Chapter Text
Lark never felt so powerful, so helpless, as when he stood over his father’s body. His hands were red. They weren’t his hands. His father was dead and Lark killed him the world was ending. He was only eleven. He was only eleven and his father was dead and the world was ending and these weren’t his hands.
He turned to the sky and felt the presence of a god, of a horror unfathomable and unleashed, curl into every crevice of his being. He felt it find him lacking. It withdrew, and Lark was alone, a terror unlike any he had ever felt before.
Somedays, Lark regretted ending the world. Somedays, Lark regretted not ending it better.
——-
Lark didn’t have a lot of experience with little kids, but he was pretty sure that when faced with a stranger pointing a gun at them, they were supposed to -– what? Scream? Try to run? They definitely were not supposed to smile.
“Hi! Do you live here? I do too now. My name’s Norm! What’s yours?”
Lark was hallucinating. That was the one and only option. He’d finally lost it and let the Doodler in and now he was seeing crazy little boys with messy hair and bright, unflinching eyes.
“I’m… holding a gun.”
The boy— Norm, apparently?— widened his eyes. “That’s what that is?”
“What.”
The kid at least had the sense to look a little nervous about that. Yet still he just hugged the stuffed wolf he’d been holding to his chest, resting his head on it. “I’ve never seen a gun before.”
“What.” Lark’s brain was still lagging behind this situation. Belatedly, he realized he should probably point the gun elsewhere. He’d done a lot of messed up shit to survive, but shooting a kid wasn’t really one he was looking to add to his list. His gut seemed… okay around this kid, and Lark usually had pretty good instincts. His brain, however, was not on board with whatever insanity had fallen into his lap. Lark settled for flicking the safety back on, letting his arm rest against his leg and the gun point toward the floor. “What are you doing in here? How did you even find this place?”
The kid’s gaze flitted around and Lark narrowed his eyes, already expecting a lie. “I um, found it? Walking around. ‘Cause I was looking for places to sleep.” At Lark’s unimpressed stare he scrambled to add, “My wolf helped me find it. Awoo?” He ducked his head behind the wolf and added the little howl, peeking out from it afterwards. Lark could see his eyes scrunch up in a grin. Who was this kid?
“Right. Okay.” Compartmentalize. Lark was good at that. Divide, conquer, and survive. “Let’s start with the basics. Where are your parents?” Immediately, Norm’s smile faded. His grip on the wolf turned knuckle-white and it was as if his whole body shrunk into itself. When he spoke, it was quiet.
“Daddy told me I had to run away, and that I can’t see him anymore.”
Oh fuck. Shit. Dammit. No no no, Lark was absolutely not about to be sidled with an abandoned orphan or whatever. “And your mom?”
Norm fiddled with his wolf’s paws, eyes downcast. “I dunno. She’s at church too, so I don't think so.”
The Church. Double fuck. Triple fuck. Lark groaned and holstered his gun. So the kid was abandoned and it was, technically (fully, completely, horrendously), Lark’s fault. Which meant until he found an actual suitable guardian for the tiny thing, the boy was Lark’s responsibility. Lark eyed him and felt a tang of bitterness, but he couldn't tell who for. For the kid’s parents, getting involved with the cult and leaving their son to fend for himself? For the Doodler, ripping the world’s psyche apart and leaving them to clean up the scraps? For himself, for causing this whole mess in the first place? For Norm, showing up on Lark’s doorstep and disrupting this simple, shitty life he’d built?
At least, he thought to himself, the boy’s parents had held onto enough of themselves to send Norm away before they joined the Church. Lark had done his damndest to stay away from anything involving the Doodler, but word spread. He knew that place was nowhere for a child. Even if the alternative was wandering the hostile wastes.
Norm’s time alone had clearly not been kind to the boy. It could have been worse — he was alive, after all. And in good spirits no less. He must be one resilient — or lucky — kid to survive this shitshow on his own when he couldn’t be more than what, eight? Still, Lark could track the weariness Norm carried in his movements, could see clearly where skin clung tightly to bone and grime caked greasy hair, turning it dark. Lark may not know how long Norm had been alone for or how he’d survived so far, but it was clear he wouldn’t last much longer on his own.
Right. Step one, keep the kid alive. One-A would be to feed him. Sleep would have to come next, Lark couldn't deal with whatever tantrum a child this age was bound to throw over exhaustion. One-C? Clean him, check for injuries or disease, find him different clothes. Easy, next.
