Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Got your water?” 

“Yes.” 

“Umbrella?” 

“Yup” 

“Passport and school id?” 

“...Yes.” 

“What about your first aid kit?” 

“Dad…It’s just a field trip to the UK, not the literal apocalypse!- Wait… are you reading off of a list online?”  

Said person who definitely was not reading a list online pulls back their phone defensively.

“Uh…. no?” Liam shot him a deadpan stare “-anyways, pack your sunscreen.” 

“Dad!” His dad flinched “-we’ve triple and now quadruple checked everything, I think I'll be fine.”    

The busy airport entrance was littered with various other parents and their own kids, as well as other travellers at different points in their journey. Next to the massive door was a group of kids with their suitcases and several teachers.

Teachers that were busy making sure everyone had arrived for them to begin their field trip. Who Liam –and some other kids with worried parents– were definitely holding up.

Sure, his dad likes to plan. He works as a demonologist lecturer so of course he would plan and recheck every minute detail. Once, in his room yesterday night. Twice, when loading the car. Thrice! In the middle of the road!! And don't even get him started on the forth-

A slip, It was thin, but Liam could immediately notice it from his left eye. A slight dusting of blue-green wafts unsteadily from the edges of his dad’s silhouette, and if he squints, Liam can also faintly make out a sheen of worried blurple dusting the edges. 

Then suddenly, the aura spiked and receded back in as quickly as it came out. 

“Too late, I already saw it!” Liam points out smugly, crossing his arms. ‘Who's the one leaking out aura now!’ Years of his dad tormenting him over not being able to wrestle his aura and now the flipped has tabled. 

His dad sighs in defeat “Ok, you got me...” His hand moved to ruffle Liam’s blond hair. (Hey!) “It's just that… this is your first time travelling without me.”

The big airport towered over Liam's short form. Above him, a plane shoots forwards, a gust of turbulent air hits his face, bringing with it residues of the magictech used in planes. 

Liam gripped the suitcase handle tightly, “Well I'm thirteen now, I can handle myself!” He forces out a gleeful tone and a determined smile. 

Eye softening, His dad crouched down in front of Liam, extending his hand.

“How about a deal?-” Liam’s ears perked up, and his hand twitched. “-Make sure to stick with the group and stay safe out there. Call me if anything happens, deal?” 

 What's in it for me? His instincts whispered.

Liam pauses, deep in thought. “Teach me how to do that fire rune circuit and I’ll be on my best behaviour!” 

His dad laughs with a slightly nervous tone. “Alright little sprite, I’ll teach you how to draw out some fire circuits. In turn, you will be on your best behaviour the whole trip and arrive back home safe.”  

 What is ‘some’ fire circuits? Is it 10? Or 3 of the most powerful ones? 

Best behaviour is objective  

What is the definition of a home?

Liam Ignores his stray thoughts and grasps the hand firmly “Deal!”  

A click, and the deal is set. A wave of satisfaction soon follows.

A mid level Fire circuit,
for his best behaviour (no illegal activities,
stick with the group, No breaking people’s stuff, etc)
and return home safe.    

It’s a bit hard to pinpoint when the tradition started. If Liam were to guess, it was when he outright refused to do homework back when he was younger. After that, it just continued to be part of what Liam does, making deals with his dad, schoolmates and friends alike.

“-now off you go.” His dad pats him on the back, breaking Liam’s chain of thought. 

Oh right, the field trip. 

Looking at the group, Liam spots his friend Kris waving at him, trying to get his attention. Had his dad really held him up for that long? Liam makes a move to run for it.

A hand on his shoulder stops him
“Wait, almost forgot-” a soft cloth suddenly blocks his left vision, blocking the overly saturated world. The sounds of velcro scratched his ears as it was adjusted.

Come to think of it, Liam hadn’t even seen his dad grabbing that eyepatch- 

“-and done! Don’t want you bumping into ancient and expensive artifacts now do we..?”  

Probably from his pocket, who knows? Liam hugged his dad tightly and proceeded to run towards his friend.

A strange –and horrible– feeling enveloped Liam suddenly, shocking him into the waking world gasping for air and drenched in cold sweat. 

The airplane is still and horrifyingly silent, the constant rumble long reduced to a mere buzz. Most passengers were asleep at this point, including Kris, who passed out clutching his big Beale plushy and snoring softly (slightly drooling-). A mess of ginger curls with tiny horns peeking out from the beanie. 

Liam’s breaths slowly even out the more he comes to. Though the uncomfortable pressure remained, constantly pushing down on his chest and making it difficult to breathe.

A thought came in, and Liam swipes the air with his hand. It felt slow, sluggish even. Similar to being underwater, but a lot more dense and of course being able to breathe.

Liam continued to repeat the motion in fascination, ignoring the weight on his chest to focus on how slow his hand fell through the air-

Kris lets out a loud snore that snapped Liam out of his thoughts, shuffling his sleeping position. Seemingly unaffected by the sudden change.

‘Good for him’ Liam rolled his eyes at the sight, a slight envy at how peaceful Kris’s sleep is.

Whatever… this was..  seems to only affect him.

It had also interrupted his sleep just the exact moment when it was getting good! Why didn’t this happen when he was having a nightmare instead? Liam buries his face in frustration, wishing nothing more than to just go back to the weird dream of partying and world domination. 

In a way, his wish was granted. Liam lets out a quiet yelp as another wave washes over him, dragging his body farther into the seat before suddenly popping him out all at once. The tension is released, and Liam is shot forward in his seat, the seat belt holding him firmly in place stopping him from crashing forwards.

Dazed but not wanting to waste any time, Liam quickly swiped the air again, finding that the air returned to its original density. 

Huh..? 

He pats the pocket in front of him and pulls out a notebook. 

 “C - come on, where’s your sense of decency my friend! T’was merely a jest!” 

“It was gone thE MOMENT YOU DECIDED TO T*&^ mE I(*^%$^#^!!!!!!”

The man screamed

Liam could still hear the phantom echoes of a man and a woman’s laughter, feelings of frustration and betrayal still seething inside of him. But, when he tried to focus on it, details of the dream continued to slip away from his grasp like sand.

“Oh wow, had a rough night?” Kris asked, coming out of the bathroom fully dressed and ready for the day. In contrast to Liam who had just woken up in cold sweat from a strange dream.

“What do you think?” Liam snapped back, Kris raised his hands in defense  “...Sorry.” Liam mumbled, realizing what he just did. 

Liam manages to drag his meat sack out of bed somehow, walking his way to the bathroom and missing the warm, comfy bed each step of the way. He had a deal to keep up afterall, best behavior means not being late to morning calls. 

The shower was thankfully loud enough to drown his thoughts.

“The great fires of Canterbury remain among the most devastating demonic attacks of the dark ages. Caused by the notorious Bill Cipher, some have speculated that it even led to the downfall of King Henry the VIII” The tour guide rambled on as the group trailed slowly behind.

And it showed.

Blackened bricks hidden behind peeling wallpapers, the ashen tips present on the corners of the marbled floor, dilapidated paintings and tarnished silver candle holders line the walls. As well as the smell of charcoal heavy in the air. No amount of restoration can return the castle to its former glory.

Hung up along the expansive hallway were tapestries, all burnt to an unrecognizable state and looking out of place amongst the faded red of the wallpapers behind it.  

These halls feel…. Familiar

“It’s so similar to Beale from Mizar the Magnificent.” Kris mumbled in awe, halting his stride. 

A large tapestry hung in front of them. A triangle stuck in a red jester-like outfit, encased in that wretched globe. The look of disdain and annoyance fully on display in its eyes. It was the only tapestry lucky enough to survive the fire due to the craftsman delaying the shipment to the castle. 

Liam’s fingers twitched.

“It's the wrong outfit, it should be a top hat and bowtie.” Liam grumbled out, ignoring the sudden wave of irritation. If looks can burn, then the tapestry would surely be on fire right now. 

Best behaviour includes no destruction of property.

Kris giggled at his comment, “I dunno, I think it kinda fits him.” 

No. Just, no.

Liam scoffs “Where is your sense of taste? Those shoes look ridiculous!” Pointing towards the long whatever it was that it wore. 

The topic of demon fashion trends continued between the two for a while. 

The once lively crowd of students died down as they slowly trickled into the remains of the throne room. 

Hung on the walls were various depictions of the great fire, each one having a one-eyed yellow triangle in the middle of the carnage and commanding a phoenix to do its bidding.

“-It's estimated that around two hundred thousand died that day under that demons hands.” The guide says sombrely.

It’s higher than that.  

…how did he know that?

Looking towards the middle of the throne room. There was a half melted sphere, its shape similar to a snow globe. It reeks of demonic residue, everyone could feel it. A tingling feeling that crawls up your spine, and judging from the burn pattern of the marbled floor, it was the epicenter of chaos.  

There was nothing left of the once great wizard, reduced to a stain on the floor. No name, nor any records survived. The only thing that remained were rumours of him amongst the magical community.

Liam, overwhelmed with a mysterious glee, can't help but let out a small snicker. An action that was quickly met with a sharp jab on his side from a very disappointed Kris. Thankfully it was small enough that other’s hadn’t noticed

He shoots back an apologetic smile to Kris, before going back to paying attention to the tour guide.

“Let this be a lesson to all of you, to never let your guard down against any demons.” The tour guide says sternly, pointing towards a spot on the floor that was much darker than the rest.  

Humanity and their hubris, a tale as old as time. Apparently, a wizard had been so confident in his abilities that he trapped a class five demon with only a thin wall of glass and unicorn hair. Forgetting to account for the demon being able to melt the glass and escaping. 

For what reason did the wizard trap the demon? Some say it's for riches, some say it's for fame or power.  Many historians continue to speculate about this part. 

Or something stupid like impressing an ex.

A man’s pitiful begging echoed through the hall, stammering excuses after excuses in the face of his own mortality. Even though he really should've expected this outcome the moment his hands touched the chalk, or when he decided to betray the demon. 

He got what he deserved

“Next up is the remains of the great library, please follow me this way.” 

A half melted cage hung in the middle of a spiral staircase, where a chandelier would’ve sat. Its golden colors untouched by time and without a hint of tarnish. This was where the wizard had kept his pet phoenix, the one that the demon had possessed to wreak havoc. 

Liam blinked, and he was there.  

The night skies painted a vibrant red, the tingling of smoke against his cheek. Liam stared down at the masses from above, people who were fleeing their homes and the ones who tried to contain the fire. All futile and pitiful attempts at survival. 

And Liam could almost taste it.  

Their fear… their agony as fires engulfed their wretched souls, making them sing a beautiful choir.

Its sweet

Sweeter than anything he’d ever tasted

It lasted for only a second, grazing the tips of his tongue and leaving only the hunger for more.

“Liam..?”  

A sudden pressure on his shoulder shook Liam out of the trance. Still just having come out of a daze, Liam could only freeze, lines of excuses stuck in his throat. Looking around, Liam realized that the group had proceeded forwards without him. 

The cage seems to hum constantly, beckoning him closer. Obviously magically cursed, Liam concluded, now wary of it. Like everything else in this cursed and definitely haunted castle.

“Come onnn, we're gonna get left behind!” Kris urged tugging Liam’s arm.

“Alright alright.” Liam forcefully drags himself away from it a step at a time, hurrying off with Kris.

Days after the field trip has ended Liam gets another dream. 

And it continues...

Art section

by me

by Sunami

Chapter Text

The first thing Liam noticed were the hushed whispers surrounding him.  

‘-the triangle who claimed blasphemous things.’ 

‘So young and already spouting out words of a madman.’  

‘-arents fault.’

Against his will and confusion, his form (?) shrunk and he was hit with a wave of shame not of his own. Liam kept quiet and continued to observe the various shapes of many colors gossip to one another as if he wasn’t there. Squares to squares and triangles to pentagons. 

So far, Liam concludes that this is a weird dream, unlike the ones he usually gets with world domination and parties.

His feet(?) continued to trek forward, and it was then that Liam realized his hand (why is his hand so small?) was being held by another.   

A red triangle with edges softer than the other shapes and a neat bow on the top of its (her) head. Almost instantly the waves of shame that continued to assault him quieted down the moment he noticed its (her!) presence. 

She feels like home

A softness bloomed where there once was shame, and Liam feels his body slowly gavitate closer towards her automatically.

The pair continued to walk towards the unknown destination. The road seems endless and while the comforting presence of the soft red triangle had helped, the other shapes still spoke in their hushed whispers. 

It was then that he noticed it. 

He looked “up” towards the vast sky, with clearer vision than he ever had. Dusts of nebulas and galaxies painted the sky a wonderful gradient, each star twinkled and danced among one another. 

It was…. breathtaking...

Liam felt the want, the need to pluck one of those stars from the sky to present to ‘her’. To show her (everyone) just how wonderful it was to be a witness to such a vision. 

He nudged a bit, and felt an odd pressure keeping him. So he pushed more an- 

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!  

-

   - 

          _ 

                      -  

                                                      _

His fist slams the top of the alarm clock harshly, shutting it off, and also potentially breaking it. Liam groans loudly in annoyance. Great, it might be the third one this month.

The dream remained fresh on his mind even after Liam woke up, the weirdness of it still not making any sense in any way “Eughhh, not again.” 

Frankly it was getting sort of frustrating with how much it messed with Liam’s sleep, and thus ruining his already terrible mood. Starting from that dreaded and godforsaken field trip in that wretched castle.

Realizing the inability to escape his responsibility known as high school, Liam slowly cracks his eyes open to be greeted by the familiar world of mismatched colors and of course, his bedroom. He sighs once more and rolls himself out of bed.

“Dream log #13: Another dream with those shapes again, this time the red triangle was taking me somewhere. Not sure where, but there were these weird shapes that kept insulting me! At least the stars still looked very pretty today, maybe one day I can grab it and show them what they're missing!! That’ll show them!!

The velcro crackles as Liam adjusts his eyepatch securely on his left eye, obscuring the bright, oversaturated part of his vision. Leaving the ‘boring’ part of his vision of normal spectrums of color. He quickly finishes up with a quick brush and goes to exit his bedroom. 

‘I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it, we just have to keep practicing.’ A tangled mess of string scrunched up in his tiny hands, vision blurring from the tears of frustration. His father’s hand on his back, a soothing presence.

Liam never did learn how to tie a bow, all that comes out is a mess. 

A soft snore interrupts his daily musings, it echoes through the house, getting louder the more Liam trekked downstairs.

The dining table was a mess of papers full of sigils and runes. His dad passed out on the table holding a half finished jug of coffee and a red pen. On the other hand, an open laptop shining a pale white light on his dad’s somewhat pathetic looking face.  

His dad was working late again, Liam concludes nonchalantly, this isn’t a new phenomena afterall.

Looking to the side, he spots two plates of toast and some random assortment of jams on the table; A half-prepared breakfast.

‘At least he tried…?’ Liam sighs

Hopping on the chair, Liam continued where his dad left off. Spreading raspberry and blueberry jam on each toast. 

… 

Liam cuts up the toast into triangles, a bow and a top hat. Placing the hat on the blueberry one and a bow on the raspberry. It was some shoddy work, but hey what are you expecting from a 13 year old? 

“Rise and shine old man!” Liam smacked the old man. 

Said old man yelped, and then groaned loudly before plopping his head down on the table again. 

“Ughhh- Liam why did you- wait, what time is it?” 

“Eight o’clock! oh, and here's...-” Liam slides the plate of jammed toasts. “-...your daily offering.” he presents with a teasing smile. 

"Much thanks," his dad says nonchalantly, sipping on the big jug of coffee. His dad suddenly chokes the moment he sees the toast. 

Liam raised a brow.

“Ahaha ignore that- sooo did you get a good night's sleep today..?” Ignoring what just occurred and changing the topic quickly. 

Words get stuck in Liam’s throat as he tries to hash out how to answer.

“....somewhat?” The half truth rolls out of his tongue easily. With those weird dreams that have been haunting him? Nope, those dreams never fail to make him wake up agitated and in cold sweat. 

