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A dry moan tears through the battlefield’s clashing and fighting. It doesn’t put a pause to the battle, only adds to the cause. Fresh pain is evident everywhere.
“Steady,” gloved hands stop a wounded soldier from getting up, “I’ve got you. You’re going to be alright.”
The voice is familiar. Its owner has served as a medic for longer than Guest’s body has been clad in his crisp uniform. Elliot may be young, but he’s got spirit. Once the man has bandaged the gaping wound in his leg and lifted him in his arms to drop off at the medic tents, he’s back out, running into the field to help more.
As time passes, Guest only rises in rank, climbing the ladder into a position of leadership. His stance is solidified by the lives lost and blood needlessly splattered.
He keeps running into Elliot despite the other’s surprise.
Guest has definitely earned his keep by now. Not many can surpass his strategic planning and remain level-headed, not to the point of getting the Bacon War to where it is. His administration is highly valued. If he so wants, he could stay safe in the confines of a leader’s office and the protection of his subordinates.
And yet, he keeps going back onto the field with everybody else, putting his life on the line for the goal.
It’s those actions that make Elliot develop the tendency to keep an eye on him. It’s not hard. Guest gives every battle his all. He’ll be found at the front without a doubt, and Elliot, behind him, will be seen fluttering like a moth to a flame.
He’s learnt not to prioritize him per se.
Smothering him will help no one. If Elliot did that, he’d be ignoring his oath to better serve those who need it.
Instead, he focuses on getting everyone injured safe and taken care of, both because it’s the right thing to do, and because he knows it will bring peace to the other to know his comrades are well. That way, things can progress as smoothly as possible for everyone involved.
“Are you alright?”
Elliot’s eyes fly to the tent’s flap. At Guest’s appearance, he faces forward and stands tall, a salute ready.
The man’s face twists.
Even after years, he remains unused to the strict respect abundantly given to him. It’s weirder knowing Elliot, despite being younger, has two years on him. He’s sure that if Elliot wanted, he’d have made a fine recruit, probably would’ve made his way to a similar position.
“...are you okay?” Guest asks again, awkward.
Elliot’s chuckle is light, more air than laugh. For an army general, Guest’s not all that he seems. He’s nice. An overall good guy. One you’d probably grab a beer with and chat about niceties for way longer than necessary because he doesn’t know how to kindly exit the conversation.
“I’m alright,” he assures the other, feeling comfortable enough to turn his back and begin putting away the medkit he’d been checking. He begins explaining on habit. “I’m making a record of inventory. You know, quantity and quality, all that stuff. I’d rather get it done now than another time when things may be more, well, you know, dire.”
Encroaching, Guest nods. “Everything is fine then?”
Elliot closes and moves the medkit to the side of the table. He nods back, already starting on another.
“Yeah, I’d say so,” his hands point as he talks, “Gauze. Dressings. Torniquets.” Moving to the other side, he continues, “We’ve got catheters. Seals. Tubing, fluids, and gels. I just need to organize everything, and we should be all good.”
“As expected of our medics,” Guest commends. “But I was referring to you. You’ve been sluggish, and I wanted to see if I can help with anything. If you feel ill, you can head back to quarters along with the injured and transporters.”
The idea of that alone brings Elliot to panic. “Have I been sluggish? I feel fine???”
Guest hums. A look of uncertainty on his face.
Elliot frets.
“Are you sure it was me you saw? I don’t mean to throw anyone under the bus, but I really feel fine! You know, a lot of people get me and Noob confused. I think it’s the hair. Maybe it was them you saw.” He perks up, “I’ll check on them for you!”
“No, that’s not needed.” Guest declines. His posture becomes more casual, his shoulders relaxed, and his back without tension. “We’ve served together for a couple of years now. I know what you look like, Elliot.”
“Steady,” Guest’s saving grace hovers over him, bathed in daylight and gunpowder, “I’ve got you. You’re going to be alright.”
It would be impossible to make a mistake like that. Especially with the number of times Elliot’s saved his ass.
“I’m not speaking to you as General, so please don’t take it as a threat. I just want to see how I can help, if I can.”
