Chapter Text
It started off as a terrible day.
Usually, on most terrible days, they sneak up on you by making it seem like things are going to be normal at best. So having this day start absolutely awful was a testament to Varian that the rest of the day was only going to get worse.
Earlier that week he offered his help to Rapunzel in castle repairs. The castle was not his favorite place, but he couldn’t say that he regretted offering help as soon as the princess’s face lit up with gratitude and happiness and all things warm. He woke up early this morning in order to be able to start the trek from Old Corona to the kingdom square. The sun was barely peeking its face above the horizon when he rose from his bed, unrested and uneasy from the usual nightmares doing their rounds. The feeling of chains heavy on his wrists, pinching and twisting the delicate skin until blood was drawn and nausea that accompanied the dreaded amber glow, still lingering in his morning routine. Brush his overgrown hair, wash his face to make him seem less tired and haggard, put on the layers on clothes bought for him, by Rapunzel herself, to help conceal the massive amount of weight he’d lost in that year in prison, and check his dad’s room for his slumbering form-just to make sure he’s there. He was out of his house and on his way before the rest of the sun made its way out of the hilltops.
He was almost out of the village when the alchemist heard the telltale signs of Ruddiger hissing and chirring mixed with jeering shouts. When Varian went to investigate, he found a group of boys throwing rocks at his raccoon and poor Ruddiger doing his best to avoid getting hit by the pebbles that were growing in size the longer the interaction went on. He ran in immediately to scoop his raccoon in his arms, using his body to shield his friend from remaining rocks pelted his way. After a particularly sharp rock hit his temple, he turned to face the boys he had grown up with.
“What are you doing? Why are you hurting him?!”
One of the boys sneered at his offended tone. Varian recognized him as Terrance, one of the sons of his dad’s friends in the village. He appeared to be the ringleader of all of this.
“Your stupid pest broke into my family’s henhouse last night. Stole one of our prized chickens.” He said this with an air that he didn’t think that he deserved an explanation of why they were stoning his furry friend. If Varian already didn’t have reason to be upset, he probably would have ignored the rudeness to avoid the conflict. But he did have a reason to be upset which is why he didn’t walk away.
“That doesn’t make sense, your hens are as big as he is. Are you sure you didn’t leave the fence gate open and let that fox in again?”
That seemed to anger Terrance. The idea that he was being dumb, but didn’t want to take responsibility for it, wasn’t improbable in Varian’s mind. But, seeing the taller, stronger boy’s face turn red with fury at the accuracy of this guess made something in Varian’s stomach twist. The other boys backed up from the two, watching for Terrance’s cue to do something.
“Of course I didn’t! It was your critter that got in and took the chicken! What do you think I am, stupid?”
At the continued accusation, Varian couldn’t help himself when presented with the opportunity.
“Well, seeing as raccoons are scavengers and don’t hunt live prey unless they absolutely have too and we literally live in a farming village filled to the brim with food that he doesn’t have to hunt; I’d say yes. Because anyone with something besides straw between their ears knows that, in fact, our scarecrow is looking weary, would you mind taking over his shift?”
The other boy tackled him, sending Ruddiger flying out of his arms. Big pudgy hands formed into fists and started knocking Varian around. The other boys formed a semi-circle around the two on the dirt. Terrance’s fists hit any place on his upper body he can reach, Varian’s arms held up weakly in defense of his face. The words slinging out of Terrance’s mouth hurt more than the blows.
“How dare you say that to me? You traitor scum!”
Traitor
Held down-Being held down. Grinning, malicious faces looming over him. Cold stone against his throbbing face, warm with blood and tears.
That guard. That one guard that wouldn’t leave him alone grinding his foot into his back, twisting his damaged ribs.
He’s-he’s getting yanked. Where is he going? He’s getting thrown into a box by himself. At least now he’s alone. Alone with those terrible thoughts.