He looks at his dad silently, who was in the process of utterly decimating the toast. Ripping it bit by bit with forks with the ire of intense hatred instead of eating it like a normal person. 

Was this really the same person who taught him manners?    

The clinking of forks stops and Liam finds himself being stared down by his dad’s expecting eyes. 

“..I had a dream about the stars..” He forced out another bit, safe. Not a lie.

“Oh?” 

The stars that beckoned him, the pressure of being held down, weird shapes with eyes that look at him with such pity- “it’s better than the nightmares…” Liam looks aside, not wanting to elaborate any further. 

his dad hums as a response in agreement, thankfully laying him off easy. Going back to texting his colleagues about important stuff.

“Dad..?”  

“Yes?” 

“Can you… walk me to school today?” 

“Sure.”  

“-liam!” a tiny voice rings out. 

Huh? 

“UILLIAM PINES!”  

Reality crashes onto him, Quite literally.  

Pain erupted from the side of his face and the world tumbled. A loud ringing sounded out and Liam felt his knees hit the ground hard. Liam spouted out curses and clutched his eye. 

‘Ow! Not again! Why- everytime!’

The coach blew on the whistle, the sharp ring stings his ears. “Kris and Liam out!”  

Murmurs erupted from all of the other players. Great, now Liam has to deal with more rumours of “the local snoozer”. Even with his eyepatch on, he could already guess the whole room would be filled with shades of pinks and greens. Colors of gossip. 

Laying there on the floor, He tries to peek his -definitely blackened eye- open. Liam hissed as the air grazed his delicate eye, causing it to water more and drip down his cheek.

‘Yup, that eye is out of commission for the day.’ Liam thinks mournfully.

Shakily, Liam slides his eyepatch and opens his left eye. The vibrant world hits him like a truck, and accurate to his prediction, the whole gym was covered in pinks and purples. Waves of bright magic wafts through the air, small wisps flew by to and fro. 

His head spins as it struggles to adjust to the sight.  

A presence stalks closer to him, one that's filled with bucket loads of blurples and yellows. Kris walks with a careful stride and that guilty look on his face. If Liam were to guess, Kris is going to shower him with apologies and fuss over him like he always does.   

“Liam I- I really didn’t mean to hit you I just-” Liam Holds up his hand to interrupt him.

“Save it! I fell asleep mid-game, and you just happened to hit my face.” Liam reasoned. 

Kris, guilty as ever, just snaked his arm around Liam and supported him all the way to the nurses office. 

.-. 

The walk there is unnervingly silent, apart from their echoing steps and sounds of classes in the distance.

Kris’s incessant worried blurple was there each step of the way, but yellow seems to have overtaken most of the volume. The color of fear.

“You know I can see your aura now right? You're more yellow than blurple right now.” Liam stated. 

Kris’s aura spiked, he’d been caught.

“...” 

Infuriatingly, Kris stayed silent. Which just made Liam even more agitated.

“If this is still about you accidentally hitting me with that ball, then honestly just-” Kris halts his stride, interrupting Liam in the middle of his monologue.

“It's not about that.” 

More yellow, a bit of blurple still. With red tips..?

Liam really needs to get better at reading people’s auras. Nigh unreadable complex blends like this are getting really frustrating.

“Well..? Are you going to tell me, or are you going to keep me guessing by your aura?” Liam stares down the satyr engulfed in blurples. 

”Ok- ok fine! Look, I'm just worried, ok?” Kris finally relents, “You’ve been falling asleep randomly for the past few weeks… and this time you just- you just collapsed out of nowhere!”  

He noticed those?! 

Liam hides his panic and scoffs at him, “I fall asleep randomly all the time.” Kris doesn’t seem to be convinced.

“It's different from that! I just know it-” Kris’s shaky tone rings out before softening “-Think about it, yesterday you fell asleep at runology, and now P.E.” he puts his hands on Liam’s shoulder to shake him.

Liam peels those hands from his shoulders firmly,

“Yeah sure, you know what I hear? A worrywart that's thinking too hard again.” 

Kris gives him an exasperated look. 

In many ways, Liam can't exactly deny that Kris is right. At first it was just those strange dreams, but then he’d also started to fall asleep randomly as well. What occurred today was just a taste of what's to come, whether it’d be the narcolepsy worsening or more.

Liam  just… didn’t want anyone else getting involved. His dad was already so stressed with his work, and Kris is… Kris.

But…. seeing how Kris is acting right now, Liam can’t exactly hide it anymore, even if he tried to brush it off, he had a feeling this was one of those things Kris wont let slide too easily.

-”...how about I cut you a deal? You stop worrying about this and I’ll try to solve this “snoozing” problem." Liam extends a hand with practiced ease. 

Something’s missing 

Liam had already been trying to solve this problem himself, so this deal wouldn't change much other than keeping Kris from getting worried- 

“No deal! I want to be involved with solving it!” Kris crosses his arms and his brows furrow “Don’t try to weasel your way out of this Pines.”

Kris had learned from the best. In any other situation, Liam would have felt proud, in this case it worked to his disadvantage, much to his chagrin.

…there's no escaping this, is there? 

“Fine, I’ll solve this sleeping problem with your help.” he needs a price, kris has to pay- “in turn, you’ll- you have to prioritize your own safety.” 

Not enough 

Shut up. 

“-and maybe buy me one ice cream..?” Liam tests it out, unable to avoid that nagging feeling. Kris raised a brow at that extra condition but he agreed nonetheless. 

“Ok deal.” Kris shook his hand, sealing the deal.

“Now, I dunno about you but I would like my black eye healed. Thank you very much.” Kris laughed and they continued on their way to the nurses office where Liam goes to rest and Kris bids him farewell. 

 Meanwhile —-

"-See you guys next lecture!” The class groans as the heavy lecture ends. 

Tyrone Pines is having the best day of his -never ending- life! Which is the week before submission week for his students, the air is thick full of sweet misery and despair. He breathes it in deeply, relishing in the slight taste of it. Getting paid to torment students really is a great career choice. 

He hums an old tune as he continues to tidy up. Placing written assignments into folders for later review, stacking up books on top of the laptop and so on. While doing so however, a stray paper slipped out. Tyrone's eye darts towards it.

‘Updated list of forbidden demons: -Alcor the Dreambender - Ephialtes - Phobos ….’ the list goes on and on…

Ah yes… he’d almost forgotten about that.

He leaves his finger to hover above it for a bit before continuing to place it with the rest of the assignment briefs. It’d been a while since the Ephialtes incident happened, he rarely gets any summons nowadays due to it. What with people thinking he is in a “bad” period right now.

Alcor the dreambender destroys a remote island. 

Estimated death toll of this act is around fifty thousand lives.

Even the circle and his various other cults were wary of him, not wanting to invoke his ire.

‘No matter’ Tyrone lets out a loud sigh. Mood dampening as he recalls the memories.

On the bright side, getting less summons means that Tyrone is able to actually hold down a job and focus on raising up Uiliam. A big part of that involves him having a perfect disguise and not getting caught by the local government again.

This wasn't exactly his first rendezvous in human disguises afterall-

“Ty! There you are!-” Tyrone snaps his neck towards the source of the shout. Only to see his friend and co-worker, Connie Jabłońska, holding on for dear life at the door frame, panting and sweating. Her aura all frazzled up emitting waves of agitated red yellows. Behind her, the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps approached closer. 

Tyrone raises a brow and hurried over to support her. “Woah slow down there Connie.” He tries to reassure her, but the worrying thoughts come through, “What's going on? Did a student summoning go awry again? Did someone accidentally sell their soul again?? Did a demon escape their binding circles?”

At this point, Connie suddenly places her hands on Tyrone’s shoulders firmly. Her face inches closer to his with this utterly horrified look of despair. Behind her, Oscar Kowalski arrives in the same manner, out of breath and frazzled.

“It's worse,” She whispered.

Tyrone scrunches his face in confusion. What was worse than all of the above?

Oscar catches his breath before speaking up. “The inspector is here.”  

“Oh. that doesn’t sound too bad,” Tyrone says in relief, laughing at his coworkers' attitude towards it. It's a normal inspection! At least he didn’t have to chase down yet another demon who had one of his star students soul or deal with a dozen escape sprites or anything of that sort. “You guys are overreacting for nothing.”

Oscar gives him a wry smile, face plastered with… something “Ty…. Do you remember Cherry Creek University’s demonology department..?” He asked Tyrone.

The one that had such a rigorous entry test for its demonology major?? “Yeah..?” He says slowly, still confused.  

“It's gone.”

“….what?

“The whole department. Dismantled.” Oscar explains slowly.

….is this a joke? Tyrone hurriedly looks towards Connie for more explanation, anything that proves Oscar was just joking. To his horror, Tyrone found nothing.

“Oh my stars…” Is all that comes out of his mouth. Tyrone pines, aka Alcor the Dreambender extraordinaire, the all see-ing star, reality warper, lord of nightmares and too many titles is too stunned to speak and is horrified of even the idea of it.

Connie starts shaking his frozen body. “Were. Going. To. Lose. Our. JOBS!!” There were five summoning halls, all of which –though tidy– did not reach ‘national’ standards. Which were nigh impossible to achieve mind you, a horrible form of bureaucracy.

“The three demonology labs upstairs are also barely up to standards…” Tyrone unhelpfully quips back, his voice low and whispering, his mind still trying to process the information.

Connie cries louder.

“If even that elite university got it, what's gonna happen to ours? We don't even have time to fill up the holy water tank, and check the sprinkler systems and the-...” Oscar mutters on and on amidst Connie’s crying. 

All hope seems lost between all of them. The horrors of having to go back to job hunting seems to be a reality that only inches closer and closer.

Tyrone clears his throat and places a hand on both of their shoulders, making them stop. “I think we're forgetting the easiest solution here.” He looks at them both coolly.

Oscar widens his eyes, “no, you don’t mean..-”

“Yes. That.” Tyrone affirms.

Connie shook her head, catching on with the idea. “A lot of things can go wrong, what if the department head finds out what we did..?”

Everyone pauses, a silent agreement achieved.

“It's worth a shot,” Tyrone states, voice full of determination.

Chapter Text

Summoning hall #5, the largest of all summoning halls. Commonly also used as an event space by the college as well as for some club activities. Apart from its size, it's a rather normal looking hall. Concrete flooring, ventilation windows at the ceiling, a bunch of chairs stashed away at a corner of the room. 

Above all, it was also tidy, and clean. All of them were, Tyrone had made sure of that. Sure some objects may not be at their designated places –small things like herbs really– or the arrangement of the hall isn’t exactly up to code, but does that really matter?

Demons are crafty, manipulative and conniving creatures. They strike at people’s weaknesses the moment it's revealed, some lul others to a false sense of security to lower their guards. You can never be too careful when you deal with them. 

However…

Does the placement of herbs influence chances of surviving a demonic attack?? Does replacing holy water according to their expiry date really do anything but just being a waste of money? Planned obsolescence on holy water. What a joke! Humans never cease to impress him with just how much greed they have.

The three demonologists stood side by side, lights dimmed and the smell of fresh chalk heavy in the air. Tyrone standing in the middle of his two coworkers with some sheets of paper on hand, speaking loudly for all to hear.

“-for the five summoning halls and three demonology labs that are in this campus building to be cleaned and up to code for the coming inspection. Specifically the 3005 revised safety code for demonology halls.” Tyrone pauses, clearing his throat. “So… Do we have a deal?” He puts on a wide toothy grin. 

Balanced 

Fair

Yes. 

Tyrone pats himself in the back for this one. Really, he outdid himself here with his bargain. Any demon would be overjoyed by such a generous offer. Especially coming from him. Not that they know who Tyrone actually is.

The once silent hall was engulfed in whispers, murmurs and echoes. Hundreds of peering and skeptical eyes look towards the three demonologists and then towards one another. Many voices speak all at once and yet not at all, taking their sweet time to decide. Connie and Oscar turn their heads towards Tyrone worryingly, not knowing what to do.

Doubt starts to seep into his mind. Nonsense he says! This is among his most fairest offers made this decade!

The whispers died down, THEY seemed to have reached a conclusion. 

“...Could you perhaps... sweeten the deal a little bit?”

The Alcor in him roared at even the thought of it, the carefully tucked away demonic part of him waking from its slumber. Tyrone grits his teeth, his expression scowling, he was prepared to argue against THEM but was stopped by a sudden weight on his shoulder.

Looking to his side, Tyrone sees Oscar who sports a defeated look on his face. An expression that says ‘just hear them out.’ his aura seems to be flicking anxiously, though still being as calm as ever, sporting that blue-grey muted tones. 

Tyrone lets out a loud sigh, not being in a position to haggle.

“What. Are. Your… Terms…?” He manages to grit out.

The three of them wait impatiently for THEIR answer, every minute of being trapped under THEIR gaze making the situation ever more uncomfortable.

“We want….. For the wordings and loopholes assignment submission to be delayed by 2 weeks.”

Oh, how dare TH̸̨̯̬̗͚́E̶̝̣͈̎͒́̇Ẏ̸͎̖̌̃-

Anything more would just be unfair!

The carefully balanced deal had turned into disarray now, the scales being tipped off balance in the worst way possible (not in his favor, mind you). Every demonic instinct in him was screaming at Tyrone not to take the shamelessly unreasonable deal.

“Oh, and don't forget about the runology project.”

“Oooh yeah that, agreed.”

“Man, I hate that thing.“  

“I haven't even started on it yet…”

‘For Connie and Oscar, for Connie and Oscar, for Connie and Os-’ Tyrone keeps repeating it in his head like a mantra, fighting back the urge to deny the deal.

“Fine. Deal̷.̴” 

The halls erupted into a loud cacophony of cheers and every inch of the room painted with pinks and reds, the bit of echo in the last parts of Tyrone’s voice getting ignored to instead celebrate the delay of their impending doom.

Alcor scrunched up his nose at this display. 

Opposite to how he was acting, Connie and Oscar, seem to be overjoyed by this deal. Because of course they are! It's not their assignments that are being delayed here. 

Runology and wordings were his classes, ones with assignments that he was looking forward to grading this coming week over a nice cup of coffee, and now that plan is ruined, in shambles!

Job well done –though he would argue with you on that– Tyrone moved to the side of the hall, hopping up to sit on the table and proceeding to observe in silence, not wanting to ruin the mood with all his grumbling. Oscar followed suit just behind him.

Connie taps the whiteboard loudly, grabbing everyone’s attention.

“Alright people, form teams of fives! We need all hands on deck!! Four teams will follow Professor Oscar to hall 1, 2,3 and 5! Three teams will join up with Professor Pines to hall 4 and the storage room-” Connie points towards herself.“-The rest will follow me upstairs to the labs. We’ll start in half an hour.” 

The students rush to form teams under Connie's guidance. Oscar, who noticed Tyrone’s lack of presence slowly stalks over there, holding something in his hand. Tyrone adjusts his glasses, eyeing his friend’s flickering worried blurple aura, though instead of the grays he expected to see, it was now dusted with happy pinks.

Oscar moved his hand, and suddenly there was something thrown in Tyrone's way.

His instincts, still on the edge, moved faster than his brain could follow. Catching the object with his hand at an inhuman speed. 

A flash of fearful yellow overtook the blurples for just a second

The object sat heavy in his hold, cold metal shocking his senses back to reality from wherever it went to. It was his favorite can of coffee. Tyrone smiles gleefully before opening the can with a click and chugging it down quickly.

“Y’know, I thought for sure you’d be the kind of person to just summon a demon for it.” Oscar starts, his aura curiously blue-green colored and his whole body leaning against the table’s edge.

Tyrone shrugs “And pray tell what can we even give to said demon to complete the deal? The price would’ve been too expensive!” He flails his other arm around for more dramatic effect.

10 litres of fresh human blood

Precious memories

50 pints of limited edition rocky road ice-

Shut it

He takes another large gulp of coffee, that sugary liquid running down his throat. Unsurprisingly it does little to distract his insides from continuing burning with a sense of wrongness. Tyrone really hopes Oscar hadn’t noticed that part yet.

