Clematis

They start to move away from the top of the mountain. They're getting up from the stairs they’ve been resting at since Grindlewald escaped. Since Credence went with Aberforth, father and son reunited.

“Let’s get home,” Jacob says, arm around Queenie. Newt is unsure if anyone understands what he exactly means by home. The rooms they’d be staying at in Hogsmeade, or New York? His bakery?

No matter the true meaning, they all start the long trek down, no one bothers to say they can disapparate. It’s something peaceful, with only moving, one step in front of the other.

“Theseus, you coming?” Jacob says, making their little group stop. It makes Newt turn back, to the stairs, and he sees that his older brother indeed is hanging back. Hasn’t even gotten up from the stairs.

Newt's been so enclosed in his thoughts about all that he'd seen. The Qilin he’d delivered and the poor one who had to suffer taking all the space in his mind. He hadn’t noticed Theseus hadn’t gotten up to go with them.

Theseus had taken Grindelwald escaping hard, almost more so than the rest of them. Newt had seen it in how his brother's face had fallen when realizing the man was gone. All this time, it had been the hunt for the man who had taken his fiance away that had fueled his brother. To have let him slip away, once again... It must have been crushing all over. No proper vengeance for Leta, even after five years of fighting this fight.

He watches Theseus stagger to his feet, movements stiff, more so than they usually are. It makes something churn in Newt’s gut, the way Theseus is moving - like a wounded animal. Yet, he can’t blame his brother. They’ve been through, well, so much.

So he sighs and turns to move again. Their whole little crew though, sans for Jacob - who, when they’ve barely moved one step, gasps.

It makes them all stop again. Newt turns in time to see his brother sink to his knees a few steps from the stairs. Theseus is leaning on his hands in an effort not to topple completely over.

Someone’s yelling, it might be him.

Without thinking he runs to his brother, his feet taking him there almost before he has asked them to. Grabbing Theseus’ shoulders, he forces him up on his knees again. It's then he realizes how pale his brother looks.

He feels completely helpless when Theseus’ eyes close and the man folds in on himself. A keeling sound escapes his brother's mouth as he collapses to the side.

“Theseus!” he cries. Newt finds himself trying to lessen the blow, by cradling the taller man's body as well as he can. As softly as possible he lowers Theseus to the ground.

“What's wrong with him?” Jacob shouts, voice high and worried, having reached the two of them now too.

“I - I don’t know,” Newt mutters, cursing himself about how upset he is over his brother's condition. His brain should know what to do. He has handled so many wounded animals. Creatures are not that far from wizards, in the basics. He should know what to do, he knows that he knows, but his brain has frozen. Too shocked that his stoic brother is laying there motionless to know what to do.

“He’s still alive,” Queenie says, having appeared at their side too. “But his thoughts are weird. Drifting, between conscious and not. Feverish,” she continues.

Feverish. Infections? Perhaps a wound?

Suddenly, Newt can see the sweat on his brother's face. When he pats the limp body the heat coming from his brother is obvious. As quickly yet careful as he can be, he starts taking off his brother's coat. Grateful his brain has somewhat started working again. Jacob is quickly there to help, hands now steady and movements swift.

Jacob had been in the war, Newt recalls. The same as them. It’s easy to forget. Jacob must have been at the side of wounded soldiers many times. Not that it makes it any easier, at least not in Newt's experience. Though he had been more on the side of hurt animals than soldiers himself.

He looks over his brother's body. The only thing hiding his upper body from being exposed is the white undershirt. And - there. A speckle of blood.

Jacob has already seen it and has ripped the shirt open.

Queenie gasps at the sight.

Half of Theseus' body is green and purple, spreading over towards his chest. Spider-like legs, veins, sticking through it, reaching further out. In the center of it all, where a little trickle of blood is emerging, is a long healed-looking scar.

“This isn’t human,” Jacob states the obvious.

Newt feels lost. The scar is... it’s healed. Why is it bleeding now then? And why the coloration under the skin? When did this happen?

“He needs St. Mungos,” a new voice chimes in. Dumbledore. Newt had almost forgotten the man was with them.

“That’s a carnivore infection,” Albus continues, “it looks like he healed the skin with magic, but because the venom was still in there... it’s trapped. It’s attacking from within. By the looks of it, it has been advancing for some time. There is little we can do here, with the magic we have at hand.”

Carnivore?

His and Theseus’ adventure in the cave prison springs to the forefront of his mind. The manticore queen that had almost taken Theseus, almost eaten him... Why hadn’t Newt thought about how it might have hurt Theseus, even if they’d escaped?

Why hadn’t the idiot told anyone?

“The - the prison, Erkstad, the manticores,” Newt realizes, looking at Dumbledore. Dumbledore nods like he understands it all. Of course, he does, he probably knew what was waiting down there.

No time to think about that.

Theseus is still, too still, under his hands. If Newt couldn't see the man's shallow breathing he’d almost think...

