Chapter Text
Chan is shaking. He’s trembling, can’t stop scrubbing his hands, and he can barely stand up. The blood is gone, but…he can still smell it. Gasping, he grips roughly at the skin on his chest. It’s too rough–he can feel the sting of his nails dragging marks across his skin. He’s not wearing a shirt, just tight pants and the painted on thick, square runes meant to protect him that are traditional for Challenges, but surely, there must be something that still has blood on it. Maybe his hair? Chan cups his hands together and uses them to dump water on himself. It doesn’t work. The blood is still here. Chan can smell it. He laughs, more of a sob than anything else. He wishes, desperately, for a shower, but he can’t wash off the runes until the Pack Alpha has acknowledged Chan’s victory. Right now, Chan’s mother is likely still dealing with the rival pack, reassuring them that there would be no further violence from her or her pack. Not after Chan had won. Not after the land dispute had been settled and Chan’s mother could play the gracious, kind pack Alpha to the other pack.
Chan doesn’t know why he’s so upset. This is what he’s been trained to do–ever since before he could remember, Chan has known that he would be the enforcer. He is the second born of the Pyxis pack, and the second born is always the enforcer. Although the Pyxis pack has a long history and is steeped in traditions, the subgenders are equal. Alpha, Beta, Omega, it doesn’t matter. Birth order doesn’t matter either. Firstborns do not need to be heirs to their families, secondborns aren’t used as threats. Unless, of course, you are a child of the Pack Alpha. The roles for the Pack Alpha’s children are rigid, immovable, and Chan doesn’t see them ever changing. Back when the Pyxis pack was more traditional about the subgenders, the birth order of the Pack Alpha’s children had been the same for generations, simply by coincidence–Alpha, Alpha, Beta, Omega. Heir, enforcer, mediator, caretaker. By the time the pack had started to change their thoughts about subgenders, the order of birth had been the same for too long, and it was easy to allow the difference of subgenders but keep the order of birth as one of their traditions. So here Chan is, as second born, waiting for his Pack Alpha to come see him so that he can finally get rid of the smell of blood that is following him around. He tangles his hands in his hair, pulling, trying to get himself back under control.
Chan’s oldest sister, Jia, is an Omega and has been raised to be the Heir to the pack, and she will be amazing. Chan’s little brothers, Min-jun a Beta and Su-jin an Alpha, fill the roles of mediator and caretaker respectively, and they do it brilliantly. Chan is the only one that…doesn’t fit. That feels more and more like a wolf with their leg caught in a trap, a feeling that has only exploded since he actually fought his first challenge. He wonders what it will take for him to gnaw his leg off.
He drops his hands and wipes his face clean when he hears two sharp knocks against the door. He spins around, sliding his hands down his pants nervously. “Enter,” he says, in as clear of a voice as he can manage. His mother strides in, along with Chan’s sister, her heir. Chan drops his head in a nod. It’s not quite a bow, not anymore. The Pyxis pack had grown out of the large showings of obsequiousness around the same time subgenders had been losing importance for them. It’s still important to acknowledge his mother as his Alpha, though.
She sweeps right up toward him, her pleased saffron scent wafting toward him. She beams at him, cupping his face between her hands and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You did very well, Channie,” she says, voice warm and loving.
“Thank you, Mother.” He keeps his voice steady and his eyes on hers. He can show no weakness here–he knows his role.
“And not killing the Challenger, even after he gave you his throat? That was very well done, my love. There can be no doubt who won after that, you showed restraint. There are already whispers of how merciful the Pxyis pack is among both packs involved today, whispers that will no doubt spread.”
He nods again, moving his mother’s hands with him. “We’ll leave you to wash, Channie. The celebrations have already started, and we will be missed if we aren’t there.” Chan’s mother dots another kiss on his face, then she’s off. Chan’s sister lingers for a moment, staring, before she moves in close and presses their foreheads together. Her eyes are too knowing, all seeing, and Chan closes his own in response. He doesn’t want to see his reflection in her eyes.
“Thank you, Chan,” she whispers, ducking her head to gently spread her sweet caramel on the side of his throat. He nods, fingers tightening on his thighs. He’d do anything to protect her.. Fighting a man twice his size to a stand still and forcing him to submit is not the limit of what he would do for her.. For their pack. This Challenge is nothing–this Challenge is, in fact, his job. This is his purpose. He just…wasn’t expecting the first time to be quite so… much. Now that he knows, he can handle it better next time.
She leaves him, although he can tell she’s not happy about it. Her caramel isn’t quite so bright as it is when she’s happy, but Chan’s mother is right–if the Heir was not at the celebrations, it would be noticed. Chan, thankfully, has a little more freedom. He was just in a Challenge, after all. He has the right to take time to heal from any injuries he may have received in defense of his pack.
He didn’t receive many wounds–the Challenger had the right to pick which weapons they were allowed, and he had chosen bare fists. Chan has bruises and a fierce, aching pain in his ribs when he breathes, but he isn’t bleeding. No, all the blood today had come from the Challenger. Chan had broken his nose within the first few minutes, then opened a cut just above his eyebrow. Head wounds always bleed a lot, and these wounds had been no exception–the blood had spattered around both of them, covering the sand they were fighting on. The Challenger had been big, almost twice Chan’s size, but he’d also been slow. So very, very slow, and Chan was fast. Fast and strong, and he’d been training for this moment long before he came of age at sixteen.
The Challenger had been slow and big and lumbering, and Chan was the opposite, and Chan had won. His first Challenge, and Chan didn’t even know the Challenger’s name. He could find out, probably. That wouldn’t be a problem. No, the problem was…fighting the Challenge hadn’t been hard. It had been devastatingly, nauseatingly easy. Feeling the crack of his fists against another man’s face, tasting the spray of his blood in the air, smelling his confident sandalwood scent go scared and cowering, and finally, forcing this other Alpha to give Chan his throat.
Chan had stopped himself from doing more than acknowledging the submission. He hadn’t been able to go further, even though he knows how to kill. Part of being an enforcer, and taking over from his Uncle, the previous enforcer, now that Chan had presented, was learning how to kill. He knew it was expected of him. But Chan hadn’t been able to. He had failed his pack, had failed his mother and his sister. And now, Chan’s mother believes it was a calculated decision meant to increase their standing in the eyes of other packs. Chan can never let her know anything different. Can never let her know that Chan had faltered when the safety of his pack, of his family, was on the line. That he had been unable to kill a man when it was well within his right to do so–when it was his duty to do so.
