Yes. During that time of bitter relief, Tristan became something of a…friend to him. A brother.
Perhaps more than family.
Though Tristan's own thoughts on the matter remained unclear until his betrayal.
Was it jealousy? Fear? Perhaps only he would know.
But before, they were inseperable. Unstoppable. Perhaps even bound by the inevitable.
The nameless him killed those wolf-like beasts after first meeting Tristan. The underground chamber. The experiments. And the dumping ground…
His head, it was full of surviving.
The taste of death was in his mouth; his bloody knuckles and ripped skin distantly stinging even as he hid amidst the shadows.
"Tristan! What are we going to do now?! The—the beasts were killed but there's still—"
Those others. Were they planning to attack him? In a circle. Amongst the dead. They were pacing.
Have they forgotten him?
"No. Absolutely not. We can't go that way—"
"Don't leave me—! I'm sorry for taking the food! Please bring me with you—!"
Pacing. Raging. There were all these voices scrambling—
"How long are they going to leave us alone in here for? They were trying to kill us! We can't just go back—"
Blue eyes. There were blue eyes. They were familiar to him. But he couldn't think of why. Strange…
He felt the lump in his throat. And tried to ignore the familiarity.
"But there's no escape—"
These words. What did they signify? He tilted his head curiously.
"Wait. Just wait! Let's think."
"We have to hurry! I'm sure they're coming—!" That voice. It was trembling.
"We aren't getting anywhere without—"
"Tristan. Tristan!"
"Hey, Tristan. Aren't you getting too close to that body—" There are fingers. Reaching—
But this Tristan, he's holding up a hand.
An uneasy silence. And all he could hear was breathing. What was that hand doing?
Just like his hand. They were similiar…but this Tristan's hand was paler…
More delicate. Softer. But nonetheless similiar.
Was he, too, able to speak? His own voice. What did it sound like? He wouldn't—couldn't remember—
His head. It was hurting. He hid deeper within the darkness. Away from that familiarity.
Rummaging. Scrummaging. And the sounds of puking.
"Just what are you doing, Tristan?! That's—!"
"Come on, now! This is beyond disturbing, Tristan! More importantly, what are we supposed to do now?! Hey! Tristan! Stop that! Tell us what we should do?!"
Bitter tears. And ugly, twisted expressions.
"Didn't you say your father would be coming? Just what has he been doing?! WE'RE GOING TO DIE HERE!"
The hollow eyes. The murmuring. And the unease—
"If we don't leave now, we'll miss our chance to escape!"
He covered his ears. It was too loud. Too loud in a room full of dead things. Were they trying to attract more enemies?!
What stupidity. Should he just leave?
But he wanted—
No. He can't. Not yet. Just what was it about this Tristan?
"Tristan. What exactly are you looking for inside that carcass? We have better things we should be doing."
"Wait. Just let me—" Bones cracking. And the sounds of meat spilling.
The smell—
"Ugh! What the hell is that?"
"That's foul. Tristan, this is—"
Well. He covered his mouth. It was disgusting.
The others were wretching. But this delicate Tristan rammed his hand hard through the stomach, rummaging through the refuse.
His hands. They were sizzling. The stomach acids were spilling.
"The core. I found the core. It's—"
"We don't have time, Tristan! Everyone, we should take our chances now. They won't be coming back for awhile, right? I think we should go—"
"Wait. I'm telling you I found something! Don't you want to know—"
"This isn't the time for this. We've got to go. Start pulling him away, you lot! And keep watch. I'm going to scout ahead."
"Wait. Just what about that boy—! Let go! Just let go for one second, damnit!"
The pulling. The straining. And the sounds of harsh, heavy breathing.
This Tristan, he was more agile than he seemed, slipping that round ball from the beast into a tattered pocket, escaping and running into the darkness; his eyes shining as he searched desperately—
He scuttled away but the blue, it was reacting to the noise, following his movements, and ultimately finding him amongst the deep, deep dark.
A hand reached—
And he swiped at it, the loud smack attracting more and more bodies—
"Hey now, Tristan. This guy, he's not sane! We can't take him with us. No way—"
"He's fine. He's going to be fine. Just let me talk to him—"
His fists curled. And his eyes shined cruelly.
"Just leave him, already! That thing," A skinny finger pointing, "it's long gone already! Just like those other boys, he's been ruined by the exp—!"
He felt the shifting of air. The eyes that were crawling—
And struck, remembering the malice that inevitably followed.
He hit. Clawed. And jabbed. And all the while, they were screaming.
He could feel his blood pumping. Felt the sweat that was falling. But the sounds of scuffling—
There were more hands restraining—
"Stop it. Stop hurting him! Let go of him! Let me just talk to him—"
An arm. He clawed it. An ear. He bit it.
An opening—! He smashed a head against the ground and ran—
Right into the arms of the waiting Tristan. "Hush now. Hush. It's okay, now. It's okay. No one can hurt you now. No one will hurt you anymore…"
The petting. The comforting. And the too tight squeeze.
His muscles that were relaxing. His eyes that were closing.
Why wasn't he attacking? His arms were frozen. And the feel of dirty cloth beneath him.
The blood was dripping. And his shoulder was stinging—hurting—bleeding—
The feel. The feel of this boy holding him!
His heart, it was left reeling. Because of the relief. Because he remembered. Because he wasn't a beast.
Because he was, and always will be, human. And this boy. His first friend. His only family.
A trembling hand rose; the taste of copper flowering…