Trigger Warning:

This chapter is just one sad thing. More on child loss. Body being used. Suicide. Sprinkled with some comfort if that brings you any comfort? Aside, I hope you all enjoy. Thank you all for reading!

Grim Grins

They were dreaming.

Of fetid fields and jumbled gravestones, caskets leaping at random out of the ground.

It made sense. When everything looked so dour and their mind was centered on death, what else was there to dream of?

Yet, they did not expect to see a handful of unfinished golems surrounding them. Nor did they understand the purpose of their existence in the dream.

Unmoving.

Sagging sadly.

Lifeless little figures that did nothing more than decorate the landscape.

A wail broke the eerie silence. So very full of life.

So very opposite of what they'd heard.

Slowly, as if afraid of what they might see, they turned on their heel to locate the source.

It was the babe. Of course.

But… they weren't… melting?

They were perfect.

Probably how the babe should look. With pale, earthy skin and gentle curls nestled atop their little head.

If they hadn't known any better, they'd have thought the child was D's. Almost a spitting image aside from skin tone of the children scurrying about in their self-imposed attack from so many months ago.

Why couldn't the babe have been born like… this?

They didn't realize they'd moved to gather the child into their arms until the action was complete. Until they stared into beautifully dark eyes rimmed with tears and could whisper everything they'd thought as they'd fallen asleep.

Their joy.

Their sorrow.

Their love.

Their hatred.

Praying an afterlife existed that would accept those that had no choice in the life they'd been given, because there was no way this child was evil. No way they should be punished for simply being born.

Would they?

"Come to me."

The world dipped beneath their feet. Sloshing and heaving at the command that sounded so far away.

Yet, it wasn't ground anymore. Was it?

No?

Just beneath their feet, it remained earthen. The graves and golems, however, spoke a different story. Shifting and sinking far too rapidly. Crimson hands that glistened in the low light stretching too far out of the ground. Snatching anything they could.

Searching.

Calling.

Faces peering.

The girls drew in tighter to themselves and the babe as the land roiled, that too-familiar sea filling in the cracks. Shrill screeches leaving the child in tandem.

"Come to me!"

The bloodied hands struggled to breach the glass, yet they did. Continuing their hunt. Ever closer.

Demanding.

Springing from the ground like demented little daisies desperate for daylight.

The demands grew louder, becoming a low roar in their ears.

There was more than one voice.

Their knees wavered beneath their weight.

"Come to me!"

"Give the child!"

But the voices were the same.

The hands clawed at their bare flesh. Dragging them towards the heaving sea and the awaiting presence. The winged demon staring out with hollow eyes, expectantly.

They were cornered. Surrounded by him on their tiny patch of desolate land.

One wrong step is all it would take.

One moment where they lost their concentration.

One moment where the hands landed a good grab that they couldn't shake.

However, there was one place they could go.

Babe nestled to their breast, they calmed and focused. Thinking of their Garden. Of their tree.

How there was a spot that called for a new flower to be cultivated.

"No! It is mine!"

Nothing belonged to him.

The ground beneath their feet turned to glass. Splintering.

They held on to the image of their Garden like a lifeline.

It likely was.

The only thing keeping them from sinking into the demon's open maw.

Why was it so bloody hard to call it forth?

The distractions?

The slow building panic squeezing in around them like a snake about a mouse?

Or was it all just an illusion?

It might very well be their uncertainty that would kill them.

Yet, it all seemed to fade away under a cool touch. One that clanked and rattled as an all-too-familiar form entered the realm. But he said nothing, and they did not look to confirm his presence. He offered no assistance, either. Merely providing a calming presence.

Something that worked very well to ground them.

With their whispered thanks, they ignored the clawing hands and the heavy stench of copper.

Yet, their minds continued to drift.

If D could infiltrate their dreams alongside the Sacred Ancestor, why did Mother not? Why did she not help when she could surely see they struggled?

Didn't she… care?

It was a prospect that only served to fuel the flames of their ire.

The hand upon their shoulder squeezed just the slightest bit tighter. A reminder? A comfort? Both?

His breath huffed out through the helmet. Warm as it wafted across the nape of their neck.

