Chapter Text
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Sprained ankle: 0. Kyle Crane: 1.
Or so the thing worked out in his head anyway while Kyle tossed the magical stretchy bandage into his pack and declared his venture into the world of first aid a success.
“There you go,” he said, “all ready to limp your way to recovery.”
Aiden met his enthusiasm with a blank stare.
Kyle returned it with a quirked brow. “You’re a tough little kid, huh?”
“I’m not little.”
“Nnnyeah,” he said dramatically and clapped his hands together as he got to his feet. “You kind of are.” His eyes skipped along the shed’s busy walls, away from the conspiracy board and over to the fishing poles and nets and what-have-yous. A plan began to form. Specifically a plan driven by a quiet squeeze in Kyle’s stomach, followed by a sad whine. “You hungry?”
There was a rustle, and when Kyle turned to look back at Aiden, the kid had the crackers from earlier clutched in his thin hands. And bless him, he actually proffered it to Kyle. Even if it was (likely) the only edible thing he had to his name.
A sad smile itched on Kyle’s lips. “That’s not food, child. That’s crumbs. How about some fish? You guys parked yourselves near a river, you’ve gotta be using it, right?”
Aiden shrugged. “The adults cleared a spot closer to the camp for fishing. But they’re always worried about the Infected finding them because it takes so much time.” He pouted a kid-sized pout. “Means no one really wants to do it.”
“You know what, that’s fair. But we’re still gonna catch us some fish.” Rising to his feet, Kyle offered Aiden his back. An offer which the kid accepted a lot quicker this time around.
“What about the fishing rods?” he asked from up above, already ducked forward so as to not get his head clipped by the door when they stepped through. “You’re forgetting them.”
“Eh, fishing rods are overrated.”
(Not really, Kyle liked a good rod in his hand and the serene swish of a fly fishing line, but today he had a child to entertain. You did not entertain children by sitting still, nor by standing around the water performing perfect casts.)
Outside, the world remained void of any and all signs of an apocalypse. Leaves rustled on. Branches rubbed together. Water gurgled. Birds birded. You couldn’t hear any of what waited beyond the small crop of dense greenery; your typical deceptive post-fall serenity that liked to quickly turn on you if you weren’t paying attention.
Kyle did.
Pay attention.
Which was why he remained reasonably confident they’d be fine out here.
“First up, a little fire,” he said and set Aiden down near where the pier jutted out across the water. “And a— ah—“ He scratched at the back of his neck and turned in a slow circle, his eyes scanning the side of the shed and the trees pushing in close.
“A?” Aiden echoed. He stayed stubbornly upright, his bandaged foot wiggling its toes in the air.
“Aha!” One long step into the underbrush later—along with some grunting and a brief battle with a length of ivy—and Kyle re-emerged with a perfect stick. The kind that had another branch attached to it, which he snapped off at just the right distance, turning it into a passable handle.
Yep. He’d always had an impressive stick-radar. Even when he’d been barely Aiden’s age and building stick arsenals in the parent’s backyard.
It might’ve been prophetic.
“Here we go. One crutch for the ailing child.”
“Ay-ling?” said child asked. “What’s ay-ling?”
. . .
Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Oh, god he’s precious.
“Like, uhm— hurt. Injured. Sick.”
“Oh.” Aiden accepted his new walking aid with a critical look and then made good use of it by hobbling after Kyle while Kyle went off to find what they’d need for a small fire. Good, too, since the kid knew where all the goodies were hidden, including one of those dome shaped grills which’d been stashed at the back of the shed.
Kyle had to excavate the storage container first (Aiden had hidden it under tarp and soggy wood, smart cookie), but a few minutes later they were all set. Hell, they even had a half-full sack of coal and a pair of lawn chairs.
However—
While Kyle unfolded the last of the lawn chairs, a thought shuttled by. This was neat, wasn’t it. Very lucky. A grill. Coal. Chairs. Silence. He squinted at the cracked, yellow plastic of the chair and then squinted at the world at large.
What sort of bullshit was he going to have to deal with to pay back all that luck, huh?
Or maybe—just maybe—his rotten-through luck had turned around?
“Unlikely,” he said out loud, earning himself a puzzled look from the second chair. This one was green and missed a spoke, meaning it’d probably fold under Kyle’s weight. It’d hold a child just fine though.
And no, the chair hadn’t thrown him a look. Aiden had. While sitting in it.
