WH40K OC Fic Weekend 05/29-05/31! Friendship and Camaraderie
Thank you again Gisa for organizing this! Realized I forgot to mention it but this is from @ossmodula's weekend of prompts!! Thank you!!
I love my Raven Guard lads, and I just think my little squad is neat. Please forgive any 40k inaccuracy, I'm far more familiar with 30k RG and. Well. I still think the base throughline on this tracks.
It doesn't quite show how ride or die these guys are, but there is so much on the sides I swear to fuck-
But! Without further ado! Have my sad wet beast of a battle brother being introspective and meeting his boyfriend, with a little bit of his Sergeant's point of view at the end, as a treat.
---XIX---
Battle Brother Cyn Opica knows the best way for him to apply himself as a Raven Guard is through his stealth.
That, and he tries not to be out of his armor too long.
He's arguably stealthier this way, in a far easier position to be able to better apply the skills of the Raven Guard he's grown up around all his life, being from Deliverance, living among the serfs of the Ravenspire.
At least... he thinks so.
The before is fuzzy, a series of faded picts from someone else's life more than his own.
He knows his brothers as aspirants. Kaer Umbral and Brume Virga- they had always been together. Friends from the more distant past forged into a more true brotherhood. He remembers them being by his side even as the paths of the larger boys- and they were bigger, he remembered.
It was hard, but whenever he thought on those times he was always looking up- he was- had?- always been a bit runty. Not that they ever let him feel like he was falling behind, or would let him.
He knows he wasn't the best choice for an aspirant, but had been determined. He would make it.
And he did. He proved himself as many times as it took. To be a battle-brother was the highest honor, and he would do it with Brume and Kaer.
Why had he been so... concerned? Is that the word? The emotion doesn't feel as foreign as it ought to, but he knows he didn't- couldn't lose those two.
Was... there no one else? Was it so bad to be left behind?
It had to be, for him to push forward so doggedly.
Perhaps there is a mercy in not remembering.
Being a neophyte is hard enough- puberty for baselines adding in the change after change of bone and blood, body and mind changing into Something More.
Again, perhaps not remembering is its own mercy.
But once he started receiving implants he started... changing.
Not the same way his brothers were, with their skin slowly taking on a more deathly pallor and hair darkening.
His eyes remained as dark a blue they ever were, not inching ever closer to the characteristic black of the legion. If he stares too long at them, he can only wonder if they're getting more vivid?
Though he shaves his head, the hair that scatters itself along his body is still the blond it had been since he was... young. He knows it can be seen in his eyelashes, so he keeps his helmet on.
It's easier on his brothers, this way.
Like using the same utensils does- lessons learned from forgetting he needs to be careful in a way his brothers don't of a Betcher's gland that abnormally seems to actually work.
His older brothers- the Firstborn ones- went from looking at him like all the rest, to steadily eyeing him with suspicion and masked hostility as he kept shooting upwards in height, even beyond his primaris brothers.
Looking back, being a Shadow is easy when you've been walking the line between truth and lies, peril and peace every waking moment as a neophyte.
Not that he really knew what he had done?
If he knew what he did wrong he could fix it- but everything he did seemed to treat the symptom, not the cause.
His voice started making the baselines act… odd. Uncharacteristic. He wasn't certain it was him specifically until he commented once that the lot of them were still hungry within earshot of a serf who would never usually mind the comments. And yet, they brought the neophytes food, and when questioned by battle brothers couldn't remember or know why he did.
He thinks that's when he started speaking quietly. It didn't fix the problem, but it helped.
Of course, the suspicion of the battle brothers had a trickle down effect- his fellow neophytes wondered what he had done that had made him the center of so much attention.
Sparring was harder, expectations were higher, standards were different.
He doesn't... really remember specifics. Bolter to his head he couldn't tell you dates or times anymore, the memories faded in the haze of chemicals and sickness and conditioning.
But Brume and Kaer stood by his side through it all, and while they all pulled through by their own merit they would not leave the others behind.
He knew it made them unfavorable as well. Brume's tremendous close-range ability was looked over for those who he routinely beat, his proficiency in multiple schools of weaponry suddenly negligible. Good humor or not, stained by association.
Kaer's skills as an apothecary would always be invaluable before his own levels of competence pushed him above and beyond, but still he was delegated to be the last of them assigned. All of this only helping where his bedside manner was more like a chainsword, it seemed.
Cyn himself given the long range roles, sniper most frequently with a brother at his back.
And as a scout it was his duty to do the job required and learn the skills his brothers would deign to pass on to him.
And the skills that suited him best were to exemplify the second principle of the Raven Guard- stealth.
The older brothers were happier if they couldn't see him, but he couldn't learn from them if he was never there.