No. He almost lost his brother once for the cause of catching Grindelwald. He’s not allowing it now.

“St. Mungos is in England,” Jacob says, how the man knows this Newt is unsure. “He looks like he needs medical attention right now,” the muggle is pale, voice shaky. Even as he takes a bandage Queenie has called on with her magic, Newt hears him mumble. With careful hands Newt watches the New Yorker place the bandage over Theseus’ bleeding scar, securing it with skilled hands.

“Do we have time to find a portkey?” Newt asks, “He might not... Apparating might be too strenuous.”

“I’ll find a portkey,” Dumbledore agrees. “It would be ill-advised to try deapparating from here, especially over a greater distance, in his condition.” The older wizard starts moving, probably to find a portkey, but is stopped by Jacob.

“Wait! What should we do in the meantime? What helps this?” the man questions.

Dumbledore turns, a grim expression on his face. “Stay with him, watch his fever and keep him comfortable.”

Something falls on Jacob’s face and Newt feels his heart twinge.

Yet no one argues. They let Albus hurry away. The professor came up with this plan. He has saved them before. He will save Theseus now, Newt has to believe it.

He helps Jacob and Queenie pull on Theseus' sweater and coat again because even if he’s supporting a fever leaving his body and scar exposed can’t be good. Newt then cradles his brother's head in his lap.

“Why can’t we go to a hospital here?” Jacob asks.

“St. Mungos- They’re the best,” Queenie answers, “even better than the wizard hospital in New York. St. Mungos, that’s where you go in the direst situations.”

The words make Newt’s heartbeat pick up. Direst situations. He combs his hand through Theseus' unruly hair and notices his brother hasn’t used his usual huge amount of gel to keep his unruly curls under control.

A whine escapes Theseus’ lips.

“Is he awake?” Jacob questions and Newt can feel his friend moving closer.

“His thoughts seem a bit more lucid, perhaps,” Queenie tells them, “but still jumbled. Hard to differentiate.”

“Thee?” Newt tries, begging for his brother to respond. Hazy, blue eyes blink up at him. Theseus’ eyebrows scrunch up in confusion.

“Newt-” he starts, before his body is taken over by a horrible cough. Theseus moves a sluggish hand to cover his mouth, and when it falls away- the Auror's palm is covered in a liquid, a mixture of black and red.

“Don’t speak,” Newt hushes when he manages to tear his eyes away from the blood and goo in Theseus' hand and realizes his brother is trying to say something again. His lips are moving but no sound is escaping. Newt had been begging for the opposite seconds ago. The now rasping breaths coming from his brother's mouth make him not want to put him through more pain.

“Dumbledore’s gonna get a portkey,” he reassures, trying to catch Theseus’ eyes that are moving a bit too erratic. “We’ll go to St. Mungos, they’ll heal you right up,” he continues, forcing his voice to be slow and calm.

Theseus moves his limbs, looking like he wants to get up, but has no strength to do it. Newt reaches out, grabbing a flailing hand completely ignoring the blood and gore it's coated in. With a soft squeeze, he's happy when he sees it calms Theseus down a little.

Their eyes finally meet. Newt can see the feverish confusion in them still, the sluggish blinking telling Theseus is holding on - but just barely. His brother’s lips are moving again, a wheezing sound escaping.

“Thee, forget what I said first, I told you not to speak, just rest,” Newt tries, hoping his voice carries through.

Another gargled noise, words Newt can’t hear, comes from his brother. It seems Theseus won’t listen until Newt does. Bending down, closer to Theseus' mouth with his ear, he hopes he can understand.

“I- I’m sorry,” Theseus rasps.

Newt feels mad. If he didn’t have Theseus in his lap, the man looking white as a sheet beside the blood dripping from his mouth, Newt would yell at him.

“That’s rubbish,” he says, not caring that anyone else can hear him, voice angrier than he thought it would be. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He cradles his brother just a bit closer, feeling how Theseus has started to shake more violently. Maybe by the pain caused by the fever and infection playing in his body.

Newt can’t really hear the next few words, but combined with the way Theseus' lips move, he understands them.

“I love you,” his older brother whispers before his eyes close and his hand falls limp in Newts.

Seconds later, it's the sound of an apparition. Dumbledore is there. He’s holding a beautiful vase. decorated with purple clematis flowers.

“This will take us to St. Mungos,” the professor says, face solemn as his eyes fall on Theseus, limp in Newt's arms, “is he..?”

Newt nods, hand steady around Theseus's wrist. He holds his wand in his other hand, ready to do any medical spell he could come up with if anything were to happen with the slow and unsteady beat.

With the help of Jacob and Queenie, they hold Theseus together. They grab onto the portkey and Dumbledore, securing everybody is holding on and connected.

They let themselves be grabbed, wrapped, and moved within time and space by the portkey, no one saying another word.