Feral Sky
Shamal wakes in bits and pieces.
It's a luxury he's not usually afforded. Most often, he snaps to awareness - asleep one moment and awake the next. He's never, ever groggy. That's been beaten out of him a long time ago.
When he comes to, he's on his side with someone in his arms. For a moment, still sleep-stupid, he thinks it's a woman he's brought home - but the bed is far too comfortable to be his own. He still recognizes the feel of it though, because he's spent some time at work doing some quality checks on the beds in the clinic.
The realization of where he is only serves to make him more confused. His tired, not-quite-awake, brain can't parse out the logic of the situation so like an idiot - he opens his eyes.
Only to immediately close them again.
Squeezes them shut because now he's just been reminded of exactly why he's been placed in a clinic bed.
He'd met a Sky outside the clinic. He'd touched a Sky outside the clinic and -
Shamal was a Guardian now.
God, that sounded surreal. But it was true. He'd felt the Sky's flames reach out to him and his own reach out in return, like greedy little bastards they were.
For someone who vowed never to be tied down to a Sky, the process wasn't as terrifying as he thought it would be. He'd always figured it was some sort of mind control on the part of the Sky's flames that made the Guardian and the Sky feel codependent on one another … but it wasn't like that at all.
It felt like he'd found some part of himself he hadn't even known he was missing. He felt whole. At peace now, when he hadn't even known he was distressed.
It was … kind of nice.
But it was still a shock. And one Shamal had to adjust to. Alone.
When he makes to let go of his Sky, something inside of him begins whining. He rationalizes it as some stupid animal part of himself that can't bare to be apart from its Sky. At the movement, the sky's eyes snap open and when they do, Shamal freezes completely.
His Sky's eyes are a burning orange. The color of his flames.
Fuck.
His Sky is feral.
No one really knows how or why it happens, but sometimes if a Sky represses their nature - or they're forced to repress their nature … when they finally have access to their flames again, it overwhelms them. They have their moments of lucidity, but for the most part feral Skies run on instinct until they find all of their guardians … or they burn out.
Feral Skies need a delicate touch. One that Shamal doesn't have. So he freezes and tries to convince himself it's because he doesn't want to provoke an instinct-driven Sky.
He's always been so good at lying to himself, but it doesn't quite work this time. The worry is nearly overwhelming, the way it hits him. Shamal doesn't think he's ever felt so much for another person, but then again, he's never had a Sky before.
His instincts push him to press the button located on the side of the bed to call for assistance, but when he tries, his Sky stops him with a gentle touch to his shoulder that turns into Shamal being rolled onto his back.
What started with the simple innocent gesture of Shamal attempting to get help for his Sky, ends with said Sky sitting on his stomach, heavy and warm. He looms over Shamal like this, eyes still very orange and worryingly silent.
Until his Sky leans forward to clumsily grasp at Shamal's face to say "mine," so matter-of-factly, like he didn't know the word had rocked Shamal's entire world.
Then he passes out, on top of Shamal - their chests touching and his head buried in the crook of Shamal's neck.
And Shamal has to revisit the part of his sexuality he's always repressed and kept under lock and key.
In the end, Shamal doesn't revisit anything.
Everything that was under lock and key, remains under lock and key.
He's had enough life-changing events for one day. Whatever the hell had happened between him and his Sky -
Well. He can wait to sort all that out for a few days. Or months.
Or years.
Being cradled in his Sky's arms is … surprisingly nice. His Sky is leaking flames like a faucet, which no matter how good it feels, is a reminder that he's bonded to a feral Sky. A Sky who has no control over their flame output and who will die if Shamal doesn't somehow find a way to fix this.
And if his Sky dies … while Shamal being newly bonded -
It'd be a fate worse than death. And just the fucking thought of his Sky dying has his heart going cold in his chest and his flames trying to seek out and destroy any possible danger to his Sky.
Which - he can't do while the boy is laying on top of him. The last time he'd tried to move (albeit somewhat halfheartedly), it'd ended with his Sky ensuring that he wouldn't be able to move so easily again. But Shamal was an expert at the whole "love 'em and leave 'em" thing, and even if he technically didn't want to leave his Sky, it meant that now - with his head clear - he could think of a million and one ways to leave the room without disturbing the boy sleeping on top of him.
The easiest method was to squeeze out from under his Sky and replace his body with a pillow saturated with his flames. So that's what he did.
(And if he spent an inordinate amount of time staring at the sight his Sky made clutching a Mist-saturated pillow …
Well.
That was no one's business but his own.)
Shamal wasn't sure what he expected when he snuck out of his hospital room, but it sure as hell wasn't the entire third shift Firefold staff waiting for him as he quietly shut the door behind him.
"Uh," he says quite eloquently, because this is just a little too horror movie for him even if most of the staff before him were smiling.
"Congrats, man!" Derek, one of the male nurses, breaks the silence with a cheer. Which is a slight misnomer since the staff of Firefold was nothing if not professional and with their patients - and his Sky - resting at the early hour, they couldn't be loud. But for a lone wolf like Shamal, even Derek's whisper-shout, was too much.
"Ah," Derek and the others must have heard about Shamal bonding to a Sky. In such a small clinic like Firefold, the news must have spread about as soon as whoever had found Shamal and brought him and his Sky inside to a room. "Thanks."
"Thanks?" Derek laughs, louder than he probably should have and the two nurses on either side of him laugh as well. Shamal had nothing against the man, but to be that cheery at ass o'clock in the morning should have been some sort of crime. "You hit the lottery! Margaret and Alex found you two in the alley and they said your Sky's flames were strong!"
