Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Daniil lowered his head closer to the document and continued writing- the candle was too shy to illuminate the entirety of the work on yellowed paper, but he would not go and dare waste another one of Artemy’s household supplies for his sake. In any case, it was at least lucky that Town-on-Gorkhon, despite lacking electricity in most buildings, seemed to be favoured with the light of the moon. His back ached from the action but it was still bearable. He blinked; was it only Artemy’s supplies now if he was living in his home? Was it their home? They were getting more and more comfortable with each other… He shook his head. Not again…

It was one of many drawbacks in working late at night. Sure, there were less people to bother him, but then intrusive thoughts were that much more present and annoying. He shouldn’t be thinking about crawling into Artemy’s bed for the sole reason to feel the other’s warm breath against his neck. There were already times when they sat together on the couch, leaning too far against each other for polite company, but then again, it was often just them. When it wasn’t, it was when Daniil wasn’t quick enough to flinch away when one of the kids entered in.

Each time he pretended not to notice the disappointment on Artemy’s face. But Artemy never once complained or acknowledged it. Daniil stopped writing and was letting the pen hover above the page, ink dripping.

Fondness was dangerous, but the weight of an arm wrapped around him was delicious and felt comforting. Almost too much to resist. The weary smiles they exchange at the end of each shift, walking from the clinic together was… well, it filled Daniil with warmth, which he needed in the steppe’s winter air. The gruff and vibrating voice that resembled a cat’s purr was exhilarating each time a tease was whispered in his ear.

Daniil felt like a stray cat- fickle in affection and quick to run. Guilt pitted and swirled in his gut. Perhaps it was better if he stayed at the Stillwater.

He grumbled at the ink splotches on the page and blew out the candle.

If he was going to be unproductive and too romantic in his thoughts, then it was best to leave the dreaming where they belonged. In sleep.

He laid down unto the hard bed, barely bigger than the breadth of his shoulders, and let his mind wonder through all the thoughts unfit for work.

…

…

Only now, it appeared, that his inspiration for escape was lost and he just stared at a dull ceiling, waiting for unconsciousness to claim him. He closed his eyes in encouragement.

…

He needed to visit the Olgimskys tomorrow to discuss safety precautions in the Termitary. Too many butchers falling ill and getting themselves injured. There had to be a reason and with reason, a preventative. Speaking of which, he made a mental note and hoped for it to survive in the morning to take stock of all the painkillers they had. There must have been some that were expired. If they were, prescribing dosage would be a headache at best and dangerous at worst.

Daniil turned. How would a backwater town dispose of the painkillers? Fire? Bury it? Throw it in the river? Townsfolk already avoided it and no one drank from it. He should ask Artemy and Rubin about it; although they probably would be against throwing away any medication, the green horned idiots that they were. Maybe he should visit the Saburovs. Or would the Kains be more aligned with this? Neither would recommend seeing the other to solve medical disposal; they would try to fix the problem themselves- whether they were right or not. Perhaps the Olgimskys was the only choice since they would be wrong and thus, no one would be happy.

Daniil groaned and turned to the other side.

A looming shadow greeted him.

He jerked in surprise and did so hard enough at the figure to make they themselves flinch in turn.

The silhouette sniffled and started to sob.

Daniil’s heart sank and slowed. Murky. He sat up and let the light of the moon catch her small and crusty looking face. Even in the dark, he knew that her eyes were red and her nose was running.

“What is it, pumpkin? Is everything alright?” Daniil asked softly, hoping that the tone would help ease them both out of the adrenaline of his startled reaction.

“I threw up.”

“Oh.” He blinked and placed his feet on the cold ground. Daniil didn’t know how long he had been trying to sleep, but it was enough for him to have been fully warm and reliant on the blankets. Awkwardly and slowly, he opened up his arms, just enough for Murky to squirm in if she wanted to. He didn’t really know how to deal with this. This was more Artemy’s forte. “Come here, then.”

He wasn’t prepared for the speed she would take up the offer, nearly headbutting him off balance in the process. He stiffened at the impact to his jaw; he didn’t know where she vomited and didn’t even know if it covered her nightwear, now transferred to his.

Daniil shivered and felt frozen from emerging his cocoon of blankets, but he took notice how easily he was warming up. Murky was acting as an overworked little furnace against him.

“Murky, you’re burning.” He placed a hand on her forehead to confirm, and she seemed to lean more into his cooler, if only by comparison, hand. Images of her ignoring dinner earlier that evening and of her asking for another sweater came into mind. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know. Didn't want to be a nuisance. I don't know.”

He gathered her up in his arms and stood. He was surprised when he felt her lean more into him.

“First and foremost, let's get you cleaned up.” Daniil made his way to her room, rocking her, trying to soothe her, anything, as he felt her whimper. He didn't correct her, he realized. But, logically, if she didn't delay her announcement, then neither of them would be up in the dead of night.

He didn't know what to say; he wasn’t used to children. Nor to patients that were children. He's a researcher. Was. He was getting more accustomed now with the abundance of kids roaming around and constantly getting scrapped and sick with chicken pox and a myraid of other common ailments, but yet, there was something that felt different when… Well, she wasn’t his. He just lived in the same house as her. He just saw her more frequently.

“I messed up my bed- I tried sleeping on the floor but I can’t. My belly hurts.”

It wasn’t hard to imagine her trying to do that, in the corner furthest away from the window and its chill air. Daniil felt his heart ache at the imagery and knowing that she was used to it when she lived in the train car. But the train car had plenty of blankets for her to bundle up in; here, in the Burakh household, they were stacked on the top shelves. He rubbed her back when they entered into her room, not far from his.

“No, you have a bed to sleep on it. If it’s unusable, you should have come to me or your aba right away.” He patted her back and set her down gently. “I’ll clean up here while you take a bath. Can you take a bath by yourself?”

“Yeah. I’m not dumb.”

“Do you know how to heat the water?”

“No…”

“Alright… I can do that for you, then.” Daniil blinked at a sudden thought that occurred to him. The light of the moon illuminated her room more than his and now he can clearly see that her gown was covered with whatever it was she expelled. “Do you have any other night clothes?”

“No. This is my only one.”

Daniil gave a sigh, shaking his head. He couldn’t help but smile at how sad Murky looked with her crinkled nose, and huffing back a sob. Her predicament wasn’t what was amusing… it was the mere fact that she got to be a child now; innocent and relying on a near stranger to help her get clean blankets and clothes from her own home. It was sad and adorable.

“You can borrow one of mine until we clean this one up. Then we’ll get you more.” Ideally he would have gotten Sticky’s or Artemy’s roughed up clothing… but he was a guest here. It would be impolite to use Sticky’s, who would wake up as soon as Daniil turn the doorknob, and Artemy’s would be too oversized and look more like a potato sack on her, with a length that would cause her to trip over and over. “I’ll leave it on the sink after I prepare the bath, alright?”

“Okay.”

Daniil stripped the sheets from the mattress and cringed at the mess. He never thought he would be in this situation. He didn’t know how to feel about it. He wondered if he wasn’t doing this, then he would instead be tossing and turning in his bed, still thinking about work. He wondered if this was a welcomed distraction in the middle of the night. He had to light a lantern; surely Artemy wouldn’t mind the oil usage if it was for a worthy cause.

Which was caring for his adopted daughter. Daniil wondered more.

He had thought of the home still being Artemy’s and he was just a guest. Yet, only a short time ago, he mused in being a member of said home, calling it theirs. Was he thinking of the kids as well? Daniil stilled. He must have. They were far too much of an important element of Artemy’s life. Their life? But he reminded himself to be a stranger; which was rather inconvenient to be, especially if he had to remind himself of that fact. If this was his home now, and the costs were to be split, wouldn’t the chores be as well? Was this a chore of the household? It didn’t feel like it. It felt like something else.

He poured the vinegar unto the mattress, soaking it, and knelt to start scrubbing and cleaning what he could.

He was taking care of a child. It was strange. He was sweating and scrubbing a mattress, transferred to the floor, because a child sharing a household with him puked on it. He was on his knees, shirt covered in a crusting mess, scrubbing, because a little girl was cold and didn’t know what to do. So she came to him in the middle of the night.

He was tired. He needed to talk, potentially, with all three ruling families tomorrow, and he needed to do some house calls. And instead of resting his mind and body, he was cleaning.

But… he didn’t mind. It was something that needed to be done; it’s not like Murky wanted this to happen.

So he scrubbed.

“There, doesn’t that feel much better?” Daniil knelt down in front of her and looked her over when he heard soft and muffled footsteps enter into the room. The fever was as high as it was before, and she shivered more now that she was thrown into the cold world after a hot bath.

“I feel the same.” She whined with hair dripping wet. At least her eyes weren’t red and puffy anymore. She was hiccuping a little more now, and each time her whole body seemed to bounce in accompaniment.

“Okay. Then let’s get something to help you with-”

Vomited spewed unto him like a birth of a new geyser, projecting, reminding him of the misfortune of witnessing sewage pipes being cleared once or twice in the Capital.

All he could think of doing was to close his eyes and sigh, giving a moment just in case there was more coming. He should have known better.

“I’m sorry.” Her small hands went up to, what he feared was to wipe the mess from her mouth, but she instead wiped the tears from puffy eyes.

“It’s not your fault.” He replied flatly and opened his eyes. He tried to give a reassuring smile, but felt the tips of his mouth quivering in protest at showing anything but the disgust he was feeling. He meant it, it wasn’t her fault; she was helpless to stop it just as she was helpless to stop her tears. Using his sleeve, one of the last remaining clean parts of his shirt, Daniil wiped the remaining filth off her face. It didn’t look like anything else was victim to the recent expelling. Her borrowed gown was clean and she still needed to brush her teeth anyways.

He groaned upon feeling warm vomit dripping from his shoulder to his kneeling thigh, and proceeded to roll the hem of the now soiled shirt to try and bundle everything up before it reached the floor.

“Can you wait here so I can grab a… cleaner shirt?”

“Yeah.”

“I think you would feel much better if you brushed your teeth as well.”

“Okay.”

As he exited the room, Daniil couldn’t recall a time where he took off his shirt as quickly and carefully. The room would need to be cleaned and sanitized… again. As he dropped off the shirt to the filth room, on top of the discarded bedsheets and cleaning rags, he wondered if he would have to clean three of his night shirts for the usage of one night.

It didn’t matter, what mattered was the task at hand.

What he wasn’t prepared for was the small voice from the doorway when he was finishing buttoning up his now clean new nightshirt. The last one.

“Are you going to make me sleep outside?”

“Wha-? No, Murky, don’t ever think we would do something like that.” She sniffled more. That’s what was factual, but not what she really needed to hear, idiot. Daniil went over to her, and once more, a little bit more wary but without hesitation, knelt and combed her hair with his fingers. “You’re still too much of a princess for that. And I suspect that will always be the case.”

“But I’m gross and disgusting.”

With that, he tilted her chin slightly upward to look at him.

“Pumpkin, things at work are gross and disgusting. But not you. Never you.”

He gathered her into his arms, grabbing a bottle of medicine filled with circular pills on the way out with one hand, and walked downstairs, rocking and humming. Like before, he was surprised when she rested her head against him and practically burned his shoulder.

He was cold; he was always cold. It served a purpose for once, he thought.

Artemy would have been better at this. He should be giving her the care she needs, not the cold and callous Bachelor.

“What about Noukher? Aba? Sticky?”

“Aba and Sticky will never be either of those things to me either.”

In the kitchen, he grabbed a bottle of water, and navigating quite clumsily with only one hand, opened it and filled a small glass which what he assumed was previously a jam jar. Cursing for not bringing the lantern down, he had to squint to read the label on the bottle of medicine. The dosage as is might be too high for her.

“You forgot about-”

“Shh, I’m reading…” He mumbled out. She gave a squeak and burrowed deeper into his shoulder, trying to find a spot still cold with his apparently reptilian like blood.

If pouring water was hard, then cutting a small pill with the closest knife into fours was herculean. But he couldn’t put her down. If she felt comfortable and finally stopped crying from him carrying her, he wasn’t going to deny her that. He found that trying to cut the small pill with the blade closest to the handle gave him the most control, but it also left him unable to see it.

He had to go through three pills in order to get the right size that wasn’t too large or too small. If needed, he’ll save the discarded pill bits for himself and Daniil knew was going to need it soon; no way that whatever was plaguing her would spare him now.

“Here, swallow this with the water. Don’t chew.”

Her small hands took the quarter dosage with no hesitation; the action made him almost smile, if he wasn’t so concentrated in making sure that she didn’t drop it and forced him to ruin another pill. He was used to the children jeering and taking anything he gave them with reluctance with some of the ruder ones mocking him. He gave her the water as soon as he was able and she drank it quickly.

“It’s bitter. I don’t like it.”

“Guess what? Neither does the thing that’s making you sick. It will leave soon and you’ll feel better.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay. I’ll remember if it doesn’t.”

The walk back upstairs and into her room was… peaceful. Somber. He didn’t know how to describe it other than satisfying. It wasn’t a welcomed distraction, but it was new. So many new things happened in such a short time frame and this one was timid. Perhaps that was the feeling he had; relief.

But her large eyes with furrowed brow followed him as she tried to get comfortable in her clean bed. He eyed her in turn as he covered her with two new blankets.

He wanted to give a sigh, because he knew what that frown meant. But he didn’t; he would have given her his answer before he even asked the question with that.

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.”

He trudged to the small chair in the corner of the room, perfectly sized for a little girl, lovingly handcrafted by Artemy, after a couple of stubbed thumbs and cuts that Daniil had to help bandage, of course, and sat down. His heart gave a jolt when he felt like he was going to land on the floor until he felt the seat and his knees almost hit his face. This was too much excitement for one night, he concluded.

He tried to find a comfortable position; stretching his legs, tucking them back in. Arms hanging off the little chair, then resting on his chest, only finally finding something by swinging one arm over the back rest, letting his head rest on his shoulder and legs crossing each other over on the side.

It was comfortable.

Until his back and shoulder started aching moments after.

He wasn’t changing position, he stubbornly thought. Weary eyes tried to close- he could try to outlast a small fevered child and go back to his bed. The lantern, now on a little table nearby also perfect for a little girl and her tea parties, was running out of oil. He decided to try and focus on the flames dancing to keep himself occupied. He couldn’t imagine sleeping like this.

“You look funny, like one of my dolls that I tried to sew before giving it to Auntie Gravel.” The small voice rang out from the darkness.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Thank you.” He heard a faint snort; as if she was trying to hold herself from giggling. His eyes adjusted to the darkness until her silhouette, lying down and comfortable, was outlined by the moon’s silver. “How is your stomach? Your head?”

“I think that the bad thing is going away. I feel much better.” He hummed and was about to stand up when Murky continued. “Are you going to leave now?”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Not really.”

He felt an internal groan ache in his bones.

“So I won’t.”

Silence.

Her eyes, half lidded with sleepiness, reflected the fire’s glimmer.

“Are you our dad now?"

That jolted Daniil more than anything that happened during the night.

No.

No.

No, he wasn’t.

He was a stranger. A guest. Some stray that Arte- Burakh picked up along the way. He got too comfortable here. He lived under the same roof but he wasn’t a father. That question hit him too hard in a place he hated. Daniil was appalled with how much he wanted to run. He wanted to scream; not at at Murky but at himself. No- he also wanted to scream at her as well that she shouldn’t say that.

Perhaps a year ago he would have been insulted.

But instead, he felt shame.

His silence was deafening.

Perhaps it bothered him because of how she asked so directly- so manner of factly. Or at the possibility that she was asking him to retort his answer in the cruel way that children liked to do.

“No.” He spoke, trying to make it as light and humorous as he could. “I just felt sorry for you.” He would never be dishonest with children. There was no point in saying anything otherwise.

Now the silence from her was deafening. Daniil prayed that she wouldn’t cry. That was not his intent.

“I remember my daddy,” she started, “you remind me of him, sometimes.” His heart twisted in a painful ugly throb. “Aba is more fun though.”

“No doubt about that. Thank you for telling me.” He would never lie to children. There was no point.

“Good night.” Her tone was warm. He blinked and hoped that she didn’t feel what he was currently absorbed in.

“Good night, pumpkin.”

He thought he would be occupied with the fact he didn’t clean the floor yet. Or the meetings with the three families. Or the painkillers. He left the pieces of the medication on the counter, didn’t he? But no. He spent the time thinking about Murky’s father. Was he serious and stern? Was he an angry man? Was he present in her life when he was alive? Was he educated? Did he carry her around as well? Was he soft spoken or silent? He should have asked her what she meant. For all he knew, the only similarities they could have shared was black hair.

“Daniil?” The voice was accompanied by very apparent footsteps and Daniil awoke with a gasp.

“Tyoma- ah!” Aches and pain shot up his back and shoulders. His head was pounding, his mouth was dry, and he nearly lost balance on the small chair. His neck was the worst of all. How did he manage to sleep like that?

“You know… you have a bed.”

Daniil rolled his eyes and shuffled to his feet; the pain wasn’t too bad if he stood straight. But he can see Artemy wince at the cracks his bones gave and the groans that echoed them. The daylight was bright and still yellow; just a moment after sunrise, he figured. He could still rest, completely horizontal, on his own bed.

“Well,” he nearly hit the doorway going into his own room, “Murky invited me to a tea party and the hostess fell asleep before I got any refreshments. The nerve.”

Artemy huffed out some amusement from behind. When he entered the room, some pages were still on his desk. It seemed like ages ago that he wrote them. Daniil changed his plans and passed the bed to sit on the chair; regardless of his desire for decent sleep or a nap at this point, it was daytime. And that meant he was expected to fulfill his duties.

This was all a distraction… Maybe he should leave for the Stillwater.

“Hmm. What really happened? I can kind of piece together what went on- there's evidence here, downstairs, and well- I don't like to assume.” Daniil knew Artemy was smiling, wanting to hear everything from Daniil.

“She got sick and needed some attention during the night. There are some dirty sheets in the filth room that need attending to-!” Daniil muffled a yelp when strong hands caressed and massaged his shoulders.

A wave of shivering pleasure rode up his spine and forced him to release a cleansing breath. Artemy must have been desperate to make him grunt and moan because each touch, each stroke, in all their pressure, was perfectly glorious in making his body sing for relief. Those hands were experienced and felt like they knew Daniil’s body far more intimately than possible. Daniil closed his eyes when stars started appearing and willingly became compliant underneath the other’s touch.

“Hmm.” Daniil was lost in the bliss and pleasure, half lidded and nearly drooling when Artemy hummed that out. Though he couldn’t see the other man; he couldn’t even if he wanted to, given the dulling ache in his neck, he knew the brow was furrowed, deep in thought.

“Something is on your mind.”

“Usually she comes to me for anything. Or at least for stuff like that.”

"Oh? Are you jealous?” Daniil teased, nearly slurring his words; he was being far too casual. He blamed it on the exhaustion, soreness, and Artemy making him drunk with attention and touch.

“Did I make her angry?”

"No. Ugh.” Memories swamped him through the haze; remembering how dark it was, how disgusting the entire situation was, and how much he had to do just to make sure Murky got some sleep. “Throughout the entire process she was saying how gross she was and how she should sleep outside… I think she would rather have me see her in an unflattering angle than her aba. If one of us were to find her ‘gross,’ then let it be the one that she’s less scared to lose.”

Daniil frowned as he finished. He realized only now that he didn’t see her in her room upon waking up.

He wanted to whimper when he felt the gentle hands graze off his shoulders and heavy footsteps walk away from the desk. Daniil mentally corrected himself; it was nice while it lasted, and it was kind that Artemy did that, unprompted. It took him a while to center himself, to blink more consciousness into his day before he stood and turned around.

Artemy was there, smoothing out his bed that he left tussled and rough, in ocean waves, from eagerness to treat Murky.

“I see… Want to lie face down?” Artemy gestured to the bed.

Artemy must have been mirroring Daniil’s dumb smile when his own appeared. Sure, Daniil wouldn’t have to treat sick children in the middle of the night at the Stillwater, but he wouldn’t have had this reward either. He imagined what he must have looked like; haired tangled and mussed up, dark circles under his eyes, shirt probably inside out regardless if the buttons were on the correct side, knowing his luck, and a dumb sleepy smile at Artemy’s offer. No wonder Artemy was amused.

Artemy let his hands travel down Daniil’s spine; shivers of releasing pain and pleasure were wrung out the sore body. Daniil resorted to biting the pillow as Artemy worked his magic, using his steppe Lines, no doubt. Artemy knew exactly where and how and how much pressure Daniil’s body needed… and Daniil knew that it wouldn’t have felt as good if someone else was touching him.

“Does that feel good?” Artemy asked; falling as a tease on Daniil’s ears.

“Mmph…” Daniil mumbled through the pillowed and closed his eyes. He was ready to fall asleep.

He was falling asleep and Artemy knew it. He relished in it.

“She likes you, Daniil. Sticky, too.” Artemy spoke tenderly.

"I'm here, that’s all I am.” Daniil answered back when he was able to compose himself. "Should I leave, they would adapt to it easily and find a new passing interest... or fill in the vacancy with another presence.” He wondered if he was ever going back to the Stillwater, or if he was even able get out of town. He kept his words ambiguous; he knew that in the core of the concept, there wasn't a mystery, he would stay until they told him it was time to go... and there many ways to tell him to go. He was always listening for them. Artemy’s working hands slowed. There was a sweetness and bitterness to the new experience, timidly coming in slowly in his life, and knew it can be torn from him. He didn't know if it would be a mercy or a tragedy if it was. He still didn't know if it was a welcomed distraction, or if it was a distraction at all. “After all, I find myself realizing that I disliked most of my classmates now that I don’t have to see them all day, every day."

“All day?”

“Boarding school.”

“Oh… It’s not the same thing. You’re…” Artemy stopped, not out of anything but a sudden commitment to the conversation. Maybe pity.

He knew what Artemy was going to say. It’s not the same thing. You’re a father figure now. Or maybe he wasn’t and Daniil assume that becase that’s how he would finish that sentence.

Daniil swallowed a bitter pill. He knew that what that feeling was when he was carrying Murky up the stairs. It wasn’t satisfaction. It was the same feeling as seeing Artemy in the kitchen, looking for a jar of candies that he forgot he already emptied. Seeing Sticky sleeping after studying with Daniil’s books still in his hands. What he felt when Murky played with her dolls and tried to make them insult one another with what he said earlier that day, struggling with the pronunciation and enunciation all the while. What he was feeling now, seeing Artemy offering the much needed comfort.

Domesticity.

But he knew well enough now that what he felt wasn’t what everyone felt. That feeling is fragile and fleeting. It can run from him. And what frightened him more is the possibility that he might be the cause of it's creation and destruction. He was a stranger in this house. They deserved better than a stranger. At least someone that doesn’t consider themselves a stranger.

Artemy gave a sigh, a sad one, the same one when Daniil flinches away from him when the kids walk on them sitting too closely with each other on the couch. The same one when he sees Rubin and Lara together, chatting closely in front of everyone, whilst he and Daniil make sure to be on opposite sides of the room. On Daniil’s request. He gave that sad little sigh and continued massaging Daniil.

“Aba?” Murky sniffed back a running nose and popped her head in. She tilted her head in confusion at the position the two were in.

“Oh, hey kiddo?” Artemy answered.

“Are we going to look for the Albino creature?”

“Oh… Um…” Artemy left Daniil lying on the bed face down. Daniil didn’t want to move after finally experiencing some comfort so he didn’t. “First- how are you feeling?” Artemy held a hand to her forehead. She sniffled and coughed when squirming her face away from him. Artemy gave a pleased hum.

So no fever, at least. Daniil secretly hoped that she would projectile vomit on Artemy. Nothing more than to know that someone else experienced it. But he was equally pleased when her rosy cheeks and bright, yet grumpy, eyes scrunched up when swatting Artemy’s hands away in a picture of near perfect health.

“Good enough. Come on, Sticky is waiting.”

The adults both knew that she should be in bed, resting. Artemy stammered and was clearly thinking of an excuse to cancel the apparent trip they had planned. Daniil cleared his throat to prompt them both to look at him, full attention and all.

“Sorry Murky, these bones are hurting and require attention, so your aba has to help me with this. He can’t go.”

“Sticky is going to be irritated.” She whined.

Daniil planted his face on the pillow and shrugged. He was too tired to care about being the children’s villain.

“Let him be irritated. If my back hurts then your aba can’t go anywhere. And my back is hurting now.” He mumbled out while waving a hand.

“Why?”

He was tired of being nice. This was yet another dangerous territory. He couldn’t let her know the cause, lest she thinks or Sticky calls her a nuisance.

“Because I worked too hard at work yesterday, pumpkin. My body only now realized that.”

“Because of people at work?” Her voice was closer, as if she was rounding the bed to go and observe him scientifically. He rolled his head towards her.

“Yes. Because of work. Too many people there at once.” The clinic was empty yesterday. He supposed that it was okay to lie to children from time to time or at least indulge in half truths; it was because of work indeed.

