Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Fit has spent a lot of time with death.

Sometimes as an observer, sometimes as an active participant. It leaves little time to really consider the other side of that coin.

Life.

It sounds crazy, and it probably is. Following the remnants of death everywhere it goes, documenting its destruction, its mercy, cruelty, and sometimes peace. Fit has seen it all. 

It’s something he thinks about now. Walking through a quiet forest with nothing but his belongings on his back, and humming a tune he doesn’t remember the name of. For the first time, danger isn’t breathing down his neck, adrenaline pumping, and heart beating. 

Fit is calm. 

He also thinks about what his friend said a couple of days before Fit left for the road.

“I spent a lot of time chasing after her. Death.” Phil had said with a melancholy look on his face. “I thought if I chased her far enough, I would find peace of mind somewhere along the road.”

“But I realized I was just…getting myself more and more lost.” Phil had watched his kids play in the garden from the kitchen window, eyes soft in a way Fit doesn’t understand.

“Even though I can’t see her like this, living here. I still carry it all with me, and honestly, I understand more things than I ever thought I would.”

“I’m truly happy, Fit.”

Happy, huh. 

Years ago, Phil would have laughed at anyone trying to make such a claim. They both would have. They have seen too much shit to know there isn’t any true, long-term respite in this world. At least not for people like them. 

But something changed. Phil left that life, suddenly. And when Fit found him again, years later along the line, he was completely different. 

Fit saw it firsthand during his stay in Phil’s new home. A home with a partner. Children. A look of peace on his longtime friend’s face. He could barely recognize him. At first, it made him angry. Angry that the friend he was able to laugh with about the cruelty of this world, no longer found the world all that terrible. With time, that anger morphed into an entirely different emotion. 

Envy. 

Fit, the infamous mercenary of the wastes, with more recognition than he knows what to do with and an impressive amount of scars and tales to show for it, felt envy for a way of life he had always scoffed at. So, instead of finding another mission to sink his teeth into, another thought had wormed its way into his thick skull.

If a restless immortal being like Phil could settle, find a way to relax into a boring, uneventful life. Then why couldn’t a weathered, retired mercenary try to do the same? 

There’s shuffling, poking uncomfortably into his side, a ball of fur shifting in the bag over Fit’s hip. Sorry. A weathered, tired mercenary and his bizarre excuse of a cat. Fit sighs. At least this little nuisance provided some excitement in this new, dull, quiet lifestyle. 

This might end up being a total fucking disaster. Fit might quit the first week, pick up his axe, and throw himself back right into the wastes. Back into the smoking embers of death. But, still. Fit wants to see something different. A regular boringass life. Even if it proves impossible for someone like him. 

He promised Phil, promised himself, to at least try. 

What he doesn’t know at this point, that even if you aim to make an uneventful and peaceful existence for yourself. Life always comes with curveballs.

A lot of curveballs.

“The roof is..” The salesman flails his hand about as he searches for the right word. “Intact. Functional. Yeah.” He clears his throat, puts his hands on his hips. “This place is basically two properties in one. The building on the left is a house for living quarters, while to your right is a perfect space for a business. The previous owner used it as a tavern.”

“A tavern?” Fit raises an eyebrow. “Out here, in the forest?”

“Yes, well, as you know, there is a town about half a day away from here. There are a lot of smaller communities scattered around these parts, and the walk to town is considered kinda far. A lot of travellers and merchants also frequently pass through this area. So this place was quite lucrative at its peak.” 

“What happened?”

“The owner passed away of old age sadly. But I was told this place was very loved, and um- well utilized.” 

Fit pokes at the wood around a nearby windowsill. It just about comes apart if you so much as blow on it. He would need to change all of this out before winter, or he might as well be living in a shed. The short, chubby man standing a pace behind him produces a handkerchief from his pocket and feverishly dabs at his sweaty forehead. 

“You said there was a cellar too?” Fit inquiries.

“Ah! Yes, indeed. The previous owner used it to store beverages and dry foods.” The seller tugs at his collar. “There might be some minor leakage in particularly heavy rainfall. But that’s all the owner had written down about it, really.”

Fit hums in acknowledgement, scratching at his chin as he considers his options. Or really his only option. He had visited a few different places already. Despite having an okay sum to his name, he doesn’t want anything too eye-catching or extravagant.

He wants something reasonable, something to keep him busy. A project, but not a complete heap of garbage.

This seems to hit the sweetspot, with a proper living space for himself as well as a space where he could open up a new, surprisingly legal, source of income. It’s now or never. He’s gotten this far, might as well take the final plunge.

“I’ll take it.”

Fit sure has bought himself a project and a half. 

There is a lot of things that sweaty seller happily glossed over. For starters, there is a lot he needs to fix with both the house and the business building. The bearing walls are intact, but paint and wallpapers alike are crumbling, some drooping off the sides. A lot of the furniture needs replacing, as Fit wouldn’t dare to sit on half of them in case they would explode into a million tiny splinters. 

It’s a lot and the retired mercenary finds himself way busier than he had anticipated. Even plotting for the most complicated mission, did not require this much hard, physical work. Fighting is easy, for the most part. Fighting a building that wants nothing more than to cave in and die at his every move, is proving to be a bigger task than he could have imagined.

During the first few days, Fit takes repeated trips to the nearby town, loading carriages with supplies, everything from lumber to ordering food and alcohol to be delivered. Everything that he thought a tavern might need. To be honest, he had been to what must be hundreds of taverns in his travels, but he never really considered what you needed to successfully run one. 

Fit thought he could brute strength through most of the work. But the skill of cleaving an axe through a rampaging enemy does not translate to accurately measuring boards for the windows. Luckily, Fit has the funds to support the errors he makes, or else he would have already gone out of business.

At least, he got plenty of failed projects to burn in case he runs out of firewood…in the forest. You never know. Anyways, Fit is now very well prepared.

He manages to fix the most glaring of issues. The weather stays on his side, being sunny and bright while he works. 

One the evening of the third day in his new place of residence, Fit steps back to inspect his latest handiwork now placed by the mainroad. 

‘Fit’s Tavern’ the wooden sign spelled out in crudely made letters in red paint with an arrow pointing up the winding stairs.

If you were illiterate you would guess it pointed in the direction of the executioner or butcher. Both of which might, admittedly, be a little worrying to find in the middle of the woods, even if the work may suit Fit’s general appearance better.

Bald. Littered in scars. Strong, except for a scrappy metal left arm. Not exactly the picture-perfect image of a humble owner of a tavern. 

In any case, he has not been a carpenter in any past lives, that’s for fucking certain. The signpost is at least somewhat straight if you tilt your head at a certain angle.

Madagio stares at him from the top of the stone stairs winding up to the tavern. He lies like royalty, one paw over the other, his white fur pristine as ever. His differently colored eyes in blue and yellow are dripping with judgment, to no one’s surprise.

“Don’t give me that look. I don’t see you growing thumbs and helping.” Fit huffs, hands on his hips. Animal and man engage in a staredown that Fit never wins, and today is no different as he soon gives up with an exasperated sigh. 

“Well, it does its job. People can read. I hope.” 

On second thought, Fit isn’t so sure people actually can read.

Surely, that is the only reason Fit’s tavern has been equal to a quiet, desolate wasteland for a week. It started all right. It seems this place had a bit of a reputation before it got shut down, and old, curious regulars started to show up on his doorstep. 

Most arrive with bright eyes, but then wither at the sight of Fit like they accidentally stepped into a criminal’s dark layer. They read him in an instant. Sees that he’s out of place. They wouldn’t be wrong and Fit couldn’t find it in him to try and convince them otherwise. 

He usually ended up on the defensive, which typically involved snide remarks or humor with a sharp edge. Instantly confirming their suspicions of him and they hightailed it out of there before Fit could even blink. 

Taverns are built on trust. Between traveller and owner. But Fit isn’t sure he even really trusts himself. 

He spills into the chair like a sack of potatoes.

He can’t remember the last time he felt this drained. Every single thing about this new life felt alien and new. He had to think about every decision, every move, and course of action. Routine. Oh god, how he missed having a routine. He’s jolted out of wallowing in self-pity by someone clearing their throat. 

“Ehm. Sorry. This is a tavern, right?” 

Fit’s eyes fly open and he straightens his posture. A hooded man is sitting across the bar from him. Fit had not even noticed him coming in. 

“Yeah! Yeah, sure is. Pardon me, I didn’t see you come in. What can I get you?” 

“Oh, please, anything you have. I’ll take anything edible.” 

Fit can’t hide his amusement, and barks a laugh. “Sure. You want something to drink with something edible?”

“What do you have?”

“Beer.” 

The man is presumably looking at him from underneath his hood, expecting him to continue listing beverages. When he doesn’t, he laughs as well.

“Hm. I think I’ll have a beer then.”

“Coming right up.”

It’s late and any other visitors had long since left.

Like all the others, people just stopped by to see what happened with this place, then left when they weren’t exactly swept off their feet. Fit couldn’t blame them, but still found it annoying after the fifth guy who showed up, said hello, and left. 

At least whoever this man was, he stayed long enough to appreciate Fit’s attempt at cooking. He looks happy enough, wolfing down the food with great enthusiasm. However, he still keeps the hood up, making it difficult to get a good look at his face. 

“So,” The man pauses to swallow the food he was chewing. “You just opened?” He speaks with a bit of an accent, which if Fit were to guess might be a portuguese one. It sounds similar to other people he has encountered in the past. 

“Yes, yes, I did.”

“Is it your first time owning a tavern?”

“That obvious?” Fit sighs like a deflated balloon.

The man shrugs, shooting Fit a cheeky smile. 

“The food is really good. Muito bom. Very nice.” 

“But nothing else is?” 

“The company is okay so far.” 

Fit gasps in mock offence. 

“Just okay? Well fuck, I guess I’ll take it.”

The man snickers, propping up his chin on his knuckle.

“It could get even better with an introduction, you know?” He says. Smooth. This guy definitely is a bit of a charmer, has his way with words. Normally, Fit wouldn’t be too interested, but he still found himself playing along in the conversation.

“Says the gentleman with his hood up.” Fit points out.

“Oh! Sorry. Bad habit.” The guy apologizes, slips his fingers beneath the fabric and pulls it down over his shoulders. Warning bells go out in Fit’s head instantly. 

Wait. He knows this man.

Or rather, their paths has definitely crossed before. There is no way they haven’t. Their eyes met, and judging by raised brows and mouth wide open, the not so much stranger seems to have a similar realization. 

Pac. 

He had that same messy dark hair like he remembered, reaching to the end of his jaw. His eyes were deep brown and revealed more than Fit would expect. It’s like he could track every emotion as it came and left with the man’s thoughts. It’s…different from what he remembers. He used to always be so guarded. Only showing what he wants people to see. Fit found himself having to make a conscious effort to look away.

Suddenly, Pac shoots out of his chair like a charged spring.

“Fit!?” He shrieks. Fit laughs, scratching the back of his neck. 

“That’s me. It’s been a long time, friend.” Fit intentionally speaks slower, eyes narrowing. Despite it being a long time ago, he had not forgotten the details of their first meeting. Judging by the sheepish look on the dark-haired man’s face, he had not forgotten either. 

“Oh- um-! Wow you have-” Pac’s gaze darts across Fit’s face, then his clothes, lingering a second on his metal prosthetic, before making eye contact again. “You have changed so much!” 

Fit snorts, smoothing a hand over his head. 

“You think bald suits me?” 

“It does.” Pac says in a quick exhale. He shakes his head with a wide grin, lowering himself to sit back down in his chair. 

“What happened with you? When I met you, you were a very busy man.” He asks, eyes brimming with curiosity. Fit scoffs.

“Well,” He clears his throat. “After I got robbed by a very devious stranger,” He shoots Pac a pointed look, while the man in question pretends to gasp and look around the room for the culprit. “I did the usual. More missions. More fighting. You know the drill.” Fit rolls his shoulders. “And now I’m here.”

Pac visibly pouts at the lack of details, and Fit can’t help but smile, amused.

“What about you? Since you’re here, I’m assuming you didn’t go back to prison.” 

“Nope! I’m too fast, they could never catch me.” Pac shrugs with a quick grin.

“Right, yeah, that tracks. Same goes for the rest of your gang? Last time I saw you, you guys seemed pretty glued to the hip.” 

There’s a beat of tense silence. Pac’s smile falters for a split second before he shrugs. 

“They’re fine.” He says. “I haven’t seen them for some time.”

“You sure? Last time you said that got me in a bit of a shitty situation. You aren’t gonna rob me on my first week of honest work, are you, Pac?” Fit leans closer, watching Pac’s face rapidly shift between expressions, cheeks looking a little red as he flaps his hands around defensively. 

“No, no, no! I wouldn’t! Um! Well maybe I would at some point- but not now. Not this Pac!”

“Okay then. I believe you, friend. I believe you.” Fit grins, his words dripping with irony to continue making the man nervous.

The fireplace hisses softly, as Pac shifts his attention back to the food, and Fit starts pointlessly polishing empty silverware. He finally realized why workers liked to do that. It would be painfully awkward to just stand around, so keeping your hands occupied, pretending to be busy at least somewhat ease the feeling. 

Pac keeps glancing at him and Fit gets the nagging suspicion there is something he wants to ask. However, Fit doesn’t feel generous enough to offer him an opportunity, and instead waits for him to gather enough courage on his own.

Fit isn’t a man to hold grudges anymore, but he can be a little petty when he feels like it.

“You aren’t going to ask me to leave?” Pac asks finally. Fit looks up in mild surprise and their eyes meet again. Again, it’s like reading an open book. Anxiety clings to Pac’s shoulders that’s crawling upwards, all while his eyes look a little distant. Guilty. It’s so easy to see it all, but no matter how Fit looks for it, it doesn’t come across as play-pretend.

