Chapter Text
Chapter Seven; Fascination.
Somewhere in the Galaxy; aboard The Red Tear. Reception Hall Ventilation system, rapidly descending into the reception hall - 6:32AM - Terra Standard Time.
Boy expects (hurt) lots of (hurt).
He made a mistake, a really big mistake. He didn’t mean too. But he did.
And now he’s going to (hurt).
But he isn’t.
There are arms around him. Strong. Tough. Like (daddy), but not as rough.
His eyes are bright blue, like the angels, and his hair is white like bone. He’s wearing gold. Lots of gold.
Boy’s trembling hands wrap around himself tight and he pretends he is small. It’s what the mice in the walls do when the (big brothers) find them. He doesn’t like how rough they are with them; they’re only little.
The man shifts slightly, rumbles coming from his chest before another set of hands, another star, cradles him and turns him around; fingers gently stroking his face.
The Angel.
Boy hiccups and reaches for him; I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I’m sorry.
The angel’s vibrations rumble through Boy’s bones as he’s wrapped in his white wings and large feathers. His hands hold Boy’s head gently against the rough metal, stroking his skin light as lamp-light.
Boy trembles as the angel holds him. He’s crying. (Big brother) would call him weak. Would call him pathetic because he showed weakness to someone greater than him.
(Daddy) hates him when he cries.
Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. He thinks, pressing his star against the angel’s, hoping that the pretty mind magic keeps him safe. I won’t do it again. Just don’t hurt me again. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
The angel holds him, and it doesn’t hurt, but Boy cries anyway because he’s weak.
Somewhere in the Galaxy; aboard The Red Tear. Primarch Sanguinius’ Chamber - 7:40AM - Terra Standard Time.
Sanguinius isn’t fretting, he isn’t, no matter what Fulgrim would tell you.
”You are fretting,” And Dorn, too, apparently.
”No,” Sanguinius manages to grit out, “I’m not.”
Mouse, who is curled up in his lap, shifts closer and attempts to tangle his fingers in his golden hair, trying to get his attention. Despite his almost near death experience, the boy seems to have calmed down slightly, although every time he dozes off, he’s jolting awake.
An adrenaline crash, his mind supplies.
”You are,” Fulgrim says from his seat on the red chaise he had taken up residence in, his armour neatly stacked nearby to be taken back to his ship later, leaving him only in his black under armour. Dorn had followed suit, and Sanguinius still had parts of his leg armour on since Mouse seemed insistent on stopping him from bending over by clinging to him like a vine, “It’s quite sweet, actually.”
Sanguinius sighs slowly and reaches for the damp cloth sitting in a bowl nearby. Mouse grumbles and tries to pull away, squirming and flopping around in his arms, but Sanguinius manages to wipe some grime off his nose and cheeks before the boy manages to flop onto the fur rug with a long, drawn out, dramatic grumble.
Sanguinius sighs again. Mouse sighs too. Fulgrim laughs.
”Tell me,” Dorn says, leaning back in the armchair, “Why is the child under your care filthy?”
No, ‘why do you have a child?’, no, ‘whose child is this?’, no, ‘why are you so attached to a random child who fell from the ceiling?’, just simple acceptance and easy understanding. A child in a dark place needs a guiding light, and somehow, Sanguinius is now that light.
Gumbles slightly as he wrings the cloth out, Sanguinius tells his brother; “He wasn’t this dirty until he went crawling around in the old ventilation system,” he pointedly stared at Mouse, who gave a big dramatic sigh before rolling onto his front to get more comfortable on the rug. “But, he has a fear of water. Won’t go anywhere near the showers.”
Dorn rolls his shoulders slightly, settling into his armchair before he asks; ”Did you take into account his deafness?”
Sanguinius opens his mouth to reply, but Fulgrim beats him to it, “What would that have to do with his aversion to water?”
Dorn cocked his head slightly before looking at Mouse, “I knew a man who was deaf, back on my home planet,” Fulgrim sits upright, eager to hear about their elusive brother’s shrouded past, “If somebody wanted to get his attention, they would knock on something and he’s be able to hear because of the vibrations,” Dorn shifts slightly as he thinks, “He didn’t like the rain because it felt weird against his skin.”
”Vibrations,” Sanguinius realised, sitting upright and staring at Dorn with wide eyes; “He hates the shower because it’s too ‘loud’, not because it’s water.” He rubs his nose bridge, “I didn’t think of that.”
Dorn hums, “I did.”
Sanguinius kneels down and lifts Mouse up into his arms, placing the boy on his feet before holding up his hand to get his attention, “Look at me,” He curled two fingers towards his eyes, then held up one finger, “This-” He indicated to the dirt on Mouse’s hands and arms, “-needs to be cleaned. Can you come with me?”
