Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Reddoons was sat rather bored at his small desk. He needed to finish his spread plan to ship out a few orders of health potions. A few companies had asked for them, and a bulk order was in for a guy named Parrot. All in all, it was adding up to be a rather profitable week, which was what Red needed.

The forest around him sighed as he stretched. It breathed as he breathed, it saw everything, and tried its hardest to keep the order of things balanced. Red loved that about her—always ready to help him. It had been only a year since he had taken residence in her bracketed embrace. He had been a city dweller for a long time—the bustle always helped him more than the quiet—but he had learned from the forest that nature was never truly quiet.

After straightening from the deep stretch, he decided to check his ingredients box. With this many orders, he was certainly going to run low on something, and it was a full moon—the best time to gather over half of his preferred ingredients.

Red was a mage by trade but had picked up tricks from witches as he worked in apothecaries across the city. Once a businessman who sold other people's hard work, now he preferred a simple life of potion making and forest walking.

Red rummaged around in the stores, fingers running across split sugar cane and assorted petals, a small amount of glowstone, but he could order more, and it wasn’t necessary for the moment.

It was a lonely life, living in the woods.

Finally, he noticed his lily of the valley collection was running low; that he would need. Though not strictly necessary, it made most brews last longer on the shelf, and surprisingly, it improved longevity of effects. Healing potions should never be taken to cure blood loss or starvation, but lily of the valley prevented that usage from being deadly—something about the calorie count and moon energy impacting the nervous system.

Red sighed as he searched for his basket. He could collect more at witching hour tonight; it would be the best time, most magically powerful right before sunrise too. But that meant he needed to take a nap now.

He stared longingly at his cookbook. Living in the woods made him pick up new hobbies, and Red prided himself on his recent cooking prowess. He could make anything edible, but he was working his way through different cultural cookbooks to see what new techniques he could pick up. Cooking and potions were surprisingly similar.

He needed to sleep now though, and with a sigh, he walked to his small room. It was separated from the rest of the house with a rather flimsy bead door; it made him feel less trapped. He didn’t like feeling trapped in the city, and now he had the chance.

Red prepared a mechanical alarm—it was more an egg timer he had enchanted. Sand emptied out and would set off a bell that wouldn’t stop until he turned it on its side. Red had tampered with how much sand it would fit.

With a sigh, he turned it over and settled down to sleep in the daytime. It was better than losing so much sleep, and he was living a simple life these days, free from the stress of the city. He was allowed to have a day nap.

His past self would hate Red of today, but Red of today was a more honest man.

o0O0o

Red was not pleased. He was trudging through the forest at about 3 a.m., though she seemed to be amused—the gentle rustle of the leaves and the soft exhale of wind through branches. He may have slept through the day, but Red was still groggy, almost tripping over the branches, though they moved themselves out of the way.

Red smiled a little ruefully at the forest’s efforts and hoisted his empty basket up his arm. He began to chatter idly with the forest and the stars and whatever critter was brave enough to cross his path—probably an opossum. “You know I am a mage, right?” he asked and got no answer, not that he expected one. He came to the stream and jumped it without thought.

“You treat me like your witch, but I am a trained mage.” Not a particularly good one, but a trained mage nonetheless. “I can shoot fire, not that I’m any good.” He needed to follow the fox path down to the patch of now quiet grass; it had a bed of lilies growing, though how they sprouted up there, he never could figure.

“You treat me like a harmless witch, but I am a mage,” he continued, kneeling down. The petals were so soft on his fingers—maybe the forest had put them here for him. What was he wondering about? Of course she had.

He worked diligently, picking only the lilies bathed in moonlight and only the lilies that were ready. Around him, the forest laughed in her own quiet cadence. Red knew her laughs well, from gentle to maniacal—he had seen a lot of her influence over the year he was residing in her trees.

“Thanks,” he said after he had filled his basket. Somehow, the patch that seemed so small was still overflowing with flowers. Maybe she was sprouting them up as he blinked or shuffling them around as he worked. Red never asked that type of question—he would deny noticing if asked. She was not meant to help him; he was a mage, but she treated him like her witch.

He was a mage who just so happened to specialise in potions and alchemy, using his skill with business far more than his skill with spells these days. He had no use for battlegrounds after all—war was not profitable if you were the one fighting. As he walked his way back to his little house, Red was shocked to a standstill.

The forest was screaming.

An ear-splitting, toe-curling, teeth-burning sound that ripped through every branch and breath. It was both an audible sound and something so much harsher shooting through his mind. The branches were rubbing against one another; every animal called out. Everything was voicing the forest's displeasure, and Red followed his instincts.

Immediately, he dashed through the forest, a path forming inches before he stepped into it and closing just as quickly behind him. His basket was clutched tight in his hands, only keeping the flowers in because of the knotted cover over the top.

Red didn’t mind. His forest needed him, and he rushed to her help.

He was running for maybe ten minutes before skidding to the edge of the forest, stumbling with the last step as he didn’t quite break the tree line. On the outskirts of her wood, Red found a heap of something twitching in the pale moonlight.

He wasn’t sure for a long moment what it was.

In a heap on the floor was a large raven, feathers sticking off in all directions. When Red stopped to stare, it was because it was a really large raven—about three feet tall—and not just black. It was as if the entire void was pooled in its pigment, as if the raven was devoid of colour.

Red cautiously approached it. He spooked the poor thing; that was game over. But as he crept closer and closer, he noticed a stranger detail: the raven was sparking, like its form wasn’t quite contained by the lines of its feathers. Purple pixels floated around the abyss and ever so sluggishly jumped off its body, harmless and stuttering.

So he was magic—truly magic, something that wasn’t a raven.

Red, with a little more pace now that he knew what he was looking at, or at least the outline, pressed a delicate hand to the thing’s head. It was cold to the touch, but his hand did not sink through. For all its mysticism, the feathers felt like ordinary feathers—soft to the touch, sinking as he pressed two fingers in.

The feathers were soft, but the thing’s skin was cold. Still, contact with the raven was like plunging his hand into hot water. It was perplexing but not unpleasant. Without the burning of heat, it was just comforting. Still, he worried for the creature’s life. His forest had called him to the raven; it was asking something of him, and from her gentle kindness, Red could guess she was asking for his help.

His healing.

He lifted the bird up, surprisingly light—unnaturally light, really—and slung it over his shoulder. He had no idea how to gender birds, and that wasn’t the worry. If it was a magical bird, chances were it didn’t have a gender.

As Red rushed it home, slung over his shoulder, he had time to think. It was a thirty-minute walk at a hurried pace, with the forest parting like the sea around him. She was worried to get them home too, and for that, Red was glad. The thing must be a familiar, he decided—creatures blessed with wild, untamed magic that flitted across the land. Usually, they stayed hidden, though this one had obviously not been hiding for whatever reason.

The depth of its power, even unconscious, worried and intrigued Red. It was powerful, but its magic was scrambled. The purple sparks were worrying as they usually pertained to some association with the void or dragon magic—two things he was not opposed to but certainly steered clear of. He was a mage but he was not a fool.

He reminded himself: his forest had asked for his help. Red must do what he could.

o0O0o

When he reached his house, it was as if the forest truly purred. It sighed, wind running through trees and down paths he walked in daylight. The sun was barely poking through, and Red was back later than he had intended. Still, he had a visitor.

He was a little miffed as to what to do about the large bird. It was still dead weight, though its weight was negligible. He decided that wrapping it up and waiting until morning was his only option for the time. With a little less care than he should have used, he dumped it onto the couch.

He put the flowers on the counter, and when he turned back, the raven was now a panther—a large black panther draped over the couch. Its paws—it wasn’t as disproportionately large as the raven, though Red had never seen a panther, so he couldn’t be sure.

Awkwardly, he watched as its fur, which was still deeper and darker than the void or the pupil of an ender eye, sparked off with strange purple pixels. They were more visible now but still so sluggish it was strange.

Watcher magic still buzzed at the back of his mind, but the forest wouldn’t let him bring a watcher to his house. Maybe it had been hurt, or maybe he was worried over nothing.

Trying to quell his nerves, Red went to his bookshelf. He had hundreds of tomes from the old witch who had resided in this house, as well as his own books. Ones about healing were pushed to the side. He hadn’t used them in a long time, but with a sigh, he pulled one out.

These types of spells got tricky; they were a little time-consuming and not his speed, but just asking a creature’s soul what needed fixing was an easy enough spell to cast.

Red put the tome down and flicked through the pages while the panther slept. He came to a page with a simple diagnostic spell, and after failing to cast it an embarrassing number of times, he finally managed to string the nonsense words—definitely meaningful and with the correct amount of intention, which was the real power—and got a rather rushed diagnosis.

There seemed to be a laundry list of issues as the images, words, and pains bombarded Red's mind—a medley of failure. First was a strange missing: his eye was gone, like literally just gone. He was supposed to have it, but it wasn’t there. And why was the panther a he? Red didn’t question it after a moment; more and more came through the link.

Exhaustion from both movement and magical exertion, malnourished and sleep deprived—a long-term issue. It was a worrying picture. And for some reason, his body bore the scars of an epic fight of magic and fire, yet not a hair was out of place. This supported Red's familiar theory, and with a sigh, Red cut the link.

This guy has been through it.

Red, feeling drained and ready to sleep for at least a few hours, grabbed the blanket conveniently draped over the back of his couch and tossed it over the panther. If he changed in the night, that was his problem. Were familiars supposed to change form?

Red didn’t know, and he didn’t really care as he went through his beaded curtain and settled down for bed.

More work was for the morning; sleep was ready to take him, and he was ready to let it.

Chapter Text

Only a few hours later, Red rose. The sun was up, but morning was not yet over. He had thoroughly fucked his sleep schedule, but what else was new? He walked into his house proper and registered the raven-panther glitch thing from last night. The probably familiar was right where he left it, the blanket still draped over its strange void-dark form. But now it was no longer a raven or a big cat. As Red walked by, he saw a large black dog.

Its fur was just like the raven and the panther, but shaggy. The purple was a lot more energetic—possibly it needed rest? Red didn’t know, but the creature was still asleep, and with nothing to do, Red decided to make breakfast.

Stew would not be his first pick for breakfast, but he knew his new house guest was at least very underweight, and the diagnostic spell said he was suffering from malnutrition. Maybe he wanted to have stew, and this was a good excuse.

In any case, Red quickly got very distracted by his stew making. Cutting up a trim of meat kept cold in an enchanted freezing unit, he was tired and hungry and very invested in his stew. That’s the only reason he got snuck up on.

In a split second, he knew something was wrong, but he was too late.

Something was at his back, and as Red whipped around, he came face to face with a broom handle.

It didn’t sound as threatening as it felt. His eyes trailed up the broom to the man opposite him, with wild eyes and a deep void from which purple pixels sparked. His hair was just the same—curls defined from the space between each follicle and the slight dance of purple pouring off of him. He was wearing tattered clothes that hung off him, ripped as if caught and tugged away.

Red was very calmly freaking out.

The broom handle sunk low so it was embedded in his throat, not between his eyes, and although he could now look at his strange companion, it did nothing to ease the tension.

“Who are you?” he asked, and his face flitted for a moment as if shocked by his own question. Red didn’t react; he had been in awkward, dangerous, or threatening business deals before. He knew he needed to be nice and play it well.

He smiled, or as well as he could, pinned against the counter. His scamming skills were a little rusty, but he still managed to catch their single eye.

“Red, can you back up?” he gave a winning smile and gestured to the broom with his eyes. The other man didn’t seem interested in doing that, though, and instead drove the handle a little harder into his throat.

“How did I get here?” he asked instead, and Red was registering the situation properly now. The morning fog clouding his mind was lifting as his airways were cut off; it seemed a little threat to one's personal safety did that to a guy.

“I carried you,” he said a lot more confidently and internally enjoyed the look of shock on the stranger’s face.

“This—what—” he spluttered.

“Back up. Personal space, ever heard of it?” he asked again, but his eyes were wild. The broom had sunk a little; it was no longer resting on his throat but was now resting on his chest.

