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They got the invite nearly a month out from the date. It was just some old friends wanting to meet up for a few days. It was the closest they had been in years, their trip bringing them a few towns over, and they all felt like it would be a waste not to see each other. Skeppy immediately agreed to go himself, passing along a tentative maybe from Bad. He then spent the weeks leading up to the trip desperately trying to convince Bad to come. The demon wouldn’t have anything to do with it. It easily turned into an argument, one of the first real ones they had had in a while. In fact, two weeks in, Skeppy got frustrated enough to yell, calling Bad a fucking mother hen. Bad got mad enough that he didn't talk to him for the rest of the week.
It wasn’t that unusual for them to fight. Skeppy used to annoy Bad on purpose just to see what new inane punishment he would come up with. One time, Bad made him stack dirt for literal hours before he forgave him. But, now wasn't the time to push and Skeppy knew it. Even the silent treatment got to him this time, scared that he'd truly upset the other. Bad was already ridiculously stressed. He wasn’t trying to add onto that. Really, the whole reason Skeppy wanted him to go was so that he could relax a bit. It didn't help that their argument set the entire house off balance, either. The yelling sent the boys scrambling every time, and George seemed too willing to egg the whole thing on.
So, he dropped it and agreed to go meet their friends alone. Bad finally calmed down enough before he left to soothe Skeppy’s concerns. They both apologized and were back to normal while Skeppy packed. It’s always easy to forget that Bad is a fearsome Nether demon when he flutters anxiously about like a parent on their kid's first day of kindergarten. "Did you pack enough food, Skeppy? Do you need any more snacks? You know where you're going, right? You're not going to get lost?" The usual ramblings. It took Skeppy half an hour to convince Bad that no he did not need him to draw a whole new map. It was endearing in its own way, and he was happy to leave on a good note.
There's that old saying that people pretend will hold together any relationship, "Don't go to sleep angry." Well, Bad and Skeppy went to sleep absolutely furious with each other on a semi-regular basis. Where they set the limits were on goodbyes. They didn't split up a lot, but anytime they did it was a requirement that they settle any arguments that may still be lingering before leaving. Skeppy would have cancelled the trip, missing out on seeing his friends altogether, if Bad had still been angry with him. It was too important.
But, Bad had forgiven him. He even tugged at his cloak before he left so that Skeppy would give him a quick hug, and all was right with the world. Skeppy waved back at George in the doorway and Sapnap and Dream where they were watching from the upstairs window. George returned the gesture with a vague flap of his wrist. The other two boys ducked down under the window frame as if they could pretend he hadn't already seen them. Once again, sweet in its own way. He tried not to notice the gap at his side as he made his way down the path.
Their house was built at the center of a grove of trees set off from the main forest. When he and Bad originally built it, they wanted the protection of the trees without the concern of disturbing the natural wildlife or having to clear away too much undergrowth. They used a bit of magic to cultivate this little area as a sort of compromise. These days, the forest has spread, making their little home blend in seamlessly with the natural edges. The wild trees and vines thinned out as it reached its end and their own took over. Bad was the only one who could consistently find the border between the two anymore.
Skeppy kicks away a loose pebble and hums. He laid these stones himself after Bad had stumbled home from trading with a twisted ankle far too many times. Every now and then, he comes back out to clear away the weeds and creeping vines that inevitably start to cover the path. He hasn’t done it since before Bad and George brought the boys home. It was easier to stick around the house, especially in those first few weeks when they were all scared to so much as unlock the front door in case their new guests tried to make a break for it.
It’s only as Skeppy reaches the end of the forest, where the stone transitions into hard packed dirt, that he realizes that this is his first time out of the cover of these trees in more than a year. He keeps his gaze stubbornly forward, still trying to ignore the empty space beside him.
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Travelling on the main road is an exhilarating attack on the senses after so long being locked up at home. There’s traders and travellers, families out on day trips and caravans headed across the country. Skeppy spent periods of his life in each of their shoes, chasing any sort of adventure he could find. Now, the rattling of wagons and the smell of spiced jerky pulls him back to those times, dissolving the sulk he had unknowingly fallen into and reminding him of his excitement to see his friends.
