![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silver_sunWip Wednesday time again - yes, it’s still the Songxiao canon divergent au Although it won't be a wip for much long - just half of the last part left to finish and a posting date in April for when the mdzs wip bigbang collection goes live on ao3.
I will then, no doubt start posting bits from another wip I've started or another bigbang fic (I've been looking at doing the mxtx journeys one.
The weather outside is awful, but Song Lan doesn’t bother getting fully dressed, doesn’t bother with anything apart from his shoes, before he steps out into the driving wind and rain. His clothes are soaked through before he’s taken more than a few steps, the wind bitingly cold against his skin.
He shields his eyes, trying to see in the wet and dark. He tries calling out, “Xingchen! Xingchen, where are you?”
There is no response, the wind and rain drowning out other sounds. There is no way of telling if he has been heard or, if he has, whether he has failed to hear it. He presses on, certain that Xingchen cannot have gone far, not if Wei Ying had been aware that he was on the ground. The child hadn’t seemed overly soaked or likely to wander too far from them on such a night.
A thought comes to him - the donkey. Maybe Xingchen had gone to check on the creature or Wei Ying had, perhaps he was there. Skirting the rubble at the front of the building, Song Lan calls out again, but still there is no answer.
A few more steps and he sees it. On the ground, barely visible in the gloom and heavy rain, is a patch of grey-white. It’s still, unmoving, and for a moment Song Lan is frozen in place. The fear at what he’ll find rendering him unable to do anything. Then the patch moves, trying to stand, but falling back, too weak or hurt to manage it.
Alive. Relieved, terrified still at what he will find, Song Lan rushes over, heedless of the tangle of vegetation that catches and snags at his clothes.
Xingchen is slumped against one of the fallen columns that had once provided a terrace at the side of the temple. Clinging to it, he’s trying to stand, but he’s shaking so badly that his legs won’t support him.
Putting an arm around him, Song Lan lifts to his feet and holds him close, so he cannot fall again. “I am here.”
“Here? Zichen, where…” He stops, sounding confused, as he trembles almost violently in Song Lan’s arms. “Oh, air, that was it. I felt dizzy, I thought that air would…” He trails off again, making a small whimpering sound before he says, “I feel so strange..”
Despite the cold and wet night, Song Lan can feel Xingchen burning against him. “You have a fever,” he replies, “You must come back inside and rest.”
“I can’t. I can’t move. I tried, ” Xingchen says, sounding distressed as he sags against him. “I’ll fall.”
“You won’t. I have you.” Even with help he doubts Xingchen will be able to walk. The only reasonable course of action, he decides, is to not allow him to walk at all - he’ll carry him.
It isn’t difficult to lift him, to hold him in his arms. Although in retrospect, Song Lan thinks a moment later, telling him what he was going to do should have featured in the plan. As, confused by being suddenly swept off his feet, Xingchen starts to struggle, nearly tripping them both over into the mud.
“Stop.” Song Lan holds on to him. “I’ve got you, calm yourself.”
It takes a moment, but Xingchen stops, going still and quiet in his arms. Song Lan gives him a little more time to get used to being held before he starts to move, to carry him back inside. The warmth of the weight in his arms, the feeling of his breath against neck, where Xingchen’s head rests against his shoulder, reassures him. Where there is life there is hope, all he needs to do is keep his head, not panic about anything and then things will be alright.
I will then, no doubt start posting bits from another wip I've started or another bigbang fic (I've been looking at doing the mxtx journeys one.
The weather outside is awful, but Song Lan doesn’t bother getting fully dressed, doesn’t bother with anything apart from his shoes, before he steps out into the driving wind and rain. His clothes are soaked through before he’s taken more than a few steps, the wind bitingly cold against his skin.
He shields his eyes, trying to see in the wet and dark. He tries calling out, “Xingchen! Xingchen, where are you?”
There is no response, the wind and rain drowning out other sounds. There is no way of telling if he has been heard or, if he has, whether he has failed to hear it. He presses on, certain that Xingchen cannot have gone far, not if Wei Ying had been aware that he was on the ground. The child hadn’t seemed overly soaked or likely to wander too far from them on such a night.
A thought comes to him - the donkey. Maybe Xingchen had gone to check on the creature or Wei Ying had, perhaps he was there. Skirting the rubble at the front of the building, Song Lan calls out again, but still there is no answer.
A few more steps and he sees it. On the ground, barely visible in the gloom and heavy rain, is a patch of grey-white. It’s still, unmoving, and for a moment Song Lan is frozen in place. The fear at what he’ll find rendering him unable to do anything. Then the patch moves, trying to stand, but falling back, too weak or hurt to manage it.
Alive. Relieved, terrified still at what he will find, Song Lan rushes over, heedless of the tangle of vegetation that catches and snags at his clothes.
Xingchen is slumped against one of the fallen columns that had once provided a terrace at the side of the temple. Clinging to it, he’s trying to stand, but he’s shaking so badly that his legs won’t support him.
Putting an arm around him, Song Lan lifts to his feet and holds him close, so he cannot fall again. “I am here.”
“Here? Zichen, where…” He stops, sounding confused, as he trembles almost violently in Song Lan’s arms. “Oh, air, that was it. I felt dizzy, I thought that air would…” He trails off again, making a small whimpering sound before he says, “I feel so strange..”
Despite the cold and wet night, Song Lan can feel Xingchen burning against him. “You have a fever,” he replies, “You must come back inside and rest.”
“I can’t. I can’t move. I tried, ” Xingchen says, sounding distressed as he sags against him. “I’ll fall.”
“You won’t. I have you.” Even with help he doubts Xingchen will be able to walk. The only reasonable course of action, he decides, is to not allow him to walk at all - he’ll carry him.
It isn’t difficult to lift him, to hold him in his arms. Although in retrospect, Song Lan thinks a moment later, telling him what he was going to do should have featured in the plan. As, confused by being suddenly swept off his feet, Xingchen starts to struggle, nearly tripping them both over into the mud.
“Stop.” Song Lan holds on to him. “I’ve got you, calm yourself.”
It takes a moment, but Xingchen stops, going still and quiet in his arms. Song Lan gives him a little more time to get used to being held before he starts to move, to carry him back inside. The warmth of the weight in his arms, the feeling of his breath against neck, where Xingchen’s head rests against his shoulder, reassures him. Where there is life there is hope, all he needs to do is keep his head, not panic about anything and then things will be alright.