Chan shakes his head, drawing in a deep breath and taking comfort in his sister’s caramel scent. He’d been waiting in the Challenge Room, aptly named for being the room where the enforcer prepares for the Challenge and receives medical attention after. It’s not the most comfortable room, but it’s not meant to be. It holds the paint and brushes needed for applying the runes, and a sink with which to clean his face up before the Pack Alpha saw him, and not much else. Chan leaves, finally able to after having been seen by the pack medic, the pack Alpha, and the pack Heir. Now that his victory has been acknowledged, now that his sacrifice has been acknowledged, he is free to hide himself away.
He makes his way to his room as stealthily as he can. He doesn’t want to see anyone. Doesn’t know what he would do if he has to hear congratulations or have people pick apart his fight, giving him advice for next time. He just…wants to forget this whole thing.
He scrubs himself raw in the shower, using soap that will get rid of everyone’s scent except for Chan’s. He is careful only around the bruise around his eye and his cracked ribs. Everywhere else gets the same brutal scrubbing. The only place Chan doesn’t use touch is his neck–the only spot that has a scent other than his own forest and the other Alpha’s sandalwood. Part of getting ready for a Challenge was erasing all other scents, as an unexpected scent could be an advantage in a fight. Now, Chan just wants the sandalwood off of him, although he isn’t willing to get rid of the caramel. That will last him until he feels ready to emerge from his room and his brothers can scent him as well.
He emerges naked, not wanting to feel the scratchiness of clothes on him just yet–he’s overstimulated, still spinning out, and he knows that if he has to feel a single thing on him other than the softness of his sheets he’s going to lose it. And he can’t afford that right now–people may find out, and enforcer’s can’t afford weaknesses like that. He couldn’t afford for people to cast doubt on his ability to handle the job.
He pauses when he reaches his bed, blinking. His siblings–for who else would have dared to enter the bedroom of a child belonging to the Pack Alpha–have scattered half of it with their clothes and blankets they have carefully scented. They’ve made a nest for him. Only over half the bed, though, leaving space for him to lay down if he doesn’t want their scents on him. He laughs softly, finally letting himself tear up. Of course his siblings have taken care of him in this way. Chan is the only one who can get away with not being at the celebration, given the injuries everyone saw him take, and they know he tends to isolate when he is upset anyway.
Chan doesn’t nest–he doesn’t feel the need to–but laying in one specifically built to comfort him is one of the most soothing things Chan has ever experienced. He settles in the middle, glad of the lock on the door and the fact that his siblings will be keeping the pack away from him. He can break, here, in the nest that they have made for him.
He lets himself cry now, curling his arms around his throbbing ribs and drawing his legs up, letting caramel and old books and bergamot comfort him. He shoves the blankets in his mouth, not wanting to draw attention to himself. He will exist here, for a while, until he can once more face the pack without wanting to shake apart at how easy it was to hurt the other Alpha.
Chan wakes with a jolt when he hears the loud slam of a door. He hisses, cursing, letting himself curl up protectively around his ribs. That hurt. He waits to see if anyone is going to bang on his door, and when the silence continues, he relaxes. It’s darker now than it was before, warm orange filling the room. Chan is a little surprised that he slept and that he slept so long, but he’s also glad of it. Chan knows from previous Challenges fought by his Uncle that by tomorrow, everything should have gone back to normal. He will be able to get on with his life until the next Challenge. Chan’s heart clenches.
The next one. And the one after that and the one after that and the one after that, all the way until Chan is replaced by his sister’s second-born. Chan doesn’t know if he can do that. He doesn’t like fighting. Doesn’t like having someone at his mercy, doesn’t like being able to smell their fear and hear their pleading and knowing he is the cause of it. But he’s good at it. This is what he has been raised to do. Does it really matter that doing it makes him feel like he wants to claw his skin off? For the good of the pack, Chan is meant to do this. What does it mean about him–and his commitment to his pack, to his mother, to his sister–that he doesn’t know if he can do this?
Chan bites his lip. It…doesn’t really matter what he wants. This is Chan’s role, and fighting against it would mean bucking centuries of tradition. He doesn’t know if he can do that–doesn’t know if he’s brave enough. Or cowardly enough, depending on how you look at it–how his pack will no doubt look at it.
Chan sighs, sitting up and dragging the loosest clothes he owns on. They’re actually his youngest brother’s clothes, but Chan has stolen them since they’re so soft and oversized. If he wants them back, he can fight Chan for them. Chan flinches away from that joke, usually said in good fun, but now it casts him back into the arena, having to yank himself away from a Challenger’s throat.
He breathes in deep, then out, emptying his lungs of all the air. He ignores the way his ribs protest. Then he slips out the window. It’s not hard, and perhaps not necessary, but Chan doesn’t want to risk running into anyone. It’s cooler now that the sun is setting, and the slight breeze feels good against Chan’s exposed skin. He has a spot he always goes to when he needs to think, under a tree that his great-grandmother, also an enforcer, had supposedly planted. He flops down when he gets there, momentarily wishing that he had brought a blanket before he gets distracted by the fireflies.
He hears rustling next to him and casts his eyes over. “Hello, little brother.”
Min-jun smiles warmly at Chan. “Hi, Hyung,” he says, leaning against Chan’s shoulder. The smell of old books fills the air, mixing nicely with Chan’s own forest and the remnants of caramel and bergamot. “I have a confession,” he says grandly.
Chan blinks, turning his head to look at his brother. “What?” He says warily, knowing this could range anywhere from stealing all of Chan’s left shoes–which he had done once, for some small slight neither of them could remember when pressed about it–to starting a revolution.
“Well,” Jia says, popping up from nowhere with their other brother in tow, leaning against him as well. “We all do,” she says, and then all of them are there, Alpha, Alpha, Beta, and Omega. Enforcer, Caretaker, Mediator, and Heir.
“What confession is that?” Chan asks, getting ready to have their back on whatever it is the three of them are planning. It’s something ridiculous no doubt, some sort of prank that they have cooked up to distract Chan and make him feel better.
“We bought a bus ticket to take you to Seoul, and we’ve had money and your most important things packed and ready to go ever since we first found out about the Challenge.”
Chan bolts upright, staring at all of them.
Revolution it is then.
“No,” Chan says as calmly as he can.
“Why not?” Min-jun says, having taken over trying to talk him into this when it became clear that Chan would not be going quietly.
“I’m not just abandoning you! I’m not–why do you think I would do that?!”
“Chan,” Jia says, cutting everyone off. The word of the Heir carries weight after all, even here. Even among only them. “I know what this cost you. We all know. It’s written all over your face and in your scent. You smell…destroyed. Like your forest is on fire.”
