that superturn fic
This starts with Ben on the run from Roger's men. I'm thinking of merging this bit with another fic I have started writing sooner, which was also about Ben on the run from Rogers, minus the hellhounds. It was supposed to be h/c, with playing up the seriousness of Ben's injury and Caleb nursing Ben back to health later in camp complete with chicken soup :D But then I thought I could use that as a starter and keep all the h/c and just add the superturn stuff. So later when I have actually finished writing the bit that is supposed to glue those two pieces of fics together I'll need help in seeing if the styles aren't too different and if it works, generally, but right now I need to work at the fight scene at the end. (don't look at all those / and ? in the text, it just means I'm not sure which word or phrase to use)
He was making good time. If he managed to continue like this, in a few hours he was bound to run into a patrol outside their camp. Maybe he’d even run into Caleb - the man certainly liked a good stroll in the woods, based on the number of times Ben needed him and he was nowhere to be found, only to come up later with a broad smile, claiming the time alone was relaxing and it allowed him to think. To which Ben usually replied something about Caleb leaving the thinking to him, as Caleb was no good at it. Then they either descended into bickering or got serious about the matter Ben needed him for.
Ben sometimes wondered what could be of such interest to Caleb in the woods. If it had been simply a way to have a drink, Caleb needn’t bother about such secrecy. Every day the soldiers could be seen sitting around campfires, sharing a bottle or a whole sud. Even if it was privacy he was after, his tent would suffice. Lord knows Caleb was at home in Ben’s tent more often than not. Even the camp followers loved his company. Come to think of it, it looked more and more possible that Caleb had a secret lover. Maybe a girl from the near village he was meeting? The thought made him grin. He’d have to press Caleb about that, if only to get revenge about how Caleb always teased him about girls, and moreso the lack of contact with them. What was even better, he might get lucky enough to actualy interrupt Caleb on his way to the meeting. He wouldn’t want to embarass the poor girl, but Caleb was fair game.
A bark threw Ben out of his thoughts. He whirled on the spot, checking his surroundings, but could not see anything. Then it came again. Loud and deep, it was the bark of a large hunting hound, though probably still far away. Sounds could be tricky like this.
Ben lenghtened his stride. A wolf would not bark, neither it would annouce its presence so. The pack would simply fall on an unsuspecting traveller as quietly as the wind, allowing him to hear them only when they attacked. Besides, wolves were far and few between in these parts, and only attacked humans when desperate. In a few monthes, during the heart of the winter, maybe, but certainly not now, when there was enough food. That could only mean one thing. Rogers and his men were catching up on his trail.
He had heard rumours, of course, but he had not believed them. They said Rogers had a pair of large black dogs, trained to hunt anything and anyone. That once they caught their prey’s scent, there was no hiding from them. That they always got their prey. It seemed the rumours were at least partially true - while Ben had not seen any dogs either during the ambush or when making his escape, he had not been looking for them. Survival had been the prority and as such, it was quite possible he had simply not noticed them. Well, now he would test their skills against his own.
In Ben’s favor, he had a headstart and relatively short way to go. On the other hand, the hounds had managed to catch his scent even after he purposefully went through a few rooks to confuse them. It had bought him the time he desperately needed to dress his wound and rest a bit, but it seemed there would be no rest for him until he reached the camp.
And reach it he would. The news of the ambush simply must get to General Scott, surely after this he’ll see the need for spies of their own. How else could the news of his patrol have leaked, but with the help of a British spy in their midst? Carrying this information back was vital for the war effort, and therefore failure was not an option.
With this mantra repeating in his mind, Ben pressed on.The barks were getting more and more frequent. More than once Ben had turned around, convinced he’d see a dog about to leap on him, or crouched down growling agressively, but instead saw nothing. Each time his heart leapt in his throat and he made himself turn his back on those mysterious sounds and continue on as if nothing happened, even if he was out of his mind with worry.
If they were Rogers‘ dogs, surely they would have attacked by now? Or at least drawn the Rangers to him? Having walked nearly 15 miles without rest, his shoulder was throbbing insistently and the pain was making it hard to think clearly. What was worse, he was sweating so much his uniform was all but soaked, and every panting breath he took was like a stab wound on his parched throat. Not to mention the awful headache from when he had woken up had come back in full force. He needed rest, water and changing the bandage, but none of that would happen unless he made it back to camp and certainly not if the dogs got him.