“You carried me here? That’s kidnapping.” As he spoke, the guy got louder, more incredulous than upset, and Red winced at his volume.

Red had had enough, and his stew would be overheating at this point—not good for a well-made, strong, hearty breakfast. In a neat move he had learned years ago, he knocked the broom down from his chest, spun it out of the poor guy’s hand, and across the room. He stepped into his space, knocked him down in his moment of disorientation, then stood over the familiar with a bored expression.

They cowered for less than a second before steel hardened their faces, and they looked at him with defiance.

“The forest called me,” he said and stepped away from the man still on the floor to check on the stew. Lowering the heat and grabbing two bowls, it was almost ready. He had a little dinner table that had been left by the last tenant of the house, and Red was pleased he could sit down with the new guy.

“I asked for her help...” the guy on the floor murmured. It was a private admission one Red should not have heard, but he shrugged it off. Not that big of an issue in the grand scheme of things.

He lifted a hand to his face and brushed over the empty eye socket.

Red poured out the food and set it on the table, looking to the familiar on the floor with a raised brow. “Bone, apple teeth, my dude.” He blinked at Red for a few long seconds.

“What the fuck?” he asked blankly, and Red shrugged. Slowly, he stood and stumbled over to the table, sat across from Red, and made direct eye contact with him. He leaned across the table, taking his bowl, and then with his other hand, he swapped their bowls. Red watched impartially. Add a good helping of trust issues to that list of ailments. He wanted to ask who the hell had hurt him, but that wasn’t the kind of question you asked on the first date.

“Can I get a name?” he asked instead, and the familiar frowned.

“Ash,” he said finally. “You can call me Ash.”

“Okay, hello Ash.” Red wasn’t wearing his sunglasses that he usually wore for business deals, and now he was feeling very naked, but he couldn’t just put them on. Awkwardly, he stirred his new bowl of stew. Ash sat across from him, watching like a hawk.

He was too thin and strangely laggy, like all his motions were a step behind. Red surmised it was probably part of his magic or his malnutrition, and lifted a spoonful of food. They ate in silence. Ash seemed to need him to take a bite before he would try it, but after he began to eat, it was as if he hadn’t eaten for days.

“Slow down,” Red tried to warn him, but Ash glared at him, food slightly dripping down his chin, and Red just laughed at him.

“What?” he hissed, brows furrowed.

“Saving that for later?” he asked condescendingly, and Ash ducked his head for a split second, embarrassed, before looking at Red and growling. He then took a large bite too big for his mouth and continued to eat at a rushed pace.

Red let him; it was obvious he wasn’t going to take his advice, and it was kind of funny watching his house guest almost kill himself. Once he had finished and Red was still slowly making his way through his bowl, Red decided to begin poking for answers.

“What brought you to this side of the wood?” he asked, and Ash snorted, eyeing his food and not moving beyond that.

“You carried me,” he said, lips curling in a mild smile.

Red tutted. “I mean, why are you so...” He gestured at Ash, who was still dressed in tattered clothes. Though no damage was visible, he knew there was a lot of internal magic damage as well.

“Handsome?” he shot back, smiling with inhuman sharp teeth. Red cocked an eyebrow at him and looked him over with the most bored, judgmental eye he could manage. The critical sneer was usually employed to intimidate or impress business partners, but Ash sat smirking back at him, no fear.

He was annoying, Red decided.

“I mean, why do you look like you’ve just run through a holly bush?” Red asked, and before Ash could answer, he added, “And why did my diagnostics spell say you had been run through a blender?”

Ash no longer looked smug. He wrinkled his nose and dropped his eyes from Red's face to his food again. He was still remarkably still, and Red gave him time to gather his thoughts.

Ash mumbled something that Red couldn’t quite hear. He leaned in and frowned. “Repeat that?” he asked, and Ash huffed, still not making eye contact. He mumbled,

“Poor life decisions.” It was a lot of a non-answer, and Red huffed.

“I could tell you that, man. What got you to fly or whatever to the woods, though?” he tried, and Ash looked up, caught Red's eye, and changed into a panther.

It was comical. The big cat sat in the chair opposite Red at the table, an empty bowl in front of him. Red stared at him, and the panther looked almost smug if a panther could even emote like that. He groaned.

“Okay, whatever. Stew is free whenever,” he told the panther and got down from the table. He still had a few orders to make after all, and an unexpected house guest did not stop business.

He sat at his brewing setup, multiple stands all bubbling away at different temperatures, and tried to tune out the world, which would be easier if he didn’t have a large crow settled on a stack of books in his peripheral vision. Ash would be remarkable at blending in, standing as still as he was, but the purple sparks coming off him, as well as the fact he was a massive bird, did him in.

Red, nonetheless, worked on his brewing. They sat in silence for a long time. Eventually, Red got into the swing of it. Despite Ash sitting, judging, he made good progress and had three batches on the go: one of fire protection he was shipping out the next day, a slowfall batch that had been ordered from a rich seller in the city, and he was banking on the healing potions.

Ash didn’t seem pleased with his brewing method. The buyer had been specific on the quality, good enough to pass but that’s it, and Red took it to heart. He was mixing it in a cauldron, adding blaze power as he saw fit. It wasn’t going to a huge effort, but this batch needed to look good and work mediocre. He served what was ordered, after all.

But Ash seemed to have other ideas.

Suddenly, there was not an overly large raven on top of his book stack but a man made of flesh and blood and weird purple sparks.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he told Red as if he didn’t know. Red rolled his eyes and continued to stir.

“I’m doing it as the customer ordered,” he answered dismissively, brushing his hand in the air. Ash swayed on the book stack and, in a second, jumped down and landed beside him. His movement was weird, though—still, he back-placed a few times. One second he was a foot away, next he was beside Red, then he was between them, just to end up in front of his pot, staring down at the golden liquid.

He stared at it as Red continued to stir, waiting for whatever devastating blow to his apothecary skills the little familiar would deliver. Seconds dragged on.

“Mix counter-clockwise,” he said with a little huff, looking up to meet Red’s eyes. The mage cocked his brow, not the piece of advice he was expecting. He was waiting for a comment on the colour or the smell, not his technique.

“I’m doing it for stability,” he told Ash, whose frown deepened.

“It’s stable either way,” he said as if it were obvious. Red supposed maybe he was right, but he was still making a mediocre brew on purpose. “And counter-clockwise helps with longevity,” he continued. Red frowned—not something he was particularly going against. Longevity...

“I’m making this batch for a load of arseholes,” he told Ash, who rapidly looked at his face, meeting his eye. Catching the movement, Red didn’t react. He was being evaluated again, as always. He was being scrutinised. He wasn’t sure why or what Ash was looking for.

“You’re an arsehole,” he informed Red, as if he didn’t already know. Red looked up from mixing, pausing for a moment to make direct eye contact with his one good eye, and then continued to stir clockwise.

He was proud of that fact, after all.

o0O0o

It had been three days. Living with another being was strange. Red wasn’t sure if he was enjoying it. Ash was prone to staying still and quiet for hours at a time, draped over furniture or else sitting stock still in the middle of rooms. He was just getting used to his presence, always keeping an eye on Red, even when he was engrossed in reading one of the mage’s books. He was always keeping an eye.

Red was returning from gathering more moss from under rocks when he felt the uncanny need to dodge. He had just walked through his entrance and, in a split second, dived to avoid something.

but he was too late.

An entire fucking panther, like a dead weight sent from the heavens above, crashed down onto his back. Red usually could handle the weight, especially because Ash was still concerningly light, but at such a sudden moment and such an odd angle as he had been about to dart away, he crumpled.

Red, on instinct, flipped the panther off his back. Ash didn’t get a moment of being on top before he was pinned full body beneath Red, staring up with his smug cat muzzle. He stared unblinking, his one good eye wide, the other a buzzing abyss, and then he broke eye contact as Red adjusted while his form shifted.

Now he was pinning Ash in his human form, his hair wavy and wild, splayed out on the floor around him. He smiled up at Red, still the smug bastard.

“Boo,” he said anticlimactically. Red rolled his eyes but didn’t get off. He was at least going to lord the fact he could keep Ash here. Yet the familiar didn’t seem to care.

“I want to go outside,” he informed Red, and for some reason, a hint of defiance coloured his voice. Red frowned, glancing at the door behind him in confusion. Ash could have left whenever he wanted. Carefully, he got off the familiar, still not saying anything. As if to spite Red, Ash stayed splayed out on the floor, human limbs confusingly gangly.

“You can?” he said and spotted the knit brow of Ash catching the question before he could voice it. “You’re not a prisoner,” he informed the familiar, as if Red had any power over a magic spirit. He may be a mage, but he was no master of mastering magic. He was more of a hit-and-run strategist, not a bind-the-ancient-force-of-nature-and-try-to-tame-it guy.

Ash looked at him now with less defiance and more open confusion, as if asking a thousand questions that Red couldn’t even begin to unpack. He shrugged instead at the man and went about restocking his shelves. The forest provided for him, but he still needed to collect plants and materials. Not everything was always in season, and though in a pinch she could bend the rules, he never liked putting the balance of her woods out.

Ash slowly got up, still watching him as if he would rescind his claim. Red pointedly did not watch him as he approached the door and delicately opened the entrance. In a flash, he was outside, the door shutting softly behind him. Red went to the window above his sink that he could see out of into the forest. It was a corner, so he got a really good angle of her wild wilderness, and Ash seemed to be exploring.

No longer a man, a large shaggy black dog slunk out, belly close to the grass as if he was hiding, but as he reached the treeline, he leapt to be in the underbrush.

Red washed dishes while subtly watching the bobbing head of Ash in dog form jump from one bush to another. The wind picked up, guiding him around the forest, and Red smiled. Ash, for whatever reason, wouldn’t talk about it, but Red could tell he was lost at his home. Still, he was embracing the freedoms he was presented, and the forest was playing with him, whipping leaves up for him to chase and sending branches down for him to catch. Red wondered what he made of it and continued wiping down dishes.

Half an hour later, the front door swung open, but instead of a human, it was Ash still in dog form. Red got the comical image of him turning the handle with his teeth before he noticed, as he walked slowly in, that he was dripping mud.

“Hey!” he yelled, a little loud for the small space, but it was a bitch getting mud out from between the cracks in the floorboards.

Ash froze, staring at him with an expression of... something!

Red rushed up to him, ready to usher him outside and hose him the fuck off, but as he approached, Ash began to cower, his body dropping low to the floor, tail tucking. As quickly as he displayed one behaviour, however, the immediate opposite occurred. He unfolded from dog form to his human height, clothes he had been forcefully told by Red he had to wear instead of the rags, rather muddy, and his face drawn up in a defensive snarl.

It was a particularly inhuman expression for someone who, if Red crossed on the street, he would know was magical but not know wasn’t human.

“What!” he said, his voice also a little loud, and it did not break, though Red could feel it shake.

He stared at Ash for a moment, nose wrinkled. “You’re dripping mud everywhere. Turn back into a dog; we’re hosing you down and then mopping this up.” He gestured at the floor, and upon looking down, Ash deflated.

“Oh...” he said lamely. Red watched him for a second, considering, but he was not interested in digging into that can of worms, so he moved on. Ash turned back into a dog and followed.

o0O0o

It had been a while since Ash had moved in with Red, or at least that’s how it felt. He was always there, watching Red or wandering the woods or dragging in a good catch. He wasn’t all useless, and Red wasn’t sure how to feel about his prickly new roommate.

He was still very malnourished. Red’s clothes hung off him like curtains, and his eyes were still always tracking Red as if expecting him to snap, but he was getting better.

It was an off day then when he stayed a panther after eating breakfast Red had cooked. He liked to watch as Red worked and he had gotten used to the familiar's annoying comments or judging eyes. He liked to sit in human form on the desk beside Red or on the stack of books as a bird, but when he was a panther, he liked to drape over the shelf.

Cats liked to sit on shelves, Red supposed, but the one he occupied was not sturdy nor safe, and Red had told him before.

But Ash ignored him. In fact, he had definitely sat there all afternoon after Red had first warned him. Red had resigned himself to waiting as it was only a matter of time.

