#bryanthreads

It's been three days since the last time they found him, and almost four weeks since the explosion. It already feels like months. He's positive they're tracking him somehow, as he can never quite shake free of them.

Bryan looks down at his watch. 6:18. Soon the sun will disappear behind the trees. He will need to find shelter for a few hours of rest. Staying in one place for too long is a quick way to get nabbed in the middle of the night, and Bryan doesn't wish to find out how the institute will treat him when they discover his little hitchhiker.

He wipes the back of his hand over his brow to prevent beads of sweat from rolling into his eyes. Dirt and grime feel like sandpaper and the salt from his sweat stings his sunburn. Just a while longer, and then he can sit.

A few uneventful hours go by.

Out of the shadows a small building morphs into view. Outdoor lights snap on as soon as Bryan steps closer and bathes him in a haze of cold indifference. Approaching the door, he first notices the warning sign screwed into its center. The colors and text are bleached from constant exposure but is still legible to any who consider trespassing:

NO TRESSPASSING FOR USE BY FOREST RANGERS ONLY VIOLATORS WILL BE FINED

Bryan doesn't consider its warning for long. He almost scoffs. At this point, what does he care if there's a fine? The road is pretty well secluded and the building is old. The chances of triggering an alarm are low. Right now he has bigger things to worry about.

He unslings his backpack and kneels with it onto the ground. Items clink and clatter as he fumbles around for two ten inch long combination wrenches. He stands once they're in hand and it only takes a few seconds before the lock gives way with a dull clicking sound. Quieter than a hammer and less obvious than carrying around a pair of chain cutters, the wrenches have gotten him into quite a few forbidden locations. After tucking the wrenches back into his bag, he slings it over one shoulder, slips the padlock off the latch, then enters the shack.

When the door closes behind him, the flood of light from outside drowns in the unforgiving darkness within. Only a sliver of light lines the bottom of the door. With no window, the air is stale and hot, but it beats exposing himself to searching eyes. Sweat is quick to roll down his face and neck and he makes futile attempts to wipe it away.

Bryan gives and audible groan and he feels strange to hear his voice so intimately. It's the only voice he's heard for hours.

Reaching into his front pocket he pulls out a lighter and flicks the wheel. Shadows jump with the flame. The shack doesn't contain much and if the dust on the small desk is any indication, no one should bother him. Sparse as the interior may be, there's also an old phone with a sheet of emergency numbers tacked onto the wall, and a short filing cabinet. What anyone could need to file here is beyond Bryan's scope of imagination. He's running on fumes.

The zippo snaps shut. In the dark he feels for a hoodie to roll into something vaguely pillow-shaped. Then, he pulls out the cheap cell phone he purchased a few gas stations back, powers it on, and wipes away more sweat as he waits for it to load. A bright white light with a bluish tint floods the small room as the logo bounces into view. While he waits, he pulls out a small bit a paper from his wallet and stares at the numbers written in ink. There's a handful of them, but the most important ones are at the top. David and Aya.

"C'mon..." he frowns at the signal bar as it alternates between one and zero. It's better to try than to quit entirely, so he opens up the messaging app and begins typing:

[sms 9:37] cant talk long, been in hiding. dont know how long i have until they find me again. i need help and dont know where else to turn [sms 9:41] you remember that lake i took you to once? im headed there now. im still a couple of days off and if im lucky they wont find me. i hope to see you but understand if you dont come [sms 9:49] after this message finally gets to you im destroying the phone but i need to warn you to watch your back. those guys i worked for know everything about me

True to his word, after the last message sends, he pulls out the phone's battery and wails on it a few times with a wrench. It causes another cascading of sweat to fall down his face and back, but he can't risk having it any longer. He would have gotten rid of it a while ago but he only managed to send a text to David. Texting Aya was important.

Silence blankets the shack.

As he lies down, the light outside shuts off, taking with it that small sliver from beneath the door. Bryan raises his watch to his face and sets an alarm for four hours from now. Fatigue claws at his body and begs for something more, but even with a forest of signal-blocking trees around him, he can't trust that they won't still find him.