“Well, you’re the expert on this,” Oscar replied, cracking open his own can of coffee, still looking tense as ever but a bit more calmed down now. 

Connie interrupts their talk, “30 minutes is up! Let's get going, people!” 

“That went well.” Tyrone thought as he walked.

What happened afterwards went by in a blur as things set into motion. Tyrone, alongside his co-workers, managed to break down the mountain of tasks into something more workable. All of the fifty pages of regulations and safety codes were all sorted and accounted for. Best of all, Tyrone didn't even need to use any of his powers! 

A tiny part of him beamed at the thought of it, how even without it Tyrone could accomplish just as much. That he wasn't just a demon, but a part of him still remains human.

The skies had already turned to a soft orange hue around him, bathing everything the light touched into oranges and yellows, the twilight night peeks through the edges of the skies, each minute turning darker as time continues on forwards. 

    ‘It's getting dark.’ Tyrone thought wistfully as he basked in the sights of his surrounding area. 

A cold wind breezes past him, making the trees rustle pleasantly. The sound of his steps accompanied his constant stride. 

           ‘....It's getting dark..’ He repeats the thought.

It came to him slowly, and a little bit too late –as most things do nowadays– that Tyrone would be returning home late…. Again.

A large sigh involuntarily escaped his lips. 

He did try to finish it as early as he could, but there was just so many things to get through and he couldn't exactly leave early because that wouldn’t be fair to-

It wouldn’t be fair to Liam either.

Liam’s disappointed face flashed in his mind and the multitude of excuses died down immediately. Something in his chest clenched. A large wave of guilt crashes into him, overtaking those once giddy feelings of achievement, now full of only regret. 

And to make it worse, Tyrone had already promised Liam that he would go home early to watch the last episodes of Samurai Horse.

Liam had been so excited for that, so much in fact, that he started doing everything he could to free up his own schedule, finishing up all of his homework and projects.

He takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly. 

The heavy weight on his shoulders was evermore present, the rough fabric against his skin became more noticeable than before. With slight hesitance, Tyrone carried on walking. His pace, quicker than before, not wanting to be even more late than he already is. 

Muscles used specifically for walking flex and contract, the soles of Tyrone’s feet coming into contact with the ground in a steady beat, his breaths becoming more labored and his chest moving more as a result. The feeling of being just so painfully human looming over him, making mistakes every step of the way.

‘Hopefully Liam wouldn't be too disappointed this time…’ He tries to reason with himself once more.

‘He would’

That one part of his mind spoke

He shoves that thought as far away as he can. Houses and streets whizz past him, the long suburban landscape stretched on and on. Just at the end of the street, was the familiar sight of his home, painted in cozy blues and filled with fond memories. 

‘Liam should be home by now.’ his mind supplied. 

But a quick peek wouldn't hurt.

Tyrone hums in agreement with his inner thoughts. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. With practiced ease, he guides his mind’s attention to scan through the numerous hidden stars in the house. 

The star shaped peephole blinked to an empty living room, which looked just exactly as they left it this morning, messy and haphazardly cleaned with papers all strewn about. He makes a mental note to clean it later.

Not there

Blink, He turns his attention to the hallways connecting his and Liam’s rooms upstairs. The bathroom door stood ajar –creaking– at the end of the hallways, empty.

Not here either…

Another blink, and it was the kitchen this time. Where Liam would usually be munching on snacks or doing something.

…

And it repeats like this. The living room, the attic, and he even checked the basement! Everywhere he looked turned out empty. With one last blink and a heavy sigh, Tyrone returns his sight back to normal, his expression full of frustration.

It just didn't make any sense. Liam should’ve been home two hours ago, by now Tyrone expected him to already be seated at the sofa comfortably and watching the final episodes with some leftover dinner in the living room. But so far everywhere he looked seemed to be devoid of that familiar blond-

There. At the edge of a curb just standing right next to a bus stop, Liam stood there with his back turned against him, seemingly just sketching things on his notebook and listening to some music. 

All of Tyrone’s anxieties immediately melt away at the sight, his chest feeling lighter than before. 

He silently chuckles at himself. Mostly finding a bit of pitiful humour at how fast he starts to worry the moment anything relating to Liam is amiss, his mind immediately coming up with wild conclusions and spiraling onto the worst outcomes. 

It didn't help that Liam had always been a blindspot in his omniscience, for whatever reason it may be.

The traffic light turns green, and Tyrone sees Liam walking forwards. He trails closely along, unsure if he should call out Liam’s name, a cowardly part of him fearing what Liam would say to him breaking yet another promise. Even though Liam also happened to be just as late as he is.

He really worries too much... Doesn’t he?

‘Get yourself together Tyrone’ He scolds himself, at some point he really does have to just be an adult and accept the consequences.

Tyrone’s ears suddenly peaked up at a loud sound of a car engine. 

Time seems to freeze, and his breath gets caught in his throat. His eyes immediately dart towards the source of the noise. His eyes widen, a car coming in from the left, its trajectory heading straight to where Liam is, who just continued walking forwards unaware of the danger.

“LIAM!” Tyrone screams out.

The next moment, Liam’s small and frail form suddenly froze up and –to Tyrone’s horror- started to collapse seemingly out of nowhere. His notebook and pen falling out of his grasp.

His feet moved. Alcor dashed forwards with all the power he could muster. Wind clashed into his face as he threw himself at Liam to push him out of harm's way, just a hair’s length away from the car. 

Alcor wrapped both his arms tightly around Liam and braced.

The asphalt's gritty texture burns into his skin; they both hit the ground rolling. His head then bangs harshly against the sidewalk, his ears rang on impact. For the first time in a while, Alcor feels pain –not the fun one– and he lets out a pained wheeze as the air was forcefully pushed out of his lungs. 

He groans, feeling every nerve in his body burn. 

Why did I design this meatsack to have such accurate pain receptors!?

Alcor breathed heavily and stared blankly at the evening sky; arms still firmly wrapped around Liam’s still form. The weight against Alcor’s chest grounding him firmly in reality. The sound of the perpetrator’s car gets father and father away, he commits every detail of the vehicle to memory.

XXX-XXX Colorado

Matthew Anderson, 26, Investment Banker

Drunk. 

His blood boils with a seething rage, molars and nails sharpening upon instinct. Hands itching to rip a man’s throat out. Maybe he should even skin him alive, or-

Not now.

Liam’s body moved in his arms, Alco- no. Tyrone’s gaze softened.

Later, then.

‘Deep breathes Dipper, deep breaths.’ He reminds himself. Slowly, the fog clouding his mind clears up, and his breath evened out.

Tyrone spares not a second later to shuffle in place to get a better look at Liam. Getting up to a sitting position, he hissed as he felt bones realigning themselves and his skin regenerating. Quite a pitiful display for someone like him, Tyrone bites his tongue and drags Liam up to a similar position, leaning against him. 

Liam stayed dreadfully unconscious throughout the process, no help at all to Tyrone’s increasing anxiety of the situation.

Instantly Tyrone notes Liam’s blackened left eye barely hidden behind the eyepatch that was supposed to go on his right. He brushed his thumb on the edges of it, feeling his stomach twist in ways he couldn't describe.

Then, As careful as he could be, he unclasped the velcro at the back with shaky hands. Setting the leather eyepatch aside to reveal the entirety of the marred purple skin surrounding Liam’s eye, little green specks of magic lingered around, residues of a healing spell.

David Catmire

Male, 30 years old, school nurse.

Casted Chiron’s Whispers approximately 

4 hours 37 minutes 42 seconds 05 milisec- 

He raised a brow, it was strange to say the least. From what he could gather, it wasn't a fresh injury; with it being half healed, it couldn't have been caused by this impact. Though it may explain why Liam hadn't seen the car coming his way. It would've been right in his blindspot.

But a question still remains…

Why did he suddenly collapse out of nowhere..?

Tyrone steers his attention towards the middle of the road, where a notebook and pencil were laid flat on the ground. It was in pristine condition, considering the situation here, barely any marks left on it, safe for some specks of dirt.

His breath hitched.

Dotted all over the page were drawings of triangles, and various other shapes of varying colors. Most of which sporting a sort of accessory or specific patterns. One however, stood out of the bunch. Something that made a chill run down his spine.

A single one eyed triangle, in the middle of the page.

Dipper’s entire body went rigid. A deep sense of revulsion coursed through him, his instincts screaming in protest at the very sight. It tells him to run, to hide, somewhere far away, anywhere but here. 

“Dad..?” Liam’s eyes blinked open groggily, that cursed yellow eye in full display of what he truly is. Dipper’s heart skipped a beat at the sight,

His laughter still echoed in his nightmares…

The laughter. That godforsaken sound that Dipper thought he’d buried centuries ago, rattled through his memories like a chain dragged over stone. His breathing faltered, and for a moment, he wasn't in the suburban street anymore. 

Dipper was back there, in the forest clearing where it had all gone wrong—of blue fires that consumed him, a victory that came at a cost, and all of the loss that came after.

But, Uiliam is not him. He is sure of that.

Or are you?

. . .

Tyrone cleared his throat, forcing the panic to retreat. He refocused his mind on Liam instead, his expression painted with leftover haziness from the tumble and visible confusion. That one single yellow eye sporting a slit pupil –so similar to his– gleamed faintly under the dimming light.

He swallowed hard and forced a smile, though it felt jagged and brittle; Trying his best to maintain his cool for Liam. The sight of his son, and that worried blurple aura emanating from him in waves, was just enough for Tyrone to force away his fears for just this time. 

“Hey, buddy. I’ve got you,” he said softly, brushing back a stray strand of Liam’s blond hair. “Looks like I came in just in time for something at least.” a wry smile painted his lips.

Liam reached up to touch his head, wincing when he did, “What… happened?”  

“You almost got hit by a car,” Tyrone said, keeping his voice as calm as he could manage. 

Liam’s brow furrowed. “I- I don’t remember that… I was sketching, and then…” He trailed off, his gaze drifting toward the notebook lying in the street.  

Tyrone followed his son’s line of sight and felt his stomach twist again. He reached out and gently squeezed Liam’s sides “Stay here,” he said firmly. 

Liam didn’t argue, though his confusion was evident. Tyrone rose unsteadily, his knees still in the process of healing after the tumble, and made his way to the notebook. Each step felt heavier, as though unseen forces were trying to root him in place. 

He picked up the notebook carefully, as though it might bite him.  

The triangles stared back at him, mocking him with their familiarity. Tyrone’s hand tightened around the edges of the notebook, and his mind churned with questions and dread.  

“Dad.. your aura. Its-” Liam started to speak, voice marred with hesitance. “What's going on?”

Tyrone quickly steadied his aura and wrested it inwards. Then taking in a slow, deliberate breath as he walked back and crouched beside his son. Focusing instead on Liam’s disoriented expression. He shakily hands over the notepad and pen, which Liam took.

“Liam, Let’s head home now. Alright?”

“But-”

“Please..?” Tyrone pleaded, not wanting to deal with this right now. Not after the hell that was at work today.

“....Okay.” 

It had been a beautiful day when it happened. The world bathed in yellows and oranges from the setting sun, the night sky bleeds into the edges of it.

Around them, the crowd cheers and chants their lord’s name while Alcor and Mizar both stood in the middle of it all. The rocky clearing was massive, decorated with totems of fire and colorful silk fabrics. In front of them sat a large stage made of wood.

They have been tracking down this demon for months. Phobos, a vile demon who sought to live lavishly and toy around with the humans it had at its disposal. People who were taken advantage of in their lowest moment, lead to worship a demon who calls itself a god. 

‘How sickening’ Alcor thinks, ignoring how a separate side of him craves to be worshiped just like that too. 

“Praise be the lord of fears, May your shades conquer our enemies and bring along the eternal dream!” They chanted along with them. 

The crowd quiets down as the leaders begin to fill the stage, dressed lavishly in white robes and gold jewelries. Black robed attendants following suit who start to paint a rather fancy summoning circle drawn fully in blood.  

The sweet scent of blood, coppery and tangy. Alcor can even feel the phantom taste of it on his tongue with how much blood they're using. Even without looking, Dipper can already sense Mizar’s distaste at that elaborate display of power. 

The human body has an average of 5 litres of blood 

How much blood does it take to draw out that whole circle? 

27.9 litres, donated from 38 people or drained from around 6 peopl- 

He stopped that train of thought when he noticed Mizar’s horrified face. Right, mission. Alcor shifted his gaze back to the stage, forcing his focus to return to the task at hand. The summoning circle pulsed faintly, the air growing thick with power as the blood dried and sealed itself into the grooves of the design. 

The leaders chanted, their voices rising in perfect unison, echoing unnaturally across the clearing. As the summoning peaked in intensity, shadows surrounding it coiled around and writhed like serpentine creatures. The air hummed with raw energy, saturated by the sharp tang of blood and the acrid aroma of burnt offerings.

“Mizar” Alcor whispered, their voice barely audible over the rhythmic chants. “Remember the plan?” 

“Of course.” Just wait till Phobos fully manifests and take him out once he does. “Ready when you are.” They whispered back firmly.

The gathered cultists fell to their knees, Alcor and Mizar did the same. Their voices trembles in reverence as the air warped and shimmered above the blood-drenched sigil. Then, Mizar’s breath hitched and their eyes widened.

A lady, clothed in an all white robe, strides along the stage, holding a small bundle of something. A Baby.

Mizar looked at him frantically. “Alcor thats- we have to-”

“No” Alcor’s voice is firm

Mizar’s face twisted with a mix of disgust and indecision. "But the child—"

“We’ve worked on tracking this cult down for way too long. If we intervene now, this is going to cause that demon to go into hiding again.” Alcor hissed back.

Mizar was silent for a long moment, their gaze fixed on the baby, still cradled in the woman’s arms. The chanting grew louder, more urgent, as the summoning reached its peak. The cultists' voices turned to a fevered crescendo, their collective energy feeding into the sigil.

Then, Alcor felt a breeze whizzing by his face as Mizar dashed forwards and intercepted the summoning. His eyes locked onto Mizar as they dashed forward, the crowd parting in a blur of panic and confusion. His pulse quickened and he tried to grasp at the edge of their cloak but failed. 

But it was too late. Mizar had already reached the woman, snatching the baby from her arms with one smooth motion.

Their chants faltered as their ritual came to a grinding halt. The blood-soaked sigil crackled and fizzled out. Alcor's heart dropped. The summoning had been disrupted, but not without consequences. 

The cultists erupted in chaos. Mizar stood frozen at the center of the stage, the child in their arms. 

Suddenly, the sigils underneath their feet began to distort, and the shadow at its center swelled. Dark tendrils of energy reached out, consuming the air as Phobos began to emerge just right behind Mizar. The demon’s laughter echoed through the clearing.

Mizar tightened their grasp on the bundle. 

“Well, well, well~ What do we have here…?” the shadows hissed. “How kind of you all to offer this lord such-” Phobos narrows his eyes in glee “-bountiful offerings.”

Alcor seethes with rage. How dare this demon claim to own what was truly his? 

He stepped forward, his aura flaring just enough to draw the attention of the leaders; More importantly, Phobos, who chuckled amusingly when he noticed his presence. 

Good.

He snapped his finger, summoning a torrent of blue flames that engulfed the stage and the surrounding area. The leaders screamed as the fire consumed their ornate robes, music to his ears. Alcor smiled sharply, baring all of his shark-like teeth.

“You think this will stop me?” That demon had the gall to say it in such a mocking tone. Alcor’s smile turned to a glare.

Everything that came after it went by in a blur. Alcor razes the ground and goes straight for the Demon, whilst Mizar tries their best to shield the child away from the crossfires of blue flames and hordes of nightmares, which intertwine with one another in a deadly dance.

In the end however, it was all for naught.

Remnants of the dead god stirred all around them, the smell of smolder and ash heavy in the air. Dipper holds the baby tightly in his shaky arms, partly due to the fact that he doesn't know how to hold a baby, and the other part is because…

Mizar coughed out another lungful of blood “Al- Alcor I-”

He quickly interrupts, voice strained “No no no. This is not happening right now, I could- I can still heal you.”

