Oliver’s met a lot of revenants since he woke up to a destroyed world and never-ending hunger — mostly other young adults like him, frightened and cast adrift and struggling to survive — but this revenant, this Erich, is frankly terrifying. Not terrifying like the bastards who currently own them, a terror born of sharp tempers and vicious bravado, but something… deeper. Something predatory.

Erich is a killer, relentless and honed, and it shows in every action the man takes; with him leading the way, many of the Lost barely get a chance to rise to their feet before they’ve been dispersed. He seems to have an almost sixth sense for spotting the things, shooting them down from the ceiling or luring them over into an ambush or simply lunging ahead to strike them, and because of that, Oliver’s barely had to fight at all.

He’s only met a few revenants like Erich previously, and to a person they’d all been from, well… before. Before the Red Mist. Before whatever ‘Operation Queenslayer’ was. Just… before.

He has a sneaking suspicion that the gang he’s a thrall of isn’t going to exist much longer, now that Erich’s had a chance to refresh himself at a mistle.

(And isn’t that a curious thing, a mistle regenerating like that…)

(Could Erich have had something to do with that?)

(But… how?)

If he’s being honest, he’s not going to miss the bastards at all: between the shit they force him to do and the lack of food for him, his personal opinion is that the bastards deserve whatever horrible fate awaits them. He’s just… not so sure what will happen after.

Erich doesn’t seem the sort of enforce his own power over others, but maybe… maybe he’ll let Oliver tag along with him and Io? There’s safety in numbers, after all, and he doesn’t seem to mind Oliver’s presence too much; he’s a bit standoffish, and definitely has some hangups—

(Note to self: don’t discuss masks around the guy.)

—but he’s kind in his own grumpy way, Oliver’s pretty sure. He doesn’t know if that’ll translate into accepting Oliver around long-term, but surely it won’t hurt to ask.

(After all, the worst that can happen is he gets told no.)

“Eyes front,” Erich says gruffly as he pauses at an intersection and eyes Oliver warily. “This is no place to be distracted.”

Oliver huffs a soft, embarrassed laugh and rubs at the back of his head. “Sorry, sorry. I’m not usually like that, I promise.”

Erich’s amber gaze sweeps over Oliver once more before he hums and turns away, resuming his movement through the tunnels without saying another word.

Part of Oliver chafes at that, but… he thinks he’s starting to get a handle on Erich, even if only a little bit; the silence isn’t a snub, or a dismissal, not in this case. Erich pointed out an issue, Oliver apologized, and now the man considers it resolved— or at least he probably does, pending Oliver continuing to fuck it up.

Like he’s currently doing.

(Whoops.)

Oliver forcibly hauls his thoughts away from trying to understand his current battle partner and turns his gaze forward as commanded.

(It just feels so easy to let Erich deal with most everything himself.)

(It’s wrong, he knows it’s wrong, but he’s tired, and hungry, and worn down in a way that a simple rest will never fix.)

(He really hopes Erich and Io take down the gang in a way that frees him, too.)

He gives a silent sigh, takes a moment to readjust his mask again, and sweeps his gaze over the tunnels thoughtfully; he’s never been down this particular ruin before — the gang continually moves them around, given the lack of blood beads everywhere — but it’s not so different from other places he’s been thrown into. At least the Lost out here aren’t particularly strong—

And then Erich takes down a larger one with a well-placed stab and a sweep of a crackling blade of lightning, and beyond its dispersing body is another thrall.

“Hey,” Oliver calls out as he steps around Erich’s tense form and towards the man who’s crouched over a Lost’s body. “Hey, you alright, man?” he asks, worry making him set his hammer aside as he approaches; more than a few of his fellow thralls are… mediocre at combat, either not having the skill or the stomach for it, and if this guy’s taken a bad injury—

The man spins. Lunges. Gleaming red eyes infuriated as a clawed hand stretches out—

A shoulder slams into Oliver’s. Knocks him to the ground, out of the frenzying revenant’s reach—

Erich stands over him, feet braced and bayonet held crosswise like a narrow shield. He catches the lunge with the side of the bayonet and then twists, muscles straining as he heaves the man away and into the wall—

But not before a clawed hand finishes its strike.

