Chapter Text
The night was uncharacteristically warm, the air almost suffocating. It made the stench of blood so much sweeter. Gascoigne could practically taste it on his tongue as he cut down yet another unfortunate soul that succumbed to the terrible beastly illness. His insides churned in the most disturbing yet enticing way as the bones snapped and flesh parted, demanding him to abandon his axe and tear into the innards of his next victim with his bare hands.
The large man growled, shaking off the unwelcome and startling feeling. It wasn't the first time he felt as if another consciousness inside him threatened to break free from its shackles.
The residents if this town were right. This town was cursed.
Putting the thought aside, Gascoigne threw a quick glance behind himself, his eyes searching for his companion, his very first friend who, unlike the others, didn’t shy away from him when he arrived in this god forsaken city, even took him in as a part of his family. His mentor.
Not even the deep shadows covering the damp, gloomy streets of Yharnam could hide Henryk’s strikingly yellow garb, spotless and untouched by all the bloodshed and seemingly countless skirmishes they had faced that night.
Gascoigne shook his head as a soft smile played on his lips. Henryk was an endless source of wonder. Despite being much, much older than him, the smaller man was still quick on his feet and elegant in a fight, a technique he failed to adopt, so very different from his own crude and brutish style. Every night like this, he found himself admiring his teacher even more; it was as if the smaller man defied all natural laws, aging without weakening, fighting without tiring.
He chuckled under his breath. One day, when the death itself comes to knock on Henryk’s door, it’ll probably run away screaming for mercy.
Soon, the fight ended. The growling and scraping of claws against stone went silent with the last death whines when the remaining beast's neck snapped in half under the strike of a serrated cleaver. A swift and merciful death.
Their eyes met, and Gascoigne gave the other man a small nod.
„We’ve done a good work today. Let’s head back now,“ said Gascoigne as he sniffed the air. „A storm is coming.“
Henryk hummed and lowered his saw spear. As ironic as it was, getting caught in a bad storm was more concerning than having to face an onslaught of violent, bloodthirsty beasts. Gascoigne knew it of course. Henryk might have been brisk and vigorous for his age, but some things were simply out of his control. Including the discomfort and pain a sudden change of weather caused to his old body.
It wasn't something Henryk ever talked about, and Gascoigne knew better than to pry the answer out of him; not that he didn't try when he first noticed Henryk's slumped form and shaking knees when a particularly bad storm caught them off guard on a similar night months ago. The scalding glare and curt retort to mind his own business, even as the small man stumbled alongside him and clung to his arm for support, gave him the right idea anyway. It was a grim realization that without him, Henryk probably wouldn't have made it home on his own that night.
They never spoke about it since. There was no need. Gascoigne would take no joy in reminding Henryk his one and only moment of weakness. A man's pride was not to be taken lightly.
„Come on, old man. We should go.“
A thunderous blow sealed his words as the lightning that followed bathed the streets in blinding brightness, suddenly revealing the bloodbath and mangled corpses in all their beastly deformity. It struck very close, close enough to shake the ground they stood on and leave their ears ringing. Henryk gripped the handle of his weapon and turned away from the slaughter to join Gascoigne's side.
The wind howled, spraying drops of water in all directions. Some of the scarce lanterns sizzled and the fire gave out, enveloping the already shadowy streets in deep darkness. The moon might have been high and bright that night, but the black clouds gave no way to it's silvery gleam. The path onward was barely visible through the heavy rain, and the weak light didn't make things any easier for them. Gascoigne let out an irritated growl as he wiped the rainwater from his eyes.
It'll be a long way home.
The faster they walked the more jerky Henryk's movement became, with an occasional stumble and a hiss of a held breath. Gascoigne observed him with a careful subtlety. If it was up to him he'd carry Henryk bridal-style all the way home, but that wasn't something Henryk would allow if his life depended on it.
„This is no good,“ grumbled Gascoigne as he came to an abrupt halt, shifting the hat on his head to shield his face from the constant, brutal rainfall. „We need to find a shelter.“
Henryk nodded, the movement barely visible.
Gascoigne sighed, stomach heavy with worry. The only comforting though was that the streets of Yharnam were a familiar place, and although he doubted any of the remaining residents would be eager to let them into their house, many of the buildings were abandoned. It shouldn't take too much time to find a place to rest and wait the storm out.
Keeping an eye on his surroundings, Gascoigne finally spotted what he was hoping for. A simple, empty looking barn. Patting Henryk on his shoulder to get his attention, he quickly walked over to the unhinged door and pushed them out of the way. The inside air smelled of old wood and moldy hay, but otherwise it looked reasonably clean.
Upon entering the barn, Henryk all but slumped against the wooden wall, letting his body slowly slide into a sitting position. With his arms lifelessly thrown alongside his body and slightly crouched knees, he tilted his head back and took a deep, shuddering breath.
He looked utterly vulnerable. And miserable.
"Is there something I can do-?" Gascoigne hesitated to voice the question at first, but he asked anyway. He knew Henryk hated it when others worried about him, but there was no helping it. The old man looked like he was going to pass out any second.
"I'm fine," grumbled Henryk before quietly hissing in pain and curling up, pressing his forehead into his knees.
"Of course you're not," said Gascoigne. "Stupid," he added in a whisper as he sat down next to Henryk, embracing his shoulders with his strong arms. "Come here."
He expected Henryk to lash out and punch him in his face, but the man was either too exhausted or too delirious from the pain to care he was being manhandled.
