Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The farmer came to the valley on the first day of spring that year, desk-job pale, dark hair messy, crooked wire-rim glasses glinting in the weak spring sun. Shane squinted at him through the haze of a hangover, watching him follow Mayor Lewis through town to Pierre’s. A look of wonder on the his face at the beauty of the valley, or maybe it was terror at all the manual labor that lay ahead of him.

Shane snorted and pulled the hood of his Joja windbreaker over his head as he walked through town to work. If the farmer wasn’t scared shitless now, he would be soon. Shane lived on Marnie’s ranch, south of the old wilderness farm. He heard the strange rustlings of things too large to be squirrels, smelled the strange musty monster scent that came over the hill after midnight, saw the shadows moving even when the wind was still. This city kid wouldn’t know what hit him.

The farmer and Lewis went into Pierre’s, blurry behind the glass. Shane groaned, refocused on taking one step after another through the headache and roiling stomach. He was late for his shift stocking shelves at JojaMart, but he didn’t care. He could barely keep his eyes open. He was starting to get bad again.

He thought about the farmer again as he walked across the bridge, dread settling onto his shoulders as the building came into view. Must be nice to have some hope, even if it would all get crushed in short order.

*

Work was shit, as per usual. Morris mouthed off to him about his lateness, about the stain on his Joja polo, about how long it took him to unload the heavy boxes of bruised produce from their styrofoam containers. Shane just nodded, didn’t say anything back. He knew if he did he’d tell Morris he looked like a penis with glasses and a little bow tie. Better to keep this job, no matter how soul-sucking it was. That way, when he was gone, he’d at least have a little something put aside for Jas. Not that it was much, anything like a college fund. But with Marnie hardly charging him any rent, he could put aside what he made for his goddaughter. Well, what he didn’t spend on beer anyway.

Speaking of: it was 7:59. Quitting time. He dropped his nametag in the plastic bin, punched his timecard dully, and headed for the Stardrop.

*

He was three beers in when the farmer came in, looking lost and alone. Right at the door, Marnie greeted him with the friendliness and the intense curiosity that pervaded Pelican Town anytime someone new showed up. Especially on Mondays, when Penny babysat Jas and Marnie could go out on the town. She pretended like she wasn’t flirting with Lewis, like this new farmer was suddenly the most exciting thing in town. Things changed so rarely in Pelican Town, though, so maybe he was.

The farmer smiled, nodded with her, chatted to her and Lewis. He went up to the bar and Emily took his order-- a sandwich, a beer. He talked to her about the farm, telling her was going to start by clearing land and growing a patch of parsnips. Just a start. Like he had a chance against the elements, the weeds that grew six feet tall that Shane could see when he was drinking on top of the cliffs in Cindersap forest, the stones that had rolled down from the mountains, the remnants of a once whole greenhouse and the battered little cottage.

Shane downed the rest of his beer and nodded to Emily. He knew she tried to slow him down sometimes, with chatter or distraction, but he had yelled at her about it recently and since then she just brought him the beers he asked for with a quiet disappointment. He disappointed everyone. Town drunk, neglectful godfather, shitty nephew, failure stock boy at 29.

He downed this drink a little faster than the last.

The farmer was doing the rounds now, Marnie taking him around. His aunt was too friendly for his own good, too kind. She saw Shane in the corner, pointed the farmer over to him. He couldn’t hear her over the jukebox, but he knew she was saying something like, “Over there, that’s my nephew Shane. Go say hi.” The unspoken words: maybe you can fix him. Maybe a friend would help.

Before the farmer even came over, Shane’s hackles were up.

“Hey there, I’m--” he started to say.

“I don’t give a fuck who you are,” Shane said back, and stared at him, hard.

The farmer stared back, shaken. His eyes were green. “I’m just trying to--”

“Yeah, well, who gives a shit,” said Shane.

Pam, swaying at the other end of the bar, maybe the only person more of a mess than Shane in Pelican Town, swatted at the air with her hand. “Aw, c’mon Shane, don’t be an asshole to Thomas.” Marnie just looked at Shane, disappointment mixed with the tipsiness. The mayor, too, shot daggers at Shane with his eyes.

“No, it’s okay,” said the farmer. “I should be getting home anyway.” He drained the last of his beer, gave Shane a long look-- more steely, now, than shaken-- and walked away.

Shane was almost disappointed. A new target for his vitriol, suddenly lost. Without that, there was no one to turn it against except himself.

*

Late that night, splayed on the floor in his room at Marnie’s-- he’d made it home okay but hadn’t made it all the way to bed-- he heard the howl of something strange and ethereal. Up north, on the wilderness farm. The room spun. Nobody should have moved there. The darkness was full of terrors.

He pictured green eyes, scared, shaken. Then steely. Then nothing.

Chapter Text

All Shane heard about the next few weeks was Farmer Thomas, Farmer Thomas.

From Jodi, checking out at Joja when Shane got sucked into register duty: “Have you spent much time with your neighbor up the way yet? It’s so good to see that farm back up and running. I wrote Kent about it last week!”

Shane shrugged. He was at work, mouthing off wouldn’t do anything except make his day worse, even though Jodi’s mindless chatter always drove him up the wall. Anyway, she was Vincent’s mom and fed Jas several nights a week when the two’s playing spilled over into dinner. Still, it was annoying. She didn’t talk to be heard, she just talked to cover up the discomfort she felt around him, he knew it. Better to stay silent, get through the day, get through the week, till he didn't have to be here anymore.

*

From Leah, overheard at the Stardrop gossiping with Elliot, a glass of wine in her hand. “Farmer Thomas was fishing in the river this morning by my house when I went out to look for mushrooms. Think it means anything?”

“Time will tell, Leah, time will tell,” Elliot said.

“He’s not bad looking,” Leah said thoughtfully, leaning forward and taking another sip.

Shane snorted. Assholes. Elliot was the most pretentious piece of shit Shane had ever met. Every time they walked by one another, Shane watched his face curl up in a little sneer at the Joja uniform. Leah was less pretentious than Elliot, but she was so perfect-- artist, always walking around alone, thinking deep thoughts-- and every time she saw Shane, she looked at him with the only thing worse than disgust, which was pity. He hated them. Like they were so much better. Even if they were.

*

From Jas, while they gathered eggs from the coop together on Saturday morning. It was far too early for Shane to be coherent, but she had knocked on his door and he had been too wracked by guilt to dismiss her. Seeming to sense that she wasn’t going to get much out of him, she chattered on her own. “Farmer Thomas is so nice.”

Shane grunted in an affirmative tone, raking through the chicken straw to clear it of muck.

“Me and Vincent found some shiny rocks on his farm and he said we could have them,” she said, petting the youngest hen who hadn’t yet laid any eggs.

Shane was shaken out of his bleary chicken straw shoveling. “You were on his farm?” he asked roughly.

Jas looked at him, eyes big. She was a smart kid, like her mom had been. She understood emotions, too, like her dad, Shane’s best friend before the accident. She was only seven, and already, every day that she got a little older, it hurt a little more to see her face look like theirs. “Just near the edge,” she said, her voice wavering a little.

Shane sighed. No matter how garbage of a godfather he was, neglectful, drunk, terrible provider, worse role model-- he couldn’t be mean to Jas. “Look, kiddo, I don’t want you playing on that farm. It’s dangerous, it’s been abandoned for too long, and...” He didn’t want to scare her with monster talk. “And I don’t want you talking to strangers.”

Jas stared down at the chicken, her lip trembling a little. “Okay,” she said.

She was such a good kid. It had been almost two years since her folks died, since Shane quickly realized he was in over his head and they came to the valley. She still cried a lot, at the smallest thing. Shane felt terrible for her. She didn’t deserve this. She deserved better than him. Sometimes a distraction helped. “How’s new Miss Hen doing? You name her yet?” he asked.

She brightened slightly. “Pencil,” she said.

Despite himself, Shane smiled a tiny bit. Kids were so fucking weird. “That’s a great name,” he said.

She picked up his favorite chicken, Charlie, and brought her over to him. He held Charlie in his arms, stroked her. Maybe tonight, he’d take it easy. Maybe he and Jas and Marnie could all spend some time together, watch some Queen of Sauce reruns. Pretend they were a little family.

*

From the farmer himself? Nothing. Shane hadn’t talked to him since the day he arrived, though he had seen him once or twice from the cliffs-- splitting wood one day, hoeing the earth another. His first patch of parsnips had gone up well, and now he was poring over potatoes. Shane still thought he was crazy, but if he had survived this long, he might not be as weak as he had looked.

Still, better not to get to know anyone new when he could feel the cliffs pulling at him, the darkness more tempting every day. Everyone would be better off, and the fewer loose ends he left behind, the better.

Family night hadn’t materialized. Jas had gone on over to Vincent’s house, and Marnie was off on an unexplained rendezvous (aka going to Mayor Lewis’s house). Shane was glad for them both. As much as he hated how Jodi had taken herself on as a mother figure for Jas, he couldn’t deny that she was a better cook than he or Marnie, and her son Vincent was Jas’s best (only?) friend that wasn’t a chicken. It was good for her to spend time over there, with a real family.

So, knowing his aunt and goddaughter were better off without him for the night, even if it also felt strangely lonely, he wandered down to Cindersap Pond, where he thought he remembered part of a twelve pack he had stashed under the water in a crab pot before the pond froze last winter.

It was the first truly warm spring night of the year, and there were seven beers left in his makeshift cooler. He sat there on the dock, pleasantly buzzed, the remnants of the sunset a few streaks of pink in the sky. Moments like these, he thought life might not be so bad. But then, like a scab reopening, he remembered who he was-- how small and stupid-- and all the shit waiting for him at work-- and the pain of who he’d lost-- and the darkness started creeping back around the edges. He crumpled his can, pulled up another. He couldn’t even enjoy one moment of peace anymore before it all started hurting again. Fuck life. Fuck all his fears and mistakes. Maybe he should just...

“Hey,” said a cautious voice behind him.

Too tipsy to be startled, Shane turned his head. There he was. Thomas. The farmer, standing there, fishing rod slung over his shoulder, bucket of ice in his other hand. He looked different up close than he had on that first day: skin darker, hands blistered, a ridiculous yellow sou’wester over his hair despite the fact that it wasn’t even raining. His glasses now had tape over the nose.

“What do you want?” Shane asked, but he didn’t have the energy to put too much venom behind it.

“Shane, right?” the farmer asked.

Shane shrugged affirmatively.

“Uh…” Thomas scratched his face with the shoulder of his ragged t-shirt, his hands full. “Mind if I fish here for a bit? Willie says there’s some pond fish that only bite after dark.”

Shane was taken aback, but maybe it was the surprise that led him to shrug carelessly and turn back toward the pond. He took a long drink, watching out of the corner of his eye as the farmer walked to the end of the dock, baited his hook out of a very squishy bag in his pocket, and cast a line out. The distraction was honestly kind of nice. It pushed the darkness at the edge of Shane’s mind back a little bit.

They stayed there, the farmer standing with surprising stillness, Shane sitting, legs dangling so his shoes barely grazed the water. Looking up, casually, he noticed a large bandage wrapped around one bicep, not to mention several shallower grazes around his hands and forearms. Could have been from hacking up weeds, except for maybe that big one. That one looked like an attack wound. Still, Shane could appreciate that the past few weeks had been good to his body. The farmer was on the slender side, not built by any means, but the past few weeks seemed to have hardened him off a little.

Shane kept expecting him to speak-- everyone was always fucking talking at him-- but the farmer just stood still until he caught a bite. He reeled-- pulled-- but with a mighty yank, the fish got away, along with the hook and a mouthful of bait. He looked at the dangling line on end of his rod and sighed.

So to Shane’s surprise, he himself was the first to speak. “You got another hook?” he asked.

Thomas looked back at him with a slightly wry expression. “Nope,” he said. “Looks like this was a quick expedition.”

Before he knew what he was doing-- maybe it was because the weekend had him feeling better than usual, or because this guy hadn’t tried to give him some kind of opinion-- Shane pulled one of the can tabs from his beer, cut a couple tiny slits in it with his pocket knife, and twisted it the way that he had been taught here when he was young. “There you go,” he said. “Won’t catch much, but tie it on and it’ll work in a pinch.”

Thomas looked at him for one long moment. “Thanks,” he said finally.

Shane shrugged as the farmer rebaited his line with something pink and squishy, and cast it back out again. “Hey,” he said suddenly.

“What’s up?” Thomas asked.

“Jas. You gotta keep the kids off your farm,” said Shane.

Thomas sighed. “Yeah. I told them they could look for rocks and stuff, but only in the morning. It’s, uh… the wildlife can get a little active after dark.”

“Yeah. I can hear the wildlife from Marnie’s,” Shane said, taking a drink.

Thomas nodded toward the ranch. “She’s your aunt, right?”

No secrets in the valley. “Yeah.”

“Jas your daughter?”

“Goddaughter,” he said, and said it in the tone he used when he wasn’t interested in answering any more goddammed questions. Of course, the questions always came anyway. Where are her parents? Why does she live with… you know, you and your aunt… instead of literally anyone else more qualified?

But Thomas just nodded. To Shane’s surprise, he sat down next to him on the dock, fishing line propped lightly between his hands and lap. There was a stillness to him, a quiet that made Shane think that despite the newness, despite the blisters on his hands from axehandling and the shallow scratches on his arms from hacking through vines and reads, somehow he belonged here more than Shane ever had.

They sat in silence, a long time. Shane popped another drink out of the crab pot. Thomas said nothing, but smiled at the ingenuity of the storage space. For some reason, Shane liked that a lot, enough that he grabbed another beer and shoved it over to Thomas.

He took it, and raised it to Shane before taking a swig.

“That’s dumb,” said Shane. “This isn’t a celebration.”

“Then what is it?” Thomas asked.

“Drinking.”

Thomas shrugged. At that moment, the pole jerked in his lap. He grabbed it, knocking the beer over. Shane cursed, grabbing it before too much got wasted and got on his shorts. But Thomas was wholly focused, reeling the fish in. Finally, he wrestled it out of the water, the biggest chub Shane had ever seen in this pond, splashing them both with its frantic wriggling.

Thomas held it down as best he could, and stabbed it through the brain with a knife from his pocket. It took a couple tries, but then the fish slowed, and stopped. He placed it in the ice. “Sorry, fish,” he said. “Guy’s gotta eat.”

Shane felt strangely affected by this. It was only lately that wanting to die had gone from an abstract idea to something he couldn't get his mind off of. If he had to go, being taken out by a gentle farmer seemed like one of the better ways. Strange to be jealous of a fish, no agency, just an end. Still, he said, “Better be fucking worth it after spilling my beer,” and handed him the can back. Their hands touched. The scales on the fish shimmered then dimmed in the dying light of the day.

Chapter Text

JojaMart’s Mega Spring Celebration Blowout 50% Off Sales Extravaganza was making Shane’s life a living hell. He stood at the register, shifting from one foot to the other, counting the minutes. Morris would put on a big sale like this every so often, one big rush of discounts to generate crowds-- he knew all the local stores ran on a shoestring, that a week of dipped profits meant trouble, and a few weeks in a fiscal year meant doom.

Shane couldn’t make himself care about the fate of the quirky little family-owned businesses in the town. It’s not like he had grown up here, though he had visited Marnie a lot as a kid, even spending several summers here since his parents were too poor to send him away to camp to get a break from him.

But he hated Joja as much or more as the shops in town. The crowded days, townspeople and visitors going through the store, the one fluorescent light that flickered but Morris was too cheap to fix-- people buying cheap things like they were the solution to all life’s pain-- it just all felt so fake.

Today had been especially bad. It had been pouring rain all day. Tomorrow was the Flower Dance, and he was pretty sure everyone in town had been in and out of the store, buying cheap sun hats and plastic flowers and wilting real flowers in their Styrofoam vases. All the trappings of people mindlessly celebrating a meaningless tradition. The worst moment had been when Penny had come in, getting some plastic flowers so she could make flower crowns for Vincent and Jas-- she watched them during the day, doing some variant on homeschooling. He hadn’t even talked to Jas yet today. Her tutor was doing a better job thinking of her and taking care of her.

