Chapter Text
Hassel’s fingers danced across the keys, taking up a gentle swing dance with the pulsing bass. The trumpet soared above it all while the drums provided a steady back beat. One and a-two, and three and a-four-and. He’d never heard Neo Revelation before, but with this level of raw talent, they were sure to do big things.
They just needed a reliable keyboard player.
"Do I really have to?"
A dangerous fire glimmered in Father's orange eyes. "This isn't a discussion, Hassel. Choose or your mother will choose for you."
Amana was an accomplished violinist already. He could just see her teasing him for his technique, challenging him to play his scales as fast as possible. "Piano, then. I guess."
After the horn player ended the piece with a flourish, Hassel shook his sleeve up and glanced at his watch.
A little past 4:00.
He should go.
Standing up, he waved at Jayce through the glass. Jayce shot him with two finger guns. His voice came through a moment later: “Nice take, guys, really good. How’s that keyboard treatin’ ya, Hassie?”
“Fine, Jay.” Hassel tried not to sigh. Jayce always got caught up in his work; it wasn’t like he was trying to interfere with Hassel’s plans.
Mother gripped Hassel’s shoulder so tightly it almost hurt. Her nails dug into the suit jacket she’d picked out for him and pulled his shirt back so his tie pressed hard into the base of his throat. He swallowed thickly and stared helplessly at Amana, but she wouldn’t look back. She just stared straight ahead, acknowledging neither her family nor their guests.
“Hassel, Amana.” Father looked at them in turn, his orange eyes gleaming. “This is Jayce and Janiyah. Why don’t you show them to the training grounds?” His fierce gaze lingered on Hassel. The message was clear: obey, don't argue.
Janiyah looked about Hassel’s age, Jayce a bit younger, though not as young as Amana. Hassel led them down the hall with his head high.
“Aren’t you gonna hold his hand?” Jayce asked, skipping forward to get into Janiyah’s personal space the same way Amana did when she felt like Hassel wasn’t paying enough attention to her.
Janiyah flapped her hands, a flush darkening her cheeks. “Sh!”
Jayce toyed with the collar of his happi coat. “Then what’s the problem? We’re cookin’ here, y’know.”
“I have to go,” Hassel said, picking at his thumbnail. “I’m supposed to meet Brassius at 4:30, remember?”
Jayce wrinkled his nose. “Gentleman, let’s take five. Hassie, can you c’mere for a sec?”
Smiling awkwardly at Neo Revelation, Hassel worked his way around the room, careful not to trip over the hi hat or smack into the bass guitar. His heart thumped in his chest. This level of nerves was really uncalled for; he’d done what he’d been paid to do. He’d done it well.
Still, his heart pounded. He followed Jayce to a dark corner behind the studio’s only vending machine, bracing himself all the while.
Jayce only sighed and ran a hand through his twists. “C’mon, Hassie, you know I try to give new bands the celebrity treatment.”
“Yes, but…” Hassel bit at his thumbnail. “Brassius is expecting me. Remember?” Jayce looked at him blankly. “I’m moving?”
“Oh!” Jayce snapped his fingers. “Brassius! The, uh, the artist guy, right? In Cortondo?”
“Artazon.”
“Yeah.”
Hassel bit down at his thumbnail again before remembering himself and dropping his hand. He clenched it by his side instead. “I have to go, Jayce. I’m supposed to meet him at his studio so I can pick up my key.
“Aw, Hassie, c’mon. I pay your rent.” Jayce bounced on his toes. “And this Brassius guy’s by extension. Can’t you just tell him you’re gonna be late? I’m really expecting big things from Neo Revelation. Heck, they’re paying my rent.”
Hassel sighed and rubbed his forehead. How mad could Brassius really be? It wasn’t like it would be a big inconvenience. No, the only one inconvenienced would be Hassel. “Alright. Give me a moment, I’ll text him.”
Again, the keys stretched out before Hassel, a sea of black and white. He swallowed down a thin wash of nausea. It would be fine. Brassius would understand.
“Everything okay?” The bassist, Saul, looked down at Hassel. “If you have someplace to be, don’t let us keep you.”
Hassel smiled up at him, though all he saw was Jayce’s pleading expression, and shook his head. “I’ve adjusted my arrangements.”
Artazon rose up to meet Hassel in gentle degrees, colorful buildings and towering windmill growing more distinct with each step. He walked toward an uncertain future; at this point, Brassius was nothing more than words on a screen.
