Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Brador looks down at his hands, holding his knife covered in blood. The beast that consumed Laurence from the inside out lays before him, staring with dead, bare, bloodshot eyes. The beast's heart is oozing with blood, and the First Vicar's golden pendant lays atop of it. The blood is still warm, soaking into his clothes, and the flayed fur.

Brador doesn't remember what just happened, but one thing is for certain: He could not find Laurence within the beast. Laurence could not be saved. The beast's hide is around his shoulders, heavy and dripping in viscera.

Laurence is dead.

It should have been him, not Laurence.

Brador always took on the burden, whatever Ludwig couldn't do in the light of the Vicar. The dirty work. The underground. That's just how it's always been.

So if anything, it should have been Brador to fall to the scourge.

"Brador…"

Brador turns to the side. It's Ludwig, backed into a corner, covered in Laurence's blood and clutching his blade. Brador can't recall when Ludwig came, or if he was there the entire time.

"What… what have you done? He was already dead!" Ludwig trembles. "Brador, look at me!"

Brador does, tears in his eyes. "I…"

Then there's another scream. A doctor of the Church points at the scene, clambering for his cane and knives.

In another universe, Ludwig was never there to bring Brador back to reality. Brador would have turned himself in and continued to serve the Church in his secluded cell. But not in this one, the paranoia pumping through his veins overtakes any rationale and clear thinking. He's certain they will execute him for killing the Vicar, though it was out of a place of mercy. They wouldn't understand. Not even Laurence understood his love.

He needs to get out of here. Brador picks up his Bloodletter and makes a mad dash for it. Shouts and screams follow him as church guards notice the commotion.

But where is he going to go? The Healing Church has rooted itself everywhere.

Options race through Brador's head as he flees Cathedral Ward. Hemwick? The residents there would certainly burn him at the stake. What about the Forbidden Woods? He wouldn’t survive. There's one place, isolated, and long abandoned even by the Church, where he could take refuge. Not even hunters go down there, for it is supposedly completely empty. They will never find him.

----

Brador finds himself beneath another Cathedral, one that was built over Old Yharnam, sealing away the supposed scourge. There's a note on the doors.

"This town is long abandoned. Hunters not wanted here."

At least this assures no one will be around, perhaps the Church left the note there. But Brador is exhausted. He can't find the strength to push the doors open, so he wraps the hide around himself and slumps into a corner. There's a strange comfort in it; The hide of the man who he owes his entire life to is snug around him. The man who saved him from the gallows, who provided him with food, shelter, and a purpose.

And yet, Laurence was always out of reach. Even now with his literal skin around his shoulders, Laurence is distant. Always using Brador for his own purposes. Only giving him love and praise when needed. To keep him compliant.

And Brador was alright with that, if it means coming closer to Laurence. He always wanted more, but he knew his place well.

But now he is alone. He is without his guiding light. He was always afraid it would come to this, but the reality truly sets in now.

First it was Saint Adeline, or Addy as Brador called her. She had died, still strapped down for experimentation, her warmth faded as Lady Maria held her hand. Saint Adeline was a ray of sunshine in the Research Hall, and Brador looked forward to talking to her. She had such a different outlook than the others, she was as interesting as she was sweet.

Not even a week after Saint Adeline's passing, Lady Maria took her own life. The toll of grief that had piled on for months atop of the guilt- the guilt of the Fishing Hamlet Massacre- was her cause of death. It guided her blade to her wrists, then her throat. She was Brador's best friend, a real bitch to balance his ego. They drank together, often, and Brador taught her a wide vocabulary of vulgarities.

Then Gehrman. He disappeared shortly after Lady Maria's death. Laurence downright refused to explain what happened to him. It's a shame, for he was a kind and empathetic man, always noticing the little things in others. Even through Brador's smiles and laughter, Gehrman could notice the pain. Brador almost hated him for that, but he could never turn his back on him.

Then Micolash, that mischievous and intelligent rascal, ran off. He took every bit of knowledge he had gained from the Research Hall without so much as a goodbye to Laurence. He's up to something, and Brador can no longer trust him, but Brador will miss his smile and the energy he brought to every room. But even more so, he'll miss the pranks they planned together.

Then finally, Ludwig. The horror in his eyes was unmistakable. Brador is sure that the knight will lob his head off no question. Ludwig was Laurence's right hand, the face of the Church hunters, Laurence's lover, and now… well, Ludwig was always the protective kind, even to Brador. To everyone except Laurence and Gehrman, he was like an older brother.

Brador hugs himself with a sob. Everyone who has ever loved him is gone.

He remembers every waking moment he had with them, especially with Laurence. His heart aches for them and his mind races. What would they think if they found out he had mutilated Laurence? Would they still love him then?

His thoughts spiral, focusing on the image of Laurence's dead body, the splayed hide and flesh. He can still feel the warm meat, bloodied, on his hands. It was not fitting for Laurence to be slaughtered like that. No, Laurence deserved better than that. He deserved better than Brador. Brador curls against the wall, hiding against the cold brick walls. Though, nothing could possibly hide him from the guilt. He's unworthy. He's worthless, without Laurence he is nothing. There is no point in existence anymore, because he-

"Aw…" A masculine, slightly raspy voice says. "What are you doing here, little guy?" Sunlight peers into the room. Someone has opened the doors of Old Yharnam from the other side.

What? Brador snaps his head up out of his thoughts.

"Hey, you can come on in, it's safe here."

"..." The sudden change in atmosphere, as well as someone talking to him, brings Brador right back to reality. He remains by the wall, still facing it.

"Pspspspsps." Then the mysterious man whistles, beckoning Brador like a dog.

Genuinely, Brador has never been more confused in his life. Now this interaction is all that's in his head now.

"Shy? Well, you can take your time then. It's ok, little guy." The tone is one would use to speak to a frightened puppy. The doors creak again, but they remain slightly ajar. Whoever just called him a 'little guy' has left.

A thousand thoughts race through Brador's mind. Does that guy come from Old Yharnam? Didn't the whole place burn down and everyone in it eradicated? Sure, he's heard some rumors that a handful of Powder Kegs stayed behind, but how could they survive after the burning? He assumed they would all be dead after the years... And what does he mean by safe?

The man comes back after a few minutes and Brador hears something slide halfway across the room. Then the doors close.

Brador doesn't do anything for several more minutes just to be sure the man has left. He sits up and turns around to see what was slid over.

It's a piece of raw meat. Specifically, a piece of raw meat from a giant rat, misshapen by the scourge. It's an entire back leg, complete with the paw still attached. Brador gags.

----

Another day must've passed. Brador has not moved from his spot. He's still mulling over what he did, or how it happened.

He remembers walking into the Cathedral that Laurence resided in. He saw Laurence hooked up to IVs with experimental blood. Then, Laurence began to scream. Brador took out his Bloodletter and raised it over Laurence's head.

Laurence was then dead. Brador had slain him with a precise stab of the Bloodletter to his head. It was clean. The pointed ends of his weapon pierced the cranium and destroyed the brain.

Brador doesn't remember what happened between that and wearing the hide. It's all a blur. The other members of the Church have definitely come across the scene by now with horror. They most certainly want Brador dead.

Brador is taken out of his thoughts when he hears the doors creak open again.

"Huh. Not a single bite was taken, eh?" The mysterious man approaches, "I get it, some are pickier than others…"

Pickier?! You offered me a slab of raw rat! Who the hell would even think to eat that?! Brador thinks to himself.

The man picks up the slab of meat and leaves. Brador is left confused, wondering what the hell this man's intentions are.

Another few minutes pass and the doors open once again. This time, instead of sliding whatever he has across the room, the man kneels down and places something in the middle of the room. Then he leaves.

Brador looks up. It's a ceramic bowl of beef stew with a spoon in it. His stomach growls. He can smell it from the corner and he's starving.

What if it's poisoned? What if it's not beef, but rat? But Brador would be a dead man anyway, and no one would care if he died, so…

He crawls over and hesitantly picks up the spoon, sipping the broth. It's warm, the meat is tender and of real beef, and it's seasoned well. It's a hearty meal. It must be homemade.

Brador gobbles up all of it and licks the bowl clean. Then he heads back to the corner, curling back up to mope.

---

Another day passes and the man comes back. "Aha! You're just the type that only wants human food. Alright then, let's see if I can coax you out of there…"

The man places another bowl of soup down, but this time it's closer to the doors. And once again he leaves, and Brador eats.

Brador wonders what the fuck is doing through that man's head. But he's not complaining about the free food.

----

The pattern continues for a couple of days until the bowl is outside the doors. Brador gets it now. This man has been trying to coax Brador into the open. It's clearly a trap of some kind, but again, Brador would be a dead man otherwise. If Brador had to choose a way to die, it would be any way, so long as he had a full and happy stomach.

Seeing that the bowl is now outside, Brador cautiously crawls to it on all fours. Eventually, he makes it outside. The setting sun burns his eyes, and he hisses.

"What the hell?!"

Brador looks to the side, behind the doors. The man who has been graciously giving him free food for the last week looks utterly horrified. But he's pretty good looking too: Peachy skin, a nose that's perfectly triangular, and light blue eyes. Bandages working as an eye patch cover the right side of his face. His hair is an ashy black, greasy, coming down to his neck and windswept. His clothes are of the disbanded Powder Keg's, covered in ash, and sewn haphazardly in some places. He can't be older than 35.

Also, he's wielding a catch pole meant for wrangling stray dogs and cats.

"Y-You're just a guy DRESSED like a beast?! The hell!" The Powder Keg stammers and points at him accusingly, "What kind of sick freak are you, wearing someone's skin like that?!"

Brador freaks. He bolts back inside.

"Hey, wait-!"

Brador ignores the man. He should've known not a single person in the world would trust him! Rushing up the wooden stairs, clambering up the ladder, and up the stairs to the tombstone that hides the entrance to Old Yharnam- where is he to go now?! Hemwick, maybe Cainhurst!? He claws at his mind, turning the corner at the way out-

Oh.

The tomb has been moved back over the staircase. Brador nearly hit his head on the stone.

He is trapped.

He thinks about yelling for help and knocking on the stone, but what the hell would happen if a Church Hunter found him? He pushes against the stone to no avail.

Brador hears footsteps beneath him. He turns around and sees the Powder Keg from before at the bottom of the staircase. The man says nothing except for a sigh.

"Well… I'm not gonna stop you from leaving." The Powder Keg steps to the side and pulls a lever on the wall. The tombstone slides out of the way, revealing the Cathedral above. "Go on, shoo! This place ain't for a beast killer like you!"

"..." Brador doesn't make a move.

The man finally takes a good look at Brador. It looks like several hundred thoughts are going through his head as well. The expression on his face softens.

"...I don't know what your story is, but if you're finding refuge from hunters, then this is the place for you." The Powder Keg says after a long while, "I'll leave the choice to you. Just don't harm any of the beasts on your way down, or I will put you down myself."

Then, the man turns around and heads back down, leaving Brador alone in the dark.

Chapter Text

Brador peeks out of the doors. He can see smoke rising from various parts of the burnt city, smelling of ash, burnt hair and flesh, and animals. No different than a barn with pigs and cows that happens to have a crematorium nearby.

He steps out in the open. He can see that Powder Keg in the distance at the top of a tower, leaning over a Gatling Gun, and chugging down a bottle of liquor. Then the Powder Keg looks in his direction, watching him carefully.

Brador makes his way down towards the plaza before the tower. There are many beasts, some growl at him, and others scamper away. They look withered and pathetic, worse than him. He speeds past them.

Brador has so many questions. He thought every beast here burned, is that not what the Church sent the Powder Kegs here for? He then bumps into another man, presumably another Powder Keg, with charred clothes and a Saw Spear. He has tan skin and dark bags under his eyes.

"Well. I'm surprised the beasts here haven't torn you apart yet." This new man says sarcastically, "Climb the tower. Djura wants to speak with you."

"...Djura?" Brador utters the first word he's spoken in a week.

He sighs exhaustedly. "He's not happy that he wasted so much beef stew on you, not a beast. But he wants to get to know you, so. Good luck."

Brador shrugs the man off with a scoff. Clearly this guy in particular doesn't like him much. Brador climbs the ladder to the top of the tower. Eventually he gets to the top and meets face to face with Djura.

Djura is sitting down on a bench beside the Gatling Gun, facing Brador. "So you've made up your mind, then. Welcome to Old Yharnam."

Brador glances around, uncertain. Djura waves him off, "Relax, sit down. I just want to talk."

Brador brushes off a section of the tile before sitting down, hand propped up on his knee.

"What's your name?"

"Brador…" He says without making eye contact.

Djura leans back. "I'm Djura. I protect this town, as you can see. The beasts do not venture above, this is their home after all. So what's your story, what's with…" Djura gestures vaguely to all of Brador, "This?"

Brador swallows. "I don't know why I did it."

"Was it for sport? A trophy?" Djura asks with an ever so slight tinge of animosity.

"No…" Brador inhales, "It was of mercy."

"...I see." Djura says. "But why Old Yharnam? Why come here, of all places? To the hunters, all you did was slay a beast. That's about as normal as you can get."

"They… the Church, will kill me if they find out."

Djura tilts his head.

"I came here because I thought this place would be deserted. I thought the Powder Kegs burned everything to the ground."

"Well… we almost did. But I couldn't stomach the carnage any longer. I spared the beasts that remained, and the Church sealed this place away." Djura explains. "They're still people. They mean no harm, and their transformation is not their fault."

Brador subconsciously runs his fingers through the fur of his garb. "So that's why you reacted the way you did."

Djura nods slowly. "Well in any case, I'll allow you to stay here, just promise not to hurt the beasts here."

"I promise."

The air around Djura changes immediately. No more animosity or caution, he's now relaxed. He stands up, "Alright, well, follow me! I'll give you a tour of this place, and somewhere for you to stay…"

---

After a brief tour, Djura leads Brador down to the darker alleyways of Old Yharnam. Djura brings him to one of many abandoned houses, small and shabby with burnt walls, but in good condition otherwise.

The bed is old, crusty, and the blankets are worn and torn. But Brador curls up on it, nuzzled into the sheets, far more comfortable than the dusty corner he had been in for the past week. He cares not that he's still wearing the clothes that are soaked and dried in Laurence's viscera.

"If you need anything, I'll be across the street. I'll see you in the morning. Sleep well!" Djura says before leaving.

Brador sits up to look out the window. He sees Djura enter the house across from his- far nicer and bigger too! It looks like Djura has been renovating that house for a while now.

Brador shrugs to himself and tries to go to sleep. Normally he only gets a couple of hours of sleep at a time, but he's so exhausted that he wants to get at least a normal amount of sleep. But he can't, outside he can hear beasts scampering across the cobblestone, their growling as they get into midnight cat fights and barking contests, and the occasional howl. He tries squeezing pillows over his ears out of frustration, but the hide's antlers get caught in them. But for whatever reason, he just… can't part with the hide.

Brador fishes out his knife from his pocket, cuts the headpiece away from the rest of the hide, and hangs the now separated hood on the corner of the bed. He then sandwiches his head between pillows, and only then does he fall asleep.

---

"Brador, please… kill me."

Brador looks down at his feet, at the claws grasping his ankles. Laurence stares up at him with wide eyes without eyelids, cuts etched into his bare cheek muscles. Those eyes stare into Brador, paralyzing him in place, as the beast climbs to him.

Bloodied claws hold Brador's cheeks. The eyes remain unblinking, their collapsed pupils and all. He can feel the warm blood seeping into his skin.

The beast named Laurence opens his mouth to tear Brador's face off. Only then does Brador scream and wake up, throwing blankets off as he does.

Someone else happens to be startled as well. Djura jumps back and nearly drops the bowl of potato hash that he was just about to set on the nightstand. "Whoa- whoa ok!"

"Huh?!" Brador gathers up the blankets and huddles them to his chest. "What are you doing here?!" He asks, shakily.

"Breakfast! Hope it'll shake off whatever nightmare you just had." Djura tries to say cheerfully.

Brador glances out the window. The sun isn't even up yet. The sky is a dim blue and the stars are still faintly shining in the sky. "...breakfast?? It isn't even 6 in the morning!"

Djura shrugs. "I'm just an early bird."

Djura then leaves. Brador watches him walk outside, presumably to do whatever he does. Brador pulls the blankets back over himself and goes right back to sleeping.

---

Now the sun shines in Brador's face. He sits up with a great yawn, feeling refreshed.

He looks over to the nightstand. The potato hash is still there, now joined with a cup of tea that has long lost its warmth. He eats up the hash, takes a few sips of the tea, before deciding that it's not strong enough for him, like coffee.

Why is Djura going through all this trouble to take care of him? He's a full-grown man, he can take care of himself! Though, he hasn't a clue on where to find food around here despite the tour. Perhaps he could ask.

Brador slips on his antlered hood and takes a step outside. The beasts are huddled in the shadows, away from the sunlight. They look at him curiously.

Brador was never a fan of beasts. He scoffs at them. They're dangerous, bloodthirsty, even if they were people before they should be taken out of their misery. That's what Laurence wished Brador to do, after all, even if it happened to himself.

Brador eventually finds Djura beneath the tower's shadow, brushing out a massive scourge beast that lays across his lap. "Good morning, or should I say good afternoon? I see you're up!" Djura smiles at him.

Brador is utterly shocked to see a beast act this docile. "Why isn't it…?" He asks, forgetting what he originally came here for.

"Trust, and a lot of love," Djura replies, knowing what Brador would ask, "I've been taking care of them for over a decade now. Learned a lot, you know?"

"Are they not flesh-hungry and bloodthirsty?"

"Well, further up they don't got a choice but to defend themselves. Here, they're safe and provided for."

"That really didn't answer my question…"

"Well… yes, they're carnivores. I go up to the aqueduct in Yharnam," Djura points at a large pipe in the distance, pouring into a stream into Old Yharnam, "Catch some rats and crows for them. Sometimes a giant boar if I'm lucky. They usually get eggs from my chickens, though."

Brador looks to the sewer pipe. It brings back memories of when Laurence and his council sat down, speaking of spreading the Ashen Blood… He glances back down at Djura, saying nothing.

Djura laughs, completely misreading Brador. "Yep, I keep chickens down here! Had 'em since my family moved here from their farm."

"Oh, I see…"

Djura casually pulls out a clump of matted fur from the beast in his lap. He then looks to Brador and all of the dried blood he's still covered with, "Don't you want to clean up? I mean you're crusty with blood."

"Uh…" Brador clutches his garb.

Djura pats the beast on the rump, it gets up, shakes itself off, and trots along. Djura stands up, looking at Brador up and down.

Brador just now realizes that Djura is an entire head shorter than him. Djura’s eye level is at Brador’s chest.

"I could draw a bath for you and do your laundry. I've got doggy shampoo for your hide too."

Brador lifts the long piece of the garb that goes along his left shoulder. It's true, the fur is clumped together with blood and flesh, it smells of rust and a wet dog.

"...but it's his blood." Brador mumbles.

Djura blinks. "Well, whoever he is, do you think he'd wanna be dirty with blood?"

Brador thinks. Laurence was not one to shy away from sticking his bare hands in viscera, but he always ran to the sink afterwards to scrub his hands clean. He scrubbed his hands almost compulsively, every day, like Lady Macbeth. Laurence would be disgusted to find even his beastly form stained with blood.

"...I'll take your laundry offer, but treat his hide with care."

---

Djura's house. It's much nicer than the rest of Old Yharnam, but that's not saying much. The inside's brick walls are still charred, and the stairs are new, likely replacing the old ones that burned down. Brador didn't get to see much of it as he was ushered to the bathroom.

The bathroom is rather small, but the water is warm. Brador stands over the bathtub, hesitant.

"Alright, strip down. I've got spare clothes and stuff for you, so you don't have to run around in a towel until your clothes dry." Djura says casually, plopping a pile of cotton clothes nearby.

Brador looks at him. Djura looks back. "What? We're both men."

"I'm not one for stripping naked in front of someone until I take them to dinner first." Brador says, half serious, half joking.

Djura laughs. "Sounds like a plan."

"What?"

"What?" Djura pats his cheeks and shakes his head, "Wait, shit, didn't mean for that to sound… whatever, just leave your clothes in the laundry basket there! I'll collect 'em after your bath…"

Then, Djura rushes out. Brador is left bewildered.

---

Brador's bath is a quick one because he never liked baths in the first place. Large bodies of water spook him good, especially with what happened in the Hamlet. Plus, he's not sure if the Ashen Blood still runs through the water.

He notes that the simple trousers and shirt are too tight on him. They must be Djura's. The buttons just barely make it around his chest, and his chest hair shamelessly sticks out of the gaps.

Brador leaves the bathroom and finds Djura waiting outside. Djura looks at him up and down, his eye lingering a bit too long at his chest. "That looks uncomfortably small on you, I'll get these clean and dried lickity split! Make yourself at home while you're at it."

Brador is bewildered once again when Djura rushes outside with the laundry.

---

Djura scrubs out the blood with soap and peroxide. He wonders what the hell drove Brador to skin a beast and wear it. It takes a different level of insanity to do such a thing, but Brador doesn't seem like a bad man at all. More like a lost, scared, feral dog than anything.

He sees his Ally approach, taking off his hood. "How's the new guy doing?" He asks Djura.

"I convinced him to take a bath, he seems to be doing fine." Djura says.

"I thought you'd shoot him on sight."

"Well… you know, he seemed scared. I found him crying all alone. I'm assuming he's either hiding from hunters or the Church." Djura wrings out Brador's vest. "I dunno, he hasn't told me anything of his past, but I can make some guesses just by looking at what he has on his belt. What I do know for certain is that this…" Djura lifts the soaked fur garb, "Belonged to someone important enough to the Church that he'd be hunted down for it, and it belonged to someone important to him as well."

"Sounds obsessive." His Ally shrugs.

"Maybe so, but do we not keep the ashes of our loved ones?"

"I think keeping ashes is a little different than skinning someone, Djura."

"Ok, you know what I mean, Andrei."

"No the fuck I do not, Djura."

Now it's Djura's turn to shrug. "Whatever." He cleans the hide with care, scraping off the bits of dried fat and flesh on the skin side, and rubbing out the clumps of blood on the fur side. Then, he washes out the shampoo, and rubs scented conditioner through it.

"...You know, you're putting in a lot of effort for a guy you just met." Andrei says.

"And do I not do the same for any beasts that find their way here?"

"This is a grown man who can take care of himself."

Djura just shrugs again. "I also cook your meals and do your laundry."

"Well, yes, in compensation for my work as well as your friendship. He hasn't done anything to earn his keep yet."

"That's true… eh, I just wanna help him, you know?"

"That's just like you, Djura."

Chapter Text

After hanging the soaked laundry, Djura heads back inside. He finds Brador making himself at home indeed, but only in the form of remaining curled up on the couch beneath a blanket. He looks quite comfortable.

"Laundry's drying out now, it'll be back on you in the evening. So! How are you doing?" Djura asks, hands on his hips.

Brador just shrugs.

"You know, Andrei's about as tall as you, I could get some spare clothes from him for you instead?"

"What do you want from me?"

"Huh?"

Brador turns to face him. "You took me in, gave me an entire house, made me breakfast, gave me a bath and now laundry- what are you looking for in return?"

"Uh…" Djura looks around.

"Do you want me to help with your beasts? Clean and dust the whole place down?"

"That's very kind of you, but no, I'm just doing this… just because?"

"'Just because'?" Brador eyes him suspiciously. "People don't just do things… just because. Not when it's for someone else, and you don't even know me. You're expecting me to return the favor, aren't you?"

"...What in the diddly darn doohickey are you talking about???"

"Diddly what??" Brador blinks.

"Look, I know you don't have a reason to trust me- ok quite frankly you should because I was feeding you and you aren't poisoned or anything- but! I'm taking care of you because that's just what I do. Old Yharnam is a sanctuary and I run it. And I don't expect the beasts to… clean up and wash my dishes, I guess? So I won't expect that from you either." Djura explains as best he can.

"...So that's it, you see me as a beast? And not a person who can get up and wash the dishes?"

"No! The beasts are still people and you're a person too."

Now Brador's look of suspicion is mixed with genuine confusion. Was Djura not brushing a beast out like a dog earlier? Still, he presses on. "I find it hard to believe you have no ulterior motives."

"What have I done to make you think that?!" Now Djura raises his voice slightly in defense.

Brador ignores the obvious of Djura staring at his chest earlier, but it was probably just out of casual admiration rather than any real feelings. After all, they only formally met yesterday, and Brador got plenty of glances at the pub back in the day anyway. "That's just how people are."

Djura sighs. "I suppose if you're bored enough, you can help me around Old Yharnam."

"And now you've revealed thyself and thy motives."

"Huh?!? Now listen here, you! I've taken care of this place for 10 years, I don't need nobody's help! And if you don't want my help, just say so!"

"I'm accepting your help because it's the polite thing to do." Brador says plainly.

"But- helping you in the first place is the kind thing to do! Ok, you know what? Whatever…" Groaning, Djura decides it's just not worth arguing about and walks out.

---

Truthfully, Brador is indeed bored. He's so used to being at Laurence's beck and call, even things as simple as bringing him a cup of tea would make his day worth it. When he wasn't at Laurence's feet, he would be with his friends. He would tend to Adeline, share a beer with Maria and Ludwig, listen to Gehrman's emotional rambles, or of course, plan a terrible prank with Micolash. Social stuff.

But now he has no one to shadow, and no friends around, and thus, no tasks and no socializing.

He still wears Djura's undersized spare clothes as he wanders around Djura's house. He circles the living room, observing the little details. There's a rocking chair with crispy burnt edges, but a fresh cushion. There's a lovely Piercing Rifle mounted above the fireplace, along with several other firearm models. And below all those guns is a framed photograph. The frame is charred, but miraculously, the photo inside survived.

Brador picks it up. It's a smiling mother, father, and teenage boy with a proud Powder Keg badge around his neck. It's definitely a young Djura, no doubt. He inherited his father's nose and his mother's hair.

Brador never wondered much about his own parents despite most orphans doing that. As far as he's concerned, they abandoned him at an orphanage. Must be nice to have a family.

Well, he did have a family, in a way. After Brador was booted from his orphanage, he heard of some miraculous cure-all in the works at the prestigious Byrgenwerth. Being a sickly teenager dying of tuberculosis as most Victorian children do, he found one of the rich folk getting early access and tried interrogating them. And when that didn't work, he stabbed them to death.

Then Laurence, hearing that someone literally killed for his work, was deeply flattered. He plucked Brador from death row and took him in.

What a wild fucking way to get adopted.

Brador sighs and carefully places the photo back. He looks to a nearby bookshelf, seeing how most of the covers are charred in some way. He carefully pulls a book out, leather bound with burnt edges. Other books aren't so lucky, being paperback, and look like they would crumble if Brador touched them.

The leather-bound book is a photo album, with old and grainy photos. It's of Djura's parents and a small girl, but Djura is nowhere to be seen among them. Maybe he was born later? Many photos of them with pigs, cows, chickens, sheep, and their sheepdogs on their farm that Djura mentioned before. It doesn't surprise Brador at all that they're foreigners. Many immigrants ended up in Old Yharnam.

It was also the reason why Laurence wasn't as opposed to planting the Ashen Blood here.

"Well, you're a nosy one!"

Brador jumps and slams the book shut. Djura had just sauntered in and somehow Brador didn't notice. Djura laughs. "Ah, I don't mind. There's no secrets around here." Djura is holding Brador's dry clothes, nearly folded up with the beasthide garb.

"No secrets? You had a sister?” Brador asks out of curiosity.

"Oh no, that little girl was me before I decided having boobs and a cooter is stupid."

"Ahhh, I see." Brador nods.

Djura says nothing for a few moments, reading Brador's reaction. But Brador has an extremely normal, understanding, and casual reaction, not what Djura was expecting at all-- in other words, Brador passed the vibe check flawlessly.

Djura approaches Brador, handing him the laundry. "Here ya go. I ran some conditioner through the fur and cleaned it up, hope you don't mind."

Brador reaches out and touches the fur. Instead of the bristly, bloodied mats of twisted hair, the garb is now soft to the touch, and… dare Brador say it… fluffy. He picks it up tenderly.

Laurence was always one to take care of his appearance. He didn't care if it was "feminine" to wear perfume or use conditioner. He wanted to look clean, prim, and proper. If he were a beast, Brador is certain Laurence would preen himself like a peacock.

Brador wraps it around himself. It's warm, thanks to being out in the sun's evening rays. And it smells faintly of lavender, but the scent of blood still lingers slightly.

"...Thank you, Djura." Brador says quietly.

Djura smiles fully, slightly crooked teeth and all. It's kinda cute. "You're welcome! Now, how about you join us for dinner?"

"So I can strip naked for you?"

"Wh- no!"

Brador scoffs, somewhat of a laugh. "Why else would you invite me to the dinner table?"

"To fuckin' feed you, as every person needs?!"

"Oh yeah…"

---

Why does Djura trust him so much?

That is the question on Brador's mind as he stares up at the charred ceiling of his new house. He literally showed up covered in blood to his doorstep. Djura knows nothing of who he is besides his name. Djura went from not trusting Brador at all to acting quite friendly towards him, just because Brador told him he won’t hurt the beasts. Is it a ruse…?

Sure, Brador hasn't done anything to the beasts, Djura, or his Ally… but personally, Brador is the kind of person who won't have a wink of sleep around someone if he doesn't know them. Of course, he's an assassin, distrust is part of the job.

Djura is a Powder Keg: Heretics of the Church for their improper but intricate weaponry and explosive means. It's a Godless realm in their workshop, but there is intricacy in their disorder, a method to their madness. Those idiots blew off a limb about once a week but still trusted each other to build bombs.

Perhaps it's because Djura doesn't know who Brador is that he trusts him. Perhaps it's better that way. What would Djura do if he found out Brador kills those against the Church? The Powder Kegs disbanded specifically because of the burning of Old Yharnam, feeling that the Church failed its people. Does Djura hate the Church? Would he hate Brador for that?

Maybe he should just ask tomorrow. Brador curls up under his newly fluffed garb and tries his best to sleep. It's not an issue with the sweet scent of the conditioner.

---

"Are you asking me that because you worked for the Healing Church?"

Brador is dumbfounded that Djura immediately responds to his question with a question of his own. He just wanted to know what Djura thought of them!

"What makes you think that?" Brador responds to Djura's question with, of course, a question of his own, to counter Djura's question that questioned his question.

Djura motions to Brador's belt, the left side of it. "That's a Ludwig's Rifle, ain't it? Issued to hunters of the Church who are close 'round their circle. Usually with the Executioners and the knights."

"Uh…" Brador looks down. Shit. Djura's right. That is definitely his standard Church-issued gun. He wants to kick himself for his incompetence.

Brador expects Djura to start accusing Brador of terrible things, but Djura just keeps talking. "Named after the legend himself! It's got a blunderbuss-type shot to better hit moving targets, especially beasts. But the longer barrel gives it a better range than the blunderbuss, as well as a stronger concentration in the shrapnel. It's like the best of both worlds- muah, I actually have one hanging above my fireplace! I should probably dust off my collection…"

Brador opens his mouth but Djura keeps talking. "Actually, why the hell do they call it a rifle? It's definitely not! I mean, what would you classify it as? It shoots like a blunderbuss, but the long barrel… oh, you have one, so were you an Executioner or…?"

"Uh-"

"Hey if you were an Executioner, tell me, did you guys happen to come across any of those Vileblood weapons? Ooo I've always wanted to get my hands on a Reiterpallasch! We've been trying to recreate them for years but unfortunately the Executioners destroyed everything in Cainhurst so it's a real shame-"

"Djura-"

"Have you ever seen a Rifle Spear before? We literally just hammered a gun to a spear and called it a day! Actually, isn't that just called a bayonet? No wait, hang on, the pointy part is the bayonet-"

"I'm not an Executioner, I just work for the Church!" Brador blurts out, interrupting Djura.

"Oooh so you do!"

Brador slaps himself on the forehead. "I mean- fuck, fine. Just as a beast hunter. Used to be. Not anymore." He says, partially lying.

"Oooh ok ok."

"..."

"..."

"So are you going to answer my first question?"

"Oh yeah, the Church abandoned all hope they had for Old Yharnam and made us burn the whole thing down- no offense, I'm not entirely favorable towards them. I mean… I get why they did it, but I feel like if they had just listened to me before they… well, I'm just a Powder Keg," Djura sighs, "I just wish there was another way…"

"...I see." Brador says, darting his eyes away.

"And no, I don't hate you. I'm guessing you're not one of the people who made the decision to burn it all down."

"That'd be correct…"

"So I don't have any reason to dislike you! Besides, you're hiding from the Church, right? Anyone hiding from them is welcome here with open arms, no matter your past."

"I appreciate your honesty, truly."

"I mean, I used to work for them too. Not afraid to speak up about it." Djura shrugs. "Besides! Met plenty of folks at the workshop! Plenty of them were nice, so of course the Church isn't all bad, you know?"

Brador nods. "Yeah…"

"I only ever talked to Izzy and Archibald- and of course my fellow Powder Kegs- but I bet you've got some juicy gossip!" Djura smiles, "The only time I've gotten close to the other upper people is when I had to do farrier work for the Holy Blade-"

"You've worked for Ludwig?!" Brador exclaims with genuine surprise.

"Yeah yeah, real nice guy! Every bit of him is authentic, especially his heart. Anyway I was overhearing him talking about his Byrgenwerth days, when he watched his friends strap fireworks to a wheelchair and sent them flying into the lake! Maybe they're all Powder Kegs now, ha!"

Brador has to sit there for a second to process what he just heard. Then he bursts out laughing, for the memory of that night was too vivid, despite the wine they stole from Willem clouding their thinking.

Djura also sits there for a second, processing Brador's reaction. He seems entranced by Brador's laugh- hearty and genuine, but cackly, like a crow. Maybe even a kookaburra. No, kookaburra is too far…

Brador gathers himself together with a sigh. "Sorry, I…"

"No need to apologize!"

"Tell me, did Ludwig talk about the fate of the one in the wheelchair?"

"No…?"

"Well," Brador holds back a snicker, "Her name was Lady Maria, and she could not swim. But we were all so drunk that we all forgot about that fact. So once she started flailing around like an idiot, Gehrman- yes, the first hunter, literally swan dived in and saved her. It was a shame Ludwig chose to sit out of our mischief…"

"Wait wait- back up- you were there?!" Djura gawks.

"Mhm. I would tell you more, but that would be confidential secrets meant only for those friends, heh." He winks.

"So you were UP up there, ok!" Djura seems quite excited, "Tell me, did you ever meet the First Vicar in person? I heard he went to Byrgenwerth as well!"

“Yeah! I…” Brador opens his mouth to speak but no words come out. "I…"

Djura's expression drops from excitement to worry.

"I did know him… and he was a great man. That's all I'll say." He mumbles.

"I… seemed to touch a nerve there, are you ok? Did he do something to you…?"

"No! He gave me everything, he… you know what, forget it. End of conversation." Brador swiftly turns on his heel and leaves Djura's abode.

"Brador! I'm sorry, I didn't know!" But then Brador (as politely as he can) slams the door shut on his way out, "Aw jeez, I fucked up didn't I?" Djura shakes his head to himself. That was quite the mood swing. Djura sits down, twiddling his thumbs.

What could have possibly happened between Brador and the Vicar for him to react like that…?

Chapter Text

The Vicar is dead: That is what Eileen the Crow heard from a little birdie from the Church.

It's been over a week since his death. The Church has desperately attempted to cover up not only that, but how exactly he died. Her informant was quite giddy to spill the details.

The Vicar had fallen to his own blood, and was put down. But it wasn't no ordinary euthanasia, no, whoever killed him was an emotionless machine and literally skinned him like a deer. Rather fitting, considering the antlers. The killer took the antlers as well, probably to mount above their fireplace.

And even worse, the killer is still at large. The doctor who witnessed the murder told the Church authorities that he had fled. And, the doctor knows exactly who the killer was because he was the man in the foreign clothes who always shadowed the Vicar. Strangely, the other witness protested this. Ludwig the Holy Blade insisted that it was himself who killed the Vicar, but no one believed he would do such a thing. He is way too fucking nice for that.

Cathedral Ward and Central Yharnam have been swept. Now there's one place left to search. Eileen heads down to Old Yharnam and opens the doors. She stuffed her mask with extra rosemary to keep out the horrible stench of beast shit.

She looks up to the tower. She spots Djura, and Djura spots her. She waves, he waves back. She's glad his vision is still working. Eileen rushes past the beasts, avoiding the swipes and growls, and climbs the ladder to Djura.

Djura greets her with a smile. "Heya Eileen! What's the occasion, is Gascoigne having another dinner party?"

"Even better news than that. The Vicar is dead. Turned into a beast and was put down like a dog." She says dryly, but smugly.

Djura's face is completely blank before he smiles wider. "Sonuvabitch! That fucker deserves it after what he made us go through!" He pumps his fists in the air.

Eileen chuckles. "Now for the bad news. I'm looking for his killer, because he is a complete maniac on the run and needs to be put down ASAP."

"Did his killer also sentence a whole town to death, after pumping us full of blood that made us mad?"

"Well… no, the killer actually skinned the Vicar, scalped him, and ran off with his hide. Isn't that utterly insane?"

"..." Djura turns as pale as a sheet.

"Djura?"

"Uuuuh…" Djura drones out, darting his eye around.

"Djura."

He swallows and loosens his shirt collar.

"Djura Jakov Vukovich, you will look me in the eye, boy."

Djura does not look Eileen in the eye, despite her addressing him with his entire full name.

Eileen sighs. "He's here, isn't he?"

"Ye- no! I mean, ugh! He's not a bad man, when I found him, he was shaking and crying!" Djura blurts out, "Hasn't hurt me or Andrei or any of the beasts! Also he didn't tell me he killed the fuckin' Vicar!"

Eileen stares at him with nothing but judgement and disbelief. "You're a protector of beasts and you've taken in a man who skinned one as a trophy."

"He said it was out of mercy!"

Eileen sighs again, thinking and looking off to the side. "The autopsy did reveal that it was one swift blow to the head that killed the Vicar. Everything else was sloppy knife work prying away the skin."

Djura looks relieved to hear that.

"...This does not change the fact that you need to be insane to do something like that. Now where is he?"

"I'm not going to let you kill him-"

"No no, I want to see if he's actually the way you're talking about him. If he is, I'll leave him be. If he's not, then I'll kill him. Simple as that." Eileen says calmly.

"I somehow don't trust you about this."

"Good, I've taught you well. And you should also know that I will find him anyway if you don't tell me."

Djura groans. There's no use in arguing with Auntie Crow. She will always win. The least he can do now is be there to protect Brador in case Eileen deems him mad with blood.

---

Arriving at the house across from his own, Djura knocks on the door. "Brador, you there?"

"...you gave him a whole house." Eileen states, staring up at the somewhat shabby place. "Did you also bathe him and feed him dinner?"

"..." Djura side eyes her.

"Oh my God you totally did. What about wiping his arse, hm?"

"Shut up!"

The door opens slightly. Brador peeks out, calm about Djura, but certainly on edge at this newcomer with a plague doctor mask. "Hello?"

"Heeey Brador, this here is Eileen-" Djura starts nervously.

"-Wait, is that the Hunter of Hunters-?!" Brador gasps.

"Uuuh-"

"You led her right to me?!" Brador stares at Djura in horror.

"Then you know why I'm here. Why did you do it?" Eileen asks point blank.

"You wouldn't get it."

"Nothing can shock me. Now explain yourself." She crosses her arms.

Brador opens the door completely. If Eileen didn't have a mask on, her jaw would have hit the floor.

"... Dear God, you're wearing it." She audibly chokes.

"It was out of mercy. But I don't remember what happened between that and wearing this." Brador says, “That is the honest truth.”

"So, convenient amnesia? Mad with blood? Dissociative identity disorder? Or a psychopath who can't even be bothered to remember his kills?" Eileen says venomously.

Brador narrows his eyes. Djura steps in between them, "Haha that's enough! Ok Eileen, I think you should go-"

"Let me examine him." Eileen says.

Then Eileen pushes past Djura, suddenly putting both her hands on Brador's face. "?! Hey what the hell?!" Brador attempts to swat her away.

"... Your pupils are completely intact," Eileen then pushes Brador inside, lifting his hand and poking his fingernails through his glove, "No claws."

"I haven't a single symptom of blood drunkenness nor beasthood, if that's what you're trying to figure out!" Brador growls and snatches his hand away. And as he growls, Eileen shoves her thumb over his lip, pulling it to reveal his teeth. They’re sharp, but nothing too beastly. In fact, they're normal Yharnamite teeth, after a few doses of Healing Blood.

"Then what the fuck is wrong with you?" Eileen steps back.

"I don't know, but what's wrong with you?!" Djura pulls her out of the house. "Like I said, he hasn't done a thing wrong to me or anyone I know!"

"And I'm trying to make sure that he's safe for you to be around."

Brador butts in. "I'm not some mindless murderer. I haven't a single reason to hurt Djura or his friend. So leave me alone."

"Hm. A sound answer, not surprising considering the sheep's clothes. Very well, you get to keep your life for now. But mark my words, if you pull something like that to Djura or his beasts, I will do the same to you." Eileen states. "Do I have your word?"

"You do, but I don't think you'll take it."

"Well, you're a smart one. I’ll take my leave now.” And so, Eileen turns on her heel, and leaves.

“...” Djura turns to Brador, scratching the back of his neck, “I’m so sorry about her. She’s real protective of me, y’see.”

“Is she your mum or something?”

“Eeeh more like a trusted guardian, a godmother. She’s known me since I was a teenager. She can’t have kids of her own because of her occupation, so…”

"Ah, I see."

"Yeah…"

"...so why did you lead her right to me again?" Brador now sneers at Djura, "Are you trying to kill me?!"

"I-I swear I was trying to protect you!" Djura holds his hands out, "Look, I was trying to prove to her that you're sound, and if she did try to kill you at least I would've been there to stop her! Eileen will track her target down for days, if I didn't introduce her, she would've found you anyway and that would've been so much worse-"

"Ok, that's enough!" Brador barks at him.

Djura shuts up and stands stiff, arms at his sides. He looks rather guilty, and a touch scared. "Sorry."

Brador huffs. "Apology accepted, I guess."

---

Brador awkwardly pokes at the dinner Djura has cooked for him. It's just boiled potatoes and corned beef. Even if it's something more than palatable to him (any combination of meat and potatoes, really), his appetite remains suppressed. He looks up at Djura across the table, who's finished his portion already.

"Eileen's gotten you rattled up, hasn't she?" Djura asks, noticing how Brador is just nudging his food around with his fork.

"I've heard stories of the Hunters of Hunters. They walk without a sound. They make their targets disappear as if they never existed. They're one with the shadows. They're… leagues above the Church's assassins."

"The Church has assassins?? Why???" Djura gawks.

"What do you think? To protect it." Brador answers quickly.

Djura shrugs off that defensive tone. "That's the first time I've ever heard of a religion having organized killers…"

"I could use a Church assassin or two to protect me right about now." Brador grumbles and forces a bite down his throat.

"Hey, she's a woman of her word, if she says she's gonna leave you alone, she's gonna leave you alone." Djura says firmly.

"You don't become a Hunter of Hunters or any kind of assassin by being true to your word." Brador grumbles. He pushes his plate away from him. "I'm sleeping with two eyes open tonight."

"As in getting no sleep at all?"

"Precisely."

Djura thinks, drumming his fingers on the table. "Well… if it would make you feel more secure, you can sleep on my couch here. One other person in the house to stay sharp, right?"

Brador gives him a fairly suspicious look. "And then at some point in the night, I'll find you curled up on the couch with me."

"Whoa whoa whoa no no no-" Djura holds his hands out, "Well I won't- but maybe, the beasts might-"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Yeah, sometimes the beasts come in through the doggy door and sleep in my house. So that's even more eyes around to stay sharp, ain't it?"

"I'm more willing to trust a beast than a Hunter of Hunters…"

---

Djura's couch is somehow more comfortable than the bed he provided across the street. Brador lays across it with a pillow and blanket that he notes is covered in beast hairs.

Also, why the hell did Brador take up Djura's offer when he's more than capable of defending himself and running on less than an hour of sleep? However, there is a real comfort in knowing there's someone nearby who is willing to protect him, as well as provide and hasn't done a thing to hurt him… mostly.

But, Brador begins to doubt that as he hears a scratch at the door, and the lower half pushes open. A snout pokes in. It's a scourge beast.

Brador watches in tense silence as the huge, wolf-like beast sniffs the air before pushing all the way in. How the hell did it fit through just now?!

It shakes itself off like a dog. It then locks eyes with Brador.

Oh God. Oh fuck.

It steadily approaches. Brador holds his breath and doesn't make a move. It sniffs him, the garb, sniffing all the way down his body (Brador only moves to cover his crotch) to his toes. It seems to lose interest and trots up the stairs, they creak under its weight. Shortly after, Brador hears Djura's voice from upstairs.

"Oh hi!! Here, lemme give you some space- there, rest well buddy. Goodnight." Then the heavy creak of a bedframe.

What the fuck, Djura is willing to share a bed with a fucking beast??

The doggy door flips open again. This time it's one of the significantly smaller beast patients, doing the same as the previous scourge beast. It sniffs Brador up and down.

But instead of going upstairs, the beast crawls directly on top of Brador. Brador is frozen stiff from fear.

The beast walks on all fours in a circle, careful not to dig its claws into Brador, and then curls up over Brador's chest.

"............."

What does he do? Does he call for help? Does he push the beast off and potentially provoke it…? But admittedly, the warmth and weight on his chest is nice…

Brador keeps his eyes open for another hour, but the beast does nothing but peacefully snore. And eventually, Brador begins to peacefully snore as well.

---

Brador wakes up with a significantly heavier weight all across his whole body.

Not only is that same beast from last night there, an entire scourge beast has draped itself over the couch and Brador's legs. There's another smaller beast curled up on his abdomen.

He is effectively pinned down with about 250 pounds of weight. 400 if the scourge beast didn't put itself halfway over him.

Brador glances around. There's other beasts sleeping beside the couch. If he were to get up, he would have to navigate around 5 sleeping beasts. At least Eileen would have to too, if she were to try killing him now.

After some time of lying there awake, he hears footsteps come down and Djura mumbling. "Oh boy…"

"Help me." Brador whispers harshly. "Please."

"Alright alright, I got you," Djura whistles, "Breakfast!"

All the beasts slowly rouse. The beast on Brador's chest stretches, its claws hovering in Brador's face, before it hops off. Eventually, Brador is freed from his prison and he sits up.

The beasts all follow Djura into the nearby kitchen. "A slice of ham for you, a slice of ham for you as well…"

Brador notes how well behaved the beasts are. No matter how much they drool, they sit still until they get their serving. "You trained them like dogs."

"I've got a real knack for that sort of thing," Djura chuckles, "So! Since you're here, what do you want for breakfast?"

"You're asking me what I want for breakfast?"

"Yeah, that's what I just asked."

"...do you have sausages? And eggs?" Brador asks with hope in his eyes.

"Hm… I've got some dried sausages in storage and I can get the eggs fresh right now! Don't you worry, I'll fix you a hearty breakfast!"

Djura leaves for only a few minutes, then comes back with a basket full of chicken eggs. He takes out six eggs, and holds the basket out to a scourge beast. "Diego, pass 'em out to whoever didn't eat one yesterday."

The scourge beast named Diego dutifully picks up the egg basket with its mouth and trots out, the rest of the beasts following. Djura then disappears into the kitchen. Brador can hear potatoes being grated, eggs sizzling…

Djura pokes his head into the living room. "I forgot to ask! Do you like tea or coffee?"

"Coffee."

"And how would you like it?"

"Straight black."

Djura disappears back into the kitchen. Everything smells quite good. After some time (the sun still hasn't risen past the horizon), Djura comes out with three bowls of sunny side up eggs, hash, and sliced sausage. It's rather messy, but with a homemade love to it. Djura sets two bowls and two mugs on the table, and takes the third set outside, presumably to his Ally.

Brador sits at the dining table and stabs a sausage slice with his fork. He sniffs it. It smells smoky and spicy.

Djura comes back in and sits across from Brador. "Hope you like it. The sausages I make myself- well, everything there I made myself, really…"

Brador glances up at him. He waits for Djura to take a bite first, and Djura does. He eats up like any other person.

Brador gathers a pile of hash and a slice of sausage onto his fork. He takes his own bite--

Despite being a dry aged sausage, it's quite tender and flavorful. It's fatty, complemented by the runny egg yolk, and soaking into the roasted potato hash. The seasoning is garlicky, smoky, spicy, and full of little bits of herbs here and there. It's so good.

"So, do you like it-?!"

Djura has to compose himself as Brador drops his fork to stuff his face manually. He licks the yolk and grease from his fingertips. It's like Peter B. Parker Spiderverse, but worse.

"...I can see you're enjoying yourself." Djura says in awe.

"Mhhfnremm??" Brador looks up, cheeks full of potato hash. He swallows, "This is delicious. This is so so so fucking delicious. God I haven't eaten a proper breakfast in so long."

"Well, I'm glad you like it so much!" Djura smiles. "Everything on that plate is from scratch and homemade…" He laughs lightly to himself, twirling his hair.

Brador chomps down like a dog, licks his lips, and makes direct eye contact with Djura. "...Why are you blushing?"

"...Welp!" Djura slaps his thighs and abruptly stands up, "I gotta go do some work, see you later!"

"Djura?!" Brador shouts after him, but it's too late. Djura is out the door. He left his half-eaten breakfast on the table.

That's a first for Brador: someone finding the messy way he eats good food attractive. Normally some dashing lad or fair maiden would point out his pretty green eyes, his broad shoulders, maybe his biceps... but this? This is something.

Still, Brador shrugs it off, finishes his own portion, and slides Djura's leftovers to himself.

Chapter Text

"Goddammit, get it together, Djura…!" Djura grumbles to himself, trudging through Yharnam's sewers. He's clutching his Piercing Rifle close to his chest.

He looks to his three hunting beasts trotting beside him- his beloved scourge beasts who were once hunters themselves, whose instinct to kill never left. Their ears are perked, listening to their master.

"Ya know, I took the poor fella in because of course I felt bad!" Djura looks around a corner, searching for any signs of man-eater boar, "But! Then I find out he's tall and he's got a nice chest, and he's hairy for fuck's sake! And did I tell you guys that he eats like a wild animal? Sheesh!" He bites his lip at the memory.

"Borf?" One beast answers him.

"He's a beast in a sense, yeah! But then! But then! Get this, Eileen tells me that the hide he's wearing is the First Fucking Vicar's! And he worked for the Church, went to Byrgenwerth with some of the more famous fellas…" Djura inhales, "The mystery is so intriguing but at the same time I do not care about whatever the hell the Church is doing now. And he's hot. And I've got googly eyes for him because he checks off my tastes. Nice chest, full beard, sharp teeth…"

Another beast bumps him on the leg in disapproval.

"Yeah yeah I know, he's definitely some kind of crazy but again he hasn't hurt me or you guys… and he doesn't trust me… ugh, he must think I'm just taking care of him because he's attractive…" Djura mumbles, kneeling down to check some fresh hoofprints in the muck. "And I haven't even known him for a week! Ok, I have, but we haven’t been talking for a week, does that make sense?”

His beasts don't answer him, for they're too busy sniffing the hoofprint.

"Of all the people in the world, I'm getting the hots over a literal fugitive for murder," Djura sighs, "I just need to do what I did with Gascoigne: get over it! …unless he feels the same way… probably not. I don't even know if he swings that way."

His beasts start barking and running together in one direction. Djura shakes himself off and composes himself. "Right, right… gotta get more sausage ingredients." He pumps his rifle and follows behind his beasts.

---

Brador kindly washed his dishes, as well as Djura's. He now has some alone time to think. Djura's obvious crush on him doesn't bother him, really. If anything, Brador finds it amusing. He always does if someone has feelings for him, whether he reciprocates them or not. Plus, he's a huge tease. Perhaps he will entertain himself by toying around with Djura.

He wonders if Laurence was amused during those small moments when Brador would find himself flustered around the Vicar. He hopes so.

Brador sighs to himself and runs his fingers through the longer part of the garb that drapes over his shoulder. It's strange, having Laurence with him in a sense, but Brador has never felt more empty. A part of him is missing and no part of Laurence can fix that.

Brador lounges across the couch he slept on last night. He ponders to himself. Will this be the rest of his life, laying low in Old Yharnam? With Djura's cooking, and that he's ok with Brador freeloading… perhaps that's a pro of Djura's over Laurence, the fact that Djura expects nothing in return. Brador doesn't have to lift a finger.

Still, that doesn't quite sit right with Brador, even if Djura's payment is some eye candy. It’s actually unsettling that Djura wants nothing in return. Who thinks like that? Why do all that work? He glances around. Should he try to cook something? Nah, he'd certainly burn the place down. What about dusting? He doesn't want to accidentally knock over an ancient family heirloom…

…what if he killed for Djura? That always brought a smile to Laurence’s face, bringing him the heads of his detractors just as a cat would bring dead mice to its human.

Then the image of Eileen the Crow appears in his head, waggling her finger in his face and calling him a blood-drunk madman. She seems like she’s itching for an excuse to slit his throat.

Brador jumps when the front door is kicked open. Djura has a slab of pork belly over one shoulder, a leg of ham over the other, and dragging a butcher bag full of other pork bits. “Oh, you’re still here? What have you been doin’ this whole time?”

“Nothing.” Brador answers from the couch.

“Mhm. Nothing. Alright.”

“Do you not believe me?”

“I don’t understand how someone can sit around and do nothing. Like don’tcha wanna do something besides lay around?” Djura cocks his head slightly.

“Sometimes. Not always. You, on the other hand, buzz around from task to task like a bee without a single break. I, personally, don’t understand that.” Brador says.

“Well, this busy bee is about to make some sausages and cure some ham.”

Brador passively watches Djura enter the kitchen. From there, Djura remarks, "Ah! Thanks for washing the dishes."

"What makes you think it was me?"

"Because Andrei arranges them to dry in a specific way, so unless a beast came in and actually washed them, it was most certainly you."

"Guilty as charged." Brador smiles, just a little. It looks like Djura has some inferential thinking.

"You didn't have to, I appreciate it, really!"

"You're welcome, I guess." Brador lies back down to relax, listening to the sounds of Djura doing whatever he does in the kitchen. Though, he's curious now… Brador gets up and wanders into the sacred kitchen. Djura is shoving the pork bits into a meat grinder and churning it. Nearby is a skinned leg of ham, soaking in a brine, and the slab of pork belly curing in a big pile of salt and spices.

With how smoothly Djura is working, this seems like second nature to him. Brador observes quietly, stepping ever closer to watch…

Until he's looking right over Djura's shoulder. "So-"

"AH!" Djura jumps, "Holy- when did you sneak up on me?!"

Brador shrugs. "Since you started mixing the sausage filling."

Djura briefly glances down. "You're wearing heels, and you walk silently?!"

"Yeah?"

"How in the… whatever!" Djura shakes himself off and keeps working, pouring the sausage filling back into the grinder and attaching the casings to the other end. He looks over his shoulder. "You're still watching?"

"I've nothing better to do."

"...do you wanna help?"

"This looks like too much effort, so no." Brador lies.

Djura laughs. "Not to worry, I've been churning these things out for years. The hardest part is dragging a thousand kilos of pork back here, even with help."

"I find it interesting that you still go out and hunt. Just not for beasts."

"If you ask me, those boars are more of a beast than the actual beasts! They're called man-eaters for a reason…" Djura twists the casing, "I saw one chew up three hunters in a row, when most beasts struggle to kill us for a good minute. Least I can do is make the food chain go back around."

"So where's the rest of the boar?"

"Oh, outside."

Brador steps away and looks out the window. In the distance is a hoard of beasts surrounding something. He can see a pair of them playing tug of war with the boar's large intestines, and a scourge beast trots away from the scene with an oversized kidney in its mouth. It’s gruesome.

"...I can see why they don't venture above Old Yharnam. That's a feast!" Brador exclaims. "And terrifying."

"Ha! You ain't got a thing to worry about, so long as you don't go in there and take the liver. That's their favorite part."

Brador shivers. "Do you enjoy hunting the boars?"

"Absolutely!" Djura smiles. "Knowing that I'm coming home to keep 'em fed. And that's one less boar terrorizing the streets, and it's exciting! My hunting dogs get all riled up when they see me strap on my rifle. They know what time it is."

"So you're still a hunter at heart… it calls to you, doesn't it?"

"I guess you could see it that way? But this is for a good cause, not to feed my own nonexistent bloodlust."

"People truly never change, it seems…"

"Eh?"

"Nevermind."

---

"Can I sleep on your couch again?"

Djura is not surprised that Brador is asking him this. His couch is simply the best. "Ya know, I could move the couch into your house for you? I mean, the beasts certainly bothered you last night, didn't they?"

"Moving the couch seems like too much work. And it's safer in here."

"But the beasts…"

Brador thinks, weighing his options. "They… weren't too much of a bother, I guess. Just slept on top of me and I couldn’t go take a piss.”

Djura snorts at that. "They must think you're one of them with your fur garb! I mean, you fooled me too!" Djura says lightheartedly, "I've never seen them so comfortable with a stranger before, most of the time they're standoffish or even aggressive…"

"I am not a fan of having kinship with beasts."

"Well, it's better than them tearing you apart!"

“I guess…”

"Maybe they'll grow on you, who knows?" Djura leans on the bookshelf, "And then before you know it, you're giving them belly rubs."

Brador simply grimaces. Djura chuckles. "Eh, beasts aren't for everyone."

"Definitely."

---

The day ends uneventfully. Brador is left to his own thoughts, staring up at Djura's ceiling. He thinks about how Ludwig must be doing right now. Grieving over Laurence for sure, but he must be slipping by now.

He remembers how when Laurence first brought Brador to Byrgenwerth, Ludwig was appalled. A street rat, he called Brador! But eventually, Brador grew on Ludwig. At some point Ludwig started heartily slapping Brador on the back and ruffling his hair. It turned into baking apple pies for Brador's birthday. It turned into going out late at night with Maria, sharing drinks, and being dragged back to Laurence's place by Gehrman.

He smiles to himself. It fades away soon after. He wipes his eyes, seeing wetness on his palms.

He broke Ludwig's heart. He took away the love of his life and his little brother.

Brador tries to steady his breath. He hugs the fur garb around himself, muttering to himself. "Oh Laurence, what are we going to do…?"

A weight places itself across his lap. Brador's head snaps up.

A scourge beast has placed its massive head across his lap, giving Brador a side look with a raised brow. The whites of its eyes give it a puppy look.

"... don't look at me." Brador sniffles. "What are you doing, waiting for me to be vulnerable to pounce?"

The beast does nothing except turn its head, its snoot now on Brador's chest. Its nose wiggles.

"You are a beast. You are not genuinely concerned for me."

The raised brow look comes back. It whines very quietly, as if it were whispering.

Brador sighs. He lifts his hand and lets the beast sniff it. It then licks his hand gently. Brador grumbles, "Gross. But you're lucky I'm a dog person."

He gives the beast a tentative head pat. The beast's puppy eyes only grow and its tail wags.

"...goddammit." Brador sniffles again. "Fine."

Brador pets the beast until his tears run dry and he falls asleep.

Chapter Text

Eileen is shocked at her findings. The man who killed the Vicar is in Djura's hands and seemingly sane. Or, perhaps Djura is the insane one here.

She needs to tell her informant right away. Or rather, a good friend of hers, who no one knows she's in cahoots with.

She waits in a quiet alley of Cathedral Ward. A warm light comes around the corner, attached to the belt of a skinny man in many layers of ragged clothes. She tips her hat. "Simon."

"Eileen." He has no hat to tip, so he bows lightly instead. "So, did you find Brador?"

"Unfortunately yes."

"What do you mean by 'unfortunately'?" Simon says with air quotes.

"He's in Old Yharnam, and Djura has taken a liking to him."

Simon scoffs. "So the guy who made fun of me for using a bow- took in the incredibly shady guy who works for the Healing Church. And Djura took in the same guy who seduced me, brought me to his quarters, only to try killing me?!"

"Yep. And even worse, besides skinning the Vicar and wearing the hide-"

"-WEARING IT?!-"

"-Djura insists that Brador is right in the head. And he's partially correct, I checked that scoundrel for any signs of beasthood and he's lacking. So I can't kill him without Djura raining bullets upon me."

Simon groans, exasperated. "You know what, just let them kill each other. This can't end well."

"I wish it would end that way, but there's an even bigger problem."

"What?"

"I've known Djura since he was about 16. I know what sort of person he is and the kind of men he likes."

"...oooh no…"

"You can't say that. You tried to sleep with Brador, you silly goose."

"Ok, fine." Simon crosses his arms and pouts to himself.

"In any case, Djura is the type to take pity on others. He also likes his men taller than him. A full beard. Hairy. A bad boy. Rude. And with the overall disposition of a wild animal. Tell me Simon, do you know of any men who have that description?" Eileen says sarcastically.

Simon cringes.

"Djura has gone out of his way to lend Brador a house, did his laundry, feeds him…" Eileen instinctively reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose, but ends up knocking on her beak mask instead, "Now I have to watch them. If Brador does anything to break my boy's heart I will slaughter him like the filthy pig he is."

"This is indeed troubling. Who knows if Brador will snap and kill Djura?" Simon grumbles, "That's what the scoundrel tried to do to me. Well, ok, I did threaten to expose their little Research Hall…"

"And… he tried to kill you over that. Really? Who doesn't know the Healing Church is a festering cesspool of human rights violations by now?"

"Apparently not a lot of people. I'm just glad the Vicar is dead now and I hope it all crumbles into its own power vacuum."

"God, same. Seriously, that is a weird thing to try killing you over. What is he, an assassin or something?"

"Huh, maybe."

"..." They both fall silent.

Simon breaks the silence. "There's no way he's actually a regular beast hunter, because he was so close to the Vicar and the rest of their little gang. Everyone in that group was exceptional in some way."

"Good lord, the Church has assassins. Why am I not surprised?"

"I'm mad that I didn't come to this epiphany until now!" Simon exclaims and smacks himself on the forehead.

"Either you're daft or Brador has done an excellent job keeping that under the rug." Eileen shrugs.

"Well Brador sucks as an assassin because I'm still alive!"

"Don't jinx it." She chuckles. They both share a laugh.

"Speaking of the Church…" Simon says, "What do we tell them about Brador?"

"Hm…" Eileen rocks on her heels, "If we tell them that he's in hiding, they'll send a whole search party and doom themselves with Djura's Gatling gun. Or worse, they slaughter all the beasts and Djura with them."

"At least we're both good liars."

"Mhm. Either we say we couldn't find Brador or that he's dead. We don't have his body for that second one, so we'll go with MIA."

Simon huffs. "Ludwig won't be happy with either one…"

"You're still talking to him?" Eileen crosses her arms. "What part of you've been 'exiled' do you not understand?"

"He's had no one to talk with since the Vicar's death. They were lovers. He's been talking to me because we are friends. And you know…" Simon twiddles his fingers, "I've always admired him. And he admires my skills with the bow."

Eileen says nothing for a few seconds. "Don't tell me I have to keep an eye on you two too."

Simon laughs sadly. "I can dream. I'll tell him that we couldn't find Brador."

Chapter Text

About two weeks have passed since Brador formally met Djura. It's been mundane, with Brador only occasionally getting up from the couch or leaving his room. And, if rarely, Brador will wash the dishes but otherwise he mopes about. It breaks Djura's heart to see anyone depressed, and tries to cheer him up as best he can with hearty meals and conversation. It seems to work for the duration Djura is around Brador. Djura likes to think it's just his presence that cheers Brador up.

Djura sits at the top of his tower in the early morning, overlooking his town. An unusual sight at the entrance catches his attention, however. A rather tall, beefy hunter is waving at him with a white handkerchief. He looks somewhat familiar.

Djura squints. "You there, hunter! What business do you have here?"

"I am Ludwig!" Ludwig shouts, "I mean no harm. I must speak with you!"

Djura is surprised to hear that booming, righteous but kind voice. Ludwig is dressed in ordinary hunting attire rather than his white robes that he flaunts in. Djura shouts back, "Very well, I will meet you down there!"

And so Djura does, coming to Ludwig. Ludwig looks exhausted, tired bags under his eyes. The ordinary hunter attire he's wearing has a hood, and everything looks a size too small on Ludwig. "Thank goodness. Djura, was it? I'm so sorry, I need your help."

"Did you come all this way to ask for more farrier work, or…?" Djura tilts his head.

"No no, I'm looking for someone," Ludwig fishes something from his coat pocket and presents an old, faded photograph to Djura. He points to a scruffy young man with black hair and a beard, standing tall and proud beside a student Laurence from Byrgenwerth, "His name is Brador. He looks like this, but he's wearing the hide of a beast. Have you seen him?"

"Uh…" Djura's eye darts around. Shit, the Church has come for Brador! "I don't think so, no."

"I was told the harrowed hunters couldn't find him here…" Ludwig sighs, "I honestly thought he would run here. He always hides away after something terrible. Somewhere isolated and away from people. Usually his room, but…" He sighs again. "He's just gone now."

"What… happened, if I may ask?"

"...he watched me slaughter a… a good friend of ours who turned." Ludwig says as quickly as he can, making no eye contact.

Djura notes that Ludwig is as terrible a liar as he is.

"If you do find him…" Ludwig fumbles with his fingers, "Tell him to come home. What he needs right now is support! He's always struggled with keeping what's reality and what's not- now that we don't know where he is, we can't help him…"

Djura stays silent, politely listening to the Holy Blade and nodding along.

Unintentionally pressured by the silence, Ludwig continues. "I know he hasn't come back, because he's had the same number of prescription pills in the bottle for the last few weeks or so! He's probably huddled about somewhere, moping around and depressed… and forcing smiles and jokes through…"

"..."

And now Ludwig sniffles. "He's probably starving… missing my cooking… missing waking up in the morning to an Irish style breakfast… missing Maria and Mico and…"

This absolutely breaks Djura's heart. "Goddammit, you're absolutely breaking my heart here!" He swoons dramatically.

"I am so sorry!!!" Ludwig now bawls, "I didn't mean to burden you with my troubles!"

"Listen, big guy," Djura puts his hands on his shoulders, standing on his tippy toes to do so, "You promise me, PROMISE, not to tell a soul what I'm about to tell you, capische?"

"H-Huh? Ok…?"

Djura inhales. "Brador is here. He's hiding out of fear for what the Church might do to him."

Ludwig's eyes widen. "He- Brador--?!"

"Shhh sh sh shh. I just want you to know that I'm taking care of him. He's got his own house and plenty of sausages and potatoes. Three square meals a day." Djura says firmly.

"Can I… can I see him? Please, I need to! I need to know if he's ok with my own eyes!"

---

Djura knocks on Brador's door. "Brador? Hey, you there?"

It takes a little while for Brador to peek out of the door. He opens his mouth to say hello to Djura, but as he opens the door wider, his words catch in his throat. He gasps softly.

Ludwig smiles softly. "H-Hey, Brad…"

Brador gasps, trying to formulate his words. "Ludwig, you… you came for me? Why? Why are you...?"

Ludwig holds his arms out. Then without hesitation, Brador throws himself forward and buries his face in Ludwig's cloak. Djura is warmed up by this genuine display of affection but feels so out of place just awkwardly standing there.

"Thank the Gods you're safe!" Ludwig sighs in absolute relief and joy, "Listen, Brador, I want you to know I don't think any ill of you…"

"B-But, I…"

"You only did what he told you to do. It wasn't your fault that- that I couldn't bring myself to land the final blow. You are braver than I could have ever been." Ludwig rubs his back.

"But this! I… you saw me do it." Brador holds up the longer part of the garb that wraps around his left arm. "He didn't ask me to do… this."

Ludwig nods. "I know, I know… you were trying to save him, even after death."

"I did?" Brador blinks, looking up at him. "So I wasn't completely delusional?"

Djura interrupts, raising a finger. "Should I… should I go? Should I be hearing this?"

Ludwig looks to Brador. "Do you plan on coming back to the Church?"

"I… I don't know. I have brought shame to the Church and…"

"But who will protect the secrets- the integrity?"

"What is the Healing Church without Laurence?" Brador says depressingly.

Ludwig then turns to Djura. "Well… perhaps he should know what happened on that night, it seems like you'll be hiding here for a while longer."

"Actually," Djura holds a hand up, "Don't wanna hear it. Matters above, don't care much about. I'm just concerned about takin' care of him." He gestures to Brador.

"Well, you're in good hands, Brad!" Ludwig smiles and pats his shoulders, "Djura here did amazing work on my old friend Astera, he didn't even kick Djura as he cleaned his hooves-- if my horse trusts him, then I trust him too. In fact, I would trust that man with my life."

"Aaaw, thank you!" Djura smiles.

"Still, you need a lot to make Brador here feel at home." Ludwig turns Brador around to face Djura. "It took two weeks for this lad to finally trust us enough to turn his back to us! Then after that it was plenty of food, warmth, hugs-"

"Ludwig!!" Brador shouts at him, blushing.

Ludwig laughs heartily. "I'll come back here tonight with your medications and such- is there anything you want from your room, Brador?"

"...I want my blanket."

---

It's absolutely nerve wracking for Ludwig to sneak into Brador's room- he's just retrieving some things, but it feels like he's stealing! He's such a hulking mass of a man, but worst of all, he's not supposed to be sneaking out. The Church and the surrounding Cathedral Ward has been on a sort of lockdown.

Ludwig rolls up Brador's blanket, tucking his medications into it, along with some clothes and other items. He hears some patrolling guards walking by the dormitory, and he holds his breath.

"-can't believe he would turn his back on us like that! What a coward!" One guard says.

"First no Vicar, and now, no assassin. I thought he was supposed to be loyal." The second says.

"Well, he ran and we're still looking for him. How much do you wanna bet he ran to the woods and got eaten by those snakes!?"

Ludwig's heart sinks as the guards' voices disappear down the hall.

Brador was always a black sheep. Maybe not to Ludwig and the others, but to the rest of the Church? He was a stranger to them, partly due to their hatred of foreigners, and Brador being picky about his friends. It pains Ludwig that nobody even dared to talk about Brador until now, when they think he's dead.

He bites his tongue. He wants to knock those guards' skulls together but now is not the time. It might even be suspicious that he's defending Brador.

Ludwig pulls the hood over his face and heads out, under cover of the moonlight.

---

Miraculously, Ludwig makes it to Old Yharnam without being spotted. He arrives at Brador's humble new (or old?) home and proudly delivers the items.

"Here's your medications, sedatives, your blanket, four changes of clothes and seven pairs of underwear!" Ludwig unfurls the blanket to reveal everything has been neatly packed inside of it, "Oh! And some of my homemade apple caramels and plenty of snacks."

"Luddy old pal, you didn't have to…" Brador smiles sheepishly.

"I just want you to feel at home again!" Ludwig slaps his back heartily, "Especially if you're surrounded by all these beasts!"

"Honestly… they're not that bad."

Ludwig gasps as if he just heard blasphemy.

"Really!" Brador insists, "Somehow, someway, they're… tamed. They walk around Djura's house as they please without pissing on the walls or digging into his pantry. They even share a bed with him. It's crazy!"

"It sounds like you need to take your medications for hallucinations!" They both laugh.

"Speaking of crazy…" Brador starts, "What did I do that night, exactly?"

Ludwig huffs. "After you put him down, you went completely mad. Sit down, I'll tell you… everything I remember."

Chapter Text

The wails of a beast shook the cathedral in the darkest night. Clutching his Holy Moonlight, illuminating bright blue among yellow embers, Ludwig investigates.

There Laurence lies, grotesquely twisted into half man, half beast. His human body is draped with fur, limbs elongated, his skull has split to make way for his toothy maw. His claws clutch his face, tearing, as he screams. The IVs are still embedded in his skin, like worms, as they continue to pump him with the experimental blood.

Ludwig slashes the tubes, fearlessly coming to Laurence’s side. “Laurence! Laurence, are you still with us!?” He cares not if he’s hurt. At this point, he has nothing left to lose.

Ha…” Laurence opens his maw, a terrible, grating, warped voice that mocks his comes out. “Lud… Wig…”
“Yes, yes that’s it!” Ludwig begs, forcing himself to speak with encouragement, “Laurence, Laurence my love, you can fight it!”

“…ha… ha… Kill…”

Laurence raises his claws, settling them on his lover’s chest. “Please… kill… me…”

“Laurence… Laurence no… no no you know I can’t do that, Laurence-“

Laurence screams, his claws now digging into Ludwig’s skin. Ludwig screams with him. But he does nothing. “LAURENCE!? LAURENCE PLEASE!”

The beast stabs its claws further in, the pain finally sets Ludwig’s flight response off. He kicks Laurence away, using his blade to keep the distance between them. It crawls pitifully at Ludwig, wheezing, screaming, its head too big for its body, IVs strung in its antlers. It swipes at his boots, blood trailing behind it.
Ludwig points his sword at it. It continues its attempts to kill him.

Despite Laurence, this miserable beast, dragging himself on the floor, Ludwig has never felt more utterly helpless. He can’t move, he can’t bring his blade down upon Laurence. He can’t…

“Laurence?”

Brador’s voice is quiet. It’s so soft, gentle.

Ludwig does not turn to face his friend. “Brador, step down, I don’t want you to see this!”

“Ludwig-”

“GET OUT OF HERE!”

Ludwig always knew how much Laurence meant to Brador. Ludwig was the light before Laurence, Brador was the shadow cast beneath him. Laurence was his everything: his family, his shelter, his life. If there is no Laurence, neither of them have a purpose in life.

The hold on his sword trembles. Laurence, this screaming beast, there’s a tiny glint of humanity still in those eyes. Ludwig knows it. It’s just one of Laurence’s acts again, the last of his human consciousness wants this. He wants to trick Ludwig into thinking he’s nothing more than a viscous beast. He wants Ludwig to lob off his head and end him now.

But he can’t do it.

Brador is now at Ludwig’s side, hand on his shoulder. “Ludwig. It shouldn’t be you. You are lovers.”

Ludwig swallows.

If there was anyone who would willingly play the stage Laurence set out, without fault, it would be Brador, after all.

Laurence lets out a pleading cry, staring up at Brador, fangs bared and tears falling.

The curtains fall in one swift motion, the brass end of the Bloodletter coming down on the side of Laurence’s skull, puncturing bone, spilling brains.

Ludwig collapses, unable to bear the sight of his beloved laying limp on the floor, splayed out just like any other dead beast.

Brador stands over Laurence, eyes dead. “Laurence…” Brador looks down at his hands.

“Brador…?”

“Oh God. Oh God, what have I done. Laurence. LAURENCE!”

Brador scrambles to the corpse, sweating, hands shaking, as he turns Laurence over.

Ludwig scrambles backwards in his own panic, while reality sets in for him, it has all but shattered for Brador.

“LAURENCE!” Brador screams, clutching the gray fur. He pulls its chest to his head, listening. “I need to get you out of there! Laurence!”

Brador pulls his knife. Ludwig is paralyzed.

Brador’s mantras are maniacal and frantic. The tears that fall from his cheeks mix in with the blood seeping across Laurence’s fur. “Please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me…! I’ll save you from this beast, I will!”

Fur is flayed from flesh, Brador butchers the corpse. His eyes are wide.

Laurence’s heart is open for all to see. It lies still, trapped in the twisted ribcage. Reaching through the collapsed diaphragm, Brador cups it. “It’s you… Laurence…? Laurence, can you hear me!? Laurence…”

Brador sobs. Clutching the flesh that is still warm and wet with blood, he cries out. “…it… it should have been me… I should have been the one to take this burden…”

Ludwig screams. Brador skins the beast completely, tearing off its face, cracking its antlers, ripping the fur from its back and the long hair wrapping around its left shoulder. Brador wraps it around himself, fat and blood and tissue staining his clothes.

Bloodied hands touch Laurence’s skull in reverence, bare eyeballs with indistinguishable pupils stare deep into Brador’s soul. His thumbs caress cheek muscle.

“You are free now, Laurence.”

Chapter Text

Brador went to bed that night feeling uneasy. The way Ludwig's eyes didn't shift, his posture… he told the honest truth as he knew it. And even worse, it sounds like something Brador would do if everything around him went to absolute shit all at once.

He holds up a fistful of the garb, running his thumb along the fur. At that moment, he believed this beast consumed Laurence. That he was going to pry Laurence out of the frame of a beast.

He is now the beast itself.

That very thought shakes him to the core. He had no control over himself. It was all a shaky memory. A dream. A nightmare. No different than a beast losing itself to its instinct. He can feel himself freeze over, from his fingertips to crawling up his arteries. He tries to steady his breath.

Maybe Eileen was right, he should be put down.

Brador had a thousand opportunities to die. If he had taken a single one before that night, maybe Laurence would still be alive. He could have shriveled up and died in his orphanage. He could've died on a night of the hunt. He could have died when Laurence injected him with strange experimental things, if only his willpower and trust didn't keep him alive. He could have died when a target noticed his presence and fought for their own lives. He could have listened to the knife that he held to his own throat when he came across Lady Maria's body, and followed in her footsteps.

But no. Brador is still here, and the world is all the more worse for it.

Now he's in a place where the beasts are docile. The beasts don't venture above to hunt. They're content under the wing of a man who gave them a second chance.

The epiphany that Laurence could be here now breaks Brador's heart.

Laurence could have been saved.

Laurence could be alive now.

But was it better to put him down? But of course, losing who he was… that was Laurence's greatest fear. For his legacy to crumble into nothing, to forget his ambitions and who he wanted to be. And Laurence confided to Brador and Ludwig, should he lose himself to the blood… Well, euthanasia is the happy ending in that case.

Perhaps it's selfish of Brador to fantasize what things would be like if he had dragged Laurence here with him. It's not what he would have wanted.

Something shifts in the shadowy corner of Djura's fireplace. Then, a warm hand on his shoulder, boney, and soaking into his clothes with blood.

"Please… kill me."

He knows what's happening. He tries to look away, curl up and ignore it. His medications are in the other house, not Djura's living room. Even then, it's too late to take them now. He'll just have to deal with it.

As much as he tells himself it's not real though, fear still seizes his heart, and he can feel the beast breathing down his shoulder. Maybe it’s really there. It's been proven time and time again, sometimes the strange creature in the corner is there, just visible only to those with eyes on the inside.

He closes his eyes, burying his nose in the fur, but the scent of laundry soap has faded. The blood that has rooted itself deep in the hide is all Brador can smell now. Still, he tries to focus on anything but the hallucination.

But how could he ever resist the sweet allure of Laurence's voice?

"Brador…" It calls him again, softly and sweetly.

It stares at him from the corner, bloodshot and barren eyeballs with collapsed pupils. The skin on its back has torn off, part of its skull collapsed in where the antlers should be. Despite the darkness, every striation of its muscle is clear as day. Hunched over, it takes a step forward, showing its lopsided claws.

"Brador…" It says in Laurence's warped voice, "Please…"

"You're already dead." Brador shakes in terror.

"Please…"

"YOU'RE ALREADY DEAD!"

Its claws settle on his shoulder. He throws off the blanket, kicking it for nothing to happen. He screams and flails.

Brador punches the air, then clutches himself. The vision wraps itself around him, still talking. "Hey! What's going on?! Brador!" Its voice says from the other side of the room.

"YOU'RE NOT REAL!" The words don't register to Brador.

The skinned beast then grabs him, trapping his arms at his sides and digging its claws in. "Easy, easy! Look at me!"

Brador squeezes his eyes shut, crying. The beast holds still, arms around Brador's chest, creating a deep pressure around his heart. The beast is warm, and smells of ashes.

"C'mon Brador, I'm right here! Brador!" It claws at his face, forcing his eyes open, then wraps its claws around his wrist. Brador flinches and swipes his fist, hitting the beast in the face. It yells in pain. "Shit…!"

The beast lets go, tumbling around the living room. It crashes into the furniture, knocking into a bookshelf, rattling them. It then stares at Brador, approaching again slowly.

"Please… kill me…" It says again.

"No… stop…" Brador sobs, "I've killed you once, I can't… I can't do it again! Laurence!"

Then suddenly, there's a stabbing sensation in his thigh. Brador jerks and screams, throwing the blanket that was apparently wrapped around him and the adversary with it.

"Calm it- dammit, ain't no one here but me, Brador! Easy…"

Brador feels a fuzzy warmth thawing the adrenaline in his veins. He clutches the spot where the stabbing sensation was. It brings him back to reality, the pain- the numbness of being injected with a sedative. He inhales and exhales deeply a few times, but it's not over yet, he can still hear the beast breathing…

"Brador, you there?" Djura's voice says.

Brador looks up, then down. The sedative is still embedded in his thigh- and older bottle, not one that Ludwig delivered to him. Djura's arms are wrapped across his chest, he's hugging him from behind. "Djura…?"

"Yeah, that'd be me. You alright?"

Brador thinks. He's still shaken. The warmth from his chest and the close contact with Djura makes him feel fuzzy. It's disgusting.

"...I… I'm alright. You can stop hugging me now."

"Is one sedative enough for you?" Djura says and tentatively releases Brador. He wraps a cloth around the needle and pulls it out.

"Yeah. How did you know what to do…?" Brador wraps the blanket and his garb around himself in shame.

"Sometimes the beasts get panic attacks. Seizures. Severe anxiety and whatnot. A lot of them have PTSD and go into fits when they hear explosions or see large fires." Djura says as a matter of fact as he stands up. "Now, do you need anything else?"

Brador hugs himself and thinks. He shivers. The blanket and the garb just isn't enough weight on him. He opens his mouth to speak, but he can't, from the attack still seizing his heart, and shame for being so miserable and pitiful.

He wants another hug, but he can't bring himself to say it. How embarrassing would that be, for Brador to ask for such affections.

"I'll be fine." Brador finally says.

"...you sure?"

"Yes."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Goddammit, yes I'll be fine!" Brador snaps at him.

"Ok, ok!" Djura holds his hands up, "I'll be upstairs if you need anything." And so he starts to head upstairs.

"Don't need your fucking help…" Brador grumbles.

"...excuse me?" Djura turns his head, giving him the side eye.

"I said I don't need your fucking help!" Brador shouts, "I don't need your goddamn pity either!" His voice trembles.

Djura turns around to face him, scowling. "Well, sorry for caring too much! Goddamn!"

"And I didn't ask! You're not my mum, just fuck off and leave me alone!"

Djura is taken aback by this. "Hey hey, you're the one who came here seeking refuge! You expect me to NOT help you?!" He raises his voice.

"You're treating me like a fucking child!" Brador shouts, "Don't care if you feed me and give me clothes- stop fucking acting like I'm some kind of stray puppy! I'm just fine on my own!"

"On your own?!" Djura glares now. He tries to bite his tongue, but his impulses slip out. "You're the one who's too paranoid to sleep in his own house!"

"You're the one who offered in the first place, idiot!"

"And you took it!" Djura throws his arms in the air, "Is that more of you trying to be polite, hm?! Are you just accepting my help because-?!"

"Because you're way too fucking easy to leech off of, you're a goddamn doormat of a person who's dumb enough to take in a criminal! Why don't you stop trying to make yourself feel better with charity and grow a goddamn spine!" Brador yells. "It's miserable watching you try to make up for your past by coddling a bunch of beasts that are just itching to kill. It's a fucking lost cause. Either you're pathetic and a fool, or you're trying to rack up your good karma points for the best ticket to Heaven!"

"...You think I'm faking my kindness?" Djura says slowly, "You think I'm somehow selfish for all of this?"

"No one is this fucking naïve and stupid." Brador spells out for him, low and angrily. "No one."

Djura says nothing. His lips press into a straight line and his brow furrows deeply. Then, he just stomps upstairs without another word.

Brador waits for him to leave. Then, he bundles himself up and lies down. He tries to keep his heaves and shaky breaths quiet for the rest of the night.

Chapter Text

Brador wakes up to no breakfast.

There's no bowl of hash and eggs waiting for him at the table. Just an empty bowl, already eaten, and an empty cup of tea.

Brador is hungry.

Brador has already lost the battle.

Brador bundles up his things and heads back to his house across the street. He takes his medications and eats the snacks Ludwig gave him.

The snacks are eaten in record time and now there are no more snacks. Apples, apple caramels, crackers, hard cheeses, dry biscuits, all things sweet and starchy, gone. All gone, in a mix of hunger and emotional turmoil.

Brador has just lost the war.

"..." He buries his face in his hands, grumbling to himself. "He totally hates me now."

However, Brador doesn't enjoy apologizing, especially not for something so fragile to his ego. In fact, he is totally in the right for snapping at Djura for overstepping boundaries to save his life (that was sarcastic). He shouldn't have been so nosy.

Yet if Djura hadn't intervened with the sedative, who knows how Brador could've accidentally hurt himself. Even worse, the terror of that psychotic episode could've gone on until this very moment. It may have even escalated into a seizure.

Still, what right does Djura have to witness Brador like that?

He can't even bear to look Djura in the eye. Brador curls up on the crusty old bed and mopes around for the rest of the day.

---

Djura is heartbroken. Not only because Brador definitely doesn't like him back, but because he's not helpful to Brador.

It's the early morning and he's having a drink over this, thinking in a buzzed haze, overlooking the city from his tower. If Brador doesn't need his help, fine! He can make breakfast himself.

Still, what Brador said to him stings. It's what everyone has said about him at least once. He's too kind, he's a fool… he's been told this a thousand times, yet this time it…

"It's not even noon yet, the hell are you doing with vodka?"

Djura turns around. It's his Ally, Andrei. He has climbed the tower after noticing how upset Djura was earlier that day, when he delivered Andrei his breakfast. It's also hard to ignore the refraction of a vodka bottle from below.

"It's Brador." Djura says simply.

Andrei comes to sit beside Djura, dangling his legs over the edge of the tower as Djura sits slouched over his Gatling Gun. "What about Brador?"

"He yelled at me for helping him yesterday…" Djura wipes his eye, "It was something serious too. Screaming and shouting about something… some kinda PTSD attack or something. I sedated him and when I asked if he needed any more help, he snapped at me!"

"Sounds like to me he doesn't like being patronized. Or maybe he didn't like that you sedated him." He shrugs.

"Maybe so…" Djura sighs and takes a swig, "but if I didn't step in, he would've thrashed and broke a vase, hurt himself, hurt a beast- and he was clearly shaken up even after I dosed him… then he said a buncha things to me that were horrible… well, whatever! If he don't want my help, then I won't! He didn't get my homemade breakfast this morning." He pouts.

"Ouch, now that's harsh."

"And, you know, the Holy Blade stopped by yesterday and dropped off a bunch of medications for Brador. Brador isn't mentally well-"

"Woooooow, really?"

"Yeah, but he didn't have an attack until now!" Djura exasperates, "And it just hurts, you know? Being yelled at like that, when I thought I was doing the right thing… him calling my kindness fake and all."

"Djura, we've talked about your people pleaser tendencies."

"This is different!"

"How so?"

Djura takes a long swig of his vodka, then he pauses for a long while. "I like him a lot. He's hot."

"...W H A T ! ? " Andrei screams so loud that the reverb travels down the tower and across the plaza, scaring the beasts.

"You see?! It's even worse than being rejected by your crush because he basically told me he doesn't want me around at all! No friend zone no nothing!!"

"T-T-THAT'S NOT WHAT I'M SHOCKED AT!"

"Eh?"

"Fuck you, man!" Andrei takes the vodka bottle from Djura and waterfalls the rest himself.

---

Djura comes back home after a long day of watching over Old Yharnam and taking care of the beasts. The first thing he notices is that Brador's blanket is gone from his couch. The dishes are washed, but arranged in such a way that it was definitely Andrei's doing.

Djura sighs to himself. He goes to his bathroom and splashes some water on his face. He hunches over the sink, gripping its sides, staring at himself in the mirror.

"You need to talk to Brador." He points at his reflection. "You. Need. To. Set. The. Record. Straight."

He jogs in place, spins around in a circle, and stares at himself again. He splashes more water on his face. It's not enough, so he sits down and does a set of sit ups. He hopes the ab workout will kill the butterflies in his stomach.

After some more self encouragement, he marches over to Brador's house. He knocks on the door and waits for an answer.

There is no answer. Worry sets in and Djura lets himself in. He calls out. "Brador?!"

No response.

Djura heads upstairs and finds the bedroom door closed. Djura knocks on it. "Brador, you in there?"

He hears a creak of a bed. Brador is in there for sure.

Djura inhales. "Hey, I just want to talk. About yesterday, I mean."

No response again.

"Look, I'm sorry. If you don't wanna talk about it, that's fine. But if you do…"

Footsteps approach and Brador opens the door. He looks disheveled and tired, even the fur of his garb is mismanaged. "Why are you even bothering?" He asks groggily.

"Because you were real upset yesterday and I wanna apologize?" Djura says.

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"But you told me you didn't want my help…?"

Brador sighs. "How do I put this best…? It disturbs me."

"My help?"

"Everything. Your whole attitude, your kindness, it's like you were born yesterday." Brador almost growls, "You want something from me. You want to put me in your debt."

"For- For fuck's sake Brador, I've already told you I'm helping you because this is my sanctuary!"

"For beasts."

"And they're people."

"...Djura, in this world, it's give and take, not just give. Favors are meant to be returned. You've done nothing but give to me. That's not normal."

"Is basic kindness not normal to you?"

"Kindness is helping an old lady pick up her purse, not giving a fugitive an entire house and putting up with his temper tantrum. It's… freakish."