Step two, figure out where to take him. Lark had neither the ability nor desire to take care of a child. The sooner he could dump him somewhere safe, the better. Besides, They’d both be safer apart from each other. The whole world was hunting Lark and he couldn't have Norm slowing him down or getting caught in the crossfire.
Step three would be harder. Lark would have to deviate from his route to transport Norm somewhere safe, but he’d need to probe for more answers in the meantime. Lark hadn’t gotten this far by trusting people at their word, even if they were a sunny little kid currently cooing over their grimy, clearly handmade wolf toy.
Plan devised, Lark nodded sharply to himself and moved back into the hallway. As he expected, Norm crashed to his feet behind him, following noisily as Lark led them downstairs. “Mr. guy? What are you doing?”
“Dinner.”
Lark couldn't see it, but he swore he could hear the child’s face light up. “So I can stay?”
Lark swung his pack off his shoulder as he entered the kitchen, letting it thud against one of the cleaner walls. “No. Dinner doesn't mean you can stay. Not permanently at least.” Now that he wasn't on the prowl for an intruder, Lark let himself take better stock of the kitchen’s condition. About the same as the last time he was here, which was good. Norm couldn't have been here long before Lark arrived — most of the rations were untouched. The chairs in the corner had given out but that was fine. The second floor was more secure anyway.
Lark turned, planning to grab some canned vegetables from the pantry, when he saw Norm’s face. Were all kids this easy to read? His expression screamed ‘confusion’ like an open, poorly written YA book.
“What’s permanently mean? And why can’t I stay it?”
Lark hmmed and leaned his hip against the counter. “It just means you can’t stay forever. As for why, that’s because I’m not staying forever, and I’m sure as hell not leaving you here alone. I’ll take you to a settlement instead, one of the safe ones. Okay?” Lark didn't wait for an answer, going to his pack to unload the less essential items before he started on dinner. While he moved, he flipped through settlements in his mind’s eye. There were a few that were fairly close, but Lark wasn’t sure how safe they were. The one nearest here had fallen a few years back, one had a nasty corruption issue, that one was a ticking time bomb… There was really only one viable option. One that Lark had been steering clear of for some time, but which was probably Norm’s best bet. It was risky, could attract attention, anything involving their group always did. Lark would likely have to move on immediately after detouring there. He sighed. If only step two of the plan could be as simple as part one, but it never was. Not with his luck.
“We’ll go to New Roqueporte. It’s about as stable as you’ll get these days, and I’ve got a… a friend there, I guess. He won’t mind getting you settled. Probably,” Lark muttered the last part to himself. He tried not to think too much about Terry. They’d parted on bad terms and had avoided contact ever since. But Terry was Terry. He wasn’t going to turn his back on a child. Especially not little Doe Eyes here. “We’ll head out in a week, once we’ve both rested a bit. It should only be a four day journey.” Lark paused and gave Norm a glance over. He took note of short legs and too-thin cheeks. “Hm. Six days. I’ll try to drop you off midday.”
Norm frowned, his eyebrows creasing along with it. Lark swallowed down the ache that rose from his chest. His mother used to furrow her brows the same when she read something upsetting online, or when teachers tried to lecture her about Lark and Sparrow’s behavior. It’d been a long time since he really thought about her, he realized uneasily.
“You’re not going in too?” Norm looked uncertain. He hugged tight to his small backpack, the wolf stuck haphazardly from its zipper. It was as if he had all of a sudden realized he was alone with a stranger, his shoulders tense and body weight leaned toward the door. Lark groaned and ran a hand over his face. Right, little kid in a a big world. How would Lark have felt at that age if some guy wanted to dump him somewhere “safe” but didn’t feel comfortable going in himself? Well, Lark probably would have wanted to go there even more if it had seemed dangerous. Maybe Lark was a bad example.
“I’m not going in for the same reason you can’t stay here. I’ve got bad people, bad things after me. It’s not safe for me to stay in one place for too long.”
Norm peered up at him. “You mean you move around all the time?”
“Yes. So-”
“So do I!” For whatever reason, this seemed to excite the little bundle of stress. He bounced on his heels, one small hand tangling itself in Lark’s jacket. “We can move together! Like a team! Can we have a team name?” He paused in his jumping to look very seriously at the plushie he held. “Do you have any ideas?” He stared at it before whispering, “No, I don’t think he’d like that one.”
Lark tried his best to stay stern, but felt his lips tug upwards a little against his will. Everything the kid did was so exaggerated, like Norm had to pour all his focus and intensity into anything and everything that caught his attention. Lark covered his slip-up with a cough. He crouched down in front of Norm, shaking his jacket free of his grip. Lark tried to channel Sparrow Father Terry Jr’s mom from the few times he’d met her.
