Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was just after dark when the moving van rumbled its departure. The uncomfortable warmth of an American summer had set in, and the trees complained against the sticky breeze. By streetlights and a fingernail moon to tease dusk, cicadas beat a nostalgic hum.

Doctor Edward Richtofen stood before his childhood home, wondering if it came equipped with a mob of angry villagers. Perhaps that was the standard impression of antebellum architecture, or perhaps it was the horror show built by time.

Between a generous amount of weeds, a porch rotted by water damage, and a twisting Banyan silhouetted from the backyard, the house was definitely haunted. If not by actual ghosts, then by the ghosts conjured from the man's past. One would almost think to rest a hand on the tired earth and declare a dramatic, 'something terrible happened here.'

Edward quickly shook the thought from his etch-a-sketch brain and made a desperate retreat for air conditioning. 

The only reason he returned to his Carolina home was to escape 'terrible happenings' completely. 

Inside, among cardboard boxes that obscured the true layout, Edward found all the broken branches of his family tree. 

A small crack at the end of the staircase: where his dog was once so excited that she bowled down the steps and into the wall.

An empty TV stand: where he and his sister held marathons of their favorite monster movies.

A charred black mark on the kitchen ceiling: left when his parents attempted baking one early fall.

The way red light drifted between the curtains painted the reminiscing in a strange atmosphere. Movements like spirits caught in wire. Dust floating like dandelion wishes. Edward wanted to feel sad, but frankly, the little memories excited him. It didn’t matter if heat plastered his dress-shirt to his skin, or that exhaustion readied him to collapse into a pile of boxes. Edward was convinced his reservations were only melodrama and theatrics. If anything, it was only to make nostalgia more interesting.

That was when Richtofen heard a loud tumble from upstairs. 

Suddenly, he didn't care for 'interesting.' 

Edward squeezed out a sense of comfort from his dearest heirloom, a folded knife tucked deep into his pockets. 

‘I think I will pretend that's the wind ...Yes, old houses like this tend to call out to those who are alone,’ the foreigner assured himself.

However, when Richtofen heard a weighted creaking of floorboards, he had no choice but to investigate. The man tried telling himself it was some animal, but the movements undoubtedly sounded like footsteps. Still, Edward wasn't about to ruin his first impressions to the neighbors by calling the police and causing a scene. He instead flicked on his phone's light to coerce the prowling shadows to flee. 

Once at the top of the stairs, however, he was hit by an unforgiving stench.

“Good Lord, it smells like an apothecary!” Richtofen gasped, shielding his nose from the attack on his senses. This only left him to taste the putrid scent of doctor’s office on his tongue. 

With desperation, Edward began a blind search for the lightswitch. The room was only illuminated for a moment before the bulb popped and sent glass fragments to the floor. An embarrassing squeak of terror was all that escaped as he fumbled with his phone again. With brightness on high, now Richtofen could see properly. 

Among discarded boxes and random stacks of newspaper, he spotted outlines of furniture drawn through the dust. The doctor began to wonder if someone had walked off the unguarded property with something important. Though somehow, there were no footprints. Just dragging lines of clean linoleum, like someone was sliding around on their socks to conceal their identity. Richtofen attempted to move closer, only for a particular floorboard to screech loud enough for his heart and shoot straight from his chest and clear through the ceiling.

Then, the shuffling stirred again. The empty hall caused its noise to reverberate off the walls and distort the source. It nearly sounded like two different entities; one clawed and light-footed, and another heavy but calculated.

...For lack of a better expression, Edward dipped. It seemed as though the universe was trying to get his attention with all the unspoken 'keep out' signs.

Richtofen wheezed dramatic breaths from the bottom of the staircase, and resolved to call pest control in the morning. He had no idea why the chemical smell was so potent either. His father never brought work home with him, and it reminded Edward of his early days in medical school. 

For now, he tossed air fresheners into the upper floor like grenades into a foxhole.

Now very alert, Edward's attention drew to the backyard. From the broad windows of the sliding glass door, he swore he could spot a huge figure disappear into the treeline. The brush rustled as it was haphazardly shaken by whatever lurked. 

Richtofen would have let the creature escape had he not seen the familiar blinking of fireflies. The insects simply hovered and drifted idly, lighting the tall grass into glowing hues. It had been at least 15 years since the foreigner last saw a firefly, and the euphoria turned him blind. Almost as if possessed by the spirit of his younger self, Edward pushed past the sliding door and hopped into the clearing with excitement. The pull of burs and hitchhiker seeds didn’t slow as he sprung between the lazy creatures to capture light into the cup of his hands. 

He recalled doing the same as a child while his sister encouraged the playful game. The pair were quite talented hunters too, and by bedtime, they would set the bugs in jars to illuminate their room. As a grown man, Richtofen still found himself laughing as the fluttering wings tickled his palms.

...It took a moment until he realized, had someone been watching, that they would think he was a complete idiot. Embarrassed by invisible eyes, Edward adjusted to stand among the sprites quietly. First impressions were everything, after all. 

Even so, there was a hole in the German's heart. There were holes everywhere actually. He wanted his family. He wanted a friend. He wanted something. Edward would be damned if he wasn't doing his best already. 

There was his new job with the local university. He'd be starting in a week or so, but it was both scary and exciting.

Though his home was in disrepair, he looked forward to renovating. Richtofen had never owned a home for himself- he could do whatever he wanted.

There was even the chance to find another man to shower with endearments. Love was truly empowering.

He was tired of guilt and loneliness, tired of feeling like his family's absence was his fault. 

 But Edward was going to try.

Looking around, the Banyan tree suddenly seemed like a protector, strong and watchful overhead. 

As his mind continued to loiter in the past, he heard a terrifying cry from the forest. An animal in desperation, or a terrible beast falling prey to something far worse. Curiously, Richtofen gazed into the brush and tread dream-like towards the source. 

The forest was green with the fresh aftermath of spring, and Edward wondered if this dense foliage now muffled the violent calls for help. Perhaps, thought he, it wasn't difficult to adapt to the ambiance. He found himself creeping with anxiety as the only sound that followed was his own footsteps crunching leaves. Even more so when the feeling of being watched fell once more.

At last, he came upon a riverbank where the source curled and cried. He made a slow approach to discover that his mysterious house guest was nothing but a cat. It was impossible to tell what was wrong within the mess of thick fur. Yet, as Richtofen circled the animal like a broken-down car, he found a trap cinched tightly around its paw.

"Shh, shh," he cooed, "it's ok."

The cat wouldn't listen and it's thrashing only grew in intensity. However, Richtofen was just as stubborn, and he forced the creature into his lap.

"I said hold still," he hissed through clenched teeth while reaching for his pocket knife.

'Piss off,' the cat would have said if it could. 

The twisting and turning was something akin to a rat escaping from a snake's bind. It didn't help when sharp claws slashed through the air and threatened to scar. Fortunately, it only took a swift motion to clip the rope and set the poor thing free. It hopped from Edward's grasp with a violent yowl. 

"You're welcome!" He scoffed, extremely offended.

After it glared back to the doctor with acid eyes, it spat one more wild hiss and disappeared into the woods.

He only dusted himself off, “no manners.”

As Edward stood he gazed deep into the river before him. The water was clear enough to see the reflection of his lanky figure and dark skin. Although, he still noted the pollution with disappointment: debris like cans, cigarette butts, and plastic bags drifting here and there. Poison to somewhere so sacred. This place was no longer for swimming.

Richtofen likewise observed that the river was quite thin for this time of year. Typically, the summer heat would melt the snow off the Blue Ridge mountains, and the stream would turn wild and engorged. Perhaps a blockage had suppressed it? Or the snow had long gone? Not that this mattered. Richtofen was glad he didn't have to worry about flooding.

Just as the moon peeked behind the clouds, a haze began to lift above the water's surface. What was beneath unsettled him even more. 

A dark and endless pit,

wide and encompassing, 

upon the riverbed.

It made his stomach clench with discomfort. 

‘Made him taste bile on his tongue. 

Something visceral about the unnatural appearance.

As he tried not to stare into the void-like abyss, he gazed into the face of the Blue Ridge. What Edward found was far more jarring:

There, as if perfectly carved and cut, 

exposing stars and clouds the summit would normally shield,

a great hole punctured its way through the mountain face.

Chapter Text

"JESUS CHRIST!!" Tank Dempsey slammed his head on the hood of the car, quickly removing himself from the blaring alarm.

"MISTY, I TOLD YOU TO WAIT UNTIL I GAVE THE SIGNAL," he continued to call over the deafening siren.

She switched the car off and complained in her western twang, "you put your hands up!”

"That's because I touched hot cable, that is NOT the signal!" the man rubbed the back of his head before continuing, "If I get a concussion, I'm blamin' you."

Misty only let out a small chuckle while she leaned over the steering wheel, unintimidated.

Tank loved working in the garage, in fact, fixing things always seemed to come naturally. Even now, as he nursed his stinging hand and bruised forehead.

The auto shop actually belonged to his best friend, Misty. However, she didn't seem too interested in keeping it. She had other dreams of moving out west, despite knowing it was another one of those towns you could never get away from. Many people would leave once they found their independence, only to return and settle down. 

Still, she knew Tank loved his job, and promised to sell him the shop so she could afford her ambitions. He deeply valued her friendship. 

The place itself was moderately small, with a waiting room and enough work-space to hold three cars. Though cluttered with tools and equipment, the garage was better described as an organized mess. Somehow, one could easily find the smallest nail or specific tool. The exterior was painted in a modest fashion too, and gave an aesthetic that reminded one of the 80s. This was attributed to the colorful and old fashioned metal plates that advertised obsolete brands of oil and tires across the inner walls. Not to mention an old touch tone mounted to the wall, whose only purpose was to make them look busy to rude customers.

The electric fans overhead spun lazily, and suddenly the sound of rain began to tamp down the steel rooftop.

"Damn, there goes today's plans." He frowned, "Sorry, girl. No park today."

By the side of the room lay an old golden retriever resting on a pile of pillows, Daisy. She only wagged her tail idly, keeping her chin rested. Dempsey smiled.

The small drizzle quickly turned into a downpour, with heavy sheets of rain cooling the black pavement. The man held his breath as a lightning strike boomed and shook the faulty light fixtures. To which Daisy stood sluggishly and pressed her nose to her master’s hand. 

“Thanks, Daze.” He messaged her ears with his thumb.

His mind began to wander as he followed the terrain’s natural contortions. The cliffs that jutted out in the distance, foggy and blue in the downcast sky, seemed erilly lifeless this morning. However, tracing down the hill from which the auto shop stood, the streets rushed with life. Dempsey enjoyed fantasizing details about strangers, it felt as though he were weaving a story of his own. He never considered himself an artist in any sense of the word, but he still liked to get out of his own head once in a while. 

His eyes caught a bridge that crossed one of the mobius roadways. It was strong and secure, beautiful and historic, solitary and green. Hidden away in a grove of trees.

The bridge carried the tragic legend of a mother who hung herself after losing her daughter. Yet, 100 years later, her spirit still lingered and manifested upon the call of her name. As a frequent visitor, Dempsey figured it was just a scary story to sell ghost tours. Just a pretty bridge with a plain view; yet, Tank agreed it certainly looked like a nice place to die.

Just as he continued meditating on the rolling hills once more, a figure of a man dashed to the front door, quick to get out of the rain. Dempsey had to double-take as he saw the stranger walk in. 

Absolutely stunning. 

The stranger was very tall, with clean cut hair the color of mahogany trees, and a darkened mustache lining his upper lip. He observed the man's sun-kissed skin, and noted he dressed in a manor which stood out from the washed-out drab of his usual customers. In fact, he looked extremely sophisticated. 

And with that, he nearly launched himself in front of Misty, who was already making her way to help the man.

"Hold up I got this one, you just.. Figure out the wires on the sudan, alright?"

She shrugged; seldom did she have patience for customers anyway. 

The American dusted himself off and cleared his throat before entering the waiting room.

"Hey there! How can I help you?"

The stranger looked up and approached the counter, "yes, actually. I uh-,” he seemed to lose his train of thought as soon as he looked to Dempsey.

He went on more nervously, with a crack in his voice, “I think my brakes have been cut. I mean, I can break but it feels unstable, and I’m not too keen on plunging off a cliff-side today."

Tank was not only taken aback by the unexpected accent, but more so the German's captivating eyes. One was green as emerald, while the other was a swirl silver and deep cobalt that rivaled the constellations. 

'Woah.' was all the American could think.

"...Excuse me?" the taller man shaded red.

Dempsey quickly realized he was speaking out-loud. 

"Oh, well, your eyes are cool. 'Never saw anything like that."

"Thanks..." he mumbled, still flustered, "can you help me then?"

Giving a wave he said "Of course, that'll be no problem. ‘Sounds like some lost brake fluid is all.”

He paused for a moment, "..but there are 4 or 5 cars in front of you, so you might not see your car for a few days." 

Dempsey knew very well that the repair could be done in less than a few hours, hell, only one if Peter was there. The truth of the matter was that Tank was being strategic; in hopes of fate falling in his favor. He did not want to let this man go without at least a phone number. 

While he considered this, he looked to the side to find Misty leaning on her elbows with the stupidest, most exaggerated smile on her face through the glass. He shut the blinds on her with the drop of the string before the guest could notice.

Although startled by the sudden movement, Edward did not pay any mind. He was more stressed at his own urgency. "Is there anything you can do?! Today is my first day, I cannot be late!"

Tank feigned deep thought, "Welllll there ain't much, the only car rental place is a long way from here. If you want though, I could give you a ride?"

"No no no, I cannot accept that. I can just wal-," a crash of lightning cut him off while it illuminated the sky a blinding white. Dempsey appeared visibly shaken, but collected himself before the guest finished awkwardly, 

"...I suppose if it’s no trouble-"

"I'll get my keys," he laughed, "just fill in this paper work so we can take your car in."

When the mechanic re-entered the garage, he was greeted by his co-worker harboring a smug look on her face and dangling the car keys over his head. Which, frankly, was not hard to do given Tank's smaller stature.

"Tisk tisk, Dempsey. What on earth are you doing?"

"Shut up!" he barked as he jumped up to retrieve his keys. "You KNOW you don't see a guy like that walk in every day."

"Is this love at first sight?" she exclaimed with false curiosity.

“I didn’t give you this BS when I set you up with Jessica!”

“Hey, I could have won her over with or without your help!”

....He only squinted, "Just look after Daisy, ok?"

"No problem," Misty smiled, more genuinely this time.

Tank rejoined the foreigner at the desk and looked over the papers. 

"Edward Richtofen, huh? I'm Tank Dempsey!"

He shook his hand confidently while Richtofen let out a small chuckle, amused. The two then rushed into the small pick-up truck before they were completely soaked, and with dripping fingers, Edward punched the local University's address into the GPS.

Richtofen rather liked this man, but he was unsure if this was Southern hospitality or flirting.

  He honestly hoped this was flirting. 

‘Tank’ Dempsey was certainly his type anyway; muscular, yet a soft figure accented by fat, a man who carried himself with such confidence that made Edward admire him even more. He wore a white t-shirt and jeans, with his work shirt tied around his waist, which did wonders to accentuate those broad shoulders. The freckles that dusted Dempsey's nose and cheeks captivated him as well, and were spread like stars shining their way through a sunrise. 

He even noticed the ghost of a small mustache budding at his upper lip. Though not impressive in the slightest, he thought it looked endearing in a juvenile sort of way. Even his hair was a beautiful shade of caramel brown that had shown natural highlights of blonde sparkling in the light. 

Edward felt shame while imagining himself running his fingers through those soft locks. In fact, he felt even more shame hoping that something would come out of this. All he wanted was to walk in, get his car fixed, and walk out. He just could not shake this man’s smile from his head.

The doctor was left to wonder if this was loneliness or genuine attraction.

Richtofen continued to keep his curiosity. Although Tank had been smiling, there was an undertone of anxiety resting beneath the American's skin. Edward knew a thing or two about anxiety from personal experience. Specifically, he noticed that any time another bolt of lightning scarred the dim sky. It was rather odd that a man his age would be afraid of thunderstorms, but then again, Edward hated storms as well. He could only associate it with negativity.

Regardless of this mystery, the doctor appreciated the gesture, and ultimately decided he was looking into this too deeply. He gazed at Dempsey, who hummed along with the voice sing-talking on the radio, and soon broke the silence.

"Not much of a fan of eye contact, are you?"

"Is it that noticeable?" 

"With eyes like those? Definitely."

The German turned flustered again.

"But there ain't nothing wrong with that,” Tank assured before going on, "you must be new here. I haven't met anyone with that accent before… German?"

"I actually used to live here as a child, but I only returned a few days ago."

“Huh. ‘Probably why someone messed with your car. People here are standoffish to newcomers,” he theorized.

“One cannot help their annoyance, with or without reason,” Edward muttered with a sneer.

“Well, I don’t think you should worry too much about that. They’ll change quicker than you think.” Dempsey cracked a grin to put the German at ease.

Richtofen hoped this was true. He really wanted to be liked, but no matter what, people only seemed to give him odd looks. Perhaps they recalled his family, or maybe they could somehow read his sexuality. Maybe it was just the house he had moved into, as he himself was aware that it looked straight-up haunted.

“What brings you back, anyway?" The man interrupted his worrying.

Richtofen immediately dead-panned, as if on auto-pilot, "unforeseen circumstances."

Tank was quick to pick up on the unspoken stop sign. 

"Oh. Gotcha." 

He had hoped he didn't make Edward uncomfortable, so he switched on the turn of a heel,

"But hey, a job at the college? What are you teaching there?"

"Some classes in the medical program under Doctor Schuster. At least, until I can get a job at the hospital," he said nonchalantly as he gazed out the window to race the droplets that trickled down the glass. 

"A doctor too? You’re something special."

Richtofen did not reply, but instead turned to look at the American once more. All he asked for was a bit of kindness, and this man threw it around like it was nothing. It meant a lot.

Before they knew it, they arrived at the University.

"Here," Dempsey picked a Chinese takeout menu from the glove compartment, and began scribbling ciphers, "text me when you need a pick-up, alright?"

He handed Edward his number, who put it neatly in his bag. 

"Thank you, Tank. I hope this wasn't too much trouble."

"Nahh, it was already quittin' time anyway," he flashed a charming smile, of which Edward returned to the best of his ability.

And opening the door, the German dashed to the stoic building as quickly as possible, ignoring the holes manifesting in the sky.

Meanwhile, Dempsey reached to the passenger seat to find an antique switchblade left behind.

Chapter Text

The air was warm with the aroma of comfort food. Savory smells of bacon and sausage collided with the sweet scent of cinnamon. Dempsey knew with certainty that Nikolai Belinski was an artist when it came to cooking, at least, enough so to trigger a conditioned sense of hunger upon smelling his recipes. One could immediately feel at home in a diner like this. 

Nikolai never seemed to change much over the years they had known each other. He was ironically large and imposing in stature, despite a friendly voice and underlying melancholic tone. He likewise maintained a neat beard, trimmed and ginger; causing envy from his American friend. Dempsey could never grow something like that. Still, Tank knew very well that his friend was happy, especially since his recent engagement.

To Dempsey’s left, Takeo Masaki sat typing away on his laptop, busying himself with classwork as usual. Nikolai was one lucky S.O.B., Tank frequently thought, to have someone so intelligent and beautiful for a fiance. 

The islander had long tresses of raven hair that he tied neatly in a bun. This was complemented by his russet skin, and finely toned muscles of a disciplined trainer. So impressive, that often Tank assumed the man’s wardrobe choices were made to show off. Not that he, or Nikolai, particularly minded this. 

Even Takeo’s almond eyes were a dark taupe, mystic enough to inspire curiosity. Hadn’t Dempsey been so deathly loyal to his Russian friend, he would have asked him out by now. 

Here, in the bustling diner, the three held an unspoken rule that they meet every morning. Some friends, like Misty and Jessica, came by when they could. Some, like Dempsey and Takeo, would always be there. Others, like Peter and his friend Smokey, needed some convincing. And although Daisy was not allowed in, she always sat underneath a bench seated by the storefront. Gathering like this was a nice way to share the gossip of the neighborhood and harbor a sense of community. 

Nikolai was very protective of the latter.

Yet today, Dempsey was excited to share his chance encounter with Edward Richtofen, whom he had met only yesterday. Not only this, but he figured his friends would have advice on how to pursue the strange doctor. 

“So,” Dempsey began, leaning over the counter top where Takeo worked.

“So?” Replied he.

“I met someone.”

“Oh? Who?”

“His name is Edward Richtofen. He just moved into your neighborhood.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen him. How did you meet?” Takeo said, neatly closing his laptop.

“Fate!” Tank cheered.

“What is this about fate?” spoke Nikolai, who moved closer from his place at the register.

“Tank has met someone,” Takeo spoke with humbled excitement.

“So soon?” The Russian raised his brows, “After you and-”

His fiance cut him off with a silent gesture whose message was essentially: ‘shut the hell up.’

Nikolai did so, and went on, “Well! They must be good. What has you so interested?”

Dempsey seemed to become embarrassed, and scratched at the back of his neck, “I dunno, he’s kind of odd. Like, I want to figure him out, you know? And he’s super hot, like damn, he has eyes like I’ve never seen before.”

Nikolai laughed at this, “sounds like your type! You are a mechanic of people.”

“I know right?! He’s crazy smart too, a real doctor and everything!”

The true intention of Nikolai’s remark flew under the American’s radar. Dempsey, although well meaning, often drifted to those that seemed lost. It was a subconscious association between two things he loved: people and cars. If he could take an old beat up truck, change it’s oil, give it a shine, and make it look factory new, why could he not do this with friends? People are essentially vehicles in the end, vehicles that need love and care to work at their best capacity. 

Still, this was a word of caution from his Russian friend, as Tank often got himself into unsavory relationships. His desire to help often came at the expense of his own well being.

Takeo squeezed the American’s shoulder proudly, “I’m glad you’ve found a new partner.”

The soldier went bright red, “No no no! We just met! He might not even be interested!”

A flustered Dempsey made the two laugh, to which he complained with a whine, “let me live guys.”

Just then, the glass door rang as it swung open, and woman rushed in, Jessica Rose. She was wearing her work uniform; a minimalist black blouse and matching skirt, with sparkling jewels in her hair and around her neck. The bartender was petite too, and kept her hair in short blonde curls tucked behind her ears. One could tell she took very good care of herself. 

The three men greeted her kindly.

“Hey!” She spoke, “Sorry big guy, I’m in a bit of a hurry. Can I get some eggs and pancakes to go?”

Nikolai nodded and stepped into the kitchen to do so, while Dempsey inquired.

“Where 'you off to?”

“I have to drop off some food for Misty before work, it's kind of last minute.” She yawned.

“...Peter didn’t show up?”

“Guess not?” The bartender shrugged. She did not know Peter McCain very well, but could assume that he was supposed to open up shop. Dempsey, however, became very anxious. He had not seen his friend yesterday either, and knowing Peter’s secretive nature, he could be anywhere.

“Maybe I’ll go to his place and check on him.” Tank considered out loud.

Nikolai soon appeared with Misty’s breakfast, and Jessica paid hastily.

“Thanks guys! I hope you find your pal, Dempsey,” she waved as she left. And Tank retreated inside his own head to think.

—————————

The road to Peter’s cabin was lonesome, with one lane of dirt and rubble which sent tremors through the cabin, and carried Tank out of the city and into the forest. The trees that passed would cause the rays of light to flicker between the branches, and cast tall shadows that pointed west. While Daisy stuck her head from the window and playfully took deep whiffs of pine and birch, Dempsey was still in his head. 

Peter had always said, thought Tank, that one day he wanted to hop a train and go wherever it took him. He always seemed possessed by wonderlust, to forget everything and travel; and when he wanted to start fresh, he could just move on again. 

In actuality, McCain was a very depressed man since being discharged from the army after a debilitating head injury. The army was his life, and all he had in his family line to be proud of. Now all he had was Dempsey.

Tank hoped that he’d just find McCain asleep on the couch. In fact, Dempsey struggled to process that he would rather find his friend hurt, than to learn that Peter skipped town without telling him. Yes, the two had hit a few rough patches in their relationship within the past few weeks. There were arguments, sour words, bitter glances… but a few days ago they made amends. 

Dempsey thought the trouble was over. 

Dempsey thought they could stay friends.

As he and Daisy came to the driveway, she became excited by the familiar scent of Peter, and began to bark and wag with such enthusiasm that made her master laugh. Tank soon opened his door, only for the retriever to trample over his body and make her exit from the driver’s side.

With the air knocked out from his chest, Dempsey complained, “you’re only old when it’s convenient, huh girl?”

Allowing Daisy ran off to smell the trees and dance in the tall grass, Tank began to cautiously circle the home. The stone walls and wooden frames were as they always were, weathered and mossy, when the unkempt garden out front was overrun with weeds and dandelions. Nothing seemed odd here, as Peter was never one for gardening. 

However, every window appeared to have their lace curtains drawn, as if to shut the world away, as if to isolate.

Making his way to the front of the house, Dempsey decided to let himself in with a key kept under the mat. 

“Idiot,” he muttered, “even burglars would know to check here first.”

Daisy joined him as he pushed through the door and slowly removed his shoes, “McCain? You here?” he called into the darkened hallway. 

There was no reply.

He tread warily as his companion seemed to mimic the quiet steps. The walls were adorned with countless photos and certificates. Pictures of his family, photographs of Dempsey, Banana, Smokey, and himself from their army days, and even medals from his recon work were dusty and untouched. The mechanic could not help but notice a frame facing backwards, which he found to be Peter’s purple heart. 

'Figures.

The carpeted floor, meanwhile, was littered with old beer cans and take-out boxes. There were stacks of magazines as well, marked by a man who was disinterested in modern technology. It actually became tragic, to see how far Peter had lost himself to depression. The lack of attention to cherished memories or one’s own cleanliness spoke to Dempsey. From this, he began to curse himself for the way the two fought. There was obviously something wrong, and arguing had probably made matters worse.

In the shared kitchen and living room, old transistor radios sat atop a wooden dining table. The red light of the power button illuminated the space eerily, to which Daisy began to whine. He, too, became nervous. Peter was very particular about how he treated his equipment. The old-fashioned and outdated radios were always returned to their boxes after McCain finished tweaking their mechanics. Not to mention, he would never leave them on and upset the fragile wiring.

“Peter?” Tank called again, peeking into the kitchen. Although dishes and unopened canned food lined the countertops, there was no indication that he had been there recently. 

The last place the man had to check was the bathroom and bedroom, so he whistled for Daisy to join him.

“C’mon, Daze! Daisy-girl!” 

But she refused to move any further.

“Daisy! Come!” he said more sternly.

She only paced anxiously and held her ground.

Dempsey became even more unsure, it was as though she knew something was wrong. The mechanic began to wish he brought his gun.

Grabbing a bat perched against the wall, he cautiously pushed the door before walking in. To his relief, nothing stirred in the hollow room. Yet, Peter was still nowhere to be seen. There were no footprints, no signs of struggle, and no signs of activity. The sheets were simply strewn about on the unmade bed, while prescriptions sat toppled on the night-stand. Upon moving closer however, he found a familiar steel case sitting opened atop the mattress. It was Peter’s gun, or rather, it was supposed to hold Peter’s gun. The box itself was empty.

The story told by the subtle cues which remained in the house seemed to become more and more tangled within itself, stringing Dempsey’s nerves like a mandolin.

—————————

The drive home was quiet, with Dempsey listening sitting in silence as Daisy dreamed in the back seat. The moon was a fingernail in the sky, giving the two indication that they spent the entire day off searching for their missing friend.

Tank was unsure of what exactly to do. If Peter wanted to disappear, Dempsey would have to accept that no matter how much it hurt. He could not force his friend to stay, or even be his friend to begin with. However, if something happened, calling the police could get his friends in trouble as well. McCain had taken his gun when he had no license to carry after nearly shooting himself.

Still, it was odd that all worldly possessions remained in the home. It simply made no sense to not even take his wallet for an impulsive trip to the North. 

Soon, Dempsey began to blame himself. Maybe, in the end, it was too hard for Peter to keep seeing him. This, he could understand.

As Tank continued, he drove down Edward’s street to his own home, which lie a few blocks over. Although it was not in the nicest part of town, nor a high class neighborhood like Edward’s, he still enjoyed his tiny one-bedroom apartment. Considering this, it naturally led him to think about the odd German. Dempsey wondered if he should invite him over sometime, 

He wondered what that would be like, 

He wondered what it would be like to share a bed with him, 

He wondered what kind of kisser he was.

… And soon Dempsey slapped his palm to his forehead. The American truly had it bad for the doctor, as he almost felt guilty of so. Perhaps, he thought, he should try to get to know Richtofen a little better. Lest this become a v acuous obsession.

As Dempsey passed the antiquated home of his crush, he slowed down when he spotted Edward himself, dashing from his driveway and chasing a cat.

“Wait! Come back!” The doctor called as he chased it into the street, and stopped just short of Dempsey’s truck.

Tank rolled down his window with a press of a button, “Hey, Eddie! What was that all about?”

Richtofen followed the grey figure with his eyes as it dashed into the brush of the woods, and spoke, out of breath, “I found a cat making its home in my attic. I just wanted to see if it belonged to anyone.” He then laughed, “I nearly thought I had a raccoon infestation!”

“Well, I didn’t get a very good look at it. I’m sure it’ll be alright though.”

“I suppose,” Edward sighed and gazed to the American bashfully, “Now, what brings you here at this hour?”

Dempsey realized he probably looked super creepy, rolling up to his house, unannounced, and in the darkness of night. No matter if his intentions were well-founded or not, he was quick to stutter out an explanation. 

“Oh! I live really close by, I was just heading home is all.” Tank laughed nervously.

“Really? That actually makes me feel like less of a burden to your schedule, I think.” The doctor confessed.

“You’re no burden no matter the distance!” Dempsey assured. Edward’s face became flushed at the uttered kindness.

The American smiled softly, “I’ll… see you tomorrow?”

“...Thank you, Dempsey.”

And the old church bell tolled in the distance.

Chapter Text

“If you want, you can come with me."

Edward scrunched his nose, not at the thought of spending time with Dempsey, but more so that the mechanic liked him enough to ask. 

“Me? Go to the garage with you?”

The American was embarrassed, “Welllll yeah. I mean, you said you don’t get out much. I thought you’d like a change of scenery. ‘Beats sitting alone in the house, you know?”

“I suppose you’re right,” he confessed, “but I don’t want to get in your way.”

“You won’t! Unless you intend to block out the sun with your freakishly tall body.”

“Oh ha-ha. Maybe you’re just freakishly short,” Richtofen teased flatly.

“Hey, at least you know I’ll always look up to you!” He winked.

“Oh my Gott .”

“....Sooo, is that a yes?”

“...I’d love to.”

The moment the two walked in the door, Edward lit up like the very stars.

“Who is THIS!” he cooed, kneeling to  the sweetest golden retriever he had ever seen. She wagged her tail and pressed her greying muzzle to his clothes, taking in deep whiffs.

Dempsey laughed, “that’s my dog, her name is Daisy.”

“She’s beautiful!” he spoke excitedly as he played with her ears. 

Speaking to Daisy again, the doctor asked lovingly, “are you Tank’s little helper? Huh?”

“I take it you’re a dog person?”

Edward lifted himself, still looking down at Daisy with warmth, “of course.”

Dempsey soon waved at the pair to follow him into the garage. However, the American turned surprised when he saw Misty doing some engine work.

“Hey Misty, wasn’t McCain supposed to be in today?” he asked as he pulled on his work shirt.

“Awww, is it that disappointing to see me?” she joked before answering, “But yeah he was, and God damn, Peter would not answer his phone for the life of him. Hell, he didn’t even come in yesterday.”

“I’ll go check if Smokey knows where he went. They must of been drinking,” he laughed nervously before gesturing to Richtofen, “this is Eddie, you don’t mind if he hangs around right?”

“Tank, I told you to quit bringing your boyfriends here. It’s a liability.”

“He’s a grown man, he ain’t gonna break anything.” 

The sentence jumped out like the doctor's romantic heart. Dempsey had not denied their relationship in this moment, or even appeared to be angered by the tease. Richtofen wondered if he was fortunate enough that the object of his affection liked men too. 

...No, he couldn't be so lucky.

Whatever the case, he was glad Tank wasn't close-minded. 

Misty gave Edward a once over, looking at him really hard, circling him like a vulture over carrion. 

(Or more appropriately, a hawk over prey.) 

The mechanic then put herself uncomfortably close to his face, looking him straight in his mismatched eyes. Despite the proximity, he darted his gaze anywhere but her own. 

Finally, she broke the awkward sizing up of her guest, and smiled, “alright! I see why Tank likes you. Just don’t touch anything.”

“I promise,” the German anxiously raised his hand as if swearing on a Bible.

Edward decided to take his place sitting atop a cleared counter, right next to Daisy, who settled in her usual bed of pillows.

“That’s Misty Briarton by the way,” Tank introduced, “she’s a bit of a joker, but she always knows what she’s doing!”

“And this McCain fellow?” the doctor tilted his head.

“He and I go way back, we used to be in the Marines together. Though, Peter’s a bit too familiar with the bottom of the bottle if you get what I mean," he hummed, "but don’t take that as a judge of character, he’s really smart.”

Edward looked to see a photo pinned to the wall of Dempsey and McCain in desert fatigues. Tank appeared much different, simply by having his hair shorter. Even his face was clean-shaven, giving the impression that he was quite young when this was taken. 

...Richtofen soon felt a tinge of jealousy. The two looked really close. 

He instead shifted his attention at the version of Dempsey that worked before him, and compared the two like a ‘find the difference’ puzzle. Strong, handsome, and no other man in sight.

That was when Edward found a stereo set to his side.

“Do you know if this works?”

“Sure does!”

Excited, the doctor fiddled with the white noise and static, before finding a channel that played a reverberating guitar accompanied by a warm voice. Richtofen leaned his back against the walls and closed his eyes to focus on the low hum. Something about traveling home that resonated with his heart. Nostalgia in the low-fidelity cracking.

Dempsey, meanwhile, was left to his own devices. Yet, he couldn't help repeatedly glancing at the man so deeply in meditation. The Marine always felt that to find comfort in silence was the closest form of affection anyone could get. To leave someone in their own head, unafraid of the empty spaces they could be filling. However, he would be lying if he didn’t simultaneously appreciate the contours of the doctor’s relaxed body. Particularly, the way his throat tilted back and exposed a prominent adam’s apple. He bit the corner of his lip as his mind wandered to scandalous places.

“Kind of sad, don’t you agree?” Edward sighed, and pulled him from those neady thoughts.

“Huh?” 

“The lyrics I mean, to say ‘I want to go home, but this is my home. It’s sad.”

Tank scratched the back of his neck, “I dunno, it sounds kind of romantic?” he stopped when he realized he had just smeared oil all over himself.

Edward laughed while he tossed over a rag, and continued to defend his theory, “I think if you’re with someone you love, you wouldn’t ask to go home.”

“I didn’t think about that I guess,” Dempsey said thoughtfully. He had his own theory that this was projection on Richtofen’s part. He understood that music often gives words to those who don’t have their own.

As he pondered this, Edward stared at the ceiling; pupils shifting as though watching something very carefully. Tank looked up to see what had his attention, and saw nothing but drywall.

“What are you looking at?” He strained, attempting to reach whatever threshold Richtofen perceived.

“Oh nothing, just thinking.” the man hummed, and closed his eyes once again. This time, to focus on the ambiance of drilling machinery.

After another few moments, Dempsey wondered,

“What kind of doctor are you anyway?”

“A hematologist,” he nodded simply.

“So, like, blood and stuff? “ the American clarified, “why that specifically?”

“Hm, you know I have no idea. I was just drawn to it I suppose? It’s satisfying.”

“Ominous…”

Edward nearly giggled, but repressed the need to do so, “what about you? What has you so interested?”

“It’s fun!”

“Surely something about this got your attention.”

“Well you like fixing people, or at least knowing how they work, right? That’s how I feel about cars.”

“Cars are very different from people, and you seem too sociable for somewhere so quiet.”

Dempsey gasped melodramatically, “so you are analyzing me!” 

He quickly smirked before Richtofen could protest, “but seriously. I think I took too many hits to the head to have any brains left.”

Edward frowned, “You are very smart, Tank. You shouldn’t talk about yourself that way.”

He only shrugged, to which the German explained with more passion, “I bet if we switched places right now, I would have no idea what I was doing. I can’t even change my own tires.”

“What?! That’s really sad. You have to let me teach you sometime.”

In the distance, Misty called, “Awwwww! How sweet!”

And Dempsey tossed an oil-soaked rag at his friend, “Quit makin’ it weird, Misty!!”

The two spent the rest of the evening together: chatting away, occasionally snacking on chips and soda, humming along to the popping speakers. In they end, they knew despite how opposite they were in nature, they were still miscible. Dempsey, the lively sun; Edward, a calming moon.

The drive home was quiet, with the windows rolled down. The warm breeze carried the sweet smell of young saplings, realizing that maybe air fresheners and candles had the right idea. In the rear-view mirror, Richtofen watched Daisy in the truck bed. 

...It felt as though everything was whole. As if Maslow's hierarchy of needs physically manifested, and Edward knocked down every single pillar. For the first time in months, years even, he could say he knew happiness.

This is why he came here. He wanted to get away from hurting, and now he was with a wonderful man that actually enjoyed his company. He was so caught up in being proud of this little win, that he didn't notice arriving home.

Tank pulled up the driveway, “we should hang out again soon!”

“I would love that. Thank you, Dempsey.” the Doctor smiled softly.

Tank left waving one hand out his window before driving away, and Edward stood until he could no longer hear the rumbling engine. 

He wanted more days like these.

Now alone, Edward resolved to get some proper rest after the anxiety of the day had past. Thinking himself to death was one of Richtofen’s many flaws, so he often spent time keeping his mind as far away from introspection as possible, (rather it be by depression naps, or to sort through the clutter of unpacked boxes.) Edward didn't even know why he hoarded half of the contents. Everything seemed to be only of sentiment, things that belonged to his family and exs, or just useless trinkets he was reluctant to throw out. He wished he could shed everything that physically attached him to this earth. Being among the presence of his ghosts dragged him down from his emotional high. 

Perhaps I could become a mountain man instead, he often considered. 

Finally,  shut the lights off until the rolling circles of the ceiling fan lulled him into an almost hypnotic state. Edward was much more comfortable since setting up his mattress at least. 

His breath slowed. 

He un-clenched his jaw. 

He let his shoulders relax. 

And soon he finally found solstace. 

The only crack in his moment of peace, was quite literally the cracks in the ceiling. Countless craters manifested themselves further and further until the room became engulfed. It was a mosaique of fractured reality speaking deep within. He rubbed his eyes aggressively and wished them away. 

Edward truly was an heir of black holes, the way that the hallucinations would fester in his peripheral. But even so, the challenges that his condition brought were nothing new. Since Richtofen was very young, cavities would dig their way into his sight. Carving out perfect circles that were either pitch black, or ambiguously dark enough to trick the eye into seeing odd figures moving about. Akin to how, when one closes their eyes, flecks of light will still shine through; giving the appearance of static and wriggling silhouettes. 

He was annoyed that Dempsey had noticed his wandering eyes in the workshop. Edward was just grateful that he played it off so smoothly. 

However, the hallucination he saw his first night back, that being: an entire mountain-side missing its core, was something he hadn’t witnessed before in terms of size and complexity. 

He wondered if the chasm from within the river and the humming songs had been his imagination as well, but noxious fog had never been a feature in his delusions. Typically, he could tell what was real and what was not, but the visceral response to the river haunted his dreams. 

He wanted to know.

That was when Edward realized he had been unmedicated for over 2 weeks. Not by choice of course; he simply lost his pills in the shuffle of the move. With an irritated sigh, Richtofen pulled out his phone. His eyes stung from the sudden brightness lighting the dim room, but soon began to look for local psychiatrists. 

“I should have done so my first day back. No wonder I’ve been so neurotic,” the man scolded himself.

A few search engine pages later, Richtofen had found that there were only 3 within sensible driving distance. The decision came easy as he further looked into their practices. Either an appointment in a hospital, a stuffy office, or a house surrounded by acres of solitude? Obviously the house. He would hate the neighbors to judge him even further. Besides, Edward still harbored bitterness that their hostility led to his car getting vandalized.

To his relief, it looked as though this psychiatrist had a husband of his own. Best to go with someone that could guarantee comfortable conversations about dating. Richtofen had a lot to say about dating, especially lately.

Dutifully, he typed an email to schedule an appointment.

And one new text appeared from Dempsey:

‘See you tomorrow Eddie :-)’

Chapter Text

Edward knew the grown-ups were talking about him in whispered French. They thought he could not understand the tongue. However, the boy could offer no defense from the other side of the headmaster’s door. 

Edward was only 9 years old, both small and trim for his age. Likewise, he dressed in a modest fashion that came with being in the foster care system. Particularly, a polo bearing the iconography of the antiquated boarding school, accompanied by short khakis and dress shoes. Despite this adherence to dress code, the boy’s dark curls still remained, unkempt and soft. Eddie would become childishly irritable and uncooperative if it were groomed in any sort of ‘affluent’ style. He had lost his parents only a few months ago, and inherited very little. The invitation into this school was on his own abilities, not the wealth of a family.

Suddenly, the shrill ringing of the recess bell sent crowds of children dashing. Most of whom, gave not a single glance to the young foreigner seated against the wall. Edward would not be allowed to join them; not that he had any friends here anyway. All he could do was swing his legs from the tall plastic chair. 

Eddie knew the grown-ups were talking about him, but he was much happier to be here than with the rowdy classmates. 

A crawling centipede caught his eye, and he swiftly pounced to the tile floor for a closer look.

‘He doesn’t pay attention.’

Eddie grabbed it by the tail and dangled it between his fingers, observing the creature as it twisted and snapped it’s jaws. It was green and iridescent in the light. 

‘He is aggressive with other children.’

With a curious giggle the boy set the animal in his palms, letting it weave and thread itself delicately through his fingers. It tickled him with each wave of its tapping tendrils.

‘He throws tantrums in class.’

The insect crawled up Edward's arm, to which he followed every precise movement. As if counting the steps. 'Scolopendra polymorpha,' at least he was fairly certain of so.

‘He disrupts class with imaginary sights.’

Reaching in the pockets of his uniform, Edward pulled a stick he had stowed away. In case, the child figured, he needed to fight any monsters today. 

The millipede climbed on and snaked its winding body around the twig. Now his knight’s sword held a mystical familiar to protect it.

Just then, Richtofen heard the click of the door opening from behind. Out stepped the headmaster, his social worker, and two others he had never seen before. He said nothing as he shrank away from the figures, and hid the “sword” behind his back.

One of the two strangers, a middle-aged man in chrisp dress-clothes, kneeled down with a friendly smile. 

“You must be Edward.”

The boy lowered his mismatched gaze warily. This man was able to speak German.

“I’m Doctor Ludvig Maxis. Your teachers have told me you are very bright.”

Rather than respond, Edward pulled the twig from behind his back, and shared the grand discovery as his own personal welcome. 

His social worker immediately interfered, “Edward Richtofen, show some manners!”

The man assured Eddie and his guardian with a laugh, “that’s quite alright, I promise.” 

He returned his attention to the child with sincerity, “what a beautiful creature you’ve found. You know, my daughter Samantha loves bugs too.”

Doctor Maxis then ushered the second stranger, a little girl with dark hair as long as her modest white dress, before the boy.

She waved shyly, her other hand carrying a stuffed bear. Naturally, instead of an introduction, Edward moved the insect close to her face with a serious curiosity for her insight.

“WOAH!” she marveled, getting closer to observe the twitching creature. 

Samantha then looked at the shining skeleton, and then Eddie’s eyes, and then the insect, and Edward again. He only moved back, startled by her intensity, and shielded the creature from her sight.

“That’s cool,” she smiled, “it’s two different colors at once. Just like your eyes.”

Ludvig made a hardy laugh, “Samantha, your startling him!”

She only grinned mischievously. To the boy’s surprise, the two did not seem frustrated with his silence. Instead, they seemed to understand him without words. Eddie already felt at ease knowing he could be himself.

“Now Edward, I’ve heard your favorite subject is science.”

Samantha quickly chipped in, “it’s our favorite too!”

“That’s right, and we were wondering if you would like to be my student. Although you will still remain at this school, you won’t have to worry about your classmates anymore. Just you, Samantha, and I.”

