17. Cym

Chapter 17

Cym

A n explosion shook the ground beneath them, and Fourteen's smile turned cocky, making an impression on Cym's mind he would keep for the rest of his life.

The word MINE resonated throughout his entire being, and Cym redoubled his effort to get out of the cage.

"Please don't do that," Fourteen called over his shoulder as he threw Cym's uncle into the new people flooding through the door. "It'll be easier for me to get you out of here if you haven't collapsed from blood loss."

Grant stayed on the floor where he'd been thrown, his head lolling at an impossible angle. Fourteen was still fighting the two young men who had dragged him in, and it looked like a badly choreographed movie scene. They tried to magically throw random items from around the room at him, apparently having missed the memo about Fourteen's shield. As soon as the magically charged item got within a yard of Fourteen, it dropped to the floor, robbed of its momentum.

Fourteen would strike out at their shields and be slowed significantly. Apparently his armor could only do so much. Everywhere his shield collided with one of Cym's cousin's shields, the air would distort and time would appear to slow down.

As Cym contemplated how helpful having a nervous breakdown would be, Fourteen reached for the hem at the bottom of his jacket and appeared to tear something out of it. Cym saw a glint of metal in his hand as Fourteen made to strike one of Cym's cousins.

Instead of slowing down this time, Fourteen's hand punched through the shield and connected, tearing a line of flesh off the man's face. Cym's cousin screamed in terror—he was young enough that it was probably the first time he'd been wounded so badly in a fight. Fourteen allowed him to turn and flee from the room.

Several more explosions followed the first one, and all the Blaikes except Hester ran out of the room, glad for the excuse to leave the five mercenaries behind to stabilize the situation.

"This is getting out of control." Hester was behind Cym, tying a rope to the crate, presumably to drag him out of the garage while still keeping a safe distance.

Cym did the only thing he could think of, he grabbed Hester's arms tightly with both hands.

"Why, you little…" His monster-mother's face began to twitch as Cym held on for dear life.

As the creature twisted and screamed in his hold, he felt his body begin to heat up and the pinkness inside him flowed into Hester, much like it had with Fourteen, only a hundred times stronger. He felt incandescent as the power poured through his body, scouring away everything in its path.

If he had been able to scream he would have, but his jaw had locked tight along with the rest of his body. At this point, he couldn't have let go of Hester if he wanted to. No matter how much it burned, no matter how much his injured arm and hand complained, he was stuck tight. As the pink inferno grew to intolerable levels of pain, he realized he was about to burn to death. Hopefully, at the very least, he would take his grandmother with him.

Without warning, he felt himself detach from his body, drifting away from it until he hovered over the scene in the garage. He could still feel the magic roaring through him, but it felt distant and unimportant. Idly, he noted that his body hadn't actually caught on fire.

Wild.

He looked down at the woman trapped by his corporal body and felt the world around him change. The garage had vanished, and in its place was a cemetery on a hill overlooking a smog-covered city. What should have been a breathtaking sunset was almost completely drowned out by the smoke coming from the city below.

A horse whickered behind him quietly, and he turned to see an ornate carriage draped in black bunting coming to a stop several yards away. The driver of the carriage hopped down from his perch and opened the door of the carriage after letting down the steps. A woman, dressed in black from head to toe, held out a hand and allowed the driver to help her down.

"Leave me." Her voice was cold and imperious as she ordered the driver away.

He hesitated, worried about leaving a lady alone in a cemetery at night.

"Go!"

His lady's sharp rebuke was enough to convince him. Nodding once, he said, "As you wish, mum." Tugging his hat, he climbed back up on his perch and drove the carriage away.

Cym couldn't see the woman's face under the heavy veil she wore, but something about the way she moved was familiar.

As soon as the carriage was out of sight, the woman strode over to a large stone structure, stalked up the stairs, and with a sharp gesture, sent the heavy doors flying open.

Cym followed her inside, curious.

A second gesture caused the lanterns on the walls inside the mausoleum to burst into flames. For a time, the woman stood in the center of the room silently. Slowly her shoulders began to shake. At first, Cym thought she was crying, until a loud peal of laughter rang out from the woman's small frame.

"I finally did it." Her voice was raw with triumph. "I beat you, you bastards." Her laughter grew wild and unhinged, continuing far longer than any sane person would.

