Chapter Text
Oaklyn walked through the forest with ease, her footsteps silent against the underbrush. The heels of her feet hovered above the grass and she took measured steps, sometimes quickly shifting her foot just before she fully planted her foot. He followed her step, tiptoeing around the crunchy leaves so he wouldn’t make too much noise.
The air changed and the Fae-elf… Falf… Fealf? Whatever, the woman shaped creature stood still just within the treeline. He could see the shape of the trailer against the darkened sky, and the lights were off, except for the one in his own room. Great. His absence was noticed.
“You sure I can’t just hang out in the woods for the night? Even just the human woods? There’s a tent in that shed over there, I’ll be safe enough.”
Her yellow eyes looked down at him, a small frown on her lips. She let her gaze draw back to the trailer he lived in.
“You seem to not like your own home. Why not,” she asked.
Daryl’s shoulders rolled forward in a shrug, gazing up at the full moon as it illuminated the sky and the grass.
“Dunno. Just like the woods more.” He just wanted to not have to go in that room. To not hear the words or feel the pain. To not have to use the same moon he felt safe under to find the branch he’d be beaten with.
“They call to you don’t they?” Her lupin eyes settled back onto him. “The calls of those old bones buried beneath the soil, your ancestors whispering for you to follow them. Do not answer that call. That call you feel in your own bones, that’s not your ancestors, that’s the mountains. Gods older than Saturns rings lay there, gods even your own has tried and failed to destroy. Stay on the trail paths, those who stray do not return for a reason.”
Daryl stared at her. He couldn’t tell if that was deep and poetic or the eccentric ramblings of a creature left alone for too long. Maybe both.
“Okay,” he said. With a nod, he walked off. He was not about to try and unpack whatever words she spoke at him. The grass softened his footsteps as he walked towards that illuminated window. He looked back, expecting to see those yellow eyes reflecting the moons light back at him, but nothing was there. She was gone already, silent like the night she stalked in.
Opening his window, he climbed in as quietly as possible. Merle was sitting on his bed. This was either about to be really bad, or really good, no in between with his older brother.
“Baby brother, finally decided to grace us with your presence. The hell were you?” Not mad. Yet. Just calm down Dixon, you know what to do. Lie your ass off but tell the truth. Keep it simple.
“I was in the woods.” Daryl stood there, hands shoved into his pockets. Relax, dumbass.
“You ain’t got your pack, and damn sure ain’t got no game. Just out there twiddlin’ your thumbs and playin’ with yourself?”
“No. I went out to meet a girl. Just… kinda lost track of time.” Simple, and the truth. It would work. And by the grin splitting Merle’s face, it was.
“Got yourself a girlie friend out there? Look at my baby brother, becoming a man already. So, what she like?”
“Uhm. Older.” That was an understatement.
“How much older?” The older brother’s brows were knit together in suspicion. This wasn’t good. His mind was screaming at him to lie. Make it believable too, because he didn’t want Merle sending out a one man man-hunt for a creature he was sure could — and would — rip him limb from limb.
Daryl rolled his shoulders forward, looking down. He could feel his face heating up, and he prayed Merle took it as him being flustered over a girl rather than lying.
“Dunno. She’s a few years ahead. She’s from a different school.” He could see Merle visibly relax, and relaxed a little himself.
“So, where’d you meet her? She pretty? Must be somethin’ if she got you red.”
“She’s… Met her out there. She got lost chasin’ some rabbit, so I helped her back. And then we met back out there again. And I guess she’s alright to look at.”
“You guess? What she look like?”
Oh shit. Think, think… what would a human her look like? Start simple. She’s got brown hair.
“Well, she’s got brown hair.”
“Such a poet. What else?”
“Uhm, she’s got some unique eyes. Sometimes, when the light hits them weirdly, they look yellow. Kinda freaks me out a bit,” Daryl said. Should I have said that? Is that even a color a humans eyes can be?
“Bet they’re real pretty lookin’ up when she’s on her knees su—“
“Shut the hell up man!” Now Daryl was scarlet red, and it was from being flustered. Damn his older brother.
“Just sayin’. So, how’d you ‘lose track of time’ with this chick?”
“Just talkin’.” He saw Merle give him a look. “Really, we was just talkin’ out there, nothin’ else. ‘Sides, she’s got too much money to bother with me.”
