Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Fire.
Hot, hot fire.

“Why?”

That sole thought ran in his head like a sheep chased by a wolf, the last thing he saw was the scarred, monolithic face of a man he once respected, feared, and envied all at once. The flames were hot, white heat covered his body as it disintegrated into thin air, leaving a crater of black and ash in its wake. It only took a few seconds, perhaps not even a minute, yet in those exact seconds was all it took for one’s body to disappear as if it never existed in the first place.

A man of red and black took a graceful fall next to his master, sweat beaded off his forehead despite the tundra surrounding them, fear of what will be done to him, perhaps, was all it took to keep his normally chatty mouth shut. It was odd, the face his master wore in that moment, closed off and distant was the norm, nothing changed about that, but those eyes…. His eyes appear to be holding, grief? Mourning? Or maybe even sadness.

“Strange…. Master was never one to mourn, much less the death of such an inconvenience”

Inconvenient was the kindest way to describe the boy known as Duke Grane, barely aged 17, who once had it all, money, fame, a good name to a family respected and revered by those in the awakened world, now he is nothing but ash, that is, if there even is ash left of him. Many know of him as selfish, weak minded, and most importantly, a traitor, even those within the Frame had some amount of dislike for him, some instinctual as if it were only natural to hate such a child, some from experience, having known him for the short 5 years he grew in those walls, Roist is one of them.

It took a while, but finally his master seemed to have tire from the scene, leaving with not even a breath of a word, his long legs not waiting for his main disciple to catch up to him. His aura was different, Roist thought, albeit there was no frame of reference to compare it to, for all he knows of his enigmatic master, he never had to kill a disciple before, even when training Roist in his youth, master Schnauder never once pushed him to the brink of death. “Is he mourning? Why would he mourn a boy he’s barely known?”, he was left alone to ponder in his thoughts as he trailed loyally behind his master. A sudden movement caused him to freeze, his master stopped, he froze as he took a long, suffering intake of breath, before exhaling into a sigh, it was only for a second, barely perceptible, but Roist could see the tremble in his master’s shoulders, “Never speak of his name again, he has disgraced my name, the Frame’s name”, was all he said before entering the Frame’s doors, never one to question, Roist simply followed.

.

Supri should’ve seen it coming, the horribly disfigured figure of that boy should’ve been an indicator enough, although, she never thought Schnauder would be the one to end his own disciple. The only warning that followed his disheartened speech was the bright, hot flash of heat before it dissipates into nothing, no body, no shadow, just ash. She couldn’t have stopped her shock on her face from showing even if she tried, there was nothing left of the boy, truly, but maybe that was a blessing, such pain he would have suffered if he were to live, death would have been a more favourable path, she had explained such to Muse, her poor disciple hasn’t recovered yet it seems.

In hindsight, in a more perfect world, it would have been sad, Duke was only 17, the youngest of the disciples taken in by her and Andrei combined, the youngest Schnauder had as well currently. She can’t say she liked the boy, he certainly doesn’t make it much easier for himself, such a brash, arrogant, and selfish child, even when they first took him into the Frame’s embrace at age 12. “I wonder if he will ever mourn that one” she mused to herself, she certainly would if she had to take her own disciple’s life, but Schnauder is not that kind of man, surely easing the suffering of one disciple wouldn’t bother him much, and if it did, it wouldn’t for long, she doubts he has the heart needed for that kind of empathy.

.

Even after the explanation of his master, the shock of it all still hasn’t faded. He was there just a moment ago, barely even a second, and then he was just….. gone. Such is the power of a Top 10, Muse supposes, Lord Schnauder seemed almost disheartened by his death, if his long lingering gaze at the very spot the boy once knelt was any indicator, he wonders if he will ever mourn him. Surely his master would mourn his death, will anyone be sad for Duke? Muse himself didn’t know him all too well, the kid made it hard for anyone to actually like him, even after 5 years of watching him be raised in this dark fortress, he was much of an enigma to him much like he was to anyone else, it reminds him of Lord Schnauder somewhat. The battle itself was foolish, the boy so desperate to prove himself he ended up cheating, again, and still lost, along with his life, Muse was surprised the Lord didn’t have his head the first time he heard the news, though maybe he was curious of the end result, surely this wasn’t the outcome anyone was expecting.

In a way, Muse was sad for the boy, so at least there is one person to mourn for him, somewhat, he was so young, so much potential if only his anger and hatred didn’t consume him the way it did. Who was to blame? His upbringing? His personality? The Frame? Lord Schnauder? The questions were endless, yet there is no time for that today, Muse still has tasks to attend to, students to be quelled, an organization to manage, although slightly unusual, today is a day like any other. With that thought, he left alongside his beloved master, already making a mental checklist of what to do and what needs to be done for the day, leaving the nameless grave behind to be forgotten.

.

For a moment he could only stare at the black and ashen crater left by his disciple, former disciple, he’s gone now, he made sure of that, a quick and painless death is what he ensured to give. It was hot still, the heat making the snowy landscape before him almost invisible, the fire in his hand hasn’t vanished still, if he closed his eyes he could see those desperate red eyes looking directly at him, and for some unknown reason it made his chest hurt, his heart ache, and his eyes stung. He didn’t know how long he stood there for, he didn’t care, he can’t stay there any longer, the weight in his chest grows the longer he stands there and he knows he would not be able to breath, and so he left, vaguely he can hear Roist struggle to keep up with his pace, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

It took him a while to regain his composure, he knows his only disciple is still following him, the loyal dog he is, he stops when he sees the gates, if he holds his silence still he will worry Roist, which will make rise to suspicion, he can’t have that. “Never speak of his name again, he has disgraced my name, the Frame’s name”, he is not naïve enough to not know that Roist can see the subtle shaking of his shoulders, they have known each other for far too long for such “secrets”. He does not know why he feels this way, no death of any child that has occurred within this organization since its birth has shaken him to his core the way his did, has he ever taken the life of one so young before? If he has, he doesn’t remember, all he knows now and will remember for an eternity is that he has taken a life, a boy, and he will live with it as long as he lives. But he has a job to do, he is Lord Schnauder of the Frame, one of the Top 10 in the world, he cannot afford this weakness, he has to power on.

If only his hands could stop shaking.

Chapter Text

It started with a speck.

Just one, tiny little speck of ash in the snow.

A conscious thought formed.

“What’s happening?”

That speck of ash started to…. grow. Crimson red stark against the white landscape, growing and growing until it formed a heart, silence took over, just a moment before the faint thump can be heard. Slowly, it grew larger, veins, nerves, the vinelike structure grew upwards to form a brain.

“I feel weird”

Faster now, lungs, kidneys, bone and muscle all formed from what started as a gray speck of ash in the wind. Pale skin stretched across the expanse of a new body born and a soul reincarnated from a brief rest, lain on the ground blackened by a white flame, it laid unmoving, unbreathing, and a pregnant silence governs over the small stretch of land. A sudden inhale of air breaks the wind as the newborn gasps greedily for oxygen its new lungs are unaccustomed to process. Its first breath triggers the need to open its new eyes, red in colour and wide as a doe.

“Where am I? I can’t see…. Where am I?”

The boy shakily attempts to move his head, but even the attempt of it makes his head throb and his stomach lurch. Again, he tries, but slower this time, moving his cloudy eyes to observe his surroundings, “I can’t see…. Everything’s so blurry…. Why can’t I see?”, he shakes his head trying to clear up his vision, it didn’t work, but he tries, nonetheless. Next, he raises himself on his forearms, grunting with the effort, “Come on, get up!”, and after a few tries he succeeds, sweat covering his forehead despite the cold he has yet to feel. Slowly, carefully, he moves himself on his hands and knees, panting, he glances around him, taking in the snow and frost, he looks at his hands, pink now from the chill, “I’m so cold...”.

“I should get up… I need to get out of here…”, he gets his feet under him, tries to, but the first time he stands he falls back down into the ice. His legs are not strong enough yet to carry himself out of the crater, much less out of the mountains, embarrassingly, he resolves to crawl his way out of the small pit, the critters of the surrounding areas chirp and coo as they watch the pale boy make his way to the trees. He makes it, although the cold now stings his knees and palms, bleeding from the dry skin being irritated and raw, his determination to stand and walk overrides the pain, so he uses a tree as a support to try. The first few steps were shaky and uncoordinated, but soon he is able to walk with the grace of a foal fresh out of his mother’s womb, and finally, his rocky journey begins.

.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking; his weak legs can only take him so far. Exhausted, he collapses into the hard ground below, his blood seeps into the white snow.

“I’m tired… but I don’t think I can walk anymore”

He is reminded of a memory in his youth, long forgotten, of when his father would push him further and further into his training until he couldn’t even stand anymore, to him, this felt like that. “But maybe worse, I can’t even remember the last time I felt this bad”, he tries to get up again…. and makes it a few more steps forward before he collapses for the last time, his body truly too tired to do anything.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid! You can’t even walk now?! What are you, a cripple??”

He huffs and pants and growls in his frustration, but his weakened state makes it so he can do no more than that. Tears well in his eyes as the helplessness sinks in, “I don’t wanna die again…. Someone, anyone, please…” he begs to no one in particular, his eyes start to close as his body succumbs to its exhaustion.

“I’m scared…”

.

In the distance, the vague sound of someone’s heavy footsteps in the snow reverberated through the trees, the pitter patter of a large dog accompanies the mysterious man, “sure is pretty eh Rocko? It’s been a while since we’ve walked this far, glad we did though, whatcha think?”, the dog boofs and sniffs the air before whining, the smell of blood wafting through its nostrils. “What’s wrong boy?” Rocko takes this as permission to start running through the snow to the source of the smell, his master jogging lightly behind him, before he stops in front of a pale body almost invisible in the white expanse. The man freezes for a moment, before gasping in shock, “Holy shit! A body! Is it dead?!” he gets on his knees and rolls the boy over, checking for a pulse and breath, “Oh thank God he’s not dead!.... What do I do now…?”, he pauses, uncertain of what to do or what to think, taking a brief look to Rocko, sat beside him waiting for an order. He gulps, “Right, we need to take this kid back, he’ll die out here”, it was then he registered that the boy was, in fact, naked, and it further stunned him on how he could’ve ended up that way. Slowly, the man and his dog make the fast but careful track up the mountain back to their cabin, the boy freezing cold yet not awake still in the man’s jacket hastily wrapped around him.

Chapter Text

“Warm…... How am I warm...?”
Blurry red eyes blink opens slowly to warm lights overhead and the smell of food being cooked, squinting, he moves his head to the side, only then being aware of the big, fluffy pillow cushioning him.

“Where am I…? What is this place…?”
Alarmed and frightened by the fact that he woke up in an unknown place, he shoots up and stumbles sideways, nearly faceplanting on the hard wooden floor underneath. Unaware of another occupant of the room, he yelps at the wet nose probing his cheek, ready to sprint to the nearest door he sees, only to hear a… dog?... panting in front of him, its warm breath smells faintly of dog food. Though apprehensive, he reaches out a hand to touch it, unsure whether it is friendly or not, warmly the dog nudges at the extended palm, wet nose and slobber and all. From the close distance, he can make out that the dog is big, even sitting down he is almost eye level with it, it’s fur is long and he thinks it’s grey in colour, it’s ears flop on it’s head with a protruding muzzle, although he can’t quite see the eyes, he knows they are brown and looking at him inquisitively, head tilting to the side.

“Boof?”

The dog barks(?) a strange sound, looking at him silently before whining, its tail wagging side to side from concern. The sound of a heavy door opening startles him out of his confusion, he looks up and sees the cloudy outline of a hulk of a man coming through with a large bag perched on his shoulder and the scent of wood and musk hits him like a wall. The man stops and pauses for a moment, his eyes scanning the room, when he went out to get some more firewood, he didn’t expect to see the sight of a startled kid and his dog greeting him when he got home.

He huffs out a sigh of relief, unaware of the boy’s frightened stare at him from the floor, before closing the door and placing down the heavy bag with a grunt, on one knee he starts untying his shoes while ignoring his excited dog’s barking and licking his ear.

“Damn Rocko enough! Jeez I only went out for a second, lay off of me would ya?”

Though it sounds mean, the chuckles and the smile in his voice reveal the happiness he feels at coming home. It was after he finished untying and taking off his shoes (and getting Rocko to sit) did he noticed the boy sitting in front of his couch, looking at him with wide, terrified eyes. “ah shit… I forgot he was even there”, slowly and carefully, still on his knees, he extends a hand, hoping to ease his fear, “Hey kid… you okay?”, he asks gently.
Though he can’t see the man clearly, he can tell the man is on his knees and extended a hand to him, “You okay?” he hears the man ask again, his deep and gruff voice doing nothing to quell his panic. He sees the man shuffle towards him, and in his terror, he crawls away backwards from it, his back hitting the couch(?) and preventing his escape. Terrified, he tries to break a run, but his legs still uncooperative to his demands he falls, hard enough to tear out a yelp from him.

“WOAH hey, hey no need to panic”, he shuffles closer, both his hands now in front of him in a placating manner. He kneels beside the kid, not touching him yet, but prepared to help just in case. Cautiously, the boy raised his head to look at him, he was squinting though, maybe the lights were too bright?

“Hey kid... you… you’re okay, I’m not gonna hurt you, my name’s Pyotr Ivanovich Polkov, but you can call me Peter, this here’s Rocko, uhh… what’s your name?”

His name? He remembers his name… “Duke… Duke Grane”, it’s weaker than he intended, barely a whisper, but the man hears it loud and clear, nonetheless. “Duke Grane? Pretty weird name, you’re not from here huh?”, here? Where’s “here”? “I don’t know where I am… Where am I?” he asks. “You’re in the good old Caucus Mountains in Russia kid, pretty far don’tcha think”, he didn’t get as far away as he thought huh?

A long silence follows, neither party knew what to do or what to say, finally, Peter gets up and starts walking towards the bubbling pot, almost forgetting the soup he left to simmer while he was away, thankfully it wasn’t burnt. “You hungry? I made some Borscht, hope you don’t mind”, as he walks over to the stove he steals a glance at Duke, the kid looks like he’s swimming in his clothes even though that was the smallest sweater he owns, the boxers look big too (his pants would’ve just slid off he’s sure), but he doesn't look cold anymore so that’s good, maybe some warm Borscht will better his mood.

Duke follows Peter as he makes his way to the kitchen, that must be where the smell is coming from, he asks if he was hungry, just then he feels his stomach grumble, “Must’ve been hungrier than I thought”. He looks outside to the window, seeing the white decadence of snow from where he sat, it was then he really took the time to look himself over, “I don’t feel hurt anywhere, it’s kinda warm here” he didn’t notice he had clothes on till now, he runs his fingers over the soft sweater, he can see that the colour is a dark blue and mossy green, “it’s kinda ugly…. Wait, where are my pants?” he pulls up the dark sweater to see that he’s wearing some kind of shorts underneath, “these aren’t shorts…. Are these boxers??” he thinks as he runs his hands down the shorts to feel that they are, in fact, boxers. “That’s gross, couldn’t have given me literally anything else” he glares at the big man’s broad back as he whistles while stirring his soup.

“But…. This is nice…. I like it”, it’s warm in here, and though he doesn’t know Peter all that well yet, he thinks he’s a decent man, and Rocko’s cute too, he tries to find where the dog ran off to, but with his poor vision, he couldn’t see far. “I’ll stay here for a while, just until I can figure out where to go next”, meanwhile, he’ll enjoy the warmth of the cabin a little while longer, when was the last time he felt so safe? Maybe it was when his caretaker would sleep with him when he gets nightmares, but even that he’s unsure of but for now, he’ll just have to wait until that weird soup is ready, “just a little while…” he thought, curling his fingers into the sweater like a lifeline.

Chapter Text

“Sweet yet slightly sour… it’s…. Perfect”

The first drop of Borscht that hits his tongue makes it feel as if he’s never had an actual good meal in his life, it nearly brings him to tears. In front of him Peter chuckles at the wide-eyed look, “Never had a Borscht huh?” Duke shakes his head vigorously before shoveling down the rest, “WOAH kid slow down you’re gonna choke!” he said already making a move in case he does. Duke doesn’t, but the soup does struggle to make its way down his throat, which causes him to pat his chest with a fist, Rocko stands on his hind legs beside him, boofing as if in amusement as the boy tries to finish his meal.

Peter watches in amusement, chuckling and snorting at the way the kid almost kills himself trying to finish the whole bowl in one goal, “Damn, so he WAS starving!” the man thinks to himself, remembering the way he had to convince the boy across him that no, the Borscht was NOT poisoned thank you very much, the audacity to think like that! No man sane of mind would wanna poison a damn kid, unless someone did try to poison him before, he shudders in horror at the thought. Instead, he tries to finish his own soup, slowly, he’s not trying to kill himself, while Rocko tries to lick and sniff at Duke who tries to stop him to no avail.

Okay… so the weird soup WASN’T poisoned, good to know, he doesn’t want a repeat of that time his older brother poisoned his tea, that sucked. The big dog is still trying to lick at him even though he tried to stop it, what was it’s name again? Starts with uhh, Rocko or something, Rocky? Rocko? Right! It was Rocko, Rocko’s lucky he finds him cute, if he bites him for real he’s gonna tear the mutt’s throat out…. Speaking of mutts, he glances at the behemoth in front of him, still eating his soup without a care in the world, he swears the big guy was staring at him a moment ago, guess he didn’t want to get caught. He can’t sense any awakened power on him, he must be your regular human then, that’s good, if this guy ended up being an awakened one he might know who Duke really is… if that happens…. He might really have to kill this guy…. Even if he is nice.

Why’s the kid staring at me like that? Feels like he wants to kill something… or someone…. Peter thought as the boy kept looking at him. He should probably say something, right? He doesn’t want the poor kid to get any uhh, weird ideas, damn it he’s not some kind of perverted old man, he swears! On God’s holy name!  “Uhh, hey kid, you wanna… you wanna tell me why you were out there? In the snow?.... all alone?” he asks, voice slowly trailing off awkwardly as the boy just keeps staring at him, like he’s expecting something.

His head slightly downturns as he squints at him, his red eyes full of suspicion and hesitation, but also a glimmer of trust, slowly, he speaks up, “I don’t know, I don’t…. remember” his voice trails off into a whisper, his face now holding sadness and grief. “Agh shit I shouldn’t have asked him that! Now I sound like an asshole” Peter internally panics, trying to find a way to salvage the situation, “uhh, HEY you uhm, do you like Rocko?” he asks, hands gesturing to Rocko sitting next to him, whining at the sad scent he was emitting. “Rocko?” he looks curiously at the dog, his eyes turning soft, “yeah I… I like Rocko” his hand coming up to scratch at its chin. Mentally, Peter heaves out a sigh of relief, at least he’s not sad anymore.

What’s this guy want? He thinks as he ponders over the question, conflicted on whether to tell the truth or lie, if he tells the truth he doesn’t know how bigfoot will react, will he turn him in? Will he kick him out? He can’t trust this guy yet but….. he risks a minute glance at him, but he really DOES look nice…. “I don’t know, I don’t…. remember”, ugh he didn’t mean to sound so pathetic, but he can’t tell him the truth, even if he wanted to, not yet…. He can tell the man was panicking, it was obvious in his eyes, honestly it was pretty funny how a guy like him can be blubbering with just a kicked puppy look. And then he asks about Rocko, “Rocko?” he turns to look at the dog, yeah, he liked Rocko, he says as he scratches the mutt’s chin, was this his way of making him feel better?.... Hmph, the human’s lucky he’s got a cute dog.

