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„I require your aid.“
Jeritza’s voice was as monotone as ever, which was a small miracle for a man currently bleeding heavily enough to leave a puddle of blood on Dedue’s doorstep.
Dedue just stared at him for a moment, then, without a word, he stepped aside. Jeritza scurried into the dark basement apartment. Even though blood dripped between his fingers that he had pressed against his side, he sat down on the shabby couch, his eyes closed.
Dedue closed the door and watched him, while he searched for the bandages he kept in his kitchen cabinets, just in case.
„How deep is it?“
It took a while for Jeritza to even process the question and for a second something akin to fear crept up on him.
Who knew who would miss the man bleeding out on his couch enough to search for him? It would be difficult to believe it hadn’t been Dedue, who dealt the wound. A late revenge against Edelgard’s henchmen, perhaps, now that she was dead and his drive to keep going with her.
It was less insane than to believe Jeritza just showed up like that, again and again, every time with more gruesome wounds.
He took the dressings and joined Jeritza, wo blinked up at him with glassy eyes.
„The wound. How deep is it?“
In lieu of an answer, he just lifted his hand, another gush of blood soaked the cushions.
„It was an arrow. I already removed it.“
Dedue took a deep breath and tried not to think about how his apartment would smell like a battlefield for the next days, how often Jeritza would visit him again, or when and not if he would go too far one day and leave him with a body instead of a person.
He had stopped asking questions the second time he showed up late at night, pine needles in his hair and a dagger in his shoulder. Jeritza never answered anyway, not where he got his wounds, how he even found Dedue and why he came to him and not to a healer, professional or otherwise.
The pressure bandage he created wasn’t great, but enough.
„You should have left the arrow in,“ he explained, just to keep Jeritza conscious. He seemed so weak under his hands, so delicate, not the man he fought against for so many years. Only his gaze was the same, as empty as the eye sockets in his helmet.
„I wanted to know how it feels.“
Jeritzas voice rang hollower than ever. Dedue wasn’t sure if he avoided his face on purpose or if he just didn’t have enough energy left to keep his eyes focused.
„What, how it feels to die?“
Jeritza didn’t answer again, his gaze fixed on the movement of Dedue’s hands while he wiped them on his clothes to get rid of at least some of the blood.
Only when Dedue thought he wouldn’t say anything did he whisper: „The arrow. I wanted to know how it feels to pull on it.“
Dedue abruptly stood up.
„I’m making soup. Stay here.“
Jeritza nodded and coiled himself up, reaching for a blanket that was still slightly discoloured from the bloodstains he left last time. Dedue didn’t even bother to put it away.
He washed his hands and started cutting vegetables. The rhythmic sounds the knife made on the cutting bord always had something grounding, something he desperately needed right now. The evenings with Jeritza felt surreal, like a dream just absurd enough not to turn into a nightmare.
For a moment, he allowed himself to focus on the simple movements, cutting an onion, looking if he still had parsnips. Still, he was alert enough to notice steps behind him.
Usually Jeritza was like a cat in his elegance, now he was stumbling more than he was walking. It was impressive that he managed to stand up at all.
Dedue didn’t move his head, still focusing on the task at hand. If Jeritza thought it sensible to leave in his condition, he wouldn’t try to stop him. He always left after Dedue cared for his wounds.
After the parsnips were small enough, he put them into the pot and reached for the potatoes he had managed to grow despite the little light in his apartment. Behind him, the steps paused. He cut the potatoes, pushed them aside and reached for the celery root. A warm body pressed against his back.
His first impulse was to grip the knife harder, his mind went blank. He shouldn’t have turned his back towards him, even injured, he still was the death knight. For years he had heard about his unpredictable violence and even seen enough himself to know what the sudden proximity meant.
Who knew when he had decided that he no longer needed him? Maybe it was a sudden impulse. No matter what, it seemed like a fitting end. He never thought he would survive the war anyway. What were even two more years? His life’s task was accomplished the moment Edelgard’s body hit the throne room floor.
No pain came. Jeritza just leaned against him, his arms lying tentatively around his chest. A small sigh escaped his lips, somehow relieved.
Dedue slowly pushed the knife out of his reach, then he put his hand on Jeritza’s. His skin was as cold as the steel of the knife’s blade.
Jeritza flinched lightly under his touch and made a choked noise, but when Dedue lifted his hand again he reached for it and squeezed it.
„Stay.“
From every other person, Dedue would have understood his tone as an order, but not Jeritza. There was something else in his voice that he couldn’t quite place, something vulnerable in a way he wasn’t confident Jeritza was even able to express.
„It’s okay. I’m staying.“
He found himself softly stoking his hand with his thumb. Jeritza was frozen, he didn’t even seem to breathe properly.
Dedue kept his eyes on the knife, even though Jeritza didn’t try to reach for it, he just kept sinking more against his back. It took a while for both of them to relax.
The fireplace slowly burned down. When only embers were left, Dedue tried to turn around and look at him.
„I will go to bed. You are welcome to stay, if you want to.“
Jeritza slowly released him from the hug, still clasping his hand.
He was silent while he followed him to his bed. When Dedue tried to free his hand to change out of his clothes, he only gripped harder.
Dedue sighed and crawled beneath the blankets, Jeritza followed.
The bed was already too small for one person. He scooted up against the wall as far as possible to leave space for him. They were still far to close, almost touching the whole time.
Jeritza didn’t seem to mind. He lay on his uninjured side, his face turned towards Dedue, moving around to find a comfortable position. Only after it was already too late Dedue realized he was searching for something.
„You keep a dagger under your pillow.“
He pulled it out and spun it in his hands, only centimeters away from Dedues chest. Dedue froze.
Even in bright light it was already hard to read Jeritzas expression, in the overwhelming darkness they were in now, his movements were only visible when the light of the last embers hit the blade.
Dedue tried to move as little as possible and mentally prepared his options. He was stronger than Jeritza. Maybe he could grip his wrist or use his weight to push him down before he could do something? But Jeritza was quick and so close, he only needed to thrust it with enough force and Dedue wouldn’t have a chance to even react.
Maybe, he wouldn’t do anything at all, like earlier in the kitchen. He was as unpredictable as a sudden storm, destroying everything in his path but leaving a spider’s net hanging.
Over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears he heard Jeritza laugh.
„I can feel your heart race.“
He pushed the dagger back under the pillow and leaned his head against Dedue’s chest.
Dedue forced himself to breathe slowly. This was Jeritza, not his terrifying alter ego. Just a tired, injured man. Tonight he wasn’t in any danger.
Still, he slipped his arm underneath the pillow and gripped the hilt of the dagger.
„Dedue.“
The way Jeritza said his name sounded surprisingly serious. He had never spoken to him this directly, Dedue noticed.
Jeritza pulled his hand towards his side, directly onto the bandage. It felt rough under his fingers, blood had soaked through it and dried into a hard mass.
„Thank you.“
Dedue hesitated for a second, then he pulled him into a careful hug.
„You know you can come here even if you aren’t injured,“ he whispered. „I won’t turn you away.“
Jeritza nestled up against him, his hands on his chest. When he spoke up, he sounded tired.
„I think I will.“