Odd, blue-violet fluid bursts from Erich’s punctured filter and the man curses. Drops his bayonet. Flings a hasty blood shot after the man. Fumbles to unlatch the broken filter with one hand while the other yanks a spare from his hip pouch. Slots it into place with trembling hands and then hurls a second blood shot at the slowly rising revenant, ripping through the man’s chest right over his heart—

“Shit,” Oliver breathes out as the revenant turns to ash, then gives himself a shake and scrambles to his feet. “Hey, thanks for the save, but… you okay?”

There’s something wild in Erich’s eyes, visible even through the lenses of his mask, and there’s… there’s a gleam there, a spark of brilliant blue in the depths of his pupils that puts Oliver on edge, but the man doesn’t seem to be frenzying. At least not yet.

(There’s blue-violet fluid spilling from the broken filter at their feet.)

(Filters use a revenant’s own blood, even he knows that, so…)

(Does Erich have literal blue blood?)

“Y-yeah,” Erich forces out as he takes a step back from Oliver and closes his eyes, chest beginning to rise in a large inhale before he suddenly chokes, hand flying back up to his mask and the seal around the filter. “Sh-shit— shit— goddamn ancient piece of shit—” he mumbles as he tries to readjust the filter, hand trembling so much that Oliver’s surprised the guy hasn’t just dropped it already.

“Woah, hey, let me take a look?” Oliver asks, doing his best to keep his voice even and steady; he knows all the fun and exciting ways a panic attack can manifest, and this is showing all the signs of one. “Promise I won’t hurt you,” he adds after a moment, internally wincing at his clumsy phrasing.

Erich’s eyes snap open and zero in on Oliver, and it takes all his courage to lock his knees and stay put in the face of that desperate, evaluating stare. It seems an eternity before Erich finally gives a stiff, shallow nod and slowly lowers his trembling hand away from his mask.

“Right, I’m going to step closer now and touch your mask,” Oliver says as calmly as he can, then gives Erich a moment to process his words before following through. He keeps his motions slow as he reaches up, using one hand to tilt Erich’s head slightly, and then leans in to get a better look at what he’s working with; he’s learned the hard way that these old masks can be… finicky… to replace the filters on, even when doing it right, and a mid-battle swap is not exactly doing it right.

“Looks like the threads got caught,” Oliver explains as he takes in the slightly crooked connection and the little gap that it’s left, along with the tiny dribble of blue-violet blood trickling through the crack. “I’m going to need to unscrew this and slot it back in correctly.”

Erich makes a soft noise, eyes slipping closed again, then murmurs, “N-no. I— I have—” before breaking off with a frustrated noise and simply lifting his right hand into view, holding—

Another mask?

(What the fuck?)

(Who just— never mind.)

(Question later, fix source of panic now.)

“Okay, we can swap your mask to that one, no problem. I’m going to take it from you so I can swap your mask out for you, alright? My hands are steadier than yours right now, so I’ll be faster with it,” Oliver explains, watching Erich’s expression for any sign of refusal as he does. When he doesn’t see any, he reaches out to gently tug the mask from the man’s still trembling hand, then adjusts his grip on it and announces, “Alright, get ready to hold your breath. I’m going to take the old one off and slot this one in place right after.”

Erich’s eyes slit back open and focus on Oliver, a measure of trust in them that nearly takes Oliver’s breath away, before he murmurs, “Ready,” and clearly braces himself.

Oliver nods sharply, adjusts his grip on Erich’s current mask, and then quickly presses in-and-up to make it release from Erich’s mask frame with a solid click. The motion’s a bit of an odd one from this angle, but there’s nothing precisely difficult about it, nor about the reverse of it — in-and-down — needed to slot the second, smaller, significantly newer mask back over Erich’s mouth and nose.

(Man, he wishes he had a mask like it for himself.)

(It looks so much easier to breathe in!)

“You’re good,” Oliver says as he steps out of Erich’s personal space, watching carefully as the man takes a shallow, shuddering breath, and then a second, deeper one soon after. He keeps an eye out for any issues or signs of the panic attack worsening, but it seems like the worst has — thankfully — passed.

Not that they’re out of danger just yet, Oliver acknowledges with a grimace and a wary glance at the cavern around them, searching for any sign of a Lost about to ambush them; with the way the day’s gone so far, he’s actually surprised there isn’t another enemy about to pounce. Relieved, definitely, but also very, very surprised. Not that he can’t handle himself — he’s not a pushover, no matter how little he’s been contributing so far — but the idea of getting ambushed while within touching distance of an already panicking soldier is… not his idea of a good time. Best case, the man would have shoved him to the side again.

