shrike

thcscus (blujamas)

Chapter 2: when I met you (my virtues uncounted)

Chapter Text

"You,” said George, “are actually the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”

George felt the war god strain against the ropes that bound them together, back-to-back.

“I sense some underlying hostility in your words,” the war god said slowly.

“Oh, pardon, I meant it to be?overlying.”

George jerked forwards, making the tight rope dig into the other god’s skin. The war god retaliated by thrashing around until his elbow connected with George’s side. In response, George forcefully threw his head back; their skulls connected with a dull thud.

“Ow.”?George gritted his teeth as pain reverberated through his bones. “Should’ve expected you to have a head of bricks.”

“Boo fucking hoo,” the war god spat. “Maybe instead of whining, you can help me get us the fuck out of this mess.”

“Do you mean the mess?you?started?”

“That is irrelevant to the conversation at hand.”

“Irrelevant to the fact that it’s definitely?your damn fault?that we’re tied over a pit full of spikes that will definitely?skewer?us if we fall?”

The war god was quiet, possibly as he assessed the aforementioned pit of spikes far below them. As far as pits go, George had to admit it was formidable; it was deep enough that even the fall would deal a lot of damage, not even mentioning the stakes sharpened so thoroughly that George couldn’t help but begrudgingly admire the handiwork.

Whoever made this pit was very dedicated to making people suffer. And it was only George’s luck that his godly companion made it his life’s mission to piss them off.

They had only been traveling together for six days before everything went to shit. ?

The days before that had been filled with polite, even friendly, conversation. Easy laughter over campfires, exchanging stories about their long,?long?lives. They spoke of adventures, the war god with excitement and George with curiosity. The only adventure George had ever been on was only a few days old, after all.

It was, despite their rocky start, a good companionship. No. Not good.?Easy.

It was like they had done this a thousand times before.

“You know,” George had said to the war god as they followed their directionless path, “I thought we would have killed each other by now.”

The war god had looked over to him, an eyebrow raised. “What makes you say that?”

George shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never really been with another god for this long. I thought it would be like… like putting a lion and a tiger in the same enclosure, and we’d have to fight for dominance or something.”

The war god’s laugh had been like an explosion, coming deep from within his gut. “Please,”?he said, breathless with amusement. “As if I’d ever be threatened by you. You’re not exactly an apex predator in our circle.”

“What do you mean?” George didn’t know if the prickling sensation behind his eyes had been irritation at being underestimated, or bitter agreement.

“Trust me,” the war god said, stretching his arms over his head, as if preparing for a fight. He was always preparing for a fight. “You’ve been sleeping for years. You’re terrifying in your own right, but out here, with the rest of us? You’ll need a few decades of practice before you can go toe-to-toe with, say, the storm god, for example.”

“Have?you?beaten him?” George couldn’t help his challenging tone.

And the war god couldn’t help his arrogant grin. “What do you think?”

George had rolled his eyes. Something told him he might be doing that a lot.

And then, a day later, they found the castle. It was in the middle of nowhere, and the thorns that grew over its walls and entrances further emphasized that nothing good would come out of trespassing.

“Let’s rob it,” the war god said at once.

“You have got to be kidding.”

The war god spun on his heel to level his dark-eyed gaze on George. “Listen. Abandoned castle like this? Think about the wine cellars.”

George was unmoved.

“Okay.” The war god ran a hand through his hair as he thought. “Think about the hidden treasures.”

That, at last, got George’s attention.

The war god almost choked on a laugh. “Treasure.?That’s?where your interests lie?”

“What can I say?” George shrugged. “I like shiny things.”

“Like a fucking magpie.”

“Actually, magpies don’t really care for—”

“Alright, I get it, you have a thing for lonely little animals.”

The war god shifted his weight from one foot to another as he stared impatiently at George, the castle looming over his shoulder like a threat. George considered its imposing walls; the thorns would bend easily enough to George’s will, allowing them safe passage inside, but anything beyond that would require George to trust in the war god’s protection.

With a weary sigh, George turned back to the war god.

“How do we even know if it’s abandoned?” he asked, even though he knew he was going to follow the dark-eyed god into the belly of the beast no matter what his answer was.

