Chapter Text
It burns your skin as you slink away using the afternoon shadows to help conceal your form as you escape. This has to be the warmest you’ve been in a while and while you frown at the fact that it’s getting dirty from being in contact with your rarely washed body and shirt, your eyes sparkle with the promise of food. So you can handle the burn.
Ok, scratch that, no you can’t. Fuck, shit! Ow that really hurt. You take the stolen loaf of bread from under your shirt and hold it in your hand. This was not a well thought out plan. It hurts your hands now so you just hop it between the two grey appendages as you make your way home unseen. “Home” as it happens, is nothing more than a shed just outside the bustle of Lopah, your hometown. By “shed” you meant “a pile of wood held together by nails and miraculously still standing” and by “hometown” you meant “the place where trolls didn’t sneer at your very existence, well at least not all of them”. Oh yes, you were quite fortunate. You didn’t used to live like a rabid squeakbeast though. You used to have an actual house with a family to share it with. But there had been a very large fire, destroying most of the already small village you lived in. You’re father and brother had died and somehow you’re scrawny ass managed to escape.
Fat lot of good that did. You’d rather be dead most days but let’s face it, you’re a coward, you cling to life like it’s the last thing you have. Because it is.
Once “home” you set the cooling loaf on a stack of old books you’ve managed to collect over the sweeps—you’ve been in Lopah for about three—and take your hunting knife and cut off one of the ends. It was rare for you to get warm bread, you had to steal for most of your food or work odd jobs all around Lopah either for coins or food. There were a few kind lowbloods that pitied you—platonically of course—and offered you handouts. You only went to them when things got too bad.
The bread is good, crunchy on the outside and so warm. It’s nice. You wrap the prize in a small piece of cloth and leave to go explore. Just outside your home is the border to the Crimson Forest; a large wooded area named after the deep red leaves that clung to black branches. It was fun to explore when you weren’t working or stealing, kept your mind off of things. Sometimes you liked to pretend that when you went in, you’d come back out and somehow everything would be different, better. It wasn’t of course but whatever.
Your feet lead you to a well-worn path made courtesy of you, evidence from previous treks. It doesn’t take long to get deep into the trees seeing as how you know this place like the back of your hand. The sun is still up so you decide to go a little further, choosing to go left rather than right today. The black bark around you is honestly kind of creepy and the bright red leaves always unsettle you, reminding you of your mutation, but if you clear your mind, it’s almost pretty. Everything looks the same in the forest, in the beginning you couldn’t go very far for fear of getting lost but now the monotony of it calms you. It was always the same, no disasters, no problems, no change.
Well… except for today apparently.
A trail of destruction starts up ahead of you: broken branches hanging limply from their sources, underbrush flattened, and little blue things scattered every few yards. You pick up one of the blue specks, its a bit smaller than your hand and is a bright, sky blue. What makes you drop it in disgust is the bright red staining it. Blood. Bright red blood.
A small shiver takes over and you look down the path of destruction, the red and black flora in a state of disarray and curiosity wins out. It doesn’t take long to reach the end of the disturbance, maybe five or ten minutes, but… it’s a bit shocking when you do. Along the way you noticed an absence of the featherbeasts that usually fly around the forest and sing their expectedly annoying songs. Today there were none, not even a stray rustle of the bushes to announce the present of some other creature. All was silent.
But at the end of your little trek, following more broken branches and finding more of the blue… whatever they were, you find a very… strange creature. You know exactly what it is; you’d have to be an idiot to not know what the hell that thing was. The problem was you never expected to see one. Why would you? Its large body was curled in on itself and its long tail wrapped tightly around it. Little patches of red oozed from where it’s bright blue scales must have been torn off as it crashed into the trees.
“Fuck.” You mutter, breaking the heavy silence of the forest. Of all the things to find, it has to be a fucking dragon.
--
There it is, a fucking dragon, lying—probably unconscious judging from how it hasn’t moved since you entered the small clearing—right there in front of you. A wild, majestic beast you’d only heard about in stories or gossip in passing around Lopah. This one was probably wild, a rarity, seeing as how it didn’t look like it had any riding gear. There is a dragon a few yards in front of you and all you can do it stare at it, open mouthed, in shock. You can almost feel your think-pan dripping from your ears.
