We Are Bulletproof

The only thing that got Bray through the exhausting days after he and Jack saw those visions was the knowledge that he would soon have some alone time with his lover. It was all arranged by Allie; Bray was going to the motel room that Allie rented out for him, and Jack would join him later, coming straight from the community college.

Despite their hectic private lives, they still had to make an effort to live normally, after all--that meant work had to be done, classes needed to be taught and for Bray, paperwork had to be shuttled back and forth.

He didn't mind going to work, actually. It brought some normalcy back into his life. In the midst of all the magic and sorcery, visions and past lives, paperwork provided a sense that things weren't all crazy. There were still forms to fill, professors to hound for paperwork and lunches with Jack out on the hill in front of the student union building, a staple of their lives even before all of this madness occurred.

But undeniably, Bray had lost his simple, easy life. Marge shadowed him to and from work now, since she took the night shifts at the club. Any time he stepped outside he felt a sense of unease, like he was being watched. Yet back at the apartment there were so many people that he felt claustrophobic and crowded, so it was... safer at home, but not much better. They were all suffering, though, so Bray didn't complain to anyone and kept it all to himself.

Which was why he felt bad as he slipped out under the pretense of going for groceries, while Marge was taking a brief nap before work. Poor Marge pulled double duty, working her job and protecting them. Bray wanted to thank her somehow... This was probably not it. But he would be with Jack, and Allie! And it was only for a few hours, just to get away from the others and to have some time to themselves. Bray wanted to hold Jack and be with him. He wanted to be able to kiss Jack without feeling like someone was watching--usually Raf, with a very obvious kind of admiration on his face. He was sweet, but... sometimes it made Bray uncomfortable.

So he slipped out and made his way to Little Asia, to the quaint motel with its obvious Asian decorations--red paper lanterns, gilt dragons, bamboo screens. He met Allie in the lobby and was ushered into a room. Allie hugged him fondly; they hadn't seen one another in so long! But they could catch up later, Allie said with a wink as he handed Bray...

"Ah." Condoms and lube. Hm. Bray laughed gently and let himself be pushed inside. It was the standard motel room, with one big bed in the middle of the room, a television, table and chair. He dropped off the condoms and lube at the bedside table and sat down to wait. Bray smiled to himself. This was kind of fun, he thought. Some couples did this--pretend they didn't know each other, role play a 'first encounter' type of scenario. Was that kinky? Or normal? He might have to ask Jack about it...

Somebody slid a keycard into the door and Bray sat up straighter, his heart inexplicably beating faster in his chest. He patted himself down. Jack would like the colorful clothes he wore--with Allie's help. A nice soft, pastel aquamarine sweater, dark wash navy trousers; nothing fancy, but not that tan-beige color palette that everyone seemed to find so abhorrent. He had done his hair slightly differently, too, than the usual neat part. It had a little more artful mess to it tonight.

So.

This was it.

He was doing what he was ordered to do: finding Brayden Smith. Once he found him, then what? Would he have to go back to Pax? Of course he would. And there would be no orders, new directives. Ah, well. He was going to miss the freedom of being a person. A golem-person, as Mik called him. But person. That was the part he held onto because he couldn't help the golem part. But he could do something about the person part. Like... be a person. And not some automaton.

But he hadn't been that for a while now.

Still, he felt strangely out of his depth, going to a motel room like this on his own. Allie had given him the card to get into his room and Rip felt oddly apprehensive about it. Once he entered, it would just be him and... Brayden Smith. Surely, he would know that he was not Jack. But... Allie seemed convinced and were they not close friends?

Part of this was also to lead his friends to Jack, as well. He didn't know how he would pull that part off, since he was pretending to be Jack. He couldn't very well ask where Jack was or get his number when he was supposed to be him. But he would play it by ear; it was really the only way Rip knew how to do anything, without his creator or his new owner to tell him what to do.

That was where the real apprehension grew from; being alone. Rip didn't like being alone. He didn't like having nobody there to turn to, but that wasn't the only reason. After so many days on his own in the old apartment in Greenwood, the intense dislike of being alone had only grown over time. And now he was spoiled; he was hardly ever alone.

He stood outside that motel room for a long moment before he finally used the card. It took him two tries--he used it the wrong way at first--and then he was opening the door, half hoping that he would arrive first so he could get a lay of the land. No such luck. Brayden Smith--for that must have been him--was already there.

Rip's hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail. He had been told to "look good" by Allie, which he wasn't sure about. He thought he looked good most of the time... did he not? Mik said he did, all the time. So he took care with his favorite gold and black eye makeup, which matched nicely with a fancy looking coat (http://www.raaseltine.com/rafiles/0c7384d307ca0c064809c208213eabad.jpg) he found on a thrift store rack. Underneath was a simple white button up--one could find one of those anywhere. His black leather pants and a pair of black and cream wing tip shoes finished the ensemble.

He didn't know if he still passed as Jack. He spent a good while in front of the mirror fretting over it, but in all honesty, without having met the man himself, he could only hope he had gone in the right direction.

Slipping into the room like he didn't belong (because he truly felt that way), Rip let the door close behind him with a gentle click. For a moment, he foolishly just stood in the doorway, feeling not only apprehensive but... oddly connected in that moment, when his gaze met Brayden Smith's. He was sitting on the bed when Rip opened the door.

Really, he shouldn't even have memories of Brayden Smith, since he was created before Jack met him. And his soul had been taken from Jack before then, so the memories shouldn't have been there but somehow, there were memories. A sort of jumbling of them, but memories, none the less.

Clearing his throat, Rip moved forward enough to set the motel card down on the table nearby.

"Hey," he said, throat feeling dry. He felt like he was going to be seen straight through in a second.

By the time Jack entered the room, Bray was on his feet and almost as soon as the keycard landed on the desk, his arms were around Jack. Just a hug—a simple, warm hug that felt like a luxury and a privilege when they lived with as many people as they did. For a long, long moment Bray didn't move. He wanted to soak in the feeling of being alone with Jack finally, with the freedom to do anything they wanted. They didn't have to do anything, but he wanted to have options at the very least.

"Hey," Bray said belatedly as he eased back, smiling up at Jack. "You got new clothes."

They both got new clothes! It was cute that they thought along similar lines; Bray went out and got some new things, Jack did too. He even put on makeup; it suited him. On anyone else it might have seemed over-done but on Jack, it looked fitting. It looked good and he looked good, too. He even smelled different. New cologne? Jack really went all-out, didn't he?

Gently, Bray slid a hand up to his cheek, trying to guide his head down for a kiss. "I can't believe we're getting away with this," he admitted sheepishly, knowing that once they got back there might be big trouble from Marge.

Ah. A hug! Rip blinked but his arms moved of their own accord, wrapping around Brayden like they were made just so. Interesting, how they seemed to fit right together, like their bodies meant to melt into one another even just in embracing one another. It felt... nice. Briefly, he lowered his head and rested it on Brayden's shoulder and that, too, felt natural. Like muscle memory.

"What?"

Rip looked down at his clothes, almost ready to panic. Brayden didn't recognize these clothes. Of course he didn't; they weren't... Jack's. He half smiled.

"Yeah..." he said, slightly abashed for being called out on it. Really, it was just the coat, but that was only because he had been told not to wear the lizard coat. (His favorite, thank you very much.) Was this beyond what Jack might wear? No, no. It seemed okay, because Brayden was still smiling at him and his smile made Rip smile, too.

A hand on his cheek. Oh. Were they...? His heart beat faster. Oh, was he... should he be...? Was this what...? He was confused now. Instead of kissing, they just sort of... nuzzled. Noses brushed and Brayden said something about getting away with this, whatever it was. What were they getting away with? He felt like he had just sat down mid-movie and didn't know where he was supposed to be going with this.

"...getting away with what?"

No kiss? Bray was expecting a kiss but their noses met instead of their lips, and he smiled with mild bemusement. Jack was being oddly restrained; he might have thought that he'd be spoiled with kisses by now, given the way that Jack could barely keep his hands off of him at home. (Bray had the same issues, though, which was why people had labeled them as being 'handsy' lately.)

Or maybe Jack wanted to be spoiled with kisses? Bray could certainly do that! He wanted to every second that they were together but could do nothing more than hold hands or sit close to one another. Besides, in keeping with the theme of being a better, bolder Brayden, he should do his fair share of initiating affection and intimacy—and kisses.

"Getting away with... this..." Bray murmured as now both hands cupped Jack's cheeks. He was so handsome that it almost hurt to look at him. To think—he found somebody like Bray attractive, too. That was still a little hard to believe! Bray pulled him closer even as he arched up, seeking the kiss that could express all of his longing and love and affection for Jack. Moments like these were rare and one kiss could say far more than even a hundred well thought-out words!

Oh.

Oh.

Okay.

The kiss was so loving, so affectionate. And his hands were so warm on his cheeks. Where did his own hands go? He lifted them slowly to Brayden's waist but that felt so oddly chaste for a kiss so familiar and so full of yearning. Rip's heart beat faster, even if part of him felt like he was doing something... wrong, he didn't pull away. If anything, he pulled Brayden in closer by those hands at his hips.

Their bodies met and it felt... right. Soon, one of his hands moved to cup Brayden's cheek and it was just as warm and soft as his kisses. Without thinking about it, he deepened the kiss, all words flying out of his head.

Something inside him felt warmer and brighter and strangely giddy in a way he could not recall ever feeling about anything or anyone in his entire life. Granted, it was a relatively short life but... But... what was this feeling? And why did it ache so sweetly inside, like something was squeezing his heart? (That didn't sound pleasant but somehow... it was, and wasn't at the same time.)

He found he liked stroking Brayden's cheek, his hair, the back of his head. At some point, he could no longer breathe for all the kisses they shared and he murmured into his soft hair, "You're so pretty... like a glittering star in the night sky."

It was not a typical sentiment of his but it wanted terribly to be spoken in the moment. And he remembered the way the word star made him feel, strangely nostalgic for home, although even he had no definition of home when he heard it.

Ah... This was more like it. The way that the kiss deepened was familiar even if those careful hands at his waist weren't. But soon Jack was pulling him close with those very same shy hands and the warmth of their bodies mingling made everything right again. Bray's hands dropped to Jack's shoulders, then slid around them to pull him even closer. The way that one kiss melted straight into the next made his heart soar.

This was where he belonged. Not in this little quaint motel but within Jack's arms, within the heart that beat in time to his own. Their lights, their souls, everything that they were fit perfectly together. No matter how tragic their past lives were, Bray was almost sure that there had been moments like these that made the heartache worth it. He wouldn't trade this love for anything in the world.

"You're my star," Bray laughed softly, letting one of his hands drift up to release Jack's hair, to let it fall. He liked Jack's hair whether it was up or down, but he also liked running his hands through it, picking up sleek, dark curls, letting them sift through his fingers. There was just something so comforting in their closeness that soft touches like these evolved naturally out of that mutual desire to express their love for one another in every possible way.

"And I finally caught you, and I'm not letting you go. Ever." He eased back to get a better look at Jack. So handsome. There was an ethereal quality to his beauty that couldn't be described in so many words. It had to be felt. It had to be admired in person and up close. But up close, Bray saw something else in his eyes that he hadn't seen before. Strange...

"Are you tired?" Maybe the visions had taken more of a toll than he'd thought. Maybe that odd, unfamiliar look in Jack's eyes was just... being haunted by visions of Bray dying. Gently he kissed Jack again, holding it for many beats too long, letting it deepen and then end naturally without the need to rush. And when it ended, he didn't go far. "Do you want to lay down with me?"

"You're a star," he said, almost argumentatively. Not aggressive, just... It felt like Brayden Smith was the star between the two of them. There was a light in his eyes that Rip had never seen before. It... it wasn't meant for him, though, he realized, as he stared into those eyes. Why... did that realization hurt so much?

Ah. He had tied the hair back because Allie said to "do something with it" and he didn't know what that meant. It seemed Brayden liked it better loose. Looking back at Brayden, he found his heart beating faster for a different reason now. Brayden was studying him with that soft gaze of his; it didn't look at all judgmental or suspicious. But it still made Rip nervous. Perhaps there was something about Jack that Rip didn't have. A freckle, a mole, a scar?

"No?" he said. Should he be tired? Rip was actually full of energy. Did he appear tired or was... Jack tired? When was the last time they saw one another? Allie seemed to think it had been a while but... that was because he thought Rip was Jack and they were separated, which obviously... the two were not.

Was Jack going to show up? Was he supposed to be here?

But whatever seemed to give Brayden pause for a moment seemed to pass because Brayden kissed him again and it was a nice kiss, another loving kiss, not a perfunctory kiss, not a peck.

"Okay." He took Brayden's hand and led him to the bed. Were they only going to lie down together? Was that the plan? Gently, he kicked off his shoes and nudged them aside before he dropped down onto the bed, edging over to give Brayden room to join him. Not sure what to do other than lie down, he sort of... maybe laid on his side of the bed like "one of those french girls." He gazed up at Brayden with hooded eyes, then patted the bed beside him.

"We are both stars," said Bray with amusement coloring his tone, as he tried to find a middle ground for this funny little disagreement. Jack called him a star and Bray called Jack a star; they both were stars, twinkling away separately not knowing that the other was out there, longing to find its partner. But when they were together, when they finally united, their lights shone ten times as strong.

In many ways they were star-crossed lovers too, weren't they? With their fates bound to one another but steeped in death and intrigue and heartbreak, they hadn't had many good and peaceful lives in the past, it seemed. Bray couldn't be sure which direction this one would go in, but if he had to lose his life, he would go down fighting. And he would spend every waking moment letting Jack know just how much he loved him.

He toed off his shoes neatly beside the bed and watched as Jack laid down on his side. The pose... It made his lips quirk, and then he couldn't help laughing at the funny expression on Jack's face. A sultry kind of come-hither expression, coupled with an outrageous pose. Bray quickly got into bed with him and curled up beside him, still laughing. "You're so silly," he murmured fondly as he slipped a leg over Jack's, and an arm over his chest. Bray felt the planes of his chest underneath his fingers. Firm. Warm.

The hand slid up, around, to the back of Jack's neck and played with the loose strands of hair at the nape of his neck. "I love you."

Confusion crossed his expression for a moment but he couldn't help but laugh, too. Brayden's buoyant mood lifted his own. He didn't know quite what was so funny but if Brayden thought it was funny, Rip thought so, too.

Silly wasn't what he had been going for but Brayden seemed to like it so he went with it, smiling as Brayden drew closer. Oh, were they really going to lie on the bed together? This was new. Rip was accustomed to things happening in beds. Even when he went to sleep with Keith, it was after Keith was done with him. Luckily, Keith let him lay with him afterward, as long as he had nothing else to do and intended to sleep anyway.

But Keith...

Keith was leagues away from this. And Brayden. Just being close to Brayden made his heart beat faster, maybe a little out of apprehension but also... something else. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off him.

So, this was Brayden Smith. He found him; now he only hoped that his job in finding him didn't involve something terrible. Oh, if he had to hurt him... he couldn't imagine doing it. He didn't want to do that. Honestly, he didn't want to hurt anyone, not little goldfish trapped in tiny bowls, nor tiny helpless kittens, and definitely not smiling Brayden Smith with a smile that made his heart beat faster and a laugh that made it do flip flops in his chest.

"Hmm..." Rip let out a soft hum of contentment as Brayden toyed with his hair. His eyes briefly closed. It felt good, right there, especially at the nape of his neck. Without even thinking about what he saying, he whispered, "I love you, too..."

He couldn't, could he? Love somebody he literally just met? But he didn't open his eyes. The words felt right. And Brayden said he loved him... even if he didn't really love him. Ah. Why did that make his heart hurt so badly? He... he never experienced anything like it before. When he opened his eyes, there was no way he could disguise the emotions that flickered inside. But here he was, body intertwined with Brayden, close enough to kiss him again, close enough to touch his chin and his jaw and sift fingers through his hair--which he did.

"I've dreamed of you," he confessed.

Jack looked so pained that Bray's heart throbbed sympathetically too, and he drew even closer so that he could hold him. Why did he look like that? Why did his eyes reflect such disappointment and heartbreak? Bray swallowed; he didn't know what went through Jack's thoughts at that moment to produce such a reaction but it alarmed him.

Yet, Jack touched him again, fondly and with the same bit of shyness from earlier when they kissed, and he barely held on to Bray's waist. His fingers through Bray's hair were familiar, yet they seemed curiously exploratory. But Jack had touched his hair at least a hundred times already. He knew everything about Bray, knew every part of him, knew where to touch to elicit a contented sigh, where to touch to send little electric jolts all down his spine. It felt like Jack was touching him for the first time but that was impossible. It was definitely not the first time for this.

Little things didn't add up for Bray but individually they didn't ring alarm bells. He wasn't thinking about Jack's hesitance or about how carefully Jack treated him. He wasn't focused on those minute differences in the way Jack kissed him or that his eyes held a slightly different light than the ones he saw daily. In the moment he was too relieved to be out of the apartment and he was still caught up in the rush of finally being alone.

"Hm? Did you?" Bray absently kissed the tip of his chin simply because it was there and deserved kissing. "What was I doing in your dreams?" Were they dreams about their past? Was that why Jack looked so sad just now?

"Yes."

He did dream of him. But he couldn't tell now if he should have said that or not. Brayden seemed only curious about it, not suspicious but again, Rip was so out of his depth here. He didn't know what Brayden knew about Jack, but he had to know more than Rip did. At least, the current Jack, the one whose memories and experiences diverged from all that Rip knew of him.

Closing his eyes again, Rip tried to recall the dreams he had been having of Brayden. The ones where he affectionately called him B and Bray and all kinds of other terms of endearment that weren't based off his name.

"Loving me," he said, eyes still closed. Not me, though, he had to remind himself. Loving Jack. Because the name he used, even in Rip's dreams, was Jack. He opened his eyes and sat up, tucking one foot under the other knee and regarding Brayden with a terrible yearning in his heart. But he smiled because the dreams were not bad ones.

"You and... me," he said, knowing it wasn't him in the dream, "as kids! Holding hands and jumping into a lake together! You were so cute. Oh! And dancing. Like... princes at a grand ball... One time, I dreamed that you went away... I woke up and you... weren't there."

He traced the shape of Jack's noble brow when Jack closed his eyes, as if to draw from all the dreams that he'd had of Bray and of their past lives together. "I've always loved you," whispered Bray with absolute certainty, and smiled even though Jack's eyes were closed and he couldn't see it. But his smile was sad, too, reflecting the somber reality of their lives and loves.

Then, when Jack sat up suddenly, Bray remained where he was on his side and looked up at him curiously. He pulled one of Jack's hands toward him, first to kiss the knuckles and fingertips tenderly and then to press against his cheek, which he rested against the palm of it. Jack's smile seemed to send mixed messages—sadness and yet joy, hopelessness yet yearning. Why? Why was that smile so new? Bray hadn't seen it before and he was sure he had seen every type of smile from Jack.

"I went away..." He turned into Jack's hand and kissed the palm of it softly. It was a gentle way of saying that he died. He went away. And he never came back because he was already drifting through time and space, waiting for the next life, waiting to be reunited with Jack to begin their tragic love story all over again. Bray closed his eyes as a tidal wave of emotion made it hard to breathe. He wanted to escape the complications and the implications of those visions but it seemed to follow him wherever he went. That wasn't surprising though, was it? His own black fate was not something he could forget on a whim.

"Jack." Bray opened his eyes after taking in a deep, long breath. "There's something I want to say but I don't... I don't know if you're ready to hear it yet. I don't know if you'll ever be ready to hear it." Yet it needed to be said. It had to be said while they had a moment alone, before everyone came knocking down the door. Bray sat up too, facing him, hands clasping both of Jack's hands.

"If I don't—don't make it this time. Please, find a way to move on without me. Find a way to be happy again."

"...no..." Rip whispered. No, he had not always loved him. Brayden never loved him. And the more he played this... game, the less good he felt about it. Not that he ever felt good about lying but this was too much. It was hurting Rip and Brayden was saying such nice things, such lovely things, and doing such lovely things, too, with his lips on his hands and his fingers. Not knowing the whole time that he was a fraud. And that hurt, too.

When Rip woke from that nightmare, the one where Brayden... died, he woke up and there was only... Keith. Of course, he didn't say that part. It didn't help, either, that his little soul was mourning and he needed love and reassurance and Keith shoved him off and told him to leave the room, he was annoying him.

But he had forgotten about that until now because he was good at setting things away that didn't pertain to Rip. It was a Jack thing, not a Rip thing, he told himself, and that meant the status quo was still the status quo.

He winced at the name Jack and quickly looked down. Brayden had something important to say--to Jack--and he was telling the wrong person. The guilt was real. Oh no. Brayden was sitting up, taking his hands. When Rip looked up through his hair, he could see how earnest Brayden looked. And how determined. And how... sad.

"No!" Rip tore his hands away from Brayden and turned away, kicking his legs off the bed and leaping out of it, taking a step back and another step back, as if Brayden's words themselves were poison. "Stop! Stop talking like that!"

(THIS THREAD IS GIVING ME THE SADS)

No? No... he didn't think Bray had always loved him?

That wasn't something Jack would have said to him. Jack had no doubts... right? But Bray swore he heard it—no. Jack didn't believe him when he said that he had always loved him and that sowed a little tiny seed of doubt in Bray, too. What... did that mean? That Jack no longer believed in his eternal love?

Yet again, a piece of the puzzle didn't fit. And while Bray put that aside like all the other pieces, the gaps they left behind were beginning to become a little more apparent.

He was desperate to say what he needed to say, though. He needed to tell Jack and... Jack didn't take that well. His reaction was violent, startling. Bray sat on the bed in shock, staring at him as he retreated—as though Bray were shooting bullets at him instead of words. It wasn't pleasant to be told to move on but...

"Jack?" Bray got off the bed too, following him, reaching out for him. "Jack I'm sorry. Please don't—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Please." He didn't mean to ruin this beautiful evening alone but they also couldn't ignore the elephant in the room. Ever since those visions happened, they hadn't talked about it. Jack seemed to want to avoid it and Bray didn't want to upset him, so he held off and he held off until he couldn't ignore it any longer.

What now? What was he supposed to do now that he found Brayden Smith? Rip wanted to run away like a frightened wild animal. He didn't feel right about any of this. Whatever words he was hearing were bad and they weren't meant for him, and the real Jack probably wouldn't like them, either, because they were terrible!

But he was afraid to run away because this was his directive--find Brayden Smith--and he found him. But now what? He had to tell Pax. How did he tell Pax? Following the new psychic lead between them, he sent the message along to him, not even sure if it would reach him. Pax...? Sir? I found Brayden Smith. What do I do with him now?

What did he do with him? Did he just... report that he found him? Did he give a location? No. No need for that. Pax could find him wherever he went.

Rip stood where he was, wringing his hands and standing with uncertainty, wanting to be smaller than he was. As if that would help. As if Brayden Smith would stop looking at him like that, reaching for him like he was every bit the skittish wild animal that he felt like in that moment.

"You're giving up."

He moved back, away from Brayden's touch. His hands went over his ears and he shook his head, as if he could move it all away from his mind and his memory but he still had them, silly childish memories of kids. A first kiss. Playing tag. Climbing up a hill he remembered back at the dark king's castle, on the grounds. Keith took him there once, but in the memory, it was him and Brayden. Jack and Brayden, hurrying up the hill to see... stars, laughing and talking the whole way up.

But there was that dream, too. Brayden was gone. Jack's sadness was so profound that even this sliver of his soul could feel it, as if the grief was so big that there was no part of his soul untouched by it.

"You can't give up," he said, touching his chest, where the soul inside of him pulsed. "He will never move on. I will never move on." He held tight to the front of his button up shirt. Something hot filled his chest and it wasn't a good kind of heat; it was venomous. A moment later, his vision swam in front of him, Brayden and the room around him waving funnily before everything went black.

"Jack?" Bray tried to hold him but Jack was not having it. He kept... moving away, running from Bray and saying strange, confusing things. He won't move on... I won't move on... But who was he? Who was Jack referring to? And Jack was so distressed that it was obvious he wasn't entirely himself, but Bray didn't know what to do to reassure him. Should he not have told Jack to try and move on? To be happy?

But Bray didn't want him to be miserable his entire life. He wanted Jack to find happiness in some shape or form. His greatest desire was not to possess or to own Jack but to see him contented, happy, secure. Jack's happiness was his own; that was what it meant to truly love someone, to be able to place their well-being above one's own. And Bray, oh... he loved Jack so much. So, so much that not even words could describe the depth of feeling he had.

"Jack? Jack please come sit down. We can—we can talk about this."

The feeling of Jack being different suddenly hit him like a tidal wave and he stopped, stiffened like an animal in the headlights. Jack's eyes were... not his eyes. He blinked and the hazel turned dark blue. And for a split second, something flashed through those blue eyes that made Bray's heart quiver and sink in his chest.

"Keith."

He knew those eyes—they were the eyes he last saw before the golem that Keith created in his own image tried to kill Bray. And damn near accomplished that, too. Those were Keith's eyes staring back at him with a mixture of triumph and venom and unfiltered hatred. Bray hurried to get to the opposite end of the room, fear causing his mouth to run dry, his throat to close up.

"What do you want?"

"What do you think I want?" Keith drawled as he looked Brayden Smith over. A little nothing, a thorn in his side from the moment he was born to the moment he kept stealing what didn't belong to him. Keith was the elder son of the house but no, not when his bloodline was tainted with the blood of another. Did it matter that it was also royal blood? No.

He had never hated anybody as much as he hated Brayden and all of his incarnations. Every single one. Every single fucking one. Always getting in the way, no matter whether he lived or died, he was still always in the fucking way. Even his own goddamn golem was catching feelings for him.

Slowly, he moved the golem body toward Brayden, each step deliberate. Look at him, cornering himself. Keith made sure to put himself between Brayden and the door, in case he had any brilliant ideas about escaping.

"You'd think dying prematurely in every lifetime would be enough to discourage the two of you but some... fucking... how, you keep finding ways to meet one another. Even when I get to Jack first, you still taint him. Honestly," he said, moving in closer and oh-so-casually wrapping a hand around Brayden's throat. "I'm getting really sick of this game. You need to die now."

"You want... you want me dead," said Bray with more calm than he felt in the moment as his back hit the wall. He reached behind him for some kind of weapon but there was nothing. His fingers encountered the AC unit just underneath the window and unless he wanted to cool Keith to death, there was nothing to use in self-defence.

And Keith, he was approaching, enjoying the hunt—the way he stalked Bray with evident relish was clear indication that he was having himself a blast. Meanwhile, Bray's eyes flicked to the door beyond him. If he could get out... If he could scream or shout, maybe draw some attention to himself...