Ben stopped for a moment to catch his breath, leaning on a tree. He listened for the barks or for the soft sound of paws on forest leaves, but didn’t hear anything except the birds. Maybe they lost his trail? Or maybe there never were any dogs - after all, he never saw them and now he stopped hearing them as well. Maybe he confused the sounds of some other animal, or maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him.
His thoughts felt large and heavy, stumbling in his mind like a newborn colt. Why had he thoughts there were dogs after him? Ben shook his head. Never mind. He had to keep walking, he had to get back to camp in time. For what, he wasn’t quite sure. But it must have been important, otherwise he wouldn’t be walking without rest.
He pushed away from the tree and forced his suddenly unsteady legs to hold him, then took a cautious step forward. Then another. Ben was focusing so hard on the ground under his feet and making sure his footing was steady, he didn’t notice the figure aiming at him until it said: „Hey!“
That made him raise his eyes off the ground. A few feet in front of him stood Caleb, boots, cloak and everything, pistol in hand. He was frowning.
„Where do you think you’re... Ben?“ asked Caleb.
Ben smiled. He did it, he got back to camp. „I am so glad to see you, Caleb,“ he whispered. It was the best he could do, and even as much as a whisper sounded like nails on glass. He moved forward to hug his best friend.
He never made it. Something hot and heavy slammed him to the ground and Ben’s world exploded in pain. His back felt like it was being torn apart, he dug his fingers into the dirt and screamed as loud as he could. Through the growling in his ears he could hear Caleb swearing a blue streak, scrambling with something, but then the claws - and they were claws, he could feel them now, four separate lines of absolute agony - they shifted and dug even deeper, tearing his coat to shreds completely as another set of four fiery tracks clawed into his skin. He screamed again.
An inhuman shriek almost deafened Ben, and a second later he realized it came from his own throat, because the growls changed into a triumphant howl of a predator slaying his prey. Another one answered from a distance as Ben continued making pathetic whimpers that did nothing to relieve his pain, merely stirred the dust and made him breathe it in through his mouth on the next inhale. He watched the weird reddish tint of the clay, detached. On some level he knew it was his own blood that colored the clay, but he couldn’t summon enough strength to care. Soon even the effort of keeping his eyes open was too much for him, and Ben gladly close them before the mist spreading slowly through his vision could come any closer.
...(the coat protected Ben from bein utterly torn apart but he is still quite bad off)
Caleb was frantically going through his pouch, searching and swearing. As soon as he heard the growl and saw an invisible force Ben slam to the ground, he knew what was going on. Guess the rumours about Rogers’ hellhounds were true, went on in the back of his mind underneath the panic. All he had on him were the standard protections he took when wandering in the woods around camp, laying down protective sigils and wards. Pack of salt and an iron hunting knife, followed by a pistol loaded with rock salt and a bunch of useless herbs Talk about David and Goliath, taking on a hellhound with a knife equaled suicide. Hell, taking on a damned hellhound in and of itself was suicide. But who was he kidding? He’d do a lot worse for Ben.
Finally his hand closed around the bag of paint he’d been using for sigils. With a victorious yell, he threw it slightly above Ben’s prone form. Lord, he prayed this would work.
The paint hit the hellhound from the side, staining half of his head, neck and shoulders. It growled and shook off, changing its footing, focusing red eyes on Caleb. Ben screamed again, but Caleb didn’t let his eyes wander off the hound - that would be the last mistake in his life. Instead Caleb did his best to take his mind off his best friend’s suffering, crouching down and gripping tightly the iron knife. Thanks to the paint and Ben’s blood staining the hellhound’s fur - don’t think about that - he could just about make out the shape of its front body. That would be more than enough, if only he could stab it in the right place. Right in the neck, through the large arteries, that was Caleb’s best bet.
The hound snarled again, showing sharp teeth while little drops of saliva dropped from its raised upper lip?mouth? It slowly stepped off Ben’s back, abandoning its prey for the moment. Only a few yards? Separated it from Caleb.