Terrance’s pummels eventually slowed to a stop when Varian lowered his arms and made no reaction to his physical violence; baby blue eyes clouded over and lips twisted tightly into a scarily neutral expression. He’s vaguely aware of the other boy getting off of him and leaving him aching in the dirt. The sound of their retreating footsteps echoes in Varian’s ears as he slowly starts to curl into himself, drawing his legs up in a fetal position and lying on his side. Parting words from Terrance leave him paralyzed.
“Wonder how bad your tantrum will be the next time everyone leaves you and your big mouth.”
Varian doesn’t know how long he lies on the ground with those words bouncing around his skull. Next time. Next time. Next time.
There won’t be a “next time”, right? He helped Rapunzel, he apologized. She wouldn’t leave him again, right? What about Dad? Varian told him what had happened in the past year and a half, and even though his father was upset with him for a few days after. He said that he wouldn’t give up on him. He said that he’d be there for him. Dad wouldn’t leave, right? Is there anyone else? Is there anyone else that cares? Would he have anyone else if they were to leave?
Ruddiger came back around sometime after the bullies left, to check on his boy who remained unmoving from the ground. He chirred at Varian to see if he could snap him out of this dissociative state and when it didn’t work he settled for curling up near his boy’s face and started purring. After a few more passing minutes, Varian was able to move again. He shakily got to his hands and knees.
The dull ache throbbing in his eye and a few places in his ribs combined with the stabbing pain in his temple and nose made Varian groan; less out of pain, having already been used to that, and more out of annoyance. He probably looked like a mess. Hopefully, he’ll be able to avoid Rapunzel long enough to clean up-otherwise he’d have to explain. From experience, Varian knows that is less than fun.
By the time he’s able to stand on his feet and get walking again, this time with Ruddiger draped around his shoulders, the sun is high in the sky. Great, he’s going to be late on top of everything else. Hopefully, he’ll finish with repairs in time to check on his dad in the afternoon.
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As much as Varian respected the princess, he wasn’t completely sure the idea of having all of the townsfolk in one room, working in the glaring sun, was a good idea in any situation. Currently, Varian is trying to avoid the citizens that are growing increasingly crabby and irritable. He’s working by himself in a corner, damage to the painted walls done mostly by the rocks but some just of age with the added stress. He’s already filled in the holes and reinforced the walls with his goo bombs as well as sanded down any lumps so it was even with the wall, now all he has to do is paint it over. He hears two citizens start to get into a riff, one with a ridiculous-looking mustache and the other, an older woman that appeared to work at the castle in the cleaning lady uniform. He does his best to filter their voices out and get to painting so he can leave the room and get home in time. His head throbbed and his eye twitched every now and then, much to his chagrin. The argument increased in volume, making the alchemist flinch.
Just do a couple of layers of paint and you’ll be done, he told himself, feeling the tightness in his chest rise.
He looked down at the paint can and tools he needed to finish this job.
Oh, Sun, why didn’t he notice this earlier.
The base paint was a bright green color, air bubbles floating on the surface in an act of pseudo-innocence. Taunting him, gods, that color was mocking him.
The hand on his shoulder is heavy and nails dig into his bruised, raw skin. He’s stirring the chemical but can’t stir any longer when the hand abruptly yanks his shoulder round. The owner of the hand starts throwing questions at him, voice rising in pitch with impatience.
“When will the chemical be ready?”
“We’ve given you plenty of time, buddy.”
“Unless you get this chemical right, you’ll be back in that cell. You want that?”
Varian stumbles back from the wall, and the paint by association. Everything in the room suddenly becomes hyper clear to his senses. The smell of paint toxins burns his nose and his eyes hurt from the sun’s brightness; his headache growing more and more painful. The citizen’s conversation rings in his head loud and clear.
“I don’t understand why I have to be here, slaving away when I didn’t cause the damage?!”
“Cause the people who did cause the damage are too dangerous to be out here, fixing it. Well, most of them aren’t out here.”
