#if this is the third time youve seen this on your dash today id like to formally apologize and also blame tumblr

[clonerightsenthusiast]

Catch a Tiger

[Campaign Skyjacks, Gable/Travis, 7.9k words, rated M for (pretty canon-typical) violence]

Gable woke to insistent but polite knocking on the captain's door and an unfortunately clear memory of the night before. Without allowing themselves to dwell on it beyond an emphatic ugh, Travis, they rolled out of bed, tossing the blanket approximately back into place and running a hand through their ruffled hair. They wanted to at least maintain the illusion of not sleeping in the captain's quarters. They didn't need the questions it would raise, but leaving the captain unsupervised for so long made Gable… uneasy.

They passed Orimar standing at the map table where they'd left him last night on the way to the door, unrolling the map on the way for a convenient alibi. As the knocking started to increase in volume, Gable finally hauled the door open and looked down to see Nodoze quickly composing himself.

If he was surprised to see them, he didn't show it, and Gable relaxed slightly. Nodoze was trustworthy, and he wasn't a gossip. If he had any thoughts about Gable being in the captain's quarters at the break of dawn, he would keep them to himself.

"Morning, Gable," he said with a respectful nod.

"Morning," Gable returned, leaning against the doorframe. "Is something wrong?"

"Is Travis there with you?" he asked, eyes darting around as he tried to see into the room around Gable's considerable bulk.

Gable grimaced. Travis. "No," they ground out. "He's not. What's he done now?"

[read on ao3]

Nodoze's oddly piercing gaze returned full force to Gable's face, but if he was curious about the venom in their voice, he didn't express it. Gable mentally awarded him a few more points on their favorite crew member tally. "Nothing," he said. "Which is the problem. No one's seen him all morning. Spit wants to find him to… make sure he's been performing his quartermaster duties before we take flight."

Gable dragged a hand down their face, groaning. The sun was up, so Travis should be easily found, especially by a Spit on the warpath. Except--

"Oh, now where are you going?"

"Back to the ship, away from you. No, you sit back down. Don't follow me."

Gable reluctantly dropped their hand with a sigh. "It's possible that he didn't return to the ship last night," they said, trying to stem the wave of irritation rising within them. Trust Travis to make their life difficult even with his absence.

They shook themselves, shifting into mission mode as they focused back on Nodoze. "He's probably drunk in a gutter somewhere and we'll have to go find him. Go get Wendell and start asking around. I'll head back to the tavern and see if anyone saw where he went." They hesitated, imagining Orimar's lifeless stare between their shoulder blades, and added, "Oh, and send Jonnit up here before you go, would you?"

Nodoze tapped his forehead in a simple salute and uttered a simple, "Yessir, Gable," before slipping off.

Gable sighed in momentary relief, slipping back inside the captain's quarters and looking at Orimar.

"Why does he have to make everything so difficult?" they demanded, running a hand through their hair in frustration.

The captain winked.

--

With Jonnit assigned to captain-sitting duty ("Just make sure he stays there and… I dunno, study your maps or something okay love you bye--"), Gable retraced last night's steps to return to the tavern where they'd been drinking with Travis. It was a small place, lightly trafficked with an uninterested bartender. Or at least, she'd seemed uninterested; Gable was hoping she'd actually been paying enough attention to give them something to go off of, here.

The place was even less crowded in the light of morning, just a couple quiet loners picking at a simple breakfast. The same woman was behind the bar, playing some kind of card game. She didn't look up as Gable approached.

Gable loudly cleared their throat, finally getting her attention. "Good morning," they said pleasantly.

The bartender grunted and nodded curtly, leaning her arms on the bar. "'Lo," she said. "You need something?"

Gable kept a bland, polite smile plastered on their face as they said, "Yes, my... friend and I were here last night - maybe you remember us?"

The bartender gave Gable an exaggerated once-over and raised one sardonic eyebrow. "Yeah, I think I might," she drawled.

"Ha, yes, I'm very tall, I know, hard to forget," Gable said, the edges of their smile growing strained. "Anyways, I seem to have misplaced him. I don't suppose you saw where he went, or maybe he said something…?"

The woman snorted and pushed off the bar, nodding towards the back corner where they'd been drinking. "Sure, I saw him," she said. "He left with the witchhunters."

Gable stiffened, a cold weight forming in the pit of their stomach. "Sorry," they said, that strained smile still plastered on their face. "Did you say witchhunters?"

The bartender waved her hand dismissively. "Sure. They made quite a deal about it when they came in, the damn braggarts. Your friend started drinking with them after you left. They stumbled out together just before sunset."

Gable let out a long, slow breath, their hands clenching into fists behind their back. "Do you know where they went?" they asked, forcing their tone to remain even.

The bartender shrugged. "Don't keep track of people after they leave the bar," she said. "Sorry."

"Right. Of course." Gable forcibly relaxed their hands and smiled a little wider. "Thanks for your help."