(Worst case, he gets ashed just like the other revenant did.)

(It’s not exactly a chance he wants to take.)

“Drop that mask next to the broken filter,” Erich orders, voice rough with the aftermath of his panic attack, then takes a step back and stares blankly down at the broken filter that’s still leaking blue-violet blood.

Oliver frowns at the mask in his hand, then decides to drop it like ordered and take his own large step back. “Okay?”

“It’s…” Erich hesitates, amber eyes shifting warily between Oliver and the unnatural blood soaking into the ground around the dropped filter, then clenches his jaw and turns his head away, shoulders tight with tension and his right hand clenched into a fist. “Safer,” he settles on, not meeting Oliver’s gaze at all.

For who, Oliver almost wants to ask, except he really doesn’t have to, does he? A revenant with blue-violet blood is clearly different somehow, though Oliver has no real idea what it means. Not that he needs to. Different isn’t exactly safe, given the things he’s seen so far in this blasted hellscape of a life.

(The withered mistle revived when Erich landed near it.)

(A man with few memories and potentially the ability to revive mistle…)

(Yeah, he bets its safer if no one knows.)

“I won’t tell anyone,” Oliver tells Erich with as much assurance as he can muster. And when Erich’s head whips back around, his eyes wide and his body rigid, Oliver just huffs and gestures vaguely towards the little pile of ash that’s all that remains of their former fellow thrall. “You saved my life. Whatever your secret is, it’s safe with me.”

Erich takes a moment to observe him, clearly weighing Oliver’s words in his head, before slowly nodding and turning his attention back to the mask and filter on the ground between them. “Thank you,” he murmurs, before taking a slightly shaky breath, raising his left hand towards his chest, and almost casually flicking a blazing fireball at the ruined equipment.

Oliver blinks as the mask and filter burn to ash in seconds, then deliberately shoves the little niggle of thought into the back of his mind and tries to ignore it; he’s seen nothing too strange from Erich’s skill set so far, so there’s no reason to think about it.

(Besides, he promised that Erich’s secret was safe with him, and what’s safer than not actually knowing?)

“We should head back to the mistle—”

“No,” Erich interrupts before Oliver can finish the thought. And when Oliver narrows his eyes at the man, Erich just shrugs awkwardly and looks away, adding, “The Lost here aren’t too difficult. We should keep moving.”

Oliver takes a breath, one hand clenching as he bites back his immediate response — are you a fool? You just had a panic attack! You’re still trembling! — and reminds himself that Erich has good reason to want to keep moving. They’re not exactly at liberty to take their time, especially with Io held hostage to ensure Erich’s ‘good behavior’—

(Not that he thinks that was a wise decision by the gang, but hey, he’s not in charge here, is he.)

—and he doesn’t actually know how close Erich is to a frenzy, after everything. So while he would prefer to turn back so they can rest at the mistle and let Erich regain his balance, he can possibly see the wisdom in moving on. That, and he’d really rather not get into a fight with Erich, which is what would probably happen if he insisted they turn back; Erich seems like the stubborn sort, and Oliver doesn’t know him well enough to know how to convince him, so instead…

“Fine,” Oliver agrees at last, as he stalks past Erich and grasps his hammer once again, settling it over his shoulder as he reorients himself and turns to face the path onwards. “But you’re going to hang back from now on. Ranged support only,” he tells Erich, mustering as much sternness into his voice and stance as he can, no matter how uncomfortable it feels to do so.

(He’s ordering a goddamn soldier around like he has any sort of right to do that.)

(Fuck, Erich’s going to kill him for the presumption, isn’t he.)

Erich stills, eyes narrowing a bit as he watches Oliver move, and for one brief, heart-pounding moment, Oliver is convinced the man is about to attack him…

Only for Erich to huff and kneel to grab his discarded bayonet. “Fine,” Erich grumpily agrees as he stands back up and absently adjusts his glasses with his left hand. “Lead the way, then.”

Oliver breathes a quiet sigh of relief — he really wasn’t looking forward to trying to argue his case — and sets out deeper into the cave system, senses on true alert for the first time since they were thrown down here.

“Let’s go that way,” Erich murmurs as they approach a fork in the path, gesturing towards the narrower left-hand one when Oliver glances back at him. “Less chance for any Lost to slip by you.”