Chan is silent. He’s not really sure how to respond to that. Su-jin takes over. “I know that you have been raised the same way all of us were–these are our roles, and deviation was never even considered because it has been this way for centuries. To deviate would be…going against everything the Pyxis pack is.”
Chan nods. Yes, that’s right. To not accept his role in the pack would be the same as going against his very being. How could he do that? It doesn’t matter that Chan doesn’t know if he can do this, doesn’t know if he has it in him to fight, doesn’t know what might happen if he lets himself lose. Doesn’t know if he could bear the consequences that might come if he does that.
“But Chan,” Jia says, leaning forward to grip his chin and make him look into her eyes. “This does not need to be your responsibility.” Chan goes to argue, but Jia continues before he can speak. “I’ve been talking with our cousin, Ha-Eun. She enjoys fighting. Lives for it, thinks there’s nothing better on earth than winning a Challenge.”
Chan goes quiet, protests dying on his lips. Jia had spoken to their cousin? And…Ha-Eun had assured Jia that she would take over as enforcer? And that…she enjoyed fighting? What does Ha-Eun have that Chan doesn’t? How could Chan have failed when Ha-Eun hasn’t?
“We will not be left undefended,” Jia continues. “And…Chan, you aren’t meant to be an enforcer, not like this. You don’t like fighting.” Her voice is filled with sadness, her fingers gentle as she carefully wipes away Chan’s tears.
Min-jun takes over again. “Chan, if any of us felt this way about our roles, you’d be screaming at us to leave. You’d probably drag us off yourself.”
Chan huffs a laugh, closing his eyes and feeling hot, fresh tears streak down his face again. Yes, he would. If it were one of them. But it’s not one of them, it’s Chan, and Chan doesn’t know if he can leave them.
“Chan,” Jia says, tapping his face until Chan opens his eyes. All three of them are pressed next to each other, staring at him seriously. He’s never seen all of them look so serious before, and he doesn’t like it, particularly when it’s aimed at him. “There will be another Challenge tomorrow.”
Immediately, Chan’s face goes numb. His ears start to ring, and his sister’s voice fades out. He can tell she’s still talking because her mouth is moving, but he can’t make out what she is saying. Min-jun catches Chan against his shoulder easily, holding him up and letting Su-jin gently grip his wrists to check his pulse. They sit like that for a long time.
Chan comes back to Su-jin humming, the same song he sings when the babies have nightmares.
“There you are, Channie,” Jia says. Both his brothers crowd closer, running soothing hands down his arms and pushing their scents at him.
“There’s going to be another Challenge?” Chan croaks. Another one? Another person Chan will have to fight, will have to force to submit, will have to ignore the disgust writhing under his skin and the revulsion clawing its way up his throat.
Jia nods sadly. “There’s another land dispute.”
Chan gasps, desperately dragging in air. Another land dispute, the same Challenge as today. “I–I can’t, ” he whines, leaning forward and pressing his face against his brother’s chest. He can’t do this, not again, not so soon. Not over land.
“You don’t have to,” Jia says firmly. “You don’t have to. We have a plan. All you have to do is follow it, and Ha-Eun will take over for tomorrow.”
She grips Chan’s shoulders and pushes him back so that she can see his face. “Please, Chan. Please don’t ask us to watch you destroy yourself.”
Chan stares at her, not able to break eye contact. “I can’t,” he whispers helplessly. “They’ll think–”
Min-jun interrupts, shoving himself next to Jia so that he can look into Chan’s eyes as well. “It doesn’t matter what they think. Not really. I’m of age, and Su-jin isn’t far behind. People are already looking to see if Jia disagrees with anything Mother is saying. Mother can see it, and although she doesn’t like it, she does understand it. The pack had done the same thing to her and her father, when she came of age. Mother won’t allow dissension between her and the Heir, not now. All we have to do is make sure our version is heard first–you’re on a mission for the Heir, one uniquely suited for your abilities. While you’re gone, Ha-Eun is going to take over as enforcer. There will be no upset and we will not be left undefended, nor will someone unprepared need to take over as enforcer.”
Chan blinks. That’s…very neatly arranged. “How long have you guys been planning this?”
Su-jin smiles, finally letting go of Chan’s wrist now that his pulse has settled down. “Jia started it, but she told us when she realized it would probably take all of us to convince you. And…we’ve been planning this ever since we realized what it would cost you, to fight in a Challenge for real.”
Chan looks down. Although he had fought his first real Challenge today, there had been simulated ones, none of which he had handled very well. He had hidden it from the pack–or at least he thought he had, but of course, his siblings had been able to tell.
“Here, Channie,” Jia says, pulling back and ducking around the side of the tree. She reappears with a large bag slung over her shoulder and a folder in her hands.
Chan watches her, surrounded by his brothers, and he is…so glad and honored to be known so well. To be defended so well. To be loved so well. This is what pack means to Chan. This is why it is so hard for him to leave. For all that Chan loves his mother, she is…strict. Unyielding. Pack Alpha before anything else. Chan’s mother would never understand Chan’s inability to do his duty. She would not have prepared for Chan to leave–the possibility has likely never occurred to her. But Jia, Min-jun, and Su-jin had seen Chan struggling, had known what it would cost him to be enforcer, and they have made it where Chan can leave without feeling he is tearing himself apart.
“We’ve packed all your most important things. And the documents you might need: birth certificate, pack certificate, stuff like that.” Su-jin’s voice is warm and pleased, mischievous with what they’ve accomplished. Chan’s youngest brother has always loved getting something over on him. Chan smiles at him. He deserves that–Chan hadn’t known that they were planning anything, much less preparing for him to run away.
Then he frowns. “How did you get my stuff without me noticing?”
Min-jun laughs at him, a tinge of sadness present. “You’ve been…distracted this last week, Hyung. It was easy to get your stuff without you noticing.”
Chan nods to himself. He has been distracted over the past week, ever since he found out that he was going to be fighting a Challenge.
“We’ve been planning this for a while, ever since we realized that you didn’t like your role. But…we thought we’d have more time to ease you into it. To help you see that this was the best choice.”
Chan smiles, the edges turned down, and dashes his sleeve across his eyes. “Well,” he says, clearing his throat when his voice cracks. “Consider me eased.”
And Chan is. He’s terrified, shaking with a much sweeter type of adrenaline than the one he’d experienced during the Challenge. But…his siblings have given him a way forward. A way that they are all in agreement about, and they have made sure that Chan will not face any push back from his pack, should he choose to come back. Because leaving for a mission for the Heir is an honorable duty, one that is much the same as being the enforcer to fight a Challenge.
