Chapter Text
Alan's gear is only slightly looser on him than it had been before. His leather tunic drapes over his body. It's barely noticeable, he tells himself. Each strap is meticulously tied and tightened, first around his waist, then one around his thigh, one across his chest, and two around his forearms. Then, he slots a weapon into each. He keeps a silver knife against his thigh, a gun on his hip, ammo across his chest, and stakes against his arms. Each weapon was handmade by Eric years ago.
It's his first time going out since he... got better. He'll patrol around the edge of the town, right near the tree line. It's exactly what he had been doing when he was taken. But he's better now. He's stronger, faster, more resilient. He can feel something rushing through his veins. His vision is sharper, but he hasn't abandoned his wire glasses. Eric helped him switch the lenses for clear glass. He's just patrolling, and it's almost certain that nothing will happen.
In their small town, very little happens. There might be something in the forest, but it's nothing Alan can't handle now that he's better. The farmer's animals might disappear, but it's usually wolves. With the coven gone from their woods, there's nothing for Alan to be especially cautious of. It's a small town with a small presence. His skills are rarely needed, and he had liked that since moving from a larger village after graduating. Growing up as the only son of the town priest, he was used to wandering around on cobbled streets with instructions from his father. His new home's tilled dirt paths would never feel the same.
Eric is still asleep when he leaves. The sun is just beginning to rise while he does his first walk around the perimeter, long shadows trailing from the iron fence. No one has left their houses yet, but the animals are just starting to make noise.
-
Eric wakes up with a groan. The sun is peaking through the thin curtains Alan refuses to let him mend or replace. He rolls out of bed. Alan's been gone for a while; the pillow is cold.
He tugs on his usual outfit, a thin shirt and thick jeans. No matter the season, it's always hot near the forge. Once he gets there, he'll pick out an apron for the day before getting to work. Alan is constantly making and buying him new ones to add to his collection, but his favorite will always be the first one Alan had made for him. The leather is the same stuff Alan uses for his own holsters with green floral embroidery along the seams. While he does cycle between all of them regularly, he only wears his favorite on the slow days when he knows it won't get damaged.
Recently, that's become a majority of the days. His small store is only welcoming a few people a day to buy small things: bags of nails, axles, horseshoes, locks. He's making less and less money every day. It was a slow descent, mostly caused by so much of the town moving away. The previous farmer left for Scotland with two of his children five years ago, leaving only his oldest son, so there were fewer people to buy his farming equipment. After Alan moved in, their last Hunter retired, taking his daughter- the baker- with him. Without her, he had even fewer people to buy pots and pans. The largest mine shut down two years ago, damaging his supply of coal and iron and slowing the amount of picks and lanterns he could sell. When Alan had fallen sick and Eric had begun to work less to care for him he had sold a lot of his inventory off in a sale to quickly raise money, and almost everyone still had the things they had bought from him back then. While business had spiked slightly with Alan out of commission as more people bought their own weapons, it was back down now that he was back.
The town was smaller than it had ever been in Eric's life, in his father's life, in his grandfather's life. The shop and forge that had been passed down through his family had never had so few customers coming through her doors.
-
Alan is the first to suggest it. Over twin plates of dinner and half-drunken beer, he voices what's been eating at them both. "We should leave here. We've outgrown it." He says it casually, calmly. He pokes slowly at the roast on his plate.
Eric doesn't hesitate. "We can't." He decides quickly.
"Why not?"
"You've been assigned to guard this town. My shop is here. The town is already dying, a hunter leaving would kill it." Eric takes a deep breath to stay rational. "And we don't have anywhere to go."
"It's easy to get a new assignment. A place like this is perfect for a rookie hunter, but... I'm stronger. Skilled blacksmiths are always in high demand. It would be easy to find new work somewhere else." Alan takes a small sip of his drink. Neither of them makes eye contact. "You don't think we've outgrown this place?"
"Maybe, but why does that mean we have to leave?"
"There's no need for us here," Alan tells him bluntly. "There's nothing to hunt, and not enough people left to sell to. Are you really still happy here?"
"I've always been happy here." Eric knows it's something Alan could never understand. Growing up in such a small town is a unique experience. Alan doesn't know what it's like to live around the same people your whole life. Eric remembers playing in the trees with the previous Hunter's daughter and helping the current farmer with his chores before they were both allowed to go to the stream. He remembers helping his father organize and clean the same tools he now uses. His whole life has been contained within the tall gates of the town.
"Eric, do you really not see it? I'm sorry, but this place is dying, you said it yourself. Are you willing to go down with it?" Eric doesn't answer. "We're lucky. With our skills, we could go anywhere. It doesn't need to be today, but sooner or later we have to make a choice."
"Where did you have in mind?" Eric knows Alan must have already thought hard about his decision.
"The most recent news from HQ is reporting a shortage of permanent Hunters in Scotland, London, Lille, and Western America." Eric hums noncommittally. "Scotland or London would be the easiest for us. I think you would enjoy both."
"I don't have a horse," Eric comments half on-topic.
"We'd get you one. It's about a 5-day ride to London if you travel for roughly half of each day. We'd probably stop in or around Leeds, Nottingham, Rutland, and Bedford." The way they're both talking sounds almost clinically detached.
"Have you sent a letter to HQ already?"
"No, but I can soon. You want me to request London?"
"I trust you," is all Eric says in response.