The ending to this little thing. Hope you enjoy :)
"'M good," whispered Atreus, trying to look up at the body looming overhead. He waved his good hand at the one which fretted over him, skimming his skin, feeling for deadly injuries. "I-I'm okay, father. You…y-you beat him?"
"I did," father answered, his voice softer than anything Atreus had ever heard before. He tried his best to look at father properly but his vision refused to focus. From what he could tell, father was covered in blood. Atreus didn't know how much of it was his and how much of it was the Stranger's. At least Atreus's own blood wasn't going to create more of a mess when father inevitably helped him out. Not that father would care, anyway – his rough palm, the size of Atreus's face, swept across his cheek like a ghostly breeze. "You...You are well?" Atreus snorted to himself, but father continued quickly, elaborating, "He has not hurt you more than I can see?"
Atreus had to take a moment to remind himself of everything that had happened, replaying the events in his mind. He smacked his lips, surprised that his mouth felt so dry when it had been filled with so much blood. Maybe it was the suffocating that had dried them out.
"B-Broken ankle," he told his father. "And…a few bruises," He didn't think he had to mention his hand; that part was obvious, his limb as crimson as father's tattoos when he glanced over at it. Father's hand made another sweep across his head, this time over his hair; this time, his hand stilled before it could pull away, applying gentle pressure. "N-Nothing too bad, father. I-It was just…"
It hurt to talk so much, so Atreus finished his point by wafting his good hand towards his throat. Father's head nodded slowly in understanding, his eyes no doubt scanning every inch of Atreus's body. As if on cue, Atreus felt himself shudder, the cold wind growing ever colder to his battered, unmoving, half-exposed frame. Father's hand shifted and Atreus wished that the moment could have lasted a little longer, no matter how much it hurt.
"We must move," father declared, shifting on to his knees. Atreus knew what was about to come and cringed already. "We will heal you and leave. Our home is no longer safe for us,"
"The forest has changed," muttered Atreus, closing his eyes, searching for a distraction already. The one thing keeping Atreus on the ground was the knife in his hand; a knife which was going to be just as painful to remove as it had been to insert. "I-It's different, it's sad, it's s-scared-,"
Apparently, Atreus's murmurs were distracting enough for his father to decide the moment was right to yank the knife free. Atreus cried out, his body shuddering, curling in on itself as soon as his trapped hand was free to move. Father held tightly to his shoulder, grounding him as the pain licked its way up Atreus's arm, burning bright before fizzling out into a steady stream of flames, centred in the middle of his palm. Though Atreus tried desperately not to cry in front of his father, little sobs kept escaping him through his gritted teeth, made worse by the furious onslaught of tears suddenly rushing down his cheeks. He tried to hide his face, turning it into the snow-
And then his father decided to pick him up, hands surprisingly gentle as they slipped beneath Atreus's body. Beneath his thighs and the top of his bare back, forcing him to roll out of his curled-up position and into his arms. Atreus would have thought it to be strange and uncomfortable being held by his stoic, angry father, who never showed affection for any reason ever. The most physical he'd ever got with Atreus was a push in the right direction whenever Atreus wasn't moving fast enough for him. This was so alien and new, the proximity of their bodies nearly terrifying to Atreus.
And yet…father's chest was warm, hot even. His arms were far more comfortable than the blood-soaked, snowy Earth. The sensation of being carried was like being rocked to sleep in his mother's embrace, as she used to when he'd have night terrors. Atreus's eyes slipped shut by themselves.
"Do not sleep, boy," father ordered overhead, Atreus's skin prickling in the barest warmth provided by their house as they went inside, sheltered from the wind.
Father's orders were not to be disobeyed; Atreus wrenched his lids open again, as much as it pained him. When they were closed, it was as if his injuries were far away. His hand and his foot especially – his foot was beginning to hurt the more father moved. Thankfully, their home was small and it took father only a few paces to reach Atreus's bed, where he lay him down with unexpected, but not unwelcome, caution and fragility.