Silence falls on the two as they each finish their meal, Rocko already scampering off somewhere to sleep, even so, curiosity still gnaws at Peter, “doesn’t he have parents? He can’t have just come out of nowhere, right? …… Should I ask? The kid looks tired though… maybe that can wait till tomorrow. “You tired? I don’t got an extra bedroom, but uhh… you can crash out on the couch for the night” he says, making a move to get up, gathering their dishes, giving Duke the time to think it over, “I hope he stays the night”, he glances out the window, the night no longer young, yet the snow never stops cascading down the sky, “it’s too cold for anyone or anything to be staying outside”.

Duke watches as the man rise up to wash the dishes, mulling over the question, stay the night? Would that really be safe? What if he does something when I’m asleep? The questions ran inside his head rapidly, almost sending him into a panic…. But, he looks outside, the chill already spreading through his body even through the warm cabin, I can’t stay outside, I won’t survive. Reluctantly, he speaks up, “I’ll… I’ll stay the night… just for tonight”, his voice trails off in a whisper, vulnerability making him want to throw up. He risks a shy glance to Peter, his breath caught in his throat when he sees the soft echo of a smile on his lips, as if he looked relieved, “alright kid, stay as long as you need”, the softness in his voice almost makes him tear up, damn it! Why am I crying?! Pathetic, it’s just for tonight, I’ll be gone tomorrow!

Phew, I’m so glad, at least I can go to sleep in peace tonight… wait, do I even have an extra blanket?! Or pillows?! Oh yeah, I can use some of my pillows, the blanket though… his eyes look towards an unused storage room, his heart heavy with emotion…. I guess he can use that one…. He walks towards the room, opening the door before reaching towards the pink blanket with daisy detailing…. He hasn’t touched this blanket in so long… he almost forgot how soft it was…. No, the kid needs it, I can’t get caught up in this right now…. He turns around to face Duke, “you can use this one, I don’t use it anymore, wait here, I’ll get your pillows” he hands it to the boy, whose pale hands contrast nicely with the pink, and then he stalks off to his bedroom like a man on a mission.

Didn’t think a guy like him would have such a…. girly blanket, is it even his? Doesn’t look like it’ll even cover him, Duke ponders as his hands thread through the soft wool, warm to the touch despite the musty smell, “I’m not trying to be ungrateful but… God this blanket stinks, does this guy even wash his stuff?” he snickers, “doesn’t look like he washes anything at all”. With nothing to do but to wait, he mildly investigates the cabin’s interior, taking note of the warm atmosphere, the dark carpet, heavy wooden furniture, and a…. lack of personal belongings… that’s weird, no photos, no trophies, no nothing? His eyes squint in suspicion… though, this could just be a vacation cabin, father used to have a lot of those…. He hopes he’s right and this guy’s not just some sort of…. Serial killer on the loose or something.

Finally, after what felt like hours of waiting, Peter ducks out of his bedroom, two fluffy pillows tucked under an armpit, the same warm smile on his face, “here you go! Get nice and comfy eh? Don’t mind Rocko if he climbs onto you when you sleep, the guy’s a hugger”, he gestures to the couch, “I’ll leave you to it, I got an early day tomorrow, but you sleep in as much as you want kid”, he instinctively reaches out ruffle the white hair, noticing too late the way the boy stiffened at his touch, “shit…. Shouldn’t have done that” he hastily pulls his hand away, guilt written all over his face. Thankfully, the kid recovered quick, putting on a mask of indifference before nodding at him, courteous huh? “Thank you, Mr. Peter” he bows shallowly, “uhm…. Goodnight”, his voice barely above a whisper, “holy shit he’s so cute” he thinks to himself giddily, waving his goodnight with a big smile on his face before retiring for the night.

…… What the fuck? What was that? What’s with that big dumb smile on his face? All I said was goodnight, Duke watches the man shut his bedroom door with a confuddled face, confusion written all over his being. Ugh, whatever, this guy’s so weird, he makes his way to the couch, ready to sleep the night away, as he makes himself comfortable (man this guy’s got good pillows), he notices the embroidering on the edge of the blanket, “Mila?” he whispers aloud as he traces the name, who’s Mila? A relative? A daughter? I don’t see any pictures or anything though…. He wonders and wonders as his eyes slip shut, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to him, whatever, not my problem anyway, he thinks as he snuggles deeper into the blanket.

Chapter Text

It hurts….

What’s all this red…?

It hurts…. It hurts it hurts it hurts IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS!

The fire of father’s powers lick at his skin as he feels himself being torn apart one cell at a time, hot scorching heat overpowers his own as he fails to block it.

“Endure it, it’s the only way to get strong”

“If you’re strong, no one can hurt you, not even me”

“Don’t be weak, Duke, a true Grane is never weak”

“Get up”

Cold dread wakes him as he jolts up from the couch, the faint whining of Rocko beside him lost to his ears as his heart pounds erratically through his head, his breath shallow and sweat clings to his skin, his eyes search the room trying to remember where he is “where- oh”, swallowing the bile in his throat he remembers where he is, whose couch he has slept on. He looks over to where Rocko sits, those big eyes staring right at him as if deciphering what he’s thinking, slowly, he reaches a hand out, and the dog meets his palm with a wet nose and a whine. The coldness of the touch and the warmth of the fur slowly brings him back, and it was then he looks at his surroundings closer now that the haze of panic has passed, “it’s still dark, early morning?”, the lack of sunlight and the morning chill indicates that it’s not yet dawn, “I don’t think I can go back to sleep…. Not after that… what do you think I should do boy?” the mutt in question tilts his head curiously, but after a moment he boofs and lays back down to sleep, not even the dog is a morning person….

Rolling his eyes, he decides to get up anyways, the dog wants to sleep? Fine, be that way, he realized he’s never truly explored the cabin, so why not? Almost stumbling as he untangles himself from the horridly girly blanket, he slowly makes his way to the nearest thing he can see (albeit not much), the mantel over the fireplace. The first thing he notes is that it’s sturdy, he bets can climb on it and it wouldn’t break, “is this place new?”, he notes how dusty it is despite the seemingly new woodwork, “I mean… not like I know shit about wood and stuff, but old wood would be more… crumbly”, he mentally makes that first note in his head, continuing his new quest out of new born curiosity. His hands feel across the walls as his hip bumps into a cabinet of some kind, his fingers meet a photo he didn’t see before, he lifts it up to his face, trying to make out as best as he could, “a baby photo?” he recognizes what a baby looks like, he wasn’t born yesterday (hah!), and he can see enough to know this was a cute and chunky baby, toothless smile and chubby cheeks and all, brown hair curled on their head as pudgy hands reach for the camera. He turns the frame around, searching for more information, “Mila…?” he sees the faint M and L etched into the back, “again…. Who’s Mila?”, now this is interesting, maybe he can turn this into a game of “Who’s Mila”, if he searches the cabin enough, he can find out who she is.

But before he can even put the photo down, thumping footsteps walk into the living room, a sharp gasp echoes as he sees Peter who has just stepped out of his room. Startled, he almost drops the photo in shock, frozen like a child being caught doing something naughty by their parents, he quickly puts the photo down, “sorry! I’m sorry!” he frantically tries to come up with an excuse, but none comes to mind as fear runs through his body at the punishment he knows is to come, “he’s gonna hit me” he thinks as he braces himself, arms already shielding his head, anticipating the heavy blow to come. Instead, a large and gentle hand lands on his head, a soft huff heard as it gently ruffles his hair, “it’s okay kid….”, he dares himself to lift his head slightly to meet his eyes, warm and caring as he continues to caress his crown, bewildered, he didn’t dare to move an inch in fear of possibly setting the man off.

Peter’s eyes look over to the photo, sadness and grief overtaking his heart as his hands slowly lift the frame closer, “this is Mila…. She’s my daughter… was my daughter”, his voice heavy and shaky as he addresses the elephant in the room, “she died because I was careless… because I couldn’t be there for her when she needed me”, he puts the photo down as he looks over the cabin, “I haven’t come back here in so long because of that…. But I’m glad I did for this winter” he says as his eyes found Duke’s, wide and terrified, it makes his heart ache for this child, “because I found you”, slowly, gently, lowers himself to one knee so he doesn’t loom over the poor kid, “I don’t know what you’ve been through, Duke, and I won’t bother trying to know if you don’t want me to, but I just wanna say….. you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, I mean it”, a sad smile etches across his face, his eyes landing to where Rocko still sleeps, miraculously, “Rocko and I have more than enough room for you here”, warmth seeps through his voice as he looks at Duke.

And Duke… can’t, he can’t…. he doesn’t deserve this kindness, this love, he tears his eyes away as tears threaten to escape, a muffled sob creeping out his mouth like bile, his hands shake where they are at his sides, looking everywhere but the man in front of him right now, showing him kindness he hasn’t had for years. He hates it, why can’t he just be cruel like the others?! What if he’s faking it? What if he doesn't mean it? Why can’t he make it easy? This battle’s lost, straight up sobs and whimpers pour out of him as he hastily wipes his tears away, desperate to be free of this weakness, worst yet, he feels himself being pulled into big arms, a hug? No…. he can’t stop himself now, ugly tears and snot stain the man’s sweater, gentle rocking that could almost put him to sleep if he wasn’t so distressed, it’s not fair… nothing is fair… why did this happen to me? Why me? Endless questions and thoughts plague his mind as he is gently swayed and rocked until his breath evens and his tears dry, sleep tugging at his eyelids now that the whole fiasco is over.

Peter can feel all the fight draining out of the boy as his head is pillowed on his shoulder, only his soft breathing can be heard in his ear, geez… if the kid was looking at him right now he’d be able to see his own tears glistening in his eyes, he bet he wouldn’t be making the situation better if he started crying too, shit… he sneaks a glance to his shoulder, and yeah… the kid’s asleep. Thank God, he deserves the rest, I should put him back to bed, he moves to lift him up, taking note of how light he is despite his height, not like the kid’s taller than him, but still taller than most kids his age… he thinks, not his fault he doesn’t hang around with teenagers, he slowly puts him back on the couch, startling Rocko in his sleep as the dog gives him a dirty side eye, which was defiantly given back, it’s a wonder how he was able to sleep through all of that, he really doesn’t make a good guard dog huh? He tucks the boy under the blanket, his fingers feeling at the embroidery in the corner, his heart tugs at the reminder of who it belonged to all those years ago.

He should get going now, food isn’t gonna fall out of the sky, but he’s reluctant to leave the kid alone, but maybe if he left a note, it’ll be fine… right? And Rocko can stay too… as he muses to himself he gently strokes the boy’s hair absentmindedly, reminding himself that yeah, they both have to eat, he’s not just feeding himself now is he. With his mind made up, he raises to his feet, getting his hunting gear as quietly as possible, scribbling a quick note and sticking it to the fridge, before taking it off and adding that yes, you can eat anything from the fridge if you’re hungry, and sticks it back on. It’ll be a miracle if he could read that, but it’s something, right? Job well done (debated), he tiptoes to the front door, pulling it open with a creak, ready to hunt, but not before he sneaks a quick glance to the boy on the couch, his eyes fond at the small figure wrapped snugly, “sleep well kid…”, he whispers one last time before he shuts the door behind him, now…. Should he go for deer or rabbit today…

Chapter Text

“Mmph…” came the murmur of a boy cushioned and tucked snugly in a worn-out couch, sunlight poured from the windows, bathing the cabin in a warm and cozy ambience. His hands came to his eyes, trying to rub off the sleep yet to go, he looks to the side to see Rocko snuggled up at the foot of the couch, still not awake for the day, “where’s Peter…?”, his eyes tracking the home in search of the big man, nowhere to be found. He sits up, curiosity and mild fear running through his veins, “maybe he left to get some firewood?”, with that thought in mind, he stands to walk around the house in search of clues as to where the oaf could have gone, his fingers tracing the walls as he goes, before finding himself in the small kitchen.

The grumbling sound of an empty stomach tears through the silence, loud enough it startles Rocko out of his slumber, oh so he can wake up to something as stupid as this but not a mental breakdown? Stupid guard dog, he shakes his head in exasperation, deciding that breakfast is in order, but this isn’t his home, can he even eat anything in here? His eyes find the shape of a sticky note on the fridge, he takes it off, maybe it’s a note from Peter? Squinting, he tries to read the ineligible handwriting, “uhm… what’s this..? Hunting? Anything from the… the fridge… Take anything from the fridge? I’m out to hunt… if you’re hungry, just take anything from the fridge… damn” reading that note almost sparked a migraine, he sighed in annoyance, this guy’s writing is worst than Arthur’s, seriously, did he even pass elementary?

Permission now given, he puts the note back and opens the fridge, hands already rummaging through what’s available. Hmm, onions, beetroot, chicken stock? Ah hah! Milk! … does he not have cereal? After a few more minutes of rummaging, he decides to check the pantry, and lo and behold, miraculously this giant does have cereal, some kind of monstrosity with too much food colouring and artificial flavouring, but it’ll do. Soon he’s on the dinner table eating his breakfast absentmindedly, nothing to provide a distraction or stave off the growing sense of boredom, maybe he should take a shower? But Peter never gave him permission to use the bathroom… wait, when was the last time he took a piss? He shakes his head, too many unfiltered thoughts in his head, he hasn’t been this bored in years… and this cabin doesn’t even have a tv, what else is he supposed to do?

With a full stomach comes new motivation. Maybe he should explore more, why not? As he looks through the cabin, he noticed that his vision has improved… sort of? Things aren’t really blobs of colour anymore, he can see that the couch is brown and lumpy, and that Rocko looks like a mixed mutt, not like the purebreds at home, Mila’s photo looks clearer now too, she’s even cuter not-blurry, maybe in a few days his vision will become like it used to. Suddenly, a genius idea popped into his head, he’s already explored inside the cabin, but what about outside? A childish giddiness erupts in his frame, giggling at the curiosity and wonder he was about to discover, maybe he shouldn’t be outside, he wasn’t exactly wearing anything other than the sweater and boxers, but he’s an awakened one, so he should be fine, right? Mind made up, he runs straight to the door, ignoring Rocko’s protest boofing, opening it just to flinch at the sudden rush of wind and absolute chill of the snowy landscape outside, he gasps at the view, snow and ice making it blindingly white, making him squint at the intensity, but the lush forest at the perimeter excites him, if it weren’t for the fact that he had Peter in his mind he would’ve made a run to it, but maybe just walking around the cabin would be enough for now.

Barefoot on the porch, his eyes never leave the pretty picture the outside world painted, it was only when Rocko boofed and stumbled on his back, almost knocking him off his feet did he snap out of his stupor, “Rocko! What the hell!” he looks back at the mutt, baffled at its behaviour, Rocko simply boofed at him once more, motioning at him to come back inside, making Duke huff in annoyance, “I don’t wanna go back inside you mutt! I’m bored! You don’t know what bored feels like, you’re a dog!” he shouts with his hands flailing in the air, if he took a moment to breath, he would’ve realized how idiotic he looks, shouting at the dog like it was his nanny. Rocko only looks at him with a deadpan look, still unmoving from his spot, he rolled his eyes, he’s not gonna listen to this stupid dog! He’s Duke Grane, and he’ll do what he wants! Ignoring the dog, he walks across the porch, looking into the cabin from the windows, tracing the brown wood, and counting the icicles hanging from the roof, anything to stave off the boredom, when will Peter get back? It’s been forever!

Sighing dramatically and sitting down on the porch steps, he ignores the cold (and the dog now sitting beside him), his mind wanders again, throughout his whole time here… has he ever tested his powers? Can he even use them again? Anxiety jolts into him, making him tense and Rocko to whine, if he can’t use them, does that make him human? How is he supposed to defend himself? Or fight? His sudden rise to his feet scares Rocko into alert, he needs to try it out while Peter’s not home, it’s now or never, slowly, he raises him arm, gathering his energy, red upon red swirls in front of him, the wind so strong it threatens to knock the trees over, and Rocko’s loud barking and boofing fall deaf to his ears, he pushes, strains against the force and foregoing the pain in his chest, the swirls grow larger now, his power unrestrained and fed by a turmoil of emotions, before suddenly… it slows, weaker and weaker until nothing is left, the trees still and the wind no longer howls, Rocko already retreating back into the cabin in fear.

Huh… HUH?! WHAT THE FUCK?! He tries again, the red swirls weaker this time, before poofing out of existence like a weak candle flame, no… again, this time, nothing, no! AGAIN! Sweat soaks his hair and forehead as he tries again, to no avail, NO! He collapses to the floor, heaving and retching as all strength leaves his body, swaying and trembling as if a single gust of wind can knock him over, the only thing keeping him upright was Rocko and his insistent licking, giving him some support to lean on, the dog’s constant whining nothing but background noise in his ears. Suddenly, Rocko takes off into the forest, leaving him to collapse heavily on the cold, hard wooden floors, stupid dog… no matter how he tries to gather the strength to get up, he couldn’t… he can’t… he just can’t…

The last thing he hears is heavy footsteps running towards him, Rocko's loud boofing not far behind, the thump of something heavy hits the ground, “kid…? KID!”, someone frantically shakes him, Peter…? And his body loses the fight, his breath stalls, and his chest stills.

“DUKE!”

Chapter Text

It’s so cold…

Why am I cold?

Wait, is this… snow?

I’m outside...? How am I outside?

The snow crunches beneath his arms as he slowly gets up on his elbows, eyes trying to make sense of his surroundings to no avail, this looks… familiar. He stands up, shaky knees and trembling arms, he looks around, and freezes. Fuck… no wonder this looks familiar, what greets him is The Frame’s privately owned graveyard for their fallen comrades, he’s intimately familiar with this place, back when he was still with them, he used to hang around here often where no one can bother him, not that annoying Roist with his stupid creepy smile, not Muse with his cold eyes, not his mentor or Madam Supri or Lord Andrei, just him and the dead to keep him company.

But… why here? Last he remembered he was on Peter’s front porch… wait, PETER?! He whips around, “PETER?!” he yells into the dead space, “PETER!!!” this time more desperate for the only man to treat him decently in years. In the corner of his eyes, he catches someone, the wind sharply whooshes as he turns, trying to find the intruder of this strange… dream.

“Get up”

What?

“I said GET UP”

And suddenly he’s twelve again, maybe thirteen, kneeling in front of his master, his arm bent in unnatural ways and he’s bleeding, bleeding from the thousands of cuts, whether done by himself or Master Schnauder, he’s unsure, it doesn’t matter, because in the next second he sees the signature flip flopped feet of his lord in front of him, slowly, he looks up and makes eye contact with that beast, “if you continue to be like this, you’ll never grow stronger, get up now, or die, Duke Grane”. Tears sting his eyes before he could stop them, suddenly the world around him changes, and red, again, bleeds into him, into the dream, and his master can no longer be seen, now he’s spiraling, and spiraling, before…

A loud and tortured gasp tears into the cabin, desperately trying to get oxygen into his lungs before his body dies on him again, too quick, too soon, and now he’s coughing and hacking as his parched throat still tries to take a mouthful of air. “WOAH hey easy… easy… God kid, what the hell…”, the voice is soft, gruff and deep but soft, warm in the way he talks, he knows this voice, “Peter…?” he rasps out, arm reaching out to the nearest thing he can find, a big shoulder and soft brown jacket, is he back on the couch? It feels like it, he can hear Rocko whining loudly from… somewhere. He looks up to meet eyes with his saviour, his blue eyes wide and wet in concern and grief… wait, blue?! His hands shoot out to hold his face, studying his features now that he can actually see them. Since when can he see?!  The face in his hands is big, a strong jaw and a dimpled chin, a crooked and hooked nose, as if it never healed quite right after being broken, his skin slightly tanned (how do you get tanned in the snow?) yet red persists in his cheeks, big blue eyes framed by dark eyelashes, short curly hair unstyled and unkept on his head, he looks so… ordinary.

