in the dusk when the fever's crawling (star wars | rey~kylo)

[fiachairecht]

in the dusk when the fever's crawling. star wars sequels, rey~kylo. the killers with the cross au that meritmut specifically asked for. 716w, rated t.

When Kylo pulls the shadows around herself and sinks to her knees in the corner, she already knows something is wrong. Her knights have long since retreated to bed, tired from the rush of victory and the taste of her blood, and though she had meant to join them, something today is — different.

She can feel it in trails her blood is winding down her arms and neck, tracing out a map to—

A map from—

Kylo bites the inside of her cheek, screws her eyes shut, and doesn't bother hoping that whatever's coming will spare her. She hasn't hoped for anything in a very long time.

**

She feels them die, one by one, hardly seconds between them. Their ashes leak from the puncture wounds still dotting her arms, congealing into a soft, sticky paste where they meet her still-leaking blood. She blinks, and their remains fall from her eyelashes.

In truth Kylo has expected this ever since she ran from Snoke; the only surprise is that it has taken this long for someone to find them. And though her knights were loyal more to her credits than to her, it still hurts in some way beyond the physical. Hurts in a way she's forgotten she can hurt.

Kylo hugs her knees to her chest, rests her forehead on top of them and lets the sharp teeth on the band of her crown dig into her scalp.

She's the ruler of nothing now, all her knights in a pile at her feet. It's almost a relief.

**

The leader of the scavengers finds her like that: in a pile of ashes, dizzy from blood loss, rocking herself gently towards oblivion.

"I was wondering if you'd come for me too," Kylo says, but she doesn't lift her head. She's looked too many deaths in the eye. Someone else can face hers.

"You're the only useful one." The tug on her hair is gentler than Kylo expects, but it's still enough to force her to look at the woman kneeling in front of her. She has a hard face, a desert face, and beneath the layers of dirt — or ash, Kylo can't stop the thought, is that what else my followers became? — her gaze promises to swallow Kylo whole.

Kylo rather wishes she'd just get it over with, but what comes out of her mouth instead is, "You don't look like one of Snoke's."

The confusion that flits over her face is brief enough Kylo wonders if she had imagined it. "I don't work for anyone. Not anymore. It's just me. Just Rey."

Lie, Kylo thinks, but the words are lost somewhere as the woman lifts one hand to gently remove her crown and place it in the mess at their feet. They stay lost as the woman unwinds the coil of rope at her waist, passes it around and around Kylo's body until she couldn't move her arms from around her bent legs if she's tried. If Rey is surprised by the lack of resistance, she doesn't say.

"Odd way to kill me," she finally says. Her voice is small, her desire to do anything about the night plateauing. Ten minutes ago she would have been able to face this with more energy, more dignity. Now, though —

She's tired. She feels like she's been tired for years.

"Oh," Rey says, and this time she doesn't manage to mask the surprise on her face. "I don't kill. I take."

Kylo, almost to her surprise, believes her. The echoes of the stakes are still in her heart, much too close together to be from one person. "Your friends kill."

Rey shrugs. "They're otherwise occupied right now." Her fingers brush briefly against the dirt — ash — on her face, and Kylo shudders, willing her imagination to stay silent. "Up you get." Before Kylo can process what's happening to her, Rey has one arm under her knees and one wrapped around her back and is standing, Kylo limp in her arms.

Rey is warm, and doesn't protest at the mess Kylo surely makes of her skin when she buries her face in the crook of Rey's neck. This close, she can smell that Rey hasn't been human in a long time.

"Let's go home," Rey whispers, and Kylo lets her eyes drift shut.