Varian’s breath hitched in his throat. His least favorite word made a reappearance in his head as he could feel the burning gazes of the people on his back. His hands start shaking. He had to get out of there. He has to get out. Where can he go? He doesn’t know but he has to leave this room. The room that has the paint the same shade as his Quireneon, with the memories of Andrew’s crushing grip on his shoulder, with the citizens that hate him and won’t stop looking at him like he’s a wild animal posed to attack. So he bolts.
He runs out of that room like his life depends on it.
He didn’t expect to run into the throne room right as Princess Rapunzel discovered that stupid treasure map.
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Kierra huffed as yet another group passed her and this mustache guard in their boat. Aren’t boats supposed to be faster than on foot? Then why are so many groups passing them? She groaned and turned to face this incompetent guard. She did nothing to conceal the look of pure frustration on her face.
“You’re rowing too slow! Everyone’s getting ahead of us!”
He suddenly had the nerve to talk back, despite being able to be pushed around so easily.
“Well, why don’t you help?” The girl nicknamed Angry grumbled. And replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“My arms are too tiny, duh. What kind of guard are you if you can’t row properly?” Stan looked as if he were about to argue but then the child thief started rifling through his things. He looked on in horror as she started tossing his belongings out and around as if they were useless. If only Pete were here. Pete always respected his personal space and things. He also made Stan feel happy whenever he was around. But no, he was stuck with a feral pre-teen with an anger management problem. Angry pulled out the extra helmet that he packed.
“Why did you pack an extra uniform?” Before he could respond she followed up her own question with an equally rude one. “Where did you even get an extra uniform? I thought all you guys had one and that’s it.” Stan rolled his eyes and explained, still rowing.
“We get extra linens and gloves but of course we don’t get extra armor and helmets. I brought an extra pair of mine and asked another guard around my size to lend me his helmet and armor. It’s a bit dented but it’ll serve its purpose. Just in case something happens to the one I’m wearing.”
“I didn’t know you had other guards that you hung out with besides that skinny one you’re always bickering with.”
“Pete’s not skinny! He’s lean. And I-um. I don’t really talk to anyone as much as Pete but Greyson was more than willing to let me borrow his because he got the day off. He’s usually patrolling the high-security floor but someone else offered their help. Why are you asking?” A shadow passes over the two of them. Stan looks up to find a hot air balloon careening over them. Oh, right. That other criminal child is pretty smart and could probably build something like that in no time. When he turned his attention back to Angry, she had a growing smirk on her face, her head still tilted up at the balloon.
“I have an idea.” She said in a tone that if she wasn’t a little girl, Stan would have been scared.
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The alchemist had to admit that it could be worse. He could have been paired off with one of the guards that threw him out into the blizzard. Or the citizens that had been in the room with him when he had his mini-flashback. Yeah, the blacksmith doesn’t know how to take a hint and stop with the stories and the legends, but Xavier did have a nice voice, and he spoke in that slow, steady tone that made him feel a lot calmer than he was when he started this treasure hunt. Even though it was stressful building an entire hot air balloon by himself while Xavier sat off to the side caught in his story-telling haze; here, in the air, this was nice.
The wind blowing through his hair and the hum of birds flocking nearby, Varian allowed himself to close his eyes and imagine all of his anxieties and all of his worries, and all of his aches and pains did not exist. Just him, the breeze, and Xavier’s pleasant rumble of a voice. That was until he opened his eyes and saw a figure in the river, clinging to a rock to fight the current.
Panic surged through him. There weren’t any roads down here, only the river and the thickly wooded forest. From the looks of the glint of the sun shining off the gold helmet and flash of red, it could be one of the guards that set out on the same mission. Who knows how long they’ve been down there?
He told Xavier to bring the balloon down, his worry increasing tenfold at the blacksmith’s gasp of horror when he saw what Varian was looking at. The large man quickly started manipulating the pulleys to bring them to a stop in a nearby bank of grass. Varian, meanwhile, was letting his worry get the best of him, thinking back to if he had seen one of the two guards take this path. If they had been in that water for long, that means any sum of horrible things could’ve happened to the guards he was just getting on decent terms with, or their partners, the younger girls. As the teen stumbled out of the balloon, he called to the figure that was still clinging to the rock with both arms.