"You know, you weren't what I was expecting." A harsh, confident voice spoke from a corner of the room, halting the woman's bout of mania in its tracks. "Not at all." In the darkness, a pustulant, oozing wrongness radiated outward, filling the room. Cym recognized it as the same nightmare that had set up shop inside his mother's body in the present day.

The woman held out both hands, crackling with red fire. "I'm a match for you, nightmare. Go find someone smaller to feed on."

Laughter rolled out from the dark corner, slow and rumbling. It was a tangible thing that crawled over Cym's skin, leaving him feeling like he needed a bath.

"My sentiments exactly, my dear." Part of the shadow in the corner broke away, writhing and undulating toward the woman, growing brighter until it was the shade and consistency of bread mold. It stopped at a respectful distance. "I've been watching you, Hester. You lost much of your family in the revolt, so you should have been an easy meal for me. Nothing is more tempting, more delectable than the pain and guilt of a survivor. Imagine my surprise when there was little sustenance for me to feast upon."

On hearing the name Hester, Cym realized he had somehow managed to recreate the effect he'd experienced with Fourteen when he'd stumbled into the memory of Fourteen's past. Cym had been able to affect his surroundings there, so perhaps he could do the same here. He watched as his grandmother lowered her hands slightly, intrigued by the creature before her.

"What do you want, nightmare?"

"I want what all of my kind wants when they get to the Real, a chance to feed and grow strong without interference from the Guard." The creature spat out the word Guard like an epithet. "I desire to do more than live on the edges of society, feeding only when I am so hungry that the danger of being unmade is worth the risk. I want away from this world. It tempts me with its bounty but denies me the ability to slake my hunger."

"You want to go to the Demon Realm." Hester circled the nightmare thoughtfully, the red fire from her hands leaving trails in her wake. "What's stopping you?"

"It isn't difficult to get there, it's true, but I want more than to be a pawn or a snack for one of the lords there. When I enter the Demon Realm, I want to go there in style. I refuse to claw my way up, like the sniveling demonlings all nightmares become when they arrive. When I go there, I will go there to rule."

"Draining me won't get you the power you're looking for, nightmare. And even if it did, you wouldn't survive the encounter. I didn't get this far to die by the likes of you." The energy around Hester's hands blazed brighter.

The creature gave off the impression it was smiling, and Cym's guts felt like they were filled with worms. "Don't waste your power, my dear. You mistake my intentions. I want a partner, one ruthless enough to destroy half of her family to get what she wants. One with a desire for power equal to my own and willing to do anything to get it."

The power in Hester's hands dimmed as she took in the nightmare's words, showing only small lines of energy crackling around her knuckles. "Partner." It was a whisper on her lips.

"Why settle for ruling one family when you could be the queen of an entire realm—one even the Guard fears to enter?" The disgusting shadow closed the distance between them, reaching out a fuzzy tendril, pale and rotting, to caress Hester's face.

A wall of red fire sprang up between them before it could touch her. "How do I know this isn't a trap? You could be lying to get me to let my shield down so you can possess me."

The creature's voice lost its harshness and became smooth and seductive. "Your essence isn't what I want from you, my dear. If you are half the creature I believe you to be, killing you would be a waste. I want you to be my queen. With your help, I could rule the Demon Realm." It reached out a tendril again in offering.

Hester's eyes were half closed, and her breathing became ragged. The wall of fire vanished, and her hand came up slowly, reaching out inch by inch until it brushed the edge of the tendril. The sound she made caused Cym to blush.

"Yessssss…" the nightmare hissed. It wrapped around Hester's hand and crawled up her arm, burrowing into her skin.

Cym couldn't watch this; he couldn't let this happen. Logically he knew it already had happened, and any actions he took here weren't likely to affect the present, but he couldn't just stand there, so he leaped forward and sunk his hands into the nightmare.

His hands felt like they had been plunged into nitroglycerin. The cold sank into him so quickly he lost all feeling in his hands and his heart began to slow. Brutal, unforgiving brightness flowed through him, racing through his veins and invading every inch of his body. His thoughts became vague and indistinct.

Where was he? What was he doing? He could feel no connection to his physical form, so there was nothing to anchor his mind as it spiraled into white nothingness.

