Fic: Alliances (M7/Firefly) Teen
Title: Alliances
Claim: Vin Tanner (Magnificent 7)
Fandoms: Magnificent 7/Firefly
Prompt: 017 - Brown
For someone, quite possibly Moon, who wanted the Independent’s colonel’s POV. A monster was born. Or a demon, I suppose. Companion fic to In Between, though that should probably be read first.
Chinese folklore has been altered slightly, but it’s supposed to take into account the close association Chinese and American culture have had for several hundred years.
Table.
Joseph Kemp’s first real memory is of a foal, young and untameable. Its breath mists in the cold air and its sides heave with the exertion of defiance. When he’s older and his father tells him the story, he learns that it was born wild and they’d never managed to break it in. Eventually they’d had to put it down.
That’s what Joe thinks about when he sees the boy crouched in front of his squad. He can’t be more than sixteen or seventeen, if that, but he has a wary stance that Joe knows takes more years of practice than any boy should have.
“It’s alright,” he says softly, making slow, deliberate motions with his hands. The boy cocks his head to one side and relaxes his stance a little. Joe motions for the others to back away. The boy’s eyes flick from person to person with each movement.
“We can help,” Joe tells him and unhooks his canteen. He places it on the ground in front of him and steps back, out of reach. Joe knows the boy must be thirsty - he’s too thin and his lips are dried and cracked - but he doesn’t move.
“Colonel, we don’t have time for this,” Ware grouses. At the sound the boy’s eyes snap to Ware and his expression hardens as he drops smoothly into a ready crouch once more.
Joe keeps his expression neutral though he wants to thrash Ware for ruining the little progress he’s made. Ware isn’t the sort of man who suits military life, but then the Independents aren’t too picky about who they recruit. Willing and mostly able seem to be the required minimum. It makes Joe, a military man all his life, a little resentful about the degree to which their forces have deteriorated.
The boy’s eyes narrow as he turns to look at Joe and for the first time Joe gets the impression that the boy isn’t just wild, he’s unnatural too. Like the spirits his uncle used to tell him about when he was a kid, the ones that live in the land and transform into humans to trick people.
“Come on kid,” Joe says, “we don’t want to hurt you.” Joe knows the kid understands him because there is such distrust in the kid’s gaze that the suspicion of what must have happened to him is an almost physical ache that skewers through his gut.
Joe sighs and indicates for his squad to continue. They need to get back to camp by nightfall and they still have two hours of marching ahead of them. He follows in their wake, bringing up the rear. After several steps he can’t resist the urge to look back, but both boy and canteen are gone. He can’t shake the feeling of eyes watching him.
-
When Joe wakes in the morning and makes his routine sweep of the perimeter he notices the boy following covertly behind him. Somehow, despite all his training, he gets the impression that he only sees the boy because the boy wants him to.
When the boy starts to lag behind Joe stops and sits on the trunk of felled tree. The boy stops several feet away, out in the open, but with tension in every line of his body. Joe pulls out his canteen, a newly requisitioned one, and takes a sip.
The boy steps forward cautiously, every sense focused on Joe, and places the old canteen on the ground. He steps back just as slowly. When Joe picks up the canteen he can feel from the weight that it’s empty. He screws the lid back on his new one and puts it on the ground where the boy put the old one. After a moment he places his apple there too.
The boy doesn’t move, even when Joe backs further away, so he takes the hint and leaves. When he returns the next morning his canteen is still there but the apple is gone. He swaps out the now empty canteen for another full one and this time leaves a few sandwiches and a change of clothes in the smallest size he could find.
-
Joe runs when he hears the first scream. He pushes past branches that slap at him and stumbles into what barely passes for a clearing. Ware is on his knees, arm twisted painfully behind his back.
The boy stands above him, teeth bared in a snarl.
