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unrequitedloveletter · 2 years

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Oooh, with the medic one also. Could be half him watching her and her skills being impressed and in love, and the other half having her tell him what to do to treat her because she is deathly injured!!!!!!

Everything- Kaz Brekker

Hi! I'm going to hijack this ask to answer both this one, and the first part to it, which I used to ask if you'd be all right with me aging everyone up a little bit! This one is also a bit long, so apologies in advance!

You said that you were fine with it, so I did age everyone up a bit! Kaz, the crows, and the reader, are all around 25-27 years old.

Fic type- this one is fluff with some angst

Warnings- mentions of stab wounds, a punctured lung, chest tubes, lung fluid, treatment of a punctured lung that’s probably a little inaccurate (I googled how to treat it, google wasn’t very helpful) and kaz might be a little ooc

“You’re university trained?” Matthias asked as he watched you disinfect a wound on Inejs leg. “University, medical school, and you end up here?” He gestured around Fifth Harbor.

“As I’m sure you’ve come to understand, Mr. Helvar, the people are what makes this town a worth while one,” you said. You took a needle from your kit, grabbing a piece of thread with one hand as you held the needle steady with the other, blowing a speck of dust from it and wiping it over a clean area of your shirt before pulling the thread through the needle.

“Walking on it--”

“Matthias will carry you,” you glanced back at him, tilting your head as though you were waiting to hear his refusal. “Give it two hours of rest, at least. I know you’re the informant Kaz relies on the most, but an infection? The stitches opening? Not worth the risk.”

“How much time would be optimal?” Kaz asked. You didn’t need to look back to him to know he was watching you. You could feel his gaze, a burning but impressed look. It was one that seemed to be reserved for you, specifically, a gaze that communicated both that he was impressed and in love with you for the skill and ease with which you worked.

“Any jobs in the next few days?”

“You would know if there were any,” Kaz said. “You’re the one who reviews the plans, triple checks for any fatal risks, but if you need a reminder, no. No jobs until the one near the financial district in two weeks time.”

“That’s perfect,” you said, not grimacing as you brought the needle through one end of the wound, stitching into the other. “Rest, Inej. Take at least a week.”

Inej nodded, not saying a word or moving a muscle as you worked. The next ten minutes were quiet, ones where you were focused on getting Inejs wound stitched, Kaz was heading to the Slat to make sure a path was cleared, Nina was getting Inej some tea and Wylan, Jesper, and Matthias were keeping good company.

“All of the people in Ketterdam, and Brekker ends up with the medic. I kind of love it,” Nina said with a laugh about five minutes after you’d finished stitching Inejs leg, applying the pain relievant cream you kept in your kit and taping gauze over it in case of bleeding. You were all headed back to the Slat, Inej leaning on Matthias as she held the tea Nina had grabbed for her.

“I don’t mind it myself,” you said. “When Kaz gets himself in a bind, I’m there to make sure he lives through it. I’d call it a nice arrangement, the one we’ve got.”

You and your incredible wit could smooth talk anyone Kaz had pissed off, stitch the wounds he got from doing so, and Kaz had given you the job you had, one of the few medics working on the staff of the Dregs.

You’d known him since you were teens, Kaz having often seen you in the Barrel, stitching the wounds of the ones dumb enough to get hurt, using the minimal knowledge given to you by the medicine classes offered to Ketterdam University first years in order to do such a thing. You’d been running with the Dregs that long, too, having not been able to resist the company offered by the one so many called Dirtyhands.

Ten years later, it seemed to have proven worth it, if the ring you’d placed on a chain and the one that Kaz kept in the pocket of whichever pair of trousers he’d chosen to wear that day were at all considerable indications.

“A match made by the matchmaker saint,” Nina said.

“I don’t think there is one,” you said as you arrived at the Slat. Nina opened the door for Inej and you watched as Matthias carried her to her room, Nina standing not far off and talking to Inej as though it were just another normal Tuesday.

You bid Wylan and Jesper your goodnights before heading to the third floor, opening the door to the floor that yourself and Kaz had shared for half a decade.

You saw Kaz at his desk, gloves over his hands as he read the plans for the heist to take place two weeks from then. You placed your kit where you’d always placed it--second drawer of the night stand that was to the left of the bed--and walked back through his office, heading for the kettle, which Kaz had placed on a nightstand that he’d repurposed.

“Coffee or tea?” You asked as you turned the kettle on, merely flicking a switch at the bottom of the long handle, grabbing a mug from the drawer he kept them in. To one side, there was twelve mugs--stacked in two doubled up columns of three--and to the other, there was boxes of tea bags, filtered, and ground coffee

“Earl gray tea, if there’s any left,” Kaz said. At that, you turned to look at him, casting a look of disbelief. He shrugged.

“For once in my life, I’m not striving to stay awake,” he said. “Drank too much coffee, stressed a bit too much. I haven’t slept in days.” You laughed as you grabbed another mug, placing it next to the one you’d grabbed for Kaz. You grabbed earl gray and the ingredients to make your hot drink of choice, the conversation between you and Kaz as you waited for the kettle to be ready nothing of much note.

“Even so long after you returned from Ravka, I still find myself impressed whenever I watch you work in the field,” he said. “I couldn’t stomach it. I can handle giving myself a stitch up, but having to do it for someone else? I could never.”

You laughed as you heard the little song--a simple few robotic tones--that the kettle sang to tell you it was done. You poured water into Kaz’s mug and then into yours, adding sugar and stirring it in as you thought on your next words.

“It’s always been about the fact that I’ve been able to help people,” you said, shrugging. “Living in the Barrel, you get used to blood. You get used to screams of pain and keeping kvas in a flask just in case. I’ve never much been bothered by any of it. I’ve just wanted to do some good. Going to uni and then medical school helped me with that process.”

“Have you paid off all of the loans?” University and medical school cost a pretty penny, that was certain. The loans were ones you’d had on your back since you were twenty-one, loans that were being paid off using half of your paycheck from seeing to Ketterdam citizens in the few hospitals they’d built around the wealthier areas, all of the money you got from heists, be it for the part you played in them or the fact that you stitched up plenty of wound in the aftermath.

“The money I’ll get tomorrow from two weeks working at the hospital will have them paid off entirely,” you said. “Y/N L/N, debt free. I love how that sounds.”

You passed him the tea you’d made and he gently clinked his mug against yours in favor of a cheers.

“To being debt free,” you said.

“To getting richer.” Kaz said. “And to being impressed by the work of your spouse.”

You both took sips of your drinks, neither of you staying awake much longer after that.

---

As Kazs eyes opened, the first thing he registered was the fact that he was laying on the ground. He could feel the stickiness of near-dry pebbles refusing to detach from the sweat that’d beaded on the back of his neck, the weight of the pavement beneath him that was the precise opposite of comforting. He was on his back, eyes blinking at a dark, dreary sky as they opened.

The next thing he registered was the complete absence of the gloves he always wore. They were gone, and as Kaz sat up, looked around with a keen eye as one hand reached up to finally rid the saints awful feeling of the pebbles sticking to his neck, he couldn’t find them, nor his cane.

He heard it when you woke up, though. He heard the intake of breath, watched you reach a hand up to your right side.

“Kaz?” You wheezed. “Ghezen, if I was left alone here, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Threatening a god isn’t the smartest choice you’ve made,” Kaz fired back. “We were jumped, Y/N. Are you all right?”

“Can you stand?” You wheezed again. Kaz shuffled to the wall to his left, brought himself onto his feet. “Kit. I need my kit, Kaz. It has--” you stopped, coughing before trying to inhale.

He found your medicine kit, two feet off from where you lay on the ground, blood blossoming around the white of your shirt. He went for it instantly.

“Are you okay?”

“I was stabbed in the lung, the bastards,” you said, managing a laugh. “I can stitch myself up provided that I’m able to sit the fuck up and see what I’m stitching. A punctured lung prevents me from that. Fuck.”

The realization dawned on him as he took the kit into his hands, bringing it to his lap as he unzipped it. If you couldn’t do the stitching yourself, it meant that Kaz had to.

You’d touched one another before. You were the only person with whom touch had become even a semi-regular thing in Kaz’s life. Hands that accidentally met when you passed one another a coffee or a tea, hands resting atop one another for a mere few seconds as you settled in for dinner at a restaurant along Fifth Harbor.

Touching was sort of common. But those touches had always been small. None of them were as it was then, the alarming sort of reality that Kaz would have to do what it took to get you well enough to function, the likelihood that it involved getting your blood on his hands.

“Kaz, if you can’t manage--”

“If I can’t manage, the only other option is that you die, or that you almost die. I refuse to allow either of those outcomes.”

“I’m half-dead as we speak.”

“Yes, but it’s not almost too late. If I save you right now, the fact that you survived may not count as a miracle. Tell me what I need to do to help you, Y/N. Please.”

“A chest tube should be in there,” you said. “It’s long, has a bit of a pump attachment taped to it for convenience? Theres a needle at one end. It’s also clear and made of plastic. Get that.” Kaz did as instructed, holding it in one hand as he watched you fumble with the buttons around your shirt.

He undid them up to the area of the wound, folding the excess fabric back and securing it with some tape he’d found in the kit so as to keep it from moving.

“Attach the pump to the open end of the chest tube. The pump will catch the fluid build up in my lungs, keep it from getting onto the ground. Once you’ve done that, insert the tube into the cut and watch me never take simply breathing for granted ever again.”

Kaz did as you’d told him, attaching the pump to the open end of the tube and inserting the tube into the cut, grimacing and looking away as he did it.

He heard you take a long inhale, looked over and caught you grinning.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I know its--unfortunate circumstances--”

“If you apologize for almost fucking dying, I’ll take the tube out of your lung and allow you to suffocate,” Kaz said. “We’ll wait ten minutes, I’ll stitch you up, and we’ll get home.”

You laughed. “Fine, Brekker,” you said. “Thank you.”

“I rather not live a life without you in it, is all,” he said, shrugging.

You waited ten minutes.

In those ten minutes, Nina came around with Kaz’s cane--the edge of which, it should be noted, was blood stained--and a vengeful smile. Inej wielded names and whereabouts. Jesper held the gloves Kaz kept in his office as back ups as Matthias explained that the gloves Kaz had been wearing hadn’t been found and Wylan checked the wound out for himself.

“You did good,” he said. “Even though you only followed the instructions given by a professional. A bit of a stitch up in two minutes and a trip to a hospital in the financial district if the pressure from the fluid hasn’t gone away are some good next steps.” As he spoke, Wylan helped you sit up halfly.

“Thank you, Brekker,” you said.

“You’re my partner in everything,” Kaz said. “I refuse to lose you, Y/N. I can’t even handle the idea.”

“I love you too,” you said. “Wylan, are you good with a needle?”

“I can stitch up the wound and Matthias can carry you back,” Wylan said with a nod. “I’ve never been too good with this sort of thing, but I can manage.”

“Are you feeling all right?” Kaz asked. You nodded.

“I’m okay, Kaz. You don’t need to worry about me, I’m fine. You’ve got names and whereabouts. Don’t go easy on the bastards.”

Kaz shook his head. “Going easy on them was never my intent,” he said.

“Good,” you grinned.

The seven of you made idle conversation as Kaz emptied the tube and waited an additional five minutes to be safe.

Upon the assurance that there was no more fluid left in your lung, he removed the chest tube completely, taking a bottle of water from Wylans satchel and cleaning it up so as to not have the fluid from your lung making a mess of the kit.

Wylan stitched the wound up and Matthias helped you off the ground, letting you lean against him as you walked back to the Slat. You and Kaz talked, pinkies interlaced as you spoke and moved.

“I need two weeks, Brekker,” you said. “I need the rest.”

“You’ll have three, then,” Kaz said, nodding as Matthias, Wylan, Jesper, Nina and Inej all went their separate ways, though you and Kaz stayed together. “Just to be safe, of course. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you admit that you need time off.”

“Can’t really work very well with a lung wound,” you shrugged. “Three weeks of rest sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

“You’re my partner in everything,” Kaz said again. “Whatever you need.”

The two of you walked up to the third floor, both of you feeling relieved that the day had ended on a decent note.

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows

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a-libra-writes · 4 years

Text

Being the Camp Doctor for the RDR2 Gang

added two characters no one asked for you cant stop me. still tryna get the hang of these guys!

In this imagine, you’ll be fixin up: Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch van Der Linde, Hosea Matthews, Sadie Adler, Micah Bell, Charles Smith, Bill Williamson, Javier Escuella, Sean MacGuire, Lenny Summers, Kieran Duffy, Tilly Jackson, Mary-Beth Gaskill, Karen Jones, Flaco Hernandez, Mr. Horley

ARTHUR MORGAN

Arthur is grateful and appreciative of you, really! He just isn’t always comfortable going to you for help. He figures he shouldn’t bother you and he should fix his own mess, but all it takes is a stern look for him to sigh and agree to let you have a look. He gets hot under the collar when you lean in so close and touch him so kindly, so he’d really be itching for some small talk on your part. He feels like whenever he starts it, he says weird things, and his train of thought starts leaving the station when he catches a whiff of your perfume.

The whole experience gives him a mess of emotions, especially if you look after him while he’s sick (he ain’t the best patient) but Arthur can’t imagine going to anyone else when he’s hurt. He just likes your gentle touch too much. To repay you in his own way, he’ll bring any medicines and herbs he finds. Heck, you could give him a grocery list of things you need and he’ll come right back with all of it.

JOHN MARSTON

John can’t go a week without hurting himself in some way, but he’s the type to get up, wipe the blood off and ignore it. Or just forget about it - so many times you’ve scolded him for coming to you only when an infection is setting in. It became a joke with the gang that John would mysteriously go missing anytime you went looking for him. You’d have to sneak up on him and pounce, sweetly asking why he’s never mentioned the fingers he broke a week ago. At least when he’s sick, he can’t go anywhere, so he has no choice but to sit and let you check up on him. The attention embarrasses him to no end so thank god for the excuse that the fever is making him red.

However, things were a little different after the wolf attack. You stitched him up neatly, and he was so tired, he let you fuss. You did him a serious favor, he thought, and he felt like he sorta owed you. John wasn’t sure what he’d do to make it up to you, but he could at least sit through your check-ups in the coming weeks, even if they got him feeling all sorts of things.

DUTCH VAN DER LINDE

He doesn't kid himself about what a valuable asset you are to the gang. He’s damn lucky he found you, and luckier that you agreed to work with him. Dutch is loud about telling people to go see you and ensures the medicine cart has what it needs, or everyone is in trouble. He likes to flatter you, both about how appreciated you are and how excellent your skills are. Both points are true, but he mostly does it because you’re cute and he wants to be on your good side. Even if you’re a capable shooter, he’d rather you stay in camp where you’re safe and not in the middle of danger. He’s very stubborn about this.

Dutch rarely gets himself hurt or sick, but he’ll still see you so he has a chance to be fussed over. Obviously, he won’t do it in front of everyone - he’d rather you treat any wounds he gets in his tent. He’s just needy like that and he enjoys watching your nimble hands mix this or stitch that. He might hang around the medicine cart while you treat others to watch you work … and discourage anyone else from flirting.

HOSEA MATTHEWS

Like Dutch, Hosea appreciates you and knows you’re an important part of the gang. He’ll be the one nagging others to see you when they’re hurt and sick and telling them to be still and let you work. You’ve helped him many a time as well, except not just with injuries. When he began to develop his cough, you noticed right away and asked him to try all sorts of comforting teas you put together. He told you not to fuss over him, but he couldn’t refuse something you worked so hard on … and they’re delicious. He has no idea how you made leaf water so appealing.

On a side-note, Hosea likes watching you read your medical books because you have such an interesting expression when you study them. You’ll write notes in the margins and there’s probably a dozen bookmarks in it, it makes him proud in a strange way, like you’re working this hard to help others. He likes to sit next to you and see which chapter you’re working on this time.

SADIE ADLER

You were the one who helped her after she was brought to Colter, and she was in a daze through most of it. Once the group was off the mountain, she stayed close to your medicine wagon, appreciating your calm presence. Sadie finally thanked you then, since you seemed different than the others. She didn’t have much interest in medicine, but helping you was better than dealing with Pearson. Crushing herbs and cutting bandages helped keep her mind off things, and gradually you two began to talk and get to know each other better.

Later when she joined in on the gang’s jobs, she was often visiting you, only half-listening to your warnings to be more careful. Since she helped make your medicines, she knows what ingredients you need, so to make up for her recklessness she’ll often bring you supplies. When you fix her up, she takes good care of the wound so you don’t have to fuss with it later.

MICAH BELL

Even though Micah knew how skilled you were, he never visited you. He’s not the type to seek help even if his insides are melting. He claims he never gets sick and he wouldn’t be so stupid as to get himself shot up - though not two weeks later, you spent an hour digging a bullet out of him. He drank through most of it to avoid showing how painful it was, but your stitches were quick and neat, and they didn’t bother him much. You kept checking up on him too, and you were glad he was taking care of the stitches. Micah wasn’t doing anything, really, he just knew it was stupid to mess with them (your compliment was nice, though).

When you removed them, you were happy that everything healed so well. You kept touching his arm and moving it, he finally had to pull it away because the realization that he hadn’t made anyone that pleased in a while was uncomfortable. After that, seeing you so close to the other men as you helped them tended to get him antsy. He still won’t go to you of his own violation when he’s hurt or sick; he hopes you’ll notice and go to him with that worried look on your face.

CHARLES SMITH

For many years he’s had to take care of himself, no matter if he was hurt or sick. He does … a decent job, but not great, he’ll admit. So when he joined the gang, he was grateful there was someone like you around. Charles appreciates your neat stitches and how careful and considerate you are. When he came down with a small cold, you were right there with some medicine you made, even if he was still new. That sort of consideration just really gives him a pleasant, happy feeling, so he’s more than glad to help you out. Just give him a list of herbs you need, he insists on it. He’ll get some sinew and bone for you to make needles and thread out of, too.

Charles likes to hang out when you’re making your own medicines and ointments. He recalls his mother doing something similar, so it’s very interesting to him. If you wouldn’t mind, he’d like to know how you do it, and how you know what to use. Also, when one of your patients is being difficult, he’s the one to walk over and tell them to behave.

BILL WILLIAMSON

He wants to be the “tough guy” and brush off any injury, even if it really hurts, and he doesn’t want to admit when he’s feeling like death ... But the thing is, you’re nice. Sweet, even, and you have pretty hands and you’re so caring. You worry about him, so he feels rotten for not taking care of himself and going to see you. You check up on him too, make sure everything is healing alright, and it always gets him red-faced and nervous. There’s definitely been a few awkward but well-intended compliments.

Probably because of his crush, he’s a very good patient when he’s sick. He hates feeling that awful so he’ll do whatever you say to get better. Everyone’s very amused at how obedient Bill has suddenly become, since before you showed up he’d just be a pain in the ass. Bill has no idea how to repay you, so he’ll bring you things that he thinks are useful, like some questionable bottles he thought were legitimate medicine.

JAVIER ESCUELLA

Javier likes to stop by your cart for silly things like a “broken heart”, just so he can chat with you and hang around. He appreciates your skills and compassion; he’s sure most of these guys would’ve bled out if you weren’t there, and he tells you so. While Javier played the tough guy in his adulthood and pretended he was fine, sitting with you brings back memories of when he was a kid and getting patched up by his ma. Watching your fingers move so expertly and carefully impresses him, and your compassion at how he’s feeling gets him all fluttery.

He loves that sort of nurturing nature, so he’s an extra obedient patient for you and does his best to look after the injuries you fixed up. And while Javier normally hates people seeing him when he’s snotty and sick, he loves how you take care of him. He doesn’t even hide how pleased he is with your bedside manner.

SEAN MACGUIRE

No surprise, Sean acts tough when he gets the stuffing beat out of him, pretending it doesn’t hurt even as he wobbles. He’ll go to your medicine cart because you must want to chat, not because he’s convinced he broke a rib and he has half a mind to ask if they grow back (he often asks you stupid “medical” questions). He’s his usual big-headed flirty self as you treat him, flavored with plenty of jokes and occasional yelps from pain. So many times Sean has had to go back to you because he accidentally opened his stitches or sprained his wrist again. Hey, he gets to see you again, so it’s not that bad.

Actually, you rarely have to check up on Sean because he likes hanging around your cart even when he’s feeling fine and has other things he should be doing. When he’s actually recovering from something, be it wound or sickness, he trails you like a puppy, asking you to take another look just in case. When he’s totally wasted he’ll steal this legit-looking snake oil and very proudly presents it to you before staggering off somewhere.

