Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Introduction, page 2: The world ended officially three centuries ago, according to the data records on the doors of underground Havens where humanity squirreled itself away. It had been a valiant fight against the foreign invaders, but ultimately the Jeagers failed, the Wall fell, and the Kaiju reigned through a mixture of brutal force and terrifying infiltration. They took what they wanted: fossil fuels, crop plants, herding animals, precious metals, anything radioactive, ect. Then they left the world, closed the Breaches both big and small, and the Earth was quiet once more. - New Earth and How to Live in It (author unknown)

“Look, dude-“

“Newton, I swear to whatever gods they're worshiping these days, I do not need your endless-“

“No, you can’t go all stiff-upper-go-fuck-yourself on me. You’re limping like you stepped on a landmine, and I really don’t mind if we-“

Hermann grits his teeth for what seems like the seventh time in the past hour. “Leave it. I will decide if I’m tired or not and if I say we keep going, then that is what we shall do.” The constant padding of boots accompanying his stops, and Hermann turns to see Newt standing, glaring at him with his arms crossed ostentatiously. The monstrous colorful artwork, if it could be called that, stood out even more in the mid-afternoon sunlight, just peeking out from his travel cloak from where his sleeve was riding up.

They had been traveling together for four days, having met forty miles back just outside the settlement of New Plymouth when Hermann’s caravan had been ambushed. He hadn’t meant for it to happen this way; sneaking away from the Western European Empire on a tiny ship in the dead of the night before a war could break out and claim his life in either death or servitude to either of the sides. He had wanted to stay, help with the effort to rebuild the college system back in his home, yet here he was, an entire ocean away.

He hadn’t even meant to land in Middle America as the ship was originally sailing towards to the southern part of the continent. He wasn't one to enjoy the tempermental seasons, what with his knee and the like, and originally he had been aiming for more stable, warm climate.  A storm blew them off course and they had no choice but to stop in the North for repairs and supplies. Hermann decided, with the vessel being scheduled for a month’s long docking anyways, that he may as well set up a new life here.

Of course, that plan had fallen through as well. Hermann stood in line for two and a half hours, listening to weeping mothers and overly excitable children, practicing just what he was going to say to secure a position in the budding town. The young woman at the immigration office, more of a tent and a salvaged metal desk than an office really, had claimed that due to the influx of immigrants to coast, he would have to find housing and employment elsewhere. Then she suggested to go hop on the caravan to take him and a few others past the Appala Mountain range, where, as she put it-

“A whole new colony is taking shape. Oh, it’ll be lovely by the time you get there, with plenty of room and work for any aspiring traveler.” Instead of shuffling his cane and swearing in German under breath, he should’ve noticed how she couldn’t meet his eyes, how the family before him was allowed in, how pale she looked when he left for the caravan, her eyes filled with dread and guilt.

He learned his lesson five hours, five kilometers, and four dead traveling companions later when a massive bipedal beast he’d never encountered before was bearing down on him with yellowed teeth, ruddy tan leathery skin, and a bloodcurdling screech. In comes Newt, all claws and less yellow teeth and grayish plated scales, snapping and snarling at the animals, (he’d later find out they were called ‘bulgies’ due to the large fatty lump on they’re back, which Newton would tell him with a little too much affection that Hermann would find both suspicious and ultimately indicative of his personality).

The predators backed off, thankfully, dragging the dead with them as they decided Hermann wasn’t worth going up against a hybrid for one more scrap. He watched them go from his position on the cracked dry ground, their maws clamped shut around the necks of his companions who he had never even bothered to learn the names of.

“You alright?” the hybrid beast had asked through clacking teeth and with a tilt to his head so that the two growths on his forehead were near parallel with the ground. Panting and stunned, Hermann had nodded, flinching back when the stranger had offered a clawed hand to help him stand. He recoiled his arm, blinked, and then chuckled, a strange noise that whistled and sent goosepimples down Hermann’s arms. “Oh, heh, oops.”

He fiddled with a thick mechanic device attached to his right wrist and in the snapping of bones and groan of plated scales morphing into tattooed skin and instead of the strange genetically altered kaiju-human hybrid, standing before him was a man, not much younger than Hermann himself. Mostly naked save for a cleverly tied bit of cloth over his groin, he gave Hermann a goofy grin and offered his hand again, this time with uneven dirty fingernails.

“How’s this, dude? Better?” And that was when Hermann fainted. He awoke two minutes later with a splitting headache, a parched mouth, and Newt babbling over him.

“Stop being childish.” Hermann snapped, not moving himself, but meeting Newt’s glare with just as much force and stubborn pride as he could muster. Newt promptly sits down, an oddly graceful movement given the pudge in his stomach and his general twitchy demeanor. Hermann would scathingly applaud him if he wasn’t trying to prove point at the moment.

“Dude, chill for like, two minutes.” Newt fiddles with the genetic electromagnetic manipulation device, or GEM-D as Newt likes to refer to it, leaving Hermann to glare daggers with no real consequence. What he’s doing on the thing, Hermann has no real idea, as the true nature of the device is still unknown to him. All he’s been able to worm out of Newt is-

“Makes me look sapien. Found it like three years ago in one of the old Kaiju Overlord’s leftover tent-shell-thing. I dunno why they needed it, but hey, gets me into towns, you know?”

“So you found an ancient Kaiju device, strapped it to your arm, and clicked the on button with no foreknowledge as to what would happen? It’s amazing you survived past adolescence.”

“What? No, I read up on it. Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I knew what it would do. I just don’t know why they needed one. Jesus, calm down. What are you, my mother?"

When five minutes have passed, and Hermann is still standing, leaning heavily on his good leg and cane, Newt makes a face and a hissing noise that is a sharp reminder of his true nature. “Ugh, you’re the worst.” He stands, dusts off his dirty trousers, adjusts his backpack, and sighs. “Fine, we keep going, but if you spend all of tomorrow bitching about your leg-“

“Don’t expect any sympathy?” Hermann offers, straightening slightly as Newt stamps toward him.

“Nah, we’ll still stop but I’m not gunna be, like, happy about it or anything.” He begins walking away, leaving Hermann. He had a strange swagger, head constantly up and scanning the way ahead, nostrils flaring as if in this sapien visage he could utilize his superior scenting. He hummed to himself loudly, some archaic music Hermann had no recollection of ever hearing, often drumming on his thighs and strumming an imaginary instrument at random intervals.

They were only four days in to this journey, and Hermann was already certain this was going to end with one of them strangling the other.

Ten meters away, Newt stops again, brow furrowed. He half-turns, squinting at Hermann through his cracked dusty glasses. “You comin’ or what?”

The endless expanse of dead grass and shrubs stretch out before them, surrounded by decayed overgrown ancient homes of a long gone era, the mountains just shadows on the horizon and the distant whisper of camp smoke coming directly behind Newt’s head. Hermann squares his shoulders, begins walking some more, his knee twinging awfully with every uneven step on the crackling ground.

They set up for the night under the cover of a mostly intact concrete structure, Newt turning off the GEM-D, and stretching out dog-like by the fire. His gray-blue scales glint in the light, claws and toes curling and uncurling until his pale yellow stomach rises and falls rhythmically as he sleeps. His tail is curled easily around him and even from Hermann's position some feet away, he can tell the man radiates heat.

There's still miles between him and his destination with only a strange hybrid man to help him and all Hermann can do is settle down into his sleeping roll, close his eyes, and try not to jump at every long-distant murmur and hum that surrounds them.

Chapter Text

Chapter I, page 13: Homo Validus, aka hybrids or mutts depending on location and dialect, were a product of paranoia and genetic manipulation. When the war began, a group of geneticists were commissioned to devise a hyper-evolutionary fix to the human genome in the event of total environmental and societal collapse at the hand of the Kaiju. Humans needed to be more adaptive, more predatory. Validus was created in response. - New Earth and How to Live in It (author unknown)

Hermann had never seen a hybrid before. They had been chased out of most of Europe before he was born. In fact, few even remained in the colonized parts of his home. He’d only known myths and word-of-mouth from travelers and the older neighbors around his family’s home. They lived in Africa and Asia and Australia and the Americas. They were remnants of the monsters that once roamed the Earth.

They were brutal.

“Hey, Hermann.”

They were bloodthirsty.

“Hermann.”

They could rend a man in two.

“Hermann. Hermie, come on, look.”

They had no sense of mercy.

“Hermann, yoo hoo. You in there? Dude seriously, this is great.” Hermann gritted his teeth, whipping around from where he had been examining the ever shrinking amount of food he had. His bag had once been chock full of it, but eight days after setting out from New Plymouth, and heading directly into a Dead Zone that was devoid of mostly anything living due to siphoning and experimenting of the Kaiju Overlords, his supply was getting a little light.

“What, Newton?” He yelled, shrieking almost instantly at the sight of Newt in his hybrid form, lengthy translucent tongue wiggling about between two whip-like green fronds stuck to his enlarged canines. His claws were up and out twitching to and fro as Newton made mockingly disgusting throaty noises.

Hermann clapped hand over his pounding heart as he gasped in shock, and Newt’s responding peal of laughter was both grating and a welcoming sound even as the flush of embarrassment crept into Hermann’s cheeks.

“Holy shit, you’re face!” Hermann gritted his teeth, standing tall and so willing to hit Newton with his cane.

“That was not funny!” In the fit of his own giggles, along with his long tail not balancing him properly on his back legs, Newt toppled backwards with a grunt. The loud smack of his back slamming into the ground was immediately satisfactory to Hermann and there was a momentary pause where Newton blinked in confusion at the sky before the laughter bubbled again, and he was clutching his stomach with the force of it.

Its takes him a good long while to calm down, at least to a point where he’s huffing for breath with a stray string of giggles popping up every now and then. By this time, Hermann is more than over his livid embarrassed reaction, and had found a perch on a petrified log to wait for Newton to recover.

“Are you quite finished, or would you like to waste the day laughing at my expense?” Hermann asks dryly as Newton winds down.

“No, man. I’m done.” Newton sits up, grunting with a hand on his yellow stomach, licking his teeth with a grimace. “So, lesson learned. Those fronds? Really fucking bitter. Wow, I’m not doing that again.” He wipes his teeth with the back of his hand in disgust.

“There is at least some justice in the universe.” Hermann sighs, pulling himself to his feet as Newt does the same.

There’s little to be wary about with Newton in his natural state, but Hermann still keeps a larger distance between them due to it. If the hybrid notices, he doesn’t mention it as they continue, too eager to scout ahead swiftly on all fours before stopping some 10 meters away, sitting back on his haunches and sniffing the air until Hermann catches up again.

Repeat ad nauseam for miles and miles.

Hermann doesn’t mind the odd behavior as it’s comical, and for certain doesn’t care that Newt has decided to give the GEM-D a rest for a while, despite his unease at Newton’s appearance. He’d seen him change too many times in the past two days to not wonder what the device was doing to his DNA. Not out of any real sympathetic concern, but more so for a selfish worry. If Newt were to be suddenly disabled, it would leave Hermann alone in an unknown territory, which was less than ideal.

“Hermann, get down.” Newton has stooped himself behind a small ridge a few meters ahead, peering over the edge and waving Hermann over without looking at him. They had been at it for three hours now, and Hermann's patience was, as always, wearing thin.

“Exactly what are you-“ Newton shushes him, claw to his mouth, pointing over the ridge with wide eyes. He opens his mouth to chastise him, but a low pained growl coming from below them shuts his mouth right quick and has him stooping quietly next to Newton.

There, beyond the rocks, among the petrified logs of a lifeless forest and wobbling on two shaky hindlegs, was a bulgie, practically dragging itself across the landscape. Its elongated flat snout was agape and panting, small whines and huff puffing out of it with every step, tail trailing limply behind it. At times, it seemed to stumble, barely catching itself before continuing, slowly approaching the ridge with no real intent.

“It’s sick.” Newt informs him as they watch, frozen in their own curiosity and trickling baseline fear. “Why is it sick? It can’t be sick.” Hermann snorts at the contradiction, taking his eyes off the thing to observe Newton's frantic head bobbing.

“You just said it was or have you already forgotten?”

“They don’t get sick, dude.” He whispers back distractedly, mostly to himself than Hermann.

“Clearly this one didn’t receive that particular memo.” Newton quivers, claws scraping on the rocks where they are curled. Hermann flinches at this, but says nothing.

“I’ve gotta look at it.” Newton decides, and Hermann silently agrees.

“Go kill it then.” Newton whips his head round to pull a face at Hermann, grimacing and offended.

“What? No. It’s sick, not dead yet. I don’t know if its gunna tear my head off or not in a dehydrated fit and I’m really not in the mood to get my ass possibly kicked today.”

“We can’t just wait here till it dies on its own.” Hermann points out. Newton nods in agreement, still watching the thing as it stops to catch what little breath it can. Maybe it’s the way Newton’s satchel thumps against his leg as he shifts, or some passing memory strikes him, but Hermann remembers, quite clearly- “You have a pistol right?”

Newton hisses lowly, shaking his head, even more offended. “Oh no. We aren’t using that. Bullets are expensive. I can get a lot of shit for those.”

“Do you want to look at the thing or not?” Newton makes a whining noise, shifting restlessly and Hermann continues. “Either you shoot it, or you go down there and kill it with your own hands. I for one am not waiting here for it to die on its own or worse, find us.”

Newton huffs, and tells him ‘okay, okay,’ digging into his bag and pulling out the rusty gun from its holder. With awkward bulky scaly hands, he tries to aim it at the animal, shaking and frowning before dropping it with a resounding thud on the ground beside them. Hermann sees with a pang of terror as the bulgie looks up at them, snarling and howling at the air as Newt fumbles to pick the pistol back up.

“Fuck, shit, I can’t do this. My hands aren’t- claws and-“

“For the love of God-“ Hermann yanks the pistol out of Newt’s twitchy fingers, the heavy weight familiar and comfortable in his palm. With the hybrid squawking quietly next to him and the bulgie preparing to charge, Hermann lines up the shot, squints down the barrel, trigger finger squeezing and-

“Jesus, dude.” It took him three minutes to catch up with Newton again after he scrambled over their little ridge, his arms having been shaking something awful combined with his leg complaining at the extended kneeling he had been doing behind the rocks.

Slightly out of breath and frowning out of habit, Hermann stops before Newt where he is holding the bulgie’s flat square head in his claws. There’s a small pool of royal blue near his reptilian leg and a trickle of the stuff falling from the creature’s face. “You couldn’t have waited for it to collapse before charging at it, could you?”

“You shot it!” Newt yelps, looking up from where he had been examining the wound. “Right in the eye!” He glances back down, pokes into the burnt eye socket with a gentle talon. “Holy shit…”

Hermann flushes slightly at Newton’s brand of praise. “Yes, well-“

“I didn’t think you were some kind of expert, dude. How'd you even do that?”

They learned how to handle a gun by age six. It was as much of a prerequisite for schooling as any other subject. It was easier for a budding civilization to defend itself if it knew how to do just that at an early age. Hermann tells Newt this, as he ‘examines’ the corpse, surprised by his companion’s admission.

“What, and you’re like a secret badass or something?”

“Of course not. I was- am relatively good at the practice, but I’d rather think that this circumstance is merely a random happenstance of sheer luck than anything else.” Newton shrugs at this, which doesn’t look nearly as fluid on his hybrid form than it would on a sapien. The shoulders, formed for a quadrapedal creature, do not have the same nonchalant, passive-aggressive disagreement to them.

Hermann observes as Newt begins prodding the bulgie’s skull, opening its jaws, examining the tongue and gums, the nostrils, and then the fatty bulge on its upper back. He hums and murmurs to himself during this process, chirping with interest at unknown factors while thumping his tail as well. It’s all mildly entertaining from Hermann’s standpoint, though his stomach roils at the mere thought of being so intimately close to the corpse of this monstrosity.

“Man, I don’t think she was sick.” Newton chimes finally, and before Hermann can inquire as to what he means, Newton has rolled the bulgie on its side and begins splitting open its distended stomach.

The sight and sound of partially digested food, dark stomach acid, and intestines spilling out onto the ground hits Hermann and bypasses his brain, going straight into attempting to upend the contents of his own stomach. With a cry, he jolts away, clapping a hand to his mouth and hurriedly moving out of sight of the gruesome picture. He begins to recite the third chapter of a book detailing the mechanics of human flight that he memorized ten years prior when his father had threaten to ‘burn the thing if he didn’t start concentrating on something more plausible’.

“Aha! Hey, Her-Hermann?” The old memory helps fight back the bile burning the back of his throat and he swallows it down with a pathetic triumphant sound. By then, however, the violent smell of innards hitting the hot midday sun plunders his olfactory senses and he’s gagging once more. “Dude, walk like 20 feet to your right. You’ll be upwind then.”

He hobbles gratefully, following Newton’s suggestion and bending low till the pervasive nausea passes. He ignores any further squelching behind him by damning Newton backwards and forwards. He curses him in German, English, and even the little bit of French he had to learn to get to his ship sailing to this continent. He damns everything about the man, from his morbid curiosity, to his constant blathering, and tuft of impossible hair that finds itself on his head even in hybrid form.

By the end of it, he has managed to keep down his meager lunch and the nausea has ebbed just enough so he can straighten without immediate worry. He’d rather not lose what food he has eaten if he can handle it, no matter how satisfactory it would be.

He doesn’t hear Newton’s approach until the timid ‘you okay?’ hisses from his inhuman mouth. Hermann only glares in response, hand still over his lips as if he can’t trust himself not to vomit all over Newton if he takes it away. Newton blinks, shifts on his haunches and gives a lopsided grin. Given the structure of his jawline, Hermann can’t imagine that there is any other kind of smile he can manage.

“Sorry, man. I don’t have, uh, a, uh, gag reflex? So, like, I sometimes forget about, you know, that kind of, um-“

“Clearly.” Hermann says, finally, if just to stop Newton’s pitiful attempt at an apology before it tramples itself over from ‘oddly endearing’ to ‘wholly irritating’. Newton must mistake this response for something different, because he barrels on ahead anyways.

“I’m not even kidding about the gag reflex thing. Like, I would have to force myself to vomit if I didn’t think my stomach couldn’t digest something, which is, whoa, so absurd cause my digestive system? Top shit, man. Nothing better out there.”

“Please,” Hermann starts, finally moving himself to face Newton entirely, “Refrain from mentioning anything to do with either of our gastrointestinal systems for the remainder of the evening. If at all possible.” Newton nods along, eagerly.

“Nah, I was done with the whole impromptu biology lesson anyways. Seriously though, stomachs aside, I found the coolest shit in that thing. Just look at it!” From behind his back, he pulls his arm forward, sticking a small bunch of tiny deep violet flowers in Hermann’s face. They shine wetly in the sun, smelling faintly of bile, and Hermann wrinkles his nose despite any possible aesthetic loveliness of the five petalled blooms.

“Grand.” He says blandly, stepping back so the plant is no longer centimeters from his over-sensitive nose.

“Yeah, like the bulgie had no signs of being sick, so I was like ‘what if it ate something weird?’, which, wow, self-five for that deductive reasoning,” Hermann rolls his eyes possibly harder than he ever has but Newton continues regardless. “So I cut it open, dug around a bit, and BAM! Whole new species of poisonous flower.” Newton is practically vibrating by the end of this admission, eyes sparkling and arms thrown out in a dramatic fashion.

When Hermann merely stares in response, brow raised intricately with the intent of communicating a vague ‘so what?’, Newton’s elation deflates, his arms falling to his sides and his tail thumping on the ground. Hermann’s nose tickles at the small puff of dust this causes. “Okay, so I wasn’t expecting cheers or fawning, but could you give me a little more than the unhappy frog face you’ve got going on right now?”

Hermann pinches the bridge of his nose, the hand on his cane gripping it just a mite harder. “Point 1, why should I give a damn about a plant you found in the stomach of a sickly animal, and, more importantly, point 2, I do not have an ‘unhappy frog face’, you bile covered cretin.”

Newton huffs a little, grinning again. “You get points for the insult, because, wow, did you ruminate on it all morning or what? But I’m docking you for having no interest in the evolution of the local flora, which is clearly developing a response in lieu of an invasive alien species, meaning the Earth is fighting back, also meaning evolution is awesome, and also also meaning, you’re a dick.”

“And you’re bloody impossible.”

Newton shrugs, turning back to the bulgie while waddling on his hind legs. “Pot, kettle. We’re both assholes. Thanks for playing. Try again next time!” Hermann actually is going to smother him in his sleep with his own fat tail, he just knows it.

They set up for the night early about a mile away. Well, Hermann sets up a small fire and his bedroll a mile away so he doesn’t have to hear Newton fiddling with the bulgie. After an argument consisting of ‘no, you cannot eat the thing’ and ‘please tell me you’re not bringing that thing with us, you disgusting animal’, Hermann was shooed away while Newton insisted on ‘grabbing the non-decaying bits, god, calm down you’re going to give one of us an aneurism and I don’t think I can have one of those so-‘

Hermann takes these two peaceful hours with the other man to write a few algorithms in his yellowing notebook with the last few moments of the sunlight. Unfortunately, this does not go as planned, and instead of getting any work done, he merely spends an hour and a half staring at the pitiful amount of pencil he has left. With a sigh, he stows the items just as Newton approaches, this time sapien and looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

He proceeds to spend the night boiling bulgie teeth and bones in the small pot he’s pilfered off of Hermann, despite his squawk of protest. “Come on, man. These things are worth barter. I gotta get the leftover flesh off of them so they don’t stink up my bag.”

Hermann lets it go begrudgingly, especially after Newton tosses him a large jar of royal blue liquid. “What in the devil’s name is this?” He asks, though he has a sneaking suspicion as he peers at it at arm’s length, letting the fire light shine through.

“Bulgie blood,” And before Hermann can recoil in disgust, Newton continues. “Pretty popular once we’re out of the Dead Zone. It’ll pay for whatever you need to stock up on.” With that, he settles back against a rock, taking out his own torn notebook and writing furiously in it.

He does this often, Hermann finds; ending conversations early as if he had forgotten they were even having one. At times, like this one, Hermann finds it annoying as he often has more to ascertain from his intrepid guide, but he’s slowly growing used to Newton’s peculiarities. He lets it drop, and decides to make a small shopping list for the next caravan they hit while keeping Newton in the corner of his eye.

“Hey.” He must’ve been dozing off, as once again he didn’t hear Newton scooting over to sit next to him until he had spoken. Hermann jumps, heart racing at the sudden surprise before he’s turning to Newton with a scowl.

“I would be more than grateful if you made it a personal mission to make some sort of noise when you decided to move, thank you very much!” He snaps, but Newt just shrugs again, placing (dropping) his notebook into Hermann’s lap, open and with a little nudge for him to look at it.

Hermann does, and finds himself more than surprised. The page Newton has opened it to is one detailing the flowers he had found in the bulgie, a tight messy scrawl describing it in precise language and hypotheses on its purpose. Accompanying this is a large sketch of the tiny blooms that is accurate enough for Hermann to be mildly and pleasantly shocked. With Newton praising himself next to him, Hermann flips through the past entries.

The whole thing is filled with similar parts. Anything from predators, to cattle, to bushes, to trees, to a panoramic view of a city was logged, described, and sketched within the pages. Even a common weed back near Hermann’s hometown in Eastern Europe that bloomed a particular white puff with yellow dots in the summer was documented. Just seeing the drawing was enough to send a pang of longing through him for the allergy inducing plant that he had once thought he’d be more than happy to never see again.

“You did all of this.” Hermann states, quietly and Newton chuckles beside him, shoulders shaking and brushing against Hermann’s.

“Yeah, of course. Who else would’ve done it? That’s log number three, dude. I got the other ones stored away for solidarity and shit.” Hermann takes one last look at the penciled weed, before slowly closing the notebook with a creak of old leather binding and the shuffle of a few loose pages.

He hands it back to Newton, regretfully. “Thank you. That was… enlightening.” Newton takes it and beams at him, a charming thing that Hermann enjoys quietly in retrospect to their eventful day.

“No problem.” He stands, leaving Hermann’s side suddenly cold and goes back to his original position some feet away. Newton stows the notebook carefully, more gently than Hermann had ever seen him handle anything before. He looks up at Hermann suddenly, eyes shining once more. “Hey, maybe you can help me with some other entries while were traveling together.”

Hermann nods, smiling slightly despite himself. “Possibly, though I don’t what help I’d be.” Newton stares at him, blinks, then shakes his head, settling down onto the ground. Hermann’s expression falters in confusion at the act, and the moment passes, the muscles in his cheeks twinging from disuse.

“Eh, two heads are better than one, man.” It’s the last words passed between them for the remainder of the evening. Even with the lingering scent of boiling flesh and bile, Hermann feels light and content, and sleep comes easy.

He dreams of bullets and bulgies. Of white and yellow weeds and his mother wiping tears from his face with a kind smile. Of warm food and fresh water. Of an arm wrapped around his middle, a face tucked under his chin, and a comfortable body pressed to his. It fades in the morning, but Hermann would have given it little consideration even if it hadn’t.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2, page 34: Sapiens are much less predictable than their genetically modified cousins. They spread like weeds, popping up in impossible areas quickly and easily with the same tenacity as invasive plants. Often times, after leaving the Havens, they settle in favorable land for farming, though some, the gruff and tough, will make small trading towns on busy routes. Often times these places have no policing system, and the laws are up to anyone’s guess. Its heavily advised not to stay in such areas, for if the locals get on the end of a bad trade, they can often turn in the blink of an eye to rob the traveler of goods and leave them at the mercy of local predators. - New Earth and How to Live in It (author unknown)

Newton’s tattoos are something else to be sure. Atrocious, stylized art, vibrantly painful colors, depictions of horrors that were better suited for nightmares than inked permanently into skin stretched from his wrists to the top and back of his shoulders. The sudden ambitious stop just below his shoulder blades told of a hope for addition that Newton needn’t express verbally. Herman processes this, wonders on it, and has the awe-inspiring revelation that he has much too much time on his hands as of late.

He also realizes, at the same time just as they set off the for the day in the dry early morning, that he could be doing so much more with his mental energy than pondering poor choices in body art. Like preparing his verbal resume. Or even figuring out where/what he’d like to settle down. His skills are limited to maths and programming and the technological Renaissance that anyone with even an iota of awareness could feel approaching just on the horizon.

Hermann wants to be an integral part of that, knowing full well that regaining old technologies would be a major push in the reclaiming of sapien’s once great society. He wants to help it anyway he can, no matter how small or large or how much time it will consume of his. He has no physicality for manual labor with his knee and his poor excuse for endurance, which given his current predicament, he has learned the very extent of intimately. With this in mind, it leaves him with little choice but to help rebuild the lost art of academia and the industrial life sapiens once held so dear.

Europe had been on the fast track to this, given their much quicker grasp on community and colonizing, but the unfortunate side-effect was tempers running high, and the land war resulting from the greed and need of established hierarchy. Hermann had decided that the last thing he wanted on his conscious was helping build machines and weapons for ending lives and winning battles instead of furthering the well-being of his species as a whole.

He’d rather leave his home and his bitter father than have a lifetime knowing he indirectly murdered good people for nothing.

So, instead of thinking on this when Newton was blessedly quiet for once during their daily travels, he watches the man keeping pace with him. Given the vast emptiness of the Dead Zone and the complete lack of scenery or living things, Hermann excuses himself for his odd new hobby.