Now they had Richtofen’s full attention. He looked urgently to his social worker for validation.

She nodded, “How does that sound, Eddie? Doctor Maxis is being very generous.”

The young foreigner began to bounce on his heels and wave his free hand excitedly, a wide smile on his face.

Samantha giggled and bounced with him, “I can tell that’s a yes!” and the two kids began to dance around each other with glee.

The doctor stood from his crouched position, and assured the headmaster, “thank you for calling me here. I promise Edward can become a model student, even with his special needs.”

Maxis then out-stretched his hand to Eddie, “would you like to see your new classroom?”

The boy grabbed his hand after a moment of hesitation, while Samantha moved to her father’s side. 

The three walked down the echoing hallway together, swinging their arms.

And Edward would no longer feel the need to hide.

Chapter Text

The church bell tolled.

For the next few days, Dempsey continued to give Richtofen rides to and from work. Frankly, this was the only thing to get the German out of bed anymore. The occasional stays at the workshop were extra special in doing so. 

He found that the creeping sense of loneliness and isolation still possessed him as a newcomer. Yet despite this, his new friend would take longer and more scenic routes on their drives just to get a little more time together. Richtofen appreciated the patience and consideration greatly. Besides, he would be lying if Daisy’s ears flapping in the wind didn't bring a smile to his face. In fact, just yesterday they enjoyed a drive through the downtown district:

“What do you mean you don’t like breakfast food?” Tank almost sounded offended, “it’s like having sweets every morning!”

Richtofen chuckled, “It’s not that! I never have time is all, I’m always in a rush these days," he reclined a bit, “but I suppose stuffing myself with sugar would make me nauseous anyway.”

“What if you ate it for lunch?”

“Mmmm tolerable?”

“You know, I actually have a friend that owns a diner? Breakfast food all day! You should meet him, or all the guys really.”

“Meet your friends?” he nearly burst out in laughter.

“I’m serious! They already know about you anyway. I think they’re kind of looking forward to it.”

“Oh,” he pressed warily, “what have you told them?”

“Just that you moved into the spook-house down the street, and some kids cut your breaks for it.” Dempsey smirked sarcastically.

An offended “hey!” was all he could retaliate with.

To think Dempsey felt comfortable enough to introduce him to his friends. Edward couldn’t believe that. Though, it was nice that the American seemed to wish for Edward to put himself out there. The Marine was very pushy since all the doctor wanted to do was go to work and lock himself in his home. 

At least, thought he, their comradery was not only bound by convenience. 

Still, this caused Richtofen to battle with himself further; wondering if his attraction was romantic or if he simply felt good getting out of the house. Perhaps even, if the feelings were mutual. 

Working at the college with Schuster and his students was all well and good, but he found it to be more about talking “at” them, rather than talking “with” them. Not a proper relationship by his own standards, he’d say. Then again, at least he found himself well liked in the academic crowd. Everyone held him in high regard, rather it be by his reputation, his family name, or the devotion to his practice. He wished he could say the same for those in his neighborhood. 

Dempsey, having driven to the home frequently, mentioned that the locals had indeed considered Edward’s house haunted. The two learned that rumors in which the home was vacant, only to be visited by spirits once a year, had actually been the younger Richtofen and his family visiting their summer home. Likewise, the eerily quiet years that followed was, in truth, when they had all moved back to Germany. It was purely coincidental that their lack of return had aligned with the worst landslide to hit the town in decades. He was slightly annoyed to learn that teenagers would often trespass the home on the pretense of a dare, only to smoke weed and scribble swear words and pentagrams into the walls of his childhood. 

Despite all this, his mind at the moment was filled with dread. Today would be their final drive together, as his car had been fully repaired. To Edward's discontent, reality never changed based on how palatable it was.

 It was then that he watched Dempsey’s truck pull up the driveway from the window, and instead of the usual honk he signaled for his arrival, the American came to the door. Edward, embarrassed by the condition of his home, dashed into the hall to kick and shove as many boxes from his guest’s sight as he could. He then waited a few seconds after the doorbell rang to give the illusion that he wasn’t waiting at the door for his “friend” to arrive.

“Hey Eddie, good to see ya!” Dempsey smiled, “I wanted to give you this back before I forget again.” He outstretched an antique switchblade to the doctor.

“Oh!” Edward said with relief as he took it gingerly in his hands, “I had no idea I lost this. I feel bad I didn’t notice it was gone.”

“Is it valuable or..?”

“Valuable to the soul I suppose,” he ran his digits across the intricate golden patterns that marked the sheath, “It’s a family heirloom.” 

“Thank you for taking good care of it, Dempsey.”

The German then glanced to the parked truck, “where is Daisy?”

“She’s here, just laying down is all.” He gave a whistle and clapped, “C’mere girl! C’mon and say hi!”

The retriever perked her ears and jumped from the truck bed. Energetically so, despite her age. 

She trotted up to the door, but immediately stopped as if an intangible barrier was holding her back.

“C’mon Daze, it’s alright!” Dempsey called again, but to no avail. Instead, she paced by the blockade and began to whine.

“Huh. Weird. She’s usually really obedient,” the man scratched his chin, “well, we should be heading to the shop now anyway. She’s probably worried we’ll be late!”

The doctor nodded, and slid on his shoes while perched in the door frame. 

Richtofen loved dogs, and was profoundly certain that they understood things humans could not. Thus, Daisy’s unwillingness to approach made his skin crawl. Either there was still an animal lurking in his home, or an apparition of some sort was keeping her at bay. 

…..Honestly, Edward hated that he was giving in to the rumors. So instead, he settled that the thick scent of fresh paint had upset her nose, (regardless of rather he believed this or not.)

As the three drove to the blasting radio, Dempsey was unnaturally silent. As if thinking very carefully. The truth of the matter was: he contemplated on how to ask if they can keep hanging out. Tank was oblivious to the mutual attraction, and therefore attempted to piece together a sentence that didn’t sound creepy or invasive. The last thing he wanted was to scare the timid doctor off. However, to Dempsey’s favor, it was Edward that was able to speak first.

“You said your friend owns a restaurant?”

He turned down the radio as to not shout over the noise, “that’s right, a diner.”

“What is he like?”

“His name is Nikolai. He’s a big guy. 'Russian if the name didn’t give it away.” He paused for a moment and considered how to describe his complicated friend, “kind of a ‘looks like he could crush you, but is actually a big softie’ type of vibe. He takes care of everyone pretty well.”

“Everyone?”

“I have more than one friend, Eddie.” Dempsey smirked.

He laughed, “no no, I mean who else is there?”

“Hmm... Well I’ve told you about Peter, and you know Misty. We’ve actually been best friends since Elementary school. Hell, I don’t know where I’d be without her! There’s also her girlfriend, Jessica-”

“Girlfriend as in friend that’s a girl, or?”

“Girlfriend-girlfriend. They’re dating.”

The German attempted to let out a sigh of relief as inconspicuously as possible. It was a relief to learn for certain he was not bigoted. Dempsey, however, was still able to perceive the sigh, and asked suspiciously:

“You don’t have a problem with that, do you?” 

Edward, alarmed, began to stutter pathetically, “No! I mean, of course! No, that’s not what I mean. I mean there is no problem. I am too.”

“You’re dating Jessica?!? How?!”

“NO! I mean. Ugh,” he pressed his temples. Edward wasn’t quite ready to come out, but frankly he set himself in this position. 

“I mean, I’m gay too.”

“Oh.” was all Dempsey said. Yet internally, he was having a fiesta. Seldom was the object of his affection ever capable of returning his feelings. Perhaps, just this once, fate was looking out for him.

….Meanwhile, Edward was screaming in the deep recesses of his brain.

  ‘Oh?!?....OH?!? THAT’S IT?!?’ he panicked. 

The frantic man soon began feeling as though the air was being sucked out of the cabin, so he fiddled with his knife to keep his anxious fingers busy. 

‘SAY SOMETHING-SAY SOMETHING-SAY SOMETHING,’ he begged internally.

And Tank broke the awkward pause,

“Jessica’s cool though, but don’t get on her bad side,” he laughed, “she works down at the bar.”

“There’s also Nikolai’s fiance Takeo. He’s awesome! He studies at your college so you may have seen him. Super chill and thoughtful,” the american added with a wink and a nudge, “and not hard on the eyes either.” 

It became apparent that Tank was intentionally trying to draw a question from Edward’s lips.

“Wow, a fiance?” Richtofen eased up.

“Yea, they’ve been dating for a real long time.” he spoke proudly, “but the wedding’s next summer so Tak can finish his degree.”

Suddenly, Richtofen was able to put the pieces together in the most wonderful way he could imagine. He connected the dots, those dots being the people Tank held dear.

“Now, when you said Nikolai looks after everyone-”

“He doesn’t want anyone to experience what he dealt with back home. Especially on account of who he loves. That’s all.”

“...that’s very noble of him.”

“That’s just the kind of person he is.”

And Richtofen, cautiously, carefully, peeled the inquiry from his nervous tongue, 

“...are you gay too?”

“No,” Dempsey said casually, but just as the doctor felt his soul disintegrate out the window and into the pines, the American clarified.

 “Actually, I’m Bi.”

Edward slumped back in the passenger seat. He wanted to shake the mechanic by his collar and scream ‘DON’T SCARE ME LIKE THAT!’ until Dempsey could no longer breathe.

But of course, he didn’t.

“What’s with the reaction?” The soldier raised curiously.

“Ah. I just find it comforting. That there’s someone here that gets it. I mean, the last thing I expected was to find a community. Especially in a town that gives such conservative impressions.” The German half-lied.

“I can’t say I feel any different. It’s cool to know I can be real with you.”

“And I, you! I’m actually quite relieved that’s out of the way.”

“Same here. Looks like people like us really do travel in packs!”

After what seemed like the longest conversation of Edward’s life, they finally arrived at the auto shop. Richtofen gave a wave to Misty as Dempsey pulled on his work shirt.

“Hear anything from Peter yet?” he spoke as he did so.

“Sorry dude, nothin’ at all,” she frowned.

“Hm. I guess I’ll try Smokey’s place again..” was all the American could mutter. He then led Daisy and Edward to the garage, and made certain that he would be the one to open the door and present his work.

“You ready?” he grinned.

“Don’t tease me,” the taller man whined.

There, when Dempsey opened the door, the doctor became starstruck at the work before him. Not only was the car repaired, but it was freshly painted a mocha brown with stylish strips of white along the doors. Even all the little dents and scuffs had been buffed out.

“Dempsey!” he exclaimed, circling the small vehicle.

The mechanic scratched the back of his neck bashfully, “you know. Anyone who says appearances don’t matter are BSing. I figured a good shine will make people less scared of you... No offense of course.”

“None taken!” Richtofen gasped, still impressed by the craftsmanship. Dempsey was probably right too, showing up in a dusty old sudan that appeared as if he played pinball on the highway did little for first impressions. Hell, the beat up car was practically inviting to vandals. 

He felt emotion swell in his chest. Tank Dempsey truly did want him to feel welcome, and he obviously cared for his comfort. The stirring thoughts nearly made Edward cry, but he refused to do so.

“Surely I have to pay you extra for your time!”

“Nah, consider it a housewarming gift,” the mechanic shrugged.

“Dempsey, you’re amazing.” 

“I know,” he laughed, “now get to work before you’re late.”

“You’re right, but I will still find a way to repay you. Perhaps I can get you breakfast at your friend’s place?”

“Oof, you know me too well,” he gripped his chest playfully as if struck by an arrow, “you know I can’t turn down free food.”

“10 o’clock then?”

“I’ll text you the address.”

On the ride to work, Edward beamed and cheered a cry of victory from the muted doors of his car. To love, was to grant himself purpose; but to feel loved, granted him strength.

Chapter Text

The morning sun was an iris in the sky, painting the atmosphere pink and blue. Today, Edward drove east, straight into this blinding light, to meet his new psychiatrist. He couldn’t help but curse whoever designed the car’s visor, as it did little to shield the sun properly.

Always a morning person, it was nice to get certain obligations out of the way before the world would fully awaken. Equally so, its satisfying to be the first to see earth metamorphosize into living beauty. An honor, evem. 

Opposed to the lonely and uncertain darkness of night, this type of isolation was nice. Likewise, the sunlight seemed to illuminate the sparkling dew drops on grass a brilliant gold. Among this, the road would become an ocean of rolling hills that he sailed.

After a short time, The German finally reached the brick fence and blackened metal gates of the plantation home. However, the residence was much larger and shaded by several drooping willows, as well as a vast expanse of fields and gardens.

Lowering the window, he pressed a mounted buzzer. Without hesitation, a boisterous English accent answered.

“Hello-Hello! You wouldn’t happen to be Edward Richtofen, would you?”

“Hello,” he stuttered, shaken by the sudden volume, “that’s right. I’m here for-“

“Well, what the hell are you waiting for? Come in! Just park out front and we’ll get you settled.”

An odd first impression, but at least he seemed friendly.

Richtofen drove past the fence and came upon the large doors of the estate. Out front, he saw a man sitting cross-legged on the porch, smoking a cigar. The stranger was old and grey, yet held a dignified posture and an heir of regality. In fact, it were almost as if the man was a ghost. He even dressed like he time-traveled from 1920’s Louisiana. Edward could not imagine wearing a three piece suit in this heat. 

Here, the German also spotted an old tire swing that hung from one of the twisting willows. He had a hard time picturing the man before him using it. It seemed plain silly.

Richtofen clutched the blade resting in his pocket, squeezing out a sense of comfort, and approached.

The other man, however, seemed deeply disturbed by Edward’s appearance. His eyes shot up and down frantically, as if the German were the actual ghost here. 

The incredulous look quickly changed as the man lowered his lids and scowled.

“Hello, you must be Doctor Clemens!” Edward sheepishly extended his hand.

However, the apparition said nothing, and only stared at the palm before him.

The awkward tension was heavy as Richtofen lowered his gesture, “I am sorry for being a few minutes late. I got a bit lost.”

Still no response as he ashed his cigar.

Just then, the double doors to his side swung open.

“Ah, Edward Richtofen. Nice to finally meet you,” a different man exclaimed in an English voice.

“Oh, are you Doctor Clemens?” Edward was embarrassed, “sorry I thought-”

“Don’t even worry about it! Come in, come in,” he ushered the young man through the door, “you’ll have to excuse my husband, he’s a bit of an ass to strangers.”

The pair stepped into the sophisticated living room, where two leather chairs sat adjacent, separated by a coffee table. Not only this, but the room was lined with paintings, with a great window reflecting on the wood linoleum and bathing the room in light. Every corner was dusted and cleaned, and the scent of cut melon and linen wafted in the air. 

“Can I get you anything? Some coffee or tea, perhaps?” he hummed as he poured a small kettle out for himself.

“No thank you,” he assured,“it’s a pleasure to finally meet you Doctor Clemens.”

The old man took a seat and steeped his tea, “Please, just Doctor Monty.”

“Of course, Doctor Monty,” Edward took his place parallel.

This psychiatrist was already unlike any he had seen in his long life. The fine attention to aesthetics, his antiquated manner of dress, (that being: a green tweed jacket and dress pants), and experienced aura did not seem to match his personality. At all. Doctor Monty was extremely casual in how he spoke, at least, enough to spit profanities and mean it. Yet, he seemed to watch Edward a little too long, breaking past professional curiosity or good manners. To which, the old man openly acknowledged:

“Excuse my gaze, you’re not at all what I pictured,” he sipped, “those are some eyes you have there.”

“I get that a lot,” Richtofen laughed nervously.

He set down the tea cup, “now tell me, what brings you in search of therapy?”

Edward reached into his pocket, “I recently moved back here and I need someone to refill my prescriptions,” he handed the psychiatrist a list.

“Is that so?” Monty nodded, recognizing the names of antidepressant and antipsychotic medications. 

He set the list down, “how have you been settling in? Hm?” 

“It’s a bit lonely I confess, but I’ve already made a friend so it’s not all bad,” he attempted to choose his words carefully, before adding, “though, I think the stress of the move has made me.. Erratic? If that is the word?”

Monty only gave him a look that said, ‘well, explain yourself!’

Edward scratched at his jaw, “I don’t know. I suppose one moment I’m heavy with grief, but the next I am neurotic, and then I will glow with confidence. Even my eyes have been tricking me in more imposing ways than usual.” 

“Could you be more specific? Hell if I know what that last bit means.”

Squirming in his seat, he refused to elaborate. Such a complicated topic required a bit more comfort to delve into.

Leaning back, Monty acknowledged the discomfort and moved on, “why did you choose now to return? You almost sound like coming here was a pain in the ass. But, I guess that’s how moving goes.”

Edward fiddled with his cuticles, “I needed a change of scenery. Since I inherited the home from my late parents, I thought coming here would help get in touch with them.”

“Shit, sorry I asked.”

“Oh no, it’s alright. That was some time ago. I just don’t know how to handle the South now that I’m an adult. As a kid, this place was more liberating, but now it’s… Who knows.”

Pulling feathers, he pressed Richtofen curiously, “would you say you’re happy to be back?”

“...Not really.” 

“Is there a particular reason? I mean, you practically lit up to the idea of a fresh start.”

“Oh you know, memories and what not. That sort of thing.” Edward shrugged.

He plucked another, “Is it grief?”

“...I don’t know.”

Leaning on his palms, he tugged one more, “what do you think is making you want to avoid this conversation?”

Edward flinched at the queary, as he knew exactly why. He was seldom a liar, but instead disguised genuine confessions in reality’s truth. Or at least, by omitting compromising details. 

So instead Richtofen half-lied, “I’m actually planning on meeting that new friend after our session. I don’t want to dig up something that I won’t have time to sort through.” 

“Of course, of course,” the doctor nodded and scribbled something on a notepad.

 “Let’s switch gears then, shall we? Why don’t you tell me about your friend? You seem very excited to meet him.”

To this, Richtofen blushed at his transparency, “he makes me feel less lonely. Perhaps even, my interest is more than platonic.”

“Does your desired relationship have potential to come to fruition?”

“If that’s a refined way of asking if he also likes men, then yes. He does," he said shyly, "I wanted to mention I was pleased to see you have a husband. That was one of the reasons I picked you to start.”

Monty laughed, “we would have problems if you thought otherwise,” he added after a thoughtful moment, “it seems what you need most is some Risperidone and a sense of belonging, am I correct?”

Edward couldn’t help but chuckle as well.

The two spent the rest of the session learning more about each other. The psychiatrist was born and raised in England, but he came to the states to study medicine. It was here that Monty met his husband, and he never felt the need to return home. Like Edward, there was not much to leave behind. 

Monty spent his initial years working as a surgeon, but found he lacked the emotional stamina to continue. He later found therapy to suit him better, as he would continue his work on improving others in less upsetting fashions. 

Above everything, Richtofen found that he quite liked him. He initially feared he’d have to spend a couple weeks ‘shopping’ for a proper match, but Doctor Monty appeared to suit just fine. His brash vernacular only lightened the sensitive environment.

“So,” Doctor Monty spoke, “I think the best course of action is to start your medication again slowly, and I will see you twice a week to monitor your progress.” 

He then wagged his finger, “to move a mountain, one must begin with the stones.”

“That sounds wonderful. Thank you, Doctor Monty,” Edward said, taking the prescription in his hands.

“I’m sure you can see yourself out,” the old man shook the sweaty palms.

As he left, Richtofen payed more attention to the frames lining the walls. It came as no surprise that a doctor of Monty’s standing appreciated naturalistic art, as it aimed to represent the world as it was. There was no focus on beauty, conventional techniques, or even subconscious elements holding a secret beyond what is shared. It was dark, imperfect, yet familiar. Feral emotion, the instinct that humans inherited. Cruelty, which likewise can be portrayed, was a modern invention.

Just then, a photograph caught his eye. It was a far younger version of Monty. However, a majority of the photo was covered by a vase holding a bouquet of white lilies.

Just as he reached to get a closer look, Richtofen felt a heavy presence behind him. He turned to find Monty’s husband, scowling once again.

“S-sorry!” He stuttered, and nearly dashed from the man’s shadow and into the car.

A gentle wind overtook the meadow, and the cicada’s stretched their beating wings.

—————————

Dempsey scratched his arm as he confided to his friends from within the diner.

“I don’t know what to do. I’m just worried.”

“Normally I would say you’re being paranoid,” Nikolai sighed, “but Smokey was supposed to see me this morning too.”

Takeo asked warily, “you don’t think they left somewhere together, do you?”

“If that’s the case, they should have shot me in the leg too,” Tank muttered bitterly.

“Will you call the police?” 

“McCain will be in for a world of trouble if the cops find his gun,” he lowered his volume before going on, “plus Smokey has one or two things at his place we’ll all get in trouble for.”

Nikolai and Takeo both gulped, convinced. There was a reason he was called Smokey.

“Maybe they did leave,” the soldier said wistfully, “sucks I never got to say bye.”

Takeo rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “I’m certain that after they’ve had some space, you will hear from them again.”

He forced out a smile, “you’re probably right.”

It was then that the ringing bell sounded, and Dempsey turned to find Edward standing in the doorway; his dark skin and smooth hair as vibrant as ever.

“Eddie!” The American called with glee, “you made it!”

The doctor was unsure if a hug was appropriate, so instead he waved shyly, “I spotted Daisy out front so I knew where to go.”

“Well c’mon!” Tank tugged his friend closer, “guys, meet Edward Richtofen.”

Nikolai took the man’s shaking palm into a rough handshake, “finally good to meet you. Dempsey’s been talking about you for a long time-“

The German raised his brows in shock once he got a better look at the Russian across the bar. 

“Wait a second, are you Nikolai Belinski? The writer?”

He blinked, “you know me?”

“Yes, I’ve read your memoirs!” Edward said excitedly, “I had no idea you were that Nikolai. Had I known, I would have brought my copy.”

The cook rubbed at his neck with humble embarrassment, not knowing how to respond.

“Have you been working on anything lately?” Richtofen eased, made timid by his own enthusiasm.

“Not yet.”

“I will still be looking forward to your next project,” the German looked to his side, “and you must be Takeo?”

“Nice to meet you,” he bowed his head slightly, a cultural gesture he never quite shed, “Dempsey tells me we go to the same school.”

“That’s right.” he said, “what are you majoring in?”

“History.”

A thoughtful pause, “...You and your fiance are both artists of thought. That is very sweet.”

Takeo reddened at the observation, to which Edward began to apologize profusely. He wished he knew how to stop making a fool of himself through the need to speak without thinking.

 Richtofen had many fond memories of reading Nikolai’s work during his college days. The eloquent writings granted him confidence in his hard life, understanding that fascinating stories seldom came from dull experiences. Even so, the couple seemed made for each other in an affectionate and familial sort of way. He was left to wonder if this was innate.

Edward recalled Dempsey describing the Russian as watchful and protective, as this too was apparent. The man seemed restrained in his interactions with Richtofen, as if judging, as if he was forming his opinion of him right before his eyes. Although outwardly friendly, the underlying caution made this worrisome. Edward had hopes this was Nikolai trying to see if he and Dempsey were compatible: which he now felt the need to prove to the best of his ability.

“Now Nikolai: Tank will not stop raving about your french toast-”

The Russian grinned, “say no more.”

“One for him as well please,” Edward called softly as the man stepped into the kitchen.

Dempsey then leaned in the German’s space, “so how’s the house work coming?”

“It’s coming along fine, I’ve finally sanded all the profanities carved into the staircase,” he sighed, “but the yard work is impossible...Do you know where I could get a lawn mower?”

The soldier gestured to his friend, “gardening’s more Takeo’s department.”

“I think I would much rather help you myself,” the Japanese man smiled, “it is the least I could do to welcome you to our neighborhood.”

“I couldn’t accept that,” Edward blushed.

“It would be no trouble, and I have many herbs in my greenhouse looking for a home.”

With that, the doctor finally felt ok. His nerves appeared to dissipate, and Nikolai arrived with the meals which were presented delicately on decorated platters.

Edward took his plate with great appreciation, and spoke equally so, “thank you for your hospitality, Takeo. But please, only when you have free time.”

“Sunday, if that is fine.”

“I wouldn’t mind lending a hand as well,” the Russian crossed his arms.

Tank joined in, “I want to help too!”

The doctor laughed, “I bet you do,” before confirming, “is Sunday alright with everyone?”

They all nodded, and Edward realized that, perhaps, this would be where he could find what he craved. This is what he wanted.

Reminded of cravings, he took a bite of the piping hot meal before him, and marveled, “Nikolai!” 

Never had the German experienced the need to cry from food, but the touching endearments of his new friends, his self-actualization via the unconventional therapist, and the comforting warmth of a late breakfast had all combined to form a knot of emotion in his throat.

He continued to chew as droplets came down from his eyes, and dashed onto the countertop.

And the three made no question that Richtofen was enamoured by the prologue of their relationship.

And Dempsey only wanted to condition the doctor to so much love and acceptance, that there would be no need for tears ever again.

He confidently put his arm around Edward, and the four shared the rest of the afternoon together.

Chapter Text

The bright sky and screeching cicadas offered a looming premonition of a hot day to come, however, this would not bother Takeo. The warm weather made him feel right at home. 

Takeo had grown up in a house of wealth and privilege near the former capital of Japan. For ages, his family name was engraved in military history, from the sharpest samurai to the wisest generals. In fact, he was one of the few left to pass on the tradition of welding one’s own sword.

 Although this upbringing granted him whatever he desired, he never became jaded by greed. He was a thoughtful man who sought more value in little gestures. However, he simultaneously found himself very lonely. His childhood was spent isolated by fellow children and judgemental eyes. So instead, he followed the hand of fate to convert ‘loyalty to family’ into ‘loyalty to love.’ He moved to America.

Though his relatives were disappointed by Takeo’s decision; they could not strip him of his birthright. He used the money to bring to life his honest desires. In other words, a comfortable future with Nikolai, a safe home, and especially his greenhouse. 

Takeo’s personal greenhouse was his biggest passion, as he found great satisfaction in caring for those who could not care for themselves. In this case, it was an array of life that would never stand a chance in the changing seasons without proper guidance. He found himself a mentor of silent souls.

As the foreigner tread down the sidewalk, he tugged his red wagon from the sticky warmth of humid air. With him, he carried pots of basil and lemongrass, lavender and dandelion, even trimmings from a blackberry bush. Takeo was certain his new friend would benefit from the presence of greenery; as simple as purifying the space with living wards. 

Dempsey often found himself at the receiving end of this gesture, as Takeo frequently gifted him plants to care for. However, now it was Edward’s turn. 

The two had spoken candidly for the week, almost as if long time friends. They were naturally miserable by their more emotional nature. Yet, eventually, Takeo realized that the German was hiding underlying fear. He was empathetic to the matter; he himself was once the foreigner exploring unknown parts of America, he was once a stranger who so desperately wished for a home. The only difference was that Edward appeared completely alone. No mention of colleges or family, not even old friends. Therefore, he took it upon himself to ease the doctor’s transition the only way he knew how. Besides, there is something about sharing a project that brings people together.

It was then he finally spotted Edward, trimming the bushes with a great amount of effort. The man laughed; manual labor was certainly not Richtofen’s forte. Still, after hearing the approach of the squeaking wagon, the doctor was excited to greet Takeo’s arrival.

“Takeo!” He waved as he stepped through the tall grass, and dropped the heavy sheers, “you came!”

“Of course,” he nodded, “how long have you been working? I hope I didn’t leave you waiting.”

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he breathed, “Only an hour or two.”

Takeo tried not to laugh, his friend acted as if he had been working for hours. Yet even so, the German continued, “I just finished digging up this sapling to move it to the backyard.” 

He then gestured to a sprouting dogwood tree, not yet decorated with off-white blossoms, and removed from its former place in the earth.

He added once more, “where is Nikolai?”

“He was needed at his volunteer position. He sends his apologies.”

“It’s no trouble,” Edward nodded, yet, confessed himself disappointed. 

He had the feeling his Russian friend still kept wary eyes on him; he felt it all week. The doctor wanted to put the suspicion to rest by making his intentions known; that he was good enough for Tank Dempsey. Nikolai would have to wait another day. 

“Do you know what you’ll put in the tree’s place?” Takeo asked.

“I was thinking flowers. But frankly, I trust your judgement better!”

Takeo took the opportunity to step around the patch of dirt which lined the perimeter. Perhaps, a flowering shrub would do better. Hydrangeas would be too imposing by their mere size, yet lilac was humbling and kind. Maybe even, he considered, yellow Forsythia could accompany the faint purple, and would grant both love and anticipation to someone that needed it.

He spoke his vision into existence, and finished, “though, I think you had best replant the tree before it goes into shock.”

Richtofen was enamored by the way his friend spoke of the verdure, more like he was writing a book than doing landscape work.

“I better start digging then,” he nodded before dashing off to the backyard.

Alone, Edward was grateful for the twisting banyan and it’s tall shadow. It had only been a few minutes spent standing in the sun, and the German already began to feel nauseous from the overbearing heat. This would have been far less painful, had Edward possessed the courage to wear a top with shorter sleeves. However, he was not ready to literally bare the scars of his past to his new companions.

Edward struggled to find his footing with his first plunge into the earth. Slightly shaded, but it would get enough sunlight throughout the day. He even began to imagine how nice the blooms would look, even if spring was a long time from now.

Digging looked so easy, but he found tearing up the roots and compacted dirt a challenge. Stumbling and stomping into the spade, the man tried. He was left to critique the inner-workings of American capitalism that paid gravediggers so little. 

As Edward continued to heave the heavy loads, he came to an abrupt pause when he heard a metallic thud. The doctor would have self-immolated if he did all this work only to find a rock, (or worse, some piping), blocking his way. Although, he quickly realized that this was not a stone, nor a part of the plumbing. His heart sank when he discovered a familiar tin box.

Takeo, meanwhile, was a swift worker. He trimmed the grass neatly, occasionally pulling debri from the brush, and prepared the soil. The man then lifted the dogwood sapling, and took it to the backyard to clear the area. However, upon arrival he found his friend kneeling in the grass and clutching something to his chest.

Takeo set the tree against a wall before calling, “what have you found?”

Edward jolted, and set the object behind his back, “nothing important.”

Despite this, he was intrigued by the mysterious buried treasure, and approached, “may I see?”

Richtofen made no argument as he handed over the tin box with a sigh. On the surface lay a rusted engraving that read ‘Fluffy.’ There was no shine to the artifact, but the attention to detail in the little marks had shown a lot of care.

“Ah,” was all his new friend could say, made awkward.

“She was my dog. Figures I happened to find where she was buried,” Edward scratched his neck uncomfortably.

Takeo continued to examine the box, “she was cremated?”

“Yeah, I think her collar’s still in there. We left some notes too so we could always tell her she’s a good dog... She had a long life, but her passing was sudden.” 

Edward recognized the conversation was going in a weird direction, “though, that was a long time ago.”

“She obviously still means something to you. Perhaps you’d like to give her a new resting place?”

“...That would be nice. I’d like to get a sturdier box, but it feels wrong to open this one. It’s like a time capsule for expiry.”

“If death is punctuation, it grants one meaning in a world of infinite stories. I think it’s best to honor her place within your own.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Edward confessed with a chuckle, “I’ll put this inside...do you want something to drink?”

“Yes please,” Takeo smiled.

In Richtofen’s absence, Takeo seated himself at the patio table and drew his attention to a fresh pile of overturned earth. It was messy and haphazardly placed, and carried the slight aroma of ash on the wind. It did not seem like it came from the dogwood’s new home either. Therefore, upon the doctor’s swift return, he asked:

“What are you planning to do over there?”

“Oh,” the German became visibly anxious, “nothing really.”

“...Do you want to plan something?”

He only sipped, “I think we best leave that area be for now,” then very obviously changed the conversation, “where exactly does your fiance volunteer?”

“The animal shelter, he loves it there.”

“Do you have pets of your own?”

“Not technically , but we often house animals temporarily.”

Edward leaned on his elbow, “you know, I’m actually a bit jealous. You and Nikolai seem to complete each other. I wish I had that.”

His friend became a dark red, “You’re still young. Love takes time, and compassion takes effort.”

“What was the proposal like? Who asked who?” He wriggled excitedly.

Takeo smiled wistfully, “I was visiting home for New Year’s, and I brought Nikolai along. There was something about seeing my family celebrating the new year together that made me want to make him a part of it forever. So I asked him the next day, we picked out a ring, and that was that.”

The man pulled a chain tucked under his tank-top, “I keep it here mostly. Horticulture is tough when you’re trying not to dirty something so precious.”

“That’s beautiful, Takeo.” Edward sighed romantically.

—————————

It was just past mid-day when Dempsey arrived late with Daisy in tow. Edward and Takeo had just finished setting the last of the shrubbery, and the mechanic marveled at the work.

“Damn guys, this looks like a completely different place already!”

“You think so?” Edward smiled, “I have Takeo to thank,” to which he waved off the compliment.

Tank quickly slipped into a type of ‘excited storytelling mode’ as he got out of the truck, “so I know I’m super late, but you’ll never guess what happened.” 

Takeo played along, “what?”

He paused for dramatic effect, “I found. An arm.”

“An arm?!” Edward gasped.

“Dempsey, that’s disgusting,” Takeo deadpanned. 

“I know, right?” The soldier explained incredulously, “I was just minding my own business and getting the mail, and I see the gutter’s backed up, but when I reached inside, it was just there.”

“You TOUCHED it?!” Richtofen lost his damn mind, “how are you not terrified?”

Dempsey simply shrugged, “I don’t know, I’ve seen worse?”

Takeo clarified for his worrisome friend, muttering darkly, “but that means there’s a body missing an arm, or at least, some stranger is going around cutting off limbs… You called the police, right?”

“Of course, I’m not a total idiot. They didn’t tell me much though, just that there was a mark on the shoulder they were going to look at. Hell, they even checked under my nails and stuff.”

“Did they go through your house too?”

“I said no. It probably didn’t make me look good, but I don’t want to get busted for having weed.”

“Is this exciting to you?” The german questioned, still shocked.

“Severed limbs do that to your adrenaline,” he said, and Edward agreed stubbornly:

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Now,” Dempsey rubbed his hands together, “I hope you left something for me to do. I feel bad you did most of the work.”

The doctor scratched at his chin, “well, there’s one last thing.” In that moment Edward became truly grateful. He did not want to go back to that poison river alone, and perhaps his friends could confirm that what he saw was real. 

He knew it was real. 

“I have a ravine behind my house that I wanted to clean up. You had best leave Daisy behind though, there’s a sinkhole in the middle she may fall into.”

Tank assured, “don’t worry, she won’t go anywhere without my say-so.” 

The old retriever barked in agreement.

As the three carried out some garbage bags and net to collect the litter, Takeo finally asked,

“So, what did the arm feel like?”

“Don’t encourage him.” Edward called, so instead Dempsey whispered,

“Like a cold piece of uncooked chicken.”

—————————

The dirt path to the river seemed to go on forever. It was anticipation, and Edward knew this. Since his visit to Doctor Monty’s, he was already seeing great improvement in his psyche. The illusion of holes were fewer and far between, and he found himself more calm. Likewise, his bouts of depression were less intense. Had he nothing to lean on after digging up his dead dog, he wouldn’t be able to move for a week. 

(Or worse he’d be sobbing at the touching romanticism of Takeo’s proposal story, just as he did in the diner as they first met.) 

Despite his emotions, it was imperative that he saw the river now, while he had his mental clarity. He hadn’t visited the river for over a month. He hadn’t confided about his dreams. He didn’t even know what he’d do if they saw the purpling haze. 

And yet, when the three came to the riverbank, there was nothing but crystal clear water; deep and green, with smooth stones glistening beneath the surface. Tadpoles paddled in and out of discarded jars, and the stream dragged lazily down the ancient path. Edward only stood staring out, moving parallel to the bank and searching.

Takeo noticed this, “are you looking for the sinkhole?”

“Yeah. It was right here I know it. I saw it my first night back,” he mumbled.

“I assume you couldn’t see the bottom if it was night,” he theorized. In response, Richtofen only held his tongue; the shape was too perfect, the fog too intoxicating, the feelings too real to know that this was not the case. 

Dempsey joined the search, “hey, I think this drifts down past my house too. I knew it reached far. but I figured it would have been plugged up from way over here.”

The observation validated Edward in feeling that the river was indeed abnormal, maybe his American friend was trying to help. He could recognize the man alluding to the landslide which ordained his home ‘haunted’ so long ago.

Regardless, Tank added, “but I wouldn’t let my girl swim until it’s clean anyway!”

The four began to sift out what they could. Discarded fishing line, cigarette butts, random bits of rusted steel, and even cans of beer. Takeo likewise made sure to trudge through the cool water to check around the fallen driftwood.

“There’s an old tire here.” he called, to which Tank became excited.

“Roll it over,” the soldier quickly turned to Daisy with a smile, “go Daze!”

Takeo laughed as the dog began to run alongside the comically large wheel, dancing around it playfully. The pair followed, helping to push it further. Edward took advantage of their distraction, and reached for one of the discarded glass jars to fill with the stream’s water. 

If there was a chemical contaminating the system, or if there once was, he would be able to find out.

Chapter Text

With what seemed like the ten millionth sweep of the mop, Edward was certain the stench of doctor’s office was wiped from his senses. At least, he hoped so. He wanted to actually use the upstairs at some point. By now, it had been dusted, the scuffs buffed out, the walls painted; yet it still carried a chemical smell. 

An apothecary of some lingering spiritual essence, really.

Despite this, he was eager to set up his bedroom. The man needed a small space to call his own, as even in his home he found his privacy invaded. The grey cat that once lurked in the attic returned now and then, only to knock over glassware and get fur stuck between the keys of his laptop. Still, in the end, the creature always evaded capture, and Edward was curious as to how exactly it kept finding an entrance.

The German soon pinched his temples, but this was not due to the fumes of cleaning supplies, nor a typical headache. It was another dizzy spell, and not knowing why it kept returning was distressing. 

Yes, Doctor Monty had recently adjusted his medication. However, Richtofen’s experience with the prescriptions never made him feel such confusion. Lightheadedness would roll in and out like the tide, causing him to sit down before his face became intimately acquainted with the floor. Even during class, he swore he would drop right there in front of his students; his efforts to steady himself obvious and pointed. 

For now, there was not much Edward could do. 

Just as he rested, his cell phone chirped a notification. He was pleased to see it was from Dempsey;

‘Hey doc ! you busy ?’

‘Hey :^) Not really’

‘wanna hang out ?’

..Richtofen gulped and scratched at his mosquito bites anxiously. The opportunity was tantalizing. 

‘Sure, can you come over?’

‘woah… an invite from the man himself’

‘i’ll be right there x)’

Edward shoved the phone in his pocket and dashed excitedly to the bathroom, wanting to make himself look presentable. 

...Naturally, in that moment, he forgot the wet floor. 

—————————

When Tank arrived, he had a hard time convincing Daisy to join him.

“C’mon girl, this is our first time over. Don’t be like that,” he rubbed her ears, “I really want him to like us.”

She whined apropos to the old home and stepped back, tail laid low. A transparent chain pulled her away from the windowed door. 

“You know I can’t do this without you,” he frowned, “please, Daze?”

The old retriever stood for a moment before she complied to this plea with apprehension. He rang the doorbell and whispered to her with a smile,

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

There, as Edward answered the door, Dempsey was moonstruck by the man standing on the threshold. 

Richtofen carried the light scent of cologne dusting his copper skin, and coffee clinging to his clothes. Their recent work in the sun appeared to shade the man darker, showing lines of olive tones under cuffs. His hair, meanwhile, looked freshly washed; implying that he showered just for Dempsey’s visit. He even wore a yellow and green flannel. This wasn’t the doctor’s usual fashion, but Tank figured that he was starting to adjust. It was endearing.

Although, the only worrisome thing he realized, was a bloody tissue tucked into Edward’s nostril. A stain of cherry red accumulated at the top.

“Hello!” the German still greeted with a smile.

The American raised his brows at the sight, “geez, what happened to you?”

“I was... Mopping,” he squinted regretfully.

“Oh my God.”

Edward sighed, but eagerly invited the two in.

The doctor led them into the living room, “did you have any specific plans in mind?”

“Well, I was thinking we could take Daisy to the park. Maybe get some sandwiches at the gas station too.”

Richtofen Scrunched his nose, “gas station food? Sounds suspicious.”

“Normally you’d be right, but this one place has some really good pulled-pork sandwiches.”

“Alright,” Edward snorted, “I’ll humor you, but I at least want to bring something fresh.”

He shrugged while the doctor moved to the kitchen, which shared the space of the sitting room. Then, Richtofen spoke carefully as he pulled oranges and pineapple from the fridge, “did anything come of that, uh, thing found?” 

It goes without saying, it was uncomfortable to mention severed limbs in good company.

“Nothing, and I don’t think I’m too happy about that,” Dempsey frowned in ernest.

“Well, I have no doubt that you can defend yourself, but if you don’t feel safe: please don’t hesitate to invite yourself over.”

Tank blushed at the offer, but disguised the butterflies with laughter, “thanks, Eddie.”

“Of course. Now, I won’t be long,” he nodded, and the mechanic heard a knife come down on the cutting board.

As the fruits were cut, Dempsey started exploring the space, and his attention was almost automatically drawn to the collection of shot glasses strewn about the coffee table: concoctions of dyed liquids of varying color, metal stirring rods attached to some device, even strips of paper that looked as if dipped in watercolors. A confusing display to someone with modest education.

“You working on something for school?” Tank tilted his head inquisitively.

“Please don’t mess with that,” Edward warned as he dodged the query, “it’s a very delicate project.” 

Little did Dempsey know, was this was Edward’s elaborate experiment to figure out what lie in the river. He knew that crying wolf a second time would make him look crazy, and therefore committed to collecting samples for the remainder of summer. A close watch now focused on any possible changes. Richtofen wanted to be absolutely certain that the river was poison. 

He knew it was.

Aside from the odd looking science project, Tank found that the decor was otherwise neat and homey. 

Dempsey was left to run his digits across the ivory keys of an antiquated piano, 

wondering if his beloved was classically trained. 

He followed the old photographs and paintings on the wall, 

taking in the flashbacks he never knew. 

He let his eyes scan the books that filled the shelves, 

recognizing some of his personal favorites. 

To this, he hummed a favorite quote:

“You don’t love because: you love despite; not for virtue, but despite faults.” 

“Faulkner?” Edward perked up.

“Of course,” Tank gestured to his head with a grin, “this isn’t just for good looks, it thinks too!”

The German whined playfully, “you know I hate it when you talk about yourself like that.”

Dempsey ignored this, and his attention drifted to a photo on top of the bookcase. It was a teenage Eddie, with who he assumed was his family. He gently took the memory into his hand.

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Tank said as he observed the photo closer.

“It never came up. Do you?”

He waved a ‘no’ absentmindedly, still intrigued. He could easily gather that his doctor was blessed with a growth spurt, as he appeared very small in contrast to the others. Likewise, Edward appeared more withdrawn compared to the theatrical and squirrely man he was familiar with. Even so, the rest of his family drew his curious eyes. 

Dempsey chuckled at this, “it’s kind of funny that they look nothing like you. You look like the adopted one or something.”

Edward hesitated, “I was.”

And Tank wanted to shoot himself in the foot right then and there. Actually: having a meteor crash down the ceiling, killing him instantly, would be a far better punishment. He was absolutely mortified.

“Jesus CHRIST, Tank,” he cursed himself, “Eddie, I didn’t mean-”

The taller man only laughed, “it’s alright, I promise! It’s not something I’m ashamed of.”

Regardless of the assurance, Dempsey still wanted to self-immolate. ‘ You look adopted ,’ what kind of comment was that, he lamented as shame prickled his skin.

Tank set the photo down, and slumped his body over the counter where Edward worked. 

“I’m still sorry.” He spoke face-down into the granite.

In attempt to show affection, Richtofen pushed his hands through the mechanic’s hair, and overturned the buried face, “don’t worry about it.”

Dempsey really wanted him to do that again, but he already embarrassed himself enough.

“You almost ready?” He spoke instead.

“Just about. I packed some chicken for Daisy too, if that’s ok. No bones.”

Tank smiled, “she’ll love it.”

—————————

Dempsey emerged from the gas station market with 2 styrofoam boxes, excited to introduce the German to something new. It was more about sharing a piece of his life than it was about the quality of the meal. Yet, Richtofen became impressed when he saw Daisy showing no interest towards the delicious aroma.