LENNY SUMMERS

Lenny is reasonable, he sees no shame in visiting you when he’s needing to be patched up or feeling under the weather. He hates feeling sick so he’s on point with taking the medicine you give him. And honestly … being treated by you, especially for colds and stuff, gets him a little case of the feelings. It reminds him of being back home, taking some remedy his mama put together to help a sore throat or bad cough. You often noticed this sentimental look on his face whenever you made him something.

He’s very interested in the whole process, so sometimes he accompanies you as you gather herbs or make medicine and asks you how it works. Eventually Lenny starts helping you out and being something of an assistant, although patching up bullet wounds and stitching skin makes him a bit queasy. He thinks your medical books are beyond cool and likes to read them, even if the information can be a bit dense. When he’s out he likes to search for similar books and hopes they’re useful to you.

KIERAN DUFFY

You were the one who treated the wounds he received when he was captured - the gang was willing to just leave them be, but Kieran overheard you arguing that you weren’t about to leave a man bleeding all over the place. You sounded tough and he flinched when you showed up with the needle, but once you started patching him up he was in awe of how gentle and careful you were. You kept asking if it hurt, and for the next few days you’d come by with medicine to make sure everything was healing alright. Kieran had never had such kind attention like that since… Well, he couldn’t remember.

Afterward he knew he had to thank you somehow. His theoretical leash was still short, but he could look after the horses that pulled your cart. You realized how knowledgeable he was, so while you taught him about medicine for people, he’d teach you things about helping your horses. It goes without saying he grins like a dork whenever you thank him for it.

TILLY JACKSON

She’s not the sort to be squeamish around blood, but that doesn’t mean she wants to be assigned to stitching up the boys when they get themselves in foolish situations. The good side is Tilly enjoys spending time with you, since you both are usually too busy with different things to chat. So when it’s her turn to be your assistant, she takes full advantage, catching you up with what’s been going on. If you’re more introverted she has all sorts of fun gossip, if you’re more outgoing she’ll encourage you to go on jobs with her and the girls, or just have fun with them. She’s also usually the one washing the blood out of your bandages before you disinfect them, so you have her to thank for that.

Tilly likes helping you gather ingredients to make medicine. Something about it just tickles her, like you know some secret that no one else does. She’s the biggest fan of your teas because nothing else helps her get through a headache, and if that wasn’t already a reason to like you, you’re so nice when she’s sick. She’s never had anyone be so attentive and kind to her when she’s ill, and it gets her a little embarrassed at how happy it makes her.

MARY-BETH GASKILL

Oof, she really doesn’t like helping you clean up blood and guts, or lord forbid digging out bullets (once was enough!). So instead, she’ll steal you some good quality medicines and supplies she spotted, or she takes over your chores so you can rest after a night of patching wounds. A big reason she’s so grateful is because at the orphanage, no one gave a damn if she was puking her guts or gushing blood. The first time she was having horrible cramps she tried to hide it, but you were so sweet and empathetic. You gave her some strange tea, bundled her up with a blanket and set warm bricks wrapped in cloth to soothe the pain. She’d never been so tended to in her life, it made her speechless.

After that Mary-Beth was in your corner. She’ll actually raise her voice and scold anyone who's being a difficult patient! And if someone is feeling even a little off, she’ll push them toward you. Karen teases her for having a crush, but that’s not it at all! She’s just grateful! Of course, this has all inspired her to start writing a romance about a soldier and a nurse he meets, so now you’ll catch her staring and furiously scribbling notes.

KAREN JONES

Karen is a regular visitor because she ain’t about to deal with cramps or a cold if she can help it. She dislikes being slowed down because of her own body, and you’ve also assisted with some morning-after medicine and never told the camp or judged her for it. She respects you, but still likes to tease you about your “bookish” tendencies. She insists you need to stop fussing over everyone and do something for yourself. “Let them boys fend for themselves! Give ‘em a bottle of whiskey an’ a needle, they’ll figure it out.”

Karen doesn’t have patience or steady hands, so she doesn’t help directly with surgery, but she’ll clean up the mess afterward. A little-known fact is she’s the one who's responsible for the tidy way your medicine cart is laid out. It’s like organizing bottles of perfume and make-up, she says, so you can find things much easier now. She knows your teas and medicines work well, but she hates the taste, so she’ll add a shot of whiskey or a dollop of honey to help it go down.

FLACO HERNANDEZ

He’s always looked after himself, as his many scars can attest. He can get the job done, more or less, and he’s dug out a few bullets from himself and others. That’s less of a problem nowadays, considering his remote location, and few things get past his thick coat. Still, Flaco admires your skills. He hasn’t gotten to see you in action too much, but you’ve talked about people you’ve helped and the gang you tend to. He likes this caring, cautious nature of your’s.

You couldn’t believe he didn’t even have bandages in his little cabin, so you put together a little box filled with bandages, ointments and medicines you’ve made yourself. Flaco tries to put on his usual gruff front, telling you not to bother with things like that, but he’s so touched. It takes him way back, reminding him of his mother and grandmother, both respected curanderas. He hasn’t thought of that in a long time. Anytime you brew something for him to help with aches or sleeping, he’ll drink it with a raspy laugh.

MR. HORLEY

Well it's a good thing you have this skill, he thinks, because the lord knows you and your gang get into all sorts of trouble. Anytime Mr. Horley sees neat little stitches on you or your friends, he figures it's your work, and they heal well afterward. He never gets himself hurt, so he hasn't had a chance to see you work, but you'll still offer him some tea leaves you grew. At first he took it to be polite, but he and Mrs. LeClerk actually enjoyed it a lot. Jessica sends him to get more tea and medicine from you, half because she prefers your recipes, half because she wants you both to chat more.

At some point Mrs. LeClerk had need of your skills, so he employed you to discreetly patch up some of her associates. That’s when he got to see you work, and he gave you several genuine compliments you didn’t expect. They were in his usual serious voice, but he meant it. He keeps his eyes and ears out for work you can do, just in case you drop by that day.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #john marston x reader #dutch van der linde x reader #hosea matthews x reader #sadie adler x reader #micah bell x reader #charles smith x reader #bill williamson x reader #javier escuella x reader #sean macguire x reader #lenny summers x reader #kieran duffy x reader #tilly jackson x reader #mary-beth gaskill x reader #karen jones x reader #flaco hernandez x reader #mr horley x reader

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archadianskies · 3 years

Text

wingspan

→ on Ao3

@dbhrarepairs Monday Day 1: Post-Apocalypse • Sacrifice; Hank Anderson/Rose Chapman TLOU AU

“Alice needs medicine.” It’s said in a whispered hush, paired with nervous glances over at the feverish child labouring in bed. “Her coughs are wet and her chest sounds congested.”

“Adam’s still about a week out from being able to drive back here,” Rose chews her lip, shaking her head.

“Doesn’t matter,” Hank shrugs, “I’ll make the exchange by myself.”

“No!” Her voice is stern, her gaze even moreso but she knows it won’t dissuade him. They both know this has to be done.

“Make the call. Luther can help me load up the truck and I’ll go.”

“Hank-” Kara, sweet Kara with anguish on her face weighing her down, wearier and wearier with a sick child already.

“I’ll get it done, for your little girl,” he pats her hand and there’s conflict mixed with her gratitude. “Luther will keep everyone safe here while I’m gone.”

They’re easing into winter and they all know if he doesn’t go now, there won’t be a chance later when the roads are covered in snow. Doesn’t mean Rose is any more comfortable with the plan, not when the world isn’t what it was and every single day they’re out here they know they’re all on a knife’s edge.

“The cold slows them down,” Hank tries to placate and she raises one brow and he drops that line and goes for another. “I’ll be careful.”

“You better,” Rose says firmly and eases the beanie on his head. “North’s making the drop this time.”

“Doubly, extra triple careful then,” he mutters. North’s tempestuous at the best of times, so Hank knows there won’t be any casual banter or interesting snippets of news exchanged with the goods.

Usually Josh is the one he meets with, sometimes Simon, and on that one occasion which he still is half-convinced never happened- Markus himself turned up. Jericho is one of the largest communities flourishing in the aftermath and has a functioning hospital, and the Chapman farm has, well, fresh vegetables and poultry. It’s a good relationship in this hellscape, one that gives him hope for a future.

“Truck’s all loaded,” Luther thumps the hatch as Hank makes his way over. “If you leave now you’ll make it back before nightfall. I’ll keep an eye on the house, I promise.”

Hank claps his shoulder. “Thanks Luther, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Thank you,” the man murmurs, his voice more like a deep rumble in that broad chest. “Thank you for doing this for us.”

“Hey, I’d do anything for her,” it’s the goddamn truth and he isn’t too proud to admit it. “I’d do anything for any of you.”

“Be safe,” Luther squeezes his arm. “It’s your turn to read to Alice tonight, remember?”

“Wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

He pulls out of the driveway, sparing Luther one last glance in the rearview mirror before it’s just him and the road and all the thoughts he tries so desperately to keep at bay. It’s been ten years since the outbreak, ten whole years since that cursed day he held Cole as his son bled out in his arms. It’s been nearly five years since Rose Chapman found him, half mad with grief and nearly feral with hunger yet too stubborn to die.

He doesn’t really remember the years between Cole’s death and him wandering onto the outskirts of Rose’s farm. She’d saved him, continues to save him day in and day out because he has a purpose here, he matters here, and there are people here he’d kill to protect.

Once the initial wave was over, once the violence cannibalised itself, people did what people do best- they come together, they rebuild, they reconcile, they strive forward. It doesn’t mean it’s completely safe, it doesn’t mean it’s all smooth sailing, but Hank can see a future now where he couldn’t see one before.

*~*

There’s three kids walking along the tree line; it’s a blink and miss situation, but he definitely didn’t miss it. Three kids, all alone, heading somewhere but nowhere close enough they’ll make it by nightfall. Ah shit. Hank pulls over and the kids are smart enough to dart for cover.

“You kids alright?” He takes out his gun and sweeps his gaze around, trying to spot any infected who might be lurking nearby.

“We’re alright!” One of them calls out.

“Shut up Connor!” One of them hushes the one named Connor.

“It’s only a couple of hours until sundown and there’s no camp you can reach safely on foot in time,” Hank approaches slowly, keeping his voice low. He sees them now, all three of them, skinny boys in ill fitting clothing with backpacks too big for them.

One of them has a bandaid stuck to an old crusted wound right in the middle of his forehead. The other has a bandage wrapped around his forearm, brown with age. And the last one is pointing a gun at him.

“We said we are alright.” The one holding a gun says icily. He can’t be more than ten, yet the look in his eyes says everything; the boy has been through things a ten year old shouldn’t have, but then the same could be said about most children in this hellscape.

“Two of you are hurt. I’m going to Jericho and-”

“Jericho?” The one named Connor perks up. “We’re going to Jericho!”

“Shut up Connor!” The other says exasperatedly, and Hank can see they’re identical twins with the only difference to be found in their expressions.

“I can take you there. Plenty of room in the truck.”

“What will it cost us?” The one with the gun demands, and Hank shakes his head.

“Nothin’. I just don’t want you boys out here all alone, especially once it gets dark and the temperature plummets,” he tries to reason with them, but can’t fault them for their caution.

“We managed to make camp just fine,” one of the twins says stubbornly but Hank can see it, can see that small hopeful expression he’s trying so desperately to mask.

“I’m sure you did, and I’m sure you can tonight. You just shouldn’t have to, that’s all,” he gestures at his truck. “This way’s pretty deserted but Jericho’s much safer and the truck’s much faster than going on foot. What do you say?”

“If you try something funny, Ronan will shoot you,” the stubborn twin threatens, and Hank nods.

“Alright.”

It’s a tight squeeze but three boys under ten are about the size of one grown man so it spares Hank the effort of rearranging the produce on the back. There’s a blanket Kara crocheted on one of the seats, and he tucks it over them and doesn’t miss the way they snuggle closer, huddling for warmth.

“Is Jericho nice? How long have you lived there?” Connor asks after a while.

“Jericho is very nice. It’s big and safe and there’s other kids in there too,” Hank explains, “but I don’t live there. I live on a farm down the other way, and we supply vegetables and chickens to them in exchange for meds and materials and shi- stuff.”

“You’re making an exchange now?” The one named Ronan asks quietly, the gun still held tightly in his hands now resting on his lap.

“Yeah, uh, Alice, a little girl about your age, she’s sick,” Hank spares them a glance. “Her cough’s getting pretty bad so we’re hoping to get some meds to help.”

“Maybe they’ll have something for me there?” Connor says so softly Hank barely hears him.

“Are you sick? What do you think you need? I’m sure they’ll have it there.”

“You’re not sick!” The other twin hisses, and Connor huffs stubbornly.

“That’s the problem Sean, and maybe that’s why I need help!”

“Wait, what do you mean by that?” Hank looks over at them and both boys click their jaws shut and refuse to meet his gaze.

“It’s fine,” Ronan says, the ice back in his tone. “We just need to get to Jericho.”

They spend the rest of the drive in silence, and Hank’s glad when the large gates loom up on the horizon. He doesn’t drive up to the main entrance, but takes a side road and stops the truck by a clearing where there’s another car waiting.

“Hey Hank,” the redhead greets with a lazy wave, leaning against the trunk.

“Hey North,” he nods respectfully as he kills the engine and hops out.

“Oh,” she blinks in surprise, “new survivors?”

“Yeah I picked ‘em up on the way,” Hank gestures over at them before busying himself with removing the tarp over the cargo. “They were headed this way so I thought I’d get ‘em here safely.”

“Doc will want to check them over,” North looks at the boys and Connor is the only one who offers a wave. “It’s just protocol of course.”

“They’ll need her help anyway- Sean has that wound on his forehead and Connor has the bandage on his arm,” Hank looks over his shoulder at the boys. “Blood looks old but it can’t hurt to give it a once over and a dressing change.”

“And the other one who looks ready to murder me?”

“That’s Ronan. He’s holding a gun.”

“Clever boy,” North smirks, coming around to the driver’s side and peeking in through the open door. “You boys want to come stay here with us, you have to get checked by the Doc first okay?”

“Okay,” they chorus obediently and Hank finds himself grinning helplessly.

“Got the meds and some honest to god wool yarn for Kara,” North informs him as she loads up a crate onto the back. “Otto farm about six hours away made the exchange and I kept a couple of skeins for her.”

“She’ll love that, thanks North,” he pats the crate happily. “And we all profit it from it, so…”

“It’s more an investment than a gift,” she grins before beckoning to the brothers. “Alright kiddos let’s go. Come in and grab a coffee Hank, while the guys unload the rest and refuel.”

“You’re a saint, thanks.”

*~*

Jericho is a nice place. It’s a really really nice place. It’s full of life and learning and healing. No matter how hard others try to take this place for themselves, no matter how much violence they try and inflict, the sheer resilience of its people keeps the place running. That, and well, having nearly an entire SWAT team complete with a Captain in residence can’t hurt.

Far better, kinder, saner team than the rabid FBI team led by Prickins from a few years back who tried to destroy Jericho and take it for themselves. The whole debacle saw over half of Jericho burned to the ground and dozens slaughtered.

It’s when he and Rose took in Kara and her family, because the sheer trauma was too much for Alice to process and she could never return. Adam stayed on as a nurse and found his calling. It feels like a lifetime ago too.

He takes his coffee over to the little clinic at the side entrance where newcomers are screened because he wants to make sure the boys are alright.

“This is a burn,” Adam frowns as he inspects the wound on Sean’s forehead. “How did you get this?”

The boy doesn’t answer, looking over nervously as doctor Anthea unwraps the bandage from Connor’s arm.

“Oh my god-”

“Fuck!” The expletive leaves his mouth before he can stop himself.

“It’s three weeks old we swear!” Connor cries, nursing his arm to his chest, tears in his eyes. “It’s three weeks old!”

Before Hank can comment any further he’s being slammed to the wall, North placing a gun under his jaw. “You brought a fucking kid with a bite into Jericho and expected to leave him here?!”

“I didn’t-”

“He didn’t know!” Ronan shouts, clenching his trembling hands into fists. “We didn’t tell him in case he left us behind!”

“He should’ve left you behind!” North growls.

“It’s old,” Anthea raises her voice. “The teeth indentations have healed over. This is new scar tissue right here.” She’s gently tracing the mark on Connor’s arm, the boy’s bottom lip trembling as tears spill down his cheeks.

“How the fuck is that possible?” North steps away and lowers her gun, too shocked to be angry now it seems. “Everyone who’s ever been bitten turns after eight hours at the most.”

“He must be immune, then,” Anthea smiles in disbelief as she smooths Connor’s hair away from his face. “You are one of a kind, Connor.”

“We keep him in holding overnight,” North declares, crossing her arms over her chest. “Just to be sure.”

“No, you keep us together!” Sean spits, fuming at the mere suggestion of separation.

“I don’t have time for that, I have to get back to Alice!” Hank argues and North cocks her brow.

“No one’s asking you to stay, Hank, you can go.”

“Bullshit! I’m not letting you lock up these kids outside of Jericho’s walls!”

“You can go, you got us to Jericho, you don’t need to do anything else!” Ronan adds and oh Hank can see it, Hank can see the fear of being left alone in those big grey eyes.

“I’ll go, I know the way,” Adam offers, holding his hand out for the keys. “It’s my home, after all. I’ll be back in the morning.”

“I’ll spend the night in holding, then,” Hank nods as he hands over the keys to the truck. “Tell Alice I’m sorry I’ll miss storytime.”

“You spend the night in holding,” North orders as takes his gun from the table and presses it back into his hand, “and you put him down yourself if he turns.”

“And then us too,” Ronan says in a voice so steady, so resigned for a child. “If you shoot him, you have to shoot us too.”

“It won’t come to that,” Hank says firmly.

“For everyone’s sake, I hope you’re right,” Anthea runs her fingers over the bite on Connor’s arm again before gently thumbing away his tears. “I guess we shall see in the morning, hm?”

The holding area must have been a security control room at some point. It’s now been caged by wire completely, with a chained and padlocked gate. He must be losing what little sanity he has left, but at least he’s not losing his compassion. No way in hell he’s about to abandon three boys to an uncertain fate, no matter how brave they’re trying to be.

“You could’ve gone back to the farm,” Ronan points out as Connor curls up on the lumpy mattress under the covers with his twin.

“Yeah I know,” Hank shrugs, nursing his coffee mug. Simon had left them with provisions to last the night, including a large thermos of coffee because he’s an angel in this apocalyptic hellscape.

“What if we’re lying and Connor turns and kills you?” Sean demands, though it’s not so effective given Connor’s clinging to him tiredly.

“Then I’d die,” Hank offers them the soup thermos. “Alice is still getting her medicine tonight, so that’s perfectly fine.”

“Don’t you have family at the farm?” Ronan accepts the thermos and pours out a cupful, handing it straight to Connor.

“Losing me won’t be that big a loss for them.”

“That’s a lie! Everyone has someone who’d miss them!” Connor shouts, nearly spilling the soup in his outburst. Hank admits defeat there. Rose would miss him, he thinks, because she’s all heart and soul.

She took him in when he was a husk of a man and together with Adam they toiled and tilled the land, took in every broken survivor and sent them on their way to Jericho with a full belly and provisions to spare. And Hank shot anyone who ever dared to raise their hand against Rose because people like that, greedy fuckers who want to take and take, have no place in this new world.

“What happened to you boys out there? What happened three weeks ago?” It’s The Question and no one seems to want to answer it.

“We wanted to go to the stream to see the fish,” Ronan eventually starts quietly. “We snuck out because Amanda didn’t give her permission.”

“It’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have insisted,” Connor stares into the soup as if it could offer comfort. “I just really wanted to see them.”

“We didn’t see the infected one until it was too late and it bit Connor,” Ronan reaches over to hold his hand. “We tried to hide it but it was bleeding a lot and Amanda heard us in the bathroom getting the first aid kit.”

There’s a pause and Hank realises Sean hasn’t said a single word, resolutely avoiding everyone’s gaze.

“She dragged Connor out the back and-” Ronan falters, pressing his lips into a tight line as he darts a look at Sean. “She gave Sean a gun and told him to shoot Connor as punishment for sneaking out.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hank swears, recoiling in horror and it makes sense now; the small burn mark on his forehead is from the shell casing hitting him.

“She made you do it, Sean, I don’t hate you!”

“Well you should!” Sean yells. “You should because I pulled the trigger!”