The figure didn’t respond. Not even a turn of the head to the sound of his voice. Oh sun, Varian thought, what if they’re unconscious? He ran over to try and assess the damage. But slowed to a stop right before the river bank.
That uniform, he-he knew that uniform.
Recognizing the oddly shaped dent on the shoulder piece of the armor, Varian started taking slow shaky steps backward. His breathing picked up and his mind spiraled. How can he be here? Why is it him of all guards? What if Varian touched him and he turned that sadistic smile on him again? What if this was all a ruse to get Varian back in the cold, grimy cells? What if these people were just taunting him with his freedom to make him believe they were friends again? No, that’s ridiculous. But then why is the guard that starved him-beat him, lying in the river like all kinds of suspicious. They were going to put him back there, weren’t they? They were going to put him back in that high-security hell.
Varian felt like he couldn’t breathe. He heaved and puffed but none of it was going to his lungs nor his brain, keeping him from thinking clearly. Chills racked his bones when the everpresent phantom sensations of shackles and chains became too real, too solid. He continued to back away, now with a renewed paralyzing fear. He stumbled over and over. But it seemed like no matter how far the distance between them, Varian could still clearly see the dent in the armor made by his head slamming into the guard’s shoulder. He could see the fist raised and heard the harsh voice ringing in his ears, screaming at him to be quiet, stop with the crying or I’ll break that pretty face of yours and give you something to cry about. Varian’s hands clambered in front of him, shaking violently, trying to protect his head from the eventual brutal blow.
A strong hand clamped down on his convulsing shoulder. Varian gasped at the sudden heavy feeling and the sudden terrifying realization.
He was behind him. Oh no, he was behind him.
Not even taking a pause, Varian clenched his eyes shut, not wanting to see the cruel smirk nor the black eyes nor the dent that his head made when it struck the metal with a sickening crack. And he ran. He tore the hand off his shoulder and ran in the opposite direction.
Get away. He has to get away. Please, if there’s any mercy in the world, let him be able to outrun the grown man trained to chase criminals. Criminals like him.
Dangerous criminals like him.
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Xavier realized that in hindsight, suddenly making physical contact with someone amid a panic was not a good idea. But watching the young child back up into him, tears running down his face and limbs shaking so heavily that Xavier feared he’d topple over; the older man knew he had to do something.
Now watching Varian’s retreating figure, he sighed. From the beginning, Xavier noticed the alchemist’s jumpiness, fiddling with his fringe to have it cover the dark purple bruise spreading over his left eye. He noticed the bags under his eyes and the wide variety of nervous tics. So Xavier did what he did best and recounted stories from long ago. In his experience, when he told stories, people tended to let go of their anxieties. For a while, it seemed like it worked, the boy calming considerably. That was until they found the guard uniform in the river.
Xavier leaned down and picked up the empty helmet, holding it with two hands and glaring at it sternly. This ruse, this decoy just undid all he was trying to do in helping relax the tightly wound child. He looked up at their balloon drifting across the sky, Stan the guard and his partner, the snarky girl, were peeking over the edge of the basket in confusion. Probably wondering why it was just him at the river and why Varian was running like his life depended on it, away from him and the empty guard uniform.
Those two were in for a mighty lecture later. But for now, all Xavier could do to help is watch Varian disappear into a wooded forest and wish that no further harm comes to him. After all, that poor boy has had enough harm to last him three lifetimes over.
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No words could describe how ridiculous Eugene felt. He felt like one of Xavier’s legends, good gods, it was embarrassing. He couldn’t believe that he and Lance had fallen asleep instead of taking advantage of their skills and just nabbing the treasure before anyone else and saving them the trouble of feeling bad when they failed to get it. He looked over at his partner as the two of them leaped from tree to tree. Instead of going the long way ‘round, both Lance and himself agreed to take this shortcut through the small forest near the stream. Lance’s face was beginning to turn red with exertion, or perhaps embarrassment.
