#i also visited the mountains today finally so. that was neat

[aestheticvoyage2024]

Day 33: Friday February 2, 2024 - "Lunch with Dave"

Was really neat seeing my old friend Dave from Alma College. Twisted his arm and got him to join me out for lunch today - Turkey Dinner at Hubers, and it had all the feels of those old lunches in Van Dusen as he caught me up on all the news and notes on the years gone by and where people all ended up. He's had the great luxury of sitting back and watching scores of turkeys like me pass through his path, with unique stories and challenges. Its been almost ten years now since I've seen him - but not much has changed at all and I thought it was wonderful to hear how great everything is back home, to which he also reminded me, I'll always have a home to visit in Gratiot County. Amen to that Dave. I gifted him an Amor Fati coin, in hopes he never forgets that promise!

Song: Ryan Bingham - Pursuit of Happiness (Kid Cudi Cover)

Quote: "I spent weeks, months, years mulling about, passing my life away in tiny rooms and I was content with that… What a delicious thing it was to stretch out on a lumpy mattress in the dark on some second floor over an avenue, watching the headlights of cars work patterns across the ceiling… Rolling cigarettes in the dark, watching the red ash glow so red, it was magic even when a bit of ash would fall on your chest and burn you…shit!…you’d leap up laughing, then settle back down, wanting nothing, having nothing… I think I fattened my god damned soul in these rooms. All those hours of years…I suppose I was hiding, not wanting to be them, not wanting to be what my father had become…It looked like shit, it looked like waste… I hid, I hid, I hid, like a gopher, a mole, all I had was myself to feed upon and it filled me. I only became emptied when at times I had to enter the marketplace to sustain myself and I couldn’t believe those lives: men as slaves, doing monotonous and repetitive work they would never escape except by being discharged or dying but they accepted the horrible hours in order to make payment upon major necessities and minor luxuries. I preferred suicide, attempted several, failed, went back to the small rooms. And in those rooms, I blossomed again, like a flower, more like a flower on a cactus, but Christ it was marvelous, an out, a waiting, a calm place…I understood men who sat on mountain tops, who lived in caves. I understood that to have nothing was to have everything. The most valuable thing on earth was to have each hour as your own, that was all there was… To go up, fumble for your key, find it, fit it to the door, and the door opens and there is the dresser and there is the bed and there is the chair and there is the window and the dripping sink and there is the mouse sitting on the dresser, he has gotten bold, your eyes meet and his are much more beautiful than yours, and then with a lightning dart, he is gone and you are a young man in a very old world and you know it and it is absolutely strange and you sit down on the bed and take off your shoes and everything everywhere is quiet, final and perfect." ~Charles Bukowski

[dyrwoodan]

i’m having a very good time writing about my Iavellans and breaking the canon and i do want to post it but also. i SO don’t want anyone in my askbox saying stuff to me

[kass-storycorner]

Oh god, okay hear me out. I suffer from insomnia and I couldn’t get Childes letter out of my head (btw the English version is so much less “I am in love with you” than the German one. He literally says in the German version that he misses us and wants us to visit him, like straight up this is a love letter!! The English version is really toned down in comparison).

So. I know his birthday is over, at least where I’m from. But. I wrote this whole ass fan fic, that is way too long, because I was so inspired by that letter. I’m not really satisfied with the ending, I honestly wanted to add so much more fluff but… I also didn’t want to make this too long, I actually planned for it to be short??? help (also it’s 4am now noooo)

Happy birthday, Tartaglia

Genre: a little bit angsty, fluff, comfort

Rating: SFW, though mentions of kissing and sharing a bed

Content warnings: mention of a family death, Bennett’s bad luck lol but both are unrelated haha

Characters: Tartaglia x gn!reader, a guest appearance of Bennett, mention of Zhongli

Word count: 2,796 words (oooh f*ck haha)

-

You’ve been busy the whole day doing some commissions for the Adventures Guild and were now on your way to Mondstadt, when you heard a familiar voice call your name. “(Y/N)!”, Bennett called out to you and ran into your direction. A deep sigh left your throat, while you enjoyed Bennett’s company most of the time… you had to deal with a ton of your own bad luck today. Not one of the commissions today went the way they usually did, everything that could’ve gone wrong did go wrong. It was honestly just very frustrating, although you couldn’t be really sure if it was because of bad luck or because your mind was somewhere else most of the day. You shook your head, trying to get rid of the tiredness you already felt in your whole body and made your way towards Bennett. No matter what he needed help with you would be sure you could handle it. And in that moment, as the thought of how it wouldn’t be a big deal whatever Bennett had on his chest, you saw how the young adventure tripped over his own feet and fell face forwards into the dirt. ‘Ouch, that must’ve hurt’, you thought while running up to him. “Are you hurt? Here, let me help you up Bennett”, you asked while helping him get up from the ground. All you got as an answer from him was his usual laugh and smile. “Oh man, I really didn’t see that stone. Haha, thanks for the concern though!” You couldn’t help yourself and chuckled at the way he wiped off the dirt from his clothes. “So, what’s up? What do you want from me?.” “Yeah, right! I nearly forgot!”, he exclaimed and started fumbling in his bag. “Oh, got a present for me?”, you asked sheepishly. “Kinda, not really. Here!” Bennett held a letter in his hands, both bandaged again, and stretching it out to you. “A letter? For me?”, you took it in your hands. In a fine handwriting there was your name on it. It didn’t even took you a second for you to register who’s hand writing it was. What a surprise.

Before you could even start to ask Bennett how he got his hands on the letter he was already excitedly explaining it to you. “Today I had a commission on Dragonspine and to be honest, it didn’t really went that well until I ran into this one guy. I accidentally activated a few Ruin guards and well, even the most seasoned adventurer can’t fight more than one of these at a time and sadly the newest members of Benny’s adventure team had to go home again before we made it even to the mountain.”

The thought of Bennett nearly finding his end today on Dragonspine really… it really did not sit right with you. You made a mental note to ask him later who the new members were that ditched him. After you had your talk with them they wished they had stayed with Bennett on Dragonspine. “Well, in that moment when they approached me that one guy showed up and it only took him a few minutes to defeat them all. (Y/N) that was so cool! I tried to recruit him for my adventure team, but sadly he said he was already occupied with something else. Oh man, it would’ve been so cool to have him on my adventurer team, imagine with such an excellent fighter no one would be afraid of my bad luck to join my team.” While you enjoyed Bennett’s enthusiasm you had to interrupt him. “Wait, wait, Bennett. The person who gave you this letter is on Dragonspine?”

“Oh yeah! As I was saying I tried to recruit him for my team, but failed however we talked a bit and somehow he mentioned that he knew you! When I told him we were friends he asked me to give you this letter the next time I saw you.”

You felt how the excitement in you grew. He was on Dragonspine? He was so close to you again? Now you hardly could pay attention to what Bennett continued to say, all that was on your mind was the man, whom you saw the last time months ago in Liyue was so close again. “Bennett,” you interrupted him again. “Thank you so much for the letter, but I really need to get going. Thank you so much!”

And with that you changed your direction and made your way directly to Dragonspine. “Oh? Okay, bye (Y/N)!”, you heard Bennett call after you, but your mind was already occupied with opening that letter he gave you.

With shaking hands you read what stood on that thin paper in that neat and familiar handwriting:

“Hey, comrade! How have you been? You must have traveled far and wide since we last saw each other, right?

For me, I can only seek out some entertainment for myself. These past couple of days, I’ve used a work opportunity to explore Dragonspine and seek out some local specialties. I hope they will be of use to you.

The harsh cold of the snow-capped mountains is reminiscent to the scenery of my hometown…

Sigh, I’ve had many mundane days that makes me nostalgic of our time together. Whether it’s a fight or a challenge, I always feel that having you around is what makes life really interesting.

Haha, to be honest, I’ve been planning a special day to meet up with you, today could be that chance! If you have no special plans, how about you swing by my place?

I miss you, Tartaglia”

Quickly you put the letter in your bag with what accompanied it and now you were basically running towards Dragonspine. Right now you didn’t want to think about what kind of “work opportunity” there could be for the Harbringer on Dragonspine, all you could think about was seeing him again.

It has been months since you both parted ways in Liyue. You met him while being on a commission, funnily enough it was a bit similar how Bennett ran into him today. In one of Liyues ruins you looked for a book some historian in Liyue Harbour desperately tried to get their hands on. By the amount of Mora they were willing to pay it should’ve been obvious to you that it wasn’t a one-person mission… and still, you went alone into those ruins. You had no problem in destroying the first two ruin guards you ran into, but when three activated at the same time… If it weren’t for Tartaglia back then you would probably be dead. At first you were very thankful for his help, however when you found out he was also there for the book you needed your thankfulness quickly turned into anger. “Well, don’t you think I deserve a reward for helping you out, comrade?”, he teased you.

After that day you somehow always managed to run into him in Liyue Harbour or on your commissions. Back then you only knew him by his name used by the Fatui, Childe. Though it was well known in Liyue that he was one of the Harbringers, you somehow didn’t get that message after months of openly antagonising him. Only after Childe invited himself to your usual afternoon teas with your friend Zhongli you learned about his affiliations, but also more about him. If someone was hearing two people bickering, the people of Liyue knew it was you two. However none of it was malicious. Somehow it was the way you and Childe showed each other the appreciation you had for one another.

The first dislike you had for him grew quickly into a warm friendship. And that friendship grew in something more after awhile.

The first time you noticed a change in your feelings towards Childe was around the time of the Lantern rite festival. One night you were supposed to meet up with Zhongli - but Childe showed up in his instead. Apparently, so Childe, there was a lot to do at the Parlour because of a new promotion the director wanted to try and needed Zhonglis help with, so Zhongli asked Childe to accompany you to the Lantern rite.

Until this day you weren’t sure if this was just a set up by Zhongli, but even if it was, you wouldn’t hold it against him.

That night, when you and Childe walked around Liyue Harbour and watched the lanterns something fundamentally changed between the two of you. After that night you knew so much more about him and he about you. From that day on he wasn’t Childe anymore, he was Tartaglia. And both of you finally knew how the lips of the other felt on your own.

Now you were so close again to feel his warm arms around you, to listen to the sound of his heartbeat when you rested your head on his chest and to feel his lips on yours again. Oh how you missed him too.

Parting ways wasn’t easy. Both of you knew that it was best to not be so public with your relationship, for several reasons. On the one hand the Fatui weren’t what you would call popular - most people would use some stronger word to describe them. Being a Mondstadt citizen in Liyue openly dating a member of the Fatui, yeah no. On the other it was also not really well liked by the Tsaritsa for the members of the Fatui, no matter if you were just a low henchman or a Harbringer, to get involved in that way with outsides. With “not well liked” it was more implied that she forbade any romantic relationships outside and inside the Fatui ranks when they were on a mission. And Tartaglia was on a mission, a mission you knew nothing about, but to be honest? You preferred it that way. The longer you were able to ignore what it meant for him to be part of the Fatui, the better.

So because of all of this you both decided it would be best to keep the relationship in the shadows.

You both knew for sure was that you had to part ways one day, however none of you expected that you were the one going home before Tartaglia. There were a lot of nights of laying in bed with him, sharing stories from each of your homes. You told him about the Windblume Festival and Ludi Hapestrum, he told you about the festivals and traditions of Snezhnaya. When you shared stories of how your little siblings and you loved to collect as many dandelions as possible when you were children to pretend that it was snowing in the summer, he would counteract that story with the times he built entire fortresses with his siblings out of the snow in the winter. Only to then pull you closer and whisper in your ear that he’ll show you how to do that when you come with him back to Snezhnaya. You would always whisper back “okay, but first you’d need to glide with me off Startsnatch cliff”. The lovely nights you both spend together, telling each other of your homes and how much you want to show it to them were harshly interrupted by a letter you got from your family.

Life sometimes isn’t fair. It’s hard and it brutal and it’s short. So when you got the letter from your family informing you that the youngest member of the family had died, it broke you to pieces. They were only 14. That night Tartaglia held you in his arms, his hand on the back of your head, your head pressed into his chest and none of you could say a word. Only the sound of you crying piercing the quite room. Too heavy was the grief for anything to be said anyways.

The day immediately after you received that letter you and Tartaglia parted way, a quite and sad goodbye. None of you were actually sure when you would see each other again. With his hands against your tear stained face, the tears not only being shed out of grief but also out of the pain you had to leave your lover, he promised to write you as often as he could. You promised you would answer. And then you left, wishing he could come with you. Words you did not dare to speak, because you knew he couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to.

Now you found yourself close to one of the Fatui camps on Dragonspine. It was quite irresponsible to just run up the mountain, without any proper preparation or knowledge where Tartaglias camp actually was. You sighed. The excitement of seeing him after such a long time, after just exchanging letters got the best of you. Frustrated with yourself you made your way towards the campsite, hoping that this time the Fatui henchmen wouldn’t immediately start attacking every stranger they see. However when you arrived at the camp site you saw that no one was there. Too exhausted from the commissions earlier in the day and running up the Dragonspine you let yourself fall down in front of the extinguished campfire. Slowly but surly the cold weather of the Dragonspine was catching up to you.

Going through your bag you were looking for the stones Tartaglia send with his letter, hoping to ignite a fire with them. But before you could find them you heart footsteps in the snow behind you.

You hadn’t even had the chance to turn around before you felt two arms looping around your body, immediately warming you up.

“Hey comrade, did you miss me?”

You felt his head on your shoulders and you couldn’t help but to lean your own against his. One of your hands made its way up to his face, touching his cheek. “Yes,” you whispered.

Turning your head you now looked into his deep blue eyes, they were filled with all the love he had for you. You wished he could look at you like this forever… that you could look at him forever.

Tartaglia leaned a bit forward, placing a soft kiss on your lips and you couldn’t help it but smile.

He slowly pulled away, entangling himself from the hug and holding his hand out to you. “Come, let’s go inside the tent. You must be freezing out here”.

Inside the tent Tartaglia threw one blanket on another blanket over another over you, while lecturing you on what appropriate clothing was for a weather like this. You really didn’t give it any second thought when you made your way to Dragonspine, still wearing the same clothes you would wear on a sunny day in Mondstadt. But you also couldn’t hide it how much you loved to just hear his voice, even when he was nagging you. “It’s fine really, now stop trying to bury me under all the blankets and warm me up yourself”, you took his hand and pulled him towards you onto the plank. “You know some people would find what you said very suggestiv”, he joked, joining you under the immense amount of blankets. “Mmmmh,” was the only thing you replied, completely enamoured with him having you by your side again. For a few minutes the both of you just laid there, close to each other and feeling each other’s heartbeat.

None of you could actually believe your luck to be in the arms of the other again. How much you had missed this. Missed him.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, making you look into his eyes again. “How you’ve been doing?”.

It was such a soft question and you knew what he meant. You wanted to tell him how exhausting everything has been since your arrival, how your family was breaking apart at all ends, what a shit show it all was. In your letters you only alluded to how bad it actually is. How it was all just made worse by him not being at your side. Though you knew you would have to tell him all of this sooner or later, right now you didn’t want to talk about it. Not in detail. Not when today was actually his special day. “It’s manageable, but better now that I’m here with you”, you replied to his question. “You?”

“Better, now that I have you here”, was his reply. You both smiled at each other, a warm and tender smile. Slowly you adjusted your position so that you now were laying on top of him, your chin on his chest. “Hey, there is something I forgot to tell you.”

“Oh, and what is it?”

“Happy Birthday, Tartaglia”, and with that you kissed him.

[caitsyoi]

This is a continuation of my The Maps of Us posts. In this post, we look at the overall journey our characters took in both games!

Behind the cut to keep your dashboards clean.

Keep in mind, all of these should be taken with a grain of salt. We don't know the actual route for all these journeys, just the major stops the had along the way. The biggest reason I did this was to 1) see just how far each journey was, and 2) look for any interesting details that could be found from this view. That being said, I hope this is as interesting for you as it was for me.

The original long af journey. Boston > Lincoln > Pittsburgh > Jackson > Boulder > SLC > and back to Jackson. Almost 4,000 miles total, probably longer when you know they couldn't just take the direct route the whole time. We know it took them about a year, all together. In game we only see a small part of that year and their journey. I think they showed us the most important stuff, but I'm hoping the TV show will include any cut scenes from whatever went on between Pittsburgh and Jackson. Although, having driven across much of this, they probably just saw a fuckload of farmland.

Perhaps the next trip, chronologically, or maybe this occurred before TLOU 1. This is the route Dina and Talia might have travelled on the way to Jackson. Then again, her sister was super paranoid, so they might've made a big zigzag pattern all the way to Jackson. I wonder how they heard about Jackson, and when. I'm assuming she came from Albuquerque, but I can't remember if that is actually ever said (it might be a fandom invention that I have absorbed). God, I just want more Dina backstory. I don't care if it's in a DLC or in the show, or even in a comic or something. GIVE US MORE DINA!!!

Ellie and Dina's journey to Seattle. Jackson > Idaho Falls > Twin Falls > Baker City > Yakima > Seattle. This is probably the most accurate map of a journey in this game, and it's all based on Ellie's journal entries (I love her journal so much). Dina catching rabbits in Idaho Falls (Ellie loves her), jumped by hunters in Twin Falls, they saw wild horses in Baker City (she really loves Dina), then Yakima where they found the highway (I'm guessing 82, which leads to 90, which would've taken them close to Seattle).

I love how you can see them moving around the mountains by the cities they visited (although again, the path they took between cities was probably not so direct).

Another neat detail from this map, Ellie mentions wanting to go through Boise because it would save time. This is neat for 2 reasons: the first is that Dina mentioned coming across survivors from Boise in the patrol log (so she probably had a good reason for avoiding Boise), the second reason is that if you look closely at the map, it really would have been faster to go through Boise. From Twin Falls, they could've taken a main road (84) all the way to Baker City and it would cut through Boise. Avoiding this road was probably safer, but it did cost them some time. I wonder, if they had gotten there a couple days earlier, what would have happened?

Ellie's trip to Santa Barbara. The second longest trip Ellie takes, after the one she took with Joel in Part 1. Also one of the most detailed routes we have, so we know from her journal that she went from Jackson > Dixie National Forest > near Las Vegas > Palmdale > Santa Barbara. Jumped by hunters in Dixie National Forest, avoided Las Vegas since she could hear all the infected from some distance away, Palmdale where she hid in the basement and buried those children, and finally Santa Barbara.

The neat thing about this map is that you can see how she stayed in the greener areas near water for as long as she could. Then she said fuck it and went through the desert, probably trying to save time.

A bonus picture of Ellie and Joel's trip to the museum. I saw a reddit post today that said it was based off the one in Laramie, so here we go. Again, who knows if they took this exact route, but since there aren't a lot of cities in Wyoming, it's very possible that this is pretty close. It also makes sense for them to go SE, since I am pretty sure that is the direction of the power plant and the route to it must be pretty protected.

One last neat thing for this map, this is roughly a similar route they would've taken to Colorado from Jackson in the first game (if this is in any way accurate).

[kingreywrites]

words cannot say (what I want them to say)

Prompt: "You weren’t there...why weren’t you there? I needed you! I needed you! And you weren't there!" for @thefoghaslifted and anon

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 7670

Summary: "He's alive," she announces, yet there's no hope in her tone. "He… He won't be for long."

This picture is wrong, wrong, wrong, and Eugene wants to scream. Adira doesn't stutter. Adira doesn't talk in a soft, compassionate tone. Adira, the woman who chased down a myth for twenty-five years, does not lose her faith so easily.

And yet.

(Eugene receives a letter telling him his father is dying. He goes to the Dark Kingdom, and tries to find the right words.)

Note: this is a Death Fic so uhm yeah, Edmund does die here. Also this takes place five years post canon! I kinda mention it in the fic but just in case it isn’t too clear... Anyway it’s kinda sad, kinda weird, kinda long, but I hope someone enjoys this anyway gdhdhhd

Read on ao3

Eugene's first clue is one of his father's ravens, not Hamuel, flying towards him with a message attached to its claw. It should have been a relief - Hamuel is... bad, at this whole messenger thing, and despite begging Edmund to send a bird that wouldn't get lost in the boot of a random nesdernian merchant along the way, his father had never relented, giving his full trust to his companion of decades. So it should have been a good sign; a sign that the letter made its way to him in the quickest, smartest way possible. A sign that nothing got lost, and that maybe, Edmund was listening to him. 

Yet, a pit of worry forms in Eugene's stomach at the sight. What kind of message couldn't allow for the delay Hamuel would necessarily cause? 

His second clue is the small, neat writing that greets him on the letter. Adira's handwriting. She writes to them, sometimes, in the empty space of his father's letters; when Rapunzel asks her something in one of Eugene's own letters to his dad, or when Adira wants to make a remark on one of their adventures, always neat-picking their fights even from miles and miles away. She writes to them, so he knows her handwriting, knows that she never sent him her own letter unprompted before, knows that she wouldn't if she didn't have something to say. 

Adira knows how to get to the point. The short message feels like a punch in the gut, and Eugene leans on the railing of the balcony without meaning to, hands trembling around the paper he keeps reading again and again. 

"Eugene?" Rapunzel calls. He doesn't know how long he has been there. His eyes blur, looking at the letter again.

Eugene (not Fishskin, and it had been his last clue, because Adira always called him Fishskin, no matter the years and the distance, no matter if he complained or bragged about it, and the fact that she didn't here told him the worst thing about it all. She was trying to be gentle.)

You must come to the Dark Kingdom at once. King Edmund was wounded in an accident, and his condition is serious. Doctors fear he might not pull through.

Bring someone with you, and don't die on the road. (Gentle, too gentle, and if her words hadn't been enough, he would have known here that she did not think his dad would pull through either.)

"Eugene?" Rapunzel asks again, closer, but he doesn't turn to her.

We'll be waiting for you.

- Adira

A dark spot appears on the last sentence, staining it. He rubs at his eyes, heart beating sharply in his chest, and hands over the letter to Rapunzel without protests, his hands too weak to hold onto it anyway. He sees her face pale, sees the cold determination in her gaze, and he knows she'll agree before he even opens his mouth, but he asks anyway. 

"Can we go visit my dad?" 

She hugs him fiercely when he turns towards her, and he melts into it, still trembling. They begin packing right after. 

------

Lance goes with them, steering the hot air balloon effortlessly. Eugene had tried to protest, words stuck in his throat as he had looked at Kiera and Catalina helping Rapunzel pack, but Lance hadn't budged. 

("The girls will be okay," his best friend had said, voice achingly soft, like everyone who knew about what was happening. "You need me." Eugene had wanted to say no, but he couldn't, so Lance had come.) 

Quirin is chatting on the other side of the balloon with Rapunzel. Eugene feels bad that he hadn't even thought of warning him when he decided to go to the Dark Kingdom, but Rapunzel had sent for him, and he was already coming to the castle, having received a letter similar to Eugene's own. Varian's father is a tall and silent man. The complete opposite of his son, Eugene had thought when he first met him, until the day Rapunzel and Quirin had a four hour long vivid discussion about apples and how to cook them, and Eugene had seen in the older man's excitement the echoes of Varian's own when he talked alchemy. Today, he learns that father and son get worried the same, all wringing hands and tired smiles that don't reach their eyes. It's a knowledge Eugene could have done without. 

Doctors fear he might not pull through. It's almost as if Eugene can see the words dance in front of his eyes, for how much he had read them over and over again. The environment passes him quickly, cold wind blowing through his hair, and Eugene can't seem to focus on any of it. 

There's a forest under them. Eugene is pretty sure they went through it the first time they were on the road, making their way to the Dark Kingdom with difficulty. He wonders, somewhat distantly, if there's a chance he'll spot Cass down there, riding through the woods on Fidella's back, her cape floating behind her. The idea is nonsensical - she's all the way over to the west side of the continent, and he knows it, knows she couldn't be there.

(His last irrational fear, before leaving, is that Rapunzel will miss Cassandra's next letter. It always arrives at the end of the month, and even if they tried, they wouldn't be able to warn her in time that they were travelling, and she won't get Rapunzel’s answer when she expects it, and she'll worry, and-

"Eugene," Rapunzel had said, her forehead against his. It was night. The Princess and the Captain of the Guard couldn't leave the castle in a day, no matter how eager they were. "It's okay. There will be more letters."

Maybe there won't ever be more time with his dad.)

Eugene keeps watching the forest down there, until it's out of sight.

------

That night, Rapunzel huddles close to him, seeking warmth as they fly through the colder air, and Eugene doesn't have it in his heart to ask for space anymore. He had done so earlier because- because he couldn't talk about it, not yet, not when he didn't even know, not when Edmund could- could already be dead as he hoped he wasn't, could survive as he grieved him. Eugene had asked for space, because he wouldn't be able to refuse if Rapunzel asked, and he didn't want to talk.

When he wraps his arms around her, it's with the cold resignation that now was a good setting for a breakdown anyway. Maybe in the dark, she wouldn't see his tears.

"I love you," she murmurs against his skin.

"I love you too," he answers easily, bracing himself.

She falls silent. Hums a soft tune under her breath - a song he taught her way back then, when everything was still so new and she didn't even know any other song than the incantation and the ones she had tried writing in her spare time. It's a song from his childhood, silly and simple, and he chokes up for the umpteenth time today, his nerves frayed. Rapunzel holds him tighter.

It takes a while, but Eugene falls asleep.

------

He hears the surprised and worried exclamations of his name as he jumps down from the balloon, but Eugene doesn't turn back. They were close to the ground anyway, and he can't wait any longer. Adira is there. A somber expression on her face. Eugene can't breathe as he walks towards her.

"Is he-"

"He's alive," she announces, yet there's no hope in her tone. "He… He won't be for long."

This picture is wrong, wrong, wrong, and Eugene wants to scream. Adira doesn't stutter. Adira doesn't talk in a soft, compassionate tone. Adira, the woman who chased down a myth for twenty-five years, does not lose her faith so easily.

And yet.

There are a million questions at the tip of his tongue - what happened why didn't you protect him why does he have to die what's wrong with him why my dad why now why why why - but there's only one that's important.

"Where is he?"

A word from her, and he's off. He remembers very well how to find the throneroom, and his father's bedroom so close to it.

He's not surprised to find Hector sitting next to the door, his two bearcats growling at Eugene. Eugene is too tired to argue - he knows that Hector's loyalty is as strong as he is stubborn, and he knows the knight loathes to leave his dad's side when Edmund is in trouble. If Hector hears everything he says in this room, then so be it.

To his shock, Hector gets up. His eyes, always so wide and angry, are cast down.

"I'll give you two privacy," he says, his voice so alien Eugene barely recognises it. Even in the years they had known each other on somewhat friendly terms, Hector had always been loud, full of righteous anger over the smallest things. The man in front of him looks… defeated. He pets the head of one of his bearcats, still looking at Eugene. "If something happens, tell them to come fetch me."

Just like that, he leaves. The bearcats lay down on each side of the door. Eugene, hands trembling anew, finally turns the handle.

Edmund is in bed, pale skin flushed red. The air is heavy, reeks of medication, and his dad - his dad, so tall he easily towers over him, a mountain of a man who can easily defeat the strongest warriors - his dad looks small, under the covers.

Eugene is still stuck at the door, unable to move. In all this time since he got the letters, he hasn't thought once of what he would say, what he would do once he finally saw Edmund. He half-thought it would be too late, and he should be relieved that it's not but- he won't be for long, Adira had warned, and Eugene is helpless to do anything, he doesn't understand anything, Edmund was fine before and now-

There's a low sound in the room, of his dad struggling to breathe, and it's like a bolt of lightning went through Eugene, spurring him into motion. There's a chair on the left side of his father, and he sits down here heavily, eyes never leaving Edmund's face.

"Dad…" he whispers. "Dad, I…"

There are tears in his eyes again, and Eugene hates his own helplessness. His father is in pain, his father is dying, and he's just sitting here, unable to do anything, to fix anything. His hand seeks Edmund's, and Eugene gasps at how cold it feels, heart dropping in his throat when he raises the cover and sees purple fingers with greying fingertips.

High fever. Failing lungs. Cold extremities, likely due to low blood pressure. The terrible certainty in Adira and Hector's expressions that his father was going to die. Eugene is no doctor, but he has lived on the streets for a decade, and he knew the signs to look out for, knew what illnesses he should avoid at all costs, and treat immediately if he ever fell victim to them.

Sepsis.

His tears fall. Eugene, selfish as always, manages to say only one thing: "Please don't die."

Edmund doesn't answer.

------

After a while, Hector comes back to stand guard in front of the room. Eugene would thank him for the privacy, but he hasn't been able to say anything since that one whispered plea, the weight in his throat too overwhelming.

After a while, Rapunzel appears at his side. He doesn't notice, really - just, at one point, he raises his head and she's here, like she always is. She looks sad, too. He holds her hand. (He still can't take Edmund's without feeling sick. He can't give his own father comfort, because he's too scared of the cold and stiff fingers. What a son he makes.)

After a while, Lance is here too. His best friend of years, who has enough presence to make an empty theatre feel lively by being in it, is quiet as a mouse. Eugene wants to joke about that, before the mere idea catches up to him and his stomach twists terribly. How fucked up do you have to be to joke in front of your dying dad, he thinks. He can't avoid this, can't lighten the situation, but being a coward is ingrained in his bones at that point, and the fact that he could have- in front of-

"Hey Eugene," Lance says. His hand, big and warm, gently touches Eugene's, which is gripping his own hair tightly. He doesn't remember doing that. "Do you… Want tea?"

Eugene startles, not expecting this question. It takes him a moment before it registers, a moment before he tries to answer, only opens his mouth wordlessly, and closes it. Silently, he finally nods, heart speeding up for reasons he can't understand.

"Okay," Lance smiles. "Do you want to come make it with me?"

Eugene should say no. He should stay with his dad, who is at death's door and could die at any moment, his internal organs fighting a losing battle. Eugene should say no, he should talk and speak to his dad, speak to Rapunzel who he knows is worried, he should… He should be a good son, and say goodbye to his father, one last time.

His head is spinning. He opens his mouth, closes it without a sound, and nods again. He's not a good son.

Lance's hand on his shoulder guides him more than his feet do. The kitchen isn't far, and Lance busies himself with its sparse content, searching for a cup silently. Quickly enough, he's making tea, water boiling noisily in the kettle, breaking the oppressive silence of the castle. Eugene stands around, more and more aware that you don't need two people to make tea.

It feels like no time at all before Lance is pressing a warm cup in Eugene's hands, telling him to wait for it to steep. Lance keeps moving, making another cup. Eugene wants to ask who it's for, but can't bring himself to.

"Rapunzel and Qurin wanted tea too, remember?" Lance answers, at the question he can apparently read in Eugene's eyes. Eugene doesn't, in fact, remember; he's not even sure Quirin was in the room. "Adira said coffee, though. And Hector said he didn't want anything, but he strikes me as a coffee guy. I'll make myself tea, that way if I'm wrong, I can always switch them."

Just like that, Lance starts talking about anything and everything, and Eugene relaxes a fraction. He listens, and sips his tea slowly, the warmth soothing in throat. He thinks Lance put some honey in it. It's really good.

It feels like he's at home, and everything is okay, for a moment. Lance had become a cook after adopting the girls - he wasn't very good at listening to orders, so he had simply opened his own restaurant near the castle, soon becoming the most popular one in town. Of course, it helped that the princess herself visited it often, but Lance was genuinely amazing at what he did, and that's what kept the curious around.

For two guys who, fifteen years ago, thought their best chance at a future was to make a deal with the Baron, they were doing pretty good for themselves.

Eugene finishes his cup right as Lance finishes his preparations.

"Thanks," he croaks out shakily, earning a blinding smile from his best friend.

"You want another?"

Eugene hesitates, before nodding, making Lance chuckle. There's still boiled water in the kettle, so it won't take long.

"You know," Lance says, a certain carefulness in his voice, "it still happens to Catalina, sometimes. It's not like when she was a kid, but when she gets too anxious, her voice just… leaves her." Eugene feels himself flush, lowering his eyes. "Tea helps her. It doesn't give her her voice back if she's not ready, but it helps with her throat, when she feels like it's bothering her. I just thought…"

"It helped me too. Thank you," Eugene repeats. He wants to say that he's not like Catalina; that he's a grown man, who shouldn't have clammed up just because he felt bad, who should have been here for his father and everyone else, who should be there, right now, instead of drinking tea, but he bites his lips and holds it back. If he throws himself a pity party on top of it all, it'll take even longer.

"Eugene." Lance is in front of him, hands on his shoulder. Eugene can't do anything but look up, and sees in his best friend's eyes so much love and compassion that he wants to hide from it. "I know you. I don't know, exactly, what self-perceived failures you are torturing yourself with right now, but I know you're being too hard on yourself anyway. Your dad wouldn't want that."

Eugene breathes in sharply, tears burning in his eyes. He wants to get angry, or joke, or do anything to get out of this conversation, but he can't- he can't avoid this. The situation feels unreal, like he's going to wake up if he just concentrates enough, and he can't- he can't-

Lance pulls him to his chest and holds him tight. Eugene blinks, and suddenly he's crying, Lance the only thing holding him on his feet.

He shakes and he wonders how the shy kid he remembers became- Lance. Reliable, sensitive, funny Lance, who is a dad now and who can hold you together when you're falling apart.

Eugene remembers their first meeting, Lance crying in his new bed, freshly orphaned after the death of his parents. He remembers how quiet he had been for a while, and how he had stuck to him like a shadow after Eugene comforted him that first time, seemingly thinking him to be some sort of hero. Eugene, of course, had revelled in the attention, playing up his courage and his strengths, telling stories of his future adventures and of all the money he was going to have.

"How do you do that?" Lance had asked one day, after one of his stories. "You know, how do you… how do you not care about… your parents, and how they left? How do you stop caring?"

It had hurt, at the time. Lance's desperation (still grieving his family, still hurt, wanting to forget the pain without being able to) had flown right over his head, and all Eugene had heard was that his friend thought he didn't care, about anything. It was wrong, but that's what he had wanted, right?

So he had said: "Adventurers don't have the time to care about their family - they have the whole world to discover, after all."

It was a Flynnigan Rider quote. One of Flynnigan's enemies, sure, but Eugene thought it wasn't so stupid. He had wished he could be like that, like Flynnigan who didn't even have a family to care about, and could just do whatever he wanted.

But the truth he couldn't admit to Lance at the time was, Eugene cared. He cared and he cared and he cared, torturing himself with how much he did, crying himself to sleep with a practiced silence at the idea that no one in the world loved him. His own parents abandoned him as a baby, and he wondered what he could have done to them, wondered how he could be better if they came back. Eugene cared and he hated that he cared, hiding behind fantasies and made up names, desperate to escape his identity and his life and his skin. 

And when it hadn't been enough, he had tried to carve the kindness straight out of his heart, hurting everyone in the process. 

Even that hadn't been enough. Rapunzel had seen through him easily, finding him a worth no one would have even thought to look for. Gothel stabbed him, and all she managed to do was kill Flynn, because Eugene, who cried and loved and cared - Eugene had been there, like he hadn't allowed himself to be in a while. 

Maybe, if he was still Flynn, the thought of his dad dying wouldn't make him miserable. Maybe, if he was still Flynn, he wouldn't be crying on Lance's shirt, wanting for everything to stop. 

But if he was still Flynn, Lance wouldn't be there anyway. He would have lost his best friend after one betrayal too many, and never seen him again. He wouldn't love Rapunzel. He wouldn't love his friends, his family, his father. Probably wouldn't even know who Edmund was, or where he came from. He would be all alone. 

He doesn't want to be alone. He doesn't want the people he loves to leave. 

He doesn't want his dad to die. 

"Please don't leave me," he asks between his tears, voice quiet enough that he hopes Lance hasn't heard, but Lance holds him tighter and promises he won't. 

Eugene cries harder.

------

It's early in the morning. Eugene barely slept, kept awake by the idea of Edmund dying while he was resting. When the sun starts to poke through the sky, dim and feeble light reaching him, Eugene decides it's morning enough, and slips away to his father's room, careful not to wake Rapunzel. Hector is sleeping in front of the door, his bearcats piling up on him, but he opens an eye when Eugene arrives, and nods in his direction.

Edmund is still there, still alive. Quirin is here too.

"Couldn't sleep?" Eugene asks softly. It feels wrong to talk over someone unconscious, but… it feels wrong, too, to not acknowledge Quirin at all.

"I'm a farmer," Quirin says, "I wake up early more often than not." He doesn't return the question, but Eugene knows how awful he looks after a bad night, so Quirin is probably just trying to do the polite thing.

Eugene still has the chair closest to Edmund's hand. He also still can't take it, heart beating faster at the thought. His father's hand should be warm, agile as it handles a weapon, it should... it's his only hand left. It won't matter if he dies, but it's his only hand left, and Eugene feels ridiculous but he can't- he should ask Quirin to hold it, take his place since he couldn't give his father this one thing.

Edmund's breathing is louder today. He's struggling more. Eugene feels nauseous, unable to do anything, wishing he could have just slept and slept and slept so nothing would be happening.

"I met Edmund when I was ten," Quirin says out of the blue. Eugene raises his head, but Quirin isn't really looking at him. "I set him on fire, actually."

That gets a surprised snort out of Eugene, and a smile from Quirin, tired but genuine.

"Don't tell Varian, but I liked to experiment with all sorts of things at the time. It was supposed to be a self-destructive message, and, well, it was destructive alright."

"Why did you even give him a self-destructive message the day you met him?" Eugene asks.

"I was a friend of your mom," Quirin grins, a little self-conscious. "She was tired of Edmund being too shy to ask her on a date, so she asked me to deliver a message to ask him on a date. If he hadn't caught on fire, of course, I think they'd have both enjoyed it a lot."

Eugene smiles, and as the story progresses, he learns that Quirin gets embarrassed the same way Varian does, too. That's a knowledge he appreciates a lot more.

------

"It's all because he wanted to change," Adira says, cryptic as always.

The others left to have dinner. Eugene couldn't. Edmund's breathing is louder today, his fever higher, and he doesn't respond to pain stimuli. Eugene doesn't want to think about any of that, so he turns towards Adira, desperate for conversation.

"What do you mean?"

Her eyes are stuck looking at her king, pain and grief and anger in her expression. Adira doesn't usually allow herself to be read so easily, but she has been on edge the entire time. It takes some time, but Eugene understands that she's just as afraid as he is.

"The accident. Him getting wounded. It's all..." Adira swallows. Her eyes harden. "It's all because he wanted to move on. I wanted to move on." 

Eugene doesn't really understand what she's getting at. He's heard bits and pieces of what happened, mind so scrambled he had trouble making sense of it, but it was simple enough. They were doing renovations. Edmund got hurt - a stupid accident, as all accidents were, and then it only got... worse. An infection that didn't want to heal, and when they really started to worry, it was too late. Eugene wants to rage at the unfairness of it all, and maybe he will, later, but it simply makes him tired. 

Edmund shouldn't have to die like that after surviving decades of terrible loneliness. 

"It was an accident," he ends up saying, because he can see the tightness of Adira's jaw. 

She doesn't say anything to that. Long minutes pass, only rhythmed by Edmund's uneven breathing. 

"I've always hated traditions. Especially stupid ones. The first thing I did, after being accepted in the Brotherhood, was to ask for its name to be changed, because I am a woman." A sigh. Eugene doesn't dare interrupt. "I was asked to behave myself properly, and took to eating food as noisily as possible, daring anyone to come fight me if they were brave enough. Of course, no one did." She pauses. Looks at his dad again. "When Edmund decided to destroy the moonstone himself, I protested, but I didn't think it was such a bad idea. For a long time, I wondered if I could have saved his arm, could have saved our kingdom, if I actually tried to stop him. If I had listened to traditions more closely, because not all of them were built on false beliefs." 

Suddenly, Eugene gets it. The emotion in her voice, the lines around her eyes - a feeling so foreign in Adira that he hadn't been able to recognise it before. Guilt. And he knows that, for all that she's talking about the past, it's very much the present that is troubling her. 

"Maybe that's true," he shrugs, quiet. "But then again, you tend to be right most of the time. And my life is what it is because of what happened back then, so I'm pretty grateful it all went down like it did." 

That makes her chuckle, because what he says is definitely true. Adira's confidence is not unearned. But there's still something hanging in the air, and he waits to see if she's going to confide in him. He feels like he knows Adira as much as he doesn't - she's as straightforward as she's cryptic, and he thinks they're friends, in a way, but he's not one to push when someone has secrets they want to keep, and Adira isn't one for sharing. The silence between them is an understanding, and he's not sure how to navigate anything else. 

"This castle," she starts, hesitant and slow, "was built over the spreading black rocks. It's strong, but it won't hold forever, now that its core has disappeared. We weren't doing renovations as much as we were emptying it, because King Edmund decided it was time to move on from the past, and start to live somewhere livable. It was a tough choice for him, and I... heavily encouraged it." 

Bitterly, Eugene realises that after surviving so long in the claws of his past, his dad would still be taken by it. This castle, as much his home as it was his prison, won't let him escape it. Eugene wants to cry at that, wants to shake Edmund and ask him to get up and not let himself die for something so stupid, wants to shake Adira and tell her it was a good thing and it's not her fault it turned out so badly. Mostly, he wants to bury his head in his hands, scream and forget it all, because he knows his father only felt ready to leave behind his ancestors because Eugene always insisted that they did not define who they were. 

He thinks he should say something meaningful in answer. Something like, I forgive you Adira, but then again she does know that, and doesn't really need his forgiveness, because she didn't do anything wrong. She's not seeking that; she's frustrated, just as he is, and needs... companionship. Someone who understands. 

He's not good at coming up with life-changing advice anyway. 

"Stupid castle," he declares, voice unsteady. 

"Stupid castle," Adira echoes. 

That's enough, for now.

------

Eugene is alone with Edmund again. It's been four long days since he got here, and he knows… He knows it won't be much longer. Doctors, when they come, try to make the king comfortable - they don't try to save him.

Eugene is looking at the form of his dad's hand under the cover again. Edmund wouldn't even feel it if he touched it, but Eugene still can't shake off the guilt and the shame choking him. He shouldn't be disgusted by his dying father. He's not doing any of this right - he's not fighting to heal him, he's not loudly grieving, he's not holding onto hope, he's not talking to him, he's… He's not a character from one of his books. Standing vigil at someone's deathbed wasn't just a couple of lines in his backstory, and every single minute of it hurt in a way he shouldn't allow.

This isn't about him, and yet it's difficult to think like it's anything but. Edmund hasn't regained consciousness once. The fever and the infection are doing damage they can't even see, and the doctors suggested his mind might already be… gone.

"I don't want you to die," Eugene whispers, words like knives in his throat. "I don't want you to leave. We've only had five years together, and it's… It's too short, I want more."

I want, I want, I want - he's selfish, he knows it, and he can't bring himself to regret it, not when that's the only thing which makes sense. His dad is still young. They already lost so much time together, already had twenty-five years to catch up on, and it's over? One accident, and he's gone, Eugene an orphan all over again?

"You've still got too much to make up for to leave me like that," Eugene bits out, a familiar and safe anger drowning away the hopelessness.

It's easy, to blame someone who can't respond, to get angry at his dad instead of crying over him. Eugene had spent years being angry at everything, and mustering this resentment all over again takes no effort at all. He clenches his fists on his knees, tremors coursing through them, and the feeling grows like a storm, until he wants to hit something.

"You- You've been so busy, rebuilding this stupid country, and we've barely seen each other these last years! We kept saying later, later, we'll have time later, and look where that got us!"

Edmund sleeps. His closed eyes, his heavy breathing, it all becomes too much for Eugene, igniting a fire he doesn't control. He slaps his hands on his knees, hard, frustration making him shot up from his chair and pace, but it doesn't seem enough because- Edmund is dying, his stupid dad is dying because of a stupid accident and it's so terribly mundane, it makes Eugene want to bash his head on the wall. He grips his hair, tries to breathe -deep, even breaths that his father can't manage-, tries to keep his tears at bay even though his eyes burn.

"All my life, you weren't there for me!" he explodes again, "You weren’t there… Why weren’t you there? I needed you! I needed you! And you weren't there! You weren't-" His voice breaks this time, and he cuts himself off, immediately feeling ashamed for his outburst. He sits down again, like a puppet with its strings cut, and his hands shake even more than before.

He doesn't feel better. Edmund doesn't look better.

"I'm sorry," Eugene whispers. "I'm sorry, I- I…" I'm a terrible son, he can't say. I'm not doing this right, I'm not being fair to you, I'm terrified and I don't know what to do. I want to wake up tomorrow, and still have a dad, still have a chance to get to know you better, because five years isn't enough and I don't want to lose you. I'll miss you so much.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles finally, mind buzzing with all he wants to say, all he's not sure how to say. "I forgave you for all of that long ago, I- I shouldn't have screamed." Not that it matters - but it does, at the same time.

Since he first received Adira's letter, Eugene had wondered about having the right words. It should be meaningful, right? His last words to his dying father, they had to be important, they had to be something that would help Edmund, didn't they? Except Edmund is unconscious. Maybe already gone. And these words, these words he tortured himself over, maybe they weren't for Edmund's sake as much as they were for his. It made him feel worse, for some reason. Selfish, again.

Eugene presses the palm of his hand against his eyes, slowly feeling how his tears slip through anyway. He wishes Rapunzel was here, even if he's the one who asked for some time. She would know what to say. She would… she would help, because kindness and advice and everything, it came easier to her. Eugene is still… still learning, he thinks, still not caring enough in comparison. He's never caring enough. He's rude, and yells at dying people because he can't keep his emotions in check, and doesn't hold their hands because he's scared, and- and-

He's not good at this. He doesn't want to be.

"I never thought I'd have a dad," he chokes out. "Even now, I'm not sure I know how to be a son, after so long of not being one. But… But I'm glad we could learn together, these last few years. I'm glad you are my father." Despite the weirdness, and the awkwardness, and Dabney - Eugene doesn't say that, but it makes him chuckle tiredly.