He observes many things in Newton, in silent evenings and the heat of the day just as they wake at first light, stretching sleepy limbs and munching on meager breakfasts. He notes Newton’s tail, its thickness and its spiked end, how he keeps it trailing just above the ground behind him and its dexterity in doing simple tasks and even sketching crudely in the dirt around their small fires. He takes in how Newton walks on all fours on the second knuckles of his forelimbs when he’s matching Hermann footstep-for-footstep, claws partially sheathed into his scaly fingers and curled carefully into his half formed fist.

Hermann observes his running (if it can be called that as its more of a scamper), Newton’s hands open, flat-palmed on the dirt as he moves, claws extended and leaving gouges in the earth. He sees how Newton sniffs the air after wetting his nostrils with his long, violet tongue, sitting back on his haunches with his arms drawn into his chest or how he gently, carefully handles objects with awkward talons. Hermann even makes a small list of things that transfer from Newton’s sapien form to his hybrid self: his eyes, his hair, the cut of his jaw, the twitchy manner in which he gestures, the extra weight in his middle that expands and highlights his pale stomach when he lays out in the sun during their breaks.

Mostly, despite all of this to satisfy his curiosity on the workings of hybrids, Hermann fixates on those damnable tattoos. Out of interest or revulsion, Hermann has yet to determine. Not that he cares, expressly. Newton’s tattoos offer a modicum of relief from the overall boredom that plagues them in the Dead Zone, both before and after the bulgie event. Newton takes up this time to whine on and on about the lack of interest in sciences and in taking up arguments with Hermann. Hermann entertains himself by covertly studying his companion.

Everyone needs a hobby.

Newton doesn’t catch him at it until they’re ten miles from the end of the Dead Zone, or so as Newton had proclaim as small tufts of hardy green grass began popping up with increasing frequency with every kilometer. They’ve been together a week and a half, clearing more distance than Hermann had ever thought he’d have to make on foot in his entire life, with an individual who is both intriguing and endlessly frustrating whom Hermann had never thought even in his wildest manic moments he’d ever meet.

It takes ten days of Hermann watching him for Newton to notice. Hermann chalks this up to his own secretiveness and Newton’s general lack of self-awareness when he’s comfortable. If Newton is relaxed and assured that there is nothing on the horizon, then so is Hermann. It’s better to trust a genetically modified human with built in hyper-aware senses than his own at any rate.

They had been settling in for the night, Hermann having already stretched his leg and preparing to take out what little is left of his bread and water for a dinner that will never satisfy the ache in his stomach. He hopes to come across a traveling caravan or something, but Newton insisted they wouldn’t hit any traders till well into an area with viable usable top-soil. If worse comes to worst, Hermann could have Newton find something he could digest with ease, but as the man is already guiding him cross-country for nothing more than heated arguments and snide comments, he doesn’t want to ask for anything more.

Newton had been doing his usual nightly ritual: turning off the GEM-D and going back into hybrid form. As the thing runs on a rechargeable solar energy, Newton would rather save it for the day, or for if any travelers were to happen upon them in the evening. Newton was stripping off his top before turning the device off, in order avoid ruining the third pair of clothes since they started this journey together.

Hermann was across from him, watching this display out of the corner of his eye. Maybe a little less out of his periphery and more full on staring. To his defense, this was the third night he’d done this, and Newton hadn’t noticed before, and Hermann was just looking at the tattoos and how the colors shifted under the dull light of the setting sun. He would mind his own business when Newton motioned to take off his pants, so he wasn’t being completely impolite. Merely satisfying an intense curiosity brought on by forced proximity and nothing else to fixate on.

“Look, man, I don’t mind you looking but, uh-“ Hermann flushes brighter than the fire to his left at Newton’s own blushing expression of smug confusion. He’s half out of his dusty shirt, back and shoulders naked to the air with the clothing bunched halfway down his elbows. Hermann apologizes, glances away, and busies himself with his notebook and nearly useless pencil while Newton turn off the GEM-D, a quiet setting in not long after Newton settles into his natural plating that pricks at Hermann like an angry insect.

He chastises himself, glaring at the neat handwriting on the pages in his lap without registering any of the numbers. Tells himself off for being obvious, for staring, for caring at all about something he’d had no previous interest in eleven days ago when he had gone over two decades without ever seeing a hybrid. He isn’t like this; invasive and peeping on other people’s private moments.

He should worry about all the other things going on. He should just ask questions instead of watching someone behind their back. He should apologize some more. He should loosen his grip on his pencil before he snaps it in two from how hard he’s squeezing it-

“You can ask, you know?” Hermann looks up, Newton not expressly looking at him but somewhere over his shoulder. There’s small acidic blue pinpoints dotting his smooth neck and cheeks; the hybrid’s version of blushing. “About the tats, dude. I don’t mind.” His tone is soft and almost unknowingly patronizing.

Hermann nods, swallowing audibly. “What are they?” He blurts out, surprising both himself and Newton, by the way he seems taken aback. He grins, kind of.

“Kaiju, dude.” He chirps proudly, tail thumping lightly beside him. “Most famous ones, at least. Or ones I can find. They didn’t keep a lot of info on ‘em after the war ended, you know?” Hermann does, and was in the mindset that it was a good thing. The Kaiju came, took what they wanted, and left. Humanity could move one.

“And you tattooed them on yourself?” Hermann breathes in disbelief.

“Yep.” The pinpoints, tiny like the stars above their head, expand and brighten as he continues, “My dad had an old framed photo of one that he got from his mom, and he wouldn’t let me keep, which sucked, but I got over it. Then I found an old news disc back Europe with a different one, and, no one knows shit about the original ones that started the war, so I started looking for anything I could find on them.

“And when I got the GEM-D worked out, I thought why the hell not. I’ve got a bunch of useless skin, why not fill it up, you know?” When Hermann doesn’t respond as positively as Newton was possibly hoping, he frowns, and looks away. The glow around his throat and neck dull and Hermann has a very real, very unnecessary pang of guilt.

“Sorry, I don’t- I forget some people think it’s weird. I’m not around people a lot, traveling and studying shit and all.” Hermann grunts, tells him its alright with a shrug, staring into the dying flames. He throws on a few more sticks, lets it grow, and sits back restlessly.

“I crushed my leg.” He says, just to break the awkward silence of Newton’s disappointment. Newton swivels his head round, tilting it and peering at Hermann. He taps his knee where it’s stretched out in front of him, nodding. “My leg. I broke it rather awfully when I was eight, and it never healed right. In case you were wondering.” Hermann adds for clarification.

Newton trills, tail thumping twice in interest. “What’d you do?”

Hermann's not one to retell this particular event, considering it humiliating personally, but continues either way, “Ah, er, well, I climbed a rather tall tree in a fit of rebellion after my father told me I couldn’t. Apparently, the upper branches could not hold me as I had thought.” He remembers with a stark clarity seeing the landscape for miles and that pure thrilling second of freedom before the blood-freezing crack of wood separating from wood and he was plummeting to the ground. “Nor could I fly, as it were.”

Most people who have reached this point with him for Hermann to relay this incident, would nod sympathetically, change the subject, or merely offer words that convey empathy, but lack the emotion behind it. Newton, of course, does none of these, choosing to burst out laughing, rolling onto his side.

“Jesus, man, you’re wild!” He tells Hermann with a hand covering his mouth, and the frown that Hermann had been nursing turns into a minute grin. He shifts, huffs in a small chuckle, and looks up into the clear dull sky.

“Yes, I suppose so.” Newton snickers, shaking his head, and Hermann is pleasantly content from it.

The Dead Zone ends in a slow gradient from gray to brown and green as plants begin growing more and more common. Newton cannot contain his excitement, especially when they see their first rabbit hopping round from bush to grass tuft and so on. More and more appear, along with birds and other rodents who survived the Siphoning, and Hermann begins to echo Newton’s good mood.

Its good timing as well, because they find a small town within a few miles of the transition period from empty to fertile. With hunger a painful constant, and his pencil having been used up not the day before, Hermann couldn’t be more satisfied to see civilization in his life. Newton, however, is less than happy.

“That wasn’t here four months ago.” He worries, pacing their camp. His palms are flat to the grass, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. Half a mile away, the village awaits, the noise of domestic cattle still awake at this hour drifting over to them. Past that, looming ever closer, are the mountains, once bumps in the horizon now dark giants dominating the landscape. Hermann had noticed the steady incline in the ‘road’, losing his breath easier and needing breaks more and more frequently. "Used to just be the farmer, but now there's a whole fucking town!"

“It’s here now,” Hermann snaps, in no mood for a paranoia tonight. He can hear the rush of a river in the distance, and he will not let the hybrid ruin his satisfaction in this. Newton bobs his head, stopping to stare at the village before pacing again. Hermann rolls his eyes, giving up on him for the night.

In the morning, they head out, Newton nervously babbling the whole way in his sapien form. He fingers the small pendant he made out of one of the bulgie teeth round his neck endlessly, nearly snapping the fragile string that serves as its chain. Hermann's already chastised him for it, not that Newton would ever listen.

“Okay, so we go in, stock up, leave. Got it?”

“Yes, fine.”

“Okay, okay, good. If there’s too many weirdos with guns, we’re gone. If you see anyone with freaky tattoos, we’re gone. I mean freaky weird ones, like kaiju skulls and shit, alright?”

“You mean like yours?”

“Yeah, I mean no! Anyone with tattoos that are weird save for me, that may or may not be depicting kaiju that are not on my skin, we leave, okay?” They split up as they hit the town, agreeing to meet at the tavern at sundown and making camp elsewhere. Hermann isn’t expressly happy about that, but he spots a small sign under the ‘Welcome to Riverside’, expressly forbidding hybrids, and he lets it go. A bed would be nice, but losing his guide isn’t worth a comfortable night’s sleep.

Immediately, as Newton disappears on his own personal mission, he sets upon the few shops, more of tents than anything, run by older men and women who have an irritatingly infinite patience for haggling. Hermann circuits the small village, trading for lasting food that with get him through at least another two weeks if he’s careful and another container for water, as his two seems to be inadequate. He acquires pencils, more paper, and even a new cooking pot, since the other he decided to give to Newton because the scent of the bulgie’s flesh still lingers.

Newton denies this to an inch of passing out from breathlessly explaining he can’t smell anything with his ‘superior nose, dude’, but was grateful for the pot either way.

During this time, Hermann does not see Newton once. The place isn’t exactly large by any description; there are all of ten houses, three tents, and the tavern, all appearing as if they had been thrown together by a storm instead of sapien ingenuity. Any alleyways between the ‘buildings’ are bright and wide and the minimal population is hardly dense enough to lose an entire person in. Hermann wanders the well-trodden dirt pathways among these scant places, his now heavy pack thumping uncomfortably against his back.

The locals are polite in the fact that they nod at him in acknowledgement, eye his cane briefly, and say nothing more, though their gazes due linger when he isn’t looking. The few dogs roaming from their master’s leave him be, though one beast barks at him for a solid minute in an exhausted manner as he goes along. The edge of town is marked by a single abandoned shack and the start of a meager wheat field where an ambitious farmer makes their livelihood. Sheep, (larger than their pre-war cousins with less wool, more meat, and a quicker life cycle) call out loudly to the right.

It’s quaint, and peaceful, but Hermann can’t shake the unsettling tension in his spine nor the fact that Newton is nowhere to be seen, so he finds the tavern in hopes of the man being early.

The tavern is nothing more than a cramped room with mismatched tables and chairs, a bar at the back and kitchen behind it. Built with spare wood, metal, and the prayers of its portly owner, who looks up from the glass she’s drying as Hermann enters. A few locals are already in there, chatting with the owner as the day winds down to an end, but Hermann finds a plastic table in the back corner that was most likely pulled out of a nearby Haven two centuries ago. Darkened by time, and creaking when Hermann sits down on an equally creaky chair, the table is sturdy despite its age.

Newton is not here, of course. This should be some kind of relief to have day alone from the man, but during his short time sitting at that whining table in a dusty tavern, Hermann can only tap his fingers on the plastic and stare hopefully at the door. Is Newton alright? Did he offend someone? He can barely go ten minutes without insulting Hermann in some way, so how is he sure that during his two rounds about the village, he didn’t miss Newton beaten in a dark corner?

It eats at him in such a pervasive infectious parasitic manner that he doesn’t notice the owner’s husband sidling up to him. “’Scuse me, sir. Y’all right?”

Hermann blinks at him dumbly, clearing his head and ducking his gaze in mild humiliation. “Er, yes. Fine, thank you.”

Hermann orders whatever is fresh, warm, and not dug out of a box or a can three hundred years overdue and some water. As much as he would love to have anything alcoholic, he’d rather not be tipsy in a foreign town with foreign people he does not trust. Or with Newton for that matter, as the man is a terrible enabler cold sober. The man nods, grunts, and waddles back to his wife while Hermann gratefully stretches out his leg and waits.

When the metal door opens with a bang, the low murmur from the bar silences with a hush, and in walk a trio that has Hermann on edge immediately. Two slimy looking men, one tall as he is wide, the other small and ratty with bony fingers clutching the leash to a hound that is the nearly as big as Newton when he’s in his natural state. A frowning woman follows them, with a searching gaze and scars down her face and arms which she shows with pride as they all take a seat at the table directly in front of Hermann. Each has more guns strapped to them then a well-stocked armory, and its wonder they can even walk upright with the weight.

“Hey!” The owner shouts from the other side, baring her teeth and pointing harshly. “No dogs in my damn bar!” The frowning woman raises her arm into the air, flashing a dark tattoo on her wrist, ordering three drinks, and the owner balks, turning away.

Once they have their moonshine and the husband has once again retreated to the safety of his wife, they turn to each other. With nothing else to do, Hermann listens silently from his corner.

“Mr. Chau ain’t gunna be happy we lost the bastard again.” Says the small man, his hand stroking the dog’s greasy scruff. The dog pants in the heat, laying down and staring at Herman quizzically. Hermann glares back at it, hoping it would whine and mind its own business, but the dog merely tilts its head, uncaring. “He was damn well pissed the last time we lost him in Carolina.”

The scarred woman, who had downed her drink in one go and was currently scratching at her cheek, wrinkles her nose in disgust. “We wouldn’t a’ lost him if we had a better dog.”

“Wha’? No, Georgie’s got a good nose. Ain’t’ cha girl?” He vigorously rubs at its long red ears, the dog making a pleased sound. “Ain’t Georgie’s fault the trail goes cold every few miles, yeah?”

“Ain’t supposed to do that.” Pipes up the larger man, whose voice is surprisingly pleasant despite the dark tone. The husband drops by again to deliver Hermann’s order, meat and various vegetables, and he immediately digs in, still listening to the trio.

“Jer’s right. Smells don’t just go missin’ all-ova-sudden.” The woman adds after some consideration. The dog sits up, licking his nose and still watching Hermann as he takes another bite of his meal. “We had the damn thing all the way to that fuckin’ camp half a mile out.”

Like that, the meal turns to ash in Hermann’s mouth and he almost chokes on his bite. The three don’t notice as he recovers, swallowing a quick drink to keep from coughing loudly. They couldn’t mean-

“Yeah, yeah, we did, didn’t we?” The ratty man says excitedly, and his dog stands, sniffing and raising his hackles. “Shoulda had him a month ago, but he’s maskin’ himself somehow. There's something Mr. Chau ain't tellin' us, I tell you what-“

Hermann pushes himself back from the table, meal forgotten, moving to pick up his pack carefully from the floor. Sweat forms on his neck as the trio continue to chat, the woman beginning to gesture wildly, angrily, a rusty knife flashing on her belt. He just has to leave without them noticing, find Newton, and leave. It should be simple. They don’t know him, don’t know he’s with Newton. The door’s right there and waiting. Four large steps and he’s outside with no one the wiser.

The hound begins to bark, the noise reverberating through the small tavern as he starts to stand. He freezes, cane in hand and pack half in hand, and the dog pulls at its leash desperately, noise pointed at him. The trio swivel to stare at the hound and then him, the woman snarling and hand going to her knife while her larger companion reaches for the shotgun strapped to his back. Hermann is stuck; damned if he moves, damned if he doesn't.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4, page 46: While Europe and Asia colonized with an amazing pace, the American continent did not. Due to heavy Siphoning along the East coast, leaving many Dead Zones and irradiated areas, and Havens staying closed for longer than most other continents, the Americas took a much slower approach to rebuilding civilization, focusing on non-coastal lands where the ground is still fertile. If one decides to settle there, they are better off traveling past the Appala Mt. Range, (a.k.a. Appalachians, but locals shortened it due to a misreading of old texts and maps) for better protection, more friendly integration between hybrids and sapiens, educational opportunities, and plenty of food and clean water.  - New Earth and How to Live in It (author unknown)

“Georgie, girl, what’s wrong, eh?” The man’s hands tug on the thick leash, the dog fighting every pull. The thumping of its tail on the table was deafening. Hermann doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, can't tear his gaze away from the contact point when the man reigned in the hound, shaking it’s fur on it’s nape in an attention demanding manner that the hound ignores. “You can’t go around annoying people with food, jackass.”

He looks up at Hermann as sweat begins to trickle down his nape into the collar of his worn shirt, offering an apologetic gappy smile. “Sorry. She’s hungry, and your dinner’s look pretty damn good, I guess.” He chuckles, going back to trying to get control of his dog.

With the other two still glaring, ready for a fight at any sign of trouble and the dog still huffing and yipping at him, Hermann grabs his half-eaten dinner. With his pack slung over his shoulder, he taps over to the other table, placing his food in front of the hound. It sniffs his legs, growling and baying, wet nose leaving a chill on his calf. It sends colds spiking up his spine and for a split second, Hermann has the terrible thought that the dog will chomp down into the meat of his leg.

“Wasn’t as hungry as I thought.” He tells them earnestly. The woman and 'Jer' continue their hawkish stance, even as he acknowledges them with a bow of his head. The ratty man thanks him profusely, and the other two finally, finally slowly sit, hands settling away from their guns and knives and folding onto the table.

“See, Georgie? He’s not so bad.” The man coos and Hermann turns to leave. The trio's conversation starts up almost immediately, but he dares not stay behind to listen. 

If the dog even touches the food, Hermann will never know. He’s out of the tavern too quickly to care, and even with the metal door clanging shut behind him, Hermann cannot shake the tight trembling in his hands. He sets off at a brisk pace, praying Newton is near and that the three he left behind do not put two and two together before he has a chance to grab the hybrid and run.

He finds Newton at the edge of Riverside, where the rushing of the nearby river can be heard in satisfying amounts. He’s taken to leaning against an abandoned shack, fiddling with the GEM-D’s dials and buttons in the light of a rusted barrel-fire. The sun’s nearing its end, the sheep still bleat behind their scrap metal fence, and Hermann has to pause some feet away from his companion, taken by the warmth of relief and how the flames accent Newton’s face in the most brilliant and wrong of ways.

Newton looks up, seconds after Hermann stopped, blinking and grinning, unknowing of the mercenaries just a few buildings down. “Hey! Look what I got!”

Hermann begins to approach as Newton holds up his wrist, the tooth pendant now hanging off a thick strap of leather, flopping slightly in his exuberance. Hermann wants to scowl, to snap at him for being an idiot, for not telling him about the trio back at the tavern, for wasting time and energy on a bracelet, but he lets it go for the moment.

“We need to leave.” He says, just as Newton continues in a usual breathless, tumbling version of talking.

“-Seriously a lot easier to deal with here, plus now I can keep it on when I’m normal, you know? Scales are the worst sometimes, I swear, but ignoring imminent cloth ripping shedding, they’re good for bullets, which is more than can be said for your fleshy shit.”

“Newton-“

“Like, I’m kind of shocked you people survived so damn long, but I guess guns and nuclear missiles and massive fucking robots helped a little. Maybe.”

“New-“

“So what’d you get? Anything good? I got this, plus some stuff, usual stuff… Oh! And I met some old lady, she had a funny eye which was charming but kind of weird, you know? Told me about an old lab to the west that no one’s been into because ‘ghosts’ or some shit. Maybe we should check it out? Might find more on the kaiju or maybe you’ll find a calculator or something, I dunno what you’re into other than unhappiness and calculus, you stick-in-the-“

Hermann grabs him by the shoulders, cane dropping to the ground with a clunk and a puff of dust. “Newton! Shut up for longer than seven seconds before you pass out from oxygen deprivation and I have to drag you across the river!” Newton freezes, glances at Hermann’s hands clutching his shoulders, and sniffs indignantly.

“Whoa, man, calm down.”

“I will not 'calm down'.” Hermann mutters, pushing him away and dropping his tone further. “There are people looking for you, you idiot.”

“Like, what kind of looking? Good looking? Bad looking?”

Hermann cuts the impulse to smack himself in the face before it gets to strong while he bends down to pick up his fallen cane. “They have a dog and more guns than all of eastern Asia between them. I hardly believe they wish you any good will.” Newton blanches, eye widening and he gasps in shock and surprise.

“Shit.”

They travel through the night, crossing the river on a rickety, splintering bridge that Newton panics over, but he steels himself in lieu of the company on his tail. They continue walking until the sun rises again, Hermann ignoring the pain in his knee and Newton staying sapien, thankfully without warning from Hermann about the way it deadens his scent.

They only slow well into the new morning, and even then they only stop for meals and short breaks for Hermann. The landscape does not change, save for a few more meager farms and healthy trees beginning to pop out of the ground every here and now. With the sapien life around, bulgies stay far on the horizon like vultures, waiting for the weak and sick to fall so they can swoop in for the kill. It's amazing they don't rush after Newton and him, but Hermann isn't complaining.

The land is peaceful the next day but there is a storm brewing between them, in them. The grass whispers with their passing, birds call and hop around them, and insects flit along but Hermann doesn’t see this. Instead of focusing on the illusion of safety in the distance between them and the armed mercenaries, he’s caught up in Newton’s mystery. He can't stop himself.

Hermann spends too much time thinking. Maybe not enough. They walk and walk and rest and walk, and Newton says nothing more than absolutely necessary, and Hermann only nods or shakes his head in response. There’s a lot of time to think in the twenty-four hours they pound mile after mile with only tarnished car shells to mark their distance. With nothing real to distract him from the pain in his knee and the betrayal bubbling in his stomach.

There’s a lot of time to side-eye his companion. To begin questioning every motive, conversation, movement, and decision. To jump at every shoulder brush. To have the hairs on the back of his neck raise at every tiny noise. He keeps Newton in his sights, examining him over and over as pieces fall together in devastating and strange ways.

Some things begin to make sense: the route through a Dead Zone, the constant glancing over their shoulders, the anxiety over entering Riverside. Did he know he was being followed? Yes, he had to; otherwise Hermann’s announcement of meeting the trio wouldn’t have made any sense. It seems like they had been following him for quite some time, and Newton isn’t daft by any means, even if his head is stuck up his own ass at times.

Answers bring questions though, too many for him to figure out with the information at hand. Who is Mr. Chau? What did Newton to do to cause this individual to hire a band of mercenaries to track him down? Did he somehow land himself in the company of a murderer? A thief? Every breath Newton takes damns him further, illogically, rationally, and Hermann can't decide what he needs to do.

When they finally stop, Hermann’s leg is on fire and he’s swallowing down what little pain medication he has left. Its hard to find, harder to barter for, and with the pill bottle empty, he'll have to be careful till he can find more. He stretches his leg out on his bedroll, warily watching Newton fiddle about with a small fire and constantly peeking at the horizon. They had hardly spoken all day, in favor of just putting down mile after mile between them and the mercenaries and its done little to comfort either of them.

Newton won’t stop itching at his arms and neck, constantly fingering the GEM-D but he dare not turn it off. The unusual twitchiness is beginning to grate on Herrmann’s already frayed patience.

“This sucks.” Newton says, after a minute of staring and itching and peeking and staring. Hermann digs his thumb relentlessly into a pressure point below his kneecap, breathing in deep and failing at ignoring Newton’s constant movement. “Like, really, really sucks, dude.”

Hermann grunts and nods, not trusting himself to lash out if he actually speaks.

“I don’t wanna turn this off but, shit, it kind of hurts.” Two days with the thing on and very little sleep is clearly its toll. He’s looking to Hermann for a suggestion, brow crossed and worried. Hermann cannot answer. He will not answer. Newton won't have any of that. “Dude, you’ve been quiet all day. Come on, give me a bone here.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Newton freezes and swiftly puts his head down, staring at his hands, at the ground, but not at Hermann.

“Answer the question.” It’s a plea, not a demand, no matter how much venom Hermann puts in his voice. He wants Newton to tell him it was a mistake. They weren’t looking for him, there’s another hybrid out there with a GEM-D, that it’s all been a mistake.

Newton swallows, plucks at his new bracelet. He bites his lips, opens his mouth, closes it again, and takes in a shaking breath, doing nothing to ease Hermann's suspicions. “I didn’t think it mattered.” He finally says, too quiet, too weak.

“Didn’t matter?” Hermann snaps, stamping his cane on the ground in irritation. He hadn’t even noticed getting to his feet until Newton glances up in surprise, only to look away again when he sees Hermann’s blatant betrayal. “How could it not matter?”

“I thought I lost them.” Newton whispers, running a hand through his already tousled hair. “I- I didn’t think-“

“Didn’t think?” Hermann yells, despite himself, twenty four hours of silent accusations and heat rushing out. “Didn’t think at all, did you?”

“I-“

“What were you planning? Letting them catch you and drag you back to this Mr. Chau character? Or were you going to throw me at them if they found us while you scampered away?”

“What? Fuck, no, Hermann-“

“At what point did you think they’d just give up? They have a hit on you, for God’s sake-“

“It’s not a hit!” Newton shouts back, voice choked and eyes shining wetly in the weak firelight. It does nothing to quell Hermann’s rage; he merely wrinkles his nose and sneers. “It’s not- I’m not-“

“Not what?” Newton is pale, shivering, gripping his own wrists tightly as if he many bolt or vomit at any moment.

“It was a mistake, okay?” He finally forces himself to say, as if it caused him great pain. He wipes his eyes, sniffles horribly and bitterly, and Hermann loses what righteous indignation he had. “Three years ago, I made a mistake and it’s kind of biting me in the ass right now, but I swear they won’t catch up to us. I’ll get you through the mountains alive and in one piece, alright?” He's crying, red in the face, and Hermann can't look at him.

“Good. See that you do.” Hermann feels hollow, tired, angry irrationally and rationally and all he wants is a bed and a home again.

“We’re gunna be fine." Newton promises, as much as he can. Hermann's chest aches at the desperation in his tone. He wants it gone, but what he wants gone, the ache or the devastation in Newton, he's not quite sure. You don’t have to, uh, worry about me or anything.”

“I don’t give a damn about you. Just see me to civilization and afterwards, I could care less what happens to you.” Hermann isn’t one to blather out whatever inane thought that comes into his head. In his head, it sounded so much different and he immediately regrets the oily angry admission as soon as it slithers off his tongue.

Horrified with himself, Hermann almost claps a hand to his mouth as Newton narrows his eyes and purses his lip. “Newton, I did-“ Newton shakes his head, stopping him.

“Great. Whatever. Awesome.” Newton spits, rolling over, away from Hermann. His shirt is drenched in sweat and sticks to his back, and his shoulders are set in a defensive manner.

Hermann reaches out, about to call to him, but he lets it pass. Instead, he sits down, settling into his bedroll for the night. He doesn’t sleep much, despite the itching pain in his eyelids and the sluggish pattern of his thoughts. He just lays there for most of the night, tracing the fire smoke curling into abstract patterns above his head until he finally slips into an exhausted sleep that leaves him more tired than anything else.

