![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Gratitude
Rating: PG-13
Universe: Carogne
Characters/Pairings: Sebastien, Jan
Summary: Jan finds out about the threat to his life and what Sebastien did about it. Contrary to popular belief, and Seb's frequent mutterings, he's not actually stupid.
Wordcount: 1994
Claimer: Jan is my sister's, rest is mine
Gratitude
He was reorganising stock, this time, when the bell over the door tinkled. Not polishing a weapon. And this time, still rattled after the last, he made sure to go and get one. So he was standing in his office with a sword-cane in paw, looking chill and determined, when he sensed a head peep around the door, and Jan's bemused voice filled the room.
"Sebastien? Are you alright?"
Alright? He coughed back a vaguely hysterical snicker. Alright? Given that he'd just been interrogated by Docklands Molly herself? Given that he'd just almost been killed because of Sorka's warped sense of humour and fair play? No. He didn't really think 'alright' covered it.
"I'm fine, Jan," he growled, turning away from the door to rest his cane back in its little niche under the counter, deliberately not stiffening as he felt the large form of his friend move into the room behind him. Jan puttered over to his side, a looming shape against his senses, and Sebastien could feel the weight of his eyes on his back. He did his best to ignore it, staying resolutely silent until Jan would tell him what he wanted.
"No," the boy said at last, still looking down at him. "I don't think you are. Did ... did my grandmother hurt you?"
Sebastien froze, fear trickling up his spine, and a distant anger in his chest. Damn the Markos', anyway. "What makes you say that?" he asked softly, coldly, and flinched when Jan laid a gentle paw on his shoulder.
"Sebastien, did she hurt you?" Soft and relentless, and there were times when Sebastien honestly forgot just how stubborn the young idiot could be, until reminded. "Did ... did any of them hurt you?"
"Them?" Sebastien tilted his head up hurriedly. "What 'them', Jan? Who have you been listening to?" If the blasted fool had been talking to Wekha about this, wearing that pretty Polizei uniform of his ... Gottverdamnt, did the idiot have no sense at all! "Who have you been talking to!"
Jan was silent for a minute, just watching him while he all but vibrated in place, paw still calm and steady on his shoulder. He stayed quiet long enough for Sebastien to start thinking about violently prompting him, before answering in a calm, measured and measuring voice that had little parts of Sebastien's hind-brain quivering.
"Isaac. I've been talking to Isaac."
And alright, but that was just baffling. What the hell had the courier-bat got to do with any of this? Sebastien came down out of his fury, bewildered. "Isaac? Why the hell were you talking to Isaac about me?" The bat never talked about him. From what Sebastien could tell, he did his level best not to think about him. And maybe that was Sebastien's own fault, for overplaying the creepy groping trick the first time they'd met, but it still didn't explain why Isaac would take an interest in him now, of all times.
Jan shifted, gently moving Sebastien with him until they were facing each other squarely, his other paw coming up in order to hold both of Sebastien's shoulders. The gesture should have been threatening, quelling, but instead it seemed meant to steady, to reassure. Sebastien twitched his nose in confusion.
"He was listening, the night Miss Sorka came to talk to Grandma," Jan told him, gently, and Sebastien started badly in his paws. "He had a delivery, but heard Sorka's voice and, well ..." Sebastien could hear the rueful tone. "He thought it better not to draw attention to himself."
"Good idea," Sebastien heard himself comment, faintly. Very good idea indeed.
Jan shuffled a bit, the humour coming out again. "He thought so." Then serious again. "He listened, and came to tell me. He thought maybe I should know that my life was in danger." And there might have been just a hint of censure, there. Just a hint.
"I would have told you," Sebastien said stiffly. In about a million years or so. "If I thought they were coming for you properly, I would have told you."
"Of course," Jan smiled. Sebastien could hear it. "Of course you would, Sebastien."
"Believe it, or don't, it's the truth," he snarled, shaking free of Jan's paws. A small part of him was amazed, and more than a little worried, by the depth of hurt he suddenly felt. After all, how many times had he said Jan was an idiot for trusting him? He should be happy the boy seemed to finally have listened. He straightened his spine, turning to move away from the oaf altogether, when a heavy paw caught his wrist, and Jan's soft voice stopped him.
"I do believe you, Sebastien," he said, nothing but quiet honesty in his voice, nothing but gentle confidence. "I know you wouldn't let me be killed without warning me. I know that."
Sebastien froze, quivering. Oh hell. Don't say that like you really mean it, boy. Don't ... One of these days, he was going to get his stupid, traitorous instincts to actually agree on how he felt for this boy, what he wanted from him. Well. No. One day, he was going to get his stupid heart to shut up, and let his instincts keep the idiot alive regardless of the cost to this strange friendship they had. One day.
"I don't," he said, quietly. "I don't, Jan. You shouldn't ..."
"Shouldn't what?" the boy asked, standing close. "Shouldn't trust you? Shouldn't count on you to protect me, to make the most feared Enforcer in Carogne back off and promise not to hurt me? Shouldn't trust that you'll put aside the hate you have for my grandmother to help me? Shouldn't believe that you'll warn me when the time comes? Is that what I shouldn't do? Sebastien?"
