Chapter Text
Troy searches frantically for Mickey. He shouts her name, cuts through underbrush, examines every tree she could hide in. Every little flash of red quickens his heart, be it a leaf or a bird. He catches a glimpse of red darting through some trees, and he chases after it. It’s gone in a moment, no trace to be found. The brush is thicker here, and Troy keeps looking, panic rising in his chest with each second.
The fear and dread blinds him, worst-case scenarios making their homes in the forefront of his mind. His foot catches on a gnarled root in his obliviousness, his knee twisting painfully and a branch slicing his bicep. He only grunts as he scrambles to his feet. He continues his frantic search.
“Mickey?! Sweetheart, where’d you run off to? These woods aren’t safe…” He trails off, the pounding of feet on the forest floor putting him on high alert. He doesn’t have time to figure out what it is before he’s being pulled into a tiny hidden alcove, a hand clamping over his mouth before he can yell. A familiar voice shushes him.
“It’s me, relax.” Conan’s voice is low and firm, and Troy can feel the rise and fall of the rogue’s chest. The sailor bites Conan’s hand, but it doesn’t budge.
“What do you mean he isn’t there?! Look harder!”
Troy and Conan both stiffen, listening to the frustrated shouts of what Troy assumes to be paladins. Conan still doesn’t move his hand.
“Biting will get you nowhere, gorgeous. Trust me, I’ve had worse.” He wraps his arm around Troy’s middle, pulling him a little closer. The voices finally fade away, and Conan releases his hold on Troy.
Troy scrambles back, seeing his sweet Mickey on Conan’s shoulder with Mimi. He grabs her and hugs her close to his chest.
“Mickey, baby, there you are! Why did you run off like that?” He checks her over, relaxing only when he doesn’t find any injuries. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as Mickey drapes herself around his shoulders with a soothing purr. He jerks back when he feels Conan touch his arm.
“You’re bleeding,” Conan murmurs, hands gentle as he examines the wound. Troy glances down to see a gash on his bicep. He shakes his head.
“I’m fine. Just a cut-”
“You need stitches. Sit still.”
There’s an edge to Conan’s voice that leaves little room for argument. Troy, however, doesn’t easily comply. He gets up and heads back the way he came, and he slows a little when he doesn’t hear Conan following him. He knows a good inn in town, he’ll take care of the gash there.
What Troy doesn’t expect, however, is a certain redhead standing in the middle of the room when he emerges from the bathroom. He startles and glares at him
“Why do you keep doing that?!”
Conan pushes him to the bed without a word and sits beside him. Troy huffs as he watches the rogue pull out bandages, thread, and a needle.
Both Mimi and Mickey end up having to restrain Troy while Conan tends to the sailor’s wounds. Conan is careful with the stitches, but it’s getting more and more difficult to not “struggle” to get the needle through.
“Keep squirming, and the thread is gonna ‘accidentally’ break and I’ll have to redo everything,” Conan growls. “Now shut up and be still.”
Troy grumbles and glares at Conan, who glares right back. The rogue doesn’t break eye contact as he pours an antiseptic on the newly-stitched wound. A smirk tugs at Conan’s lips as Troy holds back a pained shout. But his hands are unexpectedly gentle as he wraps some gauze around Troy’s bicep, securing it with a neat tie.
Mickey and Mimi get distracted by each other’s tails, and they quickly begin to chase each other around the room. They chitter and chirp as they play, Mickey nipping at Mimi and Mimi nipping back.
Conan begins putting the medical supplies away, and Troy takes the opportunity to try and escape. He quietly grabs Mickey and starts to tiptoe away, but Conan grabs his wrist and gently tugs him back.
And Troy tries to run.
Tries.
Because Conan very swiftly pulls the sailor right back to the bed by the back of his shirt.
“Good effort. Too bad you screwed up your knee, too.”
Troy lands by Conan with a grunt. He tries to run again, but a firm hand around his injured bicep stops him. Before he knows it, Mimi’s restraining him once more. Conan grins.
“I’ll go find us some dinner, beautiful. Get some rest!” His voice is mockingly sweet as he leaves the room, his hood up to conceal his hair.
Troy huffs, looking down at Mimi. She blinks up at him. Mickey joins the two, her lazy eye making her look a bit like a googly-eyed plush toy.
When Conan returns, Troy is nowhere to be seen. The redhead places his bag down, Mimi and Mickey immediately starting to rifle through it for their dinners. Conan glances around briefly before reaching up above the doorway and tugging.
“Shit-!”
Troy falls, Conan having tugged him loose from his hiding place. The rogue catches him and sets him down, patting the sailor’s head. It only earns him a swift punch to the chest.
“Alright, gorgeous, c’mere.”
Before Troy can think, he’s being thrown over Conan’s shoulder. He struggles for only a moment, before he manages to get one leg hooked over the other shoulder. He throws his upper body back and swings the other leg up, successfully pulling Conan to the floor. He quickly pins the rogue, but it only holds for a moment. He winds up on his back, Conan sitting on his chest and staring down at him with an unimpressed expression.
“Done?”
Troy grumbles and struggles, but gives up when Conan puts more weight on his chest. He huffs.
“Dick.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Conan rises and grabs Troy by his waist, hoisting him up as if he’s handling a cat. He tosses the sailor on the bed and grabs his bag.
“I got us some bread. They put cheese on it, too. Try it.” He holds it out, taking a bite out of his own piece.
Troy takes it hesitantly, body sore and tired from the events of the day. He scoots back to the wall as he eats, eyes never leaving Conan. The rogue is unbothered as he eats and changes into something more comfortable.
“...What are you doing?” Troy narrows his eyes, wary and unsure.
Conan, unbothered and smiling, settles down next to Troy. He lies down and puts his hands behind his head, Mimi curling up on his stomach.
“I gotta sleep, too. ‘Night.”
The sailor is left utterly dumbfounded as Conan’s breathing evens out, his snores still unfamiliar but oddly comforting.