Whether Newton sleeps is another question, but he’s certainly not telling Hermann when they wake the next day.

Chapter Text

Chapter V, page 72: The Kaiju Overlords terramorphed the land to their liking. 80 years on Earth, and they broke down mountains, dried up rivers, filled canyons, and created ten mile deep holes. They made elaborate caves to take resources, expanded waterways, and cleared whole forests. Whole ecosystems were killed off or stolen, and new speices were introduced, either brought with the Kaiju or having snuck in after them. When sapiens reemerged from the Havens, they found the world nothing like that of their ancestors. - New Earth and How to Live in It (author unknown)

Newton does not greet him the next morning. He barely looks at him as he packs up, still sapien and tight-lipped, gaze downcast with every movement purposeful and reasonable. When he finishes before Hermann, as he usually does, Newton says nothing, just stands and waits until Hermann is ready and they set off. Nothing passes between them, not a meaningful glance or a smile or any of the normal, easy, pointless quarreling of before. Hermann hears nothing of his strange nightly dreams, or his hopes for the day, and suffers no invasive questions.

The day continues, as does Newton’s silence. He walks just ahead of Hermann at a constant pace instead of at his side, face forward to the horizon and mountain range that begins to ingratiate the landscape around them. Hermann’s calves begin to burn with every passing hour, the tendons and muscles tight and unyielding even as Newton stops them for their regular breaks. They sit, eat, drink, wait for the pains of travel to dull, and continue on. Routine.

The air is thinning, but animals are beginning to appear with more frequency along with a wider range of plant-life and creeks and streams that dot the area peacefully. The road he and Newton take is a torn highway, the asphalt long torn apart by the Kaiju for reason’s unknown, leaving an uneven surface since reclaimed by weeds that Hermann has to carefully navigate at times when the weak dips beside the road are too flooded by man-made waterways to traverse instead.

In the distance, at times, Hermann can see caravans and parties of migrating families and scavengers. They keep pace, too far off to observe or call over, but Hermann finds peace in these few examples of civilization on the long path. Newton watches them too, apprehensive and anxious. He keeps them North now, their once relaxed south-west direction sharply turning, and these people soon become nothing more than specks.

Beyond the highway are the figures of abandoned towns and farms, standing like ancient sentinels in the distance. Hermann hates them, so used to the transformation of Western Europe where every monument left from bygone eras have either been torn down or remade for the new civilization. He’s used to people and busy villages and homesteads, to the fields of farms and cattle, to the absence of predators and a policing system that protects him in the dead of the night.

Middle America is hostile, empty, awful compared to this. The constant hollow buildings are ghosts of the past, with their gaping maws and black glassless eyes where Hermann swears he can see figures darting to and fro within. Skeletons of vehicles still stand along with the empty shells of gas stations and billboards. Every few yards is another rotted pole covered in telephone wires diminished of signal for centuries that do nothing to take away from the memories of something that used to homo sapiens, that should still be theirs if they hadn’t failed, if the Kaiju hadn’t appeared-

Hermann has to remind himself time and time again that worrying over the past is useless. He wasn't there. He didn't know the circumstances. He can change nothing here and now. He is the one of many in the 13th generation after sapiens hid in their underground Havens, and the 9th generation after they popped back out. This is his world now, his continent, his home. Hermann has to get used to the monoliths made in petrified wood and concrete whose history is as forgotten and useless as moss and weeds that cover them.

He tells himself this, and still spends the next evening in the middle of the broken highway with a quiet Newton and the prickle of eyes on his neck from the bunker that still stands just off the road. Its door has been torn in, and the yawn of the empty archway has his imagination running too damn wild. He can’t sleep with this. He can’t confide in Newton either.

Neither his equations or the cloudy night sky prove enough distraction for his sleeplessness and he spends yet another evening thinking back on clear skies back at his old home and the constellations he’s memorized. Through the smoke of the dying fire and the passing condensation formations, he can spot a few singular stars and even a planet but nothing extraordinary. Not for the first time, he ponders if he’d made the right decision leaving.

Newton's cold shoulder has grown tiresome by that night. Hermann wasn't in the wrong. He refused to believe or adhere to that idea. They would be parted by trip's end, never to see each other again unless some random happenstance brought them together once more. Otherwise, they were two strangers using one another to meet a separate goals, coming together briefly then leaving just as swiftly. It would be foolish to begin forming attachments when the relationship was as worthless in the long run as the dust that coated hospital bed frames and the fragments of sapien bone worn by rain and wind and animals beside them.

He misses too many things already from this journey. He misses civilization outside of tiny gatherings of people. He misses his home landscape and its familiarity. He misses his bed and room and the privacy wherein. He misses his siblings who had disbanded from home much faster than he had. He even misses his stubborn father and the irritating robin that cooed outside his window in the summer in a nostalgic sort of way.

The last thing Hermann needs in his new life was early broken hearts and tears shed over his transcontinental hybrid guide. He has to remember that, in the early afternoon on the first silent day when Newton stumbled over a rock and refused Hermann's instinctual gesture of help. He couldn't let himself falter, even when Newton winced that night as they lay down, stiff in his sapien skin and itching more than before. He couldn't grow weak in his resolve when he heard Newton gasp and groan in pain at every turn in his position in the early morning, neither quite sleeping.

He has to stop looking the next morning when Newton goes down to the creek, stripping naked and turning off the GEM-D for the first time in three days, bathing and washing his scent off in the cool slightly irradiated water. Hermann catches himself as his gaze trails down his companion's bare freckled back in the sunlight as he twists and punches the knobs and buttons on his wrist device. Shaking his head, Hermann goes back to packing, cursing the curl of heat in his gut and the whole damn situation.

Loneliness and enforced closeness has its effects, he muses when they continue, Newton now sapien once more but clearly feeling better. His hair is plastered to his forehead and water trails down his neck in random intriguing patterns and he gives Hermann a curious glance when he catches his eyes following those small droplets. They both look away quickly, predictably.

The silence is officially unbearable by an hour before noon. Hermann believes its the routine of their time together being broken that finally makes him snap, in a sense. Over exposure to constant conversation most hours of the week, and you would miss it too if it suddenly vanished. He knows what he needs to do, what words to say, how to deliver them, and how to be as sincere as possible.

There’s a significant problem: he’s not one to apologize. Whether it’s a stubborn pride or an inability to admit his faults without a gun pressed to his head, Hermann isn’t sure. What he does know is that over the course of the second day, he opens his mouth to give a heartfelt apology approximately five and a half times, and at each junction, he completely fails to deliver.

Instead, they continue on as they had been, the tight grip of tension between them as oppressive as the ache in his legs and chest and back. The few caravans that match their pace in the distance begin to disappear as if they never existed, and any villages that popped up between beaten down roads and aspiring forests become a distant memory. Newton's path avoids them at all costs, it seems, and Hermann doesn’t question it. He just follows with a hope that the hybrid is still leading him in a safe direction despite his opinionated insulting admission.

Another night passes with nothing said, and another morning just as the last and Hermann might be going insane with it.

It’s the afternoon of the third day that he breaks their enforced quiet, another skeleton town just ahead and Hermann would rather break his knee again than stay a night in the middle of it.

“Newton.” He says, raspy and thirsty from an extended walk and irritated with his constant state of sticky sweaty skin. “Newton, please. I cannot go on today.” Before him, against the fast approaching teeth of the mountains and the dying sun, Newton stops, turning to him. It’s the first time he’s caught Hermann’s eye in nearly forty-eight hours, and Hermann is neither surprised nor apathetic to how blood-shot they are or how the bags under them seem more and more pronounced.

Newton casts a glance ahead of them, then back again, and nods, more to himself than anything. “Okay, alright.” Hermann thanks him with a bow of his head, and they pick the least bumpy patch of ground possible to settle on. Newton wanders off, as if in a daze, to the creek again to change and bathe and Hermann meanders about to distract himself while his companion undresses.

He ends up some yards away, gathering sticks and dry leaves in one arm, legs complaining the whole way but it seems an appropriate chastisement to his staring habit as of late. There’s little to be found with the sparse trees and healthy foliage, but he does spot a growing sapling just a ways away, near a dark patch of ground that has him stepping curiously towards it. Could it be a burn scar from a random fire or something more sinister? He steels himself to find out, possibly using it as a peace offering to Newton’s insatiable curiosity.

Unfortunately, Hermann does not recognize the Siphon Pit for was it is until it’s almost too late. The angle and low light means the darkness below lends no depth until he is right on top of it. He nearly slips in, catches himself just in time before falling down into the abyss of the massive hole. With the waning sun and the slight wind coming in from the southeast, it whistles at him, glints of quartz stuck in the rocks layers down twinkling and inviting. There could be the sloshing of water heard kilometers below under the groaning of emptiness.

He feels dizzy, swaying slightly at the thought of the depth of the pit below him, three centuries old and calling out to him like a ravenous god. He has the insane thought of pitching himself forward, falling and falling. Who knows if he would ever stop falling if he were to slip in, if there was a lake below from years of rainwater falling into a hole with no outlet? Who knows if he would die from impact to the bottom or slamming into the wall? Who knows if it was as empty as it seemed, if the rumors were true that some remnants of the Kaiju were left at the bottom of these massive Siphon Pits.

He steps closer, till the tips of his boots were hanging off the eroded edge. Maybe that was what called to him from below, not the wind or a trick of nothing mixing with pressure around it barely holding itself together. The darkness within, untouched by light or hands for eons, hiding a monstrosity that lay in wait for someone to stumble along, to crawl in, to greet its maw and teeth with all the foolish bravery that any sapien mustered within them.

It was the irrational superstitious logic of ten seconds of staring into the deep, letting his imagination run with the sight of something new and frightening. Hermann straightens, re-gathers himself, and wonders if he should ask Newton if they could move a little bit farther away. He shakes from his momentary suicidal musings, not prone to such things most days. He takes in a deep shuddering breath, closes his eyes for a moment to ground himself in the present and reality of his situation, taking comfort in what was tangible around him.

With a last glance down into the pit and swallowing back the fierce knot in his throat that tightened at the bottomless sight, he shifts his weight to his good leg and turns to walk away. The ground had other opinions on this, as it were.

The reverberation of his hoarse cry echoes around him as the earth below his feet slips away, weakened from improper structure and his own weight. His foothold crumbles with the dirt and rock, his cane falling to the side as he lets go of it from the vertigo of descent. With a ditch instinct, his hands scramble for a hold while to rest of his body slips into nothing.

With a yell and a flash of pain, his chest and thighs hit the edge of the pit as he grabs desperately to the sturdy sapling that had been brushing his calves for the past minute. His stomach dropping out his abdomen and lower body dangling into the pit, Hermann clings to his only hope. His arms strain as blood rushes to his legs and he attempts to push himself up with a foot pressing down onto a jutting rock.

The sapling’s roots, too new and too shallow, begin to creak through the dirt, the stem bend and giving way. Hermann searches for something else to grab, to pull, but there is nothing but grass and pebbles and the thought of plummeting into the abyss is no longer so enticing. He can’t even call for help; his throat it too dry and tongue knotted in his mouth as he puts everything he has into just clinging to the side of the pit, slowly sliding down, down.

“Holy fuck, Hermann!” There was the scrape of claws on grass and Newton appears above him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. “Fuck, fuck, hold on, man!” Hermann could see his tail whipping behind him as he casts around for something to help Hermann up, panting as hard as he was.

“For the love of God, just pull me up!” Hermann yells, hands sweating and beginning to slip even worse. Newton starts to protest, something about his talons and scales but Hermann cuts him off. “Help me!”

“Okay, okay, this is gunna hurt like a bitch but-“ Stubby hybrid hands reach down and clutch him under his armpits, Hermann yelling out as the claws dig into his shirt and skin. “Jesus, I fucking told you!” Hermann could feel him beginning to loosen his grip and he snarls at him to shut up and continue.

Newton begins to pull, tail stabbing itself into the ground for balance as he lifts Hermann from the pit. Hermann’s feet scrambled for a foothold to help him, gritting his teeth to keep from screaming at the strain in his muscles, the pounding in his knee, or how his skin was splitting open under Newton’s grip.

“Fuck, for a skinny asshole, you’re really heavy,” Newton snips, pulling and pulling, Hermann slowly ascending as Newton took careful steps backwards toward safe land.

“Shut up before I smother you with your own tongue.” Hermann counters, feet slipping from the rock they were pushing on and Newton’s claws scratching him even worse. “Just concentrate on the task at hand and not my, my body structure!”

“That is the ‘task at hand’, asshat,” Newton groans, Hermann now halfway out of the pit. With one final push of strength and adrenalin when Hermann’s good leg finds another sturdy rock, he’s pulled free. Newton’s tail collapses under their momentary suspended weight, and they fall together with an ‘oomph’ to the grassy ground. Gasping, they both take a moment to slowly let the situation sink in. “Seriously, is, like, all of that anti-social grump made of bricks or what?”

Blood is beginning to trickle down his shoulders and ribs and Hermann wants nothing more than to roll over and sleep until everything stops aching. Instead, he stays right where he is, cheek pressed awkwardly to Newton’s smooth pale stomach, shivering and sweating and bleeding, but very very much alive.

“I hate you.” Hermann says after a minute of shared panting and reveling in the adrenaline still pumping through them. Newton's abdomen is soft and warm, almost too much. He wonders if Newton can feel how sweaty he is, how sensitive are the thin scales. “Truly, I do.” Under him, Newton shakes with laughter, the sound even more pleasing than it should have been. Given his brush with death, Hermann can forgive the rush of contentment this fills him with.

“Likewise, dude.” Newton licks his snout, grinning the sky the way he does in his hybrid state, tail thumping once on the ground. “Like, so much.”

How long they stay like that is left up in the air. A fly buzzes round his ear, but Newton flicks it away for him, which is fine. Hermann will find his cane later and dressed his wounds around the same time, but at the moment, they both seem comfortable enough here, on the ground, together and alive.

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Chater I, page 15: Physically, there are only a few observable differences between a male Homo Validus and a female one. Females tend to be larger with a heavier set as opposed to the sleekness of the male variant. Both have internal sexual organs, though the males’ grow outward upon arousal. The true differences come in behavior and temperament. Males are known to be migrators, rarely settling down in one place for longer than a few weeks, traveling often in small groups of 2-4 known as a ‘scout’ or ‘investigation’. Females are opposite, gathering in ‘consultations’ of 5-9 members in a large fixed territory which they guard viciously, rarely moving outside of the area unless absolutely necessary. The reason for these differences is currently unknown*. - New Earth and How to Live in It (author unknown)

“Come on, let me help.” Newton whines, having turned the GEM-D back on once they've made it back to camp. Hermann's once disgust and horror at the transformation process is all but gone, having seen it too many times to give it much thought any more.

"I’m perfectly capable of this on my own, thank you.” Hermann assures as he completely and utterly fails to reach even 22% of the wounds stretching from his armpits to his lower shoulder blades without huffing and stopping from pain. To clean them, he needs to stretch, and stretching opens the wounds wider, and thus begins an infinite cycle of try, pain, stop, try again. Despite this, he has been ignoring Newton's advances to help him.

Newton finally gives a disgruntled noise and settles down next to him, wrestling the cloth and alcohol from his hands. Much to his own surprise, the materials slip from his fingers with ease despite how hard he thought he had been gripping them. Hermann glares at him, though it holds no power while Newton moves to sit directly behind him.

"Newton-"

“Just hold still, dude. This is gunna sting like a bitch.” The retort morphs into a choking noise as the cleaning alcohol (some kind of moonshine Newton had found long before they ever met, which they had both been sneaking sips from) dabbed into the open wounds. He can’t stop himself from arching away from it with a little cry, the acidic fire tightening every muscle along his spine. “Shit, sorry!”

Hermann grips his good knee with his hand, shaking and forcing himself back into a slumped position and digging his broken nails into his leg. “It’s fine. Absolutely fine.”

He hears more shuffling behind him, fingers prodding at the bottom of his top, which he had stubbornly left on to keep some sort of dignity through this whole ordeal. “Yeah, okay, but could you, uh, lift up your shirt?” It’s an odd sensation, having your heart both stop and speed up at the exact same moment, but if Hermann could describe his reaction to Newton’s request, that would be all he could say about the matter.

“Why?”

“Cause I’m all kinds of hot for fucked up shoulders.” Newton snaps sarcastically. He tugs at the hem, and Hermann elbows him. “Fuck, I can’t really do anything with it still on!”

Right. Yes. Of course. Whatever had Hermann been thinking? He blames all of the old trashy novels he had snuck from his sister's collection on the initial reluctance. He acquiesces while Newton grumbles something about ‘it’s not even clean anyway’ followed by several offensive names, some of which Hermann had never even heard of and honestly doubted were anything more that dribble spewed from the forefront of his companion’s mind. Flushing seven different shades of red, he helps Newton pull the stiff, admittedly dirty shirt over his shoulders to be bunched around his neck.

The air is cool, and even the slightest breeze stings his wounds. While Newton is gentle as possible, there is nothing either of them can do to stop the pain during the process.

To say anything interesting happened would be lying and most of what followed was an ill attempt at patching up the lacerations, bickering in between biting his own lip to keep yelling, and more name calling. Hermann doubts that either of them are proud of it the verbal scuffle, but it’s a good distraction from the burning in his back and from the humiliation of being bare-chested before someone he neither knows or is intimate with. Not that he is often half-naked in front of someone meeting either of those qualifications, but it has to be noted. Even if privacy was limited out in the middle of nowhere, they still didn't openly stare at each other while changing, as Newton has to do to clean his wounds.

Or at least Newton didn't and Hermann was at least discreet about the act.

“That’ll have to do it, man.” Newton pulls away, examining his work, or so Hermann assumes, being unable to see him. He’s wrapped Hermann entire chest in an effort to keep the wound from being exposed with a copious amount of gauze and one of his own shirts soaked in the last of the alcohol. Its tight, it stings awfully, but its manageable and gives him one less thing to worry about in this bloody mess of a situation.

A hand pats his lower ribs, familiar and warm in the cool air, and Hermann is caught between swaying into the contact and flinching away as Newton stands up. “It’d be better if we stitched ‘em, but I don’t have the floss or the needle for it.”

“Hopefully, we’ll find a doctor along the way.” Hermann muses, tenderly unfolding a ‘clean’ top from his pack.

Newton snorts while he moves back to his bedroll, shaking his head. “Not unless one moved into the only town between here and, like, the other side of Appalas. You’re just gunna have to hope for the best, dude, cause my hands are all you got till then.”

“Only town? " Hermann sneers, pulling on the top swiftly before pointing a finger in accusation at Newton who is wide-eyed like a rabbit caught in torchlight. "You said we were going through a sapien-controlled pass!”

“I mean, yeah, I did say that, and we were, until Lock, Stock, and Barrel showed up." Newton plops down on his bedroll cross-legged, adjusting his glasses. "So now we gotta go through a different way, you know? One they won’t use.”

Hermann is starting to get whiplash from the swift shifting from general apathy to anger Newton causes within him on a consistent basis. “And why would they not use this one?”

“It’s hybrida territory. Not sapien friendly, like, at all, but whatever." Hermann's chest seizes and he knows his eyes are bugging out of his skull at Newton's admission. Female hybrids, as in a group of hybrids and they would be trespassing in their territory. Newton couldn't be serious.

"Have you forgotten somewhere in that thick plated skull of yours that I am sapien?" Newton mocks surprise, clapping his hands to his cheek with a loud smack.

“Oh my god, you are? How the hell did I not notice? It's not like we've been spending every waking moment with each other for the past three weeks." Hermann rolls his eyes and tsks. Newton copies him over-dramatically and begins to clean his glasses. "Look, I know it sounds bad, but it’s like, either we go this way and risk the consultation, or we go back south, wait out the trio of dickweeds until they give up camping the Southern Pass and move on, and then also wait out the winter in the town, cause they aren’t gunna move on until the last fucking minute.

“The way I figure it, we got a better chance with the ladies and their 'all sapiens must die' mentality, which is kind of justified, uh, give the general neighborhood by the way, than dodging Chau’s mercenaries. Or waiting, you know, like, five months to make the journey cause that fucking pass is shit after September. Granted, all of them are, but this one’s quicker.” Newton ends with a vague hand gesture that is neither comforting or helpful. Taking in a deep 'calming' breath as his head begins to throb, Hermann has to physically stop himself from chucking his cane at him.

“And how, hypothetically, do you suppose we’re going to dodge a consultation? In their own damned territory with me trialing behind you?”

“Meh, I’ve done it before. There’s like, ten of them, but they’re not the best at patrolling and it’s a big area. So long as we stick to the sides and don’t go too far toward the middle, we’ll be pretty safe.”

“Pretty safe is not a measurement for possible disembowelment. What if they find us?”

“I figure that out when we get to it. Come on, man, let it go. We’ll be fine.” He drags out the i in fine in a childish manner for some time, stretching and digging around in his pack for a bite to eat. Hermann decides it’s best to wait till the morning to inquire/argue further, exhausted, hungry, and twinging with pain. Newton will be insufferable the rest of the night if Hermann continues anyway, hopped up on his own ego and adrenaline.

They spend the next hour eating, writing in their respective logs, swatting at rambunctious flies, and questioning the sounds that drift over them from the acres around them. Newton points out a rabbit squeal and an owl, happily regaling Hermann with their activities for the evening as he sketches. Hermann only half listens, engrossed in the pages before him for the first time in a while, glancing up every so often to see Newton staring off into the road and buildings beyond.

A piercing warble has them both stopping, and after moment of contemplating the noise, Newton suggests they sleep as he tosses the pistol Hermann’s way. He catches it with a wince, and lays it next to his head for easy access. What made the noise, Newton does not say, but it may be better that Hermann does not know.

“Hey, Hermann.” Hardly half an hour has passed since they settled in. Hermann glances over to the sound of clothes shifting as Newton rolls over onto his side to look at him, eyes sparkling with curiosity, glasses still perched on his nose. It’s the kind of look that strikes Hermann oddly, chest tightening and breath catching just so.

“Yes?” He asks, guarded, never sure what may come out of the hybrid’s mouth next as he lets the feeling pass.

“If you could have lived in any time period, when would it be?”

Hermann opens his mouth, and shuts it as the question fully processes. “What?” He asks finally, hoping his confusion is conveyed fully.

Newton shrugs, corners of his lips turned up in satisfaction. “Any time, man. Come on. Give me something here.” Hermann pauses and ponders it for all of half a minute, before shaking his head.

“I’ve never- I’ve never thought about it, to be honest. What about you?”

Newton turns onto his back, grinning to himself as he stares into the cloudy expanse above them. “Probably during the Kaiju War. Like, smack dab in the middle.”

Hermann snorts, receiving a glare (pout) for his disbelief. “Whatever for?”

“Think about it!” Newton blurts loudly into the night, sitting up and gesturing wildly to punctuate his points. “Right when they came out of the fucking ocean, just these massive monsters no one had any idea could exist, just rampaging through the coasts. Just fucking imagine it for like five seconds, being alive and seeing that on the T.V. or internet, or even in fucking person. The craziest, awesomest shit to ever happen, and I miss it by three centuries.”

“Most people would be happy about that.” Hermann points out, but Newton’s tirade is not one to be stopped as he waves off Hermann’s comment literally with a flop of his hand.

“Yeah, boring people. God, it would’ve been the best. Scary as fuck, but great. I could’ve seen one, touched one maybe. I wouldn’t have to sit here, and learn about the aftermath.” Hermann tracks him as he fall back down onto his back.

“And what would you have done then? Run around after them?”

“Nah, I’d study them. Work on them. I dunno, maybe I could’ve helped, you know? Like done something different. Figured out something new, and saved the whole damn Earth. Become a fucking rockstar.” Hermann laughs dryly at Newton's own wistful expression, quirking a brow and staring Newton down.

“Just you? Massive robots and a monumental wall couldn’t stop them, Newton. I doubt you could’ve done anything.” He knew little about what happened during the war. No one knew much, the little information there was had been buried, erased, or merely legends on the lips of past generations, passed from the Havens to the outside again.

Hermann would admit, never to Newton but someone completely different, that he had a fascination with the War as well. Not the Kaiju, per say, but the Jeagers and the ingenuity that went into them. If the Kaiju were legends, the Jeagers were ghosts; just words and myths. Any remnants of them had been stolen or destroyed but Hermann had spent many a night when he was younger wondering what it’d be like to see one, to learn how they operated-

“Wow, fuck you too, dude. Just for that, I’m gunna build a time machine, go back, save the world, and then carve my likeness into a fucking mountain flipping you off for the rest of the whole of time. What do you think of that?”

“I think you’re overly ambitious and grossly overestimate your own abilities.”

“Whatever. I’m gunna do it and laugh all the way to the grave on a wave of pure genius and awesome.”

“Of course, you are Newton. Or you could focus on the now, and help the people around you recover instead of wasting your thoughts on useless endeavors of whimsy and wishful dreaming.” Hermann assumes Newton will give him the cold shoulder for that, the way he narrows his eyes and frowns. Instead, he shakes his head, wiping a hand over his face.

“Seriously? Where the hell did you learn how to speak English? From political debates circa London 1813?” Hermann wrinkles his nose, and Newton yawns in response, closes his eyes and scratches his stomach where his shirt has ridden up slightly. Not that Hermann was looking. “Get with the times, dude.”

“I could say the same to you.” Hermann grumbles, rolling to his side. If Newton heard him, he says nothing of the sort. Hermann spends the next hour, regrettably wondering if Newton's assumption was correct, if he could've made a big enough contribution to change the whole outcome of the war. If the undeniable fate of the human civilization was so easy to change.

He gives up after a while, and they pass into the night with slow breaths and forgettable dreams. In the morning, Newton greets him with a cheery hello and a recount of a dream involving two boats and a turnip, and Hermann returns with a 'good morning'. The familiar monotony begins, and Hermann decides, selfishly, with the dew-covered grass under his feet that he'd rather have Newton in the present, padding along and humming something jauntily right next to him, helping him with this journey, than being unknown and long gone from pursuing a foolish venture in the past.

Even if it means he has to stop Newton from making a bloody time machine to keep him right where he is.

Side annotation, page 15- No matter the sex, a Validus is an instinctively social creature and is never found alone.

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Chapter IIV, page 98: The general hatred between two dominant intelligent species was not something the human race was pondering while diligently researching ways to survive total collapse under alien invaders. Unfortunately, this lack of foresight has resulted in more bloodshed and hostility than any could predict. Most Validus believe that they are in the fore-running when deciding who has control over what territory, given they had been on the surface since the fall of humanity. Alternatively, Sapiens have the idea that since they were the dominant species before hiding in the Havens, that they are the true heirs to any land. This creates many violent altercations between the two, which any wise traveler should avoid at all costs. - New Earth and How to Live in It (author unknown)

“They went extinct.”

“No, they did not.” It’s been two days since Hermann nearly fell into an endless void.

“Yeah, actually, they did.” They had been walking North along the wall of mountains without curve or divergence, avoiding actually going into the higher altitude. Newton was adamant that most other roads through were swamped with raiders and strange cults that demanded either toll or favors for passage.