Cymbeline, you naughty fox, I can't wait to play with him once I'm you.

Oh no she fucking would not. Cym would tear Hester into a million pieces before she laid a hand on his soldier.

Pink fire blossomed at the center of his fading consciousness, dragging his mind back together. As he solidified, he felt the fire permeate his entire being, racing to the edges of his mind, giving it a shield between him and the never-ending white void he'd nearly succumbed to.

He became aware of his body again and saw he was still latched onto Hester, feeding pink fire into the twisted creature the woman had become. Hester wailed and pulled, trying to break free, but Cym clung to her, energized by the strength pouring through his body.

It continued for what felt like three eternities—long enough for Cym to decide over and over again that he'd had enough and needed to let go. Then he remembered what would happen to Fourteen if he did, and continued to hang on like his world depended on it.

His body protested loudly, informing him it was done with how he'd been treating it. The initial boost he'd received had long faded, and he was finding it difficult to ignore his dislocated shoulder, the many and varied lacerations he'd picked up in the past two days, and the fact that he was losing blood much faster than he was comfortable with.

He dug deep trying to find some hidden reservoir of strength to hold on and was reminded of the story of Tam Lin, of the bravery of Janet as she clung to her lover even when he turned into a fiery brand in order to win him away from the fairy queen.

He could do it. He could be Janet, or at least channel Janet and hold on, despite the damage Hester was doing to him as she flailed around trying to break free. Though Janet got a hot guy at the end of her troubles, and all Cym would get would be… what?

What was Cym expecting to happen with Fourteen?

His vision was dull and sparkly at the edges, and he was barely clinging to consciousness when the woman in his arms let out an unearthly howl and collapsed. Cym was barely aware of the billowing white smoke that rose from Hester and raced away through the open door.

Dizzily, he released the motionless body in front of him and flopped over onto his side. He panted and twitched as his body struggled to come to terms with what had happened. He felt empty and terribly, heartbreakingly alone inside, and he wanted nothing more than to give up, go to sleep, and hopefully never wake again.

The sound of metal hitting bone forced Cym from his lethargy, and he raised his head to see that Fourteen had gotten his hands free and was holding off two mercenaries with a pipe, nimbly dancing around the bodies of the other two. The vicious smile on Fourteen's face made Cym laugh wearily. It looked as though Cym had gravely underestimated his soldier.

"Cymbeline." His brother Sterling's voice chased Cym's laughter away.

With the speed of a sloth, Cym sat up as much as he could and noticed one of his legs was still trapped in the hole he'd tried to make earlier. "Please, don't. Please… just go, okay? We only want to leave. Fourteen won't hurt you if you leave right now." His eyes pleading, Cym reached up a shaky hand as if to hold off the violence he already anticipated.

"What the hell was that thing inside of Mother?" Visibly shaken, Sterling stepped closer, but he stopped when a bucket of paint thinner sailed past his face, clipping his nose as it went. Sterling jerked his head back and clutched his bleeding nose in shock.

They both whipped their heads to look at Fourteen, who gave Sterling a narrow look that clearly said, That's close enough . Cym's brother's face grew pale, and he took a step back, rubbing his nose. Fourteen nodded sharply and stabbed one of the mercenaries in the back with a well-thrown screwdriver.

Sterling took three more steps backward but persisted with his questioning even though he had the appearance of someone who was about to throw up and pass out from fear. Whether it was from witnessing a monster coming out of his mother's body, or fear of Fourteen was even odds. "Tell me what's happening! Please." He shot a nervous look at Fourteen, and his hands began to shake.

Yeah, it was definitely Fourteen who had Sterling close to shitting himself. Good. That's what he got for being such a raging crap bag earlier.

Grudgingly, Cym related what Hester had told him, examining his brother for any sign of disbelief. When he had finished, Sterling looked decidedly green around the edges.

"You didn't know then?" Cym held his breath, aching for it to be true.

"I knew there was something wrong. But not this! How could I have guessed something like this? Gods, Cymbeline, I thought… I thought it was you making everything so awful. I'm sorry." Sterling's voice dropped to a whisper. "Any time something shady happened, Mother said it was your influence that was the cause. She claimed you were twisting people's hearts and making them into monsters because you thought it was fun."

Stricken, Cym looked down at his hands, intently studying the contrast between the mangled one and the relatively uninjured one. "Was that why you didn't visit me again?"