“She’s so well trained, she’s not even begging.”

Tank smiled proudly, “just wait until you see her fetch,” and the two made the tiresome trek uphill to the nearest park. 

Upon viewing the site, Edward found it was more of an expanse of field than a traditional park with swing sets or trails. The tall grass moved like waves with the passing breeze; almost reminding him of the default desktop image on his computer. Only instead, wide oaks stood here and there, creating isolated pockets of shade. The two set their belongings against the one closest. 

“Alright,” Dempsey took a tennis ball from his bag, “you ready girl?”

With a great throw, he sent the golden hound dashing into the weeds. One could mark her path by the blazing trail that flattened under her paws. The doctor marveled at the throw, to which his friend winked, “High School baseball.”

The old girl returned with the ball, and Tank handed it to Edward, “why don’t you give it a try?”

He took the toy gingerly, “just anywhere?” 

Tank nodded.

To no surprise, it only made it a few meters before bouncing it’s way to a stop. Then, without warning, Dempsey took off running beside the hound. The man and his dog seemed to race to see who could find the ball first. Of course, Daisy was triumphant in the challenge; however, she did not return to Edward. Instead, she chased after Tank. Some wonderful sense of euphoria came over the German as he dashed out to meet them. He was not much of an athlete, but his long legs allowed him a decent pace. 

The three continued to dash through the weeds, sending insects and dandelion floating in their wake. They laughed, and in Daisy’s case barked, from the hilltop. 

There came a point where the only energy that remained was to collapse in defeat. Although Edward could not see Dempsey from his position, he still felt him nearby. Warm, safe, excited, glowing. 

There was no better time to love than now. Richtofen’s feelings heated like an autoclave from his chest, the pressure tightening into wonderful knots. The placid field seemed to make them feel like the last people on earth. Dempsey was likewise enamored by Edward’s childlike spirit, one that remained shielded until now. It was a rallying call to the American’s desire to protect and support. 

Suddenly they were no longer strangers, 

suddenly there weren't mysterious severed arms lurking in the sewers, 

suddenly restraint towards muted affections were cast aside.

Lunch, though equally tranquil, was just as invigorating. Tank attempted to catch grapes in his mouth, while Richtofen chewed on the pork sandwich. He didn’t doubt the American’s taste, but the tender strings of meat were a pleasant surprise for the location. 

He made a note to visit the shop again, and “I told you so” would become a common phrase between the two. 

Soon, grogginess fell like a blanket, and Dempsey stretched out on the grass with a contented sigh. Richtofen was sitting nearby when he felt his nausea and vision spiraling once again. However, the doctor felt ambitious enough to try something a little more daring than just lying down.

In a slow gesture, he moved so his head could lay across Dempsey’s stomach, “is this ok?” Richtofen asked sheepishly.

“Y. Yeah,” the mechanic shielded his burning face.

Tank then let his hand hover over his friend’s head, nervous. Would it be too much to run his fingers through the dark locks as well? He wanted to, he really wanted to. 

And suddenly he was.

To this, Richtofen leaned into the touch, and muttered softly, “I think it may rain soon.”

Dempsey looked to the whispering grey clouds overhead, still caressing his beloved, “I hope.”

Edward then closed his eyes to focus on his touch-starved body. Tank was gentle despite calloused hands and a strong physique. He passed his digits as if he were petting a dove, occasionally playing with curls that stuck out here and there. The doctor could only let out subtle giggles to the sensation. He wished he could rest here forever.

Dempsey finally spoke, “the guys and I have this tradition of driving out to the beach every fourth of July. I’ve been meaning to ask if you want to tag along.”

“The beach is a long way from here,” he hummed. Only now did Edward realize he could hear the American’s baritone voice rumble from his chest.

“Yeah, but it’s a fun little road trip anyway.”

“..I would love to join you.” he smiled, “just know I’m a poor swimmer.”

Tank chuckled, “that’s fine.”

Another moment of tender silence. 

In another adventurous gesture, Edward led his hand to the man’s jaw; following the contours with a well-placed thumb, grazing the softness of a freshly-shaven face. He swore he could feel Dempsey stretch into a smile as he did so. 

Richtofen no longer cared if loneliness still clouded his judgement, because the sentiment was still real. 

He listened as an unfamiliar tune rumbled from his friend, a song without words. A lullaby for him.

Suddenly, the song was interrupted as a drop fell on the Marine’s forehead. Then another. And another. And then it became a downpour. Edward and Dempsey voiced playfully as they fled, hand and hand, with Daisy following close behind. The Marine was left grinning as Richtofen struggled to catch his breath from under a grand oak, which stood like an umbrella overhead. 

Though completely drenched, they were not cold. Their bodies burned with joy as they supported themselves against the trunk. 

“You know,” the German huffed to regain his energy, “I don’t hate the rain.”

“Yea?” Tank breathed as well.

Edward hesitated to finish, “it’s the thunder.”

“Funny. I feel the same.” The mechanic scratched, “prolly for different reasons though.”

Both became unwilling to further the subject; yet, contented with doing so. A merciful sense of mutual understanding. Instead, they watched the sky occasionally flash a blinding white, as streaks of purple and blue scarred the sky. To their relief, there was no boom.

“Thunder only happens if the lightning touches the ground,” Richtofen explained suddenly, an effort to fill the empty space. “As it travels, it creates a column through the atmosphere; and when it passes, we hear the sound of air collapsing back into the space.” 

He then looked to Tank, embarrassed, “of course, lightning only touches the ground when the charges are right.”

“Positive to negative?”

“...Opposites attract after all,” a fact which resonated well.

“My mom used to say it was God’s lions,” Dempsey chuckled, “but I think either reason suits just fine.”

Edward then pushed his wet bangs from his face, “I guess it was time to head-in anyway.”

“Yeah,” Dempsey sighed, “You think you can handle a run home?”

A flicker of competition lit the German’s eyes, “No, but I’ll try.”

—————————

By the time they reached Edward’s place, the doctor thought he was going to drop dead. Or vomit. Whatever happened first. He was very out of shape, but intrigued and impressed by Dempsey’s fitness.

Richtofen offered his friend a towel by ruffling it through his caramel hair, to which Tank snatched off with a toothy grin.

“Hey. Today was fun,” Tank spoke humbly, “I should get going though.”

Edward was unsure what type of goodbye was appropriate, so he busied his nervous fingers by reaching in the bin beside the door.

“You had better take this,” he offered an umbrella.

“Thanks, I’ll bring it back next time,” he winked. ‘Next time’ was a hopeful premonition of future days like this to come. It granted an unspoken warmth, and the soldier pulled his friend into a tight hug.

Edward hadn’t been held in a very long time, and the tight pressure of longing gave him butterflies. Dempsey, meanwhile, was just happy that the doctor hugged back. A reciprocation of feelings and vulnerability to trust.

With reluctance to seperate, Tank made his way home.

Pleased, Dempsey stepped home excitedly, Daisy at his side, his boots pattering in the rain. How wonderful he felt.

The Marine was certain that Edward liked him back, as their tender endearments only served to validate this. It was more than platonic, or at least Tank thought so. His own sense of poor confidence prevented him from thinking himself worthy. Feelings he seldom expressed outwardly. 

Perhaps he wasn’t so sure.

Instead, he resolved to make his German friend more and more comfortable. Edward was fine china; beautiful and delicate, yet admired and reserved for the most wonderful occasions. Tank wanted to make the doctor feel as special as the feelings he himself developed. Besides, how could he mention dating in a cohesive manner, when one could get lost in those aurora borealis eyes. Only today had he noticed the tinge of gold that accompanied blue and green. It was beautiful, like the vibrant quills of a peacock, or sandbars swirling in the Caribbean . The windows to his soul, of which he guarded with an avoidant gaze. 

As the mechanic finally reached his apartment, he was surprised to find three cops standing at his door, waiting. 

A pit grew in Dempsey’s stomach. 

Something was wrong.

Back home, Edward led his dripping body upstairs. He felt overcome by dizziness once again. 

Stumbling, he grasped onto the handrail so not to tumble down. Maybe, he pondered, this lightheadedness was just love. After all, today he found his deepest needs met in a matter of hours; as simple as fingers on skin and sharing an adventure with someone he cared about. It was understandable to be overwhelmed by it all. However, the doctor found himself greedy in wishing for more. Perhaps a kiss from those tantalizing lips that sang so sweetly in the weeds.

From the top of the stairs he spotted the familiar grey cat. Lashing it’s tail and looking into him with piercing green eyes.

“I am not in the mood for this, cat,” he sighed, “you’re lucky that I’m exhausted. Just please, don’t make a mess,” spoken as if the feline could understand. 

...Yet, maybe it could. The cat stood, and slowly disappeared down the hallway and into one of the rooms, and Richtofen retreated into his own.

And he changed into something dry, he heard his cell phone buzz on top of the bed.

The caller ID read Nikolai’s name, and on the other end, a frantic voice made an urgent request.

Chapter Text

Over the years, Doctor Ludvig Maxis worked hard to give Edward and his daughter a space to grow. He was pleased to learn that they both thrived with individual attention, and Eddie cleaned up quite nice now that he wanted to give his teacher a good reputation. 

The three spent the majority of their time together, rather this be for work or leisure. Sometimes Edward would sleep over with Sam, often they’d share meals together, or even occasionally they’d go out to the garden and collect bugs. Even so, one of their favorite pastimes was rough housing with Fluffy in the living room. 

To the lonesome 11 year old, everyday was an adventure where suddenly his problems didn’t matter. To Samantha, she found a best friend who shared her unconventional interests of messy science projects and monster movies. To Maxis, he got the son he never had. However, now, he found himself tongue-tied by the two children.

“Why is everyone so sad?” The boy asked as he swung his legs curiously from his mentor’s dinner table.

Ludvig scratched at his neck, “Well Edward, I was offered work in America.”

“What’s wrong with this job?”

“Nothing at all I assure you, but in America I will get the job I have worked a long time for.”

“Hmm, ok! Why are you sad then? That’s a good thing.” 

The distance between France and America made little sense to a boy who never traveled further than a few hour’s out. Therefore, the doctor had to explain:

“You see, if I take this job, I can no longer stay here and be your teacher.”

Samantha was unnaturally quiet as she clutched her favorite bear. Although she was just three years older than Richtofen, she certainly had more say in this conversation. Despite this, she did nothing but stare bitterly at her workbook.

Eddie became frantic, “you’ll be gone forever?”

Doctor Maxis could only flinch, “I’m sorry, Edward.”

“Don’t go!”

“-It’s not that easy.”

There was a wavering in Eddie’s voice as he choked out, “is it because you don’t want me? All the other kids say so.” 

Ludvig gasped, “how cruel! I would never spend two years on pity! You are a brilliant child, Edward.” 

He was not convinced, and tears fell in silence, “When?”

“In three weeks.”

Despair enveloped the young Edward; his entire structure centered around his friend and his teacher. It was too soon, and he had no idea what would happen to him. He had nothing else, not even a real home.

As the boy contemplated this, Samantha appeared to whisper something brief in her dad’s ear. 

Maxis blinked incredulously.

“So?” Sam asked her dad anxiously.

Caught deep in his mind, he nodded, “I’ll talk to your mother.”

She did a small wiggle of anticipation in her seat, and rested her hands over her friend’s, “you have nothing to worry about, Teddy. No matter what happens.”

Just then, the clock chimed in time with the boy’s curfew. 

“We’ll see each other tomorrow, I promise.” Maxis nodded, “do you want a ride back?”

Edward muttered softly, “I’ll bike. It’s fine.” However, as he packed his things and left, Sam flashed a double thumbs up, but he was too busy looking upset to theorize the meaning.

The idea that he was unwanted did not shock Eddie. He knew the kind of child he was, he knew people called him a freak because his troubling hallucinations, he knew he could be scary. Teachers would call him a ‘social-path,’ or whatever the word was, when he acted out destructive tendencies. Starting little fires, fighting with other kids, or even falling into his turbulent moods all seemed to ostracize him further. He was simply clueless when it came to self-expression without someone to understand him. He was just a kid.

Will he have to go back to regular, full, classes?

Have his roommates at the boarding school hid his bedsheets again?

When would he be getting his next meal?

On the bike ride home, these worries only cycled and cycled with the winding spokes.

Back at the house, Samantha and Maxis awaited Sophia’s return. 

Sam was disgruntled that their entire future depended on her step-mother’s approval, especially given the weight of what she would have to agree to. Despite having known her as ‘mom’ since she was 8, Sam harbored a bit of detachment. However, this was not to be confused with loathing. In fact, she actually admired her mother’s sarcastic personality and strength. She wanted to be just like her. Instead, it was complicated feelings about a girl losing her mother at birth, yet finding a new one that was everything a mom should be. 

It was then that Sophia arrived, unlocking the door and carrying a stack of papers. The way the corkscrew curls of her afro fell signified a long day, and she looked exhausted.

Right away, Samantha greeted her with a hug, “Mom! Mom! Dad has something to ask you!” 

“Yes?” She looked over her glasses, already unamused, expecting something ridiculous.

“Well, you recall Edward don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” she joined the two at the table. “did you finally tell him about the move?”

“We did, but well, Samantha...” he looked to his daughter, who hid behind her bear mischievously.

“So you know how I said I always wanted a sibling?“

“Oh my God, you want us to adopt him,” Sophia knew: this was indeed ridiculous.

“...What do you think?” The man chuckled anxiously.

His wife crossed her legs and thought very carefully, before mumbling a confused, “I barely know him.”

“That’s not weird for most adoptions,” Sam rationalized.

“Are we..well equipped? For his needs, I mean.”

Maxis added, “we got him to speak, did we not? I think a home is all he desires.” 

He then sighed, “Whatever the case, I know I want to look after him. It feels as though he is already kin.”

Sophia weighed the thoughts in her head. Making a child her own was not something unknown to her, especially given her relationship with Samantha. Even though it was as quick as being her dad’s girlfriend one day, and being her mom the next, Sophia herself was easy to adjust. Surely, the woman figured, it would not be too different to take in a son. 

Besides, she couldn't help but pity the boy. 'Far too young to have no knowledge of where he'll be sleeping that night.

Finally, she spoke, “...I think I want to talk to him first.”

Samantha shook her dad’s arm, “that’s not a no!”

—————————

The next morning, Edward arrived at Maxis’ home for his usual lessons. However, as he rang the doorbell he was surprised to see Sophia answer. Seldom did her work hours allow them to interact.

“Hey, Doctor Sophia,” he muttered, “where’s Maxis and Sam?”

She spoke carefully in her West African inflection, “they’ll be down shortly. Why don’t you come in?”

The boy returned the nod and did so, letting his backpack fall on the table with a light thud. 

While Fluffy sniffed a playful greeting to his hand, Sophia did not retreat as she normally would. Instead, she sat at the table with Eddie, and he became confused by her presence. It did not help that she was very hard to read, and thus her flat tone did little to hint at her intentions.

Sophia leaned over the table, “how have you been?”

“Ok, I guess.”

“How are you feeling about yesterday?”

“Sad.”

“Is it because you’ll miss us?”

“A‘Course” he muttered. 

What Edward was unaware of, was that Maxis and Sam were surveying the interview from the staircase behind. Even Samantha’s bear was perched to look as though it were observing as well. 

They silently cheered him on and prayed Sophia would accept him. 

‘Stop using one word answers!’ Sam coached lowly enough so Eddie wouldn’t actually hear. She then face-palmed as her mother asked, “have you got into any fights lately?”

“Yes.”

“I appreciate your honesty, but why get into those messes? Surely you don’t enjoy it.”

He frowned, “I don’t, but they were making fun of Sam for liking werewolves.” 

Samantha herself was not aware of this, and let out a small gasp. His protective actions were touching, even if she was never one to dwell on petty gossip, (nor be hurt by it.)

“Oh,” the woman spoke, slightly annoyed her daughter didn’t tell her about these bullies, “...Did you win?”

“No.”

Sophia only laughed at this. The brutal honesty of the child was certainly charming. It was then that she spotted a familiar composition notebook among Eddie’s work: deep blue with little spaceships and cartoon aliens on the front.

“Have you drawn anything new lately?” she swayed.

The boy became a little excited, “yeah, you want to see?” and handed over the journal.

Sophia flipped through the pages, giggling at the child’s active imagination. There were a lot of drawings of he and Samantha fighting, what looked like, some sort of franken-zombies. As well as doodles of a 10-foot tall Fluffy being ridden by the whole family. To no surprise, these were accompanied by many sketches of centipedes, his favorite animal.

However, as she kept reading through, the woman began to recognize some of the doodles.

“Have you seen these before?”

Looking over, Eddie nodded, “yeah. Maxis took us to a museum last week. The colors were pretty so I wanted to remember them.”

Sophia smiled, as the artwork was of her favorite artist, Claude Monet. Though messy and crude, the child was accurate in portraying the splotchy marks of pointillism and distinct themes of lily on water. She began to wonder what the trip was like to mean so much to Edward, to the point where she wished she could have been a part of it.

“You know,” Sophia smiled, “you and I should paint together. You’re very good, maybe I can show you how to use oil.”

“Really?” the child lit up. He frequently saw the evidence of her hobby laying around the house, always very tempted to try himself. However, he quickly recalled last night’s news and frowned, “but, you’re leaving. Maxis told me so.”

Here, she made one final attempt:

“...How exactly do you feel about Maxis?”

The boy hesitated to put the feelings into words. He felt a lot of things about Maxis, and Samantha, and even Sophia. They were his rock. They didn’t mind his oddities. They encouraged his curiosity. They were a family. 

Finally, Eddie whimpered, “like he’s my dad. I don’t want to lose another dad.”

And that did it for Sophia.

She cooed gentle affirmations as she held the crying child close. “

Hey, that’s alright Edward. I promise,” she said as she gestured a firm yes to her family standing behind his back, “there is no need to cry. He loves you very much, we all do.”

Sophia felt that she was never going to deny Edward in the first place, but to find out his true feelings was her real intention. Of course, she didn’t want it to come to tears. Though always well-meaning, her restricted means of self-expression often made it hard to predict the impact of her words. 

After all, a part of her knew this would happen eventually. Edward truly was like family.

At last, Maxis and Sam joined the two downstairs, and Fluffy danced around the crowd gleefully.

“Edward,” Maxis put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, “I have something very important to ask you.”

The boy looked up from Sophia’s shoulder, sniffling.

“Will you let us adopt you?”

Chapter Text

“Nikolai,” Edward exclaimed into the phone, “calm down, what’s wrong?”

“A dog! It was hit by car!” he explained over the sound of rainfall, “I cannot move him, he cries when I do so!”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You are doctor!” The Russian said desperately, worry breaking up his learned English.

Richtofen threw his hands in the air as if Nikolai could see, “I’m a human doctor, not an animal doctor! Don’t you volunteer at a vet’s hospital?”

“I have never done surgery!”

“Neither have I!”

“Blood is blood and bones are bones, da?”

Edward sighed as he rested a hand on his forehead, “they certainly are.”

Richtofen was enervated after the day spent running with Tank and his Daisy, and his skull still spun nauseating visions. The last thing he was in the mood for was a rescue mission. Instead, he was hoping for a warm bath to renew his shivering body, still drenched from the cold rain.

Even so, he knew he had to help. His deep love for dogs would never allot forgiveness if the pathetic creature died. A small sacrifice to drop dead from fatigue, if it meant the hound could live.

…. Potentially , that is.

Edward was still uncertain that his experience would translate well enough.

Convinced, the German spoke urgently, “ok, where are you? I’ll grab my medical bag and get there as quickly as possible.”

With that, Nikolai became optimistic, “thank you, Richtofen!”

—————————

Edward arrived at the scene and flashed the headlights of his car, illuminating the rainy street. The pools of blackened puddles made the road seem like a bottomless river, but he was not in the mood to think about rivers at the moment. He was more focused on the sight before him. 

Here, he found Nikolai in a raincoat, easing a small terrier, broken and bloodied, curbside on the empty backroad. The doctor quickly stepped out to his friend, rain tamping down his head.

“They did not even stop,” the Russian mumbled under his breath.

Now closer, he saw that the dog was indeed alive; yet, whining and struggling to breathe. Richtofen tugged on some gloves and palpated the animals chest.

“How is he?”

“Well, I don’t think he punctured a lung. But he has a few broken ribs.”

He moved his digits to the hound’s eyes, and peered one open to see it fully dilated into a glistening black orb. 

”Shock too… probably.” Richtofen assumed anxiously.

As Nikolai observed, the headlights of Edward’s car triggered the glow of the dog’s tapetum, frightening the larger man. It gave the hound the appearance of a reanimated beast. In fact, it would not be far-off to think Richtofen as a Doctor West in this scenario. The Russian nearly expected him to pull a glowing green serum from his bag and play the mad scientist.

Just then, Edward felt something warm and dense soaking the knee of his pants. He looked to find the terrier bleeding out as rainfall dashed the lifeblood in diluted streams. A splintering femur had broken skin, and caused trauma to the twitching thigh.

“Ok ok, Uhm,” he looked around frantically, and reached out for the Russian’s raincoat, “I need that.”

Nikolai did not need an explanation, and removed it with haste. From this, Edward folded it into a makeshift sling, and was quickly able to move the dog without exacerbating the wounds. He then crammed his cold and dripping body into the passenger seat of Nik’s SUV, and held the hound on his lap. His friend, meanwhile, did the honor of locking Edward’s car and presenting the keys. 

“Car will be safe, if anything happens I will take care of it,” he nodded, an obvious refusal to any debate.

The two traveled swiftly, a race to save the animal’s life.

As Nikolai and Edward dashed into the home, the Russian called out into the hall, “Takeo, clear table.” 

Richtofen‘s mismatched eyes darted around the home, searching for a place to rest the broken form. Instead, he found several other dogs in recovery, all either bandaged or too weak to get up. There was also a cat or two lying docile on the couch, as well as birds stretching their wings from tinted cages. Richtofen recalled his Japanese friend explaining Nikolai’s volunteer work, but he didn’t realize the dedication it entailed. 

At last, Takeo himself emerged from the kitchen to greet his guest, that was, until he noticed the terrier stretched in his arms.

He instead swore in his native tongue, and cleared his books from the space.

Now with proper light, workspace, and medicine at his disposal, Richtofen could get to work. From his medical bag he held everything he would need. Everything, except painkiller or anesthetic. 

The anguished cries of the hound upset his weak stomach while lacerations were stitched and bone was reset. It nearly made Edward cry, as his empathy for the dog caused him to take on the pain just as it did. It was sadomasochism to his sensitive heart as he attempted to hold down the creature. Though, he could not restrain his feelings for long, and let teardrops fall onto the muddied fur, face still fixed with intense focus. 

The hound only continued to thrash and scream on the table, sending blood and rain water everywhere like a flinging paintbrush.

Takeo and Nikolai attempted to help ease both the terrier and Richtofen with gentle affirmations. Rather it be by little touches or careful words. Even so, it was not until the dog became silenced, that Edward could calm down too. Either the efforts of the couple worked, or the hound finally fainted. 

He was compelled to think the latter.

The two could only watch as Richtofen put his skills to good use, and became lost in the technical details of such.

When Richtofen was satisfied with the cleaned wounds and sealed flesh, he removed his gloves with an exasperated sigh. Now, not only was he cold and wet, but there was blood everywhere. It looked as though he were a butcher, or perhaps a hunter; but now, he preferred a vet. 

Despite confusion, the man found himself equally exhilarated. Edward hadn’t performed procedures like this in a long time, and he had not yet applied to work at the hospital. Richtofen forgot what exactly he was capable of.

In the end: Proving himself felt good, helping felt better, but doing what he loved felt wonderful.

“Will he be alright?” Nikolai asked softly.

“I believe so,” he wiped his sweaty brow with a small smile, “I mean, it’s holding a pulse...”

Nikolai moved to the franken-dog and rested his hand on its beating veins. 

Instead of a proper answer, he hugged the bloody man, “you’ve saved him!”

“Sorry for the mess,” he laughed, muffled by the Russian’s imposing size.

Nik pulled away, his top now painted crimson from contact,“is alright, you can use our shower while I clean things up.”

Takeo added, “and I insist you stay for dinner, it’s the least we can do.”

This was an offer Edward could not refuse. He was still desperate for that hot bath and a warm meal. TV dinners and spaghetti became a drab routine back home, and constantly eating by himself was frankly pathetic. Likewise, the layers of filth coating skin worsened the German’s appearance as a mad doctor. He frowned and wished to be himself again as soon as possible.

“I will find you a change of clothes and leave it at the door,” Nikolai gestured to what was most likely the bathroom, “there should be towels for you as well.”

With Edward gone to wash, Takeo looked to his partner as he wiped down the table, “I told you he was not so bad.” This was spoken with utmost certainty, as he and Richtofen were becoming closer by the day.

“Perhaps, but I’m still worried.”

The older man leaned, “are you sure you’re not being overprotective?”

Nikolai hesitated, “I don’t want Dempsey to get hurt again. Especially since the wounds Peter left are still fresh.” 

The writer quickly added in confession, “though, I can’t say I’m too upset about that man’s disappearance. Honestly? I say good riddance.”

“Do not speak lightly about such things! We have no idea what's become of him.” 

Always one to take the high road, Takeo went on to justify, “he was an angry man, but that doesn’t mean I wish him suffering.”

“I do,” Nikolai smiled.

“Nikki!”

The Russian only snickered mischievously.

Easing up, Takeo still understood his partner, “you’re not wrong to worry, but you should not accept responsibility for his actions so readily. Tank is a strong man, but he also requires a tether to keep his feet on the ground.”

“There is something odd about the new ‘tether’ he is considering.”

Speaking flatly, the Asian raised with sarcasm, “he did us a favor. Precisely 30 minutes ago. You were there.” 

“Even the devil grants wishes.”

Takeo smirked, knowing his partner long enough to poke at his fears, “...Is it because he is a doctor?”

“No,” he shoved playfully before returning in earnest, “I fear. Well. He doesn’t seem well.”

The older man hugged Nikolai from behind, “there’s nothing wrong with lacking wellness, you and I both know. Even Dempsey, too, understands.”

“So long as you know your partner’s limit.” 

“And what is Dempsey’s limit?”

To this, the Russian had no answer.

“Besides,” Takeo uttered, “from his actions, he does not seem like one to feel pleasure from harming someone else.”

Nikolai squinted, “he may not be capable of sadistic violence, but righteous violence? I would think it suits him. Who smiles after vivisecting dog?”

To this, Takeo sighed sympathetically. He knew that ultimately, Nikolai was well-intentioned. 

...Not to mention, stubborn

.

As the smaller man moved to the kitchen, he found several text messages from his American friend. 

Fearful, worrisome, confused.

That was when Edward finally emerged from the bathroom, tense skin warmed and eased, while dressed in what was likely Nikolai’s sweater. It hung baggy on his scrawny form, yet the height the two shared prevented it from completely consuming him. The doctor likewise found it comforting; the soft wool grazing his chest, the mustard yellow complimenting his sun-kissed skin, the intimacy of sharing one’s clothes. Part of him enjoyed being cared for like this, but then again, who would not appreciate selfless gestures. 

When it came to the humble home, it certainly gave an odd aesthetic of Japanese and Russian design. Hand painted matryoshkas and mounted swords. Stars of david and incense burners. Unlike Richtofen, they seemed very attached to their cultural identity. 

However, while Takeo kept many photos of family, Nikolai had none. Edward required no explanation for this. Besides, Dempsey shared that this was his motivation for taking on the role of protector. It was as if the Russian created a surrogate family of people who loved him for who he was, and whom he would love as well. 

Richtofen found himself privileged to never had dealt with the abandonment Nikolai experienced, yet the trauma still resonated. Desire, even more so.

Even so, this was still a home of two fans of literature. Messy stacks of papers and notes, books with no shelf, even notepads for their own musings ruled the halls. He began to wonder if his friends all had some sort of gay book club he was unaware of. 

However, Edward became excited upon seeing drawings among the clutter. Perhaps, the doctor considered, sketching would be nice to try once again.  He recalled how much he enjoyed art, and held many warm memories of lessons with his mother. 

Naturally, he became too caught up in being an adult for hobbies, and put down his pencil. Yet now, it could be just what he needed.

Before his mind wandered to thoughts of drawing Dempsey, he slapped himself in the face. A gesture that spoke, ‘can you stop being weird for 5 seconds?!’ 

...He was glad no one saw that. 

Richtofen followed his nose as he stepped into the kitchen.

“Uh, hello,” Edward greeted timidly. 

Takeo smiled as he poured some drinks, “are you feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you. Can I help?”

“No, no. You just sit down,” to which the man did so reluctantly.

Nikolai carried plates to the table that had hosted surgery only a few minutes ago. Of course, this did not bother the couple, nor the German. The three were well accustomed to the more visceral parts of life, rather it be by beast or man.

“I hope I’m not interrupting your night,” Edward scratched.

“Not at all,” the Japanese man assured, “you’ve done us a great favor.”

Richtofen blushed softly to this gratitude as Takeo passed his dish. It was a generous plate of steamed vegetables and chicken, with a glaze of some oriental sauce the doctor didn’t know the name of. The aroma was warm in his throat.

There weren’t enough compliments in the world that the German could offer to Takeo’s skills as a cook. All of which, embarrassed his friend. 

Edward had even mused with a smile, “I’m surprised to see you didn’t cook, Nikolai.” 

To which the older man replied jokingly, “I cook at work, he cooks at home. It’s only fair.”

Richtofen almost felt like part of a family by their company, and with the lull in conversation, he wondered aloud:

“If you don’t mind my asking, but how did you two meet? Tank tells me you’ve been together for a very long time. It’s hard to imagine how you crossed paths, given your differences.”

Nikolai laced his fingers with his partner, eager to share and a smile lost in nostalgia, “Kyoto. I was a lonely tourist asking for directions, but it turns out he was lonesome too. It helped that we were both artists in some way, though, by different means.”

Takeo appeared to smile at the fond memory as well, “there was a language barrier too, but attempts were enough to understand one another. Though, Nikolai was never very good at Japanese.”

Nikolai shoved his fiance before he returned proudly, “I was there for some time, trying to figure out where to go. Then when I left, we became penpals, then used chat rooms, then texted… The occasional distance was unfortunate, but things worked out.”

“How long has it been? 12 years?” The Russian soon asked his partner.

“13, Nikki.”

“Hey, not in front of Edward!”

Richtofen giggled, made bashful by their adoration of each other, “that sounds like a dream to a hopeless romantic such as myself.”

Takeo leaned on his palms with warmth, “well, maybe Dempsey…”

Going red, he mumbled, “are my feelings that obvious?”

“Very,” the two said in unison, and the flustered doctor hid his face in the baggy sleeves. The couple couldn't help but laugh.

“Gott, I’m an embarrassment,” he uttered into the sweater, blushing madly.

“A life lived without embarrassment is a life lived without honesty,” the shorter man comforted.

“I suppose,” Edward hummed.

“Perhaps you should check on him tomorrow though, he’ll probably need some company.”

“Company? Why?”

“You didn’t get his texts?” Nikolai asked, “he sent them an hour ago.” 

The doctor discreetly unlocked his phone from under the table, only to find no new messages.

The Russian quickly answered the nonverbal query, “the police brought him in for questioning. They think he has something to do with that arm he found.”

“What?” Edward stuttered.

Takeo tried to settle his friend’s nerves, “but from the sound of it, the only evidence they have is coincidence. You don’t need to worry”

“...he doesn’t seem like the type to commit something like that at all.”

The two nodded in agreement, and the writer looked particularly unbothered, “It’s scary, but probably just precaution. He’ll be alright.”

“I hope. I’ll try to ask him over when things pass,” he nodded thoughtfully, until asking with cautious uncertainty, “do you know if, well, if he is interested in me?”

“God yes!” Nikolai exclaimed with a slam onto the table, “he talks about you non-stop! Trust me, I know a lot more about it than I would care to.” 

Takeo chuckled while Richtofen expressed simultaneous butterflies and mortification. Who knows what precisely that entailed, and he was genuinely too afraid to ask.

—————————

Edward walked down the street, somehow renewed, yet very groggy. 

Before he left he gave the poor franken-dog a quick stroke, and found it to awaken to his touch. It was exciting to help such a beautiful terrier, and Richtofen had even promised to return for a few check-ins. He now felt responsible for its future.

The doctor was left to wonder what would become of the lucky dog, or if perhaps he had finally proven himself to the suspicious Russian. 

Edward was neither stupid, nor emotionally stunted, nor blind. The Russian’s watchful eye made him finally realize that Tank had been hurt in the past. Nikolai was simply being a good friend, and the German admired that.

Besides, it would be no surprise if Dempsey’s potential for misguided affections would be his downfall. The long morning the two spent together was accurate in showing so, leaving careful touches that confused Richtofen about their mutual intentions. Although, Edward still struggled to imagine a force that could bring someone as proud as Dempsey down.

In the end, it was nice to share a meal with good company. Especially with fellow immigrants, who understood the alienation and uncertainty of somewhere new. This made Richtofen feel wanted, a desire he so deeply craved.

In this moment, he held no energy to retrieve his vehicle from the barren roadside. He easily surrendered to the idea of picking it up in the morning. Not to mention he had work to consider, 

and had no lesson prepared for tomorrow, 

and had not collected today’s sample from the river. 

All he wanted was to go home.

The rain had finally passed and the clear night sky had shown a galaxy of stars reflecting on obsidian puddles. 

The coolness of the breeze eased the summer heat to rest. 

The trees shook their goodnight’s as he moved lazily. 

Edward busied his hands by flicking his switchblade from it’s sheath now and then. 

The rhythmic clicks easing the lonely walk.

Suddenly, he was startled by the loud and familiar tolling of a bell. 

“Ah,” he soon calmed, “so this is where it comes from.”

Before him stood an old church. It was small and wooden; not very modern by anyone’s standard, yet still quaint. The fact that it was shrouded by trees prevented him from seeing it sooner.

Out front stood a letter board hammered into the grass that read, “to whom sin is just words, salvation is just words too.” Edward was in no position to comprehend the meaning. Nor did he care to. 

Above the large double-doors, was a stained glass mosaic that told stories of miracles in a burst of color. This narrative continued along the tall windows that circled the building, with the yellowing light from inside illuminating the artwork. Not only this, but he could hear a choir rehearsing a song whose name lie on the tip of his tongue.

Edward was never raised into a proper religion, however, he still thought faith was a beautiful experience. Though he felt it did little to explain life, it was a humble gesture to have someone to thank for it. The modest artfulness of the chapel validated the sentiment. Had he not seen a figure standing on the steps, he would have appreciated the architecture a little more.

His interest fell as he realized that the shadow was Doctor Monty’s husband. 

Watching him. 

Edward knew nothing about the stranger aside from his name: Alistair. Of course, this was learned from conversations with Monty, and not the man himself. 

The ghost was leaning against one of the painted mosaiques, where a lamb was being slain by a glowing angel. This only served to intimidate the doctor; as if the position taken was purposefully, as if he were sending a message with this intense gaze. 

Richtofen looked away, pretending not to see the Louisiana apparition, and stomped off.

“What did I ever do to him,” Edward scoffed.

At last, the doctor reached his home. However, he still needed to collect a sample. He could not butcher this investigation under any circumstances... no matter how fearful he was of going alone. 

At night. 

With no one around.

As he took the familiar path to the bankside, he was followed by his new feline companion. Edward refused to address the presence of his frequent intruder, but the cat seemed interested in where he was going. It trotted ahead and paused, as if leading him to a treasure. Richtofen was at least grateful that she made him feel safer. If anyone planned on murdering him tonight, at least the cat could alert him of a lurking stranger. 

(This being a newer addition to his personal list of ‘things that make me paranoid,’ from a town where limbs appeared from the gutters with no origin.)

As Edward finally reached the bitter water, his eyes quickly widened in alarm. 

After a moment of observing in outright disbelief, he cheered, “I knew it was real!” 

From the middle of the stream sat the perfect circle carved into the river bed. Dark, encompassing, void. Humming a song which caused reverberating waves on the water.

A fog drifted over the pit, just as the first time, bearing a slight tinge of silver. It likewise carried no scent, but still weighed heavy in the man’s lungs. A feeling akin to the touch of humidity, only it rested internal.

Edward then began pointing frantically and exclaiming to the grey cat, “See! I’m not crazy!”  

The creature did nothing to validate his feelings of relief. 

Without warning, a loud sound screamed at the back of his head. It sounded as if flies were burrowing in his skull, swarming, fleeing, drilling. Richtofen clutched his head with great intensity, hoping to alleviate the simultaneous pain with pressure, and closed himself into a ball. The buzzing rang so loud that it began to sound like rocks and earth tumbling in the distance, sweeping down mountains, uprooting trees, a landslide that stood as nature’s wall of sound.

A very sweaty Edward edged ever closer to the bank, hoping to get a better glimpse of what it concealed.  

Here, the water rolled and rolled, and the volume grew and grew, voices becoming a hymn to life. It burned as tears of pain pricked his eyes. The doctor nearly began to beg for an answer as to what was happening to him, but there was noone to reply. 

He saw nothing.

He felt as though the force asked for something of great importance. Almost as if it was reaching out to him. As if he was the only one who could share its ethereal tongue. 

Then suddenly, tumbling earth was no longer an omen in his head. as it became reality.

The ground gave way under Edward’s feet, and he tumbled into the cold blackened ravine.

The severed moon reflected on the turbulent ripples of his thrashing.

The buzzing would remain.

The grey cat lashed its tail and groomed its paws apathetically. 

Chapter Text

It was all over the news: Gruesome images of a body found near a hiking trail. Discarded vicera by a storm drain. The death of a stranger. So much for living somewhere peaceful.

Dempsey was glad he was never much of a jogger, the demographic always seemed to discover corpses in the brush. Either this, or they become a victim themselves.

Oddly enough, the mechanic still counted himself lucky. Had this body not shown up, he would still be locked in an uncomfortable interrogation room. He was just as fortunate that the corpse was quartered with the same precise cuts of the gutter-arm.

A few days had passed since the incident, but the bitter memories still lie.

As it turned out, the marking on the shoulder was a tattoo: one which Tank was easily able to identify. It was the number of his battalion, accompanied by U.S. Marine Corps iconography. What crushed Dempsey’s psyche, was that Peter shared this memento with him.  To make matters worse, the amputation was found to be done post-mortem. Even if they found the rest of Peter’s body, there was no chance he would be alive.

Police grilled Tank with questions: 

“Why didn’t you report his disappearance?”

“What was the nature of your relationship?” 

“What did you two fight about the weeks before?” 

“Where is Smokey?” 

But of course, the Marine was barely able to explain. 

Coping with the thought that his best friend was dead cut deep. 

Coping with the knowledge that he would never see him again broke him down. 

Tank wept bitterly from the police station, hiding his face in his hands; too proud to be seen chipping away like an old dam. Being cleared and released did little to ease the aching in his chest. 

For the remainder of the week he retreated home in isolation. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone.

Not even texts from Edward or Misty could get him out of bed, as all he could think of was the last moments he and Peter shared. Guilt consumed every moment. 

“I will never have an argument again.” 

The whirlwind of emotions induced nausea from deep within. One moment it’s storming, the next he is in love, then he grieves, and then there is nothing. All Dempsey wanted was to wake up from the nightmare, but unlike his haunting dreams, there was no awakening from reality. 

...However, today, Dempsey made an exception to his newly acquired lifestyle as a hermit. 

He drove out to see his psychiatrist. 

Tank had appointments like these every week, just to look after himself. Although he refused to acknowledge how much he needed this, he still considered the trip to the countryside an act of self care. All he could do now was lean against the wood porch and wait for the doctor to finish his current session.

The soldier hummed idly as Daisy sauntered through the garden. He couldn’t help but feel bad for neglecting to walk her in his withdrawal, but she didn’t seem to mind. Air Conditioner was a blessing when the midsummer heat was rolling in. Therefore, the hound spent her days stretched out on her master’s bed, or bathing in the sunlight trickling through the curtains. 

As he pondered the sweetness of her sleeping face, Daisy performed a kindly effort to ground Tank’s wandering mind. She climbed on the porch, and squeezed herself between the man and the wooden posts. Dempsey smiled and rubbed her side. 

She always knew what was best.

Suddenly, the great doors behind him opened, and the Marine almost felt his stomach climb from his throat. The taste of bile, bitter and anxious.

“Oh, hey Doc!” He gasped and sprang nervously from his place. 

There, the German stood in the threshold, accompanied by Doctor Monty Clemens. Although, to Tank’s alarm, Edward looked awful. 

Pale, weak, and sweaty. 

He looked as though he had seen death, and death told him he would be staying the week in his guestroom.

“Woah, you alright?”

“Dempsey!” the older man instead greeted with worrisome conviction, “I haven’t heard from you in days, where have you been?”

“Oh, uh, I’ve been really busy with work,” he lied, “I didn’t know Monty was your doctor too.”

“Yes, and I suppose you’re his next appointment?” 

“He is,” Monty answered for the mechanic, “but I’m sure you two can catch up later. I don’t want to deprive Tank of his time.”

The German nodded timidly, about to leave, and Dempsey offered a pathetic gesture to feel a little closer. He gingerly brushed Edward’s hand, a soothing graze of fingertips onto the back of his palm. Richtofen smiled softly, seemingly with understanding. He knew his friend was grieving, he knew he wanted to be alone, but he also knew that he missed him. Yet, the taller man quickly floated back to earth upon realizing his psychiatrist was watching this. 

As Edward retreated, he turned suddenly half way down the gravel road, 

“H. Hey. If I text you again can you please reply? There’s a lot of scary things happening lately. I almost thought you disappeared as well.”

Tank became guilty that he only thought of himself in his isolation, creating the need to break down right then and there. He didn’t once consider how Richtofen, or anyone, felt about the empty replies. Nor did he consider that these vanishings were everyone’s problem, not simply his own. 

A person could rationalize one’s need for space after trauma, but that was never Dempsey’s nature. He was supposed to be there for everyone at anytime, and he wasn’t. He was supposed to be honest and open to those he loved. He was supposed to be a lot of things. 

The American finally choked out, “alright, sorry for making you worry.”

“Thank you, Dempsey,” Edward smiled that tender smile which made Tank melt.

“Feel better, Doc,” and he crossed into the house.

Once inside and out of ear-shot, Monty gave his patient a funny look, “don’t think I didn’t see that…”

“Shut up,” the soldier blushed and cast his gaze elsewhere, “what’s up with him, anyway? He doesn’t look too great.”

The european waved absent-mindedly, “he’s had a fever for a few days. Something about spending a whole day in the rain. I’m certain he’ll be fine though.”

Dempsey made no reply as he considered bringing Edward some warm soup. He wasn’t much of a cook, but figured Takeo and Nikolai could lend him a hand. Besides, it would be nice to visit him again. If there was anything he craved, it was those aurora borealis eyes watching over him. 

At this point he was pining for the German’s attention. So much so, that he could recall his mother’s old saying, ‘absence may make a heart stronger, but fondness makes absence longer,’ and here, Dempsey was becoming extremely fond of Edward.

When they reached the living room, Monty’s husband stood as he served himself some tea.

“Hey, Pastor.” Dempsey waved.

Without a passing glance, the man quickly turned away and left as he pretended not to hear the greeting at all.

“So,” Monty began as he took his seat, “shit really hit the fan this week, huh?”

“I don’t even know where to start.” Dempsey sighed, annoyed.

“If I may, I’m a bit curious.”

Tank leaned back, “shoot.”

“How did you feel about seeing Edward here?”

Straight away, the soldier knew what Monty was doing, “ugh, c’mon you already know.”

“Why don’t you tell me yourself?” The doctor poked mischievously.

“I know, I know. Stop with the pride. Accept myself. Blah blah blah.” He groaned, “sorry if I don’t want everyone to think I’m a nutcase.” Just then, Dempsey felt that he could practically hear Richtofen nagging him to stop talking bad about himself.

“Do you think Edward is a ‘nutcase’?”

“No way! I mean, he’s a bit jittery, but I don’t think he’s crazy.”

The doctor rose his arms theatrically, “then why the fuck do you think that’s his impression seeing you here?”

“I dunno. It’s something I can’t shake, that’s all.” 

Monty eased up, “reframe your thinking. ‘I come here because I’m a pansy’ to ‘I come here because I’m strong enough to ask for help.’ Get it?”  

The Marine did not look convinced, “whatever.”

