Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Colin removed his sword from between the man’s shoulder blades with a wet squelching sound. He stooped to wipe the viscera from it in the long grass, and took one long, last look at the priest, his stomach squirming uncomfortably. He knew what he was doing was right, was good, even, in the long run, but it was sometimes hard to remember that when he was watching someone’s life leave their eyes at his hands. Often, he wanted to turn away, but he never allowed himself the luxury. He would see his task through to the end, bear witness to the justice only he could understand, even when it made him uncomfortable.

He didn’t bother hiding the body, they were on a secluded path on the outskirts of a dwindling village and it was unlikely that he’d be found any time soon. He would make sure to ride for at least two days before stopping anywhere so as not to attract attention to himself, but he knew from doing this enough times that he was unlikely to be caught. More pressing, was where his next destination would actually be. This had been the last lead he’d had and while he was sure the odd sect or two of the Sanctus Putris still existed throughout Calorum their threat wasn’t so pressing anymore. He would have to settle somewhere for a while, call on some old informants, do his research, before continuing with his task and, in his current state, with another man’s blood still warm on his hands, he couldn’t bear to think about it. 

Usually the hot fire of vengeance burned strong enough in his gut to spur him on, but the years were passing and he was growing weary. He could sense his victory on the horizon but it always seemed just slightly out of  reach, like a summit that was never quite as close as you expected. Right now he wanted a bath, a hot meal, to sleep deeply and, hopefully, not dream at all. But before he could do any of that, he needed to get off this road and away from the body lying at his feet. 

His starfruit whinnied as he mounted her and guided her out towards the rolling hills. The ride was long and hard, his mind wandering and focusing on nothing, just revelling in the lack of weight on his shoulders. Occasionally he thought he slept but it was hard to tell if it was really sleep or just the comforting black weight of monotony. After riding all night and most of the following day, he stopped them near a river. He let his starfruit drink and he bent to wash the crusted blood and pulp from his forearms, and the dirt from the rest of his body. He ate rations from his pack, not tasting them, just going through the motions, and shared some with his mount before curling up by her side to sleep for the night. 

The dreams found him again, whirring, screaming, rotting. The smell of putrefaction, the feel of flesh giving way beneath his fingers. His heart racing and his body not able to catch up, desperate and niggling, trying to reach the end of a tunnel that just kept stretching out in front of him, the metallic clang of blades ringing in his ears. 

He woke with a start in the early dawn, unsure whether it was dew or sweat coating his forehead. It was hard to say how long he’d slept, but it was enough to continue travelling. Having had the night to think on it he'd decided he would head to Ceresia, find a boarding house, drink himself into a stupor that he could sleep off in peace for at least a couple of days, then start researching again. He had a few informants in the city and they might know if there were any remnants of the cult left. 

After so many years it had become a habitual cycle for him: spend months listening and learning, searching for whispers of the Sanctus Putris, then more months or sometimes years hunting them down, sometimes convincing people to see the light but mostly extinguishing them in a different way. Then he allowed himself a few days rest before the cycle started again. The familiarity was comforting but beginning to feel futile. Bodies bloomed and rotted, harvests came and went, the Sanctus Putris rose and fell and rose again like the bulb. Some days he felt his work would never be done

But who else was doing it? Half of the people who’d known about the FDA had given their lives trying to stop them. Amangeaux, he knew, was doing her own work in the Concorde. They hadn't spoken in at least 3 years but he heard about her now and then, had even caught a glimpse of her once, looking lithe and hard and determined. And that just left Delissandro. The last time he’d had a real conversation with Amangeaux she’d told him the chief was missing and all the sources he’d followed up with said that he was presumed dead, not heard from in several years. It wasn’t like it would make a difference anyway, he and Deli had never quite managed to be on the same page at the same time, and they’d both made their choices. No, this burden was Colin’s and Colin’s alone to bear and besides, he was used to shouldering things other men shrank from. 

***

The boarding house he found was cheap but secluded, a further walk from the heart of Pangranos than most travellers wanted to make, which meant that there would be no wayward drunks under his window waking him in the early hours. His room had its own bathroom and private entrance but there were no stables so he’d had to sell the starfruit, feeling a pang of guilt that caught him off guard as he watched her trot off with a nice man who’d promised she would be a birthday present for his young daughter. The steed had been gentle and steadfast and Colin was sad to see her go but tried to brush it off by telling himself sentimentality would get him nowhere, sometimes it was better to be alone. 

After dropping his scarce belongings in his room he went wandering, skulking in the shadows, listening for information, not expecting to find anything out about the Sanctus Putris but at least hoping to glean an understanding of the current political situation. It had been years since he’d been back here. As he walked he browsed the market stalls and mismatched shops. He stopped to buy a steamed bun from a vendor and tore into it as he walked, turning this way and that down side streets, feeling the brush of people pushing past him but never stopping or speaking. Most of them barely even seemed to notice him, he’d grown lean and gaunt, and his skin was paler than it had ever been before from what little sunlight he saw these days. He was just a thin, scruffy man, not young or particularly attractive, with a loose hood and nondescript clothing hanging from his frame; most people’s eyes glided right over him.

Without realising it he found himself walking towards an old inn he’d been to a couple of times in years gone by. It was in a seedier part of town and attracted a private clientele mostly made up of lone drinkers or the odd group holding clandestine meetings that ended abruptly as they began. Its reputation meant that people rarely spoke to each other or even made eye contact, exactly what he was after. 

He entered and saw the room was just as he remembered it, dark and slightly smoky, full of sticky tables and oak panelled walls. It was mid afternoon but just crowded enough that his entrance didn’t draw attention. A cloying heat washed over him as he looked for an empty table. The smell of alcohol still turned his stomach but he could push it down if he tried hard enough. 