“She made you do it!” His twin insists, squeezing his hand. “She made you and if you didn’t she would’ve killed you!”

“So I killed her,” Ronan says evenly, as if he’s simply stating the sky is indeed blue. “I took the gun from Sean after he missed, and I shot her in the chest and after she fell over I shot her in the head.” Ronan looks at him defiantly. “So we’re fine. We can look after ourselves, you don’t have to care about us.”

Hank slowly sinks to his knees, taking the cup of soup from Connor and setting it aside before gently gathering the boy into his arms and reaching for the other two. He’s a big guy, he has enough wingspan for all three, and he enfolds them in as tight a hug as he can manage and that’s it, that’s what sends the last of their defences tumbling down. They cry loudly, the trauma of it all finally being given a proper outlet and he holds them and he vows to himself that he’s never letting them go. There will be no more Amandas in their life, not now, not ever again.

“Takes us with you,” Connor sobs. “Don’t leave us here.”

“We’re leaving once Adam gets back. All of us,” Hank promises. “I’m never letting you out of my sight.”

He’s used to watching the dawn, used to getting up this early now to feed the chickens and collect the eggs. He’s even used to waking up with a child still fast asleep on him, now that Alice treats him like a grandfather. There’s something different about this moment, though, with all three boys snuggled against him.

There’s something hopeful about this because it’s eight hours later and he’s still whole and alive and unbitten. And that means Connor is indeed immune. With Sean being an identical twin, that means he too could carry the natural immunity. The hope of the entire world, fast asleep in his arms. It’s a beautiful sentiment.

“Good morning Hank,” greets a voice at the gate and there’s Mister Markus Manfred himself; Jericho’s saviour and leader. “It’s good to see you.”

“Is Adam here yet?”

“Not yet,” the man shakes his head. “But Simon made breakfast for you and the boys. They’ll have a room near the creche with the other children, and we can get them settled in afterward.”

“We’ll have breakfast, and then as soon as Adam gets back, we’re heading for the farm,” he meets Markus’ gaze steadily. “They’re not staying.”

“Hank, Dr Anthea told me Connor is immune. That means we could work towards developing a vaccine.”

“You still can,” he shrugs as best he can with three sleeping kids piled on him. “We can make the trip every weekend. But these boys are coming home with me.”

Markus looks at him, scrutinising him, and Hank can see both the leader and the saviour at work, weighing up the pros and cons and trying to find the common ground for the greater good. Hank would never want to be in his shoes, no sir, no thank you.

“Breakfast, then?” Markus smiles one of his charming presidential smiles as he unlocks the gate and gestures towards the entrance. “Simon made pancakes and we cut up some of the strawberries you brought over from the farm.”

“Pancakes?” Connor stirs sleepily, rubbing his eyes and there it is, there’s the bite on his arm, three weeks and one day older.

“Yeah kiddo, pancakes for breakfast before we head home.”

“Home,” Ronan echoes with a soft smile.

“We’ll be good, we’ll help out on the farm and work extra hard,” Sean whispers nervously, and Hank runs a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.

“I know you will.”

Connor and Sean Dechart are ten years old- very nearly almost eleven, Connor points out. Ronan Dechart turned nine two weeks ago, a birthday forgotten entirely in the struggle to survive so Hank makes note to bake a cake. Their parents had died in the initial outbreak, and Professor Amanda Stern had taken them in after finding them hiding at the nearby university where she taught. The story unfolds on the drive back to the farm and the more he learns about their time with Amanda the more he’s glad Ronan shot her and shot her again.

Luther greets them on the driveway, Alice bundled up in a thick down jacket and blanket sitting on his arm. She waves enthusiastically, cheeks rosy and smile bright and Hank feels his heart squeeze in his chest at the sight. Rose is standing on the porch and she’s giving him A Look and he wants to say sorry reflexively but he’s not actually sorry for anything.

Alice takes Connor’s hand and drags him inside, the boys trailing, and she announces loudly that she’s giving them the grand tour. Luther claps him on the shoulder before following Alice.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Rose sighs heavily as she pours him a generous mug of freshly brewed coffee. Her tone is reprimanding, but there’s something fond in her eyes as they take a seat at the dining table.

“I couldn’t leave them,” he shakes his head. “Not out there on their own, and not even at Jericho. Not after all the shit they’ve been through.”

“Because you’re a parent, Hank,” she says it so softly, so gently and his breath hitches in his throat. “You’re a father. It’s just what you do. It’s just who you are.”

“They’ve been through hell, and they deserve better. They deserve a second chance.” His vision blurs as he raises his head and looks at you. “You taught me that.”

“I did, and now you’re teaching them that,” Rose is smiling, a big radiant smile and he can’t help but lean over to kiss that beautiful smile. As far as second chances go, he reckons this is about as perfect as it gets.

#Hank Anderson #rose chapman #connor rk800 #rk800 60 #rk900 #Detroit: Become Human #detroit become dad #dbhrarepairsweek #tlou au #annie writes: dbh

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mr-and-mr-diaz · 3 years

Note

First off, you're an amazing person w/ gr8 blog. Second of all, I hope you don't mind me saying it? If it's weird or creepy, please, disregard. Don't want to make you uncomfortable. Third of all, I came to your tumblr from ao3 and specifically the pirate fic and ma'am (sir? Neither? Wanted to use honorific and "my kind dude tends to not be *that* universal, sadly). It. ROCKS. If by any chance you feel like continuing it, I'd be forever in debt. Also hope you don't mind reviews via anon tumblr? ♥

ANON!! My answer to this ask is so long overdue I literally have no words. When I first recieved this ask in my box I was warmed through--thank you so much for your kind words! I determined to myself I would NOT send an empty response, would only publish this with the chapter in hand!! And then life picked up like crazy and I never seemed to have a spare BREATH to sit down and write this AU well enough that it would be worth reading. AND NOW I FAINLLY HAVE IT!!! Two more chapters for ya, I really hope you enjoy!!

P.S. Also, I refuse to be called ANYTHING except My Kind Dude from now on, that is the best address ever!

The Damned Disgrace--Buddie Pirate AU, Chapter 2

"Dios mio, you're useless."

Buck looked up from where he'd been struggling to swab the deck and met the glare of Captain Nash's angry first mate--Diaz, and sighed. He'd already been on the ship a fortnight, and while Chimney had fit right in, used to hard work and quickly picking up the vernacular of the other pirates, Buck stuck out like a sore thumb. He wasn't used to manual labor, having spent his life behind books and papers, and had no instinct for it. He tried, oh did he try so hard, but his clumsy hands struggled to complete work that someone else had to repeat later to make sure it was done right. And the pirates who didn't ignore him were usually laughing at him. What few acquaintances he'd made in his past life had been in academic circles. These men had no patience for or interest in unusual trivia about far away lands, or wonderings about what the world would be like if mankind lived under the water and fish lived on land.

Buck was red with sunburn, blistered all over--on his back, his forearms, and face from sunburn, and his hands, fingers and feet from work. He ached everywhere.

He looked away from Diaz and went back to stubbornly pushing the mop around the deck.

I won't be useless! I won't go overboard. I'm going to work hard and they'll help me find Maddie and bring her home! and if I get to shoot that thrice-damned Commodore Douglas too, well that would be a boon from God--

"Stop. Just stop."

Buck stopped, his heart sinking. He dared not look Diaz in the eye again, already knowing the derision and anger he would see there.

Sure the other pirates ignored him or laughed at him behind his back. But Diaz? Diaz detested him. This was the first time he'd ever spoken to Buck but definitely not the first time he'd loomed nearby, sneering at Buck's pathetic efforts to work as part of the team and fit in.

"We should've left you back at the port."

"What? No! No, I swear, I'm learning--"

"Learning what? How to smear muck around so someone else has to clean up after you? Again?" Diaz sneered, kicking at the mop. Buck's hands twitched around it, every blister flaring up painfully. Diaz's eyes caught it and he suddenly leaned forward. "Show me your hands."

"What...?"

"Show me!"

Buck carefully placed the mop against the rail of the ship and carefully unfolds his hands, wincing as the skin flares in pain with each motion.

"Dios...! Come with me."

"Wait, but I have to finish the--"

"NOW!"

***

Buck followed Eddie down into the ship, down down, past Buck's sleeping berth with the other sailors.

Buck looked around in trepidation. Is he taking me to the bilge? To the brig? The bilge was full of seawater, the brig a confined, rat infested cell where only the most unfortunate went.

They kept walking.

"Uh, Diaz, I... I swear, I'll work harder, I just--please don't--"

"You're not working any more today." Diaz replied shortly and threw open a door. "Hen, I've got the cabron for you. Destroyed his hands and he thinks he's magical enough not to get gangrene or something. Can you fix him up?"

The woman inside raised her eyebrows. "You don't usually bring me people, Eddie." She was dressed like the rest of the sailors but her clothes were neater and better kept.

"They aren't usually this stupid." Eddie growled.

"I... sorry." Buck mumbled, defeated.

"Don't worry about this one. He's always angry about something." Hen chuckled, and Diaz's scowl deepened. "What's your name?"

"Ah, Buck. Well, Evan Buckley, but... just Buck is okay." He felt another twinge in his heart as he said it. It was Maddie who had named him Buck.

"Buck it is. Come sit and we'll have a look at those hands."

Buck chanced a sideways look at Diaz, who was still standing there, muscled arms crossed. "Is he...?"

"Eddie was just leaving, weren't you, Eddie?" Hen's tone brooked no argument, and to Buck's surprise, Diaz obeyed.

Buck sat and held his hands out. Now that he had a moment to focus on them they hurt even more, and he could feel some of the injuries oozing. "I'm sorry, I tried to-- but--" he stopped abruptly as he felt his throat thicken and his eyes started to wet. You are already the most pathetic creature on this ship, you will not make it worse by whining about it. Silently he held his hands out, head down.

Hen sucked in a breath. "Eddie was right to bring you here. If you let these wounds get any more infected than they are and gangrene set in I might have to remove one or both of them."

Buck swallowed around a sob. As a teacher and writer, his hands were his life.

"I'll clean and wrap your hands for you." Hen continued softly. "That should be able to prevent it from getting worse, so long as you promise not to use them for the next few days and come down here every day for the next week so I can make sure they don't get worse. Okay?"

Buck nodded silently.

"Buck."

He looked up at Hen. She was wearing a kind smile and that was enough to completely undo him. A single tear slid down his cheek and he reached up a hand to stop it, but Hen wouldn't allow it. "I need to wrap these first." Her eyes and smile were all compassion. After two weeks in a foreign world with no friends on board it was a balm to Buck's soul. He kept his head bowed as she cleaned and wrapped, let the tears fall silently, unchecked. When she was done, she reached out a hand and clasped his shoulder. "The sailors are used to losing people and because you’re greener than most, they're expecting you to die. They don’t want to get close to someone they’re gonna lose. But if you stay alive they'll warm up eventually, don't fret it."

"Then.. why are you...?"

Hen snorted. "I walk to the beat of my own drum on this ship, Buck. Always have. And I've decided I like you, dumbass hand damage and all."

Buck sniffed. "Thanks."

Hen nodded. "Go to the captain and tell him that I've ordered light duty for you--no using your hands except to carry light objects. Errands only for you for the next two weeks."

"But Captain Nash said--if I'm not useful--"

Hen chuckled. "His bark is bigger than his bite. Besides, I'm pretty sure he's taken a liking to you too."

***

"Buckley."

"Uh, Captain. I... Hen, the doctor--" Buck choked off with a derisive snort at himself. Did I really just stop to explain to the captain who his doctor is? "Uh, she said I should tell you that I'm..." He held up his bandaged hands. "Light duty. Errands."

Captain Nash's face clouded and his brow furrowed as he took in the state of Buck's hands.

"But I swear, I'll be useful, I don't--please, don't throw me off the ship--"

"Buckley." One firm word and Buck silenced. "You'll rest today, and starting tomorrow you'll work as an errand boy around the ship. Messages, parcels, meals for sick crew. And anything Hen or I asks you to do, you do without question."

"I--yes. Yes, sir. Captain."

Nash looked up at him, his eyes showing the smallest glint of kindness. "A teacher's hands are his life's blood, Buckley. See to it you take care of them." Nash turned to gaze out the window of his office and sighed. "If you're very lucky, you'll need them sooner than you think."

Buck's pulse heightened. "Are we near Commodore Douglas's ship, sir?"

Captain Nash sighed. "Not as close as I’d like to be." He turned back to Buck. "Dismissed."

Buck nodded and left for his hammock.

Chapter 3

The next day he showed up bright and early at Captain Nash's office only to be sent down to Hen. Hen took one look at him and started loading a crate with various medicines and infusions, talking rapidly. For each bottle, Hen explained what it was, who it was for and why. Buck paid careful attention so he could keep up. Rote memorization and processes? He was back in his comfort zone.

"...garlic and chamomile for Wes, he ate something at port that we're still trying to get out of him. Then cat's claw for Lea, her knuckles are hurting her again. And that's all." Hen hesitated, thinking for a moment. Then she mumbled something under her breath before grabbing a few more vials. "Actually, got a few more. These are to be dropped off outside Eddie's quarters."

"Diaz? What are they for?"

"Eddie knows what to do with them." No further explanation came and Buck nodded at the dismissal and left, running around the ship to deliver the medicines to each ailing person. When he arrived at last outside Diaz's door, he paused, looking over the bottles. It made no sense to be bringing so much medicine to Diaz’s quarters. Buck had seen him just this morning, looking as healthy as ever, muscles rippling while he hauled canvas with the men. What is this for? Buck shook his head to clear the thoughts--no use risking his newfound equilibrium by prying. He hastily dropped the bottles outside Diaz's door, knocked and departed.

He followed this routine for the next week, deviating at times in the afternoon to run errands for the captain. But every morning started the same--Hen dropping several bottles and vials into a box for him to deliver around the ship and he running around as fast as he could to get it done quickly and efficiently. Each time, he would find himself hesitating outside Diaz's door, awash with curiosity at what the medicine could possibly be for. It wasn't hard to puzzle out the various vials, even though Hen hadn't identified them. Some were the same bottles he delivered elsewhere, others he recognized from his studies. Willow bark, cat's claw and ginger--pain relief.Chamomile, dried cherry, valerian, and peppermint--muscle relaxers. It was a mighty amount of herbs for the average aches of a day's work even as strenuous as the work Diaz did.

So who is it for? Buck wondered again as he approached Diaz's door to drop off the bottles. He had just turned to leave when he heard a thump on the inside of the office followed by a yelp of pain.

Good God, that's a child. There's a child in there!

Horrible images came to the forefront of Buck's mind as he imagined why Diaz might be holding a child prisoner. A child who would require so much pain relief. His skin paled in horror and he dropped the box.

I need to help! But his hands were still tightly bandaged and the door was latched shut from the inside. Buck thumped against it with his shoulders to no avail. The sturdy wood would not give.

If only I could unlatch it from the outside... Then he had an idea. He picked up one of the envelopes he was delivering for Captain Nash. It was thin but strong. Carefully, he eased it between the door and the latch, pressing the envelope between his bandaged hands to keep his grip.

With a click the latch came free and the door swung open.

Buck braced himself for what he might see and ventured inside, closing the door behind him.The room looked like the captain's, if smaller and simpler. Diaz's bed was neatly made, and soaked in sun from the window. His desk was neat and cleared off. The room was empty.

But I heard a child, I know I did!

Buck started looking around, when he heard a whimper of pain from the direction of the desk. Quickly he hastened over and pulled out the desk chair.

There, curled in the desk well and looking nothing like the skinny, dirty, or abused waif Buck had expected, lay a child. He looked clean and healthy, if in pain. He regarded Buck with large terrified eyes, his hair clean and curling every which way.

He was adorable. And as sure as grass was green, he was Diaz's own child.

So what is he doing hidden away in here?

The child whimpered again, obviously still in pain and Buck lurched away, back toward the bottles and vials he'd brought from Hen. "Here, let me help you, Hen sent me with a bunch of..." He fumbled with the bottles, pulling out the chamomile and the willow bark. "Here, this should help." The child shied away from him, curling deeper into the desk well with awkward jerky movements that only seemed to hurt him more.

"Oh God, please let me help, here, let me..." Buck backed up far away to give the child room and then gently pushed the vials at him. "Here. They're directly from Hen, don't worry. I haven't opened them or anything. See?" The child looked between Buck and the bottles, but didn't say anything.

"And--here, I'm leaving okay? Nothing to be afraid of, I'll leave you so you can climb out of that desk. It looks--God, you look like you're hurting so badly, is there anything I can do to help?"

The child still didn't respond, only regarded Buck with the same terrified eyes and Buck took it as his cue. He hastened to his feet and hurried to the door, away from the room. He was about to step out when he heard the child gasp and whimper again. He froze.

The child won't let me near him, but I can't leave him like that.

Diaz! Diaz can help him!

"I'm going to go and get your father, okay?" Buck took another step toward the door.

"Don't!" A small plaintive voice called, and Buck paused again.

"I can't just leave you like this... Wait, did your father do this to you??"

"No, no!" came the small cry. "He's the best papa ever. And..." the child paused then continued in a stronger voice. "He'll kill you if he finds out you know about me."

Buck's body froze in place. "Surely not--" The child cried out again, and Buck hastened back to the desk. The child was panting now, but still wouldn't move. "Oh, for the love of God, please let me help you!"

"Can't... don't... trust... you." Christopher panted in between pained gasps.

"Oh God, please--" Buck's voice broke and he felt himself start to cry. "I can't--you're hurting. You... I was a schoolteacher before I got onto this ship, I love kids, I swear I just want to help, please!" He reached out his bandaged hands toward the child. "Look, see? I couldn’t hurt you even if I wanted to! I--I swear I won't tell anyone about you on this ship, I'll never speak to you again. Just let me help you settle yourself more comfortably, you need to take some herbs for the pain..." He was blubbering now, his view of the child obscured by tears. He tensed as he felt small hands grasp around his bandaged hands.

"Please help." The boy whimpered.

He sobbed in relief and crooked his wrapped hands so they became large hooks to grip the child and carefully, oh so carefully pulled him out of the desk well. By this time he heard the child begin to cry as well, still on the floor. Buck quickly swiped his eyes with his threadbare sleeve to clear them. "There now, that's a bit better, I'm sure. Let's get you settled into the bed and I'll mix some medicine with water to relieve the pain.”

Buck carefully lifted the child, who whimpered at being jostled. Carefully he laid the boy on Diaz's neatly made bed and hastened back to the bottles and vials, pulling corks out with his teeth and pouring a the various powders into a tin cup. He filled the cup the rest of the way with water from a pitcher on the small wash stand and stirred it to mix before offering the cup to the child.

But the boy only shook his head, crying more."Don't want it. It tastes h-horrible." The child's big eyes were red from crying and Buck's heart broke.

"Oh, shh, there there. Yeah, I won't lie to you, it’s going to taste pretty bad. But once you drink it, you'll stop hurting so much and then you can relax and sleep or play." Buck clumsily rested a wrapped hand in the child's hair. "How's that sound?"

Still the child shook his head.

"Okay, how about this?" Buck took a theatrical sniff and wrinkled his nose. "I'll drink some and then you have to drink the rest, okay?" None of the ingredients were harmful to someone who wasn't in pain. "Deal?"

The boy looked at him, surprised. “Really?” Buck nodded and the boy sighed. "Deal."

Buck grinned, then made a big show of sniffing the contents of the glass. "Ohh blurggh," he shuddered theatrically, and heard the slightest huff from the bed. "Oh boy, here we go." He took a sip then screwed up his face and shook it rapidly back and forth like a dog. "Heaven and earth, but that's awful!" The child giggled and Buck continued with his performance, making gagging noises and funny faces. "You must be the strongest kid I know to drink this every day."

"That's what Papa says, too." The boy smiled.

"Well, he's right. I don't think I can handle any more." Buck made one more funny face and the boy laughed again. "Okay, you ready? I'll count to five, and then you drink it all as fast as you can, okay?"

The child hesitated. "How much is five?"

Buck turned to him, eyes wide. "You don't know...?" Then he paused. No use making the boy feel bad for something that wasn’t his fault. Besides, this was Buck's specialty. "Five is a number, you'll see. I'm going to count a few numbers, and when I say five you drink that down as quickly as you can so you barely taste it, okay?"

The boy nodded. "Okay."

"One, two, three, four... five, go!"

With Buck's clumsy assistance, the child drank down the mixture, screwing up his face just like Buck did. "Urgh."

