Work Text:
Clancy doesn't remember Torch being dragged into Dema with him, but he's here, so he must have been.
It's probably Clancy's fault, but Torch isn't angry about it, or doesn't seem to be, at least.
Instead he helps Clancy, takes his hand when the cameras cut, murmurs comfort too quietly for the microphones to pick up, tries to help hold him together.
It's as nice as anything ever can be in Dema, the feeling of Torch wrapping colorful band-aids around his fingers to hide his injuries from the camera.
The Bishops and other production crew don't always seem happy about Torch's presence, as if it's not their fault he's here, as if they're not the ones yanking him and Clancy onto the sound stage. Clancy almost points this out once, but Torch stops him before he can.
"It's not worth it, don't bother. I'm here, and I'm staying, that's what matters." He gives Clancy's hand a squeeze, skin cooler than normal, as if Dema is leeching his usual warmth away from him.
"Okay," Clancy agrees, because if Torch doesn't think it's an issue, it isn't something to worry about.
They build a routine, the best they can in Dema. Days blur, and Clancy stops being able to tell time at all, but Torch is there more often than he's not, so it's not as bad as it could be.
Torch even sometimes manages to sneak him a pen and paper—Clancy can't imagine how—and lets him write unwatched, content to stare at the ceiling or a wall while Clancy puts words to paper in a rush. It is a relief in so many ways that Clancy can't properly verbalize his thanks, he hopes Torch gets the gist. He never even asks to see what Clancy's writing, just lets him fold the paper up before he hands it back, so Torch can make sure the Bishops never realize what he's doing. Clancy doesn't know how he hides all the paper, but he's clearly good at it, because no one ever mentions it.
When the cameras cut and Clancy is about to fall apart, Torch is there, and he lets Clancy cry into his shoulder, or holds him while he shakes, or whatever else he can do to help. Ever a fixed point that Clancy can lean on.
The costume department shoves matching clothing into their hands, and on better days, Torch will sometimes crack jokes about it, sometimes they even make Clancy smile.
It's. . . Bad. Because it's Dema, and it's always bad, but Torch is there, and he helps hold Clancy together, so it's. . . Not as awful as it could be.
Torch seems. . . Distracted. Though by what, Clancy can't imagine, the sound stage looks the way it always does. No one else seems to have noticed, because he's still hitting every note with his usual finesse, but his gaze isn't on his drums, instead it flicks around the set, as if cataloguing something over and over again, the way he'd sometimes check and re-check a packing job as the Banditos prepared to move camp locations again, making sure he hasn't forgotten anything. But instead of supplies, he's categorizing stagehands, guards, and other production crew.
It's not a habit Clancy's seen from him in Dema before, and he suddenly wonders if Torch got the sort of visit from the Bishops that Clancy has learned to dread. He doesn't think Torch has gotten that sort of visit before, given that Clancy's never had to help patch him up afterwards to make sure he's camera-ready, the way Torch has for him, but that doesn't mean it won't ever happen. Did either of them do something wrong yesterday? Clancy tries to remember.
Nothing comes to mind, but he hasn't been able to keep track of time for ages now, so he might be forgetting something.
It continues until the director yells cut and they go to commercial. Clancy leaves his microphone and moves to Torch's drum kit, not sure what he's planning, just knowing that he's worried now, and he can't leave that alone.
"Torch?" He asks quietly, leaning a hand on the bass drum so he can get close enough to drop his voice so no one else will hear.
"Hm?" Torch turns his head but doesn't quite meet Clancy's eyes, staring a little past his left ear instead.
"Are-?"
"Clancy!" He jumps at the yell, recoiling from the drums as he whirls around to face the source of the voice, it's a member of crew holding a clipboard, glaring at him. "You're not taking five." They make a come here gesture, like he's a dog. Clancy glances back at Torch, who's suddenly looking at him.
"It'll be okay," he whispers firmly, reaching out to give Clancy's hand a quick squeeze before he pulls back again, glancing towards one of the lighting rigs that's being adjusted.