.........as I said, it's a mess right now. I figured that while the hellhound would stare at Caleb, he'd wrap his cloak around his forearm so it'd be protected as best as it can be, than when the hellhound would leap at Caleb, it'd snap its teeth at him and he can sort of shove his forearm protected by the cloak into its maw (like police dogs are trained to when they training with a figureman) and than they could roll around a bit and finally Caleb could stab it in the neck and kill it. and than he'd get off all glad he's alive, thanking his lucky stars and God and everyone and everything, moving to check on Ben when the second hellhound would appear. except he can't see this one, and he can't kill it in the same way, that'd be boring, so any ideas? and does the scenario for the first hellhound seem plausible while not too easy? and just generally what do you think? thanks
He was making good time. If he managed to continue like this, in a few hours he was bound to run into a patrol outside their camp. Maybe he’d even run into Caleb - the man certainly liked a good stroll in the woods, based on the number of times Ben needed him and he was nowhere to be found, only to come up later with a broad smile, claiming the time alone was relaxing and it allowed him to think. To which Ben usually replied something about Caleb leaving the thinking to him, as Caleb was no good at it. Then they either descended into bickering or got serious about the matter Ben needed him for.
Ben sometimes wondered what could be of such interest to Caleb in the woods. If it had been simply a way to have a drink, Caleb needn’t bother about such secrecy. Every day the soldiers could be seen sitting around campfires, sharing a bottle or a whole sud. Even if it was privacy he was after, his tent would suffice. Lord knows Caleb was at home in Ben’s tent more often than not. Even the camp followers loved his company. Come to think of it, it looked more and more possible that Caleb had a secret lover. Maybe a girl from the near village he was meeting? The thought made him grin. He’d have to press Caleb about that, if only to get revenge about how Caleb always teased him about girls, and moreso the lack of contact with them. What was even better, he might get lucky enough to actualy interrupt Caleb on his way to the meeting. He wouldn’t want to embarass the poor girl, but Caleb was fair game.
A bark threw Ben out of his thoughts. He whirled on the spot, checking his surroundings, but could not see anything. Then it came again. Loud and deep, it was the bark of a large hunting hound, though probably still far away. Sounds could be tricky like this.
Ben lenghtened his stride. A wolf would not bark, neither it would annouce its presence so. The pack would simply fall on an unsuspecting traveller as quietly as the wind, allowing him to hear them only when they attacked. Besides, wolves were far and few between in these parts, and only attacked humans when desperate. In a few monthes, during the heart of the winter, maybe, but certainly not now, when there was enough food. That could only mean one thing. Rogers and his men were catching up on his trail.
He had heard rumours, of course, but he had not believed them. They said Rogers had a pair of large black dogs, trained to hunt anything and anyone. That once they caught their prey’s scent, there was no hiding from them. That they always got their prey. It seemed the rumours were at least partially true - while Ben had not seen any dogs either during the ambush or when making his escape, he had not been looking for them. Survival had been the prority and as such, it was quite possible he had simply not noticed them. Well, now he would test their skills against his own.
In Ben’s favor, he had a headstart and relatively short way to go. On the other hand, the hounds had managed to catch his scent even after he purposefully went through a few rooks to confuse them. It had bought him the time he desperately needed to dress his wound and rest a bit, but it seemed there would be no rest for him until he reached the camp.
And reach it he would. The news of the ambush simply must get to General Scott, surely after this he’ll see the need for spies of their own. How else could the news of his patrol have leaked, but with the help of a British spy in their midst? Carrying this information back was vital for the war effort, and therefore failure was not an option.
With this mantra repeating in his mind, Ben pressed on.The barks were getting more and more frequent. More than once Ben had turned around, convinced he’d see a dog about to leap on him, or crouched down growling agressively, but instead saw nothing. Each time his heart leapt in his throat and he made himself turn his back on those mysterious sounds and continue on as if nothing happened, even if he was out of his mind with worry.
If they were Rogers‘ dogs, surely they would have attacked by now? Or at least drawn the Rangers to him? Having walked nearly 15 miles without rest, his shoulder was throbbing insistently and the pain was making it hard to think clearly. What was worse, he was sweating so much his uniform was all but soaked, and every panting breath he took was like a stab wound on his parched throat. Not to mention the awful headache from when he had woken up had come back in full force. He needed rest, water and changing the bandage, but none of that would happen unless he made it back to camp and certainly not if the dogs got him.
Ben stopped for a moment to catch his breath, leaning on a tree. He listened for the barks or for the soft sound of paws on forest leaves, but didn’t hear anything except the birds. Maybe they lost his trail? Or maybe there never were any dogs - after all, he never saw them and now he stopped hearing them as well. Maybe he confused the sounds of some other animal, or maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him.
