Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The still water of Juniper Valley was truly a sight to behold, a welcome reprieve from the… Well, chaos of the party inside. Chaos Leon wanted no part of. His fingers curled loosely around the old ropes of the tree swing hanging from a massive oak beside the lake, feet kicking just enough to keep it in motion. The swing was set up several yards away from the shore, not so far that the little waves were unobservable, but far enough that he wouldn’t end up taking a swan dive if he were to fall or even jump off like he used to love doing as a child.

In the cabin behind him, he heard the thumping rap music and loud whooping of his older brother Charlie and his friends. Leon sighed heavily, kicking off to swing higher. Charlie was easily the so-called ‘golden child’ between them. He was a star student, sports superstar, had a pretty sorority girlfriend with a bright future  — the whole nine yards. He enjoyed some degeneracy now and then, and that was all they had been doing on this trip.

Leon didn’t even want to be here, but Charlie insisted he should come so he could finally get out of the house, get a change of scenery, maybe get some new ideas for that horror game he was working on. Reluctantly, Leon agreed, but initially he didn’t realize Charlie’s girlfriend Rochelle and best friends Kiara and Chase would also be there. Not that they were bad people, necessarily. Rochelle had been nothing but sweet the entire trip, and Kiara and Chase were a little crude, but more humorously than obnoxiously, with the brunette and redhead casually cracking jokes about her own tits and his hairy armpits on the way up. It was… Alright, he supposed.

Until they got drunk.

It didn’t take long for the slowly forming amity he had formed with the seniors to crumble once they got shit-faced. The laugh-out-loud crudeness had become unbearable, and Rochelle was apparently a sad drunk, so she wasn’t much fun to talk to now, and Leon had never been the best at comforting people, especially not people who were currently on liquid courage. Or, liquid depression. He could barely stand the smell of it as it was. Charlie could hold his liquor alright, though, and took to cheering his gal up with some stupid dance moves and a purposely terrible parody of ‘Shut up and dance with me.’

He almost wished he got it on video. Almost. But ultimately, the overstimulation proved to be too much, and Leon instead retreated outside sometimes around lunch and had stayed out there since. Now, the sun was slowly dipping beneath the horizon, casting the sky in shades of ocher, burned orange, and flaky gold.

It was… Nice.

Part of Leon felt bad for ditching the party. He was what most people considered unbearable -refusing to drink, smoke, party, gossip, and especially dating. Somehow he was lucky enough to still have the boyfriend he first started dating in his second year of junior high, and he had no idea how Jason put up with him. Abysmal at conversation, on account of his nervous habit of stuttering and uncomfortably long pauses between answers or interrupting the other person. He tried so hard to fit in, he sabotaged himself. Charlie was of course used to this, and his friends genuinely had no issue with it. Kiara had said something earlier that hit close to home: There was a time when none of us were ‘cool,’ right? They weren’t always so comfortable with themselves, either. Of course they weren’t, most people had that period in their lives, Leon knew. But it was much more than that in his case.

When Leon was eight or nine, he contracted a deadly infection in his lower tibia that rapidly spread and splintered the bone as it grew and left him unable to walk. It had been festering for over two years before he finally noticed the pain in his foot, and by then, it was almost too late. He was hospital-bound for two years, and while he didn’t know it, there was a point in time when he almost flatlined.

Now all that remained of that time was a narrow, slightly discolored line of skin on his ankle, a measly four or five inches long, where the doctors drained the poisoned blood and eventually managed to scrape the ruined tissue from his body… And his horribly stunted social growth. He used to be fine with people before all of that happened, but… Not after the hospital. He became overly snappy to people who just wanted to help as he recovered. His mind was filled with dark thoughts of self-hate and worthlessness. He even made an attempt on his own life at just ten years old.

And of course, despite all of that, his parents were still more focused on Charlie’s life. The most care they had ever shown for him was during his infection, and even then, they went right back to fawning over Charlie once it was over. And no one felt worse about it than Charlie himself. So, his maternal grandparents, Marguerite and Black Hoof, more or less raised him in their place. They had a strained relationship with his mother long before he was even born, but after the neglect began, it was worse than ever. Charlie didn’t get to spend much time with them because of it, as much as he wanted to and as much as their maternal grandparents also loved him, their mother made excuse after excuse to keep Charlie away. So, Charlie missed out on much of the relationship Leon had with them.

It was pretty unfortunate, he always thought.

The creak of the old patio door had Leon turning his head to see Charlie, significantly sweatier and more shirtless than he remembered, grinning like a jackal. He jogged down the steps and over the cobblestoned path to the tree, breathing heavily. The boom of heavy bass and almost-intelligible lyrics from a rap song he vaguely recognized escaped through the open door before it slowly drifted shut on its own. Leon snorted, a grin tugging at his lips.

“Whoa, what happened to you? You look like you just ran a marathon!” He chuckled. Charlie stopped beside the tree, leaning heavily against the thick trunk to catch his breath. “Oh, y’know, just partying hard.” He panted, arching his back in a stretch. A loud series of cracks and pops resulted. Leon snorted again. “Really? What could you possibly have been doing to sound like a damn glow stick?”

The brothers both laughed a little, a wide, toothy smile taking over the younger’s face for the first time in a while. Charlie sighed, looking out over the lake water, whistling. The sun had set far enough that the water reflected its vivid colors. “Damn, that’s pretty.” Leon hummed, nodding. “Yeah. I gotta hand it to ya, Charlie: you sure as hell know how to pick a vacation spot.”

Charlie cracked his knuckles, working out the kinks in his neck. “Wish I could say I did. Chelle found this place.” Figures, Leon thought. If anyone had an eye for scenery, it was Rochelle. “I should have known.”

They sat in a brief but comfortable silence for a moment, looking out over the shining pool of the lake and the trees behind it. It truly did look like something out of a painting.

“Hey, Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

“Why… Didn’t you tell me you were bringing your friends out?”

Charlie was silent for a moment, slowly rubbing the back of his neck, carefully weighing his next words. “‘Cause I knew you wouldn’t come if I did,” He said at last. Leon pursed his lips in displeasure.

“You know I don’t like getting blind-sighted.” The younger said curtly, kicking off to swing higher again.

Charlie sucked in a deep breath through his nose, running a hand through his messy dark hair. “I know I’m sorry. But… Y-you can’t just avoid every social interaction for the rest of your life, man. You have to get out sometimes!”

“I did agree to come, I just don’t like getting surprised by a couple of strangers-”

“Leon.” Charlie’s tone became oddly serious now, giving his younger brother pause. “I love you, man, I do, but I’m worried about you. You’ve been a shut-in since, what, fifth grade? Probably hadn’t had a playdate in even longer. You don’t talk to anyone, ever. That’s not healthy. ”

Leon swallowed hard, grip on the swing ropes tightening. “... In my defense, Mom and Dad never wanted me to bring friends around… Or go to anyone’s house…”

Charlie nodded, gesturing vaguely in agreement. “T-that’s fair, but Kenu and Nanna would’ve let you go hang out with them! They’re worried, ‘bout ya, too. It’s not… Good to be so isolated, you get me?”

“Yeah…” Leon murmured. It was true his grandparents had also been worried about his non-existent social life, and how it only deteriorated further as he got older. “… I think I make other people uncomfortable…”

Charlie crossed his arms, leaning back against the old oak. “Being awkward isn’t a crime, dude, you get better at-”

Leon cut him off. “It’s not just that, and you know it.” He bit out. Charlie’s eyes widened briefly before softening in realization, and he let out another loud sigh.

“Leon, listen to me: there is nothing wrong with you, okay?” He promised, dead serious now. It was almost unsettling to see his usually fun-loving, laid back brother like this. “You are allowed to be whatever the hell you want, however you want. You’re not hurting anyone, and if people take issue with it, then they need to fuck off and mind their own business.”

“No kidding.” Leon huffed. Some of his more unpleasant social interactions were with several rather… Aggressive strangers who singled him out for his unconventional, effeminate exterior, calling him vile names and accusing him of various things. Leon could take a little ignorant name-calling, he wasn’t spineless, but it was a different story when the perpetrators were four strange men who could easily bench press him all glaring him down as if he had committed some grave offense against them, all the while leering at his much smaller, slimmer form like he was a juicy steak.

It made his skin crawl to remember. And it probably would have gotten much worse that day if he hadn’t been in the campus’ resident cybercafe during rush hour. Several other students, including two of Charlie’s hockey teammates who recognized him, had gotten between the strangers and Leon as the manager called security to have them removed, still spouting horrible insults as they left.

That hadn’t been the first time such a thing happened, either. And there was no doubt in Leon’s mind it wouldn’t be the last. All the more reason to stay home, he figured.

“I swear to you: those people are an ignorant, but vocal minority.” Charlie continued. “I know that.” Leon gritted out. “I still don’t want to deal with them!”

“You can’t let them dictate your entire life!” Charlie implored. “That’s what they want! They want to make you feel inferior-”

“And more than a few are willing to fucking rape or beat me to do it.” Leon snapped suddenly, seething. He didn’t need a lecture now, not about this. However worried his brother was, that wasn’t his battle to fight, and especially not a battle Leon wanted to be fought for him. He had to take care of himself, right?

“I’m not gonna share a space with them if I don’t need to, okay? And yeah, it is technically a minority, but I have no way of knowing who’s a part of it! I don’t know who I’m safe with, Charlie! Man, woman, whatever, I make people so uncomfortable just by existing in the same room as them that they take personal offense to it! It’s easy to go out and have fun when that’s not an everyday threat! Rochelle and Kiara probably know what I’m talking about, but even then, neither of them gets harassed for just… Using the fucking bathroom!”

Hot, angry tears filled his eyes and clouded his vision. Leon reached up to slip off his glasses, wiping his tears with his other arm quickly, only to have new tears replace them, “And on top of all of that, I just suck at talking to people. It’s just… I-it’s not worth it. ”

A long, heavy silence hung between the brothers now, the only sounds the creaking of the swing ropes and the ruffle of leafy branches overhead. Charlie was at a loss for words for the longest time. This wasn’t a truth he was unfamiliar with. When his little sister came out as his little brother, he wanted to understand. Leon’s issues weren’t so simple to put into words like love. Charlie always figured that was why there was such a stark contrast in the acceptance: Most people have been in love and know what it looks like, but few people have their own minds turn against their physiology and the many social aspects centered on it. It was cruel, and if he could take it all away from his little brother, he would in an instant. But he couldn’t, so the best he could do… Was try. For Leon’s sake.

“I know I can’t really understand it.” He said after a moment. “Not fully. Words just don’t… Describe it well, I guess. But I swear on my life, if the worst did happen to you, I will be there. For every second.” Now it was Charlie’s turn to cry, it seemed, his voice cracking hard. “And what if you can’t be?” Leon drawled. “You’re just one man, Charlie. You can’t be there every second of every day of my life.”

“No. I can’t.” The elder of them admitted, trying to steady his voice and wipe his tears. “But I’ll try. And if that’s not enough… I won’t let it go unpunished. Ever.”

Leon felt a chill run down his spine at the promise. What did that even mean? He was almost afraid to ask, and the only time he was ever afraid of something his idiot older brother did was when it was something outrageously stupid or gross, like when he stuck his ex-girlfriend’s expensive electric toothbrush in the toilet after she cheated on him in junior year. Even then, that was the ‘God, I’m going to die of second-hand embarrassment’ kind of scared. Not fear. Granted, it wasn’t for himself, it was just an overall unease.

“Don’t stay out too late, okay?” Charlie said after another pause. “Remember what Kenu used to say? The spooks come out after dark.” His tone, while significantly lighter and more playful, was still uneasy as he slowly turned and headed back into the cabin, stopping at the door to look back at him for a moment before turning the handle and heading inside.

Slowly, Leon turned to look back out over the lake, turning his brother’s ominous words over in his head.

What the fuck was that about?!

—

From the opposite lakeshore, T’ai’ja observed the tense exchange with keen interest. The two seemed to be kin, possibly siblings or cousins, judging by the similar hair colors and unusually pale eyes. Their conversation was largely unclear to even his keen ears courtesy of the distance, but their body language and the smaller one’s sudden rise in body temperature told of a conversation taking an unsavory turn. A slight rise in cortisol levels in the two, mostly the smaller one, indicated the larger had said something to displease them.