“Okay…” It was almost adorable, how sweet and self conscious she- “STICKY!” Her shriek pierced and rang in Daniil’s ears, Artemy winced with a poorly suppressed smile behind her, hands slightly raised trying to signal her. Alas, the voice was too shrill and quick to be stopped.

“ABA CAN’T GO BECAUSE DA- THE BACHELOR IS SICK!”

“Ask if we can go without him!” Sticky’s voice echoed from the stairs. Daniil grunted and tried to silence the world by covering his head with the pillow.

“No, you can’t!” Artemy shouted out the door, prompting an anguished groan. “Murky, why don’t you play with your dolls and paint what you think the Albino looks like?”

“It’s not as fun.”

“But you feel tired, don’t you, kiddo?”

“Yeah...”

“Then go. We can take a walk around later after I know the Bachelor feels better.”

“Okay.”

Daniil watched, feeling all the skin underneath his eyes stretch and curl with effort from exhaustion and shot a dirty glare at Artemy, who was reapproaching his work station.

As he should. Artemy gave a laugh that vanquished Daniil’s glare.

“That was sweet of you. Taking the blame like that and making sure that she-”

“Just shut up and make it hurt.” Daniil felt a knuckle dig into his shoulder and it ached beautifully.

They didn’t talk much, Artemy was concentrated on his work. But Daniil was wondering the entire time, Murky’s words from last night still haunting him, if the “Da-” she was shouting was for “Daniil” or “Dad.” He didn’t know which one made him ache more.

Chapter Text

Sticky’s morals didn’t always point north- the boy was a teenager, after all. He lied and “borrowed” supplies, and more importantly, he learned how to use others’ weakness against them, using his youth and inexperience as a shield whilst he could. Guilt, fear, kindness, and even anger. It didn’t take Daniil long to realize that when Sticky was quiet, he was observing. Adapting. In order to break the rules in one’s favour, one must learn the rules in the first place.

Sticky’s morals didn’t always point north, but his diligence and work ethic did. It impressed Daniil how eager he was to help and to learn. If Daniil told him to be at the clinic at the crack of dawn, then Sticky would be there when the stars were still shining brightly.

Surely, thought Daniil, that he would tire after a week or two. A month, tops.

But no, each day Sticky was present for his lessons… which was just hovering over whomever was working at the clinic with the occasional explanation to sate either him or the boredom that plagued them all, and never complained about the fact that half the time he was an over glorified errand boy; sent out to give reminders and test results to patients or to the healers running around town. There wasn’t much to do, but Sticky drank every opportunity to learn and help, often following Daniil like a duckling would within the clinic walls and outside. It amused Daniil each time he offered to carry the carpet bag. And he did a couple of times.

But when he really shined in Daniil’s eyes was during surgeries. Where he did absolutely nothing. Rubin didn’t care for him being there, often actively showing disinterest at any mention of the boy, and Artemy often forgot that Sticky was even present half the time- eyes, ears and mind were too focused on the patient. Sticky would sit in the corner, silent, free to leave at any moment, until the the very end.

Burakh, what are you doing? Daniil would ask.

Closing. We’re done here, Artemy would reply each time. Daniil knew he was done. They both knew that the patient was stable, and Artemy’s shoulders would relax.

Sticky, come here; there’s only so much you can learn from a book, Daniil would command shortly after, keeping his focus on the patient to pinpoint the area he wanted Sticky to learn more about. Then eager footsteps would echo in the small sterile room. Rubin would glare but not say anything.

It only took six surgeries for Sticky to stop going out of the operating room to throw up.

Six times he had sat in silence, ever watching. Never complaining. Never joining into their conversations. Six times he sat through hours worth of surgeries just to glance at the human body up close and have his own body declare it too disturbing for him. Yet, he didn’t quit and tried to stomach it a little longer the next time.

He didn’t quit when they lost their first couple of patients.

In fact, when that happened, Daniil found him reading later into the night, brow furrowed, lips mumbling, an occasional wipe of his sleeve to dry leaking eyes and a runny nose, studying any medical textbook. Anything to understand Daniil’s notes and summaries of the operations better and be prepared for the future operations. The boy had passion.

Daniil wanted him to succeed.

Daniil wanted Sticky to know that his efforts weren’t in vain. Even when he felt queasy. Even when they failed to cure a patient. Even when he felt like he wasn’t doing nothing.

So Daniil, in the spur of the moment one night, started going through and calculating costs and benefits.

“It’s frivolous and unneeded.” Rubin spoke sternly, his arms crossed as he turned to the Captial dandy.

“It’s a necessity,” Daniil retorted and shoved the documents filled with numbers and notes back to Rubin. Rubin frowned as he accepted the papers only to immediately smack them flat against the desk without a second glance. The room, despite it being cluttered with various miscellaneous equipment and cleaning supplies, seemed to ring out every sound it filled with heavy warmth.

Daniil finally managed to get Rubin’s full undivided attention away from organizing the surgical gowns in the office, and it dawned on him how ridiculous the request was. But from the corner of his eye, sitting behind the desk, Daniil noticed Sticky flinch at the sound, and that lit a fire in the Bachelor’s belly. He didn't know the boy was there initially, but now it was the point of no return.

“Don’t be absurd. We have better use of the finances elsewhere, like in repairs. Don’t twist us into burning money we actually need for something as dull as your pride.” Each word dripped from Rubin’s lips with a growl, stepping closer to hover over the shorter man. The floor creaked under the Goliath’s weight.

Daniil groaned and narrowed his eyes. Daniil wasn’t a short man by any means, but in this cursed town that seemed determined to breed giants, he tended to be the shorter one in the room. Not that he cared, not one bit, but what absolutely irritated him was when the people tried to incorporate their height into the conversation. As if being a couple inches taller would suddenly make them right.

No wonder the children in this town like to climb and stand on rotting boxes with protruding nails when talking to adults. Daniil straightened his spine and his vest in turn.

“We’ll manage. It’s an investment, it’s only a uniform.”

“We. Don’t. Have. The. Funds.” Rubin enunciated once more. “How many times are we going have to tell you-!”

“Bullshit ‘we don’t have the funds’-” Daniil gestured with his fingers, giving an extra childish display of his mockery, “- we are the only three people resembling doctors here! The townsfolk will surely at least give us discount! Hell, maybe even find our cause worthy enough to donate after saving their lives!”

“Dankovsky.”

Rubin eyed Sticky, forcing Daniil to follow the gaze and then relax. Rubin didn’t have to say anything and had more than enough grace to not say it aloud in front of a child; they saved plenty of lives… and they also failed. They both failed more times than succeeded, in fact. Each man, woman, and child lost someone and everyone knew. Daniil looked down, shame dawning on him, and brushed back his hair. He shouldn’t have said that.

“Oh, you’re right. I’m putting too much faith on common sense and common decency here.” Daniil huffed out, trying to reel his anger back into mere annoyance.

“You say that with the numbers saying otherwise.”

“If you read the numbers, than you’d see how we can make it work.”

“I have and we can’t.”

“What, have you consulted with Yulia while we were having this discussion? Is she hiding in the closet?”

“Didn’t need to, I know basic math.”

“Now if you only knew basic decency.” Rubin stiffened at Daniil’s comment.

“Basic decency,” the tall man growled, “would refrain from making a spectacle out of our patients for the amusement of some boy.”

“Leave Sticky out of this- are you forgetting he worked for Isidor? Surely that means something to you.” Rubin flinched and scowled at that- eyes burning. Daniil decided he didn’t care. “Besides, I inform the patients of the team that would be present and included him each and every time.”

“Wait, really?” Sticky squeaked out, a grin plastering unto his freckled face. It made Daniil feel a little lighter, and gave him a little more fire to wear Rubin down. He never realized how young Sticky could look.

“You shouldn’t do that. It’s wrong and you know it, Dankovsky.” Rubin glared at Daniil.

It wasn’t that Rubin was being unreasonable. Sticky was inexperienced and helped minimally. In fact, Rubin corrected Sticky once or twice when they gave him the opportunity to try and hand over the tools to Artemy. He was a child. A child that can come and go as he pleased. A child that, with one careless move or a cough, could contaminate the patient. Daniil once more stood a little straighter, trying to think of a rebuttal, mouth agape, but nothing came out.

Bachelor Dankovsky indeed should not invite, nor include, a child to be part of a medical team. But Daniil wanted to, and Daniil wanted to because Sticky wanted it so desperately. He closed his mouth shut.

They stood like that in silence, both crossing their arms and sternly looking at the paperwork, at Sticky, at the crumbling clinic, and at each other. Rubin smarting from the mention of his old teacher. Daniil wondering why he was fighting so hard for something he himself knew that was unnecessary. Rubin was right.

What they truly needed was to have Artemy appear, and like a moth to a flame, Daniil could feel his heavy steps approaching them. It only took the surgeon a few moments to emerge from the doorway, knocking on the door if only to get their attention. Relief and dread washed over him in circles.

“What’s going on here?”

“Dankovsky wants to have his ward play dress up. Sacrifice some of our garments in the meantime, too.” Rubin finally spoke, pointing at the discarded folder of papers with an open stiff hand.

“He’s not my ward and he’s not playing dress up.”

Artemy hummed and rubbed the back of his neck, soothing an ache.

“Sticky, can you answer me?”

The eyes of three men fell on Sticky, who in turn looked down and started swinging his feet, hand fidgeting on the wooden curl of the chair, tracing the scratches and imperfections.

“Bachelor thinks that I should get a surgical gown or two… and some nicer clothes… for when we do house calls.”

“… What?” Artemy snickered. “That was what the yelling was about…?” He snickered more, covering his mouth this time.

“Cub, please be serious-”

What came out of Artemy was a mixture of a snort and a gasp before it evolved into laughter. Sticky smiled and tried to laugh along, but looked at Daniil in a defeated and humiliated way. After a while of Artemy playing out his mental visuals of Sticky being, no doubt, in an attire or a costume that perfectly mimicked Daniil’s red vest and crisp white shirt, Daniil started tapping his foot with pursed lips. Artemy let up, wiping tears from his eyes shortly afterward.

“I rather have people assume that he’s my assistant rather than a stray that walked in with me. He knows the equipment enough to assist me, and I want him to get enough field experience to one day help you both.” Daniil gritted through his teeth. Sticky needed to learn the value of both skill and presentation; Both were equally important in the eyes of the patient. A filthy shirt does not comfort a scared patient coughing up blood and ripped pants insults the family when giving condolences.

Artemy let his laugh die down until only a cheeky smile remained.

“Sorry. Sorry, Sticky. It- I just didn’t expect that. Had nothing to do with you.” Artemy waved himself off to Sticky before turning to Daniil. “Did you write up an estimate?”

“Of course I did; who do you think I am?” Daniil placed his hands in his coat pockets. Rubin was the one that yanked the paperwork from the desk with little love and grace, and jutted it to Artemy. Artemy squinted and flipped through the pages.

Artemy started reading and a familiar tight brow settled. It felt like ages passed as Daniil observed Artemy’s eyes go back and forth, back and forth, reading each line and each word with care. He certainly spent more time looking it over than Rubin did. Daniil could have sworn that Sticky was going to start blurring away from their reality from the amount he was trying so hard to keep his focus on literally anything else, distracting himself until the answer appeared.

Finally, Artemy spoke.

“Is this really important for you, Bachelor?” Artemy shifted his eyes from the page to Daniil and Daniil swallowed a hard lump.

“It’s important for the clinic.” Daniil corrected him. This had nothing to do with Daniil. This had nothing to do with pride; but it had everything to do with Sticky and his future and even the future of the clinic. If he chose to stay in the Town. He could receive a Capital education if he wanted to. Daniil would find a way if he chose that as well. Artemy’s shoulders rose as he gave a heavy sigh, before relaxing and shaking his head. Daniil didn’t know what Sticky was feeling when he himself was feeling a cold pit of anxiety fall into his stomach with that gesture.

“Stakh,” Artemy smiled with infuriating coyness, the same one he would give when holding Daniil closer to him in the mornings before setting down breakfast, and looked at the Bachelor, “we can afford this. An outfit and three modified gowns? That’s within reason.” Daniil let go a small sound of relief and returned the warm expression.

But Rubin ignored all the intimacy between them, or he didn’t notice, and stepped forward to point at the lower part on the second page.

“Take a closer look at where’s he’s pulling the funds from; that’s what I have an issue with. At this pace, we may need to attend a town meeting.”

Now Daniil, once again, started sweating. They got funds from the community and from the ruling families- but really, it was more like table scraps from both. Over time, they found that the pool donated by the ruling families where best served for the building and equipment, whilst they relied on the people for their daily wages. Sometimes the costs of one required them to dip their hands into the other reservoir. Sometimes, if they needed even more, one of them would have to go to a town meeting, hat in hand, and… beg.

Sticky shouldn’t know, shouldn’t worry, about anything other than his education.

“Sticky, can you excuse us for-” Daniil tried to sound out quickly.

“We would only need to transfer a week or two worth of funds from the clinic. I highly doubt anything will break within that time, and we already managed to place the ventilation system we needed.” Artemy spoke, loudly. Too loudly. Daniil felt his teeth ache with how hard he was clenching his jaw, praying that Artemy wouldn’t say anything more… especially in front of a child. Daniil could only imagine what was running through the boy’s mind.

No need to spend money on me, Bachelor. But the Bachelor wanted to. I don’t need much. But he deserves it and more. I’ll pay you back, honestly! Daniil wouldn’t want him to think about paying any of them back.

“On top of that, he’s the one contributing the lion’s share,” Artemy finished with a shrug. Daniil smacked his hand against his eyes, sound muffled from the gloves. It would have so much easier if Rubin just signed off and Artemy being blissfully unaware of the paperwork and finances as usual. He was only ever invited in to be a tie breaker for their arguments. A frequent request. Daniil dreaded the treatment of smug smiles and teasing taps that will await him at home.

It took a while for his hand to slide off his face.

What he wanted was foolish. He knew that. He knew that what he was doing was idiotic. If Artemy suggested that only a few months ago that they should get some nicer clothes for Sticky on the clinic’s budget and permanently place three surgical gown out of commission for the three of them, Daniil would be parroting and agreeing with Rubin.

“We all have our needs and payments- if one of us can’t afford heating or food because of vanity then we can’t function at full capacity. That’s not even counting the funds we would sacrifice that keeps the clinic running.”

But it wasn’t about him.

“Oh,” Daniil snorted, “you truly have a heart of gold. Have you forgotten I’m living within Burakh’s house now? Don’t use that as an excuse. Pretending to be a humanitarian doesn’t suit you. Your paycheck will be untouched, I assure you.”

“You shouldn’t rely on his generosity and leniency with rent and discard the price of three extra mouths to feed. It’s about respect. I don’t know of your agreement or arrangement, but whatever you’re giving him-”

“Our arrangement is our business and our business only, Rubin.” Daniil snapped, more shrill than he meant to. Artemy had opened his mouth, but Daniil was quicker this time. Too quick. He now wanted to cover his mouth. Daniil didn’t know if he almost shouted in defense, frustration, or just to less than subtly signal to Artemy to keep quiet. Rubin blinked, turning his head to his Artemy, his childhood friend, then back to Daniil, his obnoxious coworker from the Capitial, and then back to Artemy, trying to get the gears in his head to turn. Daniil saw him mumble a bit and heard something about the Capital’s influence.

Artemy was practically glowing with the events unfolding, nearly laughing, and Daniil felt his face color, realizing that either Rubin was too dense or didn’t care about the implications of their… arrangement. Daniil was getting too comfortable and that was dangerous when charged with emotions and the need to be right. And… he felt his shoulders relaxing. Rubin is either was too dense or doesn’t care… Maybe he just doesn’t care.

He felt something that wasn’t relief. But it felt like it. It felt sweet. A feeling growing familiar and gentle. Daniil longed for it and feared that feeling.

“It’s something we do not need.” Rubin snapped him back to reality. “I’m worried what he has planned for the future. He knows it’s for vanity’s sake. That’s why he’s asking us and not the one of the families to sponsor it specifically, just like we did for the new ventilation system.”

Artemy gave a nod and bit his lip. Daniil could try sweet talking Maria to having her family commission a few uniforms for a young boy. But the idea didn’t sit right. Daniil wanted the gift… to come from the clinic. From Artemy and him. Daniil didn’t argue, only stoned his gaze.

“It's alright,” Sticky squeaked from the chair, "we can just tie up some of the garments here, right? We don’t really need to pay some lady to cut up the gowns. I can use those, can’t I?”

“They don’t make it in your size. Having something that fits is important and it needs to protect you and the patient.” Daniil was speaking to Rubin as much as answering Sticky. “Wouldn’t want an oversized sleeve to soak up blood, with all that entails, and stain your skin in exchange of giving the patient impure particles, do you?”

“Oh…”

Artemy patted his friend’s shoulder and gently turned it for Rubin to face him. From the shift, the light from the outside was warm on Rubin’s face and highlighted the weariness that constantly stained it.

“Don’t you remember being so young and hungry for more? He told me and Dankovsky he wants this more than anything.”

Rubin’s eye’s softened at the familiar gesture and the words. Daniil blinked, Artemy wasn’t going to make his case as a professional and appeal to his logic. Rubin was hard on that course and immovable. But… Artemy can appeal to his emotions as a father. It wasn’t memories of running in the field or observing bugs near the large stones must have been running through his mind, it was of Isidor. Artemy let the moment breathe, waiting for Rubin to return a rebuttal. But he didn’t.

“Stakh, Sticky will be of age in a couple of years. It’s a rare expense and won’t happen again for a while. Granted he’s behind in formal education, but if his eagerness is genuine, than soon we will have to consider him staff and we better start-”

“Wait, really? Not ‘assistant’ or ‘volunteer?’ Staff?” Sticky leaned in.

“Entry level.” Daniil quipped. “You’ll be cleaning bed pans and scrubbing the surgical tables. After all… groceries may be getting cheaper but everything else is getting and will continue to get more expensive. Colleague, I would pay this out of pocket, but by the time I’m there…” Daniil let the sentence drift off. The entire truth. Daniil was there, in front of Rubin, begging. It was somehow more humiliating than when it was his turn to attend a town meeting.

But it was a chance just as worth taking.

Rubin gave a sigh and there was a quiet as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. No suspense. No anxiety. Just a stillness of Rubin coming to terms.

“I don’t agree, but evidently, it doesn’t matter. I’m outnumbered. But Dankovsky, you must remain vigilant in the cost of-”

“We’ll find a way.” Artemy once more reassured him. “Dankovsky, it’s approved, go ahead.” With that, Artemy signed the paperwork.

“You didn’t have to do this, Bachelor.” Sticky whispered as the seamstress slapped the small of his back to make him straighten up again. Daniil raised his book to hide his amusement, and squirmed himself deeper into the chair for good measure.

“Yes, I did.”

The shop in the Stone Quarter was rather dusty and half the clothes on display was either faded, made from recently unearthed old cloth stored in a warehouse, or torn from the plague but still carried the evidence of craftsmanship. There wasn’t a lot of extra cloth to showcase the skill of the owner, so ironically, Daniil couldn’t fault her for failing to maintain appearance. It was rather a charming set up; wooden furniture covered in homemade lace, tea in chipped cups for a waiting entourage such as Daniil, and the occasional drab flowers trying their best to give the business a pop of color.

Though he missed the sterile and crisp nature of the Capital shops and business, Daniil found that there was something rather unique, in a rustic sense, about how the sun caught the particles of dust and made everything seem more grounded to the earth and to the identity of the town as a whole.

It was becoming familiar.

Sticky groaned when he had to lift his arm again and go through the motions; stretch up, to the sides, forward and then finally down. The seamstress, a plump woman with red hair and rose tinted cheeks, was quick with her hands and on her feet and worked silently, muttering and constantly poking needles into the cushion on her wrist, on her skirt, and into her customers. Daniil bit his lip to stop any giggling breath each time Sticky squeaked. In the reflection of the mirror, Daniil noticed the boy absorbing every bit of work and care the woman was giving, and how an outfit of a cream colored shirt with a olive green simple vest was forming. There was no hiding it; he was excited for it.

An oufit that Daniil knew that Artemy and Rubin would jab at later for resembling too much like his own. Yet, the vest was the same green as Artemy’s suit; it complimented Sticky’s eyes and hair. Daniil would wonder if they would say anything about that.

Artemy was the one that was Sticky’s father, after all. There should be some of him in there, even if it’s just a faint reminder.

“Umm…. Bachelor?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s… rather nice.”

“It’s acceptable, yes.” From the corner of his eye, he saw the woman straighten her back and glared at Daniil.

”Will I have to wear this when cleaning…?” Sticky winced out. Daniil couldn’t help but snicker, turning a page despite not reading it.

“No. This is for when we visit the ruling families without worrying they’ll swat you off with a broom and break all my equipment that you would be carrying.”

“Oh.”

The steamstress nodded and put on a once white garment, now yellowed and stained with blood. It comically hung off of Sticky and Daniil found himself wishing he had brought his camera from the Capital, if only for this. Needles and pins started finding a silhouette of a boy within the potato sack.

Daniil leaned, his hands pointing a bit near the bottom and before he even opened his mouth, the woman rolled her eyes.

“Madam, can you add another… four or six inches at the bottom and hem it with a button every two? All across and as leveled as you can. Make the buttons on the inside, if you understand what I’m meaning. Also add two inches to the shoulders to whatever amount you’re planning.”

These coats would need to last for at least 3 years. Daniil doubt if they would be able to last five but wanted to give them a fighting chance. In the town determined to grow giants, it wouldn’t make sense if Sticky was spared from the genetic pool. The woman swayed her neck to Daniil, then to Sticky’s reflection in mirrors. She nodded.

“Buttons and specific requests will cost extra.” She spoke. It was much easier to make a garment fit for the body now instead of predicting how the young man would grow into it.

“Hmm.” But this was already expensive. It would have to go on his personal tab. “I’ll trade you two spoonfuls of my cologne.”

“I expect it to be the Capital one- and not one watered down?” Her bright eyes smiled when she turned at the attractive offer. Her cheeks were red from the fluster of work and her hair sticking to the sweat on the back of her neck. Small luxuries were hard to come by for the common folk here.

“Yes, of course.”

“Four spoonfuls.” She smiled with raised eyebrows, her mischief too apparent for his liking. So he gave her a glare in return.

“Two and no more. The cologne and…” Daniil frowned and closed his book, tapping against his palm. He didn’t have anything else… well, anything he was willing to barter. But for Sticky, he might make an exception-

“Running a bit short there, aren’t you?”

Now it was Daniil’s turn to roll his eyes.

“No matter how often I come here, I’m always appalled by your prices; they border on exploitation. You should have been a loaner. I knew tax collectors more forgiving than you.”

“Well, got to make a living, Bachelor.” She spoke too casually. It was starting to irritate him. “You dealt with the poor seamstresses in the Capital, you should have expected this.”

“Capital seamstresses wouldn’t have added that much to a simple request. I’m already paying for the modifications!” He snapped- as if on cue, Sticky flinched into a needle.

“They had competition there, no? And lacked the right to refuse service?”

“And you think you have it?” Daniil snarled, matching her passive aggression.

“How do you like oversized shirts, Bachelor?”

Each time they went through this song and dance. Daniil assumed that she thought of it as a game; what would it take this time to cause the Bachelor to start insulting her? Daniil knew that he shouldn’t engage with her. And yet…

“Trust me, I wish you had competition here-”

She turned away from Sticky, hand still supporting a wad of cloth near his hip, to point at Daniil with a broken ruler.

“Then what? You’ll torment that poor woman with your constant fidgeting and criticisms? You can always learn how to do it yourself- or is it that much harder to learn how to hem than it is to get a degree in medicine?”

“I might master it over a weekend when I have time, considering I like my hems to be actually straight and-” He leaned toward her, nearly getting up from the chair.

“Then go ahead and-!” She stepped toward him.

“I’m going to be helping him!” Sticky piped up, voicing cracking with pushed enthusiasm. It was awkward enough to break them and pay attention to him. “Yup, going to be helping the Bachelor of Medicine and he needs me to look presentable so people can feel more at ease and comfortable when they’re sick. I’m sure once they see the… um… professionalism of my… clothes. They will know I’m serious in helping them?”

Sticky colored. The woman gave a snort in an amusement that mimicked what Daniil had earlier.

“Yes,” Daniil interjected to try and add some dignity back into the coversation, “he needs to look trustworthy and not like a street urchin-”

“He fought hard to see that I got nice clothes. The other doctors said I shouldn’t have such well made clothes that everyone would see. Gave up his entire paycheck for these. I never had my own tailored clothes before!”

With that, the woman gazed at Sticky as he was something endearing, hands over her heart. She also looked at Daniil with amusement and a wink. Daniil didn’t know what she meant by that so he sat back down, once again, to read his book and to sip his tea. On her way toward Sticky, he noticed that she grabbed brass buttons instead of the dented copper ones.

