Chapter Text
The first time Barry falls in love, he is ten years old.
He has always been a precocious child – small and quiet, but he knows what he knows and is happy to explain it. He is bright, as his father says, but that makes him different – thoughtful in a way that other children usually aren’t at that age, and hoping to connect through realities others don’t understand.
Barry is sitting at his kitchen table on a bright, shiny afternoon. He is attacking his math homework with the intensity of someone solving a global crisis; his tongue pokes out of his mouth. His mother is humming in the kitchen, a tune vaguely reminiscent of a Candlenights celebration from last year – something his grandmother sang once, as the family gathered around an upright piano. It isn’t seasonally appropriate, but that has never seemed to matter to his family. Joy is joy, after all, no matter the time of year.
The sunlight sinks into the wood, buttery and warm and highlighting the last problem Barry has to solve, when a soft clunk announces his father’s arrival.
He sweeps in like a breath of fresh air and aims straight for Barry’s mother, tucking his arms around her waist and dipping her into a dramatic kiss. It’s a familiar scene, and one that Barry would usually watch with the disgust any ten-year-old child gives displays of affection – but this problem is giving him some trouble, and he needs to focus. His tongue pokes out a bit more. Is it multiplied by pi, or does he need to add something else first?
He is interrupted by the sound of clinking bottles, and looks up to see his father’s face close to his, wrinkled and gleaming. The glint in his eyes seems to hint at a secret, and Barry hesitantly puts down his pencil. His father chuckles.
“Barry,” he says, eyes alight, “what would you say to a present?”
“What kind of present?” He is suspicious, even at this age. And he’s heard some of the other boys talking about their Candlenights presents as they passed him in the yard – balls and gloves and lessons in tackling. He always shakes his head and returns to his books. None of that appeals to him, really, though he is curious in the way he’s curious about everything.
But his father grins, and Barry can’t help but feel assured – his father has that effect on people. “I think you’ll like this one,” he whispers, and unearths a bag from somewhere by his feet. The source of the clinking, clearly, as it makes the same noise as it settles onto the table.
“I thought,” his father starts, as Barry heaves himself up to his tiptoes to peer inside the bag. It’s something… made of glass? His hands reach in almost of their own accord. His heart is beating faster in anticipation, though he can’t pinpoint why – he has everything he needs right here, in this house. In this family. They’ve never had much, but they’ve had all he’s ever wanted. And yet, his heart beats.
And his father continues, “I thought you might like something a little more… official. To manage your experiments.”
Barry’s hands are just barely shaking as he unearths the gift from the bag. Only ever so slightly, because he has to be so careful with these tubes, these components, this wand… and as he sees it in full, a set complete with wires and test tubes and a brand new book on arcane theory, his heart nearly stampedes out of his chest. This is the first step. This is exactly what he needs to pull all those theories he’s been learning about off the page and make them a reality.
It must have cost a fortune.
He looks up at his father in disbelief. “This is… this is mine?” he whispers. His fingers, small and chubby, close around the wire framing holding the test tubes, even as his mind doesn’t dare believe it. This is… this is what he didn’t even know he needed. This is beyond anything he dared hope for.
“It’s yours,” his father confirms, smiling, and Barry feels his heart stutter. It stutters, and then leaps, and then nearly bursts out of his chest with how quickly it expands because this is his. He can test, now. He can learn.
But his father isn’t finished. “I want you to practice,” he says, with an expression stern and kind and full of love. “Barry… you can make the world happen. Reach for those stars, bud. Reach past them.”
And Barry feels it, in the light glimmering off those test tubes, glinting off his glasses and nearly blinding him. He feels it in the twitch of his fingers, already itching for the spell components.
He feels it in his heart, which is fit to burst.
Reach past the stars, his father says.
Barry reaches out to touch the chemistry set, and his mind soars.
The Institute of Planar Research and Exploration is beyond even what he imagined it could be.
Ever since that first night, up until the light hours of the morning, up until his eyes ached and his glasses slid down his nose because his head kept tipping forward – Barry has dreamed of being a student at IPRE. It took root in his mind as the be-all-end-all of scientific pursuits: attend IPRE, have access to the best libraries and professors and equipment. Attend IPRE, learn everything.
