Foreword: Language warning! Please make sure you're okay with cussing before reading further!
...
The Slayer was accustomed to treating his own injuries.
Thanks to the Divinity Machine he was immortal, and could technically live forever... but that didn't stop him from taking a beating. He had had to patch himself up so many times over his unending career as the ultimate destroyer of evil it was practically routine.
He just wasn't used to having to be so damned gentle.
Before him, legs hanging limply from the workbench, the orange fox-child glared silently at his own tattered shoes, eyes bloodshot and unfocused. The kid had seemingly been surviving in the field for days - a feat that astonished the Slayer, given the extent of the planet's corruption - and had taken a beating of his own. Mostly flesh wounds... burns, cuts, missing fur... but the Fox's entire right arm was fractured. The kid had to have been running entirely on adrenaline to operate beyond the injury. The entire limb had been shaved from shoulder to wrist to better treat it, the bare pale skin horribly bruised and inflamed. The Slayer - as gently as a being dubbed 'the Unchained Predator ' possibly could - had tended to the damaged limb, and was now encasing it in what appeared to be an armoured sleeve. The brace, based on ancient Sentinel technology and modified for the kid's small size, would simultaneously heal the injuries while supporting and allowing some degree of freedom of movement.
The Slayer applied the finishing touches, powering on the brace. He gestured to the now completely encased arm with a grunt.
The fox jumped as though snapped out of a trance, eyes darting around in confusion as though he didn't remember where he was. The Slayer repeated his mute inquiry, and this time the fox looked to his bound arm with a small degree of fascination.
The human raised a questioning eyebrow. The fox, in understanding, obediently wiggled his now gauntleted fingers and timidly flexed the arm.
The Slayer raised a questioning eyebrow. Better?
The fox nodded lightly, staring at nothing with shellshocked blue eyes.
"I... I'm all that's left..." The small creature's voice was barely a whisper, as though he were muttering to himself. "Aren't I?"
The Slayer nodded grimly. There was no point in lying to the kid. People didn't usually survive demonic outbreaks.
Bloodshot blue eyes drifted to the floor. "It's all my fault..." The fox whimpered, tears welling. "All my fault..."
The Slayer frowned. The translation systems had to be misinterpreting the alien language. There was no way the kid could blame himself for the demonic consumption of his planet.
The human didn't dwell on it too long however, as the fox - the child - buried his face into his hands and began sobbing heavily in a very human display of absolute devastation. The Slayer wasn't good at dealing with emotional stuff. He was really, really good at breaking things and finding new and interesting ways of tearing demons apart, but that was about it. Still. He had a traumatised child on his hands now, and he had to do something.
The human glanced over to a portrait hanging on the wall of his study. His piercing blue eyes were met with the fully armoured image of his likeness, Lucifer's Bane in one hand... and a familiar brown fuzzy shape with long ears in the other.
Steadily, the muscular human set himself down on the workbench and tentatively began scratching at the base of the Fox's neck. Triangular ears perked and red-rimmed eyes shot toward the large human in shock... but there was no resistance. the fox leaned into the only source of reassurance he had left while the human gently scratched at the back of his neck, just as he had with a small frightened brown rabbit an eternity ago.
They were an odd pair, the now immortal Demon-slaying human and the tiny walking talking fox boy with the mechanical arm, but they were at least bound by a single unenviable fate. They had both fought, and survived, Hell itself.
...
Fortress of Doom, Slayer's workshop, some time later.
The DoomSlayer might have been the ultimate Demon hunter - the Hellwalker, the Unchained Predator, the scourge of all evil - but he wasn't much of a tech head. He was capable of performing basic maintenance and field repairs on his armour and equipment, but there was definitely a limit to his technical proficiency.
But now, he had the smartest fox on Mobius living aboard.
Miles stepped back and raised his safety goggles, grunting in a very Slayer-esque fashion at his handiwork. Once upon a time the young fox would have been ecstatic just to look at an advanced suit of alien power armour, but these days... He was somewhat lacking in the 'cheer' department.
Before him, the gleaming green form of the Praetor Mk2 stood inside of its armature appearing for all the world like a monster just waiting to be released from its cage. The fox had performed a full maintenance service on the suit, while the Slayer was off on one of his... expeditions.
The fox then turned his attention to a large energy pistol. He checked the weapon over, removing the power core and swiftly replacing it with a fresh one. ensuring the safety was on, he aimed the pistol and checked the sighting of the weapon. He retrieved a small tool from his bandolier and slightly altered the range-detector of the weapon, optimising it for long range. Satisfied with his work, the fox returned the pistol to its rack
The fox wiped sweat from his brow, and decided to take a breather from his work.
Since the planet of Mobius had been entirely consumed by Hell, the small orange fox had essentially become the Fortress of Doom's live-in engineer, helping maintain the human's equipment and weapons, as well as some of the systems on the ancient starship they called home.
It helped. Helped keep things relatively normal for the fox-boy. Helped distract him from the horror below and the... memories.
It was strange. Spending all day tinkering, fixing things for his friend... It almost felt like-
Nope. Miles squashed the memories before he could see them, hear them...feel them...