Maybe it would hurt less, if Edmund had died before Eugene could meet him. It certainly felt different learning about his mom; painful, too, but not anything like the claw he could feel bury itself in his heart. It's so soon, too soon to lose his father again, because five years is nothing in the grand scheme of things and Eugene had always wanted more out of life, but… If he could do it all over again, he'd want things to be exactly the same. He'll never regret meeting Edmund.

"I love you, dad," Eugene says, crying as he looks at Edmund. It's just the truth, not some grand declaration, but it's enough all the same.

Oh so slowly, Eugene rests his hand on top of Edmund's own, the cover between them. He thinks, maybe, that Edmund is breathing easier.

------

In the next hour, the last king of the Dark Kingdom dies.

------

"Want a drink?" Hector grunts from where he's laying, vaguely shaking a bottle in the air.

It's not really a surprise to find him here. Eugene sits down next to him, and doesn't bother with a response, instead taking the bottle from the knight's grasp and drinking a little out of it. It's definitely not the best stuff but Eugene has drunk worse in his life, so he doesn't comment on it. He's not looking to get drunk anyway.

He doesn't really know what he's looking for. Air, mostly. Rapunzel doesn't want him packing, she thinks he should rest, but staying too long with his own thoughts as company quickly gets heavy. Eugene sighs, and lays down completely, looking at the stars shining above them - there are a lot more than what you can see from Corona. Maybe because there's less people, and less light to hide them away.

"I'm not gonna comfort you if you start crying," Hector interrupts gruffly, sounding sick at the mere idea. Eugene laughs, because there's perhaps no funnier scenario than him seeking out Hector for a hug. At best he'd get trampled by his rhino.

"Staying inside sucked," is all he answers, and Hector hums. He seems to understand that.

They stay like this for a long time. Just silence, sometimes broken by Hector drinking a little bit more. Eugene would worry, if he didn't already know that everyone in the Brotherhood has a stomach made of steel, and that Hector will need a lot more to really get drunk.

It's not much, but it's nice. At least Hector doesn't pity him. Eugene is grateful for the comfort he receives, but sometimes the attention feels like it hurts more than it helps, and he's definitely getting overwhelmed right now.

"Any plan on taking his succession?" Hector asks after a while. It's not a surprise either that he breaks the silence first - when he first met him properly, Eugene thought he was the surly and silent type, but Hector did like conversation. He was unpleasant most of the time, sure, but if he was thinking something, he tended to say it directly. (He wouldn't say it, but Eugene also thinks Hector is a bit lonely.)

"Nah. Not really my kingdom to manage, and I'm too pretty to be king," Eugene responds. He told his dad years ago that he would never be his successor, and though Edmund had a difficult time wrapping his head around it, he had accepted it.

"Probably would have quit if you did," Hector says pensively. Eugene feels ready to protest because it's one thing for him to not want it, and another to have someone hate the idea so much, but he stops himself in time to hear Hector murmur: "I couldn't call anyone else my king."

Ah. Loyalty, the one thing in Hector Eugene understands easily. He can't really imagine having his one purpose in life being ripped away from him, can't imagine how it feels to keep going after that.

Then again, Hector has more experience with this kind of situation than most. It's a sad fact in its own right.

"Guess you guys will finally have to change the name," Eugene muses quietly, knowing it's better to change the subject. They're not the right people to have a heart to heart. "Dark Kingdom wasn't super inspired to begin with. Though, I hope you don't go for something equally stupid, like Dark whatever-the-new-regime-is."

He expects a barb about his own ancestors being responsible for that, but Hector falls silent. He's thinking, Eugene gets after a while, and he doesn't like the weird gleam in the other man's eyes.

"Edmundland," Hector whispers, nearly reverently. Eugene can't contain an audible gag.

"You are not naming it that."

------

Two weeks have gone by since Edmund's funeral, and it still doesn't feel real. Back home in Corona, it's easy to forget - Eugene doesn't see his father often, and his routine has barely changed, so it's easy to think, for a moment, that Edmund is alive and happy in the Dark Kingdom.

The wave of his grief recedes, before crashing back violently. When Eugene remembers, it hurts all over again, like he's back at his father's side hearing his breathing quiet, until there's nothing left.

He keeps going. He cries, too, and then gets up and keeps going. Rapunzel and him left for a week and a half, and there's plenty of work to catch up on, even if everyone is determined to ask him if he doesn't want to rest instead. In truth, he doesn't really know - keeping busy helps, but there are moments when he wishes he could simply curl up in his bed for a century, and never talk to anyone again. His mood is unstable, but he tries not to take it on anyone, as hard as it can be.

He already yelled at Lance to leave him the fuck alone once, and despite his best friend assuring him that he understood, Eugene wants to go apologise again.

So today, when he woke up on edge and then nearly threatened to kill Pete for stumbling, Eugene was quick to decide that it was better if he took that rest, finally. That's why he's on his bed right now, leaning back with his feet still on the ground, tracing Rapunzel's mural with his eyes and trying hard to not think about anything. But then his eyes stray to the right, to the painting he knows represents him and his father hugging, and Eugene doesn't know whether to cry or to yell. He takes a pillow, puts it over his head, and does both.

He doesn't feel better. He feels ridiculous.

Grieving feels like it should be more. He shouldn't wake up in the morning like he usually does, he shouldn't take his coffee the same way, he shouldn't hide behind a pillow and he shouldn't avoid his work and he shouldn't… He should do something more, and he cannot name what that might be.

What he knows, though, is that he misses Edmund, and doesn't feel like he's ever going to be able to breathe like he did before.

So he stays in his bed, pillow pressed against his head. He doesn't move when he hears the door open. Doesn't move when he feels Rapunzel sit next to him, before laying down just like he is. He's crying again, and he hates it.

"I don't know what to do," he admits then, voice muffled and broken. Rapunzel touches his arm gently. "I feel so bad, and I don't- I don't feel like it's gonna get better."

"It will," she says, so certain that Eugene can't do anything but believe her. "It won't be like before, but it'll hurt less, one day."

He closes his eyes tightly, until they hurt. Crying gave him a headache, but it's practically a constant these days. He thinks about Rapunzel's words, and knows intimately what she's referencing - remembers more than well how she grieved Gothel, full of hurt and pain and anger at the fact she even did. He hadn't really understood at the time either. But Gothel had raised her for eighteen years; Rapunzel had loved her for all of them, and still loved this mother she knew never existed. So she had mourned her, she had hated her, and Eugene had tried his best to be there for her.

It's not the same, with his dad. Of course it wasn't, because for all of their history, Edmund had still loved him, more than Gothel had ever cared for Rapunzel. It's different, but Rapunzel understands, in a way, what it means to lose a parent. She understands his grief. He sees it in her eyes when he finally discards the pillow, and meets her gaze. His face is a mess, yet she smiles sadly and kisses his tears away, pulling a worn out smile out of him.

"Thanks Sunshine," he whispers, "I really hope so."

"I'll be there, no matter what," she assures, even if he never doubted it. "I… I also have a gift, for you," Rapunzel says, more unsure of herself this time.

He straightens up as she does, intrigued, and wanting to let her do what she thinks will help. He thinks she needs it just as much as he does, because she lost someone too - no one wants to say it, but Eugene knows he's not the only one grieving.

He doesn't know what to expect from the piece of paper she holds towards him. Slowly, she hands it to him, careful and worried, and he wants to reassure her immediately that it's okay but.

But.

There, under his fingers, is a painting. He sees himself, smiling, soft and beautiful in the way only Rapunzel paints him. On his left, his mother stands, a happier expression than the one on the only painting left of her on her face, her hand on Eugene's shoulder, looking so alive and present that tears spring up to his eyes. And then, on his right…

He realises, while he looks at his father's peaceful expression, that it's the first time in weeks he has thought of his dad as he was in life, instead of the dying man he had been at the end. His skin is pale, but healthily so, no traces of fever on his cheeks. His smile is wide like it often was when Eugene told a bad joke, and his eyes are aware and full of joy. He's touching Eugene's shoulder too, in the painting, and on his bed Eugene can almost feel it - that weight on him, neither stiff nor cold.

"I thought… I thought you'd like having a picture with all three of you," Rapunzel says, and he doesn't have to watch to know she's playing absently with her hair, nervous.

Eugene is careful not to crumble the picture like his heart is, putting it down as he desperately reaches for Rapunzel - and she's here, immediately, even if he's crying again and making a mess and holding her so tight he's afraid to hurt her.

"I love it," he says again and again, mixed with thank you and I love you and I'm sorry. She holds him and whispers that she loves him too, again and again.

Weeks will turn into months will turn into years. The picture will stay on his bedside table, always.

(Things do change, and because they change, they heal.)

[boxbusiness]

I am finally home so I can finally post the DiaBeel fic!

It’s corny for sure so mercy plz >>”

Story under the cut. Linky to the whole pic >>here<<

Made with Love

It was a pleasant day in Devildom. However, though the day was nice enough to go out and relax the Prince of Hell was trapped in his office filing paperwork. Finally getting frustrated with all the tasks on his desk, Diavolo let out an exasperated sigh and leaned back in his chair. He ran his hands through his maroon hair and stared up at the ceiling in sheer boredom. Right on cue, Diavolo’s faithful butler let himself into the office. 

“Excuse my intrusion, My Lord, but I couldn’t help but feel like you were in distress. Am I wrong?” Barbatos explained slyly smiling, holding his hand up to his chin like he normally does. Diavolo couldn’t help letting out a chuckle at his friend’s teasing. He shook his head.

“I’m fine, Barbatos. A little overwhelmed, but fine.” Diavolo lifted a stack and aligned them by patting one edge of the papers on the desk. He looked at the other mountains of paperwork and let out another sigh. Barbatos frowned. 

“If you are feeling overwhelmed then perhaps you should take a break, My Lord. That would be the obvious solution.” The demon butler suggested.

“I will, but a little later. If I don’t finish this now Lucifer will scold me, and Lucifer can be pretty scary when he is angry.” 

“I see, My Lord. Lucifer is supposed to come by later if I remember correctly. He would be very upset to come all this way and see the work is incomplete.” 

“Hahaha! That’s right, so I’ll take my break when Lucifer stops by. Until then it is back to work for me.” Diavolo declared. “When he does come by, bring him here and prepare some tea as well.”

“Understood, My Lord. I shall leave you to your tasks, but I shall also leave this with you.” Barbatos walked over to Diavolo who displayed a puzzled look on his face. “A courier came by to deliver this. It’s addressed to you, My Lord.” After giving a neatly wrapped box binded by a ribbon to Diavolo’s outstretched hand, Barbatos bowed and left the office. The young demon prince inspected the box, there was a note sticking out from the underside of the ribbon. It didn’t have a sender’s name on it. The only thing written was, Made with Love~ Enjoy! He removed the wrapping paper and it revealed the package to be a box of macarons. Diavolo chuckled softly and smiled.

“How sweet. I’ll save this for my break.”

A while later Diavolo sighed once more, but this time in relief. He finally completed his work and it was around the time Lucifer was planning to visit. Smiling, Diavolo organized his desk to be neat and tidy and placed the gift package of macarons on the coffee table in his office. As soon as he took a seat on the surrounding sofa there was a knock on the door. 

“Come in.” The prince expected to see Barbatos and Lucifer, but instead was greeted by Barbatos and someone else. “Oh? Beelzebub? What brings you here?” 

“It was explained to me that some of Lucifer’s brothers got into some trouble earlier today and he had to deal with them accordingly. Lucifer sent Beelzebub in his place.” Barbatos informed. He walked forward placing the tea set he was carrying on the coffee table. “Your tea as requested, My Lord. If you will excuse me…” Barbatos bowed and promptly left the room leaving Diavolo and Beel alone in the office.

“Um… Lucifer told me you would have files to give me.” Beel plainly stated breaking the silence. 

“Ah yes~ That is correct.” Diavolo craned his neck to look at the paperwork on his desk then back to Lucifer’s little brother. “Before I give you those… Would you care to sit and have some tea with me?” His offer caught Beel by surprise. 

“But isn’t that... A you and Lucifer  thing? I don’t know if I should…” Beel shyly protested grabbing his wrist.

“Haha~ Correct again, I suppose… But tea with me isn’t a privilege just for Lucifer. All his brothers are welcome company, so that includes you, Beelzebub.” Diavolo reassured, sensing the other’s nervousness.

“Um.. I’m still not sure…” 

“Perhaps I can sweeten the deal. If you stay for tea, I’ll share these with you.” Diavolo opened the box showcasing the colorful rows of macarons and on cue Beel’s stomach started growling.

“Maybe I can stay for a little while…” Beel stated. His eyes never left the box of goodies as he walked over to join Diavolo on the sofa. When he was handed the box, Beel began wolfing down the little treats. Diavolo smiled contently as he sipped some tea. He was glad he got the hungry demon to relax. Beel normally never acted like that in front of him, but he usually was among others, but being in his company one on one must have made Beelzebub tense. It worried Diavolo that people he wanted to be acquainted with were still intimidated by him. Respecting him as prince of Devildom was fine, but fearing him for being an all powerful demon was an image he wanted to leave behind. Maybe small talk could help the situation.  

“So Beel… What happened to your shirt?” Diavolo questioned taking another sip. Beel paused, then swallowed his current mouthful of macarons. He looked down, Beel was in his usual casual garb, but his jacket was closed. “I know you’re not wearing a shirt so tell me the story behind that.” 

“Oh. Well… I was working out, and I got pretty sweaty. I was going to change, but Lucifer caught wind of the trouble my other brothers were up to this morning and stopped everything in his tracks to punish them. He knew he’d be too busy dealing with them to come here, so he commanded me to go instead.” Beel started explaining. Diavolo let out his signature hardy laugh.

“So you took off your shirt and zipped up your jacket and hurried off here not to further anger Lucifer, Hmm?” Diavolo summed up. Beel nodded, his face looking a little flushed. “I’m sure if you stopped to change your shirt Lucifer wouldn’t have minded, but I understand not wanting to upset him more when he’s already in a mood.” Softly chuckling, Diavolo placed his teacup on the table. He glanced towards Beel and noticed his companion suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Beel...? Is something wrong?”

“I-I…” His speech was shaky and his words were cut by labored breaths. “I f-feel… N-Nngh so s-strange…” Beel was madly blushing, his hand clutching his chest, his legs were restless, twitching and rubbing against each other. He kept gasping for air, his eyes clenched closed, his body was trembling pink. “W-What… a-Ah is this… feeling?” Diavolo couldn’t help being taken aback at this sudden behavior, it made him blush a little too. The prince quickly deduced that the macarons had to be the cause of this and took one of the remaining to investigate. It looked and smelled normal, but when he took a bite it started to make sense.

“Hmm… Despite the small size it’s packed full of aphrodisiacs. These were literally made with love..” Diavolo commented to himself. He suddenly felt dizzy and he clutched his head. He could feel his cheeks begin to burn and his heart begin to race. “Ah-haha… Just one has me feeling breathless… Ah… I can’t imagine how you must feel.” He breathed. He looked over at Beel who was barely keeping it together. It didn’t take long before Diavolo’s judgement became clouded. “Beelzebub…” He scooted over to him, placing his hands on his jacket zipper.

“L-Lord Diavolo! Wah-Ah What are y-you doing?” Beel questioned with little resistance to the actions. Diavolo pulled the zipper down and he managed to slip the jacket off Beel’s shoulders before he started squirming. “D-Dia… A-ah-volo…?” 

“I-I just want to look, Beel… You said you were working out, yes? Well I just want to look… At all your hard work…” Diavolo feverishly admitted. Starting at Beel’s navel, he ran his fingertips up the curves of the demon’s abs. Diavolo could feel the heat radiating off his skin and Beel’s breath buckle when he reached his chest. “Wow-Wow… You’ve worked so hard… You deserve a reward!” Diavolo reached over with his other hand and picked up the lingering macaron. He held it to Beel’s lips which were pinched shut. “Aww~ Don’t be like that. Now say…” Diavolo cut his words off and his fingers curled around Beel’s left breast. He firmly grasped it.

“A-Ah!” Beel gasped when his chest got groped.

“Now tell me, Beel… Do you want me to give this to you?” The demon prince whispered into the hungry demon’s ear. He waved the macaron close to Beel’s mouth, but just enough out of reach. “Come on… Tell me what you want.” Diavolo teased.

“Ah-I… I want- Nngh!” Beel struggled to piece a sentence together. His mind was swimming with different emotions and feelings. “I want…” 

All of a sudden the door to the office slammed open with a frantic Lucifer rushing to get in. However, the first born paused at the doorway taking in the scene unfolding before him. Lucifer stared wide-eyed at Diavolo who returned his gaze as he was the only one of the two demons in the room to acknowledge the third party’s entrance. 

“...I WANT YOU TO GIVE IT TO ME, LORD DIAVOLO!!!” 

It was hours later in the Demon Prince’s castle. Beel was asleep in one of the guest rooms being tended to by Barbatos while Lucifer and Diavolo were in the very office where the incident just occurred. 

“I cannot believe this happened.” Lucifer grumbled leaning over the fireplace with anger and embarrassment swirling through his mind. That morning his brothers, with the exception of Beel, planned to play a prank on him. The idea was to send Diavolo a package of spiked macarons, so that when Lucifer came over they would finally get down to business. The plan went wrong when Lucifer caught them in the middle of their scheme, but couldn’t figure out what they were up to until it was too late. “They are all dead men…” He growled.

“Your brothers sure do come up with the wildest things.” Diavolo chuckled, shaking his head. After Lucifer showed up he asked Barbatos to brew an antidote. Diavolo and Beel were back to normal, however Beel needed to extend his rest considering he consumed a larger amount. 

“How can you laugh at this? It’s absolutely disgraceful! An utter outrage!” Lucifer whipped around to face the taller man.

“Well you did stop us before anything could happen and I trust you can deliver a just punishment, so in this case no harm no fowl.” He smirked and shrugged, deciding to be nonchalant about the whole situation. 

“Really…” Lucifer wasn’t happy with that answer.

“Actually… I do have one concern.” Diavolo admitted, breaking his calm demeanor with a distraught look. “I’m worried about Beel. My actions under the aphrodisiacs were… well… Not appropriate to say the least. He’s probably mad at me.” Concerned lined Diavolo’s brow and Lucifer sighed.

“Due to the circumstances, I doubt that. An honest apology and several boxes of donuts and I’m sure he’ll get over it.” Lucifer assured. 

“Boxes of donuts, hmm? It’s quite easy to earn his favor. Ha ha~ I’ll be sure to do that.” Diavolo’s voice trailed off as he looked down at the hand that grasped Beel’s chest. He was remembering the curves of the hungry demon’s body when the sound of a sharp exhale interrupted his train of thought. The prince looked up to see Lucifer averting his gaze with slightly pink cheeks. “Are… you mad at me?” 

“Mad at you? For what reason??” His cheeks immediately burned brighter pink.

“Well for getting handsy with your little brother instead of you.” Diavolo teased. 

“EXCUSE ME, WHAT?” 

“Haha! There’s that scary anger I’ve grown to fear.”

[loveissupernatural]

                                         To Love in a Foreign Land

                                            Draco Malfoy x reader                                 

Chapter One: The Letter

[ Read Part 2 here ] 

The day had finally come.

It came in the flurry of an owl’s wings, in the nervous vibration of your sweaty palms.

A delicious breakfast had just been served by your mother that sunny summer morning in suburban America, your fourth term at Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry only recently finished. Loud, impatient tapping on the kitchen window glass made you choke on your coffee.

“Mom! Ch-check if it’s from H-Hogwarts!” you managed to cough, pointing frantically at the window. Your mother bolted out of her chair at the kitchen table so you can recover.

She squealed for you, letting the gorgeous but exhausted-looking owl into your kitchen as quickly as she could. It landed in front of you on the table, holding out its leg with what could only be described as relief. Your shaking hands untied the cream-colored envelope from the owl’s ankle, and as soon as you did, it fluttered to the large cage in the corner of the room. Your silver-grey owl, Cinna, hooted indignantly at the unexpected visitor that was gulping from her water bowl.

“Now, Cinna, be nice. He’s had a long journey,” your mother said, wagging her finger. Cinna would have rolled her eyes if she could.

“Mom,” you squeaked, “this is it, this has to be it. I’m finally gonna know.”

You’d decided halfway through your fourth year at Ilvermorny that you wanted to take part in the International Wizarding Student Exchange Program, or I.W.S.E.P. It was a decision that you didn’t make lightly – you’d discussed it at length with your teachers and with your mom. You loved Ilvermorny with all of your heart and soul, after all, it was your home. But you also knew that the world was much bigger, that there was so much in the wizarding world that you hadn’t seen and hadn’t experienced. As a newly 15 year-old, you felt somehow ready for things to change.

Of course, you didn’t want too much change, which is why Hogwarts was at the top of your list. Ilvermorny was modeled after it, and you didn’t have to worry about a language barrier. Hogwarts contained four houses, just like your school, and was a large castle in the middle of the mountains, just like yours. You were ready to experience new things and new people, in a new (but somewhat similar) place. You had roots there.

The Headmistress of Ilvermorny, Celestia Pukwould, had one final meeting with all prospective exchange students before the end of term. The day exams ended, you and a small group of upcoming fifth years were invited to her large study. She pressed the importance of upholding your school’s good reputation as you traveled, to be a shining example of what it was to learn magic from America’s impressive magical education system. Only one of your peers was requesting Hogwarts as their first choice too, a quiet girl that you hadn’t spoken to much over the years named Eleanor.

After the other potential exchange students left her office, Headmistress Pukwould requested for you and Eleanor to stay behind for a bit.

“Ladies, I have sent an owl to Professor Dumbledore himself expressing my full confidence in you two,” she had said, standing from her ornate high-back chair that sat in front of her fireplace. She twirled her wand between her long fingers absentmindedly, fixing you and Eleanor with a kind yet serious stare. “You two are some of the brightest witches in your class. I told him so. I have known Albus Dumbledore for many years, and he is by far one of the most talented wizards alive today. You would be very lucky to learn magic at his school.”

You and Eleanor nodded profusely, eyes wide. While Headmistress Pukwould was a kind woman, she was also not to be trifled with, and her word backing your acceptance at Hogwarts held much weight.

“Don’t disappoint me, ladies,” she said, the smile fading from her face. She tapped her wand on her nails once, sighed, then turned back to the fireplace. “Have a wonderful summer. Owls containing your acceptance or rejection should arrive to your homes within the next few weeks.”  Her tone was final. You were dismissed.

You flashed back to your bright kitchen, took a deep breath and let it back out in a shaking sigh. Your fingers gently traced the refined emerald green writing. You flipped the envelope over and touched the blood-red wax seal, the crest of Hogwarts. Your hands paused.

“Mom, what if I don’t get in?” You’d spoken your greatest fear aloud.

She smiled at you, almost a little sadly, and came to rest a hand on your shoulder and a kiss on your head. “They’d be idiots not to accept you, Y/N.”

“What do you think Dad would say? If they said no?” you all but whispered, a familiar ache rising in the back of your throat. Your father had attended Hogwarts over two decades ago before he moved to America and met your No-Maj mother.

Your mother wrapped her arms around you from behind, pressing her cheek to yours and rocking you gently.

“He would think they’re idiots, too, honey,” she said, a grin in her voice. Your father loved his alma mater, so to imagine him saying anything negative about the school was enough to make you laugh. But you knew she was right, your father had been your biggest fan.

“I miss him,” you said quietly. Your thumb ran over the wax seal again.

“I know, baby. I do too,” she whispered, kissing your cheek. “But he’d be so proud of you, no matter what that letter says. Okay?”

You nodded. You’d lost your father two years ago, but the wound still felt fresh most days. You’d be lying if you said that going to Hogwarts wasn’t an attempt to feel him again, in some form or fashion.

“Here goes nothing,” you breathed, slipping your finger underneath the sturdy paper and ripping it away from the seal. Your heart pounded in your ears like a bass drum as you pulled out the parchment, catching a glimpse of the neat scroll in the same dark green ink. Your mother’s hands tightened on your shoulders.

Dear Miss Y/N Y/L/N,

           We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

           All students accepted to our institution through the I.W.S.E.P. (International Wizarding Student Exchange Program) will be required to travel via portkey on the evening of 29 July. Upon arrival to London, arrangements will be made for you to stay in the Leaky Cauldron before gathering your supplies on 30 July. A representative from the school will assist you in procuring the necessary books and equipment for term, beginning 1 September. You will be expected to arrive at King’s Cross Station, Platform 9 ¾, no later than 09:00 AM on 31 July. Bring all necessary luggage and equipment.

           You will find an enclosed list of all required literature and materials for Year Five.

           We will expect an owl containing your confirmation no later than 20 July. We are honored to invite you into our sacred halls of magical learning.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

 You lowered the letter, disbelief coursing through your veins. It was real, truly real. You were now officially a Hogwarts student.

After at least a solid 20 minutes of dancing around the kitchen with your mother, you scribbled a quick confirmation and laid it by the feet of the tired Hogwarts owl.

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to leave for another few days,” you said, answering the owl’s accusatory glare. He hooted ruefully and tucked his head underneath his large wing, ignoring Cinna’s still wary stare.

Your mother excused herself from the kitchen shortly after, attempting and failing to hide the proud tears in her eyes. You hugged the Hogwarts letter to your chest, breathing in the scent of the still stiff parchment. Slowly, you walked out to the empty living room and paced to the fireplace mantle that contained family portraits of all shapes and sizes, some moving in their frames and others standing still.

With tears tickling the corner of your eyes, you picked up your favorite picture of you and your dad. You were six years old, missing a tooth and laughing hysterically, while your father conjured glowing butterflies that danced around your head. The glow of his happy smile outshined those butterflies any day, you thought. You gently stroked his smiling face.

“Well, it’s official, Dad,” you whispered, a single tear sliding down your cheek. “I’m going to Hogwarts.”

                     ______________________________________

That summer passed more quickly than you would have ever expected. Your friends from Ilvermorny came to visit as often as possible, taking advantage of every moment they could grab with you before you left for an entire year. Many days were spent wandering nearby cities and towns, No-Maj and magical alike, with your school friends. You ate as many cliché American meals as you could and soaked up every drop of sunshine possible by the pool. You always looked better with a bit of a tan, and you doubted that you’d be getting much strong sun at Hogwarts.

“So, what House do you think you’ll be sorted into?” Eleanor asked you one afternoon. You’d invited her to stay a week with you and your mother in early July. You two would be the only Americans at Hogwarts in the upcoming year, and you both thought that building a friendship with one another would be nothing but beneficial. Being so far from home, you needed to have each other’s backs.

You were both sitting on the edge of the pool, drinking fresh lemonade and dangling your feet in the water. You took a long sip through your brightly colored straw.

“Good question,” you said, staring at the rippling blue water in thought. “I’ve heard rumors of what each house represents, but how true is it really? I mean, we know at Ilvermorny that more than one House can pick you, and that you can make the decision for yourself. Do you ever wonder if people pick the right one? Think it’s like that at Hogwarts?”

“I don’t know,” Eleanor said quietly. She seemed a little nervous at the thought. “What if we don’t get sorted at all? What if we’re too old?”

“I mean, surely that wouldn’t happen,” you tried to say confidently. “They wouldn’t subject us to public sorting if there was a chance of us getting rejected, right? Talk about embarrassing.”

“I’m sure you’ll get sorted,” she said with an admiring tone. “Everyone remembers what happened when you stepped up to the Knot on our first day.”

You remembered that day with a strange and heady combination of pride and trepidation. When you stepped up to the large Gordian Knot engraved into the shining marble floor of the circular sorting chamber, everything changed for you. For the first time in over a decade, all four large wooden carvings came to life, and the room went dead silent. You’d never felt so many eyes on you, boring into the back of your skull, wondering what made you so special and what House you would choose.

The gem set into the head of the Horned Serpent glowed, the Thunderbird beat its large wings, the Wampus roared and the Pukwudgie raised its arrow into the air. The carvings themselves seemed to stare a hole through you.

The four Ilvermorny Houses have been described as each representing a different part of the human being; Horned Serpent represents the mind and favors scholars; Wampus represents the body and favors warriors; Thunderbird represents the soul and favors adventurers; Pukwudgie represents the heart and favors healers.

You were overwhelmed in every sense of the word. At the small and awkward age of 11, you truly didn’t feel that well-rounded. You were certain that, somehow, these magical carvings had made a mistake.

“What made you choose Thunderbird, by the way?” Eleanor asked curiously, breaking you from your reverie.

“Honestly… I’m not totally sure,” you shrugged bashfully. Talking about this always made you uncomfortable. “Thunderbird is supposed to represent the soul, right? I guess I think that everything is rooted in the soul. We wouldn’t be human without them.”

Eleanor had been chosen by Horned Serpent, but nodded in agreement. “I guess that makes sense. I don’t know what I would have done if I were you.” She laughed a bit uneasily. “At least my choice was easy – I didn’t have one.”

In many ways, you found yourself wishing that only one carving had chosen you. Sure, it’s a bit less flattering, but much less stressful. The pressure of being that student, the once-in-a-decade student that was supposed to accomplish amazing things, was almost suffocating. As a child, you had a mountain of expectations piled on top of you from the moment those four carvings came to life. You couldn’t make a mistake.

In your second year, when your father died, so many of those expectations crushed you in a way that they never had before. His death weighed on you more than anything ever had, and the strength of his support was gone and left you breaking underneath the heavy cinderblocks of watchful eyes. Your grades suffered, and so did your relationships. You shut down.

Only when a year passed after your father’s death did you begin to find yourself again. With the help of your understanding teachers and a loving group of friends, you were able to establish a better academic standing within Ilvermorny. Not that anyone held your lapse against you – after all, you were a 12 year-old that had lost a parent. But you were still that kid, the one that all four Houses wanted, and you’d proven that you were far from perfect.

“What House do you want to be in at Hogwarts?” you asked Eleanor. She smiled, quiet in thought as she threw her brown hair into a messy ponytail.

“Really, I’d be happy with anything. But I’ve heard Ravenclaw is similar to Horned Serpent, academically focused and stuff.” She took a gulp of cold lemonade and wiped the sweat from her forehead. “What about you?”

“My dad was a Hufflepuff, so that would be nice I guess. I don’t know. Let’s just hope the Sorting Hat doesn’t explode,” you joked, setting aside your now empty glass. With that, you jumped into the chilly crystal water, letting it soothe your hot skin. Eleanor quickly followed.

You enjoyed the last inklings of summer vacation together before your new adventure began. You talked about missing friends and family, what Hogwarts would be like, whether or not you liked hot tea and what classes you would be taking. True to teen girl form, you were both excited to meet cute guys with foreign accents. And with a mix of thrill and nerves, you both realized that you two would be the foreign ones to them, and hoped that it would play in your favor.

“I wonder if British guys will think American girls are hot?” you asked her after the sun went down. You’d both climbed out of the pool at this point, your sun-kissed skin beginning to prune.

Eleanor laughed. “Geez, I hope so. Could you imagine getting a handsome British boyfriend? Talk about the adventure of a lifetime.”

You couldn’t deny that the thought of kissing a handsome boy with an attractive accent at the top of a castle turret excited you, but your mind always went back to connecting with the spirit of your father. Maybe you could feel closer to him there at Hogwarts, and would a boy distract you from getting that closure? You knew a boy would distract you from schoolwork, and you were determined to make such outstanding grades that Professor Dumbledore would have no choice but to write back to your Headmistress. After the academic crash and burn that was your second year, any and all glowing recommendations were not only welcome, but needed.

“It would be fun,” you giggled, wrapping yourself in your pool towel and squeezing the water out of your hair. “But wouldn’t it kinda suck when it’s all said and done? I mean, what if you got close to someone and then you have to leave to come back here?”

“I didn’t say we had to fall in love,” Eleanor shrugged. “I just want a hot piece of British ass.”

You busted out laughing. Eleanor always seemed so quiet at school, but once she got comfortable with you, she really came out of her shell.

“Come on, girls!” your mother called, sticking her head out of the back patio door. “Dinner is ready. I’ve got your salads on the table.”

You both trotted inside, whispering and giggling about the possibility of a grand foreign romance. After a pleasant dinner with your mother, you both went to bed, smelling of chlorine and sunlight.

Eleanor fell asleep before you did. You laid awake for a while, watching the shadows of swaying tree limbs dance across your ceiling. Your mind wandered back to the possibility of finding romance at Hogwarts. You doubted it would happen for you, especially since your priorities were elsewhere, but it wouldn’t be so bad to just dream about it, right?

You drifted into a deep sleep, flashes of colorful magic and the shadow of a boy dancing through your head.

[ Read Part 2 here ]

[rpd-rookie]

What Does The ‘S’ Stand For ? - Leon S. Kennedy x Reader

Summary: When you learn that Leon got the job you desperately wanted you decide to pay him a visit to congratulate him and finally put an end to the competition between the two of you in favour of some cooperation. Turns out, cooperation sometimes involve taking your clothes off.

Author’s Note: Some one-shot involving (pre) RE2 Remake Leon, a very sassy reader and some smut. I haven't written that genre in a while though. Hope I'm not too rusty. And by the way, if you notice some terrible grammatical mistakes please let me know (English is not my mother tongue). Anyway, I wish you'll like this story and as usual don't forget to like/reblog and tell me what you think about it.

Warning: SMUT and Language. You can also expect some humour and some fluff. 

Also available on AO3

Franklin D. Roosevelt once said, “Competition has been shown to be useful up to a certain point and no further, but cooperation, which is the thing we must strive for today, begins where competition leaves off.” Wise words. But clearly Roosevelt never had to compete with Kennedy, and by Kennedy you didn’t mean John F. Kennedy but another Kennedy, one with less charisma yet better hair (hell, got to render unto Caesar what’s Caesar’s), Leon S. Kennedy - ‘S’ probably standing for “sucker” or “saint” in your opinion. After all, the guy was such a goody two-shoes. Teacher’s favourite. Neat and tidy top student. Perfect arbiter of right and wrong. And certainly, the only guy in the academy who didn’t stick his cock in Barbara Johnson’s pussy. Weird since she also had a president’s name just like him. Could have been the perfect opportunity for a horizontal presidential debate.

If it wasn’t clear already, you didn’t like Kennedy very much. But it was not for the reasons mentioned above. No, you could tolerate the fact that he was the embodiment of virtue and morals. What you could not tolerate though, was that he was better than you at everything. At fundamentals, at crime prevention and analysis, at counterintelligence, at physical agility, at shooting, at… well, you get the point. It infuriated you. He infuriated you. You never had the chance to beat him. Never. He was always top of your class and you were always close second.           So of course, when you received the letter from the Raccoon City Police Department informing you that your application had been rejected and that the position had been given to someone else, you did the math.       Only Kennedy could have taken that job away from you. After all, you had heard him talking about Raccoon City at lunch break quite a few times in the past weeks and each time he had sounded so excited – well, as excited as cannibalistic murders can make you of course. Truth is, you had also shown interest in this city the moment its terrible crimes hit the first page of the newspapers alongside the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal, collecting every tiny article about it and telling your classmates what a thrilling experience it would be to work on that case. You had even imagined yourself wearing the blue uniform, RPD largely written on your chest, making a report about the rotting body of a camper found in the Arklay mountains.

You sighed, disappointment hitting you hard again. And with a hesitant hand, you knocked at the door in front of you somewhat ready to let go of the competition in favour of some cooperation. You barely waited a couple of seconds before Kennedy opened the door, a cordless telephone against his ear. He appeared genuinely surprised to see you there. “Call you back later, mom.” He said before hanging up the phone, still staring at you with astonished eyes. “Y/N.”   

“Telling your mommy about the amazing job you just got?” Your question had sounded more barbed and curter than indented. Bitterness probably. Leon sighed. He knew exactly what you meant. “Look, if it is about Raccoon City…” “Of course it is about Raccoon City. Why do you think I’m here? To discuss fashion?” You entered his bedsit without asking and looked around you. So well organized and tidy, so military. Pff. Where were the greasy pizza boxes, the nasty underwear on the floor and the bin filled with used tissues all the other guys usually had?      

You turned around to face him with a stone cold expression. “I’m guessing you knew I wanted that post.”           “Yeah but…” You cut him off. You couldn’t care less about the thing he wanted to say. “I don’t blame you. Had I been in your place I would have apply for it too. Damn, I even applied without being in your place, so … The point is, I wanted to congratulate you – even if it hurts me to do so – and tell you that I’m glad this competition between the two of us is finally coming to end.” Leon briefly chuckled and kept an amused smile on his face. This wasn’t the kind of words he had expected from you. “Well, thanks I guess.”       “You’re welcome” You dramatically put a hand over your heart “Gosh, it kills me to be so polite to you, Kennedy.” He retained a laugh and you approached him to slam a heavy blue binder against his - surprisingly strong - chest. Wow, muscles! “Take this.” You reluctantly said with a strangled voice as if you were a mother giving up her baby . “Take care of it. It’s the work of a lifetime … sort of.”

Leon furrowed his brows and opened the folder. Inside, there were all the articles you had collected about Raccoon City since the reveal of the incidents to the public eye plus some notes you had written during you personal late-night investigations. Leon skimmed through them. They were incredibly detailed and you could see how impressed he was. Damn, you wished you had your camera to immortalise this moment. “It won’t be of any use to me now. And it took me too much time to just throw it away so have it. Take it as parting gift.” “Wow, Y/N. I don’t know what to say.” He looked beyond happy. It made you smile. What the hell, Y/N?           “Thank you, maybe?” You swallowed you smile back before he could notice, choosing to replace what could have been something sweet and nice by sarcasm. “Yes, sure.” He grinned. “Thank you.” You nodded. “I don’t want you to have a heart attack so you’re not obliged to say ‘you’re welcome’.” He teased you and as much as you wanted to find the joke lame, you surprisingly found it rather funny.   “Good. Cause that would have been too much for my heart to take in a single day.” He smiled again and this time you couldn’t help but gaze. You were forced to acknowledge he was very cute, handsome even, certainly the kind of guy you would have willingly flirt with if it hadn’t been for the relentless competition between the two of you. “You know it’s nice to see you smile.” Your eyes slightly widened. You had been smiling the whole time? No! “That wasn’t a smile. That was a sneer.” You quickly replied, trying to prevent him from spotting the sudden panic in your eyes.   “Sure.” But yeah, that was definitely a smile and right now your cheeks were burning.

You cleared your throat and looked back upon his face, hoping yours had found back its usual seriousness and scorn. “Well, gotta go. Good riddance, Kennedy. Good luck and try not to screw up.” You proceeded to the door, glad this conversation was over, but Leon was not ready to let you leave just yet. “You know, for me, there was never a competition between us.” You stopped and turned around. “What?” You frowned. “Of course, there was a competition.” He shook his head. “Not for me.”   “Are you telling me that I have deprived myself of sleeping, fallen into coffee addiction and lost my entire social life for two years in the hope of finally beating you at a freaking test while you …” You could tell he was clearly trying not to laugh but his mocking grin was enough to make you blow a fuse. Well, a funny fuse … a funny desperate fuse “No! No!” You repeated, all irritated. “You’re kidding me!” He shrugged, playing all innocent. “Don’t fucking tell me you let me tilt at windmills!” He did. Bastard. Leon - Son of a bitch - Kennedy! That’s what the S stands for. You cursed in your head.           “I tried to tell you …” He started to explain to defend himself. “When?” You harrumphed, almost shouting at him. “Well, many times but …”           “Clearly not enough times.” Your sarcasm was back. “… each time you sent me packing” “I don’t do that.” You felt offended.         “I can’t barely make a full sentence with you!” You opened your mouth to retort but he stopped you by pointing a finger that undeniably meant ‘Careful what you’re going to say’. So you stood there, perfectly still, mouth opened, realising that he was probably right.             “You’re allowed to breath, you know.” He said as a response to your reaction but you didn’t know what to say anymore. Did you really spend all your time at the academy trying to win a non-existent competition? “Fuck.” You cursed, definitely dumbfounded.

Leon observed you, perplexed and wondering if you were going to stay rooted to the spot for the rest of the day. “Y/N” He waved in front of your face to pull you out from your thoughts but you barely noticed. “All that repressed sexual tension for nothing?” You asked yourself. Wait! Did you just say that out loud?           Panic-stricken, you looked up at Leon and judging by the way he was staring at you – all  ‘what the hell did she just say?’ – yep you did.       “You didn’t hear what I’ve just said.” You waved your hand past his face, like a Jedi would do in a Star Wars movie, knowing perfectly it wouldn’t work but hoping that ridicule would make the situation less awkward and give you a chance to run away from his room. It was a failure. “Yes, I did.”

And just like that, Leon Saint Sucker Son of a Bitch – whatever the S stood for - Kennedy caught your face in his hands and kissed you with a passion that made you gasp against him. You tried to resist for a second but then you decided to let go. After all, you had nothing to lose. The study years could be considered over and soon Leon would be in Raccoon City analysing amazing crimes while you would be God-knows-where writing parking tickets. You would never see each other again.     “Tell that to anyone, Kennedy and I’ll kick your gorgeous butt from here to Raccoon City.” You threatened, close to his mouth. “I won’t. Scout’s honour.” Leon Scout Kennedy? You shook your head (Stop being silly, Y/N!) before pushing Leon on the convertible sofa behind him.  

You straddled him without waiting, definitely willing to let your sudden eagerness and your repressed desire for him get the better of you. You met his lips in a new heated kiss, your body pressed against his, craving for lustful friction. And by the way Leon was holding you tight you could tell you weren’t the only one.             His tongue asked permission to enter your mouth and you happily granted it. Who would have thought that Leon Saint Kennedy was such a skilled kisser? Couldn’t he suck for once? Oh yeah, he could suck at your neck apparently. Damn.   A moan escaped your throat and you felt Leon smirk against your skin. “You like that?” He asked, proud of himself. You instinctively arched your neck asking for more, your hands weaving into his soft hair. “It’s not that bad.” You acknowledged and he suddenly bit you in the nape of your neck. “What the fuck?” You shouted, surprised. Leon laughed and you caught his face to kiss him and bite his lips in retaliation. But judging by the kinky smile on his angelic face, he didn’t seem to mind.             “You’re incorrigible.” You humoured. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry.” He pecked your lips again and again and slowly began leaving a trail of light kissed down to your neck. “You’d better be. Aren’t you tired of making my life a misery?” You pretended to sulk as he kept on pressing his soft lips on your burning skin. You grabbed his chin, putting you thumb in his dimple and stared at him. How ridiculously hot he was right now with that arousal tinting his beautiful blue eyes and this dishevelled hair.  

“What do you have in mind, Y/N?” Rhetorical question. He knew exactly what you had in mind. Hell, it was basically the same thing he had in his.     “Stop playing coy and take your clothes off.” You whispered close to his face, your hot breath against his mouth, before pulling his bottom lip between your teeth “What about your silly competition?” He murmured back, his hands slowly falling along your sides.   “I’m all in for cooperation right now. So are you gonna give me a hand …” You started unbuckling his belt. “…or do I need to do everything by myself?” His eyes fixed upon yours mischievous ones, gazing at you with awe. You could tell he was completely at your mercy. “I’ll give you more than a hand.” You smirked and allowed your hands to unbutton his jeans. “I thought so.” He lifted his rear and you pulled down his jeans along with his boxers, biting your lips at the view of his beautiful cock. Jesus Christ Kennedy, Mother Nature certainly had been kind to you.

You stood up to undress yourself as well, dropping all your clothes to the floor, your eyes watching at Leon’s hastening hands fighting desperately with the buttons of his shirt. Clearly, you weren’t the only one that was impatient in this room, or horny.   You let him finish before taking your place back on his laps. His hard sex against your body, you slightly shivered, impatience eating you from within. “You’re gorgeous.” He said as he tucked few strands of your hair behind your ear. You couldn’t help but blush, not used to such compliments, and, as a consequence, in order to erase all sense of discomfort in you (if you could call it like that), you decided to focus your attention on his cock.   You brushed his length with your fingertips, admiring it with envy and lust, excited to do more with it. It made Leon hiss and you looked up at him. His eyes were pleading you. Without looking away from the blueness of his look, you caught his penis in your hand and started pumping it gently. Leon’s eyelids flickered; his head hit the back of the sofa and his mouth opened slightly. He seemed thankful, relieved even. You continued your gesture, watching him melting underneath you, listening to his now ragged breath with delight. God, that was sexy. He was sexy. Leon Sexy Kennedy. Suited him.

You bit your lips and decided to venture in between his legs, kneeling onto the floor. “What are you …” Leon complained when he suddenly stopped feeling you on top of him. You cut him short by guiding his cock to your mouth to softly kiss the pre cum-covered tip “Holy...” The rest of the sentence got stuck in his throat and turned into a growl as you eagerly sucked the head of his cock like a Popsicle. You smiled and licked his length, staring at how ecstatic he looked from this angle. “You like that?” You winked as you quoted him and he laughed. “Women.”   You engulfed his cock deep in your mouth and started bobbing your head. A new sigh of pleasure escaped his mouth and you felt him instantly relax on the couch. “God, you’re amazing.” You liked the compliment and to show your appreciation you decided to massage his balls as you kept on sucking him. You received a lustful grunt in response and soon Leon’s hand grabbed your hair to give you a quicker pace, almost making you gag on him. “Oh, sorry.“ What a gentleman! “That’s okay.” You smiled in a very naughty way. “I like it.” He chortled and you took back his dick in your mouth, welcoming it deeper to show him you didn’t mind some roughness. “You know, if you keep doing this I’m soon going to cum in your mouth.”             You stopped, licked your lips and crawled back onto his lap. “That would be a shame.” You joked sarcastically, hands back in his hair “Got a condom?”