Beyond that, beyond the logistics of a pack that approves and having his things…his siblings are happy for him. They want him to do this–and that has swayed Chan more than anything.
“If you decide you want to come back, you will always be welcome. We could arrange it so that Ha-Eun is the enforcer even after. The pack doesn’t like change, after all. Ha-Eun has agreed to make sure that everyone gets used to her.”
Min-jun takes over. “There’s a phone there, too, a burner with only the number of a burner we have in it. That way we can still talk but Mother and Father won’t be able to track you, or know that we’re still in contact.”
Chan nods, taking the bag and swinging it over his own shoulder. His ribs ache with it, but this is the ache of his freedom, of never having to fight another Challenge if he doesn’t want to, and he relishes it. He takes the folder and tucks it under his arm.
“The ticket is in the folder, and we packed some snacks and as much money as we could for you,” Su-jin says, fussing with the strings of the hoodie Chan is wearing. Chan lets him, more than happy to be fussed over.
His siblings crowd in close, scenting him and his clothes. Their scents are tinged by grief, as is Chan’s own, but…happiness and relief and pride are there too. “We’ll miss you, Channie-Hyung,” Su-jin says.
“Stay in contact, Chan,” Jia orders, her voice clogged with tears.
“Be careful, Hyung,” Min-jun says, clutching him tight.
Eventually, after the sun has fully set and Chan can no longer make out his sibling’s faces, despite how close they are, Jia pulls back. “Time to go, Channie. Your train leaves in the morning.”
Chan nods, laughing, his eyes stinging with tears. He pulls them close one more time, unable to stop himself from covering them in forest one more time. Then he forces himself to step back. One step. Two steps. His siblings cluster together, holding hands. Three steps. Four steps. As Chan continues backing up, they are swallowed by the darkness. Chan makes himself turn around once he’s sure they can no longer see him. He tucks his nose into his hoodie, letting himself relish in their scents. He does not let his sadness taint them–he doesn’t know when he will next see his siblings, after all. He will not ruin this last reminder of them.
He makes his way to the train station slowly, and is able to board without issue. He’s one of the only ones here, and is able to get a row to himself. He keeps his bag on his lap and carefully tucks the folder inside. Then he leans his head against the window, feeling the cold window against his temple. He sniffles, blinking away tears. He’s sad–devastated–to leave his siblings, his pack, but…he is so relieved.
He’s not sure what awaits him in Seoul. But he’s eager to find out.
Chan is running, as quickly as he can, feet pounding and arms flying. His chest heaves up and down, and he can feel sweat running down his back. It’s not the first time he’s been cornered in the half year since he left his birth pack. It’s not even the first time he’s had to run, but this is the first time he hasn’t managed to get away clean. The gangs around this area had gotten smarter, apparently, because this time, instead of finding two or three hitters that he could win against, he’d found ten hitters waiting for him. So he’d run. The minute he’d walked into the little apartment he’d managed to find and he’d clocked the gang that was attempting to recruit him that week, he’d dropped everything and run. He wasn’t attached to the apartment, after all, and he carried everything that mattered to him in the bag thudding against his spine.
For some reason, they didn’t seem to expect that. The looks on their faces when he’d spun around to flee instead of allowing the door to close behind him and settling in for a fight had been comical to say the least. Just because he can fight doesn’t mean he wants to. The gangs after him seem to want him as a hitter. It would make sense—he’s an Alpha, one proven to be dangerous by his responses to gangs trying to forcefully recruit him, and he would be a powerful person to have on their side. Chan won’t let that happen to him. That fate, being forced to fight others, is, in fact, why he’d left his birth pack, his home, and everything he’d ever known. So here he is, running from a fight, from a Challenge, which strikes unpleasantly at his instincts. He’s gotten used to ignoring his instincts in the last few months though, and this is no different.
He doesn’t know if they’re chasing him or not, but he’d rather be safe than sorry. He runs for a long time, until he’s gasping for air and his legs have gone slightly numb from the impact of slamming into the ground. He slows carefully, trying to listen and see if he can hear anyone chasing after him. He doesn’t. Maybe they’ve lost him? Or maybe they’re waiting on him to stop so they can surround him and get on with ‘inviting’ him into their gang.
Chan ducks into an alley, leaning back and closing his eyes. He’s going to have to work his way back to his apartment eventually, to see what—if anything—is left of his stuff. Or maybe he shouldn’t. He’d learned after the first couple of times he had to run, after all. Everything truly important to him, everything irreplaceable, is in the bag on his back, the same one his siblings had given him. He freezes when he hears shouting and people yelling. Maybe they did chase him. He crouches, carefully sliding further back into the alley. He didn’t think they would have done that. This is the…fourth or fifth gang to try to recruit him since he left home. He’s not exactly sure.
Chan and his siblings hadn’t planned for the gangs that filled the city. How could they, when the Pyxis pack was everything they had ever known? Chan had gotten a very quick education when he’d stepped off the bus and stumbled right into a gang’s territory. Thankfully, most of the hitters he had run into had a habit of monologuing about exactly what Chan had done to cause offense, and Chan used that to educate himself. After the first disastrous attempt at recruiting him–when he had had no choice but to fight his way out, regardless of the consequences–Chan had gone to the library and googled everything he could find about gangs, packs, and the differences between them. Not all packs were gangs, not all gangs were packs, and sometimes, a gang was made up of multiple packs. It was confusing, and irritating, but Chan had made himself learn. He hadn’t come here to fight, after all. He had come here to make a life for himself, and the best way to do that was to learn what to avoid.
Chan had tried to keep to himself, being careful about whose territory he was on at any given time, but his scent gave away that he was an Alpha, and his build gave away that he was a fighter. He had been open to joining a gang in place of a pack, craving a type of belonging, even if he felt he would be betraying his siblings if he joined another pack but…they had all wanted him as a hitter. As an enforcer. As a weapon. Chan had run as fast and as far as he could from that fate, and he’d ended up here. Unfortunately, he hadn’t taken into consideration that other groups might want him to perform the same tasks. Both pack and gang relations can be difficult and tricky by themselves, much less when someone attempts to combine them, and having an Alpha like him, one who already has a fearsome reputation is quite a boon. If they could get him to join their packs, they would be set. They would be able to give other groups pause.
Chan isn’t quite sure if no one has considered why he left–or even if they know, although it’s obvious he had left some sort of pack or gang–or if they just don’t care, but either way, it’s a source of some…annoyance for Chan. He’s trying to build a life here, so far away from everything he’s ever known, and people won’t leave him alone. He isn’t even entirely sure how they’re clocking who he is, or he would change it. His scent maybe? It’s not like a forest scent is particularly rare for Alphas, though.