His body was light but stiff and strong, warm and trembling, and fitted nicely against Gascoigne hulking frame. Only then he was able to truly tell how bad Henryk's condition was. He was shaking badly and his hands were cold despite the humid air, a stark contrast to the rest of his body which seemed to be ablaze.
Feeling the shivers wrecking the smaller body, Gascoigne embraced the man with his arms, pulling him as close to his chest as he could to let the warmth seep into the old bones. He knew it was too little to make the ache stop, but it was the best he could offer right now.
Slowly and gently he kneaded the trembling shoulders, running his large hands up and down Henryk’s arms as he listened to his uneven and ragged breathing.
„You push yourself too much. Just take it easy, old man,“ he whispered softly, slowly letting his head fall into the crook of Henryk’s neck where he exhaled and inhaled deeply, again and again until the fabric was soaked with the hotness of his breath.
„I told you I'm fine,“ grumbled Henryk, yet did not make any attempt to push Gascoigne away. The smaller hunter was still shaking, brows furrowed and teeth clenched in a way too obvious attempt not to voice his discomfort out loud. Gascoigne knew his companion too well to know Henryk would rather swallow one if his jagged daggers rather than admit he’s in pain.
After a few minutes, Henryk visibly relaxed under the tender treatment, the violent trembling slowly subsiding into occasional twitch before disappearing completely as Henryk's head became a heavy weight on Gascoigne's shoulder. For a long time there was no sound nor movement coming from the smaller man, save for a gentle rise and fall of his chest, and for a moment Gascoigne thought Henryk fell asleep, a heavy warmth in his arms.
„Have a ever told you-...„
Gascoigne raised his head in surprise.
„Told me what?“
Silence. From his position, it was impossible to see in Henryk's face. What was he thinking about?
Finally, Henryk raised his head and took a deep breath, as if to gather his strength to confess a long kept secret that burdened him.
„Have a ever told you of Ludwig, the Holy Blade?“
Gascoigne blinked. That surely wasn't what he expected.
„Huh? I know his tale, yes.“
„Tsk. You might know the tale, but you don’t know the truth. All the common people and you outsiders get to hear is just a fairytale for fools to keep your spirits high", said Henryk. "The truth is... something else entirely,"
A fairytale for fools, eh?
„Since when do you talk so much?“ Gascoigne teased with a toothy grin, knowing full well he’ll probably get a punch to his gut for this later.
The growl that followed sure was promising him as much.
„Be quiet, kid, and listen.“ Henryk paused for a while to shift his body with a weak, pained sigh, leaning heavily into Gascoigne's chest.
His words were harsh, but Gascoigne knew he wasn't annoyed or angry. He had yet to see Henryk get truly angry. If anything, he sounded tired.
„It is true the good deeds and heroic tales of Ludwig are well spread amongst the people of Yharnam. The Church’s greatest pride, our brave knight... our hope. But very few know the price he had paid for bringing our town decades of peace and prosperity.“
It was easy to get lost in Henryk's words as his soft voice carried over the lulling sound of falling rain. His head was leaning more and more heavily against Gascoigne’s shoulder as he continued his speech.
„The hunt never truly ends,“ he breathed out, „and Ludwig, no matter how good his heart and intentions were, could not resist its bloody beckoning... He never realized what a monster he’s become until it was too late... until he slaughtered countless innocents in a vicious chase for justice and not only his mind, but his body began to change into an unspeakable monstrosity.“
Henryk closed his eyes, his fingers clutching Gascoigne's arm almost painfully.
„His own men begged him to stop, to cease that madness, but he was too far gone. And when he began to slaughter the very people he sworn to protect, we had no other choice but to put him down... our own glorious and loved leader.“
„‚We‘?... What do you mean, ‚we‘?" The question left Gascoigne's lips before he could stop it.
„Exactly what I said.“
„... Oh.“
Was Henryk really one of those who had to carry out that terrible task? Gascoigne tried to sneak a glance at his companion's face but Henryk lowered his head as if he knew, lifting his hand to knead his eyes with his fingertips. The answer seemed more than obvious then.
„Yet, to this day, he’s known as the greatest chevalier and hero of our poor, deceived people, continued Henryk as if nothing happened, "what truly became of him remains in the shadows, the history obscured and twisted.“
I'm sorry. Gascoigne wanted to say. He didn't know if that even was the right thing to say. He could only imagine how excruciating it must be to be forced to kill a person close to one's heart. He thought of his family and shuddered. Better not to think about it too much.
„And that’s why...“
Henryk's gentle voice brought him back to reality.
„That’s why?“ Gascoigne repeated.
For a long time, nothing else came after that.
The silence stretched. Gascoigne gulped.
„Just remember... that the hunt isn't everything.“
Letting out a long breath, Gascoigne smiled. Of course the hunt wasn't everything. They had so much to live for. He had so much to live for. What was the old silly man even thinking?
„I know. You worry too much, grandpa.“
A grumpy hmpf resounded from behind Henryk's high collar. He was done speaking, and now his weary eyes were closing on their own.
Gascoigne didn't know how long they sat there, huddled together in silence. By the time the rain ceased to fall, the first rays on sunlight peeked over the horizon to reveal the empty and now clean streets, the blood of beasts long gone from the shiny cobblestone, diluted and washed away into the sewers. Still, Gascoigne didn't feel like moving. Henryk's breath and warmth was strangely comforting.
Somehow, he had a feeling he won't be getting another moment like this.
„Kid.“
His companion's voice stirred him from his thoughts. The spell has been broken. There were things to do, duties to be carried out.
Their family was waiting.
„Let's go home.“