#hanabakemono

People have been injured because of him before; mostly from blinding anger. They got in the way, they knew what would happen if they got in his way. Medics were usually nearby to drag away anyone who got seriously injured, all the while leaving him alone to either fume silently or destroy something else. It didn’t matter who it was; if they angered him, no one was safe. Yet, for some reason, the last victim of his anger somehow snapped him out of his anger for once, replacing rage with confusion.

Kylo Ren didn’t remember what Hux had said as they walked through the Crait outpost, workers and soldiers bustling around to clean and set up the base for the First Order, but he was quickly silenced when he was thrown away from him with a quick jerk of his wrist. He didn’t flinch when hearing his body slam into some metal shelving nearby, turning his back as it toppled on top of him and showering him with tools and metal containers. However, the fact that he didn’t move or make a single sound seemed to concern him, but only slightly as anger still burned inside his brain like hot lead. Hux usually jumped back up after a few minutes, but this was the first time he actually knocked him unconscious. What did seem to snap him out was watching the medics roll him onto a stretcher and carry him the wrong way; the medical center wasn’t where they were going. Why were they heading to where his room was?

-

 Something wasn’t right.

Kylo stood by Hux’s bedside, having slipped in once the medics left. All the medics did was take off his coat and boots, and Kylo doubted he was given any bacta or pain killers. They were useless, but the way they moved and acted seemed as if they were following orders. But why?

Hux looked like he was laid out for a funeral, or a princess waiting for true love’s kiss to awaken them. He looked peaceful, a rare sight to see on him. Kylo finally tore his eyes away from his face to focus on the real troubling matter: his legs. Something was pressed against his pants near his knee, threatening to tear through the fabric. His legs were also bent awkwardly and uncomfortably. He tried to push them down, but they seemed to be stiff and locked in place. Did he break his legs? He didn’t think he threw him that hard. Kylo growled softly. He couldn’t have his general die from blood poisoning or be crippled for life. He’ll take care of those medics later. For now, he has to keep this idiot alive. And to do that, he’d have to take his pants off.

He couldn’t help but smirk to himself while undoing the unconscious man’s belt, wondering what Hux would do if he woke up to this; the Supreme Leader undressing a vulnerable general. He’d probably slap him, spit in his face, but it would be hilarious if he shrieked like an angry-.

He barely got his pants past his knees and froze at the sight of what was strapped tightly to Hux’s pale skin. The leather looked worn and dug so deep into his skin, it looked bruised and swollen around the dull brown straps. The metal looked like it was collected scrap and welded clumsily together, so of course the welds snapped so easily and forced his legs into painfully awkward positions. His legs weren’t broken, but they were bleeding and covered in gashes from the metal that stabbed and slashed at him from the impact. The black pants hid the bloodstains pretty well.

He sat back and stared at the bare legs and mangled braces. So, he was disabled the whole time. It did make some sense. He’d shrink away when Kylo tried to touch his lower back, either to guide him down a hallway or comfort him. He’d always stand so perfectly still and stiff, but Kylo swore he’d see him tremble after a long period of time while his voice would become strained and forced, as if holding back excruciating amounts of pain. Judging by braces, he must have been in pain almost all the time, both from whatever disability he suffered from and by the make of these terrible braces.

So, now what was he to do?

-

Techie burst into the room, gasping for breath while clutching his small tool bag. “I-I couldn’t make it… they had me working… I tried, I heard, I-I’m so sorry!”

Hux said nothing. He was laying in bed, dressed in comfortable pajamas and staring at a note clutched in his hands. “I woke up, my braces were gone and I’m in my nightwear,” he said softly, not looking at his panicking brother. “My legs were bandaged, I knew it wasn’t by you; too loose, too many layers, but they were cleaned well. Almost thought a medic went against my orders.”

“A-Armie?” Techie whimpered, closing the door behind him carefully and glancing around to find where the braces were kept.

“Don’t bother,” Hux sighed, holding out the note to his brother. “And don’t be offended.” Confused, Techie grabbed the note as Hux settled back into bed, not having much emotion on his face.

General, you are to stay bedridden until I can make you a better brace than whatever garbage that was somehow holding you up. If anyone asks, it’s well deserved time off. I won’t tell a soul, but I would like a better explanation of what you suffer from. Perhaps we’ll find an ailment for you. I can’t have a General in pain all the time. When I’m done with the braces, then we’ll talk.

“He knows!” Techie gasped, dropping the note and the bag in shock. “Armie, wh-what are we going to do?”

***

No one knew about the disease he suffered from.

It made his legs brittle and weak, almost impossible to walk or even stand. It felt like a hot blade was stabbed into his lower back and shot fire down his legs every time he took a single step. It was humiliating to even stand, having to cling to a wall or any nearby structure to keep his balance.