With a sigh, the doctor continued, “well. I heard about your ex. How have you been holding up?”

“Barely. The cops almost thought I did it. It was too perfect apparently: we fought and people knew, we broke up angry, he would still stay the night pretty often-”

Monty raised his brows in amusement, looking as though he was about to say something extremely inappropriate.

“Don’t. Even.” The soldier dead-panned.

To this, Monty hummed nonchalantly, “just trying to lighten the mood. I thought you said you two made up?”

“I mean, yeah, but it was more along the lines of ‘I’ll leave you alone’, than ‘I never should have said those things.’ You know?” He sighed heavily, “I just figured he finally hopped that train and went North. I would rather pay for the damn ticket myself than use the money on funeral flowers.”

“Even after what he’s done to you?”

“I ain’t heartless.”

“Apparently you’re not wise either.”

Dempsey frowned, "to cast aside your heart, your feelings, for wisdom? That's a weak trade. Knowing your own heart is wisdom in itself."

Doctor Monty smirked sarcastically, “awww, Tank. Still a poet as ever, I see.”

“Please shut up.”

The older man soon laughed, “are you saying you forgive him? That you made Peter hurt you? That you still love him? Oh please.”

“Maybe I did push him, but it’s not like that any more. It’s more responsibility than love, like I was the one who killed him,” he lamented.

“I suppose that new body really saved your ass.”

“Kind of weird to think a murderer is my guardian angel,” Dempsey pondered, “I don’t look forward to finding out who that new corpse is though. Knowing my week, it’s another dead friend.”

There was a sudden crack in the soldier’s voice as he furthered his thoughts, “I don’t even know why someone would want him dead. He kept to himself; didn’t mess with no one.”

“...When’s the funeral?”

“In a few days, but it’s mostly symbolic since 95% of him is still missing.” Tank mumbled while rubbing his eyes, “I’m definitely going, 'Sucks I'll be seeing his family.” 

It took another few long moments for him to explain himself, “nothing personal, it’s just. They blame me. For not calling someone the moment I couldn’t find him. Maybe if I did, he’d still be alive.” 

Doctor Monty crossed his legs as he poked again, “but do you agree with them?”

“That it’s my fault?”

“Obviously.” 

Dempsey held himself as he hesitated to confess, “yeah. Who cares if he’d get in trouble for having a gun, at least he’d still be here.”

“Anything in the past could be clear as day when observed in the present.”

“Doesn’t make it suck any less… but I guess you of all people would understand better than anyone.”

“Well, my condolences anyway,” the doctor said with sincerity, “I know you cared about him very much.”

The Marine frowned, feeling as though a word as simple as ‘care’ downplayed the dedication and loyalty he showed for his friend. The two went through a lot. They knew each other since high school, went into the military, nearly lost themselves in the same firefight, and loved one another through and through. Dempsey was beginning to feel misunderstood by everyone, even his closest friends. Then again, with the recent understanding of Peter’s abuse, even he himself was beginning to turn confused. It did not help that McCain’s passing would never allot proper closure.

Monty made a few notes in his pocket book before continuing, “now. I hope you’ve at least been sleeping. You were bitching about that last time.”

“Not great, but it’s not because those usual dreams. Probably stress or something, as if that’s surprising.”

The older man sighed, already seeming to know the answer, “have you been actually taking the pills?”

“No.” 

“Well, I can write something for you again. Only if you promise to fucking take them this time,” he bargained, “trust me, grieving is a hell of a lot easier when you don’t feel like collapsing from exhaustion. You being difficult does nothing for either of us.”

“...Fine,” the Marine complied. 

Honestly, being unconscious for a few hours didn’t sound that bad.

Chapter Text

As Edward went to get the mail, he nearly dropped dead. However, this wasn’t the fever, nor exhaustion, nor anxiety. It was the sight of Dempsey walking down the street in full uniform.
Richtofen swallowed the lump in his throat, and whispered under his trembling breath:
“Ach du lieber gott.”
Before him, the Marine wore a finely pressed coat, white cap, and fitted white gloves; all of which made the blood rush straight to Edward’s head. Tank’s physique and perfect posture were likewise accentuated, creating a magnificent silhouette. Even Daisy stood proud, as Richtofen saw her on a leash for the first time; a harness of thick brown leather which complimented her golden coat.

Still, the doctor was caught up by the actual, real, sword found tied around the man’s waist. Edward wondered if this was a normal thing for militaries, or if sword fighting was a part of basic training. He had seen some at Takeo’s house, but that actually made sense given his family trade. As for Dempsey owning one, it was simultaneously confusing and kind of hot.
Flustered, this only caused the need to run away as quickly as possible. There was no way the bashful man could handle speaking when his friend looked like this. He only hoped that Dempsey hadn’t spotted him as he tried to slip away from view.
... to Edward’s luck, Tank indeed saw him, and waved a cheery greeting.

“Dempsey, I almost couldn’t recognize you,” the older man laughed for no reason, “what’s the occasion?”
“Eh, funeral’s today. You’ve been feeling better?”
“A bit. My sinuses still feel stuffy though.”
“You look super red too, let me feel-“
He almost reached for Edward’s forehead, but the German stumbled back quickly, made anxious by the proximity, “oh yes. I mean, I’m still sick so. I think I should stay in today.”
Oblivious, but more likely distracted, the soldier nodded,“you want me to bring you more soup for later?”
“No no, you should spend time with Peter and his family today,” he suggested with sympathy, “I’m still really sorry for your loss. If you need to talk later-”
“Hey, it’s alright. I’ll be fine, Eddie,” Dempsey assured his friend, even though his expression didn’t agree.

Before the soldier left, he decided to make a humble gesture. It was partially a thanks for Richtofen’s sensitivity toward the matter, but more a subtle move to advance his romantic agenda.
As to say that he’ll be thinking of his German friend.
As to say ‘thank you for being there for me.’
As to say things will be ok, so long as he can return to Edward’s smiling face.
At least, these were the intentions engraved within the bones of his fingertips. Here, Dempsey gingerly took one of the doctor’s hands into his own, appearing as though holding some delicate creature. Then, in a careful motion, he raised the doctor’s wrist to his lips, and pressed a kiss to the soft walnut skin.
If the German’s blood were a teakettle, he’d be boiling over at this point. It felt as though he were being greeted by nobility, a knight of great honor from some far off land. A true suitor to him, the prince trapped in the tower of his mind.

...How embarrassed Edward became of the analogy. Thank God mind reading wasn't a thing.

The German kept his lips tightly clamped while he grew dizzy from the tender display. Tank had noticed this, but only returned with a soft gaze.
“I’ll see ya later, Eddie,” and he lowered the sweating palm back with great care.
“Please say something for me,” Richtofen could only mumble.

As Dempsey made his way to the church, the doctor became a structure of dust and ash. The slightest breeze would cause him to disintegrate into nothing, and he could rejoin the atmosphere.
Perhaps slamming his hand in a car door would be successful in draining the oxytocin coursing through his body.
Or tying himself to a log bound for a waterfall’s edge like some cartoon character.
Or self-immolating.
Decisions, decisions.

Honestly, Edward had no idea what the soldier saw in him, especially since he acted like a complete idiot whenever the two met. Juvenile adoration, a shyness akin to one’s first kiss. Everyone wants to be loved one way or another; but to crave a certain person’s affection? To the point of longing? To pine? This was need which bred devotion. Loyalty to little touches and knowing gazes, desire to share the home inside one’s heart. A home, which the object of his affection had built with twisting roots and sturdy oak.
The German felt blessed to meet Tank Dempsey when he needed him most.
Needed this most.
Needed each other most.
If Edward went back in time, he would happily allow some stranger to sabotage his car again. Even more so, if it means he can take in the Marine’s romantic curiosity all over again.

Suddenly, there was a rustling in the brush as a familiar grey cat emerged, trotting over with purpose. It quickly began rubbing itself against Edward’s pant leg, and meowing loudly while it weaved.
“I take it someone’s hungry,” the German laughed in response.
Richtofen had recently taken it upon himself to start feeding the cat. If it was going to stalk him around his own yard and yeowl violently in the night, at least it should have something in its stomach. Though the feline was annoying, that didn’t mean he wanted the poor thing to starve. Yet, even with Edward’s efforts to care for the cat, it refused to let him pet it. The man almost considered blood sacrifice as a means of pleasing the guest if free food wasn’t doing the trick.
The German crossed through his house, picking a can of smoked fish from the kitchen as the small figure trailed behind. The weather today seemed particularly bearable enough to spend some time in the sun. Yes, he told Dempsey he would stay inside, but seldom did he take his own advice. Not to mention, his new companion had no manners when it came to eating, and would otherwise make a mess had he listened to himself.

Just as he thought he would have an easy morning, the man recognized the sound of skittering tendrils on linoleum; a noise which frequented the space as of late. Edward searched the little corners of the room, until he found some odd insect hiding in the shadows. Actually, it looked more like a giant bacteriophage than some bug; an angular lightbulb-esque body on spider’s legs. The color, meanwhile, a fracture which shifted into stained glass illuminations.
Soon, it was joined by an even more familiar sight; tiny holes boring their way through the walls, a similar fashion to how a worm eats its way through an apple. The flies in his brain began to swirl, and Edward became heavy with fatigue and confusion.
Despite whatever was happening, he knew it wasn’t real. He was certain that this was the fever. Edward had already felt light on his feet for the past week. So often, that he swore he could hear a slide whistle as his consciousness left his body. ('Even drifting close to his corporeal self as if his soul were a balloon tied to a corpse.)
Refusing to submit, he stomped his boot loudly, shouting at the hallucination, “leave me be!”
It quickly worked, and the apparition disappeared into nothingness. Evidently, the cat was likewise frightened by the show of force. It scrambled its unsecure footing of the wooden floor, and dashed upstairs to take cover.
“No, not you, cat!” Edward called as he struggled to follow it, “I’m sorry!”
Fortunately, Richtofen was quickly found the feline cowering under his bed. It’s eyes glowed a toxic green from the darkness below.
“Come here, I’m sorry,” the German cooed, almost singing.
“I have tasty fish for you,” he bargained while waving the can in its face. However, before he could continue his pleas, he found Fluffy’s ashes tucked away. Longing for a place to find rest.

In an awkward motion, he stretched for the box that was just out of reach, and dusted it off.
“I should take care of this... when I feel well enough to go into town, that is,” the doctor mumbled, tracing the thin engravings with his thumb.
Edward was still reluctant to open the casket. Not so much for the ash and bone, he was never fearful of the macabre. Instead, fear lie in the letters he and Samantha left buried inside. There would be nothing to stop him from re-reading them, and doing so would certainly end in tears. It was frightening to see that thoughts and feelings could be captured like a photograph, and used to immortalize the brief moment.

....Eddie wanted to see his sister again.

The cat was seemingly capable of reading the uncomfortable air, and re-emerged from its hiding place. It’s meow was loud enough to snap Richtofen from his thoughts, just before his mind drifted to somewhere it wouldn’t be able to return.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he smiled down softly, brow still sweating, “let’s feed you,” and the two made way for the backyard.

The can of smoked fished cracked as he pulled the tab, the morning sky breezy and blue.
Small winged insects dancing in the tall grass.
The re-planted dogwood tree barked in bloom.
It wouldn’t rain today.

The greedy feline gulped down the offering as if it hadn’t eaten in days. Edward, meanwhile, knew good and well it had dinner last night. Although, no offense was found; it was simply a silly observation to the soft-spoken doctor.
With the peace that surrounded him, he reflected on his conversation with Monty a few days ago. Something he had been avoiding to the best of his ability, but only now found enough ease to revisit.

—————————

“I don’t know,” the German confessed from the sanctity of his psychiatrist’s sitting room, “I still don’t think I’m ready to speak about family.”
“I just want to understand your needs a little better. Knowing one’s upbringing can tell a lot about a person.” Monty reasoned.
“What about you? Have you ever had a family?”
The old man gestured to himself sarcastically , “look at me! I’m one hundred years old at least. Do you really think there’s anyone left?”
Edward found it appropriate to laugh, “maybe not. I was more so asking if you and your husband ever had kids.”
He smiled as he appeared to retreat into the memory, “then yes. In fact, they were adopted just like you.” However, this smile quickly dropped into a look of discomfort, “but you know how things go. They’re off somewhere else these days.”
The expression did not suit the boisterous old man at all. Likewise, it was difficult for Edward to picture someone as intense and brash as Monty, or cold and flat as Alistair, to ever raise children. Particularly, into sensible and mature adults.

Naturally, the younger man wouldn’t dare consider offending his therapist by sharing this.

“Have you ever known your birth family?” Monty wondered.
“Weak segue, Doctor.”
“It was worth a shot.”
The German hummed with compliance, frankly comfortable with breaching the subject, “but no. Not technically, I’ve just forgotten them.”
“A repressed memory? Or were you too young?”
“Neither. The circumstances of their loss simply messed with my brain chemistry.”
The psychiatrist cocked an eyebrow with great curiosity, “well, now you have to tell me.”
“This is just what I’ve been told, but there was a gas leak in my home,” Edward recollected, “everyone went peacefully in their sleep, and the ambulance had arrived before I joined them.”
Only now did the German become uncomfortable, “I was asphyxiated, but not to the degree of my family. Simply deprived of oxygen long enough that it may have done some… irreparable damage.”
“But you survived.”
“By chance. My parents shared the room with my baby sister, the one where it actually happened. I slept upstairs, so I had more time when our neighbors began to smell it.”
“You don’t seem too upset about their fate.”
Richtofen shrugged, “since I don’t remember directly, they’re more of a story than something I was attached to. Maxis and Sophia were more parents to me than they ever were.”
Doctor Monty was taken aback, “that’s uncharacteristically cold of you, don’t you think?”
“I have enough to be worried about. I don’t need to fret over something that happened when I was 8.”
“Well, thank you for your trust. I know you’re one to need time before delving into certain topics; but anything, especially physical trauma, is important for me to know.”
Edward fiddled with his hands, “I suppose I understand,” and hesitated before posing with distress, “ then I can tell you this: although headaches have been frequent throughout my life, these recent spells are not from physical trauma.”
Monty reclined, “dizziness is a very common symptom of fever. You shouldn’t worry yourself since it retreats now and then.”
“...I guess it does come to plateau. To be honest, I’m more worried about losing my sanity than a little fever. Especially with a mad-man running around.”
“Yes, well, we can discuss that next time. I have another client waiting if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” Richtofen nodded, “thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
“Don’t worry about it,” the old doctor assured, “I know you’ve had too much time to yourself these days,” and the two made way to the front door.

And there, as they crossed the threshold, Edward saw his beloved Dempsey leaning on the porch.

—————————

So many complicated feelings from that day, most of which still unresolved. A family of strangers, near death experiences, seeing his love after pining for so long… it left too many doors open in his mind’s labyrinth. Yet, despite Monty’s assertion that physical health was just as important, Richtofen was reluctant to share his worsening condition. Three parts embarrassment, and one part fearful of a forced hospitalization. How stupid he felt; to think one could drink fallen rain and taste the sky, or stumble into a poison river without consequence.

At last, the sound of a dry tongue on smooth steel caught his attention, and he looked to see the cat desperately licking for every last drop of flavor in the otherwise empty can.
“You’re going to cut yourself,” the doctor nagged gently as he pulled the tin away.
To this, the feline hissed loudly, and dashed swiftly into the brush.
“So that’s how it is!” He called after the creature, “See if I care!... You’ll be lucky to be fed again, you know!”
Of course, Edward didn’t actually mean that. He knew that he was happy to feed it again for dinner.

Before the doctor could make it back inside, a strange pile of twigs and weeds caught his mismatched eyes. Seeing that this was on top of the mound of freshly overturned earth, where he had buried certain acts of catharsis, he cautiously moved to investigate. There, upon closer observation, he found the tangled branches to be a birds nest. To his excitement, he began to hear subtle cries of lost hatchlings.
Gingerly, he pushed the debris away to find ugly balls of fleshy grey skin and sparse feathers. It was then that some sort of paternal instinct overtook the doctor.
One by one, Edward cupped them in his hands and placed then into a hammock he made from the excess of his shirt. They screeched and opened their gaping beaks, begging for food. The man at least hoped these weren’t the hatchlings of crows. Richtofen often heard stories of the mob mentality corvids held when perceiving a ‘predator.’ So much so, that the large birds would remember the individual, even after years apart. It was just as unnerving that the crows spread the news of danger to rally flock members that were not even present. Hell, even generations to come would learn of the grudge.

Carrying the chicks into his home, he used a dish towel and a bowl to create a make-shift nest.
If anyone knew what to do, it would be Nikolai. Therefore, the German quickly snapped a photo and texted anxiously.
Hello Nikolai. I found some hatchlings fallen from their nest. What should I do? >
'Hello, doctor. Please make sure the mother isn’t still around.'
Quickly, Edward peaked outside. There was no sound of stirring foliage, nor the cries of some bird.
I’m pretty certain they’ve been abandoned… >
'Keep them warm. I could pick them up tonight if you would like.'
I think I would like to watch them myself. I’m feeling fatherly :^) >
'Alright. Remember to feed them often, and don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.'

Do you know what kind of birds they are? >

'Crows.'

Richtofen looked to the cluster of chicks as they cried out pathetically and huddled for warmth.

Bad omens became Edward Richtofen’s sons and daughters.

Clouds outside peppered melon skies.

The church bells tolled in the distance.

Somewhere, a Marine folded a flag.

Chapter Text

A few nights after the funeral, Dempsey was finally able to sleep. Of course, this was purely thanks to the new medicine. Had he not tried it, his wandering mind would never allot ease. 

However, this rest did not fall gracefully like a blanket. Instead, it fell like a piano crushing an oblivious cartoon character. Here, he found himself the coyote chasing peace of mind.

Pitch black. No sound. 

Then, suddenly, a bright flash. Like stepping from a dark theater into daylight. 

The sun itself was covered in a cloud of brown dust, but had still shown glowing dimly like a golden eye. Accompanying this was the sound of wind chimes and chirping birds. Unsettling. Not real. Not likely.

Dempsey stood in the wake of the dusty scene which stirred around him, heavy with the weight of combat fatigues and gear. Lost? Or abandoned? Not sure.

Streaks of white zoomed past with no trace of origin, and the Marine threw himself to the floor in search of cover. Once behind some dry brush, Tank lay on his back; clutching a rifle, yet no intention to fire. Blood on his dusty hands.

As Dempsey contemplated where to go, a hum joined the odd ringing, one which steadily grew louder and louder. It reminded him of the previews on his childhood vhs tapes; which would start low and become a glowing chorus that threatened to wake his sleeping mother. What sort of things in a place like this would make such a sound?

Without thinking, the soldier ran. Dashing as far as he could, ignoring the sweat that soaked his brow, wishing that his vision would steady, pumped with adrenaline that carried him further. No destination besides ‘not here.’

His sight became consumed by a flashing strobe, creating the illusion that he was moving much faster. 

It was then that he finally crossed the dust onto a reflecting lake, one which mirrored the clear blue sky. A second atmosphere that held his footing. Unnatural. 

The man gazed at his reflection in the water beneath, and soon realized a warm stickiness soak his collar. He brushed his palm against the stain, blinking at the sight of gore and viscera. He didn’t even know he was shot. 

Before Tank could make his next move, he heard a handgun cock from behind. Slowly he turned. 

A monster, a lion, an enemy? 

Two children, trembling at the sight of Dempsey. A scene which broke the man’s heart.

He stepped back, boots becoming drenched by water as it gave slightly to his weight. 

Afraid to go forward, he instead reached out to the two siblings.

The older brother pulled the trigger. 

With this, hot iron burned through his chest, tearing through skin and bone. Lungs struggling as they attempted to inhale the blood which filled them. The water around him becoming a swirl if red and aqua paint as he collapsed into the second sky.

He drifted lower and lower, and the water grew bluer and bluer, fighting the pull of his gear harder and harder. 

Then, as Dempsey witnessed the two children floating down beside him, streaming red just as he was, his reflexes instinctively gasped for air. They were kids. They were kids.

He gulped the bitter ice water. 

Needles in blood.

Rust and steal. 

Unnatural.

Tank woke up to find Daisy lapping his face furiously.

“Please, Daze,” he pushed her snout away with a shaking groan. 

From the racing heart, sweat drenched bed, and trembling body, he had another night terror. It likewise appeared that Daisy attempted to wake him, but the medication was strong enough to resist the efforts.

The man sat up to rest his face in his hands. What a dilemma he faced: to choose between staying awake to be miserable about Peter, or falling asleep to be miserable about trauma. 

Instead of taking his medication to ease the panic, the soldier in him said to tough it out. 

Misguided shame.

Dempsey stood and began to pace within the small circle of his room. He shoved his hands in his pockets, attempting to distract himself.

Maybe a movie would help? Or plucking a few guitar strings? A song needs writing.

Suddenly, Daisy stood and moved to the inside of the invisible circle, pressing herself against her master’s body, shoving her greying muzzle into his arm.

Things were getting lonely, huh?

“It’s ok, girl,” he mumbled, eyes lost to something incorporeal.

These darting thoughts only seemed to aggravate his anxiety as his body became convinced he was still in danger. His chest tightened as though his heart were a rubber band being pulled and twisted to its limit. It became hard to breathe, like he was trying to do so while smothered by a pillow. He swirled into a carousel of nausea and pain. Acid burned at his diaphragm. Then finally, he really needed to lie back down.

To bring a war home.

Although Tank was now stretched out on his bed, sleep wouldn’t return. Despite this, he was able to smile as Daisy lay across his chest. Heavy and soft. At least she would never judge.

Rather than stay home, the man resolved to sleep over at Nikolai and Takeo’s… only after a quick shower. 

Nikolai was swift to reply to Dempsey’s request, thoroughly accustomed to late nights like these. Evidently, Takeo was out preparing his garden for coming fall, and the writer was lonely anyway. June evenings often granted this routine of companionship between Tank and his Russian friend.

As Dempsey traveled absentmindedly to his friend’s home, Daisy in towe and a six-pack for an offering, he came to his favorite bridge. The haunted ground where a mother died, guilted by her daughter's death. 

...Only now did this lore began to resonate. 

The soldier paused in the middle of the overhang and gazed down at the drop. Perhaps, if the street were unlit, the bottom would seem endless. 

It only took a moment for Dempsey to consider jumping. 

‘A beautiful place to die,’ Tank always called it. He wouldn’t have to battle sleep, or feel guilty, or lie about anything ever again. It’d be like flicking off a lightswitch. Over in a second with no consequences. Affairs all left to their own devices.

However, in this state of despair, he nearly forgot Daisy’s morning kisses, breakfast at Nikolai’s, fishing with Misty, Edward’s dorky smile. Though this low was extreme, Dempsey was surprised that it didn’t make the good feel cheap. The little gestures of the universe were enough.

‘Nah,’ he thought, ‘not today at least.’

—————————

“Dude, it’s like 11pm, how are you so awake right now?” 

“I’m always happy to see you, Dempsey!” Nikolai grinned from the doorway of his home. He looked particularly comfortable in basketball shorts and a tank-top for some folk band. The Marine wasn’t surprised his friend never became accustomed to American summers, especially since Nikolai considered anything above 50 degrees to be unbearable. 

Upon entering the humble estate, Daisy quickly joined the resting dogs in the hall. The old girl was seemingly pleased by their better health, greeting the familiar faces with a wagging tail and a kiss or two. Not even cats were spared from her affection as they flinched at the unwanted touch. However, one dog in particular caught both her and Tank’s attention: a small terrier, timid and shy, bright-eyed, yet too weak to rise.

“This one new?” Tank asked, kneeling to pet the small creature.

“Kind of, he’s been here for about a week,” Nikolai scratched, “hit by a car.”

“Damn, that must of been one hell of a hospital visit. Poor guy.”

He hesitated, “actually, Edward took care of him.”

The dog licked Dempsey’s hand gingerly as he muttered with softened intonation, “... Eddie sure is something special.”

Nikolai lightly replied, “he didn’t have to help, but I’m grateful he did. He’s been coming by to check on the progress too. I’m starting to think he wants to keep him.”

“Does it have a name?”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe you should let Ed name him,” Tank smiled again, warmed by the selflessness of his beloved.

“...Maybe.” The cook shrugged. It was obvious Nikolai was still wary of the newcomer, but Dempsey was at least happy to hear him say something positive about Richtofen for once.

“So,” the Russian spoke as he plopped on the couch and cracked open a beer, “what’s troubling you? Is it love?”

To this, Tank shoved the larger man with a subtle blush, “straight to the point, huh? You know damn well I’m dealing with a lot right now.”

“Everyone’s been worried. We haven’t heard much since the police took you in. How have you been managing?”

“I don’t know. It still doesn’t feel real to be honest,” Dempsey sighed, “I don’t think it will until we find the rest of him.” 

The Marine laid back on the recliner and took a large sip, the bitter taste of barley and wheat on his tongue, “I kinda want to lay off the heavy stuff tonight though.”

“You should come back to the diner. We miss you.” Nikolai nodded thoughtfully.

“I’ll try. Being locked up is messing with me anyway.” 

Tank paused for a moment, only to ponder shyly, “has...Eddie said anything?”

“Just wondering where you’ve been is all.”

“Ah. Have you told him about Peter and I?”

“Is not really my place.”

“I think it would make things weird anyway,” Dempsey shrugged.

“Make things weird? Or make it harder for you two to date?” The Russian teased.

“Nikkkkk-,” he whined.

“But, he did ask if you were interested in him a few times.”

“Really?” Tank became excited.

“Yes, but I will only be honest for your own good. I don’t think he’s well.”

Dempsey cooled his hands on the condensation against the can, “there ain’t nothing wrong with being a little skittish.”

“...Tank. It’s not your job to fix him. And after what Peter did to you? You shouldn’t trouble yourself.”

“McCain had an addiction. It wasn’t his fault,” the Marine dead-panned.

“He hit you, Tank. Alcohol does not magically turn an abuser of a man that is not abusive.”

Dempsey flinched at the harsh memory. To him, it was ‘just’ a shove, then ‘just’ a smack, then ‘just’ a punch. To his friends, whom were not clouded by feelings of responsibility, it was obviously abuse. Of course, the man knew now that Peter’s behavior was wrong. Yet, Tank still recognized the curse of addiction. It changed the man he fell in love with.

Complicated grey areas of sympathy and loathing.

In the end: although pride prevented the mechanic from calling it what it was, he was determined to never let this happen again. Thus, Tank defended Edward, “he wouldn’t hurt a fly. That’s not the kind of person he is.”

Nikolai squinted, “you know what I saw on my way home? He was staring at nothing and talking to himself. It was like he was saying something of great urgency, and he trembled like leaf.”

Dempsey was startled, he didn’t know Eddie was that sick.

The Russian added, “In fact, he’s been spacing out and struggling to hold himself.” 

“Monty said he had a fever, those can do funky things to your head,” he frowned, “but he should really go to the hospital.”

“He sees Monty too?”

“Yea?”

“Do you know why?” Nikolai hesitated to ask.

Dempsey cast a melancholic gaze to the floor, “he always looks real sad if he thinks no one’s looking. If that’s why, I’m glad he’s working on it.”

“Hm,” was all the Russian could muster.

In a non-confrontational tone, Tank was left to ask, “what’s your damage with him anyway?” 

“I just think it’s a bit odd,” Nikolai confessed.

“What part exactly?”

“Just the coincidence of it all. That your two friends disappeared as Richtofen arrived.”

“...”

“And after they find bodies, he becomes ill and starts wandering around in a catatonic state, speaking nonsense.”

“Eddie has nothing to do with Peter or Smokey. Don’t fool around like that.”

“I’m just telling you because you’re my friend.”

To this, Dempsey sighed and reached for another can, “I know. I just really like him, and I know he likes me too. Besides, there’s no reason he would do something like that. They’re strangers to each other.”

The Russian resigned, “alright, alright. I will trust your judgement for now.” His lovestruck friend was definitely the most stubborn person he knew. A difficult position to take, as anyone could agree that Nikolai was more so. 

Still, perhaps Dempsey was right; perhaps the writer had been analyzing things too closely. It was never an assumption that Tank could not defend himself, the Russian just knew that his companion was too protective to leave those he found to struggle. Magnetism to lonely souls.

“How have you two been coming along then?” Nikolai finally relaxed.

“Oh! Didn’t I tell you? He let me hold his hand the other day.”

“Really now?”

“Yeah! It was real sweet, but his palms were sweaty and gross.”

Nik made a hardy laugh, “I would think so. When will you ask him out?”

“Prolly on the 4th of July,” the Marine blushed and cupped the drink in his hands, “just need to work up the nerve is all.”

Nikolai pat his friend on the back, “well, if he’s as good as you say, I don’t think you’ll have to worry for the worst.”

—————————

It was only by his third drink that Tank was already slurring his affections for the German doctor. Though Nikolai’s tolerance was far higher, (a toast to the Russian heritage,) he still felt buzzed and light-hearted by his friend’s company.

“I’d be over the moon just to kiss him. Just once. He looks like he knows a thing or two on how to please a guy.” Dempsey then giggled mischievously, “is Tak a good kisser?”

Nikolai laughed, “very!”

“Damnnn, you’re so lucky. Takeo’s, like, super hot. I ain’t going to steal him though, don’t worry.” 

It wasn’t like Nikolai took him seriously, although, he was still amused by the honesty.

“Peter was good too, but he was sooooo mean. Like, what’d I ever do to him? Whenever he took the lead it was like he wanted to choke me to death. Hell, even when I lead that’s all he wanted. He bit my tongue once!”

“You know what?” Dempsey quickly added, “you guys are onto something. All that stupid bullshit McCain put me through? Saying he had to hurt me so he wouldn’t hurt himself? I’m glad it’s none of my business anymore. I can do anything I want!”

He slipped into a mocking tone, “no more ‘don’t hang out with other guys,’ or ‘you don’t know anything about me’ shit. Free!”

Nikolai couldn’t help but happily agree, even if hearing these details always hurt, “you were never at fault anyway.”

“Fuck yeah! Like, I think I’m a damn good guy. I don’t ask for nothin’ in return besides a little respect,” Dempsey then blushed madly as he grinned, “and honestly? I fucking deserve that hot doctor.”

“Not really my type, but he certainly cares about you. Perhaps you are also onto something, my friend.”

“I know, right? He’s so smart. I wish I had half the brains he’s got. I think he could ‘get me,’ you know? Seems like his gears are always turning.”

“But gooooodddd, seriously-” Tank soon sighed dreamily, “Eddie’s like? Crazy hot. Like, Jesus Christ if his parents were still alive I’d tell ‘em ‘great job,’ you know?”

“Are his parents really gone, or is that the beer speaking?” the Russian raised his brows.

“Nooooo, that’s tooooo sad. I wouldn’t joke about that, Nik,” he rolled pathetically, “I def’ found out in the worst way though. I told him he looked adopted when I saw him with some pasty white people and a black mom. I’m the worrrrrrst, Nik. That was forever ago and I keep thinking about it.”

Frankly, Nikolai often let slip the penalty of his friends trying to keep up with him, and laughed, “I forgot how much of a lightweight you were, Dempsey. You become quite the chatterbox.” 

“I should text him an apology-”

Tank’s friend snatched the phone the moment it was pulled from his pocket, “oh no you don’t!”

“Whyyy?” The soldier frowned, appearing as though deeply hurt.

“You are not texting anyone right now. In fact, you should go to sleep. You’ve had enough.”

“Noooooo,” Tank whined again, “I miss him.”

“Yesssss,” he teased, “if anything is going to get in the way of you and Edward, it’s the obscenities of your drunk texting.”

“Nik, you’re the best,” Dempsey hummed, “you always know what’s best.”

The Russian took the alcohol from Dempsey and gathered his things, “alright, Tank. It’s time to sleep now.”

“I love youuuu.”

“I love you too, Tank. Now go to sleep.”

“Thanks for looking after meeee.”

“I’m going to turn the light off now.”

“Ugh, ok,” he dropped backward onto the couch, “goodnighttt.”

“Goodnight, Tank.”

Dempsey shut his eyes with the flipping light switch, and passed out.

Nikolai sat in his room, typing away late-night musings on his computer.

Somewhere else, Takeo picked dirt from his nails as he made his way home.

Somewhere further, Richtofen clutched his beating skull.

Chapter Text

From Edward’s kitchen, smells of garlic and spices danced from a steaming pot. Carrots and mushrooms; chicken broth and toasted bread.

To the German, the best thing about Dempsey in his kitchen, was the fact that it was Dempsey . In his kitchen. A missing piece that abolished loneliness, sharing an afternoon with his better half as he overcame his fever. 

By the sliding door lay Daisy, basking in the warm sunlight which contrasted the icy air conditioning. Her coat was shining golden flecks in the otherwise dim room. She was the sun. 

As the hound snored, the only sounds to accompany this were the calls of eight hungry crows upstairs, and the subtle hum of science equipment on the coffee table. Ticking meters and boiling concoctions; a project which began to yield results. 

Edward felt that a celebration was in order, as his fears became validated. Ammonia, nitrogen, and several other chemicals spiked, accumulating more and more by the day. Yet even so, he was not much of a chemist, and would need to ask Doctor Schuster for his thoughts once he returned for the fall semester. 

Still, something else lie in the shadow of victory. Feelings akin to walking with a pebble in one’s shoes. Not unbearable, but Richtofen had no idea how it got there, and attempts to shake the stone were futile at best. Even if the shaking effort granted respite, it was only a matter of time until the tedious poking would return. Reminding him over and over that it was still there.

Perhaps, it was a matter of finding trust in Dempsey. Past experiences spoke volumes for the doctor’s ability to do so. Though, it was not like he didn’t want to try. 

One does their best.

As for the baby crows, they were doing exceptionally well. Although still ugly little balls of flesh, their dark plumage was starting to come in. Edward had never realized the purple sheen that illuminated the charcoal black. He began to feel that the birds brought good graces and a sense of purpose, rather than bad omens, as the bright feathers rewrote the cover for which he judged them. It was just as endearing to see the chicks by his bedside every morning, calling for food. He would pet their tiny heads, talk to them, and even tickle their wings. 'Exciting how quickly they grew in just a few days. The man could not help the new feeling of responsibility which overtook a nurturing heart. Fathering was great.

...However, he was still unsure what happened to their mother. Maybe, the German thought, he was like them. Orphaned, abandoned, torn from home. 

Maybe.

Or maybe he was just kidding himself, and the house was truly haunted. A home for a murder of crows, dead dogs in the backyard, supernatural rivers, and so on. At this point, Edward figured to accept himself as the neighborhood witch. Negative assumptions he referred to as ‘private Richtofen thoughts.’

Laying on the couch, the doctor strained at his racing thoughts; eyes closed and an icepack pressed to a burning forehead. Stimuli reverberated into the man’s skull at max capacity these days. Had there been any further stirring, he would expect some terrible parasite to burrow it’s way xenomorph-style from his pounding temples. 

Despite this, to his good fortune, Tank Dempsey’s presence solved the doctor’s craving for company and a voice besides that of the singing river. As though the man blew out the once-glowing lanterns which spun mocking visions, and brought him peace of mind. Edward could let his thoughts wander to a place with no burrowing voids, and consider something else besides memories frozen in hallowed halls. 

Admirable how his beloved sacrificed exposure to the contagion, only to chase the ghosts away. All it took was a little hug, a stroke through Edward’s messy hair, a gentle grip against his thighs. Voiceless expressions of endearment. 

Only a matter of time, he thought.

Finding something wonderful in a time of weakness.

Soon, chopped onions and potatoes accompanied the broth, as savory aromas peppered the living space. It was mouthwatering enough to make the doctor’s stomach growl imposingly.

“I knew you haven’t been eating,” Dempsey sang lightheartedly from his place in the kitchen, “you can’t fool me.”

“Fine, but it’s not like I haven’t tried. It’s impossible to keep anything down,” Richtofen groaned, eyes still screwed shut.

“Aw, need me to feed you?”

“Please don’t patronize me.”

“Well, this should do the trick anyway,” the Marine laughed as he added chives to the mix, “nothin’ too heavy, just enough to get something in your stomach.”

Edward peered open an eye, “it certainly smells good.”

“It better. Tak gave me the recipe, he said it’s perfect for this sort of thing.”

Dempsey had spoken to Takeo? Asking for advice? On Richtofen’s behalf? God, had the German not been weighed by a veil of incoherency, who knows what he would be capable of. All he wished was to lay with Tank and let their legs become intertwined just as their fates had. Or at the very least, that the boisterous Marine would just kiss him already. He himself lacked the proper confidence to ever initiate something like that.

The American looked nice today, too. Usually a man for t-shirts and jeans, he wore a simple grey button-up tucked into finely pressed work-pants. How he wondered if Dempsey chose to dress this nice just for him. Far more presentable than the thin white sweatshirt Edward draped over his crooked form. It only accentuated the neglect he had for self-care, especially when it came to remembering that food was a thing. 

Still, the soldier appeared particularly happy this afternoon. He whistled gleefully, hummed with a bright smile, and moved about the kitchen with a sense of enthusiasm for life. One would say he looked better than he had in days. Perhaps, even happier than before he learned of Peter’s fate. It was strange, but Edward deeply missed those excited blue eyes.

“Hm,” the older man soon voiced his curiosity.

Tank cocked an eyebrow, “hm?”

“You seem a tad different. In a good way.”

“I do?”

“I don’t know. You sound lighter, more content I suppose,” he mused softly, “refreshed I would say. It’s nice.”

The man poured the light brew of vegetables, and made his way to Edward’s side, “I guess I’ve been feeling better since the funeral. Kind of like my brain thought it was the right place to say ‘the end,’ if that makes sense?”

“Is it closure?”

“Maybe,” Dempsey shrugged. 

Of course, to Edward’s ignorance, the Marine was not being entirely honest. Tank knew for certain that the funeral did not create closure, but instead, a sense of relief for an eternal hiatus. Though just as rewarding, true closure would involve moving past Peter: both in terms of the abuse he endured and the means of death. Something he understood only after the drunken revelations shared with Nikolai. 

...It remained confusing to process this emotional grey area. But most importantly, he knew that he was happy here and now.

Richtofen cupped the mug into sweating hands and smiled gently, “whatever the case, you’ve been really strong. I admire you,” he soon burned hotter as he clarified with a stutter, “I mean, your strength.”

“No use in holding onto things you can’t change,” Tank rested an arm around the doctor’s shoulder, “besides, it helps to see you holding up too.”

Edward blushed as he sipped, hesitant to mutter, “be careful of staying so close. I might get you sick.”

“I don’t mind.”

Dempsey’s touch was warm, but the two were unsure if it was their own embarrassment towards their experimental affection, or the foreigner’s raging temperature. 

The soup was equally comforting, as the therapeutic heat relaxed his aching throat. It was delicious and unique, granting new flavor with each taste.

There was nothing that could pull the soldier from this moment, nothing, except a stirring question:

“Uh. Why are you holding me?” 

The wind was knocked from Dempsey’s chest. Not only this, but just now did he realize he was kneading circles into the tense muscles of Edward’s shoulder. Tank pulled away with haste.

‘Because it feels right.’

‘Because I need to.’

“I thought it’d make you comfortable. I can lay off if you want.” 

The German soon felt that he may have implied a line was crossed. 

“No. It’s. Nice. It helps. The soreness, I mean.” 

Another half-lie.

This time, it was harder for the Marine to express his intentions, or rather, his desires. Therefore, instead of doing so, Dempsey adjusted himself against the arm of the chair, and muttered in the smallest voice possible, “uh, turn around. You can keep drinking your soup, too.”

Sheepishly, Richtofen moved and faced his back to the mechanic. If Tank was planning what the doctor thought he was planning, he was about to lose his damn mind. 

“Like this?” Edward settled.

“A little closer.”

He shuffled back more.

“Closer?”

“You're insufferable,” Richtofen mumbled as he backed between the Marine’s legs, “there.”

It was then that he felt Dempsey’s strong hands squeezed his shoulders in a rolling message.

…Needless to say, the doctor was grateful his back was the only part within view, as he indeed lost his damn mind . In this moment, Edward’s eyes were novelty slinky-eyeglasses, popping from their gaping lids. His face burned hotter than any temperature he had been running all week. Even his brain practically slammed the ‘eject’ button on his conscious self. 

‘Farewell, body,’ he said to the escaping soul.

Why on earth, Edward thought frantically, would Dempsey assure that he could continue eating. There was no way the taller man could breathe, let alone drink hot soup.

“You ok?”

“Yes!” he practically squeaked.

“It’s alright. I’ll take care of you,” Tank assured softly.

Richtofen inhaled deeply and allowed his cracking pencil spine to ease. 

It’s ok, it’s ok.

Trust him.

Dempsey likewise became grateful that he was out of the German’s view. He flushed madly as he kneaded the tight muscle like a cat pawing a mattress. Yes, the younger man knew Edward was the skittish type, but he didn’t know he was this high strung. Gripping the doctor’s muscles was more like gripping a thick hide. 

How deeply he wished to please his beloved, and by the look of the relaxed form before him, he was successful in doing so. Of course, Dempsey would be lying if he didn’t say he really wanted to touch Edward anyway.

His heart brightened as the doctor backed even further, now leaning against his chest.

“You’ve been so good to me, Tank,” Richtofen sighed, finally comfortable enough to finish his meal, “you have no idea how much I appreciate it.”

Calling Dempsey by his name somehow made the thanks more personal, and the mechanic chuckled shyly, “hey, it’s no problem.” 

Instead, Tank lowered his arms and wrapped them around the doctor’s waist, pressing his forehead into the crook of Edward’s neck, and resting his hands over the slim stomach. His warm breath against Richtofen’s throat made goosebumps pepper the darkened skin. Those tantalizing lips brushed against his shoulder, restraining themselves from ravaging the tender flesh.

The German giggled this time, made excited, “that tickles.”

Dempsey laughed too, the hum in his chest palpable.

Daisy, still laying in the sun, let her tail thump into a lazy wag.

Edward found happiness. The fever, the home, his past, the river; all was forgotten from the secure hold of Dempsey’s arms. Suddenly, life seemed worth living, and he could only chastise himself for every moment he wished to be no longer. It was wonderful to be another man’s solstice.

The grazing movements of Tank’s caressing lips quickly became little pecks. Richtofen was unsure if this counted as a kiss, but he was just as thrilled. 

Against the shoulder, the back of his neck, behind his ear, into his hair. There was no exchange of words as the Marine sighed into these places.

With a calculated gesture, Edward leaned his head against Dempsey’s so to glimpse his freckled nose. He almost felt lucky; to be close enough to see the little sun spots which dusted the soldier’s face, something one could only find if sharing proximity this close. 

At last, Richtofen was brave enough to press a soft kiss to Tank’s forehead. 

Dempsey mumbled idly, hearing the small tweeting upstairs, “sounds like your birds are hungry.”

Edward smiled, “don’t let them fool you, they ate less than an hour ago.”

“Sounds’ like me,” the soldier joked.

“Yes, well, at least if you overeat all you have to worry about is a stomach ache.”

“You should tell me when they’re learning to fly. I wanna see.”

“Of course,” the German hummed lightly, “I’m eager to see so myself.”

Richtofen made a personal note to write this down, all while he watched the odd featureless worms crawl through a maze of holes. A bit grotesque, one could admit, yet at least pleasing to see the visions were becoming more contained once again. Here, the tunnels only overtook a small corner in the room; opposed to entire spaces.

“Where do you go?” Tank asked, observing the pensive doctor.

“Excuse me?”

“You do that a lot. ‘Kinda stare off to the side. But it doesn’t look like your thinking, I know what that looks like.”

“...then what does it look like?”

“Like you’re watching something.”

And just like that, Richtofen retreated back to his place of fear.

“I.I just let my mind wander, that’s all,” he spoke carefully and pulled away.

“Nowhere bad, right?”

“Not necessarily,” Edward tried, “distracting, perhaps.”

Tank noticed a small tremor in his voice, “I don’t want to push you or anything, just curious is all.”

The doctor, meanwhile, set the mug on the table and hunched over his knees, “I don’t want to ruin our,” he hesitated. Friendship? The words felt insulting in view of reality. 

“Our relationship.”

The Marine laughed at this, “I’ve seen you wacked out on cold medicine, slamming into walls, and tossing up your insides. I don’t think anything would push me away now,” he then smirked playfully, “unless that’s what you’re trying to do.”

“As if I would ever want that,” Edward laughed softly as he pondered further.