"Then I'm the most abnormal little freak in the world, Brador. Hell, I already am!" Djura exclaims, "One for willingly sticking my nose in bombs like every other Powder Keg- and by the way, the Church called us heretics! Two for taking sides with the beasts, three for not being from around here, and four for being gay and transgender! And five apparently, for being nice to you." Djura crosses his arms.

"Oh yeah?" Brador growls, "One, I'm an orphan, you have a family. Two, I'm a foreigner. Three, I'm gay. Four, I killed the fucking Vicar and look what I did to him. Five, whatever the FUCK that happened yesterday. I'm the freak here, you aren't."

"Hey, that's two things we have in common. You're not as much of a freak as you think."

"Or maybe we're both fucking freaks here."

"And that's fine. Everyone else thinks the beasts here are little freaks with no place in Yharnam so here they are, with the head honcho freak here." Djura gestures to himself. "And since you're a self-proclaimed freak, here you are too."

"You still can't understand me."

"I can. I know what it's like for everyone to think you're a weirdo."

"No, you don't know what it's like to be me. You don't know what it's like to be haunted every day by your actions!" Brador raises his voice, "You don't know what it's like, losing everyone you've ever loved and becoming terrified of being alone! Look at you, you had parents, you're surrounded by all these beasts who love and trust you- you didn't have to watch them die one by fucking one. You didn't watch yourself stab one to death and skin them! You don't have to sit there and watch them doom themselves, knowing you could never have them again, or that they'll never love you back!"

Brador shakes now, trembling with tears. He grips the doorframe.

"..." Djura opens his mouth and speaks quietly. "I do know, Brador, I do."

"You're lying. Stop trying to make me feel better, motherfucker."

Djura lightly pushes past Brador to sit down on his bed. Brador looks at him, confusedly.

Djura has his hands in his lap, looking down. "It was my father who died first."

"At least you had parents-"

"It was to the Ashen Blood."

Brador falls silent.

"I watched him fall ill and wither away. My mum fell sick days after he did. No one wanted to bury them because they were foreigners. I had to do it myself. I couldn't let them join the mass funereal burnings." Djura wipes his eye. "Taking care of the beasts isn't all sunshine and rainbows. So many of them still had complications from the Ashen Blood. Many suffered in agony from the burns. I had to take them out back and put a bullet in their skulls."

"..."

"Then there's… me. I had to deal with people calling me terrible things. Beast fucker, all kinds of fun stuff, because I stood up for the misunderstood. Me being a foreigner and all, and people blaming me for the scourge… and the fact that I couldn't keep a relationship for more than a year because of how distant I became… hopping from man to man, losing interest… I felt like a monster. I felt like… I wasn't a person. I wasn't like everyone else."

Brador stops gripping the door frame.

"And the whole thing about someone not loving you back, I've been there. One of the guys I really liked got married. And just… liking men in general and the problems that arise from that. Then I thought I could never be loved because I wasn't born a man, and if they did love me, it was because I wasn't a man to them. And everything else- not being able to save my parents, burning this whole place down, every single person I couldn't save… it haunts me. So yes, I do sorta understand you. Not everything, but some of it."

Brador approaches with some hesitation, sitting at the other end of the bed. He sighs. "I guess it goes both ways. I still don't fully understand you."

"That's ok."

"Why? Why do you still go out of your way to help people? With all that's happened to you, shouldn't you have given up by now?"

"I've… thought about giving up, many times. But what keeps me going is their little tails wagging and how happy they are to see me. The hope they give me… the fact that their world has changed because of me. That's what keeps me going." Djura shrugs.

"What about yourself? Your own happiness?"

"Seeing others happy makes me happy. It's that simple. Maybe I do help others to make myself feel better, but it's not just about me. It's about them too. It's not like I make them suffer to make myself more opportunities."

Brador thinks, fumbling his thumbs in his lap. "I wish I could relate. I can't empathize with others on the fly."

"Really?"

Brador sighs. "I could watch an orphan get stomped on the streets and I wouldn't care. I don't care about anyone unless they're close to me."

Djura blinks. "That's… certainly an analogy to go with. Have you watched an orphan get stomped on the streets before?"

"No, that was just the strongest example I could think of. Growing up, everyone around me was cold and uncaring at heart, and kindness is something they force upon themselves. Everyone except Laurence when he took me in, and the people he introduced me to."

Djura looks shocked to hear that. "So… that's why you don't trust me."

Brador looks away.

"I am so sorry, Brador. To tell you the truth, I think it's the other way around- humans are inherently kind, but hatred spreads and sows its seeds so easily. I was taught to hate beasts, I would know. Hell, sometimes I wish I was less caring so I wouldn't cry myself to sleep every other night."

"That won't work. I cry myself to sleep every other night too."

"Then maybe you're more caring than you think, Brador."

Brador just sighs and says nothing.

Djura sighs as well. He looks down, seeing Brador's hand resting on the bed. "So, about yesterday, what should I do if it happens again?"

Brador shakes his head. "You did everything right. I was still paranoid so I snapped at you. I… hate it, I hate it so so much… I do what comfort and reassurance, I just…"

"You think it's weak of you?"

"If I so much as sobbed around my caretakers growing up, they would beat it right out of me. Said it was for my own good."

Djura's jaw drops. "Now that just ain't right."

"Fucked up, isn't it? And that's why I'm fucked up too."

"Well… you're here now. I promise you, ain't no one gonna hurt you again and fuck you up even more." Djura scoots closer. Brador briefly glances at him. "Do you want my comfort now?"

Brador looks down, seeing Djura's hand raise slightly off the bed. Brador sighs. "Don't tell anyone."

"What happens in this room stays in this room. I promise."

Brador makes the move first, putting his hand under Djura's. Djura caresses his thumb over his hand.

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing, Brador?"

"For putting my burden on you."

"No, no… I invited you to and I can take it. There's a difference."

"...I'm also sorry for what I said to you yesterday."

"Heat of the moment, Brador. And you just got out of a traumatic episode. Can't expect you to be all happy after a sedation."

"Still. It was out of line."

"...Did you mean anything you said?" Djura asks, quietly.

Brador inhales. "If you hadn't come here to explain yourself, then I would still hold true to my words."

"Eh. I've had people bully me worse. Plenty, in fact. Don't worry about it."

"Still. I'm sorry."

"It's ok, Brador."

"Can I lean on you?"

"Sure."

Brador slips off his antlered hood, having to lean over quite a bit to make up for their height difference. Brador gives up as he leans too far to get comfortable- instead, he puts his head in Djura's lap.

This comfort, this warmth- what does it remind him of? A hug from Adeline? A pat on the back from Gehrman? A great bear hug from Ludwig? Or… a gentle hand from Laurence, on his shoulder, quietly praising him for his good work.

Djura brushes the back of his hand on Brador's cheek with some hesitation. Then when Brador leans into it, he places his hand across Brador's cheek. He's glad Brador's head is in his lap instead of on his chest, because Brador would be able to hear Djura's heart racing.

"...is this making you uncomfortable?" Brador asks after a short while.

Djura gulps. Brador hears it. "Well… I think it's really nice, actually."

"That's a somewhat hesitant answer."

"Maybe a better word is slightly awkward rather than uncomfortable."

"Hmm." Brador stretches and gets comfortable. "I used to do this with my best friend."

"Oh yeah?"

"People thought we were boyfriend and girlfriend because of it." He laughs to himself lightly, "But no. We were just close. Didn't even have to tell one another if something was wrong."

"That sounds nice…"

Brador sighs. "I miss her. It's been over five years. Drinking with Ludwig at the pub just wasn't the same without her."

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Brador." Djura says softly.

"It's ok. She's in a better place now." Brador hugs himself, along with the garb. "Somewhere in heaven with Addy. Free from her sins. I just hope the curse isn't true."

"Curse?"

"Don't worry about it. Best if you don't know."

"...ok. Well, I'll be here as long as you need me to."

"Ok…" Brador closes his eyes, relaxing himself…

---

Brador opens his eyes. He can see the lake, the moonlit lake he's always known by Byrgenwerth. He shifts his position, his head on someone's familiar lap.

"Brad."

He looks up. Maria looks down at him with her usual deadpanned look.

"Eh?"

"You fell asleep again."

"Shit, fuck-" Brador sits up. "What were we doing?"

"Staying out of the water." She motions to the lake.

He looks over. Laurence, Ludwig, Micolash, and Rom- splash around in the surf, laughing, throwing water at each other. Nostalgia swells in Brador's heart. He smiles to himself.

"...yep, not a fan of the water. The hell is wrong with them?" Brador laughs.

"I'm wondering what's wrong with you two for not playing with your peers." A new voice says. Brador looks the other way- apparently Gehrman had been sitting beside them this whole time. "It's not that cold."

"Nothing is wrong with me for not doing something I don't like!" Brador exclaims.

"Don't you feel at least a little left out?"

"When they're playing rugby without me? Yes. Splashing around and getting their nipples hard from the cold? No." Brador says.

"Brad, that's lewd!" Maria shouts.

"We all have nipples, so what?!"

Gehrman sighs as the two bicker. "Well, Micolash certainly feels left out when you all play rugby…"

"Yeah, because Ludwig tackled him and broke his shin, remember? And I…" Brador looks to the lake, pondering. It shimmers in response. The surface ripples, like gentle waves in the sea.

"...why… why do I hate the water again?" Brador asks aloud.

"Don't you remember? We killed them all, Brador."

"Huh?" Brador looks at Maria.

Maria lifts her hands, the blood dripping from her wrists, and now her throat. "We screwed into their skulls, and threw the remains of their bodies into the sea. We looked into the water and saw the truth. We ripped the child from her corpse. Remember?"

Brador stares in shock. He looks to Gehrman- but he's no longer there. He looks to the lake to see Ludwig, clutching a skinned Laurence, and Micolash and Rom are nowhere to be seen. Ludwig cries out to the moon, but there is no thread of light, only an overpowering, droning beam of red.

The moon hangs low in a bloody sky, reflected from the lake that's been tainted with Laurence's blood.

---

Brador jolts awake with a yell. He sits up abruptly, looking around. "Maria?! Maria!"

Brador clutches his chest, taking a deep breath. "That was only a nightmare. She's dead. She's been dead for years." He tells himself.

"Zzz…"

Brador looks down. Djura is laying down perpendicular on the bed, from when he has Brador's head in his lap. They both must've dozed off. He looks to the window. It's completely dark out, save for the dim moon. It's a lunar eclipse tonight and it shines a weak amber.

Brador then looks down at Djura. Arms splayed out, legs dangling over the edge of the bed- it can't be comfortable, but judging by the drool on Djura's chin, it must be comfortable. Also, he must be a pretty heavy sleeper.

"...sigh. Might as well." Brador gets up, lifting Djura up by his back and knees, and placing him properly on the bed. He looks the sleeping man over, and for a moment, admires how peaceful he looks.

"...I'm sorry. I do want to trust you, Djura. I do. I'm just afraid to." Brador says out loud. "You're a genuinely kind person in your heart, I can see that now. But I don't want to lose anyone else, friend or lover. I don't know if I can do it all over again."

"...Zzz…" Nothing about Djura's breathing pattern changes. He's dead asleep.

"...Well, I got that out of my system…" Brador sighs out of relief and pulls the blanket over Djura. He's not tired himself with the adrenaline from the nightmare, so he stretches and goes out for a walk.

Brador walked until the morning came, and crashed onto Djura's couch as the sun barely peeked over the horizon.

Chapter Text

Djura wakes up with a mighty yawn at 5 in the morning, his usual time. "Aaah…"

He looks around, expecting to be surrounded by his beloved beasts, but this isn't even his bed. It's the bed of the old house across from his- the one he gave to Brador.

"...Shit, did I…?" Djura rubs his head. He remembers now. He had a heart to heart with Brador, and he let Brador rest his head in his lap. He doesn't exactly remember sleeping on the bed properly, though…

Luckily, the case seems to be that Brador didn't give him actual head. They just ended up falling asleep together- and oh my God, they fucking fell asleep together, on top of having a heart to heart. Djura's own heart skips a beat.

However, Brador is gone. Djura hopes he didn't find the whole thing weird. At least he cuddled up to Djura willingly…? But if physical affection is what Brador needs, then so be it. He will cuddle Brador as much as he needs to, no matter how much his heart aches for more.

Djura, still in his clothes from yesterday, hops over to his house and finds Brador fast asleep on the couch. He's curled up in the fetal position, snug under his fur garb. Djura smiles to himself, and he gets to making breakfast as quietly as he can. As he cooks, Djura thinks about what Brador said to him yesterday. No wonder Brador is broken- he lost everyone except for Ludwig, and he was raised in an abusive environment, it seems.

And the Vicar, Laurence, didn't seem like he helped much either, but Djura will bite his tongue about him. Even so, Djura is happy that Brador trusts him enough to tell him all of this. They certainly have a lot more in common than they both thought too.

Djura tosses the pan, roasting the hash, and sprinkles some salt on. He plates the hash and starts cracking eggs into the pan. Once those are cooked sunny side up, he slides them atop the hash. He fries up the sausages as he boils the kettle, then sets everything on the table. Two breakfast platters, a cup of straight black coffee for Brador, and a cup of green tea for Djura. And a third platter that he will bring to Andrei, with a cup of sweetened coffee with cream.

Djura eats up his serving, then brings the third platter out to Andrei's house. It's a short walk, closer to the entrance of Old Yharnam, and Djura waltzes inside unannounced.

"Andrei? Are you up yet?" Djura calls out.

Djura's beloved Ally comes down the stairs and practically snatches the coffee, chugging it. "Ah- ready for work, Djura."

Djura laughs. "Don't chug it all, you'll shit yourself!"

"That's what all of this is for-" Andrei takes the platter from Djura, "Thank you, as always."

"Yep! Alright, it's just a normal day, do your rounds and take care of the beasts."

"Aye-aye, captain." He mock salutes after putting his breakfast down. "Oh, by the way, where were you yesterday? Stopped by your house last night and you weren't there."

"Ah, I was…" Djura trails off, "Well, talking to Brador. About the PTSD incident."

"Aaand?"

"I told him what happened in that room stayed in that room, so I won't be tellin'." Djura says firmly.

"..." The caffeine hasn't quite set in Andrei's veins yet so it takes a few seconds for his mind to go to dirty places. "Djura wait a fucking second you've only known him for about two weeks now-"

"Whoa whoa WHOA we didn't fuck!! No!! We just talked about a lot! A lot of shit! Heavy shit!!" Djura shouts, blushing now.

"Oh thank God." Andrei sighs in genuine relief.

"He's… been through a lot. And I've learned a lot about him. We have a lot more in common than I thought."

"Liiike?"

"Losing a lot of loved ones, for one."

"Oh."

"And being gay."

"OH."

"Yea! I have a chance!!"

"Holy shit, no, he sucks!" Andrei gasps, "The guy bathed for what, three minutes? He is absolutely not a good man, man!!"

"But he cuddled up to me yesterday and he was so sweet~!"

"CUDDLED?!?"

"He was like a big ol' teddy bear I couldn't believe it myself!! Melted in my arms like he's never felt affection before…" Djura sighs, "But it was for comfort, not, you know, romance. Which is good enough for me."

"You've always been terrible with commitment." Andrei says. "What's your record, five months?"

"Andrei!!"

"I held with Nikolai for ten years, and the only reason why the record ended was because he blew his head off with a pipe bomb. And now he's probably running around in Hell, shooting everything in sight with his little mini Gatling Gun…" Andrei sighs to himself.

"Andrei…" Djura puts his hand on his shoulder, "C'mon. Lighten up a little, you want another cup of coffee?"

"I just don't want to see you heartbroken again, Djura. You passed yourself around like a cigarette and you extinguished just as easily. I was able to handle heartbreak only once, I don't know how you do it."

Djura sighs. "I won't make any moves until he does. Just to make sure."

"Let's get your mind off it, then. Time for work."
---

Djura tends to his raised beds of vegetables atop one of the many buildings. He prunes the wilted leaves of his potato plants and harvests any sun-ripened tomatoes that are ready. He's worried, though- now he's got three human mouths to feed, and he probably won't have enough potatoes to store for the winter. That's months from now, though. He's got plenty of time to build another garden and propagate some more.

He looks in the alleyways below to see Andrei going along his patrol route. He then looks to his house a short distance away, wondering if Brador is up yet. It's close to noon now, he must be awake by now.

Brador comes out the door just a few seconds after Djura's thought. Brador spots him immediately and makes a beeline for the building. A minute later, Brador pops up on the roof- or rather, an exposed upper floor, after the actual roof burned down. "Good afternoon."

"Afternoon!" Djura smiles. "What made you wanna come up here?"

"Just curious. You have… a whole garden here."

"Ayup! And I've got another garden over on that building, then another over there…" Djura says, lifting a crate of tomatoes. "Hey, you want something to do?"

"Like…?"

"You can prune the wilted leaves from my potatoes, or!" Djura sets down the crate, motioning to the raised gardens, "You could build more potato boxes. Earn your dinner, you know?"

Brador is not one for carpentry so he picks up a pair of shears. "This sounds tedious."

"Yeah, but, get this… more potatoes!"

Brador nods, his Irish soul (that he is unaware of, he doesn't know his parents nor has he ever gotten a DNA test) resonates with that starchy goodness. That motivates him enough to start pruning. "Do you grow all of your produce?"

"Eh, most of it. The only things I don't grow are grains, sugar, and fruit. I send Andrei out to buy them for me since I'm such a recognizable face."

"And you have chickens."

"Yep, and chickens! Speaking of that… I'll be back!"

Djura runs off with the tomato crate. Brador looks over the edge, watching Djura enter his house, leave without the crate, then head in some direction towards the Gatling Gun tower. Djura hurries back with two chickens under his arms.

Djura comes up the stairs and sets down two plump, orangish-brown chickens. "Pest control! Go eat some bugs."

"Oh my God, you really do have chickens." Brador gawks.

The chickens run around Brador's feet before hopping onto the wooden frames of the gardens, inspecting the leaves for bugs. Brador is in awe. He has never seen a chicken this close up before. They're really fat, perhaps bigger than a chicken that doesn't eat beastly fleas filled with Healing Blood. One of them settles down, clucks a few times, and casually lays an egg in the shade of a potato plant.

"Bessie! I said pest control, not get broody! Ah!" Djura just as casually moves the chicken out of the way and puts the egg in a basket.

"How many chickens do you have??" Brador is still gawking at them.

"About 15? They're really good, too! They do such a good job plucking the fleas from the beasts that they don't try eating the chickens!" Djura starts sorting out a pile of planks, likely salvaged from old buildings.

"Do you just let them run around unattended??"

"Kinda? Basically. They know when it's time to head back to the coop." He starts arranging and sorting them to make a new potato box.

"You are… an interesting man, Djura."

"Was that a compliment?"

"I guess you could see it that way. I've hardly met someone in Yharnam who's so hardworking. I admire that." Brador says as a matter of fact.

"Aaaw, thanks!" Djura's shoulders shrug together and he smiles.

Brador chuckles to himself and keeps pruning. Eventually he just starts pulling off the wilted leaves, noticing how easily they snap off. This is sorta relaxing, with the crisp scent of tomato and potato leaves, and the earthiness… the sun shining overhead in a cloudy sky…

Brador works down the row until he's beside Djura, who's hammering the planks into a new box. Djura looks like he's in his element.

Djura glances up at him. "Hello there."

"Hi." Brador says simply. He wants to keep talking, but he doesn't know what. Maybe about yesterday, but Djura hasn't brought it up either. Maybe Djura just wants to forget about it?

"So…" Djura starts, then stops to hammer a panel into place, "Yesterday, did you tuck me into bed when I fell asleep?"

"Eh?" Brador stiffens up.

"I know you fell asleep before I did, and I didn't wanna disturb you so I laid down… then when I woke up, boom! I was laying proper beneath the blankets."

"...I did." Brador sheepishly admits. "Didn't want to leave you like that."

Djura chuckles. "That was very sweet of you. Thank you."

"Y-You're welcome…" Brador looks away to hide his blush- then he moves to the other side of the garden.

"Why are you getting flustered now, when you had your head in my lap yesterday?" Djura laughs.

"That was different!" Brador barks.

"Whatever you say~"

---

The sun sets after a long day of work. Djura shovels the final batch of soil into the new potato boxes, hoping they'll propagate and make plenty of new potatoes. "Whew! Alright, time for dinner!"

"How the hell do you work all day…" Brador grumbles from the corner he was lounging in. He's absolutely sore from Djura giving him so much work to do. Carrying boxes, digging, mixing soil… the fucker makes dirt from scratch. DIRT. FROM SCRATCH. From mixing composted leaves, ashes, crumbled gravel…

"Weren't you a beast hunter? You certainly worked all night, didn't you?"

"I was rarely deployed." Brador answers quickly.

"Hm…"

"Hm?"

"Your weapon doesn't look very beast hunter-like. Can't imagine swinging that little thing at a scourge beast." Djura observes with a tilt of his head.

"Oh, this?" Brador moves his garb to the side, unhooking his Bloodletter from his belt. "This isn't even its final form."

Djura stands and approaches to look at it. "It's got an interesting design. All these spikes coming together at a point on the end- I guess it's for stabbing?"

"Yes indeed. It expels tainted blood." Brador smiles proudly. "This fine piece of art was crafted by the Vicar himself as he tried finding a way to save us from the scourge."

"How does it do that? The tainted blood expelling, I mean?"

"Let me show you. Watch this!"

"What- OH MY GOD?!" Djura screams at the top of his lungs as Brador casually stabs himself into the gut. He pulls the Bloodletter from the bloody mess like it was nothing, revealing its giant, terrifying form.

"Well? Isn't that cool?" Brador holds his weapon in the air, not caring that he's bleeding out. He waves it around. "I can feel the beasthood fading away already!"

Djura's mouth flaps open and closed as he's trying to find the words. "Y-YOU JUST- YOU JUST FUCKING STABBED YOURSELF YOU IDIOT!!!"

"Eh, I've had worse."

"WORSE?!?"

"Why are you freaking out so bad, don't you Powder Kegs blow off your limbs about once a week?"

"NOT ON PURPOSE!!" Djura gestures more wildly than any Italian ever could, "YOUR INTESTINES ARE HANGING OUT FOR FUCK'S SAKE!!!"

Brador looks down. A small portion of his small intestine is indeed hanging out. "Oh. Hey don't worry, that's what Healing Blood is for."

"BRADOR! WE DON'T HAVE HEALING BLOOD HERE!"

"...Oh."

---

Luckily Djura found a few vials of Healing Blood in the care package that Ludwig left for Brador. He hates having to use them in any situation, but one injection into the thigh later, Brador is mostly healed up.

Still, there's some work to be done. Brador lays across Djura's couch as Djura stitches together what the blood couldn't. He cleaned the wound with the highest distilled vodka he could find in his cellar.

There are no anesthetics involved in this operation. To Djura's surprise, Brador only squirms in mild discomfort instead of screaming in pain.

And to Brador's surprise, Djura isn't completely distracted by the fact that he's shirtless. There's the occasional glance here and there at Brador's chest, and a deep admiration for his scars and hair, but Djura remains focused on the task at hand.

"Did you really have to stab yourself?" Djura asks, halfway done with the stitching.

"I can't explain very well how my Bloodletter works so I simply decided to demonstrate it myself. Laurence could've explained it far better than me."

"Good lord…" Djura mumbles. "...so does it actually work?"

"I've taken more blood than anyone and I haven't turned yet." Brador shrugs.

"But you still have to take blood to heal yourself up, isn't that redundant?"

"...I guess that's true."

"Listen, Brador," Djura says firmly but quietly, "I don't ever want you to stab yourself or take blood again, you understand me? Don't want you dying or turning on me any time soon."

"It really sounds like you hate the blood, though you love the beasts."

Djura's brow furrows slightly. "The blood was the reason why we burned this place down in the first place. I'm grateful for the many times it saved a limb after it got blown clean off, but it's just not worth it."

"Not worth turning into a beast?"

"No. Not worth losing who you are. Your humanity."

Brador falls silent, saying nothing for a few minutes, musing to himself. Then he speaks up. "We didn't know the blood turned people into beasts until it was far too late. All Laurence wanted to do was save people."

Djura sighs. "I'm sure he had good intentions. But look at him now…" He looks up at Brador- not quite at him, but at his antlered hood.

"He didn't deserve this."

Djura looks back down, focusing on finishing the stitches. "And neither did the two thousand people of Old Yharnam."

Brador swallows. Something in his heart begins to sink.

Laurence did have good intentions, he always did. But with how close minded Yharnamites are, he needed to pull off a miracle, to make the populace desperate to accept his help. He needed to prove that he could save thousands in exchange for hundreds. He was willing to do anything to save his ego. To prove those who looked down upon him wrong.

Brador loved that about Laurence. That drive, that unshakable spirit. That cunning intelligence, that cold, analytical nature. He calculated the risk, but there were many factors that Laurence couldn't have foreseen. It wasn't his fault.

"Djura."

"Yeah?" Djura pats the blood away and fumbles around for bandages.

The Ashen Blood was the Church's doing. Brador opens his mouth to speak.

…But how could Brador ever taint Laurence's name?

"I… nevermind."

"Hey…" Djura puts his hand on Brador's own. "You can tell me anything. I won't judge you."

"I know you won't judge me, but… I can't, I'm sorry." Brador just shakes his head, looking away. Djura looks disheartened as he finishes bandaging the wound.

"...hey, if it would make you more comfortable, why don't I tell you a secret of mine? You don't have to tell me yours though."

Brador looks up at Djura, curious now. What is Djura going to say? Will he finally confess his feelings? Maybe talk about some dark family secret of his? "Sure."

Djura gulps, loosening his shirt collar. "I…"

"Go on, take your time…"

Djura inhales deeply. "...Sometimes I pee really hard off the edge of my Gatling gun tower to see how far it'll go." Djura says in one breath.

"..." Brador stares blankly at Djura.

"..." Djura sweats.

Brador wheezes. "BWAHAHAHAHA--" Then he lurches over, still laughing, "SHIT, MY STITCHES-!!! OW!" And he keeps laughing.

"Q-QUIT LAUGHING! Oh God I should not have told you-!!" Djura rips off the bandages and tries holding Brador down. It's going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

Though Simon has been exiled from the Church, that doesn't stop him from hanging around and eavesdropping. Lately, Simon has noticed a change in Ludwig.

For the first few days after the Vicar's death Ludwig would cry and mourn openly. The next few days he would grieve alone in silence. Then a short while after that, Simon informed Ludwig that he couldn't find Brador: a white lie.

Simon saw Ludwig sneak out the next morning, then again, then again for several days, then one night he slipped out with a bundle of many things. After that, it seemed like Ludwig was back to his usual self: happy, boisterous, full of life and loving.

Simon has a hunch on what happened, but he will ask Ludwig directly. He approaches Ludwig in the stables as he feeds his beloved horse. "Good morning, Ludwig."

"Ah, good morning Simon!" Ludwig smiles wide, "How are you?'

"Pretty average. You?" Simon leans on a wooden beam.

"Fantastic!"

Simon smiles. He finds the happiness suspicious, but it does make him relieved that Ludwig is healing. "It's good to see you so jubilant again."

"Ah, things have been getting better. My heart still aches, but Laurence would've wanted me to move on and continue protecting the Church."

"I'm sure he would've. I'm just… surprised you've been able to move on within a month."

"I… haven't, really…" Ludwig sighs, "I'm trying to be optimistic, but recently I got some good news so that has really helped!"

"Good news? Well, share!" Simon says.

Ludwig opens his mouth to speak, but then he seems to remember something and shuts up. "Uh…"

Simon tilts his head.

"...I was told not to tell a soul!" Ludwig insists.

"C'mon Ludwig, you know how I am with secrets. I must know now!"

"...well… it is good news, but now you must promise to never tell anyone."

"I promise."

Ludwig leans in to whisper- he has to bend over quite far- into Simon's ear. "Brador is alive! I found him and he's being taken care of by a good man."

Simon pretends to be surprised. "That's great!"

Ludwig is absolutely giddy. "I know! Now don't tell anyone, I don't think any amount of advocating from me will convince the other church members about him… so he is staying in Old Yharnam!"

"The haven for beasts?"

"Mhm! I think it is counterproductive to protect beasts, but after being there in Old Yharnam… well. Brador is in good hands."

"I'm… quite surprised Djura is caring for him."

"And that's why Djura is such a good man! He's so forgiving, and that's what Brador needs. Forgiveness!"

"To be honest with you Ludwig, if I found out the Church spread the Ashen Blood-"

Ludwig holds up a hand. "Simon, we've talked about this."

Simon keeps his mouth shut.

"I… don't enjoy it either, but what matters is the vast amount of people we've saved!" Ludwig says as if he were reassuring not Simon, but himself, "If Laurence didn't step in, who knows how many of us would still be dying from basic common colds! We have brought hope to Yharnam…!"

"I… guess."

"W-What matters now is that we're trying to help more people and rectify our mistakes… right, Simon?"

And Simon bites his tongue.

---

Why the hell did he stab himself? That is the question on Brador's mind as he sits there, facing the consequences of his actions, on Djura's couch.

Yes, he wanted to show Djura how the Bloodletter works. Yes, he can't quite explain it in words. No, it wasn't necessary.

Everyone is usually very impressed at his show of strength and pain tolerance. Some get so impressed that they scream and run away to tell everyone else. Then Brador chases after them and kills them.

Brador has to think about why he wanted to impress Djura of all people. He doesn't really want to think right now, but if he doesn't think, then he won't be able to distract himself from his current situation.

Plus, the initial pain of stabbing oneself doesn't bother Brador, however, the lingering numbness and inflammation that followed with the healing process is something he doesn't look forward to. He didn't sleep comfortably last night, and several times he had to kick a beast off the couch because they laid on top of his stomach. Brador is feeling rather grumpy now…

Brador looks at the bottle of vodka on the table.

…

“Fuck it.” At first Brador pours and downs a shot, then he pops the bottle open and chugs down several shot’s worth. Needless to say, drinking a few shots of 90% Serbian vodka makes one feel a lot better, save for their burning throat. It also stops him from thinking too much. He’s already starting to feel fuzzy all over, numbing out the pain.

Brador mindlessly looks up as Djura comes inside. "Heya! How are you holding up?"

"Ugh…"

Djura looks at Brador, then at the empty shot glass, and at the vodka that has less liquid in it than before. "Did you- did you drink that stuff straight?!"

"Ayup…" Brador kicks a leg up on the couch.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Djura gasps, "You didn't even mix it with anything!"

Brador looks down at the bottle. "...eh." He shrugs.

"It must be hurting pretty bad for you to drink stuff this strong…" Djura kneels down by his side, unwrapping the bandages. "You could've asked for painkillers, you know."

Brador grumbles something incoherent as Djura dabs alcohol on the wound. "Gggrgrrrr…."

"You're healing up pretty good, and no sign of infection…" Djura observes, "Should be able to take out the stitches in a few days."

"Mmm…"

Djura looks up. "You alright? I mean I know you're drunk and all, but this is Yharnam. We're kinda known for that, heh!"

Brador stares blankly at Djura for a moment, mouth hanging slightly open. He narrows his eyes a bit in thought. The warmth in his throat right now may not just be from the alcohol. And perhaps it's just the alcohol messing with his perception, but…

Djura has such a sweet face. It matches his personality perfectly. Kind eyes beneath a perfect widow's peak, gentle light blue like the sky in the early morning, the one that Djura always wakes up to. And his hair… Maybe it's all the ash and grease, but it shines, not in a lustrous way like diamonds, but in a toned down, subtle way like tarnished silver. Just looking at Djura now has faded away any grumpiness Brador had before.

Maybe this is why Brador wanted to impress Djura by impaling himself.

Brador's mouth opens further, taking in a breath. He hesitates. His body moves before his mouth, his hand reaching out to touch Djura's cheek with his index knuckles.

"You're beautiful."

Now it's Djura's turn to stare blankly. "I… uh…" Heat rises to his cheeks.

Brador's palm now rests on Djura's cheek. He mumbles, "Suits you well."

"Y-You're drunk!" Djura swats Brador's hand away and gets back to cleaning the wound.

"'Mm not drunk. Just a lil' tipsy..." Brador mumbles, clearly drunk and now staring at the glimmer of his own vest buttons.

"Yea yea, whatever!" Djura patches the wound back up and stands up. "Go take a nap!'

"Okie dokie… g'night... Zzz…" And just like that, Brador tilts his head back and nods off.

"Jeez…" Djura pats his cheeks, trying to get the blush out, "He was drunk… ain't nobody mean what they say when they're drunk, get over it…"

---

Brador wakes up to a terrible headache as well as the smell of bacon.

It's the evening, so why bacon? He looks to the coffee table in front of him and yes, there is a plate of bacon and hash with a tall glass of water. There's a note written in charcoal, messy and a little smeared.

Hangover food!

~ Djura

Brador smiles to himself, how thoughtful of Djura to think ahead. Wait… did he get drunk? He remembers now, being tempted by the same vodka Djura was using to clean his wounds… damn, it must've been good shit if he doesn't remember anything after that. If it doesn't burn his throat, then what's the point?

Brador gobbles down the greasy food and chugs the water, already he's feeling a lot better. Then he sits right back down to relax. Djura was quite insistent the other day that he rest. He will do so.

Now he has some quiet time to think.

Djura.

Djura has truly been nothing but kind to him. If he wanted to take advantage of Brador, he would've done so already. But wasn't he drunk earlier? Wouldn't have been the easiest opportunity to…?

The bacon clears his mind. He remembers now: Djura pushing him away, declaring that Brador is drunk. And before that…

Brador stares up at the ceiling with wide eyes. "Shit."

Isn't that what Djura wanted, though? He clearly has some romantic attraction towards Brador. "Hm…"

Laurence certainly wouldn't approve, though.

Laurence.

He never spoke fondly of the Powder Kegs. Always referred to them as dispensable, destructive, and unruly. He admired their creativity, but that's about it.

Brador sighs. He thinks on it. Djura is cute. But what he feels towards Djura is far different than what he feels towards Laurence, so how could that be love?

Laurence made him weak in the knees with just a glance. Laurence made Brador feel reverence, respect, and fear. Safe, protected, guided under his wing. Is that not the same love as the churchgoers under God? The desire to gingerly hold their hand, to press a kiss to the back of it, to show them love without being so bold as to stand up to their eye level.

God loves all his creations. Laurence loves all. He loved Brador. A constant shower of praises and gifts to keep Brador around. It was more than enough, Brador didn't deserve any more than that, and yet Laurence gave him food, shelter, friends and family…

What about Djura?

Djura does make Brador feel safe, he does provide food and shelter. And, of course, he's rather cute, but he's not as radiant as Laurence ever was.

Brador thinks harder.

When he was around Laurence, he felt as though he witnessed a miracle. A sort of awe and honor that he was even allowed to be by the Vicar's side. He would do anything to impress Laurence. He would kill whoever Laurence told him to, and proudly bring a severed limb to Laurence's table for experimenting.

Djura just makes Brador feel… warm. It's not the same warmth as the Vicar's holy light, but a fireplace, complete with a blanket and warm milk with honey. It's fuzzy, it's light, it's… foreign. It's similar to what Brador feels when he sees Ludwig coming in for a bear hug, or when he sees Adeline offering to let him watch her paint. But it's different, there's some hesitation, some apprehension that something terrible will happen if Brador stays in Djura's warmth.

That warmth is so tempting. When Brador laid his head upon Djura's lap, it was… good. He wanted to stay like that forever.

What is this…?

Brador snaps out of his thoughts as Djura enters the house. "Heya! You hungover?"

"Not really, thanks to the bacon."

Djura beams. "That's good to hear! You were absolutely wasted before, haha!"

"Just how wasted was I?" Brador pretends to be curious.

"Very!" Is all Djura answers with before rushing to the kitchen.

"What was I doing while I was wasted?"

"Oh! You were saying some craaazy shit!"

"Like?"

"...I don't remember!"

"Whatever you say."

---

Djura collapses on his bed. Brador has been living rent free not only in this house, but in Djura's head as well.

There was some serious conviction in Brador's eyes today. Drunk conviction, but conviction nonetheless.

"God! Dammit!" Djura says out loud and slams his fist on the mattress.

Despite how kind he is, Djura is terrible at this thing called love and commitment in a romantic sense. He’s used to his feelings coming and going, perhaps it’s the chase that excites him more than anything. Or maybe it’s because every single guy he’s ever gotten a crush on has gotten married, turned into a beast, or was straight. And perhaps it’s due to his capricious nature and how easily he’s distracted…

And even before Old Yharnam, he used to sleep around with men he met at the pub, and forget their names by the next morning. He’s since quit those habits, especially since he’s now isolated himself here, and after breaking one or several hearts.

He may or may not feel a little guilty about that.

…

Djura knows not to trust the thoughts he has past midnight, but those thoughts are keeping him awake. He stares wide-eyed at the ceiling, attempting to still his beating heart. This is just terrible. How long would these feelings last for Brador? A week? A month? Is this love as superficial as the layer of hair over Brador's body? And after seeing Brador like that a few nights ago, broken and vulnerable, how could Djura ever break his heart?

That scares him. His heart beats with more than just fluttering romance. He'd hate to do that to Brador.

He knows, after many years of being kept awake by his own mind, that there’s just no way he will fall asleep tonight.

He sighs, sitting up and pulling a warm shawl over his shoulders. Then he trudges out, past the sleeping Brador on the couch, and to his workshop in the back. He might as well be productive if he’s awake.

Chapter Text

Brador heard Djura come downstairs and leave through the back door. The old, broken grandfather clock with a missing bell says it's 1 in the morning. What could Djura be doing at this hour?

Normally Brador would shrug it off, it's really none of his business anyway. But he can't sleep, not after that fat ass nap he took earlier. Then he begins to hear metal tinkering on metal, quietly, in the distance.

Tink. Tink. Tink.

Now he definitely can't sleep.

Brador groggily rolls out of bed (or rather, the couch), wrapping his hide around himself and shuffling out the back door. The cold night air breezes past him as he opens the door and looks around. It's a small yard of cobblestone, a laundry bucket and a well, and a large shed of a workshop. The tinkering grows louder as he approaches. A silhouette is outlined by a warm light in the window, hunched over a desk.

Brador lets himself in. Djura is there, working on one of his guns, screwing and poking its parts. Strangely, he only wears an apron over his pajamas and wool shawl. It's rather silly-looking and oversized on him.

Djura is so engrossed with his work that he doesn't notice Brador. He is laser focused, working on a screw here and there, dismantling and repairing, cleaning and greasing…

Brador, instead of walking silently as he usually does, makes his presence known with taps of his heel on the floor. Still, Djura doesn't notice.

"Djura." Brador finally says.

"Hm? Oh!" Djura turns around, "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"No, I've been up this whole time. I took a nap for half the day, remember?"

"Oh, can't sleep, can you?"

Brador nods.

Djura shrugs. "Me neither."

"Can I watch what you're doing?"

Djura looks confused, then elated. "Of course you can! Come, lemme get a chair for you…"

Brador sits beside Djura, not too close, but just where his thigh is an inch away from Djura's. It seems now that instead of being laser focused, Djura fumbles with the parts. His hands are more tense, and his eye is squinted.

Brador leans forward, propping himself on his elbow, watching with a mildly interested expression. "So what exactly are you doing…?"

"Maintenance. Making sure all the parts are running smoothly and stuff."

"Ah…"

Silence.

Brador is left to his own thoughts now. The light illuminates Djura's face so warmly. And watching him work it's… what's the word for it? Not mesmerizing, not quite… Brador feels like he's participating somehow. Like he's helping Djura, though he wouldn't dare to touch Djura's precious metal babies. There's just some things that need to be left to the professionals.

This feeling in his heart, of being drawn in, it reminds him of the late nights he would stay up, watching Laurence experiment. It might've been observing mice with the blood in them, or watching Laurence dissect them afterwards. Except there is no cold ambition in Djura's eye, only a gentle passion, with great love and care for his life's work.

Why does every thought of Djura lead to Laurence? Brador sighs to himself. Perhaps his yearning and grief will never leave him.

"Something wrong?" Djura pipes up, noticing Brador's sigh and furrowed brow.

"No." Brador mumbles. He leans back and looks around.

Djura's workshop is messy. Things shoved here and there, stacked into piles, even the tools hanging are most certainly unsorted. On Djura's desk is a bowl of screws, all different shapes and sizes, how the hell does Djura know where everything is?! This is very much unlike how Laurence is, with every bottle and jar labeled, papers folded and filed…

Brador then knocks himself on the head. Djura isn't Laurence. Never was, never will be.

Brador then realizes that this is the first time he's scolded himself for thinking about Laurence. And now that he thinks about it…

"...seriously, is there something wrong?" Djura turns to Brador now.

"My head is full of thoughts." Brador grumbles now.

"Well, tell me about them. Maybe it'll get 'em to stop bothering you."

"..." Brador's eyes shift, staring into the shimmering lamplight. "I don't think… I've had a chance to properly grieve for him," He brushes his fingers through the fur garb, "I've cried plenty and moped around. But I haven't given his funeral speech yet."

"Then talk about him. Tell me what he was like to you." Djura says simply, turning back to dismantling his gun.

He inhales deeply. "...I loved him."

Djura stops tinkering for a split second, then gets back to work without another word.

"I was sick and starving when he found me. I was… lost. I lived on the streets for months until he took me in…" Brador leans on his elbow, "He gave me a purpose. A reason to live. Everything I could've wanted. I could ask anything of him and he'd give it to me… food, booze, new clothes… friends and family… but…"

"But…?" Djura glances at him.

"He did that for everyone. Gehrman, Maria, Mico and Rom… and especially Ludwig, of course. I wasn't special to him. A friend, yes- and much closer to him than any of his loyal followers, but that's all I was to him. I tried everything. I did everything for him, sacrifices and all, and yet…" Brador huffs, "Well, I shouldn't complain. He's given so much to me. What I've done for him is the least I could do. And besides, he had much more important matters than a street rat like me. Still, I was happy enough to even be around him…"

Brador continues, "I keep telling myself that. It just wasn't enough. I wanted… more of him. I desired him more than anything. But I couldn't take that happiness away from him and Ludwig. Not someone like me. Someone so…" Brador lets out a shaky breath, "Filthy and undesirable. Someone who was born unlovable. That's why it was I who bore his sins. I did everything- all the things that not even Ludwig would've done for Laurence. All to keep him pure."

Djura glances at Brador again, stopping his work completely. "You love him, but… you wouldn't dare to touch him?"

"I'm not worthy. I've only been able to grasp him in death."

Djura blinks. "Quite literally. And hey, don't call yourself unlovable."

"Why?"

"...Because."

Silence again. They stare at each other for a few moments. Brador then snickers a bit. "I still can't comprehend that this is him I'm holding. Though, this is not a befitting image. He was always composed, level headed, dignified and not… a beast."

"You don't suppose that, you know, maybe it was just… karma?" Djura braces himself. Perhaps he's a little bit salty over Brador just confessing his love for Laurence.

"The road to Hell was paved with good intentions. He had to do what he had to do, the only difference is… he thought, no, we thought the blood would do more good than harm."

"...I see." Then Djura tries changing the mood with a half-hearted laugh, "So have you ever thought about kissing the Vicar?"

"On the back of the hand. Maybe on the cheek. The lips, no." Brador answers honestly.

"Wait, really? Not on the lips…?" Djura is genuinely shocked to hear that.

Brador shrugs. "I guess I wanted to love him like… like a God. If that's the way to put it. And nobody would think to kiss Jesus with tongue, right?"

"...that's an interesting way to see love."

"How do you see it then?"

"If I'm with someone…" Djura puts his tools down, folding his arms and staring up at the ceiling. "I don't want it to be lopsided. I want us to be partners, equals, see eye to eye, you know? I wanna feel comfortable spending time with them, no offense, not like the way you see yourself sullying the Vicar by being around him. Like friends, but more than just friends. Friends who kiss and fuck and tell each other they love each other. I wanna feel warm and fuzzy every time I look at them."

"Warm and fuzzy…?"

"Y-Yea."

Is that not what Maria described her heart feeling when she was around Adeline? Or when Ludwig gushed about Laurence? Or when Rom pined for Caryll? Or, that one time when Gehrman confided to Brador that he loved Laurence? Though Gehrman also thought of Laurence in a somewhat similar way to Brador…

Brador can see the blush rising in Djura's cheeks as he hastily hunches back over his desk. Brador speaks up with a genuine question that will have an even more obvious answer, "So how do you feel about me, then?"

Djura pretends not to hear him. He drops a tool, scrambles to pick it up, and drops it again, knocking a piece of his gun off the desk in the process.

"Djura?"

"W-Well, how do you feel about me first?!" Djura blurts out, "Wait, don't answer that, you just said you love the Vicar and I know I just questioned your love for him but I just think it's a little weird you know?! I- well- ugh!" Djura snaps his head around to face Brador- only to meet face to face with him, as Brador was leaning closer. Djura freezes up.

"...when I'm with you…" Brador starts carefully, "The kind of warmth I feel is different than what I felt for Laurence. When I was around him I felt the need to… Revere him. Treat him as greater than I. But when I'm with you, I'm not so sure. I don't want to worship you, but I… I want to be by your side. And I don't quite understand it myself… but I know for a fact you make me feel comfortable and safe."

"...do you…" Djura starts, then pauses. Brador is so close now that Djura can feel his breath on his lips, "Think about… k-kissing me, then?"

Brador leans back a bit, hesitant. Djura doesn't move.

"L-Look, if you're still unsure…" Djura backs up a bit too, "I won't force you, ok? A-And don't take my own feelings into account, I can take the heartbreak, I've already told you I've gone through it so many times. So don't guilt yourself into it, ok?" Djura says so sweetly yet somberly.

Something about Djura's indirect confession makes that warmth in Brador's heart burst. It begins to pound.

Still, the pang of guilt isn't from Djura, it's from Laurence. How would Laurence feel about this?

The skinned beast stares at him from the corner of the workshop, the gold pendant glinting from its bare heart. Brador glances at it, but unlike last time, the paranoia doesn't grip his veins. He knows he's safe. Djura is here.

If that beast truly were Laurence, it would've torn Djura to shreds by now. A distraction like this would have not been seen kindly by Laurence, especially if that distraction exiled himself from the Church and protects beasts.

Besides, Brador used to fuck away the loneliness behind pubs. He used to imagine Laurence as those men, consuming them whole, biting, claiming them as his own, Laurence as his own… yet he knows deep down, he could never treat Laurence as roughly as he does to others. He felt nothing for those men. Just a hollow shell for him to hold close and imagine Laurence in their place.

Yet Djura… He isn't some one night stand, a doll for Brador to play with when he's alone. He actually enjoys being around Djura, even as someone so picky as he is about friends. He actually wants something a little more meaningful than a fuck buddy.

Is he truly in love with Djura, then? Or perhaps a better way to describe it is like rather than love. Brador has had his fun with the flirtatious teasing, but still, Brador hesitates to initiate.

Djura speaks up. "I'll admit, I'm a little hesitant too… I mean, again I've told you that I just… fell out so many times with the guys I've been with, so if that's something that bothers you…" His gaze averts to his lap. Then Djura sees Brador's hand move to his thigh- and Djura's gaze snaps back up to him.

"Can we simply…" Brador inhales, leaning forward, "Try 'us' out, then? I want to understand, Djura. What is your love? What am I feeling for you? You're not just a friend, but you're not quite my beloved either… what are you to me?"

The skinless beast breathes against Brador's ear, almost desperately.

Djura gulps. "Just a trial run, then? Like… dating? No serious commitment?" His whole face is red.

Brador nods. "And I'm sorry if it doesn't turn out that my love is true since I'm not so sure myself… still, you're adorable when you're blushing, that's for sure."

"S-Stop that! You jerk!"

Brador chuckles. He cups Djura's cheek, just as he did when he was drunk earlier that day. Djura leans into it.

"Are you sure about this?" Djura asks one last time.

"I'm sure."

Brador closes the gap. At first, their lips only brush against each other. Then almost out of nowhere, Djura becomes hungry, deepening the kiss and wrapping his arms around Brador's shoulders. Yet somehow, it doesn't shock Brador at all, with all that lust in Djura's eye over the past month or so. Brador returns the favor, leaning forward into the kiss, hugging Djura close to his chest. The warmth bleeds out through Djura's shawl and Brador's vest.

Unlike with the various men Brador has slept with, his heart feels so light and fluttery. Is this what Djura was talking about? This… fuzziness.

Would it be the same if Brador had kissed Laurence?

And as Brador opens his eyes, looking into the shadowy corner, the skinned beast is gone.

Djura breaks the kiss with a smile. He holds Brador's cheeks, brushing a lock of fur out of his face. "Hello there."

Brador smiles back, still hugging him. "Hi."

Djura's hand moves, his fingers touching Brador's brow. His head tilts slightly as he exhales, "Anyone ever tell you that you've got the prettiest eyes in the world?"

Brador, for once, actually blushes. "Yes, but not from anyone I care about until now."

Djura barks a laugh at that. "Good to know, good to know…" He still looks into Brador's eyes, "Such a pretty shade of hazel- I can't quite decide if it's green or brown."

"Personally I've always leaned towards green." Brador chuckles. "But there's no debate on yours. Light blue like the sky in the early morning. Absolutely beautiful on top of this handsome face."

"D'aaaw stop it, you're making me blush!" Djura says, despite blushing this entire time.

The way Djura is shrugging his shoulders and swaying is just so cute. Brador can't help himself and goes for another kiss, and Djura, quite literally, squeaks in surprise. Djura quickly melts into the kiss, much sweeter and innocent than their first.

Brador breaks the kiss this time. They stay like that for a while, foreheads touching, embracing one another.

"...you sure you're just trying 'us' out?" Djura jokes.

"Still deciding whether I like hugging you or not… I think I'll keep testing it. Just to be sure." Brador hugs him tighter, nuzzling his face into the crook of Djura's neck.

"What about the kissing?"

"You're one of the better kissers I've met." Brador says against Djura's ear, almost a whisper.

"Ugh! I dunno how you keep doing this to me…!" Djura pats himself on the cheek, flustered.

Brador snickers. Djura can feel the rumble in his chest. Brador speaks up again, "I'm being serious. Some of the guys I've met up with try sticking their tongue in my mouth first thing."

"I hate it when they do that." Djura snickers right back. He pulls back, hands on Brador's shoulders, "Say, you don't plan on sleeping on the couch again tonight, right?"

Brador stares at Djura, processing. "...is that an invitation to sleep or sleep?"

"...regular sleep? Of course regular sleep! I haven't even taken you out to dinner yet!" Djura blurts out.

"Well you've certainly been keeping me well fed…" Brador winks and smiles coyly.

"Ok ok, slow down! We should get inside anyway, it's late…"

"Mmm alright." Brador stands, holding out his hand to Djura. Djura takes it, and as Djura places his hand on Brador's, Brador lifts them together and kisses Djura's knuckles.

"O-Oh, I…" Djura swoons. Brador smiles against his knuckles, pleased with himself and at Djura's reaction.

"Let's get to bed."

"Y-Yeah!"

Hand in hand, they walk inside together, well aware of the romance blossoming between them.

Chapter Text

Brador is shocked at how quickly Djura fell asleep. Djura is snuggled in his arms, face in his cleavage, cuddling up to him as if he were a big teddy bear. Yet somehow, the unconscious Djura is careful not to knee Brador in his stitched-up gut. He is at peace in the beautiful forest that is Brador's chest hair, and he will not stir a single time in his sleep.

Despite how comfortable Djura's bed is- soft cotton sheets and a quilt blanket- Brador constantly shifts and fails to sleep. It's not the fault of Djura or his bed though. Brador has always been a light sleeper. A combination of paranoia, astuteness, distrust, and acclimation to sleeping little. Sometimes, he can still feel the rats of his old orphanage nibbling at his fingertips. And sometimes, it's an escaped target returning to eliminate the danger under the cover of night, hovering over him with a knife in their hands.

Djura trusts Brador unconditionally, so much so that he fell asleep easily on their first night together. Does Djura realize how little he truly knows Brador? Sure, he's seen the vulnerable sides of Brador, broken and grieving…

What about the side that turns loyalty into obsession and possession? What about the side that will tear, claw, mutilate at the drop of a dime? What about the side that is thrilled with bloodlust as he chases down his prey? What about the side that suddenly feels nothing when he plunges his knife into his prey’s heart, watching the terror in their eyes fade into an empty husk?

Would Djura love those sides of Brador? The violence, the extremes, the savagery?

Brador cups the side of Djura's neck, thumb running over his jugular. Djura's heartbeat is steady and slow in his deep sleep. It would be so easy to strangle him. And yet here Djura is, unconscious, exposed and defenseless, without a care in the world.

Would he still sleep like this if, again, he knew those sides of Brador?

Brador reaches to Djura's face, brushing away locks of hair that cover his scarred eye. Brador has never seen it until now, as it has always been hidden under Djura's eye patch. Many minute, discolored scars surround its hollow socket, radiating outwards like an explosion, and stitched back together years ago. Perhaps an explosion is what caused it in the first place. Brador's gaze trails down to Djura's shoulders, his chest, whatever the quilt doesn't cover. So many scars. So many times he's been hurt. And yet, still so trusting.

Maybe Djura would be able to handle that side of Brador. Still, perhaps Djura will never find out and it's best if it stays that way.

He raises the beasthide garb around him, then tucks it over Djura's shoulders beneath the blanket. He closes his eyes, listening to Djura's breathing, focusing his mind on the warm hand on his chest and back…

--- --- ---

The crowd looks upon the scene in terror and confusion. Constables do their best to keep them at bay, but who could tear their eyes away from a scene like this? A bloody murder that happened deep in the night would draw any curious mind in.

Brador lurks amongst them, seeing peeks of Laurence's white clothes crouched down in the alleyway. He's only interested in how Laurence will play this out, for Brador already knows exactly what happened.

Laurence stands, announcing calmly but loudly. "This poor man was attacked by a beast, but fear not, we the Church will hunt it down and bring him justice."

The crowd clammers and chatters amongst each other, but they all come to the consensus that the Vicar's explanation is the only plausible one. The constables seem to agree as well, looking at the blood splatter from wide slashes, and crushed limbs with many punctures. The face is unrecognizable, eviscerated, skull crushed from immense force.

The victim was completely maimed.

Laurence exits, the crowd splitting in waves for him, and Brador following suit, blending in with the direction of the dissipating crowd.

Soon, Laurence and Brador are alone in the deep reaches of Cathedral Ward in Laurence's office. Laurence turns to Brador after closing the door, "Well done, Brador. That's one less nosey mouse in our business." He folds his hands behind his back.

Brador smiles. "Of course."

"Although, next time, you should tear into the liver. From our recent investigations, it seems the beasts tend to go for that organ in particular, as well as the spleen and heart. It's likely due to the high concentrations of blood." Laurence says in an analytical manner, pushing up his glasses.

Brador's smile falters a bit. Laurence notices. He gives Brador a gentle pat on the shoulder, "But otherwise, excellent job. I'm sure I didn't have to suggest a beast did it for them to be convinced. Still, be more thorough next time. If you get it down perfect, the constables won't bother getting our verdict next time.”

Brador's head tilts slightly to the side where Laurence's hand rests. "Thank you, Laurence."

Oh, Laurence. Those eyes are a beautiful shade of amber and yet they're so cold. Reddish-brown hair, shining like copper wire and reaches past his shoulders, such a pale complexion and high cheekbones, always held together with a regal air to him.

To have the honor of being praised by Laurence himself is a drug.

"Now, I have to go about finding a cure for this whole beast debacle, so you are dismissed now, Brador." Laurence's hand leaves his shoulder, leaving the assassin feeling hollow.

Brador wants to linger, to bask in Laurence's shadow, but what right does he have to? Laurence was the one who saved him. Laurence was the one who gave him a purpose. It's not his place to ask for more.

Besides, he knows absolutely bum fuck nothing about how the blood works on a molecular level. He'll leave it to the smart people.

"I'll see you around, Laurence." Brador bids farewell simply, and takes his leave.

"I'll summon you if I have another assignment for you. Thank you, Brador."

That sends warm chills up Brador's spine as he closes the door behind him. He holds his hand over his beating heart and takes a deep breath.

"Really? Another one?” A voice says.

Brador snaps his head to the side. Lady Maria, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, nose upturned, and giving him a judgemental side look.

"What?!" Brador throws his arms up in the air.

She rolls her eyes and walks away. Brador quickly catches up and walks alongside her. "Oh come on Maria, it's not a big deal-"

"He's using you, don't you see it?"

"So?!"

Lady Maria stomps on her heel and turns to face Brador, easily towering over him. "What do you mean, so?! You just killed another person over Laurence's slight suspicion that they know the truth!"

"And we can't have all of Yharnam learning that it's the goddamn blood making the beasts, that's why he's finding a cure!"

"When is that going to happen?!" She snaps at him, "That man is so obsessed with his ego that he can't even consider stopping his blood ministration-"

"He knows what he is doing-"

"Then there wouldn't be beasts in the first place, dumbass!" She points accusingly.

"And none of us fucking realized it so here we all are, as dumbasses, including you!"

"Me?! Well I was the only one who spoke up when Laurence said we start in Old Yharnam-"

"Because you're a soft bitch who can't get even over a bunch of fish monsters-" Brador stops himself, eyes wide at the words that just came out of his mouth. But before he can take them back, Lady Maria throws a punch in Brador's face. Brador punches right back and they're now dogpiling each other. Yelling, screaming, tears running down Lady Maria's face and bruises appearing on both of them.

"Hey, knock it off you two!" Out of nowhere, almost as if summoned by their skirmish, Ludwig rushes them down and scoops them up by their shirt collars.

"She punched me first!"

"No, he called me a bitch! Deserved!"

Ludwig sighs. "Let me guess, Lady Maria, you're mad about Brador doing his job again?"

Lady Maria gasps. "You're ok with this murder?!"

Ludwig shakes his head. "Not at all. But if it becomes known, the origins of the beasts, that is, it will be far worse. And there is no guaranteeing their silence…"

"And let me guess, you think Laurence will find a cure?" Lady Maria groans.

"Of course he will!" Ludwig says, setting them down, "He has always known what is best. Either way, he is pioneering the way of medicine and healing!" He tries to smile. Both Brador and Lady Maria both see right through it.

"You two are so annoying about Laurence." Lady Maria sneers.

"I owe him my life. I will do anything to make up for that." Brador states simply.

She sighs. "You know what, there's no arguing with you two," She turns on her heel, walking in the opposite direction, "I'm going to check on Adeline. Goodbye."

"Bye, I guess…" Brador hardly waves. He looks up to Ludwig, who now wears sadness on his face.

Ludwig looks down at him. "You've done so much for Laurence already, Brador. Please, you don't have to do this anymore."

"But how will I be of use to him otherwise?" Brador sighs, "That's all I know what to do. I'm a terrible cook, I didn't know how to read until Byrgenwerth, these hands aren't delicate enough to hold those little tubes in the laboratory… I'm here in the first place because I killed, Ludwig. And I felt nothing of it. You, Maria, Gehrman, all of you honor the dead and get wracked with guilt. I don't. I do this because I'm the only one who can. This is my nature. This is my place in the world."

"Hey…” Ludwig pats his head, “You weren't placed in this world to be a murderer. You're also my little brother."

Brador stares up at Ludwig with puppy eyes. "Don't fucking say that asshole, you're making me all sappy now."

"And you're also placed in this world to apologize to Lady Maria.”

“...sigh.” Brador rubs the back of his neck.

“Hey, I heard what you said to make her punch you. You should know better!” Ludwig scolds him, then sighs sadly, “She hasn't been the same since then…”

“I know…” He looks down.

Ludwig pats his back. “Go say sorry and buy her a drink later.”

“Right, right…” Brador turns around, following the direction she went. He keeps walking, walking, the hallway ever stretching its distance. It feels like forever, he doesn't notice it, turning to see Ludwig miles behind him, yet his own position hasn't changed before.

He keeps walking until his surroundings fade away into a gentle morning light.

--- --- ---

Brador opens his eyes. How unusual, he recalled a distant memory instead of having a dream.

He remembers Laurence's smile perfectly. That simple look of approval spurs Brador into being better for him. Too bad he will never see it again…

…As well as Maria's utter disappointment in him. Maybe she had a point back then. Laurence hasn't found a way to reverse beasthood or erase it completely from the blood- only a way to slow it down. Not prevent it entirely.

And Brador certainly could've held his tongue back then. Still, nothing could have prepared them for what's to come in the week after that incident.

He never got to apologize. He followed Maria and found her in Saint Adeline's room, kneeling before her, holding the patient’s wilted wrist. Adeline's condition was rapidly deteriorating. Her death was written on the walls, and already in the researchers’ notes.

The next day, Adeline had passed away. Then after that, Maria wouldn't even acknowledge him.

The rest is history.

Brador sits up and remembers where he is, ignoring the numb pain in his abdomen from his earlier Bloodletter wound. This is Djura's room and his bed. Then he hears some shuffling. Djura is by the closet and he just put on his leather pants for the day. Brador speaks up, “Good morning.”

Djura turns around. He was just about to put on his vest and cloak. Now Brador can see all his scars in the dim morning light: the dotted burn scars across his body; the few bite marks from unruly beasts, some recent and some not; the thin and faded surgical scars across Djura's chest; the off-colored and large rectangular scar along his right arm. Each and every one of them tells a story and he'd love to hear about them. “Oh, good morning! I didn't think you'd be up by now.”

Brador just shrugs, still looking at Djura. Djura chuckles, “You like what you see?”

“You're beautiful. And no, I'm not drunk this time.”

Djura barks a laugh at that. He approaches Brador, clothes tucked under his arm. His smile fades a bit, “Hey… You're lookin’ pretty down this morning.”

“It's… it's nothing.” Brador lies.

Djura presses a kiss to his forehead. Brador stiffens up, warmth spreading through him, and without realizing it, a grin creeps up on his face. “The hell?”

“It's called a good morning kiss! God, you're adorable.” Djura puts his hands on his cheeks, “Since you're awake now, how do you like your steak cooked?”

“...steak?” Brador's grin turns into a slack-jawed drool.

“Yea! Gonna make some steak and eggs for breakfast, a little celebration of us, if you would.”

“I like it cooked rare.” Brador lies again. Truthfully, he's a total freak and likes his beef completely raw, so long as it's seasoned. He's a huge fan of tartare, needless to say.

“Wonderful! Come join me for breakfast whenever you're ready~”

Djura throws on the rest of his clothes and heads out. Brador is left there on the bed, cloaked in his garb and the blanket.

Brador hasn't gotten a chance to look around Djura's room until now. It's pretty plain. Wooden floors, wooden walls, all covered in some form of black burns. There's a dresser, wardrobe, all the basic stuff. The only thing that really stands out to Brador is the fact that Djura's sheets are covered with beast hair.

Brador is tempted to go back to sleep, but then he smells steak. Sizzling steak. It alights his senses-- he's wide awake now.

Truly at heart, Brador is a simple man. He shuffles his clothes on and pulls on his antlered hood to join Djura for breakfast. The aroma grows stronger with every step Brador takes to the ground floor.

“That was quick!” Djura laughs. “Go take a seat, it'll be done shortly.”

“It smells so good…” Brador wipes his mouth on his sleeve as he sits down.

“Thanks! So, how was your sleep? I hope I didn't bother you too much last night.”

“I think your snuggling actually helped me fall asleep easier.”

“That's good to hear! And I'll tell you what, you were so warm and comfortable that I wanted to stay like that forever~”

“I could tell!”

Soon, Djura plates their breakfasts. Unlike the messy bowls of eggs and hash from before, this is plated like something out of a fine dining restaurant. There's not a stray piece of hash in the pile that's shaped like a crescent, framing a thickly sliced top sirloin. The sunny side up eggs lay atop the generous portion of hash, golden yellow yolks and all. The steak itself is a perfect, tender pink throughout just as Brador ordered, and the crust has visible flakes of kosher salt and pieces of black pepper. Djura's plate is no different, save for his steak being cooked well done, and served with tea instead of Brador's black coffee. There's a third platter in the middle of the table, presumably for Andrei, with a medium rare steak.

“I'll bring Andrei his portion later since he likes his steak cold, so for now…” Djura sits across from Brador with a smile, kicking his legs. “Let's eat!”

Brador stabs a piece of steak with his fork, then he looks up at Djura. Djura looks like he's anxious with anticipation. He hasn't taken a bite of his own cooking yet. Brador shrugs it off and bites into it.

It's tender. It's juicy. It's smoky. Hints of garlic and paprika in the seasoning. Rosemary too. It oozes with juices and butter in Brador's mouth and it takes little effort to chew- it almost melts in his mouth.

Djura unashamedly sighs lovingly as Brador loses his goddamn mind and gobbles his breakfast down like a black bear that has just come across the finest of rubbish bins. “That steak right there was smoked, then dry aged for three months to perfection~” Djura says before he starts eating as well.

Brador doesn't even hear Djura. He just keeps eating and then chugs down his coffee. He wipes his mouth on his sleeve.

Will he be eating like this for the duration of his relationship with Djura…?

Laurence fed him and his friends extravagant, fine, exotic foods and wines. Sometimes he would wake up to a beautiful Irish or English breakfast platter, and other times it would be Indian flatbread and mild curry, and sometimes Italian frittata and focaccia. For dinner, it might've been seafood carbonara served with mussels and prawns, another night it might've been a whole roast peahen on a bed of vegetables. It was so fancy that Brador never felt he was worthy, so the sandwiches at the pub did just as great for him too.

This steak and egg breakfast isn't nearly as fancy. It's not made to impress via how exotic or expensive it is, though steak is expensive in of itself. There's something different about this meal that warms Brador's heart. He can't put his finger on it.

But anyway, nothing beats a fucking steak for breakfast! Brador straightens himself up and clears his throat. “Thank you for the food, Djura.”

“Oh it's not a problem at all~ I'm glad you like my cooking so much!” Djura stands up, walking around the table to be at Brador's side, “You mind if I give you a lil’ kiss before I go off to work?”

“I want to kiss you so bad right now.”

Djura laughs, leaning down and touching lips with Brador. Brador can't help but smile into it, as well as admire how good Djura’s mouth tastes with a bit of steak and egg flavor. The kiss is sweet and brief- and leaves Brador longing for more.

“Alright, I gotta go-” Djura picks up the last breakfast platter, “And after I drop this off… maybe you could tag along with me around Old Yharnam instead of being all cooped up in here?”

“I don't see why not.” Brador shrugs, leaning back with his arm over the back of the chair.

Djura's eye lights up. “That's great to hear! I'll see you soon, then!”

If Brador didn't find Djura cute already, he would definitely find Djura's puppy-like enthusiasm to be around him absolutely adorable.

---

Andrei stares out his window, waiting for Djura. He just can't, man. He can't start his damn morning without coffee. Sure, he could make it himself, but this has been their little ritual for over a decade now. Djura always, always, brings him coffee. It just wouldn't be the same.

He finally sees Djura skipping- skipping like a schoolgirl, down the alleyway. He does a little spin before gleefully letting himself in Andrei's house. Andrei makes his way downstairs.

“Gooooood morning my bestest friend ever for over ten years now!” Djura greets him with utter delight, spinning to the nearby dining table and setting the food down.

“...You're awfully cheery this morning.” Andrei immediately points out. “Wait. Hang on. That's steak.”

“Ayup, it's the steak you bought a couple months back~!”

“We only save steak for special occasions and our friend anniversary was a few months ago. Your birthday was in January and mine isn't until September.”

“Yup!”

“...and this is a steak for breakfast.”

“Yup!!!”

“So what's the occasion?”

“We're dating now!”

“Djura, I've told you my heart only belongs to Nikolai and I'll never get over…” Andrei blinks, “Wait.”

He hasn't had his coffee yet. He takes it from the platter and chugs several gulps down, looking at Djura who literally has the look of a golden retriever on his face.

The caffeine rushes through Andrei's veins immediately. His neurons fire off, his brain cogs start churning…

“...YOU AND BRADOR ARE DATING NOW?!”

“YUP!!!!! Isn't that great?!” Djura is jumping up and down.

Andrei takes a step back, pulls a chair out, sits down, leans over, and buries his head in his hands with a deep sigh.

Chapter Text

Despite living here for a month now, Brador never got to fully explore Old Yharnam. When Djura first gave him a tour on the night they met, he only showed Brador around the plaza in front of the Gatling gun tower, a few of the open alleyways, and the street that he now lives on.

But now that Brador is tailing Djura around for the day, he's seeing the whole town. Some of the houses that are still standing have beasts living in them. Most are empty, either being too decrepit to live in or they're simply vacant. Some beasts will be greeted by Djura like people- he calls them by name, asks how they're doing, and they reply back to Djura with choppy growls and groans. Djura even talks back to them and seems to understand them. These beasts- the scrawny, gibbon-like ones that still stand on their two legs- even move their clawed hands around in conversational gestures.

Other beasts- ones that walk on all fours, their once human faces stretched into long snouts- are greeted by Djura no differently than dogs. They run up to him, wagging their tiny tails, licking Djura's face as he calls them good boys and girls. They even get head pats and belly rubs. Despite their size, they're gentle with Djura, even as they jump up and put their paws on his shoulders, they're mindful of their strength. That, or Djura is strong enough to support himself under their weight.

Djura is completely fearless of his beasts. He sticks his hand in their jaws, touching their gums, lifting their jowls to check their teeth. They're docile as he trims their claws, although some whine and squirm in discomfort. Some growl during their health checkups, but a brief scolding from their caretaker quiets them down. Every time a beast growls at Djura, Brador is on edge, hand hovering over his Bloodletter.

Although Brador is wary of the beasts, none of them seem to mind his presence. He's not sure if it's because he's been in Old Yharnam for a while now, if it's because of the beasthide garb, or if it's Djura's scent on him. Either way, he's glad he isn't being torn to shreds right now.

Brador sits beside Djura as he trims a small beast’s claws, pushing back the curvature so they won't have so much trouble picking things up, but leaving the sharpness to defend itself.

“How many beasts are there here?” Brador asks, breaking the silence.

“Eeeh about 300, give or take.”

“And you take care… of every single one of them?”

“Yep.”

“Every day?”

“Well, I really only take care of half of them since I have Andrei around. And not every day! We only gotta brush each one once a week and trim their nails every few months. But a lot of them are friends and they groom each other like cats. Oh! And get this, some of ‘em brush themselves and file their own nails! So really I have… less than 100 of them to take care of!” Djura laughs.

“That's still so many, do you take breaks?”

“Yea, I go to bed every night.”

“I mean during the day.”

“Does eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner count?” Djura shrugs.

“I suppose so.”

“Eeeh, taking care of the beasts ain't really work to me. This is quite soothing.” Djura blows away the gross dust from the beast’s claws. It sneezes. “Oh, bless you!”

The beast garbles at him as if to say thank you. It then seems to finally take notice of Brador and leans over to sniff him. Brador stiffens up.

“Hey, no need to be afraid of them!” Djura rubs his back, “You ain't got a thing to worry about.”

“I'm… trying.” Brador mutters, holding his hand out to the beast. It sniffs him, then rubs its head under his palm. Brador sighs. “Why do they like me at all…”

Djura simply shrugs. “Again, it's probably the hide…”

“...” Brador slips off his garb behind him. The beast doesn't react much, only wondering why its new friend is suddenly without his fur.

“...then it's not the hide then? Well, after all, they're still people… got some intuition about others, you know?”

Brador tilts his head. “So they've made a judge of character about me.”

“I suppose so. Wait, another hypothesis! It might be because I'm nice to you that they understand you're a friend. They go ape shit on hunters I fight!” Djura laughs. “And again, either way… it's good they've accepted you.”

“Yeah…” Brador smiles lightly. “It's definitely not the judge of character thing, then. They're dead wrong.”

“Oh c'mon, don't say that!” Djura rubs his back (he pets the hide more than anything), “You're a wonderful person, Brador.”

Brador stiffens up with a blush. “I… don't say that.”

“That won't stop me from thinking that. Heh!”

Brador grumbles, tucking his legs in and folding his arms over them. He knows it's all lighthearted fun, but Djura changes the subject anyway, “You still afraid of the beasts?”

“Mildly so.” Brador rubs its head. The beast purrs. “Well, not this one in particular.”

“They'll definitely grow on you.” Djura insists. “Trust me.”

Brador rolls his eyes. Djura laughs. He finishes up trimming the beast’s nails and stands up, “How about this, I'll let you have a meet and greet with the friendliest beast I have here! That'll be a great start!”

“They've shared a couch with me, how could it get any friendlier than that?” Brador asks with some slight sarcasm.

“Oh trust me, that's nowhere as friendly as this fella! Now c'mon!” Djura takes him by the hand, dragging him away a few feet, before suddenly stopping. “Wait, what the hell am I doing? I can just call him!”

“Huh?”

Djura cups his hands over his mouth. “REEEEEX!!!”

Not more than two seconds pass before Brador hears claws scampering along the cobblestone. It comes closer at lightning speeds.

The scourge beast skids around a corner, locking eyes with Djura as it slams face first into a house before running in his direction, not giving a flying fuck that it just Looney Toon’d itself. Its tongue is flapping out of its mouth as it charges at the pair, and Brador braces himself.

“Rex! That's my good boy! Yeees who's a good boy!? You are! You are!!!” Djura bubbles over with giggles as the beast shoves itself into his arms, rolling right over for a belly rub.

Beasts are people. Sure. Yep. Mhm. Brador totally believes that Djura sticks with his own philosophy. While some of those beasts Brador met earlier today still have some shred of humanity in their mannerisms, this… this is definitely a dog and its beloved owner.

Brador stares in disbelief. The sheer enthusiasm Rex has for love and affection is unmatched by the others. That tail is wagging so hard that it looks like it could helicopter away at any moment.

Brador then squints. That snout… those eyes… is this the same beast from weeks ago, that rested its snout on his belly as he cried himself to sleep?

Rex finally takes notice of Brador. Its tail wags a bit more calmly now as it sniffs his hand before nuzzling its head under his hand. And now in the daylight, Brador can finally make out its features: A Labrador-like snout that is still full of gnarly and sharp teeth, pale yellow eyes with not a single thought behind them, and unkempt dark brown fur, patched with dirt and ash. Its build is stocky and short, but still retaining the elongated limbs of most other beasts.

“...It is you. So you weren't a figment of my imagination?” Brador kneels down to Rex’s eye level.

“You know each other already? I mean Rex is acting like he knows you already- wait when the hell did that happen?” Djura gawks, “And here I thought I would get an adorable first meeting…”

“On one of the first nights I stayed here,” Brador starts, petting Rex’s ruff, “I… ugh, this is embarrassing, I started crying to myself. Then this beast came in out of nowhere and put its head right on my stomach. Didn't hurt me or anything. Just sat there acting like it cared or whatever…” He mumbles the rest.

“Oh yeah, that's definitely a Rex thing to do. He's so sweet and loving, even for a beast. I can't believe he's my little rat-killing champion! Oh yes you are! Yes you are!!” Djura kneels down too, showering Rex in pets and head rubs.

Brador scoffs. He then notices Rex is wearing a collar, made from an old belt. He glances down, seeing old silverly vambraces around its arms, hidden by its long fur. The ornate designs on them, they…

“Rex… used to be a hunter!” Brador gasps.

“Yep. He showed up one day on my doorstep with two others. Half-transformed already and scared out of their minds,” Djura's voice softens, rubbing behind Rex’s ears, “It was too late for them, I tried telling them. Then… well. It took a lot of patience trying to get them to stop attacking the other beasts, and they definitely forgot who they were before… but with their stronger drive to kill than the others, I figured I'd put them to good use, and now they hunt with me for rats and man-eater boars! Even better is that they're actually behaving now…”

“...so you named him Rex.”

“I mean look at him. He's a dog. I wouldn't name him something like Thomas or George. Just look at that face, does that look like a Thomas to you?!” Djura pulls at Rex's jowls, making the beast smile.

“A bit dehumanizing, don't you think?”

Djura sighs. “I suppose so. But he likes his name. Plus, you know… I never liked hunters that much anyway. But I still love you! Yes I do, Rex! WHO'S MY GOODEST BOY IN THE WHOLE WORLD?! YOU ARE!”

Rex barks happily, thumping his leg and licking Djura's face. And what's with this jealousy seething in Brador's throat?!

“So anyway, are you still afraid of the beasts now?” Djura turns to Brador with a smile.

“You're actually making me feel quite irrational about my disdain for them.” Brador groans.

“Ha!” Then Djura pecks him on the cheek.

---

“Is there a beast you've never been able to tame?”

The question comes up after Brador stared long and hard into his pasta dinner, thinking. From what he's seen today, it seems like there isn't a single beast that doesn't love Djura. There's no other intent than his own curiosity with this inquiry.

“Hm…” Djura puts down his fork, “I suppose there is one. Her name is Suzie. That was her name before she turned, I would know. She's very… I don't wanna use the word vicious, but she is exactly that.”

“Oh?” Brador twirls the spaghetti, admiring how even every noodle is as he listens to Djura.

“Yep.” Djura sighs. “She can be docile from time to time, but that's only when she's on a full stomach. But it's not her fault. I don't blame her for being the way she is. And of course, I still love her. I just need to be three times as careful around her.”

“I'm curious now…”

Djura pops a bite into his mouth, glancing at Brador. “Maybe not anytime soon.”

“Why not?” He leans on his elbow with a smile.

“Every single hunter who's made it past me ended up dying to her.” Djura says simply.

Brador's eyes widen, still smiling. “What.”

“Every single one of ‘em. Dead. Bodies sucked dry of their blood or torn to shreds, whichever comes first at the hands of old Suzie. I mean it's their fucking fault! Goddamn hunters not reading the goddamn sign on the front door…” Djura grumbles, poking at his spaghetti. He slurps up a bite aggressively, leaning back with his arms folded. He swallows, looks back at Brador, then a bit past him with a raised brow.

Brador turns to see what he's looking at. It's a calendar pinned to the dining room wall. Each day is marked with the phases of the moon. A big red circle is on today's date with several arrows pointing to it. Today is marked with the full moon.

NIGHT OF THE HUNT!!!!!!!!! DON'T FORGET!!!!!!! It says in Djura's handwriting.

“...Aw shit!” Djura exclaims, “How the FUCK did I forget again?!” He stands abruptly, whipping his head to look outside, “AND THE SUN IS SETTING ALREADY?!”

“Djura?!” Brador shouts as Djura rushes to the door. “Wait, you're-?!”

“Stay here, Brador!” Djura shouts back at him, “It could get dangerous out there and you're still healing! And the beasts get more vicious on these nights, so please! Tuck yourself into bed tonight, I'll be there in the morning!”

And then Djura slams the door shut on his way out.

…

Brador stares at the door. He then lifts his shirt up, checking his stitches. He's mostly healed. The stitches can certainly be taken out tomorrow.

…

Nah, no way Brador is letting Djura out on his own. Djura was so panicked that he forgot to give him a kiss on the way out. No kiss before work means bad luck. Brador picks up his Bloodletter and heads outside.

Come to think of it, Brador came to Old Yharnam on the night of a hunt, didn't he? Has it really been an entire month? A whole month since Laurence died? Brador looks up at the full moon as he walks towards the Gatling Gun tower. Its presence is overwhelming. It shines brighter and brighter in the sky as the sun sets lower and lower.

Brador notices that the beasts are a bit... growlier than normal. They still don't attack him, though.

“Woof!”

Brador sees Rex scampering towards him. “Oh, hey there…”

The beast skids to a stop in front of him in a play bow, dropping a stick on the ground. Do Rex's teeth and claws look longer than normal, or is he imagining things…?

“You want to play? Ok, just once. Don't tell Djura.” Brador picks up the stick and tosses it down the path he was going. Rex races after it, picks it up… then starts violently tearing it apart, snarling like nobody’s business. Another beast approaches, attempting to also chew up the stick, but Rex bares his teeth at the beast, making it run off.

“...okay, then.” Beasts really do get more vicious on the night of the hunt. But why even bother waiting for the moon to hunt in the first place? Seems counterintuitive to Brador.

Brador heads on over to the tower, climbing up the ladder. As he approaches the top, he sees Djura standing over the ladder, arms crossed, looking rather pouty.

Brador reaches the top, standing before Djura.

“...The hell did I just tell you?” Djura says firmly, sounding annoyed.

Brador lifts his shirt to show his stitches. “I'm pretty much all healed now. I can fight.”

“Still dangerous out here, you don't know the ropes yet.”

“I know plenty about ropes.” He winks and lifts his shirt higher.

“...oh my God, no.” Djura turns away, blushing like mad. “Seriously, shoo!” He tries swatting him away.

“And oh my God, I didn't think you were into that!” Brador laughs in his face.

“I- shut the fuck up! Besides, I'm not letting you fight, not with that crazy weapon of yours!” Djura argues, “I'm here to protect you and the beasts, so sit down.”

“And I want to help. I don't want to risk you getting hurt either.” Brador states, suddenly sounding rather serious. “Even if it's a little bit. Please. I won't be able to rest easily tonight if there was something I could do.”

Djura's eye widens. “I see, then. I don't wanna station you down there, so, hm… watch my rear for me, will you? I swear, sometimes the hunters come outta literally nowhere and I'll be watching the doors all night…”

Brador bows. “I will do just that. But only if you give me a kiss~”

Djura does not hesitate to kiss him. Their lips mingle for a bit, breaking briefly before going back in for a touch more. It walks the line between sweet and lustful. They both want more, but they know they can't afford to be distracted now.

The two sit there for a while, many feet apart. Brador can see Andrei down below as he patrols around the tower’s back every few minutes or so, almost flaunting his Saw Spear, looking vigilant with his head held high. The beasts that once hid in the corners are now prowling about, sniffing the air.

Brador speaks up, facing away from Djura as he looks out from behind. “How often do you see hunters out here?”

“At least one on every goddamn night of the hunt.” Djura grumbles, “Most of the time we get lucky and only one or two beasts get hurt.”

“I'm guessing it's not always so lucky, is it?”

“I wish that wasn't the case.” Djura pops open a water canteen and takes a swig. “There were more than 400 beasts here at one point, even after the fires.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. Do the hunters not care that the beasts don't leave here?”

“They're just here for sport, I reckon. Or they're fuckin’ dumb.”

“Probably the latter.”

Djura laughs half heartedly. “Yep. Couldn't agree more.”

Brador can practically smell how gloomy he made the mood with that earlier question. He decides to change the subject while being a little shit about it. He waits for Djura to take another swig of water before opening his mouth with a smug grin.

“So! Are you a dom or a sub?”

Djura spits out his water and Brador laughs his ass off. “What? If you know the ropes, then you're one or the other, right?!”

“WHY THE HELL ARE YOU ASKING?! WE AIN'T THERE YET!” Djura whips his head around, utterly red in the face.

“What do you mean!? I've had at least 20 dinners with you by now! That's gotta amount to something!” Brador laughs even harder, kneeling over and coughing.

Djura groans loudly. “You haven't even stuck it in me yet!”

“So you're a bottom! Now we're getting somewhere! Dom or sub?!”

Djura bangs his head on the cushions of the bench by his Gatling gun. “SHUT! UP!”

“You're evading the question, Djura! But at least you're not denying the kinky allegations!”

“UUUUUUUUGH!”

Brador continues to laugh. “C'mon, with the way you've been eyeing me up, I can't believe you haven't spread your legs for me yet.”

“Why are you bringing this stuff up now?!”

“Because you're fun to tease~”

“This is the WORST possible time to mess with me-- shush.” Djura holds his hand up.

“Hm?”

Djura stands. “You there, hunter! Didn't you see the warning!?” He shouts across Old Yharnam, several echoes of his voice booming across the buildings. “Turn back at once!”

Brador remains at the rear, listening to the echoes of the hunter.

“Fuck you!” The hunter shouts from the distance. Djura can see them flipping him off.

Djura yells back. “Well then! So the hunter will face the hunt! Have at you!” Then he grumbles, kneeling back down beside his gun, “I had a whole speech planned and everything and this guy just wants to ruin my night…”

“Can I watch?” Brador asks.

“Eh. It won't be that exciting.” Djura pulls the trigger of his Gatling Gun. Then he shouts, “FUCK!”

Brador can't help it. He rushes to Djura's side to watch-- and plugs his ears from the loud firing of the massive gun.

Djura is bracing himself, following right on the hunter’s feet, raining bullets down upon them. The hunter keeps dodging in and out of the rubble, somehow timing exactly when Djura is reloading. “Tch, this sonuvabitch…”

Then, without warning, the hunter dashes out of the rubble, slashing a beast along the way with their weapon-- a Threaded Cane. The beast collapses, blood pooling from beneath them.

Djura doesn't say a word. He just grits his teeth. He keeps firing around the hunter, forcing the hunter to keep moving, herding them around, until they run into the dilapidated building just in front of the tower.

“Shit. What do we do now?” Brador mumbles.

“This.” Djura aims his gun towards an opening in the building, right at a bunch of barrels. He fires the moment he sees the hunter’s head poke out.

The barrels explode. The signature tricorn hat of the hunter comes flying out of the building along with a dismembered hand and foot. Djura shouts once he sees their singed head roll onto the ground, “Andrei! The beast!”

“Already on it!” Andrei drops his weapons as he kneels by the beast, turning it onto its back and pressing his coat into the beast’s wound. It growls weakly, but allows Andrei to touch it.

Djura sighs in relief, turning to Brador. “So what I meant by you not knowing the ropes is the traps I set up around the place. Explosive barrels, landmines, tripwires, snares, all of that stuff.”

“Ooooooh. Ok.” Brador nods slowly.

“Also, weren't you supposed to be watching my rear?”

Neither Brador and Djura have time to register the flash of another hunter, rushing down Andrei. Andrei just barely picks up his Saw Spear just in time, blocking this new hunter's swing of their ax. Andrei is quickly overpowered by the hunter's strength and weight of the ax, being forced to step back and dodge their swing.

Djura aims his gun again, then growls. “Shit, I can't get a good shot, not with Andrei- BRADOR?!”

Brador closes the distance, his hands still burning from sliding down the ladder so quickly. The hunter divides their attention to their new opponent, blocking a stab from the Bloodletter. Brador shouts at Andrei, “I've got this, get the beast’s bleeding to stop!”

Andrei nods, pulling the beast away to tend to its wounds properly.

“You…!” The hunter's eyes widen from beneath their hat, “Are you…?! Yes, you're the one who killed the Vicar, I'm certain of it! Same beard in the description and everything!”

Brador growls, swinging the Bloodletter at them. The hunter laughs, “And still wearing his hide! If I turn you into the Church--” They block another swing, “They'll be sure to reward me handsomely! I didn't think you'd be sick enough to hide amongst the beasts, though!”

“You wouldn't understand.” Brador says simply.

“Who would try to understand someone like you anyway?”

“...you know what, that's fair.” Brador charges at them, catching the swing of their ax with the pointed ends of the Bloodletter. He braces himself for the hunter to throw him with the swing, and they do, tossing him many feet away with immense strength. Brador catches himself, skidding along the ground.

“Your weapon is so small!” The hunter heckles, “You know what they say about small weapons! Wait, no, it's the other way around, the bigger the weapon the smaller your-”

Brador closes the gap as they're busy monologuing. He swings his Bloodletter wildly at the ax’s handle, knocking it upwards. The hunter grips it tight, prepared to bring it down on Brador's head, but Brador is quick. He brutally stabs the Bloodletter through the hunter’s gut, then kicks them in the gut-- pulling out his weapon in its bloodied form. But instead of taking on its morning star shape if it were his own blood, it takes on a more club-like one, still very large and spiked.

“W-What the--” The hunter stammers, scrambling back to their feet, trying to reach for a blood vial.

“Sorry that you won't be getting the word back to your hunter friends. By the way, my dick is huge. Ok, bye bye!”

Brador slams the Bloodletter down on the hunter’s head, and they die instantly as their skull is pulverized. He looks over at Andrei, whose jaw is on the floor, then up to Djura, who looks equally as shocked.

“...Hoo! You really CAN hold your own!” Djura cheers and pumps his fist in the air. “Nice one, darlin'!”

Brador blushes. Djura just called him… Darling.

Andrei approaches, patting Brador on the shoulder. “Not bad at all. Thanks to you, I barely managed to save that beast. Had it been a few more seconds without me stopping the bleeding…”

“O-Oh, uh, it was nothing.” He stammers, still not over Djura's affectionate nickname.

“You have some respect from me now. Thank you, Brador.” Andrei nods curtly before returning to the beast, gently scooping it up. “I hate to ask you, but I still need to tend to this one's wounds. Can you take my position?”

“Uh… I think you'll have to take it up with him.” Brador points at Djura.

Djura looks down at the scene with a smile. “Andrei! He should do just fine. Just make sure that beast is alive by sunrise!”

“You got it, boss!”

“And Brador!” Djura shouts, “Stay in the plaza area, all the traps are in the buildings and alleys to the north!”

“Yessir!”

Chapter Text

The Bloodletter comes swinging down on the last hunter who dared to enter Old Yharnam. Their body is pulverized with sheer force of power, leaving a crumpled mass of bone and flesh. Brador looks up at the sky past Djura-- he hasn't noticed how much lighter it's gotten. It's a dim, light blue, the horizon outlined with pale yellow. The stars have disappeared in the sun’s sparse rays.

Brador looks around. Several more bodies clad in hunter's coats are scattered about; some crushed, some filled with bullet holes, some blown to pieces, others slashed apart by beast or Saw Spear.

