Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The longer Wylan is here, the more it dawns on him that he’s nothing but a background character in the Barrel. He’s the person you shove aside to get to the poker table or to ogle a pretty girl who’s walking by. All he’s managed to do is trade one lonely place for another. It’s hard to make him feel more invisible than he felt in his father’s mansion, but the denizens of Ketterdam always seem to try their very best.

Wylan steps out of the way of a group of laughing drunkards. The sun is starting to set. Hues of pink and orange colour the dark roofs. He breathes in, and immediately regrets it. He still hasn’t gotten used to the smell of the Barrel. It’s reminiscent of a damp rag that's been sitting in the corner of a kitchen for a couple of months.

He stumbles out of the bustling street and into the Schouwburg, one of the city theatres in Ketterdam. Wylan doesn’t remember what tonight’s play is, and it really doesn’t matter. He’s not here for entertainment. He has work to do.

The corridors in the back of the Schouwburg are tight and winding. The first time he needed to change into his server’s uniform, he’d ended up using a broom closet. Now he knows the maze of crammed hallways like the back of his hand.

“Oh!” Wylan jumps out of the way, pressing himself against the wall to let two burly guys by. They’re carrying a worn set piece to the stage. He continues his path to the small room where he and other servers can change or take their breaks. Not that there are many breaks. ‘Keep working or get lost’ is the general consensus at the Schouwburg. Though Wylan supposes that rule counts for the entirety of Ketterdam.

It’s early enough that the server’s room is empty when he enters. It’s a sober room without any windows, with a table shoved in the back and a bench filling the length of the wall. He quietly changes into his uniform. The room is muggy. Still, he just sits there for a few minutes, staring at the damage on the plaster in front of him. Just a moment of quiet, then he’ll get to work…

✤

“Boy!” A man calls him over from where he’s serving a young couple their drinks. From a distance, the man looks very put-together, but when Wylan gets closer, he can see the holes and stains on his suit.

“Sir, what can I help you with?” He says once he’s reached the table. Wylan hates how small his voice gets when people shout at him.

“A lager, boy. And make it quick.”

“Yes, sir.” And he scurries off.      

Ketterdam is an impatient place, and the Barrel even more so. It’s a spot of instant gratification. With only a handful of empty chairs, it’s a busy evening for Wylan and the two other waiters.

Wylan scans the crowd. The guests of the Schouwburg are a colourful bunch. People from all over come here for a night of entertainment. He sees a Shu family giggling amongst themselves, a Zemini guy in a colourful suit sipping his whiskey, and plenty of people from Kerch and beyond enjoying themselves.

Tonight’s play is a comedy. The room fills with easy laughter while Wylan walks back and forth between the bar and the patrons. He quietly repeats orders in his head, setting them to melody so he won’t forget. He’s made countless little jingles for the drinks people want and who to give it to. Sometimes when he’s busking, on his day off, he’ll play those melodies on the flute.

A hand-raise alerts him to a patron in need and Wylan walks over in quick steps. “How can I help you, ma’am?”

“Wine for me and a cup of coffee for my husband, please.”

“Coming right up.”

Wylan starts making his way back to the bar when the Zemini guy waves him over. Before he gets there, he puts the last order to melody: Wine and coffee for the couple. The couple in the middle.

“How can I help you?” Wylan’s smile wavers briefly as his eyes are drawn to the perfectly shaped lips of this boy. This is not the time and place for that. He’s actually younger — and more attractive — than Wylan thought.

“I would like another whiskey.” Unfair. Even his voice is nice.

“Wonderful. I’ll be back with your drink soon.”

“Thanks.”

For the couple in the middle, I need wine and coffee. And another whiskey for the guy who smells like toffee. Wylan sings in his head as he walks to the bar to get the orders.

Since the boy from Novyi Zem is seated on his path towards the couple, he brings the whiskey to him first. He’s relieved when he gets a brief smile in thanks. Just the idea of talking with him makes his heart pound faster in his chest.

 Throughout the rest of the play, Wylan’s eyes keep wandering over to where the guy is seated. He’s leaning back in his chair, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. His slender fingers are fidgeting with the playbill. It slowly unravels in his hands.

