Ohmygoodness, so many thank yous to the lovely CleverDucky.
She is the shit. Look her up. I'm so flattered by her, I actually
willed myself to update (this was bound for the scraps, honestly)
Another for the weird point of view stack, it's bound to switch
around from Darien to 3rd, though. Oh, and this chapter is a bit
of a flashback to the second week they knew each other, when
Tave was still looking to find his past group whom he had been
split up with. Enjoy?
Exposure.
It was a full week of scouring around amongst the four of them, an entire week without seeing hide nor hair of their fifth. Their ill-tempered German. Ithus insisted 'just a day more' each time someone would find themselves in doubt. Just a day more. Oliver found he must be going soft for every time she would plea against Mattis and himself he would be the first to cave.
"Alright, Baby Girl, alright. One more day, if we don't find him tomorrow; we leave." The received expression of utmost determination was almost endearing. She would nod, Mattis would give him a knowing stare, and Destrian would silently pluck his rifle from the ground and stride over to the barred door. Unlatching it before turning back fractionally as if to ask if everyone was ready.
Each trip they would go out a little farther.
Each trip they would return fruitless.
On the sixth day Ithus' insistence was becoming steadily less whole hearted, and by the seventh day she finally agreed to continue on and just accept that foreboding feeling she'd shoved back since the beginning in that fucking sugar cane field. A tank had shown at possibly the worst time-Taveor had been caught off guard and was left behind by Mattis' orders. There was no way he was still alive. Alone for a week, running low on shotgun shells, no medical kit to patch up with, no back up, no company. He was as good as dead as soon as they agreed press on.
That night they packed, ate a light meal of lukewarm green beans courtesy of Oliver, and readied for bed in the house they'd barricaded-agreeing to set off at the break of dawn the next morning. They were all, however, woken early by an all but riotous berate on the door, Mattis shrugged it off as a zombie. Ithus didn't. She rushed to the room in which the door was; the resonating squeal was enough to rouse the others.
There, in the doorway, stood a rather disheveled but relatively unscathed German man. Dark hair astray, shirt and jeans corrupted with tears and God knows what else. Thin lips pulled upwards ever so slightly, almost sheepish.
"Hallo." The softly spoken hint in his accent-laced greeting was almost a shadow of their recognizably loud comrade. It was nothing like the loudmouth they had known a week ago. Ithus would later defend that 'he probably hasn't talked once in the last week' and that it was 'a blessing' that he was even trying now. No one mentioned it after that. It was after about a day or so when he began to speak up as he usually did. Save for a few extra influxes of German that sometimes escaped before he could properly translate it was like having their old Taveor back. He'd usually catch himself half way through and revert back to English, anyway.
Something was off, though.
This was noted first by Oliver when food began to 'mysteriously' disappear from his pack Next to point out the outlandish was Destrian whom noted that odd entrances, such as second story windows and bathroom vents, opened-or hastily slapped back together. Then Ithus found the blood. Dapplets of fresh crimson spilled in the room Taveor had resided that night. "Nosebleed." was their only justification. Ithus was far from convinced, especially when the plea to remain in the particular safe house for a night more. Courtesy of Taveor, of course. His excuse had been that a lucky Charger had managed to nick him.
She decided it was time to ask questions. The German, though, would admit to weakness only whilst knocking on death's door (if even then); and he sure as hell wouldn't speak up if the other boys were around. It would be better to wait till later after night had settled in to even begin to mention anything to him. Alone.
So she waited, and when dusk finally shrouded the rooms she slipped out of her room. The silhouette of another figure would be just visible in the darkness, this of course was enough to spike panic. Instinctively, she stilled, forced back breathing until it had slowed to indecipherably soft gasps. A few seconds of this anxiety would pass before she realized whom her company was. Dark eyes widened at the revelation. Taveor. He shuffled towards the stairs, in his hands a medical pack. Where the fuck was he going..? The better half of her told her to simply drop it, to turn back into her room. To sleep and to deal with him tomorrow.