With a new pep in his step, he makes good time, only stopping to buy something hot for lunch from a vendor. They have their cart set up on a clear section of dirt off to the side, and there’s a few others scattered around into a sort of mini market. Skeppy decides to wander through them out of curiosity. There’s a surprising variety in the things being sold, cooked and uncooked food, beautiful woven rugs and blankets, carved wooden toys, painted tops. He can’t help but smile as he takes it all in. The vendors are all friendly, happy to talk even if he has no intention of buying from them.
A few trinkets and some mildly aggressive haggling later, he leaves with gifts for everyone back at home. He tucks them deep into the bottom of his bag where his friends won’t be able to see them. They’ve all seen his fondness for Bad first hand, but the addition of George and the boys would surely lead to relentless teasing. The gems in his hands sparkle happily, light fluttering across each exposed diamond. He needed this more than he realized, the change of pace fueling a warmth in his core. The glittering gets him some strange looks on the road, but he’s feeling too confident to cover up as the sun filters down and a crisp breeze makes his cape flutter.
He's on the last stretch of the journey when someone yanks him from the road. Something smacks into the back of his head and a hand wraps around his wrist, pulling him off into the ditch. He stumbles on the uneven ground, but the person doesn't give him a chance to get his footing. Instead, he falls unceremoniously into the dirt. They don't let up, dragging him further from the road.
His first thought is highway men or bandits. There's a sword at his side and daggers in his cloak, but he reaches for his bag of money with his free hand instead. If he can pay off whatever fee they want it'll be a lot simpler than starting a fight. He's got a whole stack of emeralds with him and it's not like he can't find more.
The minute they throw him forward into the dirt, he scrambles to present the bag. "Look guys, I don't know what you want but there's enough money here to buy whatever you need and I've got somewhere to be." One of the men snatches the bag, and Skeppy sighs in relief as he tips out the emeralds into a palm. He goes to rise from the ground, assuming their transaction was complete, but the other one kicks him back down. A boot to the ribs sends him straight into the dirt, sprawled out and trying to catch his breath.
"Your friends stole something of ours,” the man sneered, “Should've just said something. Would've sold 'em without all the trouble, but we'll let your bad manners go for the right price. The emeralds are a good start." He had a heavy accent and took a breath between every other word, as if he was the one being held down by the throat. He kneeled down and took ahold of Skeppy by the upper arms, squeezing hard enough that Skeppy was sure there'd be bruises later. His buddy had disappeared somewhere outside of Skeppy's limited view.
"I don't know what you're talking about. What friends? I've never seen you before in my life," Skeppy whined. He wiggled in the man's grasp, looking for any sort of opening. A glint of light warns him that the other guy has returned, a knife in one hand and pliers in the other. The man holding him loosens his grip just enough to flip him over and pin him to the ground with a knee in the center of his back. Someone yanks away his cloak. Skeppy has a good idea of where they’re going with this and it makes his stomach roil. "Wait, no. You really don't want to do that," he half begs, half warns as the man sets the tip of the blade against the edge of one of Skeppy's diamond patches.
There’s a faint scraping sound before a flash of blue light sends the guy flying. Skeppy feels the recoil in his own body, only kept still by the other man pressing him into the ground. "What the hell was that?"
"Yeah, I mean I definitely told him not to," Skeppy can't help but laugh. There's a growl as he's lifted just high enough to be slammed back down again. His jaw clacks shut.
"You're worse than the fucking mask kid was," the other man's voice carries over. And Skeppy knows who these people are now. He knows what they think he helped steal. The realization almost makes him laugh again, but he bites back the urge, cutting off the sound just before it could get him in more trouble.
The guy that went flying picks his way back over to them. He's got something new clutched in one of his hands. Skeppy is disappointed that he didn't get skewered. The feeling increases tenfold when metal snaps harshly around one of his wrists.