"She wouldn't let me. The only time I managed to get in, I had to sneak to do it. She caught me after I left." He shuddered in remembrance. "I was punished so badly I never tried again… I'm so sorry." Sterling's voice had become so faint Cym had to strain to hear it from across the room.

"Hey, it's okay." He itched to hold his little brother and make it all better like he had when they were young. "You were just a kid. There wasn't anything you could have done. If you'd tried, Hester probably would have let her monster eat you."

Sterling's eyes darted toward Fourteen before inching forward. "When I heard you'd escaped, I was so ashamed. I should have done more than just send you a crappy letter. I should have gone with you, but I was scared."

"Of me?" Cym tried not to feel hurt, but it didn't do him any good. That his baby brother could be afraid of him, yet still take so much blame on his shoulders for his sake? His heart twisted. "Wait, you sent the letter?"

"I wasn't sure if you would get it, but when I heard Mother and Aunt Stella talking about getting rid of you, I panicked. I had to do something."

"You thought I was the reason bad things were happening in our family, and you still wanted to help me. Oh Ster…" The dull roar of heartache that had been his constant companion since he had been forced to flee for his life stuttered. Sterling didn't want him dead.

"Of course I did. I love you, Sunny."

Tears burned in the corners of Cym's eyes. The rest of his family might be clamoring for his blood, but his brother still loved him. It was a start.

"If you two are done bonding, maybe you could see if your brother could do something about your mother there." Fourteen walked over to Cym's crate and nudged the body beside it with a toe. Behind him, his half of the garage had been completely destroyed, while Cym's side had remained relatively untouched. Cym wondered if Fourteen had purposefully kept the fighting contained to his side for Cym's safety.

"That is not our mother," Cym said, trying not to swoon over the idea of Fourteen being so sweet even after Cym had ditched him so cruelly. "That thing hasn't been our mother for a long time. But you're right, we need to do something about her. I don't know what she's going to be like when she wakes up—if she wakes up—but tying her up might not be enough."

"He's right. Mother—or whatever is in there—is strong enough to cast spells without using her hands." Sterling frowned, thinking. "Actually, I might be able to do something, but I'll need you to move her away from Cymbeline." He aimed a half smile at Cym in apology.

Fourteen leaned down and took hold of one of the woman's arms, but he paused. "Are you sure you trust him?"

Cym considered. Fourteen had a point; it could be a trap. It was entirely possible Cym was letting his desire to have at least one family member on his side cloud his judgment. But what about the note Sterling mentioned? Cym had taken it with him, and only the person who had left it would have known of its existence. "Yes, I trust him."

The hesitant smile Sterling gave him burned away any lingering doubts he'd had.

Fourteen simply nodded and hauled the imposter's body over to Sterling, dropping it to the floor at his feet with a faint look of disgust. "What can you do?

Sterling regarded the woman he had thought to be his mother and turned even greener. "I don't know if it will work, but if a witch has a connection to someone, emotional, spiritual, or through blood, they should be able to share their power. Since she's both my mother and great-whatever grandmother, I might be able to tap her power and limit her in what she can do. If I can drain her enough, it should be safe to tie her up. I'm just glad she's unconscious because this would be impossible if she was awake."

"I could kill her." It was so very Fourteen to bring up the elephant in the room without batting an eye.

As tempting as it was to solve the problem of Hester in a more permanent fashion, Cym didn't have it in him to allow Fourteen to kill a defenseless person in cold blood. "Let's let Sterling try before we go too far down that rabbit hole."

Sterling nodded in agreement then bent over Hester, placed a hand on her head, and closed his eyes, concentrating.

Looking back at Cym in his crate, Fourteen frowned, then gave a muffled swear. "I can't believe you did this to yourself." With two long strides, he was at Cym's side, eyes boring into his coldly.

"And I can't believe you allowed yourself to get captured just to find me," Cym retorted.

"At least what I did was actually useful. This?" Fourteen gestured to Cym's mangled arm and equally mangled and trapped leg. "This served no purpose at all."

"I was trying to escape!"

"You didn't need to. I would have gotten you out."

"I was worried about you, okay? I was afraid they would hurt you, you idiot. Though now I wished I hadn't bothered," Cym grumbled.