Curiosity, of course, got the better of her.
Probing softly down the stairs she found she could just make out the shaded man from outcasted, milky beams of moonlight that spilled over bars in the safe-room door.
"Hund." The whisper, outside the vegetation rustled fractionally. German was most certainly not her forte, she had taken French in high school. Her first year in college, though, was enough to lay out the basis of the language-pressed, of course, by her mother whom had promised to take her to Germany on her next business trip so long as she could learn enough of the language to hold her over whilst there. She did.
"Hund, ist dass Sie? [Dog, is that you?]" The German flowed from that sharp tongue almost melodically as he addressed the night. A shallow hiss broke the terse silence that ensued, Taveor looked almost relieved while his fingers unlatched the door, working up the metal with practiced solitude before toeing it open. Stepping hesitantly into the dark as he unzipped the bag. "Hierher, Hund zu erhalten, wir müssen sich beeilen. [Get over here, Dog, we need to hurry.]" Beckoning to the night he gestured for something to come closer. A soft, almost animalistic, whimper erupted as another form crawled into sight.
A hunter.
Ithus watched in disbelief for a moment, why the fuck isn't Taveor doing anything? It took all of two seconds for her to piece together that she needed to help him. Almost frantically she flitted over and grabbed a spare plank of plywood-thanking God the pile hadn't been shoved outside after they finished barricading the door. Instinctively she sprang out into the open , rushing at the monster.
"Taveor!" The beast visibly stiffened, snapping around to look at her before raising its' arms in a last ditch effort to defend itself. She almost hesitated. Almost. Why the fuck wasn't it attacking? Taveor, however, beat it to the punch-pushing his arms up and catching her mid-swing, dark eyes uncharacteristically wide. Shock was there, as well as fear. It wasn't for himself whom he feared. A stream of broken German molded from taut lips before he regained enough lucidity to revert to English.
"Mein Gott, Ithus, stoppen! Stop!" His tone was urgent; she tossed him an incredulous stare, mouth agape as she fished for words. Words clung to her throat as the dark haired man turned to the beast, its full attention was however, on her. Clicking his tongue Taveor regained it's eyes. Its movements were choppy, brief. "Hund, büsche [Dog, bushes]." With that he nodded to the shrubbery with which the beast came. It looked at him a moment, unmoving. Blank. Before it backed up a few steps, still on all fours. Puffing out a sigh Taveor must have decided that this was as good as it was going to get. He refocused back to the woman still clutched in his grip.
"What the hell is going on here, Taveor?" The demanding tone would have made a lesser man flinch.
"Ith, calm down. Drop the stick." His voice was soft, almost patronizing-as if talking to a startled child. Ithus frowned at such yet none the less dropped the offending item with a little more force than needed. Jerking her wrist back from his slackened grip she found herself narrowing dark umber irises.
"That's a fucking hunter, why aren't you worried at all." The brunette stepped back towards danger, rasping a pale hand through knotted tresses, inhaling deeply through his nose before turning to the monster. Gingerly he beckoned for it to come closer
"Komm her." Hesitantly, and to Ithus' utter disbelief, it inched forwards. Almost instinctively she found herself flexing slim digits as if to mimic the action of pulling the trigger. God, she needed a gun. Suspense tensed her, discomfort brimmed forth. Taveor glanced down at the beast for a moment longer before gesturing upwards "Bis, Hund [Up, Dog]." It hesitated once more, as if struggling to grasp what the man was saying before it turned to look at her once more. Only then did it slowly bring it's hands up to its' knees, as if it took more effort than it would have liked to right itself. Standing the thing was tall, almost Taveor's height, if not only a few inches shy.
Its gaze didn't break, she didn't need to see its eyes to know they were locked upon her own.
"It's a fucking monster. Why is it here?"
"He." It was kind of an offhand insist, she flashed him a look that blatantly spoke that she didn't care before he continued. "He's with me."