Chan stiffens when he hears the scuff of a footstep behind him, turning and rolling his shoulders up to make himself look bigger. He snarls, letting his eyes flare, only to be stopped dead by the sight of an elderly woman making her way down the alley, a trash bag clutched in her hand. Chan blinks. That’s…not what he was expecting at all, and it takes a moment for his brain to reboot. Sloppy, he admonishes himself, carefully pushing himself back into the wall. Grandmothers can hurt you just as much as any other wolf. He inhales, trying to parse out her scent. Lemongrass. An Alpha.
The woman pauses at his snarl, eyeing him with a raised eyebrow. She doesn’t turn around and try to run, though, or flinch backwards, which is what Chan had been expecting to happen. She doesn’t attack him either, which is also unexpected. Alphas generally don’t react well to being growled at by other Alphas. The woman moves past him, ignoring the way that Chan is posturing, and throws the bag in the dumpster. Then she turns back around to face him, her hands on her hips. “What’s your name?” Chan pauses. That’s a tricky question. He’s been going by a lot of names lately, bouncing around and trying to fly under the radar. But some part of him, a part he’d tried to unsuccessfully bury, doesn’t want to lie to the first person who hasn’t immediately attacked him or tried to run him off since he left his pack.
Slowly, he answers truthfully before he can stop himself. “Chan.” He doesn’t offer his family name. If she pushes it, he’ll give a fake family name, he assures himself. The woman doesn’t push it though. Instead, she briskly claps her hands together. “Alright, then, Chan, my name is Dae. Help me with these boxes, will you?” Then she turns, moving quickly, and she picks up one of the boxes lining the alleyway. She shoves it into Chan’s arms without fanfare, advancing on him quickly but not in a way that is threatening enough for him to react. Chan lets it hit his chest and settles his arms around it. He blinks at the woman. This is…odd. But alright. He might as well help this woman. The Chan that is still missing his pack is soothed slightly by an older Alpha giving him orders. She doesn’t smell violent, either. Her scent isn’t tinged by aggression at all. Dae takes his silence as an agreement, apparently, because she spins around and takes off back down the alley. Chan leans forward slightly to watch her. Is he supposed to follow her? That’s not…clear.
She whirls back around. “Well?” Dae demands imperiously, one eyebrow raised. Chan starts. He hesitates. Go back to his apartment with a bunch of goons, walk around aimlessly, or follow this woman, who has done nothing aggressive toward him yet. He steps forward carefully, following the woman. She leads him through several alleyways, until they reach the front door of a pharmacy. The other Alpha holds the door open for Chan, and Chan moves forward without thinking anything of it. Passing her and entering the building shouldn’t be a problem for him. He’s given his back to other Alphas plenty of times before. But he can’t make himself pass her. He can’t open himself up to any sort of harm from her, even though there isn’t even a hint of aggression in her lemongrass scent.
He doesn’t know what his face looks like, but whatever is written on it makes her eyes soften. She ducks ahead of Chan without saying anything, extending one arm to keep the door open as long as possible. Chan follows her nervously, his muscles tense. The situation is starting to catch up to him as his adrenaline starts to settle. The pharmacy looks small, but looks can be deceiving. If someone wanted to get the jump on him, this would be a good place to do it.
Nothing happens, though. He doesn’t get tackled or hit over the head or shoved against the wall. He slams his eyes shut when the woman turns the lights on, unprepared for the bright flare. He cracks his eyes open more quickly than his eyes can actually adjust. He doesn’t like leaving himself open to any sort of attack for that long. He doesn’t see anyone, though. No lunging person ready to hurt him. No one waiting for him with a leering smirk, ready to show him how stupid he is for daring to follow this random person.
The woman is watching him with a slightly annoyed look on her face. Chan swallows heavily. What did he do? He didn’t do anything, he doesn’t think. If the other Alpha kicks him out, Chan won’t fight it. That would be stupid. He’ll just have to figure out where he’s going to stay until he can find another apartment. He refuses to join another pack or a gang. Especially if that pack or gang is trying to force him into it.
The woman opens her mouth, and Chan braces himself for being told to get lost, although he still isn’t sure what he’s done wrong, but instead, the woman says, “You’re bleeding, Chan.” Chan twitches at the use of his real name. It’s been a while since he’s heard his real name. He looks down at himself. Oh. Oh, he is bleeding. There’s a hole in his pants, the fabric gleaming wet and dark. Chan can barely make out a thin sliver of white. He resists the urge to retch. Is that his bone? How had that happened? He must have hurt his knee running, or maybe he fell at one point? He’s not sure, but whatever happened to his leg must have happened in his mad scramble to get away. The acknowledgment of his injury leads to pain crashing back into his awareness. His knees buckle, and he barely manages to keep his hold on the box as his shoulder hits the wall.
The woman lets out an alarmed sound, reaching out toward him with grasping hands. Presumably, she only meant to take the box from him. However, this is a strange Alpha coming at Chan when he’s already injured and he’s still on edge from earlier. So Chan snarls, low and deep and threatening. The woman doesn’t flinch at all. Her scent doesn’t change in any way, and she doesn’t get aggressive or defensive. She withdraws her hand slowly, carefully avoiding making any sudden movements.
“Easy, Chan, I’m not going to hurt you.”
Chan hears her, and although he does manage to rein in his scent and cut off his growl, he can’t quite manage to stop flaring his eyes. He stands there, tense, jaw clenched, and he waits to see what this strange Alpha is going to do. He’s just been aggressive with her on her own territory. She’s well within her rights to start a fight with him.
She won’t win—Chan has been trained for Challenges since he was just a child. The Alpha in front of him doesn’t walk like a fighter, and she’s got a small limp for him to target. But if he does that—if he lets himself attack an Alpha in their own territory and he doesn’t kill her—word will spread. Word that he can’t kill, that he’s weak, and he will be even more of a target than he already is. Chan can’t let that happen.
But the Alpha doesn’t defend her territory. She doesn’t snarl, or yell, or threaten, or tell him to get out. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, not enough to submit but enough to acknowledge that there is an angry Alpha in front of her.
“I’m sorry. That was sudden, wasn’t it?”
Chan blinks, mildly shocked that that’s the only acknowledgement he got
The woman continues. “Can you put the box down on the floor for me? I never would have asked you to carry it if I’d realized you were hurt.”
Chan leans down to do as she’s asked, pondering that last statement. Carrying the box is no problem, even with his leg. But…the other Alpha couldn’t tell he was bleeding? Maybe the alley was too strong to get any sort of scent from him.