Fourteen's face softened. It was only a tiny bit, but it gave Cym hope that Fourteen wouldn't ditch him at the first opportunity once they escaped.

"You don't have to worry about me so much, you know. I'm more durable than you are." Fourteen yanked at the padlock on the crate, and while the metal creaked alarmingly, it refused to give way. Fourteen gave it an icy stare for a moment like he could cow it into submission, then said, "I don't want to waste time picking this lock. Just stay still, okay?"

Mystified, Cym complied and held as still as his loudly complaining body would allow.

Fourteen gripped the twisted metal trapping Cym's foot and pried it apart, freeing him. "Okay, scoot back as far as you can." Grabbing one bar with both hands, Fourteen sat down and put a foot on the bar opposite and pushed out with his leg. The side of the crate peeled away like the top of a sardine can with an ear-piercing shriek.

"Gods, can all norms do that?" Sterling asked in a reverent tone.

Cym smiled, feeling proprietary. "This one can."

Fourteen shrugged. "I work out."

"Riiight." Sterling drew out the word into two syllables, his brows raised over wide green eyes. "Okay, so I've taken as much as I can without killing Hester. I think she's safe to tie up."

Fourteen located a rope on a nearby workbench and tossed it to Sterling, then turned back to Cym and asked, "Can you crawl out?" The crate was too small for anyone to come in and help him out, and his demeanor suggested he would tear the entire crate apart if Cym's answer was no.

"I think so," Cym said quickly to avoid seeing what Fourteen would do if pushed. Flying bits of metal going in every direction wouldn't do anyone favors right now.

Tucking his injured arm against his side, Cym leaned heavily on his good arm and pushed himself forward. He sucked in a sharp breath when his ankle let him know it was incredibly put out about how the evening had gone so far.

Fourteen backed up to give him room but remained close enough to hover protectively. When Cym was out, Fourteen looked him over, going quieter and more distant as he saw the extent of his injuries. Fourteen's gloved hands were gentle as they patched up the worst of the damage, but the terrible blankness that had settled on his face sent chills down Cym's spine. He had fallen back into his conditioning again, and it was breaking Cym's heart.

When Fourteen finally spoke, it was in the robotic voice Cym had grown to fear. "You've dislocated your shoulder. I'm going to pop it back now before it gets too swollen." He stated it like a fact, leaving no room for discussion.

Fourteen was going to fix Cym's arm whether he liked it or not.

Part of Cym wished that Fourteen had just done it without asking. Anticipation of pain was far worse than it happening in the heat of the moment.

"O-okay," Cym croaked through dry lips.

"Lie on your back," Fourteen ordered. He cleared a table with a sweep of his arm and gestured for Cym to lay on it.

Cym complied, shaking with fear and hating himself for how weak it made him look.

"This is going to hurt."

"No fucking shit," Cym said through gritted teeth.

Cym kept his eyes fixed on Fourteen's face. His features were stone as he took Cym's injured arm and pulled on it slowly, creating traction. Cym tried and failed to hold back a whimper of pain as Fourteen increased the pressure. Sweat broke out on his skin, and Cym started panting.

He tried to keep eye contact with Fourteen. If Cym could only keep looking into Fourteen's cold, storm-cloud eyes, maybe some of that cold would seep into Cym and numb the pain.

Fourteen turned Cym's arm slightly, and the resulting pain changed his panting into short mewling sounds of agony.

"Breathe." Fourteen's gaze held Cym's and hints of his personality broke through his conditioning, telling Cym without words that Fourteen knew he could bear it. That Fourteen knew he could do anything.

A sharp pop was accompanied by an immediate sense of relief. A gray fog settled over Cym's vision and he welcomed it. He was so done with being in pain.

"Hey, it's okay… it's over now. I've got you."

The world came back into focus, and he found himself on Fourteen's lap with a gloved hand stroking his cheek.

"Well, you said it was going to hurt," Cym managed shakily.

"You did just fine," Fourteen assured him, running a hand over his hair soothingly.

Cym tucked his face into Fourteen's jacket and breathed in the rich smell of leather and Fourteen's own unique, intoxicating scent. It didn't clear Cym's head, but his breathing steadied, and he relaxed a little.

