Tags: M/M, Guide/Original Character, Character Study, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Obsession, Possesiveness, Mutual Pining, Blood, Death, Angst, Horror
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chapter 2: i remember wanting to become a stone
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--
"He makes me uncomfortable." Maggie tells him, foot tapping and arms crossed, after he'd asked why she doesn't ask Kieran on how to brew healing potions. After all, he considers them the most skilled at brewing in general. As if a chill wind had blew into the clearing, she shivers where she stands next to him just outside of her home, the two of them admiring the fountain he's got half built in the center of their community.
"As a woman?" He asks.
She scoffs and pulls out her pack of cigarettes from her breast pocket. Taps it on the heel of her palm until a single cigarette comes out. He's seen her do this countless times now, so it comes as a surprise when it takes her not one, but several attempts for her lighter to give a steady enough flame. It must be running out of fluid. Or the flint is worn out.
"As a person." She clarifies. She takes a deep inhale before letting out the smoke and tapping the ash onto the grass. Catches the way he's frowning and got his eyes downcast and she sighs. "It's not because of anything he did, if that's what's got you so down. It's just-"
She thinks for a moment, visibly becoming more frustrated the more she tries to parse out exactly what she means. "-he's...unsettling."
At his incredulous expression she elaborates.
"Look, I'm not the only one who thinks so. Probably. Your friend- I don't know what to make of him. For all the staring I've done, I'm not even sure what he really looks like. There's something about him that doesn't want to be perceived. His face is dark. Shadowed. All I can make out are his cold, gray eyes."
He blinks, vaguely remembering that he too had been unable to see Kieran's face once upon a time. But that had been then and for whatever reason, he can see them now.
"I can see Kieran's face just fine." He tells her. Maybe he hadn't tried hard enough to see them when he'd first woken up.
Maggie quirks a brow, huffing in a way that's both curious and incredulous. "Oh, yeah? And how would you describe him?"
"For one, his eyes aren't cold. They're gray, you got that right, but they're warm. Like tempered steel." He says.
"Uh-huh. What else?"
He doesn't need to close his eyes and envision their face to accurately describe it. "He's got thick, straight brows. A straight nose. His face is pale like the rest of him. There's always these dark circles under his eyes, like he has trouble sleeping."
Now that he thinks about it, he's never seen Kieran sleep. The times that the two of them slept near one another or in the same bed, Kieran would be awake before him and would be awake as he fell asleep.
"His face is long and angular and he's always got this little smile on his face. Like a punctuation of his happiness, instead of an exclamation." He finishes.
Maggie gives him a look, cigarette abandoned entirely. "Didn't take you for a poet."
"I'm not?"
"Sure. Well, I guess it's reassuring to know that at least you can see them and there isn't something wrong with my eyes. I wouldn't look good with glasses." She says.
"Was it just his appearance that bothered you?" Truthfully, he's never seen the two of them interact other than a little nod or wave when they rarely crossed paths.
A shrug. "Sort of? I don't know the guy, not like you. But seeing as how I know you, I'll trust that you believe Kieran is a decent person."
It's not really comforting to know she only tolerates Kieran because of her friendship with him, but she doesn't look like she wants to talk about this further, so he drops it.
--
The rules of the Blood Moon are this: secure your home, remain vigilant, do not interact with others and above all else, do not go outside.
It has been agreed upon after the first Blood Moon, which had led to Edmund and Maggie being killed, as they had wandered out of their homes to smoke, thinking the worse would just be the regular zombies that skulked around.
Will had nearly died after antagonizing Iris for so long and so heavily that her hands had started to glow with magic that wasn't at all the buffing kind. People are their worst selves when the Blood Moon hits. Will is mean, irritable and single minded in their wants, which is as always, to fish. Maggie had watched as Edmund had been killed only a few feet away and continued smoking her cigarette.
Iris cries and cries angry tears, clearly mourning something, but lashing out at anyone that asks.
"What would you understand, made up of weak flesh and bone that you are?" She had said through gritted teeth.
Edmund, before having been killed, had rambled on and on endlessly, accusing people of stealing from him, and if not, wanting to steal from him.
He himself can realize how he'd been after the fact, but during, it truly felt like he had no control over himself; like his mind had been in a haze so thick he could cut through it.
He hadn't cared about how long the Blood Moon lasted or how he could better protect everyone. All he cared about was killing as many monsters as possible and taking their bloodied loot. He had seen Edmund die too, but had made no move to help them.
He still thinks about it.
As for Kieran, they were following the rules before they were even thought of. The first Blood Moon they had stayed in their home and no matter what, had not come out.
--
He exits his cabin one morning, hands full with the new quiver he's finished making over the course of a few days, the rich leather filled to the brim with arrows he had fletched himself. The sharp of the arrows were made from bone and infused with the frost-burn properties of the ice torches he's been bringing back home from his long treks towards the snow-topped mountains north of the clearing.
Testing the sharpness of the arrows with the tip of a finger had yielded in a bead of blood forming at the surface of his skin, the blood quickly freezing over and resembling more of a jewel then it did proof of his hurt. Not only had the blood frozen over, but gradually his entire finger had gone stiff and numb from the sheer cold that had settled into the marrow of his bones.
The quiver and arrows are, of course, not for himself. He prefers the flail and other melee weapons he's been collecting on his travels. He simply doesn't have the patience or the keen eye needed to knock an arrow and have it land where he desires. Making a beeline for Kieran's cabin just next door, he spots them standing where they usually do when they're about to do some gardening. He takes in the shape of their shoulders, the curve of their back, admiring, and speeds up his walking, a grin already on his face.
