To What We Cling

Guts stared up at the canvas billowing in the night wind above him. He was miserable. It was hot and stuffy, and the med tent was full of wounded, sleeping Hawks—half of whom snored. He sighed restlessly and tried turning over on his pallet, only to grunt in pain as he remembered why he was in the med tent in the first place. He had a deep sword wound from a very lucky merc running from navel to hip. He felt the stitches strain and took in a deep breath (which only made things worse, considering). Slowly, he eased back down into the uncomfortable position he'd been in before. He did not want the doctor to re-stitch the wound. The old bastard always yanked at his flesh like it belonged to a rag doll, and Guts hated stitches regardless. Casca always tried to shame him by pointing out that he'd take a sword wound without complaint, but a little needle poking through his skin made him throw a tantrum. Guts didn't know why he felt that way about needles… he just did.

He sighed again. He wished he was back in his own tent with Casca and the kids. It was a lot less stuffy in there. But he wasn't really supposed to move for a few days (Casca and the doc would both be pissed), and Casca had thought it best that he sleep in the med tent a few nights anyway. Their young children didn't really understand him being wounded, and she was afraid they'd try to climb on him like a jungle gym—one of their favorite pastimes. Guts thought he'd rather deal with that than the snore symphony going on around him. Every time he thought he'd found their rhythm, someone changed pace, making it impossible to get used to the sound.

Guts put his hands over his ears—a useless gesture. He had half a mind to get up and go to his own tent. Casca would be livid, but he'd rather deal with her lecturing him than stay in the damned med tent any longer. He was about to risk trying to get up when a sound suddenly drew his attention. The flap of the tent ruffled in the darkness. He squinted when he saw a small figure steal inside. The little thing tiptoed over to a sleeping mercenary by the door and peered down at his face for a long moment, then shifted over and stared at the next wounded man in line. He drew closer and closer as he studied each face, and Guts watched curiously before recognizing the silhouette of his six-year old. "…Hey! Grif!" He whispered.

The boy nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned and peered over at Guts. "Daddy?" He asked, a little too loudly.

"Shh!" Guts said. "You'll wake everybody up. I'm over here."

Griffith crept slowly toward the sound of his father's voice, his bare feet hardly making a sound on the floor.

"Waddya doin' in here?" Guts asked in an undertone when the boy stood over him.

Griffith looked down at his toes. "I had a bad dream." He admitted.

Guts blinked. "So waddya doin' in here?" He asked again.

"I came to tell you."

"You didn't tell your mama?"

"No."

"Why not?"

The boy shrugged. He stood hesitantly for a moment, shifting on his feet. "Can I sleep with you, Daddy?" He asked quietly.

Guts raised an eyebrow in the dark (not that his son could see it). The habits of kids were still strange to him, even after being a father for six years. Since his own childhood had been… unique, he sometimes had trouble identifying with their perceptions and actions. "Why?" He whispered.

Griffith bit his lip. "'Cause I'm scared." He said plainly, and his father could hear the shaking in his little voice.

Guts' sleepily processed this for a moment, before scooting over slightly and picking up the corner of his blanket. "Come on." He relented.

The boy crawled underneath the covers eagerly.

Guts eased back down, and his son pressed up against him. He lay still for a moment, then grabbed Guts' arm. Guts allowed his son to manipulate the limb, curious. Griffith put Guts' arm around himself, using his upper arm for a pillow, and passed his large forearm across his small chest to hug like a stuffed animal. Guts heard the little boy sigh contentedly. He was asleep in under a minute.

Guts watched the boy sleep peacefully by his side, and for some reason, the sight filled his chest with warmth.

"Daddy?"

Guts snorted awake and looked up, momentarily surprised that he had dozed off at all. He was confused when the face of his four year-old focused into view. She was squatting down next to him, shaking him awake. "s'matter?" He mumbled, barely lucid.

She frowned in the darkness. "I had a dream that a bad man hurt you." She said quietly.

Guts rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Well," he said simply, "A bad man did hurt me. That's why I'm sleepin' in here."

Wrong move.

She sniffed, and then she was crying. Guts winced, realizing he's basically just told his kid that her nightmare was real. He couldn't stand it when his kids cried. It made his heart sink in his chest, especially when he was the cause of it. "Hey…" He said softly. He took her tiny hand. "I'm sorry, Shizu. I didn't mean to upset you. Don't worry, I'm not hurt bad."

She kept crying. "M-Mama always s-says you'd say that even if there was a hole r-running through your ch-chest!" She blubbered through occasional sniffling.

Guts grinned a little despite her tears. "Ah, your mom was just joking. The doctor took good care of me" (even if he was an old bastard) "I'mma heal up fine," He assured her, gripping her hand firmly to show her he was still plenty strong.

She sniffed and started wiping her eyes. "Mama said you were hurt so bad that I can't play with you anymore…" She mumbled.

Guts chuckled again. It hurt. "She just meant for a little while. I'll heal and then we can play together again. Okay?"

Griffith drew a sharp breath as their conversation woke him up. He turned his head and scowled when his eyes fell on his little sister. "Go away, Shizu…" He said grumpily before closing his eyes again and nestling back up against his father's arm.

The little girl gasped. "Griffith, you get to sleep with Daddy?" She asked voice turning shrill at the end with shock and a hint of envy.

"Shh…" Guts said, "You'll wake up the men."

She cupped her hand over her mouth and looked around. When the snoring around them continued, she relaxed and dropped down by Guts' ear. "Can I sleep with you too, Daddy?" She whispered.

Guts blinked again. This was strange. His kids rarely had nightmares, and now bad dreams had disturbed two of them in the same night. What was more, they were coming to wake him up about it, even though their mother had been sleeping in the tent with them. Who was going to show up next, their baby son? Guts sighed. "Casca might not be too happy about this."

