The Love of a Crow - Wesper/Crows Fanfiction/AU

11. Kaz

  Kaz made it to the hallway before Inej caught up with him.

"I must say, Wraith. I never took you for a copywriter," he said sarcastically. It was really to hide his surprise; why on earth was Inej having to write for a merchant's son? And why had she made it so obvious that she had written it in the first place? She had one of the most recognisable handwritings in Kerch, not that Wylan knew that, of course!

"Does it bother you?" She asked.

"No... it merely confuses me."

"He helps us make bombs. I help him with writing. It seems a pretty fair deal." She said defiantly.

"A very strange one, seeing as he's our prisoner." Kaz drawled. He thought for a moment before continuing. "So that's it. He's illiterate."

"It's better you know." Inej said, though she didn't need to explain it to him. Kaz Brekker needed to know everything about everyone, no matter how small. And this was small; so what if he couldn't read a few letters on a paper? It didn't help him build bombs, so it wasn't necessary. He studied Inej for a moment, and wasn't able to read the expression etched on her face. He understood Wylan being scared of him, but her? Did she think he would torture the boy just for this?

"Don't tell him I told you." It wasn't an order; it was a plea.

"You didn't tell me, Inej. I found out."

Kaz limped away, not bothering to listen to her leaving; she was already gone.

Jesper:

Now that was an interesting conversation.

One that Jesper couldn't help overhearing as he stumbled up from the Crow Pit, guns still leaking out smoke from his 'anger management'. A sober Jesper would know that spying on Kaz Brekker was the fastest way to get a slap to the face. But Jesper was feeling daring, and besides, he was anything but sober. And boy, did he hear a story.

Wylan couldn't read! It was horrific! A merchant's son that could barely get words off of paper! Yet Jesper also found it slightly amusing that even the perfect little merchling had a crack in his porcelain. His mind drifted to his argument with Inej. He was far too drunk for this. As usual.

Jesper held his breath as Kaz walked by, ignoring the pounding in his heart. He was surprised that Kaz didn't turn in the direction of the prison. Then again, Jesper sulked, he only cared about one thing; what Wylan could make him. But to Jesper, this was big. It was leverage.

He grinned as he sauntered down the steps of the prison, already preparing how he was going to break the news to Wylan in a wacky and clever way when a hand yanked him back by the shoulder and pushed him against a small alcove in the prison.

"I wasn't doing anything!" Jesper protested as he stared into the dark eyes of Dirtyhands.

"Oh I think you were Jesper," he released him, slowly, his eyes never leaving Jesper. "So you know then?"

Jesper knew there was no point in lying. "Yes, I may have overheard a few words of that conversation."

"And what were you planning on doing with this information?" He snapped. This was a challenge. Kaz wouldn't stop him. He wanted to see just how cruel Jesper could be-

Or he wants to see the old you. The one that wouldn't care whether the merchling could or couldn't read a book of poems. The one that would flirt with him anyway because he was irresistibly cute.

Jesper looked down the hall to Wylan. He was humming softly, silky curls bobbing up and down to an imaginary beat in his head. His face was the direct image of fatigue, yet he looked over the moon at something. His smile lit up his prison cell.

"Nothing, boss. Nothing at all."

Kaz eyed him for a moment longer. "Good, Jes. Good."

Once Kaz had gone Jesper once again stared at Wylan. He would ignore Wylan's secret like he would want anyone to ignore his. After all, this was the Dregs, where everyone was as dirty and broken as Dirtyhands himself.

"I see you haven't blown yourself up yet." Jesper said as he sauntered into the cell.

Wylan looked up at him in surprise. Then he scowled. "You know, saying that doesn't help my concentration."

"I'm that distracting, am I?"

Wylan blushed a bright pink and Jesper smirked. This felt... right. Better than any time he had ignored Wylan or insulted him.

"Well, now that you're here you can be useful." Wylan decided, his flush dying down. "Pass me the spanner."

"Your wish is my command!" Jesper passed the spanner and Wylan got to work, humming again, the tip of his tongue sticking out with a frown as what Jesper could only describe as a 'Kaz Brekker scheming face' overtook him. He couldn't help observing Wylan's delicate hands, black with grime and whatever else he'd been working with, thin fingers etched in bruises from his fight with Matthias.

"Y'know, you're not the worst fighter I've ever seen. I mean, Matthias is easy to beat when you know what to do but... well..." he couldn't help stutter out.

Jesper cringed at the way his words had suddenly left him; a very rare occurrence for him, but seeing Wylan's face made him much less embarrassed. His eyes were coated in surprise, his face red from another blush, his smile stretching from ear to ear. He looked like it was the first compliment he had ever received.

"Really?" Wylan said incredulously.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself, merchling. You're good, but you've got a while before you can ever get to my level."

Wylan laughed, and it was like the chimes of bells. Then, as quickly as it had risen, his face fell. "I'm... I'm not as good as you think I am," he whispered, as if the words hurt to say.

It took Jesper a moment to realise that he must be referring to his problem-that-wasn't-really-a-problem, and he didn't know what to say. He couldn't tell Wylan he knew, but how did he say something without making him feel bad?

"Yeah well, no one in the Barrel is good. But we get the job done. And that's the equivalent of a Merchling Gold Star." Jesper settled on, and was rewarded with a grateful look, a moment's confusion, and then rage.

"Did you just call me 'merchling'?"

Jesper grinned. "Better get used to it, merchling," Jesper taunted. "Besides, Kaz calls you that all the time!"

"Yeah, well I'm not going to argue with him, am I? I don't want that to be written on my gravestone!" He huffed.

"Fine, I'll just write 'Wylan Van Eck, cute merchling who died of boredom!'"

Wylan rolled his eyes, clearly trying to brush over how the word 'cute' turned him into a tomato. "So what do you do when you get bored?"

A devious plan was already in motion, and now he could pull the trigger. "I shoot something."