"I grabbed the cuffs that we use on the witches," he explains, sounding too smug for someone that just got ragdolled. He clutches Skeppy's other arm right over the patch he'd already tried carving into as he wrenched his wrist behind his back to close the second cuff. It burns.
Skeppy can feel the moment the metal closes around his skin. The ever present feeling of energy flowing just below his skin is suddenly gone, replaced by scalding pain as all of that power is instead directed to his core. It feels like having a ball of fire inside his chest. He cries out. When he tries to fight the metal tightens, cutting harshly into his flesh.
Then the knife is back and there's nothing to repel it this time. The blade scrapes against the gem as it’s forced into his skin. Skeppy screams. The diamonds are a part of him, a crucial part of his skin, but he feels the flesh being peeled away as the man yanks it out of his arm regardless.
The pain is almost too much to comprehend. Time slip-slides out of his grasp and he has a hard time focusing on anything. The men speak above him, but he can't understand what they're saying. He can still make out their laughter when a weak sound of pure pain falls from his throat, though.
He doesn't know how long it takes, but they don't stop until they've gotten every gem big enough to be worth the trouble from his arms. There's blood everywhere, slick and warm. Skeppy thinks that he might be crying. He wishes that he could just pass out already, but anytime he feels the cold approach of unconsciousness the ball of energy in his chest sparks angrily and forces him back awake.
Eventually, one of the men slices through the thin shirt he wore. There's pain at his back, but he barely notices as he loses more time. When the man finally props him up and comes around to his front there's a sharp moment of clarity. Were they going to take every single stone? What would they do with him after that?
He clenches his eyes shut. A single stone is pulled from his chest, and it feels like a bursting dam. His eyes fly open just in time to see light flooding from the hole left behind in a viscous, syrupy flow. The men gasp and lurch away from him, obviously remembering what had happened earlier. Skeppy still can't really understand them, but they must decide that anything more isn't worth the effort because suddenly he's left alone.
The cuffs are left wrapped around his wrists, and he realizes with bitterness that his gems were probably going to be used to fund their replacement. He lays there, cycling through intense pain and horrifying numbness as tears stream down his face. The last clear thought he has is how much he wants Bad.
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Bad paces up and down the length of the porch with his communicator clutched in his hand. Something was wrong. He felt it almost an hour ago, a prickling sense of dread. At first, he'd tried to brush it off, telling himself that he was just being paranoid, but it only got worse. When he finally gave in and tried calling Skeppy he fully expected the other to answer immediately and tease him for his over protective nature.
Except Skeppy didn't answer. He didn't answer the next three times Bad tried calling either. So then he tried calling Zelkam instead, hoping that Skeppy was just distracted by his friends. But Zelk said that he hadn't arrived yet, that he hadn't heard from him either. Bad called a few more people, but no one had seen him.
George is waiting on the couch when he rushes back inside. "Something's wrong. I don't know what's going on but Skeppy won't answer and no one's seen him and I can just feel that something's wrong," Bad rambles out in one long breath. George nods and holds out Bad's bag. It's already packed and normally that would make him feel all sorts of warm and fuzzy. Right now, there's just relief at time saved and he can barely mumble out a thanks before he's grabbing it and dashing out the front door. He stops just long enough at the door to grab Skeppy's compass. "I'll take care of things here. Just find him," George calls out before the door swings shut behind him.
Bad all but sprints through the forest, glaring down at the needle of the compass as it pointed straight down the path, not so much as twitching despite the slight twists and turns of the stone. Skeppy wasn’t close, hadn’t just fallen somewhere within the forest, or gone off path and gotten lost. The hard packed dirt of the road that would lead him into town loomed up before he knew it, barely registering the change in surface. He tore past other travellers, startling people and animals alike. A caravan curses him out as their horses rear up into the air, rattling carts, and it brings him enough out of his panic to notice that the compass no longer points straight ahead. He’s gone too far.