Switching off his infrared vision, T’ai’ja changed over to standard mode and zoomed in with his mask camera to get a better look at the oomans in question.

The taller of the two was clearly male -broad, tall, muscular, with a thin sheen of sweat over his peach skin that soaked into and weighed down his thick dark hair. He was shirtless for unknown reasons, only clad in brightly colored trousers that only reached his knees. Both were young adults.

The second, smaller ooman was significantly more interesting.

A female, though she had a much closer-cut hairstyle than most female oomans T’ai’ja had observed. Red frames with two lenses, ‘glasses,’ he believed they were called, sat on her pink nose, thick eyelashes fanning her bright eyes. They almost reminded him of polished jewels, lovely ethereally only a creation of Paya could be. Slim, delicate fingers held onto the thin, frayed rope of an old wood swing hanging from a tree beside the lake. Clad in a loose, flowy white sleeveless tunic and even shorter white trousers than her compatriot, the hunter was allowed a full look at her lean limbs. She wasn’t muscular like the male, but she wasn’t thin either, still with enough fat on her bones to fill out her hips and thighs and give her upper body some structure. A slight curve in her upper torso indicated her low breasts. Her small feet were clad in loose sandals made of that strange ‘rubber’ oomans were so fond of.

While he was completely lost on what oomans considered attractive, T’ai’ja found the soft little creature strangely endearing. He wondered briefly what it would be like to feel the soft flesh in his massive hands, how much smaller she would be next to him.

He decided to take a closer look

Leaping into a nearby tree, T’ai’ja took great care to conceal his thunderous approach as he traipsed from tree to tree, pushing off one trunk to the next until he perched mere yards from them. Despite his towering size, the hunter barely rustled the branches as he drew nearer, the biggest indicator of his presence now the silence of the surrounding wildlife. The silence of prey attempting to hide.

Neither ooman noticed him cloaked above, too engrossed in their heated discussion to pay attention to the sudden silence. He could make out their conversation now.

“And on top of all of that, I just suck at talking to people, anyway. It’s just… I-it’s not worth it.” The female sniffed. T’ai’ja’s mandibles flared, but he resisted the urge to click in warning. The little female was indeed in distress over something the male said. Something ignorant from the sound of it. She was a mere fraction of his size, unable to stand up for herself compared to most males of her species, let alone this one.

Ooman females were already much more naturally submissive than Yautja females: a byproduct of their typically smaller stature and millennia of male-dominated societies. There was always an exception, of course, and such females made for honorable opponents, but taking one’s head was still frowned upon. Ooman males often abandoned their mates to care for pups alone, with little to no regard for what happened to them. Killing an ooman female, even in an honorable fight, could potentially mean orphaning any pups she may have waiting for her, and there was no honor in depriving young of their mother.

Just as there was no honor in antagonizing a female half your size.

Fortunately for this male, he redeemed himself after an uncomfortable pause.

“I know I can’t really understand it. Not fully. Words just don’t… Describe it well, I guess. But I swear on my life, if the worst did happen to you, I will be there. For every second.” He was the one crying now, voice breaking as tears filled his eyes, a rare occurrence among males of this species. They believed showing weakness to be undesirable. Ironic, T’ai’ja thought, as Yautja were the polar opposites.

“And what if you can’t be?” The female drawled. “You’re just one man, Charlie. You can’t be there every second of every day of my life.”

The male, ‘Charlie,’ it seemed, continued, proving to the hunter he was no threat to the little female. “No. I can’t.” He conceded, steadying his voice and wiping away his tears. “But I’ll try. And if that’s not enough… I won’t let it go unpunished. Ever.”

He spoke with the conviction only an elder sibling could: a promise to protect, care, no matter what came their way or the consequences of doing so may be. They must have indeed been kin, then, or at least regarded each other as such. Though the female did not seem to share the hunter’s satisfaction, she regarded the male warily. Perhaps it was uncommon for him to be so serious, and it took her off guard?

The male turned to depart shortly, only turning to deliver one more, much less serious warning, bordering on teasing. “… Don’t stay out too late, okay? Remember what Kenu used to say? The spooks come out after dark.”

The female turned back to the lake after he returned to their dwelling, staring blankly at the water. She remained there for a long while, until the sun dipped low behind the horizon, the reds and gold of the sky slowly bleeding into blues and black. Several small lamps embedded in the ground beside the path cast pale halos of light over the worn stones, just barely extending to the swing and leaving only one side of the ooman’s face illuminated, highlighting the round silhouette of her features.

She was… Surprisingly lovely.

T’ai’ja found himself emitting a low, pleased clicking before he could catch it. Immediately, he stifled the sound, resisting the urge to kick himself for giving away his position, especially as the little female whipped around to face him, scanning the tree line for the source of the sound. Her cortisol levels had spiked again, much higher than before, and her heart rate began to pick up.

She didn’t call out, stilling herself. After a moment, T’ai’ja realized she was listening. But there was nothing to hear. The forest was deathly silent.

Slowly, she rose from the swing, one foot in front of the other with great care to not make any sound. She was completely silent, he realized. A stealthy little thing. Slowly, she stepped fully into the light, and T’ai’ja finally got the first proper view of her face.

Round and soft, with full cheeks and a slim pink tongue that darted out to wet her plush pink lips. Wide blue eyes somehow seemed even bigger behind her glasses as she squinted into the dark, trying to make out where the sound was coming from, long, thick eyelashes fanning her eyelids and giving the illusion her crystalline irises were smaller than they were. The short cut of her hair exposed the back of her slender neck and pale expanse of her exposed shoulder blades and part of her back.

T’ai’ja decided then that she was unequivocally, impossibly perfect. Like… What was the word? An ‘angel.’

Of course, it was agreed upon that humans were inherently ‘cute,’ with their big eyes, wide foreheads, and rounded features, they were vaguely reminiscent of most mammalian infants and triggered that deep-rooted, largely useless part of the brain that was drawn to cute things. Many species kept them as pets, or trophies, and his own kind were even known to occasionally take them as mates, though that was exceptionally rare, and rarer still for such unions to bear fruit. But it was plausible. Something he and many others found to be both baffling and somewhat fascinating.

Truthfully, T’ai’ja never saw the appeal. Oomans made fine opponents, even greater allies but mates? It felt… Well, ridiculous, to be blunt. Why take such a soft thing for a mate when Yautja females were perfectly capable? It wasn’t like there was a shortage of them, or that it was just the more aggressive hunters taking them, either. Yautja women favored the more patient, courteous, child-nurturing males over the temperamental, often unpredictable counterparts, so it wouldn’t be so far-fetched for some of them to seek mates who may be more submissive, and while some of them had, it wasn’t just them. No, recently word had gotten out of an Elder female taking an ooman mate. An Elder female! And not only that, but she claimed the puny male to be her sain’ja -a general term for warriors, but an endearment among lovers, a god-chosen partner.

T’ai’ja considered it utter madness! Until… Just now. He felt an undeniable pull toward the little female, an interesting urge to follow her, a fascination that extended past merely understanding prey and teetered on the edge of a more passionate interest that caught him thoroughly off-guard, yet he didn’t necessarily dislike.

Maybe… This was it?

The arbiter’s wonderings were put on hold as a scent reached his nose: the distinct, earth-and-blood scent of dia-shui -the musk of another, all too familiar, hunter- close by. Too close for his liking

 Seems he wasn’t the only one intrigued by the curious female.

Chapter Text

The chill along Leon’s back didn’t dissipate even as he pulled the patio door shut, the resounding thunk offering minimal comfort. His gut was twisted in knots, a cold, clammy feeling overtaking his hands and arms, and anywhere else there was exposed skin.

What the hell was that?!

That singular question ricocheted off the inside of his skull repeatedly, the low, unearthly trill echoing in his ears. All the stories his Kenu told him as a child came flooding back, tales of monsters and the ancient forest spirits older than any man could ever imagine.

“You are never to stay out past sunset, Líh nén.” He would say firmly whenever Leon, then still Lillian, begged for just five more minutes to play, the sun wasn’t down yet. “The dark is no place for a child. It’s the home of monsters.”

The home of monsters…

“Yo, Leon, y’good, man?” Chase called from the couch. The once thumping music had been turned down now, the smell of alcohol less prevalent, but the slur in his words was still undeniable. The party must have started settling down a while ago, after Charlie came inside.

Leon didn’t answer right away, still staring out through the screen door, watching. Behind him, Chase shot Charlie, who was over by the TV, sifting through old DVDs with Rochelle, with an unsettled look.

Kiara piped up next, brow furrowed. “Leon? What is it?”

Still nothing.

It was only when he felt his brother put a hand on his shoulder that the brunette finally reacted, crying out with a sharp jerk that made him release the heavy inner door, which slammed shut. Leon whirled around to stand face-to-face with his concerned older brother, who looked from him to the patio and back again, his unspoken question hanging heavy in the air between them, startlingly sober.

Leon swallowed hard, leaning in to whisper in Algonquin -their grandfather’s language- to keep the matter between the two of them.

“There’s something out there,” Leon started. “I heard it.”

Charlie blinked down at him for a moment, thoroughly caught off guard. He also spoke the First Nation dialect, though he learned it mostly through his younger brother rather than directly from his grandfather. He rarely used it compared to Leon, and when he did, it was usually because one of them had something to say that they didn’t want to be overheard.

The eldest brother let out a low sigh, gesturing with a nod for Leon to follow him into the kitchen, dismissing the calls from his friends and girlfriend asking what was wrong with a rather noncommittal nothin’ to worry ‘bout. But once they were out of earshot, he too switched to Algonquin.

“What happened?” He whispered. “Did you see something? Was it a m’qi?”

Leon shook his head. “I thought it was a baapaase, but it didn’t sound right. Like a… A weird, rapid clicking, I’ve never heard anything like it before.”

Charlie sucked in a deep breath. “So, what, do you think we’re not alone out here?” The note of panic in his voice was evident to anyone, regardless of whether they understood the language. From the corner of his eye, Leon saw Rochelle had moved to stand just outside the kitchen doorway, looking between the brothers with wide eyes.

“What’s… Going on?” She asked carefully. Leon swallowed hard, preparing to give some kind of excuse, only for Charlie to interject. “We’re not sure.” He admitted -in English this time- “Leon… He thinks he heard something. In the woods. We don’t think it was an animal.”

Leon facepalmed.

“You mean… Another person is out there?” She ventured, a little too loudly for either brother’s liking. As expected, that alarming inquiry now caught the attention of Kiara and Chase, with the redhead athlete slowly getting up from his chair to peer out the window as the brunette blinked at them owlishly from her place on the sofa. “Someone’s watching us?”

“I don’t see anything.” Chase piped up, squinting into the darkness. Leon buried his hands in his pockets. “Y’know, t-there was a reason why we weren’t discussing this in English.” He drawled. “I-I don’t know if it was another person, okay? It sounded a lot like a woodpecker, but there was something… Wrong with it, I’m not sure how to describe it, really.”

“Wrong how?” Kiara pushed, now fiddling with her dark curls anxiously.

The younger’s deadpan tone betrayed his irritation. “Did you not hear me say I don’t know how to describe it?”

“Just try, please?”

Leon threw his hands up in defeat, folding his arms overhead and letting out a huff, searching for the right words. “It was this… Uh, l-low, guttural sound, almost like a growl, but at the same time sounded more along the lines of… I-I dunno, teeth clacking, or something. No damn woodpecker sounds like that.”

Rochelle’s expression shifted from concern to a look of utter disgust, comically so. “Ew,” She muttered. “That is a disgusting mental image…”

A slight grin broke out over either brother’s mouth, though they schooled their expressions quickly. “Well, you can thank Kiara for it, since she asked.” Leon quipped, pulling his hands free from his pockets to fold them over his chest. Kiara let out a “Shush!” from the other side of the room, but said nothing more of the matter. She had joined Chase in looking out the window.

Beside him, Charlie let out a long breath, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, how about we all just take a deep breath and chill out, yeah?” Neither Rochelle nor Kiara seemed particularly eased by his words, and Chase hadn’t even turned to acknowledge him, eyes still glued to the backyard and the shimmering surface of the lake. “We don’t know if there’s someone out there or not. But, the guy Chelle and I rented this place from told us about a shotgun he keeps in the closet for bears -Because yes, there are bears around here, this is still the woods- so how about I go grab it, so if someone does try to break in, we’ll be ready for ‘em?”