That grin falls from his face when he stops just by their side and sees that some of the terracotta pots have been smashed to shards and the plants inside have been trampled.
Kieran is staring down at the mess with an unreadable expression. Or is it a total lack of emotions he's seeing? Despite where the sun sits in the sky, the few locks of hair that fall over their eyes is enough to shadow most of their face. All at once he feels irritation take root in his chest. He moves the quiver to his left hand to free his right, and settles it on their shoulder.
"You put so much effort into growing those." He laments. "I'm sorry. What do you think did it? An animal? Or one of the monsters?"
"I'm not sure."
Not knowing the cause upsets him even more. He lowers to the ground and immediately starts piling the biggest chunks of terracotta in a pile to either be recycled or trashed.
"I think it must have been a monster." He says with a suck of his teeth. "The animals wouldn't do this- they're wary of your home. They must sense how good you are with a bow. Still, I'm sorry this happened. I can help you see if any of this is salvageable."
Kieran regards him from down their nose, eyes accentuated by the shadow across their face. After a moment of held eye contact, they lower to their knees. A single finger unfurls from their closed fist to point at some of the plants, specifically the roots.
"There's no saving this. The roots have been ruined. Even if we placed the plants in a new pot, there would be no new growth. Better to use the remains for fertilizer for the next batch." They explain to him calmly, although he can read a bit of disappointment in how their shoulders sit.
"I know, but it still bothers me. It takes weeks of you working hard to get these plants to grow and all of that work was wasted in a single night." He ducks his face, chewing on his bottom lip as he thinks.
Kieran rests their elbow on one knee, hand holding up their jaw. "What are you thinking of?"
"...About making you a greenhouse." He admits and when they blink, clearly surprised, he feels the need to explain himself. "A small one! Just so the chance of something like this happening again lessens."
"Between protecting us all from the monsters and expanding this community, I'd say you've got a lot on your plate already. I wouldn't want to add to that."
"I like being busy." He says, maybe sulking a little still. "And really, you put so much care into your garden. I know it makes you happy and I don't want that to be ruined. I'd like to do this for you."
Kieran does this thing sometimes after he's said something; they watch him, gaze intense enough to make him swallow hard and forget to breathe, and this close he thinks he can see a depth to their eyes he's missed. A few flecks of red in the otherwise gray pool that is their irises. It feels as if they're trying to see exactly what he's made of.
He wonders what they might see, if they could.
But as always, the intensity never lasts. The corners of their eyes crease and while Kieran is always close to smiling, today seems to be the day that they offer something brighter. Not quite a grin, but a bright smile, one with pearly, straight teeth.
His hands twitch with the need to do something. He's not sure what.
"Your kindness always blindsides me." They remark. "If you want to build me a greenhouse, I'd be a fool to turn down the offer. I'd like to help, though, if you let me."
He bumps their shoulders together. "Of course. With the both of us, it should be done in no time at all."
When the ruined plants have been scooped into a bucket for fertilizer and the shards of terracotta have been disposed of, he suddenly remembers why he had visited them in the first place.
"I nearly forgot! This is for you." He shrugs off the quiver and offers it to them. "Your other quiver was looking a little frayed. I can fix that too, but I thought having a second one would be good too." Although part of him wishes that they would solely use this quiver instead.
Kieran claps their hands of dirt before accepting.
He beams with pride as they inspect the gift. When they reach out with a single finger to drag the pad of it over the sharp point of an arrow, he watches as the blood blooms. Watches one corner of their mouth creep up into a satisfied smirk, before Kieran brings their finger to their mouth and sucks at the tip.
"...This is fine craftmanship." Kieran tells him after their finger slips from their mouth. He instinctively licks his own, very dry lips as they tilt their head up and lean it to one side curiously. "You're spoiling me. Why is that?"
"I'm not." He says immediately. "It's just, you're always there for me. Always teaching me things and making sure I'm okay." He lowers his face and stares at their boots. "I appreciate it. It means a lot to me, having you here."
More than he can say, really.
--
He stands in front of his forge long and often enough that even when his mind blissfully fades into the flow of the work, he doesn't make any mistakes- at least nothing dire. It's mostly that the details of what he's doing are now done from muscle memory instead of willful effort. When he clocks back in mentally, now fully aware of himself, he usually catches someone staring. Will stares at him the most whenever he's working on things outside. He gets how watching someone work could be interesting, but not more than a fishing trip to the lake, if Will was doing this out of boredom. Again, he thinks back to them maybe wondering about the origin story of each scar on his body, now that he was down to just his pants and an apron that was mostly rags now.
He thinks when the others stare, its because of the scars too, but sometimes he catches the demolitionist, Callahan, looking and they look away swiftly when caught, their heavily freckled face turning a few shades redder. He doesn't feel weird about them checking him out. He doesn't really feel anything about it- he's just trying not to die from heat exhaustion. So if Callahan glances at him far too often, or Iris pointedly stares at the scar around his neck, face minutely pinched in a scowl, or if Will's blue eyes flicker all over him, he can ignore it. Its background noise as much as the birds in the woods.
There's one kind of staring he can't ignore.
Kieran's uncanny ability to notice the exact moment they're stared at must be infectious, because it's Kieran's stare that has the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing on end and sends a chill down his spine.
He's never felt more noticed than when Kieran is looking at him and it's them that's staring at him right now. He doesn't need to turn around from his forge to confirm it's them, but he does. Kieran is knelt in the dirt, turned towards him as if meaning to say something, but they say nothing at all as he returns their stare.
