"Have you the horse's strength? Have you clothed his neck with thunder?
Can you frighten him like a locust?
His majestic snorting strikes terror. He paws the valley, and rejoices in his strength;
He gallops into the clash of arms. He mocks at fear, and is not frightened;
Nor does he turn his back from the sword. The quiver rattles against him;
The glittering spear and javelin. He devours the distance with fierceness and rage;
Nor does he come to a halt when the trumpet has sounded.
-Job 39:19-24
-Ω-
When Frank came back, he saw a horse- a literal fucking horse- eating the hydrangeas in the church's front garden.
What. The. Everloving. Fuck.
The survivor stood there gaping, his arms screaming from the weight of the bags in his arms, and watched as Percy sat cross-legged in the grass next to it, feeding it chutes and stroking its neck. He'd even went through the hassle of bringing his IV pole out with him, and he stroked the horse's nose, murmuring to it as if they were old friends.
Now, the message about "the Horsemen" was still repeating on a loop in the back of Frank's mind, so, naturally, he suspected that this wasn't as much of a coincidence as it ought to be.
"I got your stuff!" he called out, louder than was necessary in slight hopes that it would scare the horse away. He had nothing against horses, it was just that the message from the hospital was seriously freaking him out, not to mention that the horse looked like it had been through hell and back. "It's all right here!"
"Great!" Percy replied, grinning lopsidedly and raising a hand in greeting, and motioned for Frank to come over. "Come look!"
"I see." Frank found himself using the voice that he would normally use when babysitting one of his younger cousins; it was that"wow-that's-not-interesting-it's-actually-a-little-disgusting-but-I'm-going-to-act-proud-of-you-because-you're-still-a-little-kid" kind of tone. The horse's ears rotated, and it raised its head to look towards Frank, who was shocked to find himself leveled with a milky-white gaze. "Is it blind?"
"Yes, he is," Percy replied, patting the ground beside him insistently. "Come over and I'll introduce you two." The horse shook itself a bit, most likely to dislodge the disturbing amount of flies buzzing around it, and clumps of hair fell to the ground. Mange. Frank really, really didn't want to go near it, so he made up the first excuse that came to mind:
"Let me just put this stuff down and then I'll let you introduce me to…"
"Blackjack," Percy responded, sounding more joyful than he should; the horse was, quite literally, foaming at the mouth, and the froth was stained green from the chutes it was eating. Frank's brow furrowed a bit.
"Blackjack?" he wondered aloud. "But he's white."
"That's racist," Percy chided, though there was no real heat behind it. "But he used to be black, I can tell." Frank had no idea what the patient was talking about, so he just blamed the green-eyed boy's odd fondness towards the horse on the fact that he hadn't had his meds in a while. He gave Percy a tight smile and skirted around the horse, giving it as wide of a berth as he dared, and quickly darted into the church.
He was surprised to find that his new comrade had actually taken up on his promise to tidy up the place; all of the overturned pews were set upright and pushed off to the side, and the papers, wrappers, wood scraps, and nails that had littered the floor had been swept away and discarded. Frank looked up to greet Mr. D but found the marsupial gone, though he had no idea how Percy possibly could've managed to shoo the darned thing away; Frank had tried it many times but to no avail, and it probably meant that Percy had actually used a ladder and had crawled up to the rafters to forcibly remove the opossum, since Mr. D probably wouldn't leave under any other circumstances.
He decided that he'd organize the shitload of supplies later, instead opting to get back outside so that A) Percy wouldn't become impatient and B) He could save Percy if the horse got irritated and tried to bite his face off. Frank strode out of the church half-expecting the horse to be munching away on Percy's corpse, though it didn't look thin enough to have the desperateness to resort to carnivorous ways.
"So…Blackjack," he began as he walked over to Percy, standing dangerously close to the sickly equine.
"Yep," Percy responded, patting the horse's cheek. "I found him when trying to look for furniture. He must've wandered all the way from Central Park."
"I think he might be slightly….unwell." Understatement of the year award.
"No shit," Percy scoffed, and at least he was right enough in the head to admit to the horse's ailments. What made Frank question the patient's sanity was the fact that, even after acknowledging the fact that the horse was ill, he kept petting it. "I'm surprised the dogs didn't get him."
"Yeah, me too," Frank replied, daring to kneel next to Percy. The horse swung its head towards Frank and blinked unseeingly at him.
