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aqua-the-smiter · 8 months ago

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A Favor Returned Role swap AU short. Guts and Casca switch places during the eclipse CW: Implied sexual assault (brief mention). ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘𒉭⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

He’d put his head in her lap.

Casca had thought he was asleep. She had been staring out into the dark woods beyond the weak circle of light, stoking the low flames occasionally to keep them from going out entirely. The weight of Dragon Slayer was a millstone on her back. The fact she could wield it at all still astonished her to this day, even with one arm made of iron and the other wrapped in a brace. It should have been his blade. Her mind had wandered, treading down worn paths. Then, she felt a weight on her thigh.

Looking over, she saw a familiar shock of black hair resting there. His body was frighteningly limp, and his breathing was so shallow it was hard to tell if he was breathing at all. But he was there. Warm and familiar. And that, no matter how bleak everything else was, made her happy.

“Hello Guts.” She said.

He didn’t reply. He never did. As far as she knew he hadn’t made a sound since the eclipse. Most of the time she didn’t think he even registered a thing she said. But he looked up at her. Staring.

His eyes were empty, hollow. Gazing at her but not really seeing anything. They hadn’t always been like that. His eyes had been so beautiful once. Deep brown like lacquered wood with flecks of amber and gold when the sun hit his irises just right. Gleaming with battle fever or sparkling with mischief. How they had softened, and lit up when they’d seen each other again. A year he had been gone, and she had missed those eyes.

It was like they belonged to a dead man now.

She sighed, and ran her fingers through his hair. He might as well have been a dead man at that point. Dead on the inside, certainly. Like he had retreated somewhere deep inside himself and refused to come out. Not that she could hold it against him, after…everything. Hell, she had days where she wanted to follow his example. But, unlike him, Casca still had her mind, and someone had to look out for the two of them. Or, three if you counted Puck.

She put a finger to his face. Tracing the small scar across the bridge of his nose. Usually he would pull away from touch. Somewhere in the depths on whatever pile of shards counted as his mind an old hatred had bubbled up and mutated. Most of the time just gesturing near him would make him flinch and back away. Actually touching him would send him reeling back, eyes wide and full of a deep, almost primal fear. But sometimes he let her. Small things that made dealing with him easier. She wondered if he was consciously allowing it, or if he’d sunk so far in he just didn’t register.

At least he hadn’t sloughed off the cloak she’d given him. Winter had its icy fist around the land, and had draped it in a thick blanket of snow to boot. It was cold. So cold…

Like during the Eclipse.

No, no. Don’t start down that road.

It was always marbles on glass after that.

As cold as that false night. As cold as his dead eyes.

She would make them all as cold as they had made Guts’s eyes.

Griffith she would kill first. That much was easy. He had caused all of this and was in the midst of causing even worse. His poisonous dream had broken everything. Or maybe they were all equally guilty, and he was just the easiest to point the finger of blame at. Every memory of him had turned bitter and gained a sharp edge. A human who was now pretending he was above all other humans. She had to wonder where that kind of ego bloomed from. Was it the ascension that brought that on, or was the seed of it always there in him, buried deep? Just waiting for the correct watering of blood and tears?

It didn’t matter. She’d make him choke on his own entrails. She would make it quick, as one last favor to the man he used to be.

The other three didn’t matter as long as they died, but Slan would be last. Casca wanted Slan’s death to be long. If she could she would have that whore die slowly for a thousand years and it still wouldn’t be enough. Slan would die last because she wanted to take her time with her. Wanted to whittle her away piece by piece until there was nothing left. Peel her apart with agonizing precision and attention to detail until even a demon such as her would cry out for mercy. Giving Casca the pleasure of denying it.

She took a deep breath. Restraining herself from gripping Guts’s hand like a drowning man clutches at flotsam.

You may have taken him but he never gave you his body willingly. Not like me. She snarled internally, and wished immediately after that she could’ve given him the dignity of looking away like he’d asked.

She wished she could have saved him.

But having him alive was better than nothing. Him being alive meant he could possibly still be helped, although by what manner she didn’t know. He was still here. She could feel his head on her thigh, his body curled up next to her. His eyes may have been cold but he was still warm and breathing. She craned her neck around to look at the flower she had tied around Dragon Slayer’s hilt. No, something was still there. It had to be.

…

Casca stood underneath a huge, gnarled old tree. The wood twisted and warped, the crown of sharp branches bare and lifeless. The sky was an empty gray void. Dark without the promise of rain or snow. The air felt thick and stale like it came from the inside of a coffin, and fog wrapped its fingers around everything like frost. Her boots sunk into the mire, the ground nothing but stagnant puddles and mud.

