Chapter Text
The shuttle starts shaking three minutes after launch.
At first it’s subtle — a vibration under the deck plating, a tremor in the console lights.
Then the warning alarms trigger all at once.
“Engine variance detected,” the onboard system announces, calm and detached.
Caleb’s head snaps up. “That’s not part of the exercise.”
Across the cockpit, Darem’s hands are already moving over his panel. “Stabilizers are compensating.”
“For now,” Caleb mutters.
The shuttle lurches violently to port. Gravity shifts sideways. A loose data slate slams into the far wall.
The viewscreen flickers. Their simulated landing zone dissolves into static.
“This is not a simulation,” Darem says sharply. “Primary thrusters are desynchronizing.”
Caleb is already out of his seat.
“Sit down,” Darem snaps.
“If I sit down, we spin.”
“Caleb.”
The shuttle drops twenty meters in a sickening plunge before the emergency stabilizers catch. Warning lights bleed red across every surface.
Caleb reaches the central control panel, fingers flying across manual override commands. “Fuel intake is overfeeding the port thruster.”
“I see that.”
“Then do something about it.”
“I am.”
Another violent shudder throws them both sideways. Caleb braces himself against the console and keeps typing.
“Autopilot is gone,” Darem says, voice tight but controlled. “Manual recalibration is too slow.”
Caleb’s jaw sets.
“Then we don’t recalibrate.”
The shuttle tilts nose-down.
Darem grips his station to keep from being thrown. “Explain.”
“We vent the excess fuel manually and compensate with rotational counterthrust.”
“That will destabilize structural integrity.”
“It’s already destabilized.”
A loud metallic crack splits the air somewhere behind them.
Darem looks at him sharply. “Move away from the central console. The internal frame is failing.”
Caleb doesn’t even glance back. “No.”
“Caleb.”
“I’m the only one who can do this fast enough.”
“That is not an excuse to stand directly in front of a failing support beam.”
“If I don’t,” Caleb shoots back, fingers moving faster, “it won’t matter. We’ll both die before the beam hits me.”
The shuttle begins to spin.
Darem’s breath catches despite himself.
Caleb’s voice sharpens. “Re-calculate drift angle on my mark. Three… two… now.”
Darem’s mind snaps into motion despite the fear clawing up his spine. He runs the numbers in his head. “Fourteen degrees starboard to compensate atmospheric shear.”
“Wrong,” Caleb mutters.
“Excuse me?”
“Thirteen point six. You’re rounding.”
“Caleb—”
“Trust me.”
Darem adjusts.
The shuttle jerks violently but the spin slows — just slightly.
Caleb reaches deeper into the manual controls, bypassing safeguards that were never meant to be bypassed mid-flight.
“Fuel venting in five,” he says.
“Structural strain is at ninety percent.”
“Then we’re on borrowed time.”
Another violent jolt. Something tears free behind them.
“Caleb, move.”
“No.”
The next impact isn’t a jolt.
It’s a scream of metal.
The central support strut shears loose.
Darem sees it happen — sees the massive rod of reinforced alloy snap forward under pressure.
He opens his mouth to shout—
Too late.
The rod drives straight through Caleb’s lower torso.
There’s a sound Darem will hear in his head for years.
Caleb’s body jerks. His hands slam down harder on the console by pure reflex.
The shuttle stabilizes.
Just enough.
They hit ground seconds later in a brutal, skidding crash that tears the landing struts clean off.
Silence follows.
Smoke fills the cockpit.
Darem can’t breathe.
Then he sees him.
Caleb is still standing.
Impaled.
Blood is already spreading across his uniform in dark, soaking waves.
For a moment, Caleb looks almost confused.
Then the pain hits.
His fingers slip from the console.
Darem is at his side before he remembers moving.
“Don't move,” he says — but his voice is wrong. It’s not composed. It’s breaking.
Caleb huffs something that might be a laugh. Blood threads down from the corner of his mouth.
“Told you,” he rasps.
