Chapter Text
Driving back home, Greg turned the radio on. Nothing but the new, popular music that he had no interest for. Of course. He listened for a little bit longer before becoming bored with it and turning it off. Pulling into the cabin’s drive way, Greg turned off the engine and got out, locking his truck behind as he unlocked the cabin and went inside. It still smelled like old spruce, and that new cobbler Molly from the conservation office had sent home with him last night. Blackberry? She said something about blackberries in it. Or was that raspberries? Nevertheless, it sounded delicious.
Toeing out of his shoes and leaving them by the door, Greg headed to the kitchen, only to stop short when he saw a tall.. deer? He gasped at the site, and the creature bolts for the open back door and left for the woods. Greg waited a second before going to the door to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Nothing but foot prints indented in the grass heading into the surrounding woods. Wonderful.
Too tired to dare chase the thing, he settled for getting some cobbler. Closing the back door, he went back to the kitchen, disaster still awaiting him. Half the cobbler was gone, and the other half was spread all over the counter.
"Bloody hell," he cursed to himself before starting to clean up after the creature.
The next few nights were near repeats, except several jars of jams and jellies went missing or were strewn about, half eaten and open. The applebutter hadn’t been touched yet, which surprised Greg to no end. With a frown, he laid out a sandwich for the creature and left his backdoor unlock for it to come back. He’d only gotten glimpses of it, but he seemed to have seen only what it wanted before leaving him again.
Finally, when Greg came home early, he settled himself on the couch for a power nap. He woke an hour later at the sound of the backdoor unlocking, and hesitantly watched as the lithe deer-like creature entered his cabin. Mud caked its feet, a rather obvious thing, but the dark markings on it’s body were beautiful. He watched the being’s ears and tails twitched as it moved, obviously comfortable with its surroundings as it moved to a cabinet and pulled out a jar. The applebutter. The park ranger nearly gasped, but watched as the creature tried opening the jar, clearly straining. It nipped at the hard top, unsure of how to open it.
Knowing he was taking a huge risk in this creature running off, Greg got off the couch quietly, but made i obvious he was going into the kitchen. The creature froze, turning its head quickly to the human to look for escape, but came up empty handed. His eyes locked onto the human’s and he watched it get closer, and reach out for the jar.
With fascination, Greg reached out as an offer to open it for the creature, taking it as much detail as possible. He wondered what the fur felt like. Must be coarse, as it appeared to be on his chest and near his nether regions. The thing held the jar closer to its self, so Greg frowned and picked up the other jar of applebutter and grabbed a washcloth, twisting the top off.
He knew he had the deer-man’s attention, so Greg continued looking for bread, butter knife, and plate. He laid it out and spread the apple butter onto bread carefully, folding one slive of bread in half to makeup for lack of peanutbutter or other jellies. He ate it like that, and the deer-man attempted with wiry fingers to do the same. He came close to it, but held the unopened jar close, just in case.
"So what are you?" Breaking the silence, the fawn looked up at the human, it’s language odd.. but still beautiful.
"What?" he replied in a language much more graceful and complicated to the human, as it struggled to recognize it’s words.
"So.. not English. Okay," Greg cleaned up the crumbs, still wondering why the creature was still there. "Greg," he offered, pointing to himself.
"Geg," the creature tried, rolling it around on his tongue. He could get this.
"Guh-reh-guh," the park ranger tried.
"Guhreguh?"
"Greg."
Time passed easily between the two as the fawn tried to learn the human’s name, finally getting it. When it came to the deer-man to give his own name, it was jumbled up and nonesense. So the creature spoke slower, “Faun-lauk.”
"Fawnlock?"
They repeated the same thing, Greg proving to be much slower with his words than the faun was. It was settled that GReg would call him Fawnlock. When Greg stood up and excused himself to go the bathroom, the faun stole his bread and applebutter jam and left. When Greg came back, he was upset, yes, but cleaned up and went to bed.
It was weeks until Greg saw Fawnlock again, wondering why the being was suddenly gone and his jams and jelly stocks were no longer bothered and his larder was never touched for cheese or dried fruits. “Odd little thing,” he thought to himself, heading to bed after a long day of chastising kids about littering and training new recruits.
Shuffling in the night and a slight thud tore Greg from dreamless sleep. He eagerly curled back into the blankets, figuring it was the faun again, when a strangled cry echoed throughout the cabin. With a groan, the ranger got up from his bed in his sweatpants and went to check on what was going on.
The closer he got, the more desperate the noises, and soon Greg was near face-to-face with Fawnlock, toppling over the couch with a lack of antlers. ‘He must have shed them,’ he thought as the creature mewled as it curled up on the couch. Taking pity, Greg fetched a blanket and draped it over the shivering creature. IT jumped, before recognizing the cabin owner’s face and snuggling the blanket closer.
Greg padded back to his room and fell asleep, one less blanket to keep him warm, but the risk was worth it. The nights were turning even more bitter as the season got wearier.
It became a schedule. Around five or six at night, the faun would nibble on the fruits -once he was properly introduced to the blackberries, there was no turning back- and jellies. He’d then leave Greg to clean up and eat on his own and go to bed. Fawnlock would return once it was ten or eleven in the night, and would settle on the couch. A habit formed that Greg would wake up around midnight to make sure the back door was shut and Fawnlock was covered up.
On one of the colder nights of the oncoming fall, Fawnlock dragged his weary self to where he assumed was Greg’s room. The scent of the human was stronger in there, and he’d only ventured through the house once on his own before. Taking tentative steps towards the bed, he poked and sniffed at it, the figure of the human clear by the blankets rising and falling in one area, off to the far side. Cautiously, Fawnlock put some weight on the bed, surprised by the slight creak.
He froze, watching for the human to recognize him. Nothing. Being quick, and starting to care less of the consequences, Fawnlock slipped under the blankets and curled up towards the edge of the bed, using the fluffy pillow as something to hold. It smelled of Gavin -or was it George?- and he held it close, falling asleep in minutes.
Greg woke up around midnight, as per usual, and went to the bathroom, checked the couch, but paused when it was empty. The blanket was clearly used, but where was Fawnlock? Shrugging it off, Greg went back to his bed, finding it hoarded by the long-legged creature. With a huff, Greg got it and pushed the faun’s intrusive body away enough that he could curl into the bed as well.
Sleep didn’t come, having the faun’s weight pressed against his side in a crushing way. Greg shoved the faun a little more, wrapping his arm around Fawnlock’s stomach to keep him still and nuzzling his shoulder blades. The faun never woke up, and Greg was too tired to care on his own behalf anyways. He dozed off again, his alarm never going off the next morning.
At least he was on break for the next week to enjoy this little faun.