Chapter Text
When the boy stumbles out in front of her bike, Dust is endlessly grateful that she’s tooling along a little under the speed limit for a change. She likes cutting through residential neighborhoods sometimes - there’s an area near her apartment that’s firmly lower middle class, and she likes it a lot. Even though she can’t afford to live there, she admires the small gardens, the neat houses, and the variety of cars; older models that are well cared for, with an occasional classic car someone is lovingly restoring. One house in particular is her favorite - it’s a soft sky blue with pink trim, which ought to make it utterly ridiculous but somehow just works. The front lawn is small, but the area in front of the porch is a veritable riot of colorful flowers. Rose bushes border each side of the lawn in every shade imaginable.
She’s just one block past the The Cottage, as she thinks of it, when a kid stumbles into the street and falls over right in front of her fucking bike. She brakes, swerves, and nearly puts her bike down but manages to stop and avoid hitting the kid or any parked cars. Adrenaline pumps so hard through her system that her skin hurts, her pulse beating wildly in what feels like every inch of her body. Once she’s fully stopped she turns to glare at the kid - first she’s going to get him out of the street, yell at him, then find his parent and yell even louder at them.
“Are you out of your fucking mind kid?” She knows she probably shouldn’t be swearing and shouting, but Mythal’s tits it was terrifying. Turning off her bike, she shoves the kickstand down with intent before dismounting, boots crunching on the pavement. Pulling her helmet off, she holds it under her arm, mostly to give herself something to hold on to in order to hide her shaking hands.
“I’m sorry!” The kid sounds miserable, and details begin sinking in past the barrier of fear, anger, and adrenaline. Oh shit. He has the makings of one void of a shiner, a split lip, a bloody nose, and seems to be struggling to stand up. Now that the sound of her own blood isn’t rushing like thunder in her own ears, she can hear footsteps taking off at speed. When she turns in the direction of the noise, it’s just in time to see a group of kids turning around a street corner. The temptation to go after them and put the fear of Elgar'nan into them is strong, but vengeance must come after mercy.
“Hey.” Dust walks toward the boy slowly, dropping her voice to something a lot less angry and intimidating, squatting down a couple feet away and setting her helmet on the ground when he doesn’t bolt. She’s total shit with figuring out children's ages, especially if they aren’t elves, but she thinks this one is maybe nine or ten. His skin is darker than most Fereldans, and his brown eyes have the caution of a kid who’s seen shit and knows that adults are sometimes a lot more hurtful than helpful. It’s like a fist in the gut to think she might have contributed to that look. “Hey I’m sorry I yelled, I was just really scared. Let’s get you up and out of the road. Is it okay if I touch you to help you up?”
He considers her for a minute, and she keeps her gloved hands planted firmly on her knees, waiting for permission. Then he nods and holds out a hand. She takes it with one of her own, standing up slowly and supporting as much of his weight as he needs. Since he’s wearing shorts, she can see that both his knees are bloody and the right one is kind of swollen. Vengeance is sounding better and better, but she shoves down the anger, knowing it won’t help. Other than the effects of getting beaten up, he looks like a pretty healthy kid, sturdy and well fed, and his clothes are good quality, even if there’s blood and dirt on them.
“Look, I know your parents have probably told you not to talk to strangers, but I really want to make sure you get home safe, and I have a first aid kit in my bike. I’d like to patch you up a bit so they don’t freak out when they see you.”
“Pop won’t freak out. It’s okay.” He fists at his nose, trying to wipe away some stray blood, and she itches to grab his hand and pull it away before he makes things worse. Instead she gives him a long, speculative look, because that kind of statement could mean a lot of things, from “I’m lying through my teeth and I am in deep shit” to “my parents just don’t give a fuck” and a lot of ground in between.
“I’ll take your word for that, but how about you do me a favor and let me do my good deed for the year, okay? Get back on the sidewalk and I’ll park my bike.” Dust jerks her chin in the direction of the walkway and waits to see which way the kid jumps. He’s got a damn good poker face, especially for a kid. She wants to ask if his “pop” helped him develop that face, but it’s not the kind of question a kid that cagey is gonna answer - that she knows based on personal experience. Finally he gives a little nod and limps over to the sidewalk.
With a sigh of relief she finds a free section of curb to park her bike, grateful that it’s not rush hour, and most of the day walkers are still at work. Flipping open one of her saddlebags, she digs out her first aid kit, stowing her gloves in its place. The kid is waiting for her on the sidewalk, and his left eye is beginning to swell shut.
“My name’s Dust Lavellan. You can tell me yours, or I can keep calling you kid, either one works for me.”
