Thanks to: FowlFox, 6000j and Spencerblue for the reviews. As always, I will try to reply to you if you're signed in. You have no idea how much I enjoy reading what people think about my work. By the time I'm posting these things, I've usually re-read them so many times they just seem boring and shite to me and if the reviews tail off I really lose motivation to continue posting if nobody wants to read it anyway. So yeah. Thank-you for taking the time, it really is appreciated.

WARNINGS: Angsty AF. Angst and gruff!fluff. Literally nothing else happens in this chapter. Must've been having a bad day when I wrote it. Sorry folks.

CHAPTER 6

'COLD COMFORT'

Definition: Slight consolation in an unsalvageable situation

Rural Lanes, Outskirts of Dublin

Dom, with his back pressed against the alloy wheel on the other side, listened. Straining his ears intently for any sound that might mean he could move.

Some ruptured pipe or other was hissing into the night air and Dom forcibly filled his head of thoughts of how his uncle would show him how to fix it when they got back to the manor together…

But he kept his wits about him this time.

Moving from cover would tell him one of two things; either that there were no more enemies left, or that there were. If there were, he may even be unlucky enough to be shot on sight, after his last trick.

Taking several deep breaths to calm himself, he crept at a crouch back to the rear of the car and peeked around the edge. Nobody shot at him. In fact, it became apparently that there was nobody left to shoot at him.

It was… carnage.

Quiet, but not quite completely quiet. There was the hush of nature, returning after the deafening explosions of the gunfire, to claim the cold, winter night as its own once more. The very last of the smoke from the grenade The Major had thrown – seemingly hours ago now – had dissipated, curling away into the woodland and fields beyond the hedgerows. Bodies lay, strewn across the road where they had fallen, as though they had been dropped there out of the sky. Not one was moving and although the engine of one of the vehicles idled on, with headlights aglow, there was no signs of life from any of the people on the ground.

All except one.

And he wasn't looking too great either.

"Uncle!" he cried in a hushed whisper.

His uncle's head swung towards him far too slowly for the boy's liking and before he could be ordered otherwise, he was at his side in a burst of crouched sprinting.

"S'alright," The Major mumbled. "I got 'em all. Thanks to you."

He tapped the gun he was still holding against his thigh and gave him a bloody smile.

"Coupla bullets left if not," he told him.

"Artemis and Sophia are still hiding, we should go get them," the boy said, grabbing at his Uncle's hand and tugging on it. "Come on, get up – I'll help you..."

But Myles shook his head slightly.

"Get up!" Dom pleaded again, voice cracking slightly.

"I'm gonna need... a minute… I think," he panted. Alien against the barrage of pain signals, his legs felt strangely dead. He prayed momentarily that one of the bullets hadn't ricocheted through his torso and hit him in the spinal column, causing paralysis… then scoffed at the ridiculousness of the notion. If he was to be paralysed for the rest of his life, he didn't reckon he had very long to be upset about it.

He shuddered suddenly; pain wracking his body as he did.

He was cold.

Oh how cliche; he was cold.

He was a bit beyond ignoring what that meant.

"Tha… that's OK, then. They can wait," the youngest Butler stammered slightly, noticing his shivering and pulling his jacket from around his shoulders. "Don't talk. I'll look after you. Just keep doing big breaths."

Myles closed his eyes again. He had said almost the same when the boy had spectacularly skinned his knee chasing after a ball on hot concrete that summer. That'd been a good day. He had taken the afternoon off and they had gone to the park with Theresa. It had been such a rarity, she had nearly cried in pleasant surprise. It was her birthday. They'd had ice-cream. He'd carried Dom on his shoulders. Like a father. Blood trickling down his shin into his sock. He'd felt... happy.

"I won't go anywhere. I'm right here, see?"

"You're a good lad, Dom," he said, his heart clenching with the utter resolve in the boy's voice.

You're going soft, Myles.

No – it's palpitations. From the bloodloss. Perfectly rational explanation.

Dom bit his lip, radiating concern as he tried the best his seven-year-old self could, to hold back the tears brimming in his eyes.

"Don't talk, OK? Just hold still…" he said, flattening in the blazer against him. "I'm going to help you."

Definitely just the bloodloss, right? he thought again, as his nephew threw himself down on his knees beside him in the dirt.

"Stop, stop – it's alright," The Major said, pushing the boy's attempts to press the treasured fabric to his chest in an effort to stem some of the catastrophic bleeding that was seeping out from every edge of the bulletproof vest. "Not your jacket – you might need that."