As the Tarnished Knight, he seemed to never speak. Whether because he couldn't or simply had nothing to say, they didn't know.

Despite his silence, however, the background noise and screams of the Sacred Ancestor seemed to slowly fade. Drowned by his mere presence, until the sea was calm.

Until the sea was earth.

Until the earth was dotted with lichen and crawling with mosses, surrounding a healthy tree.

Until their arms were terrifyingly bereft of life and all that remained was a handful of ash and a small group of seeds.

"Fuck," Krista whimpered. Clutching the ash close to her chest.

Rhea, for her part, was worryingly quiet. Hand clutching the seeds until her knuckles turned white. And if looks could physically bore through objects, there would be a sizable crater yawning before her.

If she was honest, she was wondering how feasible it was to fantasize dragging Mother through Hellfire and brimstone just to ask… why. Maybe slap her around a bit.

It wasn't fair.

And it certainly wasn't fair that an infant was used without a second thought. Hungry, greedy beings draining away their already short lifespan. And for what? Mother was possibly a deity. The Sacred Ancestor was a fuckin' undead monster.

A match made in Hell.

Never mind. She wanted to rip them both out of their little Hellholes and stomp their faces in. Claw out their eyes and choke them on their own entrails!

Her murder-y thoughts were interrupted by the soft clanking of metal armor, and Rhea slowly turned to look up at the Tarnished Knight now made real.

At D, no longer a simple silhouette. Brought into being despite them knowing the connection when he'd tested their defenses.

Perhaps it was a matter of being brought into the Garden with them as the Knight? Or they were missing something.

They couldn't be sure.

"What is it, D?" she bit out.

There was a moment of silence, where he simply cast a thoughtful look over his armor-clad form. Then, the recovering Garden. Leaving Rhea feeling a bit chastised, even though she knew that was not the case.

"Spit it out."

Even to her, the words did not hold any of the bite they once might have.

It did not stop D from casting her the best 'cool your shit' look she'd ever seen a featureless helmet make.

She didn't apologize, but she at least attempted to look somewhat apologetic.

The shoulders of his armor softly heaved, his sigh disproportionately loud in the metal helmet. "You have a right to your anger," he eventually murmured, voice echoing softly. "Do not let it distract you from your grief, however."

"I wasn't."

A lie.

"You were."

"Fuck you."

"Watch your language."

"Fuck off. You're not my father."

Also said without any venom. Yet, he was doing well to distract her. Simple banter, but he knew she could not resist retorting (even if only weakly). But it was more than enough.

The anger that seemed to swell inside her chest bubbled up her throat and settled there as a little knot. Nose burning and vision blurring. "We didn't even get to know the poor little fart," she eventually choked out. But the fact didn't seem to change how she felt.

If anything, it was a fact that made her heart hurt even more. Simply admitting such a thing aloud.

It was making it real.

Solidifying the fact that they'd gained and lost in the span of an hour, if that.

"Those facts do not make your loss any less meaningful."

"They might."

"They do not."

He seemed so adamant. How could she argue with a man who'd yet to let her down (excluding telling them their love was unwise)?

Did it make them any less of a mother?

"It does not."

Well, if he said so? But in that moment, she certainly did not feel like a mother. She felt very much the part of a failure. A wannabe.

As if their situation somehow shit on all the actual mothers out there who'd lost a child by believing their loss could be anywhere near the pain the others had suffered. Marginalizing their experience.

She felt guilty.

Just all around shitty.

"Whose oatmeal did we shit in to deserve such shit luck?"

The best question, but it was a known fact they'd done no such thing. The game had simply been rigged from the start.

"Come."

And she did. Trudging slowly over to the sagging tree, where Krista knelt with her ashen hands and downturned lips. Eyes a grim grey.

"Done talking?"

Why did it seem like she was upset at them?

"Sorry, Sis."

The red-headed woman sharply shook her head. Not looking at them, keeping her eyes to the barren patch of ground. "Don't be. Y'all needed to talk. And this…" Her lips quivered, voice wavering dangerously as she tried to continue. "It's not… hard… for just… me."

Now, she slowly inclined her head at Rhea. Softly murmuring, "This might be… my body to share. But my babies… are also your babies. And together, we share the loss."