Brador exhales deeply. He sees Andrei not too far from him, stepping on a body and yanking his weapon out of the ribcage. Their eyes meet briefly. Andrei approaches with heavy steps. He holds his hand out, bloodied. His face is stern, unreadable.

Brador, uncertain at first, shakes Andrei’s hand firmly. Andrei smiles slightly. “We make a good team. Thank you.”

Brador nods with a friendly grin. “Just earning my keep here.”

He chuckles. Holy fuck, Andrei just chuckled. “As you should. Welcome to Old Yharnam.”

“Lads! The sun is rising,” Djura calls out from the above, “The night of the hunt is over!”

Andrei cheers. “Time to take a fucking nap!” He pats Brador on the back as he leaves, “Rest easy. And treat Djura well.”

“Wh-?! What makes you think I won't?!” Brador barks at him offendedly. He just gets waved off by Andrei.

Djura slides down the ladder and greets Brador with a smile. He opens his arms out for a hug, then takes it back when he sees just how much blood and gore Brador is soaked in. “Alright, well! You did great out there! I'm sorry, I'd give you a hug and a kiss but you're absolutely filthy right now.”

“Part of the job, I'm assuming.” Brador grins, gesturing all around him. “I'm also assuming you'll need some help moving these corpses elsewhere?”

“Nah, the beasts will take care of that.” Djura says as he starts walking back to his house.

“Ok!” Brador then has to stand there for a moment to process that. “Wait wait wait wait a minute you let them eat hunters?” He questions, catching up with Djura.

“It's basic karma.” Djura yawns.

“That's so fucked up. I love it!” Brador laughs, skipping in his step.

“Uh… shouldn't you be more worried than I am right now?” Djura turns to face him slowly.

“I'm certainly more fucked up than you are.”

“I'm feeding the corpses of my enemies to beasts??”

“And I'm not wearing a beast right now?”

“Well, I wear leather. Is that not tanned cowhide?”

“Ok, but that cow wasn't a person previously.”

“Huh. I guess this is pretty normal to me now, spending so much time with you and all…” Djura runs his fingers through the fur, over Brador's shoulder, then holds his bloodied hand. “We're both fucked up, how about that?”

“That seems about right.” Brador smiles.

Maybe Djura would be able to handle that violent, savage side of Brador after all. He did see Brador turn a few hunters into unrecognizable masses of gore and doesn't seem bothered by it… Perhaps that would be a different story if Brador's victim was innocent. Or a beast. Yeah, Djura definitely wouldn't be happy about that.

“...does it… not bother you that I'm still wearing this?” Brador asks.

“Eh.” Djura shrugs. “But, I mean, why are you still wearing it?”

“I… I don't know why.”

“Well it does look rather cozy. Maybe not when it's soaked like that, though.”

“Ugh, yeah.”

“You're not coming to bed covered in blood, by the way.” Djura snarks at him lightly.

“What?! How come?!”

Djura turns on his heel in front of his home, facing Brador. “I mean just look at you! Is that a bit of someone's brain right there?!” Djura points.

Brador looks down at where he's pointing. He carelessly and casually flicks the pinkish goop from his vest. It lands on Djura's doormat. “Not anymore.”

“How about you bathe first and join me in bed? After I do your laundry.”

“...How about… we bathe together?” Brador winks.

“And soak in the same water as all this blood and guts?!” Djura gestures to all of him, flustered but completely serious, “Absolutely not!”

“Ugh. You're no fun…” Brador pouts.

---

Djura's hunting attire, Brador's suit and vest, and his beasthide garb are hanging to dry in the morning sun. During that time Djura was washing Brador's clothes, Brador had already finished his bath and had tucked himself into Djura's bed. Now, Djura treats himself to a warm bath-- but not too long, for he may fall asleep from the long night.

It's all business as Djura scrubs off the residue of gunpowder and grime. As he scrubs, Brador remains on his mind. He is still stunned at how Brador didn't hesitate to rush down there to defend Andrei and the injured beast from that hunter.

Brador was also terrific at handling the hunters. He was wild and unpredictable with his swings, and at one point Brador even got his Bloodletter knocked out of his hands. That scared Djura out of his mind, and before he could rush down there to protect Brador, Brador immediately resorted to shanking the hunter with a knife he had in his sleeve instead. Disarming them, aiming for their joints, then slitting their throat… either that hunter was a novice or Brador is experienced with fighting people. Not once did Brador draw his firearm.

Actually, Brador escaped the night with a couple of injuries, only minor scratches here and there that are sure to heal within a few days. He hopes Brador cleaned them properly after his bath. Seeing that the bottle of cleaning alcohol and bandages he keeps in the bathroom is out by the sink, Djura assumes so.

Then Djura's heart absolutely melts. Brador went out of his way to protect them. Sure, he disobeyed Djura's order to stay behind, but clearly the man has a strong instinct to protect. To some extent, he might have some affections for the beasts too.

He thinks some more. Brador also didn't stab himself with his Bloodletter, instead he used a hunter’s blood for his weapon. That was Brador obeying Djura when he told him several nights ago to never stab himself again. And seeing that Brador didn't take Healing Blood for his wounds…

Djura smiles to himself. How sweet of Brador to be so considerate, even though he's inconsiderate in a lot of other ways.

…Like randomly bringing Djura's bedroom preferences up last night when they were supposed to be on guard.

Djura groans. Maybe that was a genuine attempt to sate Brador's curiosity or it was a way to tease Djura. Maybe it was both along with a secret third thing.

So brash. So rude. So irresistibly bold.

Djura gets the last of the grime off, dries himself off, and shuffles on his sleepwear-- a simple pair of comfortable boxers. He quietly opens his bedroom door to not wake Brador up. He too is only wearing boxers. He looks so comfortable under Djuras quilt blanket, wrapped all up in it like a chick under its mother's downy wings.

He takes a moment to admire Brador's handsome face. Strong brow and nose, high cheekbones, and that full beard. His skin is rather pale, like it's never seen the sun. If he told Djura that he descended from a long line of Vikings, he'd believe him.

Djura shimmies his way into the blanket, tucking himself beside Brador. Brador opens one eye, lifting his arm with a tired smile. “May I have that hug now?”

Djura snickers, scooting into Brador's embrace. “Thank you so much for helping us.”

“It was nothing, really.”

“It looked like you were having fun out there. You chased every single one of ‘em like a dog after a bone.”

“It was a lot of fun~”

Djura smiles. “Next month, another hunt. You'll be plenty happy with a new hoard of hunters.” He then snuggles his face into Brador's chest, closing his eyes.

“You seem like you're having fun right now too~” Brador comments slyly.

“Zzz…”

“Djura? Djura, hey.” Brador pokes his eyelid to no reaction whatsoever, “How are you asleep already…?”

Another day, another failed attempt at seduction.

---

Eileen hops down to Old Yharnam. She noticed how frenzied last night was in Yharnam and it was probably the same story as down here. She steps by a gathering of beasts, feasting on the corpse of a hunter. She grimaces under her mask.

“Sigh. They must've been mad already to come here to hunt.” She mumbles to herself. “But it looks like Djura survived another night, at least…”

She weaves in and out between beasts, luckily the bright afternoon sun keeps them at bay in the shadows. Then she finds Djura's home, and lets herself in with the spare key she's entrusted with. “Djura?! I'm here.” She announces.

No response.

She heads upstairs, knocking on his bedroom door twice. She hears the bed creak and Djura call out, “Heeey Eileeen.”

“Good, you're alive. Just checking on you, is Andrei alive too?”

“Yeeep.”

“Tired?”

“Just woke up.”

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Nooo.”

“Lunch will be ready in an hour or two.”

“Okaaay, thank youuu.” Then the subtle sound of Djura's head colliding with his pillow once more.

First, she heads down to Djura's basement. She passes by the hanging meats, looking for one that's just right… she plucks out a drying slab of smoked beef tenderloin, inspecting it. It's perfect. She collects some onions and potatoes as well. Then, after heading back upstairs, she sifts through Djura's cabinets, gathering spices and such. Once she's found what she's needed here, she opens her bag, bringing out coconut milk and other ingredients. She's sure that he'd love a hearty meal after a long night of the hunt.

She fishes out a clay pot from Djura's cabinets, sets it over the stove, pouring in some oil and dumping in the spices to roast. As the flavors come out, she slices the onions and tosses those in, then she slices away the pedicle of the dry aged beef. Then she cubes it up, tossing the pieces into the pot…

Her mind drifts as she cooks. She does need her entire focus when it comes to knifework; it's an instinct to her.

This is practically her second, no, her third home. There's her own house, then there's Henryk’s house with Gascoigne and his wife, and then there's Djura's house. His parent's old bedroom is practically hers now. She doesn't need to ask where things are or if she can let herself in.

Eileen always told herself not to get too close to people. Having a real family is too risky with her occupation. But things like this, having a safe place to be, to be welcomed at the dinner table, these little breaks in her life are what keep her sane.

Djura has always been like a son to her. She met him one day at the Hunter's Workshop, seeing a teenager in oversized overalls and gloves helping out with the firearms. But that teenager was lost, unsure of himself, unsure if he was just a tomboy playing pretend or something more. Eileen has a similar story about herself growing up, and it broke her heart seeing a boy so unhappy with himself as a whole.

Thankfully Eileen was there to help Djura come out to his parents, and while they were accepting and willing to learn, they were just very confused that their son would be gay instead of liking girls now.

It was very funny to Eileen. She hardly gets a laugh out of anything nowadays. She remembers that it was in the living room just behind her that they had that conversation. It's so empty now. She shakes her head and gets back to cooking.

The scent of cumin, cloves, star anise, cinnamon, chili, cardamom, ginger, garlic, onions… combined with the smoked beef sauteing with them is just heavenly. It's just missing something… Ah. She forgot the most important ingredient. She shuffles around her bag, looking for that precious jar…

Red curry paste. A generous spoonful goes into the pot. It all finally comes together.

She brings out another pot to cook some rice, but just as she fills it with water, something comes tripping down the stairs. Eileen calls out, “Djura are you alright?”

“What the fuck-- what are you doing here?!”

That wasn't Djura's voice. She snaps her head around. It's that beastly and filthy man Brador, but without the Vicar’s skinned garb. They lock eyes. Eileen is still wearing her mask and fully clothed. Brador is only wearing a pair of boxers. He wipes his mouth on his arm.

…Has he been upstairs the whole time?

“Have some decency, you mongrel!” Eileen shouts at him.

“I'm too hungry to-- GAH!” Brador ducks under a wooden spoon that was chucked directly for his head. He scampers back upstairs on all fours.

“...” Eileen is at a loss for words.

Was Brador… was Brador sharing a bed with Djura?

She scowls. Her boy deserves better than that thing.

She adds some extra spices to the pot. A whole dried chili pepper as well. A few slices of habanero too. Not more than Djura can handle, though.

Eileen finally pours in the coconut milk and lets the food simmer, covering it with a heavy lid.

She knows it was inevitable. When Djura sees a man with a fine amount of body hair, on top of being a wild asshole who is rude, he loses his goddamn mind. Especially one that's taller and wider than him.

She wasn't the one who did most of his raising, but goddammit she didn't raise him like this!

---

“It's beef curry and white rice. I modified the recipe slightly, but please enjoy.”

Djura smiles widely. “Eileen, this is the best thing to wake up to! Thank you so much.”

“Of course.”

Four beautiful portions of the curry, aromatic with spices and a slight smokiness, lay upon the table. Brador, now fully dressed in a simple button up and trousers, licks his lips.

Eileen speaks up again. “I've made an extra portion for Andrei.”

“Oh! Well in that case, I'll bring it to him!” Djura picks up a plate before he stops, “...Eileen.” He says seriously.

“Yes?”

“Please be nice to Brador.”

Brador's veins run cold. Without his beasthide, he suddenly feels small next to Eileen, though it's probably what she judges him about the most.

“I will only talk to him. That's all, I promise, Djura.” Eileen says firmly.

“Hey, he helped us last night with the hunters. He even protected Andrei. He's a very different person than he was a month ago!”

Eileen seems genuinely surprised at this. “Oh.”

Djura looks to Brador. “I'll be back in just ten minutes, ok? She won't bite.”

Brador sulks. “Fine, but I won't start eating without you.”

And so Djura leaves.

Eileen sighs, holding up her palms. “You can relax. I only wish to speak to you…” Then she crosses her arms, leaning on the wall, “As one assassin to another.”

Brador raises a brow. Then he leans back as well, regaining his composure, but remains on guard. “What do you want?” He asks with suspicion.

“What do you like about Djura?”

“Excuse me?”

“Answer the question. What do you like about him?” She asks again, slowly.

Brador swallows. Shit. She's testing him. He knows what this is all about. What does he say? Does he talk about his looks? His personality? If he lies and gives her only what she wants to hear, she will know. There's something between killers like them that lets them read one another like a book, except Brador isn't the one wearing a mask here.

So he takes a deep breath and starts rambling without much thought.

“He gave me a second chance. More than enough chances that I truly deserve, really. He saw past the blood I came to his doorstep with. He knows that I worked for the Church and he still trusted me. He's… he's so kind hearted that I thought it was too good to be true. Not once has he done anything of ill will towards me. He's seen me at my worst and yet… he didn't think of me as a freak or judge me in the slightest for that matter. He's such a loving and gentle soul. When he's out there with the beasts, I feel so… I don't know what the word is for it. He sees the good in everyone. Even someone like me. Someone who, you know, did that to the Vicar. His heart is something truly to be treasured.”

Brador keeps talking. “And he's such a passionate person! I've seen him, working all day and night, not out of guilt or obligation for the beasts, but for joy! He's smiling and humming out there as he cares for them, going out of his way to hunt for them… and that passionate work drive goes beyond that! He's resourceful, I watched him make fucking dirt from scratch to keep us fed! And not once has he complained… that drive, it's so admirable. I wish I had it myself. And he's so beautiful in the lamplight, that focus in his eye as he's working on his machinery… his knowledge of it all. His intelligence. He's a brilliant man.” He sighs aloud.

“Then when he sees me… when he smiles from ear to ear… he has just this little gap between his upper teeth… It's so cute. It's adorable. He's adorable. When he blushes around me, God I…” Brador looks up at Eileen, who hasn't changed her posture at all, “I think I… I am in love with him.”

There's a long, uncomfortable silence before Eileen speaks up, quietly. “I've done this with every man Djura has brought home. But you're the only one to see him for his passion and intelligence. Most of them just said he's nice or whatever.”

“Really?” Brador's jaw drops.

“I just hope you can return that standard Djura treats you with.”

“The hell, why does everyone think I won't?!”

“Because you are a rude man who skinned and wore the Vicar.” Eileen puts it bluntly.

“Hey!”

“Seriously. Treat him well and I'll stop bugging you. That's all I ask of you, Brador. I care not about your past nor occupation, but if you raise a hand against him I will kill you.”

“I've got that last one figured out already, dammit!”

“Just making sure it's drilled into your head, boy.”

“Ugh…” Brador grumbles, looking away.

Another uncomfortable silence.

“By the way…” Eileen drums her fingers on her arm in thought, “His favorite flowers are chrysanthemums. And his favorite color is yellow- more precisely, an amber yellow, like the gemstone.”

Brador's eyes dart around. What the hell. So does she want to kill him or not?! She's… actually giving him advice about Djura?!

Before he can respond, the door opens with Djura looking relieved. “Oh, thank God, you're both still alive. What did you talk about?”

“You.” Both Eileen and Brador say simultaneously.

“I bet you two were both gushing over me!” Djura giggles, “Ok, let's eat!”

Brador sits beside Djura this time, Eileen sits across from them. Djura is already digging into the curry before he comments with a mouthful, “Hoo! This is stronger than your usual, Eileen!”

“Like I said, I modified the recipe slightly.” Eileen shrugs slightly. Then… she brings her hand to her mask, pulling it away. She's a middle aged woman, dark skinned, dull brown eyes under tightly curled hair that's tied in an even tighter bun. A scar goes vertically across her lip. Her eyes have seen years of death and loss, Brador can see it. They're just like his own. She must be at least ten years his senior as well.

Brador pokes his beef curry a bit, suspicious of it. Maybe Eileen poisoned it. Maybe not. Eileen did just reveal her face to him. Perhaps she knows he's about to die. But he takes a bite anyway.

Lord almighty.

The smoked beef strangely goes well with the roasted spices. Brador can't tell what all of them are, but he can catch hints of cumin and cardamom. The sauce is creamy, slightly sweet, galicky with chunks of caramelized onions. And, when soaked into the starchy rice, it brings a whole new depth of flavor with such a simple addition. He takes another bite, chewing the tender beef, the juices oozing into his mouth with the sauce…

And then Brador's mouth begins to burn.

“Jesus FUCK-!” Brador covers his mouth, “On fucking fire, what the hell-”

“Eh? Darlin' are you alright?!” Djura gasps.

“It feels like my mouth is one fire- water- I need water!” Then he points accusingly at Eileen, “You DID poison it!”

“What.” Eileen says deadpanned. “What the fuck are you talking about.”

“Brador I assure you it's just spiciness! Hon!” Djura stands up to bring Brador to the sink. “And water ain't gonna help, but milk will!”

“THEN GIVE ME MILK!!!”

“Have you never had a pepper before in your fucking life?” Eileen says with her mouth slightly agape in awe.

“Laurence never served us anything so- so- SO HOT!”

Eileen has to hold back on laughter as Brador garbles down an entire glass of milk over the sink. It spills over his mouth and soaks into his beard.

How pathetic.

Chapter Text

The night of the hunt was long and terrible. Ludwig did not escape unscathed, but only he is to blame for how he brutes his way through the hordes of beasts, throwing himself into the center of the fray.

Except, he wasn't like this before.

Once gallantly swinging his blade from atop his trusty steed, last night Ludwig used his sword more like a warhammer, crushing beasts with immense force to mutilate and spill blood, rather than to simply kill. He used to be merciful and swift by lobbing off their heads or stabbing them through their hearts. Their deaths were as painless as he could make them. Now, a slash through the guts, a crushing of the ribcage, whichever brought out the stench of blood the best, like grinding spices in a motor for the aroma. It felt good. It felt exhilarating.

Ludwig inhales shakily as he sits alone in his room, staring at his open palm. How his fingernails curl in slightly, and turning his hand over, how his knuckles gnarl like rotten wood, complete with new thick hairs like mold. Luckily, it's only his right hand so far afflicted, and he is left handed.

He steadies his breath. This was inevitable. He always knew it would come to this, no matter how much he smiled. The most he can do now is keep pushing forward.

To protect the people of Yharnam. To fight the beasts. To take more blood to keep the battle going.

It's endless.

Just how long is it before he turns against his loyal men with fang and claw? Would he be able to control himself as a beast? Would his guiding moonlight save him? Does his guiding moonlight want this?

Ludwig balls his fist. His own fingernails dig into the meat of his palm. He will endure this, as he has with all the other burdens he's carried for his friends. But what friends are there left? There's only Brador, who is in hiding, but safe and provided for, and…

A gentle and quiet knock on his balcony window. Ludwig isn't spooked by the sudden noise, though. There's only one sneaky rascal who's been doing this since the beginning of their friendship.

Ludwig quickly shuffles on a pair of thick gloves and slides open his window, poking his head out with a beaming smile. “Simon!”

Simon grins, leaning against the wall. “Good morning, Ludwig.”

“Good morning? The sun set hours ago!” Ludwig jokes.

“It's all the same when you're a night owl like me.”

“Did you just wake up?”

“Yes. I'm assuming you're off to bed?”

“Soon, soon!” Ludwig laughs heartily, like he always does. It makes Simon smile every time he hears it. “So what brings you here at this unholy hour?”

“I'm only here because the guards have finally let up their dogged patrols. Did your church fellows give up searching for him?”

“I'm sure you've seen the handful of wanted posters for Brador, yes. I've been tearing them down, shh!” Ludwig whispers playfully, “But yes, they've presumed Brador to be dead. Which means I don't have to sneak out next time to see him!”

“Ah, well, that's good. What about yesterday's hunt, are you alright?”

Ludwig’s smile falters. He forces it back up again, “Fruitful! Many more beasts slain, ahaha!”

“Ludwig.”

“Hm?”

“You look tired, Ludwig.” Simon says with a tinge of concern.

“Well, of course I am! It's my bedtime.” Ludwig answers like a smart ass without really meaning to.

“No I mean… you look worn. Ragged.”

“...” Ludwig stares at Simon blankly.

“You look worse than my clothes right now.”

“How terrible of you to say!” Ludwig gasps, hand dramatically clutched over his heart. “That was low, even for you, Simon!”

Simon chuckles and clears his throat. “I’m being serious, Ludwig. Have you been resting well?”

“...yes…” Ludwig answers like a child who was just caught with his entire arm into the cookie jar.

“Are you sure about that?”

“...no…” Ludwig puts his head down into his arms, shamefully.

Simon places a gentle hand on Ludwig's shoulder. “Ludwig, I know you by now. You don't have to shoulder this burden alone.”

“My church hunters are tired, Simon. They need morale more than ever. Laurence is gone… they have no faith in Vicar Amelia…” He takes in a deep breath, “If my resolve should falter, then they will crumble. You know as well as I do.”

“I think a better way to phrase my concern is that you should take a day off. Rest. Take a nice, long bath. Indulge in some red wine and steak… Since I know you're too big and stubborn to make room on your pedestal.” Simon snarks at him with a smile.

Ludwig laughs lightly at that. “I shall, I shall…”

“And perhaps you should step back from being in the front lines. I realize it might be seen as cowardly of you,” Simon moves his hand away from Ludwig’s shoulder, towards Ludwig’s hand, “But as a strategic mind myself, it's-”

The moment Simon's hand makes contact with Ludwig’s glove, he flinches and yanks himself away from both Simon and the windowsill. He scrambles back, even. For a moment, they both stare at each other in shock, wide eyed and frightened. Ludwig clutches his hand as if it were just burnt by a smoldering hot iron.

“L… Ludwig?” Simon stammers. “You… you're not well at all, are you?”

Ludwig stands up, brushing himself off. “I'm so sorry Simon, I don't know what came over me! Yes you're right, I've been terribly anxious lately, falling into my place as a commander would be best-”

“Ludwig-”

“And you should rest well too! I mean you just woke up-- ah, what I should be saying is that I should go to bed now! Goodnight!”

The window is locked shut and the curtains are pulled tight. Simon is left there with a terrible pit in his stomach.

--- --- ---

A week ago, this would've been a bit awkward. Brador, shirt unbuttoned and open, laying across the couch, as Djura kneels beside him and tends to his wounds. But now that they've spent some nights together, it's quite comforting. Djura is also more shameless about occasionally looking up to admire Brador instead of the quick glances like last time. Brador absolutely notices. He would gloat about how the moonlight shifting through the windows makes his body look mesmerizing, but something about this quiet moment makes him want to enjoy it as is.

Djura is careful as he snips and pulls out the stitches. He knows Brador can handle the discomfort just fine, but he treats this with the utmost of tenderness. Scars. So many scars that Brador has. Cuts, punctures, bullet holes, scattered all across his body, faded and healed over well thanks to the Healing Blood he's taken over the years. Very few of them seem to be from beasts, Djura notes. They're almost all from weapons. It's no wonder that Brador is so distrusting of others. He's been hurt so many times before.

The last stitch comes out and Djura dabs the area with alcohol. “Well, that's that. Just keep an eye on it for inflammation, ok?”

“You're keeping an eye on it enough already.” Brador quips at him.

Djura leans on his elbow, staring directly at Brador's abdomen. “Do you want me to?” He asks flirtatiously.

“Heh.”

Brador is stockily built with a broad chest and shoulders. He's got plenty of weight on his chest and waist, although still muscular. He has a bit of pudge sticking out above his belt, notably soft as Djura took out the stitches. A thick carpet of dark, coarse hair covers most of his body- his arms, legs, his entire chest, trailing down his belly, and probably further where Djura can't see.

Djura doesn't think twice as he places his hand across Brador's belly, then squishes the pudge.

“I- hey!” Brador jumps, “What was that for?!” But he doesn't push Djura away. He just seems more embarrassed than anything.

“You're squishy. Hehe.” Djura giggles like a child.

“I'll have you know that my abs were rock hard ten years ago, someone could've punched me and broken their knuckles on this!” He defensively points to the outline of his abdominal muscles.

“So what?”

“Uh… don't you… like rock hard abs? Muscle men? Hunky boys?”

“Cuddling a rock is just no fun.” Djura leans his head on Brador's tum with a smile. “And besides. I'd rather have you be a lil’ chubby and know that you've been eating well under my care, rather than skinny and starving.”

Brador just stares at Djura, wide eyed and speechless. Djura raises his head. “Did I say something wrong…?”

“I… I…” Brador's brain short circuits, “I need to rethink my entire life.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I think so? Oh my God. Never in my life has someone…” Brador looks to the side in deep thought, hand over his mouth at this revelation, “Thank you, Djura.”

“Y… You're welcome?” Then Djura lowers his head back down, “Well, if you need any more reassurance that this right here is attractive…” Djura gives a quick smooch to the freshly healed scar.

And then Brador completely melts, red face and all. Djura finds it so adorable that such simple gestures can turn this man into a sopping wet pile of tissues, but can talk about the raunchiest, dirtiest things without so much as a stutter. Yet Djura finds such innocent, affectionate gestures to be normal, and it's the raunchy comments Brador makes that get him flustered. What a strange dichotomy they are.

Djura climbs up onto the couch, on top of Brador, lounging across him with his arms resting on Brador's chest. Brador briefly glances at him, still flustered, but he brings his arms around to hug Djura's back. Djura grins with glee and kicks his legs in the air.

“You want another kissy?” Djura teases.

“...maybe…” Brador mumbles bashfully.

Djura scoots forward, planting a smooch on Brador's jawline, not minding the beard, then on his cheek. Right after that, Brador turns his head to meet him, lips brushing against each other before it melts into a real kiss. Brador's hands settle on Djura's lower back, as Djura's hands find their way around Brador's shoulders.

They keep going in for more, again and again, tilting their heads for a better angle. Soon Djura holds Brador's face to deepen their kisses. Their chests are now pressed against each other, with more than a gentle warmth shared between them. The warmth is also shared between their hips now, given that Djura is straddling Brador's waist.

Djura hasn't had this kind of intimacy in a decade. It feels so damn good-- how he can feel his own blood pulse throughout his veins, something spark in his heart, a tingle on his lips from the tender contact, the excitement of the moment, the passion… and yet, in this moment, he also feels…

Guilt.

Why? Why can't he step over this threshold? It's not like he's a virgin, and it's not like he doesn't already indulge in hedonism. It's not like he's insecure about his looks or nervous about how Brador will perceive his body. Brador isn't innocent either and has slept around plenty, Djura's not taking anything away from him.

Djura wants this, he truly does. Maybe this is the end, or perhaps the peak of their budding relationship to him, after that it will crumble into nothing. Why? Why is sexual intimacy the penultimate chapter to him? Is it because he too has slept around, bed to bed, man to man, and never formed any romantic relationship that was truly meaningful? Is that due to the cruel world around him killing any chance of long lasting love? Or a result of his own shifting interests, a kind of affection that burns bright and fast like a dying star? Has Brador captured the fire of that star yet? Will he tend to it?

Djura rushed through all those previous relationships, he knows he did, if you could even call those few nights relationships. He realized how fast lives go by in Yharnam. How one second you may believe you've found the one, and the next second they've moved on themselves. How one second you imagine a life with someone, and the next second they've died by fang and claw. Did he selfishly use their bodies? Was he simply desperate to fill a void?

Of course, the hunters, they all knew what they were looking for. A quick night of passion, to work off the steam of the hunt, to sate their rushing blood and rising beasthood within. Djura was looking for that too. They're all one and the same.

It scares Djura. How it all might end in an instant. Does he truly, truly like Brador? Or is it as shallow in appearances as Djura fears? He loves playing house with Brador and he doesn't mind taking care of Brador at all, just as he does with his beasts. His heart warms up seeing how Brador is happy, comfortable, safe and secure around him. He's even more warm about how affectionate Brador is in return, and how he's slowly but surely coming around to the ways of Old Yharnam.

Brador trusts him. Brador is willing to protect what he stands for. Andrei has warmed up to Brador. Eileen tolerates Brador's presence, which is more than what Djura can say for his previous love interests.

And that look in Brador's eyes when he's alone with Djura, tending to Old Yharnam, spending time with each other… His eyes are so full of wonder for Djura, a fascination, like it's the first time he's ever fallen in love. It's almost innocent. It's a wonderful thing. Even when Brador is teasing Djura, his eyes have a glint of affectionate mischief. It's playfulness, it's adoration. It's undeniably love.

It's happened all so fast. It's just too good to be true.

“Djura?” Brador pulls away from their kisses, “Are you ok?”

“Eh? What do you mean?” Djura's voice cracks.

“You look nervous.”

“I do?” Djura touches his own cheek. “I guess I…” He trails off.

“Djura. I'm not going to fuck you if you're uncomfortable.” Brador boldly announces.

“HUH?!” Djura sits upright in shock.

“Whaaat?! I thought we were going there just now!”

“I- maybe we were, but!” Djura then looks around, anywhere but Brador's face, “I'm sorry, I'm rushing things… We should get to bed. It's late.” He sheepishly says and dismounts from his position.

“You have fun with that,” Brador rolls off the couch, “I'll go to bed on my own.”

“Why?” Djura glances down, then tears his eyes away from Brador's pants. Brador immediately laughs at him. “I-I’m sorry, I'm so sorry! For leading you on like that, I shouldn't have-!” Djura apologizes profusely.

“Don't be sorry. We can do it another time.” Brador nonchalantly shrugs. “If you're not ready then you're not ready.”

“You act like it's so casual!”

Brador looks at Djura dead in the eye, serious and stern. He speaks from his heart as he opens his mouth, “Djura, you have no idea how willing I am to fuck at all times. Sex is as natural as breathing to me,” Then a slow grin creeps upon his face, his delivery remaining the same, “If you asked me while I was on the toilet, I would shit harder just to get in bed with you faster.”

Djura screams. “Ok, get the hell out!”

“And I would run out of the restroom with my pants clean off! Ok, goodnight~!” Brador waltzes out the front door.

“Oh my God, this guy…” Djura buries his face in his hands and sighs deeply.

The front door opens again, a sliver of moonlight as Brador pokes his nose in. “Oh, by the way… I don't mind rushing things. If that's the pace we're going naturally, then so be it. I like to get straight to the point, anyway.”

Djura does not get to respond as Brador leaves for good this time, trotting away to his house across the street. He watches from his window as Brador enters, and several moments later, a dim lamp light flickers from the bedroom window, filtered by the curtains. He can barely make out the silhouette of the beasthide’s antlers before the lights flicker into darkness.

---

Two nights of sharing a bed is all it took for Brador's scent to be ingrained into Djura's sheets. Djura can't describe it. It smells like… Brador.

That's just how it smells. It smells like Brador. Brador has a distinct smell to him that Djura could pick out among a hoard of beasts.

It's comforting to Djura now. He's a man of the senses. Like how he associates the smell of herbs and exotic spices with Eileen, the smell of peonies and gardenias with Viola, and the people their scents catch on to. Djura can get a whiff of Viola’s perfume on Gascoigne, mixed with incense from the chapel. Eileen’s scent is extremely subtle on Henryk, mixed with rubber and… ripe bananas and lemons? Henryk's affinity for yellow things has always amused Djura. And Djura knows his own scent: Gunpowder, ashes, smokey, a touch of vodka, mixed in with the pungent smell of his beasts. Andrei, however, smells almost exactly like Djura, except he has a hint of cognac instead of vodka.

He wonders if Brador has any outstanding senses. Given that Brador awoke from his slumber to check out what Eileen was cooking downstairs, then he's probably similar to Djura, but in a more food-motivated way. He wonders if Brador knows his own scent or Djura's.

It also only took two nights for Djura to get used to sharing his bed space again, and now it feels distressingly empty. No body warmth to cuddle up to. He hugs his quilt blanket, legs wrapped around it, burying his nose into the fabric.

Brador.

Ugh. Brador. His heart pounds just thinking about him.

He prays these feelings will stay.

Chapter Text

“I suspect things may turn for the worst, Eileen.”

Eileen glances up at Simon, who stares hopelessly into his reflection in his teacup. She sits down with a small tray of sweets she had just pulled out of her oven. “You have sat here in my humble abode in complete silence, and if that's the first thing you've said to me, then it must be eating at you.”

“I have lost sleep over this for the past week…” Simon mutters. He takes a sip of his tea, a calming mix of chamomile and rosebuds, but it leaves a slight bitter tinge on his tongue. “And you're one of the few sane left I can trust. That's why I'm here.”

“Then talk to me, Simon.” Eileen leans her head in her palm.

“I…” Simon swallows, then sighs. “Ludwig. He was acting strangely after the night of the hunt. He flinched when I touched his hand, and to be very clear, we were previously comfortable with shoulder pats and hugs and the like.”

Eileen inhales deeply with a judgemental stare, hands folded atop the table.

“...Platonically.” He elaborates. “But it was more than a flinch, no, he spooked just like his horse and threw himself away like I had thrown hot tar at him. And I heard whispers among his men that he had grown fiercer in battle… acted more with bloodlust, if you would.”

Eileen says nothing. Her gaze is hard, deep in thought, as it always is. She takes a sip of her tea.

“Eileen, please, I need to hear it from the one person who has her head screwed on right. Are my fears rooted in reality?”

“You already know the answer, Simon.”

“Please.” He whispers.

“It was inevitable. I've caught glimpses of Ludwig myself on the last hunt…” Eileen leans back, crossing her arms, “What his men are saying is true. I'm sorry.”

Simon does not react for a few moments, then he buries his face in his hands. He says nothing for a long while. “I see. Thank you, Eileen.”

“I'm assuming you will mentally prepare for what comes next?”

“I've been trying and failing with just that for the past week.” Simon groans.

Eileen pushes the tray of sweets towards Simon. “Have some biscuits.”

“I'm not hungry…”

“Well, you could at least taste one. It's a new recipe.”

“If you insist…” Simon picks up one of many biscuits, golden brown with a little dollop of raspberry jam in the center, and takes a nibble. It's slightly lemony, the shortbread crumbles in his mouth, then every individual crumb melts away into a buttery heaven. He then inhales the rest of the biscuit, and the flavor is now complete with the addition of the tangy and sweet jam.

Eileen's smile is so slight and subtle as Simon pulls the tray closer to himself, gobbling up treat after treat. “Oh. So now you're hungry?” She asks smugly.

“Shuffup.” Simon says with a mouthful of food.

“Feeling better?”

“Yesh.”

“Pack the rest in your rucksack. They're yours to keep.”

Simon swallows, clearing his throat. “Eileen, I shouldn't-”

“That wasn't a suggestion, you're packing those goddamn biscuits, boy.” Her smile widens slightly.

He chuckles. “Well, if you insist.” He begins to wrap the sweets up in a tightly woven cloth.

“Oh, by the way, have you been keeping up with Brador?” Eileen pipes up.

“Why the hell would I?” Simon answers with contempt.

“Well, I have. In fact, I stopped by Djura's right after the hunt.”

“I don't particularly care about Brador’s life.” Simon crosses his arms and looks away.

“Are you sure about that? C'mon. You and I are drawn to gossip like moths to a flame.” She swirls her tea cup.

“Hmph. Only if it's embarrassing on Brador's part.” He admits.

“I cooked Djura and Brador my curry that subsequently made Brador cry and drink milk.”

Simon snorts and looks back over, suddenly interested again. “No way!”

“That mongrel accused me of poisoning him, that's how poorly he handled the heat.” Eileen smiles fully now, “Oh, the satisfaction I felt, seeing him crumble… If Brador hadn't poured out his feelings for Djura to me, I wouldn't feel bad in the slightest.”

“Haha, yeah… wait what.”

“Oh, yes. They are officially dating now.”

“WHAT?!?!” Simon stands up abruptly, slamming his hands on the table.

“And Brador's love is genuine. He adores Djura for his passions and heart, if you can believe it.” She crosses her arms with great sass.

“It’s been less than two months since they met!”

“I know, right? Maybe it's love at first sight. Maybe Djura happens to be Brador's type, just as Brador is Djura's type down to every last detail.” She shrugs.

“Oh. My God.” Simon exasperates, sinking back down into his chair. He shoves another biscuit in his mouth and chews angrily.

“Do you happen to know Brador's type? You know him better than I do.” She asks with a mix of both genuine curiosity and snark.

Simon swallows. His brow furrows. He takes another sip of tea to jog his memory. He mumbles to himself, “What did he say to me back then…?”

Eileen tilts her head ever so slightly. “He told you?”

“Indeed. If I recall correctly… Well, he didn't say what type of man specifically, but,” Simon ponders aloud, “He said that the most attractive thing about a man is his intelligence.”

“...Intelligence.” Eileen repeats in disbelief.

“Yes. A trait that he said I show off brilliantly in my cunningness and intuition. Although, he never elaborated on whether it was street smarts or book smarts. I suppose it's street smarts in my case… but he also held interest in the Vicar, with his vast knowledge in medicine and anatomy.”

“Hm. I see why he's interested in Djura now…” Eileen takes a long sip, “When I interrogated Brador, he mentioned Djura's brilliance in mechanics and agriculture. What Brador said is probably true and he likes all kinds of intelligence.”

Simon scoffs. “He probably finds it attractive because he's such a caveman in the head. Compensating for what he doesn't have in his partner.”

The way Eileen’s cheeks puff and lips purse to hold in her laughter is not subtle at all.

“No, seriously, have you ever seen him in combat?!” Simon stands up, gripping his spoon with both hands, “He goes, raaaaarrrgh! Me Brador! Me strong! Club big! Bonk bonk!” He swings the spoon around.

And then Eileen loses her composure. She's glad to see Simon up in spirits again, as his usual petty self.

--- --- ---

“-so we add sand and gravel to the mixture to help keep it aerated and loose, if it ain't right then it gets waterlogged and the roots will rot. This is especially important for the root veggies like potatoes and beets! The ashes and composted leaves are where all the nutrients are, and with some kitchen scraps and chicken shit for some extra nutrients, voila! We have dirt! Oh, and don't ever use beast shit to fertilize, I don't know what it is but I think it's their meaty diet that does something bad to their dung. It kills crops AND smells horrible!”

Brador is engrossed listening to Djura talk at length as they work together harvesting bean pods, side by side, plucking the crisp pods and dropping them into their shared basket. He never thought he'd be harvesting crops by hand in the middle of Yharnam atop of a dilapidated building. They've been doing this for a week now; Brador shadowing Djura as he goes about his tasks for the day, listening to his rambling and helping him along. Brador always thought he'd work for the Church, forever until the end of his life, as their one and only assassin. This is far different. It's peaceful. They've grown closer day after day.

Listening to Djura talk about his expertise sorta reminds him of how he would sit in the lecture auditorium at Byrgenwerth or at the Healing Church, hand in his palm, drawn in listening to Laurence point out every anatomical detail of the cadaver, human or beast. He was fascinated, and yet, didn't understand a damn thing. Brador could still point out various parts, much to Laurence's impression, and told Brador he was delighted that he was listening in the first place. Brador notes that the kidney beans really do look like little kidneys, even having a white spot on the indent where the ureter would be connected to.

Laurence spoke with a cold precision with the bodies, diagnosing them on the spot with their dead organs drooping in his palms. That analytical approach and cold confidence always made Brador's heart race. Yet here Djura is, speaking with warmth about his crops, a different kind of love than Laurence for their respective trades. He can feel the passion radiating from Djura, sharing it with Brador, the warmth swelling in his own heart.

“-and it's real important to plant a new crop after a week or so, especially with the veggies that we can't store for long. That way we can have fresh harvest every so often. The beans we can store for up to a year or so, so we don't gotta worry about that for them, and the potatoes can last overwinter in the cellar… but don't worry! We can always pickle the other veggies. I've got so many jars of pickled cabbage leaves you have no idea! Although I've tried pickling the tomatoes, they don't come out very well. But!” Djura pipes up excitedly, “Sun drying them works wonders!”

Brador doesn't like vegetables all that much, but Djura sounds so delighted to be talking about farming that Brador doesn't want him to stop. “And what other vegetables do you have, again?” Brador asks with a small smile.

“Oooh let's see…” Djura taps his chin for a moment, then goes right back to his task at hand, “We've got three kinds of beans- we're harvesting kidney beans right now- then we've got white beans and pinto beans, and do peas count as beans? I think they do, so that's four kinds! Then over in the beds we've got carrots, beets, radishes… then waaay over there we have garlic and onions… oh wait, and back there we have the potatoes too! Our Lord and Savior! How could I forget?! And-”

Something about Djura's unorganized rambling is just so fucking cute to Brador. The way his thoughts jump around and yet never stop for a moment. It reminds him of how Micolash would ramble, but without the insanity and weird giggles. Djura's mind is beautiful.

Brador doesn't think twice before leaning over and planting a kiss on Djura's cheek. Djura's sentence cuts off in an instant, mouth still open in a slack-jawed gasp, as he turns to face Brador with a rising blush on his cheeks. His mind fizzles out for a second before he smiles wide. “Oh, you sly dog! You've gotten me all flustered over here!”

“What're you gonna do about it?” Brador grins smugly.

They care not that their basket of beans spills over as Djura pulls Brador into a kiss. The beans cause them to slip, Brador falling backwards and his fluffy garb cushioning their fall, both of them laughing along the way.

This is a life Brador could happily get used to.

A life that he never thought he deserved.

---

Djura and Brador worked long and hard until the evening. The sunset is warm and bright, clouds painting the sky over in deep oranges and reds. Their gloves are covered in dirt, their legs and arms sore from harvesting. They've harvested enough beans to eat nothing but beans for every meal for a week, although nobody who's conscious of their digestive system would even think to do that.

“Whew! All in a day's work, then tomorrow we can harvest the next round of tomatoes and onions.” Djura straightens out his back with a sigh. “That means we can have fresh marinara sauce, and if Andrei manages to find some more durum wheat flour in Central Yharnam then we can have another spaghetti night!”

Brador's tired eyes perk up at the thought of spaghetti. “Mmm… pasta.” The thought of pasta makes him think of Ludwig. He loved his carbs almost as much as his horse, sword, and Laurence.

He wonders how Ludwig is doing.

“Oh hey, I think that's Ludwig!” Djura says out of nowhere.

“What.” Brador turns his head in the direction Djura is squinting at; the entrance of Old Yharnam. Ludwig is there again, waving. Brador does not hesitate to drop everything and race to his old friend, leaving Djura behind in the dust.

Brador throws himself into Ludwig’s arms with happy laughter. “Luddy! The hell are you doing back here?!” Brador immediately notices something is off when Ludwig doesn't return his embrace, releasing his old friend with a concerned look. It's not that Ludwig doesn't want to hug him, that much is clear in his body language and facial expression, it’s more like he's scared to.

Ludwig smiles solemnly. “Brador, I'm so happy to see you in good spirits. Has Djura been treating you well?”

“Yes, of course! But you're clearly not well, what's wrong?” Brador puts it bluntly.

“It’s important, terribly important. Brador-”

Before Brador can answer, Djura catches up to them, panting. “Whew, you took off like a greyhound! Hello again, mister Holy Blade! What brings you here?”

“Ah, I just wish to speak with Brador, that's all.” Ludwig politely gestures to his old friend.

Djura smiles wide. “Well! I invite you to talk over dinner, then. We're having pork and bean stew~”

“T-That sounds lovely, but this is urgent and private. Please?” Ludwig asks timidly.

Djura tilts his head, looking Ludwig up and down. He doesn't look well at all. Dark circles under his eyes… Even his cheeks look more sunken in than the last time Djura saw him. “...No, I think you could really use some stew right about now,” Djura says, sounding more serious than before, “How urgent are these matters?”

Ludwig glances at Brador, who looks far more worried than before. Everyone can sense something is off. Maybe some good food could lift the weight off his chest.

---

The tension has loosened up a bit, with both Djura and Andrei in the kitchen today, multitasking with boiling the beans, chopping up the pork and vegetables, and keeping an eye on the bread in the oven. Brador is a bit jealous seeing how seamlessly the pair work together. It's unfair that Andrei has a ten year head start with knowing Djura.

Brador looks up at Ludwig sitting across from him at the dining table. Ludwig tries to smile at him. Brador also tries.

“Ludwig.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for coming to see me.” Is all Brador says to Ludwig before dinner.

Soon Djura and Andrei come out of the kitchen with platters of pork and bean stew as promised, served with a side of bread and crisp pork skins. The stew is a rich reddish color, contrasted by the tannish strips of fat on the pork belly. Garnished with fresh leaves of parsley, it'd be a true work of art if it weren't literally pork and beans. The real beauty of the course, however, are the sides. The loaves of bread have scores shaped like flowers across their golden brown crusts, and when broken in half, release the subtle aroma of rosemary and garlic. The pork skins came from the same belly served in the stew, fried in bacon fat, a deeper shade of golden brown than the bread, but far crispier when broken apart.

“Alright, dig in everybody! And- c'mon Andrei, come join us for once.” Djura comments as Andrei attempts to shuffle out the front door with his meal.

“I don't think I am worthy to be in the presence of the Holy Blade himself.” Andrei tries to come up with an excuse.

“Aw, too bad you'll miss out on the drinks.” Djura seems to have procured a bottle of hard liquor out of nowhere, already pouring everyone a glass. Just like that, Andrei sits back down. Djura laughs at him.

“He's a big, friendly teddy bear. You have nothing to be afraid of.” Brador pokes at Andrei.

“I- whatever…” Andrei grumbles and chugs down his glass.

Ludwig speaks up with a polite smile. “Thank you for this meal, both of you. Now, let's see…” He scoops up a piece of pork with his beans, popping it into his mouth.

The broth is thick and starchy, having been boiled with beans and potatoes. It's full of flavor from the pork and its rich fat, paired with herbs and spices that he cannot describe. Onions, tomatoes, and carrots add another subtle layer to the broth. Everything is tender, the pork especially. It's more flavorful than anything that he's had at the Church, more flavorful than anything he has ever cooked, and yet, it's fucking pork and bean stew. It's not fancy, it's not an elaborate meal- it's peasant food. Not to say that's a bad thing to Ludwig, for he wasn't born rich, and a homemade meal like this reminds him of long forgotten memories when he was a small boy.

Ludwig hastily gobbles his food up, using the bread to wipe the sides of his bowl clean, he's so entranced by his food that he doesn't notice how Djura and Andrei watch in awe, humbled at how this legend absolutely loves their cooking.

“Riiight?!” Brador pipes up at Ludwig, “Their cooking is so damn good!”

“That was- oh forgive me--” Ludwig licks the broth off his gloved fingers, “Delectable! Can I have another bowl?”

“Big boy's got an appetite! Alright!” Djura serves him another bowl. “Eat ‘til your heart's content. We've got plenty for ya!”

They talk all throughout the night, mainly of Brador’s new life, and his new love. It’s a massive relief for Ludwig, to confirm that Brador is safe and happy-- something that Ludwig would hate to ruin for him.

---

Everyone is stuffed. Djura and Andrei, exhausted from the day’s work and with a little too much to drink, lay passed out on the couch together. Brador is kind enough to lay a blanket over them both, although part of him wants to pettily shove Andrei away and take his place on Djura's shoulder. He's always been a jealous person, but alas, there's more important things right now.

Ludwig and Brador step outside. Brador whispers despite no one but them being around. “What were these urgent matters, Ludwig?”

“Ah, well…” Ludwig swallows, holding his hands together. He rocks back and forth, making no eye contact.

The moonlight from above grows more foreboding as the silence grows more tense.

Ludwig gets his answer together, or rather, no answer at all. “I-I shouldn't have come here Brador, this was a mistake…”

“You can tell me anything, Ludwig, I promise. You know that.” Brador says quietly, sincerely. “Your secrets have always been safe with me.”

“I do know that!” Ludwig blurts. “I do!”

“Then what is it?”

“Brador I'm so sorry, I can't, I would only break your heart.”

“I can take it.”

“No, you cannot!” Ludwig raises his voice now. “You've never been able to handle such things! That's why I…” Ludwig's voice trails off seeing Brador's eyes widen. He could almost hear Brador's heart drop to the floor. “I… I really should not have come here. Brador, I should go...” His voice trembles.

Brador says nothing, his mouth open, but no words come out.

Ludwig’s face tenses in an unpleasant mix of shame and frustration. He then attempts to walk ahead, past Brador. Brador's hand shoots out and he grabs Ludwig’s right arm. “Ludwig-”

“UNHAND ME, DAMMIT!” Ludwig roars and tears his arm away. His teeth clack harshly at the end of that sentence, turning at Brador with a snarl. Ludwig’s eyes widen and his whole demeanor drops, terrified of the voice that just slipped out of his own throat. His hands are tense, curled and ready to tear, and he must consciously tell himself to relax them.

Brador's face is of shock and terror. “I knew it.”

Ludwig’s breathing quickens. “Knew what?”

“Stop playing dumb, Ludwig! Come on!” Brador shouts, “I know you've been pushing yourself out there, how much fucking blood have you taken?!”

“I don't know!” Ludwig shouts back. Then tears begin to well in his eyes, his shoulders trembling, “I don't know…”

Brador's face softens. He holds out his arms but makes no move to step forward. Ludwig does that himself, his hulking frame leaning forward, then falling onto his knees in desperate sobs and choked up breaths. He clutches Brador close to his chest like a precious pendant.

They don't know how long they kneel there on the cobblestone, grieving a death that's yet to come, the loss of a life Ludwig will soon forget. The moon hanging above illuminates them both, blanketing them.

Brador breaks the silence once their heaves have calmed to steady breathing. “How much time do you have left?”

“It’s still in its early stages. Only my right arm is afflicted, and my eyes have begun to collapse. Maybe weeks? Months?”

Silence again.

“Ludwig. Stay in Old Yharnam with us.” Brador says softly into Ludwig's shoulder.

Ludwig's head snaps up. “I can't! The Healing Church, my men, Yharnam, they all need me. If I go, there will be nothing for them.”

Brador huffs. “I figured you would say that. But Djura takes good care of us. You will be fed three square meals a day. And… if you do end up turning, he'll take even better care of you than he does for me.”

“That's not what I want, Brador. I cannot protect the innocent down here. I will protect Yharnam until my dying breath. And…” Ludwig takes a deep breath, now whispering so quietly that only a mouse could hear him, “I cannot stay in Old Yharnam without guilt. Not after what we did.”

“We didn't do anything.”

“Exactly. We did nothing.”

“...”

“And Brador?” Ludwig continues to whisper, “If I do turn… let my death be by men or the mobs of the street. Please, anyone but you. I don't ever want you to have to do that again, do you understand? That oath is no longer yours to bear.”

Brador only nods, tears falling, ones that he thought ran dry already.

The moonlight grows dimmer and the sky lighter, as the two still remain there in each other's warmth for hours. They don't know if this is their last moment together.

A beam of sunlight peeks through the many silhouettes of Old Yharnam's towering buildings. Ludwig speaks again, hoarse, “It's time for me to go home.”

“Ok…” Brador mumbles. They shakily get up. They share another hug. “Please come and see me again, Ludwig. Take care.”

“I will, Brador. And…” Ludwig reaches out to the longer part of the beasthide garb that wraps around Brador's left arm. He gently lifts the end of its length to his lips. “Watch over him for me, my dear, as you always have.”

Ludwig walks off into the sunrise, his silhouette soon dissolving into the bright morning rays.

It takes all of Brador's strength to will himself back into Djura's home. And as he walks in, he finds Djura leaning against the wall, near the window that's subtly cracked open.

“...How much did you hear?” Brador asks hoarsely.

“Only the goodbyes.” Djura shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant and failing, “I just woke up a few minutes ago.”

Brador sighs. “But you've figured out what's going on with Ludwig, haven't you?”

Djura nods solemnly. “Could tell by the way he was composing himself. How one hand could pick up a spoon just fine and the other couldn't, all clumsy and stuff. And the beasts, they didn't give a rat’s ass about him when we were walking him here. Their noses don't lie. He's one of them as far as they know.”

“I see.” Brador says sadly, looking down into his palms. “So this is… this is all real.”

“I'm so sorry, Brador. I'm guessing you offered him to stay here?” Djura inquires.

“He said that protecting his people is more important.” Brador says with downcast eyes, “I don't think he will find solace here, knowing that. He's as stubborn as a mule.”

Djura sighs. “Well. That's his decision and I'll honor that. But… My doors are always open for him.” He then approaches Brador, taking his hand into his own with tender care, gently tugging him upstairs, “C'mon. Get some proper rest, Brador.”

---

Brador has not left the bed all day. He's curled up under both his fur garb and Djura's blanket, finding no rest despite the physical comfort. He watched as the light filtering from the curtains changed from warm oranges, to bright white beams, back to oranges, then dim blue rays of moonlight. He only moved to toss and turn, and to reach for the nightstand where Djura left him a plate of sweets and tasty strips of beef jerky.

Late into the night, Brador hears footsteps coming up the stairs, then Djura enters the room in his sleepwear. Djura looks heartbroken seeing Brador just lying there. It's exactly as Brador was before in the weeks where they were first living together, depressed and lethargic. But things are different now-- as Djura lays down beside him, Brador clings to him, curling up into his chest, their legs entangled and hearts close. Djura kisses his brow, cradling his head. “Hey there… Are you doing any better?”

Brador nods slightly. “You're so warm.” He mumbles.

Djura laughs lightly. He combs his fingers through Brador's hair, scratching his scalp. Brador melts, the life returning in his eyes as he looks up at Djura.

“Djura?” Brador speaks up, the sadness in his eyes returning.

“What is it, darlin'?”

That sweet nickname makes Brador's heart swell. “The beasts… are they happy here?”

“Well…” Djura clears his throat, “You've seen ‘em, running around with their tails wagging, romping around and playing. Of course they are.”

“Let me rephrase. Are they happy as they are? Do they grieve their previous lives…?”

Djura has to think. “I'm sure some of them do. I see some of them try to live as they did before in their old houses, sleeping in their old beds, trying to put on their old clothes…” Then he sighs, “But not all of them remember. And not all of them are happy knowing what they've lost.”

“How do you know that?”

Djura takes a deep breath. “You're asking because of Ludwig, aren't you?”

Brador clutches his garb. “And Laurence.”

“I won't sugarcoat it. Unless you want me to?”

“Tell me the truth.”

“I've had to stop some beasts from tearing themselves apart. They'll dig their own claws into themselves and bite off their skin. Sometimes they'll grow into their new selves. Sometimes they don't. Their injuries become too grave, and I don't have a choice but to follow through with their wishes.” Djura confesses with a voice so soft and gentle, full of grief. “Their eyes would always be full of terror at what they've become.”

Brador is silent for a long while before he speaks up again. He sounds so innocent. “Can Ludwig be saved from that fate?”

A tear wells up in Djura's eye. He holds Brador closer and he swallows. “I'll do my best if that day comes. I promise.”

“Thank you, Djura…” Brador hugs him, closing his eyes. “Thank you.”

Chapter Text

“What?! There's no way I'm babysitting that rat!”

Brador lounges around as these Byrgenwerth fellows, that he's only known for a short time now, argue about him as if he isn't in the same study room as them. He hardly listens to them, one ear out the other, except when…

“Ludwig, you're the strongest one out of all of us,” Laurence speaks kindly, “He has already bitten Gehrman and gotten into a fist fight with Maria. Micolash would get the lights knocked out of him and so would Rom. You're our best chance. Or at least, with physically handling him.”

…Except when Laurence talks. He always speaks with such confidence and poise. Brador could listen to him all day.

“Why not you, Laurence? That street rat has been following you around since day one, more so than I!” Ludwig exasperates, “I am not catching whatever disease he carries!”

“Hey, be nice to Brador, who knows what the poor lad has been through!” Gehrman scolds Ludwig, towering over everyone in the room.

“He bit you!” Ludwig exclaims, “What good reason did he have for that?!”

“I suppose I did grab him by the back of his shirt collar…” Gehrman laments.

Laurence clears his throat. “Caryll and I have important scholarly matters to discuss regarding recent discoveries. It's best that we are not disturbed. And as for Brador following me around…” Laurence glances at Brador briefly, “I need a break.”

Laurence does not see how Brador's face drops with rejection as he turns his head away. Ludwig, however, raises his eyebrows at Brador in a sort of surprised look. Ludwig takes a deep breath and exhales, “Fine. I'll watch him. But if he does anything heinous, he's going back to the alleyways!”

Gehrman pats Ludwig's back. “We need to work on your disdain for those born less fortunate.”

Ludwig gasps scandalously. “I do not! If I truly had a prejudice, I'd treat you like I do to him as well! Also, he killed someone in cold blood, I have every right to not trust him. Humph!”

Laurence clears his throat again. “He was desperate for my cure, Ludwig. He believes in our cause. That is more than enough reason to give him a chance.”

Ludwig and Gehrman exchange concerned glances.

Laurence continues. “When the newspaper published my findings, you both remember how the Yharnam populace reacted. They saw Byrgenwerth Scholar Finds Panacea in Ancient Blood, and laughed at the idea and claimed it to be a hoax, even though the paper detailed the test subjects and their healing. But Brador…”

“I saw the headlines and did everything I could to find your healing blood.” Brador speaks up, finally.

Laurence smiles. “That's right. You found us, Brador.”

No. I found you and you alone, Laurence.

“Tuberculosis, gone. Even the latent infection that should be within his very cells, gone. And the bruises he sustained when the constables detained him, gone. He is proof of our cure and our mission, and so he will be welcomed here. Do we understand, Ludwig?”

“You're just using him to replace the test subject he murdered…” Ludwig mumbles.

“I said, do we understand, Ludwig?” Laurence says with such a subtle edge that Brador can feel his hair stand up on the back of his neck.

“Yes, Laurence.” Ludwig mutters.

Laurence turns to Brador and gives him a brief and thin smile. “Now you stay with Ludwig for the day. Can you behave with him for me?”

“I can, Laurence.” Brador says, his voice cracking when speaking his name.

“Good. I'll be off now. You'll be back to shadowing me tomorrow afternoon.” And so Laurence leaves the study along with Gehrman.

Ludwig does not move from his spot, several paces away from Brador. He puts his hands on his hips and speaks with a toned down, but still booming voice. “Before I begin babysitting you, I will establish some rules that you must abide by.”

“Ok.” Brador says without so much as a glance in Ludwig's direction.

“Number one: No attacking anyone! That means no biting, no punching! We are civilized people in this institution.”

“Ok.”

“Number two: Do not leave my sight! Do not sneak away. And! You must ask for my permission if you need to use the toilet.”

“Ok.”

“Are you even listening to me?!”

“Ok.”

“You…” Ludwig inhales, “Disrespectful brat! Lord help me, there's not a good-mannered bone in your body!”

Brador ignores him now, turning on his side and treating the fancy, plush sofa like a bed. Ludwig groans, now pacing back and forth. “He left me with a tempestuous teenager and expects me, ME of all people, the tomb prospector, to watch him… by the Gods, it should've been Gehrman! He's already the groundskeeper, dammit! I have better things to do!”

“Then just leave me alone.” Brador mumbles. “I won't do anything.”

“Humph! As if!” Ludwig snorts. “No, you're coming with me, and you will learn how to be of use around here.”

“Ok.”

“And you will learn respect as well!”

---

Ludwig can't help but notice how Brador drags his feet around. Sure, he did as he was told just fine with dusting bookshelves and whatnot, but he did so with an apathetic air to him. Ludwig can't complain about how clean everything is, it's just that Brador seems so unenthusiastic about it.

Brador also kept his distance from Ludwig, as much as he could in the cramped library. As Ludwig (quietly) ordered Brador around, he reacted with downcast eyes and a small nod.

This is not at all how Ludwig would expect a supposedly dangerous and hormonally charged teenage boy to act. Not one that actually stabbed a man to death, or got into a physical altercation with both the groundskeeper and a Cainhurst noblewoman. Brador is weirdly obedient with Ludwig, as he is with Laurence. However, Brador follows Laurence around with a puppy-like sparkle in his eyes, but here with Ludwig, Brador seems… off. Ludwig can't put his finger on it.

It bothers Ludwig more than he's willing to admit.

Now the two of them are taking a break, sitting on a bench just outside the library. They sit at the far opposite ends of the bench, but Ludwig can easily reach over to hand Brador his midday snack. It's a simple sandwich with thinly sliced meats and cheeses.

“Alright, here you go for your hard work. After this, we will be helping out in the mess hall for supper.” Ludwig says as he drops the sandwich in Brador's hand from a disrespectful height. Ludwig then chows down on his own sandwich, but notices that Brador watches him closely.

Once Ludwig swallows his first bite, Brador scoots a bit further away, huddling up by the armrest and curling over his sandwich protectively. Only then does he eat, and Ludwig can unfortunately hear Brador chewing violently with his mouth open.

Ludwig cannot handle this lack of manners. Not someone who eats like a dog! And right next to him too?! He speaks up immediately, “Quit eating like that, chew with your mouth closed!”

Brador ignores him at first, so then Ludwig reaches out and grabs Brador by the shoulder. “Hey, stop that-!”

The teenager flinches, throwing Ludwig's hand off and cowering. “Don't touch my food!” Brador growls with wavering conviction.

Ludwig blinks, backing away. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Brador, clutching his sandwich close, gets up and shuffles to a nearby tree, where he eats under its protective shade. Ludwig, still processing this, tilts his head. This is seriously not how he expected Brador to act, he expected more of a scuffle and attitude. Is this kid scared of him?

---

The mess hall is lively as dinner time rolls in. Ludwig, Lady Maria, Laurence, Gehrman, Micolash and Rom have sat down together and share their meal.

“Ludwig? Where is Brador?” Is the first thing Laurence asks once they gather.

Ludwig sighs. “He's over there in the stairwell, as usual.”

The entire table turns their heads towards the nearby stairwell, seeing Brador sitting on its steps, eating his meal like there's no tomorrow.

“Come now, he is one of us!” Micolash smiles toothily, “Invite him to join us!”

“The last time we invited him to sit, he refused…” Rom speaks up, “He scurried off into the hallway to eat there instead. I think he's a shy lad.”

“It could be that we don't have enough room at this table,” Gehrman shrugs, “Unless we borrow another chair and set it at the head of the table.”

“Please don't put him next to me,” Lady Maria says bluntly, “He smells bad.”

“I wonder what microbiota composes his skin flora to make him smell like that,” Rom ponders, rubbing her chin, “What do you think, dear brother?”

“Ah!” Micolash pipes up, “All the more reason to observe him closely, dear sister! Perhaps we could get a sample!”

The twins giggle. Everyone else but Laurence cringes.

Laurence clears his throat. “Ludwig, would you mind fetching him?”

“Why me?!” He whines.

“...because you're sitting at the end of the table, my dear.” Laurence gestures to the table’s edge.

Ludwig then gestures to Lady Maria sitting across from him. She turns her nose up and away. “This lady will not leave her seat. You and I both know how your mother raised you, so be a gentleman.”

“Ugh, fine!” Ludwig trudges out towards Brador. Everyone can't help but watch.

Brador peeks up as Ludwig approaches. He shimmies a bit closer to the wall he's sitting against. “...what do you want?”

“I invite you to come sit with us, Brador.” Ludwig says while trying to sound… not annoyed.

“...” Brador glances back and forth between him and the table. “Why?”

“Uh…” Ludwig turns around. Laurence vaguely gestures at him. “We… want to get to know you more.”

“Your lot don't like me very much. You in particular hate me. I don't want to cause any more trouble for you.” Brador mumbles. “I'm not sure if Laurence likes me all that much either.”

Ludwig huffs, trying to think of what to say next. “I… I don't hate you, Brador.”

Brador stares at Ludwig like he's stupid.

“You are a very strange young man. I don't understand you at all.” Ludwig admits. “So I don't know what to think of you either.”

“Ah, I see. So you resort to insulting and belittling me, treating me exactly how you would to a diseased, stray mutt. Is that it?” Brador says slowly and venomously.

Ludwig is taken aback. His heart begins to sink at the accusation- and the realization of his attitude.

“I'd rather not have you sully your day further by forcing yourself to be around me, so leave me be.” Brador mutters quietly.

“Why do you think that?”

“Are you a fucking idiot?” Brador raises his voice slightly, “It’s all I'm good for. I'm just another mouth to feed. I just take up space in people's lives. Even Laurence has grown tired of me already, so that's why he threw me into your hands. Why do you think I was abandoned in a goddamn orphanage? Even my parents knew how worthless I was as a newborn. I have no other purpose besides being a thorn in people's sides.”

“...we all take up space, Brador.” Ludwig starts, “We can't help it. We're people. We're all mouths to feed too. That's not your fault or anyone's fault for that matter.

“But I bring nothing in return. You're a gallant knight who explores ancient tombs or whatever. I'm just a street rat, like you said.”

“Well…” Ludwig thinks, “You’re certainly not useless. Laurence already sees you as hope for the future. And you helped me out a lot today.”

“I wasn't helping you. I was protecting myself.”

“W…What?”

“I didn't want you to punish me for not listening to you...”

Ludwig says nothing as Brador curls up into a ball, hiding his face in his arms and knees. All of a sudden, Ludwig finally understands.

“Brador…” Ludwig kneels down in front of him, “I do think you need to learn manners, but that's nothing to beat you up over. You're still just a boy with a lot of growing to do.”

“I'm 19. I'm not a boy anymore.”

“Well, compared to us, except for Maria, you're still a boy. We're not going to hurt you.”

“...”

“I see why you bit Gehrman now. You were scared, weren't you?” Ludwig asks softly. “You thought he was trying to hurt you.”

Brador doesn't react asides from staring at Ludwig wide-eyed.

“He was only trying to pull you away from the snacks that weren't ready yet, and you were only hungry.”

Brador nods silently.

“You're not used to eating this often either, are you?”

Brador nods again.

“It's ok. Here you can eat whenever you want, however much you want, and whatever you want. You don't have to worry about going back to the alleyways. I'm…” Ludwig gulps, “I'm sorry for ever suggesting that you deserved such treatment. I think we should start over.”

“Huh…?” Brador gasps softly, teary-eyed.

Ludwig holds out his hand. “I, Ludwig, invite you as a fellow mouth to feed, to take up space at our table and make merry. Would you like to come with me?”

Brador hesitantly reaches out, taking Ludwig's hand. “Ok…”

Ludwig smiles warmly. “Oh, and don't mind Lady Maria. She's new here as well, and I'm willing to bet she's more skittish than you are. I apologize on her behalf for calling your clothes dishrags, though I believe punching her was an overreaction on your part.”

A little noise escapes Brador's throat, perhaps a giggle? In any case, he follows Ludwig to the dinner table, ready to share his first meal with the people he would later call his family.

--- --- ---

Brador opens his eyes to afternoon rays shifting through the curtains. He dreamed of another memory that he thought was lost to time.

He finds it amusing that Ludwig was afraid of him, if not everyone else in some capacity. Everyone was afraid of Brador, Brador was afraid of everyone.

If Ludwig turned into a beast, would he lash out with fear? Would Brador be afraid of him as well, just like how he was back in the day?

Brador's stomach twists at the thought. He hugs the blankets, but it's just not enough. He shoves his face into a pillow and sighs. The sheets smell of his very own skin oils and sweat, it's not comforting at all. His scent completely overpowers Djura's.

Why, why did it have to be Ludwig? It's a rhetorical question for Brador. Ludwig pushed himself the most out of everyone he knew. It's no surprise he delved in the blood far too much to keep up with his duties. But Ludwig acts out of kindness and the desire to protect, not for power, not for control. Should such pure intentions be punished by fate? Though, did the same thing not happen to Laurence? The thought is too much to bear and he smashes his face into the pillow further.

“Mornin’, Brador.”

Brador perks his head up. Djura is standing there, hands on his hips, fully dressed and ready for the day.

“Brador, I want to teach you how to handle a beast.” Djura says firmly.

“...why?” Brador asks groggily with squinted eyes.

“Why? Whaddya mean why?” Djura tilts his head, “It's for Ludwig. In case he comes here howling at the moon and acting all feral and stuff. I want you to be prepared if that day comes.”

“But I've already come to terms that he'll probably be put down…” Brador smashes his face back into the head-shaped dent of the pillow. “It's pointless…”

“C'mon. You've been cooped up in my room for the past couple of days or so. I ain't gonna let you be all depressed like this. At least come outside, the sun’s shining. It'll be good for you.”

“...”

“And besides, you've been eating on my bed and getting bacon grease and crumbs all over my sheets. I need to wash ‘em so you gotta get off eventually.” Djura scolds him ever so lightly.

“But you're the one who's been serving me the food in the first place, so it's your fault…” Brador mumbles into the pillow.

“It's so you don't starve, darlin’.”

“Oh…” Brador then feels Djura's hand on the back of his head, stroking through his hair, then the weight of the bed shifting as Djura sits beside him. Brador peeks up at him.

“You know Ludwig better than I do. I want to keep that promise to you, but I need you to help me. Ok?” Djura says, “This is for him. To give him a chance at life here so you don't lose anyone else.”

“But turning into a beast… he'd hate that. And I'd lose him no matter what. Even if that beast has his face, it won't be him… it's what Laurence feared the most too. I could see it in his eyes before I… I…” Brador sighs.

Djura says nothing for a few moments. He then speaks up, gentle, “We won't know until that day comes. You've seen some of the beasts trying to talk to me, right? Even if it doesn't come out as words, you know they're still there.”

“Yeah…”

“And if he ain't happy as a beast, we'll respect his wishes, ok?”

“Ok…”

Djura smiles. “Now get dressed. What do you want to eat for lunch?”

Brador lifts his head, his eyes lighting up. “Can it be anything?”

“Anything I've got in my pantry and storage.” Djura nods.

“Can I have breakfast for lunch?”

“Of course.”

“Can I get a full Irish breakfast without the tomatoes and mushrooms?”

“...you just want a plate of sausages and bacon, don't you?”

“Hey! Don't forget the black pudding!” Brador pipes up. “And beans!”

Djura smiles. “Anything to make you happy, hon.” And so he leans down and gives Brador a kiss on the cheek.

---

Out in the plaza by the Gatling gun tower, Djura has a few beasts lined up in front of Brador. Djura paces back and forth between them like an army commander, though his tone is far more light hearted and kind. Also, Andrei is there too.

“So! Every beast is different. Remember, deep down they're still people, and every person is a unique individual. You gotta know what to look for in order to figure out your approach. The first thing I look for is body language!”

Brador nods, scribbling down in a crusty notepad with charcoal.

Djura stops in front of the first beast, Rex. “Very rarely out there will you encounter a beast as friendly as Rex. Look at how happy he is! Tongue hanging out, tail wagging like a fish, and his ears are relaxed. Ain't no different than a dog. You can totally approach a beast like this without fear of getting ripped to shreds,” Djura ruffles his fur with a smile, “Unfortunately, not every beast will have movable ears and a long tail. Still, there's more to observe.”

Djura steps to another beast, a classic Old Yharnam beast patient, sitting on the ground with her arms outstretched like a gibbon. “You see how little Gracie here is just chilling? She doesn't need big ol’ ears and a tail to tell you that. Now…” Djura lifts her up by her underarms and starts waving them around, “Obviously if she were doing this, she would want to kill you!” He laughs. The beast looks like she's having a good time too. Brador notes how small she is.

“And now, it's easy to mistake a scared beast for an aggressive one, and vice versa,” Djura puts Gracie down, “Sweetheart, could you give me your best impression of what being scared is?”

The beast bares her teeth at Djura, but she scrunches up her whole body on the ground with her claws beneath her. Djura gestures at her proudly, “Ta-da! Note how she doesn't have her claws ready to kill you and is hunched over to protect her tummy. Now when you see a beast like this, you gotta show them you mean no harm.” He kneels next to her with his palms out and open, letting her sniff it. Of course, she rubs herself all over his hand, then rolls over for a belly rub. “Show them that you don't have your weapon out. Move slowly. Talking can help too, so long as your tone is calm and friendly.”

“What you mean to tell me is that they're essentially just dogs?” Brador asks.

“Yeah.” Andrei chimes in, “Dogs with the occasional human intelligence and understanding.”

“Interesting…”

Djura speaks up now, “I don't think you need to practice approaching a beast in a friendly manner. It's common sense, really, if you've approached a stray dog before.”

“...Like how you first approached me?” Brador half jokes.

Both of the Powder Kegs crack a laugh at that. Djura smiles. “Exactly like how I first approached you. I really thought you were a beast back then, a very shy one at that! I thought I was onto something when I left that bowl of beef stew out for you.”

“And you were gonna wrangle me with one of those catch poles!” Brador accuses lightheartedly.

“I figured a beast of your type would scamper back inside before I had the chance to close the doors!” Djura gasps in his defense. “Ok, we're getting off track. Brador, what I really brought you out here for is to teach you how to approach an aggressive beast. One that's wild with a thirst for blood.”

Brador swallows.

“Lemme show you what real aggression looks like, first.” Djura gestures to the final beast of the lineup, a scourge beast with jet black fur, a slender snout and limbs, and bright yellow eyes. “This is Diego. He's the smartest of my huntin’ dogs. I'm pretty sure he's still got a human noggin in there but he just pretends not to.”

Diego gives Djura the side eye. Djura does not notice. Brador notices.

“Diego, demonstrate your mean face, please.” Djura bows.

The beast snarls immediately, all of his teeth bared and frothing at the jowls. His eyes are wide and he's stanced with his claws out and ready to kill. Brador jumps back a bit when Diego starts up.

Djura nods. “See how he's laser focused on trying to kill? Eyes wide, ears erect, and even though that tail is wagging, it ain't swishing like a fish. It's wagging high and fast, which can be mistaken for friendliness, even in dogs. Know the difference!”

“I don't think I need to know…” Brador gulps. “Everything else is… indicative of murderous intent.”

“Good, good. You're picking up on things fast.” Djura smiles. Diego, satisfied with scaring the shit out of Brador, trots off.

“So… how do we approach aggressive beasts?” Brador asks, tapping the charcoal on his chin.

“Obviously, our goal here in Old Yharnam is to bring no harm to them,” Djura starts, “Hurting them will only lose their trust and make things worse, even if they're aggressive first. A friendly approach doesn't always end well either, because they may take that as a sign of weakness and eat you anyway.”

“Oh.”

“So what I like to do is fight them into submission with my bare hands.” Djura says casually.

“Wait. What?” Brador gawks.

Djura claps in front of Rex. “Here, boy! You wanna wrestle?”

“BARK BARK BARK!” The scourge beast immediately tackles Djura, but Djura holds his ground, hands placed firmly on the beast’s shoulders and his heels digging into the ground.

Andrei catches a glimpse of Brador's face and starts laughing his ass off. Brador turns slowly to face him with a slack jaw and wide eyes. Andrei chuckles, “He's crazy, I know!”

“So! When an aggressive beast charges you, it ain't like a bear where you stand there and bluff. The beast WILL try to kill you, no question! But those long arms ain't flexible and neither is their short little neck, get right under them and push back!” Djura explains with a strained smile, “Remember, they're only transformed people, if you're fit like me you can stand toe to toe with ‘em in strength!”

Brador can see how Djura's biceps are bulging out of his sleeves. The outline of his back muscles. His calves. He's seen Djura shirtless before, but this is somehow so much more arousing to watch. He fans himself. Andrei notices and holds back more laughter.

“And when the beast is pushing you like this…” Djura then kicks Rex's legs out from under him, using the forward momentum of the beast pushing him to throw the beast to the ground. He pins Rex to the ground in a mess of restrained limbs, “Use their own strength against them and get behind those nasty claws and teeth! After that it's just wrestling the motherfucker down until you show them who's boss. Once you show them that, they'll submit. Of course, we're just playing so he's not gonna fight back--” Djura lets go of Rex just for a second.

Rex suddenly thrashes and rolls over, pinning Djura down by the arms and licking his face with kisses. “FUCK! GODDAMMIT, STOPPIT!!” Djura bubbles over with laughter, “Even Rex is smart enough to wait for me to loosen my grip! AUGH! ANDREI HELP ME!”

The current scene doesn't even register to Brador. The previous image of Djura pinning someone down like that, preferably not a beast, and preferably someone who looks exactly like himself, is still in his head. It would be even better if he were wrestled into bed. He stares blankly as Andrei wrestles Rex off and the beast tackles him instead.

Djura would probably have no problem wrestling Brador down, telling him to behave, maybe even getting a little handsy… Brador licks his lips. Maybe he's gotta push Djura's buttons to get to that point, to be a naughty, naughty boy… oh man, what if Djura pushed him against the wall with that strength?

“Alright, alright…” Djura stands up and wipes his face off, “You got all of that, right?”

“Wuh? Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah I did.” Brador snaps out of his daydreaming.

“Good, time for your test!” Djura points at Brador, “Rex, tackle!”

“NONONOWAIT--” But Brador's cries for mercy are cut short as the scourge beast immediately runs him over.

Chapter Text

“And stay down, dammit!”

Djura is pleased at Brador's progress in the art of taming beasts. He watches from a distance as Brador wrangles down Rex, getting the beast into a headlock and wrapping his legs around him. The beasts have been absolutely overjoyed to have a playmate to wrestle with for the past few days now. Rex especially, the scourge beast would wait by Djura's door in the morning, waiting for Brador to come out and play.

Andrei nudges Djura with his elbow. “His mood has improved since this whole wrestling thing began.”

“Rex's?”

“No, Brador's, you dumbass.”

“Oh. Pssh. Yeah, yeah it has.” Djura smiles. “He's getting exercise and staying outdoors! It's good for him.”

“...you know…” Andrei leans against the wall, arms crossed in thought, “You two are great together, you know that?”

“Eh?” Djura peeps.

“I haven't seen you this happy in years, Djura. And Brador…” Andrei turns to the scene, now changed with Brador happily giving the beast a belly rub, “Well. He's like a completely different person now. He was so standoffish and depressed at first, remember?”

“That's the understatement of the century.” Djura chuckles.

“And you were able to bring him back to life again.” Andrei smiles. Then it falters, he turns his head up to the sky, thinking. “But… Can I be blunt?”

“Always. Lay it on me, pal.”

“I don't know. Something about him has always bothered me.”

“Look, I'm trying to get him to be more hygienic-”

“It's not that, Djura.”

Djura tilts his head. His voice lowers. “Then what is it?”

“Have you ever noticed that he walks silently?”

“...I have.” Djura answers with some hesitation, turning back to the scene, watching Brador.

“He was skilled on the night of the hunt as well. Besides bashing his weapon around, some of the techniques he pulled on those hunters weren't like that of an ordinary beast hunter. It was more… more like…” Andrei taps his chin.

“...it was more like Eileen’s skill set.” Djura finishes his sentence. “Not quite the same finesse, but close.”

“...” Andrei inhales, “I'm not saying you can't trust him, but he told you he was a beast hunter. No beast hunter needs to learn how to disarm and slit a throat like that. Neither of us know how to do that. Nor did Nikolai, nor did Jozef.”

“I… I understand your concern, Andrei. You've always looked out for me. But…” Djura sighs, “I'm not concerned about his past, if he's a Hunter of Hunters or something else, what matters is that he's here with me with a new life. And that…” He swallows, “And that I love him.”

They say nothing for a while, just watching Brador romp around and tussle with the beasts.

“So you're not going to bring it up?” Andrei asks.

“Quite frankly, it wouldn't bother me at all if he were an assassin or whatever. You and I have probably killed more people than him anyway.”

“He probably knows that too. Why would he hide that from you? Especially knowing that you are friends with Eileen.”

“...”

“And he said he worked for the Church specifically…”

“...I don't know.” Djura answers, uncertain. “I don't want to think about it. I don't want to ruin this for us. Please.”

Andrei’s brow furrows in thought. He opens his mouth to speak, then seeing the worry on Djura's face, closes it.
He inhales and exhales deeply. “As you've always said, ignorance is bliss, right?”

Djura smiles halfheartedly. “It's how I've stayed sane all these years.”

“Besides the vodka?”

They laugh together, slapping each other on the back.

---

“Brador, I'm so proud of you,” Djura beams, slightly crooked teeth and all, “If I could, I would give you a diploma in the high art of beast taming.”

Brador, covered in beast hair, sweat, and dirt, smiles back. The evening rays make them both glow, equally beautiful in each other's eyes. Of course, they stop lovingly staring at each other when they remember Andrei is standing there, begrudgingly third wheeling them. Andrei waves them off, “Take it as revenge for how Nikolai and I used to rub up on each other like cats in front of you.”

Djura barks a laugh at that. “I'm sure he'd want that, Andrei.”

“Yeah.” Andrei smiles longingly, then shakes himself back into his more usual, serious look. “I think Brador's about ready for the next step, what do you think?”

“Hm. Do you feel prepared if Ludwig came here as a beast?” Djura asks Brador.

“I do. I do, Djura.” Brador nods.

Djura pulls him into a hug. “I'm glad.”

Brador melts into it, a sudden wave of warmth and relief washing over him. Could… Ludwig have a chance here? Is that truly within the realm of possibility?

“Now, I've got one final trial for you. We're going to try the real deal now, no more playtime. Don't worry, Andrei and I will be there to step in.”

Brador stiffens up. “Huh? What the hell do you mean by the real thing?”

“I'm gonna have you meet Suzie.”

“The uh… the vicious beast you told me about that sucks the blood out of hunters?” Brador sweats.

Djura nods. “We've taken precautions. We fed her yesterday and tonight will be a new moon. The beasts are less active during that time, so she should be relatively calm. And… just to be sure, we'll feed her again tonight.”

Brador doesn't say anything.

Djura reads his face well. “If you don't feel prepared, then I won't force you. Your safety comes first.”

“Ludwig told me he didn't know how much time he had left. The sooner I learn, the better. I don't have time to quake in my boots.” Brador says with a deep inhale and a puff of his chest.

Djura smiles. “Now ain't that the spirit of a true Powder Keg! I think you'll do just fine. C'mon, let's go meet her.”

Djura takes Brador's hand, pulling him close and they walk together. They even nuzzle up to each other. Andrei trudges along behind them. And to confirm his suspicions, Andrei watches Brador's heels walk along the cobblestone- and not a sound. He walks silently out of sheer habit. Now, there's plenty of reasons why someone would develop a habit like that, whether it be an abusive childhood like Djura said Brador has, or if that person had an occupation that involved stealth (and, most notably, killing).

“We're walking in the direction of your house.” Brador notices.

“She's down the same street from my house, at the lowest point of Old Yharnam. It's an old church.” Djura confirms.

“This beast has been living so close to us and you never told me?!”

“Well I didn't want you to panic! Besides, she never leaves the place anyway.”

“Ugh…”

“Alright, we're getting close, follow my lead and stay calm, ok?”

They stand before the Church of the Good Chalice, a worn down building that's so dilapidated that there is no roof remaining. Tapestries still hang loosely from whatever rafters remain, and its spacious walls are covered in scratch and bite marks. It does not put Brador's mind at ease at all.

Djura speaks softly. “Stay behind me. I'll let you know when you can approach her. Andrei, come here.”

Andrei comes to his best friend’s side, looking vigilant and calm. Brador attempts to mimic his air as best as he can.

Djura whistles. “Suzie! We got a treat for you, c'mere girl!”

What Brador thought was a fallen red tapestry by the altar shifts. She stretches, long gangly limbs even by a beast’s standards, a hunched back with visible knobs of her spine. The parts that look like cloth draping over her changes as the beast approaches- it's not cloth, but long and flayed stretches of skin from her own back. The flesh still shines, a disturbing and literal blanket of meat. But that's not even the most chilling part of old Suzie, no, as she comes to sniff Djura's hand, she has no soft nose or big round eyes, but a sunken skull of a face with massive tusks growing out of her upper jaw.

She looks disturbingly human. Nothing like a dog at all.

“Easy girl, easy…” Djura pulls out a bottle of fermented, pungent blood from his belt. He kneels down, and the beast does as well, resting her head in his lap as he carefully tips the blood into her mouth, no different than feeding a baby. “She don't got a long tongue or lips, so we gotta help her eat.”

“What happened to her?” Brador asks in a whisper.

He looks over the beast more. She's so skinny for a beast, her fur is sparse and mangled. The gloss on her exposed back, Brador notices, is due to an ointment smeared across it. The two of them must be working hard to take care of this beast, despite it all.

This poor thing.

“Well… we don't know. But we found her in the aftermath of the burning, way down here…” Djura sighs, “She tried to kill me when I first approached her. She was so terrified of humans, hunter or not. It took months for us to get close to her, and she would only let fellow beasts near her. It's only then when I realized who she was. Whoever flayed her alive like this…” He gingerly touches her back, “Was a monster. I'm willing to bet it was some sadistic hunter.”

Brador's stomach twists.

Djura shakes his head. “I couldn't believe it. Old Suzie, my neighbor. She was an older woman, married to the priest’s brother, Joseph. It was hard to believe she was pushing into her 50’s back then with how much energy she brought into any room with her bubbly personality. Such a sweetheart and a good soul too. She always brought flowers from her gardens to everyone and treated everyone kindly, even if they weren't of her faith. I would know, they're Catholic, we were Eastern Orthodox,” He smiles, cradling her head, “Though I think I lost my faith a long time ago.”

“Why do you say that?” Brador asks foolishly.

“Just look at her. Ain't a sinful thing done in her life besides the occasional glass of wine, and this is what fate has done to her. She ain't deserve this and everything else that's happened in this godforsaken city…” Djura mumbles dishearteningly, "Even if He were still around, what God would allow such a thing?”

“Well, I don't blame you. God isn't what you think it is.”

“Have you met… uh, ‘it’ before?” Djura asks confusedly.

“Perhaps.” He answers vaguely.

Suzie finishes her meal and nuzzles into Djura's lap. He smiles, “Well, today's your lucky day, darlin'. She's in a good mood, so come on over and say hello. Still, move slowly. Show her your hands.”

Brador approaches cautiously, even slower as Suzie turns her head to look at him directly. But her body language is relaxed, and that long tail behind her begins to wag in a friendly manner. “Ok… ok she's letting me approach, right?”

“Yep. Take a look at that tail and how relaxed she is. You're doing good, darlin'.”

Brador kneels, extending his hand out and lets Suzie sniff it. Then, surprisingly, she licks his hand. Brador gasps.

“She likes ya!” Djura beams, “Oh this is a relief!”

Brador touches the top of her head and she nuzzles into his hand with a little whine. Even Andrei mumbles, “Aaaawww,” under his breath. They all relax, the tension in their shoulders released in an instant.

“I…” Brador cracks a smile, “I guess I was worrying for no reason.” He scratches under her chin and she purrs loudly. Suzie sniffs up his arm. She licks his arm bands, then shoves her head into Brador's chest just like a cat. Brador sits down with a smile.

“Maybe it's my scent and the beasts’ all over you, or maybe you're that approachable to her. This is good, very good!” Djura pats his back. “I knew you could do it, Brador.”

Brador smiles at him. “Thank you.”

As she cuddles up to Brador, Suzie sniffs the fur garb. She pauses. She sniffs again, deeper this time, getting up from her spot. Brador leans back a bit. “Uh, hey-”

“SCRIIIIIIEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAACH!”

“SUZIE, NO--!”

In an instant, the beast throws herself forward, sinking her tusks through Brador's shoulder and digging her claws into his sides. Brador screams in shock and terror, and in his panic, thrashes and strikes Suzie in the face. The beast screeches and lunges forward with her claws swinging- but not before Djura shoves himself between them, and Andrei pulls her away in a headlock.

Brador can see it-- how wide her sunken eyes are, the foaming of the mouth, how her claws are out and extended--

Why? Why?! WHY?!

Suzie suddenly whimpers and cries as Djura collapses on top of Brador. Djura calls out to her, “It's ok, you only scratched me, I'm ok, I'm ok-”

Suzie shrieks as Djura touches Brador. Djura frantically packs the massive puncture wounds with torn pieces of his cape. Brador stares lifelessly at the night sky, hyperventilating, soaked in a spreading pool of blood beneath him. Djura holds his face, “Brador?! Brador, stay with me! Brador!” But Brador doesn't respond at all.

The beast breaks out of Andrei's hold, shoving Djura away from Brador and screaming at him. She turns and faces Brador, backing up against Djura. Djura yells at her in his panic, “Suzie, no! Get out of the way, he's going to bleed out! MOVE, DAMMIT!” He tries to push past her, but she shoves him down. When Djura yelps in pain, she freezes up, staring at her beloved caretaker in shock. Andrei does not waste the opportunity to tackle her, getting right under her fangs and claws, bringing her down to the ground like a lion hunting an antelope.

She thrashes in Andrei’s hold, still trying to get at Brador. Andrei squeezes his eyes shut, muttering a prayer and apology before stabbing two sedatives into her neck. She cries out as she collapses, almost begging as Djura scrambles back to Brador's side. As her limbs give out, Andrei releases her, whispering to her, “I'm so sorry.” Then he rushes to Brador's side, tearing off pieces of his own cape and packing the wounds on his abdomen.

“C'mon, hurry, get him back to the house!” Djura slings Brador's arm over his shoulder, and Andrei does the same. They shuffle together quickly and in sync. As they do, Brador slumps in their hold, passed out.

Djura takes one last look at Suzie over his shoulder, his heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

Why? Just why?

---

Djura grimaces as he injects a blood vial into Brador's thigh. He mumbles apology after apology, and he has not stopped his mantra throughout treating him. He kneels by Brador's side on the couch, holding Brador's hand to his forehead, praying.

“Djura, we need to take care of your wounds next.” Andrei says firmly but gently.

“Not until he's ok, dammit!” Djura shouts, trembling. “Look at him, he's wounded so badly that we needed the fucking blood again!”

