Mad Dogs and Englishmen

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Newt sinks down on the hillock and tries to choke back a sob. The forest is still, almost like a normal wood, but when Newt focuses on the trees, he can see the canopy doesn’t always attach to a trunk, and the trees seems to blur and fade into each other like fog. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees two shuffle away, and spring out into four trees.

He’s never going to get out of here. He’s completely lost.

Newt brushes down the folds of his blue and white dress. There’s a pinkish stain on the apron- probably from the mad tea party. Newt rubs at it, but it doesn’t budge- probably raspberry jam.

Newt licks the apron, grinds his nails into the cloth and picks and picks and it’s still there he can’t get it clean-

The tears burn his eyes, he screws his eyes shut but they sear their way through and he rubs at them hard but they streak down his cheeks and he can only curl up and bury his face in his hands.

“Are you cold?”

The words come, very softly, from behind Newt, he sniffs, rubs his nose. “What?”

“I said, are you cold? You can come in, if you want.”

Newt turns, behind him is an enormous coat.

It’s green, and puffy, and has a huge hood and basically looks like something a giant might wear in the arctic. No one seems to be wearing it. “Um, hi?”

“Hello.” The voice comes from inside the hood.

“Are you invisible? Like the cat?”

“Oh no.” The hood ruffles, and a broad head bobs up from the coat. “That cat is aggravating, always disappearing.” Large eyes blink at him. “You look cold.”

“Yeah.” Newt rubs his arms. The night is drawing in and the dress is thin cotton.

“Come on in, please.” The wide mouth quirks in a smile. Is it a frog? A snake? “The coat is big enough for two.”

Newt looks at it, and sighs. “I probably shouldn’t. I went into someone’s house and got to big for it and the house broke. And I got raspberry on my dress.” He pushes angrily at the stubborn stain. “I might wreck your coat.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” The frog-snake smiles and the smile just goes on and on and on. “The coat belonged to the bears. They said since I was cold so much I should have it. If it can survive bears, it can survive you.”

It’s the most sense Newt’s heard anyone make since he got here. It’s nice. He gets up and walks over to the coat. It’s got large wooden toggles and he undoes them carefully.

“Be quick,” the frog-snake shivers, “You’re letting the warm out.”

Newt nods, opens it enough to step inside. The coat is furry inside, and very warm. The frog snake is so thin he barely takes up any space inside at all. Newt pokes his head out from under the hood, and does up the buttons.

“There.” The frog snake smiles again. “Isn’t that better?”

Newt nods, yawns.

“You can sleep here.” He continues. “The forest will be moving all night- it’s the square roots you know, it makes them multiply, but in the morning the dogs will come to lick in new roads for the queen, and you can go home.”

“Thanks.” Newt sits down. The walls of the coat rise up like a tower around him, and the frog snake coils himself down to sit next to him. “I’m Newt by the way.”

“Hermann.”

Newt yawns again, and puts his head on his knees. He can sleep. Tomorrow maybe they can find their way out together.

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Luckily, humans have odd ideas about what to do with their free time. Newt had walked past this shop several times and had gone in before, marveling at what humans- so far removed from pain and fear-  enjoy doing.

The cuffs are very solid, Newt went with thick bands of stitched leather, with padding on the inside. Newt is careful as he tightens them around Hermann’s ankles, the strap between them passed through the basement railings.

Hermann sits up on his elbows, looks up at him. Newt crouches down beside him, close, but just out of reach. “Ready?”

“Never.” Hermann sighs, and closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, there’s someone else behind them.

Newt goes cold all over. Panic claws at his stomach and he wants to run, every instinct screaming to get away before those claws flash, those jaws sink into his throat-

He forces himself still, breathless and lifeless as those sharp eyes cast over him.

He’s looking for a threat. He can read that much. Newt hunkers down, trying not to look dangerous. It’s a waste of time, he can’t hide anything from those cutting, killing eyes.

But whatever they saw seems to have been enough, because the Victor’s taut muscles relax. He rises on all six legs, turns his back on Newt and oh Newt can breathe again, because the Victor would never, never turn his back on anything he wanted to kill.

The Victor takes a step, the leather ties snap tight and it stops, back legs nearly torn out from under him. He turns his head, eyes wide.

