Cinder sits in the grass and holds Winter for a long time after Jaune passes by, listening to her heartbeat through the front of her shirt. Winter’s arms don’t uncurl from around her back; her fingers stay fisted in her jacket, but she doesn’t wake up.
She won’t wake up for a while, Jaune said before he vanished. Cinder doesn’t want to believe him. She doesn’t know how to live in a world without Winter, even if it’s just for a few hours. She stays with her while her body reconstructs itself, threads her fingers through her hair, waits for someone to notice them. She can’t take her back to the camp on her own.
There are people moving through the bodies behind them, assumedly from Beacon. She recognises the voices drifting through the smoke, the figures she sees in the distance. They won’t come for her, Cinder thinks; she looks as though she’s grieving. They’ll recognise the symbol on her back and give her a wide berth.
She smooths Winter’s hair out of her eyes and kisses the top of her forehead, drawing her thumb through a patch of drying blood. Winter stirs in her sleep, drawing in a shaky, deep breath that sounds like it settles hollowly in her lungs.
She’s alive, Cinder decides, and that’s all that matters.
//
She waits until the sun sets. The sky dips purple, then blue, then black. Cinder stays wrapped around Winter’s body, trying to match their breathing for as long as possible.
Then, when the first stars are starting to appear, she shudders into awareness.
Cinder hardly even notices at first, face buried into the crook of her neck as it is. It only really sinks in when Winter’s fingers tremble against her back, when she breathes, “Cinder?”
“Oh, G-d,” she gasps, “Oh my G-d.”
Winter’s hands curl experimentally into fists, then uncurl. “Cinder,” she repeats, airless, “you’re here. I missed you.”
“But I didn’t even go anywhere.” Cinder lifts her head to look at her, blinking away tears. “I’ve been right here the whole time.”
FILL: Team Anime/Manga
Cinder sits in the grass and holds Winter for a long time after Jaune passes by, listening to her heartbeat through the front of her shirt. Winter’s arms don’t uncurl from around her back; her fingers stay fisted in her jacket, but she doesn’t wake up.
She won’t wake up for a while, Jaune said before he vanished. Cinder doesn’t want to believe him. She doesn’t know how to live in a world without Winter, even if it’s just for a few hours. She stays with her while her body reconstructs itself, threads her fingers through her hair, waits for someone to notice them. She can’t take her back to the camp on her own.
There are people moving through the bodies behind them, assumedly from Beacon. She recognises the voices drifting through the smoke, the figures she sees in the distance. They won’t come for her, Cinder thinks; she looks as though she’s grieving. They’ll recognise the symbol on her back and give her a wide berth.
She smooths Winter’s hair out of her eyes and kisses the top of her forehead, drawing her thumb through a patch of drying blood. Winter stirs in her sleep, drawing in a shaky, deep breath that sounds like it settles hollowly in her lungs.
She’s alive, Cinder decides, and that’s all that matters.
//
She waits until the sun sets. The sky dips purple, then blue, then black. Cinder stays wrapped around Winter’s body, trying to match their breathing for as long as possible.
Then, when the first stars are starting to appear, she shudders into awareness.
Cinder hardly even notices at first, face buried into the crook of her neck as it is. It only really sinks in when Winter’s fingers tremble against her back, when she breathes, “Cinder?”
“Oh, G-d,” she gasps, “Oh my G-d.”
Winter’s hands curl experimentally into fists, then uncurl. “Cinder,” she repeats, airless, “you’re here. I missed you.”
“But I didn’t even go anywhere.” Cinder lifts her head to look at her, blinking away tears. “I’ve been right here the whole time.”