After

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four

Tw for alcohol and drugging (Crow is referred to as “young” and “boy”, but he's 20)

Crow huddles in the corner table of the dingy bar he has taken refuge in for the evening. It’s in a horrible part of the town he’s trying to pass through, but he knows it will be harder to find him among all the grime and broken down businesses and building, the people drawing their threadbare coats around themselves just like he is.

His head hurts constantly and certain parts of his memories are very patchy, though he supposes- his leg hurts worse than his head. It never healed right, or fully healed at all, the several breaks in his leg never healed or set and left to manage on their own. But he can’t stop moving, or he will be found. So he bears the pain, for once in his life grateful that he can’t make a sound or he wouldn’t be able to keep up the appearance that he’s not as injured and weak as he really is.

He doesn’t drink, although it’s a bar. They have cheap food and even still, it’s overpriced for what they’re serving. But he can’t afford anything better, or go anywhere nicer. It had the looks of a place where no one asks questions and minds their own business, and that’s why he chose it.

[comes after this drabble]

“Officer Van Doren, You have to understand, I can’t let you in there until we know more.” General Vesper smiles at him kindly. “There’s just so much about this situation we don’t know, and I don’t want to risk your wellbeing.”

She means it sincerely, but it only makes Jamison angry. He scowls and crosses his arms. “Let me talk to him. He’s no spy- there must be some kind of mistake. I’ve never known someone more dedicated. Look, I’ve got a note here from medical. They said he was hit with some kind of magic from one of the enemies in the last battle he fought in? Maybe that had something to do with it.” 

He pauses and takes a breath to calm himself down. “Please General, I’ve known him since we were young. He’s not this- this thing. Just let me talk with him.”

The General folds her hands together and thinks for a moment. “Jamison-“ she says finally looking back up at him, the use of his first name quite uncommon. “Basil Weir is... how do I put this... he’s a good soldier. But-“ she turns a packet of papers she’s been studying around so Jamison can read. It’s Basil’s file. “At time of enlistment, I’m afraid he was far too young. It’s quite possible the strain and the truly terrible things he’s had to witness at such a young age has...”

“You think he turned traitor?!” Jamison says, voice pitching higher. “You think he really is some- some monster?! He came to me begging for help! He’s the victim here and I- I don’t know how or why this is happening. Those- those monsters in the rebellion did something to him! I know him. It’s not his fault.”

Jamison pauses for a breath, realizing his mistake. He just shouted at the general. But she doesn’t appear to be upset.

“It’s honorable that you want to defend your... friend? And I sympathize with you. But right now we don’t know what is going on with Weir and until we do, I don’t think I can let anyone near him. We’ll bring in some professionals, see what their thoughts are.” She smiles at him, and Jamison can see she’s tired. “I’ll keep you updated if you’d like.”

“Please- please do. Thank you for your time general. I apologize for losing my composure.” Jamison was dismissed and he walks out of the general’s tent, thinking. If the general was sending for professionals, then they would sort this out. They would prove it was just some kind of magic trick or something nefarious planned by the rebels. Unless it wasn’t... and Basil really was this- thing.

Basil sits in the corner of the quarantine cell, picking at the tight manacle on his wrist. He shudders at the sight of the curved claws and scales that now make up his hands. This has to be a mistake. He’s not this monster. He’s not.

They haven’t brought him anything to eat and there’s no way of telling time in here. The cell blocks, medical ward, and weapons deposit are the only physical buildings in the main camp, so there’s no trying to escape this cell.

Basil keeps his eyes closed, holding the blue stone and sea green stone from his necklace tightly in his hand. Sometimes he thinks he can actually feel the pulses from the necklace, but he knows it’s just some kind of pretty enchantment. The blue one likes to dim a lot or pulse irregularly. Sometimes its even, but not often. The sea green one matches his own heartbeat, but he’s not sure how they work exactly. He’s always had them.

The singular door opens and Basil scrambles to stand, to only be yanked down by the chain attached from his cuffs to the floor. He trips on his- the tail and falls to his knees.