Buck laughed. "I think you made a funnier face than I did." The boy reminded Buck of his own students. He missed children, their bright-eyed optimism, their enthusiasm for exploring the world around them. "I hope I don't die for meeting you, kid. You're just about the nicest person on this entire ship."

The child smiled. "Christopher."

Buck returned his grin and held out a bandaged hand. "Nice to meet you Christopher. I'm Buck." Christopher reached out in jerky movements and shook Buck's hand, both of them giggling at how clumsy the exchange was.

"I hope you don't die either, Buck." It seemed that the medicine was starting to work. Christopher was relaxing and his smile wasn't edged with quite so much pain anymore.

"In that case, I should probably run before your father finds me. those big strong hands of his would tear me in half like paper." Buck stood, patting Christopher on the head once more before turning away.

"...Buck?"

"Hm?" He turned back. The boy was starting to fall asleep.

"Can... Can you come back and visit me again?"

What a terrible idea. "Of course, Christopher." Buck rummaged up a brave smile. "I'd love to see you again." An idea occurred to him suddenly and he straightened his shoulders. "I'll even teach you how to count to five all by yourself if you want?"

The boy's tired eyes lit up. "Yes. Yes please..." His eyes slipped closed and he fell asleep.

Buck smiled, feeling warmed for the first time in weeks. Carefully he gathered the scattered items for the rest of his errands and slipped from the room, latching it behind him.

#buddie #buddie fic #evan budckley #eddie diaz #9-1-1 #pirate au #christopher diaz #Anonymous

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jackyjango · 4 years

Text

The General’s Mate

Cherik Week- Day 3: AOB Dynamics / Flower Shop AU

Written for my own prompt: Erik is the General of a small a small kingdom on the outskirts of Genosha. Shaw’s army invaded his lands, loots his home and kills his mother, wife and daughter. In a bid to get revenge, Erik, with the help of rival Queen Emma and her army attack the Genoshan capital and Erik kills Shaw himself. Amongst the loots of the palace is Shaw’s harem and its occupants. Erik’s soldiers drag in a young Omega with blue eyes and red lips, who apparently was Shaw’s favourite. With every intention of killing the Omega like Shaw killed his family, Erik tells his soldiers to leave the Omega with him. But he soon learns that the Omega, Charles, is also a victim of Shaw just like himself- that Charles, a son of a Lord, was sold to Shaw by his stepfather and kept captive against his will. Anger drained away from his system, Erik hands Charles a pouch of gold coins and hands him the reins of a horse and tells him make his way home, but Charles refuses because he couldn’t home carrying the reputation of being Shaw’s bed warmer. With no other place to go, Erik gives Charles shelter under his roof while a slow friendship builds between them in the process.

Ratings: Mature

Warnings: Language, mentions of abortions

Charles wakes to the sounds of whimpers and groans-- as he has been for the last two days. The situation is worsening, for Erik has begun trashing his head against the pillows and flinging his arms in the air-- much in the fashion of sword fighting-- all the while cursing and gritting his teeth. The behaviour is typical of fever induced nightmares, and the fever in turn must be caused by the wound on Erik’s torso.

The moonlight peeping into their small hut though the opening vent in the far wall illuminates Erik's profile dimly where he's sleeping on his bedroll a few feet away from Charles. The gentle breeze of spring ruffles the hem of Erik’s tunic, exposing the severe gash that begins below Erik’s collar bone and ends in the vicinity of his heart. Infected with pus, the skin around the cut has turned yellow. Whoever cleaned the cut-- if someone even had-- has done a poor job of removing the blood. The dried blood clogging the exposed flesh is preventing the wound from healing. The frequent brushes of the fabric on the broken skin must no doubt be painful.

Charles is tempted to rush to Erik’s side, stroke his fingers through Erik’s short crop, cradle his head and ease the pain away, but he doesn’t dare move from where he’s sleeping on his own bedroll. As much as he hates seeing Erik in any form of pain, he also doesn’t dare disturb whatever form of truce that has been building steadily between them in the past few months. Contrary to whatever horrid narratives there might be to their relationship on the streets-- and Charles knows there are-- the bond that they share in this small space enclosed by mud walls is something pure, something that transcends the grasp of the common tongue.

It’s delicate and yet strong, subtle and still bold, insignificant and yet so overpowering. Charles likes to call it friendship, because Erik has been nothing short of an exemplary friend to him. He listens when Charles speaks-- not just hears, but listens. He respects Charles and values his views. He has never undermined Charles on the account of him being an Omega. In every sense of the word, Erik has treated him like an equal. If that isn't friendship, then what is?

These days, however, Charles is finding it difficult to believe that ‘friendship’ can barely contain the bond they share. Some days, Erik will bring a sweet-treat from the market Charles had mentioned liking in passing, or he'll smile softly at Charles over their chess board, or hold Charles' gaze even in a crowd, and the word crumbles in Charles' heart and turns sour.

Sometimes the urge to touch Erik is so strong that it knocks Charles over. Sometimes the urge to bury his nose in the crook of Erik's neck and inhale his scent is so potent that it nearly disrupts his senses. Sometimes, the urge to just be close to Erik is so powerful that it leaves Charles trembling in its wake.

Erik groans again, pulling Charles from his thoughts. Charles twists his trembling hands in the threadbare bedsheet to keep them from reaching out to Erik. There's still a barrier between them despite how far they've come from their initial days of acquaintance. A barrier Charles didn't dare breach.

A mixture of white willow bark, turmeric and rosemary ground in frankincense oil should reduce the inflammation and infection, and a tonic of ginger and basil should bring the pain induced fever down. Charles creates a list of the other ingredients he needs in his head, and makes a note to procure them from Angel the first thing in the morning. He may not be able to comfort Erik and ease his pain, but he can certainly concoct a medicine that could.

One eye trained on Erik, Charles barely sleeps through the night.

The next morning, Charles looks at the assorted herbs and plants on the table in front of him, checking it off one by one against the list in his head.

'Is that all?' Angel asks with a suggestive smirk.

Satisfied, he nods. 'Yes, that is all.'

'What are these for, lover boy?' Angel goes around the counter of her small flower shop that doubles as Charles’ source of medicinal herbs, and retrieves a large lotus leaf. 'To increase your Alpha's performance?'

Charles flushes brightly, and it only serves to deepen the smirk on Angel's face. Despite her vulgar sense of humour, Angel is one of few who doesn’t treat him differently for his past, and Charles suspects that it has something to do with resemblance to her own.

'It's fine,' she says, wrapping his purchases in the leaf and securing it with a twine. 'I'm not going to talk. I can keep a secret.'

He doesn't comment, mostly because he's impatient to get home and begin working on the medicines. He leaves Angel's shop flushing after she winks and wishes him luck.

The rest of Charles' day is spent in boiling leaves and reducing them to create a tonic, grinding a root to extract its oil, or in mixing herbs to create a salve.

He's grinding the last of the mixtures into a fine paste when Erik enters through the door. Charles is so lost in the process that he almost jumps a foot in the air when Erik calls for him.

'Erik!' Charles beams, wiping his gritty hands on his white robe. ‘Oh dear, is it dark already? I barely noticed.’

Erik looks around their home, at the mud stove and takes in the various vials and bowls containing tonics and ointments. A small smile tugs at his lips. ‘Clearly.’ He walks further into what classifies as a kitchenette and picks up a bundle of twigs. ‘What are these for?’

Charles bites his lip. Oh, dear. What if Erik refuses to be treated? What if he laughs at Charles or waves away his concerns? He should have consulted with Erik before concocting tonics and balms. Regardless, it’s too late for that now, so Charles says slowly, ‘You have a wound on your chest,’

‘Yes,’ Erik says, making it sound more like a question than an affirmation.

‘Well, whoever cleaned it has done a poor job, and now it’s infected. The infection might get into your bloodstream if it isn’t treated.’

‘And this is?’ Erik gestures vaguely at the mess Charles has made around their kitchen.

‘Medicine,’ Charles says, wringing his hands, ‘It should stop the infection from spreading and help in healing the wound.’

‘And you…’ Erik’s eyes rake over a dozen vials filled with an amber fluid, ‘made all of it?’

Charles nods vigorously.

Erik stares at Charles for a long moment, head tilted to one side, like a cat would look at a ball of yarn, amazed and skeptical at the same time. ‘Right,’ he says just when Charles begins to think that either Erik would begin laughing at him or walk right out the door. ‘Then we should get right to it, I suppose. What do you want me to do?’

Charles sighs in relief. This, Charles knows very well. ‘I can’t apply the medicine without thoroughly cleaning the wound. So please sit down and take off your tunic.’

A heat spreads through Charles’ cheeks even as he says it, and he turns towards the stove to hide it. Erik moves behind him as Charles busies himself with boiling a bowl of water. Once boiled, he lowers the bowl from the fire, grabs a bundle of clean cotton cloth, arranges a few other vials he'd need on a tray and goes to where Erik’s sitting on the bedroll, legs outstretched in front of him and back leaning against the wall.

A flush spreads anew on his cheeks on seeing Erik's bare torso. It's a miracle that the contents of the tray hasn’t spilled out from his unsteady hands. Opting to stare instead on the contents of the tray, Charles comes to sit on the bedroll beside Erik.

This close, Erik's scent is a dizzying thing and his body heat is impossible to ignore.

Take a hold of yourself, Charles tells himself, taking shorter breaths through his nose. Erik's injured, he needs medical attention, not his fumbling ones.

'Here.' Charles picks a vial containing a clear liquid from the tray and hands it to Erik, decisively not looking him in the eye. 'Drink this. It'll bring the fever down.'

Erik takes the vial wordlessly and drains down the contents with a wince while Charles folds a length of cotton cloth and dips it in a bowl of spirit.

'This might sting a bit,' Charles says in warning, leaning forward to wipe at the wound. Up close, the cut isn't as bad as Charles had assessed it to be. The infection is localised. Cleaning and draining away the pus should help it heal faster.

Erik hisses as the cloth drags against the bruised skin, the lumps of dried blood resisting the movement.

'Sorry,' Charles whispers and squeezes Erik's shoulder once with his other hand. 'How did this happen?'

'Az and I were practicing. He nicked my skin by mistake.' Erik's voice is barely above a whisper, and his soft breaths whisp against the skin of Charles' nape, tinkling every hair follicle in its wake. Charles barely suppresses a shudder.

'Didn't you have it looked at by a physician?'

'I didn't think it would turn septic,' Erik admits sheepishly.

Charles hums in reply. With the dried blood removed, Charles cleans the wound with water. He dips another piece of clean cloth in a tonic and dabs it on the cut to drain away the pus.

They spend the next few minutes in comfortable silence as Charles continues to drain the pus from the cut. At least, it isn't so bad that it would need stitches.

'How did you know?' It's Erik who breaks the silence. 'I don't remember telling you.'

'You were having nightmares for a couple of days now, and I figured it was because of the injury,' Charles says risking a glance at Erik.

'Oh. I'm sorry-' Erik stutters, chagrined. 'I'm sorry if I disturbed or kept you awake-'

'It's okay, Erik.' Charles smiles soothingly. 'And in a way, it was a good thing I noticed. Otherwise, the septic would have spread.'

Erik doesn't reply to that and Charles continues with his ministrations. He fills the cut with a salve after draining away the pus and places a clean piece of cotton over it. Cutting another long, rectangular piece of cotton, Charles loops it around Erik's chest to keep the salve in place.

The wound has to be cleaned after two days and the process has to be repeated until the cut dries completely, but Charles already knew that. He’d mixed enough medicine to last them a month.

Still, not daring to look at Erik, Charles picks up the empty vials and the bits of the dirtied cloth on the tray and moves to get up, only to be stopped by Erik’s warm hand on his arm.

‘Thank you,’ Erik says sincerely when Charles finally looks up. There’s something deep in Erik’s eyes, an emotion that conveys so much more than the gratitude coming out of his lips. ‘I… Thank you.’

‘It’s fine, Erik,’ Charles smiles gently, but makes no effort to move from the spot.

Erik nods. ‘Where did you learn all this?’ He asks, eyeing the tray and the remnants of medicine it contains.

‘Oh,’ Charles says, placing the tray on the floor beside him and training his gaze on the patch of dried green paste on the folds of his robe.‘I’d always been interested in medicine, I suppose. Even as a child I used to run to the gardens and dirty my attire trying to gather herbs. It drove my mother mad.’ He chuckles at the memory of his furious mother chastising him and the servants for allowing Charles out of the Mansion in the first place. ‘My mother had thought that I was acting on behalf of a child’s curiosity and that my antics would fade as I grew up. But it didn’t. It only got stronger. My father was always supportive, and it did help that he was the Lord of Weschester. The title helped him procure books on medicine from various sellers. By the time I was fifteen, half of his library was filled with my books. I studied those books religiously.’ A woeful smile ghosts over Charles’ lips at the memory.

Erik doesn’t reply, content to listening to Charles speak. He’s a comfortable presence at Charles’ side, his hand a warm brand on Charles’ arm.

‘After my father passed away my Mother remarried,’ Charles continues. ‘And then Shaw’s eyes fell upon me.’ Erik snarls at the mention of the name. Maybe even Charles would have if he could muster the anger and energy to spend on a dead man. ‘I packed a few books in my trunk when I came to Genosha, and they were my only companions when I was bound to Shaw’s harem.’

Erik’s hand moves further down Charles’ arm to curl his long fingers around Charles’ palm, as if to provide comfort in a way words can’t.

‘And all that knowledge I had accumulated over the years didn’t go to waste in the end like my mother thought it would. It helped me in stopping my pregnancy.’ Charles’ other hand comes to clutch at the robe over his stomach, and his voice wavers when he says, ‘Twice.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Erik whispers. Coming from Erik, it’s more than a mere condolence, for he, too, has lost his child.

‘It had to be done,’ Charles says, shaking his head. He blinks his eyes to clear it of the moisture covering it. ‘I couldn’t let Shaw’s spawn enter this world. I couldn’t-’ Charles stops to take a shaky breath. ‘Besides, what future would a concubine’s child have? For it would have forever borne the reputation of being a whor-’

‘No!’ Erik cuts Charles off with a severe finger on his lip. The steel in Erik’s voice rattles around the four walls upsettingly. ‘Never call yourself that. Never.’

Charles smiles woefully. ‘That’s what I am to the world, aren’t I?’

That’s what he’ll always be to the world. Shaw’s whore.

‘Fuck the world,’ Erik snarls. Charles would have pondered over the sudden anger in Erik’s eyes if he hadn’t been surprised by the outburst. ‘Fuck the world,’ Erik says again, a little softer this time. ‘You’re so much more than that, Charles. You’re brilliant, kind, honest and generous. You were kind and generous to me even when I didn’t deserve it.’

Charles shakes his head to protest, but Erik continues, ‘It’s true. I spent many years believing that killing Shaw would bring me peace. It gave me closure, yes, but it didn’t bring me peace. You did. You brought me peace. You showed me how to smile again. You taught me how to be happy when I believed that I had buried it with my family. You brought back love into my life when I had given up hope.’

Erik stops, and blinks several times, as though he,too, is surprised by his confession. Charles, for his part, can only gape at Erik in equal parts confusion and surprise.

Taking Charles’ other hand gently from where it’s twisted in his robe, Erik inhales a deep breath, and says, ‘You are the light in my world of darkness, Charles. And if you’ll allow me, I would like to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.’

There are many things Charles could say to that. He could say that Erik’s the only one who has respected him for who he is. That Erik’s the only friend he has ever had in his life. He could say that he probably fell in love with Erik the day Erik had angrily handed him a bag of gold coins and the reins of a horse and had told him to go home without expecting anything in return. Charles could say a lot of things, but he can’t. Not when his tongue is stuck to the floor his mouth. So he tugs on Erik’s hands that are holding his’ and pulls Erik into a fierce kiss.

~3 years later~

‘Is that all?’ Angel asks from behind the counter.

Charles ticks off ‘5 bundles of waterhyssop’ from the list and shoves the parchment into the pocket of his robe. ‘Yes, that would be all for now. Could you please have Sean deliver it?’

He pays for his purchases and then remembers. ‘Oh, and, Angel, could you please add two dozen nutmeg and swalloroot as well?’

Angel looks at him skeptically, like he’s making a weird request. Maybe he is. The last of the supplies aren’t to concoct medicines for his patients, but for his own well-being and in turn the well-being of the tiny life growing inside him.

A small smile tugs at his lips at the thought, and his hand comes to cover his abdomen protectively. He’s still three months in, and not showing, so Angel doesn’t make anything of his reaction.

‘Here,’ she says, placing a bundle of swallowroot and nutmeg bound in a lotus leaf. ‘Jean’s mother was complaining of swelling in her shoulder joint. I told her to go see you. Can you make time for her today?’

Charles recalls his schedule for the day. He has no prior appointments with any of his patients, and apart from the few hours he has to mentor Hank on root medicine before lunch, he’s free for the rest of the day until Erik returns.

‘Send her sometime after lunch,’ he says, smiling.

Just as Charles finishes paying for his purchase, an old woman enters the shop, her round face framed by greying hair. ‘Oh, hello. I was wondering if you could help me procure a bunch of flowers for my daughter,’ she asks Angel.

Charles leaves Angel to attend to the woman and bids his leave from the shop. Angel and the woman continue to converse behind him, a part of which carries to the exit and falls on his ears.

‘Who is that young man who was here when I entered? He looks familiar to me,’ asks the old woman, to which Angel replies, ‘He’s the town’s physician, and the General is his mate.’

He’s the town’s physician and the General is his mate, the words ring in his ear all the way home and some time after. A smile perpetually resides on his lips.

#cherik #cherik fic #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #cherik week day 3: aob dynamics/flower shop au #alpha/beta/omega verse #aob verse #historical au #hurt/comfort #tending to wounds #gradual romance #pining #angst #tw: language #tw: mentions of abortion #jjcherik

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halcyon-writings · 3 years

Note

If it isn't too much of a hassle, could I request the " Would you please sit still? You'll get an infection if you dont let me treat this. " with Gaius Worzel?

taking place during cs1 but anything timeline wise is unmentioned

nav

you fidget awkwardly, one hand occupied with your sword as the other was unfortunately useless at your side as your arm was currently all scratched up.

a simple training exercise, you all had been told, no need to rush your field study or anything, if there was time for it, then sure, the group could proceed. and well, the training exercised seemed to have snowballed into something a bit crazier.

after slaying the big bad monster, the forest should have been cleared out, but it seemed that the small fry that had cowered beneath said big bad monster decided to now choose to duke it out to see who reigned over said forest. a big headache for the merchants for sure, but not something you all couldn’t have handled.

but now here you were, legs crossed as your eyebrows furrowed in mild irritation.

jusis takes one look at you, mouth opening slightly as if about to speak, and you meet his gaze with an even stare, he quickly stops himself. fie keeps to herself, napping underneath one of the trees, using its shade to stay out from the sun. which would have left elliot to do all the healing before returning to the city to get it looked at, unfortunately he was nervously talking to the instructor over the arcus unit. poor thing looked ready to pass out at a moments notice from the sheer nerves, yet you where the one that was injured! this had left gaius to help you as you continued to stubbornly refuse.

“i’ll be fine!” you grumble, ignoring the flare of pain that rushed up your arm when you tried to cross it with the other, opting to let it fall back against your side.

“would you please just sit still?” jusis half snaps/whispers, glancing at elliot who was still connected on the arcus but peering at you four in concern.

“you can get an infection if you don’t let me treat this,” gaius says gently,and you slump your shoulders, defeated. gaius promptly sits next to you, weapon laid on the grass while he kept the rest of the supplies in his lap. well, you couldn’t exactly stop him now. (and you ignored the slight flustered feeling of having him get so close).

“fine fine,” as you feel the medicine on your wound, you hiss, they really had to make this concoction sting huh?

and yet like that, gaius was finished, wrapping the last of the bandages around your arm, not too tight but not loose enough that they would fall off. “that should hold until we get back to town.”

“thank you gaius.” you mutter as he nods with a smile.

fie yawns, “oh they finally stopped being stubborn?”

“i will not be hearing that from you, fie.”

“and here I thought you both couldn’t be any more obvious,” jusis murmurs as gaius stands beside him.

and the usual calm and collected gaius for once seems sheepish, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. “was it that bad?”

jusis takes another glance at you, where you remained in your spot on the grass, although now you were doing what you could to not strain your arm and mess up gaius’ work. while gaius watched you fondly from afar, but still ready to help you if you needed it.

he crinkles his nose, “anyone could see it, i’m just surprised that you don’t.”

at this, gaius laughs quietly, but the fond look doesn’t disappear.

fie, now awake, shares a knowing look with him.

