Saddle Tramp (A Santana x Male!OC Story)

New York, New York (Chapter 11)

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Notes:
Ooof, it's been a minute since the last chapter, and I'm sorry for that.

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The next day, Marty woke up around 10:30. Remarkably late for him, considering both his life on the farm and his hamon training had drilled the importance of rising early into him. Marty sat up, blearily rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and came face to face with Santana.

"Agh! What the hell?!"

He reeled back, startled.

"Don't scare me like that, Santana!"

Marty put a hand over his chest, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart. Said pillarman blinked at him but said nothing, still crouched down like a gargoyle to be close to Marty's face.
"Wh-What are you doing?"

Santana shrugged his shoulders, and his face was still rather blank.

"You told me to stay. Last night, before you went to sleep, you asked me to stay."

Marty stared confused, trying to force his brain to remember, too much had happened last night, and he had slept way too hard to be able to recall it off the bat. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to flatten all the strands sticking straight up. His hand froze halfway down his head as the memories hit him all at once.

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Marty went through his bedtime routine on autopilot, flopping down onto the bed in an almost dead faint. He only remembered Santana was there when he heard the bed creak next to him. There were two beds, but the pillarman didn't need to sleep, so he'd mostly mess around with whatever gained his interest in the room.

Looking up, Marty noticed Santana awkwardly shifting on the bed, trying not to cause it to make too much noise.

"What's up?"

Santana glanced down at him as he continued to study the bed in fascination. Likely determining all the ways it was different from the one they'd briefly stayed at in Washington.

"Why did you forgive that woman? She hurt you."

Marty sighed and sat up a little. He didn't make it far before tiredly collapsing across the pillarman's legs. Santana jumped at the contact, but Marty only let out an exhausted hum. He turned around to stare up at Santana and made a thoughtful sound that turned into a yawn.

"She didn't want to. If I know anything about my mom, she probably threatened to tell the police my sister stole the money or something."

He rubbed his face with his hands, and he figured he must look like a mess. Rumpled pajamas, hair still wet from his shower, bags under his eyes practically reaching his cheeks, and face heavy with fatigue. Yeah, he was pretty sure he looked like a drowned rat right about now.

"We were close when we were younger, I've always had a bit of a soft spot with her compared to my other siblings. It's easier to forgive her, I guess."

Santana was quiet for a moment before speaking.

"I understand. I was always close to Wamuu, I found him easier to forgive than my masters. We used to call each other brothers when we were small. As we grew, Lord Kars discouraged us from this."

His voice took on a solemn edge, and he focused his attention on a random part of the wall.

"I still thought of him as such, but I could not tell you if he did, I never got to ask him."

Santana didn't cry. Marty didn't think Santana would ever cry, at least not with someone else in the room. But he didn't need to cry, for Marty to see the way this saddened him. He rested his hand on Santana's arm and gave it a comforting squeeze. The pillarman awkwardly patted the hand. He was still unused to the action, but he wanted to show he appreciated it.