Another soldier, Joe is both ashamed and resigned that he doesn’t know the soldier’s name, aims his weapon with trembling hands at the boy. Joe can gather what’s happened with just a glance. Ware and his friend were undoubtedly tormenting the boy.
“Stand down,” he orders the soldier. The man looks at him briefly before returning his gaze to the boy. “Stand down!” he commands more firmly. The soldier hesitates then lowers his weapon. Ware gives his friend a look of pure disgust.
“Come on kid, let him go.” The boy’s gaze is impassive and Joe tries to convince himself the shiver down his spine is from the early morning chill. “He won’t bother you again, I promise.”
Ware is pushed forward with a sharp twist that makes another scream pierce the air. He collapses to the ground, clutching his misshapen arm to him. The boy says nothing as he turns to go but the warning is clear.
“That boy isn’t natural,” Ware warns, voice tight with pain and anger.
Joe can’t disagree entirely, no matter how much he wants to.
-
Joe leaves a coat with the bundle of food because the nights can get a little chilly and the boy has no other protection.
“Thanks.”
At first Joe thinks he imagined the response, but then he turns at the rustling of leaves and looks up. The boy is perched in a tree and Joe has long since given up chastising himself for not noticing him.
“You’re welcome,” he says after a moment. They watch each other and the silence stretches, thin and brittle, like reality can shatter the moment and the boy will just disappear. Joe is unnerved by the way the boy regards him, as though Joe is small and interesting, a passing curiosity.
“What’s your name?” Joe asks, hoping the boy will continue to speak. The boy watches him, head tilted to one side, and Joe wonders if it was just a once-off.
“Yaomo.”
Demon. Joe thinks he’s just parroting what the soldiers have been saying about him, but one look at the boy’s expression, and the defiance in his eyes, dissuades Joe.
“I think Hujian is more appropriate,” Joe says casually.
“Fox,” the boy murmurs and shrugs. He seems amused.
-
Joe’s brain is still trying to comprehend the speed and efficiency Hujian used to kill the Alliance troops. He has no idea how the Alliance found them, but at the moment he’s more concerned with Hujian, who stands in the middle of the encampment, shaking and spattered with the blood of their enemies.
Weapons drop from hands that immediately clench into fists and Joe can’t help a flinch at the abrupt movement. It seems wrong to see a child covered in blood, but Joe can’t think of Hujian as a child anymore, not after he’s seen Hujian massacre an entire patrol pretty much on his own. Hujian begins to walk, the sound of his usually silent footsteps unaccountably loud in the quiet. Joe can feel his heart thundering in his chest but one thing is clear; the Alliance is further into their territory than they anticipated and they’ve just found a weapon that’s fast and almost undetectable.
He runs to catch up with Hujian and stands in front of him, hands making calming motions. Hujian looks up at him and resignation gives way to determination. Joe knows that Hujian understands but he says it anyway.
“We need you.”
-
There’s no emotion in Hujian’s expression as Joe details his first assignment. The only thing that reminds Joe of the boy he found weeks ago is the slight tilt to his head and the feeling that Hujian knows far more than he should.
“Got it?” Joe asks and Hujian nods, the movement sharp. All his movements these days are sharp, as though the air cleaves where it touches him and falls away in tatters.
When Hujian walks out Joe can’t decide if the ball of not-quite dread settled in his stomach is fear or regret. He doesn’t examine it too closely.
-
When Hujian disappears three years later Joe isn’t surprised. There are rumours that he’s dead, that he’s returned to the wilds, that he stole enough life to transform, but Joe hopes that he just walked away.
It never settled well, using a child to fight a war. For a time he convinced himself that Hujian wasn’t a child, hadn’t been one in a long time, but the longer the war continues and the more boys - younger and younger every year it seems - he sends to death, the less he believes it.
It is only with the pragmatism gained from facing what is, and probably always was, a hopeless cause that he realises he’s no better than those who shaped Hujian. Worse, in some ways, because he tied a scared and lonely boy to people he could never belong with and a place he could never call home.