A long, tense pause followed, before a steady chorus of agreement resounded from the seniors and lone junior beside him.

Charlie quickly departed to rummage through the broom closet for the rifle, as the others reluctantly took seats at various points around the room. After a moment, Charlie’s shocked exclamation from the recesses of the storage unit had them both jumping and chuckling. “Jesus Christ on a fucking surfboard, how’s a man supposed to find anything in here?!”

Kiara audibly snorted, and Rochelle’s giggling was oddly reassuring in a way as Charlie’s loud, currently fruitless search for the 12-gauge treasure continued. Leon was more than a little suspicious that he was being over the top on purpose, probably to ease everyone else’s nerves, but, to be fair, it was kind of working.

“… What kind of weirdo would even be out this far in the woods?” Chase wondered aloud, picking away at his nails. It was a bit of a surprise, really. He didn’t strike Leon as a nail-biter.

Charlie’s voice emerged from the dark depths of the closet somewhere on the other side of the wall behind Rochelle, somehow still able to hear them like their cabin was the setting of a sitcom and they had rehearsed lines for this moment.

“Ki-ki-ki-ma-ma-ma… Ki-ki-ki-ma-ma-ma…”

And just like that, any remaining tension shriveled up and died. Kiara grabbed a throw pillow and tossed it at the wall, where it slid behind the TV stand with a dull flop, and Charlie cackled from the other side of the plaster. “Shut up, you idiot!” She demanded, only half serious. “That’s not funny!”

“I mean… Is he wrong?” Chase argued, gesturing vaguely to the surrounding cabin. “Like, c’mon: A bunch of idiot kids partying in a cabin, in the woods, on a lake? I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve seen this movie before!”

“Yeah, and the jock is usually one of the first to go.” Kiara shot back, giving him a sharp look.

Leon let out a light huff, reaching over to grab one of the light blankets resting over the arm of the couch. “You know… My boyfriend actually is a ‘Jason.’” He added lightly, grinning a little. Jason had been with him since they were twelve, a whole nine years now. In all that time, he stuck by Leon through the ups and downs, offered a shoulder to cry on, was the best gaming buddy ever, stayed up late watching scary movies at sleepovers even though he didn’t like them, and was even one of the first people to learn Leon was Leon.

Jason… Leon couldn’t imagine his life without him, really.

On multiple occasions now, especially more recently, the brunette found himself wondering if he really did get lucky enough to find the one on the first go. Jason had stuck by him for almost a decade now, and most ‘kid romances’ didn’t last more than a few months! They had never even been intimate in that time. Leon was too paranoid, too fearful, not of Jason, but of his own desires. It was something he wrestled with ever since he was little and accidentally stumbled across porn as an unsupervised kid on the internet, gifting him some… Interesting tastes, to put it lightly.

But that stuff didn’t matter to Jason, no. Leon remembered the first time it came up, the first time he could admit what he was so afraid of. Jason wiped his tears, kissed him on the forehead, and promised him it was okay. “I was never with you for your body.” He’d said, holding Leon in a tight hug. “If you don’t feel ready yet, no one can make you! But when you feel you are, I’m right here. And I always will be.”

That isn’t just young love, right? It couldn’t be. It felt more… Serious than that. Deeper, in a way Leon could never hope to put into words, yet he understood in a strange way that it wasn’t bad. He liked it, the connection he had with Jason. His Jason. Strangely, pleasure being out of the equation only made him more sure of that. It seemed that a lot of the time, shallow, toxic, or outright abusive relationships boiled down to pleasure in a way, whether it was physical pleasure, a need for validation and general affection, or the satisfaction of completely controlling and dominating another’s will, governing their life with a constant fear and uneasiness that leaves them forever questioning every little move they make. A pleasure to some, he supposed.

But there was none of that between them. They had disagreements, sure, just like every couple did, usually born from a miscommunication gone unaddressed at a time it really should have been. But they always made up in the end. Always apologized to one another, always kissed and promised to never do it again, and they did. No two fights were ever about the same thing. The rest? Meaningless, mostly lighthearted squabbles about games or TV, or the latest exploits of stupidity going around the internet.

Maybe, for once… Leon really had finally gotten lucky…

“Hello? Earth to Leon!”

Rochelle’s teasing voice pulled him from his thoughts, blinking up at the strawberry blonde who had a cheeky smile on her face. “What’cha thinkin’ about?”

Leon rolled his eyes, a light blush coloring his cheeks and a poorly concealed smile on his lips. He dramatically pushed the girl away with a whole hand over her face, like an annoying little kid trying to distract their older sibling from a game. “You hush,” He ordered, though there was no real venom behind his words. Rochelle just giggled again.

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend!” Kiara added, resting her elbows on her knees and folding her hands together. She wore the same devious smirk as Rochelle. “So…. What’s he like?”

“What? I- C’mon, s-seriously?” Leon sputtered, blush only darkening. “What are we, fifteen? I-it’s not-”

“He’s a fucking mountain! And a kickboxing champion, I’ve seen him go, he’s a beast.” Charlie called from the closet again. Leon whipped around to glare at the wall, as if he could drill holes right through the wood and plaster and into his older brother. The girls and Chase just snorted at his indignation.

“Charlie, God so help me-”

“Ah, I am not Charlie, I am the lonely ghost that haunts this closet, forever searching for this fucking gun! Gah!” There was another loud crash, followed by a pause, before Charlie called out again. “… I’m okay.”

Leon pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed as the others began going back and forth with his idiot brother through the wall. This was one of the many times over the course of his life he found himself wondering what higher being decided he and Charlie should be siblings. Granted, Leon had a similar sense of humor and, under any other circumstances, would have joined in on the ridiculousness, but he didn’t have it in him right now. The prospect of being prepared may have made him feel a little better, but that sound and the unease of not knowing what made it still weighed on his shoulders, though he decided against mentioning it again and spoiling the mood for a second time.

He admittedly still wasn’t convinced it was an animal or a human. He felt the eyes on him, multiple eyes, and while they were predatory, they were also calculating and intelligent. Similar to a person but… Not quite the same. Again, he couldn’t quite describe it, but he just… Knew. Something about it triggered a prehistoric part of his brain from when humans were still prey, and it told him to run. The only reason he didn’t was because running only excited predators, and that had disaster written all over it, regardless of what was really out there. If the others had been out there to hear it, he had a feeling they would get what he was talking about.

But for now, Leon just prayed that none of Kuhkoomtheyna’s more malicious creations had an interest in him or anyone else here tonight.

—

T’ai’ja’s original purpose for visiting Earth was to hunt the newly exiled Bad Blood Mara’khen, a hunter he once considered family. Mara’khen had strayed from the path, took an adolescent ooman female by force, and kept her as his eta for months until his wrongdoing was found out. Ooman pets weren’t unheard of, especially among the high ranking of the galaxy, but it was a practice that had long died out among Yautja as they proved time and time again, they could easily match a hunter or a kiande amedha, even a queen.

The few who did keep ooman pets anymore kept them as a sign of status, as one would keep a rare, powerful beast: magnificent, rare, but deadly and primed to turn on you in a heartbeat. On top of the very real possibility they may murder you in your sleep, they were also expensive to take care of, as they were more delicate than many intelligent species and could expire from a shocking number of health matters most of the galaxy hadn’t faced in a millennium, if at all, they had to be given certain freedoms like space, comforts, and consistent affection or else their bodies may quite literally cease functioning. And taking them as adolescents at any stage was forbidden.

T’ai’ja met a merchant with an ooman pet decades ago while on a mission, an elder male keeping a relatively young, pale ooman male, with oddly colored hair not quite gold or red, and brown eyes. He dressed the little thing in expensive silks and jewels, a living testament to his vast riches. Despite being a fraction of his size and relatively small among his own kind, though, the little male regarded the arbiter as if he were sizing up prey. Weighing his options, deciding what method of elimination would best suit this foe. Thankfully, the meeting -which he didn’t enjoy anyway, as the old merchant was prideful and crude- concluded quickly, and T’ai’ja soon eliminated the Bad Bloods pillaging the old man’s trade ships.

And mere cycles later, he heard through a contact that the little ooman had indeed murdered the merchant, his family, and most of his guards and servants by setting the palace ablaze, all before taking his own life with a stolen pistol.

But that was an adult. A young adult, but an adult. One being kept in lawful, humane conditions. Mara’khen’s captive? She was so young that she had only just begun to show signs of sexual maturity, with thin patches of body hair under her arms and along her legs. All skin and bones, she flinched at the slightest movement or sound, completely nonverbal even to those who knew her language. After being rescued, all she did was sit, mumbling utter nonsense to herself, rocking in place. She never moved unless someone made her, never ate, drank, or slept. She showed signs of severe physical trauma as well: Bruises, broken bones, brain damage, dislocated joints, and such brutal defilement to her reproductive system that she required complete reconstructive surgery to heal it.

Yet, the child would never get that surgery. Even after fighting for so long, her body finally gave way, and she was taken by the Black Warrior in the night just cycles later, alone, in a clinic on a planet not her own, surrounded by strangers. T’ai’ja could only pray she found comfort in the next world, free of the fear and pain that dominated the last few months of her life. She had everything stolen from her by Mara’khen -A respected elite of their people, known for his selflessness, in some cruel twist of irony- and T’ai’ja would sooner be dragged kicking and screaming to the darkest pits of the Void by the Horde itself than let Mara’khen continue to draw breath. He and all like him were a stain on the world, and T’ai’ja would see to it personally that his skull adorned his trophy wall, for he was no longer a brother. No, Mara’khen made his choice, and he chose a path of dishonor and shame for his own temporary gain.

And now, with his first pet dead, it seemed the scum was on the hunt for a replacement.

So when he scented the other male’s dia-shui, potent as mating musk was, even detectable to an ooman, he wasted no time in reactivating his thermal vision to find his quarry. Sure enough, posted up in the boughs of a towering cottonwood was Mara’khen, intently watching the door the little female had just gone through.

For the briefest moment, T’ai’ja felt a sort of sorrow fill his chest at the sight of his former friend. Mara’khen’s sandy red and brown hide was marred with more scars than he remembered, some still fresh from the beatings he endured during his escape. His armor was scuffed, dirty, and dented in places. His thermal netting was torn in places, and his Blooding mark on his biomask was struck through with a jagged scratch, a visible sign of his fall from grace. For a moment, the arbiter felt bad seeing him in such a state. They had known each other since… Always. Their mothers were friends, they were even conceived around the same time, born in the same ward, brought up in the nursery together, trained in the same kehrite, went on the same kiande amedha chiva, everything.

And yet, even after all of that… Here they were: The hunter and the hunted. Honored and honorless.

How did it come to this?

T’ai’ja shook himself, the many rings on his long tresses clinking lightly against each other and his armor. Regardless of who Mara’khen was or who he thought he was, he would afford him no mercy, just as he afforded the ooman child none. He was still in a state of shock, somewhat, learning that someone he knew was capable of such evil. But now, seeing him so fixated on another potential victim, so much so that he didn’t even detect the arbiter, or perhaps didn’t care, he was starting to see it more and more.

How many signs had he seen in his old friend and simply dismissed or ignored? How many victims had suffered at his hands and simply gone undiscovered? He doubted the little one was the first.

No matter. He shall be punished accordingly.

Leaping from his perch and crossing to the sturdy oak, T’ai’ja dug his feet into the branch beneath him and launched himself at the other hunter. Mara’khen let out a roar of fury as they tumbled to the forest floor. T’ai’ja unsheathed his dah’kte and attempted to drive them into the other’s chest, but Mara’khen growled and slashed him in the side with a dah’Nagara he had been holding, slamming his armored knee into the arbiter’s gut to throw him off and punch him in the face.

Mara’khen clicked rapidly, mocking him. “They sent you after me? Did you forget I know all your tricks, mei’hswei?” T’ai’ja snarled, moving in for another slash. This time, the edge of the curved blades caught on the edge of the other’s ripped thermal netting, making yet another tear in the wiring and grazing the hide of his bicep. Mara’khen’s mandibles spread wide under his mask, irritated.