For a second, Guest fears Elliot won’t understand. Although Guest was once his junior of sorts, as things stand, he’s a person of high power. People struggle to separate Guest from his role as General. It’s as isolating as it is valid.
Unsurprisingly, though, Elliot, the gracious person he is, doesn’t struggle to receive his message. He only releases a deep sigh.
When he’s done exhaling, he sort of looks like a puppet cut from its strings. “Have I really seemed sluggish?”
“Well, maybe more tired. You’ve been doing as good a job as usual, though.”
“Mm…” The blonde stares to the side, thinking. His teeth peek out from where they worry his bottom lip. “I guess that checks out.”
“Hm?”
“The ambush last week made us all scramble. We didn’t exactly have enough time to fit all the cots before leaving, so I’ve been sleeping on the floor. It's not exactly comfortable, but I didn't think it was affecting me."
Guest processes this, arms crossing. “How many cots are missing?”
“...One.”
“...” Guest eyes his colleague. “...Is there anything else missing?”
A sheepish smile crosses Elliot’s face, like he suspects the lecture ahead. “My personal tent and items.”
He jumps the gun on explaining. “I was on shift when the ambush happened. It was either help transport the injured or pack my stuff up,” he laughs nervously when Guest’s eyes narrow. “I think I made the right choice.”
A hand lands on his shoulder, and he tenses.
“You did well,” Guest assures him, “But the right thing to do after would’ve been to let me or any of your supervisors know about your stuff. If you want to help others, you’ve got to be in sorts yourself.”
“I know, I know, but we’re making so much progress, and wasting time on that seemed–”
Elliot winces. On instinct, he raises his hands to his ears to muffle the loud sounds that came out of nowhere.
Gunshots blare clearly throughout the base.
This late at night, no one should be firing if there is no imminent danger. Guest swiftly peeks his head out of the tent to scan the perimeter. When he sees no one, he takes a minute to settle things there.
“Someone’s here,” he whispers, while drawing out his weapons. “Fifteen people. More if they didn’t shoot their guns.”
“How? We have people patrolling – and alarms. There’s no way.”
“I don’t know, but those gunshots aren’t ours. We haven’t got those types of munitions. We’ll have to assume the people patrolling have been downed.”
Elliot’s eyes widen. The severity of the situation is rejected in his mind. “No. No way. Those were the first gunshots. There’s still time to prove first aid.”
He has a point. But without a sure way of knowing how many enemy troops are out there, it’s risky to retreat that far. There’s also the fact that they would have to make the journey back with the injured. Realistically, they both have to accept that they would already be gone. Setting out for that is an unnecessary risk.
“No,” Guest shakes his head, “It’s best we join the others if we can. It’s not good to stay alone.”
Like a proper soldier, Elliot does a good job of swallowing his defiance. He listens and mirrors. The pain of losing more people is barely visible unless one looks for signs of it.
“Stay close.”
Carefully, they make their way in silence to safety. They find a couple of troops on the way that join them. Thanks to last week’s ambush, they were ready with weapons at hand. Still, they travel with precaution. It's best not to reveal their cards before the enemy.
They make it to a bigger group. Fortunately, or unfortunately, it’s the batch of injured and medical staff on shift. They are safe but know little to nothing about the situation at hand.
Guest lets them know to stay aware of their surroundings. For safety in numbers, he tells everyone to stay put while he does another round of the place. They argue, but ultimately listen in the face of authority.
Elliot stays with a frown. (He’s learned his place. Though it doesn’t mean he accepts it wholeheartedly. He’s nervous about what’s out there, and he doesn’t want Guest to face it alone. Alas, he’s a medic, and the other a general.)
There’s a benefit to being alone. When Guest eventually comes across trouble, he bears it alone. The sight of his comrade’s lifeless bodies is his alone to lament. For the moment, he can bear it and attempt to help those who are still here see tomorrow.
Following a trail of footprints, he finds a mess of blood. There are pained grunts. Though vexingly, only the enemy remains alive.
Guest’s eyes catch on a wounded enemy troop on the floor. Before the other can warn his comrades, he’s got him in a chokehold.
