the silver dragon: ?/?; hasty delivery - 1905 words

Nathaniel's whole body flinched violently, when multiple paper bags hit the living room table.

"Oops. Sorry," Chelsea apologized, as she rustled the brown paper while moving them. She made multiple short trips from the front door to the living room to transport her whole haul. She often asked herself if she had gone too far. Even the blue-hided eternal knew herself that she didn't exactly always know when or where to stop.

 

Then again, she wasn't hurting anyone. She was supporting local businesses right now at least, so go big, or go home.

 

Nathaniel watched the Athos lower the last batch of takeout bags onto the dark-colored table. It was wobbly by design, and a mountain of fast food didn't really help. Chelsea stood widely, hands confidently on her hips. The sense of accomplishment beamed from her face like from a lighthouse.

"There!" She exclaimed, and gestured at the various paper bags with her dominant arm in a wide arc. "We have-"

 

Her arm stopped. She pulled her hand back and blew air into her cheeks. The eternal's tail moved vexedly behind her as her fiery eyes ran over the endless bags of junk food. She groaned loudly, and started to feel out and open the bags one by one.

"How is it even legal that none of these places label their takeout, for fuck's sake," Chelsea hissed under her breath. "Say spaghetti if you see burgers," she added absent-mindedly, without lifting her eyes from the table.

 

Nathaniel stared at the table and its offerings. The more he tried to decide which one to pick up, the more his monochrome eyes widened. Why did she get so many things in the first place? He didn't even know what he wanted, or what he liked. He had his own sources for his peculiar diet. Many other things wreaked havoc in the dragon's digestive system. He didn't eat this stuff - even Caspian knew it.

 

But Chelsea wasn't Caspian. Of course she wasn't. It was a bad comparison. A stupid comparison.

 

The pale dragon lifted a paper bag gingerly from the midst of its brethren, where the shifter's tearing nails hadn't yet reached. He brought it close to his chest, moving sluggishly, as though he was sneaking over a wailing kitchen floor at 3 AM. Nathaniel didn't even know himself how he felt. The apartment he was brought in was foreign. Its resident was hellbent to help him, and she would've probably chased him to the ends of worlds if he tried to lose her. It was like every single twitch of his muscles was forbidden - even though he could see with his very own eyes that the Athos did not care about his awkwardness, or actions. She wanted him to feel safe in her company.

 

How could he feel safe knowing that there was someone hunting him out there? If Elryss ever saw Nathaniel again - saw what he had done to his gifts - it would mean a slow, agonizing death.

 

Finally, he was able to open the paper bag in his hands. Nathaniel peeked in, trying to make sense of its contents. He recognized the fries, though they didn't look French to him. Whatever that French meant. Caspian had at some point mentioned a... long bread? Along with the golden, greasy sticks of potato, he saw half-round bundles that were wrapped in wax paper. The dragon's brow furrowed.

 

"Are these... burgers?" Nathaniel stretched out his arms towards Chelsea, holding the bag open from its sides. The eternal's fast reaction nearly made him pull the food back instantly, when she peeked into the bag.

Chelsea couldn't really make sense of the bag's contents, either. She grabbed it from the dragon's hands without saying a word, and almost stuck her whole face into it. Nathaniel watched her expression go from a wrinkly raising to realization within the same second.

"Oh, yeah. Nice," Chelsea replied. She pushed the other takeout orders as much to the side as she could without making them fall to the floor. She started to empty the paper bag's contents onto the empty corner of the table, but her focus faltered. Chelsea lifted her gaze to Nathaniel, who almost squirmed in place.

"You alright?" She asked, thin needles of worry pushing through the tone of her voice. The dragon's eyes wandered around the carpet under the table, as if he had done something prohibited.

 

"Spaghetti," Nathaniel almost whispered, his gaze not budging from the rug's woven-in details. Chelsea snorted, making him hastily lift his eyes to her. The dragon's pale, half-panicked stare scanned her every move and physical action. After draining the paper bag of its plunder, she fetched a stool for herself from the kitchen - and like a cautious hatchling, Nathaniel followed her with his gaze, sharp and alert. His head tilted as he watched the Athos organize the unpacked things on the table.

 

Then, Chelsea handed one of those somewhat round wax paper bundles to the dragon.

 

Nathaniel reached out his arms, his hands formed into a shallow cup. Chelsea found it slightly odd, but she set the wrapped hamburger into his hands, and carried on with her own things. The silver dragon pulled back his claw-made chalice. He inspected the item in his hands, rotated it carefully like it was a precious gemstone.

"Need help with that?" Chelsea interrupted him, her mouth half-full of partially chewed food. She raised the cheeseburger in her hand, that had one bite missing, "you have to open it, like this."