The reality is so much better than he thought.
He spends the first few days walking around in something of a daze, just trying to take it all in. The campus is beautiful – everything is either red brick or clear glass. The buildings are interspersed with patches of green, parks and trees and picnic tables full of students laughing and studying. IPRE seems to have students of every shade – humans and elves and dwarves and everything in between. Barry watches as a tiefling walks past, gesticulating wildly at what looks like her orc girlfriend. The happiness in the orcs laughter makes him grin reflexively.
It’s overwhelming, in the best possible way. And all of this – all of this awe – is before he even sees the lab.
His first step inside is like stepping into a dream. There’s wall to wall shelving packed with equipment – tubes and wires and scales and meters and some things Barry cannot even name (which takes him aback and makes his heart flutter, because he’s read so much. How can there be tools he can’t even name?). Endless tables filled with running experiments. Countless flames and sparks helping those experiments happen.
As he scans the room with wide eyes, something in a beaker bubbles over and shoots off tendrils of green smoke in every direction. It’s immediately followed by a panicked, “No no no no nononono –” and a halfling rushes over, frantically climbing up onto a stool and fanning the beaker with both hands.
Barry’s fingers itch. There’s not enough diamond dust, he thinks, he could fix it if he just –
“New recruit?”
Barry is startled out of his line of thought and turns toward the source of the voice. A gnome is smiling up at him from about waist height, his hair a bright orange-red and perfectly coiffed. The same hair sits in a neat handlebar mustache above his lip, and pokes over his shoulder – the tuft on the end of a skinny, flexible tail.
“I –” The words stumble on their way out of his mouth. But he pauses and manages to sneak another glance at the halfling’s overflowing beaker, which – for some reason – calms him down. Science has always calmed him down.
He takes a deep breath, tamps down his blush, and smiles wryly at the gnome. “Was it that obvious?”
The gnome grins up at him, bright and impish. “I won’t hold it against you.” He nods toward the halfling. “What do you think went wrong there?”
“Well…” he hedges for just a moment, before pushing his glasses up his nose and sighing. “Not enough diamond, for one. And the heat was probably too high. I’d have started with some basic grounding spells, too, but that’s just me.”
The gnome nods slowly, thinking it over. His tail twitches. “Anything else?”
Barry shrugs. “Not just from looking. Or even from doing – it’s a mystery, right? That’s why we’re here, trying to explore. Nobody’s supposed to know all the answers right away.”
The gnome gives him a scanning glance, from head to toe, and says abruptly, “You got a name, soldier?”
Barry blinks. Soldier? “Um… Barry. Hallwinter.” He’s wondering if he should say more, give some context about why he’s here and just staring at the lab. Or is that too much?
But the gnome just nods again. “Barry. Good to meet you.” He holds out a hand to shake and, as Barry clasps it, adds, “I’ll be interested to see where those ideas take you someday.”
“I… me too, I guess?” The gnome smiles and turns to leave. He makes it a few steps away before Barry’s brain clunks into place and he remembers his manners. “Oh! Sir!” The honorific slips out of its own accord, but it feels right somehow. “What’s… your name?”
The gnome’s tail swishes, and his eyes crinkle as he answers. “Davenport. I’ll see you, Barry.” And then he disappears around the corner.
Barry turns his attention back to the lab, where the halfling has managed to get the smoke spears under control and is mopping up the resulting mess with a defeated air. The beaker smolders next to her.
He was speaking honestly to Davenport – how is he supposed to know every secret in the universe? There’s so much. The possibilities are limitless. But this is where he can start – with exploded experiments and new equipment. His fingers feel itchy again.
Well. He can help with the cleanup at the very least.
He pushes up his glasses one more time, and steps into the lab.
He is crossing the quad in the middle of the IPRE campus the next time it happens.
As is standard, he is carrying far too many books. He has a veritable library back in his room, stacks of tomes he’s liberated from the actual library in pursuit of late-night research. It’s a mix of everything: general arcane theory, transmutation, conjuration, necromancy. The only thing he doesn’t tend to touch is divination – he likes to learn from studying, rather than asking the gods.