Dom's breathing had ratcheted up a notch and he pushed his as-of-yet small hands against the site of the wounds over the black material, as though by covering them from view he could deny they were there at all.

"But you're cold. And s'OK," he said. "I'll grow out of it soon anyway."

The Major blinked slowly, unwilling to completely relinquish the use of his vision just yet.

"You'd better do," he murmured. For growth was good. Growth meant survival. Dom would make it. Make what, he was not sure. But he'd make it off this country road alive and that was more than he could dare say about himself. A thought struck him; "You said Artemis is alright, right?"

"Yeah," nodded his nephew, sniffing and wiping his face.

His hands were covered in his uncle's blood. He wiped his cheek again, making it worse.

"Good. Though you're right – you should probably go let him out now," Myles said gently. "Let them know it's safe."

"I don't want to leave you," the boy replied, clutching at him as though that would negate any order to do so.

"Go on – I… I just need a minute," the bodyguard told him again, pulling in another, painfully rattling breath. He was fairly certain he was functioning on about half a lung by now. But half was better than nothing...

"I'll get the first aid kit," Dom said suddenly, standing to make his way to the boot and berating himself for not thinking of it sooner. "I'll…"

But The Major coughed a chuckle at him.

"I think we're a bit beyond that now, Dom," he said gently. "You go and…"

Leave me here, is what he wanted to say, suddenly knowing what all gravely wounded beasts knew; that his time was short and he was overcome by a need to take himself away some place quiet and alone.

Fat chance of that in the state he was in; though he could perhaps order Dom away.

"I'm not leaving you!" the boy said, with all the beautiful stubbornness of his mother – and all the resolute defiance of his father, too.

Or perhaps not.

Myles could see his brother in that face. His own too, of course. But it gave him comfort to have some remnant of his twin around at the end. He wondered if you got to... find out. Was there an afterlife Beckett was waiting for him in? Or would he never know what happened to his brother?

Myles inhaled as deeply as he could, chest shaking with the effort of trying to catch his breath. He had no energy to argue. And another few minutes locked in a safe trunk wouldn't kill his charge. Might even be best if the boy stayed put until help arrived. Just in case.

"Alright," he relented. He had never had many choices to himself in his life and it looked as though whether or not he was going to be left alone to die had been taken from him as well. It was not the worst thing. "OK… sit here with me then."

He bumped his elbow against his ribs and Dom, tears beginning to escape and roll down his cheeks now, flopped down beside him in utter dejection. It had all been for nothing. His grandfather was still dead and his uncle was going to die anyway. Myles used almost the last of his strength to lift his arm over the boy and sling it around him.

"You did good today… I'm very…" he took a breath, his teeth chattering together violently. He coughed up blood and fuck that hurt… "Very... proud... of you, Dom."

"Un-cle," Dom hitched, pressing his head into his shoulder.

"Hush," Myles mumbled. His jaws stopped juddering and he relaxed, letting the last of the tension ebb out of him. "Hush, now. It's alright. It's… it's gonna be… okay."

But he couldn't promise him that. He could barely finish the sentence; and even he had to admit he didn't sound at all convincing.

"Ple-ase don't l-leave me."

His nephew was sobbing now. Finally broken as he burrowed his face against the massive torso, regardless of the blood.

"P...please?"

"Now then," Myles said, his stuttering heart breaking for the boy. "What's all… this, eh? I'm going… nowhere."

One day he would be ruthless and cold. One day comrades would fall and he would seek nothing but revenge. But for now he was seven and on the brink of losing the second third of the only important adults he considered in his world. And for seeking comfort for that, Myles was never going to reprimand the boy. God knew he felt as though he could do with some himself right now.

"Don't die," Dom sniffled. "Please don't die. I need you. Pa's gone already and I need you! I can't… I don't want… If you're both gone… I can't!"

Although what exactly it was he couldn't do, he never said.

Myles licked his lips. He could really do with a drink.

Dehydration, his permanently switched-on trained side informed him. Your brain is categorising bloodloss as a lack of body fluid. You're finished if you don't get a transfusion – pronto.

Cheers for that…

"We won't be gone completely, Dom…" he breathed slowly; carefully. "Everything we taught you. That's… that's part of us. Right there. Every time you know what to do, how to get out of something. That's us; me and Pa. That's how we're still with you. Protecting you… Always. Understood?"