“Uhhh, kid?” his befuddled and confused face stares back at Duke, still entranced by the giants face in his hands, slowly, he peels his hands (they looked tiny in his) off his cheeks, a gentle look overcomes him, before he heaves a mighty, tired sigh, “I’m… I’m so glad you’re okay… I’m so glad” his voice trembles at the end, relief evident all over him. He comes out of his trance, feeling wetness fall on his hands still trapped in the man’s own, tears? His face snaps up to look at Peter, only now noticing that the man in front of him is crying, why is he crying? For him? This would be blasphemy in the awakened world, anyone who would even dare to cry, especially in front of another awakened one, would be bound to be taken advantaged of, maybe even killed, yet here he was, letting tears and silent sobs slip freely from his being. Duke could only stare with wide eyes at the strange display, if he were to cry in front of anyone like that, his mentor or his family alike, the least he’d get is a slap to the face, maybe a punch, but… he can’t leave the man like this can he? What do people do when someone cries in front of them? Right… they’d hug them, but he doesn’t feel comfortable hugging Peter yet, maybe…

Peter’s eyes snap open when he felt small, cold hands wipe away at his tears… just like she used to and he looks at the kid, whose frame is locked in awkwardness and anxiety, a gentle laugh rumbles his body at Duke’s face, nuzzling the palm of his hand with tenderness and care, “thanks kid… sorry for uhh, breaking down like that, wasn’t very cool and tough of me huh?” fond eyes took note of the slow untensing of the boy’s body. Pregnant silence hangs in the air, neither of them knowing how to unwind the tension in the cabin, “…what happened to me?” Duke asks, voice hesitant and eyes downcast, his hands fidget in his lap, still wet with the oaf’s tears, Peters eyes grew distant as he recalls the event that nearly took his life with fright.

Damn this deer’s gonna last us weeks! Can’t believe I got a hunt as lucky as this! No more dumb bunnies for me! The biting cold stung his eyes and cheeks, but the giddiness of a good hunt warms his body all the same, he can’t wait to show this to the kid! Has he ever had deer? Oh! He can make a jacket out of this one’s hide; it’d be perfect for Duke! and the imagery of the boy wrapped in a doe’s coat is just adorable! He giggles at the thought, continuing his way home with only the crunch of snow and the howl of wind accompanying him. Suddenly, the wind picked up in a way that should be impossible, it nearly took him off his feet! Him! Loud barking and boofing can be heard in the distance, “Rocko?” his voice barely audible in the howls, and just as it started, it stopped, and it was like everything was nothing but a hallucination, “holy shit… what was that” confusion laces his entire face, blue eyes scanning the icy environment, but nothing, nothing that could’ve done that, the only way that could have happened was if a helicopter were to be flying nearby, and hell he knows no helicopter ever landed here.

Rocko’s insistent boofing got closer, until the dog almost knocked him off his feet with the force of his slam, “WOAH boy calm down! What happened?” the only answer he got was more barking, and then Rocko was tugging at his sleeves with his teeth, does he want me to follow him or something? There’s a bad feeling in his chest, “alright boy, lead the way!” and just like that, Rocko sprints off in a hurry while he tries to follow as closely as possible, but the deer on his back makes it difficult to go fast, but he sees the cabin getting closer by the second nonetheless.

He stops, panting heavily with his hands on his knees, his lungs burn with the exertion, he’s no longer young after all, after wiping the sweat off his brow and finally gaining the strength to stand, he finally understood why Rocko was in such a panic. “What…?” the boy lays motionlessly on the ground, sending a cold wave of dread that makes him freeze, and just for a moment an image of a dead little girl in his arms flashes in his mind, soaking wet and freezing cold, unseeing eyes stare into his as he shakes her as hard as he could, his own screams of despair deaf to his ears, it was only the dog’s tugging on his arm did he snap out of it, “kid… KID!” he screams as he runs as fast as he could to where the boy lay, praying to The Almighty that he’s alright.

He drops the deer and kneels, shaking the boy, hard, he can feel his faint breathing getting slower… and slower, in a panic he puts his head to his chest, as long as there’s a heartbeat it’s fine right? Except in that moment he hears the kid’s heart slow and then… nothing. “no no no… NO NO NO” NOT AGAIN! His pleading falls deaf to the winter surrounding them, the animals and critters silent as if they too were aware of the tragedy that is happening. He puts Duke on his back, performing CPR desperately, in the back of his mind he’s warning himself not to be too hard or he might break the kid’s ribcage, but he could care less, a child is NOT dying by his hands, not again.

By his ear he hears a strange sound… something crackling, something groaning, with a gasp he straightens up to look around, the source of the strange noise impossible to pinpoint, “what was that?!”, he was about to continue saving the boy’s life, but the crackling happens again, this time louder, and… closer. It was only then he realized that it was coming from… Duke? He puts his ear to his chest and… yeah… the noise was coming from him, and it was only growing louder, and louder until it slowly fizzled away like a dying fire. A loud and sudden gasp had him tumbling backwards and down the short steps of the porch, “DUKE!” he crawls over the boy in question, one hand on his chest and another on his forehead, a heartbeat… and he was breathing… impossible.

He can only stare in disbelief over what just happened, because… what the hell was that? The kid was breathing, short and shallow yeah, but he was breathing! But… how? There was no heartbeat when he stopped the CPR, and what was that noise? And why was it coming from him? Questions upon questions run through his mind as he tries and fails to make sense of what was happening, it was only when he shivered in the cold did he realized that they were still on the porch, and the kid definitely wasn’t wearing anything warm, in fact, what was he doing out here in nothing but that anyways? Shaking his head at the childish idiocy, he carries the kid back into the cabin, Rocko whining behind him, and puts him gently back on the couch, making sure to tightly secure the blanket around him to ensure that no heat can escape.

With everything done, he stands up with a sigh and a groan, his back unappreciative at the physical labour, ah to be young again… he stares into nothing for a moment, something nagging the back of his mind, feels like he forgot something, but what? He looks into the ceiling for answers, before it hits him like a truck, MY DEER! If Rocko could laugh, he would at seeing his master scramble and almost trip on his own feet as he makes his way outside to retrieve his hunt for the day, but alas, he couldn’t, so nothing more than an amused boof echoes in the cabin amidst the wind coming through the open door. The dog turns around to face the young boy on the couch (and ignoring the muttering of his master as he closes the door and prepares the meat for dinner), placing his snout on his lap as he waits for him to wake up, his soft whines remain unanswered by the slumbering boy.

“Peter...? Peter?” a voice tears through his daze, questioning red eyes scan him anxiously, “are you… alright?” a question delivered in a whisper brings him back, “yeah! Yeah I’m fine, uhh” his hand scratches the back of his neck, if he told him the truth he’d freak out, and the kid’s stressed as it is, he can’t do that to him, “uhh nothing much really, you passed out for a bit there and I brought you inside…” purposely omitting the crackling sounds in fear of frightening him. “Oh…” his eyes flit nervously around the room before they go downturned, “thanks… sorry” his hands fidget in his lap, “hey! Nothin’ to be sorry about! Accidents happen… am I right?” trying to lighten the mood, the deer he hunted springing into his mind, “oh yeah! Remember when I said I went out hunting? Well I got us some deer! We’re gonna be good for weeks! So, what do you say? Meat? Not to brag but I’m something of a grill master myself” he huffs good-naturedly, taking amusement at the wide eyed look on the boy’s face.

Meat huh? He can feel his stomach clench greedily at the thought, meat sounds nice, haven’t had that in a while, he nods at the big man, watching him smile and practically skip off to prepare their meal, rolling his eyes at the boyish excitement, a big guy like him has no right to act like a kid. “So, I just… passed out?” he thinks to himself as he muses the possibility, “impossible… I literally felt my heart stop, was it because of the force control? Did I push myself too soon?” his eyebrows furrowed together in intense thought, trying to make sense of everything, “boof?” he looked to his side, Rocko’s big brown eyes stare back at him. He smiles softly, yeah… this dog’s growing on him (like a furry fungus), he reaches a hand out to pet the mutt, only now truly taking note of its appearance, a grey coat, big brown eyes, his eyes trail downwards, and a white patch on his stomach, he kinda looks like one of those dollar store plushies people buy for cheap as Christmas presents or something… cute.

Soon only the hissing of cooking meat as the giant worked on the grill can be heard, along with soft instructions on how to cut certain vegetables to the pale haired boy beside him, a dog’s silent insistence of being apart of the preparation (despite being more of a hinder), its tail swishing from side to side and the scraping of paws on wood. The crackle of fire in the fireplace making a cozy ambience in the cabin, the hecticness of the day long forgotten in the quiet laughter.

This is where it was, that familiar energy… a lone figure in black stands among the trees, the dark of the night camouflaging him almost perfectly, the pale glow of the moon reveals tuffs of dark green hair, and a silent, calculating look in his eyes. The cabin in front of him stands silent, its inhabitants long asleep at midnight, a soft laugh floats in the air, unbelieving and impossible to accept the possibility of him being alive. Hmm, he needs to investigate more, keep an eye on this lone home and its people, if he was correct in his suspicions, then this is truly something interesting to report to his master. As if he were never there, the figure vanishes into the air, startling the sleeping critters around them, leaving a dark, mysterious aura in the midst.

Chapter Text

“What are we looking for again?”

Reverberating in the barren forest was the crunch of snow under heavy feet and Rocko’s sniffing, “you said you were bored, so here we are” Peter said with a sigh, having been woken up by a persistent teenager and a nosy dog on what was supposed to be a day off. “Yeah… but what are we looking for?” the boy behind him questioned, his footsteps barely making a sound, if he stayed silent for too long, Peter might’ve thought he wandered off, “a rabbit, something small, you’ve never hunted before right?” he looked at Duke through the corner of his eye, the kid effortlessly stepping through the thick snow and foliage underneath.

The boy shrugged, not giving much of an answer, Peter sighed mentally, it’s been a week of them living together, and Duke’s been getting more and more comfortable (if the constant pestering and increasingly bratty behaviour were any indication), Rocko’s happy huffing not far behind, before he hears the dog boof softly. “something here?” he whispered, the only answer he gets is Rocko running ahead, as if expecting them to follow, he looks to Duke, as if wanting to say “you wanna go?”, the kid looks at him for a moment, before going ahead and following the dog, not waiting for him to keep up, teenagers are so rude.

He sighs, fine, following the pair leisurely, he didn’t exactly intend to even successfully hunt anything, this was just an outing, but still… when he reached them, he froze at how silent they were, unmoving, as if they were glued in place. He slows to a crouch, “what is it boys?” his gruff voice a whisper, if this really was a rabbit, he can’t be loud… neither of them said anything, as if they didn’t hear him. Gently, he pushes the two of them aside, reaching for the shotgun behind his back, but what greeted him wasn’t a rabbit, or any sort of critter, no, it was a footprint, a strange one, not looking like it belonged to a snow boot, it looked to be more… formal? “What the…” he puts his hand forward, analyzing it more deeply, yeah… it definitely looked formal, now who the hell would wear dress shoes on a snowing mountain???

He glances to where Duke and Rocko are, the dog on his hind legs waiting for an order and the kid… staring at the forest with a distant look in his eyes, huh, weird… but the kid’s always been weird, “Kid?” he would’ve flinched at how fast the boy whips his head around to him if it weren’t for the fact that he’s used to it by now. “Pretty weird huh? You know what this is?” he says, a soft smile on his face and voice in a placating manner, he didn’t wanna set the kid off, “uhh… no” Duke says, voice tapering off, “come’ere” the big man says, his hand gesturing in a quick come hither. The boy slowly takes a crouch beside him, curiosity written all over his eyes, “you see this? This ain’t no normal footprint, see the shape?” his finger traces the shape of the footprint, but mainly focusing on the middle part, “this here means that this ain’t a snow boot, you wanna guess what it is?”, the boy squints, hard, trying to make out the vague shape, “is that… a shoe?” he says, Peter chuckles proudly, “damn right it is! That there is a dress shoe to be exact, now… why would someone wearing dress shoes climb all the way up this snowy mountain hmm?” his voice raises mischeviously, wiggling his eyebrows at the kid next to him.

… Why’s he making that stupid face? Duke deadpans at the giant crouching beside him, unamused at the man’s behaviour, “cause they’re a dumbass?” his voice devoid of emotion whatsoever, teenage sass dripping from his tone. He would’ve flinched at Peter’s loud laughter if he wasn’t so used to it, instead, he just stares harder, if this guy makes noise like that, he’s gonna scare the rabbits away damn it! Finally, the man slows to a chortle, coughing for moment before regaining his composure, “that’s one way to say it!” he pats him on the back, if Duke wasn’t an awakened one he would’ve broken his back!

Slowly, the man stands up with a groan, putting his hands on his back, “welp, whoever it is, they sure ain’t here now, you wanna head back or do you still wanna hunt?” the promise of catching a rabbit instantly makes him spring to his feet, giddy excitement blooming in his chest, he’s never hunted anything before! (if the rookies he’s fought and killed weren’t considered prey, that is), he skips behind Peter, the oaf’s whistling filling the empty utopia around them, Rocko boofing happily as he leads the way.

But still… he stops, looking back to where the footprint was, if that energy really belonged to who he thinks it is… he might need to leave sooner than he thought (he ignored the sharp stab at his heart at the thought), “Kid! Hurry up!” he whips his head to the bellowing voice, “I’m coming!” he takes one last look at the footprint (and a longer thought of who it belonged to), before he runs to Peter and Rocko, too enveloped in the warmth among the snow to listen to the voice in his head warning him of the danger to come.

Chapter Text

Tick, tock

Tick, tock

Tick, tock

The consistent ticking of the clock on the wall doesn’t help with Duke’s ability to sleep (and neither does Rocko’s loud snoring), there’s something swirling in his guts, a deep, instinctual warning that something bad will happen, the cold chill emanating from the gaps of the windows and the itchy blanket which used to be a lifeline for him, he feels hot, sweat coats his brow and his eyes close shut trying to ignore everything and just go to sleep.

But he can’t, because there’s someone outside, watching him, just a few feet away from the cabin in the dark, cold snowy forest, he knows it, knows who it is, but he just wills it away for a moment of peace. “Please… just one more day…” he laments internally, but the energy doesn’t go away, doesn’t dissipate, its constant, insistent presence lingers, beckoning him outside. He sighs, deep and guttural from his chest, and gets up to sit, the blanket sliding off his body and off the couch directly landing on Rocko (the dog doesn’t mind, obviously), the deep chill rattles his bones, the once warm cabin now filled with his dread for what he knows will happen.

Carefully, he gets up, ignoring the fact that he is going to be walking outside in nothing but an oversized hoodie and boxer shorts (and the heavy heart weighing on his chest, making it much harder to breathe), and opens the door, stepping outside and quickly shutting it behind him, he didn’t want Rocko getting a cold, standing on the snowy porch, his feet already burning from the sharp sting of frost, he gazes at the intruder, whose dark silhouette conceals who they are (it fails, he already knows who it is). He approaches the tall man with cautious steps, in this environment, there will be no Peter or Rocko to protect him, and if he isn’t careful, they might get killed in whatever’s about to happen.

“… Duke” the man says, voice hushed in a whisper that almost gets swallowed by the harsh winds around them, hands coming up to slowly take off their hood, (Duke almost flinched if it weren’t for his training) revealing dark green hair and sharp eyes concealed under a mask. “Muse” his voice barely hides a pathetic tremble, already afraid of the inevitable outcome, “you seem well… considering” Muse says, his lips curled in a gentle smile Duke knows is anything but, his eyes scanning him from head to toe, slow and methodical, just like the woman who raised him. Duke says nothing, who knows what Supri’s shadow will say, twist his words to conform? To obey, his eyes simply remain at their feet, his own pale skin nearly blending with the snow, contrasting greatly to Muse’s black dress shoes, probably warm in their own right.

For a while neither one said anything, one a boy with everything to lose, the other a man with nothing to gain by right, should he turn the other cheek or rat him out, it doesn't mater anymore. In a move Duke doesn’t expect, he feels a hand gently guide his chin upwards to meet a surprisingly gentle gaze, when did he take off his mask? Muse’s face is on full display now, elegant features framed by willowy green hair, the colour of leaves on oak trees, a face you’ll never forget in a lifetime. “You were alive this whole time…” it’s funny how breathless the man sounds, whether in awe or shock Duke doesn’t know, the tremble in his frame betrays his need to just get this over with.

With a sigh that makes him sound older than he is, Muse lets him go, but Duke still looks at him, staring in disbelief at the gentle disposition the usually cold man gives, “you know you can’t stay here” he says as he looks to the cabin, unchanging in the crisis currently happening, its inhabitants still fast asleep, and there it is. There is the exact thing he’s been dreading to hear, and he lets out a harsh breath, could’ve been a sob or a huff, no one knows, “I know that… I know” he says, hands fidgeting with the soft hoodie, the chill of winter long forgotten, the snowy trees contrast greatly with the two individuals. Muse looks at him, eyes soft and caring (but not like Peter’s… never like Peter’s), “I’m sorry…” his hands lands on a thin shoulder, delicate and young, in understanding and sympathy, “… I didn’t tell the others… no one else knows” red eyes snap to look at the man, wide and glassy, “… really…?” shock and disbelief drips from his tone, hopeful (what a dangerous thing, Muse thinks).

He nods, “but even still…” he grips both of his shoulders, crouching down slightly to the boy’s eye level, gaze serious and unwavering, the air colder than before (he ignores the shiver, that definitely wasn’t the cold), “I can’t let you stay here, you are endangering a human, no matter how attached you are to him, you have to leave” he says, eyes never stray the teary eyed gaze of the boy, “I can help you… no one else will know about this, not Roist, not Madam Supri, not Lord Schnauder”  the name of his former master and mentor elicits a sharp flinch, promptly ignored by Muse. “I will let you say your goodbyes, 30 minutes, that’s it” he finishes, spinning the slender frame around and pushing him back towards the cabin, watches him hesitate for a few seconds before making slow, sad steps to the door, his eyes look away before his heart breaks.

Duke opens the door cautiously, slow, careful not to wake the dog or the slumbering man within, willing his tears away, he knew it… he knew it, and he still let himself get attached (this is all his fault). His glassy eyes scan the interior of the cabin, still dark and warm despite the dead flames in the fireplace, he shuts his eyes tightly, one tear valiantly breaks free, and he wipes it off before he breaks down. He walks to a cupboard, opening a drawer he knows where the paper and pens are (he’s seen Peter open it when he wrote down recipes to remember later on), picks up a pen and starts to write, ignoring the tremble in his fingers and the blood on his lips as he bites down on it to stifle his pathetic sobs,

Dear Peter,

I can’t thank you enough for taking care of me, I’m sorry things ended like this, but I have to go now, I can’t stay here… I’ll put both you and Rocko in danger. I can’t say much but just know that that I’m eternally grateful to you, please don’t grieve me, I’m not Mila, I’ll never be, but thank you for caring for me like you did her, I’m sure she’s smiling from wherever she may be.

Make sure to give Rocko plenty of treats for me, even though he’s lazy enough as it is, don’t scold him too much, it makes me sad, and take care of yourself. By the time you get this letter, I probably won’t even be in the country anymore, so don’t come looking for me for your own sake, I can take care of myself, wherever I turn up, I’m sure I’ll be safe.

Thank you for everything,

Duke.

