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archadianskies · 5 years

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the shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn

@dbhrarepairs Sunday Day 7: Free Day; Fantasy + Supernatural; RK900/Simon

It is an unspoken rule: you are safe in Jericho. There are no ranks, no royalty, and certainly no witch hunters. Simon’s worked hard to keep it this way for five years now and strives to ensure it will stay as such in the years to come. It is, by all accounts, but a humble bakery in a bustling integrated town and it’s not the biggest nor the fanciest, not by far. But for Simon it’s home. Literally. He and his twin brother Daniel live upstairs.

Jericho’s reputation means it has its fair share of interesting patrons, most of whom Simon has eventually befriended. Most notable are those from the castle: Royal Scholar Joshua, Royal Protector North, and the princes themselves; Prince Leopold and Prince Markus. Not that Simon ever set out to sell to castlefolk but apparently no one makes berry loaves quite like he does or so Prince Markus says- something something his magic imbues baked goods with emotional properties.

The Autumn Harvest Festival is soon to be upon them and Simon is kept busy, so busy he’s enlisted the help of fellow baker Kara and her little daughter Alice. She even manages to ensnare her towering husband Luther to help by heaving sacks of flour freshly packed at the mill and bring them to the bakery. King Carl will throw a grand celebration that will last all week, and the town will near triple in size as visitors flock in from out of town. It’s exhausting work but incredible money and Simon knows he can’t pass it up. He’ll spend the next week deep in preparation.

It’s one sunny afternoon, tempered by a breeze carrying the chilling promise of winter, that a new customer wanders into Jericho. It’s too early to be tourists and it’s too late to be a regular patron.

“Hello, welcome to Jericho.” Simon greets the older, greying man. He has tired warm eyes, his face weathered by time but also slashed with curious scars. “What can I get for you sir?”

“I uh, I’m new here. Me an’ my boys just moved in, just outside of town by the forest.”

“Oh! You bought the hunter’s cottage.” Simon smiles warmly. “I’m glad. It’d been empty for so long now and it’s at such a lovely location.”

“Heard a lot about this place.” He mumbles gruffly, scratching his nape. “My sons, they’re…different. ‘Specially the younger one. I just wanted to suss this place out before bringin’ ‘em in.”

“They’re safe here at Jericho. No judgement, no hunters.” Simon vows solemnly. “They can eat here and my brother is a potions master so they’ll have plenty to drink of whatever their heart needs.”

“Hank Anderson.” The man introduces himself, and when Simon shakes his calloused hand he sees ropey scars all over it too.

“Simon Lambert.”

“I know I’m a bit late for the morning loaves but you got anything heartier? Meatier?” Hank looks around, curiously inspecting this and that.

“I still have a beef steak and peppercorn pie, how does that sound?” Simon offers, and Hank breaks into a grin.

“Sounds perfect.”

*~*~*

North perches up on the counter, plucking a blueberry tart and dropping a couple of coins into the till. “Saw that the hunter’s lodge was bought last week.” Her speech is muffled by her chewing. “A family?”

“Yes, a father and his sons.” Simon sighs and sweeps a few crumbs off the counter, trying to shoo her off to no avail. “I met him the other day, he seems nice. Curiously covered in scars though.”

“A soldier? A knight?” North guesses, expression piqued with interest. “Another hunter?”

“I don’t ask questions here.” Simon reminds her lightly, pouring her a glass of chipper tonic to boost her afternoon mood. “I hope to meet his sons soon. Maybe Alice will have a playmate, the dear girl’s been so lonely.”

“Hey, you got any of the cinnamon scrolls left?” She nearly tips over the counter in her attempt to peek behind, and Simon lunges to steady her.

“North!”

“Well do ya?” She grins at him, puffing a lock of hair from her face. Her magic emanates from her, an aura like wildfire, and sets her brown eyes ablaze. He rolls his eyes.

“I do. Two to go like usual?”

“Yeah if I don’t feed Josh he’ll just work til he passes out. Or try and eat his books, I dunno.” She drops more coins into the till as Simon carefully places the sticky scrolls in wax paper. “Tell me about the new family when you meet them, okay? I’m pretty curious. And y’know, doin’ my job. If he’s some shady guy then the Fam needs to know.”