“Please, there are plenty of accounts of people bringing them into the Havens-“

“Okay, like, no shit. There’s also accounts of people getting eaten by hybrids, but you don’t see me gnoshing your bones, now do you?” They’ve had this argument at least three times in the past 52 hours, coming to the same conclusion every single time.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why wouldn’t a family take a beloved pet into the Haven with them?”

“Yeah, so maybe some people brought a cat in. Hell, maybe three or four. But they didn’t have enough for a breeding population, let alone to keep an entire species stable. Jesus, have you ever even seen a cat?”

“Well, no, but-“

“Exactly! No one has! Not you, not me, not you’re great Aunt Sally-“

“I don’t have a-“

“It’s a figure of speech! Fuck, stay with me for five seconds, dude.” Newton huffs, bumping into Hermann’s hip with his shoulder. “Like, I know this shit, okay? I spent a whole year looking for a cat, a single fucking feline, like five years ago. You know what I found? Zippo, buddy. Not a single thing.” He snorts to himself, shuddering. “Except a lot of rocks.”

“Was this before or after you became engaged with Mr. Chau?” It was meant to come out more subtle, but Hermann isn’t the master of the art, much like his companion who stops dead beside him. Hermann follows suit, raising a brow. “What?”

“I thought we agreed not to talk about it, Herms.”

“No, you said we weren’t going to talk about it, and then proceeded to stick your fingers in your earholes for the rest of the evening whenever I tried to argue the point.” Hermann sniffs, nose itchy from the pollen in the wind. “Also, it’s Hermann, and I wouldn’t greatly appreciate you sticking to that form of name.”

“Whatever Hermie-kins.” Newton coos with a coy grin, handing a handkerchief from his pack to Hermann as he starts scratching his nose.

“Ah, thank you, Mr. Geizler.” He sneers as he takes the object. Newton bares his teeth in non-threatening manner that Hermann has come to be excruciatingly used to.

“Aw man, fuck you. Why did I even write that on the stupid log anyway?” Newton hisses between his canines while Hermann laughs, blowing his nose.

Earlier the previous night...

“Hey, what the hell?” Hermann looks up from the pages before him to see a sapien Newton glaring down at him with his hands on his hips. “What the fuck you doin’ with my logbook, vol. 3?” Hermann glances back down at it, then slowly back up with an extreme effort to seem as uninterested in Newton’s wild bemusement as possible.

“You said I could help, and I’m taking your word for it.” He tells him, going back to his previous activity. “Besides, your penmanship and general grammar is downright awful.”

“I meant you could help with like, entries, not editing!” Newton all but shouts as Hermann vigorously crosses out another misspelled word, more satisfied with Newton’s indignation than the actual line across the page. “Give it back!”

“No, I can’t do that, sorry.” Hermann sighs, making a needlessly dark and large indication for a new paragraph. Newton steps up and takes a swipe for the notebook, which Hermann pulls out of reach swiftly.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m bored, I’m stuck on my current calculations, and you did say I could help.” Newton narrows his eyes, and Hermann matches him. “Besides, if you ever want to be taken seriously by anyone, you’ll need this drivel you call observations edited. Thoroughly.” Newton lets out a high-pitched groan, throwing his hands up in the air with a ‘fine, whatever’ before slumping down across their small camp.

Hermann holds back the grin that forces to break out as he continues to dramatically huff and cross and correct, Newton’s expression souring with every passing annotation.

“Dear me, that’s not how you spell investigation. It’s a wonder you can even read, Mr. Geizler.” Newton sits up, mouth agape as Hermann holds up the log, tapping the name scribbled into the front page. “Quite nice, I must say. Not sure why you kept it from me, but if it helps you sleep at nigh-“

Newton lunges for the logbook again.

Hermann hands back the handkerchief, patting his own pack with satisfaction where Newton’s log still lays. “I’m not exactly sure why you hate it.”

“Its personal, you know? You don't have to use it.”

“It’s polite.” Newton grunts, clearly disagreeing. “Are you going to answer my previous question?”

“I mean, I was, but I’m just not feeling it anymore.” He stretches out his tail and prances ahead. Hermann has no choice but to follow.

It takes more prodding and guilt-tripping than strictly necessary in order to get Newton to stop in the next town.

“It’s out of the way.” He whines.

“We need supplies." Hermann reminds.

“So? I can find us some.”

“I need proper medical attention.”

“They don’t have a doctor!”

“Then we’ll get the materials!”

All in all, neither is happy when they detour five miles to the rather expansive waypoint, Newton grumbling and wringing his hands the whole way, constantly fidgeting and worrying the tooth hanging from his wrist. Hermann lets him, practically having to drag Newton the last 300 yards to town gate. The place is surrounded by a massive fence of mismatched parts soldered and nailed together, rising higher that two men standing atop each others shoulders. Ominous and unwelcoming, but a relief nevertheless.

“We could go back. I can catch some food, find some floss in one of the old neighborhoods-“ Newton babbles when they stop in front of the rusted sign, Ethlem spray-painted in white with old spacing between the letters with an arrow pointing towards the smoke rising above the place. Below was familiar sign, same as in Riverside; a crude hybrid face crossed out with a warning of ‘shoot on sight’.

Newton had the GEM-D on for a few hours now, but he still checked the backlit screen adhered to his wrist to make sure. He was blinking more than usual, forcing his breath through his nostrils harshly. “We backtrack, and then three miles on the highway, and we won’t be anywhere near people for days.”

“That’s exactly the problem.” Hermann growls, pulling them back into motion. They didn’t have any anti-septic, were out of clean cloth, and his back was honestly getting worse, or so it felt. Last time Newton changed the bandages, his prognosis was nothing assuring, no matter how hard he tried to sound positive. “I’m not getting an infection because you’re having a panic attack.”

He swears they’ll be quick, and Newton nods manically, but does not stop his anxious trembling, even when the guards, bulky men and women strapped with guns and patched bullet-proof vests, let them in. The town is markedly bigger, Newton whispering in his ear about how sapiens stop here from the North before moving on South for Carolina and Florida where the ground is fertile, the hybrid population is lean, and the economy is slowly booming. The place is busier than Riverside by many degrees, people constantly running about, marketers proclaiming wares loudly, even children playing in the dirty streets. It’s a nice reprieve from the never-ending loneliness of the outside world, the sounds of life comforting.

“Hey, chubs and fishlegs! Move outta the way!” There a man driving a cart, snarling and waving at them to move. Hermann pulls Newton aside, even as he grumbles ‘wait, who’s fishlegs? Me? You?’. Hermann did not have the heart to answer.

The cart passes slowly with the driver grumbling and shouting at the people on the street. The massive brown cattle that head the vehicle are tired and weary of the crowd, but stoic, stopping some blocks away next to a massive pile of timber. Immediately, workers began piling on the wood, working swiftly and efficiently with a low thrum of light conversation.

“Jesus, think they need more wood?” Newton whistles at the stack, stopping them to observe the hustle and bustle. “What the hell they need that for?”

None of the people around them gives it any notice, save for small children tugging on their parents hands to try and climb the tempting pile. No signs dictate their use, and the shouts from the workers give nothing away, so Newton and he continue browsing the street, eyes open for a shop. They are stopped again, however, by the sight of woman, done up in expensive clothes with a wicked perfect smile, shouting from atop a stack of crates.

“Buying scrap! Any scrap’ll do! Big scrap, little scrap, any scrap!” The woman calls out to a crowd around her, quickly exchanging wares and trade from the passerby’s with a swift efficiency. “Railroad ain’t gunna build itself, folks! Got metal? We take metal! You there!” She points to Hermann, who had been scowling ever since they stopped behind the small crowd. “How much for the cane, eh?”

“A miracle for my knee.” He replies scathingly, and she waves him off.

“No need for hostility, asshole.” She snaps before calling again to the people round them. Hermann hurries Newton on, rolling his eyes and grumbling about marketers. A railroad, dear God. They must’ve missed all of the bustle and business coming up from the South and the Dead Zone. Newton agrees when he voices this, though he doesn’t seem to mind having done so.

They make a beeline for the shop, a ramshackle building that proudly proclaims ‘Rick’s Goods’ that gives the distinct impression of claustrophobia and lung disease before even entering. Of course, inside is no better than the rusted hole-filled exterior with every square inch dedicated to shelves and goods. All of which were, of course, low enough for the shopkeep to see at all times.

Whether it was Rick or a relative behind the counter was never actually determined, though he was friendly enough. He greeted them with a warm welcome and the process of haggling for necessities went over smoother than Hermann anticipated. Newton wandered about the shop behind him the entire time, anxiously prodding things and examining them. Hermann ignored him for the most part.

“Travelin’ South, eh?” Rick (or so Hermann assumes finally) asks while preparing his purchase. He's not one for small talk, but he indulges this time, if only to distract him from the nervous energy Newton is projecting in barrels behind him.

“Ah, no, we are not going North, as it were.” The man is surprised, pausing his busy hands to give them a disbelieving expression.

Rick looks them both up and down with a grunt before continuing to measure gauze. “Not goin’ West, are ya? Closest way through is Consult Pass along the Highway, or one of the raider camps. More costly than these pieces of shit.” He ends with a burly laugh, flicking the jar of needles on the edge of his rough wooden counter. Hermann eyes it, calculating their minimum barter and the burn in his back. “Premium dug out of an old hospital near the Siphon Pit. Doctor’s n’ stitcher’s go buckwild for ‘em when they come through.”

Hermann nods approvingly, internally cursing if the shopkeep is bragging about their cost. He needs one, and last time Newton tried to hew one turned out to be a failure, but Rick will jack up the price just for Hermann showing interest. “I would imagine so. No, we’re heading North, unfortunately. Meeting family and all.” The Shop keeper nods, and Newton makes a squawk as he nearly tips over a shelf behind Hermann. “Did you have a local physician?”

“Nah, not for ‘while. We got a man who circuits us and the local villages, but he’s shit and doesn’t come by all that often. Sometimes a doc passes through, trades favors for shit, but I ain’t had one for a while. Too busy headin’ on their way, I ‘suppose.”

“Why would that be?”

“Pickin’s better South and West than here. Florida’s got more fish and malaria than sheep shit and Sylvia’s been callin’ out for docs fer a while now, given the railroad plans. Then out past the Midwest and in Ole Sotta is Great Lake City, which is fuckin’ startin’ a college an’ shit. We got trade here and enough foreigners to keep us goin’, but fuck if we get a cold run through, we got nothin’ for that.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He's more sorry for himself than this ramshackle group that calls themselves a town, but Rick has no need to know that as he inspects the quality on the rounds Hermann had passed his way to pay for the purchase.

“S’all right. We get by.”

“You said something about Sylvia?”

“Yep, biggest city between here and Great Lake." Hermann wants to side-eye Newton for his general lack of information, and later when he asks about it, Newton will merely make up to excuse of 'you didn't ask, dude'. "Gotta a lot of people lookin’ for it, but once they see the prices on the dock up country, they turn tail to the South. Them sailors is runnin’ people dry with their boats. Couldn’t afford it even if I sold my damn store!” He barked out a laugh, tipping moonshine into Newton's dusty dry jar with a skilled ease.

“And what about the pass?” Hermann inquires, curious about the local opinion despite himself. Rick wrinkles his brow, nostrils flaring.

“You talkin’ ‘bout Consult Pass? No way in hell, Europe." Newton snickers behind him at the nickname. "Hybrida’s got that shit on lock down for longer than even I been pushed outta my momma’s cunt. One step in there, and they’ll rip you to pieces. Damn kaiju bastards been fuckin’ with trade that way. Scare’n off the good shit from Sylvia. No one gets through the pass, no one wants to take the boats, so they skip us outta principal.

“Think they own the place. Shoulda gone back with their nasty mommas when they scampered back into the breaches. Not natural to this place and they act like they been here since the beginning of time-“

“That’s not what they are!” Hermann freezes as does Rick, both turning to Newton where he’s standing with his fingers clenched into shaking fists and face purple with anger. Hermann's stomach drops out with a cold rush, some inkling in the back of his skull knowing exactly how this could go.

“Yeah?” The shopkeeper sneers, cracking his knuckles. “Then what are they if not the spawn of the Kaiju?”

“They aren’t even related to the Kaiju! They’re genetic modifications made to survive after the war, to continue the human race, which you would know if you weren't a hillbilly dipshit!” To his surprise and terror, Hermann see’s the freckles on Newton’s neck begin to alight dully with the neon blue of him emotional state. Hermann's shaking his head, miming for Newton to shut up for god's sake but the hybrid continues. “They’re just trying to make a living like everyone else on this fucked up planet-“

“That’s some mutt-lovin’ bullshit if I ever heard any, son.” The shopkeeper puts his hand under the counter, the unmistakable thunk of a gun against the wood freezing Hermann’s veins. “What are you, some kind of mutt-fuckin’ hippie?” Newton bares his teeth, pointing a violent finger Rick's way.

“You-“

“Newton!” Hermann interrupts, voice hitting a pitch he hadn’t heard in himself since age thirteen. He turns back to the Shopkeeper, a pacifying expression on his face. “Excuse him, he’s a biologist with too many ideas and a narcissistic need to be correct at all times.” He glares back at Newton who’s mouth is drawn in like he’d bitten into a lemon, pupils dilated to a terrifying degree. “There is no proof of what they are, and differing opinions must be upheld, right?”

Newton meets his glare for a tic before taking in a deep shuddering breath and nodding silently, murmuring an apology as the blue begins to fade from his neck. He fiddles with the straps on his pack, head bowed and the shopkeeper huffs in triumph.

“He best watch that mouth ‘round here if y’all are stayin’ long. Good folk don’t ‘ppreciate that kinda talk.” Hermann nods eagerly when Rick removes his hand from under the counter, hoping to speed up this disastrous meeting.

“No need to worry. We’re leaving very soon." He assures, and Ricks nods, going back to finishing up. There's a gracious few moments of tense silence, the seconds dragging out. Rick can't keep his trap shut for long, however, something he and Newton have in common.

“Been rumors of the railroad sendin’ out bounties for them." He smiles to himself sadistically that has sweat beading on the nape of Hermann's neck. "Their negotiations to build through the pass ain’t goin’ as planned, and it’s only a matter of time before they get fed up and start paying good folk to ‘take care of the problem’.” He grins to himself as he packs up the materials into Hermann’s bag, glancing over Hermann’s shoulder to Newton. “Once they do, gunna make some good money on ‘em. Bounty’s only part of it. Them armor they got’s worth a fortune-“

The creak of the door opening and the clang of it slamming shut takes them both by surprise. Hermann glances back, his heart dropping when he sees the empty place where Newton had been standing. Rick scratches his beard with a shrug when Hermann faces him again.

“Left in a hurry, didn't he?” He asks, and Hermann agrees, putting away his worry and righteous anger at the man’s smug expression as he searches the shelves around them for a distraction. He moves his hand a little closer to the jar of needles on the counter and pointing to just behind Rick.

“What is that, there, fourth shelf up?”

Newton is sitting outside the fence, head in his hands and shoulders shaking just so as Hermann approaches. He doesn’t look up when Hermann stops before him, nor when he gingerly sits down next to him. The sun is still high behind a wall of clouds that has been plaguing them for days now, and Hermann waits for a while, for Newton’s quiet panicked breathing to slow. Behind them, he can hear the boots of the guards and civilians beyond the fence, Newton flinching every time they pass.

“I’m still unsure as to why you want to steer clear of this place.” Hermann tells him, letting his head thump against the metal behind them. The fence is warm on his back, and he tenses whenever his wounds brush against it. “The locals are…charming, to say the least.”

“I- they’re always- fuck.” Newton hiccups, lifting his head to wipe at his eyes from under his glasses. Hermann nods, hesitating before placing a hand on his shoulder lightly. “They fucking wonder why the consult flips shit on them, like it isn’t fucking obvious, uh.” He wipes his nose on the back of his shirt sleeve, sniffling. “Man, this is why I left West Europe. ‘S fucking bullshit.”

“I can see that.” A woman herding two rams passes by, not giving them a second glance. She tugs them along on thin ropes, the animals bleating and struggling, eyes wide and filled with terror. She curses them, tugs them harder, and they disappear into the town, the guards laughing hollowly when they greet her. It normal and familiar, yet the sight is distance here next to Newton.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers finally, staring into the distance hollowly with his chin resting on his knees.

“For what?”

“For this whole thing, dragging you along, getting you caught up in my bullshit-“

“If it weren’t for you,” Hermann starts, worrying his bottom lip for a moment to think of the words. “I would have been dead in Carolina, dragged halfway across the county to some cave, and then swapped between a group of bulgies.” Newton snorts despite himself. “I’d say that you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yeah, but now there’s the mercenaries, and the fucking consult, and I didn’t think I’d fuck up this bad, like, no wonder you fucking hate m-“ Hermann grabs him, palms on both his cheeks and forcing the man to stop and look at him. It’s too cool out, the sun hidden by thick persistent clouds and Newton’s irises are vibrant ringed by the bloodshot pink around them.

“Newton, please. Stop it.” He pleads with a little shake. Newton stares at him, surprised and dazed, eyes darting to the hands gripping his scruffy flushed cheeks.“I have been by your side for nearly a month now. We’ve slept but feet each other every night. I’ve had to listen to your constant rambling each day, and you snoring every night. Never once have I had the delusion that you were anything other than an anxious idiotic mess of a man.”

Hand come up to grip his wrists, Newton shaking his head. “No, but-“

“Listen.” He hushes Newton, pulling him just a little closer. His head is spinning and he feels like he can't get enough air into his lungs. “You should know by now that…than I’m rather, er, well, rather-“ Whatever Hermann was never had the chance to be mumbled awkwardly into Newton’s awaiting puffy-eyed face, for a gruff clang of metal on metal disrupted them. Near the gates was Rick, shotgun in hand, brandishing it at the guards. Hermann let go of him with a guilty snatch of his hands.

“The two foreigners," Rick started, red in the face, "the one with tattoos and the other one with the cane. Where’d the fuckers go? Gimpy snatched shit from my damn shop!” Newton whipped back to Hermann, eyes going from self-deprecating depression to wide stunned amazement.

“You did what?” He squeals, high-pitched and excited. Hermann grinned sheepishly, shoving a hand into his pocket and pulling out the small vial, jingling the needles in front of Newton’s face with a wink.

“To be fair, he was being rather cruel.” Hermann says as Newton helps him off the ground, hands dusty and calloused but strong and gentle. They set off silently round the side of the town, skirting the edges and evading the guards with an adrenaline rush that leaves his heart pounding for hours after.

Later, when they’ve put some good distance between them and Ethlem, Newton thumps him on the back, calling him a ‘real deviant’ and a ‘surprise badass, Herms’ with a toothy grin that Hermann fights to return, even as he shoves Newton off. The hybrid cackles, shoving him back with his shoulder and Hermann snaps at him, lighter than air and brandishing his cane, ‘I’ll hit you, you maniac, I really will!’ with Newton dancing out of the way.

Chapter Text

Chapter IIIV, page 115:  With the extinction of many old world commodities, several once common utilities have now garnered an excessive worth. Because of this, scavenging has become the new Gold Rush, as it were, with various people spending years trying to find such items that will bring them riches. The possibility of this happening is quite low, however, with a little knowledge of Pre-War times, one can make a somewhat comfortable living if they do mind constant travel and the dangers of entering predator territory and even irradiated zones. 

Hybrid scouts have been known to excel at this with their lifestyle, plating, enhanced senses, and high tolerance for radiation.  - New Earth and How to Live in It (author unknown)

Hermann awakens to the distant warbling that had been following them for a while now. The fire has burnt to embers, casting a minimal glow upon their camp and across from him lay Newton. The hybrid is stretched out in an awkward position with his tail bent and arms flayed out. Every now and then, he twitches and snores in his sleep, but does not open his eyes.

Beyond Newton and into the grassy knolls on the dark night comes another warble, deep and spine-chilling in its inhuman noise. Hermann has his hand on the pistol, scanning the land but coming up short with his minimal ocular abilities.

He could wake up the man sleeping perpendicular to him, ask if he sees anything beyond the embers that has followed them for so long, but Hermann knows this will be useless. He’s done it before. Each time, Newton has scoffed, said ‘yep, shit’s out there’, made sure Hermann had the pistol and the few bullets they had remaining, and promptly went back to sleep. Then he would proceed to complain loudly and obnoxiously about being awoken for many hours into the next day.

Instead of repeating history, Hermann lays back down as the horizon blooms into a pale purple-orange outline between the mounds of the hills and mountains, lulled by another cry from their stalking companions and the sniffling snores of Newton.

 (When he comes to again, the sun is bright in the sky, Newton is chipper in his morning rendition of hair rock music circa 1980, and there’s a familiar stickiness to the front of his trousers from a hazed heated dream he can barely remember.)

Hermann was not one to enjoy the aesthetic pleasures of old decayed neighborhoods, this much was sure. They were empty, unnaturally quiet, and the things that took up residence in the broken homes were frightening as they were hidden. Newton, on the other hand, found it endlessly fascinating, and practically dragged Hermann into what he called ‘some rich fucker’s place, like this had to be at least three stories, dude. Jesus, who had this kind of money back then?’.

Newton’s assumption must’ve been somewhat correct, as the structural integrity of the place held surprisingly well in the 300 years of abandonment. The windows were shattered and long gone and there was plenty of wear, tear, and holes to be sure, but the door was still boarded up and standing along with the walls containing a few pieces of dusted grey siding. Weeds had erupted along what must’ve been the driveway, grass and dirt long covering it though there was an unnatural stiffness under their feet.

A rusted out vehicle sat near the front door, no more than a mass of useless scrap overgrown and hauntingly guarding the home. Newton vibrated at Hermann’s side, scrambling into one of the hollow windows into the home, more than happy to help Hermann climb along inside. The interior was dank and musty, the floor having caved-in at several places, along with the ceiling, and they walked through with caution, Newton leading the way and sniffing at the air for anything valuable hidden.

“No one scavenges this close to Pass,” He babbles as he pokes through a tipped over cabinet, pulling out intact utensils and dishware with a bloodhoundish accuracy. “All the sapiens think that the consult hangs out around here, and the consult doesn’t need any shit really, so they stay up in their territory. Makes the best place to get shit, you know.”

Hermann grunts in response, bending low over a bookshelf riddled with a mold, prodding what had been books a long time ago. The home was rather off the path, hidden in a copse of massive firs and oaks and shrubs. The only reason they had found it was Newton’s inability to stay on a straight road combined with his less than optimal attention span. He claimed to have seen it through the trees, but Hermann had a sneaking suspicion it was an excuse to follow a squirrel with an oddly colored coat they had just happened to be going the same way as.

It was amazing they had made it as far as they did in these short weeks.

He follows Newton through the first room, into the stairwell, where they both stop and ponder the actual possibility of climbing the rickety, creaking stairs.

“You’re lighter than me.” Newton says finally, and Hermann gives him a scathing expression.

“Excuse me?”

 “What? It’s true, dude.” He nudges Hermann with his tail, lopsidedly smiling and sitting back on his haunches. “Come on. I’ll catch if you fall.” They stare at each other, dust motes passing between them and Hermann breaks away to stare tentatively back up the stairwell. Seventeen steps, only fourteen of which were intact, and Newton wanted him to climb up them.

 “I don’t-“

“There might be cool shit up there! It’ll be fine, I swear.”

Hermann steels himself, placing a single foot on the bottom stair, stopping momentarily to tell Newton if he dies, he’s killing him, before gingerly continuing upwards. Despite several moments of pure imagined terror and his own heart stopping with every slightest creak and give in the old wood, he makes it to the top without incident.

Ignoring when Newton decided to shake the banister with a sly grin and a shrug of ‘not me, man’ when Hermann glares at him for it, of course.

The top floor was nothing to look at, with multiple areas caved in to the first floor, small rodents and massive insects scampering hitherto while the choking breeze passed in from the glassless windows. The walls were barely erect, the hinges of the doors to the few rooms long since rusted with their charges hanging on by just the tiniest scrap of cheap metal. It gave doorways a yawning eerie effect and Hermann shivers despite himself as he carefully tiptoes through the dirty mossy hall.

 Below, he can hear Newton calling up to him, asking him if he was okay and if there was anything worth swiping in the immediate vicinity.

“What exactly should I look for?” Hermann calls back, peering into what may have been a bedroom. There’s a sagging broken frame with a lumpy mass that could’ve housed a mattress or been one at some point. He was never one for studying popular décor of the pre-war era, so he can hardly identify the archaic items and furniture scattered about and ruined by nature and time.

There’s the scampering of a heavy body among debris before Newton answers back, “Safes! Metal cases! Cabinets! Uh… intact books? Glass cases?” Hermann rolls his eyes at the distinct grating of Newton scratching behind his forehead protrusions, just picturing the ridiculous thoughtful expression on his face. “What else? I dunno, anything intact, dude!”

Hermann murmurs in response, shifting some dust with his cane and Newton says he’s going to try and find a way up. To his eye, there isn’t much to look at other than the proof of a different life once lived. He’s no archeologist or sociologist, and for God’s sake, he has only the basest interest in daily life of dead strangers.

Somewhere in the distance is the scramble and eventual frustrated cursing of Newton, and Hermann continues to steadily cover the second floor. He shifts things with his cane, noting where possibly valuably objects could be for Newton to scrounge for. His knee was aching something awful, and he wasn’t going to be doing any bending over to pick through garbage if he could help it. Newton held promises of actual beds and inns when they crossed the mountain.

If they made it, of course.

Grumbling to himself as he continues to fruitlessly look around, Hermann is ready to traverse back down the stairs, his limited interest in searching already running dry. Before resigning himself to going to the stair well, he glances into the last room in the hallway, roaming over the dilapidated bookshelves, the mess of what was once a metal desk, its legs too rusted to hold itself up, and thick ever-present dust. He steps in just so he can stretch the truth about checking each room to Newton, who will whine about it otherwise, before something catched his eye.

Under the moldy remnants of books long eaten away is a black case of sorts. Despite the groaning in his knee and back, Hermann bends down, scraping aside the junk covering it. He picks it up, genuinely surprised by its weight despite its briefcase like appearance. Convinced whatever is inside will keep Newton happy for some time, he steps over to the fallen desk, seating himself gingerly on the sturdious part.

It creaks under his weight, but stays strong, so Hermann takes his time studying the case. Its lock is closed, sealed tight and no key in sight. With the case in good enough condition meaning he can't merely pull it open, Hermann rummages in his pack for anything sturdy enough to pry it open. Tens minutes and two screwdrivers later, the lock breaks open with a pneumatic hiss, emitting a dull sterile cloud that has him coughing weakly at the taste. 

“Oh my God-“ Hermann starts, immediately cutting himself off in shock as he stares at the case in his hands. Shining despite three centuries of disuse, the brand still intact on the cover with the silver finish bearing only a few scratches, was a laptop. An intact laptop. A laptop that had, for some blessed inexplicable reason been preserved in this vacuum casing in this lonely gargantuan home, waiting for someone to stumble upon it.

His hands trembling as he carefully folds himself down onto the floor with his legs crossed, Hermann sits and stares, blinking back disbelief and the flood of awe. His mind is racing as he touches a finger to the cool smooth surface, nearly crying as he finds it tangible and not some hallucination brought on by dehydration.

“What’d you find?” Newton’s silent approach would’ve been more surprising if Hermann had cared beyond the computer in his hands. He doesn’t even look at the hybrid till he feels the warm puff of breath on his ear as Newton peers over his shoulder. “Is that-?”