They aren't at all trying to be discreet about the fact they had been looking up until now. It's times like these that he feels all too aware of his lack of shirt and the sweat in his hair. Of how his muscles flex.
Heart jumping into his throat, he grins like an idiot because he can't think of what to say, but Kieran isn't saying anything, so maybe silence is fine. He continues to work and Kieran watches and he thinks endlessly of what they're enjoying about this- the work, his scars, or maybe just him.
--
When one of them dies, they all feel it. It's like an announcement, some primordial voice informing each and every one of them that someone has been slain.
He hasn't gotten used to it.
As usual, it takes around a day for him to rematerialize as a person. He's not sure if that's the correct word to use- or if there is a word for dying and coming back over and over and-
He takes a deep breath and shakes the disorientation off his bones. Sheds the clothes and armor he'd died in. The sheets are torn off his bed as well. He doesn't want to rest in a dead person's sweat and grime. After a boiling hot shower, he redresses. Just in time too, because someone's knocking on his door.
It's no surprise that it's Kieran at his door. At their curious staring, he sighs and rolls up his shirt for them to see the scar just above his heart.
"The floor of the cave I was exploring gave out and I fell on some stalactites." He says while they slip inside and close the door. "One pierced right through my heart."
Kieran makes a soft sound, maybe a hum, before reaching out and tracing the scar with their fingers. He tries his best not to lean into the touch.
"I know what might help you." They say to him, smiling a little as he perks up. "The process of gathering the materials for it will be a pain, but not as much as the process of using them."
He rolls his shirt back down. "Yeah?"
Kieran nods before crossing their arms. "Above us, living in the clouds are remnants of a civilization that ruled the skies. There are, supposedly, homes left from that time and in those homes, relics. Treasures. Among those treasures seems to be the secret of flight."
He feels excitement course through his body like an electrical current.
"Are you saying I could fly?"
Another nod. "The ancient race living there were born with wings and hollow bones, but a potion can be made with the materials that could be found up there. If you bring me them, I'll brew the potion for you. But, I have to say, the process of growing wings will be painful."
Some of the excitement dulls, but ultimately, he's just as excited.
"What kind of pain are we talking?" He asks, biting his lip.
Kieran walks slowly around his kitchen table, eyeing the ink stained parchments and hasty chicken scratch.
"Most of the pain will be from your wings growing beneath your skin and then coming out, but you'll also feel an internal ache from your bones losing density to allow your weight to be carried by the wind. You'll need someone to care for you for a week. I'll do this for you, if you let me."
He considers what they've said.
"...When I die again, will I have to take another potion? Or will the wings become a permanent part of me?" He asks.
"The wings will become apart of you. When you die and return, the wings will be unblemished." Taking in his still uncertain look, Kieran continues. "It's a lot to consider- think on it."
The terrible part is that he's already made up his mind. The promise of soaring in the sky, the wind ruffling his hair- a pair of wings he's still deciding on how to imagine; it fills him with such thrill.
"I want to do it." He gives his full attention to them to say. "If you show me how, that is."
A prolonged stare, before a smile spreads across Kieran's lips. "I'll write down the things you'll need to find, but getting up there, however, is another problem entirely."
--
Through his travels, he's managed to find two gravitation potions and decides that with his current task at hand, he might as well pop the cork and give it a go. For a time, after the nauseating effects settle in, he does fly. Or is it more of a controlled fall, but upside down? Either way, he nearly throws up, but manages not to. Dying, however, he doesn't.
"I thought clouds were made of water." Is the first thing he tells Kieran after rushing out of his own home after his revival. Dying by crashing into solid cloud was definitely...unique.
Kieran stares at their front door he's got pushed all the way open, of how he stands under the threshold still dressed in ruined armor and clothes.
"They are..." Kieran agrees with a winding, cautious tone. "But the floating islands are special in that their clouds are corporeal. Like cotton, but wetter. You could use your grappling hook on one."
Despite the frustration of dying thirty seconds after using a gravitation potion, this tidbit of information does placate him enough that he tells Kieran thanks, leaves, and goes and grabs the other potion he has.
--
"You did it." Kieran says a day later when he returns victorious from another upside trip to the floating isles. Their gray eyes study the wooden box he'd found under one of the beds in the floating islands. Inside the box, a lace handkerchief filled with white feathers. "Let me give you a healing potion for your efforts."
He grins, bloody, because his nose is broken from his landing back to solid ground which had only been buffered because he'd been using a harpy as collateral damage. Accepting the potion, he winces and shudders as his broken bones realign.
Kieran takes the box from him and inspects the feathers.
"It'll take me a day or so, but I'll have the potion ready for you." They say.
"Thanks." He grins. "Oh! And here, I found these books. I thought you might want them, even if you might not be able to read them." He pulls out his piggy bank and retrieves the small stack of books. Offers them.
Kieran's eyes widen with fascination. "These are nearly in pristine condition. I thought the moisture in the clouds would mold the parchment." They stop pacing to eye him. "And yes, I can read them."
"Really? That's incredible- what do they say?" He asks.
Kieran walks over to him and settles at his side. They lean the open book towards him and point at a specific chunk of letters that are under an illustration. "This one is describing a beast that lives in the clouds and terrorizes the other inhabitants. A wyvern."
The illustration to him looks like a mixture of a snake and a dog if he's honest. One that's been stretched out to absurd lengths.