Shifting the baby to his other hand, Dipper knelt beside Mizar and pressed his free hand hovering over the gaping wound and muttered a healing spell. He winces in pain as he did, it was using too much energy than what he actually had.

His demonic instincts screamed at him to stop, telling him it's wrong to give something so big without a deal. Dipper ignored them anyway and pushed.

“Dipper… don’t…” They mumbled out weakly, Dipper’s stomach twisted into a knot. “Its… too late. The price would be-”

“No!” Dipper’s eyes darted all around, trying to find something, anything that would be of use. His gaze landing on the baby, gears turning in his head. “Make a deal with me.” 

Mizar shook their head, “You… have to take care of them,” they murmured, their gaze drifting to the baby nestled against Alcor’s chest. “They’ll need you…”

Alcor’s vision blurred with tears

“-Uiliam. Will need you.” They said with a resolute tone, even as their voice weakened. Mizar's trembling hand reached out, brushing against the soft blanket wrapped around the baby. Their touch lingered there for a moment before it fell limply to their side.

"No, no, no, no!" Dipper whispered in a panicked chant, pressing his forehead against Mizar's. His tears dripped onto the ashen ground.

"Stay with me!" he growled, his aura flaring violently, a mix of desperation and fury coursing through him. "This isn’t how it’s supposed to be! This isn't your fate! You can'̴t̷ ̸j̴u̷s̸t̶—"

Mizar's faint smile was the last thing Dipper saw before their aura dimmed completely.

“Not again…” Dipper whispered brokenly.

Dipper sat frozen, the clearing was silent except for the crackling of fading blue flames. The smell of smoldering ash, heavy in the air. His breathing became labored, every emotion was stirring strongly in his gut and tears dripped off the edge of his chin, dribbling off onto Mizar’s cold body.

The baby moved in his arms and opened its eyes. 

His entire body recoiled, his grip on the cloth faltering and Uiliam fell out of his grasp.

“Dad…?” Liam’s voice echoed through the dream.

Dipper feels himself fall backwards into the nothingness…

-

        -

                    -

                                  -

                                                     -

                                                                         -

Dipper woke up with a gasp, his whole body being thrown forward and into a sitting position as he clutched his blankets tightly, his chest heaving with the effort of catching his breath. Cold sweat clung to his skin and chilled him to the bone. For a moment, he sat still, eyes darting wildly around the darkened room.

“Dad…?” a hesitant voice spoke, pulling Dipper out of the suffocating silence of his mind.

Liam took a hesitant step inside, his small frame silhouetted against the faint hallway light. His mismatched eyes—one a piercing, unnatural yellow, the other a soft, familiar blue—stared intently at Dipper.

“H- hey Liam. what are you doing up this late..?” He asked nervously, biting away the fear, his false heart’s pulse thundered in his ears.

A shiver runs down Dipper’s spine unwittingly. He feels himself unconsciously shifting backwards, body hitting the headboard with a slight thud.

He forced a breath to steady himself. He knew it wasn’t fair—the boy was innocent, wasn’t he? But that eye dredged up too many memories, each one sharper than the last.

“I had a nightmare,” Liam muttered sheepishly, his gaze remaining locked onto Dipper. 

‘That makes the two of us’ Dipper thought to himself. “Come here,” he finally said, his voice low and hoarse. He patted the edge of the bed, forcing a strained smile. 

Liam hesitated, his small hands twisting the hem of his oversized yellow shirt. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly, taking a cautious step forward. “You look… scared.”

“I’m fine,” Tyrone lied, his voice faltering just enough to make him wince internally. “Just a bad dream, like you.”

The boy approached, climbing onto the bed and settling beside him. The weight of Liam’s presence felt heavier than it should, like a tangible reminder of everything that had happened—everything Dipper couldn’t change. 

“What was yours about?” Liam asked, tilting his head. 

“Well…-” Tyrone opened his mouth but closed it again, unsure on what to say “It’s... about boring adult things, nothing a kiddo like you should worry about.” he said finally, hand instinctively ruffling Liam’s unruly hair.

Liam swatted his hand away in protest, Tyrone chuckled and continued. “What about yours? Do you want to talk about it?”

There was a brief pause as Liam tries to find the right words.

 “It was…" his brow furrowed, fingers curling into the blankets.

"There was a monster…,” he chocked out, Tyrone's eyes widened. “A- And everyone got hurt, including you.” Liam’s head tilted upwards, a drop of tear glistened at the edge of his eyes

“and I couldn't put out the fire.”

Tyrone's throat tightened at those words, “Liam…I-” He stopped mid sentence, hesitating on what to say.

Finally, He reached out, pulling the boy closer into a hug. Liam didn’t resist, burying his face against his chest.

“You hear that..?”

Liam shifted against his chest “....hear what..?”

“My heart beat.” Tyrone answered softly.

“...Oh.” 

Liam was silent for a moment, pressing his ear to Tyrone’s chest. His tiny hands clutched at the fabric of his dad’s shirt, seeking reassurance. Tyrone returned the gesture with a soft squeeze.

“I’m still here, and I promise you, I'm not going anywhere…ok?”

Liam's body stiffened. “.........You never keep your promises.”

Those five words stung him like no other, But Liam was right. Tyrone had made promises before—promises he hadn’t kept.

“Can we… make a deal…?” Liam asks, his voice so small and broken.

Alcor's ears perked up at the sound of a deal

But still, Tyrone hesitated. Making a deal like this is dangerous, especially for him, and he knew better than to make ones that were this vague. But looking down at Liam, at this child who trusted him so completely, he knew he couldn’t falter now. 

“It’s a deal,” he whispered firmly. “No matter what happens, I’ll always come back to you.”

He glanced down at Liam, whose breathing had steadied, his mismatched eyes half-lidded with drowsiness. For all the fear and regret Tyrone carried, he couldn’t deny the spark of warmth that flickered whenever he looked at the boy. Liam was a reminder of his failures, yes, but also of the fragile thread of hope that kept him going.

Tyrone sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of Liam’s head. “Get some sleep,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “I’ll be right here.”

“Okay...” Liam whispered, his voice barely audible. He nestled closer, his small frame fitting snugly against Tyrone’s side.

As the boy’s breathing evened out into the rhythm of sleep, and his mindscape drifted off to a dreamlike state.

Tyrone takes a glance at Liam's now peaceful face, wanting nothing more than to accompany his son through the dreamscape, to consume any nightmare that dares encroach itself on his kin, and to make sure Liam's dreams would be unbothered.

but... he can't. 

Tyrone stared into the darkness, the deal -still fresh on his mind, lingered there. Heavier than any other he’d ever struck, and Tyrone wonders if he could even fulfil it.

Not when he feels so... inadequate, being unable to get rid of whatever's terrorizing Liam's mind, or being unable to predict what's to come with his omniscience; certainly not when he feels do deeply afraid of what's hidden inside, of what Liam truly is.

Tyrone lets outs a tired sigh, "...Goodnight Liam."

Art section!!!

stuff by me

Made a lil drawing for my lockscreen

some random doodles

wonderful art made by Percifany!

Chapter Text

Pitt Cola, an addictive drink that's been popular ever since its inception. it's been around from even before his gruncles were even born! And it will continue to be for centuries more to come, Alcor will make damn sure of that. 

It’s… comforting. How it remained the same even as time passed. Still very sweet, still very fizzy, with that hint of caramel and a myriad of other flavours.

Alcor pulled the tab of the cold can open with his blackened claws, his lips quirking to a smile. He raised the can to his mouth and opened wide, razor sharp teeth in full view. Alcor sipped on its contents, feeling the delight of that sweet liquid going down his throat.

A loud thud sounded out in front of him, Alcor paid the kneeling man no mind and merely continued drinking.

“I- I swear, oh great Dreambender! T-This is a mistake- You’ve got the wrong person here!” The werewolf pleaded “Whoever that was driving my car- It wasn’t me I swear!” 

And there it was, the other constant in Alcor’s never ending life. Mortals, always so amusingly desperate in the face of consequences, always quick to deny responsibility. 

Alcor set the now half-empty can of Pitt Cola down on the counter, the sound of metal meeting marble echoing softly in the otherwise silent room. He turned his attention to the quivering man before him, his glowing golden eyes narrowed into slits as he considered the excuses.

“ Wrong person, huh? ” Alcor’s voice was low, almost casual, but it carried an undercurrent of malice that made the werewolf flinch. “Funny thing about being me— I don’t make mistakes. ”

The werewolf’s ears flattened against his head, “I’m telling the truth! P-please just- I still want to be able to see my kids!”

 “The kids that you lost custody to? Hah, don’t make me laugh.” Alcor spat out every word with malice. He leaned back on the counter, legs crossed, and a clawed finger tapping rhythmically against the can of Pitt Cola. The werewolf’s pleas filled the dimly lit room, a stark contrast to the otherwise eerie stillness. 

To anyone else, the scene might have seemed almost theatrical: the godlike figure seated comfortably on the kitchen island, illuminated only by the faint glow of his own golden eyes, while his “guest” trembled at his feet.

“See, Matthew,” Alcor began, his tone light but dripping with sarcasm, “You really think I can be fooled? I’m omniscient, remember? And I. see. everything .” He leaned forward, the glow of his eyes intensifying. “Every sip, every stagger , every reckless decision that led to you sitting behind that wheel yesterday.”

The werewolf continued to babble, words spilling out in a panicked rush. "I-I was at home! I don’t even drink anymore, you can ask anyone! I swear on the Moon itself—"

Alcor hopped on to the floor in one fluid motion. The werewolf stumbled backward, his breath hitching as he scrambled to put distance between them. Each step Alcor took was deliberate, his eyes locked onto Matthew with a chilling intensity. The werewolf stammered, scrambling back until he hit the wall, cornered as the demon closed in.

“ Let's play a game shall we..? ” Alcor purred, his grin widening to an almost playful edge, though his glowing eyes betrayed the true menace beneath. “ I’m in a bit of a rush tonight so let's make this a quick one. ” he pulled back and shot the man a sweet grin.

“R̷̟̂u̸̠͆ṅ̴̙.̷͜͝”

For a heartbeat, Matthew froze, his mind scrambling to process the single word. "Run?" he echoed, his voice a whisper, trembling with confusion and terror.  

Alcor chuckled, the sound low and dark, vibrating with malice. “Yes, run .” he repeated, as if speaking to a particularly slow child. 

“I’m feeling rather generous today. So you’ve got a five-second head start. Make it c̶̛̝̭ŏ̸͎̹̍̓ű̵͉n̵̢̞̤̍t̷̞̫̦̎̍͆.̵̻̩̿̚ ”  

Matthew didn’t wait for further explanation. The primal part of his brain took over, and he scrambled to his feet, bolting toward the door. His clawed fingers scrabbled on the hardwood as he sprinted down the corridor, his heart pounding loudly.  

Behind him, Alcor’s voice echoed, rich with amusement. “ Five… four… three… ”  

Matthew shoved through the front door, nearly tripping as he hit the pavement outside. His breaths came in shallow, panicked gasps as his instincts screamed at him to keep moving. His senses, dulled by fear, barely registered the chilly night air or the distant sounds of the city.  

“ Two… ”  

The countdown reverberated in his mind as he darted down a dark alley, the shadows feeling suffocating as they stretched and twisted unnaturally. Matthew’s legs burned, his muscles screaming for relief, but he didn’t dare stop. He knew what was behind him.  

“ O̴͎̦̥͚̟͎̞̐̾n̸̡̡̬͓͔͚͇̝͚̓͊͗̍̓̔͘͠ͅe̶̡̧̱̱̰͓̻̻̩̮̟͌̀̕͝͝.̷̲̼͕̹̭̼̲͑̈́̑ ”  

The word rang out, soft and final, carrying the weight of doom. The air around Matthew grew colder, heavy with a suffocating pressure that made each breath feel like an impossible task.  

“ F̸̨̫̃̈́͜ö̴̱́ͅͅǘ̷̺n̷̲͍͝d̷̞͛̑̈́ ̵̢̝̝̇̋y̶͎͎͕͊̉ǫ̶̝̝̍û̷̮̰̎,̷̲̊̃ ” Alcor’s voice whispered, impossibly close, as though spoken directly into Matthew’s ear.  

Matthew turned sharply, his back slamming into the damp brick wall of the alley. His wild eyes scanned the shadows, searching for any sign of the demon. The streetlights above flickered ominously, casting distorted shapes that danced like mocking phantoms.  

A chilling silence fell, broken only by Matthew’s ragged breaths. “I-I’m sorry,” he whimpered, his voice cracking. “Please, I’ll do anything! Just let me—”  

The shadows in the alley coalesced, gathering into a single point directly in front of him. From the darkness, Alcor emerged, his eyes piercing through the gloom like twin beacons of damnation. His expression was one of pure delight, as if the hunt itself had been a form of entertainment.  

“ Ah yes… Fear. ”Alcor mused, “Such a delightful appetizer. ” His voice is light, almost conversational.  

Matthew slid down the wall, his legs giving out as he cowered before the demon. “Please, I beg of you—I swear it wasn’t me!”  

Alcor tilted his head, his expression almost pitying, though the glint in his eyes betrayed how much he was enjoying this. " Matthew, " he said, his tone dripping with mock sympathy, "You keep saying it wasn’t you. But let’s be honest here, do you really believe that silly little lie would work on me, still? "  

Matthew shook his head frantically, his hands pressed against the damp bricks as if they might somehow swallow him whole and save him. "It’s true!" he wailed. "I-I don’t even know what happened!"  

" Don’t know? " Alcor crouched down, his face inches from the werewolf’s. The shadows around them seemed to pulse in time with his words. “ Do you have any idea what would have happened if I hadn’t been there? If my son had been…” 

Alcor’s voice faltered for the briefest of moments before his gaze sharpened, the glow from his eyes burning through the darkness. “ Let’s just say it wouldn’t have been pretty. F̸̠̎ö̶̥r̴̙̐ ̸̩̃ÿ̶̲́o̸̹͑u̷̯̐.̶͔̓ ”

The air grew thicker, colder. Images flickered to life in the darkness, vivid as if projected from the folds of reality itself. Matthew saw his own car, weaving erratically down a suburban street. He saw a group of terrified pedestrians diving out of the way. He saw flashing lights—red and blue—and heard the distant wail of sirens.  

But most importantly, he saw a child. A little boy clutching a notebook, his face frozen in wide-eyed fear as the car approached closer..  

"No," Matthew gasped, his voice breaking. "No, no, no! That’s not me! I wasn’t there!"  

The shadows began to move, slithering like living things around Alcor’s feet. They crept toward Matthew, wrapping around his legs and pinning him in place.  

"No! No, please!" Matthew thrashed against those bindings..  

" Don’t worry, " Alcor said, his voice soft again, almost tender. " I’ll make it quick. " Alcor’s snake-like tongue flicked across his lips, savoring the rising panic radiating off Matthew like a heady perfume. The werewolf’s struggles only amused him more, his glowing yellow eyes narrowing with predatory glee. 

Alcor’s clawed hands shot out, and tore right in.

-... .-.. .. -. -..   ... .--. --- -

For a moment, the alley was silent. Then from the depths of the shadows, Alcor emerged, brushing the blood from his hand and dabbing his mouth with a napkin, its golden sheen tarnished with crimson stains. With a simple flick of his wrist, the napkin was burned away in a flash of blue fire.

The metallic taste of blood still sat heavy in his mouth. 

Alcor snapped his fingers and a can of pitt cola materialized into his hand –the same one from earlier. He took a sip  of the soda, letting the fizzy sweetness coat his tongue and wash away the lingering taste of blood. He clicked his tongue softly against the roof of his mouth, the sound sharp and deliberate in the otherwise silent alleyway.

Without stopping, Alcor tessered to his home, vanishing as seamlessly as he had appeared, leaving behind the carnage of blood and gore.