The loose, swampy feeling of being drunk often made him feel unmoored and panicky, but it was also the only way he’d found of sleeping deeply and without dreams. If he coordinated it right he could put himself into a stupor for the next day or two, catch up on all that sleep he’d lost on the road, finally feel like he’d rested for the first time in months. And it wasn’t like he had much else to spend his money or time on. 

He took a table in the corner, by the grimy window so he could peer out at the passersby, and ordered himself the strongest ale he could see. He still drank infrequently enough that his tolerance was low and he figured it would only take three or four tankards before he could stumble home and pass out. The drink was watery and cloying but he swallowed it in deep gulps, trying to conjure up all the times he’d collapsed at riversides or wells and drank so quickly he’d had to gasp for air afterwards. The knife he always carried was a reassuring weight at his thigh and he fingered it idly while he people watched out of the window. Boredom was a feeling he had grown accustomed to long ago, he’d never had much to entertain his time aside from survival. Where would he sleep? What would he eat? Who would pay him and how could he stay on their good sides? These were the only questions he’d ever cared about. At least until the war, the tunnels, Karna and Raphaniel’s deaths, and the oath he’d sworn to the universe and himself, that he would put an end to the Sanctus Putris for good.

Occasionally he’d played chess, and on even rarer occasions he’d read, but hobbies weren’t something that came naturally to him. The most fun he’d ever had had been in the company of other men but that had always ended poorly in the end. War fostered camaraderie, but it also fostered mistrust and betrayal. And it wasn’t something he could find easily now even if he wanted to. 

People watching was enough for him, counting the number of times someone dropped a coin in the beggar’s hat across the street, watching the women hurry and pull their cloaks to them, seeing which streets the city guard patrolled. One drink gave way to two, and then three and he could feel a buzz at the base of his skull and the tips of his fingers. He felt his mind wander, unmoored, and boredom was no longer a concern, time seemed to bend and melt around him. He listened half heartedly to the murmured conversation of a group of five men behind him, although this could turn dangerous if you were noticed so he tried to appear nonchalant and nonthreatening. The men weren’t saying anything interesting anyway, just ribbing each other, reliving old glory days. 

Colin ordered another drink, feeling himself hovering on the precipice between tipsy and drunk. This last one should do it and he could stumble back to his room and slip into comforting darkness. A shout of laughter went up behind him, the men reminded him so much of his father’s old drinking buddies, all bravado and no brains, loud and taking up space, completely oblivious to the people around them. Someone knocked into his chair once, then twice. He shifted, trying to get out of their way while also keeping an eye on them, he knew how men like this could turn in an instant. 

There was a bellow and the whole lot of them leapt to their feet, his fingers sprung to his knife at once but then they laughed and clapped each other’s backs, it wasn’t aggressive but uproarious. He relaxed and slumped in his chair. That was when he felt a knock against his boots and a splash across his forearm. He tensed and jumped, a second after the liquid went spilling over him,  his reflexes dulled by the drink.

“Sorry, mate.” One of the  men slurred, halfheartedly swiping at Colin’s arm where he’d tipped half of his beer over him. 

“-s fine, really.” Colin managed to say back, his tongue feeling thick and clumsy in his mouth, maybe he was drunker than he thought he was. He pushed the thought aside with another long gulp from his drink, trying to turn his body away from the man and his friends who were now looking at him with uncomfortable curiosity. 

“No, let me buy you a drink to make up for it.”

“Really, it’s okay.” Colin went back to looking out of the window in an attempt to end the conversation but the man was insistent. 

“No, no, come on, what are you drinking? Ale?’ The man was already gesturing to the waiter to bring him two more so Colin acquiesced and took the glass she brought over for him. 

“Thanks” He tipped the glass in the men’s direction.

“Don’t mention it. Least I can do for throwing half a glass over you. Say, why don’t you join us?” Colin’s mind was foggy and he couldn’t think of a good excuse quickly enough so he gave in there too and shuffled to sit with the men who introduced themselves. They were Ceresian mercenaries which was evident from their clothes, poorly concealed weapons, and the snippets of conversation that Colin had listened in on. But they didn’t offer up much else besides their names and the fact that they had been working together for a while. They seemed interested in him though. 

“So you’re a dairyislander?” One asked. 

“Yep.” Colin replied sheepishly, no point in lying. “But I don’t spend much time there, I travel a lot.”

“Oh yeah? And what do you do?” 

“I’m a bodyguard.” Colin said, not the truth but not quite a lie either, he had been once and it would attract fewer questions than saying he was a knight. He was far far drunker than he had meant to be, but he sensed it would be rude to not finish the drink the man had bought for him so he took another gulp which gave him an excuse to stop speaking. 

“You working tonight?” A different man asked, maybe just being friendly or maybe probing for a reason, wondering if any of the people having hushed conversations in the other dark corners of the inn were under Colin’s protection. Not that he would be able to protect much of anything in his current state. 

“No.” Colin laughed awkwardly, “I’m between clients right now.” He took another long sip of his drink. 

“Ah, well, good luck finding another.” One clapped him on the shouler and then it seemed that the men lost interest in the details of Colin’s personal life. Their talk drifted to other things and a few of them started up a card game that they began to teach him.

He continued drinking with them for the next hour, so drunk at this point that he barely comprehended the words they said to him as he heard them. He lost some petty change playing a card game that he couldn’t quite follow with them before he gave up and just watched. They weren’t so bad now that he was sitting at their table, not the kind of men he would’ve sought out but fine to pass an evening with. He realised that it had been an awful long time since he’d had a conversation with anyone he hadn’t been planning to kill. 

Eventually the inn started to empty, the streets had grown dark and cold around them and the trickle of patrons leaving picked up to a stream. Colin’s companions drained the last dregs of their drinks and began to gather their things. Colin figured it was time to leave too, his head was spinning and his body felt buoyant and far away. As he stood and grabbed his cloak his movements felt sluggish, like swimming through thick treacle. 

