Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dust rose with every gallop; a horse moved forward with determined steps, its nervousness palpable.

The blotch of a town became clearer with every stride, buildings gradually coming into focus, revealing where one ended and the next began.

The sky was almost red, and the scent of sulfur hung in the air—remnants of a battle that hadn’t ended long ago.

The white steed continued down the main street blindly, as if recognizing the path. The only stone building stood at the end of the road, topped with a white cross that gleamed intensely, even under the faint rays of sun still hitting it, giving it a truly beatific aura. Nightfall was near. The horse began to slow down until it came to an abrupt stop, forcing its rider to squint when he could barely keep his eyes open.

“We don’t have room for strangers. Turn around,” announced a rather shrill but surprisingly firm voice. It was a young boy, barely into puberty, dressed in white. Likely an altar boy.

“I’ve come to see Father Namjoon,” Seokjin said, barely audible. He had been traveling through the desert for two days; his canteen had long run dry.

“Father Joon doesn’t have time for meaningless things,” the boy stubbornly replied.

“Tell him his brother is looking for him.”

That changed the boy’s demeanor entirely. He trotted off. Seokjin summoned strength from somewhere and dismounted the horse. The fact that he was still alive and standing was a sign that his time hadn’t yet come—any ordinary man would likely have perished under the desert sun.

“Can I help you?”

This wasn’t the same shrill voice from before.

This one was more mature, melodious, though clearly male. Seokjin could barely make out the figure before him. He offered the horse’s reins to whoever it was.

“She needs water and food,” he murmured.

He felt a rough hand gently take the reins from his grasp. “And you?”

“None of your business,” he snapped.

He wasn’t about to risk losing consciousness around a stranger, and with slow steps, he crossed the church doors.

The ceremonial hall seemed frozen in time, from a period when blood, cannons, and uniforms weren’t commonplace. But the bustle coming from deeper inside betrayed it.

The rhythm of war had turned the temple into a sanatorium. Who knew how long before the pews would be replaced by wounded men?

Seokjin heard firm footsteps approaching, pausing briefly before continuing toward him. He did all he could to focus on a face he hadn’t seen in a long time, but all he could distinguish was the clerical collar.

“Namjoon,” the older murmured.

The priest trembled with fury—an unusual sight to those who knew him. The boy from earlier ended up running away when his dear Father Joon punched the nearly dying man in the shoulder, causing him to stagger.

“Who the hell do you think you are, showing up here?!”

“Let me sleep. Yell at me later,” the older muttered.

As much as Namjoon would have liked to punch him right then, he knew the man before him wasn’t in any condition for arguments. Reluctantly, he let go of the darkness consuming him.

“I don’t have time to deal with you right now\... Jungkook!” The person appeared from outside, where Seokjin had entered. “Take him to the second floor and tend to his wounds,” the priest instructed, then turned and walked away.

“This way,” said Jungkook.

He was the one with the melodious voice.

Seokjin didn’t remember climbing the stairs, only the sound of his boots echoing against the stone steps as he leaned on the wall. Quite considerate of his little brother to make him go upstairs in that state.

When he reached the room, he collapsed onto the bed without hesitation. His hat fell to the side. His breathing was labored.

“I’ll go get water and bandages.”

“Leave,” Seokjin ordered curtly.

“But Father Joon told me—” he weakly protested. To the boy, Seokjin must have looked like a rabid dog, but who the hell cared?

“Your voice is giving me a headache. I don’t want you here.”

Only when he heard the door close did Seokjin allow himself to relax. Pain throbbed in his side. He had barely managed to remove the bullet from his body.

Clutching his side, he stifled a cry of agony.

At some point, his mind drifted from the present.

And he saw Elias.

He was speaking, but the words were incomprehensible.

There was thick fog blurring his features, but even so, Seokjin could see his disgusting gold tooth.

Then he vanished.

Seokjin felt himself spinning, fear gripping his chest as he searched through the mist.

Suddenly, another familiar face appeared.

Yoongi.

He watched him get stabbed in the shoulder. Seokjin tried to reach for him, but he was already gone. He quickly reminded himself that what he was seeing were hallucinations brought on by his condition.

