Work Text:
"Dimitri."
Somehow, even though his title chafed in almost anyone else's mouth, there was one person Dimitri always yearned to hear from with just a shade more respect. He quickly fixed his face into a smile and turned. "Yes, Uncle?"
His uncle glowered, as if Dimitri had done something wrong by acknowledging the family tie. "Don't feign to me that you've been behaving yourself. I know what you've done."
Dimitri stopped smiling, but said nothing more.
"Why would you tell Rodrigue such a lie? The man who killed your father was from Duscur. This has been confirmed."
Instantly Dimitri's body trembled under the force of his rage and he clenched his hands. Questions burst in his chest—how did his uncle even know this? He'd tried to bring this up to Rufus before but his uncle wouldn't hear of it; of course he'd gone to Rodrigue instead, in confidence. Rodrigue wouldn't have told, would he? Or wasn't he obligated to bring this concern to Rufus's attention?
He was conscious suddenly of Dedue at his elbow, watchful but quietly mystified. Dimitri was beginning to suspect that Dedue understood a little more than he ever let on, but he was in no position to confirm this when the language barrier between them was still so thick.
"He was not," Dimitri said, working to keep his voice level. "I saw it, Uncle. I beg of you to…" His throat closed up around the words believe me.
"You are confused, child. I've indulged your whims in other ways, don't try to tell me I haven't, but we have your father's legacy and your eventual reign to protect," Rufus said sternly. "What will our people do with a madman on the throne? You must be rational, Dimitri."
"I am!" Dimitri objected, stamping his foot.
Instantly his uncle shrank from him as if Dimitri had threatened him with a lance. "Must you look at me like that," he murmured, lowering his eyes.
Dimitri became uncomfortably aware of the intensity of his glare then. He turned it on the ground instead, wrestling with his expression until he hoped it resembled something approaching contrition. "I'm sorry, Uncle, I'm not—I'm not being difficult on purpose, I only wish you would listen—"
"When you are older, boy, you will grasp why your inarticulate ravings have no place in discussions on matters of state." His uncle's voice was sharp again, and Dimitri didn't dare to look up in case he couldn't keep his face neutral. "Do not force my hand on this, Dimitri. I promise you will regret it."
"I understand," Dimitri ground out from between clenched teeth.
He remained still, containing all the kinetic energy rushing through his body that desperately yearned for a blade and an opponent—some vessel of injustice that could be righteously vanquished under the crackling power of Dimitri's anger—until his uncle and Rufus's own retainers had moved on down the hall.
Dimitri took a deep breath. Another. "Let's go, Dedue," he said, knowing Dedue understood the meaning of those words, and hoping they didn't sound too cold coming out of him in this moment.
Dedue did not like Rufus.
He would be the first person to admit he didn't fully understand the dynamic between Rufus and Dimitri. He'd had it explained to him that Rufus was Dimitri's uncle - the resemblance seemed to be there too - and Dedue understood that the man was in charge.
He also understood that the man was a threat.
Dedue didn't like the way Rufus spoke to Dimitri. He might not have understood most of the content (Dedue caught "Rodrigue" and "Duscur" and schooled his expression to a neutral frown as best he could) but he understood the tone, and he understood the hatred in Rufus's eyes. It would have been one thing if he reserved that hateful look only for Dedue; Dedue was becoming accustomed to it.
But Rufus looked at Dimitri with even more revulsion. And in the moment Dimitri stamped, childish and frustrated, Dedue saw fear in those eyes.
He did not like it. What would Dimitri's uncle have to fear from his own small nephew?
Dedue decided to ponder that on his own time. He fell in with Dimitri, casting only a brief glance behind him to ensure Rufus and his entourage were truly leaving. Whatever had been said, Dimitri looked as wound up as a spring under tension. Anger tightened the back of his small shoulders and whitened those already pale knuckles even further. Not for the first time, Dedue wondered how often he had been bullied, even before Dimitri had been orphaned.
They were almost to the castle training grounds when the anger continuing to build in Dimitri's chest finally snapped. It had to vent somehow, and before he fully understood what he was doing Dimitri was turning and slamming his fist into the nearest stone wall with all his might.
The wall cracked all the way around his fist, covering his hand in a light dusting of stone and mortar—and Dimitri froze, paralyzed by his own horror and shame at himself.