A matter of time which came to a head in one of the most comical, inopportune times.

Red was mixing an anti-inflammatory draught. Really, it was more a balm for burns, which wasn’t exactly his speed, but he made what was asked for. As he worked on adding the final ingredients, he heard a loud crack and then a tumble.

Ash fell through the shelf, which had been decades in the bend of breaking. Books tumbled down after him, landing on top. Red had taken all glass and other valuables off the shelf the day he had moved in, but Ash stayed still.

Red laughed loudly and haughtily at the wreckage. “Told you so,” he said casually, wrapping up mixing the brew and lowering the flame. Leave it to simmer and it would speed up any healing by tenfold. Then he swept over to Ash.

He lay on the floor as if playing dead, he wasn’t even breathing. Red watched him with a frown. “You okay?” he asked, almost worried for the panther. If he was actually hurt, Red should really get some healing on him, but slowly, tentatively, Ash peeked up at him.

He blinked at Red with his one good eye, a question Red couldn’t decipher dancing behind the darkness. He shrugged at the man-panther familiar with an undignified huff.

“Better get a broom, we need to clear this up,” he gestured at the wreck. “Then we’ll install you a proper shelf,” he smiled then, his sunglasses had been on all morning, the world had been too bright and it was steadily getting that way.

Ash turned into a human, still lying on the floor. He flipped over so he was on his back, looking up at Red. He always seemed to end up on the floor, Red realised. Must be the animal forms always making him want to be close to the ground.

Ash looked at him, scrutinising him as if he expected him to be lying, but Red knew this game and had no worry. He grabbed a broom and handed it to him. “Sweep,” he ordered, and bemused, Ash began to clear up the dust and splinters.

They would install him a proper shelf. It would let him overlook the entire house apart from Red's room, which still had the flimsy bead door, or the toilet, which had a proper door.

But maybe it would make Ash more comfortable. It would definitely be safer, and Red smiled as he looked at the branches, planks, and metal clamps he had collected to really fasten this hook to the wall. It should be sturdy enough to take ten grown men.

Ash was not that heavy.

Chapter Text

Red had been out; he was looking for bird egg shells, which was a strange requirement and had taken a long time to find. He was careful to only use discarded shells, after all, and his forest had been rather reluctant to lead him where he needed to be.

Red came home that day tired, sweaty, and a little frustrated or confused, and he was ready to just make some thin stew and go to bed. Ash, however, had other plans for him.

The familiar was standing in the kitchen, his back to Red, but the second he entered, he had swivelled around to face him. Behind him now on the stove top was a pot made of cast iron. Red knew it more as a potion-making pot, but he had boiled down rhubarb in it a few times.

Ash stared at him across the room defiantly. Red knew there was some kind of storm of bullshit ahead, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted a part in it. But if Ash was cooking, he wanted some food.

“Huh,” he said blandly, delicately putting down the wrapped egg shells. They would do well to enhance his slow fall potion. The hope was to make a fast fall with no fall damage by the end, but really, who knows what would happen? Ash observed him with a scrutinising gaze, so Red continued, “Didn’t expect you to be able to cook.”

Finishing up, he walked over to stand beside Ash at the stove. The familiar in his human form was about his height, and therefore Red could look eye to eye with him, no problem, or at least no problem when he wasn’t shying away from him.

Red frowned, but in a split second, Ash puffed up, the smug Cheshire grin flitting across his face. Sometimes he looked so cat-like, as if the panther never really left him. “Can’t,” he said confidently, and Red blinked, looking at the stove, which was lit, and the pot on top, which had something grey in it.

Slowly, Red leant over. There was a ladle in the bowl of bubbling liquid. Maintaining eye contact with Ash, he lifted some liquid onto it and raised it to his lips, still Ash watched.

He took a sip.

The soup tasted like salt and iron. Delicately, Red moved the thing in the bottom of the pot; it was his iron fish, the one he used to add iron into meals. He had literally boiled a pot of salt water with an iron fish in it.

Red stared at Ash, who blinked back at him slow and judgmental.

“You’re an idiot,” he told the familiar, who unexpectedly reeled back.

It was a pantomime of offence, but he would be offended yet when Red forced him to sit through a basic cooking lesson, which included vegetables and leftover beef and all the scraps that had been amassed in the kitchen. They put the pot of boiled salt iron water to use.

o0O0o

Red had to go to the city; it was just a day trip, but he had warned Ash in advance. The familiar didn’t seem that troubled, eyeing him from where he lay as a cat on the couch as Red went around preparing breakfast and a small packed lunch for himself.

Red eyed Ash as he lay quietly and packed him a lunch and dinner just in case he was back late. The familiar was far more capable of feeding himself than he had been when they first met, but that didn't mean Red trusted him to remember to eat. It seemed if Ash was not handed food, he would not make some to feed himself.

That first time with the metal pot had been a test of Red, one of the many tests he constantly laid out that Red wasn’t sure what the failing criteria were but had passed so far.

He went to the city by hitching a ride with one of the local townspeople. He had to avoid the main streets. Most of the people were not appreciative of the witch in the woods. And despite him not being a witch, they still acted as if he was the scum of the earth.

Luckily, the woman who had the horse and cart was a friendly soul who often needed to drop cheese and other artisan goods in the city.

He paid her two silver and settled in the cart.

They returned an hour before sunset on good time, and Red had made an excellent effort in selling some of his more detailed wares. He bade the kind lady goodbye, slipped through the back streets, and returned to his forest edge.

The forest breeze greeted him as he approached, but more strangely, a void dark shadow also appeared. Red slowed down as he walked up, but upon closer inspection, he saw the purple sparks.

Ash did not leave the cover of the trees, but there he was, still in his bird form, ruffling his feathers and crowing at Red all the same. Red fought not to let a smile break across his face, but it was a losing battle as Ash hopped off the branch to the floor.

Red looked down at him.

To brush off the genuine smile breaking across his face, Red commented, “Were you waiting for me?” and bent down to pat him on the head patronisingly. Ash hopped back and glared at him as if to say, ‘What? You? No.’ as if he hadn’t zeroed in on Red upon his approach.

Red shook his head as he began walking into the woods. She shook trees and parted plants in greeting to him, and in return, Red began to ramble.

"I met the guy from the potion shop, the one who asked for the fast-fall stuff," he said as he walked. Ash was jumping, flitting, and darting between trees. It had been a while since Red had seen him spread his wings, usually favouring the panther or dog forms.

Red continued to ramble about business and about the village, more talking to the forest than Ash, though he knew the familiar was listening from the occasions he went still and watched Red with his one good eye.

When they began to walk a familiar path, Ash flitted up to be beside Red. He was still in a tree, but that didn’t seem to be a problem for him as he chanced his legs hanging over the branch to look down at Red, who continued to walk.

He went quiet so Ash could say what he was going to, and the familiar jumped out of the tree and jogged to stay up with him.

"Genuine question, do you ever shut up?" he asked, nose wrinkled. Red would assume he was being rude if not for the mild glimmer of humour in his one good eye.

Red, playing along, gave him an unimpressed once-over. "Genuine question, do you ever have anything useful to say?"

Ash paused as the house only came into view. In return, Red froze with him, their eyes locked like deer locking horns, fighting a metaphorical battle. But Ash was tricky; he smirked a small dog-like grin as if he were going to play the most epic of pranks.

"Your potion-making is shit," he said confidently, and Red just laughed, staring in his face.

"Fine," he said, and Ash frowned. "We can make whatever you want to make right now." He gestured at the cottage, and Ash's eyes went wide. Not the reaction he expected, but hey, Ash looked genuinely excited, so he went along. He was ready to prove not to be the shittest potion maker, though Ash always said it just to get a rise out of him.

"So," he said after they both entered. Red had changed his top, and Ash stood impatiently waiting by his brewing setup. "What are we making?"

Ash’s eye sparkled and his non-eye sparked.

"True Sight," he said with an exhale, smiling excitedly about the prospect. Red nodded indulgently; he knew what True Sight was and he knew how to make it, make it well too. So pulling out his ingredient drawer, he ordered,

"Alright, let's get to work."

They moved around the space clunkily at times. Ash was fast and flighty, and Red was well-practised. They weren’t used to dealing with other people, but as Red pulled out ingredients—ginger root and a sprig of holly—Ash was lighting a pot and doing something over the water, maybe blessings.

Red still knew nothing about familiar magic. He didn’t think they could do real magic on their own, but he just hadn’t researched enough. He was mildly frustrated he didn’t pick up more books on the matter, but he only had so much time in the city, and understanding Ash would not come from a book.

Red worked to cut ingredients and he noticed out of the corner of his eye Ash inspecting his section with interest. It was an uncommon recipe he picked up from a rather eccentric woman he had to win over to even let him know she brewed. Though he heard rumours she had been a pigeon feeder, the day he finally learned her secret for making the most intense True Sight potion was the day he convinced one of the most vicious birds to eat out of his hand.

It was symbolic or something.

In any case, he needed approximately three pigeon quills, bar the feathers, and he sliced them thinly diagonally.

The pot began to bubble, and he was sure it had not been boiling that long, but by Ash's smug expression, he could guess what was going on.

Ash may use magic to get the potion to do as he wanted—the flames to dance up high and gentle to get the mixture to turn for however long he wanted—but Red had one step up on him: he could actually cook.

Ash was stood over his shoulder muttering words too quiet for Red to hear, but he could feel the scrutiny. No worry to him; he was amazing at brewing, and he knew Ash knew too. It was turning a pale blue, almost opaque, which was good. He needed to count 36 seconds after he couldn’t see the bottom and then get rid of all heat.

Ash eyed his ingredients, all stacked haphazardly around. He had sprinkled a tiny pinch of flower petals into the brew; it made it taste better and be near impossible to trace. Ash had asked and had promptly become deeply interested in the flowers.

"Your flower collection is prissy," he said without heat. Red cocked an eyebrow and Ash smiled with too-sharp teeth. It was clear he was trying to distract Red, but the joke was on him. Red cancelled the flame with a flick of his wrist. He was still a mage, even if a witch taught him that spell.

"My flowers are more powerful than you'll ever be," he told Ash, who, honest to God, pouted.

Ash was mock-offended, and they ended up in a harmless push fight as the potion cooled. It was all in good fun, though Red was careful to control the fight to move them around the pot. Ash seemed a little too invested in pushing him, so Red did the work of protecting their potion. It was going to be well past midnight when this was finished, and Red was a little hungry, but it was still a good time.

They set to finishing the potion, which included fighting over whether they should add redstone dust to the mix because it added longevity to the brew but weakened its effects. In the end, they were both happy with their work.

Ash dipped the ladle into the pot and offered the still-dripping spoon to Red. Not one to put down a challenge, though he wasn’t sure why Ash was grinning like that, Red took the spoon and put back an entire spoonful.

It took a few seconds for the potion to take effect, but as he watched Ash, time seemed to slow down. The colours and shapes melted, and the space where the human Ash stood was now a strange void. It was as if his shape still existed, defined only by the weird wavy air around him, defined by where he was not.

But that wasn’t the most deeply confusing, intriguing, and mesmerising part. Ash was, it was as if a black swirling vortex as wide and as wild as space itself took shape, unshaped and reshaped. Small dancing purple sparks flitted and flared as he stood still. His form was ever-moving and changing. Wasn’t that beautiful?

He might be from the end, Red had speculated before; he might be from the void. Though creatures that originated there were often terrifying before they were beautiful, no matter what Ash was, his magic was immensely powerful. An untamed creature existing in a mage’s space was almost sacrilegious. Red now understood he could not control Ash as he was not to be controlled.

But still, Red didn’t mind. He stared at Ash and wondered what Ash saw of him.

Ash shattered the moment, though his voice emanated a thousand times off of the thing he knew must be his housemate. There was a tinge of humour in his words and another emotion Red couldn’t label. "What are we having for dinner?" he asked, and the reverence Red felt was quickly bulldozed by an affectionate hatred, tinged with exasperation and just a hint of another emotion.