Stealth fixed that.
But even they were eventually assigned, and Tenaebris Sixx was a good sergeant. He was fair to them. He may not have cared for them at first, the three misfits they were, but they were a squad and they were his squad.
Slowly, surely, progressively, Ten and the three of them became a surprisingly well rounded squad. Even as they flexed more firstborn brothers in and out as the missions required.
Ten's experience and proclivities for the more explosive things in life taught valuable lessons.
Brume's close combat prowess was applauded and an unexpected boon when they moved from Scouts to Fire Support.
Kaer was always going to be needed, people were injured or died every campaign, no matter how smoothly it ran.
And he? Got better at what made people happiest.
He stopped being there, when he could.
He didn't gain the blessing of the geneseed that so few could unlock- wraithwalking was not a boon in his blood, and that was fine because for whatever he apparently did wrong (had he forgotten it? Did he do something to so wholly alienate people he didn't even remember?) and that would likely only make it worse- but he had the training and learned very quickly.
He had to pick it up from seeing it, because someone teaching it to him directly hadn't... he couldn't remember the last time, not before Ten, anyway.
Ten who became fiercely protective of his squad, that they move companies together even if highly unorthodox and the concept of building this particular reliance a recipe for disaster.
But they worked well together, and the Raven Guard always ran on the light side of marines in a chapter. They could barely afford to properly fill each company, so a squad that could work together as well as they did, flex other marines in and out without question, and get the job done within parameters every time? They couldn't afford not to keep the squad mostly in one piece.
So sometimes he was the sniper, an elder brother watching his back with a knife ready for any enemies who may trip over them, sometimes he was the front line with a bolt rifle.
And then one day, it all changed.
Perhaps he'd finally done enough- was quiet enough, invisible enough, proficient enough, something? Enough?- that it just... was different.
He went through the Spraakfys, and came out a Shadow.
That... didn't fix everything. Some elder battle brothers still wanted nothing to do with him, but it changed his relationship with his peers and the younger primaris.
He thought it would make his squad happier- that he was finally more welcome again and they wouldn't have to be as on the fringes themselves for it.
It only made them more upset when it happened though- not that they weren't happy for him, they were overjoyed and they had meant every emotion of it.
No, Kaer, Brume, and Ten were upset at everyone else... And he didn't know why?
He'd tried asking about it, but it went much the same way it had when he'd tried to encourage them to spend less time with him and more time with the rest of the Ravens lest their own intrapersonal relationships suffer.
That is to say, Kaer looked at him like he'd shoved the wrong service equipment in an unpleasant orifice and that it was Kaer's job to fix it- and again Kaer bullied him into the space the brothers shared and it was mandatory enrichment time.
He didn't understand why those three got so upset, really. He liked the ravens and birds of the 'Spire, he always had. He doesn't remember why he started sleeping outside of the Spire proper or in the old cell blocks when circumstances permitted, or avoiding sleep in the rookery when it didn't. He never minded it. It was good practice for when they were in the field, or anywhere they couldn't sleep.
He liked the birds, and he'd long since policed the bolter shells his elder brothers had directed him to do on the way to exfiltration- he still did, even if it drew looks, but now it was for his hobby.
It wasn't exactly easy to break into- the shell casings were durable but Primaris strength meant he had to be gentle with his applied force and efforts to carefully cut the metal as he desired it.
He had plenty of time to learn, and habits formed were not so easily broken.
It wasn't like nobody knew where he was or cared- if Ten or Brume or Kaer wanted to find him, they could and would. If his Captain wanted to find him he would be there.
He just... liked the routine, perhaps? When the battles they fought relied so much on spontaneity it was easy to appreciate the mundanity for what it was.
Plus the birds knew him, and they liked the treats he brought them, often exchanging a shiny for a snack, or stealing the odd shell if he was too absorbed in his task for too long.
His sqaudmates were content in their own paths, and he was happy enough with his own.
And then their campaign brought them in contact with the blood angels.
He'd been putting off the problem he'd had, servos wearing out over time was a fix he could handle, but something was wrong around that, and while it hadn't cost them the careful ground they'd bought on the planet? He knew it was a matter of time, and that he needed to go lurk in the armory until someone could look at it. So he stood to the side- it's impolite to obscure yourself in the company of your cousins as he'd been chastised before- and he kept himself occupied trying to determine the precise sticking point-
And then Zorael was there. And he was kind, and he helped fix the problem, and while he teased it was... different. Nicer? And he didn't know what to do or say, his squad watching with a raptor's focus at how it went but not stepping in, so it was probably fine?
And he... he liked Zorael. For all he was the better part of a head taller than his primaris brothers and a head taller again than his Firstborn ones, he was still taller than Zorael.