“Look at it,” the war god said exasperatedly, flinging an arm towards the ivy-grown turrets. “Of course?it’s abandoned.”

It was not.

Inside, they found a crowd of mercenaries, outlaws and common bandits that had been using the castle as some base of their criminal operations and—because the universe wasn’t quite done with George yet—they had gotten to the castle’s armory first. Which meant the moment George and the war god stepped through the gates, they were greeted with a wickedly sharp hatchet burying itself into the wall right behind where George’s head had been just a second before.

The war god seemed to be more than happy to launch himself into the crowd of very angry, very dangerous, very well-armed people, his deadly grin only matched in ferocity by his own drawn blade, but George was unarmed, tired, and—most importantly—completely uninterested in another bloodbath.

Bloodstains took too long to wash out, and his cloak was new,?godsdamn it.

So he grabbed the war god’s wrist, ignore his shout of protest, and dragged him right back the way they came.

With a wave of his hand, the wall of thorns closed over the entrance again, though George had no doubt their pursuers had other means of, well, pursuing them. He kept running, even as the war god threatened to cut off his hand if he didn’t let go.

“I have a reputation to maintain!” the war god spat as George dragged him deeper into the forest bordering the castle.

“And I have fresh clothes to maintain, too,” George shot back.

“I swear, if you don’t get your hand off me—”

But George would never know what brand new threat the war god was going to launch at him, because in that moment, one of them—definitely?not George—sprung a trap hidden on the forest floor. There was the quick snap of the rope, a short scream, and suddenly George and the war god found themselves in their current predicament: hanging from a tree, back-to-back, over a pit of deadly (or, for gods like them, painful) spikes.

“I don’t know about you,” George said as they spun slowly above the spikes like a pig on a spit, “but I’d rather not spend the better part of the century acclimating to being the world’s first immortal pincushion.”

“Agreed,” the war god said dryly.

In the distance, George could hear the sound of pounding feet as their hatchet-wielding devotees broke free from the castle and surged into the forest, seeking their flighty gods.?Well,?thought George with a wry twist to his mouth,?it feels good to be wanted again.

“Okay,” the war god said suddenly. “Start rocking.”

“Excuse me?”

“Rock back and forth,” he explained impatiently. “Look, see, the rope is frayed already. If we apply enough pressure, we can get it to snap, but our momentum should be enough to fling us clear over the pit.”

“Or it could snap right as we’re above it,” George said, “immediately impaling us.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. And it’s not like you have any better ideas.”

George opened his mouth to protest. But a grudging sigh was all he that came out.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But when you’re picking splinters from your skin well into the next century, don’t blame me.”

So they began rocking. Back and forth and back again; the forest god pulled, the war god pushed, twin tides in an ocean of desperate self-preservation. The war god must have levelled cities, torn whole kingdoms apart with his bare hands. And now, here he was with George, made helpless by a pathetic trap a better god would have seen a mile away. ?

He should have just let George go back to sleep.

The branch above them groaned with their shifting weight.

“It’s working,” said the war god.

But even at the height of their swing, George was too far from safe ground.

“I’m not going to make it,” George said.

“Don’t worry,” said the war god. “I won’t let anything happen to—”

The rope snapped.

George felt it loosen around him as he flew through the air, untethered to anything or anyone. For a brief moment, the world became terribly slow, each second extending into infinity as George watch the war god make it to safety, boots thudding heavily on earth just as their pursuers appeared from between the trees. George heard the hiss of blades being drawn, a shout of challenge, the war god answering.

But George was still falling.

“Hey—” he called, only to realize he did not know the war god’s name.

The last thing George saw before he fell into the pit was his companion walking away from him, spinning his sword in a wicked arc before he plunged it through the heart of his first attacker.

Oh,?thought George, fury shooting through him,?you stupid bastard.

At the last moment, George flung out a desperate arm and managed to catch himself against the mouth of the pit, fingers digging into dirt as he hung over the pointed spikes.