Perhaps she had her own sons at some point and already sent them off to their educations or to seek their fortune.

Daniil remembered getting measured for his own uniforms for school, a tart but faded memory. He must have been around Sticky’s age. He wondered if his father felt the way he was feeling now; back then, he remembered seeing the newspaper more than his face. In the two hours they were there, Daniil had only manage to read four pages of his book.

The feeling that was not relief but still as lovely came back. It was more than the domesticity that he felt at… Artemy’s home. He didn’t want to call it his own. Their own. But the small bell that kept ringing out that emotion was urging him to label it as such.

Daniil saw the woman kneel down and whisper to Sticky.

“I’ll make you look more dandy then him, then.”

“Sticky, you didn’t need to say that.” Daniil stopped on their tracks, where the road was empty and the sun was setting, receipt in one hand.

“Yes, I did.” Sticky snorted. “You were drowning back there, Bachelor. I knew she had a soft spot for-”

“A man’s financial business is private. Rubin and Burakh shouldn’t have said those things in front of you… I shouldn’t have said those things either.” Daniil muttered. He looked at the receipt covered in a messy handwriting where “cologne” was misspelled as “colon.” Even with the funds from the clinic he had to dip into his own reserve. Sticky shouldn’t be aware of anything but his education. He shouldn’t feel the need to help Daniil out.

Sticky shrugged and kicked a rock.

“You did something nice so I wanted to let her know. Otherwise she would have kept charging extra, you know? She may have a soft spot for kids, especially when they act excited about clothes… but she’s also a money grubber. Not that anyone can blame her. She had six kids, you know?” Daniil quirked an eyebrow at that new bit of information. But he shook his head and the random trivia away.

“What I was asking for was for more labor, Sticky. The extra costs was expected. That was more… theater than anything. Banter.”

Daniil continued their walk. He said want he wanted to. That was enough. There was no more need to dwell on the topic. Sticky’s head followed him as he walked past and soon caught up to him in a jog.

“Didn’t you save her daughter during the pest? She should have given it to us for free-”

Sticky gave a jump at how suddenly Daniil stopped and turned to him, leaning over so his face was hovering over the child.

“Sticky, I’m going to stop you right there.”

The air was getting colder. Sticky cleared his throat in attempt to mask his embarrassment that he didn’t even know why he carried. His gaze shifted around, trying to avoid the Bachelor’s eyes.

“Are you scared of letting people know when you do something nice?”

Daniil sighed. He reminded himself that even though Sticky was mature for his age, it didn’t mean he was an adult. He was still just a child. With that, Daniil lowered himself to match the other’s eye level and placed a hand on Sticky’s shoulder. That managed to make Sticky, looking at the ground, to slowly start staring at Daniil.

“What that is… what we do, is not nice, it’s noble. Listen to me. I meant it when I said I shouldn’t have said those things in front of you. We will not, and should never, put a price on a human life. Especially on someone’s children. She would have died, and died happily, if it meant her daughter could live, you hear?” Daniil hands curled and relaxed off the narrow shoulder. “Do not cheapen what we do and try to measure it in something as common and disgusting as monetary worth. We charge because we also need equipment and to eat and live. But never because they owe us for what we do. Do you understand?”

“Yeah...” Sticky mumbled out when Daniil stood up straight, and nudged the boy to follow him. Daniil smiled. Sticky was deep in the thought beside him. Sticky can not only learn a lot from him, but was eager to. He drank up the knowledge and never let it spill out. That excited Daniil. It also terrified him, how easily he can absorb both the good and the ugly parts and not know the difference.

“Also, people will expect me to have a heart when they hear that I might be capable of kindness. So don’t spread that around.”

“Oh, how terrible, we can’t have that. Soon people may actually start to like you. My lips are sealed.” Sticky smiled back, gestured of zipping his mouth shut and throwing away an invisible key.

“And… if you have any information you think you can teach me about the people here or… whatever you think is necessary, feel free to voice it.”

Sticky perked up at that.

“Hmm. How fast can you run and how good are you at climbing? If you’re any good, than I have a lot to show.”

Daniil laughed and wrapped an arm around Sticky.

Chapter Text

Artemy snored. A lot.

And Artemy smothered him. A lot.

At first Daniil hated it. He tried to persuade the other man to sleep with his head slightly elevated and see if that would improve the sound keeping him up at night. It did. But then the pillows used were either tossed aside, crushed and flattened, or somehow traveled down to their feet. After discarding the nightly obstacles, Artemy would roll around and let his arms grapple whatever it was he could find, which was always, not surprisingly, Daniil. Sometimes he even swung a leg over and completely caged the other man with the weight.

It was irritating.

But Daniil knew he was no perfect bedfellow either; constantly tossing and turning, stretching his arms and legs out to claim the space, and Artemy informed him one morning that he sleep talks. “Loudly and clear enough to have a pleasant conversation,” was how Artemy described it.

His sins may exceed Artemy’s… But when Artemy wrapped his arms around Daniil, the man would hold on; sleeping unbothered, no matter how much Daniil wriggled and thrashed, consciously or not. Daniil would often imagine how many times he must have rolled in that loose but unforgiving hold throughout the night. Or how many times he must have swatted Artemy’s head. Or how many times Artemy must have carried a nonsensical conversation with him, through tired boredom or amused smugness. Filled with “Oh, really?” and “Tell me more, kheerkhen.”

There were a couple of nights that Daniil gently suggested to move back to their prior sleeping arrangements, for both of their sakes. It was obvious they were a terrible match to share a bed. But Artemy always looked… disheartened at that idea. Hurt, almost. They tried it once and Daniil felt Artemy’s loneliness through the walls, and assumed his own echoed as well. He didn’t toss and turn that night and Artemy didn’t snore.

Daniil never suggested it again.

In the end, it just took some getting used to.

Now, Artemy awoke Daniil simply by releasing him; the feeling of swaddling comfort and stolen warmth suddenly gone being enough to shock his system awake. Daniil would prop his head up, giving an inquisitive grunt, and Artemy would grumble his excuses in return, usually lavatory needs, and shuffle away with small footsteps. Then Daniil would be alone.

Experiencing a rare silence in the night.

He could savour it by sleeping. It would be easy at that point. But he didn’t. Instead he would think and an ache would arise within him.

But it never lasted long, neither the ache nor the thinking, before Daniil would feel the mattress dip and heavy arms wrapping deliciously around him. A content sigh would ring out before it delved into a snore. A deep yet loud rumble with a warm moist breath bellowing from the depths of Artemy’s belly, directly on Daniil’s neck.

At first Daniil hated it, but now he couldn’t sleep without it.

It was a habit, a ritual, an understanding. It was mutual.

Which was why it wasn’t a surprise when he heard Artemy stirring and saw his head emerge from the nest of pillows and blankets from the corner of his eye; a momentary distraction from looking out the window into the blackness of night. It was more akin to a mirror at this time, and Daniil saw more of his reflection than the steppe or town. A tired and ragged man. Artemy grumbled a bit, as he always did when awakening, before fully being able to string words together.

“You’re up? Ugh. Come back to bed.” Artemy slurred and rubbed his eye.

“In a bit.”

“Were you smoking again?”

Daniil shrugged.

“Ran out of cigarettes long ago. Not like it’s a regular vice, anyhow.”

Artemy readjusted himself to better face Daniil. Even in the dark, Daniil could see how Artemy’s hair was all tousled up and his beard was coming in messy patches. It was sweet. Daniil reminded himself to point that out to Artemy in the morning so he can actually get a shave in and not conveniently forget as he always did. Presentation to patients matter. Artemy cleared his throat.

“Hmm. So you’re not stressed, that’s good… but something is bothering you.” Daniil didn’t look at him, instead, he gazed down.

Keep an eye on the children, Artemy told Daniil. They tend to run off, despite all warnings of the loose bulls. He bent his neck to kiss the other.

They’ll be fine, Daniil said. I’ll watch them. Come back soon.

Then Artemy went off to Shekhen for the day. He would be back before dark. There were new herbs to be examined and Artemy was excited of what that could mean. Daniil was excited that they might be the reason why the butchers were falling ill and the bulls becoming aggressive enough to escape their pens. Whatever soothed them before was no longer there.

But Daniil kept his promise and watched them. Reading on the couch while Sticky asked him questions and Murky played with her rocking horse.

Until Rubin came by.

“Dankovsky, the pregnant woman in the Stone Quarter. Baby is coming and coming in too slowly. Midwives are concerned now.”

“Orlova? Already? It wasn’t due for another two weeks!” Danil instantly jumped to action, tossing his book aside to run around and try to get his attire on.

“Not everyone follows your schedule.” Rubin hummed, lingering in the doorway, holding the door open. Daniil didn’t know if he was being humorous or sarcastic. Although not on schedule, there was excitement in the air; the woman was healthy and the baby sounded just as much so the last time he went to check up on her with Sticky. New life was always exciting. This would be a perfect learning opportunity for-

“Can I come?” Sticky asked, as always. His eyes bright. Daniil couldn’t help but give a half smile with his nod. He continued to run around, grabbing the supplies and placing them in the carpet bag. He shoved the stethoscope in his pocket; he would be using that right away.

“Of course. Bring the bag- Rubin, did you go by the clinic?” Daniil asked while putting on his coat. Sticky went upstairs to dress into his uniform.

Daniil would be lying if he said it didn’t fill him with pride.

“It was my second stop.”

“Good. There’s no need to; I got some things stocked already- wait, Murky-” Daniil stopped dead on his tracks. Rubin hummed to get his attention and rather than smiling like a normal person, he merely tilted his head and held the door open a little wider.

“I told Gravel to come here and watch her. Just in case.”

Daniil gave a small laugh.

“Careful there, it sounded like you prepared for the boy to come along with us.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

And they started running without another word.

“Very deductive.” Daniil replied dryly. By all accounts, it’s not like anything was actually wrong. Yet, Daniil was restless. Nothing was wrong, but that didn’t mean that everything was right. He could have made it so but didn’t, out of stupidity. He combed through his gravity defying bed hair, wondering and chewing through what happened the week prior. It was pathetic, he should have moved on. He should have brushed it off.

The children already did.

“Frost is coming. You’re going to get cold.”

“Then I’ll come back when I get so.”

“Danya…” Artemy clumsily swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, his large figure swaying from sleepiness and the sudden burst of cold after shedding the blankets, and trekked toward him. Daniil didn’t want to return yet. To the snoring. To the warmth. To the sick domesticity.

It took Daniil a while to figure out what that feeling always lingering in the back of his head was. It was there when he was getting clothes for Sticky, remembering his own father. It was there the night that Artemy nuzzled the back of his neck and asked him to remain there, in his bed, every night. It was there when Murky asked him to help her find bugs instead of Artemy, and he happily promised to do so when the season came.

He loved and feared whatever that was.

In the black of the window, Artemy’s reflection joined his own, and a steady hand rested on his shoulder. Artemy wrapped his other arm around Daniil’s waist, and held him close, letting Daniil feel the other’s heavy breaths.

“Kheerkhen?” Artemy repeated.

“You said that the frost was coming. I’m assuming you gave the children extra blankets?”

“Hmm. Yes. Sticky said he was going to sweat if we gave him any more and Murky enjoyed playing cocoon with hers.”

“Good.”

“Do you need any extra blankets?”

“No, I have you.” Daniil replied. He saw Artemy’s sleepy smile appear. It made him feel heartless, seeing his own face stay stoic. He wasn’t trying to flatter, it was a matter of fact. Artemy seemed to radiate heat, especially at night.

“So… what is the thought plaguing you? What is keeping us both up?”

Daniil opened his mouth. Then closed it. He opened it again and out came a shuddering breath. Pregnant seconds slipped by heavily.

“I… never imagined my life would be this way.”

Artemy held him a little tighter, burying his head in the curve of Daniil’s neck.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Daniil squeezed the words out from a tight throat the same time he squeezed Artemy’s hand on his shoulder. Artemy’s reflection shifted to let a grey eye gaze at Daniil’s.

“Not in your position exactly,” he mumbled out, his voice vibrated through Daniil’s shoulder, “but I know how it feels when your life is turned upside down. I may not be… exiled, but I know what it’s like to have your own home hate you.”

Unlike the other times his aborted life came into conversation, there wasn’t the usual… pain. He was used to it and some days it was less bearable. But, the sorrow was buried deep in a comfortable place, he realized. A candle in the dark room and a small mat on the splitting wood. It was there. It was always there. Sometimes it emerged on its own, and sometimes he visited it. But sometimes it was quiet. He felt guilty when it was quiet. But also relieved.

He ached all the time.

“No. I… wasn’t referring to that.” Daniil murmured.

“Then…?”

“I didn’t think… I would get this.”

“‘This…?’”

Daniil squirmed just a bit to face Artemy and gestured with a lone arm to the room, to the home, to the town.

“All of this.” That should have been enough for Artemy to understand, but he stared with cow eyes at Daniil; tired and blank.

If two years ago someone asked Daniil to imagine his future, it would have been him working and then going to a hollow place of residence. Where carpet covered the floor entirely and electricity powered the rooms. He would be blissfully ignorant on how lonely it would be. But here, where reality mocked him with Artemy’s snoring; he hated it… at first. But now he can’t stand being without it. Without the darkness and candles, without the splinters and rugs.

He never dreamed for it. Never longed. But something that makes him feel so full also made him hollow somewhere else. It was something he had but never dared to want. His heart was torn in two. He ached all the time. When he’s with Artemy and the kids and when he’s without.

“Oh. Is that good or bad?” Artemy’s face stoned. Daniil stared off, away from Artemy.

“I’m still trying to assess the situation and deduce the-”

Daniil flinched when a playful swat landed on the side of his cheek, flicking a clump of hair.

“Stop thinking of pretty words, kheerkhen. It’s too early. Just say it.”

“… Did you ever think you would get…” Daniil gestured with his arm once more, letting it die off into a limp swing at the end.

“Well, I always wanted it. So I always assumed that I would get it someday.”

“Really?” Daniil smiled, a bittersweet taste lingered in his mouth.

“But I’ll admit that it’s different than I thought it would be.” He could hear and feel a mischievous grin creep across Artemy’s face. “Didn’t expect the extra cock, for example. That was a surprise.” Daniil froze and his face, his whole body, flushed bright red. Heart beating wildly for Artemy saying the obvious so casually. “And sweet Boddho, the amount of hair. Tell me when you’re going to shed.” That caused Daniil to give a small laugh, muscles releasing the tension he didn’t know he had.

Artemy seemed to be enjoying the bright rush of heat radiating through Daniil, but started stroking whatever bit was within reach of his fingers and starting slumping against the shorter man. I’m not making light of your thoughts, Daniil. I just want you to relax.

“I… have been told I’m influential.” Daniil finally forced out with a dry throat.

Artemy tilted his head and nodded, looking down at the shorter man. Trying to see what ailed Daniil, tiptoeing on unknown territory. Daniil felt like he was on unknown territory for a long time. Too long to call it ‘unknown’ at this point. Daniil turned to face toward the window again, at the mirror.

The soon to be mother’s cries were raw and broken and Rubin spent more time cleaning the sweat off her brow and encouraging water intake; monitoring her pulse and temperature all the while. When Rubin wasn’t doing that, he was giving updates to the nervous wreck of a husband in the other room… who they didn’t really need to worry about since he passed out.

“She’s getting another temp spike again. Midwife said she had a fever a few days ago.”

“Please, give me anything!” She cried out.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. The midwife already gave you what we could.” Daniil replied as monotone as he could, the illusion of control, and set the stethoscope aside. It took a while to find the baby’s heartbeat, it was too high up. “Please hold stay strong, any more medication might...” Might give you hemorrhage and you would bleed out. The steroids might affect the baby. One or both of you might end up being collateral damage. “It might make things harder.” Daniil spoke instead. He still thought of what else he could give her to ease the pain- which painkillers were available and wouldn’t conflict with the midwives’ medication.

Orlova screamed and squeezed Rubin’s hand. After that burst of energy, her head lulled as she coughed, face red and flushed. Rubin brushed hair off her cheek and tilted her head a little higher, to help the oxygen flow a little more efficiently. She whined and it evolved into a scream again.

With her next push, Daniil paled at the amount of blood.

“Sticky, I need the towels” Daniil commanded the student. Sticky, from the edge of his vision, was staring bug eyes at the scene. Frozen. “Sticky, now!”

His tone seemed to have spooked the child into action. He ran off to the corner of the room. Daniil tried to compose himself and ask Sticky why wasn’t the bag closer-

“We don’t have towels…” Sticky squeaked out. A chill went up Daniil’s spine. He did forget to wash them? No, that was impossible.

“What?!” Rubin yelled, seeing something before Daniil.

At the same time, the woman wailed again and held Rubin’s hand closer to her chest, and Daniil saw Rubin wincing at her claws digging into the skin.

“I’m sorry-” Sticky stammered.

“They were in the carpet bag- don’t tell me you forgot the-” Daniil felt his voice crack. The towels were carefully cleaned but not the essential items. What about the antibiotics that they might need? The steroids? What if the child is born with complications? Perinatal asphyxia? Daniil looked at the woman- what about perineal tears? What could he use in the household? Was everything sanitized? What did the midwives bring again?

“I didn’t forget!” Sticky squeaked, trembling. Relief washed over Daniil.

“Then what-”

“I tripped and fell on the bag on the way here and-” Daniil stiffened before turning to snatch the open bag from Sticky, blood of the innocent staining the handles. He looked inside and he felt the color drain from his face and his veins freeze.

There was liquid staining in patches over the small rolled up towels; yellow, pale red, and oranges forming where they mixed. On the bottom and scattered through out was broken glass. Daniil held up a syringe, one his few Capital ones left, and saw a crack forming on the barrel with a trembling hand. His throat clogged up. This one was a gift when he was at Thanatica-

“What?! Foolish boy! Go home- you made enough of a mess! ” Rubin roared. “GO HOME!”

“Bachelor, I-I’m sorry-”

“Go.” Was all the Bachelor could muster.

The world was muted around him. He barely registered that the door slammed and there was one less body in the room. He took a deep sigh; he needed to focus.

“Colleague; give the midwife updates and see if she brought anything. I think the baby is facing the wrong way.” Daniil went next to the woman as Rubin flowed out the room. She looked at him with tears welling up in her eyes; pain and fear. To survive the plague only for the end to be near because of a foolish boy. “Ma’am, I a-apologize… everything is going well- I will just need to get-” Daniil felt his blood starting to rush a bit faster. He was a researcher. He wasn’t trained for this. He knows of it. Artemy should have been here.

“What’s happening?!”

“Everything is going well. Baby sounds strong as you, it’s just facing the wrong way. It’s not uncommon. Just need to get some items just in case.”

It didn’t matter. He needed to focus. He needed needles, threads, towels, and vodka. He started to list of further items that might have proved to be useful. No, Rubin was grabbing them for him. He was competent.

Rubin was right all along.

“Then hurry and get what you need! Please! I waited years for this and this child is less patient than I!”

“Well, you were a driving force in establishing a clinic. A very good one. Never heard you complain so much, and by Boddho, I thought I knew how you could complain. And the school is well on it’s way. Yes, I agree. You’re very influential.”

“Not all of it- my mannerisms that makes me so, I mean- is ideal, Artemy. Not all of it can be romanticized. I never had to hide them because I never cared who was influenced and how. But now…”

Artemy chuckled behind him and for some reason, that small sound that he usually loves so much felt insulting. Artemy’s hands traveled downward and rested on his waist.

“Wait. Oh? Are you thinking I might pick up leaving my dinner half eaten on the table and wait for others to clean it up? Or leaving shaving cream all over the sink?”

Daniil didn’t have anything to say. The recent events carved into him too much. So he stilled, staring out the window, and tightened his fist. It wasn’t as if anything was wrong.

It was dark and cold, yet, he felt comfortable. Some of the floorboards was still uncured wood in a haste of repairs and gave his feet splinters, and yet, he stood bare foot on it in the dark. They could have turned on a lamp, but it was too much effort. Daniil was tired and he was tired of thinking how much effort everything here took; even as simple as having light in the middle of the night. Yet, it was comforting.

It was dangerous how fragile that feeling was.

“This really is bothering you, isn’t it?” Artemy whispered, deeper, with humor abandoned.

Daniil might as well have been a statue; cold and stiff.

“They’re sponges at this age and I don’t carry the grace needed to be of any pillar of support.”

“Wait, you think you’re being a ‘negative influence’ on the children? What? Stop trying to sound so dignified to me. You think you’re a bad father? Is that it?”

“What the hell was that?!” Daniil shrieked as he slammed the door. He expected to see Ravel there, but knowing Sticky, he probably sent her off and took over watching his younger sister. He tried to calm himself before arriving at the house, but to no avail.

In fact, it had the opposite effect. The longer he thought about it, the worse the fire felt. The anger broiled him alive in the chilly air. Sticky begged him time and time again to assist on house calls that weren’t just follow-ups or check ups. Sticky begged. The one time Daniil allowed it, the boy not only failed to do his one job, but damaged precious clinic materials.

Time and time again Daniil defended him being a part of the team. Suffering ridicule from the townsfolk for stooping so low as to pay an orphan to hand him equipment from the bag that he could have reached for himself. Often arguing with Rubin, who now has a bullet in his arsenal, on why Sticky shouldn't attend surgeries and help Artemy brew tinctures, and having to scold Artemy time and time again to take the apprenticeship more seriously.

And the boy tripped. Fell on the bag. And broke everything.

And didn’t say anything to Daniil until it was too late.

On top of everything, it was the few items, memories, that Daniil had left from the Capital. From his old life. Items given from now dead colleagues. Items that have been with him for years. Items that lasted through a supernatural plague.

And they were broken. They had to be replaced.

Sticky flinched from the chair, facing away from the table and crumpled in on himself.

“It was an accident. I’m sorry.”

“I only ask you to do one thing and you ‘tripped!?’”

“I was following Rubin and he had longer legs and I didn’t notice the loose stone-”

“I thought you knew this town ‘better than the back of your hand.’ That you ‘didn’t even need eyes to navigate through it!’ It didn’t once occur to you to tell us along the way?! Do you know what could have happened?!” They could have ran to the clinic to grab the needed equipment. Replaced it. Rubin was already planning to go there. Accidents happen, a voice crept into his head. But the boy stayed silent, his own responded, and his silence could have caused people their lives. What if surgery was needed? What if the house call was a burst appendix? They would have died with the two doctors stupidly looking on and a boy wrecked with guilt.

“It was only a couple of towels- I could have ran to the clinic and restocked what was broken-” Sticky snapped back.

“And have you break more?!” Daniil opened the bag and shoved it closer to Sticky so he could bear witness to the contents inside. “Look! The syringes are cracked! We can’t use these bottles anymore! This will ALL have to be replaced!” The boy turned away, eyes rimmed with red and sniffling becoming more and more frequent and stronger. Daniil gritted his teeth. He could have at least give the humility to look at the broken equipment.

Daniil regretted what he did next. He only wanted Sticky to see.

He regretted it before the handles left his hands as the bag lazily fell downward, rolling off his hand, and fell heavy on the ground, the glass inside breaking even more. But it was not that sound that caused him to regret it. It was how Sticky jumped in his seat, stiffening his back straight and had his lips quivering. He meant for Sticky to grab it as it was falling. He thought that Sticky was quick enough. He meant for Sticky to grab it so he could see what was inside it.

He regretted that it didn’t make him stop. Calmed him down. Daniil should have stopped and apologized. He should have lowered himself and placed his hands on narrow shoulders, explaining calmly what Sticky did wrong. How materials are replaceable but human life wasn’t. Then apologized for yelling.

Instead…

“What would have happened if the baby was wrapped in the umbilical cord?! Tell me! What if we needed to do a cesarean?! You spent all this time studying- TELL ME!”

Sticky whimpered before dutifully answering.

“It could have died. It and the mother.” Sticky’s tears were pouring down, snot covered his upper lip. Sobs wrecking through his frame. Sticky hid his face. First with his hands and then with his arms, crying and trying to soak his sorrow using the sleeves of his attire.

That snapped Daniil out of whatever possessed him. He swallowed hard.

“I know I screwed up, okay?! I didn’t mean to- it’s not like that was my plan!”

Artemy should have been here. Artemy would have defended Sticky and made Daniil listen to reason. The man stepped back. He wasn’t close to the boy to begin with, but the last thing he wanted to do was tower over the nerve wrecked child. His own heart was beating fast and his chest felt tight.

What am I doing?

He combed his hair with gloved hands. Sticky was a child. Not a colleague, he reminded himself. He would be yelling at Rubin like this. At Artemy. He shouldn’t have done it to Sticky. He tripped. He only tripped. It was an accident.

Sticky’s sobs, now occupying every bit of silence, stabbed Daniil’s heart. His arms felt heavy as they fell stiffly to his sides, trying to give himself a moment to think and a moment for Sticky to calm down.