“We cleaned the wounds as best as we could. Now we let the blood do the work.” Andrei puts a hand on his shoulder.

“This wasn't an ordinary beast, this was Suzie. And she bit him, Andrei. Her fangs went straight through his fucking shoulder.”

“And she still scratched you, take an antidote before anything happens with her poison.”

“I've been exposed to the Ashen Blood before, whatever fever is coming for me won't be a big deal. Brador comes first.”

“Djura-”

“I said he comes first!”

Andrei kneels behind Djura. “Well, then I'll treat you as you're treating him. Take off your vest and cloak.”

Djura grumbles and strips himself. Andrei pours alcohol down the gashes on his back, luckily they aren't deep enough to expose his ribs. Djura hisses at the pain. Andrei is gentle as he stitches and patches up the wounds before commenting, “You're going to have one hell of a badass scar after this. Too bad you can't see it.”

Djura cracks a small smile. “Thanks.” It's not the time, but he appreciates Andrei trying to cheer him up nonetheless.

Then they fall into silence for a while, not a sound but the crackles of the fireplace.

“I hope we administered the antidote on time. It was that or stopping the bleeding first…” Djura sighs.

“We'll see when he wakes up.” Andrei sighs as well. “And yes. Stopping the bleeding first was more important. She hit an artery.”

“She did.”

“...I just don't understand why she lashed out.”

Djura shakes his head. “I know. She was so calm at first, then… then…”

They both look at each other. They then look at Brador. Djura reaches out to touch the garb-- the longer piece that goes around his shoulder, it now has holes precisely where Suzie bit him.

“Odd place to bite someone. She always goes precisely for the neck. You said the beasthide is the Vicar’s?” Andrei asks.

“According to Brador, yes…” Djura leans back in thought, “But why? Why would the Vicar's scent trigger her like that…?”

“Remember how those haughty-looking fuckers would come down here and say they were researching the scourge and beasts, way before the burning? The ones in the white robes and weird pointy caps.”

Djura's face goes pale. “Oh my God. No… they did that to her? What was there to gain?”

“Those same bastards told us beasts don't feel pain…” Andrei buries his face in his hands. “Jesus Christ.”

Djura covers his mouth. “They tortured her.”

Andrei gets up. “Fuck this. What do you want? Whiskey? Vodka? I can get the expensive cognac from my personal stash.”

Djura thinks long and hard. “... Andrei. I need a smoke.”

Andrei gasps. “No Djura, we swore off the tobacco. And I'm not breaking open the safe we locked it in. I forgot the damn code anyway.”

“Not even after realizing what the Church goons did to Suzie?!” Djura sobs, “Have a heart! And if we did truly swear it off, we would've thrown it away, not locked it away for safekeeping. You know you want some too!”

“...” Andrei raises a finger, then puts it down. “You know what, it's been a real bitch of a day. Yeah, let's smoke a fat one. It'll help with easing the pain of those gashes on your back anyway.”

---

The two of them sit outside and smoke while staring up at the night sky. They've smoked one cigar each for now, talking amongst each other as friends.

After a while, they hear the front door open. They turn around in shock to see Brador, supporting himself on the door frame. Djura gasps, “Brador! You're alright! But you're still healing, you need to rest. Get back inside, hun.”

Brador groggily glances between Andrei and Djura. He shakily lifts his arm, pointing at the precious cigar box on the porch railing, “Gimme.”

“...Well, you heard the man.” Andrei shrugs, “He’s had a bitch of a day too.”

Djura pulls out a nearby chair and helps Brador to it. He slumps down and grumpily takes a cigar like it’s a piece of candy. He’s also too impatient to have Djura lovingly and erotically light it with his own cigar end mouth to mouth, and snatches the nearby lighter for himself.

“How are you feeling, Brador?” Djura asks with a hand on his shoulder.

“Fucking horrible, thank you.” He groans and takes a long huff, settling into the chair. “...Ok. Much better now.”

They chuckle lightly at that. Djura speaks up again, “Brador, I am so, so sorry. We thought everything was going smoothly, we did! It’s… my fault… that I didn’t realize it sooner.”

“Realize what?”

“...That she would react like that, I guess.” Djura turns back to the sky.

“All is forgiven.”

“You smoke a lot?” Djura asks, changing the subject.

“No. Laurence hated the smell and so did Maria. I would have to sneak out with Gehrman and Micolash, but that was once in a blue moon.”

“Gehrman?” Djura thinks, scratching at his memory. Why is that name so familiar to him?

“You know, first hunter and inventor of the trick weapon? Freakishly tall? Top hat and a red scarf?”

“OOOOOH. Yeah, that guy! Ugh, why do I feel like I know him from somewhere else…? It's like I saw him in a dream…” Djura rubs his forehead.

“Maybe he was a part of the Dream? That Dream.” Andrei suggests.

“Nah. Couldn't be. That night was too vivid to forget. And dying, over and over again…” Djura shudders.

“What the fuck are you two talking about??” Brador slurs out.

“Don't even worry about it, honey. You wouldn't get it unless you were in the know,” Djura waves him off, “I dunno know how to explain it anyhoo.”

“Ok…? Keep your secrets, then.” Brador huffs.

“You're pretty talkative for someone with several stab wounds,” Andrei comments, “That shit should hurt.”

“Pain doesn't bother me too much. I just wish it was dealt with a flog or perhaps a belt, and not a beast. At least it would turn me on.” Brador casually says with a puff.

Djura chokes. “What the hell, Brador?!”

Andrei whistles. “You've got a kinky one! I told you that you two are great together!” And slaps Djura on the shoulder.

“Why are you talking about this in front of Andrei, we haven't even fucked yet!!” Djura yells at Brador, and whips his head around to Andrei who is laughing his ass off, “And you! Shut up!”

“Sorry I'm not thinking much right now. Hardly at all. Or too hard…” Brador stares blankly ahead. “I… ugh…”

“Brador?” Djura turns around. “You doing ok?”

Brador slumps further into the chair. “Nicotine’s not helping as much as I thought…”

Djura approaches, touching Brador's hand. “Hey, let's get you back inside then, alright?” Then Djura reaches up to brush the fur out of Brador's face, then his eyebrows raise. He places his hand across Brador's forehead. “Holy shit, you're burning up.”

“I'm on fire??” Brador asks blankly.

“Fever. Shit, we didn't dose you enough with the antidote and blood. You got any other symptoms, like a scratchy throat?”

“That's… not something I can comment on after smoking a cigar as fat as this.” He coughs.

“Oh. Right.”

“But I feel… weak… and achy.”

“Help me get him back inside, Andrei.” Djura says, and the two of them help Brador onto his feet.

“What's wrong with me…?” Brador coughs again, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, leaving behind a grayish smear. He stares at it in confused delirium.

Djura glances down, his eye widening. “It's spread through your system faster than I thought.”

“What? What spread?”

“Don’t panic at what I'm about to tell you, but…” Djura inhales deeply, speaking slowly and calmly, “Brador, you contracted the Ashen Blood from Suzie's bite.”

Chapter Text

Ever since Laurence has established the Healing Church, he has disappeared more frequently and longer behind closed doors. People whom Brador has never seen arriving in these gatherings, scholars that left Byrgenwerth alongside Laurence following him in thralls, specimens brought up from tombs long forgotten. Hushed whispers, intelligence, plans that are beyond Brador's understanding.

Not that he ever needed to understand them, of course.

What matters is that Brador has finally found stability. Three square meals a day, friends and family, a bed to sleep in, and a purpose. His purpose of giving his all to Laurence, the man who saved him and gave him a second chance at life.

Things have been slow recently. The Healing Blood has not caught on like Laurence hoped while standing on a soapbox and preaching. In fact, he got tomatoes thrown at him. Laurence has since taken those tomatoes and made some marinara sauce with them. He said he was trying to make the best of things at the moment and that he was foolish for thinking his charisma was enough to sway their minds.

Their Church is hardly a proper place for worship. They took an inn that was up for sale as a temporary base of operations. Laurence told them not to worry about where the money came from. Micolash later confirmed that Laurence embezzled the money from Master Willem himself, right under his nose. Micolash knew this because he helped Laurence directly, that slippery bastard.

Currently, Brador is lounging around, waiting for Laurence's next command, bored out of his mind. He chews mindlessly on the spaghetti, hardly registering the flavor (there wasn't much in the first place).

He can hear the scholars’ voices raise in the nearby office, but he can't make out what they're saying. Their volumes jump up and down, then silence. Eventually he hears the doors slam open and a scholar comes stomping out. The rest of the attendees shuffle out, one by one, until Laurence steps out. He gives Brador a thin smile before walking off.

---

Brador is up late at night again. Of course, this is not unusual for him, if anything it would be gravely concerning if he were seen sleeping soundly at a reasonable hour. He lays on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, twirling his beloved knife. It's nothing extraordinary, just a simple blade he looted from a shop during his street rat days.

Seriously, things have been so boring recently. Nothing but Laurence having meetings behind closed doors. The most Brador has done is housework here and there. He misses the days where they would dissect strange fishmen, and the days before that when they raided the fishmen’s village, and the days before that when they would descend into the tombs below the college. The only times he looks forward to now are just being in his friends’ presence, and even then they're busy.

When will things get interesting?

Then, to answer Brador's wishes, a quiet knock on his door. Brador slips away his knife and approaches. Who is this, at this hour, seeking his attention? He cracks it open.

It's Laurence. He's still in his fancy white gowns. Brador is shocked to see him. “Laurence? What brings you here?”

Laurence's expression is warm and inviting. “Brador, could we discuss something in private?”

Brador stands up straight. “Yes, of course! Come in.” He holds the door open.

“Oh, and lock the door, would you?” Laurence says as he steps in.

Brador's heart leaps into his throat as he turns the locking mechanism, although he knows that his fantasies shall never come into fruition.

Laurence motions for Brador to take a seat, and instead of lounging across the sheets like he normally does, Brador sits up properly with his hands folded in his lap.

Laurence steps to the window. He folds his hands neatly behind his back, peering at the people walking about below them. He doesn't say anything for a long while. Brador leans to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of Laurence's reflection in an attempt to read his face.

“Just a moment, Brador. I'm thinking.” Laurence says, catching Brador's reflection as well.

“Sorry.” Brador says meekly, looking back down in his lap.

“No need to apologize for being so curious.”

Another long moment of tense silence. Laurence clears his throat. Brador peeks up.

“Do you remember what you told me when we first met, Brador? When I asked you how you felt after killing that test subject.”

“W…What?” Brador gawks. Why bring this up now?

“Must I repeat myself?”

“I told you I felt nothing. No fear as I plunged my knife into his heart.”

“Yes.” Laurence's eyes peer up at the night sky, “But you were under stressful conditions. You were starving. You were desperate for my cure. You wanted to live. Your nerves shut down any feeling of regret or anxiety to pull through. Additionally, you came from an unideal environment for a teenage boy that stunted your emotional development.”

“Uh…”

“You're a fascinating case, Brador, as well as one of the most loyal friends I have ever had.” Laurence pushes up his glasses with a small smile.

Brador stiffens up. “Of course! I would do almost anything for you, Laurence.”

“Yes. Almost anything. That exception being eating your vegetables.” Laurence jokes, cracking a chuckle out of both of them. Brador's shoulders loosen.

“Now…” Laurence closes his eyes, “I hate to ask this of your Brador. After all, I saved you from what drove you to kill in the first place.”

Brador leans forward. “Are you asking me to kill for you, Laurence?”

Laurence glances at Brador through the reflection. He sees Brador's eyes, no longer filled with his previous anxiety. “Yes, I am asking for you to bloody your hands once more.”

“Laurence, if I may be so bold,” Brador leans back, “I would've happily killed for you again and again. I owe you as much. You saved my life, after all.”

“...” Laurence says nothing, only a glint in his eyes as his mind churns. “Are you certain of this?”

“I am. What better way to prove my loyalty?”

Laurence shakes his head. “You've been more than dedicated to my cause. Killing someone for me would simply prove a known fact of the universe.”

“But this act would forward your goals, yes?”

“Yes, without question.”

“Then kill I shall.”

Laurence continues to look at Brador through the reflection. Brador is smiling authentically. “Perhaps… My hypothesis about your situation causing your lack of empathy was incorrect. Perhaps you were born for this.”

Brador’s posture falters. But he shakes himself back straight, trying to look collected.

Laurence notices Brador's shaken psyche. “Brador, I would not have approached you with this if the others were capable. That's what makes you special.”

“What do you mean?” Brador asks, uncertain.

“Think about it. You said that you felt nothing when you killed my test subject. Think about if anyone else were in that situation. Ludwig, Gehrman, Lady Maria…” Laurence inhales, looking up at the moon, “Even if they murdered someone for revenge, it would break them in the end.”

Brador nods solemnly. “Especially Maria…”

Laurence turns to face Brador, his eyes serious and cold, but his lips turned upwards into a warm smile. “It can only be you, Brador. You've proven once that you can do it. Now, should it be that you're shaken from this, I won't ever ask you again. I do not want that for you.”

Brador looks up at Laurence with awe in his eyes and his mouth slightly agape. Then he asks, “And should I not be shaken?”

“Then I hope this situation does not rise again. Although…” Laurence's expression melts away for just a split second before returning to that cold analytical stare. Brador can't quite read it. Laurence steps forward, mere paces away from Brador, looming over him. “It's likely that it will, and I will need you again.”

Pride swells in Brador's chest. But he can't help but ask, “But if I do get shaken?”

“Finding someone else with sociopathic tendencies like you will be difficult. Especially one that has experience in dispatching another human being, and especially one who will not betray me.”

“You'd… replace me?”

Laurence sighs. His lukewarm smile fades. “I would have to find someone else, yes.”

Brador shrinks back a bit. Laurence smiles again, “But you won't disappoint me. I know you won't. You shouldn't worry about that, Brador.”

Brador nods. “Of course.”

Laurence clears his throat, pacing back to the window. “One of the original scholars of Byrgenwerth who followed my lead here. I'm sure you saw them storming out after our meeting. They are threatening my plans. They want to release this information to the public should I decide to go through.”

“Your… plans? Now why would they threaten that? Is sharing the Healing Blood such a bad thing for them?” Brador scoffs.

“It's the details that irked them.”

“May I ask what they are?”

“You need not to worry about them.” Laurence smiles thinly.

---

“Your plan is to do WHAT?!”

The whole dinner table is shaken when Lady Maria stands upright, slamming her hands on the surface. She stares down Laurence with outrage, so angry that even her teeth are bared to reveal her fangs.

Laurence, at the head of the table, does not turn his head to face her, merely staring at her from behind his glasses. “Nothing else has worked. You've seen how the close-minded Yharnamites reacted to my proposals. This is our last resort.”

“The Yharnamites-” Lady Maria hisses, “Old Yharnam is NOT Yharnam itself!”

“Precisely.” Laurence pushes up his glasses, “It's the slums. Full of migrants and foreigners pushed out of the main city. The Yharnam populace would not blink twice if the people they deem filthier than rats are suddenly swamped with a plague. They would assume the foreigners are the very source of the disease itself.”

“How does this help our cause?! HOW?!” She shouts now. Ludwig desperately tries to tug her back down, but she snatches her arm away.

“Yharnamites take. They take and nothing more. They will see how our Healing Blood is saving the people of Old Yharnam, who in their eyes, may spread the disease to the heart of the city. The Yharnamites will want in. And thus, our cure will spread.”

“Your poison will spread, is what! This is dishonest, you're putting all these people on the brink of death, for what?! For experimentation, for research?! You're going to fucking kill them- Hell, you're betting on it so they become desperate enough! You don't even know if this will work!”

“Oh?” Laurence peers up at her, leaning over and folding his hands over his mouth. “How noble of you, Lady Maria. You would know much about experimenting on people and preying on the desperate. How is this any different than your active participation in researching the blood itself? Do tell me.”

The dinner table falls completely silent. Gehrman’s jaw drops. Ludwig swallows, simultaneously trying to focus on calming Lady Maria and ignoring everything he's hearing. Brador is tense, eyes shifting between them, ready for whatever will happen next. Micolash also glances between them, but with a great smile on his face as he chews his under seasoned, well done steak.

“I- I do this for a good cause. I am helping our patients! I'm not actively poisoning them like how you plan to!” Her voice wavers. Ludwig tries to usher her to sit down again.

“Yes, injecting them with the blood of Ebrietas or the parasites from Kos is not poisoning, only researching what happens when their heads swell so greatly that we must fit their waterlogged brains with a sack to keep it upright. You don't even know how to treat them.”

“You don't fucking know either.” She growls through her teeth, gripping the table so hard that the silverware shakes.

“So why continue helping us? Or rather, why do you continue to indulge your curiosities alongside us?”

“I want to save them, not experiment on them.”

“That is a lie and you know it.” Laurence smiles. “I wonder what your family at Cainhurst think of your so-called academics?”

“Why YOU-!!” Lady Maria throws herself forward. Ludwig, luckily, catches her wrist and holds her back from pummeling Laurence's skull in. In that same moment, Brador jumps between her and Laurence, brandishing the steak knife he was just using to eat. Lady Maria stares in shock at her friend.

“Laurence, that is enough!” Gehrman stands up, panic in his voice. “Leave it be. Maria, please sit down.”

Lady Maria whips her head around. At Brador, at Gehrman, at Ludwig, at Micolash. “Are the rest of you alright with this?! Have you all lost your minds?!”

“...He's right.” Brador says slowly, “We need to make them believe first. Nothing else will get through to them.”

“Brador…?” Lady Maria's eyes widen, angry blue piercing through Brador's cold hazel.

“Thank you for understanding, Brador.” Laurence smiles warmly.

“This will have consequences. Mark my words, you will live to regret this. All of you.” Lady Maria says slowly and seethingly. She then yanks herself away from Ludwig, stomping out of the dining room.

“...I don't see why she's so angry about this!” Micolash pipes up once she's out of earshot, “We spent years trying to figure out the Healing Blood. All that research for nothing if we don't get it out there! Like, imagine if my dear sister didn't ascend after all of our research and contact with the Great Ones! Oh, and we will finally see how the Healing Blood works en masse. Right guys?”

Laurence nods with a smile. Ludwig and Gehrman look despondent and hesitant. Brador only stands there, still protecting him.

---

The deed is done. Brador bloodied his hands once more for Laurence. The body was disposed of in the sewers. Brador proudly brings Laurence the scholar’s badge, dropping it on Laurence's desk as he sits down.

Laurence's smile is warm. His eyes, his beauty, all radiantly warm. His posture is regal, even, with his back up straight and hands folded atop the table. He puts two fingers on the badge, sliding it to himself. “Well done, Brador. I hope it wasn't too much trouble.”

“Not at all, Laurence.”

“How did it make you feel?”

“Again, I felt nothing.” Brador says.

Laurence leans forward slightly, seemingly interested. “When you hunted them down, not when you finally disposed of them.”

“...” Brador's gaze shifts before making eye contact with Laurence once more. “Would you think any less of me?”

“I only think less of liars.”

“It was exciting,” Brador swallows back his voice, “It was… so exciting. Perhaps a better word is… thrilling. It was a shame when it ended with my knife in their throat.”

Laurence smiles widens, that glint in his eyes shining again. “Ah. I suppose this was a good fit for you after all. This is excellent.”

“I'm a murderer, Laurence.” Brador mutters quietly.

“Sacrifices must be made on this path, Brador. That's why you're important. I need someone more willing than the rest to do this. Chin up.”

Brador gasps when Laurence reaches out, touching his chin, and lifting it up. The heat in Brador's throat rises to his cheeks. It takes all of his willpower not to reach up and cup Laurence's hand.

“You've proven your loyalty, Brador. However… it's just… one thing that's bothering me.”

“Y-Yes?”

“The Powder Keg.”

“What?”

Laurence's head tilts, his smile remaining. “The Powder Keg, Djura.”

“H-How do you know about him?” Brador whispers. His blood runs cold.

Laurence rises from his seat, towering over him. The room suddenly feels much smaller now, closing in on Brador.

“You've been working with him. Protecting the beasts. Caring for them, even. Why, Brador?” Laurence asks, his friendly tone not changing, but it's laced with something truly venomous.

“I…I… I don't know what you're talking about.”

Laurence's hand leaves Brador's chin. He paces around the desk, slowly, prowling. “What did I just say, Brador?”

“...you think less of liars…” Brador bites his lip, looking down into his lap.

Laurence's hands settle on Brador's shoulders, standing behind him. “We are supposed to be getting rid of our mistakes, not letting them linger, Brador. You've disappointed me.”

“It's not like that!” Brador gasps. His heart sinks. It's becoming harder to breathe by the second.

“Djura and the Powder Kegs betrayed us. He would not stand for our cause to wipe out the scourge. Surely you see how foolish he is?” Laurence's grip on his shoulders tightens.

“I… he's not foolish… I mean, I guess he is, in some ways, but…” Brador looks down at his lap. Laurence tilts his chin back up. Brador's breath catches in his throat as heat and fear rises in his face. He grips the armrests as his neck bends backwards.

“Brador… Brador, Brador, Brador… We've been working so hard to stamp out this beast infestation tainting our name. Djura has been raising the pests in his yard. He is a problem. A threat, if you would.”

“...”

“Now, are you still loyal to the Healing Church, or not?” Laurence smiles fully now. It's a beautiful smile.

“I am, I promise!” Brador begs, tears in his eyes, curling up and hiding his face. “Laurence, please believe me… I have not done anything to endanger you or what we've built! The beasts… they keep to themselves. Djura keeps them fed. They are no trouble to us and the Church!”

“Is that so…? But Brador… you are with Djura. You kiss him, hold him close to your heart…” Laurence whispers into his ear, “You court him in earnest. Have you forgotten about me?”

“Please… I still love you, Laurence.”

“I've been watching you, Brador.” Laurence's grip tightens on Brador's shoulder even more, digging claws into his skin, “Don't lie to me.”

“Even if that is so, I would never hurt you! I love you, I love you…” Brador sobs, “I would never worship Djura the same as I do to you...”

“Then how did I end up like this, Brador? Why would you do this to me?” Laurence says as his blood drips onto Brador's head and shoulders. Brador looks up. The skinned beast’s skeletal jaws hang open, viscera and blood pouring from its mouth and broken heart. The room floods in an instant. He chokes up the blood as it begins to pour out of his throat as ashes.

He flails helplessly in the blood, clawing his way out of it, screaming for help. But in an instant, the ceiling gives in. Brador sees Djura reaching out from above. His mouth flaps, saying something to Brador, but Brador can't hear him.

The beast then bursts out from the blood, digging its skeletal claws into Brador's legs. He screams as he's dragged under. It speaks to Brador, hissing against his ear. “You… don't… deserve… to be… with him… ”

“No… no!” Brador cries out, “Djura!”

“He… will… never… forgive… you…”

“Djura!” The blood floods into his mouth, choking him.

It whispers harshly again. Laurence's voice is loud and clear.

“I wonder what Djura would think if he found out you helped us kill his family?”

Djura grabs Brador's hand. And in that very same moment, Brador drowns.

--- --- ---

Djura and Andrei have taken turns caring for Brador. It's strenuous, constantly shifting attention between him, the beasts (and especially Suzie, helping her recover from the sedative), their gardens, and watching over Old Yharnam- neither of them have gotten proper sleep in the last couple of days.

Tonight is the peak of the infection, both Andrei and Djura saw it coming from the many times they've seen Old Yharnam's citizens fall ill to the Ashen Blood. They've prepared lots of tea and antidotes to ease Brador's symptoms- anything to avoid another dose of the blood. The blood may have saved people initially, but Djura wishes to take no chances at Brador losing himself, even if he supposedly has little beasthood in his blood.

Brador shivers with heavy breaths. The blankets that Djura provided him with have smears of ash from Brador's constant coughs. He sweats, hugging himself, mumbling feverishly. He's barely responsive, save for instinctively swallowing when Djura spoon feeds him his meals and medications.

Andrei and Djura are both monitoring Brador tonight. They take turns dozing off, smacking each other on the shoulder occasionally, and brewing more and more coffee. It escalated to espresso shots halfway through the night.

“...God, I wish Nikolai or Jozef were here to pick up our shifts.” Andrei grumbles, staring at the grandfather clock. It's an hour past midnight.

“You're acting like we're getting paid by the hour.” Djura grumbles as well, but his face softens as he turns to Brador, “But so long as he comes out of this alright…” He lifts Brador's arm that hangs off the couch, kissing his knuckles.

Andrei pats him on the shoulder in solidarity. “I'd hate to see you lose anyone else again, Djura. But this fucker’s been through some tough shit. He will pull through.”

Djura smiles with a small laugh. “Let's hope so. It's just…” He brings Brador's hand to his cheek, “This reminds me of my mum and pa when they caught it. The coughing, the ashes, the…” He swallows.

“Djura, listen. This is his first time catching it, of course shit looks worse than it actually is. But we dosed him with the blood and antidotes before his symptoms showed… and we know what to do. We're not running around trying to figure out how to cure him. We've done everything we can and now we can only let the sickness run its course.” Andrei says firmly.

“I know, I know…” Djura mumbles, “I can't stop worrying, though.”

Andrei rubs his back gently, minding the healing wounds. “That's only natural.”

Brador's head turns slightly at Djura, his thumb moving to caress Djura's cheek. Djura perks up. “Brador?”

“Djura…” Brador whispers weakly. Tears well in his half-open eyes.

Djura's eye lights up. He rubs up to Brador's hand. “Yes, yes! That'd be me.”

“Djura…” Brador coughs, “I'm so sorry, I'm…”

Djura shushes him. “Don't strain yourself, darlin', you need to rest.”

“It's my fault…”

“No, no it isn't, it's ours for not watching Suzie close enough.” Djura reassures. Andrei nods in agreement.

“It's all my fault…” Brador mutters in his feverish delirium, “The water, the water…”

“You want water? Here, I can help you drink…” Djura reaches for the nearby jug and glass.

“The water…” Brador coughs again, tears streaming down his face, “The blood… the blood… I didn't stop them… bloodied the water…”

Djura and Andrei exchanged confused looks. Andrei speaks up with a shrug, “Normal behavior for a person heavily infected with the Ashen Blood.”

“Eh. Yeah.” And so Djura starts pouring the water for Brador.

“The Ashen Blood…” Brador coughs again, choking up with sobs, “They went through… poisoned the water…”

Djura freezes up. The glass spills over with the water he was pouring.

“...What?” Andrei says with no emotion in his eyes.

“I killed…” Brador mumbles, “I killed… those… who knew… Djura… Djura, I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry…”

“...”

“I did this to you.” Brador mumbles one last time before his head nods off, back into unconscious nothingness.

“...”

Dead silence.

The world comes to a halt.

“Well!” Djura laughs and breaks the silence, “The Ashen Blood messes with ya like that! Talking absolute nonsense, haha! That's not even the weirdest thing he's said with this fever!”

“Djura.” Andrei says blankly, staring at Brador with wide, bloodshot eyes.

“Hey, hey! Remember earlier today when he was talking about fish people! Fish people with legs and scales and spoke like bubbling water! That was just crazy!” Djura laughs even harder. “Oh, boy! Gosh ain't this just entertaining!”

“Djura.”

“This reminds me of when I caught the Ashen Blood myself! I couldn't think straight at all! I said the darndest things, like talking about the moon being made of cheese and seeing Baba Yaga and-”

“Djura.”

“What is it, old pal?” Djura turns around with a wide smile.

“I’m sorry. Hold me back.”

“ANDREI!”

Djura launches out of the chair he was just sitting in, tackling Andrei down the split second his hand makes contact with his trusty Saw Spear. The weapon is knocked off somewhere to the side. Andrei is pushed to the floor, locking hands with Djura as they shove against each other. “THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOIN’?!” Djura screams.

“YOU HEARD HIM!” Andrei screams right back, “They fucking poisoned us! The fucking Healing Church!”

“He's sick! He's sick outta his goddamn mind!” Djura flounders over his words, “He- He doesn't know what he's talking about!”

“Then he would've been talking about, oh I dunno, seeing unicorns and rainbows! That- whatever he was saying- that was too specific!”

“He's! Sick! Outta! His! God! Damn! Mind!” Djura shakes him by the shoulders.

"But it makes too much sense, doesn't it?!” Andrei attempts to push him off, “And guess what! He said that he killed those who knew! And now we fucking know! So what happens now, huh?!”

“I don't know!” Djura hiccups, tears welling, “I don't know… I don't… oh God…” He sits up, sobbing into his hands, “I don't know what's happening anymore…”

Andrei sits up too, his lips turned down into a scowl. “I fucking knew it. I knew something was up when that Vicar showed up with the Healing Blood. Preaching to us on top of that soapbox. Telling us we could be cured from the Ashen Blood. That was too timely.”

“...” Djura sniffles behind his hands, “All these years… my mum, my pa, Suzie… everyone… everyone… I've always had my suspicions… about the Church and the Ashen Blood… but to hear it from Brador…?"

“And he's been hiding it from us…”

“Brador must have a good reason!” Djura stammers, “He- He must not want to break my heart, I know it! He's not with the Church anymore, he's running away from them!”

“...” Andrei's fists clench.

“He doesn't have a reason to come clean! He's left it all behind, he's started a new life with me! He…” Djura sobs even more now, “He… he was apologizing to me at that last moment…”

“I know…” Andrei inhales deeply, “I know that you're excited to jump into a new relationship, Djura. But you seriously, seriously, need to think about this. Who knows how much he's lying to you. This is worse than cheating.”

“...so what do we do now?” Djura sniffles, looking down at his knees.

“I don't know.”

“Me neither.”

“...You're going to stay with him, aren't you?”

“I love him for the man he is now, please!” Djura hiccups, “We've both done terrible, godawful things for our own reasons. If he can look past all of the beasts I've burned-"

“The beasts that he apparently led us to burn? The beasts that the Healing Church made out of them?”

“...” Djura breaks down sobbing again.

“I'm sorry, Djura. But you need to hear this from someone without rose-tinted glasses.” Andrei puts his hands on his shoulders, “I won't stop you from staying with him. But you know this will only hurt more in the end.”

“I know. I know.”

“Will you talk to him about it?”

“...”

“Knowing you, the answer is no, isn't it?”

Djura nods slightly. “Look. He hasn't done anything to hurt me or you. He helps us protect the beasts. He probably wants to leave it all behind. Right? It… it would be best to never speak of this.”

Andrei sighs. “Like you've always said. Ignorance is bliss, isn't it?”

Chapter Text

Djura has not left Brador's side. He kneels next to the couch, leaning his head on the cushions near Brador's chest. The nearby coffee table is cluttered with medications and empty glasses.

Brador's condition has been steadily improving. Brador occasionally fades in and out of consciousness, blinking before falling back asleep. Every time his eyes flutter open, Djura's heart stops, then sinks as Brador drifts out of his grasp. He still coughs and shivers, but not to the same extent as he was yesterday, mumbling feverishly but coherently.

Djura wishes Brador's sleeptalking was incoherent. He wishes he never heard it from Brador's mouth, in his voice. His voice, that Djura has grown so accustomed to. A voice that he found himself comforted by.

It was so obvious though. How Brador seemed hesitant to speak of his life in the Healing Church, yet spoke of Laurence of such honor and admiration. How his weapon was so impractical for slaying beasts, how its terrifying form is meant to instill fear in the hearts of men. How Brador's body is covered in manmade wounds, from bullets, from knives. The outline of a blade handle, hidden in Brador's sleeve, and pulled his knife to kill a hunter who disarmed him. A hunter, who he took down with such expertise that Djura couldn't believe this was the same man who bashed his Bloodletter around violently and brazenly.

And… how Brador had the biggest smile on his face during the night of the hunt, relishing in the scent of human flesh and blood. Djura didn't think anything of it at the time, as he too occasionally finds some entertainment in gunning down the hunters that dare harm his beasts. But Brador seemed, if Djura can find the word for it, extreme about the hunt for men.

Part of Djura worries about what would happen if Brador turned against him. To have his bones shattered by the Bloodletter, is it any more painful than the times a beast clamped its jaws on Djura's arm? Or the many times he's lost a limb, and the agony of the Healing Blood stitching him back together, capillary by capillary, muscle fiber by muscle fiber?

But nothing was more painful in Djura's life than the moment he realized the beasts he killed were his friends and neighbors.

The friends and neighbors that Brador's dear Healing Church sentenced to death.

Why must it always end like this? Why must Djura always fall in love with the wrong man? Is this a phenomenon exclusive to him? Is this true love or dopamine at the prospect of finding love? He wonders if it was the same for Brador, when he found Laurence and attached himself to the Vicar's side. Someone finally showed him kindness, and he was not willing to let that go.

Is Djura's kindness any different from Laurence's in Brador's eyes?

“Djura, you've been here since yesterday night. Come outside.” Andrei's voice rings out, bringing Djura back to reality. Djura doesn't move from his spot, merely shifting his gaze to where Andrei stands, leaning on the open front door. Andrei sighs. “You haven't eaten.”

Djura huffs. “I'm not hungry.”

Andrei steps forward, tugging Djura by his shirt collar. Djura doesn't budge. Andrei grumbles, “If I have to pry you from his hip by force, then I will.”

“Please…”

“At this point, it's for your own good. Look at you, you're starving and losing sleep over this sorry motherfucker.” Andrei sneers with a vitriol that he can barely hold back.

“...”

“Why are you still caring for him? After what he's done?”

Djura sneers at him back, albeit weakly. “Wouldn't you do the same for Nikolai, even if he burned the world down?”

“Don't compare the love of my life to the likes of this bastard.”

“But you would, wouldn't you?”

“Fuck you.” Andrei hisses.

Djura scoffs, mixed in with a tired laugh. “Without hesitation, you'd watch the world burn with him.”

Andrei slumps down the door, slowly, until he's plopped onto the floor with his legs outstretched. “Brador is the reason why everyone in this town is either dead or a beast. We're surrounded by his mistakes.”

“We're part of that reason too. We were hunters under the Church as well, only Brador's prey differs from ours.”

“We were tricked into thinking they weren't people.”

“And how do we know Brador wasn't forced to do what he did? Remember what we were told when we said we weren't gonna keep burning everyone to death?”

Andrei sighs. “That we might as well burn along with the beasts. I see your point, Djura, but still. You also remember on the night of the hunt how happy Brador was?”

“Yes.”

“I was down there with him in the fray. There's something wrong with him.”

“And there's nothing wrong with us? Nothing wrong with how I like watching those hunters explode into a spray of crimson blood and guts?” Djura turns to him, “How you like to go for the throat for the most blood? And how Jozef favored the Beast Claw to rip out their hearts with his bare hands? And how Nikolai-”

“Because those hunters deserved it, obviously,” Andrei rolls his eyes, “They turned their weapons against our beasts. They deserved worse.”

“In our eyes, yes. Maybe Brador saw his targets the same way. He saw those hunters on that night as deserving too, because of us.”

“Maybe we should just ask him.”

“No.” Djura whispers.

“You're so confusing, Djura.” Andrei nods his head back, bumping on the door.

“I don't want to know. I don't want to know.” Djura shakes his head. “I don't ever want to know.”

Andrei doesn't respond for a while. He closed his eyes, listening to Djura's breathing, Brador's wheezes, and his own breath. He meditates on his thoughts for a while.

Then, after what feels like an eternity, he hears Djura's stomach growl. “Alright, that's it, get your ass up and eat.”

“I said I'm not hungry…”

Andrei stands up. “Well, I was in the mood to bake some gibanica and it would be a goddamn shame if I ate the whole damn thing all by myself. Ah, and while you were holed up in here, I went out and bought some fresh cheese and butter for it too.”

And as Andrei steps out the door, many paces away from the house, a smile sneaks upon his face as he hears Djura's frantic shuffles to follow him.

“Alright, alright, I yield! Motherfucker…” Djura grumbles as he catches up to him.

“And I didn't just buy feta and cottage cheese. I managed to get my hands on a wheel of parmigiano reggiano, so we're making alfredo too.”

“Parmi- how the fuck did you afford that?!” Djura shouts, “We're still scrounging the ruins for coins!”

“I didn't say I purchased it.” Andrei smirks.

“Oh you sonuvabitch!” Djura laughs and punches his arm. “What did you do to the poor merchant, huh?!”

“Used what little Italian that Nikolai taught me to threaten him. But Nikolai is also half Italian so I'm sure God will forgive me for this high treason.”

“That's not how any of this works!”

---

Djura is far too fatigued and hungry to care that his cheeks are smothered in flakey crumbs. But it provides nourishment for not only his stomach, but his heart.

Buttery, flakey, cheesy goodness. The crisp outside of the filo pastry combined with the creamy cheeses, how it all melts in Djura's mouth… Over half of the gibanica pan is gone. But Andrei was smart enough to make not one, but two pans of the pastry. It reminds Djura of home, of his parents, of where he came from. Their old farm in the Balkans is a long way from Yharnam, and Djura hardly remembers anything, but with this little treat, he can still hear their sheep bleating in the distance and feel the crackling fireplace.

Meanwhile, Andrei is kneading pasta dough. He keeps kneading and folding it unto itself until it's a perfect ball. He wraps it up in a damp cloth to rest before sitting across from Djura at his dining table.

“Can we talk now?” Andrei asks calmly.

“Mo,” Djura answers bluntly with a mouthful of pastry and cheese, “Mm ea’ng.”

“Then I'll start,” Andrei takes a deep breath, “You're right. If I had to burn the world for Nikolai, I would. If his death weren't a direct consequence of his own idiocy, I would've gone on a rampage against whoever killed him. No hesitation.”

Djura looks up at Andrei, shocked that he would admit he's wrong.

“But you… c'mon. You haven't known Brador for long.”

With that statement, Djura's face becomes downcast and he shoves another piece of gibanica into his mouth.

“Be honest with me. What do you like about him?” Andrei leans back in his seat, helping himself to a serving of his baking. “Besides his hairy chest.”

Djura's posture doesn't change. He keeps chewing and looking down at his plate.

“Djura.”

“...” A passive aggressive swallow, then dead silence follows.

“Djura Jakov Vukovich. I know you've always chased after hairy chests and full beards attached to rude assholes, but for fuck’s sake you can't be this shallow. You can't even drown a mouse in your standards.”

“He's kind to me and I trust him. He likes me back. That's more than enough for me.” Djura mutters.

“That's the bare minimum of a relationship, you dumbass.”

“Fucking hell, cut me some slack, we've been living here all alone for ten years. I've almost forgotten what the rush feels like.”

Andrei groans, then after some reflection, “I’ve forgotten too.”

They both glance towards an old photo frame hanging on the wall. The four men in it all stand stone still for the photographer, but Djura remembers vividly how he jumped up and ruffled Nikolai’s hair once the camera flashed. Andrei tried to separate them, annoyed at Djura ruining his boyfriend's hair, but Jozef messed up Andrei's right back. It became a playful brawl afterwards between the Powder Kegs.

Djura seems to swallow back tears. He glances back at the table when Andrei pours them both a cup of tea. “Andrei.” He speaks up.

“Yeah?”

“You say that trust and kindness is the basis, but when I'm with Brador, I feel as alive as I felt so many years ago. When Jozef and Nikolai were still around, but with more passion.” Djura admits, leaning on his elbow.

“How dare you compare that bastard to Jozef too. Well, maybe Brador will go mad from beasthood just as he did.” Andrei says coldly.

Djura ignores that statement as he continues, “Brador doesn't treat me as lesser than him, like the other men I've been with. He didn't bat an eye when I told him I was born otherwise. And… he listens to me. Not in an obedient way, but I see this sparkle in his eyes as I'm rambling on and on…” He takes a sip, “Like he's sharing my passion, despite him knowing nothing of my trade. Like he's not just fascinated with the subject matter, but with me. I guess he actually wants to get to know me.”

“Ok…?” Andrei internally rolls his eyes.

“Besides that, I've yet to meet someone who returns my gestures as much as Brador. He's so openly affectionate and he makes me feel… worth it. And he takes the time to help around.”

Andrei seems unimpressed.

Djura catches the look on his face. “I bet you're saying to yourself that Nikolai did all of that but better.”

“Of course I am,” Andrei says bluntly, “You deserve better than this.”

“Where am I to find someone like Nikokai in this collapsing city, hm?” Djura sighs, “I just… want someone in my life. Someone who returns my affections. Not a beast who licks my face after a belly rub, and not my best friend who works with me to make this place a better one- but romantic affections. And you've seen how most Yharnamites are. To have someone fully accept me for who I am, it's… cathartic.”

“Cathartic,” Andrei repeats, “I didn't know you had such a refined vocabulary.”

“Dunno how else to put it.”

Andrei sits upright, hands folded on the table. “Look, Djura, I don't think I will ever understand what you see in him. But I see how well you get along with him and he's happy with you. It's just… you know. That.”

“Yeah. That.” Djura sighs sadly.

“...In the end… He is good to keep around. The beasts are happier too. An extra hand around here is never a bad thing. But so long as we keep our mouths shut…” Andrei grumbles.

“Maybe helping us out is his way to atone, as we do too.”

“Who knows? Maybe you should ask him.”

“No.”

“God, you make everything so complicated.”

---

Andrei caught glimpses of Djura roaming around Old Yharnam, going about his business and taking care of the beasts. It doesn't surprise him at all that Djura still has the energy to work.

But now, as the sun sets, he can't find Djura anywhere. Normally by this time, he's at his tower, taking one last watch over the city before calling it the day, or making dinner. Perhaps he is making dinner, but that's unlikely, because Djura knows there will be fresh fettuccine alfredo cooking for him at Andrei's place tonight.

Andrei, about to head into Djura's house to check if he's there, sees the chapel not too far down the road. He sees a lamplight in its graveyard, near the silhouette of old Suzie. He should've known. Sighing to himself, he makes his way there.

Djura is leaning against the sleeping beast’s chest, beside a pair of gravestones, hugging his knees in silence. He doesn't look up as Andrei approaches, speaking up, “You know, they wanted me to find someone I truly loved, get married, and be happy with them. I don't know if they'd be happy if I was with the man that led to their poisoning.”

“Do you remember how your father reacted when you came home missing an eye, and I had to explain to them that you got injured because my dumbass boyfriend was fucking around with a delayed molotov and you pushed him out of the way?” Andrei sits beside Suzie, petting her head. “Your father is as kind as you. He would forgive Brador in a heartbeat, against the better judgment of literally everyone else.”

Djura huffs. “And my mother-”

“-would’ve tore Brador a new one.” Andrei finishes his sentence. They both chuckle half heartedly.

“She would chase him out, wielding her rolling pin like a baton. I would probably beg her that I love him and she just doesn't understand him. Though… I don't understand him too well myself.”

“And yet you love him.”

“...I do.” Djura sighs. “But who am I to ignore my beating heart? All I've ever done is follow it.”

“Your compassion. Your empathy. It's uncommon. It's why you're a blessing on this earth, Djura,” Andrei starts, “But it hurts you too.”

“Too many times. Too many times…” Djura shakes his head. “Whenever I couldn't save them.”

“...Hey, Djura?” Andrei looks at him.

“Mm?”

“Are you… are you trying to… save Brador?” He asks carefully.

“Save?” Djura tilts his head. “What do you mean save? I already saved him when he showed up to my front door. I'm just taking care of him now.”

“A better word might be 'fix’. Are you trying to fix him?”

“Fix…? I don't think he's got any broken bones to fix,” Djura answers earnestly and tilts his head the other way, “Wait, you mean fix him a meal?”

“.................nevermind. Let's go make dinner, the pasta dough has rested more than enough.”

“Oh, hurrah!” Djura's eye lights up. Before he hops to his feet, he leans over and gives Suzie a kiss on the head and bids his parents farewell.

---

Djura steps foot into his home after a wonderful dinner. The sight of Brador still there, right where Djura left him, is a relief. He touches Brador's forehead to check his temperature. Still far too warm. His hand lingers there, caressing Brador's forehead with his thumb. Then his hand moves to Brador's cheek, brushing up against his beard. Brador unconsciously leans into Djura's touch.

“Hey there…” Djura whispers, “You're going to be ok. I promise.”

Brador stirs. He mumbles subconsciously, “I will…?”

Hope alights in Djura's heart. He sits beside Brador, “Yes, of course.” His hand moves to Brador's chest.

Brador’s hands move too, sitting atop of Djura's. He mumbles, “Laurence… stay with me… I'm scared.”

Djura is taken aback. “Hey, no, it's me, Djura.”

“Laurence…” It seems Brador can't hear Djura anymore as his head nods off to the side. Djura's heart sinks.

But, nonetheless, Djura rolls atop of Brador, cuddling up to him, with his ear over his heart. Brador's heartbeat is strong and slow, Djura can feel it thumping on his cheek. Brador's arms move to rest atop of Djura's shoulders.

“...save me… save me, Laur…ence…” Brador keeps mumbling.

“What do you mean? What do mean by save?” Djura asks aloud, “I don't know how to save you any more than I have, darlin’. I don't know how Laurence can save you either.”

Brador doesn't answer. Perhaps he never had one in the first place.

Chapter Text

Brador opens his eyes.

The literal fever dream is finally over. He still feels sickly and weak, especially in his lungs, but the foggy haze that once plagued his head has mostly cleared.

He sits up on the couch, ignoring the pain of his stitched-up wounds. Immediately, he coughs into his arm, wiping smudges of ashes across his sleeve.

How long has it been?

He hears a snore. He looks to the floor where the sound came from. It's Djura, next to a tipped-over chair, lying there no differently than a drunkard. Andrei sits nearby, arms crossed, slumped over as he drools all over his lap in his unconscious state. Both of them have dark bags under their eyes.

Then, Brador looks at the nearby coffee table. There's many cups and spoons, labeled jars of medication and antidotes, and only a handful of empty blood vials. He touches his right thigh, feeling the minute bumps of two or three injection sites. They didn't give him much blood at all. It must've only been enough to save his life from the brink of death. If they gave him enough to cure him completely, he would've been walking around again only a day after contracting the disease.

Brador looks at the two men again. Oh, how hard they must've worked to treat him.

Brador pushes himself up slowly onto his feet. His muscles ache from laying there for- Brador stretches and estimates- four days at minimum. It certainly must've been longer, as his estimate is only based on experience from wallowing in his depression. Maybe a week? However long it's been, he knows they deserve a break.

Brador crouches down, sliding his arms under Djura's back and legs. He then tries to stand, holding Djura up bridal style, minding his own wounds. The moment Djura's weight is completely off the ground, Brador loses his balance and falls face-first forward. “FUCK-!”

Djura snorts awake. “Wuh?” He lifts his head, seeing Brador kneeling in embarrassment as he lays across Brador's lap.

“...” Brador peeks up at him through his fur hood. It's adorable. “Good morning.”

“Brador…?” Djura rubs his eye before it widens. “Oh, thank goodness!” He sits up, hugging Brador by the shoulders tightly. The hug quickly ends however, as Djura tears himself away out of nowhere. Brador doesn't think anything of it. It's probably because Djura doesn't want to catch the Ashen Blood.

Djura lays himself back down with a huff. He's absolutely exhausted, nor does he care about laying on his own floor. “Now what are you trying to do?”

“...I was trying to bring you upstairs… to tuck you in…” Brador mumbles bashfully.

Djura smiles, but something about him seems… hesitant. Maybe it's because he's exhausted? Brador can't put his finger on it. Djura pats his shoulder, “You've still got a long way to go with healing, you know.”

“How long was I out for?”

“Eight days.”

“...What the fuck…?” Brador rubs his head, “I don't remember any of it. It was only nightmares after dreams after nightmares…” Then he coughs, looking into his sleeve.

Djura tugs his sleeve to look as well. “That’s a lot less ash than before. You'll be right as rain in a few days, don't you worry. You just need some rest and good meals from here on out.”

“That's all?”

Djura nods. “Now c'mon. Let's get you back on the couch.”

“You need rest too. That's the whole reason why I tried carrying you.” Brador points out.

“Mm. I just need to get some shut-eye for five minutes, then I'll be good to go.”

“Alright.”

Djura closes his eye. Within a minute, his head tilts back and he starts snoring, falling limp across Brador's lap.

“Are you…” Brador gawks and smacks Djura's cheek lightly, “Are you kidding me??”

“I don't know. He just does that when he's overworked.” Andrei speaks up with a stretch and a mighty yawn.

“He's… always fallen asleep so quickly with me,” Brador says slowly, “Every night we've been together.”

“Yeah. Like I said, he does that when he's overworked. If he isn't, he's sleepless from his own thoughts.” Andrei clarifies, getting up from his seat and cracking his back out.

Brador looks over Djura. “Oh my God.”

Andrei scoops up Djura without so much as making eye contact with Brador. “Don't think about it too hard. It's the only way he can get a proper night's rest.”

“That still can't be good.”

“He actually likes working, so it's not a big deal. Besides. It's better than his older habits of drinking and smoking until he's numb...” Andrei mutters as he brings Djura upstairs. He comes back down as quickly as he left, helping Brador back onto the couch, somewhat abrasive as he does. Brador can't help but notice that Andrei seems off too, but he concludes that it's also because Andrei is overworked and exhausted.

“I'm going to Eileen. Maybe Henryk. See if either of them are willing to help out around here. Coffee isn't fucking working anymore.” Andrei grumbles as he chugs down the last of a mug that has long lost its warmth.

“Hey-”

“If Djura wakes up and asks where I am, tell him I went out to get help. Also, tell him to go back to sleep. Bye.” Andrei leaves without another word.

“...wow.” Brador comments dumbfoundedly. But ultimately, he shrugs it off. Being cranky with little sleep is an experience he's all too familiar with.

Speaking of sleep… Brador pulls the blanket back over himself and drifts back off to the dream lands, though he longs to share the sheets with Djura's warmth.

---

Not even half an hour later, Brador is awoken by Djura's footsteps coming down the stairs. “I'm sorry, that wasn't a five minute nap! I'm sure you're hungry for breakfast though, right?” Djura says cheerfully. It sounds forced, not that he's angry and trying to hide it, but that he's too weak to sound energetic without some effort.

“...” Brador stares at him without a word. He notes that the dark circles are still under his eyes.

“Uh… is there something wrong?”

“How?”

“How, what?”

“How are you functioning as a human being?!”

Djura blinks. He sighs. “Did Andrei lay my work habits on you?”

“Yes!”

“I swear, this is normal for me, and if I'm not working, I go crazy from boredom. Gosh I already sound crazy saying that out loud…” Djura rubs his face, “There is nothing worse than being bored!” He exasperates.

“You'd rather be sleep deprived than bored?”

“I'd rather be anything than be bored! I'd rather pass a kidney stone than be bored! So yes, I'm going to cook you breakfast because I won't be able to fall asleep again and I'm going to be bored! Resting means doing nothing, and doing nothing is booooring!”

Brador's face is filled with nothing but concern. “This is not normal.”

“Brador, we already had a talk about how I'm the biggest freak in the world, and goddammit, I will keep being the biggest freak in the world!” He stomps his foot and opens the way to the basement. “Now whaddya want for breakfast?!”

“I think you're cranky from a lack of sleep.” Brador says dryly.

“I asked ya, whaddya want for breakfast?!”

“Go to sleep!”

“No!”

“Aren't you tired?”

“Yes! I am!”

“Then go to sleep!”

“No!”

The front door suddenly slams open. It's Andrei, accompanied by Eileen and a man who Brador hasn't seen before, dressed in yellowed garbs and a feathered hat. Andrei immediately calls Djura out on his bullshit, nor does he need context on what's going on here. “Djura! Get to bed, you crazy motherfucker!”

“Brador hasn't had his breakfast yet, goddammit!!!” Djura sounds like he's on the verge of tears. “And I ain't gonna rest until shit gets done!”

Eileen steps forward. She speaks to him slowly and calmly, “Andrei told me you and him haven't gotten proper sleep in over a week. Is that true?”

“...yes…” He trembles.

“I know you love working, Djura. But you are pushing yourself too far this time. You haven't eaten well either, have you?”

“...” He makes no eye contact with anybody in the room.

“I'm here. Henryk is here. We will take care of things. You know us as reliable people, yes?”

“Yes…” Djura nods.

“I'll make you my chamomile tea blend and bring it to you. But that's only if you actually make some effort to rest, dear.”

Djura sniffles. “Ok…” He sounds broken. His shoulders slump.

“Good. Now, go to bed. Rest easy, we've got everything else from here.”

“Ok…”

Defeated, Djura drags himself upstairs. Eileen sighs, then turns her head to Andrei. “And you. You're free to sleep for the rest of the day.”

“Goodbye, bitches!” Andrei shouts with absolute joy and waltzes right out the front door. Now it's just Eileen, Brador, and Henryk.

“...so who's taking care of him?” Henryk finally speaks up. Brador can tell he's a man of few words.

“The better question is would you rather deal with the beasts outside or that man?” Eileen proposes.

“Hey, I'm right here!” Brador groans before going into a coughing fit.

“You know medicine better than I do.” Henryk mutters.

“And you need to practice for Gascoigne, should it come to that. Go take care of the beasts, love.”

Henryk leaves as quickly as he came. Now it's just Eileen and Brador.

“Well,” Eileen starts, looking around, “This is a mess. Where to begin?”

Brador merely pulls the blanket further over himself and lies on his side, facing away from Eileen.

“How are you and Djura getting along?” Eileen inquires as she starts gathering the used and dirty cups from the coffee table.

“That's none of your business.” Brador snides at her.

“Sounds like you're trying to hide something from me. You're just begging to be killed.” Eileen snides right back.

“Fine. We're getting along… Wonderfully.” Brador sighs, “He does so much for me, and I… ugh. This is the second time I've gotten bedridden since living with him.”

“That's how he shows love, Brador.”

“Huh?”

“You already know he's the caring and kind type. He wants to see you live a happy and easy life. It fulfills him to take care of others. It's just…” Eileen pauses, trying to find the right words, “Sometimes you need to stop him so he can take care of himself first.”

“...” Brador turns over to look at Eileen. “Is that what you did just now?”

“Correct. Brador, the next time you see Djura become frantic, aimless, constantly working without rest… tell him to rest.”

“I'm not sure if he will take that advice.”

“Also correct. That boy can't stop himself from working if he knows there's more to do, especially if that work is to care for his loved ones.”

Brador hugs the blanket and his fur garb around himself. “Eight days straight taking care of me…”

“He must've been worried sick about you.”

“...I don't think anyone has ever been this dedicated to me.” Brador admits quietly.

“There is no man like Djura in this city. Treasure him, Brador.”

“I certainly will.”

Eileen takes the dishes away. Brador closes his eyes to rest. Not long after, he hears the tea kettle whistle. Eileen sets a warm teacup on the coffee table before heading upstairs with Djura's serving. She comes back down. “The tea is for you.”

“Is it poisoned?” Brador asks sarcastically.

“If you're allergic to licorice and slippery elm, then yes.” She replies just as dryly.

“You put licorice in tea?” Brador makes a face.

“Oh, and fennel.” She pulls up a chair and sits on the other end of the coffee table, slouched over, very unladylike. “It's to soothe your throat.”

Brador hesitantly sits up, picking up the teacup and taking a sip. It's not as gross as he thought, in fact, it almost tastes like candy. Eileen was generous with the amount of honey she added, and the licorice with fennel is strangely pleasant. He can barely taste the chamomile that is the base of the tea as it warms and soothes his throat. Even if the tea were cooled down, it would still feel warm in his mouth.

“...thank you.” Brador quietly mumbles. “But why are you taking care of me?”

“To put Djura's mind at ease.” She answers simply.

“You gain nothing from that.”

“I also want another chance to talk to you.”

“As one assassin to another?” He snarks.

“If you wish to see it that way, then yes. Is this your first time catching the Ashen Blood?” Eileen asks.

“Yes, and hopefully my last time catching it too…”

She leans forward, folding her hands across her lap. “How does it feel to reap what you've sowed?”

“...” The way Brador peers at her from behind the teacup is dangerous. She recognizes it. It's the exact same stare she gives to people who dare cross her with ill intent. “...this is just another interrogation, isn't it?” He speaks slowly.

“Again. Only if you choose to see it that way.” She drums her fingers.

“Coming at me when I'm at my lowest. I can't believe the Hunter of Hunters would stoop to this level.” He mocks.

“And I can wholeheartedly believe that the Healing Church would poison innocent people for the sake of helping them.”

“How do you know this?” Brador's eyes are dull, but focused on Eileen. Despite her mask, Brador's eye contact starts to cross the line to uncomfortable.

“Logic. I know the Yharnamites despise foreigners. It's how they treated my mentor and I. It's partly why I wear this mask. They wouldn't have accepted the Healing Blood without witnessing an undoubted miracle first, but to dare target the heart of Yharnam would have been too suspicious,” She spells it out for him, “And I've confirmed this with a little birdie from the Church not too long ago. The fact cannot be disproven now.”

“Tch.”

“Normally, I wouldn't give a shit. In fact, I didn't give a shit knowing this for a while. I even let you slip by. But somebody just told me that you were directly involved with the Ashen Blood.”

Brador's eyes don't change. “So why are you telling me that you know? Surely you don't intend to risk your life against me?”

“Isn't it obvious? It's the man upstairs, of whom I'll gladly lay my life down for. Not that I think you have what it takes to best me in combat, of course.” She scoffs.

“You waited until I became deathly ill to challenge my past. I don't think so.” He sneers.

“Enough of that. How long do you intend to hide this from Djura?”

“There's no need for him to know.” Brador growls.

“Why?”

“I will have to kill him.” He states with unwavering conviction. “As I will with you.”

“There's no need to do that. I thought you left the Church behind, and thus everything they stand for.”

“...”

“After all of this time with Djura, you'd still choose your loyalty to the Healing fucking Church? You said it yourself; you've never met a man so dedicated to you.”

“Shut up. It's Laurence I'm loyal to, not the Church itself.”

“There's no need. Laurence is dead.”

“Shut up!” Brador's voice raises before he coughs several times.

“Have I ruffled a few feathers?” Eileen's tone hinges on mischievousness as Brador hacks his throat out. Cockiness, even. “I told you I'd stop bugging you if you simply treat Djura well. You're not honest with him. Relationships are built upon trust, and trust is built upon honesty.”

“We are happy as is. I am treating him well. I'm avoiding breaking his heart. I would never make him cry,” Brador glares, “Even if it means lying to him.”

“He's going to figure it out, sooner or later. What is your plan if he does? Will you really kill him?’

“So long he keeps his mouth shut, there will be no reason to hurt him.”

“Ah, to live under the threat of your significant other. What a relationship.”

Eileen smiles under her mask when Brador shifts his position, moving the handle of a small blade hidden in his sleeve. Brador knows that she noticed. It's very much a threat.

“I swear you've been perching about like a vulture, waiting for the perfect opportunity to snatch everything away from me, including my life,” Brador says slowly and vindictively, “You scavenger.”

“I'd prefer to be compared to the likes of a crow or a raven, but yes. I never trusted you.”

“Neither have I. What good will telling Djura do besides giving you the satisfaction of seeing me break? You know as well as I do that it would break him too.”

Eileen hesitates before she speaks. “Closure. It would bring Djura closure. And… the sooner he knows, the more willing he'd be to forgive you. It shows that you trust him and what you already have.”

“...”

“It would show that you respect him, Brador. That you love him enough that he should know what happened to his town. His family. His people. It…” She inhales, “It would show your remorse. He deserves as much with that heart of his.”

Brador's eyes soften. His gaze lowers.

“I know why you want to keep this from him. But I know better than anyone else what would happen if you let these secrets simmer. Let the steam out before the pot bubbles over.”

“...that is not a risk I am willing to take,” Brador mutters despondently, “This… is the first time I've felt my heart beat like this for anybody. This warmth, it's… different. Outside of Ludwig… Djura is the only person I have now. To lose it all, I…”

Eileen’s posture softens.

“You know what it's like to hide harsh truths, don't you? You've certainly lied before. Our trade is full of crooked minds, you and I alike. But this… this is for his own good,” Brador closes his eyes, “I can't bear the thought of him growing disgusted at me. But, I can imagine that you've lied to him too, haven't you?”

“I have. To protect him.”

“I'm doing the same, Hunter of Hunters.”

They fall silent. Eileen speaks up. “I'll admit, I'm seething from learning the truth. To have one of the men who orchestrated the Ashen Blood right in front of me…”

“I wasn't an orchestrator. I was only an instrument.”

“The gun that killed is just as responsible as the man who pulled the trigger.”

“The instrument doesn't matter. The man who pulled the trigger could've used a knife, or a bludgeon, perhaps poison instead. The Ashen Blood would've been carried out, with or without me.”

“Still. You could've stepped aside, even attempted to stop it.” Eileen suggests.

“What could I do against Laurence? To stand against him like that, do you have any idea what that would've meant for me? He would've tossed me aside to the streets. I would have no more purpose in this world without it. I would be left with nothing. Nothing, Eileen.”

“Why so loyal to a man whom you admit would toss you aside?”

“...” Brador's brow furrows. He changes the subject, “Who's this little birdie from the Church, may I ask?”

“Why would I tell you and endanger their life?”

Brador stares at Eileen dead in the eye. “It's Simon, isn't it.” It's not a question or confirmation, but an astute statement.

“Who's Simon?” She plays dumb.

Brador merely stares her down. When she doesn't break then, he continues and raises his arm, “About here in height, thick nose, Middle Eastern, dresses in rags, and talks either like the very serpent from Eden or that he's on the brink of a mental breakdown? You know exactly who I'm talking about.”

“...was it really so obvious?” Eileen groans.

“Who else would try dragging me down? I assume you know him personally. He is petty,” Brador spits between gritted teeth, “I'm assuming you've told him about Djura and I as well.”

“Gossip.” She shrugs.

“...say, I bet he told you about how I seduced him and tried to kill him,” Brador leans forward, “He conveniently left out the part of the story where I fucked him once before that. Then I fucked him again…” A slow grin creeps upon his face, “Again and again because he couldn't get enough of me. It wasn't until the night that he asked me to take him from behind that I finally pulled the knife out!”

Eileen is speechless. Then she carefully speaks up, “I always thought it was odd that he seemed so jealous… despite his testimony of sleeping with you for one night.”

“See?! He's a liar too!”

“Oh I already knew that, you ornery mongrel! We're all liars here!” Then she snaps herself back into being composed, “Whatever. I will let you stay with Djura. But should he learn on his own… don't say I didn't advise you.”

“I would never take advice from a liar anyway.”

“Touche.”

---

“Wait, you confronted him about it?!” Andrei gasps in horror. Eileen has visited him at his home, long after her talk with Brador.

Eileen speaks as calmly as she can. “With the way you were bitching about it on our way here, how could I not? I might be angrier than you about this.”

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK-,” Andrei paces around, “Brador is gonna figure out we know, then-”

“I blamed it on Simon. Brador even assumed it was Simon who told me. Yes, it was Simon who told me long ago based on assumptions, but we never had proof until you told me what Brador said.”

“... who's Simon?” Andrei blinks.

“Oh. Well, he's an ex of Brador's, as well as an ex-hunter of the Church. He's already on Brador's hit list. No harm in adding more kindling to the raging fire.”

“Eileen. What the hell.”

“I just needed to give Brador a piece of my goddamn mind.”

“How did he react?” Andrei asks, leaning on his doorway and crossing his arms.

“Will you believe what I have to say?”

“Maybe?”

“Brador loves Djura too much to tell him, apparently.”

“Ok. I don't believe you.” He shakes his head.

Eileen chuckles. “That's the honest truth, and that's all I have to reiterate. I'll be off now.”

“Bye.” Andrei waves as she turns on her heel.

“Oh, by the way…” Eileen stops just a pace away. She doesn't turn back to Andrei as she speaks, “Don't tell Djura I've confronted Brador.”

“I wasn't going to spill the beans in the first place.”

“Hm. Good. You've got your head on straighter than the two of them combined. Good luck.”

Chapter Text

It's downpouring.

The droplets pound on the roof, the ground, shaking the thin trees that dot Old Yharnam. The beasts have all taken shelter, and Djura and Andrei postponed their daily routines outside to instead work indoors.

Brador doesn't move from his spot on the couch. He has stopped coughing altogether, but his body is still slightly weak from being sick with the Ashen Blood, and being fed naught but porridge, tea, and soup. He is curled up under both his blanket and garb, mindlessly watching Djura sweep the floor, nudging Rex around with his broom.

“C'mon bud, you can't sit on a spot I haven't swept yet, you know I have to clean there soon!” Djura lightly scolds the doglike beast, but Rex doesn't get the message. He just rolls over right to another untouched spot on the wooden floorboards, wagging his tail. He thinks it's a game.

Brador's mind churns as the rain outside grows heavier, drowning out Djura's voice and Rex’s playful growls. The gentle rolling of thunder in the far distance makes Brador curl up into a tighter ball. He hopes Djura didn't notice. How embarrassing, a grown man well into his thirties, afraid of the rain.

When he hears heavy rain, all he can think of is that night long ago as he and his Byrgenwerth fellows stepped onto that beach, in awe of her glimmering scales across a massive body, squid-like yet human. Everything that night, the pale bloodshed, the terror. The giddiness, excitement, and scientific passion of Laurence, Micolash, and Rom. The horror, hesitance, and regret of Gehrman, Maria, and Ludwig.

And Brador's own indifference hiding his fear.

How could everyone feel something, some joy, some anger, some regret, except for him? What's wrong with him? Why was he the only one trembling in terror?

“Darlin’, are you alright?”

Brador snaps back to reality. Djura stands over him now, looking rather worried. Brador shrinks back, ashamed of himself. Djura tilts his head, “Are you-”

“I'm not scared of the rain!” Brador snaps, then shrinks back further, “Sorry, I…”

“...” Djura blinks, “...I was gonna ask if you're cold.”

“Oh…” Brador looks away, embarassed.

Djura sits beside him, hand caressing over his shoulder. “Ain't nothing to be ashamed of. We all have our fears.”

“It’s only rain, goddammit. It rains every other day in England. I'm acting like stupid kitten…”

“I suppose it's much heavier than the usual drizzle today.”

“Still, it's fucking rain. Who else crumbles at the sound of rain other than me?” Brador grumbles.

“Hm…” Djura leans back onto Brador's legs, crossing his arms. “What if I told you that Eileen has the most irrational fear of bugs?”

“But that makes sense. Roaches, worms, centipedes, spiders- those little shits are creepy.”

“It extends to grasshoppers, scarabs, caterpillars, even rolly-pollies on the ground. She's scared. Of every bug,” Djura reinforces, “The only exception being butterflies and moths.”

“... you're just telling me that to make me feel better.” Brador says with suspicion.

“Then the next time you see her, I implore you to show her a cool bug you found on the ground. I swear on my mother’s grave, she will scream.” Djura looks down at him with a smile.

“You're kidding.” Brador states, sounding less suspicious, and more interested now.

“Am not.” Djura smiles wider. He even giggles a bit.

Brador lifts his head from the couch cushions. “Surely Eileen would have never told you this of her own volition.”

“Of course she didn't. I figured it out she jumped at least two meters clear off the ground when I pointed out a hornworm on my tomatoes. Then she jumped only one meter clear off the ground when I pointed out a fluffy bumblebee on my pea flowers. Those bugs couldn't be more round and harmless looking. But then…” Djura rubs his hands together like a fly cleaning itself, “Was the day a roach ended up in my kitchen, and I found her perched atop of the cupboards and pissing herself.”

“Eileen. Reacting like that to bugs? The Hunter of Hunters?” Brador clarifies, wholeheartedly believing it himself now.

“Yes!” Djura laughs, “She could've killed it herself, but no, she was paralyzed with fear. She waited for me to come back to finish the job for her. So yes, you may think your reaction to rain is silly, but Eileen is beyond help with her bug phobia.”

Brador laughs lightly, “I suppose it is. So what about you, what are you afraid of?”

Djura crosses his arms, looking up at the ceiling. “Would you believe me if I told you I'm afraid of fire?”

“...Fire.” Brador repeats in disbelief.

“Not stovetop fires, not fireplaces- but great blazes that are of stakes and burning homes,” Djura elaborates, “Well, then I suppose it isn't a fear for me, but a reminder of the past. I can't stop thinking about this place when I see a big ol’ fire.”

“That makes sense,” Brador nods, “Any other real fears, then?”

Djura thinks. “Rejection. It crushes my heart. That's why I didn't make a move until you did.”

“...me too.” Brador mumbles. “But that wasn't a concern for me with you. I thought it was obvious you were crushing on me from the start.” He snickers a bit.

“Oh, hush!” Djura playfully scolds him. He then moves to lean down, seemingly to cuddle him, but then he remembers the absolute mess a few days ago: When he laid atop of Brador while he was still sick, and came out of the cuddle covered in ash and dried mucus. It was revolting. “Alright, you're done coughing, right?”

“My throat is hardly scratchy at all anymore. I'm just physically weak now.”

“Good, good,” Djura starts rolling up the blanket, “It's time to get this sickness over with and clean you up. I'm sure all of the ash is unpleasantly irritating.”

“Clean me up…?”

“Yep, bath time.”

Brador looks despondent and reluctant. “No thanks.”

“Huh? Why not?” Then it clicks in Djura's mind, “Is it related to your disdain for rain?”

“...” Brador doesn't answer that, merely staring off into space.

“Is… is that why you bathe for three minutes at most?”

“Please don't laugh at me.” He sounds like he's about to cry.

Djura shrugs. “Honestly, it's a better explanation than you being unhygienic by choice. I would be more ashamed of myself if it were that way.”

Brador looks up at Djura with hope in his eyes. “Really…?”

“Here, I'll make it comfortable for you,” Djura says as he stands up, “I'll make sure it's nice and warm, add some flowers and bubbles… I'll even pour you a glass of whatever liquor you want to drink on the side.”

Brador doesn't respond at all. Djura turns to look at him. Brador is on the verge of tears now. Djura speaks up, “Hey, I'm not gonna force you to bathe, I can get a bucket, some water, and a washcloth-”

“I love you!” Brador shouts with a sob.

Djura's eye widens. Then he smiles as his heart swells, “I love you too.”

Maybe things will turn out alright for them after all.

---

The bathroom is warm and steamy. It smells like lavender and rosemary, and the tub is filled to the brim with soft bubbles. Next to it is a wooden stool, seated upon it is a glass of Irish whiskey, aged to perfection, and a board of thinly sliced cured ham and cheese. Nearby are towels warmed by the fireplace and a fresh change of clothes for Brador.

Brador stares at the bathtub like it's his worst enemy that just fell onto their knees and begged for forgiveness. He doesn't know what to do. But then Djura pats his shoulder, and he relaxes. “See? It doesn't look so bad now, does it?”

“It… does look nice.” Brador speaks with some uncertainty.

“Well, I'll leave you alone now. Shout if you need anything.”

“Wait.”

Djura turns on his heel just as he was about to leave. “Hm?”

“Can you… stay with me?” Brador asks timidly, making no eye contact.

“Water scares you that bad?” Djura asks, but not with a single hint of judgment. Brador nods. “Ok, well… should I step out while you get undressed?”

“I’ve said before I don't like stripping naked for someone unless I've taken them out to dinner first. We've had plenty together now.” Brador says with a flirty tone, masking his anxiety.

Djura chuckles at that, “Don't mind me if I take a peek, then,” And kisses Brador briefly, right on the lips.

Brador faces away from Djura as he strips down, and finally, Djura gets to see how hairy his bum is. It's just as hairy as his chest. Brador touches the water with his toe. It's the perfect temperature. He slowly, very slowly, steps in, so slowly that Djura turns around to see what's taking him so long. He accidentally catches a glimpse of Brador's privates, makes a noise, and turns away out of politeness.

“...Djura, we're going to see each other naked at some point.” Brador explains calmly, with no hint of shame.

“S-Still!” Djura whines, covering his eyes.

“Look at my dick, dammit!” Brador boasts now, “So you can boost my ego so I'm not so scared of this fucking bathtub!” He faces Djura with his hands on his hips.

“I shouldn't…!” But the devil tempts him, and he peeks. “It's… soft right now and it's that girthy?”

Brador grins and notes the blush on Djura's face. “Thank you.”

“Y-You’re welcome? Did you seriously bring me in here just to tease me?” Djura asks indignantly.

“Yeah, and it made me feel better. So thank you.” And so he sinks down into the tub. The water rises and the bubbles reach his beard.

“My God. Why are you like this?” Djura pulls a nearby stool over and sits, comfortably slouched over.

“Dunno. I've always been like this. Bold and shameless. And it's funny seeing people react to me.” Brador says, getting a mouthful of bubbles and gagging in the process. “Bleh.”

“So you like attention?”

“Micolash said it's because I'm a Leo or whatever.”

“I think wanting attention is simply a human experience. It's what every child wants from their mother, no?”

“Yes, but…” Brador mindlessly swishes around the bubbles, “Laurence said I'm… too much. He said I needed to stop following him around so closely.”

“I mean. You worked directly for him and were a close friend, no?”

“I think the word he described me as was… needy. He said it was due to a lack of parental care growing up. It made me underdeveloped emotionally.” Brador mumbles now.

“Well…” Djura props himself up on his elbow, “I suppose there's a fine line between wanting to be with someone, and demanding that they drop everything to be with you.”

Brador looks up at the ceiling as he sinks deeper. He shakes himself out of it, sitting upright, as if he spooked himself. “I don't think I ever demanded his attention… I never asked him to drop everything for me. I only ever asked how I could assist him.”

“I see…” Djura hums in thought, “Maybe Laurence himself didn't like the attention that not you were giving him, but attention in general. He was the Vicar, after all.”

“...that makes perfect sense,” Brador gawks as his eyes widen, “Yes, yes it does! Having eyes on you all the time from the masses, the meetings, his council… thank you, Djura.”

Djura smiles.

“Do I bother you at all?” Brador suddenly asks.

Djura shrugs. “I was planning on washing your clothes while you bathed, but, eh. I'm in no rush. You're not an inconvenience at all.”

“Are you sure?”

“I like spending time with ya. I like talking to ya. It makes me happy just sitting here with ya.”

Brador's face softens. His eyes seem to water. They're utterly full of love for Djura, and Djura can see that.

Djura stands up, “While I'm here, I can wash your back and hair. How's that?”

“You're willing to do that for me?”

“Of course. Here, lean your head back…” Djura kneels behind Brador with the shampoo. He rinses Brador's hair by scooping water out the tub and pouring it, then he begins to lather up his hair. It's thick, and surprisingly healthy.

Brador can't describe it. This comfort. Normally he would be scrubbing himself like no tomorrow, before launching himself out the tub, lest teeth and sharp fins come out the water to tear him apart. But Djura is here, helping him relax, massaging his scalp. The warm water really helps with his aching body.

Djura even lathers up Brador's beard, tilting his head up by the chin, fitting in a facial massage at the same time. Djura has such a gentle smile on his face, with tender love and care for Brador. Brador gazes into his eye, his singular, grayish blue eye. How can a color be muted and yet so bright?

“Is this helping you feel less anxious?” Djura asks.

“Mmm.” Is all Brador responds with, too relaxed to muster his throat to work.

Djura rinses out the shampoo, careful not to get any water up Brador's nose. He then takes a brush and conditioner, running them both through Brador's hair. “Now sit up, lemme wash your back, hun.”

“Mmmm…” Brador slowly rises like a zombie. Djura picks up a sponge and starts gently scrubbing.

As Djura scrubs, he takes note of Brador's scars. His back is just like his front side: stab wounds, bullet holes, and more. There's even the new, scabbed pair of holes in Brador's shoulder, thanks to Suzie's bite. His gaze shifts to Brador's other shoulder.

How strange. With the naked eye, it's hard to see the curved line of thin, mishappen scars going around his shoulder. It's lengthy, reaching all the way from the middle of Brador's back to his deltoids. The individual lines are long, about a finger each in length. It's almost like a bite mark, but it's unlike any animal Djura has ever seen. Every individual cut is as if someone took a serrated knife and haphazardly stabbed Brador along a loose semi circle.

Djura touches the scars with his finger, tracing along the trail. As he does, Brador flinches, and almost yanks himself away. Djura jumps, “Sorry! I got carried away.”

Brador reaches up, covering his shoulder’s scars. “I've… got terrible memories from this one.”

“Was it from a beast?”

“I guess you could say that…” Then Brador sits up higher, as if to get away from the water, “Let's get this bath over with, I want to get out now.”

“Ah, ok…”

Djura does not question it. It's all business now, scrubbing Brador down. As Djura does, Brador stares into his reflection in the water, now that the bubbles have subsided from time. The sound of the pouring rain outside drowns everything else out. There's nothing Brador can focus on now.

He stares.

He stares.

He stares.

“Brador?”

Brador snaps his head up. The rain grows heavier, soaking into his clothes. Lady Maria shakes him by the shoulder, covered in blood. They're both drenched in seawater, blood, and rain. Brador is trembling.

Lady Maria's eyes are tired. Beyond tired- they're completely dead. “Laurence says we've enough specimens from the inner village now. We can… we can stop for now.”

Brador's shoulders relax. He sighs. “Good. I'm just about sick of this place. It smells rotten. And it's cold.”

“...that's what you're concerned about?” She groans.

Before Brador can answer, he sees the others coming towards them for a rendezvous. His eyes light up when he sees Laurence and his fellow scholars, not a speck of blood on their cloaks. Ludwig and Gehrman, and the other hunters accompanying them, on the other hand, aren't so lucky. The scholars carry jars on their belts, filled with eyes and brains.

Laurence claps once for everyone's attention. “The remaining villagers are surrendering. I believe, after a short rest, we make our way to the beach they've been so insistent on protecting.”

Micolash and Rom clap with glee along with the rest of the scholars, giggling amongst each other. Laurence keeps talking, “Now that we've more than enough specimens, let us relax for a while.”

Brador comes to Laurence's side, walking alongside him. Laurence addresses him with a quiet voice, “Are you having fun?”

“It's cold. And they don't scream like people. It's all… gurgly. It's interesting, but I don't like it here one bit. Laurence, I'm… I'm scared. I can't shake the feeling that something terrible will come of this.” Brador confesses quietly.

Laurence pats his shoulder, not minding the blood, but only for a moment as he quickly retracts it. He extends his gloved hand out, washing it off in the rain. “No need to fear anything. Remember that we brought along the best combatants we have-- and you're one of them.”

Brador perks up a bit. “Combatant? I like to think of us as careless surgeons, dissecting these things with swords and scythes. And me? I'm anesthetizing them with their own blood.” He tosses his Bloodletter up in the air and catches it.

Laurence chuckles. “Any deductions as you dissected them?”

“You said fish don't have vocal chords. But these creatures shout at us. And… They have human hands and organs. Remnants of human ears on their heads too. Their abdominal cavities were also filled with those parasites we've been finding. It seems the parasites transformed their bodies. It's rather disturbing.” Brador shivers.

“Excellent. You might as well be a scholar yourself, Brador.” Laurence praises him. Brador feels warm and giddy on the inside. He then glances behind him, seeing Lady Maria, Gehrman, and Ludwig, sitting around by a well and moping.

“...why do they seem so gloomy?” Brador asks Laurence quietly.

“Perhaps these creatures are too humanlike and strike a chord in them.”

“These creatures aren't humans. Or at least, they aren't anymore.”

“True. But I suppose each of them possibly had a pet goldfish as a child, and can't bring themselves to harm their pet’s likeness.” Laurence jokes. Brador laughs. Laurence pats him on the back as they laugh together.

The two of them walk along the edge of the flooded Hamlet, ankle-deep in seawater. Brador walks closer to the drop-off to the depths.

“It appears that this village was on a cliff side. It must've sunk below sea level,” Laurence notes, peering down alongside with him, “What tectonic movements could have caused this…?”

“That's where you lose me as a fellow scholar, Laurence,” Brador jokes, “The hell is a tick tonic?”

“A concoction that turns people into horrible, bloodsucking arachnids.” Laurence quips right back.

It's nice to speak to Laurence as an equal, as a friend. It's almost foreign to Brador. He's not sure if he prefers this or kneeling before Laurence.

Brador watches the movements of the water. Gentle waves, shimmering moonlight, the slight tinge of red seeping from the center of the village. He realizes just how romantic this is, walking along with Laurence all alone, admiring the beauty of it all. Reds and blues, whites and blacks… how pretty.

More whites from the shimmering moonlight appear, spreading from the moon's own reflection. Brador becomes mesmerized, staring at it. Laurence doesn't seem to notice, but he looks on with Brador.

Why does Brador have a sudden, creeping sense of fear rising within him? His hairs stand on end. He looks up and around. Something is watching them.

There's nothing but the scholars surrounded by fishpeople corpses. Their lifeless eyes stare back at him. Is it them? Are their spirits haunting Brador at this very moment?

He tries to shake it off and looks back to the water with Laurence. Still, he can't get rid of this feeling. As he stares into the water, the feeling grows.

Instinctually, without even realizing it, Brador shoves Laurence away from the water's edge. Then, the water’s surface breaks forth, bursting outwards towards them both.

“LAURENCE!” Brador screams. Brador does not see the results of his actions- the giant shark-like villager clamps its terrible jaws down on Brador's shoulder, and pulls him down into the depths.

He desperately tries not to scream in agony, but alas, seawater fills his throat. He can't fight back, the scales of the shark scratch his skin like sandpaper, literally scraping away the outer layers. He tried to punch it in its eyes, but they're so small, deformed, sunken into its head. The teeth dig deeper into his shoulder, crunching bone, and crushing his upper lung.

He thrashes. He flails. He tries to reach for his Bloodletter with a broken arm, severed of its muscles and nerves. The seawater burns the inner linings of his lungs like fire. His vision begins to fade as he begins to feel numb.

Is this the end for him? To die without seeing the fruition of his labors, of their sacrifices?

He hopes not a single scratch came upon Laurence as his consciousness fades to black. The last thing he sees is a sliver of moonlight piercing through the trail of blood in the water.

Then, as if no time has passed, he rolls onto his side, coughing up water and blood. Confused and delirious, he looks around, seeing his friends and the scholars crowded around him. “Wha… huh…?”

It's Ludwig who pulls him back into reality with a great hug. He's soaked in seawater and blood just like Brador. “Brador, thank the stars! I didn't think I'd save you in time…!” He pulls away, wiping his mouth off, looking at Brador up and down. “How are you feeling, are you alright?”

“I… what? You saved me?” His chest hurts as if someone crushed it with a boulder. He touches his shoulder, hissing in pain. He can feel the salt fighting the Healing Blood, stinging his frayed nerves.

“Yes!” Ludwig cries, “You were unconscious, so I… I…!” Then he turns to Laurence, who stands nearby, “Forgive me, my dear!”

Brador blinks, processing the fact that Ludwig gave him mouth to mouth. That doesn't matter though, because the sight of Laurence makes him perk up, “Laurence! You're alright!”

“Yes, all thanks to you,” Laurence says kindly, “And Ludwig. I instructed you to give Brador life-saving care. You need not beg for forgiveness.”

Ludwig stammers, “You couldn't have done it yourself?!”

“He was filthy with the guts and saliva of that shark beast. I do not wish to dirty my hands any further.”

Brador sinks back in shame.

Then Lady Maria speaks up, loudly. “You're so willing to stick your hands into the skulls of these fishpeople, but not lay your hands on your own friend to save his life?!”

Laurence looks at her coldly, “These fishpeople are one in a million. Brador is naught but a man.”

Ludwig interjects, “He is my little brother, dammit! I would have sliced that creature’s belly open to drag him out! He's not just a man, he's family! How could you say that!?”

Laurence doesn't answer. Or rather, Brador doesn't remember his answer in the first place. No, all he can remember from that moment was looking behind them, wanting to shy away from the conversation, only to see his assailant dead on the rocks. The Holy Moonlight Sword was still lodged in its head, splitting its jaws from its cranium. It had too many teeth in that skull. Its tiny, dead, black eyes stared right into Brador's soul.

It stared.

It stared.

It stared.

The water splashes over Brador's back one last time. It's warm and smells lovely. Djura pats his other shoulder, “Alright, you're all cleaned up. I'll drain the water now.”

“Huh?” Brador snaps out of his trance.

“Are you ok?” Djura asks.

“I was just… spacing out,” Brador says, straightening himself out, “Sorry.”

“Nothing to worry about, Brador. Here, lemme help you outta the tub.”

“Thank you.” Brador says shakily before stepping out the tub, taking Djura's hand. Djura greets him with a towel stretched over his arms. Brador steps into it, letting Djura ruffle him up and dry him off.

“Really Brador, you seem a little shaken. Are you ok?”

Brador shakes his head slightly in response. He wraps the towel around himself and picks up the snack board and his drink.

“I'm sorry, hun. Why don't you warm yourself up by the fireplace while I wash your clothes and fur garb?”

Brador smiles. “Care to join me afterwards?”

---

The two of them stare into the crackling fireplace, Djura leaning on Brador's shoulder, sharing a blanket over them. Though, it's Brador who has his eyes closed, relaxed and falling asleep. He's got bits of cheese and bread on his beard from snacking away. His face, illuminated by the fire, is warm and peaceful.

Djura can't believe this is the same man who aided in the Ashen Blood’s spread. Brador is so comfortable, so loving with him.

And he loves Djura, does he not? It's all Djura ever wanted in return.

Djura lifts his hand, placing it on Brador's chest. Brador hums, stirring, shifting his position to cuddle up to Djura more. Brador turns his head to kiss the top of Djura's head.

“...Djura.” Brador whispers.

“Hm?”

“Thank you for everything today. I mean it.”

“Even the bath?” Djura half jokes.

“You didn't judge me at all. It's… all I ever was back at the Church. You did everything to make me comfortable despite my fears, I… I appreciate it.”

“Of course. Anything for you.”

“And taking care of me while I was sick. You went above and beyond. You know, while you were resting from it, Eileen told me it's how you show love. Is that true?”

Djura smiles, his hand gliding from Brador's chest to cupping his face. “It is. I do love you, Brador. I want to see you happy.”

“Why don't I return the favor for once? You're always taking care of me. Let me take care of you tonight.” Brador says, his lips brushing up against Djura's hair.

“What do you mean by taking care of me? I'm fine.” Djura takes it literally.

Brador makes his intentions clear when his arm goes around Djura's waist, pulling him closer, and Brador's lips brush against Djura's ear. His hand stops when it touches Djura's belt. Djura stiffens up for just a moment but relaxes in Brador's hold, almost melting into it.

“Would you…” Brador moves, now hugging him close, “Allow me the honors of making love to you?”

“Y-You wanna fuck?” Djura gulps with a blush.

“Yes, but… not for pleasure, not for hedonism, I want…” Brador almost sounds embarrassed saying it, “I want you to know how I feel about you. My affections. I love you, Djura.”

Djura's heart leaps into his throat. Not of excitement, not of lust- but as if Brador confessed to him for the first time. It's everything he's felt for Brador- tenfold.

How could a man so vulnerable ever bring harm to Djura again?

Djura takes Brador's hand, standing up with him. Their breaths mingle for a moment before they share a kiss, deep and slow. Without another word, only an exchange of smiles, Djura leads Brador upstairs.

Away from prying eyes, behind closed doors, they made sweet love to each other that night. The only witnesses to their love, other than their bare hearts and souls, were the moon and stars peeking through the curtains.

Chapter Text

“Another night of the hunt will be upon us soon.”

Brador turns over to look at Djura as they lay together in bed. “You're bringing that up now of all times?”

“It just came to me, looking at the moon and all,” Djura replies, gesturing at the window. The moonlight slivers shift through the curtains. “It will be in a few day's time.”

“Then it's not our problem right now. Let's not worry about it.” Brador scoots to Djura, pulling him in from behind, spooning him. Djura almost feels tingly at the warmth being shared between their nude bodies. It's nice.

“Would you be willing to help us out there again?” Djura asks, “If not, I won't make you go out there, but you should be healed by then.”

“I feel reinvigorated. Like a brand new man,” Brador says proudly. Then he whispers, “All thanks to you, Djura.”

“Oh, stop it.” Djura chuckles.

“Really, I do. Like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.”

“Aw, really?”

“And the weight has been lifted from my dick too.”

“Brador!!!”

Brador laughs, hugging Djura closer, kissing him on the cheek. Their legs entangle together. Brador's hand rests over Djura's chest, and Djura's hand moves to rest atop of his. Their fingers intertwine.

“You wanna go for round two?” Brador asks, mumbling against the nape of Djura's neck.

“Round two? You mean round four? Darlin', you went down on me for well over an hour, nice and slow. You’ve lasted many times longer than any other man I've been with. I'm all outta steam now.” He responds tiredly, but lightheartedly.

“Mmm. Another time, then?” Brador nuzzles his face into Djura's shoulders.

“Yes. Another time,” Then Djura whispers deviously, “And maybe then, you can show me how you know the ropes~”

Djura can feel how Brador smiles against the nape of his neck. “Would you care to divulge specifics, of what ropes you're into? I want to learn how to please you.”

“I prefer leather over ropes, for one. Dunno if you could tell already.” Djura shrugs.

“With those tight pants you wear? Yeah. It was obvious.” Brador snickers.

“Heh. And, to answer that question you asked me on our first night of the hunt…” Djura clears his throat, “I'm a switch.”

“...Holy shit, so am I!” Brador says excitedly, lifting his head.

“Great, now we have to play rock paper scissors to decide roles every night!” Djura laughs. “Now what about you? What do you like?”

“I'd like to see you guess first. Asides from being a sadomasochist deviant, which is obvious.”

Djura doesn't answer for a while as he thinks. Then, he speaks nice and slow, with full confidence, “You want to be at the end of a leash and muzzled, like the naughty pup you are.”

Dead silence from Brador. Djura props himself up, turning his head with absolute delight to see how red Brador's face is, eyes wide. Brador whispers, no louder than a mouse, “How the fuck did you know?”

