Chapter Text
Suchdol had leapt them forward and they’d been exploring the steps they’d skipped, discovering the nuances within their now-shared space.
Within it lay something neither of them could have accounted for, something primal and impossible.
Henry had changed when scouting Pribyslavitz.
“I think something that was always inside me became… powerful, when it happened.”
Now he leaned against a tree, his elbows on raised knees as he picked apart blades of grass.
“Something rotten.” He paused too heavily. “It’s like It and the rest of me get tangled and turned around, and…” He gazed ahead as if reading from the horizon. “…everything that’s… me… falls away.”
Henry’s vulnerability lured Hans out of his depth.
“Surely not everything,” he said too dismissively. Mentally he kicked himself. Henry took on the weight of the world; he deserved better than that.
“Aye, the next day… I… some things return.” Henry swallowed hard, looked at his hands, stilled his fidgeting for a beat, then restarted with fervour.
Henry’s braced resignation prickled in the air and his gaze fixed on something distant, but Hans still wasn’t prepared to hear Henry’s thickened voice, “I’d understand if you — ”
“No no,” Hans said loftily, confident this time. “We’re not doing that.”
Henry turned to face him, too earnest and grave, ready to brave it all alone.
Hans couldn’t bear it.
He plonked his head on Henry’s shoulder, exaggerated his sigh so it passed for contented, grateful for the air unconstricting his chest.
“Two knights, remember?”
.
“It didn’t hurt me last time.”
“You were in armour!”
Hans shrugged.
The Beast had found him, circled him, and for a while there he’d believed his life would end that night. The gore dripping from its maw had made that seem pretty likely.
But, thankfully, “it didn’t even attack.”
“Because you were in armour!” Henry turned away, panted, punched a tree with a cry and then faced him again, wild-eyed. “Christ Hans— I saw Pribyslavitz after… ” His voice wavered. “And I’ve seen, I’ve tasted — I’ve— I— ”
“Hal, Hal.,”
Hans took his face in both hands, forced some stillness in the frenzy. “Those were Cumans! Bandits! And the next time was only a buck, that’s not so bad. Plenty of bucks— ”
“You misunderstood,” Henry took Hans by the shoulders and drew a steadying breath, his gaze that of a man in Hell. “… I could only recognise a buck.”
.
At the far end of the field, Kubyenka incited an ox by stabbing it in the arse.
Hans loosed the poison-coated arrow.
The ox stumbled and fell at Hans’ feet, hot breath flattening the grass where its tongue flopped from its mouth.
“This brew is far too strong,” Hans stowed his bow. “It’ll kill a man.”
Henry scribbled in his alchemy book, likely adjusting the recipe.
Musa read along over his shoulder, brows furrowed, tone grave: “Are you sure about that?”
Hans baulked.
Argued.
Might have shouted.
Henry set his jaw and focused on his notes.
.
In the thick of quiet night.
“…this haunts me more than Skalitz.”
Hans should have known he was awake.
“But it’s me.” Henry swallowed hard. “It’s inside of me.”
He broke.
Hans clung to him till sunrise.
.
Hans would study every book, fight every army, offer up both his arms, forfeit his soul and spend eternity in a space too small to move.
If it would help.
Current circumstances required him to be a little more creative.
Perhaps he could apply something to himself that killed the Beast only if it tore him apart?
He cursed how little he knew of alchemy.
He told Bozhena nothing of the real situation.
She said to ask her again in a few weeks (too late, far too late).
Musa did not answer him.
Instead, he spoke with measured gravity until Hans lost his composure.
He didn’t dare ask Henry.
.
May no-one enter these woods this night
Slay the Beast if it roams your streets
The Talmberg guard was on alert.
The Devil’s Pack had Uzhitz.
Merhojed was made aware.
No one lived in Rovna.
A dozen torches held vigil about the Pribyslavitz churchyard, burning despite the late light of day.
Henry and Hans hid poison-coated weapons around the area.
The arsenal was spread about evenly, arranged so the handles were easy to reach.
Hans had kept his own arrows separate and leaned his quiver against the outside of the wall, quick to grab should he need to give chase.
The ruined church loomed over them, cosied by bushes, graced by a tree.
Inside, underneath the stairs, was a change of clothes for the both of them.
A loose gathering of logs lay ahead, as did the remnants of a poorly built fire.
The crisp breeze carried summer’s dying breath and raised gooseflesh on Hans’ skin.
Henry sat down beside him on the grass, against the wall.
He clung to a phial with feverish tension.
