Chapter Text
The good Doc Cogburn let out a heavy sigh as a hand dragged down his wizened old face that seemed to gain more wrinkles as his young charge got older. The seven-year-old boy had begun a new behavior, one that he wasn’t sure what it meant. The scamp had begun switching languages on him to a language that made no sense to the poor old man. The boy had gone off to do his chores for the morning happy as ever and full of energy that could power a small village. The Doc then set him down to do some schoolwork at the large dining table while he went to go to his shop to work. Halfway up the stairs the guttural noises of a foreign language reached his ears and he stopped, turning to stare wide eyed at the boy at the table.
Silas gave him a happy missing toothed smile as he kicked his little feet under the table. “What did you say,” The doc’s confused look dragged that smile off the little face and into a look of puzzlement as he repeated the guttural growling phrase. When still no recognition crossed the doc’s face the boy became despondent, face dropping into one of genuine sadness. “Riiight, well get on and do yer work and then run on and play. I got lotta work to finish up,” the Doc gave him a soft smile and headed on up to the room where all his gadgets were kept. The day seemed to be normal as he worked on various gadgets, switching between smaller things to the prototype for a new weapon he was developing.
From his window he could see as the young tiefling ran out the front door and hopped of the porch, tail swishing wildly through the air as he ran off to the fields to play till lunch. In fact, he didn’t even know tha kid was mad at him till he called him in for lunch. The young boy was covered in dirt, hair looking more like a birds nest than something that grew from his head, with sticks and leaves poking this way and that. His hands were scuffed up and he had mud caking the bottoms of his pants and the tip of his tail. Cogburn shook his head, “Go on and wash up for lunch, don’t want you eattin with muddy hands. The boy gave a one fanged grin and ran off to the big sink to soap up.
The doc placed the plates on the table and sat down in his routine spot, looking over and tweaking blueprints as he chewed his food. The boy was humming to himself as he climbed into the chair before once again that odd guttural phrase popped out of him. The old man stopped mid bite and looked up at the kid who was none the wiser, stuffing his face with the food provided for him. The man just stared at him as if subtitles would appear under the kid that told him what was said. Doc just shook his head and continued on with his meal. When Silas had finished eating he cleared his plate to the sink hopping up on his little wooden stool to wash the dish and set it on the drying rack. “Hey Doc, can I go out and ride? I won’t go far, promise,” the little boys voice and earnest expression drew a chuckle from his care giver.
“Alright, alright, you can go for a ride. Just be back in time for supper and watch out for rattlers,” The old man glanced up over the plans he was working on as the boy cheered and bounded for the door. Once more that language, that same phrase he had said numerous times today, spilled from those grinning lips as he burst trough the screen door. “AND STAY IN THE FIELDS,” the doc attempted to call out after the young boy who had already disappeared to the stables. The old man stared at the door for a minute and leaned back into the solid wood of the dining chair. It had taken the boy so long to speak to him after what happened to his parents that the doc was grateful for every sentence that came with those joyous giggles. He stroked his beard as he mulled over the phrase the boy kept repeating, he was rather unfamiliar with things outside Yona, and he doubted that the local library would have anything on Tieflings.
He got out his notebook and made his best effort at writing down the odd phrase that sounded to him like a mix of noises and growling. With a resigned sigh he closed the book, rolled up the blueprints, and headed back up to the workshop where he sat for many more hours as he worked on his items. It started to get late, the setting sun painting the sky a mix of oranges and pinks as it sunk below the horizon. The doc had dinner ready and on the stove for nearly a half hour now. It wasn’t like the growing boy to miss a meal or any offered food for that matter, but no giggling child entered the house. He got anxious, wondering if he should saddle up his mare and go looking for the lad as he continued looking out all the windows. He was just about to tug on his boot when the kid came running into the house, cheeks flushed and eyes wide.
“Sorry doc! I accidentally fell asleep up on that old hill with the willow tree! Ya know the one where the blue jay nest is? They got babies in the tree,” the little boy tripped over his words as he rushed to get them all out, big grin splitting his face as he recounted the birds. The old man looked skyward and gave an exasperated sigh before shooing the bubbly child to wash his hands. He poured up the soup into bowl and sat one in front of the red-skinned kid with a large glass of milk that he happily took big gulps of. By the time dinner was finished the boy could barely keep his eyes open. His little feet dragged up the stairs and to the bathroom to get cleaned and ready for bed while the doc cleared the table and did the dishes. The old man headed up to his ward’s room and helped the tired child climb in bed.
The doc pulled the quilt over the small frame, and lightly ruffled his black hair, “Good night, Silas. You get some good rest. I love you, boy.” He stood and turned, blowing out the lantern by the bed and making his way to the door before he stopped. Silas’s small sleepy voice reached him, that same phrase repeated as he drifted off to sleep. Cogburn closed the door behind him, back resting against the wood for a moment, hand still on the knob as it all clicked. Tears welled in the grown man’s eyes as he stared out into the quiet of the darkened house, the quiet snores of his charge behind the door. It finally made sense, that odd phrase. Silas was telling the doc he loved him in the only language he knew how to.