Seems Pac isn’t really the same man he met all those years ago. To what extent he doesn’t know yet, but he’s willing to accept that change can happen. It would be hypocritical for him to judge when he’s trying to go through a pretty drastic change of lifestyle himself.

“You’re right. I’m not.” Fit replies finally, resuming polishing the same spoon he had been for the last five minutes. “I mean I myself was quite the polar opposite of a saint. I remember saying some- uh, words to you as we parted ways.” He winces at the memory. “You sure you don’t feel uncomfortable?”

Pac laughs in an exhale, like letting out a breath he was holding, and relaxes back into his chair.

“Believe it or not, I’ve been called much worse.” 

“That’s…kinda concerning, Pac.” Fit says but still returns his smile. 

“It’s all good, Fit. I did rob you.” 

“Well. Since then I’ve learnt to be more, hm, courteous when someone fairly outsmarts me.” 

Pac props up his chin on his knuckles, in an almost smug way. “That almost makes me feel cool, you know? How many people have bested the great mercenary of the wastes?”

Fit smiles. Somehow he doesn’t hate the title as much when it comes out of Pac’s mouth.

“That list is very short.” 

"I believe you.”

The two of them look at each other for a moment. It lingers until Fit remembers that he’s in the present time and is here as a working professional. He clears his throat and does an awkward, jittery motion towards Pac’s almost-empty mug. 

“Do you want a- uh- refill?”

“Yes, please, obrigado.” 

“If it’s okay, I might be back in a day or so. I set up camp close by.” Pac says as he makes himself ready to go.

He already probably stayed longer than he thought, considering the sun is already past the horizon line.

Did they really talk for that long? It’s the first time this whole week that time doesn’t move at a snail’s pace. For that he’s grateful to this unexpected encounter. He shoots Pac an easy smile. 

“Sure. It’s gonna get real dark soon, you sure you’re not gonna get lost?”

“It’s fine! I basically have nightvision, you know? I’m very good at navigating.”

“Alright.” Fit doesn’t doubt that. Pac is more than capable from what he can recall. If he says he’s fine he probably is. “See you later, then?” 

The man has made his way to the door, his hand pushing down the handle when he turns his head to Fit again. 

“Later. I promise. Bye, Fit!” Pac grins, waving as he leaves, Fit finding himself awkwardly waving back like a fool. The door shuts and the tavern turns silent. He stands there, suddenly unsure about what to do with himself.

He should probably be more worried about the glaring lack of guests. But it’s his first week after all, he can’t get too greedy.

At least, he got himself the first guest who actually said he would come back.

After that evening, Fit continued on as usual. 

He works on the various projects around the tavern, hammering crooked nails into too short or too long boards, arguing with the delivery wagon that, yes, he did order more than just barrels upon barrels of beers. To let off steam from that whole mess, he tried some of the more cooking recipes with, let’s say, varying results. To top it all off, he also kept misplacing things. A concerning amount of things. But for now, Fit chalks it all up to being related to stress. 

All this nonsense under Madagio’s unimpressed stares, who isn’t much in terms of company. Just a quiet, judging presence. But to be honest, consider how underwhelming the amount of visitors that pass through the tavern is, any company was at least something. 

He’s starting to think that tiny, miniscule excuse of a salesman, exaggerated the prosperity of this previous tavern. Barely a soul passes through these parts. Fit had considered this might be the case and convinced himself that he’s fine alone. Which is true to an extent. 

He realizes that being alone was much easier when he was going somewhere. When just staying in the same place, well, it’s a different kind of alone. One he hasn’t quite gotten used to just yet. 

As the day pass, he thinks about that promise from last night. Pac isn’t exactly on his list of favorite people of all time, not after what transpired between them. Fit rubs a particular spot on his side with a furrowed brow. But. Still. The man seems to come with a good conversation. Which is surprising. He thought any reminder from that time of his life would be hard. Like having to constantly stare his past self in the eye, when he’s trying his best to look anywhere else. 

But Pac doesn’t make him think about the past. Or at least not in a bad way. Yet. He will obviously have to have more conversations to find out what he thinks. Hopefully the man is more true to his word nowadays.

“Oh, well, look who it is.” Fit flings the rag that he was using to clean the counter over his shoulder, as he looks to the guest who had just arrived. Pac had already his hood down as he came in this time. He’s grinning, a little out of breath.

“Hi, Fit!” He chirps, almost panting. 

“Did you run here or something?” Fit ask curiously.

“Yup!” Pac responds instantly before tensing up, coughing and quickly shaking his head. “I mean, no! Not really. I walked here at a normal pace.” 

“Right. Glad you made it.”

“Really?”  

“Of course,” Fit keeps himself cool and collected even with Pac’s hopeful stare. “You’re the first person to come back after all. My first regular.”

Pac laughs at that, taking off his mantle and hanging it over his arm. 

“I’ve only been here two times?”

“It’s more than anyone else has.” 

Pac frowns, flailing out his hands in exasperation, expressive as ever. 

“O que? Why? The food and the beer are great! It’s a nice place.” 

“Beats me. People walk two steps inside the door and leave.” Fit scratches his chin. “Although I’m most likely the problem. Don’t really look the part of a well-meaning tavern owner.”

“Don’t say this! I don’t think that’s it.” Surprisingly, it did not come across like Pac is just being nice or sarcastic. It catches Fit’s attention and he tilts his head. 

“What do you think then?” 

Pac steps into the room, eyes flicking about the space. He appears to take the question seriously, brows furrowed in thought. 

“This place just needs some life, you know?” 

Fit deadpans at him.

“Am I supposed to know what that means?”

“You know-!” Pac gestures with his hands in grand, circular motions, as if that will somehow make it clearer. “Some color! Items you like. Things that make people feel calm and happy when they come here.”

Fit scratches his head as he follows Pac’s gaze. The place is kinda sparse. Aside from the oak tables and chairs, the bar, a dusty fireplace and a few windows, this place doesn’t have much going for it. 

He had been so focused on the actual running of the tavern that he had not really stopped to consider if the space itself needed more care. Probably because he had not a single clue on how to go about a project like that. His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Pac starts talking again.

“But that’s just suggestions! I think it works well as it is.”

“Yeah. No, but you’re right. To be honest I haven’t stopped to think about that. Feels like I’ve just been running around here like a headless chicken this whole time.”

The two stand and look about the room for a moment before Fit turns to Pac again.

“Shit! Right, I forgot. You must be hungry, right?”

“Oh, sim! Yes.” 

“Is it okay if I ask you some things?” Pac asks, arms crossed over the bar table. His cheeks are flushed from downing several beers. Fit is in a similar state, since with the lack of other guests to entertain, he decided to follow suit.

“You already did.” Fit says with a cheeky smile, then makes a waving motion with his hand. “But sure, go ahead. Ask away.” 

Pac smiles back, leaning closer, eyes attentive and curious. 

“Why a tavern?”

Fit looks at him, considering how genuine he wants to be with his response. To be honest, Pac has given him no reason to put his walls up. Maybe, it would be okay to give an actual answer.

“I always thought I'd fight until the end out on the field, you know?" He looks at the fireplace, watching the flames as he speaks. "So I kept going out there. Over and over. Mission after mission. Because I knew that's where my purpose was." He rubs his mechanical hand with his fleshy one. 

"But you see, I kept coming back. Surviving against all odds. With more stories and scars. I thought eventually I'd have that one mission. The one that would finally feel satisfying, make everything I've been through worth it. Like it all lead something more." Fit turns to Pac, trying to tell if the man thinks he’s being ridiculous. But Pac is still listening intently, a smile urging Fit to continue.

"But then I'd always come back kinda…numb, I guess. And it only got worse with every new mission. And eventually, I just got sick of it." He sighs, then allows his expression to soften. "I realized that there might be other things in life that I haven’t tried yet that could be considered an adventure." 

"Like opening a tavern in the middle of the woods?" Pac says to lighten the mood and Fit laughs, grateful for the change.

"Oh, yeah. Fuck. If I knew how hard it was I probably wouldn't have done it." He snorted, rolling his shoulders as if they ached. "You should try baking, cleaning and woodworking when all you've done is wield swords and axes. It'll keep ya humble."

“I’m impressed by you, Fit. I could never do this.” There’s something like longing in Pac’s eyes. Like he wants something he can’t have. 

"I've never really made a real living, you know?" Pac admits, glancing at him hesitantly. "I just don't know how to be- how do you say this- a proper person." He sighs. "I've always lived by making other people's lives more difficult. Cheating and stealing my way through everything.”

There's a hint of defeat showing through Pac’s cheery demeanor. His gaze drifts to the side and he starts picking at his nails. 

“Pac?” Fit tries to catch Pac’s attention again. He blinks rapidly, a stilted smile back on his face in a matter of seconds.

“Yes?” 

“What brings you to a tavern in the woods?”

“I-” Pac visibly swallows. He had been the one asking questions, but seems to wilter as soon the attention is brought back to him. “Sorry. It’s just, I don’t really have an interesting reason.”

“Aw. Come on. I’m sure you do.” 

Pac stops picking at his nails and instead firmly crosses his hands together over the table. Fit finds the anxious display curious. It’s like this man isn’t used to talk about himself at all. Weird how that’s something that has not changed.

“I have never left my group, my friends before.” He begins.

“Like, never? Really?” Fit says to encourage Pac to keep going, to which he does. 

“Not for this long. I’ve been on the road for months now. By myself. I wanted to see what would happen. I thought I would change a lot, become stronger, you know?” The man grows silent, looking a little unsure. When he doesn’t continue, Fit speaks again. 

“I get it. Wandering without really having a goal or something specific you’re looking for can be-”

“Lonely.” Pac finishes the sentence with a sigh. 

Fit startles, but then nods slowly in agreement. 

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want to go back yet though. It feels like...like I haven’t found what I came out here for or changed the way I thought. It’s just hard when I don’t know what that means. Oh, meus deus. I sound like a crazy person, I’m sorry, Fit.”

“No, you don’t sound crazy. I kinda get it.” It’s a similar aimless search that brought Fit out here as well. He doesn’t know what it is he’s looking for, but he doesn’t really want to throw in the towel until he finds it. Fit thinks back on the advice Phil offered him.

“Sometimes, you gotta just walk in another direction for a while, even if you don’t know where it will take you. That’s what a friend of mine told me anyway. He tells a lot of bullshit though. We might just be fucking lost, Pac.” 

Pac laughs, a high-pitch one that reaches his eyes, making them shine.

“At least we are lost together right now.”

“Guess so.”

They settle into a silence that drags for a minute without being uncomfortable. Eventually, Fit pours Pac another beer. 

“See? You did have an interesting reason.” He hums. Pac raises his head in surprise. His cheeks look redder than before, but that’s probably nothing more than the alcohol settling in.

“I’ll see you again in a few days, Fit! Good luck with your tavern.

“Thanks. I’ll need it. Be careful out there.” 

“I will.” 

Chapter Text

Okay, so, Fit knows he is getting older.

And with age, sometimes, things get a little funny. You forget things more often, perhaps mess up things you didn’t used to, that sort of thing. But it’s not supposed to happen this fast. Many say you’re in your true prime in your mid-thirties.

Fit has been through more than most, sure, but this is getting crazy.

Stuff is going missing. At first it was just food items. One of the freshly baked bread disappeared from the window where it was cooling. Bottles of milk going from a dozen to only ten. He chalked it up to him being stressed out from everything. But soon, tools started going missing underneath his nose. His screwdriver, hammer, even screws and nails.

The final straw is when he notices the dusty, old vase that used to stand in the hallway had mysteriously disappeared. After looking around, he finds the remains tucked into the bottom of a drawer.

Some funny business was taking place, and Fit doesn’t know if it’s gnomes, or fairies, his regular with a suspiciously fitting backstory, or his own brain playing tricks on him.

Either way, he’s getting to the bottom of this. Today .

This morning as he puts away the new batch of baked goods into several bags of cloth, he intentionally leaves a scoop of flour at the bottom and a hole for it to pass through. If someone was stealing from him, it would hopefully leave a trail that he could follow.

It’s a crude plan, but it’s all Fit got.

He leaves the bags to take care of other chores around the house, only returning to the tavern’s kitchen when the sun is halfway down the sky. He inspects the bags, and as he suspected, one of them is now missing.

“Oh, yeah. Here we go.” Fit grins when he sees that his plan has worked. A subtle trail of white is leading through the kitchen, up the counter, and out the half-open window, and Fit wastes no time going out the front door to see where it will lead.

The trail does a loop around the big oak tree in the back, circles around a couple bushes, down the path to the mainroad, then back up again, around his wheelbarrow, then back towards the road again, okay now Fit is starting to feel silly. His instincts are itching, telling him he is being watched.

Or laughed at, is probably more accurate.

Fit’s mood sours as he is being led on this pointless endeavour, that his pride still forces him to see through.

 ”Alright! You got me. Whoever the fuck you are.” He calls out, hands raised into the air. There is no response, shocker. And he isn’t even going to look at Madagio this time, he already knows what he is getting. That creature is praying on his downfall.

Eventually, he ends up back at the tavern. He had somehow missed the fork in the flour-road that leads up the stairs to the dusty loft. Muttering under his breath, he stomps up the creaking steps, finally finding the end to his suffering.

The trails end in a big circle, with a piece of paper in the middle. What in the creepy summoning circle? Well, might as well add ’might be haunted’ as a main feature of his tavern. Who knows? Maybe Pac, his only customer, would find that exciting.

Fit looks around as he walks up to the paper and picks it up, squinting as he opens it and reads it out loud to himself and the ghouls.

”Do not-” He emphasizes the ’not’, as it’s underlined to the point that paper is tearing, ”-try to find me. You won’t be able to.” He scratches his head. 

The writing is childish, not that he is one to judge, but it gets him thinking this thief probably isn’t of the dangerous kind. He can afford to play along.