“Less room for me to swing my hammer, too,” Oliver says with a touch of amusement, before shrugging and moving down the path Erich indicated. It isn’t that tight of a tunnel, and Erich’s right that it’ll be easier to keep the Lost at bay because of it, so… why not?

It does at least turn out to be a pretty easy route; Erich shoots a few more slimes down from the ceiling, Oliver teaches a few Lost a lesson, and otherwise there… really isn’t much in this direction. Not that he really expected there to be; so far, beyond the mistle at the beginning and a few desiccated mistle sprigs here and there, there’s been no sign of anything, really, not even other revenants beyond their fellow thralls.

(Not that that’s a surprise.)

(No one with any choice in the matter would willingly come so close to the Red Mist.)

Frankly, he doesn’t have much hope of there even being a bloodspring out this far, much less an active one. Though maybe whatever Erich does to revive the mistle will work on a bloodspring? If that’s the case, then maybe he can bully the man into actually eating something before they bring any other beads back. Maybe he can eat something too, if there’s enough. And then whatever’s left over can be bait to make the gang members let down their guard so Erich and Io can deal with them.

“Think this path will dead-end on us?” Oliver can’t help but ask as he finishes off another Lost and straightens back up, settling his giant hammer on his shoulder.

Erich shrugs and takes a few steps closer, gaze sweeping over Oliver and then past him, and says, “Looks like the tunnel opens up over there.”

“It does?” Oliver turns to look, frowns at the sight of wall, and then takes a few steps to the side and looks up. “Oh, huh,” he murmurs as he catches sight of a small gleam of violet light in the distance, much too far away to be in the tunnel with them. “Endless cliff, or actually somewhere we can go, I wonder.”

“Endless cliff seems like a safe bet,” Erich says, voice dry as dust and head canted slightly.

Oliver snorts and casts a sidelong look at Erich. “That sounds like experience talking,” he can’t resist saying, even as he starts moving forward again.

Erich makes a soft, indistinct noise before saying, “Not sure how much ‘experience’ it really is, given how little I can remember, but I’ve yet to go somewhere that doesn’t have endless cliffs all over.”

“Yeah, I can’t deny that,” Oliver agrees with a huff; the changes to the very world around him was one of the hardest things to get used to when he woke up in the aftermath of everything, second only to realizing he was dead and needed to drink blood to keep surviving. And even now, after years of trudging through the desolation while trying to survive, the scarred, broken landscape and destroyed buildings feel a bit surreal at times, like he’s just… trapped in a nightmare and maybe this time he’ll actually wake up—

He pauses. Grits his teeth. Shoves his meandering thoughts aside because now isn’t the time— now is never the time—

“Enemies up ahead,” Erich murmurs as he ghosts up to Oliver’s side and takes a stance, bayonet still aimed at the ground but clearly poised to sweep up at a moment’s notice. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Oliver agrees, hammer settling back into his hands, body tensing—

Erich brings his bayonet up and fires, barely taking a moment to aim, but the shot flies true. A Lost roars in pain and lunges towards them, weapon raised and mouth wide in vicious snarl, teeth bared.

Oliver moves to meet it. Sweeps his hammer around. Slams it down onto the monster, sending it reeling.

Another rifle shot finishes the thing off before it can recover—

—just in time for a second Lost to reach them, its sword raised to strike. Oliver takes a step back to get a bit of distance, then heaves his hammer back into position and immediately brings it right back down, hearing a wet crack and a pained howl and then—

Erich rushes past in a swirl of blue sparks, right hand morphing into a huge, beastly claw that he spears up through the Lost’s chest and then rips right back out.

“Thought I said ranged support only,” Oliver can’t help but murmur even as the second Lost disperses and he readies his hammer again, ears straining for any indication of a third.

“I don’t exactly have infinite ichor at my fingertips,” Erich murmurs back, enough amusement in his voice to put Oliver’s mind at ease. “It seemed safe enough.”

Oliver snorts, nose wrinkling and mouth twitching upwards at Erich’s words, and says, “Yeah, fair enough. How low are you, and should I make an effort to pin a few Lost down so you can restock?”

Erich makes a soft, thoughtful noise as he considers it, then shakes his head and says, “I think I’m fine for now. I have enough bayonet shots left for a few battles.”

