Work Text:
“Come on, Welsie,” False taunts, her sword pointed directly out. Wels laughs, brushing his hair back behind his ears. The breeze rustles through the trees around them, evening light drawing patterns across them both. False is smiling, blue eyes sparkling as the sun catches them.
“You want to go another round?” He asks, already taking the stance. False raises an eyebrow, wiggling her blade.
“Would I be pointing my sword at you if I didn’t?”
Wels snorts, “Touché.” She drops into her own stance, her weight on the balls of her feet. The bruises from their earlier spars ache pleasantly as he twirls his sword. “Same rules as before?”
“Until you call in the towel?” She teases. Wels rolls his eyes.
“You wish,” he tells her. “I’ve got a tie to break.”
He’s the first to move, surging forward with his sword pointed out. He gets two wide steps closer, False easily stepping to the side, deflecting his sword away from her. She takes her own two steps back, slowly circling Wels, sword still raised.
“One of these times you’re not going to blindly charge like that,” she quips, eyes scanning as she comes up with a point of attack.
Wels lets her, shifting his footing to keep eye to eye and sword to sword with her, “What can I say? Old habits die hard.” He lunges forward again, aiming for her feet with the flat of his blade. She hops over it, not even stumbling.
They never aim to hurt each other, despite the copious healing items they have and the reassurance of a respawn nearby just in case. Sure they can cut and tackle and wrestle, but they don’t stab or kill. The last two wins Wels got was from tripping False up and using his weight to his advantage, knocking her to the ground. His shoulder still throbbed from when he rammed into her stomach, throwing them both into the dirt.
Meanwhile, False preferred to use her speed; and her obvious skill. Wels was used to fighting as programmed and still found it hard to break those routines. False, however, had learned how to fight over years and years of practice. He was proud he got the chance to win at all. Players always had the option to improve by their own means. Wels was lucky if he got a software update that maybe increased how hard he could hit.
“One day you’re going to get tired of me beating you,” False teases, ducking her head, dodging one of his swings and pushing forward off her toes hard enough to leave marks in the grass behind her. She aims to press the flat of her own sword to his stomach, probably hoping to knock him down.
Not this time! Wels has just enough of an opening to bring his sword down perpendicular to hers, turning to the side and causing a screeching of metal against metal to echo against the trees. A few sparks fizzle out on the grass, Wels pushing False back out of his space.
They’ve managed to switch places, a mirror of how they started only a few minutes ago.
“One day,” he panted, feeling sweat bead up on the back of his neck, “you won’t be able to beat me.”
False was panting too, rolling out her sword shoulder. They both would need a nice rest after this. Wels could already feel how his muscles would be sore tomorrow.
False only gave him a smile before twirling her sword and lunging forward again. They went like that for a few more minutes, trading blow after blow, the metal of their swords hitting and recoiling off each other. They didn’t achieve much other than wearing the other out.
Wels swung his sword in a broad sweep as False managed to get behind him. She had already beat him once like this, shoving the pommel of her sword into his spine in what would have been a killing blow ordinarily, and sending him faceplanting into the grass.
But he wouldn’t fall for that again, he dug his toe into the dirt, carrying the momentum from the swing to turn himself around. He stumbled, vision swirling briefly, and managed to dodge her attack.
He blinks away the rest of his momentary dizziness and raises his sword to block another blow, the clang ringing out through the forest. He grits his teeth, heel digging into the dirt as he tries to regain ground. He brings his sword up for another strike but False gets there first, surging forward with a triumphant cry. Wels stumbles backwards, toes catching on a root underfoot. He hisses, slashing wide. False jumps clear. He resumes his stance just in time for False to take advantage of the opening.
The root trips him completely. He loses balance, toppling into the tree behind him. He raises his sword blindly as steel surges down towards him. He feels breathless, desperately trying to keep the blade away from him as it crashes down. It’s ceaseless, it won’t stop, and he doesn’t understand why. He was just doing his job, he was at his post, he doesn’t understand why they’re attacking him, why they’re trying to hurt him, what did he do wrong? He can’t push any further back but he can’t move off course and he can’t go forward-
Sharp pain slashes down his arm as he drops his sword, closing his eyes and holding as still as possible. They’ll get bored. They’ll get bored and stop and they’ll leave because they can’t kill him, and he’s not interesting if he can’t be killed-
“Wels?” That’s him. He’s WelsKnight. 9357. He’s- “Wels, you need to snap out of it.” He’s an NPC. No, he’s- Is he? “Wels!” A grip takes his hands, and Wels opens his eyes in shock. There’s purple smudged across pale skin, mostly gloved hands holding his fingers with their own. The skin contact is warm.
He’s- he’s not just an NPC anymore. NPCs don’t bleed purple blood. NPCs don’t bleed at all. He looks up, following the gloved hands until he meets worried blue eyes.
“False?” Her thumbs rub across his skin; each circle urging himself back into his body. The trees surround the glade he’s sitting in, cool bark at his back.
“I’m here,” she replies. She attempts to smile at him. Wels has seen better - her eyes are still squinted in concern, cheeks barely moving. “Lost you for a minute there.” He sighs, closing his eyes and trying not to think of swinging swords and swirling magic and corners he can’t get out of. His legs threaten to buckle on him, so he slumps to the ground before they can. False follows shortly after, placing their swords out of the way.
“I’m- I’m good.” He reaches up to push hair from his eyes and ends up smearing blood across his forehead instead. He frowns, turning over his hand to see a clean slice across it.