“… You’re lucky it was a healthy birth and there were alternative materials. Rubin might tell you that there were complications, but nothing in the bag would have helped.” He kept his voice soft. Daniil shook his head and gave a mumble when he pushed his hair back again. “What’s done is done. Just… do better next time. Tell me. Trust me and tell me so I can trust you. That’s all.”

“What?” Sticky hiccuped and whimpered out.

“I said I can only hope that this proved to be a valuable lesson… I forgot how young you were. This was my fault.” He whispered and turned away. He lost his temper. He lost his temper to a child that just wanted to help. It was nearly a mile from the woman’s home and in that time, he didn’t calm down enough to realize that Sticky was just a boy.

“Yeah.” Sticky barked out. There was a bite to that word that Daniil did not expect. “Learned something, alright.” When Daniil craned his neck from the ground to the source of the hiccups, and he was surprised to see Sticky not in sorrow nor despair. But anger. Anger and frustration. Brow furrowed while the edges of his mouth twitched. Daniil blinked, confused.

“And what’s with that tone?” Daniil hummed out with a quirk in his brow.

“Don’t treat me like I’m an idiot! I don’t need your pity! I messed up!” Sticky snapped. Now it was Daniil who stiffened.

“The part ‘you messed up’ on was when you didn’t tell me the materials got compromised. I will not blame you for accidents but I value trust, Sticky. If I thought of you an idiot, I wouldn’t have-”

“But all you have me do is carry things! I helped Aba during the plague and all you have me do is carry your stupid stuff!”

“You are still an apprentice; you are not an equal- it wouldn’t be fair for me to treat you as such.” Daniil retorted, trying to calm Sticky down with the truth. “I wouldn’t want to give you anything beyond your skill and comfort level.”

That angered Sticky more. A fire puppeted the teenager to shoot up and march away from the chair, shoving Daniil with a shoulder when passing by. Daniil didn’t know if it was on purpose or not; the boy’s eyes were too cloudy with tears and to make it worse, he stumbled on the bag Daniil dropped in front of him. Sticky gave a whine when regaining his balance and headed toward the front door.

“Sticky, where are you going?!” Daniil called out. “We’re not finished-!” He didn’t know what else he could have said but he didn’t like the idea of Sticky running off in this emotional state and with the bulls running around.

“Why would you care?! I already broke everything!” Sticky yelled at him.

Daniil spoke without thinking.

“Because I should know where my children are-”

“Well, good news, then! You’re not my dad!”

Sticky stomped out the door and the whole house seemed to tremble. Daniil cringed when he heard the door slam with the echoes of it flooding his bones. He stood like that, still, in the emptiness of the room where the dust floated in the dying sun. He didn’t know what to do. So he sat down on the same chair that Sticky was in. He should run after him. He should have- but there was no one around to take care of Murky-

Murky.

Daniil swallowed a hard lump and wanted to scream.

He hastened to her room.

Daniil blinked at Artemy’s question. Ultimately, it didn’t matter what he thought. Evidence and facts trumped what he felt. Daniil Dankovsky was not a very loving man. His method of helping others was though medicine and a hastily scribbled note. He gives warmth by suggesting a sweater. He remembers dates but mixes up the occasions. Evidence and facts comforts him more than any gentle word. So it’s what he gives. The only thing he can give.

“See? Not even to you, at…” Daniil ducked a bit to catch a glimpse of the clock, “two in the morning, in the privacy of our home, practically in our bed, can I say anything with any proficiency. It’s not that I think I’m a bad father,” he snorted, “my standard for that is already low; but it’s not that. I just don’t think I’m a parental figure at all. Much better as a mentor and even then I’m piss poor at that. Our-… The children deserve better.”

Saying it out loud hurt more than he thought. He never thought he would have this. At the first sign that they would tell them to go, he would leave back to the Stillwater. That’s what he promised. At the first test to confirm he had what he thought he would never get, he failed. It shouldn’t have hurt that much to say it, especially to Artemy.

“Daniil.” The name on Artemy’s lips sounded as satisfying to say as it was for a lion to lick meat off a bone. He felt Artemy rub his scruff of a beard against Daniil’s equally scruffy hair.

“What’s with that stupid smile?” Daniil glared when he turned and his eyes fell on Artemy’s beaming face. Something certainly amused him. The hands on his waist tugged a bit more, forcing Daniil to be closer. He didn’t fight the intimacy.

“You said ‘our home.’”

Daniil’s lips parted and a small breath huffed out.

“I suppose I did.”

Artemy gave a small laugh and walked backwards, their feet dragging across the floorboards. They both drifted away from the window and honestly, Daniil was too busy looking at Artemy’s face, drunk on some form of glee and sleepiness to pay much attention. It wasn’t until he felt them stop against the bed frame did he start paying attention to the surrounding world.

“Our home.” Artemy guided Daniil to relax on the bed, and then loomed over him, never breaking away from the gravitational pull that Daniil must have had on him. Daniil followed the natural flow of their bodies until the other was lingering on top on him, delicious weight anchoring him down to the soft mattress, still bearing residual warmth that was abandoned earlier.

“Our bed.” Artemy whispered, and leaned in for a playful but equally loving kiss. Daniil couldn’t resist and closed his eyes to savour the moment.

“Our children.” A lasting purr.

“Shut up. I’m serious.” He meant to snap, but his mind was far too pleased with the kiss, with Artemy caging him in, the surrounding familiarity , intimacy, and warmth. His voice, losing its edge and pride, mumbled instead. “I’m not their… I don’t think I’ll ever be. I… just don’t have it in me.”

In the corner of the room, sitting in her little chair with her knees bent and her feet resting on the seat, Murky was coloring with the notepad resting against her legs.

“Murky…? Hi, pumpkin.” The tightness in Daniil’s chest grew. It felt like it was unwinding but now, it was ready to snap.

“I heard you yelling, so I stayed here.” She mumbled out, confirming his fears.

The floor echoed with his footsteps as he walked over to her. Her dirty glare appearing over her knees and paper was not something he was expecting; it prevent him from approaching any closer.

“Sticky said you were going to yell. I said you wouldn’t but you did. You were mean to him.”

“I… was angry. Anger makes people stupid.” Daniil mustered out. He still was. At Sticky. At himself. At Artemy for leaving them.

“Are you going to yell at me now?” Daniil starting to shake his head, looking for words. “… You don’t hit children, do you? Sticky said you might with good enough reason.” She stopped coloring, awaiting his answers. He paled at that. Surely, he wasn’t that aggressive. Surely, he wasn’t that type of coward. He was capable of great things. But…

Months ago he would have said yes, if only for a joke. Or a way to get children to obey him. But seeing Sticky crying because Daniil provoked him to… Seeing that pain, albeit emotional, Daniil felt sick to his stomach imagining inflicting that reaction through physical means.

The children of Town-On-Gorkhon grew up fast. They were brats. Annoying. Murky wasn’t trying to be cheeky or passive aggressive. Her question was genuine because that’s what adults were perfectly capable of. She and all the other children knew.

“Sunshine, I would never-”

“That’s what Aba calls me. ” She huffed out. You don’t get to call me that.

Without another word, she picked up her paper and her crayons, and went downstairs. She was too fast and Daniil was too stupefied to stop her. Stomping like her older brother and slamming the door the same way.

Then… Daniil was alone. He didn't know what to do. He searched for them.

He couldn’t find them.

Artemy had to get them when he got home.

Artemy shrugged, and exaggerated it so Daniil can see it and feel it.

“So, what is your solution?”

What would be his solution? Cut off ties and go back to the Stillwater? Watch Artemy and the kids from afar? Stomach the possibility that Artemy might find a wife?

Oh… that would break him. There would truly be nothing left.

But would that make them happier?

“Nothing desirable… for me. What’s important is yours and the children’s future.” He concluded. But he wanted it now. He wanted to keep it. He wanted to wake up next year with Artemy by his side and the sounds of the children echoing in the hallways. He can pretend it’s more psychological, that he wanted some semblance of consistency in his life. But that would be pointless.

He didn’t expect a pillow to hit him across the face.

“Stop speaking nonsense, Bachelor. Do you want to go?”

“They disowned me.” Daniil confessed. He sounded so pathetic. It’s not as if he needed the kids’ approval. It’s not like he even wanted it… right? Yet, here they were, in the middle of the night, awake because not having it bothered Daniil.

He blamed Artemy for domesticating him.

“First I’m hearing of it.” Artemy voice was flat and he rested his head against his pillow, still keeping his gaze on Daniil. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Well, of course not.” Daniil spoke in equal tone. It was the most obvious answer to cross his mind.

“Okay. So… what are your thoughts? On being ‘disowned?’”

Daniil thought. All he could think of was that the he wasn’t perfect. Neither was the children but that wasn’t their fault. They could grow up to hate him, loathe him, and curse at his grave. But perhaps if they hated the ugly parts, it meant that they could recognize it and grow to be better people than him. Perhaps if they hated him, then they could love Artemy more. He imagined them grown; healthy and strong with good heads on their shoulders, speaking of the ‘Bachelor who raised them.’

Evidently he spent more time lost in thoughts as Artemy let out a loud snore. Daniil let out a shuddering breath.

“I… I may not be their father… but they’re still my children.”

Chapter Text

“Can I come with?”

Daniil was tightening his shoelaces, foot propped against the nearby wooden chair. He knew he had bandages, various painkillers, morphine, test cases for the butchers, antibiotics for the barber’s son for when he is done with the Termitary business in the bag, and… he was missing something. Daniil set his foot down and brushed his hair back. It wasn’t for a patient, but it was a precaution. What was it?

He thought it could have been an extra sweater with all the frost permanently on the ground, but the Termitary would be sweltering hot. It would be a pain to bring the heavy wool garmet only to sweat through it or have to take it off and have yet another item in his mental checklist for the rest of day. Then don’t bring it.

“Well? Can I?” Sticky slid into his vision with shy arms tucked behind his back.

“Hmm? Ah. Absolutely not.” He muttered in reply.

Daniil plucked up the carpet bag and was about to slip his foot into the other boot; the laces could be tied properly on that one later, and finally head out the door when he froze. Did he have matches? Morphine? What about the steroids? Belts for tourniquets? Which painkillers exactly? Which steroids? There were many and he did need to restructure and restock recently… He set the bag down on the chair instead and began the process of rechecking, shuffling and reorganizing everything within his precious possession. He certainly needed a mask when visiting the butchers.

“Why not? I’ll be quiet.” Sticky whined again.

“Because there is-”

“I forgot my crayons.” Murky tugged on his coat and he gave a small jump with a muffled yelp. He twisted his body, arms awkwardly dangling, to look at her grumpy face almost directly below his own and small hands still clinging to the coat.

“Your aba got you watercolors, didn’t he? Use those,” he breathed out. Daniil tugged on the snakeskin coat to free it from her soot covered hands, releasing himself to finally finish his task. It looked like everything was in order in the bag; all medication and tourniquet belts neatly packed and stacked. So he began to lock it before a sense of dread crept up on him, causing to look back at her.

Her hands were covered in soot; was she playing in the fireplace? He gave an internal groan. Murky was probably using the leftover firewood as charcoal for her art. Daniil began wondering if there were drawings on the walls and whether or not it was worth her anger to clean her hard work up later.

Sticky cleared his throat, tapping a sock covered foot.

Daniil whirled to address the teenager, suddenly aware how dizzy he was getting. He never had to spin this much in the Capital.

“No. I don’t want you in the middle of all that smoke; checking concussions and treating oral sores is not worth the risk.”

“But you’re going.”

“With my title comes obligations and it’s indispensable and indisputable. In fact, I worked for said title by attending these… fiascoes. I’m used to them.” He cleared his throat and started to check where Murky went; hopefully she wasn’t drawing on any more walls. “Three things are certain in life, Sticky; death, taxes, and stupidity. You’ll get your moment to shine through them soon.”

“Doesn’t the sand pest count as enough experience?”

“No. You need seven more fiascoes. At least.”

“But wouldn’t it be good for my education? It can be my second fiasco.” Sticky gave a hopeful bounce on the back of his heels. Daniil cocked his head, sighing at Sticky’s youthful and hungry eyes. What a sin it would be, to see them water from the smoke and to hear him cough in self imposed suffering.

And the boy would never complain. Nor say it was too much.

But Daniil was there to say it was. And always would. For as long as he could.

“It’s just a short visit to the Termitary, it’s nothing exciting. Idiots banging their heads while fighting will always be around. I’ll take you to the Broken Heart when Andrey hosts another brawl.” Daniil bent over to pick up his shoe and quirked an eyebrow at the missing counterpart. He gave a frantic jerk around only to find the other one already on his foot.

“But they won’t feature the sores in the mouth. You know, the oral sores? The ones you said that leaked pus and blood? I never saw those!”

“Neither had I. It’s certainly not something you can stomach now. Artemy and I told them not to smoke the herbs but did they listen? Arrogant fools. The lot of them.” Daniil gritted his teeth. “Now your aba has to work day and night in that hideous workshop of his.”

It turned out the months worth of painkillers were useless on a majority of the butchers; there was no cure for constant idiocy, after all. Smoking herbs in hopes it worked like their ancestors without fully realizing how they evolved. Instead of releasing grey fluffy smoke that used to calm the beasts and quicken the meat production, the new herbs growing on the steppe released a black sticky type that was just as effective in all but soothing the temperament of the beasts. In fact, it made them more aggressive.

He had told the Olgimskys to heed the safety precautions and avoid burning the unknown herbs, especially within the poor ventilation. Because it can lead to poisonings and bloody coughs.

Sometimes Daniil hated being right, especially when he was half right. He wished it was just poisonings and bloody coughs.

“My dolls don’t like to be away from each other for so long.” Murky’s husky voice piped up. “I forgot them too.”

Daniil fought the urge to roll his eyes or to throw gloved hands up in a childish display of defeat.

“Then pretend they are traveling-”

“Can I at least go to the store? I’m sick of being stuck in here.” Sticky groaned, sitting on the chair with a slouch, head burying itself neatly into his shirt. Murky joined her brother's side and now Daniil was forced to be faced with two disapproving stares. But he was no stranger to those types of gazes.

“There’s good reason. Stop complaining. Both of you,” he snapped. “You heard the bells earlier. Twelve bulls escaped. Twelve.”

Oh. Now he remembered what he had forgot to bring; a rifle. Just in case he met one of them on the streets.

“Yeah, and we know how to navigate them, oh ‘Capital Dandy’-,” Sticky waved his hands around in good measure before they crossed back unto his chest, “it’s not the first time we’ve been through a bull rutting season. They always get aggressive this time of year.”

Daniil set the bag down and perched gloved hands on his waist, but not before pinching the bridge of his nose. He was going to get a headache soon. Every comment came a question and every question came a challenge. How simple were the days back at the Capital, that he would grab the items needed and go within five minutes. And have spare time for shaving and coffee.

How simple and dull.

Did he brush his hair?

“For you two, perhaps not. But it’s the first season without the prior steppe herbs and they are smoking a new concoction! The men and beasts here are already aggressive, I don’t want to push our luck. When Artemy comes back from the Lair then you can pester him for adventure. But my word is final and I say ‘no.’”

While Daniil reminiscences of times when his time was well structured and went to plan, Sticky seemed to have visited the opposite memories, of going where he wanted, when he wanted.

“‘Adventure?’ We just want to-!” Sticky threw up his hands, an exaggerated groan sounding alongside them. “You never let us do what we want!” The teenager's voice cracked. Murky nodded along to her brother’s words.

“No, I don’t.” Daniil picked up his bag and headed to the door. If he needed to be the children’s villain, then so be it. Artemy already spoils them too much- there had to be a balance. “In time you’ll realize that’s a good thing. For now, be content with being bored.”

There was a pause in the conversation and that caused Daniil to turn back in the open doorway. The silence accompanying his last words didn’t suit the children.

“Fine.” Sticky finally answered.

“Okay. I’ll see you later.” Daniil spoke as a soft goodbye. He waited for a couple seconds to see if the children would answer, but they didn’t. He closed the door behind him.

He wanted to ask why Sticky was smiling, but he was already running late.

“So… whatcha drawing now, Murky?” Sticky craned his head while hanging off the entrance of the train car, feeling the chilly late-autumn air. Swinging from the door to the doorframe, doorframe to the door, in and out of the train car. The Bachelor said that they should be bored, but he never said to be bored in the house specifically. Rookie mistake on his end.

The town was so big and bulls had the steppe to explore; it was extremely unlikely that they would encounter one of the twelve bulls. Besides, the town was littered with things that one can easily climb up to get to the roof of the buildings and surrounding walls. Even if the frost made things a little more slippery, the nimbleness of youth can make up for it. They would be fine.

“Aba and Noukher.” Murky hunched a little more to color something in yellow with a stubby crayon covered in train car gunk. Sticky swung a little harder and released his grip, using the momentum to sway from the outside and to her drawing.

Her small arms tucked to her side at his stumbling arrival and revealed her entire picture. It was as she said, the two figures in a pen. Both very square with Artemy having a small awkward oval head with one of his eyes too high up. The bull, in the kindest terms Sticky could think of, was comical and messy. Large with decent outline but filled in with impatience.

“That doesn’t look like a bull… unless it got hit by a train.” Sticky snickered.

“I didn’t ask you.”

“And Aba isn’t that fat.”

“He’s not fat! He’s supposed to look strong.” She squeaked out and grabbed the drawing from the floor, hiding it from the critic’s sight.

“You can look both at the same time.” She balled up her fist and pounded it against his lazy thigh, striking with warning and mutual mischief. “Alright. Alright. Just teasing; learn to take a joke.”

“It wasn’t even funny.”

Sticky smiled. Aba would think that he was being funny, although he would get a scold in for picking on an innocent victim- and then Aba would say that the Bachelor was more fair game. Sticky shrugged. If she didn’t think it was funny then he wasn’t going to defend himself. Sticky squatted when she gripped a special red crayon, the one she reserves for all her labeling purposes.

It was longer and thinner than the others and Dankovsky called it a ‘grease pencil’ when he handed it to her. Her tongue stuck out throughout the process as she wrote ‘Aba’ and ‘Noukher’ above their respective scratchy figures.

She stopped and held up her drawing to the light, to the shadows, tilting it back and forth. The wax caught and reflected the shimmering charm of the afternoon sun. Sticky had fun with Murky but he had to admit he was keeping the Bachelor’s request quite well, there was barely anything for him to do in the train car. While Murky gauged on whether she needed to add in any last details before she can officially sign it, he went through the stack of her previous drawings.

There were some illustrations of animals, some of bugs, and even some of Sticky himself. If he had any doubt, he could rely on the same giant red writing above him, consistently missing the ‘C.’ It flattered him, to see that she went through the effort. Usually when she drew people, she always chose to focus on their aba. He always had the paper podium and a pigmented throne.

“… You going to draw…” Sticky cleared his throat. “You going to draw… the Bachelor?”

Sticky thought it was odd calling him the Bachelor when he lived with them. Felt a little more natural than calling him ‘Dankovsky.’ But not by much. He wondered if that was how Murky felt as well.

He wondered what the Bachelor felt. Did he consider them strangers? Did he view them as random street urchins living within the walls? Sometimes he acted like he did.

But most of the time, he acted more like a-

“Already did. Over there.” Murky shuffled over on her knees to point at a specific page in the stack.

He slid the top drawings over and suppressed a bit of laughter. Sticky already used up his ‘jokes’ this session. But he found the doctor fast.

The Bachelor looked like a bug with his red vest and oversized black and brown coat. His angry slanted eyebrows resembled more like antennas than hair.

“Oh. Did you show it to him?”

“Yeah.”

“Did he like it?”

Murky shrugged.

“Don’t think so. I showed him that one there too,” she pointed at a separate pile, “in case he just didn’t like that one… but he didn’t like any of them.

“Oh? Did he say why?” Cautious anger bubbled up. If he made Murky cry… He could tease her as her brother. The Bachelor can’t. Sticky’s heart sank a little. Sticky never heard the doctor tell a lie, after all. He could be a jerk but he wasn’t cruel. At least on purpose. Sticky could imagine the Bachelor’s eyes drained and tired, only one eye focusing on the paper and calling it ‘inaccurate in form and anatomical possibilities.’ Which it was.

“Nothing mean.” She squirmed, adjusting from kneeling to sitting, mirroring Sticky. She dug through the pile and collected more of her artworks featuring the angry insect-like man. “He said that my use of colors was nice and I had a good eye for compose… composing.”

“Composition.” Sticky corrected, stating it slowly and nearly singing with each syllable in a different tone.

“Yeah. That.”

Sticky began to flip through, trying to stop his lips from curling in amusement at how consistent she was with her vision of him. After the third drawing, Sticky felt the anger, the weight in his throat and his shoulder slump into guilt. Sorrow. Sympathy.

He understood the doctor’s reaction. The Bachelor was still human.

“Murky… it’s not that he didn’t like it… I think he was sad.”

“Why? I didn’t make fun of him.”

All her drawings had her name clumsily written on the lower right corner. Sticky remembered Daniil requesting her to sign her artwork, along with the date of when she finished them. He made the request as he was gifting her the special grease pencil with a smile. It meant the final touches were applied and no more changes were to be made. She heeded that request every since.

“That’s because you labeled us all… expect for him. I would have helped you spell out ‘Bachelor’ if you wanted.”

Sticky went through more of the drawings. Grief was labeled. Lara was labeled. Even Rubin and Noukher. The Bachelor would look at the drawings, feeling that same level of warmth that Sticky felt just moments ago and then realizing who he was to her.

He held up the artworks for her to see the bittersweet pattern.

“Oh… I…” Murky’s large eyes blinked, and she rubbed him.

She wanted to say something but didn’t have the words yet. But they always came up sooner or later. Sticky placed the drawings with the rest of her collection and looked up, leaning against the train car’s wall.

He counting nail head number 41 when she finally spoke.

“I didn’t want to call him ‘Bachelor.’”

“Oh? ‘Captain Nemo?’ Yeah. ‘Outis,’ maybe? You can call him ‘snake,’ too. He can be.” He retorted.

But she stilled, staring at her depiction of him.

“… I call him ‘papa.’ In my head.” Murky murmured, the words fragile and shy as butterflies on the steppe.

“Oh… I see.” Sticky mind froze as her words buried somewhere lonely in him.

“Aba is ‘Aba.’ My daddy was ‘Daddy.’ ‘Papa’ is the only name left for him.” She continued, as if she needed to explain herself to Sticky. Or probe him into agreeing with her.

Is he? Or do I just want him to be? Does he see us as just children or as his?

“I should know where my children are.” He had spoken.

Before Sticky shouted otherwise…

The Bachelor didn’t correct him though.

At the same time, what alternative phrase was there to say? The Bachelor only said that because there was no graceful way to say “I should know where the children with whom I share the house with are.” He probably only cared about them because Artemy did.

“That makes sense. Why didn’t you label him as such?”

“I dunno. He told me one time he only does the nice things because he feels bad for us. He doesn’t call us his children like Aba. Unless he’s angry. At least I don’t think he does.”

Does he? Didn’t he?

Sticky frowned. He clenched his jaw and kicked his leg straight. How dare he? They were children. They shouldn’t have to assume what the relationship is and they shouldn’t be given the responsibility to fill in the blanks. If Dankovsky is only helping them out of obligation or commitment to Artemy or to the town then Sticky already knew the answer to who they were to him.

“Yeah. He doesn’t. What a prick. He yelled at me the other day because I broke some of his stupid stuff.” It was only stuff that he saw they had multiples of. The Bachelor didn’t need to yell. The world wasn’t going to end because of a few dirtied towels.

Sticky’s jaw ached from how hard it was clenching at the memory.

And he didn’t need to look at Sticky with that arrogant face of superiority, knowing that he was proven right, that Sticky was going to eventually fail. He didn’t need to rub it in by excusing Sticky’s mistakes as inevitable before pulling the rather insulting wounded dog treatment as if he was the one hurting. But what was worse was the sympathy; calling Sticky a child too naive to understand what happened.

Sticky didn’t need his pity.

“I would have done the same. But I would have been meaner.” Murky mumbled.

At the same time… later that same evening, after Artemy found and collected them, Sticky passed by their bedroom, and Daniil was sitting on the bed the two now shared with a hunched back, holding a cracked syringe in hand. Sticky couldn’t see his face but he knew what that hunch meant; because Sticky sat like that when he couldn’t stomach the sight of open bodies. Mourning. Defeat. Shame. The Bachelor’s fingers turned and rolled the syringe, the crack a reappearing silver in the light. Sticky never noticed it had a shinier handle than the others.

Shinier like the doorknobs of well lived homes. Shining from use, not polish. Shining from preference and love.

He broke the Bachelor’s favorite syringe.

Artemy approached with a soft voice then sat next to him, a pillar next to its shadow, and took him into his arms. The doctor let out a breathy uneven whine, trying to push Artemy away but giving up before fully trying.

Sticky never saw him like that.