His ears twitch back, pinned tightly against his skull, as he mentally berates himself for not noticing. The unease swallowing him twinges at time lost as another surge of panic tries to well up. He crushes it back down, takes a few deep breaths, blatantly ignores the merchant still yelling at him, and turns back. He moves slower now. His entire focus is pinned to the compass. Every little twitch of the needle nearly sends him scrambling off the road, but he forces himself to wait until he has a near right angle.
When he finally steps off into the ditch, Bad almost immediately face plants into the dirt. The little plants that make up the ground cover tangle around his feet in a way he's still not completely used to, despite his many years in the overworld. A small sound somewhere between a whine and a growl builds in his throat as he stumbles gracelessly away from the road. Every lurch or detour sends the compass needle swinging, meaning he had to be getting close. He doesn't let himself think about why Skeppy would be so far off the road.
When he finally finds him, it's a shock. He's stumbling through vines when suddenly the ground clears and he looks up to find a clearing. Right in the center, a body is splayed in the dirt, belongings strewn about from a ripped up bag off to the side. Bad probably wouldn't have recognized him if it weren't for the beautiful blue cloak thrown carelessly to the side. He made that cloak specifically for Skeppy. He would recognize it anywhere.
Bad usually associated Skeppy with the color of the sky, strangely calming despite the other's rambunctious personality. Now, though, Skeppy is drenched in red. It's unsettling in a way that could be explained through more than just the blood. Bad shudders, pushing away the dredges of an old nightmare. His lungs squeeze uncomfortably, but he ignores it to settle into the dirt next to his best friend.
He hovers for just a moment, shocked and unsure. When he reaches for the cuffs holding Skeppy's arms behind his back, he can feel whatever enchantment they have prickling at him. Touching them makes his fingers sting and he yanks his hand away at the feeling of stiffening Blackstone. He realizes with a sinking feeling that he might not be able to get them off, not by himself.
He shakes off the stiffness and his hands drift to the gouges all along Skeppy’s arms instead. This wasn't the first time someone had tried to steal Skeppy's diamonds, but it is the first that they succeeded. The magic that normally flows below his best friend's skin is noticeably absent. Bad hopes that it’s just being dampened by whatever was in the cuffs. Otherwise, he’s not sure what he would do.
He's pulled away from those thoughts by a low groan. It makes him flinch and he pulls his hands back into his own chest in fear that he had been hurting the other, even if he wasn't touching him. Then his eyes drift down and he realizes that Skeppy is staring right back at him. "Oh my gosh! Skeppy? Are you awake?"
On one hand, it's a good sign. On the other, he is almost certainly in near unbearable pain. Bad reaches gently back out to him, looks for somewhere to place his hands that won't cause the other more pain. "Bad? Are you really here?" Skeppy whimpers. Bad allows one of his hands to settle on his friend's cheek. He wipes away tear tracks and his voice shakes when he answers. "Yeah. It's me. I'm here. It's going to be ok, alright?"
Skeppy shifts the tiniest bit to nuzzle further into Bad's palm. "Feels like I'm burning up, Bad." Bad cringes and mentally tells himself off for not already starting to actually examine his friend. He brushes aside sweat soaked bangs. The back of his hand lingers against the skin as he checks for fever. This has never happened before. They were in all new territory and Bad has no idea what to expect.
Still, the skin under his hand gives no indication of a fever. Instead, it almost feels cold. Bad doesn't know if that’s good or bad. "Burning up how, Geppy? Do you feel sick?"
Skeppy shakes his head with another groan. "No. It's too much...in my chest...just too much. It hurts," he gasps out. Once again, Bad really doesn't know what that means, but it does at least give him something to work with. "Ok. Well, let's get you up and out of this dirt and I'll take a look."
Sitting him up is made much more difficult by the cuffs still holding Skeppy's arms behind his back, especially since Bad has to avoid the unknown enchantment. He eventually manages to get Skeppy settled with his legs out in front of him, allowing him to lean heavily on his own shoulder where Skeppy presses his face into Bad's cloak. There's a moment where they both just breathe and Bad tries to pretend that the ragged breaths and muffled cries of pain don't tear him apart.