But

Keith was talking now, giving him clear insight into what it was that he had been trying to do. So Keith was the one who did this. He was the one who set off the chain of events that led Bray to set up an infinite loop of lives. But that meant Keith was aware of what Bray had done, wasn't he? It meant he knew the original Brayden, the one whose death was so tragic that his spirit could not bear the injustice?

And he had come around to kill Bray every time. Every life...

"J-Jack. Jack please... please I know you're in there. Fight him, Jack!" Bray was cut off by the hand at his throat, squeezing meaningfully. Keith was toying with him, he knew that. His hand flew up to try and pull Keith's hand away but he was so strong! He was inhuman! Bray desperately clawed at him, still trying to reach Jack. Jack had to be inside! He could fight this and kick Keith out! He—he didn't want to be the one who killed Bray...

"Fight him, Jack! P—Plea...se...!"

"That's fucking cute," Keith sneered as he tightened his golem hand around that delicate little throat. "But there is no Jack here."

No, there was no Jack, just a stupid golem. Smarter than most of them, but he would have preferred his Keith golem be the one here right now. But this wasn't the worst of his golems to use. In a way, it was kind of a poetic end to this Brayden's life, being killed by the face of his lover.

All the games were over. As much as Keith loved toying around with his victims, there was little time for it now. The king was dying and before he died, Keith would have his place, his throne. And no little Brayden would stop him this time. As he tightened his grip, he attempted to corrupt him but no, still not corruptible.

"I was his best friend, you know. I was his first love. And then you came along. We were going to rule together... And you threw a wrench into the plans with your fucking smile and your sweet potions and your goddamned good nature. He was born a dark fae, like his father. Darkness was supposed to be a part of him. And you wiped it out. And you kept. Fucking. Wiping it out. But it's ending here. Even this one is covered in his grief. And this time, when you die, he won't be able to deny it... He will finally embrace the darkness..."

Jack was in there! Bray knew he was; his soul resonated with the soul inside of Jack's body, even while it was being taken over by Keith and used by Keith to assault him. The hand tightened around his throat and he briefly felt corruption trying to seep in, but he fought it. He fought it with the love that refused to be dimmed, with the strength of his feelings for Jack. Those who experienced true love could never be corrupted and Bray's love for Jack was the truest force in this dimension or any others.

"You're... wrong..." he gasped, trying to shrug off his glamor. If he could access his full powers, he could... he could fight Keith somehow. "He never lo-loved you!" The 'love' Jack felt was not true love. How could it be when Bray was his soul mate? How could he love a foul, vile, hateful man like Keith? Love scorned had burned Keith's heart into a blackened stump. He was incapable of loving and undeserving of being loved!

"Jack..." Bray's glamor finally fell and his wings unfurled, but he was already beginning to lose consciousness. Now Keith wasn't playing around. Perhaps he sensed that his time was limited, or perhaps he had finally had enough. Bray didn't know, didn't care. He tried to gather mana in his wings, tried to force his magic into Keith, fighting the darkness that encroached.

"Jack is... mine...!" The edges of his vision clamoured with darkness and he felt himself losing strength in his limbs. Everything swam hazily; Jack's face with Keith's eyes, that awful, terrible triumphant smile on the face of a man he loved so, so, so much that he refused to die... He refused to die for good unless he could die having lived a full, happy life with Jack.

Maybe Brayden—the first one—wasn't as meek or soft as Bray was in this life. Maybe he, too, felt a certain way about Jack, was enamored with him enough to force him to endure all these lifetimes of pain and suffering. It took an enormous amount of power to change fate. It took a man who loved another so fiercely that the sheer force of his emotions forced fate to step aside.

"I will... I will come back." His last breath rattled in the back of his throat as his light dimmed. "I will... never... lose... Jack..."

"Fuck-- fuck off!" Keith growled as he felt something tearing at his consciousness. That little sliver of soul inside this golem was really fighting against what it saw, what it felt, what it heard. But Keith was determined to make it happen this time.

And he was sure that he did, when Brayden finally took in a final breath. His smile was pure evil, the darkness inside of him fulfilled as he let go of Brayden and let him fall unceremoniously to the ground at his feet. To add insult to injury, he spat on his prone body.

"You're not coming back this time," Keith said through gritted teeth. He grasped the body by the hair and dragged it into the middle of the room. Biting the thumb of his current body--living clay, living blood--he drew a symbol on Brayden's forehead. But halfway through it, Rip--the damned fool--finally clawed his way back, pushing Keith out of his body.

Gasping in horror, Rip stared down at the dead body of Brayden Smith. The grief in his heart blossomed and he let out a sob from the back of his throat. If he had known calling out to Pax would lead to calling to Keith... Squeezing his eyes shut, he could feel the heat running down his cheeks.

Scrambling to his side, Rip attempted to get his heart starting hands above his heart, pumping energy into him.

"Wake up, wake up, please wake up...."

"Well... you fucked it."

Brayden let out a long sigh as he reclined in his throne, gazing at the prone body laid at his feet. It was Brayden, of course. Another Brayden—the latest Brayden. Which one was this now? He had gone through more than a hundred of these, he was sure. Maybe close to two hundred.

"You really, really fucked it. Too bad... I had high hopes for you. Me."

With a slow shake of the head, he got off the throne and knelt by his own dead body, gently touching the cold cheek. Half of a rune on the body's forehead formed an incomplete seal. He rubbed it off, puzzled as to why Keith only drew half of it. Not that it would have done any good; it would only prevent Brayden from returning in this life. After Jack passed on, the cycle would reset and another Brayden would be born, to start the song and dance all over again.

Unless Jack fell, but... he wouldn't. He hadn't in close to two hundred cycles. Dear, wonderful Jack. He realized his love every time, as Brayden counted on him doing. Their love was stronger than anything his vile half-brother could conceive.

To his surprise, as he touched the cheek of his own body, it stirred. Brayden actually let out a sound of shock. "What? The hell?" He leapt back as the eyes opened and gazed confusedly up at him. This had never happened... Never! "Brayden? Brayden!" He leapt forward again, reaching out to slap his cheek gently. "Brayden say something!"

"...wha?"

"Oh thank god! You—I could kiss you! Me! Us!" Diving upon himself, he hugged... himself. "You realized your powers! Finally! Finally you did it! He didn't kill you! Well—he did. But. Oh. This is fine. We can still save this. Come on. Come on sit up. Up up up! Right now! Up!" He dragged his confused self up and pulled him over to the throne, pressing him down onto it hard.

"I'm going to need you to sit here and not. Leave. Understand? I'm going to borrow your body for a little while. I need to..." His gaze softened and he cupped Brayden's cheek. "Let me speak to Jack. I'll be back after I tell him what he needs to know. Okay?"

"...okay." Brayden didn't seem to understand but he nodded trustingly. Well, he had to—he had to trust himself!

Slowly, he took off the crown on top of his head and transferred it to Brayden on the throne. The darkness began to seep in again and he smiled as he fell to the ground.

GASP!

Brayden came to with a loud gasp, convulsing against the ground. He grappled with somebody hovering over him, eyes wide open but seeing nothing at all. Not until they focused, and— "Jack!" He clung to Jack with tears forming in his eyes. The ache of his heart was so poignant and so deep that it nearly tore it into pieces.

"Oh Jack. Jack my darling. My prince!" Brayden hugged him, latched onto him, laughing and crying in the same breath.

His heart was broken; he killed him. Even if it wasn't technically his wish or intention, it was these terrible hands that killed him. He killed Brayden Smith. And no matter how much energy he tried to dispense into Brayden's heart, he... he... he wasn't coming back. He was never coming back. His face was warm with tears and his heart clenched into a tight ball.

"I'm so sorry," he cried. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I..."

A gasp. Rip stared as Brayden's eyes opened and his breath caught in the back of his throat. It--it worked? He was alive?! The tightness in his chest unfurled and he took in a shuddering breath of his own as Brayden spoke. It didn't matter that he called him Jack--all that mattered was that he wasn't dead.

"Oh!" Brayden clung onto him with sweet words and such emotion. Swept away with relief and the throb of fear only just beginning to dissipate, Rip held him tight.

"Brayden," he said breathlessly. "You're... you're alive!"

Nuzzling him, cheek to cheek, he closed his eyes and breathed him in. The shiver in his heart was still quite prominent. Never before had he experienced something in real life that rivaled that dream where Brayden disappeared. The feeling of it was terrible. The worst thing he had ever felt in his relatively short life.

"I'm--"

No... He wasn't alive. Brayden wasn't alive. Death had claimed him but his soul hadn't moved on yet--it was merely being kept in that other realm in which he had been biding his time, waiting for one of his reincarnations to figure out the puzzle and to bring it all to an end. In a little while, he would be forced to vacate this body and the connection would be severed.

But both Braydens would still exist! That was the important thing--both would exist and both could still be saved!

He kissed Jack fervidly, passionately, but then swiftly pulled back to look at him. This was Jack, but... not all of him. Brayden held his face in both hands to keep him still, looking into his eyes, then looking at his heart.

"Darling. You're not Jack." His tone was soft, though, musing over the revelation. This wasn't Jack but it was someone who had Jack's soul inside--or part of it. "A golem? Keith made a golem..." This presented... unique opportunities though. Maybe Keith thought that if he made one with Jack's soul inside, after Jack passed, the cycle would be broken. But that worked in Brayden's favor too because if there could be two souls linked to Jack, then both would have to be corrupted equally in order to bypass the loop that he forced all three of them into...

"What's your name, my darling?" He stroked the golem's cheek no less fondly than when he had embraced who he thought was Jack. If it contained some part of Jack, it was no less deserving of all of his love.

There was a kiss, a kiss of passion, relief, affection. But before Rip could properly melt into the next kiss, it was abruptly halted and Brayden moved back to study him. Rip blinked, staring back, almost squirming under the scrutiny. He parted his lips as if to speak but he wasn't sure what to say because he didn't know what Brayden was thinking.

"I'm..." He lowered his gaze, his hair falling into his face. "I'm not."

He didn't even have to explain himself because Brayden knew. How smart he was, to figure it out after only a long stare. How he hadn't seen through him earlier, Rip didn't know. Pulling at the golden sleeves of his coat, he still felt uncomfortable under his stare--and shamed by his deception.

Brayden didn't sound angry, though. He didn't look angry, either, when he stroked Rip's cheek and Rip chanced a look up at him.

"...R-Rip. Ripper. Nightshade. That's the name I was given." He lowered his gaze again. "I'm so sorry. I didn't want to deceive you. I was just... I just..."

Brayden smiled but it held no amusement. "My brother was never good at names," he said wryly with a roll of the eyes. Ripper Nightshade. How dare he name a golem made after Jack's image, with Jack's beautiful soul inside, Ripper Nightshade! The surname took no imagination but Ripper? Ripper?

Regardless of the name, Ripper still bore so much of what made Jack Jack that it was next to impossible to stay angry. Brayden stroked the curls and waves away from his brow, in order to see more of his face. Those eyes, those lips, that chin, the resemblance could not have been more perfect. Keith always had a way with golems; he was an artist of the highest level when it came to living clay.

"You were only following orders," Brayden finished for him softly, leaning in to kiss him again. "I know. I know what Keith is capable of, and I know that you fought him as hard as you could. It's all right... Rip." Mm. Not an ideal name, but it would have to do. "I don't blame you, darling. But I need your help now. I need to find Jack. I have something very important to tell him before I have to... go."

Brayden grasped onto his hand. "Please help me find him, Rip. I need you right now."

Huh. Another person who didn't like his name. Rip was so accustomed to it that it simply felt like his name. Plus, it differentiated him from Jack, whom he swore up and down he was not. But he had never before wished to be him than he did in that moment when Brayden said he loved him.

Brayden was really studying him again, hands swooping his hair from his eyes. Rip felt as if he must come in second to Jack but whatever it was that Brayden was thinking, he kissed him again. Even though... he knew he wasn't Jack. Rip's gaze darted up afterward, surprised.

"Oh." Help. The least he could do was help Brayden find the real Jack. "Um... Um... I... I..."

He wasn't sure how to do that. Something important to tell him. He didn't know what that meant--that he had to go--but the important thing seemed, well, important. And Rip liked being needed by Brayden. Of course he would help.

"Oh!" Rip's eyes lit up and he put his hands together. "You have his number in your phone, right? Let's call him!"

"Please?" He thought Rip hesitated and stammered and stuttered because he was thinking it over. A golem was bound to obey their creator, that was their prime directive, but the soul inside of Rip belonged to Brayden. It belonged to him as his own soul belonged to Jack—and to Rip. To Brayden, who had been longing for and pining after his lover for all these untold centuries, any single shred of him was a priceless treasure in and of itself.

"Phone?" This world was not his own; he was not accustomed to anything here and he was painfully out of place. Brayden felt through the strange clothes that his latest self wore and found pockets—pockets were timeless, thankfully. He turned them out, placing the items onto the bed. A small rectangular object with a flat glass surface, an aged folding leather piece which contained strange papers and hard yet lightweight cards, metal objects strung through another metal coil, jingling musically.

"Is it one of these, Rip?" Brayden stayed close to him, loathe to leave his side—his Jack's side—for even a second. Keith might try to take control of Rip again but he knew that it might take a moment; total control over a golem was tiring and Keith's magic was not as strong as that of a pureblooded prince.

"Can you ask him to come here, to us, darling?" His arm slid around Rip's waist.

"Yes," he said, reaching for the phone that Brayden fished out of his pocket. "This is it."

He thought it was a little strange that Brayden didn't even know which of the objects was a phone; even Rip knew what a phone was. But he tried to open it and found that there was a facial recognition gate. His own was like that, too. But his face did not open Brayden's phone. So he lifted it.

"Just look at it... like... there!"

Triumphant, Rip found the contacts and it was not a surprise that Jack was in the top contact list. He hit the call button and held the phone to his ear. Why did Brayden not call him and tell him the important news, he wondered, but there was no time to think because Jack's voice--his voice--answered with a cheery, "B! Where are you? Long line at the store...? Or was that wink you gave me before you left supposed to mean something?"

"Um..." Rip cleared his throat. "J-Jack? I need you to come see us. Me and Brayden." He glanced at Brayden. "Brayden and I."

There was a strange silence on the other end before Jack asked, "Who is this?" in a suspicious sounding voice.

"This is... is... a friend... of Brayden's!"

"Where is he? Why isn't he talking? Why do you have his phone?"

Rip's eyes widened and he pushed the phone toward Brayden. "He doesn't believe me! Say something!"

"Oh! Here? Look here?"

Brayden looked at Rip instead; he found Rip much easier on the eyes than some glowing rectangle. Was this modern magic? The Brayden of this time would have known how to use it but sadly he was holding down the throne, allowing him to be out here inhabiting this body. At any rate it worked and the glowing screen changed—to a picture of Jack. Undoubtedly, Jack translated very well onto this screen, whatever it was.

A means of communication? Ah. Yes. Brayden watched with keen interest as Rip held the device to his ear and began to speak into it. The exchange seemed stilted even to him, and poor darling Rip was nervous speaking to—essentially himself. Had he never met Jack before then? Brayden wasn't surprised.

Keith likely wanted to keep Rip as a backup, as his trump card to lock down a part of his soul to this time and this place. That way Brayden could not reincarnate, without all of Jack's soul having passed on to the next life. Golems, after all, were not bound by time restrictions the way humans and fae were.

As the device was pushed towards him, Brayden started. He looked at it suspiciously and then spoke into it Very Loudly. "Jack? Jack! I need you to come here right away! There's not much time to explain, my love, but I need you here! I must give you something before I have to... go." He glanced at Rip. "Tell him where we are. If he can't get here in time, I... I'll give it to you to safeguard, okay? But you must not let Keith get his hands on it!"

"See? It's him! And you have to hurry--hurry to the motel!"

"What motel? What the hell is going on?"

Jack's voice sounded weird now, as if he was moving. There was a rustling sound and somebody in the background saying something about a tracker. Jack's voice was muffled when he said something back, like he was covering the phone.

When he came back, he asked again, "What motel?"

Rip told him the address, the same one he had been given by Allie to meet Brayden. Again, he heard Jack in the background, talking to somebody else, relaying the information Brayden had given him. There was confusion in his voice and then the sound of a door opening. "Hurry," Jack said. "Something fucked is going on." Then to Rip, "I'll be there ASAP. Don't you fucking move from where you are."

"Okay," Rip said... and then hung up, because he didn't see the point in staying on the line any longer. Gingerly, he placed the phone down on the table next to his card, from when he first arrived. Then he looked over at Brayden, who seemed anxious.

"He said he'll be here a sap," he said, not sure what it meant but it didn't sound like it was that fast. "He doesn't want me to move but I... I don't want to be here when he gets here... I'm sure you can give what you have to Jack. He's... the real Jack, after all. And he won't let Keith do anything to you. He never... would have let this happen to you..."

The exchange didn't sound like it was going well for Jack but if it lent speed to his feet and haste to his movements, Brayden was all for it. He heard some words here and there, but the device transmitted mostly to Rip, who faithfully did as he was asked and relayed their location to Jack. Then the device darkened and Rip indicated that Jack would be here a sap, whatever that meant.

Jargon of these confusing modern times, Brayden supposed...

"But Rip." Brayden hung on to him—literally, he clung to Rip with both arms about him, as though he would physically wrestle Rip if need be. "I want you here. I need you here. You are a part of me and you need to hear what I have to say, too. It's very important. This is not only for Jack." He loosened one arm to try and tug Rip over to the bed, to sit. "You are a part of me," Brayden repeated gently. "And I am a part of you, too, my love."

Why did this person have such power over him? It was almost as if he overrode everybody else, this Brayden Smith. Was that why Pax wanted him to meet with him? That didn't make sense; shouldn't he want him to stay away? Keith had kept him away from him... up until now. But he'd used Rip. He used him to... do... terrible things. Rip could never see him the same way again, even as his creator. Rip had always been nervous about failing him, scared of displeasing him. This was new, though. Rather than fear, he was angry. Rip... did not often feel that way. He never really had occasion to.

All Brayden had to do was say that he wanted him here. Needed him here. He would stay. But he held onto him and he said that Rip was a part of him. He said it twice. Rip didn't understand what it meant logically but on an emotional level, he sort of did.

This was what it meant to be a half of a whole. Except that he wasn't. But he was. Maybe not half. But partially. He was weak to Brayden, and so he let him tug him to the bed and he sat down like an obedient child.

"I feel it," he said, "that what you say is true. But I don't understand it. I'm just a golem with a stolen piece of Jack inside me..." He looked over at Brayden sadly. "Do I have to give it back now?"

As they sat, Brayden slipped a hand into Rip's and threaded their fingers together, letting their clasped hands settle in his lap. He leaned in and rested his head against Rip's shoulder, just as he did a very long time ago under that spreading honeysuckle that shielded them from prying eyes, when he confessed his love for Jack.

The crown prince of the House of Dreams and a prince of the Fallen were not meant to be together. Their people were enemies; they were at war. Yet, from the moment their eyes met, a sense of destiny had fallen over them that could not be ignored. They were soul mates; Brayden knew that from the beginning. Even if Keith had Jack first and even though Jack had been in love with him, everything changed once Brayden caught them together. Keith conspired against his own people, hoping to become King and Jack was misled by his lies, thinking that all Keith wanted was to unite their people.

But a love scorned was a dangerous thing. As Brayden and Jack grew closer, Keith seemed to grow more unhinged. The night that he broke into Brayden's chambers and slew him, he set off a chain of events that not even he could have predicted. And here they were. Jack's soul was split and Brayden was inhabiting a body that was both his and not his at the same time.

"No... What is yours is yours. It wouldn't be right to take it from you." Brayden could not take a life and removing Rip's soul amounted to just that. He smiled at Rip, taking him in, the light catching in his hair, in his eyes. "Besides, it has already started to grow. Maybe one day it will become whole, and you will meet a new soul mate."

Aw, this... this felt right. Cozy and warm. It made his heart feel full and bubbly and toasty, like a nice hot bath. (He admitted to vastly preferring baths to showers once he experienced one for the first time.) Slowly, he closed his eyes, despite the great anxiety he felt about the real Jack coming and the terrible guilt he still felt over killing Brayden. Even if he was alive now, it had felt all too real, when he was lying there on the motel floor, no longer breathing.

Just remembering it made him feel emotional and he swallowed hard, opening his eyes and lifting his head. The horror of it stuck to his chest, shaking him and freezing him. He looked over at Brayden, noticing that he was studying him again. Brayden seemed to do that a lot. But he smiled because Brayden smiled, even if he felt sad inside.

"Maybe," he said, but he didn't know how he felt about it. Why did this feel so right, then? Because of the part of him that was still Jack? If his soul grew more, the way Brayden said it would, could it be a soul apart from him?

He wanted to say more but he heard voices approaching and it was uncanny, hearing what sounded like his own voice, but outside of his head. A moment later, there was a couple of knocks on the door.

"Brayden? Are you in there?"

There wasn't a lot known about the growth of souls inside of golems, since they weren't generally made to be fully sentient. They were usually more like automatons, meant to carry out menial tasks. Of the few that did have souls, their personalities tended to drift apart from the original owner of their souls over time. Brayden hoped that this was the case with Rip. If his soul grew apart from Jack's and into its own, he would be free from Keith's influence. The threads that bound golem and creator would snap and maybe he could live out the rest of his life in peace.

Not having much time meant that he couldn't personally oversee Rip's growth but Brayden had high hopes for him. His soul had already begun to grow; that meant someone here was nurturing it. Someone had shown him love, compassion, tenderness and he responded to it. That was a good thing because Brayden wouldn't be here for much longer. He needed to allow the other Brayden time to say his goodbyes, too...

Thankfully Jack arrived soon, and as soon as Brayden heard his voice, he rose. His heart already leapt up into his throat and his soul trembled knowing that its mate was beyond the door. Every life, Jack's soul was reborn, while Brayden remained trapped in that other realm, hoping and praying that this time and in this life, the cycle could be broken, hoping that he could survive one of Keith's attacks and finally defeat him.

"Jack..." Brayden hurried to the door and flung it open. He gasped. It... was him... He was in Jack's arms in hardly any time at all, holding him tightly and whispering his name like a sacred prayer. Not his earthly name but his True Name, that only Brayden could know. "It's really you..."

Behind Jack, someone cleared his throat softly. "Why... are there two of you?" The man asked, looking extremely grave. He edged inside and placed himself between Jack and Rip, staring at the latter. "Who are you?"

From the moment he got the call from Brayden's phone, something felt off. Honestly, he should have known something was off when Brayden left for the "grocery store" with a knowing wink at Jack. He had no idea what it was meant to convey but he assumed, perhaps, that Brayden was going to bring back a gift of some sort for the two of them to share later.

What he didn't expect was somebody who sounded a lot like HIMSELF talking on the other end. He thought it was a sick joke or maybe a recording but those were new things he was saying, not anything Jack could remember saying. But it could still be a joke... up until the part where Brayden got on the phone and mentioned Keith. At that point, everything was serious.

He made no small effort in getting to him as soon as possible. The second he was at the door, he was knocking and when it opened--he could safely say he wasn't expecting what he saw.

Brayden, that he expected. And his arms around him were beyond reassuring. Relief flooded through his entire body as he hugged him back, tight and close, making sure he was real and that he was fine.

"Are you okay?" he asked, because he thought for sure that Brayden was being kept here by... by... himself? Jack still couldn't believe it. He stared at the other him over Brayden's shoulder, still holding him close and tight, like he might stop embracing Jack if he thought that imposter was him.

But he knew. He had to know because Brayden whispered his True Name into his ear and that was enough for him to know that 1. Brayden wasn't fooled and 2. That Brayden wasn't whatever this other Jack was. He closed his eyes briefly, and only because Ken was there to handle things. If he hadn't been there, no way would he close his eyes around another him.

When he opened his eyes, the other Jack was stepping backwards and looking highly uncomfortable.

"I'm Rip. I'm a... golem."

Jack stared and it began slotting into place. Keith, golem, Brayden. That bastard tried to trick Brayden with one of his golems! Jack pulled back from Brayden, hands on his face as he looked at him urgently.

"You're okay, right?"

"He tried to save me from Keith," Brayden said hurriedly, in case Jack or his intimidating friend tried to harm Rip. "He fought to save me. Rip is our friend. Please don't hurt him."

Jack's friend made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat but kept his eyes on Rip, though he made no moves to harm him. Brayden turned briefly to smile at Rip before he returned his gaze onto Jack, taking him in avidly. He had already memorized this face and committed it to permanent memory, but having him here and being able to hold him was an indescribably joyful thing.

But...

Brayden shook his head gently, as much as he could given that Jack held his face in his hands. "Keith..." he began, turning his gaze downward. "I am not your Brayden, Jack. I am... a Brayden and I've been waiting for you to break this cycle. I took over your Brayden's body to tell you something very important, and there isn't much time."

He touched the outside of Jack's wrist, still unable to look up at him. He didn't want to see the look in Jack's eyes when he realized that he was too late. That was a look he had seen a thousand times, each and every life that he lived where Brayden had to die at Keith's hands. "I'm sorry my love. I've bought some time for your Brayden to say goodbye, and then we will both have to go. But you can save him. I put his body into stasis until you can find a celestial soul weaver. They can reconnect your Brayden's soul back to this body, but you must hurry before his soul moves on."

Tried? What did he mean by tried? Jack didn't have any real animosity towards the other him, especially not if he saved Brayden. But what did the TRY part mean...? Jack furrowed his brows.

"I won't," he said, in response to hurting Rip. He had no desire to hurt... Rip. And he could guess where that name came from. Sigh. Ripper, that stupid ass nickname from his junior high and high school years with Keith. Rip the golem could keep the name; Jack never really liked it, to be honest.

And why was Brayden looking down, not at him? Shouldn't he be excited to see him? Shouldn't he be relieved, too? Then he realized that Brayden never said he was okay. And he was trying to summon up the will to tell him bad news. Jack swallowed hard.

Not his Brayden? A Brayden? Another golem, maybe...? But no, he said he was in his Brayden's body... Jack wasn't understanding what was happening. So all he could get out was a confused, "What?"

And then again, "What?" His heart dropped. What did he mean that he would have to go? Goodbye? What was he going on about right now? Jack shook his head.

"I don't understand. I can save him...? But you're saying he has to go? What the hell does that mean? Can I save him or not?"

"I'm so sorry." His eyes flooded with heat as he shook his head again, desperately wishing that he didn't have to be part of this. "Keith killed him. Me. Both of our souls are in purgatory, in the realm I created when Keith killed me the first time because I could not bear to... to leave you." And his Jack could not join him there because he died naturally—of a broken heart—and his soul moved on to its next reincarnation.

"Brayden's soul will stay with me there. His body will remain here with you. My magic will protect this physical body for a time, so that you can find a celestial. A celestial soul weaver, remember that. You must find one and have them reconnect Brayden's soul to his body."