Mouse, despite not quite understanding, holds up his arms and Sanguinius lifts him up, balancing him on his hip; “Dorn, can you run a bath? Not too deep or too hot-”
”I know how to child-proof a bath,” Dorn interrupted, standing and removing his gloves, tucking them into his belt, “I used to wash my siblings.”
Bewildered, Fulgrim gasped out, “You what?!”
Dorn, ignoring his brother, opened the door to the bathroom and a moment later, Sanguinius heard the tap snap on and the sound of rushing water that quickly tapered off into a slower, more controlled stream. There was some finicking as Dorn adjusted the temperature, but a moment later the tap snapped off for good.
Taking that as a sign, Sanguinius stepped through, one hand curling around Mouse’s head in case he knocked into the wall and smacked the boy by accident. Primarch strength, even accidental, was debilitating even to highly trained Space Marines; he didn’t want to know what happened to the frail body of a child.
Mouse made a displeased noise at being in the bathroom after all the other failed attempts to clean him; eyeing the shower warily. He attempts to wiggle free, but is no match for Sanguinius’ sheer strength.
Dorn is sitting on the edge of the bathtub built into the far wall, boots tucked neatly beside the bathmat along with his socks. He’s in the middle of rolling up his pantlegs when Sanguinius kneels, Mouse still in his arms, beside the tub.
”I didn’t know you had siblings.” Sanguinius says as he, very gently, wrestles Mouse in an attempt to herd him towards the bath of his own volition, but the boy is huffing and grumbling, and Sanguinius can hear his heart thumping with adrenaline.
”I never told anyone,” Dorn stops Mouse with a hand on his chest, although Sanguinius notes he doesn’t touch skin to skin as his gloves are still on his belt, “There wasn’t anything to say.”
Mouse is glowering, but once Dorn is kneeling on his other side, he settles slightly; now he’s glaring more at the water.
”How do we get him in the tub?” Sanguinius asks Dorn over Mouse’s dirty black locks. “Because I don’t think he’s getting in it willingly.”
Dorn hums slowly, glancing briefly around the bathroom before back at his winged brother, “Do you have a cup?”
Sanguinius makes an ‘umm’ noise before opening the cabinet next to the shower, “I have a thin plasteel cup,” he said over his shoulder, ignoring the grumbles Mouse was making and the little huffs as he rolled around on the bathmat in an attempt to get away from Dorn, who was staring blankly at him. “And standard issue soap.”
Dorn arches an eyebrow, “Nothing fancy?”
Sanguinius shakes his head briefly, grabbing both and walking back to the tub, “No. I’m not the type.”
Dorn takes both items and balances them neatly on the edge of the tub, indicating for Mouse to look.
Mouse’s eye twitches as he glares at the mug from under his long, untamed hair. He flicks the cup and it tumbles into the water with a splash. He then attempts to bite the soap.
”No,” Dorn says in the nicest tone of voice Sanguinius has ever heard him use. He pulls the soap free and balances it back on the edge of the tub, “Not quite.”
Mouse makes a face as he tastes the soap. Sanguinius can’t blame him.
”I did the same thing when I first saw soap,” He admits to Dorn, and to Fulgrim who is now lingering in the doorway, “I thought it was edible. Father laughed.”
Dorn hums quietly, “What did you normally use on Baal?”
”Sand, mostly. The super fine kind.” He indicates to his wings and Dorn hums quietly in understanding, “There wasn’t much water, and most of it wasn’t exactly trustworthy.”
Between them, Mouse attempts to eat the soap again.
”Not quite,” Sanguinius murmurs, taking the bar and after dipping it into the lukewarm water, he runs it up and down his bare arm, eyes locked with Mouse, whose head is cocked to the side, “Like this, see?”
The boy’s nose twitches slightly.
The angel sighs, “I don’t know much sign.” He says, almost to himself, “It would make communication easier, at least.”
Dorn gently draws the cup from the water, letting it fill halfway with water before offering it to Mouse, who is staring up at him with wide eyes.
Mouse, at Dorn’s insistence, offers out his arm and watches, wide eyed, as the water is poured over his arm. He has little to no reaction, although his fingers tremble slightly from how hard he’s clenching his little fist.
A second or two passes before the boy reaches up and takes the cup; a determined look in his eyes.
Dorn offers out his arm and Mouse fills the cup, gingerly dipping it into the water before carefully pouring the water over the primarch’s arm.
Sanguinius would laugh if he weren’t so soft; a Primarch, son of The Emperor, brought low by a small child.
Mouse’s nose twitches and he leans over the edge of the bath, lightly tapping the surface of the water with a curious look. He shifted slightly then slowly submerged his hand into the lukewarm tub.
