Archive of Our Own ^beta

At spawn, they argue.

“I’m not scared.” Leo declares, “They can’t tell me what to do!”

Dapper nods, “We don’t even know where it came from, and we’re supposed to take it seriously?”

“Our parents can fight,” Pomme adds, but she looks uncertain, “If something did happen, wouldn’t they be able to handle it?”

“But the books were in our rooms.” Tallulah says, arms folded in on herself. “That shouldn’t be possible, right? If they can get through my papa’s security without anyone noticing, then who knows what else they can do?”

“Where do we even go? ”

“I still think it’s a trick!”

“Well obviously it’s a trick. But what choice do we have?”

“We could fight back! Our parents are strong!”

“Maybe yours are but—”

If the books are to be believed, then time is of the essence. The arguments keep spinning round and round in the same circles, the night slipping past them all the while—until finally, Chayanne speaks.

“We need to go.” And all his siblings exchange looks with each other. “Now.”

That’s maybe the scariest thing about all of this—they don’t even question it.

Dapper and Pomme tighten their grips on their respective weapons with a grim acceptance, Ramon doesn’t look at anyone, just adjusts his goggles firmly over his eyes, Leo casts an anguished look back in the direction of the dragon, but is quiet, Richarlyson tearily fists his hands into the ends of his jersey and nods jerkily, and Tallulah—

Tallulah was the first he told, and so has had the most time to come to terms with it. It’s clear she’s frightened, but more than that, she keeps glancing back up at the Wall, eyes lingering and searching against the night sky with the hope that Dad Phil had come home early from his trip after all.

“I messed up, Chayanne,” She’d whispered to him shakily before they left.

They can’t make any more mistakes.

And so they go.

—

On the fifth day, they have potatoes.

“I don’t understand.” Chayanne says, even as he takes the bunch of them from Dapper. They’re real alright; their weight is solid, familiar in his arms. “We should only have one.” It had been looted from a zombie that had lurched into their path that morning, nearly dead and weakened from the rising sun.

Any other time, Chayanne would have come to the logical conclusion that they farmed it. He knows, more than anyone maybe, that process very well, after all. But that’s exactly why it doesn’t make any sense. This is just a temporary camp, nothing more than a handful of sleeping bags and a soon-to-be campfire on a beach to pass the night before they get back on the road again. They have to go further, much further than any of the islanders had ever come—even Etoiles. He had already made the decision to leave, after all, and Chayanne was determined to see it through properly.

Maybe if they got far enough, they’d be able to set up a base of some kind where they could have a steady food source. For now though, it was just surviving off what they could forage and hunt during the day while on the move—a difficult feat with seven mouths to feed.

“We found more.” Dapper shrugs nonchalantly, arms crossed behind his head.

“When?” Chayanne frowns at him. “I didn’t see anything.”

“Just now. Ramon and I found some in the dirt over there.” He gestures vaguely into the woods, and Chayanne narrows his eyes. It’s evasion, clear and simple.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Dapper—he does, as he does all his siblings. But while Dapper is convincing in his confidence, Chayanne knows Dapper doesn’t know to look for what he does. Because while it’s subtle and easy to miss, very few people have spent as many hours as Chayanne, painstakingly raising and harvesting potatoes by hand. When he brushes his hands over one, he sees it: the fine white dust of bonemeal clinging to the leaves.

“We agreed.” Chayanne says, voice hard, “No fighting mobs.” Without armor, it was too great of a risk. Pomme, Dapper, and himself were the only ones who had any semblance of a proper weapon. The others only had cobblestone swords, hastily crafted a few nights ago. So, they don’t take risks, and they stay safe.

“They’re just potatoes, Chayanne.” Ramon says, uncomfortably.

“You grew these.” Chayanne snaps. “Where did you get the bonemeal? Skeletons?” Ramon shuts his mouth, and Chayanne feels indignant fury well up in him, “What were you thinking? We don’t have armor!”

“We’re alive, aren’t we?” Dapper asks defensively, “It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s not a big deal?” Chayanne demands, voice rising whether he means to or not, “What part of ‘we don’t take risks’ don’t you understand? You could have gotten hurt! Or worse—"

“Chayanne!” It’s Tallulah that cuts in, voice sharp. When he turns to look at her, bewildered and honestly a bit betrayed, her expression softens, but only a bit. “They got potatoes. For you.” She says pointedly.

Chayanne blinks. Then he glances back. Ramon’s staring down at his feet, shoulders hunched and hands held behind his back. Dapper is still standing tall and facing him, but his eyes won’t meet Chayanne’s, glaring sulkily at the ground. And Chayanne...