“Will do.” He promises, handing her the scrolls and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Take care and say hello to Josh for me.”

*~*~*

When Hank visits the next day, there’s a huge dog at his side. It’s easily the size of Alice, and should it stand on its hind legs Simon knows it would probably see eye to eye with Luther himself. The bakery isn’t too full, but it isn’t empty either and the customers eye the canine warily. “This is err, this is Connor.” Hank gestures at the canine who immediately sits and offers what Simon thinks is a rather cute doggy smile.

“Can I pat him? PLEASE?” Alice pipes up, peeking from behind Simon. “He looks SO fluffy!”

“He is fluffy, little Miss.” Hank chuckles. “Go right ahead.”

Alice darts out from behind him and rushes to the dog, immediately sinking her hands into his fur. “Hiiiiii Connor! I’m Alice!” Connor responds by flopping down and rolling over, showing his belly as his tail swishes side to side happily.

“You know,” Simon comes around to stand beside Hank, arms crossed, “I thought you said you were going to bring your sons here. There was no mention of a very large but very cute dog. What breed is he? Goodness he seems like a hunting mastiff and wolf hybrid.”

“...We’ll go with that, yeah. I never really did know.” Hank shrugs, grin a little self-conscious. “I didn’t raise ‘em, I sorta...just...took them in. They needed a home and someone to care for them.”

“Them?” Simon echoes, brows raised. “There’s another?”

“Uh yeah, there’s two of ‘em. This one is Connor, the other is Ronan. He’s not too good with people yet he’s sorta jus’ hiding until he gets used to this new place.”

“Two sons and two dogs, goodness me.” Simon laughs. “Well, feel free to take a seat and choose something to eat. I’ll pour you some of Danny’s restful tea.”

He loses himself to the humdrum of work, occasionally glancing over to where Hank is sitting on a bench by the window, his dog becoming a bed for Alice as she naps then and there atop his fluffy fur. It’s a steady trickle of customers, and plenty of soft amused smiles are coaxed from them when they see the little girl and the very large dog. The afternoon passes by, mellow and golden like time trapped in honey, and all too soon he’s counting the coins in the till and Kara is sweeping the floor.

“Ah shit, I’m so sorry I guess I dozed off.” Hank chuckles, smile sheepish as he scratches his nape and stifles a yawn. “Guess that tea worked, huh?”

“I’m glad it did.” Simon smiles, bending to run his hand through Connor’s fur now he’s no longer handling foods. “You’ve been so well behaved, Connor, what a good boy.” He tweaks the tip of his ear playfully and the dog chuffs in response, squirming and wriggling until its sitting upright at attention.

“Connor! I got you a snack!” Alice’s voice calls out sweetly, and she hurries from the kitchens holding a tray of meat scraps left from the beef pies. All too late does Simon see the knife teetering on the tray, and how Alice’s foot catches on the broom as Kara sweeps.

“Alice-!”

There’s a blur, something dark and fast, inhumanely fast knocking Simon over and lunging for Alice and when Simon’s senses catch up to him, there’s a very naked young man holding her with one arm, and holding the knife in his other hand.

“Connor!” Hank nearly upends the table in his rush to cross the distance, and the very naked young man seems to belatedly notice he’s caught the knife blade-side in his hand. There’s blood running in rivulets from his grasp, there’s meat scraps all over the floor, and there’s a distressed girl in his hold who suddenly bursts into tears.

“Alice! Oh Alice!” Kara retrieves her daughter, and Simon still isn’t sure what is happening is actually happening.

“...Your dog is your son.” Simon manages at last. Hank’s shrugging out of his coat and wrapping it around the very naked young man.

“...Err, yeah.”

“...I’ll get some bandages and salve.” He declares, and just leaves for upstairs.

With Kara and Alice sent home, Simon closes the bakery more for his own sanity than to keep it from prying eyes. He just needs time to process this, that’s all. He’s a witch, Jericho has always been a safe haven for witches whose magic had been exploited by the humans for a decade before King Carl’s adopted witch son fought hard for the right to be equal. Jericho has seen all sorts of magic users, even those with daemons, but this? This is magic he’s never encountered before.