Where was Yoongi? For the past two days, all he could think about was staying conscious. He hadn’t stopped to worry about the other.

Was he alive? He hoped so—Yoongi had the other half of the map.

What if Elias’s henchmen had caught him? Getting the other half would be difficult.

Or worse...

What if they didn’t need the map anymore?

What if Yoongi was fine and had left him behind?

What if he already had the treasure?

What if Yoongi had betrayed him?

Seokjin coughed.

A metallic taste filled his mouth.

His side burned. He reached to feel the wound and touched another hand.

Alarmed, he opened his eyes.

He hadn’t expected to see the starry night sky in his room.

No—it wasn’t the sky.

It was a pair of eyes.

So bright that for a moment, Seokjin forgot who he was and what had brought him there.

They belonged to a young man’s face.

He looked away but saw his gun was far, on the nightstand beside his carefully placed hat.

“I swear I didn’t touch anything,” the boy said nervously. “Well... I did, but only to put it on the table—I didn’t look at anything.”

Seokjin looked at him again. He had quite a large nose, though it didn’t clash with the rest of his features. He was young—maybe eighteen or nineteen? He wasn’t sure, but he had an innocent and pure air that made him look a bit childish. He must’ve been the one who had led him here. Seokjin didn’t remember his name. The boy fidgeted with a pair of bandages in his hands.

Seokjin glanced at his wound and saw it had been stitched up. He also became aware of the damp cloth on his forehead. He’d told him to leave, to stop bothering him, but it seemed the boy had found him in too bad a state to comply.

The boy stood motionless beside the bed, still playing with the bandages, unsure of what to do. Seokjin tried to be compassionate.

“Are you going to finish or just stand there?”

The young man stepped closer. His hair fell over his eyes, but Seokjin caught a hint of a blush. He decided to cooperate to get it over with.

“Are you going to eat?” the boy asked in a timid whisper after wrapping the bandages. “It’s oat porridge... though it’s probably cold by now.”

That didn’t matter to someone like Seokjin, who had gone days without food in the desert. Besides, he needed to get back on his feet quickly and continue his journey. If he could, he’d leave tomorrow.

So he accepted the porridge.

Of course, he ate it himself. He wasn’t about to become some damsel in distress just because he’d been shot.

“Remind me your name?” Seokjin asked as the boy walked away with the empty bowl.

He didn’t know why he asked.

It wasn’t like he truly cared—he wasn’t planning on staying long, and they’d both forget about this encounter soon enough. Maybe it was just an unconscious way of being considerate to the one who had tended to him.

Maybe Seokjin still had traces of humanity.

“Hmm? Jungkook. My name is Jungkook.”

The boy bowed his head politely and disappeared, quietly closing the door behind him.

Chapter Text

Seokjin couldn’t leave the next morning.

The fever had spiked again. How could a man so strong suddenly become so fragile? It wasn’t the first time he’d been shot. And yet, he couldn’t even stand on his own.

He felt ashamed and disgusted with himself as the boy—Jungkook, that was his name—refreshed the damp cloth on his forehead and placed it back gently.

He hadn’t seen Namjoon again, thankfully. Both sides had reached a truce, and Namjoon was probably busy coordinating efforts and helping tend to the wounded. Seokjin didn’t want to see him—he wasn’t ready to face that.

“How’s my horse?”

If the scent of dirt and hay was any clue, Jungkook’s main job wasn’t looking after strangers.

It would be a problem if he had to take a different horse. Poor Daisy, she’d never forgive him.

Jungkook looked surprised, as if he couldn’t believe Seokjin had just spoken to him—willingly, no less.

“Sh-she’s fine,” he said after a pause, like he was debating whether to add anything. “She’s not hurt, just tired. She ate and drank a lot… she’s very gentle.”

Seokjin closed his eyes. Judging by the angle of the sunlight, it had to be around noon. “Good,” he whispered.

—

Jungkook hadn’t slept well all night. For some reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about the man upstairs.

It wasn’t like he had the time to worry about some stranger. The work in the stables was exhausting. But still, he kept thinking about that bullet wound and the names Seokjin had mumbled in his feverish dreams. Names of people Jungkook didn’t know—people who didn’t belong to this town.