He waits until Skeppy is breathing better before easing him away, supporting him with hands on his upper arms as he tries to get a better look at his chest. Once he’s able to see, the problem is immediately apparent.
The light that usually danced across Skeppy's skin is all concentrated into a single gem on his chest, directly over his heart. It flashes with an intensity Bad has never seen before and he feels even more panicked. "Skeppy? What do I do, Skeppy? How can I help you?"
Skeppy fights his hands until he's allowed to fall back against Bad's shoulder. "Pretty sure it's the cuffs. Please, Bad. It hurts so much."
Bad frowns, "I don't think I can touch them. The enchantment made my fingers lock up, and I think that whatever they're meant to do was pulling my magic out, too."
He shifts to reach back toward the cuffs again. A single finger making contact with the metal is all that it takes this time. His entire hand feels frozen and when he pulls away there's stone dust left behind. It takes longer for it to loosen back up, too. Bad gently flexes his fingers, weighing his options.
An especially bright flash of light makes Skeppy cry out and all but collapse into him. Bad sets his jaw and pulls over his bag. He digs out a pair of gloves and pulls them on. When he reaches for the cuffs, nothing is changed. His fingers still tighten uncomfortably and he’s forced to back off again. He tries wrapping Skeppy’s discarded shirt around one hand, desperately trying to build up as many layers as possible. It helps a bit.
He digs through his bag for any scrap of fabric he can find until he has the crude equivalent of oven mitts over both hands, wrapping his own cloak as the final layer with the hope that its enchantments could help block out the other. This time when he reaches for a cuff, he’s able to fully grip the metal with just the faintest buzz reaching his skin. The only downside is that his fingers are now far too clumsy to pick the lock. He decides that he’ll just have to brute force it instead. He gets a good grip around the iron of one side and places his other hand onto the center bar. “This might not feel great,” he warns as he yanks the pieces away from each other.
It pulls away with the sound of tearing metal. Bad quickly drops the piece and repeats the process on the other side. The change is obvious when the last of the metal falls away from Skeppy’s arms. Another flash of light nearly blinds Bad. Then he can feel the energy making its way back throughout Skeppy’s body. The remaining gems on his chest glow, but Bad’s focus is drawn back to the gaping holes dotted across Skeppy’s arms.
The wounds glow with light just like they would have if the gems were still intact, but with nothing to hold it, pools of light start to form instead, dripping in a horrifying mockery of the blood already covering him. Bad is mesmerized as much as it makes him sick to his stomach. He forces himself to look away and makes quick work of unwrapping his hands before gently easing Skeppy back away from his shoulder.
“Did that help?” he asks. The lack of response tips him off that the other has finally lost consciousness. His breathing is even and the pinched look of intense pain is gone from his face, so Bad decides to take it as a good sign. He’s honestly relieved. The next steps are easier for him, or at least more familiar, and he falls into the process of taking care of his best friend.
Bad eases his arms from behind his back, careful of the joints since he doesn’t know how long they had been stuck in that position. Next, he digs out bandages and loosely wraps the entirety of Skeppy’s torso. There are too many wounds for him to focus on each one individually and his goal is really just to get them covered so that he can more safely get him home. Skeppy’s cloak is thrown in the dirt off to the side, so Bad scoops it up and shakes out as much of the dust as possible before wrapping it around him to cover the bandages. Finally, he throws everything back into his bag and salvages what he can from where Skeppy’s things lie scattered and torn. With a heavy sigh, he hoists the bag onto his back and stoops down to gather Skeppy into his arms. If it wasn’t for the blood marking the dirt, you almost wouldn’t be able to tell what had just happened here. Bad doesn’t look back as he starts off towards home.
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Bad clutches at one of Skeppy’s hands. “I should have gone with him, or just asked him not to go. I should have gone and looked for him sooner, when I first felt that something was wrong. I should have done something,” he mutters angrily.
George shifts uncomfortably from his spot in the armchair. There’s a lapse of silence as he seems to gather his thoughts. “I don’t know, Bad,” he finally mumbles, “Sometimes bad things just happen. Even you can’t stop them all.”