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Babe looks around him. Night has fallen, at last, and torches blaze brightly all around the perimeter of the festivities. There's a bonfire, stacked high, in the middle of the field, and around it, people dancing, singing, eating and laughing.
Babe has partaken in the festival since before he could think, remembers the way his mother used to spin him around on the dance floor, the way his father scolded him when he was getting too raucous, egged on by the other boys.
He lets his gaze wander across the crowd, picking out the people he knows from the masses. It's a big festival, all the villages in the area congregating for this occasion, and there are people everywhere.
Still, it's easy to find who he's looking for. There's George and Skinny, dancing wildly around the fire with pretty girls on their arms. Bill and Joe, sitting at a table with several of the other guys, already deep in their cups.
Babe swallows, and his gaze drags over to the looming forest against his will. It's almost time for Babe and the other young men and women born the same year as him to set off into the woods.
It's a tradition as old as time, so old that no one remembers how it first started, only that it's necessary, each year, to send a cohort of youths into the forest. Nobody knows if it's a test or a sacrifice, or both, the only certainty that some will make it through the night while others will not.
There are stories, from the time his parents were still children, when the villages unanimously decided to halt the tradition. His father still gets a haunted look in his eyes whenever that time is mentioned, and his mother just crosses herself and refuses to speak of it.
There's nothing to be done but face it, and each year, all the youths that have completed their 22nd year have to go, spend a whole night inside the woods and hope to survive.
Darkness settles over the woods, and Babe feels as if he's being watched from beneath the trees. With a shudder, he turns away and wanders back to the table where his friends are sitting.
Babe and his friend Julian are the youngest of the bunch, and among the last ones to go into the woods among their group of friends. Babe sits down next to Bill, who thumps his back so hard in greeting Babe almost faceplants into the platter of meat in front of him.
Babe tries to not let his apprehension show as he looks across the table at Joe, Bill's best friend. Bill and he went into the forest last year, and they still haven't talked about what happened to them.
They had dragged themselves out of the forest, crawling on their bellies, at first dawn, each missing one of their legs. Nobody's sure how they didn't bleed to death, and they both kept quiet about it, and Babe wonders if they'll finally tell him when he makes it back out. If he makes it back out.
It feels to Babe like no time has passed when the music fades, and the ceremonial bell is rung for the first time. By the third tolling of the bell, they have to enter the forest, and Babe's heart clenches in fear.
With unsteady legs, he stands up again, seeking out Julian across the table, who rises as well. Silence has fallen over the crowd, and Babe sees others, face as pale and frightened as his must be, all over the field. They start walking, slowly and almost reluctantly, towards the woods.
Like Babe, most are carrying weapons. Babe has a short sword belted to his hip, a gift from his father for his fourteenth birthday. It had been too heavy at the time, too big, but by now, it lies in his hand as easy as anything when he draws it.
Babe lets his hand rest on the pommel, tries to draw strength from the knowledge that he's prepared for this, has trained for this his whole life. Hell, he has spent nights in other forests before, the ones closer to his home, just across the mountain pass.
This forest is inside a small valley, the field they've gathered in right at the mouth of it, and the mountains loom dark and foreboding around it, casting the woods into deep shadows even in the daytime.
Now, at night, it lies pitch black and eerily silent, and Babe shivers when a cool wind hits his face and ruffles his hair. Goosebumps raise on his skin, and he drags his jacket closed around him.
On the other side of the mountain pass, it is already spring, but here in the valley, winter hasn't yet left. The field lies brown and barren, but further back towards the mountains, there's snow still glistening on the tree tops.
Now that he's not part of the crowd anymore, warmed by proximity and dancing and the bonfire, Babe feels an icy chill. He's brought gloves, a scarf and a wool hat,and he drags them on as he walks towards the tree line. Halfway there, another gong rings, and Babe turns towards Julian, who's walking beside him.
Julian's winding a scarf around his neck, his nose already turning pink in the frosty air, and he looks as scared as Babe feels. But then, he shakes his head and looks over at Babe, puffing his chest.
"Follow my lead, we'll be alright, you'll see."
Babe nods at him, suppresses agrin but doesn't even give him shit for thinking he'd be the one leading Babe around, not the other way around.
Goddamn virgin, Babe thinks. He knows it don't really matter, but still, Babe feels like he's more grown up than Julian, even though they're the same age.
Babe looks along the tree line. Torches blaze along it from one side of the valley to the other, and there are sentries posted at regular intervals, both fighters and healers standing at the ready.
Babe swallows. His heart is beating in his throat as he stops right at the edge of the forest. All along the treeline, there are others, either alone or in pairs, waiting like them, faces pale and silent.
