Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Oh fuck..." the man grunts. Grabbing a nearby pole, which he very successfully crashed into, Beheaded rises to his feet, looking around in an instant. Next to him lay a battered Drifter and in front of them a portal sparkled. The Beheaded sighs irritably, not understanding exactly where they are again.. Digging his feet into the ground, he was about to rush back, but the miracle entrance immediately closed in his face. "How's that?"

Taking in the air, Beheaded holds on so as not to give himself slack, not to break down any nearby house or break down all possible doors in the area. He puffs, the fire on him flares up, turning into a vibrant pink color. We need to think about this more rationally. Turning around, Beheaded remembers his friend in misfortune and decides to put aside his indignation. After all, the boy wasn't immortal at all, unlike the man.

Running up to the Drifter, the Beheaded bends down to him, grabs him by the belt and sits him down on the ground.

"Sometimes it seems to me that you can fall apart even from a puff of wind." the man jokes. He takes a quick look around and discovers one of the fallen syringes, filled with medicine in advance. Picking it up, Beheaded passes it to the patient. "Here you go, this is yours."

Drifter accepts the help and hurriedly injects himself with medicine. Suddenly, he sighs with relief when the burning pain recedes. Wounds heal carelessly, and previously spilled blood dries up, cracking and crumbling. Soon the couple gets to their feet and the headless man shakes off the tension from his hands, looks around.

"So, any idea where we are? I hope it's not just another damn hole with a bunch of creatures." But whatever. Because the current landscape stretching out in front of them looked secretly peaceful. The day was a little cloudy, hinted at rain, but the rocky and green terrain inspired confidence. When the breeze blew, the calmness stabbed into the very depths of consciousness. The man lets go of his head a little when his raging flames have finally calmed down. The Beheaded crosses his arms over his chest and glances at the Drifter.

Drifter seemed speechless. His head shot almost into the sky. He took a step, then a second..

"Hey, is something wrong?"

"We're home." the Drifter whispers. His voice was the same as always: hoarse and uncertain, and it had escalated into a heavy cough. The guy turns to the headless man with surprised, but at the same time joyful eyes. "This is my home world."

"So... yeah... Really." Beheaded looks around again. "It's too peaceful here. Your stories sounded more, well, suggestive or something."

"We're just not in the place where the infected usually roam." Drifter replies. He steps forward to the stone slab, leans slightly towards it and runs his fingers over the carved text. "The main city is nearby. I will be able to buy medicine for myself, I will recover to the end. Well, if you're lucky... We'll look for something for you."

"Oh, I hope it's food. I won't give up meat."

***

For the next ten minutes, the couple walked in thought. They were thinking about how the allies who remained on the other side of the worlds were doing. Beheaded one quietly thought to himself that the Drifter's homeworld turned out to be like this.. Peaceful. It doesn't look at all like the kind in which a global epidemic usually occurs.

The Beheaded walks ahead of his friend, looking around.

"This is something interesting!" Beheaded suddenly stops and bends down to the shrubbery. There were unusually shaped fruits hanging on thick branches. "Is it edible? It looks like a berry. I can't remember the last time I picked any berries." The Beheaded gets closer to the bush and plucks a few fruits.

Drifter grins at the Beheaded's actions and watches his actions with intense interest. The headless one suddenly notices the Drifter's gaze and looks around with stupid embarrassment.

"Man, don't look at me like that." He brings it to the fire on his head and hunches his shoulders, anticipating what the fruit might taste like. "I've lived in a dungeon all my life and fed on other people's guts, I'm hungry... DAMN IT-"

Beheaded suddenly clenches his fist, which a second ago held an unknown fetus. And as it turned out, it didn't taste very pleasant: either salty or bitter... The flame on the head flared up again, and then at the same moment subsides under the laughter of the Drifter.

“Yeah... You knew that, didn't you?" Beheaded throws the remaining fruits to the ground.

"I knew it." Drifter giggles, covering his mouth with his hand.

"Oh my God man.."

Chapter Text

"I bet you're incredibly happy to be home." Beheaded looks around at his friend, who is enjoying the local nature with great pleasure.