The way you pronounced the words, all smiley and adorable, made him laugh again. He pushed you softly to open the drawer of his nightstand and find your one-way ticket for cloud nine. “There!” He announced excited as he showed you the contraceptive. “But first …” He suddenly grabbed your ankles to pull you towards him, making you slightly yelp in the process. “There’s something I got to do”   He lay down on the couch, spread your legs and immediately nestled his head right in between your thighs, making you instantly shiver. So, that’s what he got to do.   You sighed when you felt his breath against you swollen clit but it was only when his tongue met your pink flesh that you realised how aroused you truly were. You were so wet.           “Fuck, am I the one to blame for such a mess?” He joked but his mouth and tongue felt so good in between your thighs that you could only just moan and arch your back, begging for proper sucking and licking. He didn’t make you wait and gave you what you wanted as he started fondling your clit with his tongue. “Leon” That was the first time you where saying his first name and you got to admit, you liked the sound of it. “Yes, sweetheart?”   “Keep going, please.” You begged and he sucked on your bud, gazing at you melting under his touch as he did. You grasped his hair when he finally let a finger enter your core. Fuck, he was good. You moved your hips instinctively against him and he added a new finger. It sank into you as easily as the first one and you cried out, finding it impossible to be discreet anymore. “Fuck, Leon. I want you. I want you now.” You begged.   “Wait a second.” He asked, definitely loving your taste too much for him to stop just now. He pumped his fingers in your pussy, licking your juices greedily and you clenched your thighs around his head, feeling the imminence of your orgasm slowly yet surely approaching. “Now, Leon. Now! Please”

Leon obeyed this time and he quickly sat up and grabbed the condom he had left on the pillow next to him. He put the red wrapper between his teeth and tore it open. Then he rolled the condom down his length with both his hands. You watched him all the time, your fingers massaging your clit, finding him terribly arousing at this very moment.

Once ready, Leon bent over you to kiss you again and he tapped his hard cock on your hand to ask access to your humid entrance. You didn’t object of course and even spread your legs wider. Soon enough, you felt him slide in between your wet lips and then finally push slowly yet exquisitely inside of you. You closed your eyes as he did and drew a sharp breath once you felt him fully inside. You didn’t need time to adjust to him as if your body was meant for him. Guess Leon felt it too as he immediately took a quick pace and began pounding you. You let your hands wander on his smooth chest from his strong pectorals down to his divine abs and the chiselled V below his navel, finding him simply gorgeous. Then you grasped his hips, and nudge his rear with your ankles, pressing his pelvis closer to you to take him deeper, and started moaning his name again. His hands caught your bouncing breasts to play with your nipples, and you rapidly felt the strong wave of pleasure back in your core, ready to drown you. “Fuck, Leon!” His mouth met one of your teats and sucked on it with ardour. That was too much to handle. “I think I’m gonna cum.” You cried out.         “Yeah?” You nodded, letting a tear of pleasure escape your eyes. “Cum for me then.” He didn’t have to say it twice and few seconds later, you dug your nails in his hipbones and screamed loudly as you clenched around his cock, finally coming undone under his thrusts.

Stunned, breathless and at the same time a bit embarrassed that you had already reached your orgasm, you let Leon kiss you soft lips with a smile on his face. “See, you reached the finishing line before me.” He humoured.           “Fuck off.” You whispered, amused yet completely exhausted. He chuckled and pressed his lips against yours one more time before gently pushing you flat on your stomach. “I’m not done with you yet.” He whispered in your ear.  

You moaned loudly when he thrust back into your wet core, pinning you down on the mattress that you ultimately grabbed tightly in order to stay in place. He started pounding you again, holding you by the hips, taking delight in watching your sweet butt bouncing against him as he was burying himself deeper than he had ever done before. “Jesus, Y/N!” He growled before spanking you.         You gasped, astonished but in a good way. You had never thought he was that kind of guy. “Really, Kennedy? Spanking? That’s what the ‘S’ in your name stands for?” He laughed, still fucking you from behind. “I thought you would like it.” “Oh but I do. I just never thought it was your thing.”         “You should stop taking me for a saint, Y/N.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead, brushing the strand of hair covering his right eye away and focused again on his movements. “It’s not my fault. It’s your baby face.” You confessed in between two moans. He brutally stopped and you wondered for a second if what you had just said had actually vexed him.       “My baby face? Really?” He repeated in your ear with a smirk as he grabbed you by the hair. “Who’s been crying out my name the whole time?” Holy shit. You instinctively braced yourself and when he resumed his hammering you knew it was a smart decision. Leon started growling even more loudly as he slowed yet deepened his movements inside of you, his hand in your hair, using your body as leverage. He was almost aggressive but you moaned nevertheless, out of breath, feeling a new orgasm building inside of you. Really? You clenched around him, trying to hold your orgasm a bit longer, unwilling to give him the satisfaction to cum around him again.

When Leon’s hard pounding started to get sloppy you realised he was really close to his release. “Jesus, I’m almost there.” He admitted.         You don’t know how you found the strength to push him on his back but you did. Sitting on top of him, you removed the condom, threw it carelessly onto the floor and started to jerk him off. “I want you to cum on me.” You confessed. A guttural moan vibrated in his throat and he let himself sprawl on the mattress, leaving you in complete charge of his pleasure. You grinded against his cock as your hand kept on firmly going up and down his length. It drove Leon crazy and you soon felt him throbbing in your grip. His breath became even more ragged and jerky and small spasms took control of his body. You angled his cock towards you and soon, a hot load of thick cum spurted on your stomach and breasts as Leon cursed and grunted between his gritted teeth. “Fuck, Y/N!”

You smiled and let go of his member, proud and satisfied of your work, looking at poor panting Leon who had a beautiful yet exhausted smile on his face. “You killed me, woman.” He joked and you briefly laughed. Then, you wiped his cum off your body with your fingers and brought them to your mouth, sucking them eagerly and swallowing the white seed looking right in Leon’s eyes. You had the feeling he would find it very hot. “Jesus Christ” Bull’s eye!

He circled you with his strong arms and pulled you against his chest. His heart was beating wildly and you allowed yourself to huddle a bit more against him to enjoy the melody. Post-coital cuddling session? Not sure that was a good idea but you decided to go for it and so did Leon as he chose to burry his nose in your hair and kiss the top of your head.

“Scott” He whispered sleepily. You looked up, wondering what he meant. “That’s what the ‘S’ stands for. Leon Scott Kennedy.”

Scott? You repeated in your head with a soft smile. Oh well, that didn’t sound so bad even though, right now, you preferred Leon ‘Stay’ Kennedy.

[bearbaitmegs]

I know I don’t have a lot of active followers here, but I’ve been going though some major changes in my life recently (both good and/or disorienting), and one of the things I am aiming to achieve with that is to reestablish myself online in some small way. Just casually, socially. I used to enjoy interacting and making friends online and some of my oldest friends remain people that I met through the web.

I hope these sporadic personal posts don’t bother you.

I think part of these changes that I’m aspiring to involve getting into the habit of simply posting more. I honestly am unsure of where to migrate to online outside of Tumblr. I’ve ditched Facebook except to check on businesses I’m planning on visiting and occasionally to sell something. I’m only on Snapchat and Instagram to follow one person. I haven’t logged into DeviantArt in almost 10 years. Yahoo 360 is long gone. Adjusting to Discord has been a slow and lurking process because it reminds me of some particularly haunting memories and it lacks most topics I’d be interested in (publicly, at least). Twitter never fit right. I refuse to engage with people on Ao3 or ffn because I’m very hesitant to engage with people who has the same media interests as I do because I’ve had far too much fandom-related trauma and drama and I still have trouble forming friend groups despite 9 years of distance

My brother has an undiagnosed and untreated personality disorder and it has often felt like his drama has been my defining feature for almost 2 years. I have gotten tired of carrying his monkey into all of my relationships and conversations, especially when trying to make new ones. I wish I had custody of my nephew because he and his ex are both sucky and neglectful, but all I can do is wait until the kid turns 18 or asks about emancipation. My brother deliberately seeks out relationships that renew and reinforce his past traumas in order to legitimize his unwillingness to move on and I hold him at least partially responsible for our parents’ decline in emotional, financial, and physical health. I recently opted to go for No Contact/Very Low Contact with him and it’s been freeing and refreshing and I feel immensely happier and more motivated. 

I frequently feel like I don’t have anything worth saying or cannot really think of anything to say. It’s a work in progress. I have always carried a sense of awkwardness and that continues to persist into my 30s, despite the fact that I generally consider myself a confident person. I’ve been in a romantic relationship for 5 years and it fulfills 95% of my social and emotional needs, which... I think has led to leaving many of my other relationships to pasture.

Instinctively, I want to reach out and rectify all of these relationships all at once. Of course, it doesn’t work that way, and in trying to pace myself I find I often procrastinate. I set myself a goal of reaching out to a friend per week, but it’s more like one every two weeks. I know some of us will pick up where we left off like we’ve never been apart. Some of my friends will have moved on and our re-connection will separate again because we’re just different now and I’m honestly not bothered by that. It’s normal. I just hesitate because I don’t know where to start even though the script should be so easy. I feel annoying and needy. “Hey, I hope you’re well! I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. I was thinking of you today every day.” Ugh.

I’m pretty financially, mentally, and physically stable and have been for a while. I like my job and I’m paid very well! I like me! I like my hobbies and my apartment! I’ve worked very hard to get here and there’s really only a few key things I want to improve upon.

But somehow I feel like I’m rediscovering myself again. Like I was shut out of something and didn’t even realize there was a door. I’ve missed something. I’m naturally comfortable alone and tend to be willfully obtuse about things that don’t involve me only to get startled by them later.

I moved back to my hometown 2 years ago in order to introduce my partner to my family and be around for some major family events. It was supposed to be a 4 month summer visit. The family drama just never stopped and I’m just...still here. I can’t wait to leave, but I also don’t resent my hometown as much as I did when I left. It’s changing immensely, but so am I. I definitely won’t be able to afford to stay.

I had a patio garden over the summer and, while we hardly got our money’s worth out of it, it was pretty and tasty and fulfilling. A few of the plants are overwintering with us.

I still haven’t lived somewhere that allows me a pet, but I keep saving stray cats. 

I have way more fabric than I know what to do with from old clothes and dead ideas, but I finally tuned up my sewing machine and bought a set of sewing machine feet and I have lots of plans and ideas that I just need to sit down and actually execute. Especially embroidery.

I finally spent the damn $70 on an old school drawing tablet and took the time to download some free art programs. A modern tablet is still too much to budget for and a mouse and MS Paint is not enough. I do not know why it took me 10 freaking years when I’ve spent far more money on far less desirable luxuries.

I am hoping to find a decent enough mountain bike at a manageable price to do a long-distance cycling trip next year. If I don’t, I’ll divert to hiking a long-distance trail. I’ve never stopped craving spending weeks and weeks out in the woods with an overstuffed backpack since my first trek in 2016. I’m willing to go out of my way and budget hard to make it a reality on an annual basis.

I’m slowly picking away at my original story, JatGSL, a 10+ year Work In Progress, and I finally have a setting and characters that I feel good about and have a lot of fun imagining. I’m afraid to say much about it. It has dying androids and mushrooms and mythology and domesticated seals and braille and it takes place on a melted Antarctica. But my writing is a muscle long neglected and I don’t know if I’ll ever really get it back.

I sometimes think about moving some of my old fanfics over to Ao3 so they won’t be lost, but my old penname carries weight I’d rather not pick up and I don’t want to add anything else to JKR’s legacy and some of the things I wrote when I was 17-22 have aged pretty poorly. So, I hesitate and debate and do nothing.

I keep having simple, but neat ideas that nobody out in the market seems to be doing/making, but I lack the connections and knowledge to do anything with them.

My romantic partner is an amazingly perfect fit. Absolutely well-fitting, in-sync, mind-blowingly complementary in every way. I increasingly worry it might not last because my partner has 1 (ONE) key issue that I just can’t live with long term and if they can’t figure out a healthy way to cope I don’t know if I can go another 5 years dealing with it. I grew up with it. I won’t live with it.

It often feels odd to talk about myself (even here. even now) because I feel so much happier than I seem to be describing myself.

[ikariagni]

It’s when we start to fear the day-to-day things induced in us which haunt us for the longest.

End of Cycle

“Sir, that was the final minute of the cycle & I am afraid time’s up”. “Yes, I understand, send them in”. I get up from my chair as gently brush the old man’s hand as in the background DEBUSSY - Suite bergamasque, L. 75: No. 3, Clair de Lune plays to calm the old man before the cycle ends for him. I wave him goodbye as I leave the room. I nod to the team standing outside gesturing to go inside & finish the job. I exit the beautiful home the old man used to own. Oak made & well furnished with a beautiful garden as well as a private part of the lake near the home. Gorgeous trees surrounding the drive through. Good man as well, lived a very honest & rich life but the cycle needed to be ended. I personally would have liked to see him for another quarter but the thing about doing jobs is you may have specialisation in a sector & perhaps you are one of the best in that role still at the end you only do what people above say to you. It’s true at every level of the corporate hierarchy, not just the lower levels. The executives do what the CEO or COO tell them to, CEO or COO do what the board tells them to & the board do what the shareholders tell them to, shareholders do what the market tells them to & on and on this ferris wheel spins. This is my job to connect with these people who potentially are at the end of their cycles, make necessary reports, assess if they are indeed at the end of their cycle or the system got it wrong which is often not the case, the system always gets it right, at least that’s what Dr. Howard tells us. Anyways, I need to end the cycle in my file as well so that I get assigned my next person. In the file, at the last page of my assessment I, as the Field Analyst, sign at the bottom & put a stamp over my signature marked “Cycle Ended”. That’s it, now I go back to Headquarters & submit this file and get assigned a new one, if one is available or else I get the rest of the day off.

I take a deep breath outside as the wind rustles the leaves of the small plants & the massive trees around the house. Very refreshing, I must say out here with the cold breeze from the lake as well. As I relaxed for a moment out came the team & as soon as they came out they pressed the button on their little pads. And this is the worst part of it all. I hope I am never at the end of my cycle.

DAY ONE

“Hello, how may I help you?” “Sir, I am here to help you” “Okay, who are you if I may?” “I am sir, Dr. *****, a helper assigned by Exist” “Oh, I have heard about these & that means you’ll be coming everyday until one day you decide or someone decides that I am no more worth looking at” “Well, sir to be honest, that is true but to tell you a secret it’s not if you are worth looking at or not but more existential then that” “Oh, that does not make it sound better (laughs), well either way come on in, Dr. ******--?” “Doctor's fine, thanks for inviting me in Mr. Brooks”.

Mr. Mervin Brooks, the new assignment, for next two days or two weeks or two months or however long they back at HQ deem him to exist. He seems like a nice guy, young & has a pretty little house. Looks okay as well & seems to be doing good for himself down at his shop. The house is very neat & clean as well, I mean for a single boy this is impressive. He guides me to his dining table set of four with the view of the mountains. Sun is nowhere to be seen with windy & dark clouds covering the sky. The little window by the dining table is slightly open letting in the cold breeze. I sit down in front of the window, I like a view. I take out my files & open them on the table. Take out my notepad to write down the random details for the end of day my psychological evaluation. Place the pen between the notepad & the files. Mervin brings me a cup of tea with a saucer. Old fashioned, I write down on the notepad. He dresses that way as well, Corduroy pants with short sleeves shirt buttoned up to the neck. Beige coloured both of them. He places the tea beside me & sits to my right. Places his tea to his left.

“So, how do you begin this?”

“Mr. Brooks, it’s simple, today the first day I’ll be here just for an hour making silent observations on your behaviour so please adhere to your normal routine at this hour regarding your work around the house as well as your behaviour at this point of time.”

“Just call me Mervin, please”

“Certainly, Mervin in addition to that I’ll ask you some questions you know for data like are you single or in relationship or married--” (interrupts me)

“I am married to my lovely wife, who is resting above in the bedroom”

“At twelve in the afternoon?”

“She likes the night time more, she’ll be up in a couple of hours”

“Okay, sure, what is her name if I may ask just for this form here?”

“Her name is Daisy Brooks and she is my wife”

(Smiles proudly)

“Yes, I got that Mervin beautiful name I must say & what does she do for a living?”

“Not much, she sometimes help at the shop just to you know fulfill the work hours card but mostly she takes care of the house”

“Oh, I understand, you may resume with your day & just pretend I am not here at all but also remember I am here”

Both of us laugh as I fill out the other details as well as about Daisy. He finishes his tea & heads upstairs. I looked from the end of the staircase & as I suspected he closed the door on his way in.

I heard footsteps above me as I sat back down on the dining room chair. I write down the basic details on the form. At the same time I think how at any given point of time in the coming days Mervin & Daisy could be at the end of their cycles. Maybe one of them isn’t & the other one has to live with that fact. This all is right now being decided by an algorithm on the system at Exist, created by the visionary Dr. Howard. As I ponder in my thoughts while filling out the basic forms, I glance at my watch & see my one hour has passed which means time to leave. I note down on my pad, ‘in the past forty minutes since Mr. Brooks went upstairs no sound has come from above & he hasn’t come downstairs at all’. I pack up my things & put my tea cup & saucer in the sink. I head to the main door & shout “Mr. Brooks, I am leaving please close the door, thank you & see you tomorrow”. I leave without making more sound, the young couple seem to be in that youthful love. I close the door on my way out & as I turn around, I notice over the address number of the house are written words “For my Daisy”. Looks like young Mervin is complete head over heels for Daisy, honestly I feel bad that I have to do this. I walk away from the house.

DAY FOUR

“So, Mervin the three days of one hour silent observations is over & the good people at Exist analytics have told me to begin phase two of these visits, do you understand what I am saying?”

Mervin doesn’t even move muscle just continues to stare down his floor. I look at the spot he is staring at & I just see nothing but the wooden floor. I sit in my usual chair at the dining table which is across from the window and like before he sits to my right. He continues to stare without blinking even moving a muscle. I note this down in my notepad.

SNAP! I snap my fingers near him. That breaks his concentration from the floor. He laughs a little.

“Are you okay, Mervin?”

“Yes, I am fine, just got lost in thought. Sorry”

“As I was saying, should I explain Phase two of this thing to you?”

“Yes, please, just let me get a glass of water”

“Sure”

He gets up & gets himself a glass of water. Puts the glass water to his left & sits back down. Sips a little from the glass.

“Please, tell me about Phase Two”

“Okay, so basically, I’ll be taking a look at everything at the house & your shop as well and don’t worry this will be done tomorrow, we’ll do in an order whichever suits you the best, is that okay with you?”

“Yes, totally”.

Well, that’s a lie, according to the guideline the field analyst should do the observations in the order it suits them and not the subject but I don’t think that works that well. So, I joined Exist five years ago & moulded the guidelines which work best for the subject & they feel less pain at the end of the cycle, it’s very minimal but it helps my conscience. While I mould the guidelines or rules you might call them while in the field but in my reports I always mention that I followed the guidelines else I’ll be put on the end of the cycle.

“Okay, so, while I check everything at both of these places I’ll need access to everything, even to your savings under the mattress and it would be kind of you to tell your missus to wake up one of these days & talk with me because I need data from her as well, do you agree to the conditions & pass on the message to Daisy?”

“Yeah, sure I agree and I’ll tell Daisy but Doctor, I do, have one request or a favor you might say to ask you for, may I?”

“Yeah, go on, I can’t make promises but I’ll see what we can do”

“Well, you can check everywhere in the house, even the bedroom, I’ll even tell you where the savings are but just not the basement, can you overlook that somehow?”

“Basement? You didn’t mention any basement on Day two when I asked you about the structure of the house & there isn’t one in the blueprint you gave me?”

“Well, it isn’t in the basement because I had it installed separately two years ago myself, I made it and I didn’t mention it because it’s personal to me, It’s like you can say a place where I work & worship my one true love”

“Worship one true love? I thought that was supposed to be Daisy, you know with the outside plaque also saying ‘For my Daisy’, can you explain that?”

“She is my one true love but so is my woodwork, please if you can just somehow overlook that I’d be really grateful”

I take a deep breath, this is tough.

“I’ll look at what I can do but as I said no promises, you got that right?”

“Yes and I can describe what is down there if you just need it for the files”

“No, I just don’t need it for the files Mervin, I write it down in the files & then back at the analytics they analyse it and tell me what is the next step of my job but I’ll see what I can do”

“Oh, okay, I won’t hold my breath for it then, so what is on the agenda today then?”

“Yeah, before we move on to that, I almost forgot to ask, we ran some background search on your wife that Daisy Brooks but she came up as Daisy Richards, which is one of the strange things that we found in our records the other one being the Daisy Richards that we found, has nothing in the books for the last two years, not even a word, can you tell me the reason for that or rather can you ask Daisy to explain that, it’s about her after all?”

He took a deep breath & gulped down the entire glass of water.

“As you know she sleeps at this time of day but tomorrow when you examine the house yourself, I’ll make sure you meet her and then you can ask her yourself, does that work?”

“Yeah, sure, make sure that she meets okay?”

“Noted”(Laughs)

“So, for today, we’ll be just chatting about your past I believe, you know your parents, how they raised you, the whole what, where, who & how, is that okay?”

“Yeah, sure and make that parent as my father wasn’t there for my mum & me, he left us and moved to a different country couple of years later the crisis”

“Oh, sure, please continue”

He continued to speak for about an hour before he abruptly stopped & told me to leave as almost announced to me ‘Daisy must be ready to come down’ and before I could even ask to meet her, he almost pushed me out the door. Closed the door on my face. He became rude suddenly as he was starting to tell about Daisy & how he met her. I noted this down on my notepad and a note to self, ‘This Daisy business seems fishy to me now all of a sudden, check the basement at all costs’. I left the property as the sun beamed across the sky in the afternoon.

DAY FIVE

I arrived at the house at my usual time and rang the bell like three times. Past three days, Mervin would already be on the porch waiting for me to arrive. I yawned a little as I waited for young Mr. Brooks. Well, today, I am also doing something different as I have an earpiece in my ear which is for my safety. These two days of the end of cycle routine are considered what some may call ‘of grave danger’ to the analyst from the subject as these are private places of the subject where they do everything while sitting on the sofa for an hour like one doesn’t exist is bothering but going through brick to brick can be even more bothering and annoying as well which drives many of the subjects to physical attack the analyst at which point the analyst needs to inform the team in his/her ear piece. The analyst hides in a safe place or runs outside the premises and if the subject continues to display aggressive behaviour, well they are put at the end of their cycles immediately. See, Dr. Howard believes while a calmer mind may have a chance to be left alone but a violent one doesn’t, the mind of such individuals is begging to be at the end of the cycle. I disagree with that, I think no one even if someone is a horrible person deserves to be in the state one is put under when they are at the end of their cycle.

“All right, team, be on stand by. I am heading inside, we can’t do anything if he isn’t opening the door, do I have a go from everyone?”

“Yes, Doctor, you may head inside we’ll be nearby”

“All right, heading inside”

I take out the key for the house and enter the house. I set up my stuff on the table. I open the file as well as my notepad. As I am taking out my pen, in the corner of my eye I catch the note to myself I wrote yesterday, ‘check the basement at all costs’. So, he’s probably down at his shop, might be the best time to get that over with. I put the pen down on the table and walk ahead to the door that leads to the basement which is under the staircase which leads to the bedroom. I so want to check out the bedroom but I feel so curious about the basement that I almost magnetically get pulled towards it.

I open the door that leads to Basement. As soon as I put my foot inside the way that leads to the basement, I get a chill down my spine.

It’s dark as I expected on the staircase but there seems to be a light on at the center of the basement. I reach for my earpiece.

“Guys, I down in the basement, so watch out”

I don’t hear a response back.

I move ahead regardless. With each step, a weird feeling keeps building up in the back of my head, making me think of really weird things. I shake my head & take a breath and move ahead. Come on, I got this.

Under the light, I see a woman sitting on the chair. I walk closer to her & as I go around to see her face, I see Mervin sitting by her knees wearing gloves smeared with blood and holding knives with tiny bits of flesh on them. I gasp. I look at the woman & I fall back on to the ground with no words or even sound coming out of my mouth. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!

I put my hands around my mouth. WHAT IN THE HELL IS THAT THING ON CHAIR? THAT”S NOT A HUMAN, IS IT EVEN ALIVE?

All these thoughts are crossing my head while my heart is almost pounding so fast as if I am on drugs or something and it’s all due to what’s sitting on that chair & Mervin is sitting by it’s knees with his face buried in it’s lap. He seems to be sleeping comfortably.

I took out the picture of Daisy, Mervin gave me two days earlier and my god, that’s her. THAT’S HER. Her whole body is mouldy, her ribs & eye socket seem visible even though what seems to be skin sewn to her by Mervin. The sewn skin is coming as well & the whole body is rotting. She’s dead. I have never seen something more horrible than that.

I vomited on the ground.

I began to climb up the stairs and that’s when Mervin footsteps I heard behind me. I quickly turned around.

“So, I guess you couldn’t keep out of the basement could you? They said no I believe”

I didn’t reply to him, just got up the stairs and picked up my things. Put them inside the bag & left the house.

“Team leader, come near me please, urgently”

Team leader came near me.

“Yes, Doctor?”

“He is downstairs, end of cycle imminent but ask all the details about the scene and then tell me, I am waiting in your car”

“As you wish, Doctor, team come on we gotta move in, end of cycle”

I walked to their car & sat inside while the whole team went inside.

End Of Cycle

At the end of cycle, the Icing Team enters the subject’s house or property and neutralizes them with a syringe of a substance which puts them into a deep sleep, not coma but a very deep sleep. Once the subject is in deep sleep, the Icing Team using their pads records everything present at the property of the subject which is what takes time usually. Once this has been recorded, the Icer is brought out which puts the subject into a cryo sleep. The Cryo is then carried out & put in the back of the van which follows the car. After this the cryo is put with the other cryos back at the headquarters of Exist. The Icing team hands over their data from the pads and the field analyst hands over the data they have collected for the past day. The analysts back at the office then come up with an specific or special you might say algorithm which is then attached to the Cryo. Due to this algorithm, the subject continues to live on but in a time loop of their worst day in that place. As I said this is the worst part.

The team leader comes out with Mervin inside the Cryo. He puts the Cryo Mervin back in the van. He comes ahead in the car & sits beside me.

“Doctor, what you saw was actually not the most disturbing part even though that visual would haunt a person for life, so are you really sure you wish what he’d been doing with a dead body for two years?”

“Leader, I am having really disturbing thoughts with what you just said so I guess I’d like to know what happened to put those thoughts to bed, tell me would you?”

He takes a deep breath.

“Doctor, she died two years ago in an accident. Her family buried her, he was at the funeral. Two weeks after the funeral, he took the body out of the grave. Slept with it on his bed. He even confirmed to have had sex with dead corpse multiple times in the past two years.”

“What was the basement for?”

“That’s where he would skin the girls he’d kidnapped and sew their skins to Daisy’s corpse since it was decomposing inside the grave for two weeks, we found fifteen completely skinned girls, half in the backyard buried and the other half boarded under the wooden floor”.

“I don’t want to hear anymore, let’s head back shall we”

“Certainly Doctor, move out team”

It’s when we start to fear the day-to-day things induced in us which haunt us for the longest and this will certainly haunt me for a longtime.

[itsuki-minamy]

“SIX IDOLS”

CHAPTER 2: “YATA MISAKI’S BUILDING EXPLORATION! HAUNTED HOUSE EDITION” (Complete)

* K - Six Idols (List of Chapters) * Projects & Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

That day, it had been raining since morning.

He lifts his scarf to his mouth, takes a sip of hana, and Misaki Yata walks down the well-known shopping street. Born and raised in Shizume, this shopping street has been a playground, pathway, and everyday scene since childhood.

The fish shop shutter opened and a middle-aged woman appeared. The fish-filled foamed shelf is neat in the showcase. When he saw her, Yata bowed politely.

"Good morning, Oba-chan. You are well today."

"Oh, Misaki-chan. Yes, good morning. Are you going home now?"

Yata smiles bitterly. It is true that there is no morning and no night in the entertainment world, but he has not set an unreasonable schedule for having to go home at this time. Izumo Kusanagi, who is the actual owner, is paying attention to that area.

"No, it's recorded from now on. It's a home visiting plan for 'Shirogin Deluxe'. Have you seen it?"

"Oh, that show! I love it too. Misaki-chan, you're supposed to be out. I'm glad."

Yata was a little glad to see her shaking her face. For him, who has never left his hometown, it is a great motivation to please people who have known him for a long time.

Yata raises his thumb and shows it to the lady.

"Thanks! Well then I'll go!"

The lady also made an approving gesture to imitate Yata.

"Yeah, come on. Good luck, I'm supporting you."

Waving as he walks, Yata realizes that his heart is filled with warm feelings. The cold of winter and the mist that clings to his skin seemed to immediately disappear at that sensation.

Yata, who passed through the business district and onto the main street, was not surprised at all to see the location car.

"Huh? Are you turning the camera already?"

"Oh, Yata-san! Hello!"

Kamamoto, who was standing near the location car, waved loudly while holding the camera. Loud greetings are good in this industry if it's on a television station.

Yata rushed over to Kamamoto and touched his head.

"Ah!"

"Don't yell! It's going to upset the neighbors!"

All of them are also captured on camera. But that doesn't really matter to him. The interaction between the two, as a team, is not yet known to viewers, but when Yata and Kamamoto appear in pairs, such interaction is often expected.

"No, I'm sorry! I'm happy because it's been a while since I've been in a place with you, Yata-san!"

"How do you say, we didn't do something a week ago?"

As they exchanged words, Yata boarded the location car. Kamamoto also sits next to him, pointing his camera at Yata. Yata is reminded of when he sees several staff members in the car pointing lights and microphones at him.

"So why are you already filming? Doesn't filming start after arriving at Kokujoji-san's house?"

Today's plan is to visit the villa of the renowned artist, Daikaku Kokujoji, as he told the lady from the fishmonger. Kokujoji, who was the driving force behind this "idol age" and has 98% national recognition, is a representative not only of the entertainment world but also of Japanese society. Despite the fact that it is a village, Yata was not less than enthusiastic about visiting his home.

"Well, anyway, we are going to visit Kokujoji-san's house, so it's up to the headmaster to take pictures before and after that!"

Kamamoto says that and Yata wonders, "Is that so?" Since a big name like Daikaku Kokujoji is involved, the production side may also be concerned about various things.

"The location car will go outside. Please put your seatbelt on."

Both Yata and Kamamoto wear belts at the director's call. With Yata's unsettling feelings, the vehicle slid slowly onto the national highway.

If he thinks about it later, he should have noticed it then.

++++++++++

Yata finally wondered when he got to the capital highway from the national highway and left Tokyo.

"Isn't that the destination in Tokyo?"

Kamamoto's camera keeps spinning. Behind the camera, Kamamoto's expression covered by sunglasses seemed to be different from his usual appearance. Kamamoto has a smile on his face like a sticker.

"That's right. Everything seems to be near the secret hot spring in Nagano prefecture."

"I haven't heard that."

"Oh, is that so? Well, I heard it for the first time today."

Yata takes a closer look at Kamamoto. Kamamoto is turning the camera with a smile on his face.

"Well, ok."

Muttering, Yata turned to the outside of the car.

It is in the morning on weekdays. Location cars fly down the highway at a comfortable speed. The flowing landscape becomes an overflowing nature.

The location car went off the road through the interchange.

It was the field. Far from being a figure, even houses are rare. Beyond the fields as far as the eye can see, there are three trees with bushes. It must be a rural landscape everywhere in Japan, but he didn't think it was the place where Kokujoji Daikaku's village was located.

"I see. Did you make a mistake on the road?"

"You are not mistaken! Director?"

Kamamoto speaks to him from the passenger seat in an unnecessarily loud tone. The director gave him an ambiguous answer, like "Oh.", "Yes.", which made Yata feel even more uncomfortable. The localization vehicle goes into the mountains.

The landscape that should be described as abundant extends to the left and right. Green leaves and black trees are twisted and intertwined. Behind the threadbare and rusty railing, there was a sign with words like "Take care of your life." and "Think of your family.", and Yata looked away from the vehicle window.

The rain gets stronger.

The rain and fog were turning into a storm before he knew it. Perhaps the weather in the mountains is volatile, with dense black clouds hanging overhead, and it is as dark as it is at night, even though it is close to noon. Also, it seems that he was going astray, and the interior of the car began to shake with the rattle.

Yata yells as he grabs the armrest.

"Hey! Is there really a Kokujoji-san's village in such a place?"

"Well, I heard that."

Hearing the headmaster's response, Yata made his mouth twitch. He wants to complain, but the words can't come out. Either way, he don't know the location and have no choice but to leave everything to them.

After that, when they passed a winding mountain road for several tens of minutes, the vehicle stopped.

"We arrived?"

Yata asked with relief. Kamamoto says in a cheerful voice.

"That's right. Look, it's Kokujoji-san's village!"

Beyond the windshield, when he saw the house illuminated by the lights, Yata's face was full of energy.

It was a decaying western-style building.

It used to be a magnificent building, but due to deterioration over time, the exterior has peeled off in places, exposing construction materials and pipes. It was as if the skin had been ripped off by torture and the muscles and blood vessels underneath were exposed.

Yata slammed his fist into Kamamoto's head, regardless of whether the camera was spinning.

"Ah? What are you doing, Yata-san?"

"Where is this village? No matter how you look at it, it is an abandoned castle!"

"Oh, even if I say that... What about the director?"

The director in the seat looked back as he expanded the map.

"We are not wrong, it is here."

"Isn't that the case?! In such a place, Kokujoji-san's is a great village."

Yata's protest, however, disappeared when he saw what the director was pointing at.

A figure was at the entrance of the building.

The silhouette that extends the Japanese umbrella and protects itself from the rain is familiar. Costumes similar to hunting clothes and masks that imitate rabbits. All people who belong to the largest agency, the "Tokijikuin Agency" represented by Daikaku Kokujoji, regardless of age or gender, idols or non-idols, wear this outfit. They are widely recognized as "rabbits", sometimes appearing as back dancers in the figure and sometimes as messengers from the "Tokijikuin Agency".

Kamamoto says while capturing the surroundings with the camera.

"Looks like it's here, right?"

"Ah, stupid..."

The director gets out of the location vehicle and begins talking to the rabbit. Yata also opened his umbrella and got out of the vehicle, feeling uncomfortable.

"Good morning. Welcome, you have come a long way."

The rabbit bowed politely, waving in a soft voice. Yata is confused and says hello too.

"Oh, good morning. Is this it?"

"The front is closed now. Please relax in the hall first."

The rabbit turned his back to shake off Yata's question and walked into the hall. The film crew, including the director, did the same.

"Really…"

Yata, who was left alone, began to walk quickly. Instead of keeping up with them, he no longer wanted to be alone.

When…

At the edge of his sight, he saw something white moving. Reflectively, Yata turned his gaze to him.

A white figure was standing in one of the windows lined up on the second floor of the building.

The figure, whose skin and clothing were pure white, immediately disappeared into the darkness as if he had noticed Yata's line of sight.

"……"

Yata's face was pale and alternately compared the windows of the second floor with the entrance of the building.

++++++++++

The storm doesn't seem to stop, and it gets stronger and stronger. Yata eagerly watched the sound of the rain pounding from above.

"Hey. Kokujoji-san, isn't he coming yet?"

It has been almost an hour since he passed the dimly lit room. The Rabbit guide said, "Please wait a bit." and he retired and didn't show up at all. Yata and his colleagues were completely abandoned.

He's getting angry. No matter what the "Tokijikuin Agency" is, it is impossible to treat idols from other agencies so carelessly. Yata had a personality that such irrationality could not forgive.

However, now he doesn't feel angry and just wants to go home.

Every time the light from an old lamp shining on the table casts a complex shadow on the wall, the figure in Yata's mind, perhaps the white figure above, blinks.

Yata gulps and talks to Kamamoto next him.

"Maybe he doesn't feel right? So I think it's rude to bother him, we'll re-record at a later date."

"Even if you say that..."

Kamamoto was confused and spoke to the director.

"What do you think, Director? That Rabbit, I don't think he's coming back."

The director puts his hand to his jaw and thinks. Yata looked at his figure expectantly.

"It is true that this will hinder the schedule."

"Really?!"

"Then, let's go find the rabbit."

"Eh?"

The director and other members of the film crew rose to their feet one after another. From those who handle the light to the makeup, they try to go with the director. Yata instinctively tried to stop them.

"Wait a minute! Why is everyone going?"

"As we will be looking for him, it is better to have more manpower."

"That's right, oh, yeah, then I'll go with you."

"No, if we let the actor do these kinds of tasks, the name of the show will be frowned upon. Yata-san and Kamamoto-san, you should wait here."

Just with that, the other members except Yata and Kamamoto walked out of the reception room.

"……"

Yata stretched out his empty hand and sat back on the couch.

The reception room, where the current had already been introduced, felt even colder when the equipment left. Yata flailed his legs fiercely, staring into the dim lamplight. He cannot say anything and is calm.

He feels bad because he is worried about the normal path. As an important figure in the world of idols, Yata pays tribute to Kokujoji. He is concerned about the status of the great man, not because he is afraid of this eerie western-style building.

While repeating his trembling thoughts, Yata was confident that the team or the rabbit would return as soon as possible.

And 30 minutes passed, 1 hour passed.

It seems that the rain has stopped a bit. Instead, thunder was heard more frequently. The haunting and rumbling sky sometimes casts a light similar to a flare on the window. This time, Yata realized that his body was jumping.

"It's not too late?"

Unable to suppress the trembling voice, he talks to Kamamoto. Kamamoto keeps his camera on the table in front of him, arms crossed and silent.

Yata was driven by anxiety and shook his shoulder.

"Eh? Kamamoto?"

Kamamoto lowered his head in a low voice.

"Yes."

"Don't fall asleep, fat man!"

"Hmm!" When he touched his head, Kamamoto's sunglasses slid off.

Kamamoto makes a shocked voice, dressed like an idiot with sunglasses hooked to the edge of his ear.

"What is it? What is it?"

"Idiot! The others haven't come back yet!"

However, Yata's anger did not seem to be transmitted to Kamamoto at all. He stretched out humorously, grabbed the camera from the table, and stood up.

"I'm in trouble. Then I'll search a bit!"

"Oh, why?"

The voice was about to scream, but Yata no longer has the psychological margin to worry about such things. Kamamoto scratched his head like he was in trouble.

"No, it doesn't matter what you say. If they don't come back, it's only natural for me to go looking for them, right?"

"That said, the directors have not returned. If you go, the same thing will happen, right?"

Kamamoto bowed his head and pointed the camera at Yata. Yata's face is reflected in the black lens. Kamamoto had a ridiculous tone as he clearly reflected his scared face.

"Maybe Yata-san… Are you afraid of being alone?"

"Moron!"

Yata's low kick went through Kamamoto's right knee and the giant rolled on the ground.

"Hey, Yata-san, please stop hitting me!"

"Ah! Maybe it's because I don't like your comments?"

"Just kidding! Yata isn't scared at this level! I get it!"

"I go to search..."

Yata responds with a negative voice like a different person than until now. Kamamoto stood up while rubbing his knees and headed straight for the exit.

"Then, I'll go for a bit."

Kamamoto left the room. Yata was left alone in the reception room.

"……"

He cannot hear anything but the sound of rain, thunder, and the beat of his heart. He feels restless and walk around the table for no reason. Check the clock almost every minute. Every time, he repeats the idea of ​​going round and round, why he hasn't come back yet.

At that moment, the roar of the guitar solo echoed through the hall.

"What?!"

Involuntarily, he raises a strange voice and jumps. The guitar solo echoed in Yata's bag that he had left on the couch. The fiery melody is a representative song of "Red King Idol" Suoh Mikoto, which Yata respects.

Yata took out his PDA while suppressing his heartbeat.

The incoming call was from Kamamoto. As soon as he answers the call, Yata yells at him.

"Hey, don't call suddenly!"

As he screamed, Yata felt relieved somewhere in his heart.

Kamamoto on the other end of the phone echoed the usual subtle voice without knowing such complicated psychology.

"No, I'm sorry, Yata-san. I thought it would be bad for Yata-san to be worried, so I'm sorry."

"Are you eating something?"

"Eh? No, no way..."

"You're eating! Where are you now?"

"Oh, no... it's like a kitchen."

"You're stupid! How do you eat in someone's kitchen when you visit their house? You can't do that, even if you're a visitor!"

Yata yells. At the same time, when he looks out the window, he notices that his expression has softened. Kamamoto's usual eating habits seemed to be irreplaceable and encouraging at this point.

Kamamoto says, while making a locking sound.

"Well, you often say that if I'm hungry, I can't do it, right? And I came here guessing."

"Eh?"

"I could see a figure here, so I thought it was a rabbit. It was wearing white clothes, so I'm sure it's correct."

A small shadow was born on Yata's slightly warmed chest.

A figure in white clothes.

"Hey, Kamamoto."

"Hmm? That? That, maybe..."

When he hears Kamamoto's voice as if noticing something, the shadow gets bigger as it swells.

"Wait a minute. Come back!"

"No, what are you talking about, there was a rabbit. Sorry! When can I start recording?"

There, Kamamoto's voice cut off.

The shadow fills Yata's heart. Yata clenches the sweat from his hands that slowly spreads onto his PDA.

"Hey! Kamamoto! Come back!"

"That? It's weird. Why?"

"Kamamoto!"

"Why was his neck looking away?"

Almost at the same time as those words, a wet sound echoed off his PDA.

It's like hitting a wet leather bag on the ground.

It's like squashing a rotten tomato.

A sound with an ominous premonition clung to Yata's ears.

"Kama-…!"

The calling voice was interrupted by a loud sound that pierced the tympanic membrane. Maybe that's why he dropped his PDA. He lets it go involuntarily, and Yata looks at his PDA. Notice the words "Rikio Kamamoto" floating just below the "Call" screen.

After a while of silence, the speaker began to pick up the sound of "something."

Tap. Tap. Yata notes that the sound that resonates regularly is footsteps. Facing Yata, who is stuck as if frozen, the speaker mercilessly continues to reproduce the sound of "something".

"Heh heh heh."

In the end, a sound like that of a laughing voice, and the call was cut off.

Seeing the words "End of call", Yata noticed the sweat on his back.

There is certainly "something" here.

Yata thinks about it while being driven into a panic. Can't imagine what it is. Is it related to that white figure? What happened to that rabbit and the members that went looking for him?

And Kamamoto...

"Ah!"

Clenching his fist and teeth, Yata stared at the living room door.

If Yata were alone, he would have screamed and stormed out of the reception room, rushing into mountains of thunderstorms. Not good in this situation, let's be clear. It is incredibly scary. Even now, his knees are shaking and he can't even stand.

However, Kamamoto is here. There are also directors and film crews that came with him.

If he abandons them and runs away alone, he will deny the human Misaki Yata.

"Damn!"

Yata slammed his hardened fist against his thigh. That doesn't stop the shaking of the knees, but it is something.

Thus, pain inspired Yata. He strides across the room and kicks the door open before crossing.

"Wait, Kamamoto! I'm going to help you now!"

Screaming to inspire himself, Yata stepped into the darkness in front of him.

++++++++++

Kamamoto said at the end that he was in the kitchen.

Of course, Yata does not know the layout of the building. Still, since it's a kitchen, he guesses it's somewhere on the first floor, and he walks down the hall in big surprise. The lamp, which should be from the lighting equipment, was not on, and Yata had to use the light from his PDA as a flashlight and advance terrifyingly.

Lightning and thunder roar. The entire view of the hallway was projected for a moment as if the camera's flash fired.

It's a long corridor with blood-colored ridges and bone-like walls. The portraits are evenly spaced on the wall.

As he slowly advances, Yata tries to keep the portrait out of his eyes. Because the line of sight can match. Because if he looks at them, they might laugh at him.

If he looks at a portrait, his heart may explode as if he is doing his best live. Yata still couldn't die. He couldn't die until he saved Kamamoto and the team members.

"……"

The blankness on his face means that fear outweighs courage. There is no colleague from the "Homura Performing Arts Office" who can laugh at him, they are not here at the moment. Yata has to fight both loneliness and fear.

Fold the corner twice.

Apparently it is a corridor. Maybe the kitchen is not on the first floor. If that happens, he will have to climb the stairs. That fact began to haunt Yata's thoughts.

Before entering the hall, a white figure reflected in the window for a moment flickered in Yata's mind.

Climbing the stairs means going to that figure. Yata wasn't sure he could get into such a situation even though he no longer had the courage to oppress it anymore.

When, suddenly, the door on his left moved with a piercing noise.

"Eh?"

Yata jumped to the ground in a squeaky voice.

The door opened slowly as if it had a will of its own.

The warm breeze that flowed from there caressed his taut cheeks.

He's sure it was moved by air flow or something, until he found out, it wouldn't move.

Thousands of words that are less than thoughts fill his mind. The instinct of "I want to get away from here" and the belief that "I can't abandon my friends" conflict with each other, and Yata's body tends to be rigid.

As it is, a minute has passed.

Nothing happens.

Realizing that, Yata began to move. The doorplate illuminated by the light of the PDA came into view.

The word "Dining Room" was written there.

"This is here?"

Muttering to be sure, swallowing hard, Yata opened the door.

The spacious dining room was filled with humid air. There is a long table as seen in the movie and several chairs around it. A three-pointed candelabrum on a pure white tablecloth receives the light and glows golden.

Yata scans the room while glancing at the scene. If there is a door that leads to the kitchen, that will be the goal.

The feelings of wanting to find them and not wanting to find them are in conflict in Yata. It was the manifestation of the two feelings that filled Yata's heart, the instinct of not wanting to face loyalty and the belief that he should help his companions.

Suddenly, Yata felt something crash against his toes.

It bounces and terrifyingly points the light to the ground.

It was a ham. A thick, boneless ham that appears to be around Yata's foot. There is evidence that the packaging has been broken and removed.

Kamamoto no doubt picked it up and ate it.

He had been here.

"Kamamoto?"

His voice echoed mysteriously. When he turned on the lights, the door that would lead to the kitchen was open. Yata went in there.

