Chapter Text
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The first thing Pethar realizes upon coming to is falling.
He is falling.
And falling, and it’s nothing like flying. Nothing like drifting or gliding or anything that belongs in the sky. It’s crashing, pure, uncontrolled crashing.
Then he hits.
Impact tears through him in a brutal, metallic slam. Whatever encases him folds and buckles against his body. A small window shatters outward, glass exploding into glittering fragments.
His ears ring, sharp, endless.
Metal. Burning. Blood.
He can smell it all at once, thick and wrong. He can feel it too, warmth spreading, sticky blue blood seeping out in thin, unnatural tendrils that smear across the inside of the broken ship.
Danger? Danger! Ouch!
His head snaps back like something elastic giving out, striking hard as the craft finally settles somewhere on the ground with a grinding shudder.
Silence follows—but only for a moment.
Because wherever he crashes, it’s loud—loud enough that his hands, still fighting against the ship’s straps, injured and bruised and scraped, fly up to cover his ears. He gasps, stuttering, because the world is too loud. So, so loud.
He can hear everything. Screams—like his, if he were screaming—but not him. Not him. He’s still inside the metal ship. He is alone.
Long, piercing sirens cut through the air in uneven intervals.
Boom. Boom. Pop. Pop.
Loud! Hurts! Ouch!
Pethar jerks against the restraints, breath hitching, before forcing one leg forward. He hisses through his teeth as he kicks at the latch again. The remaining glass fractures further, spiderwebbing out before it finally gives way, shattering against him and cutting through his pants.
He squeezes his eyes shut.
It hurts. Everything hurts.
But he’s not done.
“I can do this,” he mutters to himself, voice shaking. “I can, Pethar is smart. Pethar figures things out.”
His hands fumble again at the straps, trembling but insistent.
“Okay,” he breathes, more to steady himself than anything else. “Okay. Just… just open. Please just open.”
There’s a groan, then a pop, and finally a sharp hiss. The door blasts outward with a violent snap of pressure.
Air rushes in first.
Pethar recoils instantly, nose wrinkling. The smell is wrong, rotten in a way he can’t place. Worse than the burned-out metallic husk of the shuttle, he cautiously climbs out of. It clings to everything. Rot, musk, something faintly poisonous underneath it all.
He steps down carefully.
His wounds are already starting to close, skin knitting itself back together in that familiar, piercing way, as he moves away from the ship.
The ground is hard. Uneven. Covered in something that might be grass, if it weren’t such a dull, worn brown. Nothing like the green fields he knows. Nothing alive in the same way.
He crouches slowly, testing the surface with his fingers.
Above him, the sky stretches out, dark, heavy. A planetary shape hangs there, distant and large. A moon, maybe. Only one.
It looms through a haze of smog that blankets everything, dulling its edges, swallowing its light. The same haze curls through the air around him, and he realizes, distantly, that it’s part of the smell, this choking, acrid atmosphere pressing in from all sides.
Pethar tilts his head, staring up.
“This is… not my sky,” he murmurs. He looks around where he landed—metal structures, rust-covered and worn down by time. He squints. Everything is wrong. Unfamiliar in a way that makes his skin feel too tight. He sniffles, his arms coming tightly around him as a chill seeps through his thin clothes.
Stranger! Stranger! Careful?
He whips around.
“Yeah, O,” the man says sharply, already scanning the area. “It’s a kid. Can’t tell if it’s a boy or a girl. Can’t be older than five.”
He pauses, eyes narrowing slightly as he studies the wreckage.
“You thinking alien?” he adds. “Because honestly, that’s the only thing I know that would purposely crash down in Crime Alley.”
“I’m not thinking alien,” the strange female voice says. “I’m saying the energy readings don’t match anything local. Be careful, hood.”
Pethar hears her too. Not just the man. Both voices, layered and strange through the same unseen channel. His head tilts slightly, confusion flickering through him. What a strange language, what were they saying?
Jason notices him watching.
Pethar stares at the man now.
He’s large. Bigger than anyone Pethar has ever seen up close. Broad shoulders, heavy stance, like he was built for impact. There’s tension in him too—coiled, contained, like a weapon deciding whether it needs to be drawn.
Dangerous?
I don't know, shouldn't you?
The woman’s voice continues, now clearly audible to Pethar through what Pethar thinks is a device somewhere on the man.
“I mean, he looks human, though,” she says thoughtfully. “Like a really scared human. Aww, and they're so little.”
The man snorts under his breath. “Yeah, pretty sure that’s what the Kents thought too.”
Pethar doesn’t understand the language, but he hears the tone, familiar in a way that makes his instincts tighten.
The man shifts slightly, not closing the distance.
“Hey,” the man says again, quieter now, directing it at Pethar. “You understand me? Nod if you do.”
Pethar crouches down and scurries closer to one of the old metal structures. The small of his back presses against a rusted pole, flakes of metal biting through his shirt. Cold spreads through his skin where it meets the steel.
Instinct spikes.
His fangs extend.
He hisses at the large man. Sharp. Defensive.
The man doesn’t flinch, just tilts his head slightly, watching.
“…Okay,” the man says into his comm, voice tight but controlled. “Great. So at the very least, the kid’s some kind of meta. I’m gonna be so honest, I don’t think he understands a word I’m saying.”
The woman responds immediately. “He’s reacting to perceived threat. You’re registering as hostile.”
“Yeah, I picked up on that part,” the man mutters. Then, more loudly, more carefully, he looks back at Pethar. “Hey. Hey, easy. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
Pethar glares at the strange, big man, saying the strange words.
