The worst insult, Bryn thought, was that it ended so calmly.

One moment, he was sitting there trying to tune everything out. Blocking the hideous sounds that resulted from still more hideous actions being taken barely a few yards away. He had never felt so helpless in his life, so wracked with guilt. But where had the guilt gotten him? He hadn't done anything about it, had he? Oh, he'd spoken up. But his words had been weak, half-hearted. He hadn't made any real effort to stop this from happening.

The guilt had been festering for an infinite amount of time, since long before he'd known it was there. For years, it had been suppressed, buried so deep that he hadn't been able to find it. He didn't know at what point he'd realised what was going wrong, but now that he had, he couldn't pretend he didn't know. Not anymore. No, now he had to suffer for it. His sins and those of his friends dancing before his mind's eye, taunting him as his friends taunted their victim.

It went on, and he let it happen.

And then it was over.

He looked up at the sound of footsteps, saw Alda and Jerome walking away. No, swaggering. They walked with the drunken gait of the arrogant; cruel smiles plastered on their faces. They were still laughing, shoving each others' shoulders in congratulatory gestures. But what was their conquest? Beating a younger, smaller boy within an inch of his life? Torturing him for well over an hour and meting out horrific punishments when he couldn't help but scream? Did they consider themselves so victorious, for managing to make him so afraid of them that he wouldn't dare breathe a word for fear they'd do it again?

But who was Bryn to judge them? He'd been the one obediently holding the lad down for them for most of the torments they'd inflicted. And then he'd watched. Stood back and let the others go on. So how was he any better?

It said something, he thought, that Alda and Jerome kept walking. They called back to him one time, without looking back, and carried on their way. He was on his feet, had risen to follow them, but there was something so...wrong, he felt, about just leaving as if nothing had happened. They hadn't said a word to the boy before walking away, had simply finished their task and left him there.

Bryn wished he could bring himself to do the same.

He stood there, alternating between looking at his friends' retreating backs and the ground. He'd felt such shame only a few times in his life, and those were times he didn't care to grace with named memories. He closed his eyes, breathing deep and trying, trying so hard to find a reason. Something to make this okay. But there was nothing to be found. No way of going back and changing what had been done...his shame only solidified when he realised that he would be content just to go back and remove his own involvement, rather than actually stop this from happening entirely. When had he made the metamorphosis into this coward he was now? He couldn't remember being different. Had he always been this way?

The Battleschool apprentice shook his head, pushing the thoughts violently away as he willed himself to move. Walking with leaden steps toward the apprentice ranger, dreading what he'd find.

He didn't know how Alda and Jerome thought the boy could go any length of time without someone finding out what had happened. What had he done to call down this wrath, again? What had he done that was so terrible as to merit this type of revenge? As best Bryn could remember, the lad had nearly been killed by a boar while trying to save Horace- another source of guilt- and the two had saved each other. The ranger had intervened, when the apprentices couldn't take on such a threat by themselves. But where was the crime? Why had he come here today to help...do this?

"My god," he breathed, kneeling nearby, "I'm so sorry."

The Battleschool apprentice reached gingerly for Will's shoulder, feeling a barbed hand curl around his heart as the boy flinched. "Let me help you," he whispered, tripping over the words, "I can...I can take you to a healer. I'll buy you medicine. You'll be alright, and-"

And then the boy looked at him.

A million images flashed across his vision. Bruised cheek, bleeding. Eyes red, puffy. Blood dripping down the boy's chin- he desperately hoped it was just from the split lip. A hollow look in his eyes, too bright, yet dull. Fear written plainly in each iris. Not just fear, but heartbreaking, nightmarish terror. At first, the boy only whimpered, tears still welling even as he tried to fight them back. Bloody lips trembled as he tried to force them apart, tried to choke out the words that came as a shattered prayer.

"Don't touch me,"

Bryn wondered if his heart stopped beating, or if it simply sank further into whatever dark place it had somehow come to inhabit when he wasn't looking. He saw the look that came over the young ranger as he spoke, saw the instant regret as the lad thought some terrible retribution was coming after those words. He couldn't bring himself to move or look away, just stared back at the boy as he was struck fully by the calamity he'd helped to bring about.

He didn't know if this could be survived. His own apocalyptic emotions suggested otherwise, and certainly the broken figure before him made it seem that way. He wondered if he'd really just helped kill this boy. A scream lodged itself in his chest, or the idea of one, or the ghost of one. He didn't know. He just knew that he couldn't stay here, didn't want to see anymore. Now he realised that he'd waited too long. There was nothing he could do, and he wouldn't have any chances to go back. No changing, no making it right.

It was done.