It wasn't really a surprise that Dimitri's anger needed a vent, but Dedue still jumped with a shout of dismay when Dimitri actually punched a stone wall.
"Don't- what did you do?? You'll hurt yourself-" Dedue said as he reached automatically for Dimitri's hand - and then, only pulling it away from the stone, did Dedue realize that it was not his flesh and bones that had yielded to the blow.
Still grasping Dimitri's wrist, Dedue's wide eyes roved over the crack in the stone, the impression of Dimitri's small fist as clear as if he had punched sand, the bits of pulverized gravel dusting Dimitri's hand. Amazed, Dedue carefully uncurled Dimitri's fingers, probing each one gently for any hint of a break or crack.
Dimitri's hand immediately slackened in Dedue's and a little tremble went through him. He'd caught just enough of what Dedue had said to suggest that Dedue was worried he'd hurt himself (although that much was obvious just from Dedue's reaction), but the impression of his hand in the stone was evidence enough that Dimitri was the force to be feared.
And he knew Dedue hadn't witnessed this from him before. It was something Dimitri kept meaning to find a way to explain to him and then putting off; he didn't want Dedue to be worried about his possessions in Dimitri's hands, to fear bruising or worse from Dimitri holding his hand or hugging him, but really that was Dimitri's own selfishness. Dedue deserved to know about the danger he was unwittingly courting just by being in Dimitri's presence, even beyond the danger he must know he already faced for being a boy of Duscur in a virulently reactive Faerghus.
"I…I can…" The lie that he could control it didn't quite leave Dimitri's lips; instead he made a faintly confused noise as Dedue checked him over. The stone had posed no threat to Dimitri's Crest-bearing bones, and while a part of him wanted to be flattered at Dedue's awe, he still dreaded the conclusion Dedue would come to when he understood how much power Dimitri truly had.
Incredibly, Dimitri's hand seemed whole. Dedue had never seen anything like it. He stretched Dimitri's fingers out one at a time, just once more, just in case he had somehow missed something or his eyes were deceiving him, or Dimitri was somehow concealing the pain of an injury so well Dedue had overlooked it.
But there was no such break. Only scrapes on Dimitri's knuckles, beginning to well blood up beneath the stone dust still coating them.
Dedue tutted his dismay with a click of his tongue, brushing as much dust as he could from Dimitri's hand. He cast a look around for something to use to rinse Dimitri's scraped knuckles - his eyes fell on a rain barrel, just beside a low wall separating the gardens from the training grounds.
"Come here." Dedue tugged Dimitri's hand to ask him to follow. "Let me clean your hand up."
To Dimitri's amazement, Dedue didn't shrink from him; he was prepared to withdraw his hand at the first sign that Dedue wanted him to, but instead Dedue held on to him and ushered him away from the wall. Dimitri couldn't parse any of the words through his self-loathing and fear, but as long as Dedue wasn't letting go, Dimitri followed his lead with a guilty glance back at the wall.
The barrel was within arm's reach of the edge of a knee-height retaining wall holding in the garden's soil; Dedue gently maneuvered Dimitri to sit on it without letting go of his hand. He pulled a small, cheap handkerchief from his pocket and dipped it into the barrel until it was dripping wet.
Dedue settled on the retaining wall himself. Water dripped onto the leg he curled half beneath him as he gently dabbed at Dimitri's knuckles, watching Dimitri's face first for signs that he was being too rough or that the contact on his raw skin stung too badly. When he didn't see any, Dedue let his eyes fall to his work, as the handkerchief slowly and steadily worked the grit out of Dimitri's scrapes.
Dimitri was puzzled, not resisting Dedue's urging to sit but not quite understanding why. He'd caught the word "hand," but the scrapes weren't that bad; maybe before Duscur Dimitri would be cradling this hand just like Dedue was, but even back then he'd frequently been expected to cope with exhaustion and even little pains like this. It hardly registered to him as a problem compared to the mostly-healed wound on his back (that still opened up from time to time when the sheer size of it tried to restrict a movement that his Crest insisted on escalating). The damage to the wall, which would almost certainly be reported back to his uncle eventually, seemed like the more pressing issue.