And share they did, kneeling on the barren bit of earth with their heads together.

One hand scattering ash.

Another scattering seeds.

They didn't know what would come of them, but they knew that this bit of the Garden forever belonged to their child.

The girls woke as the first shoots of green pushed through the ashen soil. Shoving them and D abruptly back into consciousness. Air smelling stagnant and heavy with smoke that simply did not exist.

Their eyes opened to darkness. Warmth gently enveloping their face and coaxing them to face away from where their child would reside.

"D?"

He did not answer.

Why did they feel that this man was bothered, despite all the death he had seen in his long life?

It was ridiculous to think he was trying to protect them. "We know they are gone."

"I know."

Then what was the point?

The warmth of his hand finally peeled away, and they blinked blearily up at the Hunter's exhausted countenance. At dark eyes that seemed just a tad too haunted. Yet, he pulled up the arm of his coat and used it to wipe their face. Gentle sweeps from right to left. Down to their breasts and belly. Along each arm.

Deep down, they had an inkling as to why. However, they couldn't muster the strength or courage to look down and confirm their suspicions. Heart hurting with every beat and every pass of D's coat.

Their breath hitched.

"I'm here."

But the babe wasn't.

They could feel their face contort at the thought. Twisting into something ugly that they couldn't quite stop. Yet, they simply grabbed hold of the man above them. Taking solace in the fact that he was there and seemed as pained by the events as they were.

It sucked.

"Why did they do this?" they whimpered. "Why did they think we were the right ones for this?"

They asked the best questions that he couldn't give the best answers to. And how he so desperately wanted to have them, for his sake and theirs. Yet, he was left with little more than speculations and questions to dig up answers for. A set of ideas with no cohesive facts to tie them all together.

"I have theories," he said, voice dark in a way that alluded to just how bothered he was, but soft in a way that left them feeling comforted. Knowing that, based on his actions up to that point, there would be Hell on Earth. "Now is not the time."

Ignoring their dejected whimper, he pushed the coat from their figure and scooped them up into his arms. Despite the suddenness, they did not object to the treatment. Content to listlessly wait as D carried them away from the bed and to the adjoining bathroom.

Their bone-deep exhaustion did not, however, keep them from peering at the bed they'd left.

Perhaps they shouldn't have.

A part of their Soul withered as they stared at that ash-covered bed. Realizing that the man they burdened had simply not wanted them to wake covered in their child's remains. And as touching as it was, it was still horribly depressing.

They could only hope that they would not always need to rely upon D. That at some point, they would be able to fend for themselves. Would be able to fight alongside him. But while everything seemed to lose its color and luster, they were content to rely upon him. Just as they hoped he would rely upon them if he needed it (although they seriously doubted such a thing would ever come about).

It just couldn't be right then. At that moment, they were as worthless as teats on a boar hog.

So, they sat on the toilet, watching D move about as he filled the tub with water that was sure to be too hot (borderline scalding) and fetched clean linens for the bed. He came back, swirling the water with his hand before craning about to look at them.

"Do you need help?"

Technically, yeah. They felt they did. Felt, as their legs shook and lurched, that they were liable to fall flat on their face. However, they did not want to burden him anymore than they had.

"It would not burden me."

They felt it would, so they stubbornly (and inelegantly) lurched to the tub and threw themselves in.

Fell in.

It didn't matter. They were in and…

Tears pricked their eyes as they sank into the water.

"Thank you, D."

He tipped his head and sat by the bathtub. Eyes dark, yet so very soft.

Very few things seemed to be going right.

They'd lost much in a year. More than they reckoned was fair.

A mother.

A home.

Some sanity.

A child. Perhaps many.

They remembered things they almost regretted digging for.

Yet, they'd gained so much.

A sister.

A few friends.

A love that was… unrequited?

Yes, they'd had to nearly die and travel across continents. They were littered in scars, both physically and mentally. They'd been taken advantage of.

Yet, they weren't sure they would change anything about it.

…

A lie.

They would have liked less pain. Less confrontation.

More days like their time on Fieri's family farm when the Hunter told them the origins of the cat beasts.