The sound of fighting exploded through the forest, the war god’s laughter high above the clash of steel. All George could see was dirt and certain doom waiting for him below. The earth under his fingers was dead and dry, and it would take only one wrong move for it to crumble under his weight.

He could call for the war god again, like a mortal praying at an altar for help, for salvation. But that sort of devotion was hardly ever answered. George would know; he’d mastered the art of disregard so very long ago.

So, instead, it was only him and the earth. Thankfully, that had always been enough for him.

A cluster of ivy sprung alive beneath his fingers, curled around his arm, and hauled him over the edge just in time for an axe to come swinging down on him. With a strangled yelp, George rolled away just in time to avoid his second attempted murder of the week.

His attacker pulled his axe from where it had embedded itself and swung towards George again. George managed to jump to his feet, curling his hands into fists before he realized the person coming towards him was ridiculously, impossibly taller. He wore an armor of bones to match his grim smile, and George could only hope that wasn’t a human skull as his helmet.

“Hold on,” called George, ducking to avoid the next brutal swing. “Hold?on, this isn’t even my fight!”

As if that excuse ever worked for anyone.

They lumbered towards George, who stepped backwards with his palms up in surrender until his back hit the tree behind him. He was cornered, with nowhere else to go.

His enemy knew it, too. They threw their axe, the blade spinning straight towards George. He threw himself to the ground, narrowly missing decapitation. When he looked back, he saw the axe sticking out of the tree where his head had been moments before. He met the confused eyes of his would-be attacker—now unarmed. They could only stare at each other like wide-eyed birds, the sounds of distant battle still crashing around them. A beat passed.

Then, at the same time, they dove for the axe’s handle.

His attacker had longer limbs and a longer reach, but George was closer and also more desperate. His hands wrapped around the carved-bone handle and pulled it effortlessly from the trunk. He turned, new weapon in hand, just as the axe-less axeman reached him, bloody murder in his eyes.

Without thinking, George swung the axe—but not towards his attacker.

There was a sharp snap as the axe cut through the heavy branch above them, followed by a dull thud as it fell directly on top of his enemy, bone armor clattering as he disappeared under leaves and bark.

George stared dumbly at the mess he’d created, clutching the axe close to his chest.

“Well,” he said, slowly stepping over the axeman’s unconscious form. “Thanks for the axe, I guess.”

George looked up to see a man crashing through the shrubbery, followed closely by the war god, face split by a wicked grin. With effortless grace, the war god ran towards his target and planted his boot into the man’s chest before flipping backwards onto his feet again. The man flew backwards, straight down into the very pit that they’d dug for George and the war god.

George grimaced and looked hurriedly away, but not before he heard the wet squelch of twenty spikes slicing straight through skin and bone. The man didn’t even have time to scream.

“Really?” an unimpressed voice drawled. “You massacre an entire army overnight, but?this?is too much for you?”

George turned to glare at the war god, who was coming towards him while cleaning blood and gore off his sword with his cloak.

“You left me,” George said with measured fury. “You?left me.”

A flicker of irritation crossed the other god’s face. “Oh, come on,” he said. “You took care of yourself, didn’t you?”

“That’s not the point.” George stalked towards him. “You?invited me along.?You?threw yourself headfirst into this stupid fight. And then?you?left me behind because it’s always about what?you?want.” George curled his fingers tightly around the handle of his new axe, almost tempted to bury it into the war god’s thick skull. “I knew I shouldn’t have followed you.”

The war god’s eyes darkened. “You can’t mean that.”

George barked out a strained laugh. “You don’t know me enough to say that.”

“Then what?can?I say?” the war god demanded. “Do you want me to apologize?”

“That would be a good start,” George snapped, “if I thought you were capable of it.”

“I’m sorry,” the war god said.

George blinked. Then he blinked again.

“Okay,” he said slowly, his brows furrowing with disbelief. “But that’s not—”

“I’m sorry I got caught up in the fight,” the god continued, still striding towards George, hands still smeared with red. “I’m sorry I left you behind. I’m sorry I dragged you into this. And I’m sorry about your deer.”

He was close enough now that George could see the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose like dust on the cover of a forgotten book of fairy tales. Close enough for George to inspect his features for any sign of deception. Close enough for George to find only solemn sincerity.