But it felt good to be doing something like this again with him. As much as he wanted to put his past as a thief behind him, Eugene couldn’t help the grin stretching across his face. It felt like he was free, the adrenaline pumping through his limbs and dopamine fueling his brain. Lance seemed to be faring about the same, going off of the devilish smirk stretching across his brother’s face.
The branch he landed on creaked for a moment and Eugene paused to catch his breath, after seeing Lance stop in a tree in front of him. Unable to help himself, the ex-rogue let out a giddy laugh.
“Don’t have as much stamina than you used to, huh Lance?” He ribbed playfully. Eugene pointedly ignored the fact that he was leaning against the tree trunk and holding a cramp on his side. Lance didn’t answer, he just continued to stand and breathe heavily with his back turned to Eugene.
Oh. That was their code. When they had gone on jobs together, the silence was their code that something was wrong. Eugene quieted his breaths and knelt against the bark. Listening intently, he eventually picked up on what Lance was hearing. Footsteps, frantic stumbling against the forest floor, and desperate huffs for air. Someone was running towards them. In front of him, Eugene heard Lance inhale sharply. That wasn’t a good sign.
“Eugene.” Lance’s deep voice rumbled quietly, an unusual seriousness in his tone. As silently as he could, the brunette leaped from his tree onto his friend’s. From there, he could see what Lance was seeing.
A figure was running toward them, slight and small. Their arms were held over their head, covering their face, pulling at their hair. It was odd, the way the figure held their hands like they were bound together. As the figure drew closer, Eugene let out a harsh exhale, the blue streak and goggles were unmistakable. Lance’s expression soured and Eugene felt something churn inside of his stomach, something unsettling. What was the kid running from? Was he up to something? The closer Varian got to the two in the tree, the better the thief duo could hear his uneven, desperate breathing. By sun, what was his problem? He made eye contact with Lance and they both nodded.
The treasure can wait, for now, they have to see what this kid was up to.
Eugene respected Rapunzel, he loved her. One of his favorite things about her was her ability to see the good in everything, including the teenager currently running in their direction. As much as he wanted to put everything the kid did in the past and move on, he couldn’t help but be suspicious of him. After all, he nearly succeeded in hurting his family. Eugene wanted to make sure that Varian wasn’t up to anything, or at the very least that he wouldn’t try anything, again. The kid was almost right under them; and Eugene could hear his laboring breaths combined with the sound of keening sobs. Eugene winced a little at the echoing cries. Maybe Varian didn’t do anything and Eugene was just being paranoid. But he wasn’t going to risk it with this kid.
Both he and Lance dropped from their tree before Varian could run past them. Their sudden appearance made the alchemist stumble back in surprise. He couldn’t get past them so he was forced to stand on shaky, unstable legs. His face peaking between his arms held up. Eugene realized from this point that the kid looked terrified, his wide blue eyes darting back and forth between the two of them blocking his exit. His breaths not slowing, and the tears running down his face began to fall in droplets on the leaves decorating the ground. Lance was the first to move, holding one arm out as if to touch him. Varian flinched away from the hand coming toward him, letting a whimper escape and holding his clenched together arms closer to his face.
“Where you headed in such a rush, buddy ?” The dark-skinned man said in what should’ve been a calming manner. It had the opposite effect, however. Eugene watched the raw panic pass over the young boy’s face, dropping his hands down, still holding them strangely. When Varian started stumbling backward, Eugene took careful steps forward. The man took in the details of the alchemist’s face. He had a rapidly darkening bruised eye, a gash on his temple near his hairline, and splotches of green and purple along the bridge on his nose. Eugene had noticed the small injuries earlier in the throne room but didn’t think too much of it. But what made the ex-thief pause briefly was the pure, unfiltered terror Varian carried on his features. This kid was genuinely scared of something. Was it them? If the kid was scared of him and Lance…
Eugene swallowed a lump of guilt in his throat. He stopped stepping toward the frightened teen, letting Varian do his best to maximize the distance between them. That was until he tripped over a root that he couldn’t see moving backward. Almost immediately the kid curled in on himself, drawing his legs up and tucking his arms into his chest. His shaking turned into a violent quivering and his sobs rang in the mostly empty forest.