“I think I’ve got more bandages in my enderchest,” False tells him. She’s leaning away before Wels can even tell her it’s not necessary. He tenses his muscles, watching the purple bead at the surface. It doesn’t look deep, at least. But when he turns over his arm, he finds another cut there too. There’s spots of blood on his trousers, droplets hanging off blades of grass.
False lets the enderchest close with a creak, holding her hand out expectantly. Wels places his arm in her hold, hissing as she slathers health potion over the cuts. She’s clinical and precise, never using more than necessary. And once she’s done, she covers the wounds in clean bandages, only talking to check they’re not too tight. Wels bends his arm, feeling the fabric bunch up but not pinch. He nods.
“Good,” False tells him, folding the rest of her supplies away. Wels prods the cut through the covering, wincing at the pain. False bats his hand away. “Stop that.”
“It’s weird,” Wels murmurs.
“Doesn’t mean you should poke it,” she replies. Wels huffs, but begrudgingly lets his hands drop into his lap. False leans back on her palm, and Wels gets the feeling he isn’t going to be able to brush this off with another duel. He ruffles through his hair, getting more comfortable against the tree.
“Sorry I ruined our fight.”
False gives him a disbelieving look, “Sorry?” Wels shrugs bashfully. “Wels, you don’t have to apologise for-” she waves her hand in lieu of words. He wouldn’t know what to call it either.
“It’s just-” he trails off, head falling back against the tree trunk. False gives him a few seconds before replying.
“I mean, if you want to talk to Stress or X or someone I won’t be offended-”
“No. No, that is the opposite of what I want.” They’re both wonderful people, don’t get him wrong, but this isn’t a big deal. And he knows they’ll make it one. False… she won’t. She gets it. “No, I just-” He takes a breath, staring at his pale fingers. “People used to do that to me.” His hands are trembling. He clenches them into tight fists.
“What, duel you?” False asks, a crease between her brows. Wels laughs weakly, shaking his head. Even that small movement feels exhausting.
“It’s not really a duel if I can’t fight back.” It’s difficult to sort through the memories of his early consciousness. After all, he wasn’t supposed to have them to begin with. They all come with an emotional detachment he doesn’t think is possible anymore. He didn’t think anything of it at the time. How could he when he was barely conscious enough to recognise he was alive?
So why are they coming back now and paralysing him at his very core?
He looks up to find False is still staring at him, her expression frustratingly unreadable. She hasn’t said a word as Wels gathers his thoughts. He doesn’t know if he’s grateful. He’s not sure he wants to see this with a new perspective. With emotions and reasoning and all these things an NPC shouldn’t have.
“It’s what players are like, isn’t it?” He asks, genuinely unsure. False tilts her head, urging him on and he sighs, annoyed with his lack of words. “They, like- they test limits. And here’s me, an NPC… I don’t think. Well, I’m not supposed to think, right? We’re not supposed to be aware of anything around us. And, like you know, I was kinda unkillable.”
“An absolute tank,” False replies. Wels snorts, but he has to agree.
“That’s certainly a more interesting way of putting it.” He does miss being able to swim in lava or take on far too many enemies at once. But he thinks the hair brushing the back of his neck and the loose clothes and the fatigue of a good fight is worth it. “And players like doing stuff they can’t do, right?”
“Mmhm,” False agrees. This entire server is testament to that, and given False’s expression, she knows it too.
“So sometimes I’d get players like… hitting me around?” He tries to make sure he’s using the right words. “Sometimes just because, I guess. They’d run past and just whack me. But some were more persistent. They’d keep attacking me, I guess to see if they could kill me?” At False’s fearful expression he waves his hands. “It’s okay! They couldn’t really hurt me. I was barely thinking for myself back then.”
“And us fighting reminded you of that?” False asks. Wels pulls one of his legs up, leaning on his knee.
“Kinda?” False doesn’t look pleased with that response. He takes a deep breath, trying to focus in the way Iskall taught him to. “Some of the players would… they’d push me from my post. Back me up against a wall or something so it was easier to hit me just over and over and I-” He squeezes his eyes shut tight enough the images just become patchy light. “All I could focus on was getting back to my post. I didn’t even care, I don’t know why it’s affecting me now.”
A soft touch lands on his arm, and Wels looks up, finding False’s hand on his. He reaches out, and False lets him slot their fingers together.
“Did they just assume I couldn’t feel it?” Wels asks. “Would they have stopped if I could?”
“Most would,” False replies. Wels appreciates her honesty. Even if it causes a lump to form in his throat, swallowing hard to push it back down.
“It got close, sometimes,” he whispers. “They’d stack up poison effects and I don't… I don’t think I’d respawn, and I’m such an old model they wouldn’t replace me. Would it even still be me if I was replaced? I don’t-” He sighs, slumping onto his knee. He’s got a headache and every miniscule movement right now feels like he’s climbing a mountain.
“You know we wouldn’t let that happen to you?” False says. Wels props his head up enough to see her, though there’s not much to glean from her neutral expression. “You’re one of us now. We’re not going to let anybody hurt you like that.”
“But it didn’t hurt.”
False squeezes his hand, “And it still freaked you out in the middle of a fight.” He doesn’t have a reply to that. There’s a lot about himself he still doesn’t understand, it seems. “Come on, let’s get you up.” She gives his arm a gentle tug. “You look like you need a comfortable bed to lie in.” Wels groans, begrudgingly stumbling onto his feet. False corrects his balance, never letting go of his hand.
“Can you make me hot cocoa?” Wels asks. False laughs, walking them through the forest.
“I can do that, yes.”
“With marshmallows?”
“Mm, I don’t know. That might be pushing it a little.” They both laugh, and Wels pushes away those messy emotions to deal with another time.