His laugh short-circuits Wylan’s brain and Wylan almost spills a hot drink over one of the patrons.

 ”Oh gosh. I’m so sorry.” He mumbles hastily as he sets the cup down with shaky fingers.

 On more than one occasion, he swears he feels the boy’s eyes on his back as he’s working. It’s distracting him more than he wants to admit. Wylan doesn’t have time to have a childish crush on someone he’ll never see again.

 He briefly hides behind the bar to pull himself together. Keep your head down and do your job. The rest of the evening flies by.

 When the Schouwburg is finally empty, Wylan won’t let himself sit down for a breather. He has to clean up first. There’s still plenty of dirty dishes that need to be cleared off the tables. These are the moments he enjoys more than serving all the customers of the theatre.

This is a moment where he’s alone in a room with great acoustics. So while he’s gathering the last dirty glasses and mugs, he sings. Anywhere else, he would sing quietly to himself, under his breath. Not today. An empty Schouwburg means that Wylan sings full volume.

 ✤

 The first time Wylan walked back from the Schouwburg to the crappy little room he’s renting, he thought he would be jumped and murdered on the spot. Now, he whistles one of his order-songs to himself as he steps out of the theatre and into the cold street. It’s only slightly less crowded than when he arrived. The Barrel doesn’t really sleep, after all.

 He pulls up the collar of his coat and starts to make his way back home. Home. Wylan huffs out a small laugh. He can barely believe that the room he’s staying in now feels more like home than Jan van Eck’s mansion has for the past eight years.

 Wylan turns left, into a tight alley, and freezes. Two muscular men block his way. He takes a tentative step back.

 A broad hand grabs his shoulder and he spins around. His breath hitches in his throat when he comes face to face with Prior. I should have known. His heart is pounding. His hands are clammy. My father will never let me live.

 His eyes dart around, looking for a way to escape certain doom. He finds nothing. Nothing to help him. Nothing he can do to save his life; to get away a second time.

 ”Come on, kid. Time to finish what we started.”

 The grin on Prior’s face makes him want to vomit. Or maybe it’s the knowledge that he’s about to die. They throw a bag over his face, and he’s still frozen. No one will mourn me when I’m gone. No one will wonder where I am. Wylan wishes he brought his satchel, then maybe he could’ve created some explosion or at least a distraction to get away. He has nothing. He’s no one. This is it.

 A gunshot rings through the alley and Wylan ducks, arms coming up over his head to protect himself. Every part of him is shaking. Tears are rolling down his cheeks. He hears the thud of a body hitting the floor in front of him— and he’s still alive.

In Ghezen’s name, what just happened?

Chapter Text

Lanterns light the way to the Barrel and Jesper feels that familiar tug in his gut. It’s an unrelenting itch that always clouds his judgement. He knows it makes him a liability to Kaz, to Inej, to everyone in the Dregs... even to himself. But the Saints know he’s tempted all the same.

He’s standing outside the Schouwburg. It’s rained. Ketterdam only ever smells this clean after a recent downpour. It doesn’t smell nearly as good as the jurda fields in Novyi Zem, but he can’t complain. He’s grown fond of Ketterdam in the years he’s lived here.

Jesper lingers around the exit of the theatre. He can hear the barker from the nearest betting hall from here. It’s like a siren song to him. He would have preferred to spend his whole evening gambling away the kruge he made on his most recent job with the Dregs. Instead he had attended a play.

Heidi’s play, he corrects himself. I was being a good friend. To say he’d barely paid attention is an understatement.

A familiar mop of hair catches his attention. His eyes follow the waiter’s curls as he makes his way through the crowd. Before Jesper knows it, his feet follow too. He keeps a safe distance, not wanting to spook the boy or be found out. He slips smoothly between groups of people, or hides briefly near a wall to make sure he’s not spotted. Look at what I’ve become. A creep and a stalker.

The boy turns left into a narrow street and Jesper watches as a buff man steps up behind him, blocking his exit. He’s in trouble, Jesper realizes with a start. He wishes he was as stealthy as Inej. She would be able to deal with this hooligan without him knowing what hit him. Jesper’s particular skillset is less subtle.