“How many of you are there?” He demands.
The soldier struggles, his nails attempting to dig at his assailant’s arm. Even when Guest offers him a moment of air and peace, he fights and refuses to answer. As he’s about to insist, the man in his clutches struggles.
Then, he feels something prick at him.
He looks down to see that the man’s managed to stab a blade into his side.
Instinctively, his hold weakens, and the man frees himself, mouth opening to yell.
To do that, however, he should’ve done worse. Guest wastes no more time. He grasps the blade lodged in his side and brings it up to the enemy soldier’s neck. With no more hesitation, he jabs it in, puncturing the man’s larynx and leaving him to choke on his own blood.
One down, he supposes.
As he traverses the campsite, he finds more bodies. Some teammates, some enemies. He tells those alive to head to the others and keep them safe. The injured should recover. Any more casualties would leave their team in ruins.
If he can make it to the center of the base, he can attempt to get in contact with nearby allies and call for backup, just in case the situation worsens more than it already has.
So far, any power they had seems to have been shut off.
The moonlight is the sole light guiding the general forward.
It doesn’t fail him. The Bacon General failed to think ahead. Although his team and he were caught off guard, they are in their territory. Guest doesn’t need light to find his way around. He doesn’t need a gun when the enemy is as careless as it is bold.
The torches the enemy holds are easy to extinguish. When darkness consumes everything, he attacks. Fifteen invaders. He killed three on the way. His people took down seven. That leaves five.
The bacon aiming their gun at him is a bad shot. They stumble, the shadows of the night playing a trick on their eyes. Their gun doesn’t get to shoot again. Guest yanks the weapon forward by the barrel. Once the other loses his footing, he rams it forward and away from their hold, using it to knock them cold.
Their comrades arrive to see them on the floor. With them there, Guest counts one left.
The better odds allow him to take the easy path. Gun in hand, he shoots them and waits for the last one to make their move. They have two options: attempt to flee, or they can get rid of him when they have the chance.
The silence answers that question.
Guest proceeds forward.
If he knows the bacon’s way of thinking, they’ll focus on sabotaging the enemy. They don’t know how to choose between defense and offense. Their play is as filthy as the dirt on their feet. In one night, they’ve cut down their numbers, and now, they’re going to attempt to go farther. To get rid of them all by cutting their connection to the outside world.
Too bad for them, he’s studied them. He has since the moment they killed his parents in broad daylight. They rush their actions. Then they flee. Like they had after they left his wife and child bleeding out on the steps of their own home.
The memory replays in his mind.
It does every second. Every minute of every day. It twists his insides until his lungs ache for air and heart for rest. Deep, peaceful rest. A reunion with his loved ones. He yearns for it. Aches for it like an addict. He’s become a different man since he last saw his family, but maybe life would allow mercy under the circumstances. If he became the monster he is, it was for peace. So families like his don’t have to suffer needless tragedy.
That is why he doesn’t feel as horrible as he should for exterminating the enemies who made their way into their grounds.
Their demise isn’t unwarranted. It’s essential if the world is to change.
“Hands on the ground, General.”
Guest doesn’t get a second to enter the tent of command. A hard kick knocks him to the ground. From a blurry look, he sees that the circuits to the communication devices have all been damaged. His troops are done for if he doesn’t get rid of this last bacon soon enough.
The gun he had been holding fell with him, sliding away from his grasp.
Either way, the ammo had been finished. It's a dreadful thought to know it had been unloaded onto his comrades.
Another kick comes. It lies him flat, his chest to the ground and his back pressed in by a boot.
“I should kill you where you are,” the bacon spits out. His foot presses harder. “It’s where people like you belong.”
Guest’s voice comes out scratchy, dirt and gunpowder lodged in his lungs. “I must be important if I’m all it takes to grate on your nerves.”
The comment earns him another kick.
Instead of allowing him to escape, the backtalk immediately earns him a blade at his back. It prods his skin before claiming flesh.
“Shut it, scum.” The blade twists. It creates waves of blazing pain that courses through the rest of him.