“Maybe I should drink some.”
The joke had long worn thin.
Hans struggled to keep his tone light. “That didn’t work last month.”
The brew had been non-lethal then, but Henry had been bound and trapped and still the Beast had found Hans.
“But either way, it didn’t harm me.”
With surreptitious concern he tried to catch Henry’s gaze. In vain.
It wouldn’t be the first time Hans’ false cheer threatened to drive Henry into himself so he opted for earnest, well aware he had nothing new to say. “We’ll find out what it’s like tonight and make a plan tomorrow.”
He swallowed.
“Audentes fortuna iuvat.”
He’d hoped to hold their hope aloft but only felt nostalgic.
Henry huffed. “Easy for you to say.”
From under his breath he added, “You won’t be picking me from your teeth come morning.”
Hans pretended he hadn’t heard, tried to think of how to lighten the load.
Then he saw Henry consider the phial again.
He grabbed it and flung.
Wet shards wept down the church.
Hans sat back too hard, combed his hand through his hair, panted as he clung to sense.
Expectant silence followed.
There was nothing left to say.
Hans kissed him.
Henry pounced him in an instant, clawed at his clothes with a growl, bruising his lips with fervour.
Hans welcomed it all.
It felt low to initiate when Henry’s mind was ‘loose sand,’ as he’d once put it, but Hans quashed his guilt.
God knows they needed the distraction.
.
.
.
Henry panted in his arms, face flushed, grinding like there was anything left to chase.
Hans had used his mouth, his hands, offered his leg, encouraged him, kissed him with all the confidence he could muster.
With some luck, the Beast would inherit Henry’s exhaustion.
The past few days had been intense.
Henry had eaten more than any man, hardly slept, grown increasingly insatiable…
He looked wrecked.
Ragged breath, distant gaze, brow glimmering with sweat, clinging to Hans’ tunic for dear life.
A view to feature in Hans’ dreams if the context wasn’t a nightmare.
The skin on his thigh felt raw through his hose.
Despite ample temptation, he’d managed to resist keeping up.
He had to preserve his energy.
He had a Beast to face.
Until then, though…
Hans hadn’t wanted to leave Henry to his thoughts, which meant he’d hardly slept either. He felt it softly tug at him, nourished by Henry’s warmth and the lazy stirring of arousal.
Hans buried his face in Henry’s neck, adjusted his arms around him. Carefully he licked the sweaty skin, hoping it might signal to whatever lay within that he was not a threat.
One couldn’t blame a man for trying.
.
.
.
Suddenly Henry stilled.
“Hm…?”
“Sunset.” Henry failed to shove Hans off him, rolled them over, scrambled to get up.
“Well— Yes.” Hans grabbed his arm, confused but infected with urgency. “Where are you going?”
The sky’s shifting shades settled nerves in his gut. He ignored them.
“I’ve changed my mind, you can’t be here — ” Henry looked haunted. “You have to go — I have to go.”
“Go where? Henry; if it’s coming, it’s coming. It found me last time.”
Henry grabbed his face with both hands, his gaze desperate. “It’s angry.”
Something squeezed in Hans’ chest. “…is that new?”
“I don’t know — I don’t know.” Henry stepped back, paced whilst rubbing his face. “I thought Skalitz caught up with me the first time. People were flesh, nothing but flesh, moving flesh, just — just f-flesh …” His lost his tension and blinked confusedly as if ridding himself of a thought. “… and the second time was dark.” He swallowed. “Cold.”
His words were too clipped for his tone and the pause lingered far too long.
Hans gently placed a hand on his arm in a bid to steady them both.
As if on cue, Henry continued, “…the potion and rope hid it, like a nightmare after waking. But now…” His gaze and voice were full of awe, close to reverent. “…it’s white hot.”
Hans pushed the tremble from his voice and held Henry closer “Well. I’m still not going anywhere. It's just a beast. And hey — perhaps I'll tame it.” He hoped he didn’t sound insane.
Henry seemed hazy down to his smile, as if he was drunk but without the sway. “You’ve never tamed a thing in your life.”
“Oh, you don’t count?” Hans guffawed too loudly, stress seizing its false outlet. “Then tonight will be a first.”
He held Henry closer, forced himself calm and felt his pulse quick in his neck as he lowered his tone. “We’ve scattered an entire armoury around here, and I’ll hide when It arrives, but I won’t leave you alone with it, not while you’re still you.”
“This plan was shit from the start.” Henry murmured flatly near his ear. His embrace felt like resignation, his tightening grip like a goodbye.