"I see that. Fucking why is here? Did you catch the stupids, Tave? It's a monster, not a dog."
"He's hurt." The German shot back abruptly, voice sharp. The Hunter perked up at such an outburst, snorting aloud before edging forth ever so slightly. Ithus was having nothing of the sort, ducking down and grabbing at the plywood before cocking back. Ready to swing. Exasperated, Taveor snatched at her wrist, yanking away the makeshift weapon. She narrowed her eyes as he threw it aside. All the while the infected was quipping gibberish, offering a sort of wave in his own direction before snarling softly. What the fuck..? Taveor flashed him a look before pointing at the red pack that had been previously discarded. He then turned back to Ithus, voice soft, patronizing once more.
"I have to finish, go back to sleep. We can talk tomorrow." Um, no.
"I'm not leaving you out here alone with that." She flashed the offending creature a crude look. It hissed in response, as if it understood her. To this she could only blink, it was so fucking..conscious. And that got under her skin more so than she would have liked to admit. Glancing back up she found Taveor's eyes on her, exasperated once more before he tossed a hand about.
"Fine, whatever, just don't try to hit him again." The comment was thrown over a shoulder as he turned and knelt to scoop up the health pack, unraveling a cylinder of gauze and some antiseptic. "Komm her, Hund." He beckoned to the monster, it stared over to her a moment before shuffling over-still on two legs. It was a bizarre sight, in the least. So compliant. Why? She narrowed her eyes, distrusting once more. What was wrong with this Hunter? Was it waiting for the right time to attack..? The soft click of plastic teeth being unwound drew her attention once more, revealing black tee that would have read 'Keep Out of Direct Sunlight' in bold white print.
Nothing out of the ordinary would have snagged her attention if the moonlight wasn't directed in the manner it was, the shirt was drenched. Because of the black she could just make out a slight red twinge but it was there. She almost gasped aloud. Almost. It was only when the hunter allowed a soft whimper-to being exposed most likely, to this she was shocked as well, she figured there would be more fight as Tave undressed the monster. The hood, however, stayed on. Maybe that was the source of its' compliancy.
A prod as well as another whimper caught her attention.
"Geben Sie mir, die [Relax, this will hurt]." Seeing her German this gentle was almost as out of place as seeing him heal an infected as if it were one of them. A human. It was like seeing an entirely different person. If the monster, however, was shocked it was well disguised. The only movement she could note from it was the shallow inhale and exhale it's chest proved.
A pair of metal scissors glinted in the pale light. The animal visibly stiffened before flexing its hands-claws. Taveor flashed it a pointed glare before making quick business of the shirt. A squelching sound as fabric lifted off sticky flesh made her stomach knot over. It made no noise, the only sign of tenderness was the way its breath hitched in the arch.
"Ο Θεός, τον πόνο.." It's voice was raspy, as if it was torn from its very vocal chords-the words melded into a soft keen as Taveor continued his inspection of the wound. It was deep, she could see that from the distance. There could be no other reason for the infecteds' hindrance other than that; she chastised internally. The brunette man turned back into the kit, fishing around for something before a soft grunt of triumph broke the silence. What produced was a coiled, glossy black thread, already knotted around a needle.
The jolt backwards as soon as the cool metal kissed antiseptic-cleaned skin was almost comical.
"Όχι!" Taveor snarled in response.
"Komm schon, Sie Fucker. Ich bin nicht lassen Sie sterben, weil Sie Nadel schüchtern sind [Come on, you fucker. I'm not letting you die because you're needle shy]." There was a terse moment of silence before a snuff escaped into the night, the hunter edged closer fractionally before turning to look away. At anything. At nothing. Did it feel no pain? It pierced ripped flesh and a scream ripped out, the beast snapped forward and, almost instinctively, bit down. Taveor hissed as teeth latched onto thick forearms, raising a hand to back hand it hard enough to loosen its vice. The beast recoiled. "Don't touch him, Ith." She froze mid-stride, flexing her bunched fist. If it took her beating the fucking thing in with her own, she would.