His headache pulsed, the fluorescent lights doing nothing to light the darkness spreading through his mind. He watched the digital clock flip toward 9pm, when his overtime shift was up (this season’s Extravaganza Blowout Whatever Bullshit had them all working late). Normally he could get away a few minutes early, but Morris had been on his ass all day because he’d had a bit of a problem showing up on time the past few mornings. It was just that, between the hangovers and the increasingly hard to ignore idea that none of this mattered, that it would just be easier to disappear and fade into the darkness…

8:57. The doors opened, and closed. The farmer came in, rain dripping off his sou’wester, boots leaving little puddles everywhere. Shane blinked. He hadn’t seen him in JojaMart before.

They had crossed paths a couple of times the past few weeks, mostly at the Stardrop. Thomas usually nodded toward him, and had once or twice come over to say hi. Shane didn’t hate that. He’d even bought Shane a round one night, saying it was for the beer at the dock. But, like at the dock, they had mostly sat in a silence, thinking their own thoughts. He wasn’t pestering Shane to talk, connect, open up, all that shit that so many others had tried and failed at. It left Shane feeling… almost disappointed, but also relieved. The fewer connections these days, the less mess he’d leave behind.

He watched the farmer make a beeline for the medicine aisle, wondered what he was in here to buy. He didn’t have long to wait. Thomas came up to his register, arms full of gauze, hydrogen peroxide, various bandages and muscle ointments. “Pierre’s was closed,” he said by way of explanation, not that Shane had asked. “And anyway, I kinda needed to buy in bulk.”

This was, at least, distracting from the pounding in Shane’s head. The farmer had a black eye, and his T-shirt was striped with a few bloodstains, diluted by the rainwater. His pants had strange slimy marks running up them. “What the hell happened to you?”

Thomas took off his hat, raked a hand through his messy hair, dirty drops of water spilling all over the conveyor belt. Great, now Shane would have to clean that up too. “Uh… was down in the old mines digging up some ore… ran into some trouble.”

Shane rang him up, watching him out of the corner of one eye. Despite his casual tone, the farmer was shaking. He looked like he was about to keel over from exhaustion. What looked like the rusty scabbard of a sword was sticking, absurdly, out of his backpack. “You look like shit,” Shane said.

“Feel like it too,” said Thomas. He dropped some gold on the belt and shoved the supplies into his backpack. “I gotta get some rest. See you tomorrow, Shane.”

With that, he was gone. Shane wondered if he’d be at the Flower Dance, or if he’d be too busy clearing his property, and fighting the things that lived on it. It seemed exhausting, to be fighting at all times.

Nine o’ clock. Time to clock out, and smooth out the sharp edges in his mind with a beer or five.

*

At the Flower Dance the next day, Shane stood alone by the table of food Gus had laid out. He couldn’t believe he had let Marnie drag him here, but she had had harsh words for him after he had come home at 5 in the morning after spending half the night sick and passed out in the old abandoned Community Center after fleeing the rain. “This is the kind of thing Jas will remember,” she hissed to him quietly so as to not wake the little girl that her shitty nephew had saddled her with. “You have to be there for the big days.”

Shane eyed the cliffs. He could see them from down here in the forest. Not too many more big days, he thought. Jas would be better off. That was what he kept telling himself. There she was now, chasing Vincent around in the flower crown Penny had made her. Penny had tried to start a conversation with him about it, but the second she smelled the whiff of booze on him-- and he hadn’t even had anything to drink today, this was just leftover from the night before-- she froze up and then left. Great. Now he was in such illustrious company as her screw-up mother, Pam.

The day was warm and sunny, though the grass was still wet after the storm from yesterday. The forest clearing was decorated and smelled of spring blossoms. Squirrels and rabbits ran through the bushes. And still, and still, and still, the darkness kept closing in on him.

“Hey,” said a voice beside him.

Shane glanced over. The farmer had come over to him, leaning against the table, maybe a little closer to him than he needed to be. It felt strange having someone in his personal space, aside from Jas, who was a hugger. Thomas was looking out over the townsfolk: Emily off spinning in a corner by herself practicing her dance moves, the kids finally flopping to the ground in exhaustion after a lengthy chase, Linus the mountain man off under a tree, watching with a peaceful wistfulness.

“This is very different than the Egg Festival,” Thomas commented.

Shane grunted in affirmation, a little annoyed by the small talk. He had missed the Egg Festival for work, but he had heard about it from Jas. He used to love gathering up the best eggs from Marnie’s chickens when he was little and visited, but the festival had barely even registered to him this year.

Thomas looked toward the center of the clearing, where Lewis was starting to assemble the group. “So this dance is a tradition?” he asked.

“Yeah, spring ritual. Some kind of pagan Yoba fuckery,” Shane said. HIs desire not to talk to anyone was at odds with his desire to spew hatred out for something. “All the single people gather, find a partner, and do this weird dance.”

“Interesting,” Thomas said. He looked a bit better than he had last night-- at least he didn’t appear to be openly bleeding, and his black eye had faded at the edges to yellow. He looked tired, but still, he had put on a flannel shirt and suspenders, presumably for the festive occasion. “Dance with me?”

Shane was taken out of idly staring at the small burn marks on the farmer’s hand in his half-asleep haze when he registered the farmer’s question. “What?”

“I said, want to dance with me?” Thomas asked lightly. “For the Flower Dance.”

Shane’s insides twitched. Those green eyes, staring back at him, so earnest despite the nonchalance in his voice. That little bit of-- hope? Or was it just pity? It had to just be pity.

The flutter in his stomach twisted into a knot instead. “I don’t really do that stuff,” he said roughly.

“Oh, me neither,” said Thomas. “It’s going to be a mess. Might be fun though.”

Shane couldn’t meet his eyes. He couldn’t deny that the farmer was attractive, but the idea of standing up there with all the judgmental eyes of Pelican Town made his stomach roil more than ever. “Nope,” he said. “Fuck off.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Right,” he said. He smelled like woodchips and sap and dirt. He looked like he might be about to say something else. But instead, he knocked on the table in some kind of finalizing gesture, and nodded. “See you around.”

Shane watched him walk away. Behind him, the cliffs at the top of Cindersap forest loomed, dark stone and trees against the morning brightness.

Chapter Text

Summer came in, a wall of heat and humidity rolling through the valley. The bigger, brighter blossoms on the heavy summer plants budded, grew, and opened, hanging heavy on their vines. Penny let Jas and Vincent stop spending every morning in the library and run around the forest and beach instead. The air felt slow, torpid. So did Shane.

Jas’s seventh birthday was on the fourth of summer. Shane was so eager to get away from Joja for the day that he left at 6, made it all the way home, and was about to walk in when he noticed more people than usual through the kitchen window: Marnie, pulling a lasagna (Jas’s favorite) out of the oven. Vincent and Jas, sitting at the table together. Penny, watching them with a smile. Jodi, glass of wine in hand, talking to Marnie.

His stomach dropped. Marnie had asked him to pick up dessert for the birthday girl, and he had been so preoccupied with his own hateful thoughts that he had completely forgotten somewhere in the middle of the day. And now half the fucking town was here to see what a shitty parental figure he was. This was it, the moment he would finally ruin Jas’s life once and for all, the crappy life he had tried to give her in the valley and hadn’t even succeeded at.

He backed away quickly from the door before anyone could see him through the window, his mind racing as fast as it could through the cold one he had downed on his walk home from work. Joja was too far to walk, it would take him an hour round trip there and back. Pierre’s would be closed by the time he got there. He’d have to ask one of his neighbors. Leah, maybe, or the farmer. Quickly, he took the walkway down from Marnie’s house into the forest path that led to his two neighbors.

He didn’t want to admit his mistake-- yet another mistake on top of an already shitty record of failing Jas-- but admitting it to one person would be easier than admitting it to Jas and a roomful of townswomen that were doing a better job of caring for her than he was. He couldn’t disappoint Jas tonight. She had been more sad and neurotic than usual the past few days, crying over missing socks and dropped milk. This time of year was hard on both of them: it was near when her parents had died, and the heat brought back the memories like a physical force.

So he rushed down the path. Leah’s was closer, and he knew, he knew that she would look at him like he was a piece of absolute garbage, which he was, but he would happily ask her for whatever weird foraged dessert she had, because it was for Jas. But then he got to the place where the path split south and north, and saw, to his surprise, the farmer. Thomas was laying a series of in-ground lights alongside the pathway up to his farm, putting down each lantern, pounding it into the ground with an old hoe, and moving on to the next.

Shane took a breath. He had been avoiding the farmer since the Flower Dance. He could fake his way through small talk with the other villagers if he had to, but Thomas felt dangerous to him, like if he spent too much time with Shane he would figure out just how wrong he was about him. Shane didn’t want to let him down like that. Despite hating everything, he liked the farmer. He was clearly an idiot, moving to a haunted farm, throwing himself into situations that were certain to get him killed-- but there was an easy audacity to it that Shane wished he had, instead of being small and stupid and anxious.

Still. This was for Jas. “Thomas,” Shane called, heading down the path into the wilderness farm’s property line. The late summer sun was just beginning to set, but the tangled forest was thick here, dark and cool. Shane spotted stumps where the farmer had hacked down some smaller trees, small clearings where he had torn up the overgrowth--- but it was clearly a man vs. nature battle that man was, at best, barely clinging onto.

Thomas looked up. He was shirtless, his stained t-shirt tucked into the back of his jeans, dangling out like a dingy gray tail. “Hey, Shane,” he said, leaning on the hoe. He was still wearing his sou’wester.

Shane decided not to comment on this, since he was asking for a favor. “Listen…” he said. “It’s Jas’s birthday.”

“That’s nice,” said Thomas, leaning the hoe up against a tree. Spending all day outdoors, chopping wood and hoeing fields, was clearly having a strengthening effect on his body. Shane felt a little uncomfortable. This part of him had felt so deadened for so long, it felt unfamiliar to notice someone’s build or the attractiveness of a silhouette. “She seems like a really good kid from what I can tell.”

“Yeah, she has a shitty godfather though.” Shane raked his hand through his hair. “I forgot to get her a cake. I was wondering if you had any dessert laying around that old farmhouse.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. God, this was uncomfortable. “I’ll pay you and stuff.”

Thomas smiled. He grabbed his shirt and tugged it on, then nodded to Shane. “I don’t have much, but Evelyn’s been pressing chocolate chip cookies on me daily. Think that’ll do?”

It was better than nothing, and Jas did like Evelyn’s cookies. “Thank you,” he said.

“No problem. I’m terrible with birthdays.” He led Shane up the path. As they walked, the work the farmer had done to clear the overgrown property became evident, the path becoming more easily walkable, the trees becoming more spaced. The area around the falling-apart shack of a farmhouse included a slightly messy but full and rich garden full of almost-budded flowers, and long lines of slightly disorganized crop rows. Potatoes, and-- were those pepper plants?

Shane had to admire his taste in vegetables, at least.

“Wait here,” Thomas said. “It’s a mess in there.” He ran up the creaky stares, pausing to pet a little black cat lazing in the last of the summer light. Shane looked around, letting a breath out. It was a strangely peaceful place. He remembered, suddenly, vividly, exploring this farmland when he visited Marnie for the summer. The farmer-- Thomas’s grandpa-- who had last lived here had been a little curmudgeonly, but he tolerated Shane’s digging through the ground for worms and splashing in the pond looking for tadpoles.

It hurt to think of that little kid. Of what a pathetic person he had grown up into.

The screen door slammed, shaking Shane out of his memories. “All right,” said Thomas. He emerged from the house with a wax-wrapped package, and a pair of scissors. “We’ve got cookies for days, here.” He handed Shane the package, and then quickly went down to the garden. Shane had no idea how he had so much energy, running around like this. He had gotten winded just on the hilly, root-rippled walk to the forest path.

Thomas went to the garden, considered it for one moment, then snipped off one massive and gorgeous pink blossom. He handed it to Shane, who looked at him, confused.

“Fairy rose,” he explained. “Jas comes here to look at the butterflies, they attract them. I think she likes the pink ones the best.”

Shane was torn, thankful to Thomas for trying to help him make Jas’s birthday a little less pathetic and guilty that he hadn’t thought of that himself. He had barely remembered to get her a birthday treat, let alone what kind of flower species she liked. “Thanks,” he said roughly. “I really am a fuckup, but this’ll mean a lot to Jas.”

“Hey, watch yourself,” Thomas said lightly. “That’s my friend you’re talking about.”

Shane was so startled by this comment he drew back a little. “We’re not friends,” he said sharply.

A look of hurt crossed Thomas’s face, but he shrugged. “Neighbors, then,” he said.

“Why are you nice to me?” Shane asked. It came out accusatory, harsh. Maybe that was how he meant it, or maybe he just felt like he should drive this man away, before messed him up, too.

Thomas hesitated for a long moment. The air was growing blue with darkness. Finally, he said, “You remind me of someone.”

The sounds of crickets and frogs surrounding the pond were growing louder, bolder. Shane felt like he owed the farmer something, some kind of warning or honesty. He wasn’t going to be here forever. “Look, I’m not trying to be rude. if you knew me at all, I promise you wouldn’t like me.”

To Shane’s surprise, at this, Thomas smiled wryly. “Thanks for the heads up,” he said. “C’mon, I'll walk you back home.”

It was proving frustratingly difficult to knock the farmer off-kilter. “I'm good,” Shane said, turning away, back toward the woodland path.

Despite this, Thomas caught up and walked beside him. Shane realized that, while he was in the house, he had slung a rusty old scabbard with a sword across his back. “It’s getting dark. I’ll see you to the edge of the property,” he said. “You never know what’s going to jump out around here, especially down in the woods this time of day.”

“Right,” said Shane. He realized, as they walked into the darkening woods, that he hadn’t even bothered to look up at the cliffs he could see from the farmer’s yard. The lanterns provided warm little spots of glowing light. He hoped they meant that Thomas would see anything trying to sneak up on him.

When he had turned back onto the main path toward Marnie’s and looked back, he could no longer see the farmer. But he could see the lanterns he had planted, along the pathway back to his home.

Chapter Text

Voices, as though from terribly far away. Marnie’s, huskier than usual, calling his name, concerned, scared. Another one, lower, pleasant tenor, hushed discussion.

Then a shock of water and ice, cold and heavy. Shane was so far gone, pressed into the ground, that it took a few seconds to register. Blearily, he pushed himself half upright. “What?” he said groggily, still half out of it.

It took him a few seconds to put the pieces together. The late afternoon sunlight, all wrong for just waking up, slanted through his bedroom window. Marnie stood in the doorway, fear and disappointment mixed all over her face. Empty beer cans were scattered across the bedroom.

And of course, of fucking course, there was the farmer, looking around the room with what, to Shane’s irritation, appeared to be mild interest and surprise. He held his bucket of ice for fishing (now empty) at his side. He made eye contact with Shane. Shane was the first to look away. “What the fuck,” he said. The air in his bedroom was hot and damp. His throat was, too.

The past thirty-six hours came back to him in bits and pieces. Yesterday had been the anniversary of the accident.

He had tried to be there for Jas yesterday. She was the only one who felt the same or worse. But she had gone to bed in tears and there hadn’t been anything he could do to make it better, so Marnie stayed up to read with her. And he drank. And drank. Until he passed out. Until his alarm went off for work the next morning. Until he grabbed it in a haze and shattered it on the floor, downed another beer, and sat on the floor thinking about how furious and disappointed his friends would be if they saw what his life, what Jas’s life, looked like now. Until he slept again, missing his shift, sweating, sick, turning restlessly, his friends’ faces burning in his mind.

“Shane, you can't do this shit in the house,” said Marnie. His aunt’s hair was messy, her expression as much frustration as it was disappointment. She had always been his favorite relative. His parents had rarely been anything but absent or belligerent with him. But Marnie had always been there for him, growing up, over the summers when he would come to say, his young aunt living her dream to start a beautiful farm full of well-loved animals.

She could never resist a stray. She had invited him here when he told her about Jas, told her how overwhelmed he was with selling the house and trying to keep a grieving five year old fed and watered and slept and clean. She said she could use the help on the farm, that the valley was a beautiful place for a little girl. She had taken them in, no questions asked, but hospitality had its limits. “I'm worried about you. You’re drinking yourself to death. What’s your plan here?”

What’s your plan here? The only thing he had amounting to a plan was waiting for some kind of sign, or waiting for the pain to get too bad, and jumping off the tallest cliffs west of Cindersap Forest. It had been on the back of his mind since they moved. No body, nothing to traumatize anyone, just… a void where he had been. Everyone would be better off.