“Too bad!” Hans said too loudly. “I’m staying. Besides, maybe it won’t come at all. Maybe it only wanted two full moons, and tonight you’ll just be a bit under the weather. Before long, we’ll laugh about this over bacon and ale.”
… or Hans would be reduced to sludge, and Henry would fall on his sword when he becomes himself again, if the Devil’s Pack didn’t get him first — or Henry might wake up in the remnants of Skalitz, covered in blood that wasn’t his and believe himself in Hell.
He wouldn’t be wrong.
Dread curled in Hans’ chest at the thought.
They hadn’t yet got to share cold months, let alone the hope of spring.
Hans rubbed his hands over Henry’s back as if to comfort or warm him, hoping the act would ease his mind.
Henry’s grip around him slackened.
…and he was cold to the touch. Clammy, even through his tunic.
Startled by the change, Hans halted his movement.
“Hans… ?” Henry’s tone was off, tilted, like a blinded man unsure he was alone.
“Yes — Wh— Yes. I’m here.”
Hans took his shoulders, moved so he could see his face.
Henry’s arms hung limply by his sides and his eyes had stilled in place, gaze unfixed and glassy. Lips parted and met as if words died inside. His skin looked paler than it should.
It was like watching him fall into himself.
Hans rubbed his hands over Henry’s arms, tried to get him to focus. “I’m still here, I’m not leaving.” He swallowed hard.
“… And you’re still you.”
It felt like a lie.
Henry showed no signs of comprehension.
He stretched as if he’d been hunched over too long, flexed his shoulders, set them, and his face slowly raised towards the darkened sky.
He was as pale as the dead.
“Henry?”
No response.
Hans wrapped his arms around him and prayed to God this wasn’t goodbye.
Henry stood still like an armour stand.
A sickening crunch and something pushed against Hans.
“What was that?” He tried to remain calm, even though Henry’s chest appeared to have a different shape.
Would the Beast burst forth from there?
Hans tried to raise his tunic with trembling hands but Henry didn’t cooperate. Even though he was upright and his eyes remained open, he seemed to be unconscious.
“I need to know what happened so I’ll just… cut this off of you…” Hans stammered, sliding his dagger through linen, revealing a quickly spreading bruise.
He slid the cloth off Henry’s shoulders, exposing his now misshapen chest. His ribs had unevenly expanded, like the crack in an egg about to hatch.
Henry’s eyes flashed with fear and a sound came from his throat, small and continuous, like a man on the verge of death.
Hans tried to quell his own panic and instil the hope this would end well.
Another crack and Henry’s ribs bulged further, their shape now even but too rounded to be his own.
Henry had survived this twice.
He’d come to at dawn, confused, exhausted, bruised… but fine.
Alive.
…but Henry’d also said the full moon left him ‘a bit sore’.
Had he withheld the scope of his pain? Or was the transformation worse this time?
“I don’t know if you can see or hear me,” Hans blinked the mist from his eyes, forcing his gaze to Henry’s face, “but I’m not going to leave you alone with this. I’d — We will find something, we’ll invent it, alright? Focus on me, look — ”
He took Henry’s hands in his own, squeezed, and wasn’t sure whether the twitch in response was voluntary. “I’ve got you. I won’t let you go.” He swallowed, forced his voice to steady. “…especially not like this.”
Dimming sun and flickering torches made it hard to be sure, but it looked like something moved underneath Henry’s skin.
All the while that sound emanated from his throat, unintentional like the wind, sure to haunt Hans’ dreams forever.
Hans extended a hand to Henry’s face, hoping to convey his presence. The scratch of stubble felt foreign on familiar skin gone cold.
He moved his hands to Henry’s shoulders as they shifted.
The throat-sound stammered, lips moving like muttering a prayer.
Clavicles cracked and Henry’s arms clapped forward from his shoulders.
Beneath Hans’ palm a joint popped under realigning muscle, heat blooming under skin as it grew dark with unspilled blood.
Hans failed to hide his horror, sickened by the sound of broken bones. “Holy mother Mary… I’m sorry, I’m— ” He moved his hands to Henry’s arms, hoping they wouldn’t cause pain.
Henry’s legs buckled and Hans caught him, guiding him to the ground to spare his knees the impact of a fall.
Hysteria rose in his chest at his own ridiculousness. What good were Henry’s unbruised knees when all his bones were broken?
Henry’s head leaned back as his neck grew wider than any man’s should be. His back arched and he fell to all fours.