Chayanne feels wrong-footed all of a sudden, tongue heavy in his mouth. He had been so sleepy in the past few months, and he’s never been good at this emotional stuff to begin with, but he doesn’t know when exactly he stopped knowing his siblings. Looking at them now, he’s not sure exactly how to name their expressions.

“Okay!” Pomme says loudly, and everyone’s heads snap up towards her, “Here’s what we’re going to do! We’re camped here to stock up on food, remember? So, we’re going to split into teams—Leo, Tallulah, and Richas, you get to work on making the fishing rods while Dapper and Ramon, you go collect more firewood to last us the night.”

She says it cheerfully and with a bright smile, but her tone leaves no room for argument. Not that it wasn’t a good plan: their siblings look a little taken aback by the sudden shift, but they nod.

Then, she turns towards Chayanne, clearly singled out.

“Look,” Chayanne begins defensively, though he’s not sure himself what he even wants to say.

Before he could fumble through whatever comes to his mind, however, Pomme continues, surprisingly gently, “And Chayanne, you and I are going to cook these potatoes for dinner, okay?”

That, Chayanne can do.

Together they get the fire going. Once it’s ready, Chayanne rolls the prepared potatoes into the hot charcoals. The familiar sight of them nestled amongst the glowing embers sits warmly in his chest, and he can’t help but give a faint smile.

It’s hard to ignore, however, how quiet the campsite is now that everyone is split up amongst their tasks. It shouldn’t really be, is the thing. Even at their most scared, there had always been some kind of hushed chatter or banter, or someone always making some kind of snarky comment or joke in an attempt to lighten the mood—Richarlyson especially never hesitated to speak his mind. It makes sense for Dapper and Ramon who are little further out, just out of earshot even if Chayanne can make them out every so often between the trees. But the others are sitting nearby enough that the lack of any conversation is all too obvious.

He should say something, Chayanne thinks guiltily as he watches Leo demonstrate to the others how to trim and smooth a bamboo cane, something that can release the tension that’s settled heavily in the air around them. Everyone is depending on him to be the leader, that much Chayanne understands. It’s why they followed him, after all, even if not a single word comes to mind as he opens and closes his mouth.

He just—He just needs to be more like his dad, level-headed and cool as he jumps to Chayanne or Tallulah’s aid, radiating comfort and safety and ‘you’re fine, you’re fine, I’ve got you’ and—

Disappointment. That’s what their expressions had been, hadn’t it?

Chayanne’s attempts dry up in his throat, and he can’t help but turn, helplessly, towards Tallulah.

Gods know she’s a thousand times better with words than him, and sometimes, it feels like she knows him better than he knows himself. He remembers all too well that terrible, frantic day when Dad Missa, finally home after so long, had inexplicably wrenched himself away from Chayanne and dashed off, refusing to see him any longer. Chayanne had stood there in shock, his stomach a swirling pit of sickly despair, sucking away any and all his thoughts. It had been Tallulah then, determined glint in her eyes, who grabbed his hand and pulled because,“You can’t just let him leave like this! We’ll make a plan, let’s go!”

But right now, Tallulah isn’t looking at him. Instead, she’s staring down at her hands even though she hasn’t picked up any bamboo yet, opening and closing them as if she were trying to grasp something. Hands parallel and right next to each other, the motion seems familiar somehow, which strikes Chayanne as odd. He’s not sure when he would have seen this gesture before, fingers curling in and out, since Tallulah always has her flute in her hands—

Ah.

In their rush, most of them had left everything behind, with a few exceptions.

It was Chayanne who had urged Tallulah to hurry up when they were still back in their room. The books had been very clear: there was no time to pack their bags or even leave a note for Dad—they had to go immediately.

And now, they’re out and exposed to the elements with only a campfire to suggest otherwise, and none of them have their backpacks or any of their favorite hats, and Tallulah doesn’t have her flute because of Chayanne, Chayanne who had rushed her out the door and up the ladder, but selfishly, selfishly lingered behind for a second longer to grab his sword. They’ll need it for protection, he had thought, pretending like it was for no other reason, like he didn’t feel his shoulders relax when the grooves of its handle settled into a familiar grip in his hands. Pretending like looking at it didn’t make him think of his dad, of hopping up and down around an anvil until finally, “Chayanne, want me to fix your sword up for you?” and—

“You’re thinking too loud.” Pomme says, plopping down on the log he’s sitting on and knocking her shoulder into his. “I can barely hear my own thoughts. What’s wrong?”