The kitchen floor was damp. When Yata's shoes hit the wet floor, he made a sticky noise and pulled a rope between his shoes and the floor.

The light from the PDA trembled as if Yata's discomfort was transmitted.

The previous light reflects the ground. Yata arrived when there was a trail of something crawling across the red-black wet ground.

At the same time, there is a watery sound in the kitchen.

Kucha, Juru, Picha, Nichi, Giri.

He doesn’t notice it from the sound of the rain. he could hear the sound all the time.

Jutsu, guchitsu, baki, zuru, gucha...

Maybe he didn't want to realize it. Because it was a realization of Yata's fear.

Baki, Bagi, Goritsu, Boritsu, Jururu.

However, Yata had to face realization. He thought that he had to record it in his own eyes no matter what result he was hoping for.

A trembling light crawls across the ground and follows the bloodline.

"It" was closer than he expected.

He was wearing white clothing, similar to a dress. The word "it" comes from the fact that it was so worn that it was hard to see. The hem ripped like a saw blade and dirt that has mixed in here and there has soaked it. It was probably the dirt that caused the thread to stick to the soles of Yata's shoes.

"It" seemed to turn away from him and crouch like a monkey, shaking his head vigorously. He shook his pure white hair, moving his face further and further, and moving his hands to break something.

Each time, the watery sound from before, resonates.

A familiar giant lay in front of "It"

Kamamoto's eyes, illuminated by the lights, were wide open and were no longer looking at anything.

Yata took a step back, it would be terrible to blame him for being shy. Yata's survival instinct demanded a distance from "it", just as a hunted animal would reflexively frighten. Holding his mouth with his hand, while pouring a fixed stare at "it", Yata tries to leave the room.

There was a dry sound under his feet.

"… ?!"

Yata hastily points the light at his feet.

There were Kamamoto's sunglasses. Stepped on by Yata, the lens of the sunglasses snapped in two.

He looked up from the sunglasses and saw "it", terrifyingly.

The movement stopped, as if it had frozen.

Even arms thin like dead trees and hair white like ceramic remain frozen.

The neck began to turn silently.

Slowly and precisely, like the gears of a machine. Turning sideways, diagonally back, and turning 180 degrees, it "saw" Yata.

Kamamoto's words revive in Yata's mind.

("Why is your neck there?")

Looking at Yata with only his face, with his body facing forward.

"It" moves just a little.

Random blood-soaked teeth were stained with a speckled pattern of yellow and red.

"Gaaaaaaaaaaah!"

When he noticed, Yata was sprinting down the hall of the building.

Screams of flight and senseless came from his mouth, the eyes had shed tears incessantly. He is not sure where he is going. However, he wanted to get away from that kitchen as soon as possible.

Yata slipped and fell, trying to turn the corner of the hall at full speed. He crashes into the wall and stops, reflectively looking at the darkness from which he ran.

He couldn't find the figure for "it."

However, only sound was heard.

Regularly echoing sounds and footsteps approached Yata from the other side of the darkness with a speed that shook fear.

Yata got to his feet and started running. His brain made a full rotation. Remembering the layout of the building, He try to find a way out.

As he ran down the hall, he saw a familiar sight.

This is the entrance hall he saw when he first entered the building. A ridiculously huge chandelier and a portrait of Daikaku Kokujoji on the wall of a huge staircase. Yata immediately took the door that led to the outside of the left door.

No matter how much he pushes or pull, it won't open. Even if he turned the key like crazy, kicked the door, or slammed it, the heavy door would not stubbornly move. Full of irritation and anger, Yata says, "Come on! What's this? Open up! Open up!"

However, the screaming, almost crying, stopped immediately. The footsteps were getting closer.

Hita, Hita, Hita, Hita.

Yata let go of all his emotions and ran like a ball. He refused to be there putting all his physical abilities that he refined as an idol.

Yata, who was running like the wind, soon found a bath.

When he enters, it was divided into several private rooms. He pushes open while checking with the PDA light and it slides inside.

When the lights went out, the bathroom filled with a darkness that seemed to crush him.

Yata supports his head as he shakes on the toilet seat.

("What is that, what is that, what is that?")

Did "it" eat Kamamoto?

Anger at his partner's murder swelled through his body, but much more than that, fear of the mysterious monster in front of him. The monster crawls out looking for him at this very moment. Just imagining it makes his skin rust.

After doing it for a while, Yata suddenly came up with something.

"I have to ask for help..."

Of course, the reason the idea that was taken for granted didn't come up until now is because his brain was engulfed in fear. Yata tapped his PDA with his shaking finger and first tried to contact his most trusted boss, Izumo Kusanagi.

At that moment, he heard a voice from the depths of the darkness of the hall.

"Yata-san, where are you? Please answer."

Yata stops his finger and raises his face as if flipped over. The cold, sweaty expression shone with wonder and joy.

"Kamamoto...?"

"Yata-san, please help me. I got hurt."

Without a doubt, it was Rikio Kamamoto's voice.

It has been delayed, but it cannot be wrong. Yata stood up in the bathroom of a private room and sharpened his ears.

Kamamoto's voice seems to come and go right outside the bathroom. Or maybe Kamamoto, who was lying at the time, was still alive. Perhaps he escaped from the monster and came to ask for help.

("Here! Kamamoto, I'm here! We will run away together!")

Yata hastily shut his mouth when he was about to scream.

Not out of self-protection, it was out of doubt.

Is that really Kamamoto's voice?

There is no reason. The questions equal to intuition, however, get louder and louder as he hears Kamamoto's voice.

"Yata-san, Yata-san, where are you? I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I don't care, I want to eat soon."

He had goose bumps.

No matter how much it is Kamamoto, in such a situation, he couldn't think of making such a loud voice and worrying about food.

Yata sat back on the toilet seat. He keeps his mouth closed with watery eyes to prevent any sound from escaping.

Still, Kamamoto's voice continues to call him by name. "Yata-san, where are you?"

Suddenly, Kamamoto's voice cut off.

"……"

Yata blinked. A tear drop was shed. He wondered if he was gone.

There is no way to confirm it. There is not an iota of courage to get out of there. Yata took out the PDA again and started the message app. He absolutely did not want to talk. First he would call Kusanagi, then Kusanagi would call the police.

Yata's PDA sounded with a roaring guitar solo.

"Eh?"

Suoh Mikoto's guitar solo, which he is more intoxicated with than anyone, now sounds like a devastating call from the devil. Yata hurries to look at the PDA. While cursing the idiot who made a call in such a situation, he looks at the screen regretting not having put the silent mode.

His spine froze.

The name "Rikio Kamamoto" was etched on the screen.

He hung up the call and turned off the PDA. As he did so, he thought.

He couldn't think optimistically that Kamamoto was alive. The voice from before was definitely not Kamamoto himself.

So the current call was... that "thing".

That "thing" took Kamamoto's PDA and called it, to find out where it turned on.

About the same time, he was convinced of that, there was a sound of footsteps.

Tap, Tap, Tap, Tap. He has regular intervals and gradually but surely approaches Yata.

Can't bear it. Yata decided to reject the reality in front of him.

He closed his eyes tightly. He covered his ears with both hands. Even if death falls from above one day, try not to look directly at it.

Yet in the dark, Yata thinks.

A feeling of strangeness.

A person can stop his movement of his own free will, but he cannot stop his will. The feeling of strangeness that was born in the dark grew in Yata's brain, because there was nothing else.

Why does he hear footsteps?

The floor of the building is completely strange. The kitchen was really different, but the hallways and bathrooms were filled with crimson delicacy.

The heavy boots would make steps. But that step is barefoot. No matter how fast he run barefoot, the sound should be absorbed by the relief and disappear.

So it's "it".

At that moment, there was something that shone like a revelation.

Can't stop thinking. The discovery cannot be ignored. In that sense, Yata must have been more human than anyone. Even if that means ruin, to confirm his own conscience, he opened his eyes and turned his face away.

On the bathroom ceiling, "it" was stuck.

His palm with dirty claws, every time it sticks to the ceiling, makes a "thump" sound. That was the true identity of the "steps". When he turned his head upside down, the ragged white hair was tousled. Stuck to the ceiling on all fours, "it" had bright red eyes that glowed negatively, exposing turbulent yellow and red teeth.

In the form of a predator who found Yata with no escape.

"No, aaaaaaaaaaah!"

Yata screamed with all his soul. At that moment, Yata's sight turned white.

++++++++++

"Hey! It was amazing!"

With such a voice, the door to the private room was opened.

Behind the door, the film crew, illuminated by electric lights, waited. Kamamoto Rikio holds up the camera, and a man in sunglasses and a red helmet holds a sign that says, "Don't miss it!" The man in the sunglasses looked a lot like Yata's trusted boss, Izumo Kusanagi.

"……"

Yata was watching the scene with all faces dead.

Kamamoto, who should have died, looks at a man who looks like Kusanagi while holding the camera.

"Kusanagi-san, this is…"

"I don't think there will be a reaction. So again."

He hit the sign in front of him.

"Yata-chan? Are you really okay?"

"……"

Yata cannot react.

When the man who looked like Kusanagi sighed, he left the sign to Kamamoto and entered the private room.

"Sure! The idol has a fluid face during the tea ceremony!"

Gently tap Yata's head.

"Ah! Eh, that? Kusanagi-san? Why?"

Kusanagi shakes his head at Yata, who drips confusion as is.

"That's why I told you about it for a while. It's a shocking show! The target is Yata-chan, and the tricks are us, 'Homura Performing Arts Office'."

At that moment, a figure fell from the ceiling. That monster with a shabby dress and white hair.

From "it", the horror was completely lost. She pulled her false teeth out of her mouth, tucked her white hair back, and turned her red eyes to Yata. "It" he breathed through her nose, giving a feeling of fullness to her young face.

"How was it? Was my performance terrifying?"

"Oh, you did it perfectly, Anna!"

"He was scared of you!"

Look at the friends who are raising their thumbs.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah?!"

Yata screamed as loud as he did before.

Ten minutes later.

Yata was angry at the entrance of the building, which was fully lit.

"What's that? It's terrible, Kusanagi-san! Please tell me in advance if you do this kind of thing!"

"Ahaha, Yata-chan, don't talk nonsense. If I told you, you wouldn't be surprised, right?"

"Kamamoto, you were an accessory too! I really thought you were dead!"

"Well, it doesn't matter how much food you eat there, doesn't it?"

Yata struck Kamamoto's head with all his might for the first time in a long time, gathering in his fist all the reaction of fear and anger that he had suffered.

With Kamamoto crouched on his back, Yata turns his resentful eyes on Anna.

"And Anna... even you..."

Anna suddenly looked away, perhaps uncomfortable.

"Because it was work.", Anna muttered.

So everything, it was something that had been organized from the beginning.

The place where the program will be broadcast is "Shirogin Deluxe" remains unchanged. However, it was not actually a visit to Kokujoji's house, but rather a project presented by the "Homura Performing Arts Office".

After seeing it, "Idol King" Isana Yashiro said, "This looks interesting!", And this project received the full backing of the "Tokijikuin Agency". Small dark vision cameras were installed around the building, rabbit costumes rented, and a recreational facility that was no longer in use. The words, actions and reactions Yata has done so far are said to be fully reflected.

Everything to give the Yata lens the greatest fear and obtain the best recordings.

Kusanagi happily explains.

"You know, Yata-chan has become popular lately? He's been featured in entertainment magazines and online, and some people call him 'The Red Prince'."

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"So, I wonder if that's a little different from Yata-chan's politics. I brought this project to highlight Yata-chan's original charm here."

"Eh..."

Honestly, he's not sure about politics or appeal. Yata entered this path longing for Suoh. He really hadn't been aware of how others saw him.

Such a production was the work of Kusanagi at the "Homura Performing Arts Office".

"Thanks to that, I got a good photo! Anna did a good job, and two birds with one stone."

Therefore, it would be nice if Kusanagi were satisfied with his work, although he is not yet convinced.

However, Yata looks at Anna with concern.

"Well Anna, how did you do that?"

Anna shook her head.

"Eh?"

"I see, that... was it glued to the ceiling?"

Anna turns to the side. Look at the hallway wall, put both hands on it, and climb the wall while making noise.

Yata opened his mouth.

Anna asks, glued to the ceiling and looking at Yata upside down.

"What about this?"

"No... that... how...?"

"Expert."

Anna said it with a calm face. Yata watches her like he's looking at something incredible. No, the idea occurred to him that it would be impossible to practice or that she was ignoring the laws of physics, but he felt that even doing it was unsophisticated.

"Well then, what about that? That way of turning the neck."

"This?"

When Anna's neck began to twist, Yata hastily stopped her.

"Wait! Stop! Stop! You don't have to show it!"

Anna returned her head to its original position. Looking at Yata upside down, with a smile.

"Special training."

"No, it's amazing, right?! Kusanagi-san, okay? What are you doing as an idol?"

"Yeah, well it's a subtle thing to say if it's an ant or a pear, but... Anna did her best, so ant!"

"Sweet! Are you really sweet to Anna?"

"Haha, okay, this is also an art style. Wasn't Anna's threatening role in the hallway quite realistic?"

"Yeah, well, I thought my heart would stop..."

Yata muttered that.

Of course, the rage at being cheated continues to smoke.

However, it was even stronger than that, and relief filled Yata's heart. He really thought that Kamamoto was dead, and he really thought they were going to kill him. Rather, he even remembered to praise the production team that created such high quality.

"Well I'm excited about this too. Yata-chan had a good reaction too!"

"Ah…"

When Kusanagi hit him on the back, Yata gave a dry laugh.

"The event has been completed! Please go ahead!"

A staff member who was in charge of the location car outside the building called him out. Kusanagi and other members of the "Homura Performing Arts Office" follow suit and get into the car one after another.

The rain had completely stopped and the light was shining through the clouds. Looking at him, Yata suddenly called to Anna in the seat next to him.

"Hey, Anna, you were on the second floor when we entered the building, right?"

"Eh?"

"No, you know. I saw you by the second floor window."

Anna looks at Yata saying, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Kusanagi, who had either heard or accosted him before, said with a bitter smile.

"Yata-chan, don't say weird things. No one went up the stairs."

"Ah…"

"I had no plans to use the second floor in the first place. No one should have gone."

The relief in his heart changes fast and cold.

So what did you see at the time?

Yata's neck was twisted back, as if it were a physical law. While he thought it was something he shouldn't see, he wanted to make his own discoveries, simple human curiosity.

The exterior of the desolate building. The windows on the second floor open in black at regular intervals. At one of the windows where sunlight enters after the rain, a girl dressed in white was smiling and showing her yellowish teeth.

[1989dreamer]

Mountains of Shrapnel for Sterek Big Bang 2021

Written for @twsterekbigbang’s Sterek Big Bang 2021, in collaboration with @mrkgrl​ (whose art is just delightful and so, so amazing!).

Word Count: 34,083

Summary: When Stiles returns after graduating, he discovers that Derek Hale is back in town. He also learns that Derek has somehow managed to fill an entire house with so much junk it isn't functional anymore and is on the verge of being condemned as unlivable. Stiles uses the excuse of helping Derek clean out his hoarded house to reconnect, aware that what used to be a teeny-tiny crush is not so small anymore. Emotional baggage makes an interesting bedfellow, but so does the revelation that Stiles might not be as alone in his crush as he thought he was.

Tags: Hoarding, Hoarder Derek, Falling in Love, Friends to Lovers, Redeemed Scott McCall, Mentions of Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Mentions of Past Jennifer Blake/Derek Hale, Not Nice Deaton, Human Scott, Canon Compliant to the end of 3B, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Vomit Scene, Derek Hale is in Therapy, Love Potion, Emotional Healing, They get a little sex happy toward the end, Reconnection

Warnings: Kate plays a large part in an element of the story although she does not appear on screen; vomit scene.

Note: The scene that features vomiting starts at "Maybe it was something he put in the pot pie?" and ends after "Stiles shooed him toward the bathroom."

                                                                                                                     ~ * ~

Graduation day came and went rather uneventfully despite the fact that Dad wouldn’t let Stiles wear jeans under his gown and either his head had shrunk since they’d measured him or they’d gotten his head size wrong so his cap refused to stay on his head if he bobbed his leg too hard.

After the long drive home, he and his dad went out to eat at The Burger Joint on the edge of Beacon Hills. Stiles glared at his dad when he ordered the double bacon cheeseburger deluxe.

“What? I’ve been eating well otherwise. I deserve a treat. Besides, it’s not every day your son graduates top of his class.”

“Did it have to be a double bacon burger?” Stiles asked. He was about to continue griping, hoping to at least badger his dad into not eating all of the bacon when the door jingled, catching his attention. Normally, Stiles would have checked who came in and then gone back to his conversation, but the person was an unexpected face. “Is that Derek Hale?”

Dad twisted in his chair until he could see what Stiles saw. Derek fucking Hale stomping his way up to the counter, phone in one hand, money in the other, glowering steadily at the poor clerk as they traded him the money for a bulging bag.

“Yeah,” Dad said. “He moved back to town, oh, about a year ago now. Didn’t I tell you?”

“No,” Stiles said. He jumped up from his chair and hurried to catch Derek before he left the building. Derek looked far less unsettled than Stiles felt at seeing him again.

“Stiles.” He nodded. Stiles swallowed hard.

It wasn’t that he and Derek hadn’t kept in touch, except…that’s exactly what happened.

Derek had left Beacon Hills halfway through Stiles’ junior year of high school, changed his number (and sent Stiles a “Here’s my new number” text about six months after, but he’d forgotten to mention who it was, so Stiles had thought it was one of his classmates and by the time he’d figured out that it was Derek, the number had been changed again), and practically disappeared off the face of the Earth.

Stiles’ mouth didn’t seem to want to cooperate so he just stood there in Derek’s way. What could he say? “I missed you”? Derek obviously hadn’t missed Stiles since he hadn’t contacted him outside of that text.

“Derek,” Stiles finally managed, and then his dad grabbed his arm and dragged him back a few steps.

“Derek, nice to see you again, son. How’s the house treating you? Have you found a job yet? We’d better let you get to your food. See you around. Take care now.”

Dad forcibly steered Stiles back to their table and pushed on his shoulder until he sat down. Derek didn’t move for a long minute. He stared at the Stilinskis with a sullen glare before squaring his shoulders and setting his bag of food down on a table to dig out a notebook. He borrowed a pen off another patron and wrote something down. He returned the pen, picked up his bag, and approached their table.

“This is my address and my number,” he said gruffly, almost stabbing the paper at Stiles’ face. “Congratulations on your graduation. Sir,” he nodded at the Sheriff, “always nice to see you. Have a good meal.”

Stiles grabbed the paper and Derek spun on his heel and marched away.

“He’s gotten better about that,” Dad remarked and then dug into his burger which must have arrived when Stiles was busy gaping at Derek.

He picked up his own burger, a much more modest cheeseburger deluxe. “You said he moved back to town last year?”

Dad paused, thinking. “At least,” he said. “In some ways, it feels like he’s been here forever. He keeps to himself mostly, but I think he’s a good neighbor to have. He’s been nominated for that community thing they created three years ago. You know the thing.”

“The Good Neighbor Program?” Stiles asked, a little cheekily.

“That’s the one. I think he might win it this year.”

“This year? Wait, what about last year?”

“Mrs. Halvershiem won it last year,” Dad said. “Derek was too new to town then. But he’s certainly done a lot in the months he’s been here.”

“Oh yeah?” Stiles wouldn’t have thought Derek would do anything other than hide away from the world. He did a lot of that before, which Stiles mostly doesn’t hold against him. He stood up when he needed to. If anyone deserved to shut the world out, it was Derek. Life had dealt him a shitty hand and then kept piling on the bad luck.

The fact that Derek was back in Beacon Hills at all was a miracle. One which Stiles would use to reconnect.

If he was honest with himself, he’d missed the big guy. He’d missed the supernatural. He’d still gotten up to a few mostly un-supernatural shenanigans in college but nothing could ever beat the exhilaration he’d gotten when one of his plans went right and Derek was right there with him, backing him up.

Stiles had been mad at Derek for a long time after he’d left, and he didn’t know if his dad had told him that he was back that he wouldn’t have reacted badly. Some of his anger was directed at Derek because Stiles had realized that he was a little bit in love with Derek, like, a crush or something. Most of his anger, though, was because Derek had left him behind.

Once Stiles had sat Dad down and fully explained how Dad was right, he wasn’t gay, but not because of how he dressed. Stiles was bisexual, not gay. Some days, it still hurt having his dad dismiss him like that, but Dad was trying his best to be supportive and understanding now, and that’s all Stiles wanted, really.

He wondered if Derek knew what his orientation was back in high school. If he did, he hadn’t said. Honestly, Stiles hadn’t ever asked him if that was something he could smell.

But now, with no prompting from either Stiles or Stiles’ dad, Derek had given Stiles his address and his phone number. That was something that would never have happened back in high school.

Stiles felt like he was forgetting something majorly important, but staring at the paper with Derek’s surprisingly neat handwriting, he couldn’t think what it could be. That is until he heard the ice in his dad’s glass of water.

The bacon on his dad’s burger! That’s what he forgot!

Stiles glared at his dad, but nope, it was too late, Dad had already eaten everything.

He didn’t even look a little bit guilty as he finished off his water and stacked everything neatly.

Stiles hurriedly started eating his burger. “Hey, can we visit Derek today?” he asked through a mouthful of meat and bread.

Dad had retired a few months earlier, working part time at the bakery downtown instead of as the Sheriff anymore, so it wasn’t like he’d have the excuse of patrolling anymore.

“Sure. Been meaning to get out that way for a while now. I think Derek works out of his home so it’s rare to see him around town.”

“Is it rare for him to pass out his address too?” Stiles folded the paper, tucking it deep in his breast pocket. He was not going to lose that paper if he could help it.

“That I don’t know. We all kind of just know where he lives now. It was a big thing when he moved back. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just remember how upset you were when he left the first time, and I didn’t want you to get hurt again if he wasn’t going to stick around.”

“Dad, I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Look, why don’t you call him later, set up some time to catch up?”

“That’s actually a really good idea. Thanks.”

Stiles finished his burger while his dad went to pay. He and his dad didn’t have plans for the rest of the day, but Stiles didn’t want to duck out immediately just to possibly reconnect with an old friend. It wasn’t like Derek was going anywhere in the next twenty-four hours. He would call him tomorrow, he decided. Today could be all about his dad. After all, they hadn’t seen each other for almost two months while Stiles was busy finishing up his classes. He wanted to hear about what his dad got up to in his retirement when he wasn’t baking cupcakes.

He patted his pocket one more time, soothed by the crinkle of the paper. And then he gave his attention back to his dad.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek answered his phone with a gruff, “Hale.”

Stiles slapped his forehead. Of course Derek wouldn’t recognize his number. Stiles had had to change it a few months back when an incident with a currently incarcerated ex-classmate of his escalated to the point that Stiles had a few new scars and a few new friends in the Berkley Police Department.

“Hey, this is Stiles.”

“Hi.”

Still gruff. Well, some things never changed.

“Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to catch up over coffee or something?”

Stiles couldn’t remember Derek ever drinking coffee, so he was hoping that he did or else this would get even more awkward than just trying to talk about things that weren’t supernatural-related.

“Sure. The bakery your dad works at serves coffee. We can meet there.”

Stiles didn’t want his dad to have the inside scoop, but maybe Derek would feel more comfortable there? Maybe he wasn’t comfortable at all and Stiles really shouldn’t be trying to meet up with him. Maybe—

“Are you breathing?” Derek asked, a different gruffness to his tone. Stiles recognized it as his concerned tone. Derek was concerned for him. Aw, wasn’t that sweet? Last he knew, Derek couldn’t stand the sight of him, hence why he skipped town. Or at least, that was what Stiles had told himself for a few years.

“Yes, I’m breathing. The bakery is fine. What time did you want to meet?”

“Are you busy in an hour?”

Stiles checked his wrist for a watch he’d never worn, but he’s just graduated. He has no plans aside from catching up on some sleep. He’ll always make time for Derek anyway. He’d always regretted the way they hadn’t kept in touch, and now faced with the opportunity to rekindle the friendship, he won’t let a little thing like being busy keep him away.

“Nope. Not doing anything. See you then?”

“Sure. Thanks, Stiles. Bye now.”

Stiles stared at his phone long after Derek disconnected the call. That was new. The Derek saying “bye” thing. Usually he would just hang up.

It’s been six years. Maybe Derek really has changed. Stiles was interested to see just how much of an actual adult Derek was.

Back in the day, it had been easy to forget that Derek was only like twenty-one to his sixteen, and even worse when Derek was twenty-two and he was seventeen. Dad had started taking Derek around to crime scenes and everything. Stiles had almost expected Derek to start working for the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department in an Official capacity, and then shit hit the fan.

Kate Argent returned, kidnapped Derek—twice—and nearly murdered them all before she was finally put down.

When it was all said and done, Derek had looked at all of them gathered outside his loft where the final stand had been made, shook his head, and just walked away.

The text came later, after a year, and by then Stiles’ hurt had been so ramped up that he’d refused to even acknowledge that it was maybe Derek’s way of reaching out after taking some time for himself.

Now, though, Stiles would give anything to go back to the day Derek walked away and follow him.

Regrets wouldn’t get them anywhere though, so Stiles set a timer on his phone, sat down at his computer, and dicked around until it was time to go to the bakery.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Dad waved at him when he walked in. Stiles was still unused to seeing his dad in an apron with one of those little paper hats on his head instead of his Sheriff’s uniform, but he had to admit, his dad looked far more relaxed behind the counter of the bakery than behind the wheel of his cruiser.

The interim sheriff wasn’t seeking reelection this year, and Stiles was terrified that his dad would be pressured into running again. Half the town still referred to him as Sheriff.

Stiles hadn’t asked his dad if he planned to run, half-hoping that by not talking about it, he wouldn’t influence him to accept the nomination.

Dad pointed at one of the tables, and Stiles almost sagged in relief. He’d half-thought that Derek might stand him up, but there he was, sitting at the table, a puzzle book in front of him along with a mug of steaming liquid and an untouched puff pastry.

Stiles sat down across from him and without looking up from his puzzle, a crossword, Derek pushed the coffee and pastry toward him.

“Don’t you want anything?” Stiles asked, unsure if he was supposed to accept Derek’s offerings.

“Not hungry,” Derek replied, filling in a word. He set the pencil down, closed the book, and settled back in his chair. He didn’t cross his arms, but his expression was flat and stony enough that he might as well have.

“How are you?” Stiles started. Derek was standoffish, and Stiles could understand why. He didn’t have the same time as everyone else. To Derek, Stiles hadn’t been his friend for years. To Stiles, he could still remember the visceral pain he’d felt when he realized that Derek was leaving them behind after everything they’d been through, but they were still friends.

“I’m fine,” Derek said. “How about you?”

“Great. Just graduated.”

Derek nodded. “I know.”

“How about you? Did you ever go back to college?” Derek had confided once that he’d been enrolled in New York, but had dropped out when Laura was killed.

Derek shook his head. “Never felt like it. I did a bit of trade school though. Picked up welding and furniture restoration. I do both on the side.”

“On the side of what?”

Derek shrugged. “Of life, I guess? I don’t really need to work. I just do.”

Stiles had transferred Derek’s address into his phone in case he forgot the paper somewhere and lost it. “So, if I randomly stop by your house, you won’t always be there?”

“Not on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Derek said. “On Tuesdays, I fill in at Scrappers Galore and Thursdays, I help out at Raquel’s Antiques.”

“So any day but Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Stiles repeated.

Derek squinted at him, suspicious. “Yes,” he said slowly, drawing out the word. “I guess. Why? You planning on stopping by unannounced?”

“Only if you want me to. If you want me to always announce whenever I’m planning on swinging by, that’s great too.”

Derek tapped his book, thinking. Stiles had forgotten how much he missed Derek’s everything. And not just because he was handsome and nice to look at. (Yeah, he’d figured out pretty quickly that he’d like both men and women, and that he’d likely been very attracted to Derek when they’d first met.)

No, Derek was more than a pretty face. He was compassion embodied, caring, kind (once he got out of the survival mode he’d been in when they’d first crossed paths), and more than generous.

It was a little unsettling that Derek seemed to be hedging his words with Stiles, unsure if he wanted to fully trust him. Stiles wanted to remind Derek that he was the one who walked away, not Stiles, but he didn’t want to accidentally push him too far.

They were reconnecting, after all.

“My house isn’t the cleanest,” Derek finally said after a long moment of silence between them. “I don’t need to hear about how I should be doing this or doing that. I’m in therapy, but right now, we’re at a stage in my life where I can’t do certain things.”

Stiles held up his hands. “Hey, no judging here.” The only reason he kept his room clean was because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to think at all. Clutter worsened his ADHD, and no amount of medication was going to make him focus on the things he should if he was constantly distracted by his surroundings.

Dad had helped him clean out his room last summer when Stiles had returned only to find that all the things from his childhood and high school years sat heavily on his mind, making what was supposed to be a relaxing time very stressful.

He half expected Derek to be the same way, but maybe not? Derek didn’t have an ADHD diagnosis, and likely wouldn’t ever get one, so that was probably not it.

Derek picked up his book. “It was nice talking with you, but I need to run an errand. Call me later if you want to come over.”

“Hey, no, yeah, it was really good to see you. I’ll definitely call you later.”

Derek ambled off, and Stiles was probably imagining that he looked more relaxed than when Stiles sat down. Huh. Maybe he and Derek were still friends.

He picked up the pastry, taking a large bite. Well, Derek still knew what Stiles liked to eat. A sip of the drink revealed that it was the coffee order Stiles used to drink in college. It wasn’t bad, but it was more sugary than Stiles liked now.

But it was still very thoughtful of Derek. And besides, there was time now for Stiles to teach him his new coffee order.

He finished the drink and pastry quickly, dropping a tip in the jar for his dad, and waving as he headed outside.

For some reason, he really didn’t want to go home, so he texted his dad that he was picking up some stuff for supper and headed to the grocery store.

He parked next to a Camaro that reminded him strongly of Derek’s. It was even black too. Once inside, he grabbed a cart and started wandering the aisles, adding things he thought could make a delicious, healthy supper.

When he went to pay, he found himself behind a tall, broad back that was oh-so-familiar. He didn’t need to smell the woodsy aftershave or see the slightly scraggly hair in need of a trim to know that he hadn’t just been reminded of Derek’s Camaro: it was actually Derek’s Camaro. Derek’s errand must have been grocery shopping, although from the look of his cart, it wasn’t so much groceries as junk food.

Stiles never imagined Derek to be a junk food eater, certain that the chemicals used to mimic natural ingredients and flavors would have been off-putting for a werewolf and his heightened sense of smell and taste.

Derek must have either smelled him (likely) or sensed him staring at him (also likely) and turned around with a tight smile.

Stiles just waved. He wasn’t in the habit of accosting his acquaintances in the queue to pay.

He made a telephone sign with his hand, and Derek nodded.

The amount of food that Derek had bought meant that he’d likely still be putting it into his car by the time Stiles got out to Roscoe.

He’d talk to him then. Invite him to supper. He’d gotten plenty of ingredients for two people, and definitely more than enough to accommodate a third.

Besides, it’d be nice to see if his dad and Derek still got along. He hoped so; otherwise his renewed friendship with Derek was going to be awkward.

It was unfortunate that Stiles had lost all his other friends, also shortly around the time that Derek had left. In fact, Derek’s leaving had caused such major infighting among them that Stiles and Scott still weren’t speaking to this day.

Lydia and Kira, caught in the middle, had bonded over their refusal to take sides (although, privately, they both admitted that Stiles had more of a point to his argument that Scott had caused Kate’s return, something Scott refused to accept and Stiles refused to revisit now for fear of becoming enraged again). Lydia and Kira had ended up getting married after two years of dating and now were living on the east coast while Lydia studied at MIT and Kira got her teaching license.

Stiles hoped they’d had better luck keeping in touch with the others, but he also didn’t think they’d made an effort with Derek because, to be honest, neither of them were very close to him to begin with.

Still, Stiles wasn’t one to shy away from something just because it was hard. He had gone from ignoring a problem and hoping it went away to confronting it head on because then it wouldn’t just grow bigger behind his back and knock him off his path again.

He paid for his groceries and hurried out to the lot. Derek was indeed still piling bags into the trunk of his car.

“Hey, so I’m making pesto, and I was wondering if you wanted to join my dad and me for supper.”

Derek spun around, even though there was no way he didn’t hear Stiles behind him. “Uh.” His eyebrows went up and then quickly lowered. Confusion at being asked and masking that confusion. Good to know Stiles could still read him. “Is your dad okay with that?”

Stiles waved away his concern. “My dad loves you,” he declared, almost positive that it was true. After all, his dad hadn’t glared at or threatened Derek at the diner today.

Nor had he gotten between them when they caught up at the bakery.

Derek’s eyebrows wriggled again before finally relaxing to their normal position on his face. Stiles stifled a comment on the bushiness of them. He didn’t know if Derek was self conscious of any part of his body, and he didn’t want to accidentally dredge up anything for him.

“I highly doubt he actually loves me,” Derek said. “No one really does.”

“Hey now.”

Derek rolled his shoulders, less of a shrug and more of a so-life-goes motion. High school Stiles would have agreed with him, maybe cracked a self-depreciating joke about himself to lighten the mood. College graduate Stiles was wiser and less infatuated with nihilism.

“Seriously, I’ve never seen him look so happy to see someone who wasn’t me.”

Derek still didn’t look like he believed Stiles, but that was okay. Stiles was back in Beacon Hills for a while. He could work on him, make sure Derek knew just how much he was treasured.

“I heard you’re up for the Good Neighbor award this year.”

Derek ducked his head, blushing hotly. “I don’t know about that,” he mumbled.

“Hey, if they hand you the award, just say thanks and move on. I’m sure you deserve it anyway. You did a lot for us back in the day.”

Derek scoffed. “As if. I did more harm than good and you know it.”

“Well, I for one appreciate what you did for me. And before you deny it, you were helpful, if a bit scary.”

“I got people killed. Can’t forget that.” Derek dropped his gaze down to his feet. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can make it to supper.”

“Please don’t,” Stiles said softly. Derek’s head snapped up. “I want you there. I want to reconnect with you. I’m not inviting you out of pity or because I think you can’t feed yourself.” He sighed, stepping forward, hand raised so that Derek had plenty of time to decide if he wanted to step out of reach. When Derek didn’t move, Stiles set his hand on his arm and gave it a little squeeze before pulling back entirely.

“Okay,” Derek said, a little breathlessly. He swallowed hard. “Okay, I’ll be there.When?”

“Give me about two hours and it should be ready. Pesto doesn’t actually take that long to make, but I think we’d both appreciate some time to put away our groceries.”

“Okay. I’ll be there. I promise.”

Stiles beamed at him, which oddly made Derek blush. Huh, food for thought. “Okay. I’ll see you in a couple of hours. It’ll be great to catch up some more.”

“Sure.” It was probably just Stiles’ imagination, but he thought Derek’s tone was a little cold, as if Stiles had said something unfavorable. “See you.”

Stiles waved to him and then got into Roscoe and drove back to his dad’s house.

Dad wouldn’t be off work yet, so Stiles took some time to put away the groceries, clean up their nicest set of plates, and set the table before he pulled up a recipe on his phone and got busy.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek arrived at the house at the same time as Dad. Stiles could hear them greet each other on the doorstep. He waited a decent two minutes while they exchanged pleasantries and Derek gave Dad a bottle of wine he brought with him.

“Ah, Stiles loves this brand. Thanks.”

Stiles threw open the door. “Come on in,” he said brightly, taking the bottle from his dad. Both his dad and Derek know him well: this was his favorite vintage right now. “The food is ready.”

Derek shifted awkwardly before stepping into the house. He looked uncomfortable and on edge even though Stiles had double checked to make sure the wolfsbane his dad grew now that Chris Argent was off globe-trotting was out back in the shed. Maybe he could still smell it?

“Thanks for inviting me,” Derek said, almost too quiet to hear. He cleared his throat and asked for the bathroom.

“You know where it is,” Dad said, clapping him on the back. “I’m going to get washed up, Stiles. Supper smells great.”

“Thanks. I’m going to put this on ice. Anyone want a glass with supper? Not sure how well it’ll go with pesto, but we can try it!”

“I think I’ll try some,” Dad called over his shoulder. “You got any of that non-alcoholic beer left?”

Derek reappeared before Stiles could answer. He still looked terrified but at least he was still standing in the front hallway.

“Come on.” Stiles held out his hand, waving Derek toward the kitchen. “We can grab everything and set up in the dining room.”

Derek followed, and then stood still while Stiles loaded his arms with plates, silverware wrapped in napkins, and a serving utensil. Dad grabbed the dish with pesto, and Stiles wrapped the wine bottle in a wet paper towel and stuck it in the freezer, setting a fifteen minute timer on his phone.

Once the table was set, a centerpiece collected from the back garden Dad worked on in his spare time, and the wine collected after the timer went off, they all sat down. Neither Stiles nor his dad had cared to say Grace since before Mom died, but the way Derek folded his hands and stared at his plate, spoke volumes. Stiles nodded at his dad, and Dad spoke a quick few words before holding his hand out for Derek’s plate.

“Guests are served first,” he said gently when Derek politely refused.

Derek surrendered his plate, and Dad heaped it full. Derek winced at it when he took it back, and Stiles made a mental note to send him home with some Tupperware if he couldn’t finish it.

Or maybe Derek didn’t like pesto? He had seemed at least a little enthused when Stiles invited him, but maybe Stiles was reading too much into it?

He was overthinking things. He needed to not do that. Dad dished up some pesto for Stiles and then himself, and Stiles wondered if Dad liked the pesto at all since he hadn’t taken near as much as he normally did.

“So, Derek, how are you liking being back in Beacon Hills?”

Stiles turned a horrified eye to his dad. What kind of question was that? The last time Derek was in Beacon Hills, he’d been assaulted by a phantom from his past, all but run from the town, and everyone who cared about him was either dead or disgusted with him, Stiles included.

Although, if Stiles was honest with himself, he wasn’t as disgusted with Derek as he was with himself or Scott. Derek had just been reacting to the stress and repeated assault from Kate.

“It’s been good,” Derek said. He poked at his food before putting a small bite in his mouth. He chewed for almost a minute before he swallowed. “The people have been nice.”

Ashamed, Stiles stabbed at his own food. He hadn’t ever been the friend Derek needed. He didn’t know why it was so important to him that he do this, invite Derek for supper, go out for coffee to catch up, when even two years ago, he couldn’t find the time or patience for him.

“I’m sorry we were such assholes,” he blurted out.

Derek frowned at him. “We?” he repeated. “Are you apologizing for you or for everyone?”

“Everyone.”

“Don’t. I don’t want it. I was an asshole too.”

“Yeah, a surviving asshole.”

Derek smothered a chuckle. “Still an asshole.”

“Can we suspend the assholes at the dinner table?” Dad asked, pointing his fork at Stiles. “You’re sorry. Derek’s sorry. I’m sorry. Can we please just eat?”

“It is good,” Derek said. “The pesto, I mean. You’re a good cook, Stiles.”

Stiles took a moment to bask in the glory of the compliment before he set aside his plate. “So, Derek, is there any chance I’ll get to see where you live now?”

Derek glared at his plate. The change in expression gave Stiles pause. He vaguely remembered Derek telling him he couldn’t judge him for how he lived, not that he couldn’t visit him at all.

“I’m not ready for visitors,” Derek mumbled.

“Okay.” Stiles tried to bury the flash of hurt, but from Derek’s even more miserable expression, he wasn’t successful at all. “I mean,” he tried again, “I can wait until you’re ready? Or I can help you if that’s what you need? I’m not going to judge you.”

Both Dad and Derek turned their heads to stare at him. Stiles sunk in his seat.

“You know what I mean.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his plate.

Derek sighed. “I appreciate it. I really do. I’ll have to think about it. Is that okay?”

“Perfectly okay.” Stiles returned to his food, finishing his wine with a long swallow. He gathered the plates while Dad picked up the rest of the pesto. “I made a cheesecake,” Stiles said, mostly for Derek’s benefit so he wouldn’t take the opportunity of being left alone to duck out early.

“You’re actually going to let me have a slice?” Dad asked, surprised.

Stiles lightly slapped at his arm. “Of course you can have a slice. You’ve been doing much better with your diet. And besides, it’s low fat.”

Dad’s face falls. “Low fat?”

“Yes, low fat. It’s still delicious.” Stiles gave his dad one of his most mischievous looks, one his dad probably thought he retired after leaving his teens behind. “Or did you not want any?”

“No, I’ll take a slice. I probably won’t eat more than that.” His dad grabbed glasses for milk. “I mean, one is probably all I’ll need.”

“You can have two,” Stiles said magnanimously. “I’m sending the rest home with Derek.”

Derek was still sitting in his seat, thank goodness. He hurriedly shoved his cell phone under the table, shooting Stiles a guilty look.

“If you have other plans, you can go to them. You don’t have to stay for my sake.”

Derek shook his head. “No, it’s something for tomorrow.” He got a determined look in his eye before pulling out his phone again. “I could maybe use your help,” he admitted. “That is, if you have time.” He showed Stiles the screen.

It was just messages from a number Derek hadn’t saved as a contact. Okay to drop off mom’s stuff at 10?

Derek’s simple Yes underneath it sparked a shiver of fear in Stiles that he couldn’t explain.

“What is ‘mom’s stuff’?” he asked. Before Derek can stop him, he flicked the screen to another conversation. It was almost exactly the same except it was “Aunt Catherine’s crap” instead of “mom’s stuff.”

“It’s just stuff,” Derek said, evasive. He pulled his phone back, locking the screen. “Sometimes it’s a lot of stuff, and sometimes it’s not a lot of stuff.”

“And Aunt Catherine’s crap?”

“Catherine?” Dad interjected. “Catherine Harper who died two years ago? Her nephew finally decided to clean out her house?”

“Yeah, and apparently decided to just dump her ‘crap’ on Derek.”

Derek flushed. “It’s not like it’s a bad thing,” he mumbles. More clearly he said, “I help them take care of unwanted things. I have a holding period, and if, after that period, they don’t want anything from their loved one’s things, then I dispose of it.”

“Sounds like they’re getting more out of this deal than you,” Stiles remarked, studying Derek to see his reaction. Predictably, he blushed harder.

“It’s not like that.”

“Oh no?” Stiles started dishing up the cheesecake. “It probably is exactly like that. I know you, Mister. You don’t give enough thought to yourself when you try to help everyone.”

Derek accepted the plate. “Maybe I enjoy helping people?”

“To the point where they hurt you?” Stiles shook his head. “Dude, I was one of those people. You can’t say honestly that I didn’t hurt you.”

“I’m not holding a grudge.”

“Maybe you should.”

Dad grabbed Stiles’ wrist. “Let’s leave it alone for now,” he advised. “The wounds are obviously still fresh, but you’ll get nowhere if you keep picking the scab off before it can try to heal.”

He sat down and forked a large mouthful of the cheesecake into his mouth. “You’re right, Stiles, this isn’t so bad.”

Stiles acquiesced with a brief nod, tucking into his own slice. It wasn’t as good as the cheesecake he normally made, but for his dad’s health and inclusion in desserts, something Stiles had banned him from during high school, he’d gladly make it again.

Derek finished first and declined a second helping. Surprisingly Dad did too, so Stiles slapped a lid on the pan and handed it to Derek before he left.

“Can I come over around 10:00 tomorrow? Just to see what is being dropped off?”

Derek shrugged, nonchalant, but Stiles could still see the tension holding him stiff. “I’m not going to stop you.”

“Great,” Stiles said with genuine enthusiasm. “Text me the address?”

“Didn’t I write it down for you already?”

“Oh yeah.” Stiles smacked his forehead. “Sorry about that.” He patted his pockets until he came up with the crumpled paper. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Derek nodded. “Okay. Then, he walked to his Camaro, waved at Stiles after he secured the cheesecake in the front seat, and drove away.

Stiles returned to the kitchen to find his dad loading the dishwasher he’d finally bought after retiring from the Sheriff’s Department.

“That went well, I think,” Stiles told him.

“Son, I know you want to fix things, but some things take time.”

“I know that.” He blew out a breath. “It’s just…You know how we treated him when he came back to find his sister. His murdered sister.”

“The sister he did not murder,” Dad finished. They’d started referring to Derek like this after watching The Emperor’s New Groove one too many times when Stiles was on break his sophomore year.

Stiles blew out another breath. “I just wish we had been nicer to him. I mean, especially after we knew he had nothing to do with the murders.”

“Stiles, regret can only do so much for us. Go see what’s up tomorrow, but then let Derek dictate the pace. After all, it’s his healing that you’re so worried about right now.”

Stiles chewed on that for a minute before deciding that his dad was right. “I won’t push him if he’s not ready,” he finally said.

Dad sighed. “It’ll have to do. Now, do you want to watch a movie with me or did you have plans with your online friends?”

“A movie,” Stiles said automatically.

He’d make plans with Kira and Lydia later. For now, there was nothing better than getting to spend the night picking apart a movie with his dad. They both loved pointing out the inaccuracies in films, which made them unbearable to watch with anyone else. Besides, Stiles justified it as making up missed time. Dad had been busy most of his life. It was only fitting that now they could relax together when his dad had nothing more pressing than an early bedtime, and Stiles wasn’t as involved in the supernatural crises that used to plague the town.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek’s text with his address came in just before 8:30 a.m. when Stiles was in the shower, trying to wake up. Dad was already at work, so Stiles sent a text telling him that he was at Derek’s and will be home by supper, and then he packed a few water bottles into his backpack, grabbed some money from a stash he kept under his mattress, and then drove Roscoe to Derek’s address.

