In Search Of Home - One-Shots

AU: Viktor Escapes

A/N: Along with some one-shots of other characters, I decided I wanted to try out some different ideas of how ISOH could have progressed. In this AU, the arena was never busted by the police, Vok'Rul never met Viktor at the vet, and the humans never proved their sentience. A full two years have gone by since Viktor and the others were first captured and placed in the arena.

This is very long! About 50k words! It just ran away on me, haha

Vokkran phrases are listed at the end of the chapter for your convenience! I would definitely recommend going to the bottom and copy-pasting the translations in a note (or open up another tab) so you don't have to keep scrolling back and forth :P There are quite a few of them, but they are not necessary to understand the one-shot. 

***

"Sixty-three bottles of beer on the wall," Ezekiel wailed, smacking his empty bowl on the bars. His voice was weak, tired, and really, really fucking annoying. "Sixty-three bottles of beeeeer."

"Stop," Aiko replied tonelessly. "This is the fourth time you've sung it."

"Let's make it a fifth!" Ezekiel sat up from his position on the floor. "All together now! Ninety-nine-"

"Lay back down, you imbecile," Aiko snapped with no heat. "You'll tear your stitches."

"Some stitches," Ezekiel muttered, lying back down. "No way these can be called stitches."

Viktor stared at the ceiling, feeling his wounds throb in time with his heartbeat. He breathed in deep, the familiar smell of animal musk and dung accosting him. There was a scent of chill in the air. It was getting colder again.

Nikolas told them a few days ago that they had passed the seven hundredth and sixty-fifth day in this arena. Viktor didn't really know how to feel about that. Over two years of fighting for his life on an alien planet.

Well, he did know. But his anger and offense had been chipped away to nothing but grudging acceptance and bitterness. They weren't getting out of here. They were stuck.

Viktor - Kohgrash - was still the star of the arena, even two years later. Fortunately, it seemed that some of the interest was tapering off. He didn't go out nearly every day the arena was open like he had months ago. It left him with more time than he knew what to do with, though. He could only count how many pieces of straw were in his cell before he started to seriously question his sanity.

At least he had company.

"Hey, kiddo," Pedro called, rapping his knuckles against the set of bars they shared. Viktor looked over balefully. "How are you holdin' up?"

"You ever get tired of asking that question?" Viktor replied dryly. He settled his hands over his stomach - more specifically, the gash that one of the smaller dog-like species gave him with their claws. It stung to even put the smallest amounts of pressure on it, but so long as he didn't breathe too deeply, it was easy enough to ignore.

The ointment that Lilac gave them after a particularly harsh fight didn't hurt any less years later. Viktor couldn't even lie and say he had grown used to the pain - it was so searing and abrupt that there was no chance he'd ever tolerate it - but at least it helped. This sort of wound would have pulled him out of school for weeks.

He didn't think himself as squeamish. He wouldn't have lasted as long as he did if he were. Still, when he had first looked at the wound, he felt, just a little, sick to his stomach. It did not help that his shirt was torn down the front, now. He didn't even have anything to sew it with! Not that he knew how to sew.

His dad did. He missed his dad.

"Nah, not with your charming answers," Pedro replied, bringing him back to the present. It was probably a good thing. The less he thought about his dad, the better.