Blood, Sweat, and Kreutzer

Chapter Three - Will

The wind howls menacingly, shaking the very walls of the tiny building where Will, Cassandra, and the small flight crew shelter.

Will's heart beats in his ears almost louder than the sound of the storm itself. Faster, until it melds with the deafening timpani roll of the downpour and the crashing roar of thunder. 

The weak lights within the building flicker once, as they have occasionally for the past couple hours since the storm hit, and then wink out completely.

Will hears Cassandra's squeak of fear and surprise, torn out of her by the sudden plunge into darkness. For it's as dark as midnight outside, lit only by blinding gashes of lightning, even though it's barely late afternoon. It's the knowledge that Cassandra - bright, courageous Cassandra - is afraid that enables Will to claw himself out of the hole of his own fear.

Somehow, in the darkness, his hand finds Cassandra's ice-cold hand, and squeezes.

He can't hear her intake of breath over the storm, or see it in the darkness, but he feels her squeeze back. 

They will weather this storm together, somehow - grounding each other in reality and in time.

The sky only darkens further as the storm plunges into night, with no sign of abating. The dark hours stretch ahead of them into timelessness itself, and Will, holding on to Cassandra, tries to keep his thoughts from wandering. 

There's a pit in his stomach that squeezes every time the little building shakes, and it makes Will feel like he's a little boy again, alone, bouncing from foster home to foster home, with only his music to keep himself together. It was his music that brought him to the Conservatory, the first place that's ever really felt like home to him - a home, with family, and friends. This makes the pit in his stomach squeeze even more painfully, because in the past few days, all that's been overturned, and the two people who most felt like home to Will aren't even his anymore.

He feels the beginning of tears prickling in his eyes, and he blinks them away angrily. He's done crying. He promised himself that the morning he left Araluen and the only semblance of family he's ever known. Almost desperately, he pushes those thoughts away, closing his eyes and reaching for the image of a piano in his mind. His fingers find the now-familiar patterns of Hanon, and he loses himself in the repetitions, grounded in reality grasping the hand of the only person who seems to exist with him in this moment, in this place.

An indeterminable amount of time later - hours? days? Will doesn't know - the storm finally begins to die away south, and with its passing, the gray light of new morning begins to filter through the rain-streaked windows. Will stirs as if waking from a dream. He doesn't think he slept  - his eyes, which are painful and filled with grit, indicate much the opposite. 

His shoulder is warm and almost dead beneath a heavy weight, and Will glances down to see Cassandra, asleep and leaning against him, still holding on to his hand. Her eyes are moving restlessly beneath her eyelids, and her hand twitches in his.

Will shakes her shoulder gently. "Cassandra, it's morning," he says softly. "The storm is over."

Cassandra startles awake, almost panicked for a moment before she remembers where she is. Will squeezes her hand. "The storm is over," he repeats.

Another moment, and then Cassandra processes his words, and seems to melt in relief. "Thank goodness," she whispers. She looks as exhausted as he feels, with bruise-like circles marked beneath her eyes. 

Across the small building, the flight crew is also stirring. The copilot, a burly Skandian named Svengal, motions, to Will and Cassandra.

"Better get moving, young'uns," he says. "We're taking off for the last leg of the trip to Skandia as soon as we get everything checked and prepped!"

In all the fear and anxiety from the storm, Will had almost forgotten the whole reason they were there, on the way to Skandia. However, thinking about the competition itself requires a little more energy than Will currently possesses, so he turns to Cassandra instead.

"Let's go outside for a few minutes before we leave," he suggests. "It will be good to walk around and get some fresh air before we have to get back on the plane."

"Okay," Cassandra says, shrugging. She allows Will to pull her to her feet, and she rubs her eyes with one hand, yawning. Her blonde curls are tangled and messy, but it somehow suits her. 

Will and Cassandra step out of the building, and stop in their tracks. The entire eastern sky is streaked orange, red, and gold, bleeding to purple overhead and to a dark blue behind them. A few stars still hang in the sky, blinking out one by one in the last instants of night. All the world holds its breath for a long moment, and then a burning sliver of sun appears over the horizon, painting Skorgjihl and everything on it brilliant gold.

Will shades his eyes with one hand, squinting in the sudden light. The pit in his stomach eases slightly.

"Young'uns! Let's go! Daylight's wasting!" One of the crew (Svengal, Will thinks) bellows at them from where the plane has been moved from the hangar to the end of the short runway, in a voice that completely shatters the stillness of the sunrise, and startles both Will and Cassandra out of their silent wonder.

Will turns to Cassandra. "Shall we?" he asks. He offers his hand to her again, and it feels only natural.

"Let's go," Cassandra answers, and leads the way back to the plane.