Chapter 1: i'm a man
Chapter Text
Kid, at the tender age of 10, had always held a deep fascination for boats. Every day, he made his way to the Derry port, where a multitude of vessels of all shapes and sizes gently swayed on the water. He loved to sit by the dock and watch the boats come and go, his legs dangling above the water. Kid had his favorite boat, an old wooden sailboat with a weathered hull that was moored near the dock. He watched it with admiration, imagining the adventures he could have experienced if only he could step aboard.
Sometimes, his ears would eavesdrop on the laughter and conversations of the fishermen and sailors. Kid didn't always find their discussions interesting. He preferred it when they talked about the landscapes they traversed, the challenges they faced during their crossings, and how they tamed the waves. What he liked less was when they delved into matters concerning the mainland. Politics and stuff. Adult topics that hold less appeal to his young mind.
And so it was difficult to strike up a conversation with the sailors. Generally, they didn't like having a snotty-nosed kid taking risky stances way too close to the water.
“No one's comin' to rescue ye if ye tumble, lad! The water's that icy, it'll cut through yer skin in the blink of an eye!”
Kid had heard that warning so many times that he had lost count. Kid had grown accustomed to being unwelcome, yet he felt right at home here. Kid's curious eyes were used to the dockworkers: older men, portly and weather-beaten. They sported shaggy beards and spoke with inventive curses. Their clothes were stained, and their rubber boots squeaked. It was a rather homogeneous tableau. So, the day a boy who appeared to be roughly Kid's age showed up, Kid noticed him immediately.
Messy, windswept blond hair that constantly obscured half his face. Yet, it was evident that he was by far the youngest on the dock, right after Kid. On the first day, Kid kept his distance. The blond seemed to be a deckhand, a jack-of-all-trades; he hadn't had a spare five minutes between unloading and receiving various goods.
Kid was surprised when he saw that by the end of the day, the blond boy headed ashore to sleep. Pretending to play with a scrap toy he had spent the afternoon fixing, Kid only glanced at the newcomer from the corner of his eye. He knew the town like the back of his hand; he could find him in no time, even if the sun had already set. And a wild blond mane like his couldn't hide.
Five minutes after the blond boy's departure Kid followed suit, making his way to the main street in the historic center. Derry was a town of moderate size, even quite large compared to the small towns and villages nearby. His keen eyes quickly spotted a blond figure that disappeared behind the door of a pub.
“Darn it. They never let me in those places,” Kid thought.
Despite the 10-year-old boy's fearless and curious nature, certain places in the town were still off-limits to him. Since he had learned to read, Kid knew that the three letters “P U B” meant forbidden. Before he could read, he used to identify them by the strong smell of alcohol emanating from those places.
With nothing else more interesting to do, and driven by an inexplicable curiosity, Kid sat down on a bench ten meters away, continuing to tinker with his toy while waiting for the blond boy to come out. And this happened much faster than he had anticipated. His small fingers ceased manipulating the toy, and he rose to his feet to approach the blond, who was moving in the opposite direction. Kid jumped when, still behind the blond, a voice spoke up:
“Don't be expectin' me to dole out charity. If I had a penny left, I'd be gettin' meself a pint. Or a room to sleep decently.”
Kid stopped in surprise before walking twice as fast to catch up with him. With furrowed non existent brows, he defended himself, “I ain't expectin' nothin' from ye! I ain't expectin' nothin' from no one! I was just curious to spot a new face on the dock, but ye're a real gobshite.”
A pause, and the blond boy stopped, allowing Kid to pass him and stand in front of him. Half his face was still covered by his hair, even though the wind had calmed down. It was as if he was deliberately hiding behind his locks.
“Name's Killer. You'll be crossin' paths with me often on the dock, 'cause unlike the wee shites like you, adults need money to live. Right, you're done pestering me, lad?”
He didn't seem particularly upset despite the words he had just used. It was as if he was responding to Kid's profanity on principle, without any real desire to hurt the redhead.
“Killer ? Now, that's a bleedin' cool name. But what ain't too grand is ye bein' skint though I’ve seen ye graftin' all day.”
Killer didn't respond to his remark. He simply sidestepped him and continued on his way, leading him towards the dock. Kid didn't like being ignored; perhaps that's why he was always looking for new mischief to get into. It was an effective way to get attention. And he hadn't gotten enough from Killer yet, despite having spent the whole day watching him... it wasn't fair.
“Where're ye off to?” Kid asked.