Kyle returned a small smile and got back to work.
Once he’d managed to get the fire going (and then not going, reducing it to pretty, smouldering embers), Kyle moved on to fishing. And much as when he’d poked at the fire, Aiden watched him like a hawk and demanded he’d narrate what he was doing and why he did it.
Exhibit A: “Why you taking off your shoes?”
“So they don’t get wet.”
Silence. Kyle spent it stuffing his socks into the shoes and rolling up his pants.
“You’re going into the water?”
“Mhm. That’s where the fish generally are.”
More silence. Except for the thud of the stick, slash, crutch landing and the shuffle of feet as Aiden hobbled after Kyle and followed him onto the pier.
“You’re going to catch fish with your hands?”
“That’s the plan.”
All around them, the water caught the sun at one of those picture-perfect angles, complete with the wink of insects darting over its surface and the occasional swell where a fish made a pass at a snack. Kyle took stock before he committed to getting wet.
The shoreline across the river, along with a good stretch to their left and their right, was all densely wooded. Which was ideal. Biters weren’t good with thick shrubs and no infected stubborn enough to shove through them would be out during the day.
He’d have great cover, too; and no way anyone would manage snaking up on him without giving themselves away. Untended greenery was a great early warning system like that.
Kyle reached the end of the pier and sat. His feet dipped into the water. Very cold water. Brrr. He wiggled his toes.
“Okay, see those plates?” he asked and turned his eyes up to Aiden.
Aiden frowned, then lowered himself alongside Kyle.
“Careful with your ankle bandage,” Kyle warned him. “Don’t get it wet, I might have to redo it if you do. And I worked hard on that.” Plus I don’t know if the magical bandage is still there.
Not something he ended up needing to worry about, since the kid’s feet barely skimmed the water’s surface.
Aiden’s lips pressed into a thin thoughtful line as he dipped the toes of his bandaged foot into the water. “What plates?”
“The flat stones below the water,” Kyle clarified. He pointed at the closest formation visible under the lazy current.
Aiden nodded.
“See how some are stacked? They make these gaps where it’s dark and the water is all still. That’s where fish like to chill.”
Aiden’s thoughtful expression didn’t budge. “And you’re going to catch the ones under there. Fish are really quick though, how’ll that work?”
“They are, but they’re also pretty dumb. The trick is to get your hand under the fish bellies. Slowly. Veeerryy sloowly.” To demonstrate, Kyle let his hand inch towards Aiden’s stomach, his fingers wiggling subtly. Aiden watched the whole thing with a side-eye so judgemental, Kyle barely managed to contain a grin. “And then when you’re by their gills, you—“ He playfully snatched at the kid’s shirt. “—hook ‘em and you got yourself a fish. Easy.” Releasing the kid’s shirt, Kyle leaned back on the heels of his hands. “Then I toss them to the shore and you keep them until we have enough. Sounds good?”
“I don’t think you’ll catch anything, but okay.”
“Have a little faith, kid.” Kyle heaved himself forward and landed in the shallow water. The current tugged at him as he tested his footing and his toes slid over slick rock. And, yes. The water was icy, though the longer it washed over his skin, the more Kyle wanted to dunk himself head to toe.
He needed a damn bath.
“Right, before I head out—“ Turning around, Kyle faced Aiden’s skeptical stare. A stare which turned blank again when Kyle grabbed his sticky shirt and pulled it over his head. Aaah- air. Lovely, lovely air. “If anything shows up at the shed, like— I dunno, a Biter or anyone you don’t know or don’t trust, just hop into the water.” Kyle bundled the shirt up and set it down on the pier. “The Biters can’t follow you in without drowning, Virals usually trip, and people’ll hesitate before they decide to get wet. It’ll give you time to get away.”
Aiden scrunched up his nose. “I can’t swim,” he said. “I think, anyway? I haven’t tried yet.”
Kyle’s immediate reaction was to tell the kid he’d teach him. But wouldn’t that have been a bit premature? They’d known each other for less than half a day, after all, whereas first-time swimming lessons felt like a thing you did with a parent. Not, like, a Kyle Crane, who was about the farthest thing from a parental figure he could presently imagine.
Yeah.
The last time he’d tried on the whole dad thing it’d been for two puppies and even those he’d left with Rahim and Jade when Death had come a-calling last.