Today, he’s carrying four, three of which are necromantic in nature. It’s not that he’s particularly inclined to bring back the dead, it’s just that he’s curious. He’s always been curious. And testing the boundaries of life, even in theory – well, what could be more interesting than that?
He is awkwardly attempting to heft three books in one hand and open the fourth, just to answer a question for himself – what exactly was it that Tam said about undead elixirs? – when something shoots by his elbow with the force of a stampeding rhino and knocks him aside. Barry just manages to catch himself, feet unsteady and glasses slipping down his nose, when he is knocked again, this time by a someone. Someone who is cackling madly and blows by in a blur of gold and sparkling blue.
He stumbles hard, making a flailing grab for his books that fails completely. They tumble out of his arms – will the librarian be mad at him for this? He can’t get banned from a library, not again – and are immediately pushed to the side in a gust of wind that blows leaves up in a furious whirlwind around Barry’s face. His glasses fly away.
“Oh, fuck,” he hears, and suddenly there is someone right next to him, and hands on his cheeks. “Hold up right there, babe, we gotta find you your specs.”
The hands disappear, and Barry is left with an overwhelming sense that he’s just been picked up in a tornado and deposited in a new realm of existence. He doesn’t even consider moving – though it’s not like he could go anywhere, given that he can’t see.
It’s barely a moment before the hands are back, pressing something that feels very much like glasses into his palm. The voice is already speaking again. “They did have a little crack, but mending was like the first cantrip I ever learned because someone couldn’t be bothered to figure it out and wouldn’t stop whining at me about rips in his hard-won clothing,” it says, quickly and with barely a breath, as Barry fumbles his glasses back on, “so here they are, good as new! I’ll give you your books once you’ve got those back on your face.”
His hands are shaking, but the glasses are finally a steady weight back on his nose, and Barry manages to center himself enough to look at the source of the voice in front of him.
She is an elf, with tan-darkened skin and a spray of freckles across her nose. Her eyes are a vivid, golden yellow – a color he’s never seen in his hometown, but that immediately puts him in mind of sun-soaked fields and dancing fires. Her hair flips in bright, wild curls around her head. The air around her crackles with energy.
He feels it immediately. That same stutter, the way his heart picks up seemingly without cause. He feels it tingling down to his fingers, the first warning – this is big. This is something that matters.
The elf is still looking at him, seemingly waiting for a response, and Barry feels himself flush lightly. “Uh… thanks,” he finally manages. He can’t help but press his glasses up onto his face once more, trying for more solidity.
She grins, bright and sharp, and it shoots right into Barry’s heart. “No problem, my dude. Least I could do to apologize for my disaster younger brother.”
Barry is about to respond when there’s a distinct sound of outrage from behind her. “I can hear you,” a voice shouts, “and I am not younger!”
The elf rolls her eyes. “Siblings,” she says to him in an exasperated, conspiratorial tone, and Barry blinks. He… doesn’t have siblings. Is this normal? And are they… friends, now, or something? She continues, “I’m Lup, by the way.”
He smiles faintly. “Barry.”
“Barry.” She nods, and shifts to hold something out to him. For the first time since the conversation began, Barry manages to pull his eyes from her face, down to whatever she’s offering. His books, it turns out. “So, Barold” – he blinks again – “why so many books? You trying to start your own rival Institute or something?”
Barry coughs. “Um… no, not exactly.” He reaches out to grab the books from her hands. “Just research.”
“Oh?” Lup cocks her head to the side, and her ear twitches through her curls. “Lotta research for a walk through campus. Whatcha learning?”
“Um…” Barry tugs, trying to move everything under his arm swiftly enough that she doesn’t see the titles while he comes up with a reasonable lie. The things he’s studying don’t always garner the best reputation and, as much as he’d like to fight to change that in the big picture, he really, really wants to make a good first impression.
But she seems to notice his discomfort, and immediately glances down to see the cover of the book he hasn’t managed to slip away.
“Necromancy?” Her tone is incredulous. Is that bad? He doesn’t see any way that isn’t bad, and a flush steals up his neck again. Maybe he can play it off as purely academic interest. Which it is, but people don’t usually see it that way, and...