He tries his best to get closer without getting noticed, using the people strolling by as cover. He’s mildly impressed that he makes it as far as he does.

“Come on, kid. Time to finish what we started.” He hears the man say, and Jesper knows that there’s no time to overthink this. Either he lets them take the boy — so they can do Saints-know-what with him — or he has to act. Jesper twirls his guns in his hands with a flourish. It’s now or never.

He steps out into the alley and takes the shot. The man topples over and slumps to the ground. Blood pools on the cobblestone street. Jesper looks down and it dawns on him that it was a headshot. I killed him.

The kid had the good sense to duck, giving Jesper a line of sight to two men blocking the other side of the alley. They exchange a look and step forward. Wrong decision.

He shoots again, twice this time. He hits one guy in his gut and the other in his leg. His smoking guns are returned to their rightful place at his sides. He’s not about to kill three people tonight if he can avoid it.

Jesper hoists the boy up on his feet, removing a bag from his head and tossing it over the dead man’s face. His hand envelops the waiter’s as he gently pulls him away from the alley. “We gotta go.”

“What?” The kid looks over to see the two men slowly recover from the force of Jesper’s attack. Then he looks down at the body he has to step over and his smooth skin pales.

“Come on.” Jesper says, pulling again.

The boy follows. They run hand-in-hand through the Barrel. Jesper isn’t sure where he’s taking them. For now, his only goal is to get them as far away as he can. Once he knows that those men aren’t following them, he can figure out where to go to next.

Kaz is going to kill him for this — or maybe congratulate him, it’s always hard to tell with Kaz.

✤

Jesper can hear the kid pant beside him. Their pace is slowing. They just made it across a bridge over West Stave. They won’t be able to run much farther. He glances over his shoulder a few times. Jesper’s pretty sure they weren’t followed.

The boy pulls his hand free from Jesper’s. He’s stopped running.

Jesper stops and spins around to face him. “What are you doing?”

They’re in the middle of a street. He knows that stopping here would only get them killed. The light of a street lantern gives the waiter’s hair a beautiful golden glow, like a halo around his head. Saints, he’s pretty, Jesper thinks.

“Who are you? Why— why would you help me?”

Jesper hears the tremble in the boy’s voice. He also sees how he tilts his chin up, pretending to be more confident than he is. “We don’t have time for this.” Jesper argues, “We have to get off the street.”

“I’m not following you until you tell me who you are and why you’re doing this.”

“We don’t have time for that.” But he can see a steely resolve in the kid’s bright blue eyes. “Okay, okay.” He concedes, “I’m Jesper. We met at the Schouwburg, you got me my whiskey.”

“And my second question?”

“You were in trouble. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t get killed.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t know.”

The boy frowns at him.

“I don’t know, okay?” Jesper takes his wrist and pulls him out of the street lantern’s light. He swears that a blush dusts the kid’s cheeks. “All I know is that I didn’t get you away from those men, just so they can find us again because we’re too dumb to hide properly.”

“You raise a good point.” The boy mumbles. “So, where are we headed?”

“This way,” Jesper says, though he points in a random direction. Are there any places owned by the Dregs that I can take him without Kaz finding out?

They walk side-by-side for a good few minutes. Jesper steers them away from the Barrel. The silence between them is continuously interrupted by the people talking and laughing as they pass by. Running had been cathartic, now Jesper’s hands shift to his firearms once more. Not because he’s scared they’ll get jumped, but because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself.

“What’s your name by the way?” Jesper asks.

The boy looks up at him with a startled expression. “It’s— uh… it’s Wylan.”

“Well, Wylan.” Jesper enjoys how the name rolls off his tongue. He sidesteps into an alley and briefly fidgets with the lock on a door before he opens it with dramatic flair, “Come on in.”

“What is this place?”

“Just somewhere for us to lay low for a while.” Jesper ushers him inside and closes the door behind them. They’re standing in a damp corridor.

“You live here?”

“Not exactly.” Jesper grins, “Keep going, through there.”