"I didn't see anything like that up there. Do you think it disappeared like the people?" He turns to ask and his breath catches when he realizes just how close the two of their faces are.
The knowing smile Kieran gives him makes his heart beat as much as it makes him break out into a cold sweat.
"After your wings grow in, you can explore more of the islands and find out for yourself." Kieran says.
He ducks his face down and huffs a laugh. "Fair enough. I was planning on doing that anyway. I want to learn more about what the houses up there are made of. They're not like anything I've ever seen."
"Planning on moving up there?" Kieran asks, clearly joking, but he still feels upset anyways.
"Of course not!"
"Are you certain?" They ask again, humming, and he rolls his eyes and walks over to the fireplace.
"Just visiting the floating islands is nice enough. I wouldn't want to live there." He clarifies with no signaling. "I'd miss you."
"Is that you're only reason for staying down here with us earth kin?"
"No," He answers. "But it's the most important one. Also, if that thing does exist, I don't want to deal with it and the harpies every time I roll out of bed."
--
After three days, Kieran enters his home with a glass bottle in hand, the contents of which are golden like ichor.
"You won't feel much the first day of taking it, aside from nausea. A fever will take over on the second day and that's when the difficulties will arise. The fever will be the worst you've experienced as your wings start to gestate underneath your skin. As days pass, you'll only be able to sleep on your front as the entirety of your back will be swollen and the skin pulled taut as the wings come to the surface." They explain.
There's a sort of peace from knowing exactly what will happen, even if it's terrible.
"Your wings will need to be cleaned and helped out of your body. After two weeks, your wings should be fully ready for flight. That's two weeks of bedrest." They make point of the last bit.
The way he's worrying his bottom lip with his teeth must be interpreted as a sign of being unsure, as Kieran sets the potion on the table and rests a hand on his shoulder.
"You don't have to take it." Kieran reminds him.
"I'm not having doubts. It's just- I'll be out of commission for a while, right? I'm worried about something happening while I'm recovering. I'd hate for someone to get hurt because I wanted to do something selfish like this." He sighs.
As firmly as the hand on his shoulder, Kieran tells him, "Whatever you choose to do with your body is not selfish."
He looks down. Slips his hand over theirs.
"I'm still worried. Do you think I should fortify things a little more?" He asks.
"If anything happens, I'll do my best to keep everyone safe."
"I'm already asking so much of you-"
Startling, he finds Kieran now standing in front of him, the handful of inches in their height gap certainly making their loom far more intense than it has any right to be.
"I'd like nothing more than to help anyway I can."
He nods, feeling dizzy and he has to force himself to stop looking at their pale lips.
Kieran backs away and like magic he can breathe again. The smile on their face is thoroughly satisfied. He watches them walk over to the table, and pick up the potion before removing the cork and offering it to him.
He accepts it and takes an experimental sniff. The carbonation is a surprise. The potion smells sharp like brass and there's a foul sweetness to it. Smelling it won't do him any good, so he tips his head back and empties the bottle. Wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
"You're right." He says after a tic. "I don't feel anything. It feels weird to drink a potion and not have anything immediately happen."
Kieran takes the empty bottle from him and sets it down on their work desk. "You could compare it to being bitten by a small, venomous spider. You don't notice the pierce of it's fangs or that it had even struck, until all at once you're on the ground convulsing."
"Or inhaling noxious fumes that smell no different than regular air and ending up coughing up an organ or two." He adds with a laugh.
"I forgot to ask," Kieran says. "Where did you want to be taken care of? My home or yours?" And they eye the chaotic organization around his place.
"It'll be easier for me to bring over clothes to your place than it will be for you to bring all your supplies here. Can I stay with you?" He asks.
"I'd prefer if you did. Tonight, you can sleep in your own bed. It'll be the last time you can for some time."
--
He sleeps soundly through the night, only waking up here and there when his stomach gurgles ominously. By dawn, he's drenched in sweat. He should grab some clothes before heading over to Kieran's, but as he sits up the world begins to spin. There's a knock on his door and he half mumbles, half shouts something intelligible even to himself. Kieran stands in his doorway, a sympathetic look on their face.
"Perfect timing, I suppose." They say in greeting. "Let me help you up." He's lifted to his feet and settled into a chair. "I'll gather your spare clothes. Anything else?"
In his mildly delirious state, he wants his flail. Or his armor. He ends up shaking his head.
"Alright. I'll make sure to secure your house when we leave."
He can't process the passing of time. One moment, he's in his house, the other, he's suddenly standing in the middle of Kieran's, watching them set his clothes on top a dresser.
"I told the others you were going to be ill for a while." Kieran says. They walk over and lead him to the bed. "They wished you a speedy recovery and promised to stay vigilant."
It's the last thing he processes before falling totally and utterly asleep.
The first day of staying at Kieran's place is just as much of a blur as arriving there. He vaguely remembers Kieran wiping the sweat off his face with a cool, damp cloth. Remembers them brushing his sweat slicked hair out of his eyes. At some point, there had been soup. Before all this, he had meant to ask where they'd be sleeping. It's a question he doesn't remember until late at night when the sheets are being tucked around him. He tries to ask the question to Kieran, hoping they would understand what he means, but all he manages to offer is their slurred name.
"I'm here." Kieran assures him and he feels them squeeze his hand.
He falls back asleep.
--
The second day is similar to the first, although he's less out of it now that the pain is creeping in. Maybe it's because the pain is manifesting that he can think clearly. Kieran is by his side most of the time and only leaves to check on the others, wash his sweat soaked clothes and borrowed lines, or prepare food. He sleeps a lot, but it isn't pleasant or restful. The third day, he awakes to a searing kind of pain. He rolls off his back and onto his stomach. The motion nearly makes him upend his guts.