Finally he looked up, cupping Jack's confused face. It would dawn on him later, he was sure. The enormity of this loss wasn't something that came easily. "Your Brayden's powers awakened, Jack. None of my reincarnations have been able to do that before, so I think this time you both can break the cycle. If you can stop Keith from killing Brayden and if you can live out this life together..." He smiled through the overwhelming sadness, daring once again to hope.

"Free me, Jack. Free us. All of us. Don't let Keith win! I'll teach your Brayden all I know while you find a celestial to revive him. Okay? And please protect Rip, too. He has a part of your soul inside of him, and that soul has to have a chance to grow. Don't let Keith get his hands on either of us."

"But I--!" Rip tried to say something and Jack barely even glanced at him. Whatever he was going to say, he went quiet again and Jack was grateful. Right now, he didn't have time for him. Brayden--whichever Brayden this was--had important things to impart and he didn't need his attention divided in such a crucial moment.

And all he was hanging onto was the part where Brayden could still come back. He refused to believe that he was dead--more that he was in some kind of magical stasis. Which was the truth, was it not? Besides, he said Brayden's powers awakened. And that they were both on the brink of breaking the cycle. That meant he wasn't dead. He could still be reached. In his dreams. In visions.

"Keith won't get near either of you," he said, with certainty that he wasn't fully aware he actually felt. After all, he already managed to slip past him twice now. But Brayden would stay close and Rip... he had no idea what to even do with him. Part of him was intrigued but part of him was a little weirded out that Keith went to such great lengths to have a part of him in his life. Also, gross.

"Between myself and all the people Brayden somehow gathered together, I'm sure we can find a celestial soul weaver." Jack didn't even know any celestials--hadn't even heard the term as a noun before--but he was dead sure that they could find one. There were too many heads in the supernatural game around him to be blind to it. Somebody had to have a lead.

"I knew I could count on you." Brayden was so proud of how far his Jack had come! His Jack was capable and brave and resourceful—as he had been in all of his former lives, but particularly the first. The one he fell in love with without intending to, setting off this entire chain of events.

He embraced Jack again, tightly, and then pulled away. "I'll let your Brayden back now." Reaching up, he touched Jack's cheek, his temple, his dark curls. "I love you, Jack. We both love you."