His thoughts felt large and heavy, stumbling in his mind like a newborn colt. Why had he thoughts there were dogs after him? Ben shook his head. Never mind. He had to keep walking, he had to get back to camp in time. For what, he wasn’t quite sure. But it must have been important, otherwise he wouldn’t be walking without rest.
He pushed away from the tree and forced his suddenly unsteady legs to hold him, then took a cautious step forward. Then another. Ben was focusing so hard on the ground under his feet and making sure his footing was steady, he didn’t notice the figure aiming at him until it said: „Hey!“
That made him raise his eyes off the ground. A few feet in front of him stood Caleb, boots, cloak and everything, pistol in hand. He was frowning.
„Where do you think you’re... Ben?“ asked Caleb.
Ben smiled. He did it, he got back to camp. „I am so glad to see you, Caleb,“ he whispered. It was the best he could do, and even as much as a whisper sounded like nails on glass. He moved forward to hug his best friend.
He never made it. Something hot and heavy slammed him to the ground and Ben’s world exploded in pain. His back felt like it was being torn apart, he dug his fingers into the dirt and screamed as loud as he could. Through the growling in his ears he could hear Caleb swearing a blue streak, scrambling with something, but then the claws - and they were claws, he could feel them now, four separate lines of absolute agony - they shifted and dug even deeper, tearing his coat to shreds completely as another set of four fiery tracks clawed into his skin. He screamed again.
An inhuman shriek almost deafened Ben, and a second later he realized it came from his own throat, because the growls changed into a triumphant howl of a predator slaying his prey. Another one answered from a distance as Ben continued making pathetic whimpers that did nothing to relieve his pain, merely stirred the dust and made him breathe it in through his mouth on the next inhale. He watched the weird reddish tint of the clay, detached. On some level he knew it was his own blood that colored the clay, but he couldn’t summon enough strength to care. Soon even the effort of keeping his eyes open was too much for him, and Ben gladly close them before the mist spreading slowly through his vision could come any closer.
...(the coat protected Ben from bein utterly torn apart but he is still quite bad off)
Caleb was frantically going through his pouch, searching and swearing. As soon as he heard the growl and saw an invisible force Ben slam to the ground, he knew what was going on. Guess the rumours about Rogers’ hellhounds were true, went on in the back of his mind underneath the panic. All he had on him were the standard protections he took when wandering in the woods around camp, laying down protective sigils and wards. Pack of salt and an iron hunting knife, followed by a pistol loaded with rock salt and a bunch of useless herbs Talk about David and Goliath, taking on a hellhound with a knife equaled suicide. Hell, taking on a damned hellhound in and of itself was suicide. But who was he kidding? He’d do a lot worse for Ben.
Finally his hand closed around the bag of paint he’d been using for sigils. With a victorious yell, he threw it slightly above Ben’s prone form. Lord, he prayed this would work.
The paint hit the hellhound from the side, staining half of his head, neck and shoulders. It growled and shook off, changing its footing, focusing red eyes on Caleb. Ben screamed again, but Caleb didn’t let his eyes wander off the hound - that would be the last mistake in his life. Instead Caleb did his best to take his mind off his best friend’s suffering, crouching down and gripping tightly the iron knife. Thanks to the paint and Ben’s blood staining the hellhound’s fur - don’t think about that - he could just about make out the shape of its front body. That would be more than enough, if only he could stab it in the right place. Right in the neck, through the large arteries, that was Caleb’s best bet.
The hound snarled again, showing sharp teeth while little drops of saliva dropped from its raised upper lip?mouth? It slowly stepped off Ben’s back, abandoning its prey for the moment. Only a few yards? Separated it from Caleb.
.........as I said, it's a mess right now. I figured that while the hellhound would stare at Caleb, he'd wrap his cloak around his forearm so it'd be protected as best as it can be, than when the hellhound would leap at Caleb, it'd snap its teeth at him and he can sort of shove his forearm protected by the cloak into its maw (like police dogs are trained to when they training with a figureman) and than they could roll around a bit and finally Caleb could stab it in the neck and kill it. and than he'd get off all glad he's alive, thanking his lucky stars and God and everyone and everything, moving to check on Ben when the second hellhound would appear. except he can't see this one, and he can't kill it in the same way, that'd be boring, so any ideas? and does the scenario for the first hellhound seem plausible while not too easy? and just generally what do you think? thanks