It would hurt too much to remember.
The sound of powerful footfalls made the Fox's ears perk up, yanking him from his brief state of terror, and Miles looked up to see the giant green-armoured human marching into the armoury. The green armour was stained with blood and viscera, and several new burns and scars.
"Hi Big Green," the fox said tiredly, wearing a very small smile of greeting. "You got work for me?"
The human removed his helmet with a hiss and tucked it under one arm, raising a weary thumbs-up to the fox. Miles slotted his goggles back over his eyes and hopped up onto the workbench. The Slayer entered the armour frame and began to disassemble the Praetor Mk1, assisted by his small orange companion. The fox smiled happily as he saw the armour had sustained damage.
Not because he wished his human guardian any harm... but because the distraction would keep him from... remembering.
...
The fox absently tapped an armoured finger against the huge metallic desk, chin resting on his ungloved paw-padded left hand. He swung his bare feet in the too-high chair, red sneakers having become too tattered and... familiar... to continue wearing.
He'd have to build his own boots out of the supplies on board the Fortress. Maybe he would use the Praetor Suit as a reference.
The Slayer occupied a huge wingback thronelike chair, idly flipping through one off the old books he kept in the study aboard his ship, while Miles did his 'homework' - scanning through the human's tactical console, learning more about the exact nature of the monsters that had destroyed his world.
And figuring out ways he could alter the DoomSlayer's weapons and equipment to more efficiently kill them.
He scrolled through the consoles ' display, dark bags beneath bloodshot blue eyes on a lined face, grimly absorbing the information.
Imps. Small, fast, and agile. Liked to attack from all angles at both range and close combat. Modified sensors for the Praetor helmet? Perhaps a motion tracker.
Cacodemons. Spherical, floating creatures with cyclopean green eyes and enormous fanged maws. Insatiable instinct to feed. Easy enough to deal with, Miles could enhance the tracking systems on the Slayer's rocket launcher and micro-missile attachment.
Mancubi. Morbidly obese horrors with dual magma-cannons for arms and curiously soft underbellies filled with toxic and explosive gases. Perhaps he could modify the Meathook attachment of Lucifer's Bane, the Slayer's huge double barrel shotgun, to tear out the heart from range. The Slayer preferred his killing up close and personal, but another combat option wouldn't hurt.
Well, it would. Just not the human.
Gargoyles. Birdlike demons that flew on leathery wings and spat acid. Relatively harmless to the Slayer in the grand scheme of things. Maybe the fox could develop some kind of acid-resistant handkerchief the human could use to wipe his armour off with.
Possessed...
Possessed...
Possessed...
Miles paused as he swiped across to this particular demon breed. He desperately tried and failed to block the memories from flooding into his brain, and his chest began to tighten as he remembered smiling furry faces... and those same faces warping into horrors of shambling, gurgling flesh as their bodies were taken.
Familiar voices still screamed from the warped flesh, begging for release, through gnashing teeth and flailing limbs and blood and death and fire and agony and terrible writhing limbs reaching into the sky and... and... and...
...
The Slayer grunted and glanced over the expanse of his study as a keening wail reached his ears. He was up and out of his seat in an instant, fat boots stomping over the deck, as he understood what was happening.
Before him, situated at his study's tactical console, the small orange creature he knew only as 'Fox-kid' was rocking back and forth in the seat, arms clasped over his chest and choking as he tried to scream. Pointed ears and dilated blue eyes swivelled, focussing in terror on things that weren't there, and his mouth flapped open as his windpipe constricted.
The Slayer knew what to do. This wasn't Fox-kid's first 'episode ' since living aboard the ship.
Calmly, the human kneeled down before the fox and began lightly scratching the fur at the back of the neck. He snapped his big gloved fingers in front of the sweat-drenched orange face, attempting to grab the kid's attention.
The fox reflexively latched onto the human's muscular arm, desperately clinging on as if for dear life, panicked blue eyes attempting to focus on the scarred face.
The Slayer pointed two fingers to the fox, then to himself, before raising a tentative thumbs-up.
Just follow me, okay?
The fox nodded shakily, still trembling with fear.
while he had the child's attention, the Slayer began performing the same breathing exercises he had developed himself long ago, when he still lapsed into episodes like this. The fox gripped tightly to his arm but closed his eyes, following the Slayer's breathing patterns.
for a while, the fox and the human just breathed together, the burning planet in the curved window turning below, until the quivering ball of tattered orange fluff fell silent.
There was a sniffle, and a tiny voice whispered, "thank you..."
The Slayer nodded as big bloodshot eyes flicked up, staring into space.
"It's all gone..." The little fox whispered, staring at nothing. "Gone... I'm all alone..."
The Slayer cocked his head and considered. The kid looked so... helpless. He was extremely intelligent and the human had no doubt he could take care of himself, but after surviving this horror...
Maybe there was something the human could do to show his little friend he wasn't alone.
...
In one swift movement, the muscular human stood and lifted the fox into his arm, forearm beneath the ass for support, like he weighed nothing. The orange ears perked in surprise, but the fox reflexively hitched onto the human's shoulder like he was a big tree.
