He couldn’t even be angry with the bastard, because when he imagined losing Clover the way Pyro had lost Boar… he didn’t know what he’d have done, so he was willing to risk stains on the floor and give Pyro space.
He led the boy out into the fresh air, only now noticing that Clover was still clutching a gun.
“I wish letting him hit me actually helped,” Clover muttered, hanging his head in resignation.
Tank stopped and took the weapon out of the trembling fingers. Clover’s face appeared stoic enough, but his body told a different story.
“I’m not letting anyone hit you. You’ve been through enough already.”
Clover took a deep breath. “M-may I?”
It took Tank a second to understand Clover’s body language and he spread his arms, at loss that Clover would even ask him if they could hug. He went about it gently and kept walking down the driveway, because it was too dark to wander around anywhere else. Clover’s hair tickled his arm, and when the boy rested his head against him in a universal sign of trust, Tank’s chest rose with relief. He kissed the top of his Clover’s head, pulling him closer, in need of confirming that he was really still here.
The walk to the border of the property took them five, maybe ten minutes, and while they remained silent throughout, the fresh air relieved the unpleasant tension in Tank’s body. The pale shade of Clover’s skin and hair made him impossible to miss despite the sparsity of the light, and Tank relished that when he faced him by the gate.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” Tank said, wanting to communicate all the fear and worry he’d gone through in the past twenty four hours. He wasn’t good with expressing emotions, but maybe Clover needed to hear this from his lips, not just understand it based on Tank’s actions.
Clover didn’t hesitate and tightened his arms around Tank. “I’m so sorry for what I did. I’ll make it up to you somehow, but please be there for me? I never thought— I didn’t— that this could happen. And you could see it all even before it happened. I was so stubborn.”
Tank exhaled and rested his chin on top of Clover’s head, itching to take away all of his pain. This was on him too. If he hadn’t been so bull-headed and had discussed things rather than present his personal opinion as the final decision, then maybe Clover would have trusted him with the truth. Another lesson learned. Too fucking bad it was at such a cost.
The breeze played with his hair, carrying the scent of the water and trees. It was so very peaceful out here he found it difficult to think of the abduction as something more than a bad dream. But it had been real, and Tank needed to face that.
“I don’t judge you. We all make mistakes,” Tank said, regardless of how much he’d wanted to shake Clover when he first found out about the nighttime stunt that ended in such a disaster. Apollo was still out there. Clover and Drake had gotten hurt. Boar lost.
Lost. Not gone. They would find him.
“I just… I didn’t imagine such evil was even possible,” Clover choked out, and Tank ran his fingertips over the boy’s back in an attempt to soothe his pain.
He wanted to get his hands on the bastards who’d hurt Clover, but his own inability to provide the boy with relief was more pressing. It was as if Clover and Drake were intent on holding on to the trauma without sharing their burden even with those who loved them.
He wanted to help so desperately he didn’t even know how to put it into words. “It kills me that I can’t do anything to make going through this easier on you,” Tank whispered, tightening his embrace around Clover as his throat tightened. He wanted to be a rock, but it was so fucking hard when the boy he loved had been dragged through the meat grinder and refused to talk about it.
"You are helping. When it was happening, just the thought of a hug like this one helped me keep it together. I’ve never known safety before you,” Clover said, even though his lips trembled so persistently the vibrations transferred into his voice.
Tank closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh breeze and the scent of Clover’s shampoo. It was a relief to hear that he could help Clover even without being present, but the fact that he hadn’t been there was as aggravating as a salted wound.
This boy, who on the surface seemed so small and weak, had managed to endure a horrible caning and then still have enough strength left to crawl his way to safety. Through vents, past a guard that needed to die for it, running naked through suburbs. That kind of shit took guts, and even if it left scars on Clover, the wounds would close eventually.