The familiar warmth of his house enveloped him, soothing his agitated mind.
“Always the same,” he muttered to himself, tossing the empty can into a kitchen trash bin with practiced precision.

“Stop squir– Hold still!”

“I am trying! ” Liam shot back, his fingers fidgeting restlessly.

Tyrone’s hand hovers over Liam’s bruised eye, a green light emitting from his palm. It pulsed erratically, going about the healing with more force than necessary. His brows furrowed as he tried to focus on the task at hand, but the constant movement was making it somewhat difficult.

"You're making it harder for me, kid," Tyrone muttered under his breath, though his voice still held the same gentle edge.

“I can’t help it!” Liam shot back, clearly frustrated. “Whenever you do it, it feels like something’s crawling under my skin.”

Ah, so that's why... Humans are always so sensitive.

The green glow flickers slightly as Tyrone adjusts his technique, attempting to at least make it a bit more bearable; Though he isn't too sure on how to go about it.

It didn’t, but Liam seems a bit grateful for his attempt at least.

“Well, It feels weird because it’s working.” he said with a slightly teasing tone, “It’s just more direct and more effective than the one your school uses.”  Liam gives him a curious look at that statement and Tyrone gently steadies him, trying to focus. 

“It pushes everything back where it should be, mending the broken parts and alters the state of specific cells.” He can’t help but to indulge in Liam’s inquisitive nature.

This, he knows, isn't exactly pleasant for humans. As effective as it may be.

Liam's gaze softened, if only slightly, but his fingers continued their erratic motion. “Sorry,” he muttered, barely audible

“It’s ok,” Tyrone reassures him. the patch of skin shuddered under Tyrone’s will. He directs his magic with a surgical precision through the frail nerves and tight muscles, gradually shifting the marred purple skin to a more natural hue. 

Tyrone withdraws his hand and releases a tired sigh, his tone shifting to one of light concern. “You know,” he began, “it’s not like you to get hurt during gym class, Liam.”

Liam’s gaze flicked upward, locking with Tyrone’s for a brief moment before he dropped his eyes again, and he started to fidget more  “I just got a bit distracted, ok?” Liam muttered, avoiding his father’s gaze. 

Tyrone paused, his eyebrow arching as his hand hovered over Liam’s eye still. “Oh, really now?” He said with a slightly disappointed tone. “In one of your favorite classes…?”

“I was never good at paying attention anyways.” Liam states as a matter of fact, trying to put on a calm facade. “You should know this, dad.” 

He lets out a low hum in response, his eyes narrowing as he studies his son’s expression. Liam was deflecting—Tyrone could tell. He had years of experience reading people, and Liam’s subtle tells weren’t hard to spot. The fidgeting fingers, the quick glances away, the way he hunched his shoulders slightly—it all screamed guilty.

“If you’re going to lie,” Tyrone said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Then at least put some effort into it.”

Liam stilled, his shoulders tensing as if caught. His eyes flicked up to meet Tyrone’s, then immediately darted away. Tyrone’s gaze never wavered.

“Now,” Tyrone began, a thread of impatience creeping into his tone, “Are you going to tell me what's going on?”

Liam’s gaze hardened. “Only if you tell me where you went last night.”

Tyrone’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze narrowing slightly at Liam’s bold counter. For a moment, the room felt heavier, the air charged with unspoken tension. He leaned back slightly, folding his arms across his chest. 

“Where did I went last night?” Tyrone repeated, his tone careful. He tilted his head, studying Liam with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

Liam didn’t back down, though his hands fidgeted nervously in his lap. His eye, now healed, gleamed with determination as he met Tyrone’s gaze. “Well?” he pressed, his voice wavering just slightly, betraying the nerves beneath his bravado.

Tyrone sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. He had to give it to Liam—he had guts. And stubbornness. 

“Touchè, kid.” He said, admitting defeat with a curt nod.

Liam’s lips twitched upward into a small, almost reluctant smile, but the tension lingered in the air between them. Tyrone shook his head, exhaling through his nose in a low, resigned sigh. The silence stretched for a moment longer as both of them processed the stalemate they had reached.

“C’mon, let's get you to school.” Tyrone broke the silence.

 “...Yeah, alright,” Liam muttered, before standing up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. He moved toward the door, trying to shake off the nagging sense of unfinished business that stuck to him.

Tyrone watched him for a second longer before following his son out into the hallway. “Don’t make a habit of this, Liam,” he warned, though his voice was soft.

Liam paused in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?” he asked, clearly playing dumb.

“I mean,” Tyrone said, his voice a bit firmer now, “Don’t start hiding stuff just because you think I won’t understand.” His eyes softened, a warning laced in his words. “That’s not how we do things around here. Got it?”

Liam hesitated. He really did, but the instinct to keep his struggles to himself was stronger than any urge to open up. “I get it,” he said, though the words were hollow, and he didn’t meet Tyrone’s gaze.

Tyrone stood still for a moment, letting the weight of his words sink in, before he let out a quiet sigh and clapped his hands together. “Alright, well,” he said, a little more cheerfully, “Let’s get you moving before you're late.”

Liam gave him a quick, uncertain glance before nodding. 

Chapter Text

The school hallway is as loud as ever. Students moving in clusters, laughing, gossiping, and doing all kinds of stuff. Their muted chatter bouncing off pristine cream-colored walls, lined with a row of navy blue lockers.

Liam strode among the crowd with ease. His steps were unhurried, with his head held high and a confident yet bored look on his face. The usual glances followed him—some curious, some wary. Liam knew the whispers that followed him, ones about the guy who could solve your runology homework, get you rare spell components, or quietly make certain problems disappear.

He didn’t mind the attention—it was part of the business. People needed to know who to come to when they had problems they couldn’t solve on their own. That kind of reputation was useful, even if it came with its fair share of rumors.

“Isn’t that the guy who fell asleep during dodgeball yesterday?”

“That's him alright.”

“I heard he sleeps in other classes as well.”

Liam paused for a moment. Ok, he definitely did not expect that kind of rumor to be spread around about him, He resisted the urge to roll his eye and kept walking, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. 

He’ll have to settle that when he’s a bit more free.

A few steps ahead, he spotted Kris by his locker. The half-satyr boy was struggling to balance his overstuffed bag on one shoulder while rifling through his books and papers, mumbling random things to himself. If Liam were to guess, Kris is probably on about the geometry class they’re going to have later on.

Liam approached his own locker, spinning the combination lock and opening it with practiced ease. “Morning, Kris,” he said casually.

Kris glanced up, his face lighting up. “Morning!-” He paused, a strange look crossing his face. Before Liam could ask why though Kris continued, ”...you’re actually here early? Who are you and what did you do to Liam?!” He questions him with a mock serious tone.

Liam scoffed, mildly amused. “Ha ha, very funny.” He said with a dull tone, yanking his locker open. “Don’t get used to it.”

Kris snickers and continues to rifle through his stuff. But then his expression shifts, he turns to look at Liam again, stepping a bit closer,  “Hey, your eye...” There was a tinge of guilt in his tone still.

Liam froze for a fraction of a second before shrugging nonchalantly, “...Yeah. It’s fine now.” He answers without even looking up from gathering up all his stuff, trying to focus more on reordering the mess that is his locker.

“It looks good, did your dad fix it?” Kris asked, his tone curious but gentle.

Liam hesitated, closing his locker with a metallic clang. “Yeah. He did.” His voice was clipped, like he didn’t want to elaborate.

Kris opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted when a voice called out. 

“Uh, Liam… right?”

Both him and Kris turned to look at the person who interrupted them. A kid stood a few feet away, fidgeting nervously. He looked younger—maybe a junior—and holding a notebook and messy folder in his hands. His wide eyes darted between Liam and Kris, like he was considering bolting at any moment's notice.

Liam raised an eyebrow. “What do you want?” He shifts to a more serious tone.

The kid hesitated, visibly clearing his throat before stepping closer. “I, um... I need your help. With this.” He opened his folder, revealing a runology diagram drawn on the main page. Though it looked more like a mess of random symbols and lines than anything coherent.

Liam glanced at it and grimaced. “Seriously? What even is this supposed to be?” He makes a move to snatch the folder out of the kids hands and runs his hand through the symbols, trying to get a grasp on feeling the flow of the runes.

“It’s—it’s for Runology Basics class,” the kid stammered. “We’re supposed to build a basic defense glyph, but mine keeps... fizzling out.” Kris bit back a laugh at that.

Liam’s hand twitched as he ran his hand through the circuit, the more he felt the jagged mess and uneven flow of the poor circuit, the more annoyed he became. “Fizzling out…?” Liam repeated, his tone sharp.

The kid flinched, but Liam didn’t seem to notice—or care. He pointed at a section of the diagram, his tone matter-of-fact and brisk. “Your flow line here is jagged. That’s your first problem. You’re forcing energy through a path that can’t handle the pressure. And this rune here? It’s not even a stabilization anchor; it’s a ward breaker. You’re lucky this thing didn’t do anything worse than just fizzling out.”

The kid looked thoroughly mortified. “Oh! I—I didn’t know...”

“Yeah, obviously,” Liam muttered, flipping the messy folder shut and holding it out. But when the kid reached for it, Liam didn't let go of it just yet. “If you want me to actually fix this, it’s gonna cost you. Ten bucks.”

“Ten?” The kid’s eyes widened. “That’s almost all I’ve got for lunch!”

“Then I guess you’ll have to figure it out on your own,” Liam said flatly, letting go of the notebook, causing the kid to pull it inwards. He regained his balance and gripped the folder tightly, hands shaking.

The kid looked desperate, his gaze darting around the hallway. A small part of Liam is amused by how the kid looked so torn between choices, it’s the highlight of his pretty crummy day actually. Finally after a brief moment, he sighed and dug into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled ten-dollar bill. He handed it over without another word.

Liam pocketed the money and extended his hand. For tradition’s sake, any kind of business won't be completed without a handshake. “Deal…?” he asks the kid.

Hesitating, the kid looked at Liam’s hand as if he was going to turn him inside out just by returning the gesture -It would be quite hilarious if he could though-. With a shaky hand, the kid shook his hand. “D- Deal.” he stammered out.

Liam then snatched the notebook back. “Pleasure doing business with ya.” He grabbed a pen from his bag and crouched down, drawing quick corrections over the botched glyph. “Replace this with a proper stabilizer rune. Shift the flow path this way to relieve pressure, and you won’t need a resonance tether at all. Got it?”

The kid nodded frantically, watching Liam’s pen like it was a lifeline. Liam took his sweet time with the corrections, making sure to clean up all of the problems present in the circuit –which is a lot. So he did all that he could to solve it all as per the agreement. 

After a long -and tense- pause. Liam finished the correction off with one final symbol, the circuit now hums smoothly as the flow runs its course without any hassle. Liam flipped the folder shut, the kid reeled back to a more upright position as he did. Probably from looking in too close while Liam was doing the corrections.

Liam handed the folder back with a sigh of mild annoyance. “Make another copy of that. If it still fizzles out, it’s on you.” 

“Thanks! I—uh—thanks!” The kid bolted down the hallway, clutching his notebook like a sacred artifact.

All in a day’s work.

As the boy disappeared into the crowd, Liam watched on with a bored look on his face. It's times like these that he wonders if it’s actually worth it to run a business like this. The money is great, yes. But having to deal with such a… variety of people seeking his help?

Kris gave Liam a sideways glance. “That was a bit harsh, don’t you think?” Kris shuts the door to a locker with a click, seemingly having gathered all of his stuff for the day.

Liam shrugged, turning back to his locker. “I think it’s quite fair though, it's an equivalent exchange, y’know?”

“Yeah, but you’re usually not that...” Kris hesitated, searching for the right word. “...short with them.”

“I’m fine, Kris,” Liam said, his voice taking on a sharper edge. “Let it go.”

Kris frowned but didn’t press further. Something that Liam is definitely grateful for. Not that he regretted what he did to the kid, he really should know better than to rush something like runology. And besides, it's not like he could afford to lower his pricing just for one kid, if any of his regulars find out about that, he’ll never hear the end of it from them!

They walked toward class in silence for a moment before Kris finally broke it, his tone lighter this time. “So… it’s geometry today. You think my mom’s gonna bring out the glitter pens again?”

Liam huffed a laugh, “I swear, she’s more into art projects than actual math.” The change of topic brings a bit of a slight smile to his once serious face.

“That’s why half the class loves her,” Kris said, grinning. “You can’t hate someone who grades your work in three different colors.”

“Three different colors is way too many,” Liam replied back, a faint smirk on his face.

As they neared their classroom, Kris glanced at him again with an unreadable look on his face. Liam shrugs it off and goes on his way.

The classroom buzzed with the low murmur of students, pens scratching on paper, and the occasional cough or sneeze. Ms. Iris was already at the front, scrawling out the day’s lesson on the whiteboard, her usual bubbly energy filling the room.

Liam took his seat near the middle front, slouching slightly as he pulled out his notebook, his exhaustion weighing heavy on his shoulders. Kris slid in beside him, offering a small smile before flipping open his textbook.

Ms. Iris clapped her hands together to grab everyone’s attention. "Alright, class! Today we’re diving into the wonderful world of trigonometry. Specifically, the Pythagorean Theorem!" She underlined the words with a flourish, then turned back to face them, her eyes sweeping the room. She paused for a moment, her gaze landing on Liam and Kris.

“Before we get started,” she continued with a mischievous glint in her eye, “I’ve got something special for today’s lesson.”

Liam raised an eyebrow, his exhaustion fading a little at the unexpected energy. Kris, on the other hand, looked half amused, half concerned. Ms. Iris reached into a drawer and pulled out a set of colorful chalks, each glittering in the light as though they were something straight out of a child’s fantasy.

“Ta-da!” she said, holding them out like they were a precious treasure. “Glitter chalks! I know, I know—school regulations say we can’t use them, but hey, who says we can’t have a little fun while learning, right?”

Kris let out a small laugh. “How on earth did you even get those past the school board?”

Ms. Iris shrugged with a wink. “A little charm here, a little persuasion there. Besides, who’s going to tell me no when I’m teaching the wonders of math and making it look magical?” She gave a playful twirl before setting the glitter chalks down on the desk in front of her.

Liam couldn’t help but roll his eyes, though there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Only Iris would get away with this, somehow turning geometry into an art project.

Ms. Iris smiled brightly as she picked up a chalk from the glittery set. “Now, let’s begin!” She began to draw out a whole line of triangles and some other shapes. As she drew, the glitter from the chalk shimmered brightly, the colors sparkling against the dark board. 

A strange discomfort curled in his stomach. The more Liam looked on, the more the world felt like it was closing in on him. The clean, sharp angles of the triangles, the way they all connected—it felt... familiar in a way he couldn’t place. 

“Now…” Ms. Iris continued, her voice bright, “Can anyone tell me what the Pythagorean Theorem states?”

A few hands shot up, but Liam barely registered them. He forced himself to blink, shaking off the weird feeling. It was just triangles.

Ms. Iris pointed at one of the students who eagerly responded, “A squared plus B squared equals C squared!”

“Exactly! I see that someone—” Ms. Iris’s voice cut off. Her eyes flickered, just for a moment. Then she blinked, a brief pause stretching too long before she continued like nothing had happened. “—someone here has done some reading." Her voice, now more smooth and poised.

Ms. Iris turned back to the board, writing out the theorem’s formula with smooth, practiced strokes. “Now, let’s apply it.” She drew a large right-angled triangle, labeling the sides as A, B, and C respectively.

A flicker of something appeared in Liam’s mind as she continued to draw more– of shapes, of lines and colors. The whiteboard marker squeaked loudly as Ms. Iris underlined ‘Hypotenuse.’ The sound scraped against his ear and for a second, and Liam can't help but notice the way that the white shimmery chalk started to blur together, forming a blob that looks eerily similar to tv static. 

A sharp pain suddenly stings his covered eye, a shadow of a headache threatening at the back of his skull and the air in the room grew to be more suffocating. A noise akin to static starts to creep in the corners of his hearing, slowly growing louder by the second.