“Never call me that again, Tarei’hasan! We ceased to be family the moment you chose to break the code!” Mara’khen just chittered at his former brother’s outrage, weaving out of harm’s way once, only to run straight into a second, surprise attack from T’ai’ja’s own dagger he had drawn while on the ground. The Bad Blood then slashed at the arbiter’s abdomen, blade slicing through air when he danced out of range.

They were in near-perfect sync. T’ai’ja had to admit, he had forgotten how skilled the other was. Mara’khen was one of the few who could match him in skill, an elite in his own right once, a specialist against kiande amedha and other insectoid beasts of the galaxy. He was one of the few mortals who could challenge a Sentinel caste alone and live to tell the tale.

T’ai’ja snarled, twirling the dagger over his wrist, dancing between every rapid strike to the best of his ability, occasionally taking a strike himself as he waited for another opening. Gods, when was the bastard so fast?! Then again, those acid-bleeding hell spawns were, too, so he shouldn’t have been so surprised Mara’khen had learned to keep up with them over the years…

Mara’khen chittered. “Come, now, T’ai’ja! Have you truly forgotten all the good old days? When we were pups, racing through the jungle just to prove who was faster, up into the trees, and over the rivers. You never did believe it when I won. Always said I was a cheater.” He let out another rumbling, mocking laugh.

“And my younger self was perhaps wiser than I am now, to have seen your treacherous streak so soon!” T’ai’ja snapped, leaping against a tree to push off and get some height over the other’s head, finally landing a solid strike in his shoulder, glossy steel sliding into the narrow gap between his chest plate and pauldron. Mara’khen roared, a deep, guttural sound that would even the largest of Earth’s predators running. A spray of bioluminescent blood gushed from the wound, running down his hide in rivulets and staining his armor and the arbiter’s hands and dagger. T’ai’ja pulled the weapon free, allowing yet more blood to flow freely, and drove it in again, and again, until Mara’khen wrenched him from his back and threw him hard into a tree.

“Enough of this!” The Bad Blood snarled, mandibles flaring wide beneath his mask. “Nothing, not even you or your precious code, will stop me from taking what I desire! Your so-called ‘honor’ only limits you, old friend. You must abandon such useless constraints if you wish to truly live!”

T’ai’ja recovered quickly, sheathing his dagger and retrieving the ki’cti-pa from his back. The spear extended in a flash of silver, the barbed tip glinting menacingly in the dim moon rays. “Is that what you call this, ‘living?!’ What about the ooman you tortured? What about her life?!” T’ai’ja slid into an offensive stance, priming his spear to impale Mara’khen in the stomach. The Bad Blood chuffed, unmoved. “What of it? These creatures are beneath us, T’ai’ja. It shouldn’t bother you what happens to them.” Mara’khen took a step closer, unperturbed by the challenging stance. “I heard you. You found the little female appealing, too. But no, I’m the scum here.”

The arbiter shook his head, ornaments rattling again. “I would never force her to mate with me, keep her hostage for months, just to starve and beat her whenever she displeased me! That is what you have done, Mara’khen! To a child! A pup! Would you not be outraged if she were one of ours?”

The other only rumbled in displeasure, backing away and drawing his h’sai-de, a blade T’ai’ja recognized. It was one of the oldest weapons Mara’khen owned, dating all the way back to their days as Young Bloods. It had served him faithfully over the years on many a hunt, as T’ai’ja had witnessed firsthand. The Bad Blood was an excellent swordsman.

Paya damn it all.

“Such a useless sentiment, but not unsurprising, I suppose.” Mara’khen sneered. “You were always so self-righteous. Arbitration certainly was your calling, wasn’t it?” T’ai’ja growled in response. “Or, you just never had a conscience.”

Mara’khen trilled, and T’ai’ja could only imagine him smiling behind his biomask, tossing the sword from one hand to another in a seemingly careless fashion, but T’ai’ja knew better. No one was more lethal with a sword than the dishonored hunter.

T’ai’ja arched his back and spread his arms wide, flashing his claws and roaring in challenge. Mara’khen returned the gesture, and the hunters lunged at each other. The clanging and shriek of metal on metal and the growls of fury on both sides were the only sounds to fill the forest, for not even the wind dared to interrupt their duel.

Just as anticipated, Mara’khen was a force to be reckoned with, so quick and unpredictable that even T’ai’ja, after decades of knowing and training with him, found it was a challenge to keep pace with him. Blood spilled on both sides, splattering against the trees and damp earth, dyeing the bark and soil vivid green. T’ai’ja had little control over the direction of their battle, having to devote all of his energy to blocking and parrying, and sneaking in a strike. So, when he suddenly realized they had moved far too close to the tree line -and by extension the ooman’s dwelling- he was initially confused, before it hit him.

The scum was going after the female anyway, even with T’ai’ja actively engaging him. Gods, he probably planned on using her or one of the others as a living shield once he got his paws on them.

T’ai’ja attempted to redirect the fight back into the trees, as much as he hated fighting in enclosed spaces, by aiming the barbed end of his spear at the other’s shoulder and firing. But Mara’khen caught the projectile in the split second between then and impact, and proceeded to bury it in the arbiter’s thigh just above his knee, and slashed him in the abdomen. T’ai’ja roared, furious and in pain, while Mara’khen stood over him, trilling.

“You wouldn’t dare.” The wounded hunter gritted out. He didn’t need to explain as Mara’khen dug his claws into the flesh at the back of his neck and hauled him further out into the clearing, dumping him unceremoniously at the end of the little cobbled footpath. His foot came down on T’ai’ja’s wrist gauntlet, shattering the device and denting his armor. The force of it deactivated his camouflage, and the Bad Blood followed moments later, spotted in the eye-catching blood their species was known for, some of it his and some of it not.

Mara’khen crossed his arms over his chest, chittering happily. Gloating bastard. “What do you know of mating an ooman, T’ai’ja?”

T’ai’ja just growled, electing not to dignify such a foul inquiry with his response.

“I didn’t think so.” Mara’khen continued, shaking his long tresses. The ornamental rings of status had been taken when he was exiled, as were his trophies, but he surprisingly had replaced them in that short time with rings of carved bone instead. T’ai’ja didn’t want to think about where he may have gotten them from. “Why don’t I demonstrate for you, mei’hswei?” The optics of his mask flashed, and Mara’khen’s mating musk suddenly assaulted his nose again, full force.

T’ai’ja growled in warning and began rising to his feet, only to be kicked in the mask hard enough to shatter it. Mara’khen leaned down and ripped it away, tossing the ruined piece of equipment into the lake, purring, before sauntering past the downed arbiter and making his way up to ooman’s residence.

No no no no no no no no-!

“Mara’khen, stop right now!” T’ai’ja’s demands went unanswered, though, and he fumbled like an unblooded pup to find the barb and pull it free, hissing at the pain in his shin. He wouldn’t be going anywhere with it buried in his thigh. Only for the crash of splintering wood and metal to hit his ears along with the blood-curdling screams of five terrified, and very confused oomans.

Chapter Text

The sharp crack of splintering wood and the screech of metal were all Leon heard before screams filled his ears. He didn’t even have time to turn around before something big and tough, like a hand covered in some kind of leather glove, wrapped around his neck and hauled him off the couch, bringing him face-to-mask with a massive, beastly thing with weird dreadlock-like appendages decorated in bone rings growing out of its head. A scuffed, scratched mask covered its face, segments of armor adorned its chest and arms, with a belt loaded with so many weapons you would think it was headed off to war. A strange, torn netting not unlike fishnets formerly covered its brown and red body, though it now hung in tatters, and what could only be described as a miniature turret rested dormant on its shoulder. Green rivulets of something dripped from what looked like wounds scattered at various points over its body.

Another scream pierced the air, and it wasn’t until the thing squeezed harder and cut off his air supply that he realized it was him. It made a strange sound, and Leon realized with a shudder it was the same repetitive clicking he heard outside, lower and more aggressive, but still very clearly it.

“Charlie, hurry!” Kiara shrieked behind him. Leon’s hands shot up to grab the thing’s armored wrist and fingers, as if he could pry himself out of its grip. It made another clicking sound, and Leon realized it must have been laughing at him. He could hear his brother shoving things in the closet, before rushing footsteps emerged from the closet and stopped in the living room doorway.

“Holy shit…” Charlie breathed. Leon could hear the fear in his voice, even as the girls rushed to get behind him, urging him to shoot it in the leg or something, just get it off him, and moments later, he heard the tell-tale double click of a shotgun barrel being cocked back, and a deafening boom went off. The monster’s roar could be heard even as Leon’s ears rang, and it tossed him aside like a rag doll, sending him flying indignantly into an old landscape painting on the wall. Leon wheezed from the impact, slumping forward, unable to move despite how hard he tried to make his limbs cooperate.

The world was a smear of various colors, with the furniture and the room’s inhabitants reduced to fuzzy blobs moving around in front of him. He could hardly tell what way was up, just that he had to get up, he couldn’t stay here and let that thing kill his only brother, Rochelle, Kiara, Chase… Sure, they weren’t besties or anything, but Leon still didn’t want to see them die to… Whatever the fuck that thing was.

Distantly, Leon heard the sound of something heavy and distinctly metal hit the floor beside him. Despite his impaired vision, he felt around until his fingers made contact with a long, sharp metal something with a barbed end. He grabbed the thing and pulled it towards him, blinking rapidly to get rid of the lingering blur in his eyes. He still couldn’t hear, either.

With the object now in sight, Leon could see it was an old harpoon gun, big enough to fit to a boat somewhere, but still small enough to use manually. He remembered seeing it on the way in, even remarking that the owner must have been a hardcore fisherman to keep something like that around. Or just a weirdo.

Well, if it still worked, he might just owe the old man one hell of an expensive drink. Forever.

But as Leon began dragging himself off the floor, the beast decided it was done playing and threw Chase off somewhere into the dining room, where a legendary crash confirmed he landed on and broke the old oak table. It then grabbed Charlie by the throat and slammed him into the wall beside them, sending the shotgun skidding across the floor and out of reach. Leon couldn’t see either of the girls, but he imagined they were hiding just out of view, probably on Charlie’s suggestion. He didn’t blame them. What could they possibly do against this behemoth?

With the boys out of the way, the creature’s attention returned to Leon, and that god-awful smell assaulted his senses for a second time. God, what was that? It had to be coming from it, but why?! Did it mean something?! Whatever it was, it was making his nose and throat burn.

The creature grabbed Leon by the back of his shirt and hauled him over its shoulder like a sack of flour, making him groan in pain from the pressure of its weird, spiky armor digging into his stomach, but he chose to ignore it in favor of dedicating what little energy he had toward keeping his hold on the harpoon gun. It didn’t seem to notice it, or it just didn’t think he was a threat, armed or not. No one else had been, after all, and Leon was easily the smallest one in the cabin!

It took him outside and dumped him unceremoniously on the ground with a thud. Leon groaned, slurring curses under his breath, and attempted to sit up. He caught sight of yet another hulking creature just like his attacker, this one a darker brown or black with silver armor, it was difficult to tell, especially since the world just started spinning again.

Leon’s efforts to right himself were suddenly interrupted as the first creature pinned him to the ground with one hand and gripped the back of his shirt again with the other. The sound of tearing cloth hit Leon’s ears, followed by the chill of night air on his bare back and shoulder blades, too cold to just be coming through his shirt and binder. An icy chill settled in the pit of his stomach.

I was wrong. It’s not gonna kill me…

His shorts and underwear were next, the tougher jean material taking a bit more effort to rip, and leaving red marks on his thighs where they were torn away.

… It’s gonna rape me!

Before it could, the second creature gave a mighty roar, something between pain and fury, and launched itself at the first, soaring over Leon’s head and barreling into the first, pinning it down and beating it mercilessly. Leon, still gripping onto the harpoon gun for dear life, began pulling himself away from the fight, just far enough he wouldn’t get trampled underfoot once they inevitably got up to fight some more, and managed to roll over on his back to aim the bladed projectile with trembling hands. He only had one shot… He couldn’t take them both out, but since he had to choose, he figured he’d rather take his chances with the other guy than lie at the mercy of the first freak.

Time to pick your poison. What death will be worse?

His Kenu’s voice echoed in his head, warm and rough and comforting, a shadow of the weekends they spent in the woods hunting, even though he wasn’t exactly the biggest fan. Keep your hands steady, keep your target in your sight, take a deep breath, squeeze the trigger just so…

The monsters staggered back to their feet, grappling. The first one was blocked by the other’s head.

