#its been uhhhh ages since ive posted anything not wip so literally just take this before i chicken out and delete everything ever

[paranormal-potatoes]

Here is a sad prompt with the old man, Gherman:

"....You were... My sunshine, My only.. S-sun... Shine, You made me happy... When skies... We-were gray... You'll ne-never.... Know, Dear, How much I loved you...."

*His voice becomes shakier, Tears begin to fall*

"....So please... Oh please don't take.... M-my sunshine away...."

"....Gehrman, Are you....crying?"

okay i swear i meant for this to be angstier but uhh idk, not as much crying, could be more but i need to just post what i have before i overthink and then never do it bc ~anxiety~ also this hasn't been betaed or edited that much so. also ended up longer than i thought so under readmore. also ended up only having like 1 line of the song being said/sang bc i feel weird about including songs in stories unless its like. karaoke or a song playing on the radio

takes place in my time travel au. anyways have this before i chicken out

given im posting this from my phone, i hope the formatting doesnt fuck up.

=====

“...my sunshine, my only sunshine...”

 

“... are you singing?”

 

Taylor startles, spinning around and knocking their Saw Cleaver to the ground, fortunately missing the bottles by the work table.

 

Hm, I should probably move those, it’ll be quite a mess if they break.

 

“Fuck! How are you so quiet? You’re in a wheelchair!”

They’ve been here some time, their mask hanging around their neck instead of pulled up to their nose. A new scar marks their neck, likely a fatal one from its placing.

 

They retrieve their weapon, placing it back on the table.

 

He should probably ask how they’re handling the constant dying.

 

“Were you singing?” he repeats instead.

 

To his amusement, their cheeks immediately redden.

 

Good gods, they need more sunlight, they’re paler than Maria was.

 

They rub the back of their neck, embarrassed.

 

“No? I’m not that good at singing.”

 

And some self-confidence. Are they this nervous in combat?

 

“I was just humming, I’m sorry if–”

 

He interrupts, “Why are you apologizing?”

 

They shrink a bit and he can hear Ludwig lamenting his people skills, already poor before his confinement. He prefers teaching over reassurance.

 

Gehrman tries a different approach.

 

“What can you hear?”

 

They blink, tilting their head to listen, the burnt feather edges of their cap making them even more birdlike.

 

Hm, I wonder if Eileen is still the Hunter of Hunters.

 

“Wind. The fire. Messengers chittering,” they frown, focusing.

 

“And what does Yharnam sound like?”

 

Their expression blanks for a moment.

 

“Before nightfall,” he clarifies.

 

“Um. Dogs, people moving inside their homes. Quiet talking, birds. Water in the canal. Wind, fire crackling. Huntsmen walking around,” they list.

 

He lifts an eyebrow.

 

“Oh,” they realize what he’s getting at. “It’s a lot quieter here. There’s less, uh, life.”

 

“I might prefer quiet over dozens of talking people, but that’s a preference, not–” he gestures around them.

 

“That’s a choice.”

 

Well, this was a choice, too, but not one he knew the extent of.

 

Their expression suggests they’re familiar with choices being taken from them.

 

“Your humming, or singing, isn’t a problem. You’re welcome to continue.”

 

They nod hesitantly.

 

He leaves.

 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

 

After that, he hears Taylor humming in the Dream, sometimes singing softly enough he can only catch some of the words.

 

(“...my sunshine, my only sunshine...”)

 

They always turn to humming or simply stop when they notice him.

 

They’ll come looking for him at times, if only to say hello, sometimes asking questions or showing him something they’ve found.

 

He almost starts laughing when they show him a Reiterpallasch and Chikage they recovered from Cainhurst. He’s less amused when they explain they found an unopened summons addressed to them, even less so when they admit they accepted a covenant with the Vileblood Queen.

 

They grudgingly tell him what happened in Cainhurst, about Logarius and the Vileblood slaughter, how the grounds are overrun with bloodlickers and dead women roam the halls.

 

He doesn’t know how to feel about that.

 

Maria’s mother came to the funeral to see her daughter again, refusing to look at any of the hunters. Her cousin, Cole, spent ten minutes glaring at Gehrman, blaming him for his cousin’s death.

 

He doesn’t disagree.

 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

 

Taylor brings more weapons to show him, ones they found in Yharnam or the dungeons.

 

They’re extremely delighted to show him ones recovered from the dungeons, enamored with the Beast Cutter and Boom Hammer.

 

He shows them a picture of the Whirligig Saw, telling them it was designed by the Powder Kegs, who also made their Rifle Spear and the Boom Hammer.

 

Their eyes glitter in excitement.

 

Perhaps telling them about it was a mistake.

 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

 

They find some of Teague’s old writing from before he shortened his name. He would be delighted someone else who rejected gender would take his name.

 

Teagan looks far livelier than when they first arrived.

 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

 

He finds himself humming as he puts them back together, stitching their chest closed.

 

A beast didn’t do this. This was done by a knife, someone was careful and deliberate. Someone with experience carved them open.

 

(“H–help...”)

 

He shouldn’t have let himself become this attached. Once the hunt ends, they’ll be gone, forgetting all of this. He and Plain Doll will be alone once more.

 

He keeps humming and putting them back together.

 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

 

He finds himself humming the tune again while working on a Saw Cleaver.

 

He’s accepted this isn’t a dream, which leaves him with time travel. Somehow he’s in the past, before the first Blood Moon, before his contract.

