The Deaths of Feral
So, after my last fic, I got to thinking of how things would go down if Feral and Engineer’s roles were reversed in that situation. and my brain proceeded to think of three increasingly horrid scenarios. Here’s the first one.
Thanks go to: proper-nice-that and dellconagher-doe, the owners of Feral and Engiewife; a-lucy-goose, for triggering the dead Feral brain chain; je-deteste-mon-travail, domiiinatriiix, tfgderps, and bartender-by-day for helping me flesh out the idea. Enjoy!
Death 1: Quietly
Engineer sighed softly to himself as he sat in the shaded clearing, leaning back into the waiting embrace of Feral’s arms. “Ah know whatcha mean, darlin’,” he chuckled, “seems our team gets battier every day.” He closed his eyes, feeling the gentle press of the Sniper’s tongue cleaning the bald patch on his head.
“But they ain’t all so bad. Solly helped me guard mah dispenser durin’ a rough patch earlier. Coulda used ya there, but I know y’all’re busy.” The answering whine made Engie chuckle again. “Don’ worry, darlin’, I ain’t lookin’ at nobody else. Jus’ doin’ mah job, as we all do.” After a hesitant moment, the licking resumed, and a slow smile spread across his face.
“Sir Hoots seems healthier,” Engie commented, stretching slightly, careful not to hit Feral. “Saw ‘im flyin’ cross the battlefield yesterday. Ah know he was touch an’ go there for a while, but Doc didn’ lay a finger on him.” Feral growled possessively, and Engie reached back blindly to pat his shoulder reassuringly. “Sorry, shouldn’ta mentioned him. Ah know how much ya hate him. Can’t say I blame ya too much there.”
“Anyways, I know we ain’t been seein’ too much a each other out there on the field, so I jus’ wanted ta check in as soon as I could.” Engineer opened his eyes, getting to his feet slowly. He bent over the toolbox, pulling out a bouquet of green chrysanthemums framing a single dark red rose. “Brought ya a fresh set, too, since it’s Sunday an’ all.”
Turning back, he knelt to set the flowers on the slightly raised mound of earth behind where he’d been sitting, the ground cool and smooth, the faintest hints of undisturbed grass beginning to grow. Engineer reached back, muttering, “Can’t believe it took me a month ta find this,” and hung the Feral’s akubra on the large rock that served as a headstone, covering the drawing of Sir Hoots and part of the words, amateurishly chiseled by Engie a few weeks before. Here Lies Feral Sniper. Assassin, nature enthusiast, Husband.
Groaning softly, Engineer stood, picked up his tool box, and ambled his way out of the clearing. “Lived so loudly, died so quietly in yer sleep. It’s a real shame none a the others bothered to show up to the service,” he mused, alone again.