He leaned back against the bed, knocking a couple cans over. “Look, I’m not going to be around long enough to need a plan, okay?” he said roughly, hoping the words hurt her. They were true. It wasn’t something he had voiced aloud before. But the darkness in him was flowing now, and it had to go somewhere. Speaking the words aloud gave them a truth, a power they hadn’t had before. It was scary, but it felt like relief in a way.

That was when he saw Jas, standing in the doorway, tears spilling over. Oh fuck. Marnie followed his gaze, saw the child, and went to her immediately, shooting Shane a furious look over her shoulder.

That wasn’t who he meant to hurt. Shane felt it, everyone around him got worse. He was a horrible person, drowning in pain, dragging everyone else down with him, spreading the darkness like an oil spill, a bloodstain. He barely noticed the tears streaming down his face. “I’m sorry,” he said, but it barely came out. He was sure she hadn’t heard him. It was too late. He’ll never be anything to her except a blot, a mess, someone holding her back.

The farmer stood there, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Shane…” he started to say, taking off his sou’wester and scrunching it in his hands..

“Leave me alone,” Shane said, covering his eyes with his hands.

“I think you need help,” said Thomas.

Thomas didn’t get it. None of these people got it. That he didn’t deserve help and he wasn’t going to get it anyway. “I said, leave me the fuck alone,” Shane said, starting to yell but quieting when he remembered the thin walls and Jas in the next room.

Thomas hesitated, but when Shane looked up at him and gave him a fierce and ugly glare, he picked up his ice bucket and walked out of the room, shoulders low with sadness, sou’wester at his side.

Shane lay back on the floor, closing his eyes to try to stop the spinning room. It didn’t help. His mind kept going back to Zuzu City-- the night when, after a long day at the construction site, he had been planning to meet up with his best friend Garrett for a sane number of beers and the Tunnelers game. Garrett had a little girl at home after all, Jas, and his wife was home with her so that he could blow off a little steam with his friend. Shane was a little depressed then, sure, but it felt more like he was just some anti-achieving curmudgeon. Like it was a natural part of his personality instead of like a sea he couldn’t stop drowning in.

Garrett had called him and left a message while he was in the shower. “Yeah, I’ll be there more like 8:30, Jas ‘n Lor and I are just going to make a run to the grocery store. Lot to carry.”

They had been struck by a drunk driver, head on. Jas, in the back in her carseat, was fine, one small scar that lingered on her forearm that Shane couldn’t help but notice sometimes. Garrett had been killed on impact. Lorraine held on for a few days, comatose, but she had died too, leaving Jas parentless and Shane with a hole in his life, a five year old girl to take care of, and an ever-increasing and deeply ironic reliance on alcohol to numb out his pain and anxiety.

With a sudden settling, a small and dreadful clarity that pushed through his drunk stupor like a harsh light, he realized that it was time to go from them. Time to just be gone. If he had been waiting for some kind of sign, this was it.

He stumbled to his feet. He found a Joja receipt in his pocket, a pen in his nightstand. He left a note. I had to leave. I’m so sorry for everything. It’s all my fault. Take good care of the chickens, Jas, especially Charlie. Shane.

He didn’t take anything with him. He wouldn’t need anything where he was going, but he wanted to make one final stop. He left, into the late evening sun, too drunk to pay attention to the thunderheads growing in the distance.

Chapter Text

Since moving to the valley, Shane had found a few places around Pelican Town to stash a few six packs and keep them cold. Some were more creative than others-- his crab pot, for one, as well as the back of a cabinet in the JojaMart walk-in freezer-- but the one he had felt most ingenious to discover was the old community center.

The building was so run-down that it had startled him when he came back. He had come here as a kid, too, played board games with one of the big kids-- it might have been Kent, now that he thought about it-- but nobody came here. The vines that had grown over the outside were now penetrating the inside, climbing in through broken windows and warped floorboards. And every time he came here, he heard a scuttling sound that he knew must be rats.

He heard it now, opening the doors and inhaling the musty scent one last time. He was still drunk, stumbling a bit, but his mission had given him some clarity. He was going to grab the beer that he had stashed in the fridge here-- not plugged in, but it still kept beer at a tolerable temperature, and away from Marnie’s house where he might have to answer questions about it. And then he was going to go to the cliffs at Cindersap Forest one last time. And then he would just… end it.

He wasn’t sure when he had lost control of everything, especially his own mind. He had always been a drinker, but it had really gotten out of hand since he and Jas moved here. What else was there to do? Mind-numbing work, then mind-numbing drinking. Better that than sit here and feel pain and rage and sadness, letting it leak out to everyone around him.

He opened the fridge, grabbed the cardboard box. A little less than half a case. That was fine. He was plenty drunk, but he wanted to black out. The darkness had been pressing in on him for so long now that he might as well walk into it head on.

Out of the corner of his eye, something moved, something scampering across the floor, a little glow around it. He glanced toward it, confused, but then it was gone.

Holding the cardboard case of beer under one arm, he took one last look around. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that, of all things, the fish tank-- the one that had been busted a few days ago, the metal frame crooked, the glass on one side shattered around it-- had been repaired. It was full. And there were fish in it, three yellow fish with strange long fins, swimming back and forth, hypnotically. It was oddly soothing.

He blinked. He must be imagining things. Finally cracked for good. Or maybe he wasn’t the only person using the community center for any storage.

He turned around, left the community center. For the first time in months, he had a plan. He was full of fear and pain and relief. It was time.

*

When it stormed in the valley, it stormed like it was the end of times. Rain pelting down in slashing lines, thunder that ripped and crackled like it was right over you, lightning strikes splitting the sky in fine lines that left afterimages on your eyes.

Shane lay on the cliff. He had started off sitting, but at some point near the end of his beer he had found himself gravitating toward the cold, wet, ground. He could see out over the ocean from up here, the rain pelting against his face. Dimly, his soaking wet clothes felt uncomfortable, but he was barely conscious of it. Instead, the drops hitting against his face felt oddly soothing, even as the thunder raged above.

He had discovered these cliffs the summer he was 12. He had spent so much time alone those summers, even with occasionally friendships that came and went with the seasons, and the one year that Garrett had come along, too. He had always been a loner out here in the valley. He remembered exploring through the forest, a kind of peace and excitement within him, not knowing what he would find next, a chick or two secreted from Marnie’s in his baggie hoodie pocket his only companions for the journey. He had come upon this place like a shock, the dizzying heights giving way to a breathtaking view: waves crashing against the rocks below, grasses and flowers growing on small outcroppings on the way down, big bright clouds way out to the horizon…

Now it was all just layers and shades of gray, stopped only by the lightning. Faraway, a train's whistle could be heard above the storm. Shane put the beer down, let it get knocked over by the rain, spilling next to him. It didn’t matter. He was already soaked. He could barely form a coherent thought. The darkening clouds smeared above him, his vision blurry from drunkenness and tears. It was almost dark out. That was when he’d go, he thought. Let the darkness finally take him. Would it hurt? Barely, with how drunk he was. Drowning wouldn’t be pleasant, but the shock of the impact against the water… that'd probably do it.

The wind and rain were so loud, and he was so out of it as he watched the clouds boil over the frothing ocean, that he didn’t hear footsteps or rustling through the bushes. So it seemed like the flashlight beam appeared out of nowhere. Blearily, Shane rolled himself over to see who had come up through the weeds and woods.

Despite the darkness and the driving rain, it was immediately apparent that it was Thomas because of his bright yellow sou’wester, finally weather appropriate. He shined the flashlight on Shane, who squinted uncomfortably in the light. Quickly, he turned it off. “There you are,” he said.

Thunder crackled. Shane’s brain felt like it was stuck in the muck, just like he was, lying in the dirt and grass. “You were… what are you doing here?” he asked slowly, the farmer and his own pain and plans seeming to come from two completely separate worlds.

Thomas came over and sat down near him. Shane rolled further away, toward the cliff. “Sorry,” Thomas said. “I just… the junimos… they told me… look, never mind. I just came to find you. I was worried.”

Shane flopped back in the mud, his body making a squelching sound. This was where he belonged, down here in the dirt, ready to go over the cliff at any point. “Why bother?” he asked.

Thomas slowly scooched up toward the edge of the cliff. Even in the dimming light, Shane could see the care and fear on his face, the tightness with which his hands grasped the ground. “Why not? You don’t deserve this.”

“You don't know shit about what I deserve,” Shane said, eying the ocean. This was going to be trickier now. Thomas always had a way of distracting him. But he was here, dammit, right?

“I just… I don’t know. Marnie told me some of what you’ve been through, you and Jas. Shane…” Thomas trailed off.

No one ever knew what to say. And it’s not like this was the worst thing that had ever happened to anyone. Yeah, Shane had lost his best friend, but Jas had lost her parents. Lost her future. Lost a loving family. All she had now were Shane and Marnie and the valley.

“Just leave me alone. I don’t belong here. It would be easier for everyone if I was gone.” Shane spit out the words, the world spinning around him. Fuck, he really had had a lot to drink. His words were coming out slurred, and all he could see was Thomas, doubling in his vision. “Why shouldn’t I just roll right off this cliff?”

Thomas said nothing. He looked out over the ocean, clenching the sides of the cliff with intensity. Shane could barely form a coherent thought, but the one iota of rational thought that wasn’t drowned under forty-eight hours of drinking wondered if he was scared of heights. “Shane… I’ve been where you were,” he said, very quietly, so quietly Shane wondered if he was imagining it. “My friend died, too, back in the city. He killed himself.”

It felt kind of good to be distracted from his thoughts, from the rain. Shane watched Thomas with a kind of intensity, needing intent focus to parse the words he was saying. “We worked at the same company, Joja. And I knew he wasn’t right, but I didn’t… I should have said something. I should have done something different.” He let out a breath. Rain pounded down on him. He took off his hat, the rain running down his face, his glasses. “I don’t know. But I just wish I could remind him… about when things were good, you know? Tell him that things could be like that again, if he could just hold on through the pain. But he’s never gonna get to see it.”

Shane wished he was close enough to Thomas to touch him. He hadn’t remembered the last time he had hugged someone, other than Jas when she hugged him, in ages. It felt strange to want that. He felt sick and sad and tired. “Sorry,” he said in a small voice.

“I just… look. This is your choice, you know? But… I don’t know. I didn’t want Jas to have to ask those same kind of questions. I just wanted to sit here with you.” Thomas turned away from the ocean, met Shane’s eyes. “I don’t want to tell you how much you have to live for or whatever, I just… yeah. I just wanted to sit here with you,” he repeated.

Shane closed his eyes. He was starting to shiver in the cold. “How? I’ve already fucked everything up for good… I’m never going to be anything more than this pathetic, depressed sack of shit.”

Thomas let out a humorless laugh. “I don’t think anyone thinks of you like that except you.”

Shane opened his eyes. A flash of lightning illuminated the clearing at the edge of the cliff, giving everything one weird moment that seemed like daylight. He spotted a boulder, moss on one side. He remembered climbing that boulder.

Through his drunken haze, he thought Jas might like to see that boulder.

The ocean felt harsh and terrifying. And he was cold. He thought he might like to be warm. “Thomas…”

The farmer glanced over at him, his face wet from the rain, eyes intense. “Yeah?”

“I think… you should take me to the hospital,” Shane said. He was really slurring now.

Thomas nodded, setting his jaw, his face full of relief and care. “Let me help you up,” he said. Together, like some kind of two headed limping monster, they got Shane to his feet. All around them, the rain and thunder crashed in Cindersap Forest.

Chapter Text

Shane hadn’t been in a hospital since Garrett and Lorraine had died. That night had soured them for him. White walls and flashing lights felt like they punched him in the gut. Not that the Pelican Town clinic was much of a hospital compared to the Zuzu City emergency room. He was lying in the back room, an IV drip in his arm, throat sore, wearing a hospital gown. He’d been awake for a few minutes now. He was alone.

He was no stranger to waking up in a location with only a vague intuition about how he’d gotten there, but waking up comfortable and dry with a needle in his arm was… new. He blinked, closing his eyes. He still felt a little drunk, but mostly just sick and sad, like he usually did when he was sobering up. He tried to put together the pieces. The last thing he remembered. He’d gotten into a fight with Marnie, he knew that. And upset Jas, goddammit. He remembered the community center… something about fish, yellow fish.

Flash of yellow, rainy night. Thomas. Something about Thomas. He had been on the cliffs. They had been there together, in the darkness. Damn, he had been close to the edge. Close to doing the thing he had thought about for so long. All of a sudden, he felt like crying. He was still here. Was that good? He couldn’t even tell anymore.

A knock at the door. “Shane?”

He opened his eyes. Dr. Harvey, the town doctor, knocked on the wooden door frame, leaning his head in. Shane knew him by sight from the Stardrop, and from getting Jas in for a visit last spring when she had horrible fever, but he had never scheduled a checkup himself. Still, small town, no escape from everyone knowing everyone’s business.

“How are you feeling?” Dr. Harvey asked him, coming in and standing over the bed. He was a quiet guy, never talked much to anyone at the Stardrop, which would have made Shane feel some kinship with him if he could feel kinship with anyone who was educated, who had a real career, who could probably be a good provider if he wanted to, who was better than him in any number of ways.

Shane realized he had been asked a question. “I’m all right,” he said. “Little trouble remembering stuff.”

“You’ve been here a few hours. You were quite a sight when Thomas brought you in,” Harvey said. “Dehydrated, soaking wet, dangerously drunk. I had to pump your stomach.”

Shane thought he might have remembered part of that, too. He touched his throat, like it would remember what he didn’t. “Sorry.”

“Shane...” Harvey paused, as though thinking through what to say. He perched on the crappy wooden chair next to the bed, as though sitting in it fully would shatter it. “Once we finish rehydrating you, you’ll probably be able to go on home. But I wanted to talk with you about some options for your mental health.”

Shane stared at his hands. He felt unbelievably stupid. “Like what, do I have to go to a center or something? Because I got too drunk one time?” Okay, not one time, like maybe this was just one of the only times that someone had actually found him.

“Like a therapist. Someone to talk to. I…” Dr. Harvey hesitated, then seemed to make up his mind. “I’m no psychologist. I don’t want to armchair diagnose. But from some of what Thomas and Marnie have shared with me, I think you could benefit from speaking to a therapist.”

Shane had been incredibly rude to Dr. Harvey on at least one occasion, he suddenly recalled with embarrassing clarity. A long time ago, probably a couple months after moving here, over something inconsequential, a spilled drink or something. He hated himself for it now. This sterile room, this gentle voice, he didn’t deserve any of it.

“I’ll give you a referral, all right?” Harvey reached out, patted the mattress, then looked at it like he wasn’t sure what that gesture had been. “Your aunt’s here, waiting for you… I think she’d like to see you, is that all right?”

Marnie. Shane could hardly bear imagining the look of disappointment that would be on her face. But it wasn’t like there was anyplace he could run, unless he ripped out his IV cord and ran for the hills. He shrugged.

“I’ll go get her.” Harvey stood in the doorway for one long moment. “Shane, I know it’s hard to believe, but… there’s hope for a better future. You have to believe that.”

Shane nodded, mostly just so he would leave. When Harvey closed the door, he closed his eyes again. He was tired. So tired. He didn’t know if it was sobering up after being continuously drunk for most of the last forty-eight hours, getting his stomach pumped, or just the weight of the pain he had been feeling for the last few years, but he felt ready to sleep for a month.

When he opened his eyes, Marnie was there. He hadn’t heard her come in. She was sitting in the same crappy chair, her hair falling out of her braid, her eyes red, her hands twisted together. “Hi, Shane,” she said.

“Hi, Marnie,” he said back, like they were having some kind of formal greeting.

Neither of them said anything. Shane was suddenly conscious of the sound of a ticking clock. When he found the source, it showed the time a little after four. He might have believed it was morning or evening-- the back room had no window.

“How are you feeling?” Marnie asked, finally.

“Like shit,” Shane said automatically. “S’what I get.”

She smiled-- tremulously, sure, but still a smile. Neither of them had much tolerance for bullshit or niceties. “Shane… what happened?”

“I got shitfaced. I’m sorry. It was the anniversary, and, you know, I let it get away from me. I’m sorry, I know I put a lot on you with Jas.”

