Trinity

Make or Break

Z was the first to fuck off out of the cave as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Enthusiastically volunteering to start taking supplies out to the banshees within seconds of Quaritch's announcement. Lopez would've been right behind her had Ja not snarled at him when he started gathering some of the bags. Some grumbling, and a minute later, his right arm was placed in a very restrictive sling.

Lopez went back to his previous task and Lyle rolled his eyes when the dumbass immediately shouldered a bag on his right side. Ja didn't need to intervene, the weight of the bag had barely settled before his tail twitched agitatedly and he'd moved it to the opposite.

Shortly after Lopez followed behind Z, Link started whining, summoning Ja with the now very familiar bag containing pain killers.

"You hurting?"

"Not really." Ja frowned, but Lyle wasn't being untruthful.

Hurting wasn't the way to describe what he was dealing with. Completely ignoring the fact that his chest felt like it was caving in, most of him was stiff and sore. Probably from the lack of movement.

"But if he's doin' that, I'm guessin' I'm about to be."

Link had been pretty good at knowing when the pain would start back up even before he was awake, according to Ja. But Lyle was already tired of being drugged. His least favorite part was what he called drifting. Somewhere between that point of consciousness and about to fall asleep, without the falling asleep part. It was relaxing, hard not to be with painkillers, but it made him anxious.

That was always his issue with shit like this. He didn't like that out-of-body feeling. However, with his options being literal agony, or drugged—he'll take the latter. Not like he had much of a choice anyway, and he's pretty sure Ja upped the dose on this one.

So, he drifted, vaguely aware of what was happening around him. Shuffling, moving around, some conversations he wasn't really able to grasp, like someone left a radio on in another room. Stuck with nothing more than his own dumbass thoughts.

He may be doing his damnedest to not show it, but he was every bit as nervous as he knew the rest of them were. He just didn't want them to worry about that on top of everything else. All they could do is leave and hope for the best. Which has Lyle dreading not only the prospect of moving to the banshees but the flight itself.

He didn't know where they were going, and honestly, he didn't really give a shit. It didn't change anything for him. He was completely beholden to those around him on where and when they went. But moving... yeah, he wasn't looking forward to that.

The caving sensation in his chest increased and Lyle finally had to admit to himself, he wasn't nervous.

He wasn't even scared. He was actually terrified about moving. No one else had been awake when that pain hit the last time, and when he was unconscious, he wasn't awake. Meaning he didn't have to watch their reactions to his pain.

He was terrified about them getting caught. About the others not making it out of this. What could he do to help in that situation besides get in the way? Lopez was right. Four of them couldn't fight, and he was virtually useless.

The moment he'd staggered back and slumped down the wall on the SeaDragon—he'd accepted that he was dead. There was too much blood. Too much, too fast and they were in the middle of a fucking war zone.

He was worried for them. This was his family. This was all he had. A bunch of stupid blue fucks doing anything they could to not lose each other.

Link started purring into his neck with his rising stress. He sighed and attempted to relax and let the meds do their job.