“Goes to show you how experienced I am with the ropes.” Djura winks. Or, blinks extra hard.

Brador cuddles up to Djura again, perhaps just to hide his blushing face in his chest. But he sounds happy as he speaks, “You would be willing to do that for me?”

“Not only that, I'm into that shit,” Then Djura whispers teasingly, “And you're such a good boy, how could I not reward you?”

“Get out of my head!” Brador shouts quietly at him, but he still cuddles up to him with a smile, “We're going to be great together. I love you.”

How comfortable Brador is, how safe he is to tell Djura these things. Djura wouldn't give this up for anything.

Even with a man like Brador, how blood-soaked his hands are, steeped with Djura's trauma.

---

Brador can't help but notice Andrei has been giving him side eyes and malicious glares all day. He's not sure what he did wrong other than being bedridden and reliant on their constant care. Or maybe Andrei's somehow mad that he bedded Djura. Did he forget to ask permission to shag Andrei's best friend, or…? Wait, does Andrei even know that they fornicated?!

Brador is trying his best to work efficiently under Djura's instruction, moving barrels of gunpowder and incense jars, but goddammit, it's unnerving with Andrei around!

Djura doesn't notice Andrei's glares at all, or rather, Djura is doing his damn best to ignore it. He keeps bossing the both of them around to get these hunter traps set up, and placing the incense urns so the beasts don't go near them.

But it's too much- it’s so awkward now that not one of them can breathe. Djura turns to Brador with a smile, “Alright, I think that's enough of helping out over here. Why don't you go take a break, Brador? Go play with the beasts.”

“Huh? But we just started working.” Brador sounds confused.

“Well- Andrei and I are going to set up some tripwires and I don't want you accidentally setting them off.” Then Djura blinks really hard again- no wait, he winked. Then he mouths, “Get out of here.”

Brador understands at once and skedaddles off, happy to be free from Andrei's death stare.

Djura waits several moments after Brador gets out of earshot. Then, with his teeth clenched, he turns to Andrei, “Can you stop doing that?!”

“Doing what?” Andrei crosses his arms all passive aggressively, with a tone that makes Djura want to slap him.

“You know exactly what I'm talking about! I know you hate him, but stop it!” Djura physically puts his foot down, “You're the one who said he's good to keep around, so quit staring at him like that!”

“Alright. Maybe I want to see him crack. Maybe I want to see him wholeheartedly spill the truth and apologize for being such a sleazy bastard, and beg for forgiveness by lying prostrate and kissing our boots.” Andrei’s sassy tone doesn't change.

“It's better this way-”

“You really plan to live with this lie for the rest of your time with him?” Andrei glares, “The lie that you're happy with this weight on both of your shoulders?”

“I…”

Andrei continues. “We lied enough to ourselves on the hunt. This is a mercy, these people are freed when we rip them apart and burn them to ashes, we told ourselves! And look what happened- so many lives lost until it was too late, and this is all we had left,” He gestures to all around him, “Do you really want that with Brador?”

“Of course I don't! But- for fucks sake, I can't ruin this!” Djura throws his arms up, “To see someone as broken as him happy, for me to feel this happy, to be in love again, I, I…! I can't imagine the fallout…”

Andrei's face softens. “Djura…”

Djura sits on a crate, slumping over. “I think I get what you mean by trying to save or fix Brador now, Andrei. But isn't it enough just to give him a second chance? A new life? Let him put it all behind him, just as we've done for Rex and Diego.” Djura gestures to their direction.

Andrei looks to the distance, to where Brador is now playing with the two scourge beasts. Their old hunters’ gauntlets glimmer in the sunlight.

“So please, stop giving him so much shit. I know you're angry, I know. I know you know what's best for me, but being a fool is all I've ever been good for.”

Andrei sits beside him, looking somewhat annoyed but understanding in his tone. “I guess I'll never understand why you're happy with him. Just. Why?”

“He showed me yesterday, Andrei. He showed his love for me, innocent and vulnerable, so gentle with his touch. It was…” Djura buries his face in his hands, “He put me first. Took care of me first. It was amazing.”

“...” Andrei turns his head to face Djura, very slowly, as his expression gradually changes to annoyed, to musing, to shock, then denial, then acceptance. “You fucked him.”

“I can't even call it fucking, Andrei. Some kind of magician shit he pulled on me with his lovemaking. I came three times. Just raw emotion and his cock and his mouth.”

Andrei whistles. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“And you think he truly loves you because of that?”

“I've had sex enough to know the difference between just fucking and lovemaking, and by God, he made love to me.”

Andrei nods slowly. “Well, I can't contest that. Nikolai told me that's when he knew I was a keeper after our first night. So…” Andrei kicks his legs, “I'll try to be kind to Brador again. But if he pulls anything that aligns him with that fucking Church…”

“I'll kick him out with you. But I don't know if I'll have it in me to do that.”

“You don't. So I'll do it for you.” Andrei smiles.

Djura smiles back.

“...but speaking of Brador aligning with the Church…” Andrei asks slowly, “Why is he still wearing that?”

“The Vicar's hide?”

“Yeah.”

“He said he doesn't know himself…” Djura shrugs, “But… It's soft and comfy. So.”

“Huh. Ok.”

“And he gets really nervous without it… so it's like his blankie.”

“That's… kinda cute.”

“It is.”

“And how old is he again?”

“Don't judge him! But he's 36.”

“Ah, only two years older than you…” Then Andrei leans in, really close to Djura, “...I have to ask if he kept it on as he made love to you.”

“No. It was drying outside with the rest of the laundry.”

“Phew. Sooooo… would you-”

“If wearing it made him feel more comfortable, yes I'd let him wear it in the bedroom. But…” Djura leans back in thought, “I find him far more beautiful without it.”

---

“What's your favorite meal? I can try making it for dinner tonight.” Is what Djura starts with as he and Brador come back inside after a long day of work.

“Hm…” Brador strokes his beard in thought. Djura is certain that he's fully prepared for anything Brador will say: Steaks, beef stew, kebabs, bacon, pork belly, even chicháronne… anyone would notice that Brador has an appetite for meat.

“It's… well, I can't expect you to make it, because it's a very special recipe. It's Ludwig's apple pie.” Brador explains.

“Ah…” Is all Djura responds with as his heart breaks into a million pieces, “Well. Unfortunately, we don't have any apples here.”

“Aaw…” Brador looks absolutely dejected. “That's ok. Again, it was a very special recipe. I don't know how the man would give a pie a crust that thick and it would still be thoroughly cooked. And the apples, he would cook them so low and slow that they'd melt in your mouth. Super sweet, too. He was the only man to ever convince me to eat fruits and green vegetables back in the day.”

“Oh!” Djura's eyebrows raise, “That's the exact opposite of how Eileen bakes ‘em.”

“Hm?”

“Eileen,” Djura explains, “Gives all of her pies a flakey and thin crust. And the apples, she cooks them just to the cusp of being soft, but still having a bite to them. She doesn't add much sugar, she lets the apples and spices shine.”

Brador nods. “That sounds equally as delicious, honestly.”

“Maybe one day when she warms up to you more, she'll bake it for you!”

“That's exactly why Ludwig started baking them for me in the first place. Then after that…” Brador smiles nostalgically, “He would bake them every year for my birthday.”

“When's your birthday?” Djura asks, and makes sure to commit this to memory.

“August. August 6th. Or at least, that's what they estimated based on how old I was when I was brought into my orphanage,” Brador shrugs, sitting down on the couch, “Might be the 5th or the 7th in reality, but I don’t really care.”

“August 6th, the 6th of August…” Djura repeats to himself, “Well that's only a couple of months from now. I'm sure Eileen will warm up to you by then!” Djura beams.

“Doubt it.” Brador jokes.

“Trust me, she will. Anyway, since we've got no apple pie, what's your second favorite meal?”

“Steak tartare.” Brador answers honestly.

“... what's your third favorite meal?” Djura cringes at himself.

“...just a steak cooked rare, with a side of potatoes.”

“A rare steak for dinner it is!” Then, before Djura heads down to the cellar, “Oh, by the way, every few months, Andrei and I go out to the butcher shop and get a whole cow. I'm sure one day I can get you a fresh steak tartare.”

Brador's eyes light up. “Really?” He looks like he's absolutely starving and could drool at any moment now.

“Yea, and it'll all be for you because I ain't touching it!”

“Yeeesss!!!”

Djura steps into the cellar, then immediately pops back up, “Oh, and another thing! Why don't you put on something nice for dinner tonight?”

---

The dinner table is set, but it's different than usual. Brador figured it would be set up more nicely, considering Djura told him to get dressed. A new, fancy lace table cloth has been pulled out with elaborate seams. Candles are lit, and a vase of flowers from Djura's garden sits in the middle.

Brador kicks his legs in delight as he sits impatiently. He offered to help Djura cook today, but Djura insisted that it's his kitchen and his rules, and tonight nobody shall step in while he creates a masterpiece for Brador. This didn't apply to Andrei those many weeks ago. How special is this meal that Djura insists none shall disturb him?

Brador hears sizzling as red wine is poured into the pan, and he can smell it along with the steak. He licks his lips. Finally, Djura steps into the dining room with two plates, setting one before Brador. It's fucking beautiful.

Two slices of decently-sized filet mignons. Topped with a creamy sauce made with half and half, and reduced red wine. The sauce itself was cooked in garlic, shallots, and thyme. And sitting atop of the steaks and sauce is a pile of sweet, roasted bone marrow. On the sides are slices of golden potatoes, brushed and oven roasted with the fat extracted from the marrow, speckled with black pepper and flakes of salt.

Then, there's Djura himself: Instead of the ragged cape and padded vest he usually wears outdoors, he's in a neat, gray suit and tie. Even the bandages around his scarred eye have been replaced with a real eye patch, like a pirate's. The gray clashes terribly with Brador's striped green vest, but neither of them care.

Djura pours them both a glass of liquor before sitting down across from Brador. They raise their glasses and they clink. “Cheers!” They say in unison.

Brador does not wait for Djura to take a bite first, as he has in the past when he didn't fully trust Djura. Now, he digs in right away. Slicing through the sauce and steak, he sees beautiful, straight pink, oozing with red juices. He shoves the piece right into his mouth.

Fuck, Brador had expectations for this meal, and they're all blown out of the water. It's unreal how tender the filet mignon is, emphasized with the rich sauce and buttery marrow. The seasoning on the steak itself is simple, but the sauce? Deep with the flavor of aged red wine, strong with the garlic and shallots, but subtle with the thyme and- are those mushrooms in the sauce? Brador thought he hated mushrooms. Now he loves them.

Brador clenches himself. He knows his habits of chowing down like a dog, forgetting to chew and use his fork and knife- but that's only when he doesn't know when he'll eat next. He's not going to survive here with Djura, no, he will thrive. He will live. He will live to see another day with Djura, another meal, just like every day before with Djura. Three square meals a day, never missing one.

Brador will sit here, take his time, and enjoy his meal with the only man to ever have returned his romantic affections. But the food, all of Djura's cooking, just begs the question-

“Where the hell did you learn how to cook so damn well?” Brador asks, minding his manners and swallowing his food before speaking.

“I learned from a lot of people. Friends here in Old Yharnam, outside in Yharnam, and my own family, and cookbooks of course,” Djura explains between bites, “Lots of people in Old Yharnam are from all across Europe, y’see. So they bring the flavors of where they're from with them.”

“Oh?” Brador's interest piques.

“Like, for example, this recipe right here uses French techniques. In fact, the recipe itself is French, I just added my own twists and adjustments for my liking. I learned it from Archibald.”

“Archibald knew how to cook like this and he never told us?” Brador whispers to himself under his breath.

“Well, no, he just gave me some old cookbooks from the French side of his family. The man could build a machine that harnesses lightning but couldn't follow a recipe. It was incredible,” Djura chuckles to himself, “And I'm sure you could guess, but Izzy didn't teach me anything about cooking. They couldn't cook for shit!”

Brador barks a laugh at that. “I'd sooner trust Izzy in a locked room unsupervised with beastblood pellets than in a kitchen.”

“Ha! Same! Ah, I sure miss those two…” Djura sighs, “Anyway, I could go on about what I've learned. Andrei taught me Dutch, Russian, and Moroccan cuisine. Nikolai also taught me Russian cuisine along with Italian…” Djura takes a swig of his liquor, “What else… Jozef taught me Polish food. Henryk also taught me Polish food, along with… God, what else did Henryk teach me? Spanish, Greek… Spanish, Greek, Italian, Polish…” He starts counting on his fingers, “Argh, if you asked the man to explain his family tree, you'd be there for hours. He's got at least ten countries under his belt and his family is huge. So if you're ever wondering how Viola and Henryk are completely different shades of skin tone, that's why.”

Djura rambles on. “And Eileen. She taught me the Asian cuisines that her mentor taught her. Apparently that man was Mongolian and traveled all across South and Southeast Asia. Indian, Thai, Laotian… And Eileen herself, she… she doesn't know what country in West Africa her ancestry is from, actually. But her mother taught her how to make this rice dish called jollof with goat meat. I dunno how widespread or not it is, but it's so tasty and you gotta try it one day!”

Brador, fascinated at what Djura has to say, has not taken a bite of his food since Djura started. “And what about you? Where are you and your family from?”

“We’re Serbian!” Djura answers with a smile. “And with that, comes my mother's recipes for goulash, pasulj, gibianca and more. Actually, you've had my mother's goulash before.”

“I have? When did I?” Brador blinks, sitting up straight.

“The night after you showed up at Old Yharnam’s steps.”

Brador thinks back. Yes, after Djura retracted that disgusting leg of rat meat, he replaced it with a bowl of beef stew. That must've been it.

“I gave you so much of it, must’ve been at least three bowl’s worth,” Djura snickers to himself, “And honestly, I was elated that a beast was enjoying my mother's goulash so much. Now, I'm even happier that it was you.”

“Really? Andrei told me you weren’t too happy.”

“I was at first, because I didn’t trust you nor knew who you were. I mean, you remember how I reacted to your fur garb!

“Oh, yeah…” Brador nods along.

“But I must confess that the goulash wasn't served properly! It's supposed to be served on top of mashed potatoes, but I just gave you straight stew. And it was under seasoned, beast tummies just can't handle too much pepper and paprika for whatever reason.”

“But it was already so delicious!” Brador gasps. “Not as delicious as this filet mignon, of course.”

“I promise you, one day I'll serve it to you as it was meant to be. One day.”

And as Djura keeps rambling on and on about where he learned all of these recipes, Brador's heart slowly begins to sink. All of these delicious dishes, these pieces of people's culture and life, all burned away…

Did Laurence really have no other choice? Weren't there other options? Why, why didn't Brador think of any alternatives for Laurence? For Old Yharnam? Why didn't anyone else speak up? No one but Lady Maria, of course. Did she have any alternatives herself? Probably not. Brador remembers that they tried everything.

What would Djura think of that? That Laurence went so deep that he couldn't turn back to introduce a panacea? A panacea that heals wounds and rids one’s body of human diseases… by removing their humanity itself? Laurence sacrificed so much, and for what?

Now the only thing left of Old Yharnam's people is Djura and Andrei, passing on their lives and memories in their cooking. This meal is from Archibald's family, and he passed away from the blood itself. He fell into madness after injecting so much into his veins that the blood had crystallized into gems.

What about the pasta? Was it Andrei's family, or the deceased Powder Kegs he's heard about named Nikolai? The pork and bean stew, whose grandmother created that recipe? The curry that Eileen served, was that her own take on the recipe, or her mentor’s? And who did he learn it from? And the many times Brador has been served hash, eggs, and meat- such a simple recipe, but who’s recipe was it? Was it just a take on the classic English breakfast or something more special?

“Brador, are you alright?” Djura asks, noticing how sad he suddenly looks.

Brador snaps out of his train of thought. “I spaced out.”

“Ah, sorry for talking so much-”

“No no, it's alright-”

“I mean with all this talk about family and culture, I shouldn't have! You know, knowing that… you were an orphan and all.” Djura sheepishly says.

“I… yeah. Yeah.” Brador goes along with it, nodding a bit, “But don't worry about it, really. I never thought much of where or who I came from.”

“Are you serious?” Djura tilts his head. “Every person I've met who's an orphan always wanted to at least meet their parents.”

“My parents abandoned me when I was only a day old. I don't want to meet them.”

“Surely they must've had their reasons. Maybe they were in the middle of a crisis. Or they realized they didn't have the means to take care of you.” Djura attempts to reason.

Brador merely shrugs, genuinely unbothered. “They should've at least checked if my orphanage was credible. Ah well.”

“Any guesses to what country you might be from?” Djura asks, attempting to shift the subject a bit.

Brador looks down at his chest. “Italy.”

“...just because of how hairy you are?” Djura squints with confusion.

“Uh. Yeah? And I like pasta.”

“That's… uh. That's certainly a guess. I mean, I like pasta too. I think everyone likes pasta, really.”

“Eh.”

“If I had to take a guess… I think your nose looks Slav like mine and you're pale enough, and your eyes look like most Irishmen’s I've met,” Djura strokes his beard in thought, “But who knows? Maybe you do have some Italian sprinkled in there. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if I wasn't entirely Serbian.”

“Actually… Come to think of it…” Brador has to take a swig of his liquor, “Besides myself, I've never met anyone else named Brador, nor do I have an inkling of a clue where the name comes from.”

“...huh.” Djura squints, “You’re right. What language would that even derive from? I've met more than one person named Nikolai and Jozef, I've met variations of my own name like George… but… what does Brador mean?”

“The fuck if I know.” Brador shrugs.

“I think we should drink more.”

“For sure.”

For the rest of the night, they eat and drink as a happy couple. Nothing could ruin this. Or at least, that's what they both say to themselves, without the other knowing.

Chapter Text

Brador sits with Djura at the top of the Gatling Gun tower, just a day before the next full moon. They sit together on the bench beside the mounted gun, watching over the city and eating their breakfast. The breeze is cool and refreshing, far above the smoke from the ruins.

“What a way to start our morning, hm?” Djura kicks his legs, “It’s gonna be a lovely spring day, I can feel it. Not too hot, not too cold out. And we've got scrambled eggs and veggies!”

“It's delicious as always.” Brador says after swallowing a mouthful of eggs. He pokes around the tomatoes and spinach, trying his best to get himself to eat the veggies. But paired with the creamy eggs, with just a touch of salt and pepper, and a crumble of feta cheese, it's quite good. Djura notices that with every meal, Brador is becoming more inclined to eating his vegetables, although Djura never forces him to.

“Alright, so, we've don't have much of an agenda today,” Djura starts as they finish their meals, “We already made sure my babygirl is working yesterday,” He pats his Gatling Gun with tender love and care, “And the day before, we checked our supplies and set up the traps. It's best that we rest while we can.”

“Are you saying we should spend the day with each other?” Brador cuddles up to Djura, then cups his cheek, “Just you and me?”

Djura smiles, pecking Brador on the lips. “Of course! Why don't we go for a walk around the place? Or we could nap all day.”

“Cuddling with you all day sounds like a dream. Perhaps… we could do more while we're in bed.~” Brador winks.

“You’re such a flirt!” Djura laughs, playfully pushing him away, then Brador hugs him close and smooches him all over his face. They laugh, tussling around and getting handsy with each other.

Brador dips Djura over the bench, kissing him, then pauses. He looks up into the distance. Djura pauses too, gently pushing Brador off to see what he's looking at.

The hulking figure at the entrance to Old Yharnam is familiar, as is the jet-black equine beside it. Brador stands still, unsure if he's hallucinating. He may as well be- he's been so stress free living here with Djura that he need not to take his medications.

Djura pats his shoulder. “Go see him. He's more important than me right now, ain't he?”

“He's really there? Ludwig?” Brador asks in disbelief.

Djura nods. “Go.”

And so Brador slides down the ladder, rushing to Ludwig and Astera. Djura smiles bittersweetly watching Brador run like the wind. It's best if he gave them their space. He climbs down too and heads in the opposite direction to his house.

Brador skids to a stop in front of Ludwig. Ludwig looks so weak, his clothes tattered, and his frame leaner, as opposed to his original muscular stature. But what's most disturbing is that the gloves no longer hide Ludwig's malformed limbs and claws. And his face, across Ludwig's right side is a burned scar that covers the half of it, his eye blinded.

Brador hesitates to reach out and hug him, but Ludwig invites him in by spreading his arms out. And so Brador hugs him, nose buried in his robes, but not a tear shed. He has long accepted that he will lose Ludwig, but that doesn't make his heart hurt any less.

There need not be any words exchanged between them, only a silent understanding, and the dread of the night of the hunt that's to come. Brador has always known Ludwig’s scent- of hay, oak wood, and that indescribable moonlit touch- but now it is mixed with unmistakable beasthood, pungent and no different than the beasts Brador has grown to adore.

Their hug is only interrupted when Astera nudges Brador with his massive head. Brador smiles, rubbing his nose and snout. But even then, his heart sinks, seeing how Astera's rectangular pupils have collapsed as well.

“Brador… I've come to visit, like I promised,” Ludwig smiles weakly, “And Astera, too.”

“Thank you for coming. Really.” Brador smiles back sadly.

Ludwig pats a large bundle upon Astera's saddle. “I've brought more things for you! Everything I could get my hands on and cook with what precious time I had…”

“All… all for me?” Brador asks like a child asking for permission to have a cookie.

“Yes! Now let's get to Djura's house to unpack everything… Oh! And… You haven't seen Astera in a while, so…” Ludwig pats the saddle.

Brador doesn't even ask. He knows what Ludwig is letting him do. He scrambles onto Astera's back with a big smile on his face. Deep down, he's still a child, for that child never had the chance to be one. He pets Astera's mane, and the horse's ears flick back to listen to him.

“Tell us the way, Brador!” And so Ludwig takes the reins and starts walking. Brador is happy to point out the way to Djura's home, and even the beasts along the way. Ludwig never would've thought that Brador would be happy to be around beasts, let alone know their names.

Soon, they arrive. Ludwig ties Astera's reins to the porch railing, and Brador lifts the bundle of things. They step inside, only to see Djura hauling a delicious rack of prime rib from his cellar. Ludwig, without meaning to, drools and wipes his chin. A sound escapes his lips without meaning to, like a snarl. But neither Djura nor Brador are surprised.

“Ah, I didn't expect you two to be here so soon! I was gonna start prepping for dinner,” Djura greets them, “A feast, if you would! Figured you'd have… a larger than normal appetite.”

“I, well…” Ludwig stares, then shakes himself out of his trance, “I came to deliver goods to Brador!” He motions to the pack Brador carries. “In fact, some of these I have brought for you.”

Djura looks surprised. “Let me put this down first and see what you've brought.”

After putting the ribs in the counter, Djura comes over as Ludwig lays out the pack. Of course, there's loads of snacks: Apples, apple caramels, crackers, hard cheeses, dry biscuits, all things sweet and starchy and more. It seems that Ludwig packed the remainder of Brador's wardrobes as well. There's also medications, everything for stomach aches to bug bites- but not a single bottle of healing blood.

There's yet more. Brador picks up a leather-bound and embroidered book that he recognizes instantly. “Is this… is this your Byrgenwerth yearbook?”

“Yes, of course! And I put some more photos in it, of us in our Church years.” Ludwig smiles.

Brador hugs the book to his chest. “Thank you.”

“Especially since you lost your copy within a week.”

“Don't rub it in!” They laugh together.

Djura pokes around the pile of things. He finds another book, loosely bound together and untitled. He flips it open to find thick and blocky handwriting, and childish but recognizable drawings of food.

“Ah!” Ludwig comes up behind Djura, “That’s for you. It's my cookbook. I… thought you could carry on my recipes. For Brador.”

Brador, overhearing this, gasps. “Ludwig…”

Ludwig rubs Brador's back. “It has everything I've ever made for you. Even your apple pie. And… now Djura can bake it for your birthday this year in my stead.”

“Ludwig, this means more to me than you can imagine,” Djura starts, “My family, my friends, my neighbors… cooking is how I keep their memories alive. I'll treasure this. Thank you.”

Then Brador just breaks down into tears, clinging to Ludwig like a koala. Ludwig chuckles lightly, “Hang on, there's still more.”

Ludwig fishes out a tightly-wrapped bundle. “Lady Maria wanted to give this to you before… before our falling out. I never got the chance to because I thought it would be too soon all those years ago. So… Here's her belated birthday gift to you.”

“She got me a birthday present? After all that happened…?” Brador asks in disbelief.

“Well… it's more like she wanted to pass it on to you. Give it a more suitable home, you know?"

Brador unwraps it, revealing a wooden box. He opens it. It's an Evelyn- Lady Maria's Evelyn, pristine and polished as if it were never used. She never picked it up again after the Fishing Hamlet. He gasps softly.

“Lady Maria said that the Cainhurst weapons resonate well with those with great bloodtinge. It would suit you better than my namesake rifle you have.” Ludwig explains.

“But!” Brador gasps, “This rifle, it was Laurence who issued it-”

“Brador, I know I just gave you precious memories of us with the yearbook, but… I think it's time you start… to wean yourself away from the Church,” Ludwig explains softly, “We can start by replacing what we've given you to wield.”

“How could you? How could you say that, after all that Laurence has done for us?” Brador's voice cracks slightly with tears in his eyes.

“Look at what my loyalty to the Church has done for me. Look at all the pain, the blood- everything,” Ludwig holds out his clawed hand to Brador, “The Choir and Vicar Amelia may be following Laurence's plans, but they do not follow his wishes. Does that make sense?”

"..." Brador says not a word, his mind racing. He holds Ludwig's hand, touching the long hairs on his knuckles. Brador brings it to his chest, embracing the deformed hand, still seeking the warmth that Ludwig always provided at the worst of times, but now it is boney and cold, adding only to the dread welling in Brador’s heart.

“You should start anew. Here, in Old Yharnam with Djura. That is what I had been hoping for you when I found you here. I'm not asking you to forget Laurence or the rest of us-- I'm asking that you forget what the Healing Church has taught you. Can you do that for me?”

Brador nods silently. Then he looks down at his belt, “What about my Bloodletter?”

“Nothing better to protect the beasts here from corrupt and blood-drunk hunters. Keep it,” Ludwig says sincerely, “Besides… Every other Church weapon is made to hunt beasts. Yours is the only one meant to hunt men.”

They hug again. They've also forgotten that Djura is still there, trying to give them space while unpacking everything. They begin uncontrollably sobbing in each other's arms as reality sets in yet again. Djura can't ignore it, he's so empathetic that he starts to tear up too.

“Alright you two,” Djura gently interrupts them, “This prime rib is gonna take hours to cook to perfection, do you two wanna have drinks in here, or…?”

“I was planning to go on a walk with Brador. But…” Ludwig rubs his chin, “...pray tell, what do you have in your wine cabinet?”

“Wine? Wine?” Djura almost sounds offended, “We don't have the fancy-shmancy stuff. Only hard liquor like vodka and whiskey.”

“What about beer? Do you have beer?”

Djura makes a face. “...no.”

Now Ludwig sounds offended. “Then what's the point of drinking if there's no beer?!”

“Beer is frothy piss!” Djura groans, “In this house we don't drink piss!”

“Excuse me?!” Then Ludwig stops, thinking. “You said hard liquor. What about brandy?”

Djura slowly smiles. “We've got brandy. From the fruitiest and sweetest to the strongest, knock-your-socks off kind of brandy.”

“Excellent! How about we drink until we wake up next week?!” Ludwig is a bit too enthusiastic about drinking now.

Brador interrupts them, pulling on Ludwig's arm, “Let's go on that walk!” Then before they leave, he turns to Djura, “Can Ludwig get a side of glazed carrots for dinner tonight?”

“Yes, he can get glazed carrots. With honey.”

Ludwig’s urge to drink instantly flips to the carrots. “Yay, I love carrots!” And then they leave.

---

Brador is saddled on Astera again as they walk aimlessly around Old Yharnam. Ludwig can't help but notice how the beasts stare up at them, sniffing the air, but not raising a single claw. Their vacant, pupilless eyes glimmer in curiosity.

Ludwig still bears a slight disdain for them, but his pity and guilt is genuine. After all, he defended the Healing Blood that turned these kind people into beasts in the first place. They're nothing more than sad, stray dogs to him, as he can’t look at their faces and recognize a person. He wonders how Djura can still see them as people despite everything. He shakes his head, trying to get his mind off the thought.

“I must ask Brador, how are you and Djura doing?” Ludwig pipes up.

Brador smiles brightly. “I've never been more in love in my life! Djura absolutely spoils me, and he loves me for who I am. He does not judge me in the slightest, not even when I'm starving and shove food in my mouth like an animal.”

“That’s even better than I thought!” Ludwig exclaims in genuine surprise, “So long as you’re happy and provided for.”

“It’s no wonder the beasts adore him. He’s so kind, about as kind as you, Ludwig. Anyone would love him… and yet, his heart chose me. Am I really that handsome?” Brador jokes.

Ludwig laughs. “You’ve always had a good sense of fashion, I suppose.”

“Oi, what about my beard? My eyes?! My irresistible chest muscles?!”

They laugh together. They laugh and laugh, talking joyously about Djura and forgetting about their problems for a while.

After some time into their walk, Brador stops to pet a beast. Ludwig doesn’t know what to think of it. The scourge beast named Rex rubs itself all over Brador’s arms for love and cuddles, and Brador showers it with affection.

Then Ludwig notices that Brador calls all the beasts by their names. He greets them just like people (or in some cases like Rex’s, like dogs) as if they aren’t hairy and toothy. The beasts even try to talk to Brador in garbled growls and move their claws around in conversational gestures.

It disturbs Ludwig that some part of them is still human. He certainly must've killed some while they were still conscious. Or perhaps that was a mercy, letting them be freed from their beastly fate before they turned completely? And how many of them looked on in fear at the bladed weapons swinging for their heads?

Ludwig turns to Astera, who bumps him on the shoulder with his snout. He sighs. “Brador, can I ask you one favor?”

“Anything for you, Luddy Buddy.”

“Whatever may happen to me… if you can find him, could you look after Astera for me?” Ludwig pets his horse's snout.

Brador gasps softly. “You're trusting him with me?”

“I see the way you care for the beasts… a hoofed beast should be no problem, not one you've known for many years.” Ludwig smiles up at him.

“Ludwig, I promise you, I'll take better care of Astera than anyone ever could.”

“...even me?” Ludwig gasps in a joking manner.

“Even you!” Brador laughs.

---

Brador stuffed himself full and fell asleep soon after dinner. Djura tucked him into bed. As he comes down the stairs, he sees Ludwig kindly cleaning up the dinner table. Ludwig definitely feels bad for making such a mess, as he seemingly forgot how to use a fork and knife, and tore through the prime rib with his hands. Djura didn't say anything about it and let Ludwig eat as his instincts allowed him to. Not a single scrap of meat is left on the bones, but the carrots remained untouched.

“Hello, Ludwig. D’you think we could talk one on one?” Djura speaks up.

“Hm? Yes, what is it?”

“Obviously, it ain't a secret that you'll turn by tomorrow's moon. That's the real reason why you came to see Brador, no? One last goodbye.” Djura pulls out a chair and sits at the table.

Ludwig sighs. He sits across from Djura, his hands folded in his lap. “Yes.”

“Ludwig, I know you're terrified at becoming a beast, or how Brador would react. I'm asking you to give it a chance and stay here.”

“A chance? Beasthood?” Ludwig nearly sneers at Djura in disgust.

“You've probably seen the beasts on your walk. They didn't lift a claw at you, I'm willing to bet. Quite different from the beasts you've seen on your hunt.” Djura explains calmly.

With some hesitation, Ludwig nods. “They… didn't mind us, not one bit.”

“Y'see, many of the beasts here still retain some human memories. They wear clothes, they live in their old houses… they respond to their own names. They remember who I am. The beasts up above in Yharnam are fighting for their lives. They've no food up there… the easiest source of meat being people, and they're exhausted and scared from running from hunters. What can they do? Do we blame the wolf for eating our sheep after we've chopped down its forest and hunted its deer? Is it our right to exterminate them after stripping everything away from them?”

Djura continues, “Down here, we provide for the beasts. They're docile because they don't live in fear. Beasts aren't what you think they are… they aren't monsters. We, the hunters, who burn and flay them, are. We don't hunt them for food, to survive, no. We do it for the bloodsport and to clean up the problem we created. Maybe you can find peace with the beasts here, maybe even if you turn too. They're still people, after all.”

“What if I hurt Brador as a beast?” Ludwig asks with uncertainty.

“You won't. I've been teaching him how to handle beasts with his bare hands. And I'm sure Brador would get used to you as a beast, considering how much time he's been spending with the townsfolk here.”

“What about my memories?” Ludwig sighs, “My humanity and duties are the only things that keeps me going.”

“It's a risk, yes. And…” Djura reaches out with his hand, “Should you be unhappy… should you lose every sliver of your humanity… I will kindly put you down. Not Brador. I promise.”

“Djura…” Ludwig reaches too, as if to shake his hand, but ultimately lowers it with a gentle touch, “I can't stay in Old Yharnam. One more night of the hunt, I have to spend it to the fullest protecting my people.”

“The blood, the hunt, it will only make your transformation worse. Please.”

“I can't, Djura.”

“I understand your duties, but-”

“I don't deserve to stay in Old Yharnam.”

“What do you mean by that?” Djura asks, confused.

“I…” Ludwig swallows, “I didn't… I didn't do anything.”

“Well if you didn't do anything, then you didn't do anything. I don't get what you're trying to say here.”

“No, you don't understand…” Ludwig looks down, “I… I…” He twiddles his thumbs, “I could have spoken up, but I was afraid to. Because of that… Laurence ordered… Ordered…” He hesitates for a while, “Ordered you, the Powder Kegs, to burn this town down. That's all I'll say.”

It clicks in Djura's mind. Ludwig is such a horrible liar. But he could've easily told Djura the truth by not bringing up Brador's involvement with the Ashen Blood. Why wouldn't Ludwig of all people, righteous and kind, come clean?

…Would it be because Ludwig cannot bear the weight of his own sins? Or… Would it be because Ludwig is trying to protect him from Brador?

Djura hopes it's the first reason. He can relate to that more than anything. He retracts his hand, “Well, if you ever change your mind, or if you come scampering here on all fours… My door is always open. I won't force you to join my sanctuary. We will welcome you with open arms.”

“I appreciate your offer, Djura, truly. But… may I ask a favor of you instead?” Ludwig asks meekly.

“Anything that I'm capable of, I'll do.” Djura says firmly.

“It's Brador. Whatever comes, whatever happens… protect him. He has so little trust in others…” Ludwig whispers, “From years of abuse as a child. Please, protect that trust he has in you. Protect his heart. Brador… he deserves to have a stable life after everything that's happened to him.”

Djura nods. “Of course. I've been striving to provide that for him.”

“And…” Ludwig continues, “He deserves to have someone who doesn't use him. Someone who truly loves him. Do you truly love him?”

“I swear on my mother's grave, I'll always love a man who loves me back and accepts me for who I am,” Then Djura tilts his head, “Wait… what do you mean by use?”

Ludwig’s gaze shifts to the side. “Brador is willing to do anything to prove his love. Anything. I…” He hesitates, but his brow furrows and he braces himself, forcing his words out of his throat, “I should have said something sooner. I should have stopped both of them. But I played ignorant to Brador's affections for Laurence- er, the Vicar, and he used Brador for his own gain because of that. He didn’t mean to! He just… lost sight of us… enraptured by his goals to save all of us.”

“The Vicar implied that he would leave Brador in the streets where we found him if he didn't prove his worth,” Ludwig looks hurt confessing this to Djura, “Brador went to the extremes to win the Vicar's praise. And I… I lied to myself, that it was for the greater good. That whatever the Vicar, Brador, and I were doing was to save more lives in the end. But it wasn't worth hurting Brador like that. I wish I weren't so blindsided with my own love for Laurence. If there was anything I could confess to you before I pass on… it's that. I'm so sorry.”

The silence is deafening. Ludwig shrinks back, afraid of how Djura will react. Is he horrified? Disturbed? Disgusted? But Djura’s eye has only widened slightly, and his lips parted. He takes in a breath as his heart is touched.

“Ludwig…” Djura's voice is so gentle, “I lied to myself too. We- all of us Powder Kegs- did, when we told ourselves it was a mercy to burn this town to the ground. I lied to myself that the beasts couldn't possibly be people, and I lied to myself when I said the Church knows what's good for us, no offense. The truth is an ugly, ugly thing, I don't blame you for looking away. I ain't a Saint, that's for sure.”

Ludwig says nothing, only his face speaks to his reaction to Djura’s words. His eyes are wide with relief and tears.

“And I won't use Brador like that, no. He helps me around here on his own accord. I don't mind if he sleeps all day or whatnot, but when he does help out, it's just to spend more time with me. Here, he won't live in my shadow, no, he'll walk alongside me. You don't gotta worry about that, okay? He and I are partners.”

Ludwig smiles weakly. “Thank you, Djura.”

Djura smiles back. “It’s my pleasure to have him here. Really. I love him dearly.”

“I already know Brador is in good hands… and in the hands of someone who loves him? Djura, I couldn’t be more grateful and I don’t know what I can do to ever repay you…” Ludwig wipes his eyes, the fur on his knuckles soaking away the tears, “Please, please is there anything I can do for you?”

Djura shakes his head. “Only thing I can ask is that you find peace with yourself, whatever may happen to you. Do you think you can do that for me, big guy?”

“I’ll… I’ll try.”

“Good, good. I don’t want you to suffer, okay? You’re a good man, Ludwig. You don’t deserve anything awful.”

“Djura…”

The two of them are interrupted by the staircase creaking. Brador peeks down from the top, groggy, with his fur garb wrapped around him no differently than a blanket.

“Good morning! Or should I say good night?” Then Djura glances at the grandfather clock, “Mm. I’d say good night.”

Brador shuffles down the stairs like a toddler, straight to Ludwig to hug him. They silently embrace, knowing that the sun will rise tomorrow, and Ludwig must embark back to the Healing Church. Djura once again must sit there silently to give them their space, but he doesn’t mind much. Other than himself, Ludwig is the only person left in Brador’s life, as far as he knows.

“Please don’t go.” Brador pleads with a whisper.

Ludwig doesn’t answer, only hugging Brador closer.

Djura clears his throat. “Ludwig, d’you think you could stay the night? You guys can have my bed, it’s big enough.”

Both Brador and Ludwig get flustered. Ludwig speaks first, “No, we’re far too grown for a sleepover-”

Brador speaks with Ludwig at the same time, “We haven’t cuddled up since Byrgenwerth-”

“And that was only because it was cold out-”

“Cuddling together is for loving couples only, we’re only family! Like brothers!”

“Yeah, brothers! Brador and I are mere brothers, and we shouldn’t do that!”

“Wait, but Maria cuddled up to us too, so what did that make the three of us-?!”

Djura bursts out laughing. “Fellas! Cuddling is cuddling! If it makes you feel good, then it’s whatever! I cuddle up to my beasts, I used to cuddle up with my fellow Powder Kegs. It ain’t only for married couples. If it is, I’m just about married to everyone.”

“But you and Brador are a couple, doesn’t that make you the least bit uncomfortable or jealous?” Ludwig asks earnestly.

Djura shrugs. “Again, cuddling is cuddling. And besides… You guys should spend as much time as possible together. Make the most of it.”

“Where will you sleep?” Brador asks.

“On the couch, where you used to sleep. Please, it’s only for a night!” Djura beams, “I shouldn’t interfere with family matters. Seriously, stay the night Ludwig, I implore you.”

Ludwig looks at Brador with uncertainty. But then Brador clings to him, to his warmth. Ludwig’s heart melts, seeing that same scared boy from all those years ago, so starved of any love or affection. That same boy of whom he taught kindness, chivalry, and that it’s ok to be human. As much as Brador prepared himself for Ludwig’s fate, he isn’t ready to say goodbye yet.

Ludwig touches Brador’s back with a gnarled hand, so light as to not hurt him with his claws. He looks at Djura, who only smiles. “Let me get into my pajamas and I’ll leave you two alone.”

“Djura…” Ludwig smiles, “You’re a Saint.”

---

While Djura told them that he would leave them alone, he thought it would be nice to give them a plate of sweets before bed. Though, he couldn’t have expected them to fall asleep so quickly. He thought they would stay up for hours, sobbing in each other’s arms.

But here they are. Brador is tucked into Ludwig’s arms and curled up into a little ball. Ludwig is embracing him protectively. Ludwig’s beastly fur doesn’t bother Brador at all, nor does his claws, nor does his pungent scent.

Djura does not see an assassin and a knight, no, he sees a pair of siblings, living the last of their time together in blissful peace. He can see the time long ago, when they were innocent and out of the Church’s shadow. He wonders what things would be like, what they would be like, if they had never served the Vicar.

Djura leaves the plate of sweets on the nightstand. And, since Brador is closer to the edge of the bed, Djura leans over and plants a kiss on Brador’s cheek. Brador stirs in his sleep, opening one eye, turning his head, and smiling at the sight above him.

“Thank you,” Brador whispers, “I love you.”

Djura whispers back. “We love you too.”

Chapter Text

The night of the hunt is a long one. As he looks up to the full moon, Ludwig wonders if Brador is seeing the same beautiful sight. Or at least, Ludwig hopes Brador is looking up at the moon without being surrounded by corpses of beasts.

The stench of blood, coppery and thick, visceral and fresh, fills Ludwig's nostrils as he stands there in silence. Why can't he remember the beasts he just killed? What was he doing just now?

He looks down at his blood-soaked boots. Amongst the beastly corpses are shreds of white robes, blue ribbons, torn leather gloves and trousers. In their spindly, clawed hands are swords and cleavers. Their faces, misshapen, yet familiar. Their bodies are not marked with the burns of his Holy Moonlight. They were torn apart by fang and claw.

There was nothing more that could be done to save them. It is only upon Ludwig's shoulders that this ordeal can be undertaken.

Suddenly, he hears a silent footstep, one that he could not have heard before. He whips his head around.

What's Simon doing here? Why is his bowblade raised, and an arrow already notched onto the string? Why? Why does his bowblade tremble in such steady and skilled hands? Why does the metal tip of the arrow glint and is aimed straight for his heart?

Then he hears a snort. Astera, of course. His steed stands beside Ludwig now, pushing his master with his massive head, moving so that his sturdy neck is between Ludwig and Simon.

“Simon… what are you… doing…?” Ludwig speaks, the air clawing its way out of his lungs. He has to heave to force his words out of his throat.

Simon swallows. Ludwig can hear it. Why can he hear it?

“Ludwig… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” Simon whispers, “I can't let you turn.”

Ludwig's eyes widen, as pale as the moon they reflect. “Simon… Simon, I promise… I'm… not…” He coughs, hunching over and grasping at his companion’s mane. He looks at his furred knuckles, how gnarled and knobby they are, having ripped away from their gloves long before this moment. He doesn't remember when or how.

Simon steps forward. Ludwig clings to Astera like a child. “Please… Please… I can… I can keep… fighting… for us… for Yharnam…”

“Look at yourself, Ludwig. I have known about your descent into beasthood for weeks now. I told you that this was all too much to bear,” Simon says calmly, with a tinge of something frightened, “I've decided already to end your story while you're still a man.”

“You don't…”

“What?”

“You don't!” Ludwig shrieks, “I can hear it, your heart racing. I can smell it too, your fear. You don't want to do this! One more hunt, one more! The taste of the blood, the…!” Ludwig stops himself. What did he just say?

Simon raises his bow higher, aiming now for Ludwig's head. Astera whinnies, pushing Ludwig back further, blocking Simon’s aim with his whole body. Simon can even see how Astera looks beastly, longer hairs on his legs than his breed standard, and how his snout has stretched unnaturally.

“Astera… thank you…” Ludwig wheezes out. He hugs the black stallion's neck. “My only… friend… who has yet to leave… or betray…”

“Please don't make this harder than it already is.” Simon whispers.

“Then do it…” Ludwig limps forward, past his horse, “Your resolve as a hunter… if you truly see me as a beast… Simon. Put me out… of my misery…”

The glint of tears down Simon's face is unmistakable. He's known this truth about Ludwig for weeks. He has told himself over and over again that there is no other outcome. This is the only way, as Ludwig saw with his own comrades. Ludwig should die a hero. And yet, he cannot bring himself to relax his hold on the arrow, to release it and send it cleanly through Ludwig's skull. It would be instantaneous. Painless.

Merciful.

But the times they've spent together at night, talking until the sun rose. The walks they took under the moonlight, admiring the city. The introspection, the vulnerability, the support, the undeniable love and friendship. Must it be now that it holds Simon back? Despite everything, he did not hesitate to betray the Church. He did not hesitate to sully the Vicar's name. And many times, he didn't hesitate to kill someone to put them out of their misery.

Would it not be that same love and justice that would drive Simon to put Ludwig to sleep? No, Simon's kindness, his empathy- is the fatal flaw in his decision. He can see it in Ludwig's eyes- the terror at what he's become, but the fright of losing his life. He's like a scared animal. He's still clinging to his humanity.

Slowly, his arrow lowers. Simon shakes his head. “You're right… I can't do it, Ludwig. But I can't… I can't just let you go berserk as a beast. Not here.”

There is no other option. Simon must kill Ludwig. That's how it's always been with beasthood.

…or has it?

Simon stows away his bow and slowly approaches Ludwig and his steed. Ludwig stiffens up. “Simon… Simon… what are… you doing?”

“I think… there may be a way for you to live. Ok? Mount your horse.”

“A way… to live?”

“Do you trust me, Ludwig?”

“I… always… have.”

Ludwig mounts Astera clumsily, clinging to his neck and laying on top of the horse. Simon takes the reins and starts leading them in some direction, deeper into Cathedral Ward.

As they walk, Simon looks up at the grand architecture looming over them. Then, in a little nook beneath a church bell, there is Eileen. She knows Simon sees her, and he knows she sees him. But she does nothing, merely leaning against the bronze with her arms crossed, watching them.

This is Simon's choice. She will not interfere. Simon looks down in shame, how could he let his infatuations cloud his judgment? And as he looks back up, he briefly sees her feathered cape turning in the wind as she disappears over the rooftops.

Simon presses onwards. Ludwig's groans of pain grow louder. They head towards the cathedral with the moving tomb that leads to the old city below.

Astera's horseshoes echo throughout the empty cathedral, the echoes growing louder as they descend into the underground staircase. Then, suddenly, Ludwig asks aloud, “Are we… heading to… Old Yharnam…?”

“The haven for beasts, yes,” Simon mumbles, “You can live in peace-”

“NO!” Ludwig panics, “Brador- no! He cannot see me like this, he cannot! The poor lad won't be able to handle it, not after what happened to Laurence! Please, I told him already- let it be anyone but him to see me in this state!”

“This-” Simon stammers, “This isn't about him, alright? Calm down, everything will be alright.”

“No!” Ludwig attempts to grab the reins from Simon. Simon pulls them away. Astera begins to panic, letting out a high-pitched neigh, but neither of the men do anything to calm the steed.

“Ludwig, the sooner we get to Old Yharnam, the better chance you can remain a human! Do you want to live or not?!” Simon pulls the reins.

“It's too late for me!” Ludwig cries.

“Ludwig, we will go there now-!”

“GET ME OUT OF HERE!” Ludwig screams and sits upright. As he does, his claws accidentally dig into Astera's neck. The horse whinnies in agony and betrayal, bucking out of Simon's hold.

“LUDWIG!” Simon shouts, attempting to grab the reins again, but the horse rears on his hind legs and nearly tramples Simon. He rolls out of the way. Astera comes barreling through, bucking and whinnying, as Ludwig uncontrollably digs himself deeper into his companion's flesh. He stomps around, kicking and making the wooden floors beneath him quake.

Simon doesn't know what to do. He brings out his bowblade. Ludwig has made it clear that he doesn't want the only other way to live.

But before Simon can aim and fire, the wooden floors leading to the building below, before Old Yharnam, collapses, sending Ludwig and Astera plummeting into the darkness.

---

Djura, Brador, and Andrei all snap their heads up when they hear a massive crash coming from the entrance of Old Yharnam. Djura and Brador, stationed at the Gatling Gun tower, both look down to Andrei. Andrei looks up at them, shouting, “Don't look at me! I have no fucking idea what that was!”

Djura shouts back, “Stay on your toes! Could be a hoard of hunters for all we know!” Then Djura turns to Brador, “If it's a hoard, you're going to have a field day! Brador?”

Brador doesn't look excited at all. “I… have a terrible feeling in my gut. I don't know why. I should head down there and help Andrei out.”

Djura nods. “Gut feelings take precedence around here. Do whatever it tells you. That's the Powder Keg way.”

Brador smiles. Then they hear more noises, crashes and the like. Brador rushes to the ladder and begins his descent.

Andrei shouts from below again. “It sounds like a beast in there! But I hear screaming too!”

“So is it a bunch of hunters or a beast?!” Djura asks, shouting.

“I hear… hooves! And neighing and screaming!”

“Huh?! Are you saying someone is… horsing around in there?!” Djura jokes.

“That fucking sucked and you know it!” Andrei shakes his fist at Djura. “Horrible! Booooooo!!!”

Brador comes to Andrei’s side, having now climbed down to the plaza. He yells at Djura too, “I second that! Get off the stage before we throw tomatoes at you!”

“Neigh, I say! Neigh, I will not take my leave until I get my due payment for my performance! Ne-e-e-eigh!” Djura does his best impression of a horse, but it sounds like a donkey.

They all laugh. Still, despite them making merry of whatever is to come, Brador still can’t shake that dreadful feeling. He can't just laugh it off as he usually does.

Andrei comes close to Brador, losing that intimidating glare he was holding for the past several days. He speaks professionally, “Some Church hunters fight on horseback, yeah? That's the only explanation on what we're hearing, I think.”

“...Yeah.” Brador says, the mask slipping quickly as he swallows back tears.

“...Are you ok?”

“No,” Brador answers bluntly, “I… I hope it's not Ludwig in there. Please, anyone but him.”

“Hey,” Andrei pats his shoulder, “We've trained you for this. And you survived Suzie. Ain't nothing that can stop us, and if it really is Ludwig, it's three against one to wrangle him down. We've got this.”

Brador smiles lightly. “Thanks.”

Another crash, muffling whinnies and screaming. Then, a handful of beasts come scampering from that direction. With their tails tucked between their legs, on the night of the hunt no less, when their bloodlust should be insatiable. Even Rex and Diego, along with another beast marked with a collar and old hunters' gear, run past them in fright.

Andrei looks up at Djura. Djura looks down at them both. Brador looks between them. Their fears are mutual.

Andrei clears his throat, “The tripwires and explosives should be enough to stop whatever's coming-”

The doorway to Old Yharnam explodes in a spray of wood splinters and rubble. Whatever it is gallops and bucks through the debris, setting off the traps that the gang spent so much effort putting together- the flames do not slow it down. It whinnies so loudly that it's almost a howl. With a singed mane and blood oozing from the many small wounds over its body, it rampages around the entrance aimlessly, throwing its body around haphazardly as if it were rabid.

From the distance, it looks like a centaur, but a sick, twisted reimagining of such a magnificent creature. It has too many limbs to be considered a beast at all, but too beastly to be something else entirely. Hooves, claws, eight limbs in total- two pairs of hooved limbs, a vestigial pair of humanlike legs on its back, and a pair of bestial claws up front. Its head is that of a horse's, but if someone had stretched a skinned human face over it. A mouth is oddly attached to the right side of its neck. It still wears the robes of a proud Church Spartan, only wrapped around its thick neck. Its bridle and saddle straps are embedded uncomfortably into its skin, bleeding at the seams.

“What the…” Andrei gasps in horror, “What the fuck is that?!”

With no other hunters in sight, Djura comes rushing to his allies. He brandishes his weapon, his Stake Driver, and trusty blunderbuss. “I've never seen any beast like that before! How did a horse get Healing Blood in its system?!”

“Looks like one of the Church's horses too, with the robes and all!” Andrei points out. “But why's the horse wearing the robes, where's the rider?”

“Either way, it's a beast and it needs our help! C'mon, Brador!” Djura reaches over to Brador's shoulder, but he's not at his side. Brador has collapsed onto his knees, looking onwards at the beast, trembling. “...Brador?”

“...Ludwig…” Brador starts, “Why… Why couldn't you have stayed with us before…? Why did it have to come to this?” Then he reaches out with vacant eyes, pointing at the beast, “See…? That's his sword. His guiding moonlight. It's him. It's my big brother. He's with Astera.”

Djura gasps. He looks at the beast again. It has Ludwig's black hair for sure, but that unmistakable sword wrapped up on its back… the two mouths, the multitude of mismatched limbs… he covers his mouth in horror. “How…? How is that possible?”

Brador breaks down sobbing on his hands and knees. “Why…?”

He kneels in front of Brador, “Remember that promise I made, hun? We're gonna help Ludwig in any way we can. If not, we'll respect his wishes.”

Brador suddenly clutches Djura's shoulders, yanking him closer. His eyes are wide with tears as he whispers desperately, “Save them.”

“I will.” Djura stands up. He whispers something to Andrei. Andrei nods and runs back in the direction of Djura's house. He looks down at Brador with a soft smile. “Stay back for now, ok? This is well above your pay grade.”

Brador nods shakily.

Ludwig and Astera move closer to the plaza in their uncontrollable rampage. Their head tosses in one direction as the legs pull them in another, and their arms flail wildly. Djura approaches slowly with his hands out, and Brador can only watch in panic. It causes him to disregard what Djura told him, and he gets up to follow a short distance behind.

Djura speaks loud and clear. “Whoa, there!” That's enough to get the pair’s attention, although they're still uncontrollably twitching and kicking.

“Easy… easy… I ain't gonna hurt’cha…” Djura inches towards them, his goal being the bridle and reins that's still around Astera's head. “You're safe here, in Old Yharnam…”

For a moment, Ludwig and Astera come to a standstill, one eye staring blindly into the distance, and the other focused on Djura. Djura smiles, reaching out to Astera's snout, to allow the beast to sniff him.

“Y’see? Ain't got a thing to worry about with me,” Djura speaks softly, “Not an ill-meaning bone in my body. Easy…” He then reaches for the reins.

Brador is shocked at how quickly Djura could calm them. He steps out from behind the rubble in awe at Djura's unmatched skill. The moment Djura grabs the reins, the functioning eye of Ludwig sees Brador.

For a moment, the last sliver of humanity within him recognizes the scene before him: His little brother, witnessing what happened to them. Then, whatever remains of Ludwig is all swallowed up by raw instinct, emotion, and bloodlust.

Ludwig and Astera scream at once, rearing up and tossing their head back. Djura screams too as he's thrown up into the air like a ragdoll. “WOOOAH-!!!”

Brador helplessly screams. “LUDWIG! DJURA!”

Neither of them hear Brador. But Djura's sheer grip strength lets him hang on to the reins as he's being tossed about, and he lands squarely on his feet atop of the beast’s back.

“I'm sorry for what I'm about to do!” Djura says through gritted teeth, yanking on the reins and driving the pair into a pile of rubble, crashing into it. Their hooved limbs and clawed arms flail trying to pick themselves back up, to charge away and throw Djura off, but Djura remains steadfast.

Brador has to roll out of the way as the beast comes galloping at him, smashing headfirst into a collection of statues. Djura sees him briefly, ordering him with a booming voice, “GET OUTTA HERE!”

Brador has no time to respond as the beast scrambles back onto their hooves, and Djura redirects their rampage into a wall. He has to slide off the beast's back to avoid the impact, getting right into the danger zone where he could be trampled to death, but he's adept and quickly mounts them again. The beast now struggles to stand up, terribly bruised from the impacts.

It breaks Brador's heart to see Ludwig like this. To see what beasthood has finally done to him how horrifically he transformed after trying to contain it for so long. Even worse, how much pain he's in, either from the transformation itself, or… or how Djura, his dearly beloved, is the one hurting him directly.

After a painful struggle, Ludwig and Astera collapse with an agonized whinny, in a mess of blood and limbs, weakly trying to get the ground back under their hooves. Djura pants. “Alright… alright, you done yet? There's a whole lot more where that came from!” He shouts as if he had just slain a dragon, “Now stay down, while we try to figure out where to put you…”

That was over far too quickly, Brador thinks to himself. Ludwig and Astera have an unshakable will and strength, hence why the pair were always so close. Brador still has that cold chill down his spine, that unshakable feeling. “Djura, I don't think it's over yet.”

“Eh? Got another gut feeling-?!”

The beast springs up out of nowhere, many feet up into the air, and Djura experiences what it's like to be in zero gravity for a split second before coming crashing down with them. He screams as they fall together, and he braces himself as he collides with the beast's back.

The consciousness of the knight and steed may not be there, but the animalistic instinct to survive remains. They whip their head around, biting the reins, throwing Djura forward and off their back. Djura can't react as he's airborne, and the moment Djura is in front of them, the beast’s head shoots forward and clamps their jaws down on his left arm.

Djura screams in agony as his bones are crushed by their sheer jaw strength. It's raw, unfiltered, and his voice cracks as the pain forces the air out of his lungs. That scream will haunt Brador in his nightmares. He's paralyzed as he watches his beloved cry out, crumbling at the hands of his big brother.

The taste of blood on their tongue sends the beast into a frenzy. They bite down harder, their clawed hands reaching out to get a better hold of their prey, digging into Djura's sides and cutting into his skin, scraping against his ribs. Djura struggles, pulling his right arm back with hesitation in his face, and Brador hears a mechanical whirr and snap from Djura's weapon- the Stake Driver.

What is he planning to-!?

The weapon's steel stake launches into the beast's jaws, slashing open their mouth and splitting the cheek muscles, making it bleed and kindly cauterizing the wound simultaneously from the heat. With an agonized whinny, Ludwig and Astera release Djura, and he falls to the ground in a crumpled mess.

The sight of Djura alone spurs Brador into moving. He does not think, only sprints at Ludwig with his Bloodletter out. The beast snaps his head at him, and lowers their head to charge at him. What does he do? All of that training, wrestling with the scourge beasts, learning their language, doesn't apply here. This is a beast of a completely different level that Brador hasn't the faintest clue on how to handle. Brador nearly skids to a stop as fear overtakes him- but suddenly, the beast rears up, their head turning to the side to reveal something rather unexpected- an arrow, piercing the back of their neck.

Ludwig and Astera’s underside is wide open. Brador will not let this opportunity go to waste, despite knowing damn well who that arrow came from. All that matters now is saving Djura. Saving Astera. Saving Ludwig.

Brador leaps up, plunging his Bloodletter into the beast's belly with all of his might. They all scream, with Brador being the loudest of them all. He can hear guts squelch under the brass end of the Bloodletter.

“I'm sorry, Ludwig! I can't keep my promise! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-!” Brador yells, planting his heel into their chest, yanking the Bloodletter out in one smooth motion. The beast finally collapses, their head colliding with the ground.

Brador stumbles to his feet. He glances at his Bloodletter. The blood that it pulled out is misshapen, taking no defined form at all. Spikes protrude haphazardly from an amorphous mass, twisted and random. The blood seems to come alive as Brador shakes his weapon off, writhing as it soaks into the ground.

Then he looks back to Ludwig and Astera, having no idea if the Bloodletter actually killed them or not. He prays that it didn't, but a small part of him wants the misery to end, just as it did for Laurence.

A groan of pain snaps Brador back to reality. “Djura!” He gasps. He runs up to Djura, removing his belt to tie it around Djura's upper arm, stopping the bleeding as best he can. The wound is disgusting. Teeth marks reveal shattered bits of bone sticking out from flesh. Blood stains Djura's vest and cape where Ludwig's claws dug in, contrasted with the bright white of his ribs. But Brador can't help but be impressed at Djura's endurance- such injuries would make the average person pass out from shock.

“Djura?! Djura, I'm here now, you'll be ok!” Brador shakes him by the shoulder.

Djura groans. “Is Ludwig… is he…?”

Brador looks behind him. Ludwig and Astera are still breathing- but the man kneeling beside them is what makes Brador feel an indescribable, strong emotion. It's Simon, cradling their head. They glance at each other briefly, and the eye contact lasts just as long as they can tolerate the other's presence.

“Ludwig will be ok.” Brador says firmly to Djura and nothing more.

Simon and Brador work in complete silence, tending to the wounds of their loved ones.

Luckily, to break the tense silence, Andrei comes running up to the scene. “It’s… it's over already?!” Then he sees Djura and races up to him, “Shit, shit shit shit…!”

“He needs blood,” Brador says in a strangely calm way, “Or we need to amputate his arm. His hand and forearm are shattered.”

“No, no fucking blood…” Djura wheezes out, “Get that shit… away from me…”

“Your injuries are impossible to heal on their own,” Brador states, “And you've lost too much blood.”

“I'd rather… lose my arm… than…” Djura stops talking when he feels Andrei inject a blood vial into his thigh, “...Fuck you.”

“It's just enough to get your bones back in place and replace some of your lost blood, nothing more,” Andrei then pats Brador's back. “You're welcome.”

“Andrei… no more… coffee… for you… for the next month.” Djura groans in discomfort as the Healing Blood begins its grotesque work. His head nods off to the side, exhausted.

Brador cracks a light smile. Djura will be alright for sure now, keeping all of his limbs intact.

“Can you watch Djura for me? I have… business to attend to.” Brador asks Andrei.

“I've been taking care of Djura for as long as I've known him. He's in good hands.” Andrei reassures him.

Brador approaches Simon. He looms over the harrowed hunter, forgetting what he was about to say, as all of the memories flood back into his mind. All of those repressed memories, of him and Simon, being a strange item with shaky circumstances. It's a bittersweet nostalgia, filled with grudges and longing.

“...If you've something to say after all these years,” Simon mutters, “Leave it be. What matters now is Ludwig. That's the only reason why I've come to Old Yharnam.”

“It was you, wasn't it?” Brador starts, “You brought him here.”

Simon's head hangs low. “I couldn't let him go. This was the only option, so that he could continue living, upon the slim chance he retains his memories as a human.”

“...thank you.” Brador forces it out of his throat.

“What?” Simon stares up in indignant disbelief.

“I said, thank you,” Brador grumbles, scratching the back of his neck, “I tried convincing Ludwig to come stay with us before. I know he didn't want me to see him like this… and I need to know now, does he still want to live? Like this, with us? Whatever his wishes are, I will follow them.”

“Just… look at him, though. Him and Astera. What I did was a mistake. We should put them out of their misery in any case. This existence is painful.”

“Ludwig asked me to care for Astera… and besides, isn’t all existence painful, as it is joyous at times? How would we know joy without pain?”

“...that is… the most profound thing I have ever heard come out of your profane mouth.” Simon gawks.

“Are you taking a jab at my intelligence?”

“Yes I am, Mister Caveman, who cannot stop bonking his Bloodletter around as if he came from the Stone Age. All brawn, no brains.”

“And your skinny frame can't open a jar of pickles no matter how clever you may be, so really, who's loss is it?”

“Remember when you said you were illiterate before you met Laurence?”

“Why you-!” Brador nearly reaches out to choke him.

As if called by the drama, Andrei slides over. He does not question where this Simon guy came from, however, but addresses them both as he speaks, “Djura told me to fetch these for Ludwig and Astera. It should help calm them when they wake up.”

“Oh? Are they sedatives?” Simon asks.

Andrei opens up a satchel. It's full of sugar cubes.

“...you can't be serious,” Brador stares, “Djura sent you away… to fetch some goddamn sugar cubes while we were fighting for our lives.”

“Yep… his plan was to tame the beast with these, just as he does with bacon and his other beasts,” Andrei groans, “Who's to say it won't work, though?”

The beast stirs. They all jump, tense and ready for whatever is to come. But the beast only lifts their head, leaning towards the satchel of sugar, snorting.

“Well,” Andrei digs into the satchel of sugar, giving a handful to the beast, “There's our answer.”

“Ludwig? Ludwig, please, say something. Give us a sign…” Simon touches their mane, “Ludwig…”

The beast doesn't answer, only chewing up the cubes and pursing their lips. Chunks fall out of their split maw, then they lean down to pick up the pieces.

Brador observes them. Their head is tilted sideways, seemingly permanently, as if only one side of the beast is in control.

“...Astera.” Brador calls out softly.

And so the beast turns to him, knickering and immediately going to chew on Brador's sleeve, acknowledging him. Something in Brador breaks. He looks at Simon. Simon shares a similar reaction.

“Astera,” Brador rubs his hand across the horse’s nose bridge as he always did, “Where's Ludwig?” As if the steed could answer him in any meaningful way. Astera only raises his head to chew on Brador's beasthide garb.

“Brador…” Simon whispers, “I believe… he's gone now.”

“...I see.” Brador whispers back.

--- --- ---

Simon is stuck in Old Yharnam. After Ludwig and Astera were sent through the wooden floors, the stairway leading from the above ground chapel to Old Yharnam was destroyed. Andrei volunteered to help build a ladder and repair the building in whatever ways he can. Brador, not wanting to be anywhere near Simon but ultimately trusting him with Ludwig’s vessel and Djura, went with Andrei.

There are no stables in Old Yharnam, so the best Djura can do is clear out a shabby wooden house, moving the old furniture out to make room for the giant equine beast. Simon, wanting to help Ludwig in any meager way he can, now helps Djura out. Simon is utterly impressed to see Djura pulling around furniture with one arm, while his other is wrapped up in a cast and sling. Though, Djura tries to keep his work to a minimum to not rip his wounds open further.

Djura gets something off his chest when they're alone. “Simon. I know it's been a long while, but I wanna say I'm sorry for being such a rascal to you back in the day.”

“Is this about making fun of my bowblade? That was nearly a decade ago.” Simon questions.

“Yeah. I'm sorry, I really am,” Djura says sincerely, “I was ignorant back then. Nothin’ but a rowdy Powder Keg trying to fit in with the cool kids.”

An unexpected reaction from Simon- he smiles. “An apology is all I need to hear to let go of the past. Water under the bridge.”

They shake hands and go back to working in peace.

“Can I ask you something, Simon?” Djura speaks up.

“Mm?”

“Brador. The hatred between you two is so palpable you could cut it with a knife… What happened?”

“.......if I talk about it and it gets out, he will kill me.” Simon mutters.

Djura speaks up, even quieter than Simon is muttering. “So him being an assassin is true.”

“It is. He tried to kill me for speaking up against the Healing Church. I thought what we had was real, but no, it was only a seduction to bring me closer to his blade.” Simon states with a flat tone as he tries to keep his emotion out of it.

“Ah. Ok.” Djura gets the feeling that what Simon is saying isn't the full truth, but he won't pry any deeper. And he's sure if he asks Brador about it, he will say something wildly different from Simon. Things like this are always messy.

“Now, forgive my language Djura, but what the fuck do you see in him?” Simon says with a deep hatred, but it's not directed at Djura at all.

“I've been told that my standards are so shallow that not even a mouse can drown in them,” Djura lifts up a box with one arm, “But! Really, a man loving me back and wholly accepting me for who I am is more than I could ever ask for. I could never find that in any random man I slept with.”

“...wow. But that's not the shallowest I've heard. At least your standards are founded in romance.”

“Eh, that's not entirely true. I fell for Brador at first because of his hairy tits.”

Simon nearly trips facefirst at that confession. He already knew it was true, but he never thought Djura would just say it outright.

Eventually, the pair clear out the space. All that's left is to make sure Astera fits inside. Simon guides him into the humble abode by the reins, then removes the embedded bridle after some struggle. He does the same with the saddle.

“Well? Whaddya think? Sorry there's no hay to soften the floors for you, but once we can get outta Old Yharnam again, I'll be sure to get bales upon bales for ya.” Djura says to Astera. Again, as if the horse has anything meaningful to say.

The beast finds the pile of old blankets and rags for a makeshift bed, tucking his numerous legs under himself and laying his head on the ground. He's beyond exhausted, pulling around two bodies and all.

“I think he likes it.” Djura nods at Simon.

Simon smiles. “Yeah. That's the least we could do for Ludwig. He would want nothing but the best for Astera. Oh, I should tell you, his favorite treats weren't sugar cubes, but apple flavored caramels.”

“Really? Like the…” Djura's face falls, “Like the ones Ludwig packed up for Brador?”

“...yeah,” Simon looks at Astera up and down, “I think it would be a good idea to take off Ludwig's old clothes.”

“Ah, for sure. Here, help me out.”

The two of them start shuffling off Ludwig's robes and such from Astera. The beast rests peacefully as they do, that is, until Djura's hand grips the handle of the sword strapped to his back. Astera turns at Djura, nipping at his hand, and guarding over the sword by biting its wrapped-up blade.

“Whoa whoa whoa, that's dangerous! You could hurt yourself!” Djura pulls the sword away from Astera, but the steed remains stubborn. Eventually, the horse swings his head around as gently as he can to push Djura away.

Simon groans. “Astera, you've no use for it anymore. The moonlight only guided Ludwig and no one else…” He says more gently now.

Astera doesn't budge, whinnying at them and continuing to guard over it.

“Hey, c'mon!” Djura scolds him, “Simon’s right! I dunno about the moonlight guidance thing, but you're a horse! You don't need a sword!”

In an act of defiance, Astera pulls the sword from his back, and tucks it under his six legs.

“Wow.” Simon gawks.

“Fine. You win. Keep the sword.” Djura grumbles at the horse. Astera neighs in his face.

Chapter Text

Astera is a disturbingly smart horse.

The horse beast moves mindfully, lifting whatever limb needed so Simon can tend to his wounds the best. He pointed with his humanlike arms when Brador offered him either a carrot or an apple (he chooses apples over carrots every time). He reacted with visible excitement when Djura was talking to Brador, about if it would be alright to put Astera to work around Old Yharnam, as there's nothing worse than a bored horse, especially one of Astera's mixed breed. He even neighed with the conversation as if to say he'd love to lug around wagons full of gunpowder.

Simon was the first to notice. While he could leave Old Yharnam at any time now that there's a ladder in the shabby chapel, he decided to stay for some time to help take care of Astera. It's the least he could do for Ludwig now. He found it interesting that despite the sudden jump in intelligence, Astera's front limbs that were once Ludwig’s arms are uncoordinated and clumsy. He brought it up to Djura, who agreed with him and added on his own anecdotes. Brador noticed sometime after Simon, but didn't bring it up, because he genuinely believed he was seeing things until Djura told him about the horse's behavior.

But if there's anything that all three of them noticed, it's that Astera is highly protective of Ludwig's Guiding Moonlight. The horse is constantly rubbing the sword with his lips, as if he were preening it. He almost seems desperate in doing so. He spends much of his time staring at the wrapped-up blade, unsure of what to do with it.

However, with the context of Astera and Ludwig’s transformation, the fact that a horse is now more spatially and cognitively aware has horrific implications that nobody wants to think nor talk about. They are all thinking the exact same thing, though. It stomps out every last hope that both Brador and Simon had of ever talking to Ludwig again. Especially with that odd mouth hanging from the side of the beast’s neck, where Ludwig's head probably was as they turned together.

It's also been stressful for everybody. Djura's arm is still in a cast, and while he still has the energy to work, Andrei and Brador have been insistent that he rests. Djura ended up compromising with them, so now he can at least work on his garden, so they have good quality veggies to eat. Simon is doing everything in his power to stay at least 50 meters away from Brador at all times, and they have practically been circling around each other as they wait their turn to spend time with Astera. Djura also granted Simon the old house across the street from his own for the time being, the same house that Brador stayed in when he first came to Old Yharnam. That crusty old bed is the closest Brador and Simon will ever get to sharing a mattress again.

And of course, worst of all is the conflicting interests of Ludwig. Ludwig made it very clear that he wanted Astera to live after he passed on. Ludwig also made it very clear that he'd hate being a beast. Ludwig and Astera share the same body. Astera shows no signs of distress or pain despite the horrific transformation. Djura, who is well versed in animal and beast behavior, confirmed this after a long physical examination. He explained that beasts in pain will scratch and gnaw at themselves from their transformation, and Astera only licks his wounds from his old riding gear.

Now that Astera still lives, Simon is wracked with guilt that he couldn't put down Ludwig on that fateful night, and Brador is upset that neither he nor Djura could convince Ludwig to live in Old Yharnam before. Now to Brador, Ludwig is dead, and Astera only wears his face. Brador can't bear to look at it. The past few days since Ludwig’s transformation have been absolutely miserable.

This is the mess that Eileen the Crow walks into. She's always cleaning up after other people's messes, except for Henryk, who is an exceptionally well put together man who can take care of himself. She's tired of it, but her love and concern for Djura completely outweighs it, and she owes it to Simon for keeping her up to date with the Church and its blood-drunk hunters.

Eileen steps into the makeshift stables. She finds Simon, leaning against Astera's many legs, brushing the beast's overgrown mane.

She has to stand there for a few moments to collect herself. She nearly unsheathed her Blade of Mercy out of sheer habit at the sight of such a mangled beast. But seeing how calm Astera is, as well as Simon, puts her at ease.

“So, this is what has become of The Holy Blade.” Eileen remarks, though it's lacking in her usual dry sarcasm. She almost sounds mournful.

Simon shakes his head. “He's not here anymore. Just his horse. Or… for the most part, just his horse. I'm afraid his consciousness is…” Simon pauses to find the right way to put it, “No longer his own.”

Eileen has to pause again to process it all. “I can't believe that's possible. But that thing has too many limbs to be a single creature. Why are you letting it live?”

“Djura gave it a physical examination. He said the horse is in no pain. And… Brador said that Ludwig told him to take care of his steed, should he pass away.” Simon states as a matter of fact.

Eileen nods slowly. “You're between a rock and a hard place, I see.”

“I just wanted Ludwig to rest in peace…” Simon puts the brush down, leaning on Astera's neck, “Eileen, what have I done…?”

“You're only human, Simon. Even I slip up at times. For example… If Henryk ever slipped out of my grasp, I too would hesitate. You saw an opportunity for Ludwig to continue living. You took it. I don't blame you.” She says gently.

“...I really thought you would come here to finish the job yourself.” Simon admits quietly.

“If Djura says it's not in pain, then I believe him. When it comes to critters, I trust his judgment above all. Besides… If I really wanted to finish the job, there wouldn't be a single beast left in Old Yharnam.” She says coldly.

Simon subconsciously leans further against Astera, almost protectively.

She sighs. “Should it ever come to that, I won't make you do it. Allow me to put him down.”

“No. I'm the one who did this to him. I should be the one to atone.”

“He did this to himself, the stubborn fool. I saw him, how he gave you puppy eyes as he begged for his life. Could've fooled me ten years ago when I was softer.” Her dryness comes back.

Simon lets out a half-hearted chuckle. “I did what I could to help him. Allegedly, Brador also tried convincing him to stay in Old Yharnam.”

“No one wants to let the poor brute go, eh?” She sighs, “I can understand. His kindness is two in a million, the other one being Djura.”

“He is a ray of light to all of us.”

Silence falls upon them.

Eileen leans against the doorway, thinking for a while, and speaks from not her heart, but her stomach, “I know Djura doesn't grow chickpeas here, but do you suppose I could substitute them with pinto beans in falafel?”

Simon stares at her. “Are you… are you offering to make falafel because I'm here? For me?”

“Did you want something else?”

“No I…” Simon smiles lightly, “I'm touched, truly, but I have to turn your offer down.”

“Oh? Simon the Harrowed, turning down one of his favorite comfort meals?”

“Falafel is not spicy enough and I want to see Brador cry.” He smiles slyly.

Eileen breaks out a chuckle. “I don't think he will fall for my tricks again and Djura will be rather upset with me when he finds out I'm picking on his most beloved mongrel.”

Simon laughs too. “It was worth a shot. Anyway, I suppose any beans will do, but it just won't be the same… Hm…” He taps his chin, “But we would still have to wait for the beans to soak. It would take too long and I'm feeling rather impatient and indecisive.”

“A serious conundrum we're dealing with, I see. Since you cannot decide, I will cook what I'm personally craving.”

“Curry?”

“No. For once…” She looks up to the sky, “I want comfort. I want jollof.”

---

Djura is humming a tune to himself, plucking tomatoes with his good hand and tossing them into the basket. Brador tries to work ahead of him, grabbing as many as he can so Djura doesn't have to harvest so many. Of course, Djura knows what Brador's trying to do, and he's swooning at Brador's dedication.

“You've gotten quite good at picking tomatoes.” Djura comments.

“All thanks to your guidance, Djura.” Brador says without much emotion. The stress recently has been eating at him like crazy, and Djura notes that Brador has been acting like this since that horrific night. It's no wonder why.

Djura leans in closer to Brador, giving him a short kiss on his cheek. Brador stiffens up, looking at Djura, and the tenseness in his face softens. “Darlin'... Why don't we take a break?” Djura suggests.

“But we need to eat. And I can't let you do all the work.”

“You're hurtin’ so bad right now. Look at you…” Djura says softly, touching Brador's cheek.

Brador leans into it, closing his eyes. “I'm not the one with the broken arm, though.”

“You're going through a lot right now.”

“I'm trying to distract myself. Just leave the harvesting to me.”

“It's only a simple task. I'll be fine. I ain't using my other arm.”

“Djura, sit your crazy arse down and let me harvest them.” Eileen’s voice rings out of nowhere.

The men whip their heads around- Eileen is right next to them. Djura stammers and tears his hand away from Brador's cheek, “W-When did you get here?!”

“A little while ago. Now shoo, I need tomatoes to make what I want for lunch.” She swats Djura away, and of course he scampers off to the corner and sits down immediately.

Brador is left staring up at Eileen. Eileen stares back down at him. She looks at the basket he has- mostly tomatoes, some onions, garlic, and bell peppers. She nods, “Tomato soup?”

“Yeah…” Brador shrinks back, “Djura said it's easy to make. Won't be much trouble for lunch.”

“Perfect. I can use those same vegetables as the base for my jollof,” She kneels beside Brador, “Perhaps we can have both for lunch.”

“Sure, I guess.”

Djura can smell the tension between them. It's killing him, but he's intrigued enough to sit there and watch.

Eileen is plucking the tomatoes far faster than Brador can. In fact, she gets so ahead of him that she takes the basket with her, and Brador gives up entirely. In a matter of minutes, the basket is filled with enough tomatoes to feed her, Brador, Djura, Andrei, and Simon at least two portions of soup each. Of course, she doesn't plan to use it all for tomato soup.

Before she leaves, she points at Brador. “You, boy.”

“Me?” Brador points at himself nervously.

“Get in the kitchen and help me.”

“I-I don't know how to cook-”

“Eileen!” Djura exclaims, “Leave him alone. He's been through more than enough recently.”

Eileen turns to Brador. “Do you want to eat or not?”

Brador opens his mouth to protest, then his stomach growls. He hasn't eaten since yesterday from being too stressed out.

Eileen speaks up again, “Do you want to feed your beloved? Make sure he's happy and full after everything that's happened? After everything that he's done for you? Look at him, he can't cook in that state his arm is in. He deserves a break.”

Brador looks to Djura with puppy eyes. Djura's expression can only be described as, yes, Eileen has a point. Yes, Djura deserves more. He deserves better. He turns back to Eileen and grumbles, “Yes ma'am.”

---

Their fur garbs and feather coats have been hung to the side, away from the food. Brador has been given the Herculean task of washing the vegetables. Once they're squeaky clean, he hands them to Eileen, who chops them precisely and tosses them onto a baking tray.

“To make things easier, we will roast all of the vegetables together,” Eileen explains to him, “After they're done roasting, we will grind and mash them into a paste. Then, we will add vegetable broth and create the base for both dishes. Afterwards, we will split the base proportionally. The smaller portion will go to the jollof, where I'll add vegetable broth and rice. The other will go to the tomato soup, where you will also add vegetable broth, as well as cream and such.”

She continues, “The jollof won't be perfect, since we're trying to save time by roasting all of the vegetables together instead of frying the raw paste in oil. I'll cook beef in it with the rice, too. It's hard to find goat meat around here.”

“Eileen…” Brador starts with suspicion, “What's the real reason why you wanted me alone with you again?”

“You've made it clear that you will stick with Djura until the end. You should learn how to cook at the very least.” She states simply.

“He could easily teach me how to cook instead,” Brador immediately points out, "Don't lie to me or take that damn mask off.”

“Then why hasn't he taught you anything? Oh poor Djura, babying the Church Assassin…” She mocks him.

Brador just clenches his jaw and says nothing.

Eileen then takes a deep breath, removing her mask and hooking it on her belt. “I want the best life for Djura. You will learn to provide that for him. I refuse to let him lug around another burden.”

“...another burden?”

She side eyes him. “Am I wrong?’

“Completely and utterly.” He replies coldly.

“You can kill as many hunters as you want for him, carry around as many barrels of gunpowder as you want for him, but should he fall ill, who will care for him? Keep him fed and wash his sheets?”

“Andrei. Andrei will.” Brador replies like a smartass.

“You're missing the point, boy.”

“I am missing it, because what else am I supposed to do?” He grumbles, “Djura is so talented, so brilliant, there's not a thing he can't do. I watched him yesterday- he calmed Astera so easily, then rode the beastly horse as if he were straight from the Americas- and I could do nothing. He saved Astera and Ludwig for me. All I'm good for is doing the dirty work of others. Like washing your goddamn vegetables!” He raises his voice at her.

Eileen studies Brador's face calmly. He can see a glint behind her eyes. “You truly think so lowly of yourself?”

“Don't you?” Brador glares at her, “Doesn't everyone? You won't stop hounding at me for being with Djura and my Church ties, Andrei won't stop looking at me like some kind of scumbag out of the corner of his eye, fuck it- and Simon's here too! Even Ludwig told me I couldn't handle the truth about what was happening to him. The only person foolish enough to look past my intrinsic worth is Djura! And even then, he still coddles me! It doesn't take a genius to realize that just about everyone looks down on me, and it's for good reason. Even Laurence did… we all have our place in this world, and mine is beyond the bottom of the barrel.”

Eileen is silent as Brador gets right back to cleaning the vegetables, treating them rather abrasively, visibly upset in his expression. Things are starting to make sense to her about Brador as a person, beyond what Simon or Djura has told her.

She and Brador are far closer in their stories than she thought.

“... It's hard to get out of that mentality,” Eileen starts, “I was told by the people around me, when I was a little girl, that my place in the world was to be looked down upon and remain impoverished. I believed it myself.”

Brador doesn't react, other than tilting his head slightly in her direction.

“We were treated with scorn and hatred for being foreigners, even more so for our skin. It was hard enough living on the streets. I thought there was something wrong with my mother and I, with how often Yharnamites threatened us as if we were the devil,” She pushes the knife down on the onion with a palpable anger, “And that treatment has not stopped. Should I take this mask off in the central city, I would be treated no differently than a beast.”

“No matter what I would do, the Yharnamites would always consider me lower than them. There was nothing I could prove to them. I wanted to be accepted by them so badly, by someone, anyone, in the absence of my mother…” She inhales deeply, “But when I met my mentor, that strange man with a cape of crow feathers… He told me that my worth is not decided by their judgment. It's what I made of myself and the mark I leave in this world.”

“And what's your true worth?” Brador boldly interrupts her.

“I had a rare talent. A talent that made me believe that there was some merit in Yharnamites treating me like the devil,” She splits a bell pepper in half and rips out its insides, “I could watch the life in someone's eyes drain and shed not a tear. My mark on this world is making this godforsaken city safer, one dead madman at a time. And the Yharnamites would have no idea it was that same little foreigner girl they heckled. But that's alright with me. I don't need them praising me to know that I'm an adept and cunning assassin. The crows being fed every night is all I need to know that.”

“But then, I learned that I'm more than just an assassin. Gascoigne and Viola can sleep at night in peace. Henryk can look forward to seeing me after a long hunt. Djura can wake up in the morning after tirelessly protecting his beasts, and find a meal cooked just for him. I leave a mark not only in this world, but in others’ lives, as friends and family. So sure, people can treat you like rubbish. And in some cases, some of your worth can be gauged by others’ praises or criticisms. But those words of theirs mean nothing compared to your own actions and intentions. I can look back at everything I've done and see the good it has left in the world.”

Brador doesn't respond. He thinks, staring into the muddled water of dirt and leaves, emptied of its vegetables.

He never had praise growing up. He yearns for it more than anything. Why are he and Eileen so different then, both having grown up in poverty and having to fight for their lives on the streets? Was it because Eileen had a mother, despite her passing away when Eileen was so young? Or was it because she had the first Hunter of Hunters, and Brador had the first Vicar of the Healing Church?

And would he be proud of the mark he's left on this world?

“So Brador, I present to you a question: What's your true worth? Will you let others’ perceptions of you bog you down, or will you step up and make them eat their own goddamn words?”

“You're asking me to prove you wrong.” Brador states.

“I would love for you to, boy,” She puts down the kitchen knife and steps away from the cutting board, “Prove to me that you're not a burden. Prove to me that you can learn to care for Djura and yourself.”

Brador gives her a look- determination? Offense? Suspicion? It doesn't matter. He grasps the knife handle, lining it up with a tomato, and slices it in half.

Eileen chuckles. “You're supposed to cut off the stem first.”

“Shut up!”

---

Djura walks into his house to hear bickering. Unusual bickering, between Eileen and Brador.

“Seriously, lady?!” Brador groans, “Be straight with me, what the fuck do you mean by ‘enough’?!”

“I can't tell you how much black pepper is enough. Whatever amount is enough.” Eileen is leaning against the counter, far from the action, and eating her own bowl of beautiful, fragrant jollof.

“Just- just give me an estimate! How many teaspoons?!” Brador yells at her.

Eileen shrugs. “Taste it until it's right,” Then she mutters under her breath, “Who the hell measures seasoning like that?”

“Why don't you come over here and taste it and tell me if it's right?” Brador says passive aggressively.

“I'm busy.” She eats a spoonful of jollof.

“Oh my fucking God…” Brador groans, dipping a spoon into the pot and licking it. He smacks his lips. “Hm…”

Djura comes up behind him, taking the spoon from him and licking it. He too smacks his lips before handing it back to Brador, “Tell me what you think first.”

“I think… It needs more salt,” Brador says hesitantly, “Right?”

Djura nods. “I agree. You know what would be even better, though? You grate Parmesan cheese into it instead of salt. The cheese has more flavor, and it's already salty.”

Brador nods slowly. “That makes sense.”

Djura pecks him on the cheek. “I'll get Eileen out of your hair. Shout if you need help, ok?”

“I don't have to do anything besides adjust the flavor, right?”

“Mhm.” Then, Djura notices the nearby pot of jollof on the back of the stove. He tries to retrieve a bowl from the cupboards, but Brador reaches ahead of him, taking the bowl, and scooping Djura a serving.

“I'll take care of you today.” Brador says softly, handing him the bowl.

“Brador…” Then Djura smiles wide, “Thank you.”

Djura shuffles away, tugging Eileen by her sleeve and getting her out of the kitchen, out of Brador's earshot.

“I know what you're going to say,” Eileen starts as she sits down, “I'm being too harsh on him.”

“No, no, you're right, he needs to learn how to cook. I just haven't had the chance to show him,” Djura waves her off, “I've mainly focused on teaching him how to handle the beasts and the physical labor around here.”

“Mm. I see. Well… he's doing better in the kitchen than I expected. He was doing well until we got to the measurements. He thinks I'm messing with him.” She chuckles.

Djura laughs. “I don't measure either. Just throw enough pepper in until it feels just right.”

“Right? Measurements only apply to baking, not cooking.”

“I suppose you could have him follow a cookbook instead of you instructing him from memory. I've noticed it makes things easier for him with direct instructions like that.”

“Ah, I see…” Eileen nods, “In any case, he needs more experience in the kitchen.”

“Oh, for sure.” Then Djura takes his first bite of Eileen's jollof. Mildly spicy, but with vibrant flavors. The tang of the tomatoes, robustness of the onions and garlic, and distinct roasted flavors make him smile ear to ear. The fresh thyme on top and the subtle hint of bay leaves and other spices are simply wonderful. The rice itself is fluffy and not oversaturated with sauce.

Eileen smiles softly. “How has Brador been treating you?”

“Great! He's been going out of his way to take care of me recently…” Then Djura sighs, “But I can see how stressed out he is. About Ludwig, I mean. I'm sure you've seen him already.”

“I'm shocked the beast is still alive. Simon told me only the horse is left.”

“I'm afraid so…” Djura puts his spoon down after a few more bites, “Seeing Brador hurting so bad over it… it's hurting me too, y’know? There's not much I can do other than comfort him, and even then, Brador's… he's been acting cold, despite taking care of me. Speaking of that-”

“He gave me some attitude today, yes. I'll be kinder to him today.” Eileen replies.

“...” Djura is quiet for a while before he decides to speak up, “He's lost so many people. He told me before that he lost two close friends of his named Maria and Adeline. Then he lost the Vicar. And now… Ludwig. And he was an orphan, too. Brador's been through so much.”

“So have you, Djura. How many have you lost?” Because of Brador’s compliance and actions, Eileen thinks to herself.

“I mean, ain't that why we're working through the grief together? It's something only we can understand. …Along with many other people, but I digress.”

Eileen nods. “I'm happy he's opening up to you.”

Brador then comes around the corner with a spoon. “Hey Djura, could you taste the soup for me?”

“Oh, of course! You didn't have to bring it over here-” But Brador comes over and hovers the spoon by Djura's mouth. Djura relents with a smile and tastes it. It's a bit too creamy for a classic tomato soup, but the flavors are bold and bright. “It's good! I think it's ready to serve for everyone.”

“But do you like it?” Brador asks with puppy eyes.

“Do I like it?”