#trails of cold steel x reader #trails of cold steel imagine #trails of cold steel imagines #sen no kiseki x reader #sen no kiseki imagines #sen no kiseki imagine #gaius worzel x reader #mine

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

Text

Silver Tongue and Silver Hand

Content warning for: major character injury, loss of limb, lots of blood.

It wasn’t all that unusual for Geralt and Jaskier to part ways for a little while at times. Which was why it never occurred to Geralt that something might have been wrong when his path was silent for a few weeks. Yennefer had been there though, keeping him company with her own brand of social scorn. They were at a tavern, Geralt trying to pin down the person who put out the call for the contract while Yennefer got to wander through the town.

How the group got the drop on her was still beyond logic. One moment she was admiring some cloth that would make for a gorgeous, sleek dress and the next moment she was waking up cuffed, her magic suppressed and with a throbbing headache.

“They got you too, huh?” A familiar voice pulled her violently back into consciousness.

“Jaskier!”

“The one and only.” Jaskier really sounded far too cheery for someone who was also chained up. At least he looked whole with only the softest hint of bruising in faded yellows on his temple.

There wasn’t much they could do, Yennefer’s powers were bound, both of them were chained and without a hope of getting out. All they could do is talk, not even quietly at that given the distance they were from each other.

“Geralt will come, don’t worry.” Yennefer tried to reassure their bard but it only earned her a mildly worried “oh I hope not”. Which was never something she wanted to hear. While Jaskier didn’t know the ins and outs of it, he’d picked up enough to know that their captors were planning some kind of ritual and choice was involved.

Unfortunately, it was something Yennefer had heard about. A potion to boost luck which meant that while life couldn’t be taken for it, a sacrifice had to be made by an external party. And the harder the choice, the more sacrificed, the more powerful the potion. With Yennefer and Jaskier there, it could only mean one thing. Geralt was going to have to choose.

Sure enough, not long later they were being dragged to a cavern. In the middle was a cauldron, slowly bubbling away and there was a wooden block on either side. Their captors wrestled them into position, Jaskier’s left arm was forced onto one block, hand dangling over the gently steaming cauldron. Opposite him, Yennefer’s right arm was pushed into the same position. Not a few minutes later, Geralt marched through the door, looking murderous. His swords were dripping blood and he was breathing harshly as he took in the scene before them.

“Geralt! I am so glad you could join us,” the leader of the group crooned. “As you can see, we have a game set up here.”

A gesture to the cauldron and a smile. Both Jaskier and Yennefer were pinned, a blade to their throats. And a good with an axe to their sides, poised and ready to make the cut.

“It’s a simple choice. One of your companions will walk out of here unscathed. The other, well, they’ll be leaving minus a hand. So what will it be? No more spells? Or no more songs?”

Everyone waited, all eyes on Geralt as his gaze flickered between Yennefer and Jaskier. It was the moment Jaskier remembered what the sorceress had said, the spell needed a sacrifice. Without it, it was ruined. And any ingredient could upset it, it was a fussy potion and one that required more work than it was worth.

“I don’t-” Geralt licked his lips nervously.

“Choose!” Their captor demanded. But it was obvious Geralt was stuck, unable to decide, to condemn either of his companions.

The lull from the lack of choice meant their captors weren’t as attentive, focus on Geralt. That was broken when Jaskier twisted, right hand reaching for the axe and, without hesitation, he swung it through the air and onto his own arm. His scream was lost in the yells as his hand fell into the cauldron and the whole room descended into chaos.

Prioritising was difficult, Geralt couldn’t get to Jaskier without his opponents getting in the way. And Yennefer was helpless too, cuffed as she was. It was only years of practice that meant he could fight his way through those throwing themselves at his sword to free Yennefer. For good measure, Geralt sent the cauldron and its contents flying, strewn over the floor and utterly useless. Together, they whipped through the room, killing all until they were by Jaskier’s side. The bard was curled up, his bleeding arm clutched to his chest and tears of agony streamed down his cheeks.

“Let me see,” Yennefer urged and tugged at the injured limb despite Jaskier’s pained protests. A curse left her lips.

It was the matter of seconds to open up a portal and Geralt was hefting Jaskier into his arms as though he weighed nothing. Stepping through, they were in a mansion, Yennefer’s home without a doubt.

“Put him on the bed,” she pointed Geralt in the right direction. She was already off and gathering her supplies. First things first,something to dull the pain before cleaning the wound to stop infection taking hold.

Blood and tear streaked, Jaskier looked up at them and swallowed the potions Yennefer pushed towards him. The burning agony died down into a dull throb and finally, he could think.

“Why did you do it?” Geralt demanded, trying to keep his attention way from where Yennefer worked.

“It was the only way. Ruined their potion, you didn’t have to choose. It was the logical option.” He whimpered and tried to pull his arm from where Yennefer poured something over it that burned to his core. A ‘tsk’ and an iron grip kept him in place. “You need her spells more than my songs. And-” Jaskier looked away, ashamed, “-her beauty had more value. Her looks have more of an impact than mine ever could.”

Two sets of eyes regarded Jaskier in silent disbelief. Sadness filled Geralt’s eyes while Yennefer tried to tamp down on her emotions. The dumb bard actually cared for her. Idiot. Words weren’t going to be enough this time, this wasn’t a debt she could clear with a few sharp words hiding some kindness or help.

Silently, she finished doing what she could for Jaskier. Ensured that his wound would heal cleanly, as pain free as possible. All through it, Geralt held Jaskier’s remaining hand.

Healing took a lot of energy, and Yennefer may have slipped something in Jaskier’s medicine to help him sleep. She needed to talk to Geralt without him overhearing.

“I can’t grow a hand back, no matter how much I want to.” She told him and was met with a soft, resigned ‘I know’. “He’s never going to play again.”

That time, the ‘I know’ held more pain. Geralt was slumped forward in his seat, shoulders hunched.

“He knew it. Before he cut his own hand off. I saw his face.” And she wished she hadn’t, the realisation, the determination, the agony. Yennefer had seen it all and it was going to haunt her for a long long time.

“Who would you have chosen to save?”

The guilty look that flashed over Geralt’s face told her everything she needed to know. Jaskier never really stood a chance in the face of such a choice. He knew it too, that was what the realisation had been. It didn’t stop the guilt from eating away at both Yennefer and Geralt.

“He’s lost his livelihood,” Yennefer finally said, knowing they needed to lay out all the facts. “He won’t be able to follow you around and earn his keep, and he’s even more helpless, defenceless like this. And nobody will want to take him in without a way for him to pay.”

It was the truth but damn did the truth hurt. Geralt gritted his teeth, trying to find a loophole, a way to ensure Jaskier had a future that was comfortable and safe. He couldn’t even teach at Oxenfurt when he couldn’t play his beloved lute.

“Fuck.”

They sat in silence, not looking at each other, ears attuned to the soft breaths of their bard in the other room. Without saying anything, both Geralt and Yennefer made a vow to try and do everything in their power to help Jaskier.

Healing took a while. There was a false cheer around Jaskier as he tried to make light of his situation. Once, Geralt even caught him with his lute, held the wrong way round, trying to learn how to place the fingers of his right hand for chords. In the end, the lute was carefully laid down next to Jaskier and a shaking hand stroked over it.

By the times soft, pink skin covered the end of Jaskier’s arm, his smiles were brittle, breath hitching around the forced jovial attitude. Magic had eased his healing, left him free of gnarly scarring but it didn’t help the fact that Jaskier still only had one hand.

“Right, well,” he looked at Yennefer who stood by the door expectantly. “Thank you for everything but I suppose I really ought to get out of your hair.”

Where he was going to go was beyond Yennefer and Geralt. They hadn’t asked because they suspected Jaskier had no idea, but they could afford him the dignity of not ripping open his facade. Even as Jaskier refused steadfastly to stay, citing adventure calling him. All three of them knew he had no way of repaying care he had received and each day was another he couldn’t afford.

“Come with me,” Yennefer said, not accepting refusal. When Geralt moved to join them, she fixed him with a glare. “You stay.”

She led Jaskier through a portal and Geralt was left alone in the home. He thought it was especially cruel that Yennefer had Jaskier’s lute on her back. There was no telling when she would come back and where she was dumping Jaskier. It was almost better to not know because Geralt would have gone after him, with the noble notion of rescuing him, even though he knew full well that his lifestyle was not one that could keep a one handed bard alive for long.

A portal opened on the other side of the room and Yennefer strode through, accompanied by the soft sounds of a lute being strummed. And Jaskier’s laugh. He stepped through after her, playing with the world’s widest, teariest smile Geralt had ever seen. Where his hand had been missing was a silver replica, dancing over the neck of the lute.

“Geralt!” Jaskier beamed and waved his new hand. It reeked of magic, freshly wrought and powerful. Yennefer only looked a little smug.

“You sure you don’t want a glove?” Yennefer asked, offering the garment up to Jaskier.

“Who plays lute in a glove?” Jaskier shook his head. “This is now my signature look. Silver tongue and silver hand. Oh the ballads I’m going to write!”

It seemed that their worries were over. All debts paid off in one fashion or another. The guilt still lingered but Jaskier’s smiles were genuine now, easing the tightness in Geralt’s chest. Though he hadn’t had to make the choice, he still had to live with the consequences, as did Jaskier. But at least, now, they wouldn’t have to separate as a result of it all.

#geraskier #gennkier #geralt/yennefer/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #the witcher #who knows what the OT3's tag is?#i have no clue #long post #tldr: jaskier makes a sacrificial play #cw: blood and injuries #cw: major character injury #cw: loss of limb #cw: blood

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quazartranslates · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH93

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

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Chapter 93: Castle Cry (XX)

Until the phantom disappeared, Qi Leren felt a pain in his lungs. When he saw the scene where the crazy lady induced Nina to commit suicide as a sacrifice, he held his breath. Although it was just a phantom, her gloom and coldness settled in everyone's mind like a fog. Her calm madness and inhuman cruelty were far more horrible than a real madman.

Qi Leren breathed a long sigh and looked back at the two men: "It turned out that Nina was sacrificed by the crazy lady. It seems that this scene should have happened after she released the crazy lady from the cellar."

"What a story of a farmer and a snake." Dr. Lu shook his head and said sympathetically, "But this system prompt is a bit strange. It turned out to be 'discover the devil's sacrifice' instead of 'get the devil's sacrifice.'"

"Because we really haven't gotten the sacrifice yet," Su He said, pointing to the skeleton hanging under the mounted goat head.

"...Do we still have to get the skeleton down?" Qi Leren asked heavily.

"I think so." Su He looked at him with encouragement.

Qi Leren unsheathed his dagger to cut the rose, and the skeleton fell into a pile of broken bones on the ground. Nina's skull rolled to Qi Leren's feet and knocked into his shoes.

Qi Leren stared at the skull solemnly. He really didn't want to pick it up with his hand. He was a good young man who had lived in the 21st century little more than ten days ago. He’d never touched the bones of the dead when he grew up. Only a little more than ten days in the Nightmare World, and he had done everything he had never done before.

"Put them on." Su He took off his gloves and handed them to him. Qi Leren thanked him, put on gloves, and picked up the skull.

The system prompt immediately appeared: [Obtained the Devil's Sacrifice 5/6]

Sure enough, his sensing of the devil power was accurate, and the devil power in this room was mainly centered in this skull.

"Take good care of it." Qi Leren picked up the skull and gave it to Dr. Lu. Dr. Lu gave him an oblique look. He took the skull and stuffed it into his inventory without any complaining.

Su He tapped the ground with his cane, making a rhythmic sound. "Nina should be the last sacrifice in terms of the time sequence of the sacrifices. She wasn’t a part of the crazy lady, but was a living creature that activated the whole ceremony. Usually, this kind of living sacrifice will be put at the end. I just don't know what the sacrifice that we haven't found yet is."

Qi Leren counted on his fingers: "At present, the offerings we have found include hair, teeth, the eyeball… something suspected of being the fetus, and Nina. Except for Nina, the living sacrifice, everything else is dead, and the rest should be something on the crazy lady."

The three people couldn't figure out what the rest of the sacrifices was for the time being, and the time was already close to five o'clock in the morning. Su He proposed that they should leave the room for their own safety, so as not to face a changed Nina after switching between the exterior and the interior. So the three people stood outside Nina's room, waiting for the bell to chime.

"Bong-bong-bong-bong-bong-" Five bells sounded, the world before them changed again, and they returned to the glamorous inner world. With the electricity and lighting, the surroundings suddenly became friendly, and Qi Leren looked at the lights overhead and suddenly had a flash of realization - Wasn't there a ready-made power supply here? After coming out of the cellar, he had met Su He, who had come to check for bugs. He’d completely put the laptop behind him, and thought of going back to the Village of Dusk to find someone to make a transformer, because it was said that the standard voltage in the Village of Dusk was much higher than that in the real world, and his mobile phone and computer couldn’t handle it.

The standard voltage of this replica world should not be much different from that of the 21st century, right? If it was in the range of 110V-220V, the transformer of his laptop should be compatible.

But… Su He and Dr. Lu were still here.

Qi Leren was caught in a web. Su He was talking with Dr. Lu about Miao Bo's body on the floor. He had been killed by the armor of this world. The posture of the body was very distorted. The sounds of the two people's discussion were not loud, and Qi Leren, who was full of worries, didn't listen.

Did he want to find a way to separate from the two for a while? He couldn't. The time for this task was running out. Why not go back to the Village of Dusk and think of some way?

Qi Leren opened the item bar, ready to look at the computer and Easter Egg again.

Laptop… Laptop… Laptop… No? How was that possible?!

Qi Leren froze. He once again checked his items from beginning to end. He saw the Easter Egg, but didn't see the laptop!

This inexplicable laptop computer... has disappeared inexplicably.

A chill spread from the soles of his feet, and Qi Leren didn’t dare to move and stood stiffly.

When exactly did it disappear? Had it really appeared? Why did it disappear?

"...The posture of this body when it died is very strange. Normally, he should not have such a death on his knees and then fall back," Su He’s voice sounded like it was far away.

"Oh, it makes sense. At that time, I suspected that he was in front of her to protect Luo Xueyi, so he was stabbed in front and died." Dr. Lu's voice was far away, as if he’d heard a whisper in his dream.

Qi Leren was spaced out.

He thought of a possibility.

Qi Leren secretly looked at Su He who was talking with Dr. Lu.

Su He must have some ability to view and take away his belongings. As a half GM, it was normal for him to have such skills, and this kind of behavior was not to help them. He could use his skills completely.

When was it... When Qi Leren recalled Su He's appearance and his words and deeds, he couldn't help feeling unsettled.

If Su He never stood on his side…

Qi Leren's heart went cold. He’d been in and out of Su He’s mysterious field. He’d revealed too many things that shouldn't be revealed to Su He. Su He absolutely knew that he had secrets. As long as he kept pursuing them... The system may directly wipe out this unstable factor.

"Qi Leren, what do you think?"

Dr. Lu's voice awakened Qi Leren, who was overwhelmed by fear. He looked at Dr. Lu absently and asked calmly, "What did you say?"

"Miao Bo's body, Su He thinks that he may have been pushed, and then he would form this posture of rushing forward and then landing on his knees, and then he would be pierced by a sword, so his body leans back. This posture is too strange. Very unnatural," Dr. Lu repeated again.

Qi Leren looked at Miao Bo on the ground, but his mind was full of disappearing laptops, so he couldn't think hard.

"What's wrong with you? You look like you’re in a cold sweat." Su He stepped forward, with his hand to Qi Leren forehead. "Has some wound become infected and given you a fever? I can see you’ve suffered a lot of injuries."

Qi Leren suddenly took a step back, avoiding Su He’s touch. Under Su He’s gaze, which was slightly confused and worried, he woke up again.

Never show it!

"The wound hurts," Qi Leren hissed and took a chill, clutching his injured left arm. When he was fighting with the crazy lady in the basement, he’d slashed his arm with the dagger to bleed. Although it was simply bandaged later, it still hurt.

"I told you to let me give you a treatment. You have to have it, whether you want to or not." Dr. Lu rubbed his hands and prepared to treat him.

"Don't, you have two hours to cool down your skills, so you can save it for the final battle, so that you won't be too injured to return to the Twilight Township," Qi Leren quickly refused.

"Then you’re in pain," Dr. Lu said and shrugged his shoulders.

"I have a little pain-relieving spray. Give me your hand and I’ll help you bandage it again. This item is still allowed to be used. You can rest assured," Su He said and took out a can of spray.

Qi Leren hesitated for a moment and held out his hand.

Su He skillfully cut off the bandage, sprayed the spray on his wound, and then wrapped it again. Sure enough, the feeling of pain became very slight, and he could hardly feel the injury without deliberately feeling it.

"Do you want to spray a little on your forehead?" Su He looked at his forehead and said, asking with concern.

Qi Leren opened his eyes and shook his head: "It doesn't hurt too much, so don't waste the medicine."

Su He smiled gently: "That's good. Protect yourself."

Qi Leren's soul screamed, and he once again doubted his own judgment. If Su He really stood on the opposite side of his position, and he did know his secret and had gotten the laptop, he didn't need to be so good to him at all, as Qi Leren had no use value…

Was it true that the laptop’s disappearance had nothing to do with Su He?

Qi Leren's tight heart relaxed slowly. Now thinking back carefully, the appearance of the laptop was very strange in itself, and the Nightmare Game he’d downloaded was even more strange. This game must have been made by someone who was very familiar with the Nightmare World, and sent this game out of the Nightmare World. So what was the purpose?

In order to let newcomers who had played the game quickly find the main task and complete it after entering the Nightmare World? But since the person who made the game already knew so much about the Nightmare World, why find new people to do it? Unless they couldn't finish the task by themselves, and could only ask for help in this roundabout way.

But if you needed help, weren't there ready-made players in the Nightmare World? There were so many people, and their qualifications were far better than those of new people. Why not find someone to do the main task in the Nightmare World? Before this castle mission, he had also gone to find out the NPC for the main task, which had not been triggered yet. That is to say, it seemed that only he really knew where the main task started.

Why would they publish Nightmare Game in the real world instead of finding someone to do it in the Nightmare World? What was the biggest difference between the real world and the Nightmare World?

There must be a reason... There must be…

An idea flashed through Qi Leren's mind.

It was the system.

It was watching out for the system.

This made sense. The appearance of the laptop touched the system, so it attracted Su He. When Su He appeared, they sent the laptop back to avoid being discovered by the system.

As to when it was taken back... When Su He entered this copy, or when he entered the Su He’s field?

"What you said is reasonable. At that time, we heard Luo Xueyi's screams, and then came here to find Miao Bo murdered. Luo Xueyi was missing. Because no witnesses saw the whole process of the incident, we don't know what happened. It’s also very likely that Luo Xueyi would push her boyfriend onto the armor to escape in order to save herself," Dr. Lu said, squatting beside Miao Bo's body.

Qi Leren has already slowed down. He glanced at Su He quietly. For now, he couldn't do anything. If Su He wanted to expose his abnormality to the system, he could only kill him by triggering his neck, but before that…

He was willing to trust him more.

Anyway, he had no better choice.

He had to keep it a secret.

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[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

#Welcome to the Nightmare Game #欢迎来到噩梦游戏 #danmei

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nimmy22 · 3 years

Text

A Mistake: Chapter 3

They weaved through the streets of the lavish neighborhood doing their best to lose their pursuers. They crushed countless flowers and shrubs beneath their feet as they jumped from backyard to backyard. The sound of gunfire forced them to pump their muscles harder, run faster as the rain beat down on them without mercy.

Why was no one calling the police? A commotion like this would at least draw crowds of families curious about all the noise or the dead bodies littering the street and their neighbor's home.

Sherry tripped, skinning her hands and knees on the pavement. She had a second to cry in pain before Cara was already pulling her up to continue.

"I can't. It's too hard." Sherry cried, breathing laboriously as her lips trembled. "Can we take a break?" She struggled to contain her tears, knowing full well it wasn't the best time to start crying.

"I'm sorry, Sherry but not here. We have to keep moving," Cara warned, glancing behind her. She saw no one and didn't hear any gunshots, but that didn't make it safe. "I can't let them take you, Sherry. Come on, just a bit more, and we'll find help."

Sherry nodded before she began to run again. However, one step, and she yelped, wincing in pain as she put her weight on her knee. It hurt worse than when she fell off her bike while trying to teach herself. She was alone and had to patch things up herself until her mother finally noticed days later.