It was located in the solidly middle class residential district, the one right before where the Beacon Hills wealthy lived. Derek’s house was huge, by Stiles’ standards. It stood almost three stories tall and was nearly half a block all to itself. Someone had erected a fence around the property, six feet tall, with no spaces between the slats, and painted pale green to match the house. The front gate was wrought iron rendered into roses, the tops spiked.

Derek was sitting on an upturned bucket in the middle of the sidewalk, sorting a few piles of dusty books into three piles.

Stiles parked across the street so he wouldn’t block Derek’s visitor, and strolled up to him.

Derek barely paused in his sorting to grunt an acknowledgement at him.

“Do you need help yet?” Stiles asked. He picked up a book from the pile closest to Derek, gingerly flipping through it. The book was filled with poetry written by some author he didn’t recognize. The poems were stuffy, love in an abstract, don’t tell our families way that made Stiles sneeze. Or that could have been the dust.

He set the book back where he found it.

“Is this part of ‘mom’s stuff’?”

“No, this is part of Samuel’s things. He’s actually coming by today to collect all the books by Tomás Gibraltar.”

“And how long have you had Samuel’s things?” Stiles picked up the book of poems again. The author was not Tomás Gibraltar, so he could assume this pile was not one Samuel wanted. He grabbed a book from the pile Derek was sorting. This one was a Tomás Gibraltar book so he handed it to Derek and watched which pile he set it on, then he dove in.

“I’ve only had them for a few months. I thought I had more time. He was supposed to be back in Beacon Hills in another two months, but I guess his trip got cut short.”

“Good thing I’m early, eh?”

“Huh?” Derek quickly checked his phone. “Oh, yeah. Thanks. I’ll buy you lunch after Andrew drops off his mother’s things.”

“Cool.” Stiles added another Tomás Gibraltar book to the pile. “How many books did this guy write?” The pile already had twenty books.

“Over fifty, I think,” Derek replied, “which is a drop in the bucket compared to the number of books Samuel dropped off.”

Stiles stepped back and quickly counted the books surrounding Derek. He lost count at eighty-seven. “And just how many books was that?” he asked.

“Eighteen boxes worth,” Derek said. He stood up, stretching and rubbing at the small of his back.

“I guess even werewolves get backaches,” Stiles joked, flipping three more books into the Gibraltar pile.

“It’s a non-essential wound,” Derek said as he grabbed another stack of books. “It’ll heal when I’m done.” He looked up, stricken. “You don’t have to help long enough to get hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt,” Stiles said. “I didn’t drag eighteen boxes of books out of your house.”

“That was the easy part.” Derek flashed him a brief smile that faded almost immediately when a large white SUV pulled up next to them.

A large man, gray hair, full beard, and mirrored sunglasses sauntered over to them.

“Derek.” His voice was jovial, but from the set of Derek’s shoulders, the man wasn’t a welcome visitor.

“Hey, Samuel. You said you’d be over by 9:30.”

Samuel made a show of looking at his wristwatch. Stiles would bet money that it was either a Rolex or a very good knockoff. “So I’m early. You’ve had two hours. You should have gotten it all done.”

“An hour,” Derek corrected quietly. “You called an hour ago.”

“Seriously?” Stiles set down the books he was holding. “What is your problem, man? You only gave him ninety minutes and thirty of those, you just took away?”

“Who’s this?” Samuel pointed at Stiles, flicking his fingers like Stiles was just an annoying fly.

“My friend,” Derek said. “But he’s right. You didn’t give me enough time, and you’ve shortened it considerably, so you know what? You can deal with your books yourself.” Derek stood up, grabbed his bucket and Stiles, and marched toward his house.

“You can’t walk away from a paying customer,” Samuel shouted after them.

“You didn’t pay me anything,” Derek said. He shoved Stiles through the gate, slapping the bucket into his arms.

“Is this a fight? Should I call the cops?”

Samuel squared off, snarling at Derek. Instead of a fighting stance, Derek instead grabbed a book from the Gibraltar pile. He held up a hand. “One step closer,” he gritted out between clenched fangs. Stiles held his breath. He didn’t know if this man knew what Derek was. He hoped Derek would be able to rein in his control and possibly endangered himself.

Samuel faltered his steps. He studied Derek, expression blank for a long few minutes before he shook his head and adjusted his sunglasses. “Fine. You’ve got til 9:30.”

“No,” Derek said. “You take your books now. All of them. If you don’t, everything is going to the dump. You have fifteen minutes to get this crap off my property before I call the police on you for trespassing.”

“You can’t do that. These books are my property.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you dumped them on him,” Stiles called. He was escalating the situation, but he couldn’t help it.

Derek didn’t deserve to be treated like his time wasn’t important.

Samuel could go kick rocks for all Stiles cared.

Samuel worked his jaw before stalking to the pile of Gibraltar books and gathering as many as he could carry and stacking them into the back of his SUV.

Derek watched him, periodically checking his phone to keep track of the fifteen minutes. Once time was up, Samuel still had over a couple hundred books. Derek left him then, locking the gate behind himself.

Samuel began cursing but Derek didn’t turn around, and after a moment to enjoy the sight of a full grown man in tantrum mode, Stiles followed him. Derek didn’t say anything when Stiles walked with him up his front steps and into his foyer. Stiles stopped still in shock.

There was so much stuff that his brain couldn’t quite process what he was seeing. Derek had already disappeared from view, and Stiles didn’t see how. Was there a path? Where did Derek get all this stuff from?

It was boxes and boxes covered in things like lamps, clothing, papers. There was so much of it that Stiles was afraid to touch it or even try to find Derek’s path because he was positive it was going to fall over and crush him.

Instead, he waited in the foyer, hands shoved deep in his pockets while he rocked back and forth, unsure why, but knowing that he was heading for a panic attack.

Derek returned with the empty pan and lid from the cheesecake, handing it to Stiles.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

Stiles shook his head. He clutched the pan, squeezing it like it was a flotation device, feeling like it was one too.

Derek gently gripped his elbow and turned him around. They stepped back out on the porch, and Derek guided him to a chair. Samuel was still cursing, but he was now sitting on the ground sorting his own damn books.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said, shaky. He was still on the edge, honestly could go either way, and he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. Derek pressed down on the pan so that it was weighted against Stiles’ legs. He latched onto the sensation and used it to pull himself firmly into just-past-panic territory. Then he stared down at the empty pan.

“Did you really eat all the cheesecake yourself?”

Derek flushed. “No.”

“Liar,” Stiles countered.

“I didn’t,” Derek protested. “I gave it away.” His eyes cut away and Stiles couldn’t make eye contact anymore. He frowned at him, thinking back to every Hoarders episode he had ever seen. “Do you have a working fridge?” he asked.

“Yes,” Derek bit out. So, probably a lie.

“Did you not like it?”

“What? It was fine. It tasted almost like regular cheesecake. It was fine, Stiles. I told you, you’re a good cook.”

“So, why did you give it away? It would have kept for a few more days.”

Derek’s mouth twisted, and it was all the warning Stiles had before Derek stood up and stalked into his house. The door slammed shut, and the lock clicked.

Stiles waited a few minutes to see if Derek would reappear, and when he didn’t, he banged on the door.

After about five minutes, Derek finally cracked open the door. “What?” he snapped.

“Why are you mad at me?”

Derek pointed at the pan Stiles had left on the chair. “Why are you interrogating me about your cheesecake?”

Screeching tires and burning rubber interrupted whatever response Stiles was going to say, and they both watched as Samuel peeled around the corner. He’d left all the books that weren’t by his Gibraltar author, and Derek visibly slumped as he stared at the mess remaining on the sidewalk.

“I can help you pick them up,” Stiles offered. He briefly wondered where Derek would put them, or if he could even fit them into his house.

Derek eyed him. “Will you leave your cheesecake out of it?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”

Derek opened the door wider. “Thanks.” He passed out a plastic tote, and Stiles took it. Derek stepped out, another tote in his arms. “I could only empty the two. I know there’s more, but I couldn’t find them right now.”

No wonder, Stiles thought meanly. With the mess in Derek’s house, it was a miracle he didn’t lose himself.

It took ten minutes to fill the first tote. Derek hefted it up on his shoulders and carried it back to his house. It took him ten minutes to empty it and come back, and by that time, Stiles had the second tote filled. Derek took it from him and again took ten minutes to come back with it emptied. He also brought the chair from the porch and Stiles’ pan.

“Why don’t you take a quick break while I fill this tote?”

Stiles shrugged. He wouldn’t say no. Besides, he was thirsty. He offered a bottle to Derek as he began packing books into the tote.

Derek accepted after a few seconds of cajoling. They were silent for a sip or two before Derek said, softly, “I know you’re disappointed in me.” He fiddled with the cap from his bottle, running it over his fingers and tucking it into his palm, only to start again immediately.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Stiles said. He concentrated on taking small, even sips of his water. It was a shock to be sure to see the amount of stuff in Derek’s house.

“You had a panic attack because of me,” Derek said.

“Not you,” Stiles said. “Claustrophobia. It was a little tight and I lost sight of you.”

“Sorry about that,” Derek said, in a tone that wasn’t entirely truthful. Stiles wondered when he’d gotten good at reading Derek. It couldn’t have been in just the day and a half since they’ve reconnected. Maybe Derek had gotten easier to read?

“I’m sure a few cleaning sessions and the house will be right as rain.” He was lying through his teeth. Another thing he remembered from Hoarders was that if the front of the house was as jam packed as Derek’s, then the rest of the house was too. With two and a half stories, that had to be a million pounds of trash all stuffed into the poor house.

“A few cleaning sessions,” Derek repeated, numbly. “Yeah. Sure. Are you offering?”

“I mean, yeah, if you want.” Stiles didn’t have a job yet, hadn’t even applied anywhere, so he had time. Plenty of it.

Derek studied him for a long, long moment before re-capping his bottle and handing it to Stiles. “We’ll see,” is all he said before he got back to packing the tote with the books. Stiles estimated at the rate they were going, it would take another forty minutes to pick up the rest of the books.

“Do you think Samuel is coming back for the rest of his books?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but I do know he’s not getting them. He dumped them on me and left me this mess to clean up, so he can go fuck himself.”

Stiles tripped over nothing, shocked at the fact that he just heard Derek swear.

Of course, he has heard him call people bitches, Peter’s nurse came to mind, but Derek tended not to swear, and Stiles hadn’t ever heard that word pass his lips.

“I’m sure he can,” he said, amusement evident in his voice. Derek scrunched his nose at him before lifting both totes onto his shoulders and walking toward his house. Stiles sighed. Of course Derek would take it as Stiles laughing at him. Oh well. At least Stiles could carry some of the books closer to the house so that it would at least take nine minutes for Derek to empty the totes instead of ten.

Derek could only carry one tote into the house at a time, so Stiles just stacked a few books around the second tote. He hadn’t made much progress before Derek returned. He frowned down at the books.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, disappearing back into the house with the full tote.

Hey, it’s something. Stiles left the tote on the porch and went to grab more books.

He’d gotten about half of the remaining books moved when Derek came back. He took a tote to the books still scattered on the sidewalk and shoveled them into the tote while Stiles hurriedly packed the books on the porch into that tote.

Okay, so it wouldn’t take quite another ten minutes. Stiles carried the last of the sidewalk books to the porch and then brought the chair there too, sitting down and finishing his bottle of water. As soon as Derek poked his head out, Stiles threw his water at him.

“Enforced break,” he said.

Derek didn’t argue.

“How are you feeling after all that?” Stiles kind of wanted to see where Derek was stashing all those books, but he didn’t relish the idea of another panic attack. Maybe now that he kind of knew what to expect he could go deeper into the house?

One look at Derek’s face, and he nixed that idea. He didn’t need to invade more than he already had. Dad’s words of wisdom from last night coming back to him. He couldn’t fix Derek just by cleaning his house. He needed therapy. Lots of it.

And he needed people like Samuel to stop dumping his crap on Derek. Obviously, Derek wasn’t in the right headspace to discard so much stuff.

And here came “mom’s stuff” to drop off even more crap.

Derek glanced up when a beat-up maroon Camry rolled to a stop in front of his house, parking in the same spot Samuel had been in nearly an hour ago.

“It’s Andrew,” Derek said, and the tiredness in his voice dragged Stiles down too.

“Can you tell him no?” Stiles asked, following Derek as he stood up and made his way down his drive. Stiles gaped in shock as three Uhaul trucks came into view. “Seriously,” he said weakly. “Tell him no. You have enough stuff, Derek. You can’t fit more into your house.”

“If I don’t, where is he going to take it?”

“To a storage unit,” Stiles said. “Or to the dump. Derek, seriously, this is not your problem. Please don’t make it be your problem.”

Derek sighed. “I gave him my word, Stiles. My word is the only thing that matters about me.”

Stiles held up his hands. “Okay, dude. Are you sure you want three Uhauls worth, though?”

Derek snarled under his breath, and Stiles resolved to drop it. Derek probably already felt horrible about having so much stuff. He didn’t need Stiles to rub it in and make it worse.

Andrew greeted Derek jovially, throwing in a quick hello for Stiles too. Stiles recognized him. He was a deputy under his dad. It was either his day off or he wasn’t working for the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department anymore.

Andrew also brought along a crew, as if he knew exactly what he was getting Derek into. Stiles stood on the side and seethed at how people were taking advantage of Derek’s nature.

“I can’t watch this,” he said before they got the first truck empty. “Derek, please reconsider this. You have so much more worth than just your word. Please let me help you.”

Derek waved him away. “I’ll catch up with you later, Stiles. Thanks for the help earlier.”

Dismissed, pissed, and more than a little miffed, Stiles stalked to Roscoe, threw his backpack in the backseat, buckled his cake pan in the front seat, and drove to the bakery.

The first bit of good luck he had had all day came in the form of his dad on break, sitting outside and eating a gluten free scone.

“It’s not actually that bad,” Dad said when Stiles raised an eyebrow at him. “It got a little burnt, so the owners said we could have them.” Stiles stole the rest of it and gave it back after one bite. “How’d it go with Derek?”

“Miserable,” Stiles said. “This whole town is taking advantage of him. You know the guy that was bringing his mom’s stuff to Derek’s?”

“Yeah.”

“It was Andrew Potts.”

“The deputy?”

“Yes. And you know what?” Before his dad could say “what,” Stiles continued, “He brought three Uhauls worth of stuff to Derek’s house! And you wanna know the worst thing?”

This time Dad did say, “What?”

“Derek’s house is completely full. Like, there’s nowhere to walk in there. I don’t even know how he’s living. And I’m pretty sure he lied to me about having a working fridge. Which explains why he only bought, like, junk food yesterday.”

“Wait a minute.” Dad held up his hand until Stiles fell silent. “Are you telling me that Derek Hale’s house is so full of things that he can’t actually live in it? And someone brought even more stuff to him?”

“Pretty sure he’s living in there,” Stiles said, “but yeah, that’s the gist of it. Like, I’d maybe understand if at least some of the things were Derek’s that he’d picked out. Instead, it seems like he takes crap from everyone. Do you know who Samuel is, gray hair, big beard, white SUV?”

“Samuel Johnson,” Dad said. “I think his son used to go to school with Derek.”

“Yeah, well, he’s an asshole. He dumped a million books on Derek, like, two years ago, and then called this morning to get one author back. Then, after Derek was nice enough to bring his books out to be sorted—which I think he did mostly because there’s no room in his house to do it—Mr. Bigshot cut his time short, claimed Derek had two hours when he barely gave him one, and then left the rest of the books for Derek to deal with.”

“And I’m guessing Derek just took them back into his house?” Dad wrapped his scone in a napkin and tucked it into his lunch box.

Stiles clicked his tongue and pointed at him.

“Stiles, you know you can’t help Derek unless he wants it.”

Stiles deflated, sinking onto a seat next to his dad. He put his head on Dad’s shoulder. “I know,” he said, miserable. “I just hate seeing him being used like that and getting hurt too. He got mad at me when I asked him about the cheesecake.”

“Why would you ask about that?”

“Because he gave me back the pan. It looks washed, but there was a lot of cheesecake in there. He couldn’t have eaten it all himself, so he could have stored it, but he claims he shared it.”

“And you’re not mad because he shared it,” Dad guessed.

Stiles clicks his tongue again. “I’m mad because it was obvious he was lying about being able to store it.”

“I know this hurts, Stiles. I know it hurts a lot. I’ve had a few friends that started hoarding for one reason or another. For a while after your mom died, I thought we’d both become hoarders.”

“And then you stopped drinking as much.”

“Because I had you to think about. I almost let you get away from me, but I couldn’t stand to lose you too, so I cleaned up my act. I’m sure you realize that Derek doesn’t have anyone to do that for him. His only living relatives are so far away or he’s not on good terms with them.”

Stiles suppressed the shudder that always came with the mention of Peter Hale. That was one person Stiles had no desire ever to run into again.

Peter had left town after Kate’s second defeat, probably because he’d tried to take the alpha power from Scott, claiming that no such thing as a true alpha existed and that the power in Scott was really the Hale power, usurped by a chance of fate and the weakness of Derek.

Stiles had stepped in then, explaining that if the power were truly the Hales’, then they could take it back without force.

Scott had felt betrayed, as he told Stiles many times afterward, and also left town because he did not want to give up the power despite still not wanting to be a werewolf.

Things had gone downhill after that because, before Peter and Scott had left, Derek walked away from Beacon Hills.

Now Derek was back, Stiles hadn’t talked to Scott in almost six years, and as far as Stiles knew, Derek was still a beta.

“I don’t want to push him,” Stiles said, “but I can’t stand by and let people hurt him. Why doesn’t he think he has any worth?”

“Maybe he’s spent most of his life hearing that he doesn’t have anything to offer anyone,” Dad suggested. “Stiles, you need to ask him about his relationships. It’ll be hard, but he revealed something to me when I was Sheriff, that I think you need to talk to him about.”

“Will he actually talk to me or will he just push me away?”

“You won’t know until you try. Now, I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work.” He reached around to give Stiles as much of a hug as he could. “I’ll see you at home. Love you, son.”

“Love you too.” Stiles ambled back to Roscoe, turning to wave at his dad before he went into the bakery.

Stiles sighed, letting his head drop back. He could go back to Derek’s, but that wouldn’t result in anything except maybe another panic attack and definitely another argument.

With no other choice, Stiles started driving, taking the turn to his dad’s house instead of going straight.

He wanted so badly to help Derek, but his dad was right. Unless Derek was receptive to receiving that help, nothing Stiles did would actually help him. In fact, he might end up hurting him worse than Andrew with his three Uhaul trucks or Samuel and his books.

It was hard not to go back, but he decided to wait until tomorrow, unless Derek texted sooner.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Stiles frowned as he got closer to Derek’s house. He could see a cruiser parked a block down, and closer, a code enforcement officer’s car.

Really?he thought. Andrew came to drop off his mom’s junk and turned around and called in Derek’s house? What a fucking jerk.

Stiles parked in the same spot as yesterday and ambled up the drive. He found the code enforcement officer, a woman by the name of Tamara Reiss, standing on the porch, writing on a clipboard.

“I’m sorry to do this to you, Mr. Hale, but this property is unlivable. Until it’s cleaned out, I’m condemning it.”

“The house isn’t in bad shape,” Stiles protested. Derek stood silent, holding what Stiles assumed were tickets from violations. “look, there’s obviously a lot of stuff inside, but that can be cleared out. The house itself—”

“Is a fire code violation,” Tamara said, pure ice. Derek flinched at her tone. “If Mr. Hale were to suffer an injury, no paramedic team would be able to extract him without significant risk to themselves. There isn’t any noticeable structural damage yet. At the rate of accumulation, though, there is great risk of the weight increasing to a point that the house can no longer remain on its foundation. Therefore, I am deeming this property as unlivable until it is either cleaned up or knocked down. Whichever course of action you wish to seek, Mr. Hale, I leave entirely up to you. I will return in two weeks to check on your progress. If there hasn’t been significant change, then I will have no option but to fully condemn your house. Have a great day.”

She signed her clipboard, pulled a red sticker out of her jacket pocket, and slapped a condemned sticker over the front door. Derek didn’t even wait for her to leave his property before he pried it off and slipped inside. Stiles frowned at the door. He was almost positive that it had been able to open completely yesterday. Now it seemed as if something was blocking it, preventing it from opening fully.

He followed more slowly, stopping in the foyer to take a deep breath. There indeed was more stuff. Stiles shuddered, scuttling sideways until he found the extremely narrow path Derek obviously used to navigate around his house. He passed several rooms, living room, dining room, downstairs bathroom, before he found himself in a kitchen. It was hard to recognize it as such because everything was covered in piles of things. Stiles looked around, trying to slow his racing heart. He could barely breathe, everything jumbling together in front of his eyes and closing in on him.

“Hey,” Derek said next to him, and Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin, a shout escaping his mouth.

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “Don’t sneak up on me!”

“I didn’t,” Derek said, put out. “You’re the one that followed me.”

“How the hell can you even find anything in here?” Stiles moved toward where he thought the fridge should be. He was rewarded when he shifted a pile of things and found the handle. He pried at it but could not get it to open. Derek sighed and tried his hand at it too, looking a bit frightened when even his werewolf strength didn’t seem to budge it.

“I guess you were right that it works,” Stiles said, leaning against it and hearing the hum. “But I was right too: you can’t use it.”

“I know I need to clean up.” Derek shrank in on himself, huddling down almost like he was waiting for his things to come and cover him like it had covered the fridge. “Will you help me?”

Stiles looked around at all the things surrounding them. It was overwhelming to say the least. “I don’t know where to begin,” he said. “And anyway, if we just clean it out, who’s to say that it won’t just come back? Three Uhauls, Derek. Is that the most stuff someone has ever dumped on you?”

“No,” Derek admitted without making eye contact. “Someone once dropped off eight Uhauls.”

“Was it Samuel?”

“No.”

Stiles thought for a moment. “Was it Catherine Harper’s nephew?”

Derek didn’t answer. Instead, he picked up a leather purse that looked like it had gone ten rounds with a Chihuahua and lost badly.

“Derek,” Stiles said, “I can’t help you if you aren’t willing to help yourself.”

“I know,” Derek said, almost in tears. Stiles scrambled over the junk to stand in front of him, arms raised until Derek nodded once.

Stiles hugged him as tightly as he could. “I might know someone who can talk to you,” he whispered. Derek nodded against his chest.

“Is it okay if I throw out that purse?”

Derek didn’t answer, which Stiles took to mean no. It was all right. They needed baby steps. Agreeing to see a therapist was enough of a baby step today. There was always tomorrow anyway.

“Do you want to come stay with us until we get your house livable?”

“Isn’t your dad going to mind?”

“We’ll ask him. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind at all. We might have some ground rules.”

“No, no one is going to drop things off at your house.” Derek laughed a little. It sounded bitter to Stiles, but that could have just been because Derek’s nose was clogged.

“And we’ll get them trained to stop doing it here too,” he promised, hoping with every fiber of his being that he wasn’t going to be made into a liar.

“Now, what say you go pack a bag of the essentials, like clothes, shaving supplies, anything else you think you might need for at least a week.”

Derek straightened, wiping at his face. “Thanks, Stiles. I’m sorry I’m being such a burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” Stiles automatically said. “That’s something we’ll have to work on. You have so much worth, Derek. I just wish you could see it.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” Derek frowned down at their feet, letting the purse drop back down to the floor. “Do you need help getting out?”

Stiles nodded. “I’m sorry. It’s just a little too tight for me in here.”

Derek held out his hand, and Stiles took it. Together, they shimmied through the stacked paths, stepping over things never meant to be stepped on until Derek deposited Stiles by the front door.

“Are you positive your dad won’t mind me staying with you?”

“I’ll call him to double check right now,” Stiles said. “Why don’t you go get that bag? I’m not going anywhere until you’re ready.”

Derek nodded sharply and slipped back into the house while Stiles sat on the porch and dialed his dad’s number.

Since Dad was still at work, it just went to voicemail. Stiles filled him in quickly, told him they’d talk more at supper, and then he hung up.

Derek was ready shortly after that, with a single ratty backpack hanging off one shoulder, and they walked across the road to Roscoe. “Thank you,” Derek said softly as they pulled away from the curb.

“Hey, no worries. That’s what friends are for.”

“Are we friends or acquaintances?”

“I’d like to think that we’re friends,” Stiles said. “And I hope you see us that way too. If not now, then soon.”

“I think I’d like that,” Derek said, very quiet. He didn’t say anything else during the drive to the Stilinski house, but Stiles wasn’t worried. It was a lot to take in for one day, to be told he couldn’t stay in his own home, uprooted because people wouldn’t stop dumping stuff on him, thinking that he was going back on his word when really he was very overwhelmed, to having to move in with someone he wasn’t entirely certain was a friend. Yeah, Derek had to be feeling a little rough right now.

Stiles could give him some space and time before approaching him with his therapist’s information. He could only hope that Derek was still as open to help in a few hours or days as he was now.

Dad had called and left a voicemail by the time they got to the house, and Stiles played it, knowing Derek could hear every word.

Dad confirmed that Derek was welcome to stay with them as long as he needed, and that Dad still had some pull on the force if Derek wanted help cleaning up.

“I don’t know if he has as much pull as he thinks he does,” Stiles said, putting away his phone, “or if the deputies think they’re helping keep him out of trouble by doing what he wants.”

“He’s a likable man,” Derek replied. “They probably just want to keep tabs on him because they enjoyed working for him.”

“Ah, there is that. Anyway.” Stiles pointed at the house. “I’m in my old room, but we have a spare room that Dad converted to an actual guest room when I was in college. I’m not sure if he thought I’d bring some friends home with me or what, but it’s there, and now it’s yours.”

“You didn’t have friends in college?”

Stiles shrugged. “I did, but no one I was close enough with to invite home for break.”

“What about Scott?” Derek snapped his lips shut as soon as he said the name.

Stiles shrugged again. “We aren’t really close anymore,” he said, forcing his voice to stay steady. “I mean, we had a pretty big fight the last time we talked.”

“I can imagine.”

Stiles didn’t know how much of what happened after Kate was defeated again Derek remembered. He was pretty out of it by the time they got to him.

“Anyway. Let’s get you inside and settled. Do you want anything for lunch or are you…?”

Derek seemed so small sitting in Stiles’ passenger seat, clinging to his backpack. Small wasn’t a qualifier Stiles had ever thought he’d use in conjunction with Derek, but here they were.

“Do you need some more time?” Stiles asked gently. Derek shuddered, shoving the door open and sliding out.

Stiles jumped out, landing lightly while Derek stood still, like he was waiting for the concrete to swallow him.

He trailed after Stiles slowly as he headed up the walk and unlocked the door. Stiles waved him through and then had to step around him when Derek stopped in his tracks.

“I’m getting some water. Want some?” Stiles didn’t wait for an answer. Derek was bowstring-taut, getting ready to fire something, and Stiles thought it might be panic.

The water trick was something Stiles’ third grade teacher used to do when he started having panic attacks in her class. He couldn’t focus on panicking at the same time as drinking.

He returned to the entryway and pressed a cool glass into Derek’s hands, taking his backpack at the same time.

Derek stared at the water like he wasn’t sure how it had gotten there, but Stiles was relieved to see him take a small sip. A few moments later, Derek had finished the water and was looking around the room with more alertness. Stiles put the glass in the sink and then started up the stairs.

He paused halfway, and asked, “Wanna see your room?” Derek nodded, following him up the stairs.

The guest room had been a nursery when Stiles was a baby, then it was his mom’s office, then it was locked up tight while both he and his dad processed their grief, and then, after all of that, Dad had finally unlocked it, aired it out, and painted it light green.

Dad had invested in a queen size bed frame and mattress and bedding that matched the walls. He’d commissioned a desk and chair from a local woodworker, adding a dresser later when he realized that the closet was too small to comfortably fit more than a suitcase and a few hangers.

Overall, the room was nice. And it had been therapeutic for his dad to redo it. Stiles had taken his hint and had repainted his room last summer, changing out some of his Fathead stickers for more sophisticated posters of indie films Stiles had no intention of ever watching, and updating his furniture from the pressboard crap at department stores.

Derek poked his head into the guest room. “It’s nice,” he said. “Like a hotel.”

“Oh!” Stiles ran to the bathroom, digging under the counter until he found the shoebox his dad kept samples in. He came back to the guest room and pressed unopened bottles of shampoo and conditioner into Derek’s hand. He added a tiny bar of soap too.

“I wasn’t sure if you were able to bring any of those things with you,” he said, eyeing the backpack with outright suspicion, “but we have, like, a million of those things, so feel free to use them if you want.”

“Thank you.” Derek closed his fingers around the toiletries. He picked up his backpack and stepped into the room. “Thanks for everything, Stiles.” He shut the door.

Stiles didn’t want to bother Derek anymore, so he headed downstairs and to the kitchen where he pulled out the ingredients to make a pot pie. He’d recently mastered savory crusts, and Dad enjoyed anything with added fat, so supper should go over well.

And if Derek wanted anything else, well, there were a bunch of takeout menus stashed in a drawer by the landline his dad insisted they keep for emergencies.

Stiles was just as insistent that in an emergency, they wouldn’t remember to use the landline. It wasn’t a fight he tried terribly hard to win, mostly because he knew they had the same number they’d always had, and it was one more tie to their past that Dad wasn’t ready to let go of yet.

Derek ambled downstairs after about thirty minutes, freshly showered. He settled at the kitchen table, hunching forward like he wasn’t warm enough. Weird. It was maybe in the upper 70s in here. Stiles himself was over-warm, although he attributed that more to moving around than the fact that his dad didn’t believe in running the AC until the thermometer was about ready to break 90.

“Are you okay?”

Derek began rocking back and forth.

Stiles stared at him, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. It took far too long for him to realize that this was another panic attack. He immediately dusted off his hands, abandoning his crust. It would probably be ruined, but that was okay. It wasn’t nearly as important as Derek.

Stiles pulled a chair around to sit next to him, laying a hand first on the table top and then on Derek’s knee after an almost imperceptible nod.

Fine tremors raced up Derek’s legs, jerking the muscles underneath Stiles’ palm. He began rubbing soothing circles while providing a counterpoint by poking at the soft skin of Derek’s wrist.

Slowly, Derek came to a stop, staring down at where Stiles had begun poking him in rhythm to Foreigner’s Hot Blooded.

“Are you playing music on me?” he asked slowly, voice tight with the effort to not let it shake.

Stiles tapped a little faster. “Yes?”

Derek concentrated, his eyebrows sloping down while his mouth opened enough to show off his front teeth. Stiles suppressed the urge to make a bunny joke while Derek worked through the pattern in his head.

“I give up,” he finally said. “I don’t know what song that is.”

“It’s Hot Blooded,” Stiles told him. “Are you okay now? Do you want to talk about it?”

A quick shake of Derek’s head was all Stiles got, but it was more than he would have gotten six years ago.

“Okay. Do you want to help me make supper? We can order something for lunch after.”

Derek held up his hands, claws sticking out and then retracting quickly. “Yeah. I can help. What do you need me to do?”

Stiles smiled, patting Derek’s leg. “I’m making the crust now. It’ll have to rest for at least an hour before we can roll it out and put it in the dish. In the meantime, how do you feel about dicing up some beef?”

Stiles washed his hands again, pulling out a cutting board and a knife for Derek, who also washed his hands.

“This is one of my favorite recipes to make.” Stiles restarted the dough. “I found the recipe online and switched it around until it wasn’t nearly as unhealthy.”

Derek looked down at the beef he was cutting and then at Stiles’ ball of dough he was currently covering with cling-film. “I didn’t know pot pie could be healthy.”

“I said not as unhealthy,” Stiles protested, “not entirely healthy.”

“What do you want for lunch?” Derek asked. “You said something about ordering?”

“Yeah.” Stiles dusted his hands off and then washed them thoroughly, picking at the cruddy paste caked into his fingernails. “There’s a pizza place that always delivers inside of half an hour. Or we could get some Chinese. Oh! There’s a new Indian place that just opened.” Stiles dried off his hands and grabbed the stack of menus off the table where the cordless handset lived. He came back, flipping through the menus until he found the one for Dehli Rose. “Oh, no delivery,” he said, disappointed.

“That’s okay. What else do you have?”

Stiles fanned the menus so Derek could see them. It took a few minutes, but they settled on Italian. Stiles called in the order while Derek finished cutting up the beef and set it aside in a bowl before cleaning up the counter and washing the knife and cutting board.

“The food will be here in about forty minutes. That gives us plenty of time to make the filling.”

Buoyed by the way things were turning out so well, Stiles settled in at the stove, his smile stretching his mouth wide enough to hurt as Derek stood by his side, watching every move with a concentration he usually reserved for mysteries.

It was every bit as flattering as Stiles had ever imagined it to be. Not that he’d spent time imagining Derek studying him. Not at all.

He shook himself and re-focused on the stove. There would be time enough to examine whatever the fuck that was later.

For now, he wanted to enjoy every second he had with Derek before he inevitably pulled away.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Lunch was fantastic. Stiles couldn’t imagine a more romantic setting he and Derek had ever been in. They’d finished the wine, plated the food on the good dishes, and sat at the table, talking.

Well, Stiles kept talking. Derek just sipped at his wine and studied Stiles with that same intense gaze he’d had while they were cooking.

It wasn’t only the wine bringing a flush to Stiles’ skin, but he kept drinking for an excuse.

He wasn’t certain where the sudden flash of heat came from when he noticed that Derek was staring at him, but it was a welcome change in how Stiles usually felt whenever Derek crossed his mind.

That is to say, usually pissed off and vaguely angry. Derek had a talent for eliciting those feelings in people, Stiles included, even if he wanted to climb him like a tree most days. Hey, Derek had inspired more than a few jerk-off sessions in high school and college.

After the second glass of wine, Stiles realized he was fucked when Derek half-rose out of his seat to reach for the pasta carbonara and his shirt rode up, exposing a line of tanned, furred skin that made Stiles’ dick take interest.

Derek sat down with a thump, mouth hanging open, the serving spoon dangling from lax fingers.

“I’m sorry!” Stiles apologized, fanning his hand in the air, like that was going to do anything to disperse the obvious lust pheromones he’d just accidentally smacked Derek with. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Huh?” Derek slowly shook his head.

Okay, that was weird. He didn’t seem to be reacting in any way Stiles had ever seen before. Suddenly worried, Stiles hurried around the table. He reached Derek just as he slumped sideways. Stiles yelped, shoving himself underneath Derek’s side, trying to hold him up.

Two hundred pounds of werewolf was a bit more than Stiles could handle, and he had to let Derek go. At least it was a controlled fall and Derek didn’t hit his head.

Stiles didn’t know what had caused it. It couldn’t have been him, right? So what else was there?

Maybe it was something he’d put in the pot pie? But if that was the case, why would it take this long to cause Derek to react?

No, more likely it was because of the food they’d just eaten.

“Aw, fuck,” Stiles swore. “Am I going to have to make you puke?”

Derek, of course, didn’t answer, too busy being unconscious. Great.

Stiles wrinkled his nose, prayed his fingers were clean enough, and shoved his index and middle finger down Derek’s throat.

Within seconds, Derek was retching, pasta carbonara mixed with wine and garlic bread spewing out across the floor. Stiles jumped back. He didn’t want to leave Derek unattended if he was just going to pass out again, so he sat at his back, rolled him into the recovery position, and just listened as Derek wheezed and gagged weakly for a few minutes.

Once it seemed like Derek was recovering, he stood up and grabbed some rags to wipe away the sick.

“What just happened?” Derek asked thickly when Stiles handed him a glass of water and a tissue.

Stiles shrugged. “You tell me.”

Derek wiped his nose and then blew it, grimacing at the particles mixed in his snot. “I feel like a truck just ran me over.”

“Have you ever been run over by a truck?”

Derek stared at him, any pretense of bravado ruined by the fact that his eyes and nose were still streaming.

“Of course you have,” Stiles answered himself. He sighed. “Either you were poisoned, or you had an allergic reaction. Or you were poisoned to have an allergic reaction.”

“Was it something in the food?”

“Couldn’t take a chance. So, sorry, but I induced vomiting.”

Derek shook his head, tossing back the water like a shot. “Thanks,” he said as soon as he swallowed. “I’m sorry I ruined lunch.”

“No, I’m sorry you had a reaction. I don’t think it was on purpose.” Stiles knew the owners of the restaurant. They were an older couple who prided themselves on their longevity in a town that did its best to keep up with the hipsters of the big cities. They weren’t supernatural, as far as Stiles knew, but he also knew there were a lot of plants that could harm even humans if they were used incorrectly.

“I’m sure you’re right. I’ve never eaten there before. My mom wouldn’t let us, but she didn’t tell us why.”

“Well, that’s on your mom.” At Derek’s incredulous look, Stiles shrugged. “I’m sorry, but who tells someone ‘Don’t eat there,’ but doesn’t tell them why?”

He sighed again and went to the phone in the entryway. He dug through the menus until he found the one for the Italian place. Shame. Dad really liked their Alfredo sauce.

Stiles neatly tore the menu in half and then deposited it into their indoor recycling bin.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Derek said. His voice was nasally and he kept clearing his throat. He also seemed a little green around the gills, like he wasn’t quite done purging. Stiles shooed him toward the bathroom.

“Of course I did,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. If we really miss their food, we can go there and get it. Until I know for sure what made you react like that, their food will not pass our doors.”

To make his point, he gathered up the dishes, scraping the leftovers into a bag that he immediately tied off and dumped in the outside trash bin. Then he washed the dishes, sticking them into the dishwasher for an extra sanitation cycle. Derek was sitting at the table again when he mopped the soiled floors with boiling water, ignoring Derek’s shocked face as he poured Pine-Sol disinfectant on it and mopped it with a fresh mop head.

By the time he was done, there was not a single trace of the food anywhere. Nor was there anything left of his lust, but for some reason, there was a strong desire to hug Derek and tell him that things would be okay.

“Are we going to talk about it?” he asked as he sat down again. “Is that something we can do now?”

“Talk about what?”

Stiles blew out a breath. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “but this seems like something we should really talk about. I mean, you just had a reaction to something. Shouldn’t we at least try to figure out what it was before it happens again?”

“It won’t happen again.” Derek ran his hands over his head, scratching at his scalp in a way that reminded Stiles strongly of how he felt after eating something he had an allergic reaction to. He also started sniffling, rubbing at his nose.

“I’m sure it won’t,” he said soothingly, “but still, why would the Cabellos make something a werewolf couldn’t eat? They shouldn’t even be aware of werewolves, right?”

“We don’t know that they did it on purpose.”

“You’re right; we don’t.” Stiles snapped his fingers, pulling out his cell phone. “We can ask them, though. I’m sure they’d appreciate the heads up that whatever they’re doing to their food is making their customers have reactions.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “It could have been an honest mistake,” he argued. “My mom never let us eat there, so I’m guessing she knew about any ingredients they used.”

“That puts the onus back on your mom,” Stiles pointed out. “You realize that, right? If she knew what they did to their food, she should have told you.”

“I guess.”

“Well, that kind of royally fucked the day, didn’t it?”

“At least we know I can eat your pot pie later.”

Small comfort that was, although Stiles bit his tongue so he wouldn’t say it out loud. Derek didn’t need sarcasm. He might need more medical attention, though. “Yeah. Say, how’re you feeling? Are you healing just fine or should we…?” Stiles let his voice trail off under Derek’s weighty gaze.

“I’m fine,” he said stiffly. “Thanks.”

Stiles cleared his throat, choking on the awkwardness of the situation. “Well,” he coughed, “I think I should go job search some more. Why don’t you rest, and we’ll reconnect in about an hour to fully assemble the pie?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me already?” Derek smiled, so Stiles thought he probably meant it as a joke. Too bad Stiles’ brain couldn’t accept it like that. Some things were very literal for him, and people joking about leaving or being driven away hitting hard in a way almost no other words could.

“I would never try to get rid of you,” he said. “I-I—” no more words came, and Stiles fell silent, watching as Derek studied him, neither of them moving for a full five minutes.

Finally, Derek shook himself. “Stiles, I know you think you’re falling in love with me, but you aren’t.”

Stiles pointed at him. “You can’t tell me what I am or am not doing.”

He knew on some level that he’d always been attracted to Derek. It was half of the reason he’d asked Scott to confirm if werewolves could smell arousal. Scott had never confirmed, but hanging out with Derek had taught Stiles just how much at least Derek relied on his nose, so in the end, he’d gotten his answer.

He’d also worked to bury any feelings he might have for Derek because at the time it was an inconvenience to be in love with him. Stiles wanted to go back in time and slap himself.

How could he have been so stupid? Derek didn’t deserve people thinking that loving him was an inconvenience. He didn’t deserve the hand he’d been dealt. He also didn’t deserve Stiles sweeping his past actions under the rug while he tried to figure out how to woo him.

“Look, I don’t know where you get off telling me that I only think I’m falling in love with you when I’ve had eight years to do that all on my own.”

Derek’s face twisted interestingly, first with confusion, then derision, and then finally settling into the soft, caring face Stiles had rarely seen before Kate Argent returned from the dead to permanently wipe it off his face.

The fact that it was back and it was being directed at Stiles made his heart trip.

“Eight years?” Derek repeated softly. “You can’t have been in love with me for eight years.”

“Falling in love,” Stiles corrects, weakly. “I know it’s unconventional, but—” Something came over Stiles then, like a wash of cold water, and he spluttered for a moment. When he resurfaced, he couldn’t remember what he was about to say or even what had happened during the last twenty-five minutes.

Derek shuddered too, shivering hard enough to rattle his teeth.

“What was that?” Stiles asked. Derek didn’t answer. “Hey, are you hungry? I think the dough is about ready to be rolled, and after the pie is assembled, we can eat the leftovers.”

Derek wrinkled his nose. “Does it smell like Pine-Sol in here?” He sneezed into his elbow.

Stiles inhaled. “Huh, yeah. I guess it does. Does Pine-Sol always make you sneeze?”

“It’s just the chemical composition of cleaners. I’m okay with natural pine. It takes a while to kick in though.” Derek held up a finger before burying his face into his elbow again and releasing several loud sneezes. He sniffled miserably once he finished and Stiles handed him a box of tissues.

“Let’s go outside for a bit, let the room air out, okay?”

The soft, private smile Derek gave him right before he covered his face with a wad of tissues and started sneezing again made Stiles’ heart give a little contented blip. Huh. Apparently his control was slipping. Normally he didn’t think of Derek in that way because he knew a little of Derek’s past and didn’t want to be as bad as his exes—not that Stiles thought of them as Derek’s ex-girlfriends. No, they were something much worse, and he was glad that at least Kate was back in the ground where she belonged.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you agreed to stay with us,” he told Derek as they stepped out onto the front porch.

Quietly, from behind his tissues, Derek murmured his agreement. Louder, he added, “I’m glad you haven’t given up on me quite yet.”

“Oh,” Stiles laughed, “I won’t ever do that. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

“You say that now.”

Stiles bumped their shoulders together. “And I’ll say it ‘til the end of time.” Fervently he grabbed Derek’s face, locking their eyes together, “Derek S. Hale, I will always stand by you. I’ll always be in your corner. If there is anything you need, all you have to do is ask and I will be there. Do you understand?” Derek nodded. “Good.” Stiles let him go. “Now, have I ever shown you my dad’s roses?”

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Dad came home at 6:00. The pot pie had been cooling for half an hour.

Derek was upstairs in the guest room, dozing. He’d crashed shortly after the tour of the renovated backyard, and had accepted a Benadryl.

Stiles had prepared the pie and baked it. He’d divided his time between job searching, reading up on werewolf physiology, and trying to figure out what ingredient the Cabellos had used that made Derek react that way.

Dad inhaled appreciatively when he stepped into the kitchen to wash his hands and grab a bottle of water out of the fridge.

He drained it quickly, tossing it into the sink for later. “Supper smells good.” He handed Stiles a large bag of food from the bakery. “I figured it was probably a good idea to stock up on food since we’ve got another mouth to feed.”

“I’m sure Derek will appreciate it.” Stiles separated the items in the bag and put them into Tupperware. “Why don’t you go get him up? He had an allergic reaction to the Pine-Sol I used.”

“Oh, what’d you clean?”

“The dining room. At least, that’s the only place that smelled like it.”

“And werewolves are allergic to Pine-Sol?” Dad looked between the doorway and Stiles, and Stiles swore he could see his mind spinning.

“I guess,” Stiles said. “Derek mentioned that it was because of the chemicals or something. He also said real pine doesn’t bother him.”

“Interesting. So, what needed Pine-Sol in the dining room?”

Stiles frowned at him. He didn’t remember cleaning anything in there, but it was obvious from the smell. “The floor,” he guessed.

“Why?”

Stiles glared at his dad. “Why are you asking me? I don’t know!”

“Why don’t you know?”

“Oh my God, what is with you tonight?” He waved his hands in front of his dad’s face. “You are not the Sheriff anymore! Stop investigating me!”

“I’m not investigating you,” Dad said calmly. “I’m just trying to figure out why you had to clean something that you don’t even remember. If anything, I’m interrogating you.”

“Stop interrogating me!” Stiles fisted his hands on his hips. “Just go get Derek up.” He sighed, suddenly drained. “I think we might have eaten something too, but I can’t remember. We ordered from Cabellos, but I didn’t find any leftovers or anything.”

“So, I can investigate?” Dad’s eyes glinted and he all but danced out into the dining room. Stiles didn’t think it would be too far to find a deerstalker cap and a magnifying glass and let him roleplay Sherlock Holmes. Dad had missed being the Sheriff. Maybe this would satisfy whatever urge he might still have about running for the upcoming reelection in two years.

Stiles set the kitchen table. Last he’d smelled with his human nose, the dining room still stank of Pine-Sol, so it was going to be impossible for Derek to be in that room. Hell, it might be difficult for him to be in the kitchen. They might have to go all the way outside. Thankfully Dad had redone the back patio and stuck a table and some chairs out there. They’d have to steal a chair from the kitchen, but that would be the least of their problems.