Brayden closed his eyes. Everything faded to black and then he was back in the other realm, looking at himself seated nervously upon the large throne. "He knows what to do to save us. I've bought you as much time as I could to say goodbye." Brayden sat while he rose, smiling. "We're close, Brayden. You two can do this."

~~~~

Bray opened his eyes to Jack and he let out a soft cry as he held him tightly. "Jack! Jack I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't stop him. I tried but he—"

"I love you," he said faintly, feeling oddly lonely in the moment. It was just a few seconds, probably, but inside of those seconds, there was nothing inside of Brayden, nothing but a quiet, disturbing stillness that closed his throat. But, he wanted to say, what about those visions of their future? Were they only possibilities? Were they only carrots to keep him moving forward?

And then the empty nothingness disappeared and Brayden opened his eyes. Jack searched his gaze but knew in an instant that it was his Brayden. As if other Braydens were not the same. But they were. They were all one and the same. His gaze was soft and sad but hopeful at the same time as he caressed Brayden's face. It didn't feel real. It still felt like some kind of cosmic joke that nobody was laughing at.

Because he was here, very much here. And he was talking to him and looking at him and always, always apologizing. Jack pressed two fingers to Brayden's lips.

"Stop. Stop apologizing." As if Brayden was at fault for... Jack couldn't even think the word. "Listen, Brayden..." He didn't know how long there even was before... something happened and Brayden stopped being able to talk. But it seemed important to tell him. "Those words you were finding in my visions, they were clues, left by you... past you. One of them was dream. Remember armed? So... so you were right... about that."

He was just talking to talk though, it felt like. As if... if he stopped, Brayden would stop living because he wouldn't be listening.

"I'm sor...ry..." He trailed off as he did the very thing Jack told him not to and then let out an exasperated, soft, mirthless laugh at himself. He couldn't help it. Everything was his fault--or it felt like it was. It felt like he shouldered the burden for... everything, and needed people to know that he felt remorse for their actions.

But they didn't have much time, so he let Jack say what he needed to say without interruption and only nodded slowly. "Yes. Dream." The House of Dreams, the Prince of Dreams--that was him. He stroked Jack's face, hair, down the side of his neck and along his shoulders, trying to touch him one last time, one desperate last time. "The other one is betrayal."

Betrayed by Keith, the man who arranged the attack so that young Prince Brayden could... die.

"Don't go back to the visions, Jack. It's not worth it. I'll just... talk to the other me. And I can find you in your dreams, right? So we won't really be apart, it's just... just for a little while until..." Until Jack could find the person to bring him back to life. Bray kissed him, softly at first and then with mounting desperation as he felt himself beginning to fade.

"Jack. Jack I love you. Always. Always. Don't give up, okay? Don't... don't give... up..."

And then he was back in that dark place again, looking at himself seated upon the throne.

"I love you, too, Brayden. Stupid, crazy. Remember. Don't forget. And I won't give up, okay? Don't forget..."

He felt a swell of horror mounting inside of him, though. Although he'd been quite... cavalier about all this, thinking to himself it wasn't real, that they could see each other in his dreams, that it wasn't the end... It certainly felt like it was. Brayden was gone. His body was still here but it was nothing but a shell in some kind of magical stasis, and only for as long as... He didn't know. There was no expiration date given but he knew it couldn't be much time.

Swallowing hard and blinking back the heat that started to build behind his eyes, Jack held Brayden even after his words faded away, his eyes closed, and it almost felt like... his presence was gone, too. No. Not almost. It was. It wasn't there anymore and he couldn't contain that deep sensation of loss.

Not again. Not again. Not again.

How many times was he going to see this? Live through it? But no, he had to... he had to try and get himself together. Now wasn't the time to succumb to his grief. Brayden believed in him, that he could do this. All Jack could do now was prove him right and do this. Swallowing hard again, he lifted his head and tried to let the warmth on his face slither back to whence it came. It didn't, of course. It ran its course down his face and he quickly swiped a hand over both cheeks.

"Let's get him home safe," he said to Ken without looking at him. "And then we can discuss finding this celestial soul weaver person."

Death was nothing new to Ken but when Brayden's body fell against Jack's, lifeless and still, it brought up a swell of emotion inside that he didn't expect. Even he found it hard to keep a stoic expression. He breathed in deeply and blinked once quite hard.

Brayden was the kind of person whose presence didn't stand out much and yet somehow, he got himself noticed. His quiet assurance had a calming effect on people. Ken found him rather pleasant to be around, if only because he was so different from Niall's nervous energy. Sometimes it was nice to have someone else be the calm one, Ken had to admit, even if he wouldn't have traded Niall for anyone or anything in the entire world.

"Let's get him home," he repeated firmly, making no mention of the tears that slid down Jack's face. Ken was not the type to cry easily either and if he did cry, he preferred for it not to be spoken of. So he moved forward to help Jack gather Brayden up, knowing that while it was possible to reconnect the soul to the body, chances of it were not good. It had to be an extremely skilled or an incredibly powerful one to do it, and if there was one around the place, hunters would have gotten to them first.

But he didn't say that. He didn't say much of anything except when he turned his head to look over his shoulder at Jack's doppelgänger. "Can you help us, please? Keep the door open while we carry him out." Brayden indicated that they needed to keep this one safe, so it seemed that they were all going home together in the car.

In his heart of hearts, he felt loss more than anything else. It washed over him, crushing him in its wake and it took everything he had to get up, to pick Brayden up with Ken's assistance, and to carefully carry him to the door. Rip, the golem, immediately scurried to do as he was told without a word. He opened the door for them and somberly and silently followed them when they made their way downstairs to the car.

And it was Rip that was bid to open the door to the car, and did so in silence, too. Jack understood the silence. He didn't think any of them were in any mood to talk in that moment.

Once Brayden was carefully laid in the back of the car, Jack moved into the back with him, holding him close, the upper half of his body clutched to his chest, leaving Rip to ride shotgun with Ken.

And still they were silent as the car's engine was turned and purred to life. Nothing felt real, if Jack was honest with himself. Right now, he felt like he was floating in a dream. He knew what it was, logically, from his years of study. Depersonalization. He was coping with his grief by not being there for it, letting himself distance himself from the moment, from the emotion. It wasn't a healthy coping mechanism. Jack had never been good at coping with crises in a healthy way, though.

"DEAD?" Raphael cried out, aghast, as he stared at the stark lines of text on Prince Niall's phone. He couldn't believe it. It had to be a terrible, terrible joke, right? Right? How could Prince Bee be dead? He was smiling before he left, in such high spirits!

"No! It's not true! Tell me it's not true Prince Niall!"

Ken wouldn't lie, though. He wasn't the type to make horrible jokes like these, either. And he mentioned Keith... Keith who was trying to kill poor Prince Bee long before any of them even learned of his existence, because he had some kind of deep-seated grudge against the man who had 'stolen' Prince Jack from him.

How could anyone love someone like Keith when they had Prince Bee?

Raphael fell onto the couch, distraught and stricken with sorrow and shock. Tears sprang to his eyes unbidden; they fell quicker than he could wipe them away and before long he was sobbing uncontrollably into the armrest. He was inconsolable. He was heart-broken. How could Prince Bee be dead? How?

"Who's dead?" Rhys asked flatly, because to be quite honest, Raphael was crying and begging Niall for it not to be true. And Niall was flinging his phone away from him like it was a snake that had just bitten him. And now they were both sobbing uncontrollably and Niall was pacing the living room mumbling all kinds of things to himself about Ken, about how he was always right and he should have listened to him and he burst out with:

"He had a gut feeling and I didn't listen! Because I never listen because I'm so stupid!"

And Rhys, Rhys was still entirely in the dark, except the part where somebody had died. Slowly, Rhys got to his feet and put up his hands, like he saw his father's attendants do when he burst out into rage or they could see that he was about to burst out in rage. (His father really only seemed to feel one thing strongly anymore and that was rage.)

"Who," Rhys asked, because he was not going to make assumptions here, "is dead?"

It sounded like Ken was dead, from Niall's mutterings and ramblings but if he said the word KEN and DEAD in the same sentence--whether it was true or not--he had a feeling he would only be throwing gasoline onto the fire.

"Bee!" Niall said to Rhys with his head cocked and his eyes sad and a tone that both pleaded and said isn't is obvious? To which, no, how was this supposed to be obvious to Rhys? All he knew was that Brayden went out for groceries, and then suddenly, a while later, Ken and Jack were leaving with Super Serious faces. But Ken was always like that and Jack... Well, Rhys didn't know what was happening but he left it to them. Ken at least had a logical head on his shoulders, so whatever it was, it was in good hands.

But apparently not.

"Brayden?" Rhys said, just to make sure. And Niall exploded again.

"WHO ELSE?"

Rhys looked from him to Raphael.

"Are you certain? Maybe somebody just used some hyperbole you didn't understand..."

Niall rushed over to where he'd thrown his phone and he tried to pick it up three times before getting a hold of it and thrusting it into Rhys' face. The words had been typed--damningly--from Ken's phone. Ken didn't use hyperbole.

"Well," Rhys said, because he didn't know what else to say. He suddenly didn't feel safe, either. Raphael and Niall weren't the best protectors. And Keith was on a rampage. He wasn't going to kill Jack so there was no danger there, but who knew about any of the rest of them? They were all just targets to him. Or props, getting in the way. But he'd succeeded, so what would Keith even bother to do next?

And, he realized, he should have seen this coming. He was so wrapped up in his own drama that he hadn't given Keith's quest more than a passing thought. Oh, he'd passed on the information that Keith was after him--straight to Brayden himself--but somehow, he had managed to bungle that up. Rhys couldn't pretend to be an expert on all things Keith but of the bunch of them, he had probably spent the most time with him.

Fuck.

"He'll be after Jack next, then," he said, to which Niall stared at him and then walked away, into the kitchen. And while Rhys sat down next to Raphael, he thought he heard some kind of commotion in the kitchen but he was too busy trying to think of what to do next. None of them were in danger unless they harbored Jack but this was Jack's house. And he would be coming back here.

"Rhys! Oh Rhys it's so horrible! So horrible!" Raphael sobbed heavily as he turned into Rhys and cried (some more, violently) into his shoulder. He could barely speak for the sobs wracking his body; he felt the pain through every cell and every fiber of his being. The loss was so intense that it overrode all other emotions.

But that was the problem with feeling everything for the first time. Raphael was still a novice to the world of emotions. He felt highs so much higher than others, but the lows... The terrible, soul-wrenching lows of losing someone he loved and admired so much...

He didn't know what Prince Niall was doing but it sounded like someone breaking into a locked cupboard. That made him cry even harder, knowing that even Niall was driven to drink--and he had promised Ken that he wouldn't! He promised and Raphael heard him, and Ken even took the keys with him but that clearly wasn't stopping him.

It just made the horror of losing Brayden even more real.

"I wish it was me!" He would have given up his life for Brayden!

Rhys was still very much awkward when it came to Raf's extreme displays of emotion. As of yet, Rhys hadn't yet found his emotions quite so... strongly. It helped that irritation covered for most of them instantly, making anything else easier to cover with sarcastic remarks. What it didn't help was trying to understand how deeply this hurt Raphael.

So he did what he could, by reaching up hesitantly and as gently as he could--barely touching him--rubbing one of Raf's shoulders. He felt stiff and oddly wooden in the moment. Maybe he was just shocked by what he'd learned. Brayden Smith was dead. How did he even deal with that knowledge?

Of course, Rhys did seem to be both backwards and slow when it came to really feeling his emotions.

"Don't say that," Rhys said harshly, not liking what Raf had to say on the matter. "I don't wish it was you. And you shouldn't, either."

"You-you don't?" Raphael asked tearfully, raising his face from Rhys' shoulder. He knew he must have looked a total mess, with his eyes red and his cheeks damp and probably with his entire face swollen and gross but... Now wasn't really the time to try and look pretty for Rhys.

"I just--he was so young! And he was so nice to all of us and Professor Jack loved him so much and--and--they were talking about babies and having a-a-a dog!"

Raphael burst into fresh tears again. He bought wholesale into that beautiful image of Jack and  Brayden and babies and a dog, something his own love-starved heart craved. (Of course, he dared not even mention it to Rhys because Rhys wasn't really even ready for feelings, much less an entire family!)

Now... that was no more. It felt like his own dreams had been crushed. He had been living through Jack and Brayden all this time... Raphael grasped tightly onto Rhys. It was nice to be held, however loosely; it was nice to be comforted, however inexpertly and awkwardly. At least he still had his lover and he could hold him and cling to him and be with him.

"What--'s gonna hap-happen to Professor J-Jack now?" he sobbed, lifting his head again. "Who-who's gonna ta-ke care of him?"

"No!" Rhys couldn't believe he even had to say it. Why would he ever...? But then again, he had treated Raphael pretty cruelly for a long time. He dropped his gaze and softly cleared his throat. It wasn't like he enjoyed this--seeing Raphael fall into pieces. Rhys had been unduly annoyed by how starry-eyed Raphael got over Brayden but come on. That was just... ahem... jealousy. And it definitely didn't mean he wanted the guy dead.

But he sure as hell didn't hope that Raphael took his place.

"...and you're younger," he said, as if that logical line of reasoning would somehow make it better that Brayden was dead. (He knew it didn't. He just didn't know what to say.) And it was only made worse by Raphael crying even harder after he talked about babies and dogs. But the last part... Rhys winced inwardly.

"He's a-- He can take care of himself," Rhys said, but he didn't know. Jack seemed fully capable but that was only because Rhys saw him with Brayden. He heard some things here and there about the Jack before, but some had turned out to be outright lies and others... Like, how he lost a lot of lovers in the past and managed to survive--they didn't seem like things that Raphael wanted to hear right now. Besides, even Rhys had to bow before the idea of soul mates. They weren't just anyone. People died of broken hearts. It was a real thing.

So to make up for his callously spoken words, Rhys gently touched Raphael's wet face.

"I guess... we will. And there's Marge, of course..." And he was going to say Niall but Niall was conspicuously absent even now, so he probably wouldn't be much help to anybody.

It made him feel much much better to be reassured by Rhys and while he leaned into Rhys' hand, the tears wouldn't stop. It was like his eyes had sprang a leak; he kept wiping away the tears but more kept coming. The depths of his sorrow couldn't be described. He felt the loss and the pain in his soul so acutely, even if Brayden wasn't his soul mate.

"P-poor Professor Jack," Raphael sniffed. He felt a fresh wave of sadness come over him at the thought of poor Jack living out the rest of his life alone without Brayden by his side. It was too cruel to even have to imagine that! He deserved so much better than a lifetime of sadness and loneliness!

"This all K-Keith's fault!" Wiping away the new tears that fell, Raphael glared angrily. "I hope M-Margie gets him back for this!" He never liked creepy Keith anyway! And once Marge found out, he knew that she would set out to find him and destroy him, and Raphael would support her 100%! Even though he would never condone violence, some things just... couldn't be forgiven!

After giving vent to another sniffle, he collapsed back into Rhys but then the lock on the door clicked and Raphael made a strangled noise. He buried his face away into Rhys' shoulder because he didn't want to see them bringing Brayden in... Yet he couldn't help it. He looked, and when he saw Ken shouldering open the door while supporting a seemingly lifeless Brayden, he burst out into another spate of heartbroken sobs.

The problem with death was
Niall
couldn't seem to run from it.

Just seeing the word dead was enough to do something to him. Like the world swooped out from under him--not in a good way. Instead of that breathless, weightless feeling he got when he was giddy with Ken or high or happy, it was instead a foreboding feeling, dread pervading every part of him. Sickness. Darkness. It didn't feel good. And it brought Niall right back to

nights when he couldn't sleep
eat
think

Nights when he heard the sound of his little brother's last gurgle of death.
All the accusing eyes on him afterward didn't help, either.

Niall already blamed himself more than anybody else ever would but the way they all looked at him hammered it home, like a stake straight through the heart. It felt like ever since then, he had joined the living dead.

Through a hazy sheen of blurred colors, he opened every cabinet but he knew--he knew where what he was looking for was. He knew because they'd locked it up ever since he showed up, as if he couldn't be trusted. And they were right not to trust him. Niall had a hard time even when it was a good day. Because good days deserved a nice bottle of something-something, didn't they? But the bad days, the bad days...

He felt like an animal in his wild, instinctual need. Nothing could come between him and something to blank out the way his heart sped up rapidly and his throat closed up and his mind started to race, race, race, race, race with thoughts and visions. He was shaking as he punched the cupboard so hard that his knuckles bled and he let out a cry of frustration. Then he was up on his feet and he kicked, once, twice, the fourth time, the cabinet gave way and splintered under his heel and around his ankle.

Pulling his foot out, he dropped down onto his knees. He pulled out the splintered pieces of the cabinet and thrust his hand in for whatever his shaking hand could grasp and without even looking at it, he unscrewed the cap and downed several mouthfuls, swallowing greedily. The tremors going through his body only calmed after a couple more mouthfuls. The heat spread in his belly and the horrible flutter in his chest started to finally calm the fuck down.

Niall curled up there in the kitchen, clutching his bottle between his knees and drinking and squeezing out the ugly tears. And in the other room, he could hear Rhys and Raf. And then the door opening. The soul-sucking feeling was coming back and he took a huge mouthful of alcohol, letting to slop down his front as he staggered to his feet.

Over the counter, he saw them. Ken. Jack. And between them, Brayden, unmoving. Niall felt his stomach turning unpleasantly. Rhys was on his feet, holding onto Raf and leading him away from the couch.

"The... the couch, the couch, right?" Rhys said, and it was so weird to hear him lose his cool because he was usually so cold and biting.

"No," Jack said stiffly. "My room. He'll be safer there."

That didn't make much sense to Niall. If he was dead, there was nothing left to hurt him. But the idea only made him feel worse. And then he blinked as the procession moved down the hall and into the bedroom, leaving an imprint of Jack standing in the doorway, silently closing it behind him with a soft click. Niall squinted at him and leaned heavily against the counter.

"Jack? But didn't I just... didn't you just...?"

"Oh no no no no," Raphael moaned incoherently as a visibly shaken Rhys had to practically drag him to his feet, to make room for Brayden... for Brayden's... body. He couldn't bear the sight of him hanging limply between Jack and Ken, supported by their arms. And behind them—another Jack. Rip? Raphael didn't know what Rip was doing with them since Rip was Keith's golem but nobody appeared alarmed.

Ken steered the small, sad procession into the bedroom—though not after telling Niall to put the bottle down in the most severe tone that Raphael had heard from him to date. He scrubbed a hand hastily over his eyes and broke free from Rhys to run over to Rip. "Rip! Rip what happened? Why are you here? Is Keith coming, Rip?"

He left it to Rhys to explain to Niall who Rip was, because his mind was so fixated on finding out what, exactly, happened to his poor, dead Prince Bee. Raphael tearfully tugged on his sleeve. "He killed Prince Bee right? Right Rip? Oh poor Prince Bee, he didn't deserve to d-d..." Raphael struggled to get the word out. "Die!"

He didn't want to be here.

He felt cold inside, where once he felt a warmth growing inside of him. It felt like it had been extinguished. In his chest. It felt empty and cold. And it was only growing colder and emptier, the more they had driven in the car. The more he followed after the melancholy procession. The more he stood there in the doorway, feeling not at home, but just the opposite.

Rip drew his arms around himself without even thinking about it, as if to ward off the coldness but it came from inside, not outside. And he might have felt ridiculous in his stupid jacket and fancy eye makeup if he wasn't so withdrawn and so... frozen. Even his thoughts were sluggish. He felt like the questions Raphael threw at him were coming ten minutes too late. Or maybe he was thinking about them too late. Or absorbing them too late.

Somewhere behind Raphael, Rhys was explaining golems to somebody that must have been one of the king's sons as well. The resemblance was striking. And Rhys was taking the bottle the other prince held, with some difficulty, since the other prince did not seem willing to part with it easily.

And then Rip was looking at Raphael again, who was staring up at him with a tear streaked face and grasping onto the sleeve of his gaudy jacket. Rip shook his head slowly and then pulled his hands away from his body to look down at them, where bits of blood and skin were still under his nails from... strangling the life right out of Brayden Smith. Quickly, he wrapped his arms around himself and shook his head again, vehemently this time.

"Don't say that word!" slurred the prince that wasn't Rhys. And Rhys looked at the bottle now in his hands as if contemplating drinking from it.

All he did was love them and take care of them. All he was guilty of was being the kindest, sweetest, most loving and wonderful and patient person that Raphael had ever had the honor of meeting. Brayden never lost his temper even when Rhys was being outright rude to him, or when Niall talked circles around him, or when Raphael kept bothering him about starting his own teacup collection and asked a million questions about everything under the sun.

He listened to all of them with his gentle smile and kind eyes and he did his very best to make them all feel so welcomed in his home. And for someone who was born a servant like Raphael, who had been treated like a second-class citizen his entire life, to now be spoken to like an equal and treated as an equal by a real prince of the fae was life-changing. Could anyone blame him for hero-worshipping Brayden?

Could any of them really claim that they had never been touched, even in some small way, by Brayden's kindness?

"B-but he..." He turned to look at Niall helplessly. Dead. The word didn't sit well with him and it didn't sit well with Raphael either but...

Rip's refusal to answer his questions said more than words ever could. Raphael stumbled back from him, shaking his head in stunned silence. The horrible look of guilt and pain on Rip's face said it all. Brayden was dead. Keith killed him. It was all confirmed without a single word exchanged between them and Raphael... He didn't know how he could ever come to terms with Brayden's death. How could a world exist in which Brayden was no longer with them?

"No..." he said breathlessly, to stunned to even cry anymore. Raphael collapsed onto the couch in a heap, like he'd lost all of his bones, and laid draped over the arm rest staring off into infinite space.

Rhys didn't have it in him to take the drink. It smelled harsh and disgusting and he also didn't want to plant his lips on something his brother just drank from. He eyed Niall with some disgust but kept holding onto the bottle because he was sure if he set it down, Niall would keep drinking. Which didn't seem to matter because Niall was already heading back into the kitchen and reaching into what looked like a broken cabinet to fish out a new bottle.

Letting out a sound of frustration, Rhys set the bottle down on the dining room table and went over to Raphael. There was no way he was going into the bedroom. He never went in there regardless but he had less desire than ever to go in there with a dead body... Swallowing hard, it was difficult to remember that it wasn't just any body, either.

He looked Rip over as he passed him, barely giving him a thought, although he did notice that he was dressed distinctly less Rip-like and more Jack-like. So he had been tricked, was that it? If Keith couldn't get to Brayden by way of Rhys, then he must have used Rip. So the golem served more purpose than it seemed on the outset.

Gingerly, Rhys sat next to Raphael and tried his best to lightly touch his shoulder. Consoling people had not been in his nature, not even when he was young. It never seemed to be a thing that he had to do. Even less so when he lost all of his capabilities regarding emotions.

"Why did they bring you back?" Rhys asked Rip, looking at him as he patted Raphael's arm. It seemed obvious to him that Keith only got to Brayden through Rip, so bringing Rip into their home was pretty much like bringing a bomb in, ready to go off at a moment's notice.

Rip still didn't enter. He stayed right there by the doorway, like he was ready to bolt at a moment's notice. And no wonder. If Keith used him to do the deed, then he probably didn't want to hang around and start killing everyone else. He was a golem but he had always been different; even Rhys could see that.

"Brayden," Rip said haltingly. "Told Jack to keep me safe..."

Rhys could hardly believe it; he thought if he saw Rip and made the connection that he'd killed his soul mate, he wouldn't keep him safe. But what did he know? Rhys, unlike his brothers, could hold a grudge until the end of time.

Oh Prince Bee... Prince Bee... Even in his last moments, his thoughts were to keeping Rip safe. So truly selfless and self-sacrificing... Raphael's vision swam again but he was too tuckered out to bawl again so he just silently curled into Rhys and clung around his neck, resting his head against Rhys' shoulder. Occasionally he sniffed as a sob threatened to get out, but the majority of his uncontrollable crying seemed to have abated.

For now.

"If it's Prince Bee's last wish," he whispered, even though probably no one except Rhys could hear his hoarse voice, "then we have to honor it. We have to make sure Rip is safe and Keith doesn't get his hands on him."

Even though Rip caused Brayden's death, Raphael couldn't find it in him to truly hate or even blame him. Rip did as he was told; he had no choice in the matter. It wasn't really his fault, was it? Raphael didn't see it that way and he hoped that Jack didn't, either. Hurting Rip was not what Brayden wanted.

"I-I'll keep watch over Rip. He can stay with me over at..." Raphael trembled. "Prince Bee's place..."

From the bedroom, Ken emerged. And he was frowning darkly as he strode briskly over to the kitchen area and removed the bottle from Niall's hand. "Have you gone out of your mind?" He asked as he wrapped an arm—tightly, it looked like—around Niall to haul him away from the general area.

"We'll have to put wards on him," Rhys said. Niall could hear them discussing what to do with Rip the Jack clone but all Niall could see was death. It lingered everywhere around him. Although he hadn't known Brayden long enough to be super close with him, it didn't matter. He'd come to like him and couldn't really imagine a person that couldn't like him. Not a lot of people were patient when it came to Niall, and he knew he was an annoying person to deal with.

Alcohol wasn't enough, but the cabinet didn't have anything but alcohol in it, unfortunately. Niall needed something better than alcohol. Like... drugs. Like the good stuff. Magic stuff, the kind that actually sent him on blissful trips and pushed the real world far, far away.

Aha. A stronger booze. Whiskey. Niall grabbed it and he was just stumbling back to his feet when somebody came up behind him and promptly took the bottle right out of his hand.

"Hey!" Niall protested as he was bodily removed from the kitchen. He couldn't even really stay steady on his feet, his head was swimming from the last bottle he'd mostly consumed in short order.

"Sit," said Ken sternly as he deposited Niall onto the couch beside an obviously stricken Raphael and a highly perturbed Rhys. He had left Jack in the other room to take care of Brayden's body, letting him arrange him on the bed and to have a few moments alone to grapple with his grief. And when he came out here, it was bedlam.

"You too," he said to Rip, gesturing to the loveseat nearby. "Sit down. We need to talk about what to do next."

Ken stood beside Niall, his thigh brushing the armrest. He leaned lightly against it but didn't commit to sitting—he had to make sure he was on his toes in case Niall made a run for the liquor cabinet, which he had kicked in when he found it locked. And Ken was not happy about that at all, but he could voice his concerns in private.

"What's going on here? Why have you all decided it was the end of the world?"

Everybody (except Ken) was sitting but Niall wanted to get back up. When he attempted to, though, the world swam and he flopped back against the couch with his head still spinning, grasping onto the arm of the couch on one side and some part of Rhys with the other, since Rhys was sitting in the middle and was closest to him.

"Hey," Rhys said indignantly, swatting his hand away and moving closer to Raphael. Niall rolled his head to the side and he had to laugh through his tears at that one. Who knew that all it took to get Rhys to move closer to his lover boy was an accidental grope from Niall? Come on... he couldn't be the only one that thought it was absurdly funny right now.

"What... was the question again?" Niall asked, looking up at Ken. Even when he was pissed off serious-faced, he was still so handsome. Niall reached a hand up to brush his fingertips against his face but he was way off point and ended up stroking his arm instead.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Rip said, "I know a celestial."

"Huh?" Niall lolled his head over and up to look at Rip--what a name, right!--and eyed him funny. Why was he saying that out of the blue?

"I know an incubus," Niall said back. "And some vampires, a couple of witches... and all these fairies in here... met a goblin once. Pretty sure. Not a nice one, though generally I hear goblins aren't. Nice, that is--"

"Will you just--shut up?" Rhys said, rudely interrupting him. He pointed to Rip. "One, what does a celestial have to do with anything? And two, when did you meet a celestial? Are you talking about the one..."

Rhys trailed off and Niall looked over at him, waiting for him to finish.

"No, that would be too much of coincidence," Rhys said. But Rip was shaking his head.

"It's not. He's the youngest prince and he's powerful. That's what his mean friend said."

Very gently, despite his mask-like stony expression, Ken eased Niall closer towards himself and away from a highly offended Rhys. Raphael was still clinging to him in silence and... it looked like fighting hard not to burst into tears at the slightest provocation. That level of emotional outburst was not something Ken was accustomed to, even from Niall who could be temperamental on a good day.

He kept one arm around Niall and lightly rubbed his shoulder. Ken wasn't as awkward at comforting people but there were far more important issues at hand than Niall having a breakdown, as difficult as that was for him to have to admit. Niall was his first and only priority but that meant keeping him physically safe first, by getting to the bottom of what happened back at that motel room.

Rip was the obvious white elephant in the room. Ken disliked having to bring him back to the apartment but Rip also had a wealth of information, particularly with regards to Keith. And it was Brayden's last wish to keep him safe with them, which he had to respect.

"...you might have mentioned that earlier," said Ken quietly and disapprovingly. After all that, Rip knew a celestial? A young and powerful one? He looked down at Niall—obviously sloshed—and sighed. Another little shoulder rub, in lieu of more comforting gestures (as there were far too many eyes on them at the moment).

"Where do we find him? I thought they would have all been hunted by now." That was good news for Jack, wasn't it? And for Brayden.

He didn't want to say it but he had to. That he knew one. A celestial. That was what the mean friend--Lieve--said that he was. And that his mother was. He wasn't fully celestial but nobody said that he had to be. Just powerful, right? And Lieve said that, too. He was strong. Stronger than anybody he knew.

Rip knew this to be true as well. The way he learned how to use magic as quickly as he did... He was powerful. Maybe scary powerful but Rip thought it was okay. Cori was not a bad person; if anybody should be so powerful, it was good that it was somebody so pure-hearted and innocent.

But he felt somehow like a traitor for bringing him up. The last time he saw Cori, he was frightened--of himself, of his abilities. To go rushing at him now felt wrong. But... letting Brayden Smith die so young also felt wrong. Nobody else was talking about it; about celestials. And this guy, Ken, said they had to decide what to do next. The only logical step seemed to find a celestial. And instead of wasting time hunting for one...

Rip still didn't feel good about it.

But he honestly didn't feel good about anything right now. There was something inside him that just wanted to be left alone and another part that wanted to feel warm and safe, held close and lovingly, like everybody here. But he was alone now, wasn't he? He would never have his own soul mate because he wasn't his. And Mik...

But Mik did make him feel warm, if not safe. But Rip never really felt safe, not in all his existence. Certainly not now, that he had been weaponized to kill somebody close to his soul. He didn't even look at the others as he said, "I don't know where he lives but Mik probably does..."

"Who the hell is Mik?" Rhys asked. Because he wouldn't know who Mik was; he was after Rhys disappeared on them.

"They're all friends. Mik and Lieve and Cori. I only know where Mik lives. He's not the prince."

"Yeah, I got that," Rhys said, sounding annoyed as usual. But there was something softer in the prince that Rip never noticed before. He was sitting really close to Raphael, for one thing. And he even seemed to be voluntarily touching him, with gentle pats to his shoulder.

"I'll ask him where Cori lives," Rip said, pulling out his phone, which Rhys eyed but didn't ask about. Clearly things had diverged a lot since they last saw each other.

Mik, Lieve, Cori, none of those names sounded familiar to Ken so they weren't hunters. Good. Ken finally eased himself onto the armrest to sit, in order to pull Niall closer to his side. They were sort of coupled up—Niall and himself, Rhys and Raphael. That left Rip in the solitary love seat, looking decidedly like the sore thumb sticking out. It was uncanny how much he looked like Jack; his creator was incredibly skilled.

Ken had come into contact with golems before, but only in the context of hunting them down or deactivating their creators to sever the bond. He had never seen one with so much autonomy before. Certainly he never saw one defy its creator, which begged the question—how was Rip helping them now, when his creator wanted to see Brayden Smith dead? And had accomplished that...