“Alright. Let me know if that changes, though.”

Erich nods sharply, then gestures at the path before them, one eyebrow raised in question.

“Yeah, yeah,” Oliver huffs as he gets moving again, advancing down the path towards the opening in the wall, on alert for any danger, whether that be an ambush or instability in the ground or walls.

Nothing seems out of place, though. The gap in the wall they’re approaching looks old — an actual feature of the cave system, probably, and not building ruins — and entirely stable; there’s a low-lying tangle of mistle-sprigs across the ground as well, and not a single sign of loose rocks or debris to be seen.

All in all, pretty promising, Oliver decides as he steps closer and peers through the gap, only to still at the sight of a patrolling Lost just below them, waiting for it to spot them—

But it just hisses to itself and turns around, pacing back the way it came, gaze never rising to look up at them.

“We should be fine for the moment,” Erich murmurs as he slips past Oliver and kneels before the patch of mistle-sprigs and starts poking around in it. “If we don’t make much noise or attack them, they should leave us be.”

Oliver grimaces at Erich’s words, knowing the man is right but still uncomfortable with how close they are. Still, it means he has a moment to survey the area, taking in the locations of the Lost on the path below them; it won’t be a very hard fight, especially not with a cliff edge just a bit beyond, but is it one they need to have?

At his side, Erich makes a quiet noise of triumph and stands back up, tucking something away in one of his pouches as he does. “Let’s keep moving,” is all he says when Oliver shoots him a questioning look. “I think the tunnel we’re following meets up again with that path a bit further down,” he adds as he slips back away from the ledge and gestures towards the way they’d been going. “Should mean we can skip fighting these guys.”

“Sounds good,” Oliver agrees as he steps back as well, gaze fixed on the patrolling Lost just in case, but… the thing never even turns to look at them as they move away back into the tunnel. “So what did you find?” he asks once they’re at a safer distance.

“Regen extension factor,” Erich answers easily, as if his words make any sense in the world.

“Regen… what now?” Oliver can’t help but ask.

The startled look Erich shoots him makes Oliver want to scowl — it isn’t exactly his fault that he knows jack shit about revenant-specific things — but before he can say anything to that effect, Erich’s expression smooths back out and he reaches into his pouch again.

“Medicine that can increase how many times you can regen before needing proper rest,” Erich explains as he holds out a strange little capsule with a glittering green fluid inside. “You can sometimes find it in growths of mistle like what we just passed.”

“That’s… weird,” Oliver decides as he eyes the thing in Erich’s hand. It almost looks like a tiny blood bead except smaller and narrower, barely the length of Erich’s pinky. “Are you going to use it?”

“No,” Erich answers immediately. “I can’t.” His brows furrow a bit as he stares at the little capsule in his hand. “I… think I’ve already used these as much as is safe,” he says a bit more slowly, as if trying to put words to a feeling.

And maybe he is, Oliver acknowledges as he watches Erich’s eyes narrow a bit more at the capsule in his hand. The man’s already admitted to having few memories, so the likelihood that he’s operating on gut instinct is… pretty high.

“Here,” Erich says as he steps closer, offering the capsule to Oliver. “You might as well use it.”

“Wh— me?” Oliver asks, startled by the offer. “Why not… why not offer it to Io?”

“Same reason,” Erich answers as his tilts his chin up slightly and fixes Oliver with a sharp, stubborn look. “Just take it. You’ve been helping me, so why not.”

Oliver hesitates. The idea of being able to regen more often is a tempting one, but nothing is free out here, and while he likes Erich, would like to keep traveling with the man, taking something like this could easily put him in the man’s debt, and being in someone’s debt isn’t safe. As gruffly kind as Erich seems to be, he’s also strong, and Oliver has no guarantee that what he’s seen so far is the whole truth—

“You… don’t have to,” Erich says awkwardly, breaking into Oliver’s spiraling thoughts. He looks away, shoulders stiff and outstretched hand falling back to his side, and adds, “I just… thought it could provide a bit of peace of mind for you, since I have no use for it myself.”

Oliver bites his lip and takes a moment to just… look at Erich, at his stiff, awkward posture and careful avoidance of Oliver’s gaze and…

If Erich’s trying to manipulate him, he’s doing a damn good job.