“She got Daddy’s money?”
“Yeah. No mom, and I think her stepmom died. Her old man don’t seem to got time for her either.”
“So, you gonna go ‘talk’ to this girl again?”
“Dunno, probably. Thinkin’ of takin’ a tent out this weekend. You cover for me?” He was tired of being chased out of the woods, especially after what he saw tonight. He wanted to capture the beauty of it, but he knew he couldn’t afford a camera.
Merle grinned his shit eating grin again. He stood, walked over to Daryl and gave him a heavy clap on the shoulder.
“Can do baby brother. Just make sure you catch a few rabbits or you’ll catch shit from dad.”
“I know. Just get outta here already,” Daryl said, impatient to get Merle and that stupid grin of his out of his room. Great. Now Merle thinks I’m fucking that creature. Whatever gets him off my ass.
Thursday, just one more day to go. He stalked through the halls of school, trying to will the day to go faster. He filtered into Mrs. Tudor’s class, getting stopped by her once more. Fucking great.
“How are you feeling,” she asked him, genuine concern in her voice. What was she on about?
“Huh?”
“The river water you drank. Did it make you sick? There’s parasites in that water you know.”
“Oh. Nah, I’m good.” She nodded, giving him a less worried expression, seeming like one of those mothers the others talk about, pecking around like a hen.
“Don’t drink non-purified water again. And if you must, at least boil it first,” she said. “Now, get in class. And no, before you ask, you can’t go to the bathroom.”
“But what about the nurse? Can’t say no to that one,” Daryl said. He skipped enough times to know that they legally couldn’t say no to the nurses.
“You sure? It’s a Brain Pop day.”
“Can I nap,” he asked. What was a better time waster than unconsciousness? Besides, he wouldn’t mind one, not right now.
“I think I can get away with not seeing it.”
Best teacher ever.
He did not, in fact, sleep in that class. He was forced to learn the differences between weight and mass due to a blabbering nerd and a ‘talking’ robot. But one thing just didn’t make sense to him. A triple beam balance scale was that: a scale. It went off weight, not mass. Right?
“Mrs. Tudor. So a triple beam balance, it goes off of gravity right, that’s what it said in there, so then that’s weight. I mean, they said that’s what determines weight. So like, what’s the difference between a balance than a scale?”
Everyone in the class turned to him. He hardly ever asked questions, unless they were dumbass questions used to simply waste time.
“Because,” Henry, some fat know it all grinned, “it measures mass not weight. That’s the whole point.”
“No,” Mrs. Tudor interjected. “No, he’s right. It does go off of gravity.” He was right? Wait, I’m right? “So items with the same mass will equal the same right? I think we can all agree with that. So, if we know an objects mass to be, let’s say five grams, then we can weigh it against anything, and if they are of equal weight, they’re of equal mass. As long as there is gravity, and therefore weight, we will be able to determine the mass between two objects as long as one has a predetermined mass.”
She was grinning by the end of it. He was sure she was waiting for someone to finally ask that question and was happy to talk about it. She certainly looked like the type.
“So with that nugget of knowledge, everyone should come in tomorrow with a sentence about why a triple beam balance scale would not work in space.”
Fuck. What have I done?
He skipped the rest of the school day, opting to get away from the angry looks and snide comments. He made his way to a place he’d never been in before, and never saw himself wanking into.
The art shop was small, run by the one guy who made enough selling his art to open his own store. Now, the entire wall behind the counter was prints and paintings done by him, but the rest of the two aisles were different art supplies.
He looked and found some of the cheaper supplies, a small sketchbook, some fancy looking pencils with different letters and numbers on them, erasers, and different colors. He didn’t realize there were so many ways to do the same thing, like the different kinds of paint, or the price differences between pencil colors. Pastels — or fancy crayons as he saw it — and paints called water color. It was all so new. So he grabbed what he knew he’d need, the cheapest sketchbook he could find, a pencil set with five different pencils, and an eraser.
It was ten bucks at the counter, and he knew his dad would kill him if he found out he spent money on something that wasn’t food or beer, so he knew he’d have to hide it the best he could. Not that his dad went snooping around his stuff anyway, but it was better safe than sorry.