Its body is covered in bright blue scales but those soften into a pale blue underbelly. Its tail is actually pretty long, longer than you think should be normal and the bright blue color darkens into a deeper shade. A tremor runs down your spine when your gaze lands on the talons on both its front and back legs, tinted a bright yellow. The whole thing looks out of place with its background of crimson and black.
You don’t really know how it happened but somehow you ended up on the other side of the clearing and standing next to the dragon. It’s breathing, you can see the rise and fall of its chest, but it’s weak at best. The thing doesn’t seem to have noticed your approach and you find your hand reaching out to touch it.
That’s right Karkat, go ahead and touch the wild dragon. Pet it like the little meowbeast it so obviously is. Despite your sarcasm you are now touching the dragon. It’s… surprisingly warm. The scales, you mean. Not cold like you always thought they’d be. You realize now the bright blue things you’d found along the way were its scales. Poor thing, you wonder why it crashed. Dragons were supposed to be very intelligent. Maybe this one was just stupid. Your hand is still placed gently on the dragon’s side when you spare a glance at its face. A deep, blue orb is staring at you, half-hearted hostility shining through. A weak growl escapes barely parted jaws, exposing the tips of very sharp teeth.
“Don’t you dare fucking growl at me.” You hiss back then shake your head. You just snapped at a dragon. What is wrong with you? Obviously something serious because the next thing you’re doing is walking away, in the opposite direction of where you came, and to a small stream you know runs not too far from the clearing. Once there, you take into account the clean water flowing lazily, the blue in severe contrast with all the surrounding red. Kind of like the dragon in the clearing, the same dragon whom you are now returning to with a sopping wet shirt cradled in your arms.
Its head lifts a bit when you return, and it growls again, eyes weary. Your own eyes rolling and you shiver at the cold. Jeez! You hadn’t noticed but now that your chest was bare and your shirt was soaking wet in your hands it was really hard not to notice the temperature. As you get closer to the dragon, it growls again but it doesn’t sound threatening, almost as if it’s given up and doesn’t care what you do anymore. Wow… that was pretty p- you don’t let yourself finish that thought and get to work on wiping the blood away from its body with your shirt.
It’s watching you carefully, interest painfully clear in its eyes.
“So… how’d you even do this to yourself? I thought dragons were supposed to be smart but you manage to crash-land in this shithole. Not too smart if you ask me but hey, you didn’t. Hey, don’t fucking look at me like that! I don’t have to help you, not that I even know if it’s doing anything…” You begin to trail off, every now and then starting up a one-sided conversation again. You don’t know if it understands you or not, if it’s truly wild it probably doesn’t and it seems too weak to shift into its other form.
After the blood is cleaned away you go back to the river and wash your shirt off and go home. That night, you lie on your relatively soft pile and think of the dragon. You don’t know much about them; you know that the Imperial Flight Squad use them in fights or for travel and more commonly dragons are used for racing. You also know they can appear in two “forms”. The first is their dragon state and the second being a strange, hornless, troll-like version. You drift off thinking of those dumbass blue scales.
The next day, you wake up and dazedly look around in your pile for medical bandages. You don’t use them often because you’re careful, you pride yourself in staying out situations where your putrid blood color might be revealed so you have plenty in stock. You take about half of what you have and take a bit of food too. It all fits nicely in a piece of cloth and you leave your little shack.
Judging by the sky, you have a few hours until noon, when you have to be back in town for one of your jobs, helping some burgundy blood butcher meat. If you’re lucky he might let you take some home. It’s been a while since you’ve had meat.
The forest is alive when you get there; the featherbeasts are back to their annoying usual routine of assaulting your hearing canals with their high pitched warbles. You make a few stops by bushels of herbs you’re familiar with and strip them of their leaves and roots and flowers. Arriving at the clearing, a large set of blue eyes glare and assess the short troll holding an armful of herbs. It growls and you huff in annoyance.
“Fucking stop you bulge-festering ingrate.” You snap and get closer. The growling continues but stops when you set down your load… You suppose you should at least explain what you’re doing just in case it can understand you… oh fuck that.
