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Only one light was on.
It still lit the common-room, but it was difficult to focus on anything else. The single lantern already had to work overtime during nightfall, when the candle sconces got too bright.
It was nearing midnight, everyone else had already gone to bed or signed out for the evening.
He was usually an advocate for a consistent sleep schedule, but this time, he felt his reason was valid. Then again, said reason validated any doubts questioning if he was worrying too much. He didn’t know how everyone else hid it so well.
The adventurer was leaning against the backside of the couch. Facing the clock, the entrance to his left. He didn’t lose track of how long he’d waited there after finishing paperwork, but how long he’d been there wasn’t as important as how late it was.
And then.
The door opened, the source of his worries leaning against the frame.
“Oh...you’re still up,” Bennett said. It wasn’t a question.
Lydon, used to the routine, had already started moving. Catching Bennett before the inevitable trip over the loose floorboard, and shutting the door behind them. “Just me being a worrywart is all.”
Usually, his worrying wasn’t as justified as he made it seem, but seeing Bennett’s bandaging this poorly done gave him reason to suspect otherwise.
“‘M sorry, didn’t mean to make you stay up.”
“It’s nothing you have to worry about.” Since before Bennett knew how to wrap bandages, they’d made the first-aid more accessible from the front entrance. None of them really needed it for each other, but telling Bennett that had made him stop staring at it. “Besides, they should have to deal with someone else cooking breakfast more often.”
Lydon led Bennett to sit on the old couch, the kit in his hand. This was also part of a routine, but that routine had made scarce years ago. That didn’t deter the familiarity.
Bennett always used as little wrapping as possible, no matter how many times they told him it wasn’t being wasteful. He’d also had years of practice—too much practice. Always covering precisely enough so that nobody knew what was underneath. These, however, were dressed in exactly the way that new members always insisted they required: too much, rushed, and clearly without any assistance.
Like he’d been entirely focused on stopping the bleeding, not if the wounds were actually on their way to healing up.
The one in question had always been self-conscious before he knew how to properly truss them. Not this time, though, so it was something bigger.
Lydon opened the pack. The bandage was never hard to find, but he had to undress these wounds first before he could do anything else. The right leg first, then.
Bennett didn’t like to make eye contact on bad days. Lydon knew today was a bad day when he learned that he was the second one out of bed that morning.
Which prompted the worrying.
Which prompted helping with paperwork and not actually going out...just in case.
Which prompted him to realize that Bennett had taken on A-rank difficulty. The same level of difficulty that he’d only done once prior, that ended with two large scars across his chest and shoulder. He’d been more excited about the Vision.
Which prompted more testimony from several sources that this wasn’t anything new, that Bennett was already growing up fast, that he didn’t need to act like a mother hen, which also wasn’t anything new.
Which prompted the staying up until midnight. With his speed at deploying common first aid decreased for both of their sakes.
He wouldn’t just rip them off; he was patient.
The clip was being difficult, or maybe that was the tiredness talking. It wasn’t hidden, it just seemed to be tighter than usual.
“You can talk to me about this stuff. My best listener title isn’t going anywhere.” Even though this was ground he’d walked before, he knew he had to tread carefully.
And finally, Bennett looked up. Eyes the same as they looked all the times before, always that he knew he’d been found out. Guilty was too appropriate a word for the context. Back down, focused on his hands again, but not in the same way as before. “I—.”
He stayed silent; it wasn’t often that Bennett had to think before he spoke.
The clip came undone.
A short sigh, “just...don’t want to get too used to it, I guess.”
“...what do you mean?”
Bennett’s leg twitched slightly; the second layer was off. Lydon didn’t know which had happened first, but he did know he had to slow the process.
“I guess...word got out about the transport balloon thing.” Ah. The one he’d been late for because of a usually dormant ruin hunter making the rounds. The process continued, slower. “And some of the guys I could rely on for commissions won’t—let me.”
The first layer had also been unwrapped, but that only seemed to make the kid more tense. Still no eye contact. Lydon breathed, and took the new wrapping out.
“So you’ve had to take them further out?”
“...yeah.”
He nodded. It was noticed, which was good. Bennett always needed time before the real issue would come out.
The cut wasn’t deep, contrary to his guess given the underside of the second layer earlier. Its location though, inflamed over the calf characteristic of dendro samachurl thorns...any lower and they would’ve had real trouble. He didn’t let the sigh out though. If he did, Bennett would think it was about him in a different way.
Mist flower residue was always cold to the touch, good for disinfecting if it was purified. The guild had a good stock of it now, ever since a certain someone came home with a pyro Vision, too casual about how exactly he’d gotten it. Before that, they’d only used it during emergencies, which was why the same someone always insisted that he didn’t need it. After, though, they had an excuse. He always startled—moreso when he was thinking—he did run hot after all, even before the Vision.
It was reassuring to see the same startle even now; smaller, but still there. So he was still thinking.
Then there was the valberry gauze, a misleading title for young children who assumed all berries tasted good. Except: it wasn’t made from the berries, but the leaves, which was misleading for young adventurers who didn’t know exactly how weaving worked. Both of those had only happened once as far as he knew. Bad luck didn’t affect general knowledge, after all.
And finally, the bandage itself. The ones that used lamp grass fibre, more elastic, as opposed to the usual cotton, lotus ones they got from Liyue. Any adventurer could tell the difference, and it earned him a glance. Of surprise or confusion, he didn’t know. He did know, however, that he didn’t make a mistake, no matter what anyone else in the room thought.
Lydon stood, sat down to Bennett’s left, the supplies still on the card table, and began to repeat the process. It was the arm now, just below his last scar from an A-rank. He hoped this one wouldn’t cling like the last.