“Which way are you heading?” his new friends asked him and he gave them the name of his lodging house. 

“Oof that’s a trek. We’re going about half way, let’s walk together.” 

He fell into easy step with his companions. The shock of fresh air sobered him somewhat but he was still drunker by far than he’d intended or needed. The thought that always came to him when he was drunk kept creeping in: that he was just like his father. He batted it away each time it resurfaced, pushing it down into the swampy depths of his mind along with everything else he didn’t want to think about, the whir of metal blades, the cause he had dedicated his life to and the futility he felt more often that not these days, the loneliness, which he had lived with all his life, Deli...

“You okay, man?” One of the men said as Colin stumbled and fell into him, his hands landing on Colin’s shoulders to steady him and gripping hard. The pain wasn’t intense but it cut through the spiral Colin was falling into. He tried to shrug the hand off but it held fast, and then there were other ones too, probing at his pockets, pulling the knife away from its holster at his thigh, pressing it against his throat. 

“Sorry, mate. It was nice drinking with you but… business is business.” The tip of his own knife pressed threateningly into his throat as Colin’s head swam, trying to gather his bearings. “Just give us your money and any valuables and we’ll leave you alone, fair is fair.”

Colin could barely process what was happening, he was in trouble, that was for sure, but the part of his brain that was supposed to control fear seemed to have switched off. It seemed funny more than anything. He had thought that these men were like his father and here they were doing exactly what he would have done, how could he have been so stupid? His own knife had been pulled from him without any resistance and here it was pressed against his neck. Colin wanted to laugh. He felt so tingly and far away it was if it were happening to someone else, nothing could hurt him. 

“Come on, Colin.” The one who had his hand clamped to his shoulder shook him and Colin swayed precariously on his feet. He didn’t remember telling them his name but he must’ve done at some point. “This doesn’t have to be hard, just give us your money.” He could feel hands on him, roaming, squeezing, pulling at his pockets and patting under his clothes. 

“Fuck me.” Someone else said. “He can barely stand. Are you even listening to us?” Someone shook him again and he felt the pressure at his neck relent as the man with the knife got distracted joining the search for Colin’s valuables. 

Colin did start laughing then, unable to help himself, it bubbled up and spilled over. These men, these stupid, small men who probably did this all the time. Got some poor guy drunk, sweet talked him, and then robbed him in an alley. Maybe they really did let the men go, or maybe that was just something they said to get you to hand over your belongings. It didn’t matter. 

He couldn’t believe that he had let himself get into this situation. He never drank, he hated drinking, it was just a habit he’d picked up to help him sleep but it was stupid, all alone, in a barely familiar city, with a room so far out of the way that no one would notice if he went missing. And he’d seen these guys from a mile off, he’d clocked them. But maybe he was getting old, and slow. And maybe he was lonely. Maybe drinking with some men who reminded him of a father he despised was the closest he could feel to intimacy these days. He deserved this, deserved to be gutted in some desolate sidestreet and die cold and alone with no one to identify his body. 

But then again, he was Colin Provolone. He’d scrounged and he’d starved and he’d lied and he’d ran and he’d managed to not get melted down in the centre of Lacramor. He’d been a sellsword and the right hand man of a warlord and he’d been a knight of the bulb and he'd defeated the Sanctus Putris. Was still defeating them, because who else would? Who was going to protect this worthless world if not for him. He was a knight, and he was a swashbuckler, and he did not go down without a fight. He clenched his fist, preparing to strike.

“Hey! Get the fuck away from him.” a voice cut through his cloudy thoughts and the men, startled, turned to look. 

Colin didn’t waste any time looking for himself. He headbutted the one who was holding the knife halfheartedly against his clavicle and heard it clatter to the floor as the man cried out and reached up to clutch his nose. He felt blood splash over face but barely noticed the impact, the alcohol dulling his senses to a mute ringing in his ears. He pulled the man back down towards him and kneed him in the groin before thrusting his body roughly at the other man who was still gripping his shoulder. They both buckled to the ground as they collided. Colin turned immediately to punch a third man standing next to him, feeling his body coming back to him with the crunch of flesh on flesh. He could sense someone else fighting alongside him but didn’t have time to look as he dodged a fist coming towards him. 

He watched the two men on the floor scrabbling to get up and stamped viciously on one’s shoulder before kicking the other in the ribs. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears and feel the rush of blood, the gritted teeth satisfaction of doing something he was good at. He heard shouts and grunts behind and turned directly into the flat palm of someone’s hand against his nose. Stars bloomed behind his eyes immediately and the ringing turned into an intense rush. He swung out blindly, feeling fists connect with bone and then the man he was grappling with was wrenched from his grip by someone broad and tall and familiar. 

Delissandro Katzon threw the man to the ground like he was nothing and Colin blinked once, twice, wondering if he was concussed, but before he could think about it any further he felt a sharp, searing pain behind his ribs. He whipped around to look and saw one of the men from the ground baring his teeth at him, his hand scrabbled at his side and he felt sticky wetness and a slicing sensation as his fingers found his own knife protruding from his back.

Without thinking he pulled it from his body in one slick motion, hissing as it went but aware that alcohol and adrenaline were dulling the pain significantly. In one fluid movement he flicked it around and plunged it deep into the neck of the man who was still grinning sadistically up at him. He could see the one he’d headbutted still curled in on himself on the floor. The one Deli had thrown to the ground was staying down too, that meant there were two left. 

He turned once more to see Deli hunched over someone’s chest, his knees pinning him down, his fist pummeling the man’s face over and over again. Blood trickled from the man’s mouth and he wheezed unnaturally but other than that didn’t seem to be moving. The final man was shaking, his eyes roving between Deli and Colin, clearly trying to decide who to go for first. Colin brandished the knife towards him in a warning. 