But they appreciated a moment such as this, as well.

There were many things wrong.

Their bath was not one.

The girls were asleep, or at the very least, they were dozing. Head cradled in their arms as they leaned against the edge of the ceramic tub.

If he could forget where they were, forget everything that had happened, he might've thought this was nice. Peaceful.

But there were things to be done.

He would need to gather the remains of their child.

Scour through the remainders of the logs.

'Speak' with a few more scientists sitting in the specimen tanks.

He would, of course, wait until the girls were securely back in bed, just to ensure they would not be in threat of falling.

"You mean, to keep their opinion of you high."

Perhaps that was a factor. Yet, he blatantly ignored the countenanced carbuncle's snarky whispers. Turning, instead, to the girls. Their slack expression.

They would need to finish washing up, but he was content to let them rest for just a bit longer.

Silently, he rose from his position and headed for the bedroom. Not allowing himself to dwell on the state of the bedding before he was gingerly sweeping the ashes into a pile with a densely bristled brush. Eventually, into a clear glass jar with a metal lid. Gingerly set upon the nearby shelf.

With the girls still soundly snoozing in the cooling bath, he stripped the bed and dressed it in new linens.

It shouldn't be as tiring as it was. Not with how much death he'd seen in his long life. Yet, it was.

A bone-deep ache that had him wishing for the end of the journey. Ready to wash his hands of the whole mess. And that wasn't to say that he was tired of the girls. Just… the drama. The cause of all his woes.

Him.

The first time he'd cleansed the planet of him, there'd been relief. Tension gone from his body that he'd never realized existed in the first place. But now that he knew what it was like to have such a big source of frustration gone, it was easy to recognize what it did to his mind and body.

Easy to feel that constant state of paranoia that crawled up his spine and drew his muscles tight.

"D?!"

Thoughts for another day.

The man turned on his heel and pushed back into the bathroom just in time to see the girls, body shuddering roughly, attempt to rise from the tub. And with a careful touch, he eased them back into the tepid water.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," they murmured, sinking into the water until their chin skimmed the surface."Sorry."

Quietly, he looked them over. Sniffed.

Fear.

It both did and did not make sense.

They'd been alone plenty before then. Traveling across the wasteland. The many times he'd left them to their own devices. As they searched the facility.

Fought Ig.

Although, awaking in the dust of your only child's remains might do that to a person. Bringing forth a litany of fears to confuse and petrify you.

Fear of being alone.

No one to comfort you.

Keep you from your thoughts.

Perhaps… they simply needed a bit of comfort. More than he was typically apt to give. More than he'd given since… well…

And in their vulnerable state?

Without prying for more information, he kneeled at the side of the tub and coaxed them backwards. Silent as their lips trembled and tears dripped, mindful to keep the soap from their hair well away from their terribly grey eyes.

And as they sank into his touch and bubbles drifted along the surface of the water, they could admit that it was helping them. Calming the turbulent waters that their minds had become as they cursed everything they could think of.

The Vampires because they wanted to resurrect a bloody monster.

The orphanage for agreeing to the Vampires' terms.

Their parents for playing into everything for a reason they'd yet to parse out and playing with their DNA like a kitten with string.

Laun and Edmont for the very same things.

The Sacred Ancestor for being the cause of it all.

And 'Mother'.

The deity that was at the top of their shit-list and would likely remain there indefinitely. A likely cause for how they currently felt, thinking it might be better if they just died. Yet, they couldn't. They had shit to do. People to fuck up.

They needed to figure out why they'd been forced to create golems.

Needed to know if they actually could.

If they could…

Where the Hell would they go from there?

Well…

Beneath the tree of their Garden, surrounded by tricolor pansies, a shiver shook Krista.

This darkness…

It was oppressing.

Dark as the void and just as deep.

Somewhere, out beyond their reach, there was life that danced about at the edge of their senses. Filled with vim and vigor unutilized. Unreachable.

Beyond their fingertips.

Out of sight.

Out of mind.

Collapsing.

Twisting about until little more than a mound of clay remained.

They were gasping, struggling for their next breath.

Clay, thin and un-shapable.

No sound.

No movement.