"Alright?" father checked, barely audible. Atreus's head bobbed slightly, his attention split between his father and the pain his body was currently enduring. "One moment, then,"
Father disappeared for a moment; Atreus couldn't deny the flash of panic and fear that shot through him when he was lost from his peripheral, such childish and dumb feelings to have. It wasn't as if father had left, he was probably just finding their medicines and wrappings tucked aside for when one of them was injured. Just because Atreus couldn't see him didn't mean that he should be worrying or anything like that. It was stupid.
…But Atreus still hated it. He hated that he couldn't see his father, that his body hurt too much to even twist his neck or lift it up from his mattress. At least father's brief absence gave him time to release his sniffles as quietly as possible, smothered against his good hand. When Atreus pulled his hand back, it was smeared with blood and salty tears, and an ache remained in the flesh of his face where his palm had been. Atreus would bet father's axe that his face had already turned red and purple from the bruises beneath the crusted blood.
"This will be unpleasant, boy," father warned, returning. There were jars of paste and rolls of gauze in his hands, which he set to the side. "I must clean the wounds to see their damage,"
Just thinking about it made everything sting a little more. "C-Can I go sleep now?" he asked. "Just while you do t-that, I-,"
"No. Until I know your mind isn't vulnerable, you must stay awake,"
Atreus bit his already-torn-up lip, ignoring the droplet of blood that slipped from between his teeth, curving down his chin in a warm, wet line. Father didn't ignore it like he did; he swiped it away with his thumb, then cupped Atreus's jaw. It was the firmest, boldest physical gesture his father had ever made towards him – and it made Atreus want to cry even more than before. He had to fight to hold back the full-blown sobs, breathing unsteadily through his mouth. Somehow through his swimming vision, he could still see father's eyes. He could see them glowing, as easily as he could also feel them penetrating his soul, a strange connection suddenly bridging between them. It made Atreus feel…he wasn't sure, but it was nice. He felt his muscles lose a slither of tension.
"This will be unpleasant," father repeated, this time sounding all soft again. The feeling in Atreus warmed even more. "But it is necessary, understand? You have been strong for this long, you must persist for a short while longer,"
Strong. The word made Atreus's eyes widen. Father – father thought that he was strong. Suddenly, the feeling he had felt like it was about to burst out of Atreus's chest. He released his lip from between his teeth, let a few sobs slip through. The barrier he'd been trying to maintain collapsed, he let himself nuzzle the hand cupping his face, cuddling into the affection that he'd been scaredto acknowledge even was affection, real affection. But, there was no denying what Atreus saw in his father's eyes, what he felt beaming through the skin touching his.
Father was many things. He was angry and he was powerful and he was focused and he was stern. In this moment, he was also worried and sympathetic…and he was warm, in the same way Atreus was. Most interestingly, there was one more emotion, one more which huddled out of sight. It dwindled with every passing moment but never quite left. Fear.
So, father had been scared. He was worried. He was…well, Atreus didn't want to make assumptions, but he was certain that father was feeling the same thing Atreus usually felt when he looked at his parents. In any other person, Atreus might have called that feeling 'love'.
This was father, however. Fear and concern were two big things in themselves. Love was totally off the table – no matter how many things he saw, from father's incredible strength to the Stranger taking an arrow through the forehead, there were still some things that he just couldn't believe.
Still…his words had an effect. They kept Atreus grounded as father worked on his injuries. He cut away what remained of his tunic, pressing his fingers along his ribs. He removed his boots and didn't bother to check his ankle before wrapping it tight. A cloth dripped in mead was swept across both sides of his impaled hand, setting it alight again. That was wrapped tightly, too, along with his ribs when father could convince Atreus to sit up for a few moments and had him take a few deep breaths to prove that his lungs were still in working order.