Dad came back, leading Derek. “I think we might have to postpone supper,” he said grimly. Derek was still sniffling, and his nose was rubbed raw and his eyes were swollen almost completely shut.

“Derek?” Stiles’ heart skipped a few beats. Derek mumbled under his breath, wheezing as he lifted a tissue to his nose. “Hey. Um, we’re going to get you some help, okay?”

“It’ll be okay,” Dad said. “Let’s go to the hospital. I’ll drive.”

Derek stumbled after him, and Stiles brought up the rear.

As they passed the outside trash bin, Derek retched. Dad got a hard look in his eyes. “Here.” He tossed his keys at Stiles and detoured to the bin. “Found your Cabellos.”

Stiles got Derek into the passenger seat, buckling him in. “Are you going to drive still?” he asked Dad.

“Uh, no. You go. I’m going to look into this food a little bit more.”

“Why? What’s the deal with the food?” Something was missing, something blocked. It made Stiles’ blood pressure rise. Not being able to remember things he had done, not being in control of his own body still caused nightmares.

Derek groaned, rolling his head to the side so he could stare at Stiles with his slitted eyes. He was starting to shift, fur and fangs sprouting. Stiles swallowed his rising fear and punched the gas.

Traffic was light, and there were no deputies patrolling, so Stiles had them at the hospital inside of fifteen minutes when they lived forty minutes away.

Derek propelled himself from the vehicle before Stiles had it in park. He fell flat on his face.

“I’m beginning to think this is more serious than just an allergic reaction,” Stiles said under his breath as he put his dad’s truck in park and turned it off. Derek was already on hands and knees when Stiles got to him. He shoved his shoulder under Derek’s chest and used his body to leverage him all the way up.

“Some kind of wolfsbane,” Derek said, through his very swollen lips.

“So, poisoned,” Stiles said back. Through the door, the front desk nurse gaped at them, staring at the way Derek’s eyes kept flickering between human and electric blue. Stiles didn’t wait for instruction, moving as fast as he could considering he was hauling Derek’s almost dead weight. “He’s having a severe allergic reaction. He took some Benadryl about three hours ago, and that’s it for meds. We think it might be poisoning but he’s reacting as if it’s an allergy.”

He stopped at the entrance to the emergency room, waiting for the nurse to buzz them through.

“Please! He’s dying!”

The door opened and two nurses took Derek from him.

“Wait here,” he was told as the door shut in his face.

Stiles turned to the front desk nurse, and she shrugged as if to say sorry, flashing beta gold eyes at him. Stiles appreciated her gesture because it meant that Derek was safe here.

“You can have a seat over there.” She pointed at a bank of frankly uncomfortable looking chairs. Stiles didn’t care. He couldn’t sit anyway, he was too agitated. Instead, he patted at his pockets until he came up with his phone. He needed to speak to his dad.

Dad was already calling him by the time he fumbled the phone up to his face. He answered it, trying to ignore the way his finger was shaking.

The panic attack would have to wait. He couldn’t afford it. Not now. Please, not now.

“Dad.”

“Stiles, I’m on my way to Cabellos to find out what they put into the food. How’s Derek?”

“Not good, Dad. He’s inside. I’m stuck in the waiting room. What if he dies? What if they don’t let me in? He said it felt like wolfsbane, but, Dad, I’ve seen Derek when he’s been hit by wolfsbane. It doesn’t act like this.”

“It could be a different strain or maybe a different plant entirely. How often has Derek been poisoned by wolfsbane to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is wolfsbane poisoning?”

“I don’t know, but I do know it’s too many times.”

“Stiles, you ate some of the food too, right?”

“Yeah. But I didn’t react.”

“Or maybe you did, and you don’t remember.”

Stiles froze. His breath whistled in once and then stopped, choking him deep in his chest where his heart was trying to beat despite the absolute fear that had just iced him. Through numb lips, he asked something he couldn’t hear. Dad responded, a burst of warmth against his ear, but it did nothing to thaw him.

“Stiles!” Dad shouted. “Stiles! Put me on speaker right now!”

With no motor function, Stiles wanted to tell his dad that was an impossible task.

“Stiles!”

The front desk nurse’s face snapped into view, and Stiles desperately focused on her blue eyelids and dimpled cheeks. She was holding a paper cup of water, and she pressed it into his hand, guiding it up to his face so he could try drinking a little of it.

As soon as the first sip went down, Stiles grabbed the cup with both hands and sucked greedily at it. The nurse took his phone.

“Hi, my name is Emma. You are? Okay, John, he’s coming around. I’m just going to have him sit down, we’ll get him assessed. What was that? I don’t know, but I can ask. Are you sure?”

Her voice faded out, and Stiles lowered the empty cup. She was still talking, but he couldn’t hear her.

She walked away and came back with another cup of water. Stiles drank it too.

“Can you breathe with me?” she asked, setting both cups on the floor. When had Stiles sat down?

“I…can…try…” Every breath was labored, and Stiles rubbed at his aching chest, wishing his heart would stop trying to pound its way out. He hiccupped and leaned forward, inhaling through his nose for as long as he could. Shakily, he let it out through his mouth.

“Good,” the nurse said. “Again.”

Within minutes, Stiles was breathing normally, but he felt drained. It was like his muscles had decided they needed to go on strike right now. Jelly legs wouldn’t support him and he didn’t think he’d be able to make it far before his head decided a migraine was a nice addition to his shit sundae.

“Can you walk?”

He shook his head and then held it, groaning as his brain rattled around.

“Okay. I’ll get you a gurney. Just stay here. And here, your dad is pretty worried right now. I bet he’d like it if you could talk to him just a little.”

Stiles took the phone and automatically pressed it against his ear.

“Stiles?” Dad sounded like he was crying. “Stiles, are you okay? I’m coming to the hospital. I’m almost there. Okay, son? Hang on.”

“I’m here,” Stiles whispered. “I’m going to be okay, I think. It was just a panic attack.”

“A pretty bad one,” Dad said. “Look, I’m about a minute away. Are they taking you back now?”

“I think so.” Stiles looked up to see the nurse leading another nurse and a gurney toward him. “Can I keep talking to my dad?” he asked.

“For now,” the second nurse said. He stopped the gurney, kicking the brakes on, and helped Stiles up and onto it. As soon as he was securely on it, the nurse unlocked the brakes and wheeled him into the ER and into a bay, pulling a curtain around him.

Stiles pressed the phone harder against his ear. “Dad.”

“I’m almost there, I promise. Just hang on, okay?”

Hanging on seemed to be the only thing Stiles could do, so he just held the phone, listening to his dad breathing on the other end of the phone. He didn’t even realize it was still on speaker phone until Dad burst into the bay. Dad took Stiles’ phone, turning it off and tucking it into a pocket, a feat to be sure because as soon as Stiles saw him, he launched himself at him, hugging him tightly.

“I don’t know where Derek is,” Stiles said into Dad’s neck. “I don’t know if he’s okay.”

“He’ll be fine,” Dad murmured, stroking Stiles’ hair and back with a gentle hand. “I sent a text to Deaton and Argent to get information on what you were dosed with. I also sent Parrish to the Cabellos to get their recipe so we can see if there’s any ingredients on there that shouldn’t be.”

“For now,” the nurse who’d wheeled Stiles to the bay broke in, “we need to get you tested. We also, depending on your symptoms, might have to pump your stomach.”

Stiles clung tighter to Dad. “I love you, Dad.”

Dad ruffled his hair. “I love you too, son. You’re going to be okay. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here, okay?”

Stiles nodded, letting Dad help him lie back. Dad kept a hand wrapped around Stiles’, the warmth of it pulling most of Stiles’ fear from him.

He wouldn’t truly feel okay until he could see Derek for himself, fully healed and telling Stiles that it wasn’t anything to worry about, but for now, he was grateful for his dad sticking around.

Holding onto his father’s hand, Stiles was able to relax enough to halfway drift off, the adrenaline spike leaving him cold and tired in its wake.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Stiles sat up when the doctor stopped in. Dad was texting on his phone, poking at the keys with a single index finger.

“Good news,” the doctor said, handing Stiles a stack of papers. “Your blood screen came back clean. Whatever you ate, you suffered no lasting effects. You’re free to go. I’ll get my nurse to come back with the discharge papers.” He wagged his finger at Stiles. “Now, just because you’ve got a clean bill of health, it doesn’t mean you don’t need some rest. Take it easy for the next couple of days. If you start to feel off again, don’t hesitate to come back.”

“And what about Derek?” Stiles asked.

The doctor frowned. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss another patient with you.”

Stiles wanted to argue, but he didn’t think getting the doctor to violate HIPPA laws was worth his time with his former-Sheriff dad standing next to him.

“That’s fine,” Dad said, before Stiles had a chance to say anything. “Thanks, Doc.” As soon as the man left, Dad held up his phone. “Argent thinks he knows what happened to Derek. The good news is he’ll be fine. Deaton is stopping by with an antidote.” Stiles swiped his dad’s phone. Argent, Chris, in Dad’s phone as Reformed Hunter, thought that one of the ingredients the Cabellos added was part of a love potion. IT’S SOMETHING, Chris added in all caps, THAT WEREWOLVES ARE HIGHLY ALLERGIC TO.

As Stiles went to hand the phone back to his dad, it buzzed. He quickly lifted it again.

 IF ANTIDOTE DOESN’T WORK CALL ME I’M ON MY WAY.

Another buzz

Sorry. Don’t know why my phone got stuck. Coming as quick as I can. Let me know if things change.

Dad took his phone back, tapping an answer. “Okay. So, you wanna see if they’ll let us in to see him if he’s been admitted?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles said, sarcastically. He couldn’t help it: he may have been six years older since he’d first used it, but sarcasm was still his go-to for defense.

“Does that mean no?” Dad raised an eyebrow. Sheepishly, Stiles shook his head. “All right then, let’s go find him.”

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

In the end, they weren’t able to see Derek. He hadn’t been admitted yet, and no one was willing to tell them when or if he would be. In the interest of not being banned from the hospital—at least, that was the excuse he used—Dad led Stiles out to his vehicle.

“We’ll try later,” Dad said, reassuringly. Stiles didn’t answer. He buckled his seatbelt and stared straight ahead. It was his fault Derek had nearly died. He’d been the one to suggest Cabellos. He’d wanted Derek near him.

Derek wasn’t the only one cursed to have those he cared about injured.

“Do you feel like talking?” Dad asked when he parked in front of the house and shut off the engine.

Stiles opened his door, unbuckling his seatbelt, and stepping out. He looked pointedly at his dad until he unlocked the front door for him and then headed upstairs. Still not a word had passed his lips.

Dad sighed heavily. “I’ll be down here when you’re ready to talk,” he said. “I’ll get you when Argent gets to town.”

“I don’t want to see him,” Stiles muttered to himself, closing his bedroom door. He didn’t lock it, but he did kick off his shoes and climb onto his bed. He didn’t think he’d sleep, but almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, his limbs grew too heavy to move, and he drifted off.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Stiles woke up when his bed depressed suddenly.

He sat up, arms flailing as he panicked, hitting a warm body and recoiling.

“Ouch,” Derek intoned blandly.

Stiles ran a hand over his face. “They let you out already?” he asked.

Derek shrugged. He climbed off the bed and dropped heavily into Stiles’ desk chair. “Once Deaton gave me the antidote, there wasn’t any reason for me to stay at the hospital.”

“So does that mean Chris Argent is in town?”

Derek shrugged again. “I guess. Your dad let me in on his way out. I just assumed he was going to work.”

Stiles studied him. Derek looked haggard, as if the antidote had done only enough to stop him from getting worse. He wasn’t healing, or if he was, it was slow-going.

“Are you okay?”

Derek’s shoulders rolled in a half shrug. He picked at a loose thread on his jeans, worrying at it while he refused to look at Stiles.

“Do you feel up to starting to clear out your house?”

Derek shook his head, jerking on the thread to break it. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger and then tossed it into the wastebasket.

Stiles refused to be impressed. He could do that with a bit of practice. Derek used to play basketball, after all. It wasn’t that special.

“I think I just want to sleep,” Derek said, but he made no move to stand up and go to the guest room.

Stiles rolled his eyes and patted the bed next to him. “Plenty of room here,” he said, nonchalantly. Derek bowed his head before wearily climbing to his feet. He shuffled forward and face-planted onto the bed. Stiles stifled a smile as he grabbed Derek’s shoulders and worked him fully onto the bed. Derek must have taken his shoes off when he got in, because he was just in socks. His shirt was horribly wrinkled, his jeans a little worn, and his hair mussed. Stiles knuckled at his heart, trying to stave off the fondness he felt kindling there.

Derek didn’t need to deal with Stiles’ affection right now.

Derek turned his head, opening one eye to peer up at him. “I don’t mind it, you know,” he said softly.

“Mind what?”

Derek wriggled his visible eyebrow. “I like you too,” he said around a yawn.

“Bold,” Stiles said. He tugged at the blanket until he freed enough of it to drape over Derek. Then, he lied down again, one arm crooked under his head, the other between his and Derek’s bodies.

It was comforting just lying here, listening to Derek’s breaths get slower and deeper. It calmed Stiles enough that he started drifting too. Just before he tumbled back into sleep, he felt Derek’s fingers curl around his loosely.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Stiles woke up alone, his bed still bowed as if Derek was lying there, but the blanket was cold. He’d been gone a while then. Sitting up and stretching helped dispel some of the fatigue still clinging to him, and he slipped off the bed, bending slowly at the waist and letting his spine lengthen until the muscle around it ached in a nice, warming pain. He straightened in the same, slow manner, breathing deeply.

Once that was done, he grabbed a change of clothes and took a quick shower.

His hair was still dripping by the time he dressed and wandered downstairs.

There, he found his dad, Chris Argent, and Derek sitting in the living room. Derek looked a little better than he had before their nap, with more color back in his cheeks.

Stiles pushed at him until he moved over enough to allow him to sit next to him on the sofa.

Dad was in his armchair and Chris was next to him on a chair dragged in from the dining room.

“You won’t have to worry about them doing that ever again,” Chris was saying. His face was set in a grimace, distaste and anger evident. “They fully understand what they did was wrong, and they don’t plan to do it again.”

“If they do…?” Dad asked.

Chris shook his head. “They won’t like the consequences. They understand that they got off easy this time. Next time, they won’t be so lucky.”

“You didn’t maim them, did you?” Stiles asked. He’d gathered that they were talking about the Cabellos and their poisoning of him and Derek.

Chris snorted. “Much as I wanted to,” he said, “I did not. But that won’t stop me from coming back and kicking their asses if they ever try to pull that shit again. They were incredibly lucky that most of their meddling was put down to food poisoning and not actual dosing.”

“So, they definitely whammied us with a love potion?”

Derek shuddered, hard, and Stiles clamped a hand onto his knee, which surprisingly, Derek did not remove.

“Essentially, yes,” Chris said. “I’d heard of it being done before, but usually they need an element of magic and nature.”

“Like a druid,” Derek mumbled, low enough that only Stiles seemed able to hear.

“Like a darach,” Chris continued, shooting an apologetic glance at Derek’s bowed head.

Derek shivered again, hands clenched to his sides. Blood ran from his palms, and Stiles noticed that he’d pierced his own skin with his claws.

Like a darach echoed in his head, and suddenly, he shivered too. All these years he’d thought Derek just had bad judgment when it came to his sexual partners. Instead, he realizes, too late, that Derek had been roofied with magic. Love potioned without the potion. Forced into a relationship he likely couldn’t say no to even if he understood what was happening at the time. And Stiles… Stiles had yelled at him, threw it back in his face. Belittled him for sleeping with the enemy.

He swallowed hard, squeezing Derek’s knee again before drawing back. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Derek studying him without truly looking at him.

“So what happens now?” Dad asked into the heavy silence.

“Now?” Chris leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now, we wait. Sometimes it takes a while for the effects to wear off even after an antidote has been administered.” He fixed Stiles with a knowing look. “Longer too if there was something there before.”

Stiles’ cheeks heat. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know this is a horrible way to find out.”

“Find out what?” Derek asked tightly.

“That I’m in love with you.”

“I always knew that.” Derek flexed his hands, wiping blood onto his jeans. “What surprised me was how much I liked you too.” He took a deep breath and finally lifted his head. His eyes were human, a kaleidoscope of greens, blues, and browns, and he pinned Stiles with them. “Sometimes I still see you as a kid, someone I need to watch out for because you’re not understanding the danger you’re in, and then other times, I look at you and see what could be.”

“And what would that be?” Stiles hardly dared to breathe.

“I see a future,” Derek said, softly.

A future with him? Stiles cut a quick glance to his dad. Dad had a perfectly blank face but his shining eyes gave him away.

“You’re okay with that?” Stiles asked him.

“Stiles, you’re an adult. You can make your own choices. Besides, I think you’d be good for Derek.”

“You two do make a pretty good pair,” Chris said, and Dad broke into a big grin.

Stiles turned to Derek. “We still have to clean out your house,” he said. Derek nodded. “We have two weeks minus a day.” Derek nodded again. “And you’re okay with me helping you?”

“I don’t think I’m going to get it done any other way,” Derek said, seriously. “You helped me stand up to Mr. Johnson. I think you’ll keep me motivated enough to finish the project.”

“Okay then. I guess I know what I’m doing with my summer.”

And if it felt a little like he was agreeing to spend all his time with Derek, well, he was. He couldn’t be happier.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

The next day, Stiles drove Derek and himself to Derek’s house.

There was a sign on the door with the Code Enforcement officer’s notice that the house was considered unlivable but not fully condemned.

“I don’t get how that works,” Stiles remarked, reading it. Derek shrugged, unlocking the door and pushing his way inside. Stiles took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the piles of junk he was now expecting to find, and followed him in.

The house wasn’t any better, and Stiles fought his rising panic with everything in him.

“Do you know where you want to start?” Stiles asked, climbing over a pile that must have fallen after they’d left yesterday and into the kitchen. Derek stood in the middle of the room, looking around with the same panic Stiles could feel in his chest.

“How about the backyard?” Stiles suggested, struggling over to the door. He got the door propped open, leaning out into the bit of breeze that made its way into Derek’s fenced in backyard.

Here, Derek had constructed a few pop-up sheds and there was a tent tucked into a corner. Stiles had no doubt that the sheds and the tent would be full of things, but other than that, the backyard was clear. Stiles stepped out fully, walking toward the tent. He glanced back after a few yards to find Derek standing in the doorway, just watching him. “Are you okay, Derek?”

He shook himself and flashed a wan smile. Then he squared his shoulders and marched toward Stiles. Stiles waited until he drew level with him before he reached out and wrestled the zipper of the tent open.

“Okay,” he said to the stacks of sleeping bags, camping cooking utensils, battery-operated lanterns, and scuttling spiders. “Okay. So, we can work with this.”

“We can’t,” Derek said, zipping the tent closed again. “That’s Marie’s stuff. She’s coming back for it tomorrow.”

“The spiders too?”

Derek didn’t reply, walking to one of the sheds instead. He slid the door up and stared at the assortment of lawn care equipment jumbled inside. He didn’t say anything before dropping the door and turning away from it.

“Marie’s?” Stiles asked.

Derek shook his head. “Daniel’s.”

“Danny Mahealani?”

“No.” Derek glared at him, but he didn’t look mad. “Daniel. He works at the Sheriff’s Department.”

“Is he coming back for his stuff at all?”

“I don’t know,” Derek admitted. He looked around the yard, shaking his head. “I don’t think I can get rid of any of these things. They’re not mine.”

“So why do you have them?” Stiles demanded. “How many people just dumped their crap on you because you wouldn’t tell them no?”

Derek froze, blinking quickly, like he was trying to dispel tears. Stiles rolled back his words in his head, his stomach dropping when he realized what he had said.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” he apologized softly, hand outstretched to brush Derek’s arm.

Derek jerked out of reach, taking several steps back. His eyes were definitely watery. “My ‘no’ means nothing,” he said lowly. “That’s been proven time and again. I don’t need you telling me that too.”

“Your no should mean everything,” Stiles argued gently, aware that he’d unintentionally found a sore spot and did not want to keep pressing on it. “I really am sorry that I said it like that. It’s not your fault that everyone decided to use your good will to just dump their stuff on you.”

Derek nodded tightly, turning away from Stiles to quickly wipe at his eyes. Stiles pretended not to see and just moved back to the door.

“Can we sort anything in the house or do you want to take a break?”

Stiles knew they didn’t have a lot of time to waste like this, but they’d get nowhere fast if he pushed when Derek wasn’t ready. And having already made Derek cry was not part of the plan.

“A break would be good,” Derek said. He still wouldn’t meet Stiles’ eyes, but he at least followed Stiles back through the house until they could step out onto the front porch.

Derek offered Stiles the chair on the porch and settled on the steps by his knee.

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered to his hands. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

“If you don’t, you’ll lose your home,” Stiles pointed out.

Derek shook his head. “Not a home. Not yet.” He glanced back at the house before facing forward again. “It might never be home.”

“That’s bullshit,” Stiles said. Derek started. “No, I don’t mean you. I mean the fact that your house is so full of other people’s things that you have no room for yourself. It’s your house, not theirs. Why don’t they come back for their things?”

“I never told them to?” Derek guessed.

“You shouldn’t have to tell them because they never should have brought it over in the first place.” Stiles made a note of the names he knew that Derek said had things on his property. Marie. Daniel. He only had two other names: Mr. Johnson and Andrew; but it should be enough to track them down and force them to help Derek clean up his house.

After all, this mess wouldn’t exist without their “help.”

“You’re getting angry,” Derek remarked. “I think the break is over.”

“Okay.” Stiles allowed Derek to haul him to his feet. “Let’s go.”

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Three hours later, Stiles climbed into Roscoe, waiting for Derek to buckle his belt before he started the engine.

They hadn’t gotten anything out yet. Instead, Derek just shuffled things from one room to another, sorting by some arbitrary method he didn’t bother to share with Stiles until Stiles was so frustrated that he’d moved them to another room where Derek just started the cycle again.

Overall, it was a very disappointing day, but Stiles was determined not to show Derek just how upset he was.

“Two weeks minus two days,” Derek said quietly. He stared out the window the whole drive back to Stiles’ dad’s house.

With two full bathrooms, they were able to shower at the same time, if a little quicker than normal since the hot water ran out faster.

After, they sat at the kitchen table while Stiles heated up leftover pot pie to eat.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t any good today,” Derek finally said after Stiles plopped a plate in front of him.

“Hey, not your fault. I get it, your brain got overloaded. We’ll just have to take it slower next time.”

“Will there be a next time?” Derek poked at his food. “Do you still want to help me?”

Stiles nodded. “I just didn’t realize how big of a job it actually was,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to pitch in. In fact, I think we should get more people involved. You know, like a cleaning crew.”

“It’s not my stuff,” Derek reminded him.

“I know. I meant contacting the people who left it with you. How long have you had it?”

Derek shrugged.

“Okay, well, I’ll look into the law on abandoned property today. You try to remember who gave you the things. I think we can get them to take it back without too much trouble.”

Derek gave him a hopeful smile, the first smile all day, and Stiles’ stomach twisted in knots.

He wanted Derek to smile more. He deserved so much more happiness. But as long as they had the junky house to take care of, Stiles knew there’d be more tears than smiles. He hoped they’d both survive the ordeal.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Stiles printed the California Code dealing with abandoned property and then read over it carefully, searching up legal terms he was unfamiliar with. By the end of it, his head was swimming with too much information and he badly needed to pee.

Derek knocked lightly on his door and opened it when Stiles called for him to come in. He was carrying a mug of tea that he offered to Stiles before sitting on the bed and staring intently at Stiles.

“What?” Stiles asked over the rim of the mug.

Derek shook his head, dipping his head down not quite fast enough to hide the smile curling his lips. “Just you,” he said, “being you. Thank you.”

“Okay,” Stiles drew out the word before setting down the mug and walking quickly to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, he went back to his room, wiping his hands on his pants. He’d dried them in the bathroom after peeing, but he hadn’t wanted Derek to leave his room, so he’d hurried back before they were fully dry.

Derek was still on the bed. He was holding the pages Stiles had printed, running a finger down the text, mouth moving as he silently read the words. Stiles sat down and drank more of the tea. This was more his style than the coffee Derek had bought him yesterday, and he finished it in a few swallows.

“How can they be my possessions when they were given to me to store?” Derek asked suddenly.

Stiles shrugged. “That’s what the law says. They dumped it on you, so it’s yours to do with as you please. Even if that means you throw it away.”

Derek grimaced, handing the pages to him. “That seems wasteful,” he said, softly.

“Dude, you’re living like a hoarder. That’s not healthy. At this point, worrying about wasting things is the least of your worries.”

“You’re right.” Derek stood up. He took Stiles’ empty mug and shut the door behind himself.

Stiles frowned at the pages, thinking over the words he’d used, swearing under his breath when he realized that he was accusatory. Derek didn’t need that. In fact, the way Stiles was pushing him, they would be lucky if Derek even managed to toss any of the actual trash in the house.

Stiles needed more help. Derek had mentioned being in therapy. Maybe Stiles should start there.

He turned to his laptop and opened a new browser.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek got an early start the next morning when first, Stiles slept through his alarm, and second, Dad hit him with the classifieds when Stiles tried to inhale some cereal so he could at least start the day with something in his stomach.

So, instead of watching Derek struggle to make progress, Stiles spent a few hours on his computer applying to jobs he was overqualified for. When Dad left for a shift at the bakery, Stiles shut down his laptop, slapped together a few sandwiches, and drove over to Derek’s.

Derek was sitting outside, head between his knees. He didn’t move even when Stiles honked his horn at him, knowing that with Derek’s hearing, he was being obnoxious.

Stiles dropped onto the steps next to him, shoving a sandwich at him.

“How’s it going today?” he asked carefully, biting into his own sandwich. Derek took the food, setting it on his knee and frowning down at the ground.

“It shouldn’t be this hard,” he said softly. “I know you keep telling me that it’s my stuff now, and I can get rid of it, but I can still smell the previous owners.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose. He hadn’t thought of that. He just knew that Derek’s house smelled stale and musty. A few things were moldy and stunk, to his human nose, like animal urine.

How Derek could stand to be in his house would remain a mystery, because while Stiles may not have had much tact in high school, always asking the wolves if they could smell things that were better left private, he had grown and learned to bite his tongue.

Derek sighed, poking a hole through the bread into the meat below. “Thanks for coming but I don’t think I can do anything today.”

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t believe that for a minute,” he said. He crammed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth, chewing as quickly as he could. Once he had swallowed, he took Derek’s destroyed sandwich and discarded it into an empty trash bag hanging on the front door. “Up you get,” he said. “Pick out something. I don’t care what it is. Just pick it. You’re going to give me a list of pros and cons to keeping it. Whichever list is longer determines what happens with the thing.”

Derek shook his head, but he gamely stood up, wiping his hands on his pants. “Anything?” he asked.

“Absolutely anything,” Stiles confirmed.

Derek made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat and grabbed a bent tennis racket out of the junk in the foyer. He held it aloft, studying the chipped paint, frayed strings, peeling tape, and warped rim.

“Can it go?” Stiles asked after a few minutes. Derek pursed his lips, hefting it in his hand.

“I don’t know. I know I don’t have a use for it and it’s almost beyond repair, but it could still be fixed if someone wanted to invest the time in it.”

“Okay, so if that someone is you, are you going to invest the time in getting it fixed?”

Derek shook his head. “May Ehlberg gave this to me for safe keeping. It used to be her dad’s.”

Stiles didn’t know who May Ehlberg or her father were, but he guessed, from Derek’s faltering expression, that they were important to him.

Derek set the racket aside. “Mr. Ehlberg was a pall bearer at Paige’s funeral. May used to sit behind me in history.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Stiles said, and Derek stared at him.

“What?”

“Your loss,” Stiles repeated. “Of Paige. I know she meant a lot to you, and I’m sorry she died.”

Derek clenched his hands and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “I killed her,” he said tightly. When he opened his eyes, they blazed blue.

“Do you want to take another break?” Stiles asked.

Derek shook his head and grabbed another item, a wax orange that resembled a melted candle more than the fruit it was imitating.

“Can that go?”

“Mrs. Grecke used to make these. She gave my mom a whole set. This was the only one I found in the ruins of our house.”

Stiles felt his stomach drop. If Derek could find a reason to keep everything in the house, Stiles was certain he would. He blew out a breath. “I didn’t want to do this to you yet,” he said, “but I think you need to be in therapy for hoarding.”

“Hoarding?” Derek looked around the foyer as if he was just now seeing it through Stiles’ eyes. He set the orange down carefully and then picked up a plastic cup with a string tangled on the bottom. “My cousins used to make these things all the time.” He tugged at the string for a moment before giving up when he realized it was irrevocably knotted.

“Did your cousins make that particular string telephone?”

“Not this one, no.”

“And you have your memories, right?”

Derek nodded.

“Then, it can go?”

Derek nodded again. He walked to the bag and opened it, dangling the cup in for a long, long moment. Stiles was almost positive that he was going to yank it out again, but Derek surprised him when he let it fall.

Almost as if his strings were cut, Derek sagged. “I think I need a break now,” he said, stepping out onto the porch. Stiles followed, unhooking the bag and stuffing it into the house before pulling the door closed.

“You did a good thing,” he said. “You’ll see.”

“Maybe.” He walked to his car and got in. Stiles watched as he drove away.

They’d only been cleaning for about three hours, and all Derek had to show for it was a sandwich and a children’s toy. At this rate, it would take decades to clear out the clutter.

Stiles sighed. He hoped Derek talked with his therapist about his hoarding.

“Two weeks minus three days,” Stiles told the house. Then he drove home.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Dad was back from the bakery when Stiles pulled up to his house. The Camaro was parked on the street. Stiles was relieved to see it. He’d been afraid that Derek might have decided to take off again. It was nice to see that he wasn’t running away anymore.

“Derek’s taking a shower,” Dad said. He had his feet up on the railing, a bottle of seltzer water in hand. “He wanted to let you know that he’s not mad. And that he hopes you’re not mad either.”

“I’m not mad at him,” Stiles said, sitting next to his dad and propping his feet on the railing too. “I’m mad at everyone who’s taking advantage of him.”

Dad raised an eyebrow.

Stiles sighed, crossing his arms. “A lot of people decided to just dump their junk on Derek, so his house is all junked up. He’s having trouble realizing that he can let it go.”

Dad hummed, sipping at his bottle. “You can’t push him if he isn’t ready.”

“We don’t really have time for him to get ready,” Stiles said quietly. “I was thinking that we could have the people who dumped stuff on him come and get it. I asked Derek to make a list of everyone who had ever given him things.”

“I could see if I can get some volunteers if Derek wants the help.”

“I wouldn’t say no.”

Dad shook his head. “It’s not your place,” he said. “Talk to Derek about it, okay? I know you have a deadline, but if you push too hard now, the source of the problem won’t be resolved, and in a few months, it’ll be just as bad if not worse.”

“You’re right.” Stiles thumped his feet down and stood up. “I’m going to take a shower.”

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

The next day, Derek had a meeting with his therapist first thing, so Stiles killed some time by making a chart with a countdown of the days they had left before Code Enforcement arrived to either pass or fail Derek’s house. Derek had hidden in the guest room after his shower and refused to come out before Stiles fell asleep, so he didn’t know what state of mind Derek was in, but he didn’t imagine they would make much progress at the house today.

Still, he could at least find something for Derek to store some items he definitely wanted to save. They could worry about the actual trash later. Dad was right: pushing Derek too hard now would be more detrimental than just giving him a shoulder to lean on when he got overwhelmed. That didn’t mean Stiles wasn’t going to track down every single person who had ever left so much as a dust bunny at Derek’s house and make them take it back.

He dug around the attic until he found an old, empty plastic bin. He washed it out, drying it thoroughly before putting it in his trunk. His dad still had a sports cooler, left over from Stiles’ days as a bench warming lacrosse player, and Stiles filled it with water and stuck it next to the bin. Then, he settled on the porch with the stack of California property laws and a highlighter, marking the sections he thought would be most helpful for Derek to read.

After about an hour of that, Derek returned. He smiled at Stiles but it seemed brittle, like he was stretched a little too thin at the moment.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked, capping his highlighter and setting aside the papers.

Derek shrugged. “Mostly, I guess. I talked to Jerri about the house. She wants to see it.”

“Do you want her to see it?”

Derek shrugged again. “She thinks I’m holding onto things because of losing so many people when I was fifteen.”

“That’s probably a pretty good assessment. Come on,” Stiles pointed at Roscoe, “we can at least go look at it and see if there’s anything else you want to save, like that orange.”

“I don’t have anywhere to put things like that,” Derek protested.

Stiles bit his tongue to stop the almost reflexive Could have space if you cleaned your house that wanted to pop out. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I have a bin you can borrow. Just until we find some room for the stuff you want to save.”

“Thank you.”

They drove to Derek’s house in comfortable silence. It was almost domestic, and Stiles caught himself smiling and tapping on the steering wheel while Derek poked at the radio before turning it off when all the stations were too staticky to hear clearly. The only dark spot was when they parked in front of the house and Stiles remembered what was waiting for them. He was tired, and they hadn’t even opened the door yet.

Well, they were here. There was no point in putting it off. The sooner they got in there, the sooner they could leave.

Stiles grabbed the cooler while Derek carried the bin, and they walked up the steps onto the porch.

Derek set the bin down so that he could use two hands to unlock the door.

Stiles happened to glance over as Derek worked his key into the lock and noticed something sitting on the chair by the door. “Hey, Derek,” he said.

“Yeah?” Derek opened the door, picking up the bin and waiting while Stiles slowly picked up the cup with tangled string. He took a moment to steady his voice, furious and not sure why. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to be here. He just wasn’t happy that the tiny bit of progress they had made had been so easily undone.

“Didn’t you throw this away yesterday?”

Derek flushed. “I took it out,” he mumbled.

“When? Why?”

“Last night. My cousins,” Derek said.

Stiles shoved it at him. “Do you want to save it now?”

Derek took it gingerly. He turned it over in his hands, studying it. After a few minutes, he set it into the bin.

Stiles nodded tightly. Hopefully Derek wouldn’t try to save everything. He didn’t want to drag the problem back to his dad’s house. Dad already had thirty years of his and Stiles’ mom’s things and some of Stiles’ things from high school. There wasn’t room for more crap.

In the foyer, Derek found the wax orange and added it to the bin. He picked up the racket and frowned at it for a long moment before carefully replacing it on the stack of dilapidated boxes he was using as a shelf.

“There’s some more sentimental things upstairs,” Derek said. “I’ll be right back.”

He slipped through the narrow pathways and Stiles retreated outside before the press of things made him panic again.

Just as he stepped out, his phone buzzed.

It was Dad.

“Hey, Dad. How are you?”

“I’m great. Listen, I just talked to Parrish. He says he thinks he can get a few of the guys together in the next couple of days to get out to Derek’s place and help clean up. Did you ask Derek if he wanted to do that?”

Stiles looked up, scanning the second floor windows. He couldn’t see Derek at all, but he thought Derek could hear him. “I haven’t but I will. I can text you his answer?”

“Sure, that’d be great. Also, I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but Melissa said Scott is back in town for a few days. Apparently he’s taking over Deaton’s practice when Deaton retires in a few years.”

“Oh?” Stiles was not remotely interested in what his former best friend was up to. Nope. Not at all.

“Yeah. Melissa wanted to know if we wanted to have dinner with her and Scott.”

“She does know Scott and I haven’t talked in almost five years, right?”

“I think she’s hoping that you two will reconcile.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Stiles looked up again. Derek was standing in a window now, looking down at him, expression twisted into concern. With a start, Stiles realized that he was able to parse Derek’s different expressions again. He’d missed that element of their communication, but he hadn’t been upset to discover that Derek was more verbal than he had been six years ago.

“I kinda don’t want to drag Derek over there without warning. It wouldn’t be fair to him.”

Derek pulled back, and a few minutes later, he was outside too. The bin was half full of things like a singed headband, a pair of gold hoop earrings stuck in a large card, and some books. Derek set it aside and pointed to the steps. They both sat down.

“Hey, Derek, is it okay if some of the deputies swing by and help us clear out things?”

Derek hesitated before nodding.

“He said yes, Dad,” Stiles said into the phone. To Derek, he said, “Melissa wants to have us over for dinner soon. Do you want to come with or…?”

“No, thank you.”

“So does that mean you’ll come too?” Dad asked.

Stiles sucked his lip into his mouth and chewed on it. “No,” he finally said. He wasn’t nearly ready enough to forgive Scott for what had happened. Maybe someday, but someday hadn’t come yet. “I don’t think I can do that. Sorry.”

Dad sighed. “I’m sure they’ll understand. And boys?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m proud of you. You’re doing a good thing.”

Dad hung up without waiting for a response. He probably realized he wasn’t going to get one. Derek didn’t look like he believed Dad at all, and Stiles didn’t blame him. When was the last time someone told Derek they were proud of him? Probably not since before the fire.

“Do you want to try cleaning anything today?”

Derek shook his head. “I think I’ll call Jerri and see if she can come out here tomorrow,” he said. “For now, I want to show you what I found.”

Stiles tucked his phone back in his pocket and turned his full attention to Derek as he explained about the trinkets. He had rings from his aunts, one of Peter’s ties that hadn’t burned up, the headband from Cora, the earrings from Laura. Books that belonged to his cousins and to the pack. Derek flipped through a heavy tome.

“This is our bestiary,” he said, turning pages until he came across an entry for kanimas. He traced the tail of the illustration. It looked almost nothing like what Jackson had looked like, less lizard-like and more humanoid. “It’s been in our family for centuries. Peter gave it to me when I moved back to Beacon Hills last year.”

“And where did Peter get it from?”

“He has a stash of things somewhere. He didn’t say.” Derek frowned. “He has the box with the nogitsune and my mom’s claws.”

Stiles shuddered. “He won’t give you the claws back?”

“No. I’m afraid that he’s trying to find a ritual that will give him alpha powers again.” He set the book back in the box and stood up, helping Stiles up. “He didn’t seem happy that I came back. I told him he didn’t have to come back too.”

“Why did you come back?” Stiles asked. “Not that I’m not glad you did,” he hurried to add.

Derek shrugged. “Honestly, I came back because I realized Scott had abandoned the land. My family was its protector for centuries. It needs a guardian. Even if that guardian is an omega.”

“Hey, now, you’re not an omega,” Stiles said, patting Derek’s arm. “You’ll always be a part of my pack. Me and my dad.”

Derek smiled. “Thanks. That actually means a lot to me.”

He pulled the door shut, locking it, and picked up the bin. “Can we go back to your house now? I left my phone there and I need to call Jerri.”

“Sure.” Stiles grabbed the cooler, pouring some water on his hands to clean them before digging out a stack of plastic cups he kept in his car for emergencies. He’d never had to use them yet but he liked being prepared.

Derek set the bin in the trunk and sifted through it until he came up with the cup and string. He handed it to Stiles.

“What’s this for?”

“You can throw it away,” Derek said. “I’m ready to let it go.”

Stiles grinned. “Okay, big guy, if you’re sure. Let me just.” He pulled out a bag he kept in his car for trash and placed it inside, taking care not to crush it more than it already was, just in case Derek changed his mind again and wanted it back before it could be disposed of. “There.” He handed Derek a cup of water and drank one himself.

Then he drove them back to his house.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek rode with Stiles out to the house the next morning, and Dr. Jerri Fitzgerald pulled up behind them. Derek had called to invite her last night, and she hadn’t even hesitated before agreeing, saying that she would meet them there.

Stiles was excited to meet a therapist who knew about the supernatural, had worked with them, and knew how to help them, but most importantly, he was excited to meet someone Derek seemed to trust.

He knew it took a lot for Derek to be able to trust the people around him. One day, he hoped he could be counted among those people.

Derek grabbed his arm before he could get out to greet Dr. Fitzgerald. “I do trust you,” he said quietly. “I always have since you wouldn’t let me drown. Maybe even before then.”

Stiles stared at him in shock. Had he spoken out loud? Derek tapped his nose, and Stiles signed in relief. It was just the way he smelled to Derek. “Do you trust me enough to know that I won’t intentionally hurt you?” he asked.

Instead of answering him, Derek leaned in closer, fingers flexing where he still held Stiles’ arm. Stiles stared at his face as it got closer, his lips parting, tongue flicking out to wet them. Was Derek going to kiss him? Were they at the kissing stage in their relationship? Did they even have a relationship? They were a mere breadth apart when Derek whispered, “Yes.”

Dr. Fitzgerald knocked on the window, and Derek jumped back. He smiled at her, but Stiles could read the disappointment in his eyes.

Stiles frowned, mind still spinning from the almost-kiss. Derek opened his door, and moved to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“Wait,” Stiles said. When Derek turned toward him, he grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss that was too hard, too much teeth, too much Derek’s nose in his eye, and not enough all at once.

As soon as they broke apart, Derek reached up to touch his lips. Stiles’ lips felt bruised but he kept his hand on Derek’s neck, fingers playing with the hair on his nape.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly.

Derek cupped his face, holding his head still as he leaned in and pressed a closed-mouth kiss to his lips. “More than,” he said, pulling back and out of Stiles’ reach. “I trust you,” he said, nodding sharply, like Stiles could hear the way his heartbeat stayed steady.

Stiles smiled. “Let’s go show your therapist your house,” he said, and clambered out of Roscoe.

“I don’t mind waiting,” Dr. Fitzgerald said. She smiled at them both. “It’s so nice to see that level of trust, Derek. You’ve done wonderful.”

“We’re working on my communication,” Derek said. “I seem to recall you complaining a time or two that I didn’t use my words enough.”

Stiles snorted. “No one in this damn town did. It was all secrets, secrets, lies, and more secrets.”

“But things have changed?” Dr. Fitzgerald looked from Derek to Stiles and back.

“I don’t know if the town has changed,” Derek said, “but we have.” He shot Stiles a grateful look. “I want to be who Stiles thinks I am.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet.” Stiles bit his lip, adding, hesitantly, “What if I want you to be my boyfriend?”

Derek let out a startled laugh. “Pretty sure that’s what we just did,” he pointed out.

“I don’t mean to be a literal bummer,” Dr. Fitzgerald broke in, “but can we go inside now? I’d like to know how best to help you, Derek, and I can’t do that just by looking at the outside.” She stuck her hand out to Stiles and he took it. “I’m Dr. Jerri Fitzgerald. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Dr. Fitzgerald. I’m Stiles.”

“Please, call me Jerri.”

“Okay.”

Derek unlocked the door and pushed it open. If Jerri was surprised by the amount of stuff just packed in the foyer, she didn’t show it. Instead, she studied it thoughtfully. Her braids clinked together softly as she moved forward, the colorful beads woven throughout her hair jostled.

Derek followed more slowly, grabbing the trash bag that still hadn’t been filled as he worked his way deeper after her.

Stiles brought up the rear, trying to see the junk as Jerri would. He didn’t think he succeeded very well because he still thought it could all go, even the melted orange Derek had saved yesterday.

“Okay, so tell me,” Jerri said when they paused in the kitchen, “what do you see when you look at all these things?”

Derek shrugged. “I guess I see it as kindness.”

“Kindness?” Stiles asked. Jerri shot him a look that had him almost swallowing his tongue.

“Yes,” Derek said, tightly. “Kindness.” To Jerri, he added, “When I moved back to Beacon Hills, I had nothing. Just my sister’s car and the clothes I was wearing. I was able to buy this house but I didn’t have a way to bring anything into the house. I had nothing to bring anyway.”

“And how did people start bringing you things?”

“My neighbor, Ms. Bocelli, stopped by one day, saw the state of the house, and offered me some of her mother’s furniture. When I told her that I didn’t have a way to bring it here, she asked another neighbor, Mr. Johnson, to help, and he also brought over his mother’s things.”

Stiles opened his mouth and shut it again when Jerri looked at him. She turned back to Derek. “And that was kindness, wasn’t it? Them bringing you all those things.”

“Yeah,” Derek said. “But it was a lot. Their mothers had a lot of stuff and they brought it all over the next few days. After that, it seemed like someone was stopping by every day and bringing me stuff from their relatives that had either passed away or didn’t want or need their things.”

“And you didn’t feel like you could say no?” Jerri asked, more gently than Stiles could have managed.

“No,” Derek said, quietly, an admission. “I didn’t think I had the right to say no.”

Jerri nodded, as if she hadn’t expected any other answer.

It made Stiles’ skin crawl to think of all the people that could have, did, hurt Derek because he thought his “no” meant nothing.

“I need some air,” he said, and hurried as quickly as he could back outside.

He leaned over, hands on his knees while he puffed breaths in and out through his mouth.

“Hey, Stiles,” he heard someone call, and he looked up to see Jordan Parrish, dressed down in a white t-shirt and khakis, approaching him.

“Heya.” Stiles waved back.

Jordan eyed the house. “Did you still want help clearing it out?”

“Yeah, but it’s not really my call,” Stiles said. “Derek’s in there right now with his therapist. She’s going to see if she can help him be able to let go of everything.”

Jordan hummed. “Okay, well, Sarah, the dispatcher, was able to call for a dumpster. We’re renting it, so Derek won’t have to worry about that. Just let us know when you want it, and we can have it delivered.”

“I think it’ll take more than one dumpster,” Stiles said, thinking of the rooms he had seen and knowing that there were more upstairs he hadn’t been in, all likely just as bad as downstairs.

“You realize that when the dumpster is full, we call them, they take it away, and then they bring it back, right? We’re renting it for at least a week, and if we can move fast enough, we ought to be able to get the whole house cleaned.”

“You say that now.”

Jordan raised an eyebrow before cupping his hands around his mouth and saying, loudly, “Hey, Derek. Can you come outside and talk with us?”

Derek appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, Jerri behind him.

Jordan grinned at Stiles. “Let’s go.”

Derek met them halfway. “Hi, Jordan,” he said, looking between them. “What brings you here?”