He drops down to his knees as he finishes the letter, his hands gripping the cupboard as he takes slow, deep breaths in a way to regain his composure, slowly standing up to wipe his tears, making his way to the couch (and avoiding the big dog sleeping beside it, ignoring the ache of never getting to hear his dumb boofing ever again), he folds the blanket neatly, before placing the piece of paper under it, making sure it’s still visible but won’t be disturbed by the wind.

He steps back, closer to the door, cherishing the sight he’ll never see again, of the warm food he’ll never get to taste, nor the big, heavy hugs and loud laughter he’s come to love, he stands there on borrowed time, a few minutes longer, listening to Rocko’s loud snoring and the clock’s obnoxious ticking, fuck, he’s going to miss this. Finally, with a heavy sigh (and a heavier heart) he walks out of the cabin, his feet taking him to where Muse is waiting, his mind floating under the starry sky he’ll never see again. Together, the pair began the long journey, away from the small cabin, the forests, away from the place closest to family Duke has ever known.

Peter awakens in a snort and a shout, foggy eyes blinking at the sunlight pouring through the windows of the cabin, warm, as it should be. He shuffles off the bed, the soft duvet beckoning him to continue sleeping, but he can’t, he has to wake up early if he wants to teach the kid how to make good Borscht (he can’t wait, he chuckles as he remembers the first time he fed the kid, guzzling it down like it was his last day). He makes his way to the living room, opening his door with a loud yawn (obnoxious, as a way to wake Rocko), ignoring the dog’s grumbling, “hey kid, you sleep goo…” his question trails off as he fully examines the living room, empty.

More awake now, he searches the cabin thoroughly now, maybe the kid went to take a piss? He stops by the couch, noticing now that the blanket is neatly folded, so unlike the way the boy would leave it when he wakes up to do something, messy and tangled. His heart drops when he sees the letter underneath, hands trembling as he picks it up to read.

Silence

Before a gasp and a heavy thump from a man crumpling to the floor, sobs echo throughout the bare cabin, ignoring Rocko’s concerned whines, he crumples the piece of paper in his hands, grief and betrayal ripe in his frame, “why?” the singular question reverberates in the air, no answer for the heartbroken giant.

The forest stands still, critters go silent, as if to pay respect to the grievance in the lonely cabin, the wind and snow carry the whispers and prayers of sadness to the skies, who are silent and unwavering. The once warm atmosphere grows cold, no more laughter echoes in the trees, now there is nothing but the chilling grief of a man mourning another lost child.

That night, it snowed heavier than usual.

Chapter Text

The airport barely has any people this early in the morning huh? (ignoring the fact that this is a really small airport in the middle of Russia) his boarding ticket in one hand, a fake passport in the other, where the hell did Muse of all people get a fake passport? (he shouldn’t ask, the guy is shady enough as is) he ignores the stares and whispers of the few people in the waiting lobby, wondering what child would be alone, dressed in nothing but a worn hoodie and shorts, not even a bag for his belongings, to be here? Duke waits patiently to be called on flight, hell, he doesn’t even know where he’s going, Chad, what the fuck is Chad? Where the fuck is Chad?

Questions go around like a ping pong ball in his head, doing nothing to quell his anxiety, recalling an hour ago when Muse dropped him off in this tiny airport, saying nothing as he passes on a fake passport and ID, a bit of cash to survive, and a harsh whisper as he grabs his hands, “take this, and take a flight to Chad, nowhere else, just Chad, don’t look suspicious, don’t talk to strangers, and… take care of yourself” he ends with a harsh look in his eyes, staring at Duke in a way that is serious, no play. “Okay…” Duke says, anxiety racking his frame, and only then Muse relaxes slightly, letting a small smile grace his elegant lips, and he lets go, before he leaves, he takes one last look at the young boy, and nods as he exits the airport.

He eyes the big screen that flashes incoming flights, his plane doesn’t land for another 20 minutes, and he has to wait another 15 at least until he can board, he heaves a heavy sigh. Another few minutes of waiting (it felt like hours) and he hears his stomach grumble, “I’m hungry” he mutters, noticing now he hasn’t eaten in hours, he can waste a few minutes finding something to eat right? He gets up, shoving his hands in the hoodie’s pockets and stalks his way to the nearest store, eyeing the warm bread on the display, he grabs one, hmm, maybe another, and a can of coffee from the nearby fridge (it’s been forever since he’s had coffee), before making his way to the counter.

The old woman behind the register eyes him wearily, taking his food and scanning them, taking her time, her eyes narrowing before looking left and right to check her surroundings. Duke watches with caution as the woman leans forward, “you okay kid?” she whispers, voice croaky with age, “you’re not getting trafficked or anything are you?” her accent thick enough it makes him stall for a moment, registering her words. “Uhm… no…” he says, voice trailing off awkwardly, “you sure? I can get help” her voice urgent now, “no really, I’m okay” his hands flail in a placating manner, desperate to get this old hag off his back.

He watches her as she studies him, critically, trying to find any notable signs of abuse or something else, after a few minutes, she seemed satisfied, culled now that she knows the young boy is in no danger. She straightens to full height, grey hair tied in a tight bun makes her face look harsher than it is, her tall frame makes her intimidating, but the softness of her full figure counteracts that, she is dressed in a light blue dress, a cream coloured cardigan hugs her frame and a light pink headscarf hides her ageing hair, a classic babushka. “Where are you going?” her tone sharp though her eyes are soft, her arms folded like a military leader of a squadron, “uhm… Chad” Duke’s voice is soft, almost shy under the intense gaze of the old woman, “who are you going with” “…. I’m going alone”, instantly, her face sharpens again, disbelief at the fact that such a young boy is travelling to a foreign country with no adult to accompany him.

Duke almost flinched at her intensity, “why are you going alone? Where are your parents?” her questions delivered quickly and harsh, and he panics. He can’t tell her the truth! She might call security or something! “My parents are waiting there for me, uhh… so” he answers in a rush, scratching his arm awkwardly. For a few, agonizingly long minutes he was studied, the babushka trying to decipher his lies, “then where is your bag? Don’t you have anything with you?”... Shit, what do I say? “I only have a suitcase, it’s uhh, it’s still getting checked, long line you know?” he plays it off, one hand scratches his neck trying to ward off his anxiety. Finally, finally, the woman backs off, putting his food in a plastic bag before stopping, fucking great... what now? “Is this all?” her question would’ve been condescending if it weren’t for the underlying concern in her voice, “yeah... that’s all, I don’t... have much” his hands show the limited cash in his pockets.

The woman’s eyes turn soft (or as soft as they could get), she turns to the display at her side where the more expensive bread and confectionaries go, taking a few of them and packing them up, “here... it’s on me” she holds a hand up when she sees him about to protest, “at least with this I can go to sleep at night knowing you won’t starve on the plane” she hands him the bag, and his eyes mist over, was the world always this kind? He takes it with shaky hands, “thank you” he whispers his gratitude, he was about to say something else until-

“Flight QS173 to Chad, passengers are asked to check in to counter M16 at gate 4, thank you” the crackly announcement comes from the old, outdated speaker, his flight. He hurriedly looks towards the old woman, but she just pushes him away, urging him to hurry on to his flight, “stay safe” her voice, for once, was warm (it reminds him of Peter). Duke takes one last look at her, savouring her kindness, before he dashes off, plastic bag in one hand, passport and boarding ticket in another. He runs until he reaches his gate, allowing the staff to check him in, indifferent to the fact that he doesn’t even have a carry on (because why would they care?) and finally, he gets on the plane.

He makes his way to his seat, a window seat, how lucky, and collapses into the old, hard cushion. His tired eyes glance out the window, the dark skies remain silent, it was a cloudy night, no stars for him huh? He stares outside a moment longer, etching the image of Russia that he knows will be the last, before sleep finally takes over his tired, worn body.

A few seats behind him, a dark figure in a hoodie stares at the slumbering boy, a thin, wicked smile spreads across his face, “perfect” he thinks, adjusting himself to a more comfortable position, he continues to watch the kid sleep, innocently oblivious to the danger he’s in once the plane lands.

Eh, not his problem.

Chapter Text

“Mmf” the boy on the couch groaned as he awakes from a night of peaceful sleep (the most pleasant he’s had so far), the cabin is bathed in early sunlight, warm in its presence, the soft blanket he snuggles into almost lulls him to sleep again...

“Boof!”

His eyes snap open, “Rocko?!” he gasps as he throws the blanket off him, sitting up in a rush, red eyes scanning the perimeter before landing on the grey mutt next to him, “boof?” the dog’s curious whine accompanied by a head tilt and the sound of his tail hitting the wooden floor as it wags uncontrollably is a sight for sore eyes.

“Rocko!” came the boy’s delighted exclaim, almost falling face first on the floor in his attempt to hug the dog, Rocko’s loud boofing of alarm echoes throughout the cabin before they both collapse to the floor in a tangle of dog and child, giggles reverberating through the air. “God, I missed you!” Duke says as he ruffles the mutt roughly (Rocko boofs defiantly, but he knows the dog doesn’t mind one bit, he was about to tease him again before...

“Kid? Rocko? You boys okay?”

The playful atmosphere hits an abrupt end as... Peter emerges out of his bedroom, sleep still evident in the way he groggily walks into the living room while staving off a yawn, a hand rubbing at his eyes. The early sun bathes him in an almost heavenly light, and Duke’s eyes immediately tear up, “... Peter?” his voice came in an awed whisper, disbelief written all over his being, “yeah kid? What’s up?” the oafs warm voice finally breaks him out of the daze. Next thing the big man knows is that he’s catching a combination of lanky limbs and awkward teenage flailing, the boy straight up ramming into the big man in his haste to hug him.

“I miss you... I miss you so much, I’m sorry!” the sobs wrecking the young body almost makes the words incomprehensible to Peter, but he catches them anyway, his eyes soften as understanding and forgiveness dawns over him, a big hand coming up to ruffle his hair and wipe his tears away, “what are you sorry for kid? There’s nothing to be sorry for” he says as he continues to comfort the sobbing boy.

For a few moments, the tranquility of warmth envelops Duke, the hand stroking his hair bringing nothing but peace, so much so he doesn’t notice how... cold the cabin is now. His brow furrows as the chill crawls up his arms, the sunlight gone now, confused, he slowly looks up, expecting to see Peter’s kind eyes looking down on him, but instead... no... NO!

He wrenches himself away from the hulking body, watching in horror as Peter morphs into disfigurement, melting away in red and black abomination, disappearing into a puddle of goo at his feet. His eyes never stray from the terrifying scene, “Peter?!” his hysterical scream ignored in the dark and horrid nightmare, before he could shout for him again, the puddle changes, forming another shape... of a man... of... no...

What greets him is the cold eyes of his master, Lord Schnauder, the man behind his upbringing... and his fall, “Duke” the scarred man says, his face contorts into a sick, twisted smile that almost makes the boy vomit, “you thought you could escape? From who you are? From what you are?” his lord’s voice drips with venom, “what...?” he’s confused... he’s scared, his shaking frame more than evidence of it. He doesn’t move when his master reaches out a huge hand towards him, he can’t, his feet rooted by some unknown force, he doesn’t flinch when the hand grabs his head, holding it in a devastating, crushing hold, this... this is familiar (unlike Peter’s gentle touch), his body limp as the lord grips his hair to make him look at him in the eyes, full of vitriol and hatred.

The last thing he sees is Lord Schnauder’s silver eyes (the same eyes which once looked at him with a semblance of fondness... long ago) before the darkness around him swallows him whole...

“Sir...?

What...?

“Sir?”

Who’s that? What’s that voice? Who’s calling me?

“Sir!”

His whole body jerks with a gasp, eyes opening with glistening tears blurring his vision, what greets him is a concerned face of a... flight attendant? He looks around in confusion for a moment, before realization dawns over like a cold, restrictive hold, yeah... that’s right... he’s not in Russia anymore (no more Peter and Rocko to wake him). “Sir? .... Kid? Are you okay?” he flinches at the small hand that lands on his shoulder, gentle grip bringing him back bit by bit, “yeah... yeah I’m... okay... I think” the last part murmured too softly for her to hear, he looks up at her kind smile, “we have arrived, I think it would be best for you to get off now” her professional tone makes him smile (although minute), “okay... alright, uhh... thanks” he says as he gets out of his seat, facing her one last time to flash a thankful smile, and then he promptly gets off.

Thankfully, the plane landed near the airport itself, so there’s no need to get a buggy. The heat that greets him is so unlike the cold he’s accustomed to his whole life, instantly making him sweat under his hoodie, slightly jogging to get into the airport (and he swears to God, if it doesn’t have air-conditioning he’s getting back on that plane). By the grace of the Almighty, the airport is air-conditioned, he gives out a slight huff of appreciation, scanning his environment for a moment, trying to find immigration. This one, like the airport in Russia, is also quite small, making it easier to find the counter. When all is said and done, he observes his environment in scrutiny, even in the afternoon there were only a handful of people present, it brings him slight relief, the less people the better, just as he was about to walk to a bench (he realized he slept the whole 18 hour plane ride and didn’t get to eat, how the hell did he manage that?), a man in black bumps into him from behind, making him stumble and nearly fall if he didn’t regain his balance on time.

“What the hell?” he mutters, watching as the man walks away unapologetically, his brow furrow in confusion as a nasty smile stretches across the guy’s face when he looked at him, what’s his problem? Quickly, he patted his pockets (just in case the man was a pickpocket) but thankfully, everything is where it should be, the mysterious bastard forgotten in his mind as hunger gnaws at him with full force. The people around him watch in disgust as he shoves bread in his mouth, swallowing without even chewing first, hitting his chest with a fist when it gets stuck, soon he leans back against the bench, a groan and an (admittedly) disgusting burp erupts from him, but relief takes over shame as he ignores the eyes around him.

After a few minutes of unmoving silence as he waits for the food to digest enough for him to move, he sits up, calculating his next move, rummaging through his pockets, his passport, ID, and... cash, yes! He could get a taxi! The moment of revelation makes him stand up suddenly, energy replenished now that he’s full, eyes searching frantically for a sign that will lead him to a taxi stand.

A few feet ahead he sees it, and without hesitation he makes a break for it (he doesn’t notice how vacant the airport is now), soon he finds himself in the waiting area which, to his disappointment, was empty, because of course it was. He sighs, shoulders slumping forward as dismay takes over, the excitement now gone, how the fuck does an airport not have any taxis?! Do these people want to be poor?? He doesn’t notice the looming presence behind him, nor does he see the hands slowly creeping behind him aiming for his head and neck until it’s too late, not until he feels a syringe plunging into the back of his neck, right under his hairline. He gasps with a hand behind his neck, spinning around to come face to face with... the mysterious bastard?! He gapes at the man smiling cruelly at him, face twisted in a wide grin, he growls as he unleashes his energy in a big red blade (he knows he can’t use them in a human populated area... but this is literally life or death!). He’s too slow though, must be the drug, because the man was quick to dodge, moving aside as he laughs, “I knew it! You’re an awakened one! They’re gonna give me a hell lotta money for you!” he doesn’t stop laughing and giggling as Duke continues attacking him (he’s getting sloppy now, his vision blurring around the edges, this is getting dangerous).

It's hard to breathe... he can feel his arm slicing one more time through the air before he collapses in a heap of exhaustion, the hot tar underneath him makes it painful in this heat, his hoodie in tatters as sweat and blood seeps into a puddle (where did the blood come from? Right... he did it himself). His eye glances up at the man grinning down at him in a crouch, “you know kid, I gotta thank you, you’re gonna make me a fortune” he chuckles, “helps that you were so easy”, he wants to fight back, to scream, to run, anything! But he can’t, he can’t breathe, his arms won’t move, his legs won’t stand, his body won't obey him... he’s so scared.

The last thing he hears is a truck approaching and wheels slow to a stop in front of him, if it were a bit closer, it would’ve crushed his head. “You got him?” an unknown voice asks, a man, oh no... “yep! As you can see...” a hand grips his hair to look up, showing him off, he can see two men in front of him... but he can’t see their faces... it’s getting dark... “hmph” and his face gets shoved to the ground again, the voices now fading to a whisper.

“Peter...?” Help me... Oh wait... Peter isn’t here anymore.

Was the last thought that went through his head before he passed out, coldness spreading through his body as it gives out.

Chapter Text

Darkness...

Why is it so dark?

Right... he’s been blindfolded... go figure.

The only thing accompanying him in the darkness (and heat... holy shit it was hot) as he laid on his side in the trunk was the rough bumping of the truck, uneven roads making it obvious they went off road, his head hits the roof particularly hard when they gone over a rough clearing, eliciting a gasp of pain through the gag they had on him.

He’s numb, fear no longer an option as he resigns to his fate, quiet resolve emanates from him in waves, dread quietly settling in the pit of his stomach (he’s gonna throw up). He wonders where they’re taking him, is it an organization that wants Lord Schnauder’s force control? Was it someone who recognized him from the Frame? Or... no, he’s not even gonna entertain that thought.

His mulling abruptly ends when the truck makes a sudden stop, making him lurch forward and hit his head (again), a groan of exasperation echoes in the trunk. Great... here we are, a sudden influx of bright light makes him squint behind the blindfold, hands grabbing at him makes him wiggle in vain trying to fight back, “stop that before I make you” a deep, cold voice tells him, the timber reverberates through his body, he stops out of instinct. He can feel the man huff (in what he doesn’t know) from where he’s hauled on the broad shoulder he’s on, feeling them walk somewhere before cold wind greets him, air-conditioning? Seriously, where is he?

They continue to walk, he can hear people shuffling around, talking, whispering, the smell of sterilization hits his nose, freezing on the spot with his blood running cold, no... no no no no no! Anything but this! He begins to fight now, in honest, bone-chilling fear, but he doesn’t get to do much before he’s being thrown on a bed, gasping as his body hits and bounces on a mattress, hands grabbing at him, prodding him in places he’s never touched himself, and then the blindfold is ripped away.

What greets him is a man in a lab coat, big glasses creating a glare which makes it hard to see his eyes, blinding white light making Duke squint, he looks around to people wearing similar coats, white, medical, sterile... no. A light is in his eyes before he could even blink, “pupil dilation normal” the man says, voice annoyingly squeaky, like a rat, “pulse is erratic, can’t get an accurate reading” a woman says, “well duh!” a voice interjects, coldly playful, they were still touching him, a hand on his neck, another on his chest, he can feel his blood being drawn somewhere, his limbs strapped down.

After what felt like an eternity, they finally let him go, he properly studies his environment now, a room, cold and white just like the fucking shrinks, small, just enough space to have a sink and a toilet bowl, suffocating. He looks down, noticing that he wasn’t wearing the clothes he arrived in, white (God, he’s so sick of it) shirt and pants that were too big hang off of him, when did they strip him? Embarrassment doesn’t even get to crawl up his neck before the door opens again, the rats moving aside to let an older man in, also in a white lab coat, he squints trying to read the name badge, “Dr. Mandela” walks to him in steady, deliberate steps. “Hello” he greets, a smile on his lips that doesn’t reach his empty eyes, studying the boy strapped to the bed like an erratic psychiatric patient, Duke could only glare at the man, hatred dripping off him as he watches the doctor circle his bed.

He stops on his left, eyes just staring at him for a moment, “you will be catalogued shortly” his voice indifferent and chilling, “don’t worry, it’s standard procedure, identification, classification, cataloguing, you know the drill” that last part was for the shrinks behind him, snapping his fingers as a tray gets wheeled in, is that...? As it’s wheeled closer, Duke can see it clearly now, hot, burning steel, raging red and orange as if it’s freshly off fire, oh... no. Panic and fear completely take control of him now, thrashing so hard on the bed it shakes, why can’t he use his powers?! He takes a quick glance to the restraints, Fuck! They’re the power blocking ones!