Clancy acquiesces to the crew member's commands, because he has no other choice. He listens to the notes they give him, but lets his gaze wander back to the drums as he does. Torch has started taking himself through one of his warm-ups, tapping his sticks against the rims of the drums instead of the batter heads themselves so he doesn't make any real noise while the crew bustles around.
Clancy blinks. Wait, that's not. . . That's not a warm-up tempo, that's a countdown tempo. That's what he uses to count himself in and out of practice, what is he-
Torch's countdown ends the moment that all the lights suddenly switch off.
Someone screams as the sound stage is plunged into darkness, then people start yelling over each other. Clancy stays still, staring towards the drum kit he can no longer see. What's. . ?
He can hear people starting to move around again, pausing and cursing when they run into each other or props, people are still yelling and-
Someone wearing heavy boots is running.
Towards Clancy.
He has no time to react before a blazingly warm hand wraps around his wrist, but he doesn't need to, because then a voice is in his ear.
"Clancy, come with me," Torch whispers, breath ghosting across his temple, and-
"Okay," Clancy whispers back, and then they're both running. He lets Torch guide him, because he seems to know where he's going, and exactly how to avoid all the hazards that a sound stage contains in the dark, and Clancy feels his heart pound against his ribs.
Torch's grip is warmer than it's been the entire time they've been in Dema, blazing. Clancy made a joke once, so long ago now, about his name being so literal, and Torch had just beamed at him. Now he's reminded of why he made that joke, because it really does feel like there's a fire burning under Torch's skin, and Clancy realizes all at once how much he has missed the feeling.
"Stairs," Torch whispers as he shoves a door open, and Clancy tries not to trip as they descend into yet more darkness. The air gets colder, and Torch's hand feels warmer in comparison, and Clancy never wants him to let go again. "Pause." They're off the stairs now, and Clancy can feel Torch crouching down from the way he tugs very slightly down on Clancy's wrist, but it's not a proper guiding motion, so Clancy doesn't mimic the act.
A beat passes, and something wooden clatters gently against stone, then Torch stands back up and-
Flames burst to life as he raises a previously extinguished torch, and Clancy cringes at the light for a moment, so harsh after the pitch black, but he forces his eyes open anyway, so he can look at Torch.
He's no longer in the costume designers' pastels, but in his full Bandito gear, his hood pulled over his beanie, and bandana up over his nose and mouth. Clancy moves before he's thinking about it, and brings his free hand up to pull the bandana down, because he just wants to see Torch's face. The action reveals Torch's faint smile, and Clancy lets his hand fall again, half an apology in his throat.
"Hey," Torch whispers before he can, "it's good to see you." Before Clancy can point out that they spoke right before the lights went out, Torch's grip on his wrist loosens, and Clancy grabs his arm before he can let go.
"Don't-" he chokes on the words. Torch stares at him, almost startled, and Clancy feels pathetic, but he just-
"Sorry," Torch whispers, "it'll be more comfortable if I hold your hand, I'm not letting go." Oh. An embarrassing amount of relief cascades down Clancy's spine, and he releases Torch's arm so he can move his hand down and interlace their fingers. Torch gives his hand a quick squeeze, and Clancy squeezes back, feeling that blazing warmth even through the scattered band-aids wrapped around his fingers. "Come on, we should keep moving." Clancy nods, and falls into step as Torch starts walking again.
The firelight casts flickering shadows across the brickwork of the tunnel they're in. Clancy doesn't recognize this exact one, but he's very familiar with the series of tunnels that run under Dema, just about the only evidence that the Bishops might be telling the truth, when they call it an old city, because Clancy's sure they never would have put these here themselves, not when they're primarily used by the Banditos as infiltration and escape routes. They're by far the easiest ways to get people into and out of the city unseen.
They walk without speaking. Clancy doesn't mind the quiet, after the endless noise of sound stages and performances it's sort of nice, besides, Torch is always kinda quiet, so with him, the silence is familiar, and always comfortable. Occasionally Torch will squeeze his hand, and Clancy will squeeze back, then Torch glances at him with one of his little smiles, and it gets easier to breathe.