“Just keep your blue ass still, okay?” You hiss and you go back to the stream with your cloth and return with it wet. It takes a while but you manage to wash off its wounds again and apply what you believe to be the right herbs and wrap them in the medical bandages. You don’t know if what works on trolls will help with dragons but it’s the best you’ve got so the motherfucker better be grateful you’re even bothering. The whole time the dragon was watching you warily but at least he didn’t growl and stayed still. “There.” You sigh and plop down on the grass. It still eyes you as you take out two pieces of bread. You toss one piece to the dragon and take the other for yourself. It isn’t warm like it was yesterday but it’s still really good and you’ve got about half a loaf left at home. A cautious sniff deems your offering edible and the dragon practically inhales the morsel. Well then. It looks at you with wide blue eyes for a long moment then lays its head down. You stay there in the clearing for another hour before you gather your things and head back home and into town.
“There you are Vantas.” The burgundy blood frowns once you make it to the butcher.
“I’m sorry, sir.” You apologize gruffly—god you hate apologizing— and the troll snorts and tells you what you need to do. Your work is… well it’s better than starving so you won’t complain—at least not right now, you actually complain a lot. At the end of the day, the butcher tells you to go home and gives you a small amount of coin and a bundle of dried meat. You quickly thank him and go home in a relatively good mood for once.
It’s dark and the dried meat tastes great with a slice of bread and you are almost tempted to eat all of it but you somehow manage. You divide the rest into two small pile and wrap up one pile along with another slice of bread. That dragon asshole might like to actually eat a bit meat tomorrow…
--
Well it’s official. It’s an idiot. You are an idiot. You two are a great big idiot duo and all the other competitors can go home. It has been a few days since you started regularly visiting the dragon and slowly it has been getting stronger and its growls have become more lively— yes, it still fucking growls at you everytime you enter that godforsaken clearing but you think it might be more of a greeting now? Who the fuck even knows. It also has taken to making this warbling sound in the back of its throat whenever you leave and it almost sounds sad but when you turn around it just growls at you again and you yell a few scathing obscenities before leaving. You don’t know why you keep coming back but you do, you feed it and bring it water since the lazy fuck hasn’t really moved from its spot since you found it.
The flashes of blue visible through red foliage warn you now that you are nearing the clearing. The second the dragon sees you, a growl rumbles from its chest but you notice its eyes are bright, lacking the threat and weariness it had when you first found it.
“Hello to you too bulgemunch. Yeah yeah, ‘I’m a dragon and I can growl at Karkat like the little shit I am because it’s not like the nice troll fucking feeds me or anything like that. Fucking outrageous assumptions being thrown around right now.’” This is how you know you are an idiot. You… may or may not carry on conversations with the blue jackass and it may or may not respond with its own growls and hisses. Like now, the dragon does something akin to an eye-roll and makes a snorting sound. You throw your hands in the air and toss it some fruit. It swallows it in a second. “At least pretend you have some god dammed manners.” You mutter as you plop down beside it. You practically pass out from how exhausted you were from one of your jobs that day with the added trek it took to get to the clearing the second you hit the ground and you lean on the dragon unthinkingly.
You’d thought you’d get bitten or scratched or at least beaten with that damn tail that was now coming towards you… but you weren’t. Said tail gently wrapped around you and then it growled softly, turning its head away and completely ignoring you for the rest of your time there. It was a bit weird to be honest, all that body heat was nice but the scales were kind of odd when they were wrapped around you like that so you couldn’t sleep. But it was still, dare you say, nice?
After an hour of mindless, technically one-sided conversation you get up to fill the basin you brought with water. It takes a fuckton of time to drag it back since the weight fucking quadruples when you put water in it but it’s better than making fifty trips back and forth with only a bowl so that chute-stuffer can drink. When you get back, panting over the basin as some water sloshes over the rim and onto the grass, you notice something different about the clearing. It’s all red. No blue in sight.
Where the fuck did that nooksucking dragon go?!