His head’s being forced to the side now, leaving the back of his neck exposed, they’re gonna do it there?! Muffled screams and pleas go unheard and ignored behind the gag, he can feel the heat approaching now, getting closer... and closer... he can smell the stench of burning iron, worming its way down his throat and lungs, before he can register it, searing, hot, burning pain goes down his neck, the smell of his own burnt flesh floods his senses, he can hear someone screaming, so loud it rattled the glass on the observation windows, fuck... it was him wasn’t it?

It went on for so long... so long... and then it stopped. He slumps, exhausted, bleeding, burning. The only thing heard in the small room was the slight scuffling of the scientists moving about, but the loudest thing he can hear is the blood rushing through his ears, his own pants and gasps ignored in the aftermath of the torture. He feels a hand stroking his hair, he looks up weakly to see that wretched man... Dr. Mandela... looking down at him like one would gaze down a dying lamb for slaughter, carding his hand through his wet, sweaty hair in slow strokes, a smile still on his lips, “there there now... it’s over” but his voice is as plain as the white of the room, unfeeling and cold.

He can feel the bed grow wet, vaguely registering the sight of the red blood (his) in the corner of his eye, he sees Mandela move to a slow crouch beside him, lips near his ear and a voice in a whisper, “savour it, that’s the least we’ll be doing to you now”, the only evidence of shock and fear that could be seen was the trembling in his frame and the tears in his eyes, “Subject A17... welcome aboard”.

And then... once again... darkness (he’s getting sick of that too).

He wakes to hands on him (is he really surprised at this point?), but... something’s different...

A disoriented groan escapes his bound lips, not yet fully registering the pain shooting through his body, not yet. Glaring light blinds him, his hands and feet bound tightly to something, something... hard? He’s... he’s not on the bed anymore... where-

His eyes snap down, the horror incomprehensible to his young eyes, the sounds of beeping machines and hushed whispers finally break through his daze... and the pain. He screams and cries as he struggles against his binds, it doesn’t help the hands moving within him, now gripping his organs out of shock (fuck fuck FUCK), “hold him down! Where’s the sedative?!” hands grip him, a syringe in the corner of his eye, “leave him! We need to see how different the pain tolerance is between a normal Ajin and an awakened one!” a voice interjects, and the hands and syringe disappears, but the pain does not.

The words escape him, blinding, excruciating pain erupts through his whole body, why won’t they give him the sedative?! Pain tolerance?! Pain tolerance his ass, this feels like he’s getting turned inside out alive! But the hands don’t stop, in fact, they grow more determined, what were they looking for? Or is this just to make him suffer? He feels a hand touching his intestines, another groping a kidney, the other stroking his lungs, all in fascination, curiosity... cruelty.

It just went on... and on... and at some point, one of the shrinks touches something that makes the pain explode, and suddenly, he’s not there anymore, not really. In his own mind he drifts, he can hear Rocko’s boofing, Peter’s laughter, the look of Master Schnauder’s eyes when he fails to master a technique in a day, Roist’s rough hitting when he turns Duke into a joke, the smell of Madam Supri’s perfume... The pain was still there, he can feel their horrid hands still moving inside him, so rough now they sometimes jostle him from side to side, but it’s okay... it’s bearable now...

“Subject A17 is showing signs of disassociation” a scientist sighs in disappointment, “he’s bleeding out, I don’t think he can hold on” another says, clinical and unconcerned, “hmm, we got what wanted, we can terminate the experiment now” someone says in the distance, retreating to the back to retrieve something, a cattle gun.

They pass it on to a burly man in black, who goes behind the boy, aiming it his head, “1...2....3” a sharp and quick whoosh sound echoes, “done, coffee break before he wakes up for phase 2” the sound of gloves snapping and excited murmurs leave the room, the only scene left was subject A17 bleeding out on the examination table, dead.

Chapter Text

How... how long has it been?

Could’ve been hours... maybe days... weeks?

He doesn’t know what kind of horror they’ll try on him today, he’s being wheeled on a trolley of some kind... feels like the ones they use in mortuaries, fitting, to be honest. It’s cold, like everything else is, he can only watch in a numb daze at the lights passing him overhead, each brighter than the last, until they enter a room, hmm, last time they pulled his arm and leg muscles bit by bit (unsedated mind you, some kind of muscle density or some bullshit), before that they operated his eyes, what will it be today?

Like animal for slaughter, they haul him without care to strap him on a metal table upright, strapped him like the usual, this time they strapped him across the forehead too, huh, now he’s genuinely curious. As they wheeled in a box with a series of meters attached to cables (electrocution huh? Ironic), although... something is different... just as a pair of scientists finish wheeling in the monstrosity, Dr. Mandela strolls in, calculated steps like he owns the room, “hello A17, we meet again” his hands behind his back, face slack in false serenity as he addresses Duke who can only narrow his eyes (he’s exhausted okay? They barely feed him here).

The doctor circles around him (just like last time), “do you know what you are yet?” he hears the question being asked behind him, but with the claustrophobic room, it felt like it was everywhere. The man pauses, as if he expects Duke to answer (he’s gagged, remember?), “you’re a special one, the only one of your kind that we have right now, did you know that?”, the boy flinches when the doctor suddenly appears beside him, so close he can feel his breath on his ear. Slowly, Mandela walks backwards, eyes on his subject, keen and coldly mischievous like he’s playing a game he knows Duke will lose, just like last time, he snaps his fingers, and those cables are attached on him, one by one, the boy’s ready this time, he closes his eyes, ready to escape from the torture whenever it starts (just like all the times before), another snap of fingers and,

ZAP

His body convulses, sharp, burning volts wrench through him, just as sudden as they happen, they stop. Duke is left panting and gasping for air, smelling burnt flesh in the air, he barely hears Dr. Mandela speaking through the wake of pain, “we call your kind Ajin, or Demi-Human, most of the ones we have in this facility were human, but you”, the witch leans in to him again, his breath stinks (or is that his cooked flesh? He can’t tell anymore), “you’re different, you were an awakened one” his sentence ends with a whisper of awe, “which is why you’re extremely precious to us”.

The doctor walks away again, and a snap of fingers later he’s being tortured again, this time he can’t retreat into his mind for shelter, this one is unpredictable, they stop and start for as long or as short as they please, and Duke... All he can do is to just... endure it and close his eyes.

“Subject A17 shows signs of accelerated of reset time even after 7 hours of non-stop electrocution therapy, note that within that period of time he has not reset even once until now, this is a highly abnormal rate, for the usual species of Ajin reset 3 times within 5 hours, in future sessions, we shall initiate gas therapy using HCN to assess his reaction and how it differs to the others” the doctor does not wait for his assistant to catch everything,  his quick steps lost among the high density of researchers in the hallway, in rapid speed he reaches to the end where a door awaits him, wasting no time in entering his office.

He almost slams the door in his assistant’s face with his carelessness (he doesn’t care one bit), sitting down at his desk, research papers scatter around him, an empty mug of coffee on his desk already collecting ants, he simply threw it into the trash bin, ignoring the shattering of porcelain in the soulless space. His assistant stands in front of him, taking notes and ignoring the chair in front of her (no one is to sit without his permission), silence reigned for a moment, only the scribbling of pen and the flipping of paper echo, “oh, and...” she stops her writing, looking at him with expectant eyes, only a little annoyed, “put him in the regular cells, I want to see how high his empathy levels are” Dr. Mandela had a cruel smile on his face, it’s never a good sign when the doctor smiles.

Her face was passive as she nods and jots it down, seemingly already making arrangements, “is there anything else I should take note?” her question was empty and clinical, just like everything else in the facility, “ah I don’t think there’s anything else, you can go now” he waves a flippant hand at her, head down focusing on a document, so she turns around and heads to the door, until “wait”, internally, she sighs, looking back towards him. “make sure his room is particularly... attenuate, you know what I mean” he flashes a thin grin at her, watches as her jaw clenches momentarily, just a second, “I’m sure you can arrange that” he folds his hands in front of him, a knowing look on his face, “Dr. Kang”.

Dr. Kang stands there with her hand on the doorknob, an apathetic look on her face, her brows furrowed for a moment before, “yes, I can arrange that, Dr. Mandela” she flashes a thin smile, and with that she was out, her long, sandy blonde hair flows behind her like a veil.

He’s being wheeled away again, bounded, and gagged, cold on the hard surface, but his eyes were keen as he watched his environment shift, the lights were getting dimmer and dimmer, there were less people, and it... stinks. He can recall them taking an elevator earlier, maybe they went underground? It was a little longer before they stopped somewhere, a cell? But it wasn’t like the one he had before, this one was.... more like a cage, like the ones they had in the Frame, metal bars encase a small space (and more often than not, people die in there before they could even get out), he can hear... people, but they don’t... move like the scientists do. His stomach drops, dread in his guts making cold sweat drip down his spine (it’s cold even here too), they’re doing something different now, what’s gonna happen to him?

He gets manhandled into the stupidly small, damp cell. Bare and harsh concrete scrape his skin (if he weren’t in these handcuffs he would’ve used their heads to mop the floor), still on his knees he hears them locking him away, he doesn’t move until he’s certain they’re gone (fucking rude, didn’t even bother taking the gag or cuffs off). Slowly, he gets up, assessing his surroundings, his eyes better than they’ve ever been since his first... reset (that’s what they call it), taking into account that there are many of them, filled with other people, people like him? Ajin or whatever, he looks to the cell next to him (looks like his is at the far end, of course it is, why not?), he can see a thin figure in the middle of it, curled up with their knees to their chest with their head down, he crouches and crawls closest to them.

He almost jumps back when they turn suddenly towards him, head snapping so quickly he can hear their neck snap (it was so loud), keeping his wits together and staying still as they approached. Slowly, the two of them are face to face, pressed as close together as the bars would allow, pregnant silence, and then “hey” was whispered to his face, Duke recoils in surprise (no, definitely not because of how bad their breath was), “no wait! Don’t be scared... please” it was said so quietly if it weren’t for his awakened hearing he wouldn’t have heard it. He crawls back to them quickly (but keeps his head slightly away, because, you know), “you need any help with that?” they point at his gag and cuffs, he nods, slow and hesitant, unsure of whether or not to trust them or not, “let me help” he can hear the smile in their voice, and he relaxes marginally, he dips his head in their direction, a silent show of permission and... trust.

He feels their hands swiftly undoing the gag (noting how thin and weak they seem, trembling like a newborn foal taking its first steps), after a few seconds, finally, he can speak again. “Thanks” his voice harsh from disuse, wetting his lips with his tongue, he looks at his cuffs, their thick, metallic nature would make them impossible to take off, so he leaves them, taking a few moments of rest before unleashing his curiosity in full force, “where is this? Who are you? Why are there so many people here?” his questions were quick and hurried, ignoring the startled look on his new companion’s face, “uhm... this is... this is the underground, it’s where all of us are put if they don’t want us for... tests” it was said slowly, like they were picking which words to use, eyes cast downwards in sorrow, “I’m... well, my serial number is B11, but... but my... my real name is... Katrina” Katrina’s hands scratch the back of her neck, where her serial number is, “there used to be more but... not anymore, I don’t know most of them... but Shuri and A’ka are on the same row as us” she points to the two other cells in their row.

Duke lets the information sink in, he deduced there would be more but, not this many, and there were more? Where did they go? Again, more silence reigned, only the occasional sigh and shuffle echo in the prison, “where... where did they keep you?” he feels her eyes on him, letting her own curiosity take over, “usually they... they put us here immediately after... after they catch us... but you look like... like you took a while” he stays silent, just a bit, would it hurt to tell her? They’re on the same boat, right? Not like she can tattle to anyone else... “they put me in the upper level, my cell was more... modern than this one, like a hospital room” now that he thinks about it, he misses his bed, it’s definitely 10x better than sleeping on sharp concrete. “What makes you so special that they put you there?” her tone was sharp, envy? Why would she say it like that? He doesn’t move, lessons of his family about what could and couldn’t be shared with humans run through his head, should he tell her? Does she even know what an awakened one is? He’ll be in trouble if he told her the truth... maybe... “I... I don’t know, I didn’t even know there was something like this... people underground like me... they said I... I was different, so... something about special observation” his voice trails off at the end, letting the implication float through the air, the tension so thick he can choke on it.

He feels a small hand land on his upper arm, tearing him out of his memories (he doesn’t want to remember it... why can’t he just forget?), her sympathy evident in her gaze, “if you’re different... that means the things they do to you... are worse than what they do to us...” she strokes his arm in slow, comforting motions, and he feels his dam break. Silent sobs tear through his clenched jaw, his arms still bound tight behind him, giving him no choice but to let the tears hit the ground, not even capable of wiping them away, he feels hands wipe his face for him, and he cries harder, ignoring (or maybe he just can’t through his own sobs) how quiet the prison is, as if everyone silently grieved with him in the cold, oppressive darkness, a hell underground shared by the demons condemned to hell forever by the unjust angels above.

Chapter Text

His head is pounding; his ears are ringing... he can’t breathe... what the fuck was that? Duke could only lay there, numb, struggling to breathe, the gas still hasn’t left his body even after resetting, was this what mustard gas felt like? He feels Katrina card her fingers through his hair, her own way of comforting him, he curls his legs to his chest, laid on his side, his shoulders ache (they’re not taking any risks, when they’re not testing him, the cuffs don’t leave no matter what). In silence the two of them stay in the comfort of one another, “are you okay now?” her voice was by his ear, like she was crouching to his level, “no...” his answer was croaked through a bleeding throat, and she winces in sympathy, having been through it herself, “you better get used to it! That’s not even the most fucked up thing they can do” a voice from afar chides, loud and obnoxious, the sheer life in it a far cry from the dead prison, “A’ka! Stop it” came a slower voice, was that Shuri?

“Guys!” Katrina shushes the both of them, for a moment, Duke could almost pretend they weren’t being separated by metal bars in this fucked up place. “Is he okay?” he can barely hear it, but Katrina does, “he’s... no, not really” she resumes stroking his head, no longer distracted by their neighbours, gently untangling the knots in his hair, “what’s his name?” Shuri... at least he thinks it’s Shuri, ask Katrina, her voice gentle and maternal, she sounds slightly older, a deep lull to her voice it could put him to sleep. “His name is Duke” his soother says with confidence, he takes note of how she never mentioned his serial number, does she not want the others to know? “Hi Duke, I’m Shuri” he feels as though he should at least get up and greet her, at least make eye contact, but he can’t even get his head off the floor, she doesn’t say her number either, is it a secret?

“Don’t bother with him Shu, guy can’t even get his stupid face off the ground, look at him eating dirt!” the same loud (alive) voice interjects, huh, that one has to be A’ka, “A’ka, if you don’t stop...” Shuri has a silent threat in her voice, and it effectively shuts the other guy up, he also sounds older, and he calls her by a nickname, are they that close? “Ignore my brother, he’s a dick, especially now that he doesn’t even have one” they’re siblings? That never even crossed his mind! In the distance, he can hear the brother and sister bicker, nearer to him he feels Katrina sigh in exasperation, it feels nice, the normalcy. He closes his eyes, the background noise a lullaby in his tired ears, feeling sleep slowly reel him in, just as slumber takes ahold of him, Katrina whispers in his ear, “get some rest, as much as you can”, was the last thing he hears before he succumbs to his nightmares.

Peter peels the apple with gentle care, the skin curling around the hunting knife he carries, the cabin is quiet, the evening before dusk settling in their bones like a warm blanket, Rocko’s head on his lap, the dog also taking advantage of the lazy moment. For a while, it was like they were the only ones in the world, peaceful and content, “you want one?” the big guy offers Duke a slice of apple stuck on the sharp tip of the knife, he reaches over to take it and pops it into his mouth, savouring the sweet, slightly tart taste of it, apples in Russia really are built different huh?

The oaf takes a slice himself, letting out a small hum of content, Rocko boofing for a slice, not wanting to be left out, chewing loudly and obnoxiously when he gets one (Duke ignores the saliva going everywhere). This is nice, no nightmares, no shrink sticking or taking something in him, no Mandela to lecture him while he’s being tortured, he wishes it could be like this all the time, maybe even forever...

Drip

Drip

Drip

Huh? What’s that sound? He sits up, trying to find the source of the water dripping, a leak in the roof maybe? “What’s wrong kid?” he hears the giant ask, but he ignores it in favour of getting up to investigate, ignoring Rocko’s whining for him to lay back down, it’s coming from the... front door? He slowly walks towards it, hand out ready to twist the doorknob, the closer he gets to it the further Peter and Rocko sound, but he’s so absorbed in the sound he doesn’t notice.

His hand finally makes it to the door, slowly twisting the knob to open it, it creaks loudly as Duke pulls it open, only to be greeted by... darkness. Where are the trees? Suddenly, a harsh, strong wind sucks at him, sucking him out, terrified, he looks back to Peter and Rocko, desperate to call out for help, but... they’re not there anymore, everything’s just... dark. He screams as he’s pulled into the void, arms stretching out desperately to grab something, anything, anyone, but there’s nothing but him, and he spirals... and spirals... until...

He gasps awake, silent pants leave him disoriented for a while, trying to remember where he is, tears run down the side of his face and pool on the floor underneath. He sighs, loud in disappointment (he almost sounds like Madam Supri with her constant sighing), hauling himself up to sit, he feels okay now, at least it doesn’t hurt to breathe... and he feels well-rested, maybe sleep was all he needed all along. Looking around, he notices that none of his neighbours were here anymore, the three cells beside him cold and empty, his heart drops to his chest, where are they? Did the shrinks take them? What are they doing to them?!

Swirling thoughts almost makes him panic, his chest constricts and he hunches over, breathing in loud gulps of air as he tries to calm himself, so distressed he didn’t hear the figure walking slowly towards his cell, heeled shoes sharp against the concrete. “It’s okay” it was whispered silently, but in the fragility of his mind it sounded so loud, he almost screamed if he didn’t catch the “sshh” being said quickly after, a woman? In a lab coat... ugh, she’s one of them. She was crouching in front of his cell, her navy blue dress almost appearing black in the dark, making her white coat a sharp contrast, almost ghostly, her long, sandy blonde hair was greying at the top, was tossed over her shoulder, he watches in confusion as kind, gentle, amber eyes look at him in pity, she looks aged now that he sees it, the pearl earrings adding to that statement, her mouth wrinkle as she frowns, deep.

She looks... wait, why does she look so familiar?

“It’s alright, they’re... they’re being tested right now, they should be back soon” her hand reaches out towards him in a placating way, as if she wants to touch him, tested? Tested? More like fucking tortured! He sneers at her, at her attempt at comforting him, how dare she? How dare she be so calm and caring when there are people being tortured? By her people too! Her eyes take on a sadder note (as if they could get any sadder), she sighs, but not in disappointment or exasperation... more like out of sorrow. Both her hands grip his bars now, head hung low with her hair obscuring her face, “I’m sorry... I’m sorry that this is happening to you, and I’m sorry I can’t do anything about it... I’m sorry” her body shakes as if she were holding back tears, he didn’t know some of the scientists were... could even feel empathy... but why is she still here if she doesn’t wanna do any of it?

His eyes track her every movement critically, analysing every miniscule detail he can see, trying to decipher whether this was genuine or... another test. Slowly, she looks up, eyes glossy with unshed tears, she just... looks at him for a moment, staring at him, he fidgets under her gaze, not knowing what to do, before she gasps out a small “oh!” and he hears a rummaging of pockets and plastic, what? He watches in surprise as she pulls out two (two!) granola bars wrapped in plastic, “here, I’m sorry I couldn’t get you anything more, this is all I can get, for now” she takes the bars out of the plastic and places them on the floor, Duke doesn’t think too much as he quickly walks towards the food, crouching and eating off the floor as hunger possesesed him like a dog, he takes a small bite, careful in not taking too much so he can share with the others, chewing quickly and swallowing harshly, hacking when it gets stuck in his throat.