“Stiles’ dad asked if any of us deputies wanted to volunteer to help you clean your house,” Jordan replied. “We have a roster worked out. We also have a dumpster on standby whenever you’re ready for it.”

“A dumpster?” Derek shot a panicked glance at Jerri.

“A dumpster might be a good idea, Derek,” she said softly. “But first, let’s try to figure out what’s causing you to hold onto things and how to get you to let go.”

“Oh, hey,” Stiles said, “Derek, did you ever finish that list of people who gave you things?”

Derek pulled out a piece of paper folded into a tiny rectangle. He handed it to Stiles with the resignation of a man betraying his country. Stiles quickly unfolded it, finding nearly thirty names on the paper.

“Some people gave me family antiques to store because they couldn’t afford storage fees. I put a star by their names.”

“Okay.” Stiles refolded the paper, frowning when he couldn’t fold it as small as Derek had. “I’ll contact as many of them as I can and see if they want their things back.” He fixed Derek with a look. “Will you be able to return any items they want?”

“Yes. I don’t want their things if they can take them.”

Stiles shook his head. “You don’t want them even if they can’t take them.”

Jerri stepped in front of Derek. “Let’s get to that point,” she said, glaring at Stiles without too much heat. “For now, I’d like you to go through as many things as you can and pick out the things that are yours.”

Derek shook his head. “It’s all buried right now.”

Jerri pursed her lips, thinking, before turning to Jordan. “Dr. Fitzgerald,” she said, hand out for a quick shake. “Do you think you can coordinate the volunteers to sort things? Nothing is to be thrown away without Derek’s express consent. If he wants to touch things, hold them, keep them, let him. I will work with him to discover the cause of it, but until then, I don’t want you to do anything to make him worse.”

“I will certainly do my best, ma’am ,” Jordan promised. He looked at Derek. “Do you want to start sorting today?”

“I guess,” Derek said. “It’d be nice to actually be able to see the floor again.”

“It would,” Stiles agreed. “So, just so that we’re all on the same page, Derek isn’t throwing away anything today? We’re just pulling things out so they can be sorted?”

“If Derek finds he can throw away some items, he can do that, but only he can do that. If you find something you think is trash, you have to show it to Derek and get his approval before it can be disposed of.” She checked a watch hung around her neck on a lanyard. “If you’ll excuse me, I have another appointment I need to get to.” She took Derek’s hand in hers and patted it gently. “Don’t hesitate to call me if you need to. I will clear my schedule as best I can for next week so that I can help you as much as I am able to.”

“Thank you, Jerri.” Derek smiled at her.

They watched her drive off before turning back to the house.

“Okay, so what do we start with?” Stiles asked.

“The foyer,” Derek answered and marched back to the house. Stiles and Jordan exchanged a quick glance and then followed.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Jordan worked quickly and efficiently. By the time a few more deputies showed up, the three of them already had a clear pattern of sorting going. Stiles, human and tired, took a break as Jordan got the newcomers caught up, and called a few names on Derek’s list.

Most of them agreed that Derek could dispose of the things they had given him, and one even offered to bring in a trailer to haul crap away. Stiles thanked him and filed that away in the back of his mind, then went to find Derek and make him drink some water. Stiles updated the list to reflect what people had answered while Derek told him a little bit about some of the things of his family that he had uncovered.

Stiles was thoroughly impressed with how the deputies worked. They didn’t even attempt to toss anything away and they carried all the items as carefully as they could. By the time they were ready to stop for the day, the whole front lawn was covered in distinct piles, all covered in tarps weighed down with rocks found in a box in the kitchen.

The foyer was mostly empty, and although it was the only room they had gotten to, it was also only the first room. They had made significant progress today.

Derek seemed happy, excited and talking more than usual as they drove back to Stiles’ dad’s house.

Dad met them at the door, and Derek immediately stopped talking. He blanched, hands fisted at his sides.

“The Cabellos just want to apologize,” Dad said. “They realize what they did wrong and wish to make amends as best they can.”

“They can stop poisoning people,” Stiles retorted. He had no interest in hearing the Cabellos’ piss-poor excuse of why they decided to almost kill a customer. He was also angry because he still couldn’t remember what had happened after they’d eaten.

Before Dad could tell him to stop being rude, the Cabellos, an older couple with graying hair and twin looks of fear and disappointment, stepped out onto the porch. Derek leaned against Stiles, his arm pressing against his side, and Stiles could feel the tremors racing up and down Derek’s arm.

“We did not realize that you were not human,” Mrs. Cabello said. “We had no idea that we would be putting your life in danger.”

“Are you in the habit of drugging your customers?” Stiles demanded.

Both of them looked stricken. “We are matchmakers,” Mr. Cabello said. “It is our job to encourage relationships.”

“And how many people consented to you mucking about in their business?” Stiles clenched his hands into fists. “One more stupid answer and I will call the cops on your asses for trespassing.”

“Stiles,” Dad said warningly.

“No. Dad, no.” Stiles turned to his dad. “They almost killed Derek and they’re excusing it because they make matches? No, they’re meddlers. That’s what they are.” He glared at the Cabellos. “I hope you fuck up again just so that Chris can kick your asses. Now, get off my dad’s porch and off our property.”

The Cabellos did just that, both of them touching Derek’s shoulder as they passed him, apologizing in an undertone that did nothing to disguise what Stiles felt was insincerity.

“How are you feeling?” Stiles asked. He ran his hand down Derek’s shoulder and arm, doing his best to layer his scent over the Cabellos’ so that Derek could at least have a little comfort before he showered the smell away.

Derek grunted. “I’m okay,” he whispered, “but I think I need to take a shower now.”

“Okay, cool. You go do that. I’m going to get Dad all caught up on what we did at the house today.”

Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand, squeezing tightly. “Are you going to tell him about us?” he asked, and then walked away while Dad frowned at them.

“What’s this about ‘us’?”

Stiles sighed. It wasn’t like Dad wouldn’t have figured it out soon anyway. “I think me and Derek are dating now,” he said. “But also, I stink. We’ve been moving things around, and I need to shower. Talk to you later.”

He jogged past his dad and into the house. Derek wasn’t the only one who could walk away from an uncomfortable conversation.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Because there were only so many places in the house that he and Derek could hide, Dad eventually cornered them in the kitchen while they tried sneaking something for supper.

“I’m not mad that you’re dating,” he said. “I’m not even mad about you yelling at the Cabellos.” He sighed. “I just want to talk to you. Tell me, how’s the house coming? Did the deputies come by to help? How clean is the house?”

“It’s coming along fine,” Stiles said, ticking his fingers. “The deputies did indeed come help us. The house is not clean at all. It’s still really cluttered, and until the clutter is organized, we can’t clean the house.”

“Okay. That’s good. Hey, I’ve got some time off tomorrow. I could come help for a bit too?”

“Sure,” Derek said. He set down the plate of leftover lasagna Dad had made for lunch today. “Are you really not mad that Stiles and I are… together?” he sounded a little strangled on the last word, but Stiles decided he wouldn’t hold it against him. Much. “Do you have any concerns about this?” Derek continued.

“Uh, well,” Dad scratched the back of his head, “I’d appreciate a heads up if you need some alone time, and well, there’s condoms in the bathroom, but if you need a different size—”

“Dad!” Stiles yelped.

“What?”

“Condoms?! Really?”

“What! I want you to practice safe sex. Is that such a bad thing?”

“It is when you just casually imply that we’re having sex!”

Dad frowned at him, confused. “You’re not?”

“No! We just decided to get together today. What, you think we did it already?”

“Can we please stop talking about this?” Derek pleaded, voice choked. His whole face was red, and he refused to make eye contact with either Stilinski. “We’re not having sex.”

“Yet,” Dad added, and Derek made a strangled noise.

“Stop talking about sex,” Stiles said, pointing at his dad. “We’re not having sex, not now, not yet, not until we’re both ready. So, just drop it, okay?”

“Okay,” Dad said softly. “I’m sorry, kid, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s just, well, you’re both adults. You both know what you like. It’s just a natural progression of your relationship.”

“Okay, we get it,” Stiles said. “You’re okay if we start having sex, but you want a heads up if you’re going to be walking into it. Well, guess what? When we get Derek’s house the way he wants it, that’s where we’ll be having sex.”

Derek slapped a hand over Stiles’ mouth. “Can. We. Please. Stop. Talking about this?” he begged between clenched teeth.

Stiles licked his palm, and Derek furrowed his brow in disgust, but he didn’t move his hand.

“Okay, I promise not to bring up the s-word anymore,” Dad promised. “Melissa has extended an invitation to all of us for supper tomorrow night. Do either of you want to go?”

“Will Scott be there?” Stiles asked. Dad gave him a flat look. “Then, no, I don’t want to go. Derek?”

“I think I won’t be in any shape to be good company,” Derek said. “Even though we’re just sorting things, it’s taking a lot out of me.”

“Understandable. So, I’ll help out tomorrow until I have work, and then tomorrow night, you’re on your own for supper.”

“Great. Thanks, Dad.” Stiles grabbed their plates and shoved them into the microwave, pressing in four minutes and staring at it while it heated.

“Okay. I’m going to check on my roses. I think I’ve got a shot at gardener of the year this year. What do you think, Derek? Think I’ve got a green thumb?”

“Well,” Derek said, hesitantly, “you’ve done really well with your wolfsbane collection.”

Stiles stifled a snort, stopped the microwave on one second, and carried the plates to the table. “Go on, Dad. Go do your gardening. We’ll catch up later.”

Dad looked rejected, but he picked up his dirt-stained gloves, kept on a shelf next to the back door, and a hand rake and stepped outside.

“Do you want to have sex?” Derek asked before Stiles could take a bite.

“Now?” Stiles looked at him.

Derek ducked his head. “No,” he said quietly, poking at his lasagna. “Not right now. Eventually, though, yeah. I like sex. I think sex with you would be good.”

“Oh, baby,” Stiles deadpanned, “I’ll knock your socks off.”

Then he tucked into his food, grimacing when he encountered the cold center. Derek laughed at the face he made and heated it up more for him.

Derek washed the dishes when they were done, and they settled on the couch to watch a movie with Dad when he came in from gardening.

As promised, Dad didn’t mention sex again. Didn’t mean Stiles wasn’t thinking about it.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Jordan and about six deputies all dressed in plain clothes were already at the house, taking the tarps off and folding them into a lidded bin so that they wouldn’t blow away in the breeze.

Stiles had grabbed the bin Derek had started of his keepsakes before he and Derek drove out there, so he grabbed it and set it down by the tarp bin.

“If Derek says save and it’s small enough, put it in here,” he told Jordan, trusting him to pass along the message. “Anything that’s too big to fit, put it with the other pile.”

Dad pulled up in his truck then. He’d brought a case of water that he set on the chair on the porch. Derek unlocked the door, and they began pulling put more things.

Sometime around when four of the deputies were maneuvering the non-working fridge out of the kitchen, the same code enforcement officer who had given them two weeks parked behind Dad’s truck.

“Tamara,” Dad greeted cheerfully, “what brings you out this way?”

“Just checking on the progress,” Tamara said. She frowned at the piles of things, watching as the fridge was walked to the curb next to John’s truck. “What’s going on?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Dad waved at the deputies. “We’re helping Derek clean up his house.”

“Can I see inside the house?” She started for the door without waiting for an answer. Stiles hurried to intercept her. Derek was inside, supervising the clear out of the kitchen, but he must have heard Tamara, because he stepped out onto the porch just as she started up the steps.

“Hello,” he said quietly. “Would you like to see the progress being made?” He stepped aside and she walked into the foyer.

“Well, this certainly is an improvement.” She knelt down by a baseboard and tapped on it. “Hmm, still sound.”

“I should hope so,” Derek said, amusement making his eyes light up. “I had the house inspected before I bought it. It wasn’t this full of things until about six months ago.”

“Minimal damage.” Tamara made a mark on her clipboard. “Have you been able to clean any other rooms?”

Derek pointed toward the kitchen. “We’re working on the kitchen and living room today.”

Tamara clicked her pen and stuck it to her clipboard. “Show me.”

Five minutes later, she was outside. “This is good progress,” she told Derek. “Ideally, we’d like to see the whole house and both yards fully clean before the deadline, but with the amount of progress you’ve made, I’m sure we can extend the deadline by another two weeks. You now have thirty days to become compliant.” She marked an “x” on her clipboard and handed it to Derek to sign. Then she signed it and tore off the carbon copy underneath, giving it to Derek. “Good work, Mr. Hale. Keep it up.”

She walked back to her car and drove away.

As soon as she was gone, Derek visibly sagged, and Stiles pushed him until he was sitting on the steps. Jordan called a halt for a break and they all congregated by Dad’s truck with water bottles and a pizza someone had called in for delivery.

“How are you feeling?” Stiles asked. “Do you need to talk to Jerri?”

Derek shrugged. “I didn’t realize how much it was. I’d forgotten it was there, I guess, when more stuff just got piled on it.” He looked back at the house and then nodded at the various piles stacked on the lawn. “I don’t know why I let it get so bad.”

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re working through it. Do you have any ideas on things that could go right now, or are you waiting to see if the people I called will actually show up for their things?”

“That one,” Derek said. He sighed. “I just don’t want to throw something away and have someone come looking for it.”

“I know. That’s your caring nature.”

“I’m not caring,” Derek said, giving Stiles a hefty side-eye.

“Yes, you are,” Stiles laughed. “You always have been as long as I’ve known you. I mean, you had a rough way of showing it, but as much as you threatened to kill us when we first knew you, you never had any intention of doing so.”

“I did,” Derek protested. Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Well, I meant to,” Derek mumbled. “Look, I knew you didn’t have all the information, and that would either get you killed or put you in danger, and I couldn’t let you die because of me.”

“And you didn’t,” Stiles said.

“If only everyone could have been as lucky.”

Stiles knew Derek was thinking of Boyd and Erica. He set his hand on Derek’s knee, surprised when Derek turned his hand over and slotted his hand on top, tangling their fingers together.

They sat for fifteen minutes while everyone else ate and joked, laughing and cheering when they managed to get the fridge up into Dad’s truck.

Dad walked over to Derek and Stiles, handing them each a water bottle. “I’m going to take the fridge to the appliance recycling center and then head home to get ready for work. You’ve done a lot these past few days. I’m proud of you both. Now, remember that I’m going to Melissa’s for supper tonight.” He paused before grinning. “The condoms are in the upstairs bathroom.” He jogged away before Stiles recovered enough to start yelling. Derek ducking his head to hide his smile gave him pause, and he turned to fully look at him.

“Do you seriously want to have sex while my dad is at Melissa’s?” he asked incredulously.

“No, not yet,” Derek said. “I just think he said that because he knew it would rile you.”

“That’s the problem with being his son,” Stiles complained. “He knows me so well.”

“He loves you,” Derek said. “That’s not a problem.”

“He likes you too.”

Derek grinned, tipping his head down so he could butt his head gently against Stiles’ shoulder.

“Get up, ya goof,” Stiles said, tugging lightly at Derek’s hair until he obediently raised his head. As soon as his mouth was level with Stiles’, he leaned in and started kissing him.

Derek kissed back.

This kiss was better than their first attempt, with no clicking of teeth, no poked eyes, and plenty of tongue.

Suddenly, Derek’s head shot up, breaking contact.

Derek’s head shot up. “Scott’s here,” he said.

“Scott?” Stiles looked to the street where there was now a bright blue Mazda parked where his dad had been.

Scott was already out of the vehicle, leaning against it, sunglasses obscuring his eyes as he faced them.

“Do you want to talk to him?” Derek asked as he stood up and pulled Stiles up with him.

“I should,” Stiles replied, but his feet didn’t move. He hadn’t seen Scott in years, since high school graduation. He hadn’t forgiven him for bringing Kate back into their lives. He hadn’t forgiven Scott for what Kate had done to Derek before they’d stopped her.

Anger welled in him and he balled his fists. Scott would probably stand still long enough for one hit, but he wouldn’t be able to surprise him. He didn’t get a chance to do anything, though. Derek grabbed his shoulder to keep him in place as Scott strolled up to them. He didn’t remove his sunglasses, even when they were less than five feet apart.

“Hey, Stiles, Derek,” Scott said. His voice was edged, careful.

Stiles shook his head. He couldn’t say anything because if he started talking, he’d start yelling too, and he didn’t want to waste any more time on Scott than he already had. He’d grieved the end of their friendship a long time ago.

“Hi, Scott,” Derek said, cordially. He offered his hand for a shake, and Scott stepped closer and took it gingerly. He held his hand out to Stiles for a few seconds. When Stiles did nothing more than stare at it icily, he stepped back.

The silence between them was awkward, weighed down by the past.

Jordan herded the gawking deputies around the side of the house to start clearing out the backyard, giving them some semblance of privacy.

“So, I need to talk to you about something,” Scott said.

“Okay,” Derek said. “Stiles or me?”

“You.” Scott finally removed his sunglasses, folding the bows together with a little click and gently sliding them into the front pocket of his jacket. He let his eyes glow red, head tipped down to keep any nosy neighbors from seeing them. “I think it’s time to give you this back.”

“What?” Stiles grabbed onto Derek’s arm in shock. “You want to give Derek your alpha powers?”

“They weren’t mine to begin with,” Scott said. He sighed. “Deaton told me it was possible that I became an alpha after Derek used his spark to heal Cora because it needed more power than he had left. The spark left because if it had stayed, it would have killed Derek.”

“And did Deaton tell you to give it back?” Stiles asked. Derek grabbed his hand, threading their fingers together. Stiles squeezed gratefully.

“No,” Scott said. He opened and closed his hands, staring at his fingertips like he expected his claws to pop out. Disappointingly, he remained fully human. “I found a new mentor. He used to be a werewolf, bitten, like me.” He shot a quick glance at Derek. Stiles followed it. Derek’s face was blank, but his hand, where he was still holding Stiles’ was trembling.

“Deaton didn’t like me talking to Micah, said he was only telling me what I wanted to hear.”

“That you could be human again?” Stiles guessed. Scott nodded. “So, what’s the catch?”

“I have to give the power back to the person I got it from.”

“And you think it’s Derek based on what Deaton told you?”

“Not just Deaton,” Scott said. “Peter, before he disappeared after the shit with Kate, said that my alpha powers were Hale in origin.” He shrugged. “Peter could probably tell that it was his family’s.”

“How do you know?” Stiles demanded.

“Micah didn’t know where he got his alpha powers from, so he asked a witch spark to help track down the same, like, frequency of the power.”

“Electro-signals,” Derek murmured. “Each alpha’s power carries a distinct energy signal.”

Stiles turned so that he was facing Derek. “Does that mean Scott’s power is yours?”

Derek nodded. “I didn’t want to be an alpha anymore. Everyone I loved was dying. Sometimes at my hands. I thought I didn’t deserve it, and Peter still had a lot of rage left after he came back. I didn’t trust him with it subconsciously. That must have been why it went to Scott.”

“And now I’m giving it back to you,” Scott said.

Derek shook his head. “I still don’t want it.”

“I don’t think we can trust Peter either,” Stiles said. “So, what do we do with it?”

“We could put it in the same container we used to store the nogitsune’s powers,” Derek said, slowly.

Stiles suppressed a full-body shiver. If Derek felt guilt for the deaths he thought he’d caused, Stiles drowned in it. So many people had died because of his body, and while he hadn’t been aware at the time of most of the deaths, he’d still felt their loss keenly.

“Wait,” Scott said, “wouldn’t opening the box let out the nogitsune again?” He shot a concerned look at Stiles.

Derek squeezed their hands together. “Chris didn’t trust Peter with the box if the nogitsune was in it, so he made a silver box and transferred the nogitsune into that and buried it somewhere only he knows.”

“So, Peter has the box now?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah. He wanted it back about a year ago, just before I moved back to Beacon Hills.”

“So, where is Peter now?”

Derek made a face. “Oregon. About two hours drive.”

“And he’ll let you take the box?” Scott asked, hopeful.

Stiles snorted. “It’s Peter,” he said. “Do you think he’s actually going to let us take anything?”

“We have to try,” Scott said. “Please?”

“Is being a werewolf really so horrible?” Stiles asked.

“You’re one to talk,” Scott said. “You’re still human.”

“But I wouldn’t have tried to resurrect a fucking hunter to learn how to be human again.”

“Oh my God, is that why you wouldn’t talk to me?” Scott shook his head. “Look, I’m sorry that I accidentally brought Kate back to life. That wasn’t my intention.”

“No?” Stiles could still remember the metallic taste of fear when he’d gone to Derek’s loft because they hadn’t heard from him for a few days and found the door open, blood smeared everywhere. It had taken three days to find Derek chained up in the tunnels under the preserve.

Scott had admitted what he’d done when Derek told them that it was Kate, and then Kate tried to blow them up and absconded with Derek again. She had him for a week that time, and when they finally tracked her down and made sure she was dead and buried in as many pieces as they could tear her into, Derek had walked away from Beacon Hills. He’d taken nothing with him. He hadn’t even washed the blood and dirt off before he disappeared.

Peter, the main orchestrator of Kate’s dismemberment, had left shortly after that.

And Stiles hadn’t talked to Scott since.

“No. I was trying to draw the alpha spark out of me, but I guess Deaton gave me the wrong ritual.”

“So, you’re saying we should blame Deaton now?”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Stiles, it may have taken me slightly more time to realize it, but Deaton wanted me to be the alpha.” He shot an apologetic look at Derek. “I’m not sure why he had such a problem with Derek or Peter being the alpha, but I guess he was just trying to make sure I’d stay in charge.”

Stiles shook his head. “You were never in charge,” he said coldly. “Maybe you’re right: you don’t deserve to be a werewolf.” He turned to Derek. “Do you want to drive or should I?”

“You can,” Derek said.

“Are you going to get the box from Peter?” Scott asked.

Stiles didn’t bother to answer him. As far as he was concerned, Scott no longer existed. They would help him stop being an alpha and then Scott could fuck off again.

“Let’s go tell Jordan the new plan,” Stiles said. “Do you trust them enough to keep working while we’re gone?”

Derek tilted his head, thinking about it for a long moment before shaking his head. “The code officer said she’d extend our deadline, so it’s not like we’re going to lose too much progress.”

“True. I think I’m going to have Jordan call all the people who have stuff out on your front lawn and have them pick it up. We’re only going to be gone for as long as it takes to drive there and back and convince Peter to give us the box.”

“Should I come too?” Scott asked.

“No,” Stiles and Derek said at the same time. Stiles added, “Peter might not be willing to give us the box if he knows you’re involved.”

Stiles had been pissed at Scott. Peter had left town because, he explained in a text message he sent to Stiles about a week after he’d gone, he wanted to rip Scott limb from limb like he’d done to Kate, and if he gave in to his need for revenge, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to stop, and Derek wasn’t around to stop him.

Stiles hadn’t responded, not sure if there was anything he could say to that because he knew exactly how Peter felt.

And now, six years later, Stiles was beginning to feel that same rage again. Yeah, it was definitely not a good idea for Scott to come with them.

“Go see your mom,” he said. “Tell my dad hi when he has supper with her.”

“Okay,” Scott said easily. He put his sunglasses back on and walked back to his Mazda.

Stiles waited until he pulled away before he marched around the house and found Jordan directing the deputies to cover the piles of stuff they’d pulled from the sheds with tarps.

“We’ll get everything covered up and call it a day,” Jordan said. “We couldn’t exactly not hear what you were talking about since we’ve all got super hearing.” He held out his hand for the list. “I’ll get this taken care of while we finish up covering everything. Jenkins has a trailer we can borrow to help people haul their things away if they want them. Is it okay to make a possible dumpster pile if some people don’t want anything back?”

“As long as you don’t actually put it in a dumpster, that should be fine,” Derek said. “Thanks, Jordan.”

“Hey, no worries. Always glad to help out a friend.”

Derek looked startled at that, and Stiles nudged him. “Remember you told me about him being affronted about the shock wand?” Derek nodded. “Yeah, he’s been your friend since then, I think.”

“Yeah,” Jordan said. “For sure. Anytime you need something, just give me a call. I’ll be around. Now, I think you’d better hit the road if you want to have daylight for the trip home.”

Stiles high fived him and then all but pushed Derek toward Roscoe. “We’ll have to stop for gas a lot unless you want to switch to the Camaro?”

Derek shook his head. “Peter likes you more. If he hears your Jeep, he’ll be more amenable to helping us.”

“Your uncle is creepy.”

Derek laughed. “He’s always been like that.” He sobered, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “It’ll be nice to see him again.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, lying. He didn’t have any fond memories of Peter, but he wasn’t going to hold that against Derek. Besides, if Peter did agree to give them the box because Stiles tagged along, well, all the better.

He flipped his blinker on and took the turn that led out of town, heading north toward Oregon and Peter Hale.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek drove for the second half of the trip up while Stiles dozed in the passenger seat. They stopped for gas too many times, so what should have been two hours was quickly turning into three.

Finally, around Ashland, Derek pulled off Interstate 5. “Peter built a cabin close to Ashland,” he explained. “He wanted to be close enough to civilization because despite his creepy tendencies, he’s very social, but he also likes his privacy. Coming back from the dead does that, or so he’s told me.”

“Peter wasn’t very private when you were growing up?”

Derek snorted. “If Peter could show off or brag about anything, he would.” Derek pulled off the paved road and onto an access road. Five miles by the odometer and he parked in front of a structure that couldn’t be considered a cabin in any sense of the word. He turned off the engine and handed the keys to Stiles.

“Peter built this himself?” Stiles asked, staring at the large, mansion-sized lodge.

“No.” Derek frowned at him. “Peter hired people to help him. If he’s started building things himself, then we’re all in trouble.”

“He’s not an architect?”

“Not at all.” Derek looked a little wistful. “I was actually studying to be one when Laura and I were in New York.”

“Do you have plans to finish your degree?”

Derek shrugged. “Let’s finish one project before we worry about another.”

He opened his door and braced. Peter knocked him down, and they rolled in the leaves by the side of the dirt road while Stiles climbed out and stretched out the kinks in his back.

“Derek, what brings you up my way?” Peter asked when he and Derek stopped moving.

“I need something from you,” Derek said. He let Peter tug him up to his feet and ambled toward Stiles. He slung an arm over Stiles’ shoulders and walked him to the porch. It was larger than Derek’s kitchen, and Stiles had the hysterical thought that they should just pack up all that junk and store it here. Certainly Peter didn’t need as much room as he had.

He stamped the thought down. He was trying to help Derek get rid of his hoard, not dump it on someone else. Besides, Peter wasn’t exactly the type to tolerate encroachment of his territory.

“Oh?” Peter smiled knowingly at them. “Does this have something to do with your little crush on Stiles?”

“Not a crush,” Derek said. “And no. This is actually about the box my mother’s claws were in.”

Peter drew back, studying Derek with an air of suspicion. “And why would you want that?” he asked. “You have your mother’s claws. I thought we agreed I could have the box since you wouldn’t let me have the claws.”

“You wanted to use them in a ritual to regain alpha powers,” Derek said. “You know every hunter will come after you if they realize you’re an alpha again, right? You’re too dangerous for them.”

“And what about you? When are you going to become an alpha again?”

“I don’t want to. I don’t want power.”

Peter looked at Stiles, and it felt like he was being stripped of clothes and flesh. “No, you just want a little fuck-buddy.”

“Hey!” Stiles said. “I’m right here!”

“We’re not fuck-buddies,” Derek added. “We’re dating.”

“Hmm. I suppose I should invite you in.” Peter turned on his heel and walked into his house. He left the door open for them, so Stiles followed him in. Derek trailed after, closing the door behind him.

“Want anything? Juice, soda, wine?”

“We’re fine, thanks,” Derek said. “We just need the box.”

“And then what do I get?” Peter asked. “Was she not my sister? Why should I have no mementos of her?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Peter, you emptied an entire vault full of memories. I have the claws and not much else. I am asking you, as my mother’s son, for her box.”

Peter turned to Stiles. “And you? Why are you here? Did Derek think that seeing you again would melt my heart? Well, it hasn’t. If anything, I am now more frozen than ever.”

Stiles reached out and stabbed his index finger into Peter’s chest. “Feels pretty warm to me,” he said.

Peter just stared at him. Derek growled under his breath and stalked away. He returned a few minutes later, the box in hand. “Goodbye, Peter.”

Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand and dragged him out of the house. Stiles barely had time to buckle into the passenger seat before Derek had Roscoe turned around and heading back to the paved road, edging up near top speed. He hadn’t even felt him take the keys.

“Easy,” Stiles said as Derek slowed marginally to turn onto the road. “I know Jeeps are good off-roaders, but Roscoe’s old. You’d better treat him better.”

“I thought you’d call your Jeep a she,” Derek muttered, but he did ease off the accelerator.

“Roscoe was my mom’s first. She named him.”

“Oh,” was all Derek said.

It wasn’t until they were back on Interstate 5, near the Oregon-California border that Derek said, “Laura named the Camaro ‘Maura.’”

“Do you still call it that?”

“Her,” Derek said softly. “Yeah. It’s a piece of Laura that I still have.” He patted the dash. “Good, Roscoe. Good job.”

Stiles smiled at him. “You think Peter’s going to try to get the box back?”

“Probably,” Derek said. “Is Chris still in town?”

“Dunno.”

“If he is, I’ll send him to say hello to Peter. I’m sure that’ll keep him away.”

“Not indefinitely,” Stiles pointed out. “Chris is going to leave again, and Peter will probably just come back then.”

“Yeah.” Derek sighed. “I’m just hoping I can decide what to do with the alpha spark if it comes to that.”

“If we can even get the spark out of Scott.”

Derek nodded. “Trade at the next station?”

“Sure,” Stiles said.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

They traded drivers again for the last forty-five minutes before they got to Beacon Hills. Dad texted Stiles just as they hit the city limits sign.

 Scott wants to meet at Derek’s house.

Stiles sent Okay back. “We’re going to your house. Apparently Scott’s already there.”

Derek turned onto his street and passed Scott’s Mazda as he pulled into his driveway.

Scott was sitting on the chair on the porch, his phone braced against his knee. He lifted a hand to wave at them.

Derek paused before shutting the door. “He’s not alone,” he said in a sotto voice as he and Stiles walked up to Scott.

Indeed, as they stepped onto the porch, a man came around the corner of the house. He was tall, taller than even Boyd had been, darker too.

“Micah,” Scott said, “this is Derek and Stiles. They’re going to be helping with the ritual.”

Micah studied Derek. “This is who your spark came from?”

“His family, yeah,” Scott said.

“Him,” Stiles said. “Derek had to give up the spark almost seven years ago.”

“And you are willing to take it back?”

Derek held up his mom’s box. “I think we can store it in here. It’s made from the wood of the nemeton.”

“So it has power,” Micah said.

“Yes.”

He nodded. “It should be a fine container.” He motioned to Scott. “Shall we begin?”

“Wait,” Stiles said. “What exactly does this ritual entail? What do we have to do? Is there any bloodletting?”

Micah laughed just a touch too hard, Stiles thought. “No,” he said, wiping at his eyes. “It is rather simple. All that has to be done is for the parties to stand in the center of a mountain ash circle and renounce the spark.” He looked to Derek. “Normally, you would then accept the power, but since you wish to store it in the nemeton box, you will have to say that you accept it as it goes into the box instead of your body.”

“What are the exact words we need to say?” Derek asked. “I’d like to not accidentally become an alpha again.”

“Wait,” Stiles said again. “What if the spark doesn’t go into either the box or Derek?”

“That’s what the mountain ash circle is for,” Micah said. “It will stop the spark from finding another host.”

Derek stiffened suddenly. “We need to hurry,” he said. “Peter is coming.”

“I’ll call my dad and see if Chris is still here and if he can come over now.” Stiles stepped back, already dialing.

He watched Micah position Derek and Scott so that they were facing each other in arm’s length apart. He then picked up a pouch from the porch and began pouring mountain ash into a circle  around them. If Micah had truly been a werewolf, then he wasn’t one now. Scott was the only wolf Stiles had known to break through mountain ash, but as far as he knew, Scott hadn’t been able to do it again. A one-trick pony.

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles said when his dad picked up. “Is Chris Argent still in town?”

“I think so,” Dad said. “He was also invited to have dinner with Melissa sometime this week.”

“Can you ask him if he can come to Derek’s house? We need some hunter muscle.”

“Sure. You need a retired sheriff too?”

“Uh, maybe? Peter Hale is in town tonight.”

“Well, fuck,” Dad said. “Okay, we’ll be there. I’ll bring some wolfsbane bullets for Peter.”

“Hurry please.” Stiles hung up and walked closer to see the ritual. Scott was already halfway through his speech of giving up the alpha spark, thanking it for its power and asking that it serve the next host just as well. As he spoke, his body lifted, wind that Stiles couldn’t feel outside the circle ruffling his hair. Scott closed his eyes, leaning back, arms thrown wide.

Derek opened his mom’s box. “Alpha spark,” he said, “please accept this box as your new host and serve it well.” He said a few more things, but Stiles wasn’t paying attention anymore because behind him, he heard growling. When he turned, Peter stood there, close enough that Stiles could touch him if he wanted to. He didn’t.

Peter was half-shifted, eyes blazing icy blue, fur sprouting along his cheeks as his forehead became more prominent.

“You’d waste it like this?” he snarled at Derek.

Derek ignored him, closing the lid on the box as it jerked under his hands, like it suddenly weighed more than before.

Dad’s truck horn blared, and they all turned as Dad parked haphazardly, climbing out of the driver’s side with a raised gun while Chris calmly leveled a loaded crossbow at Peter.

“Hello, Peter,” Chris called. “Long time no see.”

“Yes, well, it is so hard to keep in touch these days,” Peter said, fully human again. “I suppose you’re here to warn me to stay away from my nephew?”

“You know me so well,” Chris returned. “You have five minutes to make yourself scarce before my finger slips.”

Peter glared. “This isn’t over,” he said to Derek. “I will have that power. It is mine by birthright.”

“If that were so,” Derek said quietly, “it would have gone to you and not Laura. You wouldn’t have had to kill her for it.”

Peter looked stricken. “Of course you would think that I did it on purpose. It wouldn’t have mattered if it were someone else. All I saw was an alpha. I didn’t even realize it was Laura until the police were looking for her body.”

“And that is why you shouldn’t have the spark,” Derek said. “I don’t want it, and you can’t have it. Now, please go. Your five minutes are almost up.”

Peter nodded sharply and turned around. “I would say it was nice to see you,” he called to Chris and Stiles’ dad, “but I don’t want to lie.”

He walked away.

“Huh, well that was a lot easier than I thought it’d be,” Stiles said. He stepped up to the mountain ash circle and waved his hand over it to break it. Derek smiled at him before nodding toward Scott.

“It worked. He’s human now.”

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” Scott said. He looked weak, tired. “I’m sorry for what I did before, for bringing Kate back. I should have realized that Deaton didn’t want me to give up the power.”

“I’ll work on forgiving you,” Stiles promised, one hand behind his back, fingers crossed.

Micah helped Scott to his Mazda and set him in the passenger seat before climbing into the driver’s seat and pulling away.

Derek looked around the yard at the piles of things still cluttering the yard. He frowned, holding the box out to Stiles.

As soon as Stiles had a good grip on it, Derek walked over to the smallest pile of stuff and pulled the tarp off. He studied the pile before picking up as much of it as he could all at once and walking over to Stiles’ dad’s truck.

“Is this okay?” he asked. Dad nodded. Derek set the stuff in the bed of the truck and went back for another armful.

“Derek?” Stiles called. “What’s going on?”

“It’s just crap,” Derek said. “I don’t want it. Let’s get rid of it. All of it. Please?”

Stiles smiled so wide his mouth hurt and his eyes teared up. “Yes,” he said. “Always.”

And maybe there would be days where Derek would miss the things he threw away, but Stiles would be there to help him and remind him why he didn’t need it.

Stiles carried the box into the house and set it on a shelf above the fireplace in the living room, marveling at the way he could stretch and stretch and not even come close to reaching anything in his way.

Derek joined him, wrapping an arm around his waist as they both studied the room.

“There’s still a lot of work to do,” Stiles said, “but you’ve taken a lot of steps. And we’re all here for you.”

“I know,” Derek said. “But most importantly, you are here.” He moved to stand in front of Stiles, using a gentle finger to tip Stiles’ head up so he could slot his mouth over Stiles’.

“I am,” Stiles said as soon as the kiss ended. “Always.” He pulled Derek down for a dirtier, wetter kiss. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too,” Derek said, and it sounded like a revelation.

Dad cleared his throat. “Not that I want to interrupt this grand display of affection, but I think it’ll be a lot easier to do what you’re about to do on a bed with clean clothes, uh, skin. Come on, let’s go home. You’ll be back here tomorrow anyway.”

“I thought you didn’t want to know when we were having sex,” Stiles said.

“Yes, well, you might not get an STD from Derek, but that floor is another matter.”

Stiles poked Derek’s cheek. “What do you say, should we go back to my place for a little horizontal dancing?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “I think I’d prefer to fuck,” he said, and then bodily hauled Stiles up with him.

They made it home in record time. Barely. And took the shortest showers of their lives.

Dad graciously went back to Melissa’s house with Chris, leaving them a row of condoms on Stiles’ bed. They used every last one of them.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

                                                                                                         ~ Epilogue ~

                                                                                        ~ Three Weeks Later ~

Stiles surveyed his handiwork before dipping his roller back into the pan of paint and running it over the wall. He was almost done with the second coat for the living room. Derek was painting the kitchen right now. Everything was clean.

The only things that hadn’t initially belonged to Derek still in the house were a few pieces of furniture that Derek planned to reupholster.

In the end, they’d hauled over 50 tons of trash to the various recycling centers and the dump. The house had taken almost as long to clean since Derek and Stiles were doing it themselves. In fact, this was the last coat of paint that they needed.

With a final swipe of his roller, Stiles finished. He set it down, turning to look at the walls. He wiped at his forehead with his sleeve, mopping at the perspiration soaking his hair and running down his face.

They had the windows open, but it barely made a difference when there wasn’t a breeze to speak of.

Stiles picked up his supplies and carried them out to the shed where Derek had decided to keep his touch-up bits and bobs. By the outside spigot, he scraped as much paint as he could off the roller before sticking it in a bucket and opening the spigot to fill the bucket. He added a few drops of detergent and then used his hands to work the rest of the paint out of the roller, hanging it to dry on a hook Derek had installed for this purpose.

He finished by the time Derek was done with the kitchen.  Derek washed his roller too, hanging it next to Stiles’.

“So, that’s done,” Stiles said. He and Derek were both paint-splattered and sweat-soaked and in desperate need of a shower.

“Yeah,” Derek said. He smiled fondly at Stiles. The past three weeks had seen them consummate their relationship in truly earth shattering fashion. They’d had so much sex that neither of them could walk straight for about a week, and it had made cleaning the house that much more difficult. Neither of them was willing to stop long enough to fully heal though.

“Wanna join me?” Derek asked, cheekily, jerking his head back toward the house.

“For a shower?” Stiles clarified.

Derek hummed. “Among other things.”

Stiles grinned at him. “Yeah. That’d be great.”

“I think your dad left us a house warming gift earlier. I put it upstairs. It was for the bedroom.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek before running up to the room they’d picked for the bedroom. Sitting on their bed was a red cellophane-wrapped basket. Stiles poked it, turning it around until he could see the contents clearly.

“Really, Dad?” He laughed. Condoms and lube. They were running low, so Stiles couldn’t even be mad at his dad for it. They would definitely get used. In fact… Stiles pulled on the ribbon and peeled off the cellophane. He picked out a box of flavored condoms and headed to the bathroom where Derek had already started the shower.

“Strawberry or cherry?” he asked, stripping quickly and joining Derek under the spray.

“Strawberry?”

“You or me?”

Derek’s gaze dropped to Stiles’ crotch. “You?” he tried.

Stiles grinned and rolled a strawberry flavored condom onto his dick. “Good choice,” he said, as if Derek could have made a bad choice here.

The smile he got in return was brilliant, and Derek gracefully dropped to his knees, leaning forward to envelope Stiles’ dick in the wet heat of his mouth.

It was good, great, perfect, and Stiles wouldn’t change a thing.

~ End ~

[one-leaf-grimoire]

“pine and lavender”

Lisa and Julius go to visit her hometown in the woods. Julius has a grand ol time. idk what the title is supposed to be ajfdskfljds. Anyway, here’s another self-indulgent one shot. stan julisa etc. 

Pairing: Julius x Lisa (my oc ajfsdkl)

Warnings: alcohol use (Julius gets a lil drunk) also some heavy flirting, a little of it suggestive but not like... that suggestive.

Two years. That’s how long it had been since Lisa last visited her hometown. She was still a magic knight back then, young and full of dreams, ready to take on what she believed to be a long career. But now, of course, that changed. Her career, and her whole life was unrecognizable. And even she was.

But even so…

“Are you sure about this?”

“Hmm?”

Lisa looked up from where she waited, to see Julius walking over. They were both dressed to travel, packing light for the mere two day getaway they had planned. Yet, Julius was asking as if they were about to leave for some treacherous journey. Perhaps that was true.

“You know… I don’t want you to think I expect to hang out with your family all the time,” Julius continued, finally reaching her side to stand on the balcony. “I know it’s tough for you, with your mother and all-”

“Julius,” Lisa interrupted him, taking his hand in hers to cut him off. “It was my idea, not yours! You made me hang out with your parents last week so it’s only fair that you have to visit my family!”

Julius blinked owlishly, then narrowed his eyes. “I see… wait, so you didn’t enjoy yourself last week?”

Lisa gulped nervously. Meeting Julius’s parents for the first time was an… interesting experience. Both of them were quite old, living alone in a nice place out in the countryside. The Novachrono family, being nobility, owned a couple of residences which they cycled between. Lisa, who grew up a commoner, found the whole arrangement quite extravagant, but it provided some neat weekend hideouts for her and Julius to enjoy. However, they weren’t alone last week.

(tragic flashback time)

“Julius! Oh, this must be your girlfriend!”

Lisa peeked out from behind Julius, her heart thumping in her chest as the elderly couple finally spotted her after greeting their son. The spark of excitement in their eyes, nearly identical to how Julius’s would be, gave way to some other emotion. It was brief, but they almost looked taken aback. Lisa physically resisted wincing.

Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it-

“OOh, you’ve got some mysterious mark on your head as well! No wonder our Julius likes you so much, ahah!”

Oh good. Lisa let herself exhale a nervous laugh, stepping forward to greet them properly. It wasn’t her fault she looked so young; she stopped aging when she was 20, after all. But it was nice to not be bombarded with questions all the time, from people assuming things about her relationship. 

“It’s nice to meet you, too!”

(end non-so-tragic flashback)

“Oh, your parents were wonderful. A little… excited, but wonderful.” Lisa grinned and elbowed Julius playfully, earning an exaggerated reaction. “Anyway, I think they told enough embarrassing stories about you to last me a lifetime!”

“Ah, is that so?” Julius grinned back sheepishly, his prior worries fading quickly. “I thought you already knew everything about me?”

“There’s always more to learn~” Lisa shot a cheeky wink up at him before picking up her bag. “Come on, we’ll be late for dinner if we keep chatting all evening.”

“Right, right.” Julius could barely contain himself as he took her hand again. “I’m so excited to see your cousins again- do you think they’ll remember me?”

“Remember? You?! Meeting you was the highlight of their lives!”

Without any more delays, Lisa held on tight as Julius finally took off, leaving nothing but faint traces of his mana behind.

Approximately two minutes later, the pair landed with a resounding whoosh, causing birds and leaves alike to take flight from the trees around them. Branches creaked, and bushes rippled, but only a moment later the forest was as still as it was before. “Well, here we are!” Julius let go of her hand only momentarily to stretch a long arm over his chest. “Too bad we have to walk into town from all the way out here-”

“We talked about this, remember? What do you think’s gonna happen if you just crash down in the middle of town?” Lisa reminded him, turning away once he was ready to start the walk. “And also- once we get there, you’ll have to transform into someone else. I don’t want to become the talk of the town or anything…”

“I know, I know!” Julius looked more disgruntled at that factor than anything else. He let out a deep sigh, sadness shifting through his gaze momentarily. “If I could have my way… I would want everyone to know.”

“... I know. Me too.”

Julius was unapologetic in every facet of his life, and love was no different. He loved the Kingdom, he loved his friends, but most of all, he loved Lisa. If he had it his way, Julius wouldn’t hesitate to herald the news from every corner of the country. 

“This woman? She’s mine! And I’m hers!” 

Sadly, the two of them already felt the harsh reality of the world, when Augustus and the Magic Parliament found out and used Lisa’s involvement with Julius against her. And because of that, Julius had to keep this treasured relationship close to his chest, where the general public wouldn’t find out.

“Hey-”

He looked down as Lisa snaked her arm around his, smiling up at him comfortingly. “Marry me one day, and then everyone can know.”

Julius’s eyes lit up at the mere thought. “Seriously? Let's get married today, then!”

“What?! No way! Not yet, at least…”

“Ah, alright. I’m patient~”

Before they knew it, they reached the outskirts of town, and Julius was forced to transform. Lisa watched curiously as his body glowed gold, and he morphed into an unfamiliar man. He kept his blonde hair, but he had blue eyes instead of his usual purple. Also, his nose, chin, ears, brow- it was all different. “There! How do I look? Handsome?”

“Not as handsome as usual,” Lisa answered, eyeing him up. It was true, nothing could beat the usual Julius. Julius, of course, knew this, giving her a teasing wink as he grabbed her hand again to continue their journey. 

Lisa’s hometown was small, but stable. They mainly subsisted on local crops and game, but they had to buy food from neighboring areas as well. Situated at the base of the mountains dividing the Clover Kingdom from Diamond, the town was once a battlefield, as both kingdoms vied for control over the precious gems underground. However, all those gems have been stripped away, and things calmed down for years and years.

At least, it used to be calm… up until that day. 

