Chapter Text
Yang knows something is wrong. She’s been battling Grimm with Blake for hours now, and she can’t help but notice the change in her partner’s movements. Ever since their fight with the Ace-Ops earlier, she’s been slower to react, clumsy, slipping up in combat situations she’d usually breeze through. She’s still been trying to give it her all, of course, so determined to complete the job she’d set out to do. Yang knows how important it is to Blake that the citizens of Mantle are protected—it’s just as important to her. But when she sees her practically slump to the ground, struggling to keep her body upright, she also knows they can’t continue like this and have it end well for anyone, especially Blake.
They’ve cleared all the Grimm in the area, finally, although Yang wouldn’t be surprised if there were more on the way. Seizing the sliver of time they have until then, she rushes over to her partner. “Blake? Are you okay?” she asks, trying to keep the worry out of her voice.
“I’m fine,” Blake insists, but her body betrays her, and she keels over just after the words leave her lips.
Yang immediately drops to her knees and wraps an arm around her, using her free hand to tilt her chin upward. Blake looks unusually pale, sweat beading her brow and her lip quivering. Yang reaches for her hand only to find that it’s trembling too. She squeezes it gently. “I don’t think you’re doing so great.”
Blake smiles, not at all convincingly. “I…”
Her head practically collapses onto Yang’s shoulder.
“Okay, that’s it. Come on.” Yang hoists her up by the waist and keeps her close, welcoming her to lean on her for support.
“W—where are we going?”
“I don’t know, but we’re getting off the streets. You’re too weak to fight right now.”
“But the Grimm—”
“We’ve been fighting them for hours already. I know how much you want to help, Blake. I do too. But you can’t do it like this… you’re about two minutes away from passing out.”
Blake says nothing, although she almost falls over twice as they walk together, proving Yang right. Every nerve in her body screams move faster, get to safety, help Blake! but it’s clear her partner is far too lethargic to walk at her usual speed.
“Blake?”
“Mm?”
“I’m going to carry you. Is that okay?”
Blake nods weakly, and Yang takes that as her cue, grabbing the back of Blake’s thighs and hoisting her up. Her legs wrap around her waist as if by instinct, even in her tired state, and her head returns to its home on Yang’s shoulder. Yang tightens her hold on her and takes off at hastened pace, looking for somewhere, anywhere, they can possibly stop off and rest, out of sight of Grimm or any other threat.
Splitting up from Ruby and Weiss was probably a bad idea—their scrolls no longer work and Yang doesn’t know how she’s going to let them know what’s going on, or even if they’re okay. She can only hope they’re faring better than Blake, who quietly winces every time she adjusts her in her arms. Yang murmurs an apology, running a hand up and down her back in attempt to comfort her.
They find themselves in a residential area, and Yang considers knocking on one of the doors and asking the occupants if they can stay there for a while, at least until help for Blake arrives. It’s late though, and people are scared, and no one likes strangers stomping into their home at the best of times. But if that’s what it takes for Blake to be safe, she doesn’t mind causing a little disruption. She’s about to do exactly that when she spots it: a door that isn’t entirely shut, swinging ever so slightly as a cold breeze whips its way through the streets. The tension in her stomach uncoils a little at the discovery, and she makes a beeline for the door, hoping her assumption that it’s deserted turns out to be correct.
And it is. Yang staggers through the door with Blake in her arms to be greeted by an empty house. Briefly, she contemplates where its inhabitants could’ve gone and whether they’re okay, but that’s not the main thing on her mind right now. She shuts the door behind her, locking out any thought that isn’t about Blake’s well-being, and takes the girl in question over to the worn couch, putting her down as gently as she can. She finds a lamp in the corner of the room and turns it on—the light it casts is dim but it’s better than relying on the streetlight that filters weakly through the window.
“How are you feeling?” she asks, placing the back of her hand against Blake’s forehead as she peers over her. No fever, but the bright amber of her eyes has dulled considerably.
“I think you were right. I don’t feel great…”
Yang takes a seat beside Blake, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her close, the pressure she feels at her side confirming that Blake is relying on her to remain upright. “Elm and Vine were pretty rough with you earlier. It kinda scared me, actually… and Gods, the Grimm. I’m sorry that I didn’t check in on you earlier.”
“Don’t worry, it’s my fault for not saying anything. I just didn’t want to jeopardize our mission.”
“I know, baby,” Yang mutters, bringing her hand up to brush away the loose tendrils of hair sticking to her partner’s face. “But your well-being is important too.”
Blake often puts others before herself, and as someone who’s spent her life trying to do the same, Yang admires it. But as sometimes one who cares about her, she can’t bear to watch her get seriously hurt. It’s part of the job, and she understands that, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it.
Blake exhales. “It’s nothing my aura won’t fix… eventually.”
