I think you should probably hug me right now

[Brayden Smith]

"You can call her mom, too," Bray whispered secretively to Jackie--Jack. He scooted closer and smiled as his mother's gentle, soft hands reached down. One hand slipped over his own brown hair--longish even back then--and one over the dark nest of wavy curly hair. "She makes good soup."

His mother laughed, the sound soothing and calming like waves lapping up onto an empty beach, or the wind weaving through full treetops. "Have you two been good? Hm?" The slow stroking motions of her hands continued. "Have you been good to each other?"

"...yep!" Bray nodded emphatically. "Jackie's my best friend! Right Jackie?"

Bray's wings closed over them as he slumped over Jack, shielding him from the darkness that tried to bury them alive. He groaned, tasting blood, tasting tears. Magic. His body was nearly at its limit now, and what little magic he had left in him, he was using to keep Jack safe. Keith wasn't dead but he was no longer attacking them. Something else was--the darkness that released from his body when Bray's magic tore him apart.

"Hang on Jack," he whispered brokenly as he held Jack tight.

[Jack Ripley]

Love.

He felt something like this before. Brayden. But this was a different kind of love. It was the kind of love Jack missed out for his whole life, while constantly seeking it out. He saw it in teachers. He saw it in a nice old lady neighbor. He saw it in her. He felt it, more importantly. He felt it to his core when she touched his head. Jack closed his eyes like a contented cat.

Had they been good to each other? Young Jack didn't even know. Were they? He looked over at little Brayden. Was he as good as he could be? Could he be better? For some reason, he reached out so that his hand slipped into Brayden's.

"My best friend," he echoed, as if tasting the words for the first time.

Then everything hurt again. The golden glow that enveloped him was gone now. There was only biting cold wind and the distant howl of wolves. Hard dirt beneath him. Something warm above him. Jack's tired eyes looked up at Brayden, his shield when his armor wasn't enough.

"...what's happening?" he asked blearily. His tongue felt too thick for his mouth and he could taste the blood from his bitten cheek. Somewhere too close for comfort, he felt... that thick oily darkness that he had always thought was his own sickness. That when he got close to somebody, it took over, made him do terrible, horrific, and unspeakable things to the people who least deserved it.

Blindly, he reached for a hand to clasp onto.

"Brayden?"

[Marguerite De Silva]

Now he was fucking dead.

Marge stomped on his head one more time for good measure, just to be sure. "Mother... fucker..." She kicked him in the temple. Okay she lied--this was the last one. No... no one more. Okay two more. Yeah now he was well and truly dead.

She'd come running when Jack stopped responding to her texts and didn't pick up her calls. Jack always picked up--always. And the things he said before he went silent already unsettled Marge, so it didn't take much for her to drive over. She drove like a madwoman too, nearly running a few people--definitely running a ton of animals over who weren't expecting her to charge down the highway so fast.

The magic in the air was so strong that it almost choked her. She saw the blinding light, then saw it collapsing in on itself. When she sprinted up the path she saw some fucker attacking Jack and Brayden, lashing at them with magic while Brayden huddled over Jack's prone form. Someone--Brayden?--had already almost torn the man completely in two but he kept mindlessly attacking, kept standing there like some fucked-up magically infused puppet on a string. Pure, seething rage took over in that moment and Marge did something she hadn't done for a long time--lose total control.

Those were the two people she happened to love. Nobody was taking them from her--but nobody. Her magic wove through the air and struck the stranger through the heart. Heart magic, used to see into others' intentions, became a physical force. She squeezed--popped his fucking heart like a bad zit. And then the darkness bled away, into the forest surrounding them.

"Jack!" Marge ran over just in time to catch Brayden as he fell, cold and pale. Dead? No! Marge's jaw tightened as she slapped his face a few times, cradling him in her arms. Jack seemed okay--relatively speaking. Dazed, sure. Covered in blood but it didn't seem to be all his. But Brayden... Bee... "Fuck. Fuck. Bee wake up! Wake up! What the fuck happened Jack? Are you okay? Bee!"

[Jack Ripley]

The thick, oily feeling in the air was gone. It was gone. Jack looked up to see Marge--his gorgeous, sassy, take-no-shit, tough-as-nails best friend in all her glory--and she was wild with anger. Jack knew she had a temper. He just never saw it taken to this level of extremes.

