#ironbark

“How?” Fresh Cut Grass had asked one night. “How do you do it?”

Chetney paused in his work, keen eyes drifting from the half carved deer he’d been whittling his way through and over to the nervously rocking form of Fresh Cut Grass.

“Do what?” He gruffly asked, before thrusting his work in progress forward. You mean my master crafts work? Yeeeears of work, baby! And a certain talent that most feckless ametuers don’t possess!”

“Oh no! Not that!” Fresh Cut Grass shook their head, previously clasped hands now waving wildly between the two of them. “I meant… um, between the wolf and the man. How do you… balance that? How do ya make sure the beast doesn't take over entirely? That you don't lose yourself to the monster?”

The last past was whispered with such earnest vulnerability that it stopped Chetney’s retort right in its tracks. It was tempting to just give the same old sphill, to insist that he had nothing to fear, that Chetney fully loved the beast that lay within. That he never once feared losing control, losing… himself.

That it was easy and simple, entirely effortless really!

Yes, to say that would be easy.

Simple.

Effortless.

Calloused old hands carefully laid down his chisel and the half carved deer, before motioning for Fresh Cut Grass to get closer, to settle beside him. It took a moment, and a grouchy furrowing of his brow, but gradually the aeormaton moved, settling down beside the crotchety old gnome.

“Shit ain’t easy,” Chetney muttered, breaking what had been stretching into a minute long silence. “The beast hungers, desires. You let that fucker win and BAM, you’re fucked!”

There was a creaking of metal, and from the corner of his eye he watched as metallic fingers gathered up fistfuls of deep blue fabric, their grip like death upon their fancy, now heavily creased, jacket.

“I don't mean to be rude, Chet. But I- I know that. That's not what I…”

Fuck. How did the little bot manage to make him feel like such an ass. It was supposed to be his gods given right as a grumpy old fuck! Yet here it was, the guilt, slowly seeping its way into his tired old bones.

“You’re wanting answers I ain’t got, Letters. It's aaaaall instinct for me. Instinct and wishing like hell that shit won’t go to fuck! And shit will always go to fuck, ‘cause that’s life! You think you’ve got and then Lady Luck’s sinking her teeth into your ass and tearin’ into you!”

That didn't feel like enough though.

There was a cruelness to that answer. An admission to the harshness of this world that didn't leave much room for hope. And fuck if didn't know anyone else who ran on hope and positivity quite like Fresh Cut Grass.

So, with cheeks dusted a slowly growing red (so thankfully hidden by the night’s dark embrace), Chetney reached over, worming his way between coat and metal to take hold of his beloved's anxiously curling hand.

“...You know as well as I do that that shit’s mad hard, that the beast is always gonna be there, screaming and howling. And when that fucker tries to sink it’s teeth into you, to take more than you’ve said that bastard can have, then I’ll be right here to kick that tin can you call an ass to bash that fucker right back into his cage!”

Chetney grinned, wide and wild, and yet there was an unmistakable warmth to it.

A sweet nuzzling muzzle that encapsulated gnashing fangs. The same face that peppered cackling kisses and fuzzy, slobbering licks… was also capable of tearing through flesh, ripping through friend and foe alike, if the beast were ever allowed to slip free of its collar.

And it would always be that way.

A dangerous balancing act, of beast and man.

Of monsters and people.

Yet tonight, under the campfire’s flickering light, there wasn't a beast in sight. Instead they only stood two people, hand in hand as they turned to face one another, gilded metal seams meeting cracked, wrinkled lips.

“I… I think, maybe, that’s all the answer I need right now,” Fresh Cut Grass whispered, letting their head drop forward and delighting in how their foreheads met. In turn, Chetney rolled his eyes, feigning his annoyance at such mushy softness, and yet making not a single effort to move away.

“Thank ya kindly, dear…”

“Always a sapfest with ya! Shoulda been made from maple with the amount that you spout on the daily!”

“I love ya too, Chetney~”

He could only grin further at that, roughly nuzzling their faces together with a rough bark of a laugh. A declaration far more powerful than any word that Chetney could ever utter.