Chapter Text
One of Iain’s daily duties is tending to the Host’s eyes. Removing the bandages, cleaning the blood to prevent infection, assuming that’s even a possibility, and applying fresh ones. It’s a delicate job though the Host never complains. He simply sits in silence, fingers of one hand curled around his cane as he waits until the doctor tells him he is finished. This time though the Host has a request for him.
“I’m not that kind of doctor.” Iain replies.
“Technically, you’re not any kind of doctor.” A sly smirk tugs at the Host’s lips.
Yes, technically, though he’s trained in many aspects of medical treatment, Iain was never able to officially complete his education. The Host often calls it ‘an intervention of Fate’. ‘Irrelevant’ is Iain’s take on it. He’s competent enough and he hasn’t killed anyone. Yet.
“The Host understands your hesitation but there is no one else he trusts with this.”
“Now why would I be hesitant?” The doctor draws the clean bandages from his satchel, “You just want me to sit with your brother and poke around in his brain. It’s not like he has a reputation as a ruthless brainwashing murderer who can turn me into an unwilling puppet with just a pen and a piece of paper.”
Except he does. Exactly that reputation in fact. Until recently he had held a tyrannical rule over a neighbouring kingdom with plans of invasion into further provinces. A demon of old had ‘dethroned’ him and handed him over to the Host, apparently upholding some deal they made a long time ago.
The Host doesn’t smile, in fact his frown increases, “The Host doesn’t appreciate your sarcasm.”
“Well the doctor doesn’t appreciate your request. Hold still.” He gently wraps the bandages around the Host’s eyes, being sure to pull them tight. Only enough so they don’t slip, best not to damage his eyes, even if they don’t work.
The Host waits patiently. It’s creepy how still he sits despite the pain he must be in. I mean your eyes can’t possibly chronically bleed as much as the Host’s do without it hurting. Once he’s finished, the Host stands, fingers brushing over his eyes and smiling to himself, seemingly satisfied at the work.
“The Author will be powerless. He will be able to control you no more than you can control the weather.” It almost sounds like he’s talking with a child. A common tone for the Host, though far from one the doctor appreciates.
Iain repacks his satchel. It would be much nicer if he could control the weather, though he’d probably make it perpetual autumn. Not too hot, not too cold, nice crisp breezes, beautifully coloured leaves. Perfect weather to wrap up and just breathe for a moment or two.
“Doctor.” The Host gently scolds. The Host doesn’t like it when Iain’s mind wanders. Calls it a distraction, an annoying background buzzing that he doesn’t have time for. It’s one of the few ways Iain keeps the Host’s inflated ego in check. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Why can’t you do it?”
A wave of dizziness washes over Iain as the air suddenly weighs down on him, the light dimming and the air becoming thin. The Host is stoic and blank, gripping his cane tighter.
The doctor wheezes, “Host!”
“Apologies.” As suddenly as it came on, the air clears and Iain drops to his knees, gasping and choking. It’s easy to forget, despite his calm and reserved exterior, the Host could easily kill him in a second. “This is something that the Host can trust no one else with.”
It takes a while to catch his breath and heave himself to his feet. “You’re worried he’ll attack you.” It’s most likely the case. Clearly there’s no love lost between the two of them given that the Author has purposefully left them alone these last few years despite their group living in the forest on the fringes of his kingdom.
“The Host isn’t beneath begging.” The Host adjusts himself, half-turning towards the doctor, “Though he would prefer if it didn’t come to that.”
This is a stupid idea, Iain thinks as loudly as he can. The Host gives the slightest nod. Good. He heard him. This is a stupid idea, and dangerous, and not worth the money the doctor doesn’t get paid. Yet...he may not be an actual physician, but he considers himself a good man, and there’s so much the Host has done for him already.
“You’re sure I’ll be safe?”
The Host smiles.
“The Host swears.”