“Cremisius Aclassi. You can call me Krem.” There’s an obvious “adults are so lame” eyeroll in the statement, even without the actual eyeroll, which makes her smile. She’s a little surprised by the lack of commentary about her name, but then he seems pretty polite as a general rule. Grabbing her helmet off the asphalt and she sets it on the sidewalk, then opens her first aid kid to see what all she’s got. She snitches stuff from the big first aid kit at work, which makes Hawke grumble, but not too loudly. There’s a good supply of cleaning wipes, so she pulls a couple out ripping one open and beginning to very carefully clean the blood off of Krem’s chin and out from under under his nose. He looks like something out of a bad horror movie, but it seems like his nose has stopped bleeding at least. It also doesn’t look broken, which is a big plus.
After she’s got him looking a little more presentable, she pokes around in the kit until she finds a small, disposable ice pack. She gives it a quick snap to activate it and then hands it to Krem, who actually looks a little impressed. While he holds it gingerly in place over his eye, she gets out a cotton swab and a packet of antibiotic ointment, which she dabs on his lower lip. He definitely still looks like he’s been in a fight, but now it looks more like a scuffle than a massacre.
“Okay, Krem, let’s find somewhere to sit down, because your knees look pretty damn gross and I want get them cleaned up as quick as we can. Picking out rocks and crap is going to be a lot less pleasant as they start to scab.” Krem makes a face, winces when it hurts, but nods nonetheless.
“Um… I live nearby, we could go to my house.” He offers the suggestion like he’s not sure it’s the right thing to say, and honestly she’s not so sure either.
“This pop of yours gonna be there?” Dust’s not exactly sure how to deal with parents in this situation. Her own mother used to laugh and ask if the other children looked as bad, but her foster parents all universally got pissed and punished her for fighting, as if getting hit in the face wasn’t punishment enough. She doesn’t want to get Krem in trouble, but she also doesn’t want to be a creepy adult going to some strange kid’s home while his parents aren’t there. Fuck, children complicate everything.
“Probably not, he comes home at different times.” The kid's a good liar, but not that good. Cautious - she suspects his dad probably gets home at nearly the same time every day, but Krem is smart enough to make her wonder about it. She thinks she might like him, in spite of herself.
“Well lemme grab this sh- er, stuff, and then we can head there. You sure you’re okay to walk?”
“I’m fine. And you can swear around me, I won't copy you. I know I'm not old enough to do it yet.” It’s a little hard to tell with half his face swollen, but he looks rather smug.
“So exactly how old do you have to be before you can swear?” She gathers up the bloody wipes and shoves them in one of the empty sandwich bags she keeps in the kit. It might be an old superstition, but aside from littering being gross, she’s not about to leave some innocent kid’s blood out in an easy to find location.
“Sixteen.” His tone is reverent, as if it’s both an incredible milestone, and a million years away. “Five more years and Pop says I’m allowed, as long as it’s not at school or in front of important authority figures.”
She bursts out laughing, caught by surprise.
“Your pop sounds like an interesting guy. Now hold this and lead the way Ser Krem.” With a small shrug he takes the first aid kit from her, then turns and heads back the direction she had come from. He’s limping a bit, but it doesn’t seem to be slowing him down too much. She walks next to, but a little behind him so she can keep an eye out and steady him if need be, helmet tucked back under her arm. They’re approaching The Cottage, when Krem slows, and then turns up the walk.
“You’re shitting me, this is your house?” She can’t keep the laughter out of her voice, because it’s so fucking cliche, like a meet cute in a movie. Now they’ll form a charming friendship and he’ll teach her valuable lessons about life and she’ll start wearing pink lipstick and sundresses. She snorts at the whole idea of it.
“Yeah, so?” Krem sounds defensive, and he’s removed the ice pack so he can glare suspiciously at her, obviously waiting for ridicule. He looks ready to go another round in defense of his pretty house, and she grins.
“No, sorry, it’s just funny because I love this house. I cut through this neighborhood just to look at your roses.” Dust points to her favorite, overflowing with golden blossoms that blush red at the edges of their petals. “That one is my favorite.”
Krem is looking at her like she’s grown a second head, but then he gives a small, pained smile.
“They’re called Tevinter Gold. Pop says it’s supposed to be poetic, but I think it’s kind of dumb. ‘Vint’s use credit cards like everyone else.”
She thinks it’s a bit more macabre than dumb, but she’s not about to talk about slavery, blood magic, and religious warfare with a kid who just got beat up.
“Poetry and roses aside, I see a really nice looking bench swing up there, so why don’t you sit on that, and we’ll see if your knees can be salvaged.” The porch is actually pretty large up close, and the bench swing looks really sturdy. The cushion on the bench is a soft yellow, covered in pink roses, and the wood of the bench has been painted dark green, with golden leaves. It’s all just really damn cute, and she’s having a hard time not freaking out over how adorable it is. Krem takes a seat gingerly and hands her the first aid kit. In return she holds out her helmet to him.