"What's wrong?"

"M-my knee hurts," Sherry whimpered, watching the older girl move closer to inspect the wound. Blood trickled down the little girl's legs before getting washed away by the rain.

"That looks bad," Cara sighed, turning her back to the little girl before squatting down. "Here, get on my back. I'll get us out of here."

With Sherry clinging tightly to her neck, Cara ran to the edge of the residential area and down a dirt path leading straight into the Arkley mountains. She hoped to find a hiding spot for them to catch their breath and figure out what to do.

They hid inside the base of a tree, only having each other to keep warm. The spiderwebs were all forgotten, as the girls' fear was now too exhausted. There was nothing left to spare for the tiny arachnoids fuming over their ruined webs.

What felt like hours passed, and the girls grew too cold and tired. The little Sherry's knee wasn't looking so good, the bleeding had stopped, but an infection may already be brewing beneath the skin given where they've been.

Seeing the young girl wince every so often, Cara decided it was time to move again. She needed to find help. Perhaps the men all killed each other during whatever conflict brewed up tonight.

Carrying the young girl on her back again, Cara left the forest to walk along a side road. She was on the lookout for a passing car. But their luck was too dry at this time in the night despite the rain.

"Thank you, Cara. I don't think I would've made out without you."

"I... didn’t do anything. I couldn't fight. All I did was grab you and run. God, I'm so damn useless." Cara let out a long sigh and stared down at her feet.

"You're helping me now, aren't you? You could've just left me or...or listened to those men and gave me up, but you didn't. I will definitely ask daddy to give you a raise." Sherry giggled and rested her head against Cara's back. She knew that if her friend wasn't there tonight, she would've been in the dark all alone or worse. She might've stayed hidden in that closet only to be found by the armed men. She didn't have anyone to develop the skills of hide and seek with.

"Oh, you better, or else I'm suing somebody for the years shaved off my life tonight. Your dad sure pissed off some powerful people. Who sends a whole armed squad on some doctor's house?"

"Daddy says there are people who wanted to buy his medicine, use it for bad things. But he told them no, and now they want to steal it." For a split second, Cara imagined Mr. Birkin dealing drugs with a gang, but that image didn't last long. The disheveled, nervous reck of a man with a million things to do simply didn't look the type.

"Did he keep it in the house?"

"I don't think so," Sherry shook her head.

The older girl pondered over it, agreeing with Sherry. If Mr. Birkin had kept this medicine in his home, then surely the security would've been better. And he especially wouldn't leave his only child alone in the house with it.

"They wanted to use you as a hostage. Probably force your dad to give them what they wanted."

"Daddy probably wouldn't care if they took me,"

"Hey! don't say that. Your parents love Sherry." Cara stopped walking and gave the little girl a shake.

"Then where are they? They are never home."

"Their work is very...important, I suppose,"

"More than me?"

"No! Not like that. I mean... it's just a lot-"

"Cara, look! There is a car coming!" the little girl jumped with excitement on Cara's exhausted back, but she paid it no mind as her eyes greedily drank the glow of the headlights coming down the road.

"Thank god," Cara exhaled deeply, feeling as if all her worries had just vanished. "Wait here, I will flag it down."

Cara stood in the middle of the road and waved both arms, trying to get the driver's attention like a madwoman. She definitely looked deranged, out in the rain in the wee hours of the morning. The headlights became increasingly more blinding as the car came closer. She couldn't tell the color of the car or anything about the driver.

The driver showed no signs of stopping, the speed fast and steady. "Please stop!" Cara shouted, her eyes pleading. "Please!" She won't waste the opportunity, god knows when the next car will drive by. She refused to move, standing her ground as the car sped towards her. Neither her racing heart nor the car slowed. For a moment, she thought it was the end, becoming roadkill at seventeen, having done nothing with her life.

But then it stopped, screeching to a halt inches from her shivering form. Cara let her hands fall to the hood, knees almost buckling beneath her. The hood felt warm and soothing against her icy skin. As she moved to the driver's side, she recognized the design of the police cruiser, one explicitly assigned to the STARS unit. Her heart pounded as a new source of hope offered itself to her. This seemed too good to be true.

"Thank you so much for stopping, officer! It's been a hellish night." Cara said, glancing over with a smile at Sherry, who responded with her own.

The door opened, and the officer stepped out, shining a bright flashlight at Cara. She was blinded and had to shut her eyes. "I know this will sound crazy, but please hear me out. I was babysitting this little girl when a group of armed men broke into the house and then-"

"Where is Sherry?" He asked all too calmly. Cara frowned. It wasn't his sense of calmness that unnerved her. It was the familiarity of his voice.

'Of course, it was too fucking good to be true.'

"Wait, how did you know her name was Sherry?" Cara demanded, taking several steps back. While his shades were missing, his slicked blond hair stood out to her. The rain dowsed her like buckets of ice. "You..."

"I won't ask again," He warned, walking towards her with a hand resting on his belt, ready to draw his gun. His eyes were an icy blue, radiating with the power of his cunning intelligence.

"I won't give her to you. Sherry, run-"

"Uncle Albert? Is that you?" The young girl limped over to them with newfound vigor and threw her arms around the older man. He hugged her for a moment before pushing her away, his eyes searching her for injuries.

"Sherry, no! get away from him," Cara jumped forward, snatching the little girl's hand, pulling her away.

"It's ok, Cara. He's daddy's friend." The little girl shook Cara's grip off her before hopping back into Wesker's arms. Sherry snuggled into the warmth of the older man, completely oblivious to the way Wesker stood, looking down at Cara. He cocked his head to the side with a conceited expression. Clenching her fists, she decided she didn't like him.

Wesker loomed closer to Cara, enjoying the way she stumbled back to get out of his way, almost tripping over her own feet. He deliberately bumped into her shoulder as he carried Sherry to the other side of the car, settling her gently into the back seat. He could've chosen the closest door, but where was the fun in that?

Cara stood dumbfounded, staring as the man who had only hours ago slit a man's throat and was now slapping a bandage on a little girl's knee in the backseat of a cruiser. She watched him with narrowed eyes as he tended to the little girl, finally noticing his police uniform.

"Who are you? Why are you pretending to be a cop? Who were those people? What are you going to do with Sherry?"

"I am an officer of the law."

"That's a load of shit. Say, in the slim, extremely slim chance you are actually a cop, shouldn't there be more...officers? Backup? A news station? A public statement? Something like this wouldn't happen in Raccoon and no one crowding in to watch."

"I handled it," Wesker said, strapping Sherry in the backseat before shutting the door. The little girl was already on her way to snoozing off.

"I don't understand, why-"

"Enough with the questions." He hissed, grabbing her arm. He found the little thing a pretty sight, but that mouth of hers was dangerous. "You better kill off that curiosity of yours before it lands you somewhere you'll never leave as a warm body. Don't be another babysitter we have to send a severance package to."

"You're going to kill me," Cara's laugh was void of humor, succeeding in tipping her tears down her cheeks.

"Just be quiet and get in the car."

"Why should I? You could change your mind in a split second and put a bullet in my head."

Wesker twisted her arm behind her back before shoving her against the passenger door. "Then don't tempt me," his hot breath tickled her ear as he delivered his warning. "And if I did go for it, I wouldn't simply kill you. I'll get everyone you love. One unfortunate accident after the next." His hand trailed up her back to wrap around the back of her neck. She whimpered as he shoved her face harder against the glass.

Cara shuddered, processing the gravity of her situation. The man was a trained killer and supposedly an officer. She had already witnessed him kill, had felt his icy blade to her neck. There was no doubt in her mind that he would deliver on his warning. The real question was when?

The first person to cross her mind was Claire. Truly, there were so few people that Cara cared about and who cared for her. The Redfield siblings only had each other, and Cara couldn't live with the guilt of being the cause of her friend's death. Claire was her anchor when everything spun out of control in her life. She would do anything to protect those important to her.

"Fine," She grumbled, taking out her frustration on her bottom lip. She sunk her teeth into the cracked flesh until she tasted the metallic flavor, but that didn't help get rid of the bad taste already in her mouth.

"Great, now we can finally get out of the rain." Wesker stepped away from Cara, already missing the warmth of her body. Perhaps he should've prolonged it for a few more minutes, drove her further into tears. The thought alone stirred something inside of him.

The tension left Cara's body as her arms were freed, and she rubbed her abused muscles, cursing the bastards' existence. She would do all she could to never again make his acquaintance. He started the car as soon as she was seated.

She banged her head against the window as he suddenly leaned over her. "The hell are you doing? I knew it! You already changed your mind," She hissed, failing miserably to shove his hands away.

"Safety first." He purred, a low chuckle leaving his lips as he reached over and buckled her seatbelt in one swift movement. She sat straighter than she ever did her whole life and simply stared straight ahead. She decided that if she simply ignored his existence, he would cease to be, and she'd wake up from this horrible, horrible nightmare. Her body has to be taking revenge for all the heart-disease heavy foods she'd been stuffing herself with, concocting such an awful nightmare for her. How is this a wake-up call if she couldn't pinch even herself awake?

It took too much effort for Cara to keep her eyes on the road. She immediately attributed it to sitting next to a killer. There was definitely no other reason. She kept shifting in her seat, unable to stay still. On the other hand, Sherry was out cold in the back, a fuzzy blanket draped over her.

Cara's fidgeting halted as Wesker tossed something into her lap. She picked it up with furrowed brows, inspecting it. It was some kind of badge, but not just any badge. It identified him as Albert Wesker, captain of the STARS alpha team. It looked legit, something similar to what Chris was issued. She has a thousand questions, but the man with the answers was the most uncooperative bastard she ever met. One more question and she's sure he will throw her out of the moving car.

'He was a cop, a crooked one. How many more in the police could be trusted? Who could help her? Was Chris- No! he wouldn't be part of something like this.' Cara's thought, mind fighting itself, too many thoughts wanted to be the focus.

"You were quite the shatter box not too long ago. Why so quiet now?" Wesker asked, enjoying the sequence of emotions flicker across her face.

"You practically told me to shut up," she tossed the badge onto the dashboard before resting her head against the window. She knew she was in way over her head.

"I said to stop the questions. You can still talk,"

"No."

"Alright then, suit yourself then."

It must've been the warmth of the car or the fatigue of the night that lulled Cara to sleep because she was startled awake by a ridiculously high-speed bump. Her sleep hazed eyes scanned her surroundings before she sat up straight, recognizing where she was.

Wesker had parked the cruiser right in front of her apartment building, a living place for the lesser members of society as it was all they could afford. Her wide eyes found him, and she audibly swallowed. "How did you know where I live."

"Of course, I help my dear friend run background checks on all his employees. One in his position needs to be incredibly careful with whom he uses." Wesker said, reaching an arm to rest on the back of her seat. She recoiled away as if stung by a bee.

"Is this your home, Cara? Can I come with you?" Sherry asked, having woken from her sleep minutes before. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her uncle's muscular arm.

"I-"

"Maybe next time Sherry. After we drop off Cara here, we're going straight to your parents." Wesker said, a sense of finality in his tone that had the little girl obediently return to her seat.

Cara opened her mouth to protest him knowing her name but remembered his background check and shut her mouth. He must know everything legally in the record on her, including her parent's colorful histories.

Unbuckling his seatbelt, Cara was surprised to see him exit the car. He came around to her side and knocked on the window, mentioning for her to get out. He barely gave her space to get out as he stood right by the passenger door with his arm resting on the roof of the car. She was forced to brush past him as his towering frame refused to step back. She caught the scent of gunpowder, soap, and the faintest traces of a cologne. And of course, blood. Despite her terror, she found herself taking a deeper inhale than she intended.

"Tonight, you watched Sherry until her uncle came home, and then they gave you a ride home because of the rain. Nothing. Else. Happened. You understand?" Wesker said, bending down to be at eye level with the trembling girl. With surprising tenderness, he moved her hair out of her face, but his eyes were anything but. She stood very still, wishing the ground would swallow her up. Her attempt at looking away was met with a firm grip on her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." She answered, voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. A lump formed in her throat as her eyes welled up, but she refused to cry.

"Don't mess up if you can't handle the consequences." Satisfied with his work, he stepped away, watching as the girl raced home.

"You can be so mean, Uncle Albert," Sherry whined once the officer returned to the driver's seat.

"Really? I didn't notice."

#resident evil #Albert Wesker X OC #albert wesker

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infected-bc-au · 4 years

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Patient Zero and Initial Casualties

So, thing about Pandemics is that there is always a Patient Zero, aka the first individual infected, in any pandemic.

For this AU, this individual is Bramblestar, Leader of Thunderclan, as you have already seen.

Now, before I continue on with the initial ‘How did the Rabies infection spread to each Clan’ aspect I do need to discuss how I choose who got infected when and how they died.

Now, as I mentioned in my previous post, the AU has three parts. I already know who dies when due to pre-planning and due to a specific mechanic inorder to ensure I didn’t keep a character alive simply because they were a favorite of mine or that a character died because I hated them.

I made it randomized like this in order to keep an un-biased and fair view of how this kind of thing would play out.

Now on the the method:

Dice.

I am being quite literal here.

I used a 1D8 Dice with Bramblestar, Harestar, Leafstar, and Tigerstar. Why Bramblestar and not Mistystar? I’ll get to that in the Starting Point section of this.

Now, each number represents a Life of the Leader. For each skirmish the leader is in that they could get infected or killed I rolled the Dice. If the number was higher or equal to the Lives they had at the Start of The Silent Thaw then they lost a life or were infected based on the situation (more on this below, as I said).

However, if the Number was 1, they died immediately.

For everyone else I roled a 1D20. I would have used a 1D4 until I kept rolling a specific number which made things kind of BS to me, so a higher number it was.

Now, 1-6 meant the character was killed immediately, 7-12 meant they were infected but didn’t die immediately, 13-18 meant they were killed by something outside the Rabies Virus (as outside threats still exist), and 19-20 is the Trigger for the Twoleg Factor, which I will get to further down.

I rolled the 1D20 for every character that wasn’t a Leader at the start when the infection spread. If it hit 1-6 and 13-29 they were fine in the initial spread of the infection.

Now, for how Rabies spread out of Thunderclan:

The easiest way actually presented itself to me immediately: Jayfeather and Squirrelflight rolled a 10 and 7 respectively, meaning they were immediately infected by Bramblestar, which also makes sense since they would naturally be the cats closest to him upon revival (being his Medicine Cat and Deputy/Mate respectively).

From there, I rolled for the Medicine Cats of Shadowclan, Skyclan, Riverclan, and Windclan. More specifically I rolled a 1D10. Even numbers and they went to Thunderclan to help Alderheart with this strange new illness, Odd numbers they stayed in their own clans.

Pebbleshine, Kestrelflight, and Mothwing all rolled Even, and thus went to Thunderclan.

Now, for each ‘Arc’ in each ‘Part’ I rolled for each character to see who died and lived. This included Leaders, as being Infected does not mean they would immediately Die.

Now, On to the actual Story Portion, as I’m sure you are curious as to how it spread and got every, including Skyclan since it didn’t go to Ground Zero:

How the Virus Spread:

The Events of Lost Stars still happen, but instead of Bramblestar being possessed he would wake up confused, feverish, drooling, and aggitated. By this point the cats with him would be Squirrelflight, Jayfeather, and Alderheart. When Jayfeather would attempt to examine him, Bramblestar would attack and immediately kill him while he woudl bite and harm Squirrelflight when she tried to intervene. Alderheart would call for the warriors to help pin Bramblestar down where they would then barracade him into the Leader’s Den while Alderheart tended to Squirrelflight’s bite wound. She would be sent to the Medicine Cat’s Den to rest for the night while Alderheart called for a meeting with the Senior Warriors to figure out what to do. No one was bit while subduing Bramblestar.

The next morning Cinderheart would go to visit Squirrelflight while Alderheart is checking on Bramblestar. Cinderheart would be bit by Squirrelflight, who is killed accidentally by Mousewhisker. Mousewhisker is bit during the fight and Alderheart would realize he is out of his depth and would send warriors to each clan asking for help for this strange behavior while tending to Cinderheart and Mousewhisker.

Of the cats, Mothwing, Kestrelflight, and Pebbleshine go. Willowshine, Shadowsight, Frecklewish, and Fidgetflake stay in their clans for various reasons. The medicine cats attempt to examine Bramblestar with the help of Thunderclan Warriors, during which all three are bit. Unable to help, they basically tell Thunderclan they are on their own and go home.

By the next day Cinderheart and Mousewhisker are turned and Mousewhisker bites Daisy when she visits him. Alderheart has begun to realize something seems to be spreading though he isn’t sure exactly how yet. He expressed his thinking that something about the cats is spreading to each one, making them lose their minds, and thinks their injuries may be part of the cause. Because of this, Thunderclan begins using methods to cage up infected cats at the Abandon Twoleg nest and keeping watch.

At this point Cinderheart, Mousewhisker, and Bramblestar are fully infected and Daisy, Cherryfall, Finleap, Alderheart, Spotfur, and Thriftpaw are all infected. Bramblestar also escapes and takes off into the Forest.

The cats put it to a temporary vote that Lionblaze and Thornclaw lead Thunderclan as Temporary Leader/Deputy until they can actually dedicate time to the issue.

In Shadowclan, Pebbleshine bites and infects Tigerstar and Cloverfoot after Pebbleshine killed Stonewing. By day 2, Tigerstar and Cloverfoot are fully gone and infect Scorchfur, Grassheart, Pouncestep, Hollowstream, and Oakfur. Tawnypelt is elected temporary Leader after they subdue and quarantine Tigerstar and Cloverfoot, owing to her having been Deputy Before, and she immediately elects to have many of the senior warriors help her with decisions. Shadowsight works to treat some of the injured cats and gets infected by Grassheart that night. Shadowclan refused to leave the area around it’s camp unless it is to get food.

In Riverclan, Mothwing infects Willowshine and Mistystar. Mistystar is almost immediately killed by the virus and Willowshine manages to infect Lizardtail, Breezeheart, Havenpelt, and Podlight.

With so many injured cats and no medicine cat, Reedwhisker sends Warriors to their neighboring Shadowclan and Skyclan for help. Shadowclan refused to answer, but Frecklewish goes to Riverclan where they are bit by Havenpelt. Fogkit is then infected.

Frecklewish flees Riverclan back to Skyclan where they are treated by Fidgetflake. They infect Leafstar the next day and Hawkwing. By the next day Hawkwing is dead, and the infected count rises to include Palesky, Nettlesplash, Turtlepaw, Plumwillow, Violetshine, and Needlekit.

Harrybrook steps up as temporary Leader to keep his clan from despair.

In Windclan Kestralflight infects Harestar. Crowfeather gets Warriors to help him subdue Kestrelflight leading to Brindlewing, Sedgewhisker, and Crowfeather himself getting infected. By Day 2 the amount of times Harestar has acted up results in Harestar’s permament death, the death of Fernstripe and Whistlekit, and the infection of Woodkit and Gorsetail. By Day 3 all the infected cats but Woodkit is dead, and Woodkit is fully infected and has infected Featherpelt.

With the clan ready to bolt, Nightcloud steps up as temporary leader.

After Patient Zero, Leaders, and the Twoleg Factor

Now, after this comes the real hard part for the clans. As you can tell by Day 4 at the lasted no clan has an official Leader, Deputy, or Medicine Cat to help guide them and only Thunderclan has any ideas on what might be happening.

From here the clans would be focusing on how to stop the spread in their own ways with the little information they have until they start reaching out again. Leadership will also change as various cats learn various things and tensions start to run high.

Now, on to the other parts of this. First will be Leaders.

As you can tell, Brambestar and Tigerstar still live after the first 4 days of infection. After this, I roll dice and depending on the number they get into an altercation with their clanmates that can result in the loss of a life, more infection, and potential final death for each leader. Mistystar I had decided to just kill off immediately due to her advanced age and the fact we never learn how many lives she has. Harestar (who I keep mistyping as Hootstar for some reason), just got really, really, really shitty roles. This goes into Act 2, which also introduces a new Element:

The Twoleg Factor.

Now, I have actually volunteered in a Shelter, so I can tell you a few minor things from that time. Wild, Feral cats are actually very rarely rehomed unless they are still tiny kittens. The reason is because Feral Cats are near impossible to accept Home Life. Most places will treat the cat, Neuter/Spay them, then release the cat back to wherever it was taken from (or put them down). Same with all cats capable of being adopted (except they go to humans instead of the wild).

Cats infected with Rabies are immediately put down. Immediately. Then Animal Control is often called to investigate the nearby areas to find any other potential infected animals.