And he didn't blame her at all.

"Margie! Brayden, he's..."

She caught him before Jack could and he looked... he looked not good. Pale as death. Death. His eyes were closed but Jack trembled with the memory of so many others staring back with glassy eyes, no life left inside them. His heart hammered in his chest and his throat closed up.

"Brayden," he choked. Not even Marge's slaps could rouse him. He didn't move, didn't so much as twitch. Something was... wrong. Really... wrong. He... he really did it. He... died. For him. Jack choked again on his own emotion, leaning forward to grasp the front of Brayden's shirt, to touch his face, his hair. "No.... no... B... don't do this to me. Don't leave me... I need you, B. I love you..."

He could never go back after this. Ever. It was just too much. His unarmored heart was breaking down into a million little pieces and he would never be able to put it all back together again. He wasn't breathing. Jack's heart plummeted down, down, down. He wanted to die, too. To die with him.

"I think I saw him die," he whispered. "I saw his... his mom."

In that moment, that brief moment, they were connected at the soul level. And then... Jack had been ejected and Brayden... had not. He placed a quivering hand over Brayden's heart. "It can't end this way... we were only just beginning..."

[Marguerite De Silva]

No! Brayden couldn't be dead, he just couldn't. Marge tried to feel for a pulse, pressing her fingers to the side of his neck. Nothing. His skin was cold and clammy and he was unresponsive even to Jack's frantic cries. Marge shook him gently but that, like the slaps, didn't do much.

"Get him in the car." Marge was hard-pressed to stay calm but one of them had to be. They couldn't both freak out! She tried to gather Brayden up, grappling with his lifeless arms and legs to cooperate. There was the tiniest, weakest flicker of light in his chest that responded to the touch of Jack's hand. "He's not dead," she grunted as she tried to get to her feet, "but if we don't hurry and get him some help, he will be."

They needed a magical healer for this, Marge thought. Normal hospitals were ill-equipped to heal magical wounds, or to bring Brayden's soul back into his body. Marge saw the state of his wings, too, how limp they were, how that asshole had slashed through them—slashed right down to the bone, down to the very essence of what a fairy was. Those wings had to be fixed too, which meant that they needed a fairy healer.

"I know a guy... We have to hurry, Jack, before Bee's light goes out!"

[Jack Ripley]

"Right. Right...!"

Jack couldn't just fall all apart. He didn't know if it was worth hoping but he had little choice to hope with all of his heart. Marge tried to lift Brayden up but he seemed too heavy for her; she couldn't be more than 100 lbs, maybe 110 lbs, soaking wet. No way was she carrying Brayden on her own.

"I got him, don't worry."

Jack carefully hefted Brayden in his arms, holding him close to his chest. All he wanted to do was break down, to numb all this pain that welled up inside. But there was another, stronger part of him that was determined to do something about this. He couldn't lose Brayden. He wouldn't let that bastard win, he wouldn't let Brayden go. He kissed his forehead, his heart so, so heavy.

"Let's go, go."

It wasn't easy, hiking back down the ridge with a man in his arms. Jack should have been weak, exhausted as he was. Emotionally, physically. But there was that newfound strength that came with moments like this. The strength of a mother lifting a car off her child. It was that kind of strength and it was keeping Jack going, forward, forward. No going backward.

As soon as he saw the car, he marched straight for it. Almost half ran for it, then thought better of it, in case he ended up slipping and throwing Brayden. But he was quick on his feet. As soon as the back door was opened, he packed Brayden inside, then slid in behind him, resting Brayden's head in his lap. His heart wouldn't stop racing. It hadn't stopped since that vision of what really happened to Andy Davis.

A shaking hand stroked Brayden's hair. His eyes still refused to open. He still didn't move. It didn't look like he was breathing. Did his heart have a beat? Marge said he wasn't dead. The only thing he could do was hold onto Brayden and hope she was right.

[Marguerite De Silva]

"He's heavier than he looks," Marge remarked as she ran for the car after Jack, passing the mangled corpse of whatever asshole decided to fuck with her best friends that night. "Needs to lay off the soup." Oh that damned soup. Brayden couldn't die—who the fuck would make soup like that for them? She never even learned his secret! It was the one time he actually defied her and stood up to her, which was impressive in and of itself given how hard he liked to bend over backwards for everyone else.