”Is that a challenge?” Fit asks out loud as a grin grows on his face.

”Fine! Let’s play hide-and-seek.”

It’s a little harder than he anticipated.

He turns the whole tavern upside down, and the house just to be sure. Anything to find just a trace from this sneaky little thief lurking about. But there is just nothing. Not even a hair out of place.

Fit doesn’t even have the element of surprise anymore. Whoever this is, they are probably being extra careful not to make as much as a peep. To be honest, he prefers to face his enemy head on, face to face. Once he loses that first advantage, it turns into a fight of brains which admittedly isn’t Fit’s forte.

Whenever this happens, Fit has to switch gears to what is a talent of his.

Waiting. Taking it slow. Hoping that his opponent's patience is worse than his own. So, he stops actively seeking and lets the whole thing go. Instead he watches and awaits a mistake. It always happens in due time.

Luckily for Fit, this still rings true.

Only a day later, he hears a curious noise while he is out in the garden. It’s not something that would catch his attention usually. Just a vague, out of place thud coming from somewhere closeby. But Fit’s senses are heightened, still seeking. The detail makes him drop any current trail of thought, zeroing in on the direction of the noise.

He walks around, getting none the wiser until he remembers something.

Wait. Isn’t there a cellar here? It had completely slipped his mind. Probably because it is barely visible whatsoever.

When Fit starts actively looking for it, he notices a strange opening in the overgrown bushes along the right side of the house. They have completely swallowed and concealed the entrance to the cellar, making it difficult to spot if you didn’t know it was there.

He pushes branches aside, a few striking him in the face as he forces himself through.

“There is no fucking way?” He mumbles under his breath. Could someone really have been living in his damn cellar? Without him noticing this whole time? How in the world is it possible that he hasn’t seen anyone enter and exit? All these questions swirl in his mind as he makes his way down the stairs.

The passage is dark and gloomy, either side having thick walls made of stone. Along the sides are remnants of candle holders, rusty and practically coming apart. The steps are covered in dust, and the only sign of someone walking here are a few leaves in pieces on the ground. Fit’s frown deepens as he continues forward.

What kind of person would be desperate enough to hide away in a place like this?

He readies himself for any scenario as he grabs the door handle and pushes it down. The wooden door creaks and stutters open, as Fit makes his way inside.

“Hello? Anyone in here? I come in peace, no need to freak out.” He announces his arrival, seeing it pointless to catch the culprit of guard at this point. There is most likely only one exit to a place like this.

The only source of light in the space are two slim windows near the roof where light is seeping through the branches outside. In the middle of the room, there is a candle on top of a table that has smoke quickly dissipating from it. The table itself is completely filled with stuff. Trinkets, tools and papers. Clearly someone’s workspace.

Fit doesn’t have time to register anything else, as a voice cuts through the silence.

“Leave! This is my place. I got here first!”

He looks up and sees a figure up on top of a shelf. He’s holding - uh- oh- that’s where his hammer went, pointed at Fit as some kind of makeshift weapon. He can tell it’s a child, from the voice and the thin, shaky arms, but he can’t get a good look at him because of a box in the way.

“Woah, woah. Take it easy, kid. I’m not gonna hurt you.” Fit raises his hands and tries to keep his naturally booming voice low and calm.

“Just get out and I won’t throw this at you!”

“Shit- Yeah, don’t do that!” Fit can feel his head hurting at just the thought of it. He has a thick skull, but there is definitely a limit to that somewhere.

“Hey, listen. It’s okay. I just want to talk to you. Can we do that?”

“No!”

“ Okayy ..” Fit is not sure how to go about a feral child living in his basement. Definitely out of his area of expertise. He must have been here before he bought the place. Fit stands there, thinking, for a little too long according to the kid, since he starts raising the hammer again.

“Alright, I’m gonna leave for now, but I’ll be back in a bit. I still really want to talk with you.” Fit tells him, but gets no response. He sighs then walks backwards out the door and exits. He stands outside for a while, just trying to wrap his head around the situation. 

Owning a tavern had more twists and turns than he could have possibly imagined.

Fit eventually decides that a peace offering could be good, and heads back inside the tavern’s kitchen. He flicks through his recipe book, settling on cookies that will only take him half an hour to make.

The way to anyone’s heart is food, right? It seemed to work fine for Phil’s household anyways. And that time living with them is the extent of his experience with kids. Chayanne told him his baking had gotten decent. It’s at least a step-up from terrible from the first few tries.

Surely, this child will just eat a snack, calm down, and they can have a chat about the ‘living in the cellar’ situation.

Update. The cookies are a total flop.

He tries again, to pull the cellar door back open only to find it’s now locked tight. This is when he realizes that the child has not only been taking food and miscellaneous items, but also the only copy of the key to the cellar.

Great. Just fantastic. Guess his only way now is to either kick down the door, or find a way to coax him out on his own. He definitely prefers the second option. He doesn’t want to freak the kid out more than necessary.

“Okay, I get the message. We won’t be able to avoid each other forever though, since we’re neighbors. I guess.” Fit tries to talk through the door, but it’s more like talking to a wall. “I’ll leave the plate outside. Don’t let them sit out here for too long.”

Fit takes a second to look at the position of the sun. It’s time to open for business, he had already spent a lot of time on this. As much as he isn’t thrilled about leaving a child to stay in a musty cellar, he would have to drop this for now. Hopefully, the kid will realize Fit isn’t out to get him, and come out on his own.

The day passes, with the retired mercenary occasionally pausing to gaze expectantly towards the cellar. Like any minute the kid would fly up out of there and be ready to talk. But no such thing happens and Fit gets more restless with every hour. He isn’t sure why. The stealing doesn’t really bother him, it was never enough to be nothing but a nuisance. He isn’t the type to overly worry about others either.

But he might have softened recently. Enough so that the idea of a lonely child living in a cold, dark cellar, is now enough to tug at his conscience. Still, Fit is, was, known for solving problems with force and or violence. Whatever is happening here required another skillset, if he wanted to continue this whole ‘be a nicer person’ schtick.

As much as he hates to admit it, Phil’s advice could have been useful right about now.

While Fit stands around in the garden thinking, Madagio sits nearby perfectly balanced on top of a fencepole, staring at him with a bored expression. Fit notices and sighs, hands on his hips.

“Yes. Hello, your highness.” He mutters. The cat jumps off the pole and rubs against Fit’s legs a few times back and forth. “You’re only nice when you want something from me.”

Madagio does nothing to prove him otherwise. She just prances towards the house, tail held high to receive her royal feast. Fit follows with nothing more than a roll of his eyes.

The next morning, Fit stands outside the cellar door once more, giving a quick knock.

“Kid? You awake?”

There is a long pause, and Fit thinks he might be out of luck for a response today. But then, he hears the noise of boots dragging up towards the other side of the door.

“Stop calling me kid.” Says the same grumpy, young voice from yesterday.

“Good morning to you too, buddy.” Fit tries a bit of humor, despite being unable to judge the child’s reaction. He believes he hears a sigh from inside.

“Okay, well, help me out here. My name is Fit, and you?”

There is a pause. Long enough for Fit to start thinking he left.

“Ramón.”

“Alright then, Ramón,” Fit smiles a little at the slight victory. He’s got a name. That’s something. “I brought you breakfast. You don’t have to go through the effort to, uh, get it yourself.”

“I’ll have it later.”

Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. At least Ramón seems more willing to talk than yesterday. He’s considering that an improvement.

After Fit’s interaction with his new, unexpected neighbor, he decides to do something he actually feels confident in. To take his mind off his current problems. A hobby people probably wouldn’t guess by looking at him.

Gardening.

In the midst of destruction, nature always found a way to grow. Force itself through the most horrible of conditions. Fit couldn’t help to harbor some sort of admiration for resilience like that. At times where he was miles away from the closest civilization that isn’t plagued with war, he found the small signs of life comforting. A reminder that there is always a new beginning waiting underneath all that ash and rubber.

Before he gets started, he decides to take a walk around the tavern to take in the garden’s current state. Fit follows the path of scattered stones, winding all around the tavern.

The tavern itself has a pretty unremarkable appearance. Its exterior walls are built in yellow-tinted bricks, with dark oak beams framing the sides, and sometimes going on an angle. The wood is rotting, except for the worst parts that Fit has tried to replace and fix.

Everything looks worn. Abandoned. Like the building itself is hanging its head and sulking. Fit wonders if it really wasn’t longer ago that the owner passed. The seller said it had only been a few years, but this building looks like it has not seen care in at least twenty.

There are signs of flowers having once inhabited every window sill in scrappy-looking pots. But now there are only crumbled leaves in the soil to prove it was ever there at all.

The garden surrounding the tavern is in a similar state. There must have been some sort of bug-infestation or similar. Because it’s like everything crumpled up and died in a rush.

It doesn’t strike Fit as an act of neglect. Maybe the previous owner wanted to remove every trace of themself. Dig up every root they ever put down. Sand it all down to a clean slate for the next to make their mark.

It inevitably reminds Fit of the wastes.

He can understand that mentality. Every camp, every place he ever stayed in, he always took meticulous care to not leave even a crumb for anyone to track him with. Still, he never found it in him to destroy nature. In places he stayed for longer periods of time, he sometimes kept a hidden spot for rare plants and flora that he found during his travels.

Fit always let that remain. To hopefully grow and spread for someone else to find.

When Fit finishes his walk, there is a shiver travelling up his spine. Someone is watching him again. He looks over his shoulder in a way that’s not obvious, and spots a figure hovering by the top of the stairs to the cellar.

The figure is hunched over, the top of his head peeking out like an easily frightened animal. 

Fit makes sure to act like he hasn’t noticed, continuing his work. Acknowledging the kid now would probably do nothing but scare him off.

While picking out seeds for the garden in the town, there were a plethora of options. It’s unusual for Fit, as his tiny spots for interesting flowers and plants were always small and temporary. He only planted things that he picked up along the way during his missions through the wastes.

This time, there’s a real possibility this garden will actually last. A crazy concept, truly.

During his last visit to the town, he had decided to swing by a shop. A flower shop. He’s never set foot in a store like that before, but sometime’s gotta be the first, right?

He walks in, a bell at the door making his presence known. A young florist behind the counter turns with a big smile, only to tense up with almost comically large eyes, bulging from her head. Fit would find it funny, if he wasn’t now met with this reaction on a daily basis.

“Well, what you got?” He asks with an impatient sigh. The florist blinks rapidly before straightening up like she’s about to join the army.

“Um! Hello, sir. Um, well, we have- uh- a wide assortment to choose from. What kind of plants are you looking for?”

Fit shrugs.

“Give me a list of them all and I guess I’ll pick.”

The florist looks completely baffled.

“A-All of the seeds? But, sir, there’s over a hundred different kinds.”

“What?” Fit frowns, shaking his head in disbelief. “That can’t be right.” Apparently, it is, and Fit is quickly humbled by the humongous book he’s brought with pages upon pages of completely ridiculous names for plants. Seriously, who came up with these?

“You really get people ordering bitterweed and fucking Cuckoo flowers?”

The florist’s eyes somehow get wider still, before she snorts, hand shooting up to her mouth. She looks briefly mortified by her lack of selfcontrol, but Fit shoots her an amused half-smile that seems to ease her nerves.

“You’d be surprised.” She replies with a smile.

“ Huh .”

He eventually settles for whatever the florist recommended, ending up with a lot of flowers and plants he had never even heard of before. A mix of bushes, flowers and a few useful plants to keep indoors like tomatoes.

To start, Fit picked the least overgrown part of the garden along the front of the tavern. He rips out the old, dead vegetation that has spread everywhere, and replaces the soil with a fresh kind from the store. It takes the better part of the day, while the planting itself is relatively straightforward.

He only hesitates when he reaches for one of the final pouches with seeds. The rosebush. Huh. He doesn’t remember buying this. Maybe the florist included it by accident. It’s not a big deal though. In fact it’s stupid that he even remembers anything specific related to this flower.

Suddenly, there is a thud at his side, and Fit jolts and looks in the direction of the noise on instinct. To his surprise, he spots Ramón now sitting close by, a couple of meters away underneath a tree. This is the first time he gets a proper look at the kid.

He doesn’t look older than ten. 

Curly, unruly brown locks of hair just above his shoulders. His face is covered in freckles, wide eyes looking dark in the shade. He is wearing worn brown overalls with a white, wrinkly long-armed shirt. The source of the noise seems to be Madagio, who has come to investigate this new stranger. He looks to have jumped off his regular spot on the fence post, now prancing over towards the kid.

Fit opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn’t get the chance. Upon being caught, Ramón throws himself up off the ground and dashes off towards the cellar, and the cellardoor slams in the distance. Madagio stops and stands there, unafraid, but tail whipping in displeasure.

“See what you did just there? You’re a horrifying creature, Madagio. So much so you’re even scaring the children. Bad kitty.” Fit comments, only for his own amusement.

However, sometimes he does wonder if Madagio actually can understand him. Her eyes narrow and she throws his chin up, before parading off in the direction she came from like nothing ever happened.

Fit scoffs, then turns back to finish his work. He isn’t sure what to do about the kid. But his gut is telling him that he shouldn’t force it. At least, Ramón is safe inside and he doesn’t seem like the kind of kid that will decide to spontaneously burn his house down either. So Fit can afford to be patient with this.

Still, he wonders why the child is there in the first place. Although, runaways and orphans aren’t exactly uncommon right after prolonged times of war. It’s not impossible that Ramón found this place when it was abandoned and hid away in the cellar.

Question is, once he’s able to speak properly with Ramón, what’s next? Fit should probably look into what kind of orphanage there is in these parts, or if someone else in town has room for a child.

He finishes planting the roses, stands and dusts off his hands. It’s not his finest work, but it will do. Now future guests are at least met with some effort to make the tavern feel more inviting or whatever Pac was talking about.