Hermann is quick to pull the object out of reach as Newton’s claws swipe for it. He turns to glare, expecting a snarling immature response, but Newton surprises him with a gesture of surrender.

 “Sorry, dude. Your find. Not mine.” Hermann huffs, but relaxes, going back to gently lifting the laptop from the casing. Newton settles behind him, watching over his shoulder with a gleeful whistle. “That’s fucking awesome.”

 Hermann places the case down, balancing the computer on his lap, and carefully opening the bisected object. “I’ve never- I had one, broken beyond repair. This is the first I’ve seen not ruined.” He had to sell the old for the tickets overseas. It was hard parting with his little five year-and-running project of trying to fix the computer, but between success and leaving a war zone, he really only had one choice.

Many of the keys were faded, the screen had a few scratches and imperfections, but overall, the laptop was completely intact. With reverence, he touches the keys, the plastic pleasing under his fingers and the letters inviting him. With bated breath, and Newton’s nudging, Hermann slides his hand up and presses the power button, waiting as he holds it down for a few seconds with bated breath.

Nothing, of course, happens.

“Ah, fuck dude.” Newton sighs as Hermann releases the lungful he’d been holding for quite a while now. It was hard not to be disappointed by the still dead screen, and he halfheartedly presses the power a few more times before giving up. “Well, maybe there’s a charger or some shit-?”

Hermann nods, bending over to shift though the casing, but there’s nothing there. Determined, he continues shifting the inside, hoping for some hidden pocket or sleeve, anything that could contain his answer-

Hermann pauses. There’s a rhythmic thump on his calf, and Hermann looks down, taken aback. The flexible end of Newton’s tail is wrapped lightly round his knee and calf, gentle and warm, just the barest of pressures. Hermann stares at it for a moment while Newton chatters about generators and connections, barely listening. From where he sits, the plating on the pale underside appears smooth, inviting. He wonders if it would be as pleasing to the touch as it looks.

“Newton,” He says finally, too quiet, all too aware of his heart picking up a steady pace. “Could you move your tail?”

There’s the rustle of plating, and a tiny surprised trill, the tail siding from his leg in one swift motion that leaves the skin under his trousers tingling. “Uh, sorry. I didn’t-wasn’t-“

“It’s alright." Hermann quickly interrupts, cursing the blood rushing to his cheeks. "Just too hot.” Thankfully, Newton has moved away, shuffling through the debris behind them, and doesn’t comment. When Hermann sneaks a glance over his shoulder, he sees the dull blue glow on the hybrid’s neck.

What it means eludes him, but the moment plagues him, an insect of a memory that clouds his thoughts in the most unguarded of moments.

Thirty minutes later, they’re downstairs again. Hermann is perched on the remainders of a kitchen counter, the laptop on his lap once again and Newton digging around in a collapsed section of the floor. His top half is descended into the jagged hole, back legs digging into the rotten wood floor and tail trembling to keep his weight placed behind him. They’ve been like this for some time now, Hermann having given up on yelling at him, and merely satisfied with watching the doomed endeavor.

“Fuck, it’s just out of reach!” Newton snarls for the fifth time in so many minutes, grunting and making small squealing noises while he strains for whatever it is he ‘smelled’ before diving headfirst into the hole. “Come on!”

“You’re so close, I’m actually impressed.” Hermann comments dryly, rummaging in his pack for any tool small enough to undo the screws at the bottom on the laptop. There isn't any, as the design of the parts is made too queerly to accept any of his instruments. 

Newton draws his attention once more, pouting over his shoulder with big green eyes. “You could help me, you know? Instead of," He tries to push himself up, but fails, flopping back into the crevice. "Uh, just sitting there like an asshole!”

“Oh, can’t unfortunately. I would love to help you scavenge, but it’s my shoulders you see. Acting up.”

“God, you’re a dick.” Newton grumbles, reaching just a little bit furth in, his tail beginning to tremble and flick from the effort. To say Hermann wasn’t watching this display with some modicum of interest would be a complete lie. “Your mom must be so disappointed that her, huh, son is like the biggest asshole.”

“My mother has been dead for a long time.” Hermann tells him dryly. Long enough that the hurt of said words no longer stings, making only a dull ache in his heart. Newton whips his head around again, eyes wide.

“Oh my God, dude. I’m so sorry. I didn’t- Fuck, I was just-“ Hermann is about to tell him its fine and not to worry, it’s been far too long for ill-thought quips to bring him despair, but the loud moaning and cracking of old wood stops them both. There’s a split second of realization on both their faces before the floor gives way and Newton is pitched forward into the basement with a crash.

Hermann is out of his seat before he knows it, yelling for Newton as he stares into the pitch black of the basement. With his eyes, he cannot see far beyond the puff of dust and debris Newton has inadvertently thrown into the air, and only the worst of circumstances come to mind when he hears the eventual groan of pain.

“Good God, are you okay?” He near shrieks, frantically searching the darkness. It takes Newton a moment to gather himself, answering back with a croaky ‘yeah’ and ‘just jammed my back plates into my spine is all’, but he seems well okay. With a frustrated sigh, Hermann taps his cane on the ground, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Could we honestly go a single day without falling into something on this journey?”

Newton snickers from below, scuffling about. “Heh, maybe. It’s like, our thing though, you know?”

“I’d rather it wasn’t.”

“Yeah, well, bad news, Herms, we can’t all-“ A muted gasp and trill of excitement, and before Hermann can inquire to it, a bottle is being launched into the air at his face.

Amazingly he catches it, but just barely, the sealed dusty glass being just clung to by the tips of his fingers. He readjusts his grip, staring at the faded label, though being unable to discern what it may have once said. Inside is an amber liquid, clear and sloshing as he turns the bottle over and over, vaguely surprised by Newton’s find.

The hybrid clambers out of the basement, another bottle clamped in his jaws, pulling himself up carefully. Once on stable ground, he takes the glass from his mouth, ruefully grinning. “Holy shit, man.”

“A little warning next time would be greatly appreciated, hm?” Hermann tosses the bottle back to him, which Newton grabs with a hiss.

“Dude, careful! This shits pre-Kaiju! It’s worth a fortune!”

“What even is ‘it’?”

“I dunno. Smells like alcohol. Or at least the hole I found it in did.” Newt turns one of the bottles over and over in his claws, having stuffed the other in his pack. “Seriously, if it is, you could probably buy a house off some lush with it.”

Hermann once again barely catches the bottle when its tossed back to him with a squawk of surprise. “Why-“

“Dude, just keep it.” He says with a sniff, already prancing away with his tail high. “What the hell am I gunna do with two houses anyways?” Hermann opens his mouth to retort with such a ridiculous claim, but he stops himself, words frozen in his throat. He blinks down at the amber liquid sloshing about, his back and chest warming as the realization of what Newton has handed him without a second thought dawns on him.

He glances up to where the hybrid is scrambling out of the window, nearly falling flat on his face as he does so. There’s something wrong with Hermann’s lungs as Newton pops back into the window, like he can’t get any air into them no matter how hard he tries.

“You gunna stand there all day or are we moving this gravy train?” Hermann scoffs, shaking as he stuffs away the computer and alcohol before hurriedly hobbling along after Newton.

The outside is still grey and dull, though with a pack heavier with promise of a future, he has less to worry about than before.

“Newton! Get away from there this instant!” They should’ve been on their way, fast track out of the area, Newton’s ability to become completely distracted was not one to be forgotten. He had heard some strange twittering noises, and upon observation, found a small den full of God only knew what.

“Dude, what are you, my mother?” Newton grumbles, tiptoeing closer to the nest. He stops a few feet away, sitting back on his haunches to crane his neck to peer in beyond the twisted branches and rocks. Hermann wanted to yell more, to go over there and drag him away before something stupidly awful happened, but Newton coos and tells him something about ‘babies’ and ‘look at their little heads!’.

A low mewl above Newton’s continued sighing, followed by a harsher rumbling noise that Hermann twists his neck to find the source of. “Newton-“ He starts again, just as the rumbling ups a few decibels, but whether Newton hears him or is just too distracted by whatever creatures lays in the nest remains a mystery.

From the decrepit buildings around them comes a scream and a rampaging monstrosity, storming into the open and straight for Newton. Hermann yells, freezing in place as the creature runs past him, knocking him to the ground with a shove of its forelimb. He hits the grounds hard, just barely saving his head from smacking into the grass with a groan. The shock of pain flaring into his side and back stuns him momentarily, unable to do anything but little to the warbling scream and scuffle behind him.

Hermann gasps and struggles to his elbows in time to see Newton scampering away from the beast, cursing and hissing as the thing catches up on his loping form. Hermann can see it truly now as it knocks into Newton with long sickle-like forearms, tossing him to the ground on his side. Its oblong jaws snaps and screeches, rocking back on powerful legs and raising its sickles into the air with a great scream.

The noise that leaves Hermann’s mouth is incomprehensible above the beast's own calls as it slams its arms down, aiming for Newton’s ribs and abdomen, but missing as the hybrid jerks out of the way in time for them to sink into the ground on either side of him. With its sickles stuck in place and its mouth and chest much closer to its target, the creature begins snapping at Newton’s neck, stopped only by Newton grabbing onto its muzzle and holding it off tight.

The beast thrashes, muffled yelling through Newton’s claws, revealing from behind its primary arms a second smaller set, complete with three sharp looking fingers and a thumb which proceed to scrape and Newton’s chest. Newton howls, trying to get his legs and tail to remove the creature from his chest, but their awkward position leaves them both at an impasse.

“Hermann! Hermann, could use a little he-ehlp!” Hermann snaps out of his frozen observing with a violent twitch.

“What do I do?” He asks, tone harsh as Newton yelps again. The creature wrestles one of its sickles free, along with its muzzle. Newton is bleeding profusely from the chest, eyes widening and struggling his opponent presses him into the ground with its secondary arms.

“Hermann!” He yells as the beast raises its arm above its head. “Hermann do something!”

The shot that rings out through the town surprises all three of them. The beast freezes, sickle mid-slam before Hermann pulls the trigger again, missing horribly. The creature squeals either way, forgetting Newton as it scrambles over his prone form and toward the nest. They both watch as it grabs its black little children with its secondary claws and scampers away, vanishing among the shells of the town.

After a moment of stunned silence, Hermann gets to his feet, wandering over to where Newton is sitting miserably, He licks his nostrils with a frown, wincing as he prods his torn bloody chest. “That sucked.”

“Better than being dead, I imagine.” Hermann muses, offering his hand and pulling Newton to his haunches when he takes it.

 “What help were you, dude? What happened to Supershot 3000?”

“I told you before; it was a fluke of circumstance.” Hermann snaps, examining Newton’s wounds as best he can from the angle. They’re shallow, hardly scraped through the scales. Still, Newton sniffles and wipes his cheek. “Do not equate me to some sort of savant due to one single happenstance.”

Newton hisses in a juvenile manner, sticking the tip of his tongue out. “Whatever. You probably just wanted to see me get mauled or something.” Hermann rolls his eyes, prodding Newton’s limp tail with his cane. It bats at him weakly.

“I wished no such thing.” Newton shrugs, sways and appears ready to topple over at any moment. “Are you alright?”

Newton pouts, as well as he can with his hybrid jaws. “My chest hurts.” He reveals, and Hermann refrains from thanking him for pointing out the obvious. “And now its gunna shed, which means its gunna itch like crazy for weeks.”

Hermann cannot summon up any joy at that fact.

Newton finally belies that the monstrosity was a sickled warbler, which apparently roam the area. When Hermann asks why it took them getting attacked by one for Newton to relate this information, he merely shrugs, saying 'they're omnivores and don't come up to travelers dude. I didn't think is was, you know, important or anything'. He also mentions that they're the reason they hadn't seen any bulgies in days, and Hermann wonders out loud if Newton is actually 'out of his bloody mind'. 

They spend the next hour resting, and cleaning Newton’s wounds, which a difficult and aggravating progress due to Newton’s general lack of a pain tolerance and his inability to sit still. After its done, and Hermann thankfully suffers no more lacerations at the mercy of the hybrid’s claws, Newton exclaims that they now ‘match’ with the patchy gauze work and Hermann has to insist that no, they do not and ‘stop trying to garner sympathy, you manipulative hybrid’ with less venom and more affection than he previously had wanted to convey.

“Man, I want ice cream.” Newton exclaims with no prior lead in a few moments after they set off again. Staying near the town with the angry warbler mother was simply not an option, so with the last few ray of sunlight, they had decided to find a safer place to sleep. “I haven’t had that shit in forever.”

“I don’t believe I ever had it.” Hermann admits, subjecting himself to Newton's lopsided disbelief. 

“Really? It’s awesome. Gotta go to the right places though. Like, there’s this one shop in, uh, Great lake City? They actually rebuilt an old shop and restored the machines like fucking human dessert ingenuity, you know?”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Nah, we should go there. It’s seriously the best.” Hermann stops walking, air catching in his chest like a rock knocking against his lungs. Newton doesn’t notice, padding on ahead slowly, emoting and rambling while Hermann reconciles the twisting void in his gut. “You’d love it. Retro and shit. Owner’s super nice too. She gave me like a barrel of free ice cream when I lived up there. She might adopt you or some-“

Newton didn’t realize, continuing on his way while Hermann stayed frozen behind, something warring in him without him knowing what name to put to it. It was the familiarity and assuredness that Newton had said the idea that caught him, not in offense or irritation, but in a confusing turmoil of knowing it wouldn’t happen and wanting it to.

Would it be so bad, though? Joining this strange little man-hybrid father than he had intended, off to a different location for nothing more than a cold dessert? He was alone, had nowhere to be really, and honestly, despite his peculiarities, Newton was the best company he had in a while, and was definitely one of the only ones who would point out his mistakes without hesitation.

“Hey, what’s up?” Newton has now stopped too, held tilted to the side and sitting on his haunches with a curious expression. He’s almost dwarfed by the bandaging on his chest, making a ridiculous picture. Hermann has the strange idea of walking to him, running a hand through his tuft of hair fondly and assuring him it’s all fine.

And that frightened him more than the prospect of what lay ahead beyond the mountain pass.

“I’m not going with you past Sylvia.” He says before he has a chance to stop himself. It burns his tongue to like he had licked a hot ember. He needs to though, before Newton gets the wrong idea, before they get-

Too comfortable.

Newton’s expression falls and Hermann can see the betrayal and shame in it. “Oh, uh,” He starts, shoulders drooping and not looking at Hermann. Something seizes in him at that, his mouth stuttering out in response.

“Newton, I just-“ There’s many thing he could say. It’s for the best. Don’t give me that look. This was inevitable from the start. What did you think we would do, run about together forever? Please, stop looking at me like that. I’m sorry.

Newton shakes his head, not wanting to hear it. “No, its fine.” The space between them is infinite and cold, and Hermann wishes it wasn’t. “I shouldn’t’ve, uh, you know, assumed anything-“ He’s babbling, voice cracking, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand whether in humiliation or what, Hermann knows not.

“Newton-“ He tries again, stepping forward and hand raising to do he knows not. 

“Let’s just keep going, yeah?” Newton asks with a nod, fiddling with his GEM-D. He catches Hermann’s stare, pleading him silently to let it go. To forget.

“Very well.” Hermann decides, placing one foot in front of the other until he’s surpassed Newton, not stopping till the sun is well gone for the night and the warbling is but a memory. The conversation is muted again that night, and even Hermann’s self-righteous belief that whatever hurt Newton feels is unfounded, there’s still pervasive pang that keeps him from sleeping the rest of the evening.

Chapter Text

Chapter I, page 25:  Consultations are known for their close knit community and teamwork at guarding large expanses of land in a cohesive manner. Headed by the eldest member who is known as the matriarch, they live a very similar life to sapiens, often having a small village in the center of their territory with massive pens of cattle and acres of crops scattered about close by. Sapien friendly consultations with allow sapiens to pass with a sufficient trade to use their roads, and will even allow settlements in their territory and will work to protect these from raiders and slavers.  -  New Earth and How to Live in It (author unknown)

On an old time-washed interstate sign, written in bent scrap metal were the words “Consult Pass”, underneath of which stated “trespassers will be punished according to consult law”. Kind enough, yet to the right and left of this large ominous, pretentious warning were what appeared to be two sapien skulls stuck fast to iron rods. The message was clear, loud, and mildly irritating on a contextual level, and Newton still had the gall to make a quip when they stopped in front of it.

“I wonder if they don’t want us here.” He snarks, grinning stupidly to himself. Hermann took no responsibility for the large bruise that appeared on Newton’s ankle as it was a mere accident that his cane swung rather hard into the hybrid’s leg immediately following his sassy comment.

Newton’s warnings of proper conduct and precautions had been vague and worrying at best as they tread carefully along the cracked grassy interstate, healthy green trees surrounding them for the first time since Hermann had arrived. No loud noises. Wash at every chance possible. No fires. No cooking. No smells in general. If you see any goats, cows, cattles, even fucking dogs, especially dogs, like, holy shit, avoid them at all costs.

“They’re always have someone checking the herds so if we don’t hit the herds, we don’t play meet and greet with an angry lady.” Newton explained at Hermann’s questioning expression, tapping at his GEM-D. It was the last night Hermann would see him as a sapien for a while, and with this thought in mind, Hermann had let himself sneak more observing glances than usual during their final night outside of Consult Territory.

Such a strange feeling, sitting there with alone before the nerve-wracking gamble they were about to embark on. His insides were clenching and unclenching with an awful amount of force, and Hermann found himself staring for long moments into the line of forest that denoted the territory line. He strained to hear anything strange, but the world was quiet of unnatural sounds. If he squinted, he could make out a line of smoke far in the distance.

“What happens if they should find us?” Hermann asked finally, glancing back at Newton. He’s taken aback when he realizes the man has been watching him stare into the tree line quietly. Before he can react, Newton goes back to the softly glowing device on his wrist. He wonders if its his imagination he can see the softly illuminated freckles on Newton's neck and cheeks bloom, or if they really are there behind the artificial light.

“Pray to God, I guess.” He grins at Hermann quickly, eyes twinkling with his own internal laughter. “I mean, they shouldn’t. I don’t think. It’s a big place, you know? Not like they’re stompin’ through every part, right?”

Hermann rolls his eyes and tells him that his confidence couldn’t be more reassuring and Newton opens his mouth to retort, thinks better of it, and merely shrugs. Hermann scowls to himself at this and goes back to staring hard at their destination.

Consult Pass in a dense forested area, the heavy foliage broken only by the small brooks, ponds, and the interstate which passes through. Even that, however, has long since been reclaimed. The tools of ambitious humanity torn apart and lovingly consolidated by roots and weeds and moss. Its lush and thriving compared to the land outside of it, a wonder to behold yet Hermann finds it even more ominous. 

Even the Dead Zone was more welcoming; there he could see clearly for miles at a time. Here, the shadows are thick even in the high noon, visibility is guess work, and there's no avoiding blind spots and coverage for anything stalking them.

They stop often, not for Hermann's knee or for any weariness, but so Newton can scamper ahead, sniffling about and staring between the trees for any sign of movement. Each time, thankfully, there is nothing more than rabbits and squirrels and birds and large spiny insects crawling about. It’s nerve-wracking at best, standing by, still as the vehicles covered in overgrowth by the bushy road they follow, breath held in case their unknowing hosts stumble past them.

There's little signs of life Newton is happy to point out; a claw mark here, a fence there, even a whole damn temporary shack set up just meters from them that they skirt quickly, quietly. He says they use the ramshackle buildings for passing scouts if it starts raining or snowing, his face oddly despondent as he relates this, eyeing the hastily put together logs as they pass. Hermann doesn't inquire further, but he does ponder it in their silent moments. Of which they have many of during their careful trek.

They pause at every body of water they can find so Hermann can rinse off any sweat and scent while Newton sits by, back to him and up on his haunches. It’s this particular necessity that makes the trip even worse. He's constantly damp, cold, and his shoulders have begum to itch as the scab heal and the new skin grows, but he never complains. Newton makes snickering puns at his expense, and even though he scowls and sniffs in irritation, it makes Hermann smile to himself, and keeps his mind off the drenched feeling in his arms and neck and the constant sensation of eyes watching them.

He's know it’s his mind over-reacting to a possible danger, but he cannot shake it. He flinches at every distance bark, the bleating of cattle, the calling of birds. Newton is no help either, just driving him on with his nostrils to the air and tail flickering tensely. They walk so far apart now, hardly touching in any way, and the frightened man in Hermann pleads for some kind of comfort at every moment of panic. 

Not that he'd ever ask. Not for a simple touch, not for a kind word, not for even a look of shared sympathetic nervousness between the two of them. He'd drawn the line, painted it even, of the boundary for the remainder of the trip. Newton was adhering well, and no matter the niggling hatred of what he'd asked for stuck in the back of his mind, Hermann wouldn't be the one to cross that line.

Even if it meant spending this portion of the endeavor all but alone despite Newton being right here beside him.

The first night, well after the sun sets and the forest alights with the nocturnal life awakening, they find a small hovel near a clearing to rest. Hermann gets the pleasure of sleeping in the dirty indent in the tree roots, which he can only argue a small amount, mostly because Newton hasn't been debating him on anything as of late.

"It’s either that, or you can sit guard out here, risk getting spotted by the consult and dragged away while I hide out in the hole cause, man, I know you’re like so damn good at negotiating your way out of stuff with hybrids."

"I've never had the opportunity to try, though it seems to work remarkably well on you." Newton hisses, and waves him off, making his nightly nest without another word.

The sky is clear that night, Hermann can see as he sets up his meager bedroll, already thinking ahead to proper beds and rooms not on the road and in habitable buildings. The moon is nearly full, just one lopsided curve having yet filled out, its massive presence providing enough light for Hermann to squint through the darkness at where Newton was settling himself in just a few feet away. He watches, not saying a word, the same way Hermann has been watching Newton for a few days now.

After the warbler incident, their conversations have been jilted, lacking the usual fiery antagonistic passion that not even Hermann can deny they contain. They say words and sentences but there's nothing behind it. Hermann tries to bring back old arguments, but Newton changes the subject. He brings up cats or Kaiju or genetic cloning of the blue agave cactus and grapes or finding even the possibility of finding the ark of seeds in the Arctic. Newton doesn't take the bait, he merely grunts, or mentions something else, or even just continues on in silence.

Newton's withdrawn in a way Hermann can't point out. He still smiles and makes jabs and jokes and prances about, but any time Hermann feels they get close to something comfortable, when conversations grow in volume, or their eyes catch, or they touch in some brief way, he quiets and turns away. Sometimes the pinpoints of blue light appear on his neck, and sometimes he'll stop talking for an hour or more.

Hermann keeps a stiff upper lip about it, externally keep his face placid to the situation, refusing to acknowledge it deeply at his core even as it scratches relentlessly at him. It’s not his problem if Newton wants to sulk, or if he wants to act like a child about Hermann’s setting of boundaries. He will not be swayed by this new distance. He has a life to start after all, a life which he hasn’t planned or put much thought into as of late.

This he blames on Newton and the trip and the mishaps along the way. All of it is a distraction, a wall in-between him and achieving something for all of humanity, of making a change in a way his father said he never could and that his mother always dreamed of doing before she became too ill to try. In his mind, if Hermann were to continue travel with Newton, with this unlikely boisterous companion, he would get nothing done. He would spend his time doing God knew what, going God knew where, in possible danger because of God knew who, all because of this idiotic, narcissistic, Kaiju-covered, possibly insane, giving, brilliant-

Hermann grunts and rolls over, grunts again when his knee twinges at the sudden shift in position, and ends up on his back again. Getting sleep out here is impossible, he surmises, chastising himself for the incessant nattering in his skull over what was soon to be the end of an interesting trip. In less than a week, he will be on an actual mattress, in an actual room, and he won’t be thinking about any of this any longer in favor for something more practical, like the laptop in his pack, or the stubborn equations in his notebook.

A few meters away, Newton queries if he’s okay in a hushed whisper. Hermann tells him ‘yes, fine, thank you,’, trying to relax once more. He allows himself the quiet admission that yes, he will sorely miss someone, Newton, looking out for his well-being. He will be woeful to see him leave. He will possibly spend a very long time looking for someone to fill that role back up as, given his general anti-social, work driven demeanor, finding someone to fit will be a time-consuming, long-winded goal.

Hermann tells himself he’s fine with that. He closes his eyes and finds that rest is evasive for the remainder of the night. This he blames on the host of aches in his muscles and the empty feeling in his stomach from a small useless dinner.

“I’ll only be gone for like five minutes. Tops.” Newton had said, gesturing wildly the path he planned to take.

 “Just gotta go a little farther than usual.” He assured, leaving his pack with Hermann by a large green fir.

 “Just scouting, dude.” He had insisted, even as Hermann protested greatly.

Of course, at the time, Hermann had forgotten to figure in Newton’s version of ‘five minutes’ in comparison to a normal sentient being’s idea of five minutes, and one hour later, he’s still sitting on the hard ground, his knee and hips complaining from the awkward position. His notebook is perched on his knee as it had been for a while, thought he hasn’t written anything in just as long.

A low thrum of anxiety and the need to constantly scan the treeline for Newton keeps his pencil from hitting the paper in a significant manner. Every breeze, every twitter, every hushed crunch of a leaf falling from a branch draws his attention in hopes that it will be his guide and they can continue on. Alas, there has been no such luck, and Hermann is caught both extremely annoyed and pathetically frightened that Newton had gotten caught and left him here to fend for himself.

Hermann retaliates to this fear with a never-ending cycle of phrases of other possibilities. He got lost because of another squirrel. He misjudged his own re-arrival time (again). He had to wait for a consult member to pass on their route. He found something useful such as food or medicine or barter and took the time to dig it up. He got lost because of two squirrels oh my God Hermann it’s a whole new genetic development can you imagine?

Despite internally imitating the high pitched excitable man in his own head in a worryingly accurate way, the possibilities do nothing to alleviate Hermann’s overall impatient nervous disposition. Though every fiber of his being wants to run off after Newton, find him hopefully alive and well, and scold the ever-living hell out of the irresponsible distractible man, Hermann wisely stays put.

On the ground. Notebook on knee. Pencil in hand. No work to show for it.

He sighs audibly, stretches out his knee with a wince, and continues waiting, debating and frowning all the while with his stomach curling and twisting uncomfortably every time his mind cruelly conjures up the image Newton beaten and hurt somewhere alone and afraid and Hermann is just sitting there-

A snap of branches, and Hermann’s head whips up in hope, searching the shadows of the early evening between the trees. There, just ahead, not ten meters away, a hunched figure stands on his haunches, stock still in the shadows with eyes glinting with every curious bob of its head. Hermann gives it a cursory look before letting out a breath in relief, going back to his equations in an effort to look as if he hadn’t been waiting eagerly at all.

“There you are, you twat. I was getting worried.” He says, tapping his pencil against the paper before beginning to stow in his pack. When there is no snarky reply as he snaps it close, he glances back up, seeing Newton having not moved. Hermann glares, beckoning him over and struggling to stand. “Come now, stop acting like that. I can see you just fine, Newton.”

There’s a hiss, a step, but nothing more, and Hermann straightens, ignoring the sleeping buzz in his foot and scrutinizing Newton. The more he stares, the more is becomes apparent the figure is larger, much larger than his companion by several degrees. As it moves forward more, falling with a heavy whump to its forelegs, he sees the spines and spikes in wrong places, the bulky chest cavity and lean stomach. His chest catches and the hair on his nape rises to attention.