Torch clearly knows the route, he takes turns at crossroads without pausing, navigating like he's been here dozens of times before, like he's got the path tattooed so deeply into his muscle memory that it's as unmoving and permanent as his real tattoos.
Eventually, they come to a dead end, a ladder bolted to the wall, and when Clancy looks up, there's a circular gap in the stone ceiling with a wooden cover sitting over it.
"Alright," Torch speaks for the first time in Clancy's not sure how long, and there's something slightly apologetic in his expression when he glances at Clancy. "I am going to have to let go now, just until we're up and out, is that okay?" He loosens his grip slightly, and Clancy feels panic grasp at his lungs as he immediately tightens his own. He still feels pathetic, but he can't bear the idea that Torch might slip away, and that this chance to get out might dissolve into another Bishop trick. There's no pity in Torch's expression when Clancy manages to meet his gaze again, he just looks apologetic and vaguely distressed.
"I-I don't. . ." Clancy swallows hard, he can't find the words, but Torch seems to understand anyway.
"It's going to be okay," he says, leaning forward slowly until their foreheads press together, and Clancy immediately leans into the further warmth of the extra contact. "I'm not going anywhere, we're getting you out today, right now, I promise. We're nearly there. Would you rather go first, would that be easier?" He pulls back as he asks the question, and Clancy sways forward for a moment before he catches himself. Torch has offered him plenty of physical reassurance while they've been in Dema, but there's suddenly something different about it now, and Clancy is starving for whatever that difference is.
"Maybe. . ?" Clancy says, and Torch nods.
"Alright, just push the cover right off, it's not that heavy. I'll be right behind you, okay?" Clancy nods hesitantly, but he forces himself not to cling as Torch pulls his hand away, even as that panic washes back over him. He grasps for the ladder instead, and the cold metal stings against his skin, freezing the lingering feeling of Torch's grip right out of him, but he climbs, because they are close, and he has to.
The wooden cover in fact, isn't that heavy, and Clancy doesn't struggle to shove it away from the gap, letting him climb out of the tunnel and into the sunlight. He half-collapses onto the grass, staring up at the sky as he inhales fresh air for the first time since he was taken back into Dema.
A moment later, Torch comes up too, his torch extinguished again and slung across his back with one of the many straps that are normally wrapped around it. He puts the cover back in place over the tunnel's entrance, then sits down next to Clancy. He reaches for him immediately, and Torch interlaces their fingers again, giving Clancy's hand a squeeze that he returns.
"Hey," Clancy murmurs, shifting closer so he can lean over and press his nose to the connection point between Torch's shoulder and neck.
"Hey," Torch says with an audible smile, he lifts his free hand and begins running his fingers through Clancy's hair. He closes his eyes at the feeling, suddenly a little less upset he was forced to grow it out.
He doesn't know how much time passes as they sit there, but it's not much.
"We do need to keep moving," Torch says, vaguely apologetic again, removing his hand from Clancy's hair. He whines a little at the loss of contact without meaning to. "It's better if we get back to camp before dark, then we can collapse for as long as you like, alright?" Clancy appreciates the use of we. He can hear the quiet snapping of clips and clasps, and even before he grudgingly leans back, he knows Torch is removing his torch from his back, and wrapping the strap back around it. Clancy watches for a moment, because it's impressive that the routine is so graceful even though he's doing it with one hand.
He stands up when he finishes, and gives Clancy's hand a gentle tug, wearing a faint smile, and Clancy lets him haul him to his feet.
He raises his torch, and the fire bursts back to life again. Clancy's never met anyone else who can do that, he thinks it's just a him thing, just a Torchbearer thing.
"We're not that far," Torch assures him, as they step into the woods properly, leaving enough of the sunlight behind that despite the blue sky, the torch is necessary for real light.
It's another quiet walk, but Trench seems to welcome Clancy back, and he feels more and more of the tension he's been carrying for however long they've been in Dema unwind from his muscles as they get further and further from the city. He squeezes Torch's hand, and he squeezes back.
Suddenly, things seem like they might be okay again.