One fateful attack by the Diamond Kingdom, nearly four years ago. That day changed everything. Lisa’s father was killed, leaving her alone with a mother who hated her and powers that she didn’t understand. She lost so much…

But I wasn’t alone, remember?

Lisa glanced up at the man walking next to her, humming to himself as they moved. She couldn’t help but smile as the memories washed over her.

Because, that day… I met you.

“LISAAAA!!!!!”

The door to Lisa’s old home slammed open, revealing her aunt Portia and her cousins. Before the two of them could react, they were bombarded with hugs from adults and screeching children alike. Lisa could do nothing but stand there and take it, but the wide grin on her face betrayed the fact that she was enjoying it.

“Lyra! You’re going to suffocate me!”

“And I would be right to do so!”

Cousin Lyra- One year older than Lisa, a total airhead, but also the sweetest person you’ll ever meet. The girl stepped back from her cousin with a little pout on her face. “You never come to visit, even though I told you your mom moved out! We only get to see you once a year, you know!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry! I am kinda busy, you know!” Lisa defended herself, still smiling brightly. “Well, we’re here now, both of us.”

“Hey, who’s this weird guy?!”

Uh oh.

Lisa turned just in time to see Julius being circled menacingly by her two younger cousins, Pat and Rocco, the twins. Both of them had met Julius before, but now they were eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re right, who is this guy, Lisa?” Portia asked, her eyes widening. “Don’t tell me you and Julius broke up!”

“What?! No! I am Julius!” Julius looked a bit confused before the reason dawned on him. “Oh wait- right!” He stepped inside the house, out of sight of the street, and let himself change back to normal. Rocco and Pat immediately gasped. “OH! WIZARD KING!”

Lisa covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. Their excitement never failed to crack her up.

“Aha, you know- you can call me cousin Julius-” Julius told them, but it was no use. They continued to chant his title and before grabbing onto his legs like they were two tree trunks. Julius just sighed and let out a tired laugh, looking over at the others. “Not yet, I see-”

“Well, now that we’re here-” Lisa winced a little as she sat down at the kitchen table. “I’m ready for a relaxing night here at home.”

“What?! Relaxing?” Aunt Portia let out a giggle. “Nonsense! Lisa, you know what day it is, right?”

Her family giggled as she stared at them blankly. “It’s friday!”

Her eyes widened. “Oh no…”

Julius looked between them, confused. “Wait, what does that mean? Friday? What’s so special about friday.”

“It’s the busiest night at the tavern! All hands on deck!”

The rest of the family cackled. Lisa’s father owned the sole tavern in town, so it passed down to Portia and Lyra once he died. It was popular, and Lisa worked there for many years before leaving to join the Magic Knights. Lyra giggled and nudged Lisa with her elbow. “It’ll be just like old times! You and me waitressing, I even kept your old ‘uniform!’”

Lisa’s already-pale face was white as a sheet now. “U-Uniform!? Oh god, you can’t mean-”

(thirty horrible minutes later)

“TA-DA! Look at this, ‘James’!”

Julius turned around at the sound of the fake name he was using today. He had been sitting alone in the tavern, watching the other groups as they sat and drank, laughing and chatting among themselves. It was a strangely serene experience, being able to be alone. Well, at least it was nice to not have Marx breathing down his neck. Julius did miss Lisa though… he wasn’t sure why, but being away from her, even just for a little while, made him deeply uncomfortable. But luckily, she was back… sort of.

Lyra strained as she attempted to drag someone out from the back room. “Lisa! Behave!”

“No! Jul- I mean, James, don’t look at me! This is embarrassing-”

Lisa finally gave in, her face burning bright red as she was dragged out into the open. 

“Isn’t she cute!? She had to wear this every day when she worked here!” 

Her “uniform” was that of a tavern maid; a dress a little shorter than knee-length, a cute apron, and her usual tights. It wasn’t anything too shocking, but-

Lisa covered her face with her hands, mortified to be wearing something so out of her usual wardrobe. “D-Don’t look at me-”

It was too late- Julius was L O O K I N G.

“I said stop it!”

Julius finally snapped out of his “trance,” the dumbfounded look fading into a devilish grin. “Wowie… Lisa, maybe you should change your usual uniform to this-”

Portia and Lyra cackled along with the rest of her family as Lisa shouted back, too embarrassed to make any sense. Julius chuckled to himself, letting up on the teasing but allowing his eyes to still wander all over her body.”There’s nothing to worry about, my sweet… you look good in anything.”

Lisa sighed, letting her shoulders slumped, still not looking forward to the night ahead, but maybe it would be bearable. Maybe. “Thanks… You’re usually right.”

“Of course I am-”

“Lisa! Stop making eyes at him and get to work!”

With another loud objection, Lisa was dragged away once again, while Julius watched her work with shining eyes. As someone raised in nobility, Julius had to admit that he was a little out of his element. The tavern became increasingly louder as people started drinking, shouts and laughter filling the small building. Julius felt himself shrink around his drink, only accompanied by the younger twins and Lisa’s uncle. But among all the chaos, Lisa navigated it all perfectly. Once she forgot about the outfit, she weaved between the tables and jostling chairs, carrying a teetering tray of beers, her voice managing to pierce the noise filling the air. “Hey! Keep it civil, guys, I don’t want to mop up any of your blood.” “Talk to me like that again, and I’ll tell the Wizard King to come get you! Yeah? Scared now?” “NO GAMBLING IN HERE!” “Do you want me to burn you to a crisp? Because you’re asking for it!”

Julius laughed to himself as he listened, not able to tame the big smile on his face.

She’s so cute-

“Hey, Lisa, you got cute~”

Julius’s eyes popped back open.

Did… someone just-

“Hmm? So what if I did?” Lisa glared down at her new admirer, well, admirers. They were a group of three men sitting at a round table, red-faced and drunk, and apparently smitten with their waitress. “It doesn’t mean you can look at me!”

“Oh, but we are~” One of them giggled. “Why don’t you come back with us tonight? It can’t be fun JUST hanging out with your family.”

There was nothing Julius wanted to do in that moment other than spring to his feet, release his disguise, and teach those guys a lesson directly from the hands of the Wizard King. And he almost did, too! With his fists clenched so tight he knew his nails would leave a mark, Julius barely scooted his chair back before freezing as Lisa stepped in to defend herself much better than he could have.

“Listen! You three used to bully me all the time for having no mana. I wouldn’t want to be seen with you, even if my life depended on it! And besides-” Lisa resisted shooting a cheeky glance over at Julius. “I already belong to someone, so you’re too late.”

The trio blinked dumbly up at her, unable to comprehend what she was saying. Julius smiled to himself and slowly slid back down into his seat.

“I already belong to someone.”

He always liked hearing that.

“What are you looking at?”

And suddenly, she was right next to him, leaning up against the table with a little grin on her face. Julius blinked, his reaction sluggish. Ah, I guess I got stuck in a little daydream there- He shook off the feeling, amplified by the beers he drank, and smiled up at her. “Oh, just the cutest waitress in this place.”

Despite being mortified earlier, Lisa only blushed lightly at the comment, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Oh? I’m honored~ And what a coincidence, you’re the cutest guy in this place…”

Oh boy. The alcohol was starting to kick in for Julius, and Lisa knew it. His gaze started to fog up with some weird emotion that she knew well. She rarely saw him even get buzzed, so this was entirely unfamiliar. “Aha- ah, shucks, hehe-” He giggled boyishly to himself, closing his eyes for a moment as he collected his “thoughts.” Ahh… he would look so cute right now if he wasn’t in disguise, Lisa thought to herself, but it was enough to know that the unfamiliar man sitting here wasn’t unfamiliar at all… he was her man. “Hmm, you seem like you’ve had a little too much to drink” she teased.

Julius shrugged, lifting up his glass. “This is the best goddamn beer in the whole goddamn kingdom- HIC.”

Lisa bit her lip, thinking the little hiccup was just too cute. “Take it easy! I wouldn’t want you to pass out on me, hmm?”

Julius just laughed to himself again, his poor addled-brain hardly able to keep up. Damn! This beer is way more potent than I’m used to… these country folk know how to brew, that’s for sure. If I’m not careful, I’ll actually get drunk.

“Well, then tell me, waitress~” Julius finally spoke, wiggling his eyebrows. “When do you get off your shift?”

Lisa giggled, reaching out and running a friendly hand over his shoulder. Julius eagerly leaned into the gesture, like iron drawn to a magnet. That was what she was: a magnet. He would always be drawn to the gravity she possessed, something he couldn’t understand yet didn’t need to. All he really needed was her.

“Be patient~ We can go home soon.”

Without another word, Lisa leaned down and kissed his forehead, before pulling away to continue her work. Julius could do nothing but sigh and watch her go, his smile still traced on his lips and his mind hazy with desire.

(the next morning)

At exactly 6:30 am, Lisa’s eyes popped open. She was like a machine, her consciousness restoring itself almost instantly after her usual 6 hours of sleep. That was all she really needed, so she never gave herself much more. With a little yawn, the girl slowly rolled over in bed, her arm reaching out to find the warmth of a body beside her. However...

Julius wasn’t there, for some reason. Lisa frowned a bit, blinking as she got her bearings. Hmm, I wonder where he is? She was sure that they were together when they fell asleep late last night. In fact, she was 100% certain that was the case. Julius got all needy when he was drunk, and wouldn’t let go of her even as he fell asleep. It takes a lot to get him drunk in the first place. He should be terribly hungover right now.

“Portia? Lyra?” 

Lisa peeked into the kitchen, the stillness in the air betraying that no one else was awake yet. That’s weird… well, Julius likes his morning walks, this could be his way of dealing with his hangover

She knew that Julius was the last person on earth she usually had to worry about, but he was unfamiliar with the area and could get lost. Keeping that in mind, Lisa quickly got dressed and headed out to search for him. It was still early, and also a Saturday, so the town was very quiet and empty. Lisa strolled down the streets, becoming increasingly disheartened as she failed to locate her wandering boyfriend. Well… maybe he went out into the woods? Ooh, I hope he’s alright-

Lisa decided to check the outskirts before heading back home, just in case. Luckily, her intuition ended up being right… just not in the way she expected at all.

“Lisa!!!! Hello!!! Good morning!!! Look at me!!!”

Just as Lisa reached the edge of the woods, who should come running out but a grinning Julius. Usually, Julius only moved fast when he was fighting, and moved so fast that he left afterimages everywhere he went. Other than that, he glided from place to place, as graceful and stately as could be. But now, Lisa watched in shock as a seemingly-normal albeit awkward looking man, with arms and legs a little too long for his body, came sprinting at her. But the strangest thing was-

“Julius!!! Why are you dressed like a lumberjack!?” 

Lisa backed away slightly as he skidded to a stop in front of her, still almost giddy with boyish excitement, and she eyed his strange outfit: a red flannel shirt, JEANS, and a strange looking hat. She also noticed that he wasn’t in disguise anymore. But before she could say anything, Julius launched into a harried explanation, as if he already knew what she was thinking. “Oh, don’t worry! No one recognized me with this hat on, haha! See, I woke up early to make you some coffee for when you woke up, but your uncle was awake and invited me to come help him and some others gather wood and stuff in the forest! He gave me the outfit and everything! It’s a little tight though-” Julius shifted uncomfortably in his jeans. “Anyway, a lot of people in this town don’t have much magic, at least not for gathering wood, so I got to use an axe and everything! It was so much fun, we’re taking a short break now but we’ll be at it again soon, haha!” 

Julius let out a jovial laugh while Lisa stood there, still absorbing the words he just spat out. “Oh… I see. Well, I’m glad you’re having fun-” She eyed his hat again, noticing that it covered most of his blonde hair as well as his swallowtail mark. “So… you’re not hungover or anything? You were pretty drunk last night…”

“Drunk? NO, no!” Julius wiggled his eyebrows. “That stuff only buzzed me… I was just using it as an excuse to act a bit more boldly, you know? I’m perfectly fine this morning.”

… of course he would do that- Lisa thought to herself, not sure if she should be charmed or exasperated…. She was leaning towards the former, since by now she was used to Julius’s antics. “You seem to be enjoying the commoner life, maybe we should quit our jobs and move out to a cabin in the woods,” she teased, letting herself smile brightly up at him. Now that the shock was wearing off… he did look really good in his new “uniform.” “You should wear stuff like this more often~”

Julius raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t wipe his goofy grin off his face. “Oh? Maybe I will~ And-” He reached down and took her hand in his, clasping it tenderly. “I’ll take you out to cabins in the woods whenever you feel like it! Just say the word, and it’s done!”

Lisa giggled, squeezing her eyes shut as Julius’s hand cupped her cheek, holding her face gently as his lips found the side of her head. “It’s good to know I have you wrapped around my finger~”

“Oh, more than my finger, my dear.” Julius winked as he straightened back up. However, that brief, sultry moment ended as soon as a new idea crossed his mind. “So! I was thinking- we should have a picnic for lunch!”

Lisa’s eyes it up at the same time as his own. “Ooh, I like that idea! Out in the woods?” She immediately started brainstorming what she could make.

“Not just any spot, though-” Julius fidgeted with excitement. “That spot by the river… with the flowers, where we first met?”

“Oh… oh! Yeah!” The memories flooded back, memories from a time much more complicated than now. “Meet me there at noon?”

“Yeah! Thank you, darling.” Julius leaned down, his intention clear. Lisa closed her eyes in time to feel his sweet kiss on her lips, brief yet just as intoxicating as ever. “See you soon!” Without another word, Julius waved goodbye before running off, disappearing into the trees. Lisa sighed to herself, the warmth of his presence still lingering on her skin. Wow… well, I have a picnic to prepare. She turned around and started to walk back home, her mind still caught up in the dream she somehow managed to turn into reality.

Back then, years ago, they met in that spot by the river. Lisa was lost, alone, hopeless, and confused, but all it took was a kind smile and that strange, warm feeling to get her moving again. Moving towards her goals, with nothing left to lose and everything to gain.

I gained and lost so much, over and over, but now… it’s just like you promised, Julius. You said, one day, our life will be simple. And now it is.

Despite the trials they experienced, the satisfaction of knowing filled Lisa’s heart: she was his, and he was hers. Completely.

(shortly before noon)

Finally alone, Julius took off his hat, letting his head breathe for the first time all morning. He had arrived at the spot a little early, so he had a few minutes to himself. “Hmm… this is the place, alright,” he muttered to himself, looking around. The stream still flowed lazily like it always did, and the blanket of white cornflowers still rippled gently in the breeze. The whole atmosphere was calming, yet so deeply potent with memories, both good and bad… but one in particular.

I still remember it so well… During that Diamond attack, Lisa dropped her Grimoire. I had to chase her all over town to give it back! I ended up catching up to her here… we had our first conversation. And her first smile-

Julius would have been content to die in that moment. For that brief second, he forgot that he was Wizard King, he forgot about all the responsibilities he carried on his back. He was weightless, unburdened… blessed. A girl he barely knew, someone he could tell was deeply troubled and complicated, defeated him with just a smile. At that time, he couldn’t have imagined that he would grow so close to her, watching as she clawed her way up, a girl with nothing to lose but everything to gain. It was what he admired most about her, but she was more than just another remarkable person in the magic knights.

She was his.

Julius found himself standing at the edge of the stream, the water calm enough for him to make out his reflection.

Despite how perfectly everything felt now… he couldn’t shake an unwelcome feeling.

Dread?

Julius shook his head slightly, watching his own eyes narrow with determination.

If I can protect an entire kingdom… I can protect one person dear to me. 

“Julius!”

The voice calling out from behind him immediately dispelled the dread from his gut. Perking up, Julius quickly turned around to see Lisa walking over, picnic basket in hand and a big smile on her face. “Hey! I’m right on time~ Hungry?” She held up the basket, opening it up to look at the contents. “I made some sandwiches, but Portia had some leftover wine from last night so I packed a little of that as well, and-”

Lisa was suddenly cut off when a pair of arms closed around her. She stood there silently as she was held tightly, her face buried into the rough flannel of Julius’s shoulder. Slowly, she inhaled, taking in his scent, a scent indistinguishable from her own save for the new notes of pine he managed to pick up while working. Then, she exhaled, her arms drifting around his torso in time with her breath. 

It was moments like these that she knew she was cherished. More than any treasure or prize the Kingdom could offer. Even if she didn’t understand why, she knew that fact.

After a few long, tender moments, Julius’s grip finally loosened, and he stepped back just enough to peer down at her face, his smile tinged with faint notes of sadness. “Thank you, Lisa.”

“My pleasure.”

The two of them turned and walked towards the stream, their hands still entwined as tight as fate itself.

[watarigarasu]

May 9th – Change

Lyn’s Writing Event

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader

Word count: 1,691

Warnings: Heavy angst

Author’s note: And for my next trick I’ll step on your feelings :)

Thorin Oakenshield considered changes as an inevitable part of life.

Unlike humans, he was allowed to live through the centuries and watch the world change in front of his bare eyes—the cities to be build, the lands to be conquered, the friends to be made and the foes to be defeated. Although the longevity of Elves was still out of his reach and the cold breath of death always one step behind him, he considered himself somehow lucky. Not everyone could live long enough to obtain a knowledge and skill as great as him, just like not everyone could make a good use of the life given to them.

And he was, indeed, rather proud of his achievements. His family and friends were, too.

Standing next to the majestic oak tree with branches so wide they could reach from one side of the main gate to the Erebor to the other, Thorin thought that he has seen the sun setting behind it thousands of times. It truly was a good idea, to plant a tree when it was barely a seedling on the meadow behind the Lonely Mountain and watch it grow.

He smiled at the memory.

It seemed as if that day happened no longer than few months ago. The grass was as yellowish as today, still not woken up from the winter slumber, the sky crystal clear and the smell of the sun in the air. The first day of spring and yet, the birds were understanding that it was their time coming, chirping sweetly in the distance and flying cheerfully around. It suited your excitement perfectly, the seedling in your hands soon to be placed in the ground.

“I just cannot wait to see it grow big and strong,” you admitted, not vary to get your hands dirty in the ground, while Thorin held the tree to make sure it was positioned straight. “We can get a wonderful place to rest during sunny days. And the birds will surely enjoy it, too, a new place to build nests.”

“Weren’t you saying that their morning serenades are disturbing your sleep during the journey here?” he reminded.

“It was something completely different! Now, look, it is almost done.”

Indeed, it was, the smile on your face so wide, Thorin could barely remember when was the last time you were so eager to do something. He found himself observing you instead of the plant, your features and the sparks in your eyes much more interesting than even the most special tree.

“I love you,” he confessed all of a sudden, causing you to blink and look at him puzzled.

“I love you, too, Thorin,” you answered and moved near him, to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “More than you do love me.”

“No way,” he groaned. “I am the King and therefore I love you more.”

“And I am soon-to-be Queen and therefore I cannot love my future husband less than he does.”

“Nonsense, I see no correlation.”

And so, you teased him from time to time, just to see the King under the Mountain fall for you all over again. It always ended with a kiss, hands held together and the promises of even better times to come.

You looked stunning in your wedding dress, the jewelry given to you by him only making your beauty more visible and radiant, and for the first moment, Thorin was completely speechless. He stood there like a fool, unable to move or say a single word, simply eyeing you and not believing that you were really going to be his wife—that the love of his life, his One was truly there, within reach. After all he has been through, there was finally a time when all the troubles left him, the bold line being drawn at the end of this chapter with an intention of starting a new one.

The better, brighter one because you were there.

The way your laugh echoed in the halls was a music to his ears, no matter that sometimes, when you got particularly amused, it was nowhere near ladylike. On the contrary, that was when he loved it the most, the genuine expression of utter happiness floating from your heart. You taught him how to smile more often and to find the reason to do so every single day.

Countless stuff were filling Thorin’s once neat and minimalistic bedroom, since you moved in. Naturally, you wanted to make this place look as comfortable as possible, considering the fact that you were surrounded by the cold, dark stone, and he never argued with that. Whatever meaning were your things hiding, he realized that their presence was quite nice, always reminding him of you and your interests.

He did not even say a word when he found out that there was only one shelf destined for him left, all the rest occupied by your belongings. It was precious, to watch you place them and for your bedroom to seem more and more like a journal—every page filled with various memories you wished to cherish.

Thorin was the one to notice the first gray strand in your hair. You were resting your head upon his chest and slowly falling asleep, listening to him telling you an old story from his childhood, when his gaze landed upon something different. Not stopping the lazy strokes over your head, he took a closer look to make sure that he was not mistaken but no matter how much he wanted it to be some kind of hallucination, the single gray hair was stubbornly there.

Soon enough, he did not see it anymore, for the image in front of him got blurry, but the tone of his voice remained the same.

“I love you,” he told you the next day in the morning, right after you woke up in his arms. “Nothing will ever change that.”

“Well,” you started, still not completely awake and surprised by his sudden confession. “I hope so. I would hate to participate in a duel to win your heart again, but if I had to…”

He chuckled.

“I would never doubt that and I can assure you that there is nobody else to duel with.”

“Good,” you yawned. “I would like to have a breakfast with my lovely husband first.”

Thorin kissed the top of your head, in the same place where he found the damned hair previous night.

“You will, my dearest.”

The music was rapid and chaotic in the background and yet, you paid no attention to it, as you swayed with Thorin to the rhythm of a completely different melody. Slow and steady steps taken back and forth and to the sides were creating such a contrast to the joyful jumps and swirls of the other members of the great feast organized to celebrate Fíli’s hundred birthday. In the arms of the King under the Mountain, however, you were safe from the whole world, keeping him close to you with eyes closed and simply feeling his presence with your body and soul.

It was warm and peaceful, just like his love for you.

Wandering through the lands you almost forgot about, you realized how much they changed during all those years spent in the Erebor. The forests seemed to grow taller, the roads longer and the hills higher, as if the world was spreading to every side. It was hard to imagine that you were travelling there with The Company once, on a quest to kill the dragon and reclaim the place you knew now as your home. Thorin, walking by your side insisted that he remembered the way perfectly and encouraged you to visit Shire as a small substitute of the adventure you once had and a present for your anniversary.

Also, to visit an old friend of yours.

Not Bilbo, nor his habits differed from what you remembered and after you crossed the threshold (naturally, without knocking first), you were both welcomed like a guests of honour, with tea and snacks.

“I have to admit,” you stated after walking over the small hill and leaving Bag End behind. “It was a good idea. Thank you for suggesting that.”

“I am glad you consider it as such,” Thorin smiled. “It would be a terrible waste of time and energy if you did not.”

“Time spent with you is never a waste, Thorin. No matter what we do or where we are, it is always good when you are with me. I love you and it is honestly all that matters.”

He truly hoped that the words you spoke that day were genuine, because the thought of wasting your life was haunting him for many weeks after you were gone. If he only did not meet you during the quest, you would have a completely different life, perhaps better than the one he could offer you—living and dying in the kingdom of stone and steel.

Standing alone under the tree you planted together and observing the setting sun for the countless time, Thorin realized that although he seemed to come back to the very same place he started from—to the crushing loneliness and lack of purpose—everything was different. You were the most beautiful and significant change that has ever happened to him and there was no way he would ever be the same as he was before seeing you for the first time.

Thorin was back in his home, the place he knew from an early childhood and nothing was the same.

You gave his life the meaning he was desperately looking for, you showered him with love he believed he did not deserve, you willingly devoted your whole life to him and spent your last hours in his arms. It was much more than he could ever ask you for, the greatest and most precious gift handed to him long before he realized what it was.

The privilege of growing old together, where the only permanent and constant thing remaining was his endless love for you.

And maybe it was meant to be this way.

[withabackpackandcamera]

September 15th, 2020

Day 2: The Alaskan Road Trip Begins!

After a good night’s rest, Cynthia and I woke up for an early start to the day. My task was to get the rental car from Enterprise. Her task was to finish up an interview scheduled at the last minute. I got picked up by the Enterprise people, saving me some time and energy, and before long I had our blue Ford Fusion ready to go. Once Cynthia was completely done with her work and the car was all packed, we dropped by Fred Meyer, the local grocery chain, to buy some goods for the trip. The usual snacks for the car ride, filtered water in case we needed it. Cynthia bought herself some breakfast from Starbucks and a little further down the road, I picked up a breakfast biscuit from McDonald’s. With tummies filled, we were off to start our long 250-mile road trip up to Denali. 

The drive out of Anchorage was spectacular. The mountains surrounding the city were something to behold. The clouds were dense and picturesque. The fall colors lined the highway and became prettier as you drove further out. The first stop on our list of stops was Thunderbird Falls, located about 30 minutes outside of the city. Once we got to the parking lot, we parked the car, decided not to pay for the quick visit there, and hiked about a mile in and then a mile out to see Thunderbird Falls at the end of the trail. The hike was very pleasant and very quiet without too many other hikers on the trail. The fall colors were in full force all along the trail, with vibrant greens, yellows, oranges, and even reds. The waterfall itself, however, wasn't too spectacular. From the viewing deck, Thunderbird Falls was pretty far and small, so we spent very little time viewing it before turning back to the car. 

The next stop was Reflection Lake, which was located just around the corner (sort of) via a drive from the Thunderbird Falls parking lot. There, we took a short walk to a lake that really reflected all the fall colors surrounding it. We spent a little bit of time there taking photos and appreciating the view before moving onward toward Talkeetna, the next planned stop on the road trip.

And again, the drive was pretty spectacular with all the yellows and oranges surrounding the road. The weather wasn’t the greatest with heavy clouds and some rain throughout the trip. But still, the views were incredible. The drive to Talkeetna from Reflection Lake was about 1.5 hours and required us to take a little detour off of the main road. Once we arrived there, we walked through town, which ended up being a little street of shops and restaurants. Even so, it was still a neat stop. The buildings housing the shops and restaurants there were old school and definitely fit what you would expect from a rural, frontier town. 

We walked down and then back up the street, taking photos here and there. By this point, we were pretty hungry and after being on the lookout for food, we ultimately decided on pizza for lunch. The pizza place we tried was called Mountain High Pizza Pie and it was a good choice! The first reason was because we had a yummy small Italian sausage and basil pizza that was just right for us. And secondly, the restaurant had great covered outdoor seating that gave us a little escape from the rain that started to come down while we were eating. 

We peeked around town and window shopped for a little bit longer after lunch but as the rain started to fall more steadily, we made our escape and started heading back toward the main highway. Because I had spotted a nice, photograph-worthy view of some fall colors and a float plane on the way in, I decided to take a quick stop on the way out of Talkeetna to get the shot. We stopped by the float plane docking area and I walked around the area, trying my best to get the best photographic angle for a picture of the float plane and the surrounding fall colors. From the easy-access viewpoints, I couldn’t get the right photo. So I kindly asked the folks manning the front building if I could venture down closer to the water to grab a photo and they were extremely nice and said sure. Getting down to the water allowed me to capture some decent shots so I slowly made my way back to Cynthia at the top and we eventually left the area for the main highway. 

And it was mostly driving and some stopping from Talkeetna to Denali. We made some quick stops here and there for photo and video ops. We tried stopping at some designated Denali viewpoints along the main highway but only found thick clouds and rain obscuring our views at both viewpoints. No Denali. After what seemed like a forever drive under the clouds and rain, we finally reached Denali National Park. By this time, it was after-hours (i.e. after 5PM when the main visitor center closes) and we didn’t have to pay or anything. So we drove into the park to get a glimpse of what the park was all about before doing a full day in the park tomorrow. We drove as far into the park as we possibly could without a lottery ticket (since you needed to win permission to drive past a certain point) and that was up to the Savage River. After driving all the way in and getting our sneak peek at Denali National Park, we slowly made our way back out of the park toward Healy, where we were planning to get dinner and stay the evening. We didn’t expect too much with this drive into Denali National Park given how late in the evening it was when we arrived. But fortunately, for us, on our drive out, we spotted a car that had stopped in front of us. As we slowly approached, we looked around to see what they were stopping for. And low and behold! A moose on the side of the main road! We sat in our stopped car in awe for a few seconds before pulling out our cameras to capture a photo of the moose from the safety of the car. It was so neat to see a moose! And super lucky given our low expectations for the short trip into the park at the end of the day!

After watching the moose for a few minutes until it vanished from sight, we restarted our short drive into Healy and stopped for dinner at 49th State Brewing Company in Healy. It was a neat brewery and restaurant for sure! A nice outdoor area that I imagine being full of people in the high season and with good weather, a neat inside with cool decor, and pretty good food! I tried their Brut Cider, Grapefruit Lager, and Hoppy Cream Ale. They weren’t bad but I didn’t like them enough to pay more money. So we just ordered the East Fork Flatbread and Gold Star Peak Burger. Both were delicious and we luckily had some food left over to bring back to the lodge. 

Once we were done eating, we drove down the road and checked into the White Moose Lodge for the evening. The room was comfy and did the trick. Before calling it a night, I turned on the TV to watch a replay of the Clippers getting embarrassed by the Nuggets in Game 7 of the Western Conference Semis. So embarrassing! Loved ending the night with that! As for the plan for tomorrow? An early start for a long hike. 

5 Things I Learned/Observed Today:

1. The main trees that line the highways of Alaska are alders, birches, and aspens. Those form the foundation of Alaska’s roadside fall colors. 

2. Growing up, I learned that the largest mountain in North America was called Mount McKinley but during this trip, I realized that this name was no longer used. Denali was the original name for Mount McKinley. In the Athabascan language, it means “The High One.” In 1896, some random gold rush reporter named William Dickey decided on his own to rename Denali after presidential candidate William McKinley to honor him as McKinley was a proponent of Dickey’s favorite issue: the gold standard. The name stuck and then became official in 1901 after McKinley was assassinated. Ever since, people have been trying to revert the name back to its original name (and get rid of that symbol of cultural imperialism) but due to politics and people in Ohio (where McKinley was from), the name change was blocked for nearly a century (and a lot of failures since 1975). Finally, the mountain’s name was changed back to Denali in 2015 with the help of Obama and Co. 

3. Mount Denali is the highest peak in North America, standing at 20,320 feet. Denali has two main peaks with the highest being its south peak.

4. When the park shuttle buses stop running after the high season ends in early September, not everyone can drive past the 15-mile point of Denali National Park. Only those who enter and win tickets from the lottery for all-access to the park can do that. You can drive anywhere within the 15 miles if you don’t win the lottery. But you can also walk in as far as your legs can take you if you want. You just can’t drive. And after lottery weekend, where people who won tickets can drive around wherever they want, cars can then drive up to 30 miles into the park, at which point there is no further driving. Too bad we missed that opportunity by a weekend or two. 

5. Mount Denali and the mountains of the Alaskan Range are so high that they can significantly affect the weather and climate in the area. They can concentrate and channel air into strong winds that can cause the weather in the area to change quickly. High mountains like these also cause a rain shadow, where wind and moisture are trapped on one side and condense into clouds and rain before reaching the other side (in this case, the northern side of the mountains), causing a rain shadow effect over interior Alaska, where one side (the southern side) is wet and the other side (the northern side) is dry. The weather is also the reason why Denali is so difficult to view (because of clouds) on many days of the year.

[d-other-i]

10.30 pm – 12/08/17 – Day 01

The bus set out from Bangalore, a slight delay, thanks to which I was able to grab some food! In about 14 hours, the bus would take me far away from the original intended destination.

A coffee never hurt, especially when stuck without a plan!!!

7am – 13/08/17 – Day 02

The morning found me staring into the countryside, its overcast gray skies, and the semi barren fields in against the rust red of the iron ore on the road! Hampi was still 2 hours away. What started as a trip to Gandikota in AP, was inching towards Hampi in North Karnataka!

The previous two days had gone by in a blur! With no plan, and no tickets to Kurnool, last minute changes had to be done to ensure that there atleast was a trip! The only other place that I could think of then was Hampi! Good thing I already had tickets to Bangalore! All that was left was to find a ticket to Hampi from Bangalore and from Hampi to Chennai! A colleague (now, wife) helped with the bus planning and booking a stop-over stay at Bangalore!

After almost an entire day of roaming, a café in Bangalore gave enough time to Google up Hampi and possible places of stay there! A few phone calls later, one place asked me to call them again on reaching! Wondering if the plans would materialize, strolled around Bangalore a little bit more, met some friends, and finally when it was time, boarded the bus to Hampi! The one persistent thought however, was what If there was no accommodation?! It was after-all a long weekend!

A gust of wind ensured I was back, staring at the overcast skies, the broken down trucks along the highway and the oodles of rust on the road. After a lengthy detour post Ballari, the bus ambled into the dusty little town of Hospet! Hampi is 16 km from here! Found a couple who were also headed the same way, grabbed an auto to share charges and off we went!

Dropping them off at their shack, I went about looking for the contact I had spoken to! Funny thing, with the mountains and boulders all around, there was very little network. Finding the place was a task, but thankfully, the temple town isn’t too large and finally, reached the homestay.

A small but a neat place, it was located very close to the Virupaksha temple.

** To those who plan to visit Hampi, there are basically 3 options for accommodation. Those that plan to do the trip by their own vehicles can stay at Hospet, or at Kamalapur (close to Hampi). The other two options are to stay at the temple town itself in its few homestays, or stay at Virupapur Gaddi, across the river! Those that stay at Hampi should be aware that the food available would be completely vegetarian fare since it is a temple town! The hippie town on the other bank however is for those with a palate for a wider spectrum of food, although the last coracle/boat is at 6 pm, after which the only other way is a 30 odd km detour! **

The family that ran the place were warm, and although the room they had planned to accommodate me in wasn’t empty till later that day, they found a temporary room for me on the first floor! The terrace had an amazing view, of the Virupaksha temple on one side, the Mathanga hill on the other side with the distant Tugabhadra river gurgling away in the distance! It was indeed blissful to spend time under the overcast skies on the terrace, with the multiple temples and halls on the Hemkuta hills for company!

View of the Hemakuta hills

The main road into Hampi

Mathanga hill from the guesthouse!

Freshened up, and having some nice toast with butter and jam for breakfast! I set out into the temple town! The first spot was the famous Virupaksha temple. Unlike many other temples in Hampi, the Virupaksha temple is still active, and the pujas are conducted here. One interesting aspect of the temple is the “pin-hole” camera effect, where a small hole on the wall inside a small room within the temple makes it act as a pin hole camera, forming a perfect inverted image of the main gopuram on the opposite wall.

Virupaksha Temple

Origin of Hampi: 

The name Hampi is evolved from Pampa, the ancient name of the river Tungabhadra. Also Pampa is the daughter of Brahma, the Creator God. She was a devoted worshiper of Shiva, the God of Destruction. Impressed by her dedication Shiva offered her a boon and she opted to marry him! The place thus came to be known as Pampakshetra (land of Pampa) and Shiva as Pampapathi (consort of Pampa).

The Hemakuta Hill in Hampi is the place, according to the myth, Shiva did his penance before marrying Pampa. Kama , the God of Love, felt sympathy for Pampa for her love towards Shiva. He disturbed Shiva from his deep meditation. That attracted Shiva’s wrath. Known for his anger, Shiva burned Kama with his third (fiery) eye. Rathi, Goddess of Passion and also Kama’s consort pleaded for mercy with Shiva. Shiva grants Kama’s life back, but only as a character and not as a physical being.

On Shiva’s marriage with Pampa Gods from the heaven showered gold on the place. This hill in Hampi is called Heamakuta, literally means heap of gold.

All these places have immense religious significance for the Hindus in south India, especially the devotees of Lord Shiva. In the beginning Pampa was a local folk deity. Through the concept of a marriage with Shiva, goddess Pampa is associated into the pantheon of the Hindu gods.

The places mentioned here has a continuous religious history ever since known timeframe. It just happened that the Vijayanagara Empire came in-between and gone as an episode in Hampi’s long history. Even today the annual ceremonial marriage festival & the betrothal are important festivals in Hampi. With time, Shiva became more popular here as Virupaksha. Virupaksha, an incarnation of Shiva, literally means the one with oblique eye. This refers to the fact that Shiva has three eyes. The third fire eye on his forehead opens when he do the destruction.

As a tourist you can visit Virupaksha Temple (the main functioning temple in Hampi), Hemakuta hill (with about 40 temples concentrated on it), Pampa Sarovar (where Pampa did penance) and of course the river Tungabadhra.

Kishkinda Episode: A popular folklore associates the landscape in Hampi with the Hindu epic Ramayana. The monkey kingdom, Kishkinda, is portrayed as the region around Hampi. Anjayaneya Hill, located across the river Tungabhadra, is believed to be the birth place of Hanuman.

For the Prahlada episode see the Story of Narasimha. You’ll find this man-lion incarnation of Lord Vishnu icon at many sites in Hampi including the Vittala Temple and Lakshmi Narasimha Temple .

The curiously named, Bhima’s Gateway located on the way to Vittala Temple from Kamalapura has a beautiful panel of Keechaka episode that happened during the exile of Pandava’s. On the left is the image of Draupathi tying up her hair after Bhima slayed Duhsasana. Right image portrays Bhima killing Keechaka.

Below is the panel of Bhima with a flower bud describing the Saugandhika flower episode

In Hampi you’ll find this theme of adolescent Krishna stealing cloths of cowherd girls (Krishna on the tree with Gopis pleading with their hands folded in reverence). There is one pillar with this theme carved on one of the the slender pillars of  the Kadalekalu Ganesha and another beautiful one at the Pattabhirama Temple, though a damaged due to vandalism.

Those finally end up in Hampi invariably wonder how on earth such a landscape got created! Well, you have two choices to find a solace: one in geology and the other in mythology. (Source: Hampi.in)

 Ambling through the ancient temple, one cannot help but wonder how many generations of men and women this place must have borne, the amount of prayers heard, right from the greedy selfish ones to the most selfless of prayers when the Vijayanagar Empire was attacked by the Sultanate rulers. But, despite all odds, the temple still stands, a mute testimony to the will power of the humans that ensured that at least some of the grandeur was not lost to the elements of time. The vast temple, led to an equally majestic tank on the side of the river.

Manmatha Tank

The temple is the center of activity in Hampi. While the road spread out on the South towards Kamalapur and onward to the highway linking it to Bangalore, the North side towards the Tungabhadra river is full of an assortment of homestays, restaurants and shops for various trinkets! Whether they are authentic, is anybody’s guess! A little walk from the temple leads to the ghats along the River, boats, both powered and hand paddled take one across for a small fare!

Tungabhadra river

To the South and the east of the Virupaksha temple are some of the more important ruins (did not have enough time to try explore the western side!). On the south, are the famous Hemakuta hills, and the large mandapams on the hills. Two major spots on these hills are the Kadalekalu Ganesa and a little further, the Sasivekalu Ganesa!

Kadalekalu Ganesha

Entrance to Kadalekalu Ganesha Temple

Other structures on the Hemakuta Hill

    View to the temple town from the Hemakuta Hill

The town is completely dotted with the ruins of the ancient Vijayanagar empire, so much so that it is hard not to see the remnants of the past! One cannot help but wonder how magnificent the city would have been in its heyday, if it can evoke such an awe when most of the city is in ruins!

Bang opposite the Virupaksha temple, is a large open space now used as makeshift stalls and car parking! There, are a series of a colonnaded ruins extending almost a kilometer to the east! These are called the bazaar street, and housed the markets related to the temple activities in the past! They were also said to have housed the residences of the nobles of the era!

                View of the Virupaksha temple from the end of the bazaar street

                  View of the Virupaksha temple from the end of the bazaar street

    A portion of the ruins of the bazaar!

  View of the Virupaksha temple from the end of the bazaar street

  Way to Nandi Mandapa

The far end of the bazaar street has a grand staircase with a large mandapa! The mandapa houses a massive Nandi which overlooks the entire bazaar and onward to the Lord Shiva!

Nandi Mandapa

Beyond the Nandi Mandapa lies a small trail that leads to the little less frequented, but very imposing ruins of the Achyutaraya Temple!!

Way to Achyutaraya Temple

Achyutadevaraya, who came to power succeeding his elder brother Krishnadevaraya built this temple in 1529. The presiding deity was Lord Thiruvengalanatha, a form of Vishnu! (Source: Karnataka State Website!)

    First glimpse of the Achyutaraya temple

  The temple, located at the Southern end of the grand Courtesan Street is a sight to behold from up the Matanga Hill from where one gets to appreciate the massive scale of the street and the beauty of the temple from an unconventional viewing angle! The temple, although in ruins does make one wonder about the glorious past!

  Inner Courtyard

 Carved colonnades around the temple court!

Sculptures in the mandapas!

Almost 300 years on, the glory still remains!

View of the Matanga Hill temple from Achyutaraya temple!

View of the gopuram!

  What remains of a glorious past!

Walking out of the main gopuram of the Achyutaraya temple, one encounters a rather massive open area with large pillared platforms on either side. This is the Courtesan Street. (The temple is accessed via this large pathway, with the trail through the Nandi mandapa being the alternate route!)

In the peak of its time, the place was a thriving market of gems, pearls, ivory etc. For some reason, this place was called the Sule Bazaar (The Prostitute’s Market). About 500m long and 50m wide, the market was once thronged by merchants far and wide. (Source: http://www.Hampi.in )

Courtesan’s Street

The Courtesan’s Street, at its Northern end meets the Kampa Bhupa’s path (the riverside path. Source: hampi.in), along the Tungabhadra river. There are the Varahaswami temple and the Ranganatha swamy temple nearby.

A small trail from near the Achyutharaya temple leads up the Matanga hill on the Eastern side. There is another path on the Western side as well. The western route seems to be used more often. While the easter side is doable, there are a lot of overgrowth due to minimal movement!

Walking along the outer couryard of the Achyutaraya temple, I met up with a fellow backpacker who was also doing a solo trip to Hampi. We decided to explore the places together from there on! Next up, was Mathanga Hill!

A view of the Achyutaraya temple from above!

Way to Matanga Hill!

A view of Achyutara temple and the Courtesan’s Street from Matanga Hill

Hampi from above!

View of the Virupaksha Temple from Matanga Hill!

Matanga Hill is one of the holy places described in the Ramayana! It is said to be the place where Sage Matanga was, and had given protection to Sugreeva, the King of Kishkinta! There is a Veeerabhadra temple atop the hill!

Although it was close to dusk, we dint quite wait for the sunset, although we were at the right spot, since it was quite hazy, and we had to visit the Vithala temple next! Getting down from the Mathanga Hill from the western side, we made our way back up along the Nandi mandapa, and then on to the Courtesan’s Street to get to the river path towards the Vithala Temple!

View from the Mathanga hill showing the Courtesan Street, the Pushkarni (right side) and the path leading to the Vithala temple from the Varahaswami temple!

  Way to Vithala Temple

Along the rocky path that leads to the Vithala temple, are a series of boulders that form a natural cave!

It is said that one of these caves were used by Sugreeva, the King of Kishkinta. It is also said that he used this place to hide the jewels which Sita dropped when she was abducted by Ravana and that Surgeeva met with Lord Rama and Lakshmana near these caves! A number of footprints seen on the floor of these caves are said to be that of Lord Rama and Lakshmana!

Sugreeva s Caves

A short walk from here is the Vithala temple. The King’s balance and the Purandaradasa mandapam are enroute!

Vithala Temple

The Vittala Temple, is one of the most iconic structures of Hampe, made even more famous by the induction of the Stone Chariot in the Rs 50 currency note! The presiding deity of the temple is Vittala, a form of Lord Vishnu. This form of the Lord was worshipped here as the main deity of the cattle herds!

Built in the 15th Century, the templs has grand hallways and a large pavilions and temples, besides the afore mentioned stone chariot! Outside the temple, are a series of colonnaded structure, the Vittala market place and the ruins of an ancient Shiva temple. The temple itself opens out into a kilometer long passageway, probably large enough for Chariots. There are remnants of a large tank along this passageway!

Entering the temple from the Eastern gateway, one is greeted by the Stone Chariot. This chariot is rumoured to have had the stone wheels rotating about its axis! The Chariot houses the shrine for Garuda, the vaahana for Lord Vishnu!

Stone chariot! Note the rear wheel, where the gap between the axle and the hub is more on the bottom than on the top, indicating that the wheel was indeed free to rotate about the axle! It is also believed that the structure was painted with natural/mineral dyes!

Unfortunately for us, the temple was very crowded, thanks to the Independence day weekend, and the day being a Sunday! Unlike the Achyutaraya temple, we could not have the Vittala temple for ourselves! Greedy, indeed!

A smaller mandapa within the Vittala Temple complex!

A little beyond the Chariot is the main building, the Maha mandapa! Ornately carved, the building is famous for its Musical Pillars! These are small series of stone pillars carved out of a monolithic block! Each of these smaller pillars when tapped emit a specific musical note! This stands testimony to the fine Architectural skills of the craftsmen and at the same time, the level of understand and the cohesion of arts that was possibly prevalant at the time!

  Ornately carved columns, depicting the mythical creature, YAAZHI. The sculptures of this creature is found across south India, with similarfeatures,  making one wonder if they actually existed!

Intricate stone carving stands testimony to the craftsmanship of the time!

The details along the roof, deft and intricate!

  View of the gopuram from within the complex!

Rear side of the temple complex

  With the crowd being on the higher side, we decided to leave earlier that planned. We also decided, we would try and make it to the Vittala temple again the next morning!

We headed back out to Hampi along the same river bank route!

The view of the Sugreeva cave from the Narasimha Temple complex

  A short detour later, we were at the Virupaksha temple, parting ways deciding to rent bicyles for the next day’s trip! A sumptuous meal at Mango Tree (highly recommended!) done, I settled down at the home stay!

  The Tungabhadra river bank along the way…

  Parting shot for the day.. Virupaksha temple, in the lights!

  A tiring day done, I wound up at the new room! Not the view the earlier one had, but I wasn’t complaining! Having walked miles upon miles, sleep took over in no time……

            A view of the Achyutaraya temple from above!

  Where Gods Walked…….. (2) 10.30 pm – 12/08/17 – Day 01 The bus set out from Bangalore, a slight delay, thanks to which I was able to grab some food!