Untitled

by vanerz and Ebb

“Lan Zhan—Lan Zhan! Stay with me. Don’t sleep! Just hang on until we get to the Burial Mounds. There’s a doctor there for you!”

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Wei Wuxian would ask Lan Zhan what happened to him. But even with his lack of tact, he knows not to ask.

And, more importantly, he doesn’t need to ask. To him, it’s as clear as day.

He gave everything and yet failed to help the last person he loved who had been hurt by the Core-Melting Hand.

But maybe—just maybe—he can help this one.

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Lan Wangji knows how dangerous it is to fight with a mortal body, how important it is that he turns his full focus on battle as he cuts his way through. His arm feels heavier with unfamiliar hilt in hand and a soul empty of the warmth that had let him call for Bichen, a lifetime ago.

But the man beside him commands his full attention. Wei Wuxian is black robes swirling in a lethal dance, blade wet from the Wen bodies left in his wake. Wangji finds himself covering openings and deflecting blows as his partner takes charge of their momentum, but the white inner robe he still wears still stains with red and his sword arm begins to grow tired.

The momentary lapse in his unerring form is all a Wen cultivator needs to thrust his sword through Wangji's defenses and slice a ragged, bloody line up Wei Wuxian's arm. Wangji sees red.

The Wen man falls easily, crumpling to the dirt missing his ear and a chunk of thigh.

Wei Wuxian doesn't even turn towards the source of his injury, continuing his assault with the same ferocity even as his expression grows tight at the edges. But his head moves slightly, and their eyes meet just long enough for Wangji to see Wei Wuxian's expression soften at the sight of him. It is all they need.

I am sorry.

I already told you. I don't expect perfection.

But it is the difference between life and—

I said I'm not worried. I don't need you to be perfect, but I know that you're good and that's all I need. I trust you, Lan Zhan.

The last of the Wens throws his sword aside in surrender. Lan Wangji swings towards his neck, rage still pulsing in his veins, and stops the blade a hair's breadth from skin.

"Go in peace," he says, running the dark fabric of his sleeve over his sword and sheathing it once the clear iron surface is dry. There is nothing else he needs to say, and Wei Wuxian meets his gaze again as the last man stumbles over himself to escape. There had been far fewer defenders here than most strongholds; the Black Lotus stretches their forces carefully thin, never assigning more than they can handle.

It's hard work, and Wei Wuxian still speaks little, but his eyes burn with determination and grief and fragile, precious life.

It is enough. Wangji understands.