Back in the car, she turned the key in the ignition, back up over what sounded like a rabbit or a rat, and drove like a bat out of hell back into town. "I know this fairy, he... he's what they call a fixer. Got healing magic coming out his ass. But he's annoying as fuck so I try not to go to him too often." This was an emergency though—Brayden's life was on the line.

Poor, sweet Bee. Marge glanced into her rearview mirror at his pale face, and his blood-soaked body. He looked so small and so fragile in that moment that it broke her heart. Her hands tightened around the steering wheel as she drove faster and faster back into the town proper. "What the fuck happened back there Jack?"

[Jack Ripley]

Annoying or not, if the guy could fix Brayden, Jack would lick his damned feet for life if he had to. (Not really but...) Brayden wasn't improving in the least. Jack kept hoping he would suddenly stir, or sit up, gasping. Anything to show that he was here with them--with him--alive. And what would have happened if they just sat there stargazing, without knowing? If they didn't talk about... it? The hideous secret Jack had hung onto like poison to his soul for decades? If Brayden didn't open his eyes?

It could have been worse. Could it be worse?

Jack kept whispering to him. Holding him to his chest, like he thought maybe if Brayden could hear his heart beating for him that it might bring him back to life. And he kept telling him that he promised--god, he promised he would never ever hurt him--and that he loved him and please, please, Brayden, please wake up.

"That person," he spat, "Keith Hargrove, or whatever his real name is. He was my ex. My first boyfriend, a long time ago. I thought he died, but apparently he faked his own death, I don't know what the fuck he was thinking. But he's been... killing everybody I date. All this time, I thought it was me... He said he was a fairy, Marge... but he... he was nothing like Brayden."

[Marguerite De Silva]

"That was no fucking fairy," Marge spat as she blew past a stop sign—a mere suggestion in the moment, really. "So that asshole's been... what?  Stalking you and killing everyone you dated? Jesus talk about being fucked up in the head." Well, no more—she stomped his head more than a couple of times to flatten it out good. That creep deserved so much more, she thought, for doing what could only be described as inhuman things. Tormenting Jack like that, how obsessed was he?

But Marge recalled the black magic in the air and frowned at the road ahead. "So what? He followed you two out there to kill Bee? Why? It's not like killing him would've gotten you back."

In no world could Marge imagine Jack being with a deranged lunatic like that, especially not one who hurt innocent Bee. Bee who gave up his life to save Jack, in the ultimate form of sacrifice. Marge slammed a fist against the steering wheel. They couldn't lose Bee. They just couldn't!

"What made you realize he was the one? That asshole I mean. That he did the killing and not you?"

[Jack Ripley]

No, he sure didn't seem like one. There was something much more dangerous about him. Maybe that was how fairies were. Maybe he was a different kind. Weren't there dark fairies? But whatever that... thing... was, he wasn't and never would be a match for somebody as sweet as Brayden. And maybe that bothered him. But it didn't mean he had to go around killing them!

"Apparently he's been in Hazleton for a while. He disguised himself as somebody named Phil and tried to ask Brayden out a few months ago. He must have been stalking him... us... for months."

God. He shivered at the thought of Keith being in Hazleton this whole time. The whole time. And he'd even tried to get Brayden alone... What was he planning to do with him then? Kill him. Jack couldn't even swallow past the lump of emotions in his throat.

Jack kept looking at Brayden. Kept waiting. But he was... so cold. His body was no longer as warm as it once was. His face... felt so wrong. Like it was really true. That the life had been drained from him. Jack tried to warm him, caressing his face, his chest. Baby B. BB. His Brayden. And Jack was his. His. He only looked up because Marge struck her steering wheel in rage.

"Oh, that... Remember I told you that I told B? About... everything? We both had this mental breakdown. He held me... and I held him..." His gaze grew far away, as if the recent events were years past. "I closed my eyes and this... vision... it was so vivid. And it contradicted everything that I knew about the first--the first... murder. It was like... Brayden opened my eyes to the truth. But I don't think he knows. I don't know if he ever will." His voice broke at the last part. "He wanted to save me... he wanted to fix things and we didn't think that he could. And he did. He really did."