A pitiful little cry drew her attention downwards.

There was a baby curled in the muck, blood and afterbirth staining it red. So small and fragile, his cord still clinging to him. Frighteningly thin, a few ribs showing through, still smeared with dried womb-water. A shock of black hair clung to his scalp, and the tips of his ears seemed almost pointed.

“Guts…?”

Her own voice sounded far away, like it was underwater.

“Pitiful, isn’t it?”

One hand lept to Dragon Slayer’s hilt. In another smooth motion she knelt down and scraped the little one up with her metal arm. Wielding the blade one handed was never easy, but she held it out in front of herself in a guard.

“Who’s there?”

A dark, sweeping shape emerged from the shroud of fog. With a countenance like a bird of prey and a body like carved black obsidian.

Femto? Griffith? Did it matter what name? He was the same bastard.

“You!” She barked. “How dare you show your face here!”

The demon spread his arms in a harmless gesture, his great black wings swishing out, following them.

“Come now. Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“Friend? Are you joking?”

She could feel a throbbing pain on her breast.

Femto took a step forward, talons splashing in the foul water. Casca took one back, her blade still held out in front of her. She clutched the infant tighter to herself, shifting her arm so it blocked as much of him as possible.

He laughed. “You guard him so fiercely. If nothing else, your loyalty is commendable. Even if it is now a burden.”

“A burden…?” She shook her head. “No, he’s not a burden! I will not abandon him to his fate or you.”

“Of course not. No, you’re too soft-hearted for that. Despite how hard you try to be the fearless warrior, like he was. But still, it must be hard caring for him, isn’t it? Shouldering something you were never meant to.”

“Don’t give me your false sympathy! You caused all of this! You did this to him!”

“Technically that was Slan.” He corrected, and gave her a slimy grin. “But it’s not my fault. You chose to make him your problem. You could have left him again, had him tied up a bit more securely. He wouldn’t notice your absence.”

She wanted to disagree. His head resting on her thigh instantly jumping to mind. The flower around her sword’s hilt. But so did his empty eyes and limp body.

He held out a hand to her. “Aren’t you tired of taking care of him? Watching him like a child. The last time you turned your back he ran away and nearly got himself and you killed. And all for what? It’s not like he has the capacity to be grateful to you. Who knows if he’ll be grateful to you even if he gets his mind back.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You didn’t know him as well as you thought you did. That’s why you had to break him. Because he wouldn’t blindly let you do as you wanted!”

“Look where that defiance got him and you.” Femto pointed out. “Who knows. Maybe it would have been you in his position, and he in yours. I wonder, would he have done the same for you, as you do for him? Did he love you the same as you love him now? To go through so much for very little chance of reward.”

𝐼𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝓃𝑜 𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈, 𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓇𝑒𝓁𝓎 𝓃𝑜 𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉, 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝓎 𝒹𝒾𝒹 𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈?

𝐻𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓉 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒽𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝑒, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓅𝓉𝒽𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒾𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝒷𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓈𝑒𝓈 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝐻𝑒 𝒸𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝑜𝓉𝒽 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂 𝑔𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝒻𝓁𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂. 𝒮𝒾𝓍 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽, 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓈𝒾𝓍 𝓅𝒶𝓁𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝓅𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑒𝓃. 𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝑔𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒶𝓈 𝓈𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝒸𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒.

𝒞𝒶𝓈𝒸𝒶 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝓉𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈

Doubt wrestled with conviction in her mind, but she still looked the raptor dead in the eyes as she answered, “He would.”

… … “Casca!!” Her eye snapped open, and before she could think her hand had grabbed the dagger at her belt before snapping up to stab the incubus at her head. She gripped the one with its tentacles around Guts’s head so hard she felt it burst under her hand, and tossed it aside, breathing hard.

Figures she should’ve never let Puck watch her back. He was a good friend, but not a reliable night watchman. She sat back against the old tree, breathing hard.

“Would he have done the same for you?”

“Fucking Griffith.” She muttered.

“Casca!” Puck called again, fluttering at eye level. “Are you alright?”

His big blue eyes seemed misty, and she gave him a small smile.

“No worse for wear.”

“And is he…?” The elf trailed off, his voice returning to its usual octave.

She looked down at Guts. His face was scrunched, contorted as if in pain, and his body was tense under the cloak.

“No worse than usual?” Puck answered for her.

“No worse than usual.” She agreed.

Whether he would do the same for her or not didn’t really matter. That wasn’t what had ended up happening. She and him were here, and it wasn’t worth thinking about what ifs.

But still, deep down she hoped he would do the same for her, if their roles were reversed. She believed he would.

#berserk #guts berserk #casca berserk #guts x casca #femto berserk #puck berserk #slan berserk #nuts and costco #role swap au #gutsca

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