Trying to make sense of it, he figured maybe he was just worn down by the war and life in that village. Maybe that’s why he’d taken an interest in the stranger.

It was silly. Jungkook knew he could leave whenever he wanted—or, well, before they inevitably put him in a uniform.

The war wasn’t at its peak, but even so, he hadn’t wanted to go. Orphaned, raised in these corners of the world… what reason did he have to leave them behind? Starting somewhere new wouldn’t be easy either.

Before the sun had even risen, he was already dressed and heading to the kitchen. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who’d had a restless night.

“Oatmeal again?” Jungkook sighed.

The young altar boy, Thomas, was standing on a wooden crate, stirring a massive steel pot.

Thomas stared at Jungkook, then glanced behind him to make sure no one else was coming. Jungkook smiled, amused—he found the boy ridiculously adorable.

“There’s some bread under the napkins…” the boy whispered.

Jungkook stepped over to the cupboard where they were stored, opened one of the drawers, and sure enough—under a couple of cloth squares, there was bread.

“Hurry up! Don’t let Sister Martha catch you.”

Jungkook tried to hold in a mischievous laugh. He felt like a little kid getting into trouble. He tore off a piece of bread, quickly closed the drawer, grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl, and waved goodbye to Thomas—just in time to greet Sister Martha on her way in and dash off before she noticed the missing loaf was a bit smaller.

At the stables, the stranger’s horse greeted him with a loud whinny, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Hey! Hey! What’s wrong?”

It was a white mare. She moved restlessly, like something had caught her attention. Jungkook wasn’t dumb—he had a pretty good idea what that something was. He held the apple up.

“This what you want?”

The mare whinnied again, almost like she was answering.

“But it’s my breakfast,” he complained. Another whinny.

Jungkook looked at the apple for a moment, then took a bite. After that, he walked over and offered the rest to her. The mare accepted it happily and let him stroke her head as she chewed.

“What’s your name, hmm?” Jungkook brought the bread to his mouth and took a bite. “What would he name you, I wonder?”

The mare took advantage of his distraction and snatched the rest of the bread. Jungkook tried to stop her, but it was too late. He sighed in defeat.

“That was my breakfast…”

Still, he gave her a few more affectionate pats before getting started on his chores.

Around noon, he took a break for lunch. That’s when the stranger came to mind again.

Had anyone checked on him this morning? He wasn’t staying where the soldiers were.

What if they’d forgotten him? What if he was lying there, in pain, and no one remembered he was even up there? A wave of guilt washed over Jungkook.

Just as he was approaching the kitchen, he ran into Father Namjoon.

“Good day, Father Joon,” he greeted politely.

Namjoon shook his head with an exasperated smile at the boy’s formal tone. “Jungkook, I was just looking for you. Come with me.” He smiled warmly and led him into the chapel.

It had been months since the ceremonial hall had hosted a proper mass, but it wasn’t unusual to see someone praying in there during the day. Most of the civilians—women and children—had relocated far from the war zone, so the only regulars were the residents and the occasional soldier.

At that moment, though, the chapel was empty.

“Sorry for pulling you away,” Namjoon began.

“It’s nothing… What’s for lunch?”

“Oh, uh… stew. A shipment of supplies arrived,” Jungkook’s stomach growled, and Namjoon let out a laugh.

“I won’t keep you, I just wanted to let you know you don’t have to take care of Seokjin. Stable work takes a lot out of you—I’ll ask one of the sisters to handle it.”

So Seokjin was the stranger’s name. The man who claimed to be Father Namjoon’s brother.

“I-it’s no trouble,” Jungkook blurted out before he even had time to think about what Namjoon had said.

“Really? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No, seriously. I’ll handle it. You’re already busy, right?” What was he even saying? Did Namjoon notice he was trying to convince him to leave things as they were? “If I can lighten your load, I’d be happy to.”

Namjoon smiled at him affectionately and patted his shoulder. “Thank you, Jungkook.”

“Uh… speaking of, did anyone check on him this morning?”