They walk to the end of the corridor. Wylan opens the door and they step down some stairs into the abandoned workshop. The big, curved windows let in the light of street lanterns outside. The space is filled with shelves and crates. A large wooden workbench stands in the middle of the room.

Jesper passes Wylan by to light some candles littered around the room. It almost feels romantic.

Wylan clears his throat. “So, um… Now what?”

“I don’t know. We wait until it’s safe?”

“It’s never going to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind.” Wylan answers hastily, “It’s not important.”

Jesper frowns, “You say you’ll never be safe out there, when I literally just saved your life. And it’s not important?”

“I can’t explain.” Wylan meets his eyes and something tells him he shouldn’t press this.

“Fair enough. But I’m starving. Let’s see if this kitchen has anything for us.” He opens some cupboards in the corner of the room, pushing away cups and pots in an attempt to find something edible.

After a hot minute, Wylan asks: “Anything?”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe there’s nothing to find.”

“I’m not giving up.”

“Suit yourself.” Wylan chuckles. He takes a seat in an old arm chair and pulls up his legs.

It takes about ten more minutes, but then even Jesper has to admit that there is no food to be found. “I guess I’ll just have to head out to grab us something to eat. Anything specific you’re craving? I’m thinking stroopwafels.” Jesper smirks.

Chapter Text

Anyone who lives in the Barrel knows about Kaz Brekker and his crew. Wylan has seen Brekker strut past West Stave once. His busking got interrupted by the steady beat of cane hitting cobblestone. If you know Dirtyhands, you also know about his Wraith and about his second in command: Jesper Fahey. That same Jesper Fahey had saved his life and taken him here. 

As far as Wylan’s concerned there are two options.

One: Kaz Brekker knows who he is and Jesper Fahey has saved his life only for him to be handed to the Bastard of the Barrel. What Brekker might want him for, he doesn’t know. But it can’t be anything good.

Or two: Jesper Fahey has made the insane and impulsive decision to help a complete stranger and has no idea who Wylan is or why those men tried to kill him.

It seems increasingly unlikely for the second option to be the truth. Especially since Wylan was dumb enough to give his real first name to Jesper, instead of an alias.

Wylan is alone for now. The infamous sharpshooter has left to buy them stroopwafels. Life sure loves to throw you curveballs.

The longer it takes for Jesper to return, the more Wylan thinks he should just leave. It certainly seems safer than staying. He can’t go back to his shitty room, he knows that much. If his father found out where he works, he certainly knows where he lives. Wylan has no idea where he’ll go. His best bet is to leave Ketterdam, to find a ship that will take him to Novyi Zem or the Wandering Isle. Then he’ll rebuild a life there—

“Honey, I’m home!” Jesper’s muffled voice calls.

The door to the corridor flings open to reveal a grinning Jesper Fahey. He’s holding a paper bag in one hand and two freshly made stroopwafels in the other. “And I brought snacks.”

“I can see that.” Wylan smiles nervously. There is no sign of Kaz Brekker.

Jesper walks over and holds out the cookies: “Here, grab yours.”

“Thanks.” Wylan has to admit he is a little hungry. He hasn’t eaten since before he started working, and the warm caramel smells incredible. He takes a tentative bite and it tastes as good as it smells — if not better.

“That’s what I thought,” Jesper chuckles. He puts the paper bag down on the table and takes a seat next to it.

✤

“So,” Jesper says once they've both finished their stroopwafels, “What happened back there? Who were those men?”

“They came out of nowhere.” Wylan looks down at his hands. “I just assumed they were from one of the Barrel's gangs.”

Jesper shakes his head, “No, I didn't recognize any of them. And it's not like you're some kind of criminal mastermind they want to get rid of, right?”

“Definitely not.” He says with a half-hearted chuckle. “I didn't have anything valuable for them to steal, either.”

“They weren't trying to rob you.” Jesper's expression gets dark, “They meant to hurt you. You really don't know why?”

Wylan shakes his head quickly.

“Well, shit.”

“What?”

“I doubt they’ll stop after today.”

Before he can stop himself, Wylan says: “They’ve tried before.” And he immediately feels like an idiot.