She took a crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket, took a deep breath. “What did you mean by this?” she asked, handing it to him. Her hand was shaking. The paper fluttered as he took it. I had to leave. I’m so sorry for everything…

Seeing this note, now, sober, one very long night later, was surreal. Until now, he had thought this might be something he could skate through. But this just showed how fucked up his drunk self really had been. He imagined Marnie finding it in his disgusting bedroom among the beer cans. “Did Jas see?”

“No, when I found this I took her over to Jodi’s for the night.” Her voice was shaking. It was very clear she was trying to control her voice, trying not to cry, but all the same tears flowed freely down her face. “Then I went out to look for you, but I couldn’t find you any of your usual spots. Were you going to just... leave us? Run away, or… you know, leave us leave us?”

He crumpled the note in his hand, hating the person who had written it. “I don’t remember much,” he said, which was easier than the truth.

“Thomas came and found me a couple hours ago, after he dropped you here. I was so scared.” She was speaking faster now, the words coming out in a rapid stream. "I really thought... I don't know. I was so scared," she repeated.

Shane tried to picture Thomas, showing up at the farmhouse, sou’wester crumpled in his hands, dark hair dripping from the rain, delivering the news that her fuckup nephew was at the clinic after almost falling-and-or-jumping off a cliff. How could he have left that on her? “Yoba, Marnie, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you that note.”

“I care about you so much, Shane,” she said, a small sob escaping. “I just… if yesterday was the last time I saw you… I know I’m not always the best to talk to, I’m better with goats than people, but…”

“Yoba, no, this isn’t your fault,” Shane said quickly. He couldn’t stand seeing her like this. “This is my fault.” He took a deep breath. He owed his aunt so much-- he at least owed her honesty. “I just… I haven’t been right, not for a long time.”

“I could see you struggling, Jas too, and I just…” Marnie was full on crying now. It tore his heart up. He set his jaw. He didn’t want to cry. “I didn’t know how to support you.”

Shane got up from the bed, tugging the IV pole with him. A head rush hit him and he had to steady himself for a moment, but then he found himself able to scooch the chair from the opposite wall over next to her. All so he could hold her hand without feeling like a goddammed invalid. “It’s not your responsibility,” he said. “I’m a fuckup.”

“I don’t know how you don’t see this, Shane,” she said. “We’re all fucked up in our own ways. Everyone has issues. You think you’re the first stomach Harvey’s pumped here? And me, I can’t even get my boyfriend to go public.” She squeezed his hand tight. “But you and me and Jas, we’re a family now. We have to support each other. I need you, too.”

Shane almost cracked a smile, unable to resist the chance to heckle her over a mayoral scandal. “So you’re calling him your boyfriend now, hey?”

Marnie half-laughed, half-cried. His hand was starting to hurt from how hard she was squeezing it, but it felt necessary. “Shane, I’m trying to be serious.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes, let out a breath. The exhaustion weighed him down, slumped him in the chair. But the sober part of him remembered this: Marnie, Jas. Not leaving them with a sketchy note, wondering what had happened. “Look, I… I think I need help. And I’m going to try to get it, Harvey said he knew someone.” He said it all in a rush, then let out a breath. It was strange. The exhaustion was still there, but saying it out loud, naming it, took some of the poison out of it.

“That seems like a good idea,” she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her free hand.

“With drinking too,” he said. “I’m gonna need help with that.”

“I think this is the first conversation we’ve had in weeks where both of us are sober,” Marnie pointed out, also cracking a smile. It was weird to joke about, but it felt strangely relaxing. “Look, let’s just take it one step at a time, right? Like when the baby goats are first learning to walk.”

Shane smiled, this time a real one. It felt strange, unfamiliar, but good-- remembering last spring when the year’s goats had been born, the one that had kept getting tangled in his own legs when he tried to walk. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “You really do like goats better than people.”

She finally let go of his hand so she could slap him on the wrist. The clocked ticked, showing that it was whatever the fuck time it was, but the silence didn’t seem quite as oppressive now.

Chapter Text

Shane walked up the path to the wilderness farm for the third time that morning, this time determined not to chicken out. No… that gave chickens a bad name. This time, determined not to wuss out. He had started up the pathway twice, the late summer morning dappled gold, and returned to Marnie’s both times.

He had turned around because he didn’t want to confront Thomas after what had happened. It was fucking embarrassing, all right? Even if he had managed to get his act together enough to tell Marnie he wasn’t okay, even if he and Jas had a two hour bus trip and a mind-bogglingly expensive appointment in Zuzu City later this week to see a shrink… Thomas had seen him where no one else really had before. And Shane needed to apologize.

So this time, instead of thinking about what he was going to say, he just looked at the woods along the path. Better to keep an eye out on this land, anyway, even if it was daylight right now. He could see claw marks on the trees, strange lumps of brush that were oddly humanoid. He walked a little faster, despite the bright morning light.

It had been three days since Shane ended up in the hospital. The first day after, he had slept for fourteen hours. Deep, exhausted sleep, weird dreams but at least no restlessness, no waking up in a sweat. That night, he had dinner with Marnie and Jas (leftover takeout from the Stardrop, none of them felt up to cooking), read Jas a chapter of her favorite book, then stayed up all night talking things through with Marnie.

The second day after, through headache and shakes, first thing he did was walk to JojaMart and quit on the spot.

Morris had been startled. “Shane, don’t you need this money to support your goddaughter?” he asked. As always, no secrets in the valley, even from the soulless corporations. Maybe especially from them.

But Shane had gotten through his little speech. “I don’t bring in enough here. I’m going to focus on helping my aunt develop her business,” he said. The truth was, it was a longshot. And the sans-overtime part-time pittance that Shane brought in from Joja had been helpful to Marnie. But they had decided, if he cut what he spent on beer, took therapy seriously, and helped her out with some operations to increase the value of the farm-- like finally finishing the half-complete chicken coop extension he had been halfheartedly pecking at for months now-- they could make it work. Joja wasn’t the only thing killing Shane. But it wasn’t helping.

So he had walked out, and it wasn’t like the darkness was gone from his brain, but there was still a certain sourness that had lessened in his gut since then.

Today was day three, and he knew he had to go see Thomas. He emerged out of the thickest part of the woods, the farmhouse coming into view. Since he had last been here on Jas’s birthday, the farm was even more riotously in bloom. The garden was full of color. Berries and tomatoes hung heavy on their vines in rows, the morning air gently sweet with their scent. All across the clearing were stakes with, of all things, bells, dangling from twine. They rustled like chimes, ringing gently as a weak wind blew.

Shane wasn’t sure if they were monster alarms or just Thomas’s strange taste, but either way, he was too nervous to think about it. He walked up the three steps to the farmhouse’s porch, breathing a little heavily. Damn, he was out of shape. He ignored the little black cat lying in a sunny spot on the porch, and it ignored him back. He was here for a purpose, after all. He raised one hand to knock on the old, thick wooden door.

But before he could knock, the door slammed open. Thomas started to rush out, saw Shane, checked, and reared back, confused. “Uh… hi,” he said

Shane drew back as well, startled by the suddenness of the moment. Fucking great, this was going swimmingly. “Hi,” he said back, feeling incredibly stupid.

“Sorry, I was just… I got a late start this morning,” Thomas said. He had dark circles under his eyes, stubble on his face. His T-shirt was already damp with sweat in the summer humidity. He was holding a gigantic, beat up watering can. His glasses were dirty.

Shane felt a sudden burst of warmth. Shit. He really liked him.

He hadn’t felt that kind of rush of affection in a long time, especially not for anyone who didn’t live under Marnie’s roof. He pushed through as best he could. “Um… you need a hand?” Shane asked. He had been planning on blurting everything out, but their sudden porch meeting had thrown off his game.

Thomas scratched the back of his neck. “Uh… yeah. That’d be great, actually. If you want to water the peppers, I can get started on weeding the garden bed, it’s kind of a mess in there.”

Shane watered the peppers in rows. Did he water these by hand every morning? He had a sprinkler set up among a few rows of corn, but the peppers had no such luxury. Thomas’s farm looked like it had started off following some kind of plan, but there were strange wanderings in the rows, places where vines crawled along the floor heavy with strawberries, and several limp, unhappy artichoke plants attempted to grow, before going back to neat rows of peppers again. It was as though he had had every possible idea and tried them all, with varying success.

It was oddly soothing, having something to focus on. He had to refill the gigantic watering can twice to get it all done. It was strange working under the sun instead of the fluorescent lights of Joja, to be sweating instead of shivering in the frigid AC.

When he was done, he approached the farmer in the garden. Thomas saw the shadow, turned his head to see, then flopped onto the ground. “Shane, thanks, I was really not going to get to all this this morning,” he said. “I was up pretty late.”

Shane felt a pang of jealousy. He hadn’t been to the Stardrop in a few days, and he was itching for a beer, the headaches coming and going. He leaned against the fence. “Get up to anything?”

Thomas shook his head. “Nah, I was back down in the mines. I need better tools. Clint wants the ore for them if he’s going to make them for me. It’s been, uh… it’s been a lot of work.”

During the small talk, Shane felt his own awkwardness growing. Thomas was treating him completely normally, not with kid gloves the way that Marnie had been off and on for the past few days. But surely that was all an act. “Thomas…” he said.

“What’s up?” the farmer asked, looking up at him from the flower bed, squinting in the sun, ancient gardening gloves on his hands, dirt settled over his nose.

Shane sat down too, leaning back against the rickety fence. It felt too strange to be towering over him. “I just wanted to say… you know… sorry about the other night.” That last part came out in a quiet rush. He stared down at the ground, picking at grass.

Thomas said nothing. When Shane looked up, the farmer was staring at him. He looked away. Shane looked away, too.

“I know I was a mess, and I don’t remember much, but… I remember you helping me, so just… yeah. Thank you,” he said finally.

Thomas scooched next to him, so they were sitting side by side against the fence, a couple inches apart. Before them, the garden spread out in chaotic sheaves of grasses, bursts of blooms, humming insects. “What do you remember?” Thomas asked finally.

Shane thought back. “Not much,” he said truthfully. “I think I said some things… you said some things… you had a friend,” he said finally. The night was hazy, but the story of Thomas’s friend and Jas had gotten all mixed together in his head. I didn’t want Jas to have those same questions, the farmer had said. Neither did Shane, no matter how bad it got. “You were right, and I uh… I’m sorry.”

Thomas sat there, very quiet. Shane normally appreciated that, but in moments like these where he felt unsure of himself, when he had to be the one talking, he felt lost as a child.

Thomas let out a breath. “Look, I’m just… I’m glad you’re still here, okay?”

The air was hot and still. The cat stretched, rolled, yawned up on the porch of the farmhouse. “I… I’m going to try to be,” Shane said. “I’m getting some help, I’m gonna try and quit drinking, I just… I really have been fucking up too much.”

The farmer looked at him with such kindness that it almost hurt. Shane almost wanted to disagree with it on principle. “What?” he asked, rudely, bluntly. It was exhausting trying to be healthy, especially a couple days without a drink later. It was strange the things that made his hackles rise.

Thomas glanced over at him, wiped some sweat from his brow. It was getting hotter. “I don’t understand why you hate yourself so much,” he said simply.

Shane wasn’t sure what to say to that. Ask stupid questions, get stupid answers. He looked around the barnyard for some kind of distraction, anything. “What’s that?” he asked roughly, gesturing toward a pile of wood and stone.

“I’m going to attempt to build a coop. Robin’s gonna help me,” Thomas said.

“You’re getting chickens?” Shane asked, momentarily torn from his self-loathing.

“Couple of Marnie’s finest, if I can afford them,” the farmer said. He laughed. “I’ll have to keep the cat away from them, but I think she’s lazy enough it won’t be much of a problem.”

Finally, a breeze, cooling the heat on the back of Shane’s neck a bit. The bells throughout the field rang lightly, a chaotic chorus. “Make sure they go in at night, every night,” he said.

Thomas nodded, unconsciously rubbing his shoulder, like it was pained. “Yep. Can’t be too careful.”

“This fucking farm,” Shane said. “I don’t get how you’re doing it. So much work. So much… wildlife. I figured you’d be dead by now.” He realized immediately that what he had meant as a light joke might come off as tone-deaf given the circumstances of their last meeting.

But Thomas stretched his arms, tall and wide, letting out a yawn. He pushed himself to his feet. “Look, Shane,” he said, reaching a hand out. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about myself since moving here, it’s that I’m not scared of the dark.”

Shane looked at the hand he was being offered, then up at the farmer’s face. Thomas gave him a lopsided grin. He took his hand. The breeze whistled in the trees. A cloud covered the sun with welcome shade as the bells jingled in the wind.

Chapter Text

Like a sigh of relief, the heat and humidity of summer blew away over the ocean. The fall came in cool and crisp, leaves on the trees brightening to yellow and fading to brown, wild blackberries appearing among the thorns. Rabbits, grown up since spring, rustled through the bushes as squirrels chased each other up and down the trees.

Shane wore his Joja windbreaker every day now against the chilly air. He didn’t mind advertising the company now that he didn’t work there any longer, although Pierre didn’t let him wear it in the store, where he had started unloading boxes on Saturdays. It was good to bring in an income, even if it was tiny. And, per Dr. Naomi, it was good for him to have a routine.

This was the routine:

Most weekdays, wake up at the buttcrack of dawn so he and Jas could let the chickens out together before she went to school. This had used to be Marnie and Jas time, but Dr. Naomi thought that the earlier he got up, the earlier he’d go to bed, thus reducing the amount of time he would spend awake during the traditional drinking hours of the day.

(“What if I also spent a lot of time drinking during non-traditional hours?” Shane had asked her, partly joking, mostly serious.

“Small decisions add up, Shane,” she had replied, pushing her thick glasses up her nose. It was one of a hundred things she liked to repeat, so that even now, only four weeks in, he felt like he could hear her voice echoing in his head whenever he made a small decision. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.)

Shane and Jas would chase the chickens around the yard for a bit to check for fowl ticks (there had been an outbreak recently). Shane panted and mostly walked, but Jas fully committed, diving into the dirt to grab the shyer chickens before they could flee under the coop where they would become much harder to entrap. Her dress was covered in dirt most days by the time she went off for tutoring with Miss Penny and Vincent.

(“Penny always gives me this Look when she’s all dirty, but for Christ’s sake, she’s a kid on a farm,” Shane had told the doctor.

“How does Jas feel about it?” Dr. Naomi asked.

“I don’t think she cares, she just runs off with Vincent and comes back covered even muddier.”

“I’m of the professional opinion that if Jas is healthy and happy, and you’re at least healthy, then who gives a fart what anyone in town thinks?” Dr. Naomi said. She was older, sharp as a tack but full of bizarre phrases. Unfortunately, who gives a fart was another line that was now rolling around Shane’s head these days.)

After Jas left for the day, he and Marnie usually had a cup of coffee and talked through farm strategy for the day. She was thrilled to have some pressure off of what had essentially been single parenting an intelligent seven year old and a fuckup twenty-nine year old, on top of running the ranch. So there was usually a full list of items for Shane to get done.

Sometimes, when the list included things like “scrub the barn windows” he knew she was just coming up with tasks just to keep him away from the saloon. But he appreciated them. Boredom was the real danger here, for Shane. Of the near-fuckups and one actual fuckup he’d had so far, they had all come when he sat down and let his mind wander. Marnie, with a couple weeks of backseat-driving but lately full responsibility, put him more or less in charge of poultry. He continued on her coop extension project, which had been sitting half-built (okay, maybe quarter-built) for over a year now. She was more focused on the herd livestock, goats, cows, and now sheep, and she was losing out on failing to meet demand for chickens.

So Shane made himself busy with the birds. The new coop was an intense project, but he had the book Marnie had bought back when she first was planning to extend her chicken operations a few years back. And had gotten some ideas from watching the farmer and Robin’s progress on the smaller one on Thomas’s farm.

He had taken to walking up there most afternoons, ostensibly to make sure he understood how the coop was made. They had used hardwood for the outer doors, which reportedly had cost Thomas most of what he’d made off his summer crop. But when Shane saw the scratches on the outside of the door the morning after the chickens first hatched, he was glad he’d sprung for the option that was harder to break.

If Thomas was around his farm, the coop inspections usually led to the two of them sitting on the porch or in the garden, watching the young chickens chase the cat through the barnyard, pecking up seeds from the grass, easy and free. “You’re not worried at all about them out here?” Shane asked once, a spinning maple seed landing in his lap as he sat on under one of Thomas’s tapped trees.