“I wouldn’t try it if I were you.” He said, and realised he could taste blood, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The man fingered the short sword at his side and lunged, braver that Colin gave him credit, but before he could close the distance Deli was up and pulling him back roughly, the tip of a spear pressed determinedly between his ribs. 

“Get out of here.” He growled, and the man clearly came to his senses as he stumbled, and raced off towards town. Colin took in the scene around him, one man with his throat slit, another unmoving, his face bloody and barely recognisable. The man he’d headbutted was crawling towards the shadows away from him on shaking limbs and he thought the man Deli had thrown was playing dead but it was a possibility that he really was, Colin wasn’t going to stay around to find out. Deli looked at him with dark eyes through thick eyelashes, his knuckles were cracked and his mouth was set in a thin line. He opened his mouth to speak but Colin suddenly felt a wave of nausea hit him as the pain and alcohol caught up with him and the adrenaline subsided. He retched once, then dropped to his knees and vomited on the cobblestones. 

“Hey, hey, I got you.” Deli said, rushing forwards to support him and then recoiling as his fingers brushed the bloody wound in Colin’s side. “You’re hurt.” Deli’s voice was softer than Colin had ever remembered it. That was his first clue that this was a hallucination. That and the fact that Deli was dead. 

“Fuck off.” Colin said thickly, spitting blood and bile onto the floor before standing up and shrugging Deli’s hand off. He pressed his own hands into his side, trying to stop the bleeding. He'd definitely had worse injuries, but his hands were shaking and he was too drunk to try to find any kind of help at this time of night, so he’d just have to hope this was enough. He turned from Deli without giving him another look and headed off towards his boarding house, bitterly regretting choosing one so far from town.

“Colin, I’m sorry. This wasn’t how I wanted our reunion to go.” Deli caught up with him quickly, his long strides far outpacing Colin’s staggering ones. “Let me help you.” Hands came up to touch him once more and he hated how easy it felt, how natural it would be to lean into Deli’s gentle touch. But he didn’t let himself, he shoved Deli’s hands away. 

“Shut up.” Colin said again. 

“Colin.” Deli’s voice was harsh now, he never had been good at controlling his temper. “Let me help you.” He said through gritted teeth, but he didn’t try to touch him again, just held his hands up where Colin could see them, hovering in front of his body. 

“You’re not real.” Colin wished Deli would shut up, was sick of this, sick of the dreams and the loneliness and the drink and hallucinating old flames whenever he got a little bit tipsy because he was a sad, lonely old man who’d wasted his youth and was trying to relive his glory days and the only way he could do that was to dream of a kindness he knew he didn’t deserve in real life. 

Deli spluttered, unsure how to respond. “Of course I’m real,” he said. His hands fluttered around Colin’s shoulders, desperate to help but not wanting to push him too far.

“You always say that.” Colin laughed ruefully and struggled on, placing one shaking hand on a nearby wall to steady himself while the other one pressed steadfastly against his injury. He wasn’t too far, the men had walked quite a way with him before they’d launched their attack. All he had to do was keep it together for a few streets more. He had some gauze in his room, he could wash and bandage his wound and then pass out like he’d intended. In the morning Deli would be gone, and he could deal with the fallout in peace. 

That was the plan, at least, but on his next step Colin stumbled and his shoulder crunched painfully into the wall, his knee coming down beneath him to slam into the hard ground. In a second Deli was there again, shouldering Colin’s weight and pulling the older man’s arm around him, his broad hand coming to rest reassuringly on Colin’s waist. The act was so tender it made Colin ache more than any stab wound could and he felt tears prick his eyes. 

“It’s not much further.” Deli said gently, “I have you.” He shifted them so he was taking most of Colin’s weight and began walking them on again. 

“How do you know where I’m staying?” Colin managed to ask in between deep stuttering breaths.

“Maybe we should talk in the morning, when you’re patched up and sober.” 

“Deli.” Colin stopped once more to make eye contact with him for the first time all night, feeling a jolt low in his stomach when their eyes met. He still wasn’t sure that this was real, he felt shaky from the lack of adrenaline, and the world was spinning slightly, whether from the alcohol, the bloodloss, the blows to the head, or a mixture of all three he couldn’t tell. His body ached and his throat felt raw, and his heart was so tired and tender he wanted to collapse where he stood. Deli held his gaze for a second and then looked away to take a tentative step forward and silently urge them to keep walking. 

“I was looking for you.” Deli exhaled slowly, like he didn’t quite know where to begin. They took a few more shaky steps together before he continued. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time. I had a few contacts in the city who said they’d let me know if you turned up. I thought it was a long shot, I hadn’t heard anything in so long, but then today… One of them thought they’d seen you. I came to the city intending to track you down tomorrow but then I just– stumbled across you tonight.” He paused for several minutes more and the only sound was the stamp of their boots and Colin's shaky breaths in the cold air. “I know that sounds improbable but it’s the truth.” 

They walked in silence for a few beats more, and Colin allowed himself to lean into Deli fully, knowing the bigger man could take his weight. The space where their bodies connected was a grounding presence, helping Colin to see straight and focus on putting one foot in front of another. The warmth radiating from Deli was nice too, he had always run hot, and Colin was grateful for it now as he realised he was shivering. 

“That's not helping me believe you’re real.” Colin laughed, unsure what he believed really. He was bone tired, not just from the night he’d had but from the last few years. “I have it on good authority that you’re dead.” 

“We’re here.” Deli said, in lieu of any kind of answer. He removed his arm from around Colin and helped him to lean against the wall for support. Colin went rooting through his pockets for the key and eventually managed to find it. When he tried to put it in the lock his hands were shaking so much he thought he’d have to go through the humiliation of asking Deli for help but on the third try it slipped in easily and the door swung open. 