“Sleepin',” Killer replied in a monotone voice.
“There ain't no hotel where ye're headin'. It's the port,” Kid explained, feeling rather proud to impart his basic knowledge and assuming the role of a guide.
“Staying in a boat's cabin. The captain gave me leave to kip there while the ship's moored here."
Despite the dim light, one could have seen sparks of excitement in Kid's eyes. Ever since his mother, who had been raising him on her own, had passed away four years ago, Kid had been lodged in a sort of church-run orphanage. It was a place lacking in resources, where there wasn't enough space to properly separate the children by age. For Christmas, they favored the younger kids for gifts. Birthdays weren't celebrated. Kid despised the place. Children under the age of 11 didn't even attend school; the church volunteers handled their education with basic lessons. Since he had learned to read and count there, Kid no longer saw any point in those lessons. The redhead was a disruptive element difficult to manage, so adults had agreed to exempt Kid from the school obligations for this year. Next year, he'd be off to secondary school.
Kid would find a way to escape from those future obligations.
But for now, he needed to find a way to follow Killer. Kid was dying to have a boat cabin all to himself – or nearly to himself. He could picture himself sleeping in the middle of the ocean, rocked by the waves, a comfort that would make him forget the poor quality of the pillow where he rested his head...
Lost in his thoughts, Kid hadn't even noticed that Killer had distanced himself. Kid's small steps looked ridiculous compared to Killer's, who, although not much older had already begun to grow significantly. The blond's voice was deep and grave, while Kid's was still squeaky, though full of confidence.
“Why ya clingin' to me like a barnacle, lad? Your folks not expectin' you?” Killer asked as they reached the dock.
“What 'bout yer folks? They ain't waitin' for ye?” Kid shot back. A few seconds of silence passed before the redhead broke it, “I wanna bed down on the boat too.”
Killer let out a little chuckle. A chuckle that got louder, with some pretty weird sounds, but Kid didn't rag on him. He did notice, though, that Killer slapped his hand over his mouth. When the chuckling died down, the blond replied:
“I toiled away to sleep on this boat. You've been eyeballin' me all day while fiddlin' with... your gizmo lookin' like it's been chewed by a rabid cur. And boats, they ain't no place for wee ones. Even when we're moored, you might end up throwin' up all over the deck. Disgustin'.”
Kid felt a sting to his ego. Rather than dwell on the flattering fact that Killer had also noticed him today, it was his mockery about his toy that infuriated Kid. With a swift and spiteful gesture, Kid threw his toy to the ground. He watched as the toy crashed onto the damp, cobblestone ground. The harsh impact was enough to shatter it into several pieces.Yet, he had spent hours trying to fix it.
“I'm a bleedin' man,” Kid declared solemnly.
That night, Killer crashed out like a rock. The cabin's hammock wasn't the comfiest, but exhaustion made it feel like he was laid out on a pile of feathers. Kid, on the flip side, spent most of the night cruising around the deck, fascinated by everything that caught his eye. With a bit of a struggle, he managed to climb into the second hammock, but he was a bit disappointed not to feel the boat's rocking motion as hard as he imagined.
Chapter 2: Victoria
Chapter Text
The age gap didn't bother Killer as much as he initially thought. In his mind, a 10-year-old was just a sniffling, whining mess at every setback, complaining about the rain and wind incessantly, and throwing tantrums at every opportunity. But Kid wasn't cut from that cloth. Kid had a rough temperament, and Killer quickly realized that. However, alongside that, Kid could take anything thrown at him with a strange maturity. Despite his young age, his ego was already oversized and overdeveloped. Killer sometimes wondered if this tyke had more pride than he did.
And alongside this oversized ego was Kid's drive to mimic the grown-ups in everything. Initially, Killer thought it was just bravado, swagger, or a desire to show that he didn't need any babysitter. But Killer eventually noticed that it was vital for Kid. That little red-headed guy desperately needed to be independent as soon as possible. Otherwise, his life would be messed up, just like Killer's.
After spending two or three nights on the boat that had been generously loaned by a merchant, Killer had to find another solution to rest dry at night. Camping under the stars didn't bother him in principle, but getting drenched by torrents of rain and freezing under windy nights on the brink of a storm... That wasn't Killer's idea of catching some decent rest. Especially since during the day, he needed all his strength.