"Go on, introduce yourself," Percy encouraged, and Frank's pleading look was promptly ignored. Frank tensed all over as Blackjack but his head against Frank's arm, and the survivor wanted to vomit as his skin was smeared with foam- the froth from the horse's mouth and the froth coming out of the horse's nose was dribbling down his bicep.
"Am I gonna get sick from this?" Frank choked, and Percy shook his head.
"Only if he bites you," he replied, "Or if you ingest the foam."
"And you trust him that much not to bite us?" Frank asked, worrying on his bottom lip as he continued to analyze the horse and its movements. It seemed like a very mellow animal, but the fact that he was brimming with sickness and disease counteracted that. He did notice, though, that Percy was right about Blackjack not being originally white; it looked like it had been another hue at one point, perhaps black or dark brown, but its hide had been bleached and was now an unsettling pale color. "And how is he still alive?"
"I don't know the answer to that second question, but I know that he'll do what I tell him," Percy replied seriously, and Frank decided not to argue, though he wasn't afraid to ask the big question:
"Is he staying with us now?"
Please say no. Please say no. Please say no. Please say no. Please say-
"Of course," the patient deadpanned, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. "I mean, he just eats plants, so it's not like we have to worry about feeding him."
"Yeah but we're in the city, where plants are noticeably more scarce than in the country," Frank pointed out.
"He'll eat anything," Percy assured, pulling up more grass, which Blackjack ate from his palm. "The leaves on trees, the grass in the cracks of the sidewalk, you name it."
"No wonder he's so fucking sick," Frank muttered under his breath, and Percy shot him a dark look,
"I know you're not a big fan, but he can be really useful," the patient insisted, lifting his chin as his green eyes sparkled with defiance. Frank gave Blackjack another look and was met with the lovely sight of the crust in the horse's tear ducts being hounded by flies that clumped together and buzzed madly. Frank was also pretty fucking sure there were mosses and fungi growing on the horse.
"How the hell can a mangy, blind, rabies-ridden horse be useful to us?" he demanded, his brows knitting.
"He can put all of our stuff on his back," Percy stated, preening a bit at his brilliant answer. "So we don't have to carry all the shit that we raid from stores."
"I'm pretty sure his back will break if we put anything on him."
"Not true!" Percy snapped, bolting to his feet, and Frank almost got a peep up his hospital gown, which he really needed the patient to change out of. Percy didn't seem body shy at all, though, and Frank wondered if he would be able to convince him that clothes were the better option. "I bet I can get on his back right now and he'll go wherever I tell him to!"
"Let's not find out the answer to that." Frank put a hand on Percy's arm before he could hoist himself up on Blackjack's back. "You wouldn't want to get mange on your junk, would you? Put some pants on first."
"Fine."
-Ω-
"Why does my underwear say 'I heart NY' across the ass?" Percy complained from the inside the confessional. The priest that presided over the church, whose corpse Frank had buried in the backyard, was probably turning in his grave as Percy stripped down to his birthday suit in the very place where people were supposed to be relieved of their sins. That was a sin in itself.
"Shut up, it's the only thing I could find," Frank growled. "Would you rather go commando?"
"In jeans? Where my dick can get caught in the zipper? Pass."
Frank looked over to see crucifix Jesus staring at him with a pained expression that could be because A) he was nailed to a cross or B) the last of his father's creations were both fucking morons. It was probably a bit of both. When Frank turned back, Percy was stepping out of the confessional decked in NYC memorabilia, all of which hung loosely off of his frame. They'd removed the IV earlier and bandaged his arm, and with his thinness covered by clothes, he could pass for a normal kid who just really, really liked the city he lived in.
"Does this mean I can go ride Blackjack now?" Percy asked, buzzing with energy.
"Bareback and bridle-less? With flip-flops?" Frank huffed, folding his arms over his chest. He, too, had changed, and it felt absolutely rejuvenating to not be wearing the same clothes as he'd been wearing for the last few months. They, along with Percy's hospital gown, had been burned. Using the fire from the clothes, the two of them had snapped the IV pole in the middle and turned the two halves into poles to hold up the tents they will eventually have to make. There was only so much time before resources around the Old Dutch Church were exhausted and they'd have to move. Frank was thinking about going to Central Park, where Blackjack would have enough grazing room and they could use the surrounding trees for shade. They'd have to move again to a more sheltered area once winter rolled around, but it would be nice while it lasted.
"Yep," Percy deadpanned and marched out. Frank prayed that Blackjack had wandered off, but that, sadly, wasn't the case. There the pale horse was, still munching away at the hydrangeas. "He's not going to hurt me."