“Can you hold onto that for me? Be careful, it was expensive.” He nods, a little wide eyed, and she’s glad the distraction works. It was actually pretty damn expensive, but that’s what happens when everything is made for humans by default, and you have to search extra hard for one that won’t squish your damn ear tips.
Kneeling on the porch, she’s glad she’s wearing her leathers, since they give a little bit of padding. Opening the first aid kid again, she digs out more cleaning wipes, a tiny bottle of antiseptic spray, and a pair of miniature tweezers as well as gauze squares and a couple big ass bandaids, setting them all up on the seat in a neat row. She’s definitely going to have to do some serious restocking after this, maybe even pay for some of it, but she’s grateful that paranoia has provided everything she needs for once.
Luckily the long summer afternoon leaves her with plenty of light to see by. The kid’s knees are a hot mess, bloody, and with little rocks and other debris embedded in the torn skin. He was on his knees for a while by the look of it. The right one is definitely swollen in a way that indicates he might have hurt more than the skin. Once she gets the dirt and crap out, she plans to send him inside to put a real ice pack together.
“So, this is gonna hurt like the Void, not much I can do about it. You wanna talk to distract yourself or something?” When she looks up, Krem is clutching her helmet for dear life.
“Just… go ahead.”
“Sure.” She starts by wiping away the excess blood and dirt, as gently as she can, starting with the worst places so he doesn’t have time to build up anticipation. He hisses, and she knows this isn’t the worst of it, but he’s pretty stoic.
“Alright, this’ll be easier if I can touch your legs and move ‘em around a little, is that okay with you? Only on your calves.” She points to where she thinks is the best spot to grab him, and he gives another curt nod. Trying to be firm but gentle, she holds him in place and starts in with the tweezers, picking out debris as efficiently as she can. There’s a couple gasps, and a whimper or two, but other than that, Krem is a brick. She gives his left leg an approving pat, letting him catch his breath before she moves on to the right one.
“You aren’t like most grown ups.” Krem says. His voice is a little shaky, and his eyes are looking suspiciously wet, but other than that he seems to be doing okay, considering the circumstances.
“I get that a lot, usually from other grown ups.” She grins at him and is rewarded with a little smile in return.
“You ask permission.” He explains. “ And you haven’t made me tell you what happened.”
She reaches for his other leg as she contemplates his statement. The first one is a little gut churning, because again, it could have a lot of meanings.
“Well, first of all, you should always get to decide who touches you. Grown ups forget that about kids sometimes. It pissed me off when I was a kid, so I try not to do it now. Not like I hang around a lot of kids mind you, so you should feel very honored by my presence.” Krem gives a snort that says exactly what he thinks of that, and she chuckles but doesn’t look up at him. Some of the skin is already trying to scab over the little rocks in his knee, and she doesn’t want to make things worse getting them out. He jerks when she goes for a particularly deep one, but she holds his leg firmly in place. Two more nasty ones, and then the only ones left are no worse than the first knee.
“Alright, those were the worst ones, only a few more left. Then I’m gonna hit you up with the antiseptic spray, which is also going to hurt like shit, but at least it won’t be me poking you anymore.”
“This sucks.” Is all the answer Krem gives.
“Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry. Anyway, as for asking you what happened? There was a fight, you were outnumbered, and then you almost got a face full of tire. Not really my business except it was my tire, and that pisses me off, so I’m playing nurse.” She pulls out the last two little pieces of debris she can see, and drops them onto the used cleaning wipes with the others. Picking up the spray, she looks at Krem, quirking her eyebrow in question. He takes a deep breath and gives a firm nod, so she starts spraying.
He lets out a little yelp at the first spray, but then clenches his jaw and leans his head against the smooth surface of her helmet and goes silent. She then dabs away the excess moisture with the gauze pads, before slapping a bandaid on each knee. When she’s all finished, she gives him one last pat on the leg and starts to put stuff away. A quick hit to the tweezers with the antiseptic spray works as a stop gap until she can really clean them later. The extra wipes and other crap go into her impromptu trash bag.
“All right, you head inside and get washed up, and out of those gross clothes. You got stuff to make an ice pack for your right knee?”
“Yeah, we’ve got plenty of stuff.” Apparently the look on her face must show some of her concern, because he shrugs. “I play sports, I go through a lot of ice packs.”
“Got it.” She responds. The house looks nice, and Krem looks well cared for, but looks can be deceiving. Still, none of her business, right?
“Umm… do you want to come inside?” He looks and sounds hesitant, and she’s glad, because he should.