 It wanders closer, talons gleaming and enlarged lower tusk-like canines flashing in a smug fashion as a massive female hybrid steps out of the shadows, head tilted and blinking slowly with shallow brown eyes.

In a raspy high rumble that sends goosebumps like an infection along his skin and tears begin to sting his eyes as the situation hits him full force, she breathes, “Who’s Newton?”

Chapter Text

Chapter I, page 25-26 : When a matriarch dies or is usurped, she is replaced by the next oldest member of the consult. If this falls to one of her children, it will then go to the second oldest, and so on, until a non-relative takes the position. This is to encourage daughters to leave their consultation once they are old enough and join a separate one or start their own in order to keep the gene pool open. Scouts have no such  similarities, and are merely made up of like-minded males reaching for a same goal or job. - New Earth and How to Live in It (author unknown)

She’s massive, bigger than anything Hermann could’ve imagined, like a boulder painted with sinuous muscle and plated scales. Her face is human and a darker grey than Newton, a small tuft of light hair growing behind her horns. As she moves, she sways her head back and forth, long tail countering each direction. She smirks in the same sort of lopsided manner as Newton has, but it’s sinister, predatory, and grates his stomach into shredded meat.

He can’t speak, stumbling backwards as she steps forwards, small words and pleas dying with every breath as she rumbles low, the reverberations playing his ribs like a xylophone. “I- no, it’s- plea-“

“No?” She hisses, large canines clacking together and cutting off the word in a deafening snap. She licks her nostrils, eyes never leaving him and flexing her talons into the dirt, leaving deep dark grooves. He can’t think, brain moving like a snail through molasses, everything else in him racing and rigid at once.

 “A mistake.” He babbles, shaking his head. “Please-“

The hybrid rears onto her haunches, towering over Hermann. “Mistake?” she bares her teeth and slams back into the earth, heavyset body causing a shudder and sending Hermann tripping backwards to the ground. “Mistakes don’t send sapiens up the trail, meatbag.” The fall sends shockwaves into his knee and back, and Hermann stifles the cry of pain, shuffling away when the hybrid feints a swipe at his prone feet.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” She sneers and Hermann shakes his head vigorously, leaving his cane to pull himself farther away, leg seizing with every motion. He feels the healing gashes on his shoulders screech with every attempt to pull himself farther from her. The hybrid advances, acidic teal lighting her neck and torso as her tail smacks into the ground warningly. “Think I can’t figure you out?”

“No, no-“

She cuts him off with a thunderous crack of her teeth, “Thought you could walk into here, thought we wouldn’t notice you trampling through.” His back hits a stump, jarring him. She takes the moment to close him in, planting her foreclaws in the grass on either side of his legs, face close and leering into his. “Not so clever, are we?”

Her breath is like fire, burning his skin where it puffs out, the scent of dried spit and decay clogging his nose. Hermann turns his head away, not daring to meet her furious gaze. He’s panting, lungs overworking and refusing to accept the oxygen he pulls in. Her snout brushes his cheek, and he lets out a small pleading whimper. “I’ll leave. I’ll go back. Just let me-“

She chuckles, sending gooseflesh down his arms, breathing him in with great pulls of her shining nostrils. “And tell the other sapiens we let you go?” She says in a quiet whisper, baring her canines in a mock-smile, “No, I think I’d rather toss your head into Ethlem myself.”

She pulls back, bringing her right arm up, dirty talons raised in the air, straining with potential energy. Hermann closes his eyes, tensing and ready, done begging. He knows what those things can do when they try to help, and he waits for his front to be torn asunder and left to rot, to be picked apart by carrion birds and brave warblers.

He just hopes Newton made it out alive.

There’s a shriek, a snarl, and Hermann is pulled sideways, eyelids opening in time to see the hybrida toppling and rolling away, Newton having tackled her with as much force as he could muster. Hermann stares, shocked and nearly crying with joy, as Newton and the hybrida tussle, yelling and swiping at each other. The female gets her footing on his abdomen, kicking him off back towards Hermann, Newton sliding and stopping into his legs. He’s up fast, stomach swaying as he crouches, tail up, mouth open and spitting at the female to leave.

The female shakes her massive head, pulling herself to her feet and bellowing. Blood, teal and glowing, drips from a small gash in her shoulder. She’s livid, bellowing out and sending flocks of sparrows flying into the setting sun.

“Hermann, run!” Newton demands, not looking at him but never turning from the female who spits obscenities and slams her massive forearms into the ground. He’s so much smaller than her, shivering and hardly as fearsome.

“Newton-“ Hermann wants to plead, but to what, he cannot say. She’ll kill him, without a doubt, and Hermann can’t run with his leg. They’re still miles from the other side of the mountains; he’d never make it alone.

“Enough, Johnson!” Everything pauses, the three of them, Newton, Hermann, and the female all glancing to a second hybrida stepping into the clearing. Nowhere near as big as the other, this female is dark, plating thick and glittering a feint deep purple when the waning sun shines through the trees, save for her left side, where the plating seems fused and disfigured all the way down to her knees and elbows. She’s thin, old, and stands with an apathetic curiosity, her oddly human features fixated on Newton over Hermann.

The first hybrida snorts, slumping over to her superior, still massive in comparison but something in the second female’s demeanor minimizes her. They look at each other, the bigger one lowering herself closer to the ground and licking at the matriarch’s chin gently. The matriarch swats her away with a hiss and a clack of her teeth, turning her full attention to her trespassers.

Newton is vibrating, tail now laying over Hermann’s knees and flicking anxiously. He’s physically lessened himself, lower to the ground and neck scrunched close to his shoulders. “Hey, Adams, long time no-“

“Quiet, Geizler.” Newton flinches at the words, hunching his shoulders. Adams looks him up and down, hackles twitching at what she sees. “Amazing you’re still alive.”

“Well, you know, big world. Lots of places to hide and cower. Not, like, I’m always fucking things up.” He babbles, bobbing his head and gesturing with one hand. “How’s, uh, how’s Lightcap?”

“Dead.” Adams sniffs, hardly blinking. “But I think you knew that.” Newton is silent at this, and though Hermann cannot see his face, he notes the drop in his tail, his shoulders, the way his legs tremble slightly as if he’s going to fall. Adams continues, “After you left last time, it was amazing she was the only casualty, considering what your friend Chau did.”

Newton shakes him head, taking in a choked sob “I never meant for that to happen. I didn’t know he would-“

“No, you didn’t!” Adams snaps, control lost in her voice for a moment before she goes back to her monotone speech, “Yet you still ran, like a coward, with that thing on your wrist while we watched our sisters dragged away like cattle and our matriarch murdered because you didn’t know .” She sneers, a murmur of agreement coming from the trees around her. When Hermann looked, really searched, he could see the shapes of more hybrids, watching. Waiting.

“I should kill you, you know.” Adams continues, unabated by the crowd forming behind her, “Send your hide to Chau as a thank you gift for his visit.” The gathering behind her murmurs and bobs their heads, snickering. “But, stooping to his level and killing my own species, is not worth the small satisfaction I would gain.” Newton bows his neck, babbling as he thanks her. “You may leave,” Newton bows his neck, babbling as he thanks her. She cuts him off. “But I require a toll for your friend.” She looks to Hermann for the first time, tilting her head. “Maybe his leg.”

The group behind her snickers, shuffling shadows in the twilight. Whether it’s a joke or not, Hermann can’t tell, but Newton has already withdrawn something from his bag, murmuring ‘okay, yeah, okay’. It’s one of the bottles they found at the house, and Newton tosses it to the matriarch without a second thought.

“I, uh, dunno what it is,” Newton admits as Adams catches it. “But its fuck old. Could probably take the edge off your side on bad nights.”

She sniffs it, turning the bottle over and over in her claws before snorting in approval. She hands it off to another hybrid to her right, who stuffs it into a satchel on her side. Adams takes them in, gaze traversing over Newton’s hopeful form, and Hermann fallen behind him.

“You have until dawn to leave my territory.” She decides, beginning to slowly approach Newton, her sinuous form limping. “If any of my kin see you past this point, they have permission to with you as you will.”

“Oh, God, thank you, Jesus, thanks, I-“

“One last thing though.” She stops before him, gazing down at her cowering guest. She moves like lightning, her hand coming up and gripping Newton’s jaw between her sharp, perfect claws. He lets out a squeak, blood beginning to drips from where her talons dig in between his scales as she drags his head up so they’re eye-to-eye.  She stares down at him, emotionless as ever. “Tell Hannibal I still have his eye if he wants it back.”

Adams doesn’t let him go until he’s nodding in agreement, and only then does she toss him aside as if he were a rag. Hermann scrambles to Newton’s side, knee sparking in pain, but it’s of no concern to him. Newton is curled into a ball, on hand covering his jaw where its bleeding freely on to the grass.

Adam’s leaving before either Newton or Hermann can say a word, long tail and neck high as she walks away, her consult slinking off after her. She stops only once to tell them that their grace period has begun and ‘I mean it, Geizler. My patience is nowhere near as infinite as Lightcap’s’. They are then left, alone, bleeding and frightened in this merciful clearing, but very much alive.

It takes three hours of non-stop half-jogging to leave the territory line. By the time they cross past and beyond the sign that mirrored its brother at the beginning, Hermann’s leg is numb and blinding and Newton’s face has dried in ugly streaks down his neck. They hadn’t spoken, hadn’t looked back during the whole dive for the line, and even when they collapse onto the ground, there is nothing passed between save for gasping breaths and quiet shuffling.

Sitting with his bad leg stretched out painfully and one hand rubbing it absentmindedly, Hermann stared into the territory line, the cocktail of hormones still pumping madly through him. If he squinted, he could see the vague shadows moving in and out of focus, strange figures that looked nothing like the trees above. Maybe it was the dark or his exhaustion, but for a moment, Hermann could swear he saw the massive figure of Johnson stepping out from the treeline, resting on her haunches, nostrils to the air and enormous canines catching, glinting in the moonlight.

A choking gasp captures his attention, drawing him from the distant shapes to Newton at his side, now sapien, half-clothed and digging into his pack. He’s shivering, tears and snot mixing with the crusted blood on his face. It’s a pitiful picture; the punctures in his jaw looking angrier than they are and Newton won’t stop rubbing at them. Hermann moves without forethought, pushing Newton’s hands aside and tutting quietly as he grabs for the needle, thread, and antiseptic (moonshine, which is mostly undrinkable acid to be quite honest).

“It’s fine, it’s fine, I don’t need that, man.” Newton babbles, voice quavering but he makes no attempt to actually stop Hermann.

Hermann pushes him down to the ground gently, so he’s seated. “Quiet, Newton.” And the man is, shuddering and nodding violently. He’s malleable, putting up little resistance as Hermann works with his own unsteady hands, cleaning the punctures as thoroughly as possible. Newton hardly complains when the alcohol hits his skin, screwing his eyes closed at the pain, but saying nothing more.

They’re small, not extremely deep, and will heal with time, Adams’ claws merely drawing more blood than doing actual damage. Once they’re clean, Hermann sticks some gauze to them, to keep dirt and dust from getting in more than anything else. Newton appears miserable with the patchy white beard of bandages on his face, and Hermann has to fight back an inappropriate burst of laughter.

Newton thanks him quietly, curled in on himself and watching the ground as if it will come alive any moment and swallow him whole. They’re truly alone now, and with Newton’s wounds tended to, Hermann is itching to ask.

“Newton,” Hermann says softly, waiting till he has the other man’s attention. “I think it’s more than time for you to tell me what’s going on.” Newton freezes, but slowly, he grunts, sniffling and straightening his legs. He rubs at his nose, fidgets his feet before sighing.

“It was, God, it was the day I found this.” Newton waves the GEM-D back and forth, the backlit screen leaving green spots in Hermann’s vision. “Hannibal ended up at the same place, like, two hours after I did. He was kinda… freaky, you know? Real big guy. Wears a lot of weird shit like he’s straight out of old old holotapes. But he-“ Newton swallows back spit and phlegm, nodding to himself, “He told me he liked ‘my shit’. Told me he needed a ‘scaley fuck like me to find old shit’ and I ‘fit the bill to a gotdamn T.’

“And, like, he had about seven guns in his pants, and half an army with him, an’ I was scared and kinda turned on? And, I said yeah, sure, cause what’d’ya do when your lonely and hungry and seven million miles from anyone you know? Turn down the giant guy who could probably snap my neck in two?” Newton forces out a laugh, wiping a trembling hand over his face, wincing when he brushes the punctures. “And at first it was great, you know? Like, I had work, and I could do what I wanted, and I had people to talk to and-“

He takes a shuddering breath, “I wasn’t happy, but I was better. I wasn’t missing home so much, you know? I wasn’t, huh, spending days just laying down somewhere staring at nothing anymore. I was doing something, even if it was just looking for old Kaiju shit, which, I mean, awesome right? Sapiens can’t go into irradiated places or blue places like we can and I felt needed. Important, I guess.

“But then Hannibal stopped calling me to meetings, stop giving me assignments. And I didn’t know what his ‘big bad mob’ was doing anymore. And I thought it was cause I did something wrong, like I fucked up bad, but I wasn’t good enough to know it. So-so, I just wanted to, you know, feel like I mattered again, cause Hannibal used to listen when I had something to say. Or at least acted like it. So I panicked.

“I started sucking up, uh, doin’ whatever he asked, no matter what, whether it was getting his a drink or a document or-“ He gasps, cutting off a sob. He has to take a minute to calm himself to be able to speak again. “An-and when he said he needed to go through Consult Pass, no questions asked, I just said… yeah, sure, whatever you want, Chau-man. I didn’t ask why; I didn’t care at that point. It was just gunna be me and him, so I, uh, thought I could win him back over.

“Lightcap was the matriarch at the time, and since she knew my dad and kinda thought I was kinda funny, she didn’t question it so much when I brought Chau. He just told her that he needed to get to the East coast, and ‘won’t be a bother, ma’am’. And I think that kinda charmed her too, cause he’s like that, you know? Can sweet talk his way into anything if he doesn’t want to pull out a ‘45.

“I shoulda figured it out though, when he said he was tired and made us stop close to the Consult’s village. I shoulda put two and two together when he spent the past two months asking me all these weird questions about, like, hybrids and personal shit. But I just wanted to get back into his good books, and I didn’t think much about it. So we made camp, I went to sleep, and didn’t noticed the henchmen who had snuck in after us.

“When I woke up, there was- there was…was fire. Just, so much fire and smoke, and I remember choking on how fucking hot the air was. And there was screaming . Like, I’ve never- hybridas don’t scream like that . Never, I didn’t even think they could, but they were. God, they were.

“And Hannibal was nowhere to be seen, and I was alone, and I started to run. I ran to the village, thinking a fire had broken out, but then I saw- People, sapiens, standing there with guns and flamethrowers like it was a fucking warzone, and the hybridas were scattering, trying to get past the bullets and nets, fucking steel nets, Hermann, and there, off to the side, was Hannibal, one of eyes missing and shouting at his people ‘We only need two, boys, only need two’.

“Turns out there’s a new fad on the slaving market for hybrids, but no one’s had the balls to get some. Till Hannibal figured out he had a desperate hybrid following him around. I dunno if he thought I was dead or still sleeping, but when he saw me hiding in the bushes, I don’t know who was more shocked. He took one look at me, one fuckin’ look, bleedin’ outta his empty eye socket, fire fuckin’ everywhere, and he started to shout, pointing at me.

“I bolted, man. I ran like a bulgie on fire. Hell, I didn’t stop running till I was in Rad Fran on the West Coast. I turned on my GEM-D and bunked up with a sapien-hybrid town with a matriarch that wasn’t too, uh, keen on Hannibal. I was there for, like, a month or two, just kinda waiting for something. Then a Scout from the Scout Express came through, telling every hybrid they could that there had been attacks on Consults along the East Coast. That Consult Pass had a new matriarch cause of it, and hybridas were missing or dead.

“It was the first news I had heard, and I didn’t know what to do, you know? I kinda just left and started to wander again, keeping low and keeping the GEM-D on whenever I could. I stopped telling people my last name, cause I didn’t know if the survivors had put a hit on me or not and I just…went into hiding.” Newton stops talking, taking in deep gulps of air, still quivering as if every cell in his body was rejecting his admission. He was miserable, mouth in a deep frown and eyes glassy and red.

“Why did Hannibal put a hit on you then? What did you ha-“ Hermann stopped himself, pieces clicking into places as he stared at Newton’s arm. “That?” He asked incredulously, staring at the innocent computer.

Newton laughed bitterly, wringing his hands, “Turns out, even if you defang, declaw, beat, and put them in a shock collar, hybrids don’t just turn into good dogs. We’re not fucking animals, even if slavers and sapiens think we are. We’re people, we’re the top of the fucking chain, and the last thing someone wants to be is chained up and used like a-a toy or a tool when they know what it’s like be the most feared things in the whole damn world.

 “Plus, if a scout or consult sees someone dragging along a beaten, half-dead hybrid, you can bet your ass their gunna rally a whole damn nation to get the hybrid back. So now Hannibal needs a way to hide them, to make them less dangerous. And I’ve got the fucking thing strapped to my arm like a bracelet. Fucking only one out there too. I know, I spent like a shit of time crawling over Kaiju camps looking for more.” Newton pauses, just breathing and staring at his wrist, his other hand thumbing one of the dials in a mix of disgust and admiration.

“When you first wear it, it makes you sick. It’s like you spent three weeks awake and building a whole town and now you’re tryin’ to push a boulder up a hill. I thought I would never stop being tired and achy, and Hannibal knew it too, cause he saw me right after I strapped it on. Good thing he’s paranoid and greedy, cause me being able to change form like I do was our best kept secret. Guess he didn’t want any other black market bosses on his little hybrid experiment. So now I’ve got the one thing that can make his hybrid business nice and easy and it’s fused to my arm like I was born with it.”

Newton flops onto his back, arms spread and face pointed towards the sky. “And that’s it man, that’s all I got.” Hermann nods, eyeing the grass between his legs as he processes this. Newton is eerily quiet next to him, still and warm.

Hermann glances his way, takes in the dead-eye stare cast star-wards, the grimy shirt baggy even on his slightly bulbous stomach, the way he seems defeated even in such an open pose… and Hermann does the only thing he can think of in the moment. He lies down next to Newton, shuffling just so he’s as close as he can be without actually touching the other man.

 He’s aware of Newton watching him curiously out of the corner of his eye as he clasps his hands over his bony chest and sighs comfortably, despite his knee and the hard ground. “I spent two years grieving for my mother after she died of pneumonia, stupidly blaming myself for it, spent even longer fighting with my father and dissecting whatever machine I could find around our home, and, at the first onset of war, ran away like a coward to a new country so I didn’t have to aid in the senseless bloodshed of my species despite having no actual plan for what I would do in a completely foreign continent.”

 Newton turns his head to look at him, brow scrunched and pulling his arms to his sides. “Okay? I mean, yeah, interesting, cool.”

Hermann shrugs, picking out familiar stars above them silently, connecting the lines and completing the ancient ever-present constellations. “Merely thought it was appropriate to share. Not as exciting or riveting as your tale, but as long as we’re baring our souls…”

“O-oh, yeah, cool.” The quiet that settles in is awkward, Newton fidgeting next to him and wiggling closer till their shoulders touch. Hermann allows it, still picking out each heavenly body and naming them as is his habit. “I dunno if it means anything, dude,” Newton starts, playing with the hem of his shirt before glancing back to Hermann. “But I don’t think you’re a coward.”

Hermann feels the corners of his lips quirk, dropping one hand from his stomach to the scratchy grass between them. “Nor I you.” He states matter-of-factly, breathlessly, letting Newton search his face for the truth inherently there. When he’s satisfied, Newton flushes a feint bioluminescent blue, letting one of his hands drop too and their knuckles brush. It’s so small, but it sends a spark of heat up his arm and neck.

Newton grins crookedly, tilting his head up towards Hermann’s, hair mixing with the green in a chaotic manner. “Thanks man.” He murmurs, so quiet Hermann almost misses it with the blood rushing like the sea in his ears. He nods, swallowing thickly, tongue tied and caught in the oddest glint of the night sky above caught in his companion’s eyes.

 It dawns on him, laying here in the middle of field, exhausted, sweat cooling and chilling him, how easy it would be just to move his head just so, angle his jaw a little, close what’s left between their mouths and-

Newton turns away, still grinning stupidly to himself and Hermann gets a crick in his neck for how fast he goes back to staring above them, heart pounding and blushing furiously. It’s childish, innocent, almost, how he wonders if Newton had noticed,

They lay like that for some time, together, silent, yet completely fine. Hermann spends it hyper-aware of Newton breathing and how his fingers keep twitching next to his own.

“Newton.” He says, finally, when sleep is almost upon him despite his chilled bones and the night coming to a close. He should save it for morning, or never, but something about the thought demands to be said aloud. Newton looks his way, appearing just as exhausted.

“Hm?” It’s strange how familiar this odd man has become to him in this time, but even though Hermann is a-buzz with questions and accusations, he still takes comfort in seeing his companion by his side, even after this admission.

“I’ve thought about your earlier question, about where I would go if I could go anywhere in time.” Newton shifts, interested. Visibly confused, but interest.

“Yeah?” He waits intently while Hermann thinks of his next few words, and he could almost kiss Newton because not even academics in his field have been this keen on what he says. Yet there’s this odd exuberant man who’s done nothing but listen to him for weeks now. Even in an argument, a heated idiotic debate over nothing more interesting than cats, he’ll still listen, attentive and ready to throw it right back if needed.

Hermann is astonished to find, that if he were a different man, of different temperament and different inhibitions, he would kiss Newton right now. But he is not that man.

“Well,” He begins, voice steady even with the weight of this conclusion dawning on him like, and Newton would be proud of this one, a sack of shit brick dropping on his head, “I think I’d quite like to go back to the Kaiju War as well. I think, with my particular interests, I may have been some help.”

Newton’s eyes widen almost comically, before his lips break out in a wide wonderful smile. Hermann doesn’t notice that his pinkie finger has been stroking Newton’s till his thumb hooks a few of his other digits. Newton settles back, still grinning, gripping his hand like he’ll never let go. Hermann almost doesn’t want him to. “Dude, we could’ve saved the world.”

Hermann closes his eyes, and though he isn’t one to bolster Newton’s impossible optimism, he quietly replies, “I believe so as well.”

Chapter Text

Chapter IIIV, page 116: The Scout Express started off with a few hybrids, talented in scent tracking, acting a as a mail service to migrating merchants and investigation across Middle America, taking anything from letters to entire stocks of food to traveling groups for a hefty fee. Within the last five years, the Scout Express has expanded and now offers services to delivering mail to cities and small settlements as well, having a few branches solely for fixed targets and others specifically for tracking. This has expanded communication greatly, and been a large help to the budding society in Middle, North, and Southern America, given the continents expansive land mass. - New Earth and How to Live in It (author unknown) 

Waking up to being both simultaneously burning and freezing is not ideal. Nor is being covered in all manner of small curious insects as the dew has soaked his shirt and trousers and the sun burns his face. As he blinks in the noon light, Hermann breathes deep, taking in his still exhausted aching body and the weight of an arm over his chest and a foreign leg tangled in his own. It takes his thought process to weed through the fog that sleep has left him in before the previous day’s happenstances rear their ugly heads.

They’re past the mountains. Newton was the unwilling catalyst in a mass movement to enslave his own species for the slaving market. He is now also being hunted by his previous employer for a device fused to his wrist. On top of all of that, he is now also also clinging to Hermann in his sleep, snoring softly in his ear while digging his leg into Hermann’s good knee, which is now asleep.

As is one of Hermann’s arms, which is serving as Newton’s pillow. Hermann cannot honestly remember when they ended up like this, and despite an assorted amount of predictable awkward moments that this could lead to once Newton awakes, Hermann stays exactly where he is, watching Newton’s relaxed sleeping face and how whenever Hermann exhales, the gauze on his face flutters just so. The bulgie tooth on Newton’s bracelet digs uncomfortably into his ribs, and the humming from the GEM-D is irritating if he focuses on it for too long, but all-in-all, Hermann is fine where he is for just a while longer.

Newton does awaken soon, jolting up like he’d been run through with severe shock. By that time, Hermann has already extracted himself from Newton’s rather strangling embrace, eaten, stretched, dressed, and has been fiddling with the laptop for almost fifteen minutes. Newton blinks, hisses at the noon sun, makes a whimpering sound as he stretches out in a completely indecent manner, back arched off the grassy knoll and pudgy stomach peeking through where his shirt has ridden up.

Hermann is quick to keep his gaze averted, damning his burning cheeks.

“You let me sleep too long, dude.” Newton accuses, and Hermann shrugs uncharacteristically, screwing back in the bottom panel of the computer with a practiced ease.

“You poor thing.” Newton snickers, packing up with a practiced ease while Hermann waits to the side. When he asks if they should set off, Hermann just nods stiffly.

There’s something subdued about the last leg of the journey that has Hermann walking closer to Newton than he would usually. The sky is clear for the first time in weeks, the lightest of winds playing in the greenest grass at their feet and in the full branches of the trees around them. It teases their hair pleasantly, urges them on, keeps them company in the silences that stretches between them for miles at a time.

Silences, not from anger or spite as before, but from a lack of things to say, as the ending dawns upon them in roads of smoke in the sky and people beginning to pass them again on the trodden path they follow. Silence that taunts and sighs and leaves both him and Newton opening their mouths for words that evade them like the birds and rodents that watch them warily to the side.

Hermann wants to say things. He doesn’t know what to say. There’s phrases and stories and wisdom he can and would share if his tongue could just shape them in a meaningful way. If they just had more time, if he hadn’t wasted time, if they both weren’t avoiding it. They stride forward slowly, leisurely, Newton stopping them often for Hermann’s leg, which Hermann allows, even if he doesn’t need it. It passes the minutes, hours, gives them more, and lets them procrastinate the inevitable.

He tells himself this is fine, normal, necessary. Newton’s sad reassuring smiles when they look at each other is expected. That the weight in every step is just exhaustion. That the dread filling his belly and seeping into his bones as the smoke rising from the rapidly expanding city on the horizon is nothing to worry over.

They are a mile from Sylvia when it happens. Newton stops him, squinting in the distance as three loping figures come barreling towards them. Hermann can barely make them out before Newton is gasping, open his mouth and all but shouting over the rambunctious din of feet slapping hard on the ground-

“What the-“ Three hybrids came to a skidding stop in from of them, dusty handkerchiefs flapping round their necks. The one in front, a lithe greenish fellow with a heavy leather bag strapped to his waist steps forward, grinning lopsidedly and bowing his head.

Hermann side eyes his companion, who shrugs ever so.

“Hello!” The green hybrid’s voice was reedy and out of breath, “Uh, Mr. Newton, yeah?” He asks, bobbing his head towards Newton and the GEM-D on his arm. Newton confirms this, more bemused than anything at the familiarity that the scout leader uses. He gives an excited ‘good good good’, pulling a grimy envelope from his bag and pressing it into Newton’s hands.

“Had a right time findin’ ya, man. But your friend paid us well enough for the delivery.” There’s a mumble from the other two hybrids, general nodding and scratching behind their horns.

Newton shuffles, nearly crushing the letter in his hands. “Yeah, yeah, weird.” The scout leader shrugs, says it’s ‘nothin’, still smiling pleasingly, and bids them a farewell. The trio sprint off in a triangle formation, tail whipping behind them as they head towards the mountains Newton and him had just left behind.