“That's all I care about. I want it to cater to you. I don't give a shit about the others.”

Djura's heart flutters. “Y-You’re making it just for me?”

Brador's eyes are soft. “It's the least I can do for you.”

Eileen sits there stone-faced, swallowing down her vehement hatred for such sickeningly sweet sappiness. Especially from someone as dastardly from Brador, towards someone as precious to her as Djura!

Djura looks like he's holding something back. His eye darts between Brador and Eileen. The gears in his mind are churning as he considers what he wants, what everyone else would want, if he should honor the classic tomato soup, and the fact that there's already another dish in the form of jollof and beef that everyone else can enjoy. A little devilish voice in his head tells him to be selfish for once in his life. He then whispers to Brador, “Can you put a whole ball of mozzarella and a wedge of Parmesan reggiano in it?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not, Djura!” Eileen gasps in horror.

“This is my goddamn house and I can do what I want, Eileen! Actually, you know what?” Djura holds Brador's cheek and kisses it, “I also have asiago and cheddar in my cellar. Add some too.”

“If you want cheese soup then make cheese soup, not ruin the tomato soup!” Eileen scolds him.

“I'm a grown fucking man and I have a broken arm, let me live!” Djura whines.

“How about I just split the soup in half and add all of the cheese to one? Just for you?” Brador suggests.

“Oh. Yeah that works. You're a genius!” Djura pipes up.

“Ugh.” Eileen groans.

---

Eileen and Andrei look upon Djura in disgust. Even Brador seems mildly concerned, but he's satisfied to see Djura happy nonetheless. Djura's soup is nowhere near the shade of rich reddish-orange that a tomato soup should be. It's a goopy cheese soup that just happens to have some tomato in it. As Djura dips his spoon in and out of his concoction, the cheese stretches up and away from the bowl.

“...” Djura stares at them all.

“...” Everyone stares back.

“I really like cheese. Ok?” Djura states.

“I know, Djura. I know.” Andrei states back.

Brador clears his throat, coming to Djura's defense. “Your body is most likely craving cheese because it contains large amounts of calcium. You need it to heal your broken bones.”

“Oh, that makes sense…” Andrei strokes his beard in thought.

“Thank you, Brador. Thank you.” Djura crosses his arms and nods.

“Alright, but,” Andrei objects, “Have you seen Djura around anything with cheese? He cannot behave. Cheese fondue, gibianca, tortellini… I once caught this rat bastard with an entire block of feta cheese. In his mouth.”

“In my defense! Cheese is tasty!” Djura pouts.

“You do not understand the horrors of lactose intolerance.” Eileen laments.

“Leave him alone, let him enjoy his cheese.” Brador lightly scolds them as he starts eating his own soup. He's happy with how his tomato soup turned out- but he dares not to touch Djura's. He then tries some of the jollof. To his surprise, it's nowhere near as spicy as the curry Eileen served him last month. But otherwise, it's a warm and vibrant dish, and the chunks of beef makes him very happy.

“Fine, I'll leave Djura and his cheese soup be.” Then Eileen tastes the tomato soup, and her eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. She doesn't say anything to Brador, but she keeps eating without complaining. That alone tells Brador that she likes it, and that makes him smile slyly. Andrei on the other hand, is gobbling it up between mouthfuls of Eileen's jollof.

“You should be proud of yourself Brador, this is excellent!” Djura smiles, “It warms my heart. It's got a homemade love to it.”

“I…” Brador almost looks teary-eyed, “Thank you.”

“Your regular tomato soup without all the cheese is good too.” Andrei says neutrally.

“Wow. Thank you too. Really.” Brador says, surprised.

They all eat in relative peace until they hear a voice outside, and something shuffling at the window. The sound of hooves on the cobblestone is distinct. Andrei is the one who stands up and unlatches the window and boards.

They all see Simon trying to shove Astera away from the window. “Please stop, you stole my lunch, there's no need to steal theirs too!”

Astera is too strong, and without a bridle, he's impossible to control. The horse beast sticks his head into the window, blocking Simon out. Simon manages to peek his head in the corner of the window, “I'm so sorry Eileen, after you dropped off my food, he ate it all, and he wants more!”

“Ah,” Eileen nods, leaning away from the beast’s direction, “Both the jollof and the soup?”

“Yes!” Simon cries.

“Oh no,” The color drains from Djura's face, “Horses can't eat tomatoes, let alone all of that seasoning in both dishes. Oh God, there's onions in them too! Astera just ate fuckin’ onions!”

“I mean. He's also a man-horse. Maybe their combined digestive systems will even it out,” Andrei shrugs, “He seems fine. And besides, the tomatoes are cooked. They should be safe to eat.”

Astera neighs in response to Andrei as if to confirm he's fine.

“Please, I don't want to think about that fact…” Simon buries his face in his hands.

But then, Brador walks over to the window, carrying the pot of tomato soup. He lifts it to Astera and lets the horse eat directly from the pot. Everyone gasps in horror. But Brador smiles, “Remember what I said? We'd feed you three square meals a day if you stayed here, Ludwig. And look, I cooked this myself! Aren't you proud?”

Astera doesn't respond. Brador's expression sinks. “I guess you're gone for good, huh? At least Astera can enjoy it. You would've loved this, Ludwig.”

The horse beast finishes the pot, licking around it, before affectionately nuzzling Brador's face. He hugs the horse’s head. Brador makes brief eye contact with Simon and they both turn away from each other.

“I'll bring you a new meal, Simon!” Eileen shouts from the dining table.

“Please and thank you!” Simon shouts back.

---

Brador hugs Djura tightly from behind in bed, careful not to touch his healing arm and wounds. They're exhausted, almost sinking into the mattress as they let themselves go into the dream lands.

If only Brador's mind would rest as well. His thoughts keep him awake: his worries about Astera, his grief for Ludwig, and his anxieties surrounding the others, especially with Eileen and Simon. But there was some joy today too- he learned that he can cook, albeit with guidance. He fed Djura. Made him happy by cooking a meal just for him- and Astera liked the soup too. Does Djura experience this same elation whenever he cooks for Brador?

So much has happened in the past few days. It's just too overwhelming. Brador doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know if he wants to laugh, or cry, or scream and shout at the heavens.

“Hey, Djura?” Brador whispers, shakily.

“Zzz…” Djura has been snoring for a long time now.

“You did your best to save Ludwig. I don't know what I would have done in your place. You're amazing. Thank you,” Brador confesses, “I'm so weak. I stood there and did nothing. You got hurt because of me. I don't know if I can ever repay you for what you've done for me.”

“Zzz…”

“I know you don't think of me as a burden. You love me. Taking care of loved ones is an act of love in itself,” Brador slips his hand under Djura's cast, resting his palm over Djura's heart, “But I can't help but feel that way. Even if I cook for you. Even if I kill for you. Even if I prove Eileen wrong a thousand times over. You've gone above and beyond for me, time and time again.”

“Zzz…”

“Why can't I be more like you, Djura? Why can't I be as talented and hardworking as you?” Brador sighs, “Why do you love me? You wanted a partner, to see eye to eye with. But I could never be at the very top of the world where you are.”

“...”

“It's funny. I saw Laurence the same way. He would be tirelessly working in his laboratory, researching the Healing Blood… ways to amplify it. Ways to extract its beneficial properties without the beasthood. And I… I could only clean things up for him. Get my hands dirty only for him. I felt like so little compared to him, no matter what I did. For he was better than me in every way, and so are you.”

“...”

“Eileen told me that my worth shouldn't be based on what others think of me, and that I should prove them wrong. How can I prove you wrong when you love me, Djura? And when the simple fact is that you're an incredible person, how can someone like me live up to you as an equal?”

“...Brador.” Djura speaks up softly.

Brador jolts in surprise.

“I dunno how much I actually heard of that, but I'm pretty sure I got it all in my dream,” Djura turns himself around to face Brador, “I can't change the way you think, and I can't stop you from comparing yourself to others. But lemme tell you how I see you, darlin’.”

Djura cups Brador's cheek, “Not many people accept me for who I am. They think I'm weird for preferring to tinker with my machines over socializing. They think I'm even weirder for enjoying the company of critters over people, and they think the worst of me and the beasts. They don't care much for my passions nor my beliefs. But you? You care, wholeheartedly, never tellin’ me to stop rambling. Do you have any idea what that's done for me? Just having someone to spill my heart to? I feel safe around you, Brador. I feel like I can truly be myself.”

“And your loyalty and dedication to our cause! Brador, do you remember your first night of the hunt here? If you hadn't gone down there to protect Andrei, that beast wouldn't have made it to the morning. I didn't even have to tell you to do that. And now, you're following me around, giving us a helping hand with caring for the beasts. I find it hard to believe that you were with the Church with how much you love the beasts.”

“On top of that, you make me smile! The hilarious things that come out of your mouth- no matter how inappropriate and no matter how flustered they make me- they make my day. Just with you being around, you make my day. But your sense of humor, your playfulness and mischievousness, is something rare in this gloomy and maddening city. You're a shining treasure, Brador.”

“Brador…” Djura smiles with tears in his eye, “You may not see yourself this way, but I see nothing but a thoughtful, loyal, protective, funny, and loving man. It breaks my heart hearing you believe otherwise. You don't have to be like me to be a good person, darlin'. You're your own person with room to grow. And I've got my own shortcomings that I see in myself, but I know where my strengths lie. When I say I want a partner that I can see eye to eye with, I don't mean it like we should be equal in terms of our superficial attributes. I mean it like… we should be comfortable with each other, to communicate and be open with one another. That's how I feel with you. You're my partner, Brador. I love you.”

Brador can't respond. He sobs, hugging Djura, trying to hold back to not crush his arm. Djura lets his own tears fall as he snuggles Brador back, “You can tell me anything, ok?”

Brador nods. “I…” He swallows, “There's so much I want to tell you, Djura. But… I can't.”

“You can tell me whenever you're ready. Doesn't have to be now, doesn't have to be tomorrow. It can be a hundred years in the future if you really want.” Djura strokes down his back.

Brador remains silent. Then he speaks up, “What if there's some things I don't want to tell you at all? Is that still seeing eye to eye?”

Djura shakes his head. “There's some things about myself that I don't even wanna tell you. And that's ok. Some things are meant to be private. Maybe they're embarrassing, maybe…” Djura hesitates, “Maybe you fear that it'll change how your partner sees you. But I won't ever think less of you for something like that… all I ask is that you never lie to me.”

“Are you sure?” Brador asks with puppy eyes.

“...I'm sure.”

“O-Ok.”

Djura turns himself around. “Here, now you can snuggle with me without hurting my arm. C'mon.”

Brador clings to him from behind. Soon, his sobs subside, and with his mind eased, he falls asleep. But now, it's Djura who is kept up by his own thoughts. He can see clearly how Laurence made Brador so obedient towards him and the Healing Church, and why Brador will never tell him the truth of the Ashen Blood.

Chapter Text

Normally, Djura wakes up at around five or six in the morning. He springs up whenever the sun peeks over the horizon, and gets right to making coffee and breakfast. When he's awake, there's no chance of him falling back asleep.

Brador used to be the opposite, sleeping in long after the sun had risen. And even then, he'll lounge around in bed until noon before he actually gets ready for the day. But now that he's been living with Djura for at least two months now, his circadian rhythm has adjusted to match Djura's. Even better is that Brador's poor sleeping habits have shifted for longer hours instead of constantly waking up in the middle of the night.

This morning however, Brador wakes up first at the first light of dawn. Djura is still asleep, clearly exhausted from the past couple of days, and his injuries from Ludwig and Astera.

Brador touches Djura's cheek. Djura doesn't stir at all, deep in his dreams and snoring away. Djura looks so peaceful. Brador is used to seeing a restless man who can't stop himself from working, with a thousand thoughts in his head at a time.

As much as Brador wants to lie back down and cuddle his beloved, the day needs to get started, and there's too much work to be done.

Besides, he needs to distract his mind. He'll do just about anything to forget the past few days, but it's too early for alcohol.

He rolls out of bed, shuffling on a fresh shirt and trousers, and slipping on his fur garb and hood over it. He shuffles downstairs to the kitchen. Making coffee is easy. Djura keeps a jar of the ground beans by the cupboards, and all Brador has to do is scoop some out and pour boiling water over it in a filter. He's made coffee many, many times before. He doesn't consider it cooking, like most people. He makes one mug for himself, straight black, and another for Andrei, one sugar cube but no cream.

Making tea is a little harder. While Djura only has one kind of coffee, he has many kinds of tea. It's up to Brador to decide what Djura will be drinking this morning, and despite living in Yharnam for so many years, he hardly knows a goddamn thing about tea. If only Lady Maria were here to scold him about the difference between black and green tea.

Each unlabeled tin of tea is haphazardly sorted and Brador is unsure of what is what. So, he takes every individual box, opens them up, and sniffs them. He's looking for something with a pep in its step, something bright and lovely, an energy to match Djura's. He smells one that's flowery- certainly jasmine, but to him it reminds him of old croons. He smells another one- sharp but refreshing, it must be lemon and ginger, but it's best to be saved for a cold or nasty hangover. Then he smells another- it's robust and earthy, it's a classic and familiar English Breakfast tea.

After smelling a few more, Brador finds one that smells bold, but with citrus notes. It even smells slightly smokey, or maybe he's just imagining things. After another sniff, he picks out that the citrus notes are precisely bergamot and orange. He peeks into the tin and notes that there's only a few spoons of tea leaves left- far less compared to the other tins. Djura must make this particular tea more often than the others, and Brador is willing to bet that it's his favorite too. Brador makes Djura his cup of tea and sets it aside to steep.

Now for the hard part: Actually making breakfast.

Yesterday wasn't bad at all following Eileen’s expert guidance to make the tomato soup. It came out delicious. With Djura's guidance, Brador is sure that he can make something, but of course Djura is fast asleep. Brador would never disturb Djura for something so trivial.

Brador then remembers that Ludwig dropped off his cookbook. He picks it up from where Djura tucked it, among his other cookbooks, and flips it open. It's lovingly written in Ludwig's distinctly thick handwriting. Maybe he could make one of Ludwig's classic breakfasts.

…

Ah. Brador was supposed to use this moment to distract himself from Ludwig specifically, but now he can't think about anything except Ludwig.

…

Before anything can go horribly wrong, he finds his medications and swallows a pill with his coffee. He's well aware that taking his medications when he's already so stressed may screw with his appetite and mood, but he'd rather have that than hear Ludwig's voice from across the room. He also suddenly remembers that he's definitely not supposed to have caffeine with it, but fuck it. He buries his face in his hands, sighing deeply.

“So what's the medication for, anyway?” Djura's voice calls out from the staircase.

Brador jumps. He turns and looks- and Djura is physically there, coming downstairs in robes. Djura approaches him, putting a hand on his shoulder and kissing his cheek. “Good morning. I should've started with that, heh.”

Brador smiles, touching Djura's hand. It's so warm. “Good morning to you too. I've made tea for you already.”

“Oh!” Djura happily picks up the cup and takes a sniff. “Earl Grey. My favorite! You sure know me well.”

“I had a feeling it was.” Brador's heart swells. He sits down and gestures for Djura to sit across from him. Brador clears his throat, “Uh, anyway, to answer your question…” He hesitates.

“Go on…” Djura gestures his hand at Brador.

“I don't want to talk about it. Nevermind.” He mumbles, hugging his fur garb around himself.

“Like we were talking about yesterday, Brador, that's ok. Tell me when you're ready, whenever that may be. Or don't. That's alright with me.” Djura reassures him and sips his tea.

Brador smiles. “You're too kind for this world.”

“The world never liked me much for that.” Djura chuckles light-heartedly. He then glances at the cookbook on the dining table. “Did you want to make breakfast?”

“Ah, uh…” Brador scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah. I just… I…”

Djura nods, understanding at once. He slides Ludwig's cookbook towards himself, “Let's… let's make something else, yeah?”

Brador nods, looking downcast.

“Hey, chin up, darlin',” Djura reaches over, tilting Brador's chin up. That gets Brador's attention to snap right to him. “Let's make something real simple today, won't take more than an hour.”

“Like what?”

“Eggs, sausages, and hash.”

Just like that, Brador's expression lifts. There's a sparkle in his eyes now at the prospect of food. “Yum.”

Djura laughs. “C'mon, I'll show you. It's so easy, you'll get the hang of it, no problem.”

---

Djura was right, it is very easy. In fact, Djura made it even easier by skipping grating the potatoes, and just parboiling and chopping them into cubes. He guides Brador's hand, “It's easier to cut them by pushing forward instead of straight down. See? The knife glides straight through.”

“Can you show me how to cut it again?” Brador asks flirtatiously, not-so-subtly asking Djura to continue holding hands with him.

Djura chuckles. “I only have one hand right now. I need to flip the sausages.”

“Killjoy.” Brador sticks his tongue at him and keeps on cutting.

Djura turns the pork sausages, the sizzling sounds they make are simply delightful in the skillet. They have a nice, browned char to them as they fry in their own grease. It makes Brador lick his lips.

“See? Real easy. Then as the sausages are finishing, you move ‘em to the side and crack the eggs in,” Djura explains as he cracks two eggs in, “Just be careful not to get any shell in there. Oh, and save the eggshells! I like to mix them into the dirt or bake them for my chickens.”

“...bake them for your chickens?” Brador blinks.

“Oh let me tell you, chickens are little cannibalistic shits. So I have to crush and bake the eggshells into this amalgamation cake of oatmeal and wheat for them, so they don't recognize their own eggs as food, because they'll do that. I learned that the hard way!” Djura groans, “Besides! It's easier to give them calcium that way than cooking and grinding animal bones for them or getting my hands on good quality grit.”

“Interesting.”

“Anyway, sausages are done!” Djura piles them onto a plate, as well as the two eggs he cooked. He then hands Brador an egg, “You wanna try cracking the next set? Give it a good knock against the side of the pan.”

“Ok.” Brador immediately smashes the egg against the skillet in an artistic splatter. He stares, flabbergasted.

“...” Djura blinks, looking at the ruined egg and then back up at Brador. He hands him another egg. “Gentler. Try again.”

“Sorry.” Brador tries again, this time tapping the egg a few times before it cracks. He digs his thumbs into the crevasse, splitting it over the pan, but not without a few bits of eggshell. Brador looks disappointed with himself.

“Practice makes perfect, don't worry!” Djura picks out the shells with a spatula. “No one gets everything right on the first try. Now go on, crack another one.”

Brador cracks another egg with the same gentle tapping. He opens it far more easily than the previous, this time getting no shell bits in the pan. He smiles at himself. However, this time the yolk got punctured. “Aw…”

“Andrei likes his eggs over-hard. That one can be for him,” Djura says, patting his shoulder, “So it ain't a mistake.”

“Does anyone like shells in their eggs?” Brador quips.

Djura is about to respond with a quip of his own, then he pauses. “Actually. The beasts do. I give them whole and raw eggs.”

“They eat the shells willingly?!”

“Yep! Ho boy, there ain't much a beast will turn down. Some of them opt for vegetables, can you believe that?” Djura smiles, “They'll gnaw on raw carrots when they crave it.”

“Wow.”

After they fry up the rest of the eggs, Djura takes the chopped potatoes and dumps them in the pan. Instructing Brador to stir around potatoes is simple. Soon, they're all a crispy golden brown, flavored with a simple mix of salt, pepper, and minced garlic.

Now, there are four plates on the table. Brador has to do a second take- four plates? He counts them again just to be sure. Eileen left already, so who…?

“Alrighty, I'll bring these two to Andrei and Simon. I hope Simon likes our breakfast service here, heh!” Djura grins, “And our lunch and dinner service! Three square meals a day.”

“...oh. Fuck.” Brador's expression drops.

“What’s wrong?”

“Simon doesn't eat pork.” He states like he just angered his non-existent mother.

Djura tilts his head at Brador's tone. “Is it because he doesn't like the taste or…?”

“He's Jewish. He eats Kosher if he can.”

“...Fuck!” Then Djura gestures to the greasy pan, “And we literally cooked everything in the pork fat! Why didn't you tell me before?”

“I didn't think you were cooking for Simon too!” Brador argues back.

“He's a guest here and he's been helping us around here nonstop, of course I was!”

“But I haaate hiiim and I want him to staaarve!” Brador groans.

“Then you wouldn't be so concerned with the fact that we can't feed him this!” Djura immediately points out Brador's contradictory statement. He scrambles around, picking up a tray, placing Andrei's coffee and food on it. “Here, bring this to Andrei. I'll cook up something real quick for Simon.”

“Wait, where is his house? I've never been there before.”

“Oh, right. Hang on.” Djura opens the front door and whistles. He waits for a few moments until Diego shows up. The scourge beast sits dutifully at Djura's feet, waiting for a command.

“Hey, bud. Can you show Brador the way to Andrei's house?” Djura asks the beast casually.

Diego briefly glances at Brador, then gives Djura the stink eye as if this side quest isn't deserving of the beast's time. I'm a busy man on a schedule, Diego's eyes say. Brador is offended at the audacity. “Can Rex guide me instead?” Brador asks.

“To be blunt with you hun, Rex can navigate about as well as a pile of bricks in a mudslide.” Djura explains. Diego huffs in agreement. Then Djura asks the beast, “Alright. What do I gotta do to get you to help Brador out?”

Diego turns his snout towards Djura's cellar, huffing again. Djura sighs. “Fine.”

Djura heads down into his cellar, then comes back up with a chunk of dried beef liver. Diego's tail starts wagging like crazy. Djura tosses the beast his treat, and he catches it in his mouth, chomping it up happily. Djura holds up another piece, “Come back with Brador in one piece and this treat is yours.”

Diego barks at Brador and turns towards the street. Brador looks at Djura. Djura laughs, “You ain't got a thing to worry about. The beasts don't bother me with my meal deliveries, but they certainly won't bother you with Diego around.”

“Then why is he making that face?” Brador asks.

“Oh, he just looks annoyed all the time. And hey, I gave him a piece of liver. That's like a pinkie promise between us,” Djura reassures, “He is contractually obliged to help you now. He's got more honor than most hunters, really.”

“Alright, I'll take your word for it.” Brador kisses Djura on the cheek, and follows Diego out the door.

---

Diego couldn't be a more obvious example of a beast keeping their human intelligence. It makes Brador wonder if Ludwig somehow being alive in Astera's skull is a possibility, but that's a completely different case.

Diego walks alongside Brador, pointing with his snout where to go next. He is vigilant, and his overall air reminds him of Andrei. He even has the same resting bitch face and constant glaring as he makes sure the beasts stay away from the breakfast delivery.

Diego doesn't seem as annoyed anymore, now knowing that he will get a treat for completing this task. Brador wonders what the beast could possibly be so busy with that he acted like this was an inconvenience. He notes that Diego's coat is sleek and shiny, unlike most of the other beasts’ scraggly fur. Maybe Djura interrupted Diego when he was grooming himself. Was Diego a neat freak before he turned? That much Brador can tell, maybe he was one of those hunters who believed keeping oneself formal and clean separated themselves from the beasts, and held justice dearly to their hearts.

“I bet you favored the threaded cane back in the day, didn't you?” Brador asks Diego.

Diego stops in his tracks, staring at Brador with his ears high and pointed at him. His brows raise, then his posture relaxes, and that hardened look in his eyes softens.

Brador smiles. “I was right, eh?”

“Woof.” Diego’s tail wags. He seems to trust Brador more now.

“So… how long have you been a beast for?” Brador asks, not expecting Diego to answer.

“Rrrr…” He growls, like a hum. Then, Diego scratches at the cobblestone exactly nine times with a single claw, looking up at Brador.

“Nine…? Nine years?”

“Woof.” Diego barks and keeps walking.

Brador is amazed that the beast could communicate that. He wonders what else Diego can answer. “Were you and Rex friends before you turned?”

“Woof.” Diego tosses his head like a nod.

“And there's a third hunting beast, yeah?”

“Woof.”

“I hardly see him. I think I've only seen him once… a few days ago on the night of the hunt.”

“Rrrr. Rrrheerhh. Woof.”

“Not sure what you're trying to say there.”

Diego stops again, this time flopping on the ground, huffing with a fake snore.

“Oh! So he's lazy. I guess he sleeps most of the time and that's why I don't see him.”

“Woof!” Diego jumps back up, as if he's happy that Brador understood what he was trying to convey. It just begs the question now…

“Do you remember much about being human? I mean, before you turned.” Brador asks the beast.

Diego doesn't answer this time, but his posture falters, his head hanging lower to the ground and his claws drag a bit. His ears and tail droop, but he keeps the stoic demeanor.

“...you don't have to answer that,” Brador says, “But Djura was right when he said that you still have a human noggin in there, wasn't he?”

Diego almost shrugs, like he's trying not to answer the question.

“You're doing a terrible job at hiding that fact, but if you're still mentally a person… is it possible for a horse and human who fused together in their beastly transformation… to still have a human consciousness? Even with their brains merged? Would it be possible to bring that human back?”

Diego stops and stares at him incredulously. Even though he can't speak, it's clear that he's saying, “Dude, what the fuck? How in the ever living shit am I supposed to answer that?” In his head.

“...you don't have to answer that one either.” Brador sighs.

Diego rolls his eyes and keeps walking. Soon, they arrive at a house, just slightly smaller than Djura's, and far less charred. As it's closer to the entrance of Old Yharnam, it must not have been as badly affected as the buildings in the central blaze.

Diego barks and sits by the door. He points at it with his snout, and before Brador can knock, Andrei opens the door. He looks tired as usual, but his eyes perk up at the sight of coffee, breakfast, and the beast.

“Surprised to see you here, Brador. Put the tray on the dining table for me, please.” Andrei greets him without so much as a good morning.

“Sure thing…” Brador lets himself inside and follows Andrei's instructions. He glances behind himself and sees Andrei crouched down, petting Diego. It's clear Diego has a favorite person with the way his eyes are sparkling and his tail is wagging. He even sneaks a little kiss on Andrei’s cheek with a quick lick.

“There's your breakfast. I hope you like it,” Brador says, “I'm the one who made it today.”

“Well, aren't you on a roll with cooking this week?” Andrei approaches his food, poking the potato hash with a fork. His eyebrows raise when there's an audible crunch as the fork pierces a piece. He pops a piece into his mouth to enjoy the crispiness. “Fucking hell. That's good. C'mere, Diego.”

The beast trots inside and Andrei tosses him a piece. Then Andrei turns to Brador, “You can go now.”

Diego nudges Brador's leg, telling him to go as well. But Brador just has to open his mouth. “Why do you insist on eating alone?”

“Huh?”

“The only times I've seen you share a space at the dining table with us, is when Ludwig was over and we had pork stew, and yesterday with Eileen and the tomato soup.”

Andrei turns away, looking back down at his plate. “No reason.”

Brador looks around the dining room. The interior material is much like Djura's home. But instead of guns decorating the walls, there are mesmerizing paintings of rolling meadows and the sea. They're brightly colored, the sun shining in all of them. Andrei also has pristine porcelain and tea sets, painted with flowers, displayed upon the cabinets and such. Pinks, reds, blues, and golds-- vibrantly color the porcelain. Brador didn't think Andrei would be one for the fine arts. Maybe Andrei just likes eating in such a pretty place. It's certainly far prettier than Djura's drab and industrial home decor. There's even more photographs than at Djura's place, of the old days of them and other Powder Kegs.

Andrei notices Brador looking around. “You look surprised.”

“Your personality doesn't match such gorgeous paintings.” Brador says it outright.

“You're right. It was someone close to me who collected them, not me,” Andrei takes a sip of his coffee, “I keep them in memory of him.”

“...I see.” Brador understands.

“I'm sure Djura is waiting impatiently for you at home. Go,” Then Andrei takes another bite of his breakfast, “And this is delicious. Thank you.”

Brador only smiles as he exits the house with Diego, leaving Andrei alone to eat with his sunshine.

---

Brador comes back to find Djura frying dough balls. Before Brador can ask what he's making, however, Diego stomps in and barks at Djura loudly and rudely.

“Ok, here!” Djura tosses the beast his promised liver slice, “Thanks for bringing Brador back alive.”

Diego chomps it up, barks, and leaves promptly.

Brador hugs Djura from behind, looking over his shoulder. “The breakfast delivery was a success. Andrei said it's delicious.”

“Did you also tell him that you made it?”

“Yeah. He didn't complain.”

Djura smiles. “Good to hear.”

“What are you making for Simon?”

“Uštipci. It's even easier to make than potato hash. See?” Djura points at how the doll balls roll around and float in the hot oil, “They're flipping themselves! I only need one hand.”

“Huh. So the side that's submerged in the oil cooks, the heat creates air bubbles, then once those form, the buoyancy of the bubbles makes the dough flip over.”

Djura chuckles. “Exactly. All I have to do is scoop them out and plop in new ones. By the way, is Simon a sweet or savory kind of guy?”

“He's a salty kind of guy. Very salty.” Brador answers sassily.

Djura doesn't get the joke. “I'll serve it with cheese, then!” He smiles. Brador can't help but smile with him.

---

Djura finds Simon with Astera, tending to the beast's wounds. Djura whistles, “Good morning, Simon! I brought breakfast and tea for you.”

Simon perks up. “It smells wonderful. Set it over there, would you, Djura?”

Djura sets it on a nearby table. He asks Simon, “How's the horse?”

“Still healing. He doesn't seem to care much that he's wounded or transformed.” Simon answers.

Djura approaches, letting Astera bump his hand with his snout. He looks down, seeing that the horse is still sitting upon the Holy Moonlight sword like a broody hen and her eggs. “Is he ever gonna give up that thing?”

“No. It's rather perplexing.” Simon ponders.

“What's so special about it, anyway? Besides the fact that it's called the Holy Moonlight sword~” Djura wiggles his fingers with a dramatic flair.

“It's quite literally magical. It derives from an arcane, abyssal cosmic power from the moon.”

“Whoa. Wait, are you screwing with me?” Djura tilts his head.

Simon shakes his head. “I've seen it myself. It even glows like the moon, and it can shoot waves of cosmic slashes.”

“...what the fuck? Huh?” Djura tilts his head the other way.

“Even more peculiar is that it was found in an underground tomb, way before the Healing Church was established. It was discovered by the Byrgenwerth college, where Ludwig attended…” Simon recalls, “Far out of reach of the cosmos. It was believed to be used to contact so-called Great Ones, or gods, by the ancient race of people living in the tombs. Ludwig called it his Guiding Moonlight. He said there was a thread that would guide him to his destiny. It spoke to him and him alone.”

“...huh. Interesting.” Djura in fact, did not comprehend a single word Simon said just now. But he thinks about that last sentence…

It spoke to him and him alone.

Astera preens the sword with his lips, just as he has for the past few days. Djura asks, “Did the horse act like this with the sword before?”

“...not that I am aware of.” Simon answers slowly and thoughtfully.

Djura reaches his hand towards the sword, and Astera immediately tries nipping his hand. “Gosh, you are one feisty horse! Anyway Simon, enjoy your breakfast.”

Simon pops a piece of uštipci in his mouth. He looks pleasantly surprised at how crunchy yet soft the pastry is, and he helps himself to a piece of feta cheese to go along with it. “Thank you, it's delicious.”

“And thank you so much for lending a hand around here.”

---

Having only one functioning arm is frustrating, but Djura has learned to work around it. Or rather, he's learned about what he can and cannot do, and has left the more complex tasks for Andrei and Brador.

Working on his mechanics is too cumbersome if he can't properly hold the firearms down as he screws the bits and pieces. He certainly can't climb up the ladder to his beloved Gatling Gun, so he can't even watch over his sanctuary. Cooking is something he needs assistance with, but it's not too bad, especially since he can teach Brador how to cook. Djura can still care for his beasts directly, harvest his vegetables, sweep his floor, and wash the laundry, at least.

But Brador has been at Djura's beck and call, ever loyal and attentive, always asking Djura if there's any way he can assist him. Brador is like a shadow now, even more than he was before. Everything from holding the door open for Djura to serving him a glass of liquor makes Djura feel like a prince now.

Despite the treatment, it's clear that Djura isn't used to being tended to like this. Not that he doesn't appreciate Brador's help, it's just that Djura has been so fiercely independent for his whole life that it's more than strange to have someone constantly help him. He's not sure if he's feeling frustrated, guilty, or even offended, but one feeling is for certain- he feels helpless. On top of that, he can't get Ludwig and Astera out of his head.

He needs to get his mind off things. Brador is more than happy to help him with that-- enthusiastically, even. They both need a distraction, really.

But this is reality. Reality is a cruel mistress with a strangling hold on Yharnam, and she refuses to give the pair a break.

“Djura, you reopened your wounds.” Brador observes as he helps Djura out of his vest.

“Am I bleeding?” Djura twists to look at his side, then winces as his wounds sting, “Ow!”

“Well, now you're bleeding,” Brador grumbles, “The scabs were only cracked before.”

Djura pouts. He deflates just as quickly as his mood. His head lowers. But then, Brador leans forward, kissing Djura on the cheek, and pushing him towards the bed. “B-Brador-”

“I'll get a towel for you to lay on. Sit down for now.” Brador instructs him with a gentle tone.

Djura does as he's told, still looking downcast. Brador retrieves a towel, along with alcohol and other medical necessities. Djura lies back, resting his broken arm on his chest. “Where did you learn medical care?”

“Laurence taught me. He taught me everything I know,” Brador says, dabbing a gauze in alcohol, “You're lucky Andrei gave you blood. Otherwise you'd be walking around in stitches. The wounds were deep enough to show your ribs before.”

“I've gotten worse injuries and healed without the blood.” Djura insists.

Brador looks across Djura's body. Burn scars, claw marks, bite punctures and all. “I believe you. But I don't like seeing you hurt, Djura.”

“Get used to it, I get injured all the time. I'm a Powder Keg.” Djura huffs with a mildly snappy tone.

Brador glances up at him. Then he huffs as well, “I can see neither of us are in a good mood.”

“Because the mood was ruined all thanks to me bleeding a little.”

“You're the one who refuses to rest and take blood.” Brador dabs his wounds.

“I'm not touching that shit!” Djura's voice raises, “Not after everything that's happened!”

“The Healing Blood isn't all bad. People just need to learn self control.” Brador mumbles, making no eye contact as he cleans Djura's wounds.

Djura grits his teeth, but he has no energy to argue. Now, the thoughts of the Healing Blood stew in his mind over a raging fire. Brador already told Djura that the Church had no idea the blood would turn people into beasts. But surely they realized that the blood was dangerously addictive, considering how quickly Yharnam's populace got hooked?

Surely they realized, right?

Brador bandages Djura up in silence. He can smell how tense the air has become. Djura suddenly speaks up. “Talk to me, Brador.”

“About what?”

“About anything. Anything but blood ministration,” Djura turns his head to the side, looking out the window, “Just need to get my mind off things. Give me something else to think about.”

Brador thinks. He then takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he speaks, “The medications I take are antipsychotics. I experience psychosis, so I see shit.”

Djura tilts his head. “What’s psychosis?”

“It’s when your brain fucks with you and makes you see and hear things that aren't there. You remember in those first few weeks we met, when I snapped at you for giving me a sedative? That was one of those moments when I was seeing shit.” Brador elaborates.

“OOOH. Ooooh.” Djura smacks himself on the forehead.

Brador swallows. “Laurence said I'm more prone to psychosis if I'm stressed out or if I'm going through something traumatic, or even remembering something traumatic. He gave me these medications to lessen the chances of that happening. Now, I don't see shit all the time, but because I even hallucinate in the first place, I don't… I don't trust myself and my judgment. Because how can I trust someone who can't distinguish reality from his own fever dreams, right?”

“I see…” Djura strokes his goatee, “Well. If you don't trust yourself… would you let me be your eyes for you instead?”

Brador blinks. Then he smiles sadly, “Maria used to do that for me. Sometimes she'd physically slap me back into reality. Backhanded too.”

“Oh. Ouch.” Djura winces.

“But yes, Djura, if you see me talking to a wall or if I ask you if you hear something… could you help me? Be truthful. Tell me if you see or hear what I'm talking about. And if worse comes to worse, if I'm… if I'm screaming or hugging myself, just sedate me.” He finishes dressing the last wound, patting the bandage.

“I promise I will, Brador.” Djura reassures him. Then Djura thinks and asks another question, “I haven't seen you pop any of those pills for a while until today. Are you ok?”

Brador sighs. “It's Ludwig.”

Djura smacks himself on the forehead again for being so stupid.

“I used to take them every day when I was at the Church. But now… I mean, fuck it. When I take them, I'm not sure if it's really me. Sometimes they fuck up my mood so bad that I lay in bed for days out of sheer depression. Sometimes they make me feel nothing at all. And sometimes they made me so irritable that I would throw furniture…” Brador mumbles into his hands, then removes them, “But things are better now. Sometimes that blurred shadow in the corner of my eye was just a beast. It's always a beast. One of our beasts. If something was really sneaking up on me to kill… The beasts would have noticed them before I did. Sometimes thinking logically helps.”

“So… you feel safe around here in Old Yharnam?”

“Very much so, Djura. Thank you for that.” Brador looks back at him with a smile.

Djura smiles back. Brador sets the medical supplies aside, then crawls onto the bed. He rests his hand on top of Djura's cast. Djura turns to him, “Thank you for taking care of me. You're always so attentive.”

“I've been told it's one of my best traits,” Brador beams, then his expression falls, “Djura… can I tell you about one of the things I see when I'm hallucinating?”

“I don't see why not. Lay it on me.”

Brador scoots closer to Djura, nuzzling up to his right arm. “Sometimes I see the beast that consumed Laurence. The one that tore out of him and stole his humanity.”

“...” Djura looks worried.

“It begs me to kill it in his voice. But I already did. Sometimes it tells me other things. I can see every detail on it from that night. It's burned into my memory,” Brador confesses in a whisper, “I keep telling myself it isn't real, but that doesn't make it any less terrifying. I can feel it breathe down my neck.”

“You saw it on that night I sedated you, didn't you?” Djura asks.

Brador nods. “I can't escape it, even in my nightmares. I'm afraid Ludwig will soon appear in them too.”

“Brador…” Djura's eye widens. His left arm lifts in an attempt to cup Brador's face, but he obviously can't. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me. I will help you in any way I can if it happens again.”

Brador smiles. “Thank you for still loving me.”

They lay in comfortable silence for a while. Djura speaks up again, “Hey.”

“Hm?”

“What do you know about Ludwig’s Holy Moonlight?”

Brador lifts his head. “What do you want to know about it?”

“Everything.”

“And… Why do you want to know?”

“If it'll mean helping you sleep…” Djura inhales, “I'm still going to try and save Ludwig, and I think I may have an idea on how to do that.”

Chapter Text

Brador, Djura, Andrei, and Simon sit around Djura's living room. Brador and Djura are seated together on the couch, Andrei sits on a stool across from them, and Simon is in the far corner by the front door in case he needs to sprint away from Brador. They're all thinking hard, picking at their brains…

“Let me get this straight again,” Andrei says into his hands, “So Ludwig's Holy Moonlight is a sentient being from the cosmos, that was forged into a sword by an ancient race of underground cosmo worshiping people, and it only speaks to him? And we believe that the horse-man amalgamation beast may still house Ludwig's consciousness, due to the beast being able to use all of its limbs and being uniquely intelligent?”

“Yes.” Both Simon and Brador confirm. Then they glare at each other for speaking over each other, despite saying the same thing.

“But there are three problems. One,” Simon starts, “Astera won't let us near the sword. Two, we have no idea if this will work-”

“Hey, it's the best idea I've got!” Djura interjects.

“-And three, to use the sword’s arcane powers, one needs to have an affinity for it first. Ludwig had that affinity. We, as far as I know, do not.” Simon finishes.

“So what do we do? Do we train our arcane, cosmic-reading abilities by staring at the stars and reading tarot cards?” Andrei rolls his eyes.

“The people I knew who had such affinities either achieved that by making contact with the Great Ones, or were born with them.” Brador adds.

“Can you two elaborate what the hell a Great One is?” Djura gestures at Brador and Simon.

“Physical organisms with godlike abilities that are beyond our comprehension.” Brador says.

“No, they are gods,” Simon counters, “But yes, beyond our mortal comprehension.”

“Gods shouldn't bleed, they certainly shouldn't have organs sitting around in jars either.” Brador argues.

“Gods aren't necessarily omnipotent, nor do they have to be nonphysical beings. I mean, the Aztecs and Egyptians worshiped the sun. It was beyond our comprehension for a while too until scholars put their brains together.”

“So what makes a god then, Simon?” Brador inquires.

“Really, it depends on the culture and religion, but gods are what we perceive them to be rather than what they actually are… like say, if ants were sapient beings, would they define us as gods for our sheer size and strength? How we can destroy their anthills in a single step, just as we fear floods delivered unto us from the heavens.”

“Then gods truly don't exist now, do they? Great Ones are only considered gods in comparison to us. We can slap the title of god onto whatever we damn well please, whether it's impressive or not.”

“Is that why you so carelessly worshiped the Healing Church and the Vicar?” Simon sneers.

“I never said he was a god, only godly or godlike.” Brador says through gritted teeth.

“You worshiped him all the same.”

“Ok, both of you shut the fuck up,” Andrei raises his hands at them, “How does one make contact with a Great One?”

“Out of the question.” Simon and Brador say simultaneously again, and once again glare at each other.

“Why?” Djura asks.

“Those who make contact always go mad with incomprehensible knowledge,” Simon explains, “They lose themselves. So if one of us actually did make contact, it'd be an equivalent exchange where we get Ludwig back, but lose one of us in the process.”

“I volunteer Simon to do it!” Brador points at him.

“You jackass!” Simon yells and points back at him, “You should do it, you're already insane!”

“Shut the fuck up, again!” Andrei raises his voice. The two men shut the fuck up at once.

Djura speaks up, slouched over, “I guess our best bet is to find someone who already has that affinity.”

“I know some people, but I've no idea of their current whereabouts, or if they're even alive.” Brador says.

“Same here.” Simon concurs.

They all sigh.

Simon speaks up again, quieter than he was before. “What we should really be asking… is if Ludwig would want to come back.”

“See, I already considered that,” Brador explains, “But because of the nature of their transformation, it's not so simple...” Brador leans back, arms crossed, looking up at the ceiling. “Ludwig said he didn't want to be a beast. Ludwig told me to take care of Astera. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. And as far as we know, Ludwig could still be conscious and alive in there, but as if he were comatose. He can do nothing now that Astera is in control.”

Simon grimaces. “Right, right…”

“I'm going to ask him what to do. That'll be the first thing I do when Ludwig wakes up.” Brador says.

“And I'll do the deed if Ludwig says he wants to go,” Djura states, “Not you guys, understand?”

Simon laughs half heartedly. “Eileen also told me that.”

“How are her puny knives supposed to do anything against a giant horse beast?” Brador scoffs, “I doubt they'll cut deep enough to slit his throat.”

“Hey, the Blade of Mercy is nothing to spit at. It's crafted from siderite and can cut through bones like butter.” Djura defends.

“Siderite?” Andrei perks up. “Isn't that stuff extracted from meteorites?”

“Yeah?”

“Meteorites? The rocks from space? The cosmos?” Andrei gestures by spinning his hands together.

Djura ponders with him. “You mean to tell me you think Eileen might have an affinity for it? The most grounded and logical person we know?”

“I've never seen her do anything magical of any sort,” Andrei shrugs, “But she's the best guess we've got.”

“She's not going to agree to this.” Brador laments.

“Agreed, she's more inclined to work us through our grief than anything.” Simon sighs sadly.

“Sure, she may say no through her morals and principles…” Djura leans forward with his hands in his lap, “But I've got some workarounds with her.”

“Like… what exactly?” Simon asks with suspicion.

Djura smiles slyly.

“I don't like this.” Brador agrees with Simon's concern.

Andrei starts chuckling. “It's way simpler than you think.”

---

“Four dozen eggs, three ribs worth of dry-aged prime rib, and a half a kilo of authentic Italian guanciale. Just for you to attempt to work Ludwig's Holy Moonlight, Eileen.”

Eileen sits across from Djura, chin in her hand, looking over Djura's generous offerings spread across the dining room table. With her mask off, she can smell all the wonderful herbs and spices the meats have been dry aged with. The others are around the corner, making their presence very obvious.

Eileen seems to be seriously considering the offer, despite thinking that this idea is stupid and there's no way that this will work. Djura has his arms crossed, staring her down with the most serious look on his face.

“C'mon Eileen. I know you're tempted. I'm not even asking you to succeed, I'm just asking you to try.” Djura elaborates.

“Is this how desperate you are?” She asks dryly. She is, however, tempted. It's hard to find such quality cuts of meat like these.

“If it means Brador loses one less person in his life, then yes.” He says more quietly.

Brador’s heart throbs when he hears that.

“Death is a fact of life. Ludwig was losing his grasp on his humanity. It was inevitable, why reverse it? He sealed his own fate.”

“Please, Eileen. What else do I need to give you? How about a leg of ham on top of it?” Djura implores.

“Oh my. How tempting. But, I've a counter offer…” She leans forward.

“Nothing philosophical, please.” Djura states.

“No no, I know your morals well, no need for philosophical discussions. I want something other than these expensive proteins… an infinite supply of it, if you would.”

Djura raises a brow. Then his eye widens. “No, no Eileen I can't do that.”

Eileen grins. “Just one chicken.”

Djura stands up and slams his healthy hand on the table. “Absolutely not!”

“I'm going to make this easy for you, Djura. I already know which hen I want,” Her grin turns into something evil, “I want Duchess.”

“M-My Australorp?! Take an Orpington! Take Daisy, o-or Pansy!”

“No deal.” She wipes her hands across the table and shakes her head.

“One less chicken means about 300 less eggs! And Duchess…” Djura swallows, “She laid damn near twice that amount last year, my beasts will starve without her!”

“Then, oh I don't know, feed your beasts all this beef and pork instead?” She gestures in front of her.

“B-B-But this is for us…” The color in Djura's face drains. “It's so tasty…”

“All the more reason to feed them to your beloved beasts, no?” Then Eileen gasps playfully, “How could the sweet Djura be so selfish?!”

“This is different!!!” Djura sounds like he's been dastardly betrayed.

“Sit down and calm yourself, boy.” She points down. Djura sits. Then Eileen glances at the corner, “Simon, Brador. Come here as well.”

Simon and Brador trudge over miserably, sitting on either side of Djura.

“...Let me hear your reasoning. Not what Djura told me, but why you two want Ludwig back.” She prompts them.

Simon starts. “Ludwig didn't deserve this. He of all people and his kindness, didn't deserve this. If there was anyone I would give a second chance to, it would be him, beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

“...And, at the very least,” Brador continues, “We could ask Ludwig what to do. There's a strong conflict of interest. He implored me to take care of his horse. But Ludwig expressed his dread for becoming a beast. We won't know what he wants to happen to both him and his horse if we don't get him back.”

“We are riding on the possibility that Ludwig is in a comatose state,” Simon keeps going, “Considering how their consciousness has merged into one and the horse's change in behavior and intelligence. But his Guiding Moonlight, we believe, is the key to awakening him again. And considering that one must know the arcane to use the sword, and you have an arcane weapon, we believe you're the best candidate.”

Eileen's chin is back in her hand as she mulls things over. “So the main reason why you're bringing Ludwig back… is to ask for his consent to go through with euthanizing him.”

Simon and Brador nod.

“And not because you two don't want to lose him?”

“No, that's very much true…” Simon sighs, “But Ludwig's wishes come first. Not ours.”

“I’ve already said my goodbyes to Ludwig anyway.” Brador says depressingly.

“Well well well. It's not like you two to be so honest,” She quips, but leans back in a relaxed manner, “But what would you two do if Ludwig does not take being a beast well, and goes mad all over again? Have you considered that?”

Djura raises his hand. Brador reaches over and pushes it down. Djura pouts, “I fought him once, I can do it again…”

“You. Are. Injured.” Eileen spells it out for him.

“And you barely made it out alive!” Brador says with worry.

Eileen makes direct eye contact with Brador. “Did you plan on asking me to kill Ludwig for you if he went mad again?”

“...maybe…” Simon is the one who answers that, while Brador does everything to ignore Eileen.

“I said I would put him down for you, not fight a several hundred kilo beast with enough limbs to be mistaken for a spider,” The Eileen side eyes Djura, “Hey, you.”

“Yes, ma'am?” Djura peeks up at her.

“I want two hens if I have to fight Ludwig, and more specifically, I want Princess too.”

“BOTH of my Australorps?! Eileen, what the hell!?!” Djura whines.

Andrei steps in now. “Djura, we can always let the hens hatch some of their eggs. Then we can have more chickens.”

“But they take so long to grow up and start laying eggs themselves…”

“Theeen we can buy more chickens, whenever someone actually comes around and sells them in Yharnam.”

“But we have to acclimate the new chickens to the flock and all of that… and what if the flock rejects them?! It's happened before!”

“Buy or hatch more to replace the cannibalized ones?”

“Our chickens have been eating fleas that are filled with our beasts’ fucked up blood, they are not the nicest birds out there, Andrei!”

“This is going nowhere…” Simon groans.

“Apologies Simon, you know I won't do a side job for the right price.” Eileen half jokes.

“Why don't we just give you some money so you can buy your own chickens?” Andrei suggests.

“It's because Duchess and Princess are adorable and fluffy with poofy pants, as well as glossy and black. They're well behaved and perfect.”

“And she's been sneaking into the coop every time she's visited Old Yharnam to feed them raisins and blueberries.” Djura narrows his eye.

“What makes you think that?” She asks sarcastically.

Djura points at her, “The heeled footprints are so obvious! And you only feed Duchess and Princess!”

“Gaining ownership over the pair is inevitable. They love me.” Eileen smirks.

“How dare you try to steal my girls!” Djura accuses her, “How long have you been planning this heist?!”

“Guys!” Simon’s voice raises, “Stop arguing about chickens, what matters here is Ludwig. Like Andrei said, chickens are replaceable- Ludwig is not.”

Djura nods. “Look Eileen, if you don't have a coop and the means, you can't properly care for the hens, and I refuse to hand them over because of that. I can provide those things for you later down the line, but all I can give you for now to work Ludwig's Holy Moonlight is all of this meat and then some.”

“Fair enough. Very well, I will see what I can do.” Eileen crosses her arms.

“Alright, we're getting somewhere…” Djura smiles, then glances at Brador. Except, Brador isn't there. Djura turns his head in all directions before landing on the front door, and it's wide open.

---

Brador takes a deep breath of fresh air. It was stuffy in there with everyone's hot breaths, and he was feeling annoyed at the arguing. He couldn't even hear his own thoughts.

He can think in peace now, outside in the sunlight. He walks down the cobblestone roads, musing to himself. Everyone is coming together to help Ludwig.

Djura, his beloved, someone who is dedicated to beasts and Brador. Brador is not surprised that Djura wants to help in any way he can, and it only makes Brador love him more. Djura is doing this out of kindness for Ludwig, as he wanted Ludwig to stay in Old Yharnam before, and for Brador to sleep peacefully at night.

Andrei, someone who's been constantly teetering on the line of friend or opposition towards Brador, is pitching in. Brador is unsure of his motivations, but Andrei is always helping Djura out, even if he thinks the whole Guiding Moonlight theory is absolute hogwash. It must be nice to have a friend like that-- Brador did at one point, but she is long gone.

Simon, someone Brador has hoped he would never see again, has shown up out of nowhere. He had the choice before to kill Ludwig while he was still human, but his own emotions made him falter. Brador doesn't blame Simon at all. Brador would have done the same thing, but he's surprised Simon isn't making the move to euthanize Ludwig now, when he's supposedly asleep. It must be his sheer respect for Ludwig and his wishes… and maybe something more, but it's only a hunch for now.

Then finally, Eileen. Eileen genuinely has no reason to be invested in Ludwig's revival, aside from bribery. She is the Hunter of Hunters, and Ludwig lost his humanity and turned. If she truly wanted to, she would have slain Ludwig already, so why? Is it out of pity, or honor for himself and Simon? Or does she also want to abstain for the moment until Ludwig gives the command to put him down?

And what's the right course for Ludwig? What if Eileen is right and Ludwig goes berserk again? What if bringing Ludwig back means losing Astera permanently, and Ludwig must mourn the loss of his best friend? What if Ludwig's last moments are of him sobbing at his hideous transformation, screaming at them for bringing him back in this state? Most of the possibilities are just terrible.

Even without the others blabbering around him, it's too much to think about. He's not paying attention to where he's going, wandering around aimlessly… Then the moment he snaps back to reality, the temporary stables are just a few paces away.

Brador walks in, finding Astera upon his makeshift bed, resting. He can't bear to look at the horse in his face, not when he has remnants of Ludwig's eyes and nose. He slumps beside Astera. The horse greets him, bumping his shoulder and proceeding to chew on the fur garb.

“Hey, buddy. Ludwig might be coming back soon.” Brador says after a long sigh.

Upon hearing his master's name, the horse's head raises. Brador shushes him, “But don't get your hopes up. He might choose to take you out with him, or go mad again, or worse…”

The horse snorts.

“We just need his Guiding Moonlight. Why do you protect it? Is it because a part of Ludwig is still speaking to you?” Brador reaches out, touching the part that peeks out from under Astera's body. Astera reacts by nudging his hand away. “You're not going to make this easy, are you? Do you understand what the sword did for Ludwig?”

Astera does not react.

“I'm scared, Astera. Scared that Ludwig might choose death, or that he will choose to suffer alongside you. Maybe things are better like this, with just you. I don't know, and I don't think I want to know. I don't want to go through with waking him up, but I feel that it's the right thing to do. We need to know.”

Astera continues to chew on Brador's fur garb.

“...but the truth will hurt no matter what. We won't move on unless we unveil it. It's just…” Brador tucks his knees in, “Without Ludwig's guidance, I feel lost.

Astera stops chewing.

“You and I have always been scared of the truth, haven't we, Ludwig? Even if we suffer in ignorance? But Laurence didn't want us to suffer. He never meant for that.”

Astera knickers.

“Astera, what's it like now, to understand existence? Dread? Ignorance? Isn't it terrifying?” Brador lets out a hollow chuckle, “I'm sorry the problems of human consciousness are now yours. It's a terrible thing. You don't want to know what that blade hides either, do you?”

The horse seems to be deep in thought, turning to look at the blade.

“We don't know what will happen, but we must. We will all be here with you.”

Finally, Astera shifts. He lifts his hindquarter legs, raising himself up, and moving out of the blade's way. He looks scared, head bowed low and trembling in the slightest, but he looks at Brador with trust in his blinded eye.

Brador gets up on his knees. “Astera… are you sure?”

The horse neighs softly and nudges the blade towards Brador.

Brador lifts the wrapped-up blade, cold in his hands. He clutches it close. “Thank you.”

The stable door creaks open. It's Djura, Simon, Eileen, and Andrei. Simon speaks up first, “How did you…?”

“Talked Astera into it.” Is all Brador says.

Djura steps forward. “Alright. So while you were gone, we decided to try bringing Ludwig back around the night of the new moon. That'll be about ten days from now-- that way, any remnants of beasthood will be repressed.”

“I'll also examine the sword in the meantime,” Eileen speaks up and holds her arms out towards Brador, “To see if our goal is feasible.”

Brador clutches the sword tighter. “Will you truly keep your word?”

“I haven't a reason not to. Honestly, the guanciale bribery was enough to convince me to try.” She admits.

Djura shoots a glare at her. “Then what was all the chicken haggling for?!”

“I was messing with you, boy,” She chuckles, “What is a crow without her mischief?”

“Ugh!”

“Although if I do have to fight Ludwig, I seriously want Duchess in exchange, Djura.”

“Fine, fine… Give her the sword, Brador.” Djura gestures to the blade, then to Eileen.

Brador hands over the sword, albeit with some reluctance. Once it's in her hands, she raises a brow at how light it is. “How peculiar… I'll be in Djura's workshop if you need me.”

Astera vigilantly watches Eileen as she leaves with the precious sword. Brador soothes him, and the horse nuzzles his head into Brador's garb, seeking comfort. “I'll watch over Astera. I haven't spent much time with the lad.”

Simon looks around awkwardly. “Well… I'll join Eileen. My insight may be of use to her.” And so, he leaves as well.

Djura turns to Andrei, and Andrei turns to Djura. Djura puts his hands on his hips, “Why don't we make dinner for everyone? What are we feelin’?”

“I'm feeling lazy. Let's make stamppot.” Andrei responds without a second thought.

“Easy enough! Oh, and no sausages for Simon, we can substitute roast beef for him instead… by the way, does it count as Kosher with the way we slaughter the cows?”

“We bleed them, sure, and salt and soak heavily to preserve the meat. I guess it would've been cleansed properly…” Andrei strokes his chin, "But it can't be truly Kosher unless it was prepared or overseen by a Rabbi, right? …wait, are you implying Simon has been eating Kosher this whole time in this godforsaken city that's full of blood?”

“He told me he tries his best to, but sometimes he has no choice. Then again, he told me he's not that strict about it, he does it more so to honor his family's customs…” Djura explains, "Nonetheless, he really appreciates the effort we've been putting in just for him.”

“Ah. Maybe we should bring him in and ask if the food is suitable for him,” Andrei suggests, “I think he deserves to have a meal cooked just for him with all the help he has given us.”

“Oh, for sure! Poor guy, he told me he's been living on his own homemade rations because he can't trust Yharnam's food to be clean… not surprising. I mean, there's wild boars on top of beasts running around…” Djura’s voice trails away as he and Andrei leave the stables.

Brador sighs. “I hope everything goes well. For all of us.”

Astera knickers in response and keeps chewing on the garb. Brador looks up at him slowly. “...You know that's Laurence’s hide you're chewing on, right?”

Astera reacts immediately with disgust by tossing his head around, flapping his lips to get the fur out of his mouth.

Chapter Text

Cathedral Ward is silent at midnight, dark under the blind gaze of the new moon. Without the moon’s light, Ludwig feels small, as if he were a mouse. It's not like he had a reason to go outside, anyway.

He rolls out of bed, bored. Perhaps he will sneak some food from the pantry, or maybe one of his friends is awake. Maybe he can sneak in some time with Laurence, private in the night. However, it seems like Laurence is busy every day, meeting with his newfound counsel, The Choir, and all of that. The Healing Church's work simply never ends.

Putting on some slippers, he steps out of his room. Immediately, he bumps into Brador, who's got an armful of stolen, expensive cured meats, most certainly from the same pantry he was about to raid himself. He's also got bottles of alcohol stuffed into his vest pockets.

“...” Brador darts his eyes around, “I'll give you the salami roll if you stay quiet about this.”

“I was just about to steal that exact roll!” Ludwig whispers, then ushers Brador to the door, “I've bread in my room already, let's eat in here.”

They're giggling as they shuffle into the room, and besides, is it really stealing if it's from their own kitchen? They pour themselves their respective glasses of preferred alcohol-- and one more glass, a glass of red wine, and set it beside a framed photograph of Lady Maria.

“So! What have you been up to, Brador?”

“Ah, you know… nothing much until Laurence gives me something to do. Unless you count reading and assisting in their experiments as doing something.” Brador sighs.

“What do you do to help them and their fancy coats?” Ludwig asks in genuine curiosity.

“Oh, you know… Wrench organs out of corpses, butcher through bones and limbs-”

“Nevermind!” Ludwig holds his hands out and cringes. He gulps down some brandy to get the image out of his mind.

Brador laughs. “It's grotesque work. Anyway, what about you? Actually, I've seen you hanging around that scraggly-looking hunter more often lately.”

“Oh no no, it's the other way around!” Ludwig waves his hand, “Simon trained briefly under me, and now he's a full-fledged hunter.”

“So he should've fledged the nest by now, right?”

“Ah. Uh. Simon said I'm the only hunter aside from Gratia that he feels comfortable around. I'm… one of the few who hasn't laughed at his Bowblade,” Ludwig admits, “Even the ex-Powder Kegs who still work for us have been cruel to him.”

“Sheesh. They should've gone with the rest of ‘em to die in Old Yharnam. The foolishness…” Brador grumbles, sipping his whiskey. “I thought the Powder Kegs would welcome such innovation.”

“You know what they say. If it ain't got a kick, it just ain't worth it!” Ludwig huffs, “And the Bowblade doesn't have a firing hammer and gunpowder.”

Brador rolls his eyes. “Then they're blind to its brilliance. A perfect melee and ranged weapon in one, without compromising either properties. Gehrman should be proud of creating that one.”

“Actually, it was all Simon. He drew the blueprints and then commissioned Gehrman.”

Brador nearly spits out his drink. “Wait wait wait, Simon thought of it himself?”

“Yes!” Ludwig grins, “Simon is nothing but intelligent and perceptive! You know, I think you and Simon would get along well. He's well-spoken for someone who's first language isn't English, and he is full of philosophical thoughts. I can't wrap my head around all of them with my thick skull.”

“Uh-huh. I see.” Brador swallows and loosens his shirt collar.

“Simon has been attached to my hip!” Ludwig sways, “Following me everywhere, asking all about the Church… not even our own hunters are as curious about our establishment as he is! I'm sure he will be as loyal as you are.”

“What kinds of things does he ask?”

“Oh, like where the Healing Blood came from, how we came to learn of its effects, how we perfected it…” Ludwig chugs down more brandy, “I couldn't quite articulate it, since I didn't know, so I directed him to one of our Research Hall doctors.”

“...did you take him to the Research Hall?” Brador asks slowly.

“Huh? No, I just took him where the doctor's office is.”

“Which is in the Research Hall.”

“Yes, the Research Hall. Why?”

“How much did he see?” Brador stares at Ludwig from behind his whiskey glass, but Ludwig doesn't perceive Brador's deadly look at all with how tipsy he's become. But even if he were sober, Ludwig probably wouldn't have noticed anyway.

“Oh!” Ludwig bubbles over, “Simon was staring wide eyed all over the place, but he didn't say anything about it. He looked amazed, even if we were only there for less than an hour!”

“...you know what, Ludwig?”

“What, Brador?”

Brador smiles widely, his teeth glinting in the candlelight. “I think Simon and I would get along swimmingly.”

---

“You must be Simon. I'm Brador.”

Simon raises his head in slight confusion and suspicion, as this well-dressed stranger approaches him atop of the many balconies of Cathedral Ward. Then, Simon recognizes him. “You're the man who is always shadowing The Vicar.”

Brador's eyebrows raise slightly. “You've noticed me?”

“I've an eye for details.”

“Not many even acknowledge my presence.”

“Same here, even when I'm at the Holy Blade's side.”

“That's why I've decided to introduce myself. I've heard nothing but good things about you from Ludwig.” Brador holds out his hand. Simon shakes it, firmly.

“Really? Like what?” Simon almost sounds like a child.

“That you're intelligent and perceptive. You made that blade all by yourself.” Brador gestures to Simon's hip.

“Ah, no no. I only drafted the design and it was Gehrman who put it to the forge…” He admits bashfully, “I know nothing of smithing.”

So, he's honest for the most part. Brador keeps talking, “Still, the ingenuity is remarkable. You should put more ideas on paper, we could use it in the Workshop.”

Simon smiles. It seems genuine. “I'm flattered, but I've a duty as a hunter. I'm more suited to snuffing out the scourge. Besides, all of my drafts are meant for clean kills and stealth, rather than fighting beasts one on one.”

“So you're not much of a fighter, are you?”

“In a way. I've always preferred brains over brawn.”

“Ha! I'm the opposite. I'm so brawny I accidentally broke a Beast Cutter by swinging it too hard into a brick wall, and I've so little brains that I was illiterate until The Vicar took me in, back when we were young lads at Byrgenwerth.” Brador opens up, just a little bit.

Simon looks shocked. “But you seem so well-articulated.”

“It just goes to show how much The Vicar has done for me!” Brador holds out his arms with grandiosity, “Laurence… Everything he's done has been for the betterment of others’ lives, I've yet to meet anyone so selfless.”

Simon doesn't say anything for a bit, his expression trying to remain neutral. Brador can see it. Simon then shifts the subject slightly, looking down at the streets, “I can say the same for Ludwig. His intentions are always so pure and selfless.”

“Did he also teach you how to read?” Brador jokes.

“Please. I went to school properly,” Simon chuckles, “Although, just between you and me, despite his knightly tendencies, I don't think Ludwig could wrap his head around Shakespeare.”

That actually gets Brador to laugh. “It’s true. He's never been one for metaphors. We always had to explain to him in whispers what some things meant in the middle of plays. Like… how did we explain that one insult in As You Like It? That… It meant that the Duke Senior was essentially boring and had nothing interesting about him. Only then did he start laughing!”

Simon thinks. Then he points upwards in a eureka moment, “Ah! I believe the quote went something like, ‘His brain is as dry as the remaining biscuits after a voyage,’ sometime in Act II.”

“I can see you can certainly wrap your head around Shakespeare.” Brador remarks, genuinely impressed by Simon's memory. Truthfully, he doesn't remember the exact quote himself, but what Simon said sounds pretty damn close.

“Why, thank you. …You don't strike me as the Shakespeare type, to be honest.”

“That's because I'm not…” Brador inhales, crossing his arms and looking up at the sky, “I'm actually more of a Dostoevsky kind of reader. I've just finished Crime and Punishment.”

Simon gasps. “Seriously?!”

“If you don't believe me, I can tell you all about how much of a self-important fool Raskolnikov is and how his ego to prove something that's ultimately so meaningless in an uncaring society leads to his crushing guilt and downfall.”

“I know, right? I don't know how he didn't consider the weight of killing someone even before his hypothesis, even if he justified it. But it's interesting, his downward spiral.”

Brador makes direct eye contact with Simon for the first time in their conversation. They're a lovely shade of light brown, almost gray. “What else have you read, Simon?”

They talked and talked and talked into the night, and Brador forgot all about his trusty knife hidden in his sleeve.

---

“Do you think this is all worth it, Brador?”

Brador lifts his head from his pillow. Simon leaning at his windowsill, looking outside at the night sky.

“Come back to bed, Simon.”

“Won't you entertain me?”

“I just did for the past hour.”

Simon scoffs out a hollow chuckle. “Nevermind, then.”

He hears Brador shuffle out of bed. Some more shuffling. Then, Brador is at his side, offering Simon a box of cigarettes. Simon takes one and so does he. Brador lights his, offering Simon his butt end to light his as well.

After a long inhale and exhale, Brador speaks. “This is Laurence's life, and I in turn owe him my life. It's only right I see his work through.”

“Don't you feel the least bit bad about the experimentation?”

“Mice simply don't have the same anatomy as humans. We can't compare the blood’s effects on a rodent to a great ape.”

Simon takes a long drag. “It's unsightly. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

“Then put your glass down and stop drinking from it.”

Simon looks at Brador from the corner of his eye. “There's nothing else to drink in this city now. Yharnam is naught but blood now.”

“Then leave.”

“I've a solemn duty now. Who better than me to hunt down the scourge before it manifests?”

“Of course you'd say that.” Brador huffs.

A silence falls between them. Simon foolishly continues, “I'm sorry, Brador. To see Laurence preach to the masses, then leave his research subjects in such horrific states, I…”

“Without those subjects’ sacrifices, you would still be missing your leg. Perhaps your eyes too,” Brador says, “I would think you'd be more grateful.”

“Is the research really to save lives? I still don't understand what those strange, sluggish parasites and phantasms have to do with advancing the Healing Blood. They're torturing those people.”

“It's best you stop asking questions, Simon.”

“Brador-”

Brador glares at him. It's something deadly, dangerous. Simon is stunned into silence.

Brador's eyes soften seeing Simon's fear. “...You should have never stepped into the Research Hall. I don't know what Ludwig was thinking. You’re in a dangerous position now.”

“By whom? The Vicar?”

“Yes. It's best if you stay quiet about this, Simon. I don't want anything to happen to you.” Brador confesses, turning back to the night sky.

“I don't know if I can. This isn't right.”

Brador closes his eyes. “You made up your mind before you came to see me.”

“I hoped I could change yours, Brador.”

“Why?” Brador's eyes open, looking at Simon with genuine confusion.

Simon steps away from the window, fetching his clothes. “I'm not sure. I'll see you later, Brador.”

“Another night then, Simon.”

---

Brador limps down the hallway, hanging onto the wall for support. Blood trails behind him, from the embedded daggers in his side and leg.

He didn't think Simon would fight back, no, not when Brador was sure he had exhausted Simon. It should have been easy. Just plunge the knife into Simon's bare back, right into his heart.

But Brador hesitated. It was just long enough for Simon to realize something was amiss.

Simon got away. He escaped with nothing but his pants and bowblade. His shirts are bloodied and strewn about in Brador's bedroom.

Yet, when Simon leapt out of the window, rolling on the ground below and sprinting away, something inside of Brador felt… weightless. Happy? Relieved? He doesn't know how to describe it. He held his breath as his knife hovered over Simon, and after the struggle, Brador could breathe again.

In any case, Brador needs blood. He limps to the infirmary. He should make it, hopefully no one will see him, especially since he's not wearing any pants or undergarments.

“Brador!”

Of course someone saw him, and it's the second-to-last person Brador wants to be caught by. Brador stops in his tracks, waiting for Ludwig to catch up to him, leaning against the wall. Ludwig’s arms are then on his shoulders, “What happened?! Who did this to you?!”

“No one.”

“That doesn't make sense! You couldn't have stabbed yourself!” Ludwig scoops Brador up, jogging to the infirmary.

“I stab myself pretty often, Luddy.” Brador jokes dryly.

“Stop joking around, this is serious! And why are you half naked?!”

“Got a bit kinky with myself.”

“With the knives?! What is wrong with you?!”

“You're asking that now? After years of knowing me?”

“Ugh!”

Ludwig rushes into the infirmary, placing Brador upon the exam table. He presses down on the stab wounds with gauze, then readies two doses of blood vials. Brador groans at the discomfort, but he tolerates injuries well.

“I'm going to pull the knives out now. Are you ready?”

“Just do it.” Brador grumbles.

As Ludwig presses the gauze down and pulls out the dagger in Brador's side, he injects blood into his thigh. Ludwig does the same to the next dagger. Brador's head nods back as he clenches his teeth. He hates how he can feel every individual muscle fiber stitch itself back together.

Ludwig carefully places the blades down on a nearby table. He then pauses, staring at them with a raised brow. He slowly turns to Brador, who mindlessly stares at the ceiling, counting individual wood grains in his head to distract himself.

“Brador.” Ludwig says.

“Am I free to go?”

“These are Simon's daggers.”

“Fine. I was getting kinky with Simon in particular.”

Ludwig may be somewhat slow and dopey at times, but even this is extremely suspicious to him. “Then where is he? Why wasn't he helping you to the infirmary?”

Brador doesn't answer, ignoring Ludwig.

“Brador!” Ludwig comes to his side, staring him down seriously and worriedly, “Why did he stab you?! Twice?!”

“It's none of your business.”

“It's all of my business, Simon is a good colleague and friend of ours!”

“...it's your fault.”

“What?”

“It's your fault!” Brador speaks up louder, “If you hadn't shown Simon our inner circle, he wouldn't have found out what we do behind the scenes.”

The color drains from Ludwig's face. “I… I… I thought he would see… see how dedicated Laurence is to saving others through sacrifice. I thought he would understand what must be done… he's such an analytical and calculating person, Simon is. I thought he would understand.”

“Well. Simon learned too much, and Laurence believed that he might expose us all. Laurence ordered the hit.” Brador confesses.

Ludwig shakes his shoulders. “Y-You didn't actually go through with it, did you?! DID YOU?!” His eyes are wide.

“He escaped…” Brador exhales, “Simon escaped with only a few wounds. He will be ok.”

“You still tried to kill him! What next, will you target Djura next if he learns that we were complacent in Old Yharnam's poisoning?!” Ludwig shouts, towering over him.

“I don't know!” Brador shouts back, “He's made it damn clear he doesn't like the Healing Church nor Blood, and I don't think he likes Laurence that much either!”

Ludwig takes a deep breath. Then he sits down beside Brador, “Laurence is gone, you know.”

“He's done so, so much for us. He would want me to continue protecting his legacy.” Brador slumps in the bed.

“Brador… he was using you. He was using me,” Ludwig holds back a sob, “He used you just now to kill Simon.”

“I don't care if he's using me. He loves me. He loves you. He is using us for the best interest of Yharnam's citizens.”

Ludwig slumps over, looking down in his lap. “I don't know what Laurence's intentions are anymore.”

“It's not our place to understand.”

“...I never wanted to understand. I just want to believe we're truly helping people. But bringing in people to experiment on…”

“They volunteered.”

“But the orphans they've taken in!”

Brador scoffs. “Better to live to your utmost potential than rot away, poor and forgotten.”

“Brador-”

“Oh, and getting beaten every day. I'd much rather have been raised by the Healing Church.”

“That still doesn't make it right! We spend all of our time protecting the people we have endangered,” Ludwig says, “Killing beasts we have made out of them.”

“Well, what's worse? Dying slowly and painfully from tuberculosis and cancer simultaneously, or a swift death by a beast's jaws clamping down on your neck? Either way, the blood can heal both.”

“You're missing the point…”

“Then why are you helping us?”

“I can't help anymore. Look at where it has led me. I've paid for my sins.” Ludwig laments.

Brador glances over. The equine beast sits comically on the chair, crushed under his weight, unsure of what to do with his many legs. “I don't understand. Your intentions were nothing but kind. You did nothing but slay beasts and protect those who were still human.” Brador thinks out loud.

“They were… but how many people did I truly save? By turning a blind eye to what Laurence and The Choir were doing… Just how many have I ignored while I was out there killing beasts? I just wanted to save people…” Ludwig neighs out a sob, “I just wanted to save people! And now look, as blind as I lived, now blinded by beastly idiocy over my own ignorance!”

Ludwig springs up, rampaging around the infirmary, shrieking and roaring. Brador tries moving out of the way, but he finds himself paralyzed, unable to move or speak. Then, Ludwig rears on his hindmost legs, sending his hooves crashing down onto Brador's chest.

Then Brador jolts awake. He blinks, looking around, seeing that only he's in the temporary stables, leaning against Astera. The beast is asleep, but twitching, his lips pulled uncomfortably into something of a scowl.

Brador touches the horse's neck, petting down his mane of Ludwig's hair. “Wake up. Wake up, it's only a nightmare. Ludwig…”

Astera opens his eyes, raising his head. He snorts.

“Are you there at all, Ludwig?”

Astera only starts chewing at Brador's sleeve again.

Brador cocks his head. Dreams are only dreams, just fragmented memories and nonsense, it's the brain processing thoughts, subconscious and conscious. It couldn't have been more than that, right?

--- --- ---

The sun is setting. While the buildings of Old Yharnam tower over Djura's yard and workshop, thin amber rays still find their way inside. It's enough for Simon and Eileen to examine Ludwig’s Holy Moonlight, but they've been toiling over it for far too long.

“Simon, I don't know how I'm supposed to ‘wake up’ this sword.” Eileen rubs her temples, hunched over the workshop table.

“I don't know. Ludwig would just wave his hand over it and it would activate. Like this!” Simon sweeps his hand across the blade, “I promise you.”

“I believe you, I've seen him use it myself…” Eileen narrows her eyes, “What made that man have such an affinity for the arcane? And what makes me… not as special?”

Simon shrugs. “It's like King Arthur and Excalibur.”

Eileen groans. “I don't have time to go through a hero's journey to become worthy. I'm turning 50 years old within the decade, goddammit. And we have been working here for hours, wasting more of my life away.”

“Well… we've tried everything we could.”

“No we didn't. You said you believed I would be the best candidate due to my Blade of Mercy being made of siderite?”

“Uh, yes-?!”

Eileen whips her blade out and stabs it at the Holy Moonlight Sword. “I'm done playin’ nice, you little shit!”

“EILEEN!!!” Simon flails his arms around in a panic.

“You'd better work or I'm going to carve my name into your broadside and make you my bitch! Can you feel my intentions through my arcane blades, huh?!” She yells at the sword and stabs it again, “Fuck you!”

Simon pulls her away by the arms. “Attacking it will not grant us any favors!”

“We have been far too kind and it won't cooperate! It's time to pull some nails and teeth!” Eileen argues.

Simon knows it's unlike her to lose her temper like this, so she must be hungry and pissed. She's at the end of her patience. “W-Why don't we go inside and eat? I heard they're making a Dutch specialty today!”

“I don't want their fucking stamppot, I want my goddamn guanciale on a charcuterie board served with red wine for this bullshit!”

---

Djura offered Simon to join them for dinner. Djura felt bad that Simon ate outside and away from everyone else, and while Simon declined at first, he thought it would be better to discuss the plans for Ludwig over some good food. It might ease the tension. Of course, Djura placed Brador and Simon far across from each other, diagonally across the table.

“--so I tried everything. Really, I did. And I give up. I'm sorry.” After a long winded explanation, Eileen helps herself to her own personal charcuterie board, while everyone else has a simple but classic Dutch stamppot, made lovingly with Andrei's ancestors in mind. They don't have red wine, but she happily accepted a glass of gin instead.

“I'm at a loss of what to do too.” Simon adds on, then digs into his food. He appreciates a dish that focuses heavily on vegetables, and the side of sliced beef is a lovely touch. Despite the dreary outcome of their efforts, Simon starts stuffing his face. The stamppot isn't really anything special, but it's the homemade love that it had that warms his heart.

“Thank you for trying. Really…” Djura looks downcast. “Well… we could move on to our other ideas.”

“Nothing that endangers anyone's sanity,” Brador mumbles, poking at his food, “It's not worth it. We should just let him go, wait for his consciousness to fade into nothingness.”

“Don't say that…” Simon whispers.

“Why couldn't you just put him down when he and Astera were still separate?”

“How the hell was I supposed to know that… THAT would happen? And you've been all over the place about what should happen to Ludwig, do you want him to come back or not?” Simon speaks that last part through gritted teeth.

“The same goes for you!” Brador raises his voice back at Simon, “I could never tell what you wanted, why even work for the Healing Church just to stab us in the back?!”

“Guys…” Djura speaks up with a sigh.

Simon unwittingly ignores him. “Because I thought we were doing something good for Yharnam, until I saw everything! And don't talk to me about backstabbing, you snake!”

“Snake?! I wasn't the one sneaking around behind Ludwig's back with his trust-”

Eileen leans back with a sip of her gin, internally giddy at the scene.

“You take that back!”

“He let you into the upper echelons of the Church after you took advantage of his naivety!” Brador snarls at him, “He trusted you, and you have the audacity now to act like you care?!”

“I do care about him!” Simon points his fork at Brador, “But you didn't care enough about Ludwig to stop him from pumping himself full of Healing Blood that you knew damn well turned people into beasts!”

“Apparently, neither did you, because look at where we are, dumbass!”

“Bastard!”

“Scoundrel!”

“Harlot!”

“ENOUGH!” Djura snaps. Everyone stops- except for Andrei, who has happily been eating his mother's recipe, completely ignorant to the tension at the table.

“I'm sorry for getting all of your hopes up,” Djura starts, sounding completely crushed, “I didn't think it would cause this much conflict. All I wanted out of this was for Ludwig to have a second chance, and for my darlin' to sleep peacefully at night. But if you two are going to tear everything apart with your grudges, then I want nothing to do with it anymore.”

Djura pushes his plate away from himself, slides out his chair, and walks out as calmly as he can. It doesn't stop him from closing the back door a touch too harshly, not hard enough to be a slam, but certainly not gentle enough to be normal.

It's dead silent now, save for Andrei chewing and inhaling his food. It takes a moment for Brador to collect himself and quietly excuse himself from the table. He leaves in Djura's footsteps.

Eileen speaks up. “By the way, Simon, do not bring up the Ashen Blood around Djura and Brador if they're in the same room.”

“Why?”

“Andrei and Djura know about the whole thing, including Brador's involvement.”

Simon nearly chokes on his food.

“Tell me about it. I'm absolutely livid.” Andrei finally speaks his first words at dinner, sliding Djura’s food to himself.

“Why haven't you kicked that bastard out yet?!” Simon exclaims.

“It's not me. It's Djura. He thinks Brador has already redeemed himself or whatever, but Brador hasn't said a peep about it.” Andrei grumbles.

“And the worst part is, I completely understand why Brador is silent about it,” Eileen adds on, “Simon. Whatever you do, do not bring it up around them.”

Simon lets out a long, exasperated, and tired groan. He helps himself to another serving of stamppot, and thankfully, one more bite is enough to bring his mood up. It has been far too long since he’s had so many delicious and filling meals, even if they were soured by Brador’s presence.

---

It's not hard to find Djura- he didn't go very far. His sobs, although he tries to keep them quiet, faintly echo from his workshop. Brador's heart breaks at the sight, seeing Djura with his head down at his workshop desk, everything shoved to the side, including Ludwig’s Holy Moonlight. The workshop door creaks a bit too loudly as Brador opens it further.

“Leave me alone.” Djura sounds frustrated as he hiccups.

Brador stands there in silence, then he steps forward. Djura makes no move to stop him. Brador sits beside him, and without a moment’s hesitation, Djura leans on his shoulder.

“...” Djura wipes his tears, “I thought we would all come together for Ludwig. That's why I insisted on everyone eating dinner under my roof.”

“I'm sorry, I… my tongue slipped back there. I ruined it.”

Djura says nothing. Brador also says nothing.

“I let all of you down, I, I…” Djura mumbles, “I just wanted to see you happy again, Brador. I've barely seen that smile of yours over the past few days.”

“Djura…”

“Ten years living with beasts, and I haven't a goddamn clue about how to get one's humanity back. I feel like a failure.”

“...you? A failure?” Brador gasps.

Djura sniffles.

“You're not. You're the most amazing goddamn person I've met. You make dirt from fucking scratch. I never thought it was possible. And here you are, kicking yourself because you can't accomplish the impossible. It's never been done before, Djura. Not everyone is meant to be Galileo or Da Vinci.”

“Still… I got your hopes up. I've disappointed you.”

“You had some ideas, we tried them, they didn't work. Laurence had to go through so many trials and errors before he perfected the Healing Blood. We're going to keep working on it.”

“What else is there to try? All we know is that the Holy Moonlight Sword talks to Ludwig, and it wouldn't respond to anything Eileen did. The only thing those two have got in common is their supposed affinity for the arcane. And that didn't work...”

“Maybe it's something other than that.”

“Then I'll try it myself. Maybe it's the commonality of Ludwig and I's shared thick skulls and stubbornness…” Djura takes off his gloves. He touches the blade with his bare fingers. It's ice cold.

“Hey…” Djura pulls the blade across the desk, “I dunno how sentient you are, or how you work, but please listen to me. Ludwig is a good man. I don't know how you guided him or what you wanted from him, but it certainly couldn't have been turning into a beast. Do you think you can help us bring him back…?”

Brador glances between Djura and the sword, watching.

“Even if it's just for a moment. Bring back his humanity long enough for us to ask him. C'mon, work…” Djura mutters, touching along the etched runes of its broadside. After a moment of nothing, Djura holds his hands to his forehead, praying. “Do Great Ones answer prayers?”

Brador has to ponder on that. “Not as often as offerings and sacrifices.”

“What do they accept?”

“...children. Specifically infants.”

Djura turns his head slowly at Brador, expecting him to crack a joking smile to compliment his dark humor, but not even a chuckle comes out of him. Brador is completely stone-faced. Djura inhales, “Okay, then… we're not using children. What about other sacrifices?”

“It's hit or miss. It depends.”

Djura touches his index finger to the blade's edge, then his palm. His brow furrows as he tenses his hand and braces himself, and it's that split second that makes Brador shoot his hand out, grabbing Djura's wrist. Djura gasps and stares at Brador.

“That’s enough. You're not sacrificing any part of yourself for this.” Brador tells him, worriedly.

“But…”

“You've done more than enough for me, Djura.”

“What about you?” Djura swallows, “And you've been through enough. I just want you to be at ease.”

“I can't be at ease if you have to hurt yourself for me. I'm already guilty enough about this,” Brador strokes Djura's casted arm, “Besides. We have no clue if blood will awaken it, and it's not worth trying.”

“I… alright.” Djura sucks in a deep breath. He touches the sword again. “I just wish I could do more.”

Brador leans forward, hugging him. Djura doesn't hug him back, merely nuzzling his face into Brador's shoulder. He starts to cry again. “I just want you to be at ease… I just want you to be at ease, Brador…”

“I know, Djura, I know. Thank you.”

Then, instead of the warm lamplight that illuminated them before when they first found their infatuations, they opened their eyes to be greeted with Ludwig's luminous, pale blue moonlight, shining on the workshop desk.

---

“Seriously?! It was the power of stupid fucking love that awoke it?!” Andrei groans, throwing his head back in exasperation.

“I don't know, we were having a moment, crying about each other, then boom! The sword is working.” Djura holds it in his hands proudly as proof.

“We weren't crying!” Brador barks, wiping his eyes. He's still crying from sheer relief and sappiness.

“So if Henryk were with me, would it have worked…?” Eileen ponders, “And what's love to the sword? What if I brought my expensive black pearls? I love those as much as him. What do you think, Simon?”

Simon is in the corner, brooding and pondering. He thinks and thinks and thinks…

“...Eureka!” Simon gasps, “It wasn't love, nor arcane affinity.”

Everyone turns to Simon, expecting his answer with great anticipation.

“It was simple intent all along. Pure hearted, selfless intent, untainted by anything other than to make a change in the world. Not necessarily something sinless, but rather… how should I explain it? Well, it didn't work for Eileen because she was bribed with guanciale, and she didn't truly care for the cause.” Simon explains, gesturing along the way.

“Guilty as charged.” Eileen shrugs.

“Ludwig was driven by his righteous desire to protect others, it wasn't for money or fame. It was to be a guardian, and only that alone. His desire was pure and selfless. And… It seems like it worked for Djura because of his desire to give Ludwig a chance and see Brador rest easy at night. In other words… Yes, I guess in a way, it was the power of love.” Simon pinches the bridge of his nose.

Brador looks at Djura like a puppy. “You love me that much?”

“I do.” Djura smiles.

They hold hands and start kissing in front of everyone, much to their displeasure. Simon interrupts them by clearing his throat. “We agreed on trying to wake Ludwig up closer to the new moon, right?”

Djura pulls away from Brador, nodding. “That's right.”

“I guess we will return to our normal lives until then, right?” Simon turns to Eileen, but she has already left the house. “Ah. She has the right idea.”

“Simon, you've been a great help around here,” Djura speaks up with sincerity, “I'd appreciate it if you stuck around for a while longer. Food and shelter provided, free of charge, of course.”

Simon looks touched. “Ah, well…” Then he looks at Brador, who's giving him the stink eye, “Well…”

Djura smacks Brador on the shoulder without even looking at him. “I'll keep him on a short leash.”

“What?” Brador blinks, his mind going blank and his cheeks turning pink.

“It's a metaphor, darlin'.”

Simon chuckles upon seeing Brador's expression. “I've my own duties to attend to, but I'll stop by every once in a while to check on Ludwig. Thank you, nonetheless.”

Djura smiles cordially. “I'll be seeing you, then. You're always welcome around here.”

Djura and Simon shake hands. Brador is still too flustered from Djura's comment and his own dirty mind to even make a disgusted face at them making contact.

Once Simon leaves, Djura finally looks up at Brador and sees his face. “...oh. Oh. Oh ho ho.” Djura's got a dumb smile on his face now.

“Huh?”

He gives a smirk, reaching up to grasp Brador's tie. “Since we're in much better spirits now… how about we let off some steam? We could use it.” Djura blinks really hard- ah, damnit, he winked.

“A-ah-- uuuh-” Brador stammers like an idiot.

Djura smiles wide. “Now I know how it feels when you tease me! C'mon, let's have some celebratory fun. You deserve it, being such a good boy and all~”

“B-But your broken arm-” Brador protests, “You can't-”

Djura whispers, tugging on Brador's tie lightly. “You'll be the one servicing me. Isn't that what good boys do?”

“...Lead the way.” Is all Brador manages to say.

As they stumble their way upstairs to the bedroom, Andrei, who has been standing around silently the whole time, rushes to the nearby sink to wash out his eyes.

Chapter Text

Things have been somewhat mundane around Old Yharnam. Relief has washed over them all knowing that Djura can now utilize Ludwig’s Holy Moonlight Sword. Brador especially has been in a better mood. He feels like he can finally breathe again. His energy has returned and he helps Djura around Old Yharnam with a smile on his face.

Djura, however, is a different story. Sure, he's hopeful about Ludwig's situation, and happy that Brador's spirits are lifted, but he is slowly going insane. Not in that peculiar Yharnam madness sort of way, but in a restless, passionate sort of way because he is unable to do what he truly loves more than anything: Engineering and mechanics.

He stares longingly at his Gatling Gun often as he's working down below, doing important tasks that aren’t nearly as fulfilling. Sure, grooming his beasts relaxes him, and doing laundry and gardening is productive, and cooking with Brador is sweet and romantic…

But none of those are even close to the rusty smell of oil on steel. He can't watch his babies work and fire like they're good as new. He can't dismantle them surgically and lovingly put them back together. He can't huff in the burning scent of gunpowder. He can't feel her cold iron in his hands, and how she starts warming up slowly over the night as he handles her parts with his bare palms…

Sending Andrei up there for maintenance on his babygirl isn't the same. It's not the same as intimately fixing her up. Of course, he trusts Andrei to get the job done without a doubt, but it's just not the same.

It's like depriving a flower of water. If Djura doesn't stew in his passions for at least an entire night, he will wither and die in a figurative sense. He can't even work on his guns nor Stake Driver down here, with how even his fingers are in the cast. He also can't explain his work to Brador, because talks of firing hammers and barrels only make sense to him and other Powder Kegs.

