knucIe-
"stay still—dammit, I said stay still!" knuckle’s voice rang out from behind a half-collapsed shipping crate at the edge of a back alley. the kind of space people passed without looking. unless, of course, they heard the barking.
a sharp yelp answered him, followed by a loud clatter and a muttered curse. "no, no, no—don’t look at me like that! I told you not to run! your leg's messed up and—hey, stop licking the bandages! quit it!" anyone turning the corner would catch the scene in full: knuckle crouched in the middle of a mess of dogs. maybe six of them. one had a splint made out of what used to be his sleeve. another was wearing his hoodie like a makeshift wrap. the rest? scrappy, limping, panting, covered in grime and fleas.
and knuckle, bruised and red-faced, trying very hard to look like this was all completely normal. "they’re not mine," he said the moment he noticed someone watching. "they were fighting. I broke it up. that’s it." a mutt pressed its face against his arm and let out a soft, grateful huff. his jaw twitched.
"okay, so maybe I gave them some jerky. maybe I helped a little. it doesn’t mean I’m—" a tail thumped against his knee. another dog laid its head on his foot. "I’m not crying," he muttered, swiping at his eyes. "this is just, like... fur. or allergies. or the air back here sucks or something." his voice cracked. one hand curled into the scruff of the injured mutt beside him.
"this is so stupid," he whispered, choking on the words now. "I can’t take all of you home. I can’t even take two of you. I live in a shoebox. I don't even have carpet." he sank to the ground fully, legs folding beneath him, surrounded by tails and soft eyes.
"why do you trust me, huh? I don’t know what I’m doing. I punch stuff. that’s all I’m good at." he finally looked up, eyes red, face blotchy, voice breaking in the most dramatic whisper he could manage.
"...please tell me you didn’t see all that."
exitcode
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ @knucIe- , ( they moved under cover of darkness, six dogs and two men trailing down a forgotten stretch of road. the night was cold, quiet, and carried the weight of too many unfinished things. caelan walked a step ahead, the injured dog limp in his arms, but breathing. ) sparrow ( caelan said, without looking at the mutt wriggling in knuckle’s arms like it knew its name already. ) small, loud, annoying. but always there. ( he tilted his head at the pale one keeping to the shadows. ) ghost. slips in, slips out. might be imaginary. ( to the long-legged one sniffing every edge of the road. ) scout. paranoid but smarter than all of us. hell, probably knows where we’re going better than i do. ( the biggest mutt kept bumping into caelan’s legs like a silent bodyguard. ) tank. built like a door, runs like one too. ( the twitchy, sharp-eyed one darted past and spun back on a dime. ) razor. all nerves and teeth. starts fights it can’t win but wins them anyway. ( finally, he glanced down at the dog in his arms, the one that hadn’t made a sound since they picked it up. ) this one’s warden. took the hit. didn’t fall apart. ( the shelter was close now. not a house, not yet, but something that had walls, and warmth, and maybe a door that wouldn’t lock behind them. he was leading them there. dogs, names, everything. like it mattered. )
knucIe-
knuckle didn’t laugh, but his shoulders gave a single stuttering shake like he almost did. like the pressure let up just enough for something not-sorrow to slip through.
“he’s not yappy,” he mumbled, already scooping the scrappy little dog into his arms like he’d been told, not asked. “he’s just got opinions.” the mutt licked his chin again. knuckle blinked hard and didn’t push him away this time.
“he followed me all the way from the corner store. had half a sandwich in his mouth and everything. like he was tryin’ to share.” he swallowed. quieter now, like the edge of panic had dulled, but the guilt stayed.
“i don’t wanna be the last place they ever go. i want them to leave me better. safer ... don’t think i know how to do that,” he admitted. then, lower: “but i wanna try.” he stood slow, knees popping under the weight of loyalty and bad decisions, and followed after caelan, the whole mismatched pack trailing behind like a curse and a prayer all in one. “if you start namin’ them,” he muttered, “i’m not gonna be able to let go ... so pick good names.”
exitcode
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ @knucIe-, ( caelan had the bleeding one in his arms. the dog had stopped whining, either out of trust or exhaustion, and was pressed close to his chest, muzzle tucked under his collar like it had chosen him. there was blood on his sleeve. he didn’t seem to mind. ) we’ve got fleas, a bleeding mess in my arms, and you, currently being crushed by about seventy pounds of loyalty … fantastic work. truly, good star. ( his tone didn’t bite, but it pressed just enough to keep knuckle’s head above the tide. that was the point. caelan shifted slightly, adjusting the injured mutt so it wasn’t pressing on the bandage. he looked at the others, not with affection, but the kind of cataloging gaze he gave gear or explosives. assessing risk and damage. what they could carry out, and what would slow them down. ) you don’t have to keep them forever. ( he said finally, glancing back at knuckle. ) just long enough to prove they weren’t wrong about you. ( then, after a breath. ) get the yappy one. he’s yours now. i’m not negotiating. ( he stood again, quietly, the injured dog still breathing against his chest, and turned toward the street. ) let’s go before i start naming them.