As they run off, Newton’s already tearing at the letter, opening it up, murmuring to himself as he scans the yellowed page. Curious, Hermann quietly steps up behind him, reading quickly over his shoulder.

Newt-

Where are you, brother? I know you said you got ‘sidetracked’ in Carolina, but, damn, thought you’d be back by now. Stacker’s getting huffy given that he doesn’t have the report on the West Coast in hand as of THREE MONTHS AGO and is starting to get that look like he’s about to do something drastic. Plus, I think he’s worried his kamikaze field agent has a tail eight million miles away. I think we’re all a little worried, brother.

Even Mako’s getting upset. She’s taken to playing at the front of the building on the road. Stacker’s not happy about it, and I think he grounded her for it, but I’ve ‘seen’ her sneaking out. I may have forgotten to lock the front door a few times too. She says you’re late and, brother, if you aren’t ever.

Been a mess over here for a while, and we really need the extra hands/tail with the Crats poking around. They don’t do that so much when you’re here bangin’ about. Racists, man. So hurry your scaley ass back, and if you’re dead, I will drop you in the reactor if Stacker doesn’t first.

-Tendo

P.S. Mako told me to say she misses you and needs you here to teach her how to ‘make friends with the cougar’ that’s taken to prowling our backyard. Maybe I-

“Dude!” Newton screeches, pulling away and flattening the letter to his chest. “Come on, I know we’ve been up each other’s asses for fucking ever, but privacy, man, seriously.”

Hermann isn’t listening, ears and brain buzzing, face burning with humiliation. “Who is that from?” He's beginning to shake, a tight burning starting in his chest and filling his throat. This shouldn't matter to him. It's Newton's business and today is to be their last day together, but God, it does. "There are more people looking for you?"

“What? Are you seriously pissed about this?”

“No! Yes. I don’t know!” Hermann shouts back, unbelievably warm in the face. He can't tell behind the jumbled storm raging for ground within him. “Just answer the question!”

“N-no!”

“Why not?” Hermann demands, stepping closer as Newton takes one back.

“I can’t!” He all but screams it, birds in the distance shooting into the sky. “It’s a secret, dude! There’s about seventeen thousand people out there who want the shit we’re working on and Marshall will have my head if I was telling everybody about it!”

“So why have you been putting this off if they need you? If you have a job to do? Shirking off your responsibility to-to traipse around the country?”

“Cause I wanted to help you!” Hermann’s mouth slams close, his next searing remark sizzling out in his throat. “Cause you needed more help then they need me!”

“You could have left me somewhere, outside of the Dead Zone. I would’ve been fine-“

“Yeah, well, news flash Hermie-kins, I kinda like you!”

“What-“

“I mean, you’re kind of an asshole on good days, and you can’t listen to me for five seconds without arguing, but you’re fun to talk to sometimes and you’re kind of a genius, and I mean, yeah, I could’ve left you, but we were going the same way and it’s not like I had anyone else to go with!” Newton’s panting, neck and freckles glowing, and Hermann’s stiff as a board.

“I-uh, oh-“ He starts, unsure of how to responds, flustered, but Newton throws his hands in the air, sighing. He runs a hand throw his hair and looks down the road to Sylvia.

“Shit, sorry.” He begins, “Fuck, I didn’t want- I didn’t want to start any kind of fights today, man. Last day, and all." He adds in a mumble.

Hermann swallows thickly, mouth still agape. “Yes, no, that’s- you’re…fine.”

“Let’s just go, man. We’re almost there.” Hermann knows this, can see it, hates it more than anything he knew before.

Yet they continue on.

Sylvia was erected on the back of a demolished city, each part made of mismatched wood, metal, and concrete, the roads nothing more than leftover asphalt and dirt. Hermann is taken aback by its sheer size after so long in the wild lonely world outside of civilization. The population had to be in the ten thousands as the sheer number of people and travelers was staggering just as they approached the southern entrance.

Sapiens and hybrids alike milled about, scouts stopping for resupplies and no one looked twice as the scaley visitors. As they entered and walked the streets, it even seemed street merchants preferred the hybrids, calling out to them for trade and wares. It was such a queer sight for Hermann, left him anxious that any moment the hybrids would be subject to some form of cruelty.

“People get a little weird if a scout stays to long here or, like, if a hybrid tries to live here, but,” Newton informs him nonchalantly, “They tolerate them well enough if they’re just passin’ through.”

Hermann stops himself from pointing out that Newton was currently walking next to him with the GEM-D on, so there had to be something to fear.

Battered wooden signpost mark roads and alleys. There’s shops he hasn’t seen in what feels like eons: tailors and smiths and doctors and actual specialty stores instead of rugged of merchant’s stalls and hovels with a mixture of items that could be useless tat or a treasure unknown. It is a reprieve, a comfort to hear criers and children, to see homes by the hundreds mixed in with official council buildings and courier’s stops. There's even more criers for the railroad, asking for metal and wood and laborers.

Newton stops them in a bout of excitement, pointing out a help wanted from the New American Rail Road posted on a street sign. It called for office workers, typists, and even-

“’Those knowledgeable in advanced mathematics/engineering’. Look at that, dude!” Newton slaps him playfully on the shoulder, shaking him gently. “Right up your alley.”

“So it seems.” Hermann grunts, eyes glazing over as he stares at the words. They are small, just as the rest of the paragraph hastily fitted onto the page under the massive HELP WANTED.

The prickle of his companion watching him finally becomes obvious, and Hermann looks over to Newton’s quizzical expression. “What’s wrong?” He asks, hand sliding across his shoulders to the square of Hermann’s upper back.

“Hm?”

“Come on, you should be like, happy or something. Isn’t this what you were looking for?” Hermann tears his gaze from Newton’s concern, looking over the sign again. After all this time, with Newton's comforting touch upon him, it seems so insignificant. 

“I-“

“Small kaiju man!” Both Hermann and Newton tense, whipping around to search down the street for whoever called out. The people behind them part, bewildered expressions on their nameless faces as what could possibly be the largest man Hermann has ever seen pushes through them, waving a beefy arm about and dead set on Newton. Trailing behind him is a sharp faced woman, with matching blond hair and red painting her lips, arms crossed over her chest with a mild self-assured set to her jaw.

The moment the massive man is within reach, he has Newton in a tight embrace, lifting him clean off his feet. “Holy fuck!” Newton squawks, voice strained from his face being squashed into the man's rugged leather armor. He starts trying to pull away from the man, though he is clearly being held too tightly. The woman begins snickering and Hermann is too confused to do anything to help.

Once the man lets him go, Newton stumbles back onto the ground, immediately rubbing his ribs and wincing. “How-?”

The woman cuts him off with a wave of her hand, fingernails surprisingly well maintained, “Marshall vas impatient.” She begins, accent thick and extremely Russian. “He sent us to find you. Take you back.” The man besides her gives a grunt of agreement. Newton just looks between the two in exasperation.

“But- how-? I wasn’t following any path! I don’t-“

“Not important. You vill come." No nonsense, no questions asked. "Ve leave on nightfall. You sleep in the caravan. South entrance.” She clicks her fingers at the man besides her and jerks her head back toward the way they had come. The man claps Newton on the arm, telling him ‘it’s good to see him’ before following the woman.

“Wait!” Newton calls out, stopping them both as they leave quickly as they came. He shifts his head from them to Hermann, twitching anxiously. “I gotta get him set up for the night.”

She takes Hermann in, as if just noticing him. “Fine.” The woman says after a moment's consideration with a shrug. “You have few hours.” And then they're walking away, hardly bothered to hurry or avoid shoving people aside. Not they need to, Hermann notes, as the crowd just parts for them.

“Who were they?” Hermann asks, too tired to even try being angry. He's just exhausted.

“Aleksis and Sasha Kaidanovsky. They’re, uh, bounty hunters.” He adds, rubbing at his neck. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Hermann tries not to. “Friends of yours?”

“Er, Yeah.”

"Work related?"

"Yep." 

“Right.”

Newton takes him to an inn, where getting a room is easy and Hermann can already feel the mattress at his back. The man at the desk is kind and elderly, and wishes him the best of luck at the NARR with a wink when Hermann tells him that's why he's here. His stomach twists and turns though he thanks the man. No need for the innkeeper to know his gut has been in knots all afternoon, his possible new career approaching all too quickly.

Outside, he and Newton spend a quiet minute in the sun, on the sidewalk, out of the way. They swap items, the pistol, some pencils, a jar and a pot that they had borrowed, making sure each had what they started with. After, they can’t quite look at the other, can only stand and brush against each other with every breath and shift. 

“Well,” Newton shuffles his feet, boots kicking up a little dust in puffs disappearing in the air as they are created. “I guess this is it, man.”

Hermann nods, throat achingly dry despite the cool afternoon. “I suppose so.” Newton twists his fingers together, shifting side to side, and Hermann takes it in morosely, staring at the bowed head, inked arms, and awkward stance for what would be the last time. Newton has been all he's seen for the longest time, yet he still feels like it hasn't been enough.

Newton chuckles out of nowhere, peering up at Hermann sheepishly. “It’s weird man.”

“What?”

“I always had something to say to you, but I’ve got, like nothing right now. It’s just-" His face falls, he swallows thickly, and Hermann knows it all too well, "…weird, I guess.”

“I have to concur.” Hermann tells him, shuffling closer so he can brush off some sort of rubbish that Newton has perched on his shoulder. Newton meets his eyes, brow furrowed just so to appear endearingly perplexed. Hermann's lips are quirking upwards into something he hopes is comforting and sympathetic. “Very odd for you to be at a loss for words.”

He’s being grabbed, enveloped and squeezed harder than his sister embraced him when he left home for the last time, tighter than when his mother was on her deathbed and just wanted to hold him one more time. Newton’s face burrows into his neck, and through the shock of the hug, Hermann can still feel the wet leaking into his shirt.

“I’m gunna miss you, man.” Newton mumbles into his shoulder, words choked out of him, and Hermann lets his cane clatter to the ground. Newton smells like sweat and the road and ripe body odor, but Hermann wraps his arms around the man’s middle, returning the embrace full force.  He couldn’t hold him close enough, couldn’t let him go. Hermann might be crying.

He is, just a bit, eyelids stinging as he returns the sentiment. He’ll miss this idiot of a man by his side, making uneeded remarks and singing terrible out of tune. He won’t miss the road or the hard ground or the cold nights, but he’ll miss waking up every morning to Newton’s ‘good morning, dude, I had the weirdest dream, holy shit-‘.

He’ll miss forgetting the miles to heated arguments. Miss the distractions. The evenings. The moments after danger. The falling asleep knowing when he opened his eyes, Newton would be right across from him, ready for anything that came their way, bad or good. The journey has been so long, but with its conclusion slamming into him like a damned tree, he wants to be so much longer.

Newton pulls away, finally, wiping his cheeks with his palms, leaving tracks of dust on his skin, and Hermann keeps a hand on his arm, not willing to let him go completely. “You’ll write, yes?” Hermann asks, dabbing at his own eyes.

Newton nods vigorously, laughing and sniffling. “Yeah, yeah, of course! Can’t let you go too long with hearing my brilliance.” He teases, grinning toothily. Hermann returns it, his chest thumping painfully. With a shuddering breath, Newton pats the hand on his arm, miserable despite the jovial expression. “I should, uh, should get back to the, uh, yeah, get some rest-“

“Yes, you should sleep.” Hermann clears his throat. “Long journey for you.” For both of them. Just, not together.

“Yeah.” Newton trails off, “I’ll see you, dude. Or whatever.”

“I’ll write when I can.” Hermann assures as Newton steps away, nodding, eyes tearing up again. He's slipping through Hermann's fingers, water off his dry, parched fingers as he's stepping farther and farther away.

“You better!” He says, walking backwards and waving. With one last mock salute, he turns his back to Hermann, walking straight and slow. It’s physically painful not to call him back, to do anything but watch Newton stride down the street into the sparse crowd. In a few moments, the man is gone from view and Hermann is left staring down the road, nose and chest still tight.

He could shout after him. Could run to the other side of town. Could plead to go with. Make a case to this ‘Marshall’, convince him that he has use. He has no ties here, just arrived. God, what is he even doing?

Finding a home. A place to call his own. Somewhere he can make a mark on the redevelopment of humanity. He tells himself, standing there alone on the dirt road, another anonymous visitor to this town, that he could make that here. If he wanted to. If he tried. He tells himself that home has no meaning now, even if every time he thinks of the word it conjures images of firelight and stylized tattoos and a teal glow on blue-grey scales.

With every ounce of willpower he can muster, Hermann makes for the railroad headquarters, legs stiffer with every step. People pass him, and he passes them without noting their faces or expression. A man even bumps into him, apologizing profusely with a long eared red hound by his side. Hermann just grunts and continues on, nothing on his mind. His future is now. All he has to do is walk into a building and charm his way into a job.

(He won’t think of long days. Won’t think of starry nights. Won’t think of Newton.)

Hermann has been sitting on a bench for God knows how long. The building in front of him is the NARR headquarters, and inside the broken windows, he has been watching office workers scribble and type on remodeled typewriters. He knows every face of the people within, all eleven of them. Seven women, four men between the ages of 22 and 56. Knows their hair color, the speed of their typing, the amount of times they stop and stare off into space. Four of them are smokers, having lit their addiction at least three times each. 

He knows the door, without touching it, the cracked bottom, the rust around the doorknob, the chips and splinters falling from it. He knows the distance between him and the building, without ever walking it, knows just how to shift to make the bench groan, how many bird’s nest are in the tree by him, and has located a bee’s nest as well. He’s read the ‘help wanted’ sign besides the door countless times, memorized the font, calculated the space between the words down to a thousandth decimal point of accuracy.

Yet, he has not moved. He could at any minute, but Hermann chooses not to, even as the sun starts to fall and the air chills, and the people walking by have slowly thinned to nothing.

A woman, whom he assumes is the manager as she has spent the time ordering the others about, comes out of the squeaking, chipping door, hand going to the ‘open’ sign pegged crookedly to the wood. She stops, halfway between turning it, as her workers finish up and pack away their things for the day inside. She looks across the dirt street, to where Hermann has sat for some good, a scowl on her ever so lined face.

She takes in his cane, then his legs with a momentary wrinkle of disgust before leveling her gaze with his. “You comin’ in, or what, buddy? We’re closing up, an’ you been here for some damn time.”

Hermann shakes his head, thanks her for the concern, and tells her he’s ‘just resting his leg’, patting his knee for emphasis. She shrugs, rolling her eyes, and switches the sign from open to closed. The front door slams, a key is turned, and the bolt slides into place with an audible chk. The workers leave via a back door, Hermann assumes, as they poor out, chatting amiably toward their homes and families. They pay no mind to him still on the bench, and the manager pointedly ignores him as she strides past.

Hermann finally stands, dusting off his trousers, making his way back towards the inn. He wonders, as he hobbles slowly alone, past so many alleys and so few people, if Newton is still outside the town. If he should forget the inn, the barter he spent, the railroad, the 'help wanted' sign.  If he should just continue down this road, take two rights until he's out the south entrance. 

There's nothing in this town for him anyways.

It catches his eye, just barely in the moonlight, hanging limply off of a splintered board at the corner of an alley two blocks from the inn. With shaking hands, Hermann grabs the bulgie tooth, clinging desperately to the broken leather band it was tied to. He holds it, dread creeping up his neck like icy fingers casually stroking him, urging him. It wasn’t until he looked down on the dusty ground that he took off toward the south entrance, decision made, hoping the faintly glowing blue drips were nothing more than an accident.

Chapter Text

Chapter X, page 157 : Slavery has seen a rise in popularity in recent years for the rich and powerful. Not only for free labor or sexual favor, but also to send a message of dominance to certain perceived minorities, both of sapien and hybrid flavor. Due to the lack of political infrastructure in Middle America, this continent is particularly infamous as a hunting grounds for slavers. While many villages and town have local laws banning slavery and though there are groups dedicated to rescuing slaves, just as many towns and people, if not more, fail to see it as a crime and will do nothing to help anyone who has unfortunately been captured and sold into slavery. It is advised to pay attention to town ordered 'curfews' for your own safety. - New Earth and How to Live in It (author unknown) 

Running has never been his strong suit, even before his accident, but, dear God, does he try now. No one’s on the street to halt him, or stare as he hobbles as fast as he can, knee burning with every heavy step. The light coming from the shacks guides him, his single-minded determination to make to the other end of the town driving him ever forward.

How could he have been so blind, so stupid? Newton’s not exactly someone who molds into a crowd, not with the garish tattoos and the GEM-D on his wrist. Even if he had changed before they took him, all anyone needs is a basic description of the computer strapped to his arm and a good enough bounty to try and hunt him down.

They’re in a town, a large one at that, and Hermann just left Newton to prance around on his own through it. He wasn’t thinking, too overwhelmed by everything happening at once to pay any attention to anyone else on the street, to diagnose the stares they were getting or the murmurs directed their way. He should’ve stuck with Newton, should’ve escorted him, shouldn’t have said good-

Hermann chastises himself. He needed worry over it now as he approaches the city’s southern entrance. Someone had Newton, and he prays in a way he hadn’t in a while, that the Russians would be amiable to help him find out where the hell they had taken Newton.

“’Ey!” The city guard, a wiry woman with a hunting rifle hanging off a band round her shoulder, steps out in from of him. Her bony crooked fingers on his chest brings him to a dead stop just as he crosses the imaginary line of the town’s limits. “You stupid or somethin’?”

Hermann narrows his eyes, affronted. “Excu-“

“Town’s onna curfew! No one ou’side after sundown! No one ‘cept caravaners an’ merchants.”

"Nobody has informed me of any curfew." Hermann snarls, anger flaring hot in his neck, “Besides I’m- with a caravan!” It was the first thing to come to mind, but the guard rolled her eyes.

“No you ain’t. Only wagons ou’side is the two Russians an’ the gun merchants wit a bloodhound, and you ain’t none a’ ‘em.” She finishes, prodding him in his sternum. He scowls, and she crosses her arms. “Now, I need you ta get on back to yur room, gimpy, otherwise Imma hafta drag ya’ there.”

“I’m with the bloody Russians!”

“I ain’t never seen you wit ‘em. Curfew’s out cause we gotta watch for slavers and drug peddlers, an’ you actin’ pretty damn suspicious if I do say so myself.” She steps into his space, sneering. Hermann’s hand tightens on the top of his cane, the other curling round the bulgie tooth. He didn’t have time for this. Newton could be miles away, stuffed into the back of a caravan, on his way to Hannibal as they spoke. “Now, whatcha gunna say bout that?”

He opens his mouth, not actually sure what may come out, prepared to fight this guard if it means he can just get to his destination, but a hand on his shoulder stops him.

“Ah, found you.” Both him and the guard look to see Aleksis smiling kindly down at Hermann, towering over the both of them with his girth. Beside him is Sasha, leaning to one side and glaring down the guard. “Looked everywhere for you.”

The guard is unimpressed. “You know ‘im?” She asks, gesturing to Hermann in disbelief.

“Yes. He is paid for passage West.” Sasha lies smoothly, “We will take him now.”

With that, they’re steering Hermann past the guard’s shrugging form and out into the fields beyond the town, ever towards the shadow of their wagon. He begins to babble, in thanks and praise, anxiety beginning to cloud his thoughts and tie his intestines. The two are silent, walking completely in tandem, gazes forward, and ignoring him until they all reach the wooden caravan.

Even in the moonlight, he can tell it’s dusty, well-worn, yet still cared for. At its helm are two young oxen, snorting and waiting peacefully for their owners to return. Its contents of locked crates and tied down supplies rattles when Aleksis pushes Hermann into the wagon’s side, the friendly smile now replaced by a more grim frown.

“Where is Newton?” His voice is a growl and Hermann is stuck switching between the two mercenaries, still trying to find his voice.

“I don’t know!” Hermann snaps finally, struggling to stand upright against Aleksis’ hand bearing down on him. “Someone’s taken him, I’m certain of it!” Sasha steps forward, placing a hand on Aleksis’ arm.

“How so?” Hermann opens his palm, revealing the tooth to her and she grabs it without question.

“There was… blood, and that in an alley.” Sasha wipes the tooth off on her trousers and examines it, nodding. “We were being followed for half of our journey. H- he can’t have just left it.”

The pair exchange a silent knowing look, before Aleksis lets go of Hermann, who almost falls to the ground. With just a few movements as Hermann is regaining himself, Aleksis is already in the driver’s seat, reigns in his hands and Sasha is climbing in beside him. Hermann shuffles his feet, brushes dust off his shirt, and steps away.

He shouldn’t bother asking, Hermann decided, watching them prepare to leave. He’s not someone you bring on a search for anything, let alone another person. It’s plainly obvious in the face of the wagon and its owners in front of him; armed and capable. Hermann’s just a stranger with a limp.

He starts to ask that they’ll tell him if they find Newton, if he’s alright when Sasha levels him with an impatient look, jerking her head towards the wagon behind her, saying “Get in.”

Hermann is taken aback, gaping. “You want me to come with?” He glances between them and his cane. “I’m not- I don’t-“

“You want to find Newton, yes?” When Hermann nods, Sasha does to, flashing a half-smile. “Then get in.”

The wagon begins with a jerk, rumbling and rattling down the worn dirt road, and Hermann spends the first few minutes trying to keep himself from falling off. They head for the outlying fields just a few miles from the town, where hopeful farmers attempt to grow as much as they can. The ramshackle huts where the field workers sleep dot the landscape between struggling crops of corn and wheat where the stalks limply hang and insects zip about in a veritable feast of unprotected produce.

Dust puffs around them in great clouds on the dry road, the squeaking wagon wheels demanding oil while the oxen pull ever forwards. Hermann’s gaze is everywhere, searching for anything suspicious but he’s out of his depth, unknowing what would even begin to fall into that category here. The Kaidinovsky’s are vigilant in the driver’s seat, Aleksis controlling the steeds while Sasha constantly scans the horizon with a pair of binoculars. With every sweep of her head, Hermann’s anxiety grows.

Newton could be anywhere by now, and even though his new companion assure him Newton’s too much to drag across the continent with just three people in a wagon, he still fears the worst. They may never find him. They could’ve had someone more equipped waiting for a trade-off. They might’ve just killed him. There was no assuring Hermann otherwise, and finally Sasha becomes irritated enough with his ‘twitching’ that she snaps at him to stay still.

"And what am I supposed to do then?" Hermann grumbles, failing to calm his jittering nerves and pounding heart. He's more frightened than he's ever been in a long time, worried and sick of thinking that they might be too late, that they won't find him. "Organize your inventory?"

A spool of gauze hits him in the back of the head. When he asks why, Sasha just tells him to wrap his hand and then stay still. As Hermann begins to start up again, he sees the bloody mess his palm is from where he had been gripping the tooth. He blinks at it for a moment, curling his fingers once more and wincing in pain as the crusted blood re-opens.

He's relatively still after that, even after he cleans and wraps the wound.

“That’s them.” Hermann confirms, giving the binoculars back to Sasha. They’re hidden in a copse just outside a barn that appeared to have been standing there since before the Kaiju War. It had been almost an hour before Sasha spotted the lonely building missing its fields or cattle. Even with just the light of the night sky and the low light coming from inside, the walls were dark with rot and the roof had fallen in some time ago, but it allowed for them to see inside. They had been driving for almost an hour when Sasha spotted the lonely building missing its fields or cattle.

They had eyes on all three of the hunting group; the woman pacing just outside with a shotgun in her hand and a scowl on her lips while the other two sat chatting closer to the back. Newton was nowhere to be seen in all of this, though they assumed he was placed in a more protective spot, hidden from view and locked down somewhere he couldn’t cause trouble. Aleksis made the point that only the one caravan was outside, meaning they were planning to wait and lay low here until help came to cart Newton away.

Which meant either Hannibal or his men were on their way.

“What do we do?” Hermann inquires, glaring as the woman makes another turn in her ceaseless walking. He recognizes her from Riverside with those scars covering her face and neck, along with her two companions. He wanted nothing more than to see them ruined and hurt for what they had done.

“Don’t know.” Sasha elaborates helpfully, looking through the binoculars while her husband sits by obediently. “Could sneak over, but they could kill him then. We would need to get him out before they knew it.”

“So we need a distraction.” Sasha nods, and Hermann runs through the possibilities he can think of. Setting a fire would be too dangerous. Going in full blazes would put someone at risk. Same with making noise, as they would be bound to know that it was trap. They needed something big. Something inherently frightening, something loud-

There’s a bit of rustling that brings Hermann back to the present. One look over to where Aleksis is rummaging in the caravan and Hermann has to hold back his yell of shock as the large man pulls out something as long and as thick as his arm, the barrel of which was too oddly shaped for traditional bullets.

“What on Earth is that?” Aleksis just winks, pushing in a glowing cartridge into the weapon and patting the barrel.

“Distraction.”

The pulse launcher, as Hermann knew from his limited experience with the things, was one of many remnants from when the Kaiju had reigned the planet. Known for shooting what could only be called electrified plasma balls at targets, they created a powerful paralyzing shock on anything that came into contact with them. Lethal, loud, and expensive, Hermann could not fathom why the two mercenaries had one.

“Is this really necessary?” Hermann whispers harshly when the first pulse landed at the front of the barn with a deafening scream and heart-stopping crackling explosion. They were at the back, having silently stalked their way around, and waited for Aleksis to begin. Sasha had been patient with Hermann, going slow and picking a path that would be easiest for his leg and cane.

The plan was to get in, find Newton, and get out to meet Aleksis with the wagon without any causalities or shots fired on their end. It seemed simple enough, but Hermann had the inkling that this wasn’t actually a two person job. On the way over to the barn, when Hermann voiced this concern, he was merely met with a shrug and a ‘need you to watch the door’.

Sasha doesn’t answer him this time, already picking the lock on the back door as the inhabitants began to yell and pour out the other side. Just as planned, she has the door open just as the first round of gunfire starts, the confused bounty hunters beginning to blindly shoot and search for the source of the pulse. He follows her, grateful for how the building somewhat muffles the sounds.

It doesn’t take more than ten steps to find Newton in a back corner where the walls still hold strong. Hermann’s stomach clenches and he claps his hand over his mouth at the sight of the hybrid, lying crumpled on his side, iron shackles bolted to the floor and snapped tightly round his ankles and his stomach where it nearly cuts into him with every breath. He’s unconscious and there’s dried blood right under one of his horns where they must have hit to subdue him. He isn’t moving, mouth ajar, limbs bent awkwardly as if he had just bent dropped on the floor as an afterthought.

Hermann hesitates to rush to his side as Sasha pushes past him, dropping to her knees and placing a hand where the edge of the jaw hits his neck. For several anxious seconds, the only thing that moves in the room is the ancient petrified wood around them, creaking and settling, adding to the ruckus outside. Sasha then nods, moving her fingers down the dull scales to a small faintly glowing point, her brow knitting in concern.

“What is it?” Hermann asks, fingers tapping restlessly on the top of his cane.

“Sedated. Helps them move him better.”

“God. Will he be alright?”

“Yes,” Sasha tells him, digging into her pack for something to pick the locks. She pulls herself closer to the band around Newton’s middle. “Watch the door.” With that, she gets to work, not bothering to see if Hermann had listened.