Also, almost every cat owned by a human, but especially all cats from a shelter, get a Rabies Vaccine that can last 1-3 years before needing a booster depending on the cat’s age. (The younger the cat, the longer you can wait).

Now, Humans don’t like Rabies. It is fatal, even for them, so when a Rabies outbreak happens they quickly get in and get rid of it. The clan territories lie on a large lake that gets a LOT of Human Activity in the Spring/Summer.

The Twoleg Factor has two parts:

First, I roll a dice for an infected character or one that could be injured as I mentioned above. If it goes on that 19-20 number at this point the cat is found and taken by a Twoleg. If the cat is infected, this means Twolegs become involved in finding and getting rid of all the infected cats. Hence why I made this particular roll such a small margin since depending on when it happens it is an instant Game Over for the Clans.

The Second part of this has to due with the Vaccine. More specifically, the amount of former Kittypets in the clans, and some cats that had been in shelters.

Specifically, Stormcloud of Thunderclan and Nightcloud of Windclan would, theoretically, be completely immune to Rabies at this time.

By Part 1, Act 3 Stormcloud would no longer be Immune due to age and not getting a Booster, but thanks to the events of Crowfeather’s Trial it is reasonable to assume that Nightcloud could still go another full year or two before needing a booster so she wouldn’t be at risk of infection at any point in this AU.

That will be important later.

This is just my ideas on how it would start, my next posts will detail more in depth of the full Part 1 in each Clan, followed by how they realize to beat the Spread leading into Part 2.

#Warriors #Warrior Cats #Erin Hunter #Infected Au

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atinytokki · 4 years

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𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Chapter 3: Welcome Aboard

“Unchain me.”

Lieutenant Byun’s head shot up from where it had been nodding off as his lucky prisoner’s request drew him back to alertness.

He scoffed at the boy’s bluntness and pulled his book up from where it had been sliding down his lap.

“No.”

“Won’t you let me go to the window?”

Now he sounded desperate.

“Not after the stunt you pulled,” Byun scolded, returning to his book but not really reading it.

Hongjoong had almost jumped overboard last week because his hands were small enough to slip out of the restraints. Not that he would’ve gotten far, considering the fact that his legs still didn’t work properly, but these new chains were much tighter, chafing his wrists until they bled and tiring him out with his attempts to escape them.

So he relaxed in his bonds and tried to lay back, resting in the rocking of the ship where it was anchored in the harbour.

Only an hour or two more and they’d be at sea, nowhere for him to run to.

A knock came at the door and the lieutenant dropped his book, peering through the keyhole to see who was calling before ushering three officers in.

One was Lieutenant Park, newly promoted and very excited to meet the rumoured Lucky himself. The other two were the stoic duo, Surgeon Oh and Steward Doh. Both undisputed professionals and the best in town at their respective duties.

“Did anyone see you?” Byun whispered, closing the door tightly behind them.

Lieutenant Park answered quickly, “Just two midshipmen. Both already sworn to secrecy.”

Byun relaxed and hovered in the background while the surgeon began his daily checkup of the prisoner.

Hongjoong was quiet throughout the process, shivering once at the touch of the surgeon’s hands before fixing his gaze on the tiny porthole opposite him and refusing eye contact with anyone.

It was taking a bit longer than usual.

“How is he?” Byun asked, mouth suddenly dry.

“Looking pale again,” the surgeon reported, waving his hand in the steward’s direction. “My surgical knife, if you please.”

All of them watched with baited breath as Surgeon Oh hiked up Hongjoong’s shirt and made a precise incision in his side.

Park and Byun moved to hold the patient down when he began to squirm and protest while the surgeon collected blood.

The smell of it pervaded the cabin and made Byun begin to grow nervous.

“Remind me not to let you tend to me if I’m ever injured,” Lieutenant Park jabbed at the surgeon with a smirk.

“Isn’t that too much blood?” Byun muttered. “He was haemorrhaging a few weeks ago with all that internal bleeding, I thought he needed to conserve his blood—“

“Will you two let him work?” The steward sighed, wiping off the knife as it was handed back to him.

“You said it didn’t matter if he was dead or alive,” the surgeon reminded Lieutenant Byun with a quirked eyebrow, stitching up the wound smoothly.

“Well,” Byun spluttered. “The Admiral has gotten used to the idea of him being alive. He’s not your experiment, don’t be careless.”

“If the Admiral cares so much, you can tell him I’m only checking for infection,” the surgeon shot back, annoyed, before getting to his feet and carrying out his medical supplies.

The steward and Lieutenant Park both followed him out, but hearing a groan from Hongjoong, Byun elected to stay.

“So you aren’t nursing me back to health just to kill me?” Hongjoong mumbled, a trace of sarcasm on his voice. He masked it well, but Byun could see him struggling to readjust his clothing without hurting himself.

“Well... no,” Byun answered, trying to sound distant from the whole thing. “But if the Admiral needs to kill you for whatever reason, he’s prepared to do so.”

Hongjoong’s eyes landed on the porthole again. The tiny patch of blue he could see was comforting to him.

“I always wanted to die at sea.”

He closed his eyes and wished he could go back in time.

At first Hongjoong had thought some sort of angel was descending upon him in his last moments. He could not have been more wrong.

The thankfulness that exuded him as he was hurried to safety and healed with expensive medicine decreased significantly when he discovered to whom he owed that gratitude.

It had been Lieutenant Byun, leaping into action when the square was invaded, and noticing the prisoner being impaled by the collapsed wooden structure on top of him. The stage he stood on was to be his downfall. Hongjoong had survived the noose but would likely not survive the battle.

Out of a strange and sudden pity, the Lieutenant scooped Hongjoong up and brought him to the Black Crow where it was anchored, handing him off to the surgeon and contriving an excuse before he faced backlash for it.

He decided to keep his regretful compassion a secret and presented the rescue in a light Admiral Kim would understand- a lucrative opportunity.

This was the most acclaimed pirate of the past decade, surely his skills would be very useful in winning the Admiral praise and war hero status. If not, they could always execute him again.

Though the second option was presented humbly as a last resort, seeing as how Byun wasn’t sure he could let Hongjoong die now.

There was something about saving a life that suddenly put the responsibility in one’s hands. Now Hongjoong was indebted to him, and Byun had to face the consequences of his own spur-of-the-moment actions.

He agreed out of respect for his superior to Kim’s single condition— that the entire turn of events be kept secret from the men. No one was to know what he had done. The stranger in the depths of the Crow was just an injured soldier. The Pirate King was dead.

Otherwise they might be facing uprisings and mutinies and, well, Kim’s bid for fame depended on privateers to do the work for him.

It was jarring, flogging a pirate within an inch of his life one day and holding a rag to his bleeding wounds the next, but Lieutenant Byun was a man of honour, even if his profession didn’t create much space for personal discernment.

Again, the door opened and Steward Doh entered, this time with a bowl of soup to feed the prisoner once he had helped him into a sitting position.

Byun stood awkwardly in the corner while Hongjoong chatted with the steward. The former had become quite familiar with the officers of the Crow and it made Byun uncomfortable how easily he got under everyone’s skin. How much earlier would he have been moved to save the boy’s life if he’d been given the opportunity to charm them back on Namhae?

“What’s in here, exactly?” Hongjoong asked, mouth still full of bread.

“Oh, I’m not sure you would recognise all the ingredients,” the steward let him down gently. “They’re quite expensive.”

Hongjoong laughed so suddenly he almost choked on his soup. “Mr. Doh, I haven’t always been a pirate. Try me.”

“Well, the meats are blue crab, prawns, clams, mussels, scallops, monkfish and octopus...” here the steward poked at a protruding tentacle. “And for the base there’s fish sauce, lemon juice, anchovy broth...”

Byun watched Hongjoong’s face as he took it all in, nodding at the mention of each soybean sprout or fermented cabbage. It made him wonder what had led to his becoming a pirate if he was indeed so well versed on high society.

“It was very good,” Hongjoong thanked him when he was finished, voice quieting as he added, “Seonghwa should take advice from you.”

Both officers glanced at each other knowingly before rushing to change the topic of conversation.

Fortunately, they didn’t have to.

The door cracked open and Midshipman Moon poked his head out.

“Admiral Kim’s compliments, sirs, and you’re needed on deck. Weighing anchor.”

The steward looked at Byun in alarm. “But we were told not to leave Lucky alone like last week—“

“He’s weak and he’s tired from the meal, he’ll be fine,” the Lieutenant assured him, pulling him outside and closing the door before muttering, “Prince Seonghwa is present, it will be suspicious if officers are unaccounted for.”

Because even if he fudged the rules about not interacting with the prisoner or not feeding him the same portion as the rest of the men, this order was a serious one and blowing it would land them all in deep trouble.

Both rushed to the quarterdeck, Byun quickly assuming proper posture and running through scenarios in his head in case the prince were to address him.

But he wasn’t in any danger of needing to fabricate a quick lie, because Seonghwa wasn’t paying any attention to the ongoing procedures.

His eyes were on the sea ahead of him.

Byun tried not to think about the fact that just a few decks beneath them was a person the prince believed to be dead.

As always, Byun knew too much. He knew how Seonghwa had become mixed up with the pirate band he had fought so ardently for back in Namhae.

It had been one of those lazy days at the Admiralty a few years ago. Byun was a young midshipman at the time, and nothing exciting had come along in weeks.

Until the captain of a merchant ship burst into the office with reports of piracy. Through stuttering words and shaking breaths he explained how the small pirate vessel, bigger still than the last time it was spotted, had overtaken them and forced them to surrender.

The ATEEZ had made off with their gold, a chunk of their food supplies, some storage barrels, and one of their men.

But it wasn’t just any of their men. It was the lost prince, entrusted to the merchant by the palace nurse who switched her own child out for him— a preposterous story, most certainly contrived to prioritise the Navy’s search for this crewman, but one so unique it captured Byun’s interest.

And it also moved him to stay the Admiral’s hand when he had the pirates cornered in the inn until after Seonghwa had left.

At so many points along the way, any of his actions could have changed the entire outcome of multiple lives.

Here he was now, because of his insistence that Admiral Kim spare two individuals in two separate events, both of whom could ruin them all given the chance.

And perhaps they still would, a notion which didn’t terrify him as much as it ought to.

Byun remembered having a hard time believing a mere pirate could bewitch his crew to such an extent, but having interacted with him over the course of the month, he was beginning to understand.

Seonghwa had gone from his captive to his friend, Byun could easily go from his captor to his ally.

The prince suddenly turned to Admiral Kim, squinting in suspicion. Lieutenant Byun caught his breath.

“Why are we heading north? I thought the plan was preemptively striking Haemin’s border fortresses.”

“Yes, that remains the plan,” Kim answered dryly. “However, Admiral Lee has called for men to help defend Panhang. He’s a chicken for putting in the request, given how unlikely it is that beach will see action, but the Crow already carries three times as many hands as are needed to crew her, so we can spare them. Then we’ll rendezvous with the rest of the fleet and sail for Haemin.”

At the mention of Panhang, the prince stilled. No more was heard from him until the officers were dismissed and he retreated to his chambers.

Lieutenant Byun shook off his nerves and tried to return to his duties.

It was a long journey to Haemin but only a day to Panhang. One thing at a time.

...

By the time Yeosang paid the carriage driver and watched him leave, the sun was already rising.

He had travelled through the night back to the estate, with Jungwan carefully disguised in the luggage carrier among baskets and blankets.

“Are we there?” The boy murmured, stretching his sore legs and standing at his full height. Taller than Yeosang remembered him being.

“Yes, but we still need to exercise caution,” Yeosang told him sternly, ushering him out of the road and towards the side of the mansion. “My father might still be here.”

“And he doesn’t know you’re back?” Jungwan whispered as they rounded the corner to the servants’ entrance.

“No,” Yeosang scoffed. “He thinks I’m still in Doljeon, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Jungwan nodded and stepped into the cramped hallway.

Yeosang still knew the secret passages and shortcuts through the estate from days exploring them in his youth. Though their original function was to help servants move around unseen, they would be useful for the purpose Yeosang had in mind.

“In here,” he whispered, cracking open a door tucked away in a corner of the top floor and ushering Jungwan in. “This is where you’ll stay. I’ll tell the housekeeper, Sohyun, about you. She can be trusted.”

The room was small, but compared to the conditions those boys faced every day, it would do just fine.

Yeosang shuffled about, collecting food, piling boxes and blankets, and wiping away dust where he could while Jungwan looked around the room.

“Where are you going?” The boy asked suddenly when Yeosang turned to leave.

“To rescue the rest of your friends and bring them here,” Yeosang responded, mouth set into a firm line.

“But... you could be caught,” Jungwan’s voice became even quieter. “You could be hurt, or-or even killed—“

“If I don’t save them, no one else will,” Yeosang insisted. “You don’t have a better idea, do you?”

Jungwan cracked a small smile and tilted his head. “You’ve changed.”

Yeosang’s shoulders dropped and he looked out the tiny cracked window, relaxing. Becoming part of something will change you, he knew from experience.

“For the better?”

The younger boy considered it for a moment and nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

Yeosang turned to leave, but Jungwan called after him, “Please be careful! I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if you don’t come back and one of your servants finds me...”

“Give me three days,” he called back before closing the door tightly behind him.

Three days should be enough.

...

Yunho took a deep breath and collected all three plates of breakfast, balancing them in his arms.

Dooeun, Hanbyeol, and some of the other crewmen had offered their help, having grown accustomed to preparing their own food in the month they’d spent stagnated here, but Yunho refused them. He was back onboard the ATEEZ now, and he wanted to do things himself.

It was reminiscent of their last meal together, even the floppy eggs were shaped the same. But Yunho shoved the thought aside and entered Mingi and Jongho’s room.

Only Jongho was present, sifting through all the belongings in his trunk. He hadn’t seen any of them in a month, but there wasn’t much to begin with.

“Where’s Mingi?” Yunho grunted, lowering his armload precariously onto a small table.

“Captain’s room,” Jongho answered, eyes widening gratefully as he accepted a bottle of rum with his breakfast. “Bless you for this.”

Yunho smiled fondly, even as he handed his own bottle over to the younger so he could open it for him. He already knew where Mingi was, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“Anything good in there?” Yunho asked after taking a swig, nodding towards Jongho’s chest.

“Some guns I stowed away before leaving, my nicer shirts and vests, old taffy...” Jongho procured a small book and flipped through it with a smirk on his face. “This diary. Mostly empty, except for the pages I wrote back when I was afraid of forgetting all of you.”

Yunho chuckled and stabbed a sausage with his fork, peering into the trunk to see the last item nestled at the bottom in a bed of embroidered coats.

“Your pan flute.”

Jongho gazed at it, biting his lip, before returning to his meal. “Right.”

That flute was special, and out of everything in the box, had the most memories attached to it.

Yunho coughed uncomfortably and took Mingi’s plate in hand. “I should bring it to him before it gets cold,” he reasoned, leaving Jongho to his dusty chest and broken memories.

The Captain’s cabin felt hollow despite everything remaining exactly where it always had been. Yujin hadn’t touched it. Mingi wasn’t planning on touching it.

“He’s always survived against all odds,” a soft voice surprised Yunho until he turned to see Mingi sitting on Hongjoong’s bed, hands in his lap.

He looked like a different person with his hair newly dyed a flaming red.

Yunho’s jaw fell open in shock.

“There was extra red laying around,” Mingi explained, blushing and looking away. “I thought... to keep him alive.”

Yunho nodded and moved to embrace him. There wasn’t much either of them could say, and the moment passed in quiet remembrance.

“So,” Yunho said, pulling back. “What’s the plan?”

Mingi gestured to the trunks and piles of gold scattered throughout the room.

“There’s enough in my share to provide for my family,” he pointed out. “I’m going to bring it ashore and give it to them. After that... I’m still not sure.”

“My little brother could use the money too, wherever he is,” Yunho mused.

“Then we should make finding him our next move,” Mingi decided, turning to face him. “Do you think Jongho will want to come?”

Yunho laughed outright. “He’s already put the men on a training regimen. And it’s not like he has anywhere else to go.”

“And the crewmen? They’ll follow me?”

Yunho gripped his shoulder and smiled. “We’re with you Mingi.”

...

San was in the thick of it. His attention was currently split three ways between the ammunition he was loading, the cannon fire raining down, and the man bleeding out next to him.

He’d been struck in the arm and had a chance to live, but not if he stayed there writhing on the ground and screaming San’s ears off.

San dropped his bag of powder to haul the injured soldier up but was promptly yelled at by an officer, presumably for leaving his post, which meant his attention was now split four ways.

“He needs help!” He tried explaining, obviously not getting through the language barrier. “Look at him, he’ll bleed to death!”

San presented the dying man to the officer, who squinted at him and dragged him along to the infirmary. It seemed he had figured things out.

Together they hurried up the stairs to the second deck, ducking when a fiery cannonball tore through the banister and was quickly doused by a swarm of soldiers.

Haemin’s Navy was completely hectic from what San had seen.

The men around him were clearly untrained or unexperienced or both. Fresh recruits, prisoners of war, and a drunken captain who rarely showed his face on deck.

San had a feeling that even if he could understand the officers’ orders, he wouldn’t be impressed by their military discipline.

The chaos was unmitigated on arriving at the infirmary, and the gunner in charge of him had to bring along another officer who spoke San’s language for him to explain his medical qualifications to.

“I need a saw or a knife— something sharp,” San enunciated. “Sharp! You know...” he tried to draw the shape in the air and the officer nodded slowly before his eyes lit up and he ran away, returning with a saw.

“Good,” San sighed, rolling the injured man onto a table. “Now clean it with something. Ointment, alcohol— what’s this? Whale blubber soap? That’s fine, clean it with that.”

The officers made eye contact once before nodding and complying.

“Where’s your surgeon?” San asked as he quickly and efficiently tied off the bleeding limb and snatched one of the officers’ jackets for the man to bite into. “I’m assuming you have one?”

“Dead,” the translator answered, pointing to a fresh bloodstain on the floor that a body had clearly been dragged out of. “His head...” the man mimicked an explosion and indicated his own head, as if trying to demonstrate the event.

“I got it, thank you,” San said quickly, wincing and returning to his patient. “Tell him not to squirm, I’ll try to make it as painless as possible.”

The translator complied and the injured man looked up at him with fear in his eyes before trying to relax. It was his best shot at survival, there was no other choice.

Even as much as he hated slaving away for this foreign nightmare ship, as long as San survived the battle, it didn’t matter to him who won the war. He could clean wounds on both sides without feeling guilty about it.

And so he gripped the saw comfortably in his hands and began the work he was made for.

...

Waiting in the stables was one of Yeosang’s old friends.

“Yuma!” He breathed delightedly, almost dropping his bag of supplies in his excitement to reach the horse.

Sure enough, Yuma remembered him. He nuzzled him affectionately while Yeosang searched for his saddle.

“Oh Yuma, I thought maybe Father had sold you or worse...”

Once the horse was ready to go, Yeosang took his long face in his hands and hugged him tight. “I know you’re old and tired but... I need you to take me away. One last time.”

Yuma nickered agreeably just enough to make Yeosang smile softly before swinging himself up and giving the command.

They tore out of the stables and back through the woods, headed east. Yeosang knew the shortcuts back to Doljeon and from there, they would follow the river to where it met the sea.

The naval shipyard of Kon.

The pair made good time, only stopping once or twice briefly for a break and walking when they had to.

By mid-afternoon, Yeosang had dismounted to offer his steed some water and rented out a cart to hide the rest of the powder monkeys in when he had them.

Yuma had earned his break and waited comfortably in a nearby field while Yeosang hurried off to the docks.

He hoped he wasn’t too late.

The port town was crowded and running wild behind what seemed to be a fresh draft notice.

Yeosang overheard the news on his way down to the ships, but with everyone talking about it the entire length of the street, the news was hard to miss.

“A notice from the palace. All privateers are instructed to report to the Admiralty and join the naval fleet, and all independent pirates who submit themselves to the ranks will be pardoned for past crimes, even awarded if they perform exceptionally in the King’s service.”

Exciting for some, but Yeosang knew the true implications of this draft. No matter how the Admiral framed it, he was still putting children in harm’s way when he could easily deploy his own men or recruit more.

The blabbering sea sponge peddler debating the order with his neighbour seemed eager enough.

Determined not to let those boys be forced to the front lines, Yeosang made his way to Si-Hyuk’s ship, relieved to find it anchored close to the main street.

It was a place he could never forget.