Dom nodded his head, tears falling freely now.

Had they prepared him enough?

No.

No-one could have prepared a child for this; not even he and Pa.

There was always supposed to be one of them left at least to look after Dom.

Ordinary folk might have assumed that age would play a factor and that the boy's grandfather would one day no longer be there, but in their job, Myles had always known it might be him that went first. That was a given; that chance of fate. This, this was a position they had very much hoped never to be put in.

The future of their line of the Butler family relied on a part-trained pup and his as-of-yet-unconfirmed-dead, missing father.

He wanted to have taught him so much more.

He wanted to have watched him grow. To learn for himself. To come back from The Academy full of the thrill of new training and desperate to show it off.

He wanted to be there when he graduated - whenever that happened to be.

He wanted to be there when Artemis had children of his own and stand side by side with Domovoi guarding the family, just as he had with his father and his brother.

The loss of all the potential bothered him more than the bullet holes in his body.

Myles fumbled for the boy's hands, finding one tucked in amongst his battered ribcage and squeezing it tightly. The effort it took was terrifying. He didn't feel the grip of his other hand loosening, but the gun it held slipped out of his grasp and over his leg. He felt a jolt of panic – of adrenaline just enough to have his fingers scouting after it. But he needn't have worried. Almost before it hit the ground, a smaller hand reached out and snatched it, before returning to his nestled position, left hand clamping his uncle's right arm across himself, right hand folding around the acquired gun.

"That's m'boy," he mumbled.

He didn't say anything else for a good, long while. And Dom stared into the darkness, listening to his uncle's rough, shallow breaths, trying not to count them, trying to will them to keep coming, blinking to clear his vision of tears, for what felt like an eternity.

"Look at the stars, Uncle," he said, wishing more than anything to be back fixing his mum's unreliable old banger in the carpark of the flats. He hadn't wanted to talk to him then. But he did now. More than most things, he wanted to talk to him now. "There's so many. They're... they're beautiful. See? Stay awake. Just stay awake."

Myles rolled his eyes to the sky and just breathed.

There was very little light pollution out here. To the horizon, he could see the orange stain of the city. But here... here it was dark and calm and still.

Above him, the universe went on forever. You could lose yourself looking at that.

He didn't feel scared. Not for himself. He felt concern for the ones he would be leaving behind, sure. But not fear.

It would be easy enough to just...

Dom squeezed his hand tightly and he forced himself to take in another breath.

He had never been one for taking the easy way out.

Finally, eventually, the sound of engines began weaving towards them through the countryside, lighting up the route between the hedgerows.

"There's someone coming," said Dom, suddenly. "Uncle – can you hear that? There's someone coming!"

Myles said nothing. Internally, he merely hoped beyond hope that the lights and sounds heralded safety, for if it was the opposite…? Well if it was the opposite, the Fowl heir only had one Butler left in any position to protect him. And that boy was seven years old and had never so much as fired a gun on his own.

Shaking slightly, the youngest of the bodyguarding line gently removed his uncle's arm from his shoulders and tucked it against his side.

"Just wait there," he said, more for himself than anyone else. "I'll… I'll protect us, OK?"

Myles mouthed a response, but it was silent. He wanted to tell him how proud he was of him again. Of how honoured he was to have been a part of the wonderful boy's life. Of yes, how awe inspiring the stars were and thank-you for drawing his attention to how with that vast eternity all around them, and filling him with the lasting impression that there had to be something more to living than just dying at the end...

But he couldn't.

He couldn't do anything but lie there whilst his heart pounded its way to its own demise.

A car drew to a swift stop a little way down the road, back towards town. One person leapt from it and moved with guarded haste towards them. Dom brought his other hand up to the gun and held it out – the apex of a triangle made by his arms and for a moment he could almost feel the weight of his uncle's – or perhaps it was his grandfather's – arms around his, shielding him from the recoil.

But there was no-one to shield him now. He was on his own. The safety was off and he was completely in charge of defending their little group.

He pointed the gun at a living thing for the first time in his life.

"Stay back," he said, wishing his voice was several octaves deeper. "I am armed and prepared to use deadly force if necessary."

He stumbled the last word slightly, which rather put a kilter on his warning, but the man approaching heard all the same and slowed, raising his hands.

"Good," rumbled the stranger. "A little theatrical, perhaps, but I blame your relatives for that."