Something within the German wanted to confess his condition. If Dempsey would accept this part of him, he knew he could trust the man with his heart. However, living with the early onset of disorder, Edward grew to be ashamed of who he was. Children can be so judgemental.

Although normally soft-spoken and jittery, the affliction would make it so Richtofen could snap into depression with ease, or become manic and restless, or even grow paranoid that his dearest wanted to hurt him. All on the turn of a dime, or so it goes. Even now, Edward was beginning to return to those isolated and uncomfortable feelings, namely from his time in the self-made quarantine. Scaring Dempsey off for good was the very last thing he needed. 

The Marine watched Richtofen, worried by expressions that shifted to sadness, to resolve, to anger. Dempsey almost began to think it a mistake to bring the doctor’s wandering mind to attention, but how could one ignore frantic gazes with eyes like those. It was all too noticeable, and he couldn’t bare to let his doctor struggle. 

Then, in an instant, Daisy raised herself, and the soldier’s worry became fear. She knew something was wrong. 

“Hey, I’m sorry. You don’t have to say anything you don’t wanna.” Tank squeezed the doctor’s thigh assuringly, “I just wanted to check if you’re alright.”

“I’m not alright,” Edward finally sighed, “I’m not alright at all.” 

He muttered something in German.

“Eddie?”

The man took a deep breath, “sorry I just. I don’t know how to explain.”

Dempsey frowned, “you don’t owe me an explanation for anything.”

“I do owe you, and if not now, I will eventually. You have to know.”

“C’mon, Eddie,-”

The German cut him off, his eyes locked to the American’s, a glint aggressive intensity, “I WANT you to know. So I can let myself trust you, because I really want to trust you.”

“Oh,” Tank said simply, flushing red upon hearing the confession.

Dempsey gave Edward time as he spoke slowly, standing to pace around the room as he did so, “I have a certain. Affliction. Which came to light when I was very young. My whole life I had to question reality, because I had no way of knowing the truth. Do you understand?”

“...Not at all.”

“ Gott ,” Richtofen hung his face in his hands, and again lamented in his mother tongue.

“I can’t speak German, doc,” Tank tried to smile, “now I really can’t understand.”

Edward groaned loudly and tugged at his short locks, accent thickened by stress, “gah, pull it together!”

Just a matter of time. But he knew he had to trust Dempsey first.

In an attempt to make things easier, he turned his back, and instead spoke to the empty television on the wall, “I. Hallucinate. I always have.” 

He looked bitterly to the floor and said more softly, “I can be unpredictable- delusional even. I’m Autistic and don’t understand myself sometimes. I struggle with psychosis. And. And I just hope you won’t reject our. Friendship.”

A long moment of silence stilled the room. Not even the crows, his little harbingers of doom, called. 

Edward continued to stare at the rug beneath him.

“Oh,” the mechanic soon scratched at his neck awkwardly, “so you’re watching hallucinations?”

“Yes.”

“...What do you see?”

“Holes, but this damned house is showing me. Newer, distressful, horrible things.”

“Oh,” Dempsey said again. He had no idea how to respond, and this terrified Edward.

The aforementioned shame began to burn tears into the corners of his eyes. It wasn’t fair. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he just be happy to love?

Judgement became clouded.

The holes in the wall became some unnecessary backdrop to a boiling meltdown.

And every little thing that ate away at his trembling aspen of a body came to light.

Richtofen’s mind darted between aspects that sourced his despair, growing more and more confused. It was like trying to hear lyrics to two songs at once, all at full volume. Edward had no idea where his train of thought was going, nor where it led.

No matter a life spent denying this, the visions terrified him. 

No matter how well he held himself together, finding fluffy in the backyard broke his heart. 

No matter how happy he was to start over, he missed his home.

His parents, his sister; they would know what to do.

But they were gone.

Suddenly, Edward lost sight of what was happening, and then, he didn’t want Tank to be here anymore. He did not deserve his company, he instead deserved the isolation he had sown. He was alone.

Tank reached for the doctor’s hand, only for him to pull away forcibly. Richtofen paced out his despair further, as if sudden rambling would answer unspoken questions.

“This house, this damned horror show,” the German sneered as he rubbed tears from his face, “it’s more of a living testament to my own futility to let go of the past. All these old houses are. I despise it.”

Edward continued as he cast his seaglass eyes from Tank’s view, growing angry, “just as I remain, this place stands only to dangle happy memories from my fleeting grasp.” 

He again tugged at his hair and screwed his eyes shut, “I just can’t let it go, and I’m becoming more and more afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Dempsey asked softly.

“Afraid of losing myself! That’s why I returned in the first place, my old home is now a picture frame of another time. It’s too much.” 

“I don’t deserve your company, especially now,” he hissed, “you could blame this on the fever, but you must know that I am always like this.”

“Like what?”

“Confused! Disconnected! Weak!”

“Where is this coming from?” Tank reached out again.

The German looked at the outstretched hand and lightly grazed the fingertips with his own, longing. However, he instead dropped the hand to his side, and sat with Tank once again.

“I’m. I’m so angry. And scared, and I hate myself,” his lip quivered.

The Marine did his best to calm Edward down as he stroked his back, “you’re just overwhelmed.”

Richtofen jolted and looked straight into Tank’s eyes while he offered comfort.

“I get it. New home, new country, new people, new job… Like damn, you’ve been so tough. Especially since you have those hurdles of yours.”

The piercing look soon became glassy, tears threatening to break floodgates.

“And those hurdles are a lot, especially when you want to,” he hesitated, “get close to someone.”

Hearing Dempsey voice his feelings so easily finally broke him, and the tears fell in great drops onto Edward’s lap. To this, Tank instinctively wrapped his arms into a therapeutic squeeze.

"You can trust me though, luke, I ain't those types types that think you'll hurt me."

“...It’s too much at once, too much,” the older man hugged his American friend back, “I didn’t want to scare you, but my nature is closed-captioned in your mind.”

“I wasn’t intending to put you under a microscope. I just care about you, and when I see you acting funky, I worry.”

The admittance of feelings went over Edward’s head, caught in his own disorientation.

“I just hate this damned house. The damned river.”

Dempsey was fearful to ask, but curiosity prodded him, “...then why stay?” 

“Because I have nowhere else to go!”

“I thought you said you were adopted, what about them?”

Richtofen lamented, “I can’t, I can’t. It’s all my fault, Dempsey. I’m just so confused. There’s flies in my brain.”

“Hey, don’t say things like that. You’ll be alright.”

“I. Have. No. One.” he enunciated with the great anger in his voice.

The doctor then raised himself to pace around the coffee table once more, “Gott, I just,“ and he started muttering something in German again.

“Eddie?”

“I want to break something!” Edward shouted.

“Then break something.”

The doctor blinked. That’s right, he was an adult. This was his house and his belongings. He could do anything he pleased.

He looked around and grabbed the first thing he saw, an erlenmeyer flask; a triangular beaker which held water of the tormenting river. Richtofen gripped it bitterly in his hand; his friend wouldn’t be able to read the importance of this, but it did not matter. Then, in a swift motion, the German slammed it against the wall at full force. 

Both Edward and Dempsey flinched at the shatter, finding sharp indentations marked into the plaster and paint. 

It wasn’t enough. 

He reached for another beaker and threw it onto the ground this time, crushing it under his boot while tears still flooded in anguish.

It had to stop.

Let go.

Self-loathing.

How tiresome it was.

He couldn’t shake that it was all because of him.

And him alone.

Once the beaker was ground into salt-like crystals, the German slumped back onto the couch and caught his breath.

“...Do you feel better?” Tank asked lowly.

“Yeah,” Richtofen sighed, “I’m sorry you had to see that. I feel as though I've adhered to the stereotypes of, er, psychosis."

"You have a lot on your mind. It’s good to blow off steam," Dempsey smirked a little, "besides, I know the difference between that and actually threatening me."

"I only fight on others behalf."

"Yeah, that sounds more you."

The taller man hummed his appreciation, still wistful in his head. Little did he know, Tank was burning with devotion. Edward was not alone, he never was.

This was the first time in years Dempsey had witnessed a man's anger, an anger that did not lead to his own battering. Shattered glass was all too familiar, but just this once, it felt like it was ok.

Dempsey gave his friend another moment to breathe before he comforted, “you know, I had an old army buddy like you. Kinda. He was schizophrenic though.”

To this, he blinked incredulously, “really?”

The younger man leaned back with Edward, and held his arm around the sheepish doctor, “his name was John, but we just called him Banana.”

“Tank Dempsey, Smokey, and Banana? I’m begging to grow curious of where these names come from,” yet he still held serious curiosity, “does he live here?”

“He’s kind of dead now,” the soldier mumbled, “he offed himself.”

Edward frowned.

“It’s alright though, that was years ago,” Tank quickly added, “what I’m really trying to say is I’m not bothered. Autistic or psychotic or whatever. Because I like you.” 

Tank was so patient, and so smart. The soldier truly was perfect in every sense of the word. Edward knew that after today, he would not let him go.

Dempsey pressed a kiss to his forehead, a return for the earlier gesture, "we all have some baggage one way or another.”

“I don’t know where I’d be without you, Tank.”

The Marine lay down across the couch with a smile, and saved a space for his beloved in the crook of his arm. Reading the air, Richtofen settled between Dempsey and the couch. The man was warm, but so was he. With little room to fit his arms, the German instead wrapped them around Tank. As he did so, the two accidentally locked eyes, and laughed awkwardly.

Richtofen closed his eyes, feeling gentle fingers press through his hair and roll circles with the little cowlicks. In return, he pressed his face further into Dempsey’s chest.

The sound of the mechanic’s steady heartbeat became his lullaby, stomach a blanket, muscled arms a pillow, and he dozed off. 

—————————

Richtofen awoke to a sneeze that shook space he had dug out within the soldier’s arms. Looking up, he found Tank on his phone.

Dempsey smiled as he passed his fingers through the German’s hair, “sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s quite alright, I should be going to sleep anyway,” Edward flushed, “thank you for staying with me. I apologize for. This,” and gestured absentmindedly to the mess of glass on the floor.

“It’s nothin’, I promise,” Tank spoke as the two stood, the man holding himself in close proximity to Richtofen’s chest.

The older man laughed nervously, “contagious, remember?”

To this, he only took Edward’s hands into his own, “I don’t mind, remember?”

Things were getting confusing again, but in a good way this time, “you’ll regret it, you know.”

Finally, Dempsey stood on his tip-toes so his face was right before Richtofen’s.

“I don’t think I will,” he smiled anxiously, and slowly pressed his lips to Edward’s.

Chaste, fragile, experimental. 

The doctor had to dig his nails into his palms, testing to see if this was truly happening. To his surprise, the hot blood which beaded from sharp impressions validated this. He was kissing Dempsey.

With this, Richtofen seized the opportunity to kiss back. Cautiously placing his hands on the Marine’s waist, he pressed himself softly. His borealis eyes closed so to become lost in the feeling of Dempsey’s devotion; a strong grasp that held his own trembling hands, the sound of two breaths walking. 

After some time, Dempsey pulled away, a well placed thumb holding Edward’s chin.

‘ Once more for posterity ,’ the two seemed to think, and they kissed again. This time, with a little more confidence. Tank draped his arms over the doctor’s shoulders, while Richtofen pulled the soldier’s waist closer. Accommodation for the dramatic height difference. 

No longer would love come in a matter of time, it was only left to a matter of timing.

Dempsey moved his hands to grasp the doctor’s locks possessively, as the other pressed in more and ran his careful digits up the strong back. A mutual confession from weeks and months of ceaseless flirting. 

“Uh. Thanks for trusting me, Eddie,” Dempsey tried as he pulled away with great hesitation.

Edward said nothing as the man called for Daisy to follow.

As Tank waved a timid goodbye.

As the two made their way home.

What would the doctor see in his spinning lantern? Only something as important as this could make the cut. 

Yet, the rock in his boot remained.

The church bell tolled,

in empty spaces.

Chapter Text

It was the cusp of the early 2000’s when Edward found himself in the frustrating world of hormonal teenagers. 

When the boy wasn’t being bullied for his strict attention to academics and lack of male bravado; he was tripping over his own attempts to navigate himself socially. Eddie had mellowed his personality over the years, a stark difference from the temperamental boy he once was. However, this instead lead him to grow timid and lacking in terms of expression. Even the teen’s lanky posture and cracking voice served only to make his presence increasingly awkward. 

Still, the biggest source of underlying pressure came from his family. All they had was a well-meaning wish that he’d make friends, or even more so, find a girlfriend. As a matter of fact, while other boys his age were defined by their attraction to the ‘kinder sex,’ Edward felt indifferent. Girls were sweet and all, but he held no interest in pursuing them. Though he attempted to coerce the attraction with offhanded comments about nice outfits and pretty faces, it only felt forced. This instead created fears of a life of solitude, without meaning within another person. All he could do was pray that attraction would snap into place someday. Maybe he was just a late bloomer.

Edward desperately needed someone to tell him things would be alright, and it was just as natural to need time for these sorts of feelings.

...Evidently, the downside of holding a fear so close to oneself, is that no one was mindful of it. 

The boy was at least grateful for the love of his family. He and Sam did everything together, so much that they were frequently confused as twins. Though they outgrew the need for play, little traditions like movie marathons and taking Fluffy out for walks carried on. Often times they would sit in each other's room quietly, just to spend time together. Either this, or they’d be gossiping. Edward always felt grateful that his sister trusted him enough to share intimate details about her life or college plans; yet guilty he seldom returned the honesty.

As for his mother, Sophia loved to bring him on conference trips. It was a fun way to get around her schedule and become a part of each other's lives. Most of these trips entailed midnight runs for dinner, side tracking to tourist spots, or simply bringing Edward to witness the newest medical technology. Maxis likewise encouraged this love for science, as he made Richtofen his apprentice. Though they often goofed around, and there were certain things Eddie was legally not allowed to do, (yet performed anyway,) they managed to make progress

...Naturally, Sophia has already rushed into the garage with a fire extinguisher on several occasions.

However, there comes a time in most teen’s life where the type of love they crave is not familial. He wanted romantic love.

Eddie contemplated this as he sat at the kitchen table, working on a school essay. From here, he heard Samantha and her friends laughing upstairs. They were supposed to be studying, but from the sound of things, the three were lost in chatter. 

He didn’t mind this of course, but even so, the laughter ceased as his sister made her way downstairs.

“Hey Teddy, you want some juice too?” Samantha asked as she threw open the fridge.

“No thanks,” the boy kept his attention to the books strewn about.

These days, Sam kept her hair much shorter, yet long enough to tie into a messy pony-tail of ashy brown hair. Her fashion had likewise changed over the years. Though his sister only cared for dresses and skirts in her youth, she became more experimental. Samantha would try overalls and jeans, vintage t-shirts of her favorite films, bright and mismatched socks. Edward wished he could learn to try something new, something outside of his mundane fashion picked simply to not stand out. However, he was not nearly as adventurous as her. In the end, that was just the kind of person she was; daring, adventurous, curious, and someone he always looked up to.

Samantha spoke mischievously as she poured, “Do you want to hear a secret? You can’t tell Abby I told you.”

Edward tilted his head inquisitively.

“You have to swear!” She slammed the jug down.

“Like, the F word?” He stuttered.

“No! I mean promise!”

“I promise!” 

“Wellll, Abby has a huge crush on you!” she snickered playfully.

“Oh.” 

“Huh? That’s it? All the guys at school are crazy about her,” she blinked.

Eddie became defensive, “how am I supposed to react?”

“I don’t know! You spend a lot of time at her place, I thought you’d be excited.”

“Why do you care if I’m excited?”

“Why are you mad? You should be happy someone likes you!” Sam protested, a slight sting in her voice.

“Well, I’m not!”

“Why?!”

Edward became tight-lipped. He hated fighting with his sister, he hated how often the same petty argument played out. He only blamed himself. 

Instead, the boy waved her off with a sigh, “just go back to your friends. Sorry.”

Samantha, still upset, carried off the tray of drinks with a huff.

In all honesty, Edward liked Abby, but not in the romantic way she liked him. 

Part of him considered it a mistake to give private tutoring at her house, but it gave the German an opportunity to catch up with her brother. Though they had no similar interests, Eddie always thought he was cool. Laid back and funny, yet tough and protective. Everyone at school seemed to love him, so they sometimes left Edward alone on their friend’s behalf. 

He was also on the swim team, and often worked on a rowing machine in the living room. The swimmer was impressively strong. Maybe, Edward pondered, he would like to see him at the next competition. 

Naturally, he was quick to decide against this. It may give Sam’s friend the wrong idea. 

How he wished there was a girl as fascinating as Abby’s brother.

Just then, Edward uttered a pathetic, “oh.”

It was other boys that attracted him. 

Physique alone was enough to send shivers down his spine, something he initially thought was jealousy. In fact, Gym was a troublesome class because of this, as he opted to changing within the solitude of bathroom stalls. The discomfort of exposing himself in front of his male classmates was too much for Edward to handle. Not only this, but he would look at the other boys and wonder if they knew how to kiss yet, or wondered how they learned. He would even appreciate the nicely fitting ties and dress shirts some of them would wear, and became particularly bashful when these same classmates talked to him.

It wasn’t about wanting to be them, it was wanting to be with them. 

Everything suddenly made sense.

...Even so, this swiftly brought more trouble. Edward had no idea how to speak this revelation, or if he even needed to do so. He wasn’t even certain that he was certain. Eddie had never met another boy like himself, nor had his family mentioned relatives or friends that shared this experience. Hell, he wasn’t sure if his family would accept him in the first place. 

Everything Edward had heard regarding people like him, was that he was destined to die of HIV or AIDS. His father often talked about these patients, and how dangerous it was to treat them. Remnants of the Reagan era. 

He confessed himself lost and afraid for his future.

Slamming his books shut, Edward resolved to hide in his room after another hour of connecting dots. All he wanted to do was sleep off these complicated feelings. 

As he climbed up the stairs, Samantha and her friends passed him down. The German nodded a shy hello to the three, while Abby seemed to hesitate and hold her glance a little longer. He only blushed and continued on his way. 

In his room, he collapsed face-first onto his untidied bed and sighed into the mattress. The teen’s mind was buzzing with scenarios and thoughts and doubts and fears. However, it wasn’t all doom and gloom; there was some excitement in figuring out his romantic inclinations. He even attempted to experiment with daydreams of being held, perhaps even kissed, by another boy; both confusing and exhilarating. So much so, that he didn’t hear the knock on his door as his sister entered the room.

“Teddy, I really think we should talk,” she frowned.

Edward pushed himself up and sat criss-cross within the tangled comforter. “About what?” He wondered curiously, not an inch of suspicion in his voice.

She sat at his bedside, “I dunno, we’ve always been so close and now all you do is get mad when I ask about you.”

“I just want privacy.”

Samantha didn’t look convinced, “c’mon. You can talk to me and you know it.”

There was a familiar moment of silence as she granted Eddie time to build a sentence. He was unsure of how he would go about his confession. Edward didn’t want to ruin the only good relationship he had, besides the one he shared with his parents. Choosing between being honest versus lying could make or break the closeness of the siblings, and either course of action presented the same fate. 

Potentially, at least.

“I guess I’ve been confused.” Eddie finally spoke, a sigh in his tone.

“About what?”

“About Me. About what I want.”

“You’re still young, Teddy. You don’t have to know that right now,” she smirked a little.

“The thing is I do know. It’s just scary, I guess.”

“Then what’s scaring you?”

Edward held his silence, the words dancing on the tip of his tongue. The only sounds in the room being the clicking of his millipedes, which rested in their nearby tank, and a slow turning of overhead mobiles that carried his dreamy thoughts. 

“...Eddie.”

The fear soon became corporeal, as tremors shook his hands and tears threaten to break. A scandalous secret held by the chipping damn that would flood into the unsuspecting valley of Sam’s life. Though these would not be tears of despair, but instead tears which spoke anxiety, and joy, and fear, and disappointment. 

“You haven’t been hurting yourself again have you? I told you those creeps aren’t worth-”

“It’s not that,” Richtofen breathed, “I. I think I like boys.”

Samantha came to a state of shock and her breath stilled. She was completely blindsided.

“You. Think? ” she asked lowly.

“I. I’m not sure,” her brother’s blinked the tears his mismatched eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he uttered as he buried his face into the comforter.

Sam warily put her hand on his shoulder, “...why are you sorry?”

“Because I’m going to get sick! And I’ll never get married! And it’s perverted! And everyone at school already thinks I’m crazy! And mom-”

Edward went on and on about his fears, but was soon silenced when he felt his sister wrap her arms around him.

“Eddie, you don’t owe any apologies for something like that.”

He hugged her back, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry..” he kept mumbling into her shoulder.

“Just please, I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t care who you like.”

“...You’re not disappointed?” Edward said, still in her arms.

“I mean, it sucks you can’t get married. That’s not really a ‘you’ problem though. I just want you to be happy.”

Finally, he pulled away, “...you’re not mad either?”

“No way,” she smiled, “besides, that means we can talk about boys together!”

He shoved her away playfully, yet still sniffling, “you’re embarrassing!”

As per usual, Samantha added mischievously, “and now I can ask about that creepy magazine stash you have-”

Mortified, Edward screamed, “HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT.”

There were many questions: when did you know? How are you sure? How does this happen? And although most of these were left to vaugities and unclear resolve, it still appeared to make sense. After all, some of the most marvelous things in the universe are defined to happen just for the sake of happening. Like the genesis of the stars, or the creation of life. The most precious things, only existing because they could.

This confession soon made Sam wonder aloud, that maybe her feelings towards female friends were more than platonic as well. Her relationship with Amelia was particularly close, yet, she was still confused because she found boys just as drawing. Whatever the case, she was protective of her little brother’s happiness, and made a promise to help him come out to their parents when he was ready.

Edward learned that being different did not mean the same thing as being broken.

Chapter Text

When Edward woke up, he swore that he had been reborn. His muscles did not ache, his sinuses clear, his vision unspun. Funny how one starts to appreciate breathing through their nose after a long time deprived of these basic functions. 

In fact, at this moment, the German was practically euphoric. It could have been the cough syrup disorientating his sense of coherence, or the burst of energy after days of fatigue, but it was more so sharing mutual healing with Dempsey. Though Edward still considered the significance of their growing relationship, he was still unsure if they were ‘official.’ There was no exchange of thoughts on the matter, too. Even more confusing, when small pecks and gentle touches peppered themselves within their conversations.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” The doctor asked from the balcony of his home, resting his hand protectively over Tank’s.

Here, the air was cool and the ceiling fan above spun a lazy breeze. Cries of waking cicada’s were becoming more and more quiet these days, likely reaching the end of their life. This was alright though, because it meant fall would be here soon. Edward was grateful. He hated the summer here. He hated mosquitos and sweat making his shirt stick to his skin. Gross.

“I promise,” Dempsey soon responded brightly, “as weird as it sounds, I think I feel freed. Like I can do anything.”

Richtofen cocked an eyebrow, slightly confused by the strong sentiment.

“I know, I know. I probably sound real cruel,” Tank continued to smile, “but you know. It’s nice to not have to worry all the time. I can think about more important. Uh. Things.”

Though this vague statement was genuine, it was apparent that pride shifted from refusal to see the problem, to refusal that the problem ever happened. Even so, simply being around friends that made him feel important was enough to ease his thoughts. Perhaps Doctor Monty was right, the Marine needed to stop overthinking and accept that grey areas are natural.

Edward squeezed Tank’s hand, “well, I’m just glad to see you happy again.”

“I can say the same, you look…” he hesitated to say ‘beautiful’, or ‘handsome’, or something else unabashedly romantic. 

“You look good, Eddie.”

“It was probably all that soup.”

“Probably.”

Dempsey began to rub circles into the back of the doctor’s palm with his thumb, all while he hummed an unfamiliar tune. At least, it was different from all his other little songs of the heart. 

Edward could only close his eyes and meditate on the rolling lullaby.

“This is ok, right?” The Marine wondered aloud.

“Huh?”

“Holding your hand?”

“No, no. I think I quite like it.”

“...me too.”

Of course, no good thing lasts forever, and the Marine’s phone buzzed a reminder for work. 

Daisy, who had been napping at the foot of her master’s chair, lazily pricked her ears and stood. Even stretching out a silent yawn, one which the German copied.

“Hey, I’ll see you later.” Dempsey winked.

“Take care of yourself,” Richtofen returned, and leaned to press a kiss to the mechanic’s forehead.

He laughed at this, “thanks, doc.”

Despite of the wordless declarations of love, today Edward had plans to celebrate his recent wellness. Simple errands and nothing more; hoping that getting out of the haunted home would be reinvigorating. The ghosts of Richtofen’s past were starting to diffuse from the environment and into his brain, searching for a place to fester. He nearly began to worry that the weeks spent ill would drive him to some sort of cabin-fever. Not a good look: considering he was beginning to scare his neighbors with episodes of his fever-induced psychosis. 

God knows he wished that they would soon forget seeing his twisted form crammed underneath his car, thinking some animal had emerged from the woods to prowl around the garden; or episodes of catatonia as he blankly lay under the great Banyan upon softened weeds in his backyard. 

Not to mention, the entire community had already been on high alert, unsure who among them was killing their closest friends. Hitting every checkbox that read, ‘Really Damn Unstable,’ did little to ease suspicion.  With that, the doctor thought to drive into town despite the short distance. He did not want to tempt fate to call attention to serial murderers, particularly since taking in the omens he found in 8 tiny harbingers of death. Although, he could not scorn the young crows, as they turned expiry to an endearing form. Their plum colored feathers seemed to sprout by the day, making the silhouette of their presence into something more conventionally lovable. 

With the presence of solitude and the afternoon sun peaking in the sky, Edward made the trip west.

—————————

This time of year, downtown was particularly alluring. The clouds shielded the bustling city and granted gentle illumination off storefront windows, almost artful in the flecks of light that shone on passersbys. The road sounded a mumbling ambiance of chatter and distant Bluegrass melodies. Edward was thankful that the street had been closed off from traffic, as he did not have to fear becoming some stringy piece of roadkill among it all. (Not irrational, given the man’s darting attention span.)

Antique light posts followed the winding path, some enveloped by fliers pasted in withering layers, some bearing an American flag for the coming holiday. Edward could only vaguely recall the celebration as a child. 

Waving sparklers and sharing ice cream with his sister. 

Parades and firework shows. 

This sort of thing sounded right up Dempsey’s alley, but a trip to the beach sounded far more intimate, and less so an assault on one’s senses.

As Edward walked, he found himself lost in the variety of local flair. There was some unique unnamable aesthetic of the community; an art focus reflective of the midwest, music from the south, restaurants with dishes ranging across state borders, and a cacophony of personalities that spanned nations. 

Modern in how welcoming things appeared, yet intimidating in the faces of unsavory strangers.

Upsetting in the remnants of confederate memorabilia, yet homey in a southern-hospitality sort of way. The man flicked his knife from inside his pocket to keep his fidgeting hands busy. As he usually would.

Richtofen stepped lightly, seaglass eyes shifting from place to place and unsure of where to go. Among the numerous folk art galleries, it was hard for a window shopper to figure what they were looking for. However, this was quickly resolved as he wandered into a quaint little market that read ‘Icarus Leadlight’ on the signpost. From the embellishments on the name and gleaming mosaiques on display, it was a glassware store.

A small bell chimed as he entered into the surprisingly dim storefront. There were vases and bowls shining brilliant colors that swirled, small sculptures and engraved tableware, even stain glass windows that bore paintings within the fractals of color. A theme carried in the stories frozen in crystal, woeful pining to find peace within the carving of doves; stories about sin and virtue, but not the typical ‘fire and brimstone’ narration. Something more about unconditional love.

Still, there was no one else among the clutter. This was luck on Edward’s behalf. He always grew nervous when employees tried to talk to him. Almost as if simply existing there was an inconvenience to their hard work. However, the doctor spoke too soon, finding a man crouched on the floor and stocking shelves. The stranger resembled a vagabond in his matter of dress; loose fitting clothes, fingerless gloves, and a distinct cap shading a thin head of hair. Probably the artist, Edward rightfully assumed. 

The man looked up timidly, and asked in a scratchy Italian-American cadence, “oh, hey. Need help with something?”

“I’m just looking, thank you,” Richtofen said before he noticed the array of glass boxes.

“Actually, may I see one of those?”

“Yeah, just know that no two are alike,” he smiled softly and handed Edward the fragile piece.

The doctor turned it over in his hands, observing the opaque and brilliant stain-glass patterns. Imagery of a lightning storm in a starry sky, striking jagged lines around it’s form. The way the dim light cast through the work of art made the floor beneath become a flickering ocean. 

“Do you make these yourself?” 

“Yeah,” he hummed modestly, “it may not be the best, but it’s the best that I can do.”

“You must have been doing this for a long time. It’s beautiful.”

“Not really,” he continued to stock the shelves, “I used to draw, but I gave sculpture a shot some years ago. ‘Figured this was more my speed. A better way to avoid starving.”

“What made you try?”

“Glass is interesting. When cut by opaque designs it’s art, when transparent we find safety in window panes, when it reflects we feel shame in mirrored selves. Probably the most humane way to reach a person.”

“Well, I suppose deepest feelings are the truer thoughts of people,” the doctor spoke as the artist stood to meet him.

Now at eye level with the man, the two could only blink incredulously. 

“Oh!” They exclaimed at the same time, then laughed at their coordination.

“I’ve never met someone else with heterochromia,” Edward smiled, “now I see why people always comment on it.”

“Same here,” the stranger chuckled, “ain’t it annoying?”

“Gott, yes. I swear some make the silliest assumptions.”

“One time someone asked if I was blind.”

“Really? Once I was asked if I lost a contact!”

The two laughed again.

Now more comfortable, the stranger leaned, “you know, I don’t think I’ve seen you before. You new here? Or just visiting?”

“Kind of new I suppose. I moved in a few months ago.”

“guess I wouldn’t know anyway. I’m mostly out in the woods. Best place to work without bothering no one.”

The doctor outstretched his hand, “well, I’m Edward Richtofen.”

“Albert Arlington,” he shook the palm enthusiastically, “just Al is fine though.”

“Of course, Al. I think I’d like to buy this box if you don’t mind wrapping it.”

Albert gestured for the German to follow him, “no prob. Is it a gift or for yourself?”

“Uh, myself,” Edward half-lied, unwilling to share intentions to make it his dead dog’s urn, “just an art appreciator. A fellow artist even.”

“What kinda work do you do?” Albert perked up in interest.

“Drawing and painting,” and the doctor paused.

Before Edward could continue, an intricate and pale design against the wall caught his eye. It was different from all the other works, in that the stained glass mosaique used dull and muddied colors, and incomprehensible spirals of blue and grey. It was far more abstract, compared the the readable intentions of the other pieces. The sole identifiable feature was, what looked like, streaks of windy patterns.

“The piece behind you is very striking,” the German examined more closely.

Albert looked and leaned against the counter, a tinge of melancholy in his voice, “yeah, it’s about the landslide that happened some years ago.”

“I’ve heard about that,” Richtofen muttered, still bitter that it created a bad reputation preceding his arrival.

“A real mess, lots of people died. Most of the bodies are still buried there too.”

“Did you lose anyone?” he asked, now guilty that his bitterness seemed petty by comparison.

“Only my house,” he assured, “I just thought it was interesting how tragedy brought people together. They gave food, helped search the rubble, those sort of things. Hell, they even offered me a place to stay,” he turned back to face the doctor with a cheeky grin, “before then they took me as a shady fella for doin’ time. I wanted to remember that change of heart. It meant a lot.”

“It’s hard for me to picture you breaking the law,” Richtofen chuckled.

“You’d be surprised!” Al smirked before going on, “still, I’m grateful for my second chance. Some people had it way worse, one guy lost his entire family. Gone, just in a flash.”

“I’m glad nothing happened to you, then we wouldn’t have met,” the German spoke thoughtfully, and added with an annoyed sigh, “believe me, I’ve had the hardest time finding friendly faces.”

“That’s awful nice of ya,” Albert passed the doctor a receipt, “feel free to stop by again. Maybe we can draw together too, I think I’d like to know you better.”

“That sounds wonderful, thank you, Al.” 

“No prob, Edward”

Richtofen nodded a friendly goodbye, the ringing bell announcing his exit.

Oh how stereotypes get shot down in an instant. Richtofen always took Italian-Americans for aggressive and loud types, but Albert was soft spoken and eloquent in his poetry. So much so, that Edward thought with certainty he would take the man up on visiting again soon.

He couldn’t help but wonder what a timid guy like the artist could do to earn jail time. However, the doctor was never one to judge a person’s record. Even Edward had patients die on him, but that didn’t make him some vengeful and unemotional creature. The stereotype of a strict and bossy German manifested into a squirrely and melancholy man. Perhaps this was why Al was so receptive to pleasantries.

Continuing on his way, the midday heat was starting to cast the uncomfortable, yet recognizable, heat. Likewise, bells of clock towers tolled to signify noon. It was frankly unsettling how the uncoordinated timers were set, as the ringing echoed one another from far-off places. Here, Edward followed the small holes that dug their way into the brick path.

Richtofen was now on the hunt for art supplies; his encounter with the glassblower instilling further motivation to draw again. To his luck, he was quick to find a multi-level Appalachian Arts store. It was colorfully decorated with wood carvings of giraffes, metal structures, and a mix of other gaudy pieces that did not suit one another. It was the oil paints and sketchbooks in the window called out to him.

The doctor walked in on two employees in heated debate:

“I’m tellin’ ya, the mountains are getting bluer,” the old man raised.

His companion, a black man with a Southern accent, could only dead-pan, “Russman knows they’re called the Blue Ridge for a reason, Stu.”

“So they don’t make people question it! No other place in the U.S. has mountains that do that!”

“Then what in God’s name are they hiding?”

“Chemicals! They’re pumping them into the atmosphere so we become a compliant workforce.”

The larger man frowned, “Oh c’mon. No one can afford retirement these days.”

“See? Compliant! They’ve already got you hooked.”

Richtofen, who had been eavesdropping, quietly chirped, “It’s Isoprene. It makes the mountains blue.”

The two turned their heads to the source of the small voice as it went on, “trees release it to combat heat stress and temperature changes. Since climate change is warming the region, trees have to produce more.”

“...”

“Especially to protect themselves at higher elevation. The atmosphere there is far colder than at sea level.”

Russman gave his friend a smug look, and the older man questioned Edward’s intrusion with squinting eyes, ”did you need something?”

The doctor nearly yelped his embarrassment, “ah, do you sell moleskine sketchbooks?”

“...back wall.”

As Richtofen moved, he heard the two go at it again.

“See, Stu? It’s natural.”

“It’s still a chemical!”

The shelf was lined with many handbound journals, all of leathery covers and designs burned into skin. Most featured birds, but a few held imageries of great oaks and white cedar. Here, Edward was more inclined to peruse the avian tributes. Cardinals, blue jays, finches, but no crows. Surprising, given how common they were. He would have liked a little something for his new found omens in disguise. 

Instead, Richtofen found an auburn notebook with a grey heron wading in the reeds. Although he was far from a historian, the German still had mild recollection of the Egyptian deity, Bennu: ‘he who came into being by himself.’ 

The God was said to have flown over primordial waters, present before all creation. Once the heron found a place to land, the triumphant call it sounded would outline genesis itself, and corporeal existence was born. Not to mention, the God was somewhat of a phoenix in its ability to become rebirthed by the sun. The embodied soul of Ra himself. 

In other words, Bennu was representative of life and rebirth, and Edward could not resist. Perhaps it was the idea of sailing an abyss of primeval waters, or maybe renewing oneself through false death, but the German was always one to appreciate meaning from inconspicuous places. A means of self-expression that he could wear on his shoulder, and none would be the wiser.

As Richtofen returned to the front counter, he found Misty Briarton chatting with the two men from earlier.

“Hello, Misty,” he waved shyly.

“Eddie!” She called excitedly, “wherev’ you been? You haven’t stopped by the garage in ages.”

“I would hate to get you sick.”

“If I get to see Dempsey embarrass himself, it’s totally worth it.”

“You know this guy?” the older man, Stu, frowned.

“Yeah! He’s the one I was telling you about. Dempsey’s little boyfriend.”

Edward flushed a deep red and mumbled lowly, “we’re not dating…”

“Not yet. I swear I have to leave the room to catch a break from those looks you throw each other.”

 She soon switched and gestured to the two men before her, “but these are my pals Russman and Stuhlinger. Russ owns the place, Stu is absolutely useless.”

“Watch it, farm girl,” the man hissed.

Richtofen still nodded a timid greeting while his friend continued, “I was seeing if they’re too busy for dinner.”

“Not busy, just stuck here with no one to watch the place,” Russman shrugged, “slow day.”

“How about you, Eddie? I can finally introduce you to my girlfriend.”

There was a twinkle of excitement in the German’s eye, flattered that Dempsey was not the only factor that bound their relationship. However, it was far too early for dinner. He hadn’t even had lunch yet. Perhaps, thought he, this was normal for Americans?

The doctor soon looked out the window and tried to gauge the time. It was then that his heart skipped a beat, as the hour was already well into dusk. Questions streamed through his head like an electronic LED sign, streaming messages of silver alerts and dui warnings on the highway. Edward did his best to mask the confusion; did he pass out? Lose time? Dissociate? One could fear precisely how long he spent dreaming of Herons. Yikes.

 Whatever the case, he couldn’t say no to Misty’s kind offer.

—————————

It was a short walk when the two reached the spacious and warm tones of an old pub called, ‘the Ruby Rabbit.’ There was already a small crowd of strangers young and old having fun as most drinkers would. Richtofen was slightly relieved to see it wasn’t a noisy and bustling sports bar, or a dark of stuffy nightclub. He would have had to turn away.

“Kinda weird, we never hang out just the two of us,” Misty adjusted the baseball cap that held back her tied hair nonchalantly.

The German nodded an agreement, again fiddling with his knife as they sat at the bar, “I’m excited to meet Jessica though.”

“You’ll love her! She’s the best,” the woman sighed happily, “more class than anyone in a 30 mile radius.”

“How long have you two been together?”

“A few years, but I think I wanna marry her someday.”

Edward became excited, “really?”

“I dunno yet!” she laughed, “I just like her a lot, you know? Smart, beautiful, tough, real thoughtful. I’m thinkin’ we could move out west so I can get my farm, and she can go be in the movies.”

“I’m glad you’ve found each other,” the doctor smiled brightly as he joined her at the counter. If there was anything he could value more, it was devoted romance. A wonderful bond of personalities that complemented the other. 

“Funny though, Tank always says that. That he’s glad to have found you,” she added before turning to a bartender and ordering something.

Richtofen blushed, “I see,” was all he could muster. He distractedly asked for whatever Misty was drinking tonight.

“I’m real grateful for what you’ve been doing for him though. I knew you were good.”

“I’m not doing anything out of the ordinary,” Edward scratched.

“I dunno, ever since he broke up with Peter he’s been lonely. It’s good to see him with a boyfriend that treats him right.”

“We’re not-,” Edward paused, squinting and turning his brows, “he and Peter were partners?”

“God damnit,” she face-palmed, “I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

“Why not?”

“Tank said not to. It’s complicated stuff.” 

The bar tender returned quickly with their drinks and soon slipped away.

“Well. I mean. It seems pretty simple to me,” Richtofen hummed awkwardly, “why did they break up?”

“It was a long time comin’, Peter was the worst. He’d treat him like garbage... I guess Dempsey wouldn’t want you to see him like that,” the mechanic frowned.

“I know he drank a lot.”

“That only made things worse. He’d bruise Dempsey up real bad. He got pissed at the world- wanted to make people understand him, but he did it in the worst way.”

Edward blinked, it was near impossible to imagine someone as proud as Tank get knocked down. A small flame of anger lit his body, had Peter not been dead, he would have killed him himself. However, he caught himself before he delved deeper into a fantasy of avenging his friend. Tank was happy now. So this is what the Marine meant when he said he felt freed.

Finally, Richtofen wondered, “why would he stay with someone like that?”

“I don’t really know. I haven’t had something like that happen to me, so I don’t think I can pretend to understand,” she shrugged, “he’d always come to me, all calm-like, and just wish Peter would die. Like that was the only way they could separate for good. Careful what you wish for, I guess.”

“...The more I learn about this Peter, the more I grow to dislike him.” Edward sneerd, taking a sip of his drink. God damn was it disgusting. It was probably whisky, but the taste reminded him of the apothecary smell of the upstairs rooms in his home. He wouldn’t be finishing the rest.

However, as he stepped back mentally, fear consumed him. Oh dear, oh dear. Was he going to be another Peter to his beloved? Dempsey’s passion for sympathy and responsibility would be his downfall. A poor combination, as Edward did not want Tank to put his own happiness at risk. Especially if it meant he’d have to wait out dissociative episodes, watch the endless crying spells that woke him in the night, and worst of all, feel like he had to fix Richtofen himself. The mechanic of people. Oh dear, oh dear. The German could not do this to someone he loved so dearly.

Just then, a short blonde turned a corner, and Misty lit up like the very stars.

“Jessica!” She waved.

As the woman approached, she gave the mechanic a peck on the cheek before sitting by her side. She was elegant, both in dress and the way she carried herself. Misty was certainly right, as she was far more classy than the other employees. The woman likewise had intense blue eyes that had shown like ice. It pierced straight through Edward, and he could hardly hold eye-contact. 

Though he knew he was being watched, because that’s how socializing works, he felt more like he was being watch-watched. Like she was spying on his internal mechanisms of thought. Like she was reading the manuscript he wrote of his first impressions. In all honesty, Edward was reminded of his mother. He hoped that this wasn’t creepy.

“Jessica, this is Edward,”

The waitress gave Richtofen another odd look, this time as if worried for some reason, and shook his hand. The man wiped his face, was something stuck in his mustache? Something on his shirt? No, he was just giving off odd vibes.

“Nice to meet you,” the doctor smiled through the anxiety.

She nodded her acknowledgement, “sorry I’m late, I was talking to Jackie. He was wondering if I’ve seen anything strange lately.”

Misty quickly filled the doctor in, “Jackie’s a detective, he’s in charge of that corpse business, but he and Jess go way back.”

The waitress continued, “yeah, there wasn’t much to say though. It’s hard to tell what’s ‘odd’ around a bunch of alcoholics.”

“Did he tell you anything to look out for?”

“Nothing the news hasn’t said.”

Edward wondered softly, “what has the news said? I don’t keep up with these sorts of things. Too macabre.”

“Just that the person makes precise cuts, so he’s probably a hunter or something experienced,” Jessica explained, “the blade he’s using is dull though, and all the bodies end up in sewers and waterways.”

Her girlfriend frowned, “I don’t want you walking home alone anymore.”

“Thanks hun, but looks like only men are getting targeted,” she made a sly smile before adding, “besides, you know I can defend myself.”

“That’s right!,” The mechanic let out a cheer in agreement, “you should’ve seen, Eddie! The other day some creep was messing with her, and she jammed a knife through his shirt and pinned him to the table! ‘Dude nearly pissed himself!”

The doctor began to sweat. Good Lord, was Jessica was scary. 

“They just found out who that gutter body was too,” Misty leaned in, “the one that saved Dempsey.”

“Who was it?” Richtofen asked in a millisecond.

“An old man. Shooter? I can’t pronounce it.”

Just like that, Edward’s stomach dropped. 

“Schuster?” he nearly called out in distress, “I thought he went up north!”

“You know him?”

“He was my supervisor!” he continued the trembling panic.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry Eddie,” Misty frowned, “I didn’t know.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” the doctor stuttered  incredulously, “it’s just. How. When.” Richtofen was chipping again, but this time he told himself to run. 

“I’m sorry to leave so suddenly, I need to make a few phone calls,” he told the two, remembering his manners and putting his drink money on the counter.

“It’s no prob, be careful alright? Don’t be afraid to hit me up if you need anything,” the mechanic waved sympathetically.

“Thank you, Misty. It was nice meeting you Jessica,” and he left with haste.

Now alone, the waitress kept her silence for a long moment before speaking, “that man is a bit strange, don’t you think?”

“Totally,” she smiled.

“In a bad way.”

“Bad how?”

“Bad in that. I think he’s very, very, sick.”

—————————

Speeding, speeding, speeding. The lights of the tunnel flashed like a strobe, confusing dashed thoughts further. Edward had no idea what the point of his urgency was, there was no one to call, no one to talk to, nothing to reverse the effects. Hell, a short google search would validate that it was indeed Doctor Shuster. It was only fear the sent him swerving his car through twisting mountains. Something needed to ground him, and soon.

