A/N: I haven't done much writing for Magi, and since I don't interact with the fandom much, I've no clue how this will be received. Regardless, it's a gift for a friend. So if she likes it, then my job is done.

Warning for gore, though not terribly descriptive.

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Ja'far knows something is wrong. He just doesn't know what.

Darkness is all around him, his only clue to his location the pounding of his footsteps on what sounds like marble. Stop running, says his inner voice of reason. You can't see. You'll fall. But even as his breath burns his throat and his wide eyes see nothing, he doesn't care. This is wrong, something is happening that shouldn't be.

Something has happened to Sinbad. The pit in his stomach that grows with each step tells him as much.

There. A light, not more than 5 yards away. It stings his eyes as it floods his vision, and he closes them automatically against the pain.

He hears a shout and the clash of metal on metal, and when he opens his eyes he sees the solid form of Sinbad in front of him, a person cloaked with shadow pressing knives to the older man's skin. Ja'far reaches for his weapons automatically, but to his dismay, his blades aren't there, even though he never removes the thread from his body.

"Sin?" is all he's able to get out before the person is gone and Sinbad crumples in front of him.

He doesn't stand frozen. He isn't weak, and he isn't stupid. Instead, he kneels and takes in all of Sinbad's wounds to figure out how to save him. He's met with the realization that he can't, grief welling up in his throat as he sees the gash that slices through his abdomen, a crimson stain spreading quickly over his clothes. Ja'far can see off-white bone sticking out of his arm and thigh, bits of sinew still connected to the cracks.

Sinbad's going to die.

That much is obvious. Ja'far lifts him up, cradling his broken form with gentle arms. He feels tears prick the back of his eyes, but he blinks them away. He'll keep up his calm façade for the both of them.

"Ja'far?" Sinbad's voice is no more than a croak. "You're okay… I—" His eyes widen with a desperate suddenness, and he breaks off as he chokes, coughing up thick blood. "I—" He gulps, swallowing down the blood that threatens to drown him. "I was worried…"

"I'm not the one you should be worried about," Ja'far breathes with a voice that's too steady, eye raking over Sinbad's body and taking in each ragged gash and awkward angle. "You're…" He swallows hard. "You're going to be okay."

Sinbad chuckles then grimaces with a whine at the pain it causes, and Ja'far holds him all the closer. "Somehow, I find that hard to believe…" He casts Ja'far a questioning glance, but what he says next is more statement than question. "I'm dying."

"No, you're no—" He grows silent as Sinbad reaches up, body visibly shaking with the effort of lifting his arm, and touches his cheek. Ja'far grabs his hand and holds it there. He can feel the tears start to run hot down his face, mingling with the blood on Sinbad's fingers. "Sinbad, please…"

The older man gives an apologetic smile as blood seeps from the corners of his lips. "You'll be okay…" He coughs wetly once more and lets his head rest back in the crook of Ja'far's arm.

"Don't tell me I'll be okay," he mutters through gritted teeth. "I'm not okay. I won't be okay. Sinbad, no, I need you to be okay. Please, just please, stop this…"

Sinbad wipes away a tear with his thumb and closes his eyes with a long sigh. "I'm sorry."

Ja'far can feel the moment Sinbad's heart stops.

He thinks his might stop too.

He cradles Sinbad's body against his own, head bowed onto his chest as he rocks. The first sound is little more than a whimper as a sob escapes his lips; the next is the anguished cry of an injured, wild animal. At the back of his mind, he knows there's no point to this. His mourning won't bring his lover back to him, no matter how he wishes it could. But years of practiced stoicism flee him, leaving him racked with sobs as the warmth leaves Sinbad's broken body.

It's with a jolt that Ja'far wakes, a scream still stuck in his throat, and it takes a few long seconds before he remembers to breathe. He stares at the dark wall with weary eyes and wriggles out of the sheets, hair slicked to his skin by his sweat. He can feel Sinbad stir against him with a soft groan as he's woken up by his partner's movements. Ja'far closes his eyes and steadies his breath, trying with all his might to slow his still racing heart.

"You really think that's fooling anyone?" Sinbad asks with a huff, sitting up and stretching. He reaches over and lights the lamp on the bed stand before flopping back down onto his side and facing Ja'far's back. He reaches out and draws his fingers languidly in circles on his skin.

"Was worth a try," Ja'far mumbles, but he still rolls over so they're facing each other.

Sinbad presses his forehead to his lover's. "Hey. You okay?" Ja'far shies away from the contact, pulling his head back, so Sinbad wraps strong arms around him and pulls him in closer in response.

Ja'far is a bit surprised to realize he doesn't feel like fighting. Instead, he hesitates momentarily before letting his thin arms drape over Sinbad's broad back. He can feel his partner's heart beating steadily against his cheek, and his hold tightens automatically. "I'm fine. I had a bad dream. That's all."

Sinbad's brows knit together. "That's all, huh?" He adjusts himself so he can open his palm on Ja'far's back, and the smaller man sighs and relaxes into the touch.

"That's all…" Ja'far's eyes close, only to see the very body he's holding torn and broken. He opens them again as his body stiffens, fingers curling against Sinbad's skin. His lover slowly removes his arms and props himself up on an elbow to examine Ja'far, who doesn't move but to bring his arms in to his chest defensively. He looks up at Sinbad and does his best to mentally steel himself.

It doesn't work, not when Sinbad leans forward to brush a strand of hair behind his ear, eyes so gentle they almost hurt to meet.

"You don't have to tell me, you know. Not if you don't want to." Ja'far buries his face in his pillow in response, and Sinbad runs his fingers through his white hair. "Dreams aren't anyone's business but the dreamer's." He tilts his head slightly in concern. "You're not crying, are you?"

"Don't be stupid," Ja'far mutters into the pillow. "I'm fine."

Sinbad grins. "Really? It would be okay if you were, you know. It would be cute," he teases.

Ja'far raises his head long enough to give him a dead-eyed glare then flips onto his side, looking at the wall again. "I'm going to sleep," he announces, and Sinbad laughs softly.

"That works too," he says, leaning down to plant a kiss on Ja'far's cheek then pinching the flame of the lamp. He lies down and wraps his arms around his lover again, and Ja'far reaches his hands up to grasp Sinbad's wrists with fingers he can't seem to keep from trembling.

"Don't die," he murmurs, voice nearly inaudible in the blanket of darkness. His fingers clench ever so slightly around Sinbad's wrists. "Please."

Sinbad's arms tighten around him comfortingly. "I won't," he whispers, kissing Ja'far's head lightly. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here when you wake up. Now and always."

Ja'far nods and closes his eyes, forcing out the image of the bloody corpse. As his partner's breath steadies into the slow rhythm of sleep, he soon follows.

And in the morning, when he wakes, Sinbad is still there.