"Mmhmm," the bartender said, already going back to her card game.

After a moment it became clear that they weren't going to get anything more out of her, and Gable turned to leave the bar. Their mind whirred with the mental calculus of Travis - drunk, upset Travis - a pair of witchhunters, and his sudden disappearance. Two plus two equaled nothing good.

As they strode towards the door, they caught sight of the table the two of them had been drinking at the day before. They paused, just a moment, as the memory of their argument rose once again, unbidden, to the forefront of their mind.

Travis squinted as he leaned into their space, wordlessly demanding attention. Gable leaned back in their chair away from him, wrinkling their nose. He was already drunk. Between the early hour and his negligible tolerance, drinking with him was frankly embarrassing.

"She dumped you, huh," he said, in what he probably thought was a sympathetic tone.

Gable's grip on their cup tightened. "Not exactly," they said tersely. "I don't wanna talk about it." Especially not with you, they added silently. They figured their glare got that point across.

Travis, naturally, either didn't get it or was willfully ignoring them. It was impossible to tell which. "You really should've seen this coming," he said, waving a hand. "It was inev--" he hiccuped. "Inevitable."

"Shut up, Travis," Gable snapped. "I said I don't wanna talk about it."

Travis shook his head, clearly not listening. "You'd think you'd have learned by now. You can't trust them."

"Them?" Gable asked, despite themselves.

"Mortals."

Gable swallowed down their anger with their bile and shouldered their way out of the tavern door. They were still angry at Travis; of course they were still angry at Travis. They were always at least a little bit angry at Travis. But a cold pit of worry had lodged itself deep in their gut, and besides--

They needed him back safe and sound if they wanted to kill him themself.

--

Wendell and Nodoze were already back on the ship by the time Gable got there. Jonnit, bless him, had corralled them into Dref's former office instead of the captain's quarters. Gable gave his shoulder a grateful squeeze as they crammed themself into the crowded space.

"What did you find?" they asked without preamble, crossing their arms over their broad chest.

Wendell cleared his throat. "Well, we poked around," he said, "and most people just told us to fuck off."

Gable dug their fingernails into their arm where the others couldn't see. "These things happen," they forced out, already thinking of how else they could start tracking down the witchhunters. "So then, we--"

"Well hold on, I wasn't finished," Wendell interjected. "Most people told us to fuck off--"

"To get to the point," Nodoze cut in, "we did find someone who had seen Travis."

Gable's arms went slack and their head whipped around to stare at Nodoze. "Where?" they demanded.

"That's the thing," Wendell said. "It was just on a street. Some shopkeeper said she saw Travis and two other people walking down the road just 'fore sunset, drunk as anything."

"There was only one inn in that part of town, and the innkeep said two people matching their description were staying there, but apparently they hadn't come back last night, and they hadn't seen Travis, either," Nodoze relayed gravely. "It would seem they've either left town, or are, as you suggested earlier… drunk in a gutter somewhere." He exchanged a glance with Wendell. "We could," he said slowly, "enlist more men to search, comb the town--"

"No," Gable cut him off, lowering their arms. "No, that won't be necessary. I know how to find him." They dropped one large hand on Jonnit's narrow shoulder, pulling him in towards them. "Jonnit and I will go get Travis. You make sure the ship is ready to go when we get back."

"Uh, yeah!" Jonnit piped up, game as ever. "Gable and I can find him, no problem. Don't worry about a thing!"

Nodoze looked silently at Gable. Gable made an attempt at a smile, then abandoned the effort and just gave what they hoped was a confident nod.

Nodoze tapped his forehead in an abbreviated salute. "Aye-aye, Gable. Off we go, then, Wendell."

Gable watched him herd Wendell out of the room, and mentally awarded him a few more favorite crewman points.

They're snapped back to reality by an anxious, "Gable?" as they remembered Jonnit was still in the room.

"Right. Yes," they said, focusing back on the task at hand. "Come with me."

They flung open the door and strode purposefully through the narrow corridors belowdecks, Jonnit scurrying after them. They paused by their hammock just long enough to grab their greatsword and mask and kept going.

"Gable!" Jonnit cried, ducking around crew members and struggling to keep up with Gable's ground-eating stride. "Where are we going?"

Gable slid down the ladder and ducked into the hold with the griffin cages. After a moment, Jonnit clambered down after them, still silently pleading for an explanation with wide eyes.

Down in the griffin hold, the bustle of the crew preparing the ship seemed far away. The loudest sound was the rustling of feathers and the scratch of claws on wood. Gable went down on one knee in front of Jonnit and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Jonnit," they said gravely, keeping their voice down, "Travis is in danger. I need you to help me find him."

Jonnit's eyes went even wider. "Wha--How? What kind of danger?"