“Sorry.” Chayanne winces. Great. He was bad at this too? Things were so much easier when Dad Phil was around—being brave came more naturally then too.

“...That was a joke.”

Oh. “I knew that.”

“Right.” Pomme keeps frowning at him, “Come on, fess up. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Chayanne says hurriedly.

“So we’re just going to pretend that whole thing,” Pomme nods over in Dapper and Ramon’s direction, “didn’t happen, then?”

“It’s fine.” He says flatly. “Disagreements happen.”

“Uh huh. You losing your temper doesn’t usually though.” Pomme points out. When he just prods at one of the potatoes sullenly, she adds, “I get you’re worried, but you can relax a little, okay? You know Dapper and Ramon can take care of themselves.”

When he still doesn’t say anything, Pomme crosses her arms. “Do you really want to do this, Chayanne? I’m on first watch, I’ll just sit here pestering you all night. Hell, I’ll take the next watch too, and neither of us will get any sleep.”

Chayanne snorts. “You wouldn’t.”

“Yeah?” Pomme smiles wryly at him. “Is that a challenge?” And oh, that’s right. He’s heard from Tallulah about Pomme’s sleeping patterns, or frankly lack thereof. If Chayanne sleeps too much, then Pomme sleeps too little, so it’s not often their waking hours sync up. It means, even though she’s best friends with Tallulah, he hasn’t spent time with Pomme much at all, much less any one-on-one. The thought of traveling tomorrow on no sleep makes Chayanne shudder, and suddenly, he’s not sure if he wants to go up against her like this.

Beside Pomme, not far from her hands at all, her scythe sits resting against the log. It’s the same type that Dad Phil wields himself, the one that Etoiles insisted that he get. Trained by her own dad like she is, it makes sense that Pomme would have the same powerful gear as him—and, like a warrior, would have never thought of leaving home without it.

Chayanne inhales through his nose before glancing around. Dapper and Ramon have moved even further out, and Tallulah, Leo, and Richarlyson are still sitting where they were, having some kind of hushed conversation as they work.

No one was listening.

So, Chayanne asks, “Can I tell you a secret?” Pomme’s eyes widen, but she nods. “I’m bad at fighting.”

“What? No you’re not!” Pomme immediately looks indignant. “Don’t say that, Chayanne, you’re the best!”

“You sound just like Etoiles.” Chayanne smiles wryly.

“I sound like I’m telling the truth.” Pomme crosses her arms with a huff. “Why are you saying silly stuff like that? What happened to the confident Chayanne we know?”

For a long moment, he stares into the crackling fire. While he’s no stranger to cooking outside, he’s more used to cooking on stoves, be it his portable one or his kitchen back at home. Right now, staring into the red-orange flames, the potatoes smoldering amongst the coals, he remembers—

A different beach, one with white sand and the beach house village stretching out around them. Even though he’s been trying for ten whole minutes already with no small amount of desperation, the grill still won’t start.

“I think it’s just decorative, Chayanne.” His dad tells him, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“No, it works!” Chayanne insists, frantic and hands smudged black with coal. “I saw it before!”

“Are you sure?” His dad asks with a laugh, and Chayanne nods fervently. “Okay, you’ve got this. If anyone’s going to get it, it’ll be you, Chayanne.”

His dad will try to help again when he realizes that Chayanne has hit a dead end and still can’t figure it out. Until then, however, he turns his attention towards Tallulah, shaking his head with fond exasperation as she keeps cheekily swiping her hand through the campfire. Every so often, he calls encouragement over his shoulder towards Chayanne, confident in Chayanne’s ability to do this on his own.

“Did you know,” Chayanne starts quietly, “that my dad won’t let me do dungeons?”

Pomme blinks at him.

“My dad taught me how to fight.” Chayanne continues, looking down at his sword in his lap. The blade is dull—Dad Phil was always the one to sharpen it for him. He still hasn’t quite gotten the hang of doing it himself, but Chayanne had forgotten to ask his dad for help before he’d left on his trip. Chayanne hadn’t been worried—he’d figured, at the time, that he’d just ask the next time he saw him again. “But he says dungeons are too dangerous for me.”

It’s all too easy to pull up memories of monsters shoved away from him as his dad shouts for him to get back, caving expeditions cut short the immediate second Chayanne took any damage, and being allowed to go into a dungeon—only because it’s been completely cleared out by Tío Bad beforehand.

