LINUS.
It was weird being at the centre of the pack, the one being protected. Despite all the evidence of Linus being an effective fighter now, a pretty ruthless one in fact, Luke couldn't help feeling like he was the one who should be in the role of protector. In part, that was because he'd seen this world, he'd seen how terrible and harsh and sharp-edged it was, and so it seemed to him that the ragged survivors of this hellscape deserved to be cared for. Luke and the others were the fresh faced newcomers, healthy and well fed and still full of energy, it should have been them who stood up to fight while those native to this timeline took a well deserved break. It didn't feel right that the veterans were having to babysit them as they marched into war, a group of people who hadn't suffered a fraction as much as they had.
But even more than that, it felt wrong because he was with Linus. Luke didn't consider his partner/boyfriend/husband to be weak, not at all, but nothing was more important to him than keeping the other man safe. He should have urged Linus to shrink down and cling to his collar. He should have found a way to convince him not to come to this awful place at all. He shouldn't have let himself waste away to nothing when the sun was blotted out, he should have found a way to keep going and take care of his own. He was supposed to protect him. Always.
None of these things had been his decision and there was no conceivable way he could have changed them, but did he feel like he'd let Linus down anyway, again and again and again, in every way which mattered? Fuck yes.
As they moved quickly and quietly through this fortress of metal and atrocities, Linus was at his side. They hadn't discussed a need to stay close to each other throughout this but they hadn't needed to. Luke made sure their shoulders and arms bumped occasionally, the backs of their hands brushing against each other, constant little reminders that they were together because that meant, whatever the context, they were okay. This was how things were meant to be. Luke and Linus side by side, no matter how old they were or what timeframe they hailed from or how close to the brink of doom the world was. Luke and Linus. Side by side.
The way the robot heads swivelled to look at them, the blare of their computerised voices and the red light blanketing them was chilling, the kind of moment his brain had been conjuring for him in his dreams for the last few weeks, but he didn't allow himself to to be thrown by it. Instead, he moved instantly, stepping forward to place himself between Linus and the bank of Sentinels. "Stay behind me," he said immediately, driven by instinct, before uncomfortably remembering that these days his better half was a much more experienced combatant than he was. Respect had him awkwardly sidestepping, offering the other man a bashful nod of the head. "Sorry. I'll follow your lead."
One of the Sentinels was already closing in on the two men, and the red lights blinking in the dimness beyond its shoulder suggested it wasn't alone. A bull snort of steam hissed from Luke's nose, clouds engulfing his fists and circling up the length of his arms. He wasn't one of the visitors who'd chosen to take Kick but he didn't need it. Sentry's sun, provided so heroically by Linus, had his mutation operating at a level previously unimagined. The effects of that miniature sun were his own version of Kick, and he raised his fists to demonstrate that, aiming a blast of steam at the legs of the oncoming Gen IV, hoping to melt them and disable it before it could do anything to Linus. It had better go down before it laid a finger on his man.