It’s midnight.

Fit flinches awake, splayed out in one of the old, green armchairs downstairs. A quarter-empty mug of coffee still in a loose hold in his right hand. He could not have dozed off for more than an hour.

There is harsh banging on the windows, and the pale curtains twitch with the draft. Fit pulls himself up, still sluggish, wondering where the fuck a storm came from. He is about to ignore it, to let nature do its thing. Not much he can do to control the weather.

Then, his blood runs cold.

He throws himself out of the armchair. The mug tips as Fit goes to hastily place it on the ground, and the liquid spills out all over the floor. He cusses to himself, but continues, not even bothering with a jacket.

Fit forces the door open even as the angry winds try to keep him inside. He marches through the garden all the way around the back. The storm is like some hell-spawn sent by the gods. No warning. No signs. Or Fit had been too up in his own head to notice them.

"Ramón!?" He calls. Worry claws at his chest at the crazy amount of water already flooding down the stairs to the cellar. It's like walking through a small creak.

There is no response from inside. He tugs at the doorhandle. Fuck ! It's still locked. He knew he shouldn't have let Ramón stay down here, much less have a key. It was fucking stupid. He's just a child.

"Ramón? It's me, Fit. Open the door, kid. I don't have another key." His voice sounds scratchy and odd to his own ears. 

There is still no response.

"If you don't open up, I'll break this door down, okay? You can't stay out here like this." Despite the words sounding like a threat, Fit took care to will his voice into something calm and well-meaning.

Nothing but silence.

"Fuck it." Fit hisses under his breath and takes a step back. "Stay away from the door!" He yells to make sure Ramón hears. He waits a second, then places a heavy kick in its center. It gives in immediately. The old wood creaks and wines with the violence and slams into the walls to the left.

Fit steps into the dark and is immediately heavy with dread.

It's already a complete mess.

It couldn't have been pouring for longer than twenty minutes, but the rainfall had already made its way down, trickling through holes in the walls and the space underneath the door. But the worst part is that one of the windows had caved and is now blown wide open, sending wind and rain into the space.

Papers whirl past Fit's face, presumably some of Ramón's work. A lantern in the roof had not given up yet, thank god, swaying lightly, still covering the cellar in a mellow light.

In the midst of chaos is Ramón. He is balancing on top a stack of precarious-looking boxes, his hands reaching for the broken window to try and close it back up.

When Fit comes in, Ramón flings his head to the side, and for a second Fit thinks he is about to fall with the motion, and his hands shoot out prepared to catch him. But Ramón manages to regain his balance. His face switches from panicky wide eyes, to serious, tough facade in seconds.

”What are you doing here again? I said I don’t need your help!” He says, stubbornly reaching for the window again.

Fit is taken aback and it takes him a second to respond.

”You don’t need my- that’s crazy! It’s like a hurricane came through here!”

”It’s fine !”

”This a lot of things, but fine isn’t one of them!”

Fit walks up to the stack of boxes and reaches up to help him close the window. With combined efforts, they push it back in place and Ramón flicks the hatch back on. The glass is still very much shattered, but at least the whole thing isn’t wide open.

Ramón jumps down, rushes past Fit and tries to frantically gather up his things. The water reaches him up to his ankle, and despite putting up a tough act, Fit can tell he is shivering.

”Okay, game’s over. We gotta get you inside right now. ”

”No. No way. This is my spot. I don’t care what you want, I'm not giving up.”

”Look ,” Fit takes a deep breath. ”There’s a difference between giving up and prioritizing staying alive.” The storm further solidifies his point by wind furiously rattling the remainder of the broken window,  and hinting that the one next to it will soon follow in its footsteps.

Ramón’s movement slows, until he is standing still. His brows are deeply furrowed, like he is finally considering what Fit is trying to tell him.

”It’s dangerous. This storm could easily last all night. Besides, it might even start to-”

Like on cue, the room lits up in pale white. It flickers, then abruptly fades. Seconds later, there is a deep growling emanating from outside. Ramón’s flinch is harsh, and he immediately covers his ears. His face remains stoic, but his hands betray him, trembling, almost shaking.

Fit’s reaction is not far from it. He winces and his shoulders shoot upwards. Flashes of unwanted memories, instincts to run, flee, pierces through his mind. Something that will never go away. Not even with time.

They look at each other, both of their breathing quick and uneven.

Fit forces himself to calm down. He is the adult here. Now is not the time to dwell on his own issues. He clenches his fist and relaxes it again a few times before he speaks.

”Please, come inside. At least just for the storm to calm down.”

Ramón still looks hesitant, arms now folded over a tattered notebook pressed to his chest.

”I don’t want to.”

”I know you don’t, bud.”

In the end, something like defeat washes over Ramón’s face, head hanging low as he walks over to Fit. Fit keeps a loose arm around Ramón’s shoulders, just to keep him steady as they venture out to brave the storm. The child lets him, and they head outside. 

They make their way through the storm that seems to have almost kicked it up a notch out of spite. The loud noises in the distance suggests that more lightning was on its way. 

He kicks the front door to his house open with his foot, then side-steps inside, then closes it behind them.

The noise from the storm quiets into a low murmur. Fit guides Ramón to the couch, who is shivering, despite probably doing his best to hide it. He looks around and grabs the closest blanket. He shakes it for a second, then drapes it around Ramón's shoulders, making sure it covers him properly.

"Try to warm up and I'll be right back, okay?" He tells him with a quick smile. The kid stares at him, wide-eyed, a mix of confusion and something else, before finally nodding. When he is sure the kid seems fine enough, he then heads back out into the truly delightful weather.

He shudders as the cold digs into him once more. As much as Fit is used to horrific weather conditions, he still wouldn't consider himself a fan.

Not everything in the cellar was salvageable. But Fit tries to gather up as much as he can. Papers, books, and various miscellaneous items that looked like they belonged to Ramón. Most could probably be dried with a warm fire and some patience. 

"Minor leaking in the cellar, my ass. This place is an aquarium until I find time to fix it." Fit grumbles as he picks up a few what looked like idea sketches from the wet floor. "Maybe I can charge extra to see this shitshow. People could laugh over my idiocy." He gathers everything he can in a box that wasn't yet soaked.

After making sure nothing too important-looking was left behind, he closes the cellardoor and goes back into the house.

When he walks inside, he spots Ramón peeking at him over the back of the couch. Fit sighs in relief to be out of the storm, as he makes his way inside and puts the box on the floor.

"I tried to get as much of your stuff as possible. I'm sorry if I missed something."

"You-" The boy swallows, as if gathering courage. "You didn't need to do that."

"Yeah, no, sorry, you probably don't like me touching your things. I promise I didn't look too closely."

Ramón shakes his head and starts fiddling with his hands. He mumbles something, and Fit can see his mouth moving, but not enough to tell what he said.

"What was that, Ramón?" He asks, but Ramón just shakes his head again.

"Nothing." He says a little louder, still avoiding looking him in the eyes. Fit decides to shrug it off, and instead move onto the next order of business. He grabs a couple dry logs and throws them into the fireplace. After a minute or so, he has a fire started, and the living room fills back with warmth. Ramón has sunken down to the floor and inches closer to the fireplace, hands half-way out the blanket to warm up.

Fit starts to pick items out of the box, making a point of not looking at it for too long, in case the kid is worried about it. He hangs it all up to dry over on available chairs from the dinner table. The things that were the most wet, he put up closer to fire.

"Fit?"

The voice jolts him out of his focus, and he turns to see Ramón looking up at him.

"Yeah?"

"Aren't you cold?"

The question confuses Fit until he remembers that his own clothes are soaking after the trips out into the harsh weather. He feels the soaking material of his shirt with a snort.

"Eh. It's fine. Still summer after all. It’s like a midnight dip in the sea."

Ramón frowns at that to which Fit just smiles.

"How about you? Do you need to borrow a change of clothes?"

The child shakes his head.

"I'll dry here." He says and scoots a little closer to the fireplace.

"Okay then."

The rain doesn’t stop.

It keeps at it, even into the next day. Fit’s mind wanders to his one and only regular, who’s out there somewhere in this weather. He wonders if his shelter is enough to not get him drenched. It’s a stupid thought, of course it is. The man has been on the road for months now, he has a working shelter.

Probably.

Okay, maybe he is just a little rattled from last night, and besides he is not the only one. Ramón has not said another word to him the whole morning. He just sits there on the floor with his back to the couch; glued to the fireplace as if determined to wait there until the rain stops.

But Fit knows weather to be a stubborn son of a bitch. If nature wants it to be pissing it down, there is no stopping it. This could last for days if they are unlucky. And they could not be stuck in a house together in dead silence that whole time.

Fit shifts from his spot by the windowsill and moves closer to the couch. He looks at the papers and books that are drying by the fire and lets out a soft hum.

“They’re drying better than I thought. I’m sure most of it will still be readable just fine.” He notes and turns his head to Ramón. Ramón glances at him, then quickly looks away.

“It’s okay even if they’re not.” He mutters. Fit’s brows raises.

“Yeah? How so?”

Ramón shrugs.

“They’re in my brain still.”

“Oh. You must have pretty a good memory then.”

“Kinda.”

Kid seems pretty smart. Not much of a surprise. From what he could gather from brief glances at the notes, there is a whole lot of technical stuff that goes right over Fit’s head. He has no clue what any of it is about. Still, smart does not dismiss the fact that Ramón’s a child. A child who had to deal with being alone in a dark cellar during a storm. Fit doesn’t want to think about what would have happened if he had not moved in when he did.

“Are you- uh,” Fit scratches his chin. “Feeling okay?”

Ramón’s shoulders tenses up, then relaxes just as quickly.

“Fine.”

Fit doesn’t buy it, but doesn’t let it show. Instead he sighs as he leans up against the wall, arms crossed loosely across his chest.

“Gonna be honest, I kinda dislike storms myself. Makes me feel uneasy.”

The kid looks at him, and there is some level of interest in his eyes now.

“Why? It’s just water and loud sounds. It’s stupid to be scared.” He says with a sour expression on his face. The thunder murmurs outside, and Fit doesn’t miss the way the kid hugs his knees tighter.

“Any reasonable person should have respect for mother nature. She’s a tough enemy to fight.”

The child seems to consider this as his eyes shift to the floor, brows furrowed in thought. His mouth opens and closes, but he doesn’t say anything else. The wind picks up outside, rattling the frail windowpains.

“Hey, so, where do you come from, Ramón?”

Fit can see in real time how Ramón’s walls shoot right back up, shoulders tense.

“I just want to know if anyone’s missing you is all.” He explains.

Ramón shakes his head with vigor. Right. Fit kinda figured already. But he isn’t made of stone, of course he still feels bad for the kid.

“I want to go back to the cellar. I was here before you and I was fine.” Ramón says, sounding frustrated. “I’ll stop stealing. I’ll even give back all your things.”

“That’s not really what concerns me-”

Suddenly, Ramón stands from his spot by the fire. His hands are balled up at his sides.

“I promise you will never see me again. It was stupid of me to leave yesterday anyways.”

“I don’t think that’s-”

“You won’t even know I’m here.” Ramón rubs at his own arms and his sleeves roll up enough to briefly reveal his hands.

“Wait, hold up. Are you hurt?” Fit steps towards him and Ramón looks like he’s about to cower, but stops himself, instead raising his chin up defensively. “Can I see?”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Still. You can’t leave wounds untreated.”

Ramón glances at him and hugs his arms as his expression switches between worry and stubbornness.

“I can survive it.”

“I’m sure you can. But I’d like to avoid you having to if possible,” Fit crouches down in front of the child and reaches out his hand. “Please?” He gives Ramón an encouraging smile, who seems surprised at the sight of it.

Fit and Ramón look at each other, carrying out a silent conversation. It’s strange. Something about this all feels oddly familiar to him. A peak into his own childhood. 

He hasn’t thought about that  in a very long time.

Eventually, Fit’s patience pays off and Ramón relents. His hands tremble as they unravel and come to rest in Fit’s, palms up. Fit has to will himself not to react.

Ramón’s fingers are covered in bruises, small cuts in dirty, flaky bandages. Parts of the skin are forming callouses, probably from using tools without caution for an extended amount of time. The result of a child who hasn’t been taught how to do that kind of work safely.

“Does it still hurt?” Ramón asks suddenly. The older is confused by his own question being stolen, until he notices Ramón has shifted to poke at Fit’s prosthetic hand. Fit relaxes with an amused huff.

“No.” 

Ramón frowns at him, unconvinced, and Fit chuckles.

“Maybe sometimes.”

It’s like a switch is flipped in Ramón, and suddenly his young eyes are brimming with intrigue.

He shifts to fiddle with Fit’s metal hand, injuries and storm forgotten. Fit realizes how the kid might have ended up this way now, as Ramón inspects the prosthetic like nothing else in the world mattered.

He only pauses briefly, to glance up at Fit, as if to assess if this was okay. Fit only shrugs, and lets the kid inspect away.

“Can you move your fingers?”

Fit responds by moving them one by one. In the silent room, you can hear the slight creaking noise it makes with every movement. It’s considerably slower compared to his other hand. But Fit can’t complain, in his line of work it was enough that he could hold onto a weapon.

Although, he had been running into a few problems with this new lifestyle of his, now having to rely much more on his other hand to do trickier tasks.

Ramón looks underwhelmed with the performance. He looks closer and flips Fit’s hand around, testing how the joints worked. His face is scrunched up with concentration, and Fit can’t help but find the expression endearing.

“How is it wired?”

“I know it’s connected to my nerves.”

“Well, duh .” Ramón rolls his eyes and Fit snorts.

“Sorry. I had someone do it for me. I have no clue about the fine details of this stuff. I just asked for something that works.”