His father saw it as disgusting; another broken and useless child. He forced his son to move, humiliated him when he fell, and punished him if he begged his father to stop. He probably thought that if he refused treatment for his child, either the disease would take over, or the pain would become so torturous, he’d end his own life.

He didn’t expect his other son to do anything about it. The nervous boy who busied himself by making things, he made him leg braces from old junk he collected. It was still painful, but he could stand and walk on his own. They had to keep it a secret from their father; they feared what the consequences would be if he discovered his broken children were actually useful.

If anyone knew about the General’s disease, the consequences would be even worse.

***

“I think there’s a loose screw near my left knee,” Hux mumbled once he sat in bed and bent down to undo the straps and buckles.

“Same one as before?” Techie asked, holding a steaming mug of tea and setting it on the nightstand. “Sit up.” Hux nodded, groaning as he carefully turned his back to his brother to undo the laces around his lower back. “Must be the threads wearing down. I’ll put some adhesive on it to last you through tomorrow, get you a new screw tomorrow. Matt says he has a lot of spares, I’m sure he’ll let me have some.”

“Thank you,” he sighed, wincing when Techie carefully slid the braces slowly off of his long legs. “Hmm, so he’s a hoarder like you?”

“No, he doesn’t like wasting stuff like me,” Techie huffed, guiding his brother to lay back in bed. “And what have I said about over-tightening?” He pointed at the bruising from the straps around his knee and swelling from the metal digging deep into his skin. “We’ve talked about this.”

“It’s my job,” Hux sighed, lightly swatting his brother’s hand away. “I cannot abandon my position for an hour or more to simply rest. It keeps me standing. They need me.”

“Well, I need you to be okay,” Techie begged. “What would happen if I can’t make it in time? It’s getting harder to leave my position to come help you. I’m really trying, I’m sorry.”

“It won’t happen,” Hux muttered and took a sip from his tea laced with medication. “I can take care of myself.”

“Not very well,” his brother mumbled, only to get lightly swatted again. “Maybe… maybe Kylo could-.”

“I’d rather shoot myself than have him know,” he snapped violently. He knew exactly what would happen; an exposed weakness would lead to torture, ridicule, and torment, worse than everything his father did. “He won’t know and he never will know. Do I make myself clear?”

Techie nodded quickly and timidly, allowing Hux to slowly rest back against the pillows. “Good… you may be excused for the evening.”

“Promise to give it at least four hours of rest,” his brother pleaded as he picked up the braces to set them carefully near his bed.

“We’ll see,” he sighed, knowing his brother wouldn’t like the answer but wouldn’t argue with him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Techie nodded, giving Hux a very quick hug (and ducking from yet another playful swat) before carefully slipping out the door and sneaking back to his room, dodging anyone who tried to approach him.

No one knew who did it or why it happened.

Maybe it was jealousy. He was a handsome man, very talented and flexible, and he would playfully flirt with audience members as he performed. He always had that little magic trick of presenting a fake rose to several people, making them all swoon and giggle bashfully. It never meant anything, he knew boundaries and could read people’s faces very well; he never put someone who was shy and uncomfortable on the spot to embarrass them. Perhaps he read someone wrong, they got too embarrassed, saw it as legit flirting, and decided to take action. Maybe he flirted with someone’s spouse or partner and someone got violently angry, gathered rightfully angry friends, and confronted him when he was vulnerable and alone.

It could have been someone who was angry with the circus. However, they never used animals like elephants or tigers. They had a group of dogs that were well cared for by Matt, the tall, weird looking blond man. He kept them happy, healthy, and comfortable. Someone must have doubted him, maybe saw him throwing a temper tantrum when he stubbed his toe or stepped in dog shit. Matt was probably asleep or trying to awkwardly flirt with the fortune teller. The victim was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.

It was possible that someone was angry with his brother, a fortune teller, who either saw something unfortunate or didn’t see something clear enough, and his customer got enraged. His brother was not a fighter, and big brothers have to protect their baby brothers. His brother, a much fragile and weaker man, would never be able to defend himself, especially with a group of angry individuals. He must have confronted them before they could hurt his brother and took all the hits.

Whatever happened, it made Ben want to run out and kill whoever did this to Hux.

All he could do was sit by his bedside, fists clutched in pure anger, as Hux lay in the hospital bed. All the circus employees were informed that their famed dancer and ring leader wouldn’t be performing for a while (whoever heard of a circus on hiatus), the police promised they would catch the bastards who beat him to a bloody pulp, and he was getting the proper care he needed. But it wasn’t enough. Ben never felt so helpless and angry, a nauseating emotion boiling inside him.