His guitar bounced on his lower back with every stride, anticipation building with every discordant thump-thump-thump.
Was this really finally happening? Or had weeks of couch-surfing across Levincia finally brought Hassel to mental wipeout, scattering the last shreds of his sanity across the rocks of desperation?
His nights in The Toxicthroats' punk house had been brutal, yes, but surely not that brutal.
Beside him, Gyarados grunted as if to remind him to get out of his head. Hassel smiled at him and they crossed the boundary into Artazon side-by-side.
What was it Brassius had said? Hassel checked his message log.
Ah, yes. 'The warehouse on the edge of town.'
Well. 'Wasehmuse o the dge of tow n' had been the exact message. Hassel could only hope he'd interpreted it correctly. Brassius must have been awfully preoccupied. That, or awfully careless.
Hassel paused and looked around. His fingers found the hem of his jacket ( Father's jacket), wood brown threads coming loose as he pulled. Damn. He really had to stop doing that.
Vague buildings surrounded him, none large or industrial enough to be the warehouse in question. In the street, a lone Sunflora dashed through a gathering of Smoliv and disappeared around a corner. A small group of people smoking on a street corner paid neither them nor Hassel any mind.
Gyarados rumbled and nudged Hassel around a corner with his big Dragon head. Hassel scritched him behind the crest. Good old Gyarados.
"Are you sure you're up to the challenge, Hass? It takes great patience to raise a Magikarp to full potential."
The little fish flopped on the shore, a charming gleam in its glossy eyes.
"Yes, Father! I choose Magikarp."
Hassel checked his text messages again. Brassius had said he’d forgotten the key… Yes, left it on a can of Marigold glaze, most likely.
And there was the warehouse.
Hassel tilted the little lever to unlatch the door and stepped inside, recalling Gyarados. Yellow tape caught his attention, thick strips of it marking out walkways and areas of caution. He followed these with his eyes, his gaze meandering around all the esoteric machinery and long, sharp pieces of metal scattered on tabletops. The whole place smelled like a sweaty handful Gimmighoul coins, the air just as cold as untouched metal.
Off in a corner, someone worked a lever, bringing a large machine into motion with a grating squeal followed by a much more pleasant click. Hassel watched for a moment. Push, pull, squeal, click. Push, pull, squeal, click. The metal went in straight and came out bent.
The effect was strangely hypnotic. Hassel stared until his awareness returned with a violent shudder of anticipation. Right, the key.
He found it atop a can of glaze next to a few angular, violent-looking tools. Hassel stared at them. So this was Brassius' workbench. Was he very big? Rough hands hardened by years of metalwork, bulging muscles. A blue collar to match Hassel's blue blood.
The sound of bending metal ceased all at once, the silence ringing louder for the contrast.
"Excuse me?" Footsteps on concrete.
Hassel turned, fiddling with the key. The worker he'd seen earlier approached and Hassel tilted his chin upward in acknowledgement. "Yes?"
"You're here for the key, right? You're Brassius' new roommate?"
"Yes. Hassel is my name."
The worker snapped their fingers and nodded, strands of dirty blonde hair falling around their face in open defiance of the bandana covering their hairline. "Aces."
"Aces," Hassel repeated. Father's mannerisms teased his face: cocked eyebrow, downturned mouth. He forced a smile.
"Name's Asahi." They stuck out their hand for a shake.
Hassel took it with the right amount of firmness, the right amount of power. "Can I help you with something, Asahi?"
Asahi nodded and produced a small rectangle of duct taped cardboard from their back pocket. "Can you give this to Brassius for me? I found it on the floor by the pottery wheel. He never goes anywhere without it, so I thought he'd hurry back to get it, but…” Asahi shrugged. “Guess not.”
Hassel nodded. "Yes, he mentioned he's been under the weather lately."
Asahi shrugged. "Burnout. Happens to everybody. You should have seen him in here earlier. He doesn't show up for a month, then he starts 20 projects in a day and scraps them all." They shook their head. "Anyway…?"
"Right." Hassel accepted the package and slipped it into his breast pocket. It was heavy for its size, dragged his oversized coat down off his shoulder. He buttoned it to offset this. "I need to get going." Brassius would be expecting him.
"Yeah." Asahi nodded. "Say hi for me."