“Hey! Listen here you whimsical little shit, I did not drag this thing all the way here just to have you run off! Get your bright blue ass back here!” You yell into the trees. A few featherbeasts caw and fly away at your disturbance but besides that nothing. Fuck… You stare at the water and holy shit, do you actually look sad right now!? Why would you care if that thing flew off to never be seen again? Not like you had invested your precious time into its wellbeing or anything. No, fuck that.
A rustle makes your ears twitch and your head snaps up to see what could be here, maybe it’s the-
Oh.
Oh, it’s… naked.
Standing on the other side of the crimson clearing is a small, peach skinned figure with a mess of black hair and unmistakable blue eyes. But it is also naked and oh sweet lord is this something you do not want right now. That… is definitely a bulge but it’s almost the same color as the rest of its body and completely still and no no no stop looking. It was weird and creepy and yeah, you’re just going to take your shirt off now. Wait! That sounded weird!
“W-what, I- uh- cover yourself you indecent grub-fucker!” You throw your shirt at him—you recall a few things about dragons’ second form, their sex was determined by which genitalia they had; either a nook or a bulge—and he caches it on reflex. He stares at it; blue eyes confused for a moment before he finally lifts it over his head and slips it on. Thank every single real and non-existent deity that this form is smaller than you and your shirt, that is already somewhat baggy on you, drops down mid-thigh and covers his weird junk. Your face betrays your mutant blood color and you fight to control your blush, you mean, really! Did he not have a single idea about courtesy and that you should not show up naked in front of people?
He looks really proud of himself and trots over to you. Up close you see that he is really short, about a head shorter than you. You were considered short by most troll standards but shit, he made you feel tall. He was also really small, a thin frame and he looked like he weighed nothing at all. He smiles up at you, exposing an unfortunate overbite. He lacks horns and his eyes are those same bright blue on a background of white.
“John!” He exclaims, beaming at his word.
“What?” An unimpressed raise of your eyebrows is all he gets from you. He pouts and thinks for a second.
“You are Karkat… and I John…?” He doesn’t seem so sure about his words now but you get it.
“Your name’s John?” A quick nod. “Stupid ass name if you ask me.”
“Didn’t.” He huffs, annoyed. It takes a minute to realize he doesn’t have a complete grasp on your language, at least grammar wise. Hell, he might not even know too many words, if he was truly wild then no one would have taught him how to talk.
“Yeah yeah, whatever. So I’m assuming that since you’re well enough to shift forms that means you’re better?”
“Yes, thank for… helping me. Very nice! Not like other trolls.” You quickly correct him and he repeats the statement the right way before something clicks. You look down at the boy and match up wounds and scars. His neck has a few healed over scrapes that probably transferred over from his crash injuries and his arm has a large scar on it.
“What other trolls?” John frowns and looks at the sky then back at you before answering. He takes a moment, running his hand through his mess of hair absently, thinking of how to say it.
“Chase me. Very mean. Not like Karkat. Try to… um… keep me? Scary with other dragons saying I be safe with them… but I not want to go with them. I, uh, try to hide in red leaves but crash.” You slowly correct him and he repeats the explanation like he did before and you think about it. Trolls with other dragons chased John, they tried to capture him so John—the idiot—thought it’d be a good idea to hide in the trees despite how it would only make it more obvious with the color contrast but he crashed because forests did not have ideal flying conditions.
“Oh.” You mutter lamely and John is looking at you expectantly then his eyes shift over to the basin of water and his face lights up and he hops over. He acts like a wriggler to be honest and you aren’t sure whether it’s endearing or frustrating. John drops to his knees and scoops up a handful of water and brings it his mouth to drink. He repeats this a few more times while you think. Who would chase John? You are honestly blanking on this because not many trolls had dragons; there were certain things that had to happen for a dragon’s egg to hatch.
Lost in thought, you don’t notice that John is curled up at the base of a tree, dozing off.
“Oh hell no.” You growl and stalk over to him. It was one thing to leave a big ass dragon in the forest alone but in this form he seemed so vulnerable and helpless. So pitiful. You cringe inwardly at the term but it was the best way to describe him, his skin looked so soft, no way could he protect himself. John looks up to see you scowling above him and gives you a confused expression. “Come on dipshit, you can come home with me I guess. I mean if you want. I’m not going to leave you out here.” You avoid eye contact because his smiling face is blinding and he bounces up and hugs you. Ok no, he had no pants on and only a shirt, this was not ok so you shove him away with a small growl.