Nathaniel looked at the food item in the eternal's hand, and then the one in his own. He had the time to rotate it only a tiny bit once more, before a dark veil draped itself over him. It drained his eyes of curiosity. Swept away the puzzled expression. Even buried the cautiousness.

 

With trembling hands, Nathaniel returned the wax paper bundle onto the table. Chelsea raised her brow.

"If you don't like it," she glanced at the myriad of takeout bags, "there's a lot to choose from."

 

The dragon pressed his hands at his chest. His claws desperately searched for the gold that once resided suspended there. His gaze slowly lowered, his face twisting from grief. Chelsea set down her food, and turned to Nathaniel properly.

"If you're not hungry, I'm not forcing you," she said, trying her best to convey friendliness in her tone, "but it won't do you any good if you're already having a hard time walking."

Nathaniel leaned forward. His elbows nearly dug into the skin right above his knees. He buried his face into his palms. His whole body shivered - trembled under the strain of trying to keep itself together. To keep it all in.

 

Dragons didn't cry.

 

But he was no dragon - not anymore. He had failed everything. Everything had been taken from him. Everything and everyone he had, he had pushed away.

 

He broke down. Nathaniel heaved and sobbed every other breath, but his struggles to bail out the water from the sinking ship stood against an ocean. The flood gates that bled out thoughts and tears had already been torn open. Only a lock and key couldn't mend a demolished door.

 

It was such a stupid, small thing. It shouldn't have made him shatter like this - and every accusation he aimed at himself from within, only made the invisible claws around his neck tighten their grip. Those dumb little drops had been trickling down for a while. Nathaniel just didn't want to admit it. Didn't want to see it. Only great things could tear a dragon into pieces. Violence. Disgrace. Wars. Monarchies.

 

Not cheeseburgers.

 

Chelsea didn't know what to do. She didn't even know this guy, or his name for that matter. She had only ran on instinct - rationality had no place in that equation. Not when the only thing an Athos was hellbent to do, was to protect. The eternal stood up, and offered her attempt to comfort. She gently placed her hand on the dragon's shivering shoulder.

 

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME, YOU FILTHY HYBRID!"

 

The dragon's desperate tone was hoarse from emotional turmoil. Unsteady. Broken. Chelsea sat back down instantly, not knowing what else to do. She watched Nathaniel's face shift from rage, to realization, and finally wide-eyed shame. He didn't mean it. Of course he didn't. The tears that ran down his face felt like knives. Like steel blades, heated in the crucible of his own, sickening odiousness.

 

He gnashed his teeth and got up. In a shock derived from his own mindless actions, Nathaniel walked to the front door, his steps as long as they could get.

 

He had to get out of here.

 

The dragon grabbed the door handle, and pushed it down. Nothing gave the movement resistance. It didn't work. He tried again - multiple times, up and down, wrestling with the angled piece of metal like a frustrated toddler.

"You need to pull while you turn it," Chelsea pointed out the door's quirks from the living room, "it's a bit weird, but what can you do."

 

Nathaniel backed up a step, then another. His pale gaze darted over the door's surface, jagged like thorns. It was as though he tried to make the thing listen, to obey - without saying a word to a lifeless object.

Suddenly, the dragon crouched down. In an instant he fell to the floor in a somewhat controlled movement. He curled up as tightly as he could, holding his head, as if he attempted to shut the world out.

 

He didn't want any of this to happen. He didn't mean to bite the hand that fed him - quite literally. Or at least tried to feed him. He didn't mean to kill anyone. It wasn't a desire of his to hurt the ones dear to him. He didn't even want to be the way he was.

 

Why didn't he just make Elryss kill him? He knew how to anger a dragon, after all - knew how to drive them to the edge. So why didn't he? Why did he even hatch in the first place? Why didn't he stay in the egg? Why didn't he just wait and choke inside it? He had the choice - didn't he?

 

The Athos watched the silver dragon writhe in the corner of the hallway. Chelsea's expression morphed into a chaotic mixture of worry, grief, and self-blame. She sighed as she turned her eyes back to the dreary table. Even though nearly nothing was consumed, it looked like vultures had descended through the roof, and feasted on this and that.

 

It would take at least half of the night to clean and pack all of it away. Weeks at least to eat it all, if it even stayed edible that long. Some of it sure wouldn't. Maybe she could shove it to someone. A neighbor. Everyone loved free food, after all.

 

Chelsea got up, and made her way to the kitchen. She sure as hell hoped that she had enough containers for everything - or that it even fit in the fridge. Things followed each other in her head like children tied to a single leash:

 

If this moron wouldn't let her take him to the hospital, she would find something else. Did wyfexes even sleep? Would it be inappropriate to call in the middle of the night? Would it be a bother? Hopefully Karmen wasn't busy in the morning. They were her best bet.