"I need to take off your shirt." Kieran, suddenly there, informs him. He sits up and with some help, the two of them get his shirt off. Moving his arms and shoulders steals a hiss from him. Kieran instructs him to lay back down on his stomach.
"Your back is starting to swell. It'll continue to swell for a few days. I'm afraid the pain will only get worse from here on out." He hears them say before he feels a dip in the bed. He groans into the pillows, red hair slicked onto his forehead. Kieran slips a hand into his hair, uncaring of the sweat, and soothingly plays with his hair until he relaxes against the bed.
Everything still hurts, but it feels nice.
He doesn't sleep, in so much as he keeps his eyes clenched shut and stays as still as possible in hopes time will pass as it would if he was able to sleep.
--
Days three and four are equally as terrible.
--
On the fifth day, the pain comes to a threshold he though he had reached previously. He'd clearly been mistaken. His back feels like it's on fire; like someone is jabbing very fine, red hot needles into his muscles.
"Tomorrow your wings will start to breach." Kieran tells him from where he thinks is their work desk. It hurts too much to try and look over his shoulder.
"How long will it take for them to come out?" He turns his face away from the cradle of his arms so he's not muffled.
"A few hours. I'll need to wash them after, which won't be pleasant."
He makes a noise in the back of his throat at that. From behind him, he hears Kieran set something down before walking towards the bed.
"How does my back look?" He asks.
"It's bruised black and purple." Kieran remarks and it steals an agonized laugh out of him. "Where your wings will breach are extremely swollen. I don't know how else to describe it without being gorey."
"I don't mind the gore if you don't."
Kieran audibly considers that before continuing. "The swollen parts look like how your skin would if burned to the point of blistering- but without the blisters bursting. The skin is stretched out almost to a fine film. When you move, I can see the blood pooled underneath ripple."
"...You're really good at painting a picture." He breathes against the pillow. "I'm going to ruin your bed tomorrow, aren't I?"
"You are."
--
He doesn't wake up on the sixth day because he never went to sleep. How could he, when the pain was scalding and sharp and doesn't relent for a single moment? He calls out for Kieran frantically, unable to even writhe in pain without causing himself more suffering.
"I'm awake." He hears Kieran say from somewhere. "I'm getting things prepared."
He breathes hard and hot against the pillow he's got his face buried in. He hears the scrape of wood as Kieran drags a chair over to the bed from the table. He can make out a basin of water, dozens of cloths and a handful of healing potions. He fixates on how Kieran's forearms looked with the sleeves of their shirt rolled to the elbow.
"I can't give you the healing potions until your wings have come out completely, otherwise it'll keep sealing the exit wound back up." Kieran explains with gentle firmness.
He nods, breath catching a little as yet another new sensation starts up. Something feels like it's pushing out of his skin. It feels exactly like a knife cutting through him and then twisting and it's the kind of pain that makes him frenzied and unable to react any more coherently than a rabid animal. He sinks his teeth into his hand in a desperate attempt to distract himself from the far worse pain on his back. The spilling of blood down his back is ticklish in the way that bugs crawling into his ears would be.
In the background of all the noise he's making, he can hear Kieran speaking soft, calming things as they gently wipe away at the blood.
His hand is pulled out of his mouth, not without some fight, but he settles down back when another hand slots against his teeth. He should be concerned about that, but he can't think. All he can do is bite down on this small anchor in this sea of discomfort.
Inch by grueling inch, his wings peek out of the bloodied rift in his back. He's been crying for a solid minute now, and once he's started he finds he really can't stop. Just how much was left under the surface at this point? What did his skeleton look like now with this brutal new addition?
He blacks out at some point.
Awakening later, he still finds Kieran seated by the bed and working diligently. He can't really see, face smushed into the pillow and unable to move, but he can the water that bloodied cloths are rinsed in. Noticing him awake, Kieran does something, probably dry off their hands, because they lean forward and cup his forehead with one. He leans into the touch eagerly.
"Your wings are out." They tell him.
He does notice a significant weight to his back now and the alien feeling of something else now being attached to him.
"You did very well. That was the worst of the pain and you overcame it. Now all that's left is to heal."
"How do they look?" He asks nervously.
"They won't look like much until after they've been cleaned and the feathers fully grow in."
He hopes he doesn't look as disappointed as he feels.
"I'm certain they'll be beautiful." Kieran assures him and he perks up a little. "Here, let me help you take a healing potion. You'll need one every couple of hours."
He lifts his head- it's all he can do while Kieran does the work of supporting his chin with one hand and feeding him the potion with the other.
Afterwards, he enjoys the small relief of some of the pain dissipating. The feeling of Kieran cleaning is wings is...odd. It stings like touching a decayed tooth with the tip of his tongue and he cant help but hiss the first few times they touched him. It takes several changes of water, but after another hour his wings are deemed clean.
Just in time, as the healing potion has made him drowsy and he's close to knocking out.
--
The next few days are exhausting, but he'd take that over the pain from the other day.
Kieran tends to his wings religiously, washing them and his back and applying soothing salves near the rifts they had sprouted from. He's given a healing potion every hour and change and is given water and tea even more frequently. All of his meals are high with meat, cooked rare and coupled with leafy vegetables.