John pouts, annoyed, and sticks his disturbingly pink tongue out at you and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Ugh,” you sigh, exaggerating just a bit. “Just follow me you little shit.” You narrow your eyes and he does the same before you turn and dump the basin out. John snatches it up like it fucking belongs to him and holds it to his body like you’d take it away from him. It occurs to you he’s probably trying to help by carrying it but it still peeved at you for shoving his half naked self away. You roll your eyes. “Dumbass.”
“Chute-stuffer.” He snaps back, surprising you. So he had been listening to your aimless rants after all. At least you now know he understood most, if not all, of what you’ve been saying this whole time. That may or may not be a good thing seeing as how you seem to talk yourself in deeper and deeper holes sometimes. Most times. Always.
You simply growl in response and John follows you. He stumbles a bit over tangled underbrush and explains in his broken speech that he’s not used to walking. You wave him off but make an effort not to move so quickly. It takes a lot longer than usual but as you get closer and closer to your very humble abode, you start to feel self-conscious. You lived in a rundown heap of wood that somehow had not succumbed to the throws of gravity and collapsed and worked—and stole—your ass off to keep yourself alive. You started having second thoughts about not only showing John where you lived but also letting him stay there as well. This was a really bad idea. You just knew it and it was waiting to blow up in your face like things tend to do.
John startles you out of your self-loathing reverie with a slight tap on your shoulder. You turn to face him and he looks worried, mouth twisted up and eyes sparkling with concern. “You are okay?” He asks.
“A better way to say that would be ‘Are you okay?’” You first correct because he was a pretty fast learner and like hell you’d deal with his bullshit language skills for much longer so you might as well teach him a thing or two. John nods and mouths the words to himself, as if locking them into memory and you puff out a sigh. “And yeah, I’m fine. Just… never mind. We’re here.” You say in a flat monotone and avoid looking at John.
“Home?” He asks and raises a finger towards your “house”. Normally, that statement would be dripping with contempt or pity and you’d probably claw their throats out just to scrape together the last scraps of your pride but the way John says it makes you look at him. His face is soft and he looks in awe at your shack, like he’s never seen something so amazing.
“Yeah…” You mutter, confused and he smiles, dropping the basin and causing a loud metallic clang and grabs your arm.
“Show me.” He all but pleads and you take him inside. You show him what it looks like and he instantly burrows down into your pile.
“Dammit John, its barely past noon and you want to fucking sleep? I was right about you being lazy.” You scowl and the boy sticks his tongue out at you. You do the same in retaliation before his head disappears in the crook of his arm. His smaller frame is curled in on himself, cocooned by cloth and other miscellaneous soft objects you'd managed to get your hands on. He looks smaller like that and soon he is fast asleep. A book takes your mind off things for a few hours while you wait for your next job slot.
--
Torture, that’s what it is. Pure torture. This was probably your least favorite job to do and you won’t even go into it now because it pissed you off. At least you got good compensation for it. You might actually do it more, seeing as how much you got paid, but it was a job that only needed doing every so often so the when the opportunity came about you took it with mixed feelings. You shuffle back inside your shack only to fall face first into the floor. A groan escapes you and all you can hear is John’s maniacal laughter.
Not.
A-fucking-gain!
Your books were scattered now around your feet, the cause for your graceful stumble. This is the third time this week John has thought it “funny” to trip you after a hard day of getting his ass fed. You had soon realized that your new dragon friend likes to play “pranks” on poor, unsuspecting members of society and since he hasn’t left your shack since he got here save for trips out into the forest for fun, he has to take out his “pranks” solely on you. Fucking joy.
“You always fall for it!” John gasps between strangled rounds of laughter. Oh you’ll strangle him all right, one day in his sleep, and he’ll never see that shit coming. Fucking watch.
“How many times do I have to almost impale myself on this dirty-ass floor and resultantly flip my shit before you realize, this is not fun! Only you find this funny. One of these days you’ll think it’s a good idea to drop all my books on my head the second I open the door.” John’s eyes flash mischievously as you scramble to your hands and knees and then to your feet. His laughter is calming down to muffled chuckles but you can see you popped an idea into his head.
