Chapter Text
As the sun began to settle down, the fate of the Red Kingdom changed drastically that night. No longer did King Median rule over them, overthrown in a coup d’etat led by Lord Pizza, and the shackles of fear holding every citizen broke. When Lord Pizza made his appearance, followed by Lady Cheese and the Red Queen Whiskey, the people cheered for their victory. There was no doubt in everyone's minds that Lord Pizza, their golden boy, will become their king.
Münchner Weisswurst, or Weisswurst didn’t pay attention to what was happening outside the castle. He had patients to save, people to bark orders at, and check their medical supplies to make sure there was enough to help everyone. Weisswurst was simply too busy to watch a new era unfold. Adding to the list, he was scolding a few idiots like Tequila that got a little too cocky going against a Fallen. The young gunslinger looked sheepish as Weisswurst tended to his wounds after a priest removed the taint eating away his flesh.
King Median and his faction were ready for them when the coup d’etat began. A little too prepared if the corpses of Fallens were any indication. Weisswurst understood immediately at the sight of them there were horrendous, inhuman experiments going on under their noses. He glances at the Red Queen back, knowing he had something to do with the experiments.
The rumors of Whiskey alchemy were well-known after all along with his curious, sadistic, and inhumane experiments.
Yet, there was no proof of his involvement.
Only the scapegoats, rogue sorcerers and alchemists paid by King Median, are the only living proof capable of committing such atrocity.
(It was only a glimpse, but Weisswurst had caught sight of his former student, Black Pudding before she escaped into the shadows. Quickly, he dismissed her presence from his mind and kept his focus on the battle.)
“Weisswurst.”
At his name, the doctor raises his hand only to stare blankly at Pretzel. He critically eyes the damage: Pretzel clothes are tattered and stained, bruises on his face, cuts everywhere, and the most pressing are the holes on his shoulder and thigh. Weisswurst clicks his tongue in disapproval and gestures for Pretzel to sit down already. Tequila already had left to go somewhere else either to help or rest with the other injured. Silently, the priest obeys and waits yet Weisswurst continues to look at him blankly.
“Pretzel.”
“Weisswurst.”
The doctor was one step closer to smacking the fool, but he kept his composure. “Can you take off your robe?”
“My arm is broken.” Pretzel answers bluntly and adds, “I protected a maid from a Fallen attack.”
“Of course.” Weisswurst sighs, “You should’ve said that first.”
“Sorry.”
“Save it for later, Pretzel.” He scolds lightly, shifting closer to the priest. “Excuse my reach, but I need to see what other injuries you’re hiding from me and that means the robe is coming off.”
“I don’t mind, as usual.” Pretzel states making Weisswurst pause at those words. “Weisswurst?”
“Nothing, you can confess where else you’re hurt or I can find them myself.” The doctor suggests, undoing the buttons of Pretzel tattered robes and slipping it off. He notes the slight tension of his body and the grimace on his face yet still unwilling to tell. Weisswurst shoves the frustration down and changes the topic, “I heard Croissant plans to appoint Lady Cheese as Archbishop.”
“He is.”
“Will it be alright? Lady Cheese was exiled and condemned as a heretic; a witch I may add.” Weisswurst questions, ignoring the priest nicely toned body as he runs a glowing hand to scan for any internal injuries. Bruises aside, there were cracks on the bones here and there but no bleeding to his relief. The doctor begins to rummage through his bag to pull out his supplies.
Pretzel contemplates the question before answering, “Pope Croissant Will is God Will, if he’s willing to clean the slate off of Lady Cheese record and appoint her as Archbishop, then Lady Cheese has proven herself worthy as one of God people. She is no witch or heretic.”
“I see.” The doctor pulls out a disinfect spray and warns, “This will sting.”
“...Wait, Weiss-” The priest tightens his jaw at the first spray of disinfect against his shoulder. A second spray on his thigh had him wince, much to Weisswurst vindictive satisfaction.
“I suppose that means you approve. Both Lady Cheese and Lord Pizza, they’ll be leading the new era after all.” Weisswurst continues to spray the visible injuries and watch the other squirm uncomfortably. It was one of his tiny pleasures as a doctor, but it was also a reminder for Pretzel to be careful.
“They’re still children.” Pretzel responds, his voice slightly strained.
The doctor pauses in bandaging Pretzel wounded thigh. A temporary measure as the bleeding stopped with a bit of healing magic, but he’ll have to properly mend the flesh together and let it heal naturally on its own. The same goes for the shoulder and any other injuries. After all, too much healing magic at once will do more harm than good for the body.
He resumes wrapping the white gauze, “I believe they’re adults; fully grown and capable of making their own decision.”
“Maybe, but they’re still too young.” Weisswurst can feel the priest eyes on him, but when he looks up Pretzel head is turned to the side. He was looking elsewhere and the doctor followed his gaze.
Standing against a pillar was Lord Pizza and Lady Cheese friend, Sir Cassata, the knight body language tense and suspicion radiated from him. Cassata kept his attention on his two friends, but most of his wariness lies with the Red Queen. Not surprising there. Still Weisswurst understood what Pretzel was trying to say regarding the trio: Cassata was the youngest of the three, barely entering his twenties yet he looked far too old compared to his two friends.
The doctor felt his chest tighten at that and promptly turned his attention back to attending Pretzel wounds. He didn’t want unpleasant memories to surface right now.
“Later,” Weisswurst thinks, “When I can be alone with my own thoughts.”
A gentle touch against his cheek snaps his focus to Pretzel face. The priest expression blank as usual, but Weisswurst knew him well enough to notice concern softening the stern lines on his face. Ignoring the fact Pretzel pristine gloves are stained and tattered, dirtying his skin, the doctor could feel the warmth of his fingers brushing his cheek gently. Despite all the frustration the priest brings with his reckless and bullheaded actions, he was a soothing balm against the haunted images surfacing in his mind.
“...After this, may I have tea in your office?” Pretzel suggests quietly.
And surprisingly sensitive (understanding) too at times.
Weisswurst lips quirk at the suggestion, “It’s not much, but I hope you enjoy black tea.”
The priest grimaces, “It will do.”
“Good, now hand me your broken arm so I can put a cast over it.” The doctor demanded, watching the smallest tilt of a smile on Pretzel handsome face.
“Of course, Weiss.”
Perhaps, Weisswurst thinks, that this new era that the new generation is leading may bring the peace they all prayed for.