Lance and Eugene took this opportunity to move closer to him, quietly. Eugene watched the worry etch itself onto Lance’s face when the two of them started to hear the words Varian was choking out between sobs. Witnessing the practiced neutrality fall from his friend’s face and feeling an ice-cold sensation grip his heart, Eugene felt that unsettling churning again.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sor-sor-sorry. I’m sorry.” Over and over until a point where the phrase became a diluted mantra. Suddenly, Eugene felt really bad that he suspected that the boy was up to something. Eugene knelt on the ground, cautious of the mud patches. He held his hands out in a peaceful gesture.
“Kid. Kid, it’s fine. It’s just us.” He said in the softest voice he could manage. Varian snapped back, forcing out another apology and words that Eugene doesn’t think he could forget anytime soon.
“I’m sorry. P-please don’t hurt me anymore.”
For a moment, nothing moved. Not a sound was made except for Varian’s increasingly worrying cries. Both men stood frozen in trepidation, staring at the trembling form before them. Then, Lance dragged a hand down his face, the sudden feeling of wanting to punch something overcoming him. He exhaled slowly, not wanting to frighten the kid any further by punching something and making a loud noise. In the meantime, Eugene tried to calculate what to do. He knew how to deal with panic attacks, after all, having grown up with Lance’s anxiety problems and having helped Rapunzel adjust to the large open spaces of the castle. But something about the way that Varian held his hands as if they were chained together, and the way that his eyes were glazed with hysteria and memories; made Eugene pause. He doesn’t think he’s ever dealt with panic attacks this violent before. Eugene took a deep breath through his nose. He, the kid, and Rapunzel were going to need to have a talk after all of this.
Eugene reached his hands tenderly towards Varian, stopping for a second after Varian winced at the sudden contact, and gently grabbed his gloved hands. Eugene looked at them, considering the power behind the small, fragile bones. Before pulling the hands apart from one another, slowly. Varian gasped as the heavy feeling of the chains and shackles fell away bit by bit. Watching with desperation. his hands drifting apart from each other. He could move his hands. He could move his hands. He heard a voice speaking softly to him but his vision was still wobbly and dark in some places. The voice told him to breathe.
“Come on, kid. I know you could probably count better than I can. Breathe in for four, hold for four and out for eight.” Varian did his best to listen, working to untie the knot in his esophagus. After being able to slow his breathing, his vision began to clear. There was a tan figure hovering over him, holding his hands. The more he could see, the more Varian felt like crying. The princess’s boyfriend knelt close to him, guiding his breathing. Another figure in the background that seemed vaguely familiar to Varian looked over Eugene’s shoulder. The man that held his hands away from each other took notice of Varian’s new clarity to his surroundings.
“There you are, kid!” He said brightly and Varian couldn’t remember if anyone had ever sounded so happy to see him. “Remember me?” A kind smile tugged at the older man’s face and Varian wanted nothing more to get away from this kindness. This kindness that he didn’t deserve. After a bit, the teenager understood that Eugene wanted him to respond in some way. He let his heavy head nod a tad before tucking his chin to his chest. Doing anything to avoid the incredibly warm brown eyes boring into him. “Think you can look at me?” It was a simple question but Varian struggled to answer. If he said yes, he might panic again, eye contact was never a strong suit of his. But if he said no, Eugene might realize that he wasn’t worth this compassion and leave him alone. And he did not want to be alone anymore.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Eugene tacked on before Varian could force himself to meet his gaze. “But we should probably do something about your shaking. Can you stand up?” For the first time, Varian felt the tense quivering of his limbs, feeling weak and tightly wound all at once. He carefully shook his head, guilty to put the other man through his troublesome emotions. “That’s okay, right now, how about we just sit here and try to get this under control, huh?