There are no speeches, no songs or rituals to observe. It's only a silent procession and the bell signal, and it has always been that way. Babe has always found it unsettling, fear-inducing, and it feels to him as if the nightmares he's been having all his life are about to become real.
The final gong sounds, and the sentries raise their torches, and they step under the canopy of gnarled, barren branches.
Among the trees, it is dark and silent. The only sounds are the footsteps of the young villagers as they disperse under the trees, farmers, tradespeople and other workers, finally facing the mystery they had lived with for their whole lives.
The further they walk, the further the forest seems to expand. In the beginning, Babe spots at least ten other people among the trees in their close vicinity, but over time, they fade out of view, swallowed by the murky darkness.
It sits oddly with Babe as he tries to recall what he knows about the area, tries to piece the maps he looked at with what's around him. It's impossible. It's too dark, and there are no landmarks Babe can make out, just trees in every direction.
Most trees lie dead and barren, except for the conifers standing in thick patches, firs, pines and yew trees, and soon, Babe's face is full of scratches from fighting through the branches. There's no clear path they're following, just a vague sense of having to go deeper into the valley, towards the mountains towering overhead.
The further they walk, the colder it gets, and before long, patches of snow start to appear, until the ground is fully covered with it. Babe's breath curls steam in front of him, and he shivers, ducking his head to hide deeper inside his jacket.
Suddenly, a scream pierces the air. Both Babe and Julian flinch violently, hands instantly reaching for their swords. They look at each other, eyes wide, trying to figure out from where the scream came. There's no other noises, now that they've stopped walking, nobody calling for aid, no more screaming.
They wait and wait, but nothing happens, and Babe's about to suggest they keep walking when there's another scream. Babe and Julian both swivel in the direction, but Babe hesitates. Something's not right.
"Let's go", Julian hisses, and Babe holds up his hand.
"Julian, I'm not sure…" he pauses when there's another shriek, louder and even more piercing.
"Babe, we gotta go look!" Julian urges and sets off.
"Julian, wait!" Babe calls, but Julian keeps walking, sword raised, swinging it from side to side as he approaches a copse of yew trees. Their shapes are dark and foreboding in the already dark forest, and Babe curses as he hurries to catch up when Julian starts pushing between the dense branches.
"Julian, don't..." Babe calls, but it's too late as Julian pushes between two trees and disappears out of view.
"It's too fucking dark", Babe mutters into the ensuing silence as he approaches the same gap between the trees.
Just as he starts to push at the branches, all hell breaks loose on the other side. Babe's heart plummets to his knees. Screams and screeching fills the air, but the sound is strangely muffled behind the trees, exactly where Julian has just disappeared.
"Shit, Julian" he curses, grips his sword tight and pushes through a thick canopy of needles. He has to shield his eyes from the branches, so he doesn't see a thing for long moments, before he breaks through on the other side and finds himself in a clearing. He takes a ragged breath when he takes in the scene in front of him.
There's blood everywhere. Julian's throat is torn open, blood bubbling from his throat with every breath. He's lying in the middle of a clearing, a beam of moonlight illuminating his twitching form. Around him, the thorned vines of whatever the fuck got Julian still lashing out in every which direction.
There's a cacaphony of sounds around them, high pitched screeches like whatever Julian stirred up is furious at the disturbance, loud cracks as the vines whip about, and Babe feels like he's standing on the edge of a very small, highly localized storm that is consuming everything in its radius
"Hold still" Babe shouts, reaching towards Julian, desperately trying to figure out a way to get to him.
"Don't move! It'll just keep going if you don't stop moving!"
Babe's not sure Julian can hear him, because instead of playing dead, like Babe wants him to, he reaches out towards Babe, and another thorny vine whips around him and into Babe's direction.
Babe jerks back when the vine slashes his palm, then draws his sword and charges forward, hacking at the thorned vines in return. He gets in a few decent hits, manages to sever one of the vines completely, which falls to the forest floor with an ear-piercing shriek and shrivels into black dust as soon as it hits the ground.
It makes the being even more vicious, tearing into Babe, and Babe has to retreat further away from it before he gets torn to shreds.
It's somehow confined to the clearing Babe stepped into, and Babe searches desperately around for a clue, anything that might help him get to Julian without getting killed himself. He finds nothing.
"Please!" He shouts at the vines, desperate enough to beg, "let him go."
He's utterly aware of how fast Julian's life is seeping out of him, his blood a stark black contrast on the moonlit snow.
Suddenly, the vines freeze, and a shiver runs down Babe's spine. There's a sudden pressure in the air, like the moments right before a lightning storm hits, and the air prickles on Babe's skin, makes his hair stand on edge.