When the initial shock has faded, and Connor’s in a set of Danny’s clothes with his palm tended to and healed, Simon decides the right thing to do is pack some leftover meat pie and walk the Andersons back to their cottage and hear them out. There is no judgement in Jericho, afterall, and Simon likes to learn about his patrons.

“I uhh,” Hank sighs, scratching his beard and looking over at Connor. “I used to live in the neighbouring kingdom. My son Cole and I got into a nasty carriage accident in winter. He’d just turned six, love and light of my life. I rushed him to the closest healer but he’d been out with his friends, using red ice crystals.”

Simon winced. Red ice was a byproduct of common potion-making; red quartz that had its power depleted, but when heated by regular human flame and inhaled, could give the human user intense and vivid highs using the distorted remnants of magic. As much as the King tried to control it, especially since his own flesh and blood son was addicted to it, it’s still rampant in the kingdom. Simon remembers that well, and he also remembers befriending Prince Leo and listening to his sorrows and letting him weep and rage and just be. He recalls the withdrawals but he also recalls the bud of hope blossoming into friendship, friendship between a witch and a human. Red ice destroyed lives, but only if people failed to nurture those under its power.

“There was a witch who came to my aid and though they tried their best, worked for hours trying to heal Cole, he passed away.” There’s great sorrow there, a gaping chasm of grief Simon cannot ever comprehend. He reaches out and gently squeezes Hank’s shoulder.

“And then Hank found my brother and I.” Connor pipes up with a small smile. “We were being trained to become attack dogs by witch hunters.” The smile vanishes. “It was...a very cold, cruel upbringing. I was given to Hank as a trial to see if I could be weaponised by humans.”

“Didn’t sit right with me, seeing someone reduced to a dog meant to just obey without question.” Hank says gruffly, shaking his head. “I could see he was something more. When Ronan came along I just knew I had to give them a better chance.”

“It took us a while to find ourselves.” Connor confesses, his smile returning though it’s tinged with sadness. “We were mindless attack dogs for a while still, until we could break out of our conditioning.”

“And you’re more human than some sorry sods I’ve dealt with.” Hank grumbles, eliciting a laugh from Connor.

“Oh! I-” He smiles brightly, not bothering to finish his sentence before he breaks into a run and starts to strip off his borrowed clothes, near tripping flat on his face when he shucks off the boots. Connor leaps forward fluidly and then there’s the large brown shaggy wolf bounding ahead, playfully tackling an even larger, even darker wolf. The two roughhouse enthusiastically, oblivious to the way Hank rolls his eyes as he and Simon make their way down the path to the cottage, the abandoned clothes draped over Hank’s arm. When they’re close enough, the darker wolf sits bolts upright, Connor still pinned under him. He sniffs the air and then focuses his startling grey eyes on Simon.

“Ronan, this is Simon.” Hank says slowly, grasping Simon’s elbow to stop him. A sliver of fear pinches Simon’s spine as he realises his muzzle is stained with blood. Connor wriggles beneath him, managing to butt his brother on the underside of his jaw with his head. It breaks Ronan’s stare, and he nips at Connor to chide him. Hank’s grip on Simon’s elbow is strong, and he guides him forward very slowly. Ronan snaps to attention again, eyes locked on him. Simon takes a deep breath, uncovering the pie and holding it out.

“I’m the baker at Jericho.” A pause, voice soft. “And I’m a witch. I thought I’d come introduce myself, since I met your father and your brother earlier today.”

“You’ve been hunting, haven’t you boy?” Hank’s voice turns warm and fond, and he steps ahead of Simon to reach out and gently muss the fur between Ronan’s ears. The wolf noses his cheek affectionately, chuffing in reply. “Yeah you stink of raw meat. Did you leave some for your brother? Of course you did, I know you did.” He laughs as Ronan presses his nose to his neck before resting his large head on Hank’s shoulder. “Alright alright, round the back and wash up. Simon’s come all the way from town with a very nice pie for us.”