I’m trying, Kenu, I am…

They were turning now, each trying to wrestle the other into submission. He could see at this angle that the darker one had a thick stream of that weird green blood oozing down its leg, just above the knee. He didn’t bother focusing on either’s face, he didn’t care what they looked like, he just needed an opening around its neck…

… And when the time is right, fire.

In a flash, the red one went to turn, and those dreadlock-like appendages lifted from around its neck for the briefest moment. Metal sang as it sliced through the air, and the barbed end of the short harpoon sank deep into its tough flesh, far more effective than it may have first appeared, looking at the thing. It staggered, thrown off by the sudden impact, snarling and spitting in pain. Dancing around its current opponent, it reached into its belt and retrieved some kind of short spear and aimed the serrated tip directly at him as if to fire it like a rifle.

Instinctually, Leon began scrambling away, abandoning the now useless harpoon gun, only for that blade to fly through the air and bury itself deep into his chest. Red blood quickly pooled out around the metal edge, dripping down his chest and abdomen and soon pooling under him, growing wider and darker by the minute. Leon could only manage a few shallow, wheezing breaths before everything went dark.

—

“No!” T’ai’ja snarled, whipping around just in time to see the barbed end of Mara’khen’s ki’cti-pa bury itself in the little female’s chest. He hardly even had time to acknowledge that she’d managed to somehow shoot him first, and with remarkable accuracy for someone who was just thrown around like a hound’s chew toy and probably struggling to hear themselves think. Mara’khen spat curses at her as he felt the blood running down his neck.

“Filthy mongrel…” The Bad Blood growled, roared again as he gripped the short, silver projectile she fired from his neck. “What a waste of time.”

T’ai’ja was on him in an instant, grabbing the miniature spear and driving it deeper into the other’s neck until he heard bone begin to crack. He always found it remarkable how the smallest point of pressure could shatter even the strongest materials, from steel to bone, and this little blade was perfect for just that. The arbiter drove it deeper until his hand met Mara’khen’s skin, where he pulled it out and stabbed it in again, several times in several places, until the Bad Blood’s gurgling protests ceased, his vocal cords severed. It was a sloppy move for one so experienced, but he didn’t particularly care about making an efficient kill. Mara’khen deserved to suffer for this and so, so much more.

“Farewell, mei’hswei.” T’ai’ja sneered, drawing his wrist blades again and tearing through what remained of the disgraced hunter’s neck until his hand met the bone of his spine and pulled, hard, relishing in the glorious tear of ligament, tendons, and intervertebral discs as he claimed his newest trophy. Once a respected hunter, he is now the most recent head to be added to his wall.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

T’ai’ja pinned the head to his belt and scooped up the Bad Blood’s mask, clicking in disdain. He would have to recover his ruined mask, later, and for no better reason than to make sure no oomans found it. And with his camouflage out of order, he couldn’t afford to go without a biomask, lest he run into any more humans and reveal himself.

Damn you, Mara’khen… Rot in the Void, scum…

It took a moment to adjust to the new mask, retrieving the special dissolving agent from his belt and pouring it over the rest of Mara’khen’s body, where it degraded in mere moments and left nothing but a dark patch where it once lay. Good. Now there would be no especially damning evidence either of them was here. Except for the destroyed dwelling and his mask, but once he retrieved it, the rest would likely be attributed to some wild animal.

A low groan behind him reminded him of the poor little female behind him, and T’ai’ja whirled around only to see through the mask’s infrared vision that the ooman still had not just a heat signature, but a pulse.

Somehow, she was alive.

T’ai’ja’s mandibles clicked rapidly, hardly daring to hope it wasn’t too late. T’ai’ja was considered to be… Oddly sensitive for his kind. Yautja were a proud people and valued their honor above all, and so obeyed the strict laws of honor when on the hunt. As an arbiter, T’ai’ja was expected to be the very picture of honor and respect, and anyone who knew him would say as much. But they would also say he was unbelievably strange for allowing himself to be vulnerable and approachable, of all things, to outsiders.

Something of an ‘open book,’ as the saying went, always willing and even eager to accept someone new or do what he believed to be the right thing when possible. It was unheard of for his kind.

But today, it might just save a life.

T’ai’ja spent only a moment examining the injured female where she lay, confirming that she was, in fact, alive, with just the faintest breaths leaving her parted lips and a weak thrum in her chest where her heart fought to stay alive. She lost so much blood, far too much for her species’ medical technology to be of any use now.

His medicine, on the other hand…

The arbiter scooped her up, trilling when she moaned in pain again and mindful of the spear tip still lodged in her chest. He hated leaving it there, but she would only bleed out faster if he removed it. “Stay strong, kha’bj-te dtou,” he murmured, a deep purr rumbling in his chest, a reflex intended to provide comfort. “I won’t let you die today.”

Chapter Text

The first thing that registered was the pain.

Burning, throbbing pain centered in his chest and spreading through the rest of his body. His arms and legs were completely numb, with that tell-tale pins-and-needles feeling starting where the throbbing pain ended and carried through the rest of his body.

Leon could feel hands, big hands, not unlike the monster from before, pressing something really fucking cold down in the center of his chest. It was like getting stabbed with an icicle, and it didn’t let up any more than the burning, causing two opposing forces to collide with their own special brands of misery. He wanted to scream, but his throat wouldn’t work.

What the hell was happening to him?

The pressure on his chest suddenly let up, and the hands took his wrist instead, pushing what felt like a giant needle into his veins. God, he hated needles, always had, always would. When he was six or eight, he had to get his blood drawn. He couldn’t really remember, but he was so tiny back then that the nurse kept blowing the vein. It wasn’t really her fault, but it hurt like a bitch, and by the time it was over, Leon decided he’d had enough of doctors’ offices for the rest of his life.

He would gladly take that over this.

Something, some kind of IV drip, maybe, was inserted into the vein, and moments later, some kind of warm liquid began pumping in through the tube, and feeling slowly began returning to his fingers and toes, followed by his lower legs and arms, until he almost felt normal. Leon tried to raise his free hand and remove the tubing, but his wrist was pressed down by the bigger set of hands again.

“Stay.” A voice, low and guttural but not unkind, urged him in broken English. “You will… Be healed.”

Healed? Was he in the hospital? Was he just imagining all of this? He was always an easy fainter, maybe he passed out on the couch, and everything had been some horrible lucid nightmare. But if that was the case, then… Who was talking to him now?

The hand released him, gently, to refocus on the IV, and the pain in his chest slowly began to ease to a dull ache. Leon let out a low groan, hearing the harsh rasp in his voice. He sounded like his old high-school algebra teacher, like he had been smoking a pack for thirty years straight. His throat was dry, his head felt weird, floaty almost, like he had woken up from a good nap.

Slowly, tentatively, Leon’s eyes blinked open, and he was met with a circular, vaulted ceiling comprised of dull, gray, metal paneling. Warm light that seemed to have no real source filled the room, maybe the lights were on the walls? He still couldn’t sit up, despite the sensation having returned to his limbs.

Carefully, he turned his head to the right, to the arm with the tube in it, where the stranger continued their work. Even with his vision blurry, Leon could make out the hulking shape of the second, darker creature from the cabin, neon green blood still staining its skin and that glossy silver armor. It was masked again. Leon couldn’t really remember seeing its face before, he was too focused on getting a clear shot, but he remembered it had been missing. The mask it wore now didn’t seem to fit with the rest of its armor, though, the bronze on silver sticking out like a mismatched sock.

The other guy’s gear had been bronze, though. Is that where it got it from? Did it kill the other monster and steal its mask? Why? Why were they fighting in the first place? Why were they at the cabin? Why was it healing him now when it had no obligation to do so?

So many questions, and yet he lacked the voice to ask them.

It held the tube in his arm steady with surprising care, as if aware of the damage it could cause. Something glowing and green fed through the tubing from some kind of container overhead, steadily feeding it into his bloodstream. It took a moment longer for him to realize it was blood. Not human blood, but its blood. Or at least the blood of its species, whatever that was. There was also a new mark on his chest, just between his breasts: A pink star of newly-grown flesh, muscle, and tissue where that spear tip landed, clean and shiny as if it were years old. Was that the burning he felt?

A wet cough suddenly left Leon’s throat, and he felt himself start choking. The dark creature made a trilling sound, almost like a surprised cat, before it reached under him and propped him up so he could cough whatever it was up, a deep purring sound rumbling in its chest. Leon found himself holding onto its shoulders as he leaned over the side of the table to hack up some kind of clear mucus onto the floor, before his airways were finally clear enough to breathe again.

“You… Okay?” Came the voice from before, rumbling like a cat mid-purr. Leon realized it was coming from the creature beside him. He whipped around to stare at it, wide-eyed and confused, but slowly nodded. He was okay, but he still couldn’t talk yet. “Can’t speak?” It asked. Again, Leon nodded before letting out another wet cough that seemed to finally unclog his throat.

Now upright, Leon noted with some displeasure that he was still very, very naked, covered in bruises, dirt, and red stains left over from almost bleeding out. His hair somehow reached just past his shoulders now, which should have been impossible, and the rest of his body hair had grown out, too. He looked like he hadn’t shaved anywhere in a whole year.

“W’the fuck…?” He rasped, reaching down to feel the thick, coarse curls growing over his skin, and stopped just above the dark thatch of hair concealing his cunt. The creature trilled beside him, as if pleased with his discovery. “Ew…”

“Healthy.” It chirped, undeniably pleased by the notion. The gears in Leon’s head turned for a long moment before he realized it was also talking about his hair. He narrowed his eyes and hugged his legs up to his chest to preserve his non-existent modesty. How long had this thing just had… Complete access to him like this?

“What’re you looking at?” His tone was clipped, guarded, as if he were warning it not to try anything stupid. He already shot the other one in the neck, and while he had no reason to believe this one meant harm -if anything, it saved him here and was the whole reason he got that shot in the first place- he wasn’t about to get comfortable or let it get any ideas. Jason hadn’t even seen him naked yet, and he was all but married to the guy!

It tilted its head, the purring only getting louder, before it turned its attention back to the IV as if nothing were amiss. Looking up, Leon could properly see that the little container housing the luminescent fluids was almost empty now, which should mean the tube would be coming out soon. Good. Even with his… Savior, taking as much care as possible, it still hurt a lot. Clearly it wasn’t meant to go into a human.

After a time, the green blood stopped flowing, the source depleted, and the dark creature did remove the IV, with far more caution than any doctor Leon had ever met, before it applied some kind of salve to the opening, and Leon watched in astonishment as the burning sensation returned briefly, followed by the cold, and it closed before his very eyes.

Well. That answers that.

When his hand was released, he pulled it over his knees as well, still eyeing the dark creature suspiciously as it took a step back and dipped its head, as if apologizing for the comment. Leon’s brows knitted together, confused. He watched as it retreated to a weird, curved table behind them and grabbed what looked very much like a fluffy blanket with tawny gold and brown stripes and draped it over his shoulders.

“U-uh… Thanks…” He murmured awkwardly, pulling the material tighter around himself. It trilled again, before suddenly picking him up bridal-style and setting him on his feet. Leon didn’t even realize how godforsaken tall that exam table was, but he really shouldn’t have been surprised, considering it was obviously not built for a human either.

“Safe now.” It clicked. Leon couldn’t help but wonder what its mouth must have looked like to make that sound. “Bad Blood… Dead.”

Bad Blood… He had to be talking about the other one, right? “You mean the guy you beat the shit out of? He’s dead now?” It nodded, still making those trilling sounds. It was surprisingly cute for such a hulking creature.

“Lou-dte kaled tou hulij-bpe. Crazy little female… Good shot.” There was an undeniable satisfaction in the statement, giving Leon the sense it was genuinely impressed with his accuracy. A little smile tugged at his lips, but he refrained from showing his teeth. Showing teeth tended to be a sign of hostility in nature, it was one of the many things that made humans such oddities on Earth, as they did it as a sign of contentment. Leon didn’t feel like testing his luck with this guy, though. But it had been a damn good shot, all things considered.

