Title :: Realities
Words :: 668
Birthday Drabble Count :: 10/42
Key Words :: fierce, toxic, shadow

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The air smelled acrid, the toxic aftertaste of explosives lingering in their mouths and throats, every gasp for air painful to the small boys huddling under the table, Ivan shielding a still highly upset Miles who had finally stopped struggling not too long ago. Ivan could feel something warm trickling down his shoulder but he still didn't move, even though all he wanted to do was call for his mother and then hide in her skirts, any pretense at being anything but a very small and very scared little boy throw out the window in a heartbeat. Miles was quiet and resigned, wedged as he was between the wall and Ivan, with great heavy oak framing them on all sides but one.

But his mother wasn't there, nor was anyone else and Miles was still fragile from the recent operation to modify the curvature of his spine and Ivan was the only one there to keep Miles from doing something deadly stupid. Because he hated seeing Miles put on that brave smile and pretend nothing hurt and he hated it even more when he heard Miles crying at night from the pain he hid during the da. But above all, he hated the thought of a Miles hurt so badly he couldn't even pretend it didn't hurt. Or dead, like Ivan's father, something which made Ivan's mind skitter in all sorts of bad ways and push back slightly even more, Miles never making a sound of protest despite the pressure it must put on his brittle bones.

A form loomed out of the smoke and shadows whirling in the room, distant cries echoing through the hallways of what had to be the opened door of the office, but Ivan couldn't make out the words, his ears still ringing loudly from the force of the concussive grenade which had been lobbed through the window.

Fierce and dark, a well know face broke through the darkness and Ivan nearly sobbed in relief, small body slumping down as exhaustion won over adrenaline and fear, fatigue sweeping through him.

"Bothari!" Miles voice piped up from behind him, the sound drawing a flicker of something from the huge man's eyes, which Ivan fancied was both relief and a promise of bloody murder to be perpetrated later, when small children were no longer present and the ones responsible for the attempt had been caught. "Bothari! Ivan's been hurt!" Indignation and anger rang through the clear voice, nearly directly against Ivan's ears, enough so that he could make them out.

He finally dared to look at his shoulder and a moment later, a yelp from Miles confirmed for Bothari that his charge's companion had fainted dead away. Without a word, he set about extricating the small human shield from under the table first, cradling Ivan carefully in one arm before reaching for Miles with a care and tenderness few people would ever have through Bothari capable of.

"It'll be all right, Ivan. Bothari's here now," Miles said loudly, hearing as damaged as that of his cousin. "It'll be just fine."

Bothari did not bother to correct Miles, nor to let him know that things had been all right far earlier than then. But he did make sure to use his body to hide the destroyed wall beyond them from sight, as well as the way half the room and desk were covered in rubble and glass.

All that had happened the moment Ivan had stuffed Miles under the desk and in the moments that had followed, as far as Bothari could tell. He held the boy carefully in one arm, juggling Miles with the other, all the while being ready to kick the face in of anyone unwise enough to offer them threat. Doing so without jarring the shard of glass in Ivan's arm would be tricky, but Bothari was confident he could manage it.

It was the least he could do to thank Ivan for standing in his stead, however briefly so, after all.