 

Before Maria’s suicide and Teague’s death.

 

Before Teagan.

 

He’s sure they had something to do with this. If it were a dream, he’d say Flora was responsible but it isn’t.

 

Are they somewhere in the past? Or did they take his place?

 

No. Why would he have been pushed into the past if they had? So where are they? What happened to them?

 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

 

Teague, unsurprisingly, comes to find him, leans against the doorframe in silence.

 

“Still having too realistic dreams?”

 

He doesn’t answer.

 

“Or, uh, are you just not sleeping to avoid them?”

 

“Like you’re one to talk.”

 

Teague and Maria carried the most guilt over the hamlet. Maria threw herself into caring for her patients and Teague tried to run from it for a long time.

 

They all did. Sooner or later, it caught up to them. He hopes they at least found peace in death, but he doubts it.

 

Sometimes he thinks he got lucky, undying as he was. Other times he envies them for finding release from the guilt.

 

He wonders how Teague would react if he told him everything. Probably think he went mad. Perhaps he has. He has no proof anything he remembers happened at all.

 

Even his right leg is back, which keeps taking him by surprise. He keeps expecting pain when he walks for too long but it never comes. His memory isn’t failing him constantly and the world is no longer foggy.

 

It feels like a gift. It feels like a curse.

 

He shouldn’t have gotten so attached to Teagan, he shouldn’t have let them get so attached.

 

He has nothing of the dream but memories, a song he doesn’t even know the words to and the knowledge Teagan likely sacrificed something to give him a sunrise.

 

“... Gehrman, are you crying?” Teague asked.

 

He reaches up and finds tears.

 

“It would seem so.”

 

“Want to talk about it?”

 

“No.”

 

Teague snorts.

 

“Yeah, figured. It’s like pulling teeth with you. Between you and Maria, I’m about ready to get Ludwig involved. Let you two get motherhenned.”

 

“I’ll tell him you’re the one who broke his bedroom door.”

 

Teague holds his hands up in surrender, alarmed.

 

“Geez, alright, alright! No need to go that far, damn!”

 

He wipes the tears away.

 

“But, uh, seriously. I’m willing to listen.”

 

“I know. Go to sleep, if I have to wake you up in the morning, I’m using a bucket of water.”

 

“Only if you stop for the night and get some sleep yourself. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your shitty sleeping habits.”

 

He sighs but lays his tools down.

 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

 

“So!” Ludwig claps his hands, grinning brightly. “Someone from the south brought word of a village that had a three day long storm.”

 

Maria’s expression tightens. If he didn’t know what to look for now, Gehrman would have missed it. He kicks himself for missing it last time.

 

“And? Storms can be fucked up,” Teague said, picking at his nails.

 

“They aren’t normally preceded by a light burning through the woods and the waters rising several feet before the storm. It happened a month ago. They’ve requested assistance, the wildlife has turned aggressive and avoids the deep woods.”

 

“What is the village’s name?” Maria looks as she always had, but Gehrman can see the guilt and shame weighing on her now.

 

“Aramore. I thought us five could go investigate.”

 

“No, originally you wanted to take some new Hunters and I vetoed it because they wouldn’t be able to convince you not to adopt twenty children,” Laurence said, amused.

 

Ludwig waves him off.

 

“Bet we’re still coming home with a kid,” Teague jokes.

 

“Don’t jinx us, Amelia’s enough,” Gehrman said.

 

“Yes, my daughter is wonderful,” said Laurence, deliberately ignoring the two’s meaning. “She’d probably like a sibling. Or maybe one of you two will bring home a child.”

 

“Hell no, I’m not having kids ever.”

 

“I can barely tolerate adults, what makes you think I want a child?”

 

Teagan comes to mind. He doesn’t know when they were born or even their birth name but he thinks they would be the only child he’d choose to care for. Although, with his luck, he’d traumatize them more than they already were.

 

He turns his attention back to Ludwig, pushing the thoughts aside. The chances of him being able to find them again are low, especially without a birth year and family name. And even if he could find them again, he wouldn’t be able to do anything. They mentioned a mother once, clearly living and he’s not kidnapping a child.

 

It's pointless to consider.

 

He has nothing from the dream but memories and a song he doesn’t know the words to.

#potato answers #wyrms-bitch #potato writes fic #my writing #fic: old man hunter and his eldritch child #its been uhhhh ages since ive posted anything not wip so literally just take this before i chicken out and delete everything ever #oh fuck do i want this in the main bb tag #hhhhhhnnnnnggggg #do it do it do it just do it #bloodborne #literally cant express how rusty i am in writing #yes i know its mostly dialogue and introspection #im bad at description #wait no its deliberate. totally #totally deliberate #okay im just stalling at this poitn so fuck ig #ANYWAYS TAKE THIS #the actual au fic this is part of (not that this will be in it‚ this is just a one shot) is primarily a comedy so just #be aware #potato rambles in tags #<- BIG TIME RAMBLING #IM GONNA GO PLAY AND PRETEND IM NOT HORRIBLY ANXIOUS NOW HAHAHA #im deeply attached to this old man alright #WAIT HANG ON IF YOU'RE STILL READING THESE TAGS‚ EVERY RELATIONSHIP MENTIONED IS PLATONIC #INCLUDING MARIA AND GEHRMAN #I EXTREMELY READ HER AS GAY AND HIM AS AROACE #i also can read him as gay but mostly aroace #okay bye now #potatoes finished fics