The only sound is Julian's ragged breathing, the rest of the forest suddenly deathly silent again. There's movement at the edge of Babe's vision, but when he whips around, there's only darkness.
"Please" he whispers, and takes a step forward, hoping he'll not die as he approaches the vines again. They remain frozen, suspended in the air as Babe inches forward. He stops right at the edge of the clearing, pulling back when the vines start to tremble.
"Please" Babe repeats, voice desperate. "Don't let him die."
The silence presses in on him, heavy and overwhelming, and he feels like his ears might pop at any moment. He feels wetness on his cheeks as he watches his oldest friend bleed out on the forest floor, not ten feet away from him.
There's a flicker of movement, somewhere off to the side, but nothing there when Babe turns to look.
"Come on, show yourself' Babe shouts, sword shaking a little as his hands tremble. Everyone knows the stories of course, knows that the forest is teeming with dangers, both natural and unnatural. To face them is something different altogether, however, and Babe swallows against the rising panic in his chest.
"He's dying," he begs, "please help him."
The silence is suddenly so heavy Babe falls to his knees. There's not even the sound of Julian's breathing now, and Babe panics, thinking Julian just died right in front of him, but then he realizes he's frozen now, too, as if suspended in time.
Babe's awareness shifts again, and then he feels with sudden clarity that someone is right behind him. He whips around, sword raised, bracing himself for whatever he might face.
Before he can even think to strike, his arm freezes mid-air, held by an invisible force. Before him, no more than an arm's length away, stands a man with skin so pale it glows like the moonlit snow, even in the shadow of the trees.
He's a little smaller than Babe, his hair a mop of pitch black on his head, and he regards Babe with a serious, almost sorrowful expression on his angular face.
There have been many warnings uttered to Babe in preparation for tonight, but there had been one on particular that everyone had repeated without fail.
"Whatever you do, don't look them in the eyes." Nobody had said who "they" were, exactly, but Babe figures he's got his answer now. It's too late, however, Babe's gaze already caught.
"Please," he repeats, anyway, because what does he have to lose, at this point? "Can you help him?"
The man's eyes move away from Babe, and it feels like a dead weight has been lifted from him. There's a flicker, and the man is kneeling next to Julian, leaning over him with his back turned to Babe.
The vines don't start to move again, and for a moment, there's only the deafening silence around them.
Another flicker, and the man is in front of Babe again.
He opens his mouth and Babe almost screams when words enter his head with a blinding rush of pain.
"A bargain must be made for his life."
Babe heaves desperate breaths, almost crumbling under the weight of the other man's gaze. He needs a moment until he can speak, needs to swallow around the air that seems thick as tar now.
"What…what do I have to do?" He asks, and tries not to let his fear show.
"A bargain for blood and flesh" is the answer, once again ringing through Babe's head like a bell, rattling his skull.
"Do I have to die in his stead?" Babe asks, swallowing around nothing.
"You will bring him to the forest's edge. You will bleed for it, but I will see that you both live."
Babe nods without thinking.
"What is the bargain?" He asks.
He winces when the voice, dark and slow, enters his head again.
"Your blood for his life. He will leave, and you will bleed in his stead. One night is all you have to give."
"And then I can leave?"
"I will not claim your life. Do you accept the terms?"
Babe knows it's stupid, but there's no way he'll not try anything in his power to save Julian's life, so he nods, sheathing his sword.
When the man keeps staring at him, Babe says, "I accept." The words echo strangely in the muffled silence around them, seem to linger in the air and seep into the ground.
A beat of silence, then, pain explodes in his head again.
"Go now. There is not much time."
The man starts to flicker, and Babe panicks.
"Wait!" He calls. The man looks at him, eyes dark and endless, a frown on his face.
"Any chance you can tell me where to go? I don't want to run into the wrong direction."
There's a sigh, like a rush of wind in the trees, and the man nods. He flickers again, and for a moment, it feels like there's a void where he was just standing, sucking everything in. In his place appears a hovering wisp of light with a small pulse of power, glowing a pale white.
"Go." Babe doubles over in pain at the command, but does as he's told, running towards Julian, who is breathing again, each exhale another gush of blood.
When Babe grips him under the shoulders, starts to drag him from the clearing towards the hovering light, the silence around him starts to shatter piece by piece.
First, he starts hearing the wind up in the trees again, then the muted sounds of the forest start filtering back in, little as they are. Compared to the silence he had just experienced, it's almost loud.
Lastly, when Babe drags Julian over the edge of the clearing, the vines snap back to life with a blood-curdling screech, and they whip after Babe.