“Not in the daytime,” Thomas said, chewing a piece of hay, taking a break from splitting stumps to sit on one next to Shane. Shane hadn’t minded watching him swing the axe, but he wasn’t minding the quiet companionship either. “And they’re smart, they come running back in once the sun starts going down.”

“Smarter than you,” Shane said, but he kept his tone light, and as affectionate as he dared.

“No doubt,” Thomas replied, stretching. The sweaty t-shirt had been replaced with a more seasonally appropriate flannel.

(Shane hadn’t told Dr. Naomi about the stranger lurkings around Pelican Town. It wasn’t the kind of thing you talked about outside of the valley, something that you doubted when you were in the bright lights and bustle of Zuzu City, as surely as you stopped doubting the moment you stepped off the bus back to Pelican Town and heard the wind whistling through the trees in the darkness.

He had told her about Thomas, though.)

They had been circling each other for most of the fall, it felt like. Short conversations, long silences, brushes of arms and hands that gave Shane a feeling he hadn’t felt in… in a very, very long time. Maybe ever. Sometimes, when Shane said something dark enough to make Thomas laugh, a genuine one that made his whole face open and bright, and their eyes met, it felt like Thomas might lean in and…

But then something in him would hesitate, and he’d come back with a wry comment of his own instead. The leaves would keep falling, the wind blowing them in a winding, spiraling path on their way to the ground. Shane would watch them, unsure whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

(“Maybe he wants you to make the first move,” said Dr. Naomi. “He might not be sure you’re ready.”

She was professional, exacting, very focused on his mental health, on reflecting on the times where he felt like fucking up his sobriety and analyzing his “triggers” and “coping mechanisms” and “maladaptive attempts to self-medicate.” But if he told her anything about Thomas, she was more than willing to take a break and do a little gossiping.

“I’m definitely not ready for anything like… you know. That stuff.”

“Romance? Dating? Relationships? Sex?” she pressed.

“It just feels like I’m barely a functional adult, let alone a parent figure. I don’t know if I could handle trying not to disappoint a third person.”

She shrugged. “You make your decisions, you decide what you’re ready for. But you’re allowed to have friends and relationships, Shane, especially with people who distract you from your own pain.”)

He was distracting, Shane gave him that much. When he was at his farm, at least. More than a few days a week, the routine was disrupted when Thomas was nowhere to be found, the sprinklers turned on, chickens fed, the pickaxe that leaned up against the barn missing.

Those were days where it was harder to not fuck up. But he was getting through most of them, mostly intact. Jas got done with tutoring about three, and he didn’t want her to know much about his recovery and its fits and starts. But she was a sharp kid, and sometimes she seemed to sense when he needed to be around someone. So they’d fish together, or watch TV reruns, or play on Shane’s old Junimo Kart console.

She was pretty good company. And she seemed happy, more or less. Shane wasn’t happy, not always, not even usually, but there were moments-- the first time Jas beat him at the game when he’d genuinely been giving his all, when Thomas fell into the pond on his farm after leaning in trying to fish up what he thought was some iron ore (it was a Joja cola can), when Marnie handed him a fresh, sharp smear of goat cheese on a cracker-- where a flare of happiness shot up inside him like a lightning strike. Always startling, and often vanishing quickly, but leaving an afterimage that stayed with him.

He could get from lightning strike to lightning strike, he thought, and just try not to lose the memory of them as he felt his way through the darkness between.

*

Thursdays, the routine was different. Marnie fed the chickens, and Shane and Jas caught the 8:00 AM bus to the city. It swung through all the outlying towns, and made it to Zuzu City by 10. They’d navigate the crowded streets and skyscrapers downtown until they got to the building where Dr. Naomi’s office was.

They were therapy buddies. They saw her every week at 10:30-- Jas for twenty minutes while Shane told himself over and over that he had no time to get to the bar half a block away, then Shane for twenty minutes while Jas read her book in the waiting room, then both of them together for twenty more. Family therapy style. He had figured she would shove him some meds and yell at him about drinking, but she mostly wanted to talk with him about parenting Jas. She had mentioned that antidepressants could be an option, but she wanted to see how he felt “after six to eight weeks.”

He had tried to advocate for giving the whole hour to Jas. It felt selfish to take this very expensive time from a seven year old. But Dr. Naomi had said to him in a tone that brooked no argument, “Shane, the best thing for Jas is to have a mentally healthy guardian who has a place to ask questions.” It still seemed shocking to Shane how much it cost, and spending four hours a week on a bus was rough on him and on Jas, too. But he had to admit, it was helping them talk to each other better.

Garrett and Lorraine hadn’t been rich, not by any means. But Lor at least came from a small but functional family, unlike Garrett or Shane, one that had fiscal responsibility and 401ks and up-to-date paperwork and Christmases where people didn’t drunkenly throw things at each other. What little they had left behind all went into a trust for Jas. It was organized and clear, which Shane thanked Lor for her foresight on every time it came up, because that was something he never would have been able to figure out in the terrifying, exhausting, overwhelming days after their death, trying to stay sober enough to sell their house, keep a five-year-old alive, and figure out what the hell to do next.

Most of the money was earmarked for education, but there was around a thousand dollars in an HSA for healthcare. And that meant therapy, in this case. This was something Marnie and Shane had cooked up during their all-night conversation after Shane’s fuckup on the cliffs. “Jas is such a good kid, but she’s too damn smart,” Marnie had said as they tried to find the right path out of the darkness enveloping the house. “We might be out of our league here.”

Shane had smiled, because even though he was still scared shitless of ruining Jas’s life, and even though during that entire conversation he had a blinding headache and shook for a beer, it still gave him a flicker of pride how smart she was. “Maybe she should talk to a therapist, too.”

That had opened the pathway to a referral from Dr. Harvey. Dr. Naomi worked on a sliding scale, and took children and families. And no matter how fucked up and no matter how much Jas deserved better, they were a family.

After therapy, they usually got a little lunch at a cafe that was dingy but inexpensive. Jas would try something new every week, and Shane would have an egg sandwich with bright hot pepper chutney on it (not as good as the chutney from Thomas's peppers). They had time to kill until the bus back left at 2:30, so sometimes they’d go fling a frisbee around in the park downtown. Or, if they were running low on supplies at the ranch, they’d go grocery shopping at the big Jojamart downtown, picking up some of the bulk goods cheaper than they could anywhere in Pelican Town. Shane would push a cart through the store, Jas riding in it like a queen on a litter (she was going to be too big for this soon), managing whatever list Marnie had left them.

On those days, Jas always peppered him with questions-- about Zuzu City and when he’d lived there with Garrett, about all the people rushing past them and the skyscrapers soaring above them, and sometimes, with slightly teary eyes but deep curiosity, questions about the parents she had increasingly dim memories of.

This broke Shane’s heart a little. When they were back in Pelican Town, Jas wanted to talk about things that were more grounded in her day-to-day life. The six-inch earthworm she and Vincent had found, the chicken that had just hatched with a blue tint to its feathers, the nature trip Penny and Thomas had taken them on to a secret woodland out in Cindersap Forest. But when they came here, and she connected things back to her parents, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had kidnapped her and delivered her to the valley, away from some city life she should have had with school and friends and shops and museums that weren’t in the back of a library.

(“It’s normal for her to be curious,” Dr. Naomi told him. “Just be honest, and kind.”)

Kind didn’t come easy to Shane, though with Jas he could usually manage. He was so scared of saying the wrong thing, of messing her up for good. But one night, after the bus pulled back to the Pelican Town bus stop after a long sunset drive past the ocean, Jas had sighed happily and closed her eyes in the seat. “It’s good to be home,” she said.

That comment was another bolt of happiness.

*

And then there were the weekends. These were the hardest to fill.

Dr. Naomi had suggested that Shane get more exercise (even though, hello, chasing chickens and building a coop was exercise), and had in one of her more evil ploys said this to Shane during the family part of their session. Right in front of Jas.

“I’m not very good at exercising,” he had mumbled. Which really meant, Hey, I used to be varsity, but c’mon lady, I’m made of ten years of beer and pizza rolls, don’t make me do more than walk and lift stuff.

Dr. Naomi had smiled. What an absolute menace. “Jas, like we talked about, it’s okay to make mistakes right? And try new things even if we don’t know how to do them?”

Jas had nodded, eyes huge. She loved Dr. Naomi and the “fun” animal brooches she always wore. “It’s okay, Shane! You just have to try!”

So this was Shane, trying. It was Sunday, and despite the crispness in the air, the sun was bright and warm. He should never have let Jas pick their exercise for the afternoon.

“No, no, no,” Jas said to him. “You have to swing, then jump. You can’t move your arms and legs at the same time.”

Shane untangled his legs from the jump rope for what must have been the twentieth time. “Who gives a fart, Jas?”

She glared at him, not liking the sacred Dr. Naomi being quoted against her. “I give a fart. Do it like this,” she instructed, taking the rope and demonstrating. The rope slapped the grass, her feet jumped, a syncopated rhythm. She chanted as she jumped.

Junimo, Junimo, in the trees,
What do you think of all these bees?
Honey, honey, for you and me
How many gemberries do you see?
1… 2… 3… 4….

Shane watched her, feeling something settle into place. He’d never fit in here. But this place, Jas was making it hers. She tripped after four. “See? Not so hard.”

Shane ran a hand through his sweaty hair. It wasn’t like sweet endorphins were flooding his system, rendering the darkness in him null and irrelevant. But he did have to admit, feeling this stupid and getting his heart pounding a little were at least distracting. “Okay, one more try. Then I might have to be done for the day.”

She handed him the rope, solemnly. He took a breath, tried it. “Junimo, Junimo, what do you… ouch!” He slapped himself in the forehead with the rope.

Jas shook her head, comically solemn. “This might be hopeless,” she announced.

Leaves crunched behind them-- footsteps. “Totally hopeless,” came another voice, much deeper. Shane, already recognizing it, stomach flip-flopping, turned around. The farmer stood by the forest clearing where Shane and Jas were “exercising”, the sack he always carried when he was foraging dangling at his side.

Jas smiled and waved. She had come to his farm with Shane one or two weekends, to visit with the chickens and make sure they were settling in. She loved petting the cat and hunting for tadpoles in the pond, just like Shane had used to do as a kid. “Hi, Farmer Thomas!”

“Good afternoon, my lady,” he said. He bowed, sweeping off his hat. she giggled. Shane smiled at the exchange, till Thomas straightened up and he saw the stitches on his forehead.

Jas gasped. “What happened to you?” Little kids pulled no punches. It was one of the reasons Shane had found that, even sober, maybe especially sober, he liked talking to Jas.

Thomas smiled ruefully. “I hit my head. Don’t worry, I’m okay. I know it looks gross.”

“No, it’s cool!” He bent down so she could inspect it. Meanwhile, Shane couldn’t help but glance over the farmer’s body-- not in a happy “this is a nice view” way, but in a “was he limping? Just how beat up is this guy?” way. A worried way. A caring way.

It felt strange, to feel protective of someone else. But lately it seemed like Thomas had been burning the candle at both ends, and the few times Shane had seen him on his farm this week, he had seemed worn out, not laughing as easily. “Jas, you want to run inside and see if Marnie needs our help with dinner?” he asked.

“Can Farmer Thomas stay?” she asked.

“Farmer Thomas has some very urgent weeding to do tonight,” Thomas said. Even exhausted, he was always so easy with Jas. “Thanks though, kiddo.”

Jas pouted for a moment, but then ran down the path toward Marnie’s, pausing to throw a “Keep practicing!” over her shoulder to Shane.

Thomas smiled, glancing at Shane as she rushed off. “Yeah, I think you’ve almost got it. Junimo, Junimo...” he said.

Shane just stared back. He took a step closer, looking closer at the cut. That had to be six stitches. And his eyes had dark circles under them, like he’d only snatched a few hours of sleep.

Thomas’s grin faded. “It looks worse than it is.”

“Like hell,” Shane said. He jammed his hands in the pocket of his windbreaker, feeling cold now that his sweat was drying. “You get that on your farm?”

Thomas shook his head. “This one was down the mines. Nothing-- nothing too scary happened,” he said, using “scary” in the way that Shane knew meant strange and terrifying creatures that had lived in the valley far longer than humans. “Just an incident with some explosives and falling rock.”

“Oh, well, that’s fine then,” Shane snapped, his heart pounding. This moment felt like a lightning bolt of feeling, too, not of happiness but of care and concern. He wanted to reach out, touch the skin around the cut, smooth out the creases of exhaustion and fear in Thomas’s brow. “You have to be more careful.”

Thomas let out a short, frustrated laugh. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m trying to keep this farm afloat. I love it here. I don’t-- I don’t want to lose it. I have to do the work.”

The clearing was spacious, the trees and bushes thin, but Shane and Thomas were standing close next to each other. The wind settled. The air felt very still. Still, the forest around them was full of sound and movement.

Be honest, be kind. Shane hated that he could hear Dr. Naomi’s voice in his head. Maybe he wants you to make the first move. “Well, I don’t want to lose you,” he said back, very quietly, pushing past the tremble of fear that came with saying these vulnerable words. “Okay?”

The farmer met his gaze, green steely eyes unblinking. It was crazy, really, how Thomas’s eyes could convey brightness, happiness, even when his face was serious. “Okay,” he said softly.

Shane’s heart pounded. He didn’t think, he just reached out and touched Thomas’s face. Stubble, sweat, dirty glasses. Then he closed the space between them, pulled him close, pushed back the brim of his sou'wester, and pressed his lips to his, scent of sap and dirt and coffee close around him. He didn’t know where it came from. Maybe it was from realizing all the easy bravado of Thomas masked this tired man, trying his best, not sure what he could do except take one more exhausting step forward. Thomas leaned in, taller than Shane, hands going to his face. Their lips met again, slowly, hesitantly, warmly.

A leaf, blowing in the wind, hit both of them, right in the faces. They pulled apart, Thomas already laughing, catching Shane's hand in his. Shane, swept up, laughed too. The moment was electric in Shane’s chest, a hundred lightning bolts.

Chapter Text

Shane’s breath fogged in front of him as he stood at the bus stop, waiting for the four o’ clock bus. Also, waiting for Thomas. Golden hour had come and gone, the sun had dipped below the trees, and twilight was fast approaching. He wished he had brought some gloves. Autumn was almost over, the trees bare and stark, Spirit’s Eve around the corner.

Jas was so excited for Spirit’s Eve. Thomas had given her one of his pumpkins, the ones that had been growing bigger and brighter all fall. She had agonized for days over what to carve, before deciding on a traditional Jack o’ Lantern face. Shane did most of the knife handling and tried to follow her careful marker lines, but it had come out with a bit of a lopsided face.

“It’s okay,” she had told him. “That just makes her look spookier.”

He really didn’t deserve her. But he was trying to.

Footsteps, on the path. As soon as he heard them, he turned around, hoping to see Thomas’s yellow hat bobbing up and down as he came up from his farm. But it was just Alex, walking to the bus stop.

Shane tried to look away, but it was too late. They had made eye contact. By Pelican Town law, Alex had to say something. “Uh, hey,” he said.

Unlike Alex, Shane had not been born and bred in Pelican Town. The past couple years, he had used that for all it was worth, to shut out all the politeness and niceties with scorn. He was trying to be better. Even if he had already burned a lot of bridges, he didn’t want to ruin this place for Jas. But it sure did not come easy. “Hi,” he said back. That was good enough.

Not for Alex, apparently. “Tunnelers game?” he asked. They weren’t friends, not by any means, but they both were likely as not to be listening to the radio at the Saloon when a game was on.

Shane nodded. He hadn’t known Alex was going up to the game, or he might have axed this whole plan before he even came up with it. He wasn’t sure he was ready to sit on a bus with Thomas for two hours if Alex was there. What was between Shane and Thomas felt new, tender, scary-- not something he was ready to have all of Pelican Town know about yet.

Maybe this whole thing had been a bad idea. But when Shane and Jas had passed by the ticket booth the other day when he was in the city for therapy, it had caught his eye for the first time in months. He and Garrett had used to catch every gridball game they could-- cheap seats in the nosebleed section when there was a home game with low enough stakes that tickets were in low demand, holed up at their favorite bar when the games were away or it was the playoffs.

