[Supernatural meets The Boys]
Nobody is stupid enough to venture into unknown territories, except for Ilya. Don't get him wrong! He never meant to enter that mysterious village.
Fate led him there to save, or be saved.
"Peekaboo!"
Beast is a cruel c...
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Before Ilya had a chance to ask further questions about that 'non-living' man, Charlie waved his hand to dismiss any thoughts about it.
"Anyway. It's bettah that you wait for—" Charlie checked his wristwatch "—an hour or so."
Charlie changing the subject didn't bother Ilya. He wasn't in the mood to know more shocking details about this town, anyway. What bothered him, though, was the waiting; it showed in his baby face when his dark eyebrows furrowed and when he squeezed his knees with a shaky grip. Even when Charlie served him tea and tried to be the best host he could ever be, the thought of leaving this place was always on Ilya's mind.
"An hour?"
Charlie quickly explained, waving his palms, "Just until there's no more sunlight for Pig to aim."
"Oh."
Ilya lowered his head, thinking. He wasn't sure whether to believe Charlie or not, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
Ilya felt like someone was watching him. When he looked back at Charlie, he saw those big focused eyes on him, like the eyes of a predator watching its prey. Then Ilya saw that man's lips curl up behind that thick silver beard, causing the corners of those big hazel eyes to wrinkle.
Ilya didn't know if Charlie was happy to see him or was thinking about cooking him in that reeking kitchen. His heart raced. His pupils constricted, unlike Charlie's dark dilated ones.
Ilya hardly managed to breathe normally. The more he thought of his situation, the harder it felt to take a calming breath. An eighteen-year-old kid like him was all alone in a stranger's house, a stranger who was built like the Hulk. If Charlie wanted to do something to him, Ilya knew he wouldn't stand a chance to defend himself.
He cleared his throat and finally said something, "What?"
"You look you could do with a nap," Charlie replied. "Why don't you rest for a bit, eh? Then I'll take you to the train meself. I promise." He finally broke up his stare when he got up and headed to the stairs. "I'll grab a blanket for yeh. It gets really chilly in me house these days."
When Charlie was out of Ilya's sight, the boy let out a sigh of relief. Now all he had to do was wait.
He put his backpack on his lap, checking its content before zipping it shut. He looked around for a place to hide it. This place was a wreck, but that meant there were good hiding places. Yet Ilya felt it was safer to keep his backpack close, for emergencies.
Finally, Ilya decided to hide it under the couch.
Seconds later, heavy footsteps were heard from the stairs. Charlie showed up with a baby-blue blanket, which was the only new and clean thing in this house. Even Charlie's outfit looked old and worn out, covered with dirt, blood, and other stuff that Ilya didn't want to know about.
"Here." Charlie handed Ilya the blanket. "Rest a bit and I'll wake you up just in time for dinner."
"I'm not staying for dinner!" the boy unintentionally snapped.
It seemed as if Charlie was adamant about making Ilya stay in his house longer and longer.
"I know, but—" Charlie squinted his eyes and said with a soft sympathetic voice "—you look quite petite and delicate. You need some meat, and I cook the best meat in town!"
Meat? Ilya tried to ignore that word, but it somehow lingered in his mind.
"You promised you'll take me to the station."
"I will. I never break a promise."
Ilya was too tired to argue. He took Charlie's word and tried to find a spot on the dirty couch that wasn't too stinky to lie on.
When Charlie took the teacups away and left the living room, Ilya finally felt relaxed enough to lie down and snuggle in that cozy blue blanket; Ilya concluded that it once belonged to a child because it was a little small and smelled like baby powder.
Ilya was so tired from all the running that it only took him minutes to fall asleep.
At 4:31 PM, a device beeped and vibrated, waking Ilya up with a jolt. He woke up drenched in cold sweat. His face was paler than usual. His eyes were wide and worried.
He raised his wrist to check his watch; it showed the number '68.' Then it changed to '67.' The number kept dropping with every passing second.
Ilya swallowed hard and quickly looked under the couch for his bag. He snatched it and unzipped it, searching between notebooks and textbooks for something. He kept searching, but couldn't find what he was looking for.
"Gah! Where is it?" Ilya grunted. "It was right there!"
A gruff voice came from his side, startling the boy:
"Looking for this?"
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