The only reason why Djura has avoided serious injury is so he wouldn't be in this situation. Back when he used to work for the Healing Church, he would just inject himself with blood vials upon every injury. But after he severed ties with the Healing Church, he quickly realized just how much the Healing Blood, as well as the Hunter's Dream, carried his destructive habits. He had a similar injury before, and it took over two months to heal. He recalls going absolutely crazy about the fact that he needed to stay still, or his leg bone would split again.

As much as he hates the Healing Church, he is forever indebted to them and he took them for granted back then.

So now, Djura is met with a conundrum: Continue to cope with his situation and wait for his arm to heal, or swallow his pride, and possibly risk his humanity, and take another dose of Healing Blood. Though, he's far from losing himself to beasthood, but at this point he's definitely about to fall from boredom-induced madness.

It's easy to think when he's merely sitting down, his arm resting on the dining room table, with Brador thoroughly and gently examining it. He hears Brador say something, but thanks to him zoning out it went right over his head. “Uh… could you repeat that, Brador? How long do you think it will take for me to heal again?”

Brador, who begins wrapping Djura's arm up again, speaks calmly. “I'd say twelve weeks. And even after that, it will be months before your arm will be fully functional again. You didn't just get your bones broken in half, they were completely shattered.”

Djura looks like he was just told that he will forever be in financial debt due to outstanding student loans, and he will never be able to catch up because of the increasing interest rates and stagnant wages. In other words: Utterly shocked and devastated. “I… I see…”

“...you know, with one or two blood vials-”

“Absolutely not.”

Brador shuts his mouth. He definitely shouldn't have suggested that. There are other ways to aid Djura's healing, but nothing will speed up the process fast enough for him to be satisfied.

“Foods like cheeses, nuts, and some meats too are full of minerals and fats,” Brador starts explaining as he begins soaking and wrapping the plaster, “So you won't have to change your diet much to help your bones grow back stronger. But you'll still have to cut back on physical labor.”

Djura huffs. “Whatever you say, Doc.”

Brador works in silence for a little while, focused entirely on the cast. Djura keeps thinking. He speaks up again, “Do I have any beastly symptoms? Signs of the scourge?”

“You're the expert on that subject, Djura.”

“I'd like a second opinion, Doc.”

Brador looks up at him, pausing for a moment to observe him. “Other than your body hair, which is more likely from your testosterone than Healing Blood, you haven't got a single sign.”

“Really?”

“I could do a more thorough check to make sure of it.”

“Sure thing.”

Brador's hand reaches out to Djura's lip, pulling it to the side to reveal his teeth. His upper canines are a bit longer than average. Curiously, Brador uses his thumb to open Djura's mouth a bit further to check his premolars. Brador's thumb touches his tongue on accident. Djura blushes, “U-Uhh-”

“Huh?” Brador retracts his thumb, “What is it?”

Djura swallows. “Nevermind.”

Then Brador snickers. “You liked that, didn't you?”

“I did not!” Djura blurts out, then gasps when Brador cups his chin. Brador brushes his thumb over Djura's lower lip, and his lips part effortlessly.

“If my weakness is being on a leash, yours is having your mouth handled.” Brador observes astutely.

“That’s not important right now!” Djura says defensively.

“Oh, right. Your teeth are normal for someone who has used Healing Blood, but that alone isn't indicative of succumbing to the scourge. Your fingernails and pupil are normal too.” Brador states analytically.

Djura sighs in relief.

“Another thing about beasthood…” Brador gets back to the task at hand, “Some researchers at the Healing Church proposed it's a state of mind rather than a physical transformation- that the transformation itself is a symptom, not the disease.”

Djura's head perks up. “Oh?”

“It's about succumbing to raw, primal instinct and forgetting what makes us human. In other words, losing our consciousness and intelligence. It's why hunters are so prone to turning into beasts, because they fight for their lives every day with blood, sweat, and tears… and eventually they lash out as instinct takes over.”

“Ah. That's the conclusion I came to as well,” Djura nods, “I've seen it over and over again, that fight or flight in someone kicking in… and before you know it, they've turned.”

“Exactly. Laurence sought a way to reverse that effect of the Healing Blood, to advance humanity rather than regressing it…” Brador sighs, “I wish he hadn't lost to his own battle.”

“Advance humanity? As in the sciences and inventions?”

“Not quite like that. An evolution of humanity as organisms.”

Djura cocks his head. “Why?”

“Because we humans need to move beyond killing and violence like animals. Laurence proved that as such when mobs of Yharnamites started hunting each other down. Our beastly idiocy… time and time again we regress to acting like animals, even without the Healing Blood. That's why Laurence wanted to reverse beasthood. He wanted humanity to reach its pinnacle.”

“So…” Djura thinks very carefully before opening his mouth, “What does evolving humanity have to do with healing disease and injury?”

Brador says nothing.

“Brador?”

“The idea to advance humanity branched from only wanting to heal us. I don't know anything more than that,” Brador explains, “But that shouldn't matter. Laurence's plans for us are no longer. Think nothing of it, Djura. Put it out of your mind.”

“Ok…” Djura sits patiently as his cast dries, and Brador tends to him by massaging his shoulders and carrying the conversation on.

“So hypothetically, I could take as much blood as I want so long as I don't lose my sanity?” Djura asks.

“Yes, but it's still not well studied. Some scholars argue that there's beasthood within everyone, blood user or not, in other words we're all beasts already. Others propose that there are factors that give everyone a different tolerance to beasthood… Laurence said that I have a particularly low tolerance for it.”

Djura still pushes questions. “So that's why you use the Bloodletter?”

“I abused blood more than anyone else at the Healing Church…” Brador admits, “I sustained injuries often and carelessly.”

“...that explains a lot…”

Brador changes the subject back to a previous one, “You’re not entertaining the idea of taking blood, are you?”

Djura is drumming his fingers on the table and his leg is bouncing. “What makes you think that?”

“You seem restless.”

“...” Djura inhales deeply, tossing his head back with a groan. “I'm boooooooored!”

“Huh? We just spent all day doing work around Old Yharnam, how and why are you bored?”

“It's ain't enough… and it's hard to explain, but…” Djura grumbles, “It don't require much thinkin’ to do laundry and pick vegetables, and my brain is all over the place! I… I NEED to work on my machines, I need to build a doohickey, dammit! But I need my other hand that's wrapped up in this stupid cast! I don't wanna take blood, but I might just die from boredom instead!”

“Oh… so you're like Micolash. You need mental stimulation.” Brador realizes.

“So what did he do to cure himself?”

“Do something he loves that also requires problem solving and other sorts of thinking. Experiments and the sciences.”

“Oh! Well that's great! If only I could work with my machines with two functioning hands!” He groans with great sarcasm.

“Why don't you read a book?”

“I caaan’t unless it interests me… and I promise you I've read all of the books I have a thousand times over…”

Brador thinks. He thinks about what he could possibly do to sate Djura's intellectual cravings. He doesn't have the precise hands or knowledge to help Djura with his mechanics…

…But he does have something that would probably fulfill Djura's curiosity.

Brador reaches to his holster and places his Evelyn on the table. Djura stares at it like a starving wolf finding a wounded lamb.

Brador opens the chamber to empty out the bullets, finding none, and checks the barrel in case there's one hiding in there. He then slides the pistol to Djura. “Will this be enough for now?”

Djura stammers. “I-It belonged to your friend! I shouldn't!”

“She hated it,” Brador explains with a touch of sorrow, “She kept it for a while only for self defense, but never fired a single bullet.”

“Why…?” Before Brador can answer, Djura keeps talking, “Who wouldn't wanna fire such a gorgeous pistol? My God, the time it must've taken to carve these…” Djura gingerly traces along the engravings with his free fingers, then slides the Evelyn closer to himself. “Maybe she’s too pretty to tarnish with gunpowder…”

Djura flicks the firing hammer and a chill runs down his spine. “That sounds so satisfying. Hoo…” He seems to sweat. He then picks it up. It's heavy from the quality of metal it's welded from. He gives it a spin, catching it by the handle. He gives it another spin. Then another. Then another.

“She's got such a long barrel. I bet her shots are clean and precise…” Djura observes it with a smile, “Ooh, I can't imagine what the real gunshot sounds like.”

“You can keep it, if you wish.” Brador tells him.

“Huh?!” Djura gasps, “You can't be serious.”

“I understand Ludwig's intentions when he gave it to me, but…” Brador inhales, “I don't think I should be the one to carry on this part of her, even if I use it to protect us.”

Djura tilts his head, then his eye widens slightly in realization. “There's nothing more horrific than the hunt. I understand.”

It wasn't the hunt. It was something far worse, Brador wants to say. “See? Since you understand that better than I, you should have it.”

“But surely you have memories of your friend attached to this?” Djura questions, “You're really alright with giving her Evelyn to me?”

“Djura…” Brador places his hand upon Djura's, holding it alongside the Evelyn, “I would entrust you with my very life.”

---

Gunshots have rung through Old Yharnam all throughout the evening. The beasts don't mind it, not after growing accustomed to Djura's bombast and addiction to his firearms over the years. Djura is absolutely elated at his new toy. Despite his over-the-top enthusiasm, he treats Lady Maria's Evelyn with great respect and dignity.

“So accurate! So precise!” Djura smiles as he shoots another tin can cleanly from the crumbled wall it was seated upon, “And yet, so much range and power! Dare I say it, it's superior to the Hunter’s Pistol in every way!”

Brador, lounging around just a few paces behind Djura, smiles. “So you'll be keeping it?”

“Absolutely! Pistols don't get any better than this,” Djura blows the smoke from the barrel, “Don’t you worry, sweet Evelyn here will have a loving home here, lending me a hand protecting our folks. I gotta make a new holster for this beauty, she's gonna have a place as my off-hand and replace my ol’ Hunter's Pistol.”

“I'm happy she's with you, then.” Brador smiles.

---

Andrei was sent away earlier that day to shop for food and supplies. Truthfully, he really wanted an excuse to get away from Brador for a while, but shopping was necessary nonetheless.

He bought what he was supposed to with coins they had found around Old Yharnam and looted from dead hunters’ wallets: Horse feed for Astera, grains like oats and barley, fruits such as apples and grapes, bags of flour and sugar…

It's tough work, lugging wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow to and from Old Yharnam, and especially the barrel of horse feed, but it's all worth it. But today, shopping was worth it more than usual, for something special caught Andrei's eye, and he was willing to cough up a few more coins for it. Best of all, he knows Djura will be delighted to cook it for dinner.

“Djura!” Andrei announces himself, walking into the house with a wooden box that's damp with cold water, “You'll never guess what they were selling today!”

Djura shuffles over curiously with Brador a close distance behind him. “Whatcha got there, Andrei?”

Andrei sets the box upon the counter. “Firstly, I wanna apologize regarding how many pounds this cost-”

“Ain't no need to apologize!” Djura grins, “There's a reason why I trust you more with the finances.”

Andrei smiles back. He then pries open the box, presenting it to Djura, “Feast your eyes!”

Djura gasps and his jaw drops. The box is packed with whole, gutted Atlantic salmon and cod, on a bed of ice and straw. Their pristine scales shine in the lighting of Djura's home, their eyes still glassy.

“Djura…” Andrei gulps with a tremble in his voice, “The fish are so fresh that the ice they're on is from the very sea they're caught from.”

“From Norway?!”

Andrei nods slowly, just as amazed as Djura. “From Norway.”

“My God… this oughta be one of the best days of my life,” Djura still marvels at the fish, “I say we take two of these beauties and turn them into ukha, and the rest we salt and smoke to preserve.”

“That's what I was thinking!” Andrei grins.

Djura jumps up and down. “Excellent! Hey, Brador, I'm gonna teach you how to make a classic Slavic soup…”

But when Djura turns to meet Brador's gaze, Brador's eyes are lifeless and his skin is pale. He stares at the gutted fish, looking rather ill.

“Brador?” Djura nudges Brador's arm, “Hey, are you doing alright?” Brador doesn't react at all.

“Do you feel it? That sickness in your stomach?” A voice rings out.

Brador makes eye contact with the salmon sitting at the very top of the pile. It asks him again with those glazed over, dead eyes, “That awful, endless pit in your stomach. Do you feel it?”

“I do.”

“That’s called disgust, or perhaps guilt… Why couldn't you feel that for our kin? Our kin, whose brains you spilled?”

“I don't know.”

“I am but a fish for your consumption. You drilled into those people's skulls. Why?” The blood from its bloodline seeps from its gutted belly, staining the ice.

“I said I don't know.”

“You're a monster.”

“I'm a man.”

“Same difference. It's in your nature as humans, as is mine to brave the currents and spawn in the rivers whence I was born. Your kind kills not to eat, but to fulfill selfish desires beyond bodily needs.”

“We are more than simple animals. We seek answers. That is mankind's nature.”

“No. Your arrogance is your nature. That is what separates man from animal.”

“How would you know? You're a fish.”

“Brador!” Djura snaps his fingers in his face.

Brador blinks. “Huh?”

“I was asking you about how you were feeling, if you can't describe that yourself, then you ain't feeling good at all. I mean, you answered my question about your head with the fact that… this is a fish.”

“That was you?” Brador asks nauseously.

Djura darts his eye around. “I don't know who else it could be besides Andrei, and he hasn't said a word just now.” Andrei is gawking at Brador like he's a calculus equation.

“Ok…”

“I'm sorry, if the fish is bothering you, then you don't have to be in here while we cook. You can sit this one out, if you want?”

“Ah. Ok. E-Excuse me for a moment.” Brador garbles before gracefully running out the back door and violently vomiting all over the ground.

---

They cooked dinner without Brador. With a complete loss of appetite, Brador holed himself up in Djura's room. Djura provided him with a glass of water and a bowl of oatmeal, in case he got hungry again. Djura reassured him that there's nothing to be ashamed of, but that didn't help at all.

Something is wrong, more than Brador just being ill at seafood. Brador told Djura not to worry about him. “I want to be left alone. Please. That's what I need the most right now,” Brador said in his own words.

So, Djura bid Brador goodnight, gave him a gentle kiss, and left.

Now Djura and Andrei sit together at the dinner table with their efforts sitting before then: a classic ukha. The clear broth reveals the few and simple ingredients: Chunks of salmon and cod sit amongst carrots, onions, and potatoes. Tiny globules of oil from the salmon float on the surface, giving the ukha a pretty, shimmering look to it. The soup is topped off with a mix of chopped dill and parsley.

“Ah well, it's a shame he doesn't like seafood.” Andrei remarks as he starts eating. A feeling of comfort washes over him as the warm soup goes down his throat. The broth tastes clean and refreshing, not overwhelming with any of the components’ flavors. His shoulders relax.

“Eh. To each their own.” Djura shrugs and begins to eat as well. A smile sneaks its way onto his face as he tastes Andrei's cooking.

“This stuff is a hot commodity. The fish itself, I mean.”

“Perhaps he had a bad experience with seafood and refuses to eat them because of that. Or maybe they're personal reasons, like how I don't eat chickens because I love ‘em too much,” Djura taps his spoon in thought, “Say… d’you think Brador's reaction to the fish is related to his fear of water?”

Andrei has to think about his answer. “I see the relation, but if I drowned or something, I wouldn't associate fish with that trauma. And he threw up as if he were ill instead of… I don't know, freaking out? But he was zoning out and staring at the fish… maybe you should ask him?”

“It's probably nothing too serious, right?”

“Djura, he didn't even taste the fish and he threw up. It couldn't have been the smell either, they're fresh.”

“Are you…” Djura squints, “Concerned about Brador?”

“Am I not allowed to be worried about him?”

“Well, of course you are. It's just surprising.”

Andrei's eyes shift, looking into the clear broth. “I don't think he's a genuinely bad person. Just troubled… and misguided.”

“See? That's why I'm helping him. Set him on the right path, you know?”

“This is what I mean when I say you're trying to ‘fix’ him, Djura.”

“...Ahhh.”

“I have seen the change in him, so whatever you're doing is working… but…” Andrei sighs, taking another sip of broth, “I don't think I will ever be able to let go of what he did. Not until he repents.”

“I understand, Andrei. I won't hold it against you.”

Andrei smiles thinly. “I really hope he's alright, though. I've never seen anyone react to food like that before.”

Thunder rumbles gently outside in the distance. Djura tilts his head. “It wasn't cloudy at all when I was out there an hour ago…”

Andrei shrugs. “It rains every other day here.”

“Still, it's strange… I'll check on Brador after this.” Djura lifts a spoonful to his lips, then stops all of a sudden, dropping the spoon in shock. Andrei stops too, seeing Djura's sudden reaction. They both say absolutely nothing, a tense and uncertain silence falling between them as they exchange concerned looks.

Djura moves first. He scoops up the spoon’s contents with a napkin. Instead of a piece of salmon, the meat is a strange, pale, tubular creature. It has no distinguishing features like a mouth or eyes, only an end with thin, feathery tentacles surrounding what can only be assumed to be a head. It's nothing like anything either of the men have seen. The closest creature in their minds would be a squid or a slug, but this thing is beyond their scope of knowledge. All of the pieces of fish have been replaced by individual creatures of this sort. The creatures appear to be dead.

“...what the hell?” Djura says out loud with a chill running down his spine.

“…” The snarky Andrei has nothing to say for once.

The air in the house is foreign and hazy. It's familiar yet alien to Djura. The weight around him feels like The Hunter's Dream, but something is terribly wrong.

Djura pushes himself out of his seat, pointing at the creature. “You see that too, right?!”

“I see it. It's weird. I have no idea what it is.”

“Holy shit, ok, I'm not going crazy- I need to check on Brador, I don't like what's happening-”

“Hey, don't leave me with these fuckin’ things!”

Djura races upstairs, Andrei running right behind him. Djura swings open the bedroom door. Andrei runs ahead of him, skidding to a stop…

This isn't Djura's bedroom. The door opened to a scene devoid of color, only of gray, rainy skies and a twisted sun. They appear to be on a pathway on a cliff side with sparse, barren trees and grass. Djura glances behind him to see that his hallway isn't there, no, it's a dilapidated wooden hut beneath an abandoned lighthouse. They can hear waves rolling in the distance and smell the ocean, but a foul odor belies the crisp scent of the sea, something rotten and old.

“...” Djura and Andrei stare at each other. They don't say a word, only a nod of understanding. They don't question how they suddenly have their weapons strapped to their belts, or how Djura's arm is suddenly healed, but they both pull out and load their firearms. Andrei watches Djura's back as they move slowly and deliberately towards the higher elevation of the cliff side.

“This is a dream,” Djura whispers, “At what point did we start dreaming?”

“The real question is if you're part of my dream or if it's the other way around.” Andrei whispers back.

“Either way, this isn't good. This feels too real. And what caused this…?”

“It must have been the fish, right? We’re by the sea.”

Djura raises his hand as they move around a bend in the path. Even their breathing slows to become quieter. Djura motions at the end of the path, towards a gravestone at the very edge of the cliff, along with shabby wooden fencing. Two figures stand there, one clearly Brador's, and one strangely familiar but unknown to Djura. They're talking.

Djura and Andrei silently move behind some barren tree trunks, listening in. As relieved as Djura is to see Brador, it's unknown if that's really him.

“Brador…” The unknown figure speaks, a soft and accented voice she has, “The curse is true.”

Brador leans over the fence, putting his head down in his arms. “Maria… and you've been here this whole time?”

She nods.

“A hell of our own making.”

“Indeed.”

Brador lifts his head. “But why am I seeing you now? Did you bring me here yourself?”

“Not that I know of. If you have something of mine in your possession, that could have caused this bridge between the waking world and the Nightmare. Apparently some hunters of the waking world have used such effigies to come here.”

Djura gulps, touching the Evelyn in his holster.

“Nah. It was probably the fish. I fucking threw up when I saw them. They reminded me too much of this place.” Brador admits.

“So killing fishpeople back then didn't turn your stomach, but a previously gutted salmon on some ice did?” She glares at him.

“I was trying not to think about what I was doing back then.” He explains himself.

“Only following orders, right?”

“That's what I do best.”

She scoffs. “Only because Laurence ordered you. Do you have any agency or free will whatsoever?”

“I mean, do you? You just let everything happen, just like Ludwig and I.”

She turns away from him, downcast. “It was that, or be sent back to my stifling family and them learning what I've done.”

“They're all dead, by the way.”

“Fuck you.”

“Sorry.”

Lady Maria falls silent. Then she inhales, “You're an asshole.”

“Ha. That's basically what the salmon told me.”

“Since when did you speak fish?”

They chuckle sadly, an ill-timed joke between friends of times long past.

“Maria…” Brador starts again, looking at the grave between them, “About… back then… when I…”

“I know, Brador. I know.” She turns to him, “You didn't mean to hurt me when you said that.”

“I still feel… like I should've done more. Should've noticed the signs better.”

“There was nothing you could have done to ease my guilt. Everything I did here was of my own hand and will. I was selfish. I thought that we were truly uncovering a singular truth of the world. All we learned was that humanity is unforgivable. I pushed and pushed through body after body… until I realized it was all worthless in the faces of those lives we took. We humans- no, we hunters- are monsters. And killing monsters was what I did best. Now I spend my days protecting these people…” Then she looks down at the drop below, “No, I… It is still out of shame. I don't want anyone to see what we've done, especially what I've done. And it's pointless. Everyone here is a ghost already.”

A chill runs up his spine upon hearing Lady Maria's confession. Djura looks down at the Evelyn. He touches the barrel with two fingers.

“Yeah, but…” Brador stands up, still having his hands on the railing, “You're still protecting them from any more pain. What's done to them can't be undone. But I think… what you do now and how you change their world matters more.”

Lady Maria blinks. “I… would have never expected that to come from your mouth.”

“Well…” Brador looks up at the hazy sky, “Ever since I met him, I've… started to see things differently.”

“Who?”

“Djura.”

Djura clenches his shirt, holding back a tear. Andrei holds back a gasp.

“Djura?” Lady Maria ponders if that name rings a bell.

“He was the young Powder Keg who defected from the Church after the burning, remember? Black and greasy hair, blue eyes, peachy skin, and a perfectly triangular nose.”

“Ah, the short one. When did you meet him?”

“A few months ago, after Laurence died. He took me in and gave me a place to stay. And we're in love, can you believe that?” Brador looks at her with a smile.

Lady Maria's reaction is not of joy. “You're in love with Djura? After how we did nothing about the Ashen Blood?”

“Listen, so long as he never learns of it-”

“Brador!” Her voice raises, then settles back into a reprimanding tone, “If Laurence is dead, then there's nothing to protect regarding him. You should tell Djura the truth.”

“You have no right to speak against my decision. You reaped the rewards of razing this place.” Brador almost growls at her.

“That reason is precisely why I should have a say in the matter. I live in nothing but regret because of what I did, and I don't want the same for you.”

“Don't tell me that telling Djura the truth would bring closure. It would only bring grief.”

Djura's heart sinks. Andrei tugs on his shirt, signaling for them both to get the hell out of there. But Djura remains by the tree, listening intently.

“It would bring grief, yes…” Lady Maria inhales, “And closure.”

“But his legacy is the one thing Laurence wanted to be protected after he died. Why is it so hard to wrap your head around the idea that I owe everything to Laurence? Without him, I would still be a damn street rat. Protecting that is the very least I owe him.”

“What does that tell Djura?” Lady Maria explains, “That tells him that you're more concerned about the dead man who spread a plague over him… you love Djura, don't you?”

“Of course I do, but Laurence was the man who raised me. And Djura… I don't want to break his heart. It would pain me if he knew what I did…”

“Adeline forgave me for what I did here. Perhaps Djura would too for you.”

“I have only known him for so long. He tells me that I can tell him anything, but… is that true? Would he forgive me?”

“I don't know him. You tell me. However, I know he loves you, truly.”

“How?”

“Brador, he has already provided you with so much more than Laurence did. I can see it in your eyes. You're more alive than ever.”

Brador touches his own cheek. “I am?”

“You seem happier.”

“How can I be happier if Laurence is dead?” He says depressingly.

“I guess a better way to phrase it is… well… there isn't. You're less anxious, less meek, less pale…” She flicks his forehead, “And more comfortable with being yourself. Laurence was terrible with you- I wish you could see that.”

“He wasn't terrible…” Brador mumbles, “He was guiding and taught me discipline. He gave me food, shelter, and a purpose. He loved me. He just… needed my expertise at times.”

Lady Maria just shakes her head and looks back out to the sea. Silence falls between them.

“...I can feel myself starting to wake up. Can I ask you one last thing, Maria?” Brador asks, staring out at sea too.

“What is it?”

Brador pauses. He seems to be flipping between options in his mind. After a long while, he asks, “Is Addy…?” Is Adeline here with you?”

Lady Maria doesn't look back at him. “You're not asking about Laurence or Ludwig?”

“I already know Laurence is here. Ludwig… I know he's still in there somewhere. It would take more than turning to kill him.”

She sighs. “Adeline… she manifested here in the same state as she died. She believes Kos is giving her a second chance to ascend, here, in her realm. I'm not going to stop her.”

“Really? You're not?”

“She's like you. The Healing Church was all she ever knew. This is her only sense of purpose. …But she was too good for us anyway. I'll let her ascend- get away from this trench and all. She doesn't deserve me, after what I let happen to her, and how I… how I…”

“Maria…”

Finally, Djura silently stands and sneaks away with Andrei. Looking over his shoulder, the last thing Djura sees is Brador placing a hand on Lady Maria's shoulder as she cries quietly, then they hug.

The Powder Kegs are silent on the way back to the hut. They slump against its rotted walls.

“...We shouldn't have heard any of that. Hell, we shouldn't be here.” Andrei finally says.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Djura nods slowly, looking up at the tattered boards above them and closing his eyes, “That was too much.”

“If this is a dream, we'd best forget this whole thing when we wake up. I hope we do.”

Djura's brow furrows. “But I know the truth now. That Brador… truly doesn't want to hurt me.”

“That Maria brought up a good point though. He's choosing the Vicar over you, in a way.”

“We're still early in our relationship. He might change sometime down the line,” Djura reasons, “And besides. I told him that he doesn't have to tell me anything if he doesn't want to. He just… needs to be honest with me at some point. If he's not ready to tell me something, then it can be later.”

“I'll respect that. That's reasonable, even if you're still in denial,” Andrei nods, “I just… what would you do if he turned on us for knowing?”

Djura cocks his firearm. They look at each other with a smile. But Djura's smile fades first, “I don't think I have the guts to shoot him. Even if I was protecting myself from him.”

“Don't worry. I'm here.” Andrei pats his back.

“You always are, Andrei.”

After a few minutes, Djura can feel warm sheets on his skin and Brador's arms around him. He feels lighter. He blinks. “Andrei, I think I'm waking up.”

“Ugh. To sleep in or wake up from this dreary hell, that is the question.”

“Please wake up. We don't know what kind of nightmares lurk around here.”

“Mmm… but sleeping in…” Andrei smacks his lips, “My bed…”

“Who are you two?”

Andrei and Djura snap their heads up to see Lady Maria standing there at the hut’s dilapidated entrance, looking confused. “You two are Powder Kegs…” She looks at them up and down, then squints at Djura in particular, “Wait…”

Andrei and Djura, panicking, impulsively punch each other in the face, waking themselves up in an instant.

---

Djura opens his eyes.

He's cuddled up to Brador's chest, snug and safe. He lifts his head to look around. The glass and bowl of oatmeal are still on the nightstand.

What actually happened last night was that Djura simply came upstairs to check on Brador, saw that he was already asleep, and then fell asleep himself in Brador’s arms. He forgot to change out of his daily clothes, and just tossed his firearms onto the nearby dresser. There were no weird creatures in the ukha. That was all in that dream.

Still, that dream felt far too realistic. He could understand every word Brador was saying, and he can remember every detail on Lady Maria despite never meeting her before. Though she looks uncannily familiar, he puts it out of his mind. There are more concerning things at hand.

He peeks at the Evelyn sitting there on the dresser. Djura is not sure if Father Gascoigne performs exorcisms, but just to be sure that his new toy isn't haunted by Lady Maria…

Brador, who is already awake, presses a kiss to Djura’s forehead. “G’morning.”

“Mornin’,” Djura kisses him on the nose, “I had the weirdest dream last night, darlin'.”

“Oh, really? Like what?” Brador mumbles.

Djura yawns. Then, his eye widens as he recalls some of what he's heard. More distinctly, he remembers Lady Maria and Brador talking about himself and Brador's questionable love and loyalty. The truth of the Ashen Blood. And of Lady Maria herself, of her selfishness, and demise at her own hand. But as many dreams go, however, some details are spotty. He has a strong feeling that whatever he forgot about should stay forgotten forever. He lets those spotty memories go as his consciousness starts chugging along.

Djura can't just lie, though.

“I had a dream that our ukha came out all wrong. We somehow managed to cook some…” Djura scrambles in his mind to find the closest thing he can to those strange creatures, “Squid. The entire squid without cleaning it properly. Ink sac and organs and everything. And uh… they were really weird squid too. I guess.”

“Huh. Ok. Squid…” Brador ponders on Djura’s answer and seems to be mildly concerned.

“Hm?”

“Well, that dream is…” Brador pauses for a while, “Completely different than mine. I dreamt of… let me try to remember for a moment… oh, yes. I dreamt of making love to you. But every time we make love, that's a dream of its own.” He winks.

“Brador!”

---

Djura hums a cheery tune as he walks through Old Yharnam, carrying Andrei's breakfast with one hand. It's simple toasted bread with butter, jam, and some black pudding on the side. Humble, but enough to start the day.

Djura lets himself inside, setting Andrei's breakfast down. Andrei comes downstairs just a few moments afterwards, but strangely, he doesn't look tired in the usual sense. Rather than drowsy eyes with bags and a slumped posture, his eyes are wide open, and his expression harrowed.

Djura immediately notices. “You're not looking too hot this morning. Did you sleep too well?”

“Djura,” Andrei starts, “I had the strangest dream where our ukha fish was replaced with these weird squid-worm-whatever creatures. It was so realistic. You were there. And then-”

“-And then we went upstairs and ended up in a shitty wooden shack. It was raining. We saw Brador and someone named Lady Maria standing at a cliff beside a grave and learned things we should have never heard.” Djura finishes his thought.

“...” Andrei grows pale. “It was real. Oh God.”

Djura nods slowly. “It was real.”

“What the fuck. What the fuck whatthefuck-” Andrei panics.

“Uh. Excuse me for a moment.” Djura turns on his heel, walks outside, closes the door behind him, and screams. Andrei comes outside and screams with him.

Chapter Text

When Djura gave in and told Brador about his shared dream with Andrei, Brador acted strangely. He asked Djura many questions, mainly if he felt paranoid at any moment, overwhelmed with thoughts, all sorts of specific questions pertaining to his mentality. Brador did the same to Andrei. Djura was more worried about Brador's reaction than the shared dream. It's a good thing that Djura withheld most of what he saw- only telling Brador about the strange creatures in the ukha, how he ended up in that dilapidated shack, and that he briefly saw him and a Cainhurst woman. He didn't tell Brador about listening in to his conversation, only that he went back to the shack with Andrei out of fear of what could have been out there.

Brador eventually gave in as well and told Djura he also had the same dream, but didn't want to scare Djura. Djura completely understood why. Something like that is supernatural, if not beyond their comprehension. Brador also explained to him who that Cainhurst woman was- that dear friend of his, Lady Maria. He explained that Lady Maria was actually physically there in that dream, and while Brador was elated to see her again, such events never should’ve happened in the first place. Seeing her again in such unusual circumstances has potential consequences, though Brador confessed that he doesn't regret it. He put some sorrows regarding her to rest.

Brador told Djura and Andrei to inform him immediately if something like this happens again, or if they experience something strange. Brador then confiscated the Holy Moonlight Sword from Djura's workshop, moving it to the old house across the street.

But really, is it so strange at all? Living in a city where blood has transformed people into beasts, where hunters sprouted to kill those beasts, and those hunters could awaken again and again, through a contract from a dream? A dream, where hunters strengthened themselves by channeling blood echoes, the very resonance of their victims?

Djura would know. He would know very well. He, alongside Eileen, would know the cycle of death and dreams very well. And yet, he knows in his bones that he should believe and follow every word Brador says about this situation. Brador seems to know much about these sorts of things, like how he and Simon explained Great Ones to him.

…Why does Brador know all about this kind of stuff, anyway? Djura gets the nagging feeling it has to do with the Healing Blood, how the Vicar wanted humanity to evolve, along with that dream realm as a whole. It hurts Djura's head to think about. With the exception of engineering, some mathematics, and a touch of chemistry, he has never been one for academics. Especially not literature, he couldn't focus on those words if his life depended on it.

Ignorance is bliss, after all.

Also, Brador admitted to Djura that the salmon was talking to him yesterday, and Djura joked that it has to do with Brador's severe hydrophobia. Brador laughed along with it. Still, Djura didn't judge him, albeit he secretly finds it a little silly in the same way he finds Eileen's entomophobia absolutely hilarious. It breaks Djura's heart that Brador will never partake in any seafood, however.

What a shame, but what that really means is more ukha, more salmon lox, more salmon jerky, and more baked cod for Djura and Andrei.

The salmon lox came out beautifully, perfectly deep, rich pink in color and still fatty. The smoky flavor along with freshly picked herbs don't overpower the fish, and they only serve to complement the natural flavors of the salmon. Djura and Andrei eat the lox over toasted bread, as well as various soft cheeses and dried fruit. They eat in Andrei's home, without Brador, and Brador is left to play with the beasts and care for Astera.

They both know what's on their minds, but neither of them want to bring it up. The silence is deafening. It's so quiet that Djura can hear Andrei chewing his food.

Andrei breaks first. “How much do you remember?”

“Well… I remember them talking about the past. I think that Lady Maria was talking about the hunt or something in that place we were in. Then they brought me up and… How Brador changed…” Djura reaches for another slice of bread, spreading cheese across it and barely holding the bread with his fingers poking out of the cast, “Then they talked about why Brador is hiding the truth from me.”

Andrei nods. “That's more or less than what I remember. Do you think it was actually that ukha that connected us to that realm?”

“I don't see what the ukha had to do with it. It's… I dunno. I think that Lady Maria said it could've been the Evelyn. Then Brador ended up moving Ludwig's sword away from us… But then, the weird ukha was the start of the dream… I really dunno what to think of this. Brador told me to put it out of my mind, but it's all I can think about. That dream… The feel in the air was similar to the Hunter's Dream.”

“Is that so? Brador doesn't know about the Dream, as he made evidently clear.”

Djura shrugs. “In any case, the way Brador was acting…”

“He's actually trying to protect us,” Andrei finishes Djura's thought, “Tch. He even told me to procure sedatives the next time I go out. Who does he think he is?”

“I still trust him to make the calls in this situation.” Djura folds his arms.

“He won't even explain the full truth about that dream to us. He's hiding a lot about this… Perhaps you should ask him.” Andrei states that last sentence with great sarcasm.

“Not this again, Andrei.” Djura warns him.

“Just saying.”

“Seriously. Don't.” Djura says more sternly.

“Well…” Then seeing the worried look on Djura's face, Andrei shuts himself up. “This is bothering you.”

“Andrei…” Djura shudders, “I just have this creeping feeling that we shouldn't pry into this. It's… different. It's not like the other stuff Brador is withholding from us, this feels… Chilling. I have already forgotten most of the details, and I'm glad I did. Even that shack gave me the shivers.”

“...I also feel that way. That scared the shit out of me.” Andrei admits without his usual sharp tongue.

Djura puts down his lox and toast. “I dunno if I wanna eat this anymore.”

“Me neither.”

Djura shrugs. “I guess the beasts are getting a little extra treat today.”

“We should give it all to Diego.”

“No, we should give it all to Suzie.”

“Sure, but Diego has been a huge help around here lately. I mean, what other beast understands the command, ‘Get me a mallet and a box of nails, but make sure it's one of the newer boxes, because the other ones are rusted’? Because he sure did.”

“Alright, but Suzie is older and she gets seniority, if not special treatment for what happened to her. Also, I give Diego plenty of liver treats already.”

“True, but Suzie doesn't help much around here…”

“Maybe we should distribute them evenly amongst our favorites?”

Distracted by their discussion, Rex sneaks inside through the doggy door and snaps it all up from the table, leaving the two men to fruitlessly wrestle the lox out of his jaws.

---

It's no secret Brador is a protective and attentive person. They're his most noble traits. Djura has become accustomed to Brador shadowing him.

But Brador has been more rigid ever since that strange dream a few days ago. His head is always high, vigilantly keeping watch, and staying by Djura’s side no differently than a loyal dog. He moves as if he needs to spring into action at any moment, his hand hovering over the handle of the Bloodletter. If Andrei isn't around Djura, then Brador is.

Brador even kept watch outside of the bathroom as Djura relieved himself. It's a bit much for Djura, but he understands Brador's intentions well enough. Djura would act more or less the same, in fact, that's what he did when Brador fell ill to the Ashen Blood. He fought his fatigue just to make sure Brador was still breathing throughout the night, day after day. Is it love? Loyalty? Or the fear of something worse happening?

Still, Djura is frustrated, not because Brador is overbearing, but because whatever progress was made with lifting up his spirits have been completely erased by that weird dream. Brador, too focused on keeping watch, hardly answers Djura with little more than emotionless sentences and unfaltering expressions. Yet despite Brador's focus on the world at large, to Djura, Brador couldn't act more disconnected from reality. There's even dark bags forming under Brador's eyes.

It's like he's a completely different person. It reminds Djura of how Brador treated his broken arm on the night of the hunt, he didn't freak out at all, and calmly stopped the bleeding and explained the prognosis. Djura honestly thought Brador would've been screaming more about the injury than himself, the person who had his entire forearm crushed.

These thoughts and observations stir in Djura's mind as he brushes out the beasts alongside Brador. Djura watches Brador work, monotonously dragging the brush through Rex’s fur without so much as a smile.

Djura knows Brador by now, he adores the beasts, especially Rex. Even Rex seems confused, occasionally glancing up at Brador with a tilted head. Rex then gives Brador a lick on the cheek, as if to ask if he's ok. Brador responds bluntly, “Hey, I need to brush you, bud. Quit that…”

Rex whines, repositioning himself to shove his head into Brador's lap. Brador doesn't move the beast aside, instead he relents and scratches Rex's head. “There, is that better?”

Rex, knowing something is amiss, whines and licks Brador's face again. Brador cracks a small smile, but nothing more. It fades as soon as it appears, and Brador gets right back to brushing Rex as if nothing happened. Rex then looks at Djura, sharing the same concerned look.

“Are you ok, Brador?” Djura asks, being straightforward for once.

“Sure.” Brador answers mindlessly.

“That doesn't answer my question, hun.”

“Huh? O-Oh, yeah, I'm alright. Why are you asking?”

“I… Nevermind.”

---

Djura decides to be straightforward again. He approaches Brador in the evening, when they're alone in his home. “Did the ukha have anything to do with that dream?”

Brador isn't surprised at all that Djura has that suspicion. “It's a possibility.”

“Why?”

“Well…” Brador hesitates, “What's the easiest way to put this… You see…”

Djura waits patiently for his answer.

“Great Ones, for whatever reason, have a connection to the sea. That dream was a realm created by one. Because you ate the fish, there was a connection between you and the sea for a short time, thus the Great One's realm. Does that make sense?”

“I suppose…” Djura strokes his beard, “But I've had plenty of ukha in the past and this is the first time I've had a dream like this one.”

“There are a lot of potential variables involved, but my current theory is that Ludwig's Holy Moonlight is the catalyst behind this.” Brador explains.

“So, it was Ludwig's Holy Moonlight that caused the dream?”

“In a way. When Ludwig first used it, he could see things that others couldn't. The sword's activation, to put it in simplest terms, was a spiritual awakening. It has likely done the same for you.”

“Ah-”

“I didn't mean for this to happen, hell, I didn't expect you at all to be able to use it. I should have been more transparent about it from the start, before we drafted plans to awaken Ludwig,” Brador explains quickly, “I thought it would have been harmless, since Ludwig’s sanity was not affected by his Guiding Moonlight. I'm sorry.”

“Brador…” Djura places a hand on his shoulder, “You couldn't have known. You're only going off prior knowledge. I mean, you just said Ludwig was fine using it. Who knows, it could’ve been something else entirely that caused the shared dream. Like…” Djura motions to his new holster, “Your friend's Evelyn.”

Brador thinks. “That's true. And she appeared in that dream too. So… Just to be safe…” Brador reaches for it.

“Whoa whoa whoa hey-- If it means keeping this beaut, I'll gladly stay haunted!” Djura clutches it, “I just need to get it exorcised, that's all!”

Brador blinks. “You're prioritizing the Evelyn over your own sanity?”

“You underestimate just how sane guns actually keep me.”

“You're ridiculous.”

“Am not! Firearms keep ya safe, and thus keep ya sane!” Djura puffs his chest.

Brador rolls his eyes, but his attitude quickly changes as another thought comes along. “I don't want to take any chances. Before we use the sword again for Ludwig, you should strengthen and protect your mental fortitude.”

“How do I do that?”

“Focus on what makes you happy, and don't think about what you can't understand.” He briefly explains.

Djura groans. “If only I had a functioning left hand so I can hunker down and build some stuff.”

If only there was a simple and easy solution that could instantly heal your broken arm, Brador wants to say, but he won't sour Djura's mood further, “We'll find something to do.”

“I guess…” Djura huffs, “I think you and Andrei took care of just about everything, though. There ain't much left to do.”

“Then you can let off some steam with me,” Brador moves forward, pulling Djura into an embrace, minding his injured arm. He plants a kiss upon Djura's forehead, “If that would make you happy.”

Djura immediately melts into the embrace, nuzzling up to Brador’s chest and planting his face right into it. And Brador, always having at least two shirt buttons undone, is fully prepared for Djura to shove his nose into his cleavage.

“You're so sexy.” Djura says without a second thought. He looks up when he doesn't hear Brador chuckle and sees that Brador hasn't even cracked a smirk at Djura's remark. He's looking over Djura's head, out the window.

“Brador…” Djura reaches up to cup his face, “You don’t seem like you’re in the mood.”

Brador doesn't respond. He clutches Djura closer, but not for warmth.

“Darlin'?” Djura kisses Brador along his jawline, minding the beard. “Hey…”

Still, nothing from Brador. Djura thinks of a better way to get his attention. He gives a quick tug on Brador's tie, then gives it a yank when Brador doesn't budge, “Brador!” He raises his voice.

That snaps the man back to reality. “Huh? I- I mean- wait, what?” He's flustered.

“Sorry about that. Talk to me, Brador,” Djura's demeanor softens immediately, “You’re not well.”

“Huh? I'm fine. It's you who's not well.” Brador says with genuine confusion.

“No no no, that's not what I mean-” Djura cups his face again, caressing his cheek, “You haven't been acting right. You've been all… Stoic? Stiff?” Djura struggles to find the right word, “You’ve been… Really anxious.”

“Don't worry about it. Worrying is the last thing you should be doing-”

“But I am worried, worried about you!” Djura exclaims, “Darlin' you've been acting like this for over two days now, but I promise you nothin’ is gonna get us. You're safe here.”

“Djura-” Brador inhales, “I understand your concern, but that dream- that's something you're not equipped to deal with, but I am. No amount of gunpowder and firearms will protect you from shit like this. You have to listen to me.”

“I am listening to you, but all of this- whatever you're doing…” Djura sighs, “You haven't slept at all. You're pushing yourself too hard.”

“You did the same thing when I was ill. Why shouldn't I return the favor?”

“Are you doing this out of obligation, or out of kindness? We talked about this, I don't expect stuff in return-”

“It's because I love you, Djura,” Then Brador sighs deeply, “I… I don't want to lose you too. And I don't want to see you get hurt again in any way. I've watched people, close friends, lose their minds from dreams like that. They were maddening… Please. You're the only person I have left in my life right now. And I would lay down my life to protect you because of that.”

“B-Brador…” Djura hugs him again, tighter. “You don't have to do that. It would break my heart if I lost you too. You'll exhaust yourself to death at this rate.”

“What is love but a sacrifice?”

“A sacrifice, sure, but not at the cost of happiness. Love would be meaningless without the other half.”

---

Brador still hasn't let his watchful eyes rest. He clutches Djura close to his chest, staring at the wall. The longer he stares, the more the shadows in the bedroom window dance, the more shapes he can make out, and the more noises he hears.

He tucks Djura further under the blanket and his fur garb. He whispers, “I won't let anything happen to you.”

Brador prays to himself that the strange dream will have no repercussions. After all, Djura and Andrei were not involved at all with the Fishing Hamlet. They shouldn't be affected by the curse, even if they ate the fish. It was only temporary. They only experienced it because of Brador and what he carries with him, on top of a sliver of the ocean being with them, the Holy Moonlight Sword, and the Evelyn. Lots of factors amplified the phenomenon, he reasons with himself.

He wishes Laurence were here to help. All Brador knows is to keep away from anything that might be used to commune with the unknown, to fortify one's mind, and to remain ignorant.

Maybe Laurence is really here. He's just too brilliant of a man to just turn into a beast. Maybe it was all a part of his plans. Brador shakes the thought out of his head. No, Laurence is the one who let all of this happen. Wait, but no, many things were not considered in his plans because they weren't known, and thus unpredictable.

It was Laurence's fault. But it wasn't. He caused something he couldn't control. Should a man be faulted for that? All Laurence wanted to do was save humanity, to be its savior. He wanted to do something good for the world by any means necessary. But was it really necessary?

Humanity needed to evolve. Humanity tried to play God. Humanity was put in its place for flying too close to the sun, plunging into the depths of Hell.

Then, Laurence was dead. Flayed to be mounted upon Brador's head. He wonders what the Church did with Laurence's body after the carnage. It was too late for Laurence to be saved, anyway.

And now, it's too late for Brador, as his thoughts cloud his mind and perception. Brador closes his eyes. “Leave us be.”

The skinned beast hovers over them at the foot of the bed. “Please…”

“I've already killed you, Laurence.”

“You… killed… his… family… why…?”

“Why? What do you mean, why?”

“You… don't… deserve…”

“That may be true, but he loves me. Is that not enough?”

“But I loved you, Brador. You were important to me. Why would you throw that all away?”

Brador's eyes shoot open, looking where the beast was. It's Laurence, hands folded behind his back, smiling. Brador stammers, “L… Laurence?”

Laurence's appearance is as beautiful as ever. Every detail Brador remembers of him is there. “You never meant to hurt me, Brador. And I would never hurt you. You were important to me, if not integral to the Healing Church. But this man…” Laurence walks around the bed to Djura's side, “Who knows how he will react to your past? I'm sure you're well aware of his… Unfavorable views of the Healing Church.”

“He doesn't have to know, nor will he ever.” Brador raises himself, hunching over Djura protectively.

Laurence clicks his tongue. “You should at least court someone loyal to us. Someone who would not betray us.”

“No. You betrayed us…” Brador whispers.

“What?”

“Ludwig turned. He turned into a beast because he was protecting us. He was more than your subordinate. He was your lover. You let that happen to him.”

“Brador…” Laurence's face softens, vulnerable. Brador is taken aback. “You know I didn't mean for that to happen. I was researching a cure for beasthood, after all. I simply didn't have the chance to perfect it before my untimely demise.”

“Laurence-”

“Brador, how could you forget my efforts? I resorted to experimenting on myself to find a cure. I was in so much pain…” Laurence clutches his gold pendant at the memory, “Experimenting on myself was the only way I could most accurately determine the cure. I explained this before. And… I loved Ludwig. You know that. You would watch in jealousy as we would dance in the courtyard… Sides of me you wish I saved for you. My smiles, my laughter, my heart… I'm hurt that you would think I betrayed you all, Brador. I had no control over what happened after I died.”

Brador backs down. “I'm sorry, Laurence.”

“Hush, now… I don't blame you for forgetting. You've spent so much time with this Powder Keg and learned their ways… But you know how they are. Rowdy and ignorant, violent and… weirdly obsessed with arson. Anyway--” Laurence pushes up his glasses, “You shouldn't listen to what the Powder Kegs have to say about us. They weren't even a part of our inner circles.”

“What about Ludwig? He told me… To forget what the Church has taught me, to start a new life.”

“Ah… Ludwig too has forgotten what you should be grateful for. What have we taught you, Brador?”

“How to read and understand literature. Anatomical figures and terminology. How to treat various wounds. Biology. Mathematics, arithmetic, calculus. Philosophy. The stars and their movements… And what's truly out there. And so, so much more,” Brador mumbles, but he snaps out of it, “Still, your teachings pushed Ludwig too far!”

“That's a fault of his own character, not me. But in any case… His sacrifice saved lives. That is, his love for others, his love for humanity. That is what we've taught you.”

“Sacrifices must always be made in the pursuit of advancement…” Brador mumbles.

“Excellent, Brador. You should not forget that. And as for him…” Laurence reaches out to Djura's face. Brador hunches over Djura further. Laurence clicks his tongue. “Brador.”

“Don't. Touch him.” Brador snarls.

“He may betray you down the line. And what has he taught you that's more important than what we did?”

“My heart says he's the right one for me,” Then Brador grins, “And besides. He's into the same weird shit as I am.”

“Ah. Your hedonism never ceases to amaze me. You've always been so shallow, Brador.”

Brador's grin fades, looking down in shame. Djura still snores, completely ignorant to Laurence's presence.

“How deep is your loyalty, really? Some indulgent food, booze, and deviant sex is all it took for you to stay at Djura's side.”

“That's not true. He's kind to me and a passionate soul.”

“Was I not the same? Kind to you, and passionate about my research?”

“Is… Is loving him for who he is not enough?”

“I don't know. You tell me. The only difference between Djura and I… is that I'm no longer in your life. You're forgetting me. Don't let the memory of my legacy fade into obscurity. You know that's my greatest fear of all.”

“Laurence…”

Suddenly, the bedroom door creaks open. Brador stiffens up, clutching Djura in his arms. But it's only Rex, poking his snout into the room and sniffing. Laurence turns around, “A beast?”

Rex, seeing Brador, trots right in. He trots right past Laurence without so much as a sniff at his robes, hopping onto the bed and laying down at Djura's side.

“Rex…” Brador scratches behind his ears, “Hey, bud. Thank God you're here. Please stay with us.”

Rex crawls closer, sticking his head over Djura to reach Brador's face, licking it. Laurence speaks again, “Disgusting creatures! They act like street mutts… Why are you letting it so close to you?” He sneers.

Brador watches Rex's ears, how they don't swivel in Laurence's direction. He sighs in relief. “Thank you, Rex- Thank you.”

Rex tilts his head. He doesn't know why Brador is thanking him, but he's happy nonetheless. He just heard Brador talking and was excited to know he was awake. He could have a sleepover with his favorite wrestling playmate.

“Rex- Rex, bud, can you do me a favor?” Brador asks with a shaky voice, “Can you keep watch for the night? Your senses are better than mine.”

Rex tilts his head the other way. He licks Brador's face again, concerned. He lets out a soft whine, like a whisper. Brador whispers back, “I'm scared, bud. My world is falling apart as we speak. Please?”

Rex crawls across the bed to Brador's side. He walks in a circle, curling up and placing his head up on Brador's body. The beast smacks his lips, completely relaxed despite the stranger in the room. Brador smiles, closing his eyes.

“Don't ignore me, Brador. Brador!”

Laurence's voice drowns out as exhaustion finally overtakes Brador's body, and he lets himself be lulled into a deep sleep, with Djura in his arms and Rex protecting them both. But Laurence says something to Brador right before he loses consciousness, it rings out loud and clear in Brador's mind.

“Don't say I didn't warn you about Djura's betrayal.”

Chapter Text

Ludwig and Laurence were drawn to each the moment they met at Byrgenwerth. Laurence saw the most handsome and kind-hearted man he had ever seen in his life. Ludwig had never met anyone with such a sharp mind and unshakeable resolve before. It was a match made in heaven. Brains versus brawn, logic versus emotion, their opposites attracted like the perfect dessert: sweet and creamy with warm vanilla, but with that sharp flavor of lemon, melded together in harmony.

Their love still holds strong now. The move away from Byrgenwerth was difficult, and the establishment of the Healing Church was even more so. Now, their plans are in full swing, but Laurence spends most of his days working in secret. If he's not, then he's preaching to the masses with Ludwig at his side. Still, Laurence goes out of his way to fit Ludwig within his life, besides having Ludwig as his right hand man. Ludwig is his guiding light, after all.

Every time Ludwig is alone with Laurence, Laurence smiles. Not the proper, uptight, and thin smiles Laurence gives to others, but he gives wide, bright, and genuine smiles around Ludwig. Laurence touches Ludwig's shoulder, letting their bodies come closer, even removing his gloves to hold hands and share their warmth. Though, lately, Laurence’s hands have been somewhat cold.

Ludwig has seen Laurence shed tears, clench his fists and teeth, put his head down on his desk with messy hair and dark eye bags, gaze longingly at the moon and stars, every side of Laurence that no one else has. All of those sides, saved for Ludwig, and Ludwig alone.

Tonight is no different. Laurence's living quarters are grand, but the only spaces he and Ludwig use are practically just the balcony and bed. Laurence leans on Ludwig’s shoulder, Ludwig has his arm around Laurence, and they bask in each other's warmth and the moonlight.

No words need to be exchanged. Their hands intertwined, Ludwig's hand considerably bigger and more calloused than Laurence's, but Laurence's hand is more spindly, with hairs on the knuckles and slightly curved nails.

“How long until you find a cure, Laurence?” Ludwig finally speaks up.

“I don't know. My experiments have been fruitless,” Laurence inhales deeply, “Each injection of new serum I take, it only gets worse.”

“Why do you keep insisting on experimenting on yourself? Why?”

“I cannot put my test subjects under too much stress. It has been proven to amplify the effects of beasthood. This is the best way to understand its effects.”

“You're killing yourself, my dear. Please.”

“Ludwig,” Laurence holds his hand tighter, “Whatever I do, it aches your heart. It doesn't matter who I experiment on.”

Ludwig squeezes his eyes shut. “Whatever it takes for you to find a way to save us all.”

“...”

Ludwig speaks up again. “Do you think the sacrifice is worth it?”

“All of those people's sacrifices would mean nothing if we stopped now. And down the line, when the Healing Blood is perfected, far more lives will be saved than lost,” Laurence states, “Humanity will thank me.”

“...You always say that.” Ludwig sighs.

Laurence moves, hugging Ludwig’s side and placing his claws hand upon Ludwig's chest. It's silent for a while, until Laurence begins to cry quietly. He takes off his glasses to not stain them. “I didn't want my plans to end up like this.”

“We should stop. Just stop with everything, Laurence.” Ludwig admits.

“It's too late now. We have to find a cure. The Yharnamites will continue demanding blood.” His tears drip onto Ludwig's bare chest.

“Is it really too late?”

“What will happen if we stop? Our chance to make history will slip through our grasp, and the people will retaliate for the mess that we made.”

“What if we don't find a cure? What if you turn before then?”

“We will find a cure. We have always found a way. There is a reason why humankind is the dominant species on this planet.”

“...But what if we don't?”

Laurence doesn't answer for a while, continuing to cuddle up to Ludwig. He pulls the sheets up further over their bodies. “My protégé, Amelia, will see things through should I fall. And as for you, I want you to continue protecting those who are still human. That's all I ask.”

“Laurence, is there anything I can do to help you right now? With the cure?” Ludwig pleads.

Laurence thinks. He closes his eyes as he speaks, “Just do what you've always done. Go out there and kill beasts. Bring back as many bodies as you can for us to dissect, and rescue as many survivors as you can.”

Ludwig nods.

Another long, gentle moment of silence. Ludwig wishes it lasts forever.

“Ludwig?”

“Yes?”

“I wish we knew the blood did this to humans. Turned us into these things,” Laurence lifts his hand, turning it over and watching his nails shine in the moonlight, “Or I would've never gone through.”

“I guess we should’ve feared the old blood.” Ludwig tries to lighten up the mood.

“Heh. I suppose that the blood’s potential has… Has clouded my judgement.”

“It has clouded mine as well…” Then Ludwig reaches out to clasp their hands together once more, “Laurence… Why must fate be so cruel?”

“No such thing as fate. It's never set in stone. We carve those stones- our paths- in life with our bare hands. We take it and mold it as much as we can with the tools we're given.”

“This is where our ideologies part once again.” Ludwig smiles.

“I suppose in your eyes, I'm destined to guide humanity to greatness. But if it weren't for every decision I've made, all of my efforts, I would not be here now as the Vicar. No stars told me to do so.”

“But really, how could someone as brilliant as you not be placed on Earth for such a grand purpose?”

Laurence smiles. “I suppose so.”

---

Every day, Laurence grows more desperate for a cure.

Scratch marks are on the walls, where he has dragged them in an irritated state. He has become snappy, if not deranged. Gnawing on his wrist, seeking more blood, Healing or not…

Ludwig still obeys Laurence.

Every time Ludwig brings Laurence another survivor seeking refuge in the Church, Ludwig is praised greatly. Such survivors have lost their families, or have been gravely injured by the hunt. When told they can contribute to combating the beastly scourge or be healed from their wounds, they follow Ludwig along.

Ludwig almost never sees those survivors again after bringing them in, not even the children. Ludwig prays that they will help Laurence in whatever ways they can. Laurence told him that the children especially will have no purpose since they've been orphaned by the hunt. Laurence told him that he shouldn't worry about them.

Ludwig simply nods. Laurence is always right. He shouldn’t worry about things he doesn't understand.

It's all for the greater good and advancing humanity.

Every life lost brings a new understanding of beasthood or kinship.

Just another step to the way up.

Ludwig has also seen Brador less often. He sees his little brother dip in and out of Cathedral Ward late at night. Laurence has been slathering him in praise as well.

It rubs Ludwig the wrong way, but everything Laurence does will be for the betterment of Yharnam. Of humanity. Of the world.

Brador doesn't seem to mind his bloody duties anyhow.

Besides, Laurence never hurts them. He would not mean to. He would not force Ludwig or Brador to do anything they don't want to.

It's true. Laurence has never made Ludwig do anything heinous. He just goes out there, kills a few beasts, and saves people. It's all Ludwig knows now. Just leave everything else to Laurence. Laurence has always had their best interests in mind.

---

The floor and Ludwig's gloves are soaked with blood. He still hasn't fully processed that Laurence's body lies before him- dead, and skinned no differently than a deer for its hide. Brador's footsteps echo far away as he flees the scene, the blood squelching beneath his steps.

“My love…” Ludwig crawls over, touching its skull, wet with blood and visceral fluids, “Why…?”

His hand traces down its jugular, across barren pectoral muscles and exposed ribs. He cups its heart, cold and unbeating.

Ludwig sobs. He screams into the void. He clutches Laurence's body.

He wishes Brador was successful in freeing Laurence from the beast. It was all a delusion, of course, as Brador lost his mind.

But really, they were all living in a delusion for far, far too long.

“Laurence… I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry!” Ludwig cries, “Why did we let things end up like this…?! Laurence!”

He knows that just about every night when he closes his eyes, he will relive this nightmare over and over again. It's happening again. He knows he's dreaming. But no matter how he tries to pull away, his body follows the same methodical procedure of coming across Laurence halfway transformed into a beast, then being unable to bring himself to kill Laurence, then watching helplessly as Brador breaks down and tears the hide away. Is it Mother Kos punishing him? Or is it his own consciousness, unable to turn away, bearing witness to his sins?

This time however, he lifts his hand, seeing that it too has become gnarled and gangly. He lifts his other, it has become the same.

He gasps. It comes out as a whinny. He jumps up, clumsily stumbling backwards on hooves, trying to move one direction, but his body pulls him in another.

No, this is right. The nightmare changed a while ago. Ludwig can't recall when or why, or if he's even woken up in between them. Has he really dreamt of nothing else? Perhaps so, but this is burned into his memory like a branding iron.

He screams again, the sound reverbing in his massive throat. He huffs, snorts, stomping around for a while until the fresh scent of blood hits his nostrils. Something alights within him.

Ludwig drags himself to Laurence's carcass. The flesh is still fresh. He is horrified that he is filled with delight thinking about how the meat would be soft to sink his teeth into. His stomach growls. He holds the carcass down with his overgrown claws, craning his neck down to sniff it. He screams at himself, trying to pull his body away from the carcass. Then, he opens his jaws.

“Ludwig!”

Ludwig snaps his head at a light. In it, he can see Brador’s hazy silhouette. Ludwig calls out to him, but it only comes out as a neigh.

“Wake up, Ludwig!” Brador shouts.

Ludwig wants to come to Brador. But he pulls towards Laurence, standing over his body, still grieving, still hungry.

Another voice shouts out. “Ludwig, come back to us, please!”

It's Simon's voice.

Another voice. “Easy lads, don't shout so much. Don't want him to panic.”

Who is that?

The light grows brighter. It's a pale blue. Ludwig recognizes it instantly.

The voice speaks again. “Easy, easy… that's right, c'mere, Astera. Look into it… that's it…”

Ludwig’s eyes grow wide. Slowly, he steps towards his Guiding Moonlight. He reaches out towards it, but there's some hesitance.

He should stay behind and guard Laurence's carcass. But he knows that after Laurence was skinned, the other Healing Church members dissected his body, and kept the skull upon an altar. After the autopsy, the remains of Laurence's body were cremated, and the ashes consumed by the highest of the zealots.

What matters the most now is that Brador and Simon are still alive. Astera is with them. He must see them again no matter the cost.

His claws reach into the light. It burns his eyes from how bright it is. But he presses on, squinting and attempting to grasp at the light.

Something physical manifests in his palm. His Holy Moonlight Sword's familiar handle is snug within his grasp.

“Ludwig?”

The darkness around him fades as he blinks awake to broad daylight. He tilts his head at the scene before him: He's outdoors in Old Yharnam, it seems. Before him is Djura, the kind hearted Powder Keg. At his sides are Brador and Simon- Ludwig is shocked to see them standing so close to each other. Off to the side is Andrei, Djura's close friend and ally, and Eileen the Crow- who is poised to kill.

“AH!” Ludwig spooks, rearing up on his hind legs at Eileen. He then yelps in pain as something hard pulls at his lips and he settles back down. He scratches at his face to find a bridle, and turning his head, that bridle’s reins are tied to a barren tree.

Why the hell is he wearing a bridle and how did it fit on his face?

“Easy big guy, easy!” Djura shushes him, “We ain't gonna hurtcha!”

“What- what's going on? Why am I-” Ludwig looks at his hands, as disgustingly beastly as ever. He then looks down at everyone, and they're so much smaller than he remembers.

Then, he hears a voice that he's never heard before, but so familiar, in the back of his mind. The words aren't entirely coherent, but Ludwig understands them. They're of joy and relief, and they're from his beloved steed. He knows it. “Astera? Astera, where are you? I'm here!” Ludwig whips his head around.

“Ludwig, hey!” Djura snaps his fingers, “You there?”

Ludwig finally focuses on the man before him. “...Djura.”

“Yeah. That'd be me. Are you all there in the head?”

“Huh? Well, I suppose-”

“LUDWIG!!!”

Without much of a warning, both Simon and Brador come barreling at Ludwig, hugging either side of him. They're both sobbing incoherently, unable to string together the words to express their sheer joy. Ludwig welcomes them both, putting down his sword and placing his claws hands upon their backs, “O-Oh… hello. Both of you. I'm happy to see you too.”

As Ludwig looks down at his legs that they're hugging, he's quick to notice that he's no longer human. But unlike the claws of the wolf-like scourge beast, he has hooves, just like in his nightmare.

“Is this real?” Ludwig asks aloud.

“I don't know!” Brador sobs, “But I don't care! So long as you're here with me!”

They bask in the moment for a while, Ludwig holding them both close.

Simon comes to his bearings first, stepping back. “Yes, this is real, Ludwig. Your Guiding Moonlight helped us. Welcome back.”

“I… I don't understand,” Ludwig starts, “The last thing I remember is that you brought me to Old Yharnam, and then… and then…” He looks down at himself, “My… hideous transformation.”

Simon nods. “Y-Yes.”

“Then why am I here? Dear God, why am I still here? And where's Astera?” Ludwig hears Astera again, the voice coming from no direction in particular. “Where are you? Astera!” Ludwig scratches his head.

Astera’s voice continues, an incomprehensible babble that only Ludwig can hear and understand. He grasps at his head, feeling the long snout. He lifts a leg, then his other leg, then the two others, then the last legs dangling from his abdomen. His eyes widen, and soon his claws begin to dig into his own face. “No… no no, this can't be…”

“Ludwig, I know this is a lot to take in…” Simon begins his explanation.

Ludwig stops him by raising a clawed hand to him. “Astera is telling it all to me. I… oh God, why…? How…? Astera, I am so sorry, forgive me…” Ludwig turns his head in another direction, “You're… you're not upset at me? And they…” Ludwig looks to the crowd beneath him, “They have cared for you well?”

Brador steps back, standing beside Simon. “As I've promised to, yeah. Astera is well fed and cared for. Three square meals a day.”

Ludwig hugs himself, still listening to his loyal steed. “I… I see. I understand now, the heavy decision that must be made. No wonder you all risked everything to awaken my consciousness.”

Brador nods, the joy in his face now replaced with solemness. “Ludwig… we're letting you choose.”

Ludwig clumsily tries to sit down, hooves shuffling and muttering to himself, or rather, to Astera. “Forgive me, I… I need to meditate on this.”

Djura speaks up next. “Take all the time you need. Should we leave you alone?”

Ludwig nods.

Eileen sheathes her blades. “If it helps at all, I'll ensure it will be painless.”

“Thank you, Hunter of Hunters.” Ludwig lets out a heavy sigh.

Brador hugs Ludwig again. “I'm just happy I can talk to you one last time, brother.”

---

Ludwig watches the sun set over the tall, looming buildings. He has sat in silence for hours now, his hands folded atop of his knees, listening to the wind and Astera in the back of his mind.

It is truly horrific that he and his steed are one and the same now. However, there's something oddly comforting in hearing Astera's thoughts. How happy Astera is to be with Ludwig again put into words, and his thoughts on the others caring for him.

…As well as how much Astera desires corn. Apparently, Djura has been feeding Astera the basic hay made of alfalfa and grasses, cheaper horse feeds that are mostly oats, and not that sweet maize shipped from overseas. Ludwig had to occasionally pause his meditation to explain to Astera that he keeps overeating corn and why he occasionally gets smaller portions of feed. At least Astera understands what Ludwig is saying, but Astera keeps looping the conversation back to wanting more corn. Eventually, Astera pipes down to nap in the back of Ludwig's mind and he can meditate in peace.

It wouldn't be fair to Astera if Ludwig went through with being put down, or if he decided to fall back into unconsciousness, and leave Astera all alone in his body. At least Astera doesn't seem to mind the transformation. Still, that would mean Astera would live out the rest of his days in Old Yharnam, without pasture, and walking on hard cobblestone every day. That would be terrible for his hooves, and Djura would have to work overtime keeping them in shape.

Ludwig can't bear the thought of living in Old Yharnam. Sure, Brador is here with him, but to be surrounded by the victims of the Ashen Blood every day would sink his heart beyond the abyss. It's because of him and Brador that Laurence went through with his plans. He didn't even attempt to talk Laurence out of it. He thought just a few people would get sick, he didn't think anyone would die.

Now, the innocent people of Old Yharnam live with the consequences. Transformed into beasts, having lost their humanity, doomed to crave flesh and blood like mindless animals.

Speaking of Laurence, why him? Why was Ludwig the one to be given a second chance? Certainly if Laurence was revived, he could pull everyone out of this hellhole of his own creation with a new understanding of beasthood. He could continue researching a cure.

Or, even better, why couldn't Laurence be with him right now? Living here, in Old Yharnam? It would take some time for Laurence to get used to being a beast, but they would still be together. They could have a new life together, living in peace, protected by Djura. But Ludwig knows that would have never happened. Laurence held back his transformation for months. Injecting himself with experimental drugs, clawing at his desk in agony as he clutched his beastly arm, his form was hideous. At least Brador put an end to it before Laurence fully transformed.

The image of Laurence's body flashes in his mind. Ludwig brings his head into his hands and sobs. Why? Why did Laurence refuse to end his operations? Was saving humanity really worth all of this sacrifice? Ludwig can still smell the burnt, smoky air, even after a decade the buildings of Old Yharnam remain charred.

He let this happen. Brador helped it happen. Laurence pushed everything into motion.

And now, Laurence is dead, turned into the same kind of monster that he despised so much.

Ludwig sobs again. He doesn't deserve to be here. He saved all of those people from the beasts for nothing. He led his men into the hunt for nothing. He let everyone die for nothing.

“Hi there.”

Ludwig looks down, peeking out from between his gnarled fingers. There's a scourge beast with brown fur before him, wearing old hunter's gauntlets around his wrists, and a collar made from a belt. He sits before Ludwig with a wagging tail. The beast growls and whines, but it registers to Ludwig as words. “What's wrong? Why are you crying?”

“I…” Ludwig can't find the words.

The beast comes forward, placing his head on Ludwig's leg. “Don't be sad. How about a treat? I can ask dad to get us both some treats.”

“Dad…?”

“Djura!” The beast barks, “He’s my dad. He calls me a good boy. That's me, Rex! I am a good boy.”

Ludwig nods. “Ah I… I see.”

“How did you get your voice to sound like that, Astera? You sound like a human person now.”

“Oh, I'm not Astera. I am his rider, Ludwig.

“Hi Ludwig hi Ludwig hi Ludwig. How are you… also Astera?” Rex tilts his head.

“We… fused together when we transformed.”

Rex tilts his head the other way, his ears flopping with the motion. “I don't get it.”

“I'm not sure how it happened either…”

“I wish I could talk properly! But dad understands me most of the time. He knows when I'm asking for a treat, that's good enough for me!” Rex barks, “What's your favorite treat? Liver? Spleen? Heart?”

“Uh… apples.”

“Apples!” Rex gasps in dramatic disgust, “I hate apples. I love heart! Stringy and tough and really fun to chew!”

“Erm… that's alright. You are a carnivore, after all. Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Yes yes yes yes yes?”

“Do you…” Ludwig thinks of a kind way to put it, “Miss being human?”

Rex thinks. “I barely remember anything about being human.”

“Not even of being a hunter?”

“No. I don't even remember my name before I was Rex. But that's ok. Nothing beats treats and belly rubs. Whatever my life as a hunter before this doesn't matter. I love being a beast! I can smell super well and I can hear super quiet things and I can howl super loud and I can run super fast!”

“Does it not disturb you that you used to hunt beasts?”

Rex ponders for a moment. “Eh. Not really. Not if I'm helping my fellow beasts now. Is that why you're sad? Were you a hunter too?”

“Yes…” Ludwig confesses. “And… much more than that.”

“Don't be sad because of that! With your skill you could help us protect the other beasts! Oh! Oh! Or you could come with dad and my friends to hunt for boars and rats!”

Ludwig raises his head, looking at Rex with his full attention.

“And Astera was telling me all about how dad wanted him to help around here too. He was talking about building a wagon and harness for Astera! Then you could be a big help carrying the food and stuff.”

“I… I could?”

“Yeah!!!” Rex jumps up, wagging his tail and barking excitedly. “And with your big body we can move more rubble around! Fix the houses! I reckon you could reach up to a second story building with those arms! And if you help enough, Dad will give you the best treat of all… Ribs! With sauce!” The beast licks his teeth at the thought.

Ludwig looks up at the sky, thinking deeply. Rex looks up too, wondering what Ludwig is looking at. Then Ludwig looks around him, how the beasts are becoming active as the sun sets, and the ones passing by look at Ludwig with innocent, curious eyes.

One beast, a small, gangly one with gibbonlike arms and wearing a shawl, waddles up to Ludwig and Rex. Rex barks. “Gracie! This is our new friend, Ludwig!”

Gracie looks up at Ludwig. She is so little. “Hello, mister Ludwig.” Her voice is sweet and high-pitched. She must be younger than the scourge itself. When did she turn? What happened to her parents?

Ludwig gasps, lowering his hands down to meet her. She immediately sits in his palm as if it's a swing. “You have comfy hands, mister!” She hugs his thumb.

“Oh, you…” Ludwig’s voice goes high pitched too. “You are so sweet. And little.”

“Thank you! I hope we can be friends, mister!” She grins toothily, sharp canines and gaps and all.

Ludwig wonders if this little beast would treat him the same if she knew the truth. Are all the beasts like Rex and Gracie, loving and friendly? Would some jump at the opportunity to maul the one who allowed this to happen to them? Would they forgive him? Would they forgive Brador? Or Laurence? It's too much to think about. But in any case… they didn't deserve this.

Ludwig turns to Rex with tears in his eyes. Rex asks again, “Why are you sad?”

“I am not sad, Rex. I am… Inspired. I know what I want- no, what I need to do now.”

--

The sun has risen. Ludwig exhales deeply, his hazy breath visible in the cool morning air. One by one, everyone wakes up, and gathers around once more, as Ludwig sits there in peace. He waits patiently for everyone to come.

Ludwig inhales. “To be turned into a beast is a fitting punishment, as blind as I was. But to be given a second chance, I believe, is a sign that my time here is not done.”

“What about the pain you're in? Surely it must be excruciating?” Simon asks sincerely.

Ludwig shakes his head. “Asides from the wounds I have sustained, I don't feel any physical pain. Though, perhaps the discomfort in this new body is… Divine retribution.” He gestures at himself.

“What about Astera?” Djura pipes up.

“He wishes to be at my side, whether he has a real choice in the matter or not. That is what he told me.”

Everyone shares uncertain glances at each other. Ludwig speaks up again, “I've realized the sins of my past. I…” He pauses, then starts talking again, but much slower, “I can't bear to think about what I… couldn't do. This second chance I've been given, I want to use it to right my wrongs.”

Brador's eyes widen. “So you'll stay? You don't want to be put to sleep?”

Ludwig nods, then he turns to Djura, “I've decided… that I want to protect you and Old Yharnam alongside this noble man for as long as I can.”

Djura steps forward, holding his hand out. “Is that a promise, big guy?”

Ludwig reaches out, gently grasping Djura's hand, his own hand large enough to envelop Djura's entire forearm. “I promise.”

Djura smiles. “Welcome to Old Yharnam, O Holy Blade.”

Chapter Text

Ludwig opens his eyes. He breathes in the scent of hay.

He looks at his hands. They're still beastly, gnarly and hairy. He turns around to look at the rest of his body. That body belongs to both him and Astera now.

He lifts his arms. He takes a step forward. It feels natural to him. He has too many legs that move together at his will. He lifts the legs that once belonged to him, the useless vestigial human legs hanging from his back.

He holds his breath. He can hear two heartbeats, one in his chest, and another lower down where Astera's chest once was. He places one palm over his own, and another over Astera's. They beat in harmony.

He turns his head towards the outdoors- the wall where the front door should be is caved in, leading to the open air. Sunlight shifts through it, and in the rays, the dust glimmers in the air. He looks around. Wooden walls and beams. A floor padded with hay. Random furniture pushed to the side. He sits up on a pile of old blankets and clothes for a makeshift bed.

Ludwig takes in another breath. He listens to the sounds around him, his own breathing, the beasts moving about outside. This is real. He is in Old Yharnam. He stands upright and bumps his head on the ceiling. “Oof!” He then slouches over like the beast he already is.

Then, he feels his body attempt to pull in the direction of the wall, where there's a large bucket hanging. Ludwig can sense his old friend's intentions well enough. Astera chants in the back of their mind, “Hungry, hungry, hungry…”

“Ah, Astera, that means I have to eat it too, yes?”

“It is tasty. But it has no corn.”

“Must I keep explaining that corn is not good for you?”

“Corn is tasty. But not as tasty as the tomato soup I was offered. It was the most divine thing I have ever eaten. I ate a cauldron’s worth.”

Ludwig gasps in absolute horror. “You ate tomatoes?! And that means… You also ate garlic and onions! Those could all kill you!”

“I am completely fine, see?”

“Ah… it must be… our combined anatomy, that must be why you are fine.”

“So can I try chocolate now?” Astera immediately asks.

“What? No!”

“What about potatoes?” The horse presses on.

“It is… not worth the risk, Astera!”

“Djura is a master of veterinary care. If we are affected negatively, he will save us. Therefore, I should be able to try chocolate.”

“Absolutely not!”

“But you will miss such foods, yes?”

Ludwig doesn't answer as he stares down the feed bucket. What's just rolled oats, alfalfa, and other dried greens suddenly looks and smells like a delicious bowl of cereal to Ludwig. It has never occurred to Ludwig before what horse feed might taste like.

“Hm…” He sticks his head in and starts chomping. He expects it to not taste like much, but the alfalfa and greens give the whole thing and earthy tone. He even tastes a hint of sunflower seeds in the mix, and everything is slightly sweet. It's a damn good bowl of cereal. Ludwig is shocked that the dryness doesn't bother him in the slightest.

“What do you think?” Astera asks.

“It's delicious! My, I'm happy to know you've been eating well.” Ludwig grasps the bucket and lifts it for easier consumption.

“Uh…” A new voice speaks up. Ludwig turns his head to see Simon standing there, holding a tray of food. It's a massive serving of oatmeal and dried fruit.

“Oh! Good morning, Simon! Tell me, did you know that Djura was feeding Astera this well? This is just scrumptious!”

“We have… human food for you, Ludwig. You don't have to eat that.” Simon says with some hesitation.

“That's for me? Oh, lovely!” Ludwig hangs the bucket back up and comes over, sniffing the oatmeal. He then takes the bowl from Simon and eats directly from it.

“Sorry, we couldn't find a spoon big enough for your hands.” Simon smiles.

“That's alright. Adjusting to this new body has been easy.”

“That's a relief to hear, Ludwig.”

Ludwig finishes the bowl in seconds, then pulls Simon in for a gentle hug. “It's a relief to see you again, too.”

Simon doesn't hesitate to hug him back. “I'm happy I made the right choice.”

Ludwig gasps softly. “Simon… were you toiling over this…?”

Simon shakes his head. “It's ok. I don't regret it now. This is why I didn't release my arrow. I wanted to see you safe and happy down here. But… for a while, I hated myself for being so weak.” He confesses.

“You weren't weak, Simon,” Ludwig pulls back, placing his massive hands upon Simon's shoulders, “All hunters ever do is kill without a second thought. You stood up against that. You're stronger than I ever will be, and I will forever be grateful for you.”

Simon smiles lightly. “That means a lot coming from you, Ludwig.”

“I wish I had a sliver of your bravery. This… I think,” Ludwig looks down at himself, “Is a fitting end for my sloth.”

“Even so, I thought it was unfair. This second chance you have… use it well, Ludwig.”

Ludwig smiles as charismatically as a horse-man can. Then he asks, “How often will you be visiting, Simon?”

“As often as Brador would allow it.” He half jokes.

“Ha! Don't be afraid of Brador. He is as sweet and gentle as can be.”

“That's easy for you to say.”

Ludwig sighs. “I have been hoping that Brador would leave his past behind, including everything he's done to you.”

Simon grumbles. “How can he leave it behind if he's never apologized to me? He has not changed… even if he tolerates my presence around you. He's only tolerating me to appease you.”

“Should I speak to him about this matter?”

“Do you forget that he's tried to kill me? I don't believe this is something that can be simply talked through.”

“I screamed at him that night… for laying his hands on you like that.” Ludwig confesses, looking downcast.

Simon gasps, his hand placed over his heart. “You did?”

Ludwig nods. “I suppose in a way I've already talked to him about this.”

“What did he say?”

“He said that…” Ludwig inhales, “That I am at fault for trusting you and showing you everything. So he had no choice but to end you.”

Simon falls silent in absolute disappointment. “Wow. But… I can believe he would say that with his full chest.”

“In any case, I hope Brador… will come around and be kind to you once more. I don't want his grudges to stop you from seeing me. I would be heartbroken if I never got to see you again.”

Simon smiles lightly. “Thank you. And Djura has been keeping Brador in line on my behalf. I don't think Brador will make any brash moves.”

“Good! Oh, and Simon, I've a favor to ask of you.”

“Anything that I'm capable of, I shall try my best.”

Ludwig opens his mouth to speak. He was going to ask Simon if he could keep an eye on the Healing Church and how they'll fare without him. But really, what is there to know? That Healing Church was only a shell of Laurence's ideals. All of his men are dead. And after all of these years, he never fully understood what was happening behind closed doors, only vague ideas. He saw many things behind those doors, horrific things that Laurence told him were necessary steps for research.

Such things would be better left behind, as he wanted for Brador too.

“Simon, could you collect some of my possessions from my room? Namely, my photo book and journal, and anything else you can fit in your rucksack.” Is what Ludwig says instead.

Simon bows. “Of course.”

Ludwig clasps his hands together. “And my blanket?”

“Sure.”

“...and my little stuffy bunny, BonBon? Can you bring him too?”

“Yes.”

“And his friend, Toffee the teddy! Bring him too.”

Simon takes out a notepad and starts writing. “Would you like me to buy some milk too?” He asks jokingly.

“Ha!” Then Ludwig stops to think. “Djura said he doesn't have beer here. Can you purchase two or three kegs for me?”

“...no.”

“Please?” Ludwig gives him puppy eyes.

“Look at me!” Simon raises his arms, “I'm a goddamn stick!”

“Very well, what about just one keg?”

“Ludwig, I am not buying you any sort of alcohol because you are a beast and massive. The destruction in your drunken wake would be catastrophic!”

“But beer is good for horses.”

“...what?”

“Yes!” Ludwig neighs (or it was Astera chiming in, excited to hear about beer), “The yeast is good for the stomach. And beer is already made of grain, trust me! It is good for horses. A pint will not intoxicate a body like this.”

“Ludwig, I apologize, but I do not believe you. That sounds like total bullshit.”

“Then we shall ask Djura for his expert opinion!”

They lightheartedly debate the subject for a while before talking about other things; their lives, and the future to come. Later, when Ludwig asked about drinking beer, Djura immediately told him no for the same reason why Ludwig won't risk eating chocolate and potatoes. However, Djura told him that since the tomato soup had no adverse side effects… tomatoes, onions, and garlic are thankfully on the menu for him.

---

Within minutes of Simon departing for Ludwig’s possessions, Brador comes in. It's almost like Brador was watching from a distance and waiting for him to leave (he was).

When Brador walks in, the first thing he does is hug Ludwig. “You're still here,” Brador says out loud.

Ludwig smiles. “I am.”

“What about Astera?”

Ludwig taps his forehead. “Still here as well.”

Brador smiles wide, then hugs Ludwig tighter. “I won't lose you again. We'll take good care of you.”

“I have the utmost faith that you will.”

Brador sits down, his back leaning against Ludwig’s chest (crotch?). “Djura and I have been talking about moving you in properly.”

“Oh?”

Brador points to the open wall. “First we're going to start by renovating this place. We're going to install double doors there, and knock down the second floor so you don't have to be slouched over all the time. We'll use those planks to repair the walls too. But that will be far into the future, when Djura’s arm recovers. It should be summer by then, so the weather will be good.”

Ludwig nods. “So… this humble abode will be my new home?”

“Unless you want a different house, but most of them are already occupied by beasts, or are in too terrible of condition to be suitable. Plus, this one is close to Djura's.” Brador explains.

“Ah. You know, I'd be happy to help rebuild the homes. Rex suggested as much, with my tall stature and all.”

Brador cranes his head up. “Rex?”

“Yes! He explained to me that Djura was looking to build a wagon for Astera as well.”

“You… Rex… Rex talked to you? The beast that looks more like a Labrador retriever than an actual beast? Brown fur? Floppy ears? Innocent eyes?”

“Yes, that's the one,” Ludwig beams, “He is an optimistic and energetic soul.”

“And he… talked to you using words.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Hang on.” Brador scrambles onto his feet and sprints out of the home. Ludwig is left bewildered in the dust.

Within a couple of minutes, Brador comes back with Djura. Djura's eye is wide and he looks utterly amazed already. “Ludwig, you can understand the beasts?!”

Ludwig nods. “Indeed! I spoke with Rex. He is part of the reason why I chose to remain in this world.”

“No way! It took me months to get a grip on what they're saying to me.”

“But this is different, I can actually hear the words as clear as day! It's not like knowing a different language, it's like only I can hear what they're saying,” Ludwig explains, “I hope that makes sense.”

Djura thinks. “Don't mind me, I'm gonna test you real quick.”

“Uh, sure?”

Djura whistles sharply. After a moment, the jet black beast Diego appears, sitting at Djura's feet obediently and waiting for his command. Although, unlike Rex, this beast gives Ludwig a confused look. “Astera, why are you standing like that?” Diego asks.

“Oh, uh, I am not Astera. I am Ludwig.” Ludwig says to Diego.

Diego suddenly sneers at Ludwig. Ludwig is taken aback.

“Wait, what did Diego just say to you?” Djura jumps.

“He addressed me as Astera and asked why I'm standing upright. Well, mostly…” Ludwig taps the ceiling.

“Holy cow…” Djura's jaw drops. “Diego, did you ask him that?”

Diego huffs and tosses his head like a nod. Everyone else heard a huff, but only Ludwig heard, “Yes.”

“…” Djura taps his chin, “I still need more proof. I'm gonna have you tell Ludwig something oddly specific that you know. Tell Ludwig… who my first crush was.”

Diego glances back between him and Ludwig. “Are you sure about that? With Brador right there?”

Djura looks at him. “Are you hesitating?”

Ludwig nods. “He is.”

“Well, here goes nothing…” Diego inhales, “Djura's first crush was Father Gascoigne. He boldly flirted with the man while Gascoigne himself was courting his soon-to-be wife. Oh yes, Gascoigne was engaged at the time.”

Ludwig’s jaw drops. He stares at Djura, “You flirted with a Father?! And he was engaged?!”

“Alright. Yep. You can understand the beast’s way of speaking.” Djura nods shamelessly.

“Oh, you are naughty!” Brador laughs.

“I hope Father Gascoigne turned you down immediately!” Ludwig gasps scandalously.

“Hey hey! In my defense, I didn't know he was engaged all those years ago!”

“He lies.” Diego snarks.

“Diego says you're lying!” Ludwig accuses, pointing at Djura.

Djura gasps in betrayal at the beast. “What the hell, man?! No treats for you!”

“Psssh. Whatever.” Diego leaves, but not before giving Ludwig a strange glare. They all wait for the beast to exit the building.

“Well, ain't this handy?” Djura smiles, “Ludwig, you'll be an even bigger help around here than I imagined. With clear communication like that, there won't be any mishaps with the beasts. Like say, diagnosing an illness with a beast being able to clearly describe their symptoms. Or maybe getting a beast's exact food preferences instead of trial and error-- oooo this is gonna be great!”

“Are we just glossing over the fact that you attempted to steal away a clergyman who was already in a romantic relationship?” Ludwig asks.

“I was young, desperate, and stupid, ok?” Djura sighs.

“Don't worry about it, Ludwig,” Brador pulls Djura in by the waist, “With me around… he won't be able to think about any other man.” He whispers that last part into Djura's ear.

The way Djura's face goes bright red and his priceless expression makes Ludwig bellow in laughter.

---

Simon returns with Ludwig’s belongings in the evening. Ludwig is quick to place his old blanket atop his makeshift bed, and proudly displays his two stuffed animals there. BonBon and Toffee, gifts from Maria and Laurence respectively, have seen better days, but to be at Ludwig's side again makes their button eyes shimmer. His photo books and journal find a place on a table that was shoved to the side.

“Simon, I can't thank you enough,” Ludwig bows to him, “This humble abode is starting to feel like a real home.”

Simon smiles. “Anything for- OUGH!” Simon coughs when Ludwig scoops him up into a tight hug. “Can't- breathe-!”

“Apologies!” Ludwig puts him down gently, “I'm simply overwhelmed with joy right now! Brador and Djura were telling me all about moving me in and I-” He inhales deeply, “Am so touched by their kindness. And you being here makes it all the more better.”

“Ah, that's good to hear. Tell me Ludwig, can you see yourself living a happy life here?” Simon sincerely asks.

“Of course! Especially with Brador…” Ludwig smiles, “And hey, now I can live a life of truly helping people. I…” His smile turns downcast.

“No more words need to be spoken on the matter, Ludwig,” Simon reassures him, “I know it's hard on you.”

Ludwig nods. A silence falls upon them. Ludwig speaks up again, “Simon… I don't know if any amount of charity I do will ever make up for things. Even if I help the beasts here directly, after everything that's happened.”

Simon doesn't say anything for a while. “You were blindsided, Ludwig. And you carry regret with you. That speaks volumes above Brador's line of thinking.”

“Do you…” Then Ludwig whispers, lowering his head to meet Simon's eye level, “Do you think… we should tell Djura?”

“Of course I think we should,” Simon whispers back, “He of all people should know the truth.”

“I don't think I will ever have the courage to, Simon.”

“...I understand, Ludwig. The right time will come.
Whenever you're ready. I know your heart is always in the right place. You are a hero, and always will be.”

“Thank you, Simon.” Ludwig nudges his head closer to Simon. Simon hugs his head, their foreheads touching.

Simon whispers, “Even if you never tell him, I forgive you, Ludwig.”

“Thank you. Can you ensure the people of Yharnam are safe in my stead?”

“You know how I feel about the Church, Ludwig. To fulfill your wish is for me to bring it all down, and that is something I cannot do.”

“Then please keep those who are still sane… safe.”

“That has always been my goal. Fret not.” Simon pets Ludwig's forehead, fingers combing through his mane.

“Simon…”

“Can you promise me something in return, Ludwig?”