Namjoon shook his head. “I thought about doing it myself, but…” The boy’s face went pale.

“I have to go,” he said and ran off toward the stone stairs.

“I’ll tell Thomas to bring you food!” Namjoon called after him.

When Jungkook entered the room, the fever had clearly returned. Seokjin was pale and covered in sweat. The good news? He was conscious. Still, the stranger didn’t complain about how late Jungkook was. The first thing he did was offer him water. Then, Jungkook removed the bandage over his wound. He hadn’t expected it to be magically healed, but it did look better. He cleaned the wound again and wrapped it with fresh bandages. He also dared to wipe down his face and neck with a damp cloth and dry him off.

Throughout the entire process, Seokjin didn’t say a word. Jungkook, on the other hand, did. Not much, but the silence in the room made him uneasy. He ended up telling him that both sides had agreed to a truce and the day seemed calm.

It was a surprise when the stranger finally spoke—the first words he had directed at anyone all day.

He asked about his horse.

Jungkook found it oddly endearing. The man lying in that bed didn’t seem like someone who got attached to people—or anything, really. He seemed more like someone who tried to avoid all of that at any cost.

As promised, Thomas brought them food.

“Here you go… and some medicine too,” the boy said, clearly uncomfortable. He kept staring at the man in bed. Jungkook found it amusing.

“He’s not going to bite you.”

Seokjin opened his eyes and glared at Thomas. “I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you.”

The boy stifled a squeal and ran out of the room in a panic.

“So you can make jokes,” Jungkook said, a little too delighted. When Seokjin turned his icy stare on him, he realized he’d spoken out loud and quickly tried to change the subject. “Are you hungry? It’s stew… there’s meat.”

The man huffed in annoyance and sat up in bed. Jungkook offered him the bowl uncertainly, afraid he might spill it. “I’ll give you the medicine after you eat.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Jungkook kept a close eye on him, just in case he collapsed mid-bite.

His own bowl was quickly empty—breakfast had clearly not been enough. He set it aside and, while wiping his hands, looked at Seokjin.

“What do you want?” the man asked, tired of the staring. Jungkook blushed. How many times could a person blush in one day?

“Nothing. It’s just… I didn’t know Father Namjoon had an older brother. You are older, right? He always talks about his younger brother, Taehyung. Lives in London now—or was it Paris? He’s got a picture of him in his office.”

The older man kept eating calmly. Jungkook realized he was being deliberately ignored.

Silence.

“Seokjin,” he tested the name on his tongue.

Silence.

Seokjin looked at him.

Jungkook froze.

Seokjin took the last bite of stew and held out the bowl. Hesitantly, Jungkook stepped forward, took it, and set it back on the tray Thomas had brought. Then he handed over the powdered medicine and water.

“If I were you, I’d try to know less about me.” Jungkook wasn’t sure if it was meant as advice—it sounded like it—but the tone didn’t feel like one. “You’ll be better off that way.”

“I—I understand,” Jungkook exhaled in embarrassment, nervously tidying the dishes on the tray. They were already in place, but he didn’t know how else to hide the shaking in his hands. His hair fell over his forehead, covering his eyes. “I’ve got things to do, so I’ll come back later,” he announced. He gathered his courage and looked him in the eye. He gave him a polite smile.

Seokjin looked away and lay back down again, once more making it perfectly clear he had no intention of engaging. The tin cup with water sat on the left nightstand.

Chapter Text

The "map" wasn't a map as such.

In fact, there wasn't anything written down. Or rather—Elias and his band of brigands didn't have anything written.

It so happened that during an ambush on a carriage, an English traveler—an academic with a streak of adventure—had set off in search of treasure in the new continent. In the delirium of his final moments he confessed the existence of it to Elias, all under the promise that they would let him go in peace.

There were probably written clues to the treasure somewhere, but when they searched the belongings the traveler had on him, they found nothing. So there was nothing left to do but try to obtain its location through promises that would never be kept.

All the same, Seokjin didn't believe in such a treasure, and probably none of them believed it truly existed. But Elias's insatiable hunger made them act by coercion.

That's how Seokjin ended up getting a clue.