‘Kids are smarter than we give them credit for. They know when you’re being dishonest with them, so just- try to be on their level, and be as open as you can be. Loose shoulders, quiet voice, the works. Trust me, Mr. Wilson. He’ll come to you when he’s ready, make sure he knows you’ll be ready to listen.’
‘You’re a grown man,’ Lark reminded himself. ‘You can handle comforting a child.’ “I uh… I guess it’s probably pretty scary, thinking about going to a whole new place with all new people, huh? You ever even been around that many people before?” The kid stayed quiet. Quickly, Lark was starting to clock that as a Bad Sign. Alright, adapt to the battlefield, Lark. Switch strategies. What made Terry connect to his stepdad? Stories? Relatability? Fuck, Lark should have paid more attention. Back then he never thought he'd have to worry about this kind of thing. “When I was a kid, my uh- my parents took me to a fair and… and…” Big-eyes was staring at Lark like he had two heads. This was a terrible idea. Lark started the apocalypse. He’d fought and killed and thrived all on his own. Everyone who knew anything about him knew he was bad news. He wasn’t going to sit down and baby some kid. “Nope, okay, this is stupid.” Lark straightened up. “I know I probably seem like the safer option because you kind of know me, but believe me, I’m not. It’ll be safer for you in New Roqueporte. That’s where you're going. That’s final.”
“But-”
Lark yanked his sleeve up. Norm’s eyes widened when he caught sight of the scars twisting the skin there. “Listen to me. When I was just a few years older than you, I had to pull myself out of a building that cultists collapsed on me. That’s where I got this scar. And this one, I got it fighting off some fucked up misshapen thing that decided I’d make a good snack. Here’s from when I was on the run from a mercenary and fell off a roof — my arm broke, the bone was sticking straight out.” Lark swallowed past the lump in his throat and tore his eyes away from Norm. He’d never been fond of dwelling on his many scars, but it was another thing entirely to watch this child’s face go white with disgust and fear, see how he clung tighter to his toy as it dawned on him what Lark really was. Just a hunted animal. A beast with all the king’s men on his tracks. “Got this one when someone set one of my safehouses ablaze. I never did find whoever did it. Had to completely change my routes after that, just in case. And this one —“
Norm’s tears didn’t surprise Lark. He’d been expecting them. Even counting on them, a little. If a little scare was what it took to get the kid to stay somewhere safe, Lark would do it, even if it did make him a bit uneasy. What did take him by surprise was scrawny arms thrown around his legs and a face pressed into his stomach. Lark barely resisted shoving him off on instinct, only aided by how his body seemed to lock up at the touch.
“I’m sorry,” Norm sobbed. Distantly, Lark was aware of the tears soaking through his shirt. It was hard to focus on when his mind was so caught up in warmth and gentle pressure and how genuinely heartbroken this kid sounded over a stranger’s scars. “The world’s so scary for you.”
Lark finally unfroze enough to awkwardly pat the boy’s head. “Yeah, kid. The world’s a scary place for everyone these days. But especially for people like me.” Norm started to shake at that and Lark frowned. “You get now why you’ve gotta go to people who can take care of you, right? Why you can’t come with me?”
“The world’s scarier if I come with you?” Norm asked, sniffling. He squeezed Lark’s legs tighter. Absently, Lark wondered why it was so hard to breathe when the kid wasn’t even anywhere near his lungs. Norm pulled his face back from Lark’s stomach so he could look up at him with watery eyes. “Okay. I’ll go to Roqueporte,” he said very seriously, despite saying it completely wrong. “I won’t make things scarier for you, promise.”
For me? Lark thought incredulously. Christ, this kid was something else. But hey, whatever worked.
Lark cleared his throat, glad the matter was settled. “Great. Cool. So do you want… dinner?” Lark didn't have the words to describe how relieved he was when the child detached himself from his legs to nod vigorously. Lark sent him to go clean up in one of the less filthy bathrooms while he cooked. He knew he needed to make something quick and simple, Norm clearly hadn't been eating much and they were both tired enough that sleep was a looming need. But, as he heard Norm pounding up the stairs, Lark took a moment to thunk his forehead against the cabinets. He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. This was hard, too hard, and he didn’t even know why.
Things would be better once he dropped Norm off at New Roqueporte. Everything would be back to normal.
(A traitorous little voice that sounded like Henry Sparrow himself his mother whispered that those two things couldn't be the same.)