“I can tell. It sucks.” He says flat out, and Fit barks a laugh. The noise appears to startle Ramón, and he retreats down into his collar, ears red as if he just did something wrong.

“Hah, sorry, it’s just, you’re right. It does kinda suck.” Fit grins at Ramón who seems to relax slightly. “But it’s enough to get me by.”

Ramón looks sceptical but still stops his inspection. Fit rises to a stand with a soft sigh.

“Alright, kid, now let’s get you all patched up.”

“Here you go.” Fit offers Ramón a pair of dark-brown gloves, ones with holes on top for the fingers. “They are probably a little big for you, but we could fix that. They’ll protect your hands while they heal.”

Ramón takes them and feels them in his newly bandaged hands. He then slips them on, and while the fabric is indeed a bit loose around his palm and fingers, it’s still good enough to not be too clunky. The kid seems to think so too, as he flexes his fingers in them with a pleased hum.

“Hey, also,” Fit says, as Ramón is still fiddling with his new gloves. “I think you should stay here for now, if that’s alright with you.”

The child turns to him with wide, confused eyes.

“Here?”

“I got a spare room to put your things,” Fit sees Ramón inhale to speak, and hurries up before he can. “ And before you say anything, the cellar is flooded right now, it’s not safe for you to stay there.”

“Are you sure?” Ramón asks hesitantly, rubbing at his arm.

“I’m sure.”

“Maybe just for a little while then. I’ll stay.” 

Chapter Text

It is strange having another person around.

Just when Fit had started to accept the silence and solitude of his forest tavern, then all of the sudden it’s being shared with someone else. Ramón is a quiet one. He doesn’t talk much except for when he’s struck with inspiration like that moment last night.

That day, he set up shop in the room opposite Fit's, dragging in his boxes with things that Fit saved for him. Once the boxes were empty, he used them as a makeshift desk to spread out all his notes, sketches and what not.

There is already a bed left behind by the previous owner, but other than that, the decent-sized room is empty with plain beige wallpaper and a small window opposite the door. 

It’s not much. A little dull, but it works. Ramón isn’t Fit’s kid, and it’s not supposed to be a permanent solution. 

Madagio, who has been conveniently absent for all of the drama of last night, reappears in the living room that morning. Pauses only to stretch her hind legs with a big yawn. Like she just woke up from a long, peaceful nap.

One would think that the presence of a new person in the house would catch a cat's curiosity, however, Madagio acts aloof and keeps her distance as if the child had a disease she wishes not to catch. 

It’s like she harbors a grudge against Ramón since their first encounter. She just sits close by, sulking, not letting him get closer than a couple meters away. Not that the kid seems to mind really, he just gives the cat a few curious looks here and there, then moves on like it’s no big deal. 

With all the shenanigans of last night, once the rain had settled enough, a new problem promptly presents itself. As Fit leaves the house to go and check on how the tavern is holding up, he is met with this wonderful surprise.

“Oh, what the actual fuck-” Fit drags his hand slowly down his face.

The roof had become the worlds most impractical watering can. So much so it is difficult to tell where the leaking starts and where it ends, leaving the floor completely soaked.

Fit continues to curse like a sailor as he starts running about like a headless chicken with fire on its ass, scrambling to find every bucket, bowl, or whatever could possibly hold water. 

Eventually, Ramón must have noticed him running about outside and sticks his head inside the door to the tavern.

“Oh. Wow. Do you need help, Fit?” He asks. There is some amusement hinting in the kid’s voice, a hundred percent having to do with Fit’s current state. He is carrying as many bucket-like items as humanly possible, arms full up to his chin.

“Ramón, thank god. We need anything waterproof right now. Can you run up to the house and see what you can find?” 

Fifteen minutes later and a tavern now loud with dripping noises, Fit and Ramón sits on a chair each, watching their work. Fit dried the floors with rags the best he could, and could only pray there isn’t any real damage hiding somewhere. 

But god knows how long the tavern has been left this way. It might just be too late. 

“God, I’m such a fool.” Fit groans, lowering his face into his hands. “I sure have bought myself a mess and a half.” 

Ramón reaches over a bucket, trying to determine when the drop will fall and moves his hand out the way just at the right second.

“At least the house doesn’t leak. You don’t get water on your head when you sleep.”

“You’re not wrong, kid, you’re not wrong.” 

“Oh, here it is.” 

The wooden ladder is covered with moss, vines crawling all over it. As Fit yanks it away from its spot leaned up against the wall it makes an eerie, high-pitch whine. Every step look like it’s molding from the inside, loose nails sticking out of it. He’s definitely going to have to buy a new one. He wouldn’t even trust Ramón on this thing without it falling apart.

Fit sighs. Add it to the eternal list of things going down shit creak around here. He scratches his head, at a loss on what to do next, when he hears something. Like someone talking. Fit dusts off his hands on his pants, then walks along the side of the tavern, up the path towards the house. 

Ramón is still sitting on the wooden steps to the porch where he left him. He has his notebook hugged against his chest, as he’s looking up to someone. 

“Hey!” Fit calls out, confused on whoever could be here at this hour. The tavern isn’t opening for at least a good few hours. However, it all explains itself when the person turns around.

“Oh, hey, Pac,” Fit says, relaxing with a smile. “Wow, you’re here early today.” 

Pac looks cheerful as ever and he raises his hand in a wave. Today, his dark-blue cape is bundled up on top of his backpack. He wears a black tunic, tucked into brown pants, neatly bundled up where his prosthetic starts. Simple black boots covers his feet. They are muddy, presumably from the wet track through the woods.

His outfit still more put together than Fit's ever is, who wears what he always does. Like yesterday, he has been rocking a now kinda dirty green long-sleeved shirt, rolled up half-way his arms, with brown baggy pants, and a belt. And, of course, his robust brown boots, that has kept him standing through more missions than he can count.

“Oi, Fit!” Pac grins. “Sorry, I knew you probably had not opened yet, so I went up to your house instead.” He turns to Ramón, who shrinks down further behind his notebook. “I was just saying hi to Ramón, am I saying it right?”

Ramón nods shyly in response and Pac smiles. Although, the man justifiably looks a little confused.

“I didn’t know you had a child, Fit?”

“Uh! Well, I don’t actually. It’s a bit of a funny story.” Fit scratches behind his neck. Ramón is now fully submerged behind the notebook, only a mop of hair showing. There is the noise of furious scribbling against paper. 

“I see. Maybe we can talk over a walk? If you want to.” 

“Sure.”

“It flooded!?” Pac shrieks, face scrunched up in concern. “Was he hurt?”

“No, he was mostly fine. Just a little shaken up maybe.” Fit hurries to calm the other down, who settles slightly with the assurance. “Ramón has been staying there for a while, I think. That’s why things kept disappearing from under my nose.”

“Oh, wow,“ Pac still looks a little worried. “It must have been scary, living in a cellar all by himself like that. He looks so young.”

“Yeah. To be honest, I feel bad. That storm came out of fucking nowhere, or I would’ve gotten him out of there way sooner.” 

“It’s okay. It happens. He was fine, right?”

“Still.” Fit frowns, annoyed with himself. A big part of being a mercenary is always being aware of your circumstances, weather included. He doesn’t understand how a storm could just creep up on him like that. Anyhow, guess the only thing he can do now is to move on. 

They continue down the path, before slowing to a stop by the old oak in the back. It’s a pretty impressive-looking tree, covering a decent portion of the back garden. It must be at least a hundred years old. Pac stops to admire it for a second, running his palm along the bark. 

His eyes wander, then spots something. He boosts himself off the tree, hurrying forward with a pep in his step.

“Wait, did you- no way!” Pac’s claps his hands together, as he reaches his goal. Fit’s now very sad attempt at gardening. The flowers hang their heads, having faced their first real challenge in life. Some are tilted all the way to the side but luckily have at least held onto the soil.

“They didn’t exactly get the best start.”

Pac crouches, a hand cupping a few yellow flowers.

“They will be okay with some sunshine, I’m sure!” He says with confidence.

“Sure hope so. Would be a shame if they died after the first day.”

“You have been doing this for a long time. I’m sure you will save them.”

“I guess I have cared for plants under worse conditions.”

“Exactly! You got this.” Pac smile at him with his whole face in a way that makes Fit’s cheeks feel warm. Pac continue to take in the garden when his gaze finally land on the roses.

The silence that settles between them takes a different shape. It’s not comfortable and easy like usual.

 It’s tense. Unsure. Fit doesn’t know what he expected. Maybe that Pac had forgotten. Or he doesn’t care. But Pac’s expression, he isn’t sure what to make of it, but it’s anything but indifferent.

“Roses.” Pac notes in an exhale.

“Yeah.”

“I remember they gave me hope during that time. In that place.”

"It didn't last very long.”

“Maybe not. But still."

They both look away. It’s not a topic Fit wants to dwell on. It’s all in the past anyway. He prefers their enjoyable, light-hearted conversations. They don’t need to hash up old memories. What Fit cares about is whatever is going on in the present.

It takes a second for them to bounce back, but eventually Fit attempts to break the silence with an easy question.

“Hey, I forgot to ask,” Fit looks at the man beside him. “Why are you here so early today, Pac?”

Pac appears to appreciate the change in topic as he smiles briefly.

“To be honest, Fit, I was worried.”

“Worried?”

“About, um,” Pac glances at him. “Your new tavern. Because of the storm.”

“Oh. Well. It’s still standing. Barely.” Fit says with a sigh. “The roof is leaking so the entire main area is filled with buckets now in case it starts raining again.”

“That doesn’t sound very good.”

“Eh, what can you do. I’m just gonna have to fix it somehow.”

Pac hums in acknowledgement, looking up at the tavern’s roof.

“At least now you got Ramón to help you out around here.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“He seemed to be drawing a lot it looks like. Maybe he’s really good at it.”

“I think he’s making idea sketches. Like for machinery, technical stuff, I guess. I dunno, he gets shy whenever I ask.”

Pac stops in his tracks with a gasp and a wide grin.

“Really? That’s great! He must be really smart then.”

“Yeah, seems like it. But I don’t really know anything about it. You enjoy stuff like that too, right?”

Pac nods eagerly.

“Wow, you remembered! Maybe I should talk with Ramón about this.”

“I think he’d like that. Ramón’s gonna be sticking around for a little while after all. I haven’t had time to look into options yet.”

Pac fully turns to Fit again, brows furrowed slightly.

“Options?” He repeats.

“Like, places where the kid could go next. He hasn’t talked much about where he comes from, but I’m assuming he ran away from an orphanage or something like that.”

Pac’s eyes widen, then shifts into a frown in rapid succession. Fit can see the gears turning in his head. Emotions swirling past his eyes. It’s almost hypnotizing in a way.

“Maybe you should wait, you know?”

“Why? Isn’t it better to get Ramón settled somewhere sooner than later?”

“Well- yeah, maybe, but,” Pac rubs his cheek as he thinks, eyes darting to the side. “You could also just let him stay for a while. He seems like a good kid, you know? And it could be good for him. Fresh air, calm place, some nice company.”

“It’s not about that, it’s just- I don’t want him to get attached.” Fit looks away, trying to avoid Pac’s stare. It’s like he sees right through him. 

“Is that really a bad thing? You could be good for him.”

“I’m not cut out for that sort of responsibility.”

“You told me you weren’t cut out for owning a tavern, but here you are trying anyways.” 

Fit’s defenses get lodged in his throat. He tries to string a sentence together, anything to refute Pac’s point, but damn it he is good. Even if he’s wrong. He has to be. Pac’s face gets more triumphant by the second, until Fit finally gets his voice back.

“Ramón’s a child, not a business. It’s completely different.”

“I think you can do more than you know, Fit.” Pac leans closer, just enough to be considered in Fit’s personal bubble. His voice is genuine. Not a trace of mocking or teasing. Fit’s face is hot all of the sudden, and he has to look away before he embarrasses himself. Shit, he needs to get it together.

“I’m gonna disappoint.” He mutters.

“I don’t know, Fit,” Pac replies, tone full of hope. “Just think about this. Give it some more time.”

“A week.”

“Maybe three?”

“Two.”

“Okay, I give up, four weeks to think.” 

“Alrig- wait, what? No I said-”

Pac claps his hands. “Great! A month is good time.” He grins, and places his hands on his hips, like the proud victor of this conversation.

Despite Fit being frustrated from going along with something he knows can end badly, his treacherous brain starts spouting other nonsense. 

Confident and pleased is a look Pac wears well. Really well. Glowing almost. But that might also be the fact that they are outside. Not inside in a gloomy, badly lit tavern. Either way, Pac is looking…bright. And it’s not unpleasant to look at. Still Fit can only enjoy it for so long until he realizes he is staring and has to look literally anywhere else. 

“Fit, can I ask you something else?”

“Um, yeah, shoot.”

“Maybe for just this month I could also-” Apparently Pac’s confidence is something very fragile. Too easily it’s replaced with tense shoulders, eyes darting everywhere. “Uh, just, I could stay and help you out around here? If you need- want help?”

Fit’s brows shoot up and blinks in quick succession. His brain short circuits.

“You want to help me…with Ramón?”

Pac gets visibly red in the face, and his hands shoot up, waving them around defensively.

“I-I-That’s not what I meant- I mean yes I can help with Ramón, of course, but I was thinking like a worker for the tavern.” He clears his throat and takes a breath before speaking again.

“I can be pretty handy, you know? I could help fix the roofs, bring new customers, anything, really.”

“Oh. An employee, huh.” 

“Yes!”

Fit scratches his head as he takes a moment to consider the offer. Help around here could be useful. Pac is definitely more generally approachable than Fit, maybe he could give some advice on how to get business rolling. Besides, he already got Ramón here, another person would probably be fine.

Also, he can’t help but feel drawn to Pac. Perhaps a lingering product of old times. New mistakes about to be made. But still, he had promised himself to take chances as they come, however crazy they might seem. Hey, if it doesn’t work out, he at least only really signed himself up for a month.