Hux, his poor Hux, just lying there before him. Swollen, bandaged, pallid, and unconscious; he hoped he was unconscious for most of the damage dealt. They broke his nose, legs, and several ribs, but all the slashes and slice strewn across his body made his anger boil even more. They wanted him to suffer, to bleed out. Hux was a pompous idiot with a sharp tongue, but to do this to him? He didn’t deserve it.

He heard him stir, letting out a small whimper through clenched teeth. Ben quickly got up, forgetting all the violent thoughts bubbling in his head, and carefully cradled his small hand in both of his. His one non-swollen eye weakly fluttered open and Ben stayed silent. What could he say in this situation? “Are you okay?” Clearly not. “Do you remember who did this to you?” Much too soon and traumatic to be doing that (and he does not want the police to be badgering him in this state). “Do you remember who I am?” Either he’ll get a smarmy response or he might actually not remember, and he’s not in the right state of mind to face that answer. “Hey, those guys who beat the shit out of you broke your leg so badly that you might not be able to dance again, is that okay?” Ben wasn’t that cruel and stupid.

He felt a faint squeeze in his hands and he quickly focused on Hux. He looked so pitiful, staring up at Ben as if waiting for something, anything. He stared back, tongue dry and eyes burning. Slowly, very slowly, he bent down and softly, so gently, pressed his damp forehead to Hux’s own. He couldn’t take the pain away. He couldn’t turn back time and chose to walk Hux back to his tent (or tell him he was joking about not wanting to share a living space together) instead of pissing him off and watching him storm out of his tent with drunken, gleeful giggles. He couldn’t tell him everything was going to be okay from now on. He could hardly hold him in fear of just causing more pain and making everything worse.

He closed his eyes and let out a slow, shaky sigh, keeping their foreheads pressed together in a silent apology. He winced when he felt Hux feebly nudge his face upwards, trying his hardest to nuzzle him. He hushed him and carefully stroked his face, feeling the tears finally spill down his face.

“Are you ready for a break?”

Matt raised his head from his work on the roof and snorted at the sight he saw below. “What do you have there?” he asked while wiping sweat from his brow.

"A baby,” the Witch said simply, cradling a bundled baby owl in his arms. “She’s sick and fell out of her nest, so her mother came to get me.”

"Did she really?” Matt asked while shimmying off the roof. “So you can talk to animals?”

“I understand animals,” the Witch explained with a smile. “I understand the tones of their voices and their body language, as well as this connection we have in our minds… I can’t quite explain it.”

Matt shrugged and snorted at the owl, all squished and swaddled in a small, thick blanket. The feathers puffed up around her neck, making her look even fluffier, and being a sick little baby, the combination of fluffiness and grumpiness made her a lot cuter.

“I wouldn’t pet her just yet,” the Witch warned him as Matt reached to scratch the little owl’s head. “Not until she’s had his medicine.”

"During my break?” Matt asked.

"You can have your break at any time,” the Witch assured him while guiding Matt around the back to where a large stump and two chairs were set up for them. A nice tablecloth was draped over the stump and a delightful looking tea set was gently placed for the two of them. “A little girl gave this to me when I helped heal her cat’s tumor,” the Witch giggled while sitting down to cradle the owl close to his chest.

"It’s cute,” Matt blurted out without a second thought, and the Witch smiled sweetly in response. The Witch then took a bowl full of a dark yellow liquid, dipped a cloth napkin into it, and held it to the owl. It hissed, then reluctantly began to gnaw on it to drink the medicine. It was like giving a baby a bottle; this was the most bizarre yet cutest thing he’s ever seen. “What is that? If… i-if I can ask.” Matt nodded at the bowl.

"Medicine I made,” the Witch answered. “It’s nothing too complicated, my own secret recipe. Honey, some-.”

"Yes?” Matt asked bluntly.

The Witch raised his head in surprise and the owlet cooed in confusion. “I meant honey, as in… from bees,” the Witch replied with a bright blush running up his face. Matt’s entire face turned red and he sunk into his seat as the Witch giggled. “I mean… do you want me to call you Honey?”

"I uh… well, um… if you want?” Matt replied awkwardly. How does one respond to an adorable, yet powerful witch who wants to give one pet names.

"All right, Honey,” the Witch said, almost shyly, while giggling at Matt’s flustered look. “Take your time on your break, and you can finish the roof whenever you want.”

"My goal is to finish by today, I’m almost done,” Matt promised. “Tomorrow I can get started with the plumbing or maybe fix the stove.”

"You’re doing so much for me,” the Witch sighed softly. “No one has ever done so much for me without asking for something major in return.”

"I really don’t mind… I don’t have much to do at my own shop,” he said with shrug while nibbling on a slice of butter cake. “Plus, and don’t take offense, your place is about to fall apart.”