He was suspicious, of course. Anyone sane would have been. And while now wasn't the time to voice those concerns, he did glance at Rhys and Raphael, who appeared to know Rip. Later they needed to have a long talk about next steps. He didn't mean resurrecting Brayden, though—he meant assessing the current threat level posed by having Rip amongst them.

But it didn't hurt to have him bring a celestial in... if that was what he was doing.

"Rip, you made friends," Raphael said tearfully, apparently overwhelmed by pride. He wiped a hand over his red eyes—Raphael looked like a rabbit, honestly, with those eyes—and smiled weakly. It was a watery kind of smile but it was a smile nonetheless. "I'm so glad you found nice friends!"

"...yeah."

Rip looked down at his hands again, then curled his fingers inward. Friends he didn't deserve. It felt like Lieve was right to be suspicious of him from the start. Maybe it hurt at the time but... Lieve was just protecting the people he cared about from something like this. He picked up his phone again as a new message came through.

He couldn't be more plain about his feelings but it felt like Mik didn't want to believe him. But he didn't know what this felt like. To kill somebody with his own bare hands and his soul's soul mate, at that. Rip could only imagine that this was the smallest shred of what Jack felt right now.

Once he got the okay, from the sounds of it, he said, still looking at the phone, "He said he will bring Cori here. Where is here? He needs to know."

"A celestial is coming here?" Raphael's eyes were wide. Celestials were like... myths, almost. They were so rare! He had only heard of them and he had seen pictures, but he'd never seen one in real life. Well... being a Fallen, he was almost guaranteed to never encounter one, unless it was corrupted. But those didn't count in Raphael's books—they were devils, not angels.

Ken gave Rip the address with, it appeared, some misgivings. Then he fell silent and retreated into thought while still keeping a hold of Niall. His face slipped back into an unreadable mask; it seemed as though he had a lot of thinking to do.

"Rhys? Do you think the celestial can heal your corruption too?" He turned back to Rhys since everyone else was being all quiet. There was something kind of off about Rip too but Raphael couldn't put his finger on it. He seemed... depressed...

"Rip said it was another Prince, too. They're all here! All of your brothers! I wonder what he looks like..."

"Maybe," Rhys said. He hadn't given it any thought, what with the sole topic being Brayden's... death. And he thought it would be selfish of him to ask for the celestial's help--his half-brother's help--if it meant that energy couldn't be expended on Brayden instead.

"Maybe later, though."

He wasn't going to get his hopes up too high, either. But he supposed if Cori was their brother, he might want to help Rhys eventually, too. They just had to be patient. Living with the corruption wasn't killing him, since the fixer had halted the growth. At least it wasn't getting worse, and that was about the only consolation he'd had about it since it happened.

"And he probably has dark curls and hazel eyes, like all the rest of us," Rhys said, eyeing Rip--Jack's golem--and Niall. They did all seem to have that part in common so he could only imagine the young celestial fae also shared those traits. But maybe he took after his mother, this one. Who knew? (And why was it when he thought of celestials, he automatically thought of golden hair and blue eyes? Damn media.)

Reaching up, Raphael stroked the dark curls very affectionately and gazed up into those hazel eyes. All princes may have had dark hair and hazel eyes but his prince was the best prince in his eyes. They had been together for almost all of Raphael's life; he swore he knew every curl, every eyelash, every tiny freckle. Every expression was known to him, although lately Rhys was surprising him.

He was being... comforting. The light pats on the arm and shoulder didn't go unnoticed. The way he sat close to Raphael and attempted to give him support was noted and appreciated. In moments like these when Raphael needed him, he stepped up and that meant a lot, whether he realized it or not.

"I hope he's nice. I think he is, if he's Rip's friend." Raphael rubbed his eyes—they were finally dry now and he didn't feel like crying every other breath. When he glanced over at Rip, he noticed Rip texting with someone. Maybe that other prince, or one of his other friends. Who gave him the phone? Did they buy one for him? That was nice of them, if they did...

"Maybe they'll be our friends too, Rhys." They could do with some nice friends, like Jack and Niall and Ken and... Brayden... Raphael turned back into Rhys. It still didn't feel real that Brayden was dead, and that Keith had killed him while they were all here, innocently thinking that nothing was wrong.

"I wish they'd get here soon... Do you think someone should check on Professor Jack and let him know?"

"Well," Rhys started but wisely decided not to finish his thought. Rip's closest "friend" was Keith and he was probably the meanest bastard he had ever met. Cold, selfish, greedy, cruel. Rip, despite that, absolutely adored the bastard but really... could he be faulted for that? Keith was his creator and golems were meant to at least respect their creator. Hardly surprising that a golem with emotions could fall in love with his creator, even if he was the most disgusting and despicable person Rhys had personally ever met.

"Celestials are generally nice," was what Rhys ended up going with instead. When did he become so... soft? Normally, the scathing words were easy to dispense with. Now he couldn't really bear the thought of making Raphael start crying all over again.

Something was definitely off about Rip, though. Even Rhys, with his newly budding relationship with emotions could tell. Rip could be quiet for long periods of time but not like this. Even now, after he presumably sent the address to whomever he was texting on his new mystery phone, Rip set the phone down, face down on the table next to the loveseat.

"I don't know. Maybe we should leave him alone. He seemed pretty... upset."

Oh, good. Meeting a mean celestial might send Raphael over the edge right about now. He needed hope; he needed something to hold on to in a moment when everything seemed to have gone straight to hell. Not only could a celestial bring back Brayden, he could heal Rhys too! Nothing was guaranteed in this life but Raphael could at least hope, couldn't he?

"I guess you're right. He'll meet them when they get here..." Raphael sighed. He wanted to tell Jack some good news but... if the celestial prince couldn't do it, then it would be too cruel to get his hopes up only to have them crash and burn again. Raphael touched Rhys' jaw gently.

"You're being very nice to me..."

Not that Rhys had a whole lot of contact with celestials but their reputation preceded them. They were supposed to be nice and despite Rip's... questionable taste in people, he might have met somebody nice for once. After all, he somehow had a phone now, which was new. Somebody must have given that to him. And it looked like a nice, new phone, too. How he got away with it under Keith's nose, though, he had no idea.

Maybe he'd gone rogue. Before the thing with Brayden? Rhys had no idea; he didn't normally even bother giving much thought to Rip. He was just a golem and everybody knew why he even existed. He wasn't offensive or anything by nature and Raphael and Rip were friends. Probably because Rip was the only one who got excited about Raphael's collections.

Rhys turned his gaze to Raphael, effectively distracted by the touch to his jaw. He blinked. Oh, was he? He... supposed he was. Before he even really thought about it, he said, "I don't like seeing you cry."

Which was true but he wished he hadn't been so blatant with his words. But it was true, so why was it embarrassing to admit?

"Ohh...!"

Raphael's head spun dizzyingly for a moment. Did that mean what he thought it meant? Well—the words were self-explanatory. Rhys didn't like seeing him cry. But the implications of that! It was a very... sentimental thing to say! A very nice, sweet, loving thing to say!

...unless he meant that he found Raphael ugly, when he was ugly crying into the armrest, with his face red and his eyes swollen and snot running down over the crest of his upper lip. Raphael was a real mess earlier and he had no doubt that presenting a splotchy red face to Rhys was highly offensive to a prince's sense of beauty and aesthetics.

But! Rhys didn't shove him off or tell him to go wash his face! He came over and held Raphael and let Raphael dampen his shoulder with tears. So he couldn't have found Raphael that repulsive! And that meant what he said was honest in a very nice way, and he disliked seeing Raphael cry because he found it emotionally distressing.

"I'll try not to cry too much again," he said stupidly, smiling.

Why on earth was Raphael smiling at him like that? Over a stupid admission? And why did his smile make him feel like his heart was melting a little? Or like it was softening him up even more? Even with his face a mess from crying uncontrollably, the smile was... nice to see. It was better to see Raphael smiling than heartbroken.

It was... okay to cry, though. Rhys wasn't telling him not to cry; emotions were emotions and he was slowly understanding that. It was just that, it actually hurt a part of Rhys to see Raphael in pain. If they weren't surrounded at every turn, he might have been even nicer to Raphael but as it was, he only turned his gaze away in embarrassment and cleared his throat. He didn't know why he felt like the rest of the room even cared what was going on in their corner of the couch. One glance said they didn't care.

Rip was somewhere else. His gaze was haunted, far away. He seemed to ignore the last buzz of his phone but it was probably his new friends telling him they were coming (hopefully). Ken and Niall... Niall wasn't crying anymore but he was leaning against Ken and stroking fingertips over his arm, drunkenly rambling quietly about somebody named Lorcan.

So, since nobody was even paying attention, Rhys oh so awkwardly placed an arm around Raphael's shoulders.

Rhys loved him. That was the clear takeaway in all of this: Rhys loved him very much and the sight of Raphael crying distressed him because he cared. A lot. In so short an amount of time, Rhys had learned to comfort Raphael when he cried and to care about him when he was heartbroken and sobbing his heart out.

That was real progress!

Everyone else was otherwise preoccupied, and so was Raphael. He couldn't remove his eyes from Rhys and he openly admired him. Rhys was never more handsome, more desirable, more lovely than in that moment. As soon as his arm slid around Raphael's shoulders, he leaned in to kiss him. No one was going to mind! Ken was holding Niall the way Rhys cautiously held him, letting Niall speak uninterrupted. Rip was... clearly distraught but there was nothing Raphael could do for him in that moment, when he seemed so far away.

But he could do something for Rhys and for himself. For them. For the budding romance that awkwardly blossomed between them. Raphael didn't go far even after their brief kiss ended. He knew Rhys didn't like PDAs but a little kiss was okay, right? "I love you, Rhys," Raphael whispered only to him, grinning like a fool.

Yikes, not what he expected when he did something as relatively innocent as putting an arm around Raphael. Not yikes. Whoa? He didn't know what went through his mind, but it wasn't bad. The kiss wasn't an especially deep or lengthy one but it still made him feel... a mixture of things. Affection? Was that... affection? Bashfulness? Rhys never thought of himself as shy but maybe he was. He didn't even know who the true Rhys was; the only Rhys that Rhys knew was one with every part of him suppressed.

Before this, before when he was an emotionless shell of a fairy, Rhys never would have been called shy. He had his consorts, those people whose spot in his bed usually ended up fickle and short lived. Rhys mostly did it out of boredom and a biological need. There was nothing to be shy about.

"I... I know," he said and he didn't know if he wished he had something more suave to say or more nerve to say something more. Did he love him? Raphael? The forming wings said that he did. He had to feel something strongly for that to happen. Was it even a question at this point? Still, as if anybody cared what they said to one another, Rhys leaned in to whisper directly into Raphael's ear for nobody else to hear, "I love you, too."

There was no point, logically, not to say it if he felt it. And... Raphael could use good news when everything else felt like it was crashing around him.

Ooh—the whisper made his whole left side tingle but the words sent his body heat skyrocketing. Raphael could hardly believe it! He had only been waiting, hoping, dreaming, daydreaming, pining and praying for this moment! And for Rhys to say it only to him, like the words weren't even meant for anyone else to hear, made the moment so much more special.

It briefly overshadowed his grief. The sadness and the weight on his soul wasn't gone and could never be fully dispelled if Brayden couldn't be saved, but in this dark cloud there was one bright silver lining. There was always something good to happen out of misery and sadness, Raphael always believed that.

After a stunned moment of silence, he hugged Rhys tight. Tight. Tight. All that came out of his mouth was a squeak of joy which he muffled into the crook of Rhys' neck because it... seemed insensitive to be expressing happiness in a time like this. Maybe the others would think he was crying again, or that he had gone inexplicably insane over Brayden's death.

Raphael didn't come up for air after that; he clung to Rhys until someone buzzed to be let in, and even then he didn't get up. Normally Raphael was the over-eager doorman but this time he let Ken get it, and Ken said that it was the person called Mik. Eventually a knock came at the door and sheer curiosity pried Raphael off of Rhys to see what this Mik person looked like.

It turned out...

He was incredibly handsome. Raphael gaped. He had never seen anybody more handsome in his life!

Rip didn't know what he wanted to do when the door opened and Mik and Cori and Lieve came through the door. A part of him wanted to leap up and just embrace Mik as if he could absorb his ready warmth for himself. His heart even skipped a beat when he saw him. But that was it; he couldn't even make himself get up. Because the rest of him felt so numb.

And Cori... But Cori... Rip looked at him sadly, hopefully, wistfully. Cori really was strong. Maybe he could fix this terrible mistake Rip made. Oh, if anybody could, it was him. Rip was struck again by his pure innocence. But now he seemed even more pure than Rip remembered.

Lieve stayed close to Cori. He introduced himself to Ken, and the others and then he wanted to know where Brayden was. Rip felt a terrible tremor in his soul at the sound of his name and he quickly looked down, hands wringing so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"He's in the bedroom," Rip said suddenly. When he looked up, it was at Cori. "Please... help him. I don't think there's much time."

Oh.

Oh!

There were others with Mik!

Raphael didn't even notice them because all he saw was that handsome person and he sort of stopped paying attention to anyone surrounding him. Not that he was madly in love with Mik! He didn't know Mik existed before today! But somebody as handsome as that really deserved to be admired!

When he finally noticed the others, it was to discover that they were also attractive. Lieve was tall and willowy, very graceful—a fae! But one more connected with nature, he instinctively felt. Something about him was light and airy just like the way he moved. And Cori! Nobody could miss Cori, he had the dark curls and hazel eyes too!

And his power was overwhelming. Raphael actually edged away from him when he entered, squashing up against Rhys. The power pressed in against him almost with a physical force, it was so strong. So this was a celestial... No, half-celestial. A full celestial would probably have made his brains leak out of his ears...

The first thing Mik did after the introductions were over was walk over to Rip and hug him tight. Raphael made a little "Aww..." sound, which got him Cori's attention. He shut up and buried his face into Rhys' chest out of sheer embarrassment!

"Don't worry Rip, I'll do my best." Cori smiled a little. "C'mon Lievie, let's go see." They moved off towards the bedroom and Raphael snuck another peek at handsome Mik. Ooh he and Rip looked good together!

Rip... did not look good. Despite all his misgivings and doubts about him, he couldn't help but feel at least a little sorry for him--and a little sorry for being so harsh on him when they first met. But at the same time, were his worries unfounded? Rip was involved in what? Killing somebody? It was just as well that Lieve had been suspicious from the start. And he kept Cori close, glad that he didn't go rushing off like Mik, to go hug the golem. To hug Rip.

To his credit, Rip seemed wracked with guilt over what he had done. Almost the second Mik's arms were around him, he started to cry... which was new to Lieve. He didn't think golems even had the capacity to cry. But it wasn't a loud weeping wail. It was a silent kind of cry, where tears just fell and eyes squeezed closed and he held onto Mik like he was his last lifeline.

And maybe he was; Lieve... personally did not trust Rip. Not all the remorse in the world changed the fact that he had been forced to do something awful. Just like Lieve had warned Mik. And it wasn't like he wanted to be right about this; there was no gloating, no lording it over. He didn't even mention it on the drive here. Mik probably already thought about it. He probably already felt shitty enough about it.

Sighing, Lieve took Cori's hand as they made their way down the hall and into the bedroom, leaving the others behind.

He didn't like this. He didn't like coming here with Rip clearly still connected to an evil creature and he didn't like Cori being asked to do something he'd never done before. If he failed, were they all going to turn on him? Lieve squeezed Cori's hand briefly, just before they entered the bedroom.

Pure anguish was palpable from the moment they stepped inside. It was all around them, emanating from the man who looked so like Rip. He sat in bed with his lover cradled in his arms and his eyes rimmed red. This must be Jack. The resemblance was definitely uncanny. Say what else you wanted about this deplorable Keith person but his skill in creating golems were clearly unmatched.

"Jack?"

He looked up and his expression didn't even change. No surprise, nothing.

"We're here to help your--here to help Brayden." He didn't know if this was the right time for it or not but he added, "This is Cori. We're told he's your brother?"

Still Jack's expression didn't change.

"And his mother is celestial. So we think he can help."

Finally, something in Jack changed. "Are you a soul weaver?" he asked. "Brayden said he needed a soul weaver. I don't know what that is, honestly... I'm new to this magic thing..."

Cori looked over his shoulder just before they entered the bedroom and he saw everyone sitting together, holding each other. Mik was guiding Rip's head onto his shoulder and hugging him tight. And for a few seconds, his light--weaker than the others' because he was human--beat in time to Rip's light. Then they separated, pulsing gently to their own slightly mismatched beat.

That didn't seem like a terrible thing to Cori, the fact that Mik's light was starting to beat with Rip's. He looked again; the others' lights were much more in synch, much closer in their brightness and color. Theirs were like his and Lieve's so he assumed that they were soul mates.

Once they passed into the bedroom, all else was forgotten. Cori was nearly overwhelmed by the amount of grief radiating off of the man in the bed holding on to Brayden Smith. Jack. His brother. Cori squeezed Lieve's hand tighter as they approached but he didn't say anything. There was nothing he could say to comfort someone in such an advanced stage of grief. Even his light was dim, as though it, too, had started to give up.

"I-I'm not sure what I am," he said softly as he gripped Lieve's hand. Maybe Lieve could see the faint light too, in Jack's chest. There was nothing in Brayden Smith, though. Cori sensed that he wasn't fully dead because there was still a kind of gentle, pure aura coming from him but he... he sure looked dead.

"I can try to help. Um. Maybe if I can touch him? Is that okay?" He didn't want to lay hands on Brayden Smith without Jack's permission--that just seemed like an insensitive thing to do.

Jack seemed to study Cori critically for a long moment but Lieve was unconcerned; anything Jack saw in Cori couldn't be bad. There was no bad seed inside of him, despite whatever evil his father might have tried to impart into him. Maybe Cori got the best of his father. The part of him that he must have been before he had fallen. Giving Cori one last gentle squeeze of the hand, Lieve let go of him to allow him to do what needed to be done.

For Jack's part, he seemed to come to the same conclusion as Lieve. That Cori could be trusted. He nodded after a moment, moving aside but staying close, fingertips brushing through his lover's hair so tenderly that it almost hurt to see it.

"Yes," Jack said softly. "It's okay."

There was hope now, mingled with all that anguish and despair. Hope in his tone, hope in his eyes, in his heart. Jack's aura was such a strange one; Lieve had never felt one so pulled in many different directions. Maybe this chaos was made from what happened to his lover. For that, Lieve could sympathize.

"Okay." Cori gulped nervously and looked back at Lieve when Lieve let go of his hand. He didn't drop it, though. He just let go, like... like a mama bird gently letting go of her baby bird so that it could learn to fly on its own.

Honestly Cori didn't know what a soul weaver was or even how he was supposed to bring someone back from the dead! But so much of what happened to him that exposed his powers involved touching things. People. Touching lights, touching peppers that blew up. Touch and imagination seemed to be his conduits so he thought it wouldn't hurt to touch Brayden Smith and see what happened.

Slowly he approached the bed. The grief and sorrow became overpowering but he imagined himself with a shield in front of him, and the sensations dimmed. Okay... good. Cori clambered onto the bed (having toed his shoes off at the door like a good boy) and sat on Brayden Smith's other side. Poor Jack--his brother, which was weird to think of--looked so heartbroken and miserable that it made his own heart throb.

Cori looked at Leive again as though looking for guidance--but really he just wanted some kind of visual moral support. And then, after taking in a deep breath, he reached out and lightly slipped his fingertips over the inside of Brayden Smith's wrist.

And then the entire room went dark and Cori fell onto the bed beside him in a heap.

Even Lieve couldn't tell whether Cori was a soul weaver or not. The fact of the matter was, the two of them were still learning what kind of abilities Cori had. Not wanting to overwork him or overwhelm him, Lieve helped him daily but tried to make the exercises easy ones that would slowly ramp up to more difficult ones. Cori was getting better every day; he was so powerful but he was learning how to rein it in so he wouldn't accidentally use those abilities against somebody. (Which was Cori's biggest fear, it seemed, and Lieve wasn't about to let it get into his head.)

With every success, he swore that he could see Cori growing more confident; this was the point of starting easy and slowly ramping up. It gave Cori a clear line of progression to look back on. It gave him a foundation to work with. And luckily for him, Cori wasn't one of those impatient people who found the "easy" work boring. But... well, this was Cori. And Cori was such a people pleaser at heart.

Lieve watched Cori with his breath held in his lungs, not even really thinking about it. He was anxious for him. But he believed in him. If anybody could do it, Cori could do it. When they held hands earlier, he saw no light at all inside Brayden, which didn't seem normal or good. And Jack's was so weak, threaded and throbbing with what Lieve could only imagine was his grief.

But... it wasn't irreparable... was it? Maybe normally. But... Cori was powerful. Realizing he was holding his breath, Lieve let it out and then sucked in some air, clutching his hands to his chest worriedly as he watched. He didn't know what he expected when Cori reached out to touch him. Maybe that Brayden would be suffused in a celestial golden glow that would heal him from the inside out.

That was not what happened.

As soon as Cori dropped, Lieve was leaping onto his side of the bed and holding him, looking at his face and gently patting his cheeks to try and wake him up.

"What happened?" he demanded of Jack and Jack looked every bit as stricken by what happened as Lieve did, minus the thread of protective anger. 

"I--I don't know. I don't know anything about magic except what I've been learning about dreams and visions..."

"Cori? Cori! Cori, wake up!" He didn't appear to be dead. He still had a pulse. But Lieve's heart was racing triple time with fear. What happened when a celestial touched a dead person? How would Lieve know? This was, simply put, out of his depth.

Jack swiftly leaned down to give Brayden a kiss he probably didn't even feel before leaping out of the bed and running to the door. "Ken? We could use your help, please!" At Lieve's distrusting expression--who was Ken again?--Jack added, "He's--he knows the most, I think, out of everybody here."

"Yes, yes I know, love. I know." Ken was hunched over in an awkward position comforting Niall but he barely felt it. His thumb gently caressed the swell of Niall's cheekbone as he listened to the half-incoherent mumblings. Death. Lor. The things that Niall never sought help for formed the demons that chased him and no matter how far or how hard he ran, he could never escape. Lorcan's death affected them all but it broke something permanently inside of Niall.

He sat there with Niall in silence, letting his voice trail off as he quieted down and calmed down. Brayden's death hit them all suddenly so it was natural for Niall to... over-react. And Ken hadn't meant to shock him this way, but he needed them to know what happened so that they would be at least prepared. Carrying Brayden's body in through the door to shock everyone wasn't a much better alternative in his opinion.

Gently he kissed the top of Niall's head. "I'm sorry, love," he whispered, so as not to break the silence in the room. Raphael was whispering into Rhys' ear, cozied up with him at the other end of the couch. On the love seat, the young man called Mik was holding Rip and stroking his hair and kissing his temple, letting him grieve.

The silence was only broken by someone calling him--Jack--and he sat up. "Something's wrong." Ken could sense it in the panicked way Jack called his name. He disengaged from Niall and strode quickly into the bedroom, squeezing Jack's shoulder in passing. On the bed, the kid--Cori--was laying beside Brayden and both were terrifyingly still.

"What happened?" Ken didn't touch them as he approached--not without knowing why Cori collapsed. "What did he do?"

"Nothing. All he did was touch Brayden and suddenly, he collapsed."

Jack felt jangled up, his nerves were getting the best of him. This was the ideal moment for something strong--really strong--to settle him down. But there were no drugs in the house since he'd gone off them years ago. And the alcohol wasn't going to help; it wasn't enough. Besides, Brayden... Brayden... if he--when he woke up, wasn't going to want to learn that he'd pushed Jack back into his vices.

But damn if he couldn't at least do with a cigarette right about now.

"Should I try to... go into vision? And find them?" Jack asked, although he hated to ask it and he didn't even think it would work. Brayden was the dream walker. He could walk through the unconscious minds. Jack could just see visions of the past and future... not much help in this case. He shook his head at himself.

"Never mind, that won't work," he muttered, pulling a hand through his hair in agitation. He turned to the other person in the room.

"Do you know how to fix this?"

The one who called himself Lieve when he entered took a deep breath and drew closer to the bed.

"No... But he... might have to do this in order to bring him back." He had a fuck I hope so look on his face that Jack could totally understand.

"Do you know what a soul weaver is, Ken?" Jack asked. "You were there... Brayden said the celestial had to be a soul weaver... Maybe this one's... not."

Ken checked both Cori and Brayden for a pulse, startled to find that Cori's was growing weaker by the moment. Then--stronger. Then weaker again. It kept ebbing in and out, as though Cori was here but also not here, fighting to keep a hold over his earthly body and to keep it running. He heard Jack's muttering but he shook his head. "No, don't. We shouldn't do anything without a plan."

Going into this blind was a terrible idea. Ken thought they knew what they were doing--Cori seemed so confident when he walked in. And... admittedly he was more concerned about Niall and how Niall was faring up, and he failed to go through his usual procedure of grilling the newcomers. Damnit.

"A soul weaver..." Ken paused and walked out without explanation, only to return with a small silver instrument. He began to turn it on and to tune the delicate blue dials. "A soul weaver is someone who exists at the boundary of life and death. They can access both worlds, and pull souls from either... dimension." The instrument beeped once. Ken cursed softly under his breath and began tuning it again.

"They call them soul weavers because they can connect souls from the land of the dead to living bodies. As in they weave souls into things--actual bodies, living clay, what-have-you--and they can grow them without that soul's mate. They are extremely powerful and extremely rare. I've not encountered one in my entire life."

So the chances of Cori popping up and being one was... unlikely. Hence. Telling everyone Brayden Smith was dead--because he was virtually doomed. But at the time Ken didn't say anything for obvious reasons. He twisted a dial minutely and the instrument hummed. Ken placed it over Cori's heart, then over Brayden's, then Cori's again.

"He's... His light is here but it's dimming. I don't know where his soul went but it's... not here."

"Are you kidding me?" Lieve's voice rose. He didn't often get angry but lately, with everybody thrusting his Cori into harm's way constantly, he couldn't help it. That was the one thing he couldn't abide by! People wanting to harm Cori! Or people harming him through ignorance! His nostrils flared and his jaw set.

"You're telling me that I brought Cori here to die?"

If his soul wasn't there, then he was as good as dead, too, was he not? The panic was starting to take hold, over the anger. And he was the fool who thought it was fine to let Cori make the call, knowing full well he couldn't be ready for something like this! He'd never even practiced such a thing on something smaller, like a small mammal or a bird! And they thrust him into this without the slightest clue as to what could happen!

Breathing heavily, Lieve turned away from the others, trembling with anger and fear. He knew he shouldn't have got involved with this bunch. That they should have left well enough alone, that they shouldn't have-- NONE OF IT. They should have lived as they were; they were happy together. As happy as they could be, given the circumstances with Cori's mother. Cori's mother. He would get to that in a minute but--

"Wait," Lieve said. "Wait. So... This Keith. Is he a soul weaver, then? How did he weave a soul into a golem? Or did he have somebody else do it for him? And who did it?"

The young man who came with Cori was understandably upset. Ken spared him one glance before returning to monitor the instrument. "Keith is a fairy. He couldn't have done it on his own so he must have gotten a soul weaver to help him. There are also spells but they're incredibly hard to pull off. They also destroy the body if they're not successful."

And if he botched the spell, his control over his golem would have been compromised. Which... might have explained how Rip was able to repossess the body. Soul weavers had complete control; their hold over whatever they infused a soul into was unbreakable. Still--impressive that someone had managed to do what only one in... perhaps a million celestials could do. And frightening. How many golems did he go through before he made one that worked?

"I think though... Cori is okay. He's not dead. There's a thread of his soul here tying him to earth, so he can find his way back. Right now he doesn't seem to be trying to come back. Look. Come here, look. See the light on this panel? See how it's pulling away from us, not coming toward us? That means he's moving away from this dimension."

Ugh. Lieve curled his lip as he crossed his arms. He didn't want to think of the monster that created the golem out there to be so good at something, especially something so rare. Surely, he made himself quite useful to somebody with his golems, more than just himself. Lieve eyed Jack. The one he had gone out of his way to create a likeness of with such careful detail that it had to come from love. Or obsession. A really, really unhealthy obsession.

The more he learned about this guy, the less he wanted to know.

And was he going to come after his Cori now? His fingernails bit into his own arms. Why did he agree to this? Because Cori wanted to help. But he most certainly should have taken better care of him. It was just... he didn't think that Cori just touching Brayden Smith would put Cori into this position. Lieve swallowed hard, fighting back the panic and anger.

"...he should be tied to me..." Lieve said. As long as Lieve was here, Cori could make his way back... right? He stared at Cori with furrowed brows and concerned blue eyes filled with worry. Taking in another breath to steady himself, Lieve moved over to Ken and his contraption and he saw what he meant.

"Should we let him, though? Is that a good thing? What if he goes too far?"

"Yes..." If Lieve was soul-bound to Cori then he would be a beacon for Cori to find his way back. Ken didn't clarify in case Lieve wasn't; no sense upsetting him any further. He already looked quite agitated, and with good reason.

"Cori is doing what he thinks is right. We have to... trust his judgment. And there's no way for us to pull him back. In fact, it could be dangerous, if he's not ready to return."

They could fracture the soul, leaving Cori stranded in whatever realm he was in, while his body was put on stasis here. That was what happened to Brayden, Ken suspected; his soul was kept intact elsewhere while his body was kept here. A soul weaver would have been able to draw the soul back into the body.

Ken set the instrument down beside Cori. "We have to wait. There's nothing else to do."

Lieve looked about as upset as Jack felt. Well, they were sort of in the same boat now, so he couldn't blame him. And it was his fault that Lieve's friend--soulmate?--was now stuck wherever Brayden was as well.

"Anybody care for a little whiskey?" he asked, because if there was a time for the whiskey, now was it. All they were going to do was sit here and wait and Jack was already on pins and needles as it was.

Lieve shook his head, standing close to where Cori was on the bed. Jack looked over at Ken.

"No. No thank you." Ken said stiffly as he scanned Cori one last time. He wanted alcohol and Niall to stay as far apart as humanly possible and would have taken Niall over to the other apartment, if not for the fact that he felt that he should be here in case something happened. Slowly he sat on the edge of the bed to wait with Lieve, who didn't look like he wanted to go anywhere.

"Please don't give any to Niall. He—oh." Cori's hand twitched slightly. Ken grabbed the instrument but the light didn't get closer to them. Hm. He set it back down, frowning. "If Cori isn't a soul weaver," he began, and then stopped abruptly. He was thinking aloud but...

If Cori wasn't a soul weaver... what did they do next?

"I won't," he said. He already knew about Niall and his struggles with addiction... which honestly, mirrored his own. Funny how they had that in common. Funny in a sad way. Jack sighed heavily and was almost out the door when Ken spoke up. Slowly, Jack turned back toward him, heart growing heavier. What if Cori wasn't a soul weaver? What if he wasn't? What if he couldn't do it?

"We... then... we have to find one. Fast. Do you have somebody in mind? A lead? Anything?"

Jack couldn't take much more of this. He could feel his soul stretching far too thin for these games to go on any longer. With Keith killing Brayden every time, hurting him in the process, chipping away at him until there was nothing left of him. How long would he keep coming back to do this? Jack thought they were tied together for beautiful reasons. But it turned out to be the worst possible thing he had ever seen.

And he couldn't keep doing it. This had to be the last.

"...I was thinking about asking some of the hunters. The trophy hunters. They'd know about any rare supernaturals in the area." Ken's voice was quiet, both hands clasped and elbows resting on the tops of his thighs as he sat leaned forward. He was thinking. About the way Niall clung to him, about the way he couldn't seem to quite kick that alcohol. Another death took its toll on him as it had on all of them. But Niall was fragile in many ways—and tough in others. He withstood a lot of physical torment but the mental ones... those were his Kryptonite.