Close enough for George to see the large gash running up his left forearm, dripping blood down his fingertips.

Six days.

They’d only known each other for six days—if what was between them could even be called?knowing. It was a brittle, fragile thing. And yet, strangely, it was something George didn’t want to give up on just yet.

George sighed. “Come here,” he said.

The war god cocked his head to the side. “What?”

“Your arm. It’s injured.”

He looked down at the wound. “Huh. Must be getting rusty, if one of them got me like that.”

“Just?come here.”

They found a space under a tree, far from the stink of blood and death. George drew the war god down onto the grass where they sat like children, knees touching and heads bent together. George pulled the war god’s wounded arm closer towards him, assessing the damage under the dim sunlight dancing through the foliage above.

“It’s not that bad, really,” said the war god. “I’ve shrugged off worse.”

In response, George summoned a patch of white yarrow flowers under his fingers. He plucked a handful of its leaves and crushed them into dry poultice. “Hold still,” said George, holding it over the war god’s wound.

“Oh, please,” he scoffed. “What can you ever do to—fucking shitbag.”

The war god struggled to free himself from George’s grip, but George held him still as he pushed the herbs against the war god’s skin. Then, even as his bothersome companion cursed his name to high heaven and hot hell, George ripped a piece of cloth from his own cloak and wrapped it tightly around the war god’s arm.

“There,” George said, neatly tying the makeshift bandage. “Was it really that bad?”

The war god glared at him. “I will snap you in half like a twig.”

“Consider it payback.”

“You’re a vindictive little thing, aren’t you?”

“Hey,” George said, “at least that means we’re equal now. You leave me to die, I use my skills and expertise and kindness to save you from potential infections.”

“Humble, too.”

George rolled his eyes, but as he settled against the tree trunk behind him, gazing over the still and silent forest that was both familiar and unfamiliar, old and new, he had the oddest feeling that he’d been here before. Or that he’d always meant to be here. It just took him a while to find his way.

He reached out towards the sunlight above, letting the rays slip past and around his pale fingers. Like golden rings.

“You had a point,” said George softly.

The war god shifted beside him, but George was still playing with the sun. “Hm?”

“About the deer,” George continued. “You pointed out, before, that I didn’t name it. Does that mean it never mattered to me? That it wasn’t important? Maybe. Maybe not.” George drew his legs under him and smiled, just a little. “I think… I think names can be heavy, sometimes. Heavier than we give them credit for. Like stones in your mouth.”

“That’s…” The war god sighed through his nose. “That’s fucking stupid.”

George shrugged. “I don’t know how else to explain it. It’s like… if I gave you my name, it’s like giving you a secret.”

“Well,” said the war god, “my name is Sapnap. So. There. Who cares? It’s not a secret or a rock or whatever. It’s just a fucking name, idiot.”

George laughed.

“Mine is George,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you, Sapnap.”

They made their way through the world, Sapnap and George. They made a strange pair, found curious—and angry—eyes on them wherever they went. George could hardly blame them, not when he had a bone-handled axe half his size strapped to his back, and Sapnap made it a point to keep at least four blades on his person at all times. It wasn’t their fault that mortal men took that as a challenge.

Often, they found themselves at the heart of bar fights or alleyway ambushes. Even a war or two. George let Sapnap handle the worst of it; he was, after all, made for battle. But that didn’t mean George gave just as much as he got, sometimes even?more. George blamed it on the war god’s influence, his bloodstained glee infectious. It grew on George like heavy moss.

One time, in the aftermath of war, they stood on a hill overseeing the wreckage. There was no real reason to linger. The white flags of surrender had been raised, the enemy lines—or, what was left of it, after the gods had done their work—had retreated, and all that was left was the grim cleanup. But still, inexplicably, the two of them stayed for longer than they should have, watching silently as soldiers dragged their dead onto carts and wagons to be taken home for burial.

George really didn’t see the point of it. Whether under marble graves or by the side of some random road, bodies still rotted the same.

He glanced at Sapnap, but the other god was, for once, absolutely still, only his hair shifting slightly with the warm wind.