Red reached his hand around to go where he knew it would always end up. Without looking, he grabbed a fistful of flower petals and hurled them at what he hoped was Ash’s face.

o0O0o

Ash was being particularly annoying, Red could tell. Usually, he was always a low level of annoying—tripping Red up in the kitchen, commentating while he made potions, foraged, or read a book. But today, he was being extra annoying and he didn’t even have to use his voice.

First, he sat on the little coffee table in his panther form when Red had told him not to. It took the mage literally ushering him off, and he proceeded to prowl around the small house. He tried to scratch at the furniture, but Red was watching him and picked him up off the ground. The massive body was a bit of a lug, but he wasn’t letting Ash take his feelings out on the fabric.

Ash yowled at him as Red unceremoniously dumped him on the kitchen floor. He lay out on the ground and stared up at Red with his one good eye, making it big and puppy-ish. Red was not swayed as he went back to his brewing stand. If Ash wanted something, he would have to say it; Red was not going to decipher it.

Ash did something while Red’s back was turned, and Red got this foreboding feeling deep in his chest. He turned around and Ash was on the side. He made direct eye contact with Red as he placed his large paw in a cup and pushed it off.

Red was mad, okay. Ash was usually a low level of annoying, but now he was purposefully irritating Red for no good reason.

“What the hell is up with you?” he asked, staring at the panther with as much disdain as his heart could muster. Ash blinked unrepentantly and then jumped down. Still in cat form, he trotted over to Red and began to rub his face on his leg.

Red, in confusion, tried to brush him off, and in response almost got his fingers nipped off.

“Okay, what are you doing?” he asked, and Ash glowered up at him before going back to trying to trip him. “What did you do?” he asked because Ash was sucking up so hard it was worrying.

In a fraction of a second, he no longer had a panther trying to grab his attention but a man so close to him they were almost nose to nose. Red stared, startled, into his one eye and one void. Ash was blinking expectantly, though Red had no idea what he wanted.

“Fight me,” he said, his voice trying to sound authoritative but it was just quiet enough and just awkward enough to feel, whiny? Red wasn’t sure. He just laughed awkwardly, which only upset Ash. “Come on!” he said, and he was begging. This was begging or coercion—Red wasn’t sure.

“I’m not going to fight you,” he said, bemused, and Ash headbutted Red before returning to their too-close position.

“Red, fight me!” and he was totally begging. This is begging right here, textbook, Red decided to tell him.

“You’re begging me to fight you.” And from the way Ash reeled back, you’d assume Red had burned him. His face was taut with offence, as if Red had offended his entire bloodline.

“I am not begging,” and it was funny how high his voice had become. Red just quirked a brow.

“Are you sure?” he asked, and Ash got close to him again.

“Yes, now fight me.” Red once again laughed in his face, and Ash got this determined expression which was never a good thing.

“What do I need to do to get you to fight me?” he asked, and Red frowned. Ash was obviously pent up, and really, it was no skin off his back if they got in a little harmless scuffle. But now he had the option to get Ash to do or say something to solidify the deal.

Red smiled evilly.

“Say please,” he offered, and Ash’s face dropped into a displeased frown. He studied Red’s face for a few long moments, and then in the softest, most pleading voice Red had ever heard him muster, his eyes wide, his chin down, he asked:

“Please...”

And Red had set the terms, so he was ready to uphold his end.

“All you had to do was ask nicely.” He smiled meanly at Ash, who immediately dropped the sweet facade to pull a face at him and wave his arms around, shooing Red out of the house.

The mage followed him out and laid down the rules: “No weapons, just fists. Please stay in human form,” he asked. Ash gritted his teeth but nodded anyway. He seemed stressed enough to agree to it.

Red led him into the forest. She parted around them still. Even as Red walked and Ash tried to trip him, so eager and close, it was a wonder he wasn’t on top of him.

Finally, she had decided upon a spot. A space formed around them, a clear circle—a perfect place to fight, with soft moss across the ground.

Red rested for a second, facing up against Ash, and then they burst into action. Ash was fast and nippy, but he was oddly disorientated. He seemed well-toned for fighting, but Red slowly realised he was not used to fighting as a person.

Red used this to his advantage.

Red was not exactly a seasoned pro. He used to fight when he was training to be a mage; it was a part of their education. Combat was a requirement, as most mages had to go fight in the army, but Red had always shied away from bloodshed.

Still, he might not be taller than Ash, but he did have a better diet for a longer time and therefore was more dense and strong.

They battled against one another, on their feet, and then when Ash fell and pulled Red with him to the floor. The forest seemed to be cheering them on—the whisper of trees all around them, the creaking of branches, the volume of bird song—all creating a cacophony worthy of a crowd of thousands. Maybe they had a crowd of thousands.

Red pushed Ash’s head back as he considered the woodland creatures watching. He wondered who they supported: the witch of the woods or the creature of magic. It was a toss-up, and Red found that exhilarating.

He pushed Ash into the dirt, and though Ash fought back, Red was determined to win. He had fought the familiar and he did fight back. No dirty trick was left to play—he had dirt thrown at him, his hair pulled, scratched—but Red always gave as good as he got.

In any case, he could feel the familiar flagging and wanting to end their little wrestling match. He pushed harder than he had been originally, face to face with Ash. He grabbed his arms and pushed them down above his head, using his legs to keep Ash’s down.

He sat stubbornly over Ash, looking down at him with a smile of victory playing on his lips.

Ash stared up at him for a few moments, then beneath Red, his form shifted. As a dog, Ash squirmed out from under Red, who let him, a little confused and maybe concerned. But he stayed low, stomach pressed to the ground, tail tucked. Red was perplexed as Ash showed his throat and shifted from side to side, still pressed to the floor.

Red cocked his head and casually ordered, “I think that’s enough for today.” Ash looked at him and then slowly transformed back. These transitions were more interesting because Red could see the forms morph away.

Silently, they went back to the house. Red finished up dinner, and they didn’t sit at the table. Instead, they were both on Ash’s couch, and Red wasn’t sure when it became his, but as their legs tangled, he knew Ash belonged there.

They drank their soup and did their own thing. Ash read a book, and Red sketched meaningless abstract scribbles when Ash commented out of the blue, “You’re only one because you have depth perception.” Red, as before, laughed at him, and Ash pouted. Red wasn’t sure what happened.

He didn’t know if he wanted to know, really.

But Ash was happier now and wasn’t knocking shit off the counters. That was a win in his book.

o0O0o

The forest was having a meltdown. Red had been out on his own, Ash had elected to stay at the house reading, when she began to call to him. Unlike last time, she did not create him a path, but Red knew something was wrong by the way the trees were creaking and the leaves were whipping up in unnatural vortexes.

Red hurried through the branches and ducked under vines. He worked not to trip over tree roots. He often trusted the judgement of the forest, but he also knew that she wanted to keep him safe. Red wanted to know what she was protecting him from.

Knowing there was a danger and not knowing what it was would drive him insane. And what if it was something to do with Ash?

So he trudged his way, following the path of most resistance, always fighting to take one step after another until he reached the outskirts.

He could hear the familiar drone of human voices. He peeked out from the branches; there was a crowd gathered—men and women from the village and beyond. They had grim expressions, and in their hands were fire and pitchforks. Never a good sign.

Red was not a witch; he was not a witch, but he was deeply connected with the forest, and these people saw him as a witch.

Red had a history of scamming the shit out of people, and he realised that might have come back to bite him when he made eye contact with a gold merchant from the city—one he had tricked with fool's gold.

He would know Red was not a witch, but he would also want revenge.

"There's the wretch!" his voice boomed, and the congregation turned.

Red was facing a group that vastly outnumbered him and definitely overpowered him.

He tried to step back; the forest cleared the way, but before he could melt into the shadows, thick, beefy hands grabbed his collar and pulled him out of the forest's relative safety and into the crowd's rage.

"You cursed me!" one woman screeched. She was that skittish lady from the library. Red had opened the door for her, and she had tripped down the stairs trying to get away from him.

"You ruined my marriage!" another called. It seemed the people had decided he was responsible for anything bad going on in their lives. They thought all their bad luck was because of him. Simple solution: tell them it wasn't.

"Guys, guys, relax. What's going on?" he tried, but the jeering overpowered him. Red struggled to find a way in. "I'm not even a witch; I couldn't have cursed you." Again he tried to convince them, and again he was rebuffed and refuted. Red floundered, then hands were trying to grab him—warm, sweaty hands—and Red dodged out of the way, stumbling into a group of people who all yelled and stumbled away from him.

"Can we not solve this peacefully?" he asked desperately, and the wave of malice he was met with answered the question.

No, they were not solving this peacefully. They had fire and pitchforks, for fuck's sake.

Red did the next best thing and began to summon magic. An ice wall, a mana wave, force field, or an army of undead would be useful. Anything to help him fight off 20 to 30 people would be nice. But, well, Red was never a combat specialist.

His force field was directional. When he pushed one group of people away, they began converging on another side.

"Burn the witch!" they called, like it was a mediaeval story. Red waved his arms.

"What are you guys doing? I'm a person," he tried to call. He tried to appeal to their humanity, but there didn’t seem to be any of that left.

"He cursed my daughter," one woman proclaimed. "He sold me a magic necklace that killed my wife," another person in the crowd yelled. Red wondered what the hell he had done to that guy. He did not remember doing that.

"Guys, I can't even lay curses," he continued to try defending himself with words—the only weapon he had left. Red was never good at fighting, was never made for combat. But the crowd wanted blood; they came in from out of town, pouring in from the city and beyond, all to rip him to shreds.

Red knew his death was coming soon as he saw the lit torches raised high to the sky. He knew his death was coming soon.

But it did not. A new rift began, and as Red turned to where it was coming from, his eyes fell upon Ash—a crow form of Ash, somehow even bigger than he was the day they met. Ash sparked more violently than Red had ever seen, and his voice croaked as he crowed at the crowd.

They were yelling in shock, in horror, and in some alarming cases, recognition. Red was stuck in the eye of a storm, and he didn’t know what was happening as Ash circled overhead. Power crackled in the air; the forest was not the one causing it.

People were screaming, and more were telling them to stop. Red heard a man comment on Ash's value, and though Red agreed, he had no idea what he was talking about.

In the thick of it, Red slipped away to the side where the fuel for the torches was so carelessly tossed. He gritted his teeth and looked at the crowd, at Ash spitting sparks and slowly dissolving anyone who got too close to him. Red needed to do something; Ash looked scared. He was not meant to look scared.

Red still had ingredients from the forest; he had explosives and was a well-versed alchemist. He smiled beneath his sunglasses. He was going to raise hell on earth, and the crowd would fucking rue the day.

With quick work and a few sparks, he managed to send a crowd of people scattering. They were mostly harmless, more a light show than a destructive force. They were scared, and the rioting idiots rushed off. Red was left heaving in the air as the explosives sputtered out, as harmless as sparklers, and he looked up to find Ash.

But he wasn’t in the sky; he was standing on the floor, two feet shaking and body swaying like he was struggling to stay upright. Red tried to walk over to give assistance, to ask what was wrong, but Ash flinched away. "I'm so sorry," he said, and it was the first time Red had ever heard him apologise. Red stared, eyes wide.

"What?" he asked, confused, but Ash wasn’t listening. He was bouncing unsteadily and dangerously, but he seemed to have too much energy. His eye was sparking black and purple, void oozing out, and Red realised his eye was literally oozing out. That was not normal.

"I led them here, to you, to the forest," he looked back at the forest, eyes wide with terror. "I should have never stayed."

Red tried to grab his attention. "What the fuck, no—" but it was as if he were a ghost. "They were here for me, Ash, me."

Ash was somehow more agitated, and in a move Red should have anticipated, could have stopped, he mumbled and took to the sky, sprouting wings as he soared up. Red chased, but Ash seemed unable to hear him over his own panic.

Red tried to tell him to stop anyway, to come back, to stay put and let Red help him, but Ash ran.

Chapter Text

Red had sat at the edge of the forest all night after that. He had stayed, hoping against hope that Ash would come back. The only reason he moved in the end was because the forest closed in around him, ushering him away from the edge. With nothing else, he followed her instructions.