“Why not grab a room in a hotel? Or maybe ask to someone, they might throw ye a piece of their couch for a few quid,” Kid suggests, as the two boys perch on a boulder at the beach. Kid's ears are reddened by the icy wind hitting them head-on. Killer's ears are snug behind his thick strands of hair.
“Don't fancy throwin' my cash at that,” mutters Killer, scratching out the sand wedged under his nails.
“Ye're grindin' like a dog, and ye never got enough coin to kip properly! We should go give yer bosses a boot up the arse; they're treatin' ye rotten,” grumbles Kid, clenching his small fists. “Me, when I'm taller, never have a gobshite for a boss.”
Killer chuckles and gives Kid a nudge in the shoulder. Half to tell him to shut up, half to express that he finds this innocent reaction adorable. But the blonde doesn't respond. He'll figure out a solution to find shelter, as he always did. Except, Kid won't let it slide, dead set on proving he can be useful. He stands up, facing Killer, thinking this stance would make him more convincing.
“Tonight, it's me helpin' ye find a place to crash.”
So convinced by his words, the redhead almost slips on the wet rock. Killer catches him by the wrist. His fragile wrist, clearly not thick enough to be considered healthy for his age. And Killer even lifts him up like a feather, setting him back on his two feet.
“Your plan is pure shit, I know it already,” Killer says. “I'd be better off kippin' with hungry wolves than taggin' along on your mess...”
Because in Killer's mind, it's impossible for a 10-year-old boy to think rationally. “You should head back home; it's been 3 days you've been tailing me, 3 days you've been a no-show at your place. They're gonna freak about you, lad.”
At those words, a sharp crease forms between Kid's eyebrows.
“l’ll go back, but ye're comin' with me. Killer.”
After a quick visit to the town's main pub —well, Killer went in, while Kid patiently waited on the bench across the street— the two boys are on their way to the church.
It's been a few days since Kid hasn't shown up there, not to say he's alive nor to grab some clothes. It must be said that he doesn't mind parading around for a solid week in the same fits. The farther his skin is from any water source, the better off he is. But during the past days, his urge to mimic everything Killer does led Kid to squat next to him every morning and every evening in front of a big soapy warm basin to wash himself—only his face and hands, but that's already a big deal for Kid.
The two boys silently follow the paved path leading to the church. Killer has gathered his few belongings in a bundle, thrown over his shoulder. Kid has picked up a wooden stick that's half his size: he drags it against the cobblestones, taps the ground with it, occasionally stops to play sword fights in the air. When they reach the church's square, the two boys stop, still as silent. Killer waits for Kid to show him the way—he doubts the plan is to camp among the prayer benches—but instead, the redhead asks him a question.
“Do you believe in God?”
Behind the lock of hair that completely obscures his gaze, Killer furrows his brows. Firstly, it's a question he has never really thought about. Secondly, he never imagined that this little kid would ask him such a question. But over time, Killer had grasped that Kid asked questions about anything and everything, not caring if they were deep subjects or not.
“Whether he exists or not, won't change how I live,” Killer simply replies to cut the discussion short. “Where we sleeping?”
Kid scratches his cheek, lost in thought, then tosses his stick to the ground. “Follow me.”
The path they take is narrow and slippery. It's nighttime, and the few moonbeams are blocked by the leaves of the trees lining the path. Eventually, they stop in front of a wooden door that leads to a building attached to the back of the church. There are windows, barred, with closed curtains. Kid timidly taps on the door, at a rather odd pace. One of the curtains opens briefly and closes just as fast. Then it's the door's turn to open. While Killer expected to come face to face with a stern old lady or a man in a strict suit, he's met with a girl who must be barely older than him.
The most beautiful girl he's seen in his short life.
Short orange hair, a poorly cut fringe on her forehead, freckles, and plump lips. Killer feels himself blushing. His fingers tighten around his bundle.
“Open the door, Victoria, we're freezin' our asses off out here!” Kid pleads, trying to slip past the girl and the door frame. With disconcerting ease, she restrains him by placing her hand on his forehead.
“If you spill who this guy you're dragging along is, I might consider letting you in,” she murmurs, scanning Killer from head to toe. “For once, it's not some dead animal you're bringing with you.”
This time, Kid turns a tomato red, almost as red as his hair. He stomps his foot angrily against the ground, trying to push past Victoria. “It's Killer! He works down at the port, and he got me on a boat to sleep, but now he's got nowhere to go!”
Victoria tilts her head to the side, her hair gracefully following the curve of her neck. “So, you've finally managed to make yourself a friend, snotface?”