Darem’s hands hover uselessly for half a second before training overrides panic. He stabilizes Caleb’s shoulders, keeping him upright so the metal doesn’t shift.
“Stay with me,” Darem orders.
Caleb blinks slowly. His skin is already losing color.
“You’re welcome,” he mutters through bloody, gritted teeth.
Darem’s composure fractures.
“You arrogant idiot,” he snaps, voice shaking. “You don't get to say that.”
Caleb swallows. It hurts. Everything hurts. The world feels distant, like it’s sliding sideways again.
“Shuttle’s stable,” he mumbles. “You’re alive.”
“Focus,” Darem demands. “Don't go into shock.”
“I’m not—”
His teeth start chattering.
Darem feels it. The tremor running through him.
“Caleb.”
There’s blood on Darem’s hands now. Too much of it.
“Look at me.”
Caleb tries.
His vision won’t cooperate.
“Did the math,” he whispers. “Told you… thirteen point six.”
Darem lets out a sharp, strangled sound that isn’t quite a laugh and isn’t quite anything else.
“You insufferable, reckless—” His voice breaks. “You were right. Okay?!”
Caleb’s lips twitch faintly.
Shock settles in fast. His breathing turns shallow. His head droops forward.
Darem shifts, carefully bracing him, terrified of moving the rod even a centimeter.
“Don't close your eyes.”
“Tired,” Caleb murmurs.
“You don't get to be tired.”
A pause.
“…bossy,” Caleb breathes.
Darem leans closer, forehead almost touching his.
“If you die,” he says, and his control finally shatters, “I will never forgive you.”
Caleb’s eyes flicker open at that.
Something vulnerable flashes there — something he’s never let Darem see.
“…hate you,” Caleb whispers weakly.
Darem’s hands tighten in his uniform.
“Good,” he says fiercely. “Stay angry. Stay awake.”
Outside, the wreckage creaks.
Rescue is coming.
It feels impossibly far away.
Caleb’s head lolls slightly. His pulse is fluttering under Darem’s fingers.
“You don’t get to die,” Darem says again, quieter now, raw. “Do you understand me?”
Caleb swallows blood.
“…had it handled.”
“You were impaled.”
“Minor detail.”
Darem makes a broken sound that might be a laugh and might be a sob.
He presses one shaking hand against Caleb’s cheek to keep him conscious.
“You are the most infuriating person I have ever met.”
Caleb’s lips move.
“…obviously.”
His body sags.
“Caleb!”
His eyes flutter — then refocus faintly.
“…still here.”
The words barely make it out.
Darem doesn’t waste breath responding. He leans closer instead, one hand braced against the warped console to keep the metal rod from shifting, the other gripping Caleb’s collar to keep him upright.
“Stay that way,” he says, voice raw and shaking despite every effort to steady it.
Outside, something heavy slams against the hull.
Voices.
Real ones this time.
“Shuttle two, respond!”
Darem doesn’t look away from Caleb. “In here!” he shouts. “Cockpit breach — severe impalement — abdominal penetration, significant blood loss.”
He hates how clinical he sounds. Hates that it’s the only way he can function.
The outer hatch is pried open with a metallic shriek. Smoke vents outward in a thick cloud. Two rescue officers push through with cutting equipment.
One of them stops short when they see it.
Caleb’s head lolls again.
“Stay with me,” Darem says sharply, gripping his jaw. “Look at me.”
Caleb’s eyelids flutter. “You’re… loud.”
Darem’s breath catches. “Good.”
The cutting torch ignites, sparks showering the cockpit as they begin severing the embedded rod from the collapsed support beam behind him.
Every vibration pulls a faint, broken sound from Caleb’s throat.
Darem leans closer. “It will not move,” he says quietly. “I won’t let it.”
Caleb swallows. His skin is waxy now. Too pale.
“You look…” Caleb squints at him, as if trying to focus eyes glazed over from shock and pain. “…upset.”
Darem doesn’t answer that.