Gable took a deep breath, struggling to find an explanation to get across the urgency of the situation without scaring the boy too badly. "He's with some… people," they said haltingly, "who either want to hurt him, or bring him to… a very bad place." The winter prison was so long ago, now, Gable didn't even know if it or places like it were still operational; it was up in the air whether the witchhunters were bound for a prison or if some rich collector wanted a changeling skull for their wall.

Jonnit looked searchingly into Gable's face; he was a smart boy, he could probably tell there was more they weren't telling him. But after a moment he squared his shoulders and nodded firmly. "Okay," he said. "How can I help?"

Pride and fondness swelled in Gable's chest and a smile broke over their face unbidden. They jostled Jonnit's shoulder affectionately, then flicked his forehead, right beneath the bandana. "How about with this? Can you… see… him?"

Jonnit's brow furrowed in thought and he rubbed at his eye under the bandana. "I… I dunno," he said, a little sheepishly. "I've never tried a spell like that before. But I can try!"

"Good," Gable breathed out. "That's good. You, um… you do your… thing, and I'll get a bird ready to go. Do you… need anything?"

"Um, just some quiet, I guess?" Jonnit said, taking deep breaths and visibly bracing himself.

"Right. You got it." Gable squeezed his shoulder one last time, then strode over to the birdcages. They gave Metatron a long look, then turned and walked briskly over to Flee. The albatross was the fastest; speed was most important here. Gable could handle the fighting when they found Travis.

Flee shifted restlessly as Gable hauled the saddle onto his back and slid the bridle over his head. He could clearly tell something was up, probably picking up on Gable's nerves. Gable took a brief moment, when he was fully tacked up, to slide their hands into his feathers and rest their head against Flee's long bill. Deep breath in. Exhale.

Okay.

When they turned back around, Jonnit was sitting cross-legged with his hands resting facing upwards on his knees; one held his bandana, and the other was bleeding from the palm. His two normal eyes were closed. The third was staring off somewhere into the distance. As they watched, he came back to himself with a sharp inhale and all three eyes flicked up to look at Gable.

It was unnerving, seeing him without the headband, but Gable had seen weirder and only raised an eyebrow.

"I think I know which way to go," Jonnit said with a proud but weary smile. "I can direct us."

"Good boy," Gable said, heart clenching. "And--your hand?"

Jonnit looked down at his bleeding palm in surprise, like he'd already forgotten the wound. He closed his fist around it and gave Gable a bright, reassuring smile. "It's fine. This is important."

What had they done, in two hundred years of wretched existence on this planet, and who knows how many more above it - what could they possibly have done to deserve this boy? But Gable wasn't very good with feelings, or expressing them, so they just nodded and swung into the saddle.

"Let's go."

--

Jonnit's spell wasn't so much a map as a compass. He could tell Travis's general direction, but there was a lot of forest that way out of town, and it would take some searching to pinpoint their location. Still, it was a better lead than "not in town," and Gable was grateful for every bit of help they could get. Flee was fast and they had keen eyes. The witchhunters couldn't hide forever.

"Gable?" Jonnit asked after a few long minutes of silence. He was tucked up in front of Gable in the saddle, sheltered from most of the wind by their bulk and their coat.

Gable hummed in response, focused on directing Flee.

"Who are these people that have Travis?" he asked hesitantly, darting a glance back over his shoulder.

Gable looked down at him briefly, all wide-eyed nerves and earnest curiosity, and sighed. "Witchhunters," they said after a long pause, hands tightening around the reins. "People who hunt down people like me and Travis. And like you," they added, nudging him gently with one knee.

"What'll they do to him?" Jonnit asked in a tremulous voice.

"I don't know for sure," Gable said slowly. "There used to be these… prisons, where they kept people like us, to make us work until our executions. Travis and I were in one together, once. We escaped."

It was a paltry summation of the weeks of biting cold and labor broken only by the thorn in their side that was Travis's nightly visits and persistent questioning. But the memory of Travis, complaining even while Gable killed the guards to free them both with their bare hands, made something twist in their chest, and they didn't want to dwell on it.

"What?!" Jonnit demanded, twisting to look up at them with wide, alarmed eyes. "When?"

"A long time ago," Gable said. "A very long time ago. I don't know if those places even exist anymore. They might not be bringing Travis there; they could be working for… a person, or some group, or maybe just themselves. We don't know. But whatever they're planning--"

"We'll stop 'em," Jonnit finished for them, flashing a wide grin. Gable smiled back at him, warmed despite themself at his confidence.

"Of course we will," they said, gently nudging him to twist back around the right way.

They flew on in silence for a little while longer, dark-needled trees flashing by underneath Flee's massive wings like a terrestrial ocean. The sun was starting to creep down towards the horizon. Anybody traveling on foot would likely be stopping to break camp for the night soon. Hopefully that included a pair of witchhunters with a wayward changeling in tow.

"Hey, Gable?" Jonnit's voice shook Gable out of their thoughts and they hummed in acknowledgement. "You said you and Travis were in prison together a long time ago. Just how long have you known each other, anyway?"