"I beg to differ."
With a scoff, Percy shuffled over to Blackjack, who raised his head and turned his sightless gaze towards the sound of the ex-patients footsteps. Surprisingly, the horse whickered a jovial greeting, and Percy grinned and patted his neck.
"I'm going to get on your back, buddy. You ready?" Percy asked the animal, and the horse let out a low rumble that could be interpreted as "yes" or "I will fucking kill you you fucking fuck if you try to fucking get on my fucking back". Frank being the way he was, he was leaning towards the latter. "Great!"
"Do you even know how to ride a horse?" Frank inquired, chewing on his lip, and Percy nodded.
"My mom used to take me riding in Montauk." His grin faded, replaced by a trembling, tight-lipped grimace. He didn't offer any explanations, but Frank could sympathize; even though he hadn't lost his mom to the sickness- she'd died in Afghanistan- he still missed her every day. He couldn't imagine how Percy felt; the first few months Frank had gone without his mom had been the roughest, and Percy's wounds were still fresh, especially since he'd had no one to turn to. At least Frank had had his grandmother, and he felt tears prick his eyes as he remembered that she was gone, too. It was just him and Percy now.
The green-eyed boy ran his hands over Blackjack's back, and Frank cringed slightly as the ex-patient's fingers carded through the mangy, fungus-riddled hairs. Percy didn't seem to mind as he braced himself on Blackjack and, in one swift movement, draped himself over his back. Blackjack didn't even react as Percy maneuvered so that he was sitting up straight, his legs dangling down the horse's sides. It would've been graceful and cool had the horse not looked like it was going to keel over at any second, but Frank had to commend Percy for not getting bucked off.
Frank nearly chewed his fingernails off as Percy took fistfuls of Blackjack's patchy mane and gently squeezed the horse's sides. Without any resistance or complaint, Blackjack began to walk forwards. Considering his condition(s), the horse actually had a pretty decent and smote stride. Frank trailed the two of them like shadows as Percy casually walked along on his blind, too-trusting-for-his-own-good horse. Blackjack allowed himself to be guided around cars and debris, and judging from the sound his hooves made, his horseshoes were still in pretty decent shape.
"Can he go any faster?" Frank asked, coming up alongside Blackjack, though he was careful to make sure he didn't brush up against him. Percy shrugged, though his eyes were twinkling.
"Let's find out," he replied. To Blackjack, he asked, "Can we try for a trot?" The horse didn't offer a verbal response, but his ears did rotate towards the sound of Percy's voice. The ex-patient clucked his tongue, squeezing Blackjack's sides, and the horse began to march forwards, slightly hesitant to take off since he couldn't see what was in front of him. Percy was murmuring encouragements as he gently prodded Blackjack's ribcage with his heels, "I promise not to run you into a wall. Let's go, c'mon."
Finally, Blackjack broke out into a surprisingly easy trot, the sound of his hooves on the pavement echoing throughout the barren wasteland. It must've been murder on Percy's ass, but the green-eyed boy wasn't complaining as a lopsided grin broke out across his face. Frank actually had to jog to keep up with them, and he found himself smiling, too. If Blackjack could make Percy so happy, then maybe he wasn't such a bad horse after all. It didn't seem like he had a mean or distrusting bone in his body as he confidently trotted along.
"The coast is clear for a while, right? No cars or anything?" Percy asked, and Frank nodded. He'd been down this way many times before, and though an ex-hospital patient and a horse that seemed to have every single sickness possible were thrown into the mix, this time was no different. Percy turned to Blackjack once more, "Can we canter? Yes? Maybe?" He sat back and clucked some more, squeezing the horse's sides, and Blackjack was surprisingly responsive compared to the transition into the trot. In a few moments, Percy was racing down the abandoned street, his clothes rippling and his face alight with glee. Blackjack didn't seem to have any trouble with the fast pace, and he was the healthiest sick horse that Frank had ever seen. The survivor skidded to a stop and just watched in awe as Percy, still his Percyish self, and Blackjack, still ridden with all kinds of pestilence, sped away, seeming like one person.
It was almost as if they'd already known each other.
-Ω-
(A/N) Hey, I whipped this up in a surprisingly short amount of time and had fun looking for the quote at the beginning (If you even read the quote- then again, people who don't read the quote usually don't read the AN) If anyone was wondering, Blackjack has at least 6 sicknesses; mange, African horse sickness, rabies, blindness, Equine Influenza, and Equine Encephalomyelitis. Yet surprisingly he's not dead….