It was pretty nice, actually. Especially since he was getting to cuddle Fourteen guilt-free. Anyone in Cym's situation right now should be getting at least a little affection.

"I'm sorry, Cymbeline." Sterling's voice broke in on his reverie. "I know you've been through a lot tonight, but we have to get out of here now, while everyone is busy with the fire. Can you hold it together for a little bit longer?"

Before he could answer, Fourteen said, "I need to tie his arm down first, or it will only get injured further.

"How about his foot? It looks pretty nasty. Is he going to be able to walk on it?"

"I'll be fine—" Cym began but was cut off when Fourteen's face went even colder.

The atmosphere in the room turned glacial as Fourteen shifted Cym out of his lap and examined his injured foot. The chill radiating from Fourteen had Cym cringing in anticipation. Had he broken his ankle? Had his idiocy ruined it beyond repair? Would they leave Cym behind if he couldn't walk?

Fourteen made an indecipherable noise and then ripped off a piece of Cym's yoga pants to wrap his ankle. "It looks worse than it is, but it won't be fun to walk on." Fourteen appropriated a length of rope hanging from the wall and began to carefully bind Cym's arm to his side. "Cym, I need you to try to walk on it even if it hurts. Hold onto my jacket if you need to, but I need my hands free if I'm going to get us out of here."

Affronted at being talked to like a child, Cym's anxiety fled as he lost his temper. "I'm not a china doll; I can keep up. I managed to survive for weeks before I met you!"

Cym conveniently ignored that he was shoeless, half-starved, and freezing when they met, and the frigid silence Fourteen gave him in response told Cym he was thinking the same thing.

For a moment, Cym thought Fourteen was going to bail and leave Cym to his own devices. Why had Fourteen even come after him in the first place. Cym was so fucking useless, why would anyone?—

Fourteen took Cym's face in his gloved hand, cutting off Cym's toxic train of thought. If the gesture hadn't granted him Cym's full attention, Cym would have missed the tiny frown tugging at the corner of Fourteen's mouth.

It was like he wanted to say something but didn't know how. Cym held his breath and waited to see what Fourteen would do.

Fourteen's eyes locked onto Cym's and he leaned down slowly, inch by inch, giving Cym plenty of time to move away if he wanted to, until he finally touched his forehead to Cym's. The relief Cym felt from his power pouring into Fourteen made his limbs feel like jelly. Seeing Fourteen in broken-soldier-mode had been too much for Cym to bear, but he couldn't be the one to initiate touch. It had to be Fourteen's choice.

The effect of Cym's magic was immediate. Fourteen's face became animated again rather than the cold stone it had been. Now he reminded Cym of a storm—full of barely leashed energy waiting for the right time to strike.

Fourteen's brows drew together, and his eyes blazed with intensity. "I know you're a survivor. I've seen how tough you are. If your body was as strong as your will, I wouldn't have asked. But you're small, unfamiliar with combat, and you've lost a lot of blood. If you need help, ask. I came here for you, and it would defeat the purpose to leave you behind just because you were too proud to ask for help." He punctuated this with a kiss to Cym's forehead, robbing him of words.

Cym was pretty sure he'd been robbed of a handful of much needed IQ points as well.

Cym's forehead tingled where it had been kissed, and he reached up to rub the spot with his fingers. Fourteen didn't appear to have the same reservations as Cym did about Cym's power taking away his free will. Was it possible Cym had allowed his fears to carry him away? Had he been blowing it out of proportion?

Cym swallowed hard and whispered, "Oh. Okay then."

His hand itched to touch Fourteen's face. He wanted to feel the difference between Fourteen's cheek and the stubble growing on his jaw, but he held back and focused on the present moment. "I didn't say thank you, did I? For saving me, I mean."

"Nope." There was a twinkle in Fourteen's eye as he leaned down to whisper in Cym's ear, brushing it with his lips. "I'll let you thank me later when we get out of here."

Cym shivered at the promise in Fourteen's voice, and the instant, partial erection that announced itself proudly had Cym wanting to finish what they had started on the bed earlier, right here and now. They could have both died several times that day, and the idea that Cym's fear and insecurity would have robbed them of the only happiness they might have ever had together made him want to kick himself.

Maybe Cym wasn't a horrible person.

Maybe Cym's magic was helpful for Fourteen.

And maybe, just maybe, Cym could have this.