"South of the split water, count seven moons. Where the two suns cross and the stone weeps, the guardian sleeps."

Maybe it was selfishness, maybe greed, maybe the fact that he was fed up with Elias, or maybe it was simply that he didn't understand what it meant.

Maybe it was all of that, but Seokjin ended up hiding what he'd discovered.

Not trusting his memory, as soon as he was alone he wrote that phrase on a scrap of cloth and hid it inside the lining that trimmed the crown of his hat.

When the traveler took his last breath and their search for clues about his whereabouts came up empty, Elias exploded in fury. Some tried to calm him. Those who had been under his protection for years kept their distance. It was unlikely they'd walk away unscathed for their incompetence—someone would pay for all of it. And so it happened.

Rest in peace, Larry.

Some time passed before Yoongi dared confront him. The waters had calmed and Elias had turned his attention to other matters.

"I know you know something," said the shorter one. They sat side by side on watch. "About the treasure," he clarified.

Seokjin processed the words and began to laugh loudly. He'd known Yoongi for years but their relationship had been no more than a working cordiality. Still, the fact that he'd come this far meant he wasn't dealing with someone simple.

"Aish. What are you saying, Yoongichi?" Seokjin knew his act wasn't convincing at all—even though there where moments where truths took the form of lies—"it's been a long time. Wouldn't it be better to forget about it?"

Yoongi ignored what the other said. "Why haven't you left yet?"

Seokjin sighed, trying to decide his next move. He made sure they were still alone.

"Leave? What are you talking about? Why would I leave?"

They looked at each other for a few seconds in silence.

They pulled their pistols at the same time and fired. Seokjin's shot hit a rock, which deflected it and the bullet lost its course. Yoongi's bullet flew past the taller man. Seokjin lunged at Yoongi and grabbed him by the collar.

"What the hell do you want? Why are you messing with me? Want me to bore a hole in your skull?"

Yoongi let out a mocking laugh, clearly not intimidated—not by their size difference, not by his pistol skills.

"You'd have to be faster than my shot." The shorter man wrenched himself free of the grip.

"Are you planning to sell me out?"

"I'm disappointed. I thought you were smarter than this. Didn't it occur to you that I know something too?"

Silence.

"What do you know?"

"I know what I have to look for, and I know a little more, but for the moment it doesn't make sense."

"A riddle?"

"A sequence of numbers. Do you have a riddle?" Seokjin didn't answer, but Yoongi took his silence as a yes. "I'll leave before sunrise."

"Are you crazy?! You're going to leave without the other half?!"

"That's why I'm warning you." Yoongi smiled arrogantly.

"And how are you so sure I'll follow you?"

"And keep being a pawn for Elias Crow?" Yoongi adjusted his hat. "Help me find it. Half is yours."

And the rest is history.

Elias realized he'd been betrayed and sent men to hunt them down.

Fortunately Seokjin hadn't been caught. But now he was trapped in a town haunted by shadows of his past.

Or rather, Namjoon.

Neither of the two were originally from that place.

---

Jungkook was raking one of the corrals when he heard one of the horses start to become restless. Reluctantly, the boy set the rake aside and went to see what was happening. He was covered in sweat and dust and suspected his face was dirty too. Still, he tried to push thoughts of a bath away so he wouldn't delay his chores forever for fear of being too filthy.

When he saw what was going on he felt like his soul left his body.

The stranger—the father Namjoon's brother, Seokjin—was approaching the stable. His gait was unsteady and he looked pale. Jungkook ran over to help him, afraid the elder would collapse face-first into the dirt. How had he gotten that far without anyone stopping him?

"What the hell are you doing here?!" Jungkook couldn't help being rude. Fear flooded him and he couldn't quite make sense of it.

Seokjin didn't answer but unconsciously leaned his full weight against the boy. "I have to go."

Jungkook, holding him up, felt the heat coming off the stranger's body through his clothes. "You're burning up! Come on... you have to lie down."

"I want to see my horse."

Jungkook looped his arm around the stranger's waist, ignoring his words, and steered him toward the stone building. Delirious with fever, Seokjin offered no resistance and they slowly made their way to the church, forcing Jungkook to abandon his tasks.