Gable swallowed their immediate response of always. It sounded too maudlin even in their head, and wasn't true, besides, even if it felt like it sometimes. Gable had existed for an eternity before they met Travis. Never mind that they weren't really Gable until they washed up on that beach.

Instead they drawled, "Too long," and smiled at the sound of Jonnit's laughter before the wind snatched it away.

"What do you mean, mortals?"

Travis gave them a scornful look, like he couldn't believe they were that stupid. Gable resisted the urge to upend his chair with their foot, but only because they wanted him to explain himself first.

"You know, mortals," he said, gesturing unhelpfully with his mug. "People who can die."

"You can die," Gable said. "Want me to show you?"

"Oh, you know what I mean," Travis snapped. "People that aren't like us. You can't trust them."

"And why not?" Gable demanded.

"They'll always leave you," he said, head bobbing with drunken sagacity. "One way or another. It's your own fault for loving her. Them." Travis hiccuped again. "You really should know better by now."

Gable scoffed, looking away. Their grip tightened around their mug. Travis was hitting too close to home, but they'd be damned (ha) if they let him win. "So, what," they said scathingly, turning their glare back on him. "I'm stuck with just you for all of eternity, then?"

"Is that really so bad?"

There was something too close to real vulnerability under his usual haughty tone, the kind that only came out when he was very drunk or very close to death. But Gable was angry, and didn't actually care about Travis's feelings just then. If he was so set on them being alone forever, he could very well drink alone tonight.

They stood up abruptly, nearly knocking their chair over. With as much venom as they could muster, they snarled, "Yes."

--

Jonnit's spell was imprecise, so when he suddenly whipped around so fast Gable had to grab him to stop him from unbalancing and falling off the bird, they had to circle the area a few times before he spotted a wisp of smoke curling over the darkening trees with his keen lookout's eyes.

"What's the plan, Gable?" he asked, fidgeting in his seat. "Where should we land?"

Gable thrust the reins into his hands and he took them with a squawk, frantically gathering them up. They ignored him to unhook the mask from their belt and fasten it securely on their head.

"We don't," they said shortly, loosening the greatsword in its scabbard. "Take me over the top, and then stay up here."

"What?" Jonnit squawked again, twisting around in his seat. Flee jerked as he inadvertently yanked the reins with him, and Gable put a hand on his head and firmly turned him back around. He glanced back over his shoulder nervously, but obediently steered Flee around to pass directly over the campsite. "What if you need help?" he demanded.

With slow, deliberate movements, Gable rose to stand upright in the saddle. It was old muscle memory to shift their weight to keep balance; Flee's steady glide was no more turbulent than the deck of a skyship in a storm. They unsheathed their greatsword and held it lightly in front of them. They could feel themselves sinking into a battle trance, lulled by the wind and the blood rushing in their ears. Breathe in. Breathe out. Fire ignited along the pommel of the sword.

"I won't," they said, and jumped.

They landed hard on one knee, kicking up a cloud of dirt. They rose smoothly to their feet and were moving before they even had time to process their surroundings. The closest witchhunter had just enough time to curse loudly in a language Gable didn't know before the greatsword found home in his belly.

A sharp sting in their shoulder. Gable ripped their sword free and whirled around, coat flaring out behind them, to see the other witchhunter across the campsite, firing at them with a small crossbow mounted on her wrist. They blocked another bolt with the sword and stalked towards her with long, deliberate strides.

She was quick. Abandoning the crossbow, she drew a scimitar engraved with runes along the blade. She ducked under Gable's first lazy swing and with a flash of steel scored a shallow line above their collarbone.

Whatever she had done to her blade, the wound burned more than by rights it should. But the sensation was barely an afterthought to Gable as they brought their sword around to block her next strike.

With a shove, they sent her stumbling back several steps and took advantage of the distraction to bring down an overhead strike with tremendous force.

The witchhunter couldn't hope to parry, but she was fast enough to get her blade up in time to redirect the greatsword just enough to allow her to escape being cut in half. The greatsword thudded into the ground hard enough to stick, and the witchhunter leapt forward to make her move.

But Gable was fast, too. Letting go of the greatsword, they caught her sword arm inches before the runic blade met their neck. As the witchhunter's eyes widened in surprise and sudden fear, their other hand shot out and grabbed her by the throat.

The witchhunter bucked and fought and kicked with all her strength, but Gable was unmovable as a mountain. They held her gaze, impassive, as they slowly closed their grip, and watched as the light slowly faded from her eyes.

A groan made them turn around, discarding the witchhunter's body like so much flotsam. To their surprise, the other one was still alive. With one hand desperately trying to hold the wound in his middle closed, he struggled to draw his sword.

Gable crossed the camp in a few long strides and kicked his hand, sending the sword skidding across the dirt. The man looked up at them with fear and loathing in his eyes.

"What manner of devil are you?" he choked out, blood in his spittle.

Gable looked down, head cocked as they considered him. After a moment, they decided to show him.