Hans stumbled to his side, placing a hand on him for comfort.
Henry collapsed to his elbows.
Under his touch, Hans felt his spine crack and bulge as skin pimpled and hair burst forth. He moved his hand to Henry’s head instead, desperate to signal his presence in a way that didn’t hurt.
But wet cracks came from Henry’s face and that constant whine shifted its pitch and Henry writhed, and crunched, and grew, and broke —-
.
.
.
Darkness settled over the heap on the ground, larger than any man, rasping breath betraying its beastly nature.
Hans sat beside it, mind replaying breaking bones, the rest of him gone hollow.
Hiding now felt like betrayal.
Henry didn’t get to hide.
Hans might have just watched him die.
So Hans petted the creature’s mane, running prayers through his mind to fill the absence of God.
After Henry left Suchdol, Hans had cursed his hope at times.
The contrast between the belief in relief and the certainty of doom had nearly driven him insane.
Now he missed it.
Hans slowed and withdrew his hand when the creature staggered to all fours.
It resembled a wolf but its legs were too long, broad and bent, its front paws too claw-like. It sniffed at the remnants of Henry’s clothes on its lower body, then tore them off with its teeth.
From where Hans was seated, he couldn’t see the top of its back.
A deranged little part of him wondered whether he should climb it and ride off into the night.
Then the beast turned to face him.
Its eyes showed no white, instead gold with flickering torchlight.
Hans braced himself for a painful end.
Its large wet nose left a damp trail, scrunching up his tunic as it sniffed his chest and neck. Hans said a silent prayer as it licked him from chin to hairline, then his arm, the cloth over his abdomen and then his face again. Before Hans gathered his wits it briefly sniffed a trail down to his crotch.
Its saliva hadn’t yet cooled when it leapt up to the church wall.
Confused relief dawned slowly as Hans got to his feet. “…Henry?” He tried belatedly.
The beast gave no response. Wood groaned and broke away as it scaled the building, unfazed by the structure giving way under its weight.
The night sky offered enough brightness to show the beast sniff and rear, stood almost like a man as it picked scents from the sky.
Debris creaked loose and rained from the church tower.
The creature’s attention fixed westward and it leapt over Hans to the wall behind him and then away, beyond, gone before the structure crumbled.
Hans gave chase with bow and quiver.
In the dark.
Christ, he really hadn’t thought this through.
The moon lit shapes on the forest floor but the creature was nowhere to be seen.
And damn it all, using a torch would blind him to distance.
It had gone in the direction of Skalitz though…
When Henry would come to in the morning, Hans didn’t want him there of all places, let alone covered in God knows whose blood.
Kurva. Time to be stupid.
“Hey!” Hans shouted into the night.
He listened, still, with bated breath.
Nothing.
God damn it all indeed.
He cupped his hands around his mouth.
“HEY! BEAST! WHERE ARE YOU?”
A distant tree creaked, foliage rustled, and the creature pounced.
Air slammed from Hans’ lungs and his head hit the ground. A claw dug into his shoulder as snarled drool leaked onto his chin.
When in a daze his eyes slowly opened, the beast roared in his face. Deafening noise from Hell itself blasted heat over his skin.
Teeth scratched past Hans’ chin and forehead when it closed its maw and then growled under its breath.
Its head was so big it blocked out the sky, even when its damp nose pushed against Hans’ jaw and its claw pressed so his shoulder flared pain, forced awkwardly over his quiver.
Then the beast passed over him, smooth as a shadow.
Pain bloomed in his shoulder and Hans stayed where he was, listening to the beast’s retreat.
His headache frazzled his sense of direction but he was pretty sure it was no longer headed to Skalitz. He’d achieved that much at least.
He wasn’t sure he could take another pounce like that though, even if it didn’t just eat him next time.
With a sigh he gazed up at the stars twinkling back at him from between the treetops.
This creature had gored dozens of Cumans and bandits, but it hadn’t harmed him, not in a way that mattered.
Which meant its violence wasn’t mindless.
An ordinary beast wouldn’t make a distinction between men.
The beast wasn’t like Henry’s usual self of course, but he was in there. Undeniably.
Henry had said everything that was him fell away but this absence of his ‘self’ had to be like intoxication, or sleep.
Come morning, he’d be a bit sore.
Relief was so absolute Hans thought he might float to the stars.
Canopy gaps blurred with bright night sky as he blinked mist from his eyes.
Slowly he got up, tested his shoulder — slightly bloody, painful but functional — and went to get himself a torch.