Liam’s fingers curled against his notebook the longer he stared at it. There was something unnerving about the way she drew the shapes, the patterns on the triangles itself—why did they look so familiar? A dull ache throbbed at the base of his skull. 

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, hoping to elevate some of the pain, but when he opened it again, the triangles still stared back at him. Arranged in a way that sent an unsettling chill down his spine.

It was like he's supposed to know them...

Ms. Iris turned back to the class and clapped her hands, causing Liam to snap out of that state. "Alright, everyone! Today's task is simple—just solve some of these problems on your own. Let's see how well how many of you actually paid attention." She stepped aside, revealing a neatly arranged set of equations on the board.

The whole class grumbled and shuffled to get their pen and paper, getting ready to start working on those equations.  His focus remained locked on the patterns, unable to take his eye off of them. Liam's thoughts slipped into a haze of unease. Barely registering the growing stiffness in his fingers from gripping his pen too hard.

Suddenly, a voice interrupted his train of thought. “Liam?”

He looked up and found Ms. Iris standing next to his desk, her hands clasped together in front of her. Her eyes glinted in a way that was a little too sharp. “You doing alright there? You're unusually quiet today...”

Liam blinked. “Yeah, fine. Just thinking,” he muttered, shifting his weight in his seat.

Ms. Iris tilted her head slightly, her gaze unwavering, as if she could see straight through him. “I heard from Kris you had a nasty hit at dodgeball the other day.” She smiled at him, though it felt a little forced. “Just take it easy for now. Ok…?”

Liam gave her a distracted nod, his fingers tapping nervously against his desk as he tried to push the uncomfortable thoughts aside. "...Alright."

A huff, And Ms, Iris places her hand’s on her hips. "You know… You could learn a thing of two from triangles." she said, her words lingering in the air.

Liam raised a brow, somewhat confused by her words. “....what?”

"Triangles, they’re all about balance—three points, three sides, each point supporting one another.” She paused, allowing the words to settle in the air, "The way the points come together... everything relies on them. For stability, for a strong foundation."

Liam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, rolling his shoulders back and rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, sure. Triangles. Foundation. Got it," he muttered, already starting to tune her out. Ms. Iris had always been rather odd, using math and specifically geometry as metaphors to try and get her point across.

Her lips curled into a small, knowing smile, “But of course… Any shape when applied a constant, growing pressure will sooner or later collapse under the weight of what’s left unsaid. Their stable, flat, simplicity becomes their inevitable downfall.”

Liam didn’t answer. Instead, he gave her a nod and turned his gaze back to the board. He wasn’t in the mood for cryptic messages, especially not now, when everything felt like it was closing in on him. 

The headache at the back of his skull flared up again, this time a bit stronger than before. Not thanks to Ms. Iris’ weird words probably exacerbating it.

With a deep sigh, he stood up and mumbled a quick excuse to the tall satyr. "Headache. Not feeling great. Gonna head to the nurse." 

He didn’t wait for any confirmation, grabbing his things and making a beeline for the door -not even batting an eye when Kris called out for him-. The last thing he needed right now was more weirdness from Ms. Iris or trying to survive the rest of geometry class like this.

-.-. .-.. --- .- -.-

The hallway was quieter than usual, a blessed escape from the chaos of the classroom. Liam took a long, deep breath, letting the crisp air of the outside world fill his lungs. It was a rare moment of solitude, and he welcomed it.

His thoughts were muddled, and the weight on his shoulders seemed heavier than before, but the cold air helped a little, clearing his mind just enough to breathe.

He walked slowly, letting his fingertips brush against the walls of the school as he went, grounding himself in the steady pulse of magic. There was something oddly comforting about just feeling the flow of the wards embedded into the stone, drawing his mind to focus more on listening to their quiet hum.

Liam took another deep breath, his racing thoughts slowly quieting down to a hum, replaced with the constant pulse of the wards. He could almost feel the tension in his muscles easing, the ache in his head beginning to dull.

But that calm was short-lived.

He was about to round the corner when he stopped dead in his tracks. In front of the school’s warded wall, a man stood, clipboard in hand, eyes scanning over the runic designs etched into the wall. His posture was rigid but with a certain casualness that made Liam’s instincts flare.

Something about him felt familiar—that composure, that carefulness.

"Are you lost or something?" Liam’s voice was quiet but sharp as he stepped forward. His heart skipped a beat. The man looked so out of place with that large dark red coat he was wearing. The coat was lined with golden threads that -upon closer inspection, looked more like runes.

The man turned his head, his eyes briefly flicking over Liam's own before settling with a calm, calculated gaze. He seemed unfazed by the directness in Liam’s voice, and that alone made Liam’s nerves tingle. The air felt heavier, as though the runes around them were suddenly holding their breath.

“Not lost, just... inspecting.” The man said, his voice smooth and steady, carrying an underlying edge of authority.

Liam raised an eyebrow, glancing at the clipboard in the man's hands. "Inspecting... the wards?" Liam’s tone was guarded, curiosity pushing back against his unease.

"Yes, inspection runic circuit integrity is standard procedure to ensure safety in schools," the man replied,

Liam’s lips twisted into a smirk, a mocking note entering his voice. "Oh really? And who are you to be checking on our wards?"

The man’s eyes shifted, an unreadable look passed his expression before he answered. "John. John Briggs. Demonologist Safety Inspector." His voice was calm, practiced. He didn’t seem bothered by Liam’s sarcasm, but Liam could feel the weight of his gaze, as though the man was measuring every little detail about him 

“And who are you to be skipping class…?” The man shot back.

Liam blinked, caught off guard by the question, despite this, Liam’s lips quirked up to a grin. As if he was amused by the question,

“...The name's Uilliam Pines. I’m the guy who makes sure this school’s wards don’t explode in the first place."

 -.. .- –. –. . .-.

The college staff lounge was quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that settles over a room like an invisible weight.

Tyrone slouched on one of the couches, his feet curled upright and drawn to his chest. A bunch of papers full of diagrams and notes are haphazardly stacked and propped up on his knees as he lazily grades them. An untouched cup of coffee sat on the table in front of him, it had already gone cold by now.

A habit, he thought bitterly. That’s all it was. Habit—and maybe something to keep his mind distracted from spiralling down a slippery slope of never ending questions.

Across from him, Oscar leaned back in his chair, one hand cradling a soda while the other absentmindedly flipping through a notebook full of lesson plans. Though it was clear he wasn’t actually reading it. His eyes kept darting toward Tyrone, waiting for the inevitable explosion—or at least some kind of confession. Whatever was eating at Tyrone, it wasn’t going away anytime soon.

Finally, Tyrone let out a sharp exhale, breaking the silence like glass. “I don’t know what to do with him.”

Oscar paused mid-sip, raising an eyebrow. “Him?” That knowing look on his face tells him everything he needs to know. This man already knows just who Tyrone’s talking about.

Tyrone shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel. “Who else? Liam.”

“Ah.” Oscar hummed, setting the notebook aside and leaning forward slightly, intrigued now. “What’d he do this time?”

“It’s not what he did ,” Tyrone snapped, running a hand down his face and shoving the messy stack of graded papers aside.. “It’s what he doesn’t do. He won’t talk to me. Keeps brushing me off like nothing’s wrong, but I know something is. And I—I don’t know how to fix it.”

His voice faltered just slightly, betraying the frustration simmering beneath the surface. “It’s like- …It’s like he’s all closed up.”

Oscar tilted his head, considering Tyrone with a mix of amusement and pity. “So, basically…” He paused dramatically, taking another sip of his drink. “…he’s you.”

Tyrone blinked. “What?”

Oscar gestured vaguely in his direction, like the answer should’ve been obvious. “Y’know. Avoiding people so they don’t get worried, shutting down when something’s wrong, acting like everything’s fine even when it very clearly isn’t.” He smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “Ring any bells?”

Tyrone scoffed, sitting up straighter. “That’s completely different.” As if he’s ever done any of those things!

Oscar snorted, nearly choking on his soda. “Sure it is.”

“No, seriously,” Tyrone insisted, pointing a finger at Oscar like it would somehow prove his point. “Liam’s stubborn—”

 “Hmm…” Oscar raised an eyebrow.

“—and he won’t let anyone help—”

“Hmm…” Another hum from a bored looking Oscar.

“—and he just shuts me out every time I try to—” Tyrone stopped short, realizing too late how ridiculous he sounded.

He groaned, sinking deeper into the couch. “Oh, shut up.” Oscar’s aura spiked up in amusement at this, bubbling with pinks and purples. This irritated Tyrone slightly

Oscar sighed, placing down his can of soda, “You’re forgetting who we’re talking about here Tyrone. This is Liam we’re discussing—the kid who once spent hours locked in the bathroom because he didn’t want to admit he needed help tying his shoelaces.”

Tyrone shot him a glare, though there was no real heat behind it. “That’s different,” he grumbled. “And besides, he eventually came out, didn’t he?”

“Only after I managed to bribe him out with ice cream,” Oscar pointed out with a smirk, his aura shifting to a bright prideful pink-red. Tyrone recalls that memory quite vividly. Having had to give up and resort to calling Oscar so early in the morning, getting him to come over and urge Liam to come out.

Tyrone, irritated beyond belief, grabbed a crumpled napkin off the table and chucked it at his head.

Oscar, unsurprisingly, did not flinch as it bounced harmlessly off his forehead. “Real mature,” Oscar said dryly, adjusting his glasses. “I can see why Liam is such a well-adjusted kid.”

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “It's not fair. He likes you more than me!”

Oscar’s smirk widened as he leaned back in his chair. “Oh? Well, maybe if you didn’t try to be so... stoic all the time, the kid might actually open up to you.” He gestured lazily toward Tyrone. “Don’t underestimate him. He’s a smart kid. He knows when you’re faking it.”

“Faking it?” Tyrone shot him a look, clearly defensive. “I’m not—"

“Right,” Oscar interrupted with a lazy wave of his hand. “And you think Liam doesn't notice how you’ve been walking around like you're one little disaster away from collapsing into a puddle of stress and bad decisions?”

Tyrone opened his mouth to protest but was interrupted by the door swinging open with a dramatic flourish. With it, comes a burst of spiky bright pink aura into the room, Tyrone already knows just who this is by a glance, because this one specifically always has the signature odd shimmer beneath all those pinks.

Connie strolled in, her cheerful presence instantly cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter. Her wide grin made it clear she had no intention of taking this moment too seriously.

“Oh, am I interrupting a couple’s spat? Or should I leave you two alone to continue?” she teased, a hint of sarcasm lacing her tone.

Oscar and Tyrone exchanged glances—Oscar grimaced at the mention of being in a relationship with him, looking every bit offended , Tyrone just looked more exasperated.

“You know, Connie,” Tyrone groaned, rubbing his temples, “If you came in here just to mess with us—”

“Oh, no!” Connie said, holding up her hands innocently, her smile never faltering. “I just thought I’d pop in and see where you guys went. This is the place where you two usually go to brood right?” She scanned the room with mock innocence, completely at ease. 

Tyrone looked like he was about to explode, but Oscar suddenly interjected. "She’s not wrong," he muttered, shaking his head. "You do like to make this place your private little pity party spot.”

Tyrone huffed in response, “The sofa here is comfier than the other break rooms-” but before he could finish, Connie had already shifted gears, seamlessly jumping into business mode.

“Alright, enough of the drama. I need both of your attention for a second.” She glanced at both men, making sure they were properly settled.

 “The holy water shipment for the inspection is only available tomorrow, not today. They’ve made some changes to the delivery schedule, and I need confirmation from you two on how we’re going to handle it.”

Tyrone blinked, the shift from personal frustration to business mode jarring, "Right," he said, sitting up straighter, his earlier frustration momentarily forgotten as he adjusted his focus. Inspection stuff first, dealing with Liam later. "We can't afford any delays with that shipment. The inspector's coming tomorrow afternoon, right?"

Connie nodded, flipping through a tablet in her hands. "Yes. The holy water will be here by tomorrow morning, and we can restock everything before noon, but... you never know when 'John Briggs,' the inspector, will show up. It should be in the afternoon, but I'm not sure of the exact time."

Oscar, who had been watching the exchange with half amusement and half genuine curiosity, perked up at the mention of the inspector. "John Briggs? That’s the guy, huh?" he asked, his aura flickered to that of recognition just for a second 
"Ty, You’re lecturing tomorrow, right? Looks like your lecture will be the one inspected on top of the rooms."

Tyrone groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Of course. Just my luck.” He slumped back against the couch, muttering under his breath. “Great. Just great. ” even the mere thought of it gave him headaches. 

At least the last inspection round he was lucky enough to not have any lectures scheduled that day. Now it seems fate isn't so forgiving to him anymore. When has it ever been, really?

Connie tilted her head, her bright pink aura flickering with a mix of amusement and determination. “Well, look at it this way,” she said cheerfully,  “At least you’ll get to show off your stellar teaching skills, right? Maybe impress him enough that he won’t even care if the holy water’s been topped up yet.”

Tyrone shot her a flat look, unimpressed by her attempt at optimism. “Oh yes, nothing screams more like ‘competent educator ’ like most of my students complaining about my strict grading and giving ‘impossible’ assignments.”

Mind you, those assignments are very much doable. If Liam is able to do some of those assignments then why can’t his students be able to do the same too? Those one star reviews on ‘rate my professor’ app are just plain lies. Lies! He says!

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. I’ll deal with Mr. Briggs during my lecture. But what about the rest of the halls and labs? We can’t risk anything slipping through the cracks.”

Oscar leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke. His aura had settled into a calm blue-gray again, tinged with a hint of focus. “I’ve only got one lecture tomorrow afternoon, so I can keep an eye out around campus after that. If Briggs shows up earlier than expected, I’ll make sure everything’s in order.”

Connie grinned, “Perfect! That leaves me to handle the holy water refill. I’ll coordinate with the delivery team first thing in the morning and personally oversee the process. No way am I letting some bureaucratic oversight ruin our chances here.”

Tyrone raised an eyebrow, skepticism creeping into his tone. “Do you trust your contacts to actually deliver on time? Because last I checked, expedited shipments tend to come with their own set of… complications.”

Connie waved a hand dismissively, her shimmering aura radiating confidence. “Relax, Ty. These are my people we’re talking about. They know better than to mess this up—not unless they want me breathing down their necks.” She gave him a pointed look, her grin widening when Tyrone rolled his eyes. “Besides, I’ve already triple-checked everything. The shipment will be here by 8 AM sharp.”

Tyrone let out a slow breath, clearly unconvinced but willing to let it slide for now. “Alright, fine.” He muttered, leaning back against the couch and wishing nothing more than that to just be able to snap his fingers and refill the holy water tank that way. Which for obvious - sanctity - reasons isn't possible. Him being the person who’s lecture is going be inspected means a high chance of being on the tail end of getting roasted for any mistakes. “If anything goes wrong with that, I’m blaming you.”

Connie laughed lightly, her bright pink aura flickering with amusement. "Fair enough," she said, giving him a mock salute. "Now, is there anything else we need to cover? Or are we good?"

Oscar glanced at his watch again, his calm blue-gray aura shifting slightly as he realized how much time had passed during their conversation. "Actually..." he began, trailing off momentarily as he tapped his fingers on the armrest. His gaze shifted toward Tyrone, who was still slouched on the couch looking more exhausted than ever.

"Speaking of time..." Oscar continued, "Don’t you have plans tonight? You know, with Liam?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the sudden shift in topic.

Tyrone blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Plans?" he echoed blankly, his mind scrambling to catch up. Then it hit him.

“--oh shoot!” Tyrone scrambled upwards and hurried to put his shoes back on before gathering up all of his papers and shoving everything in his bag.

Oscar chuckled softly, “Took you long enough.” shaking his head as he watched Tyrone’s sudden transformation from brooding professor to panicked father. “He texted me earlier to remind you, and you know how Liam gets when Samurai Horse is on-” 

“Yeah yeah, shut it.” Tyrone says offhandedly, not wanting to hear any of it from Oscar again. Connie giggled at his harsh response, holding a hand to her mouth dramatically as she watched on. Tyrone paid her no mind as his eyes darted around the surrounding area, searching for things he might’ve forgotten. 