"Yes," he whispered, bowing his head, curling his tail in tight. "You shouldn't, Jan. Just because ... just because I might have done it this time, doesn't mean ..." Didn't mean. Couldn't mean. It worked, this once, but it wouldn't always, and didn't Jan know, didn't he know, that Sebastien wasn't strong enough for these games any more, couldn't play them forever? And one day the risk would be too great, the cost of protecting both himself and Jan would be too high, and then ... "You can't trust me, Jan. You can't. I'm not ..." he trailed off, words breaking, trying to articulate all that he wasn't, all that this young idiot deserved that he couldn't give. He trailed off, and in the wake of it Jan was quiet. But only for a moment.
"Sebastien," the great idiot said, so very gently, kneeling down so that he didn't dwarf the smaller rat, so that there would be no threat in this, none at all. "I know, Sebastien. I know. It's alright." And then, he reached out to take Sebastien's paw, to tug it forward and gently guide it up, to touch ... the shell of an ear, where someone had once ripped out a healthy chunk, and lower, while Sebastien frowned, to graze along ribs marred by a great scar, to brush the knotted tissue of a stab wound in one shoulder, beneath his coat.
The doctor frowned. "What ...?"
"When I left the mehwet," Jan answered, softly. "When I joined die Polizei and seemed to betray everything my family stood for. I knew what I was doing, Sebastien. I knew I'd get hurt for it. I never thought I'd be safe, after that, never believed there wouldn't be consequences." He moved his head, maybe smiled, a little. "I'm not completely stupid, you know." A wealth of humour in the tone.
"I didn't ... I didn't think ..." Sebastien stammered, unnerved. He had. He had thought. Jan had let him think. And how scary was that? What else had the boy let him think, let him believe?
"Of course you didn't," Jan smiled. "Sebastien. I know what's out there. I know what could come for me." Serious, so serious. "I did what I did because of that, Sebastien. Because there were people who hurt others like that, people who made others afraid, and as long as the Wekha and the Polizei were stuck in their own little wars, no-one was ever going to try and change that. And I couldn't ... I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let people like ... people like you ... keep getting hurt, getting used, while we ... I couldn't do it. And I knew, I did know, that I would get hurt for trying to change it. I always knew."
Sebastien shook his head, dazed, leaning in to the younger rat on stupified instinct. "What ... why ..." He took a steadying breath. "Why are you telling me this, Jan? Do you want ... I can't promise ... I won't promise to protect you, I can't, but I won't promise not to, either ..." He couldn't. He couldn't promise not to try and keep the boy from more scars, from more pain. He couldn't promise not to feel stupidly guilty for not having been there to at least patch up the ones he already had, either, but since he didn't understand that himself, he had no chance of explaining it to Jan ...
"I'm telling you this so you know you don't have to," Jan whispered, gently, sadly, reaching out to trace the line above Sebastien's left eye where he'd been bleeding when they first met. "I'm telling you this so you won't think you have to let people like Miss Sorka or Grandma hurt you, just for me. You shouldn't ... I'm a big stupid rat, Sebastien. A lunk-headed Polizei goon who's been in his share of fights. You ... you don't have to look after me. I always knew I was going to get hurt for this. You don't have to try and stop it."
He stopped, shaking, something strange in the way he felt, something Sebastien couldn't figure out, couldn't grasp ... and then he leaned forward, leaned in, and gathered Sebastien up into the most hesitant, trembling hug he'd ever given, the most fragile Sebastien had ever known him. Sebastien froze, rigid, not knowing what to do.
"I don't want you to get hurt for me," Jan whispered, raggedly, against his ear. "I don't want anyone to hurt you at all, Sebastien, but if they did, and it was for me, I ... I don't know what I'd do. I don't know. And ..." He stopped, shaking, and gave a little laugh. "And I feel stupid for saying it, too, because when Isaac told me, what Sorka said, what you did ... I felt so warm, Sebastien! I felt warm and stupid, and I wanted ... I never thought anyone else might look out for me, the way Grandma does. I never thought I'd have someone like you ..."
I didn't either, Sebastien thought, distantly. I never thought I'd have someone like you either. What a pair of fools we are, too. He shook his head, remembering himself enough to reach out in his turn, to wrap his arms around the bulk of his friend, his young idiot of a friend, and hold him in return.
"Thank you, Sebastien," Jan whispered, wetly, strangely laughing. "Thanks for looking after me. For trying. Thank you."
"You're welcome," he whispered back. I haven't the first clue what I did, but you are welcome. My friend. "And ... Jan?" He waited until he felt the younger rat raise his head, waiting until he knew he was looking at him. "Thank you, too." He smiled lopsidedly. "No-one's ever tried to ask me not to help them, before. Not for my own sake, at least. Thank you. For trying."
Not that he'd ever let the boy actually succeed in warning him off, in wandering around the city with only his own stubbornness and his bitch of a grandmother to look after him. Not that he'd ever let Jan actually protect him at the cost of himself. But he was grateful that the boy would try.
He always would be.