So he was half-expecting to have to explain his Crest, and maybe also as much of the conversation with Rufus as he could get Dedue to understand for now—but somehow he wasn't expecting Dedue to set about cleaning out the cuts.
It seemed obvious in hindsight. Dedue seemed to fret over every little thing that threatened Dimitri, as if not enough water or too much exertion could reduce him back to the pathetic pool of blood and tears he'd been during the first few days and weeks they'd known each other, but…
"You don't have to," Dimitri said, almost a whisper, as if Dedue might understand enough to hear and decide that was true, and in fact he didn't want to after all.
Dedue glanced up and met Dimitri's eyes. He hadn't tried to take his hand back from Dedue, but there was a reticence in his face, a hang-dog, disbelieving air about the set of his back. Had he not wanted Dedue to know how strong he was? It was true that it was shocking for so small a boy to be able to achieve such a feat, but Dedue had already seen so many new things since that terrible day, had already realized how little he knew of the world outside his village, that one more thing didn't seem so outlandish. Maybe in Faerghus everyone was this strong. It made sense at least of how Dimitri had even survived that day, wounded as he was.
But he was still only human. Hurt like any other human. Bled like any other human.
"It'll get infected," Dedue said as he returned to his work. "This is dirty. Bad." His brow knit with the effort of finding the words. "Will make you sick."
Dimitri quickly avoided Dedue's eyes, flushing. "I won't get sick," he returned in Fodlani, feeling another little wave of shame that he couldn't yet construct the same sentence in Duscur. (Dedue was picking his language up faster than Dimitri was learning Dedue's, for some reason that Dimitri could only assume had to do with his own deficiency.) "I'll be fine."
He only meant it as a reassurance, and hope that came across when he still didn't pull away. Then he lapsed into silence, working for a moment to pull together the words and hoping they made sense.
"Hands," he got out finally, ill-pronounced but clear; "is warm."
Now it was Dedue's turn to blush. Dimitri...might not have meant anything by that, but it still made Dedue's heart flip over a little bit.
Gently, Dedue pressed the damp cloth over Dimitri's knuckles, beneath his own wide palm, enclosing Dimitri's small, delicate hand within both of Dedue's. He had been made to understand before too long that Dimitri was only about a year younger than him, despite the roundness of his baby face and the smallness of his hands. But now Dedue understood that those hands only looked delicate. He would be fine, from just this little scratch.
That didn't mean Dedue had to ignore that he was hurt.
Dedue's expression changed minutely and Dimitri caught the flush, which made him wonder if he'd said it right, or if the words meant what he'd thought. He was about to try correcting himself in Fodlani when Dedue enclosed his hand like that and Dimitri had the thought that Dedue was therefore concluding Dimitri's hand was cold, and it cut him straight to the quick.
The weeping always seemed to take him at strange times, never when Dimitri was expecting it. He couldn't even say what caused it now, if it was truly the loss that stalked him day and night, or somehow the brittle happiness of being looked after like this. Of knowing that Dedue wasn't scared of him, like so many in the castle were (like even his uncle was, or so Dimitri couldn't help but think sometimes).
Dimitri ducked his head, like the curtain of his bangs could also hide the set of his mouth or the shaking in his shoulders.
Dedue's eyes flicked up - but Dimitri's tears were an inevitability, after whatever had been said to him to make him tremble with anger the way he had on their walk here. It was difficult to watch Dimitri have to bear it alone; there was no hope of fully explaining it to him even if Dimitri wanted to. There was no way either for Dedue to ask what had been said, exactly, but he could make at least some guesses.
If they had been alone, Dedue would have pulled Dimitri into his arms, but he was learning to fear getting that close in public. Here, in the open where anyone could see them, Dedue didn't dare touch Dimitri that way, didn't dare to brush his hair back and pat his head. He could only hold his hand, and stroke the damp handkerchief over his knuckles, pretending it was still only to clean them.
"It's okay," he murmured. "You can cry. It's alright."
Dedue was pretending not to see, either to spare Dimitri his dignity or keep from upsetting him any further. But Dimitri caught the meaning behind some of the words Dedue said and another rush of gratitude and pain choked him. No it's not, he wanted to say. It's not fair. Nothing is okay. The world shouldn't be like this.
Where no one could see, Dimitri squeezed Dedue's hand in his as tightly as he dared.