(This fic exists in an AU I was playing around with over the summer where Fynch bonds with Osiris as his new Ghost after the events of The Witch Queen. Hope you enjoy it!)
Destcember Day 2 - Class Warfare
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Fynch was immediately taken with the Eliksni of the Last City. Osiris noticed it instantly. After Osiris woke and was healed thanks to the combined efforts of his new Ghost and the Kell of the House of Light, he was quick to notice how drawn Fynch was to the House. They visited the Eliksni quarter often. Osiris was still healing both in mind and body—though Fynch did make the latter a great deal easier—and he found it eased some of the stressors that plagued his mind to be among the House of Light, to help them as they had helped him.
Saint was similarly drawn to the Eliksni quarter, as were Crow and Glint. Osiris could understand why. Even with the difficulty surrounding his first impression to the House of Light, they’d become a steadfast support for Saint in the difficult months that had followed, dealing with Savathûn’s deception and Osiris’ comatose state, Mithrax and the others had been there for Saint in a way few others could. It was only natural that he would remain close to them even after Osiris woke, but what surprised Osiris was the attachment the other members of his little flock had to the quarter.
Geppetto’s feelings were closely related to Saint’s, and to Osiris’ own. The House of Light had taken care of her and her Guardian during a dark time, the Eliksni also had a way of seeing Ghosts as their own beings, not so tightly coupled with their Guardian partners as some of the people of the city seemed to believe. Crow’s attachment was similarly understandable. The Eliksni had been both protectors and abusers to Crow in his lifetime. Spider had been his captor on the Shore, and that certainly introduced a layer of tension into their time in the Eliksni quarter, but many of his men had worked to shield Crow from his brutality in the same way he had tried to protect them. Of the group of them, he had the best hold on the language, and could often be seen speaking among them in both English and Eliksni.
Glint and Fynch offered a new perspective, however. Even bonded with Osiris, Fynch still found the Tower and the Guardians within to be unreceptive to him. Whenever they ventured in, Fynch would conceal himself within Osiris’ light, the feeling of being unwelcome creeping down their bond from Fynch’s side. Osiris did his best to reassure the Ghost, but as long as the Ghost still bore his chitin shell and green eye, the Guardians would not forget who he’d once pledged himself to.
At first, the Eliksni of the House of Light had given him similar looks. It had taken the explanation of who Fynch was—Osiris’ Ghost, but more specifically one of the key players in the defeat of Savathûn—for their suspicion to be replaced by trust. Once it was, Fynch had relaxed into their company. The feelings of discomfort, of being unwelcome or different had gradually lessened, until Osiris could no longer feel them through the bond that linked them together. Glint, he realized, had a similar experience. Among other Guardians and Ghosts, there were still those that felt Crow should not have been revived, that Uldren Sov did not deserve the Traveler’s blessing, and that Glint had betrayed the Tower and the City by bestowing it upon Crow. The Eliksni quarter offered them both an escape from the creeping class warfare that deemed them both as different, or evil, agents of Darkness and ill will to the Traveler.
Unfortunately, it was never completely safe.
Osiris was on his knees, his hands in the cool earth, his knees cushioned on a foam panel as he tended the garden beside a number of Eliskni and human workers. Crow was at his side, picking weeds from the dirt around the growing plants. He was immersed in his work, relaxed in the domesticity of his task when he felt a pinprick of Light from the other side of the quarter. He lifted his head on instinct, only for an overwhelming sense of fear to pour down the bond between himself and his Ghost.
It was so intense it was nauseating, and Osiris drove his fingers into the damp Earth as he shuddered at the sensation, stimuli pouring into his being. Fynch suddenly reached for him with utter desperation Osiris had never felt before, sending his every perception down the bond as he tried to bring them close together.
“Please!” Osiris heard his Ghost saying. “You don’t understand! I’m not one of them, I helped the Guardian fight her, I–”
He saw the flash of an armored Guardian looming above him, felt the clench of a fist around his body—around Fynch’s body. Distantly, Osiris felt Crow’s hand on his shoulder, but his focus had moved into his Light.
Osiris reached for his Ghost, fought to pull him back from the being inducing such fear in him, to draw him into his Light and protect him the way he needed to, but something held Fynch in place. Paracausal power wrapped around Fynch’s shell and rallied, but Osiris would not lose another Ghost, certainly not like this.
His own Light roared in response, and Osiris was on his feet in an instant, crossing the Eliksni quarter at a sprint.
“I helped save Osiris! The Guardian, the Young Wolf, they trust me, please—”
Osiris could find his Ghost without his senses. He needed no sight to guide him, he didn’t need the sound of his cries, the nauseating fear was enough, the power of the Light that linked them together. Osiris ran.
He spotted the Guardian in front of him, sunlight reflecting blindingly off of his armor, a Titan held Fynch aloft in his fist, paracausal power dripping from his fingers and holding Osiris’ Ghost in a vise grip.
“Let him go!” Osiris felt his own Light surge in him, it rallied in defense of his Ghost, to fight tooth and nail if need be, but at the sight of him, the Titan balked.
The instant the grip of the Titan’s power lessened around Fynch, the Ghost broke free of his fingers, hurtling towards Osiris. He paused before the Titan, his Light raging through his veins, Crow just a step behind. Osiris cupped Fynch in a palm for a moment, looking him over to confirm what he was feeling with his Light—that the Ghost was scared, but unharmed—before he guided him behind him. He could feel through their bond when Crow’s fingers brushed over Fynch, protectively pulling the Ghost close.
Osiris didn’t remember what he said to the Titan. By the time the words of anger and reprimand were out of his mouth, Saint and Mithrax were at his side and they were beginning to draw a crowd of onlookers. The Titan left the Eliksni quarter without delay, and Osiris coaxed his raging Light to calm. When he finally turned round, he found Fynch cradled in Crow’s hand, pressed to his collarbone, wrapped in the warmth of the Hunter’s Light. Saint’s hand settled on Osiris’ shoulder. Crow met his gaze with worried eyes.
“Fynch.”
His Ghost turned to face him, his shell drawn close around him.
“I–I’m sorry.” He stammered, “I didn’t mean to–”
Osiris reached out a hand. His movements telegraphed through their bond, he drew his Ghost close, cradling him in his hands with warmth rather than aggression.
“You have nothing to apologize for.” He lifted Fynch to press his forehead to his Ghost’s frame, even when the prongs of his shell were hard and sharp against his skin. “That Guardian should not have touched you.”
“But I look like–”
“It doesn’t matter.” Osiris cut in. He pulled back enough to look Fynch in the eye. “You’ve more than earned your place here. You deserve to live in peace.”
“But I–”
“Fynch.” It was Crow who interrupted him this time, setting a hand on Osiris’s shoulder and stepping close until he, Osiris, and Saint formed a protective little circle around the Ghost. He cupped his hand around Osiris’, holding Fynch in an open grip. “It doesn’t matter what you look like.”
Fynch’s shell seemed to droop around him, and he gave them a small nod. He pressed himself into Osiris and Crow’s hands.
“Thank you.” He murmured. “I’m sorry.”
Osiris leaned forward to press a kiss to his shell. The Hive chitin was rough against his skin, but the Ghost had never had an ounce of malintent towards him. He wreathed their bond in affection and care and felt Fynch sink into his touch, gratitude coupled with exhaustion shuddering out of Fynch’s side of the bond.