Empty potion bottles clink in his sack as he reaches for his last full one. It isn't much, but it will keep some of his wounds from gushing. The stranger's help is a welcome change. With everything that's been going on these days between cultists and hostile beasts, finding allies is near impossible. Hells, finding someone who doesn't extort you for gold is a challenge.

Bryan watches the other apply a thick salve to his wounds in between quick gulps of his potion. Healing always feels uncomfortable. Incessant jabbing like the sting of a hornet slowly morphs into a crinkling itch as skin zippers closed.

"Thanks. Woulda been ant food, but I guess luck's still with me. You came just in time." He tosses the now empty bottle into his sack. "I owe ya one. Name's Bryan -- " An all too familiar pulsing in his brain catches him mid sentence. His parasite connects with the other's, swapping clipped memories in a nauseating pace.

Is it blackmail? A threat from another kingdom that sends his highness into fits of terror? It's clear that this stems from something bigger than a simple nightmare. It weighs down his tongue and despite not knowing what shape this burden takes, Bryan can feel how much it plagues Conláed. A soft sigh dares to try and escape but he catches it in his throat. A smile takes its place as their eyes meet.

"I am honor-bound to ensure you are protected because it is my duty. But...it's more than a job to me, your highness." Bryan tucks the bandage in on itself and clips it in place. With a gentle glide of his hand he passes it over Conláed's clothed palm in a fond gesture. Eyes flick down for a brief moment to study his highness' other palm. Blood continues to trickle out of pocked wounds.

"It is my greatest desire to see you happy. To know you're free from care. You could never be a burden." Bryan bites back on words that are too familiar to utter to his superior. He fights against gestures that are too sweet to share with someone like Conláed. While this position is more than a job to Bryan, it is still a job, and fraternization could ruin everything he's spent his life training for.

Bandages begin to wrap around Conláed's palm. Bryan's gaze transfixes on the process. It's not out of timidness that he keeps his eyes low, but out of respect.

"I will understand if you wish to keep me at a distance. I'll no longer press the issue, just say the word." He clips the bandage in place and holds both of the prince's hands in his open palms.

“Things aren’t always as they seem.” Geralt reminds him but even Bryan had said himself that he’s not certain it’s abandoned. A knowing glance is given to Bryan, however, for he is a mage living as a simple herbalist. “But, I do not need to tell you that.”

“Mm. Cat Witchers, most likely.” Is he biased against them? Perhaps, but Geralt has encountered plenty to know they are straight up bastards. If they were from the school of the wolf, Bryan would remember his medallion being on them and the only wolf Witcher that is truly an ass is Lambert. However, if he had come through here, Geralt would have known.

Geralt can not help but wonder when and where Bryan has seen the other two Witchers but he does not question it, it’s not his business, and most Witchers stay out of the affairs of other Witchers. It is an unspoken code that if one Witcher has accepted a contract, the other moves on to something else.

“Perhaps I will.” After all, when was the last time he’d gotten a good meal outside of a tavern or something he had to cook himself? He doesn’t think he’s ever been offered a home cooked meal before but most people are not as kind to him as Bryan is.

It takes until nearly the next day for Geralt to complete the contract. As he suspected, there had been a cursed item in the house, but that is not the only thing. There had been a specter, too, that Geralt had to banish. He felt pity for the poor thing as he had recognized it as being born from grief and unable to move on from this plane. Hopefully, now, it is at peace

Morning comes and Geralt knows he looks a little roughed up but it is nothing he can not handle and he heads back to Bryan to collect his reward for such a thing. Already, the eerie feeling that had come over the town seems to have vanished entirely.

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He knows better than to wish for Geralt's swift return, but that doesn't stop the tiny sliver of hope that he might join him for dinner, where they can talk about lighter things instead of work. He knows better, and yet, when the moon rises high, there's still a twinge of disappointment. It's better this way though, as it's quite a chore to restock his supplies and he doesn't think he'd have the time to craft and entertain a guest. Would the townsfolk even need his wares after Geralt deals with their problem?