Clancy isn't sure if it's actually a shorter walk to the Banditos' camp than it was through the tunnels, but it feels like it is. Torch walks a little faster when firelight can be seen through the gaps in the trees, and he lowers his torch and lets it go out again as they step into the clearing that the Banditos have made their home for however long they're here.
"We're here," Torch says quietly, and when Clancy looks over at him, he's grinning.
Clancy grins back.
They wind up where they always do, in Torch's tent, pressed together on the cot that is objectively too small for two people, but that fact has never stopped them before.
Right now, Clancy's laying with his head on Torch's chest, listening to the steady sound of his heart, as Torch runs his fingers through his hair. His other arm lays over Clancy's back, with his palm against his side, and he can feel the blazing warmth of Torch's skin everywhere they're pressed together; he can't remember the last time he was this comfortable.
"I'm thinking about buzzing it," Clancy murmurs, and Torch hums. He can feel the vibration all through his chest when he does.
"Yeah? We can do that," he says easily, continuing to play with his hair. "I can ask Kat tomorrow, if you want, she's always happy to lend out her electric razor."
"Okay," Clancy says quietly.
The feeling of Torch's fingers through the curls is the first good thing that's come from his hair getting so long, and though part of him suddenly wants to hold onto this feeling, the rest of him wants the dye out of his hair as soon as possible, wants to go back to the version of himself that he was so long ago, when he first stepped into the Banditos' camp. He's always felt the most himself with his hair buzzed, and he wants all the pieces of himself back that he can get, away from the blinding set lights.
He already feels better, once more dressed in the green and yellow of the Banditos, not even borrowed clothes, but his own, still sitting in his trunk in Torch's tent. It's nice to be back in clothing he likes.
"When did you have time to change?" He asks as he's reminded of the question.
"Hm?" Torch hums, gently scraping his nails against Clancy's scalp and making him shudder a little.
"When the lights went out, and you changed clothes. Where did you even find these?" He runs a finger along the border between the green of Torch's hoodie and the yellow tape that crosses over his heart; he can't imagine that the Bishops would have kept them somewhere easily accessible, if they'd kept them at all. It takes him a moment to realize that Torch has gone still, and when he lifts his head a little he finds Torch looking at him in concern.
"I didn't change," Torch says slowly, carefully.
"Yeah, you did," Clancy says, crossing his arms on Torch's chest so he can rest his chin on his forearms. "You were in pastels same as me, for the camera. Then you weren't." The crease between Torch's eyebrows gets deeper, this was supposed to be a light question to keep him talking so Clancy could enjoy his voice, but he's suddenly sure it's something different.
"Clancy," Torch says slowly, "do you remember what I showed you, when you were in camp a little while ago? My Guiding ability?" Clancy blinks.
"Your. . ." He trails off.
The way Torch had felt cooler to the touch in Dema, the arguing about his presence, the way he always walked silently, the way his gaze would sometimes unfocus, like he was looking at something only he could see.
The way he hadn't been dragged back to Dema with Clancy.
"Oh," he says quietly. That makes more sense, he thinks a little blearily, no need for him to change at all if it was just his Guide form in the pastels.
"Clancy?" Torch says cautiously, and Clancy uncrosses his arms and puts his head back down, listening to the steady sound of Torch's heart.
"So you didn't have to be there, you chose to be," he says quietly, "you chose to stay with me even though it was awful." Torch slowly begins running his fingers through Clancy's hair again, and he sighs in contentment, relaxing a little more at the feeling.
"I didn't want to leave you alone," he agrees softly, "not when I didn't know how long it would take to get you out." That's another question Clancy could ask, actually, why the rescue had been solo, normally Torch comes with at least a few Banditos for back-up when he breaks Clancy out of Dema, but there wasn't even anyone waiting for them outside the walls this time.
But that seems like it'll be a whole discussion, and Clancy's tired, so he doesn't ask. It can wait for the morning.
"Thank you," he murmurs, and he feels Torch press a kiss to his hair.
"Always," Torch says with no hesitation, "always."
For the first time since being dragged back to Dema, Clancy sleeps through the night.