Where Connor is all warm browns and soft friendly smiles, Ronan is cold greys and reserved observations. He is, as Hank noted, wary and sussing things out. They share the pie, and they converse, with Ronan making the occasional comment. Simon keeps the conversation honest and light, giving as much as Hank had given. He talks about a loving family before their magic manifested and being turned out on the streets and becoming a kitchenhand. Of learning how his emotions could be infused into foods made with his own hands, of how Danny could do the same with liquids. Nights spent feeding each other hopes and dreams and comfort. Ronan watches him with interest, brows creased. To steer the conversation away from darker thoughts he tells them about all the early mistakes, how Danny had forgotten to feed the yeast so the dough didn’t rise enough and when Simon baked it it tasted of bitter annoyance. They all share a laugh, and Simon notes with amusement the Anderson brothers tip their head back to laugh just like their father only their teeth are far more sharp.

“Ah it’s late, I must head home. There’s dough to prepare before bed.” Simon stands to excuse himself, and Ronan stands immediately after.

“I’ll walk you home.” He falters a little when they all blink at him in surprise. “It’s dark, and the roads are dangerous at night.”

“Well.” Simon smiles. “I guess I’ll be the safest traveler in the kingdom tonight.”

It’s true. There certainly can’t be any traveler safer than he, not with a giant wolf padding by his side. Ronan is hyper alert, sniffing the air and looking this way and that, striding just a little ahead of Simon to scout the area. Where Connor can vaguely pass off as a large crossbreed, there’s no mistaking Ronan and his hulking form. They aren’t affected by the moon as told by those old tales, no their form is more akin to putting on another set of clothes, Connor had told him. It’s simply another way to be.

When they reach the town gates, Simon turns to his personal guard with a smile.

“Thank you for being such a gentleman, Ronan, I do appreciate it.” He reaches out without thinking, surprising the both of them when he gently pats his head. “I hope you visit Jericho soon.”

He visits him the very next day, in fact. Even as a human, he’s taller than most and cuts an imposing, intimidating figure. Ronan enters the bakery hesitantly, still unsure, still trying to find his feet amongst humans. A pair of young women dart him glances and smiles, giggling to themselves and whispering furiously as their cheeks pink with blush. Simon agrees that yes, Ronan is rather handsome, though he’ll never say it aloud.

“Hello Ronan.” He greets with a bright smile. “It’s good to see you.”

“I...wanted to see you. And Jericho.” He adds almost as an afterthought, and Simon ducks his head with a laugh.

“And here you are.” He gestures at one of the empty tables. “Take a seat, I'll bring you something to eat and drink.”

There’s a lull in customers so Simon takes a seat opposite Ronan, cup of tea in hand.

“You mention your brother working here but I haven’t seen him.” Ronan comments, looking around.

“Danny works for one of the court officials most of the week, so he just prepares the brews on the weekends.” Simon explains, taking a sip of his favourite warm and calming tea. “Most people come here to buy breads and don’t tend to stay and eat so it’s not like we really ever run out.”

“So it’s mostly you?”

“Yes. I love it here.” Simon smiles. “It’s my own little place. It brings me joy when people enjoy my food and that in turn helps me make more food for them to enjoy.”

*~*~*

It becomes a routine, having at least one Anderson, if not all three, visit him at least every second day. Simon ends up setting a large meat pie aside every time, so he can drop by after closing and off them the ‘leftover’, and once the pie is eaten Ronan will walk him home. He takes great comfort in his company, the large hulking wolf a warm presence at his side and Simon does indeed feel much safer even if Danny complains of him reeking of dog. With the festival drawing ever closer, Hank and Connor are employed by the guards as part of extra security measures meaning Ronan is often the only one at home after Simon finishes closing the bakery. Not that he minds, since little by little Ronan’s opening up to him and the conversation flows easier, is less stilted and hesitant. He finds himself looking forward to their time together, and revels in each little personal victory whenever he manages to coax a smile or an ever elusive laugh from the other man.