Shamal doesn't say thing in reply. He feels twitchy and like his skin doesn't quite fit right and he'd really just like to sit down and think for five minutes about what he's going to do now that he's a Guardian and his Sky is fucking feral but he can't - not with the entire peanut gallery crowded around him.
The silence is awkward but the other five nurses don't disperse. He recognizes only three of them by name - Derek, annoying Sun with yellow scrubs who couldn't ever fucking shut up, Margaret, a Mist with the unfortunate grandmother name even if she was pretty sexy, and Alex, Margaret's Cloud girlfriend. The other two nurses were basically Derek's lackeys, always following him around and barely worth remembering what kinds of flames they had (Lightning and Rain).
"So," Derek says, because the guy can't take a fucking hint. "When are you going to introduce us to your Sky, huh?" Shamal, because he's a fucking kind guy, ignores Derek's two lackeys when they echo his question, pressing when Shamal would let them meet his Sky. "I think," Derek continues, same fake grin plastered on his face as it always was, "that with the five of us, if we tried really hard, your Sky could almost have a full set of Guardians before noon!"
It's a joke.
Shamal knows it's a joke. But the thing is - it's not funny.
Not funny to insinuate that Shamal could or would force his Sky's bonding, not funny to press and press and fucking press to see a Sky in their critical stages of bonding, not fucking funny at all.
"Sure," Shamal says, forgoing any attempt to not seem like the predator - the Hitman - he was, eyes dark, loose limbed, and lazy mirthless smile on his face. "I'll set it up as soon as possible. Ah … but my Sky's feral though, so - if he doesn't like what he sees …"
Shamal lets the words trail off like a threat, because they are. Forcing bonds on cognizant Skies ended in at least one person someone being maimed, but forcing bonds on feral Skies?
That ended in bloodbaths.
From the rapid paling of Derek's face, it seemed he'd gotten Shamal's meaning quite clear. "I have a patient to check on," he says, as quiet as he's ever said anything.
Shamal says nothing in reply but magnanimously lets the Sun leave. His two lackeys quickly follow behind him.
"What an idiot," Margaret says, watching as Derek scurries down the hall and into - if Shamal remembers room assignments correctly - an empty room. Behind her, Alex snickers quietly but says nothing.
"Yeah?" Shamal asks, suddenly very tired. "And why were you two waiting for me to come out of the room, then?"
"And miss you scare the shit out of Derek?" Margaret buffs her nails on her indigo scrubs and smirks. "No way in hell."
Despite himself, Shamal snorts. It's more of an exhale than anything and exhausted, Shamal pinches the bridge of his nose.
"Hey," Margaret says, much softer and gentler than Shamal thinks he's ever heard her. "Is it true? That your Sky is feral?"
"Yeah," Shamal says, feeling the weight of it all hit him at once. "Yeah, I just need to -" He pats the pocks of his own indigo scrubs, looking for his phone because he had to call some people because he has a feral Sky and he doesn't know what to do, but frowns he he doesn't find it.
"Looking for this?" Alex asks - and it's so rare to hear her speak that Shamal immediately looks up, to see her holding out Shamal's phone.
"Ah …" He takes his phone from Alex and turns it on with an influx of Mist flames. Mafia technology was always decades ahead outside of the criminal underworld and he's never been unappreciative of that fact until he sees that he has a message from an unknown number, signed with the letter R.
Fuck.
"It was almost dead when we found you and your Sky, so we charged it for you," Alex continues, but Shamal is still stuck on the unread message on his phone.
"Thanks - thank you." It's a testament to how flustered he is that he stumbles over his words. "I have to take this." He gestures to his phone and doesn't wait for a reply before scurrying off to lock himself in one of the clinic's labs and look at the message in peace.
He slumps into one of the lab's chairs and wishes he could go outside for a smoke to calm his nerves, but he quite literally cannot be a few steps from his Sky so lamaze breathing in an empty room will have to do.
When he's calmed himself adequately, he turns his phone back on. He waits a few moments before reading the message.
I need some information. -R
It's from an unknown number, but there's really only one person in the world who would not only have his number, but open with asking for a favor, and sign with the letter R.
Reborn. The World's Strongest Hitman. A.K.A. not someone you'd want to piss off.
Shamal winces when he looks at the time stamp. Sent over four hours ago. Not a good sign. Not if he wanted to live. Normally, if he'd missed a message from someone he'd make up some lie about what had taken so long to reply, but Reborn had a built-in lie detector, so instead he writes:
Sorry. I bonded to a Sky and it was overwhelming. We've been passed out for the past few hours. It's why I'm responding so late. What did you need?
Reborn responds within two minutes. Which is vaguely terrifying, but there's not a lot about the man that isn't.
You, a Guardian? She must be beautiful to have tied you down. -R
Shamal carefully doesn't examine why Reborn doesn't want the information he'd needed hours ago. Hopefully, he'd gotten it from someplace else and he hadn't cost the man a job.
So caught up in what Reborn could have possibly needed or what the Hitman's retribution would be since Shamal hadn't gotten it for him, he doesn't notice he'd typed - Yeah. He is. - until after he'd sent it.
Quickly, hoping to do some damage control, Shamal sends:
For a guy, anyway.
This time, Reborn doesn't reply in two minutes. Which is also vaguely terrifying. By the time Reborn responds, Shamal's hands are clammy with sweat and he very nearly drops his phone.
When he reads Reborn's message, he almost wishes he had.
I think I'd like to meet the Sky that managed to ensnare the famed Trident Shamal. -R
Fuck.