Babe can't defend himself because he needs both arms to drag Julian behind him, and he feels the vines tear at his flesh, ripping into his cheeks, his arms, his chest. Sudden pain blooms from his belly, where yet another vine has sliced into Babe's belly from side to side. It burns like fire, and Babe knows he's bleeding just as much as Julian is.
Pain laces through him as the man's disembodied voice urges him forward, and he goes, stumbling across the treacherous forest floor.
Julian's legs drag behind him, catch on branches and stones,and Babe hears his trousers rip multiple times. No matter. If he'd pause, even for a moment, Babe's not sure he could get moving again, so he doesn't.
The light guiding him keeps up a steady pace and so Babe grits his teeth and powers on, Julian's mangled body a dead weight in his grip. Somehow he's still breathing however, and Babe clings to his last shred of hope that they'll make it to the edge of the forest before he dies.
At the edge of his vision, now and again he spots movement, thinks he can see a man darting between the trees, the pale skin and dark hair unmistakable. It feels like he's keeping watch, and it's at the same time deeply unsettling and strangely comforting.
Babe tries not to think about what he's doing, what will happen once they've reached the edge of the forest, other than holding out hope that the healers are close enough to see them.
The longer they keep going, the more light-headed Babe feels, the blood loss and exertion catching up to him. The man had promised him they would not die however, so Babe stubbornly keeps going, even when he starts to stumble every few steps, when his legs threaten to give out.
Finally, the forest lightens, and Babe can make out the warm glow of the torches at the edge of the tree line. He's not allowed to cross it until sunrise, so he halts a few steps away from it, yells and waves until the sentries take note of him.
Julian's face is an ashy white, but there's still the unmistakable gurgle of his breath forcing itself through his throat, so Babe leans him against a tree.
"You may not linger" the voice returns with a piercing stab of pain, and Babe straightens. He can already hear footsteps approaching, and he prays Julian will be alright.
The wisp of light has disappeared, and instead there's darkness before him, back where he just came from. It's an unnatural darkness, clinging to the trees like fog, but in the midst of it Babe can clearly see the man from before, his eyes dark and haunting in his pale face.
He's stretching out his hand towards Babe, and Babe stumbles towards him, his vision already blurring at the edges. What's left of his good senses screams at him to turn around, to fight the pull, but he knows it's already too late, the bargain already made.
Now that the urgency is gone, he dimly notices that he's bleeding out, the cuts on his body gushing blood onto the forest floor. It pours warm over his hands as he presses them to his belly, trying to staunch the flow.
He can see nothing but dark eyes in a pale face, calmly watching him, beckoning Babe deeper and deeper into the darkness until it envelops him whole.
Babe blinks awake. He's lying on his back, darkness all around him, and for a moment his heart stumbles, fearing he's gone blind.
Or maybe he's already dead.
The thought comes as fast as it goes when someone leans over him. It's him, dark eyes in a pale face, brows knitted and mouth tight. Now, up close, Babe can make out more of his features, and his breath catches in his throat.
The man is beautiful, angular cheekbones, dark eyebrows and full, soft lips, pursed in concentration and something that looks oddly like concern. Babe stares at him, heart suddenly thundering in his chest.
They lock eyes again, and like before, there's a sudden, ringing silence around Babe, pushing on the edges of his perception, like it's trying to force it's way inside his head, his body.
There's red smeared across the man's mouth, and his hands are equally bloody as they wander over Babe's body. Babe feels vaguely sick, and now that he's not caught up in trying to save Julian, it slowly starts to sink in what a monumentally stupid thing he has just done.
The man, or rather, whatever it is that's wearing the pale man's face, is touching Babe, steady hands running over his body and along the edges of his wounds that are still bleeding sluggishly.
Babe's shirt, already torn to shreds, falls away where pale hands drag over it to reveal the deep red gashes the vines had left on his skin. There's a deep cut across his belly, so deep Babe is sure he could touch his innards if he tried. There's another one running along the side of his chest down to his ribs, cutting deep, all the way down to the bones.
By all rights, Babe should be dead, should have bled to death right alongside Julian, but somehow, he's still breathing. Babe watches in horrified fascination as pale, bloodied fingers run along the slash across his ribs, dip inside to run across his exposed rib bones.
It should hurt, is the thing, or at least Babe thinks it should, as the fingers push his flesh apart, widen the cut. But the touch it not painful. It's strange, sensitive and tender, and the touch feels weirdly intimate, as the fingers dip inside the wound, inside Babe, but there's no pain.
With trembling fingers, Babe lifts his own hand, reaches out to touch the man in return. He half expects his hand to pass through the pale skin when he rests it on his forearm, but it's cool, soft and dry under Babe's hand. The man's gaze flies to Babe's palm, where the vines had slashed it earlier.