”Progress,” Sanguinius smiled gently at Mouse, who shyly smiled back at him. “Well done, Mouse.”
–✮⋆–
A very long hour later, and Mouse was mostly clean; his long dark hair washed of grime and his face cleaned. Now, he saw, curled up on the floor in front of Fulgrim, who was very carefully brushing his hair.
”Remind me again why a child is aboard your ship, Sanguinius?” Horus asked, amused, from his reclined position beside Dorn, who sat with his back perfectly straight, as usual. “And why does he have your eyes?”
Fulgrim snorted quietly before soothingly patting Mouse’s hand in apology for startling him.
Sanguinius, who was leaning back against Horus’ legs, didn’t humour him with an answer.
”The resemblance is uncanny,” Dorn agreed quietly, taking a sip from his tea, “The eyes, the straightness of the hair-”
”-The pallor of his skin,” Horus continued with an amused grin, “The smile…”
Sanguinius lifted his wing and promptly smacked Horus in the face with a wall of feathers. His brother squawked in shock before reaching around and grabbing a fistful of Sanguinius’ hair, yanking him backwards; “Oi!”
Hissing right back, Sanguinius brought his wing down, twisting his brother’s arm away, “You’re encouraging rumours!”
While the two bickered back and forth, Dorn arched a lone eyebrow. He wasn’t sure what made his brothers tussle around like rowdy dogs, but all power to them, he reluctantly supposed.
”There,” Fulgrim said quietly, making sure Mouse could see him put the brush down, “All done!”
Dorn had to admit, Mouse looked much healthier now that he was clean and wearing new clothes. His long black hair fell to just below his shoulders, brushed into smooth locks that shifted gently as he moved his head side to side. His new tunic and pants, borrowed from the Imperial Guard regiment aboard The Phalanx, were too loose on him, but Fulgrim had simply braided some cord together and used it to hold his sleeves up, out of the way.
Fulgrim also attached a small silver bell to another length of braided cord, and wrapped it around Mouse’s ankle before showing him how to pull on socks. The boy seemed oddly enamoured by the simple jingle of the small bell, or more accurately, by the vibrations caused by the small pellet rolling around inside.
Dorn… Dorn wasn’t quite sure why he was so oddly softened by the sight of Mouse smiling now that his hair was brushed and his clothes clean.
Well, that wasn’t quite true.
He knew why.
Mouse reminded him of Jenn.
It had been a lifetime since he had thought of Jenn; soft, smiling, always kind, Jenn. Who tucked into his side during the frozen nights, and tried to push his rations onto Dorn’s plate so he could recover faster from his sicknesses. (Growing pains, actually, but to a child as young as Jenn, then, yes, it would look like he was sick).
Jenn was the first to realise Dorn liked the world a certain way. He swapped their blankets so Dorn got the one with the better texture, he swapped his mug for a smaller one so the colours matched, and he even managed to get Dorn’s first pair of gloves for him; stolen from a crate meant to go off world.
Mouse had Jenn’s smile.
Dorn pressed his lips into a thin line.
Mouse….. Mouse wasn’t Jenn.
Because Jenn was dead; his ashes were carefully tucked inside a box, which was inside another, more ornate box, that he kept in his quarters. Jenn didn’t live to be as old as Mouse was; hyperthermia had taken him from this plane long ago, back when Dorn was still working his way up the ranks. Back when he worked long hours and rarely slept, only crawling into bed on the really cold nights to keep Jenn and his other two brothers warm.
Jenn had died during Dron’s longest shift of the year. Nobody had told him until his return. He took fifteen minutes to mourn that day, then when his Father recovered him almost a decade later, he took the rest of his life to mourn.
Not just Jenn, but Ajac, and Tomas too.
While Jenn died from hyperthermia, Ajac died from asphyxiation when he was on a mission; locked inside a tunnel due to a severe storm. Tomas was torn apart by the creatures that roamed the surface.
Their ashes he kept in the same drawer as Jenn’s. He didn’t want them to be parted again. He failed them once, never again.
While Dorn never told anybody about his siblings, and certainly not the golden man that came for him, claiming him as a son, somehow, He had known.
”There is a place for them on Terra, if you wish,.” He had said, the two sitting, eating dinner. “A pantheon has been set aside for all my sons; for those who they love, and for those who loved them.”
Dorn would deny it until his last breath, but tears welled in his eyes as he heard that. They fell silently, and He had been there; a silent guardian.
Again, he would deny it to his last second, but looking back, the Father who he had first met, (the comforting, silent guardian, who loved His sons deeply no matter their pain), was very different from the man he knew now. (Cold. Colder than the snow that took Jenn. Colder than the storm that took Ajac. Colder than the teeth of the beasts that tore Tomas apart).
