Blueberry Yoghurt and Guava
Story: Timeless { backstory | index }
Title: Nothing (Part I)
Rating: PG-13/R (violence)
Challenge: Blueberry Yoghurt #30: the last time, Guava #22: say cheese
Toppings/Extras: none
Wordcount: 854
Summary: Isaac Prowse and Charlie Buckett’s last foray.
Notes: There is a follow-up to this that I should be posting tomorrow, I will catch up on reading your lovely fics soon I promise, I've had a busy few days!
“Oy, Charlie!”
Charlie’s first mistake was turning around. His second was not to expect the fist in his face.
After that, he didn’t make many mistakes, but one man against nine was never going to turn out well, even if that lone man was the most angry, streetwise wildcat of a man in all of London Town. Charlie ripped at them with everything he had, even after they pulled out the bayonets. He knocked one of them out with one swing, ignoring the commotion, the sweat, the blood.
They had ambushed him close to his home. That was their mistake.
Isaac could hear the shouting and the swearing from the poky room they lodged in. He was cleaning his knives, a task that he enjoyed. Warily, he glanced towards the window as he heard the raging cries of war. He didn’t think much of it, until he recognised Charlie’s battlecry among them. Then he dropped the knives and hurried to the window, thrusting it open and leaning far out into the damp London night.
They were just on the other side of the alley; he had a view from above. The attackers were surrounding Charlie, and then they pushed forwards-a mouthful of teeth closing in on him. There was blood in the dark and Isaac’s own ran cold.
He made sure to snatch up his bandoleer of knives on his way down, throwing the thick leather belt over his shoulder and selecting his most trustworthy blade. He smashed past the mistress of their lodgings, who shouted out indignantly, and ran out of the door, boots skidding on the cobbles. He spun into the corner, one knife already up by his ear.
If my aim is ever truer-if my knife is ever sharper-if my hand is ever stiller, let it be now.
The first knife embedded itself into a skull with a dull, wet thud. The assailant gave a very brief scream before collapsing forwards onto the cobbles. The next knife had already flown by that time, digging deep into a shoulder. And Isaac was heading towards them all that time, eyes burning.
“Let’s go,” one of the larger men said, putting his bayonet over one shoulder and turning away. “S’over.”
They ran, and it was a good thing they did because Isaac had four knives left and he would have made damn sure that each found a mark. At the moment, though, he couldn’t think of knives. He dropped his bandoleer onto the cobbles with a crash and turned to Charlie. Alive, he thought with a surge of relief as the other man put his hands on the wall behind him and began to claw himself up from the ground. But something was wrong. His back wasn’t straight, his face was twisted, he was leaning all funny and clutching at his stomach...
“Charlie?”
“Thanks for that,” Charlie said gruffly, sliding down the wall a little before grasping the brick with his nails. He coughed. “Could’ve taken care of it meself, I think, but cheers all the same. Yer a real pal, ‘Zac, a real...” He seemed to choke on his next word.
Isaac walked towards him, eyes wide.
“Charlie, no...”
“What? Nothin’s wrong with me. Nothin’.” Charlie gulped down some air and clung to the wall with growing desperation. “I’m fine. Yer know me, Isaac... nothin’ ever...”
His skin was pale and drawn. His neck hung oddly, as though it had no strength in it to hold his proud head up any more. Charlie abruptly shuddered and coughed again. Isaac felt like his world was falling away. Charlie wasn’t fine. He knew he wasn’t. They both knew he wasn’t. Isaac reached towards Charlie, who suddenly thrashed out at him bitterly with one of his fists balled tight.
“What ‘ee doin’? Stay away. I just need some rest, that’s all.”
“Charlie...”
“Sod off, will ‘ee?”
When Charlie was hurt, he liked to go somewhere quiet and small to recuperate, to lick his wounds. He didn’t like people seeing that he could feel pain-didn’t like his invincibility questioned. They were two little boys against the whole world, and they needed the childish fantasy of their own unshakable life; they needed their long-held belief that they could never die, not them. Charlie clung frantically to it now, but Isaac could see his light was fading fast.
Isaac grabbed his friend by the shoulder.
“You’re comin’ with me,” he said quietly, and dragged Charlie out of the alley where the attack had taken place. The wall was smeared with blood and the cobbles were sprayed with it, and one body dripped silently into the dusty shadows. That wasn’t Isaac’s problem any more.
Charlie protested weakly but Isaac dragged him along like a kitten. His head was buzzing and he felt strange shivery sensations encompassing his body; he felt as though he barely existed any more. His heart wasn’t thumping, just giving faint little twitches and squirms of horror, and he was gulping down the London air but it didn’t help. Isaac was starting to panic.