"You lost a significant amount of blood." Kieran tells him while they help him sit up to eat. He has to sit up on bent knees in the middle of the bed so his wings don't bump into anything. It's probably the worst way to enjoy a meal, which is a shame because Kieran's cooking is great.
He has enough strength that he could feed himself, but Kieran insists on feeding him so he doesn't protest.
"And a good amount of my bones. How does that even work?" He asks after a mouthful.
"The world is strange and unknowable." Kieran says to him with a twinkle in their eye and he barks out a laugh that hurts. "I imagine that your bones...shed? From the inside out. The destroyed bone would be reabsorbed in the form of calcium and redistributed in your body."
"That's as bizarre as it is fascinating."
Most, if not all of the things in his life can be explained as such.
--
During another session of cleaning, one that he's completely awake for, he turns to peek at Kieran from over his shoulder. "Do my wings look better yet?"
"Yes. The feathers are starting to grow in and the blood is finally fading."
Foolishly, he tries to move out of excitement and it causes Kieran's hand to bump into his still raw and sensitive wings.
"Settle down." Kieran says firmly and he flattens back against the bed.
"What color are they? White?" He asks. The feathers used in the potion had been white, so he had just assumed his own wings would be too.
"No," Kieran sounds a little short of breath as they answer. "They're charcoal gray- like a rain cloud." And they must hunch near him, because they speak into his ear. "I told you they would be beautiful."
He's sure they see by his eyes that he's grinning, but he still feels the need to hide his face in the pillows to conceal just how pleased he is.
--
Two weeks of recovery on the dot is when he's allowed to roam as he pleases, wings now fully grown out and healed. He's studying them now with the help of a hand mirror- Kieran's house is devoid of mirrors. His wings are nearly the same height as him, starting at his shoulder blades and the tips ending just past the curve of his calves.
They are beautiful. Gray and soft with feathers the same reticulated tiers as a predator bird.
The second thing he does after admiring himself in the mirror is pull Kieran into a bone crushing hug. He even hefts them up a little as he twirls them, their feet dangling.
"That was hell to experience! I can't imagine how tired you must be after tending to me for days on end." He doesn't mean to say it into their neck, but his mouth just kind of wavers there.
Kieran slips their arms around him to return the hug, flats of their hands brushing against his wings. It feels like debris being caught on his eyelash.
"You did very well." Kieran tells him and he stands up a little straighter. Burns a little brighter.
Slipping out of the hug, he asks, "Do you think I could carry you while I flew? You aren't that heavy."
"I think at best, you'd be able to glide with me."
"Oh." He frowns.
"It's alright." Kieran says to him. "Watching you discover flight will be rewarding enough." And they reach out to touch his wings again. "I'll still need to show you how to preen and maintain your wings. It'd be a shame to let them be a mess."
He had nearly forgotten about that part. What he'd forgotten too was the dark red and purple bruising on the meat of Kieran's left hand. There's indentations befitting of a human. Without thinking, he grabs their hand in both of his own.
"That looks terrible." He says, gliding a finger across the crescent indentations of his own teeth. "I'm sorry- I wasn't even really mentally there when I did this."
Kieran stills under his hold. "...It's alright. You were in pain."
He huffs a little at that. "So it's okay to make you hurt too? Come on, let me grab you a potion."
"I'd prefer if it healed on its own."
Very much like the wild dogs he's encountered, he quirks his face to the side as he considers what they've just told him. The thing is, he can recognize this as something that stands out, something that should be questioned. But he doesn't open his mouth to question it. For whatever reason, Kieran wants this wound to heal the old fashioned way.
Scars can represent things, he knows, but he can say extremely honestly that there was nothing represented by the majority of the scars on his body except his own lacking in certain skillsets. But the one on his neck? That represents a lot; it means a lot. It's the only scar so far that he's got a sort of affection for. While Kieran shares a scar on their wrist from the same encounter, it was done by themselves. The bite was very much done by himself. Thinking about how both scars sit on the same arm is captivating.
In his deep thinking, he hadn't realized he'd been staring at Kieran and that they had been returning the stare without falter, not even seeming to be breathing.
"Sure!" He says an entire two minutes late. "You're going to clean it at least, right?"
--
The sun has just set when the clearing becomes visible from his vantage point in the sky. He'd spent all day mining and while a pain to carry what felt like several tons of raw ore, he knows he'll be glad to upgrade some of his equipment. The wooden posts hung with oil lanterns and the patches of sunflowers here and there all greet him with a charming glow. He stops flapping his wings and starts to glide down.
Spots Will seated at the fountain he'd built in the middle of their small community, kicking their legs back and forth as they listen to the arms dealer, Khalid, and Maggie talk about something or another. Weeks ago, he associated the feeling of coming home with the exact sound of the singular gate being locked and unlocked as he slipped inside the cobblestone fence. Now, its gliding down on a breeze either to stutter to a halt right in front of Kieran, who waits for him to return outside of their home more often than not, or to scoop up Will by surprise until they're yelling at him.
Seeing as how Kieran is seemingly inside their home and Will is seated and by now has already spotted him, he gives up on the theatrics and just lowers to the ground into a casual gait. Before he's even halfway to the fountain, Will turns away from Khalid, eyebrows furrowed with concentration, and upon catching his approaching figure, the boy hops from their seat and starts to run over to him.
Will stops running just as soon as they had started, seemingly embarrassed. Underneath his helmet, he grins.
"About time you got back." Will fusses at him when the two of them meet. From behind Will, he offers a nod and a wave to Maggie and Khalid.