Dom's arms dropped immediately, his legs suddenly feeling very shaky as he recognised the silhouette against the new car's headlights.

His cry of surprise was enough to make The Major forced his eyes open once more and when he saw his nephew rush to embrace the man towering above him, his whole body relaxed with a sigh.

But his mind didn't.

He shook his head slowly.

"I was expecting Beckett," he mumbled, rolling his gaze upwards to lock eyes with the newcomer, who did nothing to dislodge the boy who had buried his face in his midriff.

"Who would come for you at the end?" the giant mused, stroking the boy's head gently. "It'd be appropriate, I suppose. If he were dead."

"He's not?"

The man would know by now, surely?

"I'd like to think so. And neither are you – yet."

"I'm not coming with you," he said, as firmly as he could muster. "Not yet."

In reality he was mumbling, barely coherently, but it was what he meant to say.

The giant eyed him with a stare as dark as the night sky between the brightest stars.

"So you're just going to sit here muttering to yourself then, are you?"

The Major closed his eyes and jerked his head, just once.

"Got to say, m'boy," the man said. "Doesn't seem like much of a plan."

"No plan… They… need me," he rasped.

"Where are the charges?"

"Safe," he breathed. Glad at least to be able to give him that news.

"Artemis and Sophia are in the car under the seats. Mr and Mrs Fowl are with the Simmons and their guards," Dom elaborated for him.

"Right. Good. Now don't you worry about them, son," said the newcomer, addressing Myles now. "Stand down. Let me take over from here."

"I can't go with you…" The Major repeated. "Not yet."

But the man drew closer anyway.

"Well I can't very well just leave you here."

"Not… yet," he begged of him, knowing what seeing this man must mean. "I'm trying…"

I'm trying to hold on for them, is what he wanted to say, but he couldn't speak anymore. He took another breath that was nowhere near as deep as he needed it to be. There was definitely a lot more liquid in his throat than should be there.

It's in your lungs, not your throat, idiot.

"Yes, well keep bloody-well trying," growled the man, gently pushing the young boy clinging to his waist away from him as he assessed the damage. "In, out, in, out – come on now, breathing's not hard, man; you've been doing it all your life."

Myles thought that was an odd thing for a spectre of death to be saying. His vision was blurring, but the hallucination seemed more vivid than ever. The entire left side of its skull was a crimson horror show, the white of his eye glaring in the moonlight. He seemed so real. Even Dom seemed to be completely acknowledging the other man.

Wait… Did that mean…?

"Dom," he said suddenly, flailing his arm towards the boy suddenly. "Are you OK? What happened?"

In his version of events they had survived, right? Dom certainly had. Did this mean he was wrong? He could barely focus on breathing, let alone a full recall of recent events. Dom was definitely acknowledging the other man. Did that mean he was dying too? Dead already? Where was Artemis? And the Simmons girl?

"I'm fine," Dom said, dropping to the floor beside him again, gripping his hand tightly. "I'm right here, Uncle. It's gonna be OK now."

"Just rest," the spectre said from above. "They're coming."

The Major nodded, finally, gritting his teeth. He wasn't getting out of this one. He didn't know who 'they' were, but he had a certainty of knowledge that they'd be the ones to release him from this pain – for surely there would be? One final release at least, from the suffering he found himself in. But it wasn't lessening any. Surely it was supposed to? Please, please don't let this be it for the rest of forever. His breath hitched painfully and he coughed blood again, drooling thick strings of stained saliva and growling against the agony, barely managing to keep himself from gasping into hyperventilation, which surely would have been the end of any attempt at breathing unassisted.

"Kingdom, would you go look for the ambulance, please?" said their companion. "When they eventually catch up, they'll need directing. Damn civilians and their driving skills…"

"But…"

"No buts, vnuk. Now, please."

"Don't die. Just don't die, OK?" Dom sniffed as squeezed his arms around his uncle's shoulders in a hasty hug, then did as he was bid.

Myles frowned. What the hell was going on here?

He wondered if any of it was real.

Your mind is conjuring pleasant images to distract you from the inevitable, idiot.

A solid hand landed on his shoulder.

The giant it belonged to sighed, appraising the damage. There wasn't a lot he could do without equipment. Even stripping him of his vest could aggravate an injury. The best thing he could do was sit very still and calmly until the medical professionals arrived with their gear.

"Well, lad…" he said. "You've really outdone yourself this time."

Very solid. Corporal.

Pretty good hallucination.