God, please help us…

A strange unease settled in them as they awoke, eyes swollen and unwilling to part.

They did not recall falling asleep, yet it must be true. The mattress cradled them; the cool air heavy with the scent of copper despite the reduced mess beneath them. And when their lids did finally part, the room swam. Tipping and swaying as their head rose from the feathered pillow.

"D?"

Silent save for the low hum of machinery.

"… Erembour?"

It seemed too loud, the silence deafening as panic twisted and wormed its way into their body. Eating away and breaking them down until their thoughts bubbled and festered unreasonable and paranoid and easily combatted by logic but they were gone useless babes inept unfit burdens that couldn't protect their babe better abandoned killed put out of their miserable existence

…

If they were dead…

Yes, if they were dead, they couldn't be used.

All the pain would be gone.

No one would miss them.

Not really, at least.

A lack of them meant D would have one less worry.

They were just part of the job, weren't they?

A nuisance.

It would be for the better.

The crazy bastards would no longer have their pawn, they would not waste the Hunter's valuable time every time they got themselves into trouble.

If they'd just died earlier, D would have been spared so much shit.

And wouldn't that be a big 'fuck you' to the assholes planning out their lives.

Pain.

It was sharp and acidic.

Curling through their veins trailing from their wrist as their nails dugs into the tender flesh. Digging and ripping at the sinew until their hands were stained crimson. Blood deep in color as it ran down their arm.

A stark contrast to their suddenly quiet mind. Waters calm and still as they stared at the beautiful mess. And quietly, they lapped passively at the lifeblood.

Unbothered.

Unworried.

… mildly worried.

It was taking too long…

Their teeth bit into the mauled flesh. Ripping through tendon and muscle and vein and artery with mindless determination.

Many things had been taken from them. Out of their control.

But they could choose this one thing.

Control this one thing.

They could control how they would leave this world.

It would be bloody, sure, but it would be by their own hand. Teeth.

Then, D would be free. Able to focus entirely upon stopping the… cult?

Idiocy.

Let not-dead dead men lie.

Nothing good could come of pulling his decrepit ass from the grave.

A chill came over them, vision growing dark about the edges as lead filled their limbs.

Not long and then…

Their mind stalled. Fingers suddenly covering the ruined flesh as their sluggish heart fluttered anxiously.

Would it be an insult to D if they took their life after all he's done? All the times he's kept them from death?

They weren't sure how that made them feel.

Guilty.

Ashamed.

Afraid.

Terrified that D and Hand might be disappointed in them.

God forbid, what if they even mourned their death?

Shit.

Did they even really want to die?

Or were they just sucked into the moment?

Controlled by their unstable emotions.

It was too much…

They were stupid.

Reckless.

Fucking shit!

It wasn't stopping!

"Fuckin' heal, you bloody idiot!"

Nothing.

Their lips covered the largest source of blood, and they prayed it would somehow recycle as they began ingesting the warm liquid. Prayed their body would decide that their intent to live was stronger than their intent to crap out.

Damn it! They needed to think shit through!

But what did it matter if D, Erembour, and Hand were a little down from their death?!

This was their choice!

Were they incapable of being selfish?!

They were useless!

…

But were they?

Didn't every living being have a purpose?

D had to care to some degree. With all the shit he'd ever done for them… he had to.

Desperate.

Erembour seemed to care on some level.

Reaching.

Grasping at phantoms and things that aren't there.

…

Their minds needed to be quiet.

With a soft huff, they reclined against the pillow. Eyes heavy. Sleep sounding absolutely heavenly.

Snerk.

The flow of lifeblood diminished, although they couldn't know for sure if it was due to healing or due to lack of blood. And they didn't want to risk looking.

Perhaps… just a nap while they waited…

…

No.

Nope.

That's how you die.

Just a small peek.

They couldn't see very well with all the fuzzy dark shit in their vision, but it looked… slightly better. Slightly less chewed-meaty. And any bleeding had indeed slowed to a drip.

Okay… maybe they could sleep.

Although, there was no telling how long they'd slept when D roused them. His gentle hand startling them from their dreamless snooze. And in their hungover state, they weren't capable of higher brain functions needed to parse out exactly why he looked so weary, nor deduce the emotion shading the dark eyes.