They flexed their wings, the hundred stinging pains in their back and shoulders flaring to life. A hundred severed connections, and two blessed balms where they had been remade.

They didn't know how much mortals really perceived their wings, really, but the witchhunter clearly saw something that terrified him. He shrank back from Gable, skin going ashen pale and chest heaving. Gable advanced on him, lowering themselves gracefully to one knee and reaching out to grasp his jaw in both hands.

"You should have left him alone," they said. Their voice was low and flat and alien and barely audible between them. The witchhunter's wide, panicked eyes darted around wildly, looking for some weakness in the mask and finding none. "He's mine."

With a smooth, fast movement, they snapped his neck and rose once more to their feet.

"Gable? Are you quite done?"

The familiar voice snapped them out of their reverie. Travis sounded… normal? He called their name the same way he might while breezing into the captain's quarters with some outlandish question or demand. With a careless movement, Gable pushed their mask up into their hair as they at last turned to properly survey the camp.

The witchhunters had a wagon, against one wheel of which the man's body was now slumped. Across the small campfire, in the shadow of a tree, sitting sprawled on the ground with his hands behind him and looking more thoroughly disheveled than they had ever seen him, was Travis.

"Travis," Gable breathed the moment their eyes fell on him, and hurried over. They dropped onto one knee, one hand going automatically to his shoulder as they looked him over.

The first thing they noticed were the knives jutting out of his leg and shoulder. The second was the blood matted in the hair at his temple. The third was the naked relief and affection in his eyes, the likes of which only ever appeared when he was drunk or close to death.

Hesitant, suddenly cognizant of how big their hand was next to Travis's head, Gable reached out to touch his head wound. Travis hissed and flinched away, his usual haughty irritation falling like a curtain over his face.

"Careful, you giant buffoon," he snapped. "You have fingers the size of sausages."

"Oh, don't be difficult," Gable chided him, threading the fingers of their other hand into his hair to hold his head still while they inspected the wound. "This happened after last night. And these," they added, tapping the knife in his leg.

"Very observant of you," Travis deadpanned, hissing in pain as they prodded at him. Then he smirked, tilting his head into Gable's grip. "Got the head wound the first time I escaped. I think the stab wounds were just their way of saying they liked me."

That surprised a laugh out of Gable, which turned into a snort as they shook their head. "I can't imagine why," they said. They dropped their head down to knock their forehead heavily against Travis's, their fingers tightening in his hair. "You bastard."

"What can I say," Travis said, his voice going uncharacteristically soft. "I'm a likable guy."

Gable stayed there pressed against him for a long moment, eyes closed, listening to Travis breathe. But, Travis being Travis, the moment couldn't last.

"Not that I couldn't get out of these myself," he said leadingly. "But I'd hate to steal the thunder from this whole dramatic rescue you've got going on, so--"

"Liar," Gable said without heat, letting go of him and leaning back. They tugged on Travis's (uninjured) shoulder to look behind him, and saw his hands bound in ugly dark iron shackles engraved with similar runes to the witchhunter's sword and attached to an iron spike driven into the ground. Grimacing in sympathy, they released him and leaned back.

"The big one has the key," Travis said, jutting his chin towards the man. "I can wait."

"I'd like to see you do anything else," Gable shot back, pushing themself to their feet and wiping Travis's blood thoughtlessly on their coat.

"Oh, wouldn't you," Travis called after them as they walked back to the male witchhunter's body. Gable just rolled their eyes and smiled, secure in the knowledge that Travis couldn't see with their back to him.

Rifling through the man's pockets produced a small black key that successfully opened the shackles on Travis's wrists. He rubbed at the odd burn marks left behind before shoving both hands in his pockets when he caught Gable looking at them. Gable grabbed him by the elbow and hauled him into a standing position, and then caught him around the waist and leaned him against the tree when he almost collapsed again.

"Well, that was fun," Travis said, too loud. "Shall we go home?"

Gable hesitated, looking him up and down. "It's getting late," they said. "Maybe we should--oh, fuck."

"What?" Travis asked, perking up.

Gable ignored him and strode into the center of the campsite, where it was clearest, and started waving both arms up at the sky.

"What in the world are you doing?" Travis asked, bemused. He limped over to join them. "Is this an angel thing? Are you casting some sort of spell?"

"Stand back," Gable said, taking their own advice and pulling Travis with them by the collar of his jacket as Flee rocketed down into the campsite for a hard landing.

Jonnit was scrambling off his back before he'd even furled his wings, and flung himself at Travis.

"Travis!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around him. Travis went stiff, lifting his arms to avoid contact. "You're okay!"

"Yes, hello, Jonnit," he said, awkwardly patting the boy on the shoulder. Gable shifted their weight back onto one leg and crossed their arms, smirking at the two of them.

"You know," they said, glee at seeing Travis forced to endure Jonnit's enthusiastic affections diffused through their voice, "it's thanks to Jonnit that we found you so quickly. His spell led us right to you."