He sends Kara and Alice home just as the sun dips below the horizon. The festival is in two days time and at the end of each day the bakery is completely empty of goods as people stock up. It’s a good feeling, a feeling of pride and accomplishment that also translates into flavourful, rich foods with every new batch Simon makes. The regulars know that the sweetest, happiest pastries must be bought just before the festival when Simon’s riding the giddy feeling of anticipation and excitement. He can’t fault them; it’s true, after all. He makes sure to set aside a whole basket of goods for the royal family, and this time he also sets side a richly stewed mushroom and beef pie with spices baked into the crust for the Andersons. The bell above the door tinkles, and heavy footsteps plod into the bakery.

“I’m sorry but we’re closed!” Simon calls out, wandering back from the storage room. There’s a gang of broad muscular men led by a severe looking man in black robes.

“Oh we know.” He smirks, and his eyes are cold as ice. “So this is Jericho, hm? A filthy little rats nest for all the rats to scurry to.”

“Everyone is welcome here in Jericho,” Simon says firmly. “Even witch hunters. So long as you leave your prejudices at the door.”

They laugh at that, and the leader steps closer and closer to Simon. “You think you’re safe here? That just because you’ve made fancy rules we’re supposed to obey them? Your kind are meant to serve us.”

“And this bakery does indeed serve bread to humans.” Simon points out lightly with a faint smile. “As it does to witches.”

“Not anymore.” The man snarls and backhands Simon before grabbing him by the throat. “Just because the King adopted a filthy witch doesn’t make it all better. Your kind will never be equal to us.”

He claws at the man’s hand, trying to gasp for air. His henchmen laugh and begin to smash the chairs against the tables, against the shelves, against the windows. Simon manages to kick his assailant square in the chest, causing him to stumble back and let him go. It only enrages him further and Simon’s vision bursts into stars as the man punches him to the ground. A boot plants itself on his head, pressing him down onto the floor and Simon watches helplessly as the men ransack his beloved bakery and ruin the next day’s preparations. He thanks the Fates he locked the storage before stepping out, and that he’d sent Kara and Alice home already.

“Captain Perkins! We have to go!” One of the men shout, and there’s a commotion as they all rush to leave. Captain Perkins stares down at Simon like he’s stepped in filth, sneering at him before pulling his foot back and kicking him in the stomach.

“This isn’t over yet, vermin.”

It’s fine. It’s alright. No one else got hurt. The gift basket for the royal family is safe and sound, and for all the destruction the men didn’t even think to steal the money from the till. Though Simon supposes this wasn’t for monetary gain at all. He sits up gingerly and then properly vomits red, his head spinning and his stomach sore. His vision still pulses with lights, his jaw aches and his limbs don’t want to listen to him. It takes him four tries to get to his feet, and he only succeeds because he scoots ever so slowly over to the counter. His palms are shredded from the broken glass but he’s upright now, and somehow, somehow all he can think of is that he’s late and Ronan will be waiting. So he gathers his travelling cloak, places the pie very carefully into a basket, and leaves through the back door.

It’s fine, everything is fine and Simon’s not sure if it’s magic or just his own stubbornness that takes what just happened and locks it in a box, throws away the key, and buries it in a grave. He has a cemetery for events like these, like his parents throwing him out with Danny when their powers manifested, like being chased from their town, like the time Danny got sick with fever and almost died and said the most horrible things to try and get him to leave so he wouldn’t fall ill too. It’s fine. It’s gone.

A big dark wolf bounds out from the forest behind the hunter’s cottage, its gait springy and joyful before it turns into an urgent run as Simon limps down the path. He clumsily tugs at his travelling cloak as Ronan shivers back upright, his face a mask of horror as Simon hands him his cloak so he isn’t standing there naked.

“Simon-!”

“Ronan it’s cold, wear this.”

“You’re bleeding, you’re-!” He pulls him into his arms suddenly, sniffing and nosing him and Simon tries to batt him away in surprise.

“You smell like a hunter. A witch hunter-” Ronan decides whole sentences are too much for the moment and simply scoops Simon up into his arms and rushes him inside, ignoring his protests. He sets him down on a chair in the kitchen. “Wait, I’ll get Hank’s healing kit.”