..Naturally, that something came in the worst way possible, as he spotted two small glowing eyes at the end of the road he blazed. The little grey intruder was frozen with fear as it crossed the road, and Edward slammed his brakes as hard as he could. The stop sounded more like nails on a chalkboard than screeching tires. Perhaps cats really did have nine lives, as he stopped just in time. It thanklessly dashed across the remaining path, and up the stairs of the church looming parallel.

Edward’s eyes could only widen in shock, as he saw the feline hop into the arms of Alistair Rapt, Monty’s husband.

Almost immediately, the doctor unbuckled himself and opened the door to shout at the two fearful figures. 

“YOU!!”

The Louisiana ghost blinked and furrowed his brows.

“YOU USED ME!!!” 

It was now clear that Richtofen was yelling at the cat. Bitterness coated his still trembling fingertips, but only for petty reasons. The cat was getting several meals a day, using his home as it pleased, and still acted so needy and helpless.

“AND YOU,” he looked to Alistair, “I DON’T WANT TO SEE THAT CAT NEAR MY HOUSE EVER AGAIN.”

The German soon threw himself back in his car with a heavy slam, and sped off.

Chapter Text

“Ah,” Nikolai frowned at the mess on the table, “spilled salt.”

Dempsey observed the toppled shaker, and spoke with confident assurance, “just toss it over your left shoulder.” 

“It doesn’t work that way.”

Tank proceeded to take a pinch and do so anyway.

“...that’s your right shoulder.”

“Whatever!”

The diner was bustling with the morning rush, and the group of friends all stuffed themselves into one booth. Even those who couldn’t squeeze in, like Nikolai and Misty, pulled up their chairs to share the space. Everyone seemed excited for the celebration tomorrow, as they planned on what to bring and where to meet. Richtofen, meanwhile, was humored to be part of ‘the loud table’ in a restaurant for once; the one where there’d be sudden and loud bursts of laughter that annoyed neighboring strangers.

Though the circumstances of Schuster’s murder rattled around the doctors mind, Edward did well in distracting himself. God knows if he were left to his own devices, fear would easily consume him. Though, that’s the best part of having a big, strong, soldier for a friend; in Tank’s company, Richtofen would always feel safe. 

It hurt to see an old family friend go, especially when he was so selfless to offer Edward the job in the first place. He did not deserve a death as cruel as this. Richtofen sent flowers too, but held a promise not to go to the funeral. That would make things real, and he was content with this being background noise to his otherwise promising improvement. 

Here, he chose to become the tide that rushed onto shore, toppling the sand castle of worry that the subconscious tried to build. 

Over and over with each wave. 

Each new friend.

Every little victory.

So much so, that even though the visions of crumbling earth continued, he would not be afraid. 

Just holes, 

Just water, 

Just ghosts.

Fighting a creeping sense of dread, gluing the cracks in his teacup frame.

Waking Up every day was exciting too, especially when he and Dempsey shamelessly continued their little endearments. Finding a place to lean on one another, grazing their fingertips in passing, enough flirting that made their other friends roll their eyes and gag. It was sickeningly sweet, and anyone within a 10 mile radius could feel the heavy presence of need in the air. Some swore it sent birds fleeing from their trees. 

Of all their tender affections, Edward loved kissing Tank most of all. The Marine’s lips were soft and tender, and Dempsey held the doctor’s own with kindness and respect. Although, now and then the initial shyness would return, and Edward could only hope Tank would chalk the pecks up to ‘just a European thing.’ It was apparent that the Marine was giving the anxious German time, and the show of emotional intelligence only sparked more interest.

Richtofen thought it nice, not having to throw caution to the wind and devote himself to a relationship. At least, until he could be certain that they were bound by love instead of responsibility. The worry could ebb away with each confession, each moment shared, each thoughtful kiss. Things felt natural this way.

Just now, Edward moved to place another peck on the soldier’s freckled cheek, a return for the compliments his beloved spoke between bites of his meal. 

A little discussion held about extending a haunted home to a certain four-legged friend:

“Hey, it’s true!” the Marine laughed from the show of thanks, “that terrier looks happy as ever. I think it’s only right that you get to keep him.”

Nikolai mused with hesitation, “even if he can walk, it’ll still be months until he’s got his strength back. He needs physical therapy, and with that I am well trained.”

The German nodded modestly, “he’d be very happy, I have lots of space. Not to mention I can afford his needs.”

The man stroked his beard, contemplating for a long moment. Oddly enough, as a protective friend, it was now easier to trust Richtofen with Dempsey’s heart. The life of a living and vulnerable dog, however? He needed to bargain. 

“...Only after he can climb stairs on his own. Then he is yours.”

“Really?” Edward chirped with excitement. How he missed the company of a dog’s unconditional love….. (even if Dempsey offered the same.) Maybe the Marine was secretly some hound? That could be the only explanation. 

“You’ve done good for little birds, so I think I can trust you with handicapped dog,” the Russian shrugged.

Misty gasped, “woah! Nikolai said ‘trust’ and ‘you’ in the same sentence!”

“I’m not that doubtful,” he defended himself.

Takeo poked at his fiance playfully, “you count the plates after closing to make sure none were stolen.”

“They’re nice plates!”

Richtofen was uncertain for the future, yes; but he was also happy. 

Today would be a good day.

As the droning of conversation carried on, the doctor turned his attention to a television suspended. It was a monument to older times, placed to keep guests updated on local news as they ate breakfast. However, the channel remained silenced as to not add to the ambiance, and instead held scrolling subtitles which ticketed their way across the bottom. Edward had to squint to read the fine print;

Something about the predicted weather for tomorrow’s festivities. Blue skies.

Something about temperature cooling earlier and earlier by the year. Fall.

Something about… something.

The tall man blinked as the black highlight of letters became a solid pitch bar, one that extended as if the text were still running. Unraveling and unraveling until the black had fully overtaken the screen. He glanced at others that watched the television, curious. Though to Edward’s dismay, none reacted, and kept their eyes glued to the square void. Instead, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to ease his thoughts. 

It’s ok,

It’s ok,

Just a blank screen. Nothing to be afraid of. He knew he was not afraid.

...Though, that’s the thing about fear; even if one knows there is no danger, the body can and will betray you. 

Opening his eyes, he was relieved to see the screen return to its scheduled programming. Yet, it did poorly in making matters improve. Richtofen was made nervous by the warnings appearing on screen:

‘Curfew at 8pm starting this Friday.’

‘Never walk or jog alone.’

‘See something - Say something.’

He frowned, all he wanted was a peaceful life. But even if he were in Germany being depressed, or in America being murdered, he never seemed to catch a break.

Suddenly, the walls of the diner began to wither and curl, as if made of paper being lit on fire. Dark spots in the middle which would burn away, revealing the ghost of a forest surrounding. In this fog, a rocky creek bed led trickling water through a false-dawn. As for the friends and strangers that once shared his space, he became face blind to their identity, figures painted opaque and expressions unreadable.

He knew this was not real, but now he was afraid. 

...That’s the thing about fear; even if there is no tangible danger, the psyche can and will betray you. 

As though stepping on an ant hill: there would be no deathly threat, he knew that; but the natural reaction to feeling one’s skin crawl would be to fiercely brush the source away. Perhaps to wriggle one’s extremities and shake off the insects.

The burning holes grew closer, and he jumped with a terrorized yelp, half-standing and half-sitting against his place deepest in the booth. He scrambled back frantically until he was perched upon the top of the seat. The plastic-y texture of the bench squeaked by the friction of his boots. He now trembled like an oak in fall which shed dead leaves. Sometimes the humanoid shapes would get closer, but the moment he scrambled backwards, they would do the same. 

In the distance of the spectral wood, he could still see the glowing television flashing photos in memoriam, pictures of strangers smiling. He wished to reach out and palpate the faces, wanting to identify them. But, it was just a TV screen.

Little did Edward know, as this happened in his headspace, it mirrored itself in reality. The German caused a great scene as he shouted at anyone that tried to approach his drenched figure. Though the diner had thinned out in terms of customers by now, the several guests still present only gawked at the unusual display.

“Eddie, it’s alright!” Tank tried to ease his friend, but the older man did not appear to register the words.

“What’s wrong with him?” Jessica scrunched her face in terror.

“Is he having a seizure?” Takeo gasped urgently.

“Someone grab him!” Misty called out.

“No, don’t-” the soldier tried to protest, but Nikolai was already moving to pull Richtofen from the pedestal of delusion. 

Of course, Dempsey was right in saying so, as the firm and imposing approach made the doctor scoot further back, and tears joined the mosaike of expression. So much so, that his hand slipped, and the unbalanced pose caused him to topple over into the next booth over- banging his head on the table with the piercing ring of silverware on platters.

The good news was, he wasn’t bleeding. 

The bad news was, he was instead met with the shrieks of a pregnant woman.

“Get this guy away from me!” she scrambled from the chair as quick as possible, as Edward had landed right next to her.

While Nikolai helped the woman up and out, Tank ran over to his friend’s crumbled form to pull him from the tight posture.

It’s ok, It’s ok, Nikolai told the woman, an attempt to de-stress.

It’s ok, It’s ok, Dempsey told the man, now cradled tightly in his arms.

Though the doctor initially thrashed at the sudden constriction around his body, he stopped when he noticed the familiar warmth of Tank’s chest. The fall backward seemed to knock Edward back to reality, as he was now panting labored breaths. His body seemed to forget breathing was a thing in his moment of panic. Yet, he still said nothing, only blinking incredulously to the dozens of eyes watching his crying, sweating, corpse.

He tugged onto the Marines sleeves to pull him close, and buried his shameful face. Softly, he began speaking a muffled string of words, silent enough that the language remained unclear.

“It’s alright, Eddie, I promise,” Tank cooed again, causing the taut muscles of Edward’s shoulders to relax.

Dempsey pulled himself away to look the German in the eyes.

He stared back, “...I need to get out of here.”

“Alright, let’s go,” he quickly assured before speaking to his friends, repressing panic with calm worry, “I’m bringing him to my place.”

The couple left behind a trail of silence.

Tank helped Edward into the Truck, who was still uttering soft words he couldn’t make out. Tears of embarrassment fell too, grey specks on white pavement that spelled out anxiety.  After he was buckled in, Richtofen guarded his flooded eyes, and the Marine called Daisy to comfort him. 

“You take SSRI’s?” Dempsey asked as he climbed into the driver side, and turned the engine key.

“Nein,” Edward sighed, hiding his face into the retrievers sunshine fur.

“Yeah, probably not...Risperdal?”

“Nicht mehr .”

“English?”

“Not anymore,” he spoke muffled.

“Ok, it has to be Clozapine. That could explain the harsh fever? Maybe Zyprexa, it does that too.”

Richtofen raised his head, eyes red and puzzled by the intimate knowledge of pharmacy shelves, “Aripiprazole.”

“Dose?”

“30mg.”

“Jesus, that’s a bit much don’t you think? Monty trying to knock you out?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered, and put his forehead back into Daisy’s thick coat. She only whined and let her heavy body press back into the touch.

Meanwhile, Dempsey leaned against the window, “what happened back there? You’d think with that dose, it would’ve toned down an episode like that.”

“Something horrible is happening. To me. Around me. I’m being warned, I think.”

“Does it have something to do with your boss?”

“.. I don’t know.”

“Well, don’t worry,” the Marine smiled, “my neighbors are mostly a bunch of old folks, so it’ll be safe and quiet there.”

“...I’m a mistake.” Edward spoke suddenly.

“Woah! Who’s talking bad about themself now? You’re not a mistake,” Tank frowned very serious intent.

“Then why do I still feel terrible?” the doctor lamented, “something is tearing me apart, and it won’t stop until it’s satisfied.”

Dempsey asked as he furrowed his brow, “what’s ‘it’?”

The German again held his tongue. It was the river, and a flood, and something about cosmic voids in his own back yard… but he could not share this. Richtofen already looked like an idiot, and he was too close to understanding the results of his laborious experiment to spoil things now.

Besides, words would fail him anyway. 

Edward was once hopeless, so he moved.

He was lonely, so he found friendship.

He was afraid of judgement, so he confessed his honest self.

However, here, there was no way to fix the intangible fear that something was coming, and it would be his fault.

“Eddie, you’re not a mistake,” the Marine filled the gap sternly, and did his best to force truer feelings out, “I know because you’re. Very important. To me. Mistakes need fixing, but you don’t.”

The doctor sneered, “people aren’t meant to live on a rollercoaster of such drastic ups and downs. It’s not right. I think I’ve been forsaken by some creator. A sadistic one.”

“People get scared of things they don’t understand. Especially here, where all these randos are plain as hell. They don’t know any better.”

“Sometimes I think you’re the only one that tries to learn.”

“Like I said, you’re important to me. The others care about you too, I promise.”

“Exactly how do they care?”

“Uh, not in the way I do.”

“....What way is that?” Richtofen asked, but it was at the worst timing as Dempsey pulled into the parking lot. The apartment complex looked more like a motel, with large windows beside every entrance, and a railed walkway that led around each floor. The housing was new and modern, however weathered by seasons passed. The winds have obviously had their say when it came to the state of the structure. Even now, the downcast sky and colorless breeze made Edward feel as though it were fall already.

“I have something that can help us calm down, alright?” Dempsey spoke as he turned the engine off, “C’mon.”

As the three entered, Tank steadied Richtofen’s weakened body and led him to the couch. The doctor wasn’t surprised to see the home arranged similar to the garage where he worked. An organized mess of stacked books, cardboard boxes with mysterious contents, a kitchen over flown with dishes. 

At least the dishes were cleaned, Edward figured.

Likewise, he saw that many cabinets had a rag tied around the handle, but this only puzzled the doctor. He had no idea what that could accomplish.  

At least it nice and homey, a stark contrast to its dull shell. 

There were many blankets and pillows strewn about, even plants in the window. Edward could not help observe an odd structure stuck between the walls of a thin hallway, probably one of those no-nail pull-up bars. It was just as entertaining to see a small area dedicated to his beautiful hound. A few pictures of her at a lake, when she was a puppy, a small painted ceramic with what he assumed was once her small pawprint.Endearing, considering that the real Daisy was right there almost constantly.

Just then, he watched as Tank led the old girl to his room, and closed the door so she could not leave.

“I don’t like her smelling this stuff,” he said simply and dug through some drawers.

“Smell what?” he wondered; a question that was quickly answered when he spotted a small zip-lock bag in his friend’s hand.

“Oh no, no, no. I am NOT doing drugs,” Edward asserted frantically.

Dempsey laughed, “it’s just weed, you’ve never tried it?”

“No!”

“I mean, there’s a small chance it’ll make you antsy, but there’s also a chance it’ll help you relax. Only if you want to try, a‘course.”

The German scratched the back of his irritated skull, “don’t misunderstand, I do trust you, but I don’t want to jeopardize my job.”

“It’s still a couple months till school starts again, right?”

“Yes..” Edward hummed, at least entertaining the idea, “I wouldn’t know what I’m doing though.”

"We can try shotgunning."

"What's that?"

"I take the smoke and pass it, it's easier for you I guess," Dempsey shrugged, his intentions in offering more for mutual benefit. 

"I suppose that's better.." Edward considered for a moment before nodding, “ok. Let’s try.”

With the swift flick of a lighter, and the tapping of a glass pipe, Dempsey reclined against the arm of the couch and inhaled. Holding the smoke in his closed mouth, he gestured to Richtofen with his pointer, accompanied by a mischievous glint in his eyes.

The bashful doctor crawled over until he was above his Marine. Edward’s face could only shade a deep rouge from how suggestable the position looked. At least Tank seemed to enjoy it as much as he did.

Then, gently, he pulled Edward down so their lips ghosted over one another’s, and exhaled. Already flustered, Eddie accepted the gift of earthy smoke steadily past his nose. The warmth of their breath. Their chests nearly, but not quite, pressed. It looked as intimate as it felt, white clouds swirling between them as if swapping souls.

It wasn’t until Dempsey grew tired of the distance that he molded the exchange into an experimental kiss. All while still pushing the haze past anxious lips. Richtofen gulped, trying hard not to cough up a lung in the man’s handsome face, and Tank kept himself firmly held. Of course, the doctor was happy to surrender, and closed his eyes to return the affection. He could never deny his own heart, especially when it thumped so loudly in his burning ears. 

Edward did his best to repress a noise of approval. A little something of a needy and contented sigh. Dempsey, on the other hand, seemed to have no qualms about doing so himself.

One could see comfort rest as it unraveled. Excuses to love. 

Tank finally pulled away, grinning at the starstruck doctor on top of him. Needless to say, he was pleased with his work. Richtofen, meanwhile, was able to erupt into a fit of coughing. Tiny bursts of haze escaped as though he were a sputtering engine. The clouded heat burned in his lungs. In his throat. The gasps came to a point where Edward could no longer hold himself above Dempsey, and let himself rest across his stomach. 

Pressed to the soldier’s chest, glowing lively, brightly, and beating notes to his own personal rhythm. The German craved an encore.

"You alright?" 

"I wasn't expecting that," Richtofen spoke between light coughs, still blushing madly, "I don't feel any different though."

"You will," the mechanic smiled playfully, "think you can handle more?" 

Edward was more into kissing Tank then he was determined to get high, thus nodded timidly. The man was unsure if his American friend even considered it kissing at all. The exchange felt important at least? Perhaps? Yes, he was certain. At least, as certain as one could be while straddling their so called friend.

Whatever the case, Richtofen wanted more.

Dempsey took another drag, and the German leaned into him. 

Just as before, they ghosted their mouths over one another’s, before pressing soft lips together. Yet this time, goosebumps shot through Edward when his Marine slid tongue into the needy kiss. Richtofen could not resist a subtle cry, and eagerly accepted. Their tongues moved together slowly, and the two delved deeper into their vices. 

Careful exploration and sensual attention to one another’s wants. Twisting flicks that could make cherry stems fall by the wayside. Noises that drove the other to action. Kissing Dempsey was exciting and wonderful and all Richtofen had hoped for. He did not know what to offer besides passionate compliance. 

There was no longer smoke left, yet the two kept going. The shorter man wrapped his free arm around the German to pull him closer, and Richtofen moved to intertwine their legs.  Being held so closely to Tank’s chest made the foreigner feel safe and protected. Although, Richtofen no longer knew what to do with his hands. He refused to let his digits wander to unchaste places, and instead grasped the back of Dempsey’s head; tugging lightly on caramel locks. 

The Marine seemed to like this too, as Richtofen felt a smile against his busy lips. Pleasing Dempsey lit his heart into a viking’s funeral. A boat set aflame and sailed to a place of no destination, only to burn away the flesh that once was.   

Edward felt new while the defining lines of friendship and love turned to ash.

After some time, Tank rolled over so he was now sitting on the doctor’s stomach. He took another hit of the drug before grabbing one of Edward’s wrists gently, yet possessively, and pinning it above his head. Meanwhile, his free hand moved to cradle the crook of the German’s arching spine. The calloused palm on vertebra made Richtofen shiver.

Here, the Marine added something new, and began to nibble on the fragile skin of Edward’s lips. Not to start bleeding, but enough for the doctor to feel the love bite.

Richtofen whined in muted ecstasy, and arched further against the sensation. Although it was exciting to be restrained, he still struggled against the hold. A wanting to wrap himself around Dempsey. Of course, all Richtofen could do was contort his spine to feel the weight of the man from above. Perhaps, even to use his free hand to clutch onto the mechanic’s shoulder and bring him closer.

Closer.

Closure.

The Marine knew exactly what he was doing, and he knew exactly how to make his friend squirm. It was the sweetest kind of torture, bound in a pretty little package that said, “Just friends” on the card. 

Naturally, the gift was far too enticing to care about this small detail, and the gesture was accepted by its rightful assumptions. An experiment in romance.

Dempsey continued to fill his lungs with the dense haze while Edward made gasps of pleasure from the intimate administration. Gently calling the soldier’s name in all iterations imaginable. Wanting more and more of the invigorating kiss. Finding little impressions the read his friend’s heart from the languid licks across his Adam’s apple. 

Finally pleased with the teasing of his enamoured doctor, Tank pulled away. At last, they gazed into each other's eyes. Edward's held dreamy and blown into dilated spheres, while Dempsey's were roguish and warmed. 

The Marine soon relinquished his grasp around his friend’s arms, and let his hands slide down the sides of Richtofen's figure, all until they found rest at his waist. The foreigners began to giggle excitedly.

"There it is." Tank smirked.

Euphoric, Edward replied, "I think I'm starting to feel it." 

He continued laughing as he covered his face, peaking between his long fingers.

"What's so funny?" The American wondered.

"Was that a kiss?"

"Mayyyyyybe," he hummed, taking another hit and moving so Richtofen was pressed between the couch and his arms.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed like that before...you’re really good,” the doctor blushed from the crook in Dempsey’s arm.

Tank grinned, “don’t forget to leave a Yelp review.” 

The two again began to giggle madly.

As Edward lay there, his mind was lost in wondrous thought. The closeness of his friend, the chemical in his blood, the ease in his chest. It was definitely love, but it was also what he sought most of all. It was a home. 

So much more, so much more.

Again uncertain for what was to come, but happy as unanswered thoughts stood.

Here, Edward finally felt comfortable enough to ask a pressing question, gently as possible.

"Dempsey?”

“Hmm?”

“How do you know so much about medication?" 

He felt his companion shift uncomfortably.

Edward added in response, "you know I would never pass judgement, it's a world I've been acquainted with for a long time."

Tank cast a thousand-mile stare as he pondered further. Appearing as though he were choosing words carefully.

“There must be some reason you see Monty too?”

With a sigh, he explained as if the confession were of meaningless trivia, "I got messed up real bad in that damn desert. No matter what chemicals the doctor’s pump in me, I can’t forget."

Edward looked to Dempsey, who continued to hold the stare across the room. He was certain his beloved was speaking of his army service. 

"I still have dreams about it too. Bright lights, shouting, guns. And I always wake when I get shot again," he moved his calloused palm to his chest, palpating the marks one at a time, “I feel it burn through me, like it’s real again.”

“I’m so sorry, Tank.”

The man only shrugged, “I got myself into that mess anyway.”

"...Is that why you hate thunder?"

"Yeah," he chuckled to mask the pain, "also why I drive out to some nowhere beach on the 4th."

Edward pretended not to hear the crack in Dempsey's voice. He was a proud man. He was resilient and strong. Trusting and boisterous. There was no surprise that such a person wanted to conceal vulnerability. He wished Tank wouldn’t mistake repression for healing, in fact, he started considering opening up a little more himself. He wanted to talk about his family, or how he grew up, or happy memories, or funny stories about his ex’s. At this point, it felt as though an apology was in order. Tank was so open and honest, but he himself built walls. 

Dempsey suddenly sat up and faced the German, a new confession on his mind. His false-apathy turned into some seriousness.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Of course?"

Tank hesitated, “Daisy isn't just my dog."

Already confused, Edward tilted his head inquisitively. 

"She’s my service dog."

With that, everything clicked. Her perfect training, the reason Tank refused to go anywhere without her, how close the two seemed to be, Daisy’s ability to read feelings, all of it. She truly was intelligent. 

Pride was beginning to look more like self-harm.

"Why do you keep that a secret?" Was all Richtofen could think to ask.

"I don't want people to feel bad for me, or think I'm sick. I just want to be normal."

Shame for something one cannot help was all too familiar to Edward, and he uttered little validations as he caressed Dempsey’s cheek, "I understand, but I promise you are none of that. Even with my knowing, I don't see you any different. In all honesty, you and Daisy have something beautiful."

"...Thanks, Eddie.”

"I bet if everyone knew, they'd see you prove all those stereotypes wrong."

Dempsey scrunched his nose, "well only Tak, Nik, and Misty know. So don't go around telling anyone else."

"I would never, I assure you." Edward spoke with equally serious intent.

Tank leaned in and gave his friend a great hug, "I knew that if anyone would get it, it'd be you." 

Edward hugged back, finding paradise in the Marine’s arms. He wanted to tell Dempsey so much, but words failed him.

Words failed, but Tank heard the comfort loud and clear.

The two soon laid together once again. This time with a large bag of chips, made hungry by the drug they likewise shared. The older man felt the tremors that once shook his friend’s skin find respite. 

After some time, Richtofen again looked anxiously, “Hey, Dempsey?”

“Hmm?”

“Is. Is it alright if I kiss you again?”

The soldier became a deep red and hid his face with a turn of his head, “is it because you’re high, or do you actually want to kiss me?”

“Both, I think.” 

It was not like this was false. Edward knew very well he would never possess the confidence to ask for this kind touch in any other setting. Besides, saying ‘I really want this’ would be far too embarrassing. The American would never let him live it down.

“..then sure,” was all Tank could mumble.

Still laying side by side, the German slowly rested his hand on Dempsey’s cheek, cupping a strong contour in his hands. It burned hot against his palms, and the closeness allowed him to feel the soldier’s racing heart once again. 

Edward finally began pecking here and there with thoughtful and attentive motions. The soldier’s lidded eyes, his nose, his jaw. Small details he loved so much. Then carefully, he pressed his lips to Tank’s once again. 

At first, the younger man simply let his eyes flutter shut, which Edward soon copied. However, the exchange became overtaken by passion with every kiss the followed. Holding the proximity a bit longer, becoming a bit needier with the little noises that escaped his arching throat. Dempsey suddenly began to kiss back like he meant it, and the two shared another exchange of French endearments. 

The ticklish feeling of Tank sliding his hands up the back of his sweater made him blush, but he could tell how the smaller man restrained himself from going too far. It was the simple need to feel skin on skin, and Edward found solstice in the respect Dempsey had shown for his body. (The shy reality being, that Tank wanted to worship the stalky form in all its unique divinity.)

To this, Richtofen threw his arms over his friend’s soldiers, and whispered phrases the American could not understand between warm breaths. Seldom did Dempsey hear Edward’s German tongue hum in a positive light, but having it uttered so close to his flushed ears gave him goosebumps. 

It took every bit of restraint for Richtofen to not put his hands up Tank’s shirt to grope the tight muscles underneath. Instead, Edward let one of his legs hook around the mechanic’s, desperate for the most closeness that this complicated exchange allowed. The Marine was pleased, apparent as he pressed his short nails gently into Richtofen's thighs.

It was then that Dempsey moved his lips to Richtofen’s craning neck, and the older man gasped at the sudden bites against his veins. More needy than before, he soon moved to Edward’s collarbone, occasionally shifting attention to the German’s ear lobes or jaw. At some point, Tank had even pushed down the neckline of the thin sweater to bare more space. Calculated love bites on sun-kissed skin. Edward cried louder, and pushed his long fingers through Tank’s hair, pressing the man closer to his hungry throat. A gesture which encouraged Dempsey to bare his feelings, and teeth, with more intent.

“I swear, American,” Richtofen breathed in ecstasy, “if you mark me I will never forgive you.”

Dempsey hummed against the tender flesh, “no one’s going to see a little hickey... especially from here,” and bit down far harder than he had been on the doctor’s shoulder. 

Edward’s body jolted as he called out Dempsey’s name in a gasp. The passion struck dempsey’s heart as an arrow, and he never wanted this to end. Unsatisfied, and moved to straddle himself above Edward once again. However, the doctor made a fearful motion and tugged his shirt down from his once exposed stomach. A line drawn that said ‘do not cross.’ 

That was fine though.

Instead, the soldier eased and pulled his beloved into his arms.

“It’s alright,” Dempsey soon rested his lips to the older man’s forehead, allowing Richtofen to feel the softened smile that was concealed. The two held this place and wrapped their arms around each other, once again contented with the empty spaces. 

“You’re so strong,” Tank spoke as he traced his thumb across the marks he left.

The German nearly burst out laughing, “you must have me confused for someone else.”

“The universe did you wrong, but you still became someone good.”

The soldier buried his nose in the mahogany locks, “you don’t let anything stop you from at least trying to be happier. You care if someone worries.”

“...”

“You’re so damn smart, too. A doctor for God's sake, even with your damage, you made that happen.”

“...”

“I dunno, I just. You’re really good.”

“...thank you, Dempsey,” was the most Richtofen could offer from his huddled place. A sarcastic comment sat at the back of his mind, ‘eloquent as ever.’

The Marine wouldn’t know it, but it had been a long, long, time since he had heard such forward and genuine kindness.

The Marine wouldn’t know it, but Edward wanted to cry tears of happiness and heartbreak, feeling that he was seen for what he truly was. A man trying very hard.

The Marine wouldn’t know it, but just now, Richtofen had completely fallen in love.

Tank suddenly let his arms raised above like a preacher in church, “and damn, those EYES!”

“Ok there, Casanova. Settle down.” Edward laughed, to which his beloved copied gleefully.

And they lay,

And they lay,

Today would be a good day, and even the shadows that shown would be a blessing in disguise.

Proximity brought grogginess which began to weigh their tired eyes.

Edward yawned into the man’s chest, “I’m exhausted.”

"Weed does that," Dempsey uttered in response, and checked his phone, "damn, how is it this late?"

Richtofen looked over to see it was now 1am, "I should definitely get home now."

"If you want you could have my bed for the night. ‘Not really safe to be out at this hour, and we’re too stoned to drive.”

The German blushed, "if I stay, I won't leave you on the couch."

"It's fine, I promise," the tired mechanic stretched, "I don't feel like moving."

Edward shoved him playfully, "oh, come on."

"Nooooo," he fake-whined.

With a huff, the doctor stood, "very well then, do you want Daisy out here too?"

"Yes please," he said in a sing-song voice, “G’night, Eddie.”

Edward leaned over and kissed his friend’s forehead, “goodnight.”

Richtofen stepped to the bedroom and opened the door, finding Daisy waiting patiently, and sent her out. From the living room, he heard a loud ‘oof!’ as the hound hopped onto her partner’s stomach. 

...Being alone in Dempsey’s room was very odd. 

Although invited, it still seemed like an invasion of privacy. Edward looked around to find that the Marine was not exaggerating when he spoke of the plants Takeo gifted. They lined the window cill and hung from the ceiling and walls, far more than what sat in his living room. It was at least nice to see that they were all well taken care of. Apparently Tank found value in their care, just as Takeo himself did. 

As a whole, the small bedroom was very relaxing. A thick comforter and several woolen blankets sat skewed on the bed, dyed and stitched in mismatched colors. A generous amount of pillows stacked at the headboard, and, of course, a jar of dog treats on the nightstand. Obviously, his American friend tried very hard to get a good night’s rest.

Edward only slid off his jeans and shoes, and crawled into the sheets. 

From here, the doctor mused softly, “I didn’t know he could play,” when finally noticing a guitar perched against the door.

Maybe one day he could hear, or maybe they could kiss again, perhaps he could share the bed with Dempsey too. Maybe.

Richtofen smiled at the endless possibilities that crossed his mind.

The hopeful thoughts lulled him to sleep.

The next morning, the pair were left with a huge elephant standing in the living room, painted white with great brush strokes that read:

‘So yeah. We made out for a few hours. We could say that we were way high and forget about this, but we both know damn well that we enjoyed it. So what now?’

Naturally, Edward and Dempsey avoided an answer. 

Chapter Text

The chilly air of mountains nigh introduced a prelude to fall. Light and kind, forgiving and romantic. After today, the winds would turn brisk, the sun would mark the days less, and the forest would surrender itself to autumn. Yet now, this preview of seasons would be temporal. The progression of a long day ahead carried on, taking the morning dewdrops with it. It would only take another few minutes until the familiar heat of summer returned.

Dempsey yawned as he pulled up Edward’s home, awake far earlier than he’d like to be: 

“I’ll see you in a few hours. Make sure to pack sleeping gear too. It's overnight.”

“Of course, and thank you,” Richtofen scratched, “again. For yesterday.” 

Edward himself wasn't certain if he meant his friend’s hospitality, or the well-needed hours spent locked together. Was it weird to thank someone for intimacy? For a kiss? He was just as unsure. At the very least, the doctor hoped Tank didn’t regret it. 

“It’s no problem,” the Marine smiled, “later alligator.” 

Dempsey waved as Daisy barked out her own farewell. The tail-lights of the old ford illuminated,

two red dots that disappeared over the horizon. 

Tiny constellations fading in daylight, 

some northern star.

With a turn of the key, the doctor entered his home to be welcomed by excited calls from upstairs. It was no surprise he could hear the hatchlings, given the volume the eight little things could amass. It was therapeutic to hear the stirring of life among silence otherwise present. Someone to come home to, in a way.

“Hallo, little ones,” he cooed upon finding their plum feathers from the cardboard box he set them in. 

"Ok, ok," Richtofen laughed as the corvids huddled into the hand adjusting their living space. The doctor soon rubbed their tiny heads like a proud father, and took each into a pouch excess sweater. Once he pulled a familiar pair of tweezers from the nightstand, the little omens clamored for the food they knew was coming. 

Edward was pleased to see experimental flapping, but dear had they gotten big. Their movements looked more like fried chicken wings stretching out from their round bodies. Yet, the man was almost glad the fledglings were abandoned. It would be difficult for their parents to keep the entire clutch alive and well-fed. With his care, even the smallest runt had a chance to live.

Yes, the fledglings would be fine on their own. 

Richtofen couldn’t help but retreat to memories of yesterday. Dempsey had some nerve, kissing him like that... but God damn did Edward love it. He would call it a successful experiment in romance. Namely, to learn he could trust the soldier with his body- a trust seldom granted. 

Down Edward’s arms, uncertain if grasping rivers or veins.

Through his hair, rooted pitch like ancient ferns.

Staring into pupils, shifting in light.

To Edward’s distaste, he was starting to thank the strange episode. Although, he remained just as concerned. The delusions of fever should have ended by now, and it had been more than enough time for the illness to pass in full. Likewise, Richtofen was never one to hear things-like the scratching of talons dug into floorboards, nor lose time- as he had in the Appalachian Arts store. 

Perhaps the episode was a seizure? As a doctor, he knew these weren’t always a loss of muscle control and twitching movements. It could have easily been a parietal seizure. Unresponsive to those around him, dissociating from his headspace, hallucinating things he's never felt before; it all seemed to add up. 

Still, Richtofen was a hematologist, not a neurologist. It wasn't like he could search his gene pool to find if seizures were hereditary either. That family tree was cut down a long time ago. A family undocumented and long gone.

Edward would have to conduct his own research.

Once the crows were satiated, the German tucked them into their cardboard nest and began to pack. Pill counter, a brush, some clothes, a towel; nothing out of the ordinary for such a trip. However, Edward couldn’t help but second guess the gleaming knife that sat on his bed. Nothing but extra weight? Something to be lost to the ocean? It’s best if he left this home. 

Bringing his telescope was a last-minute decision. An old birthday gift from Samantha, and he hadn’t used it once since arriving. In fact, it was completely by chance that he spotted it among his unorganized closet. Richtofen recalled learning stories of the heavenly masses, glittering in swirling oils that captured light. Although, it had been such a long time that Edward struggled to recant those old threads in detail. Not unusual, considering how often he worked past illiteracy of cosmic bodies.

As he threw the strap of the telescope bag over his shoulder and locked the doors, Richtofen made way for Nikolai's.

—————————

As Edward traveled, he sped his lengthy gait as he passed Alistair's church. The last thing he wanted was another uncomfortable exchange. Especially considering their last encounter ended with Richtofen cursing both the man and his cat. Still, the doctor couldn’t help but slow himself upon observing the stained glass which reflected against a born-again sun. Seldom did he find the parish in the daytime. Fortunately, this did well in breathing life into the depressing aura lurking by dusk. 

Looking further, he found the weathering cracks of time. Rotten wood that sprouted colonies of moss, flaking paint old enough to give visitors lead poisoning, and untamed gardens with no palette. Yet, it was still charming in some aesthetic way. Akin to how one finds overgrown graveyards romantic.

The signpost out front read, “there is no rainbow without first enduring the rain.” A mantra that resonated well, maybe even inspired. 

It was then the German got a better look at the piece that initially caught his eye. An angel slaying a lamb: tears in blue, blood in red, imperfections in yellow. Edward could only imagine it had something to do with martyrdom, but he could not see the full form. A stretching willow grew winding tendrils along the corners and shielded what remained. 

Naturally, as Edward’s eyes continue to wander, he realized Alistair had been sitting on the steps as with his dear cat. A rude and loathsome creature that appeared wherever Richtofen would go- pretentious, moody, and old- holding the tormenting feline.

Edward was suddenly determined to put an end to the intimidation, and curled his lip into a sneer:

“You!” Edward called over, the old man startled by the outburst.

“What do you want from me?” He frowned.

The spirit said nothing and only blinked. As if trying to pull a reaction out of the German. As if wanting the younger man to answer the question for him.

“Are you following me?” Richtofen tried again.

Alistair adjusted his posture and stared back as the grey cat yawned apathetically. Now it was a direct challenge. Something of, ‘you don’t deserve to stand before me.’  

Angered, the younger man finally snapped, “for a man of God you have shown nothing but hate! I’ve done nothing to you!" He began to stomp off before calling, "if you won't answer to me , you'll have to answer to whatever you pray to!” 

What Richtofen wouldn’t see, was an aura of reflection wash over the strange man. 

Hurt, melancholy.

One would almost say hurt. 

—————————

At last, Edward was happy to arrive at Takeo and Nikolai’s home. Just in time too; the van appeared packed and ready to go. The small group bustled with excitement until they noticed the German’s approach.

Tank, naturally, was the first to greet Edward.

“Doccccc!” He shouted as if they hadn’t seen each other in years, and nearly tackled his companion to the ground. 

Richtofen struggled to steady himself with a snicker, “good to see you too!”

Dempsey held the great hug before gazing up, “did you shower? You smell good.”

Misty couldn’t help but call loudly from behind: a very simple, “gay.”

Tank huffed with embarrassment and chased after her, Daisy in pursuit. The three were extremely hyper. Something about today must have brought out their inner child, or, they were keen enough to stretch their legs before the long drive. 

Takeo helped Richtofen with his bags, “are you feeling better, Doctor?”

“Much, I’m sorry about yesterday. ‘What too much cold medicine could do,” he half-lied. Intentionally in earshot of Jessica, as well. Though, she didn’t seem to pay attention. The bartender was too busy taking candids of her girlfriend rough-housing with Tank. Edward became inspired by the idea. He should take lots of pictures, 

lots of memories.

Lest he drift away once more.

Dempsey came back panting, and doubled over to catch his breath, “you brought everything you need then?”

Richtofen nodded, “of course, you told me this morn-” 

He was suddenly cut off by a wild gesture by Tank that read, ‘DON’T .’

Too late as Misty was quick to tease, “ohhhh, so he stayed the night?”

“Misty, I swear to God-” Tank threatened. However, Nikolai interrupted before the two could get into it again. 

“Ok, ok, everyone get in. We should leave now so we arrive in time for lunch.”

Everyone clamored excitedly as they began their journey.

Chapter Text

The van weaved through birch and mountains like a needle through cloth. Leaves greener than pin-cushion moss sailed down from the wood, and were kicked up by wheels into a trail of fluttering brush. The sharp rays of a midday sun peered through the clouds into spotlights onto earth. Down this mobius path, one could find themselves a lonesome drifter. Yet, the band of friends and rooted pine were all the company Edward could ask for.

The seating arrangements within the van amused the doctor. Nikolai and Takeo, also known as everyone’s babysitters, sat up front. They were easily the most mature, as even Edward agreed everyone else was socially incompetent, to say the least. Including himself.

Edward and Dempsey sat in the next row; enough space for the German to rest his dizzying head on Tank’s lap. Richtofen was always prone to car sickness, especially while using his phone. Thankfully, his dearest wouldn’t reject the proximity. As for Daisy, she found a comfortable spot on Richtofen’s stomach. The weight made it hard to breathe, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings by moving. A noble sacrifice, of course.

Having Misty and Jessica in the final row shone a double-edged sword. On one hand, Tank had someone strong to protect the snacks from his ravenous appetite. 

“I’m a fit guy,” Dempsey had complained, “my metabolism is crazy fast- I need to keep the guns happy.”

(Of course, Richtofen would avert his gaze as Tank flexed for emphasis.)

On the other hand, however, the distance wouldn’t dissuade Misty from climbing over the seats to throw a punch into Tank’s shoulder. Edward didn’t understand the ritual, but she seemed to do this whenever she saw a Volkswagen. Dempsey consistently struggled to spot the car before she was already winding up the attack. To Tank, it began to feel like Beetles were the only car on the road.

Aside from the occasional jostling of the play-fighting, Edward remained pleased to stretch out across Tank. The German was well rewarded with attention when Dempsey would stroke his burning head. 

Still, Edward attempted to distract himself. Motion sickness and romance made for poor combinations. Heaven knows he could never show his face again if he vomited on the object of his affection. The doctor would hate to disintegrate and stain Takeo's car seats with a Richtofen-sized pile of ash.

Instead, he focused on the lengthy articles glowing from his phone. A steady delve into research following his strange episode in the diner.

From causes like infection and side-effects, to triggers like injury and blood clotting; the prognosis did not look good. The doctor found stories of meningitis and stroke, to vectored diseases borne from food or mosquitoes. However, nothing hit Edward’s feelings on the mark. It seemed as though the German needed a hospital to truly find out what happened. The issue being: Richtofen absolutely hated being a patient.

The man would decidedly handle this himself. Anything to avoid loss of dignity.

As he locked his phone, he gazed at Dempsey. Strangely, Edward found his relationship with the Marine far more interesting than the possible seizure. It was intrinsic understanding and a mutual desire to please. Richtofen seldom found a man whose faults brought them closer. Though somehow, their needs appeared to tesselate into a tender affection of patience and consent. A safe place to be vulnerable. To love. To be heard.

Richtofen was never looking to feel completed by Tank; all he wished was to no longer be empty. Just as Edward found when first meeting his family, knowing he could be himself with Dempsey was the kindest of all little gifts. Tank Dempsey was indeed worth celebrating.

To honor someone resilient enough to survive the abusers. 

To thrive around the weight of trauma.

 To worship the boyish nature. 

All of which typed stories down the mechanic’s rough face. 

Edward wanted to be the reason for that smile someday. And who knows? Perhaps at that moment, he was. After all, the only cure to this lovesickness was to love even more. 

And with that, an idea resurfaced.

“Hey. I want a picture of you,” the doctor scratched shyly as he arose.

Tank grinned, and tugged his lazy dog close, “alright, but get Daze in it too.”

Richtofen chuckled as he took the photo. The golden made a timely yawn that was captured, and Dempsey clamored to see the result. 

Daisy was a silly girl.

Admiring the photo, Edward commended him, “how is it that you always smile so brightly?”

“Because I’m looking at you!”

Nikolai groaned from the front seat, a very dramatic, “oh my God- “

“Let's take one together too,” Tank became excited.

“I’m not very photogenic,” Richtofen hummed, but still reclined against Dempsey’s chest for the shot. 

Yeah, that one was wallpaper worthy. 

“Get us too,” Nik beamed.

“Nikolai, I’m driving,” his fiance said flatly.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he smirked and a kiss on Takeo’s cheek. Edward was happy to capture the moment.

Soon, he was taking shots of everyone. Jessica and Misty flashing peace signs, Takeo keeping his eyes on the road (thank God), and Daisy sticking her head into an empty chip bag. At some point Tank even converted a paper cup into a snout- a new cryptid to prowl the Carolina backwoods. 

Edward warmed as he swiped through the images. Frankly, these were the only ones on his phone besides a few snapshots of his birds and future dog. Richtofen would keep every single photograph; even the blurry ones.

Suddenly, there was a great call from the farm girl, “red punch buggy!” And she slammed another heavy fist into Dempsey’s shoulder.

“CHRIST! Ok, time out!”

“Big baby.”

“It’s starting to look like I was kicked by a horse,” he whined.

“Yeah,” Nikolai intervened, “because you thought it was good idea to stand behind it.”

“ ONE time. I didn’t know that applied to ponies.”

Edward snorted his laughter.

“Not as bad as a bottle rocket burrowing into your leg though,” Tank added, rubbing his exposed calf. The Marine rarely wore shorts, so Richtofen hadn't noticed the flowering scar until now.

Somehow, Nikolai was still not impressed.

“Oh, please. Anything hurts more when you’re a child.”

“I was 16!”

“Child.”

Tank grew competitive “ok, then what’s the stupidest injury you got?”