But then, he heard a breath.
“When—“
There was eye contact for a moment, but it left again. Lydon hummed to show he’d heard; the kid didn’t give up once he’d committed.
“When...are you all going to get rid of me...”
Head completely turned away then. Something that also wasn’t a question.
Lydon’s hands stilled, which messed up the unwrapping. It was only for a moment, but it was enough for them both to notice. Bennett had always been more observant than he let on.
“I mean. When I can’t earn enough.” His voice didn’t shake, “how—um—how long.”
The second layer came undone.
“What do you mean earn enough? We’re not in any danger.”
“No like...for me.”
Then the first.
And so. He breathed.
He took the mist flower residue...
“You never have to earn anything.” Bennett didn’t startle this time; he was there. “You adventure for the sake of it just as we’ve all done. As long as you’re doing that, we’ll figure something out.”
A puncture wound, an archer most likely. Deep, but small. All this one needed was a patch.
Bennett had perfected bandage applying by age seven. Nobody taught him how. He did it himself, practically overnight. And if anyone else noticed how much he rubbed his eyes that morning, nobody said a thing.
He must’ve noticed it though, because that was the last time he let it slip.
“But I can’t...” For the first time in eight years, “I mean—you all...” Bennett’s eyes became glassy with a witness.
And for the umpteenth time in all fifteen, Lydon brought him into a hug, not one of them being asked for out loud.
“Hey...we’re ok.”
“I—I know.” He always accepted hugs nothing like how he gave them. As if he didn’t know what to do with them even though they’d happened so many times before. The line in his shoulders too tense, like he wanted to accept it fully but was holding back. “It’s just...everyone keeps—putting up with me and I want to make it up to you but I...I’m sorry.”
There was no reply for a moment. If Lydon made any other sound, Bennett would interpret it as something else. So, they stayed like that, while small circles were rubbed into the kid’s shoulder. That always seemed to help the tension.
“Who said we didn’t need you?” He asked. A genuine question, but he felt he already knew the answer. Bennett’s worst enemy when it came to this stuff was always himself. The hold on him tightened a little. Not relaxed, just more accepting of what was happening. “To be honest, I think we need you more than you need us.”
(He was good at being honest.)
Neither of them said anything for a moment. And, after another, Bennett readjusted his injured leg.
(But, he had a tendency to watch and wait for too long.)
“You brought a lot of light into our lives, n’ definitely for those old men.” He finally let his sigh go, as, now, it had a different target. “‘What good is an adventurer who can’t adventure anymore’.” That’s what he’d heard.
The adventurer’s spirit was about pursuing life to its fullest, finding excitement in the small things of life, about not giving up no matter how bad it looked. All had been taken for granted by every man in this building, Lydon included. All three of the key ideals, perfectly embodied into the greatest treasure they’d ever come across.
(He would make sure he was honest now, this time, rather than being too late.)
“You made us all realize what we were missing out on when we took fatherhood off the table.” It was something he’d heard from all of them at least once. The adventurer would’ve called that his biggest regret—not quitting when he felt the inclination—for that very reason. But, if he hadn’t stayed, he wouldn’t’ve been here now.
The only response he got was breathing, but it was smoother then. Bennett had always gone to bed earlier when he’d used his Vision to heal. The week when he found out how to stop making the healing hurt was also the one when he’d had the most consistent sleep schedule. It was only after, when it started being bragged about, how it didn’t cauterize anymore, it worked just like Barbara’s see, so it was fine, that Lydon had known who exactly would’ve had to feel that pain.
Bennett wasn’t asleep, but he was getting there.
“You mean a lot to all of us, kid. You’ll always have a place here, I promise.”
They couldn’t stop him from growing up, or any of the things that fate would have thrown at him. But, they could be there whenever he needed a break from it all.
There was a sigh, relieved, taking the tension away. “Thanks Dad.” Soft, tired, but audible. Clearly had been choked up, but Bennett didn’t seem to mind this time.
Only after the hold on him adjusted again, fully lax and characteristic of a tired teenager trying to get comfortable, did Lydon take a breath. “It is getting pretty late isn’t it?”
A mumble that sounded like the ‘maybe’ of someone who’d been caught.
Guilty, in the right context.
“Alright, come on.”
The kid’s room was upstairs, and while usually they could both deal with the trip up the third step, the third step also had a tendency to have outcomes other than staying put. Lydon wasn’t about to risk it. Although, unlike the other times Bennett had been caught sleeping on the couch, this one was his responsibility.
At least he saved Bennett from that lecture about taking care of his back; it wasn’t like he had plans for tomorrow anyway.
He took one of the spare blankets and draped it over the sleeping form. It’d probably just get kicked off, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
Finally, he removed the goggles. They stayed on too much in Lydon’s opinion, but nobody really asked for that. It was the pair Bennett had bought with his own money, the first thing he ever really bought for himself. Cheap, chipped, and most likely bought used, but he’d always savored small things like that
Lydon set them onto the card table, which would hopefully not move locations again in the next few hours, when he heard a small, “love you.” The source hadn’t changed positions, except for the ankle slipped out from under the cover.
It wasn’t like hearing that was an odd thing, but that didn’t stop it from feeling like a treasure all on its own. ‘Appreciating the small things’. He’d gotten pretty good at that.
“You too kid, don’t forget that.” A hair ruffle, for good measure.
The first aid kit was packed up again, placed back where he’d taken it from. Always accessible; nobody needed to ask for it.
He looked back over to see Bennett’s leg poking out from under the blanket, only a hint of the fresh bandage visible.
The wounds weren’t gone, but as long as they could support him as much as he did them, they’d heal with time.
Lydon walked up to the last lit up lantern, and blew it out.