Hassel fidgeted with the key, his key.
Right. Off he went.
Brassius had a hoarse, breathy voice made nearly incomprehensible by the phone's static and a deep, regional accent.
After Hassel had explained that he was on his way, sat through a long-distance coughing fit, and received his reply ("no trouble at all; I shall be here"), a new Brassius took shape in his mind.
Muscles gone soft with age, wheezy breathing, foggy eyes. Elderly and smelling perpetually of cigarette smoke, with a little lap Smoliv that followed him around and yapped at strangers.
…Did Smoliv yap?
"And you found the key without any trouble, yes?" Brassius asked, and even that short sentence was punctuated by gasps for air.
Hm? Oh! "Yes," Hassel said, the vision of a vaguely elderly man disappearing from his mind's eye. "Yes, thank you. It was very straightforward once I found the warehouse."
Another coughing fit rendered Brassius' reply incomprehensible.
“I’ll be there soon,” Hassel said when it seemed like the fit had passed.
“I shall be here.”
The light on the windmill blinked a greeting as Hassel made his way through Artazon. Gyarados floated along beside him, rumbling occasionally while Hassel squinted at the address numbers on the quaint little houses lining either side of the walking path.
Each house contributed a wash of colors to the mosaic of the neighborhood, bright expressions of individuality his family would have shunned. There was only one identity that mattered, the great Family identity and diamond patterns and coveted amber eyes. Lines and lines of flame-eyed ancestors tracing back to the dawn of civilization, to the dawn of Dragons.
Gyarados gave a low growl, tail lashing. "Are we close?" Hassel asked. Gyarados always had been observant. More observant than Hassel, at times.
They stopped at a narrow, two-story house. It was hard to make out the specifics in the dull yellow lamplight, but it might have been painted some dark shade of red or brown.
Gold rain chains hung from the gutters and tiny windmills spun in the front yard. They had a charming handmade look about them; the rotating blades wobbled slightly as they turned in the breeze. Hassel stared at them until Gyarados nudged him in the back.
With one final breath to steel himself, he marched up the porch steps and slipped his key in the lock. It turned easily, without the telltale scrape of a deadbolt. Unlocked. Then Brassius was most likely not in bed.
Hassel threw the door open with a little too much bravado, his voice booming in the small space. "Fear not! It is I, Hassel."
Warm colors and warm air greeted him, the atmosphere heavy with the distinctive, if abstract, scent of illness.
Hassel scanned the room. Vague shapes met his eye: shaded lamps, furniture, shadowy doorways. And there— Brassius.
Hassel's new roommate was a small man, made smaller by his slumped posture. He sat on the floor with his back pressed up against the couch, knees in danger of knocking the coffee table if he stood up too fast. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his shallow, choking breaths reminiscent of a panic attack.
But his eyes were closed, jaw slack.
Sleeping? Hassel peered at him. The shadows drew all the color from his face, leaving him gaunt and grayscale. Tangled wavy hair hung in his face to roguish effect, softening the dramatic angles of his jaw and cheekbones.
Hassel swallowed and recalled Gyarados, edging closer. "Brassius?"
He'd gotten close enough to read the letters on the gray crewneck hanging from his new roommate's shoulder, exposing a sharp collarbone: Lumiose University of Fine Arts. No surprises there.
"Excuse me?"
Close enough to feel Brassius' breath on his hands. It was alarmingly faint. Hassel knelt and had to steady himself against the couch at a dizzying rush of realization. It wasn't the lighting at all. Brassius had no color in his face, nothing but a blue tinge to his lips.
"Brassius!" Hassel fell to his knees and slipped his arms free of his messenger bag and guitar, which hit the ground with a smack and a discordant twang. He clawed out of his jacket, reaching out for Brassius' neck with two fingers, then withdrew and fumbled for his cell phone instead.
Three numbers. Cool, calm voice. "What's your emergency?"
"I— I'm— My new, my…"
"Take a deep breath, please, sir."
Hassel did, shooting a guilty look at Brassius. "My roommate is, is unresponsive. On the floor, I don't— He can't breathe I don't know what's wrong I don't know what happened I just got here and— Oh!" He choked out Brassius' address, his address.
The sound of his phone snapping shut jerked him into cold reality, everything bright and painful and real. He picked up Brassius' near hand and it was cold, fingertips the same asphyxiation-blue as his lips.