But then Daniil shot up, and paced away from Artemy, mumbling some words in return… and snapped the tool down into the trash bin; it fell in a crude straight line with no hesitation. The sound the projectile made, too light for it to be accurate of what happened, stabbed a sharp pain in Sticky’s stomach. The Bachelor was a statue over the bin, staring at its contents, hand and arms still stuck in motion after discarding what was too broken to use again. Artemy followed him, face twisted in pity and sorrow and- Sticky left the scene lest he be caught as a spy.

That syringe was the Bachelor’s. And Sticky broke it without even receiving a beating. No one ever brought it up. Not the Bachelor. Not Aba. Not even Rubin.

“Yeah, me too. I would have been much meaner than he was.” Sticky muttered. Perhaps the Bachelor hurts differently. Or maybe he hurts the same.

Sticky, seeing a blank page and a well loved but forgotten brown crayon, shrugged, and began drawing blobs. The grain and yellowing of the paper reminded him of the books Daniil lets him read, and some of the blobs reminded him of the anatomical drawings.

So he began to drawing out the muscles in the legs.

And they drew.

And they drew.

The bells rang in the distance, the only disturbance in the silence. It rang eight times.

New paper. Unwrapped more crayons from their paper clothing.

And they drew.

How foolish the Bachelor was. For thinking that they were in danger in here, thought Sticky.

And they drew.

Then there was a loud groan.

Sticky froze.

“What was that?” Murky squeaked.

Sticky felt it before he heard another groan. The vibrations of the earth rumbling the metal of the train tracks and therefore, the wheels, and then the floor of the train car.

He stuck his head out the open train car door and there it was.

Sticky never realized how large the bulls were. How large and slick the white horns that rested on their head were and how perfectly sculpted they evolved to penetrate soft bodies. Soft bodies like theirs. Sticky gulped, the hairs pricking up all over his body, ready for action. The horns were white but stained in brilliant red, rusting into copper with residue dripping off.

White foam leaked from its mouth.

The hooves were yellowed and cracked.

The muscles were too large for its skin; they bubbled.

An unnatural whiteness crested over the mad eyes.

How appropriate it was, that Sticky remembered they all mocked Daniil when he admitted he feared the rather docile creatures, pointing out that they don’t kill because they need the meat to survive. They kill because they can. They can spare the energy to murder what is merely annoying them.

The bull dragged a hoove against the ground.

Sticky immediately lunged for the door to close it as the bull charged.

“Murky! Hide!”

The train car flooded with black as the door flung shut. Sticky felt the wheels of the train car lift as the bull crashed against the metal walls.

Sticky didn’t remember the last time he felt scared of a bull when they had Noukher, always happily grumbling and munching the grass around. But he wanted to cry now. He held the door, refusing to let it slide or open when the bull threw itself against it over and over again. The bull didn’t need meat but wanted flesh.

His arms were hurting and sore already; each blow by the bull violently rattled the door, the metal bowing and dented where the horns collided. On the next impact, it knocked Sticky down, and he saw a sliver of light illuminate the dark car where the door and the wall should have latched.

He scrambled and whimpered to shut it before the bull slammed against the one thing protecting them again.

“Leave us alone!” Murky shouted from the opposite corner of the train car, her voice sounding as scared as Sticky felt.

But the bull didn’t care.

Artemy always said that the bulls get bored easily. He never feared them. He wrestled with Noukher once or twice for fun. When bulls gave chase, they would just want whatever or whoever it was to be gone; they weren’t hunters, after all. This one should have seen that they weren’t worth the effort, they posed no threat. Sticky’s arms burned and muscles screamed at the continued effort.

He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t fail. He didn’t have a choice.

“HELP! ANYONE! HELP! ABA!” Sticky cried, feeling the hot tears and sweat running down his face. It didn’t take long for Murky to join in. “ABA!”

A gunshot rang out and it made Sticky’s ears feel like they were bleeding.

Two more shots rang out. The bull stopped charging at the door and it bellowed at something away from them.

One more shot rang out.

Silence.

Sticky panted as he pulled his hands away from the door. His arms felt like jelly. A final groan from the bull bellowed, rumbling through their prison and their refuge, and the final vibrations of the body hitting the ground outside rattled the train car one last time.

Silence and stillness.

“A-aba?” Sticky whimpered out, still too timid to open the door. He stepped back, and felt Murky clutch the shirt on his back, feeling out for him, and then embracing his hip. She was breathing heavily and unevenly, matching his own. Sticky didn’t know if he felt her tears, sweat, or snot when she hugged him a little closer.

He swallowed hard. What if there was a mugger out there? What did they have to defend themselves?

When the door opened, the light viciously attacked their eyes, but relief came seconds later as the Bachelor’s form emerged and shielded them.

“Children.” The cool voice replied. Sticky didn’t need to look up to know that Daniil’s face was reeking of fury and disappointment.

“Oh! H-hey?” Sticky mumbled out. His arms were trembling.

The Bachelor set the rifle and carpet bag down on the wooden floor and leaned over to capture Sticky’s hands, pulling and unsleeving the layers of sweaters and shirts to witness the damage. Sticky blinked, there were bruises forming on his arms already from holding the door closed. His hands bled in perfect edges, a consequence for pressing against the metal forms and imperfect handles.

The Bachelor gave an odd noise; a whimper but not really, more of a choke. Without hesitation, he pulled the carpet bag a little closer to get the required materials; and Sticky knew that the salve he was going to use was going to sting.

“You’re in big trouble.” Daniil growled out, quieter than Sticky expected, as he unsheathed his own hands to begin rubbing the familiar clear jelly with speckled green on Sticky’s imprinted wounds. Sticky winced but knew better than to pull his hands back or whine about the pain.

“We didn’t do anything wrong.” Sticky meekly replied.

Daniil wrapped the bandages tighter, face twisting in anger.

“You disobeyed me! I told you to stay at home!”

“N-no, you didn’t…” He thought he was being witty when he explained the loophole to Murky earlier. “You only said that we should be bored and-’” Daniil gave a snarl in return.

“OH SO...- I have no patience for this. Leave your stuff. We’re going back.”

“But-”

“Now.” Eyes burned with fury.

The Bachelor turned to check the outside world once more before glaring at the children to hasten. Sticky took a small step but Murky gripped his shirt harder, stilling him.

“Why did it attack? They never attacked before.” Murky sniffled. She stood frozen next to Sticky; he felt too awkward to move away and feared a screech if she didn’t expect that. “Will Noukher attack us? He’s a good bull… don’t kill him.”

The Bachelor gave a sigh.

“Pumpkin...” He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “Those bulls went mad after inhaling bad smoke. We never made Noukher breath any of it in. So he’s still nice. Come on, let’s go make sure he’s okay.” Then, the Bachelor stretched out his hand. Murky blinked.

She reached for it, shyly but no hesitation. From Sticky to Daniil she swung and Daniil smiled. The cold fury melted off, or went into dormancy. His head gestured to the outside at Sticky.

He helped them both getting out of the train car. He didn’t need to.

“What about the rifle?” Sticky squeaked out, trying to be as quietly as he could. Quiet from fear of the bulls and from shame.

“I don’t have any more bullets. That thing is useless now.”

Daniil held Murky’s small hand and gripped the carpet bag with the other. Daniil’s head never stopped whipping back and forth, on constant alarm of their surroundings.

Sticky would have considered the act to be paranoia only an hour or so ago, but the Bachelor was sensible; Sticky only heard the bull when it made its presence known with its rumbling call. It could have easily clambered unto the train car before either of them noticed in time to close the door. And now they were in the middle of a wide open field with no doors nor walls to protect them.

The frost crunched underneath their feet, their breaths heavy fogs around them in the drooping sun. At some angles, the breath of the doctor glowed yellow before dissolving into a blue as he continued to watch out for any sign of danger. When Daniil craned his head back to the train car, he scooped up Murky to carry her without saying a word and walked faster. Sticky’s curiosity overcame his senses and so he snapped his head back to see what they left behind and gave a small gasp.

Two bulls were fighting each other not far from the train car, now empty.

What if we were still there? Would they have seen us?

Their pace increased exponentially after that.

When the grass started to give away to stone, and the stone to pebbles, and the pebbles to cobblestone, Sticky relaxed. But the Bachelor didn’t. In fact, he seemed more cautious, setting Murky down and telling them to stay close as he peeked around the warehouse walls. Always waiting a few seconds before beckoning them along.

He jumped at every sound, and paled when Murky sneezed, waiting, listening, remaining still for a few seconds before they moved on. Daniil always led, followed by Murky, and then finally Sticky, being last to push Murky faster if needed.

The warehouses were never the tallest buildings, but they were always tall enough. Tall enough for the children to escape adults and dogs. If they could just make it to the roof, then Sticky knew that they would be safe. But his hands were covered in bandages. He couldn’t climb to throw down any rope or give assistance. He crippled himself in fending off the earlier danger. The bandages were still neatly wrapped against his palms; a little tight, but he suspected that the compression helped with the pain that would have stung.

Once more the Bachelor gave a hush and told them to stay as he walked a few steps forward to investigate an open warehouse, the door blocking half the filthy and narrow alley. He stared inside of it for a while, checking every corner available in the dusty crate filled room, decorated with bricks and chains, before passing it. Sticky took the moment to stare at the clouds above them, gray with smudges of soft orange. It was going to get colder soon. His stomach froze. It was going to get dark soon.

If he stayed in the house, they would have been safe and warm, not worrying about the bulls or the setting sun. Not scurrying behind warehouses, worrying if a monster lurked behind its backdoor.

They took another ten steps before the Bachelor stopped once more to check around the corner of the building.

“Oh. Oh no.” Daniil whispered, stepping back until Murky nearly bumped into him. Sticky didn’t need to see to know what the Bachelor saw around the corner. He stiffened.

“Is there one-” Murky clamped her mouth when she heard a familiar gruff, just out of vision. Daniil’s eyes were round, looking at Sticky and Murky. He was calculating; his arms stretched out to guide Murky away. The train of humans turned around.

“Shh. Okay, keep quiet. Move slowly. Along the walls,” the Bachelor whispered out of his vision. Sticky was now leading the train of soft bodies down the alleys in between the warehouses, once more passing by that open door.

He looked back at the Bachelor, who shook his head. Don't go in there. We don’t want to be trapped.

So he continued on, trying to show that he listened.

But how foolish he was.

Foolish indeed.

Stupid boy.

Idiot.

Daniil spent the entire time checking around corners. Listening and waiting. And Sticky watched him. Each moment with the Bachelor was supposed to be one of education. Aba was the one that made things fun; not Daniil. He was the one that told them to stay at home and be bored. He was the one that made the journey longer by checking all the corners. He was the one that was keeping them safe.

Yet, Sticky walked out, without taking the cautious peek, into the wider dirt path that connected the alleyways. So desperate to get away from the bull that they knew was now behind them, that surely there wouldn’t have been one around the corner where they were just moments ago.

Stupid.

Idiot.

Another bull, with large veins popping from the bubbly muscles, gruffed at him as he appeared into its cone of vision. Sticky froze. Like before, this one was leaking the white foam from its mouth, and the horns were just as deadly. There wasn’t a door this time to-

The bull charged.

Daniil shoved Sticky aside. A shot rang out.

Murky gave a squeal and squatted at the noise, covering her ears.

The bull stumbled and crashed into the ground. In the cold, Stick saw the revolver smoking inches off his face. The Bachelor always had the revolver.

“RUN!” Daniil cried. The bull started to clamber off the ground, bellowing. It reminded Sticky of an unforgiving train whistle, unable to stop.

The Bachelor’s revolver stiffened against the bull. Sticky didn’t disobey him this time; his legs ran toward the open warehouse, pulling on Murky’s arms, dragging her behind him. They didn’t have a choice; a poor shelter was better than no shelter at all. A few more shots rang out like before and one of the giants fell.

But Sticky locked eyes with the other bull rounding the corner, hoof pawing at the ground, ready to charge at the source of all the commotion. Blood rushed in his ears and his heart was pumping rivers despite the journey being only five feet.

It was odd. Time stilled when Sticky saw that bull... and the carpet bag on the floor, carelessly tossed aside. No. Not carelessly. Desperately.

The Bachelor wasted no time nor movement; he shoved them faster into the building with an outstretched arm. The hooves of the remaining bull trembled the ground underneath their feet. One more shot snapped through the air. Sticky heard the bull crash through alleyway crates and into the neighboring warehouse, like thunder. Daniil rushed to action upon entering the warehouse, and Sticky quickly followed; they leveraged their weight together to shove the heavy wooden door closed. Daniil had to toss the revolver, the same way he tossed the syringe, the same way he left the rifle, to the side to fiddle with the lock. Haunting moans of the bull echoed from the other side, and the moment Daniil succeeded in locking the door; the wood splintered, bellowing toward them like a lung and knocking the Bachelor unto the floor.

The door’s inescapable fate was to be collateral damage.

“That’s not going to hold him for long.” Sticky clutched his head. This was all his fault. Oh, how clever he thought he was just hours ago! The bull from the train car almost broke the metal door; what chance did a wooden one have? Daniil scrambled up and placed more weight against the door, trying to add to whatever little resistance they had and to ensure the boards wouldn't break right away. Sticky looked up at the roof; the sky beams connected to the support pillar which had some crates at the base...

“I can climb up and-”

“No.” Daniil strained out, his boots leaving behind small trails with each shove and force he braced against the door. Sickly sounds of flesh impacting the door accompanied each of the Bachelor’s grunts. “But I can-”

“NO! You already disobeyed me once, you will not do so again-!” A screech of effort cut him off as once more, the door creaked and splintered to the bull pounding against it again.

“Aba... help…” Murky’s sniffles started to become violate until she was sobbing. “ABA!” She shrieked hard enough for the Bachelor to wince, unable to spare his hands to cover his ears.

“Murky, stop crying, that’s not helping.” Sticky snapped. His chest was getting tighter and tighter.

Surely there must have been something they can barricade the door with. A loud bang knocked Daniil back down and once more he scrambled to the thick door. The crates? Sticky tried to lift one but it was literally filled with bricks. Perhaps they can knock the bricks and crates over when the bull inevitably fell through the door and trip it? What if they escaped through the front gate? Would they even have time?

Daniil looked at Sticky. Sticky looked at Daniil. Daniil’s unblinking gaze drifted to Murky crying, squatting on the floor.

“Okay. Okay.” He cleared his throat. “We’re going to play a game. Hide and seek, okay? We’re just going to cheat a little.” He was smiling, trying to reassure them, but failing. The corners were twitching too much against the unnatural order his face was made to carry out. He was shaking as he left his post and almost on cue, the door creaked against the weight of the bull hellbent on fighting them. A plank snapped off.

“We don’t-” Murky started but he hushed her, ushering them to the closest corner... near the splintering wood.

All three of them winced when the bull slammed against the door again and Daniil patted their backs to hurry along.

Daniil unbuttoned his coat.

“Shh… Go in between the wall and the crates. Over there. That’s it, now sit. Small as possible… There you go.” He sounded too gentle. Sticky saw some more boards finally breaking and falling through. A white horn parted the planks and intruded into the room. Daniil didn’t bother looking back. Instead, he draped his snakeskin coat over the children, warm brown eyes never leaving them. “Put my coat- that’s it. Now, stay perfectly still. Please, stay still and quiet. S-stay here until I…” Daniil gave a whine. “- someone gets you, okay? No shouts, no tumbles, just be quiet. Can you do that? For me? Promise?”

“I’m sorry-”

“Shh. Afterwards, go home. Just go home. Take care of each other, okay? Promise?”

With that said, Daniil wrapped his arms around both of them and squeezed. A bit tight but comforting embrace, with his head lulling in between them. Sticky grappled the arm around him, fingers curling into the white fabric of the shirt, not wanting to let it go.

Daniil took a deep breath. A deep breath that once more, pressed them both closer to him, their heads nestling into the groove of his neck, and exhaled in a shudder. Sticky felt the vein, the jugular, pulsing mad against his brow. Then, ever so slowly, despite the door bursting and splintering more and more… Daniil leaned his sad smile against Murky’s forehead, drawing out a squeaky sob from her, and gracefully reenacted the same to Sticky.

She would have died, and died happily, if it meant her daughter could live, you hear?

Sticky didn’t understand how happy someone can be to die. Out of obligation, sure, but happy? But then he understood seeing the painful smile on Daniil’s face.

“Promise?” Daniil whispered.

Murky squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. Sticky was too stupefied to answer.

“Wait-” he started before Daniil covered their faces with the rest of his coat. This wasn’t fair. Daniil was a doctor of the town; an indispensable role. A Bachelor of Medicine who worked for that role for more years than Murky has been alive.

He fought against an impossible plague and lived through it.

He shouldn’t die by a bull because of a stupid child.

But Sticky heard the now familiar footsteps running to the other side of the room, away from them and to the untouched massive gate. It resisted with a creak and Daniil groaned with effort, trying to drag it open. Sticky wanted to see what was happening but he promised Daniil that he would obey his words. He stayed still. Murky flinched every time the sound of a board breaking assaulted them and landed on the dirt floor near them. But Sticky was listening only for Daniil.

Daniil gave a last surge of power in opening the warehouse gate and Sticky hoped it was wide enough; in that instant, the door nearest to them crackled and sputtered. Debris fell near them. Sticky felt one or two splinter of wood land on the coat. A breath later the bull broke it completely open and stumbled into the room, an earthquake announcing its presence.

Sticky squeezed Murky closer to him. They must have looked like a dull rock with the coat on them. The bull was close but didn't come closer. Instead...

“Over here, you stupid beast!” Daniil cried out.

The bull charged away from them.

Silence.

They were alone.

They stayed.

The coat smelled like Daniil's cologne.

Chapter Text

The air was heavy, or rather, it was heavy within the coat. Both of them can feel their breathes swirling within the self imposed trap. Sticky lowered it a few minutes ago and saw the carnage of the broken door with a clear vision of the alleyway; and if they could see the alleyway, than whatever was there could have seen them.

Sticky brought his knees a little closer. The button near the Bachelor’s collar scraped against his scalp once more. He wanted to cry. But couldn’t. Murky was there and Murky mirrors. He expected her to cry before him, or to throw off the coat and rid the stuffiness, or to even run off after the Bachelor. But she didn’t. Instead, she balled up and hugged her knees, rocking ever so slightly.

What he didn’t expect her to do was to hum.

More specifically, he didn’t expect her to hum a war melody of all things; whenever she attempted some musical ability, it was more an exercise of creativity. As Artemy would say, “voicing a momentary and forgetful muse.” In other words, utter nonsense without a semblance of song or rhythm.

Murky hummed it out of tune, a cracked note here, or a repeated verse there to fill in the missing gaps in her memories. It angered Sticky. It was supposed to be an enraging song, something to boil the soldier blood. But this variation sounded too much like a lullaby. Who would want a lullaby about a man leaving for battle and coming home to a destroyed town, and seeing that fighting was the only thing left to live for, signed up for the next draft? He heard the Capital soldiers singing it after a day of burning people and drinking through it.

Bachelor said that they have to stay quiet. How did she even know it?

“Where did you learn that song?” He asked, a little more bitterly than he meant to.

“If you’re not singing, it’s a tune.”

Sticky scoffed at the correction. Although she spoke it as a matter of fact, a truth, not something to be smug about.

“Okay, where did you learn that tune?”

She stopped and turned away, the coat shifting with her, even more so when she rubbed her eyes.

“Bachelor hums it.”

“Oh.”

“He’s better at it.” She muttered; a sniffle soon followed. Sticky found his hands gripping whatever debris particles on the ground a little tighter.

“He’s older; had more time to practice,” Sticky replied in a faint attempt to comfort.

It must have sounded good, coming from the Bachelor. His voice, at least from the singing that Sticky heard, held a gentle timbre and naturally honeyed tone. Sticky remembered when Daniil tried to ask Artemy what was the name of some concert piece and crooned it, deep and warm.

Yet, there was a deep cut within Sticky with the knowledge that Daniil knew it. Was it a popular Capital song? Or was it something that he heard growing up in the large city? He never heard a lullaby version of it before… did the Bachelor make it up? Or did he hear it as he went to sleep as a child?

The Bachelor was once a child too, right? Did he have friends? If he was the same age as Sticky, would they have been friends? Sticky curled his feet a little closer to himself. He gets along with everyone; so the possibility wouldn’t have been too far. Was the Bachelor a prick when he was younger or did something warp him to have the mannerisms he carries today?

“He’s usually there when I wake up from a bad dream.” Murky squeaked. “Then he carries me around and hums it.”

Sticky felt his eyes stinging and wiped them, despite nothing being there besides the sweat and the hot moisture from their breaths.

“It’s because you’re practically a baby. He stays quiet with me when that happens. Bad dreams or stuff like that. Like when we lost a patient. He just sits there and stays quiet.” The jealousy or sadness must have been too evident if Murky leaned against him.

“I can see that. It’s because you talk too much.”

Sticky blinked as he pondered her words.

“Yeah... I guess.” Daniil wouldn’t sing; he would sit down next to him and wait. Wait for Sticky to talk or to stop talking. “But… then he does this to me instead.” Sticky wrapped an arm around Murky and held her tight against his body, feeling her hiccup and sniffle.

She continued humming.

“Sticky?! Murky?!” Artemy called from the alleyway. Both of the children recognized the voice, despite the raspy nature. They lowered the coat. He wasn’t inside the warehouse, but Sticky saw the shadows dance on the neighboring building. A figure lowering and picking something up.

“Danya? Daniil?” Another call; raspy, quieter and scared.

Artemy entered into the warehouse with the carpet bag in hand. Murky ducked out of the coat before Sticky got a chance to take it off.

“Aba!” She cried out before impacting against his legs with a tackling hug. It nearly tipped him off balance, but he shifted himself straight once more. Then Sticky mimicked the assault, causing him to nearly tip again.

“Hey kiddos! Oh, there you are- you’re safe!” Sticky felt the large man kneel and strong arms squeezing them close, embracing and absorbing all their fear and worries. He felt Artemy’s head moving back in forth, leaving a kiss on their hair in pure relief. But then, one of his hands drifting toward the Bachelor’s coat, still in Sticky’s hand. “… Where’s… Where did you get this?” Sticky flinched in fear when Artemy leaned back to meet their eyes. The day took the toll on him. A larger bruise on the side of his cheek as they flamed from the hours in the Lair, a cut here, and eyes hollowed with dark circles underneath them.

“We were at the train car- then there was a bull- then B-Bachelor was there- but there was another one-” Murky started sputtering out.

“Another broke down the door-” Sticky pointed to the broken entryway where Artemy appeared. Artemy’s face paled and the broken warehouse gate called to him, his head turning to both of the exits. The puzzle completing in his mind.

“He left us!” Murky cried out, and her face scrunched up before the tears started. Her hands balled up and tried to dry them, shoulders shaking with each sob. Her face became red in no time.

Artemy, not knowing what to do, merely picked her up and she started sobbing into his shoulder. The man brushed his hair back, and his balance wilted side to side. Sticky knew that the two healers cared for each other. And cared deeply; sharing meals, jokes, and now even a bed. Both were dependent on each other during the plague, and yet, human life was laughably fragile and can be stripped away for any stupid reason in any way.

“It chased him.” Sticky gulped. His throat felt dry. “It chased him and we did nothing!”

“Slow down. Okay. I’ll go… I’ll go find him. Okay?” Artemy started bouncing Murky in an attempt to stop the sobbing. Despite the Bachelor’s request to remain quiet, it seemed with Artemy there, everything will be solved. Everything was at peace and that everything will be alright. No matter what happened to the doctor, they were safe.

“Cub, Grief said that there’s four bulls in the Stoneyard- children.” Rubin jogged inside, and paused. His tight brow relaxed a bit and readjusted a familiar rifle under his arm. “There you are.” Sticky saw his eyes glue to the snakeskin coat, to the carpet bag in Artemy hand. To the revolver on the floor. “Where’s Dankovsky?”

“They said that a bull was chasing him; best bet, looks like he was heading towards the factory.” Artemy strained out.

“The factory is where they came out of. You really think he would head in that direction?”

“It was technically the first place we cleared out and there’s the highest amount of butchers to help him, should they see him in trouble. Makes sense to go back there.”

Artemy set Murky down and sighed. Rubin rubbed the back of his head, and in an attempt to be a little more useful, lowered himself down to pick up the revolver. Artemy craned his head to get a better view when Rubin opened up the chamber. His lips moved enough for Sticky to make out, empty.

“He said he would come back for us.” Murky sniffled out. “We just have to wait-”

“No, he didn’t…” Sticky corrected. “He didn’t say that.”

“What about the station or the Gut? The Maw?” Artemy spoke to Rubin, taking the revolver with shaking hands. His breath hitched and let out a shuddering sigh.

“We checked that area and got three of the bulls there. Or was it four? Either ways, highly unlikely.”

“What if he went up to try and go to the Hindquarters?”

“He wouldn’t be able to outrun a bull… Unless he climbed or-” Sticky tried to voice in, trying to collaborate. The much taller men gave him an eye, but then resumed to talk to each other. So, he took a step back in shame.