Claim: Vin Tanner (Magnificent 7)
Fandoms: Magnificent 7/Firefly
Prompt: 017 - Brown
For someone, quite possibly Moon, who wanted the Independent’s colonel’s POV. A monster was born. Or a demon, I suppose. Companion fic to In Between, though that should probably be read first.
Chinese folklore has been altered slightly, but it’s supposed to take into account the close association Chinese and American culture have had for several hundred years.
Table.
Joseph Kemp’s first real memory is of a foal, young and untameable. Its breath mists in the cold air and its sides heave with the exertion of defiance. When he’s older and his father tells him the story, he learns that it was born wild and they’d never managed to break it in. Eventually they’d had to put it down.
That’s what Joe thinks about when he sees the boy crouched in front of his squad. He can’t be more than sixteen or seventeen, if that, but he has a wary stance that Joe knows takes more years of practice than any boy should have.
“It’s alright,” he says softly, making slow, deliberate motions with his hands. The boy cocks his head to one side and relaxes his stance a little. Joe motions for the others to back away. The boy’s eyes flick from person to person with each movement.
“We can help,” Joe tells him and unhooks his canteen. He places it on the ground in front of him and steps back, out of reach. Joe knows the boy must be thirsty - he’s too thin and his lips are dried and cracked - but he doesn’t move.
“Colonel, we don’t have time for this,” Ware grouses. At the sound the boy’s eyes snap to Ware and his expression hardens as he drops smoothly into a ready crouch once more.
Joe keeps his expression neutral though he wants to thrash Ware for ruining the little progress he’s made. Ware isn’t the sort of man who suits military life, but then the Independents aren’t too picky about who they recruit. Willing and mostly able seem to be the required minimum. It makes Joe, a military man all his life, a little resentful about the degree to which their forces have deteriorated.
The boy’s eyes narrow as he turns to look at Joe and for the first time Joe gets the impression that the boy isn’t just wild, he’s unnatural too. Like the spirits his uncle used to tell him about when he was a kid, the ones that live in the land and transform into humans to trick people.
“Come on kid,” Joe says, “we don’t want to hurt you.” Joe knows the kid understands him because there is such distrust in the kid’s gaze that the suspicion of what must have happened to him is an almost physical ache that skewers through his gut.
Joe sighs and indicates for his squad to continue. They need to get back to camp by nightfall and they still have two hours of marching ahead of them. He follows in their wake, bringing up the rear. After several steps he can’t resist the urge to look back, but both boy and canteen are gone. He can’t shake the feeling of eyes watching him.
-
When Joe wakes in the morning and makes his routine sweep of the perimeter he notices the boy following covertly behind him. Somehow, despite all his training, he gets the impression that he only sees the boy because the boy wants him to.
When the boy starts to lag behind Joe stops and sits on the trunk of felled tree. The boy stops several feet away, out in the open, but with tension in every line of his body. Joe pulls out his canteen, a newly requisitioned one, and takes a sip.
The boy steps forward cautiously, every sense focused on Joe, and places the old canteen on the ground. He steps back just as slowly. When Joe picks up the canteen he can feel from the weight that it’s empty. He screws the lid back on his new one and puts it on the ground where the boy put the old one. After a moment he places his apple there too.
The boy doesn’t move, even when Joe backs further away, so he takes the hint and leaves. When he returns the next morning his canteen is still there but the apple is gone. He swaps out the now empty canteen for another full one and this time leaves a few sandwiches and a change of clothes in the smallest size he could find.
-
Joe runs when he hears the first scream. He pushes past branches that slap at him and stumbles into what barely passes for a clearing. Ware is on his knees, arm twisted painfully behind his back.
The boy stands above him, teeth bared in a snarl.
Another soldier, Joe is both ashamed and resigned that he doesn’t know the soldier’s name, aims his weapon with trembling hands at the boy. Joe can gather what’s happened with just a glance. Ware and his friend were undoubtedly tormenting the boy.
