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It was surreal. An angel of the Emperor, A son of a Primarch, a…powerhouse of humanity, fallen. The Marine’s bright blue and gold armour was stark against the dusty rock it sat limp against, marred by soot and littered with crimson lesions, but still a beacon against the ashy rock of the planet’s surface. The guardsman staggered closer, weight majorly balancing on one leg and las-rifle dangling loosely from one hand. It hit the dirt, and so did he.
“What are you doing?” The Marine mumbled with the slightest of head movements.
The guardsman didn’t respond at once, at least not until he had dragged himself the rest of the way to sit snug against the Marine’s side, shielded by the giant’s limp arm.
“I’m the last one” the human whispered, to anyone else, his soft voice would have been inaudible under the sound of bolter rounds and yells, “my leg is broken…I..I will only get in the way, sire.”
The man’s voice held more, but the tired footfalls and empty bolters turning to chainswords said everything for him. No verbal response came from the Ultra Marine, but the arm he was squished against shifted and a massive hand clamped over his waist, almost completely blocking him from the fight. The air smelt of blood, both ork and human alike, but in their little shared pocket of space, the Marine knew that the copper tainting his nose wasn’t just from him.
Are you giving up? He wanted to ask. “What’s your name, guardsman?” He asked instead.
“…Darren, my lord”
“Darren…” he hummed, “and where do you hail from?”
“Macragge”
The man found himself tugged ever so slightly closer at that confession.
“I as well” the Ultra Marine whispered.
Nothing more was spoken for several moments as both humans listened to the harmony of fading chain reaving. The Marine pressed his fingers harder into the oozing wound on the guardsman’s hip as he felt the man fading.
“What…” the man slurred, “what’s your…name?” Then, as an bleary after thought, “…sir”
“...Maesinor”
Darren hummed softly, neck slack against the side of the Marine’s breastplate, “Tha….tha’s pretty…uits you”. The arm that was limply laying over Maesinor’s tricep shifted in what he guested was an attempt to pat it.
“...Thank you.”
The Marine was silent for a moment, glancing around to confirm that they were still relatively safe, though his free hand never realised its weakened grip on his bolter. Dirt. Rock. Ruins. Corpses. Bullet casings and laser tracks. Blood.
“You…You fought very valiantly here today, Darren.” The Marine told him quietly, head turning down toward the dying human’s so he might hear, “...Your name will be remembered…”
All he got in return was a slight twitch of lips and a soft exhale that could have been a chuckle. While the soft patter of the human’s heart was still gentle in Maesinor’s ear, the softness of the breath keeping it alive told him it would soon fade. The Marine’s slightly blurry vision sayed on the human’s battered helmet, watching his limp face for a change that wouldn’t come. His grip never wavered on the man’s hip, and somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind begged for this small human’s life. He shouldn’t care. He should be praying for his battle brothers that were still fighting, and for himself, might he live to fight more for the Emperor's will, yet here he was, not necessarily in danger of drifting away but still downed, practically cradling a guardsman against his side while he passed. The man’s blood stained his gold-trimmed armour, and the knowledge that it was mingling with the ork blood splattered there made his hearts seeth.
Why should this man die? Why should he die after everything, wasn’t the sacrifice of his brothers and sisters in arms enough? They were muddled thoughts that would later be blamed on bloodloss, but dammit - Maesinor wanted to ignore his logic and understanding that people died during battle, he knew that, but sitting there with a void-bound mortal in his arm, it made the human part of his brain beg for the Emperor’s mercy in a way he hadn’t since he was a mere boy.
And then Darren took a deeper breath, and a shrivelled sprout bloomed back to life in Maesinor’s chest. He pressed down harder on the man’s wound, and found he was delighted when it elected a groan from him. Maesinor wasn’t fully sure what would happen to the man if he did live, it wasn’t unheard of for survivors of battles to be brought back to work as staff or servints, and while the work aboard fleet-ships was gruelling, if was often better than life amidst a Hive City, or the chances of being sent back into battle.
“...Did’t get ‘arker?”
Some higher ranking Marines had personal servants…and he did just get that promotion…
“...an’ warmer?”
“Yes.” The Marine breathed.
“...’m I dead yet?..”
Maesinor shushed in gently, eyes turning toward the sky. Beneath his helmet, his grin was all teeth. The sun was indeed blotted out, as for the warmth…well, one didn’t always need the sun for light...his begging had taught him that. Darren shifted slightly, a clumsy movement prevented by the armoured body parts boxing him in, but he still successfully managed to weasel his free hand over the massive one preventing him from bleeding out. Perhaps Maesinor could sponsor him, cash in a favour, or even-
The ground shook violently and a wave of cheers accompanied the disturbing of the planet’s fondation. The soft warmth burned into the scent of ozone and flames and in a matter of milliseconds one focused sense split into all of them at once. A drop pod landed feet away from them, sending angered cracks splintering away from its crater.
“Holy shit…” Darren wheezed. It was the clearest thing he’d said yet.
Against his better judgement, Maesinor laughed.