Blood is still dripping from his hand, but before Babe can pull away again, the man takes it into cool fingers, drags it to his face and presses his lips to the open wound.
A shock of sensation passes through Babe as the man drags his tongue across the cut, more blood smearing across his lips. Babe stares, can't tear his eyes away as the man laps at the cut, slides his tongue between the cleanly sliced edges of the skin, dips inside to press into the exposed tendons of his hand.
There's still no pain, but it feels like an intrusion, warm and wet and vulnerable, and a sound forces itself from Babe's throat unbidden, something between a sob and a moan. He tries to pull back, but the man's grip is unyielding, his tongue hot and insistent.
The man's eyes flutter shut as he keeps lapping at Babe's palm, each drag of his tongue sending shocks through Babe's whole body. One of his hands is still on Babe's torso, running over the tender skin of his chest wound.
Finally, he pulls away from Babe's hand to look up into his face again. He's staring, trapping Babe in his gaze as his fingers wander down the side of Babe's exposed ribs until they reach his belly, where Babe is still bleeding, in danger of spilling his entrails all over the floor.
Babe gasps as the man plunges his fingers inside him, sliding into the wet mass of his insides, reaching into the core of him, while his eyes never leave Babe's. His brows furrow in concentration, and if it weren't for the blood smeared around his mouth, he could be any healer, trying to keep a patient from bleeding to death.
To Babe's mortification, he feels a rush of pleasure travel all the way through his body at the intrusion, heat pooling between his thighs. He shouldn't be able to, with the amount of blood he's lost, but as pale hands continue to explore his body, inside and out, Babe feels himself harden.
He clenches his thighs together, the shame driving tears to his eyes, but there's no judgment in the man's face. Instead, he nods, as if in approval, before leaning upwards until his face is right in front of Babe's.
For a moment, Babe thinks the man will kiss him, and he can already feel his lips tingle in anticipation. He doesn't know why he's not more repulsed, doesn't feel the need to pull away but braces for it instead, tilting his lips up in expectation.
More shame curls through him at the disappointment he feels when the man passes by his lips, leaning further up to latch his mouth on the cut on Babe's cheek. His tongue is warm and soft as he follows the cut upwards towards the edge of Babe's eye. Then, he's tasting Babe's tears, tongue pressing against the side of his eyeball, licking across it and pressing between the lids that automatically squeezed close at the contact.
Babe's uninjured hand reaches out, grips onto the man's thigh tightly, mouth falling open when the fingers inside his entrails keeps moving. There's a little triumphant exhale as the man seemingly finds what he's looking for, pulling his face back from Babe's to lean back over his abdomen.
He bends down, and then he's sliding his tongue into Babe's open belly, his mouth opening wider than should be possible, splitting his face from ear to ear. For a moment, Babe can make out rows of sharp white teeth and a long, winding tongue.
The next moment, it plunges inside, following the fingers still wrapped around Babes organs, and Babe keens at the sensation. He's shamefully hard, wetness beading on the tip of his cock and smearing inside his underwear, and he squirms, not sure if he's trying to get away or get closer.
The man's face is wholly buried in the wound, and he's making little sounds of his own, slurping and moaning indecently as he licks inside, again and again.
There's a rushing in Babe's ears, and he thinks he might pass out from sheer overwhelm, thinks he might come, untouched, just from the movement of the tongue in his insides. Just before the sensations crest, however, the man pulls back, and Babe can't help the plaintive sound leaving his lips.
There's blood and other unidentified fluids all over the man's pale face now, and his eyes are wide, dark and hungry, and he looks no more in control than Babe feels.
There's movement, and then Babe groans when the man settles across his lap, sitting down so he pushes right up against Babe's erection. When he cants his hips into him, Babe can feel an answering hardness. Babe looks down, but he can't make out if the man is wearing clothes or not, cannot comprehend for a moment if the other man has a physical form at all.
He feels real enough, the heavy weight and pressure on his legs and groin unmistakable, but it should be impossible to reach so far inside Babe's body without causing damage, causing pain.
Babe's hips move on their own to jerk up against the man's weight, breathless sobs tearing themselves from his chest at the white hot pleasure radiating from every point of contact.
The man shuffles on top of Babe, moving upwards until his erection is no longer pressing against Babe's but against the naked skin of his underbelly, and then sliding higher, until it's unmistakable what his goal is.
Babe moans in shock, squirms and tries to push away. His body won't obey him, however, and so he can only watch, horrified, as the man kneels over him, the shrouds that enveloped him like clothing falling away to reveal his naked form.
His whole body is as pale as his face and Babe's hands fly up to clench on skinny thighs, sinewy muscle straining under soft skin. The man is beautiful, ethereal and horrifying at the same time.