Hassel blinked away the tears pooling in his eyes, focusing on the slightest glimmer from beneath Brassius' lashes. "I-I'm not sure if you heard. I'm Hassel. Your new roommate. I, ah… I called an ambulance, so I think. Well." He paused, his breath hitching. "I'm sorry, I hope you don't mind me touching you like this. I think you're going to be okay."
He kept talking, disordered thoughts spilling out, until the sound of a siren split the air and the door flew open with scarcely a word of warning.
Hassel grabbed his bag and his guitar and backed up out of the way. No one paid any attention to him.
The EMTs surrounding Brassius spoke to each other in calm, authoritative tones and Hassel watched, his fingers going slack around the neck of his guitar. But he didn't move.
Couldn't move.
He had to stay and watch. Or watch over. Curious, the difference one little word could make.
The EMTs moved fast and Hassel moved faster, battle-honed reflexes moving his body before his brain could catch up. His guitar was down, coat back on, door locking under his hands. And Brassius was well on his way to becoming a concept once more, just the impression of his feet and two slamming ambulance doors.
"I want to come," Hassel said, and it was Gyarados in his voice: the insistent, rumbling growl resonating in his chest.
"Sir, it would really be better if you could meet us—" One of the EMTs paused for a split second.
Another nudged her, whispered "Look who it is."
"Passenger seat."
Hassel got in. His hands shook around the seatbelt and it took six unsteady attempts to get it buckled and the metal grated against the plastic. When he looked up, they were already high over Artazon. The takeoff had been so subtle he hadn't even noticed.
"Sir."
"I'm sorry?" Hassel shook himself.
"Is he taking any medications that you know of?"
'He?' Hassel nearly asked before landing in reality once again. Between the air rushing around the cabin and the terrifying beeping alarms and the urgent conversation of the other EMTs, he couldn't think. "I…" No, he didn't know that. Had no way of knowing that. Shouldn't be here. "I don't know."
"Drugs or alcohol?"
"I don't know, I…" Hassel worked his phone out of his pocket, clicking the buttons more frantically than he ever had in his life. "And his name is Brassius, by the way."
"I know."
Hm.
Hassel glanced at him for just a moment, what little he could see from this angle. Brassius was still unresponsive, still gasping like a man drowning. "He's been ill for a while." Clicking through the messages, tiny words on a tiny screen. "A few weeks at least." Since the start of their correspondence. What was wrong with him? He hadn't seemed concerned, and now…
Hassel squeezed his eyes shut. Whatever he had signed himself up for, he would commit himself to it, body and soul.
At some point, Hassel's thumbnail had found its way between his teeth.
"Don't chew your nails, Hassel. That's disgusting."
"I grind my teeth otherwise—"
"Don't talk back. And sit still."
"But—"
"Hassel! You're embarrassing me. Put your hands in your lap and sit. still. "
Hassel put his hands in his lap. The mysterious package in his pocket dragged his coat to one side.
Ah, when a simple delivery had been his greatest stressor. He pulled the strange package out and turned it over in his hands, but it remained as inscrutable as its unconscious owner. It was just cardboard wrapped in duct tape. Nothing more.
Brassius had been put on a ventilator. It made Hassel sick to look at him, but he looked. Here in the ICU, there was no hiding anything. Brassius was gaunt, terribly gaunt. Like a man on his deathbed, still and waxy, sweat gleaming on his brow. He'd been started on more medications than Hassel could ever hope to name, and tubes and wires connected him to a variety of devices, some life-sustaining and some monitoring.
Of the two, it was the monitoring devices that were most terrifying. The words and signs Hassel recognized among the cacophony of beeps and polysyllabic vernacular were dire: Brassius' heart rate was too fast, his blood pressure too low, temperature too high, blood oxygen abysmal, cell count irregular…
Tears welled up in Hassel's eyes. Brassius had been completely alone. For a long time, it seemed. How had things gotten this bad for him? Hadn't anyone noticed? Cared?
Hassel was not a man of vows. He'd shied away from his family oaths, left their values in whetted shards behind him so that none might follow.
But here in this hospital in Levincia, bathed in white light, something stirred in him the likes of which he'd never known. Wings unfurled, lungs smoldered, and a great tail lashed.
"Brassius." Tears streamed from Hassel's eyes and gathered beneath his chin. "I shall keep you. I shall stand you by."