“Yeah. Too bad he was, too.” His fingers traced the edge of his new scar under the blanket, swallowing hard at the strange feeling of scar tissue that didn’t use to be there, thick and smooth, almost like a thin layer of dried wax. This was his second major body scar, now. “Piece of shit…”

It shook its head, growled lowly in a manner not unlike a displeased lion, and Leon watched in fascination as its long dreadlock-like appendages swayed, the shiny silver rings and ornaments decorating them clicking with the movement. Those things were interesting on principle, considering they looked a lot like really thick hairs or even flexible quills, but were clearly something else entirely. Were they sensory organs? Like whiskers? The science-y dweeb side of Leon’s mind begged to know, but he decided against asking so as not to sound rude. This guy saved his life. Interrogating it about its anatomy was no way to say ‘thank you.’

It said something, what sounded like a name and definitely some variation of ‘shit.’ Seemed they agreed, then. “Who was that, anyway? Was he, like, a criminal or something?” Again, it nodded and pointed to a marking on its chest plate he hadn’t noticed before: Three dots arranged in a triangle with two arrows crossing in the center. It looked a little like a skull and crossbones. Or some kind of royal crest.

“... Uhm, you… You catch criminals?”

Another pleasant trill indicated he was right. “I am… T’ai’ja. Yautja Arbiter. Honor enforcer.”

Leon blinked up at it -T’ai’ja, apparently- trying to wrap his head around that pronunciation. It sounded cool, a guttural sound that wouldn’t sound so out of place as a part of one of Lovecraft’s ‘ancient languages.’ “T… Asia? T-Asia? T’ai’ja.”

Another purr rumbled in T’ai’ja’s chest, undeniably cat-like, now. How could something so massive and powerful be so unreasonably cute? He saw this guy get down with the red one, he was a force to be reckoned with, yet he was far less like an otherworldly warrior and more like a scaly house cat, purr and all.

Leon offered another grin, still careful not to show his teeth. “T’ai’ja. Cool. I’m Leon.” T’ai’ja cocked his head to one side, again, so similar to a cat, it was difficult not to smile more.

“Leon…” The word was unfamiliar on T’ai’ja’s tongue, taking on that same purring trill as the rest of his speech -actually, was T’ai’ja even a male? “Female has… Male name…” He seemed to be more thinking out loud than actually asking a question, making Leon shift on his feet.

This would be a good time to correct the ‘female’ thing, but… Did this guy’s people even have a concept of being gay and trans and whatnot? If they did, there was no way they called it the same thing, humans couldn’t even agree on what to call it! His grandfather’s people referred to people like him as ‘two-spirited,’ meanwhile, much of the modern world and his own parents called it a delusion and a bid for attention, all the while Leon never did anything to draw attention to it besides cut his hair and dress a little more masculine most of the time.

So, Leon decided to settle for the simplified version, praying it would make sense and possibly ring a bell. “Uhm… I-I am female, biologically and all, but… I live as a male, and have a male name and stuff.” He swallowed hard. “I… I don’t know if that makes sense…”

God dammit… How did his life bring him to a point where he’s explained his gender identity to what has to be a fucking alien, draped in a weird space blanket, completely naked, after said alien has seen him completely naked for what was likely hours?

Someone kill him…

Apparently, it did make sense, though. “Yin’tekai bhu’ja. Different… Soul. Still honored.” T’ai’ja rumbled, pleased they were now on the same page. Leon blinked up at him for a second, astounded. So, it really wasn’t just humans straying from the norm, huh? Even if they didn’t have the same understanding of it, this guy’s species must do it enough for there to be a term for it.

And it sounded surprisingly like the old definition of his grandfather’s people…

“Y-yeah. That.” Leon assured, nodding. “Humans are kinda… Weird about it. It’s one of those dumb things we’re willing to get aggressive over, what someone else calls themselves, and all.” A growl rose in T’ai’ja’s throat at the mention of hostilities, but Leon assuaged his concerns quickly. He wasn’t sure why the big guy was so concerned for him, they had met not even a day before, but it was oddly sweet in a way he couldn’t quite name but found he didn’t mind at all. “I’m fine, no one’s ever hurt me, people just really suck to be around, sometimes.”

Yeah, he wasn’t about to mention the fact that people have tried before. Hell no.

There was a long moment of silence, where T’ai’ja slowly reached forward and carefully traced his claw over the curve of Leon’s soft cheek, curious and explorative. Like he was examining something delicate and precious. Leon felt heat flood his face and flinched away, now very tempted to pull the blanket up over his head and hide from the rest of the world. Not even Jason touched him like that before! And while he logically knew the action was nothing more than the result of someone much, much bigger than him taking care to avoid inflicting yet more injuries, the gentleness still had his heart stuttering in his chest and left him uncertain as to what to do with himself, now.

T’ai’ja seemed to mistake his fluster for fear, though, and Leon blinked down at him owlishly as he quickly backed off and knelt at his feet -which only put them at eye level- with his head bowed low. An apology if he’d ever seen one.

Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god-

“No! Y-you didn’t do anything wrong! I-” Come on, damn it, spat it out! You didn’t even stutter like this when Jason asked you out the first time! “I-I was just surprised, is all. You don’t have to do… That. Really.” Leon plopped down to his knees himself, once again putting him just above T’ai’ja’s midriff, still blushing furiously. After a moment, he reached out, slowly, and took T’ai’ja’s massive, rough hand in his. The sheer size difference between them was ridiculous. T’ai’ja’s hands could easily circle his hips and still have his fingers overlap…

Nope! No, ending that train of thought right now! That one’s never leaving the station! Nope, nuh-uh, not gonna happen! C’mon, brain, get with the program!

T’ai’ja’s thick fingers curled over the back of Leon’s hand, careful, making sure his long, black claws didn’t scrape the skin there, and pulled more of Leon’s arm out from under the blanket, making the smaller human squeak. He had completely forgotten just how filthy he was, but looking down at his arm now, he grimaced.

“You… Wouldn’t have a shower somewhere in this place, would you?”

T’ai’ja let out a rapid clicking sound, which Leon realized after a moment was laughter. “Sei-i,” he chirped, and Leon assumed that must have been a ‘yes,’ since he once again found himself scooped up, blanket and all, in the dark alien’s massive, powerful arms like a doll and being taken out the door.

—

Such a curious little thing, this ooman was.

A female living as a male -a different soul, as his people referred to it- skin somehow softer and smoother than the hunter could have possibly imagined, even from the brief touch he was allowed, dark hair now long enough to brush slender shoulders thanks to the blood transfusion and newly acquired rapid reconstitution, thick and shiny and smooth like silk. Big blue eyes regarded him with some awe, some uncertainty, but still chose to trust him.

The ooman -Leon- fit in his arms perfectly, light as the air itself, impossibly adorable with the way he squeaked when his feet left the floor, scrambling to hold the blanket T’ai’ja gave him closer around his bare form.

When T’ai’ja first brought him aboard, he wasted no time in bringing him to the medical bay to be healed. His attention was entirely devoted to the gaping wound in Leon’s chest, only giving the rest of his body a quick once-over to confirm he had no other serious injuries. Several hours and a few blood bags later, and by the gods, the little maniac did it. T’ai’ja was hesitant to leave his side in all that time, only departing briefly to deposit Mara’khen’s skull in his trophy room to clean later. He doubted Leon would want to see it when he woke up. It was better to leave it elsewhere, and probably a good idea to get something for his guest to cover himself with, given how sensitive oomans were about nudity.

Now, Leon stared at the arched metal walls around them as if he had never seen anything more incredible in all his life. T’ai’ja couldn’t help but trill in pride. His ship was a little on the older side, perfectly functional, but dated compared to some. Vintage was the word, he believed. But it was his father’s ship, a gift he received after his chiva, and so held a special place in the arbiter’s heart, much like a treasured weapon or trophy might. The walls were dull bronze, the panels sculpted to resemble twisting branches and various plants and animals, with pieces of cut glass illuminated by lights resting in various spots. A vast network of characters and shapes etched into the metal, all telling their own story. Warm light danced over the curved steel, almost giving it a golden shine.

He always did like his ship’s design, and seeing someone else admire it virtually had him preening on the inside. He couldn’t wait to show off his trophies later.

It didn’t take long to arrive at the hot spring door. T’ai’ja pressed the button on the wall beside it, and the metal slot slid open with a hiss of hydraulics. Steam and sweet-smelling oils permeated the air within, flooding out to fill the surrounding hall. Leon coughed a little over his shoulder, muttered something about the smell being ‘surprisingly strong,’ as they stepped inside, the door sliding closed behind them.

The hot spring wasn’t that big, a pool set deep into the floor with several openings in the floor to fill it with warm water. Ledges were carved into the walls for younglings and parents with pups to sit on. Those would serve Leon just fine.

“Whoa…” Leon murmured. T’ai’ja set the little ooman on his feet again, watching in amusement as he toed the edge of the pool, just barely dipping his toes in the warm water. Compared to Leon, the spring looked like a great lake. T’ai’ja chittered a little. So impressed by something so mundane… It was endearing.

“Clean.” T’ai’ja purred, reaching out to tug lightly on the blanket. “Not… Helpful.”

Leon’s cheeks turned pink again, and he looked away, suddenly shy. “N-no, I guess it wouldn’t be…” His voice was hardly audible, even to T’ai’ja’s sensitive hearing. Who would have thought one brave enough to shoot a full-grown Yautja warrior was so soft-spoken? Not to say he didn’t enjoy this gentle side of the little ooman, but he was eager to see more of the furious, audacious creature from the forest. The one who dared shoot his alien assailant instead of running away, all the while having no idea if he would even be safe with T’ai’ja at that point.

Leon didn’t just make an effort to live, he made an effort to at least die with his honor.

Slowly, gaze still averted, Leon shrugged off the old fur, folding it over one arm and holding it up to his chest to cover his slight bust, enough of the extra material hanging slack to still cover the dark curls over his mound.

Fighting to keep the thunderous purr from rising in his chest at the sight was easily one of the most difficult battles T’ai’ja had ever been in. If he didn’t know better, he would think he was in the presence of one of the goddess, Kayana’s, handmaids. Gods, maybe he was, and Leon just excelled at trickery. Whatever the case, he found himself more tempted than ever to reach out and feel that soft, plush flesh under his rough hands, but refused to do so as the brunette had given no indication he was interested, let alone wanted to be touched.

Leon took a hesitant step into the water, still reluctant to completely drop the old fur, until T’ai’ja gently took it himself. It was true that bathing while draped in furs was quite an impossible task, regardless of how the hunter felt about the ooman in question. Now totally exposed, Leon’s hands flew to cover himself, and he quickly sank the rest of the way in the water, all the way up to his neck. His face had shifted from pink to bright, blotchy red, still unable to bring himself to look T’ai’ja in the eye.

The black hunter chuffed, stripping himself of most of his armor, sandals, and thermal netting, but decided to keep his loincloth and codpiece, and especially his mask -or, Mara’khen’s mask, technically. After what Mara’khen tried to do, there was no doubt Leon still feared being taken advantage of, and T’ai’ja’s suspicions were confirmed when the foul stench of fear hit his nose.

Quickly, the Yautja’s softer, more comforting purr returned, the sound so deep it sent little ripples through the water as he stepped in himself, purposely making noise so Leon would hear him approaching. His little guest slowly turned to face him, initially taken aback by the sight of the mask, and especially confused when he realized T’ai’ja was still partially dressed. Those soft, big blue eyes blinked up at him with surprise and no small hint of relief. Pity swelled in T’ai’ja’s chest for the little one. No one should have to fear such a violation.

“Dirty. You need… Bath. Badly.” T’ai’ja chirped, lightly splashing water over the brunette’s head. Leon let out a joyous, giggling squeal and swatted back at him instinctually. T’ai’ja wished he could somehow bottle that light, harmonious sound forever and carry it with him always.

“Okay, okay! Uhm… D-do you have shampoo by any chance?”

Chapter Text

Leon had to stifle the little appreciative sounds threatening to pass his lips as T’ai’ja carefully rubbed some sweet-smelling oil into his back. The last thing he needed was to make this otherwise nice little moment painfully awkward.

He wasn’t sure what the stuff was, but it smelled familiar, like coconuts and vanilla, yet he doubted it was made from either of those things. If he weren’t so tired, he would find the idea of an alien species -whatever that was- evolving such a similar scent to some of Earth’s native species to be fascinating, but T’ai’ja had a way of making it difficult to think, with just how goddamn good he was at giving massages.

