Title: Unholy Trinity I
Author: Enide Dear
Pairing: Remnants
Rating: will vary, but there will be explicit Remnantcest, violence, mild bdsm, murder and prostitution. So just another cute Remnant series, neh? *grin*
Summary: What if the Remnants hadn't grown up together at a lab? What if they met as teenagers? Complete, shameless Lozziness
The sight of the pale body lying amongst the garbage in the alley like someone's thrown away leftovers made Loz gasped with a fright that threatened to steal his breath forever. He didn't need Mother's prompting to rush over there, his own instincts where enough; this was the Special One, the one he had been searching for ever since he first heard Mother's voice in his head…but it was also his brother.
Throwing away trash and clearing out the dirty body, Loz could see that something was wrong with the Special One, very wrong. He was too skinny under the rags that barely covered his body, even though the face still showed traces of baby fat around the cheeks, so cold and shivering he was almost blue. That was probably why he had crawled up here, amongst the trash cans against a slum bar; some faint warmth leaked through the thin walls. But far from enough to keep anyone alive in this cold weather.
Still, that wasn't the worse. Even as Loz lifted up his brother and cradled him in his arms, the Special One didn't wake. Or maybe he was awake; his eyes were open but they were rolled up so far behind the eyelids there were almost only white showing. Spastic twitches rattled the lean limbs far worse than the cold shivers and there were awful, hurting noises coming from the back of his throat. Hands with broken, bleeding nails clawed uselessly in the air.
Loz almost panicked. Mother's voice had told him to find the Special One and to protect him no matter what, and he had been looking for *years* but now he finally found him it seemed he was too late. What if his brother died, now, right here in his arms?
The thought was too horrible to even contemplate, and Loz wasn't a very thinking person anyway. He was a doing person.
Holding the Special One as close as he could he hurried down the alley, out on the street. Few people were around in this weather and those that were didn't pay him any attention. Paying attention to people in Loz's size wasn't a recipe for a long and healthy life in the slums.
Picking a door at random, Loz knocked insistently. He could have easily kicked it down, but then the wind and the rain would get right in; he wasn't very clever, but he wasn't *that* stupid. The door opened, just a tiny bit, and an old man peered out at him over the barrel of a gun.
"What do you want?" He asked with equal suspicion and fright.
"We need your house." Now Loz did kick the door, enough for it to slam into the man's face and make him drop the gun. Loz's hand shot out and grabbed the old man's neck; it snapped like a twig under his fingers before the old man had time for anything but look surprised.
Shoving the corpse aside, Loz stepped inside and hurriedly closed the door. Most likely nobody dared paying attention, but there were no point in taking stupid risks. He had to protect the Special One now.
The shed he'd taken over was no more than one room, bedroom and kitchen combined, which was good. No one could be hiding anywhere. There was a filthy bed in one corner, an old fashioned stove with a few lumps of coal for cooking and warmth, a pantry, a table and one chair, and that was it. Loz laid down his brother on the tiny bed, pulling the blankets up over his shivering frame and then hurried to put a fire in the stove. He figured if he burned everything in the shack except the bedding, he'd have fuel for almost a week. That was good, too.
Even better was the pantry, there were tea and sugar and hard, dry bread and a few cans of meat, and some soggy-looking vegetables. He didn't have to leave the Special One for days, should it come to that.
Warming water on the stove, he stirred down tea and lots of sugar; the Special One gulped down the liquid, but didn't wake up. He was still wheezing with pain, mumbling about 'Reunion' and 'Geostigma' and other words that meant nothing to Loz. It was harder to get food down his throat; Loz had to mash the vegetables and make the bread into a mushy porridge before he could press it in between his brother's teeth and make him swallow. The meat was even harder; finally Loz had to chew it himself first before the Special One could eat it.
He wiped down the dirty limbs with a few rags and some hot water, frowning at the many cuts and bruises. The Special One's life had been harder than his, perhaps because his brother was much smaller. People always picked on the smaller ones. The skin was getting warmer, but his brother didn't wake up and Loz didn't know what else to do. He wished fervently for a Potion, or even a Cure materia but he didn't know where he could get any, and he wouldn't have dared leave the Special One ever if he did.
And now….there was nothing he could do but wait. Loz wasn't *good* at waiting. It tore his heart out to see his brother lay there in pain and not being able to do anything about it, not being able to do…anything at all. Each new whimper made him want to tear his hair. He prodded his brain for Mother's advice, but the voice only said what it always said: *Find the special one. Protect him with your life*. It didn't say *how* he was going to do that, and that just wasn't fair!
With a whimper almost as pained as the Special One's he decided all he could do was wait. And if he was going to wait, he might as well get some rest so he would be ready if anything happened. And he might help keep his brother warm at the same time, so it was ok. Pulling off his clothes, he pushed a few more coals into the sulking fire and crept down under the covers, between the Special One and the world. With his arms around his brother, he could relax a bit; nobody could come and take him away during the night. He'd found the Special One like Mother wanted. Maybe everything would finally be alright.