After Garrett and Lor died, Shane had mostly listened to the games on the radio, especially at the Stardrop. But he did it with the kind of listlessness and lack of caring that he attached to most things. After a lot of games he was deep enough in his beer and despair that he wasn’t even sure who’d won. And this spring and summer, when he’d really been at the bottom of the barrel, crushed under the weight of his own pain, he hadn’t even turned on the radio.

But now, it felt like something that-- he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to enjoy it with the same ease again, but it felt like something he might want to try to revisit. And maybe share with Thomas. The Tunnelers had already lost in the playoffs-- this was their last game of the season, mostly meaningless, for seeding next year. That meant cheap tickets.

So he had bought a couple tickets for the next game, on a whim. “Should I get you one, too?” Shane asked Jas.

She wrinkled her nose. “I hate gridball.”

He laughed. He was finding himself laughing every once in a while. It was almost strange, like the action was some math concept he had learned in school a long time ago and had since forgotten. “Okay, you and Marnie can hang that night.”

Shane couldn’t deny that the main reason for his occasional giddiness was Thomas. It had only been a week since they had shared a kiss in Cindersap Forest, and ever since then, Shane had been wavering back and forth between the joy of delving further into the strange but invigorating chemistry that had been there between them all year, and the terror of imagining of how it would all feel when it inevitably came crashing down.

The routine hadn’t changed much-- they still had seen each other on the farm most days this week-- but the tone and tenor of things definitely had. Sometimes Shane felt like his heart was pounding out of his chest when he took the path up to Thomas’s farm. But then he’d see the farmer, cutting pumpkins from the vine or inspecting his tender young apple trees or petting the little black cat, and remember that this was just Thomas. Goofy, genuine, laid-back to a fault Thomas. And his pulse would settle as Thomas saw him coming down the path, reached out, pulled him in.

That was how Shane had spent the past week, alternately giddy with disbelief, and tormented by anxiety that somehow this bubble would pop. Per Dr. Naomi, he tried to remind himself that sometimes the negative thoughts were just his own voices. “What if when people tell you that they care about you,” she kept saying, “you just took them at face value instead of assumed they were lying?”

He was trying. But it was really hard. Especially when the bus was pulling into the Pelican Town bus stop, and the farmer still wasn’t here.

Alex started toward the bus. He went two steps up into the entrance, then looked back at Shane, who hadn’t moved. “Uh, you coming?” he asked.

Shane touched the tickets in his pocket for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon. “Waiting on someone,” he said.

Alex hesitated, like he was about to ask, but the two years Shane had spent building up a wall of vitriol between himself and everyone else in Pelican Town paid off. He hopped onto the empty bus (Pelican town was the furthest stop on the line, so the residents got their pick of seats), and went straight to the back of it like the jock that he was.

Shane stood there, waiting, fidgeting. He tried to take a deep breath and count to ten (one of the strategies he had been offered to try when his mind started racing.) He did that, but at the end of it he had not managed to trick time or luck-- Thomas still hadn’t shown up.

So he tried thinking of a pleasant memory. Last night, he and Thomas had sat a long while on the farmhouse’s porch stairs, leaning against one another as the sky turned from blue to yellow to orange to red. Shane had invited him to the Tunnelers game, as nervously as a high schooler asking someone to prom. Thomas had accepted, just saying that he needed to do a couple things around the farm tomorrow beforehand-- some fencing, some wire around the field where the chickens liked to peck.

Shane realized that this was the latest he had ever been on the farm. “Should I go?” he had asked, glancing at the bells, at the reinforced hardwood around the door and windows. “Don’t want to take you away from, uh… any nightly routines you have with the old wildlife.”

Thomas had smiled. “You’re joking, but there’s absolutely a routine. Wanna see it?” When Shane gave him an incredulous look, he just leaned in, gave Shane a peck on the lips with a smile-- too short, way too short-- and then grabbed his fishing pail from where he left it on his porch with his other tools. He grabbed his axe, leapt off the porch down into the yard, and started banging on the pail with the back of the axe. “Attention, monsters!” he yelled, the metal clanging in an arrhythmic alarm, “Listen up! Don't even think about coming up here tonight! I have better things to do than beat you up right now!”

He turned and looked at Shane, a big shit-eating grin on his face, the kind he got when he knew he had caused Shane to smile, the kind that always made Shane’s belly flip.

“So that’s the routine, huh?” Shane had asked, mock skeptical, as the farmer walked back toward him. “Less swordsmanship than I thought.”

“They don’t want to fight most nights, not ‘less I’m really unlucky. Just lurk around and scare me shitless.” Thomas shrugged.

Shane had smiled, then, wanting to bask in the easy confidence. He caught the farmer’s hand. The truth was, he hadn’t been with anyone since before he moved to Pelican Town, the part of him that craved human connection and touch so far from his reality, so far from his pain, that the idea almost felt abstract. But this thing with Thomas, it felt so easy, too easy. It startled him, over and over. “Sounds like you’re free for the night,” he said, pretending for a second that he was confident, too.

Thomas had let himself be pulled into Shane’s arms. “I could be free,” he said, leaning in, his words buzzing against Shane’s lips as one hand slid up the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair.

“Am I invited?” Shane asked, before Thomas pulled him in for a kiss, long and deep.

This one lasted a lot longer, a lot warmer, but it still wasn’t as long as Shane wanted before Thomas pulled away. His forehead pressed against Shane, his lips in a smile, he said, “Very much so. But let’s go inside before the golems change their mind about bothering us.”

So they did. And it brought a smile to Shane’s face (and a bit of a blush) to think over the previous night. But then he was brought back to reality when the bus driver honked. This far out in the route, she was usually willing to wait a few minutes in case someone was running late, but she had a timetable to keep to. “You coming?” she asked.

Shane glanced back down at the path from the farmer’s house. Not a sound.

His heart racing, he shook his head. “Sorry, I’ve-- something came up.” He had no fucking idea why he’d apologized. He just felt angry and sad and panicky. Maybe he’d been too needy the previous night, and Thomas had decided this wasn’t his thing. Or maybe he had just forgotten.

Shane felt the kind of anxiety paralysis that had grown so familiar through his lifetime creeping back in. Sometimes therapy made him feel worse because even if it helped sometimes, other times it didn’t, and those times all he had were new words and labels to describe the shittiness he was feeling. Should he go see Thomas? Maybe not, if he was avoiding Shane. Still, it was fucking annoying that he hadn’t even told Shane and let him go to the bus stop like an idiot. He felt the bad old anger rising up in him, the kind that he needed to let out with harsh, drunk words.

It was approaching twilight, but not dark yet. If he wanted to go by Thomas’s, he was running out of daylight. Finally, tired of feeling torn by indecision, he just went down the path from the bus stop toward Thomas’s farm. The north end of his farm was close by the bus stop. He might as well see if he was home. Shane imagined Thomas, through the window, warm dim light in his farmhouse showing his silhouette through the glass. Fine without Shane. Having forgotten the bus, or worse, just having decided it wasn’t worth his time.

The whole way down the path, away from the bus stop and into the wilderness, he kept wavering between being mad at Thomas for standing him up, and mad at himself for believing that he could go have a normal date with a normal guy like a regular non-fucked-up person. He knew. wasn’t supposed to let himself spiral like this, but he couldn’t help it. Not when it was easy to find evidence for his most self-loathing thoughts.

He walked quickly, not wanting to spend more time than he had to out away from the lights and safety of town. he was scared of monsters, sure, but even beyond that, he dreaded coming down the path and approaching the farm. He wasn’t sure what he’d say if he saw Thomas. Maybe he’d just confirm that he was there, safe, just uninterested in Shane, and then go to Jojamart. He could grab a case of cold ones, and just… accept who he was. This brief foray from his shitty habits into “self-care” and “healing” and “falling for a farmer” had been a pain in the ass, anyway.

Then he came over the hill and down into the clearing of Thomas’s yard. The farmhouse was dark. The barnyard was empty, except two chickens clucking anxiously around the henhouse. Thomas was nowhere to be seen.

Shane stopped. This was weird. He had already been sure that Thomas would be there, some imaginary version of Thomas that even the most catastrophizing parts of his brain knew was outlandish, a Thomas that would laugh at him, at the idea that they’d ever go on a date together. But he was just… missing.

What if he was in trouble?

A meow at his ankles. The cat was winding through Shane’s legs, purring anxiously, rubbing its sides against Shane’s worn tennis shoes. This was weird. The cat did not like Shane, which was something of a running joke between him and Thomas. “What’s up, cat?” he murmured to himself.

The hens were anxious, too, their clucking growing louder each moment. Shane realized the door of their coop had fallen shut, leaving them stuck outside as the sky grew dark. He went to let them into their coop. They shouldn’t be out now that the shadows of the trees seemed to be moving even when the wind was still.

The hens ran in. Shane glanced at the porch, where the farmer often left his pickaxe lying with his other tools when he wasn’t using it. It was gone.

Shane would bet anything the sword he kept by his bed was missing, too.

To the south, down in the trees Thomas hadn’t yet tamed back, one of the bell poles rang, then another, closer. The cat bolted under the porch. Shane turned quickly, and set off at a hurried pace, away from the path that he had taken from the bus stop, toward the path to the north, the one that took you all the way up to the mountains.

*

Shane didn’t go to the mountains often. He had explored here as a kid, but since moving here he hadn’t left the worn out track between Marnie’s and Jojamart, or Cindersap Forest, all that much. Still, the route up to the mountains through the backwoods was familiar even after all these years.

He hadn’t been down the old mines since he was fourteen, the last summer he came out here. He had explored the well-trodden entryway, even climbed down a couple ladders to rickety ladder to the shallowest floor of the mines. But he had always been an anxious kid, and as soon as he heard the flapping of wings and squeaking of bats, he had fled right back up, heart pounding.

He walked past Robin’s house, hands shoved in his pockets. The sun had disappeared fully behind the mountains, now, the sky was darkening, and despite the sweat he had built up over the walk into the mountains, he was starting to shiver with cold. He had felt angry with Thomas earlier, but now, remembering the kindness and joy of the farmer who was trying to tame the wilderness farm, Shane just felt scared he might be in trouble.

He walked around the lake, quickly now, toward the entrance he knew was waiting there. It was a hole carved in the mountains, braced open with hardwood. Full of misgivings, and unsure what he was even looking for, Shane went inside.

The air inside was immediately different. Shane hadn’t noticed the noise of the animals, the rustling leaves on the ground, the sounds of the movement of the water, until he went into the mine and all those noises were gone. Instead, he was in an atrium, lit only by a flickering wall lantern, each footstep resonating against the cave walls.

“Thomas?” he said, feeling foolish. The only answer was his own voice, ringing around him. This was stupid. If Thomas was even down here, maybe it was because he wanted to be. Maybe he'd forgotten, lost track of time.

Then he saw, hung carefully on a stone outcropping on the wall next to the ancient elevator shaft, Thomas’s sou’wester.

For some reason, that stopped him short. Seeing the hat without the man that was supposed to be under it felt wrong, somehow. It made him feel like this had been supposed to be a short trip. That Thomas might actually be in trouble. But what the hell was he supposed to do about that? It wasn’t like he knew what he was doing down here. Even if the only man who had made him feel anything in years was in danger, what could he do? He was just a fuckup, scared, alone, lost, futile. No amount of therapy or romance could change that.

“What are you doing here?” a gruff voice came behind him, echoing through the antechamber of the mines. Shane had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he startled, turning around and pressing his back toward the wall.

It was Linus, the mountain man. Shane had seen him, lingering on the outside of festivals, and once in a blue moon in town after dark, when Shane was weaving his way home from the Stardrop. And he knew that Thomas was friendly with the man, that they talked fishing and foraging most days. But Shane had never actually spoken to Linus before. Up close, he looked even scarier than usual, his odd yellow oft-mended outfit hanging off him, his beard full and white.

“Don’t you know the mines are no place for townsfolk to go after dark? Especially unarmed?” Linus asked, striding across the mine to meet him.

Normally when someone stepped to Shane like that, he couldn’t help but go aggressive back. Especially when he was drunk. But right now he was sober, and increasingly scared that Thomas might be in danger. “I-- look. My name’s Shane, and I think my friend’s in trouble,” he said.

Linus looked around. His movements were very deliberate, his body thin and utterly hardened, his eyes sharp. He saw the yellow hat, too. “You’re Thomas’s Shane?” he asked.

Shane was taken aback by this comment, but for now pushed aside the feeling of warmth and relief that came with the knowledge that Thomas had, apparently, talked to Linus about him. He just nodded. For simplicity’s sake.

Linus sighed. “I told him, always make sure someone knows where he is.” He turned back toward the exit, as though he was leaving.

“Wait--” Shane said, panicking. “What do-- what do I do?”

Linus turned back to look at him. “Well, you come with me. We’ll need to grab some weapons. Or run on home if you prefer, I’ve dragged Thomas’s skinny body out of the mines before and I can do it again.”

Shane stood there, feeling deja vu creep up on him. Something was similar to the dimmest parts of his memory when he’d been laying on those cliffs. On a precipice, too cowardly to make a decision one way or the other.

But he wasn’t at the cliffs. He was here, in a cave in the mountains, and his head was clear. This was where he was supposed to be. Thomas was in trouble. Shane shook his head, steeled himself, and followed Linus.

Chapter Text

It felt surreal as a dream. Shane had gone back to Linus’s tent with him, humming with nerves the whole time. He watched as Linus retrieved some kind of lead rod (which he handed to Shane), and a slingshot, a fistful of rocks, and a strange carved bone that looked heavy and ancient (which he kept for himself). Then, grumbling and mumbling to himself, he led Shane back to the mine’s antechamber through the dark mountain pathways. Night had really set in now, and owls were out. Maybe bats, too, flapping through the trees.

Linus punched a button on the elevator, then waited, watching it intently. A minute went by. Another one. Shane was practically vibrating with fear and impatience. “What are we waiting for?”

Linus held up one hand in a firm shushing gesture. Finally, the elevator creaked open, dark, rickety, one burnt out bulb dangling from its ceiling. “Two hundred eight seconds,” Linus said. “I think he’ll probably be around the 30th floor.”

Shane barely had time to feel some grudging respect for Linus before he got shoved into the elevator. “Look alive,” said Linus. “In these mines, the most important thing you can do is walk softly, stop and listen to the sounds around you, and remember your path to the exit. If you’re gentle with the mountain, she’ll be gentle with you, but people going through the mines aren’t generally gentle with her.”

Shane held the lead rod with shaking hands, heart pounding. This didn’t feel real. But when he thought about Thomas-- Thomas with the black eye the day after a bad day in the mines, Thomas who sat with him on the cliff, Thomas laughing giddily after they kissed for the first time-- it steeled him a little. Part of him wished he had had a drink to take the edge off, but it also felt good to be-- focused. Alert. Clear. “You’ve found Thomas down here before?” he asked Linus.

The mountain man nodded. “I try to keep an eye on who comes and goes. Anyway, I like the kid. He’s been kind.”

Same, Linus. Same, thought Shane.

The slowest, ricketiest elevator ride ever later, the doors scraped open. Linus held up one finger to his lips. “Stay behind me,” he said, voice quiet. “Don’t get yourself injured, you’re down here to make it easier to get Thomas out if he’s hurt.”

Shane didn’t like to think about the kind of hurt Thomas might have to be if he required two grown men to get him out of here. He just nodded, his grip tightening around the lead rod. He followed Linus out into the thirtieth level of the mine.

For a moment, the darkness in front of Shane was so intense that he stopped in his tracks, thinking he might be about to walk into a wall. Then, the sound of a match striking. Linus had lit a dim torch, flickering, casting a circle of light around them barely more than a meter. “We’ll try not to disturb the creatures here too much,” said Linus. “They’re only doing what they know to do. We’re in their home.”

Shane was a little less interested in leaving no trace and a little more interested in finding Thomas and getting the fuck out of here. Still, he followed Linus as closely and quietly as he could, terrified to lose the little circle of light. Their steps echoed against the stone walls, their feet scraping against loose earth.

Something in the earth moved under Shane’s feet. He tried not to yell, but he couldn’t stop sharp exhalation of “Shit!” that burst forth. The something vanished back into the earth, before popping up again right where Shane put his foot next.

“Duggie,” said Linus quickly. “Come over here, on the rocks.”

Shane scrambled off the soft earth onto the harder stone near the cave walls, his heart pounding. He thought about Jas, Marnie. What if he died down here? For the first time, he wasn’t actually sure if they’d be better off.