"Is that so?" Travis asked lightly. "Well, aren't we lucky to have such a magical boy on our ship."

"You're welcome, Travis," Jonnit said cheerfully as he pulled away, totally ignoring the lack of any actual thanks. He frowned as he took in Travis's injured, disheveled state. "Travis, you look awful!"

"Yes, thank you, Jonnit, that's just what every man wants to hear," Travis said with typical over the top sarcasm. "It's not like I got kidnapped to a spa, you know."

Jonnit looked sheepish, but Gable jumped in before he could apologize. "He's right, though," they said. "And about that…'' They took a deep breath, already bracing themself for protests. "Jonnit, I think you should go back without us."

"What?" Jonnit yelped.

"What?" Travis demanded.

Gable held up both hands defensively. "Look, Travis obviously looks terrible. If we go back today, he'll have to fake the injuries and it'll be a whole thing. But Jonnit can go back now and tell Nodoze that we found Travis, and he's fine, and we're coming back with supplies. Travis and I spend a night in the woods, we get back tomorrow with none the wiser. And depending on if there's anything good in that thing," they jabbed a thumb over their shoulder at the witchhunter's wagon, "Spit might even forgive you for running away."

Travis rubbed his chin, clearly considering their words. The inconvenience of hiding his condition was mostly on him, after all; he had to weigh spending another night in the woods against covering himself in pretend bandages for a week. Finally he shrugged and slid down the tree back into a sitting position. "All right, I suppose I can survive another night away from my bed."

"Well… if you're sure, I guess…" Jonnit said, shifting his weight anxiously and looking back and forth between Gable and Travis.

Gable clapped a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We'll be fine," they said. "We'll see you tomorrow."

Jonnit let all his air out in one blustering exhale, his shoulders slumping forwards. Whether it was genuine concern for their safety or just disappointment at being excluded, Gable couldn't tell. They followed him back over to Flee and gave him a leg up back into the saddle, waiting with a watchful eye as he settled into the seat and gathered up the reins.

They laid a hand on his knee and shook it lightly. "You did a good job today," they said. "Without you… I don't know what I would've done."

Jonnit looked moderately cheered. "You really mean that?" he asked.

"Well, no," Gable said, and plowed on, ignoring his falling expression. "I know exactly what I would've done. I would've taken Flee and wasted time searching the woods in every direction while they got farther and farther away. But you led us right to them. You saved Travis today, Jonnit."

Jonnit looked heartened as he nodded, once slowly and then again with more confidence. "Yeah… yeah! I did, didn't I?"

"You sure did," Gable said, a smile pulling at the corner of their lips. "And now you'll have a whole day to tell everyone all about it, before Travis gets back and can spoil your fun."

That did it. Jonnit beamed down at them and Gable gave his knee one last pat and stepped clear of Flee's takeoff. "All right! See you tomorrow, Gable! Glad you're alive, Travis!"

"Yes, always a pleasure, Jonnit," Travis drawled from his spot beneath the tree.

"We'll see you tomorrow," Gable said.

With that, Jonnit snapped the reins and Flee launched himself into the air, circling the campsite once before making a beeline back in the direction of the Uhuru.

And then, as the shadows lengthened and the sun started to set, Travis and Gable were alone once more.

--

A snapped rope and retreating prints were all that Gable could find of whatever beast of burden the witchhunters had been using to pull their wagon, so with a newly-changed snake coiled snugly around their shoulders, Gable picked up the yoke themself and started walking.

The walk was shockingly, blissfully, silent. Travis took advantage of not having to do any of the work himself to doze off, and Gable wasn't about to question the gift of silence. They could feel the slight rise and fall of his body against the back of their neck and took comfort in it. It was much easier to take comfort in Travis's presence when he wasn't awake to ruin it.

For a while they were able to keep their mind blank, and just lose themself in the simple labor of pulling the cart and the regular rhythm of Travis's breathing. But the monotony, eventually, left them with nothing to do but think. The wound from the witchhunter's blade still stung. Considering its size, Gable really thought it ought to have stopped bothering them by now. They wondered if whatever enchantments made it so stubborn meant that for once it might actually leave a scar. A tangible reminder of a hostile world only they were safe from.

It was so easy to assume Travis would be a thorn in their side for the rest of eternity. He'd managed it for two hundred years already, after all. But every so often Gable was reminded that Travis, despite it all, could die. With a pang, they remembered cradling the bleeding white raven, whispering nonsense until their throat went hoarse so he would make it to sunrise. They reached up without thinking to touch the snake's head. Travis, despite his apparent faith in his own invulnerability, was terribly fragile. He would not die. But he could be killed. Gable could, after everything, lose him.

"And you make it so tempting," Gable muttered, rubbing a thumb over Travis's head. "You are the easiest man in the world to kill."

In the moment, it didn't seem so far-fetched an idea that he did it on purpose, just to make their life harder.