As usual. Rubin always thought his input was useless and a hindrance for even being part of the conversation. Artemy thought it was humorous. A joke. Daniil frequently corrected or critiqued or even scoffed at his suggestions and ideas… but he was the only one that took it seriously. He was the one that wanted to see Sticky grow.

“Too much stretch of land between here and there,” Rubin growled out, not disagreeing but not agreeing with him either.

“Let’s… let’s recheck the areas near the factory. Just in case.” Artemy limped toward the gate. Sticky winced at the sight.

“Cub, take your children home.”

A suggestion from pity and mercy.

“No, Daniil is still out there-” Artemy spoke without stopping, looking back at the others, practically begging them to follow. In six long strides, Rubin was already there and placed his hands on Artemy’s shoulders, stilling him.

“The bastard is hard to kill. I’ll go ahead and keep looking, but someone needs to get them home. And someone also needs to see if there’s anyone that acquires assistance at the clinic. I’ll join you in… two hours. I told Gravel to start heading there; she knows the basics.”

“Daniil could be bleeding out-” Artemy whined.

“It’s what he would consider the most logical action. Now, get them somewhere safe.”

Between the two adults in the Burakh household, most would assume that Daniil was easier to accompany. A reasonable conclusion; the man was shorter than Artemy and his mind must to be too occupied with worry for such trivial matters like his walking speed. But no. Sticky found that Artemy’s pace was kinder on all of their differing leg lengths. Daniil took long and quick strides and expected them all to keep up, willing to drag them if necessary. Artemy, with his bad leg, tended to take things a little slower if he could, and always made sure that the children were in front of him, within his field of vision, pushing them if needed.

So the walk back home was silent and slow. Artemy took advantage of it. He looked around, occasionally calling out for the Bachelor.

Bachelor?! Usually Sticky joined in, checking behind crates and the pony brick walls.

Dankovsky?! Sometimes Sticky joined in, following after Artemy, double checking the areas just in case.

Daniil?! Sticky only looked around instead, watching Artemy gripping his head, trying to prevent his thoughts from unraveling. His mouth was always opened and his eyes begging the questions.

Danya? Artemy would call out in a small voice.

...Kheerkhen? A broken whisper.

Sticky thought of an alternative reality where they stayed at home and were eating dinner, complaining how boring the day was and how stupid the butchers were to ignore their heeding. Daniil would tell both he and Artemy to stop slouching over their food like neanderthals and for Murky to use a fork.

It wasn’t as if eating dinner together was usual or expected. But Sticky still thought of it. He wanted it.

Be content with being bored. Sticky’s stomach froze at the Bachelor’s words to the point of hurt.

“Aba…” Sticky whimpered out, and felt the echoes of the call against the metal lampposts. Artemy didn’t look at him, just kept walking, staring at nothing in front of him as the house loomed closer. “Do you think he will be alright?”

“… He’s a hard man to kill, I’ll tell you that much.” Artemy droned out though his trance.

“Did a lot of people get hurt?”

“Some butchers. Twenty or so. But nothing fatal. Just a couple of broken bones and concussions. Should be waiting at the clinic.”

“Oh. I thought there would be more.”

That’s when Artemy slowed into a stop, and Sticky finally got his chance to catch up. Only to regret it; he almost bumped into the adult. Artemy remained stone, forcing Sticky to go around his hulking frame in danger of crumbling. Shoulders slumped with weary weights and fingertips nipped blue from the cold. The bruise on his cheek blending into the purple sky. The man’s eyes were round and face drooped. Disappointment. Blame.

“Most people stayed inside.” He spoke softly and slowly but his voice hitched and crackled. “That’s what the bells were for. To tell them to stay inside.”

“I’m sorry.”

Artemy stared.

Sticky averted the slate eyes hovering on him, waiting for a follow-up, an answer. Something to emerge from the teenager to give a reason why all this happened. Murky tugged on Artemy’s coat, and that bit of mercy from his sister caused Artemy’s attention to float unto her.

Artemy’s massive hand covered Murky’s to guide and comfort the rest of the way. But Sticky didn’t know who Artemy was comforting; Murky or himself. The small child leaned on the giant, and likewise, his body tilted to mirror the gesture to a lesser degree of efficiency. The two left Sticky behind once more to catch up, yet, Artemy still looked back to confirm that he was still following them. Eyes nearly glowing against the ever growing and ever consuming darkness.

Too disappointed, too sad, to keep the habit of pushing them in front of him.

“I know you are.” Artemy finally muttered, deep and tired, as they approached the steps to their home.

“Do you hate us?” Artemy didn’t stop at Murky’s question, spoken with more mumbles than words. Instead, he pulled up her arm upward until her feet hovered over the ground and set her on the next step. Then it he did it again to the next degree. Something normal. Something that once was playful. It took a while for him to answer, each of his own step up a struggle, his face twisting with effort and emotion in spite of the distraction.

“No. I can never. Neither of you should ever think that.”

Large hands struggled with the doorknob, trying to get it open. It joggled once, twice, and he let out a pained whine at the door’s refusal to budge. Sticky flinched when Artemy gripped the handle and forced it to turn with a loud crunch. The wood splintered around the lock.

Extending a long arm, Artemy held the door open, and the warm air assaulted them all, bringing the renewed pain and the proof of life to their frozen ears and noses.

“Will you look for him? After the clinic?” Sticky pushed Murky a little faster through the door and under his aba’s gaze. The sudden heat made their hands and cheek burn bright red.

“Yeah.”

“Can… Can you tell him I’m sorry when you find him?” Sticky bleated out. Despite feeling the warmth of the home, he was shaking, and shaking fierce.

Artemy sighed.

“You can tell him yourself later. I’ll probably be back late.” Artemy spoke, with a painful smile. The door closed.

They ate some bread and cheese. Murky decided to go to sleep even though Sticky knew she wouldn’t.

He sat on the couch, slouching. The house was warm.

Are you really going to let me die out there? The Bachelor’s voice echoed in his mind. Sticky gripped his thigh, the bandages that the Bachelor wrapped tight around his palm prevented the full clawing force he wanted to use, and he craned his neck until he was looking at the ceiling.

“I… I don’t want to. But there’s nothing I can do!” Sticky hissed at the empty space. “Aba and Rubin are good enough- they don’t need me. I only screw things up. They already have everything under control.” The wounds on his hands itched.

Do they?

“Huh?”

Ugh, you’re imagining me talking to you here and now. Why is that?

Sticky could imagine Daniil roosting in his favorite chair brought over from the Stillwater; right leg crossed over left, leaning back, with elbows perched on the arm rests. His hands would often be occupied with a book or papers. Or just deep in the mind’s labyrinth with his fingers laced together, supporting his chin. He was always thinking, always occupied. Warm brown eyes can burn at whomever was across from him without seeing them. Sticky didn’t even need to look at the chair to visualize the ghost of the Bachelor glaring at him, so he remained diligent to observing the crack in the ceiling.

“Guilt? Shame?” Sticky snorted. The truth delivered with sarcasm made him angry at himself. He was alone. He can tell Daniil, even if he was imaginary. “Me… wanting you back. Please come back.”

No. Stop being stupid and sentimental. Why am I here, Sticky? Why are you imagining a conversation with me and not your aba?

“Because I need you to yell at me. Tell me where you are. Tell me what to do.” Sticky begged.

Have some dignity and some responsibility. Do you really think I would be proud on having an apprentice be a brainless busybody? The Bachelor in his mind snapped at him with disgust. You only need to do two things; figure out where I am and then prepare for it.

“But not everyone is smart like you! Not everyone magically overprepares for everything like you! I’m sorry I couldn’t make you happy and proud and be you!”

If everyone was like the Bachelor, there wouldn’t be a need for the doctor.

You really think of me in that way? Sound monotonous and dull; I never asked you to be my doppelganger. Only follow my example and listen to what I say! I only ever asked you to think and you couldn’t even do that right. Although… to be honest, if everyone was a little more like me, then everything would run more efficiently. The Bachelor would then chuckle. Use your own brain, child. Not mine. You don’t have a choice.

Sticky tried to find something to retort, but couldn’t.

It’s hard being clever on your own, isn’t it!? It’s hard not to have anyone for you to disobey or disbelieve this time. Sticky gritted his teeth at that.

Of course Sticky didn’t believe the Bachelor when he said it was dangerous outside, the Bachelor says that for everything! Irritation pricked up on Sticky’s skin with the guilt, anger, and sorrow. The rivers were ‘dangerous,’ walking on the roof was ‘dangerous,’ talking with strangers was ‘dangerous.’ Why, even now, couldn’t the memory of Daniil be at least bit comforting? Sticky always tried his best and it wasn’t enough.

“You spent all this time training me to think like you and that’s why you’re here. You wasted your time… It would have been better if you treated me like a street urchin or beat me.”

Did I? Would it?

“No…” Sticky groaned, knowing full well that the real Bachelor would have been hurt hearing that. “But… You’re always telling me to be logical and noble. So if you were being ‘logical’ after you were stupid and made the bull run after you, you would have went to the factory where a bunch of butchers would have helped you! But you weren’t there.”

The Bachelor in his head stayed quiet in a trance, gloved fingers interlocked and covering his lips in a poor imitation of a prayer. He couldn’t retort at Sticky. Sticky didn’t know where he was. No one knew. If they knew what was going through his mind at the time they separated than-

Haven’t you ever considered why I ‘overprepare?’

“Because you’re smart…”

Because I came underprepared once. And that’s all it took. I learned from my mistakes… You see, logic of the common man is never crystal clear but it’s always easy to find; there’s always a kernel at every thought, a reason. A diamond in the rough is still a diamond. You asked me where I am. That’s a good question to ask me, who knows. But I’m not here to answer .

That’s what he would say.

Sticky blinked. A ripple of cold pulsed through his skin. They were getting the question wrong; it wasn’t ‘where was he?’

…It was ‘why couldn’t they find him yet?’ There had to be a reason.

“They overlooked something, didn’t they? They were too busy trying to figure out where you could have ran off to.” Sticky jumped out of the couch and jogged to the map in the corner of the room; the map that he had to teach Artemy and Daniil about the whereabouts of the town’s citizens. It wasn’t used as much as before, but it was loved. It bore the handwriting of both healers within it.

Sticky’s eyes automatically went to the warehouses, where they were at and jerked around, hand hovering and tracing the areas nearby.

So far everything Rubin and Artemy said earlier was right. Everything was too far or too unlikely for the Bachelor’s legs. But the direction to the factory seemed the most likely place to run to, it was the shortest path in comparison to the others. It also had the most amount of turns to buy himself time, find a roof to climb, a crate to hide behind, and people to call for help.

But everything had a risk. Roofs can be slippery. Rivers filled with disease. A knife in a stranger’s pocket. Bulls in the street.

What should have they been focusing on?

“How can you outrun a bull?” Sticky asked slowly. He traced the path from the warehouses to the factory, savouring the texture of the paper.

You can’t.

Sticky froze.

He stood straight.

He solved it.

“And you didn’t try, did you? You would get trampled. Because that’s the logical outcome. The logical outcome is for you to fail before making it to any of these places. But it’s also logical,” Sticky huffed out, “that Aba and Rubin didn’t consider that possibility, because it would be an illogical action. Especially for you.”

Yes.

Sticky’s finger traced the map, starting at the warehouse once more. But when his fingernail grazed at the bridge in between the warehouses and the factory, he stopped. And traced downward.

“You jumped in the river. Either the bull wouldn't follow you or struggle to its death there. We think with more than our brains… we think with our bodies. And no one would think in jumping in the freezing river at this time of the year.”

Silence.

“… A gamble… You really took care of us, didn’t you?”

I wasn’t perfect.

“No.”

But I tried.

“… And we loved you all the same.”

Silence once more. He didn’t know what the Bachelor would say, because the Bachelor wasn’t there. But if he were, what he would say for certain was…

Now. Get to work. I won’t have much time if hypothermia is setting in.

“Aba!” Sticky nearly crashed through the clinic’s door, making the six bandaged men waiting for their turn flinch in their seat. “ABA!”

He felt the glass from the lamps ring with his voice. One of the men, bandage stretching over his face frowned at Sticky and massaged his ears.

“What?” Artemy limped out of a room, but didn’t get three steps into the hallways before Sticky rushed unto him, pulling on his hand, trying to force him outside. Artemy gave a couple of steps but mostly stumbled in confusion. “I told you to stay at- is everything alright? Is Murky-”

“I-I might have an idea where the B-Bachelor is- but if I’m right we need to leave now.” Sticky stuttered out. Artemy’s eyes widened as he looked at the room behind him.

“Gravel-” he started. Sticky heard the light footsteps echo before black hair and brilliant eyes shone through the doorframe where Artemy was. She was holding a roll of bandage with bloodied hands, although she herself did not look wounded.

“Go. Stakh should be back soon. I can manage here and keep their innards inside, at least.” She spoke low and almost in a daze. Artemy nodded.

Sticky pulled more on Artemy, who shook off the boy’s hands and hobbled over to the doorway faster. Sticky winced; Artemy must have been running around all day and now the price was catching up to him if a couple of steps was already laborious for him.

“Where might he- Noukher?” They stumbled into the cold evening air. The bull and the cart both welcomed them with a grunt. Both would be encased in shadow if it were not for the lone lamp on the front, giving off a timid yellow. Murky popped her head out from the back, her hair lost in the black plaguing around them but her white face rested on the splintered wood.

“I told Sticky to bring him along.”

She was right, Sticky thought, I was just going to change and bring everything in the carpet bag. A horrible decision in hindsight.

“Yeah, she thought your leg might be too busted to carry him home if we find him. And there were too many things to bring; he could be suffering from hypothermia if we’re-”

“Bring? Nevermind- where would he-” Sticky climbed up to the driver’s bench, and Artemy followed him.

“What if he jumped off the bridge?” The moment Sticky spoke, Artemy froze halfway up the climb. Thoughts, memories, paranoia rushing to him. He swept his hair back.

“Does he even know how to swim-? We need-”

“Warm set of clothes. Blankets and towels. Got hot coffee and milk with plenty of sugar.”

Artemy blinked at the boy’s response.

“The heat won’t last long.” Artemy spoke flatly, still frozen with one leg still on the cobblestone ground.

“Come on, I already got that covered! I surrounded them with hot bottles of water and wrapped it all in an army’s tent from back then to insulate. But the more we spend here, the more heat we will lose in the back. Now, come on! Already lost a lot of time running around, getting everything, and hooking up Noukher!”

“I helped.” Murky glared.

“Didn’t say otherwise.” Sticky corrected. “She did, though. Kept an eye on the stove for me and was nice enough to stay in the back and keep everything from falling out.”

“But I want to ride in front.”

“We can lose things on the way back, but not on the way there. You can ride when we’re coming back.” Sticky snapped, more for speed than emotion.

He snapped the reigns on Noukher, too impatient to wait for his aba to get comfortable, and the bull lurched forward, getting the momentum to pull the cart. The cart gave a jolt over a dip on the road and Artemy bounced to his seat. He took the reigns from Sticky with a groan.

“We also need-”

“Got the rifle Bachelor keeps under your bed and his revolver. Packed extra ammunition.”

Without thinking, Artemy flicked the reigns, snapping the cold air and clicked his tongue. Noukher started trotting, or at least walking a little faster than normal.

“Good prep work, Sticky.” The lamp on the edge of the wagon frame shone on Artemy’s face, revealing eyes softened. He didn’t need to say the quiet part out loud.

Daniil would have been proud.

The ride was rocky to say the least. Artemy was not shy in making Noukher work. They took Noukher to pull heavier equipment out before, but it was never this uncomfortable. Sticky figured it was due to the speed and Artemy uncaring in navigating around the cracks and holes. Whatever got them down to the edge of the river faster.

Soon, when the bridge came into view, Artemy blinked. Probably imagining Daniil taking a plunge into it from desperation, like Sticky was. And he guided Noukher to go off the road and into the muddy ground. The frost solidified it enough to make the wagon able to navigate it.

It felt like hours.

No one spoke or conversed.

Sticky looked at that river’s black water, now mirroring the stars above, wondering which bend Daniil lurched himself out. If he ever got out of the river.

“I found him!” Murky cried, her arms spearing in between the two, pointing a bit to the right. Both Sticky and Artemy flinched at the sudden break in silence- and Sticky had to regain his balance from his aba jerking the cart to a halt. Noukher let out a displeased grumble and Murky gave a yelp, followed by some hollow shambling to stop herself from falling over the driver’s bench.

Artemy spotted what she meant far sooner than Sticky, and the stationary cart rocked in the rapid shift of weight as Artemy stumbled off and ran in the direction that Murky alluded to. He took the lamp with him.

Sticky squinted and followed the light that Artemy stole.

Only ten cart lengths away, just slightly beyond the river’s bank, was a large mound. Sticky blinked and cocked his head. He initially assumed it was a couple of rocks with a stick wedged in the middle of it; finding such sights was common enough with the amount of children running wild and playing whatever made up game of the day, but focusing a little more caused him to see that the falling shadows was much too soft and consistent to be a ragged rock. It was a bull, still as stone, but still a bull. Dead. With one pipe sticking out of its neck.

And under neath the dead bull, was a familiar shape of Bachelor sized; an arm folded over to cover his face. An instinct to try to hide away from the cold.

Instead of scurrying off the cart and following in Artemy’s footsteps, Sticky scrambled to the back. Stepping over the cart’s frame, his destination was instead on the items of the cart and Murky parted ways to make room for him. Artemy was the one running to make sure that Daniil was alright, so it was up to Sticky now to make sure to help either maintain or improve whatever state the Bachelor was in. Murky was already skipping about the wagon like a grasshopper, moving the items out of the tightly packed nest of materials for Sticky to grab what was necessary.

“Daniil! Daniil, are you-?!” Sticky heard Artemy stagger to the man’s side, the sound of a body kneeling on moist and spongy earth following soon after. “Wake up, already!”

Sticky swallowed a large pill as he felt his own feet already sinking into the freezing mud when he got off the cart, gathering the items in hand. It slurped up his boots up greedily, the air bubbling and popping with gurgles at the arch of each foot. Daniil was probably out here for… three hours? That would have been a death sentence. Chances are that he was already-

But Daniil moaned in response before that thought could continue.

A weight elevated off his heart. Sticky gripped the carpet bag, clothes, and a bottle of sweetened milk.

The coffee would be a more effective choice to stimulate warmth, but Sticky didn’t know if he had a concussion. Caffeine is bad for concussions- no coffee or tea, the Bachelor once said, and so the fatty warm milk would be the safer choice. Warm drinks would be more effective inside the freezing body rather submerge the body into a warm bath. Otherwise it halts the shivering mechanics that self regulates the internal temperature.

Sticky gripped the bottle, the only reason why he knew this was because the Bachelor told him to serve refreshments to patients, always having to say something about what he chose to serve. Never forsaking him with any more responsibility, nor any less. He began to move toward the two adults, giving a small gesture for Murky to grab the blankets and towels and to follow him.

“Ugh…? Did I…?” The voice was so small and weak in the distance. Unfitting of a Bachelor. Daniil mumbled out some more lazy words, but Sticky couldn’t understand him.

“What? No. Daniil, can you tell me who I am?”

“Stop that nonsense. I’m not that far-”

“Tell me.”

“Vorakh.”

“Close enough.”

Sticky was rounding Noukher, happily munching on the frosty grass, the heat of his breath rising and steaming, when the light of the lamp near the duo sent a shiver up his spine. The Bachelor was covered in various shades of red, Artemy’s right hand was fluttering up and down; checking and gauging the damage, trying to push the dead bull off of him, but the other hand tenderly guarded the Bachelor’s muddy cheek. Both a display of affection and a necessity, the doctor’s head was lulling automatically back to the carved ground to rest whenever Artemy faltered the support.

He knew he shouldn’t; time was of the essence, but something ashamed held Sticky back. He couldn’t approach. Not yet. He couldn’t.

Murky loitered close by. Feet fidgeting in wanting to go next to their aba, but uncertainty planting her in place. Mirroring Sticky. But… then she took a step forward, shy and uncertain, but still a step nevertheless. And Sticky took one after her.

What would Daniil say to them? Would he yell? Tell them they weren’t worth the effort and return to the Stillwater?

They didn’t want that.

The Bachelor’s hands weakly flailed to stop Artemy’s fluttering one, waving around and missing before finally trapped it to his chest. Even at the ever waning distance between them, Sticky could see that his hands did not, could not, curl up. But they clamped around Artemy’s wrist and brought the surgeon closer.

“The children. Artemy. The childr- did you find them? I f-forgot where… I forgot where they were.”

“No-”

“I told them I would come back for them. I promised… Didn’t I? What did I-? Did you find them? Artemy, I can’t remember-!”

Sticky choked and gulped, his eyes suddenly burning when he heard the pitiful wail that came soon after. A broken sob, high pitched and choking on his spit. Of frustration and desperation. Sticky heard that sort of cry during the plague, common in the street. Helplessness. Please, stay still and quiet. S-stay here until I…- someone gets you, okay?

“No, I found them, Daniil, safe and sound. They stayed right where they were. Like you told them to. In fact, they’re here-”

That was supposed to ease Daniil’s sobs down, but instead, he let out another cry, louder. It’s crescendo quickly reached a peak before it stifled into involuntary silence. The expression that lingered was one of twisted pain, a silent sob shuddering through him, rocking his body as he held onto Artemy harder as a lifeline.

Sticky heard those cries before as well. When Artemy told parents that the panacea cured their son or daughter, or when surgery was a success and that their child was going to walk again.

So many hours thinking that their child was doomed only to hear of their salvation.

Daniil was relieved.

The Bachelor took a shuddering breath, and then another, and then, it was like a calming mask covered him up, his head lulling too limply against the hand that held it. Occasionally letting out a hiccup.

Artemy’s brow tightened.

“… Daniil, can you look at the lamp?”

Daniil seemed to be too dazed and numb to Artemy’s remark, unable to react more than simply nodding whilst mumbling a retort that was beyond Sticky’s hearing. Artemy had to tilt the other’s head toward the warm illumination of the lamp’s fire. Either he didn’t understand or he physically couldn’t follow the directions. Sticky’s gaze eventually drifted from Daniil to Artemy, who was gawking straight at him and Murky. Artemy widened his eyes and gestured the children to come close. Well, what are you waiting for?! We need to work!

Murky ran first, carrying the blanket. Her nearly falling over and almost rendering the blanket useless motioned Sticky into action. Her footing was wobbly, the mud sucking her legs deeper, but she never fell. Soon, she was hovering over Daniil along with a kneeling Sticky, setting the stuff down near Artemy.

Daniil’s lips were blue. His face filthy; caked in cuts, dried blood, and mud. His clothes soaked and heavy on him.

He’s not shivering. Brain fog. Memory loss. Mood swings. Loss of dexterous control. Hypothermia with probable concussion. Replace the wet clothes with warm ones and provide warm drinks to let the body regulate itself. Share body heat if needed.

But Sticky was stupefied at the bloody scenery. What if he needed surgery? Sticky had the materials but not the knowledge. He didn’t know where to start. What if he touched something when assisting Artemy and it bleed more? The blood was ranging in brilliance; Sticky forgot, was it the brighter or darker blood that meant a major artery was severed? Was the color the indicator or was it the consistency? Artemy was already getting the carpet bag and opening it. Sticky wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready. All he knew were tools and errands, or at best, helping someone drink medicine; he couldn’t have someone’s life under his hands!

His chest was getting tight. Artemy was getting ready to cut him open, wasn’t he? Why else did he want the carpet bag? There was too much blood. Something in the Bachelor broke.

Stop panicking. Analyze. Use your brain. The Bachelor’s voice cooed at him once more.

Would your aba have called you over to stare at me dying? Take a deep breath. Use your knowledge, not your imagination. I’m a patient now; don’t panic or else I will.

Sticky took a deep breath and looked where he was afraid to; the Bachelor’s chest rose and fell, slow but still strong.

The mess wasn’t the Bachelor’s blood, but the bull’s.

The pipe sticking out of the bull’s neck was covered in mud. And thus, a crystal clear picture appeared.

The Bachelor was pulled by the river, and the bull followed. He found a pipe washed up from the factory upstream, either swam to it or picked it up along the way, stabbed the bull as it rose unto the river's bank, and the bull fell on him. Unable to escape and too far away to call for help, the Bachelor couldn’t do anything beyond look at the dimming skies, wondering if the children were found.

They were here now.

And the very thing that pinned him down was what saved him. The bull’s body still provided the warm blood to keep him from frosting. After all, a human body takes hours to become cool to the touch after death.

A hard man to kill, indeed.

Dull sleepy brown eyes met Sticky’s, and floated to Murky. Murky waddled over on her knees to his side. Whatever mental message she sent was received warmly; a gloved hand rose up and patted her cheek. He let out another broken sob with a smile at seeing both children well and unharmed.