The seconds slowly tick by, and Yang wishes she could offer Blake more comfort, but she finds herself not knowing what to say. So she squeezes her tighter, only to be met with a wince. She pulls away slightly, giving Blake a once over before reaching for her coat’s belt buckle.
Blake glances up at her with a questioning look in her eyes, and Yang’s hand hesitates. “I just want to check how bad your injuries are, if that’s okay with you?”
Blake’s expression softens a little. “Of course.”
Yang quickly undoes Blake’s belt and moves her hand to her coat zipper, pulling it up as gently as she can, hands trembling, even more so when she nears the top of the zipper and her fingers brush over Blake’s breasts. Her cheeks heat slightly at the implication her actions would have in another scenario, but the vision rapidly dissipates when she tugs Blake’s coat down off her shoulders and is met with one of the ugliest bruises she’s ever seen. The mottled purple mark stains her shoulder, peeking out from under her catsuit.
A whimper catches in Yang’s throat, and all that leaves her mouth is a hoarse, dejected “Oh.”
She’s familiar with bruises, having had more than her fair share of them herself, but seeing them on Blake…
Blake glances down at her bruising, then back up at her concerned partner. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” she tries to insist.
“Yeah, right!” Yang scoffs before softening. “You’re hurt. I might not be able to help much with the pain, but I’m here… so please let me look after you?”
Blake nods once, succumbing to the reality of her situation, and part of Yang is relieved she won’t have to keep meeting a wall of stubbornness every time she tries to help her. Another part of her, however, is well aware that Blake was reluctant to let her know she was in pain in the first place, and she wonders just how bad she must feel now that she’s finally surrendering to it.
Tentatively, Yang reaches for the zip at the collar of Blake’s catsuit, giving her the chance to pull away if she wants to. When she remains where she is, Yang drags the zipper down, and she’s pretty sure Blake stops breathing.
“Uh… I’m gonna have to slide this down a bit,” Yang says thickly, fingering the hem of Blake’s catsuit. Sounds of fighting in the distance have been completely drowned out by a stifling silence; all she can hear is the blood rushing in her ears.
Blake slowly blinks once, twice. She meets Yang’s gaze, her own unwavering despite the weakness in her bones. “So do it,” she says.
Yang obeys, dismissing the shiver that runs through her body at Blake’s command, cursing how easily she can reduce her to a fumbling mess. It’s definitely not the time, so she tries to push away any wandering thoughts as she pulls at the material of Blake’s catsuit, tugging it down past her shoulders. The task is difficult, not only because it’s so damn tight and clings to her skin like a glove but because she’s undeniably distracted by the slope of Blake’s collarbone, marveling at each new area of skin she uncovers. With some effort they get to a point where Blake can free her arms, the material now bunched at her chest. Her breasts are still mostly covered, but they push up against the catsuit every time she takes a deep breath and Yang averts her eyes, choosing to stare intently at Blake’s face instead, and she’s practically smirking at her. So much for going undetected.
She puts her hands on Blake’s upper arms, gently guiding her to turn around, and swallows a gasp. Her shoulder had been the tip of the iceberg; her upper back is a patch quilt of pinks and dark reds and purples that tell stories of pain and sacrifice.
Much of it had come from fighting Grimm, surely, but Yang decides she doesn’t a regret a single punch that was thrown at the Ace-Ops either—she’d do it all again if she had to.
“Blake…” Her vision starts to blur and she hastily blinks away the tears, because the last thing Blake needs is to see her as a blubbering mess. She wants to cry out, punch something, scream because it’s not fair, because they’re only nineteen and they have the weight of the world on their shoulders, and they’ve suffered more injuries than most people do in a lifetime, all without having fought their biggest battles yet. Hanging out with Blake usually makes it easy to forget they’re literally in the middle of the ultimate struggle between good and evil—when she laughs at one of her stupid jokes or dances with her or snuggles against her in bed at night—and Yang can almost imagine they’re regular teenagers, that she’s just a girl with a crush on her best friend who might feel the same way about her.
But then something like this happens, and the harsh reality comes crashing down on her.
The war could take away everything that’s ever brought her happiness.
It’s almost too much to bear.
Yang feels a familiar lump in her throat and decides not to say anything else, fearful that it’ll come out croaky. Blake would undoubtedly try to comfort her if she knew she was upset, and she doesn’t want to worry her any further. Gods, Blake is the one with bruising all over her back—Yang is meant to be the one looking after her.
Blake winces once more as she adjusts her sitting position, dragging her legs up onto the couch. When she’s settled, Yang’s left hand gingerly reaches out to touch her back, ever so gently as to avoid hurting her. She listens is and for signs of discomfort, and when she the none she begins to lightly trace the bruises. Blake relaxes at her touch, so she continues the movements, slowly dancing her fingers over her shoulders and collarbone, stopping just above her chest. Yang pulls her hand back for a moment and Blake whines, so quietly that Yang was sure she would’ve missed it if the room was anything other than silent. She wraps her arms around Blake from behind, her cheek almost resting against her skin. After a moment’s hesitation, she touches her lips to the top of her back, just below where her hair ends.