“So that’s what that guy meant with ‘let’s finish what we started’.” Jesper looks at him, “How did you get away last time?”

“They weren’t expecting me to jump off the boat and into the canal.” Wylan shrugs, “I didn’t think they’d bother trying to find me.”

“Well, they did.”

“At least I had you to protect me.”

Wylan can see a grin spread across Jesper’s face.

Three heavy knocks on the front door makes both of them jump up. They exchange a brief look before they hear a man’s voice call out: “Stadwatch, open up!”

“Stadwatch?” Wylan asks Jesper.

“They must have followed me.” Jesper looks nervous. While Wylan technically didn’t do anything wrong, Jesper killed someone. People must have seen them and gone to the Stadwatch to report it. Or maybe the two guys that were with Prior did.

“What do we do?”

Jesper shrugs helplessly.

“Okay.” Wylan looks around. Jesper can’t shoot his way out of this, so we’ll have to do something else. He takes a tentative step forward. “Stay here. I’ll talk to them.”

“What will you say?”

“Open up!” The same voice yells. The knocks get more insistent.

“I don’t know yet, but we can’t keep ignoring them. They’ll break down the door sooner rather than later.” Wylan puts on a brave face, squares his shoulders and steps into the corridor. His heart feels like it's beating out of his chest. There are so many ways that this can go wrong.

He opens the front door and meets the gaze of a stern-looking member of the Stadwatch. “How can I help you, officer?” Wylan asks in the most innocent tone of voice he can manage.

“We had reports of a suspected murderer entering this home.” He gets a once-over by the officer.

Wylan just stares at the man. “Wait, what? A murderer?”

“You haven't seen anything suspicious?”

“No, not at all.” 

“Your name?” The officer demands, looking over Wylan's shoulder into the corridor. Wylan is relieved he closed the door into the workshop. There is no way the man could see Jesper from here.

“Wylan van Eck.” 

That seems to throw the Stadwatch-officer off guard. “Van Eck?”

“Yes.”

“Any relation to Councilman Jan van Eck?”

“Certainly. I am his only son.” Normally he wouldn't say it like he's proud of it, but Wylan needs to sell that he's not to be messed with. He doesn't want the officer to actually enter this place.

The demeanor of the officer changes completely: “I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to disturb you.”

“I need to get back to my work. Was there anything else you needed?” Wylan asks, trying to wrap up the conversation.

“You're sure you haven't seen anything, sir?” The officer glances behind Wylan again, but it seems different now. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, everything is fine. If that's all—”

“Thank you for your time, Mr van Eck.”

“Good luck with your search, officer.” Wylan steps back and closes the front door. Once he's sure it's closed, he breathes out a sigh of relief.

He takes a moment and then walks back to the room.

“Damn,” Jesper says the second he sees Wylan enter. “I didn’t know you could lie like that.”

“Hm?”

“Wait…” Wylan gets a once over from Jesper, “Are you really Jan van Eck's son?”

Wylan bites his lower lip, wondering if he should tell the truth or not. “I, uh… I am, yeah.”

“Saints,” Jesper says under his breath, “You're basically Ketterdam royalty.”

“Except it's my father who sent those men after me. So I'm more of a problem to be dealt with than a prince.”

“You still look like a prince to me.” Jesper grins.

Wylan feels his face heat up. He averts his gaze, looking around the room for something so he can change the subject. “What— uh, what else did you get?” He steps up to the table and opens the paper bag.

He turns around and Jesper is standing closer to him than he expected.

“What are you doing?” Wylan asks. He hates the tremor in his voice.

“I want to kiss you, if you’ll let me.”

“What?”

“Can I kiss you?” Jesper repeats.

Wylan wouldn’t be surprised if his entire face was beet red at that point, “I, uh… yeah, sure.”

Jesper grins and closes the gap, pressing his lips against Wylan’s. Jesper wraps his arms around Wylan’s waist and Wylan’s hands come up to Jesper’s neck to keep him close.

A soft noise escapes Wylan when Jesper slowly pulls away. He feels warm and happy. This has been a crazy day.

“I’m going to make sure no one will ever try to hurt you again.” Jesper promises, and Wylan believes him.