The final cut releases the beam from the shuttle frame. The rod remains lodged through Caleb’s abdomen, shorter now but no less disturbing.
“On three,” the medic says. “We move him flat. Keep pressure.”
Darem refuses to step back.
They lower Caleb carefully onto a stabilization board. The movement pulls a choked gasp from him — sharp and involuntary.
His hand finds Darem’s sleeve again.
Not by accident this time.
“Don’t,” Caleb whispers, though it’s unclear what he means.
“I’m here,” Darem says immediately.
Caleb’s grip weakens.
Then his eyes roll back.
“Caleb.”
No response.
The medic checks his pulse. “He’s crashing. We need him in surgery now.”
Darem steps aside only because they physically move him.
He walks beside the stretcher all the way to the transport shuttle.
He doesn’t remember the trip back to the Academy medical wing.
__________
The doors to surgery close in front of him.
And suddenly there is nothing to do.
No calculations.
No commands to stay awake.
No arguing.
Just blood on his hands.
He stares at it.
Someone says something to him — an instructor or Genesis, maybe. He doesn’t process the words.
The hours stretch.
He replays the moment over and over.
Move away from the console.
No.
I’m the only one who can do this fast enough.
The rod piercing through him.
The way he still finished the calculations.
Thirteen point six.
Darem presses the heels of his hands against his eyes.
He should have dragged him away.
He should have overridden him.
He should have—
The surgery doors finally open.
A physician steps out.
“He’s alive,” she says immediately, as if she can see the fracture line in Darem’s posture.
Darem inhales for what feels like the first time in hours.
“The rod missed his lung by centimeters. Significant internal damage. We repaired what we could. He’s lost a dangerous amount of blood, but he’s stable.”
Stable.
The word feels fragile.
“He’ll be in recovery for several days. After that…” She pauses. “Rehabilitation will depend on how he heals.”
Darem nods once.
“Can I see him?”
“Briefly.”
__________
Caleb looks smaller in the infirmary bed.
Machines hum softly around him. A surgical field seal covers his abdomen. There are lines in his arms. Bruising already shadows his ribs where the impact drove him forward.
He looks nothing like the arrogant, strong - headstrong at least-, smart cadet that Darem knew him to be.
Darem steps closer.
For a long moment, he just stands there.
Caleb’s face is slack with sedation, but there’s tension even in sleep, like his body hasn’t decided it’s safe yet.
Darem pulls a chair closer.
He sits.
He tells himself it’s temporary.
Caleb shifts faintly a few minutes later. A slight frown. A shallow inhale.
His eyes crack open.
Unfocused at first.
Then they find him.
“…did we crash?” Caleb murmurs.
Darem’s mouth tightens. “Yes.”
A beat.
“…good landing?”
Darem exhales something dangerously close to a laugh. “Catastrophic.”
Caleb blinks slowly. Processing.
“…you alive?”
“Yes.”
Caleb’s gaze drifts, then returns to him.
“…told you.”
Darem leans forward, lowering his voice.
“You were impaled through your stomach.”
“Mm.”
“You lost nearly half your blood volume.”
“I'm and overachiever.”
“You nearly died.”
Caleb studies him through the haze of painkillers.
“…didn’t.”
The silence stretches between them.
Neither knows what to do with what was said in the wreckage.
*If you die, I will never forgive you.*
*You don’t get to die.*
Caleb’s brow furrows slightly, like he’s remembering something at the edge of consciousness.
“…you were yelling,” he says faintly.
Darem goes still.
“You were bleeding,” he replies evenly.
Caleb’s eyes stay on him.
Not mocking.
Not combative.
Just searching.
“…still hate you,” Caleb mutters weakly.
Darem doesn’t look away.
“Good,” he says quietly. “Recover out of spite.”
Caleb’s lips twitch.
Then his eyes close again as sedation drags him under.
Darem stays in the chair.
Long after visiting hours end.
Long after the machines settle into a steady rhythm.
He stays.
And this time—
He doesn’t pretend it’s just because he had nowhere else to be.