Guest doesn’t reward him with any sign of pain.
He knows better than to test the seriousness of people like this. The hatred they have for guests is illogical. Their minds are diluted by so much hate and thirst for uniformity. He shouldn’t encourage his wrath when he’s pinned down as he is.
Yet his anger fails him.
No matter the outcome of the war, he’s already lost. He has nothing else to lose if he dies in this moment. And he’s so mad, so tired of dealing with people like this day after day.
“Make me.” His blood boils. He can’t differentiate pain from emotion. “If you believe in what you’re doing right now, get on with it. Kill me.”
The man scoffs. “I follow my general’s orders.”
Guest’s lungs labor over a dry chuckle. "Your general's slacking while you're here doing his dirty work."
The blade presses deeper, puncturing muscle. Guest revels in it.
“I told you to shut up!”
“Why should I? You have no honor, you won’t kill me.”
The blade goes deeper. Then deeper. Then it disappears completely as the man forcefully turns him so they face each other.
On top of him, the man’s face screws in outrage.
But he’s made a mistake. When he attempts to bring his blade to Guest’s neck, the general catches his hands and pushes. They struggle in a tangle of limbs.
When Guest creates distance, the other pushes his weight onto his chest and weakens him all over again. His fury is animalistic. It manages to get him momentary control as adrenaline rushes through him.
“What do you have?” He spits at him. “Nothing. We’ve taken everything from you, so give up.”
The point of his blade cuts the tender skin of Guest’s neck. Blood trickles. It’s a surface wound, yet the satisfaction on the bacon’s face is no less. His senses heighten as he’s pushed to his limit. The words echo in his mind. Stand by your beliefs. Kill.
“I wonder,” he toys with his prey, “how would it feel to end the last guest on Robloxia? Good? Exciting?”
Guest closes his eyes.
The sight is not an enviable one.
Is this how his family felt?
His body aches all over. He hopes their end was much quicker.
“Quiet now, are we?” The bacon laughs. “Don’t worry. At least one of us will enjoy this.”
The tension clinging to Guest’s body breaks.
In less than a second, he’s free. The air around him goes stale, and a coldness sets in. Blood has splattered on his collar all the way to his chest.
A choked voice weakly calls out. “I counted…”
The pistol in Elliot’s hands trembles.
A few feet away from Guest and the dead bacon soldier, he stands, his whole body shaking as he rehearses a report. “T–Thirteen dead. One, wounded and captured.”
His eyes blur as they fall on the man he just killed.
“Number fifteen,”
Guest watches something shatter in the medic.
“Dead.”
They gather themselves eventually. Power is recuperated. Allies are called in. They are able to pry information from the bacon soldier captured and figure out where to attack next. They don’t wait long to strike. A week max, and everyone is preparing to head out.
They prepare weaponry, ammunition, and soldiers. It’s a plan based on offense. They aim to settle the grounds set.
That being said, Guest does hesitate on what to do with the medics. While they have been plenty of help, he doesn’t want to risk them in what will be a presumingly intense battle.
He thinks of Elliot and worries. This war is nearing its end, and he would hate to get the man wrapped up in the overwhelming explosion that will be its peak.
His kindness deserves to live on, unburned.
In a perfect world, one as kind as him, Elliot’s hands would remain untainted by blood. His biggest worry would be spilt ice cream instead of whether he would live to see another day. He wouldn’t cry over outliving some of his patients. His guilt would be no more. Maybe he’d run a pizzeria instead, like the one he shared memories about with him once ago.
Maybe Guest would’ve met him there instead of nearly dying in his arms a couple of times.
They could have proper time to get to know each other, not feel pressured by imminent death to speak of themselves in fear that no one would remember them as they are. Guest would know how much nicer Elliot’s smile is in the presence of the things and people he loves.
Daisy, forgive him. He’s strayed far.
“Knock knock.” Elliot’s voice breaks his focus. “You in there, Mr. General?”
“Come in, Elliot.”
The blonde does, opening his tent’s flap door with his body, his hands busy with a suitcase and tray.