But he was here with Linus, he was here for Thomas. He had to do this.

They searched through the mine, Linus pausing every so often to listen. He moved naturally here, each footstep measured and silent. Shane banged his shin into a rock so hard that he almost swore, but he just mumbled a “Shit,” and tried to listen for the sound of Thomas’s breathing, strain his eyes through the darkness looking for his farmer.

Something furry and screeching flapped toward him through the air, leathery wings beating the air. Shane flung one hand up over his head, forgetting the lead rod in other entirely.

Linus calmly dispatched the bat, swatting it away with his torch, not even using the bone club in his other hand or the slingshot around his neck. “Look alive,” he said, so quietly that Shane barely heard. “Lot of monsters this level.”

Shane clutched the rod tighter in his hand. Then saw, as Linus gave another sweep of the torch, the glint of glasses in the dim firelight. He tapped Linus’s shoulder, and started toward Thomas, feeling strangely shocked to see him even though he was why Shane was down here.

But a firm hand grabbed him. “Don’t move,” hissed Linus, his voice soft but full of urgency and force that Shane stopped in his tracks. “Void shaman. Watch my back.”

Shane stared at Thomas, crumpled in the darkness, trying to tell if he was even breathing. Linus loaded a slingshot, carefully, methodically. The shadow up ahead was strangely still in the flickering light, strangely humanoid. Then it turned around, solid and strange. It was wearing an odd yellow mask that flickered in the light. Shane’s stomach dropped.

Linus shot the slingshot, then smoothly went to reload it. Shane watched, terrified, frozen before some animal part of his brain registered the sound of flapping wings once again, coming toward both of them. Another bat. Linus was fully focused on the slingshot.

Clumsily, but with all the power his reflexes could muster in the space of a breath, Shane whipped the lead rod straight up, toward the sound. A solid thump as he hit the fluttering bat, and another, softer thump as it landed on the floor. Shane’s heart pounded in his ears.

Linus shot one more stone at the shadow creature. With a strange, hollow-sounding moan, it dissolved into dust, leaving behind a strange glowing sphere. “Come on,” Linus said, picking the torch back up and getting to his feet. His voice was still as calm as if he was picking berries, but his quick footsteps betrayed his urgency. “Let’s get Thomas.”

They walked through the mine, Shane tripping on a few rocks. But he barely noticed, so singularly focused he was on getting to the farmer lying still in the corner. When they got to his body, Shane knelt down beside him. “Thomas?” he said, his voice frantic, grabbing his shoulder. “Thomas?”

At first he thought it was a trick of the flickering light, but then he realized Thomas’s eyes were fluttering open. “Shane?” he rasped.

Shane sagged in relief. He wanted to hug Thomas, but as much or more, he wanted to get him out of here. “Come on, can you stand up?” he asked.

Thomas tried to push himself to his feet, but it took both Shane and Linus lifting under his armpits to get him to his feet. He seemed unable to put weight on his right ankle, and his right thigh had a deep gouge that made Shane lightheaded.

They weaved their way back across the mine level, Shane trying to hold Thomas mostly upright, Linus making liberal use of the slingshot. What was probably about five minutes felt like hours, Shane trying to mumble encouragement to the struggling farmer as quietly as possible through impatience and fear. Linus ushered them inside, and worked the lever to start the elevator back up the thirty levels to the surface.

“Shane?” said Thomas blearily, leaning heavily against him as the wooden slats of the elevator walls creaked and groaned around them. His stitches had split and blood ran down his face. His glasses had gotten lost in the shuffle somewhere and were missing entirely. “What time is it?”

“I have no fucking idea,” Shane said, lightheaded with relief to hear Thomas’s voice, trying not to listen to the protests of the elevator as it transported three grown men. He held Thomas's cold body as tight as he could around the waist, partially to keep him steady, but also just to reassure himself that Thomas was alive, here, breathing.

Thomas mumbled something incomprehensible. “What?” Shane asked.

“I’m late for our date,” Thomas said, sagging against Shane.

Shane’s heart broke a tiny bit. “Shut up, okay?” he said roughly. “We gotta get you to Harvey’s. Maybe a real hospital.”

They stood, a leaning pair of messes, Linus watching the two of them curiously, as the elevator reached the top. When it opened, Shane felt so much relief come over him that he almost collapsed under Thomas’s weight. Linus immediately ducked under Thomas’s other shoulder.

They walked him out of the mines. By the time they got back out to Linus’s tent, Thomas had passed out again. They laid him carefully on the ground, unable to support the dead weight without dragging his legs. Shane’s back, still not right after the injury that had taken him off the varsity gridball team ten years ago, was screaming. “This isn’t gonna work,” he said.

Linus nodded. He was busy attempting to wrap a length of cloth, procured from his tent, around Thomas’s right thigh, which was bleeding sluggishly. “We need something to carry him.”

So that was how Shane ended up banging on Robin and Demetrius’s door late in the night. Robin answered, confused, sleepy, in sweatpants and a gigantic gridball jersey. “...Shane?”

This was where maybe it wasn’t good to have alienated half the town. “Hi, Robin. Um… we need a ride down to Harvey’s,” Shane said. “Thomas is hurt.”

Once Thomas’s name was in the picture, Robin jumped into action. Sometimes Shane struggled with the idea that Thomas could be so well-liked by the townsfolk, and still like him. But none of that mattered right now, as he and Robin hopped into the cab of her pickup truck, the bed full of lumber, and drove up the mountain.

Linus was there, and had gotten Thomas partially conscious again. They loaded him into the passenger seat, then realized quickly there wasn’t room for anyone else in the cramped cab. “You can walk down if you don’t mind. I’ll take him to Harvey’s,” Robin said, looking somewhat distrustfully at the disheveled, soot-covered Shane and mountain man. “He’ll know what to do.”

And like that, the truck was disappearing over the mountains, down toward Pelican Town, headlights fading into the darkness, leaving Shane and Linus alone in the darkness.

By silent agreement, they started walking down toward the town. Shane could feel himself crashing, adrenaline rush fading. He walked fast, shins and back aching, full of emotions he couldn’t name. The air was cold, but he barely noticed.

Linus walked beside him, quiet, keeping pace with him. They came down the mountain, the old community center coming into view. Finally, Linus asked, “The mines can be hard on folks. How are you doing?”

A rush of words came out of Shane that he hadn’t even known were there. “I hate that he does this,” he said, surprised at the force the words came out with, his voice as panicked as it was angry. “Why the fuck does he have to go down there and risk his damn life just for some shiny rocks?” It was so hard. He had made the decision to keep on living, day by day, but moments like this, where everything he could lose came rushing up to meet him, all at once-- it was how he imagined falling off a cliff would feel.

Linus said nothing. Shane realized he had stopped walking, was back on the path maybe ten feet behind him. He was staring up at the stars. “You coming?” Shane asked roughly.

Linus held up a hand. He closed his eyes for a moment, like he had come to some kind of decision. Then he spoke, in a voice so quiet Shane had to come back closer to make out the words. “You should hear this,” he said.

“Hear what?” Shane said, desperate to keep moving, to focus on something, anything except the fear pulsing through him.

But Linus just stood there, the only sound wind rustling the leaves on the ground. Finally, he spoke.

“Places have… rhythms, and a place like Stardew Valley has rhythms that run deeper and older than most. At least, compared to what I remember of the world,” he said. “Some people… they’re in touch with it, with the personality of a place. The power of it. It’s there if you listen for it, stay still enough to let the voice of the valley speak to you.”

Shane let out a shaky breath. He hugged his arms around himself and looked up at the night sky, to try and stop the tears threatening to spill over. The air was cold, the dark expanse of night lit with a shock of stars like salt spilled across a table.

“Thomas has a natural gift for it. His grandpa was like that, too, come to think of it,” said Linus thoughtfully. “People like that, people with intuition… they’re drawn to the older parts of the valley. And the older parts of the valley are drawn to them.”

The path was dark around them, the trees rustling in the wind. Shane could see the streetlights of Pelican Town at a distance, but they felt very far from this dark and cold conversation. Linus said, “Those people usually come off all right here, once they learn the shape of things. They might run risks, but soon enough they learn what they can trust, what they can handle. They learn to listen.”

“I’m not like that,” Shane said. He realized he was shivering. “I’m not from here. I don’t know if I’m ever gonna get it.”

Linus nodded. His voice was gentler than it had been down in the mines. “Most don’t. Even some people who grew up here don’t. But…” he hesitated, then put a hand on the other man’s shoulder. Shane could feel the warmth and strength of the mountain man’s grip through his flannel. “Protecting the ones you care about, that’s something that you choose. Something to be admired. Bravery, love... those are needed in the valley, too.”

Shane let out another breath, glad the darkness surrounding them hid his face. Something faraway howled long and lonely. Linus squeezed his hand against Shane’s shoulder, then turned away, back toward the mountain.

“You’re not coming?” Shane asked, but he already felt like he knew the answer.

Linus didn’t turn around. “I’d like to stay under the stars tonight, I think,” he said. “Tell Thomas… when he’s healed up, tell him to come and see me.”

Shane nodded. He turned away, then remembered the weight in his pocket. “Hey!” he called to the man vanishing into the darkness. “You want this lead thing?”

Linus kept walking. Shane thought he hadn’t heard, but then he called faintly, “Keep it, you earned it.”

Shane held it all the way back to Pelican Town, its heft and weight feeling lighter than before, like it really belonged to him.

*

Harvey hadn’t wanted to let Shane in to see Thomas at first, but he relented when he saw Shane’s desperate, soot-covered face. Shane’s night at the hospital after his incident on the cliffs was a little foggy, but he thought he remembered the doctor’s kindness, kindness he didn’t then feel he deserved. This confirmed that. “Just let him sleep if he’s sleeping,” Harvey told Shane. “He lost a lot of blood. I’ve got a saline drip in him, replenish some of his fluids. And some pain meds, had to put a lot of stitches in his leg. But we’re going to have to monitor him, see if he needs to go to Zuzu.”

Shane went into the same room with the bed he had woken up in. This time, there was Thomas, lying still and quiet. Harvey must have wiped down his face of blood and soot, and put a butterfly bandage over the reopened cut on his forehead.

It hurt Shane’s heart, a little, to see the bruises on Thomas’s face, the heavy bandages on his leg. But he was okay. That was what Shane kept telling himself.

Thomas opened his eyes. Despite the saline drip hooked up to his forearm, he looked more or less all right. Shane was pretty confident that, despite the terror of the evening for him, it took more than that to take out Thomas.

“Hi,” Thomas said, his voice hoarse.

Shane said nothing, but he went to the chair beside the bed. They sat there, quiet, for a long moment. Shane listened to the clock tick. It was strange to be back in here.

“You okay?” Thomas asked, finally.

Shane tried to smile, but he knew it was at best a mediocre attempt. “You’re the one lying in a hospital bed.”

“Yeah, but… you okay?” Thomas said, struggling a bit to sit up before giving up and laying back down, his eyes never leaving Shane’s.

Shane realized he had something on his mind. These were the kind of things he wasn’t supposed to sit on, let simmer, let build. He was supposed to say when he was upset, and why.

Saying things was scary, that was the truth of it, shameful as it was. But this was Thomas, Thomas who had seen him lower than low, and still laughed with him, still sat with him. And after the mines tonight, it felt hollow to say that being honest about his feelings was the scariest thing on earth.

So Shane said what was on his mind. “Why’d you go down there?” he asked, in a low voice, pushing through the urge to shove it down. “I was waiting for you. I was scared.”

Thomas looked up, met Shane’s eyes. He looked so distraught that it made Shane ache. “I’m so sorry,” he said, speaking quickly even through the meds, maybe more nervously than Shane had ever heard him before. “It was so stupid. I went down to get something I lost. I wanted it for the Tunnelers game. I thought it’d be a quick trip, but... my light went out, and the next thing I knew I was surrounded by monsters.”

Shane caught his hand. It was unfamiliar to be the comforting one, but he was getting more practice lately. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, and it was true. It was hard to remember his fears and insecurities from earlier when Thomas was sitting there, all bruised and plastered and stitched, right in front of him.

“I know, but I’m just… I’m really sorry. It was a big deal, and you were excited about it, and so was I, and I fucked it up.” Thomas squeezed his hand tight.

Shane felt his throat catch a little. He wasn’t sure the last time he had gotten a real, sincere apology. He wasn’t sure the last time he had deserved one. Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, he sought an easier subject. “What’d you lose?”

Thomas sighed. He leaned back heavily against the pillows, closed his eyes. “You’re going to laugh at me,” he said.

The corner of Shane’s lips quirked up. Every time it felt like things were getting scary, dark, Thomas’s smiles and jokes were like a light to follow. “Maybe,” he agreed.

Thomas sighed, and with his good hand, pulled his disgusting, sooty backpack up from the floor onto the clean hospital sheets. He rummaged inside, before finally hitting upon something. “I bought this for you the other day,” he said, handing it to Shane. "But last time I was in the mines, I lost it. Kicked myself all day."

Shane looked at it. A bouquet, flowers bruised and worse for the wear, but so tightly wrapped with ribbon at the stems that it had held together through two days in the mine. The same bouquets Shane had seen for sale at Pierre’s, under a hand-painted sign that read Show your sweetie you’re the real deal! Nothing says romance in the valley like a bouquet from Pierre’s!

Shane looked back up at Thomas, whose face was red behind the bruises and soot. “Pierre had me convinced that this was, you know, the only way to… tell someone how you felt around here,” he said. “And when you kissed me, I just thought… I don’t know, maybe that you would like this. And I figured I’d give it to you at the game. It was stupid,” he added on.

Shane stood up, took the farmer’s face in his hands as gently as he could, and pressed their lips together. Then he pulled him in for a hug, partially so he wouldn’t see the tears that were close to coming down again.

“I’m really sorry we missed the game,” Thomas said, his voice muffled against Shane’s chest.

Shane released him after a few long moments, still holding onto his hand, reluctant to let it go. The earlier parts of the evening, the angst and fear Shane had felt, felt like they had happened days ago, weeks. “We’ll go some other time,” he said, before remembering the season was over. Games wouldn’t start back up for half a year at least.

But Thomas was already nodding. “Next season. Opening game. It’s on me.” Then he yawned so hard that Shane thought his forehead cut might open again.

“Harvey said you're supposed to rest,” Shane said, settling back in his chair.

“Dr. Harvey can eat my shirt,” Thomas said, but his eyes were drooping.

Shane smiled, holding on tight to his hand. “Okay, weirdo. Why don’t you get some sleep?”

Thomas nodded, closing his eyes. Shane felt a little weird sitting here watching him, but he also didn’t want to take his eyes off him after the feeling of searching desperately through the mines. It felt good to have him here, in front of him. Good to get some rest.

He barely heard Thomas when he spoke again. He looked up. “You saved me,” Thomas repeated sleepily. “You and Linus.”

Shane shrugged. “Now we’re even,” he said. It seemed like the kind of joke that he and Thomas usually bonded over, making light of the darkest situations.

But Thomas shook his head, fighting a yawn. “We’re not even.”

Shane shifted in his seat a little, suddenly uncomfortable. “I mean, yeah… I’ll always owe you one.”

Thomas smiled. He closed his eyes. “No, I meant… you saved yourself, on that cliff. All I did was walk you to the hospital.”

Shane wasn’t sure if it was a side effect of an adrenaline crash or what, but tears pricked at his eyes. He had felt so dead inside for so long. It felt strange feeling so much-- relief, thankfulness… care. “Whatever. Just bring a better light down in the mines with you, idiot.”

“You like this idiot,” said Thomas sleepily.

Shane said nothing, but this time, the smile on his face was real and from somewhere inside him. Yes, I do.

Chapter Text

Eight years ago

Shane and Garrett sat in the old apartment, half-buzzed, half-busted TV showing the after-game commentary on the Tunnelers game, summer storm pounding down on the walls and windows of the walk-up apartment. Shane had kept living there after Garrett moved out. He had thought about trying to find a new roommate, but he pulled in enough at the construction site to get by in the old shithole. And anyway, anyone else he could stand as a roommate probably couldn’t stand him.