“Thank you, Chan. Are you comfortable with me bandaging your leg?”
Chan shifts slightly, testing how well his leg can hold up. It hurts, really, really badly, and although Chan can take a lot of damage during a fight, after the fight is much more…dubious. When Chan was still with his pack, the packs medic had been with him almost immediately after he won, bandaging and bracing and stitching. He hadn’t really had to feel the pain of the Challenge he was facing. The first time Chan had gotten into a fight after he left—the first gang who had sent hitters to try to forcefully recruit him, his arm had been broken.
Chan had tried to remember what Deaton, his old pack’s medic, had done when he’d had a broken bone. He’d pushed it back into place as quickly as he could, trying to feel for the alignment like he remembered Deaton doing. After that, he’d splinted his arm using duct tape and a board he’d snapped in half. But it hadn’t healed right. He’d had to break it again, and the fact that his arm had healed correctly the second time was down to pure luck. Chan can’t risk his leg like that. He needs to be able to run and fight if he needs to. It’s a matter of survival for him.
“…Alright.” The woman smiles.
She leads him to a smaller room, gesturing for Chan to sit on the metal table in the center of the room. Chan does so, making sure not to give her his back and keeping his eyes on her at all times. The woman turns, starting to dig around in the cabinets lining the wall, and Chan lets himself glance around the room. It’s small, tiny, really, and packed with boxes like the one Chan had carried and cabinets that he assumes are filled with medical supplies, given what the woman is currently pulling out. He grimaces at himself. This really isn’t how he wanted this day to go. He’s going to have to find another apartment with a leg he needs to take extra care of, which automatically makes everything harder. He cannot be seen having a weak spot. At least his bag is still strapped to his back. There were a couple of close calls, at first, with him nearly dropping it or it being pulled off his back, before he’d finally strapped it to himself.
“Alright, Chan,” the woman says, carrying an entire armful of supplies over to the table. She dumps them next to Chan, and rifles through them quickly. “I’m going to cut open your pants and we’ll take a look at what’s going on here. That alright?”
Chan blinks at her. He’s not used to medics asking for his permission to look at his wounds. He nods slowly. He’s half tempted to tell her no, just to see what she’d do, but his leg really does hurt, and he doesn’t want to risk her not helping him with his knee. He hums in answer. That’s good enough, right? Apparently so, because she picks up the scissors and reaches behind her for the little rolling chair that had been shoved against the wall. Chan tenses, his heart rate increasing. He knows that his scent must be flaring again, but she doesn’t seem all that bothered. She doesn’t even wrinkle her nose, which seems odd to Chan, because he’s been told that his scent can be quite aggressive and jarring. Maybe as a medic, the other Alpha is used to filtering everything out to focus on what’s important to her. Chan does that when he fights.
Calm down, he tells himself firmly. Breathe. You’re alright. Yes, she has a weapon. But she’s hunched over on a rolling chair, peering down at your leg. You could kick the chair and have her on the floor as soon as she shows any hint of aggression. Then stomp on her bad leg, and you’re out the door before she can call for help. He relaxes just slightly now that he has a plan, although he keeps his eyes on her hands, just in case.
She cuts his pants open carefully, clicking her tongue when she finally gets to see the bare skin of his shin. He leans forward slightly, trying to see what is making her scent be that…disapproving? But he doesn’t see anything—it just looks like a bad cut to him. “You’ve got a shard of something in here, Chan.” She looks up at him, and Chan waits for her to stand up, or press on his wound, or do something to establish herself as the most powerful Alpha of this exchange, but she just…continues speaking. “There are two options. Number one, I don’t do anything, you heal around it, eventually it’ll make its way out on its own. Number two, I pull it out now.”
Chan blinks. He’ll have to think more on this Alpha’s reactions later, because he’s starting to crash and he needs to be aware enough that she can’t hurt him while pretending to heal him. “I…take it out?” He’s unsure, but the thought of having glass inside his leg for longer than he has to freaks him out. Apparently, he’s chosen the right answer, because she smiles slightly at him and then leans over to grab the tweezers.
“That’s what I would suggest. Leaving glass inside of your leg…it would probably turn out okay, but it would also be painful, and you’d have to be careful of how you moved, just in case.” Well that settles it. Chan can’t really see a lot of being careful in his future. He needs to be able to move.
“This is going to hurt, Chan, but it will be a quick pain, and then it’s done, okay?” He nods again, curling his hands around the edge of the table and trying to brace himself. Feeling her dig around in his leg and pull the glass out is excruciating, but it is quick, just like she promised. He watches as she leans over to throw it into the bowl she’d brought over in her armful of supplies. “There we go, Chan. It’s done.” He wonders why she’s telling him this, because he can see that she’s done, and then she continues, “You can breathe now.” There’s a wry sort of amusement to her tone, almost, and Chan jolts slightly. He lets out a shuddering breath. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath, and it’s slightly jarring that she had. She is paying very close attention to him, then.
Chan watches her go through the rest of bandaging his wound without really processing anything. She cleans it, stitches it, then smooths a bandage over it. Then she stands and starts to clean up the room he is in. He blinks, coming out of his daze a little bit. It’s time for him to go, then. He doesn’t know for sure where he will go, but he can’t stay here. She hasn’t said anything about it, and he isn’t willing to ask. So he stretches his calf carefully, trying to see where the stitches will pull so that he can limit his range of movement, at least for now.
“There’s a spare room you can have, at least for tonight, Chan. I don’t like the idea of you wandering around with that leg. I stitched it and bandaged it, yes, but I’d like to keep you close to keep an eye on you, just in case.” She’s not watching him while she offers this. She is, in fact, facing away from him and washing her hands, although Chan can tell she can see him in the mirror's reflection. Still, though, it eases something in him that this is truly an offer. It’s not a demand. She’s not threatening him or glaring at him or trying to intimidate him into staying for some reason. Really, though, he should leave. He needs to get going and figure out what he’s going to do now, and staying in one place for too long, especially having left a trail of blood, will only make it easier for him to be found.