[All set.]

One of the rare moments of his semi-omniscience being useful for once, now if only it helped him to be less forgetful of keeping track of time, that would be amazing. But as he knew it, life never gives anything good for free.

“Thanks for reminding me, Oscar. I owe you one” Tyrone muttered quickly, his voice tight with barely contained anxiety. 

Oscar smirked, leaning back in his chair with an air of satisfaction. “Alright , just don’t make it a habit. You’re lucky Liam forgives you easily.” A trait that Liam got from Oscar most likely.

Tyrone rolled his eyes but didn’t have time to retort. Instead, he gave a quick nod to Connie, who was watching the scene unfold with an amused grin. “I’ll see you two tomorrow. Don’t mess anything up while I’m gone.” Tyrone quickly slung his bag over his shoulder before proceeding to bolt for the door. 

Connie waved him off cheerfully, her bright pink aura practically sparkling with determination, “Don’t worry! You can count on us!” she exclaimed. 

- .-. ..- … -  -. ---  --- -. .

ART SECTION!!!

Two sketches by me

By Sunami

Chapter Text

The soft shuffle of shoes against concrete filled the air as students trickled into the summoning hall, their murmurs blending with the occasional clink of metal chairs being adjusted. Tyrone stood in front of the class, arms crossed and a stern expression on his face. Behind him on the chalkboard loomed three words written in bold, even letters: 

"Behave or Else."

Tyrone tapped his pointer stick against the board for emphasis, “Alright, listen up,” he began, “Today you lot are going to pretend like you actually care about what I’m teaching–We have a very important guest arriving later.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “And by ‘important guest, ’ I mean someone who can make all our lives miserable if they find so much as a speck of dust out of place.”

A low murmur rippled through the classroom. One brave soul near the back raised their hand. “So… does this count toward our grades?”

Tyrone’s eyebrow twitched, he forced out a tight-lipped smile. “Funny you should ask. Yes, it does count toward your overall grade for this term. In fact, let’s call it uhh…” He glanced at the clock, then turned back to face the class “-…an extra credit opportunity! Behave yourselves during the inspection, and maybe— just maybe —I’ll go easy on you when grading time rolls around.”

This earned him a collective groan from the students, which he takes as a confirmation of the compliance.

“Now,” Tyrone continued, his tone shifting to a more cheery one. He grabbed an eraser and swiftly wiped away the ominous words “Today’s topic will be on the flow of runes! Pay attention to this very closely because this will be part of the practical summons of your upcoming finals.”

The class didn’t settle down. Instead, the gossip grew louder, something unique to this batch specifically–

“Quiet!” he hissed sharply, glancing toward the door. His voice dropped into a tense whisper-yell. “He can be here any moment now!”

“Are you referring to me?”

Tyrone nearly jumped out of the skin of his meatsack. His hold on the stick loosened and it promptly clattered loudly to the floor, earning a few poorly concealed snickers from the students. 

Standing just next to him was John Briggs, clipboard in hand, his dark red coat lined with golden threads shimmering faintly under the fluorescent lights. His expression was calm, almost amused, as though appearing out of nowhere to scare people is a hobby of his.

How did he not sense that man coming in here???

Tyrone quickly composed himself and cleared his throat. “Professor Briggs! I didn’t expect you to come here so early! I uh… I thought we were expecting you at 2 o’clock?” He awkwardly stepped aside to retrieve his pointer stick–it was then that he noted Brigg's apparent lack of visible aura–it looked cloaked… or maybe constrained…? 

John Briggs chuckled softly, “Haha, be at ease, my boy. The last inspection was just faster than usual." He answers in a strangely warm tone “Please ignore my presence and continue on with your lecture—this is only a routine checkup after all.”

Huh… For all the doomerism Connie was raving to him about the inspector, the guy in reality doesn't seem all that uptight at least. Tyrone returned the smile with a forced sheepish grin and cursed his luck inwardly. Of course, he thought bitterly, the one day I need things to go smoothly, this guy shows up early .

Before Tyrone could even try to continue on, his wristwatch suddenly buzzed against his skin. He glanced down discreetly, pretending to adjust his sleeve as he read the new message.

[Oscar]:
He’s here. 

Tyrone resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Wow. impeccable timing, Oscar. Thank you for stating the obvious.

Another buzz interrupted him yet again.

[Connie]:
There is a bit of traffic holding up the holy water truck. Try to keep him there for as long as you can Ty.

…Now he’s starting to wonder if he was jinxed today

He clenched his jaw tightly, forcing himself to maintain a neutral expression as he discreetly slipped his phone back into his pocket. The last thing he needed was John Briggs mistaking his shock for unpreparedness.

"...Right," Tyrone said aloud, clearing his throat and turning back to the class with what he hoped was confidence. "Continuing on—" he clapped his hands to gather everyone’s attention. "—When laying out the runes in any summoning circle, we always go back to using pre-made charts and diagrams.” 

Every move he makes feel like it's being watched as he moves to the centre of the room. On the floor is a big circle with a bunch of runes spread out inside, a basic binding circle that he had drawn out the day before as preparation. The middle is kept bare without any summoning circle, wouldn't want any unwanted visitors of course.

“-This is a practice that's been done even before the transcendence" he taps each rune with his pointer {binding} {plane} {energy} {guard} {boundary}. “I’ll give you guys a freebie–Can anyone tell me why these runes are written the way they are?” 

A few students exchanged glances, hesitant to raise their hands. Tyrone scanned the room, his sharp gaze landing on Val, who sat near the middle of the classroom. "Yes, Val?" Tyrone prompted.

This is good–as per his instructions of the day before, he briefed the students on what questions would be present so that the class engagement part is accounted for!

Val hesitated, fidgeting with her pen before finally speaking up. "Uhhh... It's because of the flow, right?"

Tyrone’s face lit up with an exaggerated grin, “Right on the spot! Thank you, Val.” He bent down to circle each runic node in bright blue chalk, “—As your friend here has just answered, the runes in a binding circle actually follow a strict pattern of behavior. This is the reason why there are so many charts-”

A hand shot up from the back row, cutting him off mid-sentence “Are there any real usages for this? We memorize all of the basic charts as part of our foundational studies.”

The hall of students murmured in slight agreement, some nodding along while others whispered their own thoughts about how impractical it all felt.

Tyrone’s expression shifted ever so slightly, his forced optimism giving way to something sharper, more pointed–this wasn’t in the plan, but a question is still a question. He leaned against the edge of the whiteboard and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m sure all of you did well in those classes-” he said smoothly, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “-But as a working demonologist, there’s always a chance of encountering demons that require specific bindings. There’s only so much using premade charts and circles can do before your luck runs out.”

The student who had raised his hand paled visibly at Tyrone’s answer. Reality struck hard it seems, and the murmurs died down into an uneasy silence. Tyrone grinned, “Good to know we’re on the same page now–A healthy dose of fear and caution is what separates a dead demonologist and an alive one.”

Tyrone moved to knelt beside the circle on the floor, a piece of chalk on his other hand "Now," he started, "Using this method, you can design a binding circle tailored specifically to each demon you’re dealing with–Less chance of anything going wrong that way." His hand moved swiftly; connecting runes and nodes together, drawing lines and symbols with a practiced ease.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught John Briggs nodding approvingly, jotting something down on his clipboard. A flicker of satisfaction passed through Tyrone. 

This is nothing for Tyrone of course! Had he been a random human, it would have been impressive how fast he’s able to guess which line belongs where. But he is anything but , so reading a circle’s flow is almost second nature to him. 

Tyrone dusted off the chalk dust from his hands and proceeded to stand up. "Mastering the basic fundamentals is key to any successful summoning.”

“-A single misplaced rune or an uneven flow line can lead to catastrophic consequences." He paused dramatically, letting the weight of his words sink in. "And by 'catastrophic,' I mean anything from a failed summoning attempt to... well, let’s just say you wouldn’t want your containment circle collapsing mid-summon."

A nervous laugh rippled through the classroom, though no one looked particularly amused. Val raised her hand again hesitantly. "Uh, Professor Pines? What happens if a circle does collapse?"

Tyrone smirked, toying around with that idea in his head. "Depends on the demon you're dealing with," he replied casually, "Some cases it might just destabilize the binding runes enough for it to short circuit; others could have the demon partially manifest before being pulled back into their plane. Either way, it’s messy. Trust me—you don’t want to clean up that kind of mess."

He gestured toward the glowing circle on the floor. "That’s why we use tools like these mist candles," he added as he went to grab the small candles from the table.

The candle was lit and placed square on the centre of the circle, where a summoning circle should be. "They’re simple but effective. The mist here will naturally follow the flow of the runes. If something disrupts its path—" He paused; the wispy mist slowly spiralled outwards counter-clockwise before it abruptly stopped, the trail seemed to be cut off.

“Points for anyone who can explain what's wrong with the circle!” A bunch of hands shot up again, Tyrone just picks a one at random. 

The person chosen stood up awkwardly, “I think.. The line connecting the node is broken off by blue chalk, which disrupts the network”   

“Correct! 3 points for you” he lightly dusts off the blue chalk, which unblocks the way and finishes the binding circle.

It fizzled to life with a weak but steady blue glow. As it is, it would be barely enough to contain a young sprite with it only drawing in ambient energy. He still has to be very careful though, stepping in its boundaries might still make it flare up.  

He continues the lecture at this pace. The inspector meanwhile moves on to inspecting the facilities, finally giving Tyrone a chance to relax a bit. Really if he didn’t know any better, he’d think that the guy only came here to observe him instead of the facilities. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Tyrone watched as the man meticulously inspected the summoning hall; even pulling out various tools from the heavy looking bag to test each nook and crannies for anything out of the ordinary. His movements are methodical and precise.

‘ He won’t be able to find anything. ’ Tyrone thinks to himself, amused. John Briggs may be a thorough man, but Dipper is, if not more than he’ll ever be. Just this morning, he had set off early in order to check on every single thing, making sure all is up to code. 

After a good while of this glorified theatre, the inspector finally took one last look at the cabinets and started to pack up his things, success ! Unfortunately he’ll have to celebrate later, it’s still lecture time after all.  “-The flow will always be counter-clockwise, with each node corrected by geometric lines and natural flow,” a raised hand interrupted him. “Yes David?”

“But is it possible to reverse the flow?” David asked. This one is a genuine question, an unplanned one.

The question stops Tyrone in his tracks, somewhat intrigued by the thought. He turned back to the glowing circle on the floor, tilting his head slightly as if trying to see it anew. 

…Forcing a circle to flow the opposite way sounds plausible and yet he can’t exactly recall if anyone has ever done it or not. It took a while for Tyrone to gather his thoughts on the matter. “.....Maybe? I don’t think anyone’s attempted to reverse it’s flow before. But if I had to guess, the energy flow will have to be flipped inwards.” 

Tyrone straightened, pacing slowly around the circle while absently twirling the pointer stick between his fingers. His gaze drifted toward David, who looked both nervous and eager under the sudden spotlight. "Think of it like trying to swim upstream in a river—it’s doable, but it takes immense effort, precision, and an understanding of every current pushing against you."

A notification pops up and Tyrone pauses to check it. 

[Oscar]

The inspector is almost done with Tyrone's hall, how's the water tank?

[Connie]

It's halfway there, we need more time. Can u distract him longer Ty?

[Tyrone]

gotchu

Tyrone immediately pivoted to the man who's almost at the door and starting to leave. “Maybe our special guest here today would be happy to enlighten us on if there is such a way to uh… flip the flow of the circle…?”

Professor Briggs stops in his tracks to face the expectant crowd of students. “I'm sorry to disappoint, but I am in the middle of an inspection here, please understand, it's the same as you are in the middle of a lecture prof pines, i'm sure you’d also feel the same way being inte-”

The crowd gives a sad sign, the despair of scholars not having their questions answered and their curiosity crushed! Tyrone also manages his best disappointed face before he looks away mournfully. “Alright, I-” 

The inspector signed. “Ok maybe a little won't hurt” 

…Elsewhere, Connie could only watch as the holy water truck slowly pumped the water upwards to the reservoir on the rooftop. Constantly, internally screaming.

..-. --- .-. . ... - / .. -. / ..-. .-.. .- -- . ...

Tyrone, Connie, and Oscar slumped into their chairs in unison, exhaling a collective sigh of relief as the weight of the day finally lifted—or at least, as much as it could. The holy water tank had been filled just in time for Hopkins’ demonstration, narrowly averting disaster. For now, they were safe.

“Crisis averted, we live another day boys!” Connie declared cheerfully, her bright pink aura shimmering with blues and reds like celebratory confetti. She magically produces three cans of chocolate milk, passing it on to Tyrone–main actor who is currently flopped down face first on the table, and oscar–main coordinator who has a blank shell shocked on his face. 

Tyrone, with his face still pressed flat against the table–mumbled out an almost unintelligible ‘ thanks ’ into the wood, only managing a weak thumbs-up. Meanwhile Oscar had to remember how to breathe for a second before he continued to grab the cold can of milk and started to chug it down. 

After a good minute, Oscar wiped the remnants of the drink from his lips. “I don’t think I want to experience that ever again,” he muttered out tiredly.

“Agreed,” Tyrone and Connie replied in near-perfect unison.

Tyrone took a slow sip of his chocolate milk, letting the sweetness momentarily dull the edge of exhaustion gnawing at him. At least this kind of insanity only happened every few years, he thought bitterly. 

Inspections were supposed to be routine, predictable even—but today had been anything but. 

“Any updates on your friend at Cherry Creek?” Oscar asked suddenly, turning to Connie.

Connie cringed visibly at the question, her cheerful demeanor faltering for a split second. “Almost the whole department got fired,” she admitted after a pause, trying to get her thoughts in order. “Didn’t get much info beyond that.”

Oscar whistled lowly, shaking his head. “Man, that’s harsh.”

As Connie and Oscar launched into gossip about other colleges’ inspection horror stories, Tyrone tuned them out entirely–Thankful that they generally understand the memo of him needing a bit of time to not talk much right now. 

The demonstration itself had gone off without a hitch, which should have been cause for celebration. And yet… something about it nagged at him. It wasn’t just the inspector’s uncanny knowledge or his unnervingly precise execution—it was the way everything had felt… off. 

John Briggs, a man who looked to be in his late fifties with graying hair and sharp, calculating eyes, had proven a previously unproven conjecture about reversing a circle’s energy flow in just three attempts. Three. By sheer force of will and clever use of symbol guides, no less. Most seasoned demonologists wouldn’t dare attempt such a thing outside of controlled conditions—and even then, success was far from guaranteed.

And now Tyrone doesn't even know if he should be impressed or scared by that. 

[*&^%$$#%$^^&(*)_]

[....]         

[^^%#$$%&^$%%^     (*(%#$@#-]      

Tyrone squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the heels of his palms against his temples as if he could physically push the intrusive data away. What the hell was happening? This wasn’t normal—not even for him. The breakroom was far enough from the school’s wards that they shouldn’t interfere with his omniscience.

It felt as if more and more things had started to drift out of his carefully curated circle of control, like sand between the gaps of his fingers. There were signs everywhere pointing towards a looming threat, and this time he wasn’t sure if it was just his paranoia.

..

It was later in the day when Tyrone wandered back to the Summoning Hall. His footsteps echoing softly against the polished floor–he stepped through the threshold of the door, letting the muffled feeling of being in a warded room dampen his omniscience, leaving him to stew about in silence. 

The modded binding circle from earlier still lingered on the floor, its faint glow still going on strong despite how long it’d been. It would be cleaned by the janitors in just a few hours, but for now, it remained—a silent testament to John Briggs’ unsettling expertise. Tyrone knelt beside it, studying the patterns etched into the ground.

The circle that John had fashioned is almost a work of art, with how the lines and runes were drawn so intricately and precisely. There were the average containment runes of course, but there were also various symbols that force and redirect the flow to go the opposite way with an almost unnatural quality to them. 

