Chapter Text
Gideon bolts upright in his bed, dry trails of salt marking his face, the afterimages of chains and machinery and fuckin’ Hobgoblins – replay in front of his eyes. His heartbeat mimicking the trains chug chug chugging, its horrid whistle ringing in his ears. His eyes dart around the room, his blazing hair casts shadows against the sparse furnishings, making him panic. And then he hears it. The sound of metal clanging against metal from somewhere lower in the inn. A sound that under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have noticed but the peaceful quiet of the inn and his panicked senses makes it akin to a gunshot to his ears. And every bone in his body screams at him that they are here – they have found him!
Gideon basically sprints out into the common area, slowing himself as he reaches the staircase. He carefully creeps down the steps and peeks into the wide open room, scanning across the dim environment. His eyes land on the tall wooden bar on the far wall. Sticking out from behind it he spots something furry. He stalks ahead to get a better look but quickly recognizes the creature.
“Hootsie?”
Another clang rings out through the room causing both Gideon and Hootsie to jump. She lets out small sad hoots that are quickly shushed by a familiar voice. Small green hands cradle the her face and as sugar sweet apologies float through the air. Gideon realizes that in front of him isn’t a hobgoblin, but just a regular goblin – one that he knows all too well, his friend – Gricko. And as Gricko looks up the cooing words in his mouth halt.
“Oh hi Gideon! What are you doing up awake so late?” He gently guides Hootsie to follow him closer to Gideon.
“I could ask you the same damn thing. Why’re you makin’ so much noise at this kinda time?”
Gricko gasps. “Ah ‘m sorry! I didn’t wake ye, right?”
“Nah nah you didn’t.”
“Good. Well Hootsie had a bit of a nightmare and didn’t wanna go back to sleep just yet so I’m makin’ us some warm milk. I was lookin’ for a proper pot to make it.” He holds up a pot. “D’ya want some too?”
Gideon considers it for a moment. On one hand he isn’t sure if he wants Gricko to see him in the state he’s in – trembling, ragged breathing, evidence of tears still marring his face – but on the other hand he definitely doesn’t want to go back upstairs either. Alone with nothing but his own thoughts and his rooms looming shadows.
“Yeah sure man, I’ll have a cup. Do you want me t’light the fire for ya?”
“No need, I got it. Hootsie why don’t you and uncle Gideon go sit down and I’ll be there in just a second, okay?”
Hootsie nuzzles close up to her dad before making her way over to one of the couches in the room. Gideon swiftly follows her and sits on the soft if a little worn cushions. He watches as Gricko pulls a small tinderbox from a drawer and lights the fire in an old iron stove just beside the bar. His eyes remain on the metal door of the furnace – it’s flickering orange glow behind the bars, like teeth barely containing its boiling rage. Gideons vision tunnels on the furnace. The hiss of pressure valves surrounds him, smoke fills his lungs but it isn’t the pleasant taste of cigars that coats his tongue. It’s black soot-filled smoke invading his airways, strangling, suffocating, determined to snuff him out. The world around him shakes as black wheels speed over black rails.
And suddenly he feels a weight against his legs and the tiniest pinpricks of pain just above his knees. Hootsie stares up at her uncle with big concerned eyes – nearly the size of dinner plates! Her paws rest on him with a deliberate pressure. Gideon smooths over the ruffled feathers on her head and gives her the best smile he can muster, a crooked and wobbly grin. She stares at him for a moment then lets out a content chirp wiggling her head in a happy way. Gideon can’t let Hootsie’s view of him be shattered. Her big strong uncle can’t be afraid of dreams or some rusty old stove. He can’t be afraid of shadows at night or sudden noises. Because if he’s not able to be brave for her then how is she ever expected to? How is she ever supposed to know she’s safe? How are all of them supposed to feel safe when he crumbles at the mere memory of that fucking soot filled chamber?
Hootsie pushes herself off of Gideon at the same time as a small weight shifts the cushions next to him. Gricko hands his daughter a metal mug which she gently holds in both of her taloned paws.
“Now, be careful Hootsie, ’s still too warm to drink so ye gotta wait.” Before he can even finish speaking she’s already got her beak in the cup. Gricko lets out a quiet sigh and turns to Gideon to hand him a cup as well, who murmurs a “thank you” and takes it. Though he doesn’t drink it yet, staring down at the blank surface of the milk. Like a bright void, perfectly even.
“While I appreciate ya makin’ the room all nice an’ toasty, I can tell somethin’s up with you if ye’re running hot like this, Gideon. Ya don’t have to tell me but I can tell i’s bothering you.”
Gideon looks down at Gricko as the goblin takes a sip of his own milk before he turns to meet his gaze. He quickly averts his eyes, feeling the extreme discomfort of being earnestly perceived, staring forward.
“It’s just… stupid dreams an’… memories an' all that y’know…” His voice falters and he draws in a trembling breath as his heartbeat rings in his ears. Gideon feels a small hand on his back rubbing slow circles into it. Tears prick at his eyes and evaporate as soon as they hit his cheeks. And they sit in relative silence, only Gideon’s soft shaking breaths.
“You should try the milk. Me mum always made me some when I was ‘fraid at night. Said it’d make the monsters go away. It always worked for me and now helps Hootsie when she’s feelin’ scared.”
Gideon looks back down, small bubbles have started to form at the surface of the milk as his hands started to heat the cup. He brings it up to his lips, lightly smothering the embers of his mustache as he begins to drink. It warms him up from the inside out – not in the literal sense but in a metaphorical way – spreading from his chest all the way to his toes and fingertips. A feeling of comfort that Gideon hadn’t felt in what seems like an eternity envelopes him as memories of his childhood flood his mind. And while his pa wasn’t as doting and, frankly, silly as Gricko can be sometimes, the comforting hand of a father on his back makes him feel like a boy again.
As Gideon continues to sip from his cup he sees Hootsie on the carpet, laying with her body on her side, limbs splayed out, her head pointing toward the ceiling with her mug still held in her beak. She’s already fast asleep, looking impossibly comfortable in her pretzel-like position. And as he watches her chest slowly rise and fall he feels the lull of sleep begin to pull at his eyelids. Gideon tries to resist at first but before he even realizes it, his eyes are closed and as he slowly slips away into dreamland he feels the mug being gently taken from his hands and he is carefully pulled to lay down on the couch. Settling into this new position he falls into peaceful slumber.