It must not have been too long.

The wrist he held looked awful. Absolutely shit. And while his thumbs gingerly smoothing the separated flesh into place was oddly touching, it burned.

They deserved it. For being such shits.

"Why?"

His voice was so calm. And he sounded no more than just a bit curious.

"Felt selfish."

It was an adequate answer, no matter what he was asking why to.

Why did they attempt to take their own life? They felt selfish, wanting control over just one thing.

Why did they stop? They felt selfish, terrified of what their death might do to their companions.

With a noise that hardly resembled a sigh, D lifted them into a sitting position and offered up his own wrist. Beautifully blue veins on display and temptingly close to their lips.

Even more… touching?

"It's okay, D," they said as they pushed the appendage away, laughing in a terribly dry way. "We did this to ourselves. We can probably handle the ramifications. We kinda deserve it."

He didn't look convinced.

Not that they could blame him.

"If there was a lesson to be learned, there is no point in needlessly suffering when you've already learned it."

Maybe so.

Yet… how could they tell him that the idea of taking from him directly was making them squeamish? Making their fingernails and teeth itch in a decidedly curious way.

Oh, but how they wanted it. Body straining forward despite their refusal. Desperately crying out for just a taste.

They wondered if the flavor would be better now that they actually had a taste for blood.

Would it be headier? Spicier?

Perhaps they could understand better than they did in the valley town why D would push them and their offers away. If they got hold of him, what would they do? A small nibble? Or would they attempt to gorge themselves?

Of course, D wouldn't allow such a thing. But it was terrifying.

Or worse… What if it awoke some part of them that would never be satisfied with animal blood again?

What about the beans?

What if the nuts poured out their nose?

"Krista. Rhea."

Unbridled joy forced their eyes open, lips curling in a dopey way. Liking that the man called them by both names.

Hmm…

They really were selfish.

Attempting suicide because they wanted the attention.

…

Nah.

But a part of them hoped that it would be a more common occurrence.

'Krista Rhea' made them feel recognized, but a little bitter that the identity of two became one. An unintentional erasure of someone important.

'Girls' solved the problem of erasure, but it was just a statement. Calling to the both of them at once. It was just a reference, however. Much like when you generally address a room of people.

But 'Krista' and then 'Rhea'? Or 'Rhea' and then 'Krista'?

It made their Souls do a happy little flutter.

They were seen.

Recognized.

Individuals.

Two parts of a whole.

Why'd things have to be so fucked and gone?

Ah… they were crying again.

They needed to cease their burdenedening…

Burdender…

Bendering?

Boogering.

Ooooh, burgers!

Their stomach attempted to eat itself, growling obnoxiously the longer they thought on food.

Did they deserve to eat?

They'd just try to kill themselves again, wouldn't they… And that would just be a waste of good food.

Fuck, what was wrong with their brains?

They wouldn't.

They would be better.

It was just a momentary slump; it wouldn't keep them down.

Tired or not…

They were spoiled to think they'd lived long enough to be tired…

To think they'd been treated as bad as those who'd had it worse and continued on…

Insufferable, rotten curs.

Worthless in their flesh.

Not worth their salt.

*Leeches! Bloody Worms!*

For a moment, both Krista and Rhea were taken back. Back to a time when they were consumed by their fear and anger. Cursing the other's existence with a vehemence that bordered on toxic. Unhealthy.

Together, they hated. Confused and uncertain as to the origins of their thoughts.

They didn't feel like their own.

They bounced about in their minds like errant echoes in a twisting cavern, beating at their sanity. Mocking them. Taunting them.

*Worthless, ugly freaks!*

Silence.

Quiet, deafening and heavy as D's warm hands softly cupped theirs and lowered them from their tender ear, fingertips coated in a fresh layer of blood curling into his grasp. And idly, they wondered if, despite their defenses, the state of their mind would still be open to tampering. Muddling. Although, that did not eliminate the possibility that the chain of thoughts was their own.

Perhaps they could get by with that, if it weren't their own. Afterall, they were still in control of all their faculties.

"Can we leave?"

"Not as you are."

Trapped.

