Rabbit
"Yeesh… The stitch job on that thing looks just as bad as the stitch job ya did on me after that battle…"
Casca smacked Guts—perhaps a little harder than she meant.
"Ow!" Guts growled, more out of irritation than genuine injury. He rubbed his shoulder as he sat cross-legged on the floor beside her. "Abusive… just pointing out the truth…"
"If you ever want a back scratch from me again, you'll keep the comments to yourself." Casca warned, continuing to run her needle through the cloth.
"I've never asked you to scratch my back." Guts retorted grumpily.
"Ha! But you love it when I do—admit it."
The twenty-year old muttered something incoherent in answer, unwilling to admit or deny, then curled up on the floor with a pillow.
Casca shook her head and hid a smile. Guts' normal state of being was fairly mature and serious, but he had been in a mood today—the mood where he was restless and did everything in his power to annoy the hell out of her. It was probably being cooped up in the tent that did it. It had been a while since they'd had a job, and it was raining outside, keeping him away from a long and grueling sword practice. While Casca had taken advantage of the rain as something of a day off by reading and working on her current project, Guts had nothing constructive to do while cooped up in the tent. He was still wearing the pants he slept in the night before, and hadn't bothered to put a shirt on all day. He had, however, taken a two-hour nap with the baby, rolled all over the floor, and tried to slowly pull strands of hair from Casca's scalp without her noticing. After failing miserably at the latter (and being screamed at), he had stared at his sword longingly for almost an hour, and now he was picking his nose.
"I'm glad I have you to prepare me for our child's adolescent years." Casca remarked without taking her eyes off her sewing.
Guts snorted. "Whatever…"
Casca continued working the strand of red thread through two pieces of cloth—one blue and the other yellow. The piece was actually turning out alright—the stuffing seemed to be sufficient, and while she might not be good at stitching, she was good enough to get the job done.
Casca blinked when she realized Guts had begun slowly shifting his body into her field of vision, stopping only when he was laying practically underneath his tan skinned companion.
Casca rolled her eyes. "I know you're bored and want some attention, but this is ridiculous. Please find a way to amuse yourself that doesn't include trying to distract me."
"I'm not trying to distract you."
Casca glanced at him and realized he was actually telling the truth. He seemed to be done acting childish (for now) and was focused quite intently on the work she was doing. He studied the different colors of fabric Casca had sewed together, stopping as he caught sight of the buttons she'd attached to the face. "So… you really had a doll that looked like this when you were a kid?" He asked.
"Yep. My mother made it for me when I was a little girl." Casca had to force a smile as she dredged up bittersweet memories. "I was too young to understand why my stomach felt empty all of the time, and so she made it to console me when I went to bed hungry."
"That really worked?" Guts asked, raising an eyebrow.
Casca smiled genuinely this time. "It did, believe it or not. After a while, I couldn't sleep without it—even if I went to bed full."
"Hmm…" Guts fell silent, content to watch her do her work.
"You didn't…" Casca started to ask, but then thought better of it. "…Never mind."
"What?" Guts asked, looking at her suspiciously.
Casca sighed and stopped sewing for a moment. "I was just going to ask… if you didn't have anything like that when you were a kid—one comforting and special thing—a toy, a blanket you liked, maybe?"
"I had a sword," Guts offered, idly fooling with the end of the string of Casca's sewing (ergo, already acting childish again).
"Stop that." Casca said, pulling the string away and getting back to her work. "So, nothing you slept with at night when you got scared?"
"I slept with my sword."
Casca stopped sewing again and looked at him. "What?"
Guts glanced up at her dispassionately. "Yeah. I slept with it." He said with a shrug. After a moment of Casca's silence, he glowered at her. "What are you lookin' at me like that for?"
"Because that might be the most depressing thing I've ever heard."
Guts scowled. "Whatever. You sleepin' with a stupid doll is the lamest thing I've ever heard. The hell's a stuffed animal gonna do if somebody tries to kill ya in the middle of the night, huh?"
Casca frowned. "Was there ever a time when you didn't worry about that?" She asked—almost desperately. Everything she'd learned of his childhood so far was unbelievably dark and hopeless.
Guts sighed. "Don't worry about it." He said dismissively. "I slept through the night a bunch of times without gettin' scared..." While he didn't mind talking to Casca about his past, she always tried to attack him with hugs afterward. He didn't normally mind that (he actually appreciated it more than he was willing to admit), but he wasn't feeling particularly open or introspective that day. He would much prefer to continue pestering her.
"That's not really what I was asking. I meant, was there ever a time in your life when you weren't… well, by yourself at night? I mean, at some point, you were too young to be expected to take care of yourself." Somehow, Casca couldn't picture Gambino changing Guts' diapers.
"I had a mother."
"I thought you never knew her."
"Naw, not my birth mother. I mean the lady who took care of me. Her name was Shisu."
Casca smiled when she saw a change in his looks at the name—one that told her Shisu had never done anything to hurt Guts. "What do you remember about her?"
Guts turned over on his side and sighed again. "Not much." He started plucking blades of grass from the ground. "I remember her holdin' me and singin' to help me fall asleep—fussin' over me a bunch too." Casca didn't miss the little smile that formed on his face at the memory of being cared for. It was similar to the smile he tried to hide when she scratched his back.
"That sounds nice," she said quietly.
Guts didn't want any more questions. He abruptly rolled back over and sat up. "I don't get it."
"Don't get what?"
Guts looked at the doll. "Why Griffith needs that thing. He ain't gonna go hungry or hafta worry about somebody attackin' him at night."
Casca tied off the end of the string and looked proudly at her finished work: a stuffed rabbit made from her and Guts' old clothes. Surprisingly, it really did look very similar to the one she had as a girl. "He doesn't need it." She admitted. "It's just something I want him to have, you know? Something from me... Also," She blushed slightly. "it's cute."
"Cute..." Guts repeated with a hint of loathing. It's ugly as hell. He'll probably cry the moment he sees it.
"Would you like to sleep outside tonight?" Casca warned as she rose to her feet.
Guts scowled. "Whatever."
Casca grinned and shook her head at him, then turned her eyes toward the cradle Rickert had constructed for the baby. She strode over to look down at their little boy, pleased by the sight of him sleeping soundly.
Guts watched her carefully, and realized that however ugly and stupid the rabbit was to him, it really was important to her that their son have it. He could tell in the way she reached to place it in the crib with an almost ceremonial air.
He sighed and got to his feet. At the end of the day, it didn't matter whether or not he understood why the rabbit meant something to her. He figured there were a lot of things he wasn't going to understand about this—about parenting and being in a family. But what was important to Casca was important to him—even if he might joke around. He came up beside her just as their son stirred a little and grasped onto the soft fabric of the rabbit with his little fingers.
"Hmm… well… it looks a little less ugly next to him." Guts conceded.
"Oh?" Casca asked, turning to face him.
"Yeah." Guts looked over at his sword propped in the corner, and grinned mischievously. "So... does this mean I can put a sword in the crib with him?"
Can't stop... turning... Berserk... fluffy... Can't resist... desire to make even more... fluffy material...
Meaning, I'm drawing pictures now—the first of which is now the cover art for this story. If you want to see it in all its un-pixelated glory (really had to reduce the quality to get it uploaded on here), check my profile. I made a Tumblr.