It wasn’t a sexual thing, it really wasn’t, it was just… Pleasant. Despite his scaly appearance and the deadly hand-to-hand combat he engaged in just hours earlier, his hands were surprisingly smooth, still so careful, rubbing that oil into every nook and cranny he could reach, all while ensuring not to touch anywhere else and overstep. And of course, he was purring. God, he could feel that rumble in his bones, like the best deep-tissue massage ever.

The relief he felt when he saw T’ai’ja hadn’t completely stripped was indescribable, like he just shed a thousand-pound weight from his shoulders. T’ai’ja had, again, given him no reason to fear him, but after what almost happened earlier… Well, Leon wasn’t looking forward to getting in a bathtub naked with him, to be honest. As sweet as T’ai’ja was, there was still so much he didn’t know about him or what the hell happened back there. And quite truthfully, he was a little scared to ask.

Leon had washed himself just fine until this point, with T’ai’ja sitting back in the pool to take care of his own stained flesh or handing Leon a bottle of that fantastic oil to use, though the brunette had caught him staring just a little too long while he was washing his hair. Ultimately, Leon chalked it up to T’ai’ja having a mutual curiosity of their physical differences, especially since the alien didn’t appear to have hair of any kind anywhere. Not like human hair, anyway.

Then, the time came to wash the stains from his back. Leon tried to do it himself, initially, bending his arms over his shoulders and trying fruitlessly to scrub at the smears of dirt clinging to his back, until T’ai’ja offered to help him. And so, there they were.

Leon shifted a little, flexing his tired shoulders and groaning a little. He had perched himself on the edge of the tub and leaned forward to let T’ai’ja work. He almost felt like falling asleep, between the lovely sensation at his back and the sheer exhaustion he still felt from the earlier ordeal, the hard tile was starting to feel more and more comfortable by the minute.

Behind him, T’ai’ja chuffed, amused. “Can’t sleep.” He chastised, gentle as ever. “Not… Done yet. Sleep soon.” Leon still couldn’t get over how an alien could be so damn sweet, when it was hard to find other humans so attentive or considerate.

“I didn’t think I was so tired…” Leon mumbled. The black hunter just trilled, dipping his hands in the water to rinse them of the oil before splashing Leon’s back again, not so much as the first time when he had been teasing earlier, getting it wet and washing away the extra oil that didn’t soak into the skin.

“Mhmm… You’re already done?” The human grumbled, more than a little disgruntled. T’ai’ja let out an airy laugh, trilling, before stepping out of the tub beside him. The splatters of green blood were now completely gone, and the previously fresh wounds littering his shoulders, abdomen, and leg were already closed and healing just fine.

Could his kind heal faster than humans? Was that why he gave Leon their blood? Other than the obvious lack of human blood he had on hand? How were they even biologically compatible enough for that to work? Just getting the wrong blood type in a transfusion could make someone feel a horrible sense of impending doom, give them intense fevers, bloody urine, and a host of other unpleasant -and deadly- symptoms. Leon had felt… None of that since waking up, and presumably, he had been out a while, long enough to get a whole transfusion. And even though he was somewhat aware during the process, his perception of time could have been completely backwards.

Getting a spear through the chest will do that.

With a huff, Leon shelved the thought and reluctantly climbed out of the tub, leaving the all-consuming warmth behind. Irritatingly, he still hadn’t been able to shave, and the feeling of hair bristling along his legs and unmentionables was driving him insane.

What God decided humans needed pubic hair, anyway? It was too thin and sparse to keep them warm or shield their skin from the sun: it produced a bunch of gross, sticky oils that made them feel slimy, and the feeling of it brushing against bare skin personally made Leon feel itchy.

Ugh…

A fresh towel was suddenly deposited on his head, unfurling comically over Leon’s hair and shoulders like an awkward veil. This one was more silver than gold, unlike the first, with dappled, dark grey swirls like a leopard’s spots rather than stripes. Leon let out a huff and wrapped himself in a warm blanket burrito, electing to forgive his body’s useless functions -for now- as T’ai’ja chirped in satisfaction, wiping himself off with another towel on a big bench, not unlike something you would see in a high school locker room. Just… Huge.

“Warm?” The hunter asked, and Leon found himself unable to resist grinning again. There was something so endearing about this hulking, good-natured alien warrior that made it difficult not to smile.

Just… Not with teeth. Just in case.

“Yeah,” Leon nodded, pulling the towel down to drape around his shoulders. “Thanks, T’ai’ja. A-again.”

The hunter purred softly, wringing the last of the water from his long dreads and standing. T’ai’ja made his way to something resembling a giant iPad mounted on the wall, pressed some buttons, and a portion of the wall beside him slid out of place to reveal a long, dark tube. It reminded Leon of the old laundry chute in his apartment complex. The thing had been chained shut since long before he lived there, but he remembered seeing an exterminator climb down it once after the building manager kept getting complaints of rats in the basement.

T'ai’ja dropped the towel he’d been using down the chute, where it slid shut on its own, before pressing some more buttons. The rush of swirling water had Leon turning to see the giant tub draining in record time, taking all the dirt and blood and oils they washed away with it through a big drain in the floor that definitely wasn’t there before. It too closed automatically, and Leon blinked down at the big basin as it slowly began to refill all on its own.

Okay, this had to be the coolest bathroom ever.

“Damn. My bathtub can’t do that.” Leon pouted teasingly. A deep, amused trill from T’ai’ja behind him nearly made the brunette jump out of his skin. He let out an indignant squawk, holding his blanket in a death grip as he whirled around to face the towering hunter. He discovered T’ai’ja kneeling to stand at eye level with him, that gleeful trill fading into the clicking sound he heard earlier at the lake. For such a hulking beast, he was unbelievably quiet.

What was that, anyway? T’ai’ja had already done it several times, and so had the other guy. Did it mean something? It seemed to be a ‘happy sound,’ like in cats, but did it have other meanings based on pitch or frequency?

“That’s… So not funny!” Leon huffed. Embarrassment flooded his cheeks, turning them a blotchy red and pink again as he glared down at the floor as if it personally offended him. “You scared me…”

T’ai’ja chirped again, offering an apologetic -but unconvincing- incline of his head. Leon pursed his lips. “Oh, you are not sorry,” He grumbled. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” The hunter only trilled in amusement -a noticeably higher pitch than the deep, rumbling purr he made earlier- and stood.

“Follow.” He clicked, headed to the arched door again. He waited for Leon’s light, padding footsteps to catch up before smacking the button on the wall to open the thing. Leon jumped a little as the hydraulics went off, bronzed metal sliding flush into the wall as if it were never there to reveal the hall beyond.

The brunette followed the enforcer back down the hall they came from, looking around at the decadent walls around him. He almost felt like Indiana Jones exploring some ancient temple in search of forgotten treasures untold, remixed with an airbrushed version of the Millennial Falcon and Jabba’s Palace. If Han Solo or Luke Skywalker came around the corner, they would have fit right in.

“Uh, T-T’ai’ja?” Leon started as they stepped into what seemed to be the central ‘hub’ of the ship, noting some of the other doors around them: An open doorway that seemed to lead into a kitchen/dining room set up, an important-looking door with a symbol resembling the mark on T’ai’ja’s chest plate, and finally a wider, taller door with a set of tinted windows he couldn’t see through from this distance.

“Where are we going?”

The enforcer didn’t answer right away, instead making his way to one side of the room to a wall panel noticeably lacking in decoration. It looked like the door panels, keypad and all: A cut-out set into the metal waiting to slide away and reveal whatever it was guarding. Instead, T’ai’ja punched a code into the keypad on the wall and, as suspected, the panel slid away. But rather than revealing another space or maybe a big window as its placement might suggest, Leon was greeted with the pale, grinning visage of innumerable skulls mounted on the wall like dishes in a China cabinet.

Leon’s jaw went slack as he stared up at the mortifying display, eyes flicking from one skull to the next, trying to identify what the hell they were. None of them were familiar to him, with all his semi-useless animal knowledge, though some shared bits and pieces of anatomy from animals he did know. A noteworthy example would be the rhino-elephant-Venus flytrap amalgamation whose living state he couldn’t even begin to imagine.

“Whoa…” He murmured, taking a step closer. Then, from the corner of his eye, one skull caught his attention.

This one was fairly large, with a wide, sloping forehead and a severe ridge in place of any eyebrows. Four long, sharp mandibles extended from a wide, protruding jaw like a crab’s, made up its mouth. Several jagged fractures spiderwebbed across its surface, starting from a center point at the forehead and spreading outward in a manner far too perfect to be accidental.

It occurred to the brunette how this skull loosely adhered to T’ai’ja’s proportions, even mimicking the sloping manner of his mask, the sleek crests lining the back in accordance with the rough ridge along the back of the skull’s head. A mask he had yet to remove. Was this what he looked like under there? Of all the potential facial features he could have pictured the enforcer to have… Well, this wasn’t exactly on the list, but he wasn’t surprised it differed so greatly from his own. T’ai’ja was, of course, not a human. It was actually shocking that they shared so many physical traits in the first place.

What were the odds of finding another intelligent, bipedal species with apposable digits capable of simple things like throwing that was completely unrelated to humans? It had to be one in a couple of hundred trillion. All of those traits were what made humans an enigma, even by their own science. It was what allowed them to become the dominant species on Earth, enabling them to chase down prey many times their size and eliminate it safely. Humanity became the most prolific of the planet, not via brute strength or frightening speed, but endurance and sheer force of will. Prey that could become the predators.

Humans. The dominant species… Leon chuckled a little to himself, eliciting a curious trill from T’ai’ja. A human could never pull this off. Not like… What was T’ai’ja, anyway?

“This one,” Leon started, turning back to the alien hunter. “It’s the same species as you, right?”

T’ai’ja hesitated for a moment, clicking what Leon now knew to be mandibles under his mask, before nodding.

“Sei-i. Yautja Bad Blood. How did… You know?”

They’re called Yautja, then. “The silhouette matches your mask,” Leon replied simply, to which T’ai’ja let out a low chuff, evidently satisfied with the human’s deduction skills. He sounded a lot like a higher-pitched tiger, Leon thought. Actually… His name -or the pronunciation he had deemed acceptable for Leon to use- sounded a little like ‘tiger,’ too.

A black tiger… An apex predator, the hunter of hunters…

The equivalent carried a certain elegance.

But it still begged the question.

“So, uh… W-why are you showing this to me? Is there… Something specific you want me to see, or..?” He questioned, before playfully adding, “…Did you just want to show off your collection?”

The hunter perked up a little, emitting a rapid clicking sound not unlike laughter. “Both.” He chirped before inputting yet another code into the keypad, making the lower part of the wall beneath the display case slide into the recesses of the wall.

It revealed a shelf surrounded by what had to be fleshing knives of various sizes and containers of some strange, glowing blue substance plugged into a vacuum-looking thing. He must use this stuff to clean kills, Leon thought. He stepped forward, kneeling to get a closer look at the alien equipment. It was only when his eyes finally scanned over the shelf that he let out a cry of shock and jumped back.

He could feel bile rise in his throat as T’ai’ja rushed to pick him up off the floor, holding him close as he had earlier, purring apologetically and lightly petting his hair in reassurance.

Sitting at the back of the shelf was a head, still dressed in ocher and brown flesh, glassy amber eyes rolled up to show the sclera, eerily familiar dreadlock-like appendages sitting in a pool of luminous green blood was a fresh head. Broken mandibles drooped slack against the shelf, leaving its visceral mouth of razor-sharp teeth and cavernous throat visible. A puncture wound in the side of its mangled neck confirmed its former owner.

—

T'ai’ja expected Leon to react with some alarm and likely disgust at the sight of his trophies, but felt reassurance when the little ooman took a keen interest in the variety of skulls, even picking out the remnants of a Bad Blood the arbiter killed years ago as belonging to the same species as himself.

Of course, T’ai’ja’s trophy wall was nothing to scoff at: adorned with hundreds of prizes from across the galaxy collected over the centuries he spent on the hunt. It was, admittedly, a little smaller than other arbiters’, as he rarely took Bad Blood skulls, finding no honor in their claim. To him, most of them were cowards, opting to save their own hides rather than die in an honorable match. Such pathetic excuses of warriors were unworthy of a place on his wall. A handful still proved themselves deserving of such an honor, though, like the Bad Blood Leon pointed out. And he added them accordingly.