A tremor begins in his hindquarters, rising up the length of that long, lean body. The Victor moans, shuddering, it pulls at the restrains, but not with the terrible strength Newt has seen before. But a helpless, limp, trembling motions, barely rattling the D rings.

Newt suddenly wonders if Hermann had ever been tied up before, and knows, sharp as a tooth, who had done it.

What had done it.

Newt is down by his feet in moments, he ignores the huge talons, the lashing tails, and unbuckles the straps. Hermann hurls himself free in less than a heartbeat, clawing away and backing up against the wall.

Newt hesitates for a moment, then follows him. He crouches in front of him, looks into those dark, wild eyes. The Victor blinks at him, fearful and lost.

“Hey,” Newt whispers, “You’re okay.”

The Victor stares at him, he doesn’t understand. Newt tries to send warmth and comfort through the Hive, it seems to work, the huge claws slowly creep back into their sheathes, then long legs are drawn up to the ridged chest,

Newt sits beside him, he reaches up and gently nudges his hand closer and closer. The Victor’s eyes follow his hand, close when he rests it on his shoulder, rubs gentle circles on the junction of shoulder and neck.

There’s a heartbeat between them, his arm a bridge between them. Then suddenly, the Victor moves.

Newt doesn’t have time to run, when suddenly he’s on him, the lean weight of him, the claws pressed tight against his chest, the teeth pressed tight against his throat. Newt closes his eyes- hopes it will be fast-

But the claws don’t dig into his tender belly, the teeth don’t bite. Instead, the Victor curls into a tight little ball against him, trembling, a low moan breaking through his throat.

He’s crying.

“Hey, hey.” Newt’s hands tremble, but he puts them around the Victor anyway, pulling him close. “It’s okay. They aren’t here, just us. It’s okay, it’s okay.”

And maybe some of that made it through the Hive, because the Victor’s eyes close, and he goes lax against Newt, the trembling slowly fades.

Newt holds him tight, whispers nonsense into Hermann’s shoulder until, pressed tight as they can together, no breath between them, they sleep.

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Newt wakes up alone. He sits up, the bedroom is empty.

“Shit.” He throws the blankets off, and kicks his legs out. The door is open and a thin, cold breeze cuts into the bedroom. “Shit!”

He shoves his legs into a pair of pants, and doesn’t bother with more. “Hermann!”

No answer. Newt runs out into the narrow corridor. No sign of him. “Shit. Ah fuck.” Newt picks a direction, starts running, his bare feet slamming wetly on the damp ground.

Boneyard is empty at this hour, the base silent and breathless and cold. Newt shoves his head into the tiny cubby where Hermann works- nothing, dark and empty, the computers dark. Even thought it’s barely the size of a closet, Newt looks under the table just in case.

“Shit shit shit-” Newt runs his fingers through his hair. Come on, where would he go? Did he have a freakout and go back to Miami base? Nah, he’d have woken Newt, but what if-

“Oh no.” Newt moans, and runs flat out. The steel floor jars his heels with every step. He braces his shoulder and hits the outer door head on. 

The door bursts open, Newt half falls, half jumps down the six steps down to the cave floor. The air is freezing and Newt rubs his arms as he runs, teeth chattering. His breath huffs up in steam and his bare skin seems to smoke as he runs.

Most of the lights are off for night time. The ground underfoot is fine and ashlike, Newt stumbles and struggles to keep up a good pace, wincing as his foot hits something sharp.

He races around the wreckage of the pits, the waist-high remains of the walls. “Hermann!” He roars, but his voice is drawn up into the unimaginable space above him, choked and silenced.

This is horrible, this is a nightmare. He’s even had it a few times and Newt looks around despite himself not really expecting to see the Masters, but-

Just making sure.

He tries to remember where it was. Hermann’s memories are cloudy and uncertain, but Newt’s bare feet mark out the same steps as he had done- so many times, over the ruins and shattered dead earth, stumbling over wreckage and-

He almost trips over Hermann, in the end.

Newt skids, stops too short and falls back onto his ass. “Hermann!” The sheer relief sweeps through him. “Fuck man, what are you doing-”

Hermann doesn’t respond, he’s huddled against the remains of the wall. His eyes are open, but glazed. He doesn’t even seem to see Newt.

“Babe?” Newt gets up on his knees, “Are you okay?”