Gable startled as the snake suddenly moved, muscles contracting as Travis lifted himself up to face them.

"Were you saying something?" he asked drowsily.

"Just thinking aloud about how annoying you are," Gable replied, flicking him on the nose. He reared back indignantly.

"Thinking, that's a new one for you. You should be careful you don't hurt yourself," Travis drawled. He sounded much more awake now. Joy. Their peaceful walk was over.

"I liked you better when you were tied up."

"Ooh, kinky. Don't let Spit hear you say that."

"You-- Shut--!"

Travis's snake laugh was dry and sibilant, and still - as always - painfully smug. Something twisted in Gable's chest to hear it.

He trailed off into a suddenly charged silence, and Gable had a moment to dread whatever he was about to say before he finally asked, "Gable?"

They grunted in response.

"I'm… sorry," he said, awkwardly, like the words didn't quite fit in his mouth.

Gable stopped short. "Pardon?"

Travis hissed, and his displeasure instantly put Gable back on more solid footing. "You heard me," he snapped.

Gable silently started walking again, pondering. They didn't often ponder, but the moment seemed to warrant it. An apology from Travis was a rare phenomenon. A sincere one was nigh-unheard of in the two hundred odd years they'd known him.

They wondered, suddenly, how he must have felt when they left him at the table. If he turned over their argument in his head while he was staked to the ground like they had while chasing his trail. The thought affected them more than they wanted to let on.

So they said, "So you admit I'm right and you were wrong?"

Travis looked away, his nostrils flaring. "I didn't say that," he said. "I was right about mortals. But it upset you, so I'm sorry." He shot them a narrow-eyed glare. "And that's the last time I'll say it, so don't even try."

Gable laughed. They couldn't help it; even at his most sincere, he was never anything but pure Travis. Irritating, smug, bratty Travis. Constancy was an odd trait for a changeling, but it was comforting to Gable. Everything else might change around them - did change around them - but Travis would always be Travis. As much as they wished he could be a less obnoxious Travis, sometimes.

"What?" he snapped, drawing back. Gable reached up and ran a thumb lightly over his head before he could take their reaction for a rejection.

"Nothing," they said, still smiling. "That's more than I expected from you, is all."

"Well," Travis huffed, trying to look like he wasn't leaning into their hand. "I am feeling rather magnanimous, given you saved me the trouble of having to escape on my own."

Gable snorted. "Oh, is that what I did? I'm sorry I interrupted your big moment."

"Well, you wouldn't have known," Travis sniffed. "I was being far too subtle for your big idiot brain to understand. But rest assured, I had them right where I wanted them."

"Well, maybe next time I'll just leave you to your own devices, then," Gable said, a smirk tugging at their lips. "Tell Wendell and Nodoze to pack up the search, Travis can just survive on his own."

Travis looked away. "Well. I always have," he quipped. Gable could feel the sudden tension in his body where it was coiled around their shoulders and frowned. That wasn't what they wanted.

"Travis," they said.

He turned his head to look at them. It was a shame his changeling forms were a secret. His ability to make a sardonic expression with a snake's face really deserved to be appreciated by a wider audience.

"You know you won't have to," they said. It was their turn to be sincere. Their voice was low and soft, hanging in the intimate space between them. I'll always be there. I'll always come for you. Even in this quiet moment with nobody but the stars and the trees to hear them, the words were too much to say and Gable swallowed them down. They were pretty sure Travis would hear them anyways.

Travis's coils tightened and relaxed. He looked away. "I know," he said, not quite achieving flippancy. He looked back at them sideways. "Because I'm right."

Gable shook their head. Impossible. He was impossible. "No," they said. "That's not why."

They took his nose gently in one big hand and leaned forward to press a dry kiss to the flat, scaly skin between his eyes.

Travis pulled back and considered them with coal-black eyes. Gable watched him back impassively. They'd said their piece; it was his move. After a long moment, he curled himself back around their neck and settled with his head pressed into the hollow space under their jaw. "Well," he muttered, and Gable could feel the vibrations of his speech, "I knew that."

Gable grinned.

--

They arrived back at the Uhuru shortly after dawn. The call went up from the watch and before they'd even made it all the way to the ship, the gangplank was lowered and crew were descending to transfer the supplies from the witchhunter's cart onto the ship, led by Nodoze.

He broke off from the group to meet Gable and Travis. Gable reached out to clasp his arm, tension draining from their shoulders as the familiar sights and sounds of the crew at work surrounded them.

"Welcome home, Gable," Nodoze said. "Travis."

"It's good to be back," Gable replied, squeezing his forearm briefly before releasing. Travis hummed. "This is quite the welcoming party."

"Jonnit warned us you'd come bearing gifts," Nodoze said. "I thought it prudent to make sure we were ready to receive you." He turned his unblinking gaze on Travis. "And thankfully you've returned our quartermaster just in time to inventory it all."