Red may have drifted through life after that, his days simply bleaker in a way he couldn’t articulate. He still performed the acts to keep himself alive, but that was because he forced himself to, with a little support from the forest.

He went for a walk to the forest edge every morning, looking for herbs and searching for Ash. He made potions, he wiped down the floors.

All the while, he choked down badly cooked meals and didn’t sleep. He worried, he worried about Ash, where he was, and what had happened to him. He wanted the familiar to come home; he needed him back in the house. And when was the house his home?

Red never questioned himself, but now he second-guessed every action. All he hoped for was for Ash to come home. It was so strangely quiet without him there—watching Red, reading books, knocking over his cups.

The sofa—Ash’s sofa, the one he had been sleeping on since he came to Red’s home—sat unused. The blankets were roughed up and tossed around, just as Ash had left them. For a while, he couldn’t even look at the sofa. Then one day, he went manic. If he tidied the space up, Ash would come back just to trash it. His shelves were reorganised, the sofa packed up, and the blankets neatly folded, though unwashed.

And still, he didn’t come back.

Red missed him. He had to come back. Red missed him.

He went through life still seeing Ash in everything. Red tried to blame it on loneliness or magic, but when he found himself up late at night, sitting in his dark kitchen at an empty table, hunched over a cup of tea and just wanting to hold Ash, run his fingers through his hair, try his shit cooking, and watch him lose at cards, Red realised it was not just some magical fluke.

Red was achingly, painfully, unequivocally lonely. And no matter how much he thought about the night he escaped, he couldn’t put his finger on what went wrong.

He couldn’t figure out what had freaked him out.

It must have been the witch-burners. And they were witch-burners, even if Red was a mage—a lousy mage, but a mage nonetheless. But why had he been so freaked out? Why had he said it was his fault?

Red lay in bed awake again, staring at the ceiling, his brain moving a million miles an hour.

They had said they needed to keep him safe, that he was worth something. Were familiars actually worth anything? They were magic untamed, or Ash had been untamed. You could trap a familiar.

Red had never met a free familiar before. Maybe that made him worth something, but that didn’t seem right.

Red could trap a familiar.

o0O0o

Life went on for Red. It was bleak, and he didn’t really know what to do with it, but he kept on living. The forest sustained him. He picked up two more deals, simple things he could do in his sleep. He would rather be doing them with Ash. He just couldn’t do anything without Ash. Working was an escape, but it was short-lived and left him feeling empty. Life lost its luster.

The image of the frightened look in Ash’s eyes, the way he shook, the blind panic. Ash had run away; he should’ve predicted he would. He should’ve chased after him, should’ve said something to get him to come down.

Red regretted not chasing him longer; then he would’ve slowed down to think if he’d just given him the chance.

Secretly, Red regretted above all not trapping Ash to him. He regretted not making Ash the annoying shape-shifting bastard his familiar. He could never deny thinking about it, but he knew it was like tying the wild man to himself, trapping him to earth. He loved the fact Ash chose to stay, even though when he left, he was devastated.

He thought they had more time, so he could warm him up to Red, so Ash would ask Red to be his, but no. Now he was alone, and he had himself to blame for it.

He couldn’t keep staring at the folded-up bed on the sofa, the one he had destroyed—Ash’s bed.

He took the large, warm blanket to his own bed, kept it on his own bed so he could have a sort of close feeling to Ash. It was pathetic; he was pathetic.

Pathetic but painfully dedicated.

o0O0o

Red couldn’t stop thinking about Ash and his familiar nature, and the fact he could be here safe if Red had bound him to him. One night, in a manic whirlwind, he got up to read. He wouldn’t sleep anyway; he better get something done in the time he was up.

He ripped apart his books and the old witch’s tomes. Between them, he had little on familiar magic. It was nothing he’d ever been interested in—magic that was wild and unpredictable. Magic that better complemented witches, really. Patience was key, and maybe Red should accept he was interested in witchcraft. He should accept he was not just a mage, but all the labels were arbitrary.

He rifled through book after book, he ripped apart tomes. He found nothing on familiars, but in his reading, he found darker spells. The witch who had owned the house last seemed to have more interest in wild magic than he knew. He dug and dug until he found a spell that bound spirits of magic.

Strange and dark and filled with love, he wondered who made the spell and what they made it for. It was a trapping spell—unpleasant and stiff—but it looked so much like a familiar spell. He wondered if it would work.

A trapping spell that would work on Ash.

He manically read everything, memorised more than was really needed but still not enough to soothe his nerves, and then fell asleep on the book.

o0O0o

He had been lying in bed, watching the way his curtains waved. The window was open; the forest had reached into his house to keep him alive. And now it screamed.

Like that first time when he had found an unconscious familiar, a creature of magic forced down to earth by exhaustion. It still perplexed him.

But Red almost didn’t get up. 2 a.m. and pitch black, the forest beyond this window looked more threatening than friendly. The way the trees were rubbing together to alert him made them seem threatening, conniving, and angry.

The air was cold and bitter, summer gently folding into a biting autumn, ripping into a winter so harsh it stung the skin for hours. He was so worried for Ash, out in the cold. He hadn’t been malnourished when he left, but Red knew what time did to the body.

Anything could be happening to him.

The forest still screamed. That first night, it screamed at him to help someone. That someone had become Ash. Maybe he was ready to help someone else, maybe he didn't need to be ready. He was the hands of the forest. He did as much as he could for her.

Red pulled himself out of bed, threw on a jacket, grabbed a simple light spell pre-written so he didn't need to fumble, and some healing supplies.

He left the house wrapped up and just barely warm, but the cold of the night seeped in still. He walked through the forest; she parted the grass for him, guiding his footsteps. It was so dark, Red was glad she cared for him as she did. His little light spell floated alone beside him, fragile and bright, a beacon in the night, a second moon just for him. Red was stressed and afraid, and the forest still screamed for him to help.

Red walked up to a dark, shadowed clearing. The trees hung thick overhead, shielding the space from the moon above. He approached the only light in the entire forest, a beacon to whatever the forest had led him to fix.

He stepped over the rock at the edge, and the forest went very, very silent.

Not a leaf rustled, nor an owl hoot could be heard. All there was was Red's sole, uneven breaths and a ragged, animalistic tatter.

He looked down to the ground, and there, so innocuous and innocent, any animal would be blameless to get caught. A fox trap was set. And in the trap was a familiar panther; it seemed he still bled red.

Red didn't put the trap there. In the forest, he never trapped his creatures, but still, it caged the object of his anguish, snug and in pain. His panther form didn’t stop Red from recognising that broken mist of purple pixels.

Red fell to his knees and met Ash’s eye. The look of animalistic fear, the anguish, the flash of pain— all of it made his insides hurl. Red wanted to reach out and brush his hands over the soft ears, wanted to unclasp the stupid, too-small fox trap. How had the familiar missed the obvious trap?

Ash was pinned by the neck, stricken in the dirt, his blood dribbling down further, staining the forest floor.

Red was panicking. He was melting from the inside; he was scared, shocked, and panicking. He didn’t know why, but he needed to ask, "Is it really you?" Ash looked at him with a wide, judgemental eye. In a second, he shifted forms into the dog that Red remembered, jumping through the bushes with such joy. The fox trap grew tighter around his neck, and he whined pitifully. Red watched in horror as he tucked his tail and snuffled the dirt pitifully.

Ash was not pitiful. He should not be pitiful.

Red was selfish though. Selfish and a little scared looking at Ash, who had filled his thoughts for weeks now. Alive, hurt but alive, it made a beast of longing so vile it could rip him to shreds, rear its head, and another question, one born from longing, spilled out:

"If I free you now, you will run again?"

Ash looked at him. He couldn't answer. If he changed from the four legs of his animal form to the two of his human form, he would surely decapitate himself. His eyes were scared and wild, a trapped animal through and through.

And Red decided he’d rather trap him than let him free. He’d rather keep him safe than let him wander.

"I'm sorry, Ash. I'm doing this for both our goods," he said as much with so few words, trying to pack as much love and longing into his voice as he could muster, trying to let him know how much he wanted to help, how much he didn’t want to let go.

Ash lay down, small and stiff, two words he never expected to describe the familiar as, but he still looked him in the eyes, the void in one sparking bright. He was defiant, but he was also docile—such a strange contrast.

Red, sensing it was now or never, began to perform a ritual he had manically memorised out of desperation he would not call love. It included gentle murmuring in dead languages, a deep intention he knew he could muster in a second, a steady beat, and a careful flame—all things he had to conjure from within himself.

Ash was remarkably still and docile for it, the big dog staring at Red as he bound their souls together with magic and will. Maybe it was just purely Red's desperation. Deep down, it was all just desperation; his magic was unrefined and dangerous like that.

At the end of the spell, when he raised his fist towards the sky and burned his hand on his own fear, Red felt the chain of connection lock into place, a docile collar on Ash that trapped him under Red's command. It was so much stronger than the flimsy fox trap. It was so much more honest than the words that spilled from his mouth.

The bond between them had taken form. It was real. Ash was real. They were here, and it was just Red and Ash and Ash and Red.

Immediately, Red dropped to his knees and worked to undo the trap around Ash’s neck. The hot blood stained his hands, but Red was too focused on Ash to care. The familiar stayed in dog form, but that was okay. It was okay because when Red tapped him and turned around, Ash followed him without hesitation.

The forest parted for them; she would always try to help them. And Red was so grateful. He was so grateful to have Ash walking on four paws beside him.

He opened his front door; he hadn’t even locked it. When Ash went to lay down on the bed, he made a sound. It was not a whine; he just showed how unhappy it made him. Ash looked at him, then his eye curious.

Red walked into his room, taking Ash with him. He wanted the familiar as close as possible, and this was the way.

Red went to bed, and Ash followed, jumping up and curling into a tight ball at the end of his bed, close enough for Red to feel his warmth and the soft breaths he took in and out.

Red slept better that night than he had in years.

Ash was in turmoil. He never wanted it to be this way, but it would always be Red, the one he was bound to. No one else would ever be able to; he would never let them. It had to be Red.

Chapter Text

The next morning, as Red woke, he thought it had been a dream. For a horrifying second, he thought he’d look down and Ash wouldn’t be there. He thought his mind had been twisted and cruel, creating what he wanted most to see and experience.

He thought so much, and then Ash moved.

A light shifting of his weight was all Red needed as he glanced down only to meet Ash’s one good eye. He was still bearing the injury from the fox trap, but he was no longer the large dog he had taken when he was convincing Red of his identity. He was back to the familiar form of a panther.

Red smiled at him, warm and a little misty. He had never thought he would be here ever again. Ash had run, and now he was back—with an energy Red never really possessed in the morning. He pulled his legs out of bed and went to the kitchen. He cooked up a real meal for the first time in forever. He felt so real for the first time in forever. Ash trailed into the kitchen after him for the first time in forever.

Red worked as he watched the familiarity of eyes on the back of his neck. It was comforting, like a weighted blanket.

Red plated up eggs, bacon, greens, sausages, and mushrooms and spun around the kitchen with not a care in the world. Ash was here, and he could do anything. The sparks of the newly formed bond were so strange, like a live wire with a bundle of emotion just out of reach.

He laid the food out on their little table. Ash’s long tail twitched at the tip as he looked at Red with somewhere between fondness and judgement. He sat at the table and beckoned the cat forward. Ash followed his instructions, jumping up to his seat now, looking at Red with his big cat eye, the void behind the other wide and open.

It felt warm now; maybe it had always been warm.

Red had never been interested in familiar magic, spirit magic, or any of the wild, unpredictable things other mages pursued while he went for more manageable practices. Too many variables, unreliable, unpredictable, dangerous. But now he was linked to Ash, who was pure magic—powerful magic, so untamed and wild it rippled up at the edges. Even as they sat quietly, he understood the mindless pursuit of some of his peers.