“I tore my arm open jumping a fence in Ukraine. I still have the scar,” and he exposed his bicep to show it off. It was deep and prominent, longer than a slide-rule and the texture of a mountain-ash tree. 

The doctor felt that Nikolai still had a good story or two about his youth. Only God knows why he had to jump a fence, or how many he’s jumped in his lifetime. The memoirs he wrote covered just a few chapters of his life, but it was clear that plenty of material remained. Good news to a writer and his fans.

“I’ll play,” Jessica pitched in, “I cut my pinky off at my first restaurant job.”

Misty blinked incredulously, “what? I never noticed!”

“They put it back,” the woman said simply, holding up a very normal hand, “still haven’t finished paying off the hospital bill though.”

Her girlfriend grabbed the hand only to hold it lovingly, “Tank knows this one, but I tied a skateboard to the back of his truck. ‘Only lasted a couple feet before I fell and skinned my arm to the bone.”

Everyone winced, there was something particularly grotesque about peeling . Still, they all agreed dangerous accidents were the most exciting part of childhood.

The van soon erupted into a game of 20 questions and have you evers. Even after the dispelling of menial trivia, spaces were filled with karaoke. Of the radio stations Nikolai searched, the group favorite was a channel featuring 80s hits. Richtofen had never heard Dempsey sing, but God damn did it turn him flustered. A voice steady and baritone, but full of a humbling sense of hope. Eventually, everyone joined in and belted the familiar lyrics of their youth. One would ready themselves for the new album: 'Now That's What I Call six tone-deaf friends screaming Cyndi Lauper tributes.'

At some point, Misty showed off the impressive ability to touch her tongue to her elbow, and Takeo’s startling flexibility of fingertips that defied natural posture. Jessica, meanwhile, had claimed a talent for throwing knives, but this was something everyone had to see to believe. Edward had even wowed them with tricks reserved for his younger patients. The classic 'coin behind the ear' act. Needless to say, Tank was very impressed.

It was nice to know that between one another, they were blessed to afford juvenile stupidity. Seldom did the adult world accommodate this.

After an energetic performance of Birdhouse in Your Soul , the gang grew in desperate need of a rest stop. It was clear that they wouldn’t make it to the beach before noon.

—————————

Takeo pulled his van into an isolated gas station. Only two pumps, a convenience store, and a dense treeline of evergreens encircling the camp. There were spruce and pines too, all letting the scent of their needles mix in dry air.

Daisy was the first to jump out, while the others followed at their own pace; groggy yawns and wide stretches. Richtofen did so as well, and slunk to the back of the car for fresh air. From here, he could see the distant mountains from whence they crossed, and ahead, flatter terrain to follow. 

Suddenly, birds overhead flapped their great wings as the fled Daisy's sauntering through the untamed grass. Tank was close behind and joined the doctor leaning against the trunk. An opportunity alone at last. Things needed discussing.

“You alright? You looked a little green.”

“Just motion sick,’ Edward laughed, “apologies for stealing your lap from Daisy.” 

Dempsey chuckled as well, “it’s alright. It’s cute.”

“Oh,” the man blushed. ‘Cute’ was akin to putting shoes on the wrong feet.

“Uh. So about yesterday."

Richtofen rocked on his heels, “indeed. Yesterday .”

“I didn’t mean to make you do anything you didn’t want to.”

“No, no, I. That was... Yesterday was good.”

The American sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck, “sorry, I guess I’m getting confused about us.”

Edward let his reluctant fingertips lace around Tank’s, “it’s ok. I. I think we’ll figure it out.”

"I don't want to jump into something we're not ready for, you know?"

"Agreed. I wouldn't forgive myself if being ill-prepared ended up hurting you." 

The soldier raised Richtofen’s trembling hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss. An unconventional punctuation mark to honesty. 

“You’re incredible, Doc,” he smiled.

“I try.” 

“I’m gonna help Nik set up lunch,” he clapped his side for Daisy to return, “you can take a breather. You know, for your stomach.”

“...thank you, Dempsey.”

And the American disappeared from around the car.

Richtofen leaned against the van with a heavy sigh. His head was spinning again. Happy thoughts of Tank, fear for the future, excited about the possibilities. 

Then, there was more nausea.

So much nausea.

Though Edward did his best to repress it, the discomfort became too much. He dashed into the brush and choked on burning acid. 

It was all bile. 

It was stained sweat and goosebumps and a struggle to stand. 

It was an uncomfortable heat that coated his skin. Like he suddenly fell into anaphylactic shock, only Edward hadn't eaten at all today.

The man took deep breaths to steady himself, and he stared deeper into the treeline. Pines on the heat haze, moths fluttering among grass, golden light streaming through the canopy. Another attack on his senses. Everything, even smells, happened at max volume. A popping speaker and white noise.

The timber suddenly cracked, and with every fissure formed, it created a loud ringing in his ears. An air of innocence lost. 

And suddenly he knew it was happening again.

Whatever ‘it’ was.

To Edward’s surprise, he saw tendrils reach from the chasms, and ancient terrors pulled themselves through tar which seeped. He was quick to realize the contorting figures were the muted postures of the dead, buried in twisting roots of family trees. 

The ringing became louder.

Richtofen’s heart raced, but he could not move. 

And louder.

Just a heat haze and blackened mirages.

And louder.

Not afraid, but anticipating the worst.

Then, everything stopped. Dead silent as the oily figures stilled. The sweat which stained his brow was now cold, and although he did not stand in water, it felt as though a flow were moving beneath him. As though he were wading through a shallow pond.

Richtofen searched and stared, 

He searched and stared,

but only a river stared back.

His body was confused by poison, it locked all the doors in the house Edward had built in his head. A defense mechanism quickly sent his mind tumbling through his past.

—————————

Eddie sat on the floor with legs folded while Samantha lay across the couch. The TV, meanwhile, aired a documentary on volcanoes. A recent response to the eruptions taking place in Alaska.

Eddie stopped sketching to watch the mesmerizing flow of lava. The texture wasn’t like that of running tides, and the manner it pulled apart looked like that of melted steel. 

A beautiful tragedy, powerful and captivating. 

Slowly, Edward rose his palms and covered his ears. He closed his eyes and focused on his sound, a low rumble that silenced the world around him. His body was now magma under the shifting plates of earth. Slowly crawling and colliding, dragging the surface with him. It was humbling to find that even the smallest creatures such as himself had a world within.

A gentle tap on the shoulder pulled him from his meditation, and he lowered his rumbling palms of blood and stretching tendon.

“Is the TV too loud? I can turn it down,” Samantha asked.

“No, I’m trying something,” Richtofen smiled, “people sound like volcanoes.”

His sister copied the motion and closed her eyes.

"You're right,

It's kind of relaxing."

—————————

In the forest of pitch and tar, the German moved his hands over his ears and slowly shut those Borealis eyes. 

His sound;

Suddenly he was magma. 

Carving the flow of rivers.

Trembling earth. 

Stronger than terror. 

Chapter Text

When Edward opened his eyes, he was awakened by the bounce of tires. A great popping over potholes. Startled, he shot from his place against the van window. 

Dempsey laughed at his disorientated friend, “hey, just in time. We’re almost there.”

“I didn’t realize I fell asleep,” he blinked.

“Yeah, after we ate you got real tired. Don’t worry though- Nikolai passed out too.”

Richtofen looked to the man snoring in the front seat and reclined. The last thing he could recall was speaking to Tank at a gas station, and then, something of a flashlight shined in his eyes. Edward still attempted to blink away the ghost of bright orbs clouding his vision. 

As he looked out the window, the trees were fewer and far between. The terrain was now rocky crags against a cloudless sky, and ahead lie a picturesque inlet between isolated cliffsides. Lonely seagulls glided in the air. The smell of salt on skin. They had arrived.

Takeo parked under a tall oak as the heat was suffocating. Richtofen was just as surprised that the temperature hadn’t turned the beach to glass. 

Yet swiftly, Dempsey shot Tak a challenging glance, and in an instant, the pair raced to the shore. The white flash of their heels marked speedy passage, all while shedding their t-shirts and shoes in a careless hurry. 

Jessica and Misty would soon follow, but only after helping to unload the car. Naturally, the farm girl complained, but her girlfriend was able to humor her. Specifically by requesting some help with her sunscreen. Misty seldom blushed, but just this once she was embarrassed by her own eagerness to do so. She and Dempsey were one and the same.

As for Nikolai and Edward, they were contented to lounge under the safety of umbrellas. 

Richtofen gleefully watched the four chase Daisy, who was carrying a piece of driftwood far too big for her body. He tried not to laugh when Takeo was hit in the kneecaps by the swinging stick, all from the unintentional turn of her head. 

In honesty, Edward wished he could join them. Although, the thought made the doctor frown at his own awkward form. His legs paler than the rest of his brown skin, thick black curls which stuck out in uneven patterns, and a poor posture to top it all off. Edward was simply relieved no one commented on him wearing long sleeves. It wasn’t only to hide the ghosting scores on wrists, but also a very hairy chest that trailed a path down his stomach and ribs that exposed his unhealthy weight. 

Then again, Edward always wore long sleeves. His friends likely thought white was appropriate for such a day. 

Richtofen struggled to identify a strange mark from the Marine’s shoulder as he continued to survey the shore. Speckled with stark keloids and stitched seams. As if some bird of prey dug talons deep into his skin. 

The Russian, who used his folded arms for a pillow, hummed, “that is bullet wound, it also reaches his back.”

“Oh,” Richtofen said idly while burying his toes in the sand, pretending he wasn’t looking.

“You shouldn’t comment on it though, he doesn’t like that.”

Edward simply nodded. Long hours in the ER were made all too familiar. Shrapnel and iron burning.

“How have you been feeling?” The writer went on.

“Better... I hadn’t apologized for the mess I made in your restaurant yet,” he spoke genuinely, “I’m very sorry.”

“Is ok. Does that happen often?”

“I hope not!” Edward scoffed.

“I hope so as well,” Nikolai said lightly, “Tank doesn’t need to be worrying.”

Richtofen was quick to scold himself as he backtracked on the progress he made with the watchful friend. However, perhaps too quickly.

“But Tank has been very happy lately, I haven’t seen him like this in a long time. You give him something we could never. For that, I appreciate you.”

Edward was left blushing, his shock burning his extremities rouge. There’s something special about ' appreciation' versus ' thanks .'

Nikolai was a good friend.

“Will you join them?”

“Ah, no. If that strange ’thing’ happens again, I’d like to be on solid ground.”

The Russian laughed, a relief to find humor in so, “well then. Will you walk with me? I want seashells for Takeo.”

“That’s very sweet, it’s like you’ve already been married for years.”

He smiled warmly, “the wedding’s is more for the ceremonies sake. He’s already close to my heart.”

That made sense to the German. After so long together, one would think marriage was arbitrary. Yet, the fact marriage was even an option these days was entirely new to a generation accustomed to oppression. Because of this, Richtofen often found that community elders didn't interpret marriage the same way younger couples would. 

With that, Nikolai and Edward began their stroll along the shore. The doctor tried his best to find the perfect shells for his friend’s art project. Particularly, ones with small holes readily borne into their painted shapes, ideal for a necklace. Edward had no idea how this happened in nature, and with such consideration to human beings. They all felt silky but strong.

“Sand is millions and millions of years of mineral and shell eroding,” Richtofen sighed, “the fact that these shells were smoothed by forces, and not shattered, shows great resilience.”

“Takeo must be a seashell then!”

"I think Dempsey is too."

Suddenly, the German found a gleaming conch sticking from the earth. It was smooth and pointed, iridescent in the light. Colors of gold and silver, the slight tinge of green from a gliding sun.

The writer watched Edward turn the shining object in his hands, “for Tank?”

“Is it too juvenile?”

“If anyone knows ‘juvenile,’ it’s him.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Richtofen chuckled.

His friend gazed out to sea, pulling a question seemingly out of nowhere, “...do fish sweat?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do they get hot and sweat underwater? There must be a reason they smell so bad.”

“No. They don’t,” Edward scrunched his brow at the ridiculous theory, “not a fan of seafood?”

“Not really. Then why do they smell?”

“Uh? Mucus? Excretions?”

“Gross.”

“You know, white sand beaches are often made by excretions of Parrotfish.”

The Russian blinked very seriously, “I feel unclean.”

—————————

When the two Europeans returned with their spoils, the others were already setting up camp. Raising tents, preparing the grill, and building a roaring fire pit to keep warm. 

“Doccccc!” Dempsey waved, “what did you find?”

“It’s a secret!” He called back with excitement, “come!” 

Tank did a small half-jog to Edward, who kept the gift neatly behind his back

"Sorry. One should be modest about something so special," he rocked on his heels before presenting the glass-like conch 

It's smooth form reflected the melon skies of sunset. A meaningful trinket whose only purpose was evidence that romance was on Richtofen’s mind. The German set it in Dempsey’s hands with great care.

Tank marveled at the treasure, “Eddie, it’s beautiful.”

Footprints washed away with each tide.

“Do you. Want to keep it?”

Scuttling crabs.

“No way, you found it- it’s too nice.”

Yawning oysters.

Richtofen only averted his gaze shyly, “I found it for you .”

The light tapping of paws trailing behind.

“...Thanks, Eddie,” Dempsey smiled, and held it to his chest.

Edward beamed, pleased with himself. Almost like a cat leaving a dead squirrel on the doorstep, but more tender and less macabre.

“Does it sing?”

Richtofen tilted his head inquisitively.

Tank rolled his eyes and set the shell against the older man’s ear, “listen. When waves die on the beach, they hide their song inside.”

Hardly true, the doctor thought as he heard the echo, but it was a nice thought. Maybe it was just poetry, or maybe it didn’t matter. 

Dempsey mattered.

“It’s kinda cool, it’s two different colors. Just like your eyes.”

Almost automatically, Edward froze. He heard that before. Somewhere very far away

Oh, yes, 

Samantha.

Richtofen chuckled uncomfortably, “my sister said that when we first met.”

“That’s a real specific thing to say.” 

“I gave her a gift- if you could call it that,” the German smiled fondly, “a millipede colored just like this shell.”

“Sounds like something you’d do. I bet she didn’t like it!”

“She actually did. We always loved collecting bugs together.”

“Did you, like, have a little net and stuff?” Tank became amused.

“A cage too, but we’d always set them free. It was just a privilege to hold them so close.”

The Marine smiled lovingly. Even as he clutched protectively to Edwards token of affection. He, too, felt privileged to hold something so dear.

“I wish you’d talk about your family more often. You look so happy when you do.”

“I’m doing my best.” 

The American dipped his toes in the shallow waves, “do they not talk to you or something?”

“Ah. No.”

“They go somewhere?”

Richtofen fiddled with his fingertips, and uttered with great hesitation, “No. They’re just. Not with us anymore.”

"You told me that. I mean your adopted family.”

The man could only speak vaguely, “tragic, is it not? To lose two fathers and two mothers?”

There was a distinct crack in the soldier’s voice, “oh my God, Eddie.”

Though, Edward was quick to assure him, “but that was a long time ago.”

“...and your sister?”

“...”

“I mean, you don’t have to say anything you don’t wanna. I get it.”

“No, it’s. Complicated,” he tried, “or not complicated. Just too sensitive for sunsets.” 

Quickly, Richtofen shook the anxiety off and spoke with more confidence, “but I will tell you. Eventually. Because I want you to know me, and I loved them.”

Dempsey nodded thoughtfully. He was touched by the explicit honesty implied by ‘wanting to know one another.’  

His heart ached at the cruelty of fate. 

And clung to the man’s choice to use the past-tense of love.

A place so close and so far from home.

“I want you to know me too.”

Chapter Text

Smoked barbecue, chips, beer; all were set on the table as the group served themselves for dinner. The firepit rested between a circle of folded chairs and burned brightly under the dusk sky. Who knew wading in shallow waves could make one so hungry? Even Edward served himself a large plate, still self-conscious about his weight. Dempsey appeared to notice the healthy platter and flashed a subtle thumbs up. 

The doctor appreciated the support.

“Tank, you should have brought your guitar,” Takeo spoke politely between bites.

“Nah, I don’t want to be ‘that guy’ at the party.”

“I didn't know you were a musician," Richtofen inserted himself with excitement.

“He writes his own songs, ya know,” Misty pitched in, trying to play wingman for her best friend.

“It's nothin special,” he scratched modestly.

“You always crossed me as a poet,” Edward said, amused.

“He’s even writing something for Tak and Nik’s wedding!”

“Ugh, can everyone lay off?” Dempsey grew embarrassed, “didn’t you say you brought a telescope, Eddie?”

“I’ve never used one,” Jessica finally spoke, “you should bring it out.”

Edward blinked, surprised to have her address him for the first time the whole trip. That's when he knew he couldn't mess anything up. Therefore, Richtofen dusted the crumbs from his clothes and retreated to the van for the familiar canvas bag. He only assembled the contraption as the others continued their menial chatter. 

"What if it's that weird pastor? He has it out for everyone," Dempsey leaned.

"I kinda think it's a stranger passing through, the victims are way too random for anyone to actually know them," Misty nodded with confidence.

"I mean, they're all guys. That's something."

"What if it's a woman doing it?" She raised her brows.

"I kinda doubt that."

"Why? You saying I couldn't murder you?" 

Dempsey snorted, "I meant that you never hear about girl serial killers."

"Now that I think about it, yeah. Maybe-" 

“The telescope is ready," Edward interrupted, happy to do so. He considered murder impolite conversation for such a wonderful night.

The group took turns peering into the device, swiveling between stars and planets and galaxies. Edward felt endowed with a sense of importance among the excited musings of his friends. As though he finally had something good to offer. 

That he was more than just a lonely man with enough baggage to satisfy an airport. 

Richtofen loved people, and stars, and bugs, and quiet mornings, and Dempsey, and drawing, and so much more.

“Do they have stories?” Takeo asked the German.

“Some of them.”

“Any good?” Dempsey wondered.

“Let’s see… this one,” Edward hummed as he adjusted the scope, “it forms a constellation like a sprout: a memorial to a man who died twice.”

Nikolai frowned, “that's ridiculous.”

“Well, the story goes that a man was crossing the mountains with his wife. When they came upon an old bridge, the husband offered to cross first. However, it snapped beneath his weight and he fell hundreds of feet into the gorge.”

“How is that-“ The Russian almost started, but was hushed by his fiance.

Richtofen continued the tale, “his wife rushed to where he had fallen, but only discovered her husband standing as if nothing happened. Although, he was essentially a zombie. Unresponsive and weak.”

Jessica huffed, “living like that would suck.”

“Indeed. But the two continued their journey across the shady lowlands. All until they found a village resting on the mountaintops. Just a few moments after her husband stepped into the sun, he stilled.” 

Only now did Takeo and Jessica become fully invested as Edward went on, “vines sprouted from his greyed pours like hair from follicles. Soon, all the weeds left the man's body to root themselves in the earth, and he dropped dead.”

“Oh, so something used his body to get to the sunlight. Otherwise, it wouldn’t live in the dark gorge,” Jessica lit up.

“Precisely.”

“What happened to the roots?”

“They grew into a tree tall enough to reach the stars. They say the constellation is one of the weeds that climbed up into the sky."

“That’s sweet,” she smiled.

“That’s depressing!” Nikolai interjected. The dichotomy in their ideas of romance was interesting at the very least. 

“Any more?” Jessica chirped.

“Uh…. here. This blue-ish one," he adjusted the telescope, "it represents an ancient breed of wolves.”

“What’s the story on that?”

“It’s said that the pack leader howled loud enough to shatter the moon, and day by day it would chip away until the moon vanished. The leader took responsibility and spent the month rebuilding it, only to howl and break it apart again. Again and again, it became honor-bound to rebuild it over each month,” Richtofen added with amusement, “the false belief that wolves howl at the moon comes from the pack singing their leader’s fate.”

Jessica blinked, "why didn’t the leader just stop howling?” 

“Howling is what wolves do, I suppose.”

—————————

Edward spent the rest of the night spinning tales of the stars, and as the night wore on, there finally came the time to sleep. 

Naturally, the group brought tents of their own. As for Edward, however, he was offered rest in the back of Takeo’s van. Here, he could keep the doors open and look out to the sea. Still, Edward was still Edward, and there was no way he could fall asleep outside. Too many noises, too uncertain of whatever lurked nearby. 

Richtofen instead began to sketch out his memories for the day.

A couple of meters away, Dempsey found himself restless.

The soldier was satisfied after such a perfect day. Yet, sleep would not join him. Part of it all was Tank’s fear of having a night terror in the company of his closest friends. He never knew how they looked in reality; thrashing, sleepwalking the desert of his past, stray tears he could not control. 

An even bigger factor to keep the spiraling man from resting was Peter. Only a year ago did the two share a tent on this same night. Even then, his partner was cruel and unforgiving. Commanding him through the day as though he were a dog, having Tank satiate venereal needs like he was winning a war, spending the remaining night acting as though everything was fine.

It made him sick. 

It made him unclean.

His stomach turned over and over until he finally slunk out from his tent. He made certain he didn’t wake his Daisy- she had a long day.

Dempsey slowed against the shore, toes digging into the cool sand and staring to a reflecting moon that turned the water silver. How he would love to simply surrender himself to the ocean, and become weightless under the blanket of tides. The surface always looked turbulent and changing, but underneath, the soldier knew that the world of coral and seafloor appeared completely still. 

Suddenly, a voice sounded from behind, and Dempsey sprung from his place in the sand. How relieved he was to find Edward standing beside him.

“There was a study done, not too far in the past,” he spoke carefully and avoided eye contact, “they placed a rat in a cage with two drinking bottles. One with water, and another with morphine.”

“...”

“As one would think, the rat took the drugs until it died. However, the researcher realized there was no stimulation or socialization. It was alone and without purpose other than to take the opiates.”

“...”

The German sat beside his companion, “so: he made a special paradise where many rats lived together. Toys, company, food, puzzles. It was perfect, and the scientist placed the two bottles once again.”

“...did they take the drugs?” Dempsey asked in a whisper.

“Perhaps once or twice, but seldom with great frequency, and never to the point of overdose,” Richtofen uttered before turning to the soldier, “do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

“...yeah.”

“If that rat had different circumstances, it would have never overdosed. However, the circumstances at hand were out of his control. No will besides that of his ‘creator’ so to speak.”

“...what if one of the rats tried to help, but failed to make him happy? Wouldn’t that make it his fault for not trying hard enough? Even a little?”

“...Perhaps it was too late, or there was no effort on the addicted rat’s part, or some genetic predisposition,” the doctor theorized, “perhaps none of the above. In the end, it’s no one's fault. Only a society that punishes those that need help the most.”

Tank gazed down thoughtfully. Richtofen always knew the right thing to say. For this, Dempsey would always be jealous.

“You’re smart as hell,” he chuckled as he leaned back.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps I just read a lot,” Edward said modestly.

The two scooted together closer as they meditated on the sound of the lazy tide.

“Is it true?” the German spoke again suddenly, “that you loved Peter?”

“Of course,” Dempsey hesitated.

“I mean romantically.”

“Where exactly did you hear that?”

“Misty.”

Tank silently cursed his old friend. The farm girl knew damn well what she was doing, and frankly, he was annoyed by the way she took matters into her own hands. There was no use denying it now.

“I did,” he sighed.

“Do you still not?”

“Nah. Things change.”

“What sorts of things?” Edward pondered.

“....why are you interested?”

“I’ve never known him myself. I want to, since he was so important to you.”

“Yeah, well, he started taking his damage out on me. A little too much alcohol stole his ambition, and then he became a stranger.”

Edward heard the shrouded heartache but pretended not to.

“And then that stranger started taking advantage of me. Made me feel like nothing. So after I stopped taking it, I finally told him to piss off. Then he died, the end.”

Richtofen spoke with reluctance, “....why grieve for a man like that?”

“Because I still remember who he used to be.”

With great understanding, Edward accepted this truth for all it was. How he wished to make his friend’s trauma fade. He wasn’t that kind of doctor though.

Dempsey slowly laced his fingers around Edward’s, “to be honest, I mostly keep thinking about you these days.”

“Any grand revelations?” The doctor hummed lightly as he focused on the warm touch.

“Nah. I already know what I know.”

“I confess I’ve been thinking about you as well. How I feel to be precise.”

The Marine’s heart fluttered at the thought, so he blushed shyly, “I think I like you. A lot.” 

Tank soon paused very carefully, before nodding with more assurance, “actually, I’m positive. That I like you, I mean.”

Although thoroughly implied for months, and among all forced to witness the ridiculous displays of affection, Richtofen was excited to hear his ‘friend’ actually say it. The shy man wouldn’t mind throwing himself from one of the conveniently close cliffsides. Especially if he could shake God’s hand and thank him for the excitement endowed by Dempsey’s confession. 

...Though, as greedy as it was, Edward wanted to hear more.

“How do you mean ‘like‘ ?” 

The younger man let his palms glide from the tangled hand, and gripped possessively into Richtofen’s thigh. Like swallowing a spoon of honey, thick and sweet in his throat, tempting reflex to vomit as Tank gulped, “I guess the easiest way to say it is: romantically.”

Yeah, jumping off that cliff looked great just about now.

“I dunno, it’s just. Everyone thinks it’s impossible for a guy like me to… go through certain things,” Dempsey spoke vaguely and with effort, “but it’s like you know what I need. Because you need it too.”

“And what exactly is that?”

“Someone to make you safe? To tell you you’re not broken, to understand, to..love,” he sighed, “I dunno. You make me real brave. That’s all.”

“...love does not make suffering disappear.”

“I know, but it makes it easier to deal. Knowing someone loves you the way they couldn’t love anyone else.”

Edward was still unsure, “...neither will love make it any easier to stay around me. I know you worry, and I’d hate to be another obligation that drains you of your own happiness.”

“Knowing you’re safe is my happiness. I just worry because I can’t make every struggle go away.”

“I’m not a car, Dempsey,” the German smiled with melancholy, “you don’t need to fix me, nor would I ask you to.”

“I only want to be closer to you, and not feel weird about us kissing or whatever. I don’t want to fix you, I want to support you, I want to spend time with you…” the younger man trailed off for a moment, “I guess you could say you’re my rat paradise.” 

To this, Richtofen doubled over into a playful fit of laughter.

“Ok, that sounded way more romantic in my head,” Dempsey scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“But you know, the moment I met you, my first thought was how hot you were.”

Edward burst into laughter once again, “oh, please!”

“It’s true! Honest!”

“I’m a lot of things, but ‘hot’ is not one of them!”

Dempsey leaned with a sneaky grin on his face, “how about beautiful?”

Richtofen shoved him away, “come now, I don’t want to hear it!”

The Marine leaned closer to Edward and caressed his face with precision. Tilting it every which way with delicate care. His eyes were softened from one of exuberance to one of sincerity. His voice low and comforting. Like drinking warm soup. 

“You’re beautiful, Doc.”

Richtofen gasped at this seriousness, and cast his gaze away, “p. Please. I already like you. I don’t need lies.”

“I ain’t lying,” Tank frowned.

The taller man scoffed. However, this only made the soldier want, or rather need, to prove himself. 

Methodically, Dempsey pressed gentle pecks across the older man’s face. Dusting imaginary freckles across eyelids and cheeks. Still holding the stark jawline in hand. He wanted to focus on every little detail. Perfect through imperfections, a tessellating piece to himself.

“So beautiful, so beautiful,” the Marine sighed a song as he carried the kisses to the man’s neck.

Edward tried desperately to hold back tears. It was nearly impossible to accept that someone could love him as he was. That could love a crooked creature like himself.

The German cupped Tank’s face, and pulled him in front of his own with worrisome desperation, “Dempsey, please. Don’t say things like that.”

The man made no response to the plea, and tilted his head to press a kiss upon those tantalizing lips. Richtofen couldn’t help but kiss back, and began to cradle the mechanic’s head. The two let their eyes rest shut as one another were encouraged to let the moment last forever. 

Salty tears finally fell in small reluctant drops as Edward whispered, “why do you do this to me?”

“You made me brave, remember? Because that’s what you do. And I want to give back the same happiness you gave me.”

Edward let his lips ghost over Tank’s, “I’m already happy, Dempsey.”

That was when the American wanted to be closer, to feel closer. He set Edward’s back against the sand to deepen the exchange. He straddled his doctor’s stomach to assert his passion. The two continued in ecstasy as Dempsey held one of the man’s palms, lacing their fingertips all the while. Meanwhile, his other hand passed through Richtofen’s hair, and he began to tug at the short tresses.

If Dempsey’s tongue were a font, it would be cursive. The way he wove himself into his lover. A complicated script to those with an untrained eye. Words that only Richtofen could translate. The German’s headspace was quiet, and he focused on the typography accented by the smells of smoky foods and cheap beer.

Edward had surrendered completely when the mechanic breathed, “then I want you to be happy forever.”

“Prolonged happiness isn’t possible, nor healthy. Even with someone so perfect.”

“Then I’ll be sad with you, too.”

This time, Edward would not forsake the opportunity granted by their proximity. He passed his hand under Tank’s shirt, and across his stomach in clinging motions. Sliding them anywhere he could reach. Gripping tight skin here and there. 

The Marine seemed to appreciate this with a low groan of approval. 

Richtofen was surprised Dempsey let him trace the bullet wound that remained. Soft and smooth, thick and prominent. 

Tank moved to Richtofen’s fragile neck once again. The man knew very well how much this excited his friend. This came to be validated quickly when the German whined a craning moan from his heron’s throat, throwing his arms over the Marine's shoulders. 

Whenever Dempsey added a little more bite, or let his tongue run a bit longer across the peppery skin, Edward would tighten his grip and arch even closer.  

Even as Tank slid his own rough digits up Edward’s buttoned shirt, he wouldn’t protest. Fingertips outlined the awkward flesh; every scar, every bone, every goosebump. Tender and experimental. An exploration the doctor seldom allowed. Possessive grabbing of loose tops. 

Richtofen shivered and pulled away slightly.

“S. Sorry,” he muttered sadly.

“For what?” 

“I have scars.”

“I do too,” Tank said delicately, and resumed pecking kisses onto the tear-ridden face.

“They’re not like yours,” the older man frowned.

“Those are just... what’s left of who you used to be.”

Edward tried pathetically, “but they’re frightening.”

“I can’t say they don’t make me hurt,” Dempsey confessed, “but stupid quick-fixes? That’s a part of learning to deal. I can tell they’re all old because you learned it wasn’t dealing. It was making things worse.”

God damn did that cut Richtofen deep. For the American to not fear him, to empathize so easily, to trust that Edward wouldn’t do something like that again. Words of love, compassion, experience. 

Dempsey always knew the right thing to say. 

For this, Richtofen would always be jealous.

The two finally broke apart to catch their breath, huffing warmly at the space between them. The soldier remained just inches from Richtofen’s face, resting on his elbows.

"...Hey Eddie? What are we doing?"

Edward lifted his lids to see Dempsey with a look he rarely saw. One that lacked his usual spark, and inspired feelings of solemn and serious needs. The taller man attempted to gaze into those steely-blue eyes, but couldn't hold this look for long. 

"What. What do you mean?" Richtofen muttered quietly.

"...you know exactly what I mean." 

The German's breath hitched. The flirtations became more and more obvious with each day, and Edward wondered if he had finally broken the object of his affection.

He gulped, "I do. But what of it?"

Edward returned eagerly. In fact, he too whispered foreign confessions into the ears he would occasionally nibble. Small sentiments he wasn’t quite ready to share in English. 

"Dempsey I. I don't want to hurt you," the man sighed as he pressed their brows together.

"Why do you think you'll hurt me?" he whispered.

Deeply pained, Edward answered, "I'm sick and you know it. I will cause you nothing but trouble." 

As if speaking by experience, as if he held this in his throat.

"Well," Tank tilted Richtofen's head up by his chin, "I'm sick too, and I love trouble. So, who says we don’t deserve love for that stuff?”

The pair heard a whooping interruption from across the beach and near the van as Misty shouted, “HELL YEA! GET IT, TANK!” 

Her girlfriend seemed to slap her upside the head.

Edward simply laughed.

Dempsey kissed him again, holding his shy smile in the crook of Richtofen’s neck. And again. And again.

"I want us to be closer." the American hummed.

And again.

"Are you certain?" Richtofen whispered

And again.

"As long as you want me too."

And again.

"Then I'm yours."

The warmth between seemed to spark the bonfire brighter, and the cool fall ahead seemed less chilling.

Chapter Text

Edward’s eyes burned angry holes into Doctor Monty’s chest. So much fire that his body thought crying would douse the flame, but it only made the German more bitter.

“Rough week?” The older man wondered cluelessly.

“You..you,” Richtofen attempted to form a threat, but instead spat, “I’ve had it with that stupid cat of yours.”

“I don’t have a cat, Richtofen.”

“YES you do! I’ve seen your husband with it. Because of you-“ he stopped abruptly, an attempt to calm himself. 

He instead began to tremble.

It had been several weeks since summer made its swift retreat. The mountain air drifted down into the valley these days; a gentle rhythm to the sounds of acorns crunching underfoot. The people of the small town seemed to be in lifted spirits as well, all relieved by the homey comfort of sweaters and hot drinks. 

The vibrant browns and orange of a real North Eastern autumn followed suit; almost as though dusted by pumpkin spice and cinnamon. Not unlikely, as the aroma likewise peppered the bakeries downtown. 

The fluttering of life in the wood, readily preparing for a far off winter. 

Leaves falling like the discarded wings of butterflies. 

Even the skies were painted pink and purple by early sunsets.

The modest beauty made Edward interpret the season as earth’s swan song, its last beautiful sigh before the barren silence of winter.

However, the thing about fall, is the humbling death which accompanied it. Butterflies would pass on, the flowers would retreat to their bed of soil after shedding their blooms, and, as things seemed, birds would pass as well.

That damned cat.

Doctor Monty finally nodded as he came to understanding, “ah, yes. Enoch. I despise cats, so Alistair keeps it at the church. That fucking demon has a mind of its own.”

“I don’t care! That cat killed my hatchlings!” He shouted through tears, “the beast is always sneaking into my house, but this morning I came home to a scene of. Of. Blood and viscera!” 

Monty didn’t have much of a reaction, however, compassion was instead heard in the accented voice, “did the crows mean a lot to you?”

The German mumbled pathetically, “they were doing so well.. almost ready to fly. I thought they would be safe with me.”

“Shit. I’m so sorry, Edward.”

Richtofen sneered, “that won’t bring them back. Nor will it remove the bloodstains from my rug…. or help me find my one heirloom.”

“You’ve lost your knife too?”

“Yes, that terrible creature left behind quite a mess in my room, and I couldn’t find it anywhere,” he sighed.

“How the hell did it get in?” 

“The window was open. I was certain I locked everything, too.”

The old man frowned and justified his loathing, “cats love to hunt for sport more often than not. It’s hardly dignified to kill without reason.”

“It didn’t even eat them,” Edward uttered, despondent, and soon bent over his knees to hide his face, “why does everyone I love get hurt. I must be cursed; some bad joke from our creator.”

“I thought you said things were doing quite well with Dempsey.”

“Things are wonderful with Dempsey, thank you,” he asserted while he still held his head low.

This, at least, was happily true. To Edward, Tank was everything. The German’s time off allowed the two to share their lives. This meaning: accompanying his boyfriend to the auto shop, napping on the couch together, and taking Daisy to the park. So much happiness in small mundane existence.

Even moments of sadness were wrapped in warm blankets, rather it be on Dempsey or Edward’s account. It was nice to have one’s closest confidant also be one’s lover. Sharing secrets with the power to destroy, but knowing the other had no desire to.

To be honest, Richtofen still had a hard time believing this was reality. Foreign words such as boyfriend, or lover, coated his tongue in sugar. Feeling needed was freshly baked bread. To love and be loved, to have a reason to pull through the day; especially if it meant the couple could share those still-awkward touches and excited kisses by the end of it.

Monty became amused as he connected the dots, “Ah, is that where you were last night?” 

Edward shot from his crumpled posture and blushed, “make no assumptions. We just had dinner and watched movies.”

“No, no,” the psychiatrist laughed, “I’m happy for you, really!”

Richtofen cleared his throat, still thoroughly embarrassed, “whatever the case, I’m just generalizing out of spite... Although, It’s only a matter of time, I fear.”

“Until what exactly?”

“Until he gets hurt too. I appear to kill anything that gets too close to me.”

The older man crossed his arms, “I think that’s overdramatic, don’t you? You couldn’t predict leaving the damn window open.”

“It’s not being over dramatic. I am an omen. I am death. My family, my sister, the birds, fluffy...it’s always because of me.”

“Your family? Why do you say that,” Monty scrunched his brow.

“If I knew how to act normal they would still be alive.”

“Unless you yourself drained their fucking lifeblood, I have a hard time believing that.”

Flatly, Edward growled, “it was always my fault. I know this.”

He then sighed before lamenting, “how I’ve tried, how I’ve tried. How I’ve tried to convince this shattered teacup of a brain that it’s all paranoia. That this is depression trying to direct blame for every painful thing I’ve endured. That this is just because I’m ‘like this.’”.

“...Have you talked to Tank about your family?”

“Vaguely. He knows nothing that you don’t,” though, he added with more hope, “but I’m trying. I trust him.”

“...And you think you’ll kill Dempsey next?”

“Yes,” he exhaled deeply, “if not in a literal sense, then my worsening condition will push him away.”

Surprised, Monty jolted, “you’re still sick? Why haven’t you told me?”

Richtofen shrugged, “there’s been nothing new in terms of symptoms to share.” 

Edward refrained from disclosing his ongoing experiments with the river, or that he often lost time, or even that the German armed himself in the night for fear of intruders. All he needed was to be considered dangerously psychotic, and then he would have no more say in his own treatment. He would be ‘too disillusioned’ to speak for himself.

How he hated the thought of being treated in such a way.

“You told me about that short ‘seizure’ in the diner some time ago. Has that happened again?”

“Yes, but thank heavens not in the public eye, and only once in front of Dempsey,” the doctor breathed lowly, “I don’t know what I should do. I feel as though I’m losing myself.”

“...Perhaps it’s time you saw a doctor. Seizures are serious business.”

“The fall semester starts tomorrow, I can’t call out sick on the first day.”

Monty reclined, “well, at least e-mail me if anything changes. Good or bad. We don’t want you running around blindly when this town has a body count worse than a slaughterhouse.”

“I can’t imagine why someone would hurt me. I am still a stranger to most,” he frowned.

“But someone cut your brakes when you first arrived, too. I’m simply asking that you be wary.”

Edward rubbed the bridge of his nose, “yes, I suppose you’re right. Besides, these grotesque bodies seem to be random selections. Nothing in common; everyone is at risk these days.”

The psychiatrist seemed particularly worried, “I mean it, Richtofen. We’re coming up on the sixth corpse in almost four months, and I enjoy your company too much to see you in a casket, or even worse, that-”

Richtofen’s breath stilled as he was able to understand before the words left his doctor’s lips, “...that someone suspects me.”

—————————

Over and over, Edward let his head rhythmically thud against his steering wheel. Just when Richtofen thought he was getting himself back together, another thing came along to steamroll all he had worked for. Why hadn’t he thought of that, the man lamented, how terribly suspicious he seemed. No wonder why he felt so unwelcome. Arriving just as these murders began, wandering the woods at night, throwing fits in breakfast diners, blindly walking the streets of town... 

The German wanted to throw himself to the birds. He considered himself better useful as a meal to some vulture than the fear he appeared to induce in his neighbors.

How on earth these strangers crafted their theories on motive, the doctor had no idea. Even he himself had no idea why he would do such a thing.

Edward looked to the church as he drove, finding Alistair standing out front as he usually would. There was no chance the doctor would allow this man to get off scot-free; he was in far too much of a bad mood to allow forgiveness. He needed to avenge his children. 

Therefore, in one swift motion, Richtofen hit the brakes and climbed out, slamming the car door behind him. The old man, meanwhile, watched the intense approach. Expressionless and calm. A posture that spoke ‘what do you want’ as he ashed his cigar. 

...However, he quickly realized that Edward wasn’t stopping. 

Alarmed and wide-eyed,  Alistair dropped the tobacco with haste, and sped behind the doors of his haven. Cartoonishly so. The Louisiana spectre must have been holding the entrance shut, because Richtofen could not open as he pushed harder and harder against the splintering wood.

This, of course, did not stop the German as he banged his fist against the oak, “get out here you coward! You Goddamn bastard!”

A few pedestrians were frightened as they cleared the area. It probably wasn’t a good look to be yelling at a pastor with such anger, especially considering the circumstances of his suspicion. Still, he truly felt like a father to the clutch of fledglings. He was heartbroken above all else. He wanted revenge.

“Don’t pretend you can’t hear me! I told you to keep that damned cat inside!” He continued to call.

What Richtofen didn’t know, was that the old man was quite scared from the other side. Even with the disrespect Alistair constantly showed, the pastor had no idea what Edward was capable of. Though, this was purely ignorance. It wasn’t as if someone so sickly looked like he could do much.

However, the preacher felt like he had to say something as he heard his ‘guest’ shout:

“It made a mess of my room and killed my birds for sport! My home is becoming a pet cemetery because of you!”

Suddenly, there was a low voice from behind the wall, “s. Sorry.”

Richtofen stopped his incessant banging with interest and shock, “...excuse me?”

“I am very sorry. Enoch was born feral, she always slips out.”

The doctor only blinked. Alistair sounded sincerely regretful in his apology, even well-meaning in doing so. Yet, despite this, it was more confusing than it was a relief.

Edward stepped away from the doors to ease his towering presence, and frowned, “I loved those birds, you know.”

After a long moment of silence and reflection, the louisiana cadence rang softly once again, “what kind of birds were they?”

His tone leveled as he calmed his paternal resentment, “young crows. They were orphaned in my yard, but I now suspect that beast of yours killed their parents as well.”

“I am sorry,” the pastor said again with more melancholy.

Richtofen sighed with a heavy heart, and finally asked what preyed on his mind for so long, “why do you have such a problem with me?”

There was silence as the doors slowly opened, and Alistair peaked out, “what you said a couple weeks ago. You were right. You’ve done nothing wrong to me.”

He stepped out and adjusted his three piece suit, composing himself into his more dignified self once again.

The man soon cleared his throat before confessing, “the truth is that you reminded me of someone. I became bitter by the memories attached. Defensive, even… I wasn’t considering reality above all else.”

This interaction became more and more puzzling with every answered question. The last thing Edward expected was genuine regret, especially done with such a calm disposition. Not to mention he had no idea who Alistair was talking about.

There was something odd about the pastor’s voice; it carried a melodic and soft tone despite the energy which he spoke. The doctor wondered how his sermons sounded, but then again, it was not difficult to picture the regal cadence reading words of salvation and sin. One would think it to be the voice of a trickster or a liar, but Richtofen saw it more as the voice of a man who seldom spoke in casual company. This, the German could resonate with. 

...However, his own inexperience instead carried a veil of cocky energy to hide the more anxious self.

Edward only muttered, “I… see.”

As the two stood awkwardly before one another, the sound of a practicing choir echoed from inside the chapel. Lyrics which sang of wrath and forgiveness in an extinct tongue. An instrumental flow which sounded akin to a great wave crashing, then ebbing away for its next return. 

Like that of falling,

and spiraling. 

Then landing softly.

A gentle plea of one who knows their place beneath a Lord on high.

“Er. Is that Dies Irae?”

“You know it?” the old man’s interest was peaked.

“Sort of.”

Alistair eased his stiff spine, “this song was one of the first pieces of recorded music. Though it began as a hymn, it was later adapted into more sacreligious pieces. You’re probably familiar with Mozart’s rendition.”

Edward nodded, “ah, yes, ‘Judgement day.’ A bit frightening though, isn’t it? To turn it back to its roots?”

The pastor hesitated, “I’ve come to appreciate the conversion of terror and fear into piety and righteous violence these days.”

“Perhaps I could as well,” he hummed. 

The man returned with a softened smile, “I can’t help but pick where my passion leads for the week.”

“If I may,” Alistair soon continued, “I noticed you carrying a telescope the other day. Do you watch the stars?”

“I do, a fellow astronomer?” Edward spoke with curiosity.

“Indeed, I map them out myself. It’s quite calming.”

“Really? There are already many star maps you could reference.”

The old man sighed humbly, “I know, but I’d like to find a new star one day.”

“What will you do once you’ve found it?”

“I don’t know, but maybe someone else will.”