Simon feels a little embarrassed. He’s fine after all. Oh and the pie is fine, he discovers triumphantly as he places the basket on the table and unearths the lovely creation still wrapped in a tea towel. Just needs a bit of time in the oven, and it’ll be ready for dinner.

“Simon what happened?” Ronan demands, reappearing with a small chest in his hands and proper clothes on his body. “You reek of witch hunters and blood and- and- something else. Something familiar but I can’t place it.”

The chest is placed on the table, Ronan glancing at the pie briefly before he opens the kit and fishes out a small bottle and some gauze. Gently, ever so gently, he daubs tonic on Simon’s injuries.

“Simon? Please talk to me.” There’s a plea in his tone, panic in those stormy grey eyes that Simon’s always fancied were beautiful.

“Oh um,” his tongue feels thick and heavy in his mouth like he’s stuffed it full of flour. “Um. A band of witch hunters ransacked Jericho and destroyed all my furniture and they ruined my festival preparations but it’s ok I saved your dinner.”

There’s a moment, a pause, a long drawn out pause as Ronan looks at him in utter horror.

“What?”

“Oh and the gift basket I prepared for the Manfreds, that’s alright too. And the till. They didn’t take any money and no one was hurt so it’s okay. It’s fine.”

“You were hurt, Simon!” Ronan near shouts at him, panic leaking into his voice. “They hurt you!”

“I’m okay. I sent Kara and Alice home before they arrived. A shame about the bakery though, they really did just...break...everything…” It takes him far too long to realise he’s crying, that tears are running down his cheeks and he’s gasping for breath and his stomach still feels tight and raw. “They destroyed everything and I won’t have anything ready for the festival and we really needed the money, I was going to buy Danny a new cloak and a pretty bonnet for Alice’s birthday and-” He’s sobbing now, and the physical pain somehow feels right, too, a rightful mixture of heartache and a stomach ache and a jaw ache and a headache. Ronan’s still looking at him in horror, and then he’s leaning forward and wrapping Simon up in his arms and Simon nearly howls with sorrow as he cries and cries and cries.

He’s not sure how much time passes but the door is kicked open and Connor leaps through in his wolf form before scrambling back into a more humanoid form. His teeth are still wrong, his ears still a little pointed and tufty. “I smelled blood! I smelled witch hunters! Simon what happened?!”

“That’s exactly what happened.” Ronan snaps, though the anger isn’t directed at Connor at all. Simon manages some sort of noise, a confirmation of sorts as he clings to Ronan, cheek mushed on his shoulder. He’s tired but he’s fine. Everything’s fine.

Hank huffs and puffs into the cottage a short while after, throwing Connor’s clothes to the side the moment he sees Simon’s sorry self.

“Shit, Simon! What the fuck happened?!”

“Captain Perkins.” Simon recalls belatedly. “The witch hunters- one of them called the leader Captain Perkins.”

Connor and Ronan freeze, eyes wide.

“Perkins oh that sick motherfucker.” Hank curses, rage in his eyes. “He did this to you?”

“He destroyed Jericho too.” Ronan adds curtly, lips pulled back in a snarl. “And he made sure to do it a day before the Festival.”

“Um, I did manage to save dinner though?” Simon gestures at the pie.

“...Simon, that’s-”

“Very kind of you.” Connor says gently. “I’ll get the oven going. Dad, can you make tea?”

“Err, right. Yeah. I can make tea.”

“It’s best if you get out of these clothes and into some clean ones.” Ronan helps him up and Simon’s legs are as wobbly as a newborn foal. Spots wink in and out of his vision and he winces, clinging to Ronan tightly. “It’s ok, I’ve got you. I’ve got you Simon.”

They have pie while he wears Ronan’s clothes and they sip tea Hank made and all the while Connor and Ronan exchange venomous glances, seemingly having an entire conversation without words. Or maybe they did use words. Simon really can’t concentrate. He’s given something purple to drink and very gently guided to a large bed and heavy quilts are tucked over him and he thinks someone brushes his hair back from his face and kisses his temple but he’s not sure if that really happened or just something he wishes happened to him. Simon sleeps and he doesn’t dream of anything.