Just as they were heading for the stone stairs that led to the rooms above—where the clerical staff slept—they bumped into Father Namjoon, who seemed to be returning from the hospital. The priest, seeing the scene, quickly deduced what had happened, but instead of helping the boy he walked away with a lightness that dripped anger—an anger Jungkook had never seen consume him before.

Jungkook sighed, defeated, accepting that no one would lend a hand. He was exhausted, hadn't slept well and was hungry. He had no strength and would have to carry the body up the stairs by himself. With great difficulty he managed to get him upstairs and got him into the room. He threw him onto the bed and settled him. He removed his shoes, opened his clothing and checked the bandages.

Everything looked fine from the outside but the older's body still seemed to be fighting from within. Jungkook didn't know much about medicine but guessed part of it was due to the days the stranger had spent without proper food or sleep.

Jungkook was young but not stupid; he had a few theories about Seokjin. That was what he thought these past days while doing his chores. He still didn't know if asking Father Namjoon would mean crossing a line, so he hadn't—besides, he hadn't had the time, and the few times he'd run into him their interactions lasted no longer than a greeting.

The strange thing was none of his theories made him want to leave.

Jungkook wet a scrap of cloth and placed it on his forehead. He decided the best and right thing to do was stay, and sat on a chair beside the bed. He repeated the process a couple of times and eventually the fever went down. Jungkook exhaled with relief, letting go of the fear that had been building in his chest.

When the sun was setting, Seokjin woke. The stranger completely ignored the boy's existence and spent a few minutes staring out the window.

"Are you hungry?"

"I want to leave," he answered curtly.

Jungkook snorted; he was a little annoyed. "For that you have to get better." He stood up, removed the cloth from his forehead and left it in a basin of water. "Don't do that again, I didn't finish my chores because of you."

Seokjin remained silent. Feeling brave, Jungkook dared to keep talking. "Anyway, why are you in such a hurry to leave?"

"I think I warned you not to get involved in my life."

"How old are you?" Jungkook brushed aside the conversation from the previous day, determined to pretend it hadn't happened. Although the man seemed like someone sensible to avoid, in his current state he didn't represent any danger. After all, he'd carried him back to the room and tended to him until the fever broke. He felt entitled to at least satisfy a little of his curiosity. "Are you the older one?"

Seokjin didn't answer.

"Are you a criminal?"

"And if I were... what would that change? Are you going to hand me in?" His tone carried a hint of mockery. Why? Did he plan to do something to him? As if, even in that state, he could do anything.

"Hmm? That's what I should do," Jungkook admitted bravely—he wouldn't try to hide what he thought just to please him. Yet, when it came to this man, a certain doubt settled in his chest. If it were someone else, he wouldn't hesitate for a second, but for some reason he felt an indescribable interest in the man lying in the bed. Still, he didn't have to know that. "It would be the right thing. However, Father Namjoon hasn't done it."

"Oh? How loyal is the dog to his master. Well, thanks."

It took Jungkook a moment to understand what he meant, but when he did a annoyance washed over him.

"I'm going to get something to eat," he announced, clearly annoyed.

The boy headed for the stairs and breathed deeply, trying to forget the exchange he'd had seconds before. Why had such a stupid conversation affected him so much? Maybe it was just hunger. When he entered the kitchen he found Thomas again, fervently stirring a large pot.

"Oatmeal?" Jungkook joked, approaching to see what it smelled like—the aroma was not subtle at all.

"Rabbit stew."

Suddenly Namjoon entered the kitchen.

"Good thing you're here," he said to Jungkook. "You don't have to worry tomorrow, finish your tasks. I'll take care of him. Don't tell him."

"Did something happen?" Thomas asked curiously. Namjoon gave a forced smile, patted his head affectionately, and left without opening a discussion.

Thomas looked at Jungkook expectantly, waiting for him to spill everything, but Jungkook limited himself to serving two portions of stew and leaving.

Thomas continued stirring the stew in annoyance.

The disadvantages of being a child.

The rest of the evening in that room passed in silence. In the end, Jungkook was still annoyed.