Blake stills beneath her, and Yang worries she’s made a mistake. But then Blake brings her own trembling hands to rest on top of where Yang’s lie across her midsection, keeping her in place.
Yang presses a kiss to her shoulder, then to the area just below it, and Blake lets out a sigh. Then Yang is trailing her lips across all her bruises, taking her time to give each one attention, as if her mouth can lessen the pain.
She doesn’t realize she’s crying until she tastes salt. By then it’s too late to stem the tide of tears, and they’re trickling down her cheeks as she continues to plant kisses on Blake’s wounds, leaving traces of wetness on her skin.
A small whimper escapes Yang’s mouth, and she’d normally muffle it with her hand, but both of hers are trapped under Blake’s right now.
“Yang?” a quiet voice pipes up. “Are you crying?”
Blake addresses her so softly that her walls start to crack a little. “I’m just tired,” she says, trying and failing to keep her voice free of emotion.
With some effort, Blake turns in Yang’s arms, now looking up at her with worried eyes. She reaches across to caress her face, thumbs swiping at the tears on her cheeks. “I know.”
Of course she knows. Blake understands what she’s saying as more than the shallow statement it seems to be. Yang is tired—tired of carrying the weight of their responsibilities, tired of seeing the people she cares about get hurt, tired of brushing everything off and putting on a brave face. Tired of feeling abandoned by the mom who left her on purpose and missing the one who left her by accident.
“Hey,” Blake begins, taking one of the blonde tendrils clinging to Yang’s cheek and tucking it behind her ear before cupping her face again. “I’ve got you.”
Her movements are slow, uncertain even, and her voice quivers, but her gaze is steady and gentle and offers the comfort Yang has come to associate with her partner.
It’s enough to make her last defenses crumble. Hot tears stream down her cheeks beyond her control, faster than Blake can brush away. Blake pulls Yang’s head into the crook of her neck, cradling it with a soothing hand like Yang has done for her so many times before, while her other hand trails down to gently rub her back.
All Yang can think about is how it’s been so long since she’s allowed herself to fall apart and had someone there to pick up the pieces.
“Shhh,” Blake coos, swallowing thickly. “It’s going to be okay.”
Yang tries her best to avoid pressing into Blake’s bruises as she shudders against her, but the tightness of her embrace makes it difficult.
“I’m sorry,” Yang rasps, forcing herself to pull away from her. “I’m just making your pain worse. I said I’d look after you.”
She forgets what else she was going to say when Blake raises a finger to her lips. “I’m going to be fine. Come here, sweetheart.”
It’s barely audible, but Yang’s heart swells at the term of endearment that casually falls from Blake’s lips. She could get used to hearing that, she thinks. Had it come from anyone else she’d feel uncomfortable, possibly even patronized, but coming from Blake it sends a warm glow spreading through her body, and she feels cared for. Loved. She offers her a watery smile. “I guess we’re looking after each other.”
“Always,” Blake says, wrapping her arms around Yang’s waist. “Do you want to… talk about it?”
“Not yet.” Yang sniffles, relaxing against her. “But maybe soon.”
“That’s okay. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
She presses a soft kiss to Yang’s cheek before curling into her side. They sit like that for a while, soaking up each other’s presence, finding comfort in the embrace. Yang runs her left hand down Blake’s arm and feels goosebumps, and she’s suddenly very aware of how cold Mantle is, especially for someone accustomed to a warmer climate who happens to be half-dressed in a catsuit. She leans over to retrieve Blake’s coat and drapes it over her shoulders.
“Thank you.”
Yang responds by pulling her close again. “Thank you. I didn’t mean to fall apart like that. Gods, what a mess.”
“Hey… no one expects you to be strong all the time, you know that?”
Yang lets out a shaky exhale and nods ever so slightly.
Despite their closeness, Blake shivers in Yang’s arms.
“You’re still cold,” Yang says, a statement rather than a question.
”A little, yeah.”
Yang does the only thing she can think of and moves to lie down, pulling Blake along with her until they’re both stretched out on the couch. She turns them sideways and takes Blake’s coat off her shoulders, draping it over them both like a blanket. Tentatively, she wraps her arms around her from behind, enveloping her.
“Is this okay?”
She’s hyperaware of everywhere they’re touching, and not just because she’s trying to be mindful of Blake’s injuries. Their bodies are nestled tightly against each other and Yang can’t deny how right it feels, like they were made to fit together like this.
Blake squeezes the hand that’s resting over her chest, fingers already entwined with hers. “It’s perfect.”
Even though they’ve just been through one of the longest days of their lives, and they’re in a random house lying on what definitely isn’t the comfiest couch, and the cold is starting to become uncomfortable even for her, Yang is relatively content.