A few minutes of coughing later, he notices that she’s still there, and she’s close, so close he can read her nametag, Dr. Yujeong Kang? She just sits there for a bit, watching him, observing him, “ahem... I’m Doc- I mean, I’m Kang Yujeong, you can call me Yujeong” she places a hand on her chest as she introduces herself, voice slow and gentle, her eyes soft still. Duke stays silent, watching her in suspicion, “I’m... Duke” his voice laced with distrust, purposefully omitting his serial number, watching how she reacts, “I know... Everyone knows who you are, Duke” huh, that’s it? Of course, everyone knows who he is, he’s infamous after all, but what surprised him was that she called him by his name... not his number.

Minutely, he feels the tension leaving his body, the woman’s soft aura hacking away at his suspicion of her, but she’s still one of them, he can’t trust her yet. “Why?” his question was sharp, as sharp as a knife cutting through silk, and he sees her flinch, good, she should be scared of him, “I... I know what you are, my son is like you, too, and he’s about the same age, maybe a bit older” her voice took a nostalgic turn, her eyes to the side as she wistfully talks about her own child. Duke feels a surge of jealousy, not towards her, but... why is he jealous? She sighs, “that’s why.... I can’t leave you like this” her eyes are sharp now, determined fire lighting her from within.

She leans forward towards him, eyes so intense he flinches, but she doesn’t back down, her voice low in a whisper, “so... I’m gonna help you get out” the absolution in her voice makes him stall, freezing like a deer in headlights as the statement whirls in his head, his jaw dropping as it fully lands on him.

What?

Chapter Text

He doesn’t know how long it took until Katrina, Shuri, and A’ka were brought back to their respective cells, but he knows that whatever that was done to them can’t be good. He watches as they were dragged on their feet and basically thrown onto the concrete floor, his keen eyes widening at the sight of Katrina’s tattered, bloodied clothing, holes of various sizes almost shredding them to nothing. Anger bubbles in his chest, feeling his energy flowing through his body in waves, unable to be unleashed, his veins glowing red with his budding rage. His gaze finds the forgotten granola bars on the floor, quietly gasping as he gets the realization that yes, he can help.

Crouching down closest to Katrina, he tries gaining her attention, “psst, Katrina? Katrina!” she doesn’t respond, laying there like a lifeless doll, in the back of his mind, he knows she isn’t dead (she can’t die, just like him), but rationality has never been his strongest suite, “Kat!” he basically yelled, desperate now for her to wake up. She gasped with a sudden jerk, coughing as the force of it takes the breath out of her, it took a while, but she was finally able to get up on her hands and look at him, “... Duke?” her voice shaky, vulnerable still in the aftermath of torture. He could only breathe out a relieved breath and smile, “hey... you okay?” his question came out uncertain, almost timid, because of course she wasn’t okay... but he didn’t know what else to say.

She sits cross legged with her little strength, tilting her head towards the ceiling as she breathes out, pushing her dark hair out of her face, then she looks at him with a small, sad smile, “yeah... I’m okay.... they’ve... they’ve done worst” it didn’t comfort him as much as she might’ve thought, but he pushes it away regardless, her safety his priority. There was silence between them, both Ajin taking the time to just breathe, Duke looks towards the bars at his feet again, reminding himself of his original mission, “hey... I have something here, thought you might... want some?” her head snap towards him, curiosity in her gaze. He gently kicks the bars to her, watching her eyes widen in realization, jumping on the snack with the same ferocity he had when he first got his hands on them.

He sits and lets her eat the other untouched half, watches as she, too, realizes that she needs to share the other bar with Shuri and A’ka. He lets his mind wander as she lets her do her business, wondering why that lady- Dr. Kang gave him the food in the first place, she’s one of them! A scientist! A fucking shrink! And then he remembers her eyes, her gaze, soft, kind, understanding.... like Peter’s were.

....She did help him, help them, maybe... hmph, no, he can’t trust her, not yet, he’ll wait, he may not be good at waiting, but he’ll see what she will do next, see if he can really trust her... and maybe... he looks to where he hears Shuri and A’ka were sharing the granola bar, their tireless bickering bringing some semblance of life in the dark chamber, maybe... she can help them too.

Things started changing after that, now and then, when the shrinks came to “test” him, she would be there too, sometimes to observe, sometimes she even helps them out (he can’t forgive her for that), but when she does...

Like this time, they’re strapping him down (oh please, as if weakening him wasn’t enough), and she was right there too, tightening his legs, and then she looks at him, a strange glint in her eye, and he feels it, a slight loosening of the restraint, just enough it doesn’t hurt. “Move aside, I need to see that he’s properly strapped down” her voice was cold, accusatory and cynical as she borderline pushes the other scientists aside, shouldering them away from him, but instead of tightening them further, she loosens them, just enough so it doesn’t feel like his limbs were about to be cut off, he watches her out of the corner of his eye, trying not to let his suspicion peak through too much, but all she does is to flash him a small, barely there smile before letting her mask slide back on.

He just stares at her as she backs off, hands in her pockets as the other shrinks begin their tests, watches as she clenches her jaw whenever he screamed too loud or cries in pain.

A few days later, she comes by his cell again, it’s weird, she only comes around whenever he was alone, like she was avoiding Katrina, Shuri, and A’ka, “why?” he asks over a mouthful of dried oatmeal, the question barely audible in his chewing, “I don’t want to raise suspicion” her hands folded in her lap, no disgust on her face as she watches him eat disgustingly, well, she is a mum, guess she’s just used to worst things, “and...” he pauses, lets her finish, “I have a plan, so it’s best the others don’t know about this” she looks at him with the same intensity in her eyes like last time.

Duke finishes his meal in haste, swallowing roughly, wiping his mouth, “... what’s the plan?” he tries to give the same ferocity back, but it doesn’t quite hit the same, he’s grown tired now. She smiles, gentle as usual, stretching out a hand and wiping some oatmeal off the corner of his mouth, “you’ll see” came her cryptic response, and Duke thought he couldn’t get more confused until now.

Another day, another test, she’s here too, of course, he’s been strapped down as per usual (but it’s been slightly tolerable now that she’s here), but he can’t help but be nervous every time he needs to be tested, even though they happen every day.

He watches as a mysterious device gets wheeled in, big enough it struggles to fit through the door, wiring and cables poke out and through it it could’ve been straight out of an alien movie. Duke gulps nervously, eyes finding Yujeong for comfort (now why the fuck did he do that?), her own gaze avoids his, but her lips are pressed tightly, jaw clenched, and brow furrowed, a vein prevalent on her forehead, ah shit, what’s gonna happen now?

They strap the wires and cables, mainly focusing on his head, fuck, are they gonna mindfuck him? They’ve done that before, but this... this one feels different. After they were done, they all step back, as if admiring their work, sick fucks. One shrink has a controller in their hand, another has a clipboard, ready to take necessary notes, another speaking into a recorder, yeah, definitely weird.

“Subject A17, ready for cognitive fragmentation test, we will begin in 5... 4... 3-”

“Duke”

All the shrinks look to her, confusion written all over their slimy, ugly faces, “excuse me?” the one with the controller asks, bewildered.

“His name is Duke”

Her hands were still in her pockets, her voice resolute, no nonsense emanating from her tight frame, her eyes remain cold, but she doesn’t look at him... like she’s guilty...

They simply looked at each other for a moment, before they all shrugged, indifferent to the disruption, as if they were used to it, quickly resuming what they came to do, “cognitive fragmentation test will begin in 5... 4... 3... 2... 1”

The only warning he got was a flash of white behind his eyes. And then everything crumbles. Peter’s cabin, Rocko’s boofing, Lord Schnauder’s sneer, Katrina’s bloody body laying on the ground, motionless.

His screams reverberate throughout the facility, so loudly Katrina jolts awake from her slumber just to hear her friend in agony, she presses her hands in silent prayer, a prayer for her companion, a prayer of wellness, and sanity.

He awakes from his short (and restless) sleep to lights passing above him, bright and white, it reminds him of the first time he was wheeled into the underground, except this time, the lights get brighter as time goes, huh, they must be going up instead of down, why? He hasn’t been in the upper levels in... well, a while.

He watches and feels them take many turns, his restraints feel different too, stronger, firmer, they hurt (more than usual). The room they take him into feels... strange, at the very least, more... sterile, than usual, the smell of antiseptic hits him like a wall, his eyes widen when he notices how... enormous the room is, sees the faint figure of Dr. Mandela watching him from the upper levels through a glass window... fuck, this isn’t just any test room... this was an observation room.

They stop in the middle of it, they don’t turn him upright this time, just laying down, like a corpse ready to be dissected, and his stomach clenches in fear, instinctively fighting against the restraints (he knows it’s useless), eyes darting across the expanse of the room for an escape, anything. “Hello A17, we meet again, on a tremendous day nonetheless” the doctor’s clinical voice echoes through the large room through a speaker, booming across the walls it even makes the shrinks flinch, his eyes meet Duke’s, a cruel, sadistic smile spreading across his face, next to him stands Dr. Kang, Yujeong, with a clipboard in hand, jotting down whatever information she needed, she wasn’t looking at him (look at him goddamnit!), her shoulders tense while trying to maintain an indifferent mask, her brows furrowed as if in concentration (he knows her enough to know that it wasn’t).

The rats finish whatever preparation they needed to do, now standing with their hands behind their backs, awaiting for orders, they don’t even look like scientists, but more like soldiers now in the way they act, and it sends a shiver down his spine, cold sweat dripping from him brow into his eyes. He eyes the vast array of machinery in the room (and promptly ignoring  the surgical tools beside him), any information he can get the better he can prepare himself, but he has no idea what any of these things do, so foreign and alien like he can only furrow his brows in confusion, “don’t fret A17, this test is designed specifically with you in mind” the doctor has his hands clasped in front of him loosely, talking as if this was just a normal conversation between doctor and patient, “you should be grateful, this is a test unprecedented, never done to any awakened one before” he hears him chuckle, it strikes another prickle of fear through him. “Together, A17... Duke Grane...”, the name slithers out of Mandela’s mouth like a threat. Duke flinches. He hates how it sounds coming from him, like something sacred being dragged through filth, “we are going to make history.”

The whisper crackles through the speaker, low and intimate, like a secret shared between predator and prey. Duke’s stomach flips. He wants to scream, to spit, to vanish, deep into the earth where nothing exists. Yujeong still won’t look at him, her pen trembles against the clipboard, her shoulders are rigid, her jaw clenched. Fuck... he knows that look... that’s not concentration, that’s guilt.

A snap of fingers later and the shrinks begin to move, the machines begin to hum, and Duke... wants to scream.

He watches in fear as they begin picking up sharp scalpels, scissors, clamps... feels things being clipped on him, cold metal on warm skin, electricity humming thick in the air he can lick it with his tongue, he writhes as much as he can, like prey caught in a beartrap, the gag shoved down his throat drown his screams of horror and pain, the first cut down his chest to his stomach felt acutely through heightened senses, fear like never before grips him from the inside out. The first jolt of electricity feels different than the first time they’ve done this to him, like they were forcing something out from within, deep, primal... ancient. A growl ascending to a guttural roar force itself out of his throat, raw anger evident through whatever means necessary to stop the pain, he sees the scientists flinch and shrink in fear, short lived satisfaction almost brings him to life again before the agony intercepts.

Ah... he gets it now... what they’re trying to do... flashes of his father’s teachings run through his brain like a camera roll... he’s heard of this before, a mere theory yes, but a prominent one nonetheless among the respected awakened circles, to force one’s core out through pain and coercion (in this case, electricity), many awakeners die before even a glimpse of their core can be seen and dissected, but with him... oh, the possibilities are endless.

The shrinks continue their prodding, their cutting, the constant electricity in the air makes the screams and howls all the more nauseating, but none of them stop, not until they get what they want. Suddenly, with no warning, the pain shifts, self-preservation takes over him like instinct, his body desperately trying to save itself from this... corruption, bloody red, crackling energy erupt from his open wound, sharp and hot like iron, shooting out erratically, some successfully cutting and injuring several scientists. Alarmed shouts ring through the room, “don’t! Keep going, we’re so close” Mandela’s voice crackles through, desperation and a hint of excitement lace his tone, ignoring the wellbeing of his own people for the sake of scientific achievement.

Although hesitant, the rats resume their work, fear of punishment clouding instinct, hacking away at the boy’s body, avoiding the sharp jolts of energy. Finally... finally, something happens, a white, glowing orb seen faintly pulsing deep within the chest cavity, one scientist foolishly tries to retrieve it, only for his hand to be cut off by a sudden flash of red, his screams drowned out by those of their current test subject, stumbling away bathed in his own blood. For a while, no one dares to move, not the shrinks, not Dr. Mandela... not Kang Yujeong, everyone present enamored by the Pandora’s Box they’ve just opened, the wake of it all leaves A17... Duke Grane... unmoving, not breathing, unconscious or maybe even lifeless on the operating table.

“Amazing...” Mandela whispers out breathlessly, never before has anyone, no one in history! To have seen an awakened one’s core... in the flesh. Theories of whether it is physical or simply spiritual or even psychological have been made in the past but now... now he has truly seen it all, and he can’t help but allow honest, unfiltered glee and excitement glow through his being, manic giggles and laughter drown the gasp and downright horror on his assistant’s face. Her clipboard long dropped on the floor, her knees weakened as she almost stumbled in her shock, a hand to her stomach and another covering her mouth, all she could see was her own son on that operating table, in terror, and... lifeless. She looks around, trying to find anything, any way to stop all of this... enough is enough... she can’t do this anymore.

No one acknowledges her weak stagger out of the door, too enamored to see anything beyond that white, glowing orb. She runs out of the observation room and down the stairs, her white coat flowing behind her like wings as she quickens her haste to the operation room below, ready to physically intercept in the horror she has seen and allowed to happen for too long. Her heels screech to a halt, frantically scanning her card to unlock the door, stumbling inside she gasps at the stench... the metallic smell of blood tainting the once sterile room... she would’ve regurgitated the contents of her stomach if not for her sheer determination to just get Duke Grane out of there, away from the pain and terror.

Quickly, she makes her way to the machines, unplugging everything and anything within her reach, the low hum of the machinery slow to a halt, and only then does everyone finally rip their attention away from the boy, whose body is slowly regenerating itself from within, the sharp, hot energy finally withering away like a blown candle, and his core finally concealed and tucked away where it should be, where it belonged. “Dr. Kang?! What are you doing?!” a scientist finally snaps out of their bewilderment, scalpel clenched in their hand, but they make no move to intercept, simply looking towards her and standing in shock, the doctor in question just pants and gasps, the cables still in her hands, eyes wide as adrenaline still flows through her blood, drowning her fear in a sudden bout of bravery. “What... what am I doing?” her baffled gasp cuts through the silence, “What are you doing?! Cutting this poor boy to nothing like he’s just... just another lab rat!” her screams make her colleague flinch, yet no shame is seen on their faces, and Yujeong... oh... she is furious, “you... you stand here gawking like it’s a miracle, but it’s not! It’s... it’s mutilation! You’ve carved into a child like he’s meat on a slab, and for what? A theory? A paper? A fucking promotion?!” the cables in her hands shook as she jabs them into the faces of her coworkers, deep maternal rage blinds her to the slow, calculating steps of her superior behind her.

Just as she was about to go on another rant, a voice cold enough to send chills down her spine interrupts, “that’s quite enough, Dr. Kang”, she spins around to meet eyes with Mandela, wide and glassy as adrenaline finally fades... giving way to fear. The demon’s clinical and soulless gaze examines her, every inch taken into consideration and thought, a sly, almost knowing smile makes her gulp dryly, “although I am quite... disappointed at the opportunity cut short... we have enough data for future tests” she can only watch as Mandela walks beside her like she was just vermin on the street, ignored and disregarded, making his way to the now slumbering boy, cold on the table, leaning down directly to his face, eyes savouring every detail, from the long eyelashes to the translucent skin, “finally... I have something worthy of my attention”, his voice hushed in a whisper as if this were a moment meant to be shared privately between the two of them, licking his lips like he’s relishing his meal.

Abruptly, he stands to full height, hands behind his back as he strolls between the cowering scientists and making his way out of the room, “take him back to the cells, catalogue everything that has happened, I want reports on my desk by today” casual like a Friday summer, a snap of his fingers got them all moving, rushing to complete their tasks as cordially as possible. Yujeong only watches as they wheel Duke out the door, helplessness makes her tremble, but Mandela’s gaze on her forces her to stand, “Dr. Kang... a word”, out of instinct she stood straight with her hands behind her back, obediently following Mandela out and into his office, just before she enters, she looks back to where she knows they’ve taken the boy, her eyes gloss over with unshed tears, “Dr. Kang?”, she closes them shut, knowing what Mandela will do if he sees her like this, so she steels herself, letting the mask slip back on before going in, shutting the door behind her with a bang that reverberates through the empty hallway, the silence speaks louder than any words that could be uttered through the entire facility.

He can vaguely remember being cleaned up and hauled back to his cell, the cold and damp walls soothe him (he definitely prefers this to the hell above), familiar like his old childhood bedroom. His weak eyes take in his surroundings; the others weren’t here... he shuts out the thoughts of what could be happening to them, to stop the guilt churning through his stomach, the events of what just happened still fresh in his memory... he just wants to forget everything... to end everything...

The emotional turmoil turns him deaf to the echoes of running heels towards his cell, slow, laboured breathing forces him to remain calm (he can’t, but he has to try, right?), it wasn’t until he hears the telltale screech of his cell opening did he snap his head up, they’ve just tested him, what the fuck do they want now?! He didn’t even register the hug and wet tears dripping down his back until he smells a whiff of vanilla, drowning out the stench of everything, feeling softness enveloping his body, shaking and sobbing. What? He looks around (best as he can, not like there’s much he can do like this), finally registering that he was being hugged by... Yujeong Kang, her gasps and sobs almost escape his deaf ears at the moment.

Exhaustion and surrender make him wilt against her, a soft sigh escapes his chapped, bleeding lips, and it only makes her cry harder (why? For him...?). “I’m sorry... God I’m so sorry” she’s rocking him back and forth now, carding her fingers through his hair like Katrina would do when things got rough. He wants to cry, he can feel tears welling up in his eyes, but... he can’t... he’s too tired. I forgive you... he wants to say it to her, but his tongue was too heavy, his eyelids ready to close shut (forever, preferably), so he just snuggles closer to her, pressing his nose to where her scent is the strongest, letting its tranquility wash over him, bathing him in soft, vanilla goodness that makes him want to forget everything that just happened.

For a while, they both just stayed like that, him in her lap with her arms around him in a protective vice, her humming and rocking remains a hold to his escaping sanity, allowing the moment to just... drown out reality. A second later, he feels her rummaging her pockets, the familiar crinkle of plastic is like music to his ears, ah... food... finally. He lets her feed him, bit by bit, in silence they know is borrowed, but they ignored it in favour of deserved peace. Three bars later, she just holds him, rubbing her hand on his arms in soothing motions, as if they were enough to make the ache from the restraints go away... a sigh breaks the fog, gently jolting him awake, “... he’s about your age... my son” he knows... he can vaguely remember her telling him, that he was maybe a bit older, but he doesn’t tell her that, letting the gentle lull of her voice take over the silence.