He opens his mouth to tell her this, to explain and apologize and thank her all in one breath, because his leg really does feel better and he didn’t have to try to fix it himself and then mess it up so badly he had to rip it back open. He’s not going to have to worry about infection or whether or not he got all the glass out, or finding the supplies to try to bandage it himself. Instead, though, what comes out is, “Alright.” He grimaces almost immediately, trying to convince himself to take it back, but she is leading him to a smaller room, with a bed and a dresser and a desk, like his room at home, and he’s just so tired. It’s been a few days since he slept, because he’d thought he was safe and then he’d caught the scent of one of his old packmates. Ginger. That didn’t mean much, of course, Chan was as far away as he could get with what he had, and people could have the same or similar scents. Still, though, Chan couldn’t risk it. If they knew where he was, word could get back to the Pyxis pack. To Chan’s mother. And although Chan’s siblings had arranged it very neatly so that no one would blame Chan for leaving, their Mother must know that Chan had run away. She could drag him back, and Chan doesn’t know if he could survive that. So he’d stayed up, tense and anxious and ready to fight if he’d had to, and then he’d been cornered by a different gang anyway. The relief from it not being his old pack is hitting him too, and he’s listing to the side before he can catch himself.
She catches him. She catches him like it’s nothing, and that should alarm Chan, should make him struggle, because he’s not exactly light—he’s quite proud of the muscles he’s built up, actually—but all he can muster is a small growl, more of a protest than a threat. “Easy, Channie. You’re alright.”
That’s…that sounds like his sister, and Chan finds himself closing his eyes without thinking about it. His sister is here. She won’t let him be hurt. He can rest.
Chan comes to with a long, loud gasp kicking out his legs instinctively and then flinching when something pulls sharply in his leg. He curls on his side, wrapping his hands around his leg where the pain had been and forcing his eyes open. He’s…in a room. A room that he doesn’t recognize. That’s not exactly unusual for him, given that he’s been moving so often, but…he doesn’t remember even coming here. He shifts. His bag is still on his back, at least. No wonder he aches so badly. Laying on it isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but he’d rather lay on it than risk it being taken away. He sits up carefully, waiting to see if he’s about to get clobbered over the head or something, but he doesn’t see anyone. He doesn’t even think anyone has been there recently, because when he sniffs the air carefully, all he gets is the faint scent of lemongrass. Oh. Oh. Lemongrass. Last night comes rushing back to him in a blur of images and pain and scent, Chan presses his hands over his eyes hard enough he starts to see spots. Stupid. That was so stupid. He followed a strange Alpha back to their territory? And then let her close enough to heal him? What was he thinking?
Of course, he hadn’t been thinking. He’d been too caught up in having a vaguely friendly—or at least nonviolent—Alpha pay attention to him and give him orders. He hadn’t anticipated that hitting him quite so hard or so unexpectedly. He missed his mother, of course, her calm nature-y scent and her steadfast presence, but he’d run for a reason. He needs to remember that. At least now he knows this kind of thing slips under his guard—he’ll be better prepared for it next time. He cannot let anyone know that he has any sort of blindness or weak spot, and if this gets out…well. It won’t end well, although Chan can’t know for sure for whom it won’t end well—him, or the people using it against him.
He stands slowly, waiting for the dizzying blood rush to go away, and he inhales carefully, trying to see if there really is no scent here beyond the Alpha’s faded one. There isn’t. What kind of Alpha keeps a scentless room in their territory? Fully kitted out for someone to use? He doesn’t know for sure that this is the Alpha’s territory, he realizes. Cold rushes through him. He knows his eyes and his scent must be flaring in his panic. He must have stumbled into a trap of some sort, because why else would there be a scentless room waiting for him? Stupid, stupid, stupid. He rushes for the doorway, ignoring the way something catches-pulls-breaks in his leg, and the way that he can feel warm liquid running down his shin. He can fix that later. Right now, he has to get out.
He hits the door hard, slamming into it and scrabbling at the knob. Get it together, he admonishes himself. You can’t panic right now. Telling himself that is all well and good, but it doesn’t really help with the way that he can’t quite breathe right, or his vision is going spotty or his hands are shaking. He can’t get the door open. It’s locked. He can’t get the door open.
The door opens from the outside, and Chan bursts through it before whoever just opened it can step inside with him. He hits the wall hard, slamming his shoulder into it, and spins, dropping into a stance where he can fight better and growling as mean as he can. He can smell his own scent in the air, charred forest, and he hopes it makes whoever has shown up think twice about grabbing him.
Except no one grabs him. The Alpha from before, the lemongrass one, just watches him, a slightly bemused look on her face. “You alright, Chan?” She says slowly, like Chan is an idiot for some reason, which irritates Chan to no end. He’s not an idiot. This is a perfectly rational reaction to finding out that a room had been kept for him, and he’s waiting for the rest of the pack to show up to teach his place in the hierarchy. He’ll give them one hell of a fight, he promises himself darkly. They’ll have to work for it if they want to keep him in their pack. They’ll have to work for it every day, until he can get away and run again.
“I’m fine,” he says shortly, straightening up when it becomes clear that there isn’t about to be an ambush. His six months away from the Pyxis pack has made him paranoid apparently.
She hums at him. He squints at her. “Well,” she says, turning back around. He blinks at her just…giving him her back like it’s nothing. “I made breakfast, if you’d like.” Then she moves off, in what must be the direction of the kitchen.
Chan blinks again, running his hand over the backpack strap nervously. That’s…breakfast would be good. It would be nice. But it would also involve staying here, and Chan isn’t sure if he can do that. If he should. He’s sure other gangs are still looking for him. But it’s not like he has anywhere to go. Or anyone waiting for him.
Cautiously, he follows the woman. She’s sitting in front of a table filled with food, and Chan is unable to stop himself from inhaling greedily at the sight. His stomach growls, and she looks up, a small smile on her face. “You can eat all you like, Chan.”
He hesitates again. He doesn’t have much money, because he hasn’t been able to keep a steady job given how the gangs are chasing him. He will need to use what he has on him to pay for another apartment, but…he’s so hungry. He can’t just take her food, though. He doesn’t know who this woman is involved with, but if she’s in a gang, then Chan could be signing himself up for joining through his debt to her.
She casts a glance over him, then looks down at her plate. “I wanted to say thank you for helping me carry the boxes yesterday, and I’ve got some more sorting to be done, if you wouldn’t mind helping me.”
Chan nods, moving forward. That’s good–he can eat, and then he can pay her back through labor. His leg is still sore, but he can handle carrying around boxes. They sit quietly for a moment, eating. Chan is resisting the urge to shovel food into his mouth. He has manners, after all. And revealing how hungry he is would be revealing a weakness, something that Chan doesn’t mean to do if he can help it. His leg is enough of a weakness.
She scrapes her fork across her plate, neatly finishing the last bite, and then she rises. Chan goes still for a moment, waiting to see what she is going to do, but she just takes her dishes to the sink then opens the cabinet next to it.
“Here, Chan, let me look at your leg while you finish eating, and then you can go shower.”