"Had to make sure I was stocked up on raw materials." He says. "Annnnd, I also stopped by the beach for these." He pulls his satchel off, digs inside and offers Will a cork jar full of shells. "I wanted to make sure I got the best looking shells. What do you think?"
Will accepts the jar which is large enough they need to hold it with both hands. They hold it up to their face, practically smushing their eye against the glass.
"Decent." Will answers. "Next time we'll pick them out together. I'll show you where you can find the really good ones."
"Looking forward to it." He reaches out with his right hand, mindful of the clawed tips of his gauntlets and pats their shoulder. Before, when he had done this Will had tore into him; face flushed and hands balled into fists. It might be that he's come bearing gifts that Will accepts his affection, but a hopeful part of him thinks they might just be warming up to him finally.
"You missed dinner." Will grumbles. He doesn't miss how they quickly peek at his hand on their shoulder before returning to glaring at his chest plate.
"Yup. I'm starving."
Will crosses their arms and then opens their mouth- to what, he isn't sure. Whatever they meant to say, it's interrupted by the deepest growl he's ever heard. The noise makes the blood drain from Will's face, their body frozen and their eyes wide. All the amiable chatter around the clearing dies and a tension pervades the air.
"Go inside." He says once, loud and firm enough to be heard by the handful of people outside. One by one as his eyes scan the perimeter, people slip into their homes. Will's tree house is on the other side of the village so he walks with them, making sure to keep a hand on their shoulder.
He catches them looking at him a few times, mouth hung open with trepidation. He squeezes their shoulder lightly.
A branch snaps and he feels his breath still. Turning around quickly, flail in his right hand, he sees by the fountain a hulking beast with warm, chestnut fur and black nailed claws. Doglike in appearance, but bipedal. It stands at what he guesses seven feet. Instead of just fur on the back of its head and scruff, there's a mane of thick, red hair a few shades lighter than his own.
Red eyes make contact with him. He doesn't like how intelligent they are.
"Zach," Will starts, voice cracking.
"It's alright." He interrupts, slipping an arm around their waist and bending at the knees. He jumps into flight and flaps his wings hard. The beast breaks out into a spring on all fours and makes a stuttering jump. He's thankfully too high up already.
He makes a beeline to Will's tree house and gently sets them down on the porch before pulling up the rope ladder.
"Go inside and lock up. I'll let you know when it's safe." He says, practically crowding them until they have no choice but to head inside.
For once, Will doesn't protest and slips inside. He doesn't fly away until he hears the dead bolt latch and a bookshelf be pushed to barricade the door. Through the corner of the window, peeks Will's worried face. The beast is waiting at the bottom of Will's tree house, looks ready to climb it so he flies low enough to tease it into swiping at him in order for it to change targets. He leads it back to the fountain and plans on leading it back out of the village, or he had been, when he's barely made it to the fountain when the thing makes a jump for him again. He had felt a claw catch on the metal of his grieves.
He might just have to kill this thing inside the village, despite how badly he'd rather not.
Swinging his flail, he sends it down to the earth with the force of a cannon ball. It strikes the beast on the shoulder and the thing howls. He repeats the strike a few times, flying overhead in circles, but when he manages to catch the beast in the back, his flail knocking out another shrill howl, it doesn't lash out wildly. Instead, it grits through the pain and catches the chain of his flail with its too human hands.
Even if he didn't have hollow bones, the strength behind the sudden pull that tugs him from his spot and has him leaping before crashing into the grass leaves him stunned. Pushing up from the grass, he bends one knee to start getting up only to be greeted by the sight of the beast running towards him. As it draws nearer, the smell of wet fur and he thinks pine sap mingles with the pervading tinge of blood. It's left claw reaches out and swipes at his wing and steals a shout from him. Feathers float aloft in the drift stream of his quick lunge away from the beast and as he attempts again to stand to his feet he slips the dagger off his thigh and tightens his palm around the hilt. It's a tense dance the two of them are doing- circling around each other like vultures fending for a meal.
He should really get back into the air but with one of his wings shredded he doesn't think he'll get more than a few feet in the air before he's caught like a bird in a cat's mouth. The second he takes his eyes off the beast will also be the exact moment it lunges for him- so he takes the chance and lunges first.
He ducks low to avoid any sudden swipes at his head and sinks the dagger deep into it's ribs. The beast howls and snaps its jaws at him but instead of backing off all he manages to do is piss the thing off more. Sensing a sudden spike in bloodlust, he tries to push back with the help of his wings but the beast curls in on itself before ambling towards him.
The beast, all two hundred and something pounds of it sits on top of him and pins him to the ground. Without even letting him process the fact that one of his ribs definitely cracked from the impact of hitting the ground so hard, the beast starts raking its claws down his front. The sound of its claws catching against the iron of his metal works like alarm bells in his brain. Despite the frenzy in which the beast attacks him, it manages to tear of his helmet, nearly taking his head with it and its claws catch one side of his face and blinds him in his left eye and nearly the other with the sheer amount of blood now flooding his face.
If he can't get up he's dead.
He crooks one arm over his face to shield away from the worst of the blows and grits his teeth and bares it as he reaches out for the dagger still tucked into the beasts' ribs. With as much force as he can muster he butts the heel of his palm against the hilt and pushes the dagger in deeper.
The shock of pain is enough to make the beast stop attacking for a moment and thankfully a moment is all he needs to kick out from underneath it and flap his wings hard enough he's propelled a few feet away from it. Even has spare time to ready his flail. By the time the beast has landed its sights on him again he's standing as full height as he can without fully breaking the cracked rib he's been given. He twirls his flail to gather momentum as he waits for the beast to lunge but the sound of a door opening sounds off in the night like a stick of dynamite. With horror, he sees behind the bulk of the beast that Kieran is rounding the corner of their home with their bow and quiver drawn.
