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greetingfromthedead · 21 days ago

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25. Save and Protect

Series: Apple Blossoms Pairing: Knives x GN!Reader Word count: 3.6k This chapter has been beta-read by kn1vesm

Author's Note: This is it folks, another set of chapters have been let loose into this world! I am very happy to take you on this emotional roller coaster and hopefully I will see you again for the next chapters. For now I will shift my focus on other fics for a change, but you can stay up to date with all Apple Blossoms news on our lovely Discord groupchat.

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After a quick shopping tour in the small town, you are ready to depart again. The bedrolls and saddlebags with the medical supplies are nicely secured to the birds in front of the inn. All that's left is to get the rest of your gear, and you can finally leave. You return to Knives, who stayed behind in the room as you ran errands. You take the time to fit the last items of food into your backpack and make sure it is shut tightly for the road ahead. You can't wait to get away from people. It is nerve-wracking enough as it is, but Arin's words still hammer in your head.

Just as you straighten up and get ready to leave with Knives, a commotion breaks loose somewhere in the building. Doors are swung open with force before shouts and gunshots echo through the inn, making you back away. Your mind goes blank, unable to accept what just transpired. This can't be happening.

"Bandits! Watch out! Bandits are attacking!" You hear shouts from outside while the air gets stuck in your lungs.

Bells start to ring all over the town, ripping through the serenity just as the gunshots had. Muffled shouts sound from downstairs, presumably from the welcoming table. It is just one thing after another, while all you want is peace.

Knives's hand on your shoulder is what snaps you back into the moment. Longing for things to be different won't do you any good. But you have to make sure you get to your birds before the supplies get ransacked by the bandits. You have to escape as soon as possible. Going downstairs is not an option; they would never let you leave just like that.

"We have to go," you finally say, shaking off the last bit of frozen panic.

You pick up the bags from the ground and hand Knives his share. The window to the back alley is stuck at first, but you manage to pry it open. Looking down, you see the lip of the metal box that makes up the downstairs portion of the building. It protrudes a little, and you climb out onto it. Carefully you continue to lower your body until you can slide off the edge, landing not so gracefully in a pile of trash that softens your fall. Getting on your feet again, you step away, looking around in the long alley to see nobody moving around. Knives follows you down with slightly more grace, his strong arms able to lower him down. He lands softly next to you.

"How is your side? You okay?" you check with concern, almost reaching out for his bandages.

"I'm fine," he replies. "Let's go."

You hurry along the backs of the buildings that have been erected side by side. You need to make a loop to get to the front of the inn where your birds are. You weave past the trash heaps and tightly shut doors while bells and shouts echo off the walls. Your mind has gone blank with worry. You can hear Knives following close behind.

Some people run past you in a hurry, trying to get away from the bandits that have come to cause trouble, and occasionally you have to press against the metal walls to make room for them, but you reach the intersection and head for the main street. You peek out from your hiding spot to see that there are multiple menacing-looking cars on the street with heavily armed robbers harassing the people, demanding their money and belongings. You spot your birds, still tied up but agitated. They stomp their feet on the spot and push into each other, their heads whipping back and forth in distress.

Another look around reveals that a side street just like this one runs straight to the front of the inn. It is a better option than trying to push past the bandits. You try to spot all the people on the street, and when it seems like every robber is occupied, you grab hold of Knives's hand and drag him along as you quickly cross the path and run into a new little alley filled with crates and barrels. You still hold on to his warm fingers as you continue to jog towards where you hope to find a street going parallel with the main one you just crossed. You just need a little bit of luck.

More alleys shoot off from this one, and you hear people shouting and running while you're trying to make your way through them. You're about to reach a perpendicular street, and you peek into it, only to see a bandit with a machine gun hanging off his shoulder. You're lucky that he has his back towards you, and you quickly pull back. Your hand squeezes Knives's harder as you yank him back before he can pass you.