“Stand down,” he orders the soldier. The man looks at him briefly before returning his gaze to the boy. “Stand down!” he commands more firmly. The soldier hesitates then lowers his weapon. Ware gives his friend a look of pure disgust.
“Come on kid, let him go.” The boy’s gaze is impassive and Joe tries to convince himself the shiver down his spine is from the early morning chill. “He won’t bother you again, I promise.”
Ware is pushed forward with a sharp twist that makes another scream pierce the air. He collapses to the ground, clutching his misshapen arm to him. The boy says nothing as he turns to go but the warning is clear.
“That boy isn’t natural,” Ware warns, voice tight with pain and anger.
Joe can’t disagree entirely, no matter how much he wants to.
-
Joe leaves a coat with the bundle of food because the nights can get a little chilly and the boy has no other protection.
“Thanks.”
At first Joe thinks he imagined the response, but then he turns at the rustling of leaves and looks up. The boy is perched in a tree and Joe has long since given up chastising himself for not noticing him.
“You’re welcome,” he says after a moment. They watch each other and the silence stretches, thin and brittle, like reality can shatter the moment and the boy will just disappear. Joe is unnerved by the way the boy regards him, as though Joe is small and interesting, a passing curiosity.
“What’s your name?” Joe asks, hoping the boy will continue to speak. The boy watches him, head tilted to one side, and Joe wonders if it was just a once-off.
“Yaomo.”
Demon. Joe thinks he’s just parroting what the soldiers have been saying about him, but one look at the boy’s expression, and the defiance in his eyes, dissuades Joe.
“I think Hujian is more appropriate,” Joe says casually.
“Fox,” the boy murmurs and shrugs. He seems amused.
-
Joe’s brain is still trying to comprehend the speed and efficiency Hujian used to kill the Alliance troops. He has no idea how the Alliance found them, but at the moment he’s more concerned with Hujian, who stands in the middle of the encampment, shaking and spattered with the blood of their enemies.
Weapons drop from hands that immediately clench into fists and Joe can’t help a flinch at the abrupt movement. It seems wrong to see a child covered in blood, but Joe can’t think of Hujian as a child anymore, not after he’s seen Hujian massacre an entire patrol pretty much on his own. Hujian begins to walk, the sound of his usually silent footsteps unaccountably loud in the quiet. Joe can feel his heart thundering in his chest but one thing is clear; the Alliance is further into their territory than they anticipated and they’ve just found a weapon that’s fast and almost undetectable.
He runs to catch up with Hujian and stands in front of him, hands making calming motions. Hujian looks up at him and resignation gives way to determination. Joe knows that Hujian understands but he says it anyway.
“We need you.”
-
There’s no emotion in Hujian’s expression as Joe details his first assignment. The only thing that reminds Joe of the boy he found weeks ago is the slight tilt to his head and the feeling that Hujian knows far more than he should.
“Got it?” Joe asks and Hujian nods, the movement sharp. All his movements these days are sharp, as though the air cleaves where it touches him and falls away in tatters.
When Hujian walks out Joe can’t decide if the ball of not-quite dread settled in his stomach is fear or regret. He doesn’t examine it too closely.
-
When Hujian disappears three years later Joe isn’t surprised. There are rumours that he’s dead, that he’s returned to the wilds, that he stole enough life to transform, but Joe hopes that he just walked away.
It never settled well, using a child to fight a war. For a time he convinced himself that Hujian wasn’t a child, hadn’t been one in a long time, but the longer the war continues and the more boys - younger and younger every year it seems - he sends to death, the less he believes it.
It is only with the pragmatism gained from facing what is, and probably always was, a hopeless cause that he realises he’s no better than those who shaped Hujian. Worse, in some ways, because he tied a scared and lonely boy to people he could never belong with and a place he could never call home.