There is a beat of silence, in which Barry’s blush feels like it’s about to light his face on fire. And then, in a tone of glowing and obvious delight, Lup cries, “You are a spooky bastard and I am into it!” She turns. “Taako! Babe! Come meet my new spooky nerd friend!” As the elf behind her starts toward them, Barry tilts his head, his blush fading as curiosity takes its place. As an only child, he’s always been fascinated by the resemblance between siblings. He looks at Lup, and then back at this new elf. Taako, he guesses? He looks to Lup again. This is beyond resemblance. They have the same face.
Well, almost the same. Lup’s is… softer, maybe. A bit more grounded, less distracted. It’s not much, but Barry thinks he could tell them apart in a crowd.
Taako saunters up to him, and gives him a once over. It’s hard not to take a step back under the absolute judgement the look conveys, but, well, first impressions, and all that. Barry settles for shifting his feet uncomfortably.
Apparently it’s the right move, because Taako eventually meets his gaze again with a raised eyebrow. Barry feels like he’s waiting for a court sentence. His heart, already beating fast, jumps erratically.
When the verdict finally comes, it is somehow less than and exactly what he expected. “My dude,” Taako says, “we have got to get you some new pants.”
Lup laughs, bursting and quick like the sound of champagne corks popping, as Barry looks down at his jeans. “But… I like these ones?” he answers, and he can’t help but make it a question.
Taako rolls his eyes. “You –”
“Barold,” Lup supplies, before Barry can answer.
“– Barold, studier of –”
“Necromancy,” Lup adds again, and the grin that splits her face is edged with delighted, wicked laughter. Barry wants to feel offended, but his heart is still fluttering.
“Necromancy,” Taako repeats carelessly. And then his eyes widen, just a bit. “Necromancy? Shit, seriously?”
The flush is back in Barry’s cheeks. “I mean… yeah, yes, I guess.”
Both of Taako’s eyebrows are high on his face, and Lup steps over to sling an arm around his shoulder. “See? What did I tell you?” She gives a nod to Barry, eyes dancing. “Spooky nerd man!”
Taako just looks at him for a moment. And then, as if a decision has suddenly reanimated his body, he throws his arms up in the air. “And you’re wearing jeans?” The force of his disbelief nearly sends the books tumbling out of Barry’s arms again. “My man, you’re missing so many opportunities here! Think of the possibilities! Sparkling vampire capes! Velvet suits! Skull cufflinks!” Taako makes a disgusted noise and puts his hands on his hips, elbowing Lup in the process.
She shifts, bumping him back, and turns considering eyes toward Barry. “I could see it,” she says, musing. “Maybe a pair of knee high leather boots. Get a bit of the necromantic pirate look going on.”
Taako tosses another arm out, this time in a gesture of exasperated thanks. “At least someone knows what I’m talking about.”
Barry looks down at his jeans again. They are well-worn in just the right places, comfortable in all settings. He looks up, taking in the twins in all their sparkling energy – Lup with her elbow still tucked around Taako’s neck, Taako fingering the gold of his jacket. They burn so brightly that he knows, immediately and instinctively, that he’ll never be able to keep up.
He takes in a breath, trying to calm his still over-quick heart. “I think I’ll keep them.”
Taako groans. “Why do I even bother,” he says, and twirls away, the hem of his jacket flipping dramatically over his hips. As he stalks across the grass, he calls over his shoulder, “The masses don’t want my wisdom, Lulu, I don’t know why I try anymore!” Within moments, he is across the field and out of earshot.
But Lup stays.
She laughs at her brother, and seems poised to follow him. But, for just a moment, before she walks away – she stays. There are crinkles around her eyes and, when she smiles, a chip in her left incisor. Barry’s heart thumps.
“Thanks for the convo,” she says, still watching him with laughing eyes. “And sorry again about my shit brother.”
“I – yeah, no problem.”
Lup smiles, and that’s when he knows – after all of this, after the chaos and the certainty and the stammering – he’s right. His heart is right. This matters.
And then she’s turning away, following her brother, with just enough attention left to toss, “See you around, Bluejeans!” over her shoulder.
Barry tucks his books more securely into his arms and, when he’s sure that no one else can see, smiles. Bluejeans. It’s a bit obvious, a bit mocking, a bit on the nose.
He thinks he’ll keep it anyway.