Of course, that could be the result of the design being rushed, but even with that in mind the circle has potential. With how many redirection and twisting runes have been used Alcor bets that even he would have a hard time trying to get out of this 

"This isn’t my greatest work, to be honest," a voice said suddenly, breaking through Tyrone’s thoughts.

Tyrone jolted, nearly stumbling into the circle before catching himself. His heart pounded wildly as he straightened, forcing a sheepish smile onto his face. "Ah—I didn’t realize you were still here, sir. What brings you back to the Summoning Hall? I thought the inspection finished an hour ago."

"Please, call me John. We’re both professors here, after all." Briggs waved dismissively, his six-fingered hand immediately grabbing Tyrone’s attention.

wait–…..Six…?

Six fingers…?

Sixer?!?

Tyrone froze, that detail alone sent a cascade of realizations crashing over him. Could it be ...? No, surely not. And yet, the evidence was undeniable. The intellectual brilliance, the meticulous attention to detail, the sheer audacity of challenging the laws of nature itself—it all pointed to one conclusion. 

This man was Ford Pines. Or rather, a reincarnation of Ford.

Looking more closely at John, Tyrone chastises himself for not noticing him having an extra appendage sooner, him being a reincarnation of Ford really does clear things up about where that concerning amount of intellect came from. 

At least with this he can be a bit more at ease now, after all this is his Grunkle Ford! And If he had returned, then maybe Grunkle Stan wasn’t far behind either. Last Tyrone checked, Stan’s soul was still waiting for its twin to heal in the river beyond the veil–Could they have found each other again in this lifetime?

Oh, If only Mizar was still around to see this, she would've been so excited to be introduced to him.

Briggs raised an eyebrow, and Tyrone quickly cleared his throat. Realizing that he had been staring for a bit too long. “Right!-” Oh no his voice is cracking. “--well uh, from one demonologist to another, this is exceptional work. I didn’t even realize this was even a possibility to begin with. Forcing a reversal of the natural order just like that is…” 

‘ Scary is the word for it. ’ he thought as he gazed at the binding circle once more.

"We scientists all strive to innovate and challenge the status quo–I merely saw an opportunity to test a theory and did my dues" Briggs continued, pride lacing his words with a tinge of ego. Yup, definitely a Ford alright. Always pushing boundaries, always messing the edges of what is possible and not. "I feel you would know this better than most, Tyrone Pines."

Tyrone smiles sheepishly, “my reputation precedes me.” he knows this isn’t Ford, but the Dipper part of him still preens at the fact that he is being complimented by a version of his grunkle. “What research topic did you happen to read?”

“The one about different methods of binding restraints. It was quite an intriguing read.” The classic! It was the one Tyrone had written for his phd while he was in Garching University. 

Ah– wait     …that's…. not right .. 

Tyrone froze, the tips of his fingers suddenly felt cold.

That paper……. was written under the name Collin Oaks—a pseudonym he’d used while studying at Garching University. Over a century ago . His current paper was a study on Scandinavian runes, from Stanley Pines University. 

There was no way Briggs should know about Collin Oaks unless…

Tyrone’s stomach churned as he studied Briggs more closely. The man’s coat shimmered faintly under the fluorescent lights, each thread interwoven with unicorn hair and protective runes–Even his mind seemed to have that same impenetrable shield of aluminum metal, and if that wasn’t overkill enough, the man sported several wards in the forms of sacred gem necklaces. The demon in him stirred awake, alarmed by the rush of danger.

It was no wonder Tyrone wasn’t able to sense him earlier. Does he wear that coat everywhere he goes?? Ford had always been paranoid, but this level of preparation was beyond even him. 

Stanford Pines had always been a paranoid man, it wouldn't be a surprise if it's a trait carried on to future incarnations. 

Tyrone would need to choose his words wisely, 

“...I think you have me mistaken for someone else.” 

One step forward, one step back. The hum of the binding circle imperceptible to the human ears hum just behind him. 

“Then why don't you want to step into the circle?” John asks innocently.  

Alcor bristled at the words. Being cornered like prey went against every instinct he possessed. Every fiber of his being screamed to lash out, to show this presumptuous mortal exactly who he was dealing with. But there's no telling what would happen if Tyrone were to reveal all his cards now. Best to just play dumb-against his instincts, he bit back the animalistic growl threatening to crawl its way out of his throat.

His phone rang, cutting off whatever half-formed lie he’d been about to utter, Tyrone exhaled sharply.

A beat of silence passed as the two remained at a standoff.

“Go on then...." Briggs urged lightly, gesturing toward the device; "pick it up,” a sly smile on his face. “I’m sure it’s something important.”

…

Tyrone clenched his fist and stepped aside from the circle’s edge. He kept his eyes locked on Briggs as he answered the call. “Hello?”

“–//–”

“.... What? ….No, this has never happened before. I'll head over as soon as possible.” 

He glanced at Briggs, who watched him with hawk-like intensity. The weight of the situation pressed down on Tyrone like a leaden cloak. Whatever game Briggs was playing, it wasn’t over yet. This wouldn’t be the last time he’d seen this particular face.

Tyrone let out the breath he was holding. “Look, it’s been a lovely conversation, John,” he said tightly, forcing out a sweet tone of amiability as he stuffed the phone back into his pocket. “But I need to go pick up my kid.”

“Of course,” Briggs replied, his tone dripping with false amiability. “I’ll look forward to more conversations like these.”

As Tyrone walked past him, he leaned in just slightly, his voice low and deliberate. “Be careful who you mess with, Sixer. This is your only warning, you’ll find that I̵ ̴w̴o̴n̸’̵t̶ ̴b̷e̷ ̸s̶o̴ ̷m̸e̶r̴c̶i̸f̴u̶l̷ ̶t̸h̵e̸ ̴n̸e̷x̷t̴ ̶t̷i̴m̵e̶ ̵a̵r̵o̸u̸n̴d̴.̸” Alcor hissed out.

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Briggs standing alone in the Summoning Hall. A faint smell of ozone lingered in the air as minor wards embedded in his coat sizzled.

John chuckles.

--. .-. --- .--

The wooden walls of the office gleamed faintly in the dim light, their rich mahogany hue lending an air of sophistication to what would otherwise be a chaotic space. Papers were strewn across every available surface—stacked haphazardly on the desk, pinned to a corkboard, or tucked into overstuffed folders that threatened to burst at the seams. The room smelled faintly of aged wood and ink, mixed with the subtle tang of something forgotten beneath one of the many piles.

At the heart of the chaos stood a large corkboard, its surface nearly obscured by photographs, newspaper clippings, notes scribbled in neat block letters, and red strings criss crossing one another. Everything converged toward a single image at the center: a man wearing an eyepatch over his right eye. 

John stood before it now, muttering under his breath as he pinned two new photographs onto the board. 

One was of a boy—Liam—with an expression caught somewhere around being disinterested and sleep deprived in class. The other depicted Tyrone, in the middle of a lecture–though there were several additional pictures nearby showing different faces. These represented past identities, lives lived and discarded, each iteration leading inexorably back to the same person.

John’s movements were precise but feverish, his fingers brushing against the edges of the photos as if ensuring they were perfectly aligned. His eyes darted from one connection to another, tracing invisible paths through the web of information. To anyone else, this might have looked obsessive, but to John, it was simply commitment.  

A presence materialized behind him, silent save for the soft clink of porcelain meeting wood. John didn’t turn; he already knew who it was. The scent alone told him everything he needed to know: peanut butter and blueberry sandwiches, paired with Earl Grey tea and five blocks of sugar. He sighed deeply, the sound carrying irritation at the interruption.

“State your mission report, Agent V,” John said without looking up, his tone clipped and efficient. “...And put those on the table.”

Agent V hesitated briefly, perhaps hoping John might finally take a bite of the food before starting. But when no movements were made to do so, he set the plate down gently beside a growing collection of untouched or half eaten meals.

Clearing his throat, Agent V adopted a formal tone, his words polished and precise. "Sir, our reconnaissance indicates heightened activity among Providence's operatives in proximity to Cottonwood Valley Institute.” ah yes, the high school he visited just now…

The agent continued, “-Additionally, there have been sightings of their agents near Denver University. Their movements suggest they are consolidating their forces, possibly preparing for a larger operation. We haven't been able to identify most of the key figures involved, their objectives remain unclear. Further surveillance is recommended to ascertain intent and scope."

John didn’t respond immediately, his gaze still fixed on the board. His fingers twitched slightly, absently adjusting the angle of one of the strings until it aligned perfectly with the others. After a moment, he spoke, his voice low and measured.

"A consolidation effort…" he murmured, almost to himself. "They’re congregating. But why now? And why here?" His eyes flicked briefly to the picture of Liam, then to Tyrone, lingering on each as though trying to extract answers from their frozen expressions.

He turned finally, grabbing the cup of tea and taking a slow sip despite his earlier indifference. The warmth seemed to ground him, if only slightly. Setting the cup down, he gestured vaguely toward the board. "We need more data. Keep monitoring their movements, but avoid any conflict unless absolutely necessary. I want to know who they’re meeting, where they’re going, and most importantly—what they’re after." he paused, finally getting to a conclusion “I’ll continue to do an inspection on Denver University on the morrow’."

Agent V nodded curtly, already slipping into the shadows and leaving John alone with only his mind.

John lets his mind drift. Mindlessly replaying the scene that happened just today…

–  .-  -..  -..  .  -.  .  -..

John's lips quirked into the slightest smile at Liam's response, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He seemed to be assessing Liam carefully, almost as if weighing the words in his mouth before speaking. "Interesting," he murmured, his eyes flicking back to the runes etched into the walls. "I was wondering why none of the wards here followed any kind of standard procedure. Is your school aware of this?."

Liam snorted. "Oh stars no. If they knew half of what I do around here, they'd probably have me on a watchlist."

The inspector only scrutinized the walls again, he narrowed his eyes and tapped his fingers on the clipboard rhythmically.  "I see," he said, his tone cool but with a hint of a raised eyebrow. “So you’ve just been tampering with the school’s wards?”

Liam shrugged casually. “Personally I like to call it ‘ Improving ’ the school’s wards system.” He flashed a grin at John, trying to keep his tone light.

John exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly as he regarded Liam with something between amusement and disapproval. “Tampering, improving—depends on who you ask.” His fingers - something is off about those hands - tapped the clipboard again. “I’d ask to see your credentials, but I doubt you have any.”

The subtle shift in magic around them felt more present than ever, Liam takes a step closer with interest. "Yeah, well, as long as no one's setting off any demonic signals, the wards should be fine." He ran his hand along the stone, his fingertips skimming over the rune systems like a practiced gesture.

John’s eyes flickered, and for a brief moment, his posture stiffened—just a little. "And... have you noticed anything unusual with the wards lately?"

Liam stopped in his tracks, his fingers hovering over a particularly worn-down section of the rune line. "Hmm," he hummed, pretending to think for a moment. "There’s a spot near here that’s a bit... weaker than it should be." He paused for emphasis, watching John’s expression as his curiosity peaked. "It’s from an old containment rune—the one that's supposed to lock down demons when they breach."

John raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but he kept his expression neutral. "Go on."

Liam nodded enthusiastically, unaware—or uncaring—of the way John’s expression had shifted. “Almost the whole rune was unstable at that point, not sure how long it went without maintenance for that to happen. -so I thought, why not try something new?”

John’s eyes darkened. “And what exactly did you do?”

Liam grinned like he was about to unveil a particularly good prank. “I reversed the flow.”

Silence.

John stared at him, his expression unreadable. “…You what?”

“I reversed the rune’s energy flow–-well at least I attempted to.” Liam said, completely unbothered by the sudden shift in John’s demeanor. “Basic runology dictates that the containment field is made by pushing energy outwards, I thought–hey, why not make it go inwards instead? So instead of trying to trap a demon inside a space—which, let’s be honest, doesn’t always work because demons are slippery bastards—my version forces their own power to collapse inward, binding them with their own energy. It’s basically a self-sustaining feedback loop.”

John blinked, his lips pressing into a thin line as he processed the information. For a moment, there was a stillness, as if the air itself had frozen in place. Liam watched closely, noting the way John’s eyes narrowed in fascination, but also a subtle hint of unease.

John's grip on the clipboard tightened slightly, his fingers flexing against the edge. Liam could almost see - and hear - the thoughts racing behind his eyes— that brilliant mind – calculations, theories, counterarguments forming and dissolving in real time. 

John exhaled through his nose, his expression carefully neutral. “That’s—” He stopped himself, rewording whatever he was about to say. “That’s not standard containment theory.”

Liam smirked. “Yeah, no kidding. That theory has been standing unchallenged for waaay too long in my opinion..” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching John with clear amusement. “All it takes is just for a demon that’s above the ward’s containment level for it to breach.” Liam gestures to the wards, “-if I could just get this working, it could adjust to any demon based on their classifications.”

John didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his gaze flickered back to the runes, scanning them with a new level of scrutiny. “And you’re certain this… feedback loop hypothesis of yours won't have a potential of causing instability elsewhere?” His voice was calm, measured, but there was a sharpness beneath it.

Liam huffed. “Please, I ran the calculations like, four times. Hypothetically the pull effect stabilizes over time—kinda like how a whirlpool eventually evens out instead of spiraling out of control. Only real risk is if someone tries to brute-force their way out of it, but that’s true for any containment spell.” He tapped his temple, grinning. “Think smarter, not harder IQ .”

John didn’t look impressed. If anything, he looked… unsettled .

Liam noticed it, of course. Notice the way John’s jaw tightened, the way his fingers twitched slightly against the clipboard, the way his eyes lingered on the runes like he was seeing something Liam couldn’t.

And that was when Liam realized something.

John wasn’t just analyzing the wards. He was dissecting them.

Liam’s grin grew a little wider. “You look like you’ve never seen a runic circuit before.”

John’s eyes snapped back to him, sharp and assessing. “I’ve seen plenty of circuits.” A pause. “Just not ones like this.”

Liam hummed, pleased with himself. “Yeah, well. I like to think I’ve got a unique style.” He gestured loosely to the wards. “You won’t find these in any textbooks.”

John didn’t respond right away. His gaze flickered back to the wards, tracing the intricate, glowing circuit like he was trying to work out its inner mechanics. His fingers twitched against the clipboard, jotting down something quickly before he spoke again. “This whole design isn't even stable, there's still parts of it that seemed to be placeholders if anything.”

Liam snorted. "Oh, absolutely– it’s a work in progress."

John gave him a look. "And you’re proud of that?"

Liam leaned against the wall, watching John with something like amusement. "I mean, yeah. Look at you." He gestured vaguely at John’s entire posture. "You’re dissecting this thing like it’s a bomb about to go off, and I bet you haven’t even figured out half the runic loops I buried under the main structure."

John’s fingers twitched slightly, and Liam swore he saw his jaw clench.

Bullseye.

Liam grinned wider. "C’mon, admit it," he teased. "You wanna know more about this, don’t you?"

John stayed silent for a moment too long, eyes still locked onto the ward.

Then, finally, he exhaled, his expression unreadable. "I want to know how it hasn’t already collapsed in on itself."

Liam just chuckled, turning back to the wall, running his fingers along the runes. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he mused.

John didn't like that answer. Liam could tell from the way his grip on the clipboard tightened, the faintest trace of frustration breaking through his otherwise controlled expression.

But before John could press further, Liam turned to face him fully, his golden eye gleaming. "Look, Inspector. If you’re here to write me up for messing with the school’s wards, go ahead. But if you want answers from me—" He tilted his head, the smirk never leaving. "—then maybe we can have a real conversation."

John studied him for a long moment, expression carefully unreadable.

Then, finally, he closed the clipboard.

"Fine," John said. "Explain it to me."

Liam’s grin sharpened. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Art section

(Agent V and John is a crack-ship between me and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomdragonjtk"> dragon </a> btw) 

here's some Jackson sketches

Agent V by Dragon!