The two boys respond in unison: “He's not my friend!”
At this reply, Victoria opens the door a bit more to let them in, placing her index finger on her lips to signal them to be quiet. Then she speaks again in a whisper, “Everyone's been sent off to bed, and the old folks are locked up in their offices. You guys hungry?”
Kid nods; he had already headed for the kitchen anyway. When he went off like this for several days, he relied on the bits of bread he snatched from the table, stuffing them into his pocket. A stock he either lost during his adventures or that vanished way too quickly. The same scenario played out during these recent days with Killer. When the blond went to eat, already modestly, Kid magically vanished into thin air. Out of pride not to risk evoking pity from Killer.
The two boys are currently starving. Followed closely by Victoria, who takes care to close the kitchen door behind them, they are greeted by the smell of the food served for dinner.
“I knew you'd be sneaking in at night, you little bollocks. I was stuck with dish duty all week, you're bleedin' lucky I'm the one letting you in...”
While Killer has comfortably settled at the table, Kid has climbed onto the countertop to rummage through a cabinet. The room is lit by candles arranged along the table, and Killer notices that Victoria hasn't finished washing the dishes yet. He tries to count the number of plates already washed, the dirty ones, and those in the sink... he stops counting at fifty. But the kitchen is way too small to accommodate so many people, so he assumes there's some kind of dining hall somewhere. Kid comes back with a pack of crackers, tearing it open haphazardly before placing it on the table in front of Killer, along with two large glasses of water. Victoria takes care of heating up something, and the stomachs of the two boys instantly growl at the thought of a good hot meal after getting battered by rain and wind most of the time. A steaming broth is dished out a few minutes later, with sauce and veggies, and Killer already feels thankful for that. But this doesn't seem to fly with Kid, who's gone fishing with his spoon in his bowl.
“No meat?” he asks with a voice that's part disappointed, part frustrated. Victoria, back on dish duty, tosses over her shoulder, “Be happy there are leftovers.”
This explanation doesn't seem to make Kid reconsider, quite the opposite. “The others got meat?!” he asks, raising his voice. This time, he's genuinely surprised.
Victoria lets out a bitter little laugh. “No. Except for the adults and bootlickers, as usual.”
Kid grumbles as he starts eating, Victoria hums a tune while continuing her task, and Killer keeps eating in silence. Kid smashes pieces of crackers and lets them sink into his broth, a way of eating that Killer finds strange, but he remains equally silent. He finishes his bowl, his glass of water, and gets up to the sink to clean what he used. But Victoria didn't seem to hear him, so she stands in front of the sink. Killer instantly starts to panic. It's strange how he can be shy and socially awkward so easily. A discomfort he doesn't feel with Kid, given that the redhead is younger than him and had this ability to break the ice instantly between them.
With Victoria, it's a whole different story. She's treating Kid even more patronizing than Killer, and Kid, of all people, seems pretty tame around her. Which is saying something, considering the fiery nature of this little red whirlwind; it takes a whole lot for him to feel like giving people respect.
Not knowing what to say, Killer clears his throat, and Victoria startles. Oops, did he scare her? She turns to him, her hair once again gracefully following her movement. Her green eyes shine like two emerald marbles thanks to the candlelight reflecting against them. Fortunately for Killer, he doesn't have to think of a clever line because Victoria is as talkative as Kid.
“Jesus, you gave me a fierce fright. You've been like a ghost for a while now! Say something, I don't know... Don't just stand there looking all weird, you weirdo,” she says before glancing at the dishes Killer is holding awkwardly. “What? Is that a bleedin' trophy? Just leave it there; I'll clean it up...”
Killer then comes up with something to say naturally because he didn't come here to be catered to like this. Getting a meal is already a gift that almost makes him uneasy.
“I'll wash it.”
Victoria vigorously dries her hands and whips the towel against Killer's chest. He catches it as she wheels around, griping, “Alright, grand, so go ahead and scrub everything else.”
Then she walks away.
“Girls are so feckin' weird,” mocks Kid with crumbs all around his little face.
Mrgudi (Guest) on Chapter 1 Sun 25 Feb 2024 04:23PM UTC
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Wob (Guest) on Chapter 2 Sat 02 Dec 2023 05:58AM UTC
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faraoula on Chapter 2 Sat 02 Dec 2023 05:00PM UTC
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Jericho_andromeda_winters on Chapter 2 Fri 01 Nov 2024 10:34PM UTC
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