Saving business concerns for later, Bryan beds down for the night, blowing out the last candle before slipping between the sheets and tired bones rejoice to finally rest.

Bright and early Bryan arises and immediately moves to throw on some tea. Still no sign of Geralt, but he thinks he might see him soon. How long could one small house in the hands of a capable witcher take? Perhaps he is simply too eager, a fact that starts to annoy Bryan in no small capacity.

He begins to make breakfast while the water for tea sits over the fire. Eggs crack into an oiled pan and just as they start to sizzle, Bryan hears someone knocking on his door. He wipes his hands on his trousers and hurries to greet his guest. To his delight Geralt stands, looking a tad worse for wear, but not sporting any serious wounds.

@lilaxwine

What he wants to say is something like 'duh' or 'no shit' or any other similar variety of snippy comments. Will's moods have been all over the place and it's been difficult dealing with the shit that's been going on between him and his therapist (Bryan's still floored this man is allowed to hover around like he does). The way Will looks at him with desperate eyes keeps any rude comments from slipping by.

Instead, he sits next to Will, thigh to thigh and with a hand on his knee. Bryan sighs -- hell, he's concerned and honestly? He's scared. He's scared that no one else sees Hannibal's red flags and worse yet, it's like they don't even notice how bad Will's been.

@lilaxwine

"Ok...ok." Bryan smooths his hands against Will's cheeks, touching his forehead to the other's in a gentle tap. It's late and the sky outside is black as pitch. Bryan squints just past Will's head to see what time it is, and a bright red '02:37' squints back.

Bryan gently lays Will back down into the bed with him scooting down and getting himself into a comfortable position. He lays down, his head resting atop Will's chest. Just beyond his ear and fragile bone the other man's heart throbs, its pace not showing any current signs of slowing down (his own heart races from having heard his lover's shouts in the night).

When Bryan awakens, he finds himself on the ground in some unknown location. His entire body aches as if every cell in his body is exploding (which is not far off from what truly happens to him when that thing takes over). He takes a breath into burning lungs and he distantly wonders if the thing stumbled into a fire at some point in its transformation. Bryan coughs, dust kicking out from under his mouth. It’s then that he notices he’s laying face flat on the ground.

Bryan groans and rolls himself over. His back touches something sharp, causing him to hiss and arch himself away. Reluctantly he rolls back over onto his stomach and props his hands against the ground. With a heavy exhale he pushes himself up, staggering a few inches before finally standing up straight. He runs the back of his hand over his mouth to wipe away the drool from god knows how long ago.

The surrounding area isn’t any more familiar now than it was a few minutes ago. Junk scatters the ground (mostly appliances and other metal junk). A broken shopping cart sits near his feet, the thing that jabbed him the back earlier.

“Be nice if I could fuckin’...” Bryan rubs his fingers against his temples, “...wish I could just wake up in my bed for once.” He mumbles and staggers forward. To where, he has no clue. For now he focuses on removing himself from what appears to be a junk yard of some kind.

He stumbles out onto a cracked sidewalk. The more he moves around, the more he feels like he’s inhaled smoke. His breath is short and he nearly wheezes the more he exerts energy. Up ahead he spots someone (what the hell they’re doing here is beyond him) and -- Bryan checks his pockets -- yup, he’s without his phone. Which means this stranger might be able to call him a cab.

@lilaxwine

Air knocks out of Bryan's lungs as a heavy boot lands in the center of his chest. The force knocks him back and for a few seconds his vision whites out after the back of his head hits the ground. Bryan gasps for air and blinks sluggishly as he tries to regain his bearing. He can feel weight and pressure appear over his waist, trapping his arms at his sides. Bryan blinks again only to finally see Kieran on top of him, looming.

A hand strokes his chin, fingers gripping firmly every now and again until the ghost down to Bryan's neck where they rub tiny circles into the skin around his windpipe. Bryan stops wiggling but instead glares up at the other man; a grin leers down at him in return.