At the end of the rope where Ash was in conjunction to Red, he could still feel his emotions. They reverberated off him like a strange bundle he didn’t really recognise. Red recognised that it was probably due to the big cat form Ash had taken and watched him curiously. Ash stared at his plate but didn’t change to dig in, nor did he go for it as a cat. He just watched the food, almost as if he didn’t really see it.

Red leant forwards, not touching his food either, to inspect Ash just a little more. He was so unreadable as a big cat; their faces were just not made for humans to understand, and though magic was one with Red, he still had no idea what was going through his head.

"We need to talk," Red told him, because he wanted to and because maybe he wanted to see Ash's face just a little.

In an instant, there was no longer a big cat sat in the chair, so oddly out of place in any normal kitchen. Now, a man with dark skin and a lost expression sat in his place. Ash sat in his normal space at the table, a plate of food in front of him. He was skinny—skinnier than he had been when Red had last seen him, maybe thinner than when they first met. He looked haunted.

Red breathed in through his teeth, and Ash looked him in the eye. Hesitantly, he smiled. "I'm glad you're back," Red said before he could catch himself, and Ash frowned a little, surprised. He looked more alive now, looking around Red's face for the shadow of a lie, but the thing was he wouldn’t find any deceit, which was so painfully rare for Red he didn’t know how to deal with that.

Ash stayed quiet, finally picking up his fork and poking the food. He was cautious at first, but it seemed he still had an appetite, as he rapidly skewered a sausage and lifted the entire thing to munch. Red smiled and tucked in himself.

Silence hung between them as they ate. Red didn’t want to interrupt Ash; he also didn’t know what to say. It was slightly shocking when Ash was the one to break it instead.

He froze and sat back, looking at Red, who continued to eat, not wanting to scare him. But he seemed less skittish—or maybe that was wrong. Ash was always a bit skittish. The better thing to say would be he was once again testing Red. "You look like shit," he said, his voice harsh and shoulders bunched.

"That’s what your mum said last night," he shot back. The cheap joke made Ash start a little, and the zing of surprise from the magic connection was intoxicating. Red smiled at him, more a smirk, and Ash rolled his eyes.

"I don’t have a mum," he told Red, and the mage—witch—whatever, shrugged.

"Okay, your dad," he corrected, and Ash narrowed his eyes in judgement.

"Don’t have any parents. I’m made of magic," he told Red, and he just nodded along, putting some bacon in his mouth to avoid saying something about having Ash in bed instead. He didn’t think it would have the desired effect.

When he finished his mouthful, he decided to address Ash properly. "If we're talking about looking like shit, go find a mirror," he told Ash, who very slightly shifted in on himself. Red didn’t care; he needed to push some more. He always needed to push more; it was in his nature.

The topic, though, seemed to be forcefully dropped as Ash asked a new question straight from left field. "Am I sleeping in your bed from now on?" he asked, and Red almost choked on his mouthful of mushroom. Painfully, he swallowed prematurely and looked at Ash with a mix of curiosity and confusion.

Red decided to leave it in his court, though. "If you want to," he told Ash slowly. When he silently joked about taking Ash to bed, he hadn’t expected...

For the rest of breakfast, they ate in silence. Ash seemed content with his answer, and Red was a little too stunned. He didn’t even ask where Ash had gone; he didn’t really want to know. He looked haggard and thin, but it didn’t matter because he was here with Red again.

Instead of inspecting Ash any further externally, Red looked in on the new bond between them. It felt so strong, so tangible. If he reached out, he could grab it, but Red tried nothing of the sort.

The feelings, now human, were more tangible still, staticky and difficult to touch, as if they were defending themselves against Red. He was careful with every move around them, scared of burning himself or alerting Ash.

From the vague outlines of feelings and thoughts, Red was bombarded with a lot of information, rapidly expanding ever outwards like an exploding star. Ash didn’t seem very settled, always moving to the next thought.

Anger and joy mingled around him in equal measures, fear about the new situation, a low pleasure at being back at Red’s table—all emotions so strong and unapologetically there. Red wasn’t sure he was meant to feel so much from the familiar. He had never really used binding magic before. The raw energy rubbing up against his mind seemed so volatile. But this was his first time with binding magic; this must be how it works, and no one ever bothered explaining it to Red.

o0O0o

Red hated business that came to his forest. He would rather travel to the city, or a bar, or literally anything else to avoid people walking into his territory. Maybe he had to be a witch because there was no other explanation for his territorial nature around the forest.

But this was necessary; he kept telling himself it was necessary. He needed money, and they had all but threatened his total discretion. Red had no idea what the two gruff men were up to, but he was willing to make a deal in his own home to avoid ever being seen with them outside.

He had told Ash vaguely about their intrusion into their home, had begrudged every word, every admission of weakness. But beyond raising a brow, Ash stayed thankfully quiet. All he had told Red in a serious voice as he lounged in human form on his panther shelf was that it was best to use clear sight, just in case they had something to hide.

Red had agreed with him, and the stock from the last time they had made it together was still good. Whatever Ash had done to keep it shelf-stable for a long time was still in effect.

Just before they came to the door, Red decided to warn Ash off completely. He didn’t want him accidentally misstepping. He didn’t want the familiar to get hurt, not in his home, not ever.

"Don’t say a word," he told Ash, a little harshly. But by the disappointed look he got before Ash changed into his panther body, he knew he wasn’t taking it personally. The link between them pulsed with irritation, but he stared at Red blandly.

Red went to scratch between his ears. Ash let him for a second, then tried to nip his fingers. Rapidly, he pulled his hand back and laughed at Ash, who smiled in that strange, smug cat way.

Ash turned around, all self-righteous, and strutted over to his shelf, jumping up so he had perfect surveillance of the entire room. He looked terrifying, and Red knew he would add to his intimidation factor tenfold.

Finally, he put on his glasses and pulled out his notepad and listened for the knock at the door.

As he anticipated, it came only moments later. Taking a shot of the clear sight and stashing it in his pocket, he walked over to greet his guests.

The door was creepy, even to him at times, and the way the hinges creaked as he swung it open must add to the factor. Red was not an intimidating man, but today he was dressed in a nice white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a red vest over the top that complemented his hair, and brown slacks. Paired with his sunglasses, he didn’t quite fit the stereotype of a forest witch, but he looked professional, and that’s all that mattered.

The two men, on the other hand, were brutish. One was wide, one was tall; both had short-cropped hair. The true sight revealed dangerous low-level magic, not powerful enough to be harnessed but sharp enough to hurt.

Red greeted them with an easy smile and invited them in. They walked through his door, looking around with a critical eye as if trying to see anything of value. Red didn’t care about their scrutiny, though, ushering them to his small sitting space. They were put on his couch, and he took the armchair. From their vantage, Red knew they could directly see Ash, and from the link between him and the familiar, he knew Ash was flaring up his magic as best he could.

They stared at him slack-jawed, and Red cocked his head. He knew exactly who they were scared of, but he still liked to play.

The clear sight let their magic layer over their bodies. Unlike Ash, they had something beneath the magic for his human eye to latch onto.

"Shall we begin?" he asked, but the taller one piped up.

"What the hell is that thing?" he spat the question, fear and confusion layered in equal measure. Red blinked and glanced back at Ash.

Ash's form had changed from the last time he saw it. The purple sparking void that shaped however it wanted was now threaded with red, which pinned it down into place. It was less wild, less free, but it was still shapeless, still so strangely Ash.

"That’s my familiar," Red said, and saying it out loud was exhilarating. "His name is Ash." The two blinked at him thickly. "On to business?" he pressed, and in an instant, Ash was still there backing him. But this was Red's territory and his show; he was ready to make a splash with it.

The deal went well. They wanted fire protection, and a lot of it. They didn’t have the skill to make it themselves, and by the sounds of it, it wasn’t even for them. They were hired muscle, and Red wanted nothing to do with their boss. He barely tolerated them being in his home, his forest.

But he could do what they wanted, and he could overcharge them for staying quiet, as if he had anyone else to tell but Ash.

When they left, he was glad to see the back of them and knew if anything went wrong, the forest would call him in an instant.

Ash watched him from the shelf, rolling onto his back and staring at Red. The true sight was wearing off, but he still seemed oddly off-shape, still with the sparking purple present and the red outline still there.

He wondered what Ash felt about being his familiar.

o0O0o

When they left, Ash stayed as a panther, large cat form lounging lazily on his shelf, and Red thought nothing of it. Then dinner rolled around, and even though he wasn’t sat at the table with Red, he didn’t change back. He stared at Red, who frowned back at him, confused about why he was staying in big cat form.

Then he begrudgingly began to eat from the plate with his dangerous cat jaw. It was strange but not something Red wouldn’t expect from him. However, the entire meal he was side-eyeing Red, as if he wanted Red to say something.

About halfway through the meal, Red caved, frustrated and confused. He asked in exasperation, "Are you mad at me?" It was a fair question from where he was sat, Ash still not changing forms and choosing to eat as a big cat instead.

The familiar, however, just looked up from his food, a string of green beans hanging from his mouth swaying slowly as he stared Red down. He gave Ash such a harsh side-eye that the feeling of having done something wrong multiplied tenfold. Still, he stayed as a big cat.

Red was confused, but when he tried to bed down, Ash followed. Really, that was an indicator enough. He didn’t downright hate him despite not sharing a word; Ash pressed against his side, the bulk of his dog form now warming Red up.

But when he woke up, made breakfast, performed his morning routine, Ash stayed a dog. Again Red asked if he was upset, and Ash cocked his head but didn’t change form to explain, just went about his day as a dog.

Red was a little lost, but he needed to gather ingredients in the forest, and Ash followed him as a raven, staying in the tree as he dug through the dirt to find worm roots. He almost felt normal, but Ash didn’t make fun of his rambling on the way back to the house, didn’t even pause to comment on his potion making as he lounged on his shelf.

By dinner, Red was high-strung. It wasn't quite like when Ash wasn’t there. He didn’t feel the jittery panic, every thought occupied by Ash, but still, Red was on edge, stressed, and at a loss, exasperated.

When dinner rolled around and he worked on a pot of thin vegetable curry, Ash worked to get under his feet as a dog and jumped up to the table as a big cat. Red was at his wits' end.

Exasperated, he said, "We need to talk," and in an instant, Ash was once again across from him. His hair was slightly askew, his violent eye boring into Red, the void in his unoccupied eye sparking.

"Finally!" he cheered, knocking his head back and looking at the ceiling. Red stared, confused. "Dude, don’t tell me to stay quiet!" he all but yelled, pointing an accusatory finger. Red gaped like a fish.

"What do you mean?" he asked reasonably, and Ash scowled.

"I can’t exactly say no, and unless you lift the order," he waved his hand as if Red should fill in the blanks himself. Red just frowned harder.

"What?" Red asked dumbly, and Ash looked at him, really looked at him, brow furrowed, eye evaluative.

"Red, I can't refuse you," he said, and Red gaped.

"That's not how familiar magic works!" Red exclaimed. Familiar magic was binding, but it worked both ways. A familiar could theoretically break the bond; a witch didn’t have total control over her power source. Similarly, Ash might not be able to leave, but he should be able to pull Red just the same through their link. If he couldn't refuse Red...

"Where did you get the impression I was a familiar?" Ash asked, head tilted. Red, still so lost and loath to be without solid answers, scoffed, gesturing wildly at Ash. Of course, he was a familiar; he couldn’t be anything else.

Ash just stared at him, his frown so deep it carved lines in his face—lines Red wanted to wipe away, worry he didn’t want the familiar to feel.

"Can I go outside?" he asked eventually, and Red stared at him, shocked, scared, and confused.

"You’re not a prisoner," he insisted, like the first time. But Ash just looked at him with such sad eyes.

"Can I go outside?" he reiterated, and a beat in Red’s chest coiled with that possessive streak—the one that had reared its head the night he claimed Ash as his own without fully understanding, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to leave him.

"Of course," he said, and then selfishly he added, "Be back for dinner," because he would always let Ash go, always, but he just needed to know Ash was coming back. And that probably made him a monster. But what else was new?