"If you were to drink, however, then we could." For the second time, he bared his arm. The veins in his wrist on display for their hungry eyes. Saliva threatening to seep between their tightly pressed lips.

They couldn't.

"Perhaps it will be craved. I highly doubt you would turn into a mindless beast, however."

Did they feel comforted?

Perhaps a bit.

They whimpered. "Promise?"

"I cannot," he answered honestly. "But I will be here should something happen."

They snorted, lids heavy as they leaned into his loose hold. Not certain on when he'd moved. Not even sure on how long they'd been sitting there in such a position.

They'd not complain, however. It was warm, cradled there. Somehow no longer drenched in their own blood.

Had they passed out?

So bloody tired…

They were gently jostled once more. Eyes rolling as they attempted to focus on the proffered appendage. "How long… if we don't?"

He hummed. Eyeing the tubes not quite out of arms reach.

"That long? Or are you thinking we'll die before we can heal?"

"Yes."

Leave it to the Hunter to be succinct as fuck.

"Alright. Then, thank you for dealing with our shit this long."

Closer they brought his arm, canines biting into their lower gums.

"Thank you for taking care of us."

Tired…

"We'll try to not waste it this time."

And with little more preamble, their teeth sank into his flesh.

There was no blood.

Their tongue laved the flesh. As if contemplating. Yet, there was no further action. Not until their lips slid to cover the very-Human teeth pressed to his skin.

And silently, they just cradled the appendage against their chest and leaned their head against his upper arm. Forcibly drawing themselves into a tighter hold until the Hunter was practically supporting them in in his lap. Body fully enveloped as they continued to burrow.

If he minded, he did not reveal as much, and they were grateful. Happy to doze in the silence and warmth he provided.

It couldn't last, however. They understood that he would press the issue of sustenance in time. And they had tried! A poor attempt that ended in him having a spitty-licky arm, but they had tried all the same.

Perhaps…

"D?"

Another hum in response. Soft, soothing as the noise rumbled in his chest.

"Are we correct to assume you'll push for us to drink?"

"You are."

Lips curled in amusement, but only for a moment. The girls too tired to do more than exist. "Don't wanna be tubed. Don't wanna bite. Could you be convinced to… put it in a mug? Or glass? A vase… no, that's too big."

Now, another rumble. Subtly different, yet still managing to bring forth that contented feeling in them as he said, "I could be."

Ah… a chuckle? Surely not. Yet…

Hmm…

Dizzy.

No time to think on it.

They were being lifted, a cool rim pressed to their lips as they settled. The bed dipping beneath the man as he reclaimed his prior spot.

"You don't hafta sit there," they murmured around the glass. Hell, they hadn't even felt him leave. And even if the warmth was welcome, they were certain they'd be okay without it.

Despite what they thought, he remained. Wrapping their small frame into his coat as he coaxed their head back with the cup. Watching silently as they hesitated and struggled internally. Lips a firm barrier against the blood staining them.

And finally, the timid taste.

The sputtering and choking.

The second attempt.

The moan.

D had only provided a small amount in the cup. Of course, he knew their body could process it. But it was the passage to their stomach that had him concerned.

Thankfully, it seemed they would not have the same reaction they'd had so long ago. Clawing at their neck. Screaming into the night and dreaming of things they oughtn't.

Funny how things could change in a year. Under a year.

Slowly, he pulled away the cup. Movements measured as they shuddered roughly, obviously fighting with themselves and their desire for blood. Whimpering. Fingers curling into his thighs as they hunched inwards.

"Sure you don't wanna bite him, kid?" asked Hand.

They said nothing. Merely panted and rode out the cramping with a sharp shake of their head.

He understood. The hunger could be a crippling and demanding beast. Pushing the strongest of men to their knees. Or to act in ways they would typically not.

Such as that night they were taken.

If only he'd not ordered them to leave…

But if he hadn't… they would have been taken at another point.

His nail pressed into his wrist, dragging along the vein with the cup positioned to catch the blood.

There was no need.

"Wait…"

With a swipe of his finger, the wound was closed. Blood gathered on the pad of his thumb quickly licked away. The cup empty aside from the remnants of before.