“I myself enjoy learning their stories. It’s interesting to understand the abstract shapes that inspired our ancestors.”

Alistair held a long pause before confessing with regret, “...to be honest, I think I’ve needed to speak with you for the longest time.”

“Need?”

“Need. I understand if you still want to be left alone, especially for how I’ve treated you, but I’d love if you come by once in a while. Perhaps you could share some of those stories you’ve learned.”

“Are you trying to turn me into a christian?” The doctor joked.

The louisiana ghost chuckled, “no, but I make no promises about avoiding the subject.”

“Whatever the case, I’d love to join you sometime. A man who enjoys stargazing can’t be all bad.”

“I apologize again. About your birds. And my behavior. If there’s anything I can do-”

“This person I remind you of. What were they to you?”

“Someone I cared about,” he said simply, “but if it’s no trouble, I would rather we start fresh then dwell.”

The German presented his hand, “Then: Doctor Edward Richtofen.”

“Reverend Alistair Rapt.”

The two politely nodded their goodbyes, and went their separate ways.

Today, the church sign read, ‘as iron sharpens iron...’ 

Richtofen didn’t understand the reference.

—————————

The doctor finally stretched out as he arrived home, excited to see Dempsey after his shift at the garage. However, there were a few matters that needed managing; namely Fluffy. 

It seemed as though she would have company in the garden, as he planned on visiting Albert to get a coffin for his dear crows. It was a kinder sentiment if he thought of the tragedy like this. A pet cemetery didn’t have to be anything depressing or tragic. It could be a place of reflection and love, and he did indeed love.

As he looked to the kitchen counter, he found the familiar tin set next to the stain-glass box, and with an exasperated sigh, resolved to stop avoiding it. 

Edward rolled up his sleeves and moved over the sink, so to pour the contents without spilling.

He didn’t need to read the letters, he didn’t need to hold the collar, he didn’t need to think too hard about it.

Just dust and shards of bone.

Nothing he hadn’t seen before.

(He probably shouldn’t use that expression in front of others though.)

Popping open the former casket, he immediately found himself smiling. The sight of the weathered old collar actually made him happy. Its torn red leather, the tags that would jingle as she walked, the flower-shaped hair clips he and Sam attached as accessories. The man almost swore he could hear the clicking of metal that rang the hound’s approach.

Richtofen nearly wished he had opened it sooner. Once expecting despair, he now felt warmth for the fond memories. He chuckled happily as he unearthed it gingerly from ashes of the past, turning it in his hands.

“I’m so sorry,” he said gently.

It was a secret he kept from his family. That day he shared a peach with Fluffy, a late spring, a gesture to please her. Edward didn’t expect the old girl to down the entire fruit, nor did he consider the size of the peach-pit. 

Still, the boy did his best to save her, or at least he often convinced himself so. Edward tried reaching into her gasping mouth to pull the seed, tried heaving it from her trembling gut, tired shaking it loose from the broken form. However, the German was still so young and ignorant. All efforts were in vain, and she suffocated.

He ran upstairs to his family, and claimed to have found her that way. Everyone believed him without a second guess. She was very old after all; it wouldn’t be outrageous to assume she crawled outside to die in the garden, among flowers and fluttering sunlight.

Though, as the ashes were burned, and the box was presented, and the memory buried, he still could smell peach. 

Sweet under a bruised sky,

A heart of stone in soft skin,

A perfume for untimely death.

It took Richtofen the longest time to enjoy the taste of peaches. Even plum, even avocado; anything that reminded him of the horrible accident.

He now wished he could confess the truth to his family, but that was no longer possible.

Despite this, it was at least nice that he was more preoccupied with the better memories. Cold noses, playing tag, dog-piles of sleep. 

Edward loved her.

Richtofen set the collar down, and again reached into the tin to retrieve two sealed letters; he and Samantha’s epitaph for Fluffy. However, as he did so, a sudden stinging pain shot through his skull, like a needle threading itself into one ear and out the other. (Only, the needle had been dipped in poison which would flower from the wound.)

The man abruptly flinched at the pain which brought tears, pulling the envelopes far too quickly. His eyes screwed shut as he gripped his pulsing skull, and he immediately crouched to his knees. Almost like an armadillo balling up at the sight of a predator. 

Meanwhile, he heard the old casket clang as it tumbled over into the sink, spilling dust and bone into the steel trap. Richtofen did not hold this pose for long, as he frantically scrambled back up to the counter. Tears still fell as he read the omen resting in the kitchen sink. As though he were reading tea leaves: 

A spilling landslide, a mark of something long lost. 

White shards of femurs and ribs poked from the mound, dead in burial. 

Bile rose in his throat.

Later that night, Edward scoured the internet to find the results of the river’s changes.

Chapter Text

“That jacket looks good on you,” Edward said as he kept his attention fixed on sketching, “why don’t you wear it more often?”

“I just can’t wear it in the heat ‘sall,” his partner hummed, and tossed a stick across the brush of the forest, “but if you think an aviator makes me look hot, then-“

Richtofen interrupted with laughter. Tank always knew how to take a compliment.

It was very early in the morning, much too early to be awake on a weekend. However, a walk through the foggy birch of dawn seemed too romantic to turn down. Light clouds drifted between their boots and weaved through the trees, almost as though they were walking in the solid sky. The hues of which were downcast and grey, dense as it hid a lazy red sun behind a curtain of smokey wisps. It reminded the couple of the paintings Doctor Monty hung in his living room. One could understand the appreciation, however, there remained muted tension ingrained in anxious diaphragms seeking ease.

The local news, too, would reflect on the strange anomalies as of late;

‘Said it’s the earliest these temperatures had rolled around.

‘Said it’s going to be a dry and cold season.

‘Said a hurricane was blowing in from the south.

Despite this, a hurricane would mostly be a coastal problem. The mountains would quickly have their say to a storm which craves heat and humidity. There would be no urgency as all that was expected was wind and rain. Still, this was a few days off; Enough time to enjoy the calm prologue.

“I like seeing you in flanel though. It’s cute,” Dempsey was contented as he returned the compliment.

Edward only busied his shy hands in response, and ran a thumb across the strap of his messenger bag. ‘Cute’ was still shoes on the wrong feet.

“What are you drawing, anyway?” Tank attempted to get a peak from behind his German, who was using a fallen trunk for a bench. 

Edward deliberately slammed the book shut and teased, “until I hear your guitar, you won’t have so much as a glance at my sketches.”

“Mean!”

“It’s only fair.”

The Marine turned his sight back to Daisy and their lazy game of fetch, “what sort of things do you draw, then?” 

“From life, it’s like a journal in a way.”

“Am I in there?”

“Maybeeee,” Richtofen sang, “but it hardly does you justice. It’s simply a way to waste time between lectures.”

“If it’s important to you it’s not a waste of time, Doc.”

“I suppose,” he mused, and tucked the Ibis sketchbook away. From there, he stepped to Tank’s side and leaned all his weight against the man’s shoulder, “and what do you play? And don’t say ‘anything,’ you must have a favorite genre.”

“Uh, bluegrass?”

Edward made a small nodd, recollecting the echo of the melodies whenever he went into town. It suited Dempsey nicely, blues rhythms sharing their feelings in a sensitive, yet indirect, way.

Among the light mundane chatter, Richtofen began to detect distraction from his better half. Like he was talking just to talk, to avoid being left alone with his thoughts. At least, this was the assumption made by his own familiarity with doing so. The flat series of questions seemed more like an interview.

Regardless, he knew that bringing the suspicion to attention would be counterproductive. Managing Dempsey required something different, as it was clear that frank discussions of insecurities did little for a proud man. Instead, Edward needed to ground Tank with attention, both physical and emotional. 

...This would be easy, as showering his lover with sincere endearments came as naturally as breathing. The German held no qualms about gripping the strong arm around his own, and whispering the honey-sweet ideas that coated his heart. He had to give his Marine space to sing his melody.

Dempsey grinned mischievously into those seaglass eyes; those which read the pages in his mind. The intention that Richtofen couldn’t quite put his finger on: the need to escape. 

And so Tank asked;

“You wanna run?”

“Run?”

The American tugged on his partner’s arm to lead the direction, and began his dash into the weeds.

“Where are you going?” Edward called, confused as Daisy chased without hesitation.

“Follow!” Tank simply cheered, and sped off without looking back.

It soon became an informal game of tag as the three jogged through the wood, no destination in mind. Running for the sake of running. Possession by the heart of their youth, a pair who seldom let responsibility and fear shackle their spirits.

As they carried, cold air burned in Richtofen’s lungs from attempts to keep up. The stinging sensation clung to the very top of his throat and tightened his chest, a familiar feeling. 

At the same time, the way which Daisy bounced playful circles made the silent grove illuminate with excited laughter. (Namely by the German‘s behalf, as he tried very hard to tap his lover into play.) If one could awaken the trees and flowers with happiness, it would have been spring.

Caught in the competitive game, the doctor didn’t realize the steep hill approaching, and slipped backwards into the valley. Edward began creating a trail of pollen as he tumbled into golden brush; flecks like dust over shuttered blinds in streaming light. Noising a tumult of both adrenaline and desperation. Dempsey attempted to run after his partner, but not even he could stand a chance against the slope. It wasn’t long before the American, too, was spiraling down.

As for Daisy, having difficulty understanding the movements, simply wiggled on her back like a flipped turtle until she began a slow descent.

Down and down the three traveled, until they leveled out on a flat land of shed leaves. Though Edward was turned dizzy by his spinning sights, the Marine was in hysterics. Shortly after, Daisy came to lick the red faces of the fallen nobles. 

The German recovered in subtle ecstasy as Tank joked, “I think we accidentally cast ourselves into The Lion King.”

“Not quite,” Richtofen threatened with mischief, and climbed over the younger man’s heaving frame.

Dempsey tried to shove his partner off as the man pecked ticklish kisses and nibbles all over his throat. He erupted into a fit of mad giggling, begging for the end. Yet, the doctor was in no mood for mercy. The dark hairs of his mustache only intensified the attack.

Though, eventually, Edward laid off to admire the beacon of Tank’s joy. 

“Now we are lions,” the doctor nodded with assurance.

Tank sounded prideful as he told, “you know, Tak said the guys have a bet on how long our honeymoon phase will last.”

“We should make it last forever just to annoy them.”

No mercy!

The couple lay among golden rays and grounded clouds. Richtofen remained on the soldiers stomach, and meditated to the steady beat of the trying heart. A sense of routine in a moment so special. Meanwhile, Tank absentmindedly preened and pulled some hitchhiker seeds and burs from his coat.

“You got your knife on you?” He mumbled, frustrated by a few stubborn remnants.

“I still haven’t found it,” Edward simply sighed, and wrapped his arms tighter around his partner.

“It probably got knocked under a table. You’ll find it soon.”

“Probably.”

The German let his eyes flutter shut as his partner began playing with his hair. He always loved that.

Suddenly, a low and sensitive tone suddenly rose from the soldier, “you alright?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, you’re kinda.. I dunno; not yourself.”

Richtofen blinked, completely unaware. In fact, the man thought himself quite well today. To appear so sickly when there were fields to run through and boyfriends to chase? That alone sounded impossible. Then again, he wasn’t all that surprised. The past few days were spent anxiously pacing his nights away, rather than dreaming. He could lie to himself, and say he couldn’t even if he tried. However, this was not the case. 

The truth was that the doctor was afraid.

Edward refused to willingly make himself unconscious. A fear that he may start sleepwalking out the front door, or perform some incriminating act. Monty was right to worry for Richtofen’s public image, and being a walking corpse would do little to promote his innocence. 

Despite this, Edward did not want to worry his lover. Even if the American easily recognized some sort of hidden undoing, he would just have to remain stubborn.

Therefore, he half-lied, “I admit I’m still depressed about my birds. Nikolai must be disappointed in me.”

“Nah, Nikolai’s smart. He knows it wasn’t your fault.” 

“He might think I’m irresponsible at the very least, and may find a different home for my little frankendog.”

Dempsey was quick to sneer bitterly, “Don’t even worry about that. Honestly, I blame that creepy pastor. Total cult leader vibes. He probably let that cat in.”

“...I think Alistair’s misunderstood; he’s quite interesting once you get to know him.”

“You haven’t seriously been talking to that guy, have you?”

“Perhaps once or twice,” Richtofen muttered nonchalantly, “nothing sensitive, just religious matters. No man more suited than he for discussion.” 

Another half-lie as the doctor omitted their relationship was becoming that of friends.

In fact, just last night Alistair asked Edward to join him inside the parish. A humbled hall of stained glass and pews arranged like a military graveyard. A ritual akin to inviting the vampire into one’s home, as he would otherwise reject such inclinations on his own.

 It was an invasion of privacy to a household he was not a member of.

——

“Do you believe in God, Doctor Richtofen?” The old man asked as he took a seat in the vacant pews.

“I can’t say for certain,” he confessed, and joined his new friend, “sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t.”

Thankfully, the pastor was not offended, “then what of the universe? What does a scientist believe?”

“I believe in a universe that doesn’t care, and people who do. Not in a cosmic indifference or pessimistic sense, simply that fate picks no sides.”

“...Do you feel uncared for, Edward?”

He sighed, “no, but I feel as though I’ve been scorned. A God that allows suffering makes little sense. Unless God’s a sadist.”

“A consequence of free will, not his own.”

“Even considering circumstance?”

Alistair leaned back on his elbows, “humans make the choice to discriminate against the poor, to isolate the sick, to think the imperfect broken. They also make the choice to deprive the unfortunate of their needs.”

“Whatever the case,” Edward reflected, “it may be difficult to tell moral dilemmas over human nature. Especially assuming it to be some intangible gift.”

“Suffering is a social construct, in a way. A heavy woman is seen as healthy in impoverished nations; but in places of privilege, it is suddenly obscene and distasteful.”

“It’s a shame, really. The world seems to be in excess of misery these days,” he frowned.

“And this chapel only becomes emptier and emptier by the years,” the old man hummed, “well, fortunate we have fall and winter. At least we can find closeness here.”

There was heavy longing in the pastor’s voice. Almost nostalgia. What Richtofen would soon learn, was that Alistair had dedicated his life to worship for a very long time. The Louisiana spirit had a very privileged life. A vibrant family of extravagant personality, a wealthy upbringing, an extensive education. However, like Edward, he seldom got along with other people. This was more for his cold nature than a fear of judgement, but neither case did well in terms of impressions. 

That’s where he found his calling: his relations had established a captivating voice of a storyteller and prophet, and the passion he held in seriousness granted importance to his words. Though Alistair was not searching to connect with parishioners, he sought purpose as a messenger of God. He spent years of his life on a pilgrimage of philosophy, wishing for his words to reach everyone- not just those who believed the same way he did. Frankly, the pastor didn’t care if they believed at all. He simply requested that he be heard. Nothing more.

Little did he know, was that this is exactly what attracted his future husband. Monty, too, had a flair for the dramatic and an assertive personality. Alistair and Monty were already middle aged by the time they met, and some psychological drive to settle had finally come. 

From the Louisiana man’s perspective, it was wonderful to find someone who would not sympathize with his life, but instead to find solidarity. 

To Doctor Monty’s perspective, it was a man of dignity and intelligence, yet also devotion.

However, to Richtofen, he found the relationship to be that of convenience.

“Speaking of closeness,” Edward hesitated as he tempted polite conversation, “but you and your husband don’t seem very close.”

With curiosity more than irritation, he asked, “how so?”

“You’re literally always here, and I don’t think I’ve once seen you speak to each other. He doesn’t even consider your cat his pet.”

Alistair sighed, “don’t misunderstand; I still care for him deeply. We used to be best friends. The same sense of humor, sharing good memories… however, that’s where fate and circumstances came into play. Things aren’t like that these days.”

“I apologize, I-”

“No need, no need. It’s very obvious anyway. Of course you would be curious,” he waved a hand thoughtlessly, “if it’s any comfort: our marriage is not at stake. Nor do we hate each other. We’ve simply accepted that there are clear reasons we could never go back to before.”

With a chuckle, he added, “besides, we’re far too old to try finding other people.”

The German found it charming that the pastor and his husband found positivity in their age, rather than despair. Yet, a question still lie. A question only Alistair’s spirituality could answer.

“What would you say of one’s own, uh, affairs. Hidden or uninfluenced by fate?” Edward asked lowly, “say anxiety, or disease.”

“That’s your own body’s doing, as a doctor you know cells are alive; part of being alive is making mistakes,” the pastor then smirked, “or convincing you something is wrong via physical pain.”

“Even I can understand the mechanisms of that,” the German laughed.

The old man could still nod, “but truly, the conscious and unconscious self will naturally want what’s best; but free will, and thus mistakes are natural.”

With great hesitation, Richtofen attempted to reach, “... following that philosophy; on the topic of loss. For example, an infant just beginning life. Why not interfere?”

“...If he interferes with one, he must interfere with all. God could never choose between saving the life of a 1 year old versus a 90 year old, but he can offer happiness in the kingdom of heaven,” Father Rapt cast his gaze aside, understanding the personal nature of the query. After all, he had been a guest to many deathbeds in his lifetime.

He went on, “rain and mud are not alive. Therefore, when the landslide comes and the children die, that is on the will of no one except bad fate.”

“...”

“Besides, that is why he created grieving in those left behind. So a person can better themselves in heartache. Or not.”

“Conscious or unconscious?” 

“Precisely. These little gifts of instinct express his love,” he regretted to add, “like a bird’s instinct to fly somewhere warm, it’s an effort to preserve.”

The German reflected on this for a moment. Frankly, it made him no longer wish to scorn unseen forces, but rather fate. 

Then again, fate led him to Alistair, and Dempsey, and a job he loves. One cannot have the good without the bad to balance perfection, right? 

“I guess one may suggest that we all follow our own predestined path, but we can still choose the shape of our footprints along the way,” Richtofen scratched, “I just wish I could stop walking. There is something happening to me, and I just want to be carried.”

“Are you implying that you want to die?”

“No. I simply want to be myself again. Mental anguish has already diffused from my environment, and I cannot handle this physical pain very well,” he sighed, “I want it to stop, but even that could potentially make matters worse.”

One last time, Edward tried to justify a rational sense of skepticism, “then, if one searches for what’s best, then why opt for evil?”

“....Even evil has its perks.”

“...Conscious or unconscious.”

——-

Dempsey scratched anxiously, “I’m not going to tell you who you can and can’t hang out with. Just. Watch out, ok?”

“I will,” his lover ensured.

“We should get walking, I got work soon and I don’t feel like abandoning you in an empty field.”

Richtofen smirked, “help me up, at least,” and his partner grabbed the outstretched hand, pulling him to his feet.

Now face to face, the doctor was quick to press his warm lips to Tank’s cool ones.

They began their walk back up to Edward’s home.

“...when did you know you liked guys?” the soldier asked, seemingly from nowhere.

“Oh,” he blinked, “between 13 to 15, I can’t recall exactly.”

“Did you like girls before then?”

“No, simply disinterested as most children are. Why the sudden interest?”

Dempsey only shrugged, “just curious. You’re always so confident about it. It’s awesome.”

Richtofen went red as he muttered, “it’s not like I have a reason to be ashamed.”

“You’re right,” he said simply.

“Are. You ashamed?”

“No way!” Tank said with volume, before easing, “I'm just sayin I admire you.”

If Dempsey could express the intensity in which he meant it, he would. However, this was impossible.

Richtofen often spoke honestly and unashamed of his thoughts. Embarrassed, maybe, but never from a place of regret. From the way he shared his diagnosis, to the seemingly easy confessions of loss, to the openness he expressed his love, he appeared unfiltered and genuine by nature. Hell, even if Edward didn’t wish to articulate his thoughts, the German instead became vocal about his intentions. 

Richtofen would never deny his feelings either. Confessions were the only therapy he needed.  

Instead, what weighed him down was something different. Something the younger man had a hard time understanding. 

Perhaps, Tank often thought, even the doctor himself was uncertain what it was. Because he, too, noticed.

As for Tank Dempsey, his own understanding of who he was, was simply a veil. 

The doctor was turned more flustered, “you’re ridiculous. I’ve done nothing worth admiring.”

“As if! I’ve never seen you try to hide yourself,” Dempsey soon frowned, “I hate telling most people I’m bi.”

“Why?”

“Just misunderstandings. They usually think I’m a gay guy in denial.”

Edward scoffed, “that’s their problem.”

“It’s still annoying.”

After a moment of consideration, the doctor soon nodded, “I suppose I still understand. My sister was also bi; strangers always thought it was for attention,” he then lamented, “but we’ve found that it’s impossible to expect perfection in everyone’s knowledge.”

The German returned to the house of memories in his head with a warm smile, “But! She wouldn’t let it get to her. She knew herself well.”

“Kinda cool to have a sister like you,” Tank spoke, surprised.

To this, Richtofen tilted his head inquisitively, “do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Nah, it was always just me and my mom,” the Marine reflected fondly, “I think if I ever got a chance to tell her I’m bi, she’d be supportive as hell.”

Edward was almost hyper-aware of the past tense. Tank, however, was just glad to remember her. It was no wonder the American grew to be someone so full of kindness and patience. Richtofen found it a relief that he could send off his lover with a happy memory. 

“...I would’ve liked to meet her.”

“Yeah, she would have loved you.”

—————————

It was around noon when the couple went their separate ways, a soft kiss and an eager promise to see each other soon. 

Richtofen would have liked to spend the rest of the day sleeping off his fatigued body. However, he was too excited to prove himself right.

Upon consulting with his new supervisor, Doctor Harvey Yena, he finally understood what caused the ammonia and nitrates of the river to spark. Why the river seemed to attract flies and death. Why the water was truly poison.

Something had been decaying, and whatever it was, it was big. 

Doctor Yena speculated a deer, even a bear, but Edward hoped it was not the latter. The last thing he needed to worry about was finding a creature like that to gladly maul him in his yard.

At least things made sense, which in itself was a means of comfort. He nearly began to think he was growing obsessed. 

Richtofen was a hematologist, not a chemist. Yet, he knew very well that decay can take a long time. 

He also knew that high concentrations of nitrates killed fish, while promoting algae growth. 

He even began to understand why he would find the strange sinkhole on some days, and then it would be gone the next. Dark algae blooms were likely polluting the riverbed, creating the illusion of depth. 

Still, suspicion remained tempting.

He knew water should have accelerated decomposition, but it only carried on. 

The man stepped, a silhouette against the still-red sky, and came to the riverbank. 

The depth of the flow looked lower than it had a few weeks ago, and the reeds and grass which lined it were already drying. Mosquitos, too, were fewer and far between; the truer blessing among all changes. 

Finally, Richtofen gazed out.

Though he searched, though he stared, the water was all that stared back. No pit, no chasm, no gaping void. Bitter water clear of debri. The burning rouge sphere that was the sun, stark across the pale grey clouds; the only trace of hollowed holes.

Surprisingly, Edward scrunched his brow. He wanted something to be there. He needed something to be there. Science couldn’t be wrong. Therefore, the man began to walk upstream. Whatever lay dying must have been drifting down. Rather it be from creeks which sprouted like roots from the ancient current, or the main body itself. 

Perhaps , he thought, it would be hard to find; likely bone and dirt by now.  

The further Edward tread, the more worried he became as the buzzing in his brain had returned from pulsing temples. Flies knocking about in his skull, breaking concentration.

Just stress,

Just a trigger,

It would be alright.

It was just worry.

However, this would not be the case. 

At last, he came to the source:

Two broken figures drifting among discarded trash and branches. Bodies, with their own special something marking their muted postures; rather this be a missing head, or limbs wrapped in newspaper like bouquets that mocked. 

The buzzing became louder as he backed away in terror, clamoring for his phone. 

The operator’s words were shrouded in a song that rang a declaration of pestilence and rot. Something pulling Edward to reach into the pit of black water and revel in the baptismal flow. To bless himself in a confessional of ice, to run his filthy nails across the pale flesh. 

Richtofen was sick, disgusted.

He wouldn’t succumb to this primal voice of predation. He did, however, became frantic as the coroners acted the fantasies he wished to fulfil. 

As Edward was restrained, he blankly gazed to a painted sky, and found that the flies in his brain had escaped.

Helicopters,

Circling the mountains.

Wings of spinning blades,

Beating their laughing drone.

Low gusts of the approaching insects,

And the smell of death wafted into every crevice,

Like a drop of paint into water.

Like blood blooming a flowering red stain from a stab-wound.

Like that from a small, ornate, pocket knife;

sticking out among the dry reeds.

Chapter Text

The sky remained grey as the hurricane made it’s taunting approach. Rain was cold and unpredictable, often coming and going in a matter of minutes. Even the foggy cerulean of the Blue Ridge Mountains seemed to change into a golden sheen. 

Edward would never find a reason to complain; the frequent downpour lulled him to sleep with ease. After all, the tapping of rain on windows and rooftops couldn’t compare to any lullaby.

However, today, visiting his good friend would make things all the better. Richtofen had no idea how he was going to begin sharing the events of his week, but Albert’s company remained exciting. Perhaps, the artist would be the only one capable of understanding. A man wishing for peace, but reputation hindering so.

Just now, a small bell sang Edward’s arrival to the familiar, ‘Icarus Leadlight.’ Al was quick to greet his guest, recognizing the light clunk of boots across old wooden floors.

“Hey, doc,” his Italian-American accent rang out, and soon gave Richtofen a heavy pat on the shoulder, “great to see ya.”

The German sighed pathetically as he took a seat at the front counter, “hello, Albert. Gott, you would not believe the week I’ve had.”

“Yeah, I heard about it on the news. You look like hell.”

Passing his fingers through his hair, Richtofen let out an exasperated groan, “believe me. I know. It’s as though every other day I’m at the police station.”

“Why’s that?” 

“They think I have something to do with it!”

With alarm, he jolted in shock, “Goddamn, what do they have on ya?”

The doctor was reluctant as he simply uttered, “my knife. Near the corpses I found.”

“Holy shit.”

“I just don’t understand. That knife was stolen, so someone must have planted it there,” Edward frowned, and produced an ibis sketchbook from his messenger bag.

“Can’t imagine a guy like you having enemies, or even killing someone to be honest,” Al shrugged as he took the notepad, “I know what killers look like.”

Richtofen rolled his eyes, “not according to the television. Apparently I’m some sociopath with a history of violence.”

"Even I know you'd never hurt a fly."

"Apparently fighting schoolyard bullies counts as being unhinged," he sneered back.

The Italian passed his own journal over, a plain black moleskin, and tried a show of solidarity, “I know a guy that’s a cop here: Jackie Vincent. If you can get him involved, he could probably help you out.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He’s the kind of guy that knows how to look the other way, if you get what I’m saying.”

“Oh dear,” Edward cringed, “er, that’s quite alright. Thank you though.”

Richtofen took his friend’s journal and purused the tan pages. These weekly book exchanges were becoming a ritual the doctor looked forward to. The pair, both avoidant types regarding their lifestyles, found the sketch diaries as a bridge to one another. The choice to draw a certain detail, a change in technique, even the mood in the lightning all meant something more. The two knew this well, it was almost like a game.

While Edward enjoyed focusing on the present in his entries, Albert seemed to focus on reminders of the past, and how those memories shaped him. Still, there were no rules in their exchange, and frankly, the German enjoyed the stories.

There seemed to be a focus on nautical themes in the artist’s work this time. Tall lighthouses shining a beacon from far away, seagulls soaring through heavy rain and into a forest, and crashing waves on a rocky shore: all were overtaking the week’s entries. 

“So are you the Mariner or the Albatross?” Richtofen wondered with humor.

Albert tilted his head inquisitively.

“Uh, you know. The Albatross brings good fortune, the Mariner shoots it down, he wears it’s corpse around his neck to show his regret.”

“I guess I’m an albatross then, cause I don’t regret a thing,” he cheered in his scratchy voice.

The doctor could only sound a good-natured laugh, “I suppose a Mariner suits me. A show of regret, but one cannot undo the past.”

“So, you become smarter instead of taking it,” he added supportively.

Perhaps Al was once a sailor before he arrived, learning trades wherever the sea took him.

Perhaps he lived on the Pacific, watching the effortless flight of albatross riding the wind. 

Perhaps it was the typhoon that approached, which took Albert to somewhere else; another storm of his own. 

Edward was soon prompted to ask, “do you have somewhere safe to stay during the hurricane?”

“Not really,” he said simply, “I was going to stay here and watch the place.”

“Would you like to stay with me?”

Al was made humble by the offer, “that’s real nice of you, Ed. But I’ll be safe here. I couldn’t rest without worrying ‘bout my livelihood.”

The German nodded agreeably, “just don’t be afraid to call if it becomes too rough.”

“Is your man going to stay the night too?”

“Yes, actually,” Edward blushed, “but it wouldn’t be an intrusion to have you there.”

“I kinda want to meet him, you always put a lot of detail when he’s on the page,” he chuckled.

“Ugh, don’t tease me!” 

Finally, the artist reached the more recent pages in the doctor’s journal. Namely, those featuring dead birds and visceral displays of gore. 

Al had a visible reaction of shock as he scanned, “damn, Ed. Things are really getting to ya, huh?”

“Of course it has! I’m grateful that the police have no warrant to search me, or my scrawlings would have been incriminating.”

The man leaned a bit, “do you want me to keep your book here? Just in case.”

Richtofen pursed his lips thoughtfully, “... I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble for it.”

“If they come looking, I’ll just say you left it behind.”

“Thank you, Albert.”

Edward was not at all surprised by his friend’s understanding. The doctor was pleased to learn that Albert’s experience with law was not on behalf of violent crime. However, Richtofen was truly one that believed in second chances. As easy as matters were to make a man, the same efforts could change him too. Of course, as long as they wanted to. And Albert really wanted to. The artist seemed to value the community too much to break their relationship, even if he still kept to himself in the end.

Albert’s image became more admirable as he came to know him.

He smirked, “it’s no prob. But anyway, your sketches are real good. You should try using charcoal.”

Then, as the artist scanned the last page, he blinked in alarm, “wait. The birds aren’t really dead, are they?”

“I’m afraid so,” Edward sighed bitter.

“Oh c’mon. God has you under a magnifinglass,” Albert complained, “how’d they die?”

“I don’t think I would call him a friend just yet, but the pastor has a cat that keeps sneaking into my home. It was hardly hunting and more like a slaughter.”

“Is the owner Alistair Rapt?”

“Yes! You know him?”

“I did the windows on his church. Maybe about...,” he paused thoughtfully and tried to recall, “about 10 or so years ago? He still comes by though.”

Richtofen was excited to hear this, “I should have thought so! There’s this piece that always catches my eye. The angel killing the lamb.”

“With its hooves stuck in the mud, right?” his friend mused, “that one was a pretty particular request. Father asked for something like a mirror for the front. I don’t do mirrors, so I made it about him. That counts, right?”

The doctor became pensive, not only did he learn what lay at the root-enveloped edge of the piece, but he became puzzled by the imagery, “I’m kind of curious why you’d make him some sacrificial lamb.”

“He’s the angel.”

“...why?”

Alber hesitated, “I mean, if you don’t know, you best hear it from him.”

“Did he do something bad?”

“I don’t think so, but he feels differently,” he cast his gaze away, “it’s a mirror, remember?”

“You know I’m not one to spread rumors-”

“Yeah don’t worry, it’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just that people are starting to forget, and it should be his choice if it gets remembered.”

“Ah,” Richtofen was disappointed, but he was unaware that the Italian had a promise to keep.

“Yeah, sorry.”

From the sound of things, Alistair Rapt had an albatross of his own. Yet, instead of wearing it as a declaration of remorse, a message to his own heart and those closest, he nailed it to the front door of the chapel. 

Unfortunately for the pastor, Edward had no idea how to mind his own business. Nor did he wish to restrain his curiosity.  

Equally as unfortunate: the German was very capable of holding a grudge, and therefore felt that Rapt owed him. Cryptic discussions about theism and apologies didn’t quite do the trick. 

Al’s attention drew to a sketch of Takeo in the garden, “oh! I know this guy. I see him jogging along the river behind my place.”

A jolt struck throughout the younger man’s nerves, and out through the hair that stood along his arms. Edward’s friend was quick to notice this.

“You alright?” he asked warily.

“The river behind your home. Does it come down from the mountains?” the doctor spoke lowly.

“Yea?”

“...”

“Do you know it?” Al raised a brow.

“...can I tell you something? Just between us.”

“Of course,” he said, detecting the German’s seriousness.

“Keep away from that river. There’s something wrong with it.”

“Don’t tell me it’s the one you found those bodies in?” Albert recoiled, “nasty.”

“Yes, but that’s not why I’m warning you. Stay away from that river… because I get the feeling something terrible will happen soon.”

“Terrible how?”

“I don’t know, but I feel it. Physically. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Albert spoke with care, “you’re not being paranoid or nothing?”

“I. I don’t know, but if something happens I won’t forgive myself for not telling you. The ammonia and nitrates are regulating with the removal of decay, yet the empty spaces and voids remain.”

“...do you want to take my gun?”

“What?”

“In case someone tries to hurt you,” he said sternly. 

Edward knew little of his friend’s relationship with spirituality, but Al strongly believed in the importance of gut instinct and prophetic experiences. A kin to how Richtofen believed in a dog’s ability to understand outside of it’s perception, even before humans could palpate it for themselves.

“No, no. I assure you I’ll be alright,” he sighed, knowing this in his heart.

“I mean, if there’s some killer running around, and this river’s got you messed up, you’ll need to defend yourself.”

“Thank you, but this stranger seems intent on using me as a scapegoat. In the end, it’ll look like more incriminating evidence.”

“I hear you. Just keep your eyes up.”

“I will,” Edward promised and gathered his things to return to work.

The German acknowledged the stained glass painting behind the counter once more. A swirl of pale colors and gusts of wind. Rock and earth and mud. Changes of heart, but also expiry. A man who lost his family.

The doctor finally recalled a favor he wanted to ask, “...Actually, I have one request. Can you make me another box? Like the blue one you sold me when we first met.”

“That’s easy,” Al nodded with assurance.

“Can you make it like a garden? Long and rectangular, too.”

“No prob, sounds like a project while I’m hole’d up.”

Richtofen smiled with the kindest sincerity he could offer, “thank you so much, Albert. And don’t forget to call if you need a place to stay.”

Just before stepping from the dim shop and onto the illuminated autumnal street, the artist called after him, “hey, Ed?”

“Yes?”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you’d ever hurt anyone.”

“...thank you, Albert.”

Albert Arlington was a good man. 

Edward was struck by homesickness.

—————————

Dempsey was sat at the table chopping peaches and strawberries, while nearby, Takeo steadily mixed the fruits into a pot of sugar and lime. The mouth-watering smells of the boiling sweets overtook the foreigners home, attracting any dog healthy enough to walk the distance. 

As a gardener and armchair botanist, the cooler season brought an end to many harvests, and a busy month for Takeo. Here, he rushed to preserve as much of his pickings as he could. At least Tank was eagerly excited to help. The two would churn a sweet jam that would last for weeks to come, a time that normally would deprive anyone of fresh fruit. 

Among all the options to preserve the vibrant crop, this remained a favorite among those who shared a sweet tooth. Especially when Dempsey’s friend offered a few jars in exchange for his time helping. So far, he was feeling good having earned 5 jars already. However, the Marine was more interested in asking Takeo for advice. Particularly since he would be staying the night at Edward’s home for the first time; a safer refuge to weather the storm than his aged apartment.

The sound of a knife coming down on the cutting board beat rhythmically, and Tank confided, “I think I should’ve asked to stay with you guys.”

“You’re worrying about nothing, Dempsey.”

“At least you guys know about my. Uh. Sleeping problems.”

The foreigner sighed, recognizing his friend’s avoidance in calling the problem what it was: night terrors. 

It was always hard to talk the American out of his feelings of shame without sugar coating the harsh reality. It was equally as difficult to build him up without romanticizing his trauma.  Takeo wholeheartedly believed this was Peter’s fault, but bringing that man up would make matters worse. If anything, he himself knew that Edward would understand, perhaps even more than he and Nikolai.

Dempsey added pathetically, “I guess I have Daze to look out, but I have no idea what Eddie will have to deal with.”

“...why don’t you just tell him?”

“You’re kidding,” he scoffed.

“Do you really doubt him that much? If you wish to avoid him ‘finding out’ then tell him yourself.”

The American only frowned, “I don’t doubt him, I just don’t want to look,” he paused, “I dunno, pathetic. I’m kind of his rock, and he’s dealing with a lot right now.”

“Times are changing, Dempsey. There is no need to cling to antiquated ideas of masculinity,” the man uttered as he moved on to bottling the finished batch.

He couldn’t help but cringe at the brutal honesty, but Takeo was right, “what am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, if I start kicking and screaming just plug your ears,’ or something?”

Takeo hummed, “well no, but perhaps you should speak as candidly as possible. Relationships shouldn’t be one sided, even if you are a rock.”

“I already know Edward’s always ready to be there for me. It’s just hard to ask.”

Tank cast his gaze aside, and watched Daisy sleeping with Richtofen’s terrier. The man wished his hands weren’t so dirty, it would have been nice to snap a picture; the perfect lock-screen. Edward himself granted Dempsey the honor of naming the dog in a show of affection. Therefore, the Marine mulled over and over, searching on behalf the lucky hound. He still had no name, too, but he was persistent in trying.

It was exciting to think that very soon, his German could take him home. Imagining long walks with their dogs in the morning and a pile of fur at the foot of their beds was romantic. (Of course, hoping that he would trust himself to share a bed again.) 

At least, he often thought, there was something wonderful to look forward to. From how things seemed, Richtofen was likewise eager to get closer. 

Oh the perks of dating at this age, where love was no longer for play, and more so about sharing a future.

Tank smiled softly, “I mean, if he’s trying to be more open for me I should do the same.”

The foreigner tried to lighten the mood as he added, “besides, I don’t believe you’ll be sleeping very much. Trying to pull you two apart is like pulling a plunger from a drain.”

Nikolai, who had been completely uninvolved until now, shouted from the living room in annoyance, “it sounds like that too!”

Had the jam not been boiling hot, Dempsey would have loved to chuck a handful at both of them.

Chapter Text

Samantha was far older now, already on her Junior year of college. How things had changed, too! These days, she held her brown hair in a short bob, and dressed in a more mature fashion. Usually a light blouse or cardigan, and all at the sacrifice of putting her favorite mismatched socks and ball-caps away. Sam was never one to take judgement too personally, but she was never happy knowing strangers wouldn’t take her seriously.

Likewise, she had finally eased her intensity over the years. It was almost as if she spent all her energy in her youth, and settled into the role as a bright influence to her brother.

Edward’s sister remained herself though, and still loved her stuffed bear. Whenever she came home from college, she would immediately seek it out as her safety blanket. As this became routine, she finally figured to bring her childhood toy across seas. 

This, of course, was a mistake.

The old bear couldn’t manage the rough handling of dorm life, and when Sam finally witnessed one of his button eyes popping out, she began to carry him everywhere. Naturally, this only exacerbated its ‘wounds,’ so to say. By the time she returned for winter vacation, the doll was falling apart at the seams. 

Even after spending the previous night celebrating the return home with her family, she would still become distressed by the condition of her poor bear while unpacking the next morning.

As for Edward, he was about to graduate his final year of highschool. Although he remained slim, the dark hairs across his body and budding facial hair matured his awkward posture. Richtofen had fully grown, too: one who could stand above a crowd effortlessly. Of course, this came at a price. Strangers could not resist comments when they looked up to search for what cosmic entity was blocking the sun; often that he should play sports, followed by questions about his eyes. To no surprise, he constantly found himself annoyed to attract attention. 

Still, despite learning how to take better care of himself, as well as gaining confidence thanks to his sister’s support, he still remained closed off. This became clear as Sam made a swift knock at his bedroom door, and Edward answered while pulling the headphones down from his ears.

“Fix him!” She said as she shoved the stuffed bear into his face.

Edward rubbed his eyes with exhaustion, “don’t you know how to stitch? I thought you were in pre-med.”

“I’ll learn later. Now you have to help him.”

“...Alright, come in.”

“Thanks, Teddy!” She beamed.

Her brother’s room hadn’t changed much within the past few years. It was still a clutter of projects, both artistic and scientific, to keep him busy. The curtains were often drawn to keep his sleepy head from awakening to harsh daylight, too. Sam was pleased to see that even his millipedes remained alive, still clicking and squirming around their tank. She had no idea bugs could live that long, nor get that big. One could easily see their glistening exoskeletons from across the room.

Samantha plopped onto the mattress as Richtofen brought together a makeshift operating table; a kit of sewing supplies and cloth across a scratched and graffitied old desk.

“Today’s the big day. You excited?” Sam asked while swinging her feet.

He spoke quietly as he attempted to thread a needle, as if volume would affect his concentration, “Uh. A little.”

“Just a little?” she nearly gasped. 

“I just don’t want to get my hopes up with an acceptance rate so low.”

“If I got in, you can.”

“Yeah, but you’re smarter than me.”

The girl nodded with false solemnity, and began to loom over his shoulder, “true, what a shame.”

Richtofen shoved her away, frowning, “you’re in my light!”

“I am the light!” Samantha giggled and returned to her place, “it’s going to be weird, right? Going back to Germany?”

“I don’t even remember it anymore,” he confessed, “but I want to go to the same school dad went to.”

“We’ll be together too, so I can show you all the ropes,” her tone shifted to one that was more delicate, “plus you don’t need to worry about being lonely.”

Edward nodded shyly as he restuffed the bear, well trained after having lost count of how often he fixed it. His sister, meanwhile, held her pensive silence before spinning his desk chair around to face her.

“...can I see?” Sam outstretched her upturned palms.

He sighed self-consciously, and rolled up his buttoned-up sleeves to present them. With great care, she took the hands into her own, and turned them over to find a series of many thick scores on each wrist, glued shut and healing.

Samantha ran her thumbs of the plastic-like texture that sealed his wounds. 

She completely blamed herself. 

Edward spent the first half of the year in despair. His only friend was halfway across the world, his parents began working longer hours for their new responsibilities at the hospital, and soon his only socialization came from cruel teenagers. Not only this, but Richtofen finally learned what happened to his biological family, all by surprise. 

He had been researching his family tree for class when he learned he was a product of tragedy. Distressed, Edward took the news to his father, who was able to fill in the details. Needless to say, he didn’t take the circumstances, nor his parent’s silence, well. In Maxis’ defense, he didn’t want his son to grow up distraught and guilty.

Finding out that Sam was going to take summer classes, instead of returning home as per usual, ended up being Edward’s last shove into freezing waters. But it wasn’t her fault, it would never be her fault. It was simply bad timing, hurt by refusal to communicate his heart ache.

 He was enveloped in feelings of self-loathing, thinking things would be better if he were gone. Like he was being tortured by a sadistic power. That dying was the only way to get away.

Edward attempted suicide, writhing from the privacy of the bathroom.

The thing about death, however, is that it proved to be agonizingly painful. 

From the moment he started to feel the effects of downing an entire bottle of Tylenol, it was already too much. Gripping his own stomach to mute the pain. Biting hard onto his lip as he suppressed a noise of anguish. The acid of his stomach threatening to tear a hole through his gut. Finally passing out as he leaned over the sink, with the clatter of his head against the tub alerting his parents. 

It was horrible. Dying was nothing like the movies made it out to be. Not nearly as simple as going to sleep, nor gasping dramatic last breaths. 

Frankly, Richtofen thought, the less than ideal circumstances of his existence were nothing compared to overdose.

Then, ironically, when his birthday had come shortly after, and he was gifted an ornate pocket knife; a family heirloom from his mother’s side. 

Though weathered, it was obviously still a product of love. Edward hadn’t once seen the tool in use, and Sophia strictly carried it in her bag. However, the knife remained shining and polished, the smoothe sheath a dark oak, and the embellishments a glistening gold.

Richtofen took the gift as a sign of trust, and a subtle message that read ‘don’t you dare leave us again.’ Rightfully so, given that the pocket knife was his mom’s own reminder of where she came from.

The boy would not betray this trust.

Smiling through her sadness as she recalled all this, Samantha looked up at her brother, “no new marks.”

“I’m not an idiot,” he pulled away gently, and returned to his work of fixing the stuffed bear.

“I’m proud of you. I’m sorry.”

Richtofen frowned, almost confused, “it’s not your fault.”

“If I didn’t go to Heidelberg you wouldn’t be alone.”

“I like being alone,” he scrunched his nose, “I just. Solitude and loneliness are two different things.”