Chapter Text
Rain tapped softly against the Arbogasts’ kitchen window as the occasional gust of wind sent droplets rattling against the glass.
Warm light from the overhead lamp fell across the small kitchen table.
A stranger with white fur and black freckles sat quietly beneath it, both gloved hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea.
Up close, he looked… older than Elsa had first thought.
Not elderly, per se.
Just…tired.
A dark overcoat hung from the back of his chair, still damp from the rain. Beneath it, he wore a plain black vest over a white dress shirt.
His long-brimmed fedora resting on the table beside his mug.
A monocle covered his left eye.
An ugly scar ran from beneath it, cutting along the side of his face before abruptly ending halfway down.
Abelard stood near the counter, cigarette between his fingers, watching their unexpected guest with poorly hidden suspicion.
Bobby sat across from Benjamin, nursing his own mug of tea.
Elsa sat beside her husband.
Bobby finally cleared his throat, his British accent ever present.
“So… you said you were passin’ through?”
“Yes.”
The cat’s accent was very strange.
Foreign, certainly, but difficult to place.
Some words came out in nearly perfect English. Others carried a strange Central or Eastern European inflection.
Bobby couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Benjamin smiled faintly.
“I’ve heard many good things about St. Louis doing my travels.”
“Where ya headed?” Abelard asked.
Benjamin glanced toward the priest.
“That…”
He took another sip of his drink.
“…is classified, I’m afraid.”
Abelard stared at him, titling his head.
Benjamin waited.
Nothing.
“Apologies, it’s a military joke.”
“It’s alright, I found it funny,” Bobby said.
“Speak for yourself,” Abelard muttered under his breath.
Benjamin chuckled softly and set his cup down.
“I do appreciate the hospitality. Most people wouldn’t open their door to a stranger at this hour.”
Bobby shrugged.
“Wouldn’t feel right leaving somebody standing out there in this weather.”
Benjamin glanced toward the rain-streaked window.
“No. I suppose not.”
“World’s changed, inn’it?” Bobby added.
Benjamin’s expression softened.
“Yes…”
He stared into his tea.
“…It has.”
Something suddenly clattered outside.
Benjamin’s right hand twitched toward his coat.
A Small, Fast, Instinctive movement—like that of a soldier reaching for a rifle.
Elsa noticed.
So did Bobby.
Benjamin caught them looking.
He glanced at his own hand and gave a quiet snort.
“Old habit.”
Bobby raised an eyebrow.
“From what?”
Benjamin looked at him.
“The Trenches.”
Bobby sat a little straighter.
“You served?”
Benjamin gave a dry chuckle.
“You couldn’t tell from my lackluster jokes and scars? Where do you think I got these?”
He gestured toward his scar and monocle.
“A ghost gave me this one.”
His smile lingered, but only barely.
Bobby studied him.
“You lost the eye?”
“No.”
Benjamin tapped the monocle.
“Damaged. But it still works, I see blobs and stuff but I can still see.”
“Lucky.”
“Very.”
Benjamin’s gaze lingered on Bobby for a moment.
Then he tilted his head.
“You served too.”
Bobby raised an eyebrow.
“What gave me away?”
“Your accent, for one.”
Bobby laughed.
“Plenty of Englishmen never went anywhere near France.”
“True.”
Benjamin studied his posture.
“But they don’t sit like you.”
Bobby’s smile faded slightly.
“Like what?”
“Like you not having your back to the door.”
That earned a brief silence.
Bobby glanced toward the kitchen entrance.
He was, in fact, sitting where he could see it.
Benjamin gave him a knowing look.
“Old habit?”
Bobby breathed out through his nose.
“…Something like that.”
Benjamin nodded.
His attention then shifted toward Elsa.
“And you?”
Elsa blinked.
“Me?”
“Nurse?”
Her expression changed.
“How did you know that?”
Benjamin shrugged.
“I’ve met many, watched a few die, loved a couple…”
“That’s it?”
“Mostly.”
He took another sip.
“You also have the look.”
Bobby chuckled.
“He likes tellin’ people they have looks.”
Benjamin ignored him.
Elsa leaned forward slightly.
“What look?”
Benjamin’s humor faded.
“The kind you get after watching too many people die. Like….its a sea of blood you can’t swim out of.”
Elsa went quiet.
Benjamin immediately seemed to realize how bluntly he’d said it.
“My apologies.”
“No…”
Elsa looked down at her hands.
“You’re right.”
Abelard watched his sister carefully.
Elsa rubbed one thumb against the other.
“I still wake up sometimes.”
Benjamin said nothing.
“The noise,” she continued. “The smoke. The thunder. The screaming.”
Bobby looked toward her.
“Thunder takes me back to no man’s land, even if I don’t like it.”
Elsa glanced at him.
Bobby shrugged.
“Not always.”
A faint smile.
“But sometimes I feel like I’m two people at once.”
Benjamin slowly nodded.
“I feel the same way”
That was all.
No grand speech.
No reassurance that everything would eventually disappear.
Just—
Same.
Abelard took a slow drag from his cigarette.
He hadn’t seen what his sister or brother-in-law had.
But he’d lived with what came home with them.
The room grew quieter.
War recognized war.
After a moment, Bobby leaned back.