“Okay, I noticed you weren’t at dinner, so I brought you a plate,” he says, setting the suitcase aside so he can use his free hand to clear a spot on Guest’s table. “There was no soda or juice, so you’ll have to do with water.”
Guest looks at the bags under his eyes. It seems even with a replacement cot, Elliot hasn’t had good sleep.
“I heard we’re leaving before daylight, so you'd better get to eating. Maybe you can sneak a nap in.” Opening the suitcase he’d brought, Elliot examines the contents of it as routine. “If you’re not going to eat or sleep, at least help me decide what else to bring with us. I know it’s a limited mission, so I don’t want to pack too much.”
“Elliot, we should talk.”
“Would it be too much to pack another suitcase? I wouldn’t want to be underprepared either…”
“Elliot…”
“Not that we’re not totally winning this! I mean, we are. We’re already way past the turning point. I just want to be prepared…There’s no need for any injuries to go unchecked.”
“Elliot,” Guest puts a pause to it, “You’re not going.”
And he thinks the other already knew that. Elliot’s posture is wound tight, his worry imminent. It’s the stance of someone who knows what’s going to happen and doesn’t like it.
“You’re going to need a medic.”
“The plan is purely offensive. Having medics with us will only set us back.”
“Set you back?” Elliot scoffs. “We’re the reason you’re even standing here in the first place.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
Elliot doesn’t back down.
Guest fears what he has to say.
A sole medic on the team isn’t a bad idea. If anything happens, no matter how minor, a medic can attend to it and, in doing so, fortify their troops. There’s also the fact that medics are technically trained in hand-to-hand combat. It’s basic but helpful. Elliot demonstrated how useful that can be, not only for self-defense but also for more grave measures.
It’s that same night that stops Guest from agreeing to bring him.
Elliot is strong, but selfishly, Guest wants to protect him. If he can help it, he wants to shield him from more bloodshed to come.
The look on his face when he realized he killed a person is ingrained in Guest’s memory.
It was pure disgust.
Disbelief that his hands that had saved so many lives took one so brutally. The oath he'd taken felt meaningless. He was no medic. That night, he was a true and tried soldier.
“You want to talk about things we know? I’ve saved your life multiple times now, General. Like it or not, I’m good on the team. You’d be doing yourself and everyone a favor by taking me along.”
“Steady,” Elliot’s smile is blooming, he’s got much ahead of him, “I’ve got you. You’re going to be alright.”
Guest’s resolve grows. He wants to let Elliot keep his tenderness. His humanity. Just for one more battle.
“You’re right,” he admits. “You’ve saved my life more times than I can count on both my hands. After tragedy struck, you’re the one thing that's kept me together. You’re strong, and kind, and smart, and you – You, Elliot Builder, are the best thing that’s happened to this team. To me.”
Guest’s words fall on Elliot like armor. Their honesty captivates him.
When Guest takes his hands in his, he’s anchored by his emotion.
“So, I’m asking you to please let me protect you this time. I want to fight this battle knowing you’re safe somewhere far away from the fighting.”
Guest presses their foreheads together. He hopes his words can reach Elliot.
Please, Telamon, let him have this one thing. If he could spare Elliot the pain, let him embrace it all alone.
“I’ll win this war, just please stay safe. As long as you’re okay, I can face anything. But only as long as you’re here.”
Elliot’s stare falters between the tears pricking his eyes and the ones kissing his cheekbones.
Guest awaits his response.
He’s used to having Elliot’s trust, but this time it comes at the cost of Elliot’s own wants. His position isn’t enviable. Whatever he chooses, there’s a price he will have to pay.
“...Come back to me.”
Guest exhales. Thank the gods.
“You have to promise you’ll come back,” Elliot pleads, tone like a negotiator.
Little does he know that Guest would listen to his every word, no matter what.
“You’ll be careful. I don’t want to treat you first thing,” the blonde insists.
Guest agrees readily, no argument made. The war’s the only thing that could separate him from Elliot. Once that’s over with, he bows to appreciate every second at his side. Perhaps, they could both find themselves anew.
It’s a future he looks forward to.