“Can I come in?” Deli asked, hovering on the threshold of the door. 

“Sure.” Colin replied, biting back his initial response which had been to point out that since Deli lived only in his mind he couldn’t exactly get rid of him. 

They climbed the stairs together in hushed silence, both aware of the neighbouring tenants. Colin’s room was bare, just a bed and a table with his few meagre possessions strewn across it. But he had a private bathroom with a sink and a towel which he made a beeline for, peeling off his coat and shirt as he went. 

He perched on the side of the bathtub and strained to look at his injury, he couldn’t see it properly but after some gentle probing it didn’t feel too deep, and he thought it had stopped bleeding. He wet the towel and began to move to clean himself off. 

“Let me?” Deli startled him. The man could be preternaturally quiet when he wanted to be and it always surprised Colin. With his size and his domineering presence it didn’t make sense for Deli to move so quietly through the world. He approached Colin and reached his hands out for the towel in a silent question. When Colin didn’t object he took it gently from his hands and knelt down to wash the blood away from his side. 

Colin let his eyes drift shut and leaned his head back against the wall, letting Deli softly wash him clean. The room was still spinning and his hands still shaking but he was beginning to feel more like himself. All he wanted to do was sleep but he let Deli take care of him, and acquiesced when the younger man lifted his arms so he could wrap a bandage tightly around his torso.

“If I’m not real, what am I?” Deli asked with rehearsed calmness. 

“A hallucination.” Colin said with a gasp as Deli’s fingers probed the gash under his ribs, making sure the bandage was tight enough. 

“Do you often hallucinate me?” Deli murmured, so quietly that for a moment Colin thought he’d imagined it.

“Sometimes.” Colin admitted, quicker than he’d expected. The whole night felt liminal and unreal, like nothing could touch him, and the truth flowed from him easier than it would have in the daylight. The thought crossed his mind that maybe he was already dead, maybe that was why Deli was here, to help lead him into the afterlife, or whatever it was that waited for them, maybe that was why he was being so kind to him. 

“What do I do?” 

“Mostly just stand there. Sometimes I see you walking out of a tavern or the corner of my eye.” 

“We don’t talk?”

“Not that much, sometimes you say–”

“What?” Deli looked up at him sharply and Colin immediately realised his mistake. 

“It’s nothing, it's just… my own mind torturing me.” Realisation dawned on Deli’s eyes and then hurt. He turned from Colin to wring out the bloody towel in the sink. 

“I’m cruel to you.” It wasn’t a question. There was silence and then softly he said, “that’s what you think of me.” Deli’s voice was small and in an instant Colin was transported back to so many years ago, when Deli had barely been 20 and Colin had been the only one to see occasional flashes of vulnerability or insecurity in him. Always behind the safe walls of war tents or several drinks. 

“Then what do you think this is?” Deli asked obstinately, wetting the towel again and moving it to wipe the blood from Colin’s brow, slightly rougher than he had been a moment ago. 

“I think I might be dead.” Colin said honestly, reaching up to take the towel from Deli’s hand. Their fingers brushed and for a second they stayed suspended there, the towel clasped in both their hands, pressing into Colin’s temple, the night air loaded.

“You’re a lot of things, Colin Provolone, but you’ve never been stupid.” Deli’s eyes bore into his as he released the towel and let Colin finish cleaning himself. Colin laughed ruefully. 

“If I’m not dead then I’m dying. Or I’m drunk. Or I’m just fucking losing it.”

“We should get you to bed, I said we should’ve spoken in the morning.”

“I didn’t think you’d be here in the morning.” Colin stood up on shaky feet but the sudden movement made him feel lightheaded. He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped Deli’s shoulder, hating how vulnerable he felt. He hadn’t been this open with anyone since… well since he’d been this open with Deli. But things were different now, so many years had passed, so many unforgivable things had been said and done. Deli had let him down and then worse Deli had disappeared and died and Colin had grieved and worked and drank and seen him in the corner of his room every time he’d gone to sleep with his head fuzzy and the sky spinning. He’d listened to the Deli in his mind say all the cruellest, most terrible things about him that deep down he knew to be true, his own thoughts on the lips of someone he’d loved and lost. And now here he was, being kinder than Colin had deserved back then and certainly kinder than he deserved now and he looked older, grizzled, weary, and not as lean as he’d once been. But still himself.

Deli held out his arm to steady him but Colin ignored it and walked to the bed alone, peeled off his shoes and trousers and collapsed into it, pulling the threadbare blanket around him. 

“I’ll get you some water.” Deli said, already searching the small room for a glass. 

There was a peaceful 30 seconds where Deli was in the bathroom and Colin was in the bed, one foot resting on the ground to try to stop the room lurching around him and he could pretend, for an instant, that he was alone and unharmed, savour the quiet of the night air before anything changed. He breathed shakily, drinking in this final moment of calm. And then Deli’s shadow was moving into the room, his arm reaching out to proffer Colin the glass. Colin motioned for him to leave it on the table but Deli didn’t move and after all these years Colin could still understand him without words. He rolled his eyes and eventually took the water, taking a shaky sip, and then two more when he saw Deli’s unimpressed face, before handing the glass back to him. 

“Sleep. We can talk in the morning.” Deli said, moving away from where he was standing pressed up against the bed. “If I’m not a hallucination.” He tacked on to the end but he didn’t sound so hurt anymore, mostly amused. 

Colin rolled onto his side, pulling the thin blanket around him tighter and gritting his teeth to try to stave off their chattering. It wasn’t that chilly in the room but the alcohol and adrenaline leaving his bloodstream had left him cold and shaky. He clenched his eyes shut but could still see pinpricks of light from the candle through his eyelids and hear shuffling behind him. 

He rolled over and opened one eye slowly, then the other. Deli was trying to sweep the dust and the dirt from the floor with his feet, and shaking out his coat to lay it on the ground. 