“Fuck… John, please do not drop books on my head. You’ll kill me. That would be very bad.” You remind him angrily and John merely laughs.
“I do not want you dead, stupid. Just is funny! You is really funny.” John smiles at you, a mix between an act at innocence and pride in his sentence. You correct him and he frowns like he always does when he realizes he's said something wrong. He says the new dialog, trying to learn. You do have to hand it to him, he learned surprisingly quickly what with John always repeating Karkat’s correction and Karkat always making corrections.
“Oh! By the way, I got you something.” You say offhandedly, honestly you’d almost forgotten. Probably a sign that you were hitting your head too much. Thanks John. You rustle around in you tattered messenger bag that you used when you went shopping. It wasn’t often you had enough money to actually pay for things so the bag was often filled with random shit. John rocks forward onto his knees, anticipation clear on his pale face. The two of you were sitting on the floor near you pile, previously chatting idly.
You pull out a deep blue strip of fabric from the bag; the bright newness of the color makes your bag seem even older and dirtier. You push that out of your mind for now and show John the gift. At first, the little shit has the gall to look confused though he really seems to enjoy the color because he can’t take his eyes off of it. His favorite color is green but you feel blue suits him better.
“It’s… um, a sash. You tie it around your waist so my shirts and stuff can fit better. And I also got you pants. They’re in here somewhere.” You fumble, throwing the fabric at his face and digging around the bag while avoiding looking at John. Shit, this was a bad idea. A stupid, bad idea. You remove the clean trousers from the inside of the bag and present them to John. Well you would have if he hadn’t practically thrown himself at you. John was small but really agile and fast as shit so you didn’t even have time to brace yourself before John is on top of you, arms wrapped around your waist and his head snuggled into your chest.
Oh.
“J-John-”
“Thank you! I love it.” He squeaks, speaking slowly. You freeze, red coloring your face before bringing up a hand and carding your fingers through his troll-black hair. Your claws lightly scratch at his soft scalp and he hums happily.
“Yeah… no problem buddy. Now get the fuck off me.” You shove him off softly, making sure to be careful with aforementioned claws. You realized within the first two days of living with John that his pale, creamy skin was just as weak as it looked. John pulls away with a big smile plastered on his face and he touches the spot where you had been rubbing earlier on his head. You… you really don’t know why you’d done that.
“That was good by the way, what you said. No mistakes.” John has to lean closer to hear your mumbled praise but reacts as though you’d yelled it. He bounces to his feet quickly and does an odd hopping dance before snatching up his new pants and sash and bouncing as far as he can away from you in the limited space of the shack. John shimmies in the dusty corner, cobwebs hanging above his head, and pulls on the pants. The soft grey color actually looked really nice on his pale skin with your oversized shirt. His fingers fumble a moment before wrapping and tying off the blue sash.
Shit.
He looks… good. The blue pops out amongst the monotone grey and black and it makes his already unbelievable blue eyes shine. John notices you staring and raises an eyebrow before spreading a devious grin across his features.
“Put that eyebrow down right now before I rip it off and shove it up your squishy pink ass.” You snarl and he sticks his tongue out before trotting over and sinking down into your pile. “Oh hell no, scoot over. There is no way I’m letting you take all the room tonight. You either share my pile or sleep on the floor.” You threaten, growling and shuffling over to the pile.
“Bulge-licker.” You administer a quick smack on the back of his head for the comment. He really needed to stop using troll insults. It always felt a bit weird, like he should be using other words instead. John makes a sound in the back of his throat and tries to scramble away but you hold onto the blue sash.
“Sit the fuck down. It’s late ass maggot so go to sleep.” You pull him back into the pile. John makes a face of disgust.
“Ew. Gross.”
--
“John?” A head pops out from under your pile, he’d snuggled down under all the rags and blankets again. You couldn’t really blame him, it was starting to get colder and just as you predicted, his weak skin doesn’t fight off low temperatures very well. You think he might fare a bit better in his dragon form but he says he’d rather not shift forms. Apparently it takes energy, energy he didn’t have.