He lay him back down after that and moved on to his face. There was little he could do for his mouth or nose besides gently wipe them clear of blood and sweat and tears and dirt. Father's fingers probed Atreus's scalp, brushing along the shorter sides and sliding through the longer top, finding a lump on the back of his skull which was vigorously examined before being declared nothing too serious. And then, at least, it seemed like they were done.
"Sleep?" Atreus pled. "I-I'll feel better when I wake up, promise,"
"I'm sure you will," father replied, reaching across to the bed he shared with mother – or, the bed he had shared with mother. From it he grabbed a thick, black fur, the one that always ended up around Atreus when he was ill and the weather was icy. It was no surprise that father wrapped it around Atreus now, consistently gentle with all of his movements. What was surprising was the fact that father then picked Atreus up with one arm, the other arm reaching for satchels and one of Atreus's tunics and a spare bundle of arrows to be added to his quiver and bow discarded outside.
"Wait," Atreus began, confused, barely able to stop himself from reaching for his bed. "Father-,"
"It is unsafe here," said father, his deep voice rumbling through his body, reverberating against Atreus's chest. "We must make haste elsewhere, lest we want to find trouble again,"
"T-Trouble found us," muttered Atreus, resigning himself. He was too tired to care anymore. Everything hurt and crying was exhausting. Father carried him with just one arm, holding him under his backside; he was slumped against his chest, head rolling limply into his shoulder when Atreus gave into his sleepiness. The closeness, combined with the furs, made Atreus feel warm and snug.
"Sleep," father said very quietly, stepping back outside into the cold air, tugging the door shut behind them. "I will wake you later,"
Atreus nodded, closing his eyes…He wanted to sleep, but there were things to say. "Sorry, father,"
Father didn't stop walking, paces long and fast, but they did waver for a moment. He grunted in question and Atreus felt a fond smile play on his lips. I know loads of languages and father knows two: common tongue and grunts. Heh. "Sorry," he said again. "I-I couldn't fight the Stranger. He got me s-straight away,"
"It is not your fault," father said, the snow crunching beneath his boots. "He was…strong. Incredibly so. He came for me alone,"
"I shot him in the head. I-It didn't bother him,"
"…Did it bother you?"
Atreus considered it, eyes fluttering, his good hand lifting to wrap itself around the armour strapped to father's other shoulder. "At first," he admitted. "T-Then he was fine and I-I realised…" that I was screwed. That I could maybe be killed? I…Man, that was all so crazy. I almost died!
"It will not happen again," father told him, beard scraping Atreus's temple as he spoke. "I should not have left in the first place; that battle should never have been yours,"
"You couldn't have known," whispered Atreus. Father didn't say anything, and Atreus knew what he was thinking. "I-It's okay, father. I knew you'd come soon. I knew you could beat him,"
Father still didn't say anything, not even to that. But, Atreus could have sworn that he felt the arms that held him tighten. He nuzzled closer into the bare, but very warm, shoulder, feeling on the precipice of sleep. But before he could drop and truly melt away, a question occurred to him. "F-Father? Was that man a god?"
There was a beat of silence before his father answered. "I believe so,"
Wow, Atreus thought. It made a lot of sense, he wasn't sure how he hadn't considered it before. He wanted to figure out which god it could have been, but his mind was so heavy, and his father was so very comfy. "What does a god want with us? W-With you?"
Considering how different father had been acting so far, Atreus had hopes that he would continue to surprise him and maintain a conversation with him for more than a minute. Alas, father didn't say anything else. He grunted and shifted his grip on Atreus, as if purposefully choosing to roll his head from his shoulder into the crook of his neck. Okay, Atreus relented, sinking into it. That's fair enough for now, I guess. I'll ask again when I wake up…though hopefully that's not for a while. I like it here, like this. It feels…
And that was the last thing Atreus thought before sinking into the beckoning arms of sleep.
Please leave a comment if you enjoyed or wouldn't mind seeing some more little drabbles. Can't guarantee I'll definitely finish any but it's always fun to play around with ideas anyways.
Thank you :)