“You know what? That doesn’t sound too shabby.” Fit finally decides, and Pac goes right back to glowing like the power of a thousand suns. 

“Really? You think so?”

“Welcome onboard Fit’s tavern, Pac.” Fit grins and reaches out a hand which Pac grabs and shakes with great enthusiasm.

Fit might not have thought through the whole Pac living here part of the deal. 

It is obvious that, yeah, Pac could not keep staying in a makeshift shelter in the woods while coming into work every morning. Fit would feel bad, and it just doesn’t sound like a good time. 

Still, he doesn’t know what to do with himself while Pac steps around his house, a curious gaze dancing across everything he owns. Very quickly he feels bare. It’s not like he has a lot of sentimental or private stuff. But this whole thing is domestic enough to weird him out. 

Pac on the other hand doesn’t appear bothered at all. He is humming to himself as he walks around, and if flowers and sunshine could magically materialize around him it probably would. 

Fit clears his throat awkwardly.

“Guess we’re, uh, roommates now.”

“Yeah! Wow, I have missed living with others, you know?” 

“I bet. Uh, so, you can have the room at the end of the corridor. I haven’t cleaned it yet, so it might be a little-”

“I got it, Fit! Don’t worry about me. You’re already nice enough to let me stay here. I’m very grateful to you.” Pac smiles and Fit scratches his chin with one finger, looking off to the side. 

“It’s not a big deal. You offered to help me out after all.”

Ramón has followed them inside at a distance. He hovers behind Fit, watching the adults as they talk.

“Fit?”

Fit turns around and quips an eyebrow at Ramón to show he is listening.

“Are you running an inn as well?” He asks.

Fit chuckles then shakes his head. 

“No, I’m not. But my good friend Pac here offered to help out with the tavern, so he’s also staying for a little while. Is that alright with you?”

Ramón glances at Pac, then shrugs. 

“Yeah.”

“Okay then.”

Pac tilts his head to one side to get a better look at Ramón behind Fit and gives a kind smile. To Fit’s surprise, he feels Ramón drift closer, almost bumping into him. It contrasts everything else about the child that only display stoic and unbothered. 

“I’m looking forward to staying with you two. It’ll be fun!” Pac says cheerily.

“Working with a cranky inn owner on his crumbling tavern is considered fun for you?” 

“Yes? Ramón and I will do all the fun things and you can do the boring.” Pac teases and Fit notices Ramón making an amused exhale at his side.

“Sounds lovely.” Fit huffs sarcastically, but lacking any real heat.

Pac puts his hands on his hips with a pleased sigh. It seems that there is now an official household gathering, as the final resident also decides to show herself. She tip-taps down the stairs from the attic, eyes locked on the newest addition. Pac notices the cat with a delighted gasp, smiling from ear to ear.

“Caraca! Who’s this little guy?” He crouches down by Madagio and reaches out a hand. She stays where she is, but allows Pac to scoot closer.

“Oh, that’s his royal highness. The boss around here. Doesn’t say much but carries enough judgment for us all.” Fit says, arms crossed over his chest. He raises an eyebrow to the cat, who’s tail starts whipping around.

Pac snorts at the introduction. 

“What’s his or her name?” 

“Her. It’s Madagio.” 

Pac smiles when Madagio lets him run his fingers along her pristine, white fur. Fit is surprised when the cat actually lets herself be touched and starts actively leaning into Pac’s hands. 

“Fofo. Such beautiful eyes.” Pac hums. “I’m gonna be honest, Fit. I didn’t guess you were a cat person.”

Fit shrugs and scratches his head.

“I’m really not. But, you know, Madagio and I have some- uh- history so to speak. We have a mutual agreement.”

“You can just tell me you are soft for animals, I will understand.” Pac teases, smiling up at Fit.

“No, but what about my fragile pride, Pac? Let me have this.” Fit plays along with a dramatic sigh. 

“Okay, okay. Much history. Mutual agreement. I see. Wow, I’m very impressed you stayed with each other after everything.” Pac snickers. For some reason, Madagio seems to really take to Pac. She even lets herself be picked up, snuggling into the affection she is given.

However eyes remain glued to Fit, as if trying to tell him that ‘I accept this one. you better keep this human around or I’ll riot’. That, or, ‘what are you looking at? go get me food servant’. Either is probable.

Fit only scoffs with a roll of his eyes. 

“She’s being unusually nice.” He comments. Madagio’s eyes squint back at him. 

“Maybe she can sense I’m a cat person. I love cats.” Pac scratches Madagio underneath her chin and she melts into it.

“Sure. Maybe.” 

Ramón watches Pac and Madagio from a distance but seems unconvinced to approach himself, choosing to stay glued to Fit's side.

The day passes them by being relatively uneventful.

Fit does his usual chores around the tavern, even though not a soul shows up that day either. It doesn’t really matter though, Fit’s mind is pre-ocupied with thinking about the new people staying with him.

How has he gone from commiting to a solitairy life in the forest to suddenly having two more or less strangers living under his roof for a month? He isn’t sure what he expected to happen, but it was not this. It’s almost a little too crazy.

Ramón keeps to himself most of the time, even with Fit’s attempts to make conversation. But the kid probably just needs some time to warm up.

“Are you all set for bed? I could make you something if you’re still hungry.” He offers as Ramón is about to head into his room. The child glances at him, then shakes his head.

“I’m okay.” He says. There are dark spots underneath his eyes, as if he has not been sleeping well, even now with a proper bed. Fit notices but isn’t sure how to approach the topic.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, good night then, Ramón.”

“Good night.” Ramón mutters and disappear into his room. Fit stands around for a while afterwards. Something doesn’t feel right with the kid’s behavior. He’s so young, but he acts like a withdrawn adult, almost. It just doesn’t feel right.

Fit doesn’t know what to do. Hopefully a chance to talk about it with Ramón will presents itself. Or he will just start opening up on his own. Either way, it’s only been a day. He will give it a little time and space.

Later that evening, Pac returns from having gathered his things from his previous camp.

It’s less than Fit would have expected. His belongings doesn't consist of more than another larger backpack, and a separate bag in cloth hanging off his shoulder. He leaves his backpack in his new room but brings the bag into the living room and dining area, where Fit is sitting by the table, sipping at a cup of coffee. 

“Took a little longer than I expected. Did you run into trouble on the road?”

“Trouble? No! It was all good.” Pac’s grin is almost a little too wide. Like a kid having brought home something suspicious from school. He leaves the bag on the floor in front of Fit with a self-satisfied sigh.

Fit takes a sip out off his mug, glancing between the pleased man and the bag on the floor.

“What’s that?”

“It’s for you- I mean, for the tavern.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“You can open it.” Pac sits opposite Fit on a chair the wrong way around, arms over the back of it. Fit gives Pac a bit of a puzzled look, but does as he is told and puts his coffee to the side and opens the bag. As he does, his eyes widen.

It is like opening an item vendor’s entire shop.

The bag is filled to the brim with various things, everything from candleholders, cutlery, some new beer mugs and even what looked like paintings. At the bottom lies new tools, a far-cry from the old, rusty ones Fit has been using. It just keeps going, and the new tavern owner finds himself at a loss for words.

“Sorry, is it too much? I didn’t know what you needed, so I got a little bit of everything. To help lighten up the place.”

“Pac, you shouldn’t have.” Fit says, voice unable to hide his surprise. He doesn’t really dare to ask where Pac got all of this from. He can only hope it didn't leave a too big of a crimescene.

“It’s no big deal. I feel like I owe you,” Pac’s gaze briefly shifts into something a little more serious. “You know, for being so nice to me despite everything.”

The two share a look that drags on before Fit just gives a loop-sided smile.

“Thanks, Pac. I appreciate this.” He says, and retreats from the bag for now. “You’ll have to help me find a proper place to put all of this though.” The tension between them dissipates, and Pac chuckles.

“I got it, boss.” He says in a playful deep voice and makes a mock salute. It catches Fit off guard, and makes him bark a laugh.

“Alright, well, you want some coffee? My first ever employee.”

“No thanks, it’s a little late for coffee for me.” Pac declines and then sighs with a smile. “But wow, first regular, first employee, I’m making a mark in the history books.”

Fit snickers as he pours himself another full mug from the kettle on the stove.

“You sure are a lot of firsts.” He mutters underneath his breath. The room goes silent, and Fit’s brain catches up to the implications of his own words, and his treacherous body decides to react by pouring coffee all over his arm. His metal arm, luckily, but startles him all the same. 

“Fit! Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, fuck. Sorry I dunno what happened.“

Pac holds a hand to his mouth with poorly concealed laughter. It’s enough to make blood rush to Fit’s ears as he stands there like a flustered fool.

“Here let me help you.” Pac is about to stand from his chair, but Fit just flails his hands about in protest.

“No, no, I got it.” He insists and grabs the nearest piece of cloth to dry himself off. “It’s a good thing you’re here, Pac. As you can see I’m a bit of a hot mess.” He rambles as he tries to regain his composure.

Pac opens, then promptly closes his mouth again and leans the side of his head in his hand. The face he makes is soft, a light smile dancing on his lips.

As Fit gets himself together, and dares to glance at Pac again, face framed by candle light, it strikes him as a picture out of the most bizzare and unrealistic dream, and somehow now a very real situation he is in.

He has no clue what his everyday will be like from now on. But Fit has a sneaking suspicion it will be anything but ordinary.

Chapter Text

Fit is up early the next morning. Like clockwork, his body always wakes at first light. Old habits die hard.

He gets up, takes care of a few chores around the house. Madagio is awake and alert as well. Even after getting her breakfast, she follows Fit around the house, always a pace behind. Like a private inspector, or a small, fluffy stalker.

Eventually, the cat grows bored and meows persistently until Fit finally lets her out in the garden, where she shoots off in the direction of the tavern and disappears. Only when Fit gets started on breakfast does the rest of the house start to wake up. Minutes after each other they emerge from their rooms.

The first thing he learns about this new, peculiar household, is that it consists of only one morning person.

Pac and Ramón both looks like they have gone through at least three active warzones in their sleep. They both huffs their respective ‘good mornings’ only to sink down in a chair each by the table. Ramón, head propped up in his hand, starts picking at his breakfast without saying much.

Pac yawns, eyeing the food Fit has placed in front of them. “Brigado.” He mumbles as he starts to chew on a piece of toast.

Fit grins and finally sinks down into a chair himself.

“Are you asleep still? Need some coffee?” He asks the man who looks pretty zoned out.  

“Hey, earth to Pac?” He waves a hand in front of the man’s face when he doesn’t get a response, who grunts, giving a Fit a grumpy stare.

“Sorry. Tired.” Pac sighs.

“You don’t say.” Fit snorts, as he sets down a freshly brewed mug of coffee in front of him.

Pac might not like his coffee in the evenings, but damn, he practically inhales it in the morning. With every sip, Fit can see the light surge back into his eyes, like his soul and lifeforce returning to him.

Pac puts the mug down after his third fill and stretches before turning to Fit with an excited grin.

“So, what’s the plan today?” He asks cheerfully.

“Wow, the power of caffeine,” Fit chuckles, “Welcome back.”

Ramón looks at Pac as if he’s just been magically resurrected.

“Can I also have some of that?” He asks Fit.              

“When you’re tall enough to reach the shelf.” Fit says teasingly as he puts the coffee away. Ramón pouts and returns to his milk and sandwich.

”I did not just order beer, Pierre, was it? I’m trying to run a business here! Sometimes people wants to drink something other than just fucking beer.” Fit flails his arms about, desperately trying to knock some sense into the owner of the local town's brewery. They stand down at the main road, Pierre having just unloaded several crates that Fit supposedly ordered.

”Look. On this note here it says,” Pierre holds up a scribbled note, pointing to it. ”Six crates of beer, and that is what I have right here. It’s just what you need.”

”What I need is for you to listen to me.”

”Trust me. You are all good. Next time, we will listen to your order more carefully. I promise.” There is something sneaky in Pierre’s expression. He is smiling, but Fit can tell that there is more to it. It reeks of trouble. However, before he gets the chance to act on his suspicions, Pierre’s wagon starts moving away from where it came from.

“Hey! We weren’t done here!” Fit yells.

“Yeah ! We weren’t done, you know?” Pac has somehow materialized at Fit’s side, scowling at Pierre with his fist raised in protest. The second Fit looks at him, the expression twitches, and he can tell the man is a little amused by all the drama.

“Thaaank you. Yeah, this is ridiculous!”

“Yes! Ridiculous! Um- what are we angry about?”

Fit sighs and pinches his temple.

“This guy just refuses to listen to his customers. You don’t hate beer, do you?”

“Well. No. But I do like wine more.” Pac says and turns his attention to the crates. “Hey, at least he left a few bottles for us.”

“What?” Fit frowns and turns to where Pac is looking. Like he said, there is a smaller crate with four bottles of red wine. Not enough to serve, but definitely enough for the two of them to indulge occasionally.

“Pierre’s famous red wine.” Fit reads the label out loud and flail his hand outwards. “So he does produce other things. Asshole.”

“It’s okay, Fit. I’m sure he got the order right for next time.”

“I sure hope so.”

“Or we can beat him up.” Pac says with a serious deadpan that makes Fit chuckle.

“Hm, I like it.”

Pac’s expression cracks and he turns to Fit, laughing as well.

“Maybe not, right? Bad for the business.”

“We’ll see.”

Pac lifts a crate of the ground with ease, and Fit follows suit, grabbing one for himself. Together they make quick work of carrying them all inside. Even with today’s annoyance, the frustration quickly melts away with Pac by his side, who has an innate ability to make things feel not so bad.

After that’s done, together they decide to tackle the most pressing issue first. The roof. To be honest, Fit doesn’t know the first thing about fixing roofs. His plan was to figure things out as he goes, maybe ask someone in town to help him out. But now he has Pac.