Babe is pinned under him, completely at his mercy, and he watches in horror as the man shuffles up the last few inches. His cock, slender and pale like the rest of him, is hard and weeping clear fluid at the tip, and as Babe watches, a drop of it oozes down to seep into Babe's open wound.
The man moans at the sight, the sound reverberating through Babe's whole body, and grips his own cock, drags the tip of it along the seam of the wound. A moment passes, and then he starts pressing inside, slowly but surely.
Babe's legs thrash at the sensation, the pressure of something slipping inside him like that. He's gasping and shivering, helpless to the waves of pleasure rolling over him, even as his mind screams at him that this is wrong.
Babe throws his head back, more tears spilling from his eyes as the man moves on top of him, pressing in, deeper and deeper, until it feels like he's a part of Babe, lodged so deep inside it's impossible to tell where one of them ends and the other begins.
Babe's breath is ragged, loud and uneven in the otherwise quiet space, the only other sound the small moans of unadulterated pleasure dropping from the man's lips. Babe can't stop watching as he starts moving his hips, rutting into Babe like he's fucking him, only it's wrong, all wrong.
Babe's body responds without his permission, his hips twitching and dick jerking in the confines of his trousers, each push of the man's hips a shock of pure pleasure. Their movements are getting faster now, and suddenly the man lifts up, rearranging himself so he's leaning over Babe on all fours.
It means he's slipping out of Babe's wound for a second, and Babe can see the streaks of red on the pale skin of his dick, mingling with the clear fluid dripping from it.
Babe feels the tears running down his face, unable to stop them. The changed position leaves their faces only inches from each other and Babe can see every drop of blood on the other man's lips, cheeks and forehead.
His lips curl back, and Babe's faced with rows and rows of sharp white teeth, and the too-long tongue, curling out to lick the tears from his face.
Babe feels sick, disgusted at himself when he moans, pathetically, and opens his mouth, desperate suddenly to take him inside in this way too.
The man presses his full lips to Babe's, and then there's his tongue, pushing into Babe's mouth. Babe can taste himself, tastes his own blood from those lips and that tongue, the taste of iron in his mouth unmistakable. The man keeps licking inside, tongue pushing deeper and deeper, until it slithers inside his throat.
Babe gags around it and tries to pull back, afraid he'll puke his guts out in a second, but the other man doesn't let up, pushes him back down as his tongue slides even deeper.
Babe chokes around it, struggling to breathe, and then he feels pressure on his belly again, feels him slip back inside. The angle is different now, allowing the man to push between the folds of his organs even deeper, and Babe wonders vaguely, hysterically, which organs exactly he's pushing into.
The man ruts into him, fucking Babe's slick wound with frantic movements of his hips, barely more in control than Babe is. His tongue's mirroring the movement of his hips, fucking deep into Babe's throat, cutting of his air supply again and again.
Babe can't do anything but take it, hips twitching desperately into the air, unable to get any friction on his dick. He's moaning like a whore around the tongue in his throat, hands clenched so tightly into pale skin over skinny hips he knows he's breaking skin with his nails.
There still is no pain, only that strange, all-encompassing pressure, and the vulnerable and sensitive pleasure of penetration. He's losing his mind, crying and shaking at the horror and humiliation of what he's experiencing, but at the same time, he doesn't want the moment to end, wants to stay like this until the end of time, locked in the heart-rending pleasure of what they're doing.
There's a litany of sounds around them now, one more obscene than the next. There's Babe's breath, choppy and labored, sobs tearing through his chest, whines and moans pushed from him.
The man is moaning too, in pure ecstasy, so deep in his chest it feels like the earth around them is shaking with it.
The sound of the man fucking him is obscene, wet squelches getting faster and faster as he loses the last shreds of his control, bearing down into Babe like he's trying to crawl inside him.
Then, everything stills and the man tears away from Babe's face and leans back, so they can both watch, wide-eyed, as his dick pushes into Babe's belly, again and again and again until he stills, his hips jerking and twitching, and white-hot pleasure erupts through Babe's whole body as the man spills inside him.
Babe can feel all of it, feels the warm rush of wetness washing over his insides, spilling deep and even deeper as the man pushes in in in, until his hips are pressed so tight against Babe he's sealing up the entirety of the wound.
It doesn't seem to stop, the man shuddering and panting on top of Babe as wave after wave of heat pours from him, filling Babe up until he feels so full he could burst.
Babe whines, desperate and almost out of his mind with pleasure, with fear, as he feels the heat rush through his whole body, sobs and groans and then it's over for him too, pleasure bursting from him as he spills over himself untouched, warm wetness seeping through the fabric of his trousers.