“He’s... he’s not here, I sent him away... far, far away... where he could be safe...” she’s starting to tremble again, subtle, but Duke knows it’s there, “but when I look at you... all I can see is him, him being strapped down, him being dissected, being tortured” her grip on him tightened, not enough to hurt, but uncomfortable nonetheless. “I followed orders, I played by the rules, sure... I did help some others that came by here when I could... help them get out of this... this hell” he jolts at that; she’s done this before...? Weak anger flares in his chest, that meant she could’ve helped them! All of them! But... why? Too frail to do or say anything, he just glares at her, going unnoticed by her own guilt, “I would... if I could... but I can’t... I’m so sorry but... I really can’t.”

Her head hung low, her hair obscuring her face, but the quiver in her grip softens him, maybe... maybe she’s just like him, too... in a way... she sniffs a few times, throwing her head back and wiping her face, trying to regain her fragile composure. She shifts him, holding him higher in her lap so she can hug him better, tighter, it almost knocks the breath out of his lungs, but he lets her, “I will get you out” although whispered, her voice was firmer now, the same way she said it to him all those days ago, “tomorrow, during shift change, I’ll come down here, I’ll get rid of those horrible restraints of yours, unlock your cell, and then...” his breath hitches, eyes widening at the prospect of freedom finally, finally, being in his grasp, “and then... I’ll let you do whatever you want, for 20 minutes... I’ll wait for you outside; you’ll know me when you see me.”

She lets him go, meeting his weak gaze in a fiery determination that warms him to his core, finally... in what felt like forever... he can finally meet her eyes with a fire of his own.

He was getting out of here... he was getting everyone out of here... and not even the devil will stop him, not this time.

Chapter Text

It was a slow wake to the day, none of the shrinks have bothered with him so far, maybe they’re giving him a break? (After yesterday... he sure as hell needs one), Katrina and the others were already hauled off somewhere, recalling back the way Katrina fretted over him yesterday...

He falls asleep after Yujeong leaves, his dreams filled with vanilla and soft lullabies, rudely awakened by the screech of cell doors being opened, and the small “oof” Katrina gives at being shoved back into her prison, the only protest allowed in these walls. He just watches her from his position on the floor, still laid down on his side with sleep clinging to his lashes, she shakes herself, head to toe to get rid of the sensation of being tortured, amusement and fondess makes him smile slightly, just waiting for her to notice him, any time now...

She huffs again, louder, more deliberate to make her displease known, glaring at the guards as they leave, before finally looking at him, noticing that yes, he’s finally back, “Duke!” she runs over to him, hands gripping the bars that separate them, panting and gasping, “where have you been?! It’s been... God, I don’t know how long, wha-” she finally takes a good look at her friend, at the exhaustion and surrender despite the smile on his face, “... what did they do to you?”. She couldn’t have concealed the horror on her face even if she wanted to, never has she seen him so... resigned, so small in the way he held himself, hunched over in a fetal position... it’s like she barely even knew him.

“I’m fine... I’m... ugh... I’m okay” he grunts as he sits up, fatigue haunting him even after rest, whatever that was done to him... she shivers, she doesn’t want to imagine it. They sit in silence, just... savouring the peace and company... for now, he sighs, heavy and old, “how are the others?” he hasn’t heard neither Shuri nor A’ka make a peep, he’s getting concerned, trying to peer over Katrina’s shoulder to take a look at them, “they’re okay... they just... got the worst of it... you know, with A’ka’s mouth and all” she gives him a small grin, trying to make light out of a dark, horrid situation. Despite his unease, he flashes her a grin of his own, ignoring the anxiety in his stomach, remembering... the plan.

“What’s wrong?” he snaps out of his short daze at her question, not noticing he was staring until now, “uhm... nothing”, guilt holds him like a vice, a dilemma forming in his brain at whether or not he should tell her about it. “Actually... there is something” her head whips up to look at him, curiosity in her eyes, “tomorrow... something will happen” his brows furrow in concentration, voice hushed in a whisper, enough to indicate that whatever he is telling her shall remain a secret between the two of them, “I can’t tell you what... but I need you to be ready for anything... and everything”.

Their eyes locked, his gaze unwavering and confident, silent in a way that makes her breath hitch, she’s never seen him look so... determined. Although confused, she nods, her eyes holding his in a look of seriousness, and trust, “okay... I trust you”, she has no idea how much those words weigh on his soul, if he fails this... fails her... he’ll never forgive himself.

He nods in finality, gracing her a soft smile that promises her the world... and she smiles back, soft and unguarded... yeah, everything’s gonna be okay.

The whole day, he waits, watches as guards pass, shrinks stopping in front of cells, taking notes in the dark underground, prowling and circling his cell like an animal in Zoochosis, no one pays him any mind, too preoccupied to notice a change in behaviour. He’s going mad by the hour, but he waits.

He waits.

And waits.

Until.

A guard passes by, familiar in the way he walks, yes, this one, the shift change, quickly, as soon as the guard passes, he kneels in the middle of his cell, waiting... for her. His ears perk at the rush of heeled feet making their way down, finally, he sees her, no lab coat, no clipboard, just a keycard and a fire in her eyes. His breath hitches as she unlocked his cell door, wasting no time in undoing his restraints, her panting loud in his ears behind him, her fingers tremble ever so slightly, but they don’t falter, and finally, his hands are free.

“20 minutes”, her harsh whisper loud amongst the blood rushing through his ears, “you know what to do”, just as sudden as she came, she was gone like the wind, and he just watches as she runs off, her hair flowing behind her like a veil, in silence he whispers a short prayer, of gratitude, and of safety, his and hers.

He hears footsteps coming back, a lot of them, perfect, he rushes to close the door to his cell, not the whole way, just enough for an illusion, putting his hands behind his back to avoid suspicion, he watches the changed guards roughly shove his newfound friends back into their cell, waits until they make a move to shut the door... 3... 2... 1!

He rams his cell door open with a shove, ignoring the gasps of both the guards and his friends, adrenaline and excitement flow through his veins as a rush of red sharpens to a knife and pierces the guards through their stomachs, blood rushing to the floor, he grins, not his, not this time.

Not allowing a moment of rest, he rips off all the doors by the hinges, crimson blooming and lighting the underground they call home, gasps of awe echo through the space, “Duke?!” Katrina’s jaw drops open, shock and astonishment written all over her face, “remember Kat?! Anything and everything!” he can barely recognize his own voice, manic and insane.

He sprints out to the door where the emergency exit leads, doesn’t wait for the others to catch up, can’t, he doesn’t like his revenge served cold, he reaches the upper levels where all the rats are, relishing in the second of silence before everything spirals into hysteria, scientists screaming as heads are ripped off and limbs cut free, amongst the frenzy lives a boy laughing at the madness of it all, relishing in the music playing specifically for him.

He makes his way up, slowly, making sure to leave a devastating mark in his wake, crimson red blood splatter the hallways, brain matter rain from the ceiling to the floor, bullets mean nothing to him now, regeneration coming to him as easy as breathing, and for once in his life, he feels truly...

Free.

He dances across the floors, his super speed makes everything ten times faster and easier, until finally... he walks over to an office at the end of a hallway, Dr. Yusef Mandela... a grin splits his face, twisted and mad, kicking the door open, to be greeted by the doctor, sitting serenely behind his desk, sipping coffee and flipping through paperwork, “ah... A17, come, take a seat, we have much to talk about”.

Mandela gestures to the chair in front of him, huh, this guy’s more insane than he thought huh? Duke glances at the clock on the right wall, 12 more minutes... hmm, he can make the time, he decides, taking a seat and crossing his legs (like he used to back at the academy), dripping with blood but ready for whatever explanation the doctor deems appropriate to give.

“Now”, the doctor flips a final document, gathering it and putting it aside, finally giving the boy his full attention as he folds his hands in front of him, a calm smile on his lips, a far cry from the insane grin he had on last time. “I’m sure you have your... questions” his hand gestures towards him, permission to speak? Duke narrows his eyes, but speaks nonetheless, “everything you have about me... give it” his own hand reaches out, impatient and demanding, he almost pops a vein at the sly smile he receives, watches the doctor retrieve a thick file from his left, “here you go”, he snatches it from his disgusting hands.

He flipped it open, the first page was standard and clinical, full name and serial number, age, blood type, ya da ya da. He ignores the small details, he’ll read them later, but the more pages he flips... the worse it gets, photos (he almost gags seeing his own organs on display), scans, psychological profiles... his first reset transcript. There are lists... every tests, every reset, every wound regenerated, the time it took between those... images of the torture makes him shudder. “Ahem”, his eyes snap to the Mandela, amidst all of... this, he almost forgot the doctor was even there, “as you can see”, his finger taps on his desk rhythmically, the consistency of it rings through his ears, “you... are truly magnificent, Duke Grane” the praise sounds sadistic coming from him, his hands clench around the file, willing his emotions from showing, “you are not just a breakthrough for me... oh no, you are the blueprint”.

The doctor has that manic look in his eyes again, the same look as all the times he’s watched tests being conducted on Duke, planting both his hands on the desk, leaning forward so close he can taste his breath, “everything we’ve done to you... I have done to you... every test, every scar... it’s to map your potential, of your kind”. Duke pushed himself up, putting distance between them as Mandela makes a move to grab him, hands grasping at air, but his eyes never stray from his precious test subject, watches as red eyes fill with vitriol and hatred, fingers clenched so hard it punctures his skin.

“You...” a breath exhaled through clenched teeth, trying and failing to confine his growing anger, breathing heavy from his throat, “you think this” he shuts the file and holds it in front of him in mocking, “makes you powerful?”, he huffs out a scoff, disbelief in his tone, “nah...” he raises a hand, a sharp, red spear manifesting itself, showing raw power, ready to plunge it through this monsters’ throat. “No...” he pauses, even after all that... the man wasn’t done? Mandela’s smile grows even wider, eyes even madder, “It doesn’t... in fact...” he stands, but makes no move to grab at Duke again, “I just found out something... just a while ago... would you like to know?”, he leans in closer, so close their foreheads could touch.

The boy watches with abated breath, “you’re not even the first...”, the world comes to a stop, eyes widening in disbelief as he lets out a short gasp, letting the newfound information wash over him, “so... even if you kill me, Duke Grane... nothing... nothing will change”. Loud, frenzied laughter echoes through the empty office, in mocking and insult, “another you is already in a lab somewhere... going through similar torture... maybe even WORSE!”, and Duke... can’t take it anymore.

WHOOSH

The sound sharp as it cuts through wind, Mandela’s face frozen in laughter as his head flies through the air, blood shoots out from the severed neck, bathing Duke and the office in a glorious red, the laughter cut short by a blade to the neck.

He watches with apathetic eyes at the head rolling on the ground, kicking it away to a far corner, scoffing as he looks at the clock again, 2 minutes left... he can make it. He zooms through the empty hallways, down the slippery, bloody stairs, down and down... far away from that hellhole, the doctor’s laughter echoing through his brain even so.

It’s like wherever he goes, that man will follow him, like he can never escape... and isn’t that thought terrifying.

Finally... he finds his way out, in 2 minutes, just as planned, and what was waiting for him shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did, nonetheless. Kang Yujeong waits in front of a black jeep, no lab coat, but a lilac dress casts a gentle glow on her, a smile graces her lips despite the horror that just happened, the only indication of her being affected was through the creases on her brow.

“Duke...” she breathes out a sigh of relief, rushing over to hug him only to be stopped by his hand, “don’t... I’m... filthy” he gestures to his... well, incredibly bloodied state, red so thick his hair doesn’t even look white anymore. She just huffs in return, turning back towards the jeep, opens its back door to retrieve some clothes, a few water bottles, and a towel, “here, go ahead and clean up, I’ll wait in the car”, she hands them over to him, before rushing over to the vehicle, letting herself inside and closing the door with a thud. “Don’t worry! I won’t peak!” she comically slaps both hands over her eyes, making a show of herself as if in an attempt to make him laugh.

A gentle laugh echoes between the both of them, making her smile. The boy shakes his head before cleaning himself, pulling on the extra clothes, a simple beige hoodie and grey pants, perfectly normal... and clean (he’s so grateful he could cry, when was the last time he’s had clean clothes like this?), climbing into the passengers seat, the file on his lap as he buckles in, just ready to get this over with... until a sudden thought pops into his head like an alarm.

“What about the others?! Katrina? Shuri? A’ka?” his frenzied questions came so quick it made Yujeong gasp in surprise, “oh! Don’t worry, they’re perfectly safe! I had some of my friends help”, she pulls out a phone, showing him a video of his friends safely evacuated into similar black vehicles, spotting the three of them being ushered by a familiar looking man... wait... was that the last guard before the shift change?! A giggle snaps him out of his thoughts, “there are many more of us than you thought you know”, his deadpan makes her laugh even harder, hard enough she clutches at her sides.

After a moment, the laughter slows to giggles, and she finally drives them away from the place closest to hell he’s ever known (and here he thought the Grane home was the closest... guess the world was bigger than he thought). He fights exhaustion creeping on his eyelids, head bobbing forward as he almost loses, again and again, until he feels a hand gently nudge him back against the seat, “get some sleep... you’ve got a long way ahead of you”, for a second he just looks at her, at her kind eyes and soft hands, “don’t worry, from here on out, you’ll have nothing to worry about”.

Slowly, he feels himself unwind, the terror of the day finally taking its toll on his young body, his hands gripping the file to his chest, protective and firm, before finally, the rumble of the jeep’s engine and Yujeong’s quiet humming lull him to sleep, the last thing he feels is gentle hands combing through his hair, and a faraway “goodnight” before succumbing to a much needed slumber.

Chapter Text

Lord Schnauder has a hand pressed against him, so big it almost engulfs his whole back, his force control swirls within Duke, forming pathways for him to memorise, this was so long ago... how old was he? 13? No... maybe 14... he was only a couple years into their apprenticeship... back when those eyes were still warm when they land on him.

 “No... no it goes over here... yes, like that” his instructions were firm, yet delivered softly next to his ear. As sudden as the familiar warmth comes, it leaves like a gentle wave, and it dissolves like sea foam on a chilly morning.

Duke stirs, the dying rumble of the jeep brings him back, right... well, at least it wasn’t a nightmare (not this time). “Hey...” he flinches at the hand brushing his hair back, blurry eyes adjusting to his cramped environment, finally finding Yujeong beside him, face laced with quiet guilt, but she doesn’t try to touch him anymore, eyes sodden with understanding. “We’re here” he looks around, noticing that they were, indeed, parked in a parking garage, the muffled announcements of incoming and boarding flights sound foreign to his ears, and after a moment of anxiety, he relaxes, just a bit.

 Yujeong grabs a duffle bag from the back, slinging her own handbag on her shoulder, already out the door before he can even process what she was doing, hastily undoing his seatbelt and getting out of the car, shutting the door with a quiet thud. A lot of silent ushering later he finds himself in the airport’s lobby, this one significantly larger than the ones he’s been in, travelers and locals alike create a hustle and bustle that makes his stomach churn slightly, staring into the distance as they go through the standard flight procedures, his mind not present within the sea of strangers.

He watches a child running to her mother, a pink blanket clutched in her small arms, and a memory of Peter flashes through his mind, of warm laughter and the musty blanket, Rocko’s disgusting slobber, so vivid he recoils when Yujeong starts to speak, “we’re lucky... we have 15 minutes before boarding” his flinch doesn’t escape her (because of course it doesn’t), her eyes soften and her voice takes a slower note, taking his hand and guiding him to a nearby bench, not forcing, just a gentle force to bring him back.

When they sit, she doesn’t let go of his hand, her tender grip makes everything a bit more bearable, and they sit in silence, the crowd’s roaring now quiet to his ears. “Are you okay?” her question was steeped in concern, and he’s tempted to just brush it off with an instinctive sneer, but... was he okay? He stares off into the far distance as he contemplates, “probably not... but I will be”, the silent confession only strengthens her concern, but for his sake she lets it go, instead taking the duffle bag and hauling it to his lap, his eyes going comically wide as she drops the heavy thing with surprising ease.

“Here you go, I packed a little bit of everything, snacks, toiletries, lots of clothes, don’t worry, they’re all your size... I think” she grins as she explains, watching him inspect its contents, his brow furrowed in quiet concentration, and he looks so... young, so much like her son it makes her heart ache. Suddenly, she sees him pause, shoulders taut, and she almost starts fretting before he pulls out... a small grey dog plush. His deadpan glare at her makes her snort and laugh out loud, startling the nearby travelers, “are you fucking serious?” and that does her in, boisterous laughter bursts out of her with no restraint, his glare just makes everything all the more better.

A few minutes later (and a coughing fit that prompts the boy into patting her back in support), she wipes her tears away, giggles still present in her voice, “like... hehe, like I said, a little bit of everything”, she watches out of the corner of her eye as she composes herself, how he strokes the plush slowly, eyes drooping in hidden sadness, guilt worming its way into her heart, “uhm... do you like it?” their eyes slowly meet, though the sorrow doesn’t fade, there was a thankful twinkle in that wide stare, “yeah... I like it” his voice soft, unguarded, raspy with emotion.

She watches him stroke the plushies head, familiar motions gentle with memory, “uhm... before you go, I have to tell you something” she slowly brings him back, he looks at her, red eyes filled with a surrender she wishes she could wipe away, well... it’s now or never. “My son will be waiting for you in Korea, he already knows everything, so don’t worry... he’ll... he’ll take care of you” she takes his hand in hers, encompassing them in a firm grip, noting the gentle tremble, “I promise”.

A heartbreaking moment of hesitation flitters through his gaze, as if too many empty promises have been made, and failed, she recalls her phone call with Jiwoo in the car, Duke dead asleep beside her.

Brring, brring.

Brring, brring.

The few seconds of the phone ringing feel like hours for her, fingers tapping on the steering wheel in an attempt to steel herself, watching out of the corner of her eye at the sleeping boy beside her, brow creased even in sleep, she resists the urge to stroke his hair, knowing he probably won’t welcome the touch.

Finally, her call is answered, “Mum! Hi! How are you?” Jiwoo’s light, boyish voice never fails to melt her worries away, her boy sounds slightly breathless though, maybe he’s just finished working out? “Hey sweetheart! I’m good, how are you?”. She lets the conversation lull her into the gentle arms of familiarity, though her eyes never stray from the boy beside her.

“Uhm... honey, do you have a minute? I have something to talk to you about...” the concern and conflict in her voice brings an air of seriousness in her son, silence rings between them, a silent permission for her to explain. “I... I have a favour to ask you” she chews her bottom lip, anxiety making her fingers cold, “... of course mum, anything! ... What is it?” she takes a breath, quiet but it echoes through the car nonetheless, “I have someone with me... someone who needs your help”. Jiwoo’s silence throws her into explaining everything, from the kidnapping to the lab, the tests... the torture.

Her son’s breath hitches at some points, guilt at causing his distress gnaws at her chest, but the chance to just... talk about everything overpowers her, the events of the day breaking down her walls. The silence that follows the end of her story is stifling, soon broken by his determined voice “okay mum... I’ll help”, tears well in her eyes, he sounds so grown up now, so mature, pride blooms in her heart at her baby’s growth.

“Thank you... thank you so much baby” she sniffles, wiping her face, “tell me all about him”, his voice light to break the tension, and she nods even though she knows no one is watching. “Well... his name is Duke... Duke Grane-” a sudden gasp almost startles a yelp of her own, “Duke Grane?!”, confusion furrows her brow, does he know about him? Do they know each other? “... Yes, is there something wrong Jiwoo?”. His silence only perplexed her further, “Jiwoo?”, the urgency in her voice seemed to snap him out of it, “uhm... nothing, what... what does he look like...?”, his question almost sounded shy, but it was a strange thing to ask, why did it matter?