Apparently, he and his gang had stayed in all kinds of places. In especially rough times, they did not have much of a choice of where they decided to stay. So, Pac had to learn how to fix things up to a livable state pretty frequently, and often in a short amount of time.

The explanations Pac gives are sparse, told in his light-hearted, cheery ways. He doesn’t go much into details, and Fit doesn’t pry.

While they work, Ramón is nowhere to be seen.

Fit feels like he managed to connect with the kid that rainy evening, however brief. Like flicker of the child Ramón is at his core. Curious, and funny in his own way.

But ever since that night, it’s like the child rebuilt his walls. Staying in his room all day. Fit occasionally spots him in the window, looking at them, like he is a self-imposed prisoner. It’s concerning. It’s nothing like Phil’s kids, his only point of refrence really.

Tallulah did disappear at times, Phil used to talk about it. She’s a sensitive one, full of imagination and wise beyond her age. Sometimes that can get overwhelming for a little kid. Some days she shut herself away, to gather her strengths as Phil would call it. She would always come back outside eventually with her spirits restored.

But this struck Fit as different. Even as days passes by, Ramón appears to avoid interaction all together. He can’t stop thinking back to the things the kid said that night. That he keeps asking to go back to that dark, empty cellar.

“Hey, have you talked with Ramón at all since breakfast?” Fit asks Pac, who is currently halfway up the ladder he helped fix, hammer in hand and nails in his mouth. His hair is gathered up in a short ponytail today and there are smushes of dirt underneath his eyes and on his nose. 

Pac raises his eyebrows at Fit’s question, puts the hammer in his armpit, and nails in his palm.

“No, I haven’t.” There is concern written on Pac’s face. It appears Fit is not the only one who has been thinking about this. He had seen Pac several times trying to talk and interact with Ramón, attempting to bring him out of his shell. But every time, Fit has seen him return, tail between his legs, like a man who has suffered a great defeat. 

“Maybe you should try talking with him?” Pac suggests and Fit frowns at the idea.

“Me? If you can’t make him open up, what makes you think I can?” Pac is kind. Never without a smile on his face. The sort of person people would be naturally drawn to. Fit’s opposite in many ways.

Pac looks displeased with Fit’s answer and climbs down the ladder back to the ground.

“Ramón seems more comfortable around you. He trusts you.”

“What, you’re a psychic or something?”

“Fit.” Pac puts his hands on his hips accompanied with a stare that has Fit’s confidence quickly withering.

“What?”

“Kids need different things. Maybe you two are similar in some ways.”

“God, I hope not for the kid’s sake.”

Pac sighs, like Fit is being difficult.

“Just give it a try? See how it goes.” He insists. It seems like he will not let this go. Despite being opposites, stubborn, is a title they can both share. Fit huffs, arms crossed across his chest.

“Fine.”

“Great!” Pac smiles.  “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Ramón has travelled to another world. 

That’s what it feels like anyway. Like he is living someone else’s life and walking in someone else’s shoes. A life where days are calm and quiet. With no obvious reasons to be scared. To hide.

Ramón is used to hiding. He is usually pretty good at it too, when he isn’t too hungry. That is what ruined it all this time. His stupid, whining stomach when the last of the cellar’s old dried foods reserves ran out.

It was risky sneaking out that day. The stranger that moved in could have been cruel. Adults are unpredictable. Ramón hates unpredictable. He hates not knowing things. In the expectations, where things that are clear and understandable, he can always find safety. Squeeze himself into a corner, out of sight and out of mind. 

That is how Ramón prefers things.

So, naturally, every day, Ramón expects the usual. As a child, you’re a problem needing a solution. Every time he is seen, adults start whispering amongst each other. Uncomfortable, like they don't know how to solve Ramon's presence.

Every day, Ramón expects this. But as days passes by in this new house, things do not stop being weird. The stranger that moved in, Fit, is anything but predictable.

Fit is…Fit is strange. The man never snaps at him or raises his voice at all. He sounded a little intimidating at first, but eventually Ramón learnt that is just how his voice is. He doesn’t sigh or frown anytime he spots Ramón outside his room. He just waves, or gives a quick smile, sometimes asks how he is feeling at the time, even if Ramón never knows what the right answer is.

Fit’s new employee, Pac, is somehow even worse. He keeps asking Ramón things, always smiling, offering to show him things, or just makes spontaneous conversation during the day. It’s strange, it’s wrong, and it goes against everything Ramón has ever learnt.

It all gets a little much. 

He tries to avoid them both as much as he can, retreating to the room he is assigned, and closing the door behind him. He buries his nose in his books; his notes and his scribbles of things he wishes he could make.

It's sunny outside today again.

It has not rained since that night when Ramón was forced out of the cellar. He has asked a few times when he can go back there, but Fit always says he hasn’t gotten around to fixing it yet. Ramón starts to suspect that he doesn’t want to.

Probably because it’s almost time for Ramón to leave anyway.

Ramón’s head is wrapped up in numbers, screws and machinery when there is a knock on his door. He startles, almost dropping the pencil on the floor. 

“Ramón? It’s Fit. Can I come in?” Fit asks, voice muffled from behind the door. 

Ramón frowns. He doesn’t really want to talk to anyone. He just wants to focus on his work and be left alone. But still, a tiny, annoying part of him still caves to the request.

“Okay.” He replies. The door slides open seconds later and Fit enters with a careful smile on his face. 

“Hey, I just wanted to bring you something to drink, since you are working hard today as well.” Fit says, holding up a tall glass of water in his right hand. Ramón nods, not sure what else to say. Fit leaves the doorframe and steps inside as Ramón clears a space on top a box for Fit to put the glass down.

They are silent for a moment, the older hovering instead of leaving like he usually does.

“How are you-uh, feeling today?”

Ramón shrugs in response.

“Fine.”

“Okay, well, that’s good then.” 

There is another pause. Nerves starts to build in the pits of Ramón’s stomach. This is it. This is when he’s asked to pack up and leave. He already knew it was coming.

He never unpacked, so it’s okay. 

It’s okay.

“It’s-“ 

“Have you ever sparred before?”

Ramón cannot hide the shock spilling onto his face. He looks up at Fit, and the man almost looks a little surprised himself, rubbing his neck with a sheepish smile.

“I found wooden swords in the shed. I just thought that might be something you’d be interested in? It’s pretty nice outside too.” 

Ramón can’t help himself. There is a spark that shoots through his body, from his heart to his fingertips. Ever since he looked at Fit’s metal arm, saw all the nicks and loose pieces, he had been certain that he used to be a warrior. Which means he could teach Ramón how to fight.

He knows he should stay in his room. But , he wants to take this chance so badly. He knows he will never get it again.

“Are,” He swallows. “Are you a fighter, Fit?”

“I used to be. I’m retired from that life now though.”

“But you know how to fight?” Ramón asks, shoulders raising in excitement, body betraying him.

“I can pack a punch, yeah.”

“Can you-” Ramón’s excitement falters and he sits back down, eyes glancing off to the side. 

“It’s alright, Ramón. What do you wanna ask me?” Fit offers. Ramón bites at the inside of his mouth, sinking down in his seat.

“Can you teach me?” He mumbles.

“How to fight for real?” 

Ramón nods slowly. Fit chuckles and then shrugs. 

“Sure, maybe. Why don’t we start with sparring then and see how it goes?”

Ramón lights up, a candle in his heart flickering with hope.

“Really?”

“One condition though,” Fit says and pauses for suspense but hurries up when he sees the genuine worry growing in Ramón’s eyes. “Can you talk with Pac about what you’re working on? He’s been trying to chat with me about stuff like that but I’m too dumb. Do you think you could humor him a bit?”

Ramón nods quickly. He could try doing that.

“We got a deal?” Fit holds out a hand. Ramón gaze flicks from Fit’s face to the hand, before finally grabbing it. Fit grins and swings their joined hands up and down.

“Pleasure doing business with you!”

“What are you looking for?” Pac asks curiously, hovering in the doorway of the shed. Fit is in the middle of tearing open boxes and moving stuff around. 

“I could’ve sworn that I saw some around here- Ah-Ha!” Fit grins victoriously, pulling the two wooden items out of a sack. “Catch!” He throws one of them towards Pac, who yelps, but with almost scarily sharp reflexes, catches it in one hand.

Fit laughs. “Nice.”  He says while Pac huffs a quiet ‘meus deus’, before inspecting the wooden practice weapon in hands. 

“Are you going to pick up training?” He asks curiously, throwing the weapons in the air and catching it again.

“It’s not for me. It’s for Ramón.” Fit explains, dusting his hands off by rubbing them together. “I-uh, suggested we’d try sparring. For the kid to get out and move a bit.”

“Oh! I see!” Pac smiles, the expression giddy, even if he doesn’t mention it. This time he catches the second sword Fit throws it his way with ease. “Are you good with a sword, Fit?” 

“I’m better with an axe or a broad sword, but I’m not too shabby with lighter weapons. In my line of work you learn to adapt to what you got.” 

“Same here” Pac does a practice swing with the sword, also no stranger to this kind of thing.

“You know, maybe you should join us? Get some exercise in?” 

Pac chuckles and shrugs easily.

“Do I get paid for that too?” He jokes. Fit cocks an eyebrow and Pac quickly waves his hands around, laughing. “Just kidding, just kidding! Of course, I’d love to.” He crosses his arms confidently and puts on a silly, deep voice. “Ramón’s going to become the greatest warrior on this planet earth.” 

“That’s right. Super dangerous .” Fit says in his own deep voice, making Pac crack up in high-pitch laughter instead of saying something more. Fit feels small a sense of pride of being able to make him laugh that easily. 

“I’m just going to finish up with the roof and I’ll join you guys.”

“Sounds good to me!”

“Are you ready, Ramón?” Fit asks the child across from him.

It’s a perfect day for an activity like this.

The sun is out, and there’s only a light breeze, nothing distracting. It’s been some time since he sparred with someone. Last time might have been with Chayanne, after the kid’s relentless asking for it. Phil had trained him well. That child was already an adept fighter even at such a young age.

It seems Ramón is not a stranger to this either. He holds his wooden weapon high. The posture is correct and there is an air of confidence to the hold on the sword.

“I’m ready.” Ramón says, chin held high.

Fit begins slow. Giving Ramón a few pointers on how to improve his stance. The kid listens closely, and nods at the instructions. Then eventually, Fit steps back, hands on his hip and looks at Ramón expectantly.

“Alright. Attack me.”

“What?” Ramón blinks a couple times like he is confused.

“Show me what you got. Don’t be scared.” Fit relaxes his sword, keeping it in a looser, flexible hold as he waits to see what Ramón would do. Ramón hesitates. He seems used to be on the defensive.

Still, he furrows his brow in concentration and makes his attempt. He takes a few steps, that gain in speed, until he raises his sword and tries a hit from the right. Without moving his feet, Fit sweeps the sword to the right and parries with not much force. Ramón huffs and stares up at him.

“Keep it going.” Fit encourages, and Ramón does, trying another strike. The same happens even on the third and fourth attempt. The attacks are all over the place, like Ramón is just trying whatever without a clear goal in mind. Now, let’s see how his defenses compare.

Fit changes the approach and starts taking swings of his own. Ramón’s fighting changes from aimless flailing to solid parries. His reflexes is where the kid truly shines. Fit tries to get a sneakier hit in, and grins widely when the boy responds with a successful parry.

“Holy smokes! Nice, kid!” Fit praises him, genuinely impressed. Ramón’s eyes widen, and his posture crumbles. Like he’s never heard someone compliment in his life. His movement changes from confident to hesitant in seconds.

Fit decides to be a bit of a menace and strikes at Ramón’s side while he is distracted. However, Ramón’s instincts kick in and his arm flails outwards to protect himself. He makes it and their sword clashes together, but he does not put his strength into it and Fit easily pushes the weapon out of his hands.

It makes a soft thud as it lands in the grass. Ramón stares at it but doesn’t make a move to pick it up.

“You always gotta be on your toes, Ramón.” Fit grins. “But that was good! You didn’t tell me you were this advanced. I wouldn’t have gone so easy on you.”

Ramón’s gaze flicks between Fit and the weapon, like he is lost. Worried. Fit’s smile slowly dwindles as he tilts his head at the child.

“Is something wrong?”

Ramón shakes his head, and finally picks his weapon back up. 

A little while later, Pac shows up, having finished up his work. Fit and Ramón has just done another round of fighting, which this time also lead to Ramón almost dropping his sword at some point. 

“That was better, Ramón!” Fit says, looking pleased. 

“You will defeat Fit in no time. You were so close!” Pac agrees, walking up to them both. The child plops down into the grass with a light sigh. He still seems a little puzzled, but the look in his eyes is way more alert and focused than before.

“Are you taking a break, Ramón?” Pac asks him, and Ramón nods, handing the sword to him, to which Pac accepts.

“Don’t worry, I will avenge you.” Pac turns to Fit with a playful, but dangerous smile, wagging the sword around. Fit matches the look, the two sizing each other up.

“I see I got a new opponent.”

“Are you scared, Fit?”

“Terrified.” Fit intentionally lowers his voice and doesn’t miss the way it makes Pac’s eyes narrow.

Fit and Pac are laughing, still out of breath from their fight. 

It’s light and unserious. Like they are having fun. Even Ramón feels the edges of his mouth tug upwards from just watching them. He wonders if sparring means something completely different to them.

“Two against one next? You need to go down, Fit.”

“Oh, is that so?” Fit grins.

Pac turns to Ramón with a wide smile. He walks over, cheerful and weird as ever. His hand raises towards Ramón’s face, and before the boy can step out of harm’s way Pac just… brushes stray hairs out of Ramón’s eyes and tucks it away behind his ears. It’s such an easy, gentle motion, like Pac has done this a hundred times before when he hasn’t. Ramón reaches up to touch his forehead, baffled.