“Sticky, remove his gloves while I’m doing this.” Artemy’s hands traveled up and down the Bachelor’s torso and pressed near his hips. Daniil gave a gasp and a groan with the disturbance. Before another groan could emerge once more, Sticky grabbed one of the clumsy hands and began to unglove it.

The hand was pale with scorching red around the knuckles and a hint of blue at the tips.

Then… Sticky’s eyes started to well up. He held them in for so long. The tears burned as they streaked down.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Sticky wiped his face with his sleeve. What if they were too late? Daniil could have lost his hands. He worked delicately. He may have happily died out to save them, but would he have lived happily with missing fingers?

Daniil hummed an acknowledgment to the boy's words.

“That’s... good to know, Sticky.” Daniil commented meekly. He blinked. “Folly of youth, right, Tyoma?” Daniil chortled and Artemy give a smile. Why was the Bachelor being so relaxed about it? Under normal circumstances, he would have been chewing Sticky out, hissing and scolding. Instead, he was joking around.

“You’re… here because of me. You almost lost-”

“We’re also here because of you.” Artemy chuckled. He finally pulled out what he was looking for from the carpet bag; tourniquet straps and a thick rod of soft wood, covered in bitemarks. “You know Danya, he’s the one that figured out where you went.”

“Ah. You used your head… so proud of you…” Daniil laughed softly and push a clump of hair back from the boy’s face. Then, he stared off. “Tyoma… I’m feeling lightheaded.”

“Sticky, move the damn thing’s leg more toward the river.” Artemy grunted out, readjusting the bull’s corpse, and pulling on Daniil’s limbs time to time, trying to shift him around. Sticky hobbled over and began grabbing the bull’s leg and pulling it. It was still malleable, unaffected by rigor mortus. Although the leg was cooled, the body of the bull was still warm. “Daniil, don’t fall asleep. Not now.”

“I won’t, not that out of it. Oh. Murky, sunshine…” his brow furrowed, “-no… you don’t like it when I call you that, right?”

“That’s what Aba calls me… You call me ‘pumpkin.’ But you can call me that if you want.”

Daniil groaned when Sticky moved and pulled the leg. Daniil was probably trying to distract himself from what was happening around him, ignoring the bull’s head with milky eyes and foaming mouth nearing his chest, unable to progress in sliding off or away due to the Bachelor’s body blocking the pipe.

“Oh… That’s nice.” He hummed. “What was it that I promised you the other day? Have been trying to remember it. We were having… breakfast and you came in asking for something…”

“Oh. That. You were going to help me find a rainbow beetle when the season came.”

“Yes, that. No. Iridescent.” Daniil corrected, stating it slowly and nearly singing with each syllable in a different tone. “That’s what it was. Thank you, I was trying to remember it this whole time.”

Artemy tried to grip the pipe on the neck to pull it out, but it was vacuum sealed to the bull.

“Damn.” Artemy grunted, sinking more into the ground the harder he tried to pull it out. Instead of the pipe coming out of the bull, the entire bull followed the pipe. “Showed this animal no mercy, huh?”

“Of course not. He threatened my children. Always hated these beasts.”

“But Noukher is nice.” Murky squeaked.

“He's not a beast, pumpkin, he’s a pet. Completely different. ”

Artemy groaned, giving up on trying to slide the bull off the man. So he knelt, tapping Daniil’s cheeks and that rattled some attention back into him. The laying man automatically opened his mouth and Artemy slid the wooden rod through until it sat across comfortably, eyes still dull and trying to focus, but understanding of what was to come before plopping back. The mud squelched as it welcomed him once more.

Sticky watched on as Daniil lounged lazily, looking at the stars as Artemy strapped one his thighs, the one underneath the bulk of the bull’s weight, in the leather belts and strapped it tight. Daniil winced at that, but not as much as Artemy. They didn’t know what was happening to the Bachelor’s body underneath the corpse; if something was cut or punctured and it was the bull keeping everything in place.

Just in case. Everything was always just in case.

Artemy sighed before standing up, brushed off his coat, and placed steady hands on the pipe and the dead bull’s horns.

“Alright kiddos… you pull him out while I lift. I think his leg is broken so he might start screaming. But don’t stop unless I tell you to.”

“Danya. Danya- keep your eyes open. I don’t want you to fall asleep yet.” Artemy reminded Daniil, covered in fresh clean clothing, leg in a makeshift splint of wagon wood and the now repurposed tourniquet straps, as he carried smaller man on the cart. Daniil was shivering, not as violently as a few minutes ago, burying his face into the warmth of Artemy’s neck where he was just nestled in before they had to rudely get up.

“I know. Just resting them. Calm down.” He slurred, the weariness and warmth of the drinks consumed trying to lull him to rest and sleep. But not yet. Sticky and Murky shoved the items around the wagon, emptying the bottles of water long since cooled or folding the bloodied towels to make a makeshift pillow.

Artemy was obviously sore. Tired. Aching. But also calm and content. And so in turn, were the children. They finished their mission and hopped off the cart.

“Mishka, would you want to ride in the front?” Artemy asked, shifting Daniil around in his arms and finding what was the best way to set him down. “Sticky, let her ride in the middle.”

Her posture perked up a bit and turned completely around to the front of the cart, seeing the seats. She took a step forward, letting her actions be her answer, but she stopped. Both Sticky and Artemy waited in curiosity at the hesitancy and the shift in demeanor, her posture no less straight nor nervous. Rather, it seemed to carry some purpose.

She trotted toward the adults and gestured for Artemy to lower the Bachelor. Artemy made sure to give an extra rock for Daniil to open his heavy eyes.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” She whispered.

Daniil blinked.

Murky looked to the front of the cart and then looked back at the Bachelor, biting her lip. She shuffled her feet. Daniil gave a shiver and, to Sticky’s surprise, nodded.

“Yeah.”

Murky gripped the fabric of her coat. Perhaps Daniil really was that oblivious in the moment of what her desires were or he wanted to have a reminder that he succeeded that day. That he protected his children.

“Okay.” She replied, and climbed up to the back of the cart, waiting for Artemy to set down the Bachelor so she can keep him company.

He threatened my children.

“I… was thinking, Aba.” Sticky broke the comfortable silence as they passed the warehouses. Noukher grumbled as the ground turned from soft soil to the hard cobblestone. A much easier ground to pull a wagon with four people. But the Bachelor was safe, and so Artemy was in no hurry to push the bull any further.

“Oh. That’s dangerous.” Artemy snorted out and then huffed humorously at his own joke.

Sticky opened his mouth and nothing came out. He coughed to cover up the hesitancy and tried again, much to the same result. His cheeks started burning with prickling skin. It wasn’t as if he was embarrassed or nervous… But there was something there. A feeling that grew comfortable and that he didn’t want to lose.

It was the same feeling he felt with Artemy long ago. That feeling of hope and the fear of losing it. That hope of knowing that there could be more. That hope in knowing what the future may hold if he got what he wanted. What they had was comfortable. But Sticky wanted more.

“I… want to call him… the Bachelor, I mean… Dad.” His cheeks flushed more. “Or something. I mean, I call you ‘Aba.’ So… and he’s there for us, too. Like a dad.” There, it was out of the open.

Artemy let it linger in the air for a couple of seconds. The witty retorts drying up. Even if the man enjoyed his teasing, even Sticky knew that this was a sensitive territory. Both choosing their own words carefully.

“Oh, that’s nice. I think he would like that.” He flicked the reigns a bit and Noukher slowed down. There was a content smile on his face, so Sticky knew it wasn’t just a rehearsed remark or something to fall back unto when there was nothing else to say. “I think he would be happy with that.”

“But it’s… weird. To do it right away. Calling him ‘Bachelor’ one day and then ‘Dad’ the next.” Sticky swung his feet back and forth.

“Then do it when you feel ready.”

“… He would really like that?” Sticky cocked his head. Daniil’s face was rather neutral most of the time. Always thinking. Always preoccupied. It seemed odd to imagine him happy over a name after achieving the title ‘Bachelor of Medicine.’ But, Sticky knew that some people simply had a harder time making their faces match their emotions. He knew that all too well.

“Yes. He would love it. He thinks about you two a lot.” Sticky smiled to himself hearing that.

“Oh… don’t tell him anything, then. Okay? I’ll say it when… whenever. Hopefully sooner rather than later. If you’re so sure he’ll… appreciate it.”

Artemy nodded.

“They’re rather quiet, aren’t they?”

Sticky looked back at the cart. The Bachelor was laying perfectly still on his side, Murky nestled and curled up into his form. His arm was stretched out, providing the perfect pillow for her but plaguing his chin and neck with her unruly hair. They both carried the same rosy cheeks and serene face; closed eyes and even breathing, deep in sleep.

“Well… yeah? They’re sleeping.”

Artemy laughed and nodded, biting his lip, presumably at a joke that only he understood.

Chapter Text

“Hello, Danya...” The low and gentle voice rumbled through Daniil as he stirred from his shallow slumber. The headache returned with a fury, provoking a moan out of him and a wish to go back to sleep. He curled up a little tighter against the source of the honeyed voice, basking in a familiar warm scent. The room was dark and peaceful; the soft dense blankets and Artemy’s undershirt freshly washed and smelling of soap.

Artemy’s hand continued caressing his back, the fingernails barely grazing the skin, and with each long stroke encouraging a ripple of pleasure, an unspoken welcome for Daniil to relax and burrow closer into the mattress or the other’s chest. Goosebumps pulsed throughout his sore body and Daniil shivered; his head expelling a dull ache in its echoes.

“Hmm.” It was the most he could muster out, an approval of the touch.

“How’s the head?”

“Pounding… Is there any-”

“No.” Daniil didn’t need to move his head from its temporary lodging to look at Artemy’s face. Daniil knew that the other was smiling after cruelly denying what he wanted. It irritated him. It was always a charming smile but it irritated him. Not really.

“I didn’t finish-” Daniil groaned out before Artemy caged him in with strong and steady arms.

“You already took all the medication you could twenty minutes ago.” Daniil felt a kiss on the forehead, something that cooled the skin but heated the blood underneath it. Artemy smiled from knowing that he can read and predict Daniil all too well. At least, that was the conclusion that Daniil could think of. “It was a quick nap, even for you. You have to sleep the rest of it off.”

Daniil squirmed in a pitiful attempt to free the unruly hair sticking to the sweat on his brow and dry the remaining drool on his flushed cheeks. He must have been quite a vision, a far cry from the usual dignified demeanor that he prided himself in. Yet, Artemy continued to lay next to him, keeping him company. It was nice, Daniil could admit, to have someone able to be there to see such a state and simply not care. Even cherish.

A sharp pain from his broken leg punished the desire for comfort, and Daniil hissed. Nerves crackled like lightning, and although the brace was comfortable and the bandaging neat, Daniil wanted to rip them off. He didn’t know if the desire was directed at the brace or at the leg itself.

Artemy cursed softly before shuffling himself away with little grace, giving the injured leg room to breathe. It wasn’t long before he was nesting back down against Danill’s semi curled form, massaging the other’s leg with an outstretched hand. Fingers danced to caress the pain away and to check if the brace was still positioned correctly.

That moment of movement, however brief, gave Daniil a chance to view beyond the man’s neck and chest. Didn’t matter much with his groggy vision. The room was nearly black or blurry but he can see bright white leaking, beaming, through the cracks in the curtains. It was probably early afternoon.

Only early afternoon. He already wasted yesterday in its entirety laying in bed, and now it looked like he was going to do the same today.

“Time is passing by too slowly.” He whined, too undignified to take himself seriously, much less expecting Artemy to do so. “Give me something to do, something to think or solve... Like, how are the butchers’ facilities-”

“Nope. You got to rest and part of that is-” Artemy flicked the doctors forehead as if they were children in the classroom, “-not thinking.”

It wasn’t as if he was wrong. The second Daniil thought about anything more than a surface level need, his head and mind buzzed with pain. As if it was filled up with sludge and animated with an electric buzzing. He was already feeling tired.

“It’s impossible. Surely you’re more talented than I in this regard.”

Artemy shrugged and combed through Daniil’s hair, and Daniil rested his eyes at the coolness gracing against his scalp. How he wanted to drink in the other’s touch to the fullest, knowing he was spoiled beyond any adjustment to the potential lack of it.

“Took me practice but I perfected it when you go on your tirades at the town meetings.” Daniil’s tried to open his eyes, managing only a crack at the words. “Speaking of which… ah, nevermind.”

“Well, if Rubin didn’t try to summarize everything in two sentences or less and if you tried to develop more political charisma than none at all, then I wouldn’t need to go on such speeches.” Daniil mirrored Artemy’s shrug with with eyes half lidded. “I always get more results anyways, I don’t know what you’re going on about.”

“Just teasing, kheerkhen.”

Daniil blinked. He must have missed the teasing tone.

Tone rhymes with bone.

Bone is broken.

What were they talking about again?

He stared at Artemy for a while, seeing if some topic would fall from the other’s lips. But instead, Artemy continued to soothe him. What a blessing it was, to know that caring arms were always there to hold him still. Daniil’s head lulled in weariness.

“How are the children?” He managed to mumble out, slurring in words and thoughts.

“Quiet, for once. You’re really out of it and I think it scared them into behaving themselves.” Another kiss pecked his forehead. “At least for now.”

“I should… kill bulls more often then.”

“With a pipe left alongside the riverbed for who knows how long? I think you have better things to do, Bachelor.”

“Hmm…” Daniil smiled, but didn’t know why. He was in pain, albeit not the worst one he ever experienced, and the world was in fog. But he felt himself smiling. His head started hurting more; so he stopped thinking about it. He tucked his arms in, indulging in the comfort and warmth of Artemy’s well fed body.

“You know, Murky made you a painting of your bravery earlier.”

“Oh… that sounds nice.” He felt himself slurring again and struggled to focus his eyes to meet with Artemy’s, despite wanting to close them. How he wanted to let the fever and aches lull him to sleep. Artemy’s brow was relaxed. It was nice. It meant there wasn’t anything to worry about.

Artemy held him; he was safe here.

“I have to warn you, don’t laugh at it or she will be angry.” That caused Daniil’s attention span to gain a little more capacity than none at all. Some form of… curiosity bothered him. He couldn’t focus in the heavy abyss. It was probably something that would require him to piece enough evidence together to scold Artemy.

“Why would I-?”

“Sticky said it looked like a drunk donkey riding a pig.”

“Oh.”

He didn’t get it.

“He’s right so she's making some revisions-”

“Artemy,” Daniil blinked, “did you laugh…?”

Artemy choked back a giggle.

“Of course I did! I tried not to but the kids were being funny!” Artemy’s snicker evolved into a light laugh as the memory of the picture came into being. Mustering up all his strength to make a fist, Daniil pounded Artemy’s chest in disapproval. He was pretty sure that Artemy’s earlier flick on his forehead had more impact.

“You’re terrible.”

Artemy wrapped his arms around Daniil a little more, the laughter dying down into a pleasant grin.

“Yeah, yeah…” Artemy snorted. “How’s the head?”

“Pounding. Is there any-”

“No.” A kiss to the forehead, short and sweet. Daniil leaned into him more and Artemy welcomed the closeness. “Took all the medication you could half an hour ago. Just got to sleep it off.”

“Did you find the children? How are they?”

“Yes. The children, our children, are playing downstairs. I’m here for you and them in case anything happens. You can rest, Danya.”

Eyes felt heavy. He tried to keep them awake, but then Artemy started lightly brushing cool fingers along his back, grazing the spine with calluses and fingernails. Eyelids fell, he was a mere hostage in the arms cocooning him in blissful weighted pleasure. He had no choice. His head felt a little better.

He slept.

Daniil never thought that Artemy Burakh would have been a gentle and attentive lover, and Artemy often teased that he never thought that Daniil Dankovsky would be a bashful yet eager one. Neither one subtle, in both intention and activity. It didn’t need to be said that they complimented each other, they felt it too easily, and so it never took much to provoke the other into action.

“Kheerkhen?” Artemy’s head perched on Daniil’s belly, thoughtfully pushing the nightwear away with his patchy jaw to reveal the dark hair underneath. Artemy courted the exposed abdomen with his beard, letting the hairs curl and mingle, always eyeing the other with a bright and playful gaze.

One word and one look; that’s all it took for Daniil to silently return the sentiment with a pleased cracked curl in his lips. How could he not? Artemy’s coy eyes shone in the morning sun, bleaching his hair blond, and his hands and shoulders were plagued with a constant worming that cried utter desire. It never took too much to provoke, true, but Artemy was always significantly more honest in his approach. He was already creeping closer to the unspoken permission.

“Yes, my yargachin…?” Daniil didn’t need to say it, but saying it out loud, calling Artemy his, made the incoming kiss that much sweeter. And it clearly had the same effect on Artemy, who smiled through it.

Soon Artemy’s larger figure was looming over him, delicious weight anchoring Daniil to the savory moment. He was treated with ceaseless kisses on his shoulders and neck; which Daniil always returned with an additional nibble or a love bite. Tender fondles to his arms and thighs sharpened his senses, letting him absorb more and more, and the careful navigation to avoid his ever healing leg was not lost. Normally on such mornings, Daniil would be thinking of what he had to do and where he had to go, but this morning, the most important thing to focus on was the now.

Artemy was purring, making the air, and Daniil, buzz with excitement. He traced Daniil’s nightshirt down, unbuttoning Daniil’s undergarments with enthusiastic hands and-

“Aba! ABAA!!”

Artemy’s head dropped to the other’s body in defeat. Limbs, once energetic, followed the head, slumping their heavenly dead weight on Daniil.

And he groaned, loudly, using Daniil’s body to muffle the ever crescendoing sound as Murky’s voice echoed through the house. Her voice too shrill and demanding for it to be an emergency.

Daniil snorted, body bouncing the disappointed figure with the stifling of his laughter, only accented by the stillness from Artemy, frozen in heartbreak.

“ABAAA!!!”

Artemy finally snapped his neck to the door.

“In a minute, sunshine!”

“She’s just as guilty! SHE’S GUILTY TOO!” Sticky protested, causing Daniil to quirk an eyebrow.

“Well… better see what they want,” Daniil muttered, resting his head back down on the pillow, “sounds like it will be interesting.”

A deep huff bellowed against his body at the words. To savor a small moment, Artemy rested his head on Daniil’s chest, dark blonde hair tangling with pitch black, and a sympathetic caress instinctively crept to the lighter locks. Of course Daniil meant it more as a tease but Artemy leaned into his hands with such a pitiful need that Daniil kept silent, but rolled his eyes until they rested on the ceiling.

“Couldn’t they wait at least ten minutes?” Artemy furrow his brow. “They can wait ten minutes.”

“Only ten? You’ll be gone, far away, for two weeks soon and the best you can do is ten minutes?”

“I said ‘at least.’” Artemy grumbled.

“Hmm. Knowing them, something would probably be on fire then. If it isn’t already.” With that, Daniil stopped brushing the other’s hair and gave an encouraging tap on the cheek that screamed ‘get on with it then.’ “Come now, they called for their aba. Not ‘poor, pitiful, limping Bachelor Dan-’”

“Fine.” Artemy finally rolled to the edge. Daniil heard the feet slumping to the floor, the bull of a man mentally preparing himself to stand, “…No need to look so smug.”

It’s not as if Daniil had any other choice while he lounged. His lips smirked and eyes smiled in a cat-like grin, taking pleasure in drinking every moment that Artemy spent stumbling around, gazing at his flexing muscles underneath a comfortable layer of softness that were soon covered by an undershirt. A stained one, but it was decent enough for home.

Artemy twisted toward Daniil as he was putting on shorts, despite it being freezing outside, and pointed his hand directly at the other to emphasize his words.

“This is a ‘pause,’ not a ‘stop,’” he declared with authority and confidence. Daniil shrugged and waved Artemy off as he went out the room, unwilling to give the situation the dignity to lift his head.

And there he was, alone.

His smile faded.

They always called for Artemy. Never him. He wasn’t… He wasn’t a choice.

It was fine if they wanted Artemy more.

They called for Artemy in the train car. When they were stuck in the warehouse. For the mundane things.

It didn’t bother him. He was grateful, in fact. Less time and effort required from him. Besides, Artemy is a stronger man and during the bull rampage, they called for him because he wasn’t there; the children were simply using their imagination. Easier to imagine someone who isn’t there suddenly appearing and then rescuing them, than facing reality with what and who was present. Their hearts hoped so their minds conjured who was the more viable candidate. That’s all.

He blinked.

It wasn’t the first time Daniil was alone.

He felt alone.

His chest churned, like it always did after experiencing a blissful yet mundane moment. Well, a moment turned mundane from familiarity and frequency.

Not that he saw being alone as a bitter state. But it was odd to recognize loneliness as a deviation from the norm, rather than have it the other way around. He always treasured silence and solitude and his wish for them was granted anytime he wanted. Artemy could spend days visiting the Kin or didn’t mind spending the day at the Lair to give Daniil the peace if needed. Murky and Sticky were self reliant to a concerning degree, so they had no problem in letting him be alone in the room or around town while they created mischief in the steppe, or in an emergency, be watched over by Rubin and Ravel.

Yet, now the wish never lasted nearly as long. It was becoming ever fleeting, ever gone when it was granted. A breath to a dandelion.

The idea of him returning to the Stillwater was nothing more than a joke. And Artemy knew that from the start. He knew loneliness now in a way he never thought he would; as an ugly thing.

I never imagined my life to be this way.

Daniil closed his eyes and lazed against the heavy pillow and rumpled blankets, feeling the morning light tingle his skin. He cherished the peaceful stillness that was always denied from him, in a simple life he never dreamed to have.

He would ache without it now.

It would hurt until it would eat everything inside with vicious teeth. Whatever pain he felt with Thanatica, his old life… He still saw the faces of his old colleagues in the shadows, staring at him laughing, living, while they were cold. He still imagined all his papers burning whenever Artemy lit the fire in the fireplace. A candle in a dark room. A small mat against the splitting wood. What reminded him of the past was what was never there before.

Perhaps his heart will forever hurt. In the quiet moments, he will remember. He wouldn’t be able to bear it to lose this one. Another life.

He gave a sigh, a deep cleansing one. Daniil let himself hurt with the bittersweet mix of domesticity, with the morning affection still lingering on his lips, and let the ache of grief dull itself; there was little use in letting it be an opponent. They were equally part of him now. There was still something there, unresolved, but it was alright. He had time.

It was alright.

He closed his eyes, waiting for Artemy to come back, if nothing more to say what had happened. As long as they didn’t wage war on each other-

“OW! THAT HURT!” Sticky screeched.

What followed was a shriek, curling and horrified, and it pierced Daniil’s ears. He stiffened himself straight up and swung his legs over the bed, ignoring the dull pain. He instantly felt the vibrations of all the other members of the household running down the stairs while he reached with a flimsy hand for a crutch and a robe. Murky’s light ones contrasting Artemy’s deep uneven ones with Sticky seeming to fill in the gaps.

Sticky was yelling on and on about something without taking a breath. Murky was shrieking with some words tacked on it. Artemy was bellowing a ‘let’s all calm down before someone loses an eye.’ Daniil’s stomach lurched when he heard chairs being knocked over and the yelling refusing to cease in intensity.

The imagery didn’t get any clearer nor anymore promising as Daniil approached closer downstairs, the sounds of a struggle and crashes overpowering the creaks of the stairs. Which only made him hobble faster.

“What on earth is going on?!” He spoke, short and crudely.

Three pairs of eyes darted at him and instantly the shouting resumed. Artemy had slung Sticky over his shoulder as if he were nothing more than a sack of potatoes, and so the boy had to stretch his back straight and prop his arms out to make sure that Daniil can see more than just his thrashing legs. A bruise was forming right above his left eyebrow. Murky was immobilized by Artemy, folded in half and hanging under his arm, pinned against his waist; too perfectly balanced for a chance to struggle free, although that didn’t stop her from trying.

“Murky bit me!” Sticky pointed to the assailant, and kicked his legs again, trying to lunge down and grab Murky.

“Sticky dunked my doll in the toilet!” Murky began to flail and attempt to grab Sticky’s legs.

Daniil head blanked.

“I dropped it after you threw the bar of soap at my face! It was an accident!”

“Stop struggling and we can all-” Artemy groaned when Sticky kneed his abdomen. Daniil saw the teenager stop momentarily to whisper a ‘sorry, Aba!’ before carrying on, unfazed. Daniil pinched the bridge of his nose. At least no one was hurt. Well, no one was hurt in a permanent way.

“You were holding her over it and threatening to drop her!” Murky managed to grab an inch of his pants, mid kick, and hissed in frustration as it escaped her grasp a less than a second later.

“Yeah! So you can return my toolbox that you stole!”

“You stole everything in there anyways!”

“Aba said I can use them!” He hollered, too oblivious he was next to his aba’s ear, causing Artemy to wince. “I’m not a thief! Unlike some people in this house!”

Murky squirmed just enough that her belly no longer pointed straight down but rolled more towards Artemy. She took the opportunity of being in close quarters with the obstacle, and bit down.

Artemy gave a jump and a jolt.