Knives doesn't expect such a sudden change of direction and nearly trips over his own legs. He catches himself by bracing his free hand on the metal wall, his whole body strongly leaning forward as he loses his balance. His hand is by your head, your wide eyes looking back at him with surprise. He is unable to look away. Despite the situation you're in, he doesn't see fear in your gaze, just determination. He feels you letting go of his hand, and part of him wants to snatch it back. He hates to admit it, but it felt nice, as if your fingers were molded to hold on to his. But it is so much more. The inside-out empty pit consumes him from within, filling his insides with fluttering butterflies. The feeling isn't at all gentle; it burns and eats up everything in its path. It feels a lot like violence—the desire to grab and dig his fingers into your flesh as he holds on with all his might. He wants to push you. He wants to pull you. He wants to bring his mouth to you; he wants to devour you. His lips, his teeth, his tongue—he wants your taste to fill every crevice of his mind. This barely feels different than hatred; it is an overwhelming physical pain that draws him closer into a clash, arms reached out for you.

Your face is so close, he could almost drown. If he leaned just a little bit closer, his nose would touch yours. If he lifted your chin, you would be parallel to him. He could feel your breath on his lips. He could… go closer. The situation around you barely matters as Knives's mind fixates on an unfamiliar desire. He feels the heat radiating from your skin, his vision is overtaken by the specks of color that make up your irises. He feels his heart racing in his chest, a rush so different from what he has felt before. More snippets of a melody piece together in his mind; music he has never heard before fills his head, only occasionally getting drowned out by the beat of his heart that echoes in his ears. He can't resist the urge to lean in closer, wanting nothing more than to lose himself in your presence. What does control matter if he can't get what he wants?

No matter the thoughts that cross Knives's mind, no matter the realizations he comes to, he has already leaned in, unable to stop himself. His other hand lifts to touch your face, to feel the warmth of you. He isn't quite sure what this is. What is he doing? How can he satisfy this carnal desire burning deep within him? Is that what the poems mean? Is this what the storybooks are about?

You stare up at Knives. It takes you by surprise to have him so close. You didn't mean to trip him up, and now you suddenly can't think about much of anything. How did you make him almost fall? Why did you pull away from the street? All you see is how he blocks out the sky, his face so close to yours. He has trapped you between himself and the wall, his arm blocking your way on one side. He takes up so much room in your vision and in your mind, wiping away the concern you felt and replacing it with something new. Burning insects dance along your stomach; they flutter upwards to your chest and throat, making your breath hitch. Your body screams at you to move. To reach for him, to cup his face, to pull closer. Feelings you've tried to deny are too obvious to turn a blind eye to. You want to meet his mouth with yours, but you remain still. He is always so cold and so distant. He hasn't shown any interest before. But the way he looks at you now makes you wonder if maybe there's a chance. Could it be? Or are you just imagining that he is leaning near? You inch closer, just a little bit, heart pounding in your chest, hoping for a sign that he feels the same. You lift your chin, gaze switching from his eyes to his lips, and you can almost taste the anticipation in the air.

The clatter of boxes and glass rips you back into the moment. The shooting just a street away wasn't enough to get your attention, but this happened close by. Both of you turn to look towards where the bags of trash were knocked over, and you see a young man backing away from you. He wears a military police uniform, decked out with a helmet and bulletproof vest. The rifle in his hand is pointed down, his shaking hands barely holding on to it. In his eyes, you see recognition, his trembling lips trying to form a word.

"M-m-m-millions…" You see him voicelessly mutter before taking off running.

Knives straightens up, pushing away from the wall, his eyes still looking at where the officer disappeared to. His whole body turns away from you. Knives knows he was spotted. He can't let himself be captured. His reasoning is unclear in his mind, but he cannot let that man go and announce his presence in the town. It will put you at risk. He takes a step away from you, ready to pursue the officer, when you grab hold of his sleeve.

"Don't! We have to get to the birds and get out of here! We can slip away while the military police chases after the bandits!" You say, holding on tightly.