The Slayer stomped back over to his bookshelf and selected a velvet-encased book with his free hand, before flopping heavily into the huge chair and setting the Fox-kid into his lap like a child.
Fox-kid eyed him curiously as the human flipped open the book, and tapped at the contents with a fat gloved finger. The Fox's eyes widened as he was met with pictures. Huge gleaming cities... lush green fields hopping with rabbits stretched far toward thick forests and tall mountains... strange furless people smiling as they lay on a beach... a platoon of soldiers in green body armour and silver helmets standing to attention... photographs. The Slayer was showing him photographs, from the human's home planet.
Miles leaned his head back and peered up at the human.
"Is this your world?"
The human nodded, flipping the page, the corner of his mouth twitching as a pointed ear tickled his chin.
The fox thought for a moment.
"Did you... lose everything too?"
The Slayer nodded grimly, a sudden hatred in his blue eyes.
Fox-kid chewed his lip.
"why do you keep these?" He said, sadly running a finger over the image of a small brown long eared creature that reminded him horribly of... He blocked the memory. "doesn't it... hurt?"
The Slayer nodded again. Then he jabbed a finger at the book, gestured to himself, and tightly clenched his fist.
The fox processed the action for a moment, before nodding lightly in understanding.
"Remembering... makes you stronger?"
The human nodded, glaring fiercely at his captured memories.
The fox looked down to the armoured brace that encased his injured arm, and lightly clenched his own hand. He wished he could be as strong as this human... it was all he could do to block out the memories of his own life to keep from losing his mind.
The fox stared through a photograph of a huge golden bridge suspended over a glistening blue sea.
"Is there any way to stop them?" The small Mobian whispered .
The human contemplated for a moment, and then shrugged.
The fox sighed miserably, reflecting on how familiar this strange faraway long-lost alien world was to his own. He has nothing left of his own planet, his own life... just memories that he refused to let back in, and a burning ball of demon-infested flame that hung below.
A word, an English one he's learned during his short time on the ship to express loathing in certain contexts, seemed appropriate right now.
"fuckin' monsters..." The small fox whispered.
He almost jumped from his skin as a snarl tore from the human's throat, and he jerked around in fear. Had he said something wrong? Had the word offended the human in some way? Fox-kid felt utter terror at doing anything to rub the DoomSlayer the wrong way...
then he realised. The Slayer hadn't growled with rage or offense.
He'd snorted. with laughter.
Miles observed curiously as the human wore... not quite a smile, something more akin to a grimace... but his beefy shoulders heaved up and down with silent chuckles. Apparently his small companion had said something amusing.
"Fuckin' monsters!" The fox repeated , gaining another snort, the scarred face stretching further into more of a smile. The mute human laughed silently, but infectiously. Miles grinned.
"Fucking demons!" He said, clenching his fists, "fucking jerks! Kill em all! Rip and Tear!"
The human was in straight up hysterics by now, thoroughly amused as the small fox swore like a sailor. He raised a hand and offered a fist.
Miles curiously observed the familiar gesture, briefly remembering a blue hand in a white glove doing the same. He squelched the memory. That person was dead.
He tentatively formed his own fist and bumped it against the human's meaty paw. The Slayer wiggled his fingers, eliciting a small giggle from his companion, before affectionately ruffling the fox between the ears.
Miles ' good humour melted away as he remembered why he was here with the strange human in the first place.
"At least we can fight them..." He muttered grimly, darkness pasting over his face as the human scratted between his ears. "at least we can kill them... make them hurt... right?"
The Slayer offered him a big thumbs up at that.
...
The Slayer continued poring over his album, reflecting on the life that had once been his. He wondered... if he could, knowing what he knew, the only one who stood between the universe and eternal damnation... would he go back? should he? His was not a life meant for normalcy. He was a weapon. Weapons didn't go drinking with the guys, or lazily watch the game on a Sunday afternoon... or spend time reading with their young son.
The human grunted as he suddenly noticed a limp weight on his stomach. He glanced down to find the small fox, twitching and whimpering, asleep in his lap.
The human set aside his album and, carefully, lifted the fox and set him down in the still warm space on the chair. He looked down at the tattered ball of fluff as he scrunched up in his fluffy tails, muttering quietly in his sleep.
"they're... everywhere... must... kill them all... "
The Slayer shook his head incredulously. Even in this state, the kid was impossibly adorable.
He was also a fighter. A technical wizz, extremely intelligent, survivor of Hell... and supremely traumatised.
It's okay, kid... been there myself...
So yeah, the Marine thought he had seen it all... but it wasn't every day an immortal destroyer of evil adopted a tiny space fox with a talent for weapons engineering and an emerging potty-mouth.
"I believe somebody is getting attached..." Vega's artificial voice quietly reverberated from the ship's internal communications.
The Slayer simply shrugged, then stomped away to make preparations for the next mission. Kid needs a name... he thought briefly, making a mental note to jot down potential nicknames he could moniker the child. Everyone in a unit needed a nickname, after all.