“Shudkher, Murky don’t bite me- I’m not the one you’re angry with!” Artemy snapped.

“I can be angry with you too!”

“Wait, why-” Artemy straightened himself up, eyes genuinely confused.

“Ugh,” Sticky groaned, relaxing enough to balance himself on his elbows against Artemy’s back, “it’s because you didn’t go herb picking with her the other day like you promised.” He huffed. “It’s okay Murky, it’s not personal because he promised me that he would help carry some wood home and then he didn’t!”

Now the children had a common enemy, and that common enemy also happened to be the obstacle. Daniil snickered, although he tried not to show it; Murky was pulling Artemy’s shirt well past the point of comfort and Sticky was trying to grip some part of the adult’s head from the awkward angle, resulting in Artemy’s face deforming with intruding fingers.

“Artemy, did you break your promises?” Daniil asked, trying to sound like he was scolding, and failing miserably with smiling eyes.

“I forgot-! I had you to worry about, then there was a town meeting and I had to prepare the proposition papers-”

That snapped Daniil out of his amused stated and his heart started pounding.

“Wait, there was a town meeting and you didn’t tell me-?!” It was still so close since the last wave of bulls escaping; it must have meant that they were talking about the factory’s security and the butchers’ health. Daniil had been trying to gain the public’s attention on the matter, and when the opportunity was perfect-

“You were suffering from a concussion!” Artemy snapped, “I just presented your papers-”

“It’s okay, it wasn’t that bad! Rubin helped-!” Sticky got cut off when Artemy jerked him into silence.

“I could have multitasked; I spoke through concussions before! Why am I the last to know about this?!” Daniil shrieked back at him. The papers had been written for months but he was still practicing the speech that Artemy just usurped. He would have to ask Rubin how it went. Or… That would have been something that Rubin would have mentioned to him. Oh no. Artemy must have performed terribly. Daniil brushed his hair back.

Daniil sat down on the chair, his head a mess.

“Sticky, you stop that or I’ll bite you.” Artemy muffled out, trying not to amputate intruding fingers with his teeth. “Murky, stop biting or I’m eating your crayons!”

“You’d like to do that. You both laugh at my drawings!”

“It looked weird and I already apologized for that!” Sticky stretched and balanced upward, causing Artemy to topple forward a bit.

“No, it didn’t look ‘weird’.” Daniil cleared his throat, head still swimming though possibilities of rectification he could attempt for the town hall chaos that must have happened, yet Murky’s bitterness cut through that. “I knew perfectly well what it was when I saw it, didn’t I? And I greatly enjoyed it, Murky. They just don’t enjoy fine art like us, like the philistines that they are.” In truth, Daniil appreciated the warning Artemy gave prior to that reveal; it was incredibly... endearing. In the kindest terms.

What surprised him more though, that it was dated in the usual fine red. But no one was labeled. Maybe that’s why they found it so humorous; they had to guess who was who. And it was either confusing or painfully accurate. Yet, it was a detail no one else seemed to notice.

“Daniil, are you just going to sit there and criticize me or are you going to help-?!” Artemy grunted, snapping Daniil out of his pondering. The surgeon knelt to the ground and finally Sticky managed to grab Murky’s leg, pulling it towards him, but Artemy’s grip on her tightened to prevent any progression. Which also caused her to squeak in surprise.

“After what you two did to the poor sweet girl and how you disappointed the boy? Unthinkable.”

“’Sweet?’ She stole my toolbox!”

“He dunked my doll in the toilet!”

“She threw soap at my head!”

“He laughs at my art!”

“I apologized!”

The children started to protest his decision to remain neutral; somehow that was offending them more than the one restraining them. Artemy started wildly looking at him for any support he can provide.

But realistically, what can Daniil do? His leg was still too fragile to hold more than what his carpet bag would allow. With crutches. What would he do to restrain a child? What can he even do or say to quench their anger? He couldn’t bribe their compliance with sweets, it would just reward them.

Then, the ultimate answer came to him. Simple, yet effective. He stood up, not that they noticed. Artemy with a grunt of effort and impatience, threw the teenager on the couch resulting in a youthful laugh and mischievous grin.

Daniil cleared his throat.

“So… this looks like enough ‘justice in action’ to me. I’m going upstairs for a lie down. I trust that you will all-” Sticky tried to tackle Artemy, only to be stopped by an outstretched hand squashing his face,“… sort it out amongst yourselves.”

“Oh no, don’t you dare!” Artemy growled at the man limping away, waving his hand off.

“Consider this a ‘pause,’ Tyoma. Good luck.” The last vision he had with the trio was Artemy holding Murky as if one would hold a prized fish, freshly caught and still writhing,

“Daniil, you fuckin-! Khonzohon!” Artemy snapped at the betrayal.

They called for their aba, after all.

Once Daniil was halfway up the stairs, just barely out of the range of the brewing chaos; he couldn’t restrain it anymore and he laughed. He laughed until his belly hurt and voice gave out. He screeched until tears welled up and he had to hold the railing for support.

The alien hearty sound gave the three a moment of pause to reflect before they carried on.

“Murky, dear, that’s why I told you to wear shoes… To protect your feet.” Daniil knelt, setting the bandages aside and gingerly lifting the foot up. His heart sank at the cuts and bits of glass still buried among the red and soil. Murky face scrunched up with a hiccup, cheeks still red from tears long dried.

“Will you have to cut it off?”

“Hmm.” He turned it, and turned a little more than needed until she had to lean with it. Then repeated it to the opposite side, and again until a ghost of an amused smile twitched the corners of her mouth. “Might have to ask your aba, he’s the surgeon. Of course, it might be victim to gangrene by the time he comes back.”

She gasped, and covered her mouth. It made Daniil suppress a chortle. She probably didn’t even know what-

“Gangrene doesn’t make your foot green.” Sticky snorted from the chair nearby, reading from the newspapers used to wrap the incoming parchments. Well, more like stared at the pictures while pretending to be interested in the Capital news a few months out of date. A failed attempt of displaying maturity. His shirt was covered in blood from carrying his sister, streaks where her heel slid across it. They were supposed to be playing with some other other kids, but apparently some drunks got careless where they dropped their bottles the night prior.

Murky’s arms snapped to her sides, not from relief but from disappointment.

“It’s actually when your body tissue,” Sticky continued, “-is beyond help and starts to rot off. Super gross. Right, Da-… Dankovsky?”

The small girl froze, eyes wide in terror, small hands gripping the cushion in a death trap. The innocent look was uncharacteristic of her; she was too wise beyond her years but Daniil had to cover his own mouth to prevent her from seeing his grin and urge to laugh from how endearing the expression was.

“I see you’re not neglecting your studies. He’s not wrong.”

She swallowed and let out a squeak. That’s when Sticky’s demeanor broke before Daniil’s and he guffawed at her.

“Murky, it’s fine! He’s just kidding; it’s only a couple of cuts. You’ll know when he’s serious.”

Then the scowling face reemerged on the little girl.

“That wasn’t funny.”

“I thought it was funny.” Sticky shrugged, a mischevious grin plastered across his freckled face.

Daniil pretended not to notice her frown and burning eyes geared at him as he equipped his magnifying headset; flipping through the lenses to get to the desired frame. The device was rather out of date by now, but it still did the job beautifully. Some of the hinges where rusted, and the leather straps thinner near the buckle from overuse. He had to readjust it as it passed around the members of the clinic for various tasks and surgeries. The maroon D.D.D embroidery on the inside was starting to fade. It made sense. It wasn’t technically just his anymore. It was the clinic’s…

He packed it because he thought it would have been acceptable collateral damage. Just in case something happened.

Now it was an essential piece of their arsenal.

“What’s that?” Daniil shifted his gaze toward her, or rather, at the pores of her nose and heard a giggle. His eyes must have been comically large from her point of view.

“It’s a special hat with lots of magnifying lenses that lets me see small stuff.”

“Like Sticky’s brain?” Daniil couldn’t see correctly, the world in front of him too large and warped, but there was no doubt what flew past the glasses and made a shy impact was a crumbled up ball of newspaper.

“That wasn’t funny.” The bitterness came off as hypocritical.

“Well, I thought it was funny.” Daniil smirked as he resumed carefully picking out the bits of glass, no bigger than seeds, with tweezers.

“Can we try it on? After you’re done?” Murky soft voice flowed in pure innocent but Daniil stilled. It wasn’t technically just his now. Nothing was. He opened his mouth, expecting an answer to come out but it didn’t. So he let the question linger. He could wait until Rubin came back from doing house calls on his behalf… but then again, he never held Rubin’s opinion above his own; so why did he feel like he needed his colleague’s thoughts and permission? Perhaps it was so someone else can say no for him.

Which brought the question why he didn’t want to refuse the children.

He was getting too soft.

“It’s his, Murky. It’s special. From the Capital.” Sticky answered for him. Too fast. Daniil didn’t know if he was trying to defend Daniil’s hesitancy or… he was trying to let Daniil know he understood. What Daniil had left from the Captial, from his old life, was dwindling. An offering, a sacrifice, to the new and that hurt. The harder he gripped to hold what was once his, the more his hands and heart became sore.

Daniil slumped his shoulders, but clenched his hands, trying to remain delicate in order to not break the glass wedged in the tweezers.

It wasn’t an easy decision.

Nothing was.

“You two can try it on… If you promise to be very careful with it. And only when I’m supervising. Sticky… Sticky is right. It’s special. To me. But I can let you try it.”

“Wait, really?” Sticky’s voice cracked. You’ve been wanting to for a while, haven’t you? Daniil nodded. And you never asked…

He was still ruminating Sticky’s hesitancy, consideration, when he applied disinfectant to the cuts.

“Ow! It hurts!” Daniil flinched as Murky suddenly jerked and kicked her foot away. But, gratefully, she returned the limb to let him finish the job.

“I know, pumpkin, I know.” When he reapplied the alcohol soaked rag, Murky winced at the stinging sensation but kept still. He leaned over to pinch her cheek with a reassuring smile, if only to encourage and acknowledge her bravery. “It hurts but it’s also what makes sure you don’t get sick or feel worse. It means it’s working.”

Daniil had been seeing it, hearing it for weeks. Sticky avoiding his eyes, biting his lip, rocking back and forth on his heels.

Hey… Da-nkovsky… Come on!

I was thinking. Um. Da...nkovsky.

So. Da-…niil is a common name in the Capital?

Always on the tip of his tongue but never able to commit. But Daniil waited patiently. He listened to the boy ramble about his friends, about the slingshots they made, and how accurate he was with it. He helped the boy practice his stitches on scrap leather. They read classics in silence, merely enjoying the presence of each other’s company. At least, Daniil acknowledged that’s what they were doing. Artemy was expected to come back from Shekhen in four days.

Daniil eagerly awaited for his return.

Murky avoided the doctor when she could, especially if Artemy was not around. Looking over door frames and scurrying to her room. Always carrying something. He was often the villain in her tale; cleaning the drawings on the walls or throwing out lemons half rotting from her room. Saying “no” to toys and sweets.

Even in the privacy in their home, the children were unwilling to use anything but “Bachelor.” So Daniil brushed his hair back. Sticky wasn’t ready. He didn’t need to be. He didn’t ever need to be. Murky was detached from him. She had the right to be so; she latched on to Artemy and Daniil was just an afterthought that moved in afterward.

Well, at least they never called him “Bitchovsky.”

He was fine. Just tired. Artemy spoiled him; he never got decent sleep before meeting the man and now he couldn’t get any when the man was absent. Not that it ever halted his production.

… They called Artemy “Aba” almost right away. Was it something that he said or committed that caused such aloofness from the children? He shook his head.

He. Was. Fine. Presentation mattered and he couldn’t be so egotistical and demand an explanation. What bothered him was he didn’t understand why. Was he too cold? Too avert to the roughhousing they enjoyed? Was it because he was from the Capital and not part of the town? That was a connection they all shared, after all. Either ways, he could not play a charade in hopes of achieving their approval and then continuing it for the rest of his life to keep it. It wouldn’t be honest. He doesn’t lie to the children.

Perhaps it was because he was not a loving man and they knew that. He knew that. He had always known that. He gives evidence and facts as sources of comfort; uses logic instead of compassion to their trials and tribulation.

Yet, they chatted with him and trusted him. They laughed and cried in front of him. They woke him up in the middle of the night and asked for comfort. Was that not their approval? Did they face scorn from the others for being housed with a failure? Was this actually a sign of their disapproval? But they were honest; Rubin visited for some paperwork exchange, a kindness to Daniil’s leg, and Murky told the giant that he’s “too tall to yell so he was a prick” and Sticky told him he “likes him better at the clinic.”

They would give him the same brutal treatment if they felt the same, right?

Artemy’s childhood friend at least seemed amused by the honest commentary, and stared at Daniil as he limped around gathering everything; tripping on toys, scolding and chasing the children off for harassing his colleague, telling the youths to turn down or turn off the music from the gramophone that he taught them how to use, and hiding Artemy’s undergarments from the sight of polite company. Rubin studied the frazzled sight that was clearly much easier to manage with two people. Not saying anything.

Not caring.

It was enough. Daniil gave a sigh. It was indeed only a matter of ego; he had no right to dictate how his children should address him. What he had was enough. More than enough.

The boy was loitering in the doorway for quite some time and it was finally irritating Daniil. There was concern about the fact that Sticky was quiet, but he fidgeted too much for it to be terrible news.

“Yes?” Daniil muttered, eyes never leaving the document. At the very least he can try to initiate whatever it was that Sticky wanted to say.

The ink was flowing beautifully from the pen as he documented test results. There was a pattern emerging from the test samples, but it was still too early in the process to confirm it. It should be interesting news to give to Artemy, regardless.

“Hey… Dad…” The voice spoke quietly, shyly.

Daniil froze.

The ink dripped from the pen to the paper.

He didn’t know how to react.

Should he react? What would the boy wish to see?

His heart ached and swelled. His palms started to sweat and his stomach froze over. Sticky had unleashed Pandora’s box. What was there could not be closed or redacted. All this time, wondering why, he didn’t consider what to do when it did. If it did. It did. It happened.

“Yes, Sticky?” Was all he could muster out.

“Is that,” Sticky bit his lip, “alright?”

“Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?” Daniil breathed out. Too monotone, too restricted.

Sticky began dragging his feet a little closer, looking down at the floorboards, stopping before the rug where Dankovsky’s domain of a desk and chair officially began. An arm’s length away. Daniil set the pen aside and turned the chair, committing his full attention to the youth. He cocked his head as Sticky actually pondered an answer to the question, eyes never gazing up.

“I don’t know. A street urchin calling you that…” The boy shrugged.

“Do… you still consider yourself one?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes.” He shrugged again.

Daniil’s heart throbbed.

They were strangers within the house. They were strangers to the house. Daniil studied the boy. Sticky never imagined his life to be this way either. Neither did Artemy. Neither did Murky. All had ghosts living in the walls, staring over their beds as they slept. They all knew how fragile happiness and safety were, and like Daniil, knew the concept of a life before and of a life after.

Artemy had his childhood here and a bright future, filled with vague hopes of responsibility.

Sticky had freedom to do and go where he pleased, and a drive to do great things. Or at least to dream of them.

Murky had her parents and her innocence.

Daniil reached over and took Sticky’s hand, guiding him closer, and held it. He couldn’t tell the boy to stop feeling it or to dismiss it. How could he? They were more alike than either of them knew.

“I understand.” Daniil spoke gently, feeling a sad smile crack through in trying to reassure the boy; hoping that he picked up how sorely Daniil meant his words. “But you’re our street urchin, though. I hope you will remember that. Now and in the future.”

They were his as much as he was theirs.

“Really?” Sticky perked up, finally looking Daniil in the eye.

“Did I stutter?” Daniil smirked out.

“And Murky too?”

“Of course.”

With that, hazel eyes lit up joyously, and a grin as innocent and child-like that can be split across his face.

“Actually…” Sticky’s attention snapped to the doorway where Murky, hunched over, lingered over with a sheet of paper. The back edges were littered with green and red and black smudges; a preview of the explosion of colors that awaited in the front. Daniil blinked; he didn’t even notice her quietly waiting for Sticky’s apparent signal. An audience. A witness.

Sticky gestured with his head, not daring to use his hands still held by the Bachelor’s. And she did. Even slower than Sticky; each step deliberate and ready to be spooked out the room. The world seemed to have stopped and go by too fast as Daniil waited.

Small hands held out the painting; a chaotic mess of crayons and watercolors. Daniil turned it right side up, eyes adjusting to the wild lines.

What he didn’t expect was to choke back a gasp.

There was her. Sticky. Artemy. Him.

All labeled. Four clumsy red letters hovered above his head. The world was muted as he stared, studying the picture. The blood rushing finally filled his fingertips, making them tremble and the paper jitter. What snapped him out of the trance was a shy voice.

“Do you like it?”

In that moment, Daniil remembered that feeling had been haunting him, now more than ever. The ever present, ever vicious yet gentle precious feeling. That what hurt him and also brought a warm glow in his chest.

Perhaps it hurt because it was buried deep within the cavity of grief and tragedy, forced to claw its way to freedom each time…

He was grateful. Grateful that he got to now imagine his life this way, and to live it. Grateful that he gets to be vomited on, have his paycheck disappear, be disrespected, be ignored, be in danger, and to be loved. Grateful that he doesn’t have to choose this or his old life. Grateful that yes, things were a little slower, but things were also more treasured.

Gratefulness that bred guilt. Guilt from surviving. Guilt from trying to separate his two lives.

But still grateful nevertheless. Domesticity and peace. Making familiarity and the mundane a blessing; something worth cherishing.

“Yes,” his voice cracked. “I do.” Presentation matters. Patients cared about logic and control. People wanted to see order after experiencing chaos. Presentation matters and it all comes down to feeling safe. Reassurance.

But who were before him weren’t patients. They were children, his children. And they deserved to be presented with the truth. And the truth made him lose his composure. He let out a rushed and broken sob, restrained only by a small laugh. He felt so light.

Daniil doesn’t lie to the kids, after all. Not on important matters, at least. There’s no point.

He lean forward, a moment of hesitation dawned, of not knowing what to do with his hands. But his heart wanted to abandon all restraint, and so Daniil Dankovsky rushed toward them, nearly falling over from his chair in efforts to have both of them in his arms.

“Very much so- yes. Thank you.” He whispered out, and felt a moment of hesitation in them, of not knowing what to do, just like he did. But the children wrapped their arms around him in turn. It was only a second before Sticky hugged a little tighter and Murky burrowed her face into the crook of his neck. Both absorbing, both relishing in something new. Something reassuring. And he returned the enthusiasm with a cracked voice.

“Thank you,” he whispered once more.

The thunderstorms were an uncommon occurrence, but still happened enough in the steppe. The sound of heavens colliding was much clearer upstairs, but more soothing downstairs on the couch. As the thunder roared once more, muffling the rain falling on the rooftop, Daniil cracked opened his eyes. Sticky snorted, the action causing a prickling sensation in his pillow that was Daniil’s shoulder. He was too deep in sleep for any sounds to bother him and Murky nestled deeper into Daniil’s side.

But it wasn’t the thunder that woke Daniil up. It was the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs.

Neither of the children awoke when Artemy came home nor when he wordlessly leaned over the couch to give Daniil a kiss, a weary smile plastered on his face at the scene. The peaceful slumber didn’t stop even after Artemy made the hot water to clean up the mud of the steppe and remnants of the storm outside.

But now Daniil finally got to relax, seeing Artemy approach safe and clean back in their home. With nothing more an undershirt and shorts that was his nightwear.

“I thought that you…” Artemy grumbled, but got distracted with the imagery of the two children sleeping against the other man’s body, choosing to still and radiate a smile instead. The floorboards creaked underneath his weight, announcing the gentle movements to peer closer.

“Hmm?” Daniil hummed against another deep kiss, more controlled and softer than the clumsy one he got as a greeting just half and hour ago. The scent of the steppe still clung to Artemy’s skin, but it was no longer accompanied with the smell of grime and sweat. He let out a pleased sigh as Artemy parted away.

“I thought that you were going to go to sleep.” Artemy finished his comment, stroking Daniil’s hand with a fingernail. Inviting him to rest somewhere more comfortable that wasn’t the crooked couch with cushions that sank a little too low. Daniil straightened his back as much as he could without shrugging the children off and gave a satisfying grunt when his back cracked.

“Well… Murky had a nightmare… and then Sticky had one as well.” Daniil tried to shift around, trying to gain some feeling back into his arms and shoulders. The circulation blocked with the limp bodies to the point where he scarcely felt his fingers. “Thunder reminds them of the gunfire. Or cannons.”

“Ah. No, I meant you were going to return them to their,” Artemy let out a chuckle, “non sentient pillows. This can't be comfortable.”

Daniil closed his eyes, feeling the children breathe against him and waiting a moment, hearing the clock tick. It’s been a long time since he heard proper dead silence and he found the prospect of it alienating.

“You know, they always have at least one when you go traveling- a nightmare, I mean. You falling ill or Murky’s friend taking you away.” Daniil hummed out. Neither acknowledging nor dismissing what Artemy said. He was hesitant to rush things; to risk waking the children up and having them struggle back to sleep in their own beds. “Perhaps we can collaborate with your people and see if I can go time to time.”

“Then they’ll have nightmares of losing you.” Artemy slowly sat down on the small table in front of the couch, brushing threads, tambour frames, and fabric out of the way. He grunted upon impact, muscles sore from the trip before proceeding to scoot near where Daniil propped up his leg, slowly healing. Artemy caressed the limb suffocated by the metal and leather.

“Is that so?” Daniil hummed out. There were days he had to stay behind in the clinic or take a night shift.

Artemy nodded.

They stayed like that for a bit, listening to the rain and thunder. Artemy spent some time looking at the mess they committed with loose stitches and crude lines. Needles stuck out from a doll in an obvious attempt to reattach a leg.

Artemy lit a lantern after impatience overloaded the sensation to comfortably perch and Daniil basked in the soothing orange glow.

The surgeon’s touch lingered on Murky’s cheek and she didn’t even try to swat it away. He repeated the same process to Sticky, who merely jolted his leg that was swinging over the arm of the couch.

“They’re really out of it.”

“Yes. We had a midnight stitching party. Sticky suggested it so he can fix people and Murky can fix toys. Although I think that they fell asleep after I droned on about Capital etiquette.”

“Hmm… That would put anyone to sleep indeed.” Artemy turned his head slightly to look out the window. “Does thunder bother you?”

Artemy was drafted before coming back to the town. His experiences matched with the children’s; a sudden change that they were forced to adapt to. Each sound a memory involving slaughter.

Daniil felt strange in being the exception out of all of them. It made sense; his life stemmed from somewhere different.

“No. It does remind me of gunfire… but it’s a rather nostalgic- oh that’s not the word.” He blinked rapidly. Nostalgia had hints of longing in it. “Reminds me of childhood.”

“Childhood?” Artemy quirked an eyebrow. Both at the answer and at the fact that Daniil opened up a door, a small one, into his life prior to Gorkhon. An invitation for inquiry rather than a one worded response.

“Military school. Unfortunate time for everyone involved but I did learn a lot there.”

“I thought you said you went to a boarding school.”

“Same thing in the Capital.”

“Oh.” Artemy toyed with a needle lost among some leather. Too exhausted to carry on a conversation, with Daniil’s eyes becoming heavy in mutual sympathy.

“How about you? Does it bother you? The thunder?” Daniil asked out of courtesy. He had his assumptions but that’s all he had. Artemy huffed out a charming shy smile, hidden behind a scratchy unkempt beard. Daniil made a mental note and hoped it survived in the morning for Artemy to shave it.

A flash of white lit the room before darkness engulfed them once more.

Thunder boomed, close enough to the house to make it tremble, and still Artemy gazed on. Murky stirred and Sticky snorted, undisturbed.

“Not anymore.” Artemy murmured.

“Anyways,” Daniil sighed, “I was telling them about some of the pranks I used to do at that school, but that excited them. But when I got to ‘how to differentiate a soup, entree, and dessert spoon’ and well,” Daniil gestured at sleeping children with his hands before letting his wrists go limp, “there you go.”

Artemy loomed over them and slowly stretched his arms.

“I can grab one of them and…” Artemy looked down; Daniil shook his head.

“There’s no need to… I… don’t mind.”

“You sure?”

Daniil was uncomfortable. His leg ached with the angle and positioning, Sticky drooled on his shoulder earlier, and Murky’s elbow drove into his side. His arms were either sore or asleep with the sensation of pinpricks traveling up and down the muscles. His back hurt and will probably not be able to sit comfortably in the morning after.

Yet, there was no place he would rather be. Artemy, with great care, lifted Murky’s legs and adjusted himself to sit near Daniil and underneath her. He wrapped an arm around Daniil, encouraging the other to lean into him.

Daniil loved them all.

The rain continued on. Sticky’s books and Murky’s toys littered the floor. Artemy rested his head against Daniil’s and Daniil held their children a little closer.

“We can stay like this a little longer.”