He shoved it into the very bottom of his backpack before he even left the door. Sure, the man behind the counter — David, if the curly signatures were anything to go by — gave him a funny look, but at least no one would see. He’d have to shove it into the camping pack before Merle could see. He’d never tried to draw before, but he could learn. Practice makes perfect right?
He made his way out the shop, stopping by the arcade nearby to use his leftover coins on Duck Hunt, blasting the fake birds into smithereens with the plastic gun. Sure, it wasn’t as fun or rewarding as the real deal, but the little feathers were funny enough. And 25¢ for damn near unlimited fake ammo to shoot fake birds, it was certainly a cheaper alternative.
Once his coins were spent on fake birds, he walked out, heading down towards his house. He doubted his dad would notice that it was before the school day even ended, if he would even be home. He saw his dad’s old beat up Ford in the driveway and opened the torn up screen door, the inside door already open.
“Where the hell have you been,” his dad asked. He was lounging on the worn leather recliner, a can of beer in his hand, his feet propped up on the small table.
“School.” Daryl shouldered his backpack further up on his shoulder. He didn’t see Merle’s bike, but that wasn’t any tell of time as Merle often ran off with his friends and often came back drunk and high.
“Don’t lie to me boy. And don’t you dare think of running off into that damn room. You just hide in there all by yourself when I’m sure you can see the damn dishes piled up! You don’t do shit! You’re selfish, lazy, and damn ungrateful! I saw you run off into the woods last night. You didn’t come back with shit! You’re goddamn useless!”
Daryl could hear him continue, curse after curse, insult after insult. He just kept his eyes on the ground, knowing better than to make eye contact. He knew the entire speech by now, and just waited for it to be over, waiting to see if the speech would become more. Would become the can flying at him. Or his dad getting up. The table still had chips in it from the times he’d flipped it over. And he still remembered the way it felt when the edge hit against his hip. The memories still too fresh.
His dad made a move and Daryl stepped back, just daring to look at the man’s face. Not his eyes. Never his eyes.
“You heard me! Go get the fucking shit done!”
He nodded, walking into the kitchen quickly. He didn’t even bother with putting his backpack in his room, just kept it on his shoulders as he cleaned the five dishes in the sink. Worst case scenario, it would act like a bit of protection against his unprotected back. He didn’t have eyes on the back of his head, even if he was always vigilant of what movement and noise was going on around him.
He quickly put the washed dishes onto the drying rack, ducking into the laundry room.
“Fuck… that’s definitely been neglected…”
He rode with Merle to school the next morning, his face both throbbing and numb, but at least the cool breeze from the wind was helping. Six. Six beers was all it took for his dad to decide that simply yelling wasn’t enough. That it didn’t satisfy his anger enough.
He’d endured before, and he knew he’d have to endure again. He’d gotten used to the looks from the kids. The pity of the teachers. Even Mrs. Tudor. She stopped him at the door.
“So, what’s the excuse this time?”
“Fell into a door frame,” he said. Every time, she always asked, even if the bruise wasn’t that visible. A small section of a bruise in the shape of a hand peeking from under his sleeve? She saw it. A yellowing bruise that he came back from Spring break with? Another question. Almost every time.
“Fell?”
“Sure.” He could see it in her eyes. Pity.
“I can still always call someone.”
“No. I’ve seen Jasmine.” Poor girl. She had it bad, but finally got out and into a foster home. Unfortunately, that’s just where it got worse.
“Do you want detention?” Not a threat, just an offer. Wouldn’t have to go home so fast if he had to stay after school.
“Nah. I’m going hunting after this.” With that, she nodded, and gestured for him to go into the class. He sat in his seat and watched everyone pull out their homework that he’d gotten everyone assigned. He’d forgotten. Once the bell rang, Mrs. Tudor walked in and looked around the class once she’d gotten behind her desk.
“Looks like everyone did their homework, good. Alright, so you can put that away and, Brandi, can you pass out these note sheets.”
The rest of the school day went pretty normal, and he hitched a ride back home with Merle. Once they got home, he counted himself lucky for his dad not being there, and grabbed a few more bottles of water to shove into his camping pack. He walked out of the back door, tossing a quick goodbye over his shoulder and walking over to the shed. He took a quick inventory: Backpack, crossbow, tent, snare wire, sleeping bag, and art supplies.
He shouldered the bag and walked over towards the woods with getting back towards that magical lake at the forefront of his mind.