On the other hand…

“The offer’s tempting. Anyone would want more chances to regen, especially out here,” Oliver says carefully, trying to order his thoughts in a way that shouldn’t offend the man. “And I do mean anyone,” he adds, just to try and hammer home exactly why he’s hesitating. “You sure you want to offer something like that to me?”

The look Erich shoots him is all offended pride, almost like a cat Oliver can vaguely remember owning before the world went to hell. “I don’t give a shit about what ‘anyone’ wants,” he grumbles, brows furrowing and chin tipping to the side. “Right now, the only people I care about are Io and you, so… take it if you want it, or don’t. It’s up to you.”

(Definitely an offended cat.)

(He can practically see the agitated tail and pinned back ears.)

(Wait, shit, that’s… probably not a good thing to be thinking about someone who could kill him without breaking a sweat.)

(Wait, wait, never mind that—)

(Why does Erich care about him?)

(Is this… because he promised to keep the man’s secret?)

Oliver shakes his meandering thoughts free and slowly stretches out his free hand, palm up. “Then… I’ll accept,” he says, trying not to sound as awkward as he feels; in hindsight, it is probably because he knows about Erich’s secret, which makes accepting less of a ‘debt’ and more like a… a bribe, as odd as that sounds. He has no idea why Erich feels he needs to bribe Oliver when the man is as strong as he is, but if it makes him feel better about things, Oliver will accept.

(Especially since more regens are really useful, he wasn’t lying about that.)

(Sometimes, one more regen can mean the difference between continuing the fight and being dispersed.)

Erich drops the little capsule into Oliver’s palm without another word, then steps back from Oliver and turns his attention away, body stiff and gaze pointedly fixed on the path ahead of them, much like an embarrassed cat trying to ignore someone.

(He really needs to stop comparing Erich to a cat, but if the shoe fits…?)

Giving in to Erich’s unspoken desire to drop the topic, Oliver lifts his hand to give the capsule a closer look; this close, he can confirm everything he spotted before — narrow, small, very pointy on one end, filled with a sparkling green liquid — and further confirm that he… he actually has no idea how to use the thing. Which seems like a problem, if this really is supposed to be used.

(Sparkling green mystery liquid isn’t exactly on his list of things marked ‘safe for consumption’, if he’s being honest.)

(Come to think of it, how does Erich even know what this is, anyway?)

(It’s not exactly labeled.)

“Soooo… how is this supposed to be used?” Oliver gives in after a moment’s fruitless examination. “Am I supposed to drink it like a blood bead?”

Erich makes a soft noise of amusement and finally lets his gaze drift back towards Oliver. “It’s an injection,” he says blandly, gesturing to the capsule and then to his neck. “Pointy end goes in your neck. It takes care of the rest.”

“That’s about the opposite of reassuring, you know that, right?” Oliver can’t help but grumble as he adjusts his grip on the capsule. “If this kills me, I’m going to find a way to haunt you.” At Erich’s confused look, he huffs a laugh and says, “It’s a joking threat from before… all of this mess,” with a small wave of his hand to encompass the cave, the ruins, and the Lost patrolling not far away. “Before coming back to life was just daily existence, threatening to haunt someone was like… like saying ‘I trust you, but I have misgivings about this’,” he explains, figuring that over explaining is better than under explaining, especially when he doesn’t really know what sort of memories Erich still has.

“Ah,” Erich murmurs, then shrugs and adds, “I’ve used those before, if that helps.”

“Not really,” Oliver says wryly, even as he brings the capsule up to his neck and settles the point against his skin. He’s… really not certain about this, as much as he wants to trust Erich; the list of reasons why he shouldn’t is probably longer than his arm, and at the very top is ‘stabbing himself with an unknown object’.

Still, if Erich wanted him dead, the man wouldn’t need to resort to some weird trickery, so…

Before he can second-third-fourth guess himself, he stabs the pointy end of the capsule into his neck, just below his mask frame, and winces at the pinprick-sharp jolt of pain followed by the rush of force and—

He can feel it, spreading like a ripple of warmth through his body. It lasts a second— an eternity— and then it just… settles. It settles, and he knows, just like he’s always known how many regenerations he has left, that he’s stronger than before.