“Don’t worry,” Kyle tried, hoping the reassurance would land. “It’s not deep enough near the shore for you to go under. And I’ll come get you right away, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Sweet. Now. Get ready to hold on to some slimy fish.”
The water kept getting deeper. And deeper. Soon enough Kyle was hiking his pants up rather desperately and soon after that he figured he’d miscalculated and figured there’d be a lot of wet Crane wading out of the river later on. But hey. Least he’d get his wash.
Back on the shore, Aiden watched quietly. He’d started kicking at the water, sending drops scattering ahead of him, though that soon stopped, replaced by him leaning forward and grabbing the edge of the pier with intense focus.
Specifically once Kyle bent into the water and stuck his arm all the way in. OKAY he should have defo taken the damn pants off. Grasping under a plate, a whisper of “Here fishy-fishy—“ falling from his lips, Kyle got low enough to submerge his shoulder. That meant water everywhere, which was one part uncomfortable and one part tingly.
But. Fish.
His tongue sticking out in concentration, Kyle’s fingers ghosted over a soft-scaled belly. Then his forearm felt the sleepy touch of a tail fin — and with a quick grab with two fingers hooking into gills, he yanked back and came up with a fat trout.
Kyle beamed at the flapping catch and waved it into Aiden’s direction. The kid’s lips wobbled into a smile of his own, though the thing looked rickety and out of practice. Like he struggled with the concept of it; or wasn’t sure if he was even allowed to.
It was a crime, Kyle decided, to rob a child of a quick grin. If only it hadn’t become so damn common and hadn’t exactly been unthinkable Before, either. His mood sagging, Kyle clapped the baton over the fish’s head and then flung their freshly caught brunch towards the pier.
Two more catches later and Kyle pulled his soggy ass onto dry land.
Next, he gathered up the fish (which Aiden had laid out neatly), sat, and pulled a well-used pocket knife from a drenched—uh—pocket.
Now, if he’d worn his fur, the fish would’ve gone down whole.
But, alas, he had a child to feed and manners to cling to, and so Kyle went about the gutting and the cleaning with slow and deliberate precision. Slow, because Aiden recorded his every move with his little child brain; and deliberate because he didn’t want to teach the kid how to cut off his own finger.
The guts went into the water. The rest on the grill.
“Alright, kid. Now about your detective work—” Kyle sat in his garishly yellow chair after he’d arranged the fish and indicated Aiden’s seat with a quick nod. The kid limped there, then pulled it closer to Kyle’s side before he thumped down with a sigh befitting an adult.
“Shouldn’t you put on a shirt?” the child who refused to be child-like said.
. . .
“Oh. Yeah. One sec.” A quick shake of the grimy thing later and Kyle stuck his head through. Whatever gunk he’d washed off quickly rubbed off on him again.
Terrible.
“What do you want to know?” Aiden asked.
“Let’s start with your suspects. Who’ve you got?”
His forehead scrunching up in concentration, Aiden stuck out two fingers. “Adi and Rosa,” he started. “They’re boyfriend and girlfriend and they fight a lot. Loud, too.”
Kyle blinked. Not overly helpful, that was, but whatever, right?
“Then there’s Pey—Peyter,” Aiden continued, sticking out finger number three. He struggled with the German pronunciation of Peter, but soldiered on. “He’s really old. Like, older than you. Lots older. And I don’t ever know what he says because he doesn’t speak English.” Slipping his lips between his teeth, Aiden paused, chewing. “He always hands out those little wood toys to the kids in the camps. He makes them himself. That’s spooky, isn’t it?”
Kyle wove his head left and right. “Or very sweet of the old dude.”
“They’re super ugly,” Aiden said, his voice all matter-of-fact. “The kids always make fun of them, so Sabrina and I thought maybe he’s getting revenge.”
Kyle winced.
Kids were great.
And gigantic assholes.
“Florence is a French lady.” (As the way he’d tried to pronounce her name might have given it away). “She’s very pretty and she sings. A lot. Like, more than Adi and Rosa fight. And then there is Miss Maren, who’s been cooking for the camps even before I’ve been with them. Her food is super good, but I stopped eating it.” Aiden’s eyes snapped to Kyle. He also stuck out the rest of his fingers, having forgotten to keep counting at three. “What if it’s kids?” he asked. Gravely. “In the food. She could be turning them into stew.”