"I'd have to find them though. That means leaving here for a while. Niall... Someone has to watch him while I'm gone. And I can't..." He sighed and lightly ran a hand over his jaw, a rare sign of perturbation from Ken. "I can't tell him who I'm going to see, or where they are, or anything about them. It's safer for you all to not know about them."

That presented an obvious problem. Niall would ask and Ken didn't want to lie to him. He refused to lie to Niall but not telling him was a lie of omission. Looking up at Jack, he frowned—again breaking that stoic mask he usually wore around everyone but Niall. Ken was willing to do it for Jack and for Brayden, but not at the cost of doing harm to Niall. And he thought maybe Jack understood that, given how precious his own lover was to him. They were all trying to protect somebody.

"If you can promise me that you'll look after Niall..."

"I'll look after him."

He could tell Ken was having some kind of inner conflict himself. About whomever he had to meet and keeping them away from Niall. If Ken said it was safer for them all to stay away, he believed him, especially with the rare moment of emotion coming from him. Niall couldn't go with him. But once Ken walked out there, Niall would want to know where he was going. And he'd want to go. Jack had known them long enough to know that much. Niall was a bit clingy that way and he was probably all the clingier right now, with all the stress running rampant in the apartment.

"I guess this means I'm forgoing the whiskey, too," Jack sighed, closing his eyes briefly and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Which is just as well... It would break B's heart if..." His voice cracked there and he left it. Ken already knew what he was saying anyway.

"You can leave through the back patio," he said. Weren't they so lucky that they were on the ground floor? Then he looked over at Lieve, whom he had just met. Honestly, Jack didn't know him enough to trust him alone with Brayden, even if the guy's own soulmate might be in the same place. Lieve seemed to sense that because he raised his chin.

"I can watch them in here. I won't do anything and if something happens, I'll let you know."

Jack frowned, still not liking it. He didn't want to leave Brayden's side for a second, if he was honest.

"I can keep watch over them too," Raphael said from the door where he had been awkwardly hovering, not wanting to intrude upon what was clearly a touching and difficult moment for everyone inside. He'd come in here to check on things since everyone else was preoccupied, only to arrive part-way through the conversation.

Cori laying on the bed, still and prone, filled him with dread. But he'd heard enough to know that Cori wasn't dead, which was a relief. A small relief. Raphael smiled and edged fully into the room. He could tell Ken hadn't noticed him standing there, which spoke to his mental state at the current moment, as Ken was usually very vigilant.

"I know I'm not very useful normally but... I can do this, right? Please let me help." He looked at Ken, then at poor Professor Jack who was obviously heartbroken and just... broken in general inside. Raphael lightly touched his arm for comfort. "You can trust me with Prince Bee, Professor Jack."

"Jesus, fuck!"

Jack clapped a hand to his chest like an old woman. For fuck's sake! He hadn't expected the new voice right behind him. Moving away from the doorway, he dropped down onto the extravagant reading chair by the window. His nerves couldn't handle all this. He hated it so much but every part of him was screaming for that bottle of whiskey--the very alcohol he told Brayden he turned to only when things got really bad.

"Yeah," he said finally. At least he knew Raphael and that he wouldn't let Lieve do something to Brayden. Something further. It was hard to know who to trust anymore. And he certainly didn't trust that other him out there. If it hadn't been for Brayden's last wish, he wouldn't have let him come here with them.

"Yeah," he said again. "You... you can watch him."

Who loved Brayden almost as much as Jack did? Undeniably, Raphael did. He wouldn't let anything happen to him without a fight, without letting everybody know it. Meanwhile, Lieve looked somewhat aggrieved that he wasn't trusted but at the same time, resigned; he seemed to understand why and didn't seem to be taking it personally--or letting it get to him personally, anyway.

Slowly Jack got up. He brushed Raphael's shoulder and then gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Thank you." He looked over at Ken. "Please..." He didn't know what else to say. Please find somebody. Somebody to fix Brayden. Fast. He lowered his gaze, then moved out of the room to go find his half-brother and look after him, to make sure he didn't fall into the same damn pitfall that he wanted to fall into.

"Everything's going to be okay." Mik swept some hair out of Rip's eyes as he held him and cradled him close to his chest, doing his best to comfort and console him. "Cori's going to fix everything, you'll see. He's powerful, right? He's a celestial, he won't fail."

And then could their lives please get back to being normal? Please? Mik felt like his life hadn't been normal since that winter festival where he'd manned the small adoption booth with his Aunt Shelby. Then Allie showed up with handsome Rip and things just...

They didn't go to hell in a hand-basket but they were damned chaotic. Only a month ago, his biggest problem was finding homes for strays. These days he felt like he didn't know where his own home was, since he was out and about so much, running around chasing Cori or chasing Rip or... just freaking out in general. He was so out of his depth that he wanted to curl up at night and sob until the dawn broke.

It was Rip who was broken now though, and Mik needed to be strong for him. He saw that Raphael guy slipping off earlier and paid him no heed, although he did get some kind of glare from Raphael's half-naked boyfriend that he didn't understand. Whatever. Mik was here for Rip—his boyfriend.

But damn.

Brayden Smith being the soul mate didn't really make him happy.

Could it ever be okay again? Rip wished things could go backwards, back, back, back before he became a murderer. Before he knew what it felt like to take a life. Despair was such an ugly feeling and he wished he had never felt it. But he knew it, in that moment when he shoved his way back to his body--such as it was--only to find that he was too late.

The other Brayden said that they could save him but he sure sounded like he didn't think it would work. The way he said he was giving the current Brayden time to say goodbye... That sounded so very final.

Through half closed eyes, Rip watched as Rhys glowered--why?--and Jack came out to sit with Niall, talking about things that didn't register in his brain. Rip saw with his eyes but he wasn't really processing anything he saw or heard. Even Mik was just a warm body but he wasn't dispelling that strange chill that had started to take hold inside.

After a while, he took Mik's hand and slid it over his chest, as if that could help defrost that sensation. "...I'm cold here, Mik. Here."

Mik didn't say much to Lieve about how Brayden Smith ended up the way he was because he didn't want Lieve to over-react, but... it was bad. Rip killed him. He couldn't even begin to fathom how it felt to take a life, much less one that contained his soul mate. Was it like killing a part of himself? Like he was snuffing out his own soul?

The only thing he could do was hold on to Rip but even that didn't seem to be doing much good. Rip just... sat there and the tears kept falling from his eyes, and he was here but he wasn't present in any sense of the word. It was like he existed but... His soul was broken.

Mik's fingers curled into his chest when it was guided there. He felt the heart beating underneath, a strange rhythm that wasn't entirely human. However this body worked, it wasn't completely human.

"I know baby." He kissed the shell of the ear he whispered into. "I know it hurts. And it's going to hurt for... a long time, but you can't give up. Brayden, he... he wouldn't want you to give up, right?" Mik didn't know that for sure but he thought if he died, he wouldn't want Rip to be miserable forever. Or anyone--not just Rip. Anyone close to him.

"He wants Jack to protect me."

But it didn't feel right. To be protected when he did something so awful. He didn't know how Jack could sit in the same room with him and not want to lunge at him and kill him. Part of him wished Jack would. Part of him even wished he would yell at him, do something. But Jack didn't even look at him, like he couldn't bring himself to look at him.

"But what if Keith does it again? What if I..." He swallowed hard. The idea of killing anybody else didn't sit well with him. Even though he was created by a killer, he wasn't made to be a killer, even by the killer's own choosing. A lover, not a fighter, not a warrior, not a killer. And the partial soul that made him who he was, it was also not a killer. The heart was too soft for that.

"Don't let that asshole get into your head," Jack said suddenly from where he sat. "I spent half my life believing I was a murderer because of him. And now he's doing it to you. Brayden..." His eyes misted over and he lowered his head for a moment before looking back up. "Brayden believes in you. He thinks you're precious and worth protecting. So that means that you are. Fuck whatever Keith is trying to tell you. He doesn't give a fuck about anybody but himself, anyway. That's why nobody loves him and nobody ever will. You get what you give and all he gives is pain."

"Whatever he made you do, Rip, that's not you." Mik's hand at his chest formed a loose fist. He actually started when Jack spoke up but instead of an angry tirade, Jack was just fiercely asserting the facts. And the fact was that whatever that Keith guy did to Rip or wanted him to do, he got it wrong. All wrong. He didn't know anything about Rip. Or Jack.

He brought out his phone and pulled up the gallery and showed them to Rip. "See this? And this? And these? This is who you are, Rip. Whatever Keith told you you were, he was wrong."

They were all pictures of Rip with the kittens, smiling. Or with the fish, his face partly distorted by the glass of the tank (Mik took the photo from the other side of the tank). Or Rip helping him with dinner, peeling corn husks for the first time. Rip smiling. He was smiling or he looked content in each of them.

"This is you."

Oh.

Oh. He could feel the heat prickling worse than ever behind his eyes but for a different reason. Jack's sudden interjection scared him, too--he was certain that he was going to tell him off and he waited for it. But he only said... surprisingly nice things. Rip was precious. Worth protecting. But it wasn't until Mik started showing him his photos that the tears started to spill out again. Blinking them back fiercely, he tried to turn his gaze away but all he saw was--apparently--whatever Mik saw.

The person--person, not golem--in those images looked like a whole person. And a happy person. A content person. A cheerful, inquisitive person. Happy in his element with fish and kittens and Mik. Just being a person. Not doing anything particularly spectacular. Just being... a person.

For the first time since that horrifying moment back at the motel, the ugly numb chill freezing his heart and soul finally started to warm up. As much as it hurt, it still hit home that the people who mattered most didn't view him the way he viewed himself. A monster, a killer. But nobody was looking at him that way, not even... not even the one he killed. Blinking again, he turned his face into Mik's shoulder.

"We'll fix this," he heard Jack say softly.

"So," Prince Rhys said suddenly. "There's three of us here now. All three of us together can easily put a ward over him strong enough to keep that bastard out. Problem solved. Not even Keith can break a ward cast by three princes."

Mik tucked the phone away and then held Rip, gently this time. He kissed the top of Rip's head and rubbed his shoulder and just sat  with him, letting him ride out the emotional moment. Why tell him not to cry when he needed it? He needed an outlet for his feelings; he needed a release from the guilt and pent-up doubts and insecurities.

"You're loved, Rip," he whispered, so as not to talk over the brooding guy who'd been giving him dirty looks (while his boyfriend stared at Mik like he had three arms). While Mik didn't know what 'casting a ward meant,' it sounded like a smart idea and a good thing to do to protect Rip. As a human he was kind of useless but... hey he was emotional support! That counted for something!

"Do you need me to... step aside?" he asked as he lifted his head, glancing around at the three princes. Curly dark hair, hazel eyes. Cori lookalikes... Geez he didn't notice them before but damn, their resemblance to each other was uncanny.

He didn't feel like he deserved it but he knew in his heart that what Mik said was true. Somehow, he had come to be loved and it was almost as overwhelming as the negative image he held of himself after... after... after looking down at Brayden and finding him glassy eyed and... He swallowed hard. But for some reason, people still loved him. His eyes stung fiercely and he squeezed them closed, but instead of seeing poor, sweet Brayden, he saw all those moments from those pictures.

Not the pictures. But the memories behind them. Cooking together. Learning how to feed small kittens. Delighting over how happy the previously sad goldfish looked now in their big tank. All the talks, in the middle of the night when Mik couldn't sleep. Rip technically didn't have to, but as his soul slowly grew, he found himself becoming less golem and more... human. Sometimes he napped with Mik, even if he didn't sleep through the night like he did.

He took in a breath, not lifting his head but hanging onto Mik, holding onto the hand over his heart. Even the curl of Mik's fingers helped somehow. He heard the others talking about the ward, about three princes being able to make an unbreakable ward but he was so happy/sad that he couldn't get a grip on his emotions.

Then he heard Mik ask if he should step aside and he looked up startled, clinging to him.

"No, please..."

It was a shivery little whisper but he didn't want him to go. Prince Niall looked sympathetic, moving his hand as if to touch somebody that wasn't there, and then looking somewhat bewildered as if he realized that whomever he meant to touch wasn't there. While confusion remained on his expression, Jack stood up, looking over at Prince Rhys, who also stood up.

"No," Prince Rhys said, "You don't need to move. Maybe it's better if you're both warded, since you two have a connection."

Looking over at Prince Niall, Rhys added, "Come on, Niall. We need you, too."

"I can't cast magic," Niall complained.

Rhys looked at him with a stony expression until Niall shuffled up out of his spot on the couch. Once they were all up, Rhys taught them how to cast a protective ward. Carefully. He seemed somewhat annoyed with Niall for some reason but eventually, the three of them began casting the spell.

Rip waited for something to happen. But if something did happen, he had no idea. "Is it... is working?" he asked.

A moment and then Rhys was looking at something that Rip couldn't see, then he nodded. "Yes."

"We have to keep you safe, Rip," Mik whispered with a tinge of sadness, hearing the tiny voice by his ear pleading with him to stay. He wasn't going anywhere—literally he was going to be a few feet away—but he understood that Rip needed his strength right now. Rip needed someone to keep holding him and to keep the pieces together, otherwise he would fall completely apart.

"Oh! Me? Too?" That was kind of weird, knowing that he needed to be... warded too, whatever that meant. Mik knew lots of magical folks—hard to ignore them in this town!—but he'd never had magic done on him. Why would he? He was human and he was harmless to them.

He swallowed and clung to Rip a little bit as the others stood. The one called Niall looked... um... kind of sloshed but he got up anyway, which was somehow more alarming. If he couldn't do magic, was this a good idea? What if something went wrong? What were the consequences? Mik had a ton of questions but nobody to ask!

Eventually they got down to the warding part and he, too, felt nothing. "Um. So we're safe now?" He asked uncertainly, looking from one to the other. Rhys thought so, but did he detect some kind of hesitancy from the other two?! "Can we... go home soon?"

Was the kid playing dumb? For fuck's sake. Rhys rolled his eyes. If he was connected to Rip and Keith decided he wanted to fuck with Rip the same way he fucked with Jack, then Mik was in real trouble, too. Especially if Keith was aware of what was happening between them. And he had to be. He was his golem, after all.

But then after the casting, Rhys checked everything and he could see that the spell had taken hold, cast over both at the same time. Rhys could see the spell like thin whitish blue lines over the pair. No holes. No vulnerabilities. It had taken some annoying hand holding to get Niall through it but Jack picked it up quickly. Rhys was becoming more and more annoyed that of all of them, Niall was the one who was his full-blooded brother.

"What? You don't believe me?" Rhys asked, noting that everybody around him seemed to think he was a liar. He snapped his fingers and the shields were visible to everybody in the room. "These wards will keep you safe from locater spells and psychic attacks. But that doesn't make you invincible. So I'd say... no. You can leave," he said to Mik, "But Rip's staying until we resolve this thing with Brayden first."

"No I believe you," Mik said slowly, not sure why he was getting so much attitude from somebody trying to help! It was a normal question! Maybe this Rhys guy was always this crabby... Maybe he liked hanging out with no shirt on, being crabby all the time. Sheesh.

However! That didn't mean Mik wasn't grateful to him for the protection. "Thank you," he said in what he hoped was a friendly tone, to try and ameliorate his bad temper. "I appreciate it." The uh. Webbing? Weird. Totally not something that happened to him every day.

"And... I... um. I can take the... floor?" Like hell he was leaving Rip! Mik got right back to clinging to Rip, making sure he knew that Mik wasn't going anywhere.

"Of course," he said with a lift of the chin, crossing his arms. He didn't care for humans, and Mik was as human as they came. Ugh. But he was apparently in connection with Rip now... Because Rip was a full on idiot. Not that it was his fault that he was an idiot. He was still ignorant to the world. But Mik the human also rankled at Rhys for other reasons that he certainly wasn't getting into right now. Or... ever.

"If you promise not to take Rip anywhere else," Jack said slowly, "you can hang out at Brayden's place. I know it's a little stifling here."

Rhys noticed Jack himself sounded tired and he definitely looked like he had seen better days. He lowered his gaze. He didn't know exactly what he must have felt like but he could sort of understand it better now. Jack wasn't going to leave, not with his lover in the other room. And Niall wasn't going to, either, with Ken in there, too. But it was probably fine to let Mik and Rip go across the courtyard. Rhys would be glad not to have Mik around whenever Raphael came back.

"You can rest there," Rhys said with a half shrug. "And there's tea if you want to calm him down." He almost said something horrible, like a slap to the face to... well, everybody but Niall, who had no personal stake yet against Keith. But instead of putting it that way, he said slowly, "And he likes his hair played with. That will calm him down even more. Chamomile and hair."

Jack let out a soft little half laugh. "Hair part sounds about right. Guess we still have some things in common..."

"I promise we won't go anywhere. Scout's honor." Mik even held up a hand, palm facing outward. Yes, he used to be a boy scout and he did know how to tie 5 kinds of knots, how to bandage a broken leg and now, how to grow souls! So they'd better not look down on him just because he was human!

Chamomile and hair... Mik grinned. "I know about the hair thing. But tea?" He glanced at Rip. "You like tea? And here I've been giving you shakes and smoothies..." Huh. Tea. Not a typically American thing, but... then again Rip wasn't... American. Welp. That didn't seem quite so out of place now that he thought of it that way.

But wait—wait. Mik looked at them all in turn. Jack. Rhys. Niall. "You all like your hair played with?" He didn't mean to sound quite so skeptical. "Like all of you?" Weird... Brothers tended to like similar things but that seemed really, really unlikely! He should ask Lieve if Cori liked it too...

See, tea was usually Rip's drink of choice because that was what he was given by Keith to keep him calm and complacent. He never gave him caffeine... and sugar, he always said, would make him fat. A fat golem! It must have been a joke; golems didn't even need food or drink. Rhys had never seen a fat golem before.

"I like shakes and smoothies."

Rip kept talking in such a small voice. So strange coming from a tall man, who should have--and could have--cut an intimidating figure if he tried. But he was sort of... broken right now. Maybe Mik would fix him. At least he'd be making himself useful that way. But the way Mik looked at him and the other two... Rhys frowned.

"That's not what I meant." And it wasn't. He only knew about the hair thing because every now and again, when Keith wasn't ignoring Rip's existence or telling him to go to the bedroom (shudder), Rhys had seen him, with his hands in Rip's hair. The contentment in his face had been real. When he's good, Keith plays with his hair. It would have been a gross thing to say. Nobody wanted to be reminded of him.

But... now that Mik brought it up... Rhys frowned, then shrugged, not committing to a response either way. Jack had already admitted to it. And Niall twirled a finger through his hair and said absently, "All of us? Maybe... Kinda funny..."

It wasn't actually an uncommon thing to like—Mik liked it too. But plenty of people were also meh about it, so the odds of a family of four brothers who all looked so similar liking the same thing just struck him as being funny. He smiled as Rip backed him up and gave his hand a squeeze. Well, there was no reason Rip couldn't have all of those things—he could have anything he wanted! He was a free man now!

"I'm... just going to go now," he said slowly, feeling as if this was about to go down a very weird and uncomfortable path. Mik didn't know about the others but he liked having his hair played with after sex. Sooo... he didn't want to hear about the others' preferences if they were like his!

"Can you let Lieve and Cori know we're... I guess in one of the other apartments?" Pretty nice place to stay, actually! The Sunrise was a swanky, upscale apartment building and the rent here must have been steep. Mik smiled again at Rip. "We can treat this like a mini vacation. Plus, Aunt Shel can't keep walking in on us here, huh?"

That was SO awkward and frustrating, dodging his disapproving aunt at every turn. The number of times Mik had to hastily leap away from Rip and pretend nothing happened...

"I'll let them know," Jack said, not wanting to tell them what happened to Cori in the room. He didn't like this; all this hiding things in the closet business harkened back to high school and he didn't want to go back there for anything.

"Here," Jack said, taking a key from the bowl by the entrance of the door and handing it to Mik. "This is the key. It's the apartment right across from this one."

His heart lurched in his chest at the thought of that apartment. Reminders of the day he moved in, when he first realized that he and the co-worker he'd passed by after his last interview lived there. Jack never really believed in love at first sight. Lust, maybe. Love, not so much. But he was pretty sure he was falling in love from the very second he saw him. And at the time, he didn't know why. Brayden was so pretty, so cute, so precious to him. But he should have blended into the background. Everybody else at work acted that way.

But Jack saw him and he didn't know how they were missing what was standing amongst them.

His heart hurt, throbbed with the ache of never seeing him again. He dropped his gaze.

"Feel free to eat or drink what's there. Brayden would want you to. Maybe... give him a bath." Jack nodded to Rip. He wasn't stupid. He had seen the way Rip kept looking at his hands. Maybe he would never feel clean after what he did but the bath might help.

"Thank you." Mik took the keys from Jack—the real one—and studied him at length, trying to see where the differences and the similarities laid. They looked alike. That was about it. Rip and Jack could have passed for twins but they were so different in every other aspect. There was a kind of deep melancholy coming off of Jack that even Mik the human sensed, and it had nothing to do with having powers—just having a heart. Realizing that Brayden Smith was his soul mate brought home the deep pain of loss, but he couldn't begin to imagine how that actually felt.

Slowly he reached out and took one of Jack's hands and gave it a squeeze. "Hey. Don't give up hope, okay? Cori can fix it. He's our little miracle baby, he can do anything. You'll get Brayden back."

Then he let go, not wanting to overstep his boundaries. "Come on Rip, I think a bath sounds like a good idea." Mik needed one too, honestly, if for nothing else than to soak away all of this weariness from having to deal with this whole situation. The magic, the death, the sheer panic he felt when Rip told him he wanted to be deactivated...

That wasn't happening on his watch! Mik tugged Rip out of the apartment and selfishly he was glad to be out of there. He couldn't handle seeing Jack that way, as though all the joy in the world had been snuffed out for him. It was just too painful. But once they were outside and walking through the courtyard, he felt a little better. There was a number on the key: 1B. "That one, I think." It was opposite Jack's, too, which seemed like a funny cute coincidence. Did they end up this way, neighbors living right across from each other, by accident?

Mik opened the door and peered inside. All clear. "So... this is..." This was where Jack and Rip's soul mate lived, huh? It was cozy and homey but everything was kind of faded and worn. Mik walked inside. "Let's get that bath going."

Rip obediently let himself be tugged out of the apartment and across the little yard to the other apartment across the way. He closed his eyes and he breathed in the cool evening air. It felt good, expanding his lungs and feeling his heart beat against his palm when he reached up with his free hand.

Stifling he called it? That was what it felt like back in that other apartment. Stifling. Suffocating. But inside this new apartment... Everything felt warm and inviting. Like walking into a whole apartment made of a hug. Despite everything, despite the dried tears on his face and the ache in his heart and the heaviness he felt over his shoulders... he felt better inside this apartment, with just him and Mik and the feeling of warmth.

He sighed as the door was closed behind them.

"Okay." Agreeable to a bath, he followed Mik to the bathroom. The layout of the apartment was much the same as the other one, but different. So different, in furniture and decoration and just... the feeling. There was a dark weight back at the other apartment. But it hadn't touched this one.

"I like it here," Rip said as the water started running and he automatically began to peel off clothes. Admittedly, a bath sounded good. They could just sink into the tub and let everything roll off them, all the bad feelings and... and the guilt. Nobody held him responsible and he was beyond grateful for that, whether he deserved it or not... he was so grateful.

His arms came up and it didn't matter what state of dress Mik was in or that Rip himself was naked. He wrapped them tight around Mik and held onto him. That awful frostbite inside finally subsided when Mik showed him those pictures. But it wasn't the pictures that really got to him. It was the point of view.

"Thank you," he whispered into Mik's shoulder.

Somebody very warm and gentle lived in this apartment, Mik could tell just by that first cursory glance alone. Everything was worn but lovingly patched or repaired and very carefully arranged. The things on the shelves and hanging from the walls, they all told their own stories; Brayden Smith was a sentimental person. Where someone might have thrown a ripped cushion away, he'd patched it up by hand. Where someone would have bought a new coffee table, he'd replaced the broken leg with one that didn't quite match up. He couldn't have been poor; poor people didn't live in the Sunrise. He wanted to keep these things around, perhaps out of nostalgia.

Mik looked at everything but his priority was still Rip, so he didn't stand there for too long. After he found the bathroom, he turned on the taps to a comfortably warm temperature and then started to take off his own clothes too, laying them neatly on top of the toilet lid which he'd turned down. Before the underwear came off though, arms came up around him and he smiled as he brought up a hand to the back of Rip's head to stroke his hair.

"No need to thank me." Really, he wasn't doing anything special. Rip needed someone; Mik was here. He didn't need acknowledgement or to be thanked, that wasn't why he stuck around. Slowly he eased back so that he could pull down his boxers, and then he led Rip by the hand into the tub. After he turned off the gushing water, he sank down into marvellous warmth.

Mik curled into Rip immediately, letting his head settle onto the rim of the tub. It was one of those standalone clawfoot tubs, oval in shape and comfortably large. Not long enough for his legs, though; he sort of let one drift over Rip's legs, bringing him closer so that their bodies pressed together. Idly Mik scooped up some water and let it run down Rip's shoulder and upper arm, bathing him in gentle warmth.

"My poor Rip." He kissed Rip softly. "Things will start getting better. Trust me. It won't always be like this."

He found that he still preferred a warm bath to a shower, as it turned out. Although he could safely say he had never shared a tub with another man. The one in the apartment in Greenwood was small and cramped and there was no real room for one man, let alone two. This one was so large that they both fit, even if their bodies brushed against one another.

Rip took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting the steam of the water rise up into his lungs, letting the warmth of the water seep into his skin. As he was drawn closer, he made a small contented sound. His eyes slowly opened as water washed over his shoulder and arms. Turning his head toward Mik as the bath water trickled down his arm, his gaze lifted to meet Mik's. It only lasted a few seconds before Mik kissed him. Slowly, his eyes closed again.

This was, undoubtedly, the worst day of his life. There had been a few bad ones sprinkled in there and he didn't know if he was ever truly happy with his life or he was just too ignorant to know the difference. But at least the sharp edges were being softened down. Mik didn't bombard him with questions about what happened and he didn't ask for explanations. He just let him be.

But for things getting better, he didn't know what to say. Rip was still scared. Scared of what would happen if Brayden didn't come back. What it would do to Jack. What it would do to him. What it would do to everybody whose lives had been touched by Brayden.

No. He had to stop thinking about it. He lifted a hand to Mik's cheek and kissed him again in lieu of responding verbally.

Mik felt like somebody had to keep their chin up—keep their hopes high—and it might as well be him! He'd never been the pessimistic type, anyway. Even in the worst situations, Mik was focused on solutions and not problems. That was pretty human of him, he realized this now that he'd been immersed in the world of magic, but hey, nobody could hold that against him right? (Right?)

Rip didn't respond but that was okay. He had been through a hell of a lot. Taking a life... Mik's hand glided over his hand, as if he could stay it now from doing something terrible. Maybe if he'd been there...

He pressed into the kiss and tasted how sad it was, how lonely. It was lonely to be different, Mik understood that very well. When he was a kid, coming here without parents, there weren't many others like him. He was teased mercilessly for something beyond his control and blamed for it. Rip was in the same situation now; even Mik knew that whatever Keith did wasn't his fault.

"It's not your fault," he whispered over the splish-splash of water. "You're not a killer, Rip. You're my... little golem baby!" A small joke between them; he knew Rip was so much more than a golem.

"...I'm not a baby," he said quietly. Last time Mik called him that, he had been very forward about showing him exactly how much of a man he was. Golem and baby--two things he didn't want to be known as but it had become something of an inside joke between them. Rip's laugh was weak, though. He wasn't feeling a hundred percent okay, it was true.

There was that terrible lingering memory of what he'd done and even though people cared for him, killing somebody was the kind of thing that took time to come to terms with. Even if he didn't do it on purpose. Even if it was somebody else using his body.

Rip sank down, splashing his face with the bath water several times before slipping his hands over his face. Behind his eyes and his nose, he felt sore and tender and he was thirsty somehow. He didn't even think it was possible to cry until he felt dehydrated. He wasn't even supposed to need that kind of thing but he guessed if he used what circulated in his golem body, then... it depleted and needed to be replenished like anything else.

"...what if Cori isn't what they need, Mik? What then?"

Nooo he wasn't a baby—one look down confirmed that Rip was nothing like a baby. But that was the joke and at least it got Rip to laugh, however small it was. A little tiny bit of levity didn't hurt and it showed that he was still able to find humor in things even if he wasn't cracking a rib laughing.

Mik edged aside as Rip splashed water on his face, not wanting to be caught in the backsplash. He wanted to soak but he didn't want his hair wet! When Rip finished, his arms went right back around him and one hand slid over his lips. "Shhh. We don't talk about that right now." His admonishment was gentle and he kissed Rip's damp cheek. "We're only here to relax, all right? Whatever happens, we'll find a way to fix things. We've got all these people here, and princes and angels. If they can't do it, nobody can so... hush."

To prevent Rip from speculating and going down That Path, Mik turned his face so that he could kiss him again. Soft, soft, lengthy kisses melted one after the other. Before this, Mik would have been raring to go, eager for physical gratification and intimacy to push their relationship to the next level. But now—right now—it wasn't the time to be greedy or needy. Rip needed him, not the other way around.

He only eased back to catch a breath and nuzzled Rip affectionately, not unlike a kitten would rub its cheek against a human it liked. "We'll take a long nap after this, and everything will feel much better. Okay?"

"But--"

Whatever else he had to say was shushed away by a kiss and if he wanted to speak after that, it was shushed by another kiss. Although his mind was still elsewhere, Rip eventually closed his eyes and stopped trying to talk. Mik seemed to think it was for the better not to and maybe he was right. Rip didn't know. Maybe it was just better to kiss it all away. To just kiss and kiss until they were nothing but lips.

But even those ended eventually and Mik nuzzled him. Rip didn't open his eyes. He would rather just stay in the moment, when they were kissing and for a moment, the thoughts shut up. The thoughts stayed away for a moment longer, even as he Mik nuzzled him and spoke of napping. They would be like the kittens. The kittens were content when they napped.

"Okay..." he said softly back, eyes slowly opening. He brushed his fingertips over the side of Mik's throat. "Okay."

"Okay. Good." He kept his voice quiet, soft. No loud noises, no shouting, no exuberance. Not right now. There was a time and a place for being energetic, this was emphatically not it. See? Mik could be subtle.

"Do you think they'd let us bring Star over?"

Now there was a thought! They had this place all to themselves, didn't they? And it didn't take much to raise a little kitten here. Not like one single kitten made a lot of mess... Besides, Mik was a tidy boy and he wouldn't let anything ruin this beautiful, cozy little apartment.

His smile at Rip was soft, but a touch mischievous. "We could treat this as a trial run for when we get a place of our own." Plus he thought Star would be a nice distraction for Rip, if he had something to take care of, to keep busy with and to keep his mind off of what he'd done.

"Oh... Do you?"

For once, his eyes lit up. Earlier, not even the mention of Star or Queenie could cheer him up but now... The idea of seeing her again... He knew he was still quite emotional but he couldn't help it; he felt weepy thinking of her. He had come to think of her as his kitten--his own pet, even though he told Mik to make sure she went somewhere nice he secretly wanted her to come home with him. Just... not with Keith. Not with somebody that could hurt her.

