Nobody is stupid enough to venture into unknown territories, except for Ilya. Don't get him wrong! He never meant to enter that mysterious village.
Fate led him there to save, or be saved.
"Peekaboo!"
Beast is a cruel creature that used to be human...
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Voice faltered. Eyes dilated with fear of the unknown. A pale gaze explored the pig and wolf faces, looking for a reassuring expression. None was given. Hope was far and dim.
Yet Greg started the treatment, puncturing the back of the kid's pale hand with the syringe.
Antibiotics streamed into Ilya's veins, burning through his delicate skin. The infection boiled the meat inside his shoulder, fighting the treatment. It was a painful experiment with uncertain results—With little hope, and that was enough for Greg to keep going.
Billy squeezed an arm with a brown-shaded skin that was attached to a three-fingered hand, Greg's hand. Once he got his attention, the look Billy gave his old friend said it all.
Save him. Please. Don't let him die again.
Greg felt Billy's heart breaking again, once for Ned and now for Ned's incarnated doppelganger. Greg promised his friend with a nod that he would do everything in his power, everything, to help the sick boy.
Billy was finally able to pull himself together. He woke up from a state of grief and functioned, bringing a medical kit to clean Ilya's wounds.
Both Greg and Billy worked in silence as the boy lay helplessly on the couch, still waiting for an answer.
"Just tell me." His voice broke. "What's gonna happen to me?"
Billy settled with a sigh. A shiny layer glossed over his eyes, stuttering their movements. It was a difficult situation. He knew he had to talk to the boy, yet he had no words of comfort to share.
Silence was the only answer.
Ilya watched the towering man avoiding his gaze... and he didn't need words anymore to confirm his biggest fear. He hissed from the pain of the alcohol, cleansing his wounds. He winced and bit his lips when Billy applied pressure on the open lesions of his skin.
The icky touches irritated him, but not as much as the infected wound. He allowed the two men to treat him with no complaints until the silence, coupled with pain and disgust, got to him.
"Ow," Ilya groaned. "Would you stop it!"
He pushed Billy's hand away, but a strong grip seized it.
"Hey," Billy said in a peaceful tone. "We saved countless people this way," he lied. "Let us do our job."
Their eyes met. A striking pair of greens and a warm pair of browns. They moved to that firm grip on that frail wrist. The contrast in their skin colors was obvious once they touched. A grip and a wrist. A golden tan against a white snow complexion.
Ilya broke free of Billy's grip with a grunt, and his arm moved to cover his eyes. His breathing changed. His chest held so much weight. The weight of the sickness and the weight of being stranded in a town full of beasts.
He sighed, a long inhale followed by a heavy exhale of hot breath. His lips trembled and then moved on their own as he drifted into a dream-like state.
"Mom had high hopes for me," Ilya began with a raspy voice. "She believed that I'd grow up to be a doctor, saving lives, just like my dad."
Greg and Billy exchanged a look. Both were confused about what the boy was blabbering about.
"It's the fever," Greg whispered.
Greg knew a lot about the medical field. His mother used to be a nurse. She worked briefly at the hospital before learning the truth about it. His father, on the other hand, was an engineer who graduated top of his class at the Indian Institute of Technology, from which came Greg's talent in making booby traps.
"It's a good thing she died before seeing how weak and pathetic I turned out to be."
Ilya shocked the two men with that statement.
"H-how did she die?" Billy said, with compassion softening his features.
Even if it was the fever talking, Billy thought making a conversation with the kid would pull his mind away from the dreadful situation.
"An unknown disease. Some rare type of cancer," Ilya said with a sigh, and wet spots were darkening his under eyes. "I was 6 years old... Dad left before she died. He said he was looking for a cure."
A long sigh escaped his lungs. Then he added.
"It's been 12 years. To be honest." He chuckled. "I don't think he's even alive anymore."
Ilya's lips turned red and plump. The tears he had been holding have long left and streamed along his cheeks. Thinking about his parents in his time of dying was a sweet reminder that he'd finally be together with them.
"What's his name?" Billy asked. "Your dad?"
"Aleksandr Shnaider."
In a moment of weakness and detachment from the world, Ilya revealed crucial information about his background. Something that would get him killed on the spot.
All of a sudden, Greg stopped checking on the IV. Big crazy eyes shifted from the boy to Billy.
"Did he just mention a Russian name?"
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