It's too much. Babe sags back into the ground, his strings cut, eyes sliding shut and thinks that this is it, that's how he goes. He just hopes he doesn't get found like this, evidence of his shame still darkening the front of his trousers.
Babe dreams, or at least he thinks he does. There's a voice all around him, painful and soothing all at once, a slow deep drawl, the words echoing through him in fragments.
"Lord, grant that I shall not so much seek…"
He thinks he sees a figure, curled in on itself, a man, with dark hair, bowed down in prayer.
"to be consoled as to console…."
The voice fades away, and instead screams fill Babe's head, pounding through him, and maybe it's his own voice tearing through him with flashes of white-hot pain.
"to be loved as to love"
There's more pain, the figure leaning over a bleeding body, screams echoing. Babe's vision wavers, and he thinks he can make out movement around the two figures, shouting, running, fighting.
Then, the voice again, another flash of searing pain:
"Lord, make me an instrument of your peace"
The bleeding body convulses, legs kicking, before falling still.
"where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;"
The scene changes, and he can see someone running, ducking through the thick underbrush of the forest, the sounds of fighting all around him, arrows, some of them burning raining down around him, thick smoke billowing through the trees.
"where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;"
Babe can make out a shock of black hair, and pale skin when the figure drops to its knees, next to another shape, another wounded fighter, to try and stem their bleeding.
The images come more rapidly now, too fast for Babe to make out much detail, but it's more and more of the same. A pale man, running through the woods, trying and failing to save his wounded comrades.
Despair claws through Babe like a knife, pain and hopelessness choking him. He can feel that his face is wet, tears streaming down his cheeks, burning in his eyes, but he can't look away, keeps watching until the images finally disappear all at once.
Then, Babe starts to make out the man's form again, once again curled in on himself in prayer, rocking gently in a snow-covered hole in the ground. All around him, silence and thick darkness.
Babe opens his mouth, but no words come out, and he can't do anything but watch as the man slowly succumbs to the cold, the snow around him red with blood and viscera, corpses strewn around him in grotesque, frozen shapes.
The darkness seems to be closing in on him, bearing down like a force of nature, like the forest itself is trying to snuff out all light, all life within.
The man's prayer is only a whisper, but as he seems to slowly fade away, swallowed by the unnatural darkness, Babe can make out each word of his prayer clearly.
"For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life."
Then, silence and darkness swallow up everything else.
Babe must have passed out again, because the next time he opens his eyes, there's light filtering through gaps in the earth above him. He's in an earthy cave and roots arch over him, gnarled, some of them as thick as his upper thighs. They arch high enough that if Babe were able to get up, he could stand upright.
Babe has to gather his courage to look down at himself, expecting the worst. Instead, he finds himself covered in tidy blankets, lying on a padded mat on the earthen floor. He's wearing clean clothes and all his wounds are bandaged.
Babe lifts his hand, only a thin strap of blue fabric bound around it, and it falls away easily when he tugs at the knot. Babe stares at his palm. The skin has almost healed shut, the cut only an angry red line and not the wide open gash from before.
Babe suddenly thinks of Bill and Joe, about their legs, and his head is suddenly full of questions. He tries to sit up, and finds to his surprise that he can move, the pain still as strangely absent as the night before.
Babe doesn't have to wait long before the man appears. From one moment to the other, he just flickers into existence, kneeling on one leg next to Babe, studying him intently. There's something soft in his eyes as he peruses Babe, and his hands are careful as they lift up his bandages to peer beneath them.
Babe shows him his palm, unprompted, and he tries not to think about how his heart flutters at the glimpse of a smile it earns him.
In the light of day, the man seems more human, now that Babe can make out all the details of his face. As long as his mouth stays closed, he looks disconcertingly normal, and Babe's not sure if he should feel grateful for it.
Babe sees now that his eyes are the darkest shade of blue. Dark lashes fan over his pale cheeks and his nose is a little pink at the tip like he's been out in the cold.
He's holding Babe's hand again, inspects the cut before rewrapping the blue strip of cloth Babe had removed earlier. He turns to Babe, and Babe braces himself for the agony of hearing his voice again.
"Not that bad" he says, and maybe it's Babe's imagination, or the fact that he's had a bit of sleep in between, but the pain of his voice is less sharp now, less overwhelming.
Babe can't help but laugh hysterically at that. Sure, it could be worse, Babe could be dead, but he still distinctly remembers the pain of the vine tearing his body open, rending his flesh down to his bones, down to his innards.
"Who are you?" He asks, boldly. He almost asks "what are you?" But he's not quite sure he really wants to know, doesn't want to offend.