“What are you doing?” Colin asked, although it was blatantly obvious. 

“I’m sleeping on the floor. Obviously. It’s too late to go back to my own rooms now.” 

Colin heaved out a sigh. It was one thing to think that the man who you believed was dead and had been appearing to you in visions every time you drank for the better part of a decade might not be real when he turned up out of the blue to save your life. But it was another thing entirely to think that a man who you had once slept with every single night, who had fought for you, protected you, loved you, would make you sleep on the floor.

“Get in.” Colin turned away from Deli once more and shuffled up in the bed to make room for him. 

“If I’m not real, why would you care where I sleep?” Deli's voice was goading and exasperated. 

“If you’re not real, why would it matter if we shared a bed?” 

Colin could feel Deli rolling his eyes and thought he might have a fight on his hands, but a moment later he heard the clang of Deli’s belt and trousers falling to the ground and felt the blanket being lifted up. He braced himself against the sudden cold then felt a rush of warmth as Deli settled in behind him. 

The bed was just slightly too small for the both of them and their bodies were tense with the effort of not touching, their arms trapped awkwardly at their sides. With each breath in Deli’s chest pressed into Colin’s back and it took everything in Colin not to lean into it fully. 

It was strange to think that they had once done this every night. First out of necessity, long cold nights on the road with their bedrolls pressed close, or arriving at roadside inns late into the day to discover there was only one room available, and then out of desire, those nights turning hot and desperate with want, their hands on each other, mouths roaming, fingers skimming familiar paths they could trace in their sleep, and often did. It had been tender too, at times. When they first started fucking they’d tried to convince themselves it was just physical, just male bonding, stress relief after a hard day’s ride or a brutal battle. It was normal for soldiers to give each other a hand, after all, the friendships were intense and the nights were lonely. But that lie had only been able to last so long, and there were nights when they were so bone tired they couldn’t have gotten each other off if they’d tried, and yet still they’d slept curled into each other, deli’s hands had snaked around his hips or he’d woken with his Thane nestled into the crook of his neck. Touches had become slower and more frequent, a pat on the back became a hand rubbing soothing circles, an embrace during the heat of victory ended with the two of them clinging to each other in deserted war tents. It had made their parting all the harder, those first few nights so much lonelier. 

Colin hadn’t been celibate in all those intervening years, you could always find someone who’d be willing to follow you into an alleyway or bathroom or, rarely, all the way back to your room. But he hadn’t been held since he had left Deli that fateful night after Pamela Rocks’ assassination. 

“You’re shaking.” Deli’s voice pulled him back to reality, out of his arms all those years ago and into the bed beside him, tense and stoic and barely touching. 

“-m cold.” Colin mumbled, pressing his head into the pillow and shuffling back imperceptibly into Deli’s warmth, hoping he’d get the message without him having to ask for it out loud. 

“Do you want me to…?”

“ Please.” Colin didn’t care how desperate and reedy he sounded. He was drunk and hurt and lost and he could’ve died tonight, might’ve done, if it weren’t for Deli. His ribs were bruised and there was a deep slash in his back and his head pounded and he felt sick and shivery and pathetic and either this was the cruellest trick his mind had played on him to date or his old friend really was there, offering him tenderness, and either way, he was sick of denying himself things.

He’d barely finished getting the word out before Deli was there, all around him, pulling their bodies flush, tucking the curve of Colin’s spine into his chest, wrapping his arm around  his waist, reaching a hand up to clasp Colin’s, tangling their legs together. His breath hot and sweet on the back of Colin’s neck. Deli was softer than he’d been as a young man and Colin was thinner, leaner, but they still fit together like a hand on a hilt. Warmth flooded Colin’s body and all of his muscles relaxed at once as he leaned back fully into Deli’s weight, sleep already catching up to him. 

Just before it took him for good he felt the hushed murmur of words against his neck. “Sleep, Skald.” And, well, Colin had always been very good at following orders. He slept deeply, and dreamlessly, for the first time in months. 

. 

Chapter Text

When Colin woke to the soft morning sun filtering through the window and a heavy arm slung over his body it felt like resurfacing after a long time under water. He was groggy and almost every inch of his body ached but he realised, with a pang of relief, that he had slept, dreamlessly and deeply, for what must’ve been hours. The second thing he realised was that he wasn’t alone. Deli snored softly beside him, his face looking drawn and tense even in sleep, and his hand clenched into a fist where it rested near Colin’s shoulder. There was a split second where Colin reached, frantically, for memories of the night before and then he blinked awake fully and they came washing over him: the tavern, the men, the fight, Deli. His fingers pressed experimentally into his side and he winced as they found his tightly bandaged wound, it had all been real. 

Humiliation bubbled up inside him as he remembered the way the words had spilled from his mouth, the way he’d all but admitted to Deli that he drank himself stupid and envisioned him every time, how his own mind used Deli to torture itself. And how he’d been so eager for his embrace, so willing to lie down in his arms. 

Deli must’ve thought he was pathetic. 

But then he realised something else too, Deli was alive. If he was here that meant he hadn’t died somewhere out in The Meat Lands, alone and unremembered, as Colin had imagined so many times. All of those spies and informants and scandalmongers had got it wrong, Delissandro Katzon was alive.

His memories of the night were fuzzy at best, but he had a vague recollection of Deli saying that he had been looking for him. Why, after all this time, had he come looking now? And was he disappointed in the weak, drunk man he’d found? Colin reached up a hand to rub his eyes, his head was pounding and he wished he could fall back to sleep, he didn’t want to deal with any of this, didn’t want to face Deli feeling this wretched and vulnerable. He was just glad the other man was still asleep and he at least had a few moments to gather his thoughts. 