General Vesper enters with two men in tow. They’re not soldiers, Basil can see that immediately from their haircuts (or lack thereof) and clothes that are definitely not soldiers. One is wearing a type of uniform, but it’s not of the army. His compatriot is wearing worn clothes and some leather armor and smells like smoke. Basil’s heightened senses make him want to wrinkle his nose at the smell.

“This is it?” The uniformed one says, raising an eyebrow. “No offense General, but with the way you were talking I thought it would be a little bigger.” Smokey didn’t say anything and just stared Basil up and down, from horns to tail to his scaly paws for feet.

“It is a he. And he was one of our soldiers.” General Vesper looks slightly put out by these two. “We’re not sure what happened to him. He was completely normal looking just a week ago. I’d like you to inspect him and give me your... professional opinions.

“Of course General. We’ll take a look, a few samples maybe, and let you know as soon as possible. We do ask to not be disturbed while we work for any reason.” Uniform smiles pleasently, but Basil feels a cold shiver run down his back.

The general agrees and they discuss a few more things before she leaves. Basil wants to beg not to be left alone with these men, he doesn’t trust them, he’s scared. But he stays silent. He’s a good soldier. He won’t interfere because they’re going to help him figure this out and understand what’s wrong with him-

As soon as the door shuts behind the General and they hear her steps fading away, Uniform drops the polite and pleasant personal. He’s still professional yes, but it’s time for business. “Well I certainly don’t think it’s fae”, he says, crouching to look at Basil more closely. He reaches out and grabs a horn and forces Basil’s head back, using his hold to turn his face to look him over. “Looks more in your arena.”

“Ow- Sir please I’ll do whatever you need me to, just ask”, Basil says. “I want to understand-“

Smokey bursts out laughing, the first noise he’s made since he’s been in the room. “It thinks this is all some kind of mix up that can be fixed. Playing dumb are you? Or do you truly believe this is some kind of mistake? Stupid creature.” He reaches out and snatches the leather cord that hangs around Basil’s neck and snaps it, pulling the gems towards him. “This tells me all I need to know dragon.”

“Dragon? There’s no way I’m anyway related to those terrible creatures. It’s just not possible. I have parents who are perfectly human. I’m human!This is all a mistake!” He says sitting up straight and yanking his head out of Uniform’s grasp.

“This one’s obviously yours, but where’d you get the other one? You in contact with another dragon?” Smokey holds the blue gem up, which is currently pulsing regularly for once.

“I don’t know any dragons”, Basil says desperately, the disgust clear in his voice. “They’re monsters! I would never consort with such a thing. I’m loyal!”

Uniform nods. “Yes, they are monsters. And you’re one of them so what does that make you?”

“How did you come to have these?” Smokey says holding the stones up. “Where did you get them?”

They fire question after question until Basil feels confused and on the verge of tears. He doesn’t know why he looks like this. He doesn’t know any dragons. He’s a loyal soldier. He’s never experienced anything like this before. He’s had those gems as long as he can remember. Yes he’s sure his parents are actually his parents. They would have told him otherwise.

Smokey leans against the wall and looks over at Uniform. “What do you think? Mother or father? He’s obviously not full. My bet’s on mother. The whelps tend to have more draconic features that way, though males usually don’t make it.”

Uniform crosses his arms and looks down at Basil who’s keeping his head down struggling not to cry like a child in front of these men. “I dunno. Seems a bit much for just half. But it’s not my area of expertise. I was just put on this job to make sure it wasn’t another fae situation.” He nudges Basil’s tail with his boot. “We’ll be back tomorrow for definitive testing. Don’t go anywhere.” He smiles at his own joke and nods his head towards the door. “C’mon.”

Smokey weighs the stones in his hand before putting them on the floor near Basil. “Don’t lose those. We still may have use for them.” And then he follows Uniform out the door, patting his pockets to find his pipe.

Basil grabs the gems and holds them tightly as he curls into a ball in the corner and lets the tears come. He’s not a monster. He’s not. But... what if he is?