"P…Pa?" he stammered at last. "But… you were shot… I saw you die… I saw…you..."

He didn't want to put into words what he had seen.

His father, lying motionless. Eyes rolled in his head. Blood soaking into the carpet from a catastrophic head wound. A bullet through the head. Unavoidable. Untreatable. Dead. Definitely, unequivocally dead.

The behemoth looming over him snorted his trademark, deadpan snort.

"The man looks as though he doesn't know this isn't the first time his father has survived a headshot," he smiled, tracing a shining, white scar on his right temple with one finger; it would soon be mirrored on the left. "Anyone would think I hadn't raised him from birth."

"Pa," Myles choked again, grasping for the hand on his shoulder, desperate to confirm the impossible. "You're not…"

Relief flooded through him.

Not only for his father, but for Dom.

There was someone to look after Dom. He wouldn't be leaving him on his own.

There came too, the relief that the man provided simply by his very presence, but Myles was too savvy to extend the relief to his own wellbeing. He was way past saving and his father could do nothing to stop that.

But he was alive.

Dom would be OK.

"Not dead, yes. Remarkable, isn't it?" said Alexandr Butler derisively, making a quick surveillance of the scene to ensure none of the downed men were about to make a similarly miraculous return to life. "I'm very much alive. Thanks – as I'm in no doubt you're in agreement with – to our young pup."

H…how? Myles only mouthed the word but his father read it all the same.

"I moved my head to speak to Little Kingdom," he explained. "Moved it by an inch and the bullet grazed my skull instead of passing through it. Messy? Yes. Bitch of a headache? Oh definitely. Am I missing a few millimetres of bone material? Almost certainly. Instant and prolonged unconsciousness and one hell of a concussion, I presume. But no; I didn't die. And you better not either now, My-Boy, or I swear I'll come drag you back by your ankles – understood?"

Myles didn't understand at all, but he nodded. He felt his heart stutter and he inhaled sharply.

"Pa," he panted, urgently. "I c…c…can't br… bre…"

Xandr dropped to his knees, checking over his shoulder swiftly for threats before he clasped his hands either side of The Major's head, forcing him to look at him.

"Pa... help... m..."

He knew as soon as he said it he was asking the impossible.

This was it.

This was the end.

"Hush, quiet now," he said. "Save your energy."

The younger bodyguard clawed for his father's hands, fingers fumbling as he mouthed wordlessly.

"Myles," he said lowly, his stare a strange mix of stern and concerned. "Stay with me, boy. Stay with me."

Myles opened and closed his mouth, shaking his head, a mixture of air and blood catching and crackling in his throat as he struggled valiantly to keep breathing.

"It's alright," Xandr told him, fingers jamming under his jaw to feel for the state of his pulse, cupping the back of his head to hold him upright, forcing him to look straight into his eyes. "It's alright, syn; I've got you. I've got you. Just relax. Just breathe."

But his son clenched his teeth in pain, his back arching, eyes losing focus and he slumped away from his grip, heavily.

Xandr swore, grabbing him by the belt and dragging him flat against the tarmacked surface. If his head hit the floor a little hard, that was the last of his worries now. Ripping open his shirt, he unstrapped the battered ballistic vest and flung it open.

"Blyad!"

If they weren't dead already at his own hand, Alexandr would have slaughtered the men who did this to his son. His torso was like a sieve and to say he had lost a lot of blood would be a grave understatement. But his heart was still in one piece and Xandr had to assume that he would have bled out a lot quicker had any of the bullets hit a major artery. Potentially, the reason for this cardiac arrest was a toxic combination of bloodloss and shock.

There was an ambulance on its way, he could hear it. Sirens wailing to a stop. Doors clunking open. Dom calling to them, urgently.

They would have a defibrillator and the necessary drugs available to him in a matter of a few more seconds.

For one more moment he looked down at the deathly still body and saw, for the first time in a long time, a completely untroubled expression on his youngest son's face.

He wondered if he was making the right decision.

Then he placed one massive hand over the other in the centre of his son's chest and began to pump.

He lives! Of course I couldn't kill off Xandr. He is definitely my favourite AF OC. He writes himself. He's just that awesome.

Points to all of those of you who spotted I had to have some loophole twist in there because he appears in things chronologically after this fic in the Wolfy Butler!Verse timeline.

Also, as many of you have pointed out, Myles must make it... It's just how... right?

Wolfy
ooo
O

11/12/18