He hesitates for a moment but pulls himself free from you, determined to stop this threat at its root. He slips off the backpack and lets it fall to the ground by your feet. He takes off quickly, not running but putting distance between himself and you with long strides.

"Come back!" you shout, louder than intended, but hopefully your voice is drowned out by the rest of the noise.

You're left dumbstruck, stuck with all the gear and the toma being just a street away. You can't follow him while hauling both your bag and his. You won't be quick enough in retrieving both the toma with all this stuff either. Your breaths leave your chest in frustrated huffs as you try to figure out what to do. Knives has disappeared. And you feel betrayed. Doesn't he trust you? You sneak a peek around the corner and see that the bandit from before is gone; instead, you have a clear view of your two toma, still tied up by the inn. They fight against their restraints as you see people run past your little alley. You have to get them away from the danger.

There is only so much you can do, and all your options are bad ones. You pull back into the shadow and take off your own bag, leaving it next to Knives's and hiding them under trash bags. You gather your thoughts for a moment, muscles tight, ready to get a move on, when a voice you did not ever wish to hear again carries your name to your ears.

"Fancy running into you here." Stephen continues, unfazed by your silence. His voice is level, almost friendly. Almost. It reminds you of your shared past with him, every time he presented himself as a model citizen while hiding his monstrous self underneath, saving it for when you were alone.

You watch him approach from the opposite direction your toma are in. He slips into the alley, his movements casual. You feel a sense of dread creeping up inside you. You aren't sure how he made it here. Was it Arin's warning? Did the young soldier reach him? Or maybe it was all a coincidence after all. It leaves a vile taste in your mouth, and you know better than to assume that a friendly chat is what he wants.

"It feels almost like fate. It keeps bringing us together. Crossing our paths," he continues, walking closer while you try to back away. "Don't you feel it? The cosmic pull?"

"Stephen…" you start off, trying to remind him of his current duties, but he won't let you speak.

"I do. I always have, my darling dear. I have always looked forward to the day you return to me. How many chances have you been given? Huh? Yet you keep avoiding me."

You hear his voice get more threatening, the sweet, arrogant friendliness disappearing as he steps into the shadows. You keep stumbling over trash that lies about, almost tripping on empty bottles and bags on the ground. He is faster than you in his approach, yet you don't dare to take your eyes off of him either. Before you know it, he catches up, forcing you to back into the wall.

"I am a good man. We fit together perfectly. But you mock me." Stephen's voice is now filled with venom, and a sinister smile lingers on his lips.

"Stop it. Please, stop it," you plead, but your voice gets drowned out by him talking over you.

"You barely deserve me, yet I still choose to love you. And what do you do to repay my generosity? You run off with some other man," he continues, unphased.

Fear has tied a knot around your throat. It digs up all your past trauma, all your hurt and anguish, as if you were back in his abusive embrace again. You know what he is capable of. You escaped him once, but you may not be so lucky again. He is a master at manipulating anyone he wants; his trap has always been out there to catch you. Stephen raises his gloved hand, touching the strand of hair that has come undone from the rest and falls towards your face. With a smirk, he tucks it back behind your ear, his touch gentle, barely there at all. It's like he's testing you, seeing how you'll react, but when no words cross your lips and your expression remains the same, his lips twist in anger and disgust. His whole body lunges forward, even though his chest already nearly touches yours. His hands reach for your neck, his fingers wrapping around your throat.

"How you ridicule me after everything!" he shouts in your face with a spray of spit, eyes burning with fury. "Out of anyone whose bed you could have climbed into, you chose a criminal like Millions Knives? You choose a maniac like him over me?"

His rage twists his face more than you have ever seen before. Your hands take hold of his wrists, trying to pry his grip off of you. All you manage is a wheeze as you fight for your life. Not enough air manages to get past your crushed windpipe; you cannot scream for help, not that anyone would be coming. Your nails uselessly scrape against his tough uniform, and your legs don't manage to hit anything, especially not after he pins you even more firmly against the wall.