The last time he’d been on it, he was running away in the dead of night, stolen maps clutched close to his chest and his entire life laid out behind him.

He’d had no idea what awaited him then, but today’s plan was clear. Break in, find the boys, break out.

No pirate worth his salt would ever dream of coming into port at Kon, which meant little security and easy access.

Nearly all the naval attention was focused on the shipwrights and their floating skeletons, all of them growing into new warships while the privateers waited alongside them, readying themselves for battle.

The dockworkers were chatting with each other animatedly and it was almost too good to be true, so Yeosang initiated the distraction tactic of yelling “stop, thief!” and then directing everyone in his vicinity up the hill, clearing out the area so he could freely board.

He knew the quartermaster had eyes on the back of his head, so he moved swiftly and silently into the lower decks.

It was a part of the ship he had never frequented, but the powder monkeys were found where powder monkeys usually are, huddled around in a cramped circle whispering to each other, surrounded by their hammocks in the lowest deck.

“Let me guess, you don’t want to go to war?”

A dozen heads snapped to attention, eyes widening as they realised who was in their presence.

“Kang Yeosang? Is that really you?”

Yeosang ducked under a hammock, trying not to be slapped in the face by the dirty feet hanging out of it, and nodded his affirmation.

“I’ve come to get you all out of here.”

Even more puzzled whispers broke out at this, and the first boy who had spoken shushed them all so he could speak again.

“Are you just taking us to another ship? Your father, the navigator— did he put you up to this?”

Yeosang sighed and scrubbed his face. “Yechan, right?”

The boy nodded and crossed his arms.

“Listen, Yechan,” Yeosang said quickly. “If any of you have good parents or a decent home, I’d be glad to take you there. The point is, I’m not letting you sail into gunfire. You’re all too young for this and none of you signed on for it. Jungwan found me and he’s already safe back at the estate, waiting. Anyone who needs somewhere to stay is welcome there until we can arrange something permanent. But there isn’t much time, so all I can ask is that you trust me.”

There was a beat of silence before a younger boy, Myungjoong, stood and faced him.

“We’ve nowhere else to go and I don’t fancy getting my head blown off. I say we go with him.”

A murmur of agreement swept the group.

“He did run away and live with pirates,” Heeseung warned, eyeing Yeosang suspiciously. “It could all be a kidnapping scheme.”

“To what end?” Yechan argued back. “Any pirate with a head on his shoulders is sailing away from this war. I’m with Myungjoong on this. Anyone else?”

A few boys filled their pockets with what little they had and stood to leave. But still, some of them hesitated, and Yeosang tapped his foot impatiently.

“The dockworkers are probably back by now,” Yeosang groaned. “It’s now or never.”

The rest of them communicated silently with each other before coming to a consensus and joining.

“How are you planning on sneaking us out?” Another boy asked. Taehyun, if Yeosang remembered correctly.

The question was a rational one, and it had Yeosang scratching the back of his neck in frustration.

“I can’t just walk out with all of you, it’ll turn heads.”

“Inhong has an idea!” Myungjoong spoke up, nudging an even younger boy who blushed shyly and pointed at the big stack of empty barrels behind him.

Yeosang blinked, impressed.

“Alright, into the barrels, all of you. I have a plan.”

...

Mingi adjusted his grip on his chest of gold until he was holding it as comfortably as possible.

It was a cumbersome load that he and Yunho had taken from the captain’s quarters but it was going to a good cause.

Mingi tried to quell his nervousness and find comfort in Yunho’s presence as he rowed them both back to the beach.

He was thankful Yunho hadn’t given up on him in all his bouts of sullenness and dejection.

It was difficult being here in such a meaningful place, walking on sand that reminded him of another time, taking paths that led directly back to his past.

They stopped at the top of the cliff to appreciate the view and, for Mingi, relive some of the happier moments of his childhood before turning away and following the road home.

Together they stood facing the cottage, one of the window shutters hanging slightly off its hinge, but everything else in the condition Mingi had left it.

“Is this the place?” Yunho prodded gently.

Mingi nodded and took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

As they waited for an answer, he began having second thoughts. What if his parents didn’t want to see him? What if they did but were angry with him for leaving? What if his proffered chest of gold was an insult to them? What if they weren’t even there and the house had been sold or abandoned for good?

The door flew open and there his mother stood, hand coming up to her mouth in shock.

“Mingi?”

He nodded and placed the chest on the ground so he could wrap her in a hug. He could see Father standing in the hallway behind her, equally surprised to see him and his eyes watered as he pulled him in, too.

They stood there together for a minute longer before remembering their manners and inviting Yunho inside.

“Who is this?”

“Where have you been?”

Both parents asked their questions simultaneously before laughing and letting Mingi speak.

“It’s a long story, but this is my friend Yunho. We... we worked together for the past few years, along with some others.”

“Doing what?” His father asked, ushering the guest into a chair. “Fishing?”

Yunho coughed awkwardly and looked to Mingi for help, unsure how much he was planning on divulging.

“Something like that,” Mingi dismissed, presenting the chest of gold with a deep breath. “We’ve managed to acquire a significant amount of wealth in our travels and... well, we decided to come here to offer some of it to you.”

Mingi’s parents looked at each other with wide eyes before his mother carefully took the box in hand and opened it to see if it was, in fact, true.

Shining gold reflected off of her shocked face and she closed the lid quickly. “Mingi, we could never take this, it’s far more than we need and you earned it. It’s yours.”

“No, Mother,” Mingi insisted, taking her hand. “It’s for you, I’ve made up my mind. You don’t need to work in those conditions anymore, you deserve to live in comfort for everything you’ve done to save our family.”

For a moment, Mingi’s father looked too ashamed to even speak, but he grasped his son’s shoulder in gratitude and told him he was proud.

It was all Mingi wanted to hear.

“Please be careful if you go back out there,” Mother told him when the sun was long gone, their bellies were full, and both boys were on their way out. “With all this talk of war, I would hate for anything to happen to you.”

“And visit when you get the chance,” Father asked him. “We’re always concerned about you.”

“Don’t worry, sir,” Yunho smiled confidently. “He has me looking after him.”

As they walked the path back to town, Mingi finally let happy tears fall.

“Do you think they know what you’ve been doing all this time?” Yunho asked softly.

Mingi chuckled and wiped his face.

“I don’t doubt it. They did raise me, after all.”

“I think I had better treat you to a drink,” Yunho hummed, grabbing Mingi’s face and brushing away any excess tears. “You did well today.”

So he slung his arm around his shoulders and led him off to the tavern, the door swinging shut behind them.

...

“Hello Lucky.”

Hongjoong looked up at the sound of the door but didn’t acknowledge the voice addressing him.

Lieutenant Byun, dropping by for no reason. From among the four officers who visited, Byun did so the most frequently and most needlessly.

At least on this chilly evening, he had no reason to be here save for his own inquiring.

Hongjoong wasn’t dying at the moment, didn’t need to be fed or washed, and wasn’t currently required to help strategise against enemy soldiers.

“You’re curious about me,” he concluded, running a hand through messy bleached hair. The pink had long since disappeared, and an icy sort of white remained.

The lieutenant scoffed and averted his eyes, gazing out the small window at the passing waves.

“I’m curious about the pirate king,” Byun admitted, shuffling back and forth. “Who was he and how did he go from high society to the scum of the earth?”

Hongjoong shook his head with a small smile and obliged.

“A desperate orphan with nowhere else to go, and he met a notorious pirate who was somehow still a better parent to him than his own relatives were. I think you get the picture.”

“But why are you— were you— public enemy number one?” Lieutenant Byun pressed. “What did you do to make the Admiral hate you so much?”

Hongjoong’s smile fell and he looked away, body going limp again and piquing the officer’s interest even more. He regretted it, whatever it was.

The door suddenly opened again for the surgeon, bringing his box of supplies in himself this time.

Byun frowned in confusion. “You already did your daily checkup, what’s all this?”

The surgeon began to lay out his tools without answering, which was answer enough for the lieutenant.

“No, no, no, I said no experimenting!” He insisted. “He’s healthy enough now, so unless your bubbling concoctions and strange looking corkscrews can make him superhuman, don’t expect help from me!”

“I knew you wouldn’t be assisting,” the surgeon chuckled, pushing his patient down and keeping him there with an iron grip. “That’s why I summoned Lieutenant Park.”

Byun pinched his nose in exasperation and attempted to wrestle away a pair of bent scissors. “What are you even trying to induce? Madness?”

“A haircut, Byun!” The surgeon fought back, reaching for Hongjoong as he tried to wriggle away. “It’s just a haircut!”

“Why don’t I believe you?” The lieutenant retorted sarcastically, confiscating the scissors and then whining again when the surgeon snatched up a knife.

“Terribly sorry, I’m here now,” Park panted from the doorway, closing the door behind him and hurrying over. “What’s all the ruckus?”

“Lieutenant Byun won’t let me do my research,” Surgeon Oh said sharply.

“Go steal from a grave instead, I need him alive,” Byun snapped back. “I-I mean the Admiral needs him alive—“

Suddenly the surgeon’s hand was covering his mouth and the room fell quiet. “Listen,” he whispered. All Byun could hear was Hongjoong’s shallow breaths and the scrape of the metal chains as he curled himself into a protective ball.

And then the faint sound of footsteps.

The surgeon suddenly released him and ran to the door to look out the hole.

“You were followed,” he grunted to Park before turning around lightning quick, voice barely a whisper. “It’s the prince.”

The three of them leapt into action, the surgeon muffling the patient’s protests and injecting a sedative into him while Byun silently dragged a card table and pair of chairs over.

Lieutenant Park went about sorting the cards quickly into piles to look like they’d been playing already and when he didn’t have a place to sit, threw a blanket over the prisoner and plopped down on him, ignoring Byun’s glare.

All in all, it took about fifteen seconds. Better than when they’d practiced. The knock came right on cue.

“Come in!” the surgeon called, the door opening a second later.

Prince Seonghwa crossed his arms but stayed in the doorway to voice his complaint.

“Admiral Kim neglected to give me the report. How close are we to land?”

“Another forty minutes, Your Highness,” Byun responded, bowing his head to avoid eye contact.

Seonghwa looked like he was about to leave, but turned to face them once more and tilted his head, almost amused.

“And what are you fine officers doing down here on the lowest decks in secret?”

“Gambling,” Surgeon Oh supplied the prepared answer with finesse, his voice brittle like it was admitting a lurid secret. “The Admiral strictly forbids it so... we hope you’ll understand.”

“Forget you saw anything!” Lieutenant Park laughed nervously, almost too nervously, but the prince seemed to take the bait.

“You should make your play now, surgeon,” he quipped. “None of Lieutenant Byun’s cards are high enough.”

Byun pretended to be put out as if he was surprised the prince knew gambling games or hadn’t known his cards were on full display because he couldn’t hold them properly in his shaking hands, and the trio laughed awkwardly until Seonghwa was safely gone.

Lieutenant Byun abandoned the act and immediately hissed across the table at Park, “You could have cracked his rib, you giant beansprout!”

“A cracked rib is better than the prince deciding to investigate the mysterious lump in the corner for himself!” Park defended himself. “Admiral Kim would shoot me dead before the report even finished leaving my mouth and you know it.”

“Just get off him and let’s see the damage,” Byun huffed, dropping his cards and scooting the table out of the way.

Thankfully, there were no new injuries. Just wounds that had been healing slowly but surely during Hongjoong’s time here. Byun recognised one or two scars he had put there himself a month ago.

A month or a lifetime... it was difficult to tell.

“He’s asleep,” Lieutenant Park sighed, relieved.

“I need him awake for my pain tolerance study,” the surgeon tutted, putting his tools away once more.

“Pain tolerance!” Byun spluttered. “Focus on getting him back on his feet, then maybe I’ll let you do your job.”

Oh rolled his eyes and saw himself out.

“Do you think his pain tolerance is better than average?” Park posed the question after a moment of silence.

Byun turned to face the prisoner and blinked away the mist in his own eyes. “I tortured him myself before the execution. It was difficult to tell either way.”

“Why do you care so much?” Park asked quietly, and the question echoed in Byun’s head.

He tried to shrug it off. “You would too if you’d seen him that day. Underneath all that wreckage, seconds away from death. I just got this feeling that his life wasn’t meant to be taken from him this way... like we’d made a mistake.”

Park watched the prisoner sleep a minute more before laying the blanket on him again. “I see what you mean.”

Carefully he collected the playing cards and set them up for a game for two. “Go get some rest. He’ll probably destroy me at this, considering he’s a good-for-nothing pirate, but I might as well keep him entertained when he wakes.”

Byun smiled at his friend’s willingness and went to get some hard earned sleep before they docked.

At least he wasn’t the only one torn between two sides of a secret dilemma.

...

Yeosang quickly found that counting heads was not as easy as Hongjoong made it out to be back in the good old days.

He was already scatterbrained from keeping their volume low while also managing the entire operation.

“Yechan, Heesung, Myungjoong, Inhong, Taehyun, you’re all ready to go. Hello, Sunghoon, keep an eye on Byungwon, there’s a loose nail in his barrel and I don’t have medical supplies...”

Ten of them rolled past before he began to see faces he didn’t recognise.

“I don’t think I’ve met you, what’s your name? Hansol? Alright Hansol, proceed with caution. Jaehyuk, Changsun, Jisung, are your groups present? Right, who are we missing then?”

Juna.

Juna, the eight year old with the dirty feet. The youngest of their group but most experienced due to the fact that he was born on the ship, and probably also the most vulnerable of them with his hacking cough.

Yeosang helped the boy into his barrel and warned him to be quiet before rolling him out to meet the rest.

Twenty-seven barrels, each with their bottoms carved out and a powder monkey hidden inside.

It would take some very convincing acting to get them all off this ship.

Just as they’d been instructed, one by one they silently crept up the stairs through the decks until they reached the top, stopping and freezing in place any time another sailor got too close.

Yeosang brought up the rear and once they approached the main deck, it was his time to shine.

The boys all assembled in an orderly fashion in front of him, tucking in their feet and preparing to be rolled down the gangplank as their hero lashed them all together.

“Patience,” Yeosang whispered. “We need to encounter as few people as possible for this to work.”

The moment the man in the crow’s nest became distracted with the sails, they took their chance, rolling down onto the dock and stopping when Yeosang ordered them to.

Unfortunately, he was correct. The port workers were back and much more alert than they had been the first time around. They stopped Yeosang and his barrels and immediately asked why he was unloading the ship instead of loading it.

“Gunpowder,” he lied smoothly. “It’s expired, lost its potency.”

The man reached down to check for himself before Yeosang blurted out, “Very dangerous! I wouldn’t do that.”

Hand halted mid-air, the worker nodded and stepped back so he could pass.

Just when he thought he was in the clear, Yeosang suddenly heard a loud coughing sound from below him, slightly muffled through the barrel boards.

“Juna!” He hissed. “Quiet!”

“What’s that?” One of the dockworkers called out.

Yeosang forced a smile and turned to face him.

“Nothing!” He coughed a few times into his elbow for good measure. “Just a little cough. This powder irritates my lungs, I had better get rid of it quickly.”

The port men waved him on again and Yeosang tried to relax, rolling the barrels as quickly as he could without looking more suspicious than he already was.

Yuma was excited to see they had company, and it was all Yeosang could do to keep everyone quiet and get them inside the cart before someone in the area got curious.

A few of the boys were arguing over space and pushing each other around so Yeosang stuck his head in to silence them and hurriedly attached the cart to a restless Yuma.

They turned onto the main path, leaving behind a field full of empty barrels, and set off for the Kang Estate.

Yuma wasn’t accustomed to pulling so much weight, so they took the slower but safer main road to Doljeon and past it. They would have to ride through the night, but it was better than getting lost in the woods with twenty-seven powder monkeys and no emergency supplies.

“Good work, Yuma,” Yeosang encouraged the horse, sitting back with the reigns in hand and listening to the boys converse quietly before they dropped off to sleep.

It was his responsibility to stay awake and keep them moving. He was their guardian now, however unqualified he felt for the position.

The sunset beckoned him and so he followed it.

...

San found himself sitting alone with blood coating his arms and the front of his shirt.

It wasn’t his, it was the men’s. One patient had turned into three, then seven, then the entire infirmary was his workspace and some of the men he treated were saved fast enough that they could go back into combat.

These Haemin soldiers weren’t well trained, but they were fighters. They could hit and run nearly as well as any pirate, and so thanks to their combined efforts, they had won this round.

Many had kept their lives, and San had kept his as well.

“Water.”

A voice behind him shook him out of his thoughts.

The translator stood there with a bucket of clean water for San to wash his hands with.

The surgeon took it gratefully and rinsed off the crimson stain, paying special care to his wrists, raw from their chains.

“I suppose you’ll be returning me to the prison deck?” San sighed. His work was done for now, all patients dead or in stable condition, and the attacking Navy ship had long retreated.

The translator nodded with a small frown and hauled him to his feet, escorting him back. If he didn’t know better, San would think the man felt sorry for him.

San wished, not for the first time, that the Navy was in the habit of taking prisoners. They could attack the ship and drag him away to a ship of the line he recognised. Then at least he’d have someone to talk to.

...

Jongho had to catch Yujin by the back of his collar and drag him to the fitness session. The pirate complained about needing to collect freshwater for the evening meal but Jongho would have none of it.

“We can’t just sit around drinking forever,” he told the gathered men in his most intimidating voice possible. “The Navy is building a garrison just up the beach and that means we need to be ready to face them or flee when they get close. Daehan, when’s the last time you even rigged the sails without Yunho here to tell you to?”

“Um... a month and a half ago?” The pirate coughed uncomfortably.

“Exactly,” Jongho snapped. “The time for being lazy slobs is over. I’m here to whip you all back into shape and prepare you for the fight of your lives. Because I may not see the future anymore, but I still know what’s coming, and you’re in no condition to stand a chance when it does.”

By the end of it they were all sweaty and gasping for breath, but the decks were spotless, the ship careened, the sails repaired, the guns shining and ready to be fired, and every man aboard had been drilled and drilled again in combat manoeuvres and self-defense.

Jongho took his work seriously, there was no question about that.

When finally Yujin was released to the longboats to row ashore, buckets in hand, his arms were so sore it took him twice as long as usual.

He finished his work quickly and prepared to leave, neglecting to check whether the beach was deserted or not.

That was his first mistake.

...

Panhang.

It was a place neither Hongjoong or Mingi had ever desired to speak about. It was a name that slipped through lips that were soaked in rum and loosened enough to reveal the past.

And it made Seonghwa curious enough to disembark when the men were marched out to the half-constructed garrison. Panhang was situated on a beautiful stretch of coastline and as the wind swept his hair, Seonghwa was hit with that same feeling that came over him in the market. Something reminiscent of his childhood, a desire to explore.

With a glance in the Admiral’s direction, Seonghwa concluded that he wouldn’t be missed if he went for a stroll down the beach and gathered his things.

Some money in case he got hungry, a change of clothes should it snow, and everything needed for his weapons. He never left those behind under any circumstances.

His wanderings took him far down the beach until the Black Crow and the lighthouse were out of sight and the distant arch of weathered rock jutting out from the cliffside had grown closer.

It was a little bit too far, and Seonghwa was considering going back or heading into town when the ocean breeze became a bit too cold for his loose clothing, but when he approached the arch something caught his eye.

There was a ship out there, barely visible from the beach except for from the specific angle at which he was standing.

It was the ATEEZ.

Emotions conflicted inside Seonghwa and squeezed his heart painfully.

There she was, the ship that he considered his home, the place that he had missed so much in his days at the palace— but at the same time, he knew every man aboard it was a traitorous snake, and the thought that they had all left Hongjoong to die at the first sign of trouble was a bitter one.

Sounds from the other side of the rock caught his attention and he drew his gun silently.

Someone was loading a longboat with freshwater and humming to himself carelessly.

Seonghwa could only see the back of the man’s head from where he hid, but it was enough. That was Yujin’s signature headband— it was him.

Before he lost his chance, Seonghwa jumped out from behind the arch and pointed his gun at the traitor.

Yujin squeaked and turned around, almost dropping a bucket of water.

Fire blazed in Seonghwa’s eyes and he pressed the barrel right up to the man’s forehead.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand.”

...

Taglist: @serendipityunho @celestial-yunho @atzjjongbby @89staytinyzen21

A/N: Wooooow hi everyone, I know this took awhile to get out but just FYI I’m going back to classes tomorrow so I can’t promise the updates to be any faster but, as always, I’ll be working on them :) Let me know what you thought!!

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