Almost as if he could read Colin’s mind, Deli shifted in his sleep, pulling Colin towards him and suddenly that unceasing heat that he had been grateful for last night, had longed for, even, felt claustrophobic and unbearable. Deli was all around him, his large size taking up the too small bed and encroaching on Colin’s personal space, his smell, rich and familiar, enveloping them both, his breath tickling Colin’s neck. Colin’s own breath caught in his throat and panic set in, he needed to get out of here. Now. 

Slowly, he reached his hands out to grasp Deli’s forearm and tried to extricate himself from beneath it. He wriggled away from Deli’s bulk and the meatlander whined softly in the back of his throat. Colin pulled the pillow from beneath his head and replaced it under Deli’s arm where his own body had been only seconds before, sighing with relief as Deli pulled it towards him instead. Once upon a time Colin had loved how tactile Deli was, how clingy, he had thought privately but never voiced out loud for fear of offending him. But now it felt suffocating, and worse it made Colin feel manipulative. Deli had no idea what he was doing and it wasn’t fair of Colin to take advantage of that. 

Once he was sure that Deli was settled with the pillow and unlikely to wake up, Colin edged his way out of the bed and stood on shaking feet. He felt well rested but the gash in his side twinged with pain every time he moved and his head ached from the alcohol. He picked up the glass of water that Deli had left on the table for him the night before and took several gulps as he made his way to the bathroom where he splashed more water on his face and gripped the sink tightly, willing his breaths to even out. 

He was so fucked. What was he going to say to Deli? “Thanks for saving my life and walking me home and rocking me to sleep in your arms but we broke up over a decade ago and I’m actually pretty busy with my ceaseless quest to rid the world of evil that you never agreed with so I’ll be seeing you. Nice to catch up though!” Maybe if he just hid out in the bathroom long enough Deli would leave of his own volition. Maybe Colin should leave himself, pack his things and run off into town to find somewhere else to stay before Deli woke up. 

“Colin?” Deli’s voice was thick with sleep as it called out from the other room. Fuck. Colin took one last shaky breath and steeled himself.

“Hi.” He said, wincing at how painfully awkward he sounded as he leaned his head out of the bathroom. 

Deli was sitting up in the bed, the blanket lying dangerously low across his lap. He had slept in his shirt but Colin could see familiar, marbled biceps, and broad hands twisting themselves together. In the daylight it was evident that Deli was older, his cheeks no longer as youthful, and a permanent furrow etched into his face, but he still looked good. 

“I thought you might’ve left.” Relief was evident in Deli’s voice, his wide, dark eyes searching Colin’s face.  

“Thought about it.” Colin said sheepishly, walking fully into the room, suddenly aware that he was only in his underwear. He opened his mouth to say something else but then realised he had no idea where to begin. He had never felt like this with Deli, even when the things he’d wanted to say were unpleasant or hurtful, he had at least known how to say them. In lieu of words he walked over to his pack and rummaged for a clean shirt, hastily pulling it on. 

“How are you feeling?” Deli asked with feigned composure, as if this situation wasn’t completely fucking insane. 

“Sore. But I think I’ll live.” Colin responded, trying to keep pace with Deli’s nonchalance, like maybe if they both ignored it hard enough this wouldn’t be strange and surreal and painful. 

“I’m glad.” 

“Speaking of living.” Colin cringed internally, every fibre of his being screamed that it would be easier to just run out of this room and never look back, than carry on pretending this was a normal conversation to be having. “You’re alive?”  He didn’t mean it to come out as a question but it did. 

“Yes, well… I didn’t know that I wasn’t supposed to be.” Deli ran a hand through his hair, it had grown longer in the intervening years and it suited him. 

“That’s what Amangeaux told me, that you walked off into the wilderness and were never heard from again. I followed it up with a lot of different sources, they all said there was no trace of you. The entirety of The Meat Lands thinks you’re dead.” 

“I’ll admit, that’s what I wanted my clan to believe but I didn’t want y– I didn’t think that word would travel this far.” 

“Well it did.” There was a hard edge to Colin’s voice, he hadn’t realised that he was angry until he was saying it out loud. Deli had said he wanted to find him, so why hadn’t he found him sooner? Why hadn’t he come to him as soon as he left his clan? Why had he let Colin grieve for all of those years, believing he and Amangeaux were the only two left. 

“Yeah.” Deli sounded weary, the bravado of the previous night replaced with something softer and unsure. But still he sat in Colin’s bed, the blanket bunched around his legs, picking idly at a thread so that he didn’t have to meet Colin’s gaze. 

“What were you doing?” 

Deli breathed in deeply. “It was just like you heard. I left my clan, didn’t tell anyone, just walked away on my own to live as an outlander.” Just like my mother the unspoken end to the sentence ringing in both of their ears. “But I didn’t die , I just… lived, away from everything. It was peaceful.” Deli still couldn’t look at him, and Colin leaned against the table to steady himself, the whole conversation felt unreal and precarious. 

“So why did you leave? Why are you here?” 

“ Colin. ” And Deli almost choked on the word, like his name was something too big and loaded and precious to come out of his mouth. Like there was a time when they simply understood each other, when conversations didn’t have to happen like this, there was no explaining, no room for misunderstanding, just the nod of a head, their bodies in tandem, attacking, embracing, running, it didn’t matter, they used to move as one. Deli’s eyes bore into him and Colin knew that he was imploring him, asking him not to make him say it. But Colin didn’t know what it was anymore. 

“Don’t give me that look like I’m supposed to understand, Deli. I don’t understand. If you wanted to see me, why didn’t you find me sooner? Why didn’t you come with me when I asked? Why didn’t you hunt down the Sanctus Putris with me? Why leave and wait and live on your own for years?” Colin couldn’t stand still, felt hot blood coursing through his body, wanted to hit something. He reached for his trousers, discarded on the floor the night before, and pulled them on roughly. 