But the Blood Angel had bantered with his own squad and left Cyn in peace after fixing the problem that would've taken most of his afternoon. Just like that.
And he didn't know the feeling that coiled in his chest, or made his face and ears feel heated- it wasn't shame or sorrow or anger, it was new but not a bad new?
And it was only after the fact that he'd seen he'd been left a gift, a little carved raven whittled with care and skill.
And then he panicked because you return gifts with gifts, right? And his wake encouraged it, and good relations were important- and what did you gift a blood angel?
So before they left the system he left a shell on the other marine's bed, chapter symbol and home world(s) carefully rendered with a small pen light as a hint to the purpose. He'd learned leaving shells on someone's bed could be considered bad taste after the first time he'd left them for Ten, Brume, and Kaer (it was sweet how they'd immediately asked him if he got one, and their relief at him when he explained they were gifts from him).
He didn't know quite what to do with it, though he wanted to keep it safe. It was Brume who suggested stringing it up with his Corvia- and the little whittled wood was easily tucked under the tiny skull so significant among the guard.
In hindsight, it should've been obvious from there- but he'd missed many things for all he tried to pursue the depths of vigilance as his next path.
And they went through the warp and it was on to the next campaign, and for all it was more of the same, in the time in his armor he couldn't help but ponder on the ease at which the problem he had was fixed, and outside of it he liked running his fingers over the careful carving.
Perhaps it was Ten, perhaps it was luck, perhaps it was rolling the odds after liberating worlds mired by chaos cults- but they kept running into the Daemonbanes of the blood angels every few years or so.
And he always... liked seeing the red of the angels - not sure why perhaps this company they suddenly crossed paths with so often, but he was happy to see them- even outside of the sign that it meant their own job was successful enough.
And they kept their exchanges going as their companies interacted: a box for his craftwork carefully carved and detailed, and in return he could only offer scrollwork based upon the victories sprawled across the man's own armor.
And Zorael was nice to talk to, for all Cyn's own voice hardly carried above a whisper.
It was enough, though, Zorael mentioning how nice his voice was- and it made Cyn acutely aware of his effects on baselines. How the effect was useful in keeping some rebellions running, certainly- a few encouraging words from him had kept a handful of crucial lines from crumbling when Ten made him speak up, after all.
But he didn't want his voice to effect Zorael, not the way it tended to sometimes.
Something about that concept made his hearts hurt, and when he'd asked Kaer about it his brother had once again shoved him into the doing some extracurriculars.
But he still liked when Zorael spoke with him, even if he hadn't realized the man apparently had fangs? Another oddity, but not one the Angels apparently minded, so neither would he. Though he did have to muse on how he'd managed to miss such a detail.
But the gift giving continued, and perhaps in an odd way.
Not from Zorael, who always got his gift ready and delivered before their paths diverged (he had to ask Ten if there were any games with dice he could learn now that he had some. At least when he asked they were already in hobby time and Ten couldn't push it when Cyn explained he'd never learned any), and it was in what he forgot that he'd realized what he could do next.
They had found a child to be a new aspirant among the population of rebels, orphaned like so many before, but so perfectly Raven Guard it was agreed of there were no protests from the civilians he would return to the Ravenspire with them.
Rare occurrence, perhaps, but they were scheduled to return home and for that they were pleased.
But in the corner the rebels had kept the children he'd gotten the idea to string multiple casings up in a row, the firelight twinkling off the casings one way, and against the walls of the ruined habs a scene of birds in flight through a forest.
It was nowhere near easy to pull off- lining up the casings just right, making sure the light plays nicely, that they don't obscure each other to the point of it being a moot effort.
But he knows what he wants to make next for Zorael, and he has the time to iterate on it to be perfect.
---XIX---
It's not often they're back at the Ravenspire for many, many reasons, but if Tenaebris Sixx can't stay asleep for visions of seeing too much of the past, he knows he can find Cyn.
If it's raining- and they would have rain, somehow, in their artifical atmosphere- he knew Cyn kept to the cell blocks as opposed to pretending to keep in any particular room.
It's easy enough to skirt the baseline population and find where his battle brother had made himself a bit of a crash pad- something to lay on, a light for his projects, shell casings he'd worked on, shell casings he hadn't, snacks for the ravens, and the man in question.
Lumen on, tiny tools looking even more exaggeratedly so in his hand, the odd few ravens perched around the room in various states of rest, and Cyn looking up at him with blue eyes flashing from concern to ease as he was recognized.
"Couldn't sleep," Cyn asked as he slid over on the foam that tried to pretend it was a mattress once, making room for his brother-sergeant.
"Could ask you the same," Ten grunted as he sat next to the primaris, "what is it this time?"
