Work Text:
Pain. More pain than he could even imagine feeling. The pain of his sons dying, the pain of his brothers dying, the pain of Malcador dying, the pain of himself dying. His father screaming. Himself screaming. Horus…his..face? Something was wrong about it, the look in his eye that had appeared since he turned on them was blinking in and out of reality. His father was blinding, all golden noise and the concept of a human. Sanguinis was in pain, and not even the mind bobbling confusion and terror stabbing at his delirious mind could distract from that. His knees finally hit the ground, head bowing. He was tired .
There was no noise anymore, only the occasional rumble of movement and the constant overwhelming tornado of colour, flashes, and gesticulation quaking the air. Manipulating the air. Raw, unfiltered power, rage even, but under all that, a suffocatingly potent concept of reversal. The Emperor always did have a flair for the dramatics, at least when he reached his wits end.
Then came the fear. Sanguinius’ eyes could barely see, but his hearts were wide open. His Father was dying, ripping himself apart from the inside, but for what? His insides twinged suddenly, and he found himself sagging further into his knees, blood coating his lips. It twinged again, yanking, no, guiding his organs away from the void, solidifying them, and prompting their normal functions. Horus’ voice momentarily broke through the static, scream of rage snapping into a cry of agony in a second. There was realisation and clarity in the horrific noise.
Father was fading , but for what? A momentary stab of coercion seized him and despite it all, Sanguinius choked back his blood and placed a hand on the ground, forcing one foot to follow it. His father was doing it for a reason, he stole Horus’ attention from him, Sanguinius needed to live, he needed to flee . The Emperor never worked without reason, and if his reason for dying was for his son to live through his prophesied death, then his son would defy fate for him.
His vision never ceased its churning, even once he assumed he was on his feet, the world was a blur of agony and vibration. The only things clear to Sanguinis was the blood in his mouth and the change flying around him. Father dulled, there was another scream, a different kind of scream, one of sorrow and disbelief. Horus was looking at him, fingers weakly extending toward his wavering body.
GO TO HIM
Sanguinius wasn’t sure if the telepathic order was directed at him, let alone contained within his unbound mind, but it did not matter, his body would not hold for much longer. Horus was in front of him, reaching out with a look of anguish, a look that only exemplified when Sanguinius used his waning control to stagger back, putting as much distance between them as he could muster. The former Warmaster’s lips were moving, but the angel couldn't care to decipher them, he needed to get away, he needed to find his father, he need-
Blood flew from his lips, Horus lept to close the distance between them, hands extending as Sanguinus’ eyes rolled back and his knees folded. It was dark, the angel didn’t feel the ground, didn’t hear the grotesque thud of his body, didn’t smell his blood leaking across the tiles, and he most certainly did not feel the arms cradling his limp husk, fingers brushing his hair away as if that would reveal what little life remained trapped within.
-----------------------
Warmth slid over his jaw, sandwiching his face between calloused palms. Sticky cold eyelids peeled open despite the confusing slurry engulfing his very being and he felt his remaining heart lurch when he found himself eye to eye with the very man that had beaten his already failing body within an inch of its life. The void in his chest where fear should have resided was instead filled with a small fleck of life, life that was not his own. Liquid filled his eyes, for Sanguinius knew his father was no more, but also in relief. Horus was there, right in front of him, with agonised guilt trickling down his face.
His eyes were different , painfully familiar and reflecting pleasant memories. They were human . Sanguinius did not dare look away from him despite being terribly curious regarding how his limp body was staying upright, but the light pressure under his armpits and wrapped around his waist told him he must have been suspended by something. The pain radiating from every inch of his exposed flesh told him to be grateful for that fact, and even more grateful that his sore wings were gently being forced to remain fully open, stretching away from him to encompass what he assumed to be a large room.
“..Hor-..us” he croaked, “..W..hy?”
His brother’s shoulders heaved in a silent weep and his hands moved to fully encompass the sides of his head, face bowing out of view so his forehead could meet Sanguninius’ heavily bandaged chest. The angel didn’t dare move as Horus’s body continued to shake, he wasn’t sure he could. With the absence of the Warmaster’s hulking form over shadowing him, Sanguninus was given view of whatever his straining vision could make out of the room, or rather, who else was in the room.
This time, his hearts did seize. Alpharius… probably . His airways twinged, no, it was Alpharius, and…His gaze flicked to the man’s side, to where his other half was standing tall, a hand on his twin’s shoulder. Omegon looked vaguely displeased, his side eye stare pinning Alpharius, as if daring him to try anything. A seed of fear was beginning to take root along Sanguinius’ nerve endings, one that only grew when he caught sight of a massive, red-skinned form. Magnus was the closest, fingers spread wide and eye closed as he kept a focused stream of iridescent mist locked on him. When the energy pulsed and left him feeling weaker than before, Sanguinius finally acknowledged that he could very well be in danger, only, the man quietly sobbing into his chest and tenderly holding his face refused to let him fully believe it. Then, the mist glided over his cheeks and down his neck, and Sanguinius was left to drift. The last thing his fading vision registered was a fifth figure hovering in the sidelines, the man’s blond hair was all he could process before his coherence left him.
The winged man blearily used what little strength he possessed to push against the hold on his head to rest his face against his brother’s crown. There were no thoughts anymore, no fight or flight, no pain, only emotion, and Sanguinius felt the heartbeats filling the room, they were pure, human, and uncorrupted. There was no stench of chaos, no strings being pulled, only his brothers and the faint scent of the man who created them.
The angel’s lip twitched up against Horus’ bare scalp, eyes pulling closed as one hand moved from his face to cover his nape. Sanguinius let out a wheezed stream of air of vaguely formed, breathy words.
Thank you, father