“I couldn’t, you know I couldn’t. I was just– I was sick of the violence. You judged me for the things we did on the Glucian Road, and all the things I did after but… I’m still proud to have united The Meat Lands, I’m proud for the part I played in The Ravening War, I’m proud of the way we stopped the FDA and I’m sorry that we lost– I’m sorry for it all.” Deli sat up on his knees and the blanket slid over his thighs, he reached out a hand to Colin, so close now, by the side of the bed, but then he let it hang in the air, unsure. “But after it was done, I just wanted peace, I just wanted to live my life and you– suddenly you wanted vengeance, you wanted the violence that you had flinched from in me, you wanted to make things right and it was noble but… I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t stomach it anymore. The things we went through, they made you strong but they made me weak.” 

Colin didn’t feel strong, and Deli didn’t look weak. He hated that he understood, hated that Deli was right, in a way. They just never could get on the same page at the same time and maybe they became each other in the end. But the things that Deli did, in the name of glory, in the name of ambition, they’re nothing like what Colin does. Deli killed innocents, he destroyed, with no qualms about who or what was in his way, as long as it aided him. And Colin, Colin was just trying to make this world a better place, a place where men like Deli could live out their days in peace, could leave it all behind and be free, be happy, even if he could never see a future like that for himself. 

“So why are you here?” He asked again, tilting his chin up defiantly to meet Deli’s eyes. 

“Peace got lonely.” Deli said reflexively, honestly, maybe the most honest thing he’d said all morning, and just like that he was the young, headstrong, charismatic man that Colin had known- loved an unhelpful voice chimed in his head- all those years ago. “I began to think that I should do more, be a better man and, well, you were always the best man I knew.”

“So you want me to teach you how to be good? You want me to absolve you of all the things you’ve done?”

“No, Colin!” Deli’s voice was high and nearing hysterical. “I missed you. I was lonely and I missed the man that I– Aren’t you lonely?” His hand did find Colin's then, pulled it towards him, towards his chest to lay it over his heart. Colin could feel the rapid quick heartbeat fluttering beneath the skin. “I know you are. Everything you said last night, the drinking, the hallucinations…” Colin pulled his hand back, feeling embarrassment squirm in his stomach once more. “I missed you and I wanted to see you and then there you were, stumbling down a side street with a group of men I didn’t know and I thought, he doesn’t need me anymore. Maybe you never did, maybe I always needed you more than you needed me but… I do need you Colin. I wasn’t always good but I want to be, I want to help you with the Sanctus Putris, I want to get rid of them for good and then– then I want to be happy with you. I want to be at peace. Together.” 

Colin didn't know what to say, he’d felt his world tilt and give out under him so many times in the past 24 hours. Deli was alive and Deli was here and Deli wanted him and maybe he thought about this, secretly. After the Deli in his imagination was done berating him, maybe he would comfort him too, in all of his wildest, most repressed fantasies. But he never thought it would happen and he doesn’t know how to cope, how to separate all of the hurt and the absence and the years from all of the love and the history and the fierce, knotted bond he’s been carrying around with him since that very first night in the pyramid in Comida. 

“You really want to fight with me?” He asked, after what felt like an age of silence. He’d barely got the sentence out before Deli was responding. 

“Yes.” 

“You want to destroy the Sanctus Putris with me?” 

“Yes.” 

“You’re sure you can stomach it? You won’t get tired you won’t-” 

“Yes. Or no. Or– I want to. I want to help you, I want to make it right. Whatever it takes.” 

“Okay.” Colin said, and it didn’t feel like nearly enough for what he was accepting, what Deli was offering. But it felt easy too. He sank to sit on the bed next to Deli and they grinned at each other, feeling like the awkward young men they once were. 

“Really?” Deli asked, reaching out his hand once more, letting it hover just above Colin’s. 

“Really.” He said, and turned his hand palm up to lace his fingers with Deli’s. And what else was there to say? Deli knew, had always known. And probably they would have to talk some more, to really process all of the things they’d been through, all of the things they’d said to each other, done to each other, real or imagined. But there was time. For now it felt like enough. 

They sat on the bed in silence, thighs pressed against each other, hands clasped, eyes locked. And then, because he felt that if he didn’t do it now he’d never work up the courage to again, and they’d spend the next five years of their lives dancing around each other, Colin leaned in and kissed him. 

Deli was quick to respond, leaning eagerly into the kiss and bunching Colin’s shirt in his hands, pulling their bodies together, winding his arms around Colin’s shoulders, breathing shakily into his mouth. 

“I missed you.” Deli laughed into the space between their lips when they drew back for air, their foreheads leaned against each other. Colin just smiled, feeling suddenly tired for all the hours he’d slept. It felt too easy, too simple, and it made him ache for all the years they’d wasted. 

“I’m sorry. For the things I said. When I was a hallucination.” Deli continued, his eyes were closed as if in peace but as Colin leaned back he could tell from the furrow of his brow that this was hard for him to say. 

“No need to apologise, it wasn’t really you.” 

“But I’m sorry that they were said with my voice. I’m sorry that you thought them at all.” Deli’s hands rested on his shoulders making Colin’s skin tingle under his fingers, his muscles relaxing into the soothing warmth.

“It’s okay.” Colin assured him. “I don’t think it’s going to happen again.” And he moved to hook his chin over Deli’s shoulder, leaning fully into his embrace. He let Deli’s arms envelop him in a way he’d never let them before. Back then it had been all bravado and lust and battle scars but now he felt he could be tender in a way that was new and comforting. Deli held him for a long time and Colin wished they could stay like that, if not forever, then at least for a few days more. But before long Deli was pulling back and getting to his feet. 

“Can I buy you breakfast?” He said with a smile, holding out his hand to help Colin up too. 

“Yeah. I’d like that.” Colin took his hand, and together they headed out into Pangranos.