Too fast, Chayanne, too fast, his dad would warn lightly whenever Chayanne would wheedle him into combat training, because Chayanne always needed reminding. Don’t swing wildly. Remember to time your strikes.

“Well, they are pretty dangerous.” Pomme agrees. “It’s important to be cautious.”

“But your dad lets you, right?” He asks, and Pomme’s hands tighten around the handle of her scythe. “Etoiles taught you, and you know how to fight, so that’s why he lets you go to dungeons, right?”

“Well,” Pomme shifts uncomfortably, “yeah, but—“

“Everyone followed me, Pomme!” Chayanne hisses. He barely remembers to keep his voice low in time as he chokes out, “Everyone trusts me to keep you all safe, but not even my dad thinks I’m strong enough on my own, and he’s the one who taught me so it must be true!”

And of course, as long as there is breath in him, Chayanne will do everything in his power to protect every single one of his siblings—but protecting Tallulah is a promise he made to his dad and Wilbur. And Chayanne might not know much, but he knows that promises matter. And he doesn’t want to, can’t break any more promises.

“I keep swearing I’ll keep people safe, and I don’t know if I—.” Chayanne cuts himself off, swallowing hard. By some miracle, he’s managed to hold back his tears. His throat hurts, ragged from tearing secrets out of his chest. But, he makes himself continue in a tiny voice, “I don’t want to fail again. I have promises I need to keep.”

But then, silence. Pomme’s so stock-still in the corner of his eye, he doesn’t even think he can hear her breathing.

And Chayanne thinks, this was a mistake.

“Sorry.” Chayanne laughs weakly. What was he thinking, putting something like this on his younger sibling, not to mention one of the youngest of them? “Sorry, don’t worry about it. I’m strong, I’m strong, I’m going to keep everyone safe, don’t worry, okay?”

Suddenly, Pomme claps her hands once, loud and brisk. The sound startles him, head snapping up as she jumps to her feet and whirls to face him.

“We’re making a new promise!” Pomme declares, driving the butt of her scythe into the ground with a heavy thud. “We’re going to keep everyone safe. You and I are going to protect our siblings, together!”

Her face is flushed, mouth set with steely determination as she narrows her eyes at him, almost daring him to refuse. Behind her, the blade of her scythe swoops high and above, curving around her and glinting brightly in the firelight.

“No one’s getting hurt, not on our watch.” Pomme says fiercely.

For a moment, he stares at her, stunned. Then, in a smaller voice than he would like, Chayanne asks, “We fight together?”

“And we keep everyone safe.” Pomme repeats like a mantra, lifting her chin up resolutely.

And Chayanne—

Chayanne recognizes what she’s saying, little fighter that she is: a warrior’s oath, or something like it.

For perhaps the millionth time that night, Chayanne thinks, briefly, of his dad. But this time, when he looks down at the sword in his hands and then up at Pomme’s scythe, Chayanne can’t help but think of Etoiles too, hissing with playful disapproval at Dad’s weapons, of him surging forward to be at Dad’s side at the first hint of danger, more powerful at each other’s side than Chayanne could ever hope to be.

And maybe, Chayanne thinks briefly of a cape too. A crown. Bedtime stories of an empire, conquest, victory won through unshakeable partnership, figures larger than life itself, and—

“I pinky-promise!” Pomme thrusts her pinky finger out in front of him, and Chayanne blinks, snapped out of his thoughts as he looks back at his sister. She meets his gaze with grim determination. “So you can stop worrying, because nobody is allowed to break a pinky-promise. No matter what.”

Oh.

There’s a feeling welling up inside his chest now, another that he's not sure how to name either. It's like air filling up his lungs, pressing up into his throat like he might choke on the enormity of it.

Was it that simple?

He reaches out, tentatively, and hooks his finger with hers. Because she's right, isn’t she? Chayanne can’t think of a single thing more powerful than that.

His voice comes out hoarse, but they have to seal the promise for it to work, so he says, in turn, “I pinky-promise."

When they shake, Pomme grins at him, pleased, and Chayanne can’t help but smile back.

Later, when the potatoes are done cooking, Tallulah will come bounding up excitedly towards him to proudly present a flute she carved herself from the leftover bamboo.

It’ll be a little rough around the edges, seeing as there’s nothing to properly sand it down with. But it’ll undeniably be a flute—when she lifts it up to play the opening measure of one of her usual songs, the wavering notes will come out familiar and sweet. It’s only then it will occur to Chayanne that he does, in fact, know the name of that feeling after all.

Hope.