"It fucking bit you!" Notes of absolute ridicule resonated into the darkness. He shook his head before turning back to the hunter, clicking with his tongue before pulling the thread through. The second reaction was less impulsive as the first, it instead sank it's filthy teeth into its' own flesh. Snarling, high-pitched.
"He's hurt." She narrowed her vision further, staring into the shroud that hid its' face. Taveor continued his patchwork slowly. Each penetration of the needle into soft stomach tissue elicited a hiss-each time growing more quiet than the previous. Moments droned on sluggishly as he worked into the night. It had been maybe twenty minutes before a question bubbled forth. Dark umber irises flitted to the deep-almost stitched-gash. Crimson still oozed sluggishly from the valley of skin, cascaded down a tanned, toned stomach. The words congregated before she could repress herself.
"How'd it get fucked over like that..?" The way her obsidian haired friend jolted reminded her exactly how quiet the night had been. The fucker hadn't so much as flinched after its first outburst. Taveor swiveled to glance over his shoulder at her, tossing his bangs from dark eyes before turning back to his work.
"You're still here?"
"Don't avoid my question." Sifting her weight to one side she folded her arms about her chest, fixating the back of his head with a pointed stare. She knew he could feel it..there was another moment of hesitation before he spoke up once more.
"Witch."
"A witch." The upward infliction of her tone made it more of a question than the statement it was supposed to be. "They don't fuck with each other, the special ones. Why did a witch-"
"I ran into her." It sounded as if she had caught him with a hand in the cookie jar. A pregnant silence ensued. She found herself narrowing her eyes.
"So?" That didn't explain why the bitch attacked a fucking hunter rather than the one whom startled her. Not that she was complaining, of course not. She'd much preferred the beast killed than her comrade. Taveor shifted to look at her once more, eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke.
"He took the fall before I could finish her off." And with this he turned back to the beast, pressing down to pick the scissors from the ground as he tied off the last inky thread. Ithus simply stared at the monster, it rocked on its' heels-still standing. Taveor nodded up to it as he righted himself from the squatted position he'd previously taken to reach the last few coils. Forty six. Forty six disgusting little blemishes to tie together this infected whom had saved her friend's life. Why? It took a moment before she realized she'd said this aloud.
It perked up, locking attention with her as Taveor stretched-neck popping grotesquely from the hinged position it'd previously undergone. A snort escaped as well as a brief hiss of pain at the use of his jaw. It popped from being so tightly cinched-biting back pain.
"Εάν αποθηκεύσετε μια ζωή, είστε υπεύθυνος για το ότι η ζωή, λεία." It turned its focus back to the dark haired man before him. Said counterpart nodded shortly and stepped back, allowing the infected man to drop down to all fours-not without a bark of shocked pain coupled with an almost inaudible growl. Ithus offered yet another shifty glance but refocused herself to Taveor whom was plucking around the dirt for any disused supplies.
"Why do I feel like that thing's not leaving."
"Because he's not." It was so matter-of-fact she blanked for a retort. Regaining lucidity she found herself pushing forwards to him, taking a hold of his arm. Forcing him to look at her.
"It's not a pet." "I know." "It can't stay." There was a moment of silence before Taveor slowly began to nod, glancing over to the hunter.
"I'll be seeing you, then." And with that he gestured for the beast to go. "Schlaf, sind wir morgen verlassen [Rest, we're leaving tomorrow]." Tucking the pack under his arm he turned back to the safe house, opening the door with a soft clank before shuffling inside. Leaving a stunned Ithus out in the dark with the retreating form of his hunter. His monster. His.
It was only when dawn broke in little spears through the barred window did the others find a note of chicken scratch, written on the wall just above the makeshift stove of a simple pot and dying ash. Red ink was used.
"Wenn Sie ein Leben zu retten, sind Sie verantwortlich für das Leben."