He reaches out to touch Hermann’s shoulder- then Hermann looks at him.

His eyes are wide, the pupils tiny. Newt freezes, and slowly lowers his hand. “Hermann?” he says softly, “D’you know me?”

A blink. Newt reaches to him through the Hive, and Hermann’s mind is- slack. Sleeping, lost in a nightmare.

“Ah fuck.” Newt mumbles, and floods the Hive between them with warm and safe and love. Hermann blinks at him again, but his clenched hands slowly relax. He’s still asleep, but in whatever dream he’s lost in, he can see Newt isn’t gonna hurt him.

“Okay babe,” Newt tries to think, waking sleepwakers is supposed to be okay, but waking Hermann here would be- not good. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

The vague emotions through the dream feed through faint hope and disbelief. They’re leaving?

“Yep, going now.” Newt gently takes his upper arm, and helps Hermann up. He takes two steps, then collapses back down onto all sixes.

“Okay.” Newt says firmly, “Come on sweeties, this way.” He puts a hand on to Hermann’s shoulders, guiding him slowly out of the ancient cave, through the boneyard and eventually out- out into the eternal sun and blessed warmth of the Anteverse.

Hermann looks at him, mouth open wordlessly. Newt wonder what he’s seeing, in his dream.

“Come on,” Newt encourages, “Just a bit further.”

It takes the best of two hours to trek through the puffball jungle and make their way to Miami base. The moment Newt opens the door, some part of Hermann seems to realises where they are. He pads over to the bed and drops flat on it, falling back into real sleep.

Newt groans and slides down to sit beside him, exhaustion crashing in after this aborted night of broken sleep.

Fuck the marshal’s orders, they are never overnighting in Boneyard again.

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Newt must have fallen asleep after all. He wakes up stiff and shivering, still under the table. He bites of a groan as he props himself up on stiff legs, blinks a few times to clear the sleep from his eyes.

Hermann isn’t there.

The destroyed tupperware boxes are still there, torn apart and starting to stink as the cloned remains rot. His bag trails away in a blur of blue and claw marks.

Newt’s eyes follow it, the track of blue stains to their battered sofa. There’s a new tear down one of the seat cushions, the stuffing puffing out, tipped with more blue.

Newt pulls himself carefully out from under the table. “Hermann?”

There’s a scratching sound from behind the sofa, a faint creak. Newt takes a breath. It’s not the Victor. The Victor wouldn’t be hiding.

Even so, he doesn’t walk around the sofa. He squats down on the seat cushions and carefully pokes his head above the back, haunches clenched to leap away if- if-

He can’t even think it. It’s beyond thought, an instinctive tremble in every nerve. The tension that had kept him alive, for so long.

It fades quickly though, when he sees Hermann.

He’s huddled up against the back of the sofa, spines poking little holes in the hessian sacking, the weight of him pressing a hollow between the wooden stats. His legs are pulled up to his chest, four arms crossed into a wall and head tucked down. He trembles again, squeezes his arms, his legs tighter, coiling up to make a tiny ball even tinier.

“Hermann.” Newt hesitates, doesn’t know what to say. He lopes down, falls heavily on all fours beside Hermann and slides his legs out to sit beside him. The tendrils on his back flare and instinctively reach for Hermann, but his flinches away, and Newt forces them flat.

“I’m sorry.” He tries. It seems a good bet.

“What in the world for?” Hermann’s voice is low, grinding and wretched.

“I should have told you.” Newt drops on his belly, puts his head on his forepaws. The heavy tendrils of his tail twine and flick. “If you knew, you wouldn’t have- freaked out.” It’s the best way he can put it.

“Freaked out.” Hermann repeats. His arms drop away and he looks up, his face is slack, jaws open in small, helpless pants. He’s so miserable and he’s the most beautiful thing Newt has seen and wow he feels bad about that but oh fuck it’s him it’s Hermann.

Hermann must have seen the relief on his face, he twists away. His hands come up, trembling in shame.

Newt slides closer, gently bats his hands away. “Hey, hey.”

“Don’t-” Hermann’s voice is frail.

“It’s okay-”

“I could have-” he chokes.

“You didn’t.” Newt takes a breath because it’s true. The Victor could have killed him. He would have been as easy a target as the cloned meat- and probably tastier. But it hadn’t. “Not a scratch, look-” He spins around on his rump.