Blue eyes snap to his, and Babe is taken aback by the devastation he sees in them. The man lowers his eyes after a moment, looks down at his hands. There's blood still caked under his fingernails, in the folds of his skin, and Babe notices how rough and worn they look, like he's been working too long outside in the cold.
"I don't recall" the man says finally, so softly that it doesn't even hurt to hear it, little more thanthe touch of a breeze in the treetops. He grips the man's hand again, needs to reassure himself he's here.
"There was a battle" he continues, eyes distant, like he's far away. "A war."
"I was…." His eyes snap to Babe's again. The images from Babe's strange dreams flash through his mind, and his heart aches as he begins to understand.
"You were a healer?" The man nods. His eyes darken again, eyebrows furrowing, and he gets that distant look again, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced.
"I couldn't save them." He says, "there was so much death, and I could not save any of them. We could not leave. We are all still here."
"Is that why you helped me?" Babe asks. The man nods, but he looks like he's far away. Babe squeezes his hand again, and after a moment, those blue eyes focus on him again.
This time, there's a little smile on his face, like he's glad to see Babe in front of him. It might be foolish, stupid even, but Babe can't help but open his mouth to say,
"My name's Babe. Well, it's not my real name, but everyone calls me that, so…" he trails off, feeling awkward, when the man stares at him with a puzzled expression. After a moment, it smoothes out, and there's that small smile again.
"Babe." The man says, and this time, his lips move. The sound still reverberates through Babe like the ringing of a bell, but this time, there's no pain at all, just the tingling sensation of his voice and a deep sense of peace settling over him.
Silence falls again, but the little smile remains on the man's face. Even when he rises and holds out a hand for Babe to pull himself up, his eyes are soft, and it scares Babe how easy it is to forget about the sharp teeth hidden behind those full lips, the blood smeared on his face last night.
Standing up is easier than Babe feared, and he ends up right in the man's space, so close he expects to feel breath on his face, but there's nothing, no movement of his chest, no rush of air, and Babe's reminded once again that the man before him is no man at all.
The reminder does nothing to calm the erratic beating of his heart, the weird mix of feelings churning in his stomach. He knows he should be more cautious, should rightfully feel disgusted, scared, but as he stares at the pale face in front of him, he feels only sorrow and longing.
With force, he drags his eyes away from where they've started straying to those full lips again, instead asks
"So, what now?"
The man startles, eyes flying up to meet Babe's gaze, and Babe can't help tracking the movement when he licks his lips. It takes a long moment for the man to speak.
"You have fulfilled the bargain." He says, and Babe thinks he's not imagining the tint of sadness in his voice.
"I'll show you the way, come on."
The man starts to turn, to step away from Babe, and Babe's hand flies out to grasp his arm, fingers clenching tight around his wrist.
Their eyes meet again, and Babe swallows.
"Thank you." He says, earnestly. "For saving Julian." He hesitates. "For saving me."
And then, before he can talk himself out of it, he leans forward, presses their lips together in a fumbling kiss. He stays like this for a long moment, eyes clenched tightly shut.
The man makes a little noise in response, and suddenly they are kissing for real, their lips moving against each other, cautious, small movements, pressing back in for more and more until the man finally draws back.
He looks a little dazed, his lips wet with spit, but his eyes are full of sorrow.
"I'm sorry," he says. "But you have to go now."
Babe swallows, but nods, and lets the man step away finally, to lead Babe to the edge of the forest. The way there is quiet, almost eerily so, and the man avoids his gaze as they walk side by side.
Babe feels monumentally stupid, but he can't help but ask
"Can I see you again?"
The man looks at him then, a stricken expression on his face.
In the distance, Babe can make out the edge of the woods, so he halts, doesn't want anyone to see them just yet.
"If you ever return, you won't leave again " the man says. "You'll end up like me."
Babe's heart sinks, but he nods, takes the man's hand in his for a moment.
"I won't forget you, I promise. You saved me." He whispers, and when he looks back up, there's another small, bemused smile on the man's face.
"I guess I did." The words curl from the man's smiling lips into the chilly spring air, and Babe thinks he looks and sounds the most human Babe has seen him yet.
They lock eyes again, and for a moment, their hands meet between them before Babe turns away to walk the last steps towards the field already visible beyond the trees.
Babe feels like he has to drag himself forward, everything inside him screaming to turn around. Beyond the trees, he can see the world beyond the woods bathed in the cool mid-morning sun.
The sentries have long left the tree line, but there are still people milling in the distance, and Babe stumbles along until he's standing right at the edge of the field, the forest dark behind him.
Babe chances a last look back and finds the man still standing where he left him, his dark eyes following Babe. Babe lifts a hand and the man answers in kind. Then, between one moment and the next, he's gone, and Babe squares his shoulders, turns around and steps out into the sunlight.