When he wakes it’s late, far too late for baking loaves and pastries, and it should horrify him but if there’s no functioning bakery then it’s really not a problem is it? There’s a bowl of fruits and a glass of juice on the bedside table along with a note telling him to stay here and rest. Alright. He can do that. What else is there to do, anyway? He nibbles on blueberries and some apple slices, drinks the glass of sweet peach juice and then slumps back under the quilts. He sleeps and dreams of picnicking under starlight with a large dark wolf curled at his side.

When he wakes again it’s late, so late the sun is long gone below the horizon and the nightly chill has filled the house. A wolf’s howl breaks through the quiet, joined by another a moment later. Simon smiles sleepily, testing his feet on the floorboards and finding being upright agrees with him again. Snagging his cloak from the stand, he wraps it around himself before stepping outside. He can see Connor and Ronan in the distance, heads tipped back as they howl in harmony. They turn to look at him, their movement as one, before Connor breaks away and runs back into the forest. Ronan remains still, unmoving, like a statue carved of granite. Simon sighs. He has to do all the work around here apparently. Closing the distance between them, Simon realises he may not have the nose of a wolf but Ronan reeks of blood. When he’s close enough, he can see the wolf stained in red, not just on the muzzle but all over his entire body as if he’s soaked himself in it. Which he has, probably, and a hysterical little giggle escapes Simon when he realises this is the fate of Captain Perkins.

“I see you and your brother went hunting tonight.” Simon reaches out slowly and runs his hand along the side of his muzzle, the fur wet and sticky with fresh blood. “Tasty?” The wolf pulls back its lips in a snarl of disgust, huffing his disagreement and Simon laughs. “No, witch-hunters probably taste foul. All that hate in their veins rotting them away. Best you didn’t feast on them.” He’s trembling- from fear or exhilaration he’s not sure. Maybe both? Quite possibly both. It’s the thrill of exhilaration that leads him to wrap his arms around the wolf’s neck and he doesn’t even mind the blood. “Thank you. Now he’ll never hurt anyone ever again.”

There’s a rush of magic, a thrum so strong he feels it in his bones and all at once he’s embracing Ronan in his human form. He wraps him up in his cloak. “You really ought to have waited until we were inside you silly dog.” He scolds lightly, lips curved up in a teasing smile.

“My brother and I run hot, it takes a lot for us to feel cold.” Ronan mumbles, his mouth still stained red. “It’s you who should still be inside.”

“I’ll go back in a second.” He takes a moment to fuss over him, to slick back his dark hair damp with sweat and blood so it doesn’t stick to his face. “Really though, thank you.”

“Hank has made sure to notify the King himself, and Jericho will be rebuilt. His Majesty granted you access to the royal kitchens so you can still bake while your bakery is reconstructed.” Ronan speaks so earnestly Simon feels overwhelmed tears prick his eyes.

“Does the King know what happened to Captain Perkins?”

“...He fell to beasts in the forest. He shouldn’t have tried to travel after nightfall.” Ronan says lightly, a grin twitching at his lips.

“It’s because he didn’t have a guardian at his side.” Simon quips. “Otherwise he’d have been the safest traveller in all the kingdoms.”

Ronan looks at him with such fondness, leaning in to bump their noses together in a gesture that strikes Simon as rather puppylike.

“I’ll protect you, Simon. If you’ll let me.”

Simon doesn’t answer right away, taking a moment just to admire Ronan Anderson under the bright moonlight naked as the day he was born save for Simon’s travelling cloak. He knows he should feel horrified. The brothers are, in some way, monsters to be feared. There’s something humorous about all this, though, about everything that’s happened, that’s led to where they are right this very moment. It’s a funny little turn of events, and he chooses to see it that way, chooses to bury another box and in that box is the fear that should have been felt.

He realises he loves him in a monstrous way, that all this feels right and sanctified and just. He presses his mouth to his, and their first kiss tastes of death and victory at all once.

“I’d like that very much.”

#dbh simon #rk900 #hank anderson #dbh connor #detroit: become human #dbh kara #dbh alice #tw blood #tw gore #dbhrarepairs #annie writes: dbh #sorry for the lateness fam i was at my parents' place this weekend #today's song is Shrike by Hozier

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