[Marguerite De Silva]

"That sick FUCK!" Marge's car was not the place for innocent ears, no. That sick fuck tried to get Brayden all alone? No doubt to hurt him. It made her hot with rage to think about someone exploiting their little Bee in that manner, to get to Jack in order to fuck him up even more. Using one to get to the other, and both of them were only trying to build some sort of relationship and life together—with no small investment of time and energy from Marge herself. Not to mention a bottle of very expensive red wine.

She heard Jack murmuring to Brayden in the back, saw him holding him so carefully like he was made of glass. B, B, he kept saying, whispering promises that Brayden couldn't hear, touching his cold, blood-stained face, smoothing back his hair. Marge's heart couldn't take any more of it. The lovers that were supposed to be pure and beautiful in the depth of emotion the had for each other... ruined by some fucking obsessed fairy who didn't know how to take no for an answer. She should've stomped his balls while she was out there too.

"Can't be the fairy jizz," Marge muttered to herself. So Jack had a vision... days after he's swallowed all of it. Then that ability was all his, wasn't it? Unless Brayden was so powerful... But look at him. Stuttering, shy, withdrawn little Bee who could barely look people in the eye, how could he be that powerful? He didn't even look like a fairy. If Marge didn't know, she would've thought he was just an ordinary human.

"Don't give up yet. The fixer, he'll... he'd better fix our Bee." Marge's tone was dark, grim, steely. The car swerved around a corner and skidded to a halt in front of a row of perfectly ordinary, cookie-cutter houses. She pointed to one. "That one. Let me do the talking, okay?" She got out hurriedly and marched up to the door and kicked on it hard. "Open the fucking door John!"

A light turned on inside at her repeated kicking. The door soon opened to a sleepy man pushing glasses up over the bridge of his nose. "Marge?" He scratched at the sandy blond stubble across his jaw, eyes flickering from Marge to Jack to— "HOLY SHIT!" He tried to slam the door shut but Marge had a foot in there and shoved it back open.

"Get inside Jack. Get in," She muttered hurriedly, as John stumbled back, staring at Brayden as though he was seeing a ghost.

[Jack Ripley]

Jack fully agreed. Keith was a sick fuck. He'd always been... odd. Jack never knew, of course, that he was a fairy. Was he always like this? Dark? Was he once like Brayden? No. He was never like Brayden. He used to get pleasure out of kicking the shit out of Jack.

"I saw that, you know."

"Saw what?" Jack said, taking another drag from his cigarette. They were under the bleachers, their favorite place to hang out when they were ditching a class together. This was before Harvard, when he started wearing all the fine, dandy frippery that he would later become quite famous for. Now it was just typical high schooler shit--hoodies and ripped jeans.

"I saw you out back giving that fucker Derek a blow job."

Jack rolled his eyes. "That was a week ago and I only did it for the cocaine." He flicked his ashes pointedly. "Cocaine you had no problem snorting with me, as I recall."

A backhand so hard across the face that the corner of lip bled. Jack dropped his cigarette and swore.

"Don't get smart with me, asshole." Keith bent down to pick up the cigarette. It was still lit. He took a long drag from it and purposely blew the smoke into Jack's face. "Don't forget. You. Belong. To. Me."

"What does it mean..." he started to ask Marge--what did it mean for a fairy to say that? To say that a human belonged to them? But there was no time for that. They were here and there was no time to fuck around. As soon as the car stopped, Jack was out, pulling Brayden with him, cradling him close as he hurried to follow Marge to the door. It didn't surprise him at all that she'd scream at the door and give it a good, hard kick.

The guy--John--didn't seem all that amenable to having guests, especially when he saw Brayden but too late for that. They were coming in whether he liked it or not. If he was their last chance, then this was where they had to be. Jack pushed through the door and inside. Nobody had to tell him twice.

[Marguerite De Silva]

"Why did you bring him here?"

"What? Because he's dying you fucking idiot," Marge hissed as John latched onto her arm, trying to stop her from invading his house. "You have to fix him."

"Him?! Fix HIM?!" John whisper-screamed. "The PRINCE of FAIRIES?! ME FIX HIM?"

"...what?" Marge did stop now, staring at John who was perspiring heavily. He wiped the corner of his long pajama sleeve over his forehead and swore under his breath, looking anxiously at Brayden and then at Jack, and finally back at Marge.

"The fucking prince of fucking dream fae! That guy!" He pointed at Brayden. "He can't be here! Do you know how much trouble I'd be in if they found out he's here at my house, half-dead?"