He stood up slowly, though that did nothing to ease the lad's panic. He wanted to walk away without another word, but something was choking him; words strangling the knight as he watched the result of his friends' handiwork. It was wrong to just leave. Degrading. The boy deserved better than that for enduring what he hadn't deserved in the first place.

Deserved far more than Bryn could give him.

So the Battleschool apprentice bowed his head, mouthing words that he knew were inaudible, but hoping the boy would realise the depths of their truth.

"I'm so sorry."

And he walked away.

The apology barely reached the apprentice's ears, and when it did, it served no purpose.

Will was curled where he'd been left, drowning under the crashing waves of pain and fear that he didn't think he'd ever escape from. There was a tightness in his chest, hardly letting him breathe, and whenever he could get a breath, it was like fire in his abused throat and lungs. His mouth was filled with the vile, competing tastes of copper and salt, making his stomach turn violently even as the other sensations continued wracking him.

The dull, pulsating ache from the repeated blunt force, the burning, the way his whole back felt raw. He felt like he was coated in blood, buried under a smothering blanket. A sick heat had settled over him, along with a feverish chill that made him shiver, drenched in cold sweat. He could do nothing but lay there, keening moans torn from him at painful intervals as his thoughts raced.

He had to get up.

The thought brought the sting of tears to his eyes once again. He didn't have the strength to push them aside or hold them back, not anymore. He was too hurt and too afraid. And his thoughts were spinning, rapidly going in every direction as they forced one thing to the forefront of his mind.

He really had to get up.

If Halt came back, found him like this...what would happen then? Will may have gotten somewhat used to his taciturn mentor over the time he'd known the man, but he didn't know him that well yet. And even if Halt wasn't angry- why would he be? Will didn't know, but was certain he would be- there was still too much chance for something to go wrong. He'd know. He'd know right away what had happened, and Will already knew what would happen if anyone had the slightest notion that he'd told.

But couldn't Halt keep that from happening? Wasn't Halt able to handle a situation like this?

Half of him wanted to think he could just lay still, close his eyes and pray for sleep. Wanted to think that he'd wake up to find Halt. That there would be questions, that he'd answer them and that nothing would happen. That everything would be okay.

But he didn't believe that, no matter how much he knew it was true. In his mind, the warning still resonated, and he was terrified because of it. He couldn't take a repeat of what had just happened. He would rather die than go through that again, and he firmly believed that it would happen again if he told anyone about it.

Including the one person who could actually help him.

That fear alone, he thought, was the only thing that kept his battered heart beating as he stood up, gasping for breath before he could even get to his knees. The nearby trees were an unrelenting support, showing no quarter to his already bleeding hands, but he held on with a vice-like grip, nails digging into the bark despite the added pain.

He couldn't help but imagine the rough fabric of a cloak there instead, that his forehead was pressed tightly to someone's shoulder and not to a tree that could do nothing else but stand there. With a sigh, he stood quietly, eyes closed as he swayed on the brink of unconsciousness Everything was starting to slow down, concealed under a muggy fog that somehow brought a clarity with it.

The cabin. It wasn't far away and it was the most obvious goal he needed to reach, but the ever-quickening surges of pain were an ill-taken reminder that it wouldn't be quite so simple. Already, he knew that there was no way to keep Halt from knowing that something was wrong. It was just a matter of keeping him from knowing what exactly was wrong.

But what was he going to say? Even the blow he'd taken to the face would be enough to instantly alert the older ranger. How could he pass that off as an accident? And he doubted that he'd be able to walk within a few hours, let alone walk without limping.

He forced his eyes closed even tighter, shaking his head to clear it, mainly by wishful thinking. The only thing he could do at the moment was...certainly not think up a story to give Halt. That could come later. For now he needed to get to the cabin. If he had any luck at all, it would be a few hours yet before Halt returned from his business at Castle Redmont. That should at least give him time to get cleaned up and regain some semblance of composure.

The pitiful whine that forced itself from him at that thought trailed off into an almost drunken giggle, high and completely lacking in humour. Composure. Of course. How could he be expected to be composed after something like what he'd just been through?

His fingers cramped where they pressed against the tree, the ache spasming up his arm until, finally, he let go. The world spun dangerously for several seconds, but the idea of falling was almost as painful as trying to support his own weight. With a resigned whimper, he lurched stiffly to the other side of the clearing. He'd rather just get to the cabin, fall on his bed and crawl under the blankets until Halt came back, but it wouldn't look right if he left the arrows in their targets, left his bow...wherever it was.

It took almost twenty minutes to collect the arrows, his trembling hands lacking the strength to remove them from the targets. The quiver felt like molten lead on his back, the strap digging into the wounds and making his head spin. How was it that he could feel so much pain and so much numbness at the same time? He held the bow by its string, having picked it up from where it had been thrown several yards away by his attackers. He couldn't feel it, not even once he forced his hands to curl around the wood.