"Sorry… we were gonna suggest something. But…" For a moment, they shuddered and rubbed furiously at their face. Breaths stuttering past their clenched teeth. "Damn. Can't think straight."

Well, of course they couldn't. They were critically low on blood. Practically a papercut away from death.

"Sorry we're being a pain."

They were, but he could hardly blame them.

"Is it too late to have Erembour hunt?"

"It might take a while."

"Right…" Another shuddering breath. "You said that… at some point."

But without any prompting, the Demon was leaping from the Hunter and tearing down the stairs into the main lab. Off to hunt with no promise of bringing anything back. Something the girls appreciated immensely.

It gave them time to procrastinate. Likely wouldn't keep them from ingesting the man's blood, but it might give them a chance to calm the fuck down.

"Would you like to dress?"

The simple query had them snapping upwards, looking excited at the prospect of being dressed for the first time in…

How long…

How long had they been in this Hellhole?

Ah… but did it even really matter?

"D? What is today?"

They'd done well to keep track of the days when out and about. Now, however, it was worse than the week they'd lost while possessed. Worse than the time lost while deliriously looking for help. An indeterminate amount of time had been pissed away by their captors and whatever crap they'd been pumped full of.

Had they been here a few days?

A week?

A month?

Two months?

Longer?

"September 9th," he stated after a moment.

A lump swelled in their throat. Choking them. "And… how long has it been since you found us?"

"13 days."

Such a precise number of days. Just… what the fuck?

"We've been here almost two months."

"Unfortunately."

"Wow." Their fingers wound through his. Eyes burning as they thought of how long it could have been. That they were lucky the Hunter was there for them. "And here we are, trying to piss it all away. Like idiots."

Silence, because he could neither agree nor disagree. Not to say he thought they were idiots. However…

"So… why has our no-no square been bleeding?"

A question that was bound to come up. One he was not looking forward to answering considering what they'd recently attempted. Even still, he pushed his hand to their belly. Drawing their attention to the still tender area.

"You were pregnant."

Confusion.

Agitation.

Depression.

"Whether through trauma or inability to conceive and carry, I cannot say."

Their mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

Minds swirling as they attempted to make sense of his words.

"There are many logs detailing your time here."

They nodded, because it made sense and all that data had to go somewhere.

"The one called Stahl performed a multitude of procedures to implant a fertilized egg after it was made apparent that fertilization could not happen in your womb."

The girls pressed against his fingers, heart hurting and bile bubbling up their throat.

"The one you lost was implanted on the 13th, one of nine that did not destabilize after an intense regimen of modified growth hormones, and the last of twelve attempted."

Their chest felt tight, too little air available.

But they needed to know.

"And the other eight?"

"One you held. The others: destabilized."

It explained the tubes. The multitude of science projects doomed to fail as their body was used for someone's personal gain.

"What else did they do to us?"

"Are you certain you wish to hear more?"

They weren't. But it was a need. They had to know. So, they nodded sharply. Fingers curling ever tighter into his hand.

Injections and electrostimulation to drop eggs.

Insemination to fertilize the eggs.

Implantation when the fertilized eggs would not take without intervention.

Tube babies in the interim.

Blastocytes genetically cleansed and implanted with the DNA of the Sacred Ancestor.

A litany of lab work, biological monitoring, efficiency data, brain patterns, nervous system data data data and more data that honestly when over their head in why it was even wanted!

In the end, it only served to make them feel dirty.

Used.

Terrified because they'd been unconscious (or simply in an altered state) for most their stay. No way of knowing what had happened off the record.

Afterall, their near escape was not reported.

They didn't even have the satisfaction of knowing if their stomach had been pumped. And at the thought, a dry laugh filled the room as they stared down at the tablet in their hands. "Hey, D?" He hummed. "We're noticing some stuff missing from these."

"Such as?"

Tipping their head back to stare up at the man, the most wicked, shit-eating grin stretched across their face. "It doesn't say that we got out of our chains and ate a bitch's hand."

Pfft.

The amused noises from Hand and the returning Demon had almost covered up the small huff from the Hunter. The small quirk of his lips confirming that they'd indeed heard it. And for the first time since their capture, their Soul felt warm and full.