Safe?
Pethar huffs, no.
The man sighs, then pulls the strange red helmet off his head, leaving him in a plain black cowl underneath. He drags a stressed hand through his dark hair, glancing down at the ground before looking back at Pethar.
He points at his own chest.
“Red Hood,” he says.
Pethar tilts his head.
The man exhales again, sharper this time, like he’s trying to force the meaning through the air itself. He taps his chest once more.
“I’m Red Hood,” he repeats, slower. “My name is Red Hood. Red Hood.”
Then he points at Pethar.
Pethar stares at the finger. Then at the man’s face.
Was he saying his name was… Red Hood?
Pethar frowns, pointing at the man. His mouth opens, voice coming out rough and cracked, high and light like something still burning.
“Re…d hood?”
The man perks up immediately. His heartbeat shifts, louder, steadier, almost pleased. He smiles. His teeth aren’t sharp like Pethar’s, and he doesn’t have fangs like Pethar does.
He nods, pointing to himself again.
“Yes, Red Hood,” he confirms. “I’m Red Hood.”
Then he points back at Pethar.
“What’s your name?”
Pethar squints at him, still tense against the rusted metal behind him.
Safe? safe!
After a beat, he answers.
“Pethar.”
The man smiles again, a little less tense now.
“Nice to meet you, Pethar.”
Pethar doesn’t respond right away. He just watches him, still pressed against the rusted metal, eyes flicking between the man and the invisible voice speaking through the comm.
The woman’s voice comes through again, clearer now that Pethar is listening for it.
“You think there’s any point in me even looking for a ‘Pethar’ in the system? That’s around four or five—or are we going with the alien theory?”
The man gives a low grunt. “Never hurts to try,” he replies, still watching Pethar carefully. “But I reckon anything that’s got fangs and crawled out of what looks like a miniature spaceship is most definitely not human.”
Pethar tilts his head at that last word.
Not human.
He doesn’t understand it, but he recognizes the word from right before they made him go into the ship, before he landed here, in the place with the strange sky.
Danger? Question.
He shifts slightly, fangs still half-extended, voice coming out cautious and small.
“Pethar… not human?”
The man sighs again, then takes a careful step closer before crouching down to Pethar’s level.
Pethar flinches, sharp, instinctive, but he doesn’t pull away this time.
“I know you’re scared, kid,” the man says, voice lower now, rough but quieter. “And I know I’m kinda just talking to hear myself talk at this point, ‘cause you don’t understand a word I’m saying—but it’s safe. I’m safe. And it’s okay. Whatever you are, Pethar. Okay?”
Pethar only catches his name.
But the tone, he understands that.
It’s different. Softer, in a way that doesn’t match how the man looks or how he moves. It reminds him, faintly, distantly, of his vor Byn.
The thought aches.
He wishes Byn were here. But like everyone else—except for Pethar—they were gone now.
Safe? Safe! Trust red!
After a long pause, Pethar nods. Small. Careful. Not full trust, because he doesn't know the man, or the planet, but it's enough to make his shoulders lose their tension, and his body relax.
The man notices immediately. A faint smile tugs at his mouth, just a flicker.
“Good,” he mutters. “Finally getting on the same page with you.”
“Hey, O,” he mutters under his breath, voice low and a little rougher now. “Any tips on how I can get this kid to come with me? I’d imagine a stranger would have an easier time nabbing the demon-brat than me getting through to Pethar.”
Pethar scrunches his brow. Not sure if he should let the man get any closer to him.
Safe! Trust red!
Are you sure?
“You got him to respond to his name. That’s something. Stick with that. Keep it simple. Show him, don’t tell him.”
The man nods faintly, more to himself than anything. “Yeah… alright.”
He looks back at Pethar, expression softer than before—even if it’s still edged in something tired.
“Hey,” he says again, quieter. He points to Pethar. “Pethar.” Then gestures outward, away from the wreckage, slower this time. “Come.”
A small pause.
Then, a little awkwardly, like the word doesn’t quite fit in his mouth—
“Safe.”
He doesn’t move closer this time. Just waits.
Pethar tilts his head. Strange man. Strange Red Hood man—though he still doesn’t really understand what that means, or what kind of name it’s supposed to be.
He still doesn’t know where he is. Everything here is wrong and loud and heavy with unfamiliar air. But he’s pretty sure the man wants him to come with him.
The man hasn’t hurt him yet. That matters.
And he’s big. Much bigger than Pethar. Bigger than even the scariest Kynari. But this man isn’t Kynari. He isn’t like Pethar.
He’s that strange word again.
Human.
It takes a few more moments of quiet, careful thinking before Pethar finally steps forward. He moves past the man crouched there, slipping by without fully turning his back.
The man turns his head to watch him, but doesn’t stop him.
Pethar goes back to the broken remains of the shuttle—the last pieces of Varos that may ever exist. His chest tightens as he climbs into the wreckage again.
He pushes aside a warped metal casing, edges blackened and twisted, and forces his small hands into a narrow gap.
After a moment of effort, he pulls something free.
A bag.
Carried from Varos. Left there by Toryn at the last minute.
He sniffles, opening the bag, he sees his tharstone, his holophotos, his stuffed shellback.
He rubs at his eyes with his free hand, blinking hard as he presses the bag tightly to his chest. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he turns back toward the man.
Pethar steels himself one last time before lifting his free arm, offering himself to be picked up.
The man lets out what Pethar can only identify as a sigh of relief.
He reaches out and lifts him carefully.
Instinctively, Pethar wraps his arms around the man’s neck.
“Pethar safe,” the man says finally.