"What can he possibly offer to you? Huh? I gave you everything, and this is what I get?" In his fury, his fingers dig even deeper into your flesh. Tears start to stream down your face as you desperately try to push him away, but he is too strong. Your vision gets blurrier, not just from the tears, but even his face that's right by yours slowly becomes darker, while the fight slips from your body.

The pain burns with your anger and panic. You are powerless against him and his obsessive fury. In your mind you have accepted defeat, but your body keeps fighting, your fingers tangling into his hair to pull him closer, desperate to gain any advantage, to cause him enough pain to let go. As your consciousness starts to fade, it feels almost like his face gets replaced with Knives's. He is just as close, his eyes nailed to you, his lips close enough to be reached. You had wanted to tangle your fingers into Knives's hair, to close the gap, but this struggle for your life gives such things new meaning. Their faces almost meld into one. It is hard to tell who is the one choking you to death as darkness closes in on you.

Suddenly, the pressure around your neck is gone, a rush of air filling your lungs. You are pulled forward by the hands that grip you, but they let go just as you start falling. Your own hands go to soothe the pain in your throat as you cough, simultaneously trying to expel the old air and to take in the new. You wheeze and sputter, feeling dizzy and disoriented, one hand looking for support from a dumpster. Through your blurry vision, you still manage to see Knives as he yanks Stephen backwards into the wall opposite you. You only see his back as Stephen lunges forward with rage. It all happens so sluggishly, as if time has slowed down to a crawl. Yet you cannot call out for Knives to stop. You can only watch in horror as the violence unfolds before your eyes. Stephen doesn't get a single punch in. He doesn't manage to pull his weapons. Knives's fist connects with his face with inhuman force, causing blood to splatter everywhere. Stephen's whole body flies backward, knocking his head into the wall, and while he bounces back, Knives hits him again. As he is slammed back into the metal wall, you hear a sickening crack that you recognize as bone breaking.

You fall to your knees first, still gasping for air, while Stephen's body slumps down right in front of you. His face is smashed in, bloody, and almost unrecognizable. He lies there crumpled and motionless, a large splash of red painted on the wall where Knives smashed his head into it. You struggle to find footing as you propel yourself forward, stumbling to get to Stephen. With a shaking and hesitant hand, you press your fingers to his neck, looking for his pulse that is no longer there. Stephen is dead, and from the growing puddle under his head, you can tell that nothing you could do would bring him back.

Your eyes creep towards Knives; as your gaze climbs up his legs, you see the two bloody fists. His hands are dripping with red, and you're too afraid to look up. Something in you refuses to look at his face, scared to see the blood splatter, scared to see the expression on him. You had seen him as just a man. You didn't listen to the rumors or the news. You did not see the face from the wanted posters. You saw him as your patient, as your traveling companion. He has never hurt you or anyone else in your presence. His expression might have been cold, but he never proved himself malicious to you. You had turned a blind eye to the fact that he is the Millions Knives, the man who is blamed for the calamities that shook humanity.

"The birds," you say weakly, voice raspy and thin.

With shaking legs, you get up and turn away, stumbling back to the street corner where your bags are. You support yourself by keeping one hand on the wall to your side, your head still spinning both from shock and the lack of air. Without even much thought, you stagger into the next street to look towards the inn.

"Stop!" you cry out, but your voice carries no weight. The bandits that forcefully pull and push your two birds with all your supplies on a truck don't seem to even notice you. As quickly as you can, you run forward, hoping to get to your toma in time, but the bandits drive off, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust. You collapse to your knees, defeated and helpless. You feel tears in the back of your throat. Everything crumbles around you.

Familiar hands try to take hold of your elbow, presumably to help you up, but you snatch your arm away. This is not the time to give in. Not yet. So you get back on your feet and pass Knives without a second look. You keep your eyes on the ground and go to get your bag. You throw Knives's backpack weakly towards his feet and start to walk away.

"You can come or not. The choice is yours," you say coldly and make your way along the narrow street while struggling to put the baggage back on.

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