Marge punched him square in the jaw. To calm him down. "Fix him. NOW. John."

He gave her a ridiculously injured look and then scuttled after Jack, instructing him to lay Brayden down onto the living room couch. "Fuck fuck fuck." That was all he seemed to know how to say as he bustled around, grabbing things out of cupboards and drawers, conjuring them out of the air and laying all sorts of weird looking instruments onto the coffee table.

Marge took Jack's arm and led him over to the small loveseat facing the couch that Brayden was draped across. She sat down and pulled him down with her so that they could both watch John. "He says... Bee is... royalty, apparently. Did you know this?" Marge sounded calm but she was flipping her shit. Bee? Royalty? Prince? None of those words fit together into any recognizable sentence.

Half-deliriously she added, "You swallowed royal magical fairy jizz baby."

"What? He did?" John straightened, looking startled. "Not all of it!"

"Yup. All of it."

"Jesus fuck a donkey!"

[Jack Ripley]

Huh? Jack stared at John uncomprehendingly. Prince? Of dream fae? That was a thing? They had princes? Like... royalty? Jack didn't know what to make of it. It didn't really even matter if Brayden never woke up. With some reluctance, he did as he was told, not really wanting to let go of him. Somehow, he felt like holding him would keep him with him. Obviously, that wasn't the case or he'd be awake by now.

With even more reluctance, he allowed himself to be pulled away and sank down into the loveseat with Marge. His gaze moved from Brayden to whatever John was doing. And then back again, because he couldn't stop looking at Brayden, whose face seemed to be growing more and more ashen as he watched. Jack wrung his hands together, leaning forward. Fuck.

"No," he said in an emotionless tone. "He never told me."

Apparently there was still a lot left to uncover between them. So many things they never got to share. Jack wanted to know more, about Brayden, about his family, about his culture. He wanted... to just belong to him, to a family. He lowered his gaze. Fuck, he was so tired of that burning sensation behind his eyes. It just kept prickling at him, coming and going with every new thought or emotion.

He let out a little snort at Marge's comment. Yeah, he did, didn't he? Royal fairy jizz. He wished he could find it funny but absolutely nothing was funny to him at the moment.

Eyeing John as he swore, Jack self consciously adjusted his tie. Not that it mattered. He was a goddamn mess. His hair was sticking up all over the place--he was lucky he even had any hair left after Keith fucked with it so much. And his clothes were covered in dirt and twigs.

"What? Is that some kind of taboo? I like sucking dick, all right? I don't judge you for your kinks." Not that he knew the guy's kinks but he wouldn't. Probably.

[Marguerite De Silva]

"John will fix him, don't worry," Marge murmured to Jack as she slipped an arm around his shoulders, drawing him closer so that he could rest his messy head against her if he wanted. She was worried too—almost to death—but she couldn't let Jack see that. It would only heighten his own fears and concerns, stir him up to a fever pitch. That didn't do anybody any good.

But her heart trembled any time Josh went near Brayden, any time he so much as muttered something in that weird-ass fae language of theirs. A fae prince... Bee. Nope. Still didn't make any sense to her. Brayden was... Brayden. He wasn't some hoity toity royalty wearing crowns and pretending he was better than everyone by birthright. He was Bee, down to earth and mild-mannered and kind, encompassing everyone in his light whether he knew it or not. He was so lovable; was it any small wonder that Jack and Marge both fell in love with him?

"No, no, sucking dick is... is great. If you like it, you should suck as many as you want!" John was quick to reassure Jack. He seemed to realize how stupid he sounded, though, opened his mouth as if to apologize, shook his head and went back to what he was doing—cleaning Brayden up with some kind of green-tinged oil that absorbed right away into Brayden's skin. Brayden was naked now, having had all of his tattered clothes removed. Marge was heartened to see that where the oil soaked into him, the flesh began to knit and repair itself.

But his wings... they still looked horrible. And their color was faded, like a page of colorful drawings left out in the sun too long where the colors receded into pastels.

Marge shook her head. "The thing about swallowing all of it is... It's a little. A lot. Almost guaranteed to be addictive. You know the fairy dust I told you about? That's mostly magical runoff, you know, whatever's left after they cast their spells. Their cum is like concentrated magic. So think about a thousand times stronger than the fairy dust. Most people pass out from just a taste." And Jack swallowed... all of it.