For a confusing moment the beasts' tail and ears flatten and it makes a pitiful sound as if scared. Slowly, or maybe he's only seeing it slower because he's taken a beating, the beast turns half at the middle to regard Kieran from where they stand a few yards off.
He's not going to stand there and wait until the beast finds its confidence again. He swings the flail hard and fast and sends it soaring towards the nape of their neck where the chain loops around their throat. In satisfying succession the chain coils taut just under the beasts' jaw and the spiked ball crashes into its muzzle.
As the beast brings up both arms to try and yank the chain, Kieran sends an arrow plunging into its back. There isn't enough distance between Kieran and the beast for the arrow to have gained momentum to pierce through the bone and muscle guarding its heart, but the hit works efficiently enough as an annoying distraction. Whatever fear it had of Kieran is quickly replaced by whatever is fueling this frenzy in the first place and he curses as it lunges towards them.
He is not going to have a repeat of the first night.
He braces his feet into the dirt and begins to pull the slack of the flail's chain taut around his arm. The beast makes a choking sound and abruptly stops their movement, stunned, before whipping around and yanking him towards it by sheer force. Back on top of him, it starts to lash at his face again. No matter how little is left of his face, he doesn't let go of the chain around their throat and only continues to squeeze harder. The thing about a wild animal is that it never dies easy.
It isn't until its red eyes start to roll back into its head and the gripping, flesh and blood caked claws ceased their movement that relief washes over him. Dead, the beast slumps on top of him; marginally heavier now in stillness. He doesn't have the strength to push it off him. It doesn't really matter- he's going to bleed out in a minute and follow the beasts' death by the curtails. Despite essentially being blind, his hearing isn't all that great at the moment. All he can really hear is his own heavy breathing and the concerning rattle that chases it-
And footsteps in the grass.
He can't see, but he feels a shadow fall over him. He's not sure how, but the beast is pulled off of him. While the freedom is nice, he still can't move. Oddly enough, he feels cold too.
A hand, cold and calloused slips into his hand. He squeezes it and starts to say Kieran's name, or tries to but all that comes out is a weak, bloody gurgle.
"I'm here," Kieran says and it sounds like they're shushing him. "We're all safe thanks to you."
He relaxes.
Kieran's hand tenses and he learns why when another set of footsteps approaches.
"Will." Kieran warns and at the mention of the boy, he tries to speak, the need urgent. Will shouldn't see him like this; gored and dying. He squeezes Kieran's hand desperately, hoping they can understand what he's thinking. The shadow over him feels closer now and he feels the fabric of Kieran's shirt against his face.
"Is-is he dying?" Will asks with a waver in their voice.
"Yes." And immediately after answering, Kieran sighs and speaks again, this time softer. "It's alright. He'll be here with us again soon. You don't need to see him pass."
He makes a sound in the back of his throat and Kieran whispers for him to rest.
So he does.
--
The next morning, in bed, he awakes in bloodied and ruined armor. And animal furs. He slips everything off and leaves it in a pile. Changes the sheets on his bed before taking a much needed bath. Once dressed, he slips out of his home and nearly hits Will, who's crouched just outside of his home.
Lifting their face from the cradle of their arms, Will looks up at him with red rimmed eyes and rushes to their feet. When he opens his arms, offering, Will hesitates like they tend to when it comes to receiving any kind of physical affection, but when he smiles it seems to knock whatever concern they have and the boy crashes into him. He sucks in a sharp breath at the impact, laughing a little, and slips his arms around them.
The front of his shirt is getting damp with tears, but he won't comment on it.
"Miss me?" He asks, just a few shades pleased, and Will balls their hands into fists into his shirt and further hides their face.
"Shut up."
--
"Everyone's being strange today." He says firstly to Kieran as they move aside to let him into their home. As usual, it's only when the door has been closed that Kieran speaks a word.
"It's one thing to hear that someone will protect you," Kieran starts, walking over to their work desk and tapping a finger against the wood in thought. "-it's another thing entirely to see it."
He takes a seat at the table, slipping into the chair that's basically his, seeing as how Kieran never deviates from the one nearest to the door.
"But they can always see me." He says. He's even caught a few of them peeking out a window at night while he strikes down the undead.
Kieran picks up a bushel of dried daybloom and starts to meticulously pluck the petals off with their fingers with practiced ease. "Last night was different- it was the first time they saw you die while protecting them." A small amount of the petals are slipped into the mortar and pestle and ground loosely.
It starts to sink in just how awful the fight had been to see. He's glad Will didn't get to see too much of the aftermath.
"The second, for you." He can't help but remark.
Kieran grows eerily still.
"It wasn't any easier the second time." He hears them say. Slowly, Kieran sets everything aside and walks over to the table to stand near him. Looking up, he finds that their eyes are shadowed by the hair that falls into their face. Kieran's right hand reaches out and touches the new scar just under his jaw; three jagged lines over his jugular. "I have a feeling it won't by the hundredth."
He dips his face down and swallows a breath before closing his eyes.
"I'm sorry." He says. "But I'd rather it be me. Every time."
It doesn't hurt to admit it, given it's the truth, but he still feels on edge as he speaks it aloud. Why did most things that he felt feel this way? Like he was failing some great test or always just off the mark.
Kieran takes their hand off his neck.
"I know."