Chapter Text
All Keith felt was pain
The ache in the souls of his feet.
The burning of his sword in his hands.
And the weight of the head in the other.
The hill was there, standing tall at the top was a pine tree.
He could remember those words clearly, his brother Shiro shouting over the roars
“A hill with a tall pine tree at the top!”
There had been many hills since he left, many monsters clawing after him.
Scratching his already deteriorating body.
But his bothers words repeated stuck in the crevices of his brain, playing on loop since he ran.
And hill after hill he climbed.
But this one.
This one felt real.
When he had left his hair barley reached the tips of his ears.
As he climbed the hill, he could feel the to the back of his neck, clinging like a second skin.
Blood dripping down his thigh, gripping the monster's hair tightly between his fingers as he looks over at the land below.
From the height he could the cabins spread far in the woods, people walking about.
He had made it.
He knew this was what his brother was talking about between screams and roars.
He does not know when, or how long, he had been standing at the top of the hill before someone spotted him.
But they did, the click of hooves ringing in his ears.
He stumbles forward.
Someone catches him.
And then it's dark.
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When he had come to, he was in a bright room, lying in a comfortable bed, with crumpled white sheet.
It looked late. from outside the window he could see the moon raised high in the sky, stars twinkling in the clear night. he ran his hand along the blanket covering his legs. they were nice, cotton and soft.
He grips the sheets tight in his hand. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept in a fluffed bed.
A night where he slept till he wasn’t tired anymore, the bags under his eyes felt lighter, better than a week ago.
Though sleep was still eating at the edges of his body.
Monsters had been chasing him ever since the blasted symbol had appeared over his head.
Tall and bright.
At least he thinks.
Lighting a beacon to all the monsters, saying ‘Hey! Come eat me I could be tasty!’ Keith didn't have time to see the symbol before the monsters started pounding on the door.
He could only see the light reflecting off the wall.
And his brother’s screams.
He shook his head, chasing the noises out of his ears.
He needed to get more sleep. To rest, before he leaves to find his brother. He knew Shiro could be long gone, but the nagging feeling in his stomach didn’t leave.
Not when he left, or when he checked half the hills in New York.
And there were a lot, tons of time to come to terms with his brother's death.
But Keith didn't believe it.
He’d give anything to be back at home, opening Christmas presents with his brother, laughing at shitty movies, and eating horrible stew that Shiro could never get right.
Keith winced as he rolled over.
The cut on his thigh burned, shifting in his place he lifted his blanket, unwrapping the bandage tied tightly around his thigh.
It looked better, a few weeks ago it oozed poison and blood. Sticks stuck on the inside his flesh.
Whatever ibuprofen they had worked.
Wrapping the bandage back around his leg, he stood, he needed to get rid of all the extra energy in his body walking around would hopefully put him to sleep.
Curious he walks to a table across the room, a wooden chest carved with gods and goddesses in their selfish glory, his knife lying flat on its back on top.
One of the few things that made it across the city.
Along with his brother's jacket.
The knife felt cool against his skin as he ran his finger along the edge of his blade.
A creak of wood and he is ready.
Knife up in defense, thinking not even for a moment before the knife slides out of his hand, slamming into the doorframe.
Weird.
Keith never missed.
Never missed when he was on the run, or when the monsters tried to get him in his sleep.
He never missed.
His eyes seemed to focus, laying sight on someone in the doorway.
A boy stood, frozen with shaking hands.
Tall built with lean muscle, brown hair and blue eyes, and a fresh set of clothes in his hands.
The boy let out a shaky breath and laughed nervously, side stepping the door frame and Keith to set his clothes on the table.
“Hello to you too...”
Keith doesn’t respond, only staring, he didn't look like a monster, but he's seen all types of beasts, he’d rather not take his chances.
The boy stood by the bed for a minute, rocking on the balls of his feet, hands tucked into his pockets.
Keith stayed put.
When would this kid leave? All he wanted to do was sleep, to fall back in the comfortable sheets and ignore the world around him, was that so much to ask for?
The boy slumped forward and wandered over to the door, looking at the knife stuck in the wooden door frame then Keith, before walking out like a kicked puppy.
Keith waited.
And waited some more.
Before walking to the door frame, ripping his knife out of the splintered wood.
The kid didn’t attack him, so at least Keith knew he was human. Or somewhat.
Running his hands over the blade once more, a strand wrapped around the end caught his eyes, a sharp object wrapped in twine.
A tooth.
A sharp one.
Keith didn’t remember it.
He knew he killed something.
He couldn’t remember what, but the head was heavy, and the hair was course.
Squeezing the tooth in his palm he lets it fall between his finger, watching the way it moved back and forth, before shoving the knife under his pillow, digging himself back into the bed.
He closes his eyes, but sleep doesn't come.
And he feels as if he's back in the woods.
The cold night eating away at his exposed skin, hair wet and sweaty sticking to his forehead.
His clothes were wet and dirty as they hung from his rapidly dropping frame. He could hardly sleep let alone find food. Any muscle he gained would shrink as he kept pushing with no food and too much water.
And now as he layed here in the dark.
It was all he could think about.
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Lance wasn't sure how he felt about this new kid.
He shows up holding the head of a crocotta, mouth forced open by gravity, blood dripping down its mangled face.
Hair wild and eyes glowing white.
That part applied to the sickly boy on the bed.
It was almost frightening to see the boy caked in blood and dirt, hair askew and eyes bright.
Lance mistook him for a monster at first.
Whoever he was.
He’s definitely been claimed.
Someone with that much power knows or at least believes that they know their godly parent.
And whoever it was, they were powerful.
Though the sickly boy didn’t look as much.
Of course, lance was scared when he saw him on top of the hill, but when he came down. He looked devastating.
Thick long hair sticking to his pale thin frame. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Knife held tightly in his hand.
When they got him to the cabin, lance quickly helped force feed him ambrosia.
It healed his wounds and put a little life under his skin, but it wouldn’t get him completely healthy.
The rest would be up to the boy.
He was quick, shocking lance with the knife, he could tell his aim was off, sleep still clinging to the boys' eyes, but being quick alone wouldn’t keep the boy alive in this world. He needed muscle and meat on his bones.
Dressed in white pajamas he almost resembled a deadly ghost.
As the minutes ticked by in Lances office, he wondered if the boy was getting any sleep, though he’d rather not meet a blade to his face, so he kept himself busy.
Typing up the scarce medical history they had on the boy, which were only the current injuries, trying to distract himself when he heard the alarm.
It was time to make sure the boy was still alive.
Standing a little bit cautiously he makes his way towards the boy's room the lights were off, Lance could see the clothes he had brought were still sitting on the table as he pushed the door, he didn't see his knife in the doorframe, probably hidden amongst those covers covering his body
He could see the boys eyes twitching and fluttering, he wasn't asleep, but Lance would leave him be. If he wanted to be left alone, he would leave him alone, he was breathing, so he took it as a sign that he'd be okay.
Turning to shut the door he hears quiet words slip from the boy's lips.
“Please leave the door cracked...”
It was much softer than he thought the boy's voice would sound like almost broken he sounded half asleep, he doubted he would remember it in the morning let alone bring it up again.
But nonetheless he let his hand slip from the doorknob and left the hallway light on, a quiet silence bouncing around the medical cabin.