The chain around his necklace feels significantly lighter.
When Guest takes it off to put on Elliot instead, he discovers a bliss he hasn’t felt since before putting on this damned uniform.
The locket opens to reveal a photo of an older woman and a young child. His family. They look nice alongside Elliot. It’s a picture Guest never wants to forget.
“You should take it with you,” Elliot frets, trying to give it back. “They're your family. I’ve never seen you with it off!"
“Keep it," he kisses him, deeply and promising, like an oath of his own, "I want to return to see my three favorite people in the world together.”
It’s difficult to say goodbye after that, but it must be done if they ever want to reunite properly.
Guest approximates the battle to last longer than two days. No more than three. If everything goes according to plan, he and the others should return in a few days, plus travel. He confirms it with Elliot, a week at most. He’ll be back.
The enemy is scattered throughout the road. They are dealt with swiftly.
By the time they arrive at the other’s base territory, Guest actually feels hope for a quick end.
His team outnumbers the troops there. They apprehend the peaceful and rid the ones with a thirst for battle. As they had done, they shut off their means of communication, though only after forcing an enemy troop to speak with their own, vying for any further plans they may have.
At that point, they may very well be able to return in two days or less.
“General! Sir!”
Guest turns at the frantic shouting.
A soldier rounds the corner, chest heaving from how fast she had been running.
He tries to recall her name.
H4ley, it comes to him, she joined his unit maybe a couple of months back. She’s almost all bones, tall and lanky, and she tends to turn grey at the sight of blood, but her character is strong. Guest admires the growth he’s seen in her confidence. Her will to combat her own fears to protect her own people is respectable.
Her panic alerts him. “What is it?”
H4ley reaches forward, clutching something in hand. When she tries handing it over, she almost topples over with her fright.
Her comrades step forward to help keep her steady.
With a frown, Guest takes the folder in her hand. As he reads, H4ley attempts to explain what happened. “More bacons were hiding out back. They were – They were talking with someone on a radio. We detained them and found that in their possession,” she wheezes, her stress obvious, “They plan a final attack!”
Guest’s heart drops.
The folder’s contents are no ordinary attack. The enemy aims to hurt, not defend. It’s a final fuck you to the peace they have been after all this time. Coward’s play.
They plan to target the medics.
“Stabilize communication. Get in contact with the base,” he commands some troops, to others he orders to follow him. “We’ll head straight to camp. Alert everyone you can, and stay close. We don’t know what they are really planning.”
Everyone snaps to action. The threat of what they learned looms over their heads. Victory is too close. It’s terrifying to think they could lose a part of their comrades so close to the end. The medics have been a saving grace. They deserve to relish the peace they helped achieve. It is thanks to their own bravery and expertise that anyone could get to see that anyway.
The ride back to camp is grim. The wind assaults them, and the speed at which they are driving makes it harder to control direction. Despite that, they advance.
“Explosives,” the soldier beside him mumbles, broken, “They had explosives.”
The thought is torture.
In the span of a few minutes, their motors stop. They’ve run out of fuel.
But camp is close. If they go on foot, they can make it before long.
Any second lost is a second of danger for their comrades.
They run.
When their tents come into view, relief slowly bleeds in. The camp looks as they left it and people walk around like normal. No gunshots. No yelling. No blood. They can still make it out with everyone intact.
Guest’s eyes pin down Elliot immediately.
“Elliot!” He yells, feet not stopping.
He’s too far away.
“Elliot! Get out, run!” His heartbeat overpowers his voice in sound. The distance quiets it more. “Everyone evacuate!”
In the distance, Elliot turns.
It’s too late. A sharp crackling shoots through the sky. It reaches home before any of them can.
Time slows, and Elliot… Elliot looks beautiful.
He’s found Guest in the crowd of chaos, and faces him with an open look.
As orange and red fill the air, Elliot almost looks angelic. The approaching light shines a beam on him. It illuminates every perfection of his in Guest's eyes.
He stands tall, no fear marring his features. He's calm. There isn’t anything else but focus on the man a yard across from him.
He looks as he did the day they found each other.
