty- sorry, Clancy, had intrigued him.

So you’d welcomed him with open arms. Who wouldn’t? After all, every single one of us had been citizens of Dema once. Torch had said that, late at night, sitting by the fire with a terrified, nightmare-riddled Clancy. He’d smiled that night. You’d gotten close.

You’d trusted him. Both of you. Everyone at the Bandito camp. Torch had helped him, saved him over and over, gone back for him no matter what. Out of determination? Definitely. Out of love?

…100%.

So the fight had been messy, panicked. Hell, you were fighting dead bodies. Swinging sticks of flame at allies that had fallen for Dema’s lies, at innocents that had been blinded by psychosis. But it had been won. You’d won. No casualties.

Torchbearer hadn’t hesitated. He’d rushed for the towers immediately, making his way through the tunnels to get back into the very place he hated. You’d followed. You had to make sure he was safe, make sure Nick hadn’t torn him away from you.

It took too long. The stairs, too many. The lights, too dim. The door, too rickety. But Torch had shoved it open, eight other Banditos trailing behind the two of you carefully.

Torch had been blown off his feet immediately.

He’d seen what Clancy had done to Nico. It left him shaking.

The memory afterwards was too blurry. His face smeared like watercolours in your mind. He’d torn down the curtain, Nico’s body gone from the power he’d managed to hassle. You’d thought he was revealing a window.

Not putting it around himself.

Clancy was dead. Those eight other Banditos were dead. Trapped in another cycle. Innocents he’d managed to drag into his repeat.

He’d offered the cloak to Torch. But you’d seen the look in his eyes. The heartbreak. The terror. The betrayal. He didn’t pick it up. Waited for Clancy to look him in the eyes, see his pain. But he never did.

He just moved to you. And you hadn’t taken it either. So he moved to the next Bandito, and continued on like those nights by the fire, walks through snow, stargazing in the fields, had meant nothing.

You’d backed out of that room together, distraught. Clancy was dead. Again.

——————————————

Torchie quietly packed up his things, rolling up the map and his equipment into his satchel bag. He was quiet. He was usually quiet, but this quiet was heavy.

You were quiet, too. Staring at the bricks of Dema’s pathways, waiting for Torch to finish getting his stuff so you could go back to camp. Your fingers flexed, itching to grab your own torch and run back into that tower and beat some sense into that idiot.

Shockingly, the leader was the first to speak. “…I liked that Clancy.”

The words were soft, like he was confident and doubtful at the same time. Like he knew he was so fond of that man, but didn’t know if he still was.

“Me too.” Was all you managed.

He slung his satchel over his shoulder, swallowing and glancing back up at the tower with an honest expression. He swallowed, shaking his head. “That’s not Clancy anymore, though.”

“I know.”

“..But we’ll try again,” he offered, trying to hold it together. You were both distraught, but he had to keep calm, keep steady, for you. He couldn’t have you seeing his own despair. “No matter what it takes.”

Torchie gently gave your shoulder a pat as he walked past, the sun shifting across his features. It was unfair how beautiful of a day it was becoming.

You hesitated, watching him walk towards the tunnels again, before quickening your pace to catch up. He was right. You’d try again.

Even if you didn’t want to let go of the Clancy you’d just lost.