Recognizing his muttering as reluctant consent, the little girl smiled and immediately climbed over him.

"Careful—careful!" Guts winced. "You're stepping on my wound!"

She gasped. "Sorry Daddy!" She scrambled over him quickly, resulting in a few more winces of pain, before settling down against his right side.

Since Griffith had seen fit to use his dad's left arm for a pillow, Guts went ahead and moved his right arm to allow his daughter to do the same. Now he slept between both kids, and their added body heat certainly didn't make things less stuffy. He found that he really didn't mind, however. When he heard his little girl's breathing deepen in sleep, and saw that his boy was already dead to the world again too, that warm feeling in his chest returned, and he found himself smiling. There was something precious and wonderful about their trust in him—something he wasn't sure he understood. He couldn't even stand up (at least not without tearing over a hundred stitches), and yet his kids still felt safer by his side. Truth be told, he felt more comfortable with them close by as well.

"Guts?"

Guts woke up again. There was light streaming into the tent and he had to squint to let his eyes adjust.

"Casca was grinning down at him. She was already dressed in her armor for the day, their third child under her arm. "Aww…" She said playfully. "Look at you: Guts, The One Hundred Man Killer comforting his little ones."

"Says the renowned female warrior with a sword and a baby resting on the same hip." He shot back, smiling sleepily.

Casca laughed quietly. "I was mad that they ran off without telling me until I walked in here and found them."

"They've never done this before" Guts observed.

"They've never needed to. They've never slept a night when you weren't in the tent with them."

Guts thought back, and realized she was right. But still… "Does my presence really make that much of a difference?"

"You were hurt—it probably scared them more than they realized. And you're their father," Casca said with a shrug. "Kids just naturally feel safer when their fathers are near."

Guts grinned. "I make 'em feel safe, huh?" He pulled his kids closer to himself. "Jealous?" He asked teasingly.

Casca scoffed. "Please!"

Guts chuckled lightly and closed his eyes.

Well…Maybe I am a bit jealous, Casca thought. Soon, their children would be too old to want to cuddle like this... but that was (hopefully) still years away. Anyway, any bit of envy couldn't compete with what she would have missed out on seeing if their kids had not sought out their father last night. Something about Guts with their kids in his arms just made her happy.

"Wanna join us?" Guts asked, opening an eye.

"Sorry, I can't," Casca said reluctantly, pulled from her musings. "It's a tempting offer, but I only came to check on you, and to tell you I'm going with Judeau and Pippin to meet a nobleman about a job."

Guts grumbled in disappointment. "Too bad…" His eyes fell on the baby, and he grinned. "Gimme," He said.

Casca raised an eyebrow.

"If you're going to a meeting, that means I'm on babysittin' duty."

Casca scoffed lightly. "Guts, you can't even stand, and he'll crawl all over you. Let Rickert watch them this time."

"Come on, Casca…" He stuck out his lip and made that pouty face that she found so very endearing.

She sighed and picked the baby up under the arms. "Remember that I tried to save you from this." She said warningly before setting the baby down by Guts' head.

Their youngest had only just started to perceive enough to be struck with wonder by everything. He looked at Guts with wide eyes and giggled when he recognized the man who sometimes threw him up in the air to make him laugh. He cooed and crawled his way over to Guts' face, putting his tiny hands on his father's chin and grinning toothlessly.

Guts smiled at him, until the tiny human decided to slobber on his neck. "Aw, come on!" He said. With both arms tucked under sleeping kids, he could do nothing but watch as the oozing liquid descend from the baby's mouth and move treacherously toward his eyeballs.

Casca laughed and started walking away. "I'll make sure Rickert knows to come check on you. He can watch the baby when the doctor finds out about this and throws a fit."

"Be shhafe!" Guts called out through cheeks being squeezed by an inquisitive baby. He twisted his head around to escape the slobber, and made faces at the boy above him to make him laugh. Babies could be gross, but they were also kind of his favorite because of their unbridled reactions. Thankfully, the kid never stepped on his wound, and he eventually settled down and fell asleep on Guts' shoulder

Guts sighed and closed his eyes, smiling contentedly. He didn't mind that three kids were smothering him. That warm feeling in his chest simply intensified, and that wasn't at all a bad thing. It was a wonderful feeling—a feeling he wished he could hold onto forever.

"They've never slept a night when you weren't in the tent with them."

Guts reflected on that. His children had never slept alone. At their age, he had always slept alone. There was no one there to cling to during nights where the darkness seemed to close in.

He shuddered to think what Gambino would have done if he had woken him up in the middle of the night with nothing more to say than, "I had a bad dream." No, Guts had clung to no one—but that didn't mean he'd just wallowed in fear. Cold steel against his palms was his companion, giving him comfort during scary nights when the darkness closed in. With nothing else to cling to for hope when he was afraid, he had learned to cling to his sword.

But his kids…

When they were afraid, they clung to him.

A/N: Uh... how many years has it been now? *sweats* I always thought, "I'll add more stories to this in a few months!" And have had this one squirreled away ever since as I think I had intended it to be the last piece before marking the pic complete! When I did accept that all my ideas had fled my brain, just a bunch of mixed up ideas floating around that would never form complete shape, I couldn't find this fic! I have finally rediscovered it, and am finally allowing it to cap off this series. If I find any others on my laptop that were meant for this series, I'll add 'em in, but I am calling this fic complete finally lol. I screwed up the formatting at first so hopefully I got it fixed...

You can find me on Tumblr at PlaidDoodles and AO3 under the same name I use on this site. :)