Shane couldn’t shake the idea that the further Garrett moved along in his life, the more he, Shane, felt stuck, entrenched. Garrett and Lorraine had been together a year now, just moved into the little house they could barely afford. They were young, sure, but they loved each other to pieces in a way Shane wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to feel. And now Lorraine was pregnant. Even though she and Garrett had let him keep his weird little carved out space as Garret’s closest friend and a good buddy of Lor's, now, too, he knew things would change when they had their daughter. And that was good, that was right. But it was hard not to feel like he was a burden, like he’d be the fuckup friend of Garrett and Lorraine The Parents, instead of him and Garrett, two fuckups that weren’t particularly smart or successful but at least weren’t alone.

But at least for now, things felt normal. Garrett still came through the old place when Lor was with her friends. “That call in the third quarter was bullshit,” Shane said lazily, enjoying the feeling of doing nothing.

Instead of responding with his own half-assed opinion, Garrett pushed himself out of his slouching position on his half of the couch and looked up at Shane. “Hey, man, I need to talk to you about something.”

Shane glanced away from the TV. He and Garrett had been best buddies since kindergarten, since they were the two kids in dirty shirts with bruised arms and legs and no lunchboxes. Shane’s family had been as poor as Garrett’s, but at least not nearly as brutal. They’d supported each other through the years, Garrett even coming with Shane to visit Marnie one summer when his dad was in jail.

They’d had a lot of talks since over the years, and Shane knew that when this tone came up, it was serious time. “Yeah, sure, what’s up?”

Garrett reached into his cooler and grabbed them both another beer. It seemed like that kind of conversation. “Lor and I have been talking, and… we want you to be the kiddo’s godfather.”

Shane almost did a literal spit take. “What?” he said, eyes still watering from beer going down the wrong pipe.

“Shut the fuck up,” Garrett said, grinning. “Look, you’re our best friend, of course we’re asking you.”

Shane was floored. It was strange enough imagining his friend as a dad, but imagining himself as having a role in some child’s life? It was laughable. “You’re shitting me.”

“I’m glad you’re so thrilled,” Garrett said, taking a long pull of his beer.

“No, I mean…” Shane couldn’t name what he was feeling. Pride, maybe? “I’m honored, but… come on. Is Lor on board? What about her mom?”

“This was Lor’s idea,” Garrett said. “Her mom’s not doing so well, and… look. She knows how much you’ve been there for me, and... shit. She wants you in the nugget’s life, and I don’t know, if anything ever happened to us…”

“Don’t even say it,” Shane said.

"Come on, man. If anything ever happened to us... we'd want her to be with family." Garrett looked at him intently. "You know?"

Shane held his beer, listened to the rain. "That's never gonna happen," he said, in a joking voice, but mostly to reassure himself. "You sound like me."

“But, you’ll do it?” Garrett asked. “It's not just, like, a worst case scenario. We want you in the family. You can be Uncle Shane.”

Outside, the rain had partially receded, the pelting sounds reduced to a low and steady drumbeat. On TV, talking heads dissected whether or not the Tunnelers had any chance to make it through to the playoffs. “I mean, yeah,” Shane said. “Of course I will.”

Garrett smiled. He clinked his can to Shane’s. Shane wasn’t much of a toasting person, but Garrett always had this way of getting him to celebrate things. “Just promise that if me and Lor ever die, you’ll get a better fucking apartment than this shithole,” he said.

Shane nodded. “I gotta find a better place anyway,” he said, leaning back into the couch, back in their comfortable level of banter.

“Atta boy,” Garrett said. “Maybe even some good dude to settle down with. He’s gotta be the real deal.”

“C’mon, like that’s ever gonna happen, Garbear,” Shane said, using the old teasing nickname, shoving him to the other side of the couch.

They sat there a while longer, watching whatever the hell was on the TV, listening to the sounds of the city outside that still bustled despite the rain. Not talking, just existing, the way things always were between them, but this time with a promise of something new. A promise of family, maybe.

*

Present day

The sound of the roosters woke Shane. Before he opened his eyes, he sleepily categorized. These were Marnie’s roosters, not Thomas’s. He was at the ranch. He was very, very warm, both from the summer heat and a very sleepy farmer starfished over him.

“Hi,” mumbled Thomas, brushing a clumsy kiss over his eyebrows, his cheeks, his lips, before rolling himself out of bed. “Gotta go milk my goats.”

Shane watched him get dressed. “You’ll be over later for the thing?” he asked, yawning.

Thomas nodded, pulling his T-shirt on backwards and inside out. “With cheese and flowers,” he promised. Then he grabbed his shoes and hat from where he’d dumped them at 2am the previous night, and snuck out of the room as quietly as possible.

Shane laid back in bed, enjoying a moment of quiet sleepiness, waiting for the sounds of clucking hens to get a little louder before he got dressed. Jas would be up in a few minutes, no doubt, and with the coop expansion complete it was most of a morning’s work feeding the hens, cleaning their straw, and collecting the eggs these days. A little time for quiet reflection felt earned.

It had been almost a year since he had gone to the cliffs in total despair. Today was Jas’s birthday, and they were going to the cliffs for a picnic.

Marnie’s ranch was doing more business than ever. Another ranch had closed down in Grampleton, and it seemed like she was the primary animal supplier around the valley now. She had a steady stream of goat births and sales (including two to Thomas, one of which hated Shane as much or more as the cat did) that formed her most reliable business, and was selling chicks and hens almost as fast as they hatched. All this had given her enough wiggle room to start dipping her toes into the most lucrative part of ranching that she hadn’t yet been able to afford: truffle pigs.

The piglets were adorable, Shane admitted, even though they were more high maintenance than he thought they might be worth for their tiny operation. He had been poring over Marnie’s textbooks, trying to help train them to dig truffles, but mostly all they wanted to do was lie on the ground and wiggle in the mud. Marnie’s excitement was palpable, though. She was even talking about the possibility of raising ostriches someday (he had no idea where that had come from.)

He thought she might have cooled things down with the mayor in the meantime, too, based on the longing looks he saw him giving Marnie across the town square. Fucking good, that’s what he got for treating her the way sixth graders treat each other.

Penny was still giving Jas and Vincent some kind of daily curriculum, but they were up to third grade books now. (Although Penny said she was already reading at a sixth grade level, which made Shane want to burst with pride.) Jas was more or less the chicken overlord at this point on Marnie’s ranch. She had names for every chicken that hatched in their incubators, from the grandiose (like Lutabella von Denmark, hatched out of the strange black egg that had shown up in the coop one morning) to the mundane (like Pencil Jr., the daughter of the illustrious Pencil).

She still got sad sometimes, but Shane saw her cry and worry over small losses and disappointments less and less. They saw Dr. Naomi monthly now instead of weekly, and Shane had to hand it to her, she was a pretty good parental coach. “The more you make yourself a presence in her life, the more secure she’ll feel in this home, Shane,” she said over and over. “At least seventy percent of parenting is just showing up.”

Shane still felt scared almost daily of messing up, but it was like the intensity on those feelings had been dialed down a bit. Part of this was probably the meds (after a few months and some incredibly dark winter days, the doctor had suggested giving antidepressants a try, and they played havoc with Shane’s weight and libido but kept him a lot more mentally even), but part of it was just practice. And he saw Jas every day getting a little more confident, feeling a little safer, and that made him feel like he could keep doing this. Keep showing up.

Now this birthday celebration. After last year’s near-fiasco of forgetting to get a cake, he had been determined to try to make today special. And he had the perfect location for a picnic in mind. They were only bringing Marnie and Thomas along-- she’d have a birthday dinner at Vincent’s later, at her second family’s. Shane had tried to let go of feeling inferior to the “real family” that Jas spent so much time with, and instead see it as good that she had more role models for families in her life aside from memories of her parents and the Shane and Marnie co-parenting duo. (More Dr. Naomi advice.)

But he wanted the afternoon to be special. He had already given her her birthday present-- sparkly pink sneakers she had seen in Zuzu City. He had never seen her so deeply covet a possession in her entire life, and he had crumbled and bought them on the spot despite the fact that she’d no doubt grow out of them in six months. So today was birthday picnic day, with Marnie and Thomas, who at this point felt like one of the family.

Thomas was still running himself ragged on the farm and in the mines, though after a firm and thorough reprimanding from Linus last year, he always tried to give Shane a clear idea of where he was going and when he’d be back. But he and Shane still saw each other just about every day, spent some fun evenings and nights in the farmhouse after Jas went to bed. (Shane made sure to always carry his lead rod whenever he made that trek.)

And on days where their paths didn’t cross, Shane was likely as not to wake in the night to a tapping on his bedroom window at Marnie’s, and let in a farmer that was sometimes soaked with rain, covered in coal dust, or shivering from winter temperatures.

It was sort of silly. They both had animals to care for in the morning, and Shane had no idea how Thomas regularly functioned on four hours of sleep. But those nights when Thomas showed up at the ranch, just to have a quiet mumbled “hi”, a sleepy kiss, and wrap his cold body around Shane’s warm one, meant something to Shane. If he was worth a trek after dark and then another one at dawn, it must mean he was worth at least that to Thomas. That even if they both had important things in their life to take care of, like a goddaughter or a farm inheritance on a strange and ancient land, that this was important, too.

He tried to explain that to the farmer once, and ended up mumbling and unsure how to explain the feeling. But the expression on Thomas’s face was enough to tell Shane he had gotten his point across, and the long kisses that followed their own reward.

Small footsteps in the hallway. Probably already wearing sparkly sneakers (she had only taken them off to go to bed the past few days. “Chicken time for the birthday girl?” he called, rousing himself from the bed, grabbing the gym shorts and thick boots he wore for farm work most summer days.

“Chicken time!” Jas’s small voice came from the hallway, filled with birthday excitement.

He smiled. He thought today might be a good day.

*

The walk to the cliffs was longer than Shane remembered, which made him realize this might be the first time since he was a pre-teen that he had made this walk sober. Jas, despite not knowing the way, kept running ahead and finding new things to see that Shane had never noticed before (a strange lump on the ground from where she unearthed some rusty old spur thing, a patch of sweet peas, a hole in a tree where a baby owl was sitting and looking out curiously).

Marnie, Thomas, and Shane brought up a slower rear. Coming up this way, Shane couldn’t help but remember his last big fuckup. The winter had been hard, the dark days and slowed down farm work giving him plenty of options for fear and rumination. One evening as he had been digging through the basement looking for some piece of farm equipment or other, he had found two old skunked beers, and it had been like three months of sobriety meant nothing. He drank them, left the house immediately, and bought a case more at Joja.

He had no idea where the impulse had come from, only that he had ignored the internal voice telling him that this was dumb on the way to the old mart, and ignored it as he cracked another one open and downed it in the icy cold night. So easy. This was who he was. The old fears were still there, familiar as old friends, and it was easy to listen to them. He couldn’t go home with an armload of beer like this-- Marnie would throw him out, and he would deserve it-- so he went to his default cold-weather spot to drink alone and numb out his thoughts and feelings. The abandoned community center.

But when he came in, for the first time in months, it looked… almost new, in places. The windows were still broken, the lights still out, but someone had definitely been making repairs. It didn’t feel like the kind of place that people could go to hide their vices anymore. It looked almost how Shane remembered it from the days of his youth.

Footsteps, in the other room. “Hello?” called a voice. Thomas’s, Shane recognized immediately. Guiltily, he dropped the case of beer to the floor.

Thomas came into the main room where Shane was standing, holding, for some reason, a brace of hardwood. “Hey!” he said, eyes crinkling in happiness to see the man. Not for long, Shane thought, still embroiled in his own guilt. “What are you doing here?”

Shane shrugged, wishing he had run into anyone else. “I mean… what are you doing here?”

Thomas shrugged. “Lewis gave me the keys, and I don’t know… I’ve been trying to clean up a bit, you know?”

Of fucking course. Shane scowled. “You trying to be some kind of fucking saint?”

The farmer glanced at the case of beer on the ground. “You okay?” he asked, meeting Shane’s eyes.

Shane looked away, stared down at the floor. It hurt being here, being seen like this, facing his own weakness and fuckups and flaws. But he had been asked, right? By someone who wanted to know. “No,” he said finally. “Not right now.”

The farmer dropped the bundle of wood he’d been holding. It clattered on the floor as Thomas crossed the floor to Shane, and wrapped him in his arms. “It’s okay,” he murmured softly as Shane first tensed, but then relaxed into the hug. “It’s okay.”

They stood there a long time, like that, in the half-healed building. That had been Shane’s last big fuckup. He had gotten lucky. He remembered it most days.

It felt faraway on days like today, but somehow that was when he remembered it the most. He knew he might fuck up again, maybe worse. But after this one, he thought, maybe, just maybe, he might be able to lean on others.

They had a good bit of elevation to climb to get to the cliffs, Thomas and Jas doing a better job than Shane and Marnie at getting up some of the rockier, steeper parts. But finally, they reached the top.

Shane led the way through the brush into the meadow, immediately captivated by the view he hadn’t seen in almost a year. Azure sky, puffed with fluffy white clouds here and there, over a sea full of rock outcroppings and breaking waves. He let out a breath. He didn’t know why he had needed this place to be beautiful-- maybe because he was willingly sharing it with others, for the first time-- but it truly was.

“This spot’s a lot nicer when it’s sunny,” Thomas commented, just low enough for Shane to hear. Shane smiled, squeezed his hand. It was funny. Thomas, who regularly fought monsters, who went into claustrophobic mines armed with nothing but a pickaxe and a sword, was terrified of heights.

It made what he had done for Shane that night all the more meaningful. “We’ll stay away from the edge,” Shane promised the farmer.

“Look at that cool rock!” Jas said, scampering immediately over to the gigantic white boulder that sat in the grass like a sentinel. She quickly found handholds and footholds, and started climbing, her sparkly shoes digging into the little grooves.

Shane tried to resist the urge to tell her to be careful. It was the kind of thing he had loved doing when he was young, and Jas spent more time out exploring in nature than he ever had. Still, it was hard not to feel overprotective. It felt like she was getting older every day, bits of her mother and father revealing themselves more and more.

But there was something else, too. Shane found himself often reflecting on the conversation he had had with Linus the night they went into the mines together. Thinking about the people who were in tune with the valley. He wasn’t, he didn’t really think he’d ever be. But Jas… some of the things she said, about friendly little creatures in the forest or sounds coming from the sewers… he thought she might be one of those people who the valley took an interest in.

It worried him, it kept him up nights. But that was when Thomas would hold him, whisper to him that as much danger as the valley held, it held a kind of protection, too. The kind of protection that helped people find each other when they needed help, the kind of protection that guided lost animals home. Shane was glad Jas had Thomas, who took her stories with a level of ease.

It was all hard to believe, hard to reconcile if he thought too hard about it. Sometimes he thought about Garrett and Lorraine. Would this be what they wanted for their daughter? A mysterious place, one that seemed to pulse with daily strangenesses that were accepted and ignored by almost all around.

But Jas was healthy and happy. She was learning, she had a friend and second family in Vincent, and a coop full of chickens that were so besotted with her that they followed her around whenever she entered the barnyard. When Shane reflected on his and Garrett’s childhoods, he thought that this one, strange though it might be, was a better option.

“Uncle Shane!” she called. “Come see!”

Shane walked on over to Jas. He didn’t climb up the boulder, but he leaned on it and looked out over the ocean. He could see, faintly on the horizon, the outline of the Ferngill Islands, but it was mostly just a vast and open sea. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “Thanks for showing me.”

Behind them, Thomas and Marnie were setting up a picnic on a checkered blanket, unpacking a basket full of goat cheese, bread, pink cake, cave carrot stew. Thomas added a little wreath of fairy roses resting in the middle for the birthday girl. Shane smiled, an easy one, a grateful one. It was hard to believe, sometimes.

“Catch me!” Jas said, giggling, getting Shane’s attention. Before he could even process the words, some kind of instinct took over and he caught fifty pounds of leaping seven-- no, eight-- year old jumping off the rock.

He nearly had a retroactive heart attack. “Jas,” he said as she wiggled out of his arms. “You gotta give me more of a heads up, you know my back’s not so good.”

She pouted for a moment. “Sorry,” she said. “But I knew you’d catch me.”

She turned and ran toward the picnic. Shane looked for a long moment out over the ocean, then turned to follow Jas. He met eyes with Thomas, who had been watching the exchange. He grinned at Shane, raised his can of seltzer to him.

Shane smiled back. Maybe there was something to celebrate. All around them, the valley hummed, alive with its summer sounds, its buzzing insects, its soft breezes, its magic.

*

the end