The sheer patience in his voice made more tears well up in Varian’s eyes. Why was he doing this? He thought that Eugene hated him? I think Hairstripe here has done enough. As the tears fell down his freckled, bruised face in streams, Varian felt his guilt and his panic choke him again. He yanked his hands out of Eugene’s careful, oh-so-gentle grip. He took his moment of freedom to pull at chunks of his hair, trying to forcefully bring himself back to reality with physical pain. But the large warm hands quickly pulled his gloved ones away.
“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t want to yank that stuff out, trust me. Bald isn’t a good look for everyone.” Soon enough, Varian’s breathing picked up again. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re not going to let you get hurt anymore.”
At that statement, the dark-haired boy whipped his head up. His big, pleading, tearful eyes meeting the steadfast brown gaze. The sincerity in the man’s face stole Varian’s breath away. Is this real? Was he imagining this? This forgiveness and warmth and comfort that he craved that appeared out of nowhere? Then he watched the eyes leave him and inspect his face with a touch of concern tightening his features. Varian felt his nose running, and he brought his hand out of Eugene’s to wipe it away. Only to see a flash of red on his glove. He stared at it startled, where did the red come from? His nose continued to run, dripping into his mouth, Varian tasted copper and iron. Blood. He was bleeding.
His vision wobbled again. Blood. Blood. Red blood. Red, thick, warm, sticky blood. Like in that cell, like in his lab, like on his dead mother’s face. Eugene tried to coax him out of his hemophobic haze but his voice and practiced calming techniques were muffled and far away, only certain syllables rang in his ears. Bile burned the back of his throat and his head filled with cotton. Soon enough, he lost consciousness, falling into the man’s safe arms.
Eugene looked at the boy he held in his arms with care. The blood was still dribbling down his paling face. He seemed hypnotized by the stark contrast of red against ashy skin. A handkerchief wobbled over his shoulder, pressing it to the kid’s face. He looked over and saw Lance’s schooled neutral expression, but sadness gleamed in his dark eyes and his lips pressed tightly together. Seeing the closest thing he had to a brother so torn up over this poor kid and feeling similar sentiments igniting inside of him, made something in Eugene snap.
How dare someone hurt this kid so much. How dare the kingdom just sit and watch as this kid took the blame for everything that had happened? Eugene may not know the whole story but he also knew that what he did know, he didn’t like. It dawned on him that this might be the first time he was seeing things through the kid’s eyes. A kingdom that hated him for speaking out against the injustice done unto him and his village, lashing out at the people that made him feel like he wasn’t worth their time or their consideration. Being hunted, hated, and villainized before he even did anything remotely considered wrong. How long had this kid been alone to just boil in his anxieties, self-loathing, and betrayal from the people he thought were his friends. Eugene felt tears start to bead at the corners of his eyes. He was one of those people to wrongfully accuse Varian of something that wasn’t his fault. Was it ever only Varian’s fault? All he was trying to do was save the one person left in his life. He turned to Lance with a look of despair on his face.
“Lance, we...we messed up real bad, didn’t we?” Lance couldn’t speak over the thousands of knots in his throat and his stomach. He meekly nodded, staring at the broken boy in Eugene’s embrace. The man had had a bad feeling about this kid, not wanting to linger on the cocktail of feelings that accompanied considering everything Varian went through. Lance was an empathetic man by nature, something that took years to control so that he could become a good thief. Eugene sighed heavily as Lance looked away, sniffling. “Let’s get him back to the castle and try to fix him up a little. We can wait for Rapunzel there.”
Eugene lifted the boy into his arms, carrying him with surprising ease. Just how much did this kid weigh if he didn’t even make Eugene at least stumble a bit standing up?
The two began to make their way back to the kingdom square, Eugene with eyes that only looked ahead, refusing to look down at the bleeding teen in his arms; and Lance with his gaze cemented to the ground. Both men swore to themselves then and there that they were going to figure out what happened in the year and a half they were gone.