“Huh. That’s an… odd sensation,” Oliver murmurs as he pulls his hand away from his neck and eyes the empty capsule. “Thanks though, I appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

Oliver tucks the empty capsule into one of his pockets and rolls his shoulders in an effort to ease the tension from them; it doesn’t exactly work, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

“Right, let’s get moving again,” Oliver declares as he hefts his hammer with both hands and glances at Erich. When the man just inclines his head and gestures for Oliver to take the lead, he starts moving, following the gently sloping passage down and around—

They do in fact meet up with the other path, just like Erich thought, which is good enough for Oliver; he hadn’t seen any bloodsprings along the visible part of the other path, so right now there’s no reason for them to backtrack. Maybe if they reach a dead end in this directly they’ll have to, but for now ‘forward’ is the better option. Hopefully.

‘Forward’ involves another brief fight with a couple of Lost, who Oliver just bats off the cliff in lieu of truly fighting them, and then they round a corner and there’s a mistle, albeit a dried one, along with some crates and stacks of old supplies.

“Ah, there’s someone’s old campsite,” Oliver says as he scans the intersection and takes the area in, looking for any hidden Lost and finding none. There’s a large one lurking down a side-path — he can hear it more than see it, but that’s enough for him — but he doesn’t think it’ll become an issue unless they get within sight of it. “Want to stop for a moment?”

Erich hums softly and sweeps forward, hopping up onto the little ledge and kneeling beside the dried up mistle, his brows furrowed and his shoulders tense as he eyes it.

“Don’t get your hopes up too much,” Oliver says tiredly as he follows, watching the way Erich leans forward and brings his hands up. “I know that one at the spot we were tossed in came back to life, but I’ve never seen something like that happen before…”

The words die in his throat as Erich slants a wary look his way and then nicks a finger with his gauntlet, his blue-violet blood welling up and spilling over, sinking into the ground like water into a sponge and—

Light explodes from the mistle as it revives in a burst of purifying power, the shriveled plant unfurling and casting its soft light all around them.

Oliver stares at the revived mistle in shock, then lets his hammer fade away and slowly steps around Erich to settle into a crouch on the other side of the mistle, letting its strength filter into him and refresh his body in a way he hasn’t felt for years. The soft click of a mask releasing from its frame draws his attention from the mistle and across to Erich, who’s watching him with a wary look, lips pressed into a thin line and something grim-cautious-hunted about his expression that makes Oliver ache.

“I won’t tell anyone,” he promises Erich quietly, even as he reaches up to unlatch his own mask. It feels so wrong to do it after so many years of living night and day in the damn thing, but it’s also… good. It feels like freedom, despite just being an isolated mistle hidden in a dark corner of a Lost-infested cavern.

(Despite the fact that neither of them are free.)

“Thank you,” Erich murmurs back, his shoulders slumping in relief. “I don’t… I figured I might as well try, you know? I scraped my hands up when they kicked us down here, and the mistle there revived, so…”

“Makes sense,” Oliver agrees, then grimaces and rubs at the side of his head. “Well, no, it really doesn’t, in that I’ve never heard of someone being able to revive the damn things, but… experimenting like that does.”

Erich huffs a quiet laugh, some of his wariness fading at Oliver’s words, and says, “So long as something makes sense,” with a measure of exhaustion that makes Oliver want to pull the man into a hug.

(He’s missing parts of his own past, he knows that, but… not everything.)

(Fuck, what must it be like, running on instincts and guesses and nothing else?)

(That sounds like a horrible life…)

“Hey, it’s fine, we’ll figure it out,” Oliver offers before he can think better of it. “If we find a bloodspring, maybe you can revive that, too. It’ll help lower the gang members’ defenses if we have something to show for our efforts.”

Erich hums softly, eyes half-lidding as he considers the idea, then nods. “That could work,” he mutters just loud enough for Oliver to catch. “It will get their eyes off Io for a bit longer than us just showing up. If we do that…” his words trail off into silence as he sinks back into his head, clearly plotting how to deal with the gang.

Oliver leaves him be, content to just rest for a moment. They’re going to need to get moving again soon enough — he’s a bit worried about the way Erich keeps opening his mouth a bit and running his tongue over his teeth — but he doesn’t see any other sign that Erich might be getting close to a frenzy.

So long as he keeps taking point, and so long as there is a bloodspring somewhere nearby, it should be fine.

(Fuck, he really hopes everything will be fine.)

(He doesn’t want to see what sort of monster Erich will become when he frenzies.)

(He has a very, very bad feeling about that.)

(A very bad feeling…)