“Yes?”

“Please, just… live your life in happiness here. Be at peace.”

“I will.”

A comforting silence falls between them. Just like every other time they've met up late at night, sitting on Ludwig's balcony or hanging out in the stables. This is enough for them.

Then, the scent of a meal that's all too familiar to them hits their nostrils. Ludwig raises his head, “Is that… no, it can't be! My Sunday roast?”

Simon looks giddy. “Looks like they're putting your cookbook to good use.”

They both make their way to Djura's house. Simon lets himself in, but Ludwig is too big to fit inside, obviously. The window to the dining room however, is wide open. He sticks his head in.

“Hello, Ludwig!” Djura grins, “Thank you for the cookbook. It's your-”

“It's my Sunday roast!” Ludwig shouts in joy, seeing the slab of roasted beef and vegetables on the dining table. “My goodness, it's exactly how I remember it!”

The eye of round roast is a perfect crispy brown. Flecks of herbs and garlic sit atop of it. It smells of rosemary. It's sliced thinly with a tender pink inside, and it's oozing with juices. There are lots of vegetables on the sides, mainly consisting of potatoes, peas, broccoli, and carrots, roasted as well. Everyone has a side of horseradish sauce. Then, of course, the Yorkshire pudding, which Andrei had just pulled from the oven. They're steaming hot and golden brown.

Brador is already eating at the table, greedily stuffing his face with the roasted beef. There's not a single pea on his plate. He's so happy to have Ludwig's cooking again that he doesn't even notice Ludwig himself. Andrei sits down and waves hello to Ludwig. Simon is trying to find a seat far from Brador, and Djura helps him to one, whispering to him in reassurance that he'll keep Brador in line.

Ludwig sighs sadly. “It's a shame I can't fit inside…”

Brador sits upright, finally noticing him. “Look down, Ludwig!”

“Eh?” Ludwig does so. Just beneath his head is a smaller table, and upon it is an entire other Sunday roast. The vegetables are piled up in a big bowl beside it. He notes that his meal is modified- there's no broccoli in his bowl, and instead of a horseradish sauce, there's a bowl of apple sauce to serve with the meal instead. How ironic that horses can't eat horseradish!

“You all… made a meal just for me?” Ludwig’s eyes water, “And you made it safe for horses to eat?”

Djura smiles, placing three gorgeous pieces of Yorkshire pudding on his plate. “Of course! And I'm sure we'll figure out what you can and can't eat later down the road. I'm sorry about the lack of horseradish sauce for now… so I hope you enjoy the apple sauce instead!”

“Djura…” Ludwig sniffles, “Thank you, thank you so much for this meal.”

“Nah, don't thank me,” Djura gestures to Andrei and Brador, “These two did all the work today! I only ordered them around, heh.”

Ludwig gasps. “Brador, did you really?”

Brador swallows the bite he just put in his mouth. “I seasoned the beef and watched it in the oven. And I washed the vegetables too.”

“I'm so proud of you!” Ludwig beams.

“You are…?”

“Yes!”

Andrei rolls his eyes. Cooking is a necessary skill akin to wiping one's arse. Either Ludwig is easily impressed, or Brador is simply that incapable of… anything, really.

Djura finally sits down. “Alright, let's eat!” Ignoring the fact that Brador is already done with his plate. But Brador instead helps Djura cut his food into bite sized pieces, and with the most cringeworthy, cheesy romance, feeds Djura as well.

The light and air of the dining room is warm and joyous. Ludwig looks upon the scene with tears welling up in his eyes. He thought he would never experience the love of a home ever again. Everything is so surreal- even Simon is smiling in the same room as Brador. Ludwig can hardly believe it.

But of course, everything cements itself as reality when Ludwig dips his head down and takes a big mouthful of vegetables into his equine mouth. Then, a bite of the roast beef. It is absolutely entertaining to hear Astera scream in his subconscious at how mind-blowingly delicious the food is- far superior to any corn he's ever tasted.

This is a life Ludwig could get used to. A life where he's with his loyal steed and his little brother, living happily ever after in Old Yharnam. He hopes he can exist in this new, peaceful life like this- as an unsightly beast, born of his sloth and cowardice.

And he hopes Laurence will forgive him.

--- --- ---

Djura crawls into bed, finding his place in Brador's arms. He tucks himself into Brador's chest, warm and safe. He looks up at Brador, who gives him a tired smile, and hugs him close.

“This feels like a fairy tale.” Brador says.

“What does?”

“Everything,” Brador elaborates, resting his chin on top of Djura's head, “Ludwig is alive again. I have a handsome partner in life. I have three square meals a day, a warm bed to come back to every night, surrounded by beasts who are peaceful and loving… Seriously. It's just too good to be true.”

“You think so?” Djura reaches up to cup Brador's cheek.

“Djura…” Brador swallows, “I am grateful for all you've done for me, truly, but I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Why?”

“Something bad is going to happen. To balance all of this joy out.”

Djura moves back, getting a good look at Brador's face, and giving Brador an inquisitive expression. “Why do you think that, Brador?”

“It’s…” Brador's eyes shift, “It's just how things are. It's how my life has always been. The light always casts a shadow, and fate is impartial.”

Djura rubs his chin in thought. “Hrm. I s’pose that's true. Not everything is sunshine and rainbows.”

“You understand, yes? Good things never last. And this… today was the most joyous I've felt in years. It will all come crashing down soon enough.”

“Maybe…” Djura finds a way to word it, “Maybe today has been so wonderful that everything that comes after will be dull in comparison. Besides, I'll make sure nothing too terrible happens around here, ok?”

“Are you sure of that?”

“Yes,” Then Djura pauses to reconsider, “Well, maybe not. Some things are just out of our control. Like say, I can't stop the sky from raining. I can only do so much. But even if I did have the ability to make life perfect… I wouldn't do it. It's like you said, the light always casts a shadow, and without the sad times in life, it's hard to appreciate its joys.”

Brador hums in thought. His fingers comb through Djura's hair. “Do you believe in fate, Djura?”

“Fate?” Djura ponders, “Like God’s plan and the like?”

“Something like that.”

“Sometimes. I think it was fate that brought you and I together…” Djura plants a chaste kiss to Brador's jawline, “It was also fate that Simon decided to bring Ludwig here. I don't think everything is fate, though. It was my decision this morning to cook an omelette, not God's, not some otherworldly force. Fate didn't define who I am either. Someone else could've grown up like I did and end up a completely different person. I don't think we have an immutable destiny or anything like that, but there are definitely some things out there that are simply meant to be.”

“You are a very nuanced person.” Brador observes.

“Is that a compliment?”

“In a way.”

“What about you, Brador? What do you think of fate?”

“Fate…” Brador takes a deep breath, “It's unavoidable. What we do now defines our futures, and our actions are defined by our natures as men. And men… we don't change, thus, our fates are set in stone. Such is the way the world works.”

Djura looks at Brador inquisitively again. “You don't think people can change?”

“We can change small things about ourselves, but not our nature at its core. We are still animals. Anyone pushed far enough will act selfishly in favor of self-preservation and survival. Others hold values as close to their hearts as survival, such as their pride or greed. And some people are just too stubborn to change.”

“Hm… That's an interesting line of thought.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It's just funny that you're insisting people can't change.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nevermind, darlin’. Goodnight.”

Brador wonders what Djura meant by that for a while before falling asleep. Djura couldn't have meant Brador- he still protects his darkest secrets closely. That will never change, it is simply his nature.

Chapter Text

Nine years ago…

This night of the hunt is a brutal one. The moon is a crimson shade of red as terror rules the streets.

A nameless hunter and his two companions are steeped in the scent of flesh and blood. They're hunched over their victims, tearing at the flesh with their teeth.

The nameless hunter suddenly comes to his senses. He looks at his hands, claws poking through his gloves. A snarl rips through his throat. He looks up. Church hunters stare at them, with their gallant robes and straight swords.

In the distance, far above the bodies, is the Holy Blade, mounted upon his steed. He shouts an order at his Spartans, pointing his Holy Moonlight at the scourged hunters. Of course it had to come to this. The workshop hunters were never the heroes of the Healing Church that the people wanted, anyway.

The hunter grabs his companions by their scarves, sprinting away as the Church hunters shout and chase after them. But his legs are long, his lungs expansive, and fright pumps through his veins as he and his friends have become prey. It's easy to outrun the Church hunters. There's only one place to go, the place abandoned by the Healing Church.

He slams into the wooden doors to Old Yharnam, bursting right through them with inhuman strength. He tumbles onto the ground, clutching his friends, as they too snarl and swing their claws.

Footsteps approach quickly. The hunter rolls onto his hands and feet, claws digging into the ground, snarling at the new group of hunters who stand before him. One hunter has a small Gatling Gun, the second hunter wields the Beast Claw, and the third has his Saw Spear pointed at them. They all wear the charred, hooded uniforms of Powder Kegs. The third hunter tilts his head slightly at the newcomers, then suddenly shouts behind him. “Djura! These three are all yours.”

Djura.

The legendary hunter, who once burned through beasts with an animalistic delight, retired only in his twenties and abandoned the hunt. This man is the one who abandoned the hunt to protect beasts.

“You have to help us!” The nameless hunter cries, “We-We--” He struggles to push the words out of his throat.

“Easy, lads, easy…” The withered hat. The eyepatch. The Stake Driver attached to his right arm. There's no mistaking him for anyone else in Yharnam. Djura approaches the hunters with open palms.

“I don't want to lose to this! Graaagh!” The hunter clutches at his own face, “You have to help us!” He struggles to stand, attempting to use his Threaded Cane to assist him.

Djura looks upon them sadly. “If you're growing claws like that… under a moon like this… I'm afraid it's too late.”

“Too late?! No, you're the one they call the goddamn beast fucker! If you know what it's like to fornicate with them, then shouldn't you know how to reverse this?!” The hunter springs up, grabbing Djura by the collar. Djura's companions draw their firearms and aim without hesitation. Djura holds his hand up to them, halting them.

“I can't reverse the physical transformation- what's done is done,” Djura explains calmly, “All you can do now is remember who you are. You have to take a deep breath.”

“So you can't do anything about this?!”

“I'm sorry. But you can still be human, even if you turn into a beast.”

“That's bullshit!”

“It ain't. Many beasts here try to live some kind of semblance of an ordinary life. They're still people, after all. They kept their memories.”

“W-What-”

“What drives the transformation the most is your emotions. Reverting back to your primal instincts is how beasthood consumes your mind. You have to remain calm. Forget your fears.” Djura places a hand on his shoulder. The hunter slowly lowers him back down.

“There's nothing you can do?” The hunter asks shakily.

“I'm sorry. It's just the reality of things.” Djura speaks gently.

The horror and realization sets into the hunter’s collapsed eyes. His heart sinks and he collapses onto his knees.

Djura kneels by the hunter’s companions, who clutch themselves in agony on the ground. He motions for the hunter to join him. “Are you guys close?”

“Close… very.”

“All you have is each other. Best thing y'all can do is remember each other. Be with each other and at peace. Look, your transformations are inevitable. We have to do what we can to preserve your minds… you have to stick to what makes you a person- your heart. You understand?”

The hunter kneels by his friends, ushering them to get up. “I'm so sorry, both of you-”

His companions both hug him in silence. He begins to sob.

“I'm alright with forgetting everything,” One of the hunters, young with bright and innocent eyes, admits, “The horrors of the hunt and all that we've killed.”

“You'll forget your happiest memories too. With us.” The hunter cries. They soon turn into growls.

“That's ok. We can make new memories together.” The innocent hunter tries to say optimistically. His voice warps unnaturally.

The last hunter, a burly man, speaks up, asking Djura a question. “Will it be like goin’ to sleep? Or will we be reborn into a new life?”

“Depends on whether you wanna be like your friend and forget everything. It's up to you, now. But one thing I guarantee is… you three will be safe here, in Old Yharnam, protected from the hunt under my watch. I promise.”

“A new life…” The last hunter closes his eyes, “Yeah… A new life ‘ere in Ol’ Yharnam… I think I'm alright with forgettin’ everything.”

--- --- ---

Diego opens his eyes. He yawns and stretches out his legs, then gives his body a good shake. It's been a while since he's had that dream. He's sad that Rex and Razor chose to forget their past lives. Diego remembers much of it. However, it upsets him that he too forgot their names more than anything.

Rex is definitely the happiest about being a beast. His head was always in the clouds. He hated the cruelty of the world around him. He became a hunter to end that cruelty, to put an end to the scourge itself. Now he's the sweetest dog in the world, and never had to think about its woes again. He doesn't find anything humiliating about being treated like a dog, because to him, he's always been a dog. Rex was named by the deceased Powder Keg called Nikolai, choosing the Latin word for king. Though, Rex is more of a follower than anything. Nikolai was always a contrarian, after all. He also thought about the names Boss or Chief instead of Rex, yet they didn't seem to fit the bright-eyed beast.

Razor rarely comes out unless Djura whistles a certain pitch to call him to a man-eater boar hunt. He spends most of his time lounging around otherwise. Diego remembers that Razor used to drink his troubles away until the night of the hunt, then unleash all of his anger at the hunt's victims. It's no wonder he's not particularly affectionate towards anyone, except for Djura and his old hunting companions, for he abandoned his family in favor of emptying bottles of gin. At least Razor likes being a beast, if anything, becoming a beast softened him up. He likes it when Djura calls him his boar-hunting champ, and he's named after his ridiculously long and sharp claws. Jozef was proud to come up with that name, as simple and straightforward as he was. Though, he and Djura debated between the names Blade, Dagger, or Fang…

Then there's Diego himself. Andrei was the one who selected his name. There was no other reason than Andrei liking how it sounds and that it was an ordinary name. Diego is indifferent to being a beast now. But before then, he used to scream at the sky, biting his arms and clawing at his face and chest, to the point where Djura had to tie him down to treat his bleeding wounds. It was due to Djura's dedication and his love for his friends that Diego stayed in this world.

Maybe Diego should've done what his friends did, and let go of his previous life. Just forget everything. But it's those memories of the hunt that pushes Diego to take care of his fellow beasts alongside Djura. These people faced the same fate as he did. It is not the right of hunters and the Church to decide who lives and who dies. Who do they think they are, gods?

The first thing Diego does when he wakes up is leave his bed- a pile of blankets and his old coat- and head to Djura's house. Sometimes it's a basket of eggs that Djura leaves out in the kitchen, sometimes it's sliced ham or freshly-soaked salt cod. On rare and unfortunate occasions in scarce times, it's dog kibble that's served (with profuse apologies from Djura. Though, Djura will also eat the kibble in solidarity). Sometimes Diego catches Djura on his way back from the coop, and Djura hands him the eggs on the spot. Afterwards, he trots around, delivering food to everyone in need. Most beasts are just fine a day or two without food, as their bodies metabolize similarly to ordinary carnivores. Still, he makes sure everyone gets something to eat every day, even if it's just a bite.

Then, he spends the day hunting the giant rats, man-eater boar piglets, and carrion crows that stray from the aqueduct. He shares his kills among the hungriest before he feeds himself. Once everyone has been cared for, he can finally spend the rest of the day relaxing by grooming himself and his luscious ebon fur.

He is grateful that Djura gave him a second chance here. He has a noble purpose in life now, one he can proudly stand behind. Djura didn't have to, of course. Diego was once a hunter who killed beasts.

It just begs the question: why is Djura giving Ludwig a second chance?

Diego joined the Church and the workshop hunters beneath them for the purpose of keeping the streets safe. It always rubbed him the wrong way how the crowds cheered for the Church Spartans, but steered clear from the real hunters.

Cowards, the Church hunters were. High above the carnage upon their horses, in robes of untouched white and unstained weapons. Taking all the glory they hardly lifted a finger to earn. Sure, they hunted. But to be knee-deep in beast corpses is another thing entirely.

Could the Yharnamites not stomach the bloody truth of the hunt? Was it so necessary to attach their false hope to the Church hunters, blindingly radiant, and not those who crafted their weapons and did the real dirty work?

Diego watches from a distance as Djura fits a harness onto Ludwig's lower body, attaching it to the tongue of a wagon. Ludwig gives Djura a thumbs up, and Djura cheers. Ludwig gives the wagon a few paces of walking, and he neighs in delight. Andrei and Brador, at Djura's side, cheer as well. They even fitted Ludwig's old Church garbs back on, after some readjustments.

At least Ludwig will be earning his keep here. His motivation to help Old Yharnam seems genuine. For the past couple of days, he's been helping move rubble and barrels and whatnot, and objectively he's a great hand to have around.

Where was this motivation to help when he let this town burn? When he allowed people to take blood like candy? Diego sighs. He picks up the rat he just killed by the scruff of its neck, bringing it to the crumbling building that he and his companions call home.

“Oi, both of you. I've got a fresh rat. Eat it while it's still bleeding.” Diego drops it in the center of the old living room.

“Oh! Oh! Rat! Rat! Is it juicy?” Rex jumps up from his bed of blankets and coats, sniffing the bloody carcass.

“Bring it ‘ere. Just a leg.” Razor grumbles, lying on his side.

“Get your lazy ass up, I'm not your mum. You're a grown man.” Diego snarks playfully.

“Rrrrgh…” Razor gets up, drooling. He's built more like a badger or a bear than a wolf: a barrel-shaped body and strong legs, rusty red fur, a slight underbite with massive lower canines, a blunt snout, and a short tail that was docked from too many incidents of boars crunching down on it. It's not a decision Djura wanted to make.

By the time Razor has reached the rat, Rex has already chewed a hole into the abdominal cavity, sticking his head through it in an attempt to get at the heart. Razor gently bites Rex’s thick scruff, pulling him away. Razor then drags a single, curved claw up the rat’s underside, cleaving straight through its ribs. “There, kiddo. All yours.”

“Thank you thank you thank you!” Rex sticks his bloodied head right back into the rat, chewing out the heart.

Razor sighs. “I wish I still had your youthful energy.”

“It's because he's ignorant to the horrors of our reality.” Diego says.

“Tell me ‘bout it. Anyway, what cut do you want?”

“Liver, spleen, and kidneys, if you don't mind. You two can have the rest.”

“Aye aye, captain.” Razor cuts out the organs, sliding them to Diego. He then claws and chews at the spine of the rat, then after a quick tug-of-war with Rex, Razor gets his half of the rat. “Y’sure you don't want more?”

“Quality over quantity.” Diego explains before chowing down on his meal.

“Ain't gonna keep you full for long.”

“I can't afford to overeat. I am the swiftest of our pack. I lead the charge. I run the boar down. Rex distracts it. You bring it down by the throat. And Djura shoots it.”

“Hrm. That's true.”

The three hunting hounds eat in peace until they hear a wagon and hooves roll by their home, and laughter from Ludwig, Djura, Brador, and Andrei.

Razor growls deeply. “Why does that beast… make me feel so angry? And his scent… it is familiar. I know it.”

“He is the one who abandoned us.” Diego growls too.

“Abandoned?”

“He is the reason why we ran here.”

“Was he our leader before?”

“In a way. He is anything but a leader, merely a puppet that speaks hollow words.”

“Ah… I think I remember now. Yes. It's that bastard. On that night when we turned.” Razor muses.

Diego nods. “And he has the gall to show up here. Tch.”

“I hardly remember anything from that night, and yet…” Razor huffs, “Yeah. When he pointed that glowin’ blade at us… I hate it. I can't remember my own goddamn name and yet… I remember him sentencing us to death.”

“Razor, let us perform our due diligence and introduce him to Old Yharnam properly, and he will regret ever setting foot in our town.” Diego smiles slyly at Razor.

“He's our friend!” Rex whines at them, “Why do you two sound like you hate him?”

“He is not your friend, Rex. He is but the shallow face of the Healing Church.” Diego states.

“How can he be… shallow? Is he made out of water? Can we go swimming in his face?” Rex tilts his head.

Razor and Diego look at Rex with tired eyes. Razor then speaks up more kindly, “That rat still has its head on. Why don'tcha stay ‘ere and finish your meal?”

“Oh! Oh! Brains and eyes!” Rex starts chomping on the rat’s skull, chewing through it to get to its soft brains.

“Don't forget the ribs. Don't let any meat go to waste, y’hear?”

“Ribs! Ribs! Ribs!”

Razor nudges Diego. “He'll tucker himself out. Let's go… we've got some work to do.”

---

As the sun sets, Razor and Diego watch as Ludwig tries talking to every beast he comes across. Some happily hold a conversation, albeit with broken words. Some can't articulate any words at all, completely animalistic in every way. Some don't give Ludwig a single word despite their intelligence, either growling at him or ignoring him completely. Ludwig seems bewildered that some are shutting him out.

Diego, Razor, Rex, Gracie, and several other beasts are the lucky few who have their wits just about completely intact. But in any case, body language and growls is all they need from other beasts to understand them. Ludwig still seems to have trouble understanding their ways, and can't catch the hint as some beasts arch their backs and hiss at him.

“Well, if it ain't the new guy,” Razor lumbers towards Ludwig, “We're well-acquainted with Astera, but allow us to introduce ourselves again. I'm Razor, the boar-hunting champ, and this is Diego, the legendary black bolt. We're Djura's beloved huntin’ dogs.”

“Oh!” Ludwig gasps, “Hello, Razor, and hello again, Diego! Sorry if I seem overly excited, there's not many who are well-articulated here! Goodness, I thought it was just me, you, little Gracie and Rex!” He stands tall and proud, “Once again, I am Ludwig, of the Healing Church and its Holy Blade.”

Diego’s eyes narrow. Razor catches it. “Holy Blade! Ain't that a mighty title. I’d reckon you're the only beast that can use a sword.”

“Beast?” Then Ludwig shakes his head, “Ah- yes, I am a beast, I suppose. One of… you guys… now.”

A quiet growl escapes Diego's throat. He speaks up next, “It takes time to get used to, I would know. But it's not every day a Church hunter seeks refuge here.”

“I suppose I was brought here unwittingly, but I am a part of this community now, yes!”

Diego glances at Razor. Razor shoots him a knowing look. Diego then nods and Razor speaks up, “I saw how our Pops- er, Djura, was rushing things to put you to work. Why don't we give you a proper tour and introduce you to the locals?”

“A proper tour?” Ludwig hums, musing on it.

“We couldn't help but notice that some were anxious meeting you- they just needed a fellow Old Yharnam resident to introduce you properly. How ‘bout it?” Razor wags his short tail in an attempt to seem friendlier.

“Oh of course! I would appreciate it!”

---

At first, Razor and Diego went around introducing Ludwig to the friendliest of beasts- the ones who have forgotten everything, who know nothing but Djura's kindness. Namely, little Gracie again and her beastly foster family. They raised her from the very moment Djura found her real mother dead at Old Yharnam's doorstep, her daughter gnawing at her bleeding neck. Of course, Gracie doesn't remember that, thankfully.

Then, they came to the beasts who remember when Old Yharnam burned. Those who still have burn scars from that day, who flinch at the sight of pyres. They still approached Ludwig kindly, understanding that not all hunters are bad people. Ludwig had a sadness in his eyes that he could not hide.

Then, they came to the beasts who wore their hatred on their sleeveless claws. Not towards Djura and his Powder Kegs, of course, but towards the Healing Church who ordered the burning, and the hunters who exterminated them afterwards. They recognized Ludwig’s Church garbs and snarled and roared at him, curses in languages that Ludwig did not understand. Ludwig left those interactions scared and confused. Razor simply told him that those beasts will warm up to him eventually.

Then, they came to the beasts that outright tried to attack Ludwig. No explanation is needed. Ludwig was terrified. Razor shallowly apologized on their behalf.

Finally, a broken but still optimistic Ludwig comes to an old, dilapidated chapel. Razor tries to cheer him up with thinly veiled words. “You're about to meet one of our oldest residents! She wouldn't hurt a fly.”

“She wouldn't?” Ludwig asks, uncertain, but still believing Razor's words. He has a similar manner of speaking to Djura, after all.

“Of course! Ol’ Suzie ‘ere is very sweet, her family comes from a long line of clergymen. She is like a grandmother to us all… bein’ one of the first victims of the scourge, after all.”

Diego nods. “She couldn't hurt you if she tried. Old, frail, thin bones and all. Now come on, let's say hello.”

Ludwig gulps and walks alongside them. But before Razor and Diego can gleefully watch Ludwig get the rotten blood sucked out of him, Suzie begins to cry. They all stand at the staircase leading to the chapel in stunned silence.

Then, her cries turn into wails, then howls. Howls of eternal pain, as she clutches herself in the shadows. They echo throughout the night sky. Her nose is turned up to the air, as the wind catches Ludwig's scent and brings it to her. She quakes in fear and anger, backing herself up against the altar. She cowers under her skin, pulling the stretched-out flaps around her. Her words can barely be made out among her screeches and howls. Her words don't even sound human to him, garbled growls distorted by a disfigured throat.

They will haunt Ludwig forever.

“Not again.”

“Please don't hurt me.”

“What more do you want from me?”

“My skin.”

“My face.”

“My flesh.”

“Damn the Church.”

“Damn you all.”

Razor looks to Diego. Razor whispers something, then walks into the chapel. He gently licks Suzie's face, nuzzling her, and Suzie hugs him with her gangly arms, wailing to the sky. He places his heavy head upon her chest, letting his warmth weigh her down.

Ludwig is so shocked that he doesn't hear footsteps running up behind him. Andrei sprints past him with ointments, sedatives, and painkillers in tow. Djura is with him. They kneel beside Suzie, and seeing Razor, they start asking him questions. Razor touches his nose to the sedatives.

Ludwig can't watch as Djura injects a sedative into Suzie's thigh. Her wails don't stop for a long time. Djura cradles her head as Andrei soothes her exposed flesh with the ointment.

“Do you understand now?”

Ludwig looks down at Diego. “What?”

Diego turns to Ludwig, his teeth slightly bared. “Do you understand now?”

“U… Understand what?”

“Your reason for being is nothing but bullshit. A hero? The Holy Blade? For whom? For what? Just who did you save?”

“I was a hero! I-I protected Yharnam's people from the beasts!”

Diego falls silent, almost disappointed at Ludwig's response, but not surprised. “...I was like you, once upon a time. I was a hunter just like you, thinking we were saving Yharnam from beasts. The only difference between you and me is that I still have my wits. You're as ignorant as the day you turned your gaze away from the pyres that consumed this town... The town that your precious Church decided was too far gone from beasts, the beasts that you created with the blood.”

Ludwig stammers. “We didn't know they were still people! They were a lost cause... We had no idea the human consciousness could be kept intact. We didn't know the blood caused beasthood either!”

Diego sneers at him. “But you knew they were people. You knew that they transformed into beasts from the blood. I know Djura has told you that already. How dare you speak of them, of our people, as if they're lowly mongrels. They are people. I'm a person. A human being. Would you speak like that of Gracie’s family? What about Rex or I? As lost causes? I don't think you'll ever see us as people. The Church certainly didn't.”

“...” Ludwig’s expression sinks deeper. He collapses on his legs and knees.

“You don't belong here. Not now, nor ever,” Diego steps closer, baring his teeth fully at Ludwig, his eyes wide with rage, “You disgust me. I can't believe I held onto hope for the Church until the day you turned your Holy Blade against me. I was a fool to think you would protect us if we turned.”

“I… I what? I…?”

“Of course you don't remember. We workshop hunters were nothing but expendable to the Church!” Diego snaps his teeth at Ludwig, they audibly clack together with anger. Ludwig flinches, raising his arms to guard his face. He trembles. Diego snarls. “Coward.”

“Coward?!”

“You couldn't even turn your back to the Church to do what was right,” Diego scoffs, “A leader of the Church Spartans, their gallant captain, right? I would know. You commanded them to kill Rex, Razor, and I.”

“I… I… I'm sorry, I never… I don't think...”

“Lies. Would you still kill me if the Church ordered you to, just as you led your men to their graves? You let your men turn. You let everyone here turn. It must’ve felt good, playing the hero,” Diego paces back and forth, his claws scraping against the ground, “All you're good for is making the Church look like they've done something good, stamping out the mess they created. You saved no one.”

“I… but I did! I saved them from beasts, I shielded them from fangs and claws, believe me!” Ludwig shouts, “So many families, so many people-”

“SILENCE!” Diego snarls, “You still don't get it. You were nothing but a part of the endless cycle of hunting, and you did nothing to stop it! The bloodshed only led to more beasts sprouting, and led to ME losing everything! I can't even remember my name before I turned, and here you are, keeping everything including your damned fucking sword! You useless, self-absorbed zealot!” He roars now, ears and tail held high, his stance wide and claws out-

A sharp whistle pierces through the night. “Diego! Heel!”

Diego instantly sits dutifully as Andrei approaches. He keeps a stoic demeanor as Andrei steps between them, “I apologize about him, he's usually not like this, he's probably on edge about Suzie…”

“I…” Ludwig stares ahead, unsure of what to say.

“Isn't it such a gift to understand our language?” Diego growls quietly, “Now you will see what your ignorance has sprouted. Nothing but sorrows and pain for years.”

Andrei turns around. “Quit growling at him!”

Diego huffs, laying at Andrei's feet. “Too bad Andrei can't understand me. But even he knows of the pain.”

“Ludwig, I'm sure you're having a nice time conversing with the beasts with your newfound talent, but…” Andrei turns to Suzie in the distance, “Some are best left alone, ok? Especially her over there. She, well…” Andrei struggles to find the words.

Ludwig finishes his sentence. “She has so much pain from the Church. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I… I'm so sorry! I didn't know they would do that to her! I… oh, God! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!”

Ludwig breaks down, crumbling further into the ground, hunched over with his head in his hands. His cries are mixed in with distorted whinnies.

“...You guys were researching the scourge while it was young. I know,” Andrei starts, clearly holding some vitriol back, “Which is why… Well, Djura especially, wants you to help out around here.”

Ludwig nods. “It's… it's why I want to help too.”

“Of course. Let's not rush into things. You just need to prove your intentions to those abandoned by the Healing Church, one favor at a time. Ok?” Andrei pets his mane, “We all know you're a good man, Ludwig.”

Ludwig sighs. “I… thank you.”

“Tch. I hope you're lying, Andrei.” Diego snarks with an eye roll.

Andrei sees Diego roll his eyes. “By any chance, did Diego say anything to you?”

Ludwig shakes his head. “Nothing. He didn't say anything to me.”

“...I see.”

“Good. Keep it that way.” Diego grumbles as Andrei grips the back of his collar, scolding the beast as he drags him away. Of course, Andrei didn't hear anything of what Diego actually said to Ludwig, but he knows Diego wouldn't just threaten someone like that out of the blue. Something is off.

Soon after, Djura and Razor exit the chapel. Djura seems exhausted as he speaks up, “You should head to bed, Ludwig.”

“I shall…”

“If you're feelin’ antsy, I could get you a companion? Someone like Razor here,” He pats Razor's side, “I'm sure there's plenty of beasts who'd wanna cuddle up to the Holy Blade.”

“I'm… I'm fine. Really. I have Astera with me, no need for another companion.” Ludwig reassures him.

Djura smiles. “Ah. Well, I'll be off. Goodnight, Ludwig, and goodnight, Astera.”

“Goodnight, Djura.”

Djura talks to Razor as they leave Ludwig behind. “You must be shaken up, you wanna stay with me for the night? You'll have to share a bed with Brador though- wait, I don't think you've formally met Brador before, have you?”

“Rex and Diego have told me all ‘bout that guy. Sounds like a real hoot.” Razor says, but it comes out as a grumbly bark.

“I think you'll like him! He's got the same appetite for meat as you do.”

“Really, now?”

“Yeah! But I gotta warn you, he's… He's wearing a beast’s hide. He's a great guy, though!”

“You told me that waaay back when he first showed up, and you fell face first for him because of his chest and he eats like an animal.”

“I know, I know, but listen! He's sweet, kind to me, loves me for who I am…”

Their conversation carries in the wind until it's nothing but indiscernible echoes. It's incredible how Djura can hold a conversation with a beast, making accurate guesses with what little he has to work with. He seems to understand the beasts' language better than Ludwig ever could.

Ludwig eventually picks himself up and closes himself up in his makeshift home. He cries himself to sleep that night, questioning once more if he deserves to be in Old Yharnam, and if he deserves the title of Holy Blade.

Chapter Text

The night of the hunt is upon Old Yharnam once more. The moon is overbearing, watching over the town, her bright beams illuminating everyone and everything.

Ludwig finds himself frazzled and hungry. He ate several pounds of horse feed and he still isn't sated. He paces back and forth down the roads, trying to focus, but the words of that beast, Diego, echo in his mind. Along with Astera babbling about how hungry he is too, and this urge to sink his teeth into some juicy steak, and his inner turmoil, and the Church-

“Heya, Ludwig.” Djura calls out to him, waving.

“Hrm?” Ludwig stands upright.

Djura approaches. “You seem antsy. Don't worry, it's normal. Somethin’ about the full moon causes beasthood to surge.”

“What can I do to stop it? Or, can you help me?” Ludwig asks politely.

“I would tell you to just let loose, but you caused so much destruction when you first turned, so…” Djura kicks his heel and pulls something out from a rucksack on his back, “Here, I save this for the most anxious of beasts. Chew on this.”

It's a whole, smoked man-eater boar femur. Some bits of dried meat are still attached. Any normal person would feel no reaction other than be in awe at the size of the bone, but Ludwig has the urge to chew on it, just as Djura suggested. Ludwig takes it from Djura and bites the end of it. Then, he starts gnawing on it like a stick of beef jerky. His shoulders loosen. “Oh! This really helps, thank you.”

Djura smiles. “Now, it's best if you stay inside. These nights get real dangerous, and we're up against real hunters and real weapons.”

“But I want to help protect this place…”

Djura shakes his head. “Ludwig, I appreciate it, but those who show up tonight might be one of your own.”

Ludwig’s posture drops. “Oh… perhaps we could talk it out?”

“Please. I've tried. I give warning shots. I tell ‘em to turn back… hunters will always be hunters. They never change.” And so Djura turns on his heel, towards the plaza where the carnage will begin.

Within a minute, however, Ludwig sees Brador physically pushing Djura away, and scolding him because of his broken arm. Andrei is following, also scolding Djura. Djura is shaking his fist at them and arguing, and as they walk past Ludwig, he can hear them clearly.

“-are you out of your mind, Djura?!” Brador scolds him.

“No, you're the ones who have lost their minds! You need your leader!” Djura argues.

“We'll be fine, Djura. Brador and I will hold everything down, ok?” Andrei reassures.

“So what's your guys’ plan, huh? Who's manning the Gatling Gun?”

“Uh… neither of us? We're both going to be down there.” Brador shrugs.

“That's how both of you will die, idiots!”

“How about we get Ludwig to help us?” Andrei suggests.

“No! He's been through enough… please. Djura, how about we get one of your hounds to help us instead?” Brador pleads.

“Hm… alright. Lemme call ‘em. But if they get hurt… no sex for a month, Brador.”

“Hey!”

“Then you'd better be a good teammate and watch their backs!”

Ludwig hears a sharp whistle, then the tapping of claws on the cobblestone. After a while of more talking, Brador, Andrei, Razor, and Diego walk past. Brador stops beside Ludwig. “Are you… chewing on a bone?”

“Djura said it will help suppress my beastly urges.”

“Ah. In any case… stay back here, ok? I don't want to see you get hurt again, Ludwig.”

“I don't want to see you get hurt either,” Ludwig retorts, lowering his head to Brador's level, “I wanted you to leave your life of killing behind.”

“We have to kill to protect. Just like I have before.”

Ludwig looks downcast. Brador holds his face, smiling reassuringly. “Hey. If it really will help make you feel better, you can watch the back by the tower. Djura said I can operate the Gatling Gun.”

Ludwig’s expression lifts. Then it grows into horror. “He's letting you use that thing?”

Brador's smile grows maniacal. Then he begins to giggle. “Me use big gun. Me shoot things. Me happy.”

“Brador!” Ludwig gasps, “No offense, you are the last person I'd offer a weapon of destruction!”

“But I'll have so much fuuuun!”

Ludwig sighs. “Just don't get hurt.”

They hug briefly, and Brador jogs away to catch up with Andrei. They talk for a little bit, Brador gives Diego and Razor a pat on the head, and he heads to the tower. Ludwig finds a comfortable spot at the foot of the tower, right by the ladder. He looks around the corner to watch Andrei.

The two hunting beasts stand at Andrei's side now. Ludwig notes that they're drooling. Razor is scratching at the ground, and Diego sits as still as a statue, staring with laser focus at Old Yharnam's doors.

It doesn't take more than an hour for the first hunter to show up. They strut in with full confidence, with a Kirkhammer and a rifle- the one named after Ludwig, no less. Ludwig feels a pit in his stomach.

“You there, hunter!” Brador follows the script Djura gave him, squinting at the paper, “Didn't you see the warning?!” His voice booms across Old Yharnam.

The hunter ignores him, walking right in with their Kirkhammer heavy in their hands.

“Turn back at once! The beasts…” Brador trails off, seeing the hunter head right towards a beast. The beast growls at the hunter, ready to strike. “Well, fuck it.”

Brador opens fire and the hunter leaps out of the way, dashing into one of the buildings. Then, Andrei whistles sharply. The beasts bark together and charge into the building, with Diego leading the way. Ludwig hears the scourge beasts yelling directions at each other, and the hunter yelling as well. Eventually, the hunter runs out of the building, and Brador instantly reacts by gunning them down. It's over in an instantaneous, bloody spray. Brador laughs maniacally. “Holy shit! That was glorious!”

The two beasts come out of the building- they stopped right at its entrance once the hunter was out. Ludwig is shocked at the bloodshed and the efficiency of it all. They're no different than any hunting dog flushing rabbits out of the undergrowth. The beasts bite the corpse by the tattered clothes, dragging it to Andrei. They sit before him, tails wagging and openly slobbering.

Andrei commands them, “Not yet. It's full of lead now…” He kneels down and plunders the corpse for a satchel of coins and several blood vials. Then, he stabs into the abdomen. He inspects the organs for any bullet holes. He brutally rips out handfuls of flesh, and pulls out a misshapen liver, afflicted with beasthood and cirrhosis. He cuts it in half and feeds Razor and Diego by hand, and they lick the blood from his fingers.

Ludwig feels sick, both at the scene and the fact that the liver looks deliciously fatty and bloody to him. It would probably melt in his mouth like butter.

“Sorry, you two. Looks like the heart's shot up.” Andrei apologizes to them and wipes his hands off on the cobblestone like it was nothing. Then Andrei looks up, shouting at Brador, “Nice work!”

“I fucking love this thing!” Brador hugs the Gatling Gun.

“Just don't love it any more than Djura does, that's his babygirl right there!”

“I know!”

---

Hours pass. They all watch the doors to Old Yharnam. Ludwig has been keeping an eye out, listening to the back end. Other than the beasts howling and growling, there is nothing.

Andrei, feeling relaxed now, approaches Ludwig. “It looks like the hunters are fearful now that their leader is gone. I think we're safe for a while.”

Ludwig gulps. “I… suppose.”

“What will they think, that you've taken refuge here?”

“They would feel disgust and disappointment.” Ludwig answers honestly.

“For defending the beasts? Or what you've become?”

“Both.”

“Hey!” Brador shouts from above, “Can I come down now?”

Andrei shouts back, “You've got the most important post tonight, you have to stay up there!”

“The height is making me anxious! What if I fall?!”

“You don't know how to command the beasts! Every whistle we make conveys a whole list of information in a split second!” Andrei gestures to the hunting beasts at his side, “You'd be useless down here!”

“Huh?! How the fuck?!”

“We'll teach you later!” Then Andrei turns to Ludwig, “Is Brador actually afraid of heights?”

“He fears many things, but heights are relatively low on his list of phobias.”

Andrei shouts at Brador again, “If you stick to the bench and hang onto the gun the whole time, you won't fall! Just sit down and relax!”

“Okaaaaaaaaaay!”

Andrei sighs. “He's tiring.”

Ludwig lets out a lighthearted chuckle. “At least he is grown now. You do not want to know the menace he was when he was a fledgeling teenager.”

“Oh God. I don't even want to entertain that idea.” Andrei groans, but he smiles.

“He was no different than a beast! He would bite people out of impulse.”

“Hm. That doesn't surprise me. Believe it or not, he still bites people.”

“Eh?!” Ludwig gasps.

“Yeah,” Then Andrei whispers, “I have seen Djura with bite marks on his neck. He tries to cover them up with his shirt collar, but Brador apparently leaves them a bit too high up!”

Ludwig covers his long mouth. He stifles a laugh. “I see Brador has not grown out of his habits, and I always had a feeling he was… interested… in those sorts of play. But I didn't think it was so ingrained in his nature!”

“Djura calls him a good boy, did you know that?” Andrei snickers, “And whenever Djura does, Brador has this look on his face like he just won the lottery!”

“What next, will Djura give him treats and belly rubs?!”

They both laugh. Andrei even slaps Ludwig on the shoulder. Ludwig nearly knocks the wind out of Andrei with a returned slap on the back. Razor and Diego glance at each other, utterly confused at both the conversation and with their beastly delirium from the full moon. Andrei sees the looks on their faces and laughs even more. The laughter is contagious, Ludwig-

“HUNTERS TO THE NORTH!” Brador screams, “A HORDE!”

And just like that, Andrei has turned on his heel and dashes to the plaza with the beasts in tow. Brador is opening fire at the entrance, scattering the hunters. Some hunters fall into the traps, booms echoing throughout the town as tripwires are set off. Once the dust clears, there's several of them left, charging at the plaza. Andrei whistles sharply. The beasts halt. Andrei is at a standstill, hesitating at the horde he sees. Then, he moves again, whistling, and he and the beasts charge forward.

It's chaos, Ludwig can't keep track of what's happening. There's barking, snarling, screaming, flesh tearing, bullets firing, Brador's laughter, but one thing is for sure: There's too many hunters for them to handle.

And their white robes shine brightly under the moonlight. Ludwig shrinks back behind the corner in shame.

The scent of the first hunter dying had attracted some beasts to the main plaza. No matter how many times Djura tells them to stay hidden, their instinct to feed overcomes all. And in turn, the beasts attract hunters, either wanting to purge the scourge, or strengthen themselves in the hunt. The cycle never ends.

Most of the hunters make it past Brador's rain of bullets thanks to his inexperience with the massive hunk of machinery. They fight Andrei and the hunting beasts in the main plaza. Those who don't fight Andrei and the hunting beasts have scattered elsewhere.

Ludwig can hear their prey screaming for mercy. Some beasts howl for more blood. Others cry in pain as they're torn apart by toothed saws or crushed heavy blunt force.

He can hear their words, their pleas, their battle cries.

“Oh, God!”

“Someone save us!”

“Blood! More blood!”

“Djura! Djura! Please! Anyone!”

“I crave! I crave more!”

“It hurts!”

Their dying breaths, their prayers.

“No!” Ludwig cries out and cowers, covering his ears, “Stop this madness!”

“Why are you cowering now, Ludwig?” Astera speaks up.

“Astera, can't you hear them?!” Ludwig sobs in response, “Their cries!”

Andrei whistles loudly. Rex bounds from the shadows and joins the fight. Andrei whistles again, piercing the night sky.

“I don't understand. Have you not heard the beasts’ cries before?”

“What…? What do you mean?” Ludwig’s head lifts towards the moon, his eyes wide.

Djura dashes in, finding cover behind some rubble near Ludwig, and loads up a Piercing Rifle. He rests the barrel atop of the rubble and he lies down on his belly.

“Every hunt, Ludwig,” Astera's voice rings in the back of his mind, “The beasts you've slain, their cries are no different than the ones here. Why does it bother you now?”

Djura fires away, landing a clean headshot on a hunter that was in a struggle with Andrei.

“You have heard them… The beasts? For all these years?”

Djura shoots another hunter through the leg. Razor runs in and finishes the job with a slash through the neck.

Ludwig’s shoulders shrug as Astera tries to make the gesture. “Yes, of course. I thought they never bothered you. You never answered why you were killing them when they asked.”

Andrei screams in sheer rage as a beast is slashed into two right before his eyes. As that hunter is still following through with the momentum, Andrei charges forward and stabs them through the chest with his Saw Spear.

“I… I…”

Diego yelps in pain as a hunter slices his arm, leaving a clean gash. It only takes a second for Rex to charge the hunter from behind and crunch down on the back of their neck. He violently shakes the hunter around as their cervical bones crack.

“We are above the beasts, of course. Well, not these ones. They are our friends. I suppose that's why you're so bothered, yes?” Astera asks.

One of the last hunters remaining shoots Rex through the stomach. He screams.

“No…” Ludwig gasps, “We…”

Brador dashes past Ludwig, abandoning his post. The hunter that shot Rex is no more as Brador pierces the Bloodletter through their chest, and he pulls out a massive chunk no different than the giant mace he is used to. He smashes in their legs, over and over again, crushing every single bone, then chunks of those bones, then the granules from those chunks. They scream in agony. Razor and Diego join him, tearing the hunter limb from limb.

“This is madness. All of it, the hunt, it's madness!”

Ludwig cowers, covering his eyes and ears.

Rex is whimpering in pain. He is bleeding out rapidly and hyperventilating. Djura is already at his side, tending to the bullet hole. Andrei administers two blood vials that he pocketed from the dead hunters. Once he's done that, he tends to Diego and the other wounded beasts.

“I thought the hunt was maddening, if not horrifying. But you were so brave, Ludwig, stoic in the face of the hunt. You inspired me. I became indifferent to their cries too. Thank you. I am stronger than ever.”

Ludwig looks upon the final scene. Corpses of hunters scattered across the plaza. It's just like any hunt above in Central Yharnam. Blood, blood everywhere. The coppery scent fills his nostrils. He wipes the saliva from his maw. His stomach twists in disgust and hunger. He wants to cry. He wants to sink his teeth into raw flesh. He claws at his face, stumbling back, falling to his knees. “N… No… no no no no… Astera… I never wanted this for you…”

“Why are you so fearful now? The hunters are gone now. These… emotions, these thoughts, I don't quite understand them. Is this what separated me from humans once upon a time…? Do you think the same of beasts, then?”

Djura kneels down by a dead beast. He cradles their bloodied body and mumbles a prayer and apology.

Ludwig doesn't answer Astera. He looks up to the moon with tears pouring down his face. “Why…? Why lead us here…? To the hunt? To kill? And you as well, why did I lead you to the hunt, Astera…?”

Brador kneels by Djura. Djura sobs, then hugs Brador tightly. Brador hugs him back, whispering softly, and giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead. Djura pounds his fist on the ground despite Brador's comfort. He sobs uncontrollably into Brador's chest.

“Because we are partners for life, Ludwig. You are my guidance. I am your steed. We move together,” Astera says sincerely, “Right? I am your loyal friend who has yet to hurt or betray.”

Andrei comes to Djura's side. Then, the scourge beasts do as well. Rex places his head upon the dead beast's stomach and cries.

“I love you, Ludwig. I joined the hunt for you. I braved the beasts for you. I even killed them alongside you. Isn't this what you wanted? For us to fight together until the very end?”

“No…”

“I would hunt with you a thousand times over, without hesitation, without falter. The bloodshed and madness of it all, it's all worth it with you at my side.”

“No… You shouldn't… What have I done to you, Astera?” Ludwig reels back, “This isn't… no… no no no NO NO NO NO--!!!”

Everyone's attention snaps to Ludwig as he screams to the sky, pulling at his mane and rearing on his hind legs.

---

Ludwig opens his eyes. He feels groggy and weak. He glances around, too tired to lift his head from the ground. He's in the same spot he was before, right beside the Gatling Gun tower. He tries to remember what happened last night, but even his mind is foggy. His throat feels strained, and his lungs feeble.

He also finds that he, unfortunately, is wearing a bridle, and it's tied to a heavy statue among the rubble.

He then notices the scent of burning flesh. He can hear the crackling of fire among wood and bones. He gags, covering his mouth. He remembers this smell, when he stood at the edge of Old Yharnam as it was burning. How distant he was to it, as Laurence stood beside him, watching to ensure the deed was done. The sky was red that day.

Footsteps approach. Brador steps around the corner with great caution. “Ludwig…?” He calls out with a gentle tone.

Ludwig speaks softly back. “Brador.”

“Are you alright?” Brador's shoulders relax.

“No, I feel… terribly weak. What happened?”

“Ludwig…” Brador kneels down in front of him, “You went mad. We had to sedate you.”

Ludwig looks up at Brador in horror. Brador hugs his head. Ludwig asks, trembling, “Was anyone hurt?”

Brador shakes his head. “You were only screaming. You wouldn't stop, nor would you respond to us. Djura and Andrei sedated you before you could rampage.”

“I… I see,” Ludwig closes his eyes, “That is what the bridle is for too, I'm assuming.”

“Yeah. Are you right in the head now, Ludwig?”

“I think so.”

“What is the sacred adage?”

“Fear the Old Blood.”

“Welcome back.” Brador removes the bridle.

Ludwig tries to stand, but can't find footing on his shaky and weak legs. Brador reaches into his pocket and offers an apple caramel and some sugar cubes. Ludwig quietly thanks him and eats them. The energy they provide is barely enough energy for him to finally stand up.

Ludwig takes a few steps forward, around the corner and to the plaza. He squints at the morning sun. There's a great blaze in the center of the plaza. Djura sits before it, leaning on Rex, who's curled up around him. There are other beasts around Djura, crying. Nearby is a pile of corpses consisting only of the hunters, and Andrei loots each and every one of the corpses of all their possessions. Once he's done, he hacks at their limbs with his Saw Spear, butchering them. He even slices the abdominal cavity open with care, removing the precious bloody organs that the beasts covet the most; The heart, liver, and spleen. The two hunting beasts, Diego and Razor, pick up the butchered pieces. They trot away with the cuts, presumably to feed the others.

“I have to give them credit. They're resourceful…” Brador crosses his arms, “Even in tragic times like this. Djura told me those who lost their lives were not in vain. Their ashes will be tilled into the soil that grows our vegetables.”

Ludwig swallows.

“Those hunters’ clothes will be turned into blankets and other fabrics for the beasts. Djura even turns them into stuffed animals for the little ones…” Brador looks around, “Their weapons turn into our own. Sometimes Djura will smelt their weapons into new cookware instead. Or a new firearm,” Brador chuckles darkly, “Actually. Djura's been trying to collect every firearm model from the hunters that die here. Every new one he mounts on his fireplace like a trophy buck. He's told me the only ones he's still looking for are the two cannon models and Reiterpallasch.”

Ludwig doesn't reply, he merely looks onward into the fire, how the beasts' bodies crumble from the blaze.

Brador touches his shoulder (thigh?). Ludwig looks down at him. Brador's voice is so gentle. “It was the hunt that drove you mad last night, wasn't it?”

Ludwig listens to his mind. Astera is asleep. He then lowers his head down to Brador's level. “I'm a monster, Brador. All these years, Astera has heard the cries of beasts. Their words. He told me everything. And that… he is thankful that he is strong… because I charged into the hunt on his back.”

Brador's hand tightens. “You couldn't have known that Astera knew, Ludwig. Communicating with beasts and animals directly like you can is an entirely new concept, even to Djura.”

“Still… how selfish was I to drag Astera into the hunt?”

“He is your loyal steed and partner. Is that not what horses are for?”

Ludwig stares at Brador. “You and him are the same.”

“In a way. I was Laurence's assassin, after all, and unwaveringly loyal. But I understood what I was doing. Astera… Astera couldn't have, right? He's a horse.”

Ludwig looks into the pyres. “I don't know. I don't know if he was simply following his master or excited for the hunt. But I should've known, when he would wade into the corpses, stepping on their bodies like they were nothing, and… eating them.”

“I think… Astera looked forward to doing everything with you, Ludwig. He loves you.”

“I know, Brador. I know…” Ludwig pauses, hesitating on his next question. “What about you? Did you look forward to your kills?”

“...” Brador looks up at him, “Would you think of me any different if I told you yes?”

Ludwig doesn't look back at him. “It's alright. I already know the answer.”

“Were you hoping I would say no?”

Ludwig nods.

“Yeah. There is something terribly wrong with me. But there's a gift in my sadism, I won't hesitate for a second to kill here, to protect the beasts and Djura. That's why I was perfect for Laurence too. He saw the good in me.”

“That's not… seeing the good in you, Brador.” Ludwig sighs.

Brador's shoulders droop. He whispers, “I know. At least… At least Djura accepts my… tendencies. He never commands me to kill. He just gives me the option to.”

“And you take it every time?”

“Of course I do… just as you have for Astera, and he takes every opportunity too, no? To hunt alongside you.”

“I suppose.”

Brador pats his side. “I'm going to go with Djura now. He needs me.”

“Alright, Brador. I… is there anything I could do? For the beasts, or you, anyone.”

“Djura told me to tell you to rest. That's all he commanded of thee.”

And so Brador leaves to join Djura, sitting beside him and wrapping his fur garb around them both.

---

Brador and Djura have sat by the pyre for hours. The afternoon sun is obscured by dark clouds overhead. Not a word was spoken for the time until now.

“Whenever I look into these funeral pyres…” Djura starts with a hoarse voice, “I see their souls dancing in the fire and rising into the smoke. And all I can think about is how much I've failed them. You would think after years of losing them to hunters, I would toughen up, right? I'm so weak.”

“If anything, it speaks volumes of your humanity and empathy,” Brador tells him, “The fact that you still choose to protect them despite everything… you're not weak, Djura.”

“If I weren't weak, they all wouldn't be dead.”

“We were vastly outnumbered. It wasn't you.”

“I wish I didn't have this stupid broken arm, then I could've fought with you from the start.”

“Then I should have fought harder so that you wouldn't have to come out. I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault, Brador. We all were just…” Djura stops talking.

“Exactly. So it can't be your fault either,” Brador retorts him with ease, “Not everything needs to be on your shoulders.”

“Why shouldn't it be? I'm the one who burned this place to the ground. It's my fault the beasts live in ruin.”

“Well, I…” Brador stops talking too.

“You… what, Brador?” Djura looks up at him.

“I was going to say… I am your partner. Your burden is mine as well, and I want to help you and the beasts.”

Djura turns back to the fires, thoughts brewing behind his eye. “I see.”

Brador tilts his head. “Is there something wrong with what I said?”

“You didn't say anything wrong. I'm just… you know, upset right now. Not at you.” Djura mutters, making no eye contact.

“Ah.” Brador pulls him in closer, resting his chin on Djura's head. Djura leans into him.

“It's going to rain soon,” Djura looks up at the sky, “You can go now, Brador.”

“I won't leave you.”

“Aren't you afraid?”

“Not with you at my side, partner.” Brador closes his eyes.

Djura smiles lightly, placing his hand in Brador's lap, and Brador holds it. Djura kisses him, “I love you, darlin'.”

“I love you too, Djura.”

---

The rain pours outside, snuffing out the smoke from the funeral pyres, and washing the blood out of the cobblestone. Despite the comfort from Djura, Brador went to bed with great anxiety and unease. And despite the comfort from Brador, Djura went to bed depressed and full of grief.

A combination of the rain and Ludwig going mad contributed to Brador's anxiety. What if they lose Ludwig again? His situation is a complicated one, two minds in one, and one being that of an animal. It's unknown if his consciousness returning is only a fleeting thing.

Djura is numb from crying his heart out for the beasts he lost, and he is worried about Ludwig as well. At least Brador was able to fall asleep, but Djura remains awake, his face snug in Brador's cleavage.

Brador mutters with his brow furrowed, hands grasping at Djura. Then, Brador begins to breathe heavily in his sleep, trembling. Djura speaks up softly, “Easy… you're with me.”

Brador doesn't wake. He keeps muttering, eyes darting beneath his eyelids, his breathing growing faster. “H-Help…”

Djura gently shakes Brador's shoulder. “Wake up, Brador, it's only a nightmare…”

Suddenly, Brador's eyes shoot open. He clasps Djura by the shoulders in a panic. “Laurence, Laurence I am so sorry I- I promise, the beasts here will not hurt you! They are of no harm to us…”

“Hey hey, easy Brador-!”

“It won't happen again Laurence, I'm sorry-” Brador then hugs Djura tightly, sobbing frantically, “I never meant to hurt you, I never meant to betray you… the beast that consumed you, it… it haunts me with your visage…”

Djura is frozen, unsure of what to do. He gently pushes Brador back to get a good look at his face. It's full of panic, eyes glazed over as he stares right through Djura, not registering where he is or who he's actually talking to. Brador clings to him again, fingers digging into Djura's back. There's no getting out of this for now.

“Hey…” Djura speaks up, voice soft, “I know you didn't mean to hurt me. Ok?”

“But I…”

“You were just trying to save me. Remember?” Djura strokes down his back, beneath the beasthide garb, “From the clutches of that beast. It's ok, Brador. What you did wasn't from a place of malicious intent.”

Brador sobs. “B-But what about Djura- he- you said- I betrayed you for him- and the beasts-”

Djura's heart sinks. He swallows. “I want you to be happy, Brador.”

“You… you do?” Brador asks with such uncertainty that it makes Djura want to cry himself.

“You never betrayed me, Brador. I've…” Djura thinks back to how Brador described Laurence before, “Always provided you with everything you wished. I've always wanted for you to be happy. And, now that I'm not here, if…” He swallows again, “If being with Djura makes you happy, then please stay with him.”

Djura feels awful for saying that out loud. Is this manipulation? He can't just tell Brador to get over Laurence. But what can he do right now?

What a terrible thing to do.

“I don't know…” Brador mumbles.

“What do you mean, you don't know?”

“Your legacy… what if Djura threatens it? What do you want me to do? How can I stay with him?”

Djura falls silent.

“Laurence?”

“You shouldn't worry about that. Djura won't be a threat.”

“Ok… ok…” Brador mumbles into Djura's shoulder, “I love you, Laurence.”

“I… I love you too.” Then, quietly, Djura begins to cry. He holds Brador closer, not caring how unpredictable he might be in his mental state right now, not caring if Brador could lash out like he did the first time. It just breaks Djura's heart to see Brador like this.

Djura continues to soothe Brador by petting down his back, massaging his scalp, whispering softly to him that everything is alright. Brador falls back into deep sleep in just a few minutes, leaving Djura confused and uncertain. Was Brador just having a nightmare and somehow acted out as if he were awake, or was he hallucinating…? How much was that a true reflection of Brador's heart?

Will Djura always be second to Laurence in Brador's eyes? Grief is something that never leaves- it only changes over time. Djura understands grief more than anybody else. Djura would never tell Brador to simply let go of Laurence. Laurence is the one who saved Brador, according to him and Ludwig. He has also never formally met the Vicar, what right does Djura have to tell Brador how to feel about him? He doesn't know if Laurence truly loved and cared for Brador in his own strange ways. Perhaps he only did what he believed was necessary to carry out his goals, and it hurt him to do so. Djura will never know.

There's no denying that Laurence saved Brador, but there's also no denying he also hurt Brador through his doctrine. Laurence saved and used Brador by giving a broken man a purpose. Does Brador realize that? Perhaps he does, and chooses to look past it in favor of appreciating everything else Laurence has done. Just like how Djura's own parents would scold him or take his toys away, he still realizes that they loved him dearly. Maybe Brador saw Laurence's treatment of him akin to parental discipline.

Still, Djura's stomach twists whenever Brador talks about his love for Laurence. He knows this nausea isn't something born of jealousy. It is of disgust- directly towards Laurence, and only Laurence. Does Brador even realize that his reverence for the Vicar is fear? Does Brador realize now that he's free to do as his heart desires, without fear of disappointment or disapproval?

And how could Laurence use Brador like that? As a mere tool, a hunting dog? Even Djura treats his own hunting beasts with greater humanity and respect. Laurence even led Brador on with the prospects of something more than friendship and care. Then Ludwig said he was too afraid to speak up at what Laurence was doing to Brador… Djura finds his stomach twisting at the thought.

Just what kind of person was the Vicar behind his grandiose appearances preaching to the people? Someone clearly cruel enough to hurt Brador like this, Djura thinks to himself.

Djura pulls the blanket further over them. He cradles Brador's head in his arms, kissing his forehead. Brador stirs in his sleep, nuzzling his face into Djura's chest, his breathing deep and steady. Djura combs his fingers through the fur that rests over Brador's shoulder. He wonders if, somewhere from the depths of the Hunter's Nightmare, Laurence watches their romantic courtship with contempt. He wonders if Laurence can feel every interaction they have, jealous that Djura has Brador's loyalty without any coercion.

…Or at least, Djura hopes he has Brador's loyalty. Love and loyalty are not one and the same, though deeply intertwined they can be. There's no doubt that Brador loves Djura, and that love is different from what he had with Laurence. But Brador's loyalty… would he choose his love for Djura, who saved him after he fled from the Healing Church? Or would he choose the integrity and secrecy of the Healing Church's Vicar who saved him first?

Djura squeezes his eye shut. He shouldn't be thinking about this. He should just stay happy with Brador, he should be more grateful that he finally has someone in his life who he can call his beloved. His darling dearest, his partner. What's in the past stays in the past- he won't make Brador choose between the Healing Church or him, no matter how much it aches his heart and weighs on his mind.

Djura prays that things will stay like this in ignorant bliss, ‘til death does them apart.

Chapter Text

From the moment Ludwig awakened anew in Old Yharnam many months ago, the immense guilt has weighed upon him. Part of him wishes he simply faded out of existence inside of Astera's body, and he could rest in ignorant bliss. He had so many opportunities to stop Laurence and his plans. And yet, he still clung onto hope that everything would turn around and make it all worth it. Laurence convinced himself as well. He was utterly determined to save everybody.

Ludwig loved Laurence. He loved his drive, his intelligence, and how he could separate his feelings from reality. But now, it's clear that wasn't the case. Just about every decision Laurence made was driven by ego, from ignoring Master Willem’s warning to throwing away his life for the cause.

Ludwig helped Laurence. Ludwig guided Laurence into the tar pit, and was shocked to find Laurence trapped and sinking. Then, Laurence dragged all of Yharnam down with him.

But Ludwig knows Laurence's intentions were always good. Even when he ordered hunters to capture beasts from Old Yharnam for research. Even when he conducted horrific experiments on living beings, whether they be beast or man. Even when he sent Ludwig away to the hunt to kill beasts and gather survivors, of whom Ludwig rarely ever saw again. And… even when Laurence ordered Brador to bloody his hands on anybody who spoke against him.

It was all to bless Yharnam with Healing Blood.

To bless them with the violent hunt, to turn citizens against each other, to turn them into beasts.

Laurence would still never hurt him on purpose. Laurence loved Ludwig.

Ludwig sighs deeply, curled up on his shabby bed. His life up until this point was entirely meaningless. Yes, he was a symbol of hope, but he was naught but a false idol. He blinded Yharnam's citizens as much as he lied to himself. For the past several months, he watched hunt after hunt from the perspective of the beasts. With every hunt, Ludwig feels his sanity slip. No matter how many times Djura warns them, the hunters just can't resist the sweet scent of blood. The last hunt was particularly brutal. Brador didn't walk away unscathed, and several beasts were lost to hunters. Ludwig watched Djura grieve every beast lost, placing flowers in their bloodied palms before gathering their bodies in a great blaze.

Ludwig nearly cried the next time he ate vegetables after that, knowing that the beasts' sacrificial ashes were growing their food in return. Djura even showed him how to mix their ashes into the soil- Ludwig has the perfect hands to do so easily in large batches.

Ludwig can't live with his guilt for the rest of his life. It will eat him alive if his beasthood and fraying mind doesn't do that first. He doesn't know how Brador can act like nothing has happened. Ludwig watched Brador court Djura in earnest, and it would be an understatement to call them a loving couple. Ludwig watched their relationship grow from spring into the late summer. Even though Djura's arm is almost healed by now, his arm and hand only in a simple brace, Brador still works ahead of him and picks up the slack. How can Brador look Djura in the eye despite being one of many reasons Old Yharnam is in ruins? Is helping the beasts and Djura to make up for the past? Or is it true love driving Brador's kindness?

Ludwig knows his own actions are to make up for the past. He has helped rebuild many parts of Old Yharnam, and the pride that swells in his chest seeing the beasts happy… feels the same as the pride when he used to lob their heads off during the hunt. But now, he knows he's doing the right thing without a shadow of a doubt. He hopes someday he can aid the beasts with nothing but love, without that guilt in his heart.

Will Ludwig ever belong here as a citizen of Old Yharnam? Even though he's turned these temporary stables into his home, he still feels like a stranger. He has arranged the furniture to his personal liking, and all of his old belongings are here now too. Yet, he still doesn't feel like he's settled in. Some of the beasts still being wary of him doesn't help at all, but they have every right to feel that way.

Everything just feels too good to be true. When they celebrated Brador's birthday a few weeks ago, Ludwig felt disconnected from reality. Even as he stuck his head into the kitchen window and instructed Djura how to bake the apple pie, how to fold the cold butter into the dough, and how exactly to cook the apples… Why? Why did Ludwig feel like he was watching his own life from far away? Even as Brador cried from joy eating his apple pie, thanking Ludwig, Djura, and Andrei for making it happen… Ludwig felt that he didn't deserve to see Brador happy. Ludwig didn't say a peep about it, of course. He didn't want to ruin Brador's special day.

Nothing feels real to Ludwig anymore.

Ludwig is taken out of his thoughts as Simon steps into his humble abode. “Good morning, Ludwig. I've come to visit again.”

“Good morning, Simon…” Ludwig lifts his head.

“You don’t look like you're in good spirits. It's a nice summer day.”

“My sorrows have muddled the sunlight.”

Simon places a tray of food down on a nearby table, “Hopefully this will cheer you up. Djura said he used nearly two dozen eggs to make you this giant omelette.”

“Did he stuff it with spinach and cheese?” Ludwig sniffs the air.

“And tomatoes. Djura said he will be bringing some toasted bread to go with it soon, it just needs some more time in the oven.”

“Ah… I shall indulge later.” Ludwig puts his head back down.

“Is it not to your liking?”

“No, no, I just… I am under the weather.”

Simon sits by Ludwig, leaning against his leg. “Djura told me you have been acting as such lately.”

“Simon…” Ludwig heaves, “Do you think I am a terrible person for all that I've done?”

“For what you have done? No, your actions have always been the moral standard.” Simon answers.

“What about my… inaction?”

“...”

Ludwig continues. “All of this could have been prevented if I had thwarted Laurence's plans. I sat in silence as he explained his plans for Old Yharnam to us. I ultimately did nothing about it. And look, now everyone here is suffering because of me.”

Simon sucks in a deep breath. “In my opinion, I think it should have been obvious that poisoning a town like this is abhorrent, if not deserving of burning in Hell.”

“So you do think I'm terrible?”

Simon thinks, then answers with careful words. “I cannot weigh such moral failures and determine exactly where you lean, Ludwig. I've always seen you as a shining star, after all. But yes… in those moments where you decided to stay silent… you were a coward.”

Ludwig looks towards the sunlight. “I've always been a coward. Not just then. I can't take this anymore…”

“Ludwig…” Simon touches his mane, “You can make things right now.”

“I'm going to tell Djura everything.”

Simon nods, but then he thinks. “No, Ludwig. It shouldn't be you…”

“Why?”

“What will Djura think of Brador if he finds out Brador has been hiding all of this? It should be Brador to tell him.”

“No!” Ludwig gasps and raises his head at Simon, “That's exactly why Brador shouldn't be the one.”

“But think about it,” Simon explains, “If Brador tells Djura when the time is right, wouldn't that show that Brador trusts what they have? That Djura deserves to know?”

“Absolutely not.”

Simon covers his mouth when he hears Brador's voice. Brador is leaning against the crumbled wall, arms crossed. There is a silent rage in his eyes that makes Simon freeze up in fear. Ludwig appears indifferent, but he moves his neck and head around Simon protectively.

“Ludwig is right. Djura would lose his goddamn mind,” Brador steps forward, “There is no good reason to tell him.”

Simon grits his teeth. “What's your plan if he finds out? You'll kill him, won't you?”

“I will tell him to stay quiet about it. That's all. Nothing needs to come of it. We can continue living as we are now.” Brador says, sounding forcibly calm.

“Living as you are now?” Simon scoffs, “What makes you think you can live happily ever after with the man whose life you ruined? And after all you've done to bring Yharnam to its knees, and for what? To ascend humanity, for what?”

“You've seen the trenches of humanity. How Yharnamites tear each other apart or abuse foreigners. No amount of goodwill, Bibles, kindness or whatever would change how cruel humans can be. What choice do we have?”

“The reason why Yharnam and its citizens have turned into monsters, literally and figuratively, is because of the goddamned Healing Blood!” Simon stands up, “The blood drove them mad, and you have the gall to say it was the inherent cruelty of mankind?!”

“They would have turned against each other, one way or another. I have seen it countless times, before the blood existed…” Brador inhales, “How evil brews. How even humans will turn against children for no good reason. The blood only showed their true colors. Nothing more. Besides, Yharnamites were a hateful bunch from the start. They would have blamed foreigners even without the Church's influence.”

“So you really think the only way for the cruelty to end is to… end humanity altogether?”

“No. To advance humanity, Simon. To ascend beyond these foolish mortal coils. I thought you figured that out when you plundered the Research Hall.”

“I guess your point about humanity being inherently evil is proven true in that hellish place as well! And what's Djura to you then, is he one of those evil bastards as well?!”

“Djura is different!” Brador yells defensively, “His kindness is pure of heart. Everything he does is for the betterment of others.”

“He is still human. So those who are kind should still be sentenced to the same fate, is that what you think?”

“It should be considered a blessing to have access to the blood and ascend, you ungrateful twat.”

“Please, stop fighting…” Ludwig stands up as well, but Simon holds his arm out to halt him.

“No! How come this bastard gets a chance at another life after all the awful shit he's done! Killing people to silence them, trying to kill me for learning of your horrors, helping with the experiments-- and let's not forget, letting Laurence poison Old Yharnam, and then pretending none of that happened!” Simon's hand hovers over his Bowblade’s hilt on his belt.

“You shut your damn mouth!” Brador raises his voice, “I know what I did.”

“Do you feel any goddamn guilt or remorse, then?”

“That shouldn't matter. I aid the beasts now alongside Djura. Is that not enough, or should I repent before the nearest priest?” Brador sneers.

“Answer the question!”

Brador glares at him. “No. I don't feel any guilt for killing those who knew. There, I said it. Are you happy now knowing I'm still a monster?”

“You should be imprisoned for life, not frolic in the ashes of your victims with Djura. I won't stand down until you get your due justice.”

“We didn't know the Ashen Blood would spread so quickly, nor take as many lives as it did.”

“If you knew, would that have stopped you?”

Brador narrows his eyes. “No. It was for Laurence's cause either way.” Then his own hand touches the handle of his Bloodletter.

“That's enough!” Ludwig stands between them, easily blocking their lines of sight with his massive body. “Simon, what matters now is that Brador is already repenting. He is caring for the beasts, and he truly loves them to bits, I have seen it with my own eyes!”

“He's not caring for the beasts to repent, and as far as I'm aware, he hasn't even apologized to Djura!” Simon scoffs, “Do you honestly think that's enough without a sincere apology?”

“The truth of the Ashen Blood would be too much! I couldn't even stand the thought of Laurence's plan, and you know that, Simon! Imagine how Djura, at the center of it all, would feel knowing we let it happen!” Ludwig exasperates with tears in his eyes, “Please, leave Brador be. He didn't know any better!”

Simon raises his voice now, it is seething with boiling rage. “How are you fucking defending Brador and the Ashen Blood? Laurence stated every goddamn detail of his plan and you think Brador didn't know any better?”

“Simon-”

Simon holds out his palm, pressing his finger into it as he counts off, “You bastards discovered a plague that wiped out all of the Loran labyrinth, and decided to turn it against Old Yharnam. You chose Old Yharnam because foreigners are pushed there, and Central Yharnam would have been unaffected as you planted the disease further down the aqueduct. Laurence ordered Brador to kill the counsel members who opposed it, because guess what, you dimwits?! It is inhumane to poison people to prop up your snake oil! And then, and then! You evil scoundrels waited for enough people to die to make Old Yharnam’s citizens utterly desperate for your cure-- enough to toss out thinking itself to save who they could! And even after all of that, you still poisoned the rest of Yharnam with the Healing Blood itself! To think I once served the Healing Church… I couldn't be more proud to turn my back to your depraved ways.”

“It was for the greater good,” Brador steps forward, standing at Ludwig’s side, “We all thought it was for the greater good. Sacrifices needed to be made. Every advancement in history had some blood, sweat, or tears involved. We were willing to sacrifice a small portion of the population to introduce the Healing Blood.”

“Clearly that didn't work out now, did it?!” Simon yells. “Look around us! Sacrificing these people against their will and without their knowledge… How were you two alright with that?! Did it not occur to you that these people have families?! How can you call it a greater good?”

“Listen, Simon,” Ludwig says, letting Brador lean on him, “If… if Brador didn't go through with it, he would have had nothing. The Healing Church was all Brador had… Laurence was the one who saved him from the streets and certain death. He had no choice.”

“Brador is not the victim here. How has that not gone through both of your thick skulls? Do you think that makes you the good guys here, that you thought you were doing the right thing? Hypocrites!”

“It doesn't matter if we were heroes or not,” Brador touches Ludwig’s mane, glaring at Simon, “What's done is done, there is no undoing the past. The Ashen Blood killed many. Now we live with the consequences, including the fact that you need to keep your damn mouth shut about it.”

Simon is about to open his mouth, to scream his lungs out at Brador. But the scent of freshly-baked bread hits his nostrils, and Ludwig's as well. Ludwig goes stiff. Simon falls silent. Brador glances between them, expecting one of them to keep talking. Then, he smells it as well. His eyes widen, and he turns around at the abode’s crumbled entrance.

“...What about the Ashen Blood?” Djura asks rather innocently, holding a tray with a stunning loaf of bread.

The air is tense and dreadful. No one speaks a word for several painfully long moments.

“Well! You should be proud of yourself, Brador! The bread came out pretty good. You kneaded it well, it's the perfect balance of fluffy and dense. It'll go great with the cheesy omelette.” Djura places the tray down beside Ludwig's food, then stands by the table, waiting for someone to say something, anything.

Brador composes himself. “Thanks. And about the Ashen Blood, I should tell you…”

“Yes, darlin'?”

Something cold and calculating in Brador's eyes overshadows them. “The Ashen Blood was a misstep on the Healing Church's part. We were researching the disease, but unfortunately there was an accident. The rats we were experimenting on escaped into the sewers. They spread the Ashen Blood that way. It was… ultimately our fault. I'm so sorry, Djura.”

It's the partial truth. It's an easy lie. Brador can say it with full confidence and sincerity. That is the secret behind his silver tongue. It's a strange hypocrisy he has, hating it when others aren't honest with him, though sometimes his lies are so convincing that he believes them as the truth himself. And yet, lying is something he does that reminds him that he's a human being just like everyone else.

Ludwig stares at Brador in horror. Simon appears unsurprised at his lie.

“Well… if it was just an accident, why would Simon need to keep his mouth shut about it?” Djura asks.

Simon merely shakes his head, gesturing to Brador. Brador continues, his inflection unnaturally calm and monotone, “If we came out and told the populace about that, how would people trust the Healing Blood? It would be counterintuitive to trust the institution that unintentionally spread disease.”

“I suppose that's true…” Then Djura thinks, asking another question, “I thought the Ashen Blood spread through the water? We figured that out after those who didn't boil their water before drinking got sick.”

“Yes, that's true. The rats were still the source of the disease. The bacteria spread into the water with their droppings.”

“Those rats were enough to spread it? Just how many escaped?”

“Too many.”

Djura presses on, stepping forward, closing the gap between him and Brador. “How come the disease only spread to Old Yharnam? Rats are nomadic by nature, wandering until they find a suitable place to nest. Surely some would have found their way to Central Yharnam and other areas, especially with the more abundant food?”

“I'm not sure,” Brador's words falter subtly. He stands back up straight again, “Ah, I remember now. Once the rats got out, we closed up the aqueducts to Central Yharnam. Unfortunately, Old Yharnam's aqueduct system was not as advanced.”

“Rats are good climbers. They could easily scale up a pipe to get to the main city. And they're mighty flexible too, I've seen the grates of the aqueduct. Not the most rat-proof protection I've seen.” Djura states, studying Brador's face carefully.

“I'm not sure. I don't know much about rats.” Brador answers honestly for once. But then he notices something in Djura's eye, something… knowing? He's not sure, and he can't quite think straight.

“And it really wouldn't matter if there were grates, because you said the Ashen Blood spread through the droppings, right?” Djura continues, “So long as the rats were upstream, then it would have spread to Old Yharnam no matter what. But that wouldn't make sense, because the aqueduct cascades down from Cathedral Ward to both Central and Old Yharnam.”

“To be fair, even we weren't sure what actually spread the Ashen Blood. We only assumed it was the droppings. It could have been fleas…”

“Fleas hitchhike onto any warm-blooded animal, even humans. Couldn't have been that either. The Ashen Blood would've popped up a long time ago if they were the case.” Djura is reacting very little to what Brador is saying.

“There was a reason why we were researching the Ashen Blood in the first place,” Brador shrugs, “How it spread and all. We only know that the rats carried it. We were still learning.”

“How come there was nothing like the Ashen Blood before, and you guys were researching it? Wouldn't it have been more productive to look into more common illnesses like cancer or tuberculosis? I can't think of anything that causes one to cough up ashes.”

“It was precisely because it was so bizarre that we were researching it.”

“Where did the Ashen Blood come from?”

“The rats.”

“No no- how did you guys discover it and where was it found? Again, it should have popped up everywhere already if it were spread by rats, like the black plague.”

“I'm only telling you what I know, Djura,” Brador inhales, “I wasn't involved much in the research itself.”

“Who told you about all of this? The Vicar, I'm assuming?”

“Yes. I've told you everything that Laurence told me. I know nothing else of the matter. There is nothing more to fret about, it's that simple.” Brador says dismissively.

Djura's expression is blank, but there are a thousand thoughts running behind his eye. His head tilts slightly as he studies Brador's stoic face almost curiously for a while. Then, after a moment of deafening silence, Djura steps away from Brador with a hollow smile. “...I see. Alright. I believe you.”

Djura watches how Brador's shoulders loosen after that statement. He sees the disgust on Simon's face, and how Ludwig has turned his head away from the scene entirely. Even they cannot hide how they feel about Brador lying.

But isn't this what Djura wanted all along? This ignorance, to live blindly to the truth right before his very eyes. He was willing, until this very moment, to never speak of the Ashen Blood around Brador to remain in their loving relationship. Not after he learned that Brador himself killed those who knew, and that Brador was an assassin under the Vicar. But now? The sinking dread in Djura's heart is dragging his thoughts somewhere terribly dark.

This isn't what Djura wanted. Far from it.

Brador played a massive part in Old Yharnam's demise, he wasn't just a complacent bystander. And yet, he still smiles around Djura, is kind to him, and loves him dearly. Brador looks Djura in the eye, every morning, every night, knowing exactly what he did, and still showers him with genuine affection.

But Brador never trusted what they had in the first place, did he? In their first weeks of knowing each other, how standoffish and defensive Brador was, Djura felt blessed to see Brador slowly but surely put his trust in Djura. How Brador opened up, how he became vulnerable to Djura. And Djura hoped Brador would eventually wean himself away from the Healing Church, away from their clutches. Djura knows that separating oneself from the past takes time… but Brador just can't let them go.

Brador will never truly love Djura, will he? He will always be second to the Vicar. Almost everyone Djura loved is dead because of the Vicar, and Brador couldn't give more than a rat’s ass about it.

Brador looks at Djura with concern. “Why are you crying?”

Djura reaches up to touch his own cheek, tears streaming down them. Brador reaches out to wipe them away. Djura flinches and backs away from Brador, staring at him like he's a complete stranger.

Brador's eyes widen. “What's wrong? Why are you…?” Then Brador takes a step back too. His lips part as the realization sets in. Djura's strange and lifeless reactions, how he kept asking questions, and that look in his eye…

Simon finally snaps. “It's no wonder you took the Vicar’s beastly hide, you pulled his wool over your eyes… and you would do the same to your beloved without hesitation, you monster!”

Brador doesn't hear him, focused entirely on Djura. “You knew?”

Djura speaks up with a shaky voice. “All these months together, through hardships and joy… You would still choose your precious Vicar over me and lie to my face? Everyone in this town… Suzie… Rex, Diego, Razor… Gracie… my friends and neighbors… Everyone turned because of your Vicar.”

“Djura-” Brador stammers, “You should have told me you knew!”

“Why would I?!” Djura sobs, “You're a goddamn assassin! And I thought you had left it behind along with the Healing Church, but you lied! The Church has nothing to do with your life anymore and you still lied!”

“There's no goddamn point in me telling you anyway! What good would that do?! It would just make you hate me! You already hate the Healing Church, why would I give you more reason to do so!?” Brador sounds deeply hurt as he says this, “I would not have lied to you just now, you should have fucking told me that you knew about the Ashen Blood and my occupation! I lied because I was trying to protect you-”

“Protect me?” Djura interjects with a sob, “From yourself? Were… were you still planning on killing me because that's what the Vicar would have ordered you to do? Just as he did to Simon? You tried to kill him too!”

Brador is in shock. Tripping over his words, he argues back. “What happened between Simon and I is in the past, that should not have cast doubt on what we have today!”

“But you lied, Brador, you lied! I told you before, Brador, I'm alright with you withholding things from me if you're uncomfortable- you could've just said that! I knew everything for a while, I accepted what you did and I already forgave you! You could've waited to tell me the full truth, you could've told me you weren't ready to tell me like with so many other things we've confided…! And yet after all this time together! After all of these nights in each other's arms…! Your precious, skinned Vicar’s legacy is more important than the man you love today!”

Brador finds himself unable to retort, he stands there in stunned silence. Sweat rolls down his forehead and his heart races with adrenaline.

“Let me ask you this, since your Vicar can do no wrong,” Djura hisses, “How many of us died in agony from the Ashen Blood before His Holiness finally decided to give us the cure?”

“I…” Brador’s breath begins to quicken.

“HOW MANY?!” Djura screams, his face red with tears and rage, “I watched my parents wither away and die, coughing their fuckin’ guts out nonstop for days! They couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, no matter how much I tended to them- and they succumbed to their own lungs eating them alive! They… they were suffering so horrifically that I was almost relieved that they died. Did your Vicar ever see the suffering firsthand? I know he did, because he experimented before he decided to unleash the Ashen Blood on us! You've seen the damage it has done, you’ve seen the horrors of the hunt down here! You've seen the humanity the beasts still have and the miserable, agonized state some of them are in, has that not moved your heart in the slightest?!”

“Djura…” Brador reaches out, his hand trembling, “Please, I never meant to hurt you.”

Djura harshly swats his hand away with a glare.

Brador begs now, tears welling in his eyes. “Djura, Djura please, we can make things right, hell, I've been making things right all along. I'm sorry, I…” Brador steps forward with his hands still out in an attempt to hug him.

“Don't. Touch me.” Djura heaves.

“Djura, please…”

Brador’s arms are nearly around his shoulders. But then, Brador feels something cold and hard press against his abdomen. He looks down.

Djura's grip is shaky on the Evelyn. The barrel presses further into Brador, aimed right at his liver. Djura looks away, his hat hiding his face.

Brador can hardly process this. The Evelyn? Maria's Evelyn? The thing he entrusted with Djura because he didn't deserve it? He can't believe this betrayal. “Please… I love you, Djura.”

Djura says nothing, his thumb pushing down on the safety. It clicks and echoes through the stables.

“Djura…!” Brador hyperventilates.

Djura bites his lip. He trembles, but the Evelyn lowers, slowly but surely. He still sobs.

“Djura…?” Brador reaches to touch his face, “I-It'll be alright now, we- we can fix this--”

Djura, clenching the Evelyn in his fist, punches Brador across the face. Brador stumbles back and falls over at the impact, tasting blood in his mouth. The blunt pain is nothing that he can't handle, but… it's agonizing. He stares at Djura in shock.

Ludwig shrieks wildly, shoving himself between Brador and Djura. He pleads, “Please, Djura! Think about what Brador has gone through, please forgive him for lying! His trust doesn't come easily-”

“Trust comes before love. If he never trusted me, did he ever love me?” Djura looks up, his eye wide open with sorrowful rage and betrayal.

Ludwig gasps. “Djura--”

“And you…” Djura grits his teeth, “You’re defending him? Little brother or not, that man and his Vicar sentenced my family to death. You're nothing but a spineless whelp. At least you actually feel sorry for the Vicar's atrocities against us, but to act as though Brador is innocent means you are beyond anyone's help… And so is he.”

Djura storms out without another word. His sobs are heard among his footsteps as he picks up the pace, running away from the scene.

Ludwig turns to Brador, holding his shoulders. “Brador, are you alright?!”

Brador touches his bruised cheek, the pain still stinging.

“You didn't do anything wrong, Brador, it wasn't the right time to tell him!” Ludwig stumbles over his words, using his scarf to wipe the spot where Brador was struck, “He is still grieving over the beasts he lost in the last night of the hunt, he didn't mean to hurt you…”

“How are you still so ignorant?” Simon laments, “My God. I can't sympathize with either of you.” And he walks out without so much as a goodbye.

Brador’s hand reaches up to rest on Ludwig's. “Ludwig… what have I done?”

“It's not your fault, it's not your fault…” Ludwig reassures him.

“I hurt him, Ludwig, because he knew. Why did he know?” Brador asks, staring out into the void. “Why didn't I just tell him…?”

Ludwig hugs Brador. “You didn't mean to hurt him, that's all that matters!”

“No. I… I still hurt him. I took everything from him. I…”

“Brador-”

Brador tears himself away from Ludwig, running to Djura's house. As he approaches, Djura's wails grow louder, echoing throughout the street. He finds the front door wide open, swinging in the wind. He is about to run inside when he skids to a stop, seeing who stands between him and Djura.

Andrei stands mere paces away from the front door, guarding the staircase leading upstairs. He faces the wall, his left side towards Brador. He's armed, trusty Saw Spear on his right, and Hunter's Pistol on his left.

Brador gasps. “Andrei… you knew too…?”

Brador can hear Djura wailing upstairs. They're not quiet. They could be described as hysterical and grief-stricken, on par with the cries of a parent who just witnessed their child be brutally murdered right before their eyes. They shatter Brador's heart. And yet, Brador still begs, “Please, let me see him-”

Andrei's face is hidden by his hood and position, but the rage emanates from his body. Without looking at Brador, he raises his arm, aiming his pistol at Brador. He speaks slowly, full of that venomous vitriol that he used to hold back for so long now, “Get the fuck out of here before I finish what Djura couldn't.”

“B-But I need to comfort Djura- he needs me-”

“No. He doesn't need you. He never did.”

Brador continues to stammer, his hands out and shaking, “But Djura-”

Andrei pulls the trigger, the bullet flying right past Brador's face and grazing his fur garb. Brador recoils in fear, taking a step back. Andrei turns his head to finally face him, his teeth bared. He snarls, “Your sorry ass does not deserve to speak his name anymore. Get out.”

“I'm sorry-”

“Get. Out.”

“Andrei- I never meant to hurt him, I would never- I love him so much with all of my heart, you have to believe me-!”

“GET OUT! NOW!” Andrei roars and unfolds his Saw Spear in a quick and violent motion, “OR I WILL BUTCHER YOU ALIVE, BASTARD!”

“Andrei, please- ” Brador sobs.

Andrei viciously lunges at Brador. Before Andrei can stab Brador through the chest, Brador reacts by drawing his Bloodletter and blocking it, the teeth of the Saw Spear catching in the Bloodletter’s mechanisms.

As Brador pushes back against Andrei, he can see the ferocity and rage of every beast in Old Yharnam behind Andrei's eyes. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, his teeth gritted and veins pop on his fists that grip his weapon. All of that wariness and distrust Andrei had towards Brador for all of these months is finally on full display. Brador had shown that his true loyalty does not lie with Djura, and that's all the reason Andrei needed to kill him. There's not just hatred in Andrei's eyes- there is a fierce loyalty in his eyes to protect his closest friend- the same fierce loyalty that Brador once held for Laurence. He wonders what Andrei sees right now in his own eyes. Fright? Horror? Profound sadness? Or just the absolute heartless monster he's always been?

Brador was never worthy in Andrei's eyes, he realizes. Brador, with adrenaline in his veins, redirects the Saw Spear upwards and knocks Andrei back with a kick to the stomach. However, Brador knows that he knows he can't win. The force and sheer rage behind Andrei's first strike is enough proof of that fact. Andrei, without a doubt, will kill Brador if this continues on. Anything to protect Djura's heart from being broken again.

So, Brador turns tail and runs away.

It's for the best, for everybody. He understands at once that he and Djura were never meant to be. This is his immutable destiny- his sole purpose in his existence is to hurt others, it always has been, no matter how much he told himself otherwise, no matter how much Djura believed him to be kind. This was inevitable.

Laurence was the only one who understood Brador's true nature. It was foolish of Brador to think anyone else could accept him for that.

Andrei pursues Brador relentlessly as he flees to the entrance of Old Yharnam. Brador leaves the doors wide open in his wake. Andrei stands by the doors, watching until he's certain Brador is gone for good. He waits for Brador's footfalls to subside, listening for that empty, hollow, and echoing silence from the old chapel.

Finally, after keeping watch dutifully, Andrei shuts Old Yharnam's doors and returns to Djura. He brings Djura into his arms, telling him firmly, “Brador will hurt you no longer. He is gone.”

Though, despite his best friend's heartfelt comfort, Djura's wails do not stop for a long, long time.