Chan opens his mouth to protest, because surely this is too much, and he really does need to move on, but she cuts him off. “The supplies I need you to move are going to be used to patch up members of different gangs. I try to keep them as scentless as possible, and having the smell of blood near them is something that I would like to prevent, if I can.”
Chan goes still, letting her start to clean his leg. Gang members. She patches up gang members. But…she said they were different gangs, so…maybe she’s not in one? Maybe he’s okay?
“My son is the leader of the Moon gang, but he knows enough to leave me out of it. And to send any injured person he finds to me, regardless of who they’re affiliated with. I’m a Doctor, after all. I swore an oath. Do no harm and all that.”
Chan chews his food, slowing down slightly now that he can feel her tugging at his leg, pain lancing through him. Her hands are cold, though, and soothing, and so is the scent of lemongrass. If she’s telling the truth–and he doesn’t see any indication that she isn’t telling the truth, and he’s very good at reading people. He needs somewhere to stay, but he also needs to pay Dae back, and…it’s been a long time since he was around someone who was kind to him. He hadn’t realized, when he’d left, how difficult it would be to be by himself. To be so alone. To smell only forest, aside from when he’s running or fighting. Plus…if this goes badly, he can fight his way out if he needs to.
“There we go,” Dae says, tapping his leg. He looks down, slightly taken aback by the white bandages wrapped cleanly around his knee and down his shin. That was quick. It’s possible that Chan had been too invested in the food, but it had been so long since he’d been able to actually fill himself up completely rather than rationing, and even longer since he’d had a home cooked meal.
He is starting to get full, though, and he reluctantly slows his pace. Eventually, when he’s cleared his plate and is eyeing the rest of the food with a desperate sort of want but is unable to take it because if he eats a single bite more he’s going to pop like a balloon, she gently taps his arm.
“It’s alright,” she says. “We’ll have more food at lunch.” And then she’s off and ordering Chan around before he can argue with her. He doesn’t know if he’d argue with her anyway. He knows he could–knows he should–but not having to think is just so nice. Chan will never take it for granted again. He’s…mostly sure of his safety with her. She hasn’t done anything to him, after all, and her scent has never once flared violent, even in response to his own. Plus, even though Chan doesn’t know her and therefore can’t be certain how closely she holds her oaths, her swearing to do no harm is still comforting. It seems like the kind of oath that means something.
The day passes quickly like that, with Chan playing pack mule and sorting out what seems like thousands of bandages that look the same but apparently are not. When she realizes how sweaty he’s become, she ushers him into another shower where Chan is able to change into some of the clothes from his bag, then plops him down for dinner before he can find it in himself to argue with her. Dae lets him eat as much as he wants, and then, once he is staring at the food, wanting to eat more but not wanting to make himself sick, she pins him with a fierce stare. Not angry, exactly, but it freezes Chan in his chair. It’s not a Challenge–Chan doesn’t know what he would do if it was, but this sort of unbroken eye contact isn’t something he’s used to.
“Chan…correct me if I’m wrong,” she starts out slowly, still looking him in the eyes. “It doesn’t seem like you have anywhere to go.”
Chan drops one hand to the strap keeping his bag around his back. That’s true, but he still doesn’t like her saying it. He can do this. He can figure it out. He opens his mouth to tell her this, but she holds up a small hand.
“I know you can figure this out, Chan. I’m not doubting that. The thing is…I’m not as young as I used to be. And my leg is getting stiffer, now that it’s getting colder. If you don’t have any other demands on your time…I think we could help each other out.”
Chan blinks at her. That wasn’t what he was expecting her to say at all. He isn’t sure what he’d expected, honestly, but it certainly wasn’t that.
“If you help me out with the pharmacy, you would get room and board as payment.”
Chan looks down at his plate, absentmindedly stroking a thumb over the strap of his bag. That’s a good deal. He would have to find another job to earn money, but room and board in this city isn’t cheap. It’s not like he’d be stealing from her or taking advantage, he assures himself. He’d be working for it.
“Before you accept, Chan, I do think it’s important that we be honest with each other.”
Chan tenses. This is where Dae demands to know who he is and where he’s from, and he doesn’t know if he can risk that.
“I told you before that my son is the leader of the Moon gang, but they leave me out of it. That’s true…and also not. My pharmacy is neutral territory. Lots of different gangs send their people to me if they’re injured, and I help them, regardless of affiliation. In exchange, they tend to leave money or gifts, or replace the supplies that were used. If you’re comfortable with it, if you help me with them, we would split the money and gifts that they leave.”
Chan is silent. This…could solve so many of his problems. And…he likes Dae, even though he has very little reason for it. “I–Can I think about it?”
“Of course you can, Chan. I’ll handle the dishes, if you want to stay you can do them tomorrow. For now, go rest that leg. And wake me if you need anything.”
Chan nods, apparently having used his words up for the day, and makes his way back to his– the –room. He likes the idea of staying. Of belonging somewhere again. And, if this place really is neutral, maybe Chan could have some of that neutrality also. He could stop running, stop being hunted, stop being so exhausted and scared all of the time. And…if he helped Dae with patching up the gang members…he could have a purpose again. One completely different than what he was raised for. Maybe he could teach his hands to heal instead of harm. He wants that.
Before he can relax, he double checks the lock on the window and puts a chair under the door knob, trying to make sure he won’t be snuck up on or ambushed in the middle of the night. Finally convincing himself he’s safe for now, he slides into bed, resting on his side and facing the door. Maybe he could try it out. Maybe he could just…try to trust Dae. And if something goes wrong–if Dae is lying and only trying to keep him here until her son can come get him, Chan is confident he can get away. And if Chan can’t? He will make sure they pay for taking him, and then he’ll run as soon as he can.
Chan falls asleep, decision made, promising himself that he will charge his burner phone tomorrow so that he can message his siblings.
The next morning, when Dae wakes up, Chan has breakfast–slightly burnt in places and uncooked in others–waiting for her. She sits, and Chan matches her, not wanting to loom. He’s restless, waiting for her to try it, playing with the strap of his bag. He’s slightly ashamed of how hard it had been for him to make the shoddy breakfast sitting in front of them, but he wasn’t used to cooking. He had tried his best, using his burner phone to try to look up how to make things, and when he’d heard her coming toward the kitchen he had resigned himself to that being it.
She serves herself a big portion, not seeming to pay any attention to what isn’t cooked enough or what is cooked too much. Chan does the same. When it becomes apparent that Dae isn’t going to break the silence or push him, Chan draws in a deep breath.
“I’ll do it.”