"No offense taken,” the Witch assured him. “If there’s anything you need from me, please let me know.”

"Just take care of your little buddy,” Matt replied. “If you want to pay me back, you can. I don’t care what it is or anything, I just like helping.”

It was easier planned than performed, but somehow it worked. Somehow, the gods blessed an angry, short-tempered man and his blind, timid companion.

The black mushrooms were easy to find, thanks to the redhead’s sensitive nose. With some tinkering and a mix of some nightshade and lavender, it was crushed into a powder and carefully poured into the jug of wine. The blond did his best to hide his expression of glee as he poured the drinks for their master and his companions. After being forced to watch them ‘train’ the blind man, he couldn’t help but sneer as the men began to foam at the mouths and collapse to the floor.

The redhead took care of the dogs. They agreed to not killing them, so a steak marinated in a sleeping potion did the trick. The mutts were out like a light, not even an earthquake could wake them.

Matt carefully collected the money from the corpses’ pockets, stripped them, and pushed the corpses off the cliff and into the roaring sea. Maybe someone would miss them, but he would be long gone by the time anyone got suspicious.

Once all the money and supplies were collected, the blind man knocked over the vase he filled with oil and waited by the door as Matt dropped a lit candle. He grabbed his companion and yanked him out of the house just as the flames began to eat up the building.

They stumbled into the dark woods together, hoods up and clutching their bags filled with goods. Matt remembered where the ship was and when it would leave port. Techie bit down hard on his lip to not make a sound, struggling to keep up without tripping or slowing them down. He thought his heart was going to burst from the terror that gripped his chest.

They soon made it to the docks and Matt climbed into one of the supply crates, helping Techie in first before scrambling in and shutting the lid before anyone would catch them. They held each other, keeping their breathing soft as Techie buried his face into Matt’s shoulder. He was shaking terribly, lips moving silently in prayer as they felt the crew pick up their crate to carry onto the ship. Matt held his breath and gripped Techie tightly, almost painfully, and Techie forced himself to not let out a single noise of discomfort or pain.

Even when the crate was placed below deck, they did not move until they felt the ship leave port. It rocked and groaned as it began its journey, and all the two had to do now was wait and hide.

The journey took almost two weeks. They nibbled on any spare food they managed to find, huddled together in the dark if they heard the slightest presence of anyone coming down the stairs, but Techie suffered the worst from sea sickness. Matt hushed him softly as Techie stifled his moans of agony against his chest, body weak and slick from cold sweats and constant vomiting of recent meals. All he could keep down was hard biscuits, and those were already low in stock. Matt hummed to him, urged him to sleep it off, whispered tales of what their lives will be once they reached land, and made promise after promise of never getting on another boat ever again.

“It’s almost over,” Matt whispered against the cloth that covered his lover’s scarred, damaged eyes. “Try to sleep, and soon we’ll be home.”

“Home,” Techie whispered hoarsely, keeping his head low to not bother Matt with his sour breath from recently emptying his stomach. Home sounded so good. Their home was waiting for them. Matt pressed a kiss to Techie’s forehead and held him closer as the waves rocked the ship slowly during the night.

The journey was hellish, and Techie struggled to stay sane and well. If Matt wasn’t there, if he never planned this terrifying escape, he’d probably be dead by now.

—

Matt crept into the room quietly and woke Techie in the warmest way possible; a gentle kiss to the forehead while stroking back his bright red hair. His lover smiled and snuggled into his soft bed. Not even a month had passed since their ship finally reached its destination, and they already felt at home. “Come back to bed,” Techie whispered while weakly clinging to Matt’s sleeve.

“I was going to make breakfast.”

“It’s cold,” Techie mumbled. Indeed, it was colder up north and it rained most of the time. Their small home kept them dry and the nearby town supplied them with a perfect set of quilts to bundle them both up, but nothing could beat Matt’s large, warm body wrapped around the tiny Techie. “Please, I’m so cold…” His voice was so pitiful and sweet, it melted Matt’s heart.

“I’ll make it later,” Matt sighed with a smile and crawled back into bed, chuckling when Techie immediately clung to him and buried his face into his neck. “Gods your feet are like ice!” he gasped when Techie pressed them against his thighs. He wanted to squirm away, but his lover’s grip was like iron.

“I told you,” he mumbled with a small smile as Matt kissed the top of his head. “Warm me up, then we eat.” Matt obliged and cuddled closer to him.

“So… how warm do you want to get?” he asked while running a hand slowly up a pale leg.

“N-not that warm,” Techie moaned and trembled under Matt’s hand. “M-maybe tonight… yes, tonight I’ll be that cold.”

Submitted by @hana-bakemono

@photonromance

@moonwalkingcrab

@fauxtalian

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