Hermann looks at him, takes a deep breath, and lets it out with a heavy shudder. He rubs his face, his arms, the back of his neck. The spines stand up, Hermann wraps his arms around himself and this time his breath comes out raw, ragged- a cry.

“Hey- hey-” Newt forgets the Victor, the trembling terror-instinct of the last night, and pulls Hermann in. He feels frail in his arms, the terrible strength of his other self melted away and gone. Thin bone and spun muscle and Newt wonders how he could have even been scared of him, even for a moment.

Hermann doesn’t move for long moments, his sobs breaking great and fearful as though each one was rent from his body, his hands keep moving, mapping out around his body, reassuring himself that he is his, he belongs to himself and there is no one else in there.

“Shh.” Newt rocks him. He thinks, for a moment, of the great bodies of their larger cousins, how Newt could huddle against them and let the horrors of the Anteverse whirl around them like a storm against great rocks. He tries to be that, in the Hive if not in body, great and solid and unbeakable and warm and holding life and comfort in every crevice of his body.

Hermann must have felt it, and lets out a weak chuckle. He looks up, and this time, the worst of the pain has passed. “If it counts for anything, I don’t think I- it- would have hurt you. The hunger- nothing else mattered, but I- it was still there, under my skin, I wouldn’t have-” he touches Newt’s shoulder, very lightly. The tips of his claws- those deep blue, razor sharp claws- whisper so softly against his skin.

Newt looks into his eyes, and- he knows. he can feel him, Hermann and, deeper still, the Victor. There, in the Hive, curled up alone and afraid and- in it’s own way- ashamed.

“I know,” he says softly. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermann whispers. “I ruined this. You worked on this for months and- and we should be so happy and- I ruined it.”

Newt shrugs, and hugs him again. “I’ll make more. We’re fine, Hermann.”

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(this is an AU from the original)

Hermann has seen the same face in the mirror since mirrors had been invented. He has cut his hair, let it grow, he has used every possible kind of reading glasses, he has even, on certain rare and never to be spoken of occasions, even attempted facial hair. 

But the face under all that has never changed, never, from that unknown and ancient time when he had come of age and- stopped.

Newt is asleep in their bed, tucked away in the tiny room they share in the Shatterdome. For once, it is quiet, settling into the regular rhythm of day and night after the frantic struggle of the war. A breath of calm before the ready themselves to face the new world around them.

Hermann ducks into the bathroom and ducks his face under the tap, drinking a few cupped handfuls of water before looking up and meeting his eyes in the mirror.

It’s not the same.

Hermann blinks, runs his eyes, then leans closer, wiping his damp hair out of his face. At first he thinks it’s just dirt, sleep grime in the corner of his eye, but when he rubs at it, it’s still there.

Hermann touches the slightly looser skin at the corner of his eye, the first creeping corners of crows feet.

Something huge and terrible open in his stomach, a Breach of Kaiju implications and nightmares. He paws at his face, pulling at his mouth to find fine creases that had never been there before, runs tracing faintly from nose to mouth and no no no-

Hermann stumbles away from the sink, he slips and nearly falls, only just catching himself on his stick and spinning away on his heel.

No. No. Oh god no. Anything but that. Dear god please please-

In the bed, Newt stirs sleepily, tangled in blankets. “Herms-” half asleep.

He can’t- he can barely think of it himself. Hermann throws himself at the door and out, staggering down the steps into the deserted midnight corridors of the Shatterdome.

The air is cold, damp and stale. He needs air. He needs to get out-

Hermann has no idea how, but he manages to find his way out to the helipad. He staggers across the bare concrete, feet slipping in the puddles, the driving rain lashing through his jacket. He stumbles, nearly falls over, and gropes at the railing.

“Please god no-” His voice is lost in the heavy, wet rain.

If he dies- and just thinking it is hideous, makes it real- if he dies, he won’t remember. He and Newt will die and be reborn and unless there is some- some miracle- they could live entire lives and never see each other again.

This could be the last life they have.

Hermann screams. The rain deadens his voice, flattens it into the grey haze.

It was always so hard- even before, when he knew and could look for Newt. What chance could they possible have now? The two of them, wandering blind through the world. One of however many billions it would be by then. Ships in endless night, blind and unknowning, forever passing and gone.