It sickens him. It hurts him.
So he buried the names of his brothers in his heart, and closed himself off. He didn’t get attached to the brothers he was born to share a soul with. He hid himself behind rules and logic like he had always done.
Then, Sanguinius.
His angel brother didn’t break his walls down, he simply waited until Dorn was ready to open a door that he didn’t even realise was built in the wall until that moment. He walked shoulder to shoulder with Dorn, happy as could be; “I never thought I could know someone like me.” he had said one night. “I was so alone. But now, I have you.”
Dorn was pulled by his thoughts when he felt a tug on his pant leg. Looking down, he stared into the wide blue eyes of Mouse.
”Hello.” He murmured, leaning in to meet the child's eyes, much to the boy’s delight.
Mouse lifted a finger and, after a moment of hesitation, he leaned in; letting the child tap his forehead. The contact was jarring, but worth it to see the small smile spread across Mouse’ scarred lips. He didn’t see the appeal, but Mouse seemed happy.
Up close, the Primarch was able to see the small knicks and scratches across his cheeks and nose; most he recognised as the clumsy foolishness of a young child. But it was the scars across his lips that caught Dorn’s attention; the scars were small, maybe the length of Mouse’s pinky nail, and thinner than the tip of a stylus. But there were multiple of these scars, evenly spaced and seeming to carry on vertically through both lips.
Dorn frowned slightly as Mouse scampered back to Sanguinius’ side, curling up under his wing.
Him and Fulgrim glanced at one another before Dorn looked at Sanguinius. The angel was holding Mouse in his lap now, rocking him back and forth while humming; Mouse’s head tucked under Sanguinius’ jaw.
”He’ll need some place of his own,” Dorn found himself saying, the words falling from his lips easily. “Is there a room on this level that would be a suitable room?”
Surprised, his angel brother gazed up at Dorn, before a slow smile spread across his lips, “There’s one down the hall.”
Good. Close is good. Children are prone to nightmares.
”He’ll need more clothes,” Fulgrim piped up, combing his own hair, “I have some cloth I could spare.”
Horus smirked, “I have some spare cloth too. Nothing fancy, however.”
Dorn rolled the, now empty, mug between his gloved hands, “I have some armour thread that would help the durability.”
While they discussed the semantics, Sanguinius smiled softly to himself, fingers carding through Mouse’s soft black locks. (Attached so easily? Younger him would be crying with joy.) His brother's kindness shone through their eyes; they all had it within them. Their love, their grace, their wisdom.
Even if it took his entire life, Sanguinius hoped to find that love in all of his brothers.
–✮⋆–
Somewhere in the Galaxy; aboard The Nightfall. Temporary Medical Ward - Unknown Time - Terra Standard Time.
When you spent enough time in the bowels of The Nightfall, time seemed to stop having meaning.
The shadows swallowed everything down here.
Meros’ only sense of time was when his fellow brothers came to relieve him of his shift, or Lord Raldoron came to watch the guard exchange. Without those regular changes, Meros feared he would’ve lost himself in the misery by now.
Silently, Meros removed the makeshift sheet from around the bed of a Nightlord marine.
While the fellow legion had been vicious at first towards any outside help, it became clear to them that more hands were needed. But only from one legion. Only from the Blood Angels.
So Meros and his brothers were attempting to keep everything under control while ignoring the distant screams from the, solely Night Lord run, ‘wards’.
Gently, Meros removed the drip bag from the rack hanging above his fellow Marine’s bed, replacing it with a full pack. He needed to keep an eye on the liquids for this patient, he’d lost a lot of blood-
Before he could finish that thought, the body in the bed lurched upright; razor sharp hands sinking through the gaps in Meros’ armour. Immediately, the medic twisted, attempting to throw off his fellow marine, only to find, (to his horror), he was almost entirely unable to move.
His fingers loosened involuntarily, and the half empty IV bag fell to the floor with a splash; the liquid licking at his boots.
A split second later and Meros’ knees weakened, sending him into a kneeling position, choking on his own lungs.
His desperate gasps for air must have caught the attention of his fellow Apothecaries, as moments later, the familiar red armour appeared in his hazy vision; practically ripping the curtains off their hooks.
Meros was unable to speak, unable to move, unable to breathe.
”Get me The Angel,” rasped Sevatar, fingers curled into the armoured paldron of Meros’s right arm; nails digging deep into his skin. His bloody lips curled back to reveal blackened fangs, “Get me The Angel, or I’ll kill him-” he jerked Meros’ head back, “-and then everybody else on this ship.”