“You look like you’re thinking,” said George. “Thinking actual?thoughts.” He gasped dramatically. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Shut up,” Sapnap grumbled, the usual edge gone from his voice. “You’re actually so annoying, did you know that?”

George grinned, but they quickly fell back into the quiet.

Then, quietly, George asked, “Would you bury me, if we were mortals? Would you mourn?”

Sapnap scoffed. “Definitely not.”

“Because I don’t think I’d mourn you,” George said, turning back to the carnage they’d left in their wake. “I mean, I’ve never really mourned anything, ever. I wouldn’t even know what that would feel like. Maybe one day, I’ll feel it, but I wouldn’t have a name for it, and it’ll pass under my notice.”

“George,” Sapnap said softly, “what the fuck makes you think I’ll ever bite the dust before you do?”

George choked back a laugh. “Well, screw me for being vulnerable for once in my life, I guess.”

“You’re vulnerable every minute of every godsdamned day. I had to pull you back from a hail of arrows today because it never occurred to you that the enemy archers might actually try and, you know,?shoot?you.”

“My hero,” George said wryly. “What would I ever do without you?”

“Die, probably.” Sapnap turned and began walking away, his dark cloak making him look like a living shadow under the setting sun. “Honestly, George, sometimes I feel like I take care of you more than you take care of you.”

“You’re one to talk,” George said, following Sapnap with an exasperated roll of his eyes. “I’m not the one who got us trapped over a pit of spikes for a bit of treasure.”

“Oh my?gods. That was years ago,” Sapnap protested. “Let it fucking go.”

It was not easy all the time. Far from it. Sapnap was stubborn to a fault, and loud, and took more risks than he could afford to, often at George’s expense. In turn, George dragged his feet everywhere they went, only incensing Sapnap further. They fought—constantly. Sapnap threatened to toss George over a cliff, and George threatened to pull him down with him. One time, they followed through with that threat. It by sheer luck that a river was waiting for them at the bottom.

Sometimes, George wanted to leave.

Sometimes, George knew Sapnap did, too.

And then, other times, they would have their backs to each other, George with his axe and Sapnap with his weapon of the week, and in the middle of a bloodthirsty swarm of bounty hunters out for their heads, George would feel the safest he’d ever been. And he’d think maybe it was all worth it.

George saw him first.

Centuries down the line, when he was alone with his old bones, George would think of that moment and wonder what would have happened if he’d looked away. If he’d walked the other direction. If he’d taken Sapnap’s sleeve and lead him down a different road. Knowing how it would end, would George still have held his green-eyed gaze? Would George still have let curiosity get the better of him?

Would he still have followed him into that forest and doomed them all?

This was how the ending began: with two young gods following the stars north, aimless but not lost. With George blowing out air and delighting in the way his breath became mist in the cold air. With Sapnap explaining the stars to him.

“The mortals gave them names,” he was saying, his boots muffled on the light dusting of snow beneath them. “That cluster over there? They call it the Wishing Well.”

“It doesn’t look like anything to me,” said George.

Sapnap shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what?we?can see,” he said. “It’s not meant for us.”

George widened his eyes exaggeratedly at him. “Why, Sapnap,” he gasped. “Are you, perhaps,?sympathizing?with the mere mortals you detest so much?”

“It’s not sympathy,” Sapnap scoffed. “It’s just the way things are. There’s things only we can understand, and things only they can.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Sapnap gnawed absently on his lower lip before adding, “I mean, we’d never understand death, not the way they do.”

George tilted his head to consider him in the silver moonlight. “We can still die.”

“But it’s not a certainty for us. Not a promise. More like… a suggestion.”

“Fair enough.” George pulled his cloak tighter around him as the temperature dropped lower. The landscape was pure white, glittering like a sea of diamonds. Nothing marred its perfect surface except the two sets of footprints George and Sapnap left in their wake, and the trees of a dead forest standing like silent sentries ahead, their branches skeletal and bare. “Really, who are we to decide what they should do with the little time they’re given.”

Sapnap kicked a stone over as he walked; it skidded over the snow and stopped against the roots of the first of the trees. “We have better things to do,” he agreed. “It’s nice having someone to talk to like this. Obviously, no mortal could understand.”