"Oh, well I don't know how important counting all this stuff is really--" Travis began. Gable clamped a hand down on the nape of his neck and he abruptly shut up.

"I'll make sure he gets to it," they said.

Something flickered over Nodoze's stoic expression. Amusement, maybe? It was hard to read. Gable was a little distracted by the hole Travis was glaring in the side of their head.

"... Quite," Nodoze drawled. He stepped aside. "Well. You've had quite a trek, and I won't keep you any longer. I can handle getting everything aboard."

"I know you can," Gable said gratefully. It really wasn't fair to the rest of the crew, they thought, just how many points he'd earned in the favorite crewman race. The rest could never catch up. They clapped him on the shoulder as they strode past up the gangplank with Travis in tow, leaving Nodoze barking orders at the crew behind them.

They could feel Travis's eyes boring into them as they made their way across the deck, but ignored him in favor of returning the shouted greetings of the rest of the crew. Nevertheless, he followed them as they passed out of the intensifying daylight into the dim interior of the ship. It was quieter here, with most of the crew on deck preparing for their departure. Gable stopped by their bunk to carefully lay their greatsword and mask back amongst their belongings, then finally made their way to the captain's quarters.

Orimar was right where they'd left them, standing at the map table and staring intently at the map they'd unrolled the day before. Gable ignored him and instead turned to finally face Travis, crossing their arms across their broad chest. "All right," they said. "Out with it."

Travis closed the door behind them and took his time turning around. "I don't know what you mean," he said evasively, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket.

"Bullshit," Gable said bluntly. "You're never this quiet."

"Oh, now you don't want me to be quiet? Make up your mind, Gable. These mixed messages are really--"

"Travis."

Travis narrowed his eyes. Gable stared back impassively. After several long seconds he sighed and looked away, waving a hand in surrender.

"I don't get you," he said plaintively. Frustration etched itself into the creases of his forehead and mouth. "All of these people are going to die. How can you care so much about them? How can you let yourself?"

Gable sighed and walked over to the cabinet where Orimar stored his alcohol. If they were going to have this conversation, they might as well drink for it. They pulled out a bottle, uncorked it, sniffed it, then took a swig. They turned back to Travis and held it out in offering.

Travis looked annoyed at not being answered, but he snatched the bottle and took a long swallow.

"I do it the same way they do, I suppose," Gable finally responded. "Humans live their whole lives knowing everyone they know will eventually die."

"It's not the same," Travis snapped back.

"No," Gable conceded. "But there is one thing that's the same."

"Oh, please enlighten me," Travis said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"We don't have a choice," Gable said.

Travis rolled his eyes. "And here I thought you actually had a reason," he said. "'We don't have a choice.'" He laughed, sharp and mean. "What kind of answer is that? Of course we have a choice. And I, for one, choose not to set myself up for failure."

"No, you don't." Gable walked back over to Travis. "You care about people on this ship. You just won't admit it. Even to yourself."

"Oh, please," Travis snorted. "I'm using the people on this ship. For now. And when I'm done with them, I'll move on. Like I always have."

"Travis." Gable plucked the bottle out of his hand. Travis made an indignant noise that they ignored. "I've known you for a very long time. I know you better than anyone. You act like you don't care because you know that caring hurts. But that doesn't mean you don't. As much as you try not to."

Travis looked away, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of Gable's gaze. "Maybe you don't know me as well as you think," he said, but refused to meet their eyes.

Gable reached out and cupped the side of his head with one large hand, threading their fingers into his hair. Travis's eyes fell closed for just a second, then he looked at them with trumped-up defiance. Gable took it as a sign they were right. "Travis," they said in a low voice, taking a step closer. "We can love them without loving each other any less."

Travis's eyes went wide. Gable bit their tongue to stifle their own surprise, but kept their gaze level and let the words hang between them. They'd known each other for more than two hundred years, now. They should finally be honest with each other.

"We can't stop them from leaving," Travis said in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice. "It'll always just be us, in the end. Loving them won't stop that."

"That's not why we do it," Gable said. They were separated now by mere inches, eyes locked on each other, unable to look away. "We can't stop them from dying. All we can do is make the most of the time we have with them. And lean on each other when it hurts. Because it will hurt." Their grip on his hair tightened. "We'll do it together, Travis."

"Gable," Travis said, his eyes darting across their face searchingly.

"Always," Gable said, and leaned down.

Travis flung an arm around their neck, burying one hand in their newly shorn hair and grabbing hold of the front of their shirt with the other. The bottle hit the ground as at the same time Gable curved their free arm around his back, pulling him impossibly closer as he yanked their head down the rest of the way to crush their lips together.

The conversation wasn't over. Might never be over. But here, today, Gable was content to leave it, another step closer to understanding. They let themselves get lost in the sensation of Travis - Travis, here, safe and sound and closer than ever.

When Jonnit and Spit finally burst in on them, it was almost enough to make them reconsider their stance on mortals.