"Yes, you're right." Beheaded grunts in response.

Their journey to the main city was quite calm. Unless, upon arrival, a heavy rainstorm fell on them. The sky was rumbling and they had to hide in some kind of eatery, where it was relatively warm.

Then the Beheaded was able to taste local food for the first time. It turns out that the inhabitants of this world are not verbose in cooking, but it was quite tasty. Not perfect, but acceptable. It's better than what they were fed in prison if they didn't forget about it at all.

Drifter suddenly became interested in learning how the Beheaded eats food. He didn't know what to say himself. All that came out of his mouth were jokes about his ancestors, who had managed to create such a miracle of nature. It wasn't like he even remembered where he was from.

Beheaded slowly began to bring a piece of bread to the flame while the Drifter watched with silly interest. The bread steams a bit until it disappears in the flames. Drifter blinked in amazement while Beheaded burst out laughing at someone else's reaction.

"In fact, I should be mute at all," Beheaded said then. "But thank you, that's not the case."

Now they stopped to rest when they went in search of shelter. It was relatively warm and humid in this place, with rivers running and waterfalls raging everywhere. The rain stopped a long time ago and decided not to cause any more problems.

"Even though I'm going to die anyway. I'll die in my native lands at least." Drifter coughs again, covering his mouth.

"Oh." Beheaded puts his hands together, awkwardly twisting his fingers. "What about the treatment? You have to fight for your life."

"There is no panacea," Drifter replies.

The flame of the Beheaded suddenly fades a little. Is this really the final conclusion? What a strange feeling... I wonder what it's like when you're forced to die at the end of your journey? He awkwardly turns his head away from his thoughts. After all, Beheaded does not know the concept of death. "Fuck, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, we're all used to it." Drifter looks at his friend and smiles consolingly. "Death for me is a problem exclusively for tomorrow. But I would like to live like a normal person and at least die of old age." Drifter answers hoarsely and suddenly coughs.

"How ironic, but I just dream of death." The Beheaded spreads his arms to the sides, depicting how huge his dream is. "If I could, I would have given you at least a piece of my immortality, and I would have received a small hope for the desired death."

Drifter smiles slightly again, wiping pinkish liquid from his mouth. He turns his head back to the horizon. An intoxicating silence is released on them.

Beheaded thinks again about everything they were talking about. And it was so weird. It all seemed incredibly unfamiliar and incomprehensible. The decapitated man did not understand how to relate to the Drifter's feelings, but somewhere in the depths of his soul he understood that he was really sorry.

Beheaded briefly turns his head in the direction of his friend. The drifter did not notice this, continuing to stare into the distance. A shiver runs down my spine. Unpleasant... Was it getting chilly, or was he imagining it? Beheaded suddenly clenched his fist, straining all the muscles in his arm, and then immediately relaxed it. He raises his hand towards the Drifter, wanting to put his hand on his shoulder. A strange shame begins to permeate him when he is about to reach his goal...

"What about your world?" Beheaded, who was not expecting the question, pulls his hand away from his interlocutor and fidgets a little in place. He rubs the bandages on his arms and clears his throat.

"In my world, I am the "Beheaded" who nightmares the dungeon. I am a "Firehead" who is feared even by the most beaten prisoners, but at the same time is not taken seriously. I am a "Prisoner" who is imprisoned for life for my sins, which I do not know about. Even if I get out of the dungeon, I probably won't be happy about the fragile and dying world from the disease."

"You don't look like someone who's capable of crime."

Beheaded glances sharply at his interlocutor, and then grins with a shrug. "As you wish, buddy."

He suddenly gets up from the ground and dusts off his feet, looking around. He puts his palms together and kneads them as if preparing for a fight. The wind runs next to them, blows back and forth and rustles the grass under them.

"Okay, sorry about that. I've gone soft somehow!" The Beheaded laughs to himself and crosses his arms over his chest. "So where are these crazy monsters? My God, my fists are itching now after my own whining."

Drifter gets to his feet after his friend. He shakes his head to the side and bares his blade.

"Yes, buddy, I see. You're ready to kick their asses too."