“No god, either?” George asked with a faint smile.

Sapnap chuckled. “Yeah, definitely not,” he said. “Burned those immortal bridges before they could even be built.”

“Lion and tiger in the same enclosure?” George said as the trees began to close in around them, like they were fireflies caught between the fingers of a young child.

“I guess. But I’ve also never really felt the need to get into the enclosure in the first place, you know?”

George remembered the soothing call of the earth, telling him to curl up and sleep the decade away. He remembered soft fur warm beneath his fingers. Uneaten berries in his pockets.

“Yeah,” George whispered. “I know.”

This was how the ending began: with the sound of splintering under a heavy foot. Tragedy heralded not by applause and triumphant trumpets, but by the gentle snapping of a fallen twig.

George met Sapnap’s eyes.

They were not alone in this forest.

Instinctively, Sapnap reached for his sword. Instinctively, George stepped closer to him.

This forest did not know him. It was full of dead and dying things, and they answered to a higher power, or perhaps to no power at all. They would not tell him their secrets or come to his rescue, and that made George horribly, pitifully?useless.

“Sapnap,” George breathed, scanning between the bone-white trees for any movement, any shadow out of place. “I can’t see—”

“Quiet,” Sapnap snapped. “Just stay by me.”

George opened his mouth to protest, and that was when he caught sight of something. It wasn’t shadow.

It was?light—golden and brilliant even against the glistening snow.

It darted between the trees, too quick to be entirely human.

Something in George screamed at him to run—away or toward, he didn’t know.

And as he pressed close under Sapnap’s protection, he caught the bright green eyes of a smiling boy, gleaming with amusement as he held George’s gaze for a heartbeat before he disappeared behind a withered tree. That was all it took, really.

George had always liked shiny things.

His feet were moving before he could think better of it. He grabbed Sapnap’s wrist and pulled him deeper into the forest, following the footsteps of a ghost.

“What the?fuck, George?” Sapnap demanded.

“Listen—”

They crashed into a clearing, the ground dusted by snow and sky open above them, spilling moonlight over their shoulders as they spun, looking for any trace of the boy who seemed to have vanished into the mist. There were no footprints on the ground anymore, not a single indication that he’d ever existed at all.

Sapnap sheathed his sword, glaring at George. “Care to explain your sudden loss of all sense of self-preservation this time, George?”

George felt the cold all the way down to his fingertips. “I thought…” He searched the quiet trees. “I thought he’d wait.”

As Sapnap said, there were things reserved for mortal understanding, and things reserved for those who would never know what it was to live numbered days.

But bitter disappointment was a universal sentiment.

“Never mind,” George said, releasing Sapnap’s hand. “Guess I was just seeing things.”

A laugh—soft and quiet and delicate in the night—replied.

“Okay,” a voice followed, “I didn’t think you’d give up?that?easily.”

Sapnap and George whirled towards the voice.

They found him standing on a high branch, hand braced against the trunk for balance that he didn’t really need. Green eyes. Golden hair. A smile that George had seen a million times before, even without knowing it.

It was an unearned familiarity, but it still took George a long moment to remember that.

And, it turned out, it took Sapnap even longer.

He stepped between George and the stranger, his face clouded.

“Is this a dream?” he said, voice sounding far away. As if he was shouting the words from some distant place.

“I could be,” the stranger said, the smile never leaving his mouth.

Sapnap shook his head, as if to clear it. George could see the tension in his shoulders, the same rigid stance he took when he was facing down an army. He could feel the same mistrust building in his gut.

But neither of them drew their weapons.

The stranger—the dream—leapt from the branch, landing soundlessly on the snow below. He walked towards them with his empty hands held high.

“No.” Sapnap’s rough voice cut through the silence. “Stay there.”

He stopped with an easy shrug. “That’s fair, I guess.”

“Who the hell are you?” Sapnap demanded.

“Oh.” The dream with the green eyes and too-familiar grin and snowflakes melting in his soft curls chuckled. “Weren’t you listening? The universe said I’m going to be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

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