It’s like the man himself didn’t even realize what he did, and just puts his knuckles on his hips, eyes still narrowed at Fit.

“What do you think, Ramón? Do you want to team up?” He asks.

Ramón is beyond confused by all this. Overwhelmed. Still, there is a warm feeling growing in his chest. It makes the answers for him.

“Okay.”

“Really?” Pac gaps as if delighted, then clears his throat “I mean, awesome, yes, let’s go.” He says in a calmer tone.

“Well, you’re outta luck. We only got two swords.” Fit remarks.

Pac’s grin changes into a smirk. He walks over to a bush close by and grabs a branch off the ground, weighs it in his hands with a hum.

“I found another one.”

“Wow. I mean hey-“

“You use what you have, right?”

“That’s right.”

Ramón stares at them. These two are incredibly strange. He had no idea adults could be like this . They mess around and doesn't even take training seriously. They don’t get mad when Ramón doesn’t do his best, even drops his sword in the middle of a lesson. 

“Okay, Ramón, listen, here is the plan,” Pac begins detailing this ridiculous plan to defeat Fit. It’s very silly. Involves something called ‘a double flank’ and throwing the stick as a last resort distraction. Ramón doesn’t think any of these tactics would work in real life. But Pac’s enthusiastic explanation makes him not have the heart to tell him.

Some chaotic fights later and they all are seated in the grass, weapons thrown to the side.

“I didn’t learn much.” Ramón says flat-out, arms crossed over his chest. Fit laughs at that, turning his head to look at him.

“It’s the first time. How am I supposed to know what you need to practice on before I’ve even seen you fight anything?”

“I guess.”

“Besides, you gotta relax and have fun sometimes.”

They all remain in their spot in the shade for a while, Fit deciding to lay down, hands underneath his head. The forest around them is calm and peaceful, only the sound of birds chirping to accompany them.

“Pac?” Ramón says suddenly, voice is tiny. Pac turns to him with a smile.

“Yes?”

“Um,” Ramón picks at the edge of his notebook he had left to the side as they sparred. “Do you know stuff about…machines?”

“Oh! Oh! Like the newer ones? That’s powered with magic?”

Ramón’s eyes grow wide and he nods rapidly.

“It’s really cool, isn’t it? I always said this, that mechanics and magic work great together. I can’t believe it was banned for so long.”

Ramón nods again, leaning closer.

“I saw, um, a blacksmith use a mechanical arm to move all the heavy stuff for him. It was powered with a magic-charged core.”

“Yes!! It’s amazing, Ramón!”

Ramón stands and grabs another book from behind him on the porch, then opening it to a page to show Pac something. Fit watches the two chat away about things he doesn’t understand. They look really into it however.

Ramón has that bright look in his eyes again. Like the clouds dispersed to let the sun peak through. The one he recognized from that evening they first met. For once he feels like he might have been able to do something good. The right thing, or whatever. He decides to indulge in the feeling, since it usually doesn’t last long.

Leaving the two nerds to bond, he leans backwards into the grass. His eyes are heavy, and quickly he drifts off for a quick nap.

In the evening, the three of them had gone inside for the day, all seated in the living room. Pac is sitting by the table, writing something down on a piece of paper.

“What are you writing?” Fit asks him from his armchair, evening coffee in hand.

“A list,” He says, looking up from his writing briefly, “Of things we might need to get next time we’re in town. For the tavern.”

“You’ve worked only a few days and you’re already making lists.” Fit hums.

“I want to impress my boss.” Pac jokes.

“Consider it done.” He says and Pac snorts before jotting something else down on the list.

Ramón’s nodding his head slightly. He is sitting crossed legged by a candle on the floor, reading a book. His eyes look a little dazed, like he is about to fall asleep.

“Are you getting tired, Ramón?” Fit asks, and the child glances at him before yawning. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He rolls his shoulders, resisting the urge to yawn himself. He stands from the armchair and walks over to Ramón, offering him a hand up.

Ramón hesitates for a second before grabbing his hand and letting Fit help him up on his feet. Pac puts his pen down and offers the child a warm smile.

“Good night, Ramón. It was fun battling and talking with you today.”

The boy nods quietly. He rubs his arm, eyes affixed to the ground. Fit and Pac exchange a look. Or more accurately a series of looks.

Pac raises his eyebrows to which Fit frowns deeply, then Pac starts waving his hand, mouthing ‘go’. Fit tries to summon the epitome of ‘I don’t fucking know how to do this’ onto his face, but Pac shakes his head, not buying it. The traitor just hums, picks up his pen and turns his attention back to the notes.

Fit curses internally, then clears his throat, realizing Ramón is waiting.

“Alright, bud, I’ll walk you to your room. Let’s go.”

The two make their way to Ramón’s room, and instead of letting the child close the door behind him, Fit casually heads inside as well, even with the child boring his eyes into him. Again, it really is nothing special. Just boxes, a bed and a tragically pale wallpaper. Looking at Ramón standing in it now makes him feel kind of like an asshole for not trying to make it look a little more welcoming.

“Maybe we should, uh, tell Pac to add some decoration for this room to his list.” Fit glances at the kid, then continues to look around.

“Why?” Ramón deadpans.

“Well, you’re staying here right now, aren’t you?”

“Not forever.”

Fit struggles to navigate the conversation he’s now put himself in. Damn it, why couldn’t Pac have taken over? He obviously has an easier time with kids than he has. He opens and closes his mouth, then finally get his words back.

“Can’t a room look nice weather someone’s staying in it or not?” He tries. Ramón seems to actually consider this explanation. Finally, he accepts it with a shrug.

“I guess so.”

Fit sighs in relief. Ramón gives him an unimpressed stare before getting himself ready for bed.

The child crawls into bed and slips underneath the covers, laying with his head on the side of the pillow. He looks stiff as a board, his hands curled and pressed to his chest. His face is serious as he stares into the mattress. 

“Are you gonna leave yet?” Ramón huffs, like a storm cloud buzzing over his head. Fit swallows a surprised chuckle at the amount of sulky bitterness a child could display.

“Yeah. Just, uh, thought I’d check if you need something else to relax?”

“I am relaxed.” Ramón insists, shoulders tense and brows deeply furrowed. 

Fit smiles a little and decides to take a seat on the side of the bed. 

“Sometimes I read or write something before going to bed. Helps calm my nerves.”

He picks up a book from Ramón’s collection, glancing at him to check that it’s okay. The kid just averts his gaze and lets him. It’s all books on mechanics, cogs, advanced potion-making and complicated things that doesn’t make for a relaxing read. Fit isn’t sure how a child would go about grasping all of this anyway. 

“How old are you again?” Fit asks.

“Nine.” Ramón mutters.

“Huh.”

He picks up another book, and it’s about the same. In fact, all of Ramón’s books are very difficult reads.

“Jeez. Don’t you have any, I dunno, story books?”

Ramón wrinkles his nose.

“Kids books?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot you’re an old man.” Fit teases, and Ramón exhales through his nose, and hides his mouth underneath the covers. “I’m still young and beautiful, so I enjoy a good story from time to time.” 

“What is a good story?” Ramón asks skeptically.

“You know, like, one with adventure, swordfights, dragons, that sort of stuff.” 

Ramón seems to contemplate this, his curious gaze, betraying his otherwise unbothered expression. He picks at loose strands on his covers and glances at Fit as if wanting to ask something. 

“I know you’re too old for kids books, but,” Fit decides to take a guess. “Uh, do you want me to try and tell you a story?”

“Will it be good?”

Fit snorts and raises his hands into the air.

“I can’t promise that. You want me to try anyways?”

Ramón looks about the room, and up at the ceiling, as if having to think hard about it. Then finally he does a quick nod.

“The brave and courageous dragon, despite facing every challenge and hardship imaginable, saves the village from destruction.” Fit does a dramatic sweeping motion of his hand as he reaches the end of his improvised tale, “Finally, the dragon could return to his homeland once more. Not as an outcast, but a hero of the whole kingdom.” He smiles.

“The dragon’s father welcomes his son with a mighty roar that bounces between the cavern walls. Then, he grins, showing his rows upon rows of sharp teeth and says;” Fit glances at Ramón, considers that he should probably put on a voice of some kind. He straightens his back with a clearing of his throat.

“Oh, my beautiful baby boy, made in heaven by god himself! You’re home at last!” He says in a deep, royal-sort of voice. He cringes internally. He glances at Ramón, who he could have sworn was doing a semblance of a smile before he looked. It’s enough for Fit to keep going.

“So, what did you think?” Fit asks after the story is over. He somehow made it work, despite not knowing what he was doing. It’s a good thing he has always enjoyed stories. He took aspects of things he could remember and put it together into something short and sweet.

“It was,” Ramón looks at him, and this time the expression is something entirely new. It’s mischievous. “Kinda bad.”

“Bad?” Fit gasps, leaning fully into the drama, “I put my all into that!” 

“It was unrealistic.”

“It’s supposed to be!” 

Fit can tell Ramón wants to smile. His eyes shine with amusement, but it’s as if the kid doesn’t allow himself to show any more than that. 

“I’ll try better next time, how’s that?”

“Hm, I’m not sure,” Ramón squints at him. Fit plays along.

“Come on, kid, I gotta prove myself. This is unacceptable.” He sighs for dramatic effect.

“Okay. Fine. For your sake, I guess.”

For a moment, Fit feels the same as when he used to when winning a battle. That tiny rush of joy. It surprises him to find it here of all places. To be honest he doesn’t believe it. He must be going crazy. Would be a long time coming to be honest.

Fit forces the surprise off his face and stands up from the bed.

“That’s a deal then.” He says, “Sleep well, Ramón.”

“Good night.” Ramón murmurs. Just as Fit is about to leave the room, he speaks up again.

“Wait,” He averts his gaze the second Fit looks back at him. Fit waits, but the child remains quiet.

“Do you want me to leave the door open?” He asks and Ramón looks surprised like he’s caught. 

“Just a little.” He murmurs.

“You got it.”

When Fit steps out into the corridor, it’s suspiciously quiet. He takes a few swift strides into the living area, where Pac is still sitting by the table. His stare is firmly fixed on his list. There are a few strands of hair sitting weirdly across his forehead. Pac seems to realize and quickly adjusts it with a swipe of his hand. He then turns to Fit with an innocent smile.

“How did it go?” He asks. He sure is smiley for someone writing to-do lists. Fit’s eyes narrow, but when Pac’s expression will not budge, he sighs softly with a light shrug.

“Okay, I think. Kid looked tired so hopefully he’ll be able to get some sleep.”

“That’s good. I hope so too.”

Fit settles down on a chair on the opposite side, hands propped up in his hand as he just listens to Pac’s scribbling for a little while. 

“I thought your story was nice.”

Fit tries to summon a glare at the confession he already felt coming, but fails when seeing Pac’s somewhat guilty smirk.

“It’s nothing, really.” 

“It is something.” Pac says decisively, then sighs softly. “Maybe things would be different if I had someone like you around when I was Ramón’s age.” Pac’s smile melts into something fragile. Like his mind took him somewhere else entierly. He then shakes his head before meeting Fit’s eyes again. “You’re a good person, Fit. You should trust yourself more.”

There are layers to Pac’s words. Fit’s mind scrambles to unpack it.

“I’ll- uh, try.” He croaks, when he can’t figure out what to respond. Pac’s expression is only warm, which means it must have been good enough for him. He writes something else down on the paper, although Fit is pretty sure he has started writing something other than lists at this point.

“Hey, Pac?” Fit says after a while and Pac hums to show he is listening. “Thank you.”

Pac looks confused.

“For what?”

Fit is baffled by that. “What do you mean for what? Thank you for being, you know, you .” 

“Me?” Pac squeaks, eyes wide.

“Yes! And for being here.” He says, words clumsy. “I appreciate you helping me.” 

Pac leans onto the table, face partially hidden by his hand. His hold on his pencil turns a little jittery.

“O-Of course! I had a nice time today.”

“Yeah, me too.” 

Fit meant it. Some moments these past days, he wasn’t thinking about anything. Wasn’t mulling over details, worrying over what comes next, about what could go wrong. He was just there. Whether it's laying in the shade after lighthearted sparring, working on the tavern, or making quiet conversation in the evening. It filled his mind with a sense of calm he doesn’t recognize. 

And sitting here at the end of a day, no longer alone, it’s something he can get used to. 

For a month, of course. Yeah. He doesn’t think this month will be all that bad after all.

It’s the next day after that evening and things are going alright. There's been no other big hiccup except for the earlier fiasco with the delivery wagon. Fit still doesn’t know what he is going to do about that. He just hopes Pierre will arrive with what he asked for next time he decides to show his face. 

Ramón has started to warm up to Pac. When Fit left to take care of some things in the tavern, they were both out on the porch, going through Ramón’s collection of overly complicated books. It’s like the child finally realized that he had access to a person who knew all the extra details, the lived experience that books could not begin to cover.

Besides, Pac is… Pac . Of course it was only a matter of time until the two would bond. It’s hard to stay away from a person like that. Someone who always finds a way past your walls. 

Fit whistles to himself as he cleans the kitchen counter, tapping his foot to a random tune in his head when his calm days are about change once more.

“Hello? Is anybody here?”

It’s not Pac’s nor Ramón’s voice. It’s still early. Someone must have wandered in, even despite the ‘we’re closed’ sign out front. He puts away the towel he was using, heads to the door to the tavern and steps inside.

“Hey. Sorry, we’re…” All Fit’s words withers and dies in an instant. 

Maybe, you shouldn’t throw all caution to the wind. Maybe, Fit isn’t wrong to be a little suspicious. Especially when things are going well for him. There is always something . 

Because he is no longer in his tavern.

He is in a place he has never seen before.

Oh, what the actual-