You plop down near him and hold out what you’d brought home today from the butcher. A few dried strips of beef and a few berries you’d gotten from the forest. John takes what he knows is his and eats it readily, finishing it within minutes. You finish yours after his because even hungry you still have more manners than him. John’s belly groans at the lack of more to eat and you frown. Shit.
“Karkat?” John looks up through thick eyelashes at you.
“Yeah…?” You hesitate. You already know you won’t like this conversation.
“I’m… I am hungry. I… er…” John fidgets, his fingers playing with each other as a distraction.
“Yeah… I know buddy. I’m sorry.” John’s head snaps up at your tone and he hugs you. John was really affectionate as you’ve learned but you’ve gotten used to it. Even started returning the gestures somewhat reluctantly.
“I’m sorry.” He says and you rub your hand up and down his back comfortingly. He shivers and you know he must be cold.
“Come on dumbass, let’s get you warm and rested.” You grumble and drag him back into the pile, covering the both of you and tuck him into your side. He’d end up burrowed there later on in the night anyway, looking for something warmer.
You don’t know how long you stay awake after John drifts off but you start thinking somewhere along the line. John was a dragon. You… didn’t know that much about dragons. You knew the bare minimum and that was only what you remembered from your father telling you when you were very young and from what you’ve heard in Lopah.
A long time ago, Skaia was plagued by large creatures, tentacled monsters that were vicious, dangerous beasts called Horrorterrors. It took dozens of highly trained fighters to take one down and there used to be a hell of a lot of the bastards. The old story your father used to tell you was that a troll found something one day in a cave. It resembled a large egg, shiny and iridescent. A thousand colors shone across the shell and it was warm to the touch. When he picked it up, it glowed to life and shook, cracking open.
The result was the first dragon known to troll and this mystery troll discovered a use for the creature: their effectiveness against Horrorterrors in battle. Dragons could fly and breathe fire, offering aerial attacks on the giant creatures that threatened life in Skaia. This troll spent sweeps searching for other eggs and was said to have found four more. They hatched and he trained four trolls how to handle them. Together these five fought Horrorterrors and were seen as heroes throughout Skaia.
Horrorterrors were more like ghost stories until recently. You’d heard talk that there might be one around. It’s not like Horrorterrors were extinct or anything, it’s just when one was discovered it was usually taken out before it could do any damage.
Sometimes you have to remind yourself that John is a dragon and not some weird kind of alien from another universe or something equally far-fetched. He was a dragon, proud and strong and powerful. He could fly and breathe fire. He was also an incurable idiot.
Your incurable idiot.
But not really, someone had to have hatched him. You’ve never heard of a dragon hatching on its own. He’d had someone before you and you just have no fucking inkling of a clue what happened to that troll. You almost wish you did but then you remember that no, John is yours now. He’s your friend and no one else can have him.
This makes you smile. It’s been a long time since you’d had a friend.
--
God you hate doing this… you really do. That olive-blood may be nice and all but you really hated taking freebees. She always offered you food whenever you came by—which you only ever did when you were fucking starving to death—and it never sat well with you. Pity. It was pity getting you fed right now. But it was for John so it was okay? His stomach has been making a nuisance of itself the past two nights and fuck if you were going to let it keep happening. John started going to bed with frowns on his face and he was getting thinner than he already was so you had sucked up your pride and went to the olive-blood for food.
You were on your way home now, walking with your head down through town with a basket of sandwiches in hand, white wisps of breath floating in front of you as you sigh. You never really pay attention when you go into town, Lopah never really sees much action anyway so what’s there to miss? Things are apparently different today. Outside of the Enforcement office there is quite the commotion. Well that’s unusual.
“Excuse me, what’s going on?” You clear your throat and tap on the shoulder of the nearest troll in the crowd. The troll turns to you and looks down—tall motherfucker—before rushing into an explanation.
“Haven’t you heard? There’s a dragon! Now shush, Captain Xerxes is talking.” The troll puts a finger over his lips and whips back around towards the Enforcement office. You can’t really see anything on account of all the bodies so you walk around until you can find a gap big enough to peer through.
Holy Shit.