“So where’d you serve?”
Benjamin’s eye dropped toward his tea.
“Several different places.”
“That’s real specific, mate.”
Benjamin smiled.
“You didn’t specify.”
“How about I rephrase my question—tell me specifically, where you were stationed.”
A small chuckle.
“Poland, initially.”
Bobby frowned.
“Poland?”
“Yes.”
“Then where?”
“South for a while.”
“South where?”
Benjamin gave him a look.
“You ask many questions, Englishmen.”
“Old habit.”
Benjamin almost smiled.
“…Transylvania, Slovakia.”
That made Bobby pause.
“That’s a hell of a route.”
“It was a hell of a war.”
“Fair enough.”
Benjamin tapped one finger against the porcelain.
“Eventually I went west.”
“France?”
“Belgium.”
Bobby nodded slowly.
“Whereabouts?”
The tapping stopped.
Benjamin stared into his tea.
“Passchendaele.”
Bobby’s expression changed.
Slightly.
But Benjamin noticed.
Elsa did too.
“You were at Passchendaele?”
Bobby asked.
“Yes.”
“When?”
Benjamin glanced up.
“1917.”
Neither man spoke for a moment.
Bobby leaned forward.
“I was there.”
Benjamin’s eye remained fixed on him.
“With the British I presume?”
“Yeah.”
Something flickered across Benjamin’s face.
“What unit?” Benjamin asked.
“55th.”
Bobby studied him.
“What about you?”
Benjamin didn’t answer.
“What unit were you with?”
Another pause.
Benjamin looked toward the window.
“Infantry.”
“That tells me nothing.”
“Yes.”
“British?”
Benjamin looked amused.
“No.”
“French?”
“No.”
“Belgian?”
“No.”
Bobby’s expression slowly hardened.
Something wasn’t adding up.
“You American?”
“No.”
Abelard stopped smoking, slowly looking up at the stranger.
Elsa looked between the two cats at the table.
Bobby leaned forward.
“Then whose side were you on?”
Benjamin stared at him.
For several seconds, it looked as though he might refuse to answer—conjure up some elaborate lie to cover himself…
Instead, he only sighed.
When he spoke again, however, something had changed.
The strange accent that had been indistinct prior leaned unmistakably toward one direction.
“Der Kaiser’s.”
Bobby stared at him.
Elsa’s ears lowered.
Abelard slowly removed the cigarette from his mouth.
Benjamin calmly reached inside his vest.
Bobby immediately tensed—
—but Benjamin merely retrieved a cigarette.
“Easy.”
He struck a match.
FSSST.
The flame briefly illuminated the scar beneath his monocle.
“Der Krieg ended nearly ten years ago.”
He lit his cigarette.
“Nations and uniforms matter not anymore.”
“You’re German?”
“Polish-born.”
Benjamin exhaled smoke toward the ceiling.
“German-raised.”
Another drag.
“American-educated.”
He looked toward Bobby.
“You ever heard of ... .Der Stoßtruppen?.”
Bobby went still.
Elsa looked toward her husband.
“Bobby?”
He didn’t answer.
Benjamin continued quietly.
“Cambrai.”
He took another drag of his cigarette.
“Ypres.”
His eye remained on Bobby.
“Passchendaele.”
Something began changing in Bobby’s expression.
The white fur.
The freckles.
That voice.
Something buried beneath ten years of memory began clawing its way back.
Mud.
Rain.
Darkness.
Men yelling.
A pistol to his head.
Benjamin saw the recognition forming across his face.
“…Ah.”
Benjamin slowly pushed his chair back.
The legs scraped against the kitchen floor.
“I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
He picked up his fedora and placed it on his head.
Then pulled the damp overcoat from the back of his chair and slipped one arm into it.
Elsa watched him.
“You know him?”
Benjamin paused.
Bobby’s eyes never left him.
“No,” Bobby said.
Then, quieter—
“…I don’t.”
Benjamin slipped his other arm into his coat.
Abelard stepped closer to Elsa.
Benjamin buttoned the front.
“I should be going.”
He headed toward the kitchen door.
Bobby stood.
“Wait.”
Benjamin stopped.
His back remained toward them.
Bobby stared at the scar disappearing beneath his collar.
“Have we met?”
Benjamin was silent.
Then—
“Not properly.”
Bobby’s stomach tightened.
Benjamin continued toward the door.
“You were younger then…skinner.”
Bobby’s breathing slowed.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“A trench raid, your rifle jammed, and I had your life right in the palm of my hand…”
Bobby’s face drained.
Elsa looked between them.
“Bobby…?”
“You…”
Benjamin slowly started to smile, a sick, wicked smile.
“You were fortunate.”
Bobby’s eyes widened.
A memory finally snapped into place.
A figure moving through the trench.
White fur beneath mud and blood.
A bloodied trench mace and broomhandle pistol in hand.
Bobby whispered—
“…The Claws.”
Benjamin stopped at the door.
For the first time all night, His German accent was much heavier when he answered, smile wide, his back to him:
“…Die Krallen.”
Bobby’s hand shot beneath the counter.
His fingers closed around the revolver tapped to the bottom.
CLICK.
Benjamin spun around, one hand disappearing beneath his coat—
BLAM!