And now… Mara’khen joined them.

The disgraced specialist was vile, undeserving of the air he breathed, but he was a skilled combatant. He stood his ground and fought T’ai’ja, even if he initially ran from Yautja Prime and the execution that awaited him. Perhaps he believed he could goad the arbiter into surrender, or distract him enough to make a crucial mistake and go in for the kill, but he couldn’t wait that long.

No, his lust was too much in the end. Even after he had the arbiter pinned down, rather than going in for the kill, he chose to try to mock him by dishonoring Leon before his very eyes. And Leon refused to simply sit back and endure it. The puncture in the Bad Blood’s neck was evidence of that.

T’ai’ja intended to show Leon the head while it was still fresh and recognizable, then polish it and present it as a courting gift later. In an odd way… Mara’khen was the reason they met in the first place. And the skull would serve as a reminder of how T’ai’ja would always protect him. Oomans were soft, delicate. So easily broken. Especially one as small as Leon. Making the brunette feel safe with him had to be a top priority if they were ever to mate.

Yet it seems he had overestimated Leon’s readiness for such a sight, a low purr rumbling in his throat as he held the shaking ooman closer, long claws gliding through silken hair with the utmost care. The stench of fear had returned, muted compared to earlier in the bath, but just as unpleasant. A mere shadow of some greater inner turmoil.

“Safe now.” T’ai’ja rumbled. He could feel Leon shift against him, the fur pulling tighter around his shivering form as if it alone would ward off the tremors. Regret bloomed in the arbiter’s chest. This was his fault. “Bad Blood… Dead. No harm… Will come to you, now.”

No harm would come to anyone now. Not at Mara’khen’s hands, at least.

After a long moment, Leon let out a shaky breath and looked up at him with those blue eyes, his cheeks dyed a deep red as heat pooled under the skin. He couldn’t quite look the hunter in the eye. The little ooman flustered easily, it seemed.

“I-I’m okay, T’ai’ja. I just… W-wasn’t expecting… That. Y-you can put me down now…” The brunette’s voice was little more than a whisper, the flush of his cheeks only darkening as T’ai’ja’s hold on him tightened ever so slightly before he acquiesced and set him back on his feet.

Pulling his blanket a little tighter around his shoulders, Leon took a few tentative steps forward and leaned down, reaching one trembling hand forward to take the head and hold it up for closer inspection. Try as he might, T’ai’ja still saw the tremors going down Leon’s back as the spine snaked out from the shelf, swinging like a grisly vine.

“Eugh…” Leon gagged, swallowing hard as his soft features contorted in a grimace. “Is this who I think it is?”

T’ai’ja nodded solemnly. “Mara’khen. Bad Blood.”

“Mara’khen.” Leon parroted, frown growing. “What he did at the cabin… He’s done that before to other people, hasn’t he?”

“Sei-i,” The arbiter rumbled, a low growl rising in his throat. “M-di yin'tekai dtou-di zabin. Honorless little pest...”

Just the thought of Mara’khen’s crimes made T’ai’ja’s gut twist in a way no foul-smelling viscera could. That dead, soulless expression on the ooman pup’s face would be seared into his mind for the rest of time. She couldn’t be in the same room as a male, or she would start screaming. His own sister Lil’ka was among those working to heal the poor creature. She described her as ‘living only in body,’ for there was nothing left of her spirit. Not anymore. A few questioned if treating her wounds would do any more than prolong her suffering. Surely a peaceful end would be more merciful. Let the Black Hunter take her, they said. He will deliver her soul to Paya, and she will know peace at last.

Well, now he could only pray they were right.

“… They didn’t survive, did they?”

T’ai’ja trilled gently in confirmation, noting the subtle sag of Leon’s shoulders. His tone, while sad, indicated no shock. As if he already knew the answer and only asked for confirmation. T’ai’ja remembered hearing of oomans -specifically the males- doing similar things for millennia to their own pups and females. His sister had been to Earth several times over the last few centuries, and studied oomans among other sentient species across the galaxy. And her conclusions were scathing.

If the females had any say in breeding, they would have died out centuries ago, she scoffed once. Their males are little more than entitled pups. They demand females wait on them hand and foot like eta and throw tantrums for being denied meaningless things. How such a pathetic species came to dominate an entire planet is beyond me.

“Was it a child?”

T’ai’ja let out a shocked, horrified sound at the new question, pondering for the second time this day if he was perhaps in the presence of some divine being that could read minds, but the drained sigh the little ooman released told him otherwise.

He had, once again… Anticipated it, and was entirely unsurprised by the answer.

“You… Too good at guessing…” The arbiter mumbled, clawed hands curling into tight fists, talons digging into his palms intentionally, willing himself to forget that first time he laid eyes on the miserable child. He found himself doing that a lot lately.

Leon let out a rueful chuckle, depositing the head on the cleaning bench before him, glaring at it. “You just had this… Hesitation about it,” He replied. “Like a piece of you died just knowing what happened.”

The brunette spoke as if he were intimately familiar with the feeling in some capacity. His sister’s words came to him again:

If the females had any say in breeding, they would have died out centuries ago.

Maybe that feeling wasn’t so foreign to his kind…

T’ai’ja came to stand beside him, taking one of Leon’s hands into his own, and gestured to the cracked skull he’d noticed earlier.

“Bad Blood thys’ra… Tainted. Marked… Accordingly.” He huffed, before reaching down to take one of the great knives under the table and pressing it into Leon’s much smaller hand, where it dwarfed his slender palm and fingers. “Mara’khen intended… Dishonor for you. Would you… Like to repay him?”

Leon blinked up at him, incredulous gaze shifting warily from the knife in his hand to the skull on the table. “You mean… Do I wanna skin it?”

T’ai’ja trilled again, and Leon went silent, toying with the blade in his hand, tracing the flat edge with one finger. For a moment, the arbiter feared he overstepped again, until Leon turned back to him, that same determined, stubborn nature from the lake returning.

“I’ve only ever skinned Earth animals.” He admitted, wholly at ease now, as if he never feared the sight in the first place. “Can… Can you show me how?”

Gods, if only Leon knew what such a request meant…

For the next few hours, T’ai’ja guided the brunette in dressing Mara’khen’s skull, which required little of his input in the first place as Leon was perfectly competent to dress a kill, even one as tough as a Yautja. T’ai’ja wondered distantly who taught him. Was it the same person he learned to shoot from? His father? A grandfather? Whoever it was, they taught him well, though he imagined they would be mortified to learn how he was using that knowledge now.

Leon, struggling to use both hands and hold onto his blanket, had settled for temporarily dropping it to the floor around his feet, and T’ai’ja again had to fight back the urge to purr at the sight of his creamy sun-kissed flesh. The elegant curve of his spine and rosy peaks of his breasts were captivating, and he so, so desperately craved to reach out and feel them under his hands, but tampered the urge down, down, down, back to the dark place it came from.

He was acting like some newly Blooded pup, fresh from his chiva and eager to mate for the first time. Gods, he didn’t act like this when he was a new Blooded! He was always one to tread carefully around females, approaching every encounter with careful consideration and humility, something that made him widely favored with the female populace, but earned only mockery from his hunt brothers. Having grown up the runt of his generation certainly didn’t help, either…

But Leon knew none of that, nor would he care if he did, if his own stature was anything to go by. It was something else they seemed to have in common. Except T’ai’ja eventually grew to be one of the tallest in his clan, a little late, sure, but still, meanwhile Leon appeared to have already reached full size. How in the hell did he manage in a world where he could be dwarfed by even a Youngblood?

“Uhh… T’ai’ja?” Leon asked suddenly, pausing in his work briefly, nostrils flared as a fresh wave of heat flooded his cheeks. “D-do… Do you smell that?”

What smell? He didn’t smell any-

As soon as the thought occurred to him, it was all but beat out of him by a dizzying, addictive sweetness hitting his nose, so strong he could taste it like nectar on his tongue. That purr he’d been fighting finally tore free, but T’ai’ja shook himself, willing it to cease -which didn’t work- offering an unconvincing “Smell nothing,” instead.

He was indeed a horrible liar.

“… Okay, then.” Leon, entirely dissatisfied, muttered, before he finished peeling away the last few scraps of dried viscera clinging to Mara’khen’s lower jaw. But the smell only grew thicker and sweeter, all but taunting the arbiter to give in and pursue its source. At the same time, Leon’s body temperature continued to rise, his breaths becoming short and shallow, as if he’d run a long distance, thighs pressing so tight together it became awkward to stand. By the time he was finished, Leon was all but doubled over the counter, but T’ai’ja was hesitant to reach out to him this time. That hungry, primal part in the back of his mind screamed for him to satisfy the curiosity that had been eating at him since the baths, yet he refused to obey it.

He was a hunter. An Elite. An arbiter. He wasn’t a slave to primitive instincts. He was an intelligent, conscious being trained from birth in restraint and self-control. He had faced far greater hurdles than this in his life, and he would overcome them now just as he had then.

Yet, when it came time to properly mark the Bad Blood’s head, T’ai’ja discovered his great hands shivered as he handed the chisel and mallet to Leon, aching from just the fleeting softness against the firmer pads of his fingers. A shiver wracked the ooman’s spine despite his best efforts to hide it, before shielding his face behind the curtain of dark, silken locks flowing just as he turned away again.

Standing over Mara’khen’s skull, chisel in hand, T’ai’ja was immediately struck by a strange sense of déjà vu, as if he had seen this moment before, a long time ago. It took him a moment to realize where it came from: A mural of Kayana in her primary temple on Yautja Prime, chisel in one hand with a mallet in the other, poised to strike deep into the skull of the fallen hero Mab’ii’tang, as her unholy children watched from the shadows about her. It was a famous piece, recreated a hundred thousand times over in his lengthy life alone.

Kayana… Passion -good and evil- incarnate, more beautiful than the mortal mind could ever fathom…

There was something undeniably poetic about the correlation.

In a universe like this, on a planet like Earth, this gentle, soft-spoken creature somehow survived with his soul intact, if scarred. No journey worth undertaking leaves the adventurer unharmed, unchanged, but Leon was able to fight for himself without sacrificing his gracious nature, as his kind were so notorious for doing. Yet another thing Lil’ka complained to him.

The pups start delicate, curious, eager for approval and camaraderie, but it seems the older they grow, the more cynical and colder they become: Tormenting elders, bullying younger pups and smaller females, insulting and disrespecting every authority they can, even when it would just be more beneficial to follow orders! They all do it, but it seems to be especially prevalent in the male populace. I suppose some things are universal.

T’ai’ja huffed a little, recalling his sister’s abysmal temper after one of her trips to Earth. Oomans had only just discovered how to incorporate colors into those televisions they loved so much, among other things, and she hadn’t returned since then. Of course, after almost an entire century, T’ai’ja imagined some of her data was likely on the outdated side, but he never dared tell her that. He liked having his mandibles intact, thank you kindly. But nothing in his mind doubted the truth of ooman males’ cruelty. He had already seen it in mere passing as he hunted Mara’khen, and Leon’s nonchalance about the Badblood’s crimes indicated he was familiar with such stories already.

And yet, despite that… Leon still had a sense of empathy. He wasn’t afraid to shed tears or show gratitude, but still had the resolve to fight to the bitter end if necessary and impose punishment on the dishonorable.

Now, as he carefully lined up the chisel in the center of the Bad Blood’s sloping forehead and raised the mallet, he muttered something in a language T’ai’ja had never heard before.

“Mkoohi kelaakowe, shishtaawe.”

With that, he swung the mallet down into the chisel’s pommel, driving the sharp end into the bone and sending a web of hairline cracks across its surface. T’ai’ja felt satisfaction and a sense of pride swell in his chest as the chisel was removed and set aside with the mallet. Leon swallowed hard, scrambling to cover himself again, much to T’ai’ja’s disappointment, before facing the enforcer again. That near-constant flush had returned to his face, and the hunter couldn’t help but purr lowly at the sight.

How could one creature be so damnably cute?

“U-um… A-are you hungry? Cause I am! Is t-there anything to eat around here?”

“Sei-i,” The hunter chirped, noting with amusement how the ooman’s eyes lit up at the thought of food. “This way.”