Nobody could hurt her here, though. Right? And now they had those fancy spells on them. He allowed himself to hope.

But the mischievous smile and the comment after... Rip looked over at Mik. A place of their own? As in, not Mik's aunt's place? Honestly, it had been hard living there. Mik's aunt clearly didn't care for him. She tried to be nice but the way she looked at him made him uncomfortable. And she definitely, definitely didn't like it when Rip touched Mik in front of her. He learned that lesson very early on when he'd laughed after a meal as Mik joked with him as they cleared the dishes and Rip so happened to give Mik's nice looking rump a nice little grab.

The noise that came out of Mik's aunt...

And then after that, she seemed to patrol the place. If Rip was discovered in Mik's bedroom, she told him to go to the guest room. And even when they tried to be alone in the guest room, they heard her coming down the hall and Mik had to hide under the bed. It was... frustrating, to say the least, especially for a golem made for a certain job and accustomed to a certain amount of time doing said job. Now that he had a choice in it, he couldn't even do it!

But was that why he said that? People got places of their own for more serious reasons, didn't they? To... start families of their own?

"Don't I..." he said shyly, "Don't I need a job first?"

He heard Mik's aunt say that a lot. She thought Rip was homeless, jobless, and mentally handicapped. Those were her words for him. He seems nice, Mik, honey, she said but he's homeless, jobless, and obviously mentally handicapped. Sweetie... You're only going to hurt yourself."

Rip didn't know why any of that meant Mik would hurt himself. But she was right. Rip was homeless and jobless. And he didn't know what she meant by mentally handicapped but maybe she was right about that, too.

Aha! He knew it would work! Rip definitely perked up at the thought of Star being with them! Mik felt proud of himself—he knew Rip pretty well by now and it was showing.

"They seem like super nice guys! I'm sure they'd say yes." Like... all guys. All gays. That was pretty funny, although birds of a feather, as they say, tended to flock together. Even though Mik had a fair number of straight friends, he didn't feel as close to them as he did to his gay friends—Lieve and Cori, for example. They just had more in common he supposed.

But it was cute that all the other guys seemed to have someone. Soul mates? Were they soul mates? Niall's guy was super serious, though he held Niall gently. Rhys was a total sourpuss and he had an attitude, but the guy with him obviously adored him (even if he kept sneaking peeks at Mik). Poor Jack though. Mik didn't see what Brayden Smith looked like but damn, this apartment said so much about who he was. He couldn't be an ugly troll. And Cori of course had pretty Lieve who went all mama bear on him at the drop of a hat.

And then there was Rip and Mik. Mik and Rip. The two oddballs—a golem and a human. They weren't soul mates though, which also made them different, but that was okay. In this very moment Mik felt as connected to him as he ever felt. With all of his boyfriends, he'd never felt this close to them. They were good relationships, he wouldn't lie, but they weren't like this. Not like how it was with Rip.

"You could get a job, there's plenty of openings around town. Well not right now, but... I mean I have enough saved up to get us a cute little place to stay in while you look for a job. It might have to be kind of small though. There's this studio apartment I've been eyeing for us..." He cuddled Rip on a surge of affection, imagining their life together. Mik pressed his cheek to Rip's and smiled. "I think a tiny place wouldn't be that bad. Like... it'd be cozy, wouldn't it? And we don't have a lot of stuff anyway, so it wouldn't be cluttered at all."

"I think so, too," he said. He was much cheerier, with the thought of their kitten companion here with them. Admittedly, when he was at the shelter, Mik spent so much time with her that he sometimes worried that maybe he was going to spoil her. Or did he annoy her? But Star seemed quite fond of him, too. When she heard his voice, she ran for him and jumped on his leg! And when he held her up to his face, she purred fiercely!

He missed her, now that he thought about her. But he thought Mik was right. The guys seemed pretty nice. Nicer than they had any right to be, given the circumstances. Rip was grateful for it. More than he ever thought he could ever express.

Small didn't bother him, as long as he didn't mean cardboard box small. (And he knew that he didn't; Mik wasn't about to move them into a box.) He smiled as Mik pressed his cheek against his. He closed his eyes for a moment.

"I don't have anything except you and Star and Queenie..." And a handful of clothes. But he had nothing of his own to bring into a home, anyway. So it could be tiny and it wouldn't matter. He opened his eyes as a hand slid over one of Mik's. "Then I won't be homeless and jobless and mentally handicapped..."

"Ex-cuse-me," Mik said in that displeased sassy tone he took when somebody said something horribly insensitive in front of him. "You are not. Mentally handicapped." The very idea! Rip wasn't touched in the head! He wasn't missing any strings up there and anyone who thought so—yes, including his Aunt Shel—was just plain blind.

There was nothing wrong with Rip. Nothing wrong with him physically, nothing wrong with him mentally. He had a different way of thinking than other people but that was because he was held captive as a sex slave by a deranged asshole who wanted him to be someone else. He was new to this world of humans and there was a lot he didn't understand but he learned quickly!

"There is nothing wrong with you," Mik sniffed as he turned his hand over to clasp with Rip's. "You are perfect. You're just innocent, that's all. Besides, it doesn't matter what other people think of you. It only matters what I think."

And Mik thought Rip was all that.

"I'm not even sure what it means," he admitted. He had only heard it from Mik's aunt and Mik had sounded every bit as offended then as he did now. It didn't sound like something good to be, then. What made her think it? Mik didn't think it, at least. And... Mik was right... did it really matter what she thought?

Well... maybe a little.

"I just don't... I don't want your important people to not like me." He wasn't sure how to put it. People important to Mik, important to his life--he didn't want them to dislike him. He didn't want to be the reason for arguments or rifts in relationships. That was the part that mattered to him, so much more than being whatever it was she thought he was.

"It means we don't say that about people," said Mik primly with his lips pressing into a thin line afterward. That was not a nice thing to say, even if it was phrased as delicately as possible by his aunt in that moment. She wanted him to be happy and successful and to have a loving partner... and Mik didn't see why that excluded Rip from his life.

He knew that the age thing factored in heavily into his aunt's misgivings. At first she didn't trust Rip's intentions and... admittedly being caught by her a bunch of times didn't help their cause. She was sure Rip was grooming him, even if Mik tried seducing Rip a whole bunch of times. Then when she got to know Rip, she found him undesirable because he had no home, no job and he saw everything in his own unique way.

Was it better though than fooling around with some guy his own age, who wasn't going to appreciate him and value him the way Rip did? Was it better to have someone inexperienced to fumble with, rather than having a real man around? Mik didn't think so. He preferred Rip's innocence, but also his confidence whenever he got that certain Look in his eyes. He liked their energy together; they meshed in a beautiful way.

"My important people will accept you if they really love me. And they'll accept you, for me, once they stop being judgmental. So you just... focus on growing your soul and raising our babies, and I'll deal with everybody else." Mik's hand landed on his chest, over Rip's heart. He stroked the area gently like he was petting Rip's soul somehow. "I'm not giving up hope that I can be your soul mate," he whispered softly, wistfully.

"If they really love you," he echoed. If they really loved him they would accept the people who were important to Mik. It made sense. And. Rip was one of those people to Mik. An important person. And he needed to focus on his soul. And babies. Rip wasn't sure about the baby part. But he knew that Brayden wanted the same: for him to grow his soul.

"Babies?" He questioned, though it came out sort of distracted as he looked down at where Mik was touching his chest. Over the heart. Underneath this living clay, this flesh... there was a soul shard where a heart would be. And it thrummed with magic. Magic that had been given to him by a terrible person but now it was it's own magic. It was Rip's magic.

"I want you to be," he said, just as wistfully. "I wish you to be."

But he didn't know how it worked. He didn't know what it took. How would he ever know?

"Star and Queenie, of course," Mik laughed, knowing he sounded crazy referring to their pets as babies. Well he and Rip weren't financially capable of supporting real kids! Some day maybe Mik would foster a child. He fostered kittens and puppies; it made sense to foster children too, to give them a chance at a happy home.

But first—he needed to make a happy home for Rip. And it was kind of encouraging that Rip wanted him to be his soul mate. He wasn't pining after Brayden Smith? He really wanted Mik? Well gee... wasn't he just the most adorable person ever? That was such a sweet sentiment!

"I guess we can ask the others. They found theirs right? Then they can tell us what it feels like." Would it be something obvious? Like the way his heart felt glad when Rip was close by? Or was it more subtle than that? Was there a... spell or something to let them know? Magic was so complicated!

Mik splashed around a little, then impishly flicked some water at Rip, grinning. "Even if I'm not, that doesn't mean we can't be together."

"Ah..." He half smiled, feeling foolish. For a second, he was afraid Mik meant kids. Actual babies. Rip didn't know much about children. All he had were somebody else's memories of being one and he had very little interactions with children.

Honestly, Rip didn't know what he wanted, in regards to love and soulmates. What happened with Brayden was utterly devastating--to the point of driving him damn close to suicide. He would be lying, too, if he said it wasn't still there, lurking in the back of his mind. The desire to die. The desire to no longer be here, with his unnecessary, redundant existence. It hurt to know that he hurt Brayden and it hurt to know that even if Brayden loved him, it was just because he loved everyone, not because he was special.

And so he wished that the third person who treated him like a person--Raphael and Allie had come first--was his soulmate. But in truth, he didn't know if he wanted any soulmate. It hurt too much. But if he could choose one, wouldn't it be nice if it was Mik?

"Yes..." It was different for all of them, though. They were... they were special people. They weren't a human and a golem. Did such things have soulmates? Humans, yes. Golems? It was unheard of. It was like... a toaster having a soulmate.

"Pah!" He blinked back a splash of water that caught him in the eye, then smiled, despite his dark thoughts, splashing Mik back in retaliation. He didn't know what to make of Mik's words. Were they a resignation that there was no soulmate for him out there? Not for Rip, of course. For Mik. Mik probably had one. Maybe he just didn't meet him yet. But for now, he was holding onto Rip for some reason.

Reaching up to touch Mik's face, he said, "You mean until you meet your real soulmate?"

The problem with being a golem, soul or not, meant that he wasn't meant to be here. Which meant... he wasn't meant for somebody else. But Mik had to be. There was somebody out there for him.

Mik laughed and wiped water off his face, then primped up his hair and fluffed it because even in a bathtub all naked, he had to look his best. In case... he didn't know, someone came bursting in. He could be naked; he couldn't have sopping wet hair in his eyes.

"What?" He had to pause and think about that one. "My soul mate..." Then Mik frowned. "No. No that's not how things work. I could meet my soul mate tomorrow probably. But I wouldn't... leave you. Or just toss away what we've been building. I could be friends with the guy."

The water splashed as he made an impatient gesture. "I mean it sounds nice and all but I'd rather choose my own soul mate, or... whoever I feel like being with. Who says that soul mate guy is even the best one for me?"

"I think you'll know."

Somehow, people just... knew. The way Rip knew when he had that dream about Brayden. He knew. And he also knew, he wasn't his. But when he met him, it only strengthened the feeling. It wasn't really for him, and he knew that in the logical part of his mind. It was the Jack in him that felt it. Slowly, Rip lowered his hand and made little motions in the water.

"I know you'll know. I felt it and it's not something you can mistake for anything else."

And when Mik found him, even if Mik wanted to love Rip and even if he did love Rip, the rightness, the sense of being connected would be so strong. There was no way he would be able to deny it for long. He let out a soft little laugh as he looked back up at Mik.

"And he will be. The best for you. That's what makes you soulmates, Mik. Two halves of one whole."

Mik knew next to nothing about soul mates and how they worked but he knew that he disliked the idea of being forced to have one. What did Lieve say though? That he might not have one? Or he might never meet the guy. But having him out there still didn't sit right with him because he valued his freedom of choice so much.

What would happen to Rip if or when Mik found this soul mate? Where would Rip go? What would he do? Would he try to deactivate himself? That was such an ugly, ugly thought. A repugnant thought. Not having Rip... on this Earth, that was just unacceptable!

"Well baby," Mik said at last, pursing his lips as he stroked Rip's cheek. "If your soul mate is the best person for you, who will never hurt you and who supports all your hopes and dreams, then--obviously for you, that person is me. And if I'm your soul mate, you have to be mine. So."

Logic. Mik was choosing his own man, thank-you-very-much!

That... that didn't sound right to Rip, though. Anybody could be the best person, who never hurt him and supported him... Well, not just anybody, obviously. But... Mik might not be the only one. Rip wasn't even mostly concerned with himself at this juncture. He didn't want to hold Mik back just because he was here first.

"I just..."

But he also didn't think Mik wanted to hear it. Mik seemed to be pretty stubborn about the whole soulmate deal but that was because he had yet to fully understand it. One day, though, he would. One day.

Moving away from Mik, he grasped onto the edge of the tub and climbed out. Suddenly, he didn't feel like being there anymore. It was nice--while it lasted--but now he just... he wanted to go to sleep (and never wake up). He wasn't even supposed to need sleep but he felt like he just... needed to lie down for a long, long time.

He kept questioning himself. Why he was built, if only to be one way and then twisted to be another when his creator couldn't get what he wanted. Why a soul was chosen to be placed inside of him. Why it wanted what it could never have. He really wished--he did--that Mik could be his soulmate. But he also felt, deep down inside, that it was not the case.

He grabbed one of the towels from the shelf and he wrapped it around himself, only half aware he was still dripping all over the tile floor. He left the bathroom and he didn't know where he was going or why. Just... out. He wandered into the kitchen and around it before going back down the hall and into the bedroom, where he eventually sat on the edge of the bed, still wet, still wrapped with a towel--around his arms, where he didn't even need it.

"Divination," he said finally, "will tell you when you'll meet him. Sometimes even where. Sometimes even a description of who. Depends on who you talk to."

"Wha—?"

He just... left. He up and left and Mik, stunned, was left sitting up in the tub floating aimlessly while Rip—seemingly in a trance—wrapped a towel around himself and walked off. "Well—you can't just leave me here!" He called out, exasperated and indignant, splashing the water with his hands in a futile attempt to express how utterly baffled he was. All this talk about soul mates was entirely upsetting! For both of them!

Tell somebody in love that the person they were mad crazy about wasn't the one and that there would surely be some other bitch soon to arrive on the scene to steal his heart—well that was just pouring a bucket of ice down his pants! It was deeply unpleasant. Mik wanted to believe that he had a choice. That maybe... sure, he had a soul mate in theory, but that if things like souls growing and choosing a new soul mate were possible, that maybe it held true for him too. Maybe his soul mate could change just the same way.

He got out of the tub and grabbed a fluffy—worn—towel. It was fluffy because it was worn, but it soaked up all the water well, the way only long-used towels could. Then he let it fall as he hurried out to follow Rip, finding him in the bedroom sitting on the bed, soaking a corner of it. Mik stood in the doorway, arms akimbo, naked as the day he was born. Frowning.

"That other guy can suck it." He strode across the room and sat himself down beside Rip, reaching over to guide his face up to look at Mik. "Listen up, you. What I'm trying to tell you, if you'd listen, is... It doesn't matter who my soul mate is, or who yours is, or if we end up together for a year or for the rest of our lives. None of that matters. I'm here for you. Always."

His expression softened; the frown disappeared. "As long as I'm alive, you'll always have a home. Got it? I'm never going to abandon you. And you'd damn well better never abandon me!"

Yes, divination. Divination would lead Mik to his one and only. Mik had one, he must have one. Wasn't that how soulmates worked? Rip didn't know, either. Whether they were sort of... assigned one at birth or if they grew to become that way or or or...

He didn't know. He didn't know anything. Except that he couldn't have. Rip couldn't have things. He wanted them--so, so badly. Kittens and goldfish and a cozy, tiny place of their own. And Mik, who was the first person to see him as more than a golem. Raphael was nice to him and Allie only treated him well because he thought he was Jack. But Mik, Mik only saw Rip and there were no preconceived notions about him.... even after Lieve tried to explain things and put things "right."

It was just... having felt it, having seen it... He felt it in his tiny little soul that they were not soulmates. And he knew part of it was because his soul had yet to grow fully into its own. He just... he had to be patient. But what about Mik?

He looked up when he was bid to by Mik's hands and he stared into his eyes. He felt the passion behind his words and the truth of them, too. A year or forever. Rip slowly dropped his gaze.

"I wasn't... I'm not abandoning you. I could never..."

Whatever fate or the universe had in store for him, Mik wasn't having it. He was not. Having. Any of it. On sheer stubbornness alone, Mik got full points. With a tilt of the head and a tightening of the jaw, he openly defied the gods. There were gods all around him, beside him, everywhere and yes, he defied them all.

He snorted as Rip lowered his gaze. Mik didn't let go of his jaw though. He kept Rip's head up, held it up when Rip couldn't seem to hold it up high on his own. "You literally left me back there in the tub." Which he did—Rip did just abandon him in the tub. It wasn't like Mik would remember that moment forever but it counted, too. Small things counted. Small offenses but... also small kindnesses. Small slices of happiness that were shared between them, building up unnoticed over time to form a whole. Small things like that, their impact wasn't realized until the very end.

"And deactivation?" His tone grew grim. Being deactivated meant abandoning him forever, didn't it?

Rip moved his head away from Mik and his hand. His words were damning. Rip said he would never, after just having done what he would never do. They were already setting off on the wrong foot here. He got up, off the bed. But he didn't leave the room. He just held the towel close to his body like it was his only armor. Maybe it was, even if it only covered his shoulders and partway down his back.

"I wanted you to deactivate me." As if that made it different. As if the person doing it would not be hurt. He looked down again, at the floor, at his toes, at the way he was standing like he was ready to drop down onto the floor and huddle in a corner at a moment's notice. He was so tall and he could be so curious and mischievous and flirty. But in this moment, he felt small and mousy and nothing like Jack. Jack, who even in his tiredness managed some semblance of regality and refinement. He was like a tired king. And he was meant to be his father's successor.

Rip, though... Rip felt like he was all of Jack's insecurities and none of his confidence.

"Why?"

And his voice was so small, like a mouse, like a thing that was waiting, shivering, for its final moments instead of facing them head on.

"Why would you..." He drew closer to Mik, looking down at him. Reached out. Touched his chest, where his heart was. Gently outlined the shape of a heart. Not a realistic one. Just the pretty kind with the two half loops and the pointy little end at the bottom.

"...why waste your time on me? I bet... your soulmate is somebody who your aunt will also instantly love. That won't abandon you. Somebody that... will take care of you like I cannot. And you'll know... Like I know, Mik. That it isn't me."

"That's a fucked up thing to want, Rip." Mik told it like it was—and that was fucked up. Because asking him to deactivate Rip was essentially asking him to commit murder! Did Rip want that for Mik? Did he want Mik to... to feel the way he was feeling right now about Brayden Smith? He didn't. Mik knew he didn't but that didn't excuse him going around saying things like that! Things that hurt and scared people and—and just was fucked up.

It wasn't like Mik was mad or anything. Upset though. Definitely. Upset for himself, upset for Rip who kept giving in to his insecurities. It didn't help that everybody around him kept putting him down—Lieve, Aunt Shel, Keith. But Mik kept building him up and it was frustrating that Rip couldn't see all of the wonderful things Mik saw. The mischief, the wonder, the innocence, the dirty little sly smiles when they were alone and Rip's hand slid over his ass. The kind heart. The soft heart and soft smiles. The soul worth saving—by Brayden Smith's own admission, even though Rip killed him!

"You're doing a lot of talking for me, you know. Assuming I'm going to feel some type of way. Telling me you're not the right guy for me. Forcing this other soul mate on me because. I don't know. You don't think you deserve to be loved. But the problem is, you are loved, Rip. Star loves you. Queenie loves you." He smiled in a sudden sense of confidence, sureness and realization. "And I love you." It was so clear to him now, as plain as the sad expression on Rip's face. It was so obvious that he wondered how it took him so long to even say it! He sort of took it for granted, in a weird way.

He assumed the way he felt now was always the way he felt but that was patently not true. Love evolved out of interest and curiosity. Love blossomed over the small moments that added up to fill out that heart Rip drew over his actual heart.

"Do you... love me?" Mik's hands slid to either side of Rip's face, almost trapping his head in place—so he couldn't up and run or something. His thumbs slid across Rip's cheeks, gently stroking a line. "Do you go to sleep wishing I was beside you and wake up searching for me? Do you reach for me in the night? Do you smile when you think about me? Do you think about me all the time? Do you miss me when I'm not there and look forward to the second I walk in the door? Do you touch yourself... and wish it could be my hands on you?" Leaning in, he just barely kissed Rip—just a tantalizing peck on the lips.

"I bet you do. Because I do. Every single day since we met... every waking moment, I'm thinking about nobody else but you. You. You. You." Every 'you' followed a kiss, growing deeper and more passionate. "You. I love you. And you should love you, too, because I... don't think you need a soul mate to grow that soul. You need to love yourself for it to even want to grow."

Yes... he was realizing that it was a fucked up thing to want. It would make him feel better if somebody that cared about him put him out of his misery but... he hadn't thought much about how it might end up making Mik feel. Probably like the way Rip felt right now. He steadfastly kept his gaze turned from Mik, feeling wrong and bad and shameful.

Inside, he squirmed and not in a remotely good way. It was the kind of squirming feeling that lay prelude to running away--far, far away. Rip never knew what kind of person he was before he had really started to be a person. It turned out he was some kind of coward. As Mik continued to talk, Rip slid his hands up over his ears. He could still hear him even if he didn't want to. The scolding was too much.

His gaze darted up as Mik said that he loved him. Rip felt as if he should say something to that but he didn't. He didn't know what to say so he only looked back down. Then Mik was asking if he felt the same way, hands coming up to take Rip's face in his hands. Rip's own hands slid down, resting somewhere close to his own chest, like he had to protect whatever was in there.

Rip didn't know what love really was. How could he answer that question? But if love was that--what Mik listed... Rip closed his weary eyes. Because he couldn't deny those were things that he felt, as if Mik had read his mind. Or because... as Mik said, he felt those things, too. Was that love?

His eyes opened as he was given an affectionate peck on the lips. But then closed with every subsequent kiss. Moving in closer, he brought a knee up onto the bed, between Mik's legs. His arms wrapped around his shoulders and he followed one of Mik's kisses with one of his own before resting forehead against forehead.

"I don't know how," he whispered. "Show me."

Nobody ever benefited from being lied to. If Mik had said that he thought it was a good thing for Rip to want to die by his hand, that would've made him fucked up, too. He thought it needed to be laid out plainly in order for Rip to realize how much harm he could do with careless words. If it hadn't been Mik, if it had been somebody messed up in the head, where would Rip be now?

But he understood that Rip was conflicted at the moment, delicate, vulnerable. His heart was battered and beaten and for so much of his life he was treated as nothing more than a toy. A thing. He was made by some creep who couldn't take no for an answer, and locked up like a prisoner. Maybe his brain wasn't... exactly the same as everyone else's—plenty of humans would've gotten fucked up too, if they had been put into Rip's shoes.

"Listen..." Mik hugged him tight, making room for him on the edge of the bed by scooting back a little and opening his legs slightly. "Having a soul mate isn't the one and only important thing in the world. It's not, Rip, it's just not. Happiness doesn't come from having somebody else complete you. That's just a part of it, like a really nice perk. They can... round you out, but they're not the one who gets to decide who you are. You get to decide who you are, Rip. Only you get to do that. And it's okay to not know what the hell's going on inside, that's... I mean that's puberty pretty much. Some people never figure it out. They're doing okay, they're still getting by, right?"

Rip said show—yes, he heard it right the first time—but some things had to be laid out first. Ground rules. Things that Mik needed to put out there, for the words to circulate around in Rip's funny wonderful strange alien brain, until such time one or two phrases stuck the landing.

Lowering his head to rest his chin on Mik's shoulder, he shook his head. Plainly, Rip was not very good at expressing himself, but to be fair... it was a hard thing to do when he wasn't sure what it was he was trying to express. How did he talk about things he didn't know how to articulate? How did he express feelings he didn't have words to?

So he remained as he was, between Mik's legs with his arms around him and his chin on his shoulder, eyes half closed, gaze on the bed beyond Mik's shoulder. Who was Rip without Keith? Floundering--he didn't know what to do with himself without orders. Explicit orders. He was so accustomed to being told what to do and how to do it that when left to his own devices, he wasn't sure what to do.

Too much freedom was just as scary as having somebody's hand constantly at his throat. Scarier, actually, since at least that hand at his throat was predictable. It had been there so long that it was almost... a comfort. He closed his eyes for a long moment, breathing Mik in. Mik loved him. But Rip didn't know how he felt. About anything. About Mik or himself or anybody anymore. Pressing his face into the hollow of Mik's throat, he allowed himself just a moment to soak him in before he pulled back and sighed.

He edged back, away from Mik and the bed. He moved around to the other end of the bed and rolled onto it, on his back, body laid out flat as he stared up at the ceiling.

"I think I can only do that on my own."

There he went again, turning away—running away from the person offering to accept him with open arms, quirks and all. In a screwed up way, Mik sort of understood that. Rip was used to being treated a certain way. Now he was stuck with someone who was the complete opposite in every possible way, and that was a shock.

Mik sort of took being loved and treated nicely for granted. People loved him; his friends, his aunt Shel, the volunteers at the shelter. He didn't have a huge ego or anything—plenty of people disliked him too—but he had never gone through any real hardships in his life. Except losing his mom. Except that. That and finding out his dad never wanted to stick around. That too.

Sighing, he curled up on the bed beside Rip. He finger-walked over to Rip's arm and lightly tapped the side of it. "Hey." Rip was right in that this was something only he could work out because there were no easy answers. There was no right answer. All of those questions in his head, the confusion in his heart, he had to work it out. He had to find out what kind of person he wanted to be—if he wanted to run from Mik or run to Mik. If he wanted to find out who he was or if he wanted to just hide somewhere and turtle up and retreat from his problems.

"You don't have to do it alone, do you? Wouldn't it be nice to have a handsome guy... along for the ride?"

"Hm?"

He looked down at the hand on his arm, then back up at the ceiling, at the fan that was currently not spinning. Which was just as well because he felt like it would have been too much for his head. There were too many things already spinning around inside his head. He didn't need them spinning on the outside, too.

Slipping his hands up to his own chest, twiddling his fingers, he shook his head.

"Maybe... it would be nice. But I think I have to do it on my own."

If he didn't, he would never know, that was the problem. He was too easily influenced by everybody around him, including Mik. If he was really going to find himself--just himself, and not some person influenced and pushed and molded by other people--then he had to look for it on his own.

"What does that mean? What're you going to do?" Mik slid closer, afraid that Rip was about to go down that deactivation path again. If it was just a matter of finding himself in peace and solitude, that was fine. Mik encouraged that; he was all for it.

But if Rip was going to do something terrible...

"You're not... promise you won't do anything drastic!"

"...drastic?"

Rip wasn't sure what Mik meant by that. He slowly turned his head so he could look at Mik, who was curled up close around him, like he thought maybe Rip was about to run into the wild and never look back. In the buff and everything.

"I just mean... maybe I have to be on my own for a while." He turned his gaze away, looking down at his own hands, toying with one of his necklaces that he had forgotten to take off when he got into the bath.

"How will I know me... if I'm just... mimicking everyone around me?"

"Yeah drastic! Like... oh... forget it."

If Rip wasn't talking about offing himself, Mik wasn't putting that thought back into his mind! Better not remind him that it was even an option... right? Right.

But Rip was right. He might just need time to process all of this and to decide on some things for himself. Mik smiled a touch wistfully as he shifted close and kissed one shoulder softly. "Okay. I'll... I'll go. They put the ward on us so nobody can come find you, right? I guess I can stay at the other place with Lieve and Cori..."

Rip blinked, turning to look at Mik, talking about leaving.

"Ah... no. I... I was going to leave." He looked away. "I still have something to work out with somebody anyway."

Rip was still a golem. Mik seemed to keep forgetting that. There were things golems couldn't do. Like... say, not report back to his superior. Which was part of the reason he had begged to be deactivated. If he went back and he was forced to do something terrible again, he didn't know what he would do.

But he still had to do it; to report back. And he couldn't do it through his psychic connection because apparently Keith had taken that completely in his own hands. There was no safe way to report to Pax except in person--and hope that Keith was nowhere near around when he did.

He was realizing more and more that trial run living here with Mik and his favorite animals... was just a pipe dream. It was a nice dream while it lasted. But like a soulmate for himself, it wasn't for him. Slowly, he sat up. He had planned to rest here but he didn't think it was going to happen, especially not with Mik around.

Getting up, he went into the bathroom and changed back into his clothes. He lied, he thought. About abandoning Mik. He gave him one last look before sticking his phone into his pocket.

"Goodbye, Mik."

"Leave? You can't leave!" Mik leapt off the bed but Rip was heading off to get his clothes, leaving him stunned and gaping and just... just... gutted. Hollow. Whatever he thought his pep talks were going to do, it wasn't this. It wasn't to chase Rip away! And the other guys said Rip should stay here, where he was safe! Rip even agreed!

He grabbed a robe out of the nearby closet that was way too small for his body and jammed it on hastily. "No! No goodbye! You're not going anywhere, and you're not working anything out with anybody!" That sounded BAD.

Like maybe he was going to get himself deactivated because Mik wouldn't do it. And uh—fuck no. Fuck. No. Mik was NOT letting him run off to do something drastic! He clung to Rip physically, on the arm, with both hands. "Stay. You have to stay! It can wait, right? The thing you need to work out with the guy. It can wait for a few more days! You're safe and protected here."

"Am I?" he asked. Safe? Protected? Rip still didn't feel it. He hadn't felt safe in... a long time. Since he'd hurt Brayden. Since he killed him.

"Everyone else will be safer when I'm gone," he said. No Keith sneaking through somehow. No Pax, either. Rip had no idea what Pax wanted out of him but he worked for the king, so whatever it was... he couldn't imagine it would be to harm any of the princes. At least he had that comfort.

But Mik was grabbing onto him and desperately trying to make him stay. Rip lifted up his hands to try and remove Mik's hands from his arm.

"It can't wait. I already fooled myself far too long." His tone was wooden, robotic as he said, "Mik, take your hands off me. It's over. It was all just a fantasy." His gaze softened for a moment. "A nice one... but... a fantasy, all the same."

"Yes? Yes! There's—all those guys out there and Cori! Cori's a demi-god or whatever, that has to be stronger than whatever assholes you were tangled up with!" Mik didn't let go even when Rip tried to pry him off. He didn't believe that everyone was safer without Rip! Nobody believed that! And besides, it wasn't their safety that mattered right now. What would they do to Rip once they had him back?

Mik wasn't going to try and find out!

"It's—no, that's bullshit! It's not a fantasy! We lived it! For weeks we lived together! How is that a fantasy?" Sure, Aunt Shel disapproved but lots of aunts disapproved of their nephews' boyfriends. Lots of parents were homophobic and did crazy shit to their own kids, too! At least Aunt Shel was willing to give Rip a chance (sort of). At least she didn't kick them out, right? And she would've gotten used to Rip's quirks eventually, Mik was sure of it.

He held on tight, almost vice-like. "It might be your fantasy but it's my life. It's not a fantasy for me so if you leave..." If he left, he would be ruining Mik's life. Not a fantasy, but an actual life. And Mik just didn't think Rip had that in him, that his heart could be so hard that he would abandon Mik after promising that he wouldn't. Couldn't.

"You said you wouldn't abandon me. You're not a liar. You wouldn't do that to me."