Hermann does as he’s told, tearing his gaze away from Newton’s limp form to the battered entrance. If he shuffles just to the left, he can just barely make out the land before the barn. Figures are running, ducking, firing pistols in Aleksis’ general direction as the blinding flashes of pulse energy keep them scrambling and confused. No one seems to care about the barn, none of the mercenaries bothering to glance back inside in favor of finding the source of their attack.

Each blast from the pulse gun leaves burning dots in Hermann’s vision and a shudder through his spine, which he tells himself is a good enough excuse to constantly glance over to where Sasha is steadily working on the shackles. She’s bent low, cursing under her breath in Russian when her precise actions yield no results.

One pulse hits the side of the barn, rocking its interior with a great upheaval and Hermann has to fight to keep standing. He steps forward to peer more clearly outside, prompted by the shouts of ‘shit’ ‘Jesus’ and ‘what the hell-‘ before his attention is drawn back inside.

“’Ermann?” Hermann whips round, gasping softly when he realizes Newton is awakening, eyes just barely open and claws twitching. His dry nostrils are flared and he’s huffing as he blinks blearily around, unfocused and searching the room as he struggles to move his stiff neck.

Hermann holds himself back from going to him until Sasha catches his eye, jerking her head towards Newton.  The cane clatters to the floor and he’s at Newton’s side within seconds, dropping to his knees and ignoring the jarring spark of pain that shoots into him from the action.

“Sh, Newton, it’s alright.” He murmurs, shaking as he cradles Newton’s head in between his hands, shuffling himself closer so he can rest the hybrid’s cheek on his thighs. “I’m- we’re here.”

Newton trills softly, snuffling and whimpering as he nuzzles into Hermann’s legs, one trembling hand coming up to grab Hermann’s wrist. Hermann allows it, is grateful for it, his own fingers stroking Newton’s scaley cheek as the shackles round his ankles shudder and jingle with every movement.

“’M sorry, ‘ermann,” Newton mumbles as he attempts to push himself closer, nose brushing Hermann’s loose shirt. Hermann just shushes him, running a hand through his sweaty matted hair and rubbing his thumb at the base of one Newton’s horns.

What an intimate, strange picture it must make; Hermann bent low so he can press a soft kiss to Newton’s injured temple and letting his fingers slide soothing down his punctured neck while the hybrid mewls and butting his head into his stomach, free hand pulling himself closer. Sasha is barely a foot away, working hard on Newton’s twitching ankles and, God, what must she think of them, of Hermann-

It falls away from him, the clanging chains, the distant gunfire and screaming pulses, and even Sasha herself. Hermann’s entire world narrows down to this one singular point as if nothing exists outside of this man struggling, quivering, helpless to fight off whatever they injected into his veins. Even with the din imposing itself around them, all Hermann can hear is the litany of ‘sorry, sorry, sorry’ tumbling like water from Newton’s mouth and all he can think to do is assure him, ‘you’re fine, it’s okay’ and tell him ‘you’ve nothing to be sorry for. I’m here, Newt.’

Sasha pulls him back out, tossing the last of the shackles away with a resounding ‘kthunk’ as it hits the ground that makes the both of them jump. Hermann has to bite back a noise of surprise as every shout and bang and cry slams back into his attention.

“We must go.” Sasha says, nonplussed by how Hermann is holding Newton or Newton is gripping him back. “They will come back soon enough.”

Hermann’s mouth dries as he realizes that the gunfire is slowing down outside, and that there hasn’t been another pulse for some time. He nods, ready to ask how they planned on moving the rather heavy hybrid out of the barn, but Sasha is once again on the move.

She grabs Newton’s wrist which holds the GEM-D, turning the knobs and buttons as if it where child’s play.

“Not the first time.” Sasha shrugs when she sees Hermann’s bemused expression. It doesn’t take very long for Newton to be in his sapien form, mostly naked save for some cloth tied over his groin and is now shivering with his skin out in the open.  Hermann’s cheeks and neck warm at the sight, but banishes any inappropriate thoughts as well as he can.

Getting him up off the ground is a laborious task and they nearly drop Newton twice as his legs are unsteady and unsure with the drug still in his system. Sasha is quiet and patient, slinging Newt’s arm over her shoulder and balancing him as Hermann mutters words of encouragement. He keeps a hand on Newton’s cold sweaty skin as much as he can, not quite ready to let him slip from his fingers once more.

The three of them make their way to the exit as quickly and carefully as possible with Newton’s head lolling on his shoulders and with his unsure steps. They’re almost to the door, and Hermann can practically taste the outside air when they hear a shout behind them.

“He-ey! What the actual fuck is goin’ on here?” One of the bounty hunters, the scrawny one sans his ever-present hound, is charging their way through the other side of the barn, having caught sight of them through the many holes in the building.

Sasha practically throws Newton onto Hermann, drawing out a pistol and yelling at them to go before she begins firing. Hermann staggers under the new weight on his good side, but manages to keep them both up. Their pursuer ducks behind cover as Sasha aims for him again, spitting insults and yelling for his companions to join him.

“What about you?” Hermann snaps, his ears ringing and Newton weighing painfully on his still sore shoulder.

Sasha just hisses and shoves them to the backdoor, another round of gunfire from the opposition hitting the ground and walls around them, “Out! Now!”

Hermann doesn’t need to be told twice.

Chapter Text

Chapter IIV, page 100-101 – In terms of personal relationships between sapiens and hybrids, most view it as indecent and borderline bestiality, and the concept rarely registers beyond unspoken taboo. While it is exceedingly rare to find a settlement that outright bans this kind of intermingling, it is just as uncommon to find one that protects them either. Some people do have strong opinions on the matter, and in cases where a person is found in a more-than-platonic partnership with someone of the other species, the results can be quite extreme—even deadly—for one or both people.

 ...Discretion is highly advised if one were to engage in such relations. - New Earth and How to Live in It (author unknown)

Getting Newton out of the barn is as easy as fording a river with a weight looped around his neck. It becomes even more of a struggle the moment they're five meters outside of the building. Whatever's been driving Newton forward for those few precious steps runs out, and he’s back to leaning most of his weight on Hermann.

The strain and uneven ground has them stumbling every few feet, Hermann fighting to keep them from toppling to the ground. If they do, he’ll never get them back up; that much is obvious. So he aims for the small copse of trees agreed upon as the meeting point, thrusting all of his strength and determination in just making it there, just a few more meters, not long now, Newton, come on, there’s a good chap.

Behind them, the gunfire is escalating, shouts and screams coalescing into a deafening storm of panic as they slowly make their way across the neverending field. A new voice joins into the symphony, deep and commanding, and Hermann can’t block it out when a masculine whoop of excitement barks out from the darkness. He keeps his eyes forward, prays Sasha is alright, and keeps walking.

It’s a rock that does it, half-hidden under a small tuft of grass, and perfectly in place for Newton to stumble over. He lets out a cry of surprise, pitching forward and clinging too hard to Hermann for him to keep their balance. They fight to stay upright, Hermann planting his feet as steadily as he can and pulling Newton from where he’s caught, fumbling to get his legs back into some semblance of order.

“Come now, Newt, we have to keep moving,” Hermann murmurs to him, voice rough. He drags him back up, arms beginning to quake with the strain of Newton’s dead weight, nearly crumpling under his numb knee. With Newton now facing him and roughly vertical, Hermann looks him over, calling to him quietly to get him back into reality from the fog of the drug.

Newton’s mouth is open just so, the corners of his lips beginning to turn up slowly. His eyes are riveted to Hermann’s mouth and Hermann flushes from the tips of his ears to his collarbone.

“What?” he asks, unsure of himself when Newton places a hand to his cheek.

“You called me Newt, dude,” he says breathlessly, and Hermann just gapes. He starts to splutter, unsure of what to say, if to deny or confirm the term of informality, but then Newton’s wrapping an arm around his neck and leaning in on his tiptoes.

His lips are dry and warm, pressed gently against Hermann’s own. At first, Hermann just stands there, slightly shocked but that doesn’t last. He pulls Newton closer, reciprocating the kiss with a soft broken sound and he’s nearly crying with how much he wants this. It’s so innocent, chaste, and Hermann would rather it last for so much longer. 

“Well, well, well,” They part as if hit by the pulse launcher, jerking stiffly away. Sneering, standing crooked with her weight off of one bloody leg and a hunting knife in her left hand was the scarred woman. “Lookie what I found.”

Hermann pushes Newton behind him, standing between the two.

The woman barks out a laugh, shaking her head. “Best move outta my way,” she tells him, half-lidded hateful stare unwavering as she sways on her feet. “I didn’t come all this goddamned to lose my ticket outta this hell hole because you gotta fuckin’ fetish.”

“This isn’t the person you’re looking for,” Hermann tries, and the woman just shrieks in mock amusement.

“How stupid you think I am?” She starts coming toward the two slowly. “Mr. Chau lookin’ for some kinda wrist machine? Fuckin’ dog can’t find the lizard’s scent half the time? Just cause those other two idiots can’t put two-n-two together don’t mean I can’t.”

She points the knife at them, indicating a sweeping motion. “Now, you gunna move aside, and I’m taking in my bounty real smooth like. Nobody else has to die.” Behind him, Newton is begging him to move, just move, I’m not worth it, dude.

The woman must overhear him. “Yeah, listen to the little fucker. Now move aside.”

Hermann turned to face her fully, straightening himself as much as he could with his upper back shuddering in pain and legs swiftly shaking harder and harder. His mind is made up. He shakes his head.

“No,” He tells her, heart jumping into his throat. It’s possibly the stupidest thing he’s done yet, but he’s beyond caring after all this struggle to just survive this idiotically difficult continent. He’d rather die knowing he’d done something, even if it’s just getting between this woman and her damned bounty.

The woman shrugs, baring her teeth in a yellowed smile. “I was hopin’ you’d say that.”

She circles him, and Herman raises his cane, the only thing he has to defend himself. He knows he’s outmatched, but he levels her glare with one of his own. Newton is struggling to get up behind him, telling him to run, leave, come dude, stop so-so-so stu-stupid. She lunges for them after just a moment, jagged hunting knife held high and Hermann stands his ground, ready.

There’s a flash of electric green, and Hermann has just enough time to clap his hands over his ears and cower as a bolt of plasma streaks over his shoulder and smacks, screeching and spitting like an out of control firework, into the woman. With a muffled thump in the ringing silence, she drops to the ground. When Hermann opens his eyes, he sees her just a meter away, limbs rigid and convulsing. Her eyes are wide and unblinking, hair puffed out in static, and drool beginning to trickle from her chattering mouth.

Hermann has to look away, nausea and bile in his throat threatening to evacuate what little is in his stomach onto the dusty earth. Instead, he crawls over to where Newton is rubbing at his injured temple, half-lying-down and still dazed.

“Newt, Newton, are you alright?” Hermann asks, batting his hand away and replacing it with his own. The wound has re-opened somehow, fresh glowing blood dribbling weakly out of the cut.

“Yeah, man, ‘M fine,” Newton slurs, blinking at him with a charmingly dopey smile. “That was ahesome.” He brings his shaking fingers to Hermann’s bicep. “You okay?”

Hermann has most likely sprained his wrist with the way he fell on it, and his knee with be more than sore for the next week or so. “Yes, perfectly alright,” he tells Newton, who nods, still grinning, presses their foreheads together with a laugh. Hermann joins in, surprisingly himself with just how giddy he is, covered in sweat and dirt, aching all over, and half-atop his companion.

The noise from the barn has stopped, he vaguely notes, still grinning ear to ear while Newton shakes occasionally with silent chuckles. Hermann thinks they’re going to kiss again, and almost goes for it with Newton’s shy glance. But the moment is gone when Newton looks over his shoulder, calling out to someone. Hermann shoots off him, flushing and searching this mysterious person.

Aleksis saunters up to them, the plasma launcher held loosely by his side and grinning at them as if there wasn’t a slightly convulsing person unconscious on the ground between them. He greets them jovially, brushing debris from his front, leftover by the dead dried bush he’d been using for cover. Compared to the two of them, he’s positively untouched by this whole ordeal, not even a sweat breaking out over his brow.

Hermann has nothing to say, mouth flopping like a bass at the bottom of a boat, and Newton takes one glance between the two of them, and collapses back onto the ground in another bursts of laughter. No matter how Hermann prods, he does not find out exactly what is so funny.

 Newton is hauled to the cart mostly by Aleksis, who just carries the smaller man without breaking a sweat. There’s a surprise in the driver’s seat, a floppy-eared, wrinkly, red one, panting away and sniffing at them as Aleksis lays the swiftly falling asleep Newton into the back. Asking about it gets Hermann nothing more than a shrug and a hand up into the wagon. The dog snuffles Hermann’s shoulder as he settles his back to the front, and he pats it on the head.

“That’s the bounty hunters',” Hermann points out, reading the name ‘Georgie’ carved into a lovingly-shined tag. Georgie attempts to lick his hand, but he pulls away fast enough. “How did it—"

“She,” Aleksis corrects him, taking his place at the driver’s seat.

“Yes, alright, she. How did she get here?”

“Ran from her owner. Found me. Now, she is ours,” Aleksis says with smug finality, scratching Georgie behind one of her great ears. By that time, Sasha's crossed the distance between the barn and the wagon, appearing as if she's always been a few feet away.

Sasha takes one look at the dog sitting next to her partner, panting and staring at her with its wrinkled slobbery charm, and nods. She hops up next to the two, pats the hound’s head with a quiet good girl and Georgie closes her eyes, content. With that, the wagon jolts to a rolling start, their steady oxen unaffected by the smoke or the extra passengers in the cart.

Between the wagon moving and Newton’s head in his lap, the frantic energy leaves Hermann with a sigh. He leans back against the tied-down crates as best he can, eyes slipping shut. Before he drifts off, Newton snores loudly, snuggling into his thigh, and Hermann lets his hand rest on the hybrid's neck. The wood is hard beneath him, and his body thrums and twitches with pain, but with Newton safe, his pack by his side, and a new destination on the horizon, he’s simply content to relax.

Later, when Newton wakes up in the mid-sunrise of a new day, he starts to apologize profusely, panicking that he’s dragged Hermann from where he wanted to be. Hermann silences him with a hand on his shoulder, tells its fine, they’ll work something out. He has no real plans anyways, as it were.

Beyond them, outside this cart and the snoring dog, is a hilly open country. They’ve passed the farms and ancient barns and in the distance, they can just barely make out the sounds of the workers beginning their morning chores. Dew has settled, wetting the rumbling wheels of the wagon and the ever-present scent of cattle is slowly being replaced by crisp morning air that no longer chokes the back of the tongue with every inhale.

Newton grins, brighter that the sun just edging over the horizon, than the stars fading in the early morning sky. He nods, laughs, says with a teasing edge to his voice, “Alright, dude, but I don’t want to hear about it a week from now when we’re crossing the Mississippi.”

Hermann’s response is a glower and a roll of his eyes as he shoves some bread into Newton’s hands and tells him “Eat, before you pass out again.”

If he cranes his neck, Hermann can just make out the early fires of far-off settlements and the occasional ambitious wandering merchant cresting a hill a mile or two ahead. Sasha is at the reins now, Aleksis and the dog asleep beside her. Even with the scowl back on his face, Newton has laid his head on Hermann's shoulder as he tears into his breakfast and Hermann knows he’s satisfied with this.

Chapter Text

The ride cross-continent is a blur to Hermann, if he’s honest. He spends most of it in the wagon, jotting in his notebook, examining the laptop, and chatting with Aleksis about life and the war in Europe. He’s surprisingly talkative when it comes to the right subjects and is quite the conversational partner during the many time Sasha and Newton go into towns for restocking supplies.

Newton is rarely near the wagon, constantly running ahead, disappearing for hours and days only to come back to report, rest, and eat. They don’t have much time to talk about what happened at the barn, and neither of them seem keen on the subject. Hermann wants to, thinks about bringing it up whenever Newton returns to the wagon, but eventually his cowardice wins out.

They chat still, bicker, even, about anything from the temperature to Newton coming back covered in mud as if he were a child and when Newton sleeps in the wagon, he finds an excuse (space, warmth, comfort) to be right next to Hermann the entire time. Hermann scowls, rolls his eyes, tells Newton honestly, I’m not you’re portable furnace, but otherwise allows it. Enjoys it. Misses it when Newton has run ahead, and the nights steadily turn colder and the meager blanket feels like not enough.

The trip takes three and a half months, but feels like a lifetime, following old highways and interstates, and really, nothing much happens. Some parts are desolate, some are rich in people, both hybrids and sapiens, and some are covered in raiders and gangs and animals the likes of which Hermann has never seen. Sasha and Aleksis are good at avoiding conflict with shady groups and take roads to avoid the worst of the environment with the help of Newton’s scouting. The landscape changes from the mountains to the hilly plains to the swampy marshes near the many spidery rivers stemming from the Mississippi to another set of mountains, slowly fading into each other as Hermann watches from the back of the wagon.

He never thought they’d get through the massive plains, dotted by tributaries and distant hills. A strange landscape of tall yellow dancing grasses and few trees, populated by massive herding monstrosities which Newton almost has a heart attack as they pass the wooly creatures slowly grazing and howling to one another. He disappears longer than ever this time, hardly coming back to them for even food. The few times he does during this week-long process of the never ending grassy sea, he cannot find himself able to be quiet for longer than a minute, a bottomless well of excited information about the ‘kaiju bison’, as he dubs them.

Hermann honestly couldn’t bring himself to care; the kaiju bison spent their six-hoof-ended-legged lives bellowing to one another day and night. When they weren’t honking louder than a ship’s fog horn, they were snoring or snorting or stamping and is altogether ruinous for Hermann’s ability to sleep.

On top of that, bow-legged pack hunters followed their wagon ceaselessly, their skittering flat bodies using the underside as a hiding from their prey during the day. Hermann refuses to leave the back of the caravan with them around, their oblong flat snouts filled with crooked sharp teeth and their huge sunken eyes watching him constantly. Even the dog refuses to touch the long grasses unless Aleksis is next to her, whining constantly the entire time until she was once again sitting next to him on the driver’s seat.

Newton finds their twitchy heads and strange bodies ‘cute’, to no-one’s surprise. Once they leave the plain, he pouts for three days straight after Sasha and Hermann refuse to let him bring one of their eggs along. No matter how much it could ‘help’ him, Hermann was not sleeping next to a translucent shell barely hiding a growing embryo that could hatch at any time. This side of the argument at least brings Newton out of his pouting slump, if only to give Hermann a lesson on the mechanics of eggs, the life cycle of egg-laying animals, and the sheer stupidity of him actually being afraid of a little cute baby, like what is wrong with you Hermann?

A few times, whether just across a field or roaming the horizon, Hermann can see groups of dirty people, all formed into a single frightened line. Weary and wearing nothing but rags, all ages tramp the ground together, hands bound in ropes and backs bent, slumped into submission. Armored men march with them, toting guns and sticks to smack them with when the slaves begin to slow.

Sasha tells him there’s nothing they can do when Hermann asks after the second day as one of these ‘slave trains’ keeps pace with them. She tells him to ignore it for now, they’ve got other things to worry about. Even Newton keeps his head down, staying low to the wagon’s bottom, not wanting to be seen by any one affiliated with Chau or any of his minions.

Each visit to any settlements along the way were short-lived and scarce. The Russians have an incredible sense of urgency about them, continuing to drive them towards their destination without end. Newton asks them several times if they can detour, but Sasha refuses unless absolutely necessary.

Most of the villages and towns are products of their environment, made of materials easily found and torn apart, hastily assembled to cover the residents from a sun too hot and winds too bitter. Some are metal, and the scent of rust and baked steel sting the air whenever they pass, while others have retrofitted concrete tunnels surfaced presumably by the Kaiju, making long winding passages rolled together and dipping periodically beneath the earth. It’s odd to see, even from a distance, sapiens and hybrids alike, carving into cliffs and valleys, utilizing mine shafts, and picking their way through rubble cities while piecing together brick and mortar with what they can find.

He’s never missed his old home more, where people have been desperately trying to remake ancient pictures and ideas brought with them from generations of sapiens in the Havens. Everything is so damn far apart here in the Middle, miles of land and wreckage separating small pockets of civilization that it’s a miracle anyone has survived so long. Perhaps it’s this very lack of distance that has fueled the war in Europe, how close so many different thoughts and perceptions have been huddling together in a mad bid to attain a long dead way of life.

Or maybe not, he ponders when they pass by town after town, fronted by guards armed to the teeth, their rifles aimed steadily at the caravan and Sasha has to drive the oxen faster to avoid the bullets soon to come. Newton can scout out these kinds of places, but even he can miss the warning shots and screamed threats directed their way. A few too many times they have to duck behind crates and bags to avoid presenting a clear target.

War follows where it can, Hermann conclude, whether against otherworldly beings with a parasitic hobby or a squabble over the ‘old ways’ of separate countries and the radical new idea for a singular power in the name of peace. Hermann leaves the philophisizing to someone more apt, giving his time over to scribbling in his notebook and pondering the question of the laptop that stubbornly remains black and dead.

Getting through the Rockies, a mountain range where consults fight for land and sapiens ping pong between the strongest of the hybridas for protection, is surprisingly calmer than the Appalas. Newt hides behind his GEM-D, stays quiet next to Hermann with his head bowed and shoulder pressed into Hermann’s own as Sasha and Aleksis make negotiations for passage. The hybridas pay him and Newt little mind, but often croon over the dog, who seems to enjoy the extra attention.

The hybridas meet the Kaidonoskys with an air of familiarity. They trade seeds and sapien-made leather and some of the Russian-grade alcohol Aleksis has had fermenting in special crate in the wagon. At some point, while Sasha regails one of the massive women with an odd story involving a wrench and two drug-addled raiders, Hermann notices the chirping and murmuring just over the wall of the wagon. He leans over, shocked at the sight of four massive eyes peering back at him.

It’s the first time Hermann sees hybrid children, with their disproportionally large feet and tails hopping and waddling around the caravan excitedly. They climb onto the sides of the wagon and curiously peek their heads over the wooden sides. Hermann waves at them, slightly taken aback but that feeling seems mutual from the little ones as though they have never seen a sapien before. They chatter at him, asking about his bag, and if the wagon is uncomfortable and if he gets hurt a lot with his skin and Hermann answers what he can before one of the hybridas eventually come by and scoop the children away.

She clacks her teeth together, carrying the two in one great arm and chastising them quietly about ‘annoying the softies’ and the children quietly say to goodbye over her scolding. Hermann returns it, sad to see them go. When he looks at Newton next, the man is grinning irritatingly at him. When Hermann asks what he’s smiling for in an annoyed sniff, Newton just shakes his head and tells him it’s nothing. Hermann frowns, and doesn’t mention the children again, but whenever he can see them watching from atop rocks and shacks, he gives them a wave, quietly elated when they do so back.

They begin moving again soon after. No time for rest or cross-species mingling.

Bone City is aptly named, a landmark Newton and Sasha adamantly refuse to go near, but Hermann can see pass on the horizon to the south. In the sun, the bleached white skeleton of a Kaiju almost blinds him in the heat of the day, and he can only behold its form through the smoke of cooking fires. At night, lanterns and fires light up the ribs and skull, as though the behemoth could rise at any moment with ravenous orange eyes and pulsating heart as sapien parasites mingle among glowing entrails.

Newton tells Hermann that the sapiens who live there claim to have never been Haven dwellers, that their ancestors survived the Kaiju, that they believe they are the chosen few to claim this land.

“Not even the Crats go near them.” Newton says one night as Bone City is nothing more than a mirage behind them. “They think ramming old Kaiju Tech weapons in between vertebrae is a fun sport.”

“What about Chau?” Newton gives a hollow laugh, scratching at him wrist.

“He’s their number one merchant.” When Hermann asks if Newton had ever been there, he goes silent and pretends to sleep.

Hermann lets him.

The first sight of Rad Fran is a pre-war billboard with the city’s name written in white paint against a background of rust, an arrow pointing the general way and proclaiming 20 miles ahead. Newton stays near Hermann for that last stretch, vibrating with anxiety and excitement that’s leaves Hermann’s nerves raw from their proximity. He jabbers constantly about the people they’ll meet, the things that he’s missed, and ‘oh, I can’t wait for you to see it!’. At some point, his scaley hand ends up grasping onto Hermann’s, but whether he realizes it or not, Hermann doesn’t care.

He lets Newton’s hand hold his, choosing to chastise him for being an ‘impatiently hyperactive lizard man’, which Newton surprisingly takes as a compliment and does nothing to calm himself down.

By the time they hit Rad Fran, Hermann’s more than ready for the ceaseless wagon travel to end.

The headquarters for the Pan-Pacific Tech Corps is a retrofitted factory in the middle of what may have been a small business block but is now a single barely-held-together three story monolith in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Sentries stand guard in small makeshift towers with rifles as the ready and yet they barely acknowledge them rolling in. The horizon holds more dangers than their cart ever could.

They come to a halt before the cracked concrete porch surrounding the rust-patched dull metal front door, where two figures await to greet them. One of them, a hybrid with his hair slicked back with gel and a rosary around his wrist hops down and ambles confidently toward them. As Aleksis helps Hermann down from the wagon, and Sasha handles the excited hound, Newton and the other hybrid find own another, laughing and embracing as Hermann shuffles his feet awkwardly.

“Jeez, brother, you gave us fright!” The other hybrid laughs when they part, sat back on their haunches and grinning from ear to ear. Newton gets playful push to the shoulder, and his retaliation is dodged with ease. “Never thought we were getting’ you back!”

“What?” Newton screeches, mocking utter devastation. “That little faith in me, man? I’m not like a newborn or anything, I know my way around! Jesus, Tendo, you act like I’ve never been about before!”

Tendo snorts, making a swipe at Newton with a few more teasing words.

“Hey, man!” Newton leans in, smiling and happier than Hermann’s seen him for some time. One of his thick plated arms is slung over Hermann’s shoulders, albiet carefully so nothing scratches him. “This is Hermann.” Newton says, turning to look at him and Hermann scowls out of habit but gives the amused Tendo a much more amiable expression. He holds out a hand, not quite sure if it was the appropriate gesture for a hybrid.

Tendo just laughs, knocking his hand away and pulling him into tight suffocating hug. Shocked, Hermann merely stands stock still, unsure of what to do, but Tendo pulls away before too long, takes one look at Hermann’s face, and bursts into a fit of giggles.

“Dude, what the hell?” Newton asks, just as confused as Hermann.

“Look at you two!” Tendo says, “I guess survival really is for the nerds.” Newton shrieks next to him, swiping after a chuckling Tendo and beginning to give chase all the while yelling what the hell is wrong with you and I’m not coming back next time, dick magnet. Tendo just eggs him on, dodging out of harm’s way and continuing the chase.

Hermann turns away, smiling to himself, when he becomes aware of the sensation of someone watching him. He searches, and see’s the man still on the porch at the front of the building, nodding his way solemnly when their eyes meet.

“Come on, dude,” Newton, later, covered in dust and gleefully out of breath, begins leading him to the door, tail bumping into him as they walk together. “Let’s get you a job, yeah?”

Hermann agrees, shifting the pack on his shoulder. It may not be what he’s imagined, where he thought he wanted to be, but with Newton by his side, and if the whole damn journey up to this point is any evidence, he could make it work.

Newt gives him a grandiose lopsided grin as he introduces Hermann to his, their, new boss. Hermann returns it, straightening and introducing himself with a sense of earned pride over all they had to live through to get here. He’s survived worse than this.

Maybe it’s time to adapt.