The four trolls standing very proudly at the focal point of the mass are wearing the official Imperial Flight Squad black and gold uniforms. The one that you assume is Captain Xerxes is standing in front of the other three as he speaks. His eyes shine cobalt and hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and he’s wearing the fucking hat and oh my god you are about to wet yourself because the fucking IFS are here, right in front of you! You adore the IFS, you mean, who doesn't?
The Imperial Flight Squad were specially trained Dragon Riders, graduated from the only Dragon Flight school in all of Skaia and were employed to Her Imperial Condescension. They were basically the law of the land right under the Condesce herself; if there was a Horrorterror, an emergency, anything important that needed to be done quickly and expertly these guys were the ones who handled it.
“… immensely helpful if anyone who knew anything about the dragon would step forward and give us any information they had. A large reward of five thousand gold will go to the troll who helps us find it. We remind you not to go near it as the dragon is wild and fairly dangerous.” Xerxes informs the crowd as you tune into his announcement. You immediately tune back out once he mentions how much money they are handing out a reward. That… was a lot of money. You wouldn’t have to worry about anything for a long time, you’d be able to relax and eat well and get new clothes and better items for your pile and-
Wait. Dragon? They had to be talking about John right? It’s not like there were a lot of dragons running around on the loose after all. That’s when it clicks. It was these guys that must have been chasing John when he came up with the bright idea to escape into the Crimson Forest. The IFS were trying to capture John, probably to train him or whatever it is they did with rouge dragons without partners. They’d probably take him to the First Guardian Flight Academy, the number one—and only—flight school in Skaia to be given a partner and trained.
They were looking to take John away… away from you. You... you could not let that happen. No matter how much money they offered or how much better off you’d be… or how much better off John would be. He’d be fed three meals a day at the FGFA… sleep in a real bed and get the things he needed.
Wait! What the hell were you thinking? You shake your head quickly and scurry away from the group, heading home. There was no way in hell you were giving up your only friend. Even if your time together had been short you were really close to him. Despite the pranks and the arguments you had, you really cared about John. A small voice in your head whispers that if you cared about him then you’d give him up. That you can’t care for him properly. What if he got sick with some weird dragon disease and you couldn’t do anything to help him? What would you do?
You promptly tell the voice to fuck off because you took care of John just fine. Sure he was hungry and cold but he was happy… right? He always smiled when you came home so he had to be right? Why would he laugh like an idiot and smile and snuggle up to you like a wriggler if he weren’t happy?
As you walk through the slanted doorway, John sits up with a yawn and rubs at his eyes and offers a drowsy smile.
“Sleeping all day again asshole?”
“Mhm, get bored waiting and I’m still not too good at reading the books. They have big words. So you have to teach them to me.” He stretches and speaks slowly. He was getting better at speech you’ve noticed.
“Well I have food so perk up.” You show him the sandwiches and he snatches one from the basket and devours it. It must be really good because he looks at another one like a meowbeast would eye a squeakbeast. You roll your eyes and hold take out the one he was staring at and hold it out. “Come one, there are plenty in here, just eat it and stop acting like your lusus dropped you on your head.” John nods and takes the food, eating this one slower, hopefully actually tasting it this time.
“How did you get all this?” John asks around a mouthful of bread, meat, and cheese.
“Don’t talk with your fucking mouth open you animal! Christ, learn some damn manners.” You throw your hands up in the air. Grammar he can do in a week, reading takes no time at all, but god forbid the boy learn to eat without making your own food turn in your stomach. John frowns, eyebrows furrowing, but he closes his mouth and chews slower like you’ve showed him a thousand times before.
“So?” He prompts once he finishes.
“Never mind it John. Just come over here, I’ll read something to you.” You pick up a book and John grabs a few blankets from your pile to wrap around himself. The threadbare cloth doesn’t help much and he still shivers so you put an arm around him and hold up the book so both of you can see and he lays his down on your shoulder. You start reading and John follows along, asking what words mean along the way and complaining about your taste in books once again. You keep reading, ignoring his shudders every now and then. You don’t realize it but you’ve made your decision and it’s not at all about the money. They’ll take good care of John. You’re sure of it.