The Love of a Crow - Wesper/Crows Fanfiction/AU

23. Wylan

Eventually the gunfire seemed to fade, but Wylan's nerves did not follow, as he bit his lip to stop himself from screaming again.

Footsteps. Approaching fast.

Jesper immediately covered Wylan's mouth, shoving him deeper into the alley until they were bumping into the wall. The pearl-handle of Jesper's pistol gleamed as he removed the safety, earning a satisfying click and a freeze from the footsteps. Wylan was sure anyone could hear his stuttering heartbeat as he closed his eyes, ready for chaos.

"No mourners?" A voice whispered from the street. Wylan nearly fainted in relief.

"No funerals!" Jesper whooped in surprise as Matthias appeared, face covered in gunpowder and dirt. He grinned at the Fjerden, who merely rolled his eyes.

"How is it that everyone on this Djel-forsaken island can take a scrape as mere entertainment!" He grumbled.

"Because it happens to be the best kind of drug, my furry friend!" Jesper beamed, his serious attire completely gone. Wylan was just as confused as Matthias; how was he so calm?

"Are they... are they gone?" Wylan whispered, scared of the answer he would receive.

"Not quite. Brekker has instructed us to meet at a safe house in the Warehouse District. We need to hurry. The stadwatch is going crazy."

Jesper nodded, but Wylan's head was still swimming. A safe house? How long would he have to stay there? He thought of his inventions and and bombs with longing. Stil; he supposed any safe house was better then the fiery pit of Hell, which he certainly had a first class ticket to after being around five minutes with the Crows. Yet Wylan was glad they were all in one piece.

"Come on merchling, we have to move." Jesper woke Wylan from his trance as they moved out. The street was a bloodbath, a seemingly never-ending scattering of rubble and bodies. A bell struck its hourly chime in the distance; Time stopped to mourn for no one, and neither did they as they navigated their way through their own fallen.

How many of these deaths were on his hands? How many of these people had died trying to get him to safety? Wylan didn't even want to think about it; he couldn't without tasting bile in his mouth. Jesper seemed to see this and his eyes softened as he patted Wylan's shoulder, much to Matthias's confusion.

They walked for what felt like hours, every second spent sweating and cowering in the dark like rats escaping traps, stadwatch and fellow gangs leaving their confinements to try and profit out of the chaos, or to join the hunt. Soon, though, the wildness died down as they got further and further away from the Crow Club. Wylan recognised the huge plots of West Stave, the flowering business of the White Rose and the gorgeous hues of the Menagerie, and he was seeing them all through a tourist's eye. Though Wylan had lived in the city all his life, most of it was a mystery to him, and navigating it on his own had been the hardest job of his life. Even harder than reading a ledger, if he could believe it.

Soon the buildings started to get less dense as they spread out, widening into the tangled maze of the warehouse district. Wylan did recognise some of this place; when he was younger his father had taken him to one of the Van Eck private warehouses to show off some prized books to Wylan, as if it would encourage his mind to be able to read the beautiful pages. It was also the place he was kidnapped and taken to as a child.

Of course Kaz Brekker had a safe house here. What safer placed to put one then in the depths of a ghost town? Though he wished it didn't, a small part of Wylan was honoured that he was allowed to hide in the safe house as well; did that mean that Kaz trusted him?

"Merchling! Watch it!" Jesper yelled as he dragged Wylan away from banging into a lamppost, much to Matthias's annoyance.

"Sorry," Wylan mumbled, to Jesper and, embarrassingly, to the lamppost. Jesper chuckled and wrapped his arm around Wylan's neck, rubbing his hair as if they were merely old friends meeting at a bar, not partners in dark crimes, partners that shared hugs and hands and a rare, light kiss.

Now, Wylan knew nothing about relationships; he had never even been close to one to know what classified, but this felt like a step backwards from... from what? What twisted, joke-filled tug of war were they having? Jesper was a sharpshooter, and what seemed to be an amazing Grisha, born from metal and surviving off of bullets and booze.

And Wylan? Wylan was an illiterate, timid bombmaker, born and swaddled in cotton since birth, then thrown out like a discarded piece of meat to the hounds. Compare that to Jesper, and he was nothing. And it would be selfish to keep Jesper from people that truly deserved his time and affection; he had made the same mistake with his father, and he would never do that again.

So Wylan played along, punching Jesper's arm lightly and squirming out of his hold, trying to get the point across. Jesper clearly looked at him with a blank stare and eyes that said so much, but Wylan didn't have the guts to peer into them; he was scared of what he might find.

Finally, they stopped at a secluded building slightly off from the others, that was run down and dirty, and clearly abandoned. Or so he thought.

Because it was then that Matthias spoke the words: "We're here."