Chapter Text

It was a normal day; they had made potions and practised a simple growth spell—not as effective as letting a flower bloom, but good in a pinch—and now they were both headed to bed. Red thought nothing of the fact Ash didn’t change forms. He could often change when he sat down on the bed or even slip under the covers, but tonight was different.

Red was just pulling on a sleep shirt when he noticed Ash, human Ash, lying there beneath the covers, face blank, eyes slightly misted. Red watched him for an indicator that he was going to change, but as Red slipped below the covers, Ash only turned over, giving Red his entire unguarded back.

Ash from the early days would never show trust so blatantly, but Red lay there staring at the back of his neck, skin warm and unprotected. Red, taking the opportunity so openly offered to him, took up the privilege of being the big spoon.

In front of him, Ash tensed, all his muscles going rock hard and uncomfortable, but as Red just held him, not moving, not pressuring him, Ash slowly relaxed, and Red took the opportunity to gently rearrange them.

Until he was tucked neatly against Ash and Ash was firmly wrapped up in him. It was so pleasant Red would purr if he could. All good things, though, must end, and it seemed Ash's impromptu human cuddle time, as opposed to big cat or dog cuddle time, was for him to talk.

And it seemed he had a lot on his mind.

"They made me," he said, and Red frowned. He didn’t dare press; he let Ash open up on his own. But he knew something strange was happening as Ash was not one to open up to begin with. He was a closed book when it came to his past. Why had he chosen now to talk? And Red couldn’t miss any of it—shit—

"The not-coven," he said in answer to Red’s silent question. "I—I was just a—a cloud of wild magic," he admitted, his past stilted and awkward. Though Red didn’t fully understand, he knew his familiar theory wasn’t right but also wasn’t wrong.

"Oh," he said, and Ash almost laughed. His chest tittered a bit, and he pressed his chin into himself. Red hugged him a little tighter, and the secret tension he was holding ebbed.

"I wasn’t real, or well, I was," he explained nonsensically. Red had to frown as he gathered himself. "Sentient in many ways but too quiet," still unhelpful but not quite. "They wanted me," he said, and it was bitter, like a scorned child. "Their little war machine," he spat, and Red exhaled slowly. Ash had seemed so broken the day he found him. He had seemed so beaten down. How could anyone want this man to be a war machine? He lounged in Red’s lab; he was a familiar, a lazy, prickly but helpful one.

"So what did you do?" Red asked because he needed to know the end.

"I ran," Ash said shamefully, but Red was just glad he ran, glad he didn’t stick around a place like that.

They slept all that night. Ash obviously hadn’t been anticipating it, but Red was a good cuddler. Despite not having shared a bed with another human for a while, all through the night Ash was pressed into his torso, a breathing heat pad, and in turn, Red pressed him down, a weighted blanket.

Ash’s skin sparked harmlessly all night, and Red hoped he would sleep as a human more often because he was craving this touch unlike anything he had craved before. It was intoxicating, and it was Ash. Always was Ash.

o0O0o

Ash had wanted to play fight with Red again, and like last time, he wandered into the forest to do so. Red, having learned of his goal, went willingly enough, having enjoyed roughhousing and also not wanting to deal with a grouchy Ash.

Red thought he was entirely justified in avoiding a grouchy Ash.

They walked through the forest, Ash starting as a man and morphing into a panther to slink ahead of Red, then appearing at his side, a bobbing head of a dog in the undergrowth, then around him, a bird flew through the branches before once again Ash walked by Red's side.

All the while, Red walked, head held high, the forest lifting the branches as he brushed under them. As quickly as they passed, the undergrowth formed back into a thick, impenetrable mess of twisted vines.

Red sighed, breathing the evening air. The sun was quickly sinking, and the sky grew dark. It was clear, so the bare hint of stars could be seen. They might be close to the city, but the sky was remarkably unburdened with light and therefore was able to twinkle out in its full glory.

Finally, they reached a clearing, a new one from last time. Though the ground was still spongy with moss and trees wrapped around it, a tight guard to their private sparing circle.

Ash spun around to face Red. They were both in remarkably casual clothes for them. Red was in a black t-shirt and baggy Aladdin pants, Ash was in a hoodie that he totally hadn’t stolen from Red and baggy trousers. Neither of them were really wearing the clothes they usually would, but Red had insisted upon not washing grass stains out of nice shirts, and Ash had complied.

As if to prove that conviction, Ash immediately launched himself at the moss, landing on it with a soft oof. Red, not keen on being left behind, launched himself at Ash, and the tussle began.

Limbs flew, punches exchanged, and nothing was said but sharp intakes of breath on vicious blows.

As they fought, the magic of the forest hummed graciously around them. She curled her branches up, cocooning them and protecting them. Though her trees were brittle and leaves could be cut, Red still felt invincible, cradled in her arms.

Ash turned over so he was sat on Red's chest, pinning his upper arms, but Red bucked him with a remarkable demonstration of core strength.

One form of play led to another. Managing to dodge to his feet and avoiding Ash's flailing hands, Red initiated a different game, one he and Ash hadn’t played before: a game of chase.

Ash gathered the rustles without a word, and in a second, he was after Red, who crashed through the forest like a man on a mission. He was never really meant to run, but he had learned over the years it was better to run with your life than die standing your ground.

Ash was rushing behind him, but Red got the distinct feeling he was holding back. Just enough that Red would have a chance. Ducking under trees and around bushes, the forest was no longer helping him. Red knew she wanted it to be a fair chase, a chance for both of them to win. He grinned manically.

Ash was following, and by the sounds of it, he was laughing too. The crackle of something like electricity had Red glancing back, only to be shocked by the strange thing Ash seemed to be morphing into.

The details of his physical manifestation seemed to be becoming warped. Red looked ahead and doubled his effort. He did not want Ash to catch him, though he knew he’d be safe. Though he knew if he asked, Ash would stop. Some primal side of him told him he did not want Ash catching him.

Maybe that panic, that animalistic impulse blinded him, maybe Red was a fucking idiot. Either way, he misstepped or maybe incorrectly chose his path because one second he was running and the next the ground seemed to vanish and he realised he had bolted off a cliff.

The ravine, a small thing that cut through the forest like a scar, was deep, rocky, and dangerous. Red fell and fell and fell. He closed his eyes for the impact. He hoped Ash found a new life, a better one. He hoped someone found his body.

Red was ready to die. In that split second, he made peace with it, which should be worrying, but something caught him.

Unpeeling his eyes—when had he closed them?—he came face to face with the thing that had been chasing him. That was Ash, the black cloud of void and purple stars all darker and brighter than the nighttime backdrop of stars.

Ash's face somehow formed out of the mass and grinned at him. They were so painfully, dangerously close to the ground.

“Caught you,” he said, though he sounded breathless. Red smiled back at him, tentative. He had almost died but was pleased he was alive and Ash had caught him, and he was being held up by Ash, which was embarrassingly making Red’s insides turn to mush.

“Put me down,” he ordered, and Ash shrugged, dropping him the five feet to the ground. He landed with a soft oof, and Ash also plummeted, his form changing to his panther one. He landed far more gracefully and then promptly dumped his big head on Red’s chest so he could peer at his face, his one eye sparkling with humour despite the panther’s expressions being limited.

Red sighed dramatically and stroked his head with his hand that wasn’t pinned by the panther’s body.

They lay there at the bottom of the craggy ravine, Red catching his breath as Ash watched him. At some point, Ash changed forms back to human, and there was just a very warm Ash on Red’s chest, smirking down at him like the cat that caught the canary.

Eventually, he decided to pipe up about whatever was making him so smug. “I win,” he said, and Red groaned, closing his eyes and begging any of the gods for strength. When he opened them, he was met by a warmer, gentler smile on Ash’s face, one he would almost describe as warm.

“Let’s go home,” he said, and Red lost his mind just a little. Ash never called it home. Though Red had always referred to the house they shared as home, Ash hadn’t—until that moment. On autopilot, he nodded, and together they found their way out of the ravine and back to their home.

o0O0o

The sky had been brewing a storm all day. Red hadn’t commented on it, just taken in the washing and pinned down any plants that were liable to fly away if left out in a storm. Ash had been pacing around the house for most of the day, so Red expected he also sensed it. Magic grew more wild when weather phenomena occurred, such as full moons, but to a greater extent storms could often disrupt magic spirits, throwing something off balance, or so he assumed.

Still, Red knew he could use the storm, so he was out, ready to gather materials when the first drop landed.

His efforts garnered an entire basket. Though the grey clouds had darkened the sky and the night had sapped any other source of light, his simple spell was not doing a lot of good. And though Red was wrapped in a waterproof, he could feel the ever-intense drum of rain on every part of his body. He was just finishing off the basket full of wild shoots picked in a raging storm to be used in soothing drafts when the lightning lit everything a stark white.

Red jumped violently as the entire forest was illuminated, and he made the executive decision to get the fuck out of there. Red rushed back to his home, the basket hooked over his arm. He just stumbled into the doorway when more lightning lit the sky and the sounds of thunder rolled deafeningly loud.

He dumped the basket to be dealt with in the morning and began to fumble.

Stupidly, he had dissipated the light spell he had, but none of the lights in his house were working—the power was on the fritz. With a curse, Red began to manoeuvre through his house based on muscle memory. He only actually tripped once because of a stray box left out on the ground.

Red poked his head into his room, but Ash wasn’t in the bed like he expected. Confused, he looked around the rest of his home, checked the lavatory, but nothing came up. Red was worried and called out to his familiar, “Ash!” he spoke louder than appropriate, but under the circumstances, it was necessary.

A high whine could be heard, like a wounded animal, and Red rushed to his room. How had he missed Ash? Was he hurt? Did he need help?

Red looked around the room and was confused but was left alone as he heard the long drawn-out whine again. Ash was under the bed.

Red lay down flat on his stomach to see under the frame and pressed against the wall. He could see the familiar. Ash was curled up as a dog, his paws placed close to his head, his single eye staring at Red in a pleading way that made his heart melt.

But all that wasn’t the most concerning part. Ash was glitching quite badly, the sparks coming off him more frequent and aggressive, his form wavering strangely inconsistent.

“Hey there, Ash,” he said coaxingly, looking at the familiar with worry. “How about you come out from there?” He tried to entice, and Ash whined higher and more frightened. He didn’t seem to want to. “If you come out, I can help?” Red offered, though he wasn’t sure he could offer much help in the thunderstorm.

Ash still looked frightened, but he seemed to trust Red or at least didn’t want to disappoint the mage/witch.

Ash stayed in dog form, and Red didn’t blame him. The darkness was oppressive; though Ash acted as a miniature light source, he wasn’t very effective. Every time the outside thunder rumbled, he would flinch towards the bed as if to take cover again.

Red would usually laugh at him, but he wasn’t completely sure this wasn’t Ash’s first storm or if he might have had bad experiences—both things he wasn’t entirely inclined to ask about.

Instead, he found candles—lots of them—hidden in drawers, on his bookshelves, and in the kitchen cabinets. He had a bunch on the windowsills and around his potion-making supplies. He had almost one hundred candles, really, and with some effort, Red laid them out around his small living room. He pushed the table against the wall and laid out a ton on it, lit them, and placed more on the sides, making an uneven ring around them. All the while, Ash watched from the couch. He had turned into a human and was curled in the foetal position, his knees up to his chest.

“What are you doing?” he asked, looking at Red and the candles.

“Lighting candles?” Red answered, and Ash pulled a face but didn’t ask any more questions.

When he had thoroughly illuminated the room, Red stood and found his record player. It was charged by magic and didn’t require concentration. He pulled out an old disc from years ago when he lived in the city training as a mage and put it on.

Then he turned to Ash, the music playing soft and low, almost drowning out the rain and thunder.

“Can you dance?” he asked, and Ash pulled a face, then a lot of faces really—scrunching his nose, rolling his eyes, glancing away as if he was trying to hide from Red.

“Dancing is cringe!” he said, and Red cocked a brow. Ash defiantly continued, “Yeah, and people who dance...” He trailed off, his face halfway between guilt and mirth. Red sighed.