She glances at Duke, “white hair... red eyes, really pale skin-” Jiwoo’s loud exhale of air stops her, in the distance she can hear a muffled “holy shit-” before it is shushed, now... this was getting really strange. “... What is it, Jiwoo?” she’s so tempted to use his full name on him, hoping it would make him explain a little faster, “... we knew each other... we uhm... we actually fought a few times... just sparring! Nothing too... violent” his confession hits her like a bucket of cold water, her grip tightened on the wheel, they knew each other?! She takes a few minutes to just breathe... “he uhm... he hates me, actually”, WHAT?! “What?!” her whispered exclamation makes Duke stir, and she’s quick to clamp her hand to her mouth.

“Hehe...” if she were there her son would’ve gotten a quick smack upside the head, how could he laugh in a situation like this?! A migraine is slowly developing behind her eyes, she suppresses the urge to groan, instead she just leans forward on the wheel, fingers massaging between her brows. She has to find a way to salvage this, she’s gotten this far, this... she can’t ruin this, “don’t worry mum! I’ll still help him! Just...” his voice brings her back again (but it does nothing to quell her growing headache), “maybe it would be best if you don’t tell him who I am”, huh, that would be best... if Duke finds out... he might bail out on her... and she can’t have that.

“Yeah... yeah that could work” an exhausted sigh reverberates in the car and through the phone, but a smile graces her lip even then, grateful that her baby is so... kind, despite everything that’s happened. She leans back against the car seat, an effort to unwind the tension in her shoulders, “thanks honey... for everything”, he hears him huff through the phone, “no problem mum... so, how long till he gets here?” of course... she totally forgot about that, she checks her watch, 2 hours to the airport, and an 18-hour flight from Chad to Korea, hmm... “should be around 20 hours, more than enough time for you to get ready”.

She hears scribbling on the other end, smiling gently, he’s probably making a checklist on what to do now, so prepared, her boy, “mmm yeah, more than enough time! I’ll pick him up too, so you don’t have to worry about that!”. She sighs, her shoulders finally relaxing, slumped against her seat as emotional exhaustion takes over her, “uhm... mum?” he sounds small, hesitant, “yes baby?”, silence stretches between them, and she was about to ask him what’s wrong before he interrupts her, “are you... are you coming back too?”, his question shoots an arrow of guilt through her heart, her breath catches in her throat, “no... I’m not... I’m so sorry”.

Tears well in her eyes, hearing her son’s breath hitch, “Oh! Okay... just making sure...” she was just about to say something, an apology, an excuse... anything, “I gotta go now, my friends just came over, bye mum! Stay safe, love you!” she can hear voices on the other end, loud and rambunctious, “alright sweetheart... love you too”, she whispers those last words, hanging up the call, dropping her hands in her lap, head up to the roof of the car. Guilt and regret swirl in her gut, holding her heart in a vice she can’t escape, but... she looks at Duke sleeping beside her.

Right... she quickly wipes her tears away, restarting the car, resolution fueling her to just keep going, a boy is counting on her, she can’t afford to cry now. With that line of thought she continues their journey, the desert spans like a never-ending sea ahead, but her eyes don’t waver, she has a life to save and promise to fulfill, and by hell is she going to break it.

“Flight 107 to Incheon International Airport now boarding at Gate 12” the crackly voice interrupts the gentle moment, popping the bubble of borrowed tranquility, “oh... guess that’s your queue”, Yujeong makes a move to stand up, letting Duke stuff everything back into the bag, including the file he had with him, but he doesn’t stuff the plushie, choosing to hold onto it instead, and it both warms her heart and makes it ache all at once.  

She hands him everything he needed, his passport, boarding ticket, some money, she watches him get sucked into another memory, bringing him back with a hand to his chin, letting him see her, at her kind eyes glassy with unshed tears. She sighs, heavy with both relief and sadness, she gives in to the urge to hug him, holding him tight against her, feeling him go stiff at first before gradually losing the tension, just melting against her,

“Stay safe, okay?” she says as they part, her hands soothing his back one last time before he pulls away, nodding with determination, she holds out a pinky, “pinky promise?”, pleasant amusement fills her at his confused little face, interlacing his own pinky with hers after a few moments of hesitation, “... pinky promise”, his voice was hushed in a whisper, but to her it was music. She smiles at him, one last time, and then she ushers him to his gate, watches in silent sadness as he goes through the boarding procedure, at how he stops and hesitates before he boards, looking back at her with reluctant eyes, fear lacing his whole body.

And she just... waves at him, a mouthed “go on”, to gently encourage him forward, and finally he nods, marching to board the plane in bravado (she can still see the tension in his shoulders, and she can only pray he gets there in one piece). She watches his plane fly away, breaking down in quiet sobs, a sea of emotion just crashes over her like a tidal wave, making her shoulders shake.

Well... she stands to full height, a smile on her lips, at least he’ll finally be safe... and that’s more than anything she could’ve asked for.

The skies were clearer than usual, the sun shines gentle warmth on her, and finally.... Kang Yujeong can finally breathe.

Chapter Text

The sky is too blue.

It makes him squint, brightness he hasn’t seen in years (he knows it’s only been months at most... but still) blinds him, he shuts his window with an annoyed huff, Yujeong was kind enough to get him a window seat... plus the one beside it left empty, where he sets down his duffle bag (is it even his if nothing inside really belongs to him?). He feels at the passport and boarding ticket in his pockets, as well the cash she gave him, his mind wanders back to the memory of when Muse had done the same thing when he came to Chad, bitter nostalgia coats his tongue, nails scratching the rough fabric of his seat.

He subtly glances around, everyone else so relaxed and content (except one guy who’s holding a plastic bag in front of him, heaving and panting with his wife patting his back... gross), it throws him off, feels like something’s always out to get him, he wriggles in his seat, desperate for a distraction. He eyes the plushie, still soft on his lap, unmoving, he smiles, it reminds him so much of Rocko... yeah, that’s its name now, Rocko... his fingers toy with the dog’s ears, its tail, the beady eyes.

The plush brings slight reprieve, laying back on the cushions, all soft and pliant... so unlike him. The sound of flipping paper from the woman reading a magazine in front of him makes him jolt, suddenly remembering the file... the one Mandela gave him, still tucked away in that bag somewhere. He puts the plushie aside, tucking it between him and the seat, rummaging through the bag and its contents, fingers finding the rough paper cover, heart thumping, what is he gonna find in there? Is it a good idea to read it here?

He looks around, fervent, no one’s looking at him, good... that’s good, slowly, he pulls it out, fingers trembling as he unfolds it in his lap, skipping content he’s already read (especially the pictures where his guts are everywhere). His eyes skim and scan multiple passages, lists, medical jargon, and then they land on bold words that make his heart stop... Phenotype Regression: Indicators and Evidence.

His eyes blur, he reads the whole section despite the tears clouding his eyes,

A17 is showing early-stage phenotypic regression—skin elasticity, bone density, and metabolic rate all align with adolescent baselines.

Subject exhibits multiple indicators of age reversal, including reduced cellular senescence, increased regenerative capacity, and emergence of juvenile phenotypic traits.

His fingers thumb at the pictures included, a before and after image makes his stomach clench, red circles point at where he shows signs of getting younger, noting how full his cheeks are, how soft his jaw became, his eyes becoming bigger just a bit... how he grew shorter. A scientist’s sticky note grabs his attention, swallowing the bile down his throat, he reads it (even though his every instinct tells him not to), “Subject A17: Regression confirmed. Recommend continued observation at current stage”, a smaller scribble at the corner says “Adorable. Can we keep him at this stage?”.

His stomach lurches.

Hot vomit creeps up his throat, he fumbles for the sick bag, shoving the file aside, the words playing in his mind like a broken recorder, he barely gets it to open before-

He retches loudly, doubling over in his seat, his whimpers and groans muffled but unmistakable. He feels the plushie (Rocko, a voice in the back of his head reminds him) fall from its place to the floor, distantly he can hear a flight attendant fussing over him, her panicked voice doing nothing to help him right now (damn it, lady). A water bottle is pushed in his face, urging him to drink, no matter how hard he pushes it aside it keeps coming back, so he just gives up and takes it, the water sloshes in his stomach threatening to come back up... but it doesn’t.

“There... there there, are you okay?” he looks at the pretty flight attendant beside him, a tissue in one hand and a half empty bottle in another, she sounds too calm, a quick glance beside her showed her companion still panicky, ah... must’ve been her. He nods, red creeping into his cheeks at the attention he’s getting, hushed concerned whispers from other passengers’ sound muffled in his ears.

She smiles, red lipstick stark against her light skin, it doesn’t comfort him, but... it’s not bad. She hands him the tissue, and he wipes his mouth, fingers trembling, he hates this, he looks at the file, fighting the urge to rip it apart... he hates that more though. She lets him recover in silence, before bending down and retrieving Rocko, gentle and slow in her movements, putting it on his lap.  Duke just stares at it... doesn’t touch it, not yet, not until she gives him one last reassuring look and a whispered “I’ll be here if you need me” before she goes away, heels muffled by the carpeted floor.

He shoves the file back into the bag, forcefully falling back into his seat with Rocko in his arms, the lights start to dim, and the voices blur into a single, quiet entity. He’s still on the plane, but his mind is somewhere else, somewhere colder and more distant, where he’s all alone and no one to ask if he’s okay (good, as it should be). It was that thought that lulls him to sleep, letting whatever dream or nightmare drag him into the depths of his own head, Rocko’s soft fur clenched in small fingers, thus falling into a rough slumber.

Blood rushes in his ears like they’re stuffed with cotton, and Duke blearily blinks awake, Rocko still tucked in his arms as he rubs the sleep off his eyes, the seatbelt sign dings, a voice notifying their landing sounds muted to him, like the world is in some faraway land.

He looks around, watching everyone else put on their own seat belts, struggling for just a second until he manages to clip his own on. He falls back against his seat with a weary sigh, taking a half-hearted glance at the duffle bag, making sure everything’s packed. Strange... he didn’t dream anything this time... usually he’d have a nightmare, but... maybe nothing is better than something, the plane descends slowly, the faint screeching of its tires ignored, not even anxiety at landing on a foreign land churn his stomach anymore (he’s too tired to feel anything, frankly).

With a blank stare he watches as everyone else slowly trickle out of the plane, waiting until it’s almost empty to get off himself, slinging the duffle bag on his shoulder with Rocko stuffed in his pocket with its head poking out. As he boards off, he spots the kind flight attendant, her gentle smile and small wave put him at ease somewhat, and he returns it with a smile of his own, restrained yet grateful.  

The off-flight procedures go on without a hitch, it seriously makes him wonder if it’s that simple to forge a passport but... ehh, whatever. He worms his way through the crowd, bumping into strangers makes his blood go cold, but he can manage (at least, he hopes), finally he finds his way to the lobby, and only then did the confusion on what to do next truly hit him like a truck.

So... what now? He scans the hundreds of unfamiliar faces, Yujeong said that her son would meet with him here... didn’t she? What’s his name? What does he even look like? His thoughts only stir his turbulence even more, sweat gathering in his clenched fingers, breath quickening in pants, until...

“Hey”

A hand on his shoulder makes him jump out of his skin, twisting around just to meet... an extremely familiar face. A face that’s smiling at him gently, an exact replica of Kang Yujeong, with kind amber eyes framed by sandy blonde hair.

Seo Jiwoo.

Chapter Text

He doesn’t move.

He can’t.

Jiwoo’s hand on his shoulder is wrenched back, “oops! Sorry, didn’t... didn’t mean to scare you” his voice is as gentle as he remembers. He doesn’t answer, his hands tremble at his sides, the passport crinkles in his clenched fingers, he just... stares. The tension between them is stifling, silence stretching so thick he can taste it in his tongue, and Jiwoo tries to break it by clearing his throat, “you look... different, still you but...”. Duke’s shoulders grow taut, the reminder of his... difference, of his alienness, almost makes him snap, maybe even throw a punch, but the other boy’s fumbling brings him back to the present, “I MEAN! Not in a bad way! Just... you know... ugh”, he facepalms, his shoulders almost to his ears in his nervousness.

Duke exhales through his noise, slow and deliberate, “you talk too much”, not unkindly, just... a fact. Jiwoo huffs out a chuckle, hand scratching the back of his neck, finally feeling the tension break, even by a little bit, glancing at the duffle bag on the shorter boy’s shoulder, he gasps, “oh! Sorry, let me take that for you”, but a hand slapping his away stops him, a glare in his direction sends a shiver down his spine, okay... maybe not.

He holds his hands up in surrender, “or... you can keep it, hehe”, he doesn’t take offense at the eyeroll he gets, instead just gesturing for him to follow, “come on, Mister Inhyuk is waiting for us”. As they walk, Jiwoo finally takes in the other boy’s appearance, how he’s... shorter than before, barely reaching his chin where before he was the one who had to look up whenever they talked (or fought), white hair a bit longer, disheveled like he hasn’t combed it in a while (he should probably offer him a bath when they get home, maybe a haircut... and definitely a meal), red eyes dull and lifeless, dark eyebags looking strange on his young... er, face.

His eyes somber with sadness for the other boy, he knew about what happened to him (everything, actually), but he didn’t think it was... this bad. He doesn’t comment on the dog plush sticking out of his pocket (though he does find it adorable, Pluton wasn’t home today, wonder how he’ll react when he sees him?), nor does he comment on the fact that Duke is wearing his hoodie and pants (they were old and from a few years ago, so it’s okay), instead just letting the silence stretch between them as they reach the car, not as stifling as a few moments ago.

Soon, he spots Mister Inhyuk by the car, leaning back on the front door with his head in his phone, concentration creasing his brow, “Mister Inhyuk!”, the man’s head snaps up, a soft smile as he greets the two of them, his eyes linger at Duke, just a second, but he remained silent, simply nodding and opening the door for both of them, making him internally sigh in relief, the less attention the better.

The journey home is silent, the duffle bag between them acts as a silent barrier, the owner unwilling still to allow Jiwoo into his space, it makes him sad, somewhat.  Maybe... maybe a warm meal will cheer him up, he perks up, the new mission giving him something else to think about, what should he make? Kimchi Jigae? Beef Bulgogi? Hmm, those sound a bit too... flavourful for him right now, maybe he should just make some simple Jajangmyeon, better for an empty stomach!

Beside him, Duke shuffles and fidgets in his seat, even though Jiwoo wasn’t looking at him (the guy was too lost in his own world it seems, judging by the dumb smile on his face), the man driving the car was. He can feel eyes on him, glancing at him through the rearview mirror, he doesn’t meet his eyes, refuses to, instead just toying around with Rocko in his pocket, the plush’s soft fur grounding him, allowing him to take his mind off of... everything.

They finally arrive at a quaint little house, not small, just... compact, the front lawn cramped, just enough to fit the porch, but it feels... warm, warm enough it lets some tension bleed out of Duke’s shoulders. He hears Jiwoo thank Inhyuk as the man drives off, honking twice when he does (he’s grateful none of them saw how his shoulders jumped), the other boy excitedly rambling off about how excited he is to have him over, half heartedly heeds his warning of his cats who, apparently, like to climb on new people, watches as the felines get ushered back into the house.

Once he steps in (slowly, like the house might spit him out and reject him), he fully takes in how... domestic, everything is. From the sunlight drifting in through the curtains, scratched sofas so bad the stuffing’s almost falling out, the smell of cat food makes his nose wrinkle (it’s not his house, who is he to judge), and the variety of photos lining the walls, of Jiwoo and his friends, to the cats... and Kang Yujeong.

“Go ahead and sit wherever you want, oh! Not on the left sofa though, that’s Kay- Casein Nitrate’s spot” he didn’t know if the slip up was an accident or intentional to make him laugh (he doesn’t, it wasn’t funny), but he sits... not on the left sofa. He hears Jiwoo disappear into the kitchen, pots and pans clinking, making a racket, almost drowning out the other boy’s voice as he shares their dinner plans (Jaja- Jajangmyeon? What’s that? Horror?).  

He sits stiff on the sofa, ignoring the cats rubbing and meowing against him, call him biased but... he’s more of a dog person, thank you very much, eyeing the rather... large orange cat grooming itself on the left sofa (was that Casein Nitrate?), accompanied by a smaller, skinnier (too skinny, was it even being fed?) white cat, lounging and looking at him with scarily perceptive eyes.

He's relieved of the cat’s judgement when Jiwoo comes back with two bowls, filled with noodles drenched and glistening in some sort of black sauce, an earthy, nutty smell fills his nose and his stomach flips at the prospect of warm food. “It’s not much, but at least you won’t be hungry anymore” the other boy says as he puts a pair of chopsticks and a fork beside the bowl (he vehemently ignores the fact that Jiwoo does not have a fork, did this guy seriously though he can’t use chopsticks?), sitting down across him with his own bowl, “don’t worry! It won’t bite! And I made it non-spicy, just in case”.

His eyes narrowed, conflicting trust and apprehension tugs at his chest, and he just stares. Jiwoo doesn’t eat either, instead looking at him with a confused look, before gasping and clapping his hands, as if to prove a point, he takes his chopsticks and eats some from his bowl, before switching it with Duke’s, swallowing and then eating some from the other boys’. “See? Definitely not poisoned, but if I do start convulsing... call an ambulance”, he was barely able to swallow a genuine laugh at the joke, disbelief that it actually lands, but a barely there snort escapes him, Jiwoo’s eyes crinkling in a hidden smile.

Finally, he digs in, and the Jajangmyeon’s nutty flavour tastes like heaven on his tongue, the last time he had a meal like this was Peter’s Borscht (his heart quietly throbs in his chest), quickly shoveling the rest down his throat, barely taking a break to actually breathe and swallow (and ignores Jiwoo’s warning to slow down). A few minutes later he sits with a full stomach (and a second serving of Jajangmyeon), the other boy also finishes up his meal, getting up and gathering their dishes to clean, Duke wants to help, almost offered it, but decides to sit and watch instead, Jiwoo doesn’t seem to mind, doesn’t even notice.

“How about you go upstairs and take a shower? There are some towels and clothes ready for you in the bathroom, it’s the room down the left corner in the hallway” the gentle voice says, still doing the dishes, hmm... a shower does sound nice, he takes a subtle whiff at himself and almost gags, holy shit he stinks. Not wasting a moment, he gets up with his duffle bag, Rocko tucked safely still in his pocket and makes his way upstairs.

He drops the bag on the floor outside the bathroom, peering inside to confirm the towels and clothes, before finally stripping down (he doesn’t look into the mirror) and turning on the shower, letting the water cleanse him from all impurities (physical and mental). The water feels warm, and the lavender scented soap almost makes him forget the horror that happened only a day ago, he almost feels reluctant to get out, but he does eventually, drying himself and putting on the cat (seriously?) themed pajamas, soft and wooly.

He leaves his dirty clothes on the duffle bag by the bathroom, tucking Rocko under his arm as he peers downstairs where Jiwoo plays a movie on the TV. “Hey! If you’re done, come join me downstairs, there’s this new movie that came out yesterday. Come watch with me” the invitation comes with a choice, one that feels so difficult to make despite how mundane it is.

Does he ignore it?

Or....

His feet slowly pad down the stairs, silent and apprehensive, and Jiwoo’s warm eyes widen in joy as they meet, already patting the space beside him in invitation, snuggled under a warm blanket with a bowl of popcorn in his lap.

Maybe... maybe this wasn’t so bad, he thinks as he climbs beside him, sitting with legs to his chest, Rocko nestled under his chin as the movie starts with gentle music, yeah... this is definitely alright.