“Nope, I’m not about to go in some strange kid’s house. You could be an axe murderer!” It gets her a laugh, which ends in a grunt when his lip pulls. She holds up the bag of trash. “How about you take this in and throw it away for me?”
Krem makes to offer her her helmet, but she shakes her head and tilts her chin toward the seat beside him on the bench.
“Just leave it there, my hands are gross. You got a hose or a faucet around here I can rinse them?”
“Sure, around the corner on the driveway side.” He takes the bag and hesitates again. “You can wash them inside if you want.”
“Nah, sorry Krem, but I’m really not comfortable going into your house without your parents home. Pretty sure that’s definitely one of those grown up rules I’m not allowed to break. I don’t need your pop getting pissed when he finds me sitting on your couch.” He looks like he wants to protest, but thinks better of it and heads to the door, fishing out some keys from his pocket. He looks back over his shoulder at her as if he isn’t sure what exactly to do with the stray elf standing on his porch. Dust can’t exactly blame him.
“I’ll go rinse my hands and come back here. Come on out when you’re done getting cleaned up, and maybe bring me some paper towels. Leather is not good for drying your hands.” He heads inside with a quick nod, and she wanders down off the porch to circle the rose bushes. On the wall of the house is a faucet, and a very neatly stowed hose on one of those… hose holder things, that probably has a fancy name she doesn’t know. Angling carefully so she doesn’t get water all over her boots and pants, she carefully rinses her hands of blood and dirt, trying to make sure to get under her nails as well.
When she’s done she shakes out her hands and holds them away from her body. She probably looks like a total idiot walking like this, as if she’s trying to fly, but she wasn’t joking when she mentioned the leather. Walking back up toward the porch, she pauses for a minute to admire the colorful flowers up against the railing. Up close she notices a little figurine of a nug hidden in the flower bed, and then another of a dragon, and she smiles. She fucking loves this house - and she can admit, she’s getting pretty curious about “pop.” Also if there’s a mom, or maybe another dad to go with him. Because a man who deliberately lives in a house like this is bound to be at least a little interesting.
Dust’s still smiling like a nerd when Krem comes limping out of the house very carefully balancing a tray, with his knee wrapped in bandages, and another set of bandages across his head. From the bulk of them, each set of bandages is holding an ice pack in place. He looks like a damned mummy, and she’s both slightly horrified and highly amused. She hops up the stairs and takes the tray from him before his lack of depth perception gets him in trouble.
“Krem, I said clean up, not mummify yourself!” She glances down at the tray and realizes it’s holding some paper towels, a plate of cookies, and what looks like glasses of iced tea. It’s so fucking cute she can’t help but grin, just like with the garden statues.
“It helps them stay on so I can do stuff. I messed up my other knee last year stealing second, so I rigged this up so I could have my hands free. It’s kind of weird for the eye though. Now I know how pirates feel.” She shakes her head. The kid is smart and funny, and obviously raised by someone pretty serious about manners.
Krem gestures to the bench, then shuffles over and moves her helmet to another well cushioned chair, setting it down very carefully, then doing the same with the first aid kit. He pulls a little wicker table in front of the bench and then stands up, grinning. She can’t help but grin back as she sets the tray down. While drying her hands, she watches out of the corner of her eye to make sure Krem gets settled on the bench okay, then sits beside him. Once he’s in place she joins him, careful of jostling the swing too hard, then hands him one of the glasses before taking one herself. She’s eyeing the cookies with interest, they smell really good.
“Aren’t I supposed to remind you not to ruin your appetite?” She asked, giving him a stern side eye. He gives her a smile that’s quite rakish, what with the improvised eyepatch.
“I’m eleven, Pop says you can’t ruin a black hole.” Now that he’s cleaned up, Krem is a handsome kid, all bright brown eyes and a jaw that’s probably going to give people heart palpitations when he gets older. She also suspects he can be a clever little shit when he wants, from that sly smile he’s still wearing. Shaking her head, she takes a cookie, unable to resist.
“Your funeral.” Dust takes a cautious bite, only to discover that the cookies are fucking orgasmic. Definitely not an appropriate thought to have around an eleven year old, but she can’t help it. “Holy shit this cookie is amazing kid, where’d you get them?”
“I helped Pop make them. We make cookies every time the Chargers win, and we won 5 to 2 this weekend.”
“I have no idea what that means, but I hope the Chargers win everything from now on. Also, gotta tell you kid, I really kinda want to meet your dad.”
“He’s kind of a dork.” Krem says, but he’s smiling around the cookie he’s about to shove in his mouth.
“You’re his kid, pretty sure you’re required to think he’s a dork.” Or an asshole. But at least she has the sense not to say that part out loud. “So anyway, since I’m eating their cookies, tell me about these Chargers of yours.”