"Because it is," he said, trying to push back the heat threatening to grow behind his eyes. How he wished Mik could understand where he was coming from! That he wasn't trying to be a liar or a killer or a destroyer of lives. But he was, because he had. He was lying to himself and everyone around him and he killed somebody, even if it wasn't consciously, it was with these hands of his! And he would only continue to harm the people around him. And the longer he stayed, the worse it would be.

"It is just a fantasy, Mik! I let myself fantasize that I'm a person and that I can live a normal life like a human, with kittens and goldfish and a boyfriend who loves me!" His voice inadvertently broke towards the end of the sentence. He hadn't really responded to that but Mik saying he loved him sank in so deep, deeper than he wanted it to, to the point that it scared him.

"But everyone's forgetting that I'm still a golem. Even I... even I..." His voice was small again, the words not wanting to escape his lips, to pass his throat. "I'm a golem. Somebody still owns me, Mik. Somebody still has power over me and worse than that, so does Keith."

"It's not! It's not a fantasy! You have all of those things! You have a kitten and a tank full of goldfish and you have—me! You have a boyfriend who loves you, that part is not a fantasy! How dare you!"

Mik wanted to shake him! He heard the way Rip's voice cracked and it made his own heart crack, too. He sniffed hard, trying his best not to shed any tears. Not that he was too manly or proud to, just that once he started, the hiccups would take over and he couldn't afford to be out of breath hiccuping, unable to argue the point!

He grabbed onto Rip in a tight hug now, because this way it would be harder to pry him off. "You think we don't know that, Rip? You think all those guys out there and me in here, we don't realize what Keith could make you do? What he already made you do? Do you think we don't all know the risks? But we still want you with us! They cast that ward to keep Keith out, they said it themselves—three princes against one guy. The ward protects both of us! We know you're a golem and we don't care. You're the only one who keeps letting that be a thing! You keep bringing that up! Nobody else does!"

Mik shut his eyes tight and clung to Rip harder than ever. "I don't care what the danger is. You can kill me right now for all I care. I love you and I'm sticking with you."

His expression softened and then crumpled at how dare you! He turned his gaze away and blinked hard, swallowing hard. He wanted to just go but Mik wouldn't let him. Why did he have to make this so hard? And now Rip felt like a horrible monster for it. He kept choosing the wrong words and the wrong actions and why didn't Mik see? How bad he was for him and how bad he was at this and how he didn't want to be horrible or a monster?

Now the golem problem, it had not been a problem for him until he met Lieve and realized how bad it was to be a golem. And it became more and more of a problem until Brayden lay dead and he didn't understand how Mik couldn't see why that wasn't a problem and why nobody else saw that was a problem, especially Jack. Especially Jack. They were all so sweet and so nice to him and so understanding and they wanted to lift him so high and all he could think about was... how he was so scummy and didn't deserve any of it.

"But I don't want to. I don't want to kill you. I don't want to kill anyone and I... I did... And I did... I killed somebody so loving and so generous and so selfless... and I don't think he's coming back. I don't think he's coming back, Mik... he said... he said he had to say goodbye. He said there wasn't much time. And nobody's talking about it, how he's gone and I did it and he won't be here anymore. Nobody's talking about how he won't be here."

"He's not gone forever." Mik shook his head against Rip's chest, where he had bowed his head. Still not letting go. Never letting go! That stubborn streak in him refused to give up on Rip, not when he knew that Rip loved him, too. He knew it. Rip never said the words but it was in his eyes; it was in his heart. He felt the same way about Mik that Mik felt about him, otherwise he wouldn't be so torn right now.

"Even if he never comes back, his... memory will live on. The lives he touched with his generosity and selflessness and love, they'll carry on his legacy. I don't know what he was like but if he touched all those hearts out there, then he wouldn't want anybody to be moping and pining over him."

Finally he looked up and he cupped Rip's cheek with one hand; the other was still firmly latched on around his waist. "Don't you see? They all forgive you. Even Jack and he... lost his soul mate. Even Jack forgives you because that's how much Brayden Smith meant to him. And if Jack can forgive you then why can't you forgive yourself? Did Brayden save you just so you can walk back out and hand yourself over to Keith or whoever's out there?"

"No..."

Brayden did not save him or ask for the others to protect him just so he could walk back over to Pax and maybe Keith. There was no telling what Pax's part in the plan had been. Maybe he was part of it all along. And Keith... He shuddered inwardly, as if he were there now, his cold eyes on him. Even the idea of being touched by him now filled him with incredible dread and even disgust. He knew he was a bad man, but he was his creator and in his eyes, he had loved him like a god, like a father, like a lover.

And now... Now he couldn't get past the coldness in his heart when he had grasped onto Brayden's throat. Or the hatred, the pure hatred that ran through his veins while he took over his body. Hatred and desperation. He needed... something. Brayden's death. Jack's attention. Something. Something he wasn't getting. Something he most assuredly did not deserve.

"It hurts," he whispered. "A whole lot. I know I just met him but I... had dreams of him and I felt like I already knew him..."

"I know it hurts. I know." He hugged Rip tightly again but this time, a real hug and not one born out of desperation and fear of Rip bolting from the apartment. Brayden's apartment was filled with so many curious things, faded and worn things that nonetheless contributed to the overall warm atmosphere. It struck Mik almost immediately when he walked inside, that this was a place where love lived. And it was kind of poetic that in here, his love was helping to save a life.

"It would hurt Brayden all over again, though, if you didn't try your damned hardest to carry out his last wishes. You'd feel a hell of a lot worse if you didn't live every day for Brayden, if you didn't do everything in your power to make him proud of you. Right?

Don't you want to be able to say to everyone out there that... this life Brayden saved didn't go to waste? And if Cori does bring him back, don't you want to be able to look him in the eyes and tell him that you did your best for him, like he did his best for you?"

Briefly he closed his eyes. Having to acknowledge that he—Mik—wasn't good enough to give Rip the motivation he needed to live was a sharp dagger to the heart. It really was. He loved Rip and Rip loved him but they weren't on the same level. Yet. Maybe some day... But if acknowledging that Brayden Smith was the best thing for Rip right now and if that would keep him from doing something dumb, then so be it.

Love was a bitch that way though, wasn't it?

Honestly, he couldn't tell if that was the right way to live or not. Living just for somebody else, it was so selfless. And he wasn't sure if he was really that selfless at heart. Because he knew a big part of wanting to be deactivated was an escape, even if it would benefit others and keep them safe at the same time. And he really wanted to escape.

And so he didn't answer because how could he answer that? How could he say he did the best for anybody when he didn't and he wasn't?

Idly, he patted Mik on the back a few times but he didn't feel like anything was fixed. But maybe if he pretended they were, Mik would stop trying so hard. Rip didn't understand why he kept trying so hard. Because... he loved him. Because... that meant trying to fix things that couldn't be fixed.

"If you leave, I'm leaving with you. I'm not letting you go anywhere alone." Mik's expression was grim, lips set in a thin line. A determined line. "If you're going to get in trouble, I'm going to get in trouble with you."

And if he was going to get himself deactivated, well, Mik might have to get deactivated too. He didn't know. It was possible. He was nothing but a dumb human, with dumb human emotions and dumb human traits: persistence, stubbornness, loyalty. Mik wasn't the type of person to run away from a difficult choice, no way, no how. Otherwise he wouldn't be out there saving all those animals, and fostering so many more.

Slowly he moved back from Rip. No, he wasn't giving Rip a choice here. That wasn't his choice to make anymore because Mik was taking his own fate into his own hands. His Aunt Shel would probably freak out if she knew... but he knew deep down that this was something he just had to do for himself. "So. Leave. If you want. I'll be right behind you."

Bring the human.

Mik frowned. "What?" He looked at Rip but Rip's lips hadn't moved. Right? Rip didn't speak just now but he heard a man's voice in his head. "Did... you hear that?" He looked all around but they were alone in the bedroom. Totally alone.

Rip looked back at Mik and his grim expression. His probably mirrored Mik's. Why? Why would he want to follow him? He furrowed his brow and he frowned at Mik, all set to argue when a voice stopped him. It felt like his heart stopped, too. But it was just Pax. Not Keith. Still, he was still the devil he didn't know.

But his eyes widened when Mik responded as if he had heard the voice, too. Rip stumbled back a step from Mik, as if putting physical distance would somehow change things. The shock and surprise became fear; why would Pax want him to bring Mik?

"No," he said aloud to Pax as if that would somehow banish him from his mind. Nervously, he looked around, wondering if it hadn't been in his head at all, that somehow Pax had entered the apartment. How... how did he break through the wards, though? The magic the three brothers used on him... rendered utterly useless because of his... golemness, probably.

"Really? You didn't hear that?"

Mik rubbed his temple, which was beginning to throb. Geez. All this arguing was driving him up a wall. He probably imagined the voice then, because he was so stressed out about Rip leaving and everything. Mik thought he was doing so well... Then everything went to shit fast, which left him reeling.

Bring him. Now.

There it was again? Mik actually turned bodily but there was nobody in the freaking room! "I think I need to sit down," he muttered faintly, and staggered over to the bed. He definitely heard it that time! But apparently he was the only one, while Rip looked totally weirded out by him. And scared. Right? That was fear on his face?

"I'm really stressed," he said unnecessarily, defensively.

"What?" he said to Mik, realizing that his utterance of the word no had been mistaken by Mik for something else. What? No! He heard it; how did Mik hear it? But there was nobody there, nobody speaking aloud. It was in his mind, like it usually was, creator to golem. Or in this case, new owner and golem.

And he didn't seem pleased at all with Rip's no. What did he do? Pax said now like he was running out of patience with him. Would he deactivate him if he didn't do as he was told? Hah... joke was on him; Rip was no longer scared of that threat. Once, it terrified him because he had so much he wanted to do and see and experience. Now he was just... tired and sad and sick.

"No!" he said again. Why? Why did Pax want him to bring Mik? And Mik was over by the bed now, looking at Rip defensively. Since Mik was looking a lot like he was about to lie down on the bed, Rip decided to make his break for it, heading out of the bedroom and closing the door behind him--but there was no way to lock it from this side so he didn't have much time. He ran for the front door and shut it, too, running straight for the front gate once he was outside.

Okay so

Rip just ran out the door

Mik was too stunned for a moment to do anything, but then he bolted out too, wrestling with the handle viciously. "HEY! WHAT'D I SAY ABOUT RUNNING?!" He shouted breathlessly as he ran, literally sprinting across the courtyard barefoot in that too-short robe that belonged to Brayden Smith. It was a hideous barf-worthy tan color, almost beige.

The door to Jack's apartment flew open and Raphael's face appeared, looking stunned. "R-Rip and Mik are running away!" He shouted back to the people inside, urgently.

"Rip's running away!" Mik yelled as he tried to lunge at Rip. "Stop him!"

"NO!" Rip screamed as Mik caught up to him. He was briefly stopped by the damned gate. But he finally opened it and once he passed through it, he tried desperately to close it behind him. But Mik was on him now and it was impossible to close it without closing it on him bodily and probably causing harm.

"Let me go!" he cried. "I have to go! If I don't..."

He didn't know. He didn't know what would happen. But he had a feeling if Pax knew he wasn't afraid of deactivation, he would use Mik against him. Hurt him.

"Stay away, you're only going to get hurt."

"I don't care!" Mik was hugging him again, around the waist, grappling with him and wrestling with him as he writhed desperately, trying to get away. "If you get hurt... I get hurt! We're in this... TOGETHER!"

What the hell was Rip not understanding about this?! Mik was sticking by him! Through thick and thin! End of discussion! He would rather be there with Rip in the worst moments than sit around waiting for him to solve everything magically, so he could only be present when it was all sunshine, rainbows and kittens.

"If you leave I'll get hurt anyway!" He would--his heart would be broken. He would be devastated not knowing where Rip was or what he was doing. Or what people were doing to him. That was worse than being there and suffering, he thought.

Rip tried to move away and get down the street but Mik stubbornly held onto him. And somewhere, he could see that others were mobilizing from the other apartment. The last thing he needed was everybody following him! And he couldn't seem to do anything about Mik's tight hold on him.

"Fine!" he cried, hating it, every moment of it. "Then let's go! They're going to follow us!"

And make things so, so, so much worse. Fear still gripped his heart and he didn't know what he was supposed to do with Mik. Maybe find a way to ditch him before he got back to Greenwood, where Pax undoubtedly waited for him.

"Oh shit! Yeah!" Mik grabbed his hand and ran for it again but this time--with Rip. He didn't know why the hell Rip wanted to get away and he didn't know where they were going, but he knew that he was going there with Rip. To protect him. To keep him safe, as much as a barefoot human wearing a short man's robe could.

"Where are we going?!" Home? It was in the opposite direction though. This way led to some less opulent apartments and towards the slightly seedier side of town. Mik panted as he ran, throwing glances over his shoulder at the others who were chasing them but slowly, steadily lagging. Good thing they had such long legs!

Rip sped up, making sure that the others didn't follow them and cutting around a series of buildings so that they would lose them even if they continued trying to catch up to them. Why were they even coming after them, anyway? Didn't they have more important things to worry about? Like Brayden?! Rip should be the least on their minds at this moment.

Once he was sure that he'd lost them, he went around the block to Greenwood, coming upon it from the back. He found his hand was still holding Mik's and when he looked down and realized that, he swallowed hard.

"You shouldn't have come with me," he said ruefully. The Greenwood apartments were rundown and nothing at all like the pretty Sunrise apartments. There was no gate. The paint peeled on the building and when they entered the lobby, it had a distinct musty smell that old buildings that hadn't been properly cared for at some point always seemed to have.

He stood at the old elevator and looked Mik over. "You still have time..."

Mik felt horrible about what they were doing but at the same time, he was trying to protect everyone. Even Rip. Especially Rip. Eventually they lost their pursuers, after a series of twists and turns that left Mik dizzy. To his surprise, they rounded up on Greenwood and Mik—oh wait. Wait. Wasn't Cori kidnapped and kept here? Made sense that those guys would still be here...

But that also meant Lieve and Cori would know where they were. Hopefully. Lieve was smart; he would definitely piece it all together! Mik had the utmost confidence in his friends. He squeezed Rip's hand as Rip turned back to him but he didn't say anything, not until they were at the elevator.

"I'm not leaving." Mik pressed the button to call it down. "Maybe this is a good chance to find out what those creeps are up to. We could bring that information back to the others once we find out enough."

Yeah... if they treated this like a spying mission instead of like them walking into the arms of death... Nah it didn't help. Mik was scared, sure. He was scared all over—but he also loved Rip and he loved Rip more than he was scared of whoever was up there.

Rip sighed. There was no way short of knocking Mik out to keep him from following him. And he thought about it. He seriously thought about it. But by now, they were already here and even if he knocked him out right now, Mik would still be here. And worst of all, he would be unable to defend himself in any way, should the need arise.

As if making up Rip's mind for him, Mik pressed the button for the elevator. Rip stared at the numbers on the top, watching as the elevator made its way down to them. He used his free hand to curl around his own chest and grasped onto the gaudy coat he had put back on when he'd rushed into the bathroom to get dressed and leave.

Meanwhile, Mik was still in nothing but a tiny robe. Rip might have thought it was funny--if he wasn't buzzing inside like a bunch of bees threatening to escape.

When the doors slid open noisily, Rip stepped inside, feeling a lot like a prisoner meeting his end. He wished that Mik would let go of his hand but he was so, so stubborn. Once they were inside, Rip pushed the button for his floor, on automatic. He wished that the elevator would stall--sometimes it sounded like it was about to--but not today. It stopped with a ding and opened up onto the familiar floor he'd been living on for the past... he didn't know how long anymore. Months.

Walking down that hall felt like a death sentence. Not for him, but for Mik.

"He told me to bring you," he said quietly, barely an octave above a whisper. He shook his head. "You shouldn't have come..."

And there it was. The door loomed before him, the same one that Cori had escaped through, the same one Rip had stared at from the other side while he sat on the couch with Raphael and wondered when Keith was coming back. His eyes narrowed. Keith.

It didn't surprise him at all that when he reached for the door, it wasn't locked. He opened it but didn't enter. He let the door creak open while he stood in front of Mik, hand still tight in his, heart in his throat.

What could he say? He lived dangerously.

No, he didn't. Mik literally lived the typical American teenager life—hanging out with his best buddies, helping his Aunt Shel at the shelter, going to class at the local community college and having a good time overall. He never hated his life even though he met and shook hands with tragedy early on in his childhood. He never thought of himself as that poor little orphan boy who had no mommy and daddy, boo hoo hoo. Self-pity wasn't a word in Mik's vocabulary.

He was also bolder than most others and more willing to put himself out there. In a way, having experienced that pain before made all other painful moments bearable. How could it get worse than losing a parent? How could anything be more gut-wrenching than realizing that he was alone in the world? Before Aunt Shel came to claim him, Mik spent a bit of time in the foster system and that really opened his eyes to what pain really was.

So here he was. He was walking into a trap and he knew it, and he still did it. Beside him, Rip was nervous and anxious and unhappy and Mik felt that. He hung on to Rip's hand tightly, all the way up in the elevator, all the way up to the door with the faded numbers on it. "He doesn't know what he's getting himself into," was all he muttered. If that guy thought Mik was going down without a fight, he was dead wrong.

At the door, he steeled himself and as it opened he took in a sharp breath. Nobody was inside, apparently. Oh—wait. A tall, dark-haired man walked into view and gazed at them. He seemed surprised to see Mik standing there but he beckoned for them to enter as he remained where he was. Mik was the first to take a step inside, trying to keep his expression frosty and aloof—even though he was shivering inside, and his hand in Rip's felt clammy and sweaty.

"Ripper." The man nodded. "You have done well. Leave the human here, you may retire to your room."

Mik's nostrils flared. "The human has a name, you know."

"...hm," was all the man said, though his brows lifted. "Indeed."

"No..."

He tugged on Mik's hand but Mik was already stepping into the old, familiar apartment. It looked lonely and sad now, without the people who once occupied it. Presently, it seemed to literally just be Pax. But Keith could be anywhere and the idea sent ice down Rip's spine and terror in his stomach.

Mik seemed ready to face whatever they were walking into head on but Rip was far more reluctant, clutching onto Mik and wanting to pull him back out. But no. They were here and Pax was looking at Mik like he didn't expect to see him here. Well! He wouldn't be here, if it weren't for Mik's stubbornness!

The direct order hurt as he stood there, trying to deny it. The same as when he blurted out no earlier--trying to defy a direct order from his master made things... difficult. The closer he had come to the apartment with Mik, the less and less the pressure inside felt until now. And now it was mounting again because Rip didn't immediately go to his room, as he was ordered to.

"What are you going to do with him?" he asked, through clenched teeth.

Who even was this guy? How much product did he put into his hair? It was almost too perfectly coiffed and done up, in a way that made Mik want to dunk his head in a tub full of water. He snorted at the man's unimpressed response and slightly stepped to the side to try and screen Rip from him. Nobody was putting their hands on his goddamn man. Not today, not ever.

"I will not hurt him. You will please leave." His words sounded robotic and not like the way a human would speak. So formal. So stiff.

Mik turned to Rip with a tight smile. "It's okay. Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself." He knew where to kick to make it hurt! Mik took self-defense classes after that older guy tried to stalk him before, so he was fairly confident that he would at least not go down without a fight. "I'll be okay." His gaze softened even if his expression couldn't relax.

"All I want is your imprint." The man approached. "Then you may join Ripper."

"Excuse me, you're not touching me," Mik snapped back. Imprint? His imprint? What the hell did that mean?!

"I will not need to touch you."

Although Pax said he wouldn't hurt him, Rip didn't know if he could trust that. A golem's version of not hurting somebody could mean something different than what Rip had come to know as pain. What if he did something horrible and irreversible to Mik? Rip was fine with being deactivated--he wasn't so fine with Mik getting hurt or losing a part of himself because of him. But he'd tried. He tried to leave Mik behind and damn it... curse his long legs.

Rip shook his head. He didn't believe Mik. What did he mean, he could take care of himself? If he could take care of himself, he wouldn't have walked into this willingly! Blindly, really, since neither of them knew what Pax wanted with the so-called "human."

Why couldn't he just tell him what he was doing? Why did he have to send him away? And the direct order was really starting to crawl under his skin. He backed up, his legs moving without his permission towards his room. Which was not his room. It was Keith's room. He didn't want to go there. But his feet carried him there as he listened to Pax saying something about an imprint.

Rip did not know what that meant. He didn't like it though. He didn't like any of this.

Entering the room he shared with Keith, he could feel different emotions flickering inside of him. Familiar bed. Familiar clothes. Some were his, some were Keith's. He could still smell Keith in the room. Not unpleasant but it hurt his heart and made him want to recoil at the same time. After what Keith made him do, he could never see him the same way.

Swallowing hard, he sat gingerly on the edge of the bed but that only lasted for a few seconds before he was back on his feet, pacing around the room, touching the dresser, looking at the mirror mounted on it and then quickly looking away. His eyes were so red-rimmed, even under all that gaudy gold makeup he'd applied for his meeting with Brayden. He didn't want to be reminded of that.

He turned away from the dresser and ran his hand over the headboard of the bed, looking out the window on the other wall. It faced out to another building in the vicinity. Not a pretty view at all.

"What have you done to Ripper?"

"Nothing!" Mik found himself forced to sit on the couch like—literally his limbs wouldn't listen to him. He struggled fiercely but he ended up on the couch anyway, with that creep manipulating his legs to walk over, bend and his ass to hit the cushion. Magic. Cop-out bullshit.

"His soul has grown." The man stood before him and for a chilling moment Mik thought he was going to unzip his pants so he could force Mik to blow him. Well he was going to get a big CHOMP if he tried! Mik would bite his dick off without a second thought!

Instead, the man only traced the outline of his face. His hands glowed softly green as he did so, seeming to map out Mik's features. "It could not have happened after what happened to Brayden Smith."

"You know...?" Helpless to resist, Mik glared up at him. And his stupid perfect hair.

"Yes. I was there with Keith. He did not know it, of course. His hatred blinds him."

"...fucking asshole. Both of you. What are you even doing to me? Let me go!"

"I will, after I finish imprinting you. Did you grow Ripper's soul? He appears protective of you. A very... human trait." The man paused; his hands glowed gold now.

"Whatever." Mik shut his mouth. He wasn't telling this asshole anything! But to his dismay, a sort of glowing magical mask began to form in the air right in front of his face, like the guy was weaving it out of magic. "What's that? What're you doing?"

"Imprinting," the idiot said again infuriatingly. He plucked the mask delicately out of the air and studied it. "This will do. You may join Ripper."

And again against his will, Mik was forced to march down the hall and into some random room where Rip was pacing around. "Rip?" He collapsed as the control of his limbs was restored to him, but for a second he lost all strength in his arms and legs and folded at the door.

"Jack..." Keith breathed. It was the very first real memory that Rip had that was his and not Jack's. When he opened his eyes and Keith looked him over as Rip stood there, naked and obedient and ready to do anything for his creator. "You look exactly like him."

And Rip stared at him, inordinately proud of something he had nothing to do with. Did he? Did he look exactly like him? If Keith was pleased, then Rip was pleased. But then a dark cloud crossed Keith's face and he grabbed hold of his chin as he moved in close, stepping into his personal space.

"Don't fucking look at me like that."

Rip still didn't know what he'd done wrong but Keith had some kind of strange love/hate relationship with him. Sometimes, he was so, so pleased with him. And sometimes, he was irrationally irritated with him for reasons he never voiced for Rip. One thing was for sure; he had never been enough for him. Keith wanted something he would never, ever have. Rip almost felt sorry for him now that he realized that. Almost.

But he couldn't bring himself to really feel it, not when he remembered coming back into his body with a dead Brayden staring into nothing with glassy, lifeless eyes.

Closing his eyes, he took in a sharp, painful breath.

When he heard his name, he thought for a sickening second that it was Keith but to his relief, it was Mik. Rushing over to his side, he wrapped his arms around Mik before he ended up slipping to the floor. Alarmed at Mik's apparent weakness, he helped him to the bed.

"Are you okay? What did he do to you?!"

"I do not like that man!" Snapped Mik savagely as he was picked up and helped to the bed, where he flopped heavily onto the cheap mattress and scratchy blanket. "I do not like that man one bit!" He glared up at the ceiling for a hot minute, hissing a stream of curses that would have made his Aunt Shel grab him and wash his mouth out with literal soap.

"He did some weird thing around my face. I thought he was going to rape me or something." Finally he felt the feeling come back to his arms and the first thing he did was reach over and grasp onto Rip's hand. It was comforting, a familiar touch.

Mik was really trying not to lose it. He didn't know what that man did but it felt like a giant invasion of privacy and he didn't like it. He felt violated even though nobody put anything in him. His identity had been stolen though. His face.

"He made a mask of my face, Rip. It was like this magic... thing he made. What's he going to do with it? Is he going to pretend to be me and—try to trick the other guys? Is that his plan?"

Rip didn't know how he felt about Pax yet but he was definitely wary of him so his mouth remained a frown and his eyes remained concerned as he watched Mik flopping over onto the bed. It was nothing like Brayden Smith's nice, soft bed. It was nothing like the guest room bed, either, at Mik's aunt's house. And it was nothing like Mik's bed, either. Rip slowly sat back down on the edge of it, hands between his knees, ankles crossed.

"R-rape?" Rip turned to look over at Mik sharply, then felt Mik's hand reaching out for him, over his thigh. Slowly, he removed one of his hands from between his knees and slid it underneath Mik's questing hand. It seemed to help, at least.

"I don't know," he said. "I don't know what 'imprint' is..." He frowned. But it sounded bad, if Pax was making a mask of Mik's face. It did sound a lot like a magic mask to assume another person's identity.

"What would he want to do with your identity, though...?" he asked, confused. "I don't understand."

"You know how we were going to spy on him?" Mik's tone was low, a whisper, but a dark whisper. "I bet he's thinking of doing the same thing. Those guys don't know me so... if a fake me walked in, they wouldn't be able to tell that it's a fake. And I'm human so maybe they wouldn't be wary of me."

See, that was some movie supervillain type shit right there. And stupid. Because Lieve and Cori were there and they knew Mik better than anybody in the entire world, with the exception of his Aunt Shelby! So that guy out there was fucked if he thought he could waltz in and pretend he was Mik!

But that was only a guess at best. Mik didn't really know what imprinting meant. He didn't know shit about magic either; he was only a human. And being only human it wasn't like he had anyone to talk to who could teach him things about the magical world. Everything he knew in his limited knowledge came from Lieve and a bunch of others—mostly shifters.

"He could have used me for that," he said, still frowning. Not that he wanted to be used in that way but... Maybe he wasn't doing enough. Pax must think he could do a better job. But Pax was too much of a golem. They would know right away that he wasn't Mik, especially if he showed up after Rip ran off with Mik. Everybody knew that Rip was affiliated with the enemy.

"It won't work."

But what else would a golem like Pax want with a human's face? Who could he possibly be trying to fool? Anybody he tried to get close to with Mik's face was going to be suspicious. Mik had way too much personality. And Pax... did not.

"Oh it definitely won't work," Mik snorted angrily as he laid there flat as a starfish, staring at the ceiling. "I mean can you imagine that guy trying to be me? I am Mik. I am a human. Observe me being human. Nothing to be suspicious of, humans."

His impression of that guy was spot on, he thought, and probably very insulting. Robotic, stiff, emotionless, that guy was about as far from Mik as anyone could be. He had no personality of his own! How the hell was he going to mimic someone with all the flair and passion and stubbornness of Mik?!

"We'll be rescued in no time once Lieve and Cori realize that's not me. I bet we could even hold him hostage! Hah! That'd show him not to mess with us!" Mik allowed himself a pleased, if still angry, grin. "Oh um. He said... your soul grew though. Like he was rude about it, but he said that."

Rip half smiled.

"That's how golems usually are."

He lowered his gaze to look at their linked hands, then down at his other hand, still tucked primly away between his knees. What happened to him being special? Pax had strange plans that he didn't appear to be sharing with the team. Not that there was much of a team left. For a time, they were like an odd, dysfunctional little family. Rhys was supposed to be their leader but Keith really took the role and ran with it. And Raphael was like a brother, of sorts. Equally shrugged off, equally used as a tool, although in a different way.

And then... Raphael disappeared. And then Rhys disappeared. And then Keith was sent home. And Pax came in. And the only old person left in the whole group was... him. There was also Rhys' sister but she didn't live with them and she had a different group she worked with. And most of them were dead now, from what Rhys said.

"Huh?" He had lost himself in his thoughts as Mik talked about being rescued--were they even in need of rescuing?--when Mik brought up his soul. "What do you mean?" It grew...? From what? Hurting Brayden Smith? And he didn't like how Mik said that Pax was rude about it. He froze in fear. "Does he want it to stop? Growing?"

But... but wasn't that what made him so special? Was Pax regretting telling him that now? Had he changed his mind? No... He was a golem. He didn't change his mind... but maybe the king had.

"Like... it grew." Mik couldn't tell if Rip's soul was growing or not but others apparently could. He wondered what it looked like, how they could tell at a glance. Was it a spell? Or a unique set of skills? What he did know, however, was that the guy out there had been rude about it, grilling him about why and how Rip's soul grew. Hell if Mik knew! He was just a human!

Maybe he was thinking aloud, that other guy outside. He seemed slightly taken aback by it, if Mik had to be honest, like he didn't expect it to happen. "He said it shouldn't have been possible without Brayden, but... apparently it happened. I didn't tell him anything though. I did not appreciate his tone."

Rude.

"I don't know what he wants though." Obviously Mik didn't—it wasn't like that guy was whispering his secret evil villain plans into his ear out of Rip's sight. All he knew was the guy made a replica of his face, grilled him about Rip's soul and then sent him back here to this weird bedroom.

Huh...? His free hand rose up to his chest. Was that where it was? He thought it was one and the same, the heart and soul. It beat a little funny--his heart--not quite like a human's heart. But he was sure that the soul resided there. That was where he hurt when Brayden... He lowered his head, his fingers curling inward.

How did Pax know? He tilted his head, curious and questioning what it meant. What it meant for Pax to know. What it meant for him to say it aloud to a stranger like Mik. What it meant for Rip, if it was a bad thing or a good thing. The fact that Mik didn't like Pax's tone when he spoke of it scared Rip. Was he going to do something about it? Stop it where it had just started?

"I don't either," Rip said softly, looking off into the distance. Looking at the doorway without really even seeing it. He didn't understand Pax--and by proxy--the king's intentions. Why they had to do with him.

"You don't have to stay here," Rip told Mik. "You're not a golem. You can disobey orders."

"I probably could slip out the door or through a window or something," Mik mused to himself as he glanced at Rip. He smiled, softly. "But I'm not going to. I'm staying right here because I have different orders from you, Rip."

And his orders were orders that couldn't be disobeyed—not even if he tried. Mik slid his free hand over his chest, his heart. "This is telling me I need to be with you. So I'm going to see this thing out."

With the hand in Rip's, he tugged gently. "Stop worrying about me and let me worry about you, dummy. Come here, lay down."

Good--ah. Mik was joking. Rip sighed. He wished Mik didn't have such a death wish. That he wasn't so staunchly loyal to somebody like him. Rip frowned even as Mik smiled. Different orders? His gaze dropped to where Mik slid his hand over his heart, too. His heart told him he needed to be with him.

At first, Rip resisted the pull to lay down with Mik but after a moment, he sighed and let himself be tugged insistently over, to lay down beside Mik. What else could he do? He couldn't force Mik to do anything. And Rip was told to stay in this room, so... There was nothing left to do but wait.