"I don't really sleep when I'm here anymore," Cyn responds like that's a normal thing to say when you're supposed to be in the safest place for your chapter, "but, uh," Cyn waffled, quiet voice even quieter as he felt embarrassed, "just. Stars? Trying to get them just right," he muttered as he looked back to the shell.
Ten raised a brow, "stars? Don't you have a pict or some recording of the night sky to compare back to?"
"Not for this planet," he whispers in reply, and Ten has to keep himself from rolling his eyes at that- and Cyn can't figure out why that Blood Angel is friendly. If this keeps up, he might have to consider sending his poor cousin the claws for his boots after all.
"Dreaming again," he asks instead, knowing part of the reason Cyn felt chased out this far.
The man doesn't even look up from his work, "you too if I had to guess why you're here. I don't mind the company," he puts one tool down and picks up a stylus, "but I'd rather only one of us had them if it's all the same."
On goes the little lumen, and Cyn turns the shell and the light over a particular segment of wall.
Ten notices the primaris line up the light with little dots of paint he'd daubed against the wall- if you didn't know to look for it they would blend in with the faint and faded paintwork completely.
Cyn scoured the little dots- star map, Ten realized, the sizes fluctuating just so to imply proximity or distance from one to the next- and sighed, clicking the light off and pulling the casing back, "not a complete redo," he muttered, "at least not unless this tweak goes awry..."
"Cyn," Ten's question cuts through the idle muttering, and he gets a hum of acknowledgement from the battle brother, "did you try sleeping when you got here?"
"I did," he confirmed as he continued his task.
"And what did you see?"
His tool stopped moving, then, hands frozen as he maneuvered the minefield of that question, "the usual," he tries to say with a forced calmness Ten knows him enough to know he doesn't feel.
"Illuminate me," Ten asked, propping his elbow on his knee and looking to the taller of the two.
Ten watched as Cyn very carefully put down his project, and in spite of his discomfort- perhaps because of it?- one of the ravens in the room hopped over to the primaris's arm and perched, waiting for him to start petting it.
Ten watched as fingers that could crush a baseline carefully stroked along the feathers, "Ravendelve," he began, his whisper feeling more hoarse and haunted than the usual subdued warmth it kept.
"There are explosions outside, the walls under attack? But why? I'm there in my armor, not as a neophyte but as the battle brother I am. I'm by the Apothecarium," he pauses there, getting a nut for the raven so it flutters away to consume its prize, "and if we're under attack I need to help them. If I'm there- what if Kaer needs me and he's in there? Or those too injured? So I go," he let out a shaking breath before taking in a more steadying one.
"I get there and it's," he clenches his fists, "it's Chaos. Battle brothers are trying to leave but there are... are," he sighed, "men the size of primaris, or what once were. They're mutated, eyes are red as blood and viscera. From there they all vary- beaks, tails, claws, fangs, talons, feathers- so, so many feathers."
He looks to the birds in the room, pensively before he continues, "they didn't have corvia, at least, they weren't armored at all, just... robes, if their mutations allowed. Our robes."
He's quiet on that for a long, long moment before he continues, "but I show up. I try to ask what's happening, I'm not armed, but the brothers in the Apothecarium do not heed my requests for knowledge or a tool to fight with. They flee the warp-touched and I go into the Apothecarium instead. The whole place," he scowls, "it- the lot is in ruins when I get in. Every soul that had been in it slaughtered to the last."
He looks back to Ten, "Some of the creatures pursue the fleeing Raven Guard, but... the rest? Come for me. And then all is smoke, is fire, the cries of the ravens, the screams of those damned."
Ten watched Cyn carefully to see if he would continue, but the man simply took a deep breath and held it before sighing, "just as it ever is," he trades his almost-done shell for a smooth casing, picking up his tools to start something new- that, and to not let the slight shake to his hands destroy his latest attempt at a clearly intensive project, "but did that answer your question sergeant?"
Ten's expression was grim, but he nodded, "it does. Thank you, Cyn."
The man nodded, and Ten knew he would get nothing further from his brother that night.
"You're welcome to try sleeping again if it'll help," Cyn offered at length, "I can move if it helps. Being out of the 'spire proper, it lets me doze, sometimes."
Ten does wind up taking Cyn on his offer, the younger of the two moving a bit across the space to allow his sergeant the option to recline a bit more with what they have.
He's again alone in the memories his dreams twist up, one battle brother only escaping by grace of some misplaced instinct to protect the youngest.
Vengeance achieved at a cost he would never forget.
Regret a mantle he would wear all his days.
But there's a morbid sense of solidarity knowing he's not the only one looking into those blood red eyes when his own close.