Kyle made a face. “Kids shouldn’t be stew,” he agreed, “though I don’t think you got to worry about that.”
Or so you hope, champ. Worse things have come to pass.
Hefting up a sigh, Aiden squeezed his hands between his thighs and watched on as Kyle turned the fish around. Then, out of the blue, he said, “What if Sabrina is stew?”
His voice had been tiny this time around. Fragile. Ready to crack at the smallest pressure. Kyle leaned around to look at him and immediately had his heart compressed into some painful geometric shape it shouldn’t be in. There were tears in Aiden’s already watery eyes. Tears he blinked away with a sniffle and a swipe of his hand.
“I should have gone with her when she first said we’ll run away,” the boy doing his very best not to cry said.
“You wouldn’t have survived out there alone. Not for long.”
“You can’t know that for sure. We could have. She could have. Instead I left her to be—“
“—don’t say stew again.”
Aiden huffed. “Fine. Instead I waited too long and now she’s gone and then I was going to go. That’s mean of me.” The tears came back. But still the boy refused to cry. He kept swiping at them and clenching his teeth. “I was going to leave her behind,” he barely managed towards the end. “And I said I’d never leave anyone behind again. Ever.”
Kyle turned the last fish. Slowly and thoughtfully, at that. There was more to what Aiden was saying and for a little while, Kyle went back and forth with himself whether he should press or ignore it. Then he remembered the origami birds, the magical bandage, and how none of this had happened by chance alone.
He wasn’t exactly in the position to ignore anything, was he?
“Ever again, hm? Who’d you leave?”
Aiden’s mouth turned down. “My sister,” he said eventually, the pause that’d come before so heavy, Kyle had felt it press down like a physical weight. “Mia. I left her at the Bad Place.”
“The Bad Place,” Kyle repeated and threw some of the caution he’d held on to earlier over his shoulder. He leaned towards Aiden and with about the same care he’d deployed when fishing, slipped his fingers under his arm so he could turn the puncture marks into the light. Needle tracks. Lots of them. “Is that where you got these?”
Aiden nodded. He scratched at the crook of his elbow.
“What were they for?
A shrug. “I don’t know. I just remember it hurt.”
“Was it just you and your sis?”
“No, there—“ Aiden’s mouth snapped shut and he yanked his arm away. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said after a second, his voice still thready but gradually regaining an ounce of its bite.
“Fair. Want to talk about porcupines instead?”
Aiden turned a half-hearted glare his way, his eyes still all shiny from all the tears he kept to himself. “Nnno— I want to eat. I’m hungry.”
“You and I both, buddy. But let’s cook ‘em through first, alright? Then you get to pick your fish.”
“Two fish.”
Kyle snorted. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ll have two. You have one.”
“Wow. You’re tiny, you’re barely gonna fit one.”
“I’ll fit two just fine,” Aiden insisted, and now all the bite was back.
Good, Kyle thought. He’d worried for a second how he’d have a crying child to deal with; a catastrophe he couldn’t for the life of him remember the proper protocol for.
Tears were scary, okay?
But were they scarier than a distinct tickle at the back of his neck? A squirming in his chest, driven by his wolf’s recognition of a fellow predator near?
Yes, yes they were. Though that didn’t mean Kyle didn’t snap his head around the second he’d felt the sensation creep up on him.
He was on his feet a beat later, the yellow chair toppling, had the baton out and extended with a snap of his wrist.
Aiden remained quiet through it all. Didn’t even ask What is it, which’d have been an apt enough reaction. And exactly the kind of question Kyle asked himself as he squinted at where the pier met the sheet of murmuring water.
There was— nothing there. Nothing but a brief glimpse of scales and a splash way too loud for being just a fish.
Gesturing for Aiden to stay where he was, Kyle stalked forward until he’d hit the pier. He focused himself outwards. Primed his ears, to speak. Got his nose back to work. But he heard nothing beyond the initial splash; nothing but the wood creaking under his feet, anyway, and the water rushing with newfound intensity while the greenery rustled up a storm.
But he did smell something: the ocean.
Kyle’s shoulders instantly sagged.
The scent of an ocean where there was none. A pretty woman. Singing.
Add those three together, do a bit of math, and what’d you get?
(A Siren. It’s a Siren. That’s what you get.)
“Well. Shit,” Kyle said, gave the baton a quick twirl, and carried his damp self back to the wide-eyed child.
This was going to be fun.
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