All he could feel was the hot pulse in his fingertips and the ache he wasn't sure he'd ever escape from. It took a particularly brave effort to lift the bow enough to sling it across his back, not trusting his hands to maintain their grip for very long.

Now he just had to get home.

Had to draw water for a bath, if he was actually going to have one.

Had to figure out what he was going to tell Halt.

Had to figure out how he was possibly going to get up in the morning.

It was strange, how long it took with nobody to lean on. Even finding the strength to take the first step toward the cabin left him drained as Will began his weary journey. He was beginning to realise a disturbing truth, the more he thought about what was ahead of him. They were going to have to kill him. Because they'd left him unable to breathe without severe pain, let alone hide what they had done.

He wondered if they knew that he wasn't brave enough not to try, if they knew that he really was that afraid of what would happen if he didn't do as they'd instructed. Even though he knew it would never last...

He couldn't let Halt know.

It seemed to take an age to reach the cabin, Tug's greeting completely missing him as he neared. The little pony, even at a distance, seemed to realise that something was wrong, his large intelligent eyes locking onto Will as the boy stumbled past with the air of a desert wanderer.

Tug, at least, could know. It wasn't as if he was going to tell anyone. Will grimaced, finally bringing himself to look at the shaggy pony, unintentionally feeling his own resolve wither somewhat at the seemingly concerned snorting, the tossing of the pony's mane as Tug looked him over. It was ridiculous to think of the action as judgmental in any way, for a variety of reasons, but in his present state...

Will ducked his head, already feeling heat rise to his face. If he couldn't handle being looked at by a horse...what was he going to do when Halt arrived? Someone who could actually ask questions and expect answers?

The few steps leading up to the porch were suddenly a daunting prospect. Why not just go to the stables, stay with Tug until Halt got back? He could say he was tired from cleaning the stalls. In fact...he wondered at what would happen if he were to tell Halt he'd been riding. If it had been earlier in the year, before the Harvest Festival, he never would've had the nerve to actually go riding without permission, let alone lie and say that he had. But now...he expected that Halt wouldn't actually mind.

He made himself look up again, at Tug. The pony was pawing the ground with one hoof, clearly agitated. Giving him that look as he considered his options. It was either cross the short distance to the stables- which seemed like an eternity to him at present- or climb the relative mountain that was the steps.

Only one of those would get him anything he actually wanted at the moment.

With a faint wheeze, he turned, staggering as he walked. Tug's whinnying was becoming more insistent as he paced uneasily within the fence that surrounded the stables.

He fell limply against the railing at first, panting for breath until he reached the entrance. Going inside...that was the easy part. After that it was a matter of getting to the second door, where Tug was waiting for him just on the other side. He felt like he should be saying something, but words failed him as he entered the little paddock.

Immediately, Tug was there, warm breath against Will's face as the pony nuzzled him all over. Will didn't even notice that he was crying again until sometime after he'd buried his face in Tug's mane, and then he was babbling nonsense that even he didn't fully understand. Tug knelt slowly, gently easing the young ranger down with him when Will couldn't stand any longer.

It didn't take the pain away, but it was like a soft blanket to Will anyway. Maybe not all of the comfort that he needed at the moment, but it was something, and for at least a little while he wouldn't have to hide how hurt he really was. Later, when Halt got back, he'd have to figure out how to be strong. But right now he could just lean on Tug, and that would be enough.

He would never know if he passed out or just fell asleep, but the last thing he felt for quite some time was Tug's muzzle against his face, against his shoulder, perfectly content to lay there with him for as long as he needed it.

Mkay, so I've been sick for a bit, and then decided to be selfish and wait for ten reviews anyway. But that was stupid of me and I won't do it again. Promise. Cross me heart, hope...in all honesty not to die, really...hmm...

Also, I know the ending is a little shallow. But I was going to be cruel and end it with something like "And then the nightmares started" but I decided, y'know what, that'd be a bit much, considering everything else Will has to go through in this story. I say he's so exhausted right now, in such turmoil, that he's allowed to have this one dreamless sleep for a little bit.

Now, next chapter, we get to have some HALT. I know. Right I've missed him too. And don't worry, he's going to be MUCH more in-character this time.

As always, lemme know what you hope to see at some point, what you think so far, how you think things are going to happen...just recall that this one has a different ending than the original would have, so keep the guesses coming! Also, be a dear and leave Will some Comfort Items in your review. He'll need them in the next chapter.

Thankyouthankyouthankyou, love- CrayBard