“So, I’m taking that as a no,” he said, and Ash nodded, smiling. Then thunder struck, lighting the room white. The roll of thunder made Ash scared, and Red reached out and pulled him into a tight embrace.

Dancing came naturally to Red. He always found moving in ballroom or swaying to swing easy and enjoyable. Actually, Ash seemed reluctant, but as Red guided their moves, Ash seemed relaxed in letting him choose how they moved.

So they danced—badly at first, but as the songs changed and the night rolled on, and the rain thrashed the forest like some vengeful ex, they got better. In the tiny hut hidden in the trees, they embraced truly. When the candles had mostly melted down and the rain seemed to be softening, Red blew out the remaining wicks and dragged the sleepy Ash to bed. They would wake up late the next morning and sort out the ingredients Red had picked, but for now, they danced. For now, they enjoyed dancing.

Chapter Text

Red had finally completed the order of fire protection potions and was beginning to carry them off to the city. He had constructed a rather large cart of them on his own, and as he had to be out on official business, he saw it prudent to order Ash to stay back. His exact words were, “Stay in the house till I return”—words he would later regret.

Ash had been upset about the order and had asked why he couldn’t accompany Red in his travels and meet him back at the forest border as previous trips like this had entailed, but Red had stood his ground. He wished he hadn’t.

With a cart full of fire protection potions and the gripes of an upset familiar on his tail, Red had left for the city, walking through the forest, which, as usual, accommodatingly split a path for him to traverse.

All seemed normal and fine, but as Red walked to the heart of the forest, he was stopped in his tracks. The forest had begun to scream.

Alarmed, Red looked around, confused by the uproar. It was not unlike when he had found Ash; both times she had creaked branches together and transported alarm into his mind. But this time it was more agonising, more from pressure than desire. Red heard the sound like it was ripping apart his mind; the roots the forest had taken in his soul had tightened and were desperate not to let go.

Red looked around, alarmed and desperate for answers. He was given the solution to unsaid questions in the form of great plumes of smoke rising from the treeline—black, billowing clouds of darkening fog reaching up to the sky.

In desperation, Red abandoned his cart, only taking the few potions strapped to himself with him. But as he rushed to the origin of the smoke, his meagre efforts were too little, too late. The forest was ablaze.

Red panicked, like the forest around him. Animalistic fear rose in his chest, drowning out reasoned thought.

Desperate for the source, desperate for answers, he caught sight of a man who was thin and another who was heavy—the exact fools sent to buy fire resistance from him in the first place. They watched the fire with rapt fascination as the forest feebly fought them back. Her vines were no match for silver weapons, and her falling branches were out of reach of their skulls.

Red was incensed. How dare they burn his forest? How dare they enter her protective trees only to burn her to a crisp? But before Red could stride out and take bloody revenge on the fools, he caught sight of more people—more idiotic, self-important fools, more people who deserved his wrath and fury.

The people who had come to the forest to blame him for their woes were here now again, ready to push him out. Though his duty was to the forest, the people who had recognised Ash and wanted him for something worse than living were there also. Red blinked as he recognised village folk and victims of scams more than even magic could handle. He wasn’t sure even the great fabled Clown could take on such a crowd.

Red, angry and blazing like the forest around him, took the only reasonable course of action. He downed a fire resistance potion and turned tail. The only way to save the forest now from these fools, from these monsters, was to defend her from the heart. He was too late, though; a voice in his head reminded him she had gone quiet. He ducked under branches and could feel the inferno on his skin, though it left no trace of burns.

The forest was dying as more and more of her branches lit up in a blaze. Red was scared, was angry, and was painfully aware of the rapid passage of time, the slow drip of it as it slipped away, leaving him dead on the floor like the forest was.

He needed to protect her, but as he drew closer to the beating heart of the place, he didn’t even take Ash with him. He realised he was acting in futility. Whatever was wrong with this fire, it was unpredictably strong and raged at a speed he couldn’t explain. Red rushed, but it was all too late. He was all too late. He…

She curled her branches around his chest and told Red, "My good witch." He did not scream, but it was a close thing. Red clenched his jaw.

“No,” a whisper so desperate he could taste it, but she was already pulling away.

“My good witch still has the beloved to save.” And though his confusion persisted, Red could see sparks of purple and seas of black. Ash filled his mind. The forest was dying and still she begged him to save Ash. Red was alone but for Ash, who was trapped because he was selfish and had asked him to stay put while Red wandered. He was a monster, and now he would lose his only friend.

Panic drove him towards his home, his and Ash’s home, where they spent most of their time together, where he had made a name for himself in the last two and a half years, where he was supposed to be. But Ash was alone right now, alone in the home while his forest—their forest, the forest—burned.

Red would be able to get back soon enough for it not to be consumed, for it to stay standing. Red would need the forest’s easy paths, but dreadfully, truthfully, she had nothing left to give him, and Red was so scared.

Ash was alone. He had to do something. The forest burned.

In a haze of blind panic, Red realised there was only one way to see Ash safe, to give him a chance even in the blazing inferno that was the forest. They had made their peace. He needed to do the one thing Red had been holding out on; he needed to trust Ash, he needed to let him free.

Ash, though he tried to pretend he was not a familiar, was something else, and Red knew it, and Ash knew it, but neither of them acknowledged it.

Ash was not born to serve a mage or witch; he was not made to be harnessed. He was a tool of battle, war—a machine that could think and feel—and Red had been using him just like his previous owners, and Red was sick of keeping him on a leash and terrified if he let go, Ash would run.

If Red were in his position, he would run. Scared of what could happen, it would be Ash's right to flee from the obviously unstable man.

Red set the familiar bond—the ball and chain binding him and Ash as one—free. He let the fear and panic from Ash flow into him and out into his magic, letting Ash free in a dizzying release of power. He had been drawing on Ash for so long, standing without him tethered to his chest was dizzying.

The flames raged up and up and up around him, consuming Red in the inferno, taking him in and trapping him. Red was alone, truly alone; the forest was unable to reach him, and Ash was free to run. He had no one and nothing to live for, but Red was a stubborn sort. He was an animalistic, angry sort; he was a raging mage, a wicked witch. He was not made for placating and complacency.

Red downed yet another fire resistance potion and dived through the flames, fighting his way through the thicket of branches, covering himself in cuts as he went. The feeling of emptiness because he was no longer tethered to Ash was so strange, so alien, Red could not find it in himself to feel good about it. But Red rushed to the edge of the woods because, well, he wanted to live. Selfish or not, Red had always wanted to live. Even with his world burning, he refused to die. Would Ash want him to? Would the forest?

It took hours for the forest to burn, and Red just sat and watched in devastation. In a matter of hours, he had lost everything. In a careless, monstrous move, the village people had chosen to take the forest from him, take Ash from him.

Red didn’t go home; he sat and watched, empty-eyed behind his glasses. His eyes stayed dry; he didn’t have the feeling enough to cry anymore. He felt hollow.

When the last ashes smouldered and a drizzling rain began to fall, Red got up. Almost on autopilot, he had been sat in the snarl of a tree; it had twisted around him, hiding him from falling ash, but it was as dead as the grove around him. In a stumbling trance, Red walked home. He didn’t need to duck under branches nor lift his feet to avoid snarled branches. The blank trees around him didn’t bend to the will of their forest; they didn’t have any life left to give.

Red didn’t have any life in him left to give.

But as he walked, the smoke in the air filling his lungs seemed to clear. The ashes flying in the air like snowflakes were accompanied by rain. Red was shocked to find the grass turn from blackened charcoal to putrid green to a more vibrant shade until he entered the small circle around his house and suddenly it was as if no fire had ever touched the space. The forest still stayed still, but for a second, Red felt as if he had entered the past.

Red walked through the forest, his forest, in awe, confused by how the grass had stayed so green and how the trees had stayed standing. Confusion and dawning amazement cracked in his heart.

Because despite being deeply confused and unsure of the survival of his forest, his home was still standing at the heart of what once was, perfectly preserved as if nothing had happened to the forest at large.

He went to reach for the front door knob when out of the underbrush a massive crow hopped, purple pixelated particles glitching off him in a dizzying display. He hopped in the grass, still green and untouched, playfully approaching Red.

Red looked at him, and Ash stared back, cocking his head curiously. A low treble trill was made, and Red cracked.

"Why did you stay? You didn’t have to; you don’t need me," he asked in a desperate, devastated haze. He had been mourning this loss; why was Ash here? He had been dreading making a life without the familiar. Like that winter, why did he stare up at Ash’s eye, unblinking, purple void open and pouring out of him?

"Why?" he asked, but he wasn’t sure what he was asking anymore. Why did Ash choose him? Red was nothing special; he was a witch who wasn’t a witch and a mage who never measured up. Why had Ash, the amazing, not quite familiar, not quite magic, now quite anything but everything exceptional, chosen to stay with Red? Why had he protected Red’s forest?

Ash changed forms then, no longer a crow but a man. His face was sunny, even though the light drizzle was making his hair damp. The sparks of purple still fizzed from his missing eye, but the crinkled skin of a smile made him glow in the dim light.

Red was captivated by the movement of his lips and the clack of his slightly too sharp teeth.

“There is nowhere else I would want,” he looked Red in the eye, lifting his hand to take his chin in his palm. It was a gentle but firm grip. “Need, or dream of being.” Red stared at him uncomprehendingly, and Ash, seeming to understand him—because really, he did—usually leant in.

Red didn’t reciprocate the kiss for a few tense seconds, and then it was like the floodgates opened and they were kissing. There were tears running down his cheeks, and Ash was shit at kissing, and Red was so worn out he let the moment wash over him.

Ash was so warm, even though he was made of magic and stars. He was so comfortingly warm. Eventually, though, Red had to pull away for breath and stared into Ash's eyes with a love-struck sort of passion. "I want to be your familiar," he said with a light laugh, and then he cracked more real giggles spilling from his lips. "Even if I'm not a familiar."

Red was also laughing, tears and grime smeared across his cheeks, but Ash was pressed into his chest, and the world for a moment froze because Ash wanted to stay with him without Red making him.

"I want to be your witch," Red said, "or mage, or whatever you want to call it." Ash wiped away some of the ash from his cheeks, buried his hands in his hair, and kissed him again.

o0O0o

Approximately a week later, the forest was still burned, but Red and Ash had fallen back into their routine. It had been strange, new and strange, and Red and Ash had found their rhythm. A new spell to bind Ash to Red, not so harsh it worked both ways, was found. Ash didn’t explain where he got it, but upon Red performing it, he had been extremely excited, so Red wasn’t sure.

But they hadn’t been expecting anyone to darken their doorstep.

Red hadn’t expected anyone to try and find the vengeful witch for at least a few more weeks, but—

A strange man with avian traits, a pair of large parrot wings and large clawed feet, and a smile that could rival the sun, looked at Ash with eyes that sparkled blue-green nebulas.

Red was inclined to slam the door in his face, too raw to take another job, especially with his forest in ruin, but strangely he felt compelled not to. Curious, he stayed in the doorway. Ash prowled up beside him as a panther and stared at the man hungrily.

"Are you Redoons?" he asked, and Red cocked his head, a playful smile playing on his lips.

"I may be," he answered indirectly, but the man didn’t seem upset.

"I’ve been looking for you a long time," he admitted, and Red recalled his face from the city. He had worked a service or two for him and wondered why he had sought Red out outside of his usual haunts.

"May I ask why?" he asked coyly, and the parrot man flapped his arms.

"I was going to offer you a place in our guild." Red cocked his brow curiously. "It's called Life Steal. We are magic and mercenaries for hire." He grinned, and Red recognised that name. It was an impressive, highly coveted guild, and a man at the top—a man named Parrot, who himself was a parrot hybrid—was supposed to run the entire thing.

And he had sought Red out.

Red grinned now.

"I would love to continue talking about this," he said and then gestured to Ash. "This is my familiar, Ash. He'll be here for the discussion." Parrot’s eyes zeroed in on Ash, and he looked alarmed and intrigued.

Red was not alone anymore. He had Ash, and he had what remained of his forest, and he had this opportunity. Red had the entire world to meet, and he was ready to do it with Ash.