“Steady.” Elliot’s smile is stark against the death behind him. He shields the view of havoc with his body easily. Nothing about his actions is meaningless. It’s easy to mistake his generosity for simple happenstance. Even when he’s the one in danger, he focuses on the person he’s caring for. “I’ve got you. You’re going to be alright.”
Grey engulfs everything. And Guest, he knows it's over.
───
The war is won. Celebrations pop up everywhere in Robloxia. Guests may have been targetted but the war showed no discrimination in the disaster it brought. There are parties and receptions in every town, cheering for the fact that people won’t have to live so timidly anymore.
It’s a win in history. Anything that comes up next won’t be as intimidating as it was this time around. It’s a reminder that with community, effort, and strength, any obstacle could be overcome.
The struggle of the situation isn’t forgotten.
Memorials are built. Fallen soldiers receive funeral honors, and their families are invited to talk and remember them as they wish.
It’s where Guest runs into her: Mia Builder. The sole heir to Builder Brothers’ Pizzeria and the last living member of the Builder Family. Elliot’s sister.
She’s bigger than Elliot described her. He figures that’s because the last time Elliot saw her in person was years ago.
It’s selfish of him to approach her, but he can’t help it. Apologies have been lodged in his throat since the medic’s passing. Elliot deserves more than an honorary medal. He’s owed an apology.
And the closest thing to him now is her.
Mia’s eyes are glued to the floor, even as Guest greets her and gives her his condolences. His apology receives no reaction. It’s almost like she’s not there at all. Guest can empathize with that. There are parts of him he'll never get back, and there's little of him here to truly live.
Mia’s much braver than he was with his family’s passing. Even with restlessness and grief floating over her, she’s shown up for her brother. It’s thanks to her that he can be remembered as the person he was and not just the soldier he served as.
“Drop it already.” Her words bite. But Guest can tell she doesn’t mean any harm by her outrage. “It’s not like you killed him. He got himself killed by enlisting in a war.”
But Guest did. It’s his fault Elliot isn’t here to receive his sister.
It’s the overwhelming truth. He'll have to live with the guilt that maybe he should’ve trusted Elliot instead of the other way around. He should’ve listened. Been less selfish. Maybe then, he could have kept the last human part of himself.
“You should know your brother had every intention of returning to you,” he tells her instead. “He cared about you a lot. It’s the reason he made it as far as he did.”
“...”
“If love could’ve saved him, he’d still be here." Always and forever. "You’re the reason behind his strength.”
“Stop that. Just stop.” Mia raises her face to meet his gaze. A sniffle escapes her, and she brushes it off with her sleeve. “I know he cared. He’s my brother, he’s stupid like that.”
Guest nods, listening.
“Drop the act, will you? You’re Guest 1337, right? My brother wrote about you. You two… were friends, weren’t you?”
The image of Elliot enters his mind; warmth personified. Boundless kindness in his companionship, friendship, and… love. No label is enough to describe their connection to each other. But for Mia’s sake, he agrees.
“Your brother was one of my closest people.”
The gratitude that falls on Mia is painstakingly familiar. His honesty consoles her more than any of the repeated and distant condolences she’s gotten in the past hours.
“Were you there… when he…?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” Mia nods. “Okay.” She sucks in a shaky breath in an attempt to steady herself. “Was he... scared, when he died? Everyone’s told me he was brave and strong and all that. But I just want to know the truth.”
Guest thinks back to Elliot’s smile. The last kind act he had performed.
"No," he answers, “The warning came too late. No one in your brother’s division knew what was happening. The explosion was faster than we could’ve predicted. Your brother didn’t get a moment to be scared.”
He smiled at me, he doesn’t say.
Maybe Elliot was scared, but in the end, love seemed to win over fear. Guest doesn't know what to do with that. He's thankful nonetheless.
They part ways after that, with no other things to tell each other without hurting one another. It’s the last time Guest sees